#i still have some gingerbread dough in the freezer so i might make some gingerbread tomorrow or on monday and have a lil feast with glögi :

[omppupiiras]

hehe i forgot to stock up on glögi before they disappeared from most shops (and i couldnt be bothered to go on a hunt for them) but my friend picked up some for me 😎 brainrot be brainrotting bc USUALLY im fine with only having it once a year but after christmas i was devastated when i realized i forgot to buy some and save it for a rainy day 😌

[kookicat]

The Chocolate Job

Chocolate work has never been his favourite- it's messy and fiddly and most days he's just not in the mood for it. But sometimes, the urge strikes him, and he locks himself away in whatever kitchen space they have with a 5lb bag of Callebaut chocolate buttons and gives into the urge. Usually it's truffles, or brownies, but this time he has something else in mind. 

Breanna had shown him a clip of the Chocolate Man (that's what she called him, capital letters and all) on the Tik Tok and well, the idea of sculpting something hadn't left his brain, tucking away like a damn earworm until he'd given in. He's starting small, mostly so he can melt the results down and hide them in his triple chocolate brownies if it all goes to crap. 

The chocolate melts smoothly and he mixes in more buttons, checking the temp until it's tempered and will set crisp and shiny. It's almost Christmas and he's picked up a set of moulds that should produce a chocolate gingerbread house, if he's lucky. If not, he's a professional and will hide all the evidence until he can try again. 

He pours the chocolate slowly, to make sure there's no air bubbles to ruin the structural integrity, and leaves them to set while he whips up some cookies to fill the inside. They're chocolate too, because he might as well stick with the theme. The dough comes together smoothly under his hands, and he lets his thoughts wander a little, now he's back on more familiar baking territory. 

Breanna is going to love this, he thinks, hands automatically patting the dough into a disk to be chilled. Unless Parker steals it first. Maybe I should make two. He snorts, and dumps the dough into the freezer, then raids the candy cupboard for decorations. There's stuff in every colour and form and he sifts through the packages until he finds one that catches his eye. They're Christmas m&m's, in bright green and red, and he lifts the bag down, popping a couple in his mouth before he dumps the rest in a bowl. Gotta have some quality control, he thinks and sneaks another before washing his hands. 

The stainless steel counter is chilly, and the chocolate house parts have set up nicely. He pops them free, carefully and lines them up on the counter while he grabs the cookie dough from the freezer and cuts rounds out of it. They go on a baking sheet, topped with just a touch of flaky salt, before he slides them into the oven. 

Now for the fiddly part, he thinks, half amused, because if someone had told him ten years ago he'd be building houses out of chocolate and enjoying it, he would have laughed in their face. And then got Hardison to find them a nice comfy padded room. It's not that he's grown more patient over the years, or at least he doesn't think so - it's more he can relax a little more now, because they're not the only ones doing the work. Though I'm still not sure Quinn will ever quite forgive me for dragging him into his, he thinks and grins, thinking of Quinn's last text. It had been borderline illegal in several states, but he'd picked up a couple of new curses, including one that had made Harry Wilson blush and Sophie cackle. 

He shakes his head and grabs the cake board he's using as a base, then fills a plastic piping bag with a tiny bit of melted chocolate to act as glue. Huh, that worked, he thinks as he picks up the first side and turns it towards the light. It's more detailed than he expected, with a brick pattern and detailing around the window. There's even ivy, trailing from where the roof will go and he has to admit that he's pretty impressed. He lays the first line of melted chocolate down and presses the section into place, blasting the whole lot with some freeze spray until he's convinced it isn't going to move. 

It's a tiny bit crooked, but he's satisfied that at least it isn't going to fall over. The timer pings for the cookies and he pulls them out, leaving them to cool before returning to his construction job. Getting the second side in place is harder, because the corner doesn't want to meet perfectly but through a combination of melted chocolate glue and freeze spray, he gets it to stay in place. The third side is easier, somehow, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth and moves onto the last side. It's the most difficult yet, because he has to fit it between the two other sides without knocking them down. 

