#but when you roll up like hi I’d like a dish with no gluten or dairy or mint or or or

[shittycollagen]

people who do not have food allergies or intolerances are just out here having a whole different perspective on the restaurant industry huh

[ppersonna]

planning forever - myg

↳ summary-  you have special news to deliver to your husband, yoongi.  and you find your inspiration to do so in a unique way.

↳ rating- PG

↳ pairing- min yoongi x reader

↳ word count-

↳ genre- fluff, oh my god the fluff

↳ warnings- mentions of sex, some swearing, min yoongi is D A D D Y

↳ a/n- happy birthday to @carly-bean-blog​ ! my sweet angel who has been with me through nearly my entire blog life.  you’re so special to me!  myself, @chimoona​ and @sombreboy​ wanted to do something special for you.  together, we created your future ;).  we hope you enjoy your day, sweet peony!

"You forgot your lunch.”

The voice of your husband, Yoongi, chuckles lightly through the phone in an amused tone. 

“Shit,” you sigh, walking into work with arms packed full. Keys, your jacket, nametag, and an energy drink fumble in your grasp. 

“Good thing you’re married to the nicest man in the world,” he goads. You roll your eyes, but he’s right. Min Yoongi is simply the sweetest, most kind man you’ve ever met. It’s why you married him.

“Hmm,” you tease as you shove your items into your locker, “Did I marry Namjoon?”

Yoongi grunts through the phone and it forces you to laugh.  

“Not funny,” he sighs. You know he’s holding back laughter, maintaining his stoicism.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you smile. “My break is in about four hours.”

“I’ll bring it then. We can eat together.”

Your heart warms at the idea of sharing your simple sandwich and chip combo with the quiet man—the one who so easily captured your heart. You love that he’s willing to spend time during his day to sit at your boring job and eat lunch with you, all to make you happy.

“I’ll see you then.” The smile that's on your face nearly makes up for the fact that you have to suffer through a grueling eight-hour shift. Yoongi makes all the bad things in your life good. He takes those bad days and holds them tight in his arms until the bad melts away and you’re simply left with nothing but bliss.  

“I love you.” He says it so easily, so much easier than when you first met him. Yoongi’s icy demeanor quickly melted after he spent time with you. Your infectious laughter, kind heart, and easy-going attitude had the man falling fast.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

As you press ‘end’ on the phone, one hand drops to your stomach. You rub it idly. Consciously, you know it’s early and that you’re showing no signs of growing a life inside of you, but you can’t help but smile at the tiny fluttering in your belly.

---

Work goes by slower than you’d like. You’re excited at the idea of seeing Yoongi, but four hours suddenly seems too far away.  

It’s as you’re arranging the new shipment of artisan, 100% organic cotton diapers that you’re forced to pause.

On the box of the far-too-expensive diapers, is the cutest baby model you’ve ever seen in your life.

You stare dumbly at the box for what feels like hours, unblinking as you take in the baby’s chubby cheeks and silly grin.

Maybe it’s the new pregnancy hormones coursing through your veins, or maybe this baby is sincerely so cute it’s making you cry—either way, tears slip down your face and a dumb, deliriously happy grin spreads across your face.

You’re pregnant. You’re going to have a baby with Yoongi. Maybe your baby won’t look like the tiny one on the display box, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going to have a child with the man of your dreams and you suddenly want the next eight months to go by faster.   

The only problem that remains is, well, you haven’t told your husband.

It’s not like you two meant to get pregnant. You weren’t opposed to the idea but having sex was never with an end-goal of conception in mind. Yoongi wanted kids and assured you of that before you agreed to marry him. You both knew they would come at a time that felt right, when the universe and stars aligned.

And it appeared that they had. You noticed the symptoms a few weeks ago. Missed period, a little nauseated in the mornings, increased hormones. So, during a lunch break at work, you bought a pregnancy test and scurried to the staff bathrooms, only to come out with a positive reading and a grin on your face.

It wasn’t that you were scared to tell your husband. Frankly, you were far from it. You wanted to make sure the moment was just right. The pressure of telling your husband he was about to become a father was overwhelming. You couldn’t just tell him casually, as if discussing the weather. No, you wanted something more. And you agonized for weeks about how to make it happen.

But now, standing in front of the diaper section with tears pouring from your eyes, you throw any need of extravagant celebrations aside. Seize the day—it’ll happen at lunch and there’s no use backing out now. 

The next fews hours creep by painfully. You take note of every ticking minute as it passes, practically hopping on your heels with excitement, waiting until you can pop the news. You finish stocking the nursery aisles with a happy heart and a smile on your face. You’re so engrossed in stocking shelves and running through the dialogue in your mind that you slowly lose track of time.

Hours pass and—

“_____,” Yoongi’s low voice bounces off the tall aisles behind you.

You turn on your heel and come face-to-face with the most familiar, welcoming pair of deep brown eyes. 

“Baby,” you laugh, amused at how domestic he looks with both hands full of sack lunches like a father at a soccer game half-time. 

He pulls off the look well. It reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place. So kind and doting on those he loves most. Gosh, he’s going to make a great father. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” he says with an eye-crinkling grin. “You love this department.”

“Love? I’m assigned to this department.” You close the distance with a small peck and tug your lunch from his hand. “But I guess you can say I have a fondness for it.”

He takes a step back and reclines in a nursing glider, motioning for you to join him in a neighboring seat. 

“It’s the graveyard shift—do you think anyone will mind if we eat here?”

You look around the completely vacant store like a covert agent, then answer in a hushed tone. “For the time being, it looks like we’re off their radar. The coast is clear.”

“You’re an idiot,” he laughs, “I love you.”

“Love you too, rule breaker.”

It felt good to be bad in the most wholesome way in the most wholesome department of the entire store. Well, aside from the home decor section. Those fragrant eucalyptus candles and plush throw pillows in the shape of wild animals melts your heart to no end. 

The two of you empty your bags into your laps and make small talk about your days. While you were toiling over the display case for Jessica Alba’s latest line of gluten-free, non GMO shampoo for thin baby hair, Yoongi watered the plants and did the dishes. 

Real riveting stuff. 

No, really, there is nothing sexier than a man who takes care of the home. It only makes you want to pop the news sooner, but the sandwich clutched in your hands makes for a less glamorous prop in your otherwise fairytale picture-perfect moment.

“Oh! I also did the laundry and folded it the way you like.”

“Bunched up and tossed in the drawer?”

He winks and points his finger at you. “That’s my girl—nothing gets past her.”

“Nothing does, nothing does…” You stare off blankly at the display behind Yoongi and notice a package of diapers is slightly askew. You begin to make a mental note to fix it later, but are abruptly snapped from your thoughts at Yoongi’s words—

“Nothing gets past me either, ______.” He sighs and reclines, belly full of sandwich. He closes his eyes and rests his head against clasped hands. “I know you’ve been keeping a secret from me, I can sense it like a bloodhound.” 

With that, you pop the rest of the sandwich into your mouth and chew quickly. It seems the moment to savor has quickly evaporated and it was time to come clean.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but—”

“—You got me that Pioneer DJ System for my birthday. I knew it! When I saw a purchase on our credit card for $500, I knew I caught you red-handed,” He looks at you for confirmation and assumes he’s right based on the reddish hue of your cheeks. 

“You’re the idiot,” you snicker, nervously biting your lip between your teeth. “That wasn’t a DJ System, that was a crib.”

He holds up his finger in an AH-HA moment of victory, but pauses mid-celebration and looks at you with a crooked smile. “C-crib?”

“I’m pregnant, Yoongi.” 

You can’t keep the butterflies from fluttering, seeing his face slowly shift from slightly amused to tear-dabbed and nearly shaking. 

“You’re...you mean...we’re…” He stands from his seat and takes a knee beside you on your rocker and places his hand gently on your stomach. 

“Yes,” you confirm through a strained voice, edging back tears of your own. “We’re having a baby.”

“This is, I mean,” He stammers and verbally struggles to come up with the right words to say that properly shows the multitude of emotions coursing through his body.

“Are you happy?” You ask despite the answer being written plainly on his face. 

Of course he’s happy. It’s the happiest moment of his life and it’s all happening under the watchful gaze of a Peppa Pig cardboard cutout. 

“Beyond,” he confirms, stroking your belly gently as if you were made of glass. “And excited, and scared.” 

“Me too.”

“But mostly happy.” He strokes his hand through your hair and curls the loose strands behind your ear to place a soft kiss on your cheek. “God, I can’t wait to spend forever with you two.”

“Already? You haven’t even met the kid. What if he/she is a brat?”

“Too late, I love them already.”

You lean forward and kiss your husband, capturing his plush lips with your own. It’s warm and soft and reminds you of home. 

“I love you,” you whisper, lips still touching his. 

“I love you too,” he smiles, “Forever.”

[clione-of-heart]

Anonymous asked:

What's that one thing about other people cooking that always grinds your pepper the wrong way?

Unprompted

“Laziness,” Clione replies, an annoyed look on his face. “I can excuse inexperience, mediocracy, clumsiness and such so long as there’s still effort involved, but the one thing I cannot stand in the kitchen is laziness. It’s one thing to be pressed for time, money or equipment and be forced to prepare a dish in a non-ideal manner, even if the cook actually does know better, but to purposely spend less effort on a meal when you have no reason to other than laziness is just—” he lets out a frustrated groan. 

Calming down, he continues, “Of course it’s understandable if the person is having a bad day and needs to rest, and I wouldn’t be including people who aren’t chefs in this, as even if they cook as a hobby, you can’t really hold them to the same standards, but it just really gets on my nerves when I find one of those stupid restaurants who serve poor-quality dishes in spite of being perfectly capable of doing better, just to earn a few more coins by saving up on ingredients or because the cooks are. Just. Plain. Lazy.” 

He sighs heavily. “And there’s also another thing that I dislike, now that I think about it. I’ve never been personally affected by this, since I don’t have any food allergies myself, but I’ve heard from my nakama and even witnessed some cooks just… dismiss dietary medical conditions? For some reason? I honestly can’t wrap my head around why they’d do that. One time I’d visited a shop that was very well known for its rare variety of sweet breads, and one of the customers before me was celiac, just like our Captain, and had asked for a supposedly gluten-free version of one the sweet breads, but the guy gave her regular bread and she ended up getting sick and throwing up literally on the front of the shop —which was totally deserved, if you ask me. A friend of hers got her to a local hospital, but honestly at that moment I wanted nothing more than to beat the hell out of that supposed ‘cook’,” he rolls his eyes. “A cook who doesn’t care for the health of the people he feeds is no cook at all.”

[indiaalphawhiskey]

SD Drabble #1

Note: Another prompt I thought of long ago, that I’m still so in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the time to write it, but here it is anyway. Posting under the tag “Sugar Daddy AU”. Please excuse my self-indulgence. xx ---

“Have you got that?” the woman asked. The tone of her voice, coupled with the patronizing pinch of her newly ‘refreshed’ lips, screamed condescension.

Harry offered her a soft, subdued smile. “I have, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

She sniffed and her nose, already two and a half inches in the air to begin with, titled higher in doubt. “Repeat it, then.”

Harry let out a slow exhale through his teeth.

“Of course.” His smile never left his face as he ran through the list in his head. “For the table’s appetizers, the Rockefeller oyster platter, baked garlic lemon butter scallops, lemon butter sauce separated into individual sauce dishes, garlic to the side, and a Caesar salad, with no dressing, no bacon, no chicken, and no croutons, to be served twenty minutes before the main dishes. For his entree,” Harry said, turning to offer the gentleman – who had been scanning him from head-to-toe with a rather lascivious smirk – a quick nod. “Sir will have the cherry-glazed rack of lamb, with marble potatoes instead of garlic rice pilaf, potatoes pre-cut into quarters, and a whiskey double.” He turned back to the woman, a challenge in his tone. “Madam will have the Chilean sea bass and braised asparagus, asparagus to the side and blanched instead of braised, with the pesto and lemon sauce on a separate dish, and a glass of Semillon. Dessert will be two pieces of the dairy and gluten-free chocolate truffle cake, and two glasses of our best sherry.”

The woman’s gaze remained unimpressed.

“Fine,” she breathed. She flicked her fingers away once, the sheen of her opulent diamond ring reflected on the white tablecloth – a dismissal.

Harry bowed politely, face impeccably calm as he gathered the menus from the table and began to walk away.

Oyster platter and scallops baked in nothing, he recited in his head as he weaved his way around the tables. Plain lettuce masquerading as Caesar salad. Lamb with an entirely different side dish than the one on the menu – Chef will be pleased as fuck, by the way––

Snap! Harry startled at the sound. What the f–– Snap! Snap! Snap!

He leaned back reflexively to avoid the hand aggressively snapping right in front of his nose, before turning to find it was attached to a portly man in his mid-fifties. His face was tinged red with impatience, his breath laboured as he heaved himself back onto his chair now that he had Harry’s attention.

Harry took a deep breath before facing the table.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,” he began politely. “But my colleague will be with you in just a mo –”

“Oh, you’ll do, sweetheart,” the man crooned, licking his lips as he surveyed Harry. “You’ll do just fine.”

His impatience had faded completely, Harry noticed, though Harry much preferred irritation to… whatever this new expression was. Having only had this job for three days, it took all of Harry’s willpower to swallow the cutting remark that was already resting on his tongue. He managed, but unfortunately, the way his skin was crawling with discomfort was not as easily dealt with.

He exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he needed this job. Unbidden, the events of the last week flashed before his eyes.

Finding unrecognizable lingerie under his pillow. Being told by his fiance that he was being left for a nineteen-year-old pilates instructor slash aspiring male model. Discovering three months’ worth of unpaid rent bills hidden in their (now his, he supposed) bread box, and a discarded bill for a ‘12-carat gold-plated necklace with ��MY BABY’ engraving, cursive’ (Gross.) in his trash (already paid, thank God for small favours). Combing coffee shop bulletin boards for part-time jobs that fit his tedious grad school schedule. Chicken-flavored ramen for the three straight dinners.

He tried not to sigh.

Relax, he told himself. Be professional, get your check, and get out of here.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Harry said, miraculously polite.

“Well, handsome,” Lecherous Restaurant Patron purred, drawing out the pregnant pause as Harry quelled a rising gag.

“Come off it, George,” his companion cut in. He tacked on a chuckle at the end like an afterthought, though it couldn’t mask the slight edge embedded in the words. It made Harry think of the way a cheeky thief smiles as he runs his finger back and forth against a switchblade – just a hint of a threat. “Just order, mate. The kid’s busy.”

It was hardly a white knight stepping in to defend his honour, but after the week Harry had, it was close. He had barely glanced in his saviour’s direcion before George spoke again.

“I own the place, Tomlinson. He can spare a couple more minutes, can’t you, darling?” He punctuated the question with two hefty slaps to Harry’s arse cheek. The first made Harry freeze in shock. The second made his vision go red.

Lingerie.

‘He’s… amazing, Harry. I love him.’

Rent.

‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive.

Wanted: Part-time Wait Staff.

‘Repeat it, then.’

Slap! Slap!

The punch flew out of Harry, the crisp sound of knuckles against cheekbone ringing satisfyingly in his ears, loud and clear over the scuffle, over the yelling, over the firing. It was all Harry could hear until the harsh slam of the restaurant’s back door, and the biting whip of the winter wind.

Cheated on, left, in debt, harassed, fired, tossed out on my arse, Harry thought to himself, raising his fist in a sarcastic cheer. B-I-N-G-fucking-O. What he wouldn’t do for a joint right now.

He let out a deep, bone-tired sigh, winter’s icy fingers creeping around his open coat and up his too-thin undershirt (they had taken his uniform straight off his back, the bastards), before making his way out of the tiny back alley. He hunched his shoulders automatically, the wind somehow stronger out on the dimly lit main street, and began his long trudge to the tube stop, large hands stuffed awkwardly into his coat’s faux pockets because he had also lost his favorite gloves to bloody Neverwhere this morning.

