#fruit molasses

[cookplatefork]

Unlocking the Sweet and Tangy Magic: A Guide and Recipe for Homemade Pomegranate Molasses in Your Cooking

[fullcravings]

Date and Walnut Gingerbread Truffles (V/GF)

[therecipelibrary]

Demon Cake

-Miss Parloa's New Cook 1881

[morethansalad]

Vegan Irish Tea Brack (Black Tea Fruitcake)

[gwarden123]

Not that it isn't possible for an author, or potential author, to get too caught up in world building, or that character work and drama shouldn't always trump getting the details of a fictional world perfectly right, but I really wish adventure story tellers would take an interest in history once in a while. It really robs an adventure story of texture and intrigue when a fictional world is just the modern world with a coat of fantasy/sci-fi/period drama paint slapped on.

[homesteadalbania]

Homestead Albania - Mulberry (mana) Progression from Tree to Molasses (P...

[magz]

[ Original Twitter Thread by @/beelektra ] - Not by Magz, am not Palestinian

Palestinian Foods. (long post)

Quote:

"🧵 Thread of Palestinian desserts I've grown up around and seen A thing I'd like to add is that I just like to share my culture! I do not want to spread the narrative that our culture is dying, I only want people to see our foods and traditions 🇵🇸

"As mentioned in the last post, we have knafeh (or kunafa), a buttery dessert made with shredded pastry layers such as cheese and other ingredients like pistacho or cream!"

"Burbara; which comes from Saint Barbara, fun fact! It's a soup dessert that mainly consists of barley, licorice spices, anise, cinnamon, and fennel powder This is a dessert usually many Christian families have to celebrate Saint Barbara, which is December 4th!"

"Malban, which resembles a fruit jelly! Made from starch and sugar Specifically, it's made with grape molasses, thickened with starch and flavored with rose water, and stuffed with almonds (or other nuts including walnuts, treenuts, and peanuts)"

"Khabeesa is simply just a pudding made with grapes, but you prepare it by mixing the grape juice with semolina and nuts + seeds."

"Mtabbak or mtabba, a crispy dough stuffed with crushed walnuts. It also contains cinnamon, sugar, and syrup. Photo credits go to Bartek Kieżun on Instagram"

"Tamriyeh, a fried pastry filled with semolina pudding, scenter with mastic and orange blossom water, and topped off with powdered sugar"

"Ka'ak bi Tamer, which are date paste filled cookies with cinnamon! A dessert made for Eid-Alfitr. It's topped with nigella seeds, and the cinnamon-spiced date paste is the most important part of it all– you can eat it on its own or have it with coffee"

"+ Ka'ak Asawer, another dessert that can be prepared for Eid-Alfitr. It's translated to bracelet cookies, and they use date paste, flour, anise seeds, sugar, ground cinnamon, and olive oil"

"Muhallebi or mahalabia, a milk pudding that's made with sugar, corn starch, and fragrant flavorings! It's topped off with nuts, pistachos, and almonds and sprinkled with ground cinnamon or shredded coconut"

"Rice pudding, which is a common dessert in Palestine, and it's your choice to top it off with nuts or not"

"Stuffed dates, using medjool dates and cracking them open to be stuffed with goat cheese and pistachios– but you're free to add anything else"

"Ma'amoul, a buttery crisp cookie primarily made of farina and can be stuffed with (spiced) dates, walnuts, or pistachios. This is another Christian dessert made by Palestinian mothers during the week of Easter Sunday."

"Halawit Smid, a farina based dessert with added sugar and unsalted cheese. It's preferably served fresh"

"Namoura cake, aka harissa dessert! It's made with semolina or farina flour, and then topped off with syrup once baked"

"Qatayef, which is eaten during the month of Ramadan. It's made of farina, flour, water, and yeast blended together– the process is pretty similiar to making pancakes, but only one side is cooked"

"Since I've mentioned using zaatar for a lot of things, I recently just discovered this but– there's also things such as zaatar cookies!! It's just as implied that the cookies are filled with zaatar, I'd be so willing to make this on my own"

"Baklava, made from phyllo pastry dough, butter, nuts, basil, and a sweet honey syrup"

"Aish el saraya, arabic version of a bread pudding. It's basically a layered bread, where it starts from the bottom, then covered with a sweet syrup, cream, and crumbled pistachios."

"Awwami, it's defined as "crisp donut ball" in English. It's a deep fried dough ball coated with sesame seeds, and dipped in cold syrup water."

