#mine is chicken whole spoon measure cooked

[bonefall]

LAMB STEW & BUTTERNUT SOUP RECIPES. GIVE

THE LAMB STEW RECIPE IS MINE. MINE ALL MINE

BUt I will actually teach you the butternut soup one, people don't realize how cheap butternuts are and how easy this recipe is. I had to teach my partner's family how to properly prepare butternut and they thanked me for it because it's ALWAYS on sale and SUPER easy to make.

You need a metal baking tray, a crockpot, and a blender. The blender is optional, but it makes the perfect creamy consistency

Other ingredients you're gonna need; Garlic, shallots, pepper, turmeric, curry and chicken stock

(though I remembered the recipe wrong when I was over there and used beef stock, fam still loved it though, soooo pick whatever stock you like best tbh. This is a super forgiving recipe, I promise if you're a beginner cook this is a great place to start)

ALSO FAIR WARNING: Idk how to measure anything. I do not actually have a written recipe.

Step 1: Cut the Nut

Cut it longways, like a canoe, and scoop the seeds out. Coat the fleshy-side with cooking oil and sprinkle some pepper on it if you like-- nothing needs to be done to the skin-side. Place it FLESH-DOWN on the baking tray and pop it in the oven, 425 degrees Fahrenheit, 40 - 50 mins

When it's done it looks like this (half-eaten babybel snack optional. bbq sauce not used, it was just there for emotional support)

You can actually eat it just like this.

Like if you're not looking to make soup, this compote can actually be made into all sorts of things. You can stick a spoon right in that and eat it. I've made like... fried butternut latke-things out of it, I have some compote in my freezer just for experimenting with.

If you're smart, you wait for it to cool down before you scoop the flesh out with a spoon. Im not 💗

Step 2: trust your heart to tell you how many fucking onions are in there

My partner is the one who's able to measure things, I simply put my faith in the claws of Velociraptor Jesus tell me what the ratio of garlic to butternut is. I am not allowed near baked goods. I do not cook by the book. I put too many ashes in my middle school volcano project and smoked out an entire classroom once.

This came out great though, and for it I used 2 white onions (about a cup), 4 cloves garlic, and some chopped shallots. All minced as much as possible.

Once that was all in I (think you're gonna see a theme here) kinda just eyeballed how much stock and spice was gonna go in, just doing taste tests until it was yummy... I think it was 2 cups stock water and 3-ish tablespoons of turmeric and curry? Next time I make it'll actually measure how much I use.

I really do just kinda taste-test things until it's good.

I would apologize that I don't have the family recipe actually written down for exact amounts but I don't think I will ✨Bless this mess ✨✨✨✨Welcome to living inside of my head✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Anyway through some magic later you get a mash that looks like this, I stirred it up real good.

Step 3: This is where the blender comes in

This is the most tedious part tbh, but it's worth it because you can't get it super creamy if you don't feed it through a blender.

At this point me and my partner grabbed the pot and poured it in because we had 4 hands between us and felt lazy, but if you're alone you should scoop it manually so you don't spill shit everywhere

And once you have that, portion out what you'd like, and add milk. When you first get the soup out of the blender, it's real thick. You add milk to get it to the consistency you want-- DO NOT ADD MILK TO THE WHOLE THING AT ONCE

IF YOU ADD MILK TO THE WHOLE THING AT ONCE, IT GOES BAD FASTER

This stuff can be frozen or fridged and it tastes just as good as it was when fresh, as long as you only add fresh milk when you're ready to eat it.

I usually eat it with a grilled cheese or some other kinda bread. And that's really it.

#bone babble #should I even tag this as recipe? #food #butternut #soup

[jakeowen]

leak the mushroom recipe plz

oh for sure. thank you for asking, i have always wanted to be a lifestyle/food blogger but unfortunately i have the wrong personality so i guess i'll just through it on tumblr. so my sister really just listed the ingredients for me and trusted i knew how to assemble. i mostly did from watching my mom make them, but i filled in gaps by looking at techniques/steps from this recipe, just to give credit where it's due. basic ingredients:

whole stemmed medium-to-large mushrooms (you can use whatever type you want, i think cremini and white are the best options though. for mine i used white bc that's what they had at ingles and i made about 15 or 16 so all future measurements make that approx serving)

about a half cup of pecans, roughly chopped

a whole bunch of shredded parmesan

a packet of cream cheese

the original recipe called for sausage, i want to say chicken sausage. i substituted lentils which i'll explain below

idk what additional seasonings any other family member used (if any--the sausage tended to lend a lot of flavor) and i treat cooking like jazz so all additional seasonings i used will be detailed in the instructions, but literally do what feels right to you.

preheat the oven to 400, put a baking sheet in it to heat up

pull the stems out of your mushrooms, leaving them hollow. roughly chop the stems, and sauté them in olive oil with 2-3 cloves of garlic until they've cooked down some and the garlic is good and fragrant

add your chopped pecans and any herbs/spices you want. i was trying to recreate some of the flavor i remembered from the chicken sausage so i went with rosemary, tarragon, and oregano, plus a little salt & pep. sauté all this for another minute or two to get a light toast on the pecans. remove from heat

if you use sausage i guess you probably should have started cooking that and done everything else in the sausage grease, but for lentils, here are my guidelines: whenever i substitute something for meat i try to give it a similarly complex and savory/umami flavor to meat. to achieve this, i cooked dry lentils in water with a bay leaf (broth would have been better but i didn't consider it until just this moment, curses. next time i'll def use the roasted vegetable better than bouillon). once the lentils were just about tender i mixed in a little bit of tomato paste, a little bit of mustard, and a healthy dash of smoked paprika to achieve that depth of flavor. i always have dry lentils in the house bc they're so easy but if you wanted to use pre-cooked you definitely could do that too, go nuts!

in a big bowl, combine lentil mixture, sauté mixture, 1/3-1/2 of your parmesan, and all your cream cheese. here i also splashed in a little balsamic because literally why not. adjust seasoning to taste for sure. you don't have to mash this but you do want it to mix thoroughly, i just used a fork and a little elbow grease

take out your baking sheet and put your mushroom caps down on it (you can use cooking spray or olive oil but i just kinda didn't because i didn't care). fill each mushroom hollow with a generous scoop of your filling, sprinkle each with more parmesan, and bake for ~15 minutes until the mushroom caps are tender.

and i gotta tell you, they really do fuck. they do. i was contemplating the idea of possibly adding in some spinach next time for some greenery, so if anybody tries that, let me know how it goes, or i'll update you i guess if i try it. they were served alongside grilled asparagus, mac and cheese, and bbq ribs for the meat-eaters in the family, and everyone was pretty much thrilled with the meal. also if you have leftover filling you can fully just eat it with a spoon and you will want to because, like i said, it fucks.

#i'm sorry this was a novel but if you ask me to talk about food you are going to get DETAIL baby #honestly if you ask me to talk about anything. i am very verbose and love details so. sorry i'm like this i guess. except not really

[cesium-sheep]

someone reblogged a [recipe] for "roast chicken, 1 spoon" and my guy I think your spoons are substantially bigger than mine. (which. is kind of a bad thing in this instance as they seem to run a whole spoonie-focused cooking blog.)

like energy is super subjective and that's fine and I'm glad these things are low effort for them but even simply moving a roasting chicken is in itself significant effort for me. even with the prednisone I'd say just getting it into the pan is 1-2 spoons by itself, even without chopping fruit and veg for stuffing and putting it in and rubbing in the herbs and so on. like, that's a lot of spoons! so to have the disparity between their measuring and mine be so huge means that's an entire resource with very limited utility for anyone anywhere near as sick as me. which is always disappointing.

[gabelish]

Forget the Myers-Briggs or astrology, tell me about your ramen preferences

chicken / beef / shrimp

crushed / whole

spoon / fork / chopsticks

measure the water / eyeball it

cooked / raw

#shitpost #ramen #ramen noodles #astrology #tag #mine is chicken whole spoon measure cooked

[salvia-fitness]

I meant to show you how I make chicken tacos!

All I recorded was this, which has to be done the night before.

Soak a cup of pinto beans in a pot overnight. This is the start that I forget to prepare before bed over and over. It reduces the time they have to cook and reduces the chance of flatulence associated with fiber. The beans will double in size, so make sure they have enough water. They’ll also take 2 hours to cook so give yourself plenty of time.

Tools:

1 cup dry measuring cup

1 large pot

Long stirring spoon (for large pot)

1 pan

Cereal bowl

Flat edge wood spoon (or spatula to move rice in pan)

Grill gloves or oven mitts

Small spoon

Clean kitchen scissors

Metal claw spoon (something to stir large pot)

Fork

Knife

Sieve

Chopping block and knife (if you’re traditional)

Ingredients:

1 cup pinto beans, soaked

1–2lbs chicken breasts (tip: you can have only one breast packaged for you cheaply at the meat counter, if one is available)

1 poblano pepper

2 boxes of chicken broth

Olive oil

1 cup white rice

Garlic in jar or fresh

Garlic salt or regular

Tortillas

Finely shredded cheese or queso fresco

Avocado

Here the ingredients list varies between my grandmothers and myself. If you want to be traditional, buy

Tomato paste can, 6oz (tiny)

Onion

If you want to live an easier life, buy

1 jar salsa

Both of my grandmothers make chicken tacos the same way. But, in order to save time, I have made it a little faster through two important steps. My secrets are a jar of chunky hot salsa and cutting the chicken into cubes.

Beans

Take your soaked pinto beans. Pour all of the liquid out with the matching pot lid blocking beans from falling into your sink, and pour the rest of the beans into the large pot. Fill it with water. Bring them to a boil and then bring the heat to low. Let them simmer on low for 2 hours. Stir with your stirring spoon occasionally. 5 minutes before the end, add salt.

2 hours later, drain your beans. Wash your large pot in the sink.

Rice takes a while to soak. Traditionally, you can use the stock created from cooking bone-in chicken, but honestly we’re using boneless breasts and they take the shortest amount of time of everything to cook in this recipe so I’ll tell you how to cook chicken in 10 minutes last.

Rice

If you’re a Mexican grandma, you are now chopping your onion and some garlic. My abuelita, who moved from Mexico when she was 35, has been making this once a week before and ever since, so she got lazy one time last year and just stuck the whole half onion in her rice pan unchopped. So, you do you. You can eat the onion like that, too.

Take 1 cup white rice and pour it into a cereal bowl. Fill with water. Cover with your hand, open slats in your fingers slightly, and pour the water back out without allowing rice to fall. Do this five times to allow the starch to leave the rice. We are not Asian and do not eat our rice sticky. This is a very important step that doesn’t seem very important and I’m side-eyeing you if you skip this one.

Take a pan. Put burner on medium. Pour in some olive oil, enough to lightly cover the bottom. Turn the pan this way and that, and then pour in the 1 cup of white rice. There will be some water that reacts and hisses very loudly upon hitting the hot oil. Don’t be afraid! The racket it makes is louder than its bite. If you want reassurance that you will never, ever get burned by this, stick on grill gloves.

Can I talk about grill gloves for a second guys? I don’t even own oven mitts because I can have fingers with these babies. Mine are heat resistant to up to 475° and they cost me ten bucks at Walmart. I can still feel the heat if I hold a hot pan for too long like a regular oven mitt so in the future I might invest in these 1472℉ Extreme Heat Resistant babies which I would actually use over a grill. Or, to weld hot metals, I guess. If you own them do tell how they have changed your life. Envy.

But anyway the rice is going to scream in pain at you and you just have to wait it out until they go to sleep.

Use your flat-edge or spatula to push the rice around. Add more olive oil if you’d like. The point is that we want to avoid the rice sticking too much to the floor and walls, but we’ve also gotta step back for a moment to let them actually have time to brown. And then right back in to make sure they don’t burn. That’s right, we’re frying our rice. It’s how all Mexican rice is made. Every time you get some of that orange, fluffy stuff it’s actually fried food. I never said we are the healthiest heritage. I’ve learned recently in another tumblr post that Indian rice is made by frying beforehand as well.

Don’t let it get completely brown. We’re just looking for a little bit of color, here and there. When a third of the rice no longer looks entirely white turn down the heat, take a spoonful of your jarred or chopped garlic and stick it in there. Add either a) your onion and a spoonful of tomato paste or b) half of the chunky hot salsa out of the jar with your little spoon. If you want really orange and spicy rice, use the whole jar.

You have 1 of the boxes of broth, right? Good! We’re using it for our rice. The general rule of thumb is to use two cups of liquid for every cup of rice you use, and we used one. So you can do the math. Pour it in. Don’t overflow the pan. Make red, delicious soup. Don’t forget to add salt or garlic salt. Stir it all up. Cook the pan-soup on extremely low for twenty minutes, stirring occasionally so that the rice doesn’t stick to the bottom. Add more broth if it looks too try for your tastes. When over time it looks like thick, fluffy rice, you know you’ve done your job right.

Also. I don’t know what Spanish rice is. This is Mexican rice. If your recipe calls for cumin or red bell peppers it is not this. Mexican rice is very simple, demure flavors, and I refuse to continue to let it be bastardized as Spanish. I do want to try Spanish paella because it’s made with saffron and saffron rice is tasty as hell.

Chicken

Wash some kitchen scissors. Put your breasts in the large pot and start cutting them into even sized cubes to cook. Or chop them up on the chocking block. Thoroughly wash your hands and the scissors/other materials in the sink, then fill the pot of chicken with only 1 box of chicken broth. You want enough to cover all of the chicken up. If the chicken starts to float and uncovers itself, you need more water, which is also acceptable in place of broth. Bring it to a boil.

A Mexican grandma will cut up half of the onion and some garlic cloves and salt and throw it in the pot with the chicken. Instead, I chop up the poblano pepper and toss it in to cook. If you saved some of the salsa you can throw it in too.

Once it hit a roiling boil, turn the burner down to medium, stir with the metal claw spoon while cooking on medium for ten minutes. Make sure the chicken is done by checking the largest pieces internally with the fork and knife. If your medium is not as hot as my medium, turn it up but never leave the chicken unattended in case it boils up and over the pot. A pretty nasty white film will develop on top. It’s healthy, but I take it out when I pour the chicken into the sieve after it’s done cooking. If you’re a Mexican grandma, you take two clean forks or your fingers and start tearing the chicken into shreds. If you’re lazy, like me, the chicken is hot and the cubes are small enough to eat on their own.

Transfer the chicken back to the large pot. Transfer the rice and pan contents into the pot also. Hell, if you feel like it, put the cooked pinto beans in there. Or keep them separate, in their own Tupperware. You made 1 or 2lbs of chicken, plus like four cups of other ingredients.

If you have a cast iron pan, you can heat it up on high heat and stick some corn tortillas on it. How you prepare your tortillas, and what kind, is up to you. Hard shell! Flour! Fried corn tortillas! Tostadas! In the microwave separated by paper towels for 20 seconds!

Check to see that all of your burners are off. Enjoy with cheese and avocado slices. Perhaps with Dole orange peach mango juice, my abuelita’s favorite.

Good luck, have fun, Godspeed, and break a leg!

sadly avocado-less

#food #chicken tacos #mexican #chicken recipe

[whump-it]

Sunday Roast A-La Whump-it!!!

Here we go! My little tutorial for how to make a rockin' Sunday roast chicken with all the trimmings, and gravy so good you could drink it!

Here's what you'll end up with!

How to make it below the cut!

Please note that I never measure! Everything is eyeballed and just learnt from years of making.

What you'll need:-

1 whole chicken

Salt and pepper

Gravy browning

Eggs (2 eggs makes about 6 little Yorkshire puddings)

Chicken stock cube

Plain flour

Milk

Carrots

Broccoli

Parsnips

Potatoes

White cabbage

White onion

Dried mixed herbs

Smoked streaky bacon

Little sausages

Vegetable oil

Slice of bread for breadcrumbs

Roasting tray

Roasting tin with lid

Deep muffin tray

What you'll do:-

First off, preheat your oven to 180°c and make sure there's enough room in between your oven racks to fit your roasting tin in!

Make your Yorkshire pudding mix and gravy mix first then set it to one side. Gravy is easy.  Get a nice big dessert spoon and put a couple of heaped spoons of flour in a dish.  Crumble in a stock cube and season with pepper.  Then add water until you get a nice lump-free thin sauce.  Set aside.

For your Yourkshires, crack your eggs in a bowl or jug, season with salt and pepper and whisk well with a fork.  Then add flour until it becomes very very stiff.  Really beat the lumps out of it!  Then add milk little bit by little bit until its a smooth but thick batter.  The thicker it is, the more squidgy the puds will be.  And I like mine VERY squidgy!  Set this aside too.

Cover the base of the roasting tin with water, just enough to cover it, and then put the chicken in, seasoning with salt and pepper.  Lid on and it’s in the oven for about 2 hours. 