“Mind the gap, indeed,” he mumbled to himself sadly, taking a little solace in the fact that he had remembered to bring his earphones with him today. He was convinced the morose opening chords of Landslide would manage soothe his broken heart, if he played it enough times. (Hey, if Stevie made it through, so could Harry.)

Lost in thought (and in the gargantuan task of untangling the aforementioned earphones), the barely audible crunch of gravel next to him didn’t register at all.

“ – genuinely feel like you’re ignoring me on purpose now but, once more, with feeling – Do. You. Need. A. Ride?”

Harry jumped, clutching at his heart and dropping his earphones in surprise. “What the bloody –”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. He offered Harry a sheepish smile, his elbow resting on the window of his cheesily predictable top down. “But I’d been here for like seven minutes –”

“You’ve been stalking me for seven minutes,” Harry deadpanned, so done with these absolute shits. “Yeah, not a great line to lead with.”

“Not stalking,” he tried to chuckle confidently, but the tone came out slightly uncertain. “But like, offering you a ride. You know, to make up for…” He tipped his head backward, motioning to the restaurant. “My partner. Business partner,” he clarified seriously, and ––

Oh, Harry thought. The other guy. Tomlinson, he remembered. No wonder his voice was familiar.

“No, thank you,” Harry said curtly as he began to walk again, his face resolutely blank, eyes trained stubbornly on his destination.

A huff of disbelief weaved itself between the sound of slow-rolling wheels.

“C’mon, kid,” Tomlinson tried. “It’s cold as shit.”

“Then maybe get a car with a roof,” Harry said, quietly.

Tomlinson chuckled in answer, wheels still painfully in time with Harry’s steps.

“Fair point. C’mon,” he repeated. “You’ve had a shit night. You’re cold and tired. Let me give you a ride.” When Harry stayed silent, he continued. “You’ll be home quicker. Home, and clean,” he needled. “And warm.”

At that, Harry let himself steal a glance, and was greeted with Tomlinson’s smirking profile, his eyes on the road. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, the lovely peak of a small nose – everything was slim and pointed. Pixie-like, Harry caught himself thinking, though the delicate quality of his face was offset by just a hint of handsome stubble. A healthy amount of silver decorated his temples, but the hair on his head was still a touch more pepper than salt. Not quite a silver fox just yet.

Fifty, Harry guessed. Fifty-five at most.

“Is this your M.O., or something?” Harry asked, trying to keep the raking irritation from bleeding into his voice. The calmer he was, the less Tomlinson would think he was getting somewhere. “Is that how this works? You go to a restaurant, find a target, get your wingman to act like an arsehole, and then swoop in for the kill?”

A startled laugh broke through the hush of the street.

“Just a wee bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Tomlinson teased.

“Evasive, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock.” Harry could still hear the amusement in his voice. “I do have killer flirting skills, but not serial killer flirting skills.”

Harry sighed then, so, so exhausted. “Right. Well again, no thank you on the ride. In case my little demonstration at the restaurant was somehow unclear, I don’t date men who are old enough to be my father.”

He tipped his chin up higher, because while Harry may not have any money (or a job, or a fiance), he still had his dignity.

Or at least part of it, he corrected, pushing away the curdle of humiliation as he remembered finding those awful panties.

“So you only date cheap men,” Tomlinson said, decisively.

“God,” Harry whispered under his breath, his annoyance now too hard to ignore. Louder he said, “Fuck off.”

“Cheap,” he continued confidently over Harry’s insult. “Young, handsome bastards who get one big paycheck and think that makes them Drake or whoever the fuck –” The cool-dad rap reference, plus the well-timed dig at his stupid, necklace-engraving ex, made Harry’s lip twitch upward against his will. “ – and then fuck off with some barely-legal twit who sucks dick like a champ but can’t name a single city outside of London.”

Harry snorted.

“Know him, or something?” he asked sarcastically, eyes trained on the tiny Underground sign that was still about three blocks away.

“Know him? Oh love,” The way he said it – ‘Luhv’ – made Harry finally turn to him. It was a mistake. His eyes were sharp – a searing blue even in the orange cast of the street lamps – and his smile devastating. “I am him,” he admitted freely, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smirk widened. “Only, you know,” he shrugged. “With a few more checks, and slightly higher standards. I mean,” he blinked, almost sweetly. “You can name at least three cities outside London... can’t you?”

Harry could feel a gentle heat settle at the tops of his cheeks, the insinuation about his blowjob skills decidedly not lost on him. He felt his stomach do a sudden somersault. He pushed it away, convincing himself it was just the rush of attention, the electricity of an unexpected ego boost and that quick, first moment of feeling pretty again after getting horribly, horribly dumped.

His brief silence must’ve signaled a chink in his armour, because Tomlinson then took it as an opportunity to say, “I’m Louis.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said, tongue fast, though the fact that he hadn’t yet ducked into a not-suitable-for-sports-cars-sized alleyway probably softened the blow.

Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous.  “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?”

“Closer to twenty-six,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “Which is an entire fully grown adult between us. You could have kids as old – nay, older – than our age gap.” Did he just say ‘nay?’

“Did you just say ‘nay’, Shakespeare?” Louis teased. “So definitely at least three cities outside London, then.” Harry didn’t smile but it was a close thing. “And I promise you,” Louis continued. “I haven’t put myself in the position to bear children since you were – nay, before you were born. Been in a lot of other positions since then, though.”

He had the audacity to punctuate it with a wink. It was annoyingly charming, and Harry had never been angrier at himself.

“Besides,” Louis said, with the kind of smile that knew victory was close. “It’s just a ride, love, no strings attached. Unless of course, getting tied up is what you’re into,” he added, so incredibly pleased with himself. Harry wanted to smack him. But he could also feel the blessedly comfortable heat radiating from the car’s vents.

“Fine.”

[littlecrookedheart]

Merry & Bright : The Twelve Days of Choices FicMas

Prompt 9, Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Pairing : Khaan x Dakota & Hamza

Rating : FLUFF

Word Count : 3,985

Disclaimer : I do not own any characters mentioned that are found in the choices universe.

“Do you like it, ‘Koda?”

Hamza outstretched his little hand, a tiny wooden ornament with a blue blob painted in the center sat in his palm. The corner very sloppily read, ‘HAMZA’ in full capital lettering, white dots plopped on the empty spaces.

“I love this, Hamza. Thank you!”

“Do you know what it is? That's Bopper! And he's dancing in the snow!”

“Bopper is the new velociraptor Hamza's babysitter gave him for Christmas,” Khaan smiled, sitting next to Dakota on the sofa.

“I quite love Bopper. He's such a great dancer, too. Did you teach him?”

Hamza shot to his feet, shuffling them as he used his arms to make waves.

“I'd say so,” Dakota giggled, joining Hamza in his arm wave dance.

“‘Koda, daddy says you and me get to make cookies for Santa. We have to make sure they have no gluten ‘cuz we don't know if he's allergic. ‘Kay?”

“I think that's very thoughtful of you. What kind of cookies?”

“I think we have the ingredients for cacao chip cookies and stevia gingerbread. What’ll it be, Lil’ Sprout?”

“Um…’Koda can pick. I just wanna make them look like Bopper!”

“I don't think they make cookie cutters in the shape of Bopper, Hamza.” Dakota said, taking a drink of their tea, the steam rising off of it similarly to the smoke of Khaan's seasonal incense.

“Actually,” Khaan stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening a drawer and pulling out a mesh bag of various dinosaur shaped cookie cutters. He reached inside, sorting through them quickly and held up one with a blue silicone grip. “They do, and we have one.”

“I stand corrected.”

Hamza zoomed to the kitchen, knocking his knee on the side of the couch. He fell to the floor, eyes welling with tears.

“Ow!” He cried, quickly looking up between his dad and Dakota for assurance.

“Can you bend it?” Dakota asked, kneeling next to him. Khaan joined them, helping Hamza move his leg.

“Yeah…”

“I think all is well, Sprout.”

“Here, I'll get an ice pack.” Dakota grabbed a beaded gel pack from the freezer, gently pressing it to Hamza's knee. A bruise was starting to form, a purple splotch just beneath his kneecap. “How about you go change into your pajamas and we can prop your leg on the couch while the cookies bake? The cold will help it feel better.”

“Go on, I'll be there in just a second to check on you,” Khaan nodded.

Hamza sniffled and went to his room, stopping to pick up Bopper on the way.

“Thank you,” Khaan whispered, reaching over to brush Dakota's face with the side of his hand. “You're really great with him.”

“He makes it easy to be. When you called me earlier, I was just as excited to see him as I was to see you. You're both wonderful.”

He sighed, a genuine grin spreading across his face.

“You're wonderful, too.”

“Daddy?” Hamza called from his room, “I wanna take a bath!”

“Okay Sprout, I'm coming!” He turned back to Dakota, “It won't take long.”

“Take your time.”

Khaan pressed a small kiss to Dakota's forehead, rushing down the hall to meet Hamza.

With a bit of time on their hands, Dakota pulled up a gluten free cookie recipe on their phone and began preparing the two types of dough, mixing in cacao chips and holiday spices. Afterwards, they covered each bowl and stuck it in the fridge, filling a kettle with fresh water to heat up before sitting down.

Dakota leaned back on the couch, closing their eyes for a moment, a smile spreading across their lips at the sound of Khaan and Hamza laughing. This is what home feels like, huh?

Hamza peeked out his room, skipping down the hall.

“Okay! ‘Koda, come on! We got a present for you.”

“It's not Christmas just yet,” Dakota said, turning to see Hamza in a red and green striped pajama set, his arms outstretched with a wrapped gift in his hands. “You look like you’re ready for Santa! What's this?”

“Daddy said I can give it to you! We gotta be ready for when Santa comes.”

Kneeling to meet Hamza's height, Dakota took the present and smiled. “You sure?”

“Yep!”

“Okay. Wanna help?”

Hamza nodded, tearing the paper open to reveal a white box. Lifting the cover off, he laughed at Dakota's raised brow reaction.

“Isn't it cool? We can match.”

“This is very cool, Hamza! Did you pick these out?” Dakota unfolded an identical pajama set, unable to hold back a grin.

“Actually, that was me.”

Khaan strolled down the hall, turning in his own matching jammies as if he were walking a runway.

“Wow.”

The three of them burst into laughter, Hamza doubling over in exaggeration.

“Go put ‘em on, ‘Koda. Then we can make Santa's cookies!”

“Okay. Can you keep an eye on that kettle?”

Hamza nodded, eyes widening.

“When it whistles, tell your dad it's time for -” they moved in closer to his ear, whispering, “Hot chocolate!”

“‘Kay!” He grinned and plopped onto the couch, facing the kitchen

“He's feeling better, then?” Dakota asked, heading down the hall to change.

“Miraculous recovery. Don't you know? That happens often with small children.”

Khaan followed closely behind, stopping at the doorway of the bathroom.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Don't you ever think you have to ask me that,” Dakota sighed, pulling him more in the doorway and out of Hamza's sight. His arms around them were like pillars of strength, lips slightly quivering as they met in a deep rush.

“I'll let you change,” he said, brushing a hand through Dakota's hair. “I think I hear the kettle.”

--

Hamza threw his head back as he cackled loudly, “Ehheheheh!” as he dumped the entirety of a container of sprinkles onto the cookie dough, spreading them all around.

“I hope Santa likes sprinkle overload,” Dakota joked, using the dinosaur cookie cutters to pop out shapes, setting them down on a pan.

“I hope Santa likes overly excited, hyped up children!”

Khaan rolled balls of dough onto the sheet, popping each pan into the oven.

“Okay! Time to clean up now,” Hamza reached for a cloth on the counter, “I'll do the wipe down. Daddy? You gots to spray it.”

Khaan winked at Dakota, pulling a spray bottle out from under the sink. “Set the timer, please.”

Dakota spun the timer backward, helping them clean the counters up.

“Santa is gonna love ‘em, isn't he?”

“Of course he will, Lil’ Sprout. You made them very festive and they already smell delicious.”

“I love cookies. Wanna sing a song? ‘Koda, do you know the song with Donner?”

“Donner? The reindeer?”

“Yep!” Hamza pulled a small wooden step stool in front of the sink, sudsing his hands as he sang, “...Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzer! But do you remember the most best reindeer of all….”

“Oh!” Dakota flung their arm around Khaan, singing, “Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose-”

“But did you ever saw it, you would even say it glows!”

Khaan chuckled and shook his head before belting, “All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names-”

“They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games- take it away Hamza!”

Hamza jumped off of the stool, swinging his arms around as if he were playing guitar, “Then one foggy Christmas eve, Santa came to say HO HO HO-”

Khaan swept him in his arms, spinning around as the two of them sang, “Rudolph with your nose so bright! Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?”

“Then all the reindeer loved him, as they shouted out with glee-”

“Rudolph, the bestest reindeer, you'll go down in history!”

Hamza ran to the couch, Khaan and Dakota speeding after him, covering his ribs in tickles. He shrieked, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe before yelling out,

“I'm gonna pee! I'm gonna pee!”

“Oh! Get to the potty then, Stomper!”

Hamza ran into the bathroom, giggling as he closed the door behind him.

Dakota panted, trying to catch their breath, “I bet this never gets old.”

“He keeps me young. He loves having you around, you know. He's so much more vibrant.”

Their eyes twinkled, crinkling at the corners, “Khaan, I-”

“I'm done peeing and I washed my hands!”

Khaan cleared his throat, “Yeah? Did you flush?”

Hamza paused in his step, turning back to the bathroom to flush the toilet.

--

“Daddy, can ‘Koda tuck me in?”

“Of course,” he smiled, kissing the top of his son’s head, “Sweet dreams, Sprout.”

“Love you!”

“I love you, too,” he said, closing the leftover cookies in Tupperware containers before rolling up his sleeves to finish the dishes.

Hamza snuggled into the couch, teeth freshly brushed and eyelids heavy.

“‘Koda, did you ever meet Santa before?”

“I can't say I have.”

Dakota tucked the blanket under Hamza's sides, handing him an extra throw to hold close.

“Do you know Santa goes all over the world? He brings everybody one present and it's ‘upposed to make us happy for Christmas.”

“The whole world?!”

“Yep! Daddy says he gots to start way before Christmas here, because some other places are Christmas yesterday.”

“Santa is one very nice person, isn't he?”

“Yep!” Hamza yawned, “What did you ask him for this year?”

“To spend Christmas with my best boys,” Dakota sighed, patting Hamza's arm, “And he gave me that, didn't he?”

“‘Koda?”

“Yeah?”

Hamza's eyes were closed, face halfway hidden behind his blanket, “You’re my best friend.”

Dakota smiled and whispered, “And you're mine, Hamza.”

--

Dakota stood up and made their way to Khaan, gently brushing his back and kissing his shoulder.

“He's asleep.”

“Thank you for tucking him in.”

“Of course.”

Khaan dried his hands on a towel, leaning his back against the fridge. He looked sad, almost, concerned.

“What's bothering you?”

“Am I so obvious?” he ran a hand over his face, looking toward Hamza. “I feel like I'm doing something awful by lying to him.”

“About what? Santa?”

Khaan nodded, shrugging.

“He's five, he should have something magical to believe in.”

“I'm unsure of the best way to go about this. I don't want him to have false hope.”

“Did you believe in Santa growing up?”

“I did. When I was nine, kids at school told me the truth. I didn't confront my parents, but I didn't pretend to believe anymore once I'd learned that it was all fabrication.”

“Did you ever have animosity toward your parents for telling you that Santa was real?”

“Of course not. I didn't understand why they had, but I never felt negatively toward them.”

“Why would he feel that way toward you, then?”