"Halawet el Jibn, a sweet cheese dessert rolled with custard, heavy cream, drizzled rose water + syrup, and garnished with nuts."

"Lastly, I'd like to add watermelon and cheese– for me, it's like,,,, bittersweet!!! You should totally try it and we also have this during Ramadan"

"Well, that's all I can think of for Palestinian desserts! Here's the first part for general foods, I know I did make a promise for part two

I hope you guys liked this thread, and if you have any opinions please feel free to quote tweet anything on here if I made a mistake, feel free to correct me, it's always appreciated P.S if you're a zionist commenting here I really don't care, just scroll, I'm sharing my culture

One LAST thing. if you want any of the recipes from here, check out this website, the creator (Wafa) shares so many wonderful traditional Palestinian dishes."

[End Quote]

[graphicallydelicious]

Yeast Molasses Pancakes With Herb Fruit

[shiloku]

Yeast Molasses Pancakes With Herb Fruit

[secretstime]

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"cold feet (literally)" - spencer reid x fem!reader

you wake up in the middle of the night to get a pair of socks

wc: 1k

cw: reader is described as wearing a bra, sickeningly sweet fluff, two idiots in love

Spencer keeps his apartment climate-controlled at a brisk sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. He likes to be cold, he says, and you generally don’t mind. You run hot anyway, so if, on the off chance you do get cold when you’re lounging around on his couch or perusing his bookshelves, you grab one of the throw blankets Garcia’s knitted for him and wrap it around your shoulders. 

Tonight is different, in that you were not planning on sleeping over. Your relationship with Spencer works so well, in your opinion, because you both like to be independent, so rather than be with each other every moment of every day that he’s home, you orbit around each other like planets. You spend many evenings over at his place, and he spends just as many as yours, but eventually, the other person goes home. 

Not that you didn’t like sleeping in the same bed as Spencer, of course, but the relationship was still fresh, and you both liked that you were taking things slow. Tonight, however, you started a movie with him rather late, and by the time it was over, you were bleary-eyed and your bones felt laden. Spencer was more than willing to offer you the empty side of his bed for the night. 

You arrived in sweatpants and a t-shirt, so you just took your bra off and laid down. Spencer splurged on a fancy orthopedic mattress, so you somehow both sunk into it and rested on top of it like a glass on a table. It was insanely comfortable, and both you and Spencer really were wiped out, so you went right to sleep. 

When your eyes flutter open a few hours, you’re laying on your side. The first thing you notice is that the room is not completely dark. No, in fact, there’s a stream of moonlight, or maybe a street lamp outside, creeping in through the curtains, casting a soft, gray-filtered glow over the room. 

You feel Spencer’s hand loosely on your hip, and his knee resting lightly against the back of your thigh. Your immediate reaction is not to move for fear of waking him, but your feet are icicles. The air around you is cold, too, but the blankets remedy that. You just need socks. 

I am molasses, you coach yourself, moving languidly and carefully to rise into a sitting position. However, you lack the FBI stealth training needed to rise out of bed without waking your boyfriend, because when you look over your shoulder, his eyes are very clearly open. 

There’s a tired yet playful little smirk as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. “Sneaking out already?” he asks, his voice still rich and thick with sleep, and you suddenly wish you’re able to see him like this more often. Maybe this whole going home to go to sleep thing is simply for the birds. 

“No, of course not,” you laugh softly. The mattress creaks as you finally stand up, your bare toes spreading against the soft carpet. As you pad over to his dresser, you shoot him a performative smile over your shoulder. “My feet are just freezing.” 

“Do you want me to adjust the thermostat?” Spencer asks immediately, shifting the blankets off of him so he can, presumably, get out of the bed. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insist, holding up your hand. He stops in his place. “It’s just my feet, Spence,” you assure him. The cherry wood creaks when you tug the top drawer open, plucking the first pair of socks you see out off the top. 

Spencer’s mismatched socks are meticulously organized in their correct pairs, as it turns out. You smile to yourself when you realize this means he takes the time each day to couple up an incorrect pair of socks before putting them on his feet. 

You select a pair of purple ones with little kiwi fruits printed on them, affection for the ridiculous man in bed behind you bubbling up in your chest, making it feel as if it’s filled with helium. Like you could float up to the ceiling at any moment. 

You’re still smiling stupidly as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed. You slide his socks over your bare feet, wiggling your toes around for a moment. “Why are you smiling, angel?” Spencer’s asking curiously, and you feel his foot nudge your back. 

