#stuffed meat pies

[fieriframes]

[SO WHEN HE AND HIS WIFE JAIMA... LET'S GO. SAW THIS LOCAL JOINT FOR SALE... WE MADE A FEW PHONE CALLS, AND A MONTH LATER, WE WERE IN. CRANKIN' OUT EVERYTHING THE LOCALS LOVE... FLIPPIN' BURGERS. FROM STUFFED MEAT PIES CALLED PASTIES...]

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

Got all my materials today so tomorrow is going to be Bulk Chicken Pot Pie From Almost Scratch Day

Today's task is breaking down the two rotisserie chickens so that I can put the bones and skins on for stock tomorrow morning.

Last year when I did this, I failed to pre-cook the celery and carrots so that the pies took like 2 hours to bake. I also forgot salt. I will not make the same mistake.

[frango-maconheiro]

oc stuff,,,, Rex the lazy rabbit and Hunter the shy wolf.

◇ ||| They live rather cozy with each other, and love going on walks together. ||| ◇

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Herbs, Spices & Seasoning

Herbs and spices can add flavor and variety to your food.

Use a little at first, then add more when you are sure you like the flavor.

To substitute dry herbs for fresh, use ¼ teaspoon powder or 1 teaspoon crushed for 1 tablespoon fresh chopped herbs. Some herbs and spices are expensive.

You might want to buy only a few of the less expensive herbs and spices you will use.

Herbs and spices lose flavor and can spoil or get buggy if kept in the cupboard longer than a year.

If you use herbs and spices slowly, buy small containers, or store them in the freezer.

Uses of Herbs, Spices & Seasonings

Allspice - A mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Use in fruit desserts, pumpkin pie, apple cider, cakes, cookies, chicken, beef and fish dishes.

Basil - Tomato and egg dishes, stews, soups and salads

Bay leaves - Tomato dishes, fish and meat dishes

Celery seed - Juices, soups, salads, vegetables, pot roasts, poultry, rolls and biscuits

Chili powder - Chili, bean and rice dishes

Chives - Potato dishes, soups, dips and sauces

Cilantro - Latin American, Indian and Chinese dishes, salsa, stir fries, (Coriander leaves) legume or rice salads, hot cooked rice, grilled chicken or fish, or a dish of ripe tomatoes. Use fresh if possible.

Cinnamon - French toast, fruit and fruit salads, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and squash, puddings and apple desserts, ham or pork chops

Cloves - Whole cloves on ham or pork roast; ground cloves to season pear or apple desserts, beets, beans, tomatoes, squash and sweet potatoes

Coriander seed - Middle Eastern dishes, spice cakes and cookies, soups, roast pork and salad dressing

Cumin - Mexican, Middle Eastern and Indian dishes; beef and lamb, dry bean dishes, marinades, chili and tomato sauces; ingredient in curry powder

Dillweed - Tuna or salmon salad, potato salad, pickles, dips and sauces

Garlic - Mexican, Italian and Oriental dishes and in salad dressings; can be used fresh or dried, minced or powder

Ginger (fresh) - Oriental dishes, marinades for chicken or fish, fruit salad, dressings

Ginger (ground) - Gingerbread, spice cake, pumpkin pie, poultry or meat, soups, stews, stuffing, squash, sweet potatoes

Ground peppers: black, Cayenne & white pepper - Meats, casseroles, vegetables and soups

Italian seasoning - A mixture of marjoram, oregano, basil and rosemary; use in Italian dishes such as spaghetti

Marjoram - Egg and cheese dishes, meats, fish, poultry and vegetables

Mint - Fruit salads and fruit soups, melon, berries, cold fruit beverages, cooked carrots or peas, chilled yogurt soup, lamb, tabbouleh

Mustard - Sauces for meat and fish, in marinades, salad dressings, chutneys, pickles and relishes

Nutmeg - Cooked fruits, pies and desserts, baked items, spinach, sweet potatoes, eggnog and French toast

Onion - Any dish where onion flavor is desired; can be used fresh or dried (minced or powder)

Oregano - Italian dishes, chili, omelets, beef stew, meat loaf, pork and vegetables such as broccoli or tomatoes

Parsley - Meat, soup or vegetable dishes; adds color

Paprika - Stew, chicken, fish, potatoes, rice and hard-cooked eggs

Rosemary - Egg dishes, meats, fish, soups and stews, and vegetables

Thyme - Fish, poultry or meats, in soups or stews, vegetable salads

If these writing notes help with your poem/story, do tag me. Or send me a link. I'd love to read them!

More: On Food More: Word Lists

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

so around the start of the summer I ate literally as much as my body could possibly handle every day, every meal. I got in the habit of gorging myself until I could hardly breathe, could not stand or sit or even lay down comfortably, and my belly was aching. I couldn’t even sleep, nor could I really do much of anything but sit there helplessly and gasp or groan at how big I’d gotten, and how full I’d become. This was exactly what I wanted.

I was consuming between 7000-12000 calories a day during this time. This lasted about 2 months or so, maybe 10 weeks. I rarely took a break, and this had…intense consequences on my capacity. I routinely ate things like: entire family sized dinner portions for each component(vegetables, starches, meats). Family sized fast food meal deals(usually about 5 combos worth). 7-8 combos from various fast food places(usually their entire menu). Party sized or tailgater tray offerings from restaurants(usually enough for 10-15 people).

I cannot become full now. No matter what I do, if I’m not eating literally family sized portions, I’m not filled. I can become comfortably satiated after 3-4 meals at once, but my belly constantly yearns for more.

I finally have started experiencing some of the crazy ‘feedism fantasy’ tropes I thought weren’t real (or at least greatly exaggerated due to ya know…writing lol). Things like

I literally can get hunger pangs WHILE MY STOMACH HAS A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF FOOD INSIDE. I’m talking I’ve already eaten a heavy plate that is literally 3-4lbs of food. Gone. Inside me. But my belly has the NERVE to growl around it and demand more food.

Sometimes I become anxious when the only amount of food available to me is a normal serving size (this is honestly the hottest. I’m talking whiny, worried, needy feelings because I only got enough food for 1 person.)

i crave eating 24/7, or for long periods. I catch myself daydreaming about sitting down with enough food for a large gathering, and stuffing it all inside myself for literal hours. I’m not kidding, I want to eat for 6-8 hours straight of almost nonstop consumption. I just want to sit down, lean back with my gut supported by my lap or my couch, and stuff it so completely full. I would prefer if my primary activity for the day was eating.

hunger and arousal are now so completely linked I almost cannot experience one without the other…which means I’m hungry and horny pretty much unceasingly. Constantly my mind goes back to sex and eating. I’m literally just daydreaming in the background about when I will get to open my mouth next.

I’ve now eaten many of the feeding fantasy portions. Family meals, party trays, entire cakes, multiple entire pizzas, entire trays of baked goods, entire boxes of cakes, a box of donuts, entire pies, and generally levels of excess that I can only describe as obscene.

This has caused me to really fatten up. I gained 40 or so lbs from the end of March to the middle of July. I also happened to do this without an encouraging, physical, coercive or forceful feeder, which means if I were to have these (what I desperately crave), I imagine I would reach new capacity heights. I primarily eat for fullness. I love that food drunk fullness feeling where my entire body stops functioning properly. I love feeling like all I can literally do is let my belly do its thing and process all the food I gave it. I’m desperate for it. I constantly crave it. The weight gain is an unintentional but welcomed side effect of my incessant gorging.

I cannot wait for my next opportunity. I have so many ideas. Will I finally try 3 pizzas? Will I try to eat more foot longs than I am tall? Will I make myself an entire family banquet and then greedily try and eat it myself? I need to do it soon. I can’t keep eating enough for 6-7 people each day…I need more, and I need it all at once.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What are some things Harry didn't share with Ron and Hermione? Like he never shared what he saw in snapes memory in OotP

His treatment at the Dursleys. Like, they know some of it, but I don't think they know all of it.

