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detectivehannibal · 4 years

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Homemade

Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of cannibalism.

Requested by: @chuuulip

Word count: 1,422

“I already feel bad enough about it so I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t lecture me about it.”

Pregnancy could be described as many things. Life changing, transformative, beautiful, natural (just to name a few). In a general sense, it is glorified and glamorized in every which way. To an extent, yes, being pregnant was all of those things. You were surely enjoying your time, but unfortunately, many women don’t get to see the other side of the coin until they’re in the middle of it themselves. The “morning” sickness that hits at every moment of the day, the fatigue, the swollen feet, and the intense hormonal changes that can shake you to your core. Your first trimester was a sick fest. The bathroom quickly became your most used room of the house and the toilet was your BFF. The mood swings were SO real. Which is why you were thankful Hannibal was a patient man, because God knows you would’ve been fed up already if the roles were reversed.

One of the most common and notorious pregnancy symptoms is the ungodly craving for things that should never ever be consumed into the human body. 70% of women in the United States have food cravings as their main symptom of being pregnant. You were no exception. This was a challenge, considering your dear Dr. Lecter was a health freak and was particular of what went into his body. If he couldn’t name every single solitary ingredient in the food he was presented with, he was not going to eat it. This was fine by you. It encouraged you to make healthier choices and overall improve your lifestyle. Although, now it was a real tug-of-war because you just wanted all the guilty pleasures at your disposal.

So, how did you approach this issue? It was simple. After months of fighting it, you surrendered...shamefully. You went to the store and absolutely raided the bakery section. You name it and you had bought it. You sprawled everything out on the kitchen counter when you got home. This was a secret mission of sorts. You had to indulge and then dispose of all evidence before Hannibal got home. Even though you felt a teeny bit guilty for giving into your cravings, it was kind of nice to be just a little bad. That’s what you told yourself anyway. You were calm and content, just selecting a delicious chocolate donut when you heard the front door open and close again.

Uh-oh. The man in question had just arrived.

You froze in your tracks. Just HOW were you going to talk yourself out of this one? Short answer: you couldn’t. You had been caught red handed. It felt like an eternity, but his footsteps finally fell into the room where he himself stopped upon noticing the scene taking place in his kitchen of culinary excellence. He set his bag down against the wall connecting to the doorway. He didn’t say anything, waiting to see if you were going to explain or if he would have to address it himself. Finally, you sheepishly smiled and gave a light greeting;

“Hi, Hanni.” You said in an innocent tone, delicately waving at him.

He put his hands on his hips and straightened up more than he already was. Oh, boy. Here it comes. Before anything could come out of his mouth, you were quick to confess;

“I’m sorry. Okay? I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that I want to eat literally anything and everything that I’m not supposed to have,” You spewed; “I already feel bad enough about it so I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t lecture me about it.”

What you didn’t realize was that he found this rather funny. He had seen you struggle throughout the entire pregnancy and he knew it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. He walked over to the other side of the counter and took a moment to let his eyes gaze over everything that you had picked up. A sugary array of cookies, cupcakes, and donuts were definitely not a common occurrence in his home. You had really outdone yourself. He came around the counter to where you were once he had familiarized himself. He rested his hands on either side of your risen belly, rubbing softly;

“I won’t lecture you,” He said plucking the half eaten donut from your hands; “However, I feel that it’s necessary to remind you that I will make you anything you want. Even if it’s not something that I would usually cook. You know I’m careful of what items I put on our table.”

Before you could stop it, one of your hormone induced snappy responses fell from your lips. One so surprising that even you felt your heart skip a beat when you said it;

“Yeah, trust me, I know what sort of things you put on our table.”

Even he didn’t respond right away. Your eyes widened upon mentioning the very thing you tried not to bring up. It was sort of an unspoken thing. You knew what sort of...activities he took part in. He had originally never planned on telling you, but he found it difficult not to when you got married. It was now your house too, so he couldn’t forbid you from the kitchen when he was cooking like he did when you were dating.

“Sorry,” You mumbled an apology; “That was out of line.”

He only smirked, not shaken by it. He turned to grab his apron and tied it around his waist. It was time for him to get busy.

“I care deeply about your health as well as our child’s. You know that. I’m going to make you something. A guilt-free guilty pleasure, if you will.” He stated proudly.

You liked the sound of that. You nodded eagerly, suddenly excited. He did request that you leave the kitchen to keep it a surprise. You highly doubted any of his specialty ingredients would make it into whatever he was making so you obliged. You sat in the living room while he worked in the kitchen.

It had been a long, long, long time since he had made anything like this. He wasn’t necessarily a baker as much as a chef. He laid out the flour, butter, sugar, yeast, and whatever else he needed to make donuts. He dug through his collection of recipes and (low and behold) he had one single donut recipe. Thank God because he didn’t have a back up plan. You were much more simple when it came to food, so it wouldn’t take much to impress. Still, he wanted to make it special.

After preparing the dough, letting it rise, shaping it, and frying it, he had a half dozen of donuts in all their glory. Of course, he knew a chocolate glaze would be a winner in your book. He sifted the sugar and cocoa powder expertly before combining it with the milk and vanilla extract, creating a thick (but too thick) glaze for the donuts. Even he would admit, they looked SO good. As if on cue, you popped your head into the kitchen to check on him. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head at seeing the six donuts perfectly presented on the counter.

You waddled over, marveling at their divine presentation. He encouraged you to take one, which you didn’t hesitate to do. The first bite was absolute bliss. It was so light, airy, and sweet. You almost wished you could be pregnant all the time just so he could make more stuff like this.

“What’s the verdict, darling?” He asked, knowing good and well you were having the time of your life right now.

You didn’t even respond with words. Just a satisfied groan and a kiss on the cheek. This was a home run for you and bonus husband points for Hannibal.

“Aren’t you going to eat one?” You asked cocking your head.

“I made these for you, my dear.” He replied shaking his head.

You furrowed your brows;

“There’s NO way I can eat all of these. Come on, don’t you want to judge your own skills?” You asked taking the last bite.

He pondered your question before shrugging and taking one himself. He took a bite and his eyes rolled back slightly. He had really done it this time.

“I told you,” You muttered with a smile; “Thanks, honey.”

“Anything for you.” He said kissing your head.

It was the small moments like this that reminded you of how wonderful he was. He was always willing to do anything for you. No matter the task.

And to you, that was really very sweet.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal #hannibal lecter imagine #detectivehannibal #hannibal lecter request

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yukipri · 4 years

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On the Baratie, Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Third part of the Baratie story tonight!

Warnings for: Thatch x Luffy, Sanji x Luffy, bg Ace x Luffy

Continues off of past parts!

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 1

👒🐟On the Baratie, Prologue

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 2

Sanji's never been left this speechless by someone else's food before.

He's long considered Zeff to be the best chef he knows, the mentor from whom Sanji's polished his own skills, once acquired from lonely textbooks in a cold, cold dungeon cell. Sanji's improved, but there are few dishes he can serve that he feels can top Zeff's.

"Well?" Thatch asks, crossing his arms, a gentle smile curling his lips.

There's a small feast laid out before them, and to an untrained eye, it looks simple. But when Zeff finishes his first sip of soup, he makes a low, rumbling sound of appreciation, and honestly Sanji can't do anything but silently echo the sentiment.

Food can be incredible. Not only do living things require nourishment to survive, certain kinds can bring out various physical and mental reactions in the consumer. The right diet can encourage healing, grant clearer vision, even strengthen the body to seemingly inhuman degrees. Food builds the body after all, and the right kind can cause miracles.

But some recipes, Sanji has heard, take food even further beyond.

And this food, this does all of that and more.

Because from the first sip, Sanji immediately feels his body thrum with energy and warmth, and he jolts. What is this? There's no way his body can physically change from taking just a single sip of soup...and yet it feels like it has.

To eat like this, every meal, every day, every crew member...suddenly, "the Strongest Pirate Crew in the World" seems less an obscure, far away concept, but defined in a way that Sanji not only understands, but leaves him feeling nothing but awe. This, he thinks, this is what you eat to be the Strongest.

Sanji hates to admit it, but he's never had anything like it, not even from Zeff. And the cook, Thatch, did it in with the exact same tools, ingredients, and kitchen that Sanji uses every day.

And while the physical effects are mind boggling enough, there's more.

Because in this food, Sanji can feel the cook's raw intent in an undiluted form that perhaps only Sanji himself can recognize and interpret, as a cook who strives to do the same, but has never quite managed to this level of mastery. And in every ingredient that Thatch added, in every careful stir, Sanji knows what he was pouring in.

Love.

Sanji doesn't set his spoon down until the bowl is empty, but when he does, his thoughts feel more organized. And this, Sanji thinks, this food...it's practically a culinary love letter that only Sanji can read.

And Sanji somehow instinctively knows that the love letter is addressed to Luffy.

Sanji's torn. On one hand, he feels that his attraction to Luffy, not even a day old, is painfully inadequate in comparison to not just the devotion of her current cook, but his ability to convey it through his cooking alone. And Sanji knows that at this moment, he has no hope of coming close to replicating the way Thatch shows his love through his food. It's the first time Sanji's felt this way about his craft, and it's humbling.

But on the other hand...Sanji slowly lifts his gaze from the soup to see Thatch with new eyes, but the man's attention is fixed solely on Luffy, who guzzles the soup without a care in the world, no doubt completely unaware of just how special it really is.

On the other hand, the things Sanji could learn from this cook.

"Thatch's cooking is the best," Luffy croons, as Ace reaches around her to roughly wipe her messy face with a napkin. "But! Sanji's cooking is amazing too, and Sanji's cooking will also be the best if he joins our crew!"

Zeff wasn't exaggerating; it really is an honor to be compared to Thatch. Sanji feels his heart thump heavily, and for once it's not just because of lovely, lovely Luffy.

Sanji doesn't have a response for Luffy, but at the moment he doesn't need to--because Don Krieg walks in.

Things happen in rapid succession.

Gin and Krieg arrive.

Then the greatest swordsman in the world, Dracule Mihawk shows up, and the green haired idiot pounces at the opportunity to challenge him, and immediately loses.

"Hawk Eyes," Thatch says warningly, with far too much familiarity and lack of fear facing down a Warlord, but perhaps that's to be expected, given that he's a Whitebeard pirate.

"Thatch," the swordsman acknowledges. "The boy's not dead. Even if he were not under your crew's protection, he has captured my interest."

Sanji frowns at their exchange.

But then he's fighting, and there's no time to worry about it, and the Baratie's in danger, Zeff's in danger, so Sanji has to fight--

And then for some reason, Luffy's fighting.

Sanji's heart leaps into his throat the first time he sees her slam into Krieg, and he moves to abandon his own fight to go to her aid, when a hand stops him.

It's the Dangerous Man, Ace, the one who acted like he was Luffy's keeper, though that antagonism is gone from him now as he watches the mermaid engage in combat with Krieg. He looks surprisingly calm, and he doesn't move to help Luffy, or even to call her back, but instead looks on silently from the sidelines, leaning against the outer wall of the Baratie next to Thatch and the blue-haired man, who are likewise quiet.

"Let her fight," Ace says, though he and his crew mates don't look away.

"You don't care if she gets hurt?! That's Don Krieg!" Sanji spits out blood and tries to move towards her again, but Ace's hand doesn't budge.

"And she's my co-captain." Ace says, and Sanji jolts. "We're headed to the Grand Line. Krieg is nothing compared to the opponents we'll face there."

Sanji wants to object, to call the man utterly insane and heartless for using this as what, a training exercise?! for Luffy, who isn't just a delicate lady, but a vulnerable mermaid! Adrenaline has completely shot Sanji's restraint, and it suddenly doesn't matter how much stronger Ace is, because Sanji's about to give him a piece of his mind--but he stops.

Because when Sanji looks at Ace, he doesn't see the cold eyes of a master evaluating the performance of his subordinate. Ace, for all his power, looks so incredibly human as he watches Luffy fight. Sanji can tell that he cares for her, that he's worried, but above all, that he has absolute trust in Luffy. And it's that belief in her that keeps him rooted to the spot when Sanji can now see that he's itching to annihilate Krieg like he no doubt could.

It's the look that true family gives, that people who don't love you can never hope to replicate, and Sanji knows the difference all too painfully well.

And so Sanji turns to watch Luffy as well. He can't say that the fight looks easy for her, but she's holding her own, far better than Sanji would have expected. Despite being a mermaid, she balances easily with her tail to hurl punches that fly far and true with her devil fruit powers, before she spins on her arms to lash out with her fins, delivering a slam that sends Krieg crashing through the wreckage of his own ship.

Her fighting isn't what even Sanji could call particularly elegant, much more like brawling, but he still can't look away.

Luffy's bare hands shatter Krieg's golden armor, before her tail deals the final blow, even as the mermaid herself, bleeding and entangled in Krieg's net, plummets into the sea.

Conviction, Sanji thinks, repeating Zeff's words, his observations of the mermaid.

The three by the Baratie make their moves then, all at once. Ace and Thatch leap forward to dive into the sea after the mermaid, but are slammed to the deck by their blue-haired companion before they can touch the water.

"Hey you! Blond cook!" the blue-haired man shouts, and Sanji realizes he's referring to Sanji. "Go in after her! She's eaten a devil fruit and can't swim, and neither can these idiots! She'll drown!"

"You'd best do as he says," Zeff agrees, and Sanji swears and takes off sprinting.

Down beneath the waves, it's like the battle overhead never took place, and Sanji wonders if he'd imagined it after all as he finally reaches Luffy. Her eyes are closed, and the majority of blood has already been washed away by the water. Her body is completely limp as Sanji cuts it free of the net so she slides into his arms.

It's his first time touching her, and though she settles heavily and unnaturally against him without a hint of buoyancy...she's soft. Small bubbles rise from her lips, and Sanji realizes that she's breathing underwater. With light from the surface dancing across her face, she looks so incredibly different from when she was awake. She's hauntingly beautiful and serene, and the blue veil over her makes her look like she belongs to another world, like a sleeping sea goddess waiting to be awakened by a kiss. She looks like a true mermaid princess straight out of a fairy tale, not a pirate capable of pummeling an infamous pirate commodore.

Sanji feels his own lungs beginning to scream, and regretfully kicks out, but keeps firm grip of the mermaid in his arms.

When they break the surface, wreckage is around them, and hands immediately pull them onto the deck. Sanji reluctantly lets Luffy go.

"Luffy!" Ace shouts, all pretense of calm gone as he pulls Luffy into his arms to peer down at her.

Luffy doesn't gasp for air like a human who's been under water, but rather takes a longer, deeper breath, and slowly opens her eyes as though finally realizing that it isn't fluid, but air in her lungs.

"Hey, Ace," she says, lips quirking into a smile as she continues to breath in deeply. "Told you I could beat him."

"So you did," he agrees, crushing her briefly against his chest, before pulling them apart so he can catalog her injuries.

"Thanks for that," a new voice says, and Sanji looks up to see the blue-haired man offering him a hand, which he takes. "I can't guarantee Ace'll agree, but I for one am all for more swimmers joining us. I'm Deuce."

(Deuce, probably: So Nami stole our ship, Usopp's following her with a half-dead Zoro and the two bounty hunters, leaving...fantastic, me alone with three stupid devil fruit users. Again.)

I did skim through the manga again for a vague sense of order of events, but I have zero interest in writing every detail of canon into my AU stories. Sure, I'm sure some things could have gone interestingly different that I didn't mention, like Lu possibly avoiding Krieg's gas by dunking her head under water, or Thatch sucking it all up into a black hole....but eh, you can imagine that if you want LOL! This was already getting too long ^ ^;

Some other notes: I re-read Novel A again, and confirmed several things:

1) Thatch is confirmed Head Cook/Head of Dining of the entire Whitebeard Fleet

2) Thatch's division, the 4th, is also primarily in charge of Dining, including but not limited to cooking, gathering food such as hunting and fishing, and presumably procuring other foodstuffs from their territory. I already HC'd this, but nice to have it be confirmed canon!

