#wooden soup bowl

[shahjenish2001]

Caring for Your Wooden Tableware: A Comprehensive Guide to Washing and Maintenance

Wooden tableware, such as the soup bowl, wooden coffee cup, and tea cup, gives a touch of natural elegance to your dining experience. These eco-friendly wooden tableware are becoming favorites for their visual appeal and environmentally conscious attributes. Yet, for them to maintain their pristine appearance and last long, it's essential to adopt proper washing and maintenance habits. Join us in this guide as we uncover the most effective methods to clean your wooden tableware, safeguarding both their charm and utility.

Introduction to wooden tableware -

Discover the rustic charm and eco-friendly essence of wooden tableware, now a go-to for those craving a sustainable dining vibe. Welcoming these delightful pieces into your kitchen is a style statement, but it's equally crucial to know the ins and outs of keeping them spick and span for the long haul.

The Importance of Proper Washing -

Caring for your wooden tableware isn't just about looks; it's a hygiene essential and also warding off the risk of harmful bacteria. The porous quality of wood means it can soak up liquids and food bits, underscoring the importance of a meticulous cleaning routine.

Hand Washing: A Gentle Approach -

Warm Water Rinse:-

Kick off the cleaning process by giving your wooden tableware a gentle rinse under warm water to whisk away any loose bits. Steer clear of hot water to prevent the wood from expanding and potentially developing cracks.

Mild Dish Soap:-

Now, introduce a dab of mild dish soap to a soft sponge or cloth. With a gentle touch, scrub the surface of your wooden tableware, giving special attention to any stubborn spots or stains.

Avoid Soaking:-

Resist the urge to let your wooden tableware soak for extended periods, as this may result in warping or damage. Opt for a prompt wash after use to steer clear of any unwanted liquid absorption.

The Challenge of Wooden Soup Bowls -

Soup Residues:-

Tackling the residue in wooden soup bowls can be a bit tricky. For this, employ a soft-bristle brush or an old toothbrush to delve into the crevices, guaranteeing a comprehensive clean.

Drying Upside Down:-

Once washed, flip your wooden soup bowls upside down on a dish rack for optimal air circulation. This clever move prevents water from pooling and helps avert potential damage.

Nurturing Wooden Coffee and Tea Cups -

Handle with Care:-

Give extra care to the handles when cleaning wooden coffee and tea cups. Clean around and inside the handle using a brush or cloth to remove any lingering residues.

Mind the Stains:-

Tea and coffee stains can be stubborn, but fear not. A blend of baking soda and water, applied with a soft cloth, works wonders in gently lifting these stains without putting your wooden cups at risk.

Drying Techniques for All Wooden Tableware -

Towel Drying:-

Give your wooden tableware a gentle pat-dry with a clean, soft towel right after washing. This simple step helps ward off any water infiltration into the wood, preventing potential damage.

Air Drying:-

To achieve the best results, let your wooden tableware air dry completely before stashing them away. Opt for a well-ventilated spot to avoid any pesky moisture buildup.

Conclusion

In conclusion, caring for your wooden tableware involves a delicate balance of gentle cleaning, and proper drying. By following these guidelines, you not only maintain the aesthetic appeal of your wooden tableware but also contribute to a more sustainable and eco-friendly dining experience.

Remember, the beauty of wooden tableware lies not only in its appearance but also in the stories it carries with each use. With proper care, your wooden tableware can become cherished heirlooms, enriching your dining rituals for years to come.

[digitalvision05]

Gift Guide: Wooden Beer Mugs for the Beer Lover in Your Life

Forget the cold, impersonal feel of glass or concrete. Wooden beer mugs offer a unique and sensory-rich alternative. But with so many styles and options available, choosing the perfect one can feel daunting. Fear not, fellow gift-giver! This guide will walk you through the world of wooden beer mugs, helping you find the ideal vessel to match your recipient's personality and preferences.

A Touch of Nature: Why Choose Wood?

