#pork drizzle

[icleanedthisplate]

Pork Drizzle w/Yucca Fries. Gonzo’s Sandwich Shop. Tampa, Florida. 5.10.2023.

NOTE TO SELF: I can't find the menu description, but this was a pulled pork sandwich with "mojo mayo" on it. Not terrible, but not worth coming back for, despite the likeable dude who gave me a play by play of the menu.

Currently ranked 12th of 18 May meals.

[nest-being]

all the best things in life are bound to hurt a little bit (extra crunchy bahn mi roll when you take that first bite)

[fieriframes]

[It's beautiful, huh? Okay, so, we'll put the waffle down. It's Chinese roast pork and apples. Look at this. Oh! Little lemon drizzle.]

[neandernandor]

Main Dishes - Crispy Pork Carnitas This carnitas recipe is Chef John's method for slow-roasting pork in lard, citrus, garlic, and fragrant spices until tender inside and crisp outside.

[error-notifs]

LIST OF TERRIBLE EUPHEMISMS I HAVE BEEN BLASTED WITH

Penis

dingaling

peepee

dingus

dongus

shaft

weewee

a 'third leg'

meat stick

squirming meat

'his leaping salmon'

'the crown to his jewels'

Fleshy cigar

Pork Whistle

an utterly destroyed tube of flesh

purple pneumatic drill

an interesting specimen

beige sledgehammer

meaty windmill

shrinky dink

HIS MISTER CUDDLES.

Anal Artillery

Vagina miner.

shlong

cum sword

taco warmer.

vomit rod.

mutton dagger

a squirming shaft

womb broom

taco tickling toy

fully erect rod

clam hammer

Gash. Mallet.

Did you know that world-renowned writer Stephen King once got hit by a car? Just something to consider

deformed tube that was left of his manhood

His big, thick sludge pump

Ravine wrecker

Thrill drill

all that was left was a bit of raw soaked meat

His Old Man Drizzle

Ooze injector

Her slime filled lollipop

Musky man candy

His piss pump

his cure for her pestulince

"Their joy knob"

His slit slamming freight train

Blood sausage.

Gut stick.

Bone horn.

the pulsating slug salter

his jumping jingler

his shiny gold coin

Her squinty blow-pop.

his nope rope

magical girl wand

Vagina

throbbing jazz café

gaping cavern

her wishing well

her animal trap

Unsure

Crotch cannon

Look at my fucking art or so help me god @magical-art-blog

[zepskies]

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictear @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[buffetlicious]

Mum came home from her marketing trip in Chong Pang with this takeaway box of Brunch. Inside, a steamed fish fillet with a drizzling of shallot oil, garnished with spring onions and chilli occupied half the box. Stewed eggplant or brinjal and stir-fried pork slices in gingers and onions took up the other half with a bed of white rice below.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

i had some pricy pork shoyu ramen earlier today, which means I brought the oversalted soup dregs home as I usually do

hmmm wonder what I should do with it!

I could make more soup by hydrating it with some broth on hand, or I could use it as brine for some salted boiled eggs, or i could reduce it into a sauce to drizzle on other foods....

any ideas?

[foodffs]

This Brussels sprouts recipe combines pan-sauteed Brussels sprouts with crispy bacon, garlic, and a drizzle of maple syrup. This delicious side dish goes well with roasted pork loin, roasted chicken, grilled steak, and pan-fried Polska Kielbasa.

[foodshowxyz]

Spicy Chashu Ramen with Soft Boiled Egg (Serves 2)

Ingredients:

Ramen Broth (store-bought or homemade - chicken or pork recommended)

For the Chashu Pork:

1 lb boneless pork belly

4 cloves garlic, smashed

1 inch ginger, peeled and sliced

½ cup soy sauce

¼ cup mirin

2 tablespoons sake

2 tablespoons brown sugar

4 cups water

Ramen noodles (fresh or dried according to package instructions)

2 large eggs

1 can (14 oz) bamboo shoots, sliced

4 scallions, thinly sliced (separate white and green parts)

2 sheets nori, cut into thin strips

Chili oil (to taste)

Instructions:

Marinate the Chashu Pork: In a large pot, combine garlic, ginger, soy sauce, mirin, sake, brown sugar, and water. Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Add pork belly and ensure it's submerged in the marinade. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or ideally overnight.

