#how saffron is grown

[kashmirisaffron]

An exotic spice straight from the well-drained Karewa soils of Kashmir, Saffron or Kashmiri Kesar is a chef’s best friend. Extensively used in Middle Eastern, and South Asian cuisines, this culinary brilliance packs in a delicate aroma known for uplifting the medley of flavors that makes these dishes oh so lip smacking!

[thepettymachine]

Donnie ungrounded Ashley

[s4lv4tions]

labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

[askew-d]

KAGEHINA FICS MASTERLIST

• ⭐️🎖️ jellyfish, by mysterytwin — hinata makes a list of things to do before graduation; and that includes confessing his feelings to kageyama. a wonderful story, so heartwarming. my utmost favorite.

• ⭐️ in transit, by mysecretfanmoments — while riding the bus together, hinata begins to discover about his feelings for kageyama. absolutely lovely.

• dare, by majesticartax — kagehina’s chosen to play a dare in which they end up locked in a room, and, of course, revelations ensue. this one made me scream lots. rated m!

• you know all the strings (and know just how to tug them), by artemisia_hq — 5 + 1 story about kageyama being whipped and can’t say no and hinata saying yes. domestic fluff.

• like always, by artemisia_hq — during their last walk home together, hinata becomes aware of his feelings and decides to do something about it. short story, yet so cute!

• ⭐️ i wanna know you, and i wanna love you, by momochai — kagehina go on a day together, or better yet, a date; even though they’re not quite aware of it. i was dying throughout all of this, outstanding!

• you’re grabbing my hands like they’re handbars, by mountains_6 — basically tsukishima being a third wheel when the three of them travel to rio, based on the extra bit of the manga, lol. short and endearing.

• 🎖️ a hundred or so hellos, by iwillstillopenthewindow — kageyama reincarnates over and over and hinata continues dying over and over. angst. a lot of angst. but still goddamn beautiful.

• let me in on the open secret too, by switmikan74 — kageyama doesn’t know that he’s dating hinata, until he gets hints from a shoujo manga. that’s so fitting, definitely worth the read!

• highway verse, series by emleewrites — a pixel cars au that i didn’t think it’d catch me until i read it and had dreams about this fantastic universe.

• ⭐️🎖️ if it wasn’t for you, by halfbloom (diphylleias) — in brazil, hinata learns more about relationships and what it means to have a bond with kageyama. got my heart effortlessly. such a delight.

• ⭐️ one more thing, by marks — it’s tsukishima and yamaguchi’s wedding, and kageyama and hinata decide to go together. can i please have more of this? sweet stories like this makes my heart melt, i swear.

• 🎖️⭐️ i can do better, by buu — kagehina compete over everything under the sun, and that includes kissing. and some more. in fact, every kagehina fic by this author hits. and this one… made me feel stuff. rated m!

• ⭐️ no angels could beckon me back, by lilacnoctua — heated arguments lead kagehina to heated moments with each other. a hot story with great development. loved every part of it.

• from this day forward, by emleewrites — kageyama tries to propose; it goes as badly as you can expect. so funny, seriously! i could easily recommend every fic by this author too, as well as esselle’s, but i’m gonna list my favorites anyway, so hang on!

• soft serve, by tothemoon — kagehina drives an ice cream truck to help karasuno; as one might expect, feelings are involved in between. summer fic, brings a ton of good emotions!

• 🎖️ famous v-league players make fools of themselves on twitter dot com, by crone_zone — the appearance of one hinata shouyou through the eyes of twitter users. pure comedy and it’s a whole show. gorgeous!

• room to grow, by mysecretfanmoments — things are different in their third year and hinata’s still learning how to deal with it. ah, young love! the best kind.

• raining verse, by emleewrites — kageyama’s cursed to be a kitten, hinata’s the one who finds him. i love a magic realism au, so imagine my happiness while reading this.

• future’s kiss, by mervousmer — kageyama somehow travels to the future for a moment, and hinata’s there, all grown-up. come on, time travels also have my heart! this one’s cute as hell.

• ⭐️ dethroned, by setkia — kageyama counts his victories and losses against hinata in his mind. what a gem! short and fabulously creative.

• saffron and cayenne pepper, by dontsaycrazy — neighbours kagehina: one only knows how to set the kitchen on fire and the other one’s actually a chef, what could work between them? everything, that’s the answer. a hit!

• on quarantining together…, series by winterey — social media kagehina making lives while on quarantine. fun and addictive!

• conflict of interest, by zukushou — more of social media kagehina, this time with journalists thinking they’re rivals when they’re actually… yknow *gay for each other*. just everything i’d ever want for them.

• ⭐️ with suds in your eyes (and a smile on your lips), by hqkrys — established relationship kagehina take a messy shower together. overall just endless fluff, which melts my heart!

• a bento for dr. kageyama, by zukushou — hinata leaves food for his husband and causes gossip at the hospital said husband works in. hahaha, this is definitely terrific.

• the best laid hands, by mysecretfanmoments — kageyama doesn’t even know how to deal with his own romantic life, so it’s best if other people don’t ask for advice. but what if it’s an advice for hinata? you never know :)

• ⭐️ better than firewhiskey, by mysterytwin — hogwarts au with kagehina! someone should definitely find this author by the way and give them a big hug. i want to. they rock.

• chase the light, my love, by thebeaming sun — kageyama planning to propose and earning support of his teammates. established relationship kind of thing that makes me smile.

• hinata and kageyama terrorise a simple interviewer, satorou masashi, series by call_me_j — story told in the form of an interview, including post time-skip kagehina of course. remarkable!

• optical, by kvhottie — kageyama wears glasses; everyone freaks out. do i need to explain more? hella entertaining.

• never doubt i love, by gentle_autumn_rain — jealous hinata thinks kageyama got a boyfriend. he didn’t. love these small misunderstandings that lead to a confession! so good.

• of gentlemen and scoundrels, by mysecretfanmoments — historical au with kageyama as a gentlemen in london and hinata who’s… well, not very much like him. the writing and the sexual tension in this is spectacular!

• ⭐️ save the last dance for me, my prince, by zukushou — prince kageyama and bodyguard hinata, as this fandom deserved. and such a well-developed at that. charming!

• patience, by mistonthelake — surprisingly enough, hinata discovers about kageyama’s crush on him earlier than the man himself. a lesson in being patient.

• wrestle for victory, by emleewrites — after their fateful game, kagehina decides to compete over wrestling. that’s definitely something they’d do and it got me hooked.

• ⭐️ oh we play, in autumn days, by aruariandance — kagehina being silly boys and kageyama getting a phone. is it because he wants to text hinata? that, he’ll never admit. i’d give it a hundred kudos if i could.

• ⭐️ ridiculous, by festivetrickster — yachi has to spend some time with kagehina in their apartment. the way they live just makes me suspicious of their relationship. no, like, this is indeed so ridiculous but i like it so much!

• sunstruck, by orphan account — kageyama gets the help of romero to sort out his relationship with hinata. seeing introverted kageyama slowly but surely trust his teammate and idol with issues like this makes me proud.

• ⭐️ sun above your shoulders, by longleggedgit — even in an universe where they go to different high schools, kagehina meet each other anyway. everything’s delightful here!

• the missing piece, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — kageyama deals with the changes in hinata. just adorable, i giggled a lot.

• the trouble with soulmates, by navybluewings — our sweet cupid hinata’s journey to get soulmates bonds fixed! this au rocks.

• five star review, by emleewrites — hinata’s hired to paint kageyama’s wall and they start a “friendship” out of it. amazing to see this unfold, so nicely done.

• 🎖️ for the best of all possible worlds, by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon) — an au about kagehina’s relationship journey from across countries, including letters. they meet while being apart and we see it unfold. is there anything better than this? majestic!

• at the tip of your nose, by cloesh_scribbles — where kageyama’s obsessed with eskimo kisses and hinata’s obsessed with him. please help me after this, the fluff killed me.

• the video series, by sunnyslipper — kageyama and hinata breaking the internet over and over with their videos. funny and spot on!

• alexa, play waking up in vegas, by attackofthezee (noxlunate) — kageyama and hinata get married accidentally. the thing is, i can totally imagine them doing this. they’re absurd and lovely.

• meat bun is a love language, by icecreamromantic — kageyama decides to confess using meat buns. come on, it’s stupidly perfect!

• slipping through sand, by majesticanna — an au in which kagehina meet in brazil. just so warm, waaah!

• high dose, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — hinata convinces kageyama that, because of a health issue, he needs kisses. i swear, these silly boys will break me. this is excellent.