3) It's a little hard to tell from the wording whether he's just calling it that, or whether it really is Special, but possibly implied that he can cook especially energizing and nourishing foods (in the novel, stamina soup for Pops), possibly like the Kamabakka Kingdom recipes.

(note, I have not read the official English translation, so have no clue what they chose to translate these things as, I only got the original Japanese which is enough for me ^ ^;)

Regarding the last point, I do HC that Thatch knows those recipes and is friends with Kamabakka Kingdom cooks. I also HC that Iva-chan's okama aren't the only country or culture that has Special Foods like that, and Thatch has a very, VERY broad repertoire ;D

I also just love the idea of both Thatch and Sanji, master cooks, being able to read parts of each other through their cooking that goes completely unnoticed by everyone else on the crew <3

As always, thank you so much for reading, and any thoughts you'd like to share with me are immensely appreciated! <3

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: On the Baratie, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #One Piece #Thatch #Vinsmoke Sanji #text headcanons #Monkey D. Luffy #genderbend #longpost #long post

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orwocolor · 3 years

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee angst #gwilym lee fic #multichapter #fluff #angst #vee writes #*mine

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yukiwrites · 4 years

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A Piece of Him, Towards a Brighter Future

Thanks for the support again, @ramannnn! This one hurt so good to write, I hope you like it >:Dc

Summary: Xander knows he will not live to see another day; not with the hoshidan forces led by Kamui reaching Krakenburg within the hour. The only thing he wants is to be able to die with one less regret... and hopes to confess and consumate his love with Theode, whom he longed for since their teenage years.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

The night felt darker to the eyes in Krakenburg castle that evening -- the mood of the inhabitants weighed heavily on the atmosphere due to the advance of the approaching hoshidans.

Kamui had chosen to stay in Hoshido and attack Nohr, the place that had welcomed her as one of its own. She turned her back on the people who thought of her as family, and now all of them were paying the price for considering her part of them.

Although the main bulk of the nohrian forces were attacking well into the hoshidan territory, Kamui was leading an elite force into the heart of Nohr -- a force composed of all members of the hoshidan royalty along with their most trusted retainers -- and she managed to breach every single security step Garon had erected so far.

Leo had retired into a self-reflecting pilgrimage after losing to her at the Woods of the Forlorn; Elise refused to leave her room since the previous night and Camilla -- Xander positioned his sister at the secret entrance in case the hoshidans would want to breach it instead of heading to the main gates.

But Xander knew that all of those attempts would also be fruitless; He could feel his own approaching demise.

He would be dead by Kamui's blade at that same time tomorrow and the only thing he could think of was the regrets he was going to leave behind. The words he never managed to say; the touches he forbade himself from enjoying -- the warmth of the person who had stolen his heart since their teenage days.

The Crown Prince sat behind his personal desk inside his room, fiddling with a tiny, velvety box into which contained the ultimate proof of his love for the one who had never left his side -- for the knight, friend and puppy love he had held for so long he had gotten complacent with it.

Theode.

Oh, how much he regretted! Knowing one would be dead in less than a day did unspeakable things to a man -- he could physically feel the weight of his regrets; of his unspoken feelings, so fiercely it made him lose his breath. The small, commissioned ring meant to Theode's finger sat inside the Crown Prince's drawer for so long it might've turned into part of the furniture by now.

And yet, it was precisely because those were his last moments in the same world as the one he loved that Xander felt his own, long-lingering feelings burn so strongly inside his chest.

A particular set of knocks brought Xander back to his own body, making him put away the ring inside the drawer it belonged before allowing the entry.

Theode's head popped inside, the very visage of her making Xander's heart jump in elation. Ah... how he loved her.

"I brought the tea I told you about, Your- ah, Xander." Her soft voice rang into the Crown Prince's ears, making him close his eyes to fully savor it within himself. Earlier, Theode had come in to check if Xander still needed her services only to find him still hard at work, so she had taken it upon herself to bring in a special brew of relaxing tea she usually drank by herself the night before a battle.

The fragrance was sweet, though the purple color could be concerning weren't Xander used to that side of Theode by now. "Thank you for your dedication as always, Theode." He gestured for her to come in as he dug himself further into the chair, listening to her approaching steps as she placed the tray atop his neatly arranged desk.

"You finished everything you were doing?" She contemplated, remembering how there were piles of documents in there less than an hour ago.

That was work he had anticipated for a few months from now -- whoever took the throne (Camilla, most likely) after his demise would be able to have a smooth first months of rule thanks to the paperwork he finished. There was also a will he locked deep into his own private study, but that one...

That one had another role for the time being.

"Indeed," he breathed out after a few moments of silence as he remembered the reason why he had done the paperwork in the first place, still savoring Theode's voice and the fragrance of her tea under his closed eyes. "Will you not drink with me?" He asked once she was done pouring a single cup, opening his eyes to meet with her dark ones.

Flinching, the knight stuttered. "Ah, well, I did bring another cup, but I didn't think I'd take too long in here..."

"Humor me, Theode." Xander gestured for her to sit down opposite of him as he took his own cup to his lips. "Mhm, your culinary skills are wonderful as always."

"Thank you..." Theode blushed, sheepishly pouring herself a cup and sitting on the chair closest to his desk so as to savor her drink. "It takes a few minutes to settle in, but it makes for a really restful night after your head hits the pillow."

Xander took another sip, "that would be lovely, although I do not think I shall sleep much tonight."

"Ah, um," Theode fidgeted with her cup, ultimately putting it back on the desk. She had always found herself drawn to Kamui's circumstances -- a foreign princess, locked up in a tower under the scrutiny of people who did not approve of her, though protected by the ones who loved her.

Theode was only familiar with the former situation -- the scrutiny of being different than your peers; of being a foreigner in a land into which discrimination was much too rooted. Her long, straight, dark hair and her deep dark eyes weren't appreciated as she grew up in nohrian soil -- not when she carried such obvious hoshidan traits.

Xander had been the first one to accept her for what she was, all those years ago when they were teenagers; ever since then, she had pledged her loyalty as well as her heart to him, though only one of those she would be able to publicly disclose.

They had rode side by side to many a battle; they had overcome many a challenge during this decade they've been together. But Theode could feel that tomorrow's battle was going to be different -- she could see the shadow of regret in Xander's face; the dark cloud of a defeated man that hung over his head.

It brought her unending agony. What could the mere Theode do to help a man so great as the Crown Prince? She was nothing! She had nothing.

The only thing she could think of was that stupid tea, but even that seemed to have been a bad idea, looking at how his cup was still half full even after complimenting it for appearance's sake. Theode felt like crying, but she wouldn't dare to expose her true feelings while Xander was carrying the weight of the entire Kingdom on his shoulders.

He had enough to worry about already.

"I see your habit of overthinking is still strong as ever," Xander commented as if in passing, swirling the beverage with the teaspoon before bringing it to his lips once again.

"A-ah? F-forgive me, Your Highness, I was spacing out." The knight shook her head vehemently, widening her eyes so she could look at him straight ahead. "Did you need me for something?"

"I always need you, Theode," he huffed a mirthless smile, placing the empty cup back on its saucer with a small clink. "However, what I do need right now is for you to call me not by my station, but by my name. Won't you?"

Blinking, Theode felt heat rise to her cheeks under the seriousness of Xander's eyes, quickly averting her gaze to collect the tea cup. "S-sure. I'm sorry, Xander. I just switch back to knight mode when I'm taken by surprise." Once her hand touched the porcelain, Xander's large, warm hand rubbed against hers, making her flinch inside her skin.

"That is fine," he chuckled, a more relaxing sound leaving his lips this time. He took her small fingers into his, both of their calloused hands that were well acquainted to holding a weapon unused to being so close to one another.

Her heart thundering inside her chest, Theode froze. Her face was burning with embarrassment while her mind tried to beat down any hopes of Xander reciprocating her feelings in spite of her own unworthy self. He must've simply noticed how nervous she was and wanted to comfort her, which was all.

Inside Xander's heart, however, there were so many things to say he didn't know where to begin. He knew he would forever regret not telling Theode anything tonight; even after his cold body had returned to the earth.

Ah... how much he had dreamed of a peaceful Nohr, ruled by him and Theode side by side -- to pass down a reformed Kingdom to their heirs and dream of the wonderful realm it would turn to under their rule.

Now, deep within his heart, Xander knew that Nohr would only be able to flourish under Kamui's revolutionary sword; he understood that. Garon was not the Father Xander had always hoped him to be, so he had to be put down by the one they've all labeled as traitor but who would be the one to save them instead. The Crown Prince wanted to see that realm come to fruition with Theode by his side; more than anything. But he had a duty to uphold; the call of blood he could not give his back to.

Yet, he couldn't help but want a single piece of himself to live on and witness such a bright future -- to at least attest that he was able to see part of his dream come true. He wanted a piece of him to stay, grow roots and be nurtured.

Be nurtured... by Theode.

"Will you listen to the first and last selfish request I have ever made in my life, Theode?" Xander said after a long while of simply caressing the knight's hand within his own.

Gulping, Theode felt like she was sweating buckets, but still managed to nod her head. "O-of course... If you're alright with me, then..."

"It can only be you." He squeezed their hold, making her squirm on her seat.

"T-then... go on."

Smiling ever so softly, the frown never truly leaving his forehead, Xander looked down to her thin fingers, imagining how wonderful the ring would look like in contrast to her skin. "I have drafted so many ways to tell you this; so many letters I used as kindling in shame; so many drowned words under rough nights... Yet, I cannot think of any other way to say it save from... I love you, Theode. I always have, from our young days until the day of my death."

Theode's hand grew cold immediately; her eyes widening in such scandalized shock she almost jerked herself away from him. "Wh-what are you saying, Xander? I- I can't be-" She tried to pull away from his hand, but it was as though her body didn't truly want to be apart from his. "I can't be with you of all people."

As though resigned to finishing what he started, Xander went up from his seat, never letting go of Theode's hand as he circled the desk towards her -- which made her get up in a hurry and lose her balance, falling on his chest once he was right in front of her. "Is it because you despise me as a man so that the thought never crossed your mind, or because you do not see yourself as a nohrian despite your noble name?"

Her insides squirming in panic, Theode almost stopped breathing. How could he had noticed? She had never told anyone about it- about how her foreign appearance had gained her more than a few scars, both mental and physical; about how out of place and unworthy she felt. She looked down to her feet, her head bumping on his chest from how close he was to her. "I-I'll only bring you disgrace if we're seen together. I would rather-"

"Look at me, Theode." Xander grasped her shoulders, bringing heat back into her cold body. "Look at me as Xander the man, not the Crown Prince." The thick layer of desperation due to his looming fate made Xander's eyes an inescapable prison: Theode couldn't turn her gaze away from him; not anymore.

"I, ah, I..." She babbled, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Of course she would love to look past his station to the man she had adored for over a decade! But how could she proudly say she wanted him to love her when she knew how harshly the people would take their union? She couldn't bring him that sort of pain! "I can't, I'm not- worthy of you..."

"Oh, Theode," Xander slowly wrapped his arms around her body, enveloping her into his warmth. "I love you so deeply; it breaks my heart to see that you put yourself down like that. The woman I love needs only to be the recipient of my affection -- anything else matters not."

Usually, he would've said that they would need to build a future into which her roots didn't matter, but he couldn't look into something that wouldn't happen. He couldn't promise her something he would snatch from her in less than a day.

But what he could do was promise to love her until the moment he drew his last breath -- he would bring his love for her etched deep into his soul, wherever it would go after his passing.

"I love you, Theode. Won't simply that matter, for now?" He pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet, placing a tuft of hair behind her ear.

Sniffling, Theode's face was red from both embarrassment and from holding back her breath lest she started wailing the moment she opened her mouth. "I- oh, Xander... I love you, too!" She sobbed into his chest, finally reciprocating the hug.

The first genuine smile Xander's lips had sprouted since a long time ago brightened his face, making him dig his face deep into Theode's shoulder to deepen their hug. "Will you listen to my selfish request, dear, Theode?"

"O-of course," she replied between sobs, her voice muffled by his strong chest. "Anything, Xander."

"Will you let me hold you tonight?" He whispered right into her ear, his body heat almost burning her through her clothes. "It would make me the happiest man of the world to be able to share this, ah, important night with the one who is most important to me."

Xander could actually feel Theode's face and neck grow hotter with embarrassment, which stole a chuckle out of him. A few seconds passed until she resolved to tighten her hug around him and nod silently, unable to utter the words.

"Thank you, my love; forgive me for being so hasty." He kissed her temple before picking her up on his arms to direct her to the bed. Theode let out a yelp, quickly hiding her face under both hands once she felt the soft mattress under her. "Will you look at me?" he asked softly, taking one hand out of her face to kiss its palm.

"I'm- I- I don't know what to do-" She confessed, her heart beating so loudly she thought it would surely explode out of her chest sooner rather than later.

"Shh," he trailed his kisses from her hand to her arm, then to her neck, cheek and finally lips. He lingered over them for a moment, taking in the emotion of finally being able to taste them before asking for entrance with his tongue. He gurgled a chuckle once she shyly opened her mouth to let him in, a moan dying in the back of her throat.

Slowly did her body melt the longer the kiss turned -- Xander carefully placed himself atop of her, making sure her back was comfortable under the pillows before slowly setting on to kiss her entire being. He unbuttoned her coat as she gripped onto his shoulders as if she needed to dig her nails into something to place herself into reality.

Moaning once she was only in her underwear, Theode grew conscious of her scars and tried to hide them, only to have Xander take one of her hands to his chest -- to his thumping heart. "I have never been so overjoyed as I am at this moment, my love. Do not hide yourself from me." He huffed hungrily, diving into a deep kiss that robbed Theode of her breath, shame and thoughts altogether.

She rolled her eyes in pleasure as he trailed his tongue over each scar he could reach, placing tender kisses over them all, accepting them into himself as Theode cried tears of joy. To think it would be this overwhelmingly satisfying to be touched by the man you loved! "I-I love you so much," she confessed as he reached her underwear, making her squirm with his hot breath by the thin cloth that protected her innermost part from view.

"So do I, my love," he replied, pulling down the underwear with one hand, kissing her pubes right after. "So do I."

Theode let out a tiny 'eek' once Xander's tongue rolled around her labia, making her squeeze his hair under her strong nails as her body pleaded for him and only him. "I, ah-" she bit her lower lip lest she let her voice out too much, but it only spurred Xander's actions more.

He licked his way back onto her bosom, then towards her neck and finally lips, using one hand to free his erection and prod it at her vaginal opening. "Bit my shoulder if it hurts and I shall stop." He positioned her between himself, kissing her temple as he slowly slid himself into her -- being welcomed by her moist, hot and pulsating insides.

"Xand-ah..." Theode squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into his back, to mark him for eternity as he slid it all in, until their crotches were touching.

"Theode, oh, my love..." He bemoaned as he felt her welcoming insides twitched around him, wanting him to never leave. Little by little did he pull it out, forcing Theode to feel the void he left behind in his wake before filling it back up again -- faster and faster with each thrust, making her entire being melt to welcome his full might.

"Ahn-it- ah..." Unable to voice coherent thoughts, Theode felt herself closing in around him sooner than one would expect -- being her first time and all -- but Xander welcomed the experience, kissing her deeply so she wouldn't let out her voice to anyone's ears but his.

