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digitalfishwish · 7 months ago

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Kit's Traybake Pancakes (cinnamon apple var.) - Updated!

Love eating pancakes but hate making them? This traybake pancake recipe may be for you! Making these gives me enough pancake squares for 6 days (5 if you eat two on the day you make them). They’re fluffy, reheat well, can either be eaten with or without maple syrup, and are very customizable! I recommend adding fruit and protein powder like I do in this recipe, making it a (slightly) healthier breakfast than just pure carbs.

(Updated) instructions under the cut!

Full disclosure, the base for this recipe was the mug pancake recipe from Emma’s Goodies, which you can watch here!

I made this mug pancake for years (except with tripled portions because I was using a very big mug) and it was super delicious! However, for just one mug pancake, it was a bit of a production and didn’t feel super worth it. Thusly, I have adapted the recipe to be made in a 13”x9” baking tray, which makes a whole lot of breakfast.

Recipe (serving size: 2 squares):

Base Ingredients:

12 tbsp. butter (I use salted, if you don’t have salted butter, add a small amount of kosher salt to your recipe)

9 tbsp. (1/2 cup+ 1 tbsp) granulated sugar

12 fl.oz. milk (I use skim, use whatever kind you like)

3 cups all-purpose flour

3 tsp. baking powder

Customizable Ingredients:

1 scoop protein powder (I use vanilla flavored whey)

1/4 cup of maple syrup (ideally not pancake syrup, they’re different)

1 apple (I use McIntosh or Honeycrisp)

A piping hot cup of apple tea with a heaping tablespoon of honey

Nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom to taste, for sprinkling on top

Base Instructions:

Heat oven to 375°F, take out a 13”x9” nonstick baking pan and spray bottom and sides with cooking spray (yes theoretically I know you don’t need to spray a nonstick pan but better safe than sorry).

If you choose to put apple chunks in, I recommend doing this step first. I personally like to let the chunks soak in my favorite loose leaf apple tea (non-sponsored plug)! Boil a cup of water and fill the tea infuser with tea. Add a heaping tablespoon of honey to the cup and stir until it dissolves. Then put them infuser in and steep the tea for three minutes, after which you should give the mug a final stir and pour it into a bowl. See “customizable instructions, steps 2-4” for how I recommend cutting the apple. After that, put the peeled apple chunks into the bowl of delicious tea and let them soak until it’s time to add them later on!

If you’re not putting apple in, do this step first. Put butter in a bowl and melt it in the microwave. I recommend microwaving for 1m20s.

Put butter in a stand mixer, preferably with the paddle attachment. While you heat the milk in the microwave* (40 seconds, I use a glass liquid measuring cup), add the granulated sugar to the mixer. Once the milk is heated, give it a real quick stir, and then add it and use one of the lower settings on your mixer.

(If you have customizable wet ingredients, add them now!)

Add the flour and baking powder, mix again on low setting until it forms a batter (a small amount of lumps is okay from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to overmix).

*You can’t put cold milk into hot butter, it will form little clumps and be gross

Customizable Instructions:

Add a 1/4 cup of maple syrup (as above, preferably before the flour, with the other wet ingredients), and also one scoop of your preferred protein powder. Mix on low setting until it’s incorporated.

Peel the apple wedges with a peeler (don't use the skin, you'll thank me later). If you have an apple cutter (the thing that looks like a wheel with handles), use that. If you don’t:

Take your apple and a large, sharp knife (be careful) and cut the apple in half vertically. Then place it down with the core side up, and cut each apple half like so: cut off the left side, avoiding the core, followed by the right. Then turn what’s left of the half apple on its side, and cut off the last piece at the back. Do the same for the other apple half, then chop the segments into whatever sized chunks you want.

Use as much of it as you want, but I myself use the whole apple. (If you don’t, eat whatever segments you don’t intend to use for a lil snack.) Then put apple chunks into mixer, and half the tea if you made it, and mix until incorporated. (Drink what tea remains, it’s even more delicious now that the fresh apple’s been in it!)

Baking Instructions:

Pour batter into greased baking tray, shake the pan until the batter is flattened and reaches all the corners (or use a spatula and spread it evenly by hand). Optional: Sprinkle the top with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom according to your tastes. I tend to have a heavy hand even if I don’t mean to, but it still comes out very tasty! (and smells great while baking!)

