#the cleaning the oven for two hours thing is based on a true story

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Kinktober day 19/20: Housewife/domesticity kink + service - John Price x reader

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, being married and a bit of being a house wife. Mentions of pregnancy at the end. Reader is also slightly a clean freak coded/gets hyper focused on cleaning- because who doesn’t, tbh. Fluff, then smut at the end.

Price’s favorite things about coming back from deployment.

Of course Price looked forward to coming home- seeing his wife after a deployment was what kept him going through the roughest parts of his job. But- in addition to the obvious reason of just missing his wife- Price had a particular fondness for those first nights back.

When he walked in, your eyes would light up- and he’d almost always find himself nearly tackled by your hug. He’d always laugh, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight as he teased you for your enthusiasm.

During that first hug, he wouldn’t let go immediately. He’d press a kiss to the top of your head- keeping his lips against you for a moment longer- just to breathe in the comforting scent of you. He’d keep one of his hands wrapped around your shoulders, and the other one either nestled against the small of your back or dip of your waist. If you were wearing a shirt, he’d slip his hand under the fabric to run his rough, calloused hands over your soft, warm skin.

If it were up to Price, he would keep you wrapped tight in that bear hug the whole night- or at least till he decided it was time for him to scoop you up and take him to the bedroom. He’d only (reluctantly) let you go once you mentioned that dinner was going to burn.

On the nights when Price first got home, you’d always fuss over him. You’d insist that he sits down- bringing him a beer and making sure to take care of him as best you can.

You’d always try and press the TV remote into his hand, telling him to sit back and relax while you finished dinner. But he’d just smile and shake his head- content to watch you hurry around the kitchen and worry your sweet little head off over dinner. It was one of the few times he’d let himself give into your worrying and fussing- he might as well enjoy it.

He’d sit back and light a cigar, eyes following your ass and admiring the way the tie of your apron cinched around your waist. He’d smile at the way you bit your lip and frowned when you pulled dinner out of the oven- adoring how desperate to please you would get on nights like this.

He may even let you work yourself up about it, probably chuckling at the way your brow furrowed when you find a spot you’d missed while doing your regular before-price-gets-back-from-deployment cleaning spree: something he had, to no avail, tried to assure you multiple times was not necessary, and only discovered the existence of upon getting back a few hours early, planning to surprise you, and found you half way inside the oven. You were cleaning it, you said- although Price was a little concerned by the fact that you’d apparently been at it for nearly two hours.

At this point, he realized that there was nothing he could do to stop you, and just found it cute that you’d get yourself so worked up over getting everything perfect for him.

Of course, he wouldn’t let you stay worked up. Especially on nights like this, he was sure to kiss and praise you all he could. And at the end of the night, you’d always find yourself pressed firmly into the mattress underneath your husband. With Price’s fingers laced together with yours as he thrust slow and deep into you, murmuring against your skin about how perfect you were- how you didn’t need to try so hard to please him, not when just your smile brightens his entire day.

As his thrusts would stutter and he neared his release, his voice would go rougher and he’d suck a hickey beneath your ear and behind your jaw bone- making sure to tell you how much he loved you, how lucky he was to have such a sweet little wife. He’d tell you how he was going to fill you up with his cum and give you a couple of his kids, how he was gonna make you a momma so you’d hopefully stop worrying your pretty little head off over keeping the house spotless- “calm ya’ down a bit” as he put it.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[thisisforyn]

Ruined Dinner (Leedo Fluff)

After finding out that your boyfriend would be home late from work, you decide to go ahead and take a shower before starting dinner. You two alternate who cooks and it's his night but you figure it's no big deal for you to cook. There's no telling when he'll get home anyway and you'd like to eat as well.

After getting your change of clothes ready, you get into the shower. You're almost done washing up when you hear a commotion and furrow your brows. You quickly finish up and rinse off. Once the water is off, you can hear the noise again. You check the small analog clock that you guys keep by the sink. You'd only been home for a couple of hours since you got off work early, and that was about the time you read your boyfriend's message. He shouldn't be home yet, but then it begs the question as to just who's moving around in your apartment.

Getting dressed, you try to be as quiet as you can as you peek out of the bathroom door. The quiet swearing is definitely Geonhak's voice.

"Baby?" You call out softly but it's clear that he doesn't hear you.

You reach the kitchen and see what all the noise is and he's focused and frustrated. It takes a moment but you find yourself covering your nose as a burnt smell fills the air, along with a light smoke making the apartment foggy. He's rushing with whatever he's doing, as though he's desperate. You can finally see that he's trying to rush to make something to eat but the burner is up way too high and the small stack of pans sitting by the sink are a clear sign that he's burned quite a few things.

"Baby!" You call louder this time and he jumps.

His expression quickly goes from anger to startled to sad. You rush over and turn the ventilation on to help get the smoke out, turning off the burner and wrapping your arms around him.

"How can you stand around the smoke like this?"

You guide him away from the kitchen and toward the balcony, getting the door open to get even more of the smoke out. You head out onto the balcony and take him with you to help you both clear your airways. He sighs and you cup his cheek.

"I told you I was going to cook tonight, and I thought you weren't going to be back until much later."

He looks down, his ears turning a noticeable shade of red, giving away that he's embarrassed.

"What's the matter?" You ask him, worried now.

"It's just... You know... I've had to work late all week and you've been cooking all week," he begins, "You work hard during the day, too, and then you're coming home to cook and clean up all by yourself. So, I hurried and got my work done so I could come back sooner. I ended up making a bigger mess..."

As manly as your boyfriend always is, he's also one of the softest people you've ever come across. It doesn't surprise you at all that he was just watching out for you and, in his haste, made a few small mistakes. If nothing else, you're just glad that he didn't get hurt and that nothing was set on fire.

"Why don't we just go out to eat tonight? You've worked really hard all week and we deserve a night off, right?"

He nods and coughs a few times, his body finally registering and clearing out what of the smoke he'd inhaled. You find yourself laughing, patting his back with a small sigh. He's too cute for his own good, even when he's trying hard not to be.

"Let's go get changed and then we can figure out where we're going to go, okay?"

He wraps his arms around your middle and kisses your cheek, "An impromptu date night."

"Exactly! Now that you've put it that way, I'm even more excited now!"

He steals a peck from your lips and heads back inside with you to the bedroom to get changed. Dinner at home may have been ruined but you're even happier about the night out together with Geonhak.

A/N: This is based on a true story. I'm still sad that my chicken nuggets and roasted veggies dinner turned into chicken nuggets and cereal... I decided to take a shower while my vegetables were roasting in the oven...

[twstdreams]

Cooking with Cater!~

Happy Holidays @caters-simp! I hope you enjoy your gift!

Content warning: food, female!reader, Santa, festive holiday

“Do we have all the ingredients?” you ask while eyeing the piles of produce on the counter. The idea is to have everything spread out beforehand so you’re not missing anything and it’s all organized, but somehow this is looking a bit more like everything is categorized by aesthetic rather than mise en place.

“Yes! ♪” Cater confirms while taking a picture of the ingredients along with a grocery list with every single item crossed off, “Let’s caption this with a question! Guess what we’re making! #holidaycooking #cookingwithmygf #selfmadetreat”

You two had decided to cook at Heartslabyul rather than at your dorm Pomefiore, because you didn’t want Vil’s nagging if you ate a bunch of high caloric food. You’re sure he’d let you cook so long as you cleaned up and your dorm leader wouldn’t oppose festive meals, but you know he wouldn’t let you skip out on having to do extra exercise to make up for it.

“Let’s get started!” you announce. Cater comes up with a million ideas and you help bring them to reality and connect them to an outcome and that stays true for your festive dinner. Cater excels at multi-tasking and keeping an eye on the stovetop while remembering to set the timer for anything that goes in the oven. Cater helps out when cooking, making sure to dish out compliments as you work, but you can tell plating is his favourite part.

You leave the assembly of the charcuterie board to Cater as he sets up a picture perfect placement with your favourite meats and cheeses. You notice some spicy salami and habanero cheddar cheese, but you’re sure he chose a couple based on appearance. 

You roll the carrot slices into a rose and make sure to tie it together before basting it in chilli garlic butter in a pan. At the same time, you pan fry your steaks until one is a nice medium rare for Cater and another your preferred level of cooked. As you’re keeping a careful eye on the food, you feel Cater’s arms wrap around your waist.

“Time for a picture! We look so cute in matching outfits!~” Cater insists and you flash a smile before hearing the distinctive click of his phone camera. You admit your matching festive clothing is adorable, but you think the bright grins you both wear are more endearing “I’m going to caption it ‘Cooking up a feast!’ Now to choose some emojis full of feeling!

A streak of spicy aioli decorates the plate before you carefully place the steak on top. Beside your carrot rose, and the impressive charcuterie board, it’s a delectable holiday feast! The two of you set the table and it looks good enough to be in a magazine. Napkins are folded to look like animals, cutlery is tied with a festive bow, sprigs of evergreen and berries are artfully placed on the table, and your favourite candles are lit. It’s a combination of your aesthetics, Cater’s trendy taste and your personal definition of beauty that you’ve refined at Pomefiore. 

“It looks so good! ♪“ Cater comments while taking a plethora of pictures. You take a picture of him while he aims his phone at you for cute matching images. More than the food, it captures the memory and feelings which will always be sweet to you.

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat now,” you insist and the two of you dig into the dishes. Small talk ensures, from your favourite new series, the classes you have next term, and so on. Nothing life-changing but it’s comforting all the same. You two take turns feeding each other fun combinations from the charcuterie board. The carrot rose is tender with a crisp outside and the steak is soft and the spicy aioli helps cut through the fattiness. By the end, your stomach feels like it could rival Santa’s.

There’s a mountain of dishes to clean between all the plating and cooking that took place the last few hours. You know it has to be dealt with but the question is when.

Will you:

Clean right away

Take a break, then clean when you get back

Clean right away route has been chosen!

“Come on, we better clean it now or else Riddle might get upset. Or worse Trey could get mad!” you exclaim. Riddle raging is nothing new but upsetting truly was a scary experience. The vice dorm leader might never raise his voice, but you would have to pay for your mistakes too.

“That’s true. Cay-kun doesn’t want to see Trey-kun’s angry side! Alright!” With an exaggerated wave of his wand and an uttering of a spell, your boyfriend has quadrupled, “Time to clean!”

Washing dishes is never fun, but it’s not so bad with Cater’s clones and festive music blasting in the kitchen. You definitely need some hand cream by the end, but it’s satisfying to see everything cleaned up and tidy.

“Oh wow, you guys did a good job,” Trey compliments while entering the kitchen. He looks a little haggard, you’re sure there’s been some kind of drama that you want no part of, but it’s not the first time you’re glad Vil is your dorm leader instead of the other options. 

“I made an extra cake, but I won’t need it anymore. You can have it, don’t worry it’s not that sweet,” he offers while handing you a classic yule log cake. 

“Oooh! ♪ I like moderately sweet cakes! Thanks Trey-kun!~” Cater chimes.

“Thanks,” you decide to not ask the story behind it but make sure to flash a bright smile, “We’ll enjoy it! Make sure to get some rest!”

“Have a nice winter break,” Trey replies. You cut into the cake to discover it’s a dark chocolate roll cake with coffee whipped cream filling. The sponge cake is airy and light with a hefty hit of cocoa, and the filling is whipped to perfection with the bitterness of the coffee balancing out the sweetness of the dessert. It’s dangerously addictive and you feel like you could eat it forever.

“Want some?” you ask as your boyfriend simply cuts you another slice without getting one for himself.

“Just watching you makes me feel full!” he insists but you roll your eyes.

“Try a bite, it’s only a little sweet,” you insist and feed him a bite of your cake. You can see the hesitation in his eyes, but nevertheless he appeases you and tries some.

“Oh, you’re right! This is so nice, I wish I could just spend the entire holiday with you,” Cater comments. 

“Someday, we’ll get to spend the break together,” you reassure. You don’t push the topic, but you mean it. You want to spend so many more holidays with Cater, make a million more sweet memories, but for now the thought stays as a wish in your heart. 

Clean later route has been chosen!

“I’m so full! I might just fall asleep and take a nap,” you say with an airy laugh.

“Oh! Look it’s starting to snow! So pretty ♪” Cater points out. Suddenly, you feel inspired and take his hand.

“Let’s walk off this groggy feeling. Besides, isn’t it nice to walk in freshly fallen snow? You can take some photos for Magicam too,” you suggest.

“Kay!~” He allows you to drag him outside, but he interlaces your fingers together so you know he’s not too against it. You take a casual stroll through the campus, and Cater knows all the picturesque spots. You enjoy talking about everything and nothing, but it also feels rewarding when you two simply walk in comfortable silence without any pressure to fill in the gaps.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end and when you see a fuming Riddle in the kitchen, you know you’re in for it.

“The kitchen is a mess! You broke rule number ...” and it is at this point you tune out the annoyed dorm leader, his face isn’t red so you know it’s not that bad, but give Cater’s hand a squeeze and a rueful smile. The punishment dolled out is cleaning the kitchen without magic, just like the Queen of Hearts or something you ignored whatever logic Riddle applied to it, and you have to rewrite the rule 50 times.

“Sorry,” you whisper and Cater just groans. 

“I never want to wash another dish again!” Cater announces. You pepper his face with kisses as an apology and you see a smile peek through.

“Let’s head to my room,” your boyfriend suggests. And well, if his clones were the ones who completed the punishment of rewriting the rules as you enjoyed a make out session, no one needs to know.

[rosenbergh]

Attic slumber parties

I wrote a fic based on this post by @dashuisofanubis because I have no self restraint lmao

Summary: Noa has nightmares and doesn’t feel safe in her room after the events in the season two finale. Solution? Attic slumber parties which keep getting bigger.

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

So here’s the thing: when you’re minding your own business in your room and then someone you were supposed to be able to trust shows up, chloroforms you, kidnaps you, and wants to use you for a ritual along with her partner in crime (another person you were supposed to be able to trust!)—that’s kind of a hard thing to get over.

When it gets revealed that you’re an Egyptian princess, well, that’s something that requires some processing, too. Noa had her suspicions, of course, but to get it confirmed like that with a disgusting piece of skin in a baggie was…something else.

The whole ‘holding the grail up to save Jeroen from getting killed despite not knowing if she would survive the ritual’ thing was probably the worst of it.

But she’s dealing with it! It’s over, done, it happened. Wolf, or Raven, or whatever he wants to call himself, is gone and so is Vera. She prefers to focus on the positives, just forget the whole thing entirely and move on.

At least, that was the plan. When she’s back in her room in the attic, she gets this sick twinge in her stomach. Noa staunchly ignores it and crawls in her bed to go to sleep. The ghost is gone, too (the ghost that is her ancestor, because her life wasn’t crazy enough already), so she has all the peace she needs for a good night’s sleep.

She dreams about being in her room, a place that was supposed to be hers and safe, but Vera and Wolf are there. They sneer and laugh and mock her, you’re not Noa, you’re Fazia, and there’s rope around her wrists, and they’re in the tower—Raven is about to kill Jeroen so she holds up the grail despite his pleas to the contrary, except she doesn’t have the grail, it’s gone, and Raven and Vera are so angry—

She wakes up on the floor, her cheeks wet. “But I love you,” she’s saying. “But I love you.”

Disoriented, she looks around, and concludes she must have fallen out of bed. The dream is over, it wasn’t real. In reality, everything turned out okay, but she still doesn’t feel safe.

Eventually, she goes back to bed and cries herself to sleep.

