#Bottom Pouring Ladles

[rajceramics9]

Bottom pouring bricks have emerged as a transformative innovation in the field of metallurgy, offering significant improvements in the casting process. These specialized bricks are designed to facilitate the controlled flow of molten metal from the bottom of the casting vessel, ensuring a more precise and defect-free final product.. For More Info call +91 7808775566

[vaspider]

Every time I look at my canning-specific ladle, I get a little overwhelmed about how much thought went into it, and how beautiful it is for such a simple thing.

It has a little hook on the back, so you can hang it off the edge of the pot, and it doesn't get your stove messy or your ladle contaminated with stovetop germs.

It has a pointy front that gets right into the bottom corner of the pot so you can scrape out the last bits of salsa or jam.

It's got pouring spouts on either side, so left or right handed people can easily use it.

If you fill it right to the top, it holds exactly enough to fill a half-pint jar with 1/4" head space, the correct amount of head space for most water bath recipes.

It's pretty! It's red and white! Look at this pretty red scoop with its pretty white handle!

The person or people who designed this object did so with deep knowledge and understanding of the process of canning food. They made it beautiful and functional. This and its matching funnel are probably literally the best $25 I've ever spent on any hobby.

But I'm really just overwhelmed about how much thought went into this simple object.

Aren't people neat?

[suosteacup]

Pancakes ~redux~

pairing: Kozume Kenma x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 0.8k

tw/cw: post-timeskip, food, Kenma and reader are newlyweds here, one swear word from Kenma, kitten as a term of endearment from Kenma to you.

a/n: a rehashed version of an old Kenma drabble I wrote on @/mrskodzuken. Thank you Mari @littleplantfreak for betareading this AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ilysfm 😘 Star dividers by @cafekitsune + support banner by @adornedwithlight 🫶🏻 tagging @pixelcafe-network

The whole house is quiet on an early Sunday morning, save for some tapping and cracking sounds coming from inside the kitchen. A soft plop! can also be heard as Kenma carefully discards a stray egg shell away from the pancake batter mix using a spoon. He then slowly pours fresh milk into a liquid measuring cup until it reaches the desired level, before carefully adding it to the mixture. Next, he picks a measuring spoon nearby, unscrews the cap off a bottle of vegetable oil, and adds two tablespoons of it into the batter.

It’s unusual for Kozume Kenma to wake up early in the morning, much less cook breakfast, but today is very special; the reason why he woke up earlier today is to make you breakfast in bed—after a month of saying “I do’s” to each other, to make your favorite kiwi fruit pancakes with love.

He remembers something you’d said almost a year ago, while having a friendly date at a cafe just beside Kuro’s office one early morning…

“You know, Kenken? When I get married, I’ll ask my husband-to-be to make me pancakes like this one day,” you say to Kenma as you take an IG-worthy photo of a plate of kiwi fruit pancakes drizzled—no, heavily soaked—in maple syrup on your phone.

“Ehhh… really? Well, good luck to him, I guess.” He looks at you with a shit-faced grin plastered on his face. “That ‘one day’ is going to turn into ‘one week’, ‘one month’, and so on—ow!”

“Zip it, Puddinghead. As if I would force him to make pancakes everyday, you know?” you tell Kenma poutily, waving a forkful of pancake in front of his face before stuffing it up to your mouth. “I’m not that cruel~”

He sighs in defeat and smiles sheepishly before taking a sip of his latte.

“Okay, okay, if you say so…”

After slightly mixing the batter, Kenma adds the minced kiwi fruit that he prepared earlier and whisks it in until fully mixed. He then proceeds to dip a ladleful of the batter into the preheated pan, quickly shaping some of the corners with a clean toothpick to resemble cat ears before the bottom side completely cooks.

“Cute,” he chuckles softly, looking proud of his ‘artwork’.

“It sure is…”

Kenma suddenly jumps from where he’s standing, his golden cat-like orbs widening. He slowly turns his head around to see you peeking over his shoulder, sleep still evident on your face.

Your husband holds his breath in for a second before letting it go as butterflies start fluttering inside his stomach. “H-hi, Y/N, my love. Morning.” Fuck. Kenma internally slaps his mouth after messing up his greeting.

“Hi, Kenma, my love… g’morning~” Kenma feels your arms snaking around his waist as you snuggle closer to him from behind. He notices you looking at what’s into the pan and—Kenma finds this adorably endearing—your eyes twinkle as they widen a bit, sleepiness a thing of the past.

“Pancakes! And they’re cat-shaped, too!”

He hums and smiles, slightly checking the bottom side for any signs of browning before flipping the cooked side of the pancake with a spatula. Bringing his free hand to gently pat your head, he says in a matter-of-fact voice, “Did I also mention that they’re kiwi fruit pancakes?”

“Huh? Kiwi… fruit?”

Kenma feels your embrace around his waist getting a bit tighter. His cheeks gradually heat up as he silently continues on making another pancake, with you still hugging him.

He finally speaks in a soft voice. “Um… y-yeah. Because you told me to make one for you when we get married one day…”

“Oh. That conversation we had at the cafe that time…” You smile, both of you fondly remembering the memory.

“Yeah.”

Kenma silently cooks the remaining pancakes, the only sound heard in the kitchen is the slight sizzle of the pancake batter cooking. He feels your weight shifting from behind, strands of your hair tickling the side of his neck. He wonders if you can still feel his heart beating loudly just as he can feel yours.

“Y/N, kitten? Still sleepy? I’m almost done here, you should sit down and wait for me. Then we can eat breakfast together—“

A sniffle. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He then glances at your small form in alarm before quickly turning your attention back to the last piece of pancake, bringing the pan to a big plate sitting nearby before tilting it down, the cooked pancake sliding off and on top of the stack. Kenma turns off the stove. “Y/N… are, are you crying?”

You snuggle closer behind your husband again in reply—Kenma can feel a slight wetness forming at the back of his shirt, accompanied by a few sniffles and chuckles.

“Thank you for remembering. Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for loving me, all my flaws and strong points. Thank you for marrying me. My bestest friend in the entire universe. My love. My everything… I love you, Kenma.”

Kenma holds your hand and kisses it softly, smiling. “I love you too, my Y/N.”

And he really loves you back. More than everything in the world.

Likes are okay, reblogs are nice, reposts and plagiarism stuff are frowned upon 🥰 | ALL WORKS BY SUOSTEACUP © 2024

[basuralindo]

Hey I'm dropping a crepe recipe because there's still people around who think they're hard to make and I'm sick of french food being romanticized to the point of inaccessibility.

I call this a 3-2-1 method to make it easy to remember; 3 eggs, 2 cups water/fluid of choice, 1 cup flour.

I'm sparing you the obligatory backstory on my path to cooking extremely flat pancakes because we both know that neither of us care. If you want to hear me overshare check my blog between 1-4am pacific time.