He mentions offhandedly stuff about his childhood:

“Oh, this doesn’t count,” said Ron. “We’re only borrowing this. It’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with — ” “I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so — ” “Stop gibbering,” said Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

(CoS)

He asks them for food when the Dursleys go on diet:

But Aunt Petunia didn’t know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Hermione’s house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks. (Hermione’s parents were dentists.) Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies. Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry’s birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius. Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he ate his grapefruit without complaint.

(GoF)

He jokes about being beat as a kid:

“You don’t seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles... All they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies... ‘Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun” “You’d need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,” said Harry darkly. “Good sense of when to duck, more like ...”

(OotP)

But he never mentions the cupboard. He never mentions just how bad it actually was. The bits Ron and Hermione know about Harry's abuse are the lighter ones. They know about the diet, they know he was being starved, locked up, and beaten, but they don't have all the details and I think Harry never really told anyone all the details. They don't know how long harry was starved and beaten. How much. They don't know Harry spent years sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs befriending spiders. They don't know he cooked and cleaned from a young age.

So, I'd say, Harry's childhood abuse is one thing he never fully shared with anyone all the details of.

[sporadicthingcollection]

The Unskinny Bop (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: You're a really good cook and that's most of the problem. The rest of it is that he's too weak-willed to resist a treat right in front of him. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶 Word Count: ~6.1k Warnings: Body insecurity (male and female), cunnilingus, masturbation, PiV sex A/N: Dad Bod Buggy my beloved

---

She's playing all night And the music's all right Mama's got a squeeze box And Daddy never sleeps at night

---

It's his own damn fault, really.

He's the one who charmed the pretty diner cook — that’d be you — into joining his crew. It was an easy sell. You get off of the little podunk island you’re stuck on and he gets those delicious little puffy pastry things every morning.

What he didn’t expect was how well you made everything else. He's had to let his pants out three times in two months because of it.

Fluffy pancakes, perfectly slung hash, and a pie-looking thing with eggs and vegetables and cheese you called a “keesh” for breakfast. Sandwiches stuffed with veggies and meat, piles of pasta tossed in rich sauce, and thick slabs of juicy steak for dinner. Not to mention the mountains of snacks and treats in between.

He came to realize that food is a key aspect of your personality. It's just what you do. A dog chases its tail, Richie pushes things off of tables, and you flit around the deck like a pastry pixie, abducting people into the galley for taste-testing. 

Like right now.

His only warning that you're coming is a chirped “Captain!” before he's yanked through the door. He doesn't even have time to react before you've shoved a spoonful of something into his mouth.

He's not surprised. You do it to everyone who walks in. Food is how you show affection.

“Whaddya think?” you ask.

He swallows it too quickly to make a judgment, but it's sweet and that's all he needs to know. “Tasty.”

Every time you smile, he swears a flashbulb goes off somewhere. “Good,” you say. “It'll be even better tomorrow.”

He doesn't even bother to hide the whine. “What?”

“They're icebox pies, silly goose,” you say. “You gotta let ‘em chill.”

Another thing about you is that you're a tease. Form-fitting blouses done up just a button too short and your hair pulled back to show off your soft shoulders. A sweet little wink and a touch of the shoulder as you place a plate in front of him. And now feeding him something delicious only to tell him he has to wait until tomorrow to have more.

Your fingers snapping in front of his face jolt him back to the present. “Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to lick the spoon,” you say.

Does he wanna lick the spoon? What kind of question is that? He plucks it from your hands. “Is the sky blue? Do bears shit in the woods? Am I the captain?”

You roll your eyes, but you smile. “Gonna stick these in the big cooler and I'll be right back for the other,” you say.

Carefully, you pick up two of the three foil-covered pie tins resting on the counter and turn on your heel.

He watches you closely as you round the corner and out of sight. Such a nice soft ass you've got. He desperately wants to grab it, but the one time you got goosed, you slugged the guy so hard he was out cold for the rest of the day.

Something pink, creamy, and flecked with seeds coats the wooden spoon. He drags his tongue along the back of it and--

Oh. Oh, that is good.

His taste buds scream in ecstasy. The slightest little moan escapes his lips. For the briefest of moments, he thinks it's better than sex and his cock twitches, but he regains his sense of self before going completely mad.

He licks and licks and licks until every little drop of pink, sweet, creamy filling is gone.

Frustration bubbles in his chest. Waiting all night for this is gonna suck. Especially since you probably won't be whipping it out for breakfast.

He is captain, though. He could order you to give it to him. But you'd almost certainly laugh in his face and he really, really doesn't want that.

The shimmer of foil catches his eye. The third pie sits on the counter. Untouched. Uneaten. Mocking him in its creamy deliciousness.

He looks around. You're nowhere to be seen.

...maybe just a little bit.

He scrapes barely half a spoonful from the top. Not enough to be noticeable, just enough to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Mmm. Smooth. Thick. Sweet. Fruity. Delicious.

...a little bit more can't hurt. Then he can wait until tomorrow.

He gets a piece of the fruit itself this time and the squirt of juice on his tongue is enough to make him spoon up another dollop. And then another. And then another.

This is why your pants are so tight, his inner monologue chides. This is why you need a new belt. This is why you wear that thing around your waist. Goddamn hedonist.

They're not that tight, he retorts. And they wouldn't be at all if you weren't such a damn good cook. It's all your fault for putting delicious food in front of him and looking so pretty while doing it.

He turns to lean against the counter, only to stop dead.

You're standing there, eyes wide and brows raised. You point at him, then at the pie tin, then back at him. “Are you... Eating the...?”

“No,” he says quickly. He realizes he's holding the pie tin. “No.”

Something odd glints in your eyes as you approach him. Gingerly, you take the pie and the spoon from his hands. He lets you. You step even closer.

You're so close to him, close enough for him to feel the rise and fall of your breasts. Hell, you're so short compared to him that he can see straight down your shirt.

His heart races. What are you going to do? Throw it out? Throw him out? Punch his lights out? Never speak of this again? 

To his amazement, you do none of those things. Instead, you spoon up a bit more of the pie filling and raise it to his lips. You blink up at him with big doe eyes.

He looks between you and the spoon a few times. This can't be right. You should be furious. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's forgotten as you shove the spoon in his mouth.

Why are strawberries so delicious? Why is he so weak? Why are your breasts so warm and squishy against him?

He swallows it and, as he opens his mouth to breath, you shove another spoonful in. It's just as good the twentieth time.

You offer him another. And another. And another. He accepts them all.

Until he goes to take another and you pull it away. He frowns at you. You pull it back farther and farther. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand closer. You resist, but he's spent every day of his life trimming sails and hauling cargo.

He gets the spoon into his mouth and claims his prize with a smirk.

That glint in your eyes turns into a blaze. You drop the pie tin and spoon and they hit the floor with a clatter. Pulling your wrist from his grip, you grab him by the cheeks and yank him into a kiss.

He yelps against your lips and you take the opportunity to shove your tongue between them. Licking, lapping, pressing your soft, warm body right up against his.

Only a eunuch could resist this.

He kisses you back with the same fervor, grabbing your ass to lift you up a bit and it's so soft and pliant and perfect that he can't help but dig his fingers in.

Oh, it's everything he dreamed it would be. Your warm lips moving against his, your slick tongue dancing in his mouth, your soft palms gripping his jaw.

You've lapped up all the lingering sweetness in his mouth by the time he runs out of breath. He pushes you away and you whimper, your eyes wide and your shoulders heaving up and down.

Deprived of oxygen, he says something completely, absolutely, utterly brain dead. “Can I touch your tits?”

Instead of slapping him, you nod so hard your updo shakes loose. Curly strands fall in your face.

He blinks. “Wait, really?” You nod harder. “You sure?”