Now you’re on to veggies and accessories!!!

Fry up some bacon until nice and crispy, then cut it into little bits.  Slice your cabbage then fry the cabbage in the same pan as the bacon was in with a knob of butter and more seasoning.  I like mine to stay on the crispy side.  Put the bacon in too and again, set aside.  This is can be reheated right before serving up.

For the stuffing, fry off half an onion finely diced, then add couple more slices of bacon chopped up, a sprinkle of dried mixed herbs, salt and pepper and the breadcrumbs.  A dash of water to bind it, then put it in an oven proof dish.  This will go in when there’s about half an hour left on the chicken.

Keep an eye on the time and once an hour is up, put about five big spoonfuls of oil in a roasting tray and get it in the oven to heat up.  Then brown off the bacon wrapped sausages and arrange them around the chicken, lid back on and in the oven it goes again. 

One hour to go!  Set a nice big saucepan of water to boil.

Here’s how I cut my veggies.  Try to avoid straggly parsnips because they will burn when roasting.  And aside from the heads of the broccoli?  I roast everything!  Don’t throw out the broccoli steams because they get roasted too and they’re gorgeous.  When there’s 45 minutes to go, par boil the carrots, parsnips, potatoes, and broccoli stems for five minutes then out comes the roasting tray and in they go to the tray and into the oven.  Take them out the water with a slotted spoon or tongs because you’ll need this water again!

Give the veggies 15 minutes then turn them over.  If they’re resisting and sticking a little, give them a minute and they’ll come off.  I don’t know why this works but it works!

Here’s how much oil to put in each of the muffin tray dips. Put this in the oven to heat up as your veggies go back in then wait five minutes.

With 20 minutes to go, get the stuffing in, then in 5 minutes, get the muffin tray out and pour in your Yorkshire batter.  When the Yorkshire’s go in, the chicken should be done and can come out.  Here’s what it should look like. 

Put it on a plate and come back to it in a bit.  To check if it’s cooked, poke a knife into the thickest part and check that the juices are clear.  There shouldn’t be any blood.  Don’t want to take your chances with badly cooked chicken!

The pan of water you kept?  Get those broccoli heads in and set on a medium boil.

Now the gravy!  See the very thin layer of fat on top of the meat juices?  Skim it off with a spoon because you don’t want oily gravy. 

Put the roasting tin on the hob on a very low heat and add your gravy mix that you made at the very start.  I am old fashioned and like to add a wee drop of gravy browning. 

Now what you’re doing is cooking the flour out.  It goes from being pale and floury looking to a thicker consistency and colour.  As it gets to this stage in the picture below, start adding water from your broccoli saucepan little bit by little bit until you get the consistency you want.  I like mine fairly thick.  And that water?  It’s got the flavours of all your veggies. 

By the time your gravy is done and you’ve started carving, your Yorkshire’s should be done and looking something like this! 

If you have a go, then please show me because I’d love to see what you all come out with!!! Thanks to tumblr and their picture limit, there's not even half so many as I'd like to put in, sorry! But hopefully there's enough to go on!

So out it all comes and it’s time to plate up! As you're plating up, gently reheat the cabbage and bacon so that will be good to go by the time you've got your veggies on the plate.

@tears-and-lilies

#not whump #whump-it is creating #Whump-it is cooking #sunday roast #winner winner chicken dinner #homemade food #cooking #cookery #cookery instructions #cookery tuition #how to make a Sunday roast #home cooking #tumblr-mum food

[sintothin]

CHICKEN NUGGETS

Makes 21 | 172 calories for 4 pieces

------------------------------------------------------------

Ingredients

• 25oz Chicken Breast

• Any seasoning you like

• 28g Cornflakes or Bread Crumbs

• 30g flour

• Water

------------------------------------------------------------

Directions

• Preheat oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit

• Place your chicken breast and seasoning into a blender or food processor. Grind it until it becomes smooth.

• Smash your cornflakes into small pieces. You can use any method you want for this. I just smashed it with my hands.

• Blend your flour and cornflakes together.

• Separate your chicken mixture into 30g balls. You can make them smaller because mine did come out a bit big.

• Coat your chicken in the flour mixture and place them on your cooking sheet.

• Cook the chicken for 10 minutes. Take the chicken out, dip your chicken in water. Try and do this step quickly so the chicken nuggets don’t soak up a lot of water. If the chicken nuggets are too hot for you use a spoon to or fork to touch them.

• Place your chicken nuggets back in your oven for 6 minutes.

------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

• When you measure out the chicken nuggets they may be a bit big. You can adjust the size to make smaller ones. The whole recipe comes out to be 897.5 calories. Just divide the calories by how many you made and you should get the new amount per serving.

• If you wanna freeze your chicken nuggets you can. Heat them up at 450 for 20 minutes.

Logged: 5/13/2020

#lowcalrecipes #lowcal #lowcalchickennuggets #sintothin #under200cal

[piccolina-mina]

The Art of Reciprocity

A/N: For @shadowandbones, the only person who could ever get me to write kysobel/kybel.💙 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She pressed a manicured nail hard on the doorbell, not bothering to let up.

She couldn’t tell if the buzzer was working or not, so she knocked on the door for good measure, until she heard a muffled thump and swearing. Then a series of locks were unlatched and the door was wrenched open.

She smiled, syrupy sweet at a disheveled looking Kyle, stepping across the threshold and pushing past his lame attempt to block the entrance.

“No, by all means, come in, Isobel,” he mumbled, shutting the door and shuffling, barefoot back to a makeshift cocoon of blankets on the couch.

“No worries, I already did,” she tossed back, taking in her surroundings, her nose crinkling at Kyle’s questionable taste in decor. 

She could work a miracle there. It screamed “bachelor pad,” and while he was neater than she would’ve imagined, it could have used a bit of a feminine touch.

God knew the Sheriff didn’t count. She was pretty certain the only time Sheriff Valenti would’ve witnessed the full spectrum of the rainbow is if she actually showed the woman her pleasure treasure trove.

“I was being polite. I could’ve come in on my own.”

“You being polite? Never!” Kyle snorted as he burrowed into a pile of blankets.

He stiffened when she plopped down next to him and kicked her feet up on the coffee table as if he still hadn’t gotten used to how she encroached on space without warning.

“You mind?” He nodded pointedly at her feet on his table, and she rolled her eyes, but took them off and kicked her shoes off too. She looked smug.

For a brief moment, she wondered if he would say something else, but a forced smile was frozen on his face.

She shrugged, her eyes landing on a pathetic looking sandwich on a saucer. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it, so she snatched a half and took a bite, blanching at how utterly tasteless it was with its sad, wilted lettuce and boring multigrain bread.

“Kyle, this is – this is sad, man,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich that she unceremoniously spit back out on the saucer.

“I was going to eat that,” he stared, disgusted at the chewed up bits that landed on top of the other half.

“You shouldn’t, though,” she took a swig of his Gatorade, ignoring his dissent and smacking his hand away.

She choked back the pungent beverage that reminded her of melted popsicles on hot summer days in the desert. “You should have better standards.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said tiredly, snatching the bottle back from her and placing the cap on it. He sighed, collapsing back into his mountain of blankets as if the mere act tuckered him out.

She took in his appearance for the first time since she got there. His normally well-styled hair was damn near plastered to his forehead. His face had a sunken pallor unlike its usual tan, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

His t-shirt had patches of sweat, and his skin glistened with sweat even though he shivered on occasion. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had some killer stubble action going on.

“You look like sh!t,” she mused out loud. “Yet still doable,” her tongue darted out to lick her lips because the stubble was definitely hot. “It’s unfair, really.

“I don’t get sick, Doc, so I’ll be fine.”

“Isobel,” he blinked slowly, unamused as tired eyes met hers. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Can a girl just drop by and chat with a friend?” She quipped. She batted her eyes playfully.

“We’re friends?” He deadpanned.

It came off both lighthearted and honest, the latter causing her to recoil a bit. Her lips turned downward as she refrained from a snappy comeback because … were they?

And in his defense, she did come over there with an ulterior motive, so was he wrong?

His expression softened, picking up on her shift in mood despite her best attempt to hide it, put that mask of hers back up, the one she had perfected for the better part of two decades.

He opened his mouth intending to walk back his comment, except before he could say more he was overcome with a coughing fit. 

His whole body convulsed with each cough, and he groaned when he was through.

A small part of her was amused that even physicians suffered from a man cold.

He feebly reached for his meds, and she used her powers to pop the lid off and place a couple of pills in his hand. She telekinetically pushed the Gatorade in his other palm too.

“Thanks,” he said, out of breath. He threw back the meds and rested his head on the back of the couch for a moment.

“How about I make you something to eat?” She swiped her palms across her jeans and stood, making her way to his kitchen and rummaging through his cabinets without so much as waiting for a response.

“You’re going to cook?” Kyle sputtered, dumbfounded. “For me?”

“Why is it so hard to believe I can be nice?”

“Isobel-” Kyle started.

“Don’t answer that. Yeah, I’m going to cook for you,” she slammed a few cabinets and arranged a bunch of on ingredients on the counter.

“Southwestern Chicken Soup,” she frowned. “Well, a variation of it, you know, you have a surprisingly well-stocked fridge. Last time I was at Michael’s, all I found was boxed mac ‘n cheese and Twinkies.”

“Isobel-” Kyle began again, watching the blond studiously ignore him while getting down to work. “I just-”

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and go shower,” she pointed the edge of a knife in his direction, nose upturned at his sweaty state. “Take your time, if we’re lucky, and you do it right, everything will be done once you’re out.”

She couldn’t resist the potshots, but his brow arched, more amused than offended. So much for hitting him where it hurt in retaliation.

She angrily chopped vegetables, the action serving as a release for her pent-up frustration. She busied herself assembling the soup, then searched high and low for any alcohol beyond the unappealing drafts in the back of the refrigerator.

She followed the sound of running water toward Kyle’s bedroom, dark colors, and sports paraphernalia abounded, and not only didn’t she bother knocking on the bathroom door, but she yanked back the shower curtain too.

“Kyle – stop shrieking,” she snorted at his surprised yelp. “It’s just me. Hey, do you have any wine?”

She never clocked him for the modest type, but it still surprised her when he stood stark naked, soap and suds pooling at his feet, and stared at her more exasperated than anything else.

“Isobel, do you have any comprehension of privacy?”

“Relax,” she gave him a slow once-over, biting her lip against her own volition. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saw mine, and I most certainly got to see yours,” her eyes roamed downward with appreciation before returning to his face. “Consider us even. Wine?”

“No, just beer. What can I say? I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Cute,” she yanked the shower curtain closed.

“So you keep saying,” Kyle chuckled beneath the rushing water.

She turned the cold water up with her mind, and he yelped as she slammed the door.

He didn’t say much when he was done. He smelled amazing, like himself, and it brought some color back into his face. He seemed revitalized but also more relaxed, as he sat on the stool across the island from her.

 She could feel his eyes on her as she slid a heaping bowl of soup in front of him while leaning against the island and finishing off a half-empty bottle of beer.

He ate in silence, enthusiastically, she noted, and she secretly applauded herself for impressing him, even if he didn’t admit it.

“This is amazing, Isobel. Thank you,” he shoveled the last spoonful in his mouth.

Go figure; Kyle wasn’t spiteful or petty. He wasn’t – he wasn’t like her.

“Thank you,” he said again. His voice was soft – his eyes earnest and genuine. He reached across and rubbed her arm, and the intimate gesture sent warmth throughout her.

He knew she was attracted to him, and she propositioned him often, but it wasn’t just that he looked like a deity carved from stone. Kyle was a good guy, warm and cool at once, and he was so easy to be around. With Kyle, she could just … be.

With Kyle, she felt like the only thing that mattered was the present, not her past and who she was then, not her future and who she could be.

For Kyle, the present was enough, and since that’s all she could figure out, day by day, minute by minute, she appreciated the comfort in that, in him.

“So, Isobel,” Kyle flashed her that warm, disarming smile that cut through to the core of her. “Are you going to tell me why you really came over here?”

In hindsight, the only reason she was so agitated with his earlier response was because of how right he was, how right everyone was.

She did only come over for selfish reasons, and she didn’t know how to not be so self-absorbed, but she was trying. She wanted to be better.

“How did you do it, Kyle?” She attempted to sound lighthearted, but her voice cracked at the end. It hadn’t gone unnoticed based on the way his eyes widened infinitesimally. “How did you figure out how to be a better person?

She half shrugged, threw in a crooked smile too, and hoped he didn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Smell the loneliness on her skin.

She felt unsteady, constantly, endlessly unsettled. She felt like, at 28 years old, she didn’t know shit about herself, and she was starting from scratch.

She didn’t know who the hell she was, and if she didn’t know, how could she expect anyone else to?

“In high school, you were –”

“Kind of a dick?” He offered sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. Not my finest time.”

“And apparently, I’ve always been a bit of a bitch,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he contested, his head canted to the 

“You would be one of the few who didn’t.”

“Isobel, you’re human,” he frowned. “Well, close enough. You’re not perfect; no one is.”

“You are,” she joked.

“Not even close,” he argued with a scoff.

“Everything in my life is a lie, and everyone important in my life is stuck with me, they never chose me. My own husband didn’t even lo–” a lump caught in her throat as her eyes misted over.

“I distinctly remember a certain bartender choosing you, only you, out of a bar full of women. That wasn’t a fluke, Isobel.”

“Yeah, because she didn’t know me,” she argued, picking a carrot out of his soup bowl and popping it into her mouth to give her something else to do.

“No, because she did know you because you allowed yourself to be known. No rudeness, or snottiness, no snarky comments, or a prickly exterior, just you, letting go, being … you.”

She wanted to argue, but he shook his head. “You want to know how I became a better person? I’m not. I work every day to be better than I was the day before with the understanding that there’s no end to it." 

"You care to give me something I can work with, Yoda?” She snarked.

“Alright,” he sat back. “For starters, being aware of the other people around me certainly helps.”

“Like at the very least noticing that someone is sick after you’ve bogarted your way into their house?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he replied coolly. “Look, I had to face who I was and the things that I had done, work through my own shit, and the rest just fell into place.

"Life happened. It has a way of beating you down and teaching you lessons. My world expanded beyond this small town and my small thinking or that of those around me.

I forged my own path, focused on me instead of what others thought of me. By doing that, I became better for myself and everyone else. I grew up; every day I’m growing up, and so are you, if you allow yourself to. You stop fighting the process, and it all goes smoothly.”

“And as for others, Isobel, you can’t have real friends until you actually learn how to be one. It’s not always about someone choosing you. It’s about you choosing them, and then putting in the work to show why it’s worth it, why they’re worth it, why you’re worth it.  And you are. Worth it.

He ducked his head, made eye contact with her even though she attempted to look away blinking back tears she refused to let fall.

"All you have to do is get out of your own head, get out of your own way, and show up.”

He gave her that full smile that let her know he wasn’t being a dick. 

“You’re so busy wondering why you don’t have friends that you can’t see that you do. You know who your friends are?

They’re the ones who show up for you, the ones who will make you a priority. You know how you become a better friend? Return the favor. It’s as simple as that.”

His voice drifted off on the last line, and he stifled another cough. 

He patted the counter, gave her a tight-lipped smile, and hoisted himself off the stool. He was giving her space after saying his piece.

He shuffled to the couch and slumped down, kicking his own feet up on the coffee table and toyed with the remote. 

For the first time since she waltzed in, she was unsure of her presence. She cleaned up the kitchen, put things away, and placed the leftovers into the refrigerator.

She meandered in the kitchen, not really wanting to leave but unsure if she should stay.

“Can you bring me another Gatorade when you come back in here?" 

It was as if Kyle read her uneasiness, her reluctance, and she released a relieved titter as she brought him another drink, looming over him as she held it out.

He grabbed it, not releasing it for a bit, dark eyes boring into hers as if he was searching.

For what? She didn’t know, but he had a way of stripping her bare with one glance, it rattled her but also thrilled her, comforted her being looked at and seen.

But still, "You gonna stop batting those browns at me? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were the one trying to undress me with your eyes,” she joked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Isobel. Saw it all before, remember?” The slight smirk took the sting out of it. “I was just wondering if you were a Wendy or a Ruth." 

"What?”

“How do you feel about drug cartels?” He ignored her confusion, queuing up his Netflix. 

“Is that a trick question? Are you part of some criminal enterprise in between surgeries and alien research, Valenti?”

“Haha, I’m being nice, I’m willing to sit through the first two episodes of Ozark again to catch you up, but if we ever plan on making it through the first season today, we gotta start now.”

“I’m…” she squinted at the screen. “That’s… isn’t that like ten hours?”

He waved at his bundle of blankets, sweats, and Kleenex boxes. “I don’t have any other plans today, do you?”