•Anyway, start with three eggs and beat with a fork until they're all one color (you can use a whisk or an egg beater but I hate the extra steps. Fork it):

•Add 1 cup flour:

•Add whatever dry flavoring you want (I usually go with cinnamon and cardamom, today we're doing matcha cause that happens to be what I'm cooking. Some mornings caffeine is meant to be eaten):

•Add sugar to taste if desired. It's not necessary for the recipe, and if you've managed to add enough to throw off the consistency you've got other shit to worry about, so follow your heart. I usually use like two tablespoons or so (I prefer brown, but white tastes better with matcha):

•Decide on your fluid of choice. Water and/or milk is the usual, but you can do literally whatever you want; hot cocoa, coffee, tea, soda -whatever you want them to taste like. Go nuts with it. Use soup if you want idgaf it's between you and your chosen god at this point. I recommend starting with 2 cups for simplicity, but you can add more if needed for the right consistency. At this point I just eyeball it tbh.

•Add a little at a time and start mixing until it's as smooth as you can get (this is also where you'd add wet flavorings, like vanilla extract):

•Add the rest until the batter is roughly the consistency of heavy whipping cream, or like thin tomato soup (if you actually ran with the soup joke, add a little water to thin it out). Just get it to where it's still a little viscous but will run if you pour it on the pan:

•For best results cover and let it sit in the fridge overnight or for a few hours (it will separate a little, just mix it again). For last minute "I forgot to prep this last night but I really want crepes" results, we're putting it aside while I wash dishes and heat up the pan.

•Ladle out like ¼ cups worth onto a hot lubricated pan (butter or cooking oil, medium heat) and swirl it until it coats the bottom. Don't stress if it looks like shit the first few times, that's what practice is for, add a little more fluid if it's not spreading well:

•cook until the top is no longer wet and edges start to lighten:

•Flip it with either a very flat spatula or sheer hubris (spatula recommended for beginners), and cook for like 45 seconds (I have no sense of time), then slide it onto a plate:

•Top with whatever you want and try whatever folds/rolls you saw in that one show that made you think these were cool.

Go forth, have fun, eat well.

(if you want an even easier method with only mild sacrifice to quality: mix a couple eggs and some extra fluid into your leftover pancake batter and leave it in the fridge for the next morning)

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: mentions of losing a close family member)

König doesn’t really know how to cook.

Well, anything other than the basics… Most of his meals consist of rice, meat and some kind of vegetable. Or like a carton of eggs. And of course, he can warm up meals and cook pasta and put pesto on it. But working in the military his whole life, he never really had the need to learn to prepare something to eat other than those basics, because most of the meals were provided and he’ll eat any- and everything. When he’s on leave, he cycles through his staples and also orders a lot of take-out, just to satisfy the calorie intake he needs at his size.

His grandma used to cook for him, ever since he was a little boy and then when he returned to Austria as an adult, she always made sure to prepare his favourite meals. He hasn’t been back ever since her funeral, he tells me while he gets some ingredients out of the fridge. Eggs, milk and butter. He misses her and her cooking, but that’s just how it is in life. Flour from the pantry. Mixing it all together, eyeballing the measurements, and adding a pinch of salt.

She taught him how to make Palatschinken. Thin pancake or crepe-like sheets of dough that he apparently made too much of. Rolled up, filled with jam and powdered sugar on top.

“Pala- what?”, I ask, wanting him to teach me how to say the word properly.

“Pa-la-tschin-ke.”, he repeats, sounding the syllables out, and I imitate them, until he tells me that I’ve got it.

I sit at the cooking island in his kitchen, on one of the chairs, and watch him pour the thin dough into the hot buttered pan. It bubbles and sizzles as he swirls it around, until the whole bottom is covered. Waiting for it to be cooked from one side. He lifts the edges with a spatula to make sure. Then he looks at me, raising his brows, like ‘Look at me, look what I can do’, lifting the pan of the hob, holding it in front of his body.

Oh, oh, that won’t- He flips it with a rehearsed flick of his wrist, the thin pancake rotating in the air for just a moment, then landing in the pan again.

I coo, clapping excitedly. He bows jokingly, with the pan still in his hand.

When it’s done, he puts the Palatschinke on a plate, spreads apricot jam on the thin dough, rolls it up and then sprinkles powdered sugar over it, setting the sweet roll in front of me. Gesturing me to eat.

I dig in, cutting it, and the fluffy dough almost melts on my tongue, the sweet jam spreading in my mouth as I chew. God damn it, that’s good. Simple, but very tasty. I finish the first one in record time and he puts the next Palatschinke on my plate. I fill it myself, devouring that one as well. He starts to make more, stacking them on a separate plate.

“You wanna try to make one as well?”, he asks me then.

I nod excitedly and get up from the stool. He hands me the pan and the ladle, putting some more butter onto the hot teflon, and I add the dough. When it’s cooked through, I try to do the flip just like he did. The little crepe flops up a bit and then folds in on itself. I burst into laughter and he joins in. Well, that didn’t go as planned.

“Don’t worry, that happened to me a lot of times.”, he says, scrapping the dough into the bin. “We’ll try again.”

So, the same spiel again. Until the Palatschinke is ready to be flipped. He’s standing behind me, we’re both gripping the handle of the pan and he’s looking over my shoulder, coaching me through it.

“Mit Gefühl.”, he tells me. “Carefully, but with determination.”

“I wanted to flip this thing, not get a lecture on how to enter some-“, I quip, but I get cut off when he playfully pinches my butt cheek.

It makes me jump up a bit and I bat his hand away. “König!”, I yelp, with pretend indignation, but he only grins down at me.

“Come on, you can do it.”, he says, nudging the pan in my hand.

“On three. One, two, three!”, I count down and then we flip it, together. The piece of dough rotates in the air and lands in the pan again.

“First authentically self-made Palatschinke.”, he says, with joking solemnity, as he drops it onto my plate. I do the rest of the steps and then eat it as well.

He makes Palatschinke after Palatschinke, telling me some more about his grandma and the dishes she used to cook, until all of the dough is gone. I listen to him and eat a whole bunch of them until I’m so full, I feel like I’m gonna burst. He finishes the rest of the thin pancakes, decimating a whole stack of them with lots of jam and sugar.

“The rest we can cut into small strips and put into soup.”, he explains.

“Into soup?!”, I question what he just said.

“Yes, Frittatensuppe. It’s really delicious.”, he says like it’s a normal thing.

I shake my head. Those Austrians and their weird dishes.