Something in you snaps. He can see it in your eyes. You grab him by the hand and damn near drag him out the door.

A quick trip up the stairs and across the main deck and he's pushing open the door to his quarters. You bustle past him and, once the click of the lock sounds, you grab him by the collar and yank him into another kiss, just as wet and desperate as the last.

He barely has enough time to shuck his coat about you throw him onto the bed, clambering atop him. You're a bit heavier than he expects. Not that he says that to your face, but you’re so light on your feet that he was starting to think you were filled with cotton candy. You're certainly sweet enough.

You yank his hat from his head and toss it aside. His bandana follows and his hair falls around his shoulders.

You suck in a breath. “So pretty.”

He shrugs. “Thanks-- mmph.”

He’s silenced by you standing on your knees to pull his hair out of its pigtails. This requires you to stick your tits in his face and oh my god they're like big marshmallows you smell like cinnamon.

He can't help himself. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, breathing deeply. So warm, so soft.

You giggle and the vibration makes his face tingle. You pull away to fiddle with your blouse buttons. “Wanna know a secret?” you whisper.

“Is the secret boobs?” Wow, what the hell was that? He needs to stop talking.

Lucky for him, you grin. You open your blouse and a whole lot more than he was expecting spills out. You toss the blouse to the side and plant your hands on your hips. “Va-va-voom.”

He's speechless. Shaken. Struck utterly dumb by the sight before him. All he can do is pull off his gloves and take them in his hands, pushing them, weighing them, squeezing them. There’s just… so much. Round, squishy, bouncy, threatening to surge right out of your lacy bra.

“I am but one man,” he mumbles.

That makes you giggle and that makes them jiggle. Like two sacks of...like a pair of...

...he can't think of a metaphor that isn't unpleasant, so he just sticks his face in there again before something else stupid comes out of his mouth. You laugh even more and it vibrates against his cheeks and his -- that... -- and if God struck him down at this very second he would die a happy man.

You let him linger a moment before throwing your weight forward to push him onto the bed. He whimpers like a kicked puppy as you pull away.

You nibble your lip and knit your brow up as you fumble with his belt. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

He's flattered, but it's the only thing keeping his stomach in check. That can't come off yet.

He takes your hands in his own. “What's the rush, beautiful?” he says. He brings them to his lips, first one, then the other. He gently kisses your knuckles, your palms, your wrists. “This is your show. We got all night.”

You're cute when you huff. You're even cuter when your face screws up into a pout. You yank your hands away and plant them on your soft hips. “Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?” you whine.

That throws him for a loop and a half. You've wanted him too? Someone as clever and cute and talented as you wanted... him? He's not used to that. Not used to that at all.

He's stunned just long enough for you to get his belt open. You move on to his vest straps next, making quick work of those. He sucks his stomach in just as you pull it open.

Your eyes widen, and you break into a grin as they sweep up and down his torso. “Oh, hell-o,” you say, voice breathless.

He's bright red, he just knows it. “Hi,” he replies dumbly. He hopes the strain in his voice isn't too obvious.

You grin even wider. Your fingers ghost up his sides -- thank God it's his feet that are ticklish -- right up to his pecs. You give them a squeeze, not unlike how he palmed your breasts a few moments ago. The slightest of squeaks escapes him.

“I knew you were hiding something good,” you say. You give his nipples a tweak -- he squeaks louder -- and trail your fingers down to his waistband. “Let's see what else you've been keeping from me.”

He knows you're talking about his dick. He panics all the same.

He shoots a hand out to kill the light -- that should buy him some time -- and throws his weight into flipping you over. You squeal as he pins you to the bed and yanks your pants off.

And then he realizes. Your breasts? They're proportional.

Beneath him is the most lovely expanse of body he's ever seen. Soft and warm and squishy and made of convex curves that flow from gentle arms and smooth shoulders right into a pair of plump hips and shapely thighs.

He can't form words. He can't form thoughts. All he can do is stare with his mouth dropped open. What else can you do when you're in the presence of the divine?

And then he sees your face. Your eyes wide and unsure as they dart around the room. Your lips pressed together into a terse line. 

“What?” he asks.

The line scrunches to the side. “I'm bigger than I ought to be, I know,” you say. You sound as if you've said it a thousand times.

He gets mad. He can't help it. It's what he does. “Are you shitting me?”

You flinch a little, though more out of surprise than fear. “N-No, I don't--”

He wants to say so many things. About how this is perfection. About how you are the most gorgeous human being he's ever laid eyes on. About how this is everything he's ever wanted in life. How you're everything and you shouldn't be so damn sheepish.

But he can't get it out. All that comes out is a raspy, rude, “Shut the fuck up.”

You stare at him in shock. And not the fun shock. It's the kind where you're not sure if you've stepped on eggshells or not.

Fuck it. No time for words. He grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, yanking your panties off and sweet holy shit you don't shave down there how could you possibly be any more perfect?

His mouth waters. His cock throbs. He dives in. He drags his tongue up your inner thighs, soft and smooth and sweet as that pie.

“Captain--!” A nip to the tender flesh turns the exclamation into a squeak.

“I said shut up,” he says between kisses.

Finally, you stop talking. You only pant and moan as he shoves his face into your pussy, lapping at your already sopping cunt. Did he do this? Are you this wet because of him?

He can't help it. He stuffs his hand down the front of his pants to fondle himself. Like the desperate bastard he is, his cock’s hard and leaking already.

He grinds against his palm as he gorges himself on you. Licking, sucking, swirling, punctuating with a few nips for good measure. It's all harmonized by the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard flowing from your lips, high-pitched and whiny.

He's not sure how long has passed when you grab his head and push him away. Time flows strangely between your thighs.

You've got a crazed look in your eyes again. “I want you inside me.”

He wants to say something clever, something cool and on brand for him, like it's not time for the finale yet or but my leading lady isn't satisfied.

But that would delay being inside you and he's too addled to think of anything. He jumps to his feet and wriggles out of his trousers and shorts. If he were more aware of himself, he'd be humiliated by just how much he has to shimmy and dance around to get them off his hips, but there's not enough blood in his brain to be self-conscious.

He kicks them away in whatever direction. Something crashes to the floor and he doesn't care. He looks back to your beautiful face--

You're wide-eyed as you look at him. He follows your gaze, right down to his--

In all the excitement, he's not sucking it in anymore.

Now it's his turn to be sheepish. He sucks it in again. But he can't hold it. Too much blood in his cock. He tries again with the same result.

Unfortunately for him, it's drawn your attention even more. Off comes your bra, and you don't take your eyes off his stomach the whole time.

Now he really can't think anymore. They're just so pretty and perfect. You're so pretty and perfect. He doesn't deserve this. This is a hell of a mismatch if ever there was one. You, divinity in the flesh. Him, a fat, dirty old clown.

This is a joke. It has to be. Someone put you up to this and now you're gonna back out and he's gonna let you because you deserve better so he better just rip the bandage off now and--

“Out,” he spits. “Get out.”

You blink at him in shock, then your face hardens. You speak with the firmness of a queen who's sick of her courtiers’ bullshit. “Get over here and get on top of me.”

You're mocking him. You gotta be. There’s no other explanation. “I said--”

You look him in the eyes. Something dangerous glitters there. “Buggy, get the fuck on top of me.”

It comes out at a hoarse yell. “Stop mocking me!”

You spring upwards and, with that wild strength that surprises him every time, you throw him on the bed. It squeaks as he bounces -- actually, that might have come from him.

You've got a look on your face he can only describe as murderous. “I did not wait two months for you to chicken out,” you say. You clamber onto him. “I did not wait two fucking months for you to finally man up and say something only for you to get self-conscious!”

Fear, anger, and arousal battle for control of his body. Arousal wins. You are hot as a griddle when you're mad.