-

The morning after her nightmare, she sees the bags under her eyes that she saw in the mirror reflected in Jeroen’s. She doesn’t need to ask to know that he had a nightmare, too. He doesn’t ask, either. Both of them know.

Amber, on the other hand, is well-rested and very concerned in that Amber way of hers. She asks if she’s okay, to which Noa replies yes.

“Are you sure?” Amber asks, her perfectly epilated eyebrows resting in a frown. “You look tired. Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” she lies. “I’m just tired because of everything that happened.”

She still doesn’t look satisfied. “Okay, but if something is up, you can always tell me. You know that, right?”

“Of course, Amber,” Noa says. “Thank you.”

The next evening, when she goes up to her room, Jeroen joins her under the guise of watching their favorite horror movies together. It’s very reminiscent of the first time they watched a movie together, except this time when they fall asleep in her bed, it’s deliberate.

Raven and Vera are gone but she’s still the ‘chosen one’, like she’s some overglorified unicorn instead of a human being, and what if there are other rituals that have to involve her? Other people that need her? The possibility of opening the door in her room to another Vera with more chloroform is not an irrational fear and she thinks that, actually, that’s the worst part.

It’s the worst of worst parts, and she dreams about people she trusts like she used to trust Vera and Wolf showing up in her room and the whole mess happening all over again, until she’s gasping awake.

“Whoa,” Jeroen says, steadying, like it’s not weird that they’re both awake at—she blearily glances at the clock—four in the morning. “It’s okay, you’re fine, you’re fine, Noa.”

She’s silent and just breathes while he rubs her arms like he’s trying to soothe the dream away.

“Sorry,” she says when she can’t take the silence anymore.

“For what?”

“Waking you up.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I was already awake.”

She looks at him as best as she can in the dark room, concerned. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?” he counters, which, well, she really doesn’t.

Still, despite herself, she confesses, “I’m scared.”

He’s running his fingers through her hair lightly, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“It’s okay,” he says again, like if he says it enough times it’ll be true. “It’s okay.”

-

They spend the next couple of nights like that, always careful to make sure Victor doesn’t catch him going to the attic at night. It doesn’t always stop the nightmares, but not being alone in her room helps.

“That smells godly,” Appie says, walking into the kitchen excitedly. “What is it? When is it done?”

Trudie gives him a reproachful look while Noa crouches down to put the batter in the oven.

“You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find out,” says Trudie.

Noa stands up again and gives him a smile. “I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Something baked by Trudie and Noa? I don’t doubt it.” He smiles back dreamily. “My taste buds thank you in advance.”

She laughs and Trudie exits the kitchen to start cleaning elsewhere.

“So, Noa,” Appie starts nonchalantly once they’re alone. “I couldn’t help but notice Jeroen’s bed has been empty these past few nights.”

“You noticed that, did you? Your powers of observation are out of this world.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are you crazy kids up to at night? Slumber parties? Ghost hunting?” He does a dramatic gasp, and whispers, “Karaoke?"

“No,” she says sweetly. “Sleeping.”

He frowns. “Well, that’s boring.”

“Tell you what, next time you can join us and liven things up, how does that sound?”

His eyes light up. “Yes, that’s a great idea! I told you, everyone needs a bed Ap. Without one, life is just too sad.”

“Okay, Appie,” she says, humoring him.

She’s sure he’s joking, right up until the moment when not just Jeroen shows up in her room that evening, but Appie as well.

When Appie makes himself comfortable and is clearly gearing up for some shenanigans, she sternly tells him she just wants to sleep.

“Okay,” he says. “So I guess you don’t want to hear about the time Jeroen stripped in front of a teacher.”

Jeroen’s eyes go wide.

“Tell me,” Noa urges, curious, ignoring Jeroen’s protests while Appie gleefully launches into the story.

They spend the rest of the night like that, telling ridiculous stories until they fall asleep. Not a single one of them have a nightmare.

-

The thing is, once Appie starts extending his nightly visits to more than just one time, Amber starts noticing it. And wants in. It’s really hard to say no to Amber when she’s determined, so Noa resigns herself to having three extra people sleep in her room.

It’s way too rowdy an environment for falling asleep in, and if they make more noise Victor’s gonna hear them, but when Noa laughs at Appie’s Victor impression, she doesn’t mind it so much.

“The last time I used my Victor impression, it was to con ourselves a bad replacement of Trudie. It backfired, though.”

Amber shudders next to Noa. “Don’t remind me of that.”

All four of them are in Noa’s bed, and it’s a really tight fit, but she can’t bring herself to demote them to a sleeping bag or chair this time, not when their prescence makes her forget the reason she doesn’t want to be alone in this room.

“Replacement?” Noa asks, confused.

They explain that Trudie had been fired, and as a result things at the house had gotten very unpleasant.

“He built a fence?” she repeats shrilly, before quickly lowering her voice. They’re at the attic, but there is a limit to the amount of sound they can make if they don’t want to get caught. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it was big and blocked the stairs to the first floor completely,” Jeroen confirms.

“And if we didn’t get up at a ridiculously early hour, we didn’t get to eat breakfast!” Amber says, still sounding incredulous about it. “I ended up fainting in class because I was so hungry.”

“So what changed? Why was Trudie allowed to come back?”

“Mick’s father pretty much saved the day,” says Appie.

Noa changes the subject, because the thought of big fences blocking her way out of the house gives her an icky feeling in her stomach. “Hey, Amber, I noticed you were wearing a new dress today. It’s really pretty.”

Amber looks extremely flattered. “Thank you! Finally, someone who can appreciate good taste.”

Appie and Jeroen exchange looks and eyerolls at the direction the conversation is going, but both are smiling.

“I think the clothes you wear are really pretty, too!” Amber continues, excited. “We should go shopping together sometime.”

“I’d like that,” she says. “I don’t always buy my dresses, though. Sometimes, if I have the time and fabric, I make them myself.”

“Really?” Amber looks at her with wide eyes. “I wish I could do that!”

“I could teach you,” she offers.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not really great with that sort of stuff,” she rambles. “I’m more of a ‘buy the most pretty looking stuff with my dad’s credit card’ type of girl.”

“Nonsense. Everyone can learn how to do it. You’ve already got the style, you just need the skills.”

Amber looks like she just handed her the moon. It makes Noa smile.

“Okay, as interesting as all of this is, I think it’s time we talked about what’s really important: horror.”

“No, Ap, I’ll get nightmares,” Amber protests.

“Well, then what else is there to talk about?”

“Something all of us can talk about,” Jeroen adds.

All are silent for a moment, before Amber perks up. “I’ve got it! We can play truth or dare.”

Appie grins. “Okay, but if it ends with Jeroen and Noa kissing again, I’m out of here.”

-

“This is getting ridiculous,” Noa informs them the next night while Nienke gets in the bed right next to Amber. Appie follows.

Fabian stands next to the bed, uncertain. “I don’t think I’ll fit. I can sleep in the chair.”

“You can fit, come on, just try it,” Nienke says.

“No, I agree with Noa,” says Jeroen. “This is getting way too cramped.”

“Well, then, why don’t you sleep in the chair?” Amber asks, sickly sweet. “And then Fabian can join us.”

Jeroen is silent and doesn’t move from his position, lying on the edge next to Noa. Next to Noa is Amber, then Nienke, and then on the other edge is Appie.

“That’s what I thought,” Amber says smugly to Jeroen.

Fabian smiles at them like they’re crazy and Noa is starting to think the same thing, but he gets in the bed next to Appie nonetheless.

It’s tight and Noa can barely move, yet somehow, when she falls asleep, it’s the best sleep she’s had in weeks.

-

(The next time she’s alone in her room, she doesn’t feel a sick twinge in her stomach. There’s the memory of getting ambushed by Vera, but there’s also countless of memories of sleepovers, and she chooses to focus on those—she feels safe again.)

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Cult of Luthor: Sleepover

The Danvers home almost makes Sam cry. Not for the home she used to have-- there's no similarity between the dark, dusty house she shared with Patricia and this wide, windowed house full of light.

Pictures of Kara and Alex hang on every wall, sit on every surface. The only photos Patricia had of Sam were baby photos, tucked into an album at the back of a closet. Life graces every inch of Kara's home, in the shoes left by the door (Kara's haphazardly, Lena's neat and square), in the magazines cluttering the coffee table, and the rumpled blankets along the back of the sofa, and dirty dishes in the sink.

As soon as they arrive, Kara and Lena divide and conquer. Kara relieves Sam of her backpack, while Lena draws her to the kitchen. She removes a plate from the cupboard and fills it with cut vegetables, pulled from tidy plastic containers already chilling in the fridge, and a sampling of fruits and crackers.

It's a simple offering, but it's the first produce she's had since telling her mom and it's so fresh and so clean that her body cries out in relief and Sam bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam waves Lena off, when green eyes snap to her in concern. Kara returns in that moment, surveys the scene, and lifts the sudden tension with a slanted grin.

"What did I say about making pregnant ladies cry, Lena?"

Lena pegs her with a roll of her eyes.

"No, please," Sam pleads, wiping her eyes even as tears continue to flow. "It's not-- you guys have been so great. Just-- hormones, you know?"

It's a cheap excuse not explain that after two months of cheap junk and fast food, a baby carrot is enough to move her to tears. That the kindness she's been shown thus far has come with an unspoken expiration date, and only after Sam asks for it.

Never offered, never given. Simply extracted, through pity and guilt and some social expectation to not turn a pregnant woman out on her ear.

"Thank you," she says simply, ostensibly for the handkerchief (an actual, cloth handkerchief) that Lena hands her, and starts filling her mouth with food.

Kara sits with her at the breakfast bar, filling the space with warm words of mundanity. Lena, on the other hand, remains in constant motion. She unpacks the dishwasher, clears the dirty dishes from the sink, and tidies the mail left in a messy pile on the table in the adjacent dining room.

She remains part of the conversation, deftly splitting her attention between task and Kara, until she dips out with a quick excuse me to start a cycle of laundry.

"She doesn't idle well," Kara says in a quiet voice once Lena is out of earshot. "But once she gets all the doable stuff done, she'll be able to relax some tonight. Hopefully."

Sure enough, Lena returns from the laundry room and seamlessly transitions to starting dinner, asking Sam whether she'd prefer lasagna or tuna casserole.

Sam almost moves to immediately demure, because really she's already imposing enough, but pauses when her stomach churns ominously at the thought of tuna.

"Lasagna sounds amazing," she says finally, feeling a warm flush spread up her cheeks. "Can I help?"

She almost expects Lena to dismiss her, in the manner of a consummate host, but Lena pauses herself, and nods.

"Eliza said she picked up some fresh Italian bread. I was planning to turn it into garlic bread..."

"I can do that!"

Kara pouts. "Aw, that leaves me with salad. That's the worst."

"No one's going to make you eat it, Kara," Lena drawls, already pulling out a box of noodles and a jar of tomato sauce.

Sam smiles at their banter. "I don't mind doing the salad."

Kara gives an exagerrated fist pump. "Yes!"

She does a happy dance all the way to the bread box, and Sam watches with happiness in her heart for the first time in months.

They don't put anything in the oven until later, and Sam tides herself over with an unending supply of cut melon as they all spread their homework across the table and get to work.

Well, Sam and Kara get to work.

Lena breezes through it, her pen flying across the page as she renders her solutions in neat lines. Sam finds herself watching her more than focusing on her own work, and Lena's focus is so intense that she only notices when she finishes the last problem with a final tick mark on her list of tasks. "Did you need help?" Lena asks. "Oh, no, I--" "Just say yes," Kara mumbles distractedly, head in her hand as she glares at her copy of the Crucible. "She teaches it better than the teachers being paid to do it. Trust me." And that's how Eliza finds them when she arrives home, hours later. As she pulls the lasgna out of the fridge and slides it into the preheated oven, she smiles at the sight of them with their heads together, Lena speaking in low tones as she breaks down a complicated formula and explains it in simple terms. She knows Lena's nearly seamless transition to the outside world is temporary. It's the result of her natural curiosity, and not a revocation of her belief in LuthorCorp's mission, or her faith in her brother. But even so, she's grateful for the friends she's making, and the warmth she spreads to those who need it. Sam enjoys dinner, and the momentary normalcy it brings. Once again, Lena's intelligence shines through in the words she exchanges with Eliza about her work. To her surprise, Sam finds herself able to follow along a little. Her afternoons spent in city library were good for something, at least. But Kara's prediction comes true once the table is cleared and the dishwasher run. They all gather in the living room, with books and music and sketches. Kara traces lightly in her sketchbook, and Lena bends over a diagram of SOMETHING from her seat on the floor at the coffeetable. Sam simply basks in the comfort, her eyelids heavy as she sits curled on the couch beneath a soft, warm blanket. When Eliza catches her eye, the woman seems to understand what Sam is unable to vocalize. "I hope you don't mind me asking, Sam," Eliza says, her voice gentle in deference to the warm quiet that fills the room, "but have you been receiving prenatal care?" Kara's pencil doesn't stop moving, but her eyes lift briefly in interest. Lena's head lifts, her features open and soft. Sam nods. "Yeah. I met with the school health nurse, and she pointed me towards some programs for young moms. I'm set on that, at least." Eliza nods. "Do you have any plans for after the baby is born?" "I'm keeping her," Sam states simply. "The rest I'll figure out as I go." She shrugs. "It'll be easier after graduation. Once I can get more hours, I can get an apartment of my own, and think about childcare." It's all she needs to say, but somehow, the words keep pouring out of her. "I've already been accepted into a few colleges, though. NCU offered almost a full ride-- I'd just need to pay for books and materials." Which is still considerable expense. "But I'd have to be a full time student, and I've been trying to figure out how to make it work, but I don't know how I can do it and still earn enough money for an apartment, and childcare, and everything else. But at the same time, I don't want to give up on school because-- what kind of example would I be setting?" Eyes burning, Sam presses her lips shut against the word vomit. No one's asked her before. She's never told anyone. But while doing so lifts tears of futility to her eyes, it also lifts the weight from her shoulders. "Sorry," she mutters quietly, wiping her eyes. "Don't apologize," Eliza soothes from her seat on the far side of the coffee table. "That's a lot of burden to take on all at once, especially without support at home." Swallowing, Sam shoots a glance to Lena, whose features had grown solemn in thought. "But I admire your dedication to see things through, and to set a good example for your daughter. It takes a great deal of strength to do what you're doing. I'm only sorry you're facing it alone." But Sam doesn't feel alone tonight. Especially not when Kara pulls her and Lena upstairs, and not when she makes the fortunate mistake of complimenting Kara on her braided crown. "Lena did it!" Kara practically crows. "Lena, you should do Sam's hair!" "Oh, no, that's okay--" Sam tries to wave it off, but Kara is insistent. "It's already a sleepover," she counters. "Now it'll be a proper one!" Which is how she finds herself on the floor between Lena's knees, slowly loosening under the gentle fingers that comb through her hair. Their talk soon turns to gossip, and Kara regales them with the story of how Barry Johnson once tripped over his own shoelace and knocked out his front tooth. Sam remembers it well, and the memory brings laughter to her chest. She cherishes it, and does her best to stamp this night in her mind-- the first, and likely last time her life has ever felt like the quintessential high school experience. Later, when her hair has been comfortably woven into a horizontal figure eight at the base of her skull, and helps Lena prepare a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of her bedroom. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed!" "You're pregnant!" Sam glares at her, and Lena relents. "I didn't think you'd want to share, but... I don't mind if you don't?" "There. Solution found. Now bring those blankets back, we're gonna need 'em." They slip into bed, and Sam's surprised that Lena doesn't roll to the far edge of the bed. "I shared a bed for years," Lena confesses a moment later. "I've been told I'm a cuddler, so I apologize in advance--" "I'm sure I'll survive." In the darkness, Sam feels more truth rising to the surface, just as it had earlier that evening. "Thank you for chasing me down today. It's been a long time since... I've missed being a part of things, I guess." Lena doesn't respond for a long moment. When she does, she sounds... hesitant. "I hesitated to mention it in front of the others but... Have you heard of LuthorCorp?" The biggest tech conglomerate inthe world? "Yeah, of course." "Well, they have an outreach program, called LuthorCares. It's dedicated to investing in new potential." Sam snorts. "Potential? Like, head hunters?" "No, I mean-- sorry, that probably sounds weird. I mean, when someone is eager to learn, but feel they don't have the means or opportunity, LuthorCares can help alleviate some of that burden. Members can stay in lodges all over the country for nominal fees, tutition assistance, even childcare." Sam stares at the shadowed ceiling, waiting for a catch that never comes. "You're so smart, Sam. And driven to do the right thing, both for yourself and your daughter. You're exactly the kind of person they want to help realize their potential." It can't be that easy-- the answer to all of Sam's problems delivered on a single platter. "Sorry," Lena apologizes quietly. "I don't mean to pressure you. I just hate that you might be forced to choose between your education and your child, when you could be free to have both." The raw honesty in Lena's voice sends Sam's threatening tears down the sides of her temples, to get lost in the tangle of her hair. Lena's fingers curl around her hand. "You deserve both," she whispers. Sam nods. "I'll look into it," she manages, clearing her throat. "Thank you, Lena." --- The next morning, Sam is amused to discover that in sleep, Lena's definition of cuddling is a face smooshed in the crevice between Sam and the mattress, her breath hot on Sam's back. She groans pitifully when Sam rises, but rebuffs the pocket of cold by pulling the blanket over her head in defiance of the hour. 