Khaan sighed, looking toward Dakota, unable to meet their eyes.

“He wouldn't, you know. Hamza is a great kid.”

“Dakota, I am so afraid to hurt him.”

“How could you ever hurt him? You love him so much, so wholly, you’re always putting yourself last in every single situation. You give him the world. You do everything you can for him.”

“I want to be the father he deserves. I give my all...I'm just afraid I won't live up to my own expectations.”

Dakota reached across the counter, taking Khaan's hand in both of theirs.

“You have to get out of your head, darling. Look at me.”

They moved around the counter, sidling up next to Khaan, placing one hand on his cheek, the other on his waist.

“You are the most loving, kind, incredible father I've ever known. Hamza loves you more than you'll ever believe. Please be kinder to yourself.”

Khaan's face flushed in heat, making him turn away briefly. “Thank you.”

Dakota's lips sprinkled kisses across his face, a smile forming on them as they pulled away.

“Hamza is happy, Khaan. You deserve to be, too. He'll be even happier if he sees you smiling as much as you deserve. You don't have to sacrifice your happiness in order for him to love his life. Look at him,” they gestured toward the couch where Hamza slept, his hand tightly holding Bopper, cheek smashed into the cushion. “He's living the life already.”

Khaan chuckled, brushing a thumb over Dakota's lips.

“You're right. I must be doing something right to have a kid like him.”

“Exactly,” they grinned, “You’re the magic Hamza sees in Santa. He just doesn't know it yet.”

Khaan choked back a sob, shaking it off. His gaze caught on the flickers of tree lights in Dakota's eyes, their hazel swirls seeming to illuminate a golden glow. He took a breath, pressing his forehead to theirs, “I can never be as happy as I desire.”

“Don't say that.”

“I can't lose my inhibitions, not when I have someone else to protect.”

Dakota's brow furrowed slightly, drawing both arms around Khaan, pulling him into an embrace.

“Just...let me keep making you smile. That's all I want from you.”

“I can't tell you how much I wish...”

“You don't have to, believe me. I already know.”

Khaan moved to kiss them, lips soft and comforting against one another, slowly dancing together as if they'd never missed a beat. Like fighting a current, Dakota broke the affection, swallowing hard as to shake away the emotion welling in their chest.

“We should try to sleep.”

“You're right. That little stomper will be awake before we know it.”

Khaan gently met Dakota's lips once more before leading them to the couch, lacing his fingers with theirs as he dozed off.

-

“Khaan, wake up.”

“Hmm?”

“Seriously, wake up.”

Dakota's voice was faint, barely there. Their eyes were fixated across the room, nodding toward the Christmas tree.

“What is it?” Khaan reached for his glasses, blinking vigorously when he saw what Dakota did. “What...is that?”

A flurry of silver and gold orbs bounced like sparks near the tree, a center of many of their lights formed together.

“I've never seen anything like-”

“Listen!” Dakota whispered, holding a hand out to pause him.

At first he was met with silence, only the tick of the kitchen clock filling the room. But then, as if all at once,he heard the most beautiful chime, an undeniable chorus of bells in the distance. Khaan looked to Dakota with wonder in his eyes and stood up instinctively, slowly approaching the light show near the tree. He jerked his arm back after reaching out, a deep chill surging through him.

“Are you okay?”

“They're freezing cold and warm at the same time,” he said, his eyes wide, “This is going to sound unbelievable...impossible, even, but it's like I saw something…”

Dakota crossed the room, reaching both hands out. As the orbs scattered reflections across their skin, a mixture of vanilla and pine filled the air, memories of childhood Christmases rushing forward. They turned to Khaan, taking his hand to feel the lights once more.

Khaan's face lit up as he watched Dakota open a miniature piano on their tenth Christmas, the aroma of baking pies in the air. The sound of laughter, a young Dakota in the kitchen eating candy, their grandmother finishing a knit sweater. And then pure light, Dakota's face the moment he'd revealed his feelings to them, and moments that hadn't happened ever before - Hamza and Dakota sledding down a hill together, Khaan's fingers placing a golden band behind a pillow. An older version of Hamza, smiling at the foot of a staircase in a tuxedo, Dakota snapping pictures with tears in their eyes. ‘It’s just prom!’ ‘Prom is a huge deal!’

Khaan blinked away the mist in his eyes, pulling his trembling hand away.

“What did you see?” They asked, leaning closer to him.

“You were young... I saw your grandma knitting...and a little piano. You were so happy.”

“So were you,” Dakota giggled, “I saw you open your first chemistry set.”

“What is this, Dewdrop?”

“Santa's magic,” Hamza yawned, sitting up on the couch.

“Hey, Sprout. Sorry we woke you.” Khaan crawled over, sitting on the floor next to Hamza's spot on the couch.

“Did he do it?”

“Hmm?” Dakota asked, running a hand through the dancing lights again.

“Did he help you? I asked Santa to help you know what you really want for Christmas.”

“What do you mean, buddy?” Khaan asked, softly patting Hamza's knee.

“ ‘Cuz remember? I said, ‘What did you ask Santa for this year?’ and you said, ‘I don't know.’ So I said to Santa in my letter that Fiona helped me write, ‘Dear Santa, for Christmas I want you to help my daddy remember what he wants and then give it to him! Because this year I got a lot of presents for my birthday and I really want daddy to have a present too!’”

Khaan smiled, glancing to Dakota before hugging his son with one arm.

“That was really kind of you, Lil’ Sprout. But you know, Santa will still bring you a gift.”

“Well, what are those? Are those my presents?” Hamza pointed to the lights.

“I thought you said they were magic!” Dakota smiled, taking his hand, “Wanna feel?”

Hamza's face brightened, nodding quickly.

“I'm not so sure if that's-”

“Please, daddy? I promise, just one time!”

Khaan gave a nod, watching as Hamza spun in a circle beneath the shimmers.

Suddenly, the lights dissipated, a wave of glitter bursting from each of them, raining down around him. The sound of the bells seemed to surround the room, the twinkling tree lights buzzing brighter, and in a split second -

“Santa!” Hamza shrieked, pointing out the window before running over to it.

Khaan and Dakota looked out, mouths falling open in perfect synchronization. Hamza giggled profusely, bouncing up and down, “Santa!”

The silhouette of a reindeer led sleigh dashed across the sky, glimmers of orbed lights following closely behind. The gift pile under the tree had grown substantially, leaving Khaan with a quizzical look on his face and Hamza with a racing heart.

“Daddy, can we open one?”

“In the morning, Sprout, you need your sleep.”

“Just one? Please? Then I'll sleep, I promise!”

“Please?” Dakota chimed, falling to their knees next to Hamza, “We deserve it!”

“You both deserve the naughty list,” Khaan laughed, passing both of them a gift labeled from The North Pole.

Hamza ripped open the paper, thrusting a stuffed stegosaurus into the air. “Just like I wanted!”

“Whoa! How cool is he?” Dakota grinned, petting the toy. “What's his name?”

“Um...Nelson.”

“Very cool. Nice to meet you, Nelson!”

“What did you get, ‘Koda?”

“Let's see.” Dakota opened a small box, a folded piece of paper sitting in the center. They unfolded it, covering their mouth in awe. “Hamza...did you draw this?”

Hamza leaned over and smiled, “Yep! How the heck did Santa get that?” He turned away, wrapping his toy in a hug as he buried his face back into his pillow.

Khaan leaned over, tucking the blanket around his son, gently brushing his hair as he fell asleep.

Dakota sat between the couch and the tree, running their fingers through the air where the orbs had been. Khaan sat cross legged next to them, resting a hand on their thigh.

“Can I see what you got?”

They passed Khaan the paper, eyes glistening as they looked away from him. Inside was a crayon drawing of three stick figures holding hands, each labeled underneath. Across the top was scribbled yellow flowers and the words, “My family.”

The first, drawn in green, with black glasses, “Daddy.”

In the middle, a short one drawn in blue, “Me”

At the end, drawn in purple with curly hair, “Koda.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“It says everything,” Dakota said, their eyes brimming in tears, “I need for you to know something.”

“What is it, dewdrop?” Khaan pulled them close, concerned and very confused at the entirety of the nights happenings.

Dakota sniffled and laughed, looking to Hamza.

“He is the smartest, funniest, most amazing kid I've ever met.”

“He is pretty great, isn't he?”

“He's incredible. You've done such a wonderful job raising him, Khaan. He has the best man to look up to.”

“I don't know if I can take all of the credit-”

“No, stop. Please take my compliment. You never, ever let me tell you how perfect you are.”

“I'm not perfect, dewdrop. But I won't fight you on it. Thank you. You are rather perfect to me, too.”

“I love you.”

Khaan tilted his head, meeting Dakota's gaze as they continued, “I don't want anything from you. This never has to be anything more than it is right now, but I need for you to know that I love you, and I love your son. You are everything to me.”

“Dakota, I-”

“‘Koda?”

Hamza reached outward, patting Dakota's shoulder from where he lay.

“What's up, buddy?”

Eyes still closed, he drowsily mumbled, “We love you too.”

Dakota chuckled as tears ran down their face, rubbing Hamza's back as he fell back asleep. They curled up on the couch, smiling once more at Khaan before closing their eyes, too.

“He's right, you know,” Khaan whispered, wrapping his arms around them, pressing a warm kiss to their neck. “We really, really love you.”

--- a year later

“Look at my handsome boys!” Dakota beamed, finding Hamza and Khaan already dressed in their Christmas Eve pajamas, each of them with a mug of cocoa.

“Go change, ‘Koda! We wanna watch Polar Express!”

“Okay, okay! I thought you wanted cookies,” Dakota giggled, passing a plate of warm gingerbread men to Khaan.

“I was the one who wanted these. He's just ready to wait for Santa again.”

“I'm not waiting for Santa this year!”

“How come?” Dakota asked, sticking their head out of the bathroom as they changed into their pajamas, “Last year was so fun!”

“Because I already know he's real. Besides, daddy already got his best present.”

“My best present was you, Sprout.”

“My best present was Bopper.”

“My best present was both of you,” Dakota grinned, sitting between the two on the couch.

Hamza snuggled up to them, dancing in his seat as the title screen popped up. Khaan and Dakota joined in, swaying back and forth for a moment before pressing play.

-

“The first gift of christmas!” Santa Claus announced, holding up a silver bell on the screen.

Khaan reached behind Dakota, tapping Hamza on the shoulder. He stirred in his seat, climbing behind the couch.

“What are you doin’, silly?”

“Getting the first gift of christmas! Close your eyes!”

“Open your hands,” Khaan said, covering Dakota's palm with his own.

“Okay ‘Koda, open your eyes.”

“Okay...what's this about?”

“We love you!” Hamza smiled, two of his baby teeth missing from the front of his mouth.

“We want to know…”

“Do you wanna?”

Dakota's eyebrows raised, a look of confusion in their eyes, “Do I wanna what?”

Khaan laughed, rolling his eyes. “What Hamza meant to say is-”

“Oh! Do you wanna be a Mousavi!”

Dakota's chest filled with an ache, a deeply embedded rush of emotion, their heart feeling as if it had dropped completely to the ground.

“What?”

Khaan moved his hand, revealing a thin golden band in Dakota's palm. Dakota gasped, speechless, staring at the ring.

“Say yes,” Hamza whispered, taking a bite of a gingerbread man.

“Yes. Yes! Of course I do!”

Khaan wrapped his son and new fiancé in an embrace, his glasses fogging slightly as his eyes misted over.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he sobbed, pressing kisses to both of their faces.

“Ew, dad! That's gross!”

Dakota chuckled, wiggling their eyebrows at Khaan as he pulled back, face stained with tears.

“So we’re gonna be a real family now?” Hamza asked, mouth full of cookie.

Khaan smiled, kissing Dakota's cheek tenderly, “We already are.”

[notorious-fiction]

The Christmas Prince (A Whoever You Want to Read With One-Shot)

        You two had made a deal.

         Shook hands and all, very solemn looks on your faces, promising one another a very simple thing.

         No gift exchanging on Christmas day.

(You'd just been laid off your job and it sucked balls, and he knew money was a bit short on your end and also knew you would never, in a gazillion years accept any money from him, so he started to come up with a bunch of lame ass excuses to make you feel a bit better.)

("It's cliché", he had snorted when you touched the subject "Exchanging Christmas gifts. Ugh. It was meaningful before but now it's just another "especial" date that lost it's core value to boost capitalism. I mean, you can be a crappy boyfriend all year round as long as you buy your girl an extra glittery Hallmark card and a Tiffany Bracelet, right?")

("Right." You had agreed, although not really, because as much as you found sexy as fuck when he used pretty words - core value, damn - you still flipping loved Christmas and looked forward to it all year long.)

        So no gift exchanging it was.

        You'd spend Christmas day with you family and he would spend it with his - you knew how rare it was for him to take some time to see them - but the day before, the 24th, you had him all to your own.

        Just "a casual dinner, the two of us" (his words, not yours) with some "classic Christmas movies, deal with it, loser" (your words, not his) at your place.

        Going out was a real pain nowadays, with the whole paps, fangirls, Snapchatters, etc thing, so to save yourself from the stress (how come he never failed to look like a Goddamn model on those candids whilst you looked like you were about to sneeze? Ugh.), staying in it was.

        In, with no gifts.

        Or at least you thought so, because mid afternoon on December 24th your iPhone seemed to gain a life of its own, all your social media accounts on a frenzy of notifications as, oh well, your famous as fuck of a boyfriend was spotted loading a box the size of a small poney into his car.

("She is so lucky!!!!!!")

("What did he get herrrrrrr i'd be happy just with his dick on box and by the size of it its prob that lol")

("Ugh i hope its a bomb")

(Insert other very sweet comments here.)

        You controlled the urge to text him (going against your über curious personality with all the strenghth your posessed), instead focusing on the fact that you were...

        Fucked.

        Because whilst your boyfriend was on the posession of a very big, flashy box (what you had no idea what was inside, Christ, what the hell was inside of it?!), you were in the posession of...

        "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Elf" and "The Polar Express".

(All masterpieces, in your humble opinion.)

        And the phone of the thai take out two blocks from your place.

(Best pad thai and sticky rice ever.)

(Plus it gave tons of free sriracha packets! Yay for free stuff!)

        But seriously, what the fuck were you supposed to give to a human being who seemed to have absolutely everything?!

        It'd be stupid to give him clothes - he got those for free -, you had no idea what his shoesize was (did that make you a horrible girlfriend? oops) and anything else you could think of was undoubtely lame. 

        What if you made him something?

        Okay so you didn't know how to draw or paint or knit or rhyme or write a song or do anything that required a minimum artistic vein slash handicraft talent but you could...

        Try?

        Throwing your body on the couch, your laptop literally on your lap, you sat on your ultimate comfy position - which he had lovingly nicknamed "Cirque Du Soleil's contortionist catching up on reality TV on it's free time" or "how you don't have a back problem is beyond me" (when he said that last one he totally reminded you of your mom) -, typing on the words that were responsible for many delayed papers at Uni and scurries off the house whilst almost tripping on your shoes as you were late as fuck.

        Pinterest dot com.

(A blessing and a curse to womankind, honestly.)

D. I. Y.

(Do it yourself.)

(Although you actually never did.)

        Scrolling down the screen - DIY baking soda shampoo! DIY mosaic tile birdbath using recycled DVD's! DIY Glittery Bath Bombs! - you noticed that all of them seemed to involve stuff everyone apparently had at home except you like glue guns or spray paint or Scrabble tile holders (...seriously) so after five minutes of Pinterest searching, you sighed in defeat.

(Hard effort wasn't your forte, you had to admit.)

        Even friendship bracelets are a hard task to accomplish when you have the skills of a three year old toddler and if you actually purchased a glue gun you could already picture yourself glueing nothing but your own fingers and spending Christmas Day at the ER.