“Me? You want to binge a show about drug dealers  … with me?”

“My house, my choice. And I’m sorry, I’m not watching Outlander or whatever,” he continued, burrowing into the covers again.

“Yeah, no, but–”

“It’s always more fun bingeing with a friend,” he shrugged casually. 

The obnoxious gong of Netflix played at the same time she plopped on the couch next to him. 

But she couldn’t take her eyed off of him, his profile, relaxed, and unbothered by her, by her company. High cheekbones, strong jawline, and long eyelashes. 

Warmth flooded her chest. 

“It starts off hot, if you keep glaring at me, you’re going to miss stuff, and I’m not starting it over again,” he murmured. 

She leaned in close, tilted his head toward her with a manicured finger beneath his chin, her face impossibly close.

“Kyle,” her voice dropped an octave, as their faces were centimeters apart, she could smell the body wash still clinging to his skin, the spices from her soup on his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, meeting her hooded eyes with his own.

She pressed her lips against his, a searing hot kiss, sucking his bottom lip between her own, nibbling, then soothing it with her tongue. Her fingers playing with his hair at the base of his neck.

She pulled away, leaving his lips swollen, his mouth slightly ajar, eyes a bit unfocused. She knew he was constantly thrown off by her temerity, but he never seemed to hold it against her.

“For being my friend,” her voice cracked at the end, and he was back to looking at her like he could see her soul.  She averted her eyes, settled in resting her head on his shoulder as she pulled her feet up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she broke their comfortable silence halfway in.“How do I remind you of Wendy and Ruthie? Wendy’s bitchy, and Ruthie is obnoxious!"  Kyle shrugged, with a wicked grin.

"You’re an ass,” she hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

“Oh, but you like it,” he teased.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’d also ride it,” she sighed. 

“Isobel,” he choked on his drink, and she held her chin up triumphant and unapologetic. 

“Hey, do you have any… dude, hold your arms up over your head,” she whacked him on the back as he sputtered and coughed.

“Anyway, do you have any popcorn?” She stared at the screen with rapt attention, unaware of him glaring at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes.

“Screw you,” he replied with no heat.

“Hey, I keep offering. You’re the one who says no. Now, are we watching this, or are you going to keep talking about your feelings, Valenti?”

She didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, she turned the volume up and stretched out on the couch half sprawled on him, ignoring his protest.

It felt good having a friend.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

#consider it a late gift #told you I still love you anyway hahaha #Roswell new Mexico fic #kyle valenti #isobel evans

[jazzeria]

Charlie’s Beef Noodle Soup no. 1

Beefy bone broth with anise and cassia, finely sliced onions, cilantro, stewed beef shank from local Chinese butcher/grocer Hoa Ky, roasted soybeans, Spicy Chili Crisp, homemade chili oil, wheat noodles.  It has qualities of pho and Lanzhou beef noodle, but is definitely neither.

I recently went on a noodle rampage, bingeing on dan dan noodle and breakfast ramen, and then decided I need a beef noodle soup too.  

I wanted the beef broth to be rich and beefy, with a star anise and cinnamon profile reminiscent of beef pho and Lanzhou beef noodle.  But I also wanted it to be very easy to make.  I didn’t need the broth to be overly complex, as I’d been recently experimenting with making homemade Spicy Chili Crisp, a condiment that tends to overpower the nuance of any dish it’s added to.  

For a while, I wanted to call this “Charlie’s very fake Lanzhou beef noodle soup,” because it is definitely nowhere near as complex as Lanzhou beef noodle soup (which calls for beef bones, beef shank, beef blood, lamb liver, and a whole chicken [source]).  But that name seemed like an affront to the authentic stuff.  

So instead I’ve been calling this “Charlie’s Beef Noodle Soup No. 1″.  What follows is a general method without any measurements.  Follow your heart.  This dish is meant to be simple to prepare: a bit of active prep, and then a lot of waiting.  Although I make this in my digital rice cooker, I think this could be made in a slow-cooker.  

Charlie’s Beef Noodle Soup No. 1

Serve this broth over wheat noodles, finely-sliced onion, cilantro, green onion, and thinly sliced beef.  Top with fried soybeans (”soy nuts”) and a big spoonful of chili oil.  

My go-to noodle is Chunsi brand Lanzhou Ramen Noodles. 

For meat, I used leftover roast beef, but you could use hotpot shaved beef.  You could also add a beef shank during the simmering portion.  

Broth: 

Beef bones

Star anise, whole 

Cassia bark (or cinnamon sticks) 

Black pepper, whole

Bay leaves

Ginger, sliced

To taste: Salt, rock sugar (or any sugar)

Sprinkle the beef bones with kosher salt.  In a hot oven (at least 400F), roast the bones for at least 30 minutes, until the marrow is tender and loose and most of the fat has rendered out.  Reserve the fat.  

(This fat will be incredibly flavourful.  Try roasting some potatoes in it!  Or at least, reserve some for topping the broth at serving time.)  

Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, toast the star anise, cassia bark, and black peppercorns until fragrant (about 5-10  min on medium heat).  

Place the roasted bones, toasted spices, bay leaves, and ginger in a stock pot.  Bring to a boil.  Add the salt and sugar.   Boil for 10 minutes, then reduce to a simmer.  Simmer (or slow-cook) for at least 30 minutes, but it’ll be even better after 2 hours.  (If cooking beef shank, ensure the meat reaches an internal temperature of at least 145F.)  I cook mine in an electronic rice cooker.  

Strain out solids.  

Serve with: 

Cooked noodles, thinly sliced beef, finely shaved white/yellow onion or roughly chopped green onion, cilantro, fried soybeans, and a big glug of chili oil.  

Instead of chili oil, you could use the solids from the chili oil and a spoonful of the beef fat.  

#food #recipe #Charlie's Beef Noodle no. 1 #beef noodle #noodle soup #noodles #Chinese cuisine #not lanzhou noodles #not pho #send noods #noodle rampage #soup #broth #beef soup #beef broth #food for cold weather

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Warning: violence, thief, drinking (legal), and SMUT. Because good lord look at him)

Fiorella Aceveda, a twenty-three years old sister to a police captain of a bad part of town. David Aceveda, her brother, was running the Barn; a police station in Farmington district of Los Angeles. He found himself in a lot of trouble after the assault, and with the two hooligans on the loose her brother felt the need to cover his sister a little closer.

“Fiorella, this is Curtis Lemansky, he’s as a favor to me. I know it isn’t ideal, but he’s here to keep you safe. His team, this is the leader, Vic Mackey, Shane Vendrell, and Ronnie Gardocki. These guys will be taking turns, but it’ll mainly be Officer Lemansky. Let me talk to Fiorella alone for a moment?” He asks, seeing the steam rolling from his younger sister’s ears as her face flushed.

“David, I don’t need any kind of protection detail. I’m fine, Mano.” She smiles, patting his tense shoulder with a soft hand.

“Listen, until they’re caught, Lemansky will be here. The whole team will, but mostly Lem. He’s the most relaxed when it comes to rules. No friends, no boyfriends, no clubs—“ She snorts, wandering back to the living room to greet her new best friend. Stepping up to the big blonde, she sticks out a hand.

“I’m Fi. You have to be Lem.” She smiles, praying she was right. He was extremely easy on the eyes and his relaxed stance gave him away. He also looked like the poster child for Ron Jon Surf Shop.

“Yeah, that’s me. Curtis if you like. Or Lemonhead, Lem, hey you, whatever makes this easier.” He chuckles, gripping her hand in his for a second before giving her a gentle nod. “This is Vic, Shane, Ronnie. We’ll take turns but it’ll mainly be me here. They all have families and lives.” He rolls his eyes, the both of them laughing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He was cute, tall and blonde, slightly sunburnt shoulders and nose, and playful blue eyes.

“That’s alright.” She smiles, disappearing into the kitchen. David was there, eyes expecting her to say something smart. “I really don’t think this is necessary but—“ she stops him with her raised brows. “I’ll go with it for a few days. If it’ll make you and your wife happy.” She groans, grabbing a beer.

“Okay great, thanks Fio, listen. You have rules to follow, okay? Like the shower thing, you might have to leave the door open or shut off the music. You’ll have a schedule to keep. I brought a few things, they’re in the car.” He heads out the front door with the rest of the team, only leaving Lem to scope out the house. He heads first to check all the windows, locking what isn’t locked. One window’s lock was broken, he grabbed a chuck of wood sitting near bar and stuffed it into the pane to keep the window closed, and shuts all the curtains.

“Boy, thanks. I’ll turn on the kitchen light at three in the afternoon.” She rolls her eyes, letting Lem hear her complaint. Realizing maybe he overdid it, he sheepishly pulls open a few curtains.

“Sorry, I just gotta do this right. I was a bodyguard before I worked with the Strike team.” He smiles, his cheeks flushed, though she wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or sunburn. Whatever the case, it was absolutely adorable. David joined them in the kitchen, putting up a small whiteboard on the fridge with the times Lem and the others would be there. Of course, Lem had all night shifts, he was ten in the morning until two in the morning, Shane would switch him at one forty-five in the morning. Shane would be there from two in the morning until ten in the morning, when Lem would come back.

“Listen, this is great; but I have a few of my own requests. The bathroom door isn’t shut, but the music plays when I shower. I take hour and a half-long showers, so don’t be concerned. When I go grocery shopping, or go out, I don’t want a big scene, which I’m sure you don’t want either. You’ll be fine when I leave the house, just pretend you’re a friend or something.”

“Right. Any other demands?” Lem digs, giving her a twinkling grin.

“Ya know? Yeah, you keep smiling like that. See if it gets you in trouble.” She nips, pointing a cute little finger at him. Vic groans, rolling his eyes at their little smiling.

“Listen, we’re not here to flirt. We’re here to keep you safe, so let’s not go crazy with demands just yet.” He waves a hand in the air signaling a stop.

“Boy, you sound about as fun as a dead mosquito.” Lem snorts, a hand coming up to cover his face.

“I’m not here for fun. If I was, I’d have arranged a play date. This is cop business, if you have any threats, you know to call-“

“Oh I’ll call. It’s Dick Mackey, right?” Shane coughs, Lem gives another snort.

“Fio, this is a favor of mine. Don’t make me regret it.” David warns, pointing a stern finger at her. With a shrug, she disappears to her room. Lem is quick to follow, standing post at her door, ears alert waiting for her to finish. As she opened the door, she sucked in a breath and grabbed her chest.

“Christ, maybe that’s too close.” She breathes, grabbing his shoulder to steady herself. His hands rests on her elbow for a moment before she heads down the hall back to the group, Lem right behind her.

An hour passes, everyone leaving her and the tall blonde together. “So Lem, tell me about yourself. You from Farmington? You look like a surfer boy.” She ruffles his hair as she walks by, getting ready to make dinner. It was about six and her stomach was yelling at her. Cooking a couple chicken breasts and asparagus, she offers him a plate.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that.” He smiles as he sits at the table. She sits the plate in front of him as she sits next to him, digging into the asparagus. He shrugs, following suit. After dinner, she drags him to the couch and pops in a movie. Cuddling against his warm arm, he glances down at her for a moment as confused as could be. He barely even knew this girl and she was cuddled against him like she knew him. Mentally, he supposed he knew what she was doing. Her brother told her it would at least be seven days so she was getting comfortable quickly. Plus, if he was honest, he didn’t mind the cuddling. He looks back down to find he looking at him.

“What’s up?” She asks softly, hooking an arm through his and cuddling closer under his arm.

“Not much, what are ya up to down there?” He chuckles, patting her knee.

“Getting comfy, you? Why can’t you just sleep here? That Shane guy doesn’t seem great, and you and I know how Dick Mackey goes down.” She and Lem laugh together, falling into a happy silence. “I’m gonna head to bed, if you need anything let me know.” She nods to him before heading to her room. He stands, following.

“I need to sweep the house really quick. All the windows are locked, let me check your window locks and curtains.” She happily swings her door open for him, letting him go straight for the window. Pulling shut the thin curtains, he does a once over of the room to make sure it was the way it was supposed to be. Vic would be there around midnight for the first night watch, as they didn’t expect much to happen.

Awaking early, around six o’clock, she gets up and finds her way to the coffee pot, making herself a cup of coffee and remembering she was supposed to do some grocery shopping this morning. Met by a half-crabby Shane, eyes slits of sleepiness. Finding her clothes, she gets ready and grabs her keys.

“Where are you going?” He barks, grabbing her keys. With an angry frown, she tries to swipe her keys back.

“To the store, I just need a couple things for breakfast.” She assures, only to find Shane grumbling as he opens the door, escorting her to his car and getting in, driving her to the nearest grocery store.

“Gee, thanks so much.” She rolls her eyes as she heads into the store, Shane by her side. Finding the eggs, almond milk, coffee creamer, and sugar, she heads to the checkout. Stopping in the meat aisle for a package of bacon and sausage links. “I’m sure you’d prefer the sausage.” She snorts as they check out.

“I’m straight, asshole.”

“I’m sure you like asshole.” She pats his shoulder with a sarcastic grin.

By ten she had breakfast cooked and ready when Lem got there, a grin on his cute face as he greeted her with a hug.

“Thank christ you’re here. Stick-in-the-mud was a real treat this morning.” She rolls her eyes as she hands him a plate of food, and handing Shane a plate with one egg and bunch of sausage links on it. She snorts as she fills her own plate, plucking a sausage link for Shane’s. “You don’t mind, right? Asshole.” She grins darkly, laughing as Shane gets fired up. Dropping the plate on the counter, he pats Lem on the shoulder and mumbles something in his ear before disappearing.

“You two don’t get along well, huh?” He asks, stuffing a bite of eggs into his mouth and chomping on it.

“We get along fine!” She cheers with her mouth full, making Lem laugh. “Hey, I wanna do some more shopping. I didn’t want to keep Prince Ass-pian waiting. Think we could go at like one or two? I promise to make dinner. Might even let you choose what we have.” She wiggles her brows, enticing him. The only thing he wanted was to get to know her better. He loved her cute goofiness. They found a comfortable silence as she pulled out a few different supplies from a cupboard and some white clothes from a plastic tub. Laying out heavy duty, stained cardboard, she twists the white clothes into different patterns.

“What are you doing?” He asks, peeking over her shoulder.

“I’m getting ready to tie-dye these. I sell them on Etsy. Here.” She hands him a tee shirt, size extra large, and some rubber bands. She rubber bands one into a smiley face. “They’re so easy. Rubber band it how you want the pattern. So like, there’s stripes, bulls-eye, smile, heart-shaped, you can do almost anything.” She babbles as she mixes her colors, a spoon dyed almost black she used to measure into squeeze bottles and spray bottles alike; each bottle it’s own concoction of colors.

“So like, if I wanted to do that smiley face like you, how do I do that?” He asks, stretching a rubberband between his thumb and first finger, smiling at her.

“Here. So put one here,” her finger hits the shirt, “here” hits again, “and then accordion fold this part.” She draws the smile with his finger, holding his big hand with two of hers to point him in the right direction.

“Cool.” He sets to work, brows furrowed and tongue ever-so-slightly hanging from his mouth as he wrapped the spots where she pointed. “Alright. I think I did it.” He smiles, holding up the rubber banded shirt, confused. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” He asks, trying to see the image. She laughs, placing the shirt on the table and grabbing her basket of color choices.

“Pick a few, like two at least.” She waves to the basket. Lem finds a yellow, a blue, and an orange. “Now, put the color you want on the face and then fill in the background.” She instructs, guiding his hand with hers as he applied the colors. She finished her own project as he finished up with his. She smiled at him, taking in his sweet curiosity as his eyes swept over her for a second before rising to his feet and stretching back. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a sliver of tan skin peeking from under the hem of his tee shirt, her tongue swiping across her bottom lip before jolting to life, finding a sure footing as she whisked away to her room. Lem’s day would be short today, Shane would cover his last part of his shift so Lem could help Vic beat on some doors.

“Hey, Vic asked Shane to cover part of my shift tonight so I can help him at the clubhouse.” He states as he helps her into her car, falling into the passenger side.

“Bobo. I don’t like him. He’s a puto.” She hisses, grabbing her purse as they pull into the grocery store. This was the first time he’d ever heard her Spanish, and it was cute. He found himself chuckling, not even sure what she was saying.

“Listen, puto is pretty harsh girlie. I heard you on the phone yesterday, talking to a friend. I’ll let your friend come over if it’ll make it up to you.” He smiles as he walks by her side through the store.

“Fine, I’ll call Tigre, tell her it’s cool.” His eyes blown wide, mouth half-hung open.

“Wait wait wait-“

“What?” She nips, a hand on her hips.

“Tigre?” He asks, eyes flicking between the cellphone and her face nervously.