Wooden mugs go beyond mere function; they're a statement piece. The natural beauty of wood adds a touch of rustic charm to any setting, while the material itself insulates your beer, keeping it cooler for longer. Plus, the unique grain and texture of each mug make it a one-of-a-kind treasure.

Navigating the Forest: Different Woods, Different Feels

The type of wood used plays a big role in the mug's aesthetics and performance. Popular choices include:

Oak:- Known for its durability and rich, golden tones, oak mugs offer a classic, timeless look.

Walnut:- This darker wood boasts a beautiful grain and imparts a subtle nutty aroma to your beer.

Cedar:- Lighter in color and weight, cedar mugs offer a natural, earthy feel and a hint of cedar fragrance.

Finding the Perfect Fit: Styles and Features

There's a wooden mug to suit every taste. Consider your recipient's preferences:

The Traditionalist:- Opt for a hefty tankard with a handle for a truly medieval vibe.

The Craft Beer Aficionado:- Choose a mug with a narrower mouth to concentrate the aromas of complex brews.

The Casual Enjoyer:- Select a lighter-weight mug for everyday use.

Personalization Power:- Making it Special

Engraving the recipient's name, initials, or a special message on their mug adds a sentimental touch that elevates it to a cherished heirloom.

Still Stumped? We Can Help!

Feeling overwhelmed by the choices? Don't fret! At The Brand Barrel, we specialize in helping you find the perfect wooden beer mug for any occasion. With our curation of high-quality, handcrafted mugs, you're sure to discover the ideal gift that will have them raising a toast in appreciation.

So, ditch the ordinary and embrace the rustic charm of wood. With the right mug, you're gifting more than just a vessel; you're gifting an experience, a conversation starter, and a cherished reminder of your thoughtfulness. What are you waiting for? Start crafting the perfect beer-soaked memory today!

P.S. What type of beer would your recipient pair with their new wooden mug? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

[digitalvision]

Gift Guide: Wooden Beer Mugs for the Beer Lover in Your Life

Forget the cold, impersonal feel of glass or concrete. Wooden beer mugs offer a unique and sensory-rich alternative. But with so many styles and options available, choosing the perfect one can feel daunting. Fear not, fellow gift-giver! This guide will walk you through the world of wooden beer mugs, helping you find the ideal vessel to match your recipient's personality and preferences.

A Touch of Nature: Why Choose Wood?

Wooden mugs go beyond mere function; they're a statement piece. The natural beauty of wood adds a touch of rustic charm to any setting, while the material itself insulates your beer, keeping it cooler for longer. Plus, the unique grain and texture of each mug make it a one-of-a-kind treasure.

Navigating the Forest: Different Woods, Different Feels

The type of wood used plays a big role in the mug's aesthetics and performance. Popular choices include:

Oak:- Known for its durability and rich, golden tones, oak mugs offer a classic, timeless look.

Walnut:- This darker wood boasts a beautiful grain and imparts a subtle nutty aroma to your beer.

Cedar:- Lighter in color and weight, cedar mugs offer a natural, earthy feel and a hint of cedar fragrance.

Finding the Perfect Fit: Styles and Features

There's a wooden mug to suit every taste. Consider your recipient's preferences:

The Traditionalist:- Opt for a hefty tankard with a handle for a truly medieval vibe.

The Craft Beer Aficionado:- Choose a mug with a narrower mouth to concentrate the aromas of complex brews.

The Casual Enjoyer:- Select a lighter-weight mug for everyday use.

Personalization Power:- Making it Special

Engraving the recipient's name, initials, or a special message on their mug adds a sentimental touch that elevates it to a cherished heirloom.

Still Stumped? We Can Help!

Feeling overwhelmed by the choices? Don't fret! At The Brand Barrel, we specialize in helping you find the perfect wooden beer mug for any occasion. With our curation of high-quality, handcrafted mugs, you're sure to discover the ideal gift that will have them raising a toast in appreciation.

