#winter platter

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images of things

[spectorgram]

the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall. 

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly. 

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.” 

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him. 

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients. 

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says. 

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap. 

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy. 

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line. 

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip. 

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up. 

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation. 

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower. 

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies. 

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’” 

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak. 

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

[misswynters]

The Northern Chronicles

Cregan Stark x Arryn!wife!reader

[SYNOPSIS: This is just the beginning of the beautiful story of the Stark Dozen. The legendary family that ruled over the north and who’s children grew to influence all of Westeros.

[WARNING: none

[NOTE | short drabble of cregan and you with your 10 children at winterfell. (aged up to current time however some chapters will include when the children are younger as well) but will become a series! so if you would like to be tagged let me know in the comments.

NEXT: Northern Chronicles: Lady Arryn & Lord Stark

Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky as you and your husband stood in the courtyard of Winterfell, watching your beautiful ten children play in the crisp winter air. The sight of them, bundled in animal furs and laughing as they tumbled through the snow, filled your heart with warmth despite the cold atmosphere.

Edrick, the eldest twin, a tall and sturdy young man with Cregan’s brooding eyes, was engaged in a snowball fight with his younger siblings. His laughter rang out as he dodged a particularly well-aimed snowball from his twin sister, who had inherited your quick wit and fiery spirit.

Selyse, the younger twin, is your eldest daughter, with her wild curls and spirited energy, led a group of her younger siblings in building an elaborate snow fort. The scene was chaotic but joyful, each child contributing their own unique flair to the project.

Cregan, sitting beside you, wrapped his arm around your waist, his presence a solid and comforting anchor in the midst of the winter wonderland. “Look at them,” he said softly, his voice filled with pride. “They’re growing up so quickly.”

You leaned into him, your gaze fixed on the children. “They are. It feels like just yesterday they were learning to walk, and now they’re running through the snow, making memories of their own.”

The two of you shared a moment of quiet contentment, watching as your youngest, barely old enough to walk, took his first wobbly steps in the snow, his siblings cheering him on with enthusiastic shouts.

Your youngest son, Finnian stood in front of you both holding a dead in his tiny arms. “Papa look at me!” The boy said enthusiastically, waving the dead animal around by the tail. Cregans eyes widened at the scene.

“Boy!, put that animal down. Now!” He said in a commanding voice as he stood up to walk towards his son. As an instinct, finnian began to run away, cutting through his siblings snowball fight. The mischievous little boy had the widest smile in his face. You thought it was adorable seeing your husband chase him.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape, you and Cregan gathered the children for a cozy family dinner inside the great hall. The children’s laughter echoed through the halls as they recounted their adventures in the snow, their faces flushed with happiness.

The long wooden table was adorned with hearty fare—roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and rich, steaming stews. The hall was filled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food, and the warmth of the hearth crackled cheerfully against the cold outside.

With everyone settled at the table, you took a moment to admire the scene. Cregan’s broad shoulders were relaxed as he shared a joke with the older children, while you served the younger ones with a smile. The joyful chaos of a large family dinner enveloped you, a testament to the love and unity that bound you all together.

Amidst the lively conversation and clinking of mugs, a handmaiden named Kyra, who had been assigned to help with the evening’s preparations, entered the hall carrying a fresh platter of meat. Her expression was sour, and her demeanor dismissive. She set the platter down with a huff, casting an impatient glance at the children.

As she turned to leave, she made an offhand comment loud enough for several to hear. “I suppose the Stark children are too busy playing to remember their manners,” she sneered, her gaze landing on your eldest daughter, Selyse.

Your daughter, already sensitive to such slights, stiffened in her seat, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The room fell silent for a moment, the insult hanging heavily in the air.

Cregan’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. You could see the protective anger in his gaze, but before he could speak, you gently touched his arm, signaling him to let you handle it.

Rising from your seat, you approached Kyra with a calm but firm demeanor. “Kyra, it seems there’s been a misunderstanding,” you began, your voice steady. “Our children are the heart of Winterfell, and they deserve respect, as do all who live and work here.”

Kyra’s face flushed with a mix of shame and surprise. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut her off gently but firmly. “I understand. But please remember, everyone here is valued, and our children are no exception.”

Turning back to your daughter, you offered her a reassuring smile. “Come, sit with me,” you said softly, guiding her to a seat next to you. The warmth of your presence seemed to ease her tension, and she gave you a grateful, if slightly embarrassed, smile.

The dinner resumed with a renewed sense of camaraderie, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as the children continued to share their stories and laughter. Kyra, now noticeably more subdued, moved quietly through the hall, her previous rudeness replaced by a more respectful demeanor.

As the evening wore on and the stars began to twinkle outside the grand windows, you and Cregan watched as your children interacted with each other and the rest of the household staff. The hall was once again filled with the joyous sounds of family, and despite the brief moment of discord, the evening had restored its warm and loving atmosphere.

Cregan squeezed your hand under the table, his eyes filled with appreciation. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For handling that so gracefully.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “We’re a family, and their respect is very important, especially when it matters most.”

As the night drew to a close and the children’s laughter faded into sleepy murmurs, you and Cregan stood together, the echoes of the day’s joy lingering in the air. The love that filled Winterfell was a testament to the strength and unity of your family—a family that, despite its challenges, would always stand strong and united under the watchful gaze of the stars.

Next | Lady Arryn & Lord Stark

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @giovanna-hyt @r-3dlips

banner: by @cafekitsune

[simplyholl]

A Night With The Winter Soldier

Summary: You’re sent to be Hydra’s test subject for a new serum.

Pairing: F. Reader x Winter Soldier Bucky

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Dark Bucky. Non con. Oral. Unprotected sex.

See My Masterlist Here

A/N: I know I don’t usually write for Bucky, but this idea has been stuck in my head for a long time. I’m just tagging my regular tag list, if you’re not into dark fics, please skip! ❤️

Fucked. That’s what you were or at least what you were going to be. You shake your head as you cover your skimpy lingerie with the matching robe your mother gave to you.

Your father is the head scientist for Hydra. He had been working on this experiment for years. He had created a serum that would cause Super Soldiers to want to reproduce. The end result would be a perfect Super Soldier baby. He finally perfected it. Who could be a better test subject than his daughter?

You begged him. You pleaded and cried. It was unfair to expect this of you. But he didn’t care how you felt. He said it was your duty to do as you were told. You didn’t want to make Hydra upset with your family, did you? You knew the horrors that awaited you if you refused. Your best friend, Lilly and her whole family disappeared three years ago when her father refused a command from Hydra. They were brutal and cruel. Sadly, you were used to it.

Hydra came first. Before yourself, before your family, your loyalty had to be unwavering. You knew it wasn’t really your father who had suggested it be you. Your mother told you it was one of the higher ups. He had seen you in your new sundress a few weeks ago and thought you would be perfect to carry the first Super Soldier baby.

It made you sick. How could they do this? You didn’t want to know what would happen if you refused. “At least, he is the strongest Super Soldier. This baby’s genes will be impeccable with the both of you for parents.” Your mother reassured you, as if it would help you feel better.

You weren’t naive. You and the baby would be monitored from the moment you got pregnant. As soon as you gave birth, the child would be ripped from your arms and watched closely. It wouldn’t really be yours.

You take the elevator to the thirteenth floor, heart racing wildly. You were scared. You had seen the Super Soldiers behind glass doors where you were protected from them. Now, you were being offered on a silver platter to the biggest baddest one, like a worm on a hook waiting for a fish to jump after them.

Two guards stand outside the door to the windowless room. Their eyes roam over your barely covered body. They smirk at you as they type in the code to let you in. “Good luck, princess. You’re going to need it.” They evilly laugh as the door opens. Slowly, you walk in, your breath catching in your throat as you hear the steel door bang tightly shut behind you.