You sit yourself on his belly, just above his cock. It twitches against your ass and he's sure it's made of clouds and he groans.

“Look at me,” you say.

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't want to see the scorn that's surely in your eyes.

You learn forward and grab his chin, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him to look. Even in the dim light, he can see the sheen of sweat on your face and the rise and fall of your chest as you pant.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you say, “but you will never get this chance again.”

No. No no no no. He wants you. He wants you so bad. He's never had perfection this close and it's never wanted him as much as you seem to.

“Do you want me to leave?” you ask firmly.

He shakes his head so hard it hurts.

You don't grin. You simply release his chin and lift yourself up. You lower yourself on his cock and, as he watches it disappear, inch by slick inch into your hot, wet pussy, the battle is over.

He doesn't care if this is a trick anymore. He's going to get his.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto him, fingers sinking into the smooth flesh. You gasp as he bottoms out, gripping the swell of his hips. He doesn't care. They're called love handles for a reason.

And then you start to bounce.

It starts in your legs. Pumping your thighs to lift yourself up and drop down onto his cock. The jolt ripples through your whole body, from your thighs to your belly to your breasts.

He's transfixed. So transfixed that he doesn't even notice you grabbing his pecs, squishing and squashing them between your gentle fingers. You tweak his nipples and he damn near howls.

He can't let you have all the fun. He pops his hand off to swirl his fingers around your clit.

But you don't cry out or moan. You start babbling. Something about eating and how hot he is and how much you love that he loves your cooking and it's all interspersed with pleasant-sounding gibberish. But he doesn't hear a word of it. You're too warm and slick and it goes in one ear and it the other.

But the sounds. God, the sounds of him sliding in and out of you. Wet and disgusting and it makes his mouth water and his cock leak and that just makes it wetter--

The slap of skin on skin and wet on wet and his moans and your chattering all mingle into a delicious symphony. 

But it stops all too soon. Your breath hitches and you bend at the waist, singing his name like a songbird, the same little melody over and over. “Buggy, Buggy, Buggy...!”

His name dissolves into little yips and gasps as your cunt flutters around his cock. It's so good. Better than treasure. Better than adrenaline. Better than a full belly after a hard day's work--

He realizes he's not wearing a condom. Fuck. “Where ya want it?” he grunts.

You don't hesitate. “In me,” you say between gasps.

In you? Inside you? Spilling his hot, wet cum into your hot, wet cunt? Your cunt? Soaking it? Seeding it? Making it even messier and sloppier and filling you up so much that--

He almost pops right then and there, but he bites his lip. “Nuh-uh. Where?”

“In me!” you spit.

He whines the most unmanly of whines. He will. He won't. He wants to. He can't. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Captain,” you whimper, “Buggy, please...”

He looks up at you. Your hands on his chest, your breasts heaving with each breath, your little belly rising and falling, your luscious thighs on either side of his hips, your lips dropped open as you pant, your bush surrounding his fingers--

God damn it.

He throws you to the side as he pops like a champagne cork. A few drops end up on you, but most of it splatters onto the underside of his belly, where it's started obeying gravity.

One hand grips the sheets and the other grips something warm and his hips buck and his head swims and his mouth makes utterly pathetic noises. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

He crashes back to earth like a meteor strike. All he can see is white as he flops back onto the mattress, gasping for breath.

He has no idea how long it takes for him to recover. But something soft tickles the knuckles of his detached hand. A shudder racks him as he turns his head towards you.

Post-orgasm haze still clouds your eyes, but they're big and round as a doe’s as you cradle his hand close to his face. You press your lips to his knuckles.

He gives a weak smile. “Hi.”

You giggle. God, he loves that giggle. He wishes he could hear it every day. He'd put it in a sea shell if he could, carry it around in his pocket and press it to his ear whenever he feels lonely. Or spin it into cotton candy. It's certainly light and sweet enough. Or whip it up onto a foam and fold it into batter like he watched you do that one time for cake...

His stomach growls. He needs to stop thinking about food.

You kiss his knuckles again, still smiling so very sweetly. “Are you alright?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he mumbles. It's the truth.

Detaching his other hand, he feels around on the floor. There's a towel here somewhere... Unless he threw it on the chair... Or over the folding screen...

He finds it slung over the door of his wardrobe. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. “After you.”

Suit yourself. He mops his belly up as you watch. Shit, this was a big one.

Satisfied, he tosses the towel away. He rolls over to take you in his arms, but he finds nothing. You're standing up, pulling his coat on and closing it around your front.

“Get over here,” he says. “That's an order.”

“I gotta clean up,” you say.

He panics. He can't help it. His voice quivers like a child's. “Don’t leave. Please.”

You give him a kind look that almost makes him cry. “I’ll be right back,” you coo. “I promise.”

He doesn't want to be alone. Not now. Tears prick at his eyes and his lip quivers. But you're out the door before he can stop you.

You're not coming back. He knows it. He disappointed you. How could he not? You're beautiful. You're divine. You're perfect.

And what is he? A fat old clown.

He lays there, shivering in the cold air, too afraid to move. Too aware of his shortcomings. Too aware of every flaw, every defect, every deficiency. His temper. His teeth. His nose. His appetite. His everything.

The door opens. The moonlight frames your silhouette for a moment before you close the door behind you.

He nearly sobs with relief. You don't notice, thankfully, as you shuck his coat.

He launches his arms at you as he sits upright, pulling you into an embrace as he falls back down. He lays you to the side, slipping under your arm and tucking his head in the crook between your chin and chest.

You thread your fingers through his hair. “Don't tell me you thought I wasn't coming back.”

He murmurs something he forgets as soon as it leaves his lips. You're so soft. So warm. So comfortable. And he's so exhausted.

You giggle. You kiss his forehead and slide your fingers through his hair. “Bonwee, sha.”

He has no idea what that means, but you say it with such warmth that it must be something good. He snuggles up close to you.

Rocked by the sea and calmed by your heartbeat, he drifts off.

---

He sleeps well, but he stirs a few times.

The first is when you shift out from under him, mumbling something in a language he can't place. You roll onto your side, your back to him. He doesn't like that at all and pulls you in to be the little spoon. You squeak. It's cute. He doesn't care that his belly presses against your back. 

He stirs again when his arm falls asleep and he rolls onto his side. You follow him this time. You press yourself right up against his back, breasts and belly and thighs squishing against him. You're so warm.

The final time is as the gray light of dawn slips through the windows. He's shaken from a dream and he grumbles.

“I gotta go get started on breakfast,” you whisper. “Just wanted to let you know I wasn't lovin’ and leavin’.”

That's so sweet of you. “You're so sweet,” he mumbles sweetly.

You giggle. “See you in a few hours.”

You kiss the tip of his nose and he's not even upset.

===

You had a lovely night, but you're walking a bit funny and it's making your usual bustling around the galley just difficult enough to be annoying. And the visions of your stark naked captain filling your head are making it even harder.

You're a very simple woman, like your mother before you. You like men. You like food. You like men who like food. You especially like men who like your food.

Captain Buggy's a man. Captain Buggy likes food. And he loves your food, if his constant hovering in the galley is anything to go on. And he loves it a lot and it's showing.

The memory of him lying beneath you, his warm hips against your thighs, his belly wobbling as you bounce atop him, his head thrown back in bliss, surprises you just as you're tossing a flapjack. It slams into the ceiling and stays there.

Your fellow cook, a swarthy fellow going by Bloomer, casts the new ceiling decor an odd look. He turns it on you. “You alright, girl?”

You know what? Screw this. Everyone else can handle breakfast. “I'm gonna go wake up the captain,” you say. “How's he like his coffee?”

Milk and two cubes of sugar, he tells you. You put in cream and three cubes. Man's gotta get his strength back from last night, you tell yourself as you set off across the deck. 

You knock three times on the door. No answer. You knock harder. Still nothing. You take that as a sign he may be dead and enter just in case.