        But you did have glitter glue, and that wasn't so dangerous was it?

        You also had an old, slightly crumpled piece of cardboard and a "DIY Easy Glittery Hallmark card tutorial!" (snort) at your screen, so you decided to give it a go.

        If it came out okay you'd be able to give him as an ironic gift?

("Oh hey, I know you gave me a super awesome/expensive/fancy/cool/thoughtful - insert whatever the hell could be inside that massive box here Christ the curiosity was killing you - but ha-ha-ha remember that snark you made about glittery Hallmark cards?! Instead of giving money to the greedy capitalist men I made one myself, how about that?! Aren't I the Best Girlfriend Ever?!?!?!")

        And if it came out like crap you could, y'know, throw it in the bin...

        ...So of course it came out like crap.

        Because you somehow managed to put more glitter glue on the tip of your fingers than on the goddamn cardboard, more glitter glue on your clothes as you absentmindedly rubbed your hands on it as you tried to think of what the hell you could do to save your "Merry Christmas" masterpiece.

(Trash.) (That was how you could save it, your dignity, your boyfriend's poor eyes and your dignity.)

(By throwing your masterpiece on the garbish.)

(Fuck ironic gifts.)

        Of course that instead of coming up with another idea after the Glittery-DIY-Hallmark-Card fiasco, your procrastinator side spoke louder, and click after click after click you found yourself going deeper and deeper of that pit called Pinterest, until you blazed on a section you'd never dared to venture on before.

        The recipe session.

        There were gooey chocolate chip bars, chocolate fudge brownies, kale and artichokes dip, quinoa fried "rice" (...why would someone all it fried "rice" if it had no rice in it only quinoa, you wondered...) and everything made your mouth water and stomach growl and you deeply wished there was someone who could make it for you.

        Everything sounded too tempting (and too hard and with too many fancy ingredients and kitchen appliances you'd never even heard of) until you found...

"Easy adaptable chocolate chip cookies with ingredients everyone has at home!!!!! Can be made vegan gluten/lactose/nut/anythying free paleo atkins insert random diet you'd never heard of before here"

        Well...

        Following a recipe wouldn't be that hard... Would it?

        Especially when you could sub eggs for oil if you didn't have any or oil for mashed banana or mashed banana for applesauce or applesauce for honey or honey for agave which were all obviously so much alike, right?

        Throwing everything you had into a single bowl - did you mention it was a single bowl recipe? Seriously, it could not get any better, your dishes-washing-hater-side thought - you frowned as you compared your final result to the one on the screen.

        Pinterest's batter: gooey but firm, looked so good you wouldn't mind spooning it raw directly into your mouth.

        Your batter: two year old's diarrhea, you wouldn't want to spoon it raw directly into your mouth not even if they paid you.

        You somehow managed to put little (balls, on Pinterest, blobs, sounded more accurate to your situation) blobs of the batter onto the baking sheet and onto the oven, too busy freaking out slash trying to understand what the hell you did wrong (ooh two american cups of flour? what were american cups? weren't your cups american? why america has to control everything for god's sake?!) to notice the door being unlocked, only realising you had company when you heard an amused chuckle behind you.

        Turning around so quick you almost broke your neck - fouet filled with sticky disgusting batter held in hand in a threatingly way - you found him staring, all long legs and perfect hair and mocking grin and...

        Empty hands?

        Where the hell was the box the size of a toddler he was seen loading into his car?!

        Goddamit, internet!

(And why did you feel a lil' bit disappointed I mean...)

(...you had him, hadn't you?)

(Best Christmas Gift Ever, am I right.)

        "Hi."

        "Hi. Were you..." A cute little frown appeared between his brows, pearly white teeth still on show as he asked "Baking?"

        Getting a bit defensive - why did he have to sound so confused/terrified? - you dropped the fouet on the sink, replying "Yes, why?"

        "Oh, for nothing! I mean, it smells..."

(Awful.)

        "Pretty good."

(Damn, he was a liar.)

        Leaning to check the oven temperature just one more time - I mean, better safe than sorry, you couldn't push your luck (any further) - you ignored your boyfriend's stare (a cute little smirk on his lips because well, he thought it was cute how you hadn't noticed the chocolate batter on your chin or how you wore an apron thrice your size), asking maybe a little too cheery "So, how's your Christmas eve going so far?"

( "...Loading too many big ass boxes onto your car?", you rhymed mentally.)

        "Well, not too good I mean, I only got to see my lovely lady today." He replied with a charming smile, expecting for you to giggle - alright, fine, he knew you weren't one to giggle, or at least give him love eyes.

        You squinted skeptically.

...Okay.

        "Empty handed, I see."

        "Yeah, kinda glad we decided to skip on that Christmas madness. Had to help a mate out with picking up a complete set of one of those fancy Le Creuset cooking things. Said his girlfriend would love it." He added with a scoff, rolling his eyes "I told him that if I gave you anything kitchen related you'd throw it in my head, but seeing you're apparently into cooking now..." He paused, pursing his lips "Should I write it down as a suggestion for your birthday?"

        Her mind went black.

        Kitchen appliances.

        His mate was giving his girlfriend freakin' casseroles and frying pans.

(Oh poor girl.)

(Poor, poor girl.)

(The disappointment when she opened that huge heavy box.)

(Damn.)

        And you had been freaking out the entire day thinking he'd gotten you something big and awesome and you'd look like the awful ungrateful girlfriend.

        Man, that ugly glittery card would look like heaven next yo, y'know... Nothing.

        "If you ever give me a damn casserole pan I shall rip off your little buddy of you, cut it into tiny little pieces, cook them in the freakin' thing and serve you for dinner." You stated, and he replying, giving you a kiss on the forehead  "Aw, see? I know you so well."

        God, you were glad he didn't get you anything.

        Because being with him was the best gift you could've ever asked for.

(Insert vomiting and cringing here.)

(Fuck you never thought you would be THIS gross and disgusting and loving about any human being in your life after your miserable string of awful break-ups.)

(Yet there you were, with your very own prince charming.)

(Yup, that was it, you guys would be watching The Christmas Prince on Netflix.)

        You showed your appreciation by getting on the tips of your toes and pecking him on the lips, the little wrinkle of confusion between his forehead making you want to kiss him even more.

(How was possible for someone to be so cute slash sexy at the same damn time?)

(Seriously.)

(Ugh.)

        But then, maybe you'd been too distracted by his pouty pink lips - no chapstick or anything, you wondered how the hell he managed to get them always so soft and puffy and kissable - to check the oven...

        And the whole room started to smell a bit smokey.

        And look a bit smokey.

        "Fuck, my Pinterest cookies!" You squealed, startling him.

        You were sort of thankful your fire alarm wasn't working so well, because if the firemen showed up because you almost burned your kitchen down, your landlord would have (even more) reasons to hate you.

        "It looks... Edible." Your boyfiend said matter of fact, poking one of your cookies at the tray with the tip of his fingers with brows furrowed.

        They looked like baby alien fetus.

(Edible, in some outer galaxy cultures, probably.)

        "Want to try them?" You knew by the raise of his eyebrow that it was a challenge, a thing you rarely passed.

        Daringly, you got one - dropping it back to the tray because damn they were hot -, trying it again after a few seconds of you two staring at each other with "Who Shall Quit First" eyes.

        Was he going to make you eat them first?

        By the fake tight ass smile he was giving you, he was...

        So with the biggest grin you could muster, you squeaked "Merry Christmas baby! I made these for you! Hope you like them!"

(Or at least don't get food poisoning and die! Please don't get food poisoning and die! I kinda really really really really really like you!)

(And if you die because of me slash my cookies your fans will murder me!)

        With a small gulp, he picked one of the alien fetus cookies, shaking it off so they wouldn't be "too hot and burn his tongue" for about three minutes.

        You kinda knew he was trying to make as many tiny pieces of it fall out so he'd eat as less of a cookie as possible, but you didn't call him out on it because oh well, he was at least going to eat a teeny bit of them.

        And in the end, after a bit of fake awing "Oh, tastes so good babe" and maybe spitting on a napkin when you turned around to throw the dirty dishes on the sink, he did eat your alien fetus cookies.

        What made him the best boyfriend slash Christmas present ever.

        And after drinking maybe a bit too much wine and watching The Christmas Prince, he drunkenly vowed to never ever give you anything cooking related - as the cookies now rested in peace in your trashcan, on top of your ugly ass glittery card -, and that vow would be proved to be a gift that kept on giving.

(I mean, it would give stomach aches and calls to the fire fighters and be a total waste of ingredients, so you were cool with that.)

(And even if he never gave you anything at all, he dealt with your craziness, your PMSing, you overreacting whenever you let your - very expensive - makeup fall onto the floor, never watched Game of Thrones episodes without you and always let you eat the biggest last slice of cheesecake.)

        And if that wasn't much of a proof of real, true love, you had no idea of what the hell it could be.

           And that was the greatest gift of all.

(Cue to cringing due to cheesyness again.)

-------

MERRY CHRISTMAS U GUYSSSSSSSSS!

Hope y’all have a fantastic one and find all you wanted under the tree! ooh and if you liked it pls don’t forget to click on that like button (i’ve been watching too many youtube vids send help)

lots lots of love

Gabe

ps: i’d like to dedicate this to my favorite humans on earth victoria, nina and lari, who are still my friends even after i’ve been through probably 30 different mental breakdowns this year, love you guise so muchhhhhhhh thanks for always encouraging me to write!!! oh and if you haven’t read my stories based on them you can find them all here 

[alphacrone]

that the ice was so thin under the snow - chapter two  

on ao3 | chapter one

TW: vomiting, somewhat graphic description of a wolf hunting and killing prey, blood mentions, vague non-graphic descriptions of violence

Dinner was an...interesting affair.

The men who’d found Blue—Ransom and Holster, Eric called them—were loud and boisterous, and eerily in sync at times. They one called Shitty was somehow even louder, and the only woman among them, Lardo, uttered maybe three words during the entire meal. Still, between the looks she gave Jack and the way she appraised him when she thought he was distracted, it felt like she said more than all of them combined.

Blue ate with the other two dogs in the kitchen, already at home in this strange, strange house. The dog food itself appeared homemade, meat and rice and sweet potatoes. Jack wondered if Eric was a chef, or maybe the house husband of this ragtag family unit. Either way, he piled dish after dish onto the table in front of them, beaming when Jack’s mouth fell open in shock.

“It’s not every day we get a guest for dinner,” he said in explanation.

Shitty slapped Jack on the back and laughed. “Living with Bits spoils you. We eat like kings, thanks to our favorite baker.”

Eric gave him a mock bow. “So we got some rosemary focaccia that’s been in the freezer, a cranberry-walnut salad with that goat cheese I got from Mrs. Shindle next door, my Moomaw’s classic beef stew with extra potatoes for Ransom, and, for dessert, the beta version of my apple pie pierogies. If y’all like ‘em, I’ll be putting them on the menu for next week, I think.”

“Menu?” Jack asked as the others around him began shoveling food onto their plates.

“For my bakery,” Eric said, sitting down at the head of the rectangular table, across from Jack. Despite his small stature and youth, Eric Bittle struck Jack in that moment as the patriarch of this household. “I always test out recipes on these goofs.”

“And we love him for it,” Holster said around a large mouthful of stew. Jack took the proffered bowl of salad from Ransom and finally dug into the meal Eric had conjured from thin air.

It was as fantastic as it smelled, all spices and herbs and beautifully complementing flavors.

As they ate and talked and laughed, Jack noticed that every person at the table was drinking beer, except for him and Eric. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason why. Was Bittle watching his figure? Did he have an early shift? Or, like Jack, did he struggle with alcoholism? Surely he wasn’t gluten free, if the pile of bread on his plate was anything to go off of. Jack found himself wanting to know the answers to every questions he had about Eric, wanting to know everything about this man. 

“Before we get too far into dinner,” Shitty said, standing and raising his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To our new friend. Oh, and her owner, too.”

The others laughed and raised their drinks. Jack rolled his eyes and grinned. These men had really taken a shining to Blue, and he really couldn’t blame them. She'd been a good friend to him; this would be a good family to leave her with, when he set off on his own. 

“I hope you’re enjoying dinner, Jack,” Eric said as they settled back into the meal. “After the day you’ve had, I thought you could use some good, hearty comfort food.”

Jack swallowed his mouthful of stew and nodded. “It’s really good, thank you.”

The smile Eric gave him was blinding, and Jack felt warm and content in its light.

Dessert was delicious, of course, and Jack felt full to bursting when he asked Holster where his car keys were. Holster gave him a startled look, but motioned toward a basket on the kitchen counter.

“Aren’t you staying the night?” Ransom asked, looking as surprised as Holster. Before Jack could say no, Eric was there, hands on his hips.

“Of course you’re staying the night,” he said simply, casting Jack an exasperated look. “Honestly, it’s like you want to end up naked and tangled in a fence again. You need a full night’s sleep and I’d really feel better if you went to the doctor tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Jack argued, taken aback by Eric’s strength as he herded Jack towards the stairs. “Really. I don’t want to put you out any longer. You don’t even know me.”

“Look, mister, I may not go to church anymore, but taking in a lost and weary traveller is just the Christian thing to do.” Eric directed him to the room he’d woken up in, looking at Jack with a determined expression. Blue followed on their heels, seeming far more content to spend another night in the Coop than Jack.  “I’ll be making omelets in the morning, so please join us for breakfast. Sleep well, Jack. Blue.”

With one last smile, Eric was gone from the room, the door shutting softly behind him. Jack sighed and took the towels someone had set on his bed and placed them on the dresser. Blue curled up in the corner, happy to sleep between the wall and the radiator.

Jack sat down on the foot of the bed, feeling dizzy. He’d been off since dinner, and thought maybe the stew had disagreed with him. But it wasn’t nausea Jack felt; it was an anxious restlessness. He glanced out at the night-darkened woods surrounding the house and dilapidated barn, and felt a deep, itching urge to run out into the trees. The moon overhead was full and bright, and in that moment it seemed like the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen in his life.

Then the light of the moon seemed to shift. Jack's vision blurred, suddenly, and the world around him screamed.

When Jack awoke, he found himself in what looked like the rundown barn outside the house. He was sprawled on the dirt, completely naked, feeling as shaky and sore as he had the morning before. But this time...this time he remembered how he spent the night. In what form he spent the night.

Without warning, Jack hurled, retching violently onto the ground in front of him. He’d been a wolf, or thought he was a wolf, or maybe just wanted to be a wolf. He’d chased rabbits and deer, had caught something small and warm and squirming and torn it apart with his teeth-

“He’s back to normal,” someone above him said, and Jack looked up to see Lardo peering through one of the high-up windows. He wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten up there, but Lardo seemed like a person who could do whatever she wanted, whenever she felt like it.

Behind him, the large barn doors squeaked open, and then Eric was at his side, shoving a water bottle into his hands and draping a blanket over his shoulders.

“Lord, Jack, are you okay?” He asked, smoothing down the wrinkles in the blanket. Jack didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—but drank the water greedily.

Behind Eric stood the other men, all watching Jack with more caution than Eric displayed. “That was...that wasn’t good, man,” Holster said after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, feeling sick again. Eric glared at Holster, lips pursed together.

“You clearly couldn’t help it,” he said, motioning for Jack to drink more water. “I mean- you turned into a wolf, for Pete’s sake. That’s not exactly on par with losing your temper, now is it?”

He smiled kindly at Jack, and that was the only thing that kept him from panicking totally. “A wolf?” He asked. “So I’m not crazy? That happened?”

“Dude, no,” Ransom said, shaking his head. “You looked like- like a Direwolf or something. It was wild.”

“The dogs really freaked out,” Shitty added, wrapping an arm around Lardo’s shoulders as she walked into the barn. “Well, mostly Peaches. Little shit peed all over the laundry room. But, like. Holy fuck, man. Holy fucking shitballs.”