Cook the Chashu Pork: Bring the marinade in the pot to a simmer. Cover and simmer for 1.5-2 hours, or until pork is very tender. Remove pork and let cool slightly in the marinade. Once cool enough to handle, thinly slice the pork belly against the grain. Reserve the remaining marinade for later.

Soft Boil the Eggs: Place eggs in a pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, then immediately remove from heat and cover for 7 minutes for a runny yolk, or 9 minutes for a slightly firmer yolk. Drain hot water and run cold water over the eggs to stop the cooking process. Peel and set aside.

Prepare the Ramen: Cook ramen noodles according to package instructions. While noodles are cooking, heat reserved marinade in a saucepan.

Assemble the Ramen: Divide broth between two serving bowls. Add cooked ramen noodles, then top with sliced chashu pork, bamboo shoots, white parts of scallions, and a soft-boiled egg (cut in half if desired). Drizzle with chili oil to taste.

Garnish and Serve: Top each bowl with green parts of scallions and nori strips. Enjoy immediately!

Tips:

Leftover chashu pork can be stored in the marinade in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.

For a richer broth, you can add a tablespoon of butter or sesame oil to each bowl before serving.

Want to make your own chili oil? Simply infuse neutral oil with crushed red pepper flakes for a few days.

Experiment with other toppings! Popular options include corn, bean sprouts, wood ear mushrooms, and seaweed salad.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

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Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

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Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

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Chapter 12: Link

[whorinsmokenshield]

Soup

Augusnippets Day 1

Summary: Bilbo didn’t move much. Too much effort. Too much pain. It was much easier to sit on his knees and wait to be noticed.