His hands and wrist are starting to feel strain and he pauses, flexing his hands until the discomfort passes and he can try again. This time, he gets the end into place, and feels like he has to twist himself into a pretzel to apply the chocolate glue and freeze spray. It stays, and it feels pretty solid when he pokes it carefully with one finger. 

The cookies have cooled- thank you, air conditioning - and he idly munches on one as he carries the tray to the other worktop, stacking them inside the house before he examines the roof. The gable ends of the house are slanted, to give the roof it's pitch, and he's not exactly sure if the melted chocolate and freeze spray will be enough to lock the roof pieces into place, or if he needs something more structural. Well, only one way to find out, he thinks and gets to work. 

Thirty minutes later, he steps back to examine the finished product, feeling oddly proud and protective of his creation. It's not perfect, not like the masterpieces the chocolate dude makes, but it's standing and stable, which is better than he expected. He adds a couple more m&m's for decoration and picks the cake board up, heading towards the main room. 

Breanna is at her desk, watching a newsreel from a country that he's never visited. Well, officially, at least, he thinks, and sets the house down casually on the desk behind her. 

"Made you something," he says casually, like he has a hundred times before and drops down on the couch, where he can still see her reaction. 

"Thank you," she says, absently, attention still on the screen. They have a good team in the area, and they're on the job. "A whole plate of cookies?" she says, sounding a little perplexed. 

"What? No!" he says, and pulls his attention from her screens. "The house." 

"The house?" Breanna repeats, carefully, like he's lost his marbles. 

"Yes, kiddo," he says and stands, so he can see the desk. The pile of cookies, house less desk. "Damnit Parker!" he yells, and hears her laugh from one of the vents.

Breanna bites a cookie and snickers and after a second, he joins in with her. I guess I'll be building another house, he thinks. 

[sydnam]

RSS 2018 Fic: Sweet Deal

Title: Sweet Deal

Author: Sydnam

Word Count: 1712

Prompt: Rumbelle bakes holiday treats

Summary: The Golds are invited to a cookie exchange. Only some members of the family are on board with this plan.

Author’s Note: Merry Rumbelle Secret Santa, @missielynne! Hope you enjoy this little slice of fluff. My family has a cookie exchange every year so as soon as I saw your prompt I wanted to work one in somehow.

There was no one to meet Rumplestiltskin at the door when he arrived home from the shop early in the afternoon. This was not unusual. His wife and son were often off on adventures of some kind, or reading, or napping this time of day. The noises coming from the kitchen, however, were definitely unusual.

“Belle?” The noise stopped after he called out to her. That was probably a good sign. “Gideon?”

“He fell asleep about 20 minutes ago,” Belle called out. “I’m in the kitchen.”

The kitchen, unsurprisingly given the noises when he first entered the house, looked like a bit of a disaster zone. This wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary. Cooking often led to messes, particularly if Gideon was allowed to “help” his parents with preparing food.

“Is the mixer possessed?” That explained the noise, at least. “Are we being haunted? Is there an angry sprite out for revenge for some real or imagined slight I committed years ago?” He walked to the counter and unplugged it for good measure. It did look somewhat menacing even switched off. Or perhaps the dough inside it was more menacing.

“Very few of those slights were imagined, Rumple,” Belle pointed out. “I haven’t seen any irate pixies or spirits or anything else in here. Just me. And a failed recipe. Or two.”

“What were, er, are you making?” Some baked good, he could see that much. “And did we own this many mixing bowls this morning?” He was fairly certain they had not.

“I went shopping this morning after you left. We needed more flour and I picked up a set of bowls and another cookie sheet.” And, apparently, half the contents of the baking aisle at the market. “Gideon was helping. He may have helped a bit too much. It was meant to be gingerbread. It … didn’t work out.” The bowl of the stand mixer still half full of what appeared to be rock-hard dough was evidence of that. “I thought I could adjust the recipe to make up for the extra that Gideon added...” She waved a hand at the cookie sheet full of what may have once been gingerbread men if he squinted and imagined them to be a warm brown color instead of charred. “That didn’t work out either.”