He would love her until they didn't have any more strength in their bodies; he would kiss her until her lips turned numb.

He would make her the happiest woman for the one night, and leave with the ring lest she finds it once he's gone.

If the memory of this night remains with her until the last of her days, that will be the proof that part of Xander lived to see the peaceful times that followed his death.

And that was all he wanted.

#my writings #xander #fatesona #fire emblem fates #yuki's commissions #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay

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sareyen · 4 years

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Das Haus am See: The Lake House Cherik AU (Part 1/3)

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A Lake House Cherik AU: Charles and Erik both lived in the lake house, Charles in 2017, and Erik in 2019. By magic or fate, the two find out that the house’s letter box is able to send letters through time - and, in doing so, the two fall in love despite living in two different years. They vow to meet in the future, but fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Chapter 1

Erik grunted as he hauled the last of his boxes into the back of his car, cursing under his breath when the boot struggled to close. After some rearranging, Erik managed to fit all of his belongings into the back, grateful that he had never been the type to hoard.

Pulling out a pen and paper, Erik leaned on the boot of his car, quickly scrawling a concise note to the future tenant of the lakeside house overlooking Chautauqua Lake.

To the new tenant,

Welcome. As the previous tenant, I hope that you find everything to be in working order. I’ve filed my change of address with the post office, but their services are unreliable at best. If anything slips through, could you please forward my mail? My new address is below.

Thank you.

Also, the burn in the wall above the kitchen stove was there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. You can do whatever you want with that.

E. Lehnsherr.

Erik quickly folded the paper and shoved it into an envelope, licking the seal and sliding it into the slightly rusted red letterbox at the front of the house, flicking down the red flag on the box.

Erik took a moment to appreciate the house he has lived in for the past year and a half, corner of his mouth lifting. Erik took in the rustic red brick house with its blue-tiled roof, the white trimmed windows and flourishing green front lawn.

Early in the afternoon, the house was cast in a warm golden glow, light reflecting off the lake water in the distance. The house looked warm and lived in, a far cry from how it had looked when Erik had first moved in; barren, with wilting plants in pots hanging on the porch, grass yellowing, dust collecting on every antique piece of furniture inside it.

When Erik had first moved in, the lake house had been cold and barren, much like Erik himself. Erik had moved into the house a year and a half ago after everything with Magda had crumbled to pieces, the multiple miscarriages taking their toll and culminating in a messy divorce. Erik had felt dead inside, moving out of the suffocating city and taking temporary leave from his job as an estate planning lawyer to take some time to gather himself in solitude.

Erik had not thought that he would become so attached to the lake house, which was almost 7 hours by road from the hustle and bustle of NYC. Living alone in tranquillity had made Erik remember his childhood in Germany with his parents, of happier and calmer times. The house had helped him heal, and even though memories of Magda still made his heart ache a little, Erik had learned to shoulder it.

Erik gazed at the house fondly for a moment longer, before turning around to his car packed full of his meagre things, ready to make the trip back to the city and the real world, leaving this little slice of serenity behind.

***

Charles pulled up to his holiday home on the Chautauqua lakefront in his car (or “Rust Bucket” as his dear sister, Raven, endearingly called it). It was beyond Raven’s comprehension as to why Charles, a successful novelist, didn’t go and by himself a new car when he could obviously afford it.

In the end, Charles was sentimental, and clung to things longer than he should. That probably stemmed from the fact that, as a child, he hadn’t had much to hold onto, very little to hold dear. His father had died when he was young, and his step-father was controlling and over-bearing, leaving Charles little in the way of worldly possessions.

But, Charles had been given the gift of heart and wit, and with that, he had built a career in prose. Inspired by his difficult childhood, Charles had created a book series about disenfranchised outcasts with special powers – outcasts that were as extraordinary as they were feared, beautiful but distrusted. Charles wrote about outcasts who could stand up for themselves, to cement their place in the world despite being beaten down at every corner, who would persevere even in the darkest of times.

The series spoke to anyone who had been alienated, who had been mocked for being different. It had become a platform on social commentary, on racism and homophobia, on class struggle and the inequalities that run rampant in the world.

The final book in the “X” tetralogy had been published only recently, and Charles’s fans were eager to find out if the New York Times best-selling author Francis Graymalkin was writing anything new.

Unfortunately, Charles had fallen into a writing slump – after concluding the X series, Charles found himself lost. The X series had consumed his life for the past decade, and now that it was finished, Charles did not know what to do. He had half-formed ideas rattling around in his head, but none that really inspired him.

It had been Raven’s idea to go and do some ‘soul-searching’, as she called it. Charles assumed she had gotten the idea from her current partner, a star-sign-abiding hippie who claimed that she could see the future. Apparently, Charles getting out of NYC would do him some good, and Charles had been inclined to agree – a change in scenery may be what he needed to find his writing inspiration again, and if not, he could at least get a holiday out of it.

It had been after Charles’s first ‘X’ novel had reached critical acclaim that he bought the lakeside house. He hadn’t really understood what had drawn him to it so much, but something in his mind screamed at him to buy it. It had been a charming house, two-storeys and made of red brick. It was a somewhat old house too, but looked well-loved and charmingly worn. Charles, who lived in well-loved and charmingly worn cardigans and enjoyed nothing more than curling up in a blanket with a cup of warm tea had been smitten by the quant property immediately.

Charles didn’t know how long he would live in this lakeside house for, since he didn’t know how long it would take him to complete a new novel. Getting out of his car, Charles didn’t begin unpacking just yet. It had been years since he’d been to the property and he had hired someone to maintain it, but he wanted to look at it for himself.

Charles unlocked the door and took a turn about the spacious house; warm wooden interior, large bay windows that overlooked the lake, antique furniture that looked both mismatched and fitting in the same breath. Charles smiled to himself, running his finger along a dark marble countertop in the kitchen, before opening the large doors to the back veranda by the lake.

“Home sweet home,” Charles murmured to nobody but himself and the lake, which rippled in response as a gust of wind brushed across it. Charles breathed in and out, before walking back to the front of the house.

It was then that he noticed the letterbox’s flag was tilted down, and Charles blinked curiously – no one had lived in the lake house ever since Charles bought it nine years ago, and he knew that the caretakers wouldn’t be sending mail out from his address.

Charles opened the letterbox then, and inside was a single letter in crisp white paper that looked too fresh to have been sitting there for a long time. Holding the letter in his hands, neat and heavy-handed lettering with ‘To the resident’ on the front, Charles glanced around.

He was alone, the secluded house still and quiet.

Charles walked plonked himself down some low stone walling lining the outside of the house, ripping open the letter with his finger.

“Previous tenant?” Charles read aloud, frowning. Unless this letter was from someone living there a decade ago, it had to be a prank, or a mistake. Charles read on, raising a brow about the kitchen burn marks and the box in the attic. When Charles had walked around the house moments earlier, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss in the kitchen, curiosity beginning to bubble in his stomach.

Jumping up with vigour, Charles clutched the letter tightly as he headed directly to the kitchen, inspecting the wall that was supposed to be singed. Charles inspected his kitchen carefully, but there were no burn marks to be seen anywhere.

“A prank?” Charles mused to himself, looking back at the letter. “Box in the attic?”

Charles checked there too, but all he found there were cobwebs and dust, making him sneeze. Climbing back down from the attic, Charles chuckled at his fanciful beliefs. This E. Lehnsherr was either a jokester, or awfully confused.

Charles quickly threw the letter onto the kitchen table, not thinking too much about it, too busy moving his things in and unpacking the rest when the movers came – he always had a lot of things, never being able to let the things he treasured go.

***

It was a two weeks later that it happened.

Charles had never had the most skill in the kitchen, a simple stir-fry the extent of his culinary expertise. Today, he had been particularly scatterbrained, frustrated by his lack of creativity and being stuck writing the same three paragraphs over and over, not feeling inspired in the slightest. To top it off, Charles hadn’t slept particularly well – the nightmares of his childhood had tempered with age, but every now and then, they would make his nights hell.

Half asleep and dazed, Charles had taken his eye off his saucepan, the flames catching on some of his food and bursting upwards in a roaring flame. Charles squeaked, quickly turning off the burner and tugging the saucepan off the heat, singing his finger in the process. Charles hissed, jamming his finger under cold water as the flames died down.

Looking glumly at his smoky-borderline-charcoal dinner, Charles suddenly realised that the wall was burned.

‘Also, the burn in the wall above the kitchen stove was there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. You can do whatever you want with that.’

“Impossible,” Charles whispered to himself, hastily turning off the tap, charred dinner forgotten. Charles stumbled over to his kitchen table that had become covered with paper, books and empty tea-cups, rummaging around for the letter he had haphazardly thrown there weeks ago. Under a water bill and his worn copy of Jane Eyre, Charles found the letter from E. Lehnsherr.

Coincidence?

Or fate?

Raven’s hippie girlfriend would definitely say fate, that it was written in the stars or in her tea leaves.

Whether it was mere coincidence or true, divine fate, Charles deemed that he should at least respond to the letter, considering E. Lehnsherr had left his new address. Scrounging up a pen from a pocket in his cardigan and ripping out some paper from the leather-bound notebook he always carried around, Charles wrote back.

January 21st, 2017

Dear Mr/Ms Lehnsherr,

I received your letter, but I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I purchased this lake house nine years ago and have never rented it out in that time, leaving it empty for all of these years. Perhaps your letter was meant for the Sandburg cottage down the shore, since that, to my knowledge, has been unoccupied for years.

More importantly, I am curious about the supposed burn marks in the kitchen, for when I moved in the wall was pristine. Just moments ago, however, I was attempting to make a chicken stir-fry and singed the wall above the stove, just as your letter had said. How could you know about that, when it only just happened?

Kindest regards,

C. F. Xavier

Charles smiled at the letter, before carefully folding it up and sliding it into an envelope, placing it back into the letterbox and flicking the flag down.

Suddenly, he felt the urge to write. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he would write about, but it would stem from a mysterious letter from a man that seemed to know about things before they happened.

***

“Getting back into the swing of things, Sugar?” Emma asked as she slid into the chair opposite Erik in the breakroom, nursing an expensive cappuccino from the luxurious company coffee machine. Erik fiddled with his own plain black coffee, snorting.

“Estate law isn’t rocket science, Emma,” Erik said offhandedly, Emma chuckling as she flicked her long blonde hair off her shoulder, smoothing her crisp white silk blouse.

“Yes, but you’ve been out of action for almost two years. It would be normal to be a little rusty,” Emma replied, Erik shrugging. “And with your own experience, sometimes estate planning law can be… emotional.”

Erik gave Emma a warning glance, his co-worker encroaching on dangerous territory. Emma just smiled at him coolly, unfazed by his cutting gaze. Even though Erik was notoriously private and solitary by nature, people knew about his troubled marriage and the reason for his brief leave from work. Though Erik was no divorce lawyer, managing wills and estates after someone’s death had hit a bit too close to home, and even now, people walked around him on eggshells.

“It’s fine, Emma,” Erik responded, the woman humming as she sipped on her cappuccino. “It’s just numbers and law, nothing more.”

“Hm, heartless as always, Sugar,” Emma chuckled, getting up and patting Erik’s shoulder. “Seems like you have gone back to your usual self after your little retreat. Congratulations.”

Erik rolled his eyes, not feeling like he should be congratulated at all. He had always been somewhat emotionally detached – not emotionless, because Erik felt. Has felt. He loved Magda, greatly, and he had hurt when he lost her. He had also known hurt after all of their miscarriages, after the deaths of his parents. Erik, at this point, was used to loss.

That’s why estate planning law was, at times, hard – dealing with the affairs of those recently deceased and looking into the eyes of their mourning relatives, Erik could relate. After losing Magda, Erik had needed a break, to rebuild the walls around his heart.

And he had rebuilt them, or so he thought.

When Erik returned to his office after his break, he found his boss, Sebastian Shaw, waiting for him.

“Ah, Lehnsherr, there you are,” Shaw said, thin lips pulling back in a grin. Erik was not overly fond of his boss, who was too cut-throat at times, but that made him damn good lawyer. It was from him that Erik learnt to push clients and their opposition to get the most that they could, but a part of Erik could never quite meet Shaw’s callousness.

“What is it?” Erik asked, voice clipped. Shaw just grinned at Erik’s brusque tone, eyeing his best lawyer carefully.

“I know it’s only been a short time since you’ve been back working with us, but you were always my best. Our services have been requested to manage to estate of a high-profile client,” Shaw said, Erik’s eyes narrowing.

“If you’re coming to me with this, it must be a big client,” Erik said carefully, Shaw chuckling.

“Quick, as always. Yes, it is a big client. Do you know the author, Francis Graymalkin?”

“Author of the X tetralogy?” Erik asked slowly, heart thundering. Shaw nodded, and Erik frowned, heart squeezing. “He died around two years ago, though.”

Erik was a huge fan of Francis Graymalkin’s work, having read the first novel in the famous X series, ‘First Class’, just after it had been released. At that point, the book hadn’t gained the traction and fame it was now renowned for, but it had spoken to Erik deeply. Francis Graymalkin’s words were full of soul, witty at times, startlingly emotional at others. Through Francis Graymalkin’s words, Erik could feel his character’s pain and their elation, and though the political and social commentary was oftentimes naïve and pacifistic, Francis Graymalkin always made sure to touch on all sides of an argument. While he clearly lauded the integrationist perspective in his novels, he did not discount the separatist standpoint that one of his characters, Magneto, championed.

Francis Graymalkin’s work helped Erik through the pain of his mother’s death, which occurred a few months before the release of the second novel, which saw the characters persevering through a dismal future even when all hope seemed lost. The fourth book was what helped Erik get through the mess with Magda – ‘Phoenix’ touched on the loss of a character that the protagonist considered a daughter and the ramifications of that. The book ended on a note of hope, which Erik clung to.

Francis Graymalkin was notoriously private, not showing his face once, though he had penned numerous interviews over the years. Erik read every one of them, finding the man intriguing, sometimes snorting at his political views that so often contradicted Erik’s own but were so thoughtfully explained that Erik couldn’t discredit them at all. Even though Erik had never met Francis Graymalkin, nor had he ever seen the man’s face, the author had done more for Erik than anyone else before.

Erik had heard that the author had begun writing a new novel, and that he had been in the final stages of completing it before he died. Erik had been eager to read it, even if Francis Graymalkin said that it was vastly different from his previous work – a romance novel, of sorts, apparently. Sadly, reading it was now a dream that would be left unfulfilled, because Francis Graymalkin was dead, his story left unfinished.

“Yes, from memory it was a car accident two years ago. I think this it’ll be two years to the day in a month,” Shaw said, sounding cold and detached. Erik swallowed thickly, angry that the life of someone so inspirational had been snuffed out just like that by a simple hunk of moving metal. “Some new things have come to light in the man’s will. To put it short, a family squabble has erupted, and the man’s sister has hired our services. Since this is a high-profile case involving millions, I need you to take over the cases I’m currently working. I’m going to need to pour all of my effort into the Graymalkin estate proceedings.”

Erik wasn’t surprised that Shaw was hogging the Graymalkin estate, because Erik would’ve done the same if he were in Shaw’s shoes, though for entirely different reasons. Shaw liked high-profile, lucrative work, but Erik just wanted to see the affairs of one of his favourite authors realised as he willed it.

But, Shaw was his boss, and he had no reason to contest the man’s plan, not when his argument solely hinged on being a fan of Francis Graymalkin’s novels.

“Fine,” was all Erik said, Shaw clapping his hands together once, satisfied.

“Excellent! I’ll send you the details of the estates I’m settling after my meeting with Francis Graymalkin’s sister,” Shaw said, leaving Erik’s office with little else.