When the oven reaches temperature (if you preheated it at the beginning, it may have already been at temperature for a while) put the pan in and cook for 35 mins. Know your oven and if it tends to be hotter or colder*, adjust cook time as necessary.

When the timer goes off, test the center in several places with a toothpick. As long as it doesn’t come out goopy, you’re good! (crumbs on the toothpick is fine) I say test in several places because if you accidentally go through a piece of apple, your toothpick may come out slightly wet, but that doesn’t mean the pancakes aren’t done. If it's not done, cook in intervals of 5 minutes, testing each time the timer goes off.

Take pan out and use a butter knife or a pie serving spatula and poke around the edges of the pan to free the pancake traybake from the edges. Let cool for 10 minutes.

Cut into squares. I tend to cut 12 pieces, but you could go smaller or larger depending on how much you intend to eat at once.

*How do I know if my oven runs hot or cold, you may ask? If any recipe you make comes out raw and/or takes longer to cook than the instructions say, your oven is colder! If your food ends up burnt and/or takes less time to cook than the recipe instructions say, your oven is hotter!

Enjoy! I eat two squares at a time and it makes a good breakfast! For storing, put however much of it you can eat in 2-3 days in the fridge. Store the rest in the freezer.

For any customizing other than what I did, use whatever fruit, spices, syrups, and/or protein powders you want! Just be aware that more fruit in the batter means it may take longer to cook!

If you make them, either the same way I did here or differently, let me know how they came out!

OLD EDIT: After some experimentation, it seems like the pancakes come out more moist if baked for 35 minutes at 375°F! I also soak the apple pieces in a cup of “Apple Blood Tea” (find it on adagio teas, it’s super delish!) with honey at the beginning of the process, then add the ‘marinated’ apples and half a cup of the tea into the batter.

NEW EDIT 09/2024: I just changed the recipe whether it needed changing, since I realized that changing stuff behind the readmore didn’t transfer to previously reblogged posts 😫 I also added image descriptions.

#pancakes #recipes #baking #pancake recipe #traybake #traybake recipe #breakfast #meal prep #breakfast meal prep #tasty #shoutout to my wife lunarchandelure for helping me convert measurements #you may ask yourself: why are the instructions stupidly specific and overelaborated?#I personally like to be walked through new tasks in as much detail as possible. this may help other people too!

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

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shirefantasies · 3 months ago

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Marti it is Moss *does small dance* sending in a Hobbit imagine should it strike your fancy to answer. If not feel free to delete you come first and foremost! Your blog is always a delight and i read everything you post like its the morning newspaper.

Im wondering if you would write a hobbit headcanon for a reader who uses a mobility aid like forearm crutches!

I myself use forearm crutches (named Catcher and Holder a la Dwalin) for dizziness and weakness due to neurological issues, but there are many reasons for their use from joint pain to hypermobility. Sometimes people use them all the time and other times they are only used when they have flare ups (some have to have them available all the time in case of The Return tm)

Sometimes you use one and sometimes you use two. All depends on condition severity, needs,what youre doing, and preference

Even when you have a flare up you may not prefer to use them for short distances ie in your house some people choose not to. I use mine on the steps unless im doing something hazardous and dont want to risk a fall (and be able to walk in general)which ive become prone to over the last two years.

You still live your life and do what you do sometimes its a bit different other times its not. Sometimes you have a stick or two.

You can make a lot of fun decorations and functional tools like cupholders and pouches for your crutches and stickers make them unique and customizable. Honestly the biggest challenge for me is mugs and stairs+ other two handed tasks 😩 let me see someone smack a warg protecting their bestie and then lament not planning their cuppa retrieval rofl.

Im wondering how our lads would have a time with this- not acceptance wise as i know Dwarves are very accepting. More along lines of shenanigans wholesome fun bonding the good daily stuff that you write so beautifully and capture each one of them so well!

