not the delicious pie

The best way to stay warm on these chilly mornings is from the inside out✨🌻 I made myself this delicious bowl of Spiced Apple-Pie oats, topped with more apple slices + @tableofplenty Natural Pink Lady Apple & Almond Muesli (the best oat topping yet👌🏼👌🏼). Makes for a very happy tummy🤗
RECIPE: simply cook your oats as usual, adding 1 grated apple and as much cinnamon, ground ginger, ground cloves + vanilla essence as you like to suit your taste. Add the toppings and enjoy!💛

IG: @naturally_nina_

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Celebrating Pi Day with Food Stylist and Home Baker Quelcy Kogel

To see more of Quelcy’s adventures in the kitchen, follow @withthegrains on Instagram.

Pittsburgh food stylist Quelcy Kogel (@withthegrains) has an insatiable sweet tooth and passion for fresh food. “I remember visiting my grandparents on their farm and my grandmother was always in the kitchen preparing. One meal would be finished, and she’d be planning the next one — making everything from scratch.” In college, Quelcy started paying attention to what she was eating, and that led her to studying seasonality and proper baking techniques.

Today, we’re celebrating #PiDay with Quelcy — who took on quite the project a few years back to celebrate. “I made little pies from all local ingredients and then delivered them to homes that had ‘314’ addresses,” she says of her creative concept. This year, she’s keeping it simple with one delicious apple pie.

saucy

for @percyyoulittleshit, my wife, i hope you enjoy this fluffy little drabble


“What are you doing?” Annabeth stops elbow-deep in a brown paper grocery bag, grey eyes going wide as she stares at her boyfriend across the kitchen of their small apartment.

Percy, for his part, continues unpacking. “I’m putting away the groceries, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“What’d you do with the sauce?”

“Put it in the cupboard,” he says dryly, “You know, where it belongs.”

“It belongs in the fridge.”

He stills, hands full of packets of cookies, and blinks at her. “No, sauce belongs in the cupboard.”

“What? No, it’ll go bad faster. You’ve got to keep it chilled and fresh.” Annabeth marches over to rectify the situation.

Percy drops the cookies onto the counter and moves to stop her. “It doesn’t need to be chilled, especially if it’s not even open yet.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says breezily, trying to duck around him.

He plants a hand on her stomach and holds her back. “Ah, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about,” he replies, clearly offended.

“Percy, come on,” she says patronisingly.

“Annabeth,” he says in the same tone, “I spend way more time in the kitchen than you, I think I know where the sauce goes.”

“Obviously not, or you’d put it in the fridge,” she snaps. “And you do not spend way more time in the kitchen than me! I’ve cooked every night this week!”

“We got take out two nights,” Percy points out.

Annabeth will not be stopped, however, passionately insisting, “I’ve cooked three nights this week!”

“Oh, wow, three nights worth of cooking -”

“And how many nights have you cooked, Seaweed Brain?” She jabs him hard in the chest with her index finger.

He swats her hand away and shrugs. “None, but -”

“None! I rest my case.”

“-But I’ve been working nights this week so it doesn’t count!”

“It does so count! I cook three delicious meals for you and you just ignore them -”

“Would you really call them delicious?” Percy mutters, and immediately regrets it.

Annabeth’s eyes narrow dangerously. “That pie was a masterpiece.”

Figuring that he’s already dead, Percy decides to just go for it. “It was a little dry…”

“It just needed some sauce!” she yells.

“You just need some sauce!” he yells back, reaching behind him to grab the sauce off the shelf.

A mad tug-o-war ensues, in which Annabeth just about climbs up him to try and reach the bottle he’s holding over his head. He unscrews the lid and madly scratches at the silver freshness seal over the top.

“Give that to me!” his girlfriend shouts in his ear

“Oh, you want the sauce?” he taunts, stumbling back and knocking his hip on the counter.

“Percy, I swear to the gods -” With one last violent sweep, Annabeth manages to knock the sauce bottle from his hand.

Right as he gets the seal undone.

Knocked free, the bottle turns upside down and before either of them have a chance to realise what’s happened they’re both covered in sauce.

“Oh my gods!” Annabeth shrieks, finally letting go of Percy to try and wipe the sticky red sauce out of her eyes. It’s splattered over her shoulders, her chest, the entire length of the arm she’d had outstretched.

Percy hasn’t fared any better. He can feel sauce dripping from his head down the nape of his neck, beneath his collar. It’s all over his shoulders and a bit has gotten in his ear.

The kitchen is as much of a mess as they are.

Annabeth stops shaking her arms as Percy cradles her face in his hands and leans in to kiss her, gentle and soft and completely at odds with their mad struggle a few seconds earlier.

“What are you doing?” she asks a little breathlessly when they part.

Percy smiles. “You taste like sauce. Saucy.”

Annabeth beams back at him. “I’m always saucy.”