"See you tonight, you three," Eliza calls as they gather their things to leave. Sam's stomach clenches, arrested by what she's sure is a slip. But when she looks up, Eliza is looking right back. When the woman nods, Sam returns it with a wobbling dip of her chin before Kara grabs her by the hand and pulls her out the door. 

Continued: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Appendix A

[myssamyss]

Everything Stays, Part 5 of 6

Inspired by: “Malon 1″, “Malon 3″, and “Malon 4″ by Jojo

Part 5: Crystal Tide Rising

Warriors was wrong, and Wild felt lighter for it. A small weight had settled in his chest when Time first announced their detour, but the pasturelands that now surrounded them were certainly no castle, and the woman kissing Time looked nothing like Zelda. Instead, everything about this woman announced her commonness, from her simple cotton clothes to the long working-apron belted to her waist. She held Time with two strong arms that had clearly seen hard labor. Her hair was tied back in what would be an unassuming style, were it not for its startling red color.

The heroes murmured their surprise.

“It’s not Zelda, pay up!” Legend whispered with glee.

Warriors grudgingly handed over a bag of rupees.

Sky clearly didn’t mind being wrong—he was beaming widely at the pair. Wild glanced at Twilight, whose face held happy wonder, and at Hyrule who, to Wild’s surprise, looked just as excited to see Time’s heartfelt reunion with his redheaded spouse.

“Everyone, this is my wife, Malon,” Time announced proudly, sporting a brighter smile than Wild had ever seen from him.

They piled into a small ranch house. Malon greeted each Link in turn with a warm smile and kind words, and Wild was immediately struck by her sincerity. As she flitted from hero to hero, Wild took the opportunity to glance around Time’s house, noting simple plaster-and-wood walls that held weapons and presumed mementos, a small vase of fresh wildflowers, wooden furniture appearing modest yet well-kept, and unadorned windows that lit the rooms with country sunshine. The ranch house held the lived-in feel of a true home, and Wild’s heart cheered with memories of Hateno.

Time seemed cheerful as well. His good eye crinkled with devotion and remained fixed on Malon even when he shrugged out of his equipment and hung his sword casually near the door.  Wild noticed a new easiness to Time’s walk as he led the heroes outside to help with chores.

Later that afternoon, Wild joined Malon in the cozy kitchen. He’d been volunteered for cooking duty.

“My husband says you’re good with a cooking pot,” Malon told him, smiling. She grabbed a cotton apron hanging from the wall and tied it firmly behind her back, then she tucked her red bangs behind her ears. Wild gathered his long blonde hair and re-bound it securely just below his neck. The ranch kitchen was small but well-stocked, boasting a full array of cookware that Wild rarely had access to on the road.

He grinned and shrugged.

“So, I was thinking,” Malon said, “this many people, on such short notice but still hours before dinner? It’s gotta be-”

“Stew,” they finished together. Malon beamed, and Wild found himself laughing.

“Exactly,” Malon said. “And we have plenty of milk and fresh cream, so probably something with a creamy base...”

“Do you have any radishes?” Wild asked, an idea forming is his mind.

“Out in the garden we do!” she told him with a small bounce.

“I have a recipe, but we’ll probably need to substitute some things,” Wild considered.

“We have a full pantry, hopefully it’ll do. And I just canned some berries last week, so I was thinking of sweet bread and jam for dessert, if you can do bread,” she said.

Wild grinned. He thought of the small clay oven in his own kitchen, and sweet memories of restful days spent baking. “I can do bread,” he told her, running a bashful hand behind his scarred ear.

The clatter of utensils and easy conversation filled the kitchen as they cooked together in happy company. The experience felt oddly familiar, and Wild struggled to place it. His thoughts flashed to little Koko in Kakariko; was he remembering that time he’d helped her prepare the recipes she’d learned from her mother? But no, that memory wasn’t quite a match... Where had he learned to cook from? he silently pondered. He’d woken up with an uncanny knack for paring vegetables, simmering sauces, and picking spices that only grew stronger with each recipe he learned. Maybe he’d once cooked with his mother, too. He’d add it to his long list of things to wonder about.

Wild had just begun mixing a sweet glaze for the bread when the other heroes piled into the kitchen through the creaky back door, led by Time. The Old Man wore a white linen shirt that contrasted sharply with his usual armored appearance. He gathered his arms around Malon even as she vigorously stirred the huge, simmering pot on the stove, earning him a playful kick and mischievous grin from his wife.

Wild finished mixing the glaze in absentminded contentment as Malon and Time entertained the eager heroes with stories of their past. He turned to retrieve the bread dough from where he’d left it to rise, and suddenly realized that the previously lighthearted conversation had shifted.

“WHAT?” Time demanded, leveling his good eye at Malon.

“Now-now, don’t worry—” Malon returned easily, but Time cut her off.

“Don’t WORRY!?”

“Don’t you start!”

Wild stared in disbelief, but the argument faded as soon as it had begun. It wasn’t long before the spouses shot sly looks at each other and Wild could see there’d been no harm done.

He transferred the dough to a deep pan, then he dunked his floured hands into the sink basin, all the while marveling at how Time and Malon had built such familiarity that they could argue openly and still make up with ease. A contrasting memory of a moss-covered shrine, Zelda stalking angrily toward him, and his own conspicuous silence rose in Wild’s mind.

“No doubt you boys are all thinking about your own situations,” Malon told the group. Wild immediately dropped his eyes to the bread pan now clutched in his clean hands. Time’s wife was clearly perceptive.

“You know one Link, you know them all,” Malon continued. “I’m sure you’ve found a gal with a little sass. You’re all attracted to that spark. It’s like you boys love a battle or something.”

She thumped Time’s shoulder playfully with the back of her mixing spoon. He turned, attempting to catch her in another bear hug, and knocked over the full jar of jam Wild had left opened on the wooden counter. Wild’s eyes went wide as the jar flew, showering the Hero of Time in gooey purple jam.

Time froze. He lowered his gaze to his ruined white shirt. For a moment, Wild feared he might become angry, but Malon cut through the tension easily.

“What did I say,” she joked with a cheeky grin. “Looks like I won that battle.”

“You’re right,” Time began, turning to her slowly. “Then let me congratulate your victory!” he announced, snuggling into his wife’s side and playfully smearing purple berries across her rosy cheek.

Wild breathed a sigh of relief and popped the bread pan into the warm oven. As he took a seat at the crowded table beside Warriors, he watched the berry-covered couple dissolve into giggles.

Wild was struck by just how differently Time acted on the ranch. Warriors had been very wrong, because Time was relaxed and even playful here. He wasn’t a man constantly on duty. Here, Wild saw that Time had clearly found peace. He told Warriors as much in a low voice.

Warriors flashed him a knowing grin. “Sounds like that’s what you want, too.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Wild replied. “But I bought a house...”

***

The heroes fell into an easy routine of chores, hearty meals, and soft beds (or at least, soft blankets over a wooden floor, which was still an improvement to cold ground). On their third day, Wild was surprised when Time called him from the kitchen to muck stalls with Twilight. Wild figured he’d be more of a hindrance than a help to the farmer, but he went along anyway. The two friends grabbed pitchforks and began sifting manure from the hay. Twilight hummed loudly through a few minutes of work, then he turned and shook his head at Wild.

“Two things,” Twilight told him. “One: you gotta really get under that hay, not just the stuff on top.”

Wild rolled his eyes and dug his pitchfork deeper into the soiled hay.

“Two: can we talk about what’s going on with you?” Twilight asked pointedly. He stared at Wild across the horse stall.

“What?” Wild asked.

“C’mon, you’ve been a little off for awhile now.”

Wild nudged the edge of his pitchfork with his boot. He knew how important this detour was for Twilight, and he’d been trying hard not to dampen it with his own problems. “I’m fine,” he replied.

“Really?” Twilight challenged. He flipped his pitchfork over in his hands with quick ease and playfully knocked Wild’s ankle with the wooden handle. Wild stumbled, unprepared. Twilight twirled his makeshift weapon and came around for another shot at Wild’s leg. Wild fumbled with his pitchfork and attempted a block with the tines, but he was too slow. Twilight hooked them with his own pitchfork and smoothly disarmed him. Wild’s pitchfork sailed across the stable. It hit the wall with a dull THWAP, then fell into the hay.

Wild stared sheepishly at his lost weapon.

“It’s about your Zelda, right?” Twilight raised his eyebrows in knowing accusation as he relaxed out of his fighting stance.

Wild didn’t even bother acting surprised; he’d explained much of his past during odd hours of the night while taking watch alongside Twilight’s giant wolf form. Wild knew that trying to deflect his friend’s concern any further would be pointless.

Wild twisted his mouth and finally nodded. “I don’t think she knows how much I don’t know,” he admitted. “About her. And everything that happened. Before.”

Twilight set his pitchfork against the wooden wall and crossed his arms in front of his broad shoulders. “I thought she knew you lost your memory.”

“She does. And like, I’ve gotten a few things back. It’s just so few, I don’t think she knows how few.”

“Why doesn’t she know?” Twilight pressed.

Wild shrugged. “Well, I don’t say much when I’m with her.”

Twilight gave him a patronizing look.

“Wild.”

“What?” Wild’s voice came out more defensive than he intended.

“Why not?”

“I dunno, I don’t have much to say,” Wild said lamely.

Twilight chuckled. “That’s a lie. I mean, you don’t talk out of your ass, but when you do talk you have plenty to say.”

“Fine, I dunno then. I guess I never really saw myself talking with her, in what I saw from before. And it’s not like we’re traveling together for the company, we have work to do.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Wild thought of the diary that he still felt strange to have read. I wish to talk with him more, she had written, to hear him speak freely and openly. He wondered, had they gotten that chance to talk? In many of his memories she was clearly frustrated by him, but in later memories they seemed so close. And after they left the castle, she acted close. What conversations had passed between them that he could only guess at? Who had she been expecting when she woke him from the shrine?

He realized Twilight was still waiting for an answer.

“Well, no. But I mean, she never really wanted me there… And maybe she grew to like me when we were traveling. But that was old me. Before.”

“Seems like you’re really struggling with this. You in love?” Twilight lobbed the question so casually—it hit Wild completely off guard. His breathing tripped and his face flooded with heat as he sputtered for an answer.

Twilight let the damning silence linger for a moment, then he mercifully doubled back to Wild’s last coherent statement. “For what it’s worth,” Twilight told him, “I appreciate whoever the ‘you’ is now.” He gave Wild an affectionate shove that broke through his burning embarrassment.

“That’s so sweet, wolfie,” Wild shot back.

Twilight rolled his eyes and grabbed his pitchfork. “You know who you should talk to about this? Malon.”

Wild threw him a dubious look. “You’re just saying that because she’s your long-lost grandma.”

“No, I’m saying it because she’s smart and kind and she knows how to talk sense into troubled heroes.”

Wild recognized wisdom in Twilight’s point, but he still sighed and turned away. “I’ll think about it,” he told Twilight.

Twilight shrugged and dug his pitchfork into the hay as he began humming his song once more. Wild retrieved his own fork from the far side of the stall where it had landed. As Twilight’s notes filled the stable, he realized the song was familiar. Hadn’t Time hummed the same melody, after their conversation on the road? Come to think of it, the melody seemed to stir up a cloudy memory, as if he’d heard it long before meeting Time...

“Twi, isn’t that Time’s song?” Wild asked.  

Twilight glanced up. “Oh, yeah, he knows it too. We share a lot of songs,” he laughed. “It’s like our horse song—he says he learned that one from Malon.” Twilight beamed.

“What’s this one called?”

“I dunno.” Twilight shrugged and returned to mucking. Wild joined him, brushing the thought from his mind. But later that day, as Wild helped Malon prepare dinner, he realized that she, too, was humming the exact same tune.

“That’s a nice song,” he told her as she handed him two eggs.

She smiled brightly, then she poured a generous splash of milk over a steaming bowl of potatoes. “Thanks. It’s very special to me. Link wrote it. He plays it best.”

“Huh,” Wild said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t know he played anything.” He cracked the eggs into his bowl and began to stir.

“Few people do,” she returned.

Mysterious songs aside, maybe he should talk to Malon about Zelda, Wild thought to himself. Twilight was right, she seemed to have a wisdom about these things. A wisdom about Links, at least. And Time said she knew everything about his adventures. Surely Wild’s own situation couldn’t be more convoluted than the Old Man’s, he convinced himself.

“So, wanna tell me about this girl?” Malon asked him.

Wild’s wooden spoon clattered to the floor. “What?”

“Did I get it wrong?” Malon asked, her face becoming suddenly apologetic. “Sorry sweetheart, I shouldn’t‘ve assumed.”

Wild grabbed the spoon from the floor and dropped it into the soapy sink basin. “No, you’re right. It’s just… not like that.”

“Well, then why don’t you tell me how it is?”

***

Malon trudged back to the ranch. She led her horse by the reigns; she didn’t want to overburden the mare after such a long day. Her father had sent her on a tedious series of traveling chores that began before sunrise, and Malon felt overjoyed to finally be home. Maybe tonight she’d try talking with Link, she thought to herself. He seemed distant lately. Only a few months had passed since he’d found her in his room, the evening she’d broken his trust. Sure, they’d made up—Link had a knack for forgiveness—but she still felt a fierce need to defend their growing closeness. She feared making another careless mistake. Would Link be so quick to forgive again?

She returned the mare to her stall, then left the stable and caught a glimpse of the setting sun as it dipped just beneath the horizon. Chilled evening air met her face and crickets sang in the tall grass. And on the breeze, she heard another sound... a strange, clear, lilting tune rising from somewhere ahead of her.

The notes were pure and otherworldly. The sound was growing louder now as she approached the main corral. She turned past the stable. A dazzling sight met her.