So, ditch the ordinary and embrace the rustic charm of wood. With the right mug, you're gifting more than just a vessel; you're gifting an experience, a conversation starter, and a cherished reminder of your thoughtfulness. What are you waiting for? Start crafting the perfect beer-soaked memory today!

P.S. What type of beer would your recipient pair with their new wooden mug? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

[kinsentokyo]

Japanese lidded bowl - Owan.

Kaiseki ryori tableware.

+SHOP+

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

going to try and do another 100 words of my essay (lol yeah right), get a shower, then run to the shop and get me some currents for *welsh cakes*

[sepiasys]

God I hate these. 1) scented 2) I think they last way shorter

Whatever

Idk a good brand and apparently they all suck anyways, just the fact it's scented makes me more wary

[allegoryofthebeast]

Think if I was a vampire blood would be coming from the person (natural and eco-friendly) OR from a blood bag in a wine glass over ice (Carrie Bradshaw)

[taurusdesign]

Judith Kitchen

Sul sul everyone!

I did it! Finally! It's been quite a ride. In addition to the difficulty of making kitchen, the hot weather is killing me and my computer. It's hot as hell!

When I shared the WIP, I said that "The texturing would end next week." But as you can imagine, it didn't happen that way. The most difficult part of making a kitchen is definitely texturing. Because every part needs to look like a perfect whole. And if there are too many swatches, it becomes more difficult. But I think I did it.

I told there were too many swatches. That's why I divided the kitchen cabinets and counters into three. (As Marble, Wood and Plaster counter tops.) In order to be more easily distinguished in the catalog, they are shown with different swatches as follows.

Marble Top

Wooden Top

Plaster Top

The items included in the set are listed below. (Total of 56 items and Base Game compatible)

Kitchen Counter v1 (3 different tops)

Kitchen Counter v2 (3 different tops)

Kitchen Island v1 (3 different tops)

Kitchen Island v2 (3 different tops)

Cabinets v1 (3 different tops)

Cabinets v2 (3 different tops)

Appliance Cabinets (3 different tops)

Tall Cabinets v1 (3 different tops)

Tall Cabinets v2 (3 different tops)

Wall Stove Hood

Fridge 1-Tile

Fridge 2-Tiles

Stove

High-oven (Dream Home Decorator Game Pack Required)

Microwave

Built-in Oven*

Cooktop

Dishwasher*

Ceiling Stove Hood (3 heights)

Marble Sink

Metal Sink

Bar Stool

Wide plates

Coffe cups

Water glasses

Oval plates

Medium plates

Saucers

Bowls

Pan

Soup pot

Dish rack

Stock pot

Soap tray

PUBLIC RELEASE AUGUST 23, 2024

CHECK IT OUT!

I hope you like it!

Love you all! ❤️❤️❤️

[asksprunkiestsimon]

[ They're rocking dude.. They're rocking each other and in the moment it feels like time has slowed down and there was no stress in the world ] [ Simon doesn't even shift, claws now gently running down the draped, limp moth wings of Vinnie ] [ There is a distinct, pleasant sound of something wooden clacking together as he made his motions.. I wonder what that is chat.. ]

" never had freshly made bread with freshly made garlic butter .. " " i think this is.. pretty full on for our first date, dude "

[ He grins coyly at that. Can't be seen though, face is very boob atm ] [ He only pulls away when he hears the complaints of Vinnie's stomach, nodding and snickering as if it had it's own voice ]

" for real yeah. i agree with your friend there " " mhm. mhm " " i think all you're saying is a red hot Yes " " i can teach you how to order food.. and you can teach me how to put butter on bread ! "

[ BE NICE TO VINNIE. He's not just any loser.. he's our loser .. ]