Erik sighed, suddenly feeling a lot more drained, and counted down the hours until he could go home. Erik suddenly felt the urge to just curl up in bed and read one of Francis Graymalkin’s novels. Remember the man’s death struck something in the German man, and it was almost funny how Erik immediately sought comfort in the dead man’s own books.

***

When Erik went home, he realised that his copies of Francis Graymalkin’s books were nowhere to be found. They weren’t in any of the half-unpacked boxes he had pushed against the walls of his newly built apartment, they weren’t in his bookshelf stacked with law tomes and other novels, and they weren’t anywhere in his car.

“Shit,” Erik muttered, shower-damp hair dripping down the back of his bare neck as he padded around his apartment, the smell of fresh paint still making his head spin a little despite airing out the room the day he moved in.

If the books weren’t here in his new apartment, they had to be at the lake house. Considering Erik drove straight from there to his new abode in NYC, that was the only logical option.

So, it was on that weekend, that Erik made the seven-hour (or six, at the speed Erik drove), trip back to the Chautauqua lake house.

Erik could have easily bought the series anew at a bookstore, but something about that idea irked him – his copies were well-read, dog-eared in spots, coffee stains dropped on some pages. The spines of the paperbacks were worn, and the covers faded, but they were familiar under the pads of Erik’s fingers, and reminded him of hours spent reading and coming alive through Francis Graymalkin’s words.

Erik wasn’t often sentimental, but Francis Graymalkin tended to stir up unfamiliar feelings in Erik’s soul.

Erik had contacted the real estate agency managing the property, who temporarily returned his keys to let him gather his final things – since Erik left a few weeks ago, only the young lady that apparently owned it had come here, but that things were in contention since there was some sort of dispute regarding the property’s true owner. Erik didn’t inquire too much about it, wanting to gather his books and make the drive home, not keen to spend more than a day on the road.

Erik found the box he had missed behind the couch, which had since been covered up with white cloth. The house seemed duller and emptier without inhabitants, and for some reason, it felt like the building was holding its breath. Waiting.

For what, Erik didn’t quite know.

Erik gave the house a silent farewell for a second time, loading the single box of books into his backseat. As he was getting into the car, Erik noticed the letter box’s flag was up, signifying that mail had been delivered. Considering Erik was the house’s last tenant, he cursed the post office’s shoddy work at listening to his change of address notice, getting back out of his car and trudging over to the metal contraption.

Opening it, Erik found a few bills that had slipped through his change of address notice, and some junk mail that he swiftly ignored. Erik was about to close the letterbox when he noticed a letter beneath a flyer for a local pizza shop – it was not the letter Erik had left there two weeks ago, and strangely, it was addressed to him.

‘To E. Lehnsherr,’ was printed on the front in elegant cursive, and Erik picked it up.

“What the hell?” Erik muttered, tucking his bills under his arm and ripping open the letter, grey eyes running from side to side as he read it, brow creasing. Then, Erik scoffed. Though its author was eloquent and polite, they seemed to be confused – an older individual, with dementia, perhaps. The letter was dated February 9th, 2017 – but, as Erik checked again, it was currently Saturday the 9th of February, 2019.

To be stuck two years in the past, this C. F. Xavier was either an idiot, or a poor, lost soul.

Even more ridiculous was the fact that this person (whom Erik assumed to be the lake house’s contentious female owner the real estate agent had mentioned visiting) thought that no one lived here, when Erik had literally moved out two weeks ago. C. F. Xavier must be confused, and Erik felt that he needed to correct the person, or at least give them a healthy dose of reality.

Erik walked back to his car, opening the box of books in his backseat to find some paper to write on. Erik found an old notebook, ripping out an empty back page before scribbling down a response to C. F. Xavier.

February 9th, 2019

Dear Ms Xavier,

I am familiar with the cottage that you mentioned, and I assure you that I did not mistake my own address. Unfortunately, you seem to be confused – I’ve lived at this lake house for almost two years, and have since moved to ---, NYC. It would be great if you could forward my mail to this address if you receive any.

And, by the way, it’s 2019. It has been all year – ask anyone.

Erik

Erik may have been a little aggressive by underlining 2019 so heavily, but he didn’t care too much, folding the letter inside the empty letterbox and flicking down the flag.

Walking back to his car, Erik suddenly heard the squeak of metal behind him, turning with a slightly startled jump.

The letter box’s flag was up.

Erik’s eyes darted around his surroundings, trying to look for the prankster, but it was quiet.

Then, the flag jerked itself down without a hand touching it.

Erik’s heart hammered, his long legs surging forward and his hands ripping open the letter box. The folded letter he had just placed in there had disappeared, and something else had replaced it. It was from the same paper C. F. Xavier’s initial note had been written on, and on it was the same refined cursive scrawl.

He had just received a reply from C. F. Xavier, a C. F. Xavier who was nowhere to be seen.

***

Charles almost screamed when he saw the flag move itself, blue eyes staring at the metal letterbox with a mixture of fear and rapture. Charles nibbled on the end of his pen, unblinking, waiting for the phantom to move the letterbox again.

“Come on, my friend…” Charles goaded the lake house phantom, gasping when, after a long, laborious length of time, the flag shoved itself down. “Good God.”

Charles opened the letterbox, and found that the paper he had placed face down only about five minutes ago was now face up, with E. Lehnsherr’s – Erik’s – distinct scrawl beneath Charles’s own lettering. Charles couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and giddy, reading the mysterious letter with excitement.

February 4th, 2017

Dear Erik,

My friend, I’m not sure about you, but it is the year 2017 where I am. You told me to ask anyone, and I did – I texted my sister and my friends, and they all assure me that it is indeed 2017.

While our incongruous dates are confounding, I am more intrigued as to how you are responding to me. I am not well-versed in practical jokes or magic, so may I ask, how are you doing this?

Yours,

Charles

P.S. I’m not sure what lead you to believe that I am Ms. Xavier, but I am usually addressed as Mr. Xavier. However, please just address me as Charles.

Charles,

I am as confused as you are – if anyone is the magician, it’s you. I’ve been watching this letterbox, and no one has touched it.

Erik

P.S. The real estate agent said that this property was owned by a woman. I didn’t mean to offend you, nor assume your gender.

Charles blinked, swallowing deeply. This was…

Amazing.

Charles sucked in a breath, planting himself on the grass in front of the letterbox, ripping a new piece of paper from his notebook and writing with fervour.

Erik,

Don’t worry, you did not offend me in the slightest, and even if you did, I’m rather pre-occupied worrying about the fact that we can even have this conversation.

My mind is fanciful by nature, and I can think of a few different scenarios that read like fiction – but, with what is happening, fiction seems to be our new reality. Since you are adamant that you are living in 2019, and I am even more sure that it is currently 2017, I’d wager that this letterbox is some sort of time-travelling device.

Either that, or I am going insane. Please tell me that I am not alone in my insanity, my friend.

Charles

Charles placed the letter in the letterbox, flicked the flag, and waited.

He did not have to wait long for a response.

***

Charles,

It seems that you aren’t alone in your insanity. But, I think I am more insane for thinking that your illogical logic is… logical. In case you are still in disbelief, I have a coin minted in 2018 – not 2019, but futuristic enough.

Erik

Erik grinned down at his response, pulling out a 2018 dime from his pocket and placing it atop the letter. Erik willed in his heart for the coin to be sent through smoothly, not sure about the limitations of this time-travelling device in the shape of a letter box. Erik waited for Charles’s response eagerly.

He, too, did not wait long.

***

Erik,

A dime from the future – how much do you think it would go for on the market? Some coin collectors can be positively rabid.

I joke, though. Erik, this is amazing. Whatever physics are at work here, I can’t even begin to explain it – I may have a degree in biophysics, amongst other things, but my knowledge on time travel tells me that the very concept is a myth. Science fiction. I’m not sure what I could send you to prove that I am indeed from the past, but it seems like you believe me thus far.

Here is a biscuit that’s expiring soon – in March 2017, to be precise. So, about a month from now (my time).

Charles

Before sending the letter, Charles had pat himself down, trying to think of something to give Erik but coming up empty – everything Charles had could be easily procured in the future. Still, Charles felt like he should send Erik something – in the end, he placed a plastic-wrapped biscuit alongside his letter, flicking down the flag as he held Erik’s 2018-minted dime in his palm, the metal warm.

***

Charles,

I’m sure you would be called a fraud if you tried to sell a dime from the future. Frankly, I think I would be the only person who would believe you.

And Charles, in your opinion, would the biscuit be safe to consume? Technically, two years haven’t passed in the biscuit’s lifetime.

Erik

***

Erik,

If I met you now, you wouldn’t believe me any way – because, for you, this conversation hasn’t even happened yet.

And that is marvellous to think about, isn’t it? Positively groovy. Also, please try the biscuit – if you become ill, let me know.

Charles

Erik let out a choked laugh, eyeing the biscuit he had left sitting atop the letter box. The thought that Charles had procured it and thoughtfully given it to Erik made something churn in the German’s belly. Whether that was a side effect of the strange warmth spreading in his chest or because his stomach pre-empted the food poisoning the expired-but-unexpired biscuit would give him, Erik couldn’t tell.

Still, Erik opened the plastic packaging, swallowing down the biscuit in two bites.

It was sweet.

***

Groovy? Really, Charles? How old are you?

I had pegged you for a senile old man at first, since you seemed to be stuck two years in the past – I think you just confirmed my suspicions.

(And the biscuit was delicious.)

***

Charles snorted at Erik’s response, not feeling offended but elated instead – Charles’s heart was thumping wildly, lurching ever time the letter box would rattle. Charles couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face as he hastily penned a reply to his new friend.

A senile old man? You wound me, Erik!

And I’m 31. So, in your time, I would be 33. But, since you’ve made fun of me for my age, how old are you then? Twelve?

***

Almost. Triple it.

***

You’re 36 in 2019, then? So, you’d be a youthful 34-year-old right now.

***

Congratulations, Charles. You can do math.

Erik chuckled to himself, licking his lips as he sent the snarky and teasing response.

How long had it been, since Erik could speak with someone so easily? So naturally?

It had been a long time – maybe ever since Magda?

Or maybe even before that?

***

This infantile mocking is why I thought you were 12, Erik. But I do apologise – I shouldn’t make fun of my elders.

Charles wasn’t sure if he was teasing or flirting now – maybe a mixture of both. But, God, talking to Erik lit something inside Charles that had been dormant for a long time.

***

Who’s the child now? Are you sure you’re not in elementary school still, Charles?

***

I graduated from high-school when I was 16, actually. So, no, I am far from being in elementary school, my friend. Unfortunate, because I think we could have become great friends in the playground, considering we are both apparently 12-years-old.

***

I have no doubt about that, Charles.

But, you mentioned that you have a degree in biophysics?

***

Well, a PhD in biophysics, to be precise.

Erik’s eyebrows went up when he read Charles’s response. The man had sounded educated in his responses, but this was impressive. Charles was an intellectual, and that was something Erik appreciated. Still, he felt the need to tease the (slightly) younger man.

***

Are you bragging?

***

No, my friend. If I were bragging, I’d tell you about my other PhDs in genetics, anthropology and psychology. Oh, and my meagre Bachelor’s degree in English.

Erik choked when he read Charles’s reply, grey eyes bulging. Gott, Charles was a genius. Was he even real?

Time travelling was one thing, but someone like Charles Xavier – funny, intelligent, cheeky Charles Xavier – existing?

Erik could hardly believe it.

***

So, you’re a 12-year-old child genius then?

***

You’re the one who said it, my friend. Not me.

What about you? What did 12-year-old you grow up to become?

Charles wanted to know more about this man who lived in the future – sure, Charles was curious about other things about the future unknown to him, like world events, new technologies, political intrigue – but more than that, he wanted to know about the man who lived in it.

A man that, in what was a handful of minutes that spanned two years, Charles felt bound to.

Raven’s girlfriend was, maybe, right about something.

***

A lawyer, specialising in estate planning law. No PhDs here, so I have nothing to brag about.

***

You’re selling yourself short, Erik. I’d wager that it isn’t easy becoming a lawyer, having to pass the bar amongst other things. Not to mention the fact that your job involves professional arguing – I enjoy a good debate myself, but I could never become a lawyer.

Erik smiled at that. He could feel that Charles’s words were genuine and spoken from the heart. There was something about the way he wrote that made it seem like he bore his heart on the page, something that Erik had always struggled with.

But, talking to Charles like this, Erik felt lighter.

***

And I could never complete 4 PhDs. Oh, and a bachelors in writing – how could I forget?

***

Why do I feel like you’re mocking me again, my friend?

***

Because I am.

***

Hmph – that’s the noise I made just then. It’s a shame that you can’t hear it in person.

And God, Charles wanted to hear Erik’s voice. To speak with him – but sadly, he was two years too early.

***

What if I could?

Erik’s heart hammered – Gott, he wanted to hear Charles’s voice. He wondered if Charles’s voice would match his gentle, elegant cursive. If it did, he imagined Charles to be soft-spoken, maybe with a posh accent. For some reason that seemed to match Charles’s written voice well. But, from what Erik could tell, Charles had a mischievous streak – the man was surprising, in every way.

***

What do you mean?

***

What if I called you, in my time?

Charles almost dropped his pen when he read Erik’s words, eyes widening to blue saucers.

***

You mean, in the future?

***

That’s another way of saying it.

***

Very well, I’ll bite. Here’s my number: XX XXXX XXXX

Call me.

Erik found himself breathless all of a sudden, staring at the string of numbers.

Charles’s number.

Erik hadn’t felt like this since he was actually 12-years-old.

***

Is this how you give people your number in bars, Charles?

“Are you flirting with me, Erik?” Charles asked himself incredulously, though his cheeks coloured.

‘God, I hope you’re flirting with me, my friend.’

***

No, usually I just skip that step and take them home.

But enough stalling, Erik – have you called future me yet?

Erik couldn’t help the surprised laugh that erupted from his throat. Charles, Charles, Charles.

***

Not yet – Charles, I will call you at precisely 3:05pm on Monday, the 9th of February 2019. Which, for me, is a minute from now.

“I’ll be waiting,” Charles vowed to no one but himself, wondering where he would be in two years, waiting for Erik to call. Would he be back home in NYC, tucked away in his office? Or would he be at his publisher’s, excusing himself from a meeting with his editor, Moira MacTaggert, to answer Erik’s impending call in private?

Or, maybe, Charles would have tried to surprise Erik. Charles could surprise him by showing up at the lake house, since he knew that Erik was there, right now.

Why hadn’t Charles done that already?

***

Alright. I’ll be waiting for your call, Erik.

Erik’s hands were shaking as he dialled Charles’s number, double and triple checking to make sure the digits were correct.

He pressed call.

The phone rang for a few beats, and then a few more, and then for many, many more. Eventually, the robotic female voice told Erik that Charles did not pick up, and Erik’s heart fell, disappointment flooding him over a man two years away.

Erik didn’t know what to do, and ten minutes passed – there hadn’t been this much of a lag between their sent letters, and Erik was surprised when the letter box flag jerked up and then down.

Erik hastily checked it, pocketing his phone once again.

Have you called future me yet, my friend?

***

I did – you didn’t pick up, you asshole.

Charles frowned. He hadn’t picked up? Why hadn’t he picked up?

Future Charles, you idiot.

***

Well. I’m disappointed in future me. Something must have held me up. I do apologise, my friend. Please believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to answer your call.

Gosh, I’m making excuses for a me that doesn’t exist yet.

But, please, Erik – trust me when I say that I am very sorry.