Thank you so much and if you have any questions please feel free to reach out

🌿🏹moss🏹🌿

Hello Moss 🥰💚 OMG Catcher and Holder that's perfectttt! Sorry this post is so fuckin long in the making but hopefully you enjoy it and this captures it well! I confess I don't personally use a mobility aid at this time so I may not have the greatest frame of reference 😅 but yeah I hope you like these little moments! *does small exit dance in return*

Warnings: canon typical violence in some

Thorin's Company + Reader With Mobility Aids

Balin

“Might I ask who built that?” Polite as ever, Balin motioned to the chair upon which you had affixed a pair of wheels. “I did,” you answered, “I was the only person in my little village who needed something like this.” “Well, you are quite the craftsman. Would that you had no ties to your hometown and the Lonely Mountain could snap you up! You could see those skills built up tenfold.” “R-really? I came here to Laketown for something just like that! But I’ll confess I think you will be a far better teacher.” Winking, you gave Balin a smile he mirrored. “You’re resilient. Smart as a whip, too! It would be my honor.” “And after all,” you added, “If anyone would know how to mount a crossbow on the arms, it would be dwarves!” At that, even as polite a dwarf as Balin could hardly help bursting into a wicked grin.

Dwalin

“Nice axes.” “Forged them myself,” Dwalin answered with a nod, “Grasper and Keeper. One grasps your soul, the other keeps it.” “How funny,” you remarked, raising your forearm crutches, “I call these Catcher and Holder. Same idea only with the body. Suppose that isn’t nearly as impressive, though.” “Impressive?” Dwalin burst out. “We’ve all got our battle scars. Our wounds. Never be ashamed of that. The fact that you’re still up ‘n’ going? Be proud. I can show you plenty o’ scars myself!” At that last bit, Dwalin began lifting up his tunic to reveal toned skin paled in some places and darkened in others by all manner of scars and at that, you couldn’t help shyly laughing. Proud indeed.

Thorin

Yes, the king had not denied you entry into his company when Gandalf had recommended you, but he had raised and furrowed his regal brow in the skeptical look all but branded into your mind. He’d asked Gandalf if he was certain, and from then on the fire in your heart blazed. Certainly Thorin treated you as an equal, giving you the tasks he gave all others, but he had been yet to see you in battle and you knew that was where your proof would solidify. In fact, the first time wargs closed in upon you, you were one of the first to run back at them. Hearing the way Thorin called your name, but thoroughly ignoring it in favor of landing a solid crack upon the nearest adversary's skull. Luckily your body was having a better day anyway despite all the walking, because you spun and smashed your way through the orc pack, especially once you saw the way one bowled Bofur and Dori over. Fire took over your heart and eyes as you swung your mace until you could swing no more, all but deaf to the cracking of heads and the clattering of your allies’ blades through that pounding adrenaline. At the end of it all, Thorin approached you, his expression surprisingly mild. Then it broke into a smile. “The wizard was right about you,” he told you, clapping a hand to your shoulder, “Invaluable in all respects indeed.”

Oin

“Oh, that’s clever, that is!” “My eyes are up here,” you quipped, crossing your arms and smiling sardonically down at the dwarf bent over peering at your wheels. At that, Oin tilted his head up to look back at you, giving a raucous heh heh heh of laughter. “Never seen anything like this lot before,” he commented, shaking his head and running a hand over the frame of your chair, “You’d think dwarves’d be the first to make ‘em! ‘S beautiful.” Your lips parted wordlessly for a few moments before you spoke, head still slightly tilted. “Beautiful?” “Course!” Oin replied, smiling widely as he rose to his feet again. “A real beauty for sure. A marvel, actually. It is quite the privilege to get to see it in action!” “No one has ever told me that before,” you replied quietly, a smile spreading across your lips.

Gloin

Orcs rushed you from every side, sending you scrambling as fast as your crutches could support you. Carrying a sword aside it all was about as unwieldy as one imagined, but you knew no different. In fact, your best strike that fight had nearly taken a whole arm off. Catching sight of you, though, the nearest of your blood-spattered adversaries grinned and gave a savage kick, sending your crutches flying from beneath you. Teetering, you pitched forward, trying to catch yourself with one arm and steady your sword with the other as the shout rang out. “You think you’re so clever, you great filthy buzzard? I don’t think so!” With a savage growl of his own, Gloin flew into the fray, and with a violent swing of his axe the orc’s head was sent unceremoniously tumbling to the dirt. “Serves ‘m right, eh?” Gloin asked with a smug look as he extended a hand, helping you up, handing you your crutches, and even gently dusting you off.