• why do i feel like it’s (fake) love, by izucaii — hinata and kageyama pretend to be boyfriends while in brazil. a gorgeous fake-relationship story!

• ⭐️ a best man’s worse problems, by villainphilia — tsukishima, the best man for kagehina’s wedding, prepares his speech while reminiscing how the two dumbasses got together. all of this is just marvellous!

• five proposals, by dayoldcupcake — kageyama proposing, hinata saying no. done with the intent of giving me diabetes. chef’s kiss!

• ⭐️ plain as day, by emleewrites — hinata has a low self-esteem and kageyama tries to make him realize how wonderful he is. i died and came back. truly stunning.

• kageyama tobio reads thirst tweets (unedited), by popcornpearl — after making a bet, kageyama reads thirsty tweets and tries not to blush. it’s harder than he expected. rated m!

• i’m lucky to have you, zukushou — the famous “just woke up high in anestesia and i can’t remember my own partner” trope. pure comedy, love this for them.

• ⭐️ the obvious is at eye level (but i might need a step stool), by dr_awkward221 — hinata watching sakusa’s relationship with miya and slowly realizing things about his own his kageyama. i loove this one, it’s unbearably good.

• ⭐️🎖️ let the light out, by uhohshouto — kagehina make a bet in which the other one must ask for something of the loser. kageyama wants a kiss… and then something more. seriously though, i can’t believe this; it’s a wonderful story, so entertaining. rated e!

• epic, by esselle — a surfing au with hinata as an instructor and kageyama as an arrogant professional. this charming scenario surely made my day.

• let’s take this offline, by pas_dautres — office employees kagehina who meet through emails and reports. i had to add this, because it’s nice, surely worth the read.

• 🎖️ these hands of time, these hands of mine, by fireheartaw — kageyama being introspective over their story together and apart. light angst maybe, but the narrative’s so interesting and captivating.

• discordant, by majesticanna — academic rivals kagehina meet again as professors. so short but so sweet!

• 🎖️⭐️ pursuit verse, series by emleewrites — a gambler hinata and an attorney kageyama based on the ace attorney game. never played the game. but the story? deserves to be printed. if you never read it, you need to. hear me out: you need to.

• ⭐️ getting it right, by akaashism (acciormerlin) — play pretend boyfriends for miwa who end up actually having domestic moments and finding out more about their feelings, hehe.

• know you better, by mysterytwin — bakery worker kageyama and spell shop owner hinata in a world of magic! great development and very poetic.

note that this is based on the fics i’ve known since i entered the fandom and that i truly enjoy. either they’re famous or not famous, i’m just adding them here for my future self contentment and for those who, just as me, wanted a full list of kagehina fics upon getting engaged in haikyuu media.

if you think i should add more and if you have recs for me too, i’m accepting them! thank yoou.

last update: 3/3/24

[rachalixie]

a/n: eid mubarak! i hope this reaches the people that i want it to :) i tried my very best as i don't celebrate personally, but i think that eid is an absolutely beautiful holiday and deserves to be appreciated by all. special thank you to @astraystayyh and @lino-nyangi i love you two so much i hope your celebrations are magnificent and that your tummies are full of good food and you eat lots and lots of sweets <3

chan arrives in a flurry of excitement, giggling as your younger cousins and siblings flock to him and hang off of his legs. he ruffles their hair, telling them how much they’ve grown since he last saw them, and finishes it off with folded bills that he presses into their hands along with a gentle kiss to the crowns of their heads. one by one, he gains their favor and they squeal about how he’s their favorite uncle - a thought that makes him blush and intertwine his fingers with yours. 

minho helps you cook dish after dish, porcelain and ceramic serving plates stacking up as you cook together. the air in your kitchen smells absolutely divine, spices and saffron and nutty rice steaming away as the two of you flirt around each other and exchange kisses over the sink. he always enjoys learning how to make new recipes, but learning the foods you used to make with your mom as a child is something dear to him.

changbin takes the time to learn things - asks your father what he’s supposed to do because he wants to make sure he’s doing things perfectly. he cares less about the formalities and more of the hidden things he can do, wanting to surprise you just to see that pleased look on your face. you’re making that look now, as he approaches you after having coffee with your father and uncles, and he hands you his empty cup. it’s full of gold chocolate coins, and he sheepishly admits that he didn’t have real gold but he thought it would do. the way you lean up to kiss him, keeping his body between yours and the door so no one can see, tells him that he did just fine.

hyunjin revels in your beauty; though he thinks you’re gorgeous all of the time, something about seeing you in traditional clothes with threads of gold woven into colorful fabrics makes you glow in a way he can’t get enough of. he puts on the finishing touch, sliding intricate jhumkas into your ears, the weight of them a comforting reminder of his fingers brushing against your lobes. he tells you how beautiful you are countless times, whispering it to you so only you can hear, but everyone knows from the blood that rushes to your cheeks in turn.

jisung spends weeks after weeks in secret learning arabic, or rather trying. he stumbles upon his letters, syllables that make no sense to his tongue, but he practices over and over until he can say one thing that he whispers to you just as the clock strikes midnight. eid mubarak, he mumbles as he brushes his fingers across your brow, his eyes shiny in the moonlight as he keeps his gaze fixed on you. he’ll repeat the phrase to your family and friends later, but his clumsy pronunciation and small smile make this first one so special to you.

felix revels in the act of charity always, but sharing it with you brings a lightness to his heart that he can’t get enough of. he’s more motivated than you are, dragging you to homeless shelters and daycares and wherever he can find to volunteer and give back. on the last day, he shyly shows you a list of charities he’s donated to all month, in your name, and you tackle him into a hug with tears in your eyes.

seungmin fits in like he’s been celebrating with you for years. he stuffs his belly full with delicious food, chats with your parents with a wide grin on his face, plays with the children like he raised them himself. he does everything perfectly, knowing when to greet people and when to participate in prayer and where to go. it surprises you in a delightful way, in the same way that he always does when he knows something about you that you don’t even know yourself. you discover later, when you unlock his phone to take photos of him laughing across the room, the extensive research on eid traditions that he has open in his browser.

jeongin is so nervous to meet your extended family for the first time. he fiddles with his hair for an hour, making sure that not a single strand is out of place. he smooths down his clothes when he gets out of the car, and stares at the front door of your parents’ house with wide eyes and an open mouth, and you have to press his jaw up with gentle fingers as your mother opens the door. you watch the nervousness fizzle out as he’s greeted with warm welcomes from everyone, treating like he’s part of the family already. 

[soulfullives]

lyall flipped a page of his book (the lord of the rings — the hobbit, obviously; it had been remus’ favourite book when he was little, he used to read it to him), sitting on the old, worn out armchair.

remus had asked him, in his last letter, not to come to king’s cross to pick him up, and instead let him apparate back home. lyall had, reluctantly, agreed, yet his heart felt a twinge of sadness when he wrote the letter back; remus was growing older, undoubtedly. he didn’t need them anymore. but the prospect of him splinching himself to wales hadn’t been exactly exhilarating. however, he decided to give his son the chance to… he didn’t even know. he missed remus.

his thoughts were interrupted by hearing the door open and seeing his son enter their cottage, carrying his shabby suitcase in one hand. remus seemed to have grown considerably over the school year, making him appear gangly and unsure into his body. he was also in dire need of a haircut; his mother, hope, would surely take care of that later. (lyall almost chuckled, already hearing her voice: “cariad, do wizards not have scissors?”)

remus looked almost exactly like his father. the same curls, the same hooked nose, the same dropped eyes, rimmed with long eyelashes, the same crooked teeth. however, lyall knew better; his son had his mother’s warm smile, the same dimples in their cheeks, the same mischievous glance.

as if he could read his father’s thoughts, he put his arms to his side. “intact,” he said, rather awkwardly. “i didn’t splinch myself; apparition classes seem to have been a success.”

“i knew you wouldn’t,” lyall lied, licking his fingers before flipping the page, as his son made his way into the kitchen.

he sat down on the couch, and saffron, their ginger cat, considered that to be the perfect opportunity to jump next to her owner and start kneading against his thigh.

they sat in silence for a while; a father, pretending to read, and his son, looking at the pictures on the shelf above the fireplace and obviously engulfed in his thoughts, yet lyall didn’t ask what he was thinking about.

finally, he put his book down. “did i ever tell you about how your mother and i met?”

remus’ lips were parted by a small chuckle. “yes, about a billion times.”