***

Erik sighed, reading Charles’s message over and over. He did seem awfully apologetic, and maybe he was right – even though this was now for Erik, for Charles it was two years in the future. Many things could’ve changed for the man in that time. He could have simply forgotten, he may have moved countries and changed time zones, or maybe, knowing Charles, he overworked himself getting a 5th PhD and was passed out over his desk.

Erik noticed that the sky was beginning to glow orange, sunset approaching, cursing under his breath. If he didn’t start driving home now, it would be well past midnight by the time he got back to his apartment.

No apologies needed, Charles. Two years is a long time, and I’m sure you were just busy – working on your 5th PhD, perhaps?

And, sadly, I have to leave now – I was only here to pick up some books that I had left behind. I’ve got to drive back to NYC now.

***

Charles read Erik’s letter, frowning. Was this it, then?

Charles didn’t want this to be it.

Oh, that’s sad news, my friend – this conversation with you, no matter how brief, has meant more to me than you know. I’m not sure what magic is at work here, but I will be here in a week’s time. I would very much like to speak to you again, Erik, if you wanted.

Charles waited with bated breath, hands pressed together tightly as he eyed the letter box flag.

Up.

Down.

Charles opened the letter box, surprised to find Erik’s letter wedged between the pages of a worn book – The Once and Future King.

I’d also like to speak with you again – this… means a lot to me, too. I hate to leave so soon, but I’ll give you this to help pass the time before I can return. It’s my favourite novel – considering you have a bachelors in English, you may have already read it, but still.

Until next week, Charles.

Charles laughed, fingering the pages of the book before dropping his forehead to its cover, breathing in the smell of old pages and something like cologne.

Erik’s cologne.

“I’ll be waiting, my friend,” Charles whispered, getting up and walking back into the lake house, not waiting a moment before going into the study and booting up his laptop, which was open to the novel he had begun working on when he had first received a reply from Erik.

“Days of Future Past – by Francis Graymalkin”.

Next chapter (2/3) →

#cherik #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #x-men #x-men fic #the lake house #au #marvel #james mcavoy #Michael Fassbender #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #professor x #magneto #time travel

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jeffarea53 · 2 years

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Caterers And Catering Companies

Again, whether or not you alternative buffet or plated, full-service catering means there shall be staff there to assist. From serving the buffet line to plated table service, we’re here to serve! Catering firms will provide your occasion with the correct quantity of skilled staffing to make sure your guests the most effective experience. We use a combination of highly experienced workers, recent delicacies, and environmentally acutely aware practices to supply you and your visitors with exceptional catering service, each time. ÉNFD is a premium and bespoke caterer based mostly in Penang, Malaysia. We present complete food & beverages catering options to both corporate and private events. Preparing or planning meals for an event should be left to the professionals. Catering isn't any straightforward task and shouldn’t be expected to be carried out by anybody who hasn’t done it earlier than. We purpose to please our shoppers, and to that finish, we’ll incorporate scrumptious objects into each menu that can make any event an particularly memorable gathering thanks to the food decisions present! Even essentially the most crucial foodies will appreciate the menus we create and the dishes we prepare. When you hire an expert catering service to deal with the culinary portion of your special occasion, you open up an entire new world of possibilities! You can guarantee there’s something scrumptious for everybody, including these in your celebration who could have dietary preferences and restrictions. A suitable contender will keep transparency on the order form. The caterer with a nice exposure to a series of posh events will keep an interactively rich order type. Check how the order form addresses the feasibilities frequent in a corporate/celebratory occasion. Get Together Meals Recipes Take them to the subsequent stage by serving them on tiny glass dishes. Tomatoes and marinated contemporary mozzarella make up this traditional that your friends will be sure to enjoy. Make positive to consider investing in a great set of chafing dishes so you'll be able to set your finger foods out early and not fear about it. You can also try my post on the method to maintain meals warm in your subsequent party irrespective of how big or small. As 2018 comes to a detailed, I want you to understand how a lot I actually have come to rely on your recipes, and that I trust each new recipe you submit will be glorious. Your occasion may also be simpler with Ki's delightful service. We're certain you may find pricing very cheap as properly. Our extensive number of hors d’oeuvres and appetizers are the proper beginning to your catered eating expertise. Asian Chicken Dumplings - tender dumplings filled with veggies and rooster lightly pan fried and served with an Asian dipping sauce. Include a larger quantity of reasonably priced, heavier snacks like mini grilled cheese sandwiches, tortellini and sauce cups, or even objects like spinach puffs. Mexican, Indian, and Thai dishes are delicious and inexpensive. The examine might be returned to the consumer when the items have been picked up and inspected. Deviled eggs have such a sinister name, but they style like heaven! They’re good for all kinds of events, too. These mozzarella sticks are a breeze to make, too! This recipe makes use of string cheese instead of normal mozzarella. Croquettes are deep fried balls made from mashed potatoes and bacon with a melted cheese filling. When it comes to sinful treats, they definitely rank on top. Let’s be trustworthy, a celebration isn’t as fun with out some booze. And whilst 外燴 can’t go incorrect with beer and wine, you possibly can undoubtedly be more inventive. 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It can be utilized for take-out trays, containers, cups, pizza trays, and loaf pans. Foodservice packaging objects are also obtainable in recyclable, biodegradable and compostable materials. Karat® provides a wide array of high-quality and cost-effective disposable food and beverage products. Karat completes all your operational wants with cups, meals containers, utensils, and more. We deliver a dependable and dependable choice of supplies to assist hold your operations running smoothly and efficiently. Karat offers one of the industry’s fastest turnaround instances for custom-printed disposable items. When it involves providing disposable cups and containers, PFS Sales provides the high-quality merchandise you want at the prices that you love. In addition to paper or plastic plates and cups, we offer sizzling or cold beverage containers, souffle cups, foam carriers, and french fry containers on a wholesale basis. It can sometimes face up to temperatures between 32 degrees Fahrenheit and four hundred levels F. CPET is created from #1 plastic that has been crystallized to extend its temperature tolerance. If you can’t determine if the container is secure for the oven, contact your supplier earlier than using it in the oven to avoid possible injury and injury. Take-out and delivery skyrocketed when dine-in and social distancing restrictions had been put into place firstly of the pandemic. Plate Served Dinners A fresh skillet-baked chocolate chip cookie topped with Gifford’s of Maine creamy vanilla bean ice cream and a drizzle of chocolate sauce. A scrumptious burger produced from vegetation with all the flavor of a beef burger. Flame broiled and stacked on a brioche bun with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions and our signature sauce. Please order a Gluten Free roll and facet if Gluten Sensitive. Crispy buttermilk tabasco-breaded chicken breast drizzled with spicy Sriracha ranch sauce stacked with lettuce, tomato and pickles. Mozzarella cheese frivolously fried with a crispy, crunchy coating of parmesan-seasoned breadcrumbs. It was a night that ended in smiles and full bellies. BBQ ribs smoked & coated in our own special BBQ sauce. Certified Master Chef Sean Andrade is Executive Chef/Owner of AWG Private Chefs, named the #1 Private Chef firm in California. Chef Sean has worked in the restaurant and hospitality industries worldwide for greater than 25 years. Used sharp cheddar and plain greek yogurt rather than bitter cream. Was super yummy and Just what we would have liked on this chilly fall evening. It is completed with a topping of lump crab meat and Parmesan crisp. Salted cod fish, mixed with herbs, spices and chili pepper, deep fried until gentle, crispy and golden. Served with a cool cucumber mint dipping sauce. You might select to offer a three, four or five-course meal to your friends. Request a quote and we'll put together a menu with the service and rentals you'll need on your particular occasion. I used heavy cream as a substitute of half and half and I also did not add the sherry (I didn't have it within the house). PLEASE KNOW This listing is a work in progress and a labor of love! There are many restaurants to add and several hundred more recipes to record. Looking for a specific restaurant or recipe? Leave a comment and I'll add it sooner than later. About Us & Our Providers With massive groups, you wish to avoid the traces if at all attainable. Catering ideas for large groups can be a challenge due to extreme wait instances and meals that seemed higher five minutes in the past. Here are some suggestions for food and traffic that you can put into place on your large group. Alternate pancake, whipped cream, and strawberries or come up with your individual inventive concoction like pancake, peanut butter, and chocolate. We all know one donut gap is never sufficient so why not serve your guests a complete bunch skewered on a stick? For somewhat more healthy option alternate donuts with fruit. Cantrell has additionally labored with Atlanta-based organizations (Goodr is especially well-known in the city) to select up leftover food and redistribute it to homeless households. For catering pricing, the client should have a minimum order of 25 ppl. To guarantee availability, please order 30 days earlier than your event. Thorough cooking of such animal foods reduces the chance of sickness. Each shelf might comply with a theme and with loads of room within the center, you can incorporate a function piece too because the central a half of your construction. This is a shocking example of how one can combine food and décor for an attractive finish with out having to bust the budget. If you have been trying to find outside catering ideas, this does it. Everyone loves an excellent cooking show and watching a gorgeous meal whipped up earlier than your eyes is unquestionably an excellent stimulant for whetting the urge for food. Pro Suggestions For Booking Affordable Food Truck Catering For a little healthier choice alternate donuts with fruit. Cheese cubes are a staple at most occasions, and inevitably, if the pile is high enough, some runaway cheese hits the floor and get ground into the carpet. You can maintain that from happening by opting to a a lot more orderly show like this cheese star. Mirrored display stands have a mess of advantages, and they’re inexpensive. Skip the person cupcakes and canapes and serve your partygoers our big-batch chocolate cherry dump cake. The decadent dessert combines rich devil’s meals chocolate cake mix with cherry pie filling and whipped cream to create the last word end-of-the-night deal with to share with friends. Sanitizing all cooking stations, cookware, dishes, and utensils can be an important element to safe catering. It is important to make sure all skillets are clean and dry, and the rest that contributes to the preparation of food is checked. It’s great to have on the counter and as individuals get up breakfast is ready. I don’t normally put together baked potato however it seems very helpful within the celebration. Remember…even the best (and cheapest!) meals may be scrumptious and a crowd pleaser. Breakfast Sandwiches – Make a bunch of breakfast sandwiches. These are easy to make in an meeting line, so grab some helpers! Some allergic reactions and dietary requests could presumably be life-threatening. Take time to talk to the attendee and perceive the severity of any allergy symptoms. Making throughout the board changes may make things simpler and more value effective. What's Your Celebration Style? Plated Dinner He additionally adds cilantro pipian, a mayonnaise infused with cilantro and floor pumpkin seeds, to the breaded and fried corn puree, which is set with gelatin to help it retain its form. Plus, it is easy to vary flavors by stuffing dates with different components, too." All wedding ceremony packages are subject to a 18% service cost, 4% administrative charge and 7% gross sales tax. Combines heavy hors d’oeuvres with a few small pre-plated choices. Non-alcoholic drinks, classic, premium, and craft beers, wines, premium and top-shelf liquors, educated bartenders, complete setup and cleanup, glassware rental obtainable. Choose two signature sauces – Buffalo, Diablo, Jim Beam, or Peking Zing. Key to the success of buffet party catering food is to call tables one by one, rather than a free-for-all with all a hundred and fifty guests in line at once. Plated Sit-Down Style Reception - The most conventional and formal wedding ceremony reception style is not well suited for self-catered weddings. Plated sit-down dinners supply guests a quantity of programs , which is lots of food to organize. A three-course meal normally takes two hours to serve and be consumed. This can fluctuate depending on the amount of time required to serve, which is greater for bigger guest lists. Servers will normally wait seven to ten minutes after a course has been completed to deliver out the following course. Little perks like these add value to the expertise of hiring you and make guests happy even after the occasion is throughout. Picture small plates as a segway between conventional stations and a served dinner. A chef creates a wonderful presentation on a composed plate and units it out for your guests. Your visitors are going up to grab their plates as an alternative of being seated and served. Catering Meals Ideas For Events The sticks could be held in place with dried beans or florist foam. Everything seems extra stunning in ribbons and sandwiches are not any exception. They’re simple to grab, and the ribbon helps to maintain all of the contents throughout the bread as people take their alternatives from the display. Sandwiches don’t have to be two flat pieces of bread on both end of one thing. Instead, look for ways to enjoy the portability of a sandwich with out the boring predictability - like with these tapas. You have good little bowls the catering crew won’t have to clean afterward. There are double dippers, not getting enough dip and operating out, getting too much… all types of dip conundrums can occur. It’s much less concerning the drink and more about what you can get your attendees to place in it. From shrimp to sliders, make it an interactive contest for the most outrageous. Placing meals directly on silver or ceramic platters is kinda uninteresting. We have been preserving our delicious meals sizzling and warm from our kitchen to your occasion. My mom’s picky about the recipes she adds to her regular rotation, however this one made the cut. A handful of simple ingredients packs it with recent flavor. This vegan pasta salad is just pretty a lot as good as any I’ve had with meat or dairy. I love utilizing baby food jars or leftover tupperware to serve sauces and toppings. Wrap a cute ribbon around them, put a label on or subsequent to them, and there you go. These are the best instruments EVER for feeding a crowd. They save house, hold your food heat, and look good and skilled.

#外燴

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pramukhkitchens · 3 years

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Consider the L-shaped kitchen to be the crown jewel of modern kitchen layouts. It can display any design under the sun (contemporary, rustic, Asian). It doesn’t require a lot of space (it makes the most of its available legroom). It makes functions like cooking and cleaning much faster and easier.

And, given that every kitchen is, first and foremost, a working environment, these three advantages, as mentioned earlier, are all the more appealing!

As the name implies, an L-shaped kitchen is made up of two adjoining perpendicular walls that form an L layout. The cleanup zone in the kitchen (which may include the sink) is usually located on one arm of the L, while the appliances are located on the other. And it’s not just experienced Kitchen Planners who like the L-shaped option; countless homeowners, cooks, and everyone else who comes into daily touch with a kitchen are aware of its advantages.

Thus, whether you’re considering a kitchen remodel or looking for a new home, consider the many benefits that an L-shaped kitchen offers.

Check out the following points that motivate to go for L shaped modular kitchen:

1. They are ideal for open-plain areas.

As modern designs adopt open-floor layouts, L-shaped kitchens have become ever more common. Their adaptable nature gives the consumer more legroom for electronics, appliances, furnishings, and so on. Because of the L-shaped style, there is more space for walking and move around in the kitchen.

2. It elegantly divides the different fields.

We appreciate why you don’t want your food-preparation area to be the same as your laundry area. Fortunately, the L-shaped kitchen layout (similar to the U-shaped design) creates a more relaxed working space by effectively dividing your cooking area from your prepping and washing areas.

3. It will provide you with creative corner storage areas.

Since creative storage is often essential in every kitchen, the L-shaped layout excels once again, thanks to its ability to incorporate numerous innovative corner storage units. With functional storage space, one can maximize the use of a modular kitchen.

4. It guarantees a perfect work triangle.

Suppose your L-shaped kitchen is large or small. In that case, careful preparation will result in a fully functional work triangle (that is, your stove/oven, sink, and fridge will be arranged in a triangular configuration for more straightforward operation).

5. It reduces traffic flow.

The L-shaped kitchen is ideal for a guest-friendly and entertaining culinary space because it avoids traffic while providing enough working space for the chef (who can still enjoy interacting with guests).

If you have more rooms, your L-shaped kitchen can be treated to more countertops or a small dining zone, resulting in a more user-friendly cooking space.

6. It boosts efficiency.

There’s no reason why your productivity and cooking skills won’t reduce in your L-shaped kitchen, given that you have a cozy set up, are easily isolated from guests, and have an excellent work triangle at your disposal!