Bifur

You had seen the way he glanced your way. How his eyes traced the lines of the crutches extending from your forearms, the extensions of steel that made walking less painless. And running more painless if you were a charging warg on the receiving end of a bash to the face. Bifur had seen the way you slid your arms free to motion and sign to him, indicating the interesting things seen along the road. If you had a tendency to go nonverbal, he would aid you in removing your crutches when you needed to sign. Such things had been floating in your mind when you sat by his side, asked him if he understood in a way. You certainly felt understood in his presence, after all. Bifur glanced away with haste, but still you caught notice of tears in his dark eyes, just for a moment. A moment before the smile spread across his face and he leaned in, gently resting his forehead against yours- carefully, of course, so you barely felt the brush of the axe against your joined skin.

Bofur

“Bofur!” Uncaring how earsplitting your scream may have been, you charged forward, heaving one leg before the other as fast as you could while still keeping a hand on your walker. Which was faster than even you realized, sped by adrenaline and rage and urgency all pounding through your ears. Loading your crossbow again and again, you fired three successive shots into the assailant’s side, shoulder, and finally with the last you struck his ugly head and knocked him down onto his ass. For good. Sighing heavily, you leaned for just a moment on your walker frame before making your way to Bofur’s side, this time at a less painful pace, and turned it around to take a seat. Leaning down, you reached for his hand. “Bofur, are you alright?” “I am thanks to you,” he chuckled, his hazel eyes fixed upon you fondly, “Maybe I need to get myself one of those. Seems to aid the aim, having something to lean on.” Grinning and blinking back tears, you procured a cloth and a strip of bandage and started to dab away the blood on his shoulder.

Bombur

“Hope this isn’t rude…” You were surprised by the sound of Bombur's soft voice coming from your side, turning from the journal you wrote in and setting your implements aside. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, well aware of all the 'not rude' inquiries you'd received over the years as to why you carried crutches, especially if some days you did not. However, knowing this one came from sweet Bombur softened you. He actually meant it. "...But what's the hardest part of having those?" You couldn't resist a snicker at the thought that immediately rose to your mind. "You'd really like to know?" "Yes," he nodded, "If I may." With another little snort, you smiled and told him, "Mugs." "Mugs?" "Mugs and stairs. Can't tell you the number of times I've spilled on my way up. Anything that takes two hands, really." "I see!" The conversation ended with Bombur's eyes lighting up. At least you thought it had ended... Several days later, he came shuffling up to you with that same sweetly eager glint and his hands behind his back. "I've made you something," he told you, pulling out an open cylinder of steel and unfolding another little piece from it, "Hope it works. It's a little mug holder. Go on, let's see if it fits." Snapping the little unfolding piece to your crutch, Bombur watched your face break into a grin as it remained in place. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, Bombur. Thank you." "You deserve it," he replied, smiling fondly at you.

Dori

“I wouldn’t exactly mind having one of those.” “A cane?” You arched a brow. “I’ve always thought it made you look distinguished,” he admitted with a smile. “Now that is a new one,” you commented wryly, “All for use of my leg.” “Nothing wrong with it,” Dori shrugged, “We all do what we must. Seems a shame you’ve such a plain one, though.” At that, your proverbial ears perked up. “As opposed to what?” “Well,” he shrugged, “I don’t know. Haven’t you seen all the nice silver tips and things they put on canes?” “Ah,” you nodded, “I see what you mean! It is a bit of a shame I haven’t anything to decorate mine with, isn’t it?” “Haven’t anything? What do you call this?” With that emphasized last word, Dori reached behind into his pack and procured a little silver charm, one carved richly with dwarven runes and even centered with a little green stone. Fiddling at his back more, the dwarf also found a section of string and hastily tied it to your cane’s handle. “Now what do you call that?” He asked, waving a hand over the charm. “I have a bit of luster dust if you’d like something more.” Needless to say, it was the most fun night you’d had in those endless weeks of trekking.