The room is dimly lit. A leather chair in one corner, a bed pressed against the wall, there’s a table with a half worked puzzle on it. It was so dreary, your heart aches for the poor guy that called this room home. You walk over to the table, running your hand over the puzzle. That’s when you feel it. Even though you couldn’t see him, you’re not alone. He’s in here with you, hid in the dark corners somewhere. You turn around to find him staring at you.

The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, you had demanded to know his name before you did this. His dark hair hung in waves by his cheeks, his cold blue eyes focused on your body. He was beautiful. You weren’t used to seeing him without the black mask he usually wore. He was shirtless, his silver, metal arm catching your attention. You studied it. The way it looks like it was forcefully put on, the red star on his shoulder. He was always silent, brooding in the shadows. You had never been this close to him.

You reach for his face, wanting to feel him before all this started. His metal arm stops you, cold hand wrapping around your wrist. You squeak when he twists your arm behind your back, walking you toward the table.

He presses you against it, you feel his erection threatening to burst out of his black pants. One swipe of his free hand knocks the puzzle to the floor. Colorful pieces scatter all around you. He lifts you on top of the table, the cold surface making you gasp when your bare legs land on it.

Bucky holds you with his metal arm, the other one makes quick work of your flimsy robe. He grabs your breast through the thin fabric of your lingerie. You squirm under his touch as he pinches your nipple through the lace.

“You don’t know how bad I need this. Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty girl like you in my bed.” You’re shocked when he speaks to you. You had been warned that he wouldn’t talk to you at all. He takes a step back to look at you, zeroing in on your panties.

He pushes your back to the wall, commanding you to stay there. You obey, you didn’t want to upset him and make this worse for yourself. He holds your top in one hand, jerking the material. The sound of it’s ripping, startling you. He was crazy strong. The thought of being manhandled by him sounded better by the second.

Next was your panties, he stripped you of them quickly, pulling you by your legs to the edge of the table. He got on his knees before you, shoving his face to your core. He licks one fat stripe up your center, moaning as he tastes you. He swirls his tongue across your clit, you buck your hips up to get closer.

Bucky pushes you down with his metal arm, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to move. You accept your fate, laying back as he laps at you. He fucks you with his tongue, his nose rubbing expertly against your sensitive nub. The band tightly wound in your stomach snaps as he drags his wicked tongue across your clit, sucking you between his lips. He doesn’t hold back his moans as your arousal floods his face.

When he emerges, his face is glistening because of you. He wipes it off with the back of his flesh hand. Bucky jerks you off the table, pointing to the cold, cement ground. “On your knees.” You sink down in front of him as he sheds his pants. You’re surprised he hadn’t already taken them off.

You shift on your knees, trying to get comfortable. He could at least offer you a pillow to kneel on or something. You look around, and spot the only one on his bed. You’re about to ask for it, when he pulls your hair roughly, jerking your head toward his throbbing cock. It was huge. The kind of big that would hurt. You open your mouth, trying to take all of him inside.

You choke and gag, spit dribbling down your chin onto your breasts as you struggle. He looks down at you, hand still tangled in your hair. Your jaw aches already and he’s just getting started. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing your head down simultaneously. Tears fill your eyes as he hits the back of your throat. You can’t help the sob that escapes you as he pulls out, only to forcefully push his way back in.

His thumbs follow the tears on your cheeks, your mascara pooling under your eyes making you look like a raccoon. “You look so pretty when you cry.” He coos, while looking at you adoringly. He thrusts three more times, your nails dig into his thighs, a silent plea to stop. He finally pulls out, collecting you from the floor and gently placing you on his bed.

He places one leg over his shoulder, lining himself up at your entrance. He pushes inside and it’s too much. “It’s- you’re too big.” You explain. Bucky moves your other leg, spreading you wider. “You’re gonna take all of it.” He grunts, wedging himself inside you, bottoming out with one thrust. He ignores your pained scream, leaning down to lick your fresh tears.

“So tight. So perfect. Just for me.” He praises in your ear. Finally, the pain subsides. Bucky feels incredible, his thick cock dragging against the spot that makes your head swim. A gush of arousal soaks him as he swirls his metal thumb in circles on your clit.

“Look at you, such a good girl, dripping all over my cock.” You moan, clenching around him, your long nails clawing his back, drawing blood as your second orgasm rips through you. His thrusts grow sloppy as you feel him go still inside you. His hot cum, drips down your legs as he withdraws himself from you.

Bucky swipes it with his index finger, rubbing it with his thumb. He brings it to your lips, you swirl your tongue around his long digit, loving the way he tastes. You’re caught off guard when his icy, metal hand collects as much cum as he can, stuffing it back inside you.

You twitch, trying to pull away from the cold hand on your heat. “Ah ah ah.” He scolds. He presses his cool thumb to your clit, toying with the oversensitive pearl. “You have to take every drop.” When he’s satisfied with his work, he makes you lay on your back so it doesn’t drip back out.

You close your eyes, the sweet promise of sleep taking over you. You are almost in dream land when you feel the familiar nudge of Bucky’s cock at your sore center. “What are you doing?” You ask, too tired to fight him. “I’m not finished with you yet, doll.” He smiles wickedly, snapping his hips to fill you again.

Tags

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @wheredafandomat @freegardenbanananeck @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

[hitomisuzuya]

Hi could you do a smut , dom!pussydrunk scara, where reader is wearing fishnets and he just rips them open

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Cunilligus. Degradation. Pussy drunk Scara with a tongue piercing. Dom!Scara

This request😳 also as promised, rest assured, Roma is feeling better. She is curled up next to me asleep as I type this. Probably dreaming about getting in the trash no doubt.

Scaramouche almost couldn't stand how hard his cock was getting. He was practically drooling as he watched you bend down to pick something up that you dropped. That gave him an extra nice view of your legs in those fishnet stockings.

It was starting to drive him almost insane with lust. How dare you wear something like that in front of him? He couldn't get enough of it.

The only warning that Scaramouche gave you that he was going to toss you down onto the bed was a hand on your hip. You suddenly flung backwards, landing with a soft 'omph' on the bed. "Sc-Scara? What was the for?" You protested, you swore your heart stopped in your chest when you saw the dark look of lust pooling in his beautiful eyes.

Followed the sound of your tights ripping between your legs.

"Be quiet," Scaramouche hissed, groaning when he felt how wet you were once he pushed your panties aside. "You put yourself on a silver platter to me wearing these fishnets, now I am going to enjoy my meal," He promptly peeled your panties off and spread your legs, making the hole between your legs bigger.

You looked down at it with a momentary look of horror. "I'll buy you new ones, but I probably tear the shit out of those to," Scaramouche would foot the bill for a new pair every time just so he could devour you like this in them.

Spreading the lips of your cunt, his tongue flicked out to kitten lick your clit. He groaned like you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He spent a few long moments licking up and down your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit.

You let out a strangled cry of pleasure. The way his tongue piercing scrapped across your clit made it throb. Scaramouche shivered in utter bliss before he plunged his tongue inside of you.

His hands found your hips, holding your cunt against his mouth. He ate you out like a starved mutt and you were his last meal before winter made food almost impossible to find.

Every lick and lap of his tongue made you feel wetter. You feebly bucked your hips up into his mouth, making his tongue feel somehow more greedy than it already did.

Scaramouche took great care to nurse his piercing against the most sensitive parts of you so he could relish in the way your body seized up in pleasure. The way your legs shook and trembled when he pressed it against your clit when he sucked made his eyes roll in the back of his head.

In his blissed out state, he suddenly noticed something. His eyes narrowed into a glare, working his tongue piercing on your clit again. "Why are you holding yourself back?" He demanded, growling as he latched his lips onto your clit.

"Yo-you told me to-ahh-be quiet," You whimpered. Your hands shook. Putting them on his head, you tugged on his hair, pushing his mouth down onto your cunt. His mouth felt so good you could hardly speak.