You lie back down in the bed, shaking your head softly as you lay on your side and place your head against Spencer’s chest. He takes a second to adjust, slinking down so he’s lying flat on his back, then he tugs you a little closer. 

Your cheek rubs against the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt. You place your palm down against his flat tummy, and consequently feel his chin press into the top of your head. “What is it?” he asks again. 

“I just think you’re the bee’s knees, that’s all,” you say softly, earning a small chirp of a laugh from your boyfriend. 

“The bee’s knees, huh?” he rakes his fingers through your hair slowly. The action is lulling you like straight melatonin, making you even more tired. “Did you know that phrase actually used to mean something small and insignificant? Over time it developed to refer to something or someone that is greatly admired.” 

You close your eyes, your body relaxing against him as he speaks. “Do bees even have knees?” you ask through a yawn. 

“Technically speaking, no,” Spencer brushes his thumb along your temple, then across the top of your ear, as if he is charting all the smooth parts of you. “But they do have a ball-and-socket joint between their leg segments, which allows them the flexibility to move their little legs around. So when they dance to show their hive mates where the good honey is, they move their legs around.” He laughs softly at this notion, and you feel your weight sink into the mattress. 

“You make me want to dance,” you whisper, smiling with closed eyes against his chest. “So, you’re the bee’s knees.” 

Spencer hums fondly in response to this, then kisses your forehead. “That’s kind of a reach, angel,” he says. “But I think you’re the cat’s pajamas, so who am I to judge?”

[fullcravings]

Old-Fashioned Peach Cobbler

[hawkinsbnbg]

For all the things those nimble hands could do, Eddie didn't know how to peel an orange without making a mess.

Steve always found it amusing how his husband could craft intricate pieces of artwork, but when it came to simple things, he suddenly became clumsy with flailing limbs and confused puppy eyes.

Despite his many attempts and determination, Eddie always failed in the end with ruined oranges clutched in his hands while juices spilling everywhere.

And Steve would eat them anyway. Because they didn't waste food, and because they loved each other at their best and their worst.

They were sitting on the couch with his feet in Eddie's lap as those deft hands rubbing and kneading the soreness away from his muscles.

"Wish I could learn how to do that," Eddie said while watching Steve peel the orange.

And you don't need to because I'm glad I can always do this for you, Steve wanted to say.

Instead, he tore the fruit in half and then shuffled into Eddie's lap.

As he fed his husband and himself section after section, he thought the aligned stars might as well have their names written on them.

Their fates were twining red strings, woven and knitted into a lovely knot.

"Teach me how to do it, sweetheart?" Eddie held him securely and pecked the corner of his lips.

"Peeling oranges?" Steve arched his eyebrow.

"Yeah, so I can pick out the white parts for you," Eddie gazed at him, warm like the Sunday morning when they slept in and cuddled while it was raining outside.

Steve met those chocolate eyes that filled his veins with honey and turned his inside into molasses.

Their love was a gentle thing, but no less powerful.

Just like an orange. It was built to share with many pulps and juicy flesh. And yet, its skin was unyielding, stubborn to a fault.

Even Steve had had to look up for a few tricks to take it apart.

And perhaps, that also applied to their love. To reach the rewarding part, one had to work for it.

Nothing had ever been easy for them.

But here, sitting in Eddie's lap and tasting the same orange with him, Steve felt like all those years, all their pains and losses had finally paid off.

"I can pick out the white parts myself," Steve pointed out gently.

"And what kind of husband am I to not help you with it?" Eddie countered with an easy smile. "We're one half of each other's, darlin'. I'm not gonna let you do anything alone."

"Even peeling oranges?" Steve leaned closer to whisper into those plump lips.

"Especially peeling oranges," Eddie gave him a citrus kiss, sour and sweet, fond and tender.

And Steve was putty in those loving hands.

Maybe, he thought dimly as Eddie took off his shirt, they could make marmalade together next time.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A pyramid of crystalline snow topped with deep orange syrup on a bright blue plate. End ID]

بقسمة / Buqsuma (Palestinian snow dessert)

بُقْسُمَة ("buqsuma"), or بوظة الشتاء ("būẓa shitā'", "winter ice cream"), is a dessert, possibly of Aramaic origin, eaten in cold and mountainous rural regions within Palestine, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and Turkey. It consists of freshly fallen snow topped with grape molasses (دبس العنب; "dibs al-'inab"), date molasses, pomegranate molasses, or storebought snow syrup (شراب الثلج ; "shrāb aṯ-ṯalj"). In Lebanon it may be topped with honey or orange syrup; and in Syria and Lebanon it may also be called سويق or سويقة ("sawīq" or "sawīqa").