8 Common Misconceptions about Sugaring

1. It’s Easy

If I had a penny for every dumb and naive little girl I saw on Tumblr trying to break into the sugar bowl, I’d be a millionaire. From what you read on Tumblr, it may sound like this glamorous, exciting, luxurious lifestyle, but in reality it’s from it. As referenced from a different post, you are the one making the sacrifice in this equation, even if the social construct of our society places money over sex. The amount that your SD is likely paying you is disposable income to him. It is chump change in his pocket that he is looking to blow on something worthwhile. That something is y-o-u, darling. 

It’s not easy to sift through the sugar and salt daddies on SA. Truth be told it is dangerous if you don’t do your screening well. Sometimes you can spend hours and hours and hours sending messages and come up with nothing but salts. Sometimes you’ll go on a date and it will be great, but he’ll ghost on you. There may be SD’s who try to undercut your worth by implying you’re a whore… best advice: don’t let them. Know your worth and that you’re the whole, delicious goddamn pie in this equation. 

You are the one getting his rocks off. You are the one sacrificing your dignity by going to dinner with a man old enough to be either your grandfather or father. You are the one clearing your busy schedule for him and spending time with him when you could be pursuing other relationships with people your own age. You are the one having sex with someone you would honestly never be attracted to if it weren’t for his money. You are the one with everything to lose.

Sugaring is not easy. In some ways, escorting is easier because after the hour is up, they’re gone. With sugaring, sometimes there is no time limit or sometimes the time limit stretches on and on and on. You just don’t know. So no, to anyone who says it’s easy– it’s not easy. Sometimes you may go months at a time without an SD. That’s just how the sugar bowl is.

2. Girls who sugar are whores / dumb bimbos / gold diggers / or crackheads with no other option…

Girls who sugar are hustlas, bosses, and head bitches who know their worth. That is quite a difference from whores, dumb bimbos, and gold diggers. Want to know a secret? The most successful SB’s are the ones who are the best businesswomen– who don’t do drugs, who have a good head on their shoulders, and who know how to suck a man dry using their charm and wit. None of these things can be accomplished without a good sense of business, a mind geared towards money, and generally just having high self esteem. Girls who sugar are generally sex positive and non-judgmental. Your local sugarbaby is likely a student, and probably knows her way around a textbook just as well as dick. She is probably that girl who always had that something special in her eye, who the boys lusted after, the girls hated, and who your little brother’s friends probably jacked off to in the shower. To be a sugar baby, you have to be enthralling. She ain’t your average hoe– and the best SB’s are always the most exceptional. 

3. It’s glamorous

FOR THE TENTH TIME. BEING A SUGAR BABY IS NICE FOR FINANCIAL SECURITY, BUT CAN WE STOP GLAMORIZING IT. It makes me want to knock myself unconscious every single time I read a tweet or a meme about stupid girls making jokes about becoming a sugar baby and how easy it would be, or how they want to sugar but don’t want to have sex with old dudes. Hate to break it to ya honey, you’re going to be having sex with old dudes. That’s a part of the game. Love it or hate it, don’t romanticize it if you can’t take it.

4. You’ll be making a 6k+ a month allowance upon entering the bowl

Whichever stupid Tumblr blogs deluded new babies into believing they’re going to land a 6k+ allowance first go around the sugar bowl are clearly factually incorrect. Any SB knows that it takes some serious pulling to even get 2.5k+, and luck/a whole lot of patience dealing with frogs to land a whale daddy. Chances are, you’ll be making scraps until you learn how to play the game and hit the right targets.

5. All sugar babies wear designer clothing

Honestly only the materialistic sugar babies wear head to toe Givenchy. Most SB’s would rather save their money and invest responsibly rather than blow it all on brand name clothes. There are numerous guides out there on how to look the part without spending the part, if you catch my drift. Anyone can sugar regardless of current financial status… you just have to know how to carry yourself.

6. There’s only one right way to sugar

This is something that’s a common misconception amongst SB’s. But I’ll tell you right now– whatever works, works. Freestyling is fine if you know how to do it. Looking through SA, Tinder, Ashley Madison, whatever it is, if it works for you and you’re being safe about it, it’s fine. There’s no right way to sugar– just do your research before you jump into anything is all I’m going to say.

7. Platonic SB’s fall from the sky raining cash like Santa Claus

I think this is the most unrealistic expectation set forth by the Tumblr community and the sugar blogs out there that are fake. I will tell you from a sugar baby, firsthand, PLATONIC ARRANGEMENTS ARE NEARLY NONEXISTENT. They are, essentially, the unicorns of the sugaring world and you will have serious issuing finding a daddy who will give you the time of day if you cannot even entertain the thought of eventual intimacy. That’s just how it is. If someone is offering you an outrageous sum of money for a merely platonic relationship, it’s probably a scam.

There is such a thing as an edible, nay delicious, meat pie floater, its mushy peas of just the right consistency, its tomato sauce piquant in its cheekiness, its pie filing tending even towards named parts of the animal. There are platonic burgers made of beef instead of cow lips and hooves. There are fish ‘n’ chips where the fish is more than just a white goo lurking at the bottom of a batter casing and you can’t use the chips to shave with. There are hot dog fillings which have more in common with meat than mere pinkness, whose lucky consumers don’t apply mustard because that would spoil the taste. It’s just that people can be trained to prefer the other sort, and seek it out. It’s as if Machiavelli had written a cookery book.