“Yeah, why?” He shrugs, waving it off. He’d be able to be civil. Maybe he’d have Ronnie take his shift.

“No reason. Yeah, have your friend come over tomorrow night. I’ll be your bartender and waiter. Get you what you want.” He chuckles, but the look in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Que pasa si te quiero.” She hushes, zooming away, cheeks flushing. He picks up his step, rushing her with a low growl and scooping her up, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

“Pretty girl, don’t run away.” He whispers in her ear. She giggles, pushing her cheek into his nose. He kisses her cheek, finding himself almost reeling in the warmest. They finished the shopping hand in hand, she found him warm and safe.

“So, tell me, what do you know about Tigre?” She asks as he loads her groceries into her car.

“Listen, it’s kind of personal stuff, Chiquita.” He smiles as he gets into the car. She frowns for a second.

“You two—ya know?” She asks, watching Lem shift uncomfortably next to her, eyes looking anywhere but her.

“Uh—it’s personal. Okay? Can we just leave it at that?” He asks, eyes pleading her to let it go. They had, she could tell by the way he shifted and avoided eye contact. It hurt, knowing he slept with her best friend.

“Okay, sorry.” She shuts down. He watches it like slow motion. She avoids contact as she puts away the groceries and shoves things where they don’t belong. He frowned as he heard Shane’s car pull into the drive. He was here early.

“Hey, pretty girl. I’m sorry, okay?” He mutters, grabbing her hand. With a gentle, hurt smile, she pulls him to the sink to rinse the shirt that dyed out.

“Tada!” She cheers, holding it out. “I’ll run it through the dryer when you get here tomorrow.” With that, she whisks away from him. He found himself upset. He really liked her, and because of his past with Tigre he probably wouldn’t get a chance. Though, if he were honest he wouldn’t blame her one bit. It was almost the same scenario.

Shane comes in, pats Lem on the shoulder and feels the tension in the room. The tall blonde heads for the door, when she calls to him. “Lem!” She skips over to hug him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, his around her shoulders.

“I’ll be back around six.” He murmurs into her ear as he pats her shoulder.

“I’ll be here.” She laughs, shutting the door and listening as his bike roars to life.

“So what’s with the tension?” Shane asks.

“What tension?”

“The tension between you two.” He nods towards the door.

“There isn’t any.” She barks. He eggs her on the rest of the night until two in the morning when she finds him sleeping on the couch. Sneaking out, she gets in the car and turns the music on. Heaving a deep, calming breath, she wondered where she’d even go. Shane was too pissy, always picking on her. Backing out of the driveway, she drove herself straight to the Barn. Getting to the door, she asks for Lem.

“Just a minute. I’ll get him.” The dirty blonde woman cop disappeared down a hall to a door. Lem’s head juts out the door, eyes meeting yours. He takes off on a dead sprint, shouting to ‘buzz her through!’. She steps through the door, only to be met by Lem’s body crashing into hers.

“Are you okay? Is Shane okay? Does he know you’re here?” He asks, hands worrying around her face and shoulders.

“He’s sleeping on the couch. Jesus, Lemonhead. I just got the chance to leave the house, I figured you’d be pissed if something happened, so I came here.” She informs.

“You just decided to leave the house? Without protection? Just meander around? Do you understand why we’re staying at your house? You think this is a joke?” He shouts, eyes dark and shoulders tensed.

“No, I just—“

“Just what? Decided to galavant? Do you understand how much danger you put yourself in?” He fires, gripping your shoulders.

“Well, no. I just thought—“

“Thought what? It was fine? Safe? Jesus, at least Tigre knew to stay in the house.” He hisses, hands finding his hair.

“Yeah? I bet you were good at distracting her!” She shouts, shoving him away from her as she turns on her heel. Lem grabs her arm.

“No! You’re not leaving without an escort!” He orders. She grabs his hand, shoving it from her arm.

“No. I’m leaving.” She dares him to say another word. She sees a light on in David’s office and storms up the stairs, straight into his office. “I want the protect detail over!” She fires, slamming the office door shut. David jumps from his desk.

“What? I thought it was going well? Lemansky just came up here a couple hours ago and said it was going great!”

“Well it’s not! I want them out! I hate that redneck and I hate the blonde stupid Vato.” She hisses, teeth bared. Lem stood at the bottom of the stairs, contemplating if he should go up or not. As he starts up the stairs, Shane comes flying into the office half-awake and scared.

“Lem! Lem I lost her!” Lem’s eyes go wide. He found himself playing along.

“What?” He asks. Shane starts to pace the floor.

“I lost her man! I checked the whole house! I checked the grocery store! I checked the fuckin’ gas station! I even called Tigre! The girl you—“

“Yeah, yeah! You lost here. She’s here.” He shuts him up, heading to the clubhouse.

“What?”

“She’s in Aceveda’s office.” He waves a hand up towards the office.

“I want them gone. I’m done. I’ll protect myself if I have too. I’m done David. You tried. Thank you, but I’m okay.” She starts towards the door, but David calls to her.

“You have to at least let me catch these bastards. Baby sister, they made me—do things. Things that if they forced you, I’d kill them. Without a second thought. Okay? Let Lem keep you safe, I’ll pull the others off, but at least let Lem stay. He really likes you. Maybe if, you know, you like him too-“

“No.” She barks. “Fine. He can stay. But the Shane guy has to go. I hate him. He’s such an asshole. Too controlling.” She shoves out of her brother’s office, grabbing her keys from her pocket as she heads for the door.

“Hey!” Lem shouts, jogging to catch up with her. “I’m heading out, I’ll trail you.”

“Lovely.” She huffs, slamming through the door and heading out to her car. A man in a hooded jacket grabs her arms and pulls her away from her, covering her mouth. “Lem!” She shrieks, biting the man’s hand. With grunt, he shoves her away from him, grabbing his hand. “Lem! Lemonhead!” She cries, hearing his feet pound the pavement.

“Jesus christ!” He barks, kicking the man, cuffing him and dragging him into the station. “You’re a special kind of stupid.” He chuckles dryly, arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. He leaves her by the door, his eyes never leaving her quaking frame as he drags the man into the cage, pulling off the ski mask. Grabbing his cell, he calls Aceveda as he grabs her tightly, his cheek pressed to her hair to calm his own frayed nerves. “Come down here. I need you to look at something.” He ruffs into the phone. Dropping the cell into his pocket, he leads her to an empty desk chair at Dutch’s desk. Pulling up another empty chair, he sits down next to her.

“Lem.” She whispers, climbing into his lap, letting his big warm arms wrap around her and hug her tightly to his chest. She could hear his heart beating heavily still.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. You understand now. I’d do anything to keep you safe. We all would. You can’t go galavanting every time you have the chance.” He coos into her ear as he gently smoothes circles into her shoulder. Aceveda comes down the stairs to find a scene before him that made him smile a little. If his sister deserved anyone, it was the big goofy guy from Strike. He was funny and a gentle giant. He saw his sister cuddled tightly against his chest. As Lem looks up to see Aceveda, he stands and drops her into the chair. Only she doesn’t stay, she hugs tightly to him as he walks towards the cage waving to Aceveda to follow him. Aceveda watches the way Lem walks, keeping the woman tucked protectively under his arm.

“Him. He just tried to snag her outside of a police department. Dude’s got balls.” He growls, slamming his hand into he cage fence in the man’s face and making him jump.

“He’s not one of the two originally. Who knows who these assholes have paid. Lem. Stick with her twenty-four seven. She doesn’t want Shane or anyone else there. I had to fight her to let you stay. Keep her safe until I find these assholes.” He growls, heading back up to his office with a purpose. Lem nods, swallowing hard as he turns to her. Walking her to her car, he inspects the car to find one tire slashed and her wipers zip tied together.

“We’ll take my bike. I’ll come up and fix your car tomorrow.” He assures, offering her to get on. As she gets on he hands her his helmet, his hands covering hers for a moment. Looking up into his eyes, she finds worry there.

“I’m fine, Lem.” She whispers, looking back to the seat to keep her eyes away from him.

“You almost weren’t though.” He hushes. She pulls away from the fingers reaching for her chin. With a huff, he climbs on and the bike roars to life heading down the street for her house. When they arrive, Tigre is sitting on the front porch a hand on her hip as she saw her best friend get off the back of Lem’s bike. Storming towards the two, Lem’s eyes meet hers and she stops mid step. “Tigre.” He nods curtly, ushering the shaken woman into the house.

“What is he doing here? Are you two banging?” She fires, her accent thick as she got madder. Standing on quaking legs, Fi grabs the woman by the hand and drags her to the kitchen.

“No, Tigre. He’s just here as a favor to David. Wine?” She asks, pulling the bottle down from the freezer. “And why are you here? You were supposed to come tomorrow.”

“I know, but I was worried. You skipped Chola night, chica. You okay?” She asks, taking the glass of wine from her friend and taking a sip.

“No, not really. David-“

“Don’t say anything about it.” Lem booms from the doorway. She shrieks, dropping her own glass and bottle, shattering on the floor. Tears fill her eyes, but Tigre stomps into his face.

“We may not have worked out, puto, but you don’t get to scare her like that.” She snarls, jabbing a perfectly manicured finger nail into his chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare her. But she can’t talk about the case yet, not when we can’t trust the people she’s telling.” He digs, heading past the small woman to help clean up. “I’m sorry, pretty girl. I didn’t mean to scare y—“

“Don’t say anything else. Okay? You’ve done enough.” She bites, sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan and finding a towel to clean up the wine. “And I trust her with my life.”

“I wouldn’t trust her with my lunch money.” He nips, storming into the living room.

“You two didn’t end things well, then. Hmm?” She gives a tired little laugh, sitting on the kitchen floor with her best friend sharing a glass of wine and a package of cookies from the counter.

“No, he didn’t like when I went back to Hector.”

“You and Hector okay though?” She asks, eyes dropping to the corner of her shirt above her hip. Hector had carved an ‘H’ into her skin.

“He goes to church now. He’s a better person.” She assures, resting a hand on her knee.

“You can go to church and still be a terrible person.” She offers, taking another drink from the glass. Lem stands at the kitchen’s entry with a blanket and a half-smile.

“Want this?” He asks, holding out the blanket. Tigre stands and grabs it from him, grimacing at him before returning to the kitchen and laying the blanket on the floor. The two girls sit on the floor of the kitchen for hours chattering about boys and life; how easy life used to be before they grew up. Lem listened carefully from the living room, the TV low for background noise.

“You like him, yeah?” Tigre asks, tapping the end of her rosy nose a couple times gently with a sweet smile. Fi nods, glancing at the door. “He’s a good guy, chica. Not for me, but you? Yeah. He really is a good one. He tried to fight Hector for me.” She smiles, nodding to the doorway.

“I mean, I get it. But he, ya know, he’s so bossy sometimes. And you banged him. Who knows if he has diseases now. Hector has them.” She laughs, handing her another chocolate chip cookie.

“No, he does not. And anyway, he’s a cop. He’s a goody two shoes. Your type to a tee.” She assures, patting the other woman’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t be mad though? I mean, he was yours once.” Fi whispers loudly, the wine kicking in.

“No he wasn’t. He was there, I was there, it happened. I’d take it back if I could.” She whispers, patting Fiorella’s hand. Fi grabs the woman’s petite perfectly manicured hand in hers as they lay side by side on the kitchen floor on a blanket staring at the ceiling.

“You wouldn’t be mad though?” She repeats.

“No, chica. I’d be happy for you.” She laughs, staring at the ceiling.

“We should paint stars on the ceiling.” She stands and heads to the supply closet for paint and brushes.

“Una galaxia.” She encourages as her friend finds a basket of paint and lots of brushes. Pulling out an old plate and some chairs, the two mix colors and get to work. They get quiet as they get lost in the painting. Lem gets concerned and heads into the kitchen. Without a word, Fi swings her brush down just as he steps up to her and she smears blue and purple paint across his face. Tigre lets out a laugh, clapping. Fio laughs harder with Tigre’s encouragement and Lem’s unimpressed face.

“What the hell is going on in here?” He asks, finding paper towel to wipe the paint off his face.

“A lot, chico. You wanna join?” She asks, offering a brush. He was tempted to walk away.

“Nah, I’m good. Just making sure you two loca yahoos weren’t sneaking out the kitchen window or something.” He grins as he heads back out the kitchen, but not before being painted once more. A glob of bright pink paint landing on his cheek and hair.

“She shoots, she scores!” She cheers, doing a little victory dance on her chair.

“I don’t think so.” He growls, scooping her off her chair and slapping his hand into the paint, smearing a huge handprint on her face and arm. She sucks in a shaky breath, the warmth of hand sending chills down her spine. With a smug grin, he wanders out of the kitchen.

“Girl, you two might as well get married.” Tigre gushes, grabbing Fi’s shoulders and grinning at her.

“No, he put it in you, Ti, I can’t get right with that.” Fi groans, standing back onto the chair and finishing the background. Now the fun part, splattering the white paint. She and Tigre splattered white paint strategically, all over each other and the ceiling. They were cackling, making Lem laugh on the couch as he listened on. Tigre wasn’t badmouthing him so bad, but she couldn’t get passed the fact that he’d slept with her best friend. How could that be the deal breaker? Why did he even think this would be a good idea? He had seen the look in her eyes when he touched her face, the lust that clouded her eyes, the little gasp. It egged him on, he wanted to take her on the counter right where she stood, covered in paint. He went to the bathroom to rub it out, when a horrendous crash makes him jump into action. Gun drawn, heads to the kitchen. Heaving a huge sigh when he sees the girls lying in the plates of paint, chairs lying on their sides as if a gust of wind blew them over.

“You two, seriously.” He shakes his head, heading back to the couch.

“You see that? He likes you.” Tigre whispers, smudging a thumbprint of white paint on her face.

“No, he’s doing his job.” She assures, patting the older woman’s knee.

“Yeah, but he was in the bathroom. His jeans weren’t buttoned.” She giggles. Lem looks down and sure enough, they weren’t buttoned.

“You two aren’t exactly quiet. Next time don’t spook a man trying to pee.” Fi busts out laughing, holding her sides as she doubles over. Tigre laughs at her best friend, patting her back.

“It wasn’t that funny.” Fi finally stops laughing and heads into hallway to change. They cleaned up the kitchen, had changed clothes, and were lying back on the blanket looking at their handywork as the sun started to come up. “I’m gonna head home. Glad I got to see you babes. I miss you a lot. Let’s do this again.” She whispers, hugging Fi’s neck.

“I agree. But next time, I’m not inviting Lem.” She chuckles.

“You won’t have to, he’ll be a live-in husband by then.” Tigre laughs, gripping her friend’s hand as she steps out the door.

“He will not.” Lem sat on the couch grinning as he watched her strut back towards the kitchen.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing her leg and drawing her back to him. With a sweet smile, she perches on his knees. “You doin’ okay after yesterday?” He asks, a serious look on his face.

“Yeah, thanks for letting Tigre come fiesta. It helped a lot.” She smiles, without a second thought her hands sift through his soft spikes of golden hair.

“No problem. It’s just you and me today. What the hell are we gonna do?” He asks, chuckling as she snuggles closer into his lap. The lack of sleep was becoming prominent, a yawn on her lips as he hugs her against his warm chest.

“I think we should start here.” She murmurs against his neck, nose pressed gently under his jaw. Her breath sent tingles down his spine and excited him. He starts to grow hard under her, shifting to get comfortable. “Quit moving.” She breathes in his ear. Rolling his eyes and shutting them, he let out a sharp breath, biting hard on his bottom lip. Peeking through one eye, she smirks as she licks her lips. Wiggling her butt in attempt to get comfortable, Lem’s hands grip down on her hips and he growls low in her ear.

“One more, and I’m toast.” He loosens his grip and she wiggles again, this time a giggle escaping her pretty pink lips. In one slick move, he’s got her pinned against the couch lips inches from hers, eyes dark with lust. With the tiniest gasp, her eyes are blown wide as he grinds his hips against hers, exciting her. Nimble fingers pluck apart the buttons and he shimmies out of his button-up. Drawing the white tank top over his head to expose the gorgeous abdomen. One she’d only seen sneak peeks of that taunted her dreams. A knock on the door causes them to jump apart, Lem quickly putting on his button up, forgetting the tank top jammed into the couch cushions.

“Just a minute!” She calls, grabbing Lem and pressing a tantalizing kiss to his lips as she scampered off to the kitchen, Lem answering the door.

“Morning.” David greets Lem as he continues through the house without a second glance at him. “Coffee?” He asks, searching in a cupboard. Lem pipes up, pointing to the cupboard a little above his head. Aceveda looked at him a little funny, half-concerned.

“She’s changing I think.” He pitched a thumb over his shoulder down the hall where she’d scampered to when she heard her brother’s voice.