The field beyond the fence was aglow in a half-dozen colors of soft light. Pinpricks of shining yellows and light blues twinkled in the grass among the thistle, while soft pinks and whites floated whimsically through the air. As she approached, the music grew louder still. Each note sang through the evening air with a keen clarity.

It was a familiar tune, yet it wasn’t. She recognized bits of her mother’s melody, but with unexpected climbs followed by dips that turned the song into something more daring. If her mother’s song spoke of contentment, then this song cried out with wondrous hope.

As she opened the gate, her eyes found the very person she hoped for: Link knelt in the middle of the field on a woolen blanket while lights twinkled all around. And there, held to his lips with both hands, was the ocarina. A path of flickering glass jars lit her way to him.

Link had been absent often lately, disappearing from the ranch at odd times to odd places and leaving Malon to worry that they were growing apart again. But now she realized that he hadn’t been pulling away, he’d been preparing.

The cool grass brushed against her ankles as she made her way across the field. She saw that some of the jars held yellow tea lights, but others were filled with a strange blue fire that licked at the glass. As she neared, she realized the floating lights came from dozens of fairies dancing through the air. Malon gasped in wonder. She had never seen so many fairies in one place before.

Link glanced up at her beneath heavy lids. The dazzling lights reflected in the shine of his eyes and their corners crinkled in a smile. Malon folded her skirt as she sat gently beside him on the soft woolen blanket. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she feared distracting him from his song, so she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from wandering and instead marveled at him as he played. His fingers darted across the instrument with a casual sureness and his chest rose and fell as he shaped each phrase. She’d heard him play only a few times before, and never with such sincerity.

The song slowed to a conclusion so sweet and hopeful that she felt tears welling in her eyes. Link lowered the instrument gently to his lap, then he raised his gaze to her.

“That was incredible,” she breathed.

Link smiled. “I made it for you. It’s your song,” he told her simply.

Malon felt stunned. She struggled with the gravity of his words. Because until moments ago, she doubted whether she would ever see the ocarina again. And now, he had used the ocarina to shape a song made just for her.

His face grew deadly serious as he carefully laid the ocarina beside him on the soft blanket. “I have something for you, if you’ll have it,” Link told her. His voice shook yet his eyes were resolute. Malon bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

He reached behind him and came back up with an ornate turquoise box, inlaid with gleaming yellow metal. He held the box out to her and pulled back the lid on its hinges, revealing what lay inside.

A large ring of sparkling amethyst and gold sat nestled on a satin pillow. The ring boasted a large center stone cut like a star, surrounded with dozens of smaller inlaid sister-stones adorning the band. The gems cast many-colored prisms of reflection in every direction around them. The ring was dazzling and entirely too much. Link’s face broke into a wide smile, gleaming in the light.

“Malon,” he began, and she saw the box shaking in his hand. “I love you. And I want to commit to you. No matter where or when we are, for the now and for the future.” He paused to draw a breath. “You are strong, and true, and kind... Will you have me?”

Malon nodded wildly as tears finally leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“Yes, of course!” she cried. “Of course, Fairy Boy, a hundred times over!” She threw herself into his arms and he caught her, as he always did and always would. She kissed his cheek and his eyelid and his nose before finally kissing his lips. He returned her kiss more deeply than he ever had before, running his free hand through the hair at the nape of her neck.

When they finally broke apart, Malon found herself giggling wildly. Link’s joyous gaze remained fixed on her as their chests heaved with shared breathlessness.

“So, you want this?” Link asked, one hand still clutching the ring box.

“I dunno, I’m kind of afraid to wear it…” she began, eyeing the ornate ring suspiciously. But Link’s wide-eyed look of eager expectation convinced her to reach out her hand. He slipped the ring to the knuckle of her finger, then she used her right hand to pull it the rest of the way. It would certainly take some getting used to, she thought to herself as she fanned out her fingers and studied the ring. Then she glanced around the wondrously lit field once more.

“I do have to ask one thing,” Malon began.

Link gave a small frown of concern.

“No, I didn’t mean to worry you!” she told him. “I was just wondering, how did you get so many fairies here, Fairy Boy?”

Link chuckled. “I just asked them,” he said with a small shrug. Malon gave a loud, clear laugh at the obviousness of his answer.

“Speaking of, thank you, everyone!” Link announced to the field, and the lights in the sky wavered, then began to flit away.

Malon watched keenly, fascinated, until the only glow that remained was from the fire-filled jars. Then she snuggled into Link’s side and tucked her cheek into his broad shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.

The two stayed entwined together, curled in complete, consummate happiness as the moon rose high in the night sky. ____________________ Author’s Note: thanks as always to @clumsydarknut for beta-reading. 

[somemilanlove]

Lemon Bundt Cake

Day 4 - I’ve decided to make something from the back of the book instead of going page by page in the front. Two reasons for breaking from the page by page playback of this book.

1. I don’t know how much longer the kids are going to be enjoying breakfast for dinner. 2. I didn’t get to the grocery store today for the heavy cream & mushrooms I am missing for the recipe. The truck is still in the shop, and the Land Rover is still awaiting its repairs under my carport.

I chose the Lemon Bundt also base on two reasons. Other than chocolate, lemon is my next favorite choice when it comes to desert and I also had all the ingredients to whip it up.

It was a super simple recipe and like the strawberry jam, I stayed up until 3 AM baking it. I feel like I work more efficiently when all the kids are asleep, and my husband isn't snoring next to me. So I sat on the far end of my recliner up until 10:30 working before I decided to get my workout in (that again turned into a double) showered & finally took myself back into the kitchen closer to 12:30.

I didn’t start baking right away. I cleaned up the kitchen and started to process my thoughts as I washed the dishes. I’ve been listening to a new book on Audible that really makes me evaluate myself and reflect on whether or not I’m on the right track for me or if I’m just checking off the boxes. Maybe you’ve read it too -Becoming Michelle Obama.

Today, she lost her father. I cried as she retold her story and I noticed a slight quiver in her voice as she read from her pages. It reminded me of my loss, not of my father, but of my grandfather. He was the closest thing I had ever felt of a loving father and I wondered if he would be proud of who I had become.

When he passed we weren’t as close as I wished we had been. I had been caught up in the mess life I was living. Juggling 2 toddlers, full time college student, and full time nurse. I would see him only on the occasions that I had managed to pick up some hours at the McDonalds back in our home-town. My real father & his new wife would agree to watch my boys while I worked.

It was sort of a way to pay me back for all the years he was absent and for his failings as a father to me. Sometimes I would get to see my grandfather on my way passing through. It would have to be at my dad’s house since I wasn’t quite comfortable being around my grandmother at that time. A tale for another time I’m sure.

He was a hard working man, never complained about anything & always joking as his Marlboro red hung out the side of his lip.  He had lived a hard life as most Mexicans his age had. Being a migrant worker all his life his dark skin was hardened by the sun. He hid his silver streaked curly hair beneath his white sombrero & always wore a long sleeved shirt when he went out. His hazel/amber eyes would look almost green when the sun hit them & always danced  with a smile when he spoke.

Even after 20 years he looked the same as I remembered him holding me when I was four. Every morning for the time my dad was around he would come over for coffee and woke everyone up with his joyful voice always saying “arriba todo lo que no sirve” (up everything that is no good). Only hispanics can say that and it be a loving way of saying wake up. I’m guessing. I would sit on his lap and he would share his coffee with me, joking that I wouldn’t grow if I drank it. I doubted it was true. I would ask him for a piece of chicle (gum) before I scooted off his lap and ran off to my room to lay back down and drift to sleep as he and my dad quietly chatted about their day.

I guess I too did not want to see the cold hard truth that his body was tired and he had become weak from his refusal to take responsibility of his diabetes and high cholesterol. We lost him right after Christmas, on my Dad’s birthday. I didn’t get to say goodbye or even tell him how much he meant to me. It was something we just don’t do in our family.  For years I just told myself that I had grieved his death before he died, knowing it would come soon.

Now I find that I just ignored my feelings about a lot of things missed out on so much of his life because of it. And he missed out on so much of mine as well I find I miss him the most when it rains. I see him in Addison’s eyes, which are a blessing and a constant reminder he is with me. She looks like him the most, amber eyes and dark curly hair, even his same quick wit & dancing smile in her eyes.

I miss him the same as any person misses a loved one that has gone, I suppose. I decided it was only natural that I think of him as I bake a cake, since he always like something sweet with his coffee. No matter what time it was.

I popped the cake in to the oven feeling super drained and set the timer. I drug myself to bed and lay next to Demarcus who didn’t notice I was still up. I  figured 50 min is plenty of time for me to take a cat nap.

It was a risky business but I had to rest my body. I shut my eyes only to open them again and feel freaked out! I leapt off our bed and ran into the kitchen. I thought for sure I had burned the cake!!

Nope, 7 seconds to spare! I pulled it out of the oven and it smelled so good! But even that sweet smell could not convince me to stay up an extra 30 mins while I wait for it to cool & transfer to a rack for more cooling. I left it on the oven and went to bed.

Day 4 ending with my “life's purpose” still a secret especially to me. On the bright side cake waits for me in a few hours. Goodnight grandpa, I love you.

[vic394]

The one with cakes

“This is the last time I let you decide how we spend the day.”

“I am Groot?” Rocket sneezed, sending small clouds of flour in the air.

“Nah, they won’t be that mad. We’ll just clean this u- ouch! Careful with the tail!” he shrieked in pain, as Groot pulled too hard at a piece of chocolate that got stuck in his fur.

With Rocket’s help, Groot wanted to bake something for the team. Plain and simple… at least on paper. Completing the task quickly turned into a traumatic experience that Rocket wouldn’t easily forget.

It started off smoothly enough; they found a recipe Groot liked, scavenged for the ingredients, bowls and whatever they might have needed. Then, they’d put themselves at work. Groot moved around with determination, impatient to see (and possibly eat) the result.

Unfortunately, he managed to get the ingredients anywhere but where they were supposed to be. Even with Rocket trying to maintain at least a bit of order, the room was a mess and the two of them looked even worse. Not that they cared, anyway. Rocket was more preoccupied about Groot slipping on butter and almost falling off the table. Multiple times.

By the time they put the cake batter (or what was left of it) in the oven and set a timer, Groot was half covered in cream, with a few pieces of egg shells attached to him like scales. Next to the twig, stood a disastrous assortment of chocolate, baking powder, raw eggs, flour and whatever ingredient you could name. Underneath that mix: Rocket.

“We may have taken this too far.” He said, taking in the half-destroyed room around him.

“I am Groot?”

“Yeah, I could use the help.” Rocket admitted, then smirked.

“But you go first!” with that, he took Groot in his arms and deposited him in the sink. The twig was having the time of his life, squealing happily as hot water washed over him. Rocket couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his content baby splashing around.

Once Groot was almost completely clean, he and Rocket sat on the floor, with the twig working hard to help the raccoonoid remove sweet stuff from his back and tail.

They weren’t done yet when the timer went off.

“I am Groot!” the twig almost shouted, excited.

The cake looked horrible. It smelled… okay? Rocket wasn’t sure. He was not an expert in the matter. But Groot was looking at it in adoration, like that thing alone held the meaning of existence.

“I am Groot?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m not sure this thing is safe to eat.” Rocket confessed. Groot stared at him, outraged.

“I am Groot!”

“I know that, just-“

“I. Am. Groot.”

“Ugh, fine.” Rocket capitulated “But I’m gonna try it first.”

“So, what’s wrong with him?” asks Peter.

“It looks like a severe case of food poisoning.” Replies Drax, exiting Rocket’s bunk “It surely has something to do with the mess we found in the kitchen.” he adds.

“I am Groot?” the twig asks, preoccupied. Peter hears a bit of guilt in his tone.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. He’ll be okay soon.” he promises. Drax nods in agreement. Groot smiles, comforted.

“Come on now, we have a kitchen to clean.”

“I am Groot!”

Notes: This is not a request, but it’s based on an almost true story: I had to bake a cake for my friends this afternoon, but I didn’t because I couldn’t find all the ingredients at the market. Instead, I spent almost two hours cleaning up my dog after she had fun swimming in mud and oh god I’m so damn tired. So I just mixed those two things and came up with this. It’s probably terrible, but I guess I just needed a happy Rocket and a cheap joke at the end.

[dannycaing]

IF DREAMS WOULD COME TRUE

IF DREAMS WOULD COME TRUE by Danny Caing   Date Written:  April 10, 2019

CHAPTER 1  THE WORKING CLASS

Nicolas Weinberger was a multi-trillionaire.  He owns a business chain corporation from construction, buildings, and warehouses,  residential housing, oil, and mining, banking, and finance,  marketing, and real estate,  the military-industrial complex,  airlines,  and shipping industries,  resorts, and hotels, and so on.  He was worth 8 trillion USD.  But he was not satisfied with his life at the age of 32 years when he inherited the fortune from his father.

One day he decided to change his lifestyle to an ordinary working guy next door.   So he rented a house with a garden in the backyard.   He has no television,   telephone, and computer but he has a refrigerator and an oven with a stove. He lives in a town with a population of 832 and works in a local grocery store. He drives on a second-hand bronco car.  No one recognized him without his beard because he looks much younger.

The grocery store opens at 8 AM. While Nicolas was attending the store, a young lady came in to buy three gallons of ice cream and two boxes of assorted cookies.

NICOLAS:  Children's party?

CHARLOTTE:  No!  It's for my big brother, Charlie.

NICOLAS:  That's a lot of ice cream and cookies.

CHARLOTTE:  Yes! He is five times bigger than me.  Are you new around here?

NICOLAS: Just moved in last week.  I think I like this place. It's cool.  By the way,  my name is Nick.  Nick Berg.

CHARLOTTE:  I'm Charlotte.  I teach in Elementary School just a few blocks from here.

NICOLAS:  Oh,  so you are a teacher.  That is awesome.

CHARLOTTE:  Would you like to come and join us tomorrow at school?   There are the stage play and choir performances of the children,  that is if you are free at 7 PM.  It's a simple gathering with parents in this town.  I hope you enjoy meeting them.

NICOLAS:  I will be there. Thank you for the invitation.

CHARLOTTE:  You're welcome.  See you later.

This is it!  Nicolas thought in excitement. There will be no more board meetings to attend,  no first-class dinners,  no midnight phone calls, no unending emails,  no stock markets review,  no more jet lags,  no emergency conferences, and no hectic appointments. It's Nicolas and Charlotte with her students tomorrow night. Nobody cares who he was,   just a grocery man.

The store closed at 5 PM.  On his way to the car, he saw a boy sitting on the bench in front of the store.

NICOLAS:  Hey kid!  Where's your mom and dad?

The kid stared at him blankly with a sad face and fell silent.  Nicolas noticed a tag on his neck with his name and address on it.   His name was Albert.  He was an autistic kid. So, he asked the boy to get into his car and then drove him home safely in front of his house on the address on the tag.  As he pushed the doorbell someone opened the door. The woman immediately embraced his son and told Nicolas that his father had been looking for him. She invited Nicolas inside the house to have some tea then she called her husband that their son is already home.   The couples, Marlon and Jennifer, asked Nicolas to stay for dinner with them.  They have three children,  the two sisters were Cleo and Bobbie, and the boy's name was Albert.

MARLON:  It's not the first time Albert got lost in the school.  Thank you so much for bringing him home.

NICOLAS: Don't mention it.  Everyone will do the same way I did when they saw Albert alone. You have beautiful children.   How are things going?

JENNIFER:  We're good.  Marlon is working on an uptown ranch while I do some part-time job in the church.  The girls are in elementary school.  Do you have family Nick?