If you wanna try and make your own Palatschinken like metalhead!könig and reader, I got a recipe for you! Enjoy! a/n: this is the start of a little series I'm doing for mh!k x reader because I have so many scenes (some already finished a while ago like this one) that don't have a certain place in the plot and are just sitting in my word document, left to rot, so i'm gonna post them as their own random scenes that are still connected to them! some of it is gonna be sfw comfort fluff like this one, some is gonna be nsfw - stay tuned <3 Wanna get to know them better? Find more chapters in the Masterlist

[the-meme-monarch]

hi i wanted to rewrite the butterscotch cinnamon pie recipe i borrowed as of this post now that I’ve made it maybe 5-6 times and have messed with variables and made things easier for myself, though maybe it’s more convoluted to read

I’ve made my own pastry crust a few times but none of them were to my liking. graham cracker crusts forever ok.

in a medium saucepan:

-1 cup brown sugar

-1/4 cup water

bring to a boil, stirring. once thick and bubbling, turn off heat

in a bowl or maybe a measuring cup:

-5 tblsp heavy cream

-2 tblsp butter

-1 3/4 cups milk

RESERVE 6 TBLSP OF THE MILK/CREAM, but go ahead and put the rest into the saucepan and mix

in a second bowl, mix:

-6 tblsp of that milk/cream that I told you to reserve you reserved it right

-2 egg yolks

-1/2 tsp salt

-4 tblsp cornstarch (i recommend putting the cornstarch in last, so you can immediately start mixing it and it doesn’t become a Brick in the bottom of the bowl/measuring cup)

continue whisking this cornstarch mixture and ladle in maybe 3-4 ladle-fulls of the saucepan mixture to temper the eggs. Then pour it into the saucepan mixture. turn the heat back on, to med-high, stirring constantly until thickened (and i Mean constantly, bc it will just very suddenly turn thick) maybe 2 minutes

add and mix in:

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp vanilla extract

maybe make some whip cream to put on top when you’re ready to eat it but honestly it’s fine without it

[yebreed]

Warring States Beverage Fridge of Marquis Yi of Zeng

Judging by the burial items, Marquis Yi, this Chinese Petronius, was a socially inclusive person and managed to keep a positive outlook on life even under the Warring States.

This antique beverage fridge was found in 1978 among the treasures of the Leigudun Tomb No.1, Suizhou, Hubei.

A smaller vessel (Fou 缶) with rice wine was placed inside Jian (鑑) bronze frig, fixing all with three hooks on the bottom, and ice cubes were poured between the walls. Cooled rice wine was filtered and scooped up with ladles when needed without removing the inner container.

Two such beverage fridges were discovered in the burial site. Like some other items, Jian frig is signed “For the perpetual use by Marquis Yi of Zeng.” In his quirk, the Marquis is not unique: beverage fridges have been common since at least the Spring and Autumn period. However, for few they were such an essential utensil to take it with to the afterlife.

Total weight (Jian + Fou) is 168.8 kg. On display in Hubei Provincial Museum (湖北省博物館).

Photo: ©湖北省博物馆藏

[forkfulofflavor]

Spicy Italian Sausage Soup A delightful and hearty soup featuring spicy Italian sausage, tender potatoes, and vibrant greens, perfect for warming up on a chilly day. Ingredients 1 pound hot Italian sausage 1 large yellow onion, chopped 6 cloves garlic, chopped 1 tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes (or start with ½ a tablespoon if you’re sensitive to spice) Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper ½ teaspoon ground white pepper 8 cups chicken broth 2 teaspoons Better than Bouillon chicken base 2 pounds (approximately 7 large) red potatoes, washed and sliced thin 1 cup heavy cream 4 cups baby kale, arugula, or spinach Instructions Heat a large pot over medium high heat. Add sausage to pot, and cook for 5 to 6 minutes or until browned. If sausage releases too much grease, drain half from pot. Add onion and garlic to sausage, cook for another 3 to 4 minutes or until fragrant and onion is translucent. Season with crushed red pepper flakes, salt and pepper to taste, and the white pepper. Pour broth on top, stir in chicken base, and then add potatoes to the pot. If the liquid doesn’t fully cover potatoes, add another cup or two of broth until fully submerged (if you don’t have more broth, you can always use water and mix in another teaspoon of Better than Bouillon per cup). Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium and cook for 35 to 40 minutes or until potatoes are soft and cooked through. Stir in heavy cream and reduce heat to low. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed. Cook for another 5 minutes, then remove from heat. Place a handful of baby kale (or whichever leafy green you’re using) on the bottom of each soup bowl. Then ladle hot soup over greens, and stir. The greens will wilt and soup will be ready to serve!

[cherrygummycandy]

Family Outings (and all the victims that come with them).

A Goldilocks and the Three Bears crime family x reader

(An: First time writing in a while, feels pretty good to be writing again. Not sure what direction I'll push this is, probably some slight romance with Goldi or Baby Bear. Also, above is some cute theatre promotional material of the family movie night! Enjoy!)

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"Eye of newt, tongue of, of... ugh!" You slam the small vial of repitilian eyeballs down on the oak table, leaning back as you place your hand on your forehead, trying to calm yourself down. hurrying over to the bookshelf, you toss hurriedly search, haphazardly tossing book after book behind you in search of the one you needed. A leather-bound journal, with gold fittings lays against a dusty candle-holder. The label reads 'Hellica Mellica; Ancestra Magica'. Grabbing it quickly, you return to your workspace, and plop down. Flipping to the chapter on transmogrification, you read quickly, attempting to remember what ingredient is missing from your brew.

"Tongue of Goldfish, of course!" You exclaim.

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"Move it, you mug!" A blonde haired girl yells, pushing a small bear forward. "I'm tryin' alright? This scents hard to track, n' you don't even know who were supposed ta' be tracking!" The small bear snaps back, the odd necklace around his neck rattling as he whips around to face his sister. Two larger bears trail behind, chuckling at the scene before them. "I know who were supposed to be tracking, Baby. Just not any specifics..." Goldie says, raising her walking stick up above her and smacking it against a tree branch, knocking down a shiny red apple. It lands in her palm, and she bites into it with a grin. "Oh, can you get me one, Goldie?" The bear with a fancy hat asks from behind. "Sure thing, mum." Thwack! A second apple falls.

"Remind me dear, what exactly is your brotha' sniffing out?" The largest of the three bears asks. "Spellbook, Papa. Centuries old one, at that. Guess it belonged to some big witch back in the day." Goldie says. "A-a witch? You mean like the one that put them' kids in that oven?" Baby bear squeaks, before getting prodded forward by Goldie's staff. "Please, Hansel and Gretel killed that witch, didn't ya read the story?" She sighs "Besides, that witch is long dead. We, dear brother, are tracking the scent of her house." Baby tilts his head in confusion. "Wait, how am I tracking a house?" He asks. Goldie shrugs. "I guess she set some sort of enchantment on it, attracts little animals, so she can put em' in her brews." She raises her hands up, hands mimicking claws, an evil grin on her face. Baby shivers, and turns back to facing the path ahead. "Goldie, luv, stop scaring ya' brotha." Papa bear scolds, ruffling her messy curls with a paw. A claw snags, pulling a lock and making her squeak. "Papa!" "Sorry!"