“well,” he said, clasping his hands together. “you know, son, the first time I met your mother, it was quite the adventure. she was out for a walk through a forest when she stumbled upon a boggart — and i’m not going to explain to you what that is, because considering your OWL results, i can very well tell you know.. for her, it turned into a large, terrifying man. i don’t know who it was supposed to be. you mother was frightened, she screamed; i, being nearby, rushed over and with a quick wave of my wand, turned it into a little mushroom.”

“what a hero,” remus chuckled, pulling his longs legs up his chest.”

“i made sure she got home safely, and well, that was the beginning of something special. a few months later, i told her that the boggart posed no danger at all, but by then, we had already fallen in love. not long after, i asked her to marry me, and she said yes. we got married about a hear before you were born, and your mother, with her wicked sense of humor, decided we should have…

“the boggart-shapper topper,” remus finished, grinning. “classic ma.”

“then, as you know, or well, don’t, since you were just born,” lyall continued, (remus snorted) “on march the tenth, the following year, you came into our lives, and our little family was complete.”

his son chuckled, kicking his feet up on the couch. he chewed on his lip. “what’re you reading?”

“the hobbit,” he answered. “i had a bout of nostalgia. you’ve grown up so quicky; it feels like you’re not my little boy anymore.”

he saw remus’ adam apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

“i mean, look at you. your mum’s got to stand on her tiptoes to kiss you, and i know she’s not the tallest woman, but she had to bend down to be able to hold your little hand once. and you could fit between my arms, remus, with your head on my chest when i read to you. you used to be so little, and in a few months you won’t even be living with us anymore. you’re of bloody age,” he let out an airy laugh, “now.”

lyall didn’t know when remus had stood up and was behind him, his arms wrapped around his dad’s shoulders. “i’m still your son,” he said, his voice as small as it used to be when he was little.

“i know,” he reached out awkwardly and patted remus’ shoulder, ignoring the sniff he heard remus let out. “you’re always gonna be our son, cariad.”

[serpentface]

hello i would love to hear about culturally specific dishes in the blightseed setting. what do the animals taste like hows their fat content... herbs and seasonings and the trades involved perhaps..... hows the salt economy? love your setting and if you have a list of ingredients i will invent meals in my head and be well satisfied... i just love food and cooking in world building it is so important to me :-)

OK this is crazy because I had literally just cooked a Lore Friendly Meal the night before I got this ask.

Since this is a super broad question gonna default to Imperial Wardin since that's what I'm writing in right now and has the most developed food economy. (Sorry.)

This region currently dominates the eastern Inner Seas tradeway so has a very broad access to imported foods and spices, and many of its staples are not originally native to the region. Its regional cuisine is quite diverse and varied, largely owing to its status in the tradeway and a long history of immigration to the region (as well as a wide variety of native regional variations in diet).

For simplicity's sake I'm mostly going to stick to staples that are grown in-region (whether native or not) or commonly imported. Also mostly sticking to domesticated plant life, or very common and easily acquired wild plants. (Also not all these plants/herbs/spices would be 1:1 with real-world equivalents, or would be of unique variants that don't exist irl, but if they're basically the same thing I use the IRL word)

Staple base foods: maize, barley, wheat, and rice (closer to O. glaberrima than O. sativa), red yam (a yam regarded as very delicious), white yam (a hardier but poorer tasting yam, often associated with poverty), cassava, chickpeas, other legumes.

Staple vegetables (regionally varies): Cabbage, lettuce, okra, onions, garlic, chili peppers, celery, peas, kolis (a drought tolerant, cactus-like plant. Young stems are tender and edible), camiche (a tree that produces edible seedpods and young leaves).

Staple fruits: Dates, figs, pomegranates, olives, melons, apples, bitter cherries, kolis fruit, nara (a type of citrus, comparable in flavor and sourness to lime).

Widely used spices/herbs/flavorings: cumin, saffron (VERY expensive but natively grown), coriander, culantro, thyme, fennel, sage, tumeric, cardamom, ginger, firebug (an insect that is dried and crushed, provides a reddish hue and slight acidic flavor), anuje (a tree sap which is the region's most popular sweetener).

Livestock: cattle, horses (the small 3 hooved kind), hogs, ducks, geese, one domesticated species of gazelle, some camelops (rare in this region, imported), one type of small domesticated lacetor, several types of fowl.

Other meat (common wild game, or livestock raised in smaller or more localized capacities): crocodiles, gazelles, aurochs, salutachin (a meat dog breed), doves, nechoi, lacetor, hippegalga, anara (a large semi-aquatic rodent), hespiornis, unkata (a large flightless bird), ibis, pheasants, rabbits and hares, caviar ants.

(Of the fantasy game, most nechoi have a strong, lean gamey meat, but an-nechoi is fattier and milder. Lacetor is generally mild and tough (with a few very fatty cuts) and benefits from slow cooking and heavy spices. Hippegalga is lean and mildly gamey and has a nutty quality. Anara tastes like wild rabbit, but slightly fattier. Unkata kind of just tastes like turkey.)

Alcohol: Wine is very important and is consumed (mostly watered down) on a daily basis. Date wine is most common and least expensive by far; only small parts of the region are ideal for viniculture and grape wine is somewhat uncommon. Other fruit wines are common (bitter cherry and kolis fruit being most popular). A very strong liquor is produced from anuje sap, with sweeter and lower ABV versions available as a kind of dessert wine. Grain-based beers and liquors are widely available, but not as prized as fruit/anuje drinks. Mead is somewhat rare and is mostly seen as inferior to anuje.

Salt economy: this region is a dominant player in the salt trade, having a large area of salt flats and marshes in its south. Salt is widely accessible throughout the region via internal trade routes.

Fishing: The region has a huge fishing industry along its coasts and the diet in the coastal cities is enriched with seafood. Pretty much any edible sea life is eaten. (Dozens of fish species, octopus, squid, clams, urchins, oysters, scallops, crabs, lobster, shrimp, etc etc). The tiny, schooling larval form of yotici are also sometimes eaten.

There's also a 'whaling' industry for leviathans, which have very rich, blubbery meat high in iron (I guess I'd describe it as a fattier, stronger, bloodier version of alligator meat), and uhrwal, which have very tough, gamey meat and are considered an acquired taste, used specifically for delicacy dishes.

Misc lore:

Arthropods are not widely eaten in the region and have stigma as peasant or famine food. Some local exceptions are made for locusts, and the eggs of caviar ants (there is a very small industry of ant farming in Ephennos, brought by White Sea qilik immigrants).

Dogs have been used for meat in this region for hundreds of years (largely in the form of the salutachin, a breed specifically developed for meat), but the practice declined under the 3rd Burri empire (in which context it was seen as an 'unclean' food). Cultural trauma from feral dogs eating the dead (and in turn being eaten by starving civilians) during a siege-induced famine has made it specifically taboo in Godsmouth. Dog is now widely considered a famine/poverty food in most of the region, though corn-fed salutachin is still a delicacy in the city-state of Wardin.

Animals that eat human flesh are taboo to consume in most parts of the region (whether this extends to all/most predators or just obligate scavengers varies).

Eggs of skimmer gulls and ibis are considered delicacies.

The basic diet varies across the region, but a huge proportion of the established cuisine revolves around cumin, onions, and peppers for flavoring.

The majority of the diet for an average person is built on savory grain porridge and mashed legumes.

Dairy products are important to the everyday diet in the eastern 'dairy belt' of the region, but are of lesser significance elsewhere. Horsemilk and cow's milk are both common.

Maize is usually consumed after nixtamalization for greater nutritional content.

Most people (especially in the cities) do not eat meat on a regular basis, as even for self-sustaining farmers and herders, the value of livestock for milk, textiles, labor, sacrifice, and trade means that frequent slaughter is often unsustainable. Most get their everyday protein needs met with legumes, and those in coastal cities have broad access to seafood.

Animal sacrifice is vitally important to the practice of the Imperial Wardi faith, but the meat of sacrifices is not eaten (outside of a few specific rites and festivals) and is instead burned.

Khaitmeat is rarely eaten outside of desperation (or opportunistic slaughter of old/injured animals) due to their great value and a developed taboo around its consumption in some parts of the region.

Hunting is a pastime for the urban upper class and typically forbidden within the territories of the city-states without an expensive 'license' (unless one one's own lands, which also generally requires having big money). Poaching for meat in the outskirts of cities is common among the urban poor.

Hunting is a key part of the diet throughout the rural parts of the region, many rural commoners eat meat more frequently than their urban counterparts on this merit.

Some established dishes (either vaguely conceptualized, or have come up specifically in writing):

Pounded white yam and nothing else (a famine food).

Pounded white yam with whitefish and pepper soup, a hearty common meal in Godsmouth.