Captain Buggy is, in fact, quite alive, if not also naked. He's in front of the mirror... or his face is, anyways. His body is turned completely around as he examines the reflection of his rear. He grabs a handful, thick fingers sinking into the squish. He gives it a jiggle and it wobbles.

You don't blame him. It's a great ass. Perfect for grabbing and digging your nails into. Next time, you're making him get on top so you can do just that. 

But you prefer his front. That's where all the good shit is. Soft, muscular pecs, perfect for grabbing and groping, covered in a dusting of hair that trails down to his soft belly.

His hands go there next, pinching his sides. He gives them a shake and his belly bounces. 

That little zing shoots up your gut and into your throat, that one you always get around men like him. That same one as when you first saw him from across the diner, draining a pitcher of beer. The same one you had last night when you walked in on him eating pie filling. And now, watching him preening after a wild romp.

...or you thought he was preening. He turns his body around and as his hands go to his face -- he's got a stronger jawline than you'd expected when he's barefaced -- you notice his laugh lines deepen. He lets out a grunt of disgust as his lips curl.

You frown. He's saying ugh as if you couldn't keep your hands off of him last night. Coaxing him in closer with pie filling just so you could feel his body molding against yours. Grabbing his cheeks and yanking him in for a kiss you'd been craving for months. Dragging him to his cabin and fucking yourself on him while you dug your nails into whatever soft flesh you could grab.

You close the door with a firm check of the hips. The slam startles him, but he calms as he sees you. Somewhat. There's still an uneasy look in his eye.

“G’morning,” he says. A little blush blooms across his cheeks. He avoids eye contact.

He'd be cute if he wasn't pathetic. You set the coffee down on the nearest surface and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your hands on the swell just above his hips and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for finally taking the hint,” you say into his skin.

He chuckles, a low, vibrating thrum. “I never miss a cue, baby.”

Lies. You've been trying everything. Flirting. Making his favorite food. You even went braless one day on a supply run with him and he didn't even blink. Idiot.

“Then why'd it take you so damn long?”

He scoffs. “Had to make sure I wasn't seeing things,” he mumbles.

He's so pathetic. Like a wet cat. You can't help but squeeze his sides--

He jumps away from you like you gave him an electric shock. “Stop it!” he spits.

You blink. “Stop what?”

“Stop-- Stop mocking me!”

You blink a few more times. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The flush deepens along with his scowl. “Quit touching me like that.”

Not what he was saying last night. “Like what?”

“Stop grabbing my--” He huffs. “I know I’m fat. Quit rubbing it in.”

Pardon? Did you hear that correctly? Does he know who he's talking to? You try to keep your tone even, but you were never good at that. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

He blanches. “...No.”

Too bad. You grab him by the waist and throw him onto the bed. He yelps as he bounces, then once again as you straddle his waist.

“Buggy. Darling. Cher,” you say. “Do you really think I would have fucked you if I didn't think you were hot shit?”

He simmers like a boiling pot with the lid still on. “Maybe!”

Pour l’amour de Dieu, c’est un contraieuse et un tête de cabri et pourquoi ce clown so fucking stupid?

You scoot backwards, kissing your way down his chest. Each one gets a tiny grunt from him until you get to his belly. He growls and tries to roll away, but you hold fast. You gently kiss just above his navel, then the tuft of blue hair right below it.

You peer up at him. He peers back, brow knit up, questioning you.

You press your face into his navel and blow a raspberry against his skin.

Buggy squeal-laughs. You've never heard him make that noise before and it's very cute. You do it again and he devolves into laughter.

“Sto-o-op!” he cackles.

You do not. You do it again and again until he's wheezing and not scowling any more. You stare up at him, fingering the tuft of hair below his navel.

He comes down slowly, cackles turning to giggles to breathless gasps. He finally sees you staring. “What?”

“Feeling better?” you ask. He huffs, but he does nod. “Good. Now stop being mean to my favorite captain.”

He frowns a bit at that. “Who’s that? Alvida? When'd she come up?” You keep staring at him. He blinks. “Wait, you mean--?”

Gros couillion. “No, the other guy I fucked last night,” you say. He bristles. Fuck’s sake. “Yes, you!”

He blinks again. The flush returns. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn't be on top of your naked-ass body if I didn't.” You place lean in close, the tip of your nose bumping his. “And you have a very nice body, Captain.”

Just for emphasis, you grab his side, right at the fleshiest part, and give a hard squeeze. He jumps, but nods.

He tries to dive in for a kiss, but you pull away. If you do that, you'll be here all morning. You stand up, offering him your hands. “C’mon, breakfast is ready,” you say.

“I'm not hungry.” His stomach growls. He glares at it. “Shut up.”

Trump card time. “Guess I'll just have to feed all those beignets to Richie, then.”

His eyes go wide. “...you made bin-yays?”

He still can't pronounce it right, but he's getting there. “Sure did,” you say coolly. You examine your nails. “Won't be good for much longer.”

His stomach growls again. “And that pie?” 

“Should be good to go, but you better be quick. They'll go fast.”

He jumps to his feet and licks his lips. “Well, keep some for me! Lemme-- Lemme get dressed and I'll be right down.”

“Don't take too long,” you say.

You turn to leave, but he grabs your hand. With a yank and a twirl, he pulls you flush against him and into a kiss.

You melt right into it. Rough lips move against yours, his warm body molds against you, strong arms holding you tight, belly pressing against yours... his nose squishing into your cheek. Wonderful, all of it.

You separate with a pop. He grins at you and wipes his wrist along his lips. “Didn’t think I was gonna let you leave without that?”

You blush. Now he decides to be slick. “Just get dressed.”

You twirl him around and, with a flat hand, you swat his ass. Just to see it quiver. The slap echoes in the small room and he jumps, but you can't stick around to see the look on his face.

You've got work to do.

---

Special thanks to my bf, Meg, and Ollie for beta-ing!

To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar

[autistichalsin]

PSA for omnivores

Hi! Vegetarian here.

I just wanted to let you guys know a few things for reference!

Vegetarian and vegan is not the same thing. All vegans are vegetarian, but not all vegetarians are vegan. Vegans are generally much stricter in their diets; while most vegetarians generally will eat eggs, dairy, and honey, vegans do not. However, some vegetarians don't eat eggs, either.

Most vegetarians do not eat seafood, though some do. No vegans eat seafood.

Not every vegetarian is also gluten-free, though some are.

There are many different reasons one might be vegetarian or vegan. Sometimes it's an animal rights or environmentalist issue, sometimes it's religious, sometimes it's health-related, and some people just don't like the taste and/or texture.

Please don't try to argue with us about our reasons for not eating meat, or try to convince us our diets are unhealthy. Yes, this includes concerns about protein and/or iron. With beans, legumes, and other such things, some vegetarians can eat even more protein than omnivores!

For the love of god and everything holy, please don't try to sneak meat or meat products into food, even if you're sure we "won't notice."

In general, if you wouldn't like a vegetarian doing it to you, don't do it to a vegetarian, whether that's tricking you into eating something, debating their religion, or expressing invasive health concerns.

That said, if you know a person well and have genuine, good-faith questions to ask, it is okay to ask them if they'd be willing to talk about it. Just don't be upset if they say no!

When in doubt about if something is suitable for a vegetarian, please ask! Most of us would rather read an entire ingredients list front-to-back, back-to-front, up-to-down, and down-to-up than eat something we try to exclude from our diets.

If you are at a setting (potluck, holiday dinner, etc) with a vegetarian, and there are both meat main dishes and vegetarian ones available, please wait for the vegetarian(s) to have gotten food before trying the vegetarian ones. You have no idea how upsetting it can be to be one of maybe five vegetarians at a gathering of fifty, and watch as all of the meat-eaters devour the cheese and veggie supreme pizza slices first, so that by the time we reach the line, there's only ten meat lovers pies left. If there is only a single vegetarian option, please don't eat it unless you absolutely have to.