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Eyes narrowed in concentration, you focus on the task at hand. You attempt to steady your hands as you slowly ladle your transmogrification potion into a small vial. After a few moments of slow pouring, the vile is filled. "Yes!". Popping a cork into the top of the vial. "And not a drop spilled." You cheer, giving yourself a small little thumbs up in a nearby mirror. You set down the potion-filled glass, and move to dispose of the unusable leftovers at the bottom of your small, hand-held cauldron. You carry it outside of your cottage, sloshing the disposable material over your herb garden. The herbal paste and eyeballs should make a good fertilizer. Dunking your cauldron in the well, you scrub gently. As you remove the cauldron from the well, you look down at your reflection. You contemplate your image for a moment. You frown. It's you, but don't feel quite like yourself.

For years, you trained, studied, and dedicated your life to the teachings of your mentor, the all powerful witch who lived in the cottage before you. Admittedly, when a small orphan stumbled upon your cottage, she was tempted to eat you. However, she decided you'd be more useful alive, than in her stomach. She wasn't warm, or kind. You cringe, remembering the daily beratings shouted at you from throughout the cottage, as you scrubbed, swept, and polished every part of the estate. Once, you had even tried to copy one of her potions, and she never let you live down the disaster that followed.

"You useless little witch! Ruining my cottage, touching my cauldron!" She had screamed. "You want to explore magic so bad, fine! Be my guest!" From that point on, she not only increased your chores, but had made you help her fulfill her orders. It started small, but occasionally, when she felt cruel, she had made you attempt harder, more dangerous things. These always went horribly wrong, and you found your self-confidence diminishing, day by day. Now that she's gone, you still do the occasional spell, enough to sell and get by, alongside baked goods. Still, you haven't even attempted the hard stuff again. Looking down at your reflection in this well, you see that same child. 'Maybe I am just a useless little witch...' You chuckle sadly. You turn to head back inside, only to be met with the end of a wooden staff pointed mere centimeters from your face. You gasp, but the girl at the other end moves it closer, silently threatening you to remain quiet.

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"Ello' there." A blonde girl stands at the other end of the staff, a smirk on her face. "You live ere'?" She asks, gesturing with her free hand to the cottage behind you.. "Y-yes..." you nod. "Ya' don't look like a witch." A voice comes from behind her. You attempt to peer behind her, leaning to the side a little. You hold in a gasp when you see three large bears looming behind. "I'm not a witch, not really." Goldie looks behind you at the cottage. "Then why do ya' live in a witches cottage?" She asks. "And she's holdin' a cauldron!' The smallest bear adds. "My mentor used to live here, I just sorta... stayed here when she died." You admit. "Oh, the poor dear..." The medium sized bear coos. You're a bit taken aback at this behavior, but smile nervously at the mother bear. "Ugh, not now, Mama!" Goldie waves her free arm, as if scolding the bear. "You got any weapons on ya'?" You shake your head. "Alright then, non-witch. Why not show us into your lovely home, you don't wanna be a rude host, do you?" She roughly grabs your arm, practically dragging you into your own home. Once inside, the smallest bear begins to sniff around, as if hunting for something.

"Um, what's he doing?" You ask, watching as your home is searched by the small bear. Goldie looks over, groaning and rolling her eyes. "Baby, ya' dolt! Stop it, we'll just get em' to tell us where it is. Ya don't need to turn the place over." She turns back to you. "Are you familiar with a book, called-" She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket, glancing over it quickly, before saying "called 'Hellica Mellica: Ancestra Magica'?". You bite your lip, unsure about telling this fierce girl the location of your book. The only real success you've had with magic has come from this book's information, and frankly, you feel like your mentor would curse you from beyond the grave if you just let her beloved book go.

"Uh, sorry, no." You lie, eyes darting to the side. The girl looks unconvinced, and suddenly grabs you by the collar of your frock. "I know you've got it, now, I'm gonna ask ya' a little differently. "Where. Is. The. Book?" She mutters. "Over there, o-on the table." She drops you to the ground, and quickly moves over to the table. She grins as she grabs the spellbook, holding it up. She moves to open it, but finds the cover won't budge. "Wha- what's wrong with it?" She exclaims, beginning to shake the book. "What's wrong then?" The largest bear asks. "It won't open. It's jammed or something." She throws the book on the ground. "Give it ere' lemme take a crack at opening it." The largest bear begins to try and rip the book open. You watch, eyes wide in confusion. The book has never refused to open before, not even when you didn't know anything about magic. You slowly shuffle over, and sit nervously down on the nearby armchair. While you watch the bear and girl struggle, the medium bear approaches you. "You ave' a lovely little home, dear." the bear says. "O-oh, thank you." You respond. After a moment's silence, you turn back to look at her.

"Um, can I ask who you all are? The bear nods. "Oh, sorry for not introducin' ourselves. I'm Mama bear, that's Papa bear," She points a claw at the big bear. "That's Baby bear," She points to the little bear, who is currently raiding your kitchen cabinets, making you frown. "and that's my Goldie." Mama bear puts a paw over her chest, smiling as she stares at the blonde girl, who is now so angry she is chewing on the leather cover of the book, hands scratching and clawing at the binding. You look between her and the bears. In her fit of rage, she makes eye contact with you. "You! You've used this book before, open it up." She chucks the book at your head, before Mama grabs it just before it makes contact. You nod thankfully, and open the book. The family crowds around, peering at the first few pages of information. Just as Goldie moves to snatch it, the book snaps shut again. "What! Ugh, you've done something to it, haven't you!" She screeches. "She prolly' put some kinda spell on it! Using children's blood or something." Baby sneers. "I didn't, my mentor must have done something to it, this has never happened!" Goldie pauses. "Never?" She asks. You nod. "Well, seeing as you're the only one who can open it, I guess you'll be coming with us." She stands and motionsfor you to follow, before stopping and looking back over her shoulder.

"Then everything should be just right."

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[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

we had a chef MC headcanon, now how about M6 when MC made them a meal but it tasted just downright horrible and MC is just kinda oblivious to it, asking M6 with the brightest, most innocent smile "Do you like it?"

i hope you have fun writing this if you do choose this humble request

- 🌼

The Arcana HCs: When MC is a terrible chef

~ this reminds me of the time when teenaged me combined old rice, hot dog chunks, cold broccoli, and buffalo sauce (in one bowl!) for a late-night snack. thank you for the giggles this gave me, yellow flower friend, let's hope I pay them forward! - brainrot ~

-- to set the scene --

Somehow it's been one of those weeks when everything in your food supply begins to reach its end or expiration date at the same time. You know your regular grocery shopping is tomorrow, and you have an extensive list prepared, but dinner is up to you tonight and you don't have anything comprehensive planned. It looks like it's time for your famous "everything but the kitchen sink" stew. You've only made this in the past when it was just you in the shop and you were still figuring out how to cook, but you remember it being fairly edible.