Buqsuma is eaten for only a few days a year at the end of the snowy season in February. An old rhyme cautions against eating snow too early in the season:

أول تلجة دم تانية تلجة سم تالتة تلجة كل ولا تهتم

("ʔawwal tallaja damm "tānya tallaja samm "tālta tallaja kul wa lā tahtamm")

("The first snowfall is blood "The second snowfall is poison "The third snowfall, eat and don't worry")

Journalist Hussein Saqr speculates that the intention may be to allow the first snows to clear the air from summer and fall dust and other pollutants before the snow is safe to consume.

During these late winter days, eating and sharing buqsuma becomes a social ritual; guests are invited to share the dessert from a wide platter, or given individual bowls to dress to their taste with syrup, milk, and sugar. Children bring bowls of snow inside and eat buqsuma by the fire to warm up and recuperate from a day at play.

In Syria, buqsuma is prepared especially in the مُحافظة السويداء ("Muḥāfaẓat as-Suwaydā'"; Suwayda Governorate) in the south; in the طرْطوس ("Ṭarṭūs") and إدلب ("'Idlib") Governorates in the northeast; and along the جبال لبنان الش��قية ("Jibāl Lubnān ash-Sharqiyya"; Anti-Lebanon mountain range) from جبل الشيخ ("Jabal ash-Shaykh"; Mountain of the Sheikh / "Mount Hebron") to the جبال القلمون ("Jibāl al-Qalamūn"; Qalamoun Mountains) in Damascus Governorate.

In Palestine

Within Palestine, buqsuma is eaten only in الخليل ("Al-Khalīl" / "Hebron"), in the occupied West Bank. Palestinian food writer Reem Kassis points out that the regional specificity of the dish is due to the nature of the land: Al-Khalil is one of the few places in Palestine to receive snow.

Al-Khalil is also famous for its viticulture. "It is well known among Palestinians that Al-Khalil grows the best grapes," according to embroidery artist Wafa Ghnaim. Though grape vines have existed in Palestine since antiquity, Al-Khalil was one of the few locales to maintain them even during the Crusades, which caused the abandonment of olive and grape orchards elsewhere. As with oranges and pomegranates, an association between terroir, agriculture, and design reveals itself in Palestinian art: the قطف عنيب ("qiṭf 'inab"; "bunch of grapes") motif is common in Al-Khalil embroidery (تطريز; "taṭrīz"; often transliterated "tatreez").

Around 1700, Rabbi Gedalia mentions Al-Khalil's grapes as being particularly praiseworthy:

ויש בא"י הרבה פירות האילן, כגון ענבים, תאנים, ורמונים, זתים […]. והענבים הם גדולים ועגולים בירושלים. אבל בחברון תוב"ב הם מרובים וגדולים מן הענבים אשר בירושלים. וכשמוכרים את הענבים של חברון בירושלים משבחים אותם וצועקים: בואו ותקנו הענבים של חברון ! ומענב אחד מתמלא הפה ממשקה. And there are in the land of Israel many tree fruits, such as grapes, figs, pomegranates, and olives [...]. The grapes are big and round in Jerusalem, but in Hebron they are more numerous and larger than the grapes in Jerusalem. And when vendors sell the grapes of Hebron in Jerusalem, they praise them and shout: Come and buy the grapes of Hebron! And one grape fills the mouth with nectar. (pp. 337-8)

Al-Khalil's viticulture is closely integrated with Palestinian food culture. Three distinct harvests yield different products. In the early spring, some of the leaves from the grape vines (وَرَق الدوالي; "waraq ad-dūwāli") will be harvested, when they are young, tender, and sour: good for stuffing with rice, meat, and vegetable fillings to make several popular Palestinian dishes.

Later in the spring, grape farmers harvest early, sour grapes (حصرم; "ḥiṣrim"; Levantine dialect "ḥuṣrum"). Some of these will be pressed to make عصير حصرم ("'aṣīr ḥuṣrum"; "juice of sour grapes"), a tart liquid that may be drunk plain, or used to give acidity to soups or salads. Others will be pickled in brine, or dried and ground to make a sour condiment called "سماق الحصرم" ("sumāq al-ḥuṣrum," "sour grape sumac").