“It may be time to admit defeat. Walk away before the cookies can do any more damage to you or our home.”

“I need 5 dozen cookies for tomorrow,” Belle protested.

He had seen his wife eat prodigious amounts of food before. But 5 dozen cookies was too much for any one person. Too much to consume in one day even if Gideon helped and his son had quite the sweet tooth, inherited from both parents. “Whatever for?”

“There’s a cookie exchange and I promised we’d be there.”

“A cookie what?”

“A cookie exchange,” Belle repeated patiently.

“Why would you exchange cookies? And who would take these?” He gestured at the failed gingerbread strewn about the kitchen. It had been so clean when he left this morning.

Belle shook her head, smiling. “It’s a party. You bake cookies at your home. You take them to the party. You bring back other people’s cookies.”

“After baking your own. Why not just keep them? I understand not keeping these but surely we could try again. Or buy some if needed.”

“Because it’s fun, Rumple. And Mary Margaret and David invited us.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “We may, my dear, have differing definitions of ‘fun’.” Swapping cookies for other cookies certainly didn’t fit his own definition. Even exchanges were the least interesting form of a deal.

“Honestly, Rumple. I figured this out years ago.”

“You were always the perceptive one.” He paused. “You said ‘we’ would be there?”

“All three of us.” Belle laughed at the expression on her husband’s face. “You need to get out more. A little socialization during the holidays might stave off any Scrooge-like tendencies.”

“Bah.” The ‘humbug’ was left unsaid. “I ‘get out’ plenty,” he grumbled. “But really. Trading cookies with the Charmings? I would be delighted to take you to dinner somewhere instead. I’ll even exchange pleasantries with the waitstaff. Or on a trip? Somewhere we don’t know anyone?”

“Granny is coming,” Belle offered. “You enjoy talking with her. Although, talking may not be the right word. Verbal jousting? Sniping?”

“She probably uses frozen cookie dough,” Rumple muttered. “Stores it with the lasagnas in the back of the freezer.”

“Ruby,” Belle continued listing names, ignoring her husband and choosing not to point out he had suggested buying their own cookies mere moments before. He brought the frozen lasagna up at every opportunity. “Ashley. Aurora. Emma and Henry. Oh, and Regina.”

“Regina is not an incentive to attend anything.” He paused, considering. “Except perhaps a funeral?”

“Rumple!”

“We’ve made our peace,” he admitted. “For the moment. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten anything.” Or that he ever would. That line of thought, never a pleasant one, was interrupted by Gideon tearing into the room and crashing into his father’s legs. The nap had, apparently, been short lived.

“PAPA! We’re making cookies!”

Rumplestiltskin had had many lifetimes to perfect keeping a straight face when necessary. His son helped him stay in practice almost daily. “So I see. Shall we help Mama clean up now and try again?” Two sets of eyes on the boy would hopefully prevent any further incidents. They might even be successful at baking gingerbread this time.

“And then we go the party?” Gideon asked hopefully. “Mama said we go to a party.”

“Cleaning first,” Rumplestiltskin said. It simply would not do to disappoint his son. If Gideon wanted cookies and a party then Gideon would have both. “Then cookies. Your papa knows an excellent gingerbread recipe.”

The cleaning didn’t take as long as Rumplestiltskin would have thought when he first entered the kitchen. The not-quite gingerbread stuck to the bowls and the extra crispy cookies required a significant amount of scraping to come off the baking sheet but with both of them working together it  Even Gideon helped with drying after all the bowls and baking sheets were washed. Once the kitchen was free of the last remaining evidence of failed gingerbread attempts it was time to begin again.

“I learned to make this a very, very long time ago,” Rumplestiltskin told Gideon. “We need to measure carefully. Will you be very careful helping your mama and me?” Gideon nodded solemnly.

Belle leaned against the counter watching them and smiling. This was all she’d wanted.

“Mama, you help too. Time to stir!” Gideon waved the wooden spoon in his hand, nearly falling off the chair he stood on as he did so.