“Werewolf,” Lardo said, examining Jack thoughtfully. “Who knew?”

“Why am I totally freaking out?” Holster said, glaring down at Lardo. “And she’s all, ‘Werewolf. Chill. No biggie.’ C’mon, Lards, we should all be freaking out. Jack most of all.”

“A werewolf,” Eric breathed, running a hand up and down Jack’s arm. Even through the blanket, Jack could feel the warmth of his touch.  “Thought that was just movies, stories.”

“I’m glad we didn’t take him to the hospital,” Ransom said in an undertone. “Can you imagine ?”

“Let’s not,” Shitty said, and though his tone was easy, there was something warning in his eyes. Jack was grateful for that.

“Are you alright to stand?” Eric asked Jack, hands resting on Jack’s shoulders. When Jack nodded, slowly, Eric murmured, “Let’s get you up to bed, then. There we go.”

With Ransom and Holster’s help, Jack rose to his feet and let himself be led back to the house. “This is way preferable than carrying you,” Ransom joked, but Jack didn’t feel like laughing.

“It’s handy Shitty moved into Lardo’s room last month,” Eric said behind him. “Now Jack has one all to himself.”

“Perfect timing,” Lardo agreed. Then, in a whisper Jack probably wasn’t supposed to hear, “Do you think all werewolves have asses like that, or is he just special?”

Eric sputtered and Shitty laughed and Jack found himself smiling, despite everything.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Eric blocked the front door with his entire body, arms crossed. “You were literally a wolf less than twelve hours ago. You’re going back up to your room and resting, mister.”

Jack glanced at the dogs, who all followed Eric around like he was some sort of animal whisperer. (It was the treats in his pockets, Jack was almost certain.) “ My room?” Jack asked, mostly to be a little shit. “You got a thing for adopting strays, eh?”

Eric rolled his eyes and threatened Jack with his wooden cooking spoon until Jack relented and dropped his bag on the ground next to the line of boots and slippers in the foyer. Jack knew he needed to sneak out, to stop endangering these kind, weird people, to drive back to Kenny’s place and question his neighbor, scream at that man and his dog for- for what? Turning him into a werewolf?

“Why can’t you just let me go?” Jack asked, following Eric as he headed back into the kitchen. Though the bakery was open today, Eric had called in sick and put one of his managers in charge. But Jack wasn’t a child and didn’t need a babysitter, so Eric was baking more experiments, stationed right where he could hear if Jack tried to sneak out. “This is stupid, I’m putting you and your friends in danger.”

“We’re a lot of things, here in this house,” Eric said, tone too even to be genuinely calm. “But cowards ain’t one of them.”

“But I’m a monster ,” Jack argued, slapping a hand against one of the counter tops. “I need to get far away from everyone.”

“And, what? Move to Antarctica?” Eric set down his spoon and gazed stonily at Jack, face pinched together in determination. “Why are you so determined to be alone?”

“Because there’s something wrong with me.” Jack huffed, frustration welling up in his chest. “Aren’t you scared? Why aren’t you scared?”

“Of course I’m scared!” Eric snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “Jack, you turned into a wolf . You tried to eat Blue . You tried to eat me as well, but Holster got you good with a baseball bat and the sound of Lardo’s shotgun scared you into the barn. This whole thing? It’s terrifying . But if we don’t help you, who will?”

His words hit Jack like a sucker-punch to the gut. He stumbled backwards and sank down against the kitchen wall, a cold wave of fear washing over him. He nearly killed Eric. He attacked these kind, unsuspecting people, and they still wanted to help him. A monster like him didn’t deserve that.

Sighing, Eric walked over and sat down next to Jack, arms wrapped tight around himself. “And...as scared as I am, I know you have to be a million times more so. You shouldn’t be alone now, not with this. So unless you got somewhere you can go and not be alone when you turn again, we got a barn we ain’t using and ropes and chain and other sorts of things for keeping a wolf from eating his dog. Okay?”

Jack nodded stiffly. “Okay. Thank you. I can’t- how can I repay you?”

Eric laughed and shook his head. “Come over here and give me your honest opinion of this pumpkin mousse I’m experimenting with. Then we’re even.”

Jack followed him to the counter and tried to argue, but that proved to be pretty hard when he had a spoon shoved into his open mouth.

[bloodandcream]

Title: The kids these days are calling it polyamory

Pairing: MegxCasxKevin

Rating: General

Wordcount: 2,119

Notes: written for @theactualpiemaker and @spnpolybingo, square ‘Meet the Family’

-

The box fan in the window droned noisily over the occasional burst of traffic in the street outside, the low level hum of Cas’ aquarium by the bookshelves a white noise Meg had learned to block out. It was an uneventful but rare Saturday off work, too hot in late June and Meg almost wished she was at work where there was at least air conditioning.

Sitting cross legged on one side of the couch, Cas had both his feet on her thigh and a book propped on his bare belly. He was usually always naked or in boxers around the apartment, whether it was summer or winter.  Across the coffee table scattered with empty glasses and the overspilling mail basket, Kevin sat staring blankly at a cook book. His half finished grocery list sat next to his elbow while he quietly continued his break down in fits and starts.

Meg was getting used to how much Kevin freaked out on a regular basis. She continued calmly painting Cas’ nails a shimmery midnight blue.

“I mean, do you guys even want to meet my mother? It’s a little early for that, anyway. Right?” Kevin asked.

Meg shrugged, “I could take it or leave it.”

Cas set his book on his belly and turned his head. “I’d love to meet your mother.”

“But I don’t know how to explain this to her. I told her I was moving in with my boyfriend a month ago and she won’t stop asking me to bring him over for dinner but I didn’t tell her that my boyfriend had a girlfriend who’s kind of my girlfriend and I don’t know how to explain any of this.”

“Kevin,” Cas said firmly, “take a deep breath.”

Nodding, Kevin breathed quietly for a minute. Meg capped the nail polish and shook it. It was getting a little old and goopy.

“I mean, it’s not like I want to hide you, you know?”

Leaning back against the couch arm, Meg told him, “I’m not really the kind of girl you take home to parents. You can hide me all you want.”

Cas nudged his foot into her stomach reproachingly.

Meg swatted his shin, “Hey, watch those toes.”

“From what you’ve told me of your mother,” Cas said, “She sounds very nice.”

“I mean, if I keep my GPA up at school and visit her at least once a week, but, she wants to know everything. I can’t lie to her.”

“Just not telling her things, isn’t really lying,” Meg suggested, starting on the second coat.

“Oh, she would know.” Kevin insisted.

“Then tell her that you have a boyfriend and a girlfriend,” Cas said. “It’s not that complicated.”

Meg rolled her eyes, thought about how many years Cas and her had been together in some way. Her benchmark for a relationship was sex, which they never had, but Cas defined it in some other weird, emotional way. She supposed that the off-again-on-again D/s thing they had occasionally - between Cas’ attempts at dating other people which usually crashed and burned - that that was some kind of something beyond friendship.

Adding Kevin into the mix - a boyfriend of Cas’ that didn’t leave after finding out about the whole no sex thing or the hey this is my friend Meg who ties me up and whips me on the weekends - after he had moved in with the two of them when the last semester ended, instead of going back to his mom’s for the summer, and they were all… something more than roommates. Plus, he and Meg were banging now. Come to think of it, Meg hadn’t had sex or scened with anyone outside of Kevin and Cas since the start of summer.

Meg concentrated on painting Cas’ nails. “It’s pretty complicated.”

Kevin groaned and dropped his head against the book.

-

Every single day for the past week, Meg had had to listen to Kevin worrying about the dinner his mom had insisted on that Saturday. Over breakfast, it was the ‘Should I tell her about the bdsm thing, that’s not something you tell your mom right?’. And coming home from work it was ‘Meg please don’t talk about sex at dinner’.

Cas didn’t get scolded.

The box fan in the bedroom window whirred steadily, blowing hot air from outside across the three of them sprawled in bed. The laptop was open on the foot of the bed, Orange is the New Black playing episodes back to back on Netflix as they ate ice cream. Meg felt like she was ice cream, melting in the goddam heat.

Cas sat in the middle, propped up against a mound of pillows with the ice cream in his lap. Mint chocolate chip, one of Meg’s favorites.

Over the music of the intro, Kevin asked, “Is it too much to put on her?”

“What do you mean?” Cas humored him.

“I mean, I came out as bi my freshman year, then trans my sophomore year, now it’s hey mom I’m in a polyamorous relationship.”

“She’s taken everything else well so far, hasn’t she?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. But I mean. Is that even something you come out as. Polyamorous? That’s not like a … an orientation or anything. How do you come out as polyamorous?”

“It’s a lifestyle choice,” Cas said, “but it can be difficult to explain. Given that it’s not the default setting of a relationship, in a sense one can ‘come out’ as polyamorous.”

When he used air-quotes, Cas spattered chocolate chip ice cream on Meg. She picked it off her boobs and ate it.

“Hey, the next episode is starting,” she warned them.

“Oh my god it’s almost Saturday. Why did I tell her we could come this Saturday? I need more time.”

Meg reached across Cas to slap Kevin on the thigh. “Kev, your mom is going to love Cas. Everyone loves Cas. I’ll bring dessert, I’ll make my gluten free devil’s cake. She’ll have to like me. Everyone likes a person that can make cake.”

Cas hummed his agreement. “Do you really think that your mother will have a problem with it?”

“I don’t know, I mean she’s my mom. All she does is work and clean and worry about me.”

Meg told him, “You might be surprised what your mother gets up to when you’re not around.”

“Oh god, please don’t make me think about that.”

Laughing, Meg scraped the soft stuff off the sides of the carton. “Hey, did you tell her Cas has Celiac’s?”

“Yeah. She’s probably spent the last week researching it and what to cook.”

“Everything will be fine,” Cas reassured.

-

Meg leaned against the doorframe to their bedroom, watching Kevin pacing between the closet and dresser.

“What do I wear? Jeans or slacks?”

“If you don’t put something on, we’re going to be late.” Meg told him.

Grabbing a pair of jeans, Kevin pulled them up and looped a brown leather belt through the waist. Wearing a tan binder, he put a white tank over it and got a white button down out of the closet.

On the bed, Cas was already dressed in a perfectly respectable button down and black pleated skirt, hairy legs on display. The cat sat on Cas’ belly, nudging against his hand, purring, shedding all over his nice outfit.

Fuck that, Meg was wearing jean shorts and a spaghetti strap, it was too goddam hot for anything else.

Holding up two ties, one a striped green and one solid green, Kevin stopped in the middle of the room and gaped at Meg.

“You are not wearing that.”

“Yeah, I am.” Meg rolled her eyes.

“Meg you can’t meet my mom looking like that! No cleavage. Please.”

His big brown eyes looked utterly panicked.

“It’s summer, and I’m hot.”

“My mom’s house has A/C.”

“Hey, I am who I am, your mom can take it or leave it.”

Kevin groaned, scowled at her, and went back to agonizing over ties. Cas stood and went to the closet, came out with the one fancy blouse that Meg had for work interviews.

“Please put this on.”

Standing in front of her, Cas held the shirt up to Meg.

“I made dessert, I don’t have to get dressed up,” Meg protested.

“Put the shirt on.”

Cas glared at her. He could be an implacable, stone son of a bitch when he wanted to be. Meg was not going to make it out of the house dressed as she was.

Kevin sounded like he might be hyperventilating on the other side of the room.

Huffing, Meg grabbed the shirt roughly and pulled it on.

“Fine.”

-

Kevin did not shut up the whole way to his mom’s house, rehashing every doubt and everything that could go wrong while Meg steered through sedately winding suburb roads. The houses here were nice, well-kept, big but not mansion sized. All the lawns were neatly trimmed and there were people out jogging on the sidewalks.

Fucking jogging. In summer.

“Pull in here,” Kevin gestured at a driveway.

Bright hydrangea bushes framed the doorway to a tidy house, backyard fenced in, not a weed in sight.

“Your house is lovely,” Cas commented.

Neighborhoods like this kind of gave Meg the creeps. She grabbed the cake dish from the footwell after pocketing the keys and followed the others up the walkway.

Kevin took the lead, knocking on the door. His mom was even shorter than him when she answered, swooping forward to give him a crushing hug before stepping back to appraise Meg and Cas.

“Hello, welcome, I’m Linda Tran.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Tran,” Cas said, stepping next to Kevin to shake her hand.

Meg lingered in the back as they were ushered into a wide entrance hall, staircase sweeping up to the right, photos of Kevin all over the walls.

“It’s nice to meet you too. You must be Castiel. And this is…”

“Hey,” Meg waved, “I’m Meg.”

Ms. Tran blinked at her, nodded politely.

Kevin shuffled awkwardly, “So, this is Cas, my boyfriend, and Meg, my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Ms. Tran exclaimed. “Are you swingers then?”

Kevin made a noise like a wounded animal. Cas was busy studying a bowl that had some kind of woven balls or something in it on a side table.

“Yeah, the kids these days are calling it polyamory.” Meg told her. “Why, were you a swinger in the seventies?”

Kevin’s face was bright red.

Ms. Tran moved them along the hallway back to wide kitchen with big windows, full of sunlight and gleaming counters.

“In the sixties actually. I know, I look a lot younger than I am.”

-

The three of them were practically pushed onto stools while Ms. Tran fussed and served them drinks - wine, Meg could not believe that she actually had a small wine fridge set into the cupboards. She moved around the kitchen swiftly and purposefully, taking out containers of prepped food and measuring spices into little glass bowls that she lined up beside the stove.

“Kevin told me you have a gluten allergy?” Ms. Tran asked.

“That’s right,” Cas answered.

“Well, I’m making a rice and vegetable dish, but there is gluten in the kitchen and I understand that cross contamination can be an issue, so I won’t be offended if you don’t eat.”

Kevin, for his part, sat quietly looking shocked that bringing home a boyfriend and a girlfriend seemed to be a non-issue, taking backseat to Cas’ dietary needs.

“Thank you, that’s very considerate.” Cas smiled, looking around the kitchen curiously.

“The cake I brought is gluten free,” Meg said.

“Really? What kind of flour do you use?”

“It’s a mix of a few, actually. There’s sorghum flour, tapioca flour, potato starch.”

“You know,” Ms. Tran talked over her shoulder as she cooked, “I was surprised by some of the things I read, about the effect that gluten can have. I was thinking about trying a gluten free diet myself.”

“It can make a difference,” Cas said, “whether you’re severely allergic or not. I have a lot of books you could borrow, if you like.”

“I would love that.”

Pulling a pan bigger than her head off the stove, Ms. Tran dished out something like a stirfry.

“Really, Kevin, you should have brought your partners over sooner. You know I’ll expect them here for dinner every week.”

“Mom.”

“That would be so great, Ms. Tran.” Meg told her.

Family dinners were usually awkward, but Ms. Tran was pretty cool and more than anything Meg was enjoying the intense wave of embarrassment coming off of Kevin. She did take an immense pleasure in other people’s discomfort, after all.

Plus, hey, free food.

[silkloss7-blog]

Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil

posted by Kalyn Denny on April 1, 2019

Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil was inspired by a series of grocery store finds and this lasagna was so tasty! Use Casserole Recipes to find more low-carb casseroles like this one!

Click to PIN Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil!

It’s no secret that I love Low-Carb Casseroles because of the way they create leftovers for the freezer, and other people must like that too because casseroles are some of the most popular recipes on this site! But usually I wouldn’t share a new casserole recipe like this Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil at this time of year, just when the weather is starting to heat up.

It was three fun grocery store finds in a row that inspired me to create this recipe, and after we worked on it a few times to get it right the final version was so tasty I just couldn’t convince myself to wait until fall to share the recipe! In fact, yesterday I pulled a container of this low-carb lasagna out of the freezer and heated it up for an amazing dinner. So please make this NOW before it gets too hot to turn on the oven and I promise you’ll be glad you tried it!