(Continued below the cut)

You get some beans boiling (there hasn't been time to soak them), add a cup or two of vinegar to soften them faster, dice the not-molded parts of a tomato and onion you found at the bottom of a sack, and rinse the slime off of some wilted greens before throwing them in. You're craving something spicy, so you dump in the rest of your chili sauce, but when the steam makes you tear up you scrape out the rest of the mayonnaise to even it out. It was starting to smell funky anyways. Your hand slips when you add the salt, so you pour in some honey to counteract it, and in a final burst of inspiration, you plop in two bananas that have gotten too mushy to eat. The signature suspicious scum of your original dish is just floating to the top of your soup when your beloved returns, hungry from a day of work.

Julian

Too happy to see you to notice the poison on the stove at first

The words die in his throat when he does. Tell him it's a potion. Tell him it's a curse. Tell him it's a prank. Don't tell him, don't tell him it's ... it's dinner, isn't it?

He watches you happily ladle a generous scoop of your curdled concoction into his bowl and gulps. He loves you. He's got this. He will eat your food, he will tell you it's delicious, or he will die trying

He's starting to get caught up in the poetry of it as he sits down across from you. Like a lamb to the slaughter, accepting the sweet taste of death from his beloved's cruel hand - stew isn't supposed to be sweet, oh god why is it sweet

But for his darling's delight, he will overcome -

"Julian, is everything alright? You look like you're about to go on stage."

"Oh, is ah - is that what I look like, my dear?" He's pale and sweating at this point, poorly disguising the tremble in his hand as he brings his second glass of water to his lips

"It's my stew, isn't it?" you dolefully lift a gelatinous spoonful and watch it fall back into your bowl with a sickening squelch. "I remember it tasting weird, but not this weird ..."

"No, no!" His voice cracks against his will as he sees your sadness as proof of his failure. "It's delightful, delicious - worthy of the gods, even." You hear him mumble a prayer for forgiveness under his breath and drop your spoon

"I know when you're acting, Julian."

"Ah, so I - so I am. You know -" he stands abruptly, his chair falling behind him in his haste. "I just remembered that Pasha invited us for dinner tonight. Shall we?"

He's never been so happy to see you walk out his front door

Asra

They can smell it as soon as they walk into the shop and are immediately concerned. That is the smell of death. Why is the smell of death in your shop oh no - "MC? MC, where are you?"

"I'm upstairs!" Thank the patrons, you're okay

Then again, maybe you're not, considering how perfectly comfortable you seem standing over whatever monstrosity is releasing toxic vapors into the atmosphere. Is that ... soup?

Color him intrigued. He's doing his best to hide a laugh and find a way to ask what enabled you to create something so terrifying out of simple kitchen ingredients without insulting you

"So, is this recipe an MC original?"

"Yep!" You smile at him cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the stomach-churning way that the chunks plop from the soup spoon into their bowl. "I always make this when we're running low."

"You've made this before?" They're starting to get concerned again

"Just a few times, when you were on a trip. Do you like it?"

He takes a bite, so intrigued by the way it seems to wriggle down his throat that he tries a second. "I've never had anything like it."

"What do you think of the mayonnaise? It smelled a little funky ..."

We have mayonnaise? They wonder, but on the outside they're still smiling. "It certainly adds to the experience. Is this ... banana?"

"Yeah, it seemed too mushy to eat on its own, so ..."

Asra sets down his miraculously empty bowl with a loving smile. "MC, you shouldn't have to do the cooking so often. Let me help out more often."

Nadia

She doesn't know how it's come to this. Nobody knows how it's come to this, when the Palace kitchen is kept fully stocked and there are chefs available at all hours

But you had said that you missed your home cooking, and she had given you full access to the backup kitchen to do as you pleased, and - ah, the only things kept in there are leftovers

That would explain the stench

Speaking of, her respect for your resilience has reached new heights. How you've been able to survive on your own is a mystery to her. Please tell her this isn't how you ate for three years -

But you seem as deathly serious as the radioactive sludge that's churning in her fine china like a lava lamp, and she realizes that this is going to be a labor of love. She must eat her fill and do so with elegance

You watch her bring the daintiest (read: tiniest) spoon of slime to her lips, pausing to test the aroma before setting her jaw and putting it in her mouth

Oh, look at that, she's already eaten her fill

"MC, my darling, what do you say to an evening walk? It seems I haven't the appetite to dine at this moment, how about a stroll around the palace gardens? The night is still young."

She's relieved at how easily you agree, deeply concerned by the fact that you've already finished half of your bowl, and eager to get you out of the palace so that the maids can make dinner disappear

She's going to lose sleep for the next three months about whether or not she should be honest about what happened to your soup

There's now a bald patch in the grass behind the kitchen that hasn't been able to grow anything in three years. There's a rumor that stepping on it will release a stench so foul that you won't be able to eat for twenty-four hours afterwards

Muriel

He's not too worried. He used to eat spoiled food out of the trash heaps all the time as a kid, he's sure he remembers how

But he's a little surprised that said rotting food is being actively cooked. By you. Seemingly in a choice made of your own free will

He wasn't expecting ... this, but a quick glance around the hut makes it clear to him that nothing terrible has happened, that you seem perfectly sane, and that you don't think anything's wrong

Well, you seem to trust your cooking, and he certainly trusts you, so ...

He side eyes Inanna's dramatic performance of whimpering and pawing at her nose, eventually turning to let her back out of the hut as you serve your bowls with a smile

He takes a glance at his serving as you dig in. Asra still talks about the time he ate a whole chili pepper without flinching - he can do this. He picks up his spoon, scoops up a jiggling chunk, and eats

You're a little surprised at how quickly his bowl disappears. You're not really enjoying your food yourself, but you're not going to judge his strange enthusiasm

"Muriel? If you're still hungry, there's more on the fire ..."

"I'm fine." He's getting out of his habit of depriving food of himself, but in this case, refusing to eat is a personal kindness

He drinks several glasses of water while you finish your dinner, asking you about your day and trying not to grimace at every silent burp that pulls the aftertaste back into his mouth

Inanna buries the rest after the two of you go to bed. Nobody knows how she managed it without opposable thumbs, but everything is possible for a wolf desperate to preserve her nose

Portia

Her brother might be an award-winning actor, but her flair for the dramatic only goes as far as silly little bits designed to make people laugh and pretending that she isn't about to punch somebody

She is a woman who knows her mind, her heart, her strength, and her limits. This is a limit, and she is doing her best to pass it

You can tell right away that she doesn't want to eat what you've made. You've never seen her smile look so uncomfortably tight, and you certainly didn't miss the way her stomach heaved when she leaned over the pot to take a closer look at your creation

But she's insistent on going through with your evening, even steering you towards the kitchen table and serving the bowls herself. She tries so very hard to mask the look of revulsion on her face when different chunks of stew jiggle at different frequencies

She places your bowls on the table and lifts her spoon, waiting for you to take the first bite in the hopes that your eyes will be opened and you'll insist on eating something else

No such luck. You're two spoonfuls in, so in the spirit of keeping an open mind, she loads up her utensil and shoves it in her mouth

You weren't expecting to be sprayed by the choke that seizes her, but sitting across from her puts you in the splatter zone and you're quick to give her your napkin and ask if she's okay

She nods weakly, looking slightly green. "MC," she says, "you are definitely stronger than I imagined." She takes another look at the gelatinous blobs on her table. "Stronger than you need to be."