7. It is well suited for narrower spaces.

In fact, most kitchens are on the small side. And, since it only includes two adjacent walls, the L-shaped design will make your cooking room appear larger and more functional.

Conclusion

Renovating your dream kitchen is not as simple as it appears; you must first consider what is most important to you. You might have found those mentioned above seven advantageous points. Hopefully, this list of layouts and their benefits and drawbacks will help you understand more about your kitchen redesign needs. You can reach the advanced design architects to design the L-shaped kitchen according to your requirements.

https://www.pramukhkitchens.com/blog/get-maximum-benefits-of-l-shaped-kitchen-using-these-7-tips/

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scienceblogtumbler · 4 years

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Autonomous drones monitor penguin colony

Stanford University researcher Mac Schwager entered the world of penguin counting through a chance meeting at his sister-in-law’s wedding in June 2016. There, he learned that Annie Schmidt, a biologist at Point Blue Conservation Science, was seeking a better way to image a large penguin colony in Antarctica. Schwager, who is an assistant professor of aeronautics and astronautics, saw an opportunity to collaborate, given his work on controlling swarms of autonomous flying robots.

Farrin Abbott

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Stanford researchers discuss their multi-drone imaging system, which was tested in Antarctica to help survey colonies of approximately 1 million Adélie penguins.

That’s how, three-and-a-half years later, Schwager’s graduate student, Kunal Shah, found himself at the famous McMurdo Station, ready for the first Antarctic test flight of their new multi-drone imaging system, which coordinates the flight of multiple high-end autonomous drones – but can also work with hobby drones.

The project did not have an auspicious start. “My hands were freezing. The drone batteries were too cold to work. The drone remote control was too cold. My phone was too cold and was flashing warnings,” recalled Shah. “I just thought, ‘I’m down here for two-and-a-half months and this is day one.’ ”

Undeterred, Shah and his colleagues quickly adapted and their system, which is the subject of a paper published Oct. 28 in Science Robotics, repeatedly produced detailed visual surveys of approximately 300,000 nesting pairs of Adélie penguins over a 2-square-kilometer area at Cape Crozier – roughly equivalent to the size of the country of Monaco – and another smaller colony of about 3,000 nesting pairs at Cape Royds. Whereas previous human-piloted drone surveys of the Cape Crozier colony took two days, each round of the new survey, completed in collaboration with National Science Foundation (NSF) and U.S. Antarctic Program (USAP), was completed in about two-and-a-half hours, thanks to a route planning algorithm that coordinated two to four autonomous drones and prioritized efficient coverage of the colony.

“Just moving all of that equipment down to a remote site and being able to prepare it, field it and deploy it with nothing other than tents and a small warming hut at your disposal, that’s really phenomenal,” said Schwager, who is senior author of the paper but, to his disappointment, was not able to join the field team. “It really goes to show how practical autonomous robotic systems can be in remote environments.”

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Speed is essential

Aerial surveys of penguin colonies have been conducted before, usually with helicopters or a single drone. The helicopter method produces great image quality but is expensive, fuel-inefficient and risks disturbing the birds. The single drone survey is time-consuming and – because the drones must be launched from a safe distance, about five kilometers (three miles) from the colony – difficult to navigate. Another shortcoming of drones is that they must fly to, over and back from the colony with only 12-15 minutes of battery life. The continuous threat of sudden changes in flying conditions further adds to the importance of a fast survey.

Life in Antarctica

The field camp for this research consisted of four polar Scott-type tents (named for Antarctic explorer Robert Falcon Scott) and a warming hut, where cooking and equipment charging took place. There was a chore list, which included cleaning off the solar panels and gathering snow to melt for water. The researchers soon learned that they could not run the water heater while charging the drone batteries and that storing technology up high and food down low helped regulate the temperatures of those items. A highlight for Shah was cooking, which required some extra creativity due to the near-complete lack of fresh ingredients.

“I was born and raised in California, so not having an avocado for more than a day can be distressing,” joked Shah. “So, imagine not having one for three months.”

Still, Shah demonstrated his culinary skill by cooking a pizza and a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving – complete with penguin-themed decoration.

A close-up of the pumpkin pie that Shah made for Thanksgiving. (Image credit: Kunal Shah)

Living under the ever-present Antarctic summer sun and dealing with ice seeping through the edges of the tents was challenging, but Shah found the stark, secluded, setting uniquely moving.

“It’s this raw environment that’s completely disconnected from humanity and appreciating that on a deeper level was really nice,” said Shah. “Just being at this top of this hill, overlooking the penguins and seeing orcas in the background … you have this feeling of serenity and quiet that you really don’t get anywhere else. That was the most beautiful part of the whole experience.”

The use of multiple drones circumvents these challenges, and it was made possible by a unique route planning algorithm developed by the Stanford researchers. Given a survey space, the algorithm partitioned the space, assigned destination points to each drone and figured out how to move the drones through those points in the most efficient way, limiting backtracking and redundant travel. One crucial additional requirement was that each drone exit the space at the same place where it entered, which saves precious flight time. The algorithm also maintained a safe, constant, distance from the ground despite the changes in elevation, and had a tunable image overlap percentage to assure a complete survey. Unlike the back-and-forth action of a robotic vacuum, Schwager described the algorithm’s paths as “organic and spidery.”

“The process was quick. What had been just the algorithm’s squiggles on a screen the day before turned into a massive image of all the penguins in the colonies,” said Shah, who is lead author of the paper. “We could see people walking around the colonies and all the individual birds that were nesting and coming to and from the ocean. It was incredible.”

Eyes in the sky

The researchers envision other uses for their multi-drone system, such as traffic monitoring and tracking wildfires. They’ve already performed tests in some varied settings. They have flown over a large ranch in Marin, California, to assess the vegetation available for livestock grazing.

They also took their drones out to Mono Lake near the California-Nevada border to survey the California gull population that lives near Paoha Island in the lake’s center. Like Antarctica, the Mono Lake test had its own challenges – the birds were smaller, the researchers had to boat out to the site before releasing the drones and there was a risk of losing drones in the water (which, fortunately, did not happen).

The researchers testing their multi-drone system by surveying the California gulls at Mono Lake. (Image credit: Kunal Shah)

For their part, the penguin biologists remain focused on measuring population size, birth rates and nesting density and will conduct a second round of penguin observation this year. Due to the pandemic, however, the Point Blue Conservation Science team will be on their own this time.

Thinking about the big picture – in the figurative sense – the researchers hope their system stands as evidence for the positive potential of autonomous robots and systems.

“Humans could never leap into the sky and count 300,000 penguins or track a forest fire,” said Schwager. “I think that teams of autonomous robots can really be powerful in helping us manage our changing world, our changing environment, at a scale that we never could before.”

source https://scienceblog.com/519289/autonomous-drones-monitor-penguin-colony/

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asfeedin · 4 years

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“Let the Hate Flow Through You”: Cooking Tasks That Fill Us With Dread

[Photographs: Vicky Wasik unless otherwise noted]

It should come as no surprise to any of our readers that everyone on the Serious Eats staff loves to cook. Many of us are even die-hard defenders of the proposition that anything homemade is preferable to store-bought, from English muffins and cake (bye, Betty Crocker!) to even condiments like mayonnaise and chili crisp, where the store-bought versions are totally fine to use.

That doesn’t mean we all love everything about cooking! Some kitchen tasks are incredibly annoying. Washing spinach? Picking thyme leaves? Touching corn starch? Yup, all of those are bad. Usually, we’d say about such tasks, “Life’s too short. No one has time for that.” And yet, now, for all of us, everywhere, cooking more of our meals at home, we all do, in fact, have time for even the most-time-consuming kitchen chores. But that doesn’t mean we have to like them any better than in the time before coronavirus.

We asked our staff to identify one thing they hate to do in the kitchen above all others, and their answers are included below, from peeling garlic and deveining shrimp to “baking” (nice one, Niki!). We found talking about the cooking activities we hate to be cathartic, so if you’d like to take a minute out of your day and gripe about anything kitchen-related—for fun, for your mental health, or just because making chicken cutlets really does blow chunks—say it loud and say it proud in the comments.

So Much Hand-Washing

Cooking and baking are inherently messy activities that require thoughtful cleaning and prepping to mitigate the risks of cross contamination and food-borne illnesses. Now that hand-washing is finally getting the attention it deserves inside and outside of the kitchen, I feel some shame in admitting that it is not my favorite task. Please don’t report me to the CDC! I still practice it carefully as needed! You can still come over for dinner when social distancing is over! I just have painful eczema on my hands, which is exacerbated by soap and hot water.

I try to obsessively plan out my kitchen tasks to reduce hand washing. That means prepping in order from the cleanest to dirtiest ingredient, dry to wet, water-based to oil-based. There is a special type of dread that comes when both of my hands are greasy, sticky, and unusable. My personal purgatory would involve dredging fried chicken while the oven timer goes off, my phone with the recipe on it goes to sleep, and the doorbell rings at the same time. —Maggie Lee, designer

Bones to Pick

The only two single-use tools I own are a cherry pitter and fish tweezers, for deboning fish. Pitting cherries is a tedious task, but at least you get to eat cherries as you work. Deboning fish is grunt work. When I can’t get my fishmonger to do it, I have to dig through my utensil drawer to find the oddly shaped tweezers. Though plucking each pin bone out of fish fillets offers some gratification, not unlike plucking an errant eyebrow hair, it’s an annoying layer of prep work that gets in the way of cooking. It’s not satisfying like chopping or dicing, it’s not a skill that I seem to get better or faster at, and it’s something that, if you forget to do it, markedly decreases the enjoyment of the meal. I hate it! —Daniela Galarza, features editor

Garlic Prep

This most mundane of tasks is the one I can’t stand the most. Not because it’s particularly difficult, but because it’s a daily nuisance. There’s hardly a recipe that doesn’t require fiddling with garlic’s papery skins, and of course garlic is wonderful so I’m never willing to skip it, which just…pisses me off! Look, I know every trick in the book, from smashing the garlic with a knife and rattling the cloves around in metal mixing bowls to giving each clove a gentle twist between my fingers to pry the skins loose, but none of them work well enough or consistently enough to ease my mind of the inevitable dread whenever it’s time to peel yet more garlic.

There is a flip side to this, though, which is the deep appreciation I feel when a fresh crop of garlic rolls into the market and for a few months I get to enjoy those easy-to-peel skins before they dry out and become so damned annoying again. —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

Minty Fresh Aggravation

[Photograph: Max Falkowitz]

Whenever I have the energy, I like to add tons of fresh herbs to almost anything I’m cooking, and I especially love the summery freshness of mint. But the prep is such a fussy nightmare! First you have to carefully wash, then dry the whole plants, and then painstakingly pick off leaves one at a time. With things like parsley and cilantro I tend to just chop everything up, but mint stalks are so woody and fibrous there’s really no getting around individually picking off the leaves.” —Daniel Dyssegaard Kallick, developer

A Tough Nut to Crack

No matter what I do or whatever method I use (toaster oven, small sauté pan), the nuts I am attempting to toast always burn. It drives me nuts and burns me up. Burnt nuts aren’t really usable for anything. I am awaiting the development of the single-use nut toaster that automatically turns off when the nuts are a nice toasty golden brown. Until then I’ll continue to suffer, though no longer in silence. —Ed Levine, overlord

Berry Annoyed

When it comes to washing produce, my laziness knows no bounds. This is especially true with washing berries. They’re delicate, so I don’t want to mush them up; they’re more absorbent than anything with peels or a skin; and they require a careful picking through to take out any unwanted debris. I’ve begrudgingly come around to washing most fruits and veggies that come through my kitchen (as one should), but berries still get to me. —Jina Stanfill, social media editor

I Like My Fingers, Thanks

It’s time to get hyper-specific: I was hired because of my abilities to cut footage, not produce, so my chopping skills leave a lot to be desired. My mandoline has helped hide that fact whenever I’m prepping a dish that requires razor-thin shavings of anything. I’ve had no issues with anything I’ve sliced except shallots. I’m not sure if it’s the tear-inducing onion fumes or their slick layers that makes shallots super-slippery, but thinly sliced shallots are my arch nemesis. The only silver lining is that if I ever need fried shallots to snack on while going on the lam without fingerprints, I’ve got the perfect solution. —Joel Russo, video producer

Grating Cheese Really Grates

I am a perfectionist in the kitchen and prefer to do everything myself, but if there’s one task I delegate it’s grating cheese, an awkward motion that seems designed to induce repetitive stress injury. My great-grandfather had no rotational function in his forearm owing to a war injury, and so, I’m told, he built his own cheese-grating system operated by foot pedal. I am looking into a similar solution. —John Mattia, video editor

Golden Fried No-Thank-You

Like most people, I appreciate a perfect piece of fried food—from donuts and chicken to deep-fried pickles. However, despite how much I enjoy fried food, I absolutely dislike deep frying anything at home. I basically avoid it at this point. From having to make sure I have oil on hand (I never do, and I never have the right oil, to boot), to checking that the oil is hot enough and maintaining its temperature (which is a guessing game for me, even with a thermometer), and then to cleaning up the mess and the oil itself (which, to be honest, I’ve sometimes left for my husband to deal with), is just a recipe for more work than I’m willing to put in. On top of that, the fry smell permeates everything in my apartment for at least a week. I’ll leave the business of fried food to places that have commercial deep fryers and will continue to frequent them whenever I’m craving fried food perfection. —Kristina Razon, operations manager

Sharpen My Knife? Yeah, Right

As I look at this list of the cooking tasks my work colleagues dread, I’m pretty surprised. A lot of these tasks I actually really enjoy. Peeling garlic, picking mint leaves…those are things I relish and even find relaxing. You can’t mess up peeling garlic or picking leaves. But you can absolutely mess up sharpening a knife. Despite the fact that we have a really useful guide to knife sharpening, I can’t get myself to do it. I’m terrified I’m going to cut myself or mess up my blades. What looks like a really cool, meditative process on video just fills me with fear. And I know that dull knives can also be very dangerous! So the lesser of two evils is to use an electric sharpener. Don’t tell my colleagues! I don’t want them to be disappointed. —Ariel Kanter, director of commerce and content marketing

Baking

Look, I’m not a complete monster—I love to eat baked goods (though I’d argue that cake is seriously overrated). But with rare exceptions, like these insanely easy ricotta-brown butter cookies, this damn fine cherry pie, and these truly phenomenal lemon bars, I’ll go to great lengths to avoid making them from scratch. I’d say my resistance is a 70-30 ratio of “fear of discovering at the very end that I’ve messed up the dessert/bread and all my hard, finicky work was for naught and everyone will be disappointed and I will be judged” and “unpleasant mess.” But really, it’s so, so many reasons. Allow me to elaborate:

Too many bowls: It’s just too many bowls, period. Do I even have that many bowls? What if they’re reactive? And then after I’ve made the damn dessert I also need to clean them all?? Hard pass.

Whisking dry ingredients together: This is a task I thought I had under control until I found out Stella recommends doing it for AT LEAST ONE MINUTE—which might as well be a year.

Sifting: Sometimes the recipe asks you to sift stuff. The sheer amount of powder that winds up on my work surfaces, clothing, and floor is unacceptable. Especially when it’s cocoa powder that gets damp and is suddenly chocolate.

Using a stand mixer: I love my stand mixer for making fresh pasta. But when I have to actually use the bowl, it’s infuriating. Scraping the sides of your mixing bowl is just an endless game of turning the machine on and off, sticking your arm in at weird angles only to almost always miss a spot.