Rating: Mature

Warning: Violence

(Written for @augusnippets. Day 1, Path of Hurt: Brainwashing. Ao3 upload here.)

~~~~~~~~

Bilbo didn’t move much. Too much effort. Too much pain. It was much easier to sit on his knees and wait to be noticed.

He didn’t know where he was. He barely knew who he was. He floated in a soup-thick fog that filled his head and blurred his vision, making it hard to think. Bilbo couldn’t even feel the rough pinch of the gravel that bit into his skin as he knelt. He felt it once, though. That’s how he knew it was there.

Sounds swirled around him- grunts, growls, wet coughs and sneers -but nothing really penetrated the fog. He only knew that whenever he was spoken to, it led with a raspy snarl: “Halfling.”

Bilbo tilted his head. Before him was a greenish gray mass of flesh, lumpy and covered in pustules and rusty iron bits. He had no idea what it was, but it spoke to him.

“Fetch my dinner. Get some good fat pieces.”

As Bilbo reckoned with that instruction, trying to remember what the words ‘fetch’ and ‘dinner’ and ‘fat’ all meant, he blinked and was suddenly standing twelve paces from where he once sat. With bleary eyes and furrowed brows he looked about himself, fighting to recognize anything. Dirt, perhaps, and some stones. Those thoughts stumbled off the planes of his mind as they came, leaving him with nothing. 

He came back to himself, finding in his hands a grimy, chipped bowl, filled to the brim with an oily broth and teeming with greyish pork. On his skin was the heat of a barely-controlled fire. Bilbo raised his head, and looked about himself once more. 

“Get moving, rat!”

Bilbo flinched, and broiling hot broth splashed over his hand. He felt it, but the pain didn’t stay. He looked down at his rugged, reddened hand, and found a number of blisters, splinters, cuts and scrapes that his mind refused to catalogue.

“Who are you?” Bilbo slurred out, looking up at a hulkish blue smear that was lit from the back by the fire.

“It needs another dose. Prog!”

Bilbo jumped and flinched again. More hot soup splashed onto his fingers. Sudden and swift movements erupted around him and his head was forced back, the bowl ripped from his hands. The mouth of a glass vial was shoved into his mouth, knocking into his bruised-feeling teeth, and a foul, thick syrup was poured down his throat. He didn’t have the wherewithal or control to choke or sputter, and was instead made to feel it as it slid from his tongue. Drool drizzled off his chin and down his neck, his hands scrabbled at the boarhide skin of the hand that gripped him, and he convulsed with lurching gags.

His knees buckled when they released him and shoved him forward, and he dropped into the dirt. The fire blasted heat across his tender, stinging back.

The ground soon fell out from under him, his skin lost all sensation, and his head floated away into the ether, uncertain whether it would come back down again.

-----

Bilbo swirled into awareness later on. No telling how much later. His head and body pulsed with numbness, his chin lax and eyes limp. 

The world, if that were truly what it was, was blurry again. Everything smudged like wet paint. His knees pressed into the gravel once more. Couldn’t feel it, still.

He felt as though he were alone. Not existentially (though that was also true) but physically. His head lolled in either direction, and no movement caught his attention.

The day was dark and cooling, the air bereft of sound. 

Bilbo's eyelids dropped and he scanned the ground in front of him. Seeking recognition. Leaving empty-handed.

He drifted off again.

“Psst. Bilbo!”

Bilbo jerked awake and opened his eyes, and time had passed. So he thought. It was darker now, and the air was frigid cold. There was a cacophony of noise going off right out of his range of comprehension. Murmured clangs, muted scuffles, quiet roars.

“Over here!”

Someone was speaking. To him? They weren’t calling him ‘Halfling’. Bilbo rolled his head to the side. 

“Oh Mahal.”

A blur emerged from the darkness and captured Bilbo's whole attention.

“Who are you?” Bilbo garbled. His eyes strained to keep focus.

“It's me.”

And then the blur was knelt in front of him, and Bilbo could almost see its face clearly. Young and handsome, with coarse scruff and a steely look in his eyes.

“It’s Kíli,” the blur said. 

Bilbo stared blankly, mind wrenching every drop of recognition it could muster. The face was familiar. The name hurt to think about.

“Bilbo.” Something touched Bilbo’s shoulders, then took his face, and Bilbo could just about feel the seams of a glove pressing into his skin. “Bilbo, it’s Kíli. Kee. How badly are you hurt?”

“K...Kee?” That name, Bilbo knew that name. He knew that name. His brain was sluggish as jam.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s Kee.” He brushed the hair off Bilbo’s forehead. “Come on, stand up. We’ve got to be fast. Fee’s on lookout.”

Bilbo’s body moved with the command.

The blur named Kee pulled him to his feet. “They didn’t tie you up,” he noted.

Bilbo was standing now, ready and waiting for a new instruction. They were so much easier to follow than to think of.

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” Kee’s hands hovered around him.

He’d said another name, too, and Bilbo struggled to recall it.

“Ffff…F-Fee?” Garbled Bilbo, eyes listlessly scanning the area around him.

“Like I said, he’s on…lookout.” Kee seemed to falter. He continued. “I’m going to carry you. Okay?”

Bilbo looked down at his hands. He saw the scars and burns and streaks that covered them as if they were anew.

“Okay. Right. Here we go!”

Bilbo’s world tumbled sideways and his mind couldn’t keep up with the movement. Bright, white light stabbed him in the eyes and forced them to close as his body was jarred and jostled.

He faded away again, but not before a pale face with blonde hair came into his line of sight and something warm took hold of his numb fingers.

-----

“Open your eyes, lad. ”

Before Bilbo properly woke, his body responded to the call. A smear of piercing firelight and moving colors swayed before his eyes and made him instantly nauseous. 

He toppled to the side and vomited.

Hands snatched at him and propped him up, keeping his face from landing in the puddle he’d made.

“Hold him up! Turn his head. Move! Move!”