Some items are often considered vegetarian-friendly, but in truth, aren't. Some of these include:

Worcestershire sauce. Aside from a few specifically vegan brands, these contain anchovies.

Meat broths, bouillons, etc. Yes, we do consider chicken broth not to be vegetarian, even if the soup itself has no actual meat in it.

Many kinds of miso are made with bonito flakes, and are therefore not vegetarian.

Many foods contain seafood derivatives for flavor; this also happens fairly often with chicken being added as well.

Caesar dressing contains anchovies, and is not vegetarian.

Foods cooked on the same surfaces as meat. Some vegetarians do not want to eat these (though others are more lax about this). In general, fast-food places and chain restaurants do not have designated vegetarian-friendly surfaces, and would therefore not fit the dietary preferences of a vegetarian who doesn't want to eat food cooked with meat.

"Jojo" potatoes (also known as fried potato wedges) are traditionally cooked in the same fryer as meat items such as fried seafood, chicken, etc.

Aside from some specific kinds, such as mushroom or onion, gravies are not vegetarian.

Many canned beans, refried beans, etc are not vegetarian as they are often cooked in lard.

Many brands and flavors of stovetop stuffing are not vegetarian. Ironically, the only flavor of Kraft's stovetop stuffing that is vegetarian is the pork-flavor one, while the savory herb one is not suitable for vegetarians.

Food that once had meat on it. Many, though not all, vegetarians do not consider "picking the meat off" of an item that had it (I.E. pepperoni pizza) to be acceptable. Part of the issue is the contact with meat, and another is that the flavors and oils will have seeped all over it. Have you ever noticed how much greasier the boxes are for pepperoni pizzas than for cheese ones? You are definitely free to ask, but please don't get offended if a vegetarian doesn't consider picking meat off of a dish to make it vegetarian-friendly.

Many storebought brands of puff pastry, pie crust, and etc are made with lard.

Many cheeses are made with rennet (an enzyme crucial for the making of many kinds of cheese) that is derived from animal stomachs and therefore not vegetarian. While some brands use microbial or plant-blased rennet, which are vegetarian, it is safe to assume that cheeses like parmesan or gruyere are not vegetarian, especially if they are traditional/DOP cheeses.

Anything with gelatin, as this is a byproduct of meat production. However, please note that some vegetarians are less fussy with byproducts than others, and this definitely falls into the "ask first" category.

Some, though not all, wines and beers use animal products in the process of purifying them.

Protein powder is usually produced using animal proteins.

Sugar, believe it or not, as often bone char is added to improve the whiteness. Try looking for vegan brands.

A lot of manufacturers love sneaking animal products into things it doesn't belong in, and it is really a miserable experience to get "meated". If you're cooking for or eating with a vegetarian, no one expects you to know everything, but again, when in doubt, ask! There's a lot of little things you can do to make it easier, especially during the holiday season. <3

[celestialprincesse]

I JUST SAW YOUR POLY 141 AND UGGH IT WAS SO GOOD! If you’re interested! Could you do like poly 141 with an angst- hurt/comfort! Where supposedly one of the boys said something and the reader took it in a negative way? I liked to think that this reader is a more sensitive reader, maybe something some of us can relate too (cause I know I can <3)

with lots of love and positivity! - 🩰

Warnings: afab reader, mentions of periods 💕🎀

Cooking is your safe place. The bubbling of pots and sizzling of pans gets you out of your head. Working to delicately lattice the tops of pies or pipe cakes keeps your hands busy and your mind elsewhere. Today, the kitchen is less of a safe place, and more of a war room. The snap of your meat cleaver down onto the chopping board echoes through the house like a death knell, and the boys convene on the porch to work out what the hell happened.

"Mate, she sounds like fucking Hannibal in there." Kyle huffs, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose to soothe the building headache that stress has dropped upon his temples. Simon is already looking at Johnny, who looks like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Johnny." Simon murmurs, surprisingly warmly, in that way he does to coax someone to talk before he resorts to his 6'4 arsenal of intimidation tactics. John and Kyle proceed to look his way, his captain's eyes blazing with embers of fire just ready to spark. "I did no mean to say anythin'." His thick Scots accent drips with defeat as he looks at the other men around him. "But.." Kyle nods slowly, a comforting hand placed on Johnny's shoulder, giving an encouraging squeeze. "I said she was acting pissy." He huffs, running his hands over his face in frustration. "She was bein' all huffy an' puffy, tried to ask what was wrong and she went off." Simon immediately has his phone in hand, scrolling through their shared calendar until he comes to the date, and a little blood drop emoji a few days later. "Ah." Simon sighs, followed by a chorus of "Oh's" From the others.

Halfway through cooking whatever it is you'd stormed in here to make - you weren't really sure what - You'd managed to elbow a bowl full of eggs on the floor, and now, sat in a mess of egg yolks, shells, flour and porcelain, you sniffled pathetically into your hands.

"Hen?" Johnny calls softly, a quiet knock on the kitchen door, which he opens slowly, shuffling in with your three other massive soldiers shimmying into the kitchen at his back. "Oh, no." He coos, taking your cheeks in his palms, dropping a kiss to your forehead as he helps you up. "I didnae mean to make you cry, love. I was jus' being an idiot, yeah? Insensitive an that." Simon is at your back, gathering your hair away from your face, leaning the reassuring weight of his head into the crook of your neck, whilst John helps you out of your apron and Kyle grabs cleaning supplies for the mess you'd made on the floor. "I'm sorry for being pissy." You sniffle, stuffing your head into the ever warm skin of his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne as your residual tears soak his shirt. "Ye was no bein' pissy. Ye jus weren't as chirpy as usual, eh? No problem with that, was jus surprised is all." "You know we all love you." John coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as you're left smushed between four huge bodies. "Love you too."

[lisaloutwo]

Meal 1 (9:00 AM): Blended Breakfast Purée

• McDonald’s Big Breakfast with Hotcakes (3 orders): 4,020 calories

• 6 Hash Browns: 960 calories

• Large Caramel Frappuccino: 470 calories

• Maple Syrup and Extra Butter: 450 calories

Preparation:

Blend the Big Breakfasts, hash browns, syrup, butter, and frappuccino into a smooth purée. Add water or milk as needed to reach a thin enough consistency for a funnel.

Total: 5,900 calories

Meal 2 (11:00 AM): Doughnut and Coffee Smoothie

• Krispy Kreme Original Glazed Doughnuts (12-pack): 2,280 calories

• 6 Chocolate Iced Doughnuts: 2,280 calories

• 2 Cinnabon Classic Rolls: 1,760 calories

• Large Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha: 620 calories

Preparation:

Blend the doughnuts, Cinnabon rolls, and white chocolate mocha into a rich, sugary purée. Add water, milk, or cream to thin out the texture.

Total: 6,940 calories

Meal 3 (1:00 PM): Pizza and Soda Purée

• Pizza Hut Large Stuffed Crust Meat Lovers Pizza (2 pizzas): 6,960 calories

• Garlic Cheese Breadsticks (8 pieces): 2,320 calories

• 2 Large Pepsi (32 oz): 400 calories

Preparation:

Blend the pizzas, garlic breadsticks, and Pepsi together into a savory purée. Add additional soda or water as necessary to thin out for the funnel.

Total: 9,680 calories

Meal 4 (3:00 PM): Burger and Fries Shake

• Five Guys Bacon Cheeseburgers (3 burgers): 3,180 calories

• Five Guys Large Fries (3 orders): 3,930 calories

• Five Guys Large Chocolate Milkshake with Whipped Cream (2): 2,000 calories

Preparation:

Blend the burgers, fries, and milkshakes together to create a rich, thick purée. Add more milkshake or milk as needed for consistency.