The third harvest is in the late summer, when the grapes have fully ripened. Grape farmers in Al-Khalil may sell some of their summer harvests to Palestinian wineries and arak distilleries. Other ripe grapes will be pressed and their juice boiled down and dried to produce مَلبَن ("malban"), a Levantine fruit leather. And still more of this juice will be reduced into dibs al-'inab, which is then used to make buqsuma, added to tea as a sweetener, or mixed into tahina and scooped up with bread; it is especially popular during Ramadan as a quick way to boost energy.

Dibs al-'inab has been produced in Palestine for hundreds of years. Rabbi Gedalia describes grape molasses, which he calls "grape honey" ("דבש של ענבים"; "dvash shel 'anavim"):

שמבשלים את התירוש היוצא מן הענבים מיד כשסוחטין אותן, והוא אז מתוק מאוד כדבש ממש, וכ"כ מבשלים עד שנעשה עב כמו דבש. They cook the must which is expressed from the grapes immediately after they are squeezed. It is then very sweet, like real [bee's] honey. Then they cook it again until it becomes thick as honey. (p. 338)

The recipe below is for buqsuma with Al-Khalil-style grape molasses.

[ID: An extreme close-up on snow crystals topped with syrup in bright white and various shades of orange; bubbles are trapped throughout the syrup. End ID]

Viticulture Under Occupation

Today, the tending and harvesting of grapes in Al-Khalil take place under the shadow of Israeli settlements. Israel encourages the transfer of settler populations to settlements in Al-Khalil—including particularly fervent Israeli nationalist cells in the middle of Palestinian areas—with financial incentives and the creation of infrastructure that only settlers can move through freely. Palestinians are forbidden to drive in the "H2" area of Al-Khalil, which encompasses the central Old City and the الحرم الإبراهيمي ("Al-Ḥaram al-Ibrāhīmī"; Sanctuary of Abraham), and has been under Israeli military control since 1997. Israel conducts regular raids in the nominally Palestinian "H1" area, forcing people to leave their homes, destroying property, and committing arbitrary arrests and imprisonments.

The rapid expansion of settlements in the areas around Al-Khalil, such as those in what Israel calls גּוּשׁ עֶצְיוֹן (“Gush Etzion”; Etzion Bloc) and גִּבְעַת חַרְסִינָה ("Givat Harsina"), pushes Palestinians into ever-smaller and denser areas surrounded by settlements, rendering them still more vulnerable to Israeli control.

Alessandro Petti describes the strategy by which Israel fragments and isolates Palestinian areas, while allowing flow of movement between territories for non-Palestinians, as a distinction between free-flowing settler "archipelagoes" and Palestinian "enclaves." Infrastructure such as patrols, roadblocks, barriers, curfews, strip-searches and thorough searches of luggage—to which only Palestinians are subjected—make travel a time-consuming, nerve-wracking, and uncertain process: one that may end with being denied a permit, turned back from a border, or jailed for driving on a road which turns out to be prohibited to Palestinians. Because the rules are constantly changing, Palestinians may continue to avoid a road that is no longer actively barricaded out of fear that attempting to traverse it will lead to arrest.

Official Israeli military policy and settler violence alike cast a pall on Palestinian agricultural tradition and innovation. Farming and shepherding communities in the southern hills of Al-Khalil have been subjected to harassment, home demolition, and forced displacement at the hands of settlers and military bulldozers. Settlers burn grape and olive orchards and cut down mature grape vines. Palestinians are no longer allowed to access ancestral agricultural land that has been overtaken by colonists. Israeli military orders and settler harassment emptied Al Khalil's Old Souq of its vegetable and fruit markets in 2000; in 2019, plans were made to raze Palestinian shops and build a new settlement atop them. These plans would move forward in July of 2023.

Reprisal and collective punishment in the wake of militants' October 7th attacks on settlers have been felt in the West Bank and also impact agriculture in Al-Khalil. Grapes rot on the vine with farmers forbidden to tend them. Streets have been closed, shutting Palestinian farmers into their homes, while Palestinian shepherds in villages in the Al-Khalil area have been displaced and harassed with drones. Settler attacks and destruction of crops, already on a continual uptick for the previous several years, increased to a new high in 2023.

Olives, Grapes, and Resistance

Agriculture has been an important site of Palestinian resistance to settler incursion as, despite harassment, surveillence, and violence, Palestinians insist on staying on their land and in their homes. The Palestinian minority who inhabit the H2 area of Hebron, continuing to tend their olive trees, prevent the area from becoming settler-only and keep alive the hope that Al-Khalil will not become a "ghost town."