Too many leftovers: When I take on a baking project, I’m faced with indivisible recipes that yield far greater than two servings. Yes, you can freeze pie or cookie dough, but my freezer is incredibly small. Because I have zero self-control, this almost always results in a severe stomachache. For this reason, I almost only bake for company, which leads me to perhaps my greatest pet peeve…

Not being able to taste as you go! The idea that my baked good could look amazing on the outside, but I won’t know if I messed up until I serve and slice into the thing, is profoundly disincentivizing. As the EIC of a prominent food site, I put a lot of pressure on myself when cooking for company, and while I never second guess the quality of a Stella recipe, that doesn’t mean I can’t introduce untold human errors into the process.

The only way to get better at baking is to keep…doing it. Enough said.

Finally, to anyone thinking, so your real issue is being tidy, organized, patient, and detail-oriented…I guess you’re right. Shame on me! Thankfully, those traits don’t present in every area of my life. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, editor-in-chief

Sticky Cilantro

I love cilantro (sorry if it tastes like soap to you), so I don’t actively shy away from this task, but I loathe the seemingly special ability it has to stick to anything and everything once chopped—the cutting board, the knife, my hands, whatever you use to try and scrap the knife clean. —Paul Cline, president

Cutlets!

I hate making breaded chicken cutlets. I hate everything about it. It is, for me, the manifestation of cooking hell on Earth. Why does something so delicious have to be such a pain in the neck to make? Because that’s really the rub; there’s a lot of cooking tasks I dislike—washing fresh spinach 10 million times only to discover there’s still grit in the washing water; crumbling up cold leftover rice with my hands; touching powdered plant starch of any kind—but there’s only one that I dislike and yet feel compelled to regularly repeat, since I don’t know if life is worth living if you can’t eat good chicken cutlets at least once every two weeks.

Part of it is the mess, sure. But a lot of cooking tasks are messy. Any and all baking projects make me make a mess of my kitchen. And even if making cutlets means I have to clean a cutting board, a meat mallet, at least two half sheet pans (one for the breaded cutlets to rest, another for cooling), a cooling rack, a quarter sheet pan (for breading), and two 1/8 sheet pans (for the flour and egg wash dredging), a skillet, the stovetop (of oil splatters), the counter (for spills), the floor (for random flour and bits of panko), and my hands 10 billion times to prevent immediate food poisoning and belated food poisoning via cross-contamination, that isn’t the whole picture of my hate for these stupidly delicious things.

Part of it is you can’t do anything else while cooking them. They’re quick to cook, sure, but you can only cook a few at a time in even a 12-inch skillet, and you need to watch them, tend the temperature of the oil as you would a baby’s first toddling steps, and you need to salt each one right out of the fryer otherwise they’re crap, and then you have to cook like six more because who, really, makes just two freaking cutlets at a time except for heathens and (some very diligent) line cooks? That’s a solid block of kitchen time spent just frying things; you can’t clean as you go, you can’t prep other food, you’re just cooking cutlets for however long it takes to cook them all.

Another part of it is: No one likes a badly cooked cutlet, and cooking 10 cutlets, say, requires you pay careful attention to cooking the cutlets for a sustained period of time. It’s outrageous! And then, inevitably, when my attention flags, or I have to do literally anything else that might be necessary, like talking to my child, or paying attention to my wife, or thinking even for a moment, “man, I absolutely hate making chicken cutlets,” a cutlet will burn or get unevenly colored or overcooked because I haven’t been swirling the oil, or checking on its underside crust, or maybe I’m just at the end of the process and rather than “wasting” more cooking oil and topping off the fat in the pan, I try (for the 100 billionth time) to make do with less oil than is obviously necessary and all the burning bits of panko from the other 16 cutlets I’ve made start sticking to the crust of the final three, mottling their appearance and generally messing them up.

The only way I’ve found to deal with cutlet madness is to make them at least an hour before I have to eat them, because otherwise I find any flaw in any cutlet an indictment not just of my skills as a cook but of the entire cutlet-making operation.

But, of course, even the badly cooked cutlets taste really good, even when eaten as a cold leftover, provided you salted them properly and salt them again out of the fridge, and so the process will begin again solely on the strength of how good the things are to eat, any time of day, prepared in any stupid way.—Sho Spaeth, editor and writer and lover of cutlets

Cleaning Shrimp

There were a lot of time-consuming prep tasks that I used to dread when I cooked in restaurants. The combination of the sheer volume of prep required to get through service (picking a full pint of thyme leaves or thinly slicing a quart of chives to dole out to all the cooks on the line is a major pain in the ass when you also need to get purées cooked and blended, whole fish broken down, lobster meat picked, and so on), and the constant breakneck push and anxiety to get the endless list of tasks done by the time the first wave of guests are sat in a dining room can take the joy out of menial kitchen tasks. But these days, I don’t dread having to clean a big haul of produce that I picked up from the farmers market—in fact, I find the process very enjoyable and soothing.

That doesn’t mean that I suddenly enjoy every prep project under the sun, though. There’s one that I will always despise, and it’s peeling and deveining shrimp.

There is nothing enjoyable about the process—it’s tedious, time-consuming, not very appetizing, and over the years I’ve come to realize that the irritation I feel when handling raw shrimp is physical as well as mental (my hands get super-itchy when shelling shrimp without gloves). But when I want shrimp for dinner, like for a recent riff on aglio e olio pasta, I can’t bring myself to purchase already peeled and deveined ones. Shrimp shells are packed with so much flavor, it’d be a shame to miss out on that potential.

So, I begrudgingly set up a shrimp processing station instead, and get to work excising those giant digestive tracts, cursing myself the whole time for not just making shell-on salt and pepper shrimp instead. However, that would involve deep-frying, another cooking project that I don’t love tackling at home. —Sasha Marx, senior culinary editor

Dirty, Dirty Greens

It’s a running joke in the Serious Eats office that my refrigerator is usually a barren wasteland. I just don’t tend to keep a lot of food around; it inevitably goes bad because I’m so full from snacking all day at work in the test kitchen that I rarely feel like cooking when I get home. But once in a while you’ll find a pie plate in there with my favorite recipe on the site: spanakopita. The one thing I’ve learned from the dozen or so times I’ve made this recipe is that washing and drying leafy greens and herbs SUCKS. It is just the absolute worst, especially when you have a smaller salad spinner. —Vicky Wasik, visual director

Rice, Rice, Baby

I’m well aware that making rice is one of the simpler tasks to take on in the kitchen, and I’m slightly fearful of the backlash I might receive when my colleagues read this. It’s hard for me to pinpoint just what it is about making rice that I don’t like. Maybe it’s the pesky grains that try to escape when you wash them (I’ve only recently invested in a fine-mesh strainer, which has made me hate the process just a little less); or maybe it’s the water-to-rice ratio that, without fail, I always have to look up to make sure I’m getting just right. Whatever it is, I dread it. So whenever I’m cooking and I need to serve a dish with rice, I just nominate whoever is around me to do it instead. —Yasmine Maggio, social media intern

So now you know our dirty secrets. What tasks do you dread these days?

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Tags: cooking, Dread, Fill, Flow, hate, Tasks

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trashynoona · 7 years

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Little Miss Chubs

I have been so sick it’s not even funny anymore T.T But here’s some Jin love, written drowsily. i really hope it doesn’t suck. lol I promise to check on it tomorrow! Oh, and it will be a 2 part story!

Word Count: 1, 8399

Genre: This is very much just an introduction but probably future fluff and smut ^^

Growing up, you were complete opposites. Your favorite color is black, while he loves everything pink. He lives for the Disney Princesses while you were all about the Avengers. You climbed trees and scrapped your knees while he stood alongside your mothers as they prepared your favorite meals. However, the both of you shared a common motto; food is life. Since your mothers were best friends, they would often prepare delicious meals together and Seok Jin and you would compete to gobble up all the greasy chicken wings and all sorts of fried food; the greasier the better.

Despite Seok Jin being 2 years older than you, you never saw him as an older brother, in fact, you loved teasing him and calling him the greasy pink princess Jin. It did not exactly bother him that you called him a ‘princess’ but he hated that you refused to call him ‘Jin Oppa’. To get back at you, Jin would tease you by calling you the ‘Little Miss Chubs’. Either one of you would always end up running home crying to your mom because you were always fighting about it.

In short, the both of you had a love-hate relationship. The both of you enjoyed annoying the hell out of each other but secretly enjoyed one another’s company. Especially when it comes to meal time. Food is never as enjoyable as having it with one another. However, while Seok Jin was blessed with a superior metabolism and prince-like good looks, you were cursed with a potato sack for a body. Through the years, you grew horizontally more than you did vertically.

As you reached high-school aged, your mother enrolled you in the same school as Jin. He was very much one of the most popular kids in school. He has grown to become extremely good looking and he was more than aware of his good looks. He seized the opportunity to blow kisses and winked at girls in school; causing everyone’s heart to flutter whenever he passed by. You on the other hand, chose to lay low and avoided your childhood friend. In fact, you felt inferior to his good looks and popularity. One day, your friend Sook Min found out that you grew up with Jin and begged you to help her score a date with him. With her constant begging, you decided to give in and asked Jin out one day. You decided that, afterall, Sook Min wasn’t ugly and possibly Jin’s type anyway.

When Jin arrived at the café you had arranged to meet, he noticed you guys had company. You tried to excuse yourself with a shitty excuse like ‘oh I forgot, I needed to run errands for my mom!’ and left Jin and Sook Min together. Jin was furious, but being the gentleman he is, he went ahead with the date.

The next day when Sook Min returned to school, she simply had to brag to everybody she knew that you scored her a date with the Prince Charming Kim Seok Jin. Eventually, everyone grew envious of you and started bugging you to pass him letters and presents on their behalf. You would always return home with boxes and bagful of gifts addressed to Jin. He did not like it at all but decided to endure, but as time passed, it got more and more out of hand. Jin got terribly angry and shouted at you.

‘What are you?! Santa Claus? Why the hell would you bring all these gifts back? Jin shouted.

‘Why are you being angry at me? They’re meant for you anyway.. can’t you just be a little kind to at least look at them? You questioned, confused.

‘Well if you liked them that much, maybe you should date them instead.’ Seok Jin answered coldly before throwing his boxes of presents in the trash.

You were enraged. You could not understand why Jin reacted this way. You thought he was being cocky and rude for not appreciating the girls’ efforts. Being a chubby and unpopular girl, you knew exactly how it feels to be insignificant. Hence, you decided to pick up all of Jin’s presents, read through them and wrote a thank you note to each girl. The girls almost lost it when they received a reply from Jin. It made you feel glad, afterall, you believe everyone should be appreciated.

However, your actions made one person insanely furious. Seok Jin dragged you out of class one day and confronted you.

‘What do you think you’re doing?! He asked.

‘I.. I just wanted the girls to feel appreciated.’ You tried to explain yourself.

‘What are you? Don’t you have any pride? Picking from my trash?’ Seok Jin was harsh and furious.

Tears began streaming down your cheeks; consumed by your childhood friend’s harsh words.

‘I just wanted them to feel appreciated. You’re popular and handsome. You will never understand!’ You spoke between tears.

‘Why do you feel unappreciated? I appreciate you?!’ Seok Jin questioned. He was confused with your respond.

Flustered; you pushed Jin away and ran to the bathroom. You hid in the stall and cried your hearts out. He did not understand. Ever since you were kids, you were constantly compared. ‘Jin is so talented and handsome’ people would say ‘oh dear girl, look at your scrapped knees again, it’s going to leave a scar and nobody would marry you.’ You absolutely hated how people compared you and you felt completely under appreciated. As you both grew older, things became harder. Jin was generally good academically and was known for his stellar culinary skills and good manners. While you on the other hand, was a chubby awkward tom boy who had average grades and nothing much to offer.

Through the experience, Jin and you grew apart. After he graduated high school, he applied as a theatre major and was eventually scouted to join one of the most popular groups in South Korea; Bangtan Boys. Jin’s good looks and quirky personality shone. His fans loved him and the entertainment industry seniors adored him.

While you on the other hand, decided studies was not your thing. With your mother’s recipe, you decided to open a chicken stall. Except, you only served steamed and grilled chicken. After so many years of being mocked, you have decided to take it upon yourself to lose weight. You were done being called the chubby awkward tom boy. ‘Awkward tom boy’ was the most you could deal with. While you were no longer over weight, you were still a little flabby because well, food was still your bane. But you were glad afterall.

One day, after bangtan won their 3rd consecutive wins, they decided it was time to celebrate. Taehyung had read about a really good chicken place and insisted that the boys visited it. You were busily preparing the meal in the kitchen while bts and their crew was outside celebrating hence you had no idea. All you knew from your ahjumma employee was that 7 young idol boys were here to eat chicken and they ate so well.

‘Ya. Hurry out when you’re done. You need to come see these boys. They’re out of this world! They’re probably around your age. Maybe you can date one of them and you can provide them with endless supply of chicken!’ The Ahjumma encouraged you.

‘Ahjumma… which idol would want to date a greasy chicken stall owner?!’ you teased.

‘Hey! You can be presentable if you just cleaned up a bit okay.’ Ahjumma tried to fix your hair and wipe of the grease stains on your clothes to your annoyance.

You did not see why you had to make yourself look good. You’re just here to sell them chicken anyway.

Ahjumma excitedly dragged you out of the kitchen and to the table where the boys were seated.

‘Ah-deul ah, meet the beautiful and talented chicken chef! Without her, you would not be able to enjoy all these chicken ya~’ Ahjumma was excessively exaggerated with made you terribly flustered.

‘Oh thank you so much! The chicken is so great!!’ Jung Ho seok was standing up and giving you the thumbs up with his mouth full of chicken.

It made you even more flustered.

‘Which year are you born in?’ Taehyung asked.

‘Erm 1994.’ You answered

‘Ooooh Jimminie, Jungkookie, she’s our noona!!!’ Taehyung excitedly pointed out.

The 3 maknaes immediately called out ‘noona’ in the most aegyo way possible which made your cheeks redder than they already were.

Noticing your discomfort, leader Kim Namjoon stood in to neutralize the situation ‘It’s honestly pretty good. As you can see, we really love it.’

‘To be honest, our dorm is pretty nearby, do you do delivery?’ Min Yoongi asked.

Before you could say anything, ahjumma butted in ‘For bts we will! Bts!bts!bts!’ She began chanting.

It made the boys super excited and everybody started chanting. Just as you were to pardon yourself to the kitchen, you noticed a familiar face looking up to you while struggling to pull apart his chicken drumstick. It was your childhood friend; Kim Seok Jin. He immediately dropped his chicken and stood up. While you on the other hand, being notoriously awkward, you bowed at the boys and ran to the kitchen.

‘Erm excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.’ Jin excused himself from the crowd.

‘Little Miss Chubs.. is that you?’ Jin peeked his head into the kitchen looking for you just as you were chopping up a chicken.

Oh. Er, Hi, Seok Jin-ssi, I er did not see you there.’ You muttered.

‘I knew it was you! So nice to see you. Wahh Daebak. You’ve lost so much weight I might have to stop calling you Little Miss Chubs!’ Jin teases as he casually latches his arm across you.

His thoughtless actions made you hitch. You were confused about how it has been so long since the both of you had communicated and yet he treated you like you were best friends since forever.

Just then, the crew members called out to wrap up the meal as they had another schedule for the next day. Ahjumma hurriedly packed up whatever the crew wanted to takeaway (which was seriously almost everything; including the kimchi) while you busied yourself with the bill calculation. Jin stood infront of the cashier along with his manager as they engaged in a casual conversation. Although his attention was not on you, you felt your heart racing and your cheeks heating up. You hurriedly convinced yourself to focus on the calculation so the handsome friend of yours would leave.

Just as the entire crew were about to leave, Jin lingered longer and picked up one of your name cards.

‘Ah, so now I have your number and I can order chicken from you 24/7 for old time’s sake right?’ Jin shot you a wink and left before you could say anything.