She dusts off her hands and practically drags you out of the cottage. "Let's eat out tonight! My treat. And I just had the best idea for our next date night - we should take cooking lessons together!"

Lucio

He notices Mercedes and Melchior acting up on the way back to your campsite, but doesn't have any idea why until he gets a whiff and - oh, that is nasty

Some kind of skunk jacked up on magic must have done that, never fear, MC! He's here to save the day now - what do you mean that's dinner? That is not dinner. Dinner is not supposed to smell like that

He's not sparing a second to consider manners or acting. Lucio calls it like he sees it, and all he sees is poison

"MC, do we have to? It smells so bad, look at it MC, just loo - bleugh - no I'm not being dramatic! The smell made me gag for real, watch!"

And he leans over the pot again, just to take a deep lungful and subsequently let out the most visceral gagging belch you've ever witnessed

"See? It's bad, it's really bad, and I don't want to eat it! Why are you being so mean to me, MC?"

To be honest, you're not particularly excited to eat it either, but it's all you've got until you make it to the next town tomorrow, so you tell him as much as his pout slowly deepens

"Fine, I'll do it. I guess it can't be that bad if you made it -" He watches the way it slops into his bowl and gulps. "I take it back."

Sure it's a little spicier and clumpier and saltier and sickly sweeter than you planned, but you're able to stomach it just fine

And to your surprise, Lucio can too. He complains loudly the whole time, but his whining somehow grants him the ability to eat three full bowls

"See, you ate so much of it!"

"Well of course!" he puffs out his chest proudly. "I'm the best. At least it's not as bad as what we had in the army. But - MC?" he looks at you with pleading eyes, "please don't make that again."

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 5: Feverish Caretaker

Masterlist

tw: fever

June ladled water out of the bucket, careful not to spill a drop. It was almost empty, and she couldn't help but run her tongue over her parched and cracked lips. The burning of her throat was like she had swallowed needles, only outmatched in pain by the hammering in her head, and she longed to feel some cool water down her throat, but she couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, she brought the ladle to Henry's mouth. "Drink. You need it."

Henry's eyes were vacant as they had been for several days now, but he opened his mouth enough for the water to flow in. She poured it slowly, not wanting him to choke, especially since he could barely sit up. The moment he had finished with the water, he collapsed back down into the bed. She pressed a hand to his forehead, hopeful that his fever would break.

"Still hot as a furnace," she said.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Glad you haven't caught it from me."

She nodded. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she was burning too.

He closed his eyes and fell back into a fitful sleep. Even the small effort of sitting up for a drink had taken all the energy he had.

June's eyes traveled back to the bucket and the thin layer of water that still sat on the bottom. She didn't dare drink it, because then they would be out, and then she'd have to make a trip to the well for more. She was hiding from Henry the fact that she was too weak to stand, much less carry a heavy water bucket all the way to the house.

Still, if she faltered, there'd be no one left to take care of Henry. She dipped the ladle into the last of the water, savoring the relief as she swished it around her dry mouth.

Maybe if she got some sleep, she'd feel well enough afterwards to go to the well. Just a quick nap, while Henry was sleeping…

Masterlist

@augusnippets

[battorlstuff]

Story: Fall of the Jock P.4

Filling his Ego

Suddenly it's as if Jace had regained his strength, fighting and throwing insults, but instead his body seemed more weakened than ever.

Those muscles that he boasted so much had deteriorated, those abs that he kept flexing in front of the mirror were no longer even visible, instead a tender roll of fat ruined the complexion of his abdomen that now protruded a little outwards. His arms looked big, but they didn't have anywhere near the same definition and his legs and butt were quite flabby now, his pecs were turning into mobs and jiggling as Jace struggled.

"This is the last video of Jace in that chair, I think I'll move him to a couch, you know he's getting quite fat, our pig will need more space"

Despite his declining physique, Jace continued to disparagingly insult the man, calling him a fat pig, but that only made things funnier for his captor who was standing in front of Jace watching him fight. He laughed as the new flab that covered his entire body wobbled at his outburst.

The man left for a moment, leaving Jace struggling in the chair, then with a squeak the man entered dragging a large standing mirror.

"Time for Jace to see what I've done to his tight body."

"What the hell have you done to me?! No, I can't be fat! My abs, I've had abs since high school...I couldn't let you do this to me...I'm disgusting"

Jace screamed and cried as he watched his once beefy pecs jiggle like tits, while he felt the heaviness in his numb legs and watched his belly grow and bury his abs.

"Well, he didn't take it so well..." a close-up of the boy's new flaccidity from every angle, the man brought the camera closer and shook his new layer of fat, twisted and played with his nipples, gave a few spanks on his butt that It looked like jelly now. On his legs his thighs were beginning to come together and finally he gave a few good pats against his new belly, that flaccid navel, far from what used to be his hard abs, looked swollen creating a small belly, and the rolls of fat were beginning to appear hiding his old six pack, needless to say, his v-line also disappeared under the layer of fat.

There was a cut and the title appeared on the screen: "His real punishment begins, week 5 238lbs"

"An old friend has a good restaurant, and Jace will try the specialty"

A huge pot was on one side of the couch, Jace had a marker lying there at the bottom, it seemed like it was hot in the room because the boy was sweating profusely and even his captor had sweaty shirt. It only gets worse when I drag Jace near the steaming pot.

"Chili with meat and beans...I ordered the leftovers, anyway, that's what pigs eat, right?" The man takes a huge ladle, dips it, and then brings it to Jace's mouth. "Come on, try it." He doesn't wait for Jace to react, instead he shoves the wooden ladle between the boy's lips and makes him swallow a handful of beans and meat.

Impatiently, the man took a funnel and began pouring the chili through it.

"oh no buddy...I won't let you stop, you don't deserve a break"

"mmmmfd..please...too much...vomit...mmmm" Jace grunted, as his stomach swelled beyond its limits, meat falling down his torso, broth accumulating between his rolls of fat, but the man continued pouring the chili for almost ten minutes.

Then, seeing that Jace might vomit, he decided to make it slow again. Even though he still didn't want to give Jace a break, he dipped the ladle into the pot and fed Jace.

He had barely finished the first bite when the spoon was in front of his mouth again. He chewed and swallowed nonstop, but the pot was still far from finished. It seemed just as full as when he started,

Jace stopped for a moment again, trying to recover a little and fighting not to vomit. There was less than half of the chili left and his captor was waiting for that pot to finish.