Scaramouche laughed, rumbling it across your clit. "What an obedient slut. You aren't cumming until you moan for me," His fingers tightened on your hips to remind you of your place.

He hooked his finger through one of the holes in your fishnets, letting smack back against your leg before sweeping his tongue back inside of you.

You couldn't hold yourself back then. The way his tongue piercing was scrapping between your walls was starting to make you see stars. Your walls clamped tight around his tongue. His sucks on your clit were insatiable.

Scaramouche wanted more and more from you. He wanted you to be loud while you came undone on his tongue. It was something he never got sick of. He would eat you out all day and all night until you couldn't cum anymore, or at least you cried that you couldn't.

"Squirt all over my tongue while you scream, whore," His cock was straining harder in his jeans. Your mewls and cries of pleasure as you grasped his hair tighter as you writhed was winding him up. His tongue wasn't going to be the only thing you would beg for.

"Please, please," You pleaded, the pleasure was so intense you were even having a hard time bucking your hips into his mouth.

"Please, please," He mocked, laughing as he swirled his tongue around your clit. "You should hear how pathetic you sound. Scream my name, slut."

"Scaramouche!" You were almost breathless, your orgasm threatening to snap apart.

"What a good slut I have," He purred, tapping his fingers on your hips, teasing his piercing on your clit. "You know what to say next if you want to cum."

"Master!" You screamed, earning you a husky groan of bliss against your cunt. He plunged his tongue back inside of you just in time to taste you squirting on his tongue.

To say this man slurped up your release was an understatement. His tongue was ravenous. You could barely breathe when he crawled on top of you to kiss you just as sloppily as he had eaten you out.

[homunculus-argument]

I don't want a fancy grave, but if I got one, I'd want my tombstone to be a realistic, life-sized statue of me. Not in any particular position, but the key feature of it is that it doesn't have a head. My comical goose neck just ends in a perfectly even, stable platter, whereupon anyone who visits the grave can place whatever object they think would be funny to put there to be my head.

Make it the city's longest ongoing joke, people visiting the grave and sharing on social media whatever my head currently is. Usually it's a seasonal fruit, or something goofy. Sometimes in the winter it's just a snowball, made into a snowman's head. One year a particularly brave or stupid bird couple makes a nest there. Nobody dares to disturb that one for a long while, but once it's clear the birds are gone, the empty nest is gone one day, replaced with the kettle part of a broken electric kettle.

Most people don't know, remember or care whose grave this originally even was. It's just the Headless Man of the Cemetery, whose head is frequently replaced with a completely new and random piece of nonsense, in death just like it was in life.

[alrightberries]

sometimes it's hard to believe that your relationship with katsuki is optional and that both of you can opt out any time you want because he's always just - there.

picking you up and dropping you off from work. meeting you at a 711 every tuesday and thursday for a quick lunch when he's on break from patrol. dragging you away from a stationary store because he saw the way your eyes lit up and immediately felt a pang in his wallet because he loves you, damn it, but your career's just starting and he went pro only six months ago and finances are tight and you're laughing and saying that "i'll only take a look!" but it's not you he's worried about splurging, it's him and his urge to spoil you and give you anything you want on a silver platter.

and katsuki finds it hard to believe that your relationship is optional, too.

not when he's sending you links to his updated work calendar - yes, he's that type of person - the second he gets his monthly schedule so you could compare it to yours and find time for dates. not when he's picking up some chocolate from the grocery store on his way back from a patrol because you've been grumpier than usual and he's got a feeling your stash is almost out and you're rationing what you have left. not when he comes back from work and he already knows you're holed up in your shared bedroom, wearing his shirt with another one draped on a pillow next to you because his work schedule's charted but the reality is his shifts are unpredictable and there's no telling if he'll be back by dinner or two o'clock in the morning, and you've always slept better when he's by your side.

you've become so ingrained in his daily routine and him in yours that the thought of not coming home to you or waking up to you never once crosses his mind.

but that's fine, he thinks. there's a pretty diamond ring waiting in his winter coat pocket, tucked away in the back of the closet for when things are a little more okay, when your careers are stable, and he can finally afford to spoil you the way you deserve - and your relationship will be optional no more.

[honeytonedhottie]

honey's guide to spring⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪷

i've been preparing this post for a while bcuz i LOVE spring and for this spring i just wanna embody feminine, fairy, dream-like beauty in my day-to-day this spring, and just enjoy it fully.

THE MOOD FOR SPRING : planting new seeds, fresh fruit, and bouquets of flowers. tea parties and floral prints and perfumes. green grapes, hibiscus tea and waking up early to see the sunrise.

PREPARATION FOR SPRING : stock up on your favorite fruits and teas. if u want fruits that are in season, the fruits in season during spring include strawberries, cherries, blueberries, kiwis, bananas and nectarines. my favorite spring time tea is hibiscus and i love a good matcha during all seasons but especially spring, and lastly a good citrus tea is always something that i enjoy.

if ur someone who experiences rly bad allergies during the spring make sure that u go to ur doctors for a check up, and make sure that u have everything that you'll need to combat allergies.

THE PLAYLIST : a good playlist is always essential so my spring playlist consists of : eternal sunshine - jhene aiko. はるなつあきふゆ - ichiko aoba. afterglow - luna li. pisces - yerin baek. fairy of shampoo - TXT. scenery - red velvet. hydrangea love - TXT. cool with you - newjeans. salad days - iiso. pov - ariana grande. lyricist - heize.

REFRESH : time for spring cleaning both mentally and physically. analyze what habits are nourishing u and which habits are drying you out. analyze ur space and do a deep cleaning, that way u can feel lighter both mentally and physically.

wash ur sheets, maybe even buy fresh sheets (floral printed sheets for spring ofc)

go thru ur closet and put the winter and autumn clothes towards the back and bring the spring clothes where they're more accessible and visible

deep clean ur room and clean ur house -> get onto clean-tok for some cleaning motivation cuz watching videos of people cleaning and organizing always motivates me to do so too

create new pinterest boards and delete ones that u dont use, or if u want to, create a completely new pinterest account. i've grown attached to my pinterest account so i won't delete it, but i've made lots of other accounts on separate devices

oftentimes we forget to clean what we use the most, and that buildup can cause our tools to be counterproductive, and just carry a lot of unnecessary germs so here are some things not to forget to clean and organize ;

behind ur ears

ur earbuds or headphones

ur skincare tools and devices (gua shas, face rollers)

ur phone screen

ur folders, binders, and folders

CULTIVATING CREATIVITY :

create something - do some painting, start a sketchbook, start dabbling in some poetry, maybe write a short story, cultivate an elite playlist etc etc

connecting with nature - go and get some fresh air, wake up earlier than usual to watch and enjoy the sunrise. drink different teas that you've never tried before, go to a local crystal shop if ur into that, make urself an elaborate platter of ur favorite fruits. go for a walk in the park, pick flowers and speaking of flowers, go and buy urself a pretty bouquet.

create a spring-time mood board

TENDING THE GARDEN OF THE MIND :

ofc i MUST talk about the mind in any of my posts bcuz its just so incredible. but what you think matters!! what u think manifests! the thoughts that u continue to water and entertain are what you will experience. therefore when u change ur thoughts and water the seeds of the new thought, you'll get a new flower.

its like gardening. your thought is the seed, and ur mind is the soil. when u entertain ur thoughts ur watering the seed, and you'll get a new flower, the flower is the new experience. so this spring, plant new thoughts and entertain those thoughts ✨

FUN SPRING-LIKE THINGS :

picking flowers -> buying yourself a bouquet

have a tea party by yourself or with friends (reference my tea party post if u need some inspo)

make a bracelet or anklet out of flowers

take a bath and infuse the bath with things like rose petals, rose scented bath milks etc

crystal shopping (last year i added amethyst to my crystal collection, this year i'd love to add selenite into my collection)

watch a 90's anime (i've watched sailor moon about a MILLION times and im gonna rewatch it again this year bcuz its just the girliest, best anime i've watched and is one of my favorites)

so i hope that this post sparked some ideas on ways that u can enjoy your spring girlies ✨

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Cold Comforts (Beetlejuice Drabble)

Betelgeuse x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You have a headache and Beej does his best to offer you some comfort.