The Folios Parmesan Cheese Wraps I found at Costco were the first thing that inspired this lasagna. Normally I’m not inclined to create a recipe using  a product that some people might not be able to find, but when I shared about Folios on Instagram I was so intrigued by the comments and how many people liked them. Folios are firm wraps made of cheese, about the thickness of a tortilla and they’re gluten-free and have only one carb each.

When the idea of making no-noodle lasagna and using these parmesan wraps as the “noodles” popped into my mind, I might not have done it right away except the very next time I went to the grocery store I found Rao’s Tomato Basil Sauce (affiliate link) that had half the carbs as the low-sugar sauce I’d been using. And then on that same shopping trip I discovered the store had fresh basil plants! I love fresh basil and it added so much flavor to the sauce for this low-carb lasagna!

But if you can’t find Folios Parmesan Cheese Wraps or Rao’s Sauce or don’t have fresh basil, please don’t let that stop you from making this tasty lasagna! Use a firm sliced cheese like Provolone to replace the Folios; it will probably melt a bit more but it’s still going to be delicious. Pick the lowest-carb sauce you can find if your store doesn’t carry Raos. And you can use dried basil or chopped basil in a tube for the sauce if you don’t have or don’t want to buy fresh basil. (I don’t accept money to promote products, and none of the companies mentioned in this post have any idea that I’m featuring them.)

(This is just a summary of the steps shown in the photos. Scroll down to the complete recipe for full instructions.) Preheat oven and spray casserole dish with non-stick spray. Heat oil in a large deep frying pan and saute chopped onion; then push onion over to the side and cook the ground beef and Italian sausage in the same pan.

Add the Rao’s sauce to the meat mixture and simmer until the sauce is thick. While the sauce simmers, chop basil (or use Herb Scissors like I did if you have them!)

Stir the chopped basil into the sauce. Mix the cottage cheese or ricotta, beaten eggs, 1/2 cup Parmesan, garlic powder, and dried herbs. (We tested the recipe with both cottage cheese and ricotta and we preferred the cottage cheese, but take your choice on that!)

I used a wonderful Le Creuset baking dish that I bought at Williams Sonoma with a generous gift certificate I got from my brother Dave and his wife Amy, thanks guys! Cut the Folios in half and cover the bottom of the dish. (I only needed two Folios per layer for my size dish, if your dish is a bit wider or longer you might need three.) Spread half the meat sauce over the Folios.

Then make a layer with half the cottage cheese mixture, followed by half the Mozzarella.

Make another layer each of Folios, meat sauce, cottage cheese mixture, and Mozzarella. Sprinkle the grated Parmesan over the top. Bake Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil for 40-45 minutes. (We cooked the lasagna in the photo 45 minutes but I’d start to check after 35 or 40 minutes.)

Serve hot and enjoy! This freezes well and reheats beautifully in the microwave or in the oven.

Make it a Meal:

I’d serve Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil with a salad like Low-Carb Caesar Salad or Kalyn’s Favorite Baby Arugula Salad for a low-carb meal!

More Low-Carb Lasagna to Love:

Grilled Zucchini Low-Carb Lasagna with Italian Sauce, Tomato, and Basil Sauce ~ Kalyn’s Kitchen Keto Chicken Lasagna Cups ~ A Spicy Perspective Low-Carb Sausage and Kale Mock Lasagna Casserole ~ Kalyn’s Kitchen Low-Carb Lasagna Stuffed Peppers ~ Recipe Girl Low-Carb Mock Lasagna Spaghetti Squash Casserole ~ Kalyn’s Kitchen Low-Carb Pesto Zucchini Lasagna Rolls ~ All Day I Dream About Food Low-Carb Sausage and Roasted Peppers Mock Lasagna Casserole ~ Kalyn’s Kitchen

Weekend Food Prep:

This recipe has been added to a category called Weekend Food Prep  to help you find recipes you can prep or cook on the weekend and eat during the week!

Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil

Yield: 8 servings

Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cook Time: 45 minutes

Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil was inspired by three fun things I found at the grocery store, and this lasagna was so tasty!

Ingredients:

1 T olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped small

1 lb. lean ground beef

1 pkg. (19.5 oz.) Hot Turkey Italian Sausage, use pork Italian Sausage if you prefer (see notes)

1 jar (24 oz.) low-sugar pasta sauce (see notes)

1/2 cup chopped fresh basil (or use a few teaspoons of dried basil or a few tablespoons of basil from a tube if you don’t have fresh basil.)

2 cups cottage cheese or Ricotta cheese

4 eggs, beaten well

1/2 cup coarsely grated Parmesan cheese (probably optional, but good)

1 tsp. Italian herb blend

1 tsp. garlic powder

4 Folios Parmesan Cheese Wraps (Use firm sliced white cheese like Provolone if you don’t have Folios. You may need a total of 6 Folios to cover the dish if you use a larger, less deep dish than we had.)

2 cups grated Mozzarella cheese

additional 1/3 cup coarsely grated Parmesan cheese to sprinkle over the top (probably optional, but good)

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375F/190C and spray a deep rectangular casserole dish with non-stick spray. (See notes about the dish I used.)

Heat olive oil in a large deep frying pan over medium-high heat and saute chopped onion just until it’s starting to brown, then push onion over to the side of the pan and crumble in the ground beef and Italian sausage, squeezing the sausage out of the casings. Cook the ground beef and Italian sausage, breaking apart with the turner until it’s nicely browned and all the released liquid has evaporated.

Add the Rao’s sauce to the meat mixture (rinse out the jar with a little water if you’d like) and simmer on low until the sauce is thick, about 10 minutes.

While the sauce simmers, chop basil (or use Herb Scissors like I did if you have them!)

Stir the chopped basil into the sauce and turn off the heat.

Mix the cottage cheese or ricotta, beaten eggs, 1/2 cup Parmesan if using, garlic powder, and dried herbs.

Cut the Folios in half and cover the bottom of the dish, putting the straight edge along the edge of the dish. (I only needed two Folios per layer for my size dish but bigger casserole dishes might need three.)

Spread half the meat sauce over the Folios.

Then make a layer with half the cottage cheese mixture, followed by half the Mozzarella.

Make another layer each of Folios, meat sauce, cottage cheese mixture, and Mozzarella. Sprinkle the grated Parmesan over the top if using.

Bake Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil for 40-45 minutes. (We cooked the lasagna in the photo 45 minutes but I’d start to check after 35 or 40 minutes.)

Serve hot. Leftovers can be frozen and reheated later.

Notes:

I used an amazing Le Creuset baking dish that was 7.5″ x 11.5″ x 3 inches deep; try to use a deep dish if you can but anything close to that size will work.

I used my favorite hot turkey Italian sausage for this recipe, but pork sausage would also be good!

I was excited to find Rao’s Tomato Basil Sauce (affiliate link) at my grocery store; this sauce has only about 20 carbs in a whole jar.

This recipe inspired by Folios Parmesan Cheese Wraps that I found at Costco and I experimented with Jake and Kara until we thought it was a keeper!

Low-Carb Diet / Low-Glycemic Diet / South Beach Diet Suggestions: Low-Carb No-Noodle Lasagna with Sausage and Basil is a great dish for low-carb and low-glycemic diet plans, and for any phase of the South Beach Diet. South Beach would recommend lean ground beef, low-fat turkey sausage, low-fat cottage cheese, and reduced fat cheese for this recipe.

Find More Recipes Like This One: Use the Recipes by Diet Type photo index pages to find more recipes suitable for a specific eating plan. You might also like to Follow Kalyn’s Kitchen on Pinterest to see all the good recipes I’m sharing there.

Nutritional Information? If you want nutritional information for a recipe, I recommend entering the recipe into this nutrition analyzer, which will calculate it for you. Or if you’re a member of Yummly, you can use the Yum button on my site to save the recipe and see the nutritional information there.

posted by Kalyn Denny on April 1, 2019

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Source: https://kalynskitchen.com/low-carb-no-noodle-lasagna-with-sausage-and-basil/

[raypalmer-atom]

WHO: Ray Palmer and John Constantine. WHAT: Shared Dreamverse.

The first thing he was aware of as he fought off the last remnants of sleep, were slender hands on his shoulders shaking him, no doubt in an attempt to rouse him. The second was the sound of a youthful female voice with a British accent, calling him Dad. Brown eyes opened quickly, staring up at the teenager, “Astra, honey bee, where’s the fire?”

He’d stayed at the lab late the previous night, determined to get his project finished, which meant he had allowed himself an extra hour in bed that morning. Obviously his daughter didn’t get that memo, and by the sounds of it, neither had his co-parent, judging from the rattling and clattering coming from the kitchen. Not that Ray was complaining about having breakfast made for him. “Today’s the day, you promised.” Running a hand over his face, Raymond tried to recall what exactly he had promised Astra would happen on a bright August Saturday. Maybe they were going to the ocean? Or on vacation? Surely he’d remember booking a holiday…?

“Okay, okay. I’m up.” Sitting up in bed he shooed Astra out of the door so he could get up and find some clothes, finally making his way into the kitchen a few minutes later.

John had woken up a few hours earlier, a little disoriented at first but he quickly realised it was a dream. A magic one, at that. His body recognising the crackles of magic that hung in the air with a pleasant tingle.

Normally John would have performed a counterspell but he had drew upon a lot of magic during the battle with Mallus and therefore was tired. Plus he was kind of curious where waking up next to Ray Palmer would lead.

Ray was a curious addition to the dream although not a surprising one as John had worked closely in repairing the other man's damaged soul. They had both fallen asleep in the Waverider's med bay and apparently that translated to domestic bliss in dream world. John wasn't going to complain.

The most jarring part of the dream had been walking out into the hall in his red robe and seeing photos on the wall. Each and everyone featured a little girl with either him or Raymond or all together. Astra. Her little face beaming, growing up through the years just as she should have.

John moved to the kitchen, he needed a drink. Looking through the cupboards was futile though, apparently coparenting with Ray Palmer meant an alcohol free home. So John settled for coffee. Which was almost spat across the bench when Astra made an appearance. John just watched in awe as she rabbited on about going out driving with ‘her Dad’. Then she took off and a few minutes later said ‘Dad’ appeared, hair all sleep ruffled and looking rather disheveled.

“Morning Raymond. Coffee?” John put across the air that he was fine with their situation. Not sure if Ray was aware or not.

The pictures on the walls of Astra, John and himself, made this house feel like home, but the blues, grays and whites used in the decor reminded him of somewhere else, as did the modern chrome appliances in the kitchen. Smiling as he set eyes on John, he nodded, giving him a brief hug from behind, “morning and please.”

An orange tabby cat wound itself through his legs and he leaned down to scoop it up, “morning to you too, Solo.” The cat purred against his chest as he scratched behind his ears and took a seat at the breakfast bar. He felt as though he’d done this before, and yet at the same time there was something slightly unusual about this morning routine. Maybe it was just because he was usually the early riser, not John.

“Don’t suppose you can clue me in on what I promised Astra we’d do today?” He whispered to the other man so their daughter wouldn’t hear. He felt terrible for forgetting, though honestly it felt like he hadn’t known at all.

The hug was all John needed to know that Ray was more invested into the dream than he was. He gave the other man’s arms a pat before he let go, deciding there and then that it wasn’t the right time to inform Ray that this life was all just a dream. It was odd, though, despite knowing that he had never made Ray a coffee in the real world, John went about making Ray a mug exactly how he liked it.

John eyed the cat, wondering if it bore any insight into Ray’s desires. All his observations so far pointed that Ray wanted some sort of family life. Or something. More observations would be needed.

“She did mention something about getting behind the wheel of the Jag earlier.” John murmured back as he handed Ray a steaming hot mug of coffee. “And she has a driving test this Friday. So, you do the maths.”

Taking the mug gratefully, he paused in his fussing over his feline buddy, and instead wrapped both hands around the mug, cradling it as if it were precious as he took his first sip. “Mmm, thanks John.” Solo settled on his lap as if it were his and Ray couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d always wanted a pet, bringing home all kinds of strays when he was younger. But then he’d developed an allergy… which strangely enough seemed to have vanished again. Weird.

“In her dreams,” Ray laughed, “that’s a classic XK-E. There’s no way she’s getting to drive it on a learner’s permit.” A little frown came to his face as he thought about the cars out in the garage, none of them were particularly learner friendly. “Hmm, well, at least she won’t be driving like you.” He’d only been unfortunate enough to experience John’s driving a handful of times, but those were enough.

“The Mercedes is learner proof, we’ll go out in that.” Okay so it was an SUV, but that was better than a sports car like the Jaguar and the Charger.

John just shrugged, not really knowing the difference between the cars other than one was bigger than the others and they were different colors. The next sentence brought a disgruntled look on his face. “I can drive.” He sounded offended but John also wondered how Ray would know that his skills in the area were subpar.

“But Dad,” Astra wandered into the kitchen after getting dressed, catching the tail end of her Dads conversation. “The Mercedes is huge.”

“All the better to run the other drivers off the road before they crash into you, Astra love.” Astra rolled her eyes at that but didn’t argue. “You can go out after you’ve both eaten.” John agreed with Ray and Astra going out in the Mercedes. John began pulling things from the fridge to cook. Now that was one area John was good at. He actually enjoyed cooking and trying new flavors - some hit, some miss. “Did you make any progress with what you were working on last night?”

“I know, Trouble,” Ray smiled placatingly, reaching out and touching the back of John’s hand gently. “We drive on the wrong side.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, having heard the same grumble each time John had driven him somewhere. When Astra joined them, Ray grinned, patting the stool beside him.

Drawing his hand back, he took another drink from his mug, feeling the cobwebs retreat with each sip. As if on cue his stomach growled at the mention of food and he chuckled as Solo let out a ‘mrrr’ in return. “I finished the project, so now I just have to move it into the testing phase. Which will be interesting.” Possibly dangerous too, but he didn’t need his family to know that, or that he was being his own guinea pig.

“And your motorways are completely impossible to navigate.” John teased right back, kind of enjoying their banter and the nickname. This dream felt very easy to be suckered into. But something still ticked in the back of his mind that this wasn’t right. Lovely, but impossible.

John gave Ray a knowing look over his shoulder as he prepared their food - French Toast with gluten free bread. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the other man tested everything on himself first. What man of science didn’t?

“That mean another road trip to the abandoned aerostrip?” Astra piped up, taking an interest in Raymond’s work. “Last time with the shrink ray was a blast. Pity I didn’t get to keep the tiny plane.”

Ray chuckled at the appraisal of the US road system, swirling the dark liquid in his mug for a moment. Though the banter felt natural, there was something way down at the back of his mind that argued. For the time being he was steadfastly ignoring it.

Raising both eyebrows at the knowing look he was given, Ray tried to meet it with an innocent one of his own. Obviously his other half knew him far too well for that to wash. Though everyone in the science field had used themselves in their own experiments at least once.

“Maybe, not today though. We need to get your practice in. As for keeping that plane, they probably would have noticed if it went missing, even though it’s not airworthy. Actually, I’d love to get my hands on it and fix it.” Ray rambled, glancing up and smiling at the fond expression on Astra’s face.

“And you call me Trouble.” John murmured with a fond smile, placing a plate before each of his dream family. Standing back and watching them banter, John’s heart ached. He knew it wasn’t real and should probably find a way to wake himself and Ray up. But he selfishly wanted to stay.

It didn’t take long for the dishes to be cleared and Astra was dragging her other Dad out the door for driving lessons. John refused to let her go without a proper goodbye - a fierce hug which Astra complained loudly about because what if her friends down the street saw her cool punk rocker Dad being a mushy sap.