She needed a moment to calm down. Her fingers brushed up the valley between her breasts. She closed her eyes willing it to be his hands.

“What’s up?” Lem asks, trying to hurry Aceveda out the door. Not exactly taking the hint, Aceveda starts back towards the door with a confused look.

“I was just dropping in to see if she’s changed her mind about you.” He states, waving a hand to the blonde standing in front of him. Lem gives a pretty chuckle.

“Yeah, she’s alright with me I think. I’m gonna level with you, man. I let her have her friend Tigre over last night just to calm her nerves. No one was hurt and I followed protocol, but after her scare, I told her to invite one friend that she trusted with her life. She needed to relax, and trust me, I wasn’t the best person for that.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Aceveda gives a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Lemansky. I appreciate all your doing for her. I have Shane coming to cover while you sleep here. You can sleep in her room or the spare room if you’d like to. It’ll be over soon. Tell her I said hi.” With that, Aceveda shook Lem’s hand and disappeared. Haphazardly flicking the locks, he heads down the hall, giving a soft knock on her door before pushing it open. A sight stood before him. Her hands exploring her naked body, one hand rising over her breast, the other slowly and tantalizingly slipping down the little dip in her abdomen towards her warmth.

“Christ, baby.” He groans, clearing the room in two steps and grabbing her calves with his hands and dragging her to the end of the bed. With fumbling, excited fingers she pulls at the buttons of his shirt and then his jeans, dropping them to the floor the moment she could.

“Lem.” She murmurs against his peck, licking the muscle there before trailing her tongue down his abdomen, landing on his throbbing cock. With a deep breath, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down to her, planting a hot, fervent kiss on his lips. Greedy hands find purchase on her ass, pulling her against him as he laid her down.

“Baby, you have five seconds to end this.” He growls in her ear, earning a sweet little gasp. With a giggle as a response, he aligned himself with her sweet hot entrance and slid in. His head went back in ecstasy, her jaw clenching. He starts with gentle thrusts, slow and rhythmic but she needs more. She stands, him getting a little confused until she turns him and shoves him back onto the bed. Climbing on him, she positions him at her entrance, slowly sinking down. His mouth gapes as her hips roll into his smooth and warm.

“I need you.” She whispers.

“Tell me what you want.” He ruffs.

“Que pasa si te quiero.” She murmurs, earning a deep growl as he thrusts up to meet her.

“What does that mean?” He asks, looping an arm around her neck and flipping her over, grinding his hips hard into hers, sending chills through her body as he started to pound into her.

“What if I want you?” She whispers, her wide green eyes meeting his, full of wonder and lust.

“You’ve got me, baby.” He assures, feeling the churn in his stomach. He starts an unsteady slamming rhythm into her, her legs quaking as she tightens her ankles around his back. Clawing at his back, her nails bite down as he thrusts finally.

“I’m on the pill.” She hushes, letting him slam once more into her, her walls pulsing around him as she hit her high, letting him lose himself in her for a moment. Heavy breathing fills the room as he crawls up next to her. Her stomach turned as her eyes drifted over his sweat slicked body lying next to her; he probably looked the same next to Tigre. She stands, yanking on her clothes aggressively and leaving the room, slamming the door. She had exactly what she’d tried not to. He was so attractive, though, she couldn’t help herself. Shrieking in anger, she hits the fridge door.

“I’m sorry, did I do something?” He asks, chewing on the inside of his cheek and brow low in concern.

“Yeah! You banged Tigre! And no matter how hard I try that’s alway s gonna hurt!” She shouts, grabbing the door knob. “And I can’t even get away from you!” She gives a frustrated groan as she heads to her bedroom. The only thing she could think of was him having the time of their lives. She slams the door, stalking back to the living room.

“I can’t help who I’ve slept with! Christ let it go! I said I’d take it back, so did she!”

“It doesn’t matter! It happened!” She cries, grabbing a jacket as she grabbed the door, slipping out.

“You can’t keep running when you want!” He shouts, grabbing his pistol from the table and following her, locking the door behind them. When he turns, she’s gone. Swallowing hard, he listens closely. Passing cars, all he heard were passing cars. A pop echoes behind him and he spins to find her sitting in her car, bare feet hanging out the door a little above the pavement. “Jesus Christ.” He heaves a sigh, listening to the sniffles coming from the car.

“Please leave.” She whispers, getting out of the car with tear-slicked cheeks and puffy eyes.

“I can’t do that.” He whispers, his nostrils flaring at the sadness in her voice.

“Just go! I don’t need you to be here! I’ll be fine. Please, just go.” She whimpers, collapsing on the pavement with a crackle of thunder.

“What’s the problem?” He asks, crouching to eye level.

“I like you! I love you, limon! I love you so much, I don’t know why, but I hate that you banged my best friend. It’s a special thing, between two people, and it happened between us and I just feel so stupid and used. When this is over, you’ll be on to the next puta willing to put out.” She cries as the rain starts to fall.

“What? Listen, I know this seems like my thing, but trust me, pretty girl. This isn’t my thing. I love you, you’re beautiful and sweet and quirky. I think you’re chill and funny. But I don’t regret what we did. I don’t ever want you to feel used. You should feel loved, you should feel beautiful. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I have no control when it comes to you.” A man sprints up behind Lem, clobbering him and knocking him out. They grab her and stuff her in a trunk as they take off, leaving the big hulking blonde on the pavement in the rain. She shrieks for him, but he lays there, unconscious.

As he comes to in the clubhouse, taking in his surroundings. He’s still dazed when he hears Shane talking about losing a girl. Lem was more confused for a second, but when it all came rushing back his heart broke all over again.

“No.” He whimpers, gathering himself to stand up. “Fio. Pretty girl!” He cries, grabbing his pistol off the table and heading out the door when Shane, Vic, and Ronnie step in the way of the doors. “Let me through.” He growls darkly.

“Lem, we’re tracking her. Do you have a license plate number? Car description?”

“No! They hit before I saw them! They’ve got her Vic!” He cries trying to shove passed when Aceveda comes in. Lem’s eyes hit the floor and he steps against the wall.

“Lemansky, are you alright?” He asks, but Lem only nods. “We got a call about a woman across the street from Fi’s house who saw the car and the men.” Lem’s eyes shift up in hope, and Aceveda smiles and nods.

“Why was she randomly looking out the window?” Shane frowns.

“She wasn’t. She was listening to the commotion in her driveway. A tall blonde man and a small Mexican woman were yelling about her loving him when a green two-tone sedan rolls up, two guys -who match the photos- jump out, clock the big guy and take the girl. She put up a hell of a fight. They’ll have a few bruises. And she bit one of them in the arm.” He informs, Lem’s heart slamming against his ribs as he reaches for the paper in Aceveda’s hand. He’d seen the car parked down the street every day this week. He kicked himself. He should’ve reported the vehicle as interest.

“Okay! Let me go get her!” He fires, trying to shove through.

“Lem, these guys know what you look like. You could spook them and they could—“

“You’re saying I can’t go?” He hushes, feeling like someone just hit him with a bus. Shane frowns and pats his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Lem. It’s too risky.” Lem drops to the seat and his head falls into his hands.

“Tell her I’m sorry.” Lem whispers, grabbing his stuff and heading towards the door.

“Lem! Where you going?” Vic shouts.

“I’m going back to her house. I wanna be there when she gets there.” He retorts heading out the door without another word.

Twelve hours pass, Lem pacing her house without stopping. His eyes would land on the bedroom door to the room where they’d had mind-blowing sex. The couch, her sitting in his lap, cuddled gently against him; safe. She found safety in his arms. He felt the best when she was there, wrapped in his arms protected from the world.

“Lem! It’s Vic!” Vic shouts, hitting the door. Carefully, he opens the door, gun drawn, the tears on his face totally forgotten.

“Did you—“ she flies passed him and barrels into Lem. He hugs her tightly, pressing kisses to her forehead. “Christ. You okay? Did they hurt you? Did they hurt you, pretty girl?” He barks, hands quaking as they close around her jaw.

“I’m okay.” She mutters, grabbing his face and pressing a much needed kiss to his lips. Hugging tightly to his neck, she pile drives him into the couch, wrapping herself around him as much as she could.

“Hey, hey.” He tries to peel her off, embarrassed that everyone was watching her.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers, following his eyes to the people standing in th foyer looking on in shock. Feeling the heat in her cheeks, she looks to him for confidence aand found none.

“Of course. You were worried about her because you’re sleeping with her.” Shane snorts, shaking his head.

“It was once! Jesus Shane!”

“Yeah? Just like that sting op with the hookers?” Shane asks, brows raised. Lem pales, eyes avoiding hers.

“You’ve slept with other women?” She asks.

“It was for work.” He raises his hands in defense.

“Work? Just like Tigre? Just like me? I should have known!” She shrieks, shoving him through the door towards his bike.

“Pretty girl, you just have to understand-“

“You like to sleep with women. I’m not missing anything. Go home, puto.” She sniffles, shoving everyone out the door and shutting and locking it.

“Maybe I should stay here in case-“

“Go home, Lem. It’s over. They’re in custody.” He drones, handing Lem the helmet.

“I fucked it all up, Vic.”

“I told you. This west side story bull wasn’t gonna-“ He pops Shane in the mouth, hopping on his bike and heading to the bridge. He spent the rest of the ngiht there, listening to the water rush through the dam.

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I fucked up! I know that! I just need a friend. I found my best friend. I found the woman I wanna spend my life with. She hates me though, thinks I’m some kind of puto. I just need a little help getting her to see that isn’t who I am.” He calls to no one.

She awoke with an awful headache, feeling the tears well in her eyes for a second. Flopping onto the couch with a blanket and a precooked egg sandwich, she turns on something to distract herself. Her phone slips through the cushions as it vibrates. Cursing, she digs through the cushions to find her phone, but her fingers tangle in a fabric that felt almost foreign. Pulling on it, as it came into her view, all she could do was cry more. It was Lem’s tank top. Pulling it to her nose, she inhales deeply, grinning to herself. He smelled so inviting, so warm and comfortable. Maybe she’d been too harsh on him. It wasn’t like she’d gone and accused him of cheating, because he hadn’t. He had a life before he met her, and she needed to understand that. With a huff, she sucks in one more deep breath before a knock made her jump. Wrapping her blanket tighter around herself, she swings open the door to find the owner of the tank top.

“Lem.” She whispers, taking a moment to soak him in. He hadn’t changed a bit, tall and super handsome.

“I’m really sorry. I was so goddamn worried about you that night that I came back here when they sent me home, if I had known how mad you’d be—“ she grabs him and pulls him into a kiss, deep and pure. Leading him through the door, she shuts, it, dropping the blanket to reveal a black lacy bra and a pair of pink lace panties.

“Lem, I’ve been having daydreams of this exact moment. Please, for fuck’s sake, make love to me and forget all that shit happened.” She growls, hopping into his arms as his lips devour her neck, leaving hickeys in their wake.

“Christ, pretty girl. I love you. I wanna protect you forever, if you’ll let me. I’m so sorr—“ her lips devour his, shutting him up. “Got it.” He murmurs against her lips as his teeth nip a hold of her panties, dragging them down her body. Flipping over, she sticks her ass way in the air for him with her head down.

“Baby, please.” She whimpers, grinding back against him.

“Goddamn,” he groans, unclipping the bra and shedding it as she turns quickly, licking a stripe from base to tip, taking his cock in her mouth, giving a couple wet licks before assuming the other position once more. As he slid into her, he took a handful of hair at the base of her neck, gripping and pulling back, a loud moan leaving her lips. Hard, heavy thrusts hitting her insides as a hand slips from her hip up over breasts and grips her throat, pulling her up to hold her body against him as he slammed into her relentlessly. Eliciting a couple deep groans, they hit their high, riding it out before flopping onto the couch together, completely sated.

“So Limon.”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

“What were you saying?”

“Te quiero siempre, Chiquita Bonita.” He murmurs against her lips, pressing a warm, sweet kiss there. With tears in her eyes, she hugs him tightly.

“Te quiero.” She responds, kissing his lips in return.

#imagine #cute imagine #curtis lemansky #curtis lemansky fanfiction #curtis lemansky x reader #curtis x reader #lem the shield #lem x reader #lemansky imagines #lemansky x reader #lem #lemonhead #lemon #kenny johnson #the shield

[gourmade4u]

Start at the basics

Kitchen Essentials

If you’re just starting out, what are some essential tools and tips to keep in mind while you’re working away at your best Gordon Ramsey duplicate? 

Well, for starters, you need to make sure that your kitchen has the necessary base in which to build from. 

TL;DR- Chef’s knife, rubber spatula, whisk, pans (all types are neatly listed below the picture with the whisk and rubber spatulas), glass mixing bowls, kevlar or other cut-resistant gloves, metal spatula, cutting boards, electric thermometer, colander, box grater, and a timer (if you don’t have a microwave or oven that has one). 

First thing’s first: 

A Chef’s knife. I purchased mine from Ergo Chef (not an affiliate, I’m just a huge fan). From the moment my hand touched this knife, I cried literal happy tears from the depths of my soul. If you have arthritis issues, or issues that cause your hands to swell or lock up from consistent use, an ergonomically designed knife is incredibly important. For those of you just starting, my first knife set was a Farberware set with a wooden block from Walmart. It was a 20 piece knife set with steak knives and it was less than 90 dollars. But take the time to invest in your knives, you’ll be grateful that you did. 

I’ll post in a separate article how to sharpen your knife, but do keep in mind to NEVER, hold on, let me bold this, NEVER: run your knives or single knife through the dishwasher, and/or leave them in the sink. After you finish using your knife, it is best if you wash and dry it immediately to keep it from rusting. Your knives will thank you, and so will your wallet. 

A rubber spatula.

So, this little guy is the absolute best. He will help you toast rice for your risotto, spoon out that perfect pan sauce that took you way too many tries to get it exactly the way you wanted, AND he'll make sure that all your batter makes it into the pan, or your mouth, whichever you prefer.

A whisk. So yes, a whisk is incredibly versatile. You can use it to scramble eggs, make meringue, mayo, vinaigrette, and bake that cake you’re gonna regret in a week.

PANsexuality is important. But it has nothing to do with this next list of pans.

Non-stick pan

10 in. stainless steal or ceramic pan 

Cast iron pan (or 3)

Sauce pot (if you're like me, you have 6)

Griddle pan (not pictured... yet)

Sheet pan

Casserole

Each and every one of these serves a unique purpose.

A non-stick is great for eggs, bacon, frittatas (which are fancy eggs), and so many other items that I promise aren't just breakfast food. 

A ceramic pan is wonderful, but in my personal opinion, a stainless steel is better if you're a novice. A ceramic pan requires a lot of spoons (energy) and maintenance. They scratch easily if you look at them the wrong way. But they are great for more even cooking than a stainless, and make the best pork chops. Stainless steel isn’t as hard to work with, isn’t as high maintenance (though, like knives, NEVER put them in your dishwasher), is ideal for crusting your steak, and making a pan sauce with the remaining bits. 

A cast iron pan evenly distributes heat and you can put it in the oven at 500 degrees without worrying about warping or damage to your pan. Cast iron is also fantastic if you don’t want to use as much fat in your pan to keep your items from sticking. Also, you can’t get a crust on a steak in any other pan, the way you do in a cast iron. Also, don’t put this in the dishwasher.

A sauce pot sounds like an unnecessary necessity. I’ll explain, when most people hear “sauce” pot, they get very confused because there are like, 30 types. This is an exaggeration, but there are a lot of types. A large saucepot can hold from 1 qt. to 5 qts. I always recommend getting a 5 qt. pot because you can use it for small amounts and large amounts. But the best advice I can give would be to get one that can hold at least 2 c of liquid, and also one that can hold 5 qts so you’re not making oatmeal for yourself in a pot that’s too big. 

A Griddle pan is more of a luxury item, but I always recommend having one in your kitchen. You can make your best pancakes, arepas, bacon, grilled cheese, tuna melt, etc. It’s honestly a great tool to have on hand if you want to whip something up quickly. 

A sheet pan is important for so many reasons. You can make cookies, cake, bacon (I know I’ve said about 2 of the others already), roasted veggies, etc. I definitely recommend having at least one on hand. You’ll find that you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy brussel sprouts  smothered in parmesan cheese, and roasted cauliflower with garam masala and ginger for the first time ever. Just trust me, your oven is made for a varying amount of possibilities, and the right tools can get you started.

A baking dish/pan/casserole, whatever you want to call it, it’s a huge piece of either: cast iron, ceramic, glass, or clay that can be covered and it will, much like your sheet pan, allow for new ideas in the kitchen. Casserole is a very common word used by mostly older women from the south, but they aren’t just a dish your grandma cooked in the 50′s. French toast casserole is so impossibly custardy and delicious, you will thank the Gods that there has ever been something so wonderful in existence. You have stews, roasts, lasagna (uncovered, don’t be rude to your lasagna), and so many others. Just please, okay? Okay.  