Fic type: comfort, fluff

EVERYTHING: @winchxters @calliopesdiary @xxxsugarcyanidexxx

BEETLEJUICE: @im-eating-rn @little-missscare-all @onyxvogel-official (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"There y'are, babe, where've y'been, huh?" Beej's voice travelled loudly through your apartment as you closed the door and rested your forehead against its cold surface.

You didn't offer a verbal response, just let your bag slouch to the floor with a loud thud as you ambled towards the living room where you knew he'd be. Where else would he be other than camped out watching old sitcom reruns.

Catching sight of his splitting grin and satin-striped pyjamas, you let out a very long sigh of relief before collapsing into his lap like a sad, wet cat.

Beej seemed confused about this, and his hand hesitated, hovering above your back before he finally dropped it to rub you comfortingly.

"C'mon, babe," he said, tone as soft as he was capable of making it. "Talk t'me. What's wrong, huh?"

You grumbled in response, muttering something about the beginnings of a migraine and something about work. BJ tutted and snapped his fingers, ensuring the lights turned off and the volume on the television dropped to barely audible. You winced at the loud click of his fingers, and he grunted as an apology.

A second, much quieter snap of his fingers sounded and there was a soft pop of energy to your right. You take a peek and find a duplicate Betelgeuse standing there in an all-white suit and black bowtie, domed platter in his outstretched hand.

“Refreshment to go with your dinner, babe?” The duplicate asks, scrunching his smile a little and giving you a very standard Beej wink as he whips the metallic dome from the platter to reveal an ice-cold glass of water. “Aw c’mon, don’t leave a guy hangin’- whaddaya want, huh? Lobster? Sirloin steak? Horse rib? Last time I had horse was the Plague.”

Offering a tense smile, you shook your head and politely declined.

"Mm," he grunted. "No-go there, huh? Whaddaya need, sweet cheeks?"

You sighed discontentedly and buried your forehead against his cool chest. Perks of being dead- he was always the right temperature to cool you down when you needed it. He eventually warmed up with the contact against your skin, but it was nice while it lasted. Though less so in Winter.

"Needy little thing, huh? Nuh-uh, no moving. Dead Man's orders," he tuts, pressing your head back to his chest when you try to raise it. "Be good for me 'n stay there. There y'go."

It was a good thing Beej had old MASH re-runs to entertain himself with- as it wasn't long before you were curled up, fast asleep with his fingers in your hair. And he had no plans to wake you any time soon, either.

[raitonsfw]

𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 | 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚏����𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛

synopsis: Fyodor offers to take care of you on your period, as weird as that seems to you. Normally it would be the usual gestures, like milk chocolates and warm baths; but you never thought he’d be into this.

warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, smut, period smut, blood play/kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v intercourse, dirty talk, creampie, massages, petnames (my love, good girl), insecurity about having a period, fyodor's a sweetheart.

a/n: marked it as dark content because well, blood play. if its not your thing that's okay, personally was just craving fyodor in every type of way today so this idea came about. wc: 2.7k. m.list

now playing: MOON CYCLE by melanie martinez

divider credit: @benkeibear

You had curled up near the window with one of Fyodor’s blankets wrapped around you. It was cold outside, nothing new, it was winter after all. The holidays would be coming up soon and you reminded yourself to look for a present for him in the next few weeks. A mug of hot cocoa sat amongst the coffee table and you stared at it solemnly.

Fyodor hadn’t come home yet.

It’s the same routine over and over. You wait by the window, seeking solace in the snow that stuck to the branches of the trees. His footsteps were often covered over by the time you awoke in the morning, the goodbye forgotten on the tip of your tongue because he never managed to disturb your sleep. He was silent in the dawned sunrise, the light barely reaching the windows that he opened for you. The birds chirped lightly as he left without so much as a trace lingering within the bedsheets next to you.

The window was your company, in its hinges and blinds. It was your only company as you waited for him to come back from his post. You didn’t know what he did most days, it didn’t matter in your eyes. He never brought home the insolent manner he forgave in the midst of his work. He’d lay everything outside the door and walk in with a fresh aura, something you were grateful for. And then the rest of the night, he was yours.

The hot cocoa had gone cold, the marshmallows melted into the drink and you frowned at it. You forgot you had made it for yourself, too preoccupied by the starlight moving its way through the sky. It wouldn’t do much for you anymore, the comfortability of the hot drink wouldn’t make your pain go away. It was that time of the month, where everything ceased to be exciting. It felt horrible, especially without your lover’s arms massaging your aches away.

Fyodor would take care of you, to the best of his ability at least. Chocolates would be sitting by the fireplace and warm baths would be drawn for your sake when he knew you weren’t feeling all that well. Fresh blankets would be piled onto the edge of the bed as well as some of his clothes for you to wear. But what he couldn’t help you with was the insatiable wanting that overcame you, you wanted him on a silver platter. Wanted nothing but to be touched by him, in every place you could imagine. Wanted nothing but to touch him and make him beg with that lovely accent of his, dripping curses from his lips.

But you couldn’t picture Fyodor ever doing such a thing for you. Not when his hands were so clean, you knew blood would surely taint his demeanor. Maybe he would even leave you, disgusted by the simple question. You didn’t want to ask, afraid of what the future would look like without him due to a stupid fantasy. A stupid desire.

The front door opened with a quiet noise, pulling you from your muses. Your head snapped towards it and you smiled. “You’re home.”

“My love, you look cold.” Was the first thing he said when he saw you, cuddled up in the corner of the sofa. You nodded, snuggling up more into the blanket. His scent wafted off of it and it eased you as you watched him put his belongings down on the kitchen counter.

“I have the fireplace going, plus I found your blanket at the bottom of the closet.”

“Ah, so that’s where that went.” He chuckled lowly, shedding his overcoat and hanging it over one of the dining chairs. His hat came off next, resting on the same chair. “How was the day?”

“It was fine, I just read a book.” You held up the small book from your lap, flipping through the pages for emphasis. “I finished it too.”

“Was it one of the ones you found from my collection?” He asked as he moved around the living room, tidying up some of the mess you had made. He picked up the stale hot cocoa mug and pondered at it for a second. “Would you like another one?”

“No, it’s okay Fyo.” You sighed, waving your hand at him. You probably wouldn’t drink a fresh one either. The dull pain crawled against your back and you pouted a bit. “I don’t want to waste another one.”

He murmured a tiny ‘okay’, bringing it over to the kitchen counter. You continued talking about the book you read, it was one of the ones you found from his massive collection. He had a library of sorts, to say the least. Bookshelves lined the bedroom you shared with him, novels housed within the wooden crevices. You were stunned when you first saw the shelves as you moved your belongings in, forgetting how much of a bookworm he could be.

Now they comforted you as you sat alone on those chilly days, waiting for his return.

“You’re not feeling well?” Fyodor asked, a hint of concern sprinkled in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem to be.” He came up behind you, leaning over the sofa to kiss the top of your head. He placed his hands on your shoulders and squeezed gently, trailing them down your back. His fingers kneaded into the depths of your shoulder blades, relieving some of the pain that sat there. “My love…”

You shivered at his touch even though it was over the blanket, reveling in the way his presence felt. He gently moved your hair away from your neck, pressing a few kisses there with a soft hum. His tongue lapped at the light hickies, some he left days prior when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. One of your hands came up from under the blanket to rest in his hair as he sucked a few more into your skin, a soft moan leaving your mouth.