He then turned to Ray. “Keep her safe.” John gave him a quick peck on the lips. He watched his family pull out of the drive, a little too fast for Ray’s liking judging by his grimace and Astra’s cheer of pure joy. John chuckled and went back inside, a bittersweet yet sad smile on his face as he knew what he had to do. It was going to hurt but they needed to get back to reality.

[artificialqueens]

The Fair Ones Don't Play Fair (Elsewhere University x RPDR Crossover) 1/8 - Wednesday Angeline

A/N: crossover fic, university and fantasy AU. The Elsewhere University universe (by Sam, @charminglyantiquated, official blog located at @elsewhereuniversity) but with drag race characters, because Elsewhere University has absolutely sucked me in. I also threw in a few of my OCs, I hope that’s okay :) I’ve tried to make everything as accurate to Elsewhere U as possible, but I may have missed a few things, please do correct me! Feel free to message me with feedback or questions @wednesday-angeline :)

Chapter 1

Courtney looked around. Elsewhere University was bigger than she expected. She tapped her foot, waiting for her resident ambassador to fetch her to her dorm. A young woman walked up to her, her messy blonde hair glinting in the sunlight.

“Hi! Lovely to meet you, my name is Alaska. I’m your RA,” the blonde greeted in a low drawl. “What do you go by?”

“Courtney, nice to meet you,” she replied. The name felt weird on her tongue, unfamiliar. She missed being called Shania Jenek, her Name and identity much more comfortable to her. But her sister had warned her that she could never reveal it- there would be consequences. It sounded sketchy, but she just accepted it as part of the university traditions. “What do you major in?”

“I majored in fashion and graduated a few years ago. I’m doing a postgrad course online,” Alaska said, motioning for Courtney to follow her.

“Oh, that’s cool! I’m doing my bachelor’s in art,” Courtney trudged along, pulling her lime green suitcase. “How many people will be in our dorm?”

“Eight students, and me. There’s two freshmen, you and Adore. You’ll get to meet her later. Here, take this, wear it at all times and immediately replace the items if you lose any of them.” Without looking back, Alaska handed her a white drawstring pouch with a long leather string. Courtney noticed that the RA herself had one around her neck, like a lanyard.

She glanced inside the pouch before following Alaska hurriedly. She vaguely saw a few bolts and salt packets. That was weird. “Thanks? What is it for?”

“Don’t say that. I’ll answer later, we need to get you settled down first, alright? I’ll explain the rules to the two of you. Just beyond the business building.” Alaska gestured.

–

“Everyone, this is Courtney,” Alaska called as they stepped into the dormitory. It was small but cozy. “I’ll let her unpack first, you can introduce yourselves later.”

They walked down the coridor, and arrived at dorm 208. “Here you go. Lakynn is your roommate, the two of you can get acquainted.” Alaska opened the door, allowing Courtney to enter with her suitcase.

A skinny redheaded girl looked up from her laptop, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Hi, I’m Lakynn.” A small smile appeared on her face.

“I’m Courtney.” Courtney opened her suitcase as Alaska closed the door behind them. “I brought some cookies, you want some?”

A troubled look crossed Lakynn’s face. “They’re gluten-free and vegan,” Courtney added.

“I’ll e-mail you the rules first, and then maybe you’ll understand. Can you enter your e-mail address here if you don’t mind?” Lakynn turned her laptop towards Courtney.

What a strange girl, Courtney thought, as she typed her new e-mail out. She had to set up a new one prior to arriving at the school, her old one containing her Name. She opened her own laptop, sitting on the newly-made bed.

“The email is sent, read it as soon as possible. You have the rest of the day to unpack.”

“Tha-”

“It’s no trouble.”

Courtney opened the email. Unofficial student guide for freshmen. Mandatory for art, music, history and English students. Strongly recommended for journalism and chemistry students. Optional for all others.

You should already know this. Never reveal your Name, the one that your loved ones call you and that your identity is linked to. Go by something else, preferably as far from your Name as possible.

Always keep salt, iron and rowan, vervain or hazel on you for safety. Ramen flavoring is handy in a pinch. Some in your room as well. Leave some coffee creamer outside each night for Them, or anything similarly creamy. Butter will do. Always keep some with you.

If you refer to Them at all, speak in positive terms - the Fair Folk or the Gentry. Never directly refer to them as the Fae. Do not stare too long at shadows - what is seen cannot be unseen.

Never use the words “please”, “thank you” or “I’m sorry” for these indicate that you are in debt and owe favors. Instead, say “if you don’t mind”, “you’re very kind”, “pardon me”. When gifting something without need for a returned favor, note that they are freely given.

Oh.

“Um, the cookies are freely given,” Courtney said. Lakynn smiled as she looked up again from her computer. Courtney handed the ziploc baggie to the redhead.

“I appreciate it very much. I’m a chemistry student, by the way. And you?”

“Art, I’m really excited! I hope the professor will be nice.”

Lakynn tapped her fingers on her chin. “I believe professor Bianca teaches art. She also teaches some fashion classes. She’s nice enough if you’re well-behaved. And you’ll probably get Miss Betty as well. I’ve heard from Bella that her temper is quite erratic - their class nicknames her Acid, so I’d advise you to watch out. I’ve only seen her around campus myself.”

“Ah, is Bella a student?”

Lakynn nodded. “She’s in 504 with Eira. She’s doing her masters in art, and Eira is doing chemistry and fashion.” She nibbled the cookie. “These are delicious.”

“Th- you’re very nice for the compliment,” Courtney beamed. “I spent three years perfecting the recipe.”

“I’ll leave you to your unpacking now. Remember to check the pouch Alaska gave you - you can ask me if you’re missing anything. Also, to read the rest of the rules sometime tonight. Dinner’s at seven in the dining room, you’ll meet everyone else there.” Lakynn returned to her laptop.

–

“First, let’s welcome our new students, Adore and Courtney,” Alaska introduced, when the last youth was sat at the dining table.

Courtney waved, and so did a baby-faced boy, grinning at everyone. A chorus of “hi” echoed the room.

“Everyone, introduce yourselves while you dig in! I’ll go first,” Alaska instructed. “You’ve both met me - I’m Alaska, your RA, and I’m here to guide and care for you. I majored in fashion when I was a student. You can come to me for any help. Oh, and I’m also a huge fan of snakes, so just let me know if you don’t like them.”

“I’m Jane,” the boy next to Alaska greeted. He had dreadlocks, and a quill tattooed on his left wrist. “I study English and it’s my third year here. I’m Eira’s boyfriend and I like writing in my spare time. I also study linguistics, and I’m rooming with Adore.”

The girl next to him was munching on her beef until Jane nudged her. “Oh, pardon me! I’m Eira, I’m doing chem and fashion and I really like both. Hit me up if you want to talk shit. Or whatever.” She shrugged, twirling a pigtail. “My name’s Welsh but I’m from Japan.”

“I’m Katya, I room with Tyra and she’s like my mum. Or maybe it’s the other way round. Mother, I’m thinking of being a mother again,” the young woman next to Eira drawled, laughing at her own impersonation. Of what, Courtney doesn’t know. Her blonde bob only made her seem weirder, even in such a strange school. “I’m from Russia and I’m doing my teaching degree. I can also teach yoga and do the splits.” She smiled from ear to ear.

“We know, Katya, you tell us every other night,” Eira said, rolling her eyes.

Lakynn ignored the two of them and spoke up. “My name is Lakynn, I’m a chemistry student and I room with Courtney. I’m rather shy but I’m friendly, I promise.” She continued to pick at her food.

“Hi I’m Adore! I’m doing art and fashion and I’m totally hyped, everything is going to be fucking dope! Party!” The new boy said enthusiastically, reaching for another slice of pizza.

It was Courtney’s turn. “I’m Courtney and I’m from Australia. I’m doing art and it’s lovely to meet everyone, you all seem very nice.”

The girl on the other side of Courtney nodded. “I’m Tyra,” she said, her eyes black and dull as unpolished onyx. It was unsettling, although the girl herself seemed kind. “I major in music. I like reading.” She shrugged, gesturing for the next, and last, student to speak.

She was another blonde, with an air of fragility about her despite being average-sized and tall. “My name is Bella, and I’m on my second year for an art degree.” Courtney could swear that her blue eyes glinted pink in the light. She looked away immediately. “I like music, and sports. All kinds of sports. It’s good to meet you two.”

“Everyone help the freshies settle in as comfortably as possible over the next few weeks. To a new year!” Alaska raised her glass, and the rest of the dorm followed suit.

–

“Adore and Courtney, I’d like to speak with the two of you in my room if it’s okay,” Alaska called as they piled up the dishes for the caterers to collect.

As soon as they were all seated on Alaska’s bed, the two freshmen crossed-leg on one side and Alaska on the other, she crossed her arms. “I’m guessing neither of you have finished reading the rules?”

The two students shook their heads guiltily.

Alaska giggled. “It’s okay, don’t worry. But it would be a good idea to finish it tonight or at the latest, tomorrow. Anyway, have you noticed anything weird about any of the dorm students?”

“Uh-” Courtney’s voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s probably my glitching vision but Bella’s eyes turn pink in light?”

Alaska nodded. “Anything else?”

“Tyra’s eyes. They’re weird too. But she’s nice, very quiet but nice,” Adore mused.

“Tyra is from the Gentry. You can ask her more about it, she doesn’t mind as long as you are polite. She’s one of the few nicer Ones. Bella, on the other hand, isn’t one of Them. She had, however, won over one of Them fairly last year. It’s better for you to know this beforehand. Before you sleep, you should sprinkle salt around your bed and on the windowsill as well as near the door. Salt lines are very important if you want to be safe here. And hammer in iron nails if they are missing, Only one who doesn’t do it is Tyra because she doesn’t need to. Also why we don’t eat anything with salt as seasoning. Hopefully it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

“It’s cool,” Adore said, grinning. “She seems super cool, these Gentry people sound fuckin cool as well! And anything’s good as long as there’s pizza.”

“Adore, don’t seek out the Gentry if that’s what you’re planning. Tyra is okay, because she’s rather open and she tends to give information freely instead of making deals, but you really don’t want to mess with Them,” Alaska warned, turning solemn. “Remember what the rules said. Don’t go seeking out the unknown, don’t stare too long, there are consequences, and some situations that even I can’t save you from.” She looked down for a moment, and her eyes seemed to sadden.

“We won’t, Alaska, don’t worry,” Courtney said, at a loss for words to comfort the RA.

Alaska looked up, face morphed into an expressionless mask. “I’ve told this story to every freshman I’ve welcomed and it’s always been a sound lesson, so here goes. There was this girl, Willam, a few years ago, from this dorm. A music student, very bright and outgoing, but too careless for her own good. Her singing enticed a few of the Gentry, and they befriended her. They made a deal with her one day- I’m not sure of the details, but she was taken away.” Alaska bit her lip. “She was also my girlfriend. That’s why I don’t want either of you getting stupid ideas of making deals with Them. Never ends well for you or your loved ones.”

There was a long, awkward pause. There always was.

“Anyway- I’ll leave you two to mingle with everyone. Remember to read the rules! Good night.”

A/N 2: Alaska and Willam’s relationship inspired by “Fairytale” by Alexander Rybak :) I hope you liked the fic! Just a side note- everyone is cisgender besides Adore, who is genderfluid.

[mandimormon-blog]

Seaweed and Dirty Filters

Typically, as I type a blog, I have bullet points or a keyword list stored as a note, on my phone. Not because I forget everything, but I forget everything UNLESS someone offends me.  In the case, I remember the exact year, day, weather, time, location, minute, what clothing we both were wearing, and whether or not I was having a good hair day.

Last week, as I pecked away at the keyboard, I forgot a little gem.  It’s probably because my mind shifts focus dozens of times and when I remember where I was originally going with something, it’s too late.  It’s posted.

Picture this.  We go about the same weekly, school routine, day-by-day.  We arise and shine forth, extra early or most of the time not a minute before 7:00 a.m. expecting to be arriving at school sometime between 7:55-8:05.   A long time ago, (like last school year), I used to be up before the sun, getting five miles in and starting morning chores long before 7:00 a.m. rolled around.  This year, however, my son began all-day Kindergarten meaning, I have about seven hours a day to get household chores underway, a run in, weights in, and all of the errand running done (because let’s face it – it’s easier to fly solo when purchasing the weekly groceries).  I require my sleep.  I even get lots of stars on my FitBit for getting enough sleep per night.  Yep, that feels like a participation trophy but it’s a good feeling to get enough sleep not to mention healthy, so I’m not ashamed.

Back to rolling out of bed at 7:00, dragging my feet down the stairs, “inspiring” my children to get dressed in the clothing they laid out for school, the evening before.  Mamma-pedia’s Definitition of “inspiring” means bribing; repeating up to, but not more than 12 times; announcement of privileges; threats of privilege-removal; threats of calling the parent (in the restroom upstairs) into the conversation;  and shouting, as a final resort.  

Then a breakfast compromise, naturally, because no two children enjoy the same thing at the same time. Then hair.  Oh hair.  Have you met my middle child?  Undoubtedly, everywhere we go this little chicky receives a minimum of three compliments on her naturally curly loose locks.  Caring for these gorgeous locks isn’t a beautiful process.  This little girl is very independent and stubborn.  Every. Single. Day. Is a battle over the hair.  Every. Day.  If I choose to pull it into a ponytail or bun, she’ll remove it immediately because it wasn’t her choice.  After the effort to catch her running around the couch, bar, up the stairs, around the table, and spray detangling all over her, the floor, sometimes even my husband if she has to be lovingly restrained, hair styled and then it’s removed, in the blink of an eye, you can only imagine how frustrated I become.   Actually, not that frustrated anymore.  I can’t be fazed.  I just look like the Kermit memes or the emoji with its mouth closed straight across and eyes shut.

Hair, eventually check, usually minutes before 8:00.  Then it’s teeth brushing, book bag gathering, shoe placement or shouting about shoe placement, and running out the front door.  

As parental blood pressures return to stable, we call on someone to give a morning family prayer, (yes, on the way to school in the truck, the whole family), and discuss the children’s agenda for the day.  On this given day, it was Friday, and as we slowly inched our way closer and closer to the drop-off location.  I remembered it was Friday and Jude’s show-n-tell day.  I said to him, “Jude, is today show-n-tell?”  His response, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”  

I looked to my left and to my right.  “Well, maybe we can find something in dad’s truck you can take in.”  He held up a paint-stir stick, “I can take this!”  

I opened the glove box and pulled out the contents.  Without thinking and laughing a little, “Here’s a Book of Mormon, you could take that.” He began hopping in his seat, “Yes, Yes! I want to take that!”  

I looked at my husband, who tried convincing him it probably wasn’t a good idea to take that to show-n-tell. But Jude was insistent now.  He was so excited, so we couldn’t take it from him.  We just hoped for the best.  After dropping the children off, my husband and I conversed about how this was going to go down.  I laughed and said there would probably be a note sent home with him.  But, honestly, I wish I had the faith this kid has to be bold and absolutely satisfied with things I choose to do.  

The day went by, that was the day we went to the temple last week, so my mother picked up the kids from school.  She told us this story when we returned from our day-date.  Note, she usually waits in the carline.  Today, a few classes were out to recess while she waited.  

She said as she was sitting in the carline she was looking around at all of the children playing on the playground.  She noticed one little boy, but thought it couldn’t possibly be Jude because that child had no hat and no gloves on, this day was chilly.  But then she realized that little boy absolutely had to be Jude because he was running around the blacktop, carrying a Book of Mormon in his hands.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at this.  I even pulled Jude into the conversation my mother, husband, and I had, to ask about taking his show-n-tell to recess.  Sure enough, he let us know he did have it, it took it outside for both recesses.

Jude seems to be on a roll and has been for a couple of years now.  I’ve always heard the baby of the family is the comedian.  