Savory cornmeal cakes (cornmeal cooked in vegetable broth, lard or olive oil, peppers, onions, cumin, salt, cheese, wrapped in a corn husk and cooled to be eaten on the go).

Shitty cornmeal cakes (a famine food) (cornmeal with weevils in it, you can't really get the weevils out and it's protein so might as well, salted and cooked in water).

Grain festival beef/horse stew (tough bone-in cuts slowcooked with peppers, onion, garlic, and any other available vegetables. Usually heavily spiced. The resulting broth is used to cook the grain (usually hominy, rice, or barley), the meat and vegetables are served on top, sometimes with cream or cheese).

Hominy porridge with milk and sprinkled cheese.

Wheat porridge with dried dates and anuje.

Reed duck boiled in date wine, flavored with peppers, coriander, cumin, and saffron (VERY fancy).

Pickled kolis stem bulbs.

Fermented kolis stem bulbs and cabbage.

Gannegal soup (made with bull penis, hominy, garlic, onion, cabbage, and chickpeas in a spicy broth, supposed to support fertility)

Raw hippegalga meat, thinly sliced with onion and hot pepper, all marinated and cured with nara and eaten cold atop barley or rice (also supposed to support fertility)

Anaebi soup (made with reed duck, lily bulbs, rice, and okra, supposed to support a healthy pregnancy)

Cow tripe and cabbage soup

Finely chopped meat/fish/shellfish or vegetables with onions, wrapped in dough and fried or baked.

Peledyo (A strong, heavily fermented fish sauce favored in the coastal cities (this is pretty much a garum ripoff), which is mixed with wine, vinegar, honey, etc to form the base of other sauces)

Very spicy shellfish soup with a peledyo, wine, and pepper broth.

Caviar ant eggs marinated with nara, vinegar, chopped onions and cabbage, mixed with rice.

A sweetened bean porridge made with cream and anuje.

Hummus-esque spread made with chickpeas, garlic, onion, peppers, and olive oil, usually eaten with bread.

Whole spitroasted horse

A type of root vegetable sausage (intestine casing stuffed with mashed cassava or yam, onions, garlic & cumin seeds which have been cooked down in lard, sometimes with minced meat/offal. Boiled all together.)

Blood sausage (usually horse or cattle)

A kind of donut fried in oil and then soaked in anuje and fruit syrup.

Roasted peppers and onions sauteed in heavy cream, usually served atop grain or a grain porridge.

Toasted locusts, locusts fried with rice or barley, pounded white yam stuffed with fried locust and onions (opportunistic meals during locust plagues)

Fried sprats with pepper and onion sauce

Crab stock soup with onions, peppers, crab meat or whole softshell crabs, and crab roe (sometimes with cream)

Squid ink soups (variety of seafood or seafood-stock soups, blackened by squid ink)

A simple 'trail mix' made with dried camiche seeds and hominy

Dessert bread glazed with fruit syrup or anuje, covered in dried dates

Raw minced lacetor with peledyo, garlic powder, cardamom, coriander. Used to top grains or to be eaten with pounded yam.

Thinly sliced uhrwal flank simmered with date wine and vinegar.

Fatty cuts of an-nechoi belly, usually slow cooked and eaten in soups.

Minced kolis stalk, onion, and pepper, salted and marinated with nara or vinegar

Roasted figs with cheese

Also here's the lore friendly meal I cooked, the grain festival beef stew. Here served in only the lore friendliest of dollar store paper bowls

This specific dish is eaten as a part of yearly grain festivals celebrating the end of the harvest. In most contexts it's an agricultural community event with each family contributing whatever vegetables and spices are on hand, and each donating some of their harvested grain. It's cooked in a huge pot and usually serves dozens of people.

The exact vegetable/herb/spice components would vary wildly within the region, timing, and by the success of the various harvests, but will generally be farmed (rather than foraged) due to the nature of the festival as an agricultural celebration and thanks-giving. Cumin, peppers, and onions are considered the absolute bare minimum necessity. The grain will usually be maize, barley or rice, and may be mashed into a savory porridge instead of eaten whole.

This will usually be one of few times a year where meat is eaten in abundance in the agricultural context. The meat is almost always beef or horse, usually tougher bone-in cuts are chosen for this specific dish. These animals will have been slaughtered specifically for this festival, with the best cut of meat from each being burnt in an offering of gratitude to Ganmache and Anaemache (ox-face and river-face of God, both of which are associated with agriculture and harvests), at the base of what will become the cooking fire.

The meat and vegetables are cooked on low heat in water until the meat is soft and tender and a broth is formed (which should be very strong and spicy, as it will be used to flavor the grain). Some of the broth is drained and used to cook the grain, which is then served with the meat, vegetables, and a few spoonfuls of broth on top. In the eastern dairy belt, milk/cream may be added to the broth, and/or it may be topped with crumbled cheese or sour cream. This is next to heresy in the west.

---

For my easily accessible grocery store equivalent, I used a beef shank, 2 onions, 2 jalepeños, one habanero, a bunch of garlic, okra, and cabbage. Seasoned with cumin seeds and tumeric (very lore friendly) and a sazon packet because I had it (most of the spices involved are at least passably lore friendly). Also jasmine rice (not lore friendly but it's what I had).

I first toasted cumin seeds in olive oil, then added the vegetables and stirred until they were cooked down. The meat and vegetables/spices were cooked in water on low heat for ~5 hours and seasoned to taste. Some of the broth was then removed to cook the rice. Meat + vegetables are spooned on top of the rice, along with some broth.

Results: It's preddy good. Might be a little better with roasted or sauteed rather than heavily cooked down vegetables, but the latter is how it would be eaten. I also had a sore throat at the time and ended up just drinking the rest of the broth. It felt amazing. 6.5/10.

[soufcakmistress]

Temptress

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

The intricate oil painting hanging on the wall threatened to fall by the incessant pounding of the bed frame. “I wonder what they’re serving at the pub tonight…” Sybil Freeman pondered as this sad soul rutted away between her legs. The Viscount Peters was one of her frequent visitors, and always tipped well. A lackluster lover, but always super sweet. The viscount shuddered and finally expelled into the sheepskin condom, with sighs of much awaited relief. Her corset has her abundant breasts grazing her chin, which have now spilled out from the romp that just ensued.

This is the part that the men come for. “Ooooh, the Viscount is feeling very frisky this evening. I’ll be sure to put those juniper berries in your wine every time we meet, sugar.” The short and dumpy nobleman always moseyed down her street for a bit of loving. Black and white men alike patronized the house—a house of nothing but Black bawds and whores.

~

London is a long way from colonial Charleston. Sybil Ravenel was one of eleven children to an enslaved couple working the indigo crop on Edisto Island. Keen on her surroundings and fierce about her family, one particular overseer would always harass her. She was very shapely and purposely wore baggier clothes to conceal her body. She’d managed to make it this far without getting whipped or separated from her family. The overseer was tired of Sybil spurning him. Easter Day came and the slaves were able to take the day off for once. While everyone was congregated by the fire, Sybil was caught off guard and gagged and pulled around the tobacco barn. Little did that overseer know that Sybil had been preparing for that day.

She sharpened this stick every day and hid it in the waistline of her skirt. Today, she made good on her intentions and shoved the stick into his neck. “I the last Negro woman you try to push up on. Bastard.” Blood drenched her apron and bonnet, and she wrenched them off and hid them under her skirt. Scrambling to the slave quarters, she gathered up the few clothes she had, tied them up and ran towards the harbor with all of her might in the dead of night.

Sybil understood sex and how easy men were guiled once it entered a dynamic. Men had few motivations and if it didn’t involve money, food or sex, Sybil found they didn’t have much use past that. She wasn’t entirely sure of her age, but she was a woman full grown. She had no education but she had the will to live and extremely limited means to do so. Offering what she had between her legs was how she was able to convince the captain of a nearby merchant ship not to ring the alarm for a fugitive slave on the run. She sucked his pecker so good as a matter of fact, he gave her her own cabin, left to be undisturbed until the ship docked.

The manifest was set for London Harbor, with a large store of indigo posed for shipping to the British Isles. England outlawed slavery years ago and all Sybil can remember being in awe of how Black folks roamed so freely. London was expansive, a different feeling versus Charleston. Attempting to navigate the streets, she bumped into a striking woman, with incredible cheek bones and dwarfed almost every man. “Careful, darling. Yuh ‘ave to actually look where yuh walk in this city. Before yuh get trampled.”