“Did you miss me?” Fyodor asked quietly and your hand ran through the soft strands of his hair, pulling at them lovingly. You captured him quickly into a hushed kiss, moving your lips gently against his. A short noise came from his mouth, like he was a bit shocked you kissed him first. He wasn’t used to you making any moves, normally you let him take the reins and decide how he wanted to move his chess pieces with you. A strategic game it was, he had to come up with new ways to keep you entertained so you wouldn’t become bored.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He muttered against your lips, a smug laugh coming from him. You pulled him closer to you, that wanton feeling hitting hard in the pit of your tummy and you whined into the kiss. You needed him, needed to watch as his eyes rolled back from searing pleasure, needed to hear him force your name out between sobs-

He broke the kiss, patting you lightly on the arm and you looked at him confused as he leaned back up. “Fyodor-?”

Your confusion fizzled away as he picked you up from over the sofa and you realized you shouldn’t have started this. You shouldn’t have gone with your instincts, shouldn't have given in. You couldn’t tell him no, he knew you wanted him from the way you just acted– how were you supposed to tell him you were on your period?

Or did he already know from how you were acting? Did he not care? You couldn’t tell. Panic set in underneath your skin and you fidgeted in his arms as he brought you to the bedroom. As he laid you down on the bed, you hesitated when the white sheets caught your eye. “W-Wait, hold on.”

“What is it, my love?” His hands snaked underneath the soft shirt you were, one of his shirts, and you let out a yelp at the cold intrusion. Fyodor rolled his hips against you slightly and you whimpered a bit as his erection rubbed against your clothed clit. You really didn’t want to stop, a small sigh had escaped him and you were going feral from it.

“Ah, your hands are cold.” You whined out, but you didn’t really care all that much. “I don’t think we should-”

“It’s okay.” Fyodor said, looking at you with concern again. You felt your heart sink at his expression as he got to his knees and off of you to give you space. “We can stop if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, looking towards his bookshelves. He really did have quite a collection, the series neatly cluttered together in the heart of the center shelf. You avoided his gaze on you, hoping he wouldn’t question any further. But deep down, you were praying he’d realize and still fuck you into oblivion.

Fyodor’s eyes kinda widened, seemingly understanding why you were acting this way. You knew he wouldn’t shame you, a warm bath was waiting and he’d go out to get you that milk chocolate for you, letting you eat it to your heart’s content. “Time of the month?”

You nodded and a wave of sadness rushed over you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t help that you feared the worst. Not that he’d leave you, but that he wouldn’t indulge you. Your arousal had already settled within your body, the buzzing sensation rushing through your veins. It would be such a bother if he stopped now-

Fyodor pulled you from your thoughts again. “Please don’t cry.”

You felt him rub small circles into your hip and you couldn’t be more thankful at the intimate gesture. He pressed his face into your neck, holding you in a tight embrace and you let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t mind.” You heard him murmur into your neck, his hands trailing to your waist. “I can take care of you.”

“With a bath and chocolate?” The familiarity felt nice, though your mood became dampened. You glanced down at where his hands were, but you didn’t question it.

“No, my love.” Fyodor made his way down to your chest, planting kisses above your breasts and over them. He sighed fruitfully as he thought about what you asked, hiking your shirt up over your tummy. “Well, yes if that’s what you want waiting for you afterwards…”

You watched him lap his tongue against your chest, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh and you groaned out, head falling back against the pillows. He let out a slight laugh as you opened your legs for him a bit, letting him settle in between them. Moving downwards towards the pudge of your tummy, Fyodor pinned you to the bed by your thigh.

His fingers slipped inside the waistband of your (his) sweats and you gasped as they found your clit like second nature. He massaged it gently, taking in your choked whines. “I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

His violet eyes bored into your figure as you seethed under his touch, his forefinger dipping slightly into your cunt. He moaned to himself as he felt the wetness, the blood that pooled there, slicking up the tip of his finger. Of course he didn’t care, he just wanted you– in fact, you might’ve awakened a new kink in him.

“Maybe I’ll even taste you, savor you on my tongue…” He continued with a whine etching the end of his sentence, mocking yours as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows weakly. “You want me to-?”

You cut him off sharply, the ‘yes’ falling from your lips as his fingers slid fully in. Curling them in and out, you arched your back with his name falling from your lips. “F-Fyo-”

“Yes, my love?” He didn’t stop, sped up his movements even, looking up at you with endearing eyes. Yours stared back, albeit some uncertainty filled them. He kissed you once to calm your nerves before lowering back down towards your thighs with an assuring smile. “Don’t worry about the sheets.”

He slipped his fingers out quickly and tugged your sweats over the swell of your ass, pulling them off completely. Pad and panties forgotten, he moved them aside to the edge of the bed somewhere. Gripping both of your thighs, he hoisted them over his shoulders and fervently licked a small stripe up your cunt to test you. And when you moaned out, eyes shutting tightly and hands flying to his head, he dove right in.

He savored your metallic taste, lapping at your clit and into your cunt with a lick of his tongue. Fyodor groaned into you as you pulled his hair, your thighs twitching as he drove you crazy. He could feel your slick against his cheeks, but he didn’t mind. He welcomed the way it made you squirm, you were pliant and submissive, desperate to feel something– anything. You were completely putty in his hands and his dick throbbed in his trousers, strained against the white material.

He came up for air, his face stained and you gasped. But, again he didn’t mind, simply just wiping it off on his sleeve as he moved to pull himself out of his confines.

“Fuck, can’t wait any longer.” Fyodor breathed out as he positioned himself between you. Sinking in slowly, a low moan was drawn out of him and you nearly came right then and there. His hands came to clasp yours and his dark eyes fluttered shut as he bottomed out. He felt you tighten around him and he shook with pleasure as he thrusted into you. “Such a good girl for me…”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way he dragged within you. It felt like you were on fire, every single instance of you dreaming about this coming to the surface and melting from his touch. He pushed into you again and again, a slow rhythm, and even though it was slow, an obscene noise came from it. The wet squelching made you dizzy with excitement and Fyodor buried his head into your neck again, panting out small curses.

It felt amazing, Fyodor could barely contain his moans. His cock had stuffed you to the hilt and your blood made it so easy to fuck into you without much force. He rocked into you with tiny whimpers, trying so hard not to cum but he felt it rushing up his spine the more he plunged into you. This was the best decision he’s ever made, to take care of his lover who needed him.

You chanted out his name, your back arching up into him and he thrusted into you faster. He pinned you down again as he changed his position, leaning back and pulling your thighs close to his hips as he sat almost on his haunches. He watched his dick disappear in and out of you, the so-called red filth becoming near molten gold to him. You gripped the pillow above you for leverage as he plowed into you. You felt your orgasm nearing, expelling within your nerves and you whimpered, looking at Fyodor. He looked back at you with hooded eyes and pressed one of his hands on your tummy.

His hips faltered slightly and you watched his eyes roll back, pumping shallowly into you and painting your insides with his cum. He fucked it into you and your orgasm followed right after him, nearly shattering your senses as you clenched around him harshly.

Fyodor pulled out of you, littering kisses against your flushed cheeks as you caught your breath. He massaged your hips fondly and smiled warmly. “I’ll run the bath for you, my love.”

You don’t know what you did to get such a perfect lover; one minute you were in such a dark place and the next, he’s there to kiss your sorrows away. He went to run the bath for you and you looked at the sheets, blemished with you– you and him combined and all you could think of was how the hell you were going to get the stains out.

“Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll take care of it, now come here and let me take care of you.”