"Oghghh" Jace grunted as he was forced to continue eating, his captor wouldn't give him a break, the taste of the chili was disgusting, it was clear it was leftovers from days ago, Jace's stomach growled as he continued eating, he felt cramps but the man didn't stop, delighted to see Jace's stomach grow.

"FUCK! You're too slow!" shouted at him after almost half an hour Jace was halfway through the pot and it was evident that he could no longer continue, Jace was panting and with his mouth open, saliva was dripping out along with the chili.

"Maybe you need motivation huh?" the man wasted no time in starting to masturbate Jace hard, the now ex jock had gotten used to this, he didn't need more stimulation, if his stomach was full and swollen, his dick would be hard.

Jace did not react, he was barely able to moan as he released his load, that was new, Jace took several minutes to finish shooting and his captor would make sure that all of his semen fell into the pot.

The following days the routine was repeated, the pot was emptied and the man refilled it, little by little Jace lost all trace of muscles, he went from 238 lbs to 298 and now on his "last day of chili" the man helped him walking to the scale.

Jace is weak, his legs and arms atrophied from the lack of movement, stretch marks were visible on his butt and belly, and a laugh was heard when Jace reached the scale, the video ends with Jace being masturbated once again, the man pokes his belly, spanks his deformed butt, and squeezes his new mobs, Jace had reached 316 lbs, and when he sat down again, the chair broke under the weight of the now fat boy.

[d011zk1ll]

I'll admit I don't know much about aidlyn, but maybe (in an au away from, uh.. whatever SBG has going on) you could write about them watching a movie or cooking? I enjoy little domestic scenes like that. maybe they're cuddled up on a couch watching a terrible movie one of them rented, or teaching the other how to cook a favorite dish, etc etc etc.

i ask for you forgiveness its midnight this ended up tacky but erm yes oui oui

Aidelyn fluff :3

The kitchen was warm, and in all honesty cramped. Each time Ashlyn needed to reach the stove, she’d end up brushing past him, arm against arm. It wasn’t that there wasn’t enough space, she still had some room- more so the comfort of human contact. The simple things in life, really. “Have you grated the carrots yet, Aiden?” She asked, stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon, and sifting the spices in. “We need those, the onions and the tomatoes added in soon or the sauce will end up evaporating.” 

Aiden didn’t look up from his chopping board, shifting the pile of carrots to one side and beginning to chop the onion. “If you’re in the spaghetti, how are you supposed to help me cook?” 

His face was never straight, always in a grin that could melt anyone's sharp corners, like fire next to ice; still, it didn’t waver as he retorted with a soft tone. 

“If this pan wasn’t scalding, I'd hit you in the back of the head. You know that, right?” 

“Oh,” He laughed, “I am well aware. I’m so screwed when there’s no longer a fire hazard.” 

She grumbled under her breath, eliciting nothing less than a chuckle from Aiden as he finished with the onion, bringing the chopping board over to the stove. “Special delivery, Ash.” They were so close to each other, she could feel the way his body shifted as he brushed the vegetables into the sauce, the dressing creating a small plop sound as they fell in. Ashlyn could feel his breath, solid and a simple comfort that felt no less than necessary for her wellbeing and life. 

“Should I drain the pasta?” He broke the silence, not out of want, but out of need- Ashlyn could hear the water begin to bubble too much. “Yeah, the sauce just needs to be stirred and we can go watch that shitty movie you rented, what was it? Quid Game?” She grimaced, flicking her wrist to turn the stove off. “That sounds like an absolutely horrible rip off.” 

“It sounds brilliant, you just lack a sense of humour,” Aiden countered, a spike of joy evident in his tone. “I think it's going to be comedy gold.” He finished, bringing bowls with noodles over and reaching for the ladle.

Ashlyn sounded unamused,“If you say so.”

The metal scoop brushed against the bottom of the pot, red broth and mince scooped into the ladle as she poured it onto the noodles, doing the same for his bowl.

He had a habit of taking the chipped ones, and leaving the ones without the porcelain exposed to her; aware of how it made her uncomfortable.

“Come on then,” she turned for the door, Aiden batting a braid with the back of his hand like he always did. “We can put the leftovers into tupperware when you inevitably get bored after ten minutes.”

[crystalbeetle888]

Voyage into the Unknown Pt.6

Master List Pt.5 - Pt.6 - Pt.7

Many more days pass, riding across fields and forest, through little valleys and rivers, up and down hills, in rain and sun. And during that time, I have only grown closer to Kili.  Not forgetting Bilbo, and Fili. Their company is the only thing keeping me sane as the older men continuously thwart any attempt of mine at helping. I feel stir-crazy as the days melt together, with nothing productive to do except talk, ride, and train at sword fight with Fili until dusk. 

The company rides up a grassy hill laying at the bottom of a tall cliff-face, large boulders scattered along the way. At the top, the ruins of an abandoned house lay. Thorin rides up to it “We’ll camp her for the night” He says, Gandalf already wandering around, inspecting the house. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them” he says to his nephews. Hoping off my horse I hand Kili the reins, and take my pack down “I suppose I won't be training with your brother tonight then” I swing my now very heavy bag on my back. “Well you can always watch the ponies with us, keep us company” I look over at Thorin who seems to be arguing with Gandalf in the ruined house “I’m not sure that he’s in the mood for suggestions right now, plus I think he’d say I’m ‘too distracting’” I mock Thorins’ deeper voice. Kili chuckles “You’re probably right”. “I’m definitely right,” I nod, pursing my lips. “And how do you know that?” he asks, “Because I’m a woman, and I know everything” we laugh together, Kili nodding along until a loud outraged voice interrupts us “Myself, Mr.Baggins!” Gandalf storms past us “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day” I hear him mutter to himself as he wanders off into the wild. “Come on, Bomber, we’re hungry” Thorin calls over. The company whispers to one another “Where do you think he’s going?” I turn to Kili in concern, “Probably just off for a smoke, maybe a bath” He shrugs, not caring that the powerful being has essentially left us until further notice. Anxiety begins to creep into my mind, making me feel restless. Kili wanders off with his brother taking the ponies with him. 

Settling in for the night, Bofur fills up peoples’ bowls with the thick stew. I get up and hop in line for seconds, behind Bomber, who patiently waits for his turn. Bilbo fidgets, walking back and forth “He’s been a long time” He stomps over, “Who?” Bofur asks, “Gandalf” Bilbo stresses, Bofur scoffs “He’s a Wizard. He does as he chooses. Here, do us a favour. Take these to the lads” He hands over two bowls to Bilbo who didn’t really want to help out. Bomber sneaking the ladle for his fourth serving, tries to sip straight out the spoon “Stop it. You’ve had plenty” Bofur chides him, wrestling the ladle from him. “Let him eat if he’s hungry” I say, frowning at Bofur. The two turn to look at me, Bomber smiling under his thick braided beard, and Bofur shaking his head “Don’t start down that road lass, he’ll eat you out of house and home” He wags his finger. I roll my eyes at his antics “He’s not a bottomless pit”. Bofur laughs and whacks Bombers fat belly “He’ll eat a whole cheese wheel and then some lass” the two dwarves laugh, Bomber looking quite proud of himself. “Bullshit” I say, causing the two to chortle louder “Language lass! Bombers appetite is something to behold” he exclaims. I uh huh them, taking the ladle and pouring a scoop into my bowl “I’ll believe it when I see it mate” “Well, maybe one day you’ll have to experience a true dwarvish feast, that’s where the real action happens” He winks and I laugh “I suppose I’ll have to then aye” He nods with a chuckle as I turn away, and walk around the socialising men to find a quiet spot to sit and enjoy my meal. 