Total: 9,110 calories

Meal 5 (6:00 PM): Nugget and Fries Combo Purée

• McDonald’s 60-piece Chicken McNuggets: 2,820 calories

• 3 Large Fries: 1,470 calories

• 4 McDonald’s Apple Pies: 920 calories

• 2 Large Coca-Colas: 620 calories

Preparation:

Blend the McNuggets, fries, apple pies, and Coca-Cola together. Use additional soda or water to ensure smoothness.

Total: 5,830 calories

Meal 6 (9:00 PM): Dessert Frenzy

• Dairy Queen Large Oreo Blizzard (2): 2,280 calories

• Large Brownie Batter Blizzard: 1,340 calories

• 2 Cheesecake Blizzards: 2,280 calories

Preparation:

Blend all Blizzard desserts together for a thick, ice cream-based purée. Add some milk or cream to reach the desired consistency.

Total: 5,900 calories

Daily Total: 30,360 calories

🤯🤯🤯

[chirp-a-chirp]

A Rhodolite Thanksgiving*

*I know, this post is AFTER Thanksgiving, but Sariel wasn’t around to keep me on task*

Sariel: Rhodolite’s first annual Thanksgiving is almost upon us. Are we prepared?

Rio: Absolutely boss man! Jin and Nokto got the wine, Yves prepared a whole table full of pies. Luke brought stuffing—

Sariel: This stuffing is nothing but bread crumbs coated in honey.

Luke: *Mouth muffled* Wha? Too much bread?

Rio: My mistress Emma INSISTED on bringing all the vegetable platters.

Licht: Ew. *Puts down a basket of rolls and mashed potatoes and steps away from a mixed green beans and carrot dish*

Sariel: And I see you convinced Prince Chevalier to bring the elegant silverware and place settings.

Rio: Yeah, but I also promised him he didn’t have to talk during our celebration as a result.

Chevalier: …

Sariel: And I presume Prince Leon is providing the meat dishes?

Leon: Sorry, I’ve been on inspection tours the past few days. But I DID pick up some ale at the pub. Oh, and some kids gave me cookies…*Rummages in his pockets and pulls out several crumbling cookies*

Yves: I’ll…take those Leon. *Yves discretely hides the cookie crumbs in the furthest corner of his dessert buffet table*

Rio: So, there was only one prince left to make the Turkey…

Sariel: Do NOT tell me—

Clavis: I do hope everyone saved their appetites! *Puts his dish in the dead center of the table, beaming*

Nokto: Did that—meat thing?—just blink at me?

[notgilderoylockhart]

"Duck Foie Gras Terrine, pickled fruit, roasted apple bonbon"

Duck foie gras, with pickled red grapes and a roasted apple bonbon, most likely candied, topped with gold leaf. And what seems to be some pickled red cabbage on the side.

2. Venus Clams

Venus clams with dill and red chilies in oil. Inside the oil are specks of red, which could be chili flakes. There also seems to be a few drops of balsamic vinegar between the clamshells and a dollop of green pesto. If you zoom in a little more, there also is something that looks like white foam, which would fit the sea theme of the plate.

3. Pig Foot

I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess this might be a play on the recipe for Maple Glazed Pig's Head with Lobster in Martin Picard's book Sugar Shack Au Pied de Cochon. The bloody sauce might be a red wine reduction. There is a small amount of what looks like mashed potatoes under the foot.

4. Mussels with tomatoes

The mussel meat is arranged in a circularly inside a baked tart shell, with the occasional melted tomato in between. Next to it is an entire mussel as well as a decorative sprig of parsley.

x

5. not shown

x

6. not shown

7. "Ajoblanco, bread, crushed almonds, galic, olive oil, salt, a garnish of green grapes"

Ajoblanco is a cold soup made from exactly those ingredients. We sadly don't get a close up of it. Pity.

8. "Rabbit Three Ways"

We also sadly do not get a close up of this dish, but we do see a something resembling a stuffed pastry on Daniel's fork in a close up. From left to right, I'd say we can see a rabbit pastry, a bacon wrapped tenderloin and a braised leg here.

9. Steak

Alas, again, we do not get a close up, but I can't make out anything other than 2 giant pieces of steak. The steak is cooked medium, a blood-less perfect pink, which is the culinary standard, when a guest doesn't give a temperature preference for their meat.

10. Dessert

This might be a pavlova with strawberries and ice cream. There are a wide variety of meringue shapes, some dollops, some piped with a star shaped tip, a slightly larger one for the strawberry ice cream to perch on top of and another, even larger ring shaped meringue, for the second white ice cream. The empty space on the plate between the meringues is decorated with cut up strawberries and what seems to be powdered sugar.

[tenofmuses]

Hello! i just discovered your account. I read the same chapter in the North American Folk Magic book and felt connected to it through my french canadian ancestors. I’m having trouble locating books or really anything about these folk traditions. Do you have any to recommend? thank you so much <3

Hello! :)

I’m so sorry this has taken me months to reply to—I’ve had a reply half-written in my drafts for ages, but the end of the year was crazy so I wasn’t able to finish writing it until now. Hopefully this is still helpful!

I’m going to start off by saying that I’m by no means an expert on this topic (I’m fairly new to reconnecting to these practices), so I’m probably missing some key sources. My French is very poor, so I’m unable to read a lot of the sources that are out there—especially Quebec-specific sources, which are often written in French.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any French Canadian folk magic 101 books (at least not that I know of!) out there, so we have to get a bit creative when it comes to sources.

First, I highly recommend checking out the website Courir le loup-garou (link)! They have a lot of articles about different aspects of Acadian and French Canadian witchcraft (sorcellerie). All of their articles are bilingual, and it’s an excellent, accessible resource to get you started. They also have a page on there with sources they’ve used (books, articles, etc.), so it might be helpful to take a look at those.

I’ll also direct you to @lesorciercanadien, who is a practitioner with excellent informational posts, as well as sources cited that you can comb through.

There is a podcast episode of Three Witches and a Druid, interviewing Laurence Cote, who is a French Canadian folk practitioner, about the subject. Link (goes to the Apple podcast app) here.

Another thing to do is to look at the living culture of your family members or people you know. Personally, my Acadian side of the family are very Christian and have no ties to any sort of magic or animistic beliefs—they don’t even pray to saints, which is a common aspect of French folk practices. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing for me to work with! Just means I have to be creative. For example, my Acadian family members use summer savoury in a lot of traditional recipes (meat pies, chicken fricot, stuffing on Christmas), so that’s an herb that I incorporate into my craft a lot of the time.

Food is an excellent and accessible form of culture that you can utilize in your own practice. By looking at common ingredients and working with the spirits of those plants and herbs, for example, or by practicing kitchen witchcraft as you try different recipes. I’ve found this a great way of connecting with my ancestors—following family recipes or even looking up Acadian recipes online and devoting that time spent cooking to those ancestors. It always makes me feel closer to them.

Similarly, I find that listening to traditional music is a great way of connecting to these ancestors. I’m unsure if it’s the same for general French Canadians, but I grew up listening to my Acadian family from New Brunswick playing folk music—specifically fiddles and mandolins and banjos. Sometimes I listen to this music as a way of reconnecting to that side of the family.

Another way to find sources is academic journals, and these will usually be articles about folklore, history, or religion. Use Google Scholar/JSTOR/etc. and search terms like the following ones: "province name"/"quebec"/“acadian”/“french canadian”/"city name" AND "witchcraft"/"folklore"/"magic"/"folk healer." Etc. These aren't always exciting reads, and sometimes the research goes nowhere, but I've found some amazing info this way.

Another type of source to look out for is folklore books—specifically ones related to French Canadian folklore. I was going to insert the name of an old one I read a while ago here, but unfortunately I’ve misplaced the name. I’ll include it here if I find it.