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[loserlvrss]

𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 ( 한지성 )

pairing : han jisung x fem!reader genre : drabble, fluff, established relationship warnings : mentions of food / eating, petnames word count : 0.2k authors note : i’m going to start writing the 1k event after class so enjoy this short drabble in the meantime.

you giggled, “here, ji.” he looked up at you, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. “you can have this, i’m full.”

curiously he glanced at the platter now pushed in front of him, and then you. “are you sure?” he asked, partially-chewed food visible as his mouth moved. “you’re not hungry anymore?”

“yes, you can have it. but please slow down.” you brushed the hair from his eyes, reaching over the table. you were genuinely concerned at the rate he was shoveling food into his mouth—hunched over like he’s been starved for weeks—it wasn’t even very big, you didn’t know how he managed to store away so much. like he was preparing for hibernation, or a harsh winter. “you’re gonna choke, baby.”

he shook his head, “nuh-uh.” and he must've sucked in too much air, as it resulted in him letting out a stray cough. his eyes went wide like he’d been caught red-handed. yours narrowed, fighting off the urge to say: i told you so.

after all this time, you'd think he’d remember how well you knew him.

you huffed out a laugh, “did you guys practice that hard?”

he looked through his peripherals cautiously, “have you seen our choreo?” you shrugged, thinking, fair enough. “if i wasn’t eating, i’d probably be passed out somewhere.”

“well, i’m glad you decided to eat then, baby.” you pinched his cheek, a disgusted, yet adoring look plastering across his features. “i can’t have a dead boyfriend, i don’t know what i'd do without you and your cute squirrel cheeks.”

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 all rights reserved.

networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @k-films

taglist : @mystarsohee | send an ask to be added.

back to masterlist !

[butchcarmy]

love the yapper carm agenda!!!! let him talk a stupid amount about stuff he loves like appropriate knife care, and food combos and denim the best seasons for fruits and 🧂

yapper carm agenda!! He has so much to say about his interests!! And I want to listen <3

“Ever been apple picking? Fall’s the best season for it,” Carmy tells you. You’re riding the metro with him, standing closely to one another. He has one hand on a pole and the other on your waist.

“No, but I’d like to. So do you just magically know when fruits are in season, or…?”

“Not magically, no.” He’s smiling. “It was important to know when we were deciding what to put on the menu back in New York. We had to pick fruits and vegetables that were in season.”

“Sounds kinda like a hassle.”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing. We got the best oranges in the winter, and in the summer, we’d get peaches. Did you know that olive oil goes great with summer fruits?”

“Olive oil?” You make a face, but then you nod. “I’d try it.”

“It has to be good stuff, not cheap shit. I’ll prepare a platter for you when the time comes.” Carmy sighs through his nose then. “Mangoes. That’s a summer fruit. I hated cutting those. It was never quick.”

“Fuck mangoes,” you agree supportively. “But they are delicious.”

“They’re delicious,” Carmy agrees, dramatically despondent about it all, and you muffle a laugh.

“Rank the top three worst vegetables you’ve had to prepare,” you ask next, and he rattles on.

[shadowtriovibes]

mind if i move in closer?

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating: PG

Summary: sickeningly sweet christmas fic, loosely a continuation of the potioneer's apprentice (not necessary to have read to read this!)

“Do you want to borrow my scarf?” you ask him, teasingly preening as he glances over his shoulder at your new accessory. “It’s charmed to keep you warm.” Sebastian frowns. “Who sent you that? Ominis?” “No,” you say, throwing one of the scarf’s long ends across your shoulder. “Just this handsome fellow in Hogsmeade who’s grown quite fond of me.”

December 25, 1891

Christmas morning at Hogwarts is a surprisingly quiet affair.

Having spent many of your formative Christmas mornings in a Muggle boarding school before arriving at Hogwarts, you’ve grown accustomed to waking up to the sounds of eager whispers and excited squeals as the handful of holiday holdovers awoke to find a small array of presents laid out for them. Gifts were usually provided by the kindly heads of house who’d remained at the school during the break – many of whom were just as lonely as the children they watched.

A few oranges and sweets here and there, some secondhand books, perhaps a wooden puzzle for them all to share… It was always lovely, even during leaner years.

Of course, Christmas at Hogwarts was spectacular – massive fir trees decorated with floating baubles and shining ribbons lined the corridors, beautiful music drifted down from the Bell Tower, and the annual feast on Christmas Eve teemed with seemingly endless platters of food.

Your first holiday season at Hogwarts hadn’t been lonely at all. With Ranrok still at large and dozens of poacher camps causing trouble throughout the Highlands, many students chose to spend their Christmas at Hogwarts rather than risking the lengthy train ride back to London or hiking out to their family homes in nearby hamlets.

This year, however, there were only two Slytherins who remained in the castle over the winter break: you and Sebastian.

While the two of you had each been quietly pleased to learn that the other would be staying, you’d both been surprised to learn that even Ominis would be departing to spend Christmas with his family, per their demand. Before he left, he’d darkly insisted that he’d bet a fistful of Galleons that he’d be back before New Year’s Day if his brothers had anything to say about it.

While Ominis sulked, Sebastian had been the one to explain to you that the older pure blood families, many of whom shared your house, are especially traditional during the holidays.

Or, as he’d so bluntly put it, “All the posh ones will be traveling somewhere warmer, and even the snooty half-bloods don’t want to leave their little sprogs here with all the orphans and the impoverished.”

“That’s lovely,” you grumbled.

He’d merely shrugged and smirked, “At least we’ll have the run of the place.”

Christmas Eve dinner, at least, had been fairly lively thanks to a handful of younger Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors who delighted in joining hands and pulling open wizard crackers. Sebastian had insisted you keep the wizard’s chess set he’d received, as yours had contained a live turtle dove that had promptly flown off to roost in the rafters.

(Professor Black, who had also stayed over the holidays, declined Professor Weasley’s invitation to join the holdovers in the Great Hall, which Sebastian insists was the best gift he could have possibly received.)

The pair of you spent the rest of the evening in the common room, taking turns sipping from a bottle of spiced apple brandy Sebastian had managed to charm out of Sirona’s hands during your last trip to Hogsmeade. By the time you’d wobbled up the stairs to the seventh-year dormitories, you’d been unable to stop giggling while Sebastian walked you to your door.

“Get some rest,” he’d laughed, his cheeks flushed red from the alcohol. “Father Christmas can’t bring you presents if you’re still awake, can he?”

“Father Christmas, hm?” you ask, rolling your eyes. “It’s just the two of us, Sebastian. I think he’ll pass over the Slytherin common room this year.”

Something secret sparkled in his eyes, but he said nothing as you opened the door to your room.

Just as you’d turned around to say goodnight, Sebastian leaned in close and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Happy Christmas,” he mumbled. “See you in the morning.”

Before you could even exhale, he’d quickly made his way up the opposite steps to his room and firmly shut his door behind him. You felt warm all over as you’d changed into your nightwear and climbed into bed – not just from the brandy, you’re sure.

But when you wake up… There’s nothing but silence.

The fire across the room is muted with its usual silencing charms, the popping and cracking of the firewood kept quiet while you slept. There are no roommates eager to open gifts, no smells of Christmas treats like roasted ham or cinnamon pastries cooking in the dormitory kitchens down the hall, which you’d cherished in your old schools.

…But at the foot of your bed, you find a small pile of presents.

You smile to yourself as you sit up and rub your eyes, half expecting the delicate boxes wrapped in bright paper and gently curling ribbons to dissolve away as your vision comes into focus. When they remain, you dare to gingerly pull one into your lap, tracing your fingertips over the crisp paper wrappings.

The first parcel is from Augustus Hill, who’d sent over a fine woolen scarf charmed to remain warm and dry even if it collects falling snowflakes that melt against its magical heat. It’s a deep forest green and is wonderfully soft, and you can’t resist wrapping it across your shoulders as you reach for a second gift.

From your potions master Parry Pippin, you receive a fine set of measuring spoons made of polished copper – much more attractive and precise than the brushed pewter spoons you’d ordered from a supply shop in Diagon Alley.