Nori

Raising one eyebrow at Nori, you stared in skepticism as he held a hand out and repeated his request. “Your cane, please?” “How do I know you won’t just run off with it?” You shot back. “You’re sitting,” he pointed out, “Not like you really need it. Besides, do you really think I’d be so incorrigible a scoundrel as to make off with someone’s means of walkin’ for no reason?” Nori’s gaze slid upward from your carven wood cane back to your eyes, which remained as they were. “Second thought, don’t answer that. Just trust me, hm? You won’t regret it. Dwarf’s honor.” At the invoking of honor, an action infrequently taken by Nori, your brow lowered to form a more neutral, though inquisitive, expression as you handed your cane over. You were quickly distracted by conversation from Dori as you sat, folding your hands in both complacency and content and shivering a bit in the snow. The conversation continued for some time until an ‘A-ha!’ rang out and Nori came running back up, triumphantly hoisting your cane, to which he had crudely affixed one of his many knives. “And what,” you asked, “Is this?” Nodding beyond your night’s campground, Nori indicated the ice extending across the ground. “Aid in your trek! Can’t have you slipping, can you? Not that I won’t catch ya.” He winked.

Ori

“Your sticks!” Ori gasped, brown eyes wide with horror. “Where are they?” “My crutches?” Eyebrows sliding upward in amusement, you made your way toward the young dwarf, who was stitching a sock a handful of feet away. At that, he simply nodded, repairs completely abandoned upon his lap. "Oh, I simply had no need for them today," you answered with a small shrug of your shoulders. At that, Ori gave a curious little frown. “So you can walk some days?” “It isn’t only a matter of walking,” you chuckled, “Moreso that some days my pain and balance are worse.” “Like when Gloin’s leg bothers him?” Ori asked, face turning to childlike eagerness. “Or how Bifur doesn't talk some days?" A little smile spread across your face and your chest expanded with warmth. "Yes," you agreed, "Just like that, Ori."

Fili

Mind drifting off in tandem with the pulsing ache of your limbs, you gazed at the flicker of the fire, faintly drifting smoke curling into the air from pipes and the kindling itself. Your hands idly wrung your cane until the sensation of warmth brushing your leg drew you from your empty focus spiral. Shifting your gaze, you were met with the sight of Fili sitting at your side. "Think I might need one of those after today." Following his gaze, your eyes fell back down to your hands, more specifically the cane held there. "Your own mobility aid or the other?" At your last words, Fili quirked up a golden brow. "The other?" He repeated. Smirking proudly, you slid the end off your cane, revealing a sword hidden within. “The other,” you repeated once more with emphasis, “Guess you weren’t paying attention to how I heaved so many goblins off that bridge.” “You’re right,” Fili agreed, blue eyes lighting up in the fireglow, “I do want that. How long has that been there?” “Whole time.” “Just waiting for the right moment, eh?” “Of course,” you bantered back, “Gotta make a show.”

Kili

“Can I try?” Kili smiled up at you as you blinked at him, face blank with thought. Reaching down, he pantomimed using your crutches for a step, swinging his arms back and forth. "You want to give my crutches a go?" Your eyebrows shot up, a smile building upon your face. Memories flooded your mind, deep knowledge of the struggle that nearly always comes with those first steps and even far beyond. Loosening the grip you had upon your aids, you handed them off to Kili as you took Oin's hand and allowed him to help walk and lower you onto a makeshift camp seat. Hooking his arms in, Kili stood up, adjusting his posture after several moments. He took a step, then swung them. "Wait, that doesn't make sense. Hold on." You giggled from your seat at Oin's side as Kili raised one leg, thought, brought the crutches down again and wobbled such that you were tempted to extend hands that could catch him.

Bilbo

“I was scared first, but trust me: you’ll be grateful in the end once you get on these fellows,” Bilbo told you, looking down at you as he patted the pony he sat upon. “It isn’t that,” you answered, gaze dropping from the hobbit’s, “It’s…well, it is a bit embarrassing, to be honest.” The dwarves had been sweet enough to fortify the feet of your forearm crutches, though they still could not understand why you didn’t ride. The answer, quite frankly, rose a bit of a flush to your cheeks. Bilbo must have caught this. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. Nothing of it is your fault. You can tell me. Probably better me than all those dwarves, right? I won’t tell a soul.” His voice dropped to a playful whisper for that last sentence, which though it didn’t help the heat radiating beneath your skin did open your heart and your mouth. “If I were to get lightheaded or a shock of pain riding a pony I could fall off. And...And I would need someone to hold onto me.” “Ah,” the hobbit replied, this time taking his turn to shyly gaze away, “Well, if you ever change your mind, I would be more than happy to hold you.”

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