NICOLAS:  No.  When my father died, I have to take care of everything he left me.  I have no time for family.  That's why I need this kind of break.

MARLON: We are sorry for your loss.  It's good to have you here with us Nick.   Please don't hesitate to call me if you need some assistance. We are always on your side.

BOBBIE:  Can you come again here on my birthday this Saturday?

Nicolas looked at once to Jennifer and Marlon with a gesture.  Both parents nodded to him with their smile.

NICOLAS:  Well,  sure why not?  Thank you,  Bobbie.  How old are you on your birthday?

CLEO:  She will be ten years old.  

During their discussion at the table,  Jennifer and Marlon were surprised to hear Nick's proposal on a business partnership. He planned to put up farmland that produces products that are in demand on the market. Though Marlon has doubts about what Nicolas has been talking about,  he still supported his ideas.

NICOLAS:  I saw many wastelands around here.  All we have to do is build a dam to irrigate the plantation.  Then we will put up a factory to produce products for export.  Windmills for electricity,  it's a clean environment project.

MARLON:  Count me in as your partner Nick.  Surely, this will uplift the economy in the community.  Where are we going to get financial assistance for the proposed projects?

NICOLAS:  We need collateral to get loans from banks.  Corporate aid funds through Foundation.

When Nicolas and Marlon looked to each other,  they both laugh out loud as if the whole thing was a dream.  Marlon accompanied Nicolas to his car and patted his back and said good night.  Nicolas shakes Marlon's hands before he drove away.

NICOLAS:  I had a wonderful time with your family Marlon.  That was a good dinner.  Thank you.  Good night.  

MARLON:  Good night, too.

While Nicolas was driving his way home,  in his thoughts,  he was serious about his plans.  But for Marlon and Jennifer,  it was just an extraordinary conversation of a man like Nicolas who lived a simple life with great ideas.

The following day after closing the store he went home immediately to prepare himself to attend the Elementary School program that night.  As he parked his car in front of the house,  he saw Charlotte at the doorstep waving and smiling at him.

CHARLOTTE:  Hello Nick!  Good afternoon. I brought some apple pie for you and an invitation card signed by all my students.

NICOLAS:  Good afternoon Charlotte. Well,  it's an honor. Thank you,   Charlotte.  Please come in and let's share the apple pie.  I think I'm hungry.

CHARLOTTE:  You know,  I cooked this pie especially for you.

On the dining table, they were talking about the children's show,  the songs they are to perform and the story of the play.  Then Charlotte offered herself to wash the dishes while Nicolas prepares to dress up for the occasion.  While they were on their way to school,  Charlotte sensed something on him.

CHARLOTTE:  What is it you're thinking?

NICOLAS:  You reminded me of my mom.  We usually eat together when she cooked her favorite apple pie.  She died when I was 12 years old.  I already missed her.

CHARLOTTE:  I'm sorry.

NICOLAS:  It was the best apple pie I ever had tonight.  I am grateful to you.

CHARLOTTE:  Likewise,  Nick.

As they arrived at the school,  the parents were in the theater room waiting for the show to start. Everyone was busy looking for their designated seats.  Charlotte has no time to introduce Nicolas to the parents instead leads him to his seat in front while she went backstage to organize the children for the show. During the children's program,   Nicolas remembered when he was a kid that his dad not even once attended on his stage performances,  it was his mom who is always present on the show. Right after the show,  there was a picture taking on the stage of children and parents and teachers and the guests. Nicolas thought this was an unbelievable experience sharing jokes and laughter with the working-class folks.   There was a buffet and the kids were seated on the long table while their parents were serving meals. Suddenly, four military helicopters were flying over the school area with spotlights and then they moved away.

CHARLOTTE:  It's the first time we've seen helicopters hovering in the school.  Could it be an emergency?   Let's watched the T.V. in the classroom?

MARLON:  Maybe it was just a military drill.

So everybody went inside the classroom to watch on the T.V.  for twenty minutes but there was no emergency broadcast,  it's all the regular shows.  They all decided to end the party and started going home.  It was already 8:32 PM.  Nicolas waited for Charlotte until everyone was gone.  He dropped Charlotte, Charlie and her mother to their house on his way home.  

CHAPTER 2  TWO MONTHS LATER

Nicolas has known all the folks in the community.  He would be attending Parents Council meeting on Wednesday nights,  playing baseball with the elementary kids on Saturdays,  attending a fellowship in the church on Sundays, and in the afternoon with Charlotte's family at home until dinner.  Charlotte taught him how to play the guitar and sing a lot of Beatles songs.  

One day,  Marlon invited Nicolas to go fishing on the lake with his family for a picnic.  Nicolas agreed and suggested to invite Charlotte's family with him.

NICOLAS:  How far is it?

MARLON:  Taking the short cut, it's just about thirty-two miles along the dirt road.  It's beautiful out there on the lake.  There's a waterfall on the upstream east side and hot spring.  We're leaving on Saturday early morning.

One Saturday morning,  there were two vehicles in convoy along the country road.  They went through eight wooden bridges, three road crossings, and two creeks before reaching the lake.  Nicolas was amazed by the view of the lake. He can hear the birds chirping.  They went fishing,  hiking to the waterfalls and swimming in the lake.  Nicolas had a good time that day.

It was almost dark when they were packing the things they saw eight jet fighters in the sky.  Marlon decided to take the hi-way in going home because it's so dark and foggy on the dirt road. One hour later along the hi-way,  there was a barricade in front of them.  Suddenly two helicopters were hovering above them with spotlights.  Then they were surrounded by soldiers with a gas mask and protective camouflage suit.

SPEAKERS:  Stop!  Do not enter!  The area is prohibited.  This is not a drill.

They were escorted by the military vehicles to a nearby base complete with biological-chemical facilities. There was a quarantine room for virus detection and an isolation room for those who were infected. Everyone passed the medical check-up except Nicolas. He was transferred to another secured military medical base for further analysis.  That was the last time they saw Nicolas.  Upon arrival on the Medical Base,   Nicolas met a high ranking General and a Senator.  An adviser to his Corporation told him that they have to condone the perimeter of the town for his security reason.

CHAPTER 3  TWO YEARS LATER

The town has increased its population to 8,320 with new structures and business offices downtown.  There was a new school building,  hospital, banks, hotels, gasoline stations,  restaurants like McDonald,  Kenny Rogers,  Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Starbucks Coffee.  Fifty miles circumference around town were different crop plantations, factories, a dam for irrigation and windmills for electricity.  On the east side of town is the new middle-class subdivision where Charlotte and Marlon's family live. Marlon is the Manager of one of the factories. Charlotte is the Principal of the new Elementary & High School Building.  

On Saturday night,  there was a dinner party hosted by Marlon and Jennifer at Kenny Rogers Restaurant. It was the 12th birthday of their daughter,  Bobbie. Charlotte's family was present including Marlon's close associates,  relatives, and friends.  Marlon suddenly raised his glass for a toast and called the attention of the guest.

MARLON: To the man whose ideas have changed our lives and dreams become a reality.  Wherever you are,  you are always in our hearts.  You are the man,  Nick.

CROWD:  You are the man,  Nick.

The crowd cheered.  There was laughter and chatting with one another.  Marlon was busy shaking hands with all the guests in the restaurant.  Cleo went to Charlotte and whispered to her ear.

CLEO:  I think I just saw Nick at the door.

Background Music: "IF DREAMS WOULD COME TRUE" by Danny Caing https://soundcloud.com/wet-glass-album/if-dreams-would-come-true

All Rights Reserved Wonderful Stories Limited Copyrighted @ 2019

[tinymixtapes]