Gnarled hands pushed against his throat and Bilbo began to panic. He thrashed away from the body in front of him but only landed against another one. Big, warm, a throbbing heart within it. The arms of the body lashed around his middle and held him still, but Bilbo felt no fear.

His breath was quickened and uneven, but as he dragged in air through his nose he smelled pine sap and pipe smoke.

From Bilbo’s lips he gasped wetly and pushed against the wall of flesh at his back, his eyes unseeing and his skin alight with nerves. He felt every scrape of cloth against his sternum and the dig of the seams under his arms. His feet were poor and hurting and his head pounded and pounded and screamed with deep-seeded pain.

Noise, all the noise around him and emitting from him, it was overwhelming to Bilbo. He shuddered and wordlessly groaned and grunted and pleaded.

A heavy hand came over his eyes, blocking the light. 

A thick arm wrapped around him, holding him still and steady and anchoring his head to his neck.

Bilbo whimpered, grasping at the strange arm but helpless to move it.

“They will not touch you again,” was whispered into his ear. “No one will touch you unless I permit it.”

And Bilbo knew this voice too. Knew it. Knew it.

“Thorin,” Bilbo warbled. “Thorin?”

“I’m here.”

A soft, whiskery kiss was pressed to his ear. Thorin’s head nuzzled into the top of his, his lips dragging gently in Bilbo’s hair.

"I have you. You're in my arms," he said in his lowest, softest voice.

“Thorin…” Bilbo hiccuped. “Oh-”

Thorin’s arm- Thorin’s arm, and no one else’s -tightened over his chest. His breath was deep and steady in Bilbo’s ear. His hand was the one that covered Bilbo’s eyes, but as Bilbo began to calm he brought it away.

Bilbo’s vision focused. At last, at last, he could see again.

The whole of the Company was there, gathered around a hastily-set fire and looking with varied levels of anxiety at Bilbo. He could make out the expressions on each of their faces. Some of them, such as Óin and the princes, were close-by, within arm’s reach.

“Oh…” Without warning, Bilbo’s face screwed up with emotion and he began to sob.

Thorin was then wrapped around him in every possible way, cradling Bilbo's body in his lap and tugging him close to his broad chest. He shushed him, whispering soothing inanities over him interspersed with calming kisses to his cheeks. As far as Bilbo knew, the rest of the Company turned away politely.

"Shh, shhshhshh," Thorin whispered.

“Wh-what-” Bilbo sobbed out as he clung for his life onto Thorin’s arm. “What h-happened?”

No one spoke for a while. Bilbo himself nearly forgot he asked the question. Then Kíli’s voice growled out from the side and drew all the attention to himself.

“Orcs,” Kíli grunted. “We got our arses handed to us and they took you to keep. Gave you a poison that messed with your mind. You couldn’t tell your own arse from a hole in the ground when Fee and I found you.”

“Kíli,” Thorin cautioned.

“What?” Kíli shot right back. There was a shadow over his face that concerned Bilbo. “It’s true! I mean, we-we found him and…” Kíli dragged his hand through his hair and got a wild look in his eye as he recalled. “And we thought he was dead! If you weren’t kneeling like that I would’ve thought we were too late.”

His voice broke on ‘late’. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and looked away.

Bilbo’s lower lip quivered in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Thorin growled behind him, and Kíli’s head whipped back around, looking every bit like a regretful and scolded puppy.

“No, no, I wasn’t-” he sighed, lips pinching. “It’s not your fault. It was the bloody fucking orcs .”

Bilbo huffed a little laugh that felt foreign in his chest. “I don’t even remember there being any orcs,” he said. 

Óin’s brow came down, and his eyes became a little more sharp. “How much do ye remember?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo said at once, and meant it. “Really, I hardly recall a thing. It was all…blurry, and frightening. But I don’t remember anything specific.”

“Not even the whipping?” Ori’s terse voice arose from around the fire. He was shushed immediately by his brothers.

“Whipping?” Bilbo parroted. “No, I…was I whipped?” He turned and craned to look at Thorin, but couldn’t meet his eyes from that angle.

Thorin sighed, heavily. “Among other things.”

“Other things,” Bilbo repeated, quietly, once more. His eyes unfocused as he tried to recall his lost time.

“Stop trying to remember,” Óin scolded. “Give yer mind a rest. It’s been through enough. If you remember on yer own, that’s fine. But don’t force it. Wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you never end up remembering it at all.”

“Never remember!?” Bilbo startled and tried to sit up, but Thorin’s hold prohibited him. It also allowed him to finally feel the deep strain and sting in his back, and the rubbed-raw feeling of the skin of his palms. He looked down at them, then Óin’s old hand took him by the chin and snatched his head up.

“Never mind that, now,” he said in as gentle a tone as Bilbo knew him to be capable of. “I rather think you’d be better off without the knowledge. After all, what’s a week in the scheme of life anyway?”

Bilbo’s eyes bugged. “What?”

It was Óin’s turn to look sheepish as Thorin growled, and no one refuted or corrected him.

A week. Lost. Bilbo was beginning to feel dizzy again.

Suddenly he was lifted off his feet and plopped into a bridal carry, and he was looking up the nose of one ruggedly handsome king.

“I’ll take first watch,” Thorin gruffed as he stepped around the fire.

“Thorin-” Bilbo ventured.

“Hush.”

Bilbo hushed. He was laid in a plush bedroll, padded with furs and lush with knitted blankets. Far better fare than they had on the road to Erebor. Around them they could hear the company murmuring amongst themselves

“Thorin?” he asked again.

“You have had a very, very long day, ghivashel.” Thorin’s voice rumbled over him like thunder, and it sapped the tension from Bilbo’s limbs and made him feel boneless and heavy as he was tucked securely in. “It would heal my heart to see you rest.”

Bilbo’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily. “Don’t think you’ll need to worry ‘bout that,” He muttered around a yawn.

As Bilbo’s mouth closed, Thorin captured his lips in a chaste, butter-warm kiss that melted Bilbo down to his bones.

“Sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Bilbo didn’t quite make that part out, but his body responded to the call regardless. And he slept.