Glass mixing bowls are a MUST. Okay, so some really important things about these bad boys: DON’T leave them on a hot stove because the heat will make them shatter and explode all over your kitchen. If you have pets or kids, I don’t have to tell you why this would be bad for potentially weeks on end. You can, however, makeshift a glass bowl and a boiling pot of water into a double boiler to melt your favorite chocolate chips to make fudge. Glass bowls are also non-absorbent, so they won’t retain bad odors or flavors when you use them in the kitchen. They’re also incredibly sanitary for the same reason.

A pair of Kevlar or other gloves meant for slicing and dicing in the kitchen. I recommend this no matter what level of experience you have. Professional chefs cut and burn themselves all the time, it is best you do what you can to protect your fingertips and nails. 

A metal spatula will help you scrape any bits and pieces that have stuck onto your stainless or ceramic pan. Please be sure to use carefully, the metal spatula itself is very temperamental and can ruin your pans forever. 

Cutting boards. There are, a whole litany of reasons you need a cutting board or 10 in your kitchen. I myself have 4 and I use all of them. Cutting boards are made of several different kinds of material. Ultimately, for me, I use a wooden one and an eco-friendly material cutting board set I got from Bed Bath and Beyond. Cutting board maintenance is, arguably, the most important thing when it comes to  purchasing one. Best way to clean a cutting board is to make sure you’re passing your sponge over the slits in the board left behind by your knife, in the same direction. In other words, don’t scrub your board in a circle, but trace over the cuts in the board to ensure proper sanitation of it. 

An electric thermometer. Okay, so show of hands, how many people have deep fried chicken, burned the outside and undercooked the inside? I don’t know of any single person who is just beginning, who hasn’t done it. An electric thermometer is your best friend. You can get a regular thermometer, that will require constant calibration, or you can get an electric thermometer and not have to worry about calibrating it as often. Perfectly juicy, succulent, and properly cooked chicken will measure at 165 degrees Farenheit. Anything beyond 180, expect it to be dry, but at least it was cooked properly! To calibrate a thermometer: bring water to a boil, and then place your thermometer in the water, allow it to come to 212 degrees Fahrenheit, then place your thermometer into an ice bath until it gets to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Celsius would be 100 degrees boiling, and 0 degrees in ice. 

A colander is meant to strain out pasta water, and you’ve probably not seen it used for much else. But a fine mesh colander can be used to filter out your frying oil so you can reuse it instead of wasting it. This little thing is good for anything that requires draining: meat, starch from rice and potatoes before cooking them, washing all of your vegetables at once before getting started, and also, it can help with steaming your broccoli or shrimp when you don’t have a basket steamer.

A box grater in general, is a fantastic tool. They have different sides that allow you to do different things. From shredding cheese, potatoes, carrots, or zuccini. But the question a lot of people ask: what is that side with all the really tiny spaces in it? It’s a zester, and it goes so unnoticed for so long because most folx don’t know the best way to use it. The zester is great for adding a little elegance or pop of flavor into a dish. For example, if you use lemon pepper often, adding a zested lemon rind to your dish would bring out all that delicious acidity that you won’t get from just using the regular seasoning from a bottle. A little fresh lemon zest here, some grated nutmeg there, a little orange zest in your tea, these all pack a mean right hook. Try them out. 

Last, but not least: a timer, gentlefolx. I can not stress the utter importance of learning how long it actually takes you, the reader to complete a task from start to finish. Not everyone works at the same pace, so a recipe that says “prep time: 5 minutes”, might actually take you an hour, and that’s okay. Keeping a timer on hand so you can keep track of how long each task is taking to complete, or making sure you’re pacing yourself as things are bubbling away in the kitchen, is a great way to figure yourself out in the kitchen. I recommend listening to music, writing your ingredients on a white board that sits at eye level in your kitchen so you can refer to your recipe as you’re going without having to constantly look at your phone. 

I hope this helps every single one of you learn a bit more about what it means to begin your journey with food. 

#Gourmade4u #kitchen essentials #cooking for beginners #Food blog #kitchen tools #getting started #cooking #food #foodporn #amateur chef #chef #food article #trans pride #lgbtq support

[aestheticsandwriting]

One-Shot a Day, Day 4: Power Outage. RvB

Day 4: Power Outage. The overnight blizzard has caused a power outage. Thankfully the cabin Tucker, Junior, and Wash are staying in has plenty of firewood and candles, and the three brought plenty of card games and board games to keep them busy. 

“Hey, bud, how long have you been up?” Wash jogs down the stairs, spotting Junior sitting on the couch, doodling in a notebook, blanket draped over his hoodie-clad torso, taking note of the early time; about six-thirty.

“Not too long, but I moved down here to sleep about two this morning. My room got too cold.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty chilly in here. Had breakfast yet?” Wash tries to set the coffee pot going, not thinking about the lack of electricity until it won’t start, sighing and walking back over to the couch, glancing down to see Junior’s dragon drawings. “I’m going to put some more wood in the fire, and then get me some cereal or something. We’ll have to move all our cold and frozen stuff outside at some point today since the fridge isn’t running.”

“Nope, not too hungry right now. Papa Wash?”

“Yeah?” He smiles at the new name.

“Can I help you put the wood in the fireplace? Dad’s never let me cause he says it’s too dangerous.”

“Sure, I’ll let you help with a couple of small pieces. Big pieces can be really hard to put in cause they roll sometimes, but we can do a few smaller ones instead of one or two big ones.”

“Yay! Thanks!” Junior throws his notebook and pencil on the coffee table and scrambles to the small wood stock they laid next to the fireplace the previous night. The blond man knees down, showing the boy how to put the wood into the fireplace safely, using the poker to make sure the wood is back far enough before they close the door again, rinsing their hands and deciding to get some cereal for breakfast, taking the milk outside and setting it on the porch to stay cold.

After washing out their bowls and spoons, Junior looks at his dad’s boyfriend. “Papa Wash?” 

“What’s up?” 

“Will you tell me some stories?”

“What kind of stories do you want to hear?”

“I know you don’t like to talk about some of it, but would you tell me about some of your time as a soldier? I want to know what it’s like to be one.”

“Yeah, I think I can tell you some things. I have some funny stories from basic training.” The two lay down on the couch, Wash throwing his arm over Junior’s torso, wrapping them both up in the blanket. “There was this one time in basic,” a chuckle at the memory, “we had this obstacle course we had to do some days in PT. And one of the sections was kind of like a rope wall thing we had to climb. I was terrible at it. Well, that particular day I got my foot caught in one of the ropes, I just dangled there while everyone else was climbing all around me and I couldn’t get free. I had to re-do the course all by myself in front of everyone after they all finished to make sure I could do it in the right amount of time.”

Forty-five minutes and three stories later Wash pauses, glancing down curiously even though the boy can’t see him. “Why have you become curious about my time as a soldier recently?”

“Oh… well. I just am.”

“Junior… what’s going on? If you’re just curious, that’s fine you can tell me, but is there something else?”

“Well… both you and dad were soldiers, so I thought that you would want me to be one, too.” A pause as the boy fidgets slightly, the older man seeing that he wants to say more, so he stays quiet. “And, I figured I should know as much as possible about what it’s like in the military so that way I don’t disappoint you and dad.” 

“Oh, Junior.” Wash squeezes the boy tight against him. “Your dad and I want you to do whatever you want to do. If you truly want to be in the military, you can go into the military and we’ll both be very proud of you. But if you want to go to school and become a scientist or a veterinarian, or a nurse, or doctor, or if you want to go to trade school to become a mechanic, or welder, or carpenter, then that’s fine too! We want you to do something that you can be happy or content with. Trust me, it is not worth it to be doing a job that you hate if you have other options. You’re a smart person, and both your dad and I agree that we think you could do whatever you want if you set your mind to it.”

“Oh… So you don’t expect me to go into the army?” Junior squirms, turning himself in his step-dad’s arms so he can face him, concern bright in his dark eyes.

“Of course not.” Wash drops a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Like I said, if you’re just curious about my time as a soldier I’m happy to tell you, and if you want to be a soldier, then your dad and I will be proud of your choice, but that’s not our expectation just because we were both soldiers.”

“Oh… Okay! I like that much better. Cause I was thinking I might want to be an artist.”

“And I think you’d be amazing at it.” 

“Could you tell me some stories about when you were a kid?”

“Did I ever tell you about my cat, Loki?”

“Nope.”

“Ooooh man. We had him back when I was a kid. Loki was always getting into trouble. One time he got stuck in a tree in our backyard.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. My mom’s about to call the fire department when dad stops her. Says he’ll handle it. So he sends her inside and gets out his chainsaw. Dad was never a cat person. So he starts to cut down the tree, but it falls the wrong way. Right into the power lines!”

“What happened to Loki?!”

“Poor cat was electrocuted, falls thirty feet out of the air, lands on his feet, and then walks away like nothing ever happened.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah! Another time, we found him in the dryer once ma had finished a load of laundry. And another time we found him in the engine of dad’s truck. That cat lived to be twenty-five years old.” Wash continues, telling him a few more stories of his childhood, Junior giggling as he obviously embellishes a few of them, and that’s how Tucker finds them close to two hours after Wash had come downstairs. 

“Hi, dad!” The boy calls, having stayed in his facing upward position so he could see Wash’s face while he was story-telling, giving him a perfect view of the open landing above.

“Morning, T, nice of you to finally join us.” Wash grins up to where his boyfriend is standing.

“Yeah, I must’ve really needed the sleep. What have you boys been up to?”

“Wash has been telling me about when he was a kid! He had a cat named Loki that could live through anything!” 

“Ooooh, that sounds fun. Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah, we both had cereal. The milk is already outside to stay cold. I didn’t measure, but it looks like the blizzard last night dropped about two and a half feet of snow, but I turned my phone on to check the forecast quick, and it looks like it’s supposed to start warming up enough tomorrow to melt it. But who knows how long the electricity will be out, so we should probably move the rest of the cold stuff our there and surround it with snow.”

“Oooh, I’ll put my snow clothes on and pack the snow around stuff if you and dad bring it out!”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s let your dad eat breakfast first, though, okay?”

“Okay. Oh, dad! Wash taught me how to put small logs in the fire this morning, too!”

“I hope that’s okay with you? I didn’t let him put in anything too big.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. He’s grown a lot since last year, and I trust your judgment.” Tucker finally descends the stairs, dropping a kiss on his son’s forehead and his boyfriend’s lips before walking into the kitchen, grabbing a pop-tart and heading back into the living room, nudging Wash feet. “Move, lemme sit.”

“That’s pleasant.” The blond grins at him as he moves his feet, plopping them back down on Tucker’s lap after he sits.

After Tucker finishes, the three don their winter clothing, Junior bundled heavier than the two adults, still volunteering to stay outside and surround their food items with the snow to keep them cold. They set to work, carrying the food out and insulating it. 

After that job is done, Tucker sets to work turning on and heating up the gas stove to heat water, dumping in hot chocolate packets once it’s hot enough and passing mugs to his son and boyfriend, picking up his, and then settling on the couch with them again. 

“Dad, Papa Wash?”

“What’s up?”

“Can we play some games? Like Uno, or Clue or something? I’m starting to get bored. Wash and I were gunna play more of the racing game today, but we can’t do that until the power comes back on.”

“Yeah, go pick a game and we’ll play!”

“Yes! Be right back!” Junior hops off the couch, running up the steps to his room where the game bag had been placed, running back down with the whole bag a minute later. “I thought it’d be smarter to just bring the whole bag so I don’t have to go back up when we want to change games.”

The trio spends the afternoon and evening playing various games like Uno, Clue, Sorry, and even a round of The Game of Life before deciding to break for dinner. “Wash, will you go out and grab the stuff out there that we need for the quesadillas? I kept the chicken in here thawing cause those will cook with the gas stove and don’t need the oven since we can’t use it right now.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” 

Once Tucker has the ingredients, he sets to work, cutting up the chicken, placing it, cheese, sauce, and beans on tortillas, folding them, wrapping them in foil and placing each of them on a stove burner, keeping a careful eye on them to ensure nothing catches fire as they cook.

“Dinner’s ready, guys,” Tucker calls, carefully pulling back the foil from the last of the quesadillas, setting them on plates for each of the others to grab as they come into the kitchen and dining area. “Hey, Junior, are you going to sleep down here tonight or do you want to bunk in mine and Wash’s room if the power still isn’t back on?”

“I’ll just sleep on the couch. It’s pretty comfy, plus I’m getting too big to be sleeping in the same bed as y’all.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

“Yep! Can we play another game of Clue after dinner?”

“Sure, bud.” 

After dinner, Tucker sets about finding the candles he knows the landlord stores for power outages, lighting them and setting them around so they can see, Wash re-stocking the fireplace with more wood, also grabbing more from the covered woodpile on the deck to bring in for the night, taking some up to his and Tucker’s room, rekindling that fire, too.

After a few more hours of games, and Junior nearly falling asleep during the last game, Sorry this time, Tucker tells his son it’s time for bed and that tomorrow they’ll put the tree up and decorate it weather they have electricity for the lights or not since it’ll be only two days until Christmas. 

The three trudge up the stairs, Junior to put his pajamas on and brush his teeth, Wash and Tucker retreating to their room for the evening, taking a few candles with them for light, making sure Junior has his battery-powered lantern and that all the candles downstairs had been put out and dosed with a slight bit of water for safety. “Come in and tell us goodnight before you head downstairs, J, but make sure you knock first if the door is closed in case we’re still changing.”

“Okay, dad.” Junior’s voice muffles as Wash closes the bedroom door behind them, him and Tucker changing into their pajamas as well, each man throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, not needed anything heavier due to the fireplace in their room. 

“Goodnight dad, goodnight Papa Wash. I love you both.” Junior walks into the room, his father having opened the door after they finished changing, signaling to the boy he could come in whenever. 

“Goodnight, Junior. I love you, too.” The couple says in unison, Wash hugging him and dropping a kiss to his forehead, before the boy’s father moves to do the same.

“If you wake up cold in the middle of the night cause the fire’s dying, come wake one of us, yeah? I trust you, but I still don’t want you putting in new firewood by yourself, especially not in the middle of the night, okay?”

“Okay, dad, I will.”

“Good. I love you.” He drops a second kiss on his son’s head before Junior turns and walks out of the room, the couple hearing his footsteps fade away down the stairs. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing him call me that.” They each step into the bathroom, brushing their teeth and readying for bed in their normal routine for whenever Wash decides to stay at Tucker’s. “So Junior and I had a talk this morning,” Wash’s voice is soft as the couple crawls under the covers, the dark-skinned man tucking himself into the light-skinned man like normal, and Tucker notes the slight caring concern in the voice that he gets when they talk about an important subject.

“Yeah?” Tucker turns his head enough to make eye contact with his boyfriend. “About what?”

“His future job. He was asking me all sorts of questions about what it was like to be a soldier. At first, I just thought, ‘well, okay, he’s a ten-year-old boy that’s interested in this kind of thing.’ But then he kept asking about things, and when I questioned him about it he told me he thought we would want him to become a soldier because we both were, and he wanted to know what to expect that way he could have plenty of time to be prepared and not disappoint either of us.” A sigh from the younger of the two breaks the silence that had been left by Wash finishing his sentence.

“I wonder where he ever got that idea.” 

“No idea.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth.” Wash pauses for a second, internally marveling at how much Tucker truly does trust him with his child; it’s still so hard to believe sometimes. “That we both want him to do something that he can at least be content with, and hopefully happy doing. And that if he truly wants to become a soldier, we’d be proud, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be proud if he does something different. That was okay, right?”

“Yes, Wash, that was wonderful. You did great. You know Junior really does see you as another father, right? He was ecstatic when I asked him what he thought about you moving in with us.” 

“Yeah, I know. I just… Sometimes it doesn’t seem real.”

“I know. Did he say anything about what he might want to do after he found out we don’t expect him to go into the military?”

“He said he might want to be an artist. He’s good at it. I’m sure if he applied that into digital design he could do really well.”

“I bet he could make a killing at that. That or an animator of some kind. But he’s got plenty of time to decide and even change his mind. I can’t believe he’s going to be eleven in a couple months, though.”

“Ugh, stop that, you’re making me feel old.”

“It’s cause you are old.” The younger of the two grins, laughing when Wash playfully slaps him, pretending to be offended.

“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure old guys can’t do this.” The blond slings a leg over Tucker’s waist, straddling the younger man and leaning down to kiss him, grinning when he hears Tucker mumble the word ‘asshole’ against his lips. 