Needless to say, her life was changed from then on out. Bellemere Almodovar. Born in Jamaica, she was purchased by Spanish spice traders in exchange for bushels of saffron. She was so beautiful that she was whisked away from the auction block to accompany a lord in the Spanish court in the Spanish royal seat in Madrid.

Bellemere took Sybil under her wing. Showed her the ropes, how to keep herself safe, how to articulate herself, and recognize what the means to the end was. Fuck the frogs until you find the prince. A marquis or a lord having you for his mistress meant security and stability. A binding contract between the two of you kept the relationship mutually beneficial at all times. You provide the cunny and ego stroking, he provides the lifestyle. It’s plain and simple as that.

Until then, Sybil would stack her money. Her and Bellemere have expanded their stable, with an extremely diverse group of Black women with various treasures to offer. Lola and Liza Ibeji, the Sierra Leonan twin Amazons liked to play with the kinky politicians on Downing street on every bank holiday who liked to be tied up and degraded. Sarah Macenroe was a biracial beauty from Ireland, looking for a new home since her last bawd kicked her out. She was a contortionist, and petite like a nymph who loved to stick her finger up a John’s bum. And Sybil’s best friend Janie Smith from Trinidad, always quick to cuss her in patois. She was plump and shaped like you and that brought you both closer. Janie learned that she did not have a gag reflex, allowing any man to aim his prick down her endless throat with no resistance.

And Sybil. Sybil’s prized possession was between her legs. It was wetter and tighter than anyone around, and was guaranteed to make any man lose his pride before he wanted to. Her blue fingertips were a marvel to gaze upon and added to the fantasy. These English nobles ached for the chance of sleeping with a liberated Negro woman from the colonies. Her life was easy now. Fuck her regulars, and live good. She was free. Free to eat in any cafe of her choosing. Led her girls into any social gathering with their heads high and guaranteed to garner whispers and gasps. Music to her ears.

As of late, Sybil had been bored to tears of the social scene. Janie had just snagged her keeper, and she’d been whisked to the northern countryside for the next month. On this particular occasion, Sybil’s carob skin emitted radiance unknown to this world with the midnight blue gown hugging her body close. Her scalp itched under the powdered wig, and she daintily threw back her 6th drink of the night. Her girls worked the room as always, prowling for the next kill, and yet Sybil couldn’t give a fuck about any of these men.

She grabbed her sachet, picked up the ends of her dress and sashayed to the terrace. Some fresh air was needed. A cigarette she already rolled was pulled out and heavy footsteps lurked behind her. “Is this seat taken?”

A puff of tobacco smoke billowed in front of her cherubic face. A pleasant surprise that a Black man with a familiar accent met her. “Do as you like.”

The strange man quietly observes Sybil’s appearance. Their eyes finally meet and she’s enraptured and forgets to mask her intent. He’s very handsome, with a sterling smile and dashing garments. And an American accent. Interesting. “What’s a southern Belle doing mingling with English society?”

“I could ask the same of you. You’re like a fly in a glass of milk with this crowd. American?”

The gentleman wore his own hair out, a beautiful tangle of curls, and an emerald green suit that was immaculately crafted. His scent was alluring, and made Sybil want to know how deep his pockets went. “Yes. I was formerly enslaved, just like you. My father was African however and fell in love with my mother on a trip to the colonies. He bought us and we went back to his country to live. I grew up and wanted to explore this world. So for the moment, here I am..”

He took her cigarette out of her hand and began to puff on it himself. “And how would you know that I was enslaved? I could have been born free for all you know.”

The gentleman blew out the tobacco smoke, and gently placed her hand in his. The indigo dye. Permanently marking her as a piece of chattel. A former piece of chattel, for that matter. He kissed every fingertip on her left hand, and Sybil gulped. Her eyes became glassy, and she pulled away. She adjusted her dress, and stabilized her towering wig. “I didn’t catch your name, miss.”

Sybil took the cigarette back from him, taking a harsh pull. Why did this man make her feel like this? “Sybil. Sybil Freeman.” She had to get out of there. As seemingly progressive as London purported itself to be, Black men were almost never gentlemen and of the ton. He exuded high levels of breeding and class. His skin was gorgeous and he had piercing eyes that never left her….and roamed all over her body. He was clearly different.

“Good evening, sir.” Sybil gave the stiffest curtsy and zoomed away, flustered and confused. Something told her that that wouldn’t be the last she saw of him..

A/N: I totally forgot that I had most of this written up already LMAO. Please let me know if you want me to continue this story. Pleaseeee reblog and comment, love yall!!!

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[arc-misadventures]

So I understand your issues with Bumbleby. I'm not judging I swear I wanted to ask what you think about Saffron and Terra.( and Adrian I guess). I promise I'm not trying to start anything if you don't like them you can say it. I just want to know your opinion.

Oh I like, Saphron, and Terra’s relationship. Theirs was written as a lesbian marriage that was preplanned out. Not unlike, Bumblebee which feels like it was just thrown in there to win brownie points for, RT.

RT has done that before, twice! I don’t care if you want to add queer messaging to your story, but for the love of gods think it out before you shoehorn it in!

Let me tell you how I came out as trans whilst the city is being invaded by hordes of, Grimm, and hundreds of people are dying?!!

The fuck RT?!

Granted my knowledge is sparse on this part since I skipped that season.

Basically, I like well written, plausible queer relationships that naturally, and healthily grown into full on relationships. Not clickbait crap thrown together to earn brownie points.

That, and I think, Yang is too good for someone like, Blake. Yang deserves better.

[tatumrileyslover]

THE BLUE ROOM TEASER

Pairings: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: vampire!AU, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual light smut, angst, gothic

a/n: this was originally supposed to be out for Halloween but god did I get too into it and made it more than double the length I wanted it to be lol. It’s literally over 20k. Anyway this is based of the gothic novel Carmilla, it has some of the same characters as in the book. I’d definitely recommend reading it if you like sapphic vampire stuff.

—

"I wondered when you'd come," he said without moving, as if he'd been waiting for her. "The sun is so harsh today. Draw the curtains?"

She did, watching how the heavy blue velvet transformed the room into a twilight world. When she turned back, he had shifted to make space beside him on the counterpane.

"Come," he said softly. "Lie beside me. Like we used to."

The words struck her oddly - they'd never done this before - but she found herself moving forward anyway. It wasn't proper, she knew, to be here without Madame Perrodon's supervision, but Jimin had a way of making improper things seem natural, inevitable.

"Why do you always lock your door?" she found herself asking as she carefully settled beside him, the question that had burned in her mind finally finding voice.

His smile widened slightly, though his arm remained over his eyes. "Do I? Perhaps I sleepwalk. Perhaps I have secrets I must keep." His free hand found hers, fingers intertwining with that unnatural coolness she'd grown used to. "Perhaps I'm afraid of what might come visiting in the night."

"You mock me," she said, though without heat.

"Never." He turned then, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. The dim light caught in his dark eyes, making them appear almost burgundy. "I would never mock your curiosity. It's one of the things I find most..." he paused, seeming to taste the word before speaking it, "...delicious about you."

The way he said it sent shivers down her spine, though not entirely unpleasant ones. They lay in silence for a moment, his cool fingers tracing abstract patterns on her palm.

"Tell me a story," he said finally. "Something from your childhood. A memory you hold dear."

She thought for a moment, and then, "I had the strangest dream once, when I was very young - perhaps six or seven. Though sometimes I wonder if it was a dream at all..."

His hand stilled in hers. "Tell me."

"I woke in the night - or thought I did. There was a figure standing by my bed, the most beautiful being I'd ever seen." As she spoke, the memory became clearer, details she'd forgotten surfacing like bodies in dark water. "They knelt beside me, stroked my hair. I felt... loved. Cherished. But also..."

"Also?" His voice had taken on an odd quality, intense yet somehow distant.

"Afraid. Not of them, exactly, but of how much I wanted them to stay. They spoke to me, though I couldn't understand the words. And then..." She touched her breast unconsciously, just below where the charm now lay. "There was a sensation, like being pierced by ice and fire at once. I screamed..."

"And the servants came running," Jimin said softly. "With candles and concerns. But found nothing amiss, save a very frightened little girl."

Saffron sat up slightly, looking at him with surprise. "How did you know?"

His smile was dreamy, distant. "Because I had the same dream at that age, watching over you, caressing you. Strange, isn't it? How some souls are destined to meet, how some moments echo across time until they find their mirror?" His cool fingers brushed her cheek. "Perhaps that's why I feel as though I've known you forever."

The charm at her throat seemed to pulse with sudden warmth, but she found herself leaning into his touch despite it. Something about his words rang both true and false, like a bell with a hidden crack.