On Wednesday, I was terribly busy.  I know you’re probably thinking ‘Yeah right’.  Valid. Truly valid.  But I dabble in a lot of extracurricular activities.  For one, I run.  I like to 5-6x a week.  So maybe an hour, hour and a half a day.  Weightlifting.  That’s 20-40 minutes.  On this particular day, I had to run, weightlift, runner-bathe… ‘Mamma-pedia’s Definition of “runner-bathe” – wash face, blow-dry sweat into hair, wipe off body with a damp towel and a little bit of soap, air dry, dress for the day.’

Then my mother and I ran over to Crawfordsville and hit up Kroger.  Have I mentioned how much I love their organics and gluten-free selections? Wow, I do.  Then since Wednesdays are early release, I ran inside, make a salad, inhaled it, and went to the school for pick-up.  I hadn’t really been home all day.  I didn’t realize how much of an impact this would make on my children until we all walked through the front door and Reis, stopped dead in her tracks, “Mom, why is the house a mess?”

Job Security.  That’s what I wanted to say.  I clean, clean, clean, every day.  A normal day those three kiddies walk in and everything is put away, the counters are clean, all articles of clothing clean and put away, the house is fragrant of essential oils from mopping or the diffuser, and even sometimes dinner is in the crockpot or ready to be prepped.  This particular day, not so much… the cereal bowls were still on the counter from the morning, a hair brush on the table, detangler out, hair cream.  Sink with several dishes, the counters weren’t wiped down a couple of pairs of shoes appeared sporadically on the floor, the couch was looking crazy.  The zipper is broken, so sometimes the guts of the couch hang out, you know what I mean?  The white stuffing.  Toys on the living room floor.  A hamper full of clothing next to the washer and dryer.  Barstools disheveled.  

As she said this I didn’t take offense, past the job security tidbit, I was like, “You are right. I have to clean it now.”   I’m not OCD. Not even a little bit.  My sink had blue clay residue for a couple of days around the bowl and like I mentioned my couch is undressed half of the time. If I were OCD that brown couch would be curbside.  I just have a routine I go about day-by-day, thinking no one noticed, but now I know they do.  

So, here I am straightening things up, Jude’s following me around at this point, discussing something with me.  We usually have very adult conversations together.  I opened up the utility closet door to place the vacuum back.  While it was open I hung another bag up on its hook, the furnace filter caught my eye.  It was still dust-covered.  

To my son, I commented, “I want to text your dad and ask him to get a furnace filter, but I’m afraid to, since I’ve already asked him, nine times.”

Jude replied, “Maybe he’s getting it for your birthday.”

Backing it up, on Monday my girls (plural) had 4-H meetings.  Remi is now old enough for Mini 4-H.  Reis has done 4-H since 3rd grade, but not Mini.  I, however, did Mini 4-H in second grade.  In second grade when times were simpler.  For example, you could bake cookies or build a birdhouse.  

In 2017, you can pick from a slew of projects, similar to the bigger kiddos, and this year you can even get a mentor and show a smaller livestock animal.  No cows.  

Reis had her first meeting of the year, too.  It was very successful and she’s stoked a friend of hers is taking a project this year.

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day. That day was crazier than the Wednesday, I’d described.  But only because I choose for it to be crazy and I was crazy-proud of that.  

I set my alarm a little bit earlier than normal.  It wasn’t 7 a.m. prying myself out of bed like a zombie.  I had a hop in my step, because I had big plans for the fam.  

While they were sleeping, I made gluten-free blueberry muffins, homemade gluten-free fresh strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes, and fresh strawberries cut into hearts, with “pink milk” (aka Strawberry Milk – we don’t even do regular milk in our home, we usually opt for almond everything but this was a special day).

I gave my husband a box of one of his favorite kinds of a candy with a cheesy message on it and later in the day, I made him a loaf of gluten-free banana bread.  He said it was good.  But to me, the texture appeared very dry.   I couldn’t try it, AIP still going strong.  Speaking of AIP, I read the guide to reintroduction, a few days ago, and laughed out loud.  It said as you reintroduce a food group, you should take a small nibble of the food, wait 15 minutes, consume it and then don’t reintroduce anything else new for five days to note your reactions.  AIP Founders must not understand my life.  If I’m trying a food I’ve been forced to avoid for 30 days and my meals consist of vegetables with the exception of nightshades, no grains, no seeds, no nuts, no dairy, no soy, no processed foods – do you think I can just take a little nibble of something?  The answer is no.  No, I inhale that food and then eat more of it.  I did try an egg yolk a few days ago, so I’m going to venture to say it didn’t affect me in a bad way, and I should probably hard-boil more eggs.   Oh, the sacrifice!  

I ran, tossed around some weights, and got ready.  I went by the flower shop to send an arrangement to someone and noticed I was the only female, aside from the staff, all men on Valentine’s Day.  I was planning Miss Remi’s Valentine’s Party.  Of course, I had been for the past couple of weeks.  I delegated almost everything, but I still took in my insulated bag of backups, in case they were needed and a gluten-free party mix.  

That morning, I decided to attend Jude’s party, too, since it was a half hour before Remi’s party. After his was over, I rushed to Remi’s, and feeling great about that one, because the moms did an exceptional job with their delegations.  Did I mention Remi and I both wore our matching Mommy and Me LuLaRoe Valentine Leggings?  We so did. She even wanted me to wear them to match her.  I had so many compliments because of how “festive” my leggings were.  

I began to walk down the hallway, headed out of the building after her party, but noticed my oldest daughter in gym class.  I tried discreetly tapping on the window but it was probably super loud in there, so I just let myself in and yelled her name.  I’m sure she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

She and her friend came quickly to me, probably hoping I didn’t yell her name, again.  I asked if she’d had her party and they told me it was in the next ten minutes.  I told them, I would probably come then.  

Classroom parties must be my weakness, because I know I described previously how proud I was at the beginning of the school year when I only signed up for one party per child so I wasn’t so stressed going to three parties and making three contributions or more for each holiday.  

I ran outside and moved my vehicle away from the bus lane, and went in for round three.   I unloaded a few things that wouldn’t be needed and reloaded my Mary Poppins insulated bag.  I was able to contribute a gluten-free party mix to this one, for my little Celiac Lady.

After school, I rolled out gluten-free (do you wish you had a quarter for every time I said gluten-free?) pizza dough, I made from scratch.  I was crossing my fingers it would taste good to my children.  This variety, how about I say GF now?  GF anything carby – like breads, buns, donuts – are rarely yummy.  They usually have a funky texture and grainy taste.  I always speculate it’s because it’s crushed up almonds or some other kind of nut. It lacks fluff.

I made a huge heart shaped pizza for the children.  My husband isn’t a pizza fan.  (Which I’ve heard means Telestial Kingdom for him.)  So I made one of his favorite meals (that my children don’t like); Chicken Tetrazzini.  

Chorus for Reis, Kettlebell Tabata for me, and Ballet for Remi – by the end of the day, I was about to die from exhaustion.  The pep in my step had long gone away.  And I felt like that zombie I described I usually feel like when waking up of a morning.

On Friday night of this week (not to be confused with last week, since I did talk about that, too), we went on a double date to Fujiyama – the new hibachi restaurant in Danville. What a neat experience!  We were seated at a grill and the chef entertained us while cooking our table’s food.  Lots of fire and laughter, the food everyone got looked out of this world. My husband was particularly fond of the rice, which was surprising.  My GF food had to be prepped in the kitchen.  Boring, I know.  

My friends and husband even made fun of me because I got a seaweed salad and sashimi.  Even more funny, when I tried to tell the waitress I couldn’t have gluten, she asked me what I was saying 4x in a row.  Then finally she was like, “Oh, gluten-free?” I guess the “free” on the end clues people in.  

When I was asking about the details of the seaweed salad, she told me none of the people she’s ever waited on had ever gotten it.  Danville doesn’t eat seaweed, I guess.  

I am really excited to take our children there to have this food experience!  After we finished up, we choose to bowl.  We also agreed Covington was a good idea.  Called, they said there was open bowling so we arrived. The parking lot seemed swamped. When we went in we were told it would be hours because the school was there.  Sure enough, high-schoolers, high-schoolers everywhere.  

Bummed because we were just in Danville, mind you ¾ of us are Mormon, we decided to go into the bar, where no one was, and play pool.  We drank gigantic ice waters and played pool.  The most stressed out I’d been all week, trying to figure out which pocket to aim for.  ;-)

Reis had a couple of friends spend the night, so they were quite busy being social butterflies.  On Saturday, Remi had another basketball game, where she made three baskets and had a few assists, too.  Jude was able to attend baseball camp, where he hit the ball multiple times and loved that.  Then Allen took him out for a Daddy-Son Date, Lazer Tag and lunch.

Saturday was a busy, busy day, too, but it was gorgeous out.  Today, piggybacked the busy-ness.  We had a Youth Fireside after church.  I think I’ve said before, we have a three hour block for church. I have a meeting beforehand, unless my husband is out of the building, then I go on time.  Throughout the year, our youth ages 12-17, have Firesides or meetings they select the topic and speaker and we eat lunch together and listen before going home.  

Today, was the Standards Fireside.  Our Young Women had submitted questions and scenarios they’ve encountered and the panel (they choose) of ‘cool and trendy’ adults, answered them with life experience and the “why”.   The meal was my task.  So, I had to prep everything for ‘Walking Tacos’ or ‘Tacos in a Bag’.  I made a few up and they smelled awesome.  I’d heard from several people, too, they were awesome. I pretended my lettuce with mushrooms and cucumber in oil and vinegar and apple was actually a Walking Taco. You’re killin’ me, AIP.  Sundays are usually a binge eating day for me, since I’m gone for so many hours, I like my body reacts as if it’s important I refuel and tank up, just in case I’m gone away from the fridge for that period of time, again.  

Here I sit, it’s now dark outside, and I need to go to my happy place.  My bed.

[heliumrelish1-blog]

Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets

Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets

Easy30 minsQuick

This Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets recipe is super easy to make with just three ingredients, it’s naturally gluten-free, and super crunchy and flavorful and downright irresistible.

This post is sponsored by Kettle Brand® chips, my all-time favorite chips.

Whether you’re a kid of the 80’s like me, have kiddos at home nowadays, or — hey — are still a kid a heart of any age, I think we can all agree on one thing:

Everyone loves a good nugget. 😄😄😄

I grew up on the McD’s variety back in the day, which I loved with all my little 8-yr-old heart and begged for regularly.  But nowadays, I’m wholeheartedly on team homemade chicken nuggets.  Especially when made with this 3-ingredient chicken nugget recipe hack.

I already know you guys are going to love these little guys too.  They’re super-easy to make and ready to go in just 30 minutes.  They’re ultra crispy and crunchy, and also naturally gluten-free.  They’re perfect for everything from weeknight dinners to game day snacking to party fare.  And they’re crazy delicious and easy to customize to your favorite flavors, thanks to one game-changing ingredient.

Spoiler alert: It’s a bag of Kettle Brand Chips.

Barclay and I have long been big Kettle Brand® chips fans, and regularly keep a stash of our favorite flavors in the house.  (His: Salt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper.  Hers: Jalapeño all the way.)  But recently, I decided to try blitzing a bag in the food processor to use as an easy potato chip crust for a batch of chicken nuggets.  And the results?

Brilliant.

The chips are so flavorful on their own that you don’t need to add any extra seasonings.  The chips also make the nuggets ultra crispy on the outside, which I love.  Kettle Brand® chips are also all naturally gluten-free, which is nice to know.  And oh my goodness, they are downright irresistible.

I made a big batch on game day recently with three different flavors — our two faves plus a new wildcard (the Buffalo Bleu flavor, which I had to wrestle out of Barclay’s arms to add to the chicken nuggets, they’re addictive!).  And everyone loved them.  So much flavor.  So simple.  And so tasty.

Let’s make a batch!

Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets Ingredients:

To make this baked chicken nuggets recipe, you just need 3 easy ingredients:

A bag of Kettle Brand® chips: Pick your favorite flavor — any will do!

Chicken: Just some simple boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces

Eggs: To help the chip coating stick to the chicken nuggets.

How To Make Homemade Chicken Nuggets:

To make these easy baked chicken nuggets, simply:

Finely crumble the chips.  I just whizzed mine in a food processor until they reached a nice fine crumble.  But you can also use a rolling pan to crumble them, either in their original bag (you may need to poke a small hole in the corner so that it doesn’t burst) or in a freezer bag.

Assemble the nuggets. Make an assembly line with the bite-sized chicken, egg, crumbled chips and parchment-covered baking sheet.  Then coat a piece of chicken in the egg, roll in the chips, transfer to the baking sheet…and repeat!

Bake.  Pop ’em in the oven and bake until the chicken reaches an internal temperature of 165°F, about 20 minutes.  I recommend flipping them once about halfway through, so that they are crispy on all sides.  Or you can place a wire rack on top of a baking sheet and cook the chicken on that, which will not require flipping.

And…serve!  Nice and warm, along with your favorite dipping sauces.

Dipping Sauce Ideas:

You can’t go wrong with the traditional ketchup, mustard or ranch.  But a few other faves could include:

5-Minute Dreamy Tahini Dip

Classic Hummus

Tzatziki

Guacamole

What To Serve With Chicken Nuggets:

Looking for some tasty sides to serve with your nuggets?  I would recommend:

Sweet Potato Fries or Baked Potatoes

Roasted Brussels Sprouts, Roasted Cauliflower or Roasted Artichokes

My Everyday Salad

Or as always, feel free to check out our full collection of Side Dish and Dessert recipes!  :)

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Yield: 4-6 servings

Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets

This Ultra-Crispy Baked Chicken Nuggets recipe is super easy to make with just three ingredients, naturally gluten-free, and totally delicious!

Total Time: 30 mins

Prep Time: 10 mins

Cook Time: 20 mins

Ingredients:

1 (8.5-ounce) bag Kettle Brand® chips, any flavor

1.5 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces

2 eggs

Directions:

Heat oven to 400°F.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper*; set aside.

Add the chips to a food processor and pulse until they are finely crumbled.  (Or alternately, you can use a rolling pin to crush the chips while they are still in their bag.)  Transfer the crumbled chips to a small bowl.

Whisk the eggs in a separate small bowl.

Then it’s time to assemble the nuggets!  Dip one nugget in the egg mixture with your right hand until it is completely coated, then transfer it to the bowl with the chips.  Then use your left hand to carefully coat the chicken with the chips on all sides, pressing them lightly on the chicken to help them stick.  Use your left hand to transfer the chicken nugget to the prepared baking sheet.  Repeat with the remaining chicken.  (This right/left-hand method helps prevent the chips from sticking to your hands while assembling.)

Bake for 12 minutes (the top coating of the nuggets should be nice and crispy).  Then remove from the oven, flip the nuggets, and bake for 8 more minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through (to an internal temperature of 165°F) and no longer pink inside.

Remove from the oven and serve warm with your favorite dipping sauces.

*Or you can place a wire rack on top of a baking sheet (sans parchment paper) and cook the chicken on that, which will not require flipping.

Difficulty: EasyCategory: Quick

All images and text ©Gimme Some Oven

If you make this recipe, be sure to snap a photo and hashtag it #gimmesomeoven. I'd love to see what you cook!

This post is sponsored by Kettle Brand® chips, maker of my all-time favorite crispy kettle chips.  Thanks as always for supporting the brands who help to make this site possible.

posted on August 20, 2018 in Chicken, Entrees / Main Dishes, Gluten-free, Snacks

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Source: https://www.gimmesomeoven.com/ultra-crispy-baked-chicken-nuggets/

[billydmacklin]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp! published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/

[interiorstarweb]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp! published first on https://novaformmattressreview.tumblr.com/

[carygarman980]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!