Various projects based in Al-Khalil combat settler technologies and strategies. Farmers in Al-Khalil launched the Cooperative Society for Agricultural Marketing and Processing in 1984 to increase grape farmers' self-sufficiency, reduce produce waste, and contribute to the production of Palestinian grape delicacies. The 2022 Counter Surveillance project, launched by Palestinian activist Issa Amro and artist Adam Broomberg, meets the Israeli security cameras stationed among Al-Khalil's olive groves with its own video feed, livestreamed online and to art museums.

Palestine's annual grape festival at حلحول ("Ḥalḥūl"), just north of Al-Khalil, took place in 2023 as scheduled; farmers displayed boxes of grapes of all colors and varieties, and sold dibs, malban, raisins, and jam. And Palestinian farmers and activists contribute to resurgences of indigenous seed varieties—such as the دابوقي ("dābūqi") grape, historically particularly prominent in Al-Khalil—in an effort to preserve Palestine's biodiversity and economic self-sufficiency.

Buy seeds from the Palestinian Heirloom Seed Library

Help Palestinian families evacuate Gaza

Contribute to an eSIM donation drive

Ingredients:

For the syrup (makes 2/3 cup):

2.5kg (5.5lb) tart green grapes, stems removed

For the base:

A large bowl of fresh snow

If it doesn't snow where you live, you can try making shaved ice using a snowcone machine; putting water in an ice-cream maker until you achieve a slushy texture; or running ice cubes through a blender.

Instructions:

For the syrup:

1. Remove grapes from their stems and rinse.

2. In a large bowl, mash and muddle grapes with your hands or a potato or bean masher; or pass grapes through a blender, food mill, or juicer.

3. Strain mashed grapes through a metal strainer, and then a cheesecloth (if you used a juicer, skip right to the cheesecloth). I had 4 cups (1 litre) of grape juice at this point.

4. Pour grape juice into a thick-bottomed pot with a large diameter, preferably one with a light-colored bottom. Heat on medium to bring to a boil.

5. Continue simmering juice, skimming scum off the surface as it arises. Occasionally wipe down the edges of the pot with a wet pastry brush to prevent sugar from sticking and burning.

6. Eventually scum will stop rising. Continue to simmer until several shades darker in color and bubbling vigorously. Syrup should still pour freely, and just barely coat the back of a spoon. I had just over 2/3 cup (160 mL) at this point.

7. Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly before pouring into a jar. Allow to cool to room temperature before refrigerating. If you want to keep the syrup for multiple months or at room temperature, use a sterilized jar.

Compost the grape peels, or reserve to make fruit scrap vinegar.

For the dish:

1. Set a large bowl out several hours into a heavy snowfall; or collect just the top layer of freshly fallen snow after it has been snowing for several hours. Snow that falls earlier in a snowfall, or that has been sitting out for a longer period of time, is more likely to contain pollutants.

2. Compact the snow with a spoon to make the texture homogenous. Some people run it through a blender. Fill individual serving bowls with snow.

3. Pour cooled molasses to taste onto the snow and mix.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Clockwork Clown behind the cut; “Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one)”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

. . . does this mean he’s expected to actually eat the pie, though? Superman cannot actually be expecting him to eat the pie. 

. . . . . . he is, isn’t he. 

Match eyes Superman, and then eyes Thirteen, whose mouth is currently full of pie, the useless idiot. Presumably he’s just trying to limit further conversation with Superman, which admittedly might be reason enough to actually eat the stupid pie. 

Ugh. 

Match eyes the pie. And the ice cream. Which is twice as much “dessert” as even makes sense, frankly, and since “dessert” as a concept doesn’t make any actual sense itself, that is very much saying something. 

There is absolutely nothing of any nutritional value whatsoever in literally any of this. Arguably the fruit, but it’s slathered in sugar and . . . whatever else, exactly, is in pie filling. Some kind of syrup, maybe? Molasses? He has no idea. 

It smells vaguely like cinnamon, so maybe that. 

Match actually isn’t sure he even knows what that tastes like. He definitely doesn’t know what pie tastes like, because who the hell actually feeds a metaweapon pie? Aside from Superman, who is objectively insane and also objectively stupid. 

He doesn’t know what Superman’s going to do. 