"*puff, huff* Simon, what the h- *huff*... Some dude came running over to tell me you were planning on eating dry ice?!-" Vinnie pauses, panting and leaning against his crutch while staring at Simon. "Dude, do not tell me you have a belly full of that stuff right now. Oh my god your appetite is going to be the death of you- Okay, so, I think if you had a normal digestive track you'd be pretty dead by now... So so far, so good. Dude, Si, Simon, Si-Fi, talk to me, what were you thinking?" ( @a-quiet-garden tumblr please please tag me this time please

[ He was arched over in pure agony, blanket hugged close to his form. If his antennae were anymore drooped, they would fall off.. ] [ He looks up at Vinnie, one eye in a permanent squint, definitely highlighting just how much eating dry ice as an alien from outer space hurts ]

" th--three hundred calories " " hell yeEah- "

[ INSANE voice crack ] [ As much as he deserves a good scolding, right now he is looking as if he was going to be insanely sick insanely soon, so he reaches one arm towards Vin as best as he could ]

[ No way dude's going to cuddle u right now, u stinky filthy little creature ]

@a-quiet-garden

[artisansdesigned]

White Tudor Blooms Salad Bowl With Servers Set, Wooden Bowl, Wood Bowls Handmade, Natural Wood Fruit Bowl, Bowl for Living Room Kitchen

Add a beautiful floral touch to your kitchen with this elegantly crafted wooden salad bowl. It comes with server set, which makes it perfect to serve salad, fruits, or even popcorn to your guests.

wood bowl

wood serving bowl

salad bowl

handmade wooden bowl

wooden bowl

housewarming gift

wood bowl handmade

olive wood bowls

wood bowls

wooden bowls set

olive wood

kitchen utensil set

serving set

[robo-writing]

Origins! Logan is…

…The kind of boyfriend who brings you flowers to every date. Call him old-fashioned, he doesn’t care, all he knows is that the way your face lights up when he pulls out a bouquet makes all your jokes worth it.

…The kind of boyfriend who insists that he opens the car door for you every time, who’ll even give you a stern look if you so much as reach for the handle.

…The kind of boyfriend who’ll drop his tough guy persona the moment your lips press against his cheek, a big, dumb grin stretching across his face. Suddenly the big bad wolverine ain’t so big and bad.

…The kind of boyfriend who builds things for you. Wooden spoons, tables, Knick-knacks and doodads, whatever helps to keep his hands busy. He can still remember your scream of surprise when he showed you the brand new patio he built while you were on vacation.

…The kind of boyfriend who’ll kiss you while you’re sick, even if you try to pull away and complain that he’ll get sick. He’s got a healing factor doll, no need to worry, just let him get one more.

…The kind of boyfriend who hugs you appreciatively when you bring him a bowl of soup to aid in his “unexplained” bout of the flu. No idea how he got sick, not a clue, but he thanks you for your tender care regardless.

[blutyuyu]

a wife’s wooyoung’s duties

in which the only thing that can ease your tense shoulders after a long day at work is the comforting sight of your wif— i mean, uh, your boyfriend, cooking up his famous seaweed soup

pairing — clingy!bf!wooyoung x tired!reader

word count — about 1k

genre — fluff, suggestive at the very end (?)

details — long haired wooyoung (teehee), wooyoung being wooyoung (freaky and handsy), reader is kinda on autopilot but wooyoung helps them out of it, open ended closing but it’s implied they get freaky (!!!!)

a/n — not proofread but i hope you enjoy my first fic on here !!! lmk how i can improve and what i should write next, asks are open :3

it’s been a long day. longer than the recent shifts it seems, ever so present in your bleary eyes and slouched posture. while stumbling your way onto your floor of your apartment building, bright fluorescent lights do little to aid your blooming headache. a harsh blink manages to refresh your groggy mind as you trudge down the familiar worn down carpet of the hallway. your feet start to slow down in stride as the plain door of your apartment comes into view from down the hallway. a soft smile paints your features as relief inches closer by the second, a sweet release that you can find no judgement in: your home.

with a jingle of your keys and a swift twist of the wrist, your brows finally relax and you all but melt into the floor; exhaling all your pent up stress into the welcoming ambient lighting of your apartment, where a busied wooyoung yells to you over the slight commotion of the kitchen.