The story of Evangeline is one that is incredibly important in Acadian folklore, and the epic poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is worth a read. Evangeline is a folk hero to many, and is honoured by some folk practitioners.

I’ll also note that there tend to be a lot of awful racist stereotypes related to Indigenous people in some of the older articles and books about witchcraft in Canada, so that’s something to keep in mind as you do research.

Many of the mentions of Indigenous peoples within the particular papers I have read are due to the close ties some Acadian and Mi’kmaq peoples had with each other historically, which led to cross-cultural communication, trade, kinship, and the sharing of beliefs and knowledge. For example, the northern lights have shared folkloric beliefs for both cultures, which shows the cross-cultural communication that took place between them.

Until someone writes a comprehensive French Canadian or Acadian folk magic book, this is what we’ve got—unless there is a wonderful source out there that I haven’t come across yet! It’s a lot of work to dig through all of these sources to piece together your own folk practice, but I find it very rewarding. Putting in all that work just makes you feel all the more connected to the practices you’re doing, and it’s very worthwhile, at least to me!

Again, sorry this took so long, and I hope it helps! Happy new year :)

[sullustangin]

In order to save sanity for the semester, I pre-made a bunch of meals and frozen them. By my count, there is now the following in my freezer:

1 lasagna (we ate the other one yesterday, haha)

2 trays of Mexican stuffed shells

1 tray of chicken parm

8 calzones

2 bags of turkey cheesesteak (just add cheese and buns)

1 bag of fajitas

1 bag of peanut lime chicken

1 meat loaf (which is surprisingly good)

I used to do chicken pot pies, but I have pot pied myself to oblivion at this point. It's very waste not, want not, but I swear I was sprouting feathers at the end. So I rotated in the bag and freeze fajitas and chicken dishes.

...I don't wanna go back to work next week, but at the same time, I have hit "done" on domestic. At least in the food department; I just got some new sewing machine toys that I rather be playing with (1948 buttonhole maker, heck yeah).

[zorb-petre]

Brief Guide to Being an Alien Pet Regressor 👽🛸🐶

What is an alien pet regressor? An alien pet regressor is someone who, instead of being an earth pet like a bunny or kitten, is an extraterrestrial animal! Think the type of pet an alien might keep. Alien pet regressors can be of any breed or type. Some are fuzzy, some have scales or tentacles, some are big, some small, some hyper intelligent, others smooth brained, some energetic and some calm. It’s up to the regressor!

Snacks and activities under the cut!! ;3

What activities can an alien pet regressor do? Some of these are space/alien themed activities, and some of these depend on what your pet species is like :3

Crawl, slither, scuttle, walk on your toes, or jump around the house!

Pretend you have the ability to walk up walls or pretend you are walking on the ceiling

Go for a low-gravity walk by slowly jump-stepping around

Chitter in an alien language

Do tricks like sit, stay, lie down, roll over

Play Simon says to practice being an obedient pet

If your pet species is hyper-intelligent, color simple space coloring pages, do a space-themed puzzle, watch a space or alien movie, read a book about space (a children’s book or a longer sci-fi or science nonfiction piece depending on your species’ intelligence), learn space facts, or make drawings of your planet, owner, or pet self

Pretend to chase after space-pests the way a human pet might go after a mouse or squirrel

Imagine your bed is a spaceship

Take a shower or bath and pretend you are at the groomers

Listen to galaxy or space themed instrumentals or playlists, or listen to spaceship ambience

Make a crater out of blankets and take a nap in it

Go stargazing and pretend you’re floating through space

Cosplay as your alien pet self or wear a comfy pet self inspired outfit

Watch or make space themed mood boards or stim boards

If your pet species forages, forage around the house for toys and stuffed animals

If your pet species has sharp teeth, chew chew chew! Of your pet species is strong, play tug of war

If your pet species has paws, put ankle socks on your hands and feet. If your pet species has tentacles, put knee length socks on your hands and feet. If your pet species slithers on a tail, wrap a blanket around your legs and feet (be safe!!)

If your pet species is a hunter, hide stuffed animals around the house as prey and sniff them out

Go for a walk outside and imagine everything you see is strange and alien

Alien Pet Regressor Snack Ideas

Again, some of these are space/alien themed, and some of these depend on what species your pet self is

Space themed cheesy crackers (e.g. spaceship shaped cheese crackers)

Moon pies

Space ice cream (the freeze dried stuff astronauts eat!)

Dehydrated (aka astronaut) fruits like strawberries or mango

Is your alien species a carnivore? Try slim Jim’s, pigs in a blanket, lunch meat like salami or ham, or yummy tuna

Is your alien species a herbivore? Try a delicious fruit salad

If you’re familiar with the show Resident Alien, consider a tall glass of milk

If your alien species eats humans, try gingerbread cookies or other people-shaped snacks 🤭

[arsenicfathips]

How much did you eat?

A flashback to last night...

---

Nepeta wasn't sure if she had ever seen someone make this much food in her entire life. Several tables had been dragged into the same room, standing in line to contain the overwhelming spread of dishes. Plates packed to the brim with food fought for space, the cloth spread out beneath them practically only visible from the sides. The drooling kittytroll walked around the tables, tongue almost rolling out from her agape mouth (several onlooking carapacians slowly backed off, sensing danger).

Bowls upon bowls of pillowy mashed potatoes, begging to be covered with the accompanying pitchers of gravy or cream corn. Plates of pastries and rolls, all oven-hot and deliciously crisp. Steaming hot pies- pumpkin, apple, custard, to name a few. Deviled eggs, carefully plated and topped with capers. Dishes packed with stuffing and casserole. Little sandwiches, crusts cut off and stacked atop each other. A whole lot of fruits and veggies that Nepeta didn't personally care for.

And most importantly... oh lordy. The meat. Every table segment was crowned with a large turkey, or glazed ham, or even fried pork belly. And the variety...! Some turkeys were spatchcocked and broiled with insanely crispy skin; others more traditionally roasted whole or even seemingly deep fried.

Nepeta clapped her hands together, eyes closed. She took a deep breath. And then she pounced.

Not literally pounced, of course. That would make such a mess, and she wanted to be a good guest! It would make sense to start with the sides, slowly working up towards the main course. Nepeta ignored this fact, instead picking up the largest turkey. She had no clue what Serket did to these birds to make them so damn big- it was double the size it should normally be. Nepeta closed her eyes and took a moment to enjoy the savory smell of the roast, then promptly tilted the plate towards her mouth. The turkey disappeared in one gulp, her stomach ballooning out from her shirt to make room for the bird. Nepeta licked her lips, giving her belly a quick pat before eyeing the rest of the feast.

Nepeta made constant trips back and forth from where she had sat herself and the serving tables. Despite how many bowls and plates she took for herself, carapacians carefully replaced their spots as fast as they disappeared. Serket really didn't play when it came to cooking, and Nepeta could taste it. Everything she ate was so delicious, so lovingly crafted... how could Nepeta stop?

Over the course of an hour, her speed between the tables gradually slowed as her stomach grew. Nepeta found it harder to move with a belly full of actual cooked food, packed much tighter and heavier than something that squirms. Still, she pushed the expanding orb forward! Nepeta's stomach gurgled loudly, desperately trying to make room for the excess of calories that was continuously deposited into it. It eventually reached the floor, dragging along as Nepeta continued piling on plates of food.

By the time Serket finally came out of the kitchen, she would find an almost unrecognizable Nepeta laying on the ground, pinned under the weight of her own gut. It pushed out nearly five feet above her, almost completely taut and hard to the touch. She looked up at Serket, her expression nearly comatose as she managed a goofy looking smile. She gestured towards the tables- almost every plate was licked clean, save for a seemingly untouched table. One serving of everything Serket had prepared was saved for her! Nepeta gave her friend a thumbs up, then promptly fell into a food coma.