You let out a sigh, the least you would have expected was an exciting journey that awaits ahead of you.

#bts #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jin #bts jin #bts seokjin #bts jin scenario #bts seokjin scenario #kim seokjin #bts kim seokjin

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recentanimenews · 7 years

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Made in Abyss – 13 (Fin)

Always cold and hungry yet full of longing to see the wonders of the Abyss, the still-human Nanachi was lured, along with a good deal of other disadvantaged children, to their doom by the dastardly White Whistle Bondrewd the Novel.

On the way down to the unreassuringly-named Sea of Corpses, Nanachi meets the ebullient Mitty. Weary at first, they hit it off almost immediately, buoyed by the exciting, life-changing adventure they’re about to undertake.

Did I say exciting and life-changing? I meant nightmarish and life-ruining/ending. One by one Bondrewd comes for the children until Nanachi and Mitty are the only ones left.

Neither has any idea what’s happening to the others until Bondrewd comes for Mitty, but not Nanachi, in the night. But Nanachi, now all alone, follows them, and sees and hears things she shouldn’t.

Bondrewd takes Nanachi’s disobedience as an auspicious event, and places them in a tube right beside a frightened, already-trapped Mitty, and calmly explains how the “experiment” is going to go down. The two descend to the Sixth Layer, where a horde of formerly-human things gather around their tubes.

Then the ascent begins, and all of the Curse is transferred to Mitty in a graphic, gruesome, and thoroughly upsetting sequence. Nanachi can only watch in the other tube, absolutely powerless to help. Mitty was Nanachi’s one and only true “treasure”, more important than any relic they might have found in the Abyss.

But, as we know, Mitty isn’t gone. Well, not totally. To Bondrewd’s delight, the double-dose of Sixth-Layer Curse not only took Mitty’s human form, but made it impossible for her to die. She is constantly disintegrating, regenerating…and suffering.

Nanachi flees Bondrewd’s clutches with Mitty (though it’s highly likely he lets them go) and eventually finds a place to live. But there is nothing Nanachi can do for Mitty. It’s not that they can’t put Mitty out of her misery due to emotional considerations…it simply isn’t possible.

Not until Reg and Riko came around. With his Incinerator, which Nanachi calls “Sparagmos”, or the “light that returns to the cardinal point”, Nanachi believes she can finally free Mitty’s long-suffering soul from what’s left of her body.

Reg asks for time to think it over, and worries that if he kills Mitty, Nanachi will feel they have no more reason to live, and might take their own life. Nanachi promises they won’t, and convinces Reg of the only right and proper course of action when they tell him that when they one day do die, Mitty will be left alone, suffering for all eternity.

After preparing a tasteful site for “sending off” Mitty, Nanachi only halts Reg from firing Incinerator for one last goodbye to her treasure, then tells him to do it. The ensuing inferno consumes every bit of Mitty until there’s nothing left. Just like that, she’s gone.

It’s ruinously sad, but I’ll admit, a HUGE relief her suffering is at an end. After all, her last words as a human to Nanachi in that tube were “kill me.” Hers was the kind of pure lasting suffering that’s hard to imagine or even comprehend, but I can grasp the catharsis, even if the hurt remains in the hearts of those who sent her off.

Things thankfully take a lighter turn when Reg awakens to find Riko is also awake, and starting her rehabilitation. Riko takes an instant liking to the cute and fuzzy Nanachi, and both Nanachi and Reg appreciate Riko’s far superior culinary skills.

After going through that emotional, visceral ringer, It’s awfully nice to see Riko back to normal. Then she asks if there wasn’t someone else there besides the three of them, and recalls a dream that made her think that.

The creepy dream we saw part of last week is put into context thanks to Riko. She is consumed by a kind of skin (representing her deep illness) and can only cry and panic, but when she sees that terrified, crying eye—Mitty’s eye in the waking world—she calms down, stares back, and tries to comfort her.

Then, after Reg sends Mitty off, Riko perceives it as Mitty (or rather, her soul) being restored to its human form before passing on. Then Riko realizes she needs to “get going”, and follows the light back to consciousness and out of her wounded stupor.

Upon hearing this “dream”, which was likely something more significant, Nanachi looks grateful that someone saw their treasure in the moment she finally achieved her freedom.

Nanachi takes Riko and Reg to a kind of healing hot spring, and enjoys watching Reg squirm as Riko proceeds to have no qualms whatsoever about bathing with him naked, all while quietly asking Mitty to wait “a little longer,” which could either be interpreted as Nanachi planning to take her life and join Mitty soon, or not until after she’s lived a life that now includes two new potential “treasures” in Reg and Riko.

After removing the mushrooms from her arm (another highly painful, unpleasant ordeal), Riko eventually regains the ability to lift her arm and even move her thumb. Reg blames his crappy amputation attempt for the state of her arm, but Riko doesn’t blame him; she asked him to do it, after all. She also heared from Nanachi how tearfully and desperately Reg tried to save her, and thanks him for that, regarding her nasty scar as “precious proof” he protected her.

Riko, like Reg before her, asks Nanachi if they’ll join them as they continue their journey further down the Abyss, and Nanachi agrees. The credits then roll over a lovely montage: Riko ties her backpack to a balloon and releases it, and they prepare for their journey as it makes its harrowing ascent past all the layers they’d passed, even requiring Marulk to free it from a branch and repair it.

It eventually reaches Nat, who looks shocked and elated to finally possess evidence of Riko and Reg’s progress. Having completed their preparations (and the construction of a big, sturdy new backpack), the new party of Riko, Reg, and Nanachi leave Nanachi’s cozy house behind, in search of trying to satisfy that most unstoppable longing for the unknown.

Meanwhile, in Bondrewd the Novel’s lab, he notices one of dozens of lights has gone out; a light signifying Mitty’s life. He is proud of and grateful to Nanachi for having finally gotten it done, as if letting them escape was yet another experiment. And he’s eager to meet her again. Ouzen was right; she’s kind and pleasant compared to this evil bastard.

And there we are; that’s a wrap! At least until a second season comes along. While I can assure you there are very few shows I’d want to jump into the second season of immediately, and this is one of them, I think a good long rest is in order, to recover from the emotional wounds it left in this final, epic, horrendously devastating yet still somehow hopeful, and achingly beautiful finale. I want to believe Riko’s mom is waiting for her. I have to.

By: magicalchurlsukui

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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alisawong0482-blog · 7 years

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Fundraiser Supper A Great Results!

After the dinner I selected a walk merely to see what the city needed to deliver. So, get your very own classic cookware and prepare the best home-made supper around! Throughout the fourth one-fourth, our experts opened 5 Reddish Robin areas, carrying the total amount to 26 brand new places in 2016. Halfway from your walking, spread out your packed lunch and also appreciate it in http://friedrichblog-powerandhealth.info/ the great outdoors. A fantastic appearance will be actually a strapless cotton wear a summery material like seersucker. The Shanghai/ARWU ranking for the subject areas is dangerous provided the extreme importance on citations. I will eat this for dinner or even to come with dishes between now as well as the vacation (incidentally this operates additionally for X-mas supper). The final factor you need to have at a dinner celebration is actually for among your guests to get choked on a bone. Make use of the practice session dinner as an option to thank them for all the time as well as attempt they have put in. It's definitely around you, however you need to think of what type of Mama's Time dinner you believe your partner would take pleasure in a lot more. An evening meal was actually a snack with cooked veggies as well as typically a broth or soup (consequently the label) and also this will be actually to assist in the food digestion of the previous dinner. Invitations can double-up as tickets, pub tokens or an award draw after supper. I as if the tip from declaring to attendees what's for dinner in an unfamiliar means and they make sure in order to get a dynamic conversation began. If you desire your supper guests to be wowed with your culinary skill-sets, make an effort a recipe utilizing Basmati rice. The Swanson Provider intelligently targeted the Frozen Frozen Dinner to a brand-new increase segment from the general public market. the tv viewer. There are actually a number of us that at one time or even one more most likely did certainly not also trouble and also merely went out to dinner to start with! Our team merely consumed Dinner on Sunday which made that an unique dish often on the dining-room table. A lot of individuals enjoy an excellent glass of wine with dinner and through providing one as a guest at a supper party you will be expanding the offerings at the gathering as well. This effortless dinner recipe converges in minutes, however will definitely hold for hrs in a cooler and merely improves as the flavors fuse. Exactly how approximately sweeping him off his feet with a timepiece watch that not merely possesses wonderful looks however simultaneously comes with excellent functionality also. The fantastic thing about these meals is actually that you just come to eat healthy well balanced foods without fretting about prep work as well as food selection preparation. My mom operates as an R.N. however still handled to prepare dinner for a loved ones of 6 every night ... and also all of us ate all together.

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sandiegojobsondemand · 7 years

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INTERVIEW: Dorothy Neagle of the Good Food Jobs “gastro-job” search tool

In 2004, buddies Dorothy Neagle and Taylor Cocalis Suazez produced Great Food Careers, a forward thinking “gastro-job” search-tool, using the persuasive tagline “satisfying the starvation for significant work.” the website provides a very customized assistance program to both companies and people looking for work in most facet of the meals business – from farming to training. We talked to Dorothy Neagle, half of Great Food Careers, about going for a stay against outstanding internships, the weakness related to job hunting, and revolution within the food-industry.

Food Careers is just a two- show. The cofounders aren’t just ice-cream but additionally friends enthusiasts.

INHABITAT: initially look, Great Food Careers is just a job-site wherever individuals may post and discover careers concerning food (may it be support, manufacturing or additional) in some manner. However it’s likewise a lot more than that. Are you able to explain the objective behind the endeavor?

DOROTHY: whenever we began Great Food Careers, we were making something which we ourselves had a: a-one-stop-store for work possibilities which were not only associated with food but were also individually satisfying. Among our basic objectives was to increase consciousness around exactly what a great food work was, and just how employed in the meals market went beyond your kitchen – that’s why we produced eight groups for that careers (Farming, Company, Culinary, Training, Press, Charitable, Manufacturing, Along with Other).

INHABITAT: What are your own career trajectories each? How did meals, design, and ideals-powered projects intersect in all of your personal paths?

DOROTHY: Our history is in Interior Planning, and that I invested my early decades out-of college employed by an architecture company in Nyc. But I’d another objective in existence that started to slip forward a powerful need, with time to combine ecological activism with my function that is everyday. I rapidly turned unhappy using the customer-driven objectives of employed in structure and style, and food was considered by me since food and farming tradition are naturally world-powered. While their studies at Cornell having fulfilled Taylor, we required the jump to begin GFJ and fundamentally place our brains together.

INHABITAT: We’re within an age where both conventional office and also the objectives of employees are altering (seeking meaningfulness in the things they do, versatility, user friendly and collaborative, available workspaces, for instance). How is Great Food Careers disrupting the standard work results website and providing people (who subscribe to free) more?

DOROTHY: Great Food Careers is just a neighborhood room. While we are found by individuals through term-of- mouth looking, they frequently comment they feel like they’ve been accepted for but didn’t realize by anything they’d constantly yearned existed. We individually reply every e-mail within our company mailbox, and we often capture mistakes and typos in career posts since we’re individually researching each one of these before we submit. We likewise required a stay against outstanding internships in 2014 (we no further post them) which year we’ve necessary that all companies be much more clear concerning the earnings provided within their careers. These improvements incrementally is made by us from our customers consequently of feedback.

INHABITAT: GFJ mainly acts not just work-hunters, but additionally companies restaurants to mention several. As it pertains towards the website-design, symbolism, updates and social networking stations of GFJ, how will you achieve and interact your goal demographic?

DOROTHY: I’m unsure what our goal demographic is…human creatures? Because we’ve positioned significantly more than a ad, or never performed a publicity strategy, we depend on individual link with assist the term was distribute by us naturally. Our everyday function is actually customer support, and we go really seriously (although not too severely). While GFJ resonates it’s, with people since we’re opening actual discussion about a number of our many susceptible individual encounters – and distinguishing and why is you are feeling more susceptible than buying work?

INHABITAT: There’s the notion that the GFJ work candidate probable displays a particular group of ideals and characteristics. Are you able to talk more about your objective as well as your description of the “good food job”–“a quest relating to the initiatives to nurture one’s own existence, and also the lifestyles of others?”

DOROTHY: Your tag-line truly claims everything: fulfilling the starvation for significant function. Whenever you feel required to arrange your everyday life together with your greatest requirement for satisfaction and link, it’s possibly since you are individually craving that alter, or you experienced a meeting or conversation or scenario beyond oneself that caused the yearning. In either case, carrying out work that’s useful to body and your personal mind and nature is naturally useful to physique and nature and your brain of others. GFJ appreciates and acknowledges that require, and ideally offers some feasible paths for achieving it.

Food Careers features of Wisdom” in its updates, that are online via the Food Careers website that is Great.

INHABITAT articles careers from even and round the nation posts that are worldwide. How will you use companies which are seeking to discover, via GFJ, expertise with not just particular abilities but perhaps additionally a particular attitude or approach?

DOROTHY: Your work posting type has generated-in guidance for creating employment outline that will assist one to achieve the type of people who are certainly enthusiastic and love – or wish to adore – the things they do to get a dwelling. We provide reduced work deals and free tests, in addition to regular savings for little facilities, non-profits, and budget – . By providing truthful, encouraging guidance We’re continuously trying to link the company/worker partition.

INHABITAT: recently, within the Usa there’s been an enormous curiosity about how issues are created, by who, wherever, and by what requirements-may it be what we consume, or even the fabrics that people use against the skin we have. Publications like Kinfolk Food Careers, stores that are “artisanal”, the strategy Small Company Sunday-all appear to talk to this developing curiosity that is nationwide. What’s your undertake this, and just how would you observe this changing, not just in locations like Brooklyn, however in little cities and towns over the country?

DOROTHY: I believe it’s wonderful. It originates from a location that is real. Several companies attempt to ‘identify the trends’ and alter their ‘branding’, and may join the advertising group, which may experience fake sometimes. But for growing the durability of these products that affect our everyday lifestyles whatever the purpose, the outcome is change that is good. I don’t possess a crystal-ball, but it’s my wish that creating produce a fresh standard of quality that people all try for, and most of these methods will end up chronic and arrived at anticipate.

INHABITAT: What’re some current developments you observe within the areas of farming and also the support industry?

DOROTHY: There’s a growing need that people proceed to experience, and that’s for regard and courtesy on all attributes of the hiring procedure, regardless of the techniques that technology offers. I visit a great chance to produce more healthy work surroundings, particularly with support-focused jobs which have typically been considered entry reduced or level /no-ability. Realizing that people may study from them, and training our workers through their everyday function is the key to ongoing development. Agricultural function remains a area, and nowadays there are a lot of more methods for getting involved with clean, nearby food – from metropolitan facilities to food shipping providers to making links between facilities and eateries, it hasn’t actually started to reply the need that prevails.

INHABITAT: at any given time of quick change in the united states, how will you believe this can effect how exactly we develop, marketplace and revel in our food?

DOROTHY: It’s very hard to express, but I will let you know that regardless of the change whirling around us, our emphasis at GFJ stays exactly the same: getting people together round the distributed starvation for significant function. I believe that what all of US maintain continuous in instances that are unclear is what’ll fundamentally create skilled effect and the largest individual.

Pictures thanks to Great Food Careers

This meeting continues to be modified for quality and brevity.

Source

http://inhabitat.com/interview-dorothy-neagle-of-good-food-jobs/

from Sandiego jobs on demand http://www.sandiegojobsondemand.com/interview-dorothy-neagle-of-the-good-food-jobs-gastro-job-search-tool/

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