~~~~~~~~

This fic was: -Unedited -Written in forty minutes -More than 1.5k words over the challenge limit (was supposed to be under 500)

Hope you enjoyed it anyway!! Lmk what you think. Ao3 Username is Sullen_in_love

[kcrossvine-art]

whats crackling? whats snackling? in the near future, possibly YOU! This next one might be good for those of yall who dont have big kitchens. Today on our cooking review revue is Golden Hill pears from the Redwall Cookbook- 

(for crackling and snackling purposes you can find the original recipe at the bottom to follow along)-

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Golden Hill Pears?” YOU MIGHT ASK

sugar

water

4 medium pears (peeled, halved, cored)

ground allspice

As you can guess by the ingredients, golden hill pears are just caramelized pears. Am a huge fuckin fan of caramelized stone fruits- peaches, pears, plums,- but contrary to my normal method of using an oven to achieve the desired syrupy goodness, this recipe calls only for a little sauce-pot and lid! 

AND, “what does Golden Hill Pears taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

If you've had caramelized fruit before you'll get the gist, however, these are on the higher end in terms of taste 100%

The allspice is such a brush of warmth and comfort

Tastes like cuddling the person you love in front of the fire

Caramel taste is even throughout

Would be so so so good paired with a nice pulled pork stew

And warm apple cider would be perfectionx2

A fulfilling end to a fall season that passed too fast

. Where pear halves called for, strained and used canned pear slices (0% added juice) . Where sugar called for, used fine granulated sugar . Tripled cooking time for initial caramelization

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

Go fucking hogwild with the allspice honestly, i used about 2 soup-spoonfuls of it and couldve still probably done more. its up to personal preference but its damn good.