“Yeah, but you chose to have me around.”

“True.” As the word leaves Tucker’s mouth the light from their bathroom, which had been on when the power went out the night before, flicks back on, the heating system almost kicking on due to the thermostat being in the cold hallway, not the room filled with the heat from the fireplace.

“I’m going to go lower that temperature so it doesn’t run too much overnight since we have the fires going.”

“Sounds good. I’d like to not wake up in a puddle of sweat.”

“Agreed.” Wash climbs off Tucker, heading into the hallway, and Tucker stands to turn off the bathroom light, getting back into bed when Wash walks back into the room.

“Come ‘ere Mr. not-so-old guy,” Tucker smirks, kissing Wash again as he climbs into bed. “Let’s get some sleep, I have a feeling we’ll be playing in the snow with J tomorrow.”

“Agreed. Goodnight, Tucker, I love you.”

“I love you too, Wash.”

#mod becca #becca's writings #december one shot a day #one-shot #one shot #tuckington #tuckington family #lavernius tucker #agent washington #david washington #rvb junior #junior tucker #rvb #Red vs Blue #fluff #tuckington fanfiction #tuckington fluff #family fluff #Wash is a good step-dad #step-dad wash #tucker is a good dad #good dad tucker #slight rvb s16 spoiler #rvb s16 spoiler

[sapphicambitions]

Quentin & Eliot Talk Marriage.

Part 3 of the Happy Little Fantasy Series. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.5)

---

Quentin and Eliot talk about the concept of marriage.

At first, it’s a sensitive subject, brought on because Margo and Fen are getting married. It’s been almost a year since the Monster and since they started living together. They dance around it. They both know for a fact that they want to live the rest of their lives together (forever and ever amen) but they’re both still healing and having a hard time talking about their feelings. Quentin feels like it shouldn’t be a big deal to talk about it, since they were kind of already married in a previous timeline. And Quentin has also been vocal about wanting to get married to Eliot. But El is nervous and doesn’t know how to talk about his nervousness to Q without making it sound like he doesn’t love him. Because he loves him so much. Marriage is just terrifying to him, and he’s not ready yet.

Eliot never really thought he’d get married. The concept as a whole was something he protested as a teen and then in college and then at Brakebills when he was bouncing from boyfriend to boyfriend. He’s a gay man from Indiana. Marriage has never even been on the table. Quentin doesn’t understand that, but he tries to. Quentin’s dad had always been accepting of his sexuality, from the time he came out in undergrad to when he told his dad about Eliot and the mosaic right before he passed. But he knows this is hard for Eliot. So he doesn’t push. Q knows they’ll talk when he’s ready.

A few months after Fargo’s wedding (Fen insisted on using this hashtag, despite not having a smartphone herself), Eliot comes into the kitchen while Quentin is cooking dinner and explodes into a tirade. He goes on about divorce rates for couples who get married after they’ve moved in together and the homophobia that queer men face when they’re trying to get married and why marriage as a construct is just the government’s way of enforcing gender roles and how the tax benefit isn’t even that great and how they don’t need a flashy ceremony in order to commit to each other for the rest of their lives and he goes on and on and on. Quentin just listens with open ears and open hearts as his partner rants, understanding that Eliot just needs to get it off his chest and out of his system.

Eliot finishes with a deep inhale, his eyes watching Q quietly stir the boiling pasta.

“Is that what I sound like?” Quentin asks, putting down the wooden spoon. “Like all the time?”

Eliot, who previously had this terrified look on his face, laughs, and nods. Quentin smiles at him, pours the pasta into the strainer, and slings his hand towel over his shoulder before making his way over to Eliot. He takes the taller man’s hands into his own and squeezes them.

“El, those are all valid reasons to not get married,” Quentin says. “If you really don’t want to do the rings and ceremony and government bullshit, we don’t have to. I’m content to just spend the rest of my life with you,”

Q really thought that what he said would make Eliot feel better, but instead Eliot seems to be blinking back tears. Whatever Eliot wants to say is clearly embarrassing him, so Quentin just waits while Eliot clears his throat. (Patience and listening, therapy taught them.)

“But I wanna be able to say “That’s my husband!” when we’re out,” Eliot says, looking down, voice breaking. “And I want to prove my father wrong when he said I would never get married. Is that bad?”

Quentin uses his thumb to wipe away the tear tracks on Eliot’s face. “No, El, it’s not bad,”

Quentin looks back at the pasta and the boiling vegetables and the sautéing chicken. “I think this conversation has been productive, but unless you want burnt chicken for dinner, I think we should continue it at a later date”

Eliot exhales and nods and Quentin kisses his cheek.  “I love it when you get domestic on me, Coldwater,”  

A later date rolls around. They’re walking through a park, hand in hand, and Quentin furrows his brow. “If we were to get married,” he states, sort of out of the blue, “Would we do a hyphenated last name? Or some kind of joint name? Would I take your last name? Would you take mine? How does this work?”

Eliot smiles. “You ask a lot of questions, Coldwater”

Quentin gasps, and sends Eliot a shit-eating grin. “The Coldwaughters,”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “No,”

“Get it?”

“Unfortunately,”

“Like Coldwater but with Waugh instead of water?”

“Hush, Q,”

“It would be fantastic!”

Eliot shuts him up with a kiss, and Quentin doesn’t complain. Q can also tell that Eliot is trying very hard not to laugh about it, too. It feels good, honestly, to be having this conversation so casually. And in public. And to be holding hands with his partner in public. And to kiss his partner in public. There’s a happy twinge in his chest as they laugh to themselves.

Eliot’s mouth twitches. “I kind of like Coldwater-Waugh,” Quentin thinks he could melt.

One night, they’re sitting around the fire pit in their backyard, drinking wine out of coffee mugs and enjoying the peace of the evening. Fireside lounging at night was something sacred to them, and they spent more nights than not enjoying the cool breeze and staring up at the stars, holding hands. Normally, they’d be sitting in their chairs, but tonight they unfolded their picnic blanket and are sitting on it together. It reminds Quentin of the first time he kissed Eliot, really kissed Eliot, at the mosaic and makes his heart happy. He seems to be having a lot of those moments these days, in the months and years after the Monster.

“So I was doing some reading today,” Eliot says, and Quentin takes a swig of his wine. “I read that while the when and where and how of a proposal is a surprise, the actual agreement to get married is not,” Eliot’s got a very casual tone in his voice, and Quentin nods.

“Like a business communication proposal?” Quentin quirks an eyebrow.

Eliot nods and his eyes flit around in the way that they do when he’s trying to cover his emotions. “Yes, just like that,” He says, completely deadpan.

They sip their wine.

“I want to be married to you, Quentin,” Eliot blurts out, turning to face him. Quentin smiles, a curious smile, and covers Eliot’s hand with his own.

“Are you sure?” Quentin asks, and Eliot nods.

“There are a lot of good reasons to not get married,” Quentin suggests.

Eliot shakes his head. “They’re still good reasons, but I also have one really good reason to want to get married. And it’s because I love you,” Quentin can tell this is hard for him, but that he’s trying to be brave. He also thinks that he’s never been more in love with Eliot than this moment. “But this isn’t the proposal,” Eliot says, gesturing with his coffee wine mug, before Quentin can get any ideas. “This is just the agreement. Proposal still to come,”

Quentin grins and raises his eyebrows. “Are you planning on doing the proposing? What if I wanted to propose to you?”

Eliot matches his grin and does the little wiggle that he does whenever he’s excited or turned on by Quentin. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

They go ring shopping together. That seemed like the logical, adult next step. They don’t buy anything while they’re there, but they do get their fingers measured and decide they don’t want to do engagement rings. Just wedding bands. And they want to do gold, not silver. Gold because it reminds them of the golden tile and the beauty of all life and the chance to do fifty years together again. The woman behind the counter keeps asking where their girlfriends are. They ignore those questions.

Quentin talks to Margo. He’s nervous about the proposal and how to do it properly, for Eliot. So he goes to their best friend and asks how to craft the perfect Eliot Waugh proposal. But Margo rolls her eyes.

“Dipshit, Eliot doesn’t love you because you’re like him. He loves you for you. A big flashy proposal isn’t very Coldwater. Do something from the heart,”  Quentin makes a face at Margo’s sincerity and Margo throws her hands up in the air. “You came to me for advice, there it is!”

Quentin still doesn’t know what he wants to do.

Eliot talks to Julia. He has absolutely no idea how to propose marriage without sounding like an idiot and he’s not sure if he should even come up with a proposal. What if Quentin wants to do the proposing? What if Quentin is expecting to be proposed to? But Julia rolls her eyes.

“You could chuck a ring box at him and he would probably burst into tears,” She says.

“Great!” Eliot says, and doesn’t feel better. So Julia purses her lips and gives him real advice.

A few weeks later, Eliot is so nervous he might throw up. He gets home before Quentin, but only because he gets off work early. When he told his boss that he was proposing to his partner that night, she squealed and practically shoved him out the door. Perks of working at a shelter for LGBT youth--they soak up the gay shit. But Eliot doesn’t complain because it gives him plenty of time to prepare. He knows that Quentin won’t be home until sunset because of meetings he has with publishers in the city, which will make his homecoming and this moment even better.

So Eliot sets up in the backyard and leaves a note on the front door. He lays out their blankets and lights their tiki torches and get his proposal gift ready and paces while he rehearses his speech. He knows Quentin will say yes, but he’s still nervous. He’s nervous that it’s not going to go perfectly or that he’ll mess it up or that Quentin will be disappointed. Which he tries to tell himself is a stupid thing to think, and then comes back with the thought that it’s not stupid and his feelings are valid. And then he thinks that being a human with emotions is exhausting.

So he waits. And the sun begins to sink into the horizon.

Eliot hears Quentin’s car pull up their driveway, hears the engine stop and the door open and close. Footsteps approaching the front door. Footsteps coming around the back. Eliot takes a deep breath and picks up his proposal present. Show time.

Quentin rounds the corner, and they both freeze. And then they both laugh. 

Because in Quentin’s hands is a bucket of peaches. 

And in Eliot’s hands is a bucket of plums.

With sheepish grin, Quentin approaches Eliot, who looks glorious in the firelight.

“Hey,” He says softly, and Eliot grins.

“Hey,” Eliot says back, and gestures with his bucket. “Peaches?”

Quentin nods. “Plums,” He answers back.

Eliot feels like his chest is going to burst from love, and the look on Q’s face says the same. They both know what’s about to happen and what this is. 

Quentin looks a little bit like he’s about to cry, but he’s got a smile on his face and he laughs a little bit. “Um, so, you first?”

Eliot doesn’t think, doesn’t doubt himself, he just crosses to Quentin and gets down on one knee and places the bucket of plums at his feet. He looks back up at Q and pushes through the urge to shy away from the wave of emotions passing over him. Not today. He’s going to be braver, just like he learned from Q. Plus he’s got like a whole rehearsed speech in his head.

“Love is hard for me,” Eliot starts. “The idea of committing myself to someone else has always been terrifying and that fear has held me back in so many ways,” Eliot takes a breath to steady himself. “But I love you, Q. And I love getting to chose you every single day.” Quentin is definitely starting to cry a little bit, but Eliot continues courageously. “You’ve always called me your plum,” Eliot states, “And so I give you this bucket of plums as a symbol of me giving myself to you and choosing you. Now. Tomorrow. In fifty years. Forever.”

“Oh, God, El,” Quentin chokes, bringing a hand up to his face, and Eliot can’t help but laugh.

“Q, will you marry me?” Eliot asks, and then Quentin is furiously nodding and spurting out a thousand yes, yes, yeses. He’s nodding and they’re both laughing and Eliot feels like he’s made of air.

Quentin nods and takes a deep breath. His turn now. “So destiny is bullshit,” Eliot makes a little noise in the back of his throat, remembering that day they were crowned kings. This is so much better. “But you,” Quentin breaths. “You are my soulmate. My lifetime love. And I want to spend the next fifty years and the next fifty years and the next eternity with you,”

Quentin looks down at his bucket of peaches, overwhelmed by emotions and bites his lip. “I wanted to give you a bucket of peaches to ask you to marry me because, to me….” He clears his throat and Eliot can see he’s trying to compose himself. “Because, um, when you died, I sent a bucket of peaches to Margo. And that same bucket of peaches is what brought us back our mosaic memories.”

Q looks at Eliot, with such hope and love and devotion in his eyes. “But now I want to use them to create a new memory, of the start of our life together,” Quentin puts the bucket down and gets down on one knee in front of Eliot, their knee caps brushing. “So will you marry me, El?”

“Fuck, yes,” There’s not even a moment’s hesitation from him and then they’re both crying and kissing and that night they feast on peaches and plums and each other.

Quentin and Eliot talk about getting married.

They want a summer, outdoor wedding under a big tree. Or maybe on a beach. They talk about whether to get married on Earth or in Fillory. Debate, more like, but they eventually decide on Earth. They buy the gold wedding rings and Margo keeps them safe until the time to actually put them on. They talk about floral arrangements and color schemes and who they want to invite. They talk to Josh about catering and spend an afternoon in Fillory, tasting the most delicious cakes in the entire multiverse. They talk to Fogg about officiating their wedding. They talk to Julia and Margo about being their Best Men. They talk about their first dance song and if they want to do personal vows or “repeat after me” vows. They talk about all things wedding related and Quentin helps Eliot keep two feet on the ground and level head about the situation and Eliot loves him for it. (“Where were you the last time he got married?” Margo teases.)

Quentin and Eliot talk about the concept of marriage, again.

They talk about their fears and their hopes. They talk about what it’s like to be married to another man in America, and how it’s a fucking revolutionary act. They talk about what marriage means to them, and the commitment it entails. They make a specific distinction between society’s expectations of marriage and how they want to continue moving forward in their lives. They talk about the trauma they’ve endured in the last few years, and acknowledge that they still have a lot of work to go. They talk about the possibility of adopting, and expanding their little family. Because they already are a family with each other and their friends and their cat, but they want to be parents again. They talk about the ways they can best support each other when they have mental health relapses. They talk about all the ways they love each other.

Quentin and Eliot get married.

With exchange of written vows and golden bands, and with a tender kiss in front of all of their friends, they become the Coldwater-Waughs.

Quentin still thinks Coldwaughters would have been better.

#lesbianlaynie #HERE IT IS #happy little fantasy #the magicians #queliot #the magicians fix it fic #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #queliot fan fic #queliot fan fiction #jason ralph #hale appleman #peaches and plums motherfucker #marriage fic #the magicians finale #laynie writes #the magicians fic rec

[thenervouscook]

Nervous Cooking: An Intro and How To

Hello there. I’m a nervous cook. I hate wasting food. I don’t like being bad at things. I have a very complicated relationship with food, thanks to an eating disorder.

In short, I often feel daunted in the kitchen, have felt that a lot of recipes gatekeep information and make it hard to me to feel like cooking is accessible and fun.

I like food. I love the idea of cooking. With the help of some nice people I know, I’m making good progress into enjoying the kitchen, and playing around making things and swatting away the dreadful pretentiousness, snobbishness, and pomposity that sullies what is supposed to be a joyous, wholesome, and ultimately tasty activity.

So where to start? Before we get to sharing recipes, let’s have a breakdown of what we’re trying to do for ourselves, before we even turn the oven on.

How do we become less nervous in when cooking?

1. Put some music on.

There’s nothing as daunting as standing in your kitchen with a recipe open, feeling like you’re already set for failure before you’ve even begun. So with that, put some good tunes on. You might have to turn the volume down occasionally as it is distracting you too much from the task at hand, but honestly, set yourself up for a good time.

Hall & Oates are great for making your meal with.

2. Read the recipe first. Maybe read it a few times.

Too often, I’ve started cooking and followed the recipe as a go, only to find that the person who wrote the recipe can smash out some sauce in 40 seconds while it takes me ages to do, while I burn my onions in the process. 

Reading the recipe first enables you to plan for any tricky moments where you feel unsure, or indeed, helps you to work out how to re-word something that might confusing rather than having to translate it when you’re in the middle of cooking something.

Recently, I made something that said “add 100ml of stock”, which wasn’t included in the recipe itself - reading it through before setting off meant that I didn’t have a nervous breakdown halfway through.

3. Prep the ingredients

Foodies call it ‘mise en place’ - don’t worry about foreign phrases yet, we won’t be using them here and we’ll probably do a translation of cooking terms at some point. These phrases are perfectly fine to use if you know what you’re doing, but of course, when you’re a nervous cook, your brain can go “AAAAAAAAAARGH I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS AND I’M ALREADY TALKING MYSELF OUT OF COOKING AND I MAY AS WELL JUST GO TO THE CHIPPIE”.

Calm down. It’s all good. Maybe we’ll do a glossary of terms later, so we can understand what these people are talking about.