“Or we could use the haunted mixer,” Rumplestiltskin suggested, barely holding back a smile.

“We have ghostses?” Gideon’s eyes went wide.

“We do NOT,” Belle said firmly, taking the spoon from her son’s hand. “But let’s use the spoon. That’s more fun, isn’t it?”

“It tastes better if you mix by hand.” Rumplestiltskin nodded to the bowl. “Wouldn’t want to overmix. The dough can be sensitive. And it needs to rest before we roll it out.”

“I never knew you baked,” Belle said quietly as she helped guide the spoon Gideon was using to stir.

“If you knew everything, dearest, you would grow tired of me. I need my store of surprises to keep you interested. Besides,” he paused to take the bowl away to the refrigerator. “You never thought to ask.”

Belle laughed. Gideon, not wanting to be left out, laughed a beat later. “I’ll try to be more inquisitive in the future,” Belle promised.

The dough needed time. Gideon found what his father considered a terrible Christmas movie to watch but as always he found it difficult to deny his son anything. Once the movie was over, after what Rumplestiltskin considered an interminable amount of time, he leapt from the couch and headed for the kitchen to roll out the dough.

“You can choose the cookie cutters,” he told Gideon. The choices were somewhat limited but after careful deliberation a traditional gingerbread man and a duck were settled on. Belle added a star. With all three family members working together cutting out the shapes went quickly. Baking them took slightly longer. Convincing Gideon that cookies needed to cool before they could be safely eaten took longer still.

“Not icing them seems safest,” Rumplestiltskin suggested. “No need to anger the stand mixer again so soon. A sprinkling of powdered sugar instead?”

The cookies were, eventually, delicious. Even the unseasonable ducks. “You’re sure you want to trade these all away?” Rumplestiltskin asked as he and Belle cleaned the kitchen yet again that evening. Letting Gideon take charge of applying the sugar to the freshly baked cookies had been an unwise decision even if it had been thoroughly entertaining to witness. “Who knows what the others will bring tomorrow. It could be a terrible deal.”

“It’s not a deal,” Belle said firmly. “And yes I am sure. We are going to the party. We are taking our gingerbread cookies. We are taking other cookies home with us when we leave.” Her tone brooked no argument.

In the end that’s exactly what happened. Not that there had ever really been any doubt. Belle and Gideon were going to get their way, one way or another. The party was attended by all three members of the Gold family. Belle had a lovely time. Gideon attempted and nearly succeeded in eating his weight in cookies. Rumplestiltskin argued with Granny over the merits of their respective gingerbread cookies and kept up the pretense he wasn’t enjoying himself at all.

That night, over tea and cookies after Gideon was put to bed, Belle smiled across the table at her husband. “See? Not so terrible.”

He made a noncommittal noise and picked up another chocolate cookie. “I’ve attended worse gatherings. With worse refreshment options.”

“You had fun,” Belle accused, laughing.

“I admit nothing.” And he would continue admitting nothing. Even if he had to keep eating cookies to stop himself talking. He especially was not about to admit that he had even enjoyed one of Regina’s cookies. Some things were simply never meant to be said aloud.

[dong-hyucks]

Blissful Blizzard ; Daniel

Prompts: 1. “Do you have any sugar?”, 2. “Look -- don’t panic -- there’s only a blizzard.”, 8. “Merry Christm -- oh no.”, 11. “You’re warm.”, and 19. “You look cute.” Characters: Kang Daniel // Reader Genre: f l u f f // college!au Word Count: 1.7k+ Admin: CJ

Masterlists || Christmas/New Years Special || TDC/CNY Masterlist 

the weather forecast said it wasn’t supposed to snow. the weather forecast said it wasn’t supposed to storm until later in the week. boy, if you knew the weather forecast was going to be wrong every time something happened, you would stop watching the news ...

you were having a christmas party tonight. you invited almost everyone you knew. (including your cute neighbor and his friends wink wonk) you were nervous, to say the least.