“babe? you home finally?” he leans away from the simmering pot in front of him, straining his ear to hear a response. when his call falls on deaf ears, he eyes the pot briefly before stepping away completely to find you lazily kicking your shoes off onto the welcome mat. he looks you up and down with a playful scoff, hands on his hips as you drop your weight onto the wooden floor with a hefty sigh. heavy eyes pry themselves open to silently greet the man before you, not being able to help but crack a smile at the familiar sight.

“hiii,” he all but coos at you, scooting closer to retrieve your work belongings and set them aside for you, “c’mon, dinners almost ready.” he smoothed a hand over your back, as if he was consoling an upset child. he knew better than to expect a response when a few seconds of back rubs later you hoisted yourself up from the floor and was essentially dragged into the kitchen, leaving any remaining thoughts of work at the door.

wooyoung barely managed to slow his stride as you both shuffled into the small tile-covered area. his calloused fingers brushed a stray hair from your face before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, the softest smile gracing his features before he gestured to the pot, “soup for dinner.” he seemed to find it funny, and you couldn’t deny him that, your faint smile growing into a wider one. he was always good at taking you away from your thoughts, very welcomed after such a suffocating day at work, the labor-induced strain slowly but surely loosening its grip from your shoulders.

wooyoung gave your face a once over, face scrunching into an understanding smile once he found that you weren’t particularly in a mood to talk right now. he was alright with that. “if you wanna sit at the table, dinners about to be ready n’ then I get to have you all to myself,” his words quieted into a whisper, dawning his usual playful smirk before pressing another peck to your lips. a soft giggle bubbled up from his chest, vibrating against your lips.

———

wooyoung let out a rather loud, satisfied groan, rubbing his stomach as he slouched back in his chair. “damn,” you softly chuckle from across the table, eyeing his now emptied bowl in front of him, “was it good?” he gave a content smile, slowly nodding, his face resembling a slice of freshly made bread.

rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you finished up the last of your bowl, almost subconsciously standing from the table and going to put both of your dishes into the sink. you turned on the sink, the cool water wetting your hands as it cascaded down to sweep up the left over debris from the soup. suddenly, warm arms wrapped around your front, followed by a firm chest against your back. you welcomed the embrace, but went on with your duties even as wooyoung nuzzled his defined nose into the back of your neck, your insistence to keep up with chores eliciting an impatient whine from the man behind you.

“yes?” you softly asked, suds of soap foaming in the sink, trailing up your hands. he answered with silence as he saw your hands still working to scrub the bowls, instead relying on his actions just this once. he turned the water back on, softly rinsing your hands and the bowls, almost impatiently setting the dishes into the drying rack before snatching up the nearest towel to pat down your hands. you watched him in curiosity, eyes honing in on the veins that deliciously decorated his forearms as they flexed, continuing to dry your hands.

only when your hands were rid of water did he speak, “sorry if you didn’t hear me earlier, but i was kinda looking forward to having you all to myself.” he scrunched up his face as if it was a question, tilting his head. your mouth opened, an equally sassy statement on the tip of your tongue but quickly stifled as wooyoung held a finger to your eager mouth, “dishes can wait, hell just let me do it, but you’ve had a long day, no?” his hands rested at your shoulders, massaging the tense muscle beneath his fingers. you fell speechless, slowly nodding in response, the sensation of his hands making you want to melt into his arms.

his features softened at the sight of yours. his sweet baby didn’t even know what well earned rest they continued to deprive themself of. every instance of this even when you were simply friends never sat well with him, and he was determined to be the one to remind you of your worth every time.

“i guarantee i’m better at hogging your time than some stupid chores.” his lips ghosted past your ear, a soft chuckle slipping from his mouth as his hands moved down to massage your sides. he could feel your need to let go, and here he was to catch you after he made you fall head over heels for him all over again.

a/n — YAYY first fic done !! ik this ending was kinda abrupt but lmk ur thoughts !! (pretty please) see u soon !!!!!