"How strange," she murmured, settling back against the pillows. "That we should share such a similar dream."

"Perhaps not strange at all," Jimin replied softly. His fingers had moved to trace the line of her jaw, touch whisper-light but somehow burning cold. "Some meetings are written in the stars, dear one. Some souls call to each other across time itself."

—

[beanghostprincess]

Trans buggy is my lifeblood and I am SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HER TOO and I'm feral I'm shaking the bars of my cage FUCK I LOVE WOMEN

Like. Yes. Absolutely, Shanks and Buggy have little bits and pieces of ALL their parents, specifically Ray and Roger but No Adult Was Safe From Their Assimilated Found Family, Alright?

Shanks does this one movement when he's showing off and being SILLY about it that he picked up from Oden. Buggy uses chopsticks more easily than forks and spoons, which is mind boggling to those who know her and how clutzy she is.

Crocus was the KING of unexpected and frankly terrifying threats, something Buggy learned like a damned religion. Shanks got his penchant for Gay Uncle On Holiday clothes and patterns from him.

A lot of Shanks' attacks and swordplay was taught to him by Roger and Rayleigh, so his style is a mix of their own with a TWIST that's all him. Buggy wasn't as interested in swordsmanship, but she certainly isn't a novice at it. The forms and katas to her are meditative, and she can't really sit still for normal meditation ((AuDHD Buggy my beloved)) so THIS is her way of grounding. Her knife fighting is also derived from Ray's style, with quick, devasting blow that focus more on backlash damage, Haki and agility.

Buggy and Shanks both have Roger's grin, and when Rayleigh sees them, grown and side by side and beaming and greeting him so warmly, part of him breaks and heals and splinters and oozes love. He of course will not show weakness and instead teases them, as is his love language.

Also consider Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims. Stuff's normal at first until they give the kids some children's books. Cue "what is a dad? What is a mom?" questions. The adults answer them, and the kids simply nod before wandering off again.

Then, a few hours later, Buggy feels a tiny hand tug-tug at her pants. It's two little dark haired tykes, big saffron and violet eyes staring up at her. She blinks. "What's up, munchkins?"

"Mother, we want a snack and fathers are busy."

"Oh. Yeah, sure thing, sweeties, let me ju- WAITWHAT-?!"

Shanks is frothing, seething, crying in the window like a Victorian woman betrayed when he gets word that Buggy and the other two have "sons". He then proposes they have a baby too, to be fair.

Then the kids call him uncle or father twice removed and he is suddenly living his best life wdym he's gonna be the BEST uncle ever, hey kids wanna go harass people-?

Buggy is BEYOND flustered but she's also.... really flattered? Shanks wants a baby? With HER?? Like a real, whole ass baby. Wow. And she already has two sons! Maybe. Her little Birdie seems a tad unphased by the concept of gender anyway, so she won't push. She has two kids. And Shanks wants a third. Wow. Wow~ ♡

And then Crocodile has to go and ruin it by suggesting the kids stay with "auntie Al" for the weekend, while the guys see if they can get that baby idea rolling~

Buggy proceeds to blush so hard she's STEAMING and promptly faints.

I FUCKING LOVE WOMEN TOO!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMING THIS EVERYWHERE I GO!!!!!!!!!

Both of them having traits of all their parents and role models and keeping them with them forever,, When Rayleigh sees them again he's so fond of their little gestures and :(( He loves them so so much.

Also, the whole thing about Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims is just so so cute. And them calling Buggy 'mom'??????? Crying and sobbing, idk. Cute family that is not dysfunctional but pretty much not normal my beloved.

Honestly, Buggy as a mom just feels so right. But especially as an adoptive mom, you know? She just keeps seeing outcasts and understanding them so well and wanting to take care of them. Tbh, Shanks and Buggy should just,, Find a kid in a treasure chest and keep the baby.

[kashmirisaffron]

Where and How is Saffron Grown?

An exotic spice straight from the well-drained Karewa soils of Kashmir, Saffron or Kashmiri Kesar is a chef’s best friend.

Extensively used in Middle Eastern, and South Asian cuisines, this culinary brilliance packs in a delicate aroma known for uplifting the medley of flavors that makes these dishes oh so lip smacking!

But if you think that’s all what saffron is good for, we have news.

While this golden-tinged beauty is popular for its aromatic characteristic, premium quality saffron also packs in multiple healthcare benefits within itself.

From medicines to dyes and perfumes, from cosmetics to even being considered an aphrodisiac, saffron till this day is considered one of the most elite spices there ever is.

Where Saffron Grows?

They say India is a land of exotic spices that blend flavors with medicinal attributes and that’s exactly where you’ll find saffron. Known as “red gold”, this sought-after spice comes from an age-old cultivation, grown widely in the panoramic valleys of Kashmir.

The climate and soil conditions of this region are deemed ideal, with chilly winters and pleasant summers providing the perfect environment for this precious spice to grow.

In fact, Kashmir has been known for its production of saffron since ancient times, with some sources claiming that the region has been producing saffron since as early as 500 BC.

Today, this region remains the main source of Kashmiri saffron, with most of it being grown in areas around Srinagar. It is the area, the climate, and the lush green landscape of Kashmir that brings forth the uniqueness of Kashmiri saffron in terms of its hue, its flavor, and its benefits.

How is Saffron Grown?

Being a highly valuable crop that requires constant care to ensure its quality, organic saffron farming involves careful planning, dedicated labor, and careful attention to detail at the very least.

Farmers must take into account the soil type, water availability, and temperature when planting and harvesting the crop. They must also be sure to use organic fertilizers and pesticides to keep their crops free from contamination.

With these practices in place, Kashmiri farmers produce high-quality saffron that can fetch top prices on the market.

Let’s take a closer look at how saffron is grown in Kashmir and what makes it so special.

The saffron crocus flowers thrive in dry cool regions making Kashmir the perfect place to call home.

Saffron also requires well-drained and airy soil which makes tilling one of the top priorities before planting.

Usually, the corms are sowed in summer and by mid or late autumn, you can expect saffron crocus plants to bloom giving way to beautiful purple flowers.

The flowers are usually hand harvested since these are delicate plants and machine-plucking can damage either the flowers or the soil completely.

Each saffron flower usually produces 2 stigmas. On harvesting, these stigmas are plucked and dried for over 12 hours and there you have it- golden-hued, sun-bathed saffron ready to delight your taste buds.

Being a labor-intensive procedure, one can expect around 460 hours of work to grow, harvest, and dry saffron. Maybe that’s the reason why this spice is considered one of the most expensive and elite spices out there.

Is Your Saffron High Quality?

Of course, saffron quality differs in terms of color and taste owing to weather conditions, soil changes, and much more. So, how can you tell whether the saffron you’re purchasing is off potent quality or not? The trick to this is quite simple.

Over the years, the production of saffron has extended. What once used to be an exclusive spice from the valleys of Kashmir, India has now found temporary homes in places like US too. However, there will be  significant difference between the flavor and the color of these saffrons. However, do note, saffron is never cheap and if you do spot one, there’s a high chance that the product is adulterated.

Usually saffron quality checks are an external process perfected by distributors and sellers through lab approval. This typically means, if you’re getting your saffron from trusted and reliable sources in UK, you’re guaranteed to get premium quality saffron.

Places like kashmirisaffron.com has been sourcing their products straight from Kashmir to your doorstep with 100% organic quality guaranteed so that you can not just amplify your food flavoring process but also embrace the healthy goodness it brings along with itself.