He doesn’t know how to be–he doesn’t know what Superman expects. How he’s supposed to perform, or what he’s supposed to–to do, or not do, or– 

The Agenda uploaded all their initial expectations for him in development, and stated adjustments as necessary. Superman–hasn’t done that. 

He said to consider himself stolen, and he said he didn’t belong to the Agenda, but mostly it’s been lies or unclear generalizations, not actual orders. Very little that was clear-cut or stated outright; just things he'd needed to either figure out from context or . . . assume. 

Assuming things about a new owner’s unspoken rules is not something Match wants to be doing right now.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sorry I just came up with another idea for family day! Marja and sebeks grandfather Baal just end up talking about how proud they are of their grandkids after Marja comes up to Sebek to ask how he's been since the harveston race

APPLEPOM SEBEK MY BELOVED 🤡

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"My, is that Sebek-san I see over there?"

The voice that met his ears was like molasses. Slow and sweet, like an apple slowly roasted over a fire until it was mushy and caramelized in the center. He had last heard it in a frigid little backwater village.

In Harveston.

“Marja?” Sebek gaped at the sight of her hunched next to Epel in a knitted sweater. He had determined some time ago that she reminded him of a snowman. Everything about her was friendly and round--face, nose, cheeks. Seeing her again only confirmed that thought.

His confusion rapidly morphed into a massive smile. He charged at the elderly woman, throwing his arms around her with the strength of a bear's embrace. “MARJA!!”

"Oof, you've got a strong grip on ya!" the elderly woman chuckled, slapping him hard on the back. "How've you been? Been eatin' well?"

"Yes, ma'am!!"

"Hahah, that's good!" Marja pulled away, resting her hands on Sebek's shoulders. "Everyone in Harveston’s been missing you! They keep asking when you’ll visit again. Having a strapping young farm hand like you around took a load off their shoulders."

"M-Meemaw, you don't have to tell him that," Epel hissed. "Sorry, Sebek-kun... You've, uh... sort of become a local celebrity."

"Ohoh, have I now?" He smirked. "Have you not yet discovered an alternative to lighten your workload? It's impractical for you feeble-bodied humans to carry out the same tasks I assisted you with in the Sledathon season--"

"Sebek."

A gruff voice reminiscent of crackling thunder called his name. At once, he straightened like a soldier greeting his sergeant.

Epel gawked at the older man that approached. He resembled Sebek in many ways--his wild hair, slicked back, a deeper shade of green, slit-shaped pupils, and tall and well-muscled, with a stern aura. His beard was neatly trimmed, and scales dotted the periphery of his rugged face.

Wow, so manly...! So cool...!

"You are acquainted with these humans?” The older man boomed.

“Y-Yes, grandfather!” Sebek gestured to the Felmiers. “This is Marja, the grandmother of my peer, Epel. She is a well-respected figure in their home village, as well as our kind hostess for the Sledathon. As for Epel, he was our team leader and trainer."

His grandfather squinted hard at Epel. “I thought Night Raven College was an all-BOYS school.”

"E-Eh..." Epel visibly tensed, his left eye twitching with the effort it took to restrain himself from flying off the handle. "I'm every bit of a man as Sebek-kun is...!"

Marja laughed. "They call him the Poison Apple of the Felmier family back home! Our Epel's small, but he's a real fighter."

He didn't look impressed.

Sebek hastily intervened.

"Epel, Marja--this is my grandfather, Baur." He puffed his chest out on instinct. "Though he is retired now, he served as the second-in-command to Briar Valley's famed General of the Right! You should be honored to be in his presence!"

"... I don't know what any of that means, but it sounds like you're awfully important. Still, none of that means you can strut around like a rooster and insultin' my Epel."

"Hmph! Enlighten me then, human. What exactly is your grandson capable of?"

"Epel's in the Magift Club. He wears the school colors and zips around on that broom of his, bashin' up the enemy team! No one in Harveston is as skilled as Epel is with a fruit carving knife. And he used to scoff at them city folks. Now he’s got so many friends. His unique magic too! He’s grown so much ever since comin’ to school. We’re so proud of him.”

"Well, Sebek receives top marks in every subject! Not only that, but he maintains a strict training regimen while also tending to his duties as Malleus-sama's retainer. He spends every waking moment of every day dedicating himself to honing his skills to best serve in knighthood! He is the pride and joy of the Zigvolt clan!!"

Marja covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide open. "Sebek-san does all of that! What an impressive lad."

"Yes, yes, his efforts are truly commendable..." Baur cut himself off, abruptly dropping his triumphant cheer. "W-Wait one moment, why are you, a lowly, unrelated human, praising MY grandson?!"