Don’t worry. Mise en place basically means getting everything ready before you start, like they do on the telly. You’ve seen a TV chef saying “add half a tablespoon of paprika’, and they just tip it out of a little bowl, rather than measuring out while the pan’s on? It’s that.

So, if you’re making a curry and the recipe says that 4 spices are all getting thrown in at the same time, then measure them out first, put it in a bowl, or a little glass dish you’ve saved from when you ate a fancy yoghurt that came in a glass thing rather than a plastic pot, or even a cleaned out plastic yoghurt pot - it literally doesn’t matter - you measure them out, throw them all into a thing, and when the time comes to add them to your cooking, you can lob them in the pan without thinking about it, because you did the groundwork before the stress of the timer.

And ‘mise en place’ will not be used again on this blog, because there’s no need really.

4. Convert American measurements in advance

If you’ve found a recipe that looks ace on an American site, you’ll soon find out they measure everything differently. They have a ‘cups’ system. 1 cup is 128g or 4.5 oz.

If your scales are accurate enough to measure 128g exactly, go nuts. If not, take the time to find another recipe that has measured things out in a way that is more useful to you. If you have the money, have a look online and buy something cheap that measures out in American cups. 

Just don’t get caught on the hop while you’re in the middle of cooking your tea and get yourself worked up.

5. You can still eat a cock-up

American writer Hanif Abdurraqib said: “I'm not normally one for baking — I get that it is mostly all about the following of instructions, but I think that has always made the task more daunting for me and my many anxieties. If I failed, that failure would be speaking to some greater inability, or it might tell me something about myself. But, my anxieties, though busy as ever, aren't very interested in whether or not I fail at the moment. Also, I have such a low bar for edible desserts. Even a failed baked good is still a baked good worth consuming, in my home.”

That’s one of the golden things good cooks never share - even when you mess up, chances are, you can still eat it. Set your bar low. Don’t tip it in the bin because you’ve failed or because it looks like a mess.

I made a banoffee pie, and was worried I was going to balls it up, because I’m rubbish at whisking. Talking to a very talented chef I know, she said “don’t bin it - mix it up and call it Banoffee Eton Mess style!”

That was a very important lesson to learn - if it doesn’t work out perfectly, then re-brand the fucker and eat it anyway.

6. Follow good food people and ignore perfectionists if you want

A lot of broadsheet food writers and TV chefs are perfectionists, and don’t share their mistakes. When they appear on TV, they’re often berating some poor amateur cook for messing up their flans or whatever, because they’ve entered a talent show like Great British Bake Off, Masterchef, or whatever.

Ignore all that if you want, or if it puts pressure on you. It’s just you in your kitchen, making something to eat. Doesn’t matter if it looks like a road accident when you put it on your plate, as long as it tastes good.

Everyone’s Instagram accounts only show you their successes, so you can write those off too, if they’re doing your head in.

That said, there’s good people out there who will show you short-cuts, things to not worry about, and enjoy food that looks like an absolute mess. David Chang is a good chef to follow - on his Instagram, he cooked chicken thighs in a plastic bag in the microwave ‘round his mums, and has a show called Ugly Delicious where the focus is about getting rid of the pointless rules and aesthetic bollocks that stops a lot of people from wanting to cook.

Brad Leone at Bon Appetite is another good egg - he’s very much a ‘bung it in, that should be alright shouldn’t it?’ type of cook. Very unpretentious. Good fun. Pronounces the word ‘water’ funnily.

7. Focus on flavour, not aesthetics

I talked to someone who knows a lot of professional chefs, and they told me the difference between restaurant food and what we cook at home is the delicious but disgusting amounts of salt and butter they put in everything. Like, you’ll use a splodge of butter in your food, and a pro chef will stick a whole pack in. 

Season the crap out of everything too. Keep tasting it as you go along - you’re not a pro kitchen who has to worry about sticking a spoon in your mouth and then returning it straight to the pan.

When a recipe says 2 cloves of garlic, and you know you love garlic, sod it, put 3 or 4 in.

If you’re nervous about making your food too salty, for example, then just follow the recipe to the letter, and then when you serve it up later, if it needs more, just whack a load on as a booster at the end. It’s cool.

8. Don’t worry about having loads of gear

You might read some recipes that ask you to pulverise something in a food processor and you might not have one. If you can afford the gear, fine, go wild. If not, see what the alternatives are. You might be able to do it by hand, or you might be able to cheat by buying some pre-mixed stuff. Cheating is good. Don’t worry yourself.

If you’re bad at mincing garlic, just buy a tube of garlic paste. The only people who would judge that are terrible people, and terrible people don’t deserve your cooking.

9. Worst case scenario

You’ve burned your food. You’ve used salt instead of sugar. The whole thing has gone so badly that it is inedible. You feel defeated and annoyed at yourself. You swear you’ll never cook again.

It’s okay to wallow for a bit, but remember this - if you angrily sling everything in the bin and walk to the chip shop or Maccies - a Big Mac or chips pie and gravy is still a 10 out of 10 meal to have. In terms of you eating, you’ve not failed yourself.

Get stuck into your nuggets meal and enjoy them, and you’ll remember to not put salt in, instead of sugar next time.

10. Give yourself a break

Chefs, foodies, and cooks often forget to tell you what it feels like to not know how to cook. That makes sense - they’ve been practising for ages.They’re at a certain level, and assume the person they’re talking to is at a certain level too. 

When they casually say “knock up a quick roux” and you’re not sure what a roux even is, that’s okay - you can either stop listening to them, and watch a YouTube video about what a roux is, how to make one, and what they’re for... or you can carry on watching your show and just have a holiday in someone else’s good skills.

I can play guitar quite well, but I don’t hear a blistering solo on a Steely Dan record and think ‘well, I may as well throw my guitar into the street’ - I can pootle along on mine, while enjoying someone else who is better at a thing than I am. Try and do the same with food shows. You can always turn them off if they’re making you feel depressed - you don’t owe anyone shit.

Remember how grateful you are when absolutely anyone else cooks for you and how you don’t judge anyone else’s food harshly, because you’re not an arsehole? Do the same for yourself.

#cooking #home cooking #nervous cook

[whatcanicookwith]

Gluten Free Chicken Stew

I got a request for this but I’m going to be honest; I didn’t measure anything, didn’t really pay attention to what I did, and actually briefly forgot I made it as it was simmering on the stove so

I’ll do my best @cryptid-on-a-rock

Tools

Soup pot

Big spoon

Paring or chef’s knife or any knife

A cutting board would be useful but I didn’t want to wash mine :/

Ingredients

Three or four containers of chicken broth

Four or five russet potatoes or whatever potatoes you prefer

Five stalks of celery or so

Half a small bag of baby carrots

A bag of rice noodles or whatever noodles you like. Egg noodles are traditional for chicken noodle soup but I didn’t have any and idk if they’re gluten free tbh

Basic spices

A bag of pearl onions or one or two regular onions

Four or five chicken breasts

Two bay leaves

Directions!

Put the pot on the stove and turn the heat to medium high

Pour in half a container of broth or so and dump in the baby carrots and toss in the bay leaves

I do them whole because I didn’t want to chop them but cut them if you like

Wash your potatoes and if you’re like me you’ll haphazardly slice them over the pot and realize too late that it’ll splash almost boiling liquid on you ://

Let that simmer covered while you prepare your pearl onions (a bitch of a task I’ll pray for you) or regular onions

Throw that shit in the pot

Wash your celery and also cut it haphazardly over the pot and get burned yet again

Let that simmer while you cut your chicken into nuggets. I cut with the grain because I like the long stringy pieces of meat because i find they stay together better but it really doesn’t matter

Throw the chicken in the pot

Let everything simmer for basically however long you want it to. If you prefer your carrots to still have a bit of bite to them, it’s best to check after about 15 minutes. I just let soup simmer until I’m hungry enough to get some because I like for everything to be pretty soft.

Season everything to taste

I use salt, black pepper, tony chachere’s or however it’s spelled, honey, and either minced garlic or garlic salt

About 10 minutes before you want to serve your soup, put your noodles in

I cook with no regard for the size of my pot so I had to push the noodles down to make them totally submerged so they could cook

Don’t do that. Unless you plan to store it. The potatoes and noodles will absorb most of the broth and the rest is steamed off after it sits for a while, so you can put it in a ziploc and scoop some out for later, just add chicken broth to it before you microwave it.

Tips!

The soup will be fine

Leave it alone

Literally throw anything you want in here it’ll be good

It doesn’t matter how things are cut as long as they’re semi bite size

Season slowly and taste often

If you can, forget that you made it for an hour or so and then come back and it’ll be chicken stew as opposed to soup. The heat will have broken down the potatoes more and thickened the broth

#ignore the dirty skillet #my sink is fucked up #so dishes are a struggle #recipes #chicken #gluten free #stew #soup #my photo #my recipe

[serebronaga]

Chicken Enchiladerole with Sour Cream Sauce

Every year, Tamesr and I make each other food for our birthdays. Worked great when we lived together, still works while we are many states apart. She usually makes me cakes. I tend to be a little more..untraditional.

Yesterday was her birthday. I made her a chicken enchiladerole.

What is an enchiladerole? Well, technically it’s an enchilada. In a casserole dish. I used to be able to roll the enchiladas like a normal person, but as my hands have slowly stopped cooperating over time, I find it much easier to just tear up the tortillas and layer them like a casserole.

But! What’s so interesting about my enchiladerole that I’m making a post about it? It’s...bland. Not spicy, not acidic. I make the chicken, and I make the sauce. Nothing premade here! I’ve got medical restrictions, placing me on a bland diet, so I modify recipes to fit. 

Maybe you’d like to see what I’ve done? Maybe you’re in a similar situation and want to see if you could try something similar? Woo!

I should mention this is heavy on dairy. And the post is long. With pictures!

First off, lemme say, normally I do this in a casserole dish. Yesterday, I did not. I did this in a disposable aluminum pan. The result was a little different than I expected, but not bad. Thusly, do not worry if you do not have a casserole dish (I never had one before I moved back with my parents to help them). Disposable aluminum pans are pretty cheap at the store (I think my 2 pack was maybe a dollar or two.) so even if you don’t want to casserole it and want to roll them like normal, these pans will still fit the bill.

!

Gather your party to move forward.

Preheat your oven to 375 F.

This is the chicken party, chicken not pictured.

2 pounds of chicken meat. Breast fillets or strips or ones that have been cut up for stir fries all work. They’ll all be cut up in the end. Frozen or fresh, no difference (but ya gotta thaw em, silly).

Mayonnaise. 

Garlic (I use minced).

Lemon juice.

Seasonings/spices. I am a weh weh baby and use only rosemary, salt and a dash of cayenne pepper. You can change these to suit your tastes.

Shredded cheese, your choice. 

I picked up this bit from my sister. She uses it when she makes spinach chicken. I like cooked spinach, but it has no place in my enchiladerole. 

My parents use canned chicken chunks when they make their enchiladas. Le yuck. No flavor and it stinks worse than canned tuna, tbh. It’s ok for chicken and dumplings, but not in a dish where chicken is top of the bill.

What we’re going is basically making a paste to dredge the chicken in. The mayo coats it and keeps it from drying out. The lemon juice is to help break down the meat and tenderize it a little. The spices flavor the meat. The cheese makes a happy crust. 

I don’t do fancy measurements. See that spoon? You need 2.5 spoonfuls of mayo. A 5-6 second squeeze of lemon juice. Pinch of salt, dash of cayenne, and two shakes of rosemary. For the garlic, your choice. I use the other end of the spoon and take a dip out of the jar. 

Handful of cheese. Add it a little at a time if you need to, to keep the balance. Remember, you’re going for a paste. Mix it up, should look something like this.

Prep your chicken. You can leave it in the big fillets or chop em into smaller pieces to bake. I find it easier to piece them, since they take less time to cook.

Stick em in the bowl, mush them around with your hand. Don’t worry about them being completely coated, just make sure they’re covered into the mayo. When they’re all coated, you can put the extra cheese on top to make the crust.

Like that. You definitely want to use foil on your pan for this, because there will be liquids. Cheese oil, chicken juice, all that good stuff. Make a little wall around it so it doesn’t get everywhere when you take it out later. Save the crunchy bits that end up around the chicken when they’re done. They’re still good and you can put them in the enchiladerole for extra flavor.

Now, as Alton Brown would say, GO WASH YOUR CHICKEN-Y HANDS.

Now, I put mine in the oven for 45 minutes. However, that is for THIS oven. In the past, I’ve had to cook them for longer, and for shorter. It all depends on your oven. You know it, I don’t. It’s better to underestimate and have to add time than to overdo it and burn the yums. 

Food safety, cook the chicken to an internal temp of 160-165 F to make sure it’s done and any germies are slain. Unless you have a fancy stick thermometer, you’re probably not going to be able to tell. Here’s what you do: cut the biggest piece open and see if its raw inside. If it’s raw, they aren’t done. You want it to look like the inside of a chicken nugget (white), not what it looked like going in (pink and gooey looking).

Like that. 

So now that they’re out of the oven, let em sit. One, they’re hot and you don’t want to handle bitchin hot chicken. Two, whenever you cook meat, you want to let it rest afterwards. This lets it reabsorb some of the liquid that cooked out and other fun culinary stuff.

When you have approximately 15ish minutes left on the chicken cooking, let’s start the sauce.

Have you ever heard of a roux (roo)? We’re going to make a roux. Now you can sound fancy.

AP Flour

Unsalted Chicken stock

Milk (I use whole milk because that’s how I am. Fairlife is lactose free, though. Whether you use regular or lactose free doesn’t matter. Just don’t use like...nut milk. Use the moo juice.)

Butter (I used what was already opened, which was unsalted. If you use salted butter, watch how you add salt in other parts of recipes. It can throw off your groove.)

Sour cream. 

Not pictured here, the same spices as the chicken paste (Cayenne, Rosemary, Salt. No garlic this time, but you can if you want to.)

Also not pictures, more shredded cheese. Haha.

I use about 2 tablespoons of butter. Melt it in your pan, mix in the flour slowly. Probably about a cup of it. You’re the judge of how thick you want your sauce to  be, so adjust to your liking. What we’re doing is helping the flour not be a little bastard and clump when it encounters the fat (the butter), so the sauce can be smooth. Nobody likes lumpy sauce. If you need to, you can add a little bit of the chicken stock to help smooth things out. 

When things are looking pretty well mixed, add in the stock and the milk. Eyeball it, my dudes. Fill the pan a little under halfway with the stock, then the other half with milk. Keep about an inch to the top, otherwise things will get messy when you add in the sour cream later.

When it reaches a simmer, add in your spices and sour cream. Stir stir stir. Don’t let it boil, though. Sour cream doesn’t like to be boiled. Keep stirring. Add in a handful of cheese. Don’t let the flour or the cheese settle on the bottom and burn. That will taste very bad. 

Are you stirring? KEEP STIRRING.

It will eventually look like this. Smooth. Taste it. Taste flour-y? Not done yet. Keep going til it doesn’t taste like flour. You should be able to taste the sour cream and the spices. Need more spice? Add it now. By now, it should reach your desired thickness. At the least, you want it to coat the spoon when you remove it from the sauce. 

Dance break. Bean has come to see you for culinary support. Sing her a song while you wait for the chicken to be handable.

Tear up some tortillas. Flour or corn is your decision. My parents and sister prefer corn. I like flour. I find they fit better with the creamy texture of the sour cream sauce. 

You can make the chicken any size you like. I tend towards bigger bite size pieces because I’m impatient.

Put your first layer of chicken in. Arrange your chicken, toss in some shredded cheese, make another tortilla layer. Repeat til you reach the top of whatever size dish you’re using.

My dumb ass underestimated the depth of these pans and thusly, it fit only one layer. Luckily it was a two pack, so I just made two. Huzzah.

Top layer, now is the time for the sauce. Try to spread it evenly, make sure it gets down the sides or you will have very dry bottom layers.

What’s that? Something is missing?

You’re right, it’s the final cheesening. I told you this recipe was heavy on the dairy. This is why we use the big bag of cheese. This will make your crust. Yom yom.

Stick it in the oven. I put these in for 30 minutes. Added 5 more minutes at the end for the cheese crust to properly brown.

Bean is still here to support you. Sing her another song while you wait for the enchiladeroles to cook.

BAM, as Emeril says. Let it cool for a couple minutes before you cut into it (nobody likes to be burned by shittin hot noms). Eat it now, or put it in the fridge to eat later. Sometimes it’s even better that way, having more time to coalesce flavorfully.

#the adventures of cooking with whitney #sour cream chicken enchiladas #Chicken Enchiladerole with Sour Cream sauce #I have other recipes I can do if you guys want #one pan chicken alfredo #cream puffs #gooey butter cake #lemme know