[wumblr]

vanilla production facts

it is an orchid

the flower blooms one day per year and must be manually pollinated. pollination causes the base of the flower to swell almost immediately, from there it takes weeks to develop into a seed pod

vanilla costs about $300/lb. this being the pulp of the fruit itself, the extract we are familiar with is dilute. second only to saffron for expense. the price also tends to fluctuate greatly depending on the abundance of any given year's crops

there are three strains of cultivated vanilla. cultivation dates as far back as the totonac people in the 12th century, who live in present day veracruz, on the eastern coast of mexico. the olmecs may have also used wild vanilla in cooking thousands of years earlier

vanilla was cultivated in european botanical gardens but not really used much for 300 years after the colombian invasion of mesoamerica until finally some idiot realized the melipona bee doesn't live there, which may not have even been the correct type of bee (possibly euglossine)

five years later (1841) a 12-year-old slave named edmond albius on the island of reunion figured out how to manually pollinate the flowers, which is an extremely delicate and difficult process. some french botanist claimed to have invented this process, and people believed him for over a century

the aroma doesn't develop until after the seed pod is harvested and processed. it must be sorted, graded, blanched, then alternately sweated and dried for 15-30 days. the blanching halts fermentation, which makes one wonder, what is a fermented vanilla seed pod like?

synthetic vanillin is derived from eugenol, from clove oil, and lignin, from any number of sources. the vast majority of synthetic vanilla is made from wood creosotes which occur as a product of lignin pyrolysis (fire). its major source is, like anything, the petrochemical industry, which requires heat to fractionally distill oil into several byproducts (kerosene, naphtha, gasoline, etc). which is to say, 85% of synthetic vanilla is made from the wood smoke of the oil industry. you might be inclined to ask "doesn't this pollute" which, if you recapture the smoke to sell its particulate creosotes to synthetic vanilla producers, no, i guess not really, or "why don't they use oil to heat the oil" because it is more profitable to sell the oil and burn wood to make it, obviously

it is difficult to tell the difference between natural and synthetic vanilla in baked goods, because the baking process burns off the distinctive notes, most of which differ by growing region (tahitian vanilla is floral, indonesian vanilla is smoky, mexican vanilla is woody or spicy, bourbon vanilla from reunion has an alcoholic richness)

price markup occurs not at the point of farming, but after the point of curing. there is no set price for green vanilla beans, but there is a set price for dried vanilla beans, after they have passed through several middlemen from farmer to broker to curing. after this point, they are marked up several more times before finally making it to grocery store shelves in the form of bottled extract

in 2017 a cyclone destroyed maybe 30-80% of madagascan vanilla crops, where possibly as much as 60-80% of the global supply of vanilla is grown. in the 5 years since then, the price has not recovered, but boy howdy, have the labels gotten more fancy in specifying when it's from madagascar, haven't they?

70% of madagascar lives below the poverty line, despite the island producing the majority of the world's supply of the second most expensive spice

by volume, the number of vanilla beans imported to the united states every year is nearly two for every single member of the population (~640m, for a ~330m population)

anyway stop pouring a whole bottle of it into a cup for a joke what the fuck is wrong with you people i hope to god that ibuprofen potion post was staged with some vaguely brown liquid. also the word vanilla etymologically derives from the latin vagina meaning sheath ok bye

[boricuabrujita]

Female Blood Rites in Ancient Times

A sneak peek of a brief segment I’ll be going over in one of my upcoming classes for November. I’m currently doing research for my upcoming class “Mythos Astrology: The Underworld Descent with The Goddess Persephone”. For more info visit my Instagram @priestessofmoonlight.

The Blood Mysteries of Womanhood have unfortunately lost their importance in appreciation, celebration and even proper education. In my own experience with menarche; it was overlooked, painful, scary, and lacked meaning. It was as simple as “here is a pad. It’s normal. An unfortunate circumstance with womanhood”. Which couldn’t be further from the truth! With this lack of a rite of passage, many women go on to depreciate their bodies, fear the inevitable changes and receive ridicule along with disgust from their ignorant male counterparts (and fellow females). Ancient Minoans would perhaps look in horror at how we’ve neglected our gratitude to the natural cycles and world.

As pictured in photos 2 and 3 are sketches of frescoes found in Santorini, Greece at the archaeological site Akrotiri, Thera. In photo 2, you’ll see three girls all in different age groups. The far right being the youngest with a shaved head with scalp locks, no breasts and veil which covers her completely. Looking in shock at the shrine with horns which bloods draws down from; a formidable reminder of blood and womanhood via menstruation and birthing.

While the woman in the middle has fully grown hair, sits down and is experiencing pain and blood directly from her foot. You can see her breasts and her hair is adorned with olive branch and an Iris pin. Since she’s sitting on a rock as well surrounded by crocus, she is the only one who is part of the landscape in a sense. Apparently, Minoan art also uses inverted landscapes to suggest depth. The bleeding of her foot while she is foraging for crocus/saffron might allude to the female rite of passage; that is the pain/blood of entering womanhood. For the festival of the goddess girls coming of age were tasked with journeying the hills to gather saffron as an offering. Oftentimes, leaving the city or venturing outside of the mundane and the seclusion alludes to a rite of passage taking place. Doing the trek barefoot is bound to make for bloody feet. Again, a pain-causing venture to teach the young women endurance for pain and awareness of one’s blood.

The third girl to the left is the oldest and is fully initiated. Her breasts are full, she doesn’t have the forelock of youth, long hair, and is carrying a necklace. Most likely, an offering to be deposited inside of the innermost sanctuary of this temple.

In photo 3, pictured is a crocus/saffron gatherer aka priestess giving her plant offerings to a throned goddess. A monkey to the left and griffin to the right are the Goddess’s attendants.

Source: “Minoan Religion: Ritual, Image and Symbol”, Nanno Marinatos (1993).

[fountainpenguin]

"If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy? If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Frayed Knots - Chapter 37

"Greater Odds"

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

☁️ Cloudlands AU

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

In which Anti-Cosmo struggles with right and wrong, submits his godparenting application, helps his fiancée crossdress, and forms a closer bond with Wanda Fairywinkle.

Also, if you didn't catch Chapter 36 - "House of Cards" - when I posted the new Frayed Knots cover on Friday the 13th, don't forget to read that first!

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Greater Odds

Splitting with Anti-Lance ached so deep in my chest, I thought I’d fall to tiny pieces, my arms and legs strewn like confetti shreds across the floor. For a week, I pushed through campus life with a gritted smile damn well plastered on my face. I held composure as best I could in Mona’s company, knowing she looked to me for support in this time of separation, but Blonda was a different story. With the start of the semester came the return of our study sessions - and the absence of her judgmental sister - and after a bit of prodding on Blonda’s part, I finally cracked.

“He- he showed me through sacred ceremony how much he cared, that he loved and cherished me, that he desired my happiness… a-and when I offered to pleasure him in return, he dropped me…”

“I’m so sorry,” Blonda told me. She never touched me without permission - didn’t try to take my hand or force a hug - and she never asked that I shut up. She didn’t make any side comments like “Anti-Fairy culture is so incomprehensible” either, which I appreciated more than I really expressed at the time. I quieted on my own eventually, but keeping my mind on our early-semester studies was more difficult than I would’ve liked. My dripping nose and soppy eyes kept getting in the way. Ugh.

“Don’t tell Anti-Saffron,” I begged Blonda, clutching her shirt before she reached the door on our way out. “She’ll consider me a total loser!”

Blonda raised her brows so high, I half expected her to reply, “And this would be news to her HOW?” But… she didn’t. So I liked Blonda quite a bit.

Carl Poofypants High didn’t have a second room with an array for Anti-Fairies to roost from. I went back and forth about this with the faculty several times, with them pulling all sorts of excuses as to why they couldn’t prepare another room in a timely fashion. Bundling close with arms and wings wrapped around each other kept Mona and I from succumbing to gangrene (Again), but living outside wasn’t practical- I found myself anti-poofing back and forth between our tree and the Fairywinkle twins’ room to store my homework or pick it up again. Both Wanda and I were salty about it. And while my rank as stepson of the High Count technically granted me allotted funds and my own private accountant… I had a little too much pride to beg the off-campus housing options to give a pair of young Anti-Fairies a chance. No. I had a different plan in mind.

When out first semester vacation hit, Mona and I travelled to the Anti-Bentleaf colony to tell her mums. Anti-Penny and Anti-Dixie gushed over her, with the latter sobbing about how big her little cowgirl had grown. They peppered me about the same.

Maybe, I thought, taking every cheek kiss with due regality, marrying a dame I’ve fallen out of love with won’t be as rough as I feared. After all, my in-laws adored me. I’d even done 1 on 1 training with Anti-Penny back in the day, studying architecture, art history, and practising my demon summoning. I couldn’t walk away from all that.

We spent two nights with her family, then continued on our way to the Blue Castle. Anti-Buster opened the entry door while we floated through. He congratulated me, though I could tell from the stern line across his forehead that he still held out hope I’d break things off with Mona and attempt to repair the knots in my karmic weave. Yes, well… It just wasn’t fated that way. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. I smiled back at him and said nothing. His eyes narrowed. Then he swept off. “Perfectly peculiar,” Mona said.

“Yes, indeed. Seeing as he engaged me in play and learning far more than Anti-Bryndin did - or my mother, for that matter - I was looking forward to his response. I’d like him to stand with me on our wedding day.” Anti-Robin certainly doesn’t deserve to.

“Not that,” she said. When I blinked and turned, she lowered her voice, pulling her amauti hood even tighter around her ears. “He’s without red regality.”