Even so, there is no excuse for putting pineapple on pizza.

– take that, the internet | Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

Eric Bittle Is A Problem

(AO3 here)

Eric Bittle is becoming a problem. Not the problem Jack thought he was going to be in the beginning, no, he hasn’t had to worry about Bittle not pulling his weight on the team since pretty much the first time they played together. And certainly not now, when they work so well together on the ice. And off of it, too; it was surprising, but Jack considers Bittle to be one of his greatest friends, even if sometimes it feels like there’s maybe something shimmering around the edges of their relationship, something Jack doesn’t quite understand, it’s good with them, comfortable and fun in a way Jack isn’t used to.

But he’s becoming a problem, worse, a distraction . A menace, really.

The first time it’s a problem, Jack and Shitty had gotten back from a beer run, and Shitty was explaining some essential feminist theory to him as they made their way from the car to the Haus, “And that, my Canadian friend, is why intersectionality is so important. Like, you can’t really understand anything  unless you understand all of the realities and identities that inform a person’s existence, my man. I me-” as Jack turns to enter the kitchen, the rest of Shitty’s lesson is lost to a loud thrum in Jack’s ear that he distantly realizes is the rush of his own blood through his veins as he almost fumbles the case of beer and the bag of fancy nuts and chocolates that he thought Eric might appreciate- for his bakin g- and had purchased on a whim.

He manages to save the beer and the bag of goodies, but not to suppress the inelegant “ Buh -” that escapes his slackened mouth. Because Bitty is bent over at the waist, looking into the oven and making a satisfied little hum at the progress of whatever is baking in there, and he’s wearing those shorts, the short, short shorts that barely qualify as such in Jack’s opinion. And the way he’s bending is causing his muscles to tense and bulge, and his butt . Oh, Crisse , his butt is like a work of art and on display right in front of Jack, and he is in so. Much. trouble.

Jack manages to turn his random noise into a reasonable approximation of “B-Bittle,” and to reassemble his face into a generally neutral expression as Bitty stands and turns toward him and Shitty, who now stands next to Jack and thankfully doesn’t mention his near stumble. The late afternoon sun slanting through the window catches in Eric’s hair and he appears to glow for a moment, Jack manages not to choke on his sharply indrawn breath at the sight, because Eric Bittle is beautiful, and Jack is awed that he hadn’t noticed it until now.

“Oh, hi, y’all,” Bitty says brightly, a genuine smile lighting his face and stretching his lips distractingly. “You’re just in time, because this pie is almost done, so if you wanted some, you’ll just have to wait for a few while it settles,” Bitty checks the timer with a brief glance before looking back toward the doorway where Jack is still frozen, he quirks a perfectly shaped blond brow as if to ask what Jack’s problem is, but when he speaks again, he says “Did you two have fun at the store?”

Shitty moves into the kitchen, patting Jack’s shoulder on the way, “It smells swawesome in here, Bits. You’re the best!” Bitty grins and a slightly pink tinge paints his cheeks as he watches Shitty begin to put away his beer and the few other groceries they procured. He looks back at Jack, eyes darting briefly to the bag he is clenching before settling back on his face, a curious little smile on his pink lips. It spurs Jack into action, finally, and he moves into the kitchen holding the bag out like an awkward shield.

“These are for you,” he says, sounding too loud to his own ears, and maybe too loud in general, because Shitty looks over from where he’s stacking beer into the fridge with a strange look on his face that Jack will not analyze later. He continues, careful to regulate his volume this time, “Um, for your baking, I mean. I thought you’d like them,” he amends. Jack can feel his face heating, hopes Bitty doesn’t notice, that he writes it off as the heat from the oven, but when Bitty takes the bag and their fingers brush he feels the flush deepen. It gets worse still when Eric opens the bag and he makes an excited little sound.

“Oh, gosh, Jack, thank you! I know just what to make with these,” Bitty places his hand on Jack’s forearm and squeezes gently, repeating a thank you and grinning at him, his smile is open and fond and it warms Jack in a different way than the hot flush that he knows is painting his face and neck now.

“ Bienvenue ,” Jack says, voice a little too quiet and close now. Bitty smiles at his slip into Quebecois. It’s almost too easy to slip into the quiet of the moment, the little bubble of space around them, warmed by the sunlight through the window. They stay close, looking at each other for what feels like a long time, but realistically can’t be more than a second or two, then the sound of Shitty shutting the the refrigerator door and exclaiming “Shit, Bits, that pie smells fuckin’ delicious! Think it’s done yet,” effectively breaks the moment.

Bitty laughs and turns away from Jack, his fingers trail along Jack’s arm leaving a warm tingle lingering on his skin. The buzzer sounds as Bitty steps away fully, and Jack shakes himself, realizes he’s still holding the case of beer and places it on the counter. Bitty looks at him briefly as he takes the pie from the oven, and Jack feels the confusion rumbling through him play across his face, but Bitty thankfully looks away before he notices.

*****

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