this party had a guest from basically every social status. you invited the sweet cashier who always talked to you about your day. you invited your mother, who was sometimes very snooty. you invited your college friends, and extended the offer to their significant others. 

and also—

you invited kang daniel, ong seoungwoo, and yoon jisung

the troublemakers of your apartment complex. the ones who scattered your laundry around your whole building. the ones who emptied your friends makeup kit by making clown faces on her mirror 

you weren’t even sure how they broke into your apartment. but, you believed if you didn’t invite them, worse pranks would begin to pop up until the worst of the worst reached you.

and yes—

you asked the infamous trio to come to the party, but they turned you down immediately. seongwoo looked a bit sad (probably since he wouldn’t be able to hit on any girls), jisung—the one who did the turning down—looked sympathetic, but did the deed nonetheless, and daniel looked relieved.

relieved? yep.

but, you, having had enough of them already, graciously (and gladly) stepped back from their doorway and walked back to your own room. 

there was one part of you though, that couldn’t get daniel’s face out of your head. relieved? why would he be relieved? you and rina weren’t that bad. in fact, you two were better tenants than they were.

but that fact was always there. that one question.

why was he relieved? did he like someone you had invited? but, you hadn’t told anyone who you were inviting ... except rina. 

the thought shouldn’t have bothered you that much, but it did.

the only thing that pushed your train of thought off of its tracks was the putrid smell of burning dough. and, that’s when you remembered, you still had gingerbread cookies in the oven.

and, they happened to be burning.

you rushed into your small kitchen and yelled at rina for a couple seconds.

“why couldn’t you have gotten the cookies out?!” “i didn’t hear the timer go off!!” “bullshit! this is the loudest timer in the house!” the conversation ended there, but you were undoubtedly fuming.

and, in light of the situation, you would definitely have to make a new batch of cookies

“do we have any sugar, rina?!” you shouted again. you heard an almost inaudible “i don’t know,” so, you decided to start searching.

you looked in the lazy-susan where all of your powdered cooking supplies were. not there. you looked in the cabinets above the stove-top and the microwave. not there. you finally resorted to looking in the pantry. not there either.

and you, being the bigger person, made the choice to go out in the cold and get the sugar from the grocery store around the corner. it wasn’t a very long walk, so you just sucked it up and put on your snow shoes.

the whole way there, you grumbled about how rina was incompetent, and about how she couldn’t do anything to help you out. only herself. you really needed to look for a new roommate.

after all, she didn’t even pay half of the rent.

but, the warm air that rushed to envelop you was comforting, and made you forget about your anger momentarily. it was nice to be embraced by something that wasn’t a blanket for once.

even though this thing wasn’t living either.

you looked far and wide for a bag of sugar, and you were so immersed in the search that you didn’t notice the small jingle of the bell above the door. but, somewhere along the line, you were sidetracked and started to look for things other than sugar.

eventually, you had a cart full of items.

cinnamon, a ham, a couple two-liters, a few cases of cheap beer, and then one measly bag of sugar. you were a bit frazzled (to say the absolute minimum) when the receipt came.

as you were walking out the door, the cashier flashed you a tired smile, and muttered a single phrase. it alone made your head turn.

“merry christm — oh no.”

you whipped your head around, and were blinded by the glare of the sun reflecting off the—what must’ve been—foot of snow on the ground. you shook your head a few times, making sure what you saw was real

“oh god. you’ve got to be kidding. i have a christmas party to throw!”

only an idiot would be dumb enough to walk around in this type of weather. you mentally face-palmed yourself. you should’ve known. only something like this to further ruin your day.

so, obviously, you’re Idiot No.1, but “who is Idiot No.2?” you might ask?

“hey sejun!”

it was none other than kang daniel. the cashier turned his head and offered daniel a bright grin.

“do you have any sugar? i’ve been looking, but i haven’t been able to find any.” sejun looked to you, “(name), do you think you can show daniel where the sugar is? though i don’t know where he thinks he’s gonna go with it.”