Also; cooked way more evenly than youd think. Once the initial caramelization was done each 'batch' of pears cooked pretty quick.

SO, it took me about 3 tries to get this right as the book describes itself. My first mistake was letting it get to a golden brown color, as the book says you should, because by the time the sugar and water is that color alone in the pan, it is already way too late and is going to burn by the time you add the pears in. You need to add the pears in a bit earlier than whats going to feel right- when the mixture becomes a strong yellow-ish color id say?

The second time, because the first try had burnt, i tried lowering the heat/going against the books advice and stirring throughout. In all previous times ive caramelized something it was good to get some motion in there, so i figured if it burnt before maybe the issue was too much heat and no movement. This didnt work. This instead somehow created massive sugar crystals which over the period of about 30 seconds (once reaching temp and adding to the pan) quickly hardened and had to be chipped away until it broke off the spoon and the pot. Im not a scientist i have no fucking idea.

It mightve tasted good and been a cool cake topper but at this point we were 40 minutes in with no delicious pears so we werent wasting time with tasters.

Third attempt; corrected from previous mistakes. Watched the saucepot like a fuckin HAWK, didnt stir or disturb the pan, had it on medium heat for about 21 minutes until it started turning yellow, added the pears and allspice in immediately, covered and simmered it. I had 2 cans of pears that i strained and patted dry of excess fluid, so with 2 seperate batches for the one pot. I think the second batch came out richer but there wasnt too much a difference. Both came out lovely to eat with the syrup drizzled over top.

All in all, from deciding to make them to having them in my belly, and subtracting failed attempts, id estimate it took about 30 minutes? It would be longer if you prepared the pears yourselves, along with the cooktime for them probably, but its not neccesary for this recipe.

It tastes fuckin good and would be excellent in living situation where all you have available is a portable hot-top. I could see myself making it again now that i know what visual cues to look for.

I give this recipe a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons sugar

4 medium pears, peeled, halved lengthwise and cored

Generous pinch ground allspice

Method:

Put the sugar in the bottom of a heavy saucepan and sprinkle 2 tablespoons of water over it. Cook over medium heat without stirring until the mixture reaches a golden brown caramel, about 7 minutes. (Swirl the pan if the caramel colors unevenly).

Standing back, pour in 1/4 cup of water, taking care as it will spit.

Add the pears and allspice to the pan, cover and simmer until the pears are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.

Use a slotted spoon to transfer the pears to a serving dish. Raise the heat and boil the syrup vigourously for 1 minute.

Pour the syrup over the pears and serve immediately, or let cool and then chill before serving.

[pumpkinsy0]

The Shepards opened the first "americanized" Hatian restaurant. Curly does all "the bitch work" like, mop the floors, kick out JDs (he'll do deals with them still but in the back alley) dish washing, stocking (NOT inventory--that's Tim's job. Curly sucks at basic math) and most of all take out the fucking trash. He HATES that so much! and he always works the night shift cause his ass won't be awake before 11 am on a good day.

The Curtis run their mother's Bakery across the street. Ponyboy is a decorator just like their mama was and also works the register. Darry gets annoyed when Curly comes over to flirt and Tim gets in a fit or rage knowing Curly does it on the clock.

They have dinner together, cause that's when Ponyboy gets off work and Curly is on his "lunch" break. Ponyboy brings reject baked goods or extras. Curly likes the Kolashes and Ponyboy always brings him a snickerdoodle or something chocolate and peanut butter. Curly about died when Ponyboy "invented the chocolate peanut butter cupcake with caramel drizzle. Curly will bring fried pork and rice or Fried Turkey with Plantains.