“… The cloak.” I whipped my head down the empty corridor, then back to Mona. “I wondered why the field sounded so tense. Do you think he’s stepped down as First General?”

Not for his daughters. He won’t even acknowledge they’re his in public. How is Anti-Wanda handling this? Is she all right? She’d worked alongside her father ever since joining the camarilla. I should talk to her.

My core began to beat, dragging at Cosmo’s conscious mind until I felt him turn and either chew his shoulder or the back of his leg. Hold the crystal ball… I had misgivings about pulling strings for Anti-Buster’s death in spite of Mother’s pushing… but I think I could send a stranger to their next incarnation without batting an eye.

My brains were meant for so much more than clawing at the walls… and I deserved so much better than being scoffed at by a Fairy school for following Anti-Fairy custom and leaving Anti-Lance’s colony when it no longer fit my needs. I could’ve been an architect, you know. I very nearly was. Why, with my exam scores - minus the ones unfairly discriminating against me for being an Anti-Fairy - Carl Poofypants’ administration should be tripping over themselves to secure me a new room with my very own array! They ought to beg that I stay enrolled. They weren’t the only Fairy World high school around- I was hardly bound to their rules and regulations. Certainly not if they couldn’t give me or my culture the time of day.

On parchment, the dancing thoughts I so boldly entertained were still treasonous and cruel, but they were a mite less treason than they could be. Taking out a man I didn’t know sounded much more palpable to my sensitivities than killing the one who’d raised me. Not to mention, the little I knew of Big Daddy Fairywinkle - Anti-Buster’s counterpart - had not precisely assured me I wouldn’t meet resistance if I crept into his house, even with all the demon-summoner knowledge I possessed.

And then I shan’t be dooming Wanda, Blonda, Anti-Wanda, and Anti-Wendy to life without their fathers. Yes. Yes, I was quite sure I could kill another drake if it meant sparing Anti-Buster from the cruel, simmering plots of my mum.

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[hum-suffer]

I wish to share this on my own blog but I know I will get a ton of hate from people I call 'friends'. You can ignore this rant and all, I am just leaving this in your inbox because one of your post was so crucial in my disillusion process. It was that one post about how many people lost their lives for chanting "Jai Siya Ram" The whole RJB thing, I was always on the fence about it. Leaning slightly towards the "Why cant we build schools and hospitals there instead!" team. While even with my biased views I still accepted that the Hindu side had a right to grieve over the temple that was razed all those years back- despite acknowledging that it was an injustice, I still felt they shouldnt raze down mosques and that the whole RJB grandeur should have been muted etc. My own parents constantly fed me one sided views. That it was all a Brahmin supremacist movement. That it was a movement to oppress the minorities. That it was never even a real issue but instead artificially manufactured for political reasons. Like any other kid I felt my parents can never be wrong. Unfortunately, in that perception I was the one in wrong. Sorry this is turning lengthy but it is weighing heavy on me. The whole excitement that was built around 22nd Jan- it appeared to be an overhyped media gimmick to me. However as the date neared, I saw the saffron flags adorning every street, almost every flat in my society and every shop in my area. The strangest part of all this, I live in a non Hindi state. We were always told this whole RJB movement was a movement of 'illiterate Northies'- that was the language I had grown up hearing. However what I saw was the opposite. Every street temple was adorned. I had never seen this level of festivities even in peak festivals like Diwali. Forget that, even the street hawkers had decorated their cart thingies. Poorest of the poor slums had saffron flags. How could it be if the whole thing was artificially created? Our house maid asked for a day off for that day so that she can watch pran pratishtha event. These arent 'illiterate northies' The highest residential towers here had diwali lightings. Fanciest of the malls in my city, Brand shops, cars- everything your eye could see had some symbolism of RJB festivities. Almost like everyone was under Ram's spell. On tumblr, while scrolling I then came across that post of your which I mentioned earlier. And I couldnt scroll past it. I decided to read on it. Why were people killed for chanting that one name? Was it really that deep? Are Hindus still carrying scars of that event that many have said didnt even happen? Is Ram really that relevant? Is he even real? So many temples for him and yet why are they fighting for that one? Cant they just pray in the other temples? And when I digged, the amount of skeletons that jumped out were the worst reality check I have had so far in life. I was a mess, I still am. It is atrociously horrific. The more I read the truth of all the events, of our past, of our present struggles- it is so unbearable.

Its been two months since the event and I could only bring myself to send this to you today. I am beyond horrified with the reality. I went to the temple near my society on the 22nd. The crowd there was spellbound. When Ram Lalla's face was shown on the projector, I expected everyone to raise Jai Shree Ram slogans but everyone was so quiet. Crying. Sobbing. It was bizarre to witness it in real time. I teared up watching all of the people sob around me. I didnt even care for him then, in fact Shri Ram's character as I had known of him until then was one of "that misogynist king who wronged his wife". I was fairly negative to him and yet I too couldn't help but sob on that day while looking at him. He appeared so real, so adorable-so alive! I had always seen the gods as just stone but on that day his eyes- I swear they looked alive. I tried hard to see the stone but i couldnt overlook the god. The smile, the eyes, the cheeks- so sober, so lovable.

That was the day I witnessed in real time who he really is. He is the king that united everyone across the country behind one cause. Poorest of the poor and Richest of the rich- they all stood side by side that day. Everyone celebrated, everyone cried. Thats who Ram is to the people of this country. Ayodhya is hundreds of miles away from where I live and yet on that day it felt like we were all standing right there in this court. I couldnt even decide what i felt about it for many days after that but on the 22nd I found myself healing from some wound that I didnt even know I needed to heal from. Hearing about that one scrap-collector lady that donated a measly 20 rupees for the Ram temple; about that one gold merchant who spent a fortune on the golden gates of the temple- it was extremely eye opening. People of this country are so mad in love with him. Rightly so. He accepts them all. As the story goes, he doesnt differentiate between a little squirrel or the mighty vaanars. Two months later, I am now desperately seeking his refuge too. I dont know if I would ever be able to live the euphoria of that again however the very fact that I could feel his presence despite all of my reservations against him for all of my life means that he doesnt hold a grudge against me. He included me in the celebrations and now I wish someday I can feel attached to him the way all those people who laid their lives for his cause did. Jai Siya Ram

First of all, my dear, never be sorry to contact me in any way. I encourage it, i promise, and you will never find judgement with me for any reason, provided that you are respectable, which, you are. And as someone who has also been through some serious disillusionment, I would never ignore this.

I absolutely understand the apprehension in sharing your new views in your blog due to the response from others and i would not pressure you at all to do that. You can take your time and until then, my ask box and dms are always open for you.

As far as Ram Janmbhoomi goes, I was unaware of it as well, for almost all my life. I was raised to turn my head the other way, should I notice things that might be controversial. My father was the first one in my family to break out of the mold and search up the atrocities that have happened in our country, especially against Hindus, as those are the ones that the general media seems eager to push under the rug. From him, i started learning more and later it became my own idea to never be unaware of what has been and is being inflicted on Hindus.

Personally, when I was younger, I felt similar about Shri Ram. Why did he abandon his wife? If he abandoned her on the word of a washerman, what does it mean for us, mere humans?

It is only when I got older that i understood that this part was not in the original Ramayan, at all. This is from Tulsidas Ji's Ramcharitmanas. And it has been popularised extremely to the stretch that it lost the meaning. Tulsidas Ji's narration of Shri Ram abandoning his wife is, in a way, to show that Shri Ram was the epitome of control and law and abided by the law as well as the wishes of his citizens even when it was not beneficial to him. Agnipariksha, in the Ramayan, was to exchange a illusion of Mata Sita with the real Mata Sita. This, in my idea, is because Mata Sita is Lakshmi herself. She would not stay in a place where women are not respected.

What I mean is, our texts are large and elaborated with metaphors. Sometimes, interpolation as well as local folk tales also become a part of our interpretation of such texts. I am not giving you excuses, but reasons for your misinterpretation of Shri Ram.

I'm so very proud of you for taking initiative for yourself and trying to see the situation happening around yourself without bias. It is extremely amazing that you took up a search of your own in answers and decided to find the truth, despite any previous reservations you had.

Shri Ram protects and nurtures us, my dear. He will not hold a grudge against you, ever. Trust your instincts and give into him, connect with him in any way that you feel is best. For example, visit a temple some day. Read up about him sometimes. Talk with him, like you would with an elder brother. Understanding Ram, in a way, means understanding yourself.

I'm honoured that a post of mine could help you question the bias views you previously held. Thank you so much for coming to me, my dear. And my ask box as well as my DMs are always open, you ever want to talk.

Jai Siya Ram.