Feature: 2017: Favorite Labels

When I was a shithead high school kid playing in my first punk rock band, I’m pretty positive that my cohorts and I dedicated much more time to hanging out in a Denny’s booth sketching logos and fine-tuning our astoundingly under-researched shortlists of the record labels that would ideally release our first earthshaking longplayer than we ever dedicated to, ya know, “writing” and “practicing” songs. But strangely, I don’t think this sort of thing happened because we were “lazy.” I think it’s because, a lot of times, the brand name counts even more than the music does. And I guess we all kinda understood that, even back then. Sure, we may all walk around our lives most of the time pretending like our choices and justifications are all pure and internally driven… but — as the introductory statements to three solid years’ worth of these Favorite Labels lists all ably point out — that shit is a straight-up hallucination. What we all really need at the end of the day is to feel assured that we’re part of a bigger story. We want those choices backed up by some weird, impossibly infallible guarantee. On a grand scale, this whole project represents nothing less than the most utterly serious of metaphysical business: nothing and no one stands on their own. Individuals are forgotten. Lines have endpoints. Organisms wither and die. We see this. We know this. We hate this. Brands, on the other hand, endure. Those glorious abstractions known as “classifications,” “families,” “institutions,” and so on can’t be killed. In other words, we’re not just talking comfort here; we’re talking Immortality. But even on the level of our day-to-day exploitation and/or enjoyment of culture, it holds true. For example, even now, as I try to reconstitute the narrative, some of my favorite records of 2017 didn’t just “come out.” They “came out as editions on Sean McCann’s Recital program.” As a writer, I found it downright difficult to parse and explain the evolution of certain monikers without using Hospital Productions as a scaffolding or to discuss this-or-that artist without shouting-out Posh Isolation. And I’ve got to fess up to the fact that, as a fan, I attended several shows and bought several records based on their Don Giovanni tag alone. Is any of this compulsive brand-association particularly justified or fair? Objectively, no, I guess not. But that’s exactly the point: categorizing frail, transient little things into grand structures that transcend the worth of each of those little peons when tallied individually not only provides a nice distraction, but it also helps cocoon us — however temporarily and delusionally — in a cozy and structured-yet-flexible hammock rather than leaving us all sailing naked through the silent, freezing, soulless, limitless, and immeasurable depths of deep space at a million miles an hour. So, um, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just go head and keep clinging like grim death to all the delusional institutions I can get my mammalian hands on. In fact, here’s 14 or so that you might find handy too. Take ’em or leave ’em. –Dan Smart --- Noumenal Loom [$EGA & THE RAINBOW STREETS · TOIRET STATUS · PASCALE PROJECT] Since 2013, Noumenal Loom, run by Garrett Crosby, a.k.a. Holly Waxwing, out of Birmingham, Alabama, has been pogoing around the globe to gather together all sounds exciting and excitable. So far, the label has pepped us way up with seminal releases by aggregative electronic wizards Foodman, Giant Claw, and Seth Graham, while concurrently winding down with gentle albums from the lovably chill likes of Tuluum Shimmering and Angel Dust Dealers. Their 2017 roster opened with an addictively danceable cassette from DJ Voilà, and whether the label has been exploring techno, funk, smooth jazz, or muzak, it’s been an idea of bodily movement that has unified all of this year’s tapes and albums. We’ve window-shopped with Haha Mart and loosened into a swaying groove with Jasper Lee and Earthly. Bouncy releases from Pascale Project and $3.33 scrubbed the dance floor clean, and, to round out the year, the label just dropped two back-to-back bath bombs by $ega & The Rainbow Streets, a new project from Kenji Yamamoto, and some mind-boggling impishness from Toiret Status. Amidst all kinds of paralyzing madness outside, spaces and sounds that invite such movement feel distinctly joyful and freeing. –Cookcook --- Hands in the Dark [BYRON WESTBROOK · BRIAN CASE · MATT JENCIK] Even French label Hands In the Dark’s name dallies with the corporeal, alluding to a sense beyond the visible, a prickle or a tickle when the lights are off. Label founder Morgan Cuinet has compiled a walloping roster of experimental artists whose work mines the occult affect of sub-bass, the pilomotor reflex to binaural wizardry, and the pineal proprioception to the encounter between ambie(/a)nce and the human ear. It’s hardly a surprise, then, that the artists represented — among them Matt Jencik, Brian Case, and Byron Westbrook — positively bodied the electronic music scene in 2017. Even from the pirouetting opening seconds of Westbrook’s “Dance and Free Fall,” the opening track off Body Consonance, tendrils of sound coagulate and consummate with the ear, consonate with the flesh, palpitate along with the temple’s pulse. Mastered by Helmut Erler and TMT favorite Rashad Becker at Berlin’s Dubplates & Mastering, these delicately fashioned transmissions massage and clench, stimulating the viscera and churning the gut. Hands in the Dark has quietly built a catalog of ambient music with gumption, a dance music for the synapses and for the goosebumps. The future is now: forget your antidepressants and anhedonia. With hands and feet and neck and back — in the dark or in the light — we’re getting sensual. –Benjamin Eckman Bieser --- Nyege Nyege Tapes [RIDDLORE · OTIM ALPHA · MAKAVELI] Luck’s acute attribute is having enough faith in letting go of the good and/or bad; a bird shits your in hair: half-think you won the lottery, but you keep thinking, a bird shit in my hair. Communication will forever be sharpened through adverse arts. Nyege Nyege Tapes bugged on 2017 with some excellent cultural deep-dive for listeners to gnash. What hit first was the jux-flow of “Ukuti” by Disco Vumbi. Immediately after, Riddlore’s Afromutations banged so hard, listeners lost direction of “Why?” and pursed immediate: “What timeline does Nyege Nyege Tapes abide by?” The third release defined another unique MC’s entry, Gulu City Anthems by Otim Alpha, baring a certain soul that comes more with the certainty of songwriting than production. Mysterians’s Joyride on Judgment Day was a gem that power-washed nodes on a level of intellect we won’t find until all the pieces of blasted-ambience have fit. But most importantly, Sounds of Sisso vibes on such a level of reappropriative, cultural instinct, one forgets to even find the magnitude of hype, purely grappling at the textures of rhythm. Nyege Nyege Tapes defines the stripped-down airfare to where prestige and lister-expansion take the next step. –C Monster --- Recital Program [ROGER ENO · DICK HIGGINS · MARY MAZZACANE] Whatever happened to the classics? Did we just get over them? Or rather, did they get over us? Is it still possible to remain just a little bit old-fashioned in a world that’s progressing at an exponential rate, when what happened even yesterday is archaic, forgotten, meaningless? For one, maybe study up on Sean McCann’s Recital Program, which spent yet another year shattering the glass walls between “high” and “low” art, proving again that everything is fascinating if we just look a little closer. Between exploring the lost lineage of the Mazzacane/Connors family, exposing the ever-tumbling wordplay of Dick Higgins, and issuing regal, flowing piano works from the likes of Michael Vincent Waller and Roger Eno, Recital kept its cool amidst a musical landscape that continues to self-implode. In reclaiming the opulent world of the classical for the underground of today, McCann’s label creates its own sort of beautiful order out of chaos, a theater in which the mundane and the ornate can freely converse and even trade places for a while if they so choose, unshackled from the class boundaries that so often keep the two camps railing against one another. Whatever happened to the classics? They’re living among us now. –Sam Goldner --- Music from Memory [BENE FONTELES · DUB OVEN · GAUSSIAN CURVE] “Music from Memory” is a misnomer and double entendre both. The records released by the Amsterdam label can’t be from memory in its most common meaning, simply because they have almost never been heard by “the masses” before. The music does, however, come from what could be called a place of memory. It has the ability to instill nostalgia for mysteries, to create attachments to unlived experiences. What started with the phenomenal Vito Ricci full-length in 2015 and was constituted with the Dip In The Pool reissue in 2016 has, this year, become a stalwart of archival transcendence. Although it’s often titled a “reissue label,” every 2017 release out of Music from Memory feels incredibly new. Psychedelic Brazilian music comps feel dime-a-dozen these days, but 2017’s Outro Tempo pillars over them all. The clunky disco of Dutch DJ Richenel feels a step ahead of contemporary house nostalgics. What the label provides is a sort of one-way mirror, looking at a past that was dreaming of its future. The attention to detail and arduous curation that goes into every record from Music from Memory highlights not where we went wrong, but what was done right. –E. Fosl --- The Worst [MINOGAME · X.NTE · ANCIENT ORIGIN] The Worst couldn’t be more misnamed. Since January, the Tennessean netlabel has birthed a baker’s dozen of the squelchiest/geekiest/sugar-sludgiest breakcore the bowels of SoundCloud have to offer. Spearheaded by visual-artist-cum-producer Minogame, the imprint functions as the post-internet era’s answer to the Smithsonian Folkways, cataloguing cyberpunk transmissions from the web’s uncharted territories: aside from surface-level nods to Warp’s cheeky humor and penchant for cluttered drum-breaks, much of the label’s output represents the hyper-individualism within a late-capitalist state that has driven us deep into our own curated aesthetics for solace. The aforementioned Minogame’s a tribe of one, signified by their Lascaux-like scribblings and math-rock source material. The prolific Ancient Origin is also a culture unto itself, one informed as much by Animal Crossing’s pastoral tradition as it is by mid-aughts crunk mixtapes. Visit The Worst’s Bandcamp, click a record cover, and assimilate: this is an expansive charting a miniature world. –Jude Noel --- Profound Lore [BELL WITCH · SANNHET · FULL OF HELL] I’ll be real: last year, I hadn’t heard of Profound Lore Records. Sure, I knew a ton of their past releases, like those of Krallice, Altar of Plagues, and Nadja, but I wasn’t fully conscious of the brilliant and gnarled web that tied them all together. The fateful moment that changed all that was the December release of Ash Borer’s superb The Irrepassable Gate, which was one of the most truly badass black metal records I’d heard in years. I became obsessed, and I started paying attention to Profound Lore (run by the great Chris Bruni). Enter 2017. I came into this year ready to chomp on anything Profound Lore released, and what a fucking year they’ve had. Pallbearer’s Heartless was a thrilling, prog-tinged doom journey that was as compelling as anything the band has done. Full Of Hell’s Trumpeting Ecstasy was an impeccably produced and excellently paced grindcore album, one of the year’s best in the genre. And then there was Loss’ magical doom odyssey Horizonless, whose grizzly howls brought an appropriate sense of melancholic yearning for listeners in 2017. And let’s not forget Sannhet’s aggressive and relentless So Numb, a refreshingly powerful exercise in instrumental metal. But, in my opinion, Profound Lore’s crowning achievement for the year was Bell Witch’s Mirror Reaper, a breathtaking, bass-laden drive through the great beyond via glacial doom metal. The label capped the year off with this month’s epically unsettling 7xLP Rainbow Mirror by Prurient, a release that delivered a whole new set of mysteries and moods for us to relish as we slide gracefully into 2018. I raise my glass to you now, Profound Lore, as I have many times in my life, whether knowingly or unknowingly. You have brought a significant amount of beautiful music into the world this year. Thank you. –Adam Rothbarth --- End of the Alphabet [AKE · OMIT · MARHAUS AND MEEK] I have often wondered the existential meaning behind Noel Meek’s End of the Alphabet label. I can conjure many shortsighted missives about the location of New Zealand, the idea of the letters X, Y, and Z being largely ignored and underused, or perhaps the notion that those same letters are quite weird and therefore loosely lumped together. So I’ll stick to a combination of all three, which is why EotA is such an ear-opening experience. Whether it’s via Meek’s own releases and collaborations, or those spotlighting both his New Zealand and its surrounding — and equally ignored — regional sounds. Considering how stuck Western culture seems to be, I’d rather delve into the XYZs of our globe than the ABCs. –Jspicer --- MOTOR Collective [KLEIN & LACK · SABERTOOTH · R. GAMBLE] Tucked away in the fogs of the Pacific Northwest, this year the gang at MOTOR Collective did not “break through” so much as further refine their version of dance music — moody, spacious, and deep, yet grounded enough that you can actually move to it. MOTOR releases (as well as their excellent parties and podcasts) feel less like music for the club as we know it and more like the jump-off point for some head-trip gathering in the forest; the sense of a group yearning for this vision carries across records as varied as R Gamble’s Realistic Spaces and Heidi Sabertooth’s The Hear Of Now (both highlights for the year). That you can still hear the tape hiss on many digital versions of MOTOR tracks (as opposed to the hyperreal, LOL-perfect rendering of so much modern electronic music) speaks to what the label is going for. Like mighty ponderosa left in the rain, it’s imperfect and gently warped, still sturdy, and full of personality. –Dylan Pasture --- PERMALNK [DETENTE · LEO HOFFSAES & LOTO RETINA · BENOIT B] The Parisian label PERMALNK has been offering what it calls an “empathetic image of the world” since 2014, but it wasn’t until this year, with three strong releases, that it brought that image into clearer focus. The empathy of DETENTE’s Basic Dwell is reserved for the world’s smoldering and static-charged bits, where its energy is locked up, and from whence it manifests in stuttering impact and action-movie fidelity, accompanied by the grungy tremolo of guitar. Léo Hoffsaes and Loto Retina collaborated on Early Contact, the intimate story of a woman’s day out with her son and husband as her second child squirms in her belly, with uterine gurgling joining airy string melodies in a duet of nervous anticipation that spreads, as if contagiously, from narrator to listener. Far from both the incidental onslaught of Basic Dwell and the human intimacy of Early Contact, Benoit B’s Ethereal Drops addressed itself to the world as if to a fantastic, New Age-adjacent vision of nature. Its tracks, like the standouts “Sparkling Stream” and “Diamonds Rain,” combined a high, animalistic chirp with pads colored in shades of balearic and trance, constructing an image that, like artist Tavi Lee’s album cover, carries about it a worldly air, even in its bold color palette and surreal bending of the edges of its “natural” forms about one another. In 2017, PERMALNK has accomplished something rare in releasing three albums with little in common aside from an adherence to the label’s noble mission statement and, more importantly, an uncanny coherence as individual works of art. –Will Neibergall --- Posh Isolation [CROATIAN ARMOR · DAMIEN DUBROVNIK · KYO] In some secret file on Loke Rahbek’s hard drive, one can find my full frontal nudes along with a genetalia garden of many other bodies, desecrated and devalued, for they all were exchanged, vulnerability for vulnerability, with a cassette tape of Croatian Amor’s 2014 album The Wild Palms. In the commodification of the world, all things are abstractly identified with an exchange value, where even vulnerability has a value, for the body is as expendable as every other image. Yet, here we give one’s inability to give as a gift — one’s vulnerability. The self-interest of commodity economy is abdicated in preference of a gift exchange. Here, Rahbek creates an artificial space to find other people. Posh Isolation’s forays beyond noise and industrial to lyrical ambient and minimal techno belie industrial music’s foundation in the incommunicable dissonance of the world of industrial capitalism, where seeking to be heard above the din is a project worthy of art. By fetishizing the empty object in the artificial space of performance, this bubblegum industrial forges impossible connections that, though artificial, become pleasurable and therefore real. Through pain directed inward, as if pierced by a great many arrows, we confirm that one’s self is irreducible to the abstract identification of the commodity, as Saint Sebastian his beauty. The ultimate need to make contact snaps one out of artificiality. In 2017, the cold has become a little bit warmer and a sort of sincerity is resuscitated. –Evan Coral --- Don Giovanni [SCREAMING FEMALES · AGUA VIVA · LEE BAINS III & THE GLORY FIRES] What’s opera, doc? Opera is text by tune splitting story, Italian for “work.” Opera is Don Giovanni, some Austrian seraph’s diminishing sevenths flicking humans into shouting until the sound shakes our hearts. Hearts and mouths shout, so listen: Joe Steinhardt and Zach Gajewski played in a bad band at Boston College, made their own 7-inch, and voila: opera via Don Giovanni. It’s music label as New Brunswick new alternative, nixing commercial interruption so artist and audience are fleet free as a Mozart minuet to trade roles and help each other. “Anyone can do anything and not just that, everyone can do everything. No one’s fucking special,” Steinhardt reminds us. In an ashen historical moment, those words are totem for remembering the good work of “nobody lives unless everybody lives.” Don Giovanni is Aye Nako’s rim shot disrupt-punk and the geography-atomizing Lee Bains III & The Glory Fires. It’s Irreversible Entanglements, unmetered jazz outfit as union collective and A Piece of Water, the Buenos Aires tidal pool dream of Agua Viva, a body’s buoyancy over oppression. It’s La Neve’s American Sounds, a non-binary bodying the electric song as new national anthem sans strict script and the breaking “Glass House,” Screaming Female’s yowl of a collective body’s mission to re-member shards of 2017’s ill-reality into something better for every body. The music label model is the original resisting force, the libretto punk show, a two-fold work of labor output and piece created. Don Giovanni refuses repenting like the title character and screams high C’s into hell, a Looney Tunes promise that everything is movable except good work. Don Giovanni is the good work, opera for us by us. No one’s fucking special. Everyone’s fucking special. –Frank Falisi --- Piratón [MINICOMPONENTE · UPGRAYEDD JESSICA · AMAZONDOTCOM] OK, you caught me; Piratón Records isn’t as prolific as some of these other labels. As far as I can tell, it currently only exists as a Bandcamp page, and since its founding in 2015 by Mexico City musician and music journalist Carlos Huerta (a.k.a. Josué Josué), there are only four releases, all available for free streaming with a “name your price” option for download. One of them, Ruido’s 2015 FUN LP, is a totally bonkers instrumental hip-hop/chip-tune/synth punk thing. Two of them are compilations in a series called No hay más fruta que las nuestra, which means, “There is no fruit other than ours,” a play on a quote by Mexican social realist painter David Siqueiros: “No hay mas ruta que la nuestra” (“There is no other route but ours”). This year’s No hay más fruta que la nuestra 2 is why I’m writing this blurb. Like its 2016 predecessor, it features all kinds of music by female artists from Latin America and Spain. TMT favorite (Upgrayedd) Smurphy is on it, along with 11 other incredible ladies whose work spans pop, punk, rap, techno, and folk. It’s basically all I’ve listened to this year (besides, like, DAMN. and A Crow Looked At Me, so you know it’s good but ultimately responsible for way fewer tears). Snarkiness aside, I hope that somebody finds this at least half as empowering as I did this year. Life fairs a little better when your music’s this good. –Jazz Scott --- Hospital Productions [LUSSURIA · RAINFOREST SPIRITUAL ENSLAVEMENT · NINOS DU BRASIL] 2017 was the 20th year in the business for Dominic Fernow’s Hospital Productions. The label celebrated with tastefully grim releases that fit nicely under the three categories of Fernow’s own projects, Vatican Shadow, Prurient, and Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement. Like Demdike Stare’s DDS and Oneohtrix Point Never’s Software imprints, Hospital Productions never strays far from Fernow’s infernal circle of influence. The label eschews the convenience of modern platforms, preferring physical record stores and distributors like Boomkat and Bleep to platforms like Bandcamp and SoundCloud. Aesthetically, the labels seems to occupy a razor-thin void that exists between the chic, palatable throb of ambient techno — the sort of jilted, swooning sound that intellectual architecture students in horn-rimmed glasses and ket-heads in crop tops can bond over — and the always unpalatable, unpredictable underground noise scene. The latter is the spawning pool of Hospital Productions, a realm of cut-and-paste cassette art and “noise tables,” which basically kept the National Audio Company in business until avant-garde electronica and Urban Outfitters found tapes to be a fashionable medium again. It’s a dangerous game Fernow plays: with every high-bias, 180g limited-edition release at the luxury price point, he runs the risk of playing to the “market,” whether ironically or for personal gain. Industry politics aside, the music is of scrupulous quality and gluttonous proportions. Hospital Productions is committed to releases of staggering, atmospheric scale: the monolithic physical LPs and cassette boxes are like dense artifacts, adding to the imprint’s quasi-archaeological mystique. Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement put out a few large cuts, coming over two hours on a reissue of Green Graves. The project also put out an eight-cassette compilation titled Water Witches, one of many such bricks of tape that the label would drop. Another eight-hour box set of 8xCS was released for Dust Belt’s brooding, dark ambient on Ecocannibalism, and then of course there was the 6xLP release of Prurient’s massive Rainbow Mirror, which was co-released with Profound Lore. The club side of Hospital Productions is equally grim: Ninos du Brasil released their second full-length, Vida Eterna, a bludgeoning set of trance-inducing Latin rhythms, as well as another 12-inch. Natural Assembly put out The Fantasy of Love, a mix of post punk and deep house. Shifted drew a converging plane between metal grooves (the rhythmic kind) that sound like they’ve been rubbed out of literal metal grooves and outsider techno beats on Appropriation Stories. As much as I hate the “outsider” term, there’s still not much of a vocabulary for the sort of undanceable, fringes-of-the-club-basement beats that Hospital represents so well. –Ross Devlin http://j.mp/2iT0sDJ

[chasingforeverandaday]

Stop the World & Melt with You: Chapter Six

Hey look! It's done! Yay! Sorry this took for-freaking-ever to get out, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who has put up with this rollercoaster, you guys rock!

I apologize for the long absence of updates, but finals season sucks, so will be so glad when that's over next Thursday (for me at least). I then have three weeks before summer classes start up, so hopefully I'll have an update of don't trust the devil inside set to go soon. I also may decide to ignore studying for Business Law again, and it might pop up later this week.

Chapter Summary: Date night going off without a hitch seems a bit too good to be true...

Also on AO3

Lenore was at the office, leaning back in her chair with her feet up on the clean part of her desk, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. It was Friday afternoon, and she did not give a shit what anyone thought of her behavior. She had a date tonight.

“So, the plan is dinner at your place at seven, right?”

“The plans haven’t changed in the past two minutes Lenore.”

“Oh hush you. I swear I’m not purposefully being neurotic, I just want tonight to go perfectly.” Sighing, Lenore’s anxiety over the evening bubbled up again, leading her to sheepishly rush through the next question. “And we’re having?”

“We’re getting takeout from Mia Z’s, as previously agreed upon.”

“Sounds perfect, I don’t think we need the entirety of the New York Fire Department crashing a date, our friends seem do that enough all on their own. And remember-”

HG cut her off, rattling off Lenore’s favorite order by memory. “‘Fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken and all the extra garlic, with a side salad and fresh breadsticks.’ Did I miss anything? I promise I am completely capable of planning a proper date Lenore, scout’s honor.” He paused, the rest of her comment coming back to him, before continuing indignantly, “And I am not that bad of a cook!”

“Please, you know you love the garlic. Whatever you end up with is also going to have a shit ton of garlic in it, we’re having Italian, it’s kind of a given. Hate to break it to you my dear Professor, but you got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. I do believe it was for setting three tents on fire, if I’m recollecting that lovely story correctly- ”

“-it’s not like there was anything in any of them! We had barely begun to set up camp!”

“You were twelve!”

“So? I’ve always been advanced for my age!”

“Okay, discontinuing that train of thought, you are so completely and utterly that bad of a cook. Baking, I will totally agree, you bake amazingly well. There is a reason you’re always in charge of dessert. But cooking? Nope, you suck at cooking.”

“Balderdash, cooking is incredibly difficult! Baking is easy, all you have to do is follow the directions and stick everything in the oven. One has to pay far more attention when cooking and make adjustments on the fly and I become distracted much too easily and then we end up with a mushy ball of spaghetti.”