"What're ya on 'bout?" Her kindly old face had tightened into a sour expression. A thicker version of the Harveston accent spilled from her. "There ain't no rules 'bout who can ‘n can't say nice things 'bout folks' gran'kids!"

"Such impudence!!" Baur folded his arms, exhaling sharply through his nose. "I've remained impartial until now, but... The overly familiar tone you take with Sebek is irksome. You act as though you are--" he grimaced, "--friends, solely because you happened to house him on one occasion. Do not be so presumptuous!! Be cognizant of your position as a mere human."

"H-Hey, you can't speak to my meemaw like that! And you insulted our Harveston hospitality too...!" Epel protested, stepping in front of his grandma. "Watch your mouth or I'll wallop ya right in it!"

"Bah! I would like to see you try."

"P-Please wait, grandfather!"

Sebek wedged himself between Baur and the Felmiers. His broad body almost entirely shielded Epel and Marja from view--though Baur's shadow still loomed over him. Steeling himself, Sebek stood his ground and met his grandfather's intense gaze.

"Though you may not find any merit in their efforts, I... I cannot say the same for myself!" Sebek's voice trembled as he strained to get the words out. "You are aware of our tribe's aversion to the cold, and of my great appetite. Marja and Epel did not simply do the bare minimum for me as their guest!

"The community provided us with warm clothes to protect against the cold, handmade and tailored to our exact sizes. Not only that, but we were never left wanting for sustenance. There is a wealth of Harveston specialty dishes we indulged in. Their entire culture is predicated on that sense of togetherness. They are eager to share their culture and traditions with their neighbors as well as with travelers. To be so willing to open one's heart to complete strangers... I believe that is admirable!"

"Wh-What...?!" Baur stared at Sebek as though his grandson had just decked him in the face. "What are you saying?! Are you... defending these humans?!"

"A knight's creed states that he must protect the weak and the helpless. I am simply living up to that code!"

"Sebek-kun..."

Marja silently grasped Epel's arm--a warning to leave it be.

Baur frowned deeply.

Those defiant eyes... I recognize them. They're the same as my daughter's.

The daughter that had defied his wishes and gone and married a human man. Many long, tense nights spent screaming and pleading and bargaining, to please reconsider, to shut the ridiculous idea down.

"You're making a grave mistake."

"I refuse to bless your union."

"Humans and fae can never be together. It is a delusion--a fantasy!"

But she took after his stubbornness and refused to listen to reason.

"You're far too optimistic, daughter. Humans took away so much from us. Our land, our resources, our princess. And yet you can find it in yourself to forgive them so easily?!"

“I love my husband. I love our children. I love the life I have with them. Human or fae.. what does it matter what we are, so long as we have that feeling that connects us? To love is not to be fae or to be human. Love is universal so I will tell you every day, father. I will remind you again and again… until the time comes when you can accept our marriage with a smile."

Baur furrowed his brow. Humans and fae, together? I do not understand. Is this the future that has been decided for us?

His heart throbbed painfully, aching at the thought. Confusion, betrayal--tinged with a dash of glowing pride. That's my grandson.

"... You take after your mother," Baur managed. "Always the type to state their mind, even in the face of dissent."

"Yeah, that sounds like Sebek-kun alright..." Epel grumbled.

“HMMMM?!” Baur’s attention suddenly snapped to the young boy. Epel jolted back—but it was pointless. The older man weaved around Sebek and quickly advanced on him. “What did you just say?”

“Th-That it sounds like Sebek-kun…?” Epel meekly repeated. “We have some classes together, so… He argues with the teachers and refuses to help in group projects…”

“So you know of his academic exploits,” Baur concluded, gripping his shoulders. “Then you must tell me all about them!”

“HUH?! I wouldn’t call those examples of exploits…” Epel paled, turning white as snow. He worriedly glanced at Marja and Sebek. “U-Um… a little help here?!”

“What’cha bellyachin’ for? This man spat on what we represent as folks from Harveston!” his grandma huffed. “Show him how tough you are, Epel! KILL HIM WITH KINDNESS, YA HEAR ME?!”

“Marja is right! You must demonstrate your own strengths to my grandfather. Prove to him that you are worthy of calling yourself my classmate!!” Sebek bellowed.

“Both of ya ain’t helpin’ one apple-pickin’ bit!!”

“Enough stalling, tiny human!! You WILL report to me this instant!”