Professor Weasley had even gifted you a box of stationery supplies that contained a set of quills, a few rolls of parchment, and even a pot of ink. A practical gift to be sure, but thoughtful (and quite generous, you think).

Your favorite gift is from Ominis, who’d sent a box of French candies with magical molten centers from a wizarding confectionary shop in Paris, where his family always visits for the holidays. Inside he’d tucked a note insisting that Sebastian had been sent his own box as well and you were not to let him coax you into sharing yours. You’d fondly rolled your eyes before pinning it to your ever-growing collection of correspondences affixed to the wall beside your bed.

Of course, you can’t resist treating yourself to a piece of candy or two while you change into a simple dressing robe and freshen yourself in the wash basin beside the fireplace. One tastes like cherries and brings a delightful pink flush to your cheeks and lips, and the other tastes like nougat and makes you whistle like a songbird while you pull back your hair into a loose braid.

By the time you wander downstairs, Sebastian is already poking at the common room fireplace, cursing under his breath.

“Happy Christmas, Seb,” you call out, tucking your dressing robe tighter around your waist.

“Happy Christmas,” he mumbles distractedly. “It’s bloody freezing in here.”

You smile to yourself as you take a seat on the cozy settee across from the fireplace. Sebastian has managed to rustle up some extra firewood, undoubtedly from one of the empty boys’ dormitories, to ward off the chill of the common room.

“Do you want to borrow my scarf?” you ask him, teasingly preening as he glances over his shoulder at your new accessory. “It’s charmed to keep you warm.”

Sebastian frowns. “Who sent you that? Ominis?”

“No,” you say, throwing one of the scarf’s long ends across your shoulder. “Just this handsome fellow in Hogsmeade who’s grown quite fond of me.”

To your delight, Sebastian’s frown deepens. “What? Who?”

“Oh, you’ve met him,” you answer, feigning indifference. “He’s rather posh, very stylish, always dressed impeccably… You and I saved him from a troll once, if you recall.”

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning when he finally catches wind of your little ruse. “Ah, I see. Just playing one of your little games with me.”

“You make it far too easy,” you tease him, unraveling your scarf and gently draping it across his broad shoulders. “There, that ought to warm you up.”

(Immediately your mind starts to wander off as it conjures up images of how else you might warm up your unfairly handsome friend, but you’re quick to chastise it into silence.)

“You’re too kind, love,” he says, that ever-present smirk still on his lips.

Both of you are silent for several long moments while you hang on to the ends of the scarf, staring up into his warm brown eyes. His gaze dips down to your mouth when you bite your lip, and just as you’re about to ask him if he’d like to walk you to the Great Hall for breakfast, he blurts out, “I have a gift for you.”

“You – a gift?” you ask dumbly. “For me?”

“Of course,” he says softly. “Er, I should warn you that it’s nothing big, but… I wanted you to have it, so…”

He trails off quietly, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe.

“I have a gift for you too,” you admit. “I left it upstairs. Can I go get it for you?”

“S-sure,” he stutters. “You bought me a gift?”

“Don’t be daft, Sallow,” you tease him. “I made you a gift.”

With that you turn on your heel and march back up the stairs to your dormitory, snagging the delicate potion bottle shaped like a cloud with an indigo ribbon wrapped around its neck. You gingerly turn it over in your hands, watching as the light purple draught inside swirls around languidly.

Downstairs, Sebastian waits for you with a small box tucked behind his back. He looks slightly nervous, you think, so you decide to offer him your gift first.

“Alright,” you say as you take a seat. “First, let me just say that I had Mister Pippin check this to make sure I did everything right, and he said it’s perfectly fine.”

(In fact, Pippin had said you’d done a brilliant job, but you don’t want to oversell yourself before Sebastian has had a chance to try your brew.)

Sebastian eyes the glass bottle as you offer it to him, gently turning it over in his hands.

“You made this?” he asks softly, and then he grins and asks, “Did Weasley help you at all? Because I already learned my lesson with his ‘Fizzing Whizzbeer,’ thank you very much.”

“No,” you insist, biting back a laugh as you remember Sebastian chugging a bottle of Garreth’s experimental brew and being stuck levitating a few feet above the ground for an entire afternoon. “No, I made this just for you.”

“What’s it do?” he asks curiously.

“Well, it’s… it’s a sleeping draught, sort of,” you say softly. “It’s got lavender for comfort, and valerian springs for restful sleep, but I added cinnamon and a bit of shrivelfig to create peaceful dreams.”

Sebastian slowly tips the bottle back and forth, watching the thin liquid dance around the bottle. “Peaceful, hm?”

You’ve known about his nightmares for a while now. He doesn’t like to talk about them often, but he’s admitted that since that day in the Catacombs, he’s hardly slept a full night without being plagued by visions of those damned Inferi, of his uncle’s limp body, of Anne’s face…

The bleary eyes and wan expression he sometimes wears to breakfast after a particularly hard night tell you everything you needed to know, and you’ve spent the last several weeks visiting Hogsmeade after class to work with Mister Pippin to create your own special draught. Not dreamless sleep, but better sleep.

“I just thought… that you deserve to have some good dreams,” you mumble.

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirks up. “I do have good dreams, sometimes.”

(You miss the way he glances over at you, raking his gaze down the length of your body. You miss how it lingers where your dressing robe has fallen open a bit, showing off the delicate neckline of the thin chemise you’re wearing underneath.)

“O-oh,” you stammer. “W-well, I suppose now you can… have more.”

You frown disappointedly until Sebastian rests his warm hand on your knee, gently holding the bottle against his chest with his other.

“Thank you,” he says. “Really, I can’t believe you made this just for me. Merlin, it’s… it’s a perfect gift.”

His gaze is heated, and intense, and something about it makes you want to squirm, so instead you breathily ask, “May I have my gift?”

Sebastian holds your gaze as he slowly nods, only letting it break it when he turns to grab the box he’d hidden behind himself. With trembling hands you lift the lid to find a small silver badge inside, reverently tucked inside a nest of tissue paper.

Your hands go still.

“Sebastian, is – is this…?” you whisper.

“My family’s crest,” he murmurs. “You’ve seen it once before, in our fifth year.”

Gently, you lift the crest out of the box and cradle it in your hands. The heat from your skin quickly starts to warm the cool metal, and you trace your fingertips over the “S” hammered into the center of the badge.

“What – how–” you stutter.

“Earlier this year, Anne sent it back to me,” he explains softly, watching with dark eyes as you pour over the symbols that adorn the crest: a cauldron, a flowering tree, a pair of crossed daggers, and a crescent moon.

“Why?” you whisper.

“I’m still not sure,” Sebastian says hollowly. “She just sent the crest, with no letter. But if I had to guess, I think… I think she wanted me to know that she’s safe, but not where she is. Not yet.”

You clutch the crest against your breast. “Oh, Sebastian…”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice going rough. “It’s – that’s what it’s for, the crest. I gave it to her to keep her safe, and she gave it back to… to tell me that she’s alright. If that’s all she wants me to know, then… then it’s enough.”

You shift closer to him on the couch, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows along the side of his face.

“Why are you giving it to me?” you ask him curiously. “It’s beautiful, Sebastian, but – isn’t it important to you? To your family?”

He swallows nervously. “I don’t… have a family anymore. Not really. Anne is out there somewhere, safe without me, but… you and Ominis, you’re my only family now.”

You let the crest fall to your lap before you throw your arms around Sebastian, burying your face against that warm scarf of yours he’s still wearing. You don’t have the words to say how much this gift means to you, but you think he understands when he wraps his arms around you, skimming one of his large palms up and down the length of your back.

“It kept Anne safe, and – and now it will keep you safe,” he murmurs. “I don’t… I’m not sure you understand how much you mean to me. I need you to be safe.”