“Relax, babe. I’m just teasing. I know enough to make sure we’d survive if all the takeout joints in the city suffered an untimely end, I promise.” Smiling softly to herself, she was about to keep poking at her boyfriend’s culinary ineptitude when her phone started to vibrate again. Pulling it away from her ear, Lenore glanced down at the caller ID. “Hang on, our favorite drama king is calling on the other line, I should probably grab that.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight, I love you.”

“Love you too Goggles. Okay, now I gotta go. Later gator!” Mentally floating on cloud nine, she hung up, switching over to the call from Oscar. Before she could even say hi, he started rambling.

“Lenore! Why on earth were you taking so long to answer your bloody phone? Nevermind, more important gossip is at stake. Did you hear about what just happened with Charlotte and Anton? Apparently, they were dating! Even though she was totally riding solo at the party for New Years! And making eyes at Ernest, which is just ick, I mean hello, it’s Ernest, I wouldn’t date him if you paid me. Not that Lottie dearest such a bloody prize herself! Plus, didn’t she used to have a thing for- oh nevermind, not important right now! Where was I? Oh, right, anyways, now she and Anton broke up! And she’s being cross with me, well, more of an uptight bitch with me than normal, in any case. Do you think that means he wants to hook up with me again? I mean, I know it was just a few times and it was months ago, but she’s acting so pissed at me, that has to be it, right?” Finally stopping for breath, Oscar sucked in a deep gasp of air, relieving his poor overworked lungs.

Rolling her eyes, Lenore adopted an overly perky tone and chirped obnoxiously, “Hello, Oscar, how are you? Oh I’m feeling fabulous, thanks so much for asking. Charlotte and Anton were secretly dating and then they broke up? Gasp, so scandalous!” For full effect, even if he couldn’t see her, she mockingly swooned back in her chair, hand to her forehead.

“You’re hilarious Lenore, truly hysterical. Now, I need your help,” he pronounced. Quite seriously, Oscar pondered, “Do you think ‘frenemies before men in my sheets’ would be an applicable motto here?”

Snorting loudly, she responded, “Babes, not actually a saying.”

“I don’t care in the least, it’s appropriate.” Oh good Lord, he actually sounded offended.

“You’re never appropriate.”

“True, oh well. We need to get dinner tonight, I must call a strategy meeting to determine if I’m allowed to go after that scrumptious hunk of man.”

Bolting upright, she braced herself for a long argument. “I can’t tonight Oscar. I have plans already.”

“What?”

“Plans, I have them.”

“Well cancel them, we need to have a council of war.”

“I am not canceling my date with HG again!”

“But-”

“Nope. Not happening. We are going on this date if I have to stick the rest of you in a padded cell for the duration of it.”

“Mean. Charlotte would murder me in minutes and I doubt you want to put your brother and Ernest together in a confined space, especially with Annabel.”

“The rest of you can buffer. And besides, Edgar has been surprisingly sedate in his celebrations after the breakup. I’ve only caught him dancing in the kitchen like twice. This week.” Thinking about it, Lenore added, “I’d honestly be more worried about him decking Ernest if he propositions her again. I do not need to deal with the hospital paperwork if he breaks his hand. Not that she can’t deal with the idiot on her own, but Edgar is feeling euphoric and white knight-like right now.”

“This is all hypothetical you know. You can’t actually lock all of your friends away just so you can get some.”

“Exactly, it’s all hypothetical so I have plausible deniability. Plus, I’ll have a foolproof alibi as of seven. Besides, this is not about getting some!” Realizing how loud she’d gotten, Lenore lowered her voice and tersely whispered, “Okay, not just about getting some, because trust me, that needs to happen too.”

Her friend burst into laughter over the phone, which was not helping his case, at all.

“Screw you, Oscar, I want to fucking jump my boyfriend alright, so fuck you. No, this is about the fact that HG and I haven’t been able to be alone for more than like half an hour without getting interrupted! I mean, seriously, we’re cursed! We haven’t had a complete date yet. And all of you suck, because our friends are like half the problem.”

“Calm your tits, Poe, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I though? Am I really? I needed to have surgery, nobody that we know is capable of knocking, the fucking computers broke, Annabel and Eddie broke up, and we made out in your closet. None of these things equal a date! Hell, none of those things even equal third base!” Chest heaving, Lenore realized she was way too worked up to get anything else done for the day. “Damnit, okay, I need to leave before I bite anyone’s head off.” Beginning her end of the day routine, she listened as Oscar spoke in his patented dial down the wonko voice, officially coined as such by Mary Anne during an extended episode of writer’s block.

“Okay, I have basically no idea what any of that means, because you’re acting more than a bit bonkers. And please don’t tell me you’ve decapitated anyone today, because I’m assuming life in the Big House puts a damper on the hotly anticipated sexy times with the boytoy.” Oscar rolled the last words, laced with so much innuendo that Lenore tripped and banged her head against the wall. Swearing at herself, she could just hear her friend’s trilling laugh before he continued.

“Just go and enjoy your date, I’ll keep the masses from descending, barring an actual emergency, in which case, you can bet your ass I’m calling you. There is no way in hell I’m dealing with one of those without someone else who could possibly be deemed a semi-rational adult.” Which was entirely reasonable, because the frequency at which their friends ended up in the hospital or overnight lock-up was borderline terrifying to think about.

“How exactly are you planning on doing so?”

She could see his habitual generous hand-waving in her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. Feel free to primp and pamper as needed, as I’m sure in my utter brilliance I can come up with some way to distract them for the whole night. As payment for such a wonderful good deed, I expect full details tomorrow at our strategy meeting, darling. Hmm, maybe we can do brunch.”

Finally realizing he was entirely serious about herding the cats, a grin broke out over Lenore’s face as she rushed to the elevator. “I’m going to hug you tomorrow, so freaking hard. Thanks Oscar, really. Thank you.”

“Oh quit gushing, you’ve stroked my ego enough. Now, I’d say let’s grab breakfast, but tomorrow’s Saturday, and I highly doubt you’ll be up anytime before eleven, so brunch seems necessary.” The wiggling eyebrows were practically audible through the phone. “And you are giving me all of the details. I’m in a dry spell here.”

By now, she was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the ground level button to light up. The easy banter was pleasantly distracting, but damn if she didn’t want to fast-forward a few hours. “And that guy you were hooking up with last week at the party was all a figment of my imagination?” That didn’t mean she couldn’t get Oscar back for all the earlier teasing.

Sniffing, Oscar corrected her haughtily,“A romantic dry spell bitch. I am having exactly as much sex as I want to be having, thank you very much. It’s the sappy romance part that’s lacking.”

Smirking, she cooed, “Aww, hook-up prince Oscar wants to be romanced.”

“You know I can invent all sorts of ways to crash your date, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ding . Finally let out of the crushing mob leaving work, Lenore headed for the exit, then stopped short when she saw who was standing just inside the lobby. Switching direction, she grinned widely and cut off Oscar’s retort. “It appears my date has mysteriously arrived early to whisk me away from work, so I’m gonna go. Later Oscar. And thanks for the whole distracting everyone thing.”

Sighing, he replied melodramatically, “Fine, leave me and go be romanced and ravished by your wonderful boyfriend. Don’t forget to be safe and use protection!”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“Remember, all the details!”

“Goodbye Oscar!” Laughing, Lenore tossed her phone into her purse before running the last few steps and hurling herself into HG’s waiting arms. Nose buried in his scarf, she felt a sense of contentedness she hadn’t realized she was missing settle in. Glancing up through her eyelashes, Lenore pressed her lips to his cheek, cold from the January chill. “Hi.”

“Hello my dear Lenore.” Warmth pervading his tone, HG tilted her head upwards, kissing her gently once, twice before resting their foreheads together. “Apparently, I have been uttered useless and distracted all day. My assistant basically forced me out of the building, said that they could handle everything until Monday.” Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, he added, “I came straight here.”

“I’m glad you did, Oscar had to talk me off a cliff.” At his questioning glance, she shrugged. “Nothing bad, just want tonight to actually happen. He has agreed to amuse to children for the night, barring extreme circumstances.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

“I owe him brunch and gossip tomorrow.”

“Ah, so not entirely selfless.”

“Well, he wanted to grab dinner and figure out if he could hook up with Charlotte’s-”

Cutting her off, he rumbled, “Lenore, I could not possibly care less right now.” Still locked in his arms, Lenore found herself reeled in again, engaged in a heady, needy kiss. One of his hands grasping her braid, she felt every ounce of love and want poured into it, losing herself to the electrifying sensation and kindling desire that had been simmering for weeks, possibly months. Remembering where they were was difficult when HG seemed hellbound to erase any thought not of him, though Lenore’s remaining shreds of common sense reminded her they were bordering on the lines of inappropriate for public viewing. Determined to keep a level head, she abruptly pulled away, stopping his lips from chasing hers with a finger.

“Okay, hang on.” Undeterred by her attempted stern look, HG lightly kissed the finger still holding his lips back. Rolling her eyes, she removed it and tried not to giggle when he pouted. “Babe, not helping. We need to head back to your apartment, like now. I am not getting arrested for public indecency at work. Now let’s move. We can always call for Mia Z’s later.”

Placing a hand to his chin, he pretended to mull the idea over before holding out his elbow. “A sound plan. Shall we?”

Locking her arm with his, she smiled. “Oh, we shall.”

[gingerbreadbooks2020]

Bookblr post #20

This was actually meant to go up on Sunday, but I was a little busy so I forgot to! I offered to cook dinner on Sunday, as it was Mother’s Day, and so while it was in the oven cooking, I had about an hour or so to do some more reading! Lamb takes a good while to cook, so I got quite a few stories.

[Images above:

Top left: Page titled ‘Some Faery Tribes of Britain and Ireland’, showing a couple paragraphs describing Pixies of England and Tylwyth Teg of Wales.

Top middle: The title page for King Herla, from England and Wales. On the left page is an illustration of the King, his new wife, some human women and many faery folk at a feast.

Top right: A page with a quote from Walter Map, England, Twelfth century. The quote reads, “Hence the story hath it that King Herla, in endless wandering, maketh mad marches with his army without stay or rest. Many have seen that army, as they declare. But finally, in the first year of the coronation of our King Henry, it caesed, so men say, to visit our kingdom frequently as in the past. And then it was seen by man Welsh sinking into the river Wye at Hereford. But from that hour that wild march caesed, just as if these rovers had handed over their wanderings to us for their own peace.”

Middle left: The title page for the Leprechaun’s Trick, from Ireland. The left page has a blak silhouette illustration of a leprechaun working away under a tree.

Middle middle: The title page for The Miser and the Spriggans, from England. The left page has an illustration of some Faery folk, sitting as one plays the double bass as another holds the music sheets.

Middle right: A double-page illustration. At the forefront is a fence, in front of which is a field with short, golden crops in. Behind the fence to halfway up the page is a field with golden wheat it. Behind the field are four or five small houses and a few trees in between them, and beyond that, the sky.

Bottom left: The title page for Tam Lin, from Scotland. The page on the left has an illustration of Tam Lin and Janet on a horse in a forest, with two dogs to the right of the horse.

Bottom right: A double-page illustration of six trees, fairly short. They are without leaves, and all silhouettes. The sky behind them is a pale orange-yellow. These images are all my own.]

Before I got into the main stories, there was a collection of Faery Trives from the British Isles, which was nice to read about. The stories were split up with different names used across the UK and Ireland to describe Faery folk, which was nice. It was also nice to learn about how the fae vary from place to place, in how they act and interact with others.

The first story I read was King Herla, a story from England and Wales. The story begins by setting the scene in the ‘rolling lands between England and Wales’, and while telling people on the internet where you live is generally a no-no, I thought to myself how odd it would be if this was set where I live. I won’t give my exact location, technically, but I live about ten minutes from the Wales border, perhaps even less than that. 

The story is about a King and his ‘cousin’, who is King of the Faeries. The Faery King offers to throw a feast for the mortal King’s wedding, only if the King returns the favour one year later for the Faery King’s wedding. The mortal King’s wedding goes well, and so, one year later, he returns to the spot where he met the Faery King and is taken to their castle. Once the Faery wedding is over, he is given a Bloodhound, which appears to be unmoving, and is told to not get down from his horse - including his knights - until the bloodhound does. When they return to the mortal realm, it turns out that over three hundred years have passed. The King set off, but the bloodhound never set foot on the ground, and so neither did King Herla.

There’s a short passage at the end of the story, from a Walter Map from the twelfth century, which talks about Herla and his army. It is said he wandered aimlessly, until the coronation of King Henry when the Herla’s army stopped visiting the kingdom, and many Welsh people saw ‘it’ - the army - sinking into the River Wye at Hereford. I only mention this because, well, I live in a small town on the River Wye, and Hereford (the main ‘city) is about a forty-minute drive away. So, I’d reckon I’m living where this story took place. I guess I have something to boast about now?

The second story was The Leprechaun's Trick, a story from Ireland. A boy forces a leprechaun to show him where the buried treasure is. The leprechaun leads him - the long way round - to his father’s field of ragwort, and points to one. The boy ties a handkerchief to it to remember which one it is before he runs off to get a shovel. The boy makes the leprechaun swear that he won’t move the handkerchief while he’s away. The leprechaun holds this promise and instead ties an identical handkerchief to every other ragwort. Honestly, though, the boy was a bit rude and deserved it. Also, ragwort is just a weird flower thing that I generally consider a weed/wildflower, as opposed to it being some old-timey crop.

There was also a lovely double-page illustration of the land, with some houses in the background. It kind of sets the scene in a very time hamlet, which makes you realise the boy must be actually kind of lonely. Probably not surprising why he was so rude to the leprechaun if there was barely anyone else around.

The third story was The Miser and the Spriggans, from England. Set in Cornwall, an old Miser - someone who is so willing to hoard money that they will even forego basic necessities and food to do so - goes to watch the Small People - faeries - dance and feast under the full moon, on a hill called the Gump. The Small People did not mind when humans came to watch, so long as they were respectful and well-behaved, and often gave treasure to those who were most respectful. The Miser went one full moon, watched the troops of Spriggans and Small People emerge from underground to begin their feast, and then snuck up on the tables covered with gems. As he was planning to grab some, the Spriggans tied him up with ropes thinner than cobwebs, bound him up and left him to be found (alive!) by the townspeople the next morning.

A couple things about Spriggans and Misers. Spriggan, being a Cornish word, is pronounced sprid-jan not sprigg-an. Spriggans also appear in Skyrim and I think that they are generally picked as what Bethesda used for their games. Finally, searching ‘miser’ in google images gives some weird results. Not weird-weird, but definitely odd. 

The third and final story was Tam Lin, a story from Scotland. I think there have been a couple films and books, as well as songs based on this story. Perhaps there are many minor and intricate details which have been excluded to make it shorter for this book, so perhaps check those out of you really like the sound of this one. However, this does cover pretty much the whole story so I suppose you don’t have to in order to understand the tale.

Janet is walking through a forest when someone - Tam Lin - approaches her. He warns her that she will be taken to the Faery Queen, tortured, and forced to guard the forest just as he was, and does. He offers to let her go - and risk being punished by the Queen - so long as Janet returns the next day at midnight when the Queen will be in a procession. She promises, but he makes her proclaim her love to him in order for him to trust her. Janet does, returning the next night at the promised time. Janet has to pull Tam Lin off his horse due to the Queen’s magick, but the Queen uses spells to shift Tam Lin into various animals, asking Janet if she still loves him. Janet ignores this, pushing through and pulling Tam Lin off the horse. As she runs away, the Queen still tries to turn Tam Lin into various things, such as a red hot iron bar. Janet, having a will of steel - no pun intended - continues on, until her and Tam Lin are in safety.