[feketeribizli]

world peace restored i love you soup

i love you i want us both to eat well type of beat

[digitalvision]

Wooden Tableware to Elevate Your Meals

Today, where almost every kitchen product is made from stainless steel and other materials, there's an undeniably special quality in the touch of nature. We are introducing our stunning and handmade premium quality wooden tableware collections tha bringing a unique warmth and charm to your everyday meals. Our wooden products are ready to transform your simple acts of eating and drinking into sensory experiences. If you want to explore finest collection of wooden, concrete, and woolen products, you can check out our website.

Now let’s explore our finest collection of wooden products.

1. Wooden Coffee Cup:

Ah, the humble coffee cup, a vessel not just for caffeine, but for the very essence of the morning. In those quiet pre-dawn hours, before the world fully awakens, the coffee cup becomes a companion, a confidante, and a catalyst for the day ahead. Its importance in the morning ritual cannot be overstated.

Our wooden coffee cup cradles your morning caffeine fix in cozy warmth, the natural wood grain adding a touch of organic elegance to your morning ritual. It's a quiet moment of luxury, just you and your coffee, connected by the simple beauty of nature.

2. Wooden Tea Cup:

Holding a wooden teacup is like cradling a piece of nature itself. The smooth, cool wood feels grounding, connecting you to the earth's raw beauty. Each cup boasts unique grain patterns, a fingerprint of the tree it once was, making it a one-of-a-kind treasure.

As you pour hot water over your favorite leaves, the wood gently infuses the aroma, creating a sensory symphony. Each sip reveals the natural sweetness of the wood, complementing the delicate flavors of your tea. This isn't just a cup, it's an invitation to slow down and savor the moment.

3. Wooden Ice Cream Cup:

Wooden ice cream cups elevate the simple act of enjoying frozen treats to a sensory extravaganza. Forget flimsy paper and sugary cones, these rustic vessels offer a unique blend of charm, sustainability, and taste that's sure to tantalize your senses.

Ditch the boring paper bowls and let the natural charm of wood add a touch of whimsy to your frozen treat. The cool wood against your fingers as you dig in creates a playful contrast, enhancing the simple pleasure of your favorite scoop. It's a reminder that joy comes in the smallest moments, often wrapped in the beauty of nature.

4. Wooden Water Glass:

Forget the predictability of glass and the coldness of plastic – wooden water glasses offer a unique and captivating way to hydrate. Wood, unlike glass or metal, is a natural insulator. This means your iced water stays refreshingly cold, while hot beverages retain their warmth longer, without burning your fingers. It's a comforting embrace in every sip, a delightful interplay between the coolness of the liquid and the gentle warmth of the wood.

Our wooden water glass transforms even the most basic act of hydration into a mindful experience. The cool water against the natural grain creates a gentle sensation, reminding you to savor each sip. It's a celebration of nature's bounty, a reminder to appreciate the beauty in the everyday.

5. Wooden Soup Bowl:

Cozy up to a steaming bowl of goodness in our warm, inviting wooden soup bowl. The natural wood insulates your fingers from the heat, while the rich aroma of the broth infuses the wood, creating a sensory treat. Imagine a chilly evening, candles flickering, and everyone huddled around the table, sharing stories and laughter over steaming bowls of soup. It's a moment of family, of warmth, of connection brought together by the simple power of nature.

Our wooden tableware is more than just beautiful objects; it's an invitation to reconnect with nature, to slow down and savor the everyday moments. Each piece is handcrafted with care, infused with the unique character of the wood, and ready to bring a touch of warmth and charm to your table. So go ahead, embrace the natural beauty, and let our wooden tableware transform your meals into moments of mindful joy.

[kinsentokyo]

Antique Owan Bowl

+SHOP+

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.