“S’bst’n,” you mumble into his shoulder. “Y’re m’vry’th’n.”

He laughs softly and asks, “Sorry, what was that?”

You pull back just enough to press your lips against the shell of his ear, knowing that if you meet his eyes you’ll never have the courage to tell him how you’ve truly felt about him since your fifth year.

“I said, ‘Sebastian, you’re my everything.’”

Then the hand he’d cupped around the back of your head slides down, down, until he nudges his thumb along your jaw to coax you out of your little hiding place. His eyes are so dark, and the soft whine he lets out before he crushes his lips to yours is all the warning you get, but then… then he’s kissing you.

“Seb,” you gasp into his mouth, and then he lightly tugs on the tie around your waist until you shift yourself halfway onto his lap. It feels like hours go by just like that, just the two of you alternating between lazy, curious kisses and frantic, needy surges every time one of you lets slip another heated confession.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”“You taste incredible.”“I don’t ever want to stop doing this.”

Eventually, you let your head rest on Sebastian’s shoulder while he trails soft kisses from the hinge of your jaw down to your shoulder and back. He’s ravenous, he’d told you himself, but it’s not until his stomach growls loudly between your bodies that you even remember that other type of hunger.

“We’ll miss breakfast if we don’t leave soon,” you whine.

“Let’s stay here,” he murmurs against your neck. “We can eat those chocolates you got from Ominis for breakfast.”

“That’s… tempting,” you sigh distractedly, and then you pause.

Leaning back, you quirk a brow and ask, “Sorry, the chocolates I got from Ominis?”

“Well, sure,” Sebastian says smoothly. “He sent me a book on cursebreaking, but I can taste fancy chocolate on your lips, so I assumed…”

“You filthy liar, Sebastian Sallow,” you laugh, throwing your head back. “He warned me you’d try to talk me out of my sweets!”

“To be fair, that’s hardly the only thing I’ll try to talk you out of,” he drawls, sliding his hands down to your hips. “Namely this robe of yours…”

“Scoundrel,” you croon, leaning down for another hungry kiss.

(Ominis’ chocolates make a decent breakfast, even if half of them melt by the fire, ignored entirely while Sebastian makes good on his suggestion regarding your robe.)

[najia-cooks]

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

بقسمة / Buqsuma (Palestinian snow dessert)

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

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

أول تلجة دم تانية تلجة سم تالتة تلجة كل ولا تهتم

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

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

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

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

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

In Palestine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viticulture Under Occupation

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

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

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

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

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

Olives, Grapes, and Resistance

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

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

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

Buy seeds from the Palestinian Heirloom Seed Library

Help Palestinian families evacuate Gaza

Contribute to an eSIM donation drive

Ingredients:

For the syrup (makes 2/3 cup):

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

For the base:

A large bowl of fresh snow

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

Instructions:

For the syrup:

1. Remove grapes from their stems and rinse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the dish:

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

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

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

[lewis-winters]

you know, as a character, you get the sense that Lewis Nixon is literally just living his life one day at a time. he's got no long-term plans, really. why would he? he was born rich, with a life of guaranteed leisure served to him on a silver platter, right? literally he has no need to look forward to anything, because he's been conditioned, from a young age, to be confident in the fact that whatever he wants, whatever he needs, is simply a phone call, a request, and a wad of cash away. he's never really had to bribe himself with a future he wants. the american dream was his before he was even born! he doesn't really know how to imagine a future for himself, as a result. at least, not one that breaks the monotony of his own gilded cage of an existence.

it's a mindset he's lived in for almost all of his life-- that's why he has so many self-destructive tendencies held back by mere threads of self-preservation, right? what even is there for him to live for, in the long run?

that's why "we'll go to Chicago, I'll take you there," is so fucking important!!!!!

for the first time in a long, long time he's giving himself MORE than just scraps for mere survival. he's giving himself incentive to not just live another day, but survive the rest of the war! he's making plans!!!! he's making PROMISES!!!!!! and he intends to fulfill them!!!!!

and Dick Winters KNOWS what it means!! he KNOWS!!!!!!

it's why he keeps LOOKING AT NIX LIKE THAT!!!! and why he KEEPS looking at Nix like that!!!!!

he knows he's Lew's reason for staying alive!! do you understand????? do you see my vision?????? DO YOU UNDERST--

[yanderefairytales]

Queen Elsa Headcanons

Might write a full story on my Quotev [Both a Genderbend version and Normal]

Reader is Genderneutral

She was very mean to you at first

Say you were a guard or worked for the royal palace

You were mistaken as a guest during Elsa's coronation and were dragged off a lot from your work

Even Elsa mistook you for a guest

^She caught you alone and it was so awkward

^ You both looked at each other and you were holding some food on platters

^ "Hungry yeah?"

^ You were confused at first, until you realized she didn't know you were a worker and thought you were a guest eating all the food. "Oh no, I'm not-"

^ "I'm not going to judge you, I don't care."

^ You tried correcting her, but she just kept misunderstanding and then she started revealing stuff to you. You felt bad, because it seemed like she was in a vulnerable place

^ "This whole thing is dumb. None of these people cared when my parents died, yet here they are now. I guess it's easier to be there for the good times than the bad." She remarked, not looking at you

^ You were taken aback, though you didn't necessarily disagree.

^ She looked at you, before apologizing, saying that was rude of her. You shook your head, telling her it was okay, you didn't mind.

^ "I like you. You're nice." She laughed, blushing

^ "You have a nice laugh. I like it."

^ She blushes, before thanking you

When it was revealed she had ice powers you were just as surprised as everyone else, but in hind sight it made sense why she was so on edge

You were forced to go with Anna by Hans, because he saw you chatting up with Elsa [You were a risk to his misson]

You tried convincing Anna that maybe Elsa needed time alone

^But she wasn't listening to you

When you did make it to Elsa, she was very angry

She was yelling and telling you to leave and take her sister with you

^ "She can be the queen, I don't care"

^ "This isn't about her being queen. She loves you Elsa and she wants you safe-"

^ "You need to leave. I don't want to hurt you-"

^ "Then don't!" You yell, but Elsa was furious and she accidentally hit you

She didn't mean to, but it was bad

Thankfully, Anna had found a guy, Kristoff, and he brought you to the trolls

^ But they couldn't help you

Anna felt bad and confronted her sister about it or at least she tried. Elsa knew she had gotten you and she didn't need her sister making her feel worse

You just wanted to go back to Arendelle, especially if you were going to die

Elsa tried to talk to the trolls and they told her that Anna and Kristoff took you back to Arendelle

Though, before she could get back, she was captured and imprisoned

Anna tried helping you, but Hans turned on you both and locked you in a room

"He's going to kill your sister." You told her and while Anna tries to stop you, you go looking for her sister

Anna calls your name and ends up finding Kristoff to tell him what happened

You find Hans holding a sword, about to swing at Elsa, calling her a murder

But you freeze just in time and you defend her, breaking Hans sword

Luckily though, Elsa does end up bringing you back, though without even realizing she was in love

She hugs you tightly, profusely apologizing for everything, before realizing how to get Arendell out of winter

Hans was exiled, instead of imprisoned, because Elsa didn't want him anywhere in Arendelle

You become part of the royalty, because Elsa makes sure to include you in everything

After you saved her life, she saw you in a whole new light

Granted, she already kind of liked you, but now she was scared to lose you again

She gets so nervous around you and her sister notices and confronts her, but Elsa alimentally denies it

But Anna just needs one slip up and she eventually gets it

Elsa was watching you all lovingly and didn't realize her sister was behind her

"Staring at Y/n?"

Elsa was embarrassed that she had gotten caught and instead of fighting it, she decided to ask her sister for help

Cue Anna playing Match maker

You and Elsa have become very close, so it won't be hard to get you two together

And when you both do together, Anna is so happy because she's never seen her sister so happy and extroverted before