The only thing with this story is that... Wiki says it’s about Tam Lin being rescued by his true love. And I just...? True love? Yeah, she rescued him and said she loved him but does that constitute true love? Go off I guess.

- Gingerbread

P.S (Yes, another!) UK is now on full lockdown, for three weeks and then it will be reviewed. My dad is working from home, my mum has to stay home as she is deemed high risk, and I’ve been forbidden from leaving at all unless for grocery shopping. I haven’t been outside since Saturday. But, I’m making it work. I’ve a list of things to do that don’t involve my computer or a TV screen to keep me up and about, I’m offering to make dinner lots and helping clean around the house. I hope you are all staying safe, and staying at home! Wash your hands, and love to you all x

[zipgrowth]

Why Elementary Schools Should Teach Kids to Play Poker

Maria Konnikova doesn’t buy the "10,000 hour rule"—that theory popularized by Malcolm Gladwell that it takes at least 10,000 hours of serious practice to become a world-class expert at an activity. She believes she’s found a way to short-circuit it, and it involves marshmallows and poker.

Konnikova is a world-class writer—author of bestselling books including “Mastermind: How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes” and “The Confidence Game,” as well as a contributing writer for The New Yorker. You may have also heard her on podcasts, including a regular segment she does on The Gist. But something unexpected happened to her during the research for her current book, which is about chance.

She started playing poker for research. And she started winning. Big wins, including winning a national poker tournament. All told, she’s pulled in more than $270,000, and she’s gone pro, as part of a team sponsored by a poker website.

That book is still in the works, though, and she is on the speaking circuit talking about the lessons she’s learned at the poker table. Last week she spoke at SXSW EDU, explaining why she sees poker as part of the key to help remove strong emotions from decisions. It turns out our brains are pretty easy to fool, she says, but if you know more about how they work, you can find distancing techniques to cool emotions and master your domain.

Listen to the discussion on this bonus episode of the EdSurge On Air podcast. You can follow the podcast on the Apple Podcast app, Spotify, Stitcher, Google Play Music or wherever you listen. Or read a portion of the interview below, lightly edited for clarity.

EdSurge: Back when you were getting your Ph.D. in psychology, you worked with the scholar who is famous for his marshmallow experiment about how kids deal with delayed gratification. What was your role in that research?

I ended up falling down a rabbit hole and became a professional poker player."

Maria Konnikova

Konnikova: My advisor was Walter Mischel, who back in the ‘60s had this idea that he would have kids be seated in front of a reward that was really tempting to them. This is known as the marshmallow study because oftentimes the reward was a marshmallow, but it could also be other things. So if you love chocolate chip cookies, you'd have a chocolate chip cookie straight out of the oven right in front of you. If you're four years old, and this is very tempting. And what he would say is, "OK, you can have this now, or I'm going to leave the room, and if you wait until I come back, you can have two or three or however many it took to make the reward worthwhile. But if you're sick of waiting at any point, just ring this bell and eat your cookies or your marshmallow."

And what he found was that the kids who could wait the longest, who could delay gratification for the longest periods of time, ended up doing much better in a lot of things in life throughout their lives.

So this ended up being one of the longest longitudinal studies in psychology. It's still going on right now. It ended up that kids who didn't eat their marshmallow did better in school, had higher SAT scores, got into better colleges, were less likely to do drugs, less likely to go to prison, had better jobs, made more money, had better marriages, were healthier were happier—so many things.

I wanted to work with Walter specifically. I was fascinated with this idea of self control and figuring out how we can take it to the next level. I designed a study that was meant to show what self control can do in risky and uncertain environments. I did a stock market study, and I ended up finding that people who are higher in self-control did worse in that situation.

And I thought, whoa, what's going on? [It turns out that] the Achilles heel of high self-control is the illusion of control. So I became fascinated by chance, by uncertainty, by risk—and by how our brain reacts to it.

And this led you to poker?

This did lead me to poker because if you think about decision-making in a risky environment where you actually need to make correct decisions, poker is actually an ideal place to learn.

Poker is an environment (like a lot of situations in life) where you have incomplete information. You are dealing with this uncertainty, but you have to make a decision and finally decide, “How do I quantify the uncertainty and decide in the best way possible, given what I know and what I don't know?”

And so I wanted to explore this balance of skill and chance and the illusion of control—figuring out how we can get beyond the illusion of control and actually start to disentangle what we can and can't control in our decisions.

And I ended up falling down a rabbit hole and became a professional poker player.

Maria Konnikova speaking at this month's SXSW EDU conference.

There are a couple of other books that I love where the writer has gone off and become the thing they’re writing about. Word Freak comes to mind, where the author became a nationally-ranked Scrabble player. It sounds like the book you are working on is in that genre, but your story is even more surprising because you didn’t start with any interest in poker.

Absolutely. I mean I think that something that's unique to my story. I started from literally zero. I didn't know the rules of poker, didn't know how many cards were in a deck, didn't know anything. I was not a games player, I was not a card player. And so for me it was a true learning experience, and it was actually a very clean experiment where, unlike Word Freak where [the author] played Scrabble in the past, I actually started from zero.

I had no idea to expect that I’d end up doing well. And talk about luck—I had a lot of things go my way. I got one of the best players in the world to agree to coach me—that's huge. And I didn't have any bad habits, so I got to learn good habits right away. I think that a lot of things went right, but first a lot of things went wrong.

I'm curious about that moment when you started winning. What are some insights you’ve had about human learning you’ve taken from your poker experience?

One of the first insights I had—and this has to do with the fact that I studied self-control and I studied with Walter Mischel—was just how emotional I could be in my decisions. Because I thought that I was really good at cooling stimuli. I knew exactly what I was supposed to do. But at the poker table, you find yourself making these mistakes anyway because it's such an emotional environment.

What is some advice you might give to teachers out there then from what they can learn from your experience playing poker?

I would say that poker is a brilliant teaching tool. My advice to teachers would be to actually, literally teach their kids how to play poker. But teach it correctly, so that they learn it not as this fun game where I can win chips, but as a way of understanding risk, as a way of understanding emotion and how you're supposed to regulate emotion so that you make better decisions.

Because it forces you to deal with other people. It forces you to recognize emotions in other people and in yourself. It forces you to control those emotions. It forces you to actually think in probabilities, to quantify risk, to make decisions based on the information that you have—to quantify uncertainty. And nothing else teaches you that.

And then I would say, "OK, now we have this framework. Let's apply it to everything else for learning. Remember at the poker table when this happened and what you did? Why don't you do it now?”

Some people might say that that sounds like teaching kids gambling. But you're saying this is more like game theory?

I think that it's only gambling if you don't know how to play. I don't think that poker is gambling. Poker is a skill game with a chance element, but so are lots of things in life.

Why Elementary Schools Should Teach Kids to Play Poker published first on https://medium.com/@GetNewDLBusiness

[gethealthy18-blog]

How to Find the Safest, Healthiest Cookware

New Post has been published on http://healingawerness.com/news/how-to-find-the-safest-healthiest-cookware/

How to Find the Safest, Healthiest Cookware

I’ve done some research to help you sort through fact and fiction so you can brush up on your knowledge of cookware safety and find the healthiest cookware to use for your family meals.

I get tons of emails and comments about how to choose the safest cooking pans. It’s a confusing topic, and there’s a lot of conflicting information out there. Not to mention every. single. cookware company claims to have the latest, greatest, safest nonstick cookware on the planet.

So if your head is buzzing like mine was when I started researching safe cookware, then read on.

I’m sharing the basics of non-toxic cookware, plus my personal favorites and what I’m comfortable using every day.

Is safe cookware really important?

Sure, we take time to choose healthy good and avoid unnecessary additives when we can, but these aren’t the only toxins that can be present in our food. Our cookware may also be contributing to our toxic state.

Think about it: you want to cook with your pots and pans, but you don’t want to eat them!

And unfortunately, a lot of modern cookware leaches toxins right into the food we’re eating. So that’s not just an omelet you’re tasting–you could be munching on some not so nourishing aluminum (yuck, right?). The leaching issue is a big one, believe me.

The topic of safe cookware is somewhat controversial.

For instance, some say stainless steel is safe, while others warn that acidic foods may cause toxic nickel, cobalt and chromium to leach into your food (read more about that in this study).

Here’s how I look at it:

We may not have all the answers when it comes to cookware, but we can avoid the worst and start making healthier choices with the information we have now. And that’s definitely a step in a positive direction!

Here is some of the information I’ve gathered so far:

AVOID THESE COOKWARE MATERIALS

Aluminum.

This is a highly toxic metal, linked to Alzheimer’s and dementia among other conditions. (Read about the toxic effects of aluminum here.)

Aluminum conducts heat quickly, which is why it’s often used in cookware.

The problem?

Aluminum also leaches very easily, especially when heated or exposed to acidic foods (tomato soup, anyone?).

Avoid cheap cookware made of straight-up aluminum.

Some cookware uses an aluminum core that is encased in a safer cooking material. These are generally acceptable and safe options, as long as the surface is strong and undamaged (so no aluminum actually comes in contact with your food).

This sums it up:

You don’t want your food touching aluminum, especially if it’s heated.

Teflon/PTFE nonstick Surfaces.

This is one of the most common types of cookware, but Teflon and other polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) nonstick surfaces can release toxic fumes into the air when overheated.

How often have you accidentally left a pan too long on the stove? I hate to admit, it happens sometimes at my house. Or maybe there’s someone in your house (I won’t name names) who thinks high is a permanent setting on the stove.

Teflon just can’t take the heat. And that’s not the only problem with this nonstick surface.

Teflon/PTFE scratches easily if you’re not careful (metal utensils are a huge no-no with Teflon), so flecks of nonstick material can mix in unnoticed with your food (um, ew?).

And then once the surface scratches, your food is exposed to the metal underneath – most likely aluminum (and you know what that means).

So, PTFE nonstick cookware is a definite no-no. (There’s a great article about the problems with Teflon here.)

SAFER COOKWARE OPTIONS

Stainless Steel.

Even though there are small concerns with stainless steel cookware, it’s still a much better choice than aluminum or PTFE nonstick cookware.

It’s also in a somewhat affordable price range, so it’s easier to make the switch without going broke.

Here’s one downside:

Stainless steel is definitely not nonstick, so keep that in mind when using it so your eggs don’t glue themselves to the pan (true story). Using a good bit of oil, butter or other fat in the pan can definitely help, but sometimes that’s just not reasonable with every recipe.

The other downside is that quality stainless steel is stabilized with both chromium and nickel. This keeps your stainless steel from rusting and makes it stronger. However, some research shows that if you cook acidic foods for long periods of time in your stainless steel cookware, it can potentially leach chromium and nickel into your food.

That’s why it’s best to use stainless steel cookware with non-acidic dishes only. I would caution against using stainless steel for acidic dishes, especially those that need to be slow-cooked for longer periods of time (such as a tomato-based sauce that needs to simmer for hours).

I personally use several stainless steel pots and pans, mostly for boiling pasta, cooking rice, and simmering non-acidic soups and stews. I’ve only tried a few brands, but this is my favorite stainless steel cookware so far. It’s just the right weight (not too heavy, not too light), and very sturdy. It’s put up with a lot and in still going strong. Plus, the lids have little steam vents that prevent my rice from boiling over!

Anodized Aluminum.

If you are looking for safe nonstick pans, anodized aluminum is probably your safest best.

While it is made of aluminum, anodized aluminum cookware has been electrochemically anodized to make a more stable cooking surface. As long as it’s in good shape, this may be a safer option that’s user-friendly as well.

Plus, anodized aluminum is both nonstick and scratch-resistant. This is a huge bonus in my book. You still have to be somewhat careful with the cooking surface to avoid scratching it, but it’s nowhere near as damage-prone as Teflon.

When purchasing anodized aluminum cookware, be sure that the actual cooking surface is made of anodized aluminum. Some brands will only have anodized aluminum on the outer surfaces, while the cooking surface is a nonstick PTFE material like Teflon.

Anodized aluminum is not the cheapest cookware on the market, but it can be purchased at a mid-range cost. I personally have faired well with this anodized cookware set. I’m reasonably careful with my set and never use metal utensils in it, but I still use the heck out of it and wash it in the dishwasher, too. It’s lasted more than a year and has held up very well. This may not be the most “natural” option, but I’m okay with the compromise.

SAFEST, HEALTHIEST COOKWARE OPTIONS

Ceramic.

This old-fashioned ceramic cookware is one of the safer kinds.

There’s also some kind of nostalgic enjoyment in using ceramic cookware. Things just look nourishing when served up in ceramic.

One problem with ceramic:

If the ceramic is produced by individuals or made in a foreign country it could very well contain lead in the glaze. Larger, domestic producers would be the safer bet.

There are a lot of brands claiming to have amazing nonstick ceramic cookware, but I’ve tried a few ceramic frying pans, and none of them have lived up to the hype so far (and the same goes for the supposed “granite” frying pans, etc.). They aren’t truly nonstick and the surface often damages easily.

Cast Iron.

My personal favorite cooking pan is my Lodge cast iron pan.

Another old-fashioned favorite, cast iron cookware is probably one of the healthiest cooking pans available. It can also be pretty nonstick if seasoned properly and if you use a little fat/oil in the pan when you cook.

What is seasoning?

Seasoning requires a little extra work (typically coating with oil and baking at high heat for about an hour; your cookware should come with detailed instructions).

My secret to seasoning is to lightly coat my pan with coconut oil, then heat at 500 degrees F for one hour.

The first time I get a pan, I repeat this process several times in a row.

After using the pan, I scrub it out with hot water, then dry it off.

Then I coat the inside with oil again and heat it on medium-high for a few minutes.

My pan stays totally nonstick this way! (As long as I use a wee bit of oil or butter when I cook my eggs.)

Cast iron is also pretty heavy (maybe cooking with it could be considered a good workout?). But overall I say no kitchen is complete without at least one or two cast iron pieces. I know it’s my favorite and I wouldn’t do without it.

Another bonus to cast iron?

It’s very versatile: it can go straight from the stovetop and into the oven. Trust me, you can make some awesome cornbread in one of these.

Enameled Cast Iron.

This is even a step up from regular cast iron, because the enamel surface is easy to cook with and clean (dishwasher-safe). You also don’t have to worry about seasoning enameled cast iron cookware. I wouldn’t quite call it nonstick though, so keep that in mind.

I have the beautiful Le Creuset 6-qt pot in the lovely Caribbean Blue and I adore it. I use it to cook stock and more acidic dishes that I’d rather not put in a stainless steel pot.

The downside:

It generally comes with a hefty price tag, but if you have the cash to spend, it would probably make a worthy investment.

The pricey Le Creuset brand even offers an impressive 99 year warranty! So even though the cost is generous up front, you’ll get a lifetime use out of your cookware, and you’ll know it’s safe. And, I have to say, it’s downright gorgeous.

Transitioning to Safer Cooking Pans

Of course, it’s not easy to shell out the cash for the healthiest cooking pans, especially when you’re trying to afford better quality food.

But it’s definitely a good investment for your health.

My suggestion?

Save up for a good set, or replace one piece at a time.

If your current cookware is in good shape, you can probably squeak by if you’re being careful with it and replacing a little at a time.

However, if you’ve got scratch-and-dent Teflon you might want to consider taking the plunge and replacing it with something safer.

What kind of cookware do you use? What do you think is safe cookware? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

More Healthy Living Posts from Elizabeth:

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Source: https://livingthenourishedlife.com/cookware-what-is-safe-and-what-is-toxic/