The wind is nice and cool after a long hot day of horse riding, my legs ache deeply, my heart aching also. Homesickness isn’t something I thought I would be feeling. But here I am, sadly sipping my stew, longing for my daily, or even weekly routine. Opening up the studio in the early morning, working away at my latest collection of paintings until noon, where I would then go and help teach at the local dojo to the juniors class. Some may think my schedule was repetitive or boring, but I really enjoyed the normality and structure. Always buying a vanilla iced chai from the bakery next door, possibly a mini pizza or pasty. Always passing by the same calico street cat, sitting on the town statue down the front most street, waiting for pets or food offerings. I had always thought her name was Fatty or Big Bess, Bessie for short. But I’ve heard other suggestions like Spot or Tiger, or more suitable ones for her weight like Jabba or Big girl.

I sniffle, face heating up at the thought of home. Taking a deep breath to settle my heart, I barely notice Balin walking over “You alright lass?” I jump, his voice surprising me, “Yeah just missing home, you know” I continue to sip on my now cold soup. “Aye I know that feeling well” He sits down on a rock beside me “Sometimes it helps to talk of it” He smiles warmly at me “Tell me about it hay?”. I sigh “I was actually thinking of a fat street cat” I laugh sadly and he chuckles “Not thinking of family?” He jokes. I smile strained at him “No, I don’t have any family left” stir my soup aimlessly. “I’m sorry lass, I didn’t mean anything by it” He apologises quickly “Nah it’s all good mate, they died a long time ago” I stare out over the dark valley, clouds rolling over the hills. “How’d they pass?” He asks quietly, “My mother died of- uh a brain illness, and my father died from- overindulgence in substance” I say before sculling the last of cold stew in one gulp. “I’m sorry lass, sometimes terrible things occur and all we can do is hold out, in hope of a better day” He leans over and pats my shoulder in a very fatherly way, causing my eyes to water “Thank you” I whisper. 

The moment of solemn silence between us is broken by two princes rushing through the brush shouting “Thorin! Mountain trolls have snatched the ponies!” they shout alerting the company “Bilbo went ahead to try and release them, we don’t know how long he’ll last” Fear strikes my body ‘Shits’ just gotten real’ I think scared as the men grab their weapons, preparing for a fight ‘What the fuck is a mountain troll?’ I place my hand on my sheathed sword. I've never had to use this in an actual fight before, let alone aim to kill someone. Balin places his hand on mine “Stay here lass, if we don’t return, run like the wind and find Gandalf”. I nod shamefully, knowing I won’t be of much use. As the men march off to battle, the princes leading the way, a deafening silence washes over the camp. My anxiety spiking through the roof, ‘When am I supposed to run?’ ‘Where am I supposed to go’ and most nerve-wracking ‘What if they need help?’ I jitter and buzz with adrenaline, pacing around the camp. “How about I just go and check it out? Yeah, then if they need help I’ll- do- something” I hype myself up. Pulling out my machete from my pack, I jog into the woods, making sure to keep low. A bright glow lights up the forest ‘How did we not notice them?’. I creep up to the light and hide in a bush at the top of the mound, overlooking their camp. In the centre of the clearing a large bonfire is lit, with some of the dwarves spit-roasting over it. Three giant, ugly, ‘mountain trolls’ stand around arguing with Bilbo about how they're going to cook the company, before one of them picks up Bomber and dangles him over his mouth. Sliding on my belly, down the mound and through the brush, I sneak up behind Thorin who lays closest, and grab the rope tying his sack closed. Thorin jumps at the touch before I shush him, working on cutting him free.

“Oh, not that one. He’s infected.” The troll turns to look at him “Huh?” “You what?” they ask outraged. “Yeah, he’s got worms in his- tubes” Bilbo makes something up quickly, and to my surprise the troll toss Bomber back on the pile with a loud “Eww!”. “In fact, they all have. They're infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business and I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn’t” He tries to convince them. 

Their conversation about parasites drift into the background as I focus on cutting though this stupidly thick rope, with my stupidly small pocket knife. Finally cutting it, I pull the cord loose from around Thorin's neck, and attempt to grasp the back of Thorin's shirt and pull him up. However he’s much heavier than I expected, and I struggle to pull him even an inch up into the scrub. “Come here you!” one of the trolls exclaims before I am suddenly lifted up by my leg. “Oi look Tom, look what I've got” He proudly waves me in the air, ragdolling me, to the other trolls. “Put her down!” “Leave the lass alone!” the company shouts angrily. The troll brings me to his face and gives me a long sniff. “Mmmh man-flesh” he says, rancid breath wafting over my face causing me to dry-heave upside-down “And it’s a female” he says excitedly. “Taste better than the males” He raises me high above his face causing me to shout out in fear and wriggle furiously in his grip, kicking and punching his hand “Put me down you fat ugly cunt!” I scream at him causing him to crack up laughing. “Do you ‘ear that Will? This ones’ got fight in it” He shakes me around violently, ceasing my wriggling. 

“The dawn will take you all!” Gandalf’s voice bellows over the commotion. “Who’s that?” “No idea.” “Can we eat him too?” the trolls ask before Gandalf strikes the stone he stands on, breaking it in half and allowing the morning light to cascade over the trolls. They retract, groaning in pain as they quickly turn to stone. The company cheers joyfully “Oh, get your foot out of my back” Dwalin complains from the spit-roast. Still hanging upside-down in the dead troll's grip, the blood really begins to rush to my head. “A little help anyone” I mutter weakly as my vision begins to spot. “Just hold on lass we’ll get you down” someone yells.

Eventually, after they had saved themselves, the dwarves managed to get me on the ground again. “You could’ve sustained serious injury, have you no care for yourself?” Thorin hisses as he marches over. Tired and nauseous, I lay flat on the dewy grass, without saying a word in response. I groan in discomfort, being shook around like that has really pulled everything out of place. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” He scoffs. “Yeah, I do have something to say actually. Sod off!” I bark back at him before covering my eyes with my arm, a headache slowly creeps up my neck. Balin interrupts Thorin by saying something in Khazdul, causing him to back off in a huff. Thorin then goes to harass Gandalf leaving Balin to tend to my wounds.

Master List Pt.5 - Pt.6 - Pt.7