They leave Tulsa and open their own restaurant with baked goods. Have a couple of rugrats, a dog and a few cats and despite all the hardships of owning a business, getting married & raising a family Curly is still the one who has to take out the fucking trash.

HAITIAN SHEPARDS AND PAPERCUT IN MY INBOX YAYAYAYAYAYAY YAHOOOOOO YIPPIEEEE

SOTE POU KÈ KONTAN YAHOOOOOO

tim and angela are taking care of making the foods/desserts since lord knows curly cant be trusted near making food so he HAS to pull his weight and do the other domestic work

sometimes he’d just catch pony staring at him from his shop window while he does and curly would wink and smirk and that absolutely snowballed

they had their first date at each others place they just brought food and just ate it together u cant take this from me

when they opened their restaurant they just made it their own, made their own dishes from dishes theyve known their whole lives and its successful and their known as ‘THAT’ couple in their neighborhood, sometimes curly comes home smelling like ass bc he was dealing w the garbage but as long as curlys still alive n kicking everything will run just fine

and back home the old restaurants r still doin peachy

[strid3rofthen0rth]

The weather turns from 95 and go fuck your hat humidity to 75 and gentle rain, and the brain turns to thoughts of fall food.

Today's pornographic wet dream centers around butternut squash risotto. All creamy and substantial. Standing there stirring for an eternity in anticipation.

Make a brown butter sage sauce to drizzle on there, sexy little minx. Huck some grated pecorino on top, too, maybe a braised country style pork rib if you're feeling extra kinky.

Fuck me.

I try to enjoy the current season as much as possible, whatever it is. No wishing for Halloween or Christmas or ice fishing. That's short changing yourself. Live the whole year.

But food daydreams? Those can't be helped.

[roki-snake-sinner]

Stancest; Soup for the soul

This is Stancest, Grunkle Ford x Grunkle Stan, don’t like then don’t read. I’m suffering from a bad cold and have no energy to bitch slap an anti right now.

Stan sighs as he struggles to read the map for the hundredth time in the last few minutes. His eyes struggle to see the lines and read the words as his eyelids threaten to close and remain so heavy, but he continues as his brother talked with the locals.

He was about ready to give up and throw the map to the dirty floor, made from dried bamboo, and head back to the ship to sleep, but a little girl sits next to him and holds up a steaming bowl of cooked pork and rice, with some sweet sauce lightly drizzled on top.

“For you. To help with cold.” The little girl whispered, as if she knew that his head was killing him, and waited until he took the bowl and little wooden spoon.

“Appreciate it kiddo.” Stan mumbles as he grabs the bowl and spoon in one hand and sets the map off to the side, eagerly digging in at first but slowing down quickly as his stomach threatens to return to sender.

He slowly finishes the bowl of pork and rice, realizing how hungry he actually was, and only once it was completely empty did he give it back to the little girl.

Him and the little girl begin to talk as Ford and the locals continue to discuss the travel expenses and such to search for a temple of foxes, or something, as Stan wasn’t feeling up to understand all the mambo jumbo with his head cold.

“Stanley, are you ok?” Ford asks as he finally notices that his brother, Stanley, was resting his head in the lap of a statue of a golden fox.

He begins to panic, thinking that Stan somehow managed to piss off the fox deity, but the locals quickly calm him down.

“They have taken pity on your brother, for he is sick with a cold. They have decided to let him rest.” One of the elders explains with a soft laugh.

‘Poor lee. Maybe it might be a good time to take a small break.’ Ford thinks as he turns to ask if it would be ok if they stayed the night in their inn, but the Elder was already setting up a room for them.

“Thank you so much. We’ll have a rest then get back to work.” Ford tries to thank his client, but is politely waved off and sent to his room for the week.

He manages to pick put his brother and take them both to their shared room, slightly disappointed at the two futons set out for them, but settles both himself and Lee down for the night.

“Goodnight Lee, love you.”

“Love you too Sixer, and you owe me more of that soup.”

“Heh, of course.”