“yeah, sure, i guess.” you reluctantly made your way over to daniel, who was beaming at you.

while you walked him over to the aisle where the sugar was, you tried to spark up some small talk.

“so, what do you need sugar for? are you baking as well?” “no, i’m going to put it in seungwoo’s pants drawer. all he wears is black, so it’ll be hilarious.” 

“oh. well then.” 

“yeah.” an awkward quietude cocooned the atmosphere, until daniel began to walk towards the white bags with outstretched arms. to be frank, he looked like a pale, long past expired, gallon of milk.

great.

just what you wanted with your burnt gingerbread men and women.

spoiled milk.

you didn’t really know what made you think of milk, maybe it was his skin. maybe it was the nice, cold cartons right next to him. and, come to think of it, you were getting kind of thirsty.

but, you were stuck in this shop. nowhere to go, nowhere to leave from. the doors were blocked by the snow as well as the in-store wifi.

and then, just like magic, the lights flickered and then, you and daniel were plunged into sudden darkness (not including the emergency lights). you didn’t know if anything could make this day worse.

daniel, whose breathing could most likely be heard from three feet away, started to pace in a jagged line. it was quite obvious. kang daniel—one of the troublemakers of floor five—was afraid of the dark.

kang daniel was afraid of the dark

kang daniel was afraid of the fucking dark.

once again (this time trying not to bust into laughter) you were the bigger person, and instead of just leaving him in the middle of the aisle, you took him to the only place available to sit.

nope, this shop didn’t have benches or chairs, so you opened an air tight sealed freezer door and sat down on the small ledge.

you patted the spot next to you and gestured for daniel to sit. you may not have known each other very well, but you still offered him a seat. he gratefully complied, and plopped down next to you.

you chuckled for a good thirty seconds, before you came to you senses. instantly serious, you looked to daniel. 

“look—don’t panic—there’s only a blizzard.” he glanced at you with wide eyes. probably surprised that you even mentioned it.

but, as his gaze drilled deeper into yours, he could see that you were more reassuring yourself than you were him. then, he began to laugh. he laughed long and hard. and your lips curled into a deadly scowl.

“what’re you laughing at, daniel?” 

you spat out his name like one of mother’s homemade cold remedies

“oh, nothing, just the look on your face.” you turned bright red. “stop laughing, i’m trying to be nice!” “sure you are. if this is what nice is, then you can bet that i made the list this year.”

“shut up.” “i’m good.” “do you even know what that phrase means? i’m guessing not.” “sorry, i’m not sure my vocabulary extends that far.”

“oh god. why did i have to get stuck in this store with you?”

he paused, opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again.

i can’t believe i’m saying this but, you look cute.” it happened. you were KO’ed. your feet swept from under you. breath was punched out of your lungs. daniel. kang daniel thought you were cute.

“thank you.”

dead. dead. dead. dead. dead. d e a d. d e a d. d e a d. d e a d.

you had just thanked kang daniel for calling you cute.

thanked. 

what the fu—

you buried your face in your hands, and felt tears prick at the back of your eyes. your cute neighbors meant nothing anymore, because as you had gotten to know daniel, you’d found out that you two had a lot in common.

you thought he was cute too.

you definitely wanted to say it too him, but you just couldn’t. well, you could physically—he was sitting right next to you, and proabably wanting you to say it back—but you didn’t think your heart was ready for that.

so, instead, you faked a shiver (which was clearly false and quite gaudy) and leaned into him instead. he tensed, but soon relaxed, and sneaked his arm around your waist.

it was silent for at least ten minutes before daniel spoke up.

“hey, i don’t really know what this means, but i just wanted to say i’m sorry about putting itching powder in your roommate’s shirt drawer.”

“it’s fine. i’m looking for a new one anyway.” 

“a new drawer?” 

“no. a new roommate.”

the silence once again engulfed the situation, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. it was soft and gentle. it was welcoming. you felt strangely at home in daniel’s arms.

“you’re warm.” your statement was a bit muffled due to your cuddly actions.

daniel chuckled

“thank you.”