#Stuffed Winter Squash

[brattylikestoeat]

#sausage stuffed acorn squash #Sausage #Meat #Bell peppers #Onions #Acorn squash #Squash #Winter vegetables #tiktok #tiktok food #brattylikestoeat #food #foodlr #food blog #video #foodie #cooking stim #stim cooking #savory stim #yummy

[beeapocalypse]

trying to learn abt the growing conditions of soy plants now bc apparently fermented tofu is comparable to nondairy cheese and it is very important that some form of fancy cheese platters exist in alamanni

#its a very interesting hole to go down. kind of want to say pumpkins and other winter squashes are pretty big in-- #--the warmer climes of ploila and a big national dish is stuffed pumpkin. in part bc i rlly want to makw one rn lol #if thats the case then theyd be using pumpkin puree as their butter substitute in sweet baking. kolvetchites probably use apple puree bc-- #--they do not have the climate at all to grow bananas lol

[kitchenwitchtingss]

RECIPES I KEEP IN MY ONLINE KITCHEN WITCH JOURNAL #2

I love making these oh my gosh.

Why?

It's really fun

It's been a while since my last one

I get an excuse to try yummy recipes

You all are way too good at what you do

It's fun x2

Teas, Drinks, And Syrups

🍊 Orange Peel Tea 🍊

Violet Lemonade

Coconut Summer Drink

Dandelion Honey

The Best Hot Spiced Cider recipe you’ll ever try

Apple Cider is basically a homesteading spell

Rose Lemonade Syrup

100-Year Garlic (Garlic Honey)

Fire Cider Spell for Winter Protection

Blackberry & Apple Jam

Witchy Recipes - Blackberry Lemonade

Baked Goods + Sweets

Prosperity Bread

Lavender Earl Grey Cookies

Easy Rosemary Focaccia Loaf for Love and Protection

Heavenly Lavender Scones

Honey Vanilla Peach Butter 🍑

Pumpkin Pie Dip 🎃

Vanilla-Pumpkin Cupcakes

Soups, Stews, And Dinners

Super simple secret potato soup

Forest Porridge

Heartwarming potato soup

Perfect Homemade Garlic Bread

Creamy vegetable soup

Springtime Soup

Stuffed Maple dijon glazed roasted butternut squash

Summertime stir fry

Sabbat Stuff

Litha Orange Honey Cake

Litha Thyme Chicken

Stuffed Apples for Mabon

Mabon Mug

Imbolc Pretzel wreath

Oatmeal Bread for Lughnasadh

Samhain Mulled Cider

Samhain Irish Apple Cake

Angel's Best

(my favorite recipe posts I've made over the years, plus backstories that sound like your grandmother's reminiscing over the past.)

LATE WINTER BUTTER ROLLS

My first post I ever made. I was pretty new to the tumblr community at the time. I loved kitchen witchcraft, and I'm the type of person who will ramble on about how much I love cooking and baking. This blog gave me an outlet to express my love of cooking, baking, paganism, and witcraft. And these rolls are very tasty, I make them to this day!

WITCHY TOMATO BASIL SOUP

Tasty, simple, and a crowd-pleaser. It's perfect for a beginner kitchen witch! It was also the second recipe I ever posted.

SWEET CREAM BUNS

It was a recipe given to me by one of my good friends at the time. Every time I make it, it gets devoured in less than 10 minutes. It was also my first recipe to get over 50 notes. I was shocked but ecstatic that so many people would even give it the time of day lol.

WITCHY THUMBPRINT COOKIES

These ones were just fun to make and delicious lol.

A WITCH’S COZY BUTTERNUT WINTER SOUP

A quick soup that feeds a lot of people during the fall season. Fall is my favorite season, so of course I'm very biased lol.

SAMHAIN PUMPKIN BREAD

I love pumpkin bread and apple cider... So why not combine the two? This one was definitely one of my favorites of all time. Moist pumpkin bread and chocolate chips have to be one of my favorite things on this planet. It also makes for the perfect gift for friends and family. Yummy!

ANGEL’S AWARD-WINNING LEMON POPPY SEED BREAD

I love dessert loaves of any kind, so naturally, this would be on the list lol.

MAPLE BUTTER COOKIES

Super simple comfort food! I love any time of cookie with brown sugar.

BRING ME POSITIVITY PECAN FRENCH TOAST BAKE

I love French toast, and I love positivity~

SAMHAIN SOUL CAKES RECIPE

These are really good! And traditional. If you celebrate Samhain, I recommend you make some soul cakes and have friends and family help decorate. I give the littles a bag of orange frosting and let them go crazy lol.

FEEL BETTER CHICKEN SOUP

One of my most recent is my witchy twist on chicken noodle soup!

#witches #kitchen witch #witchy #witch #magick #kitchen witch recipes #food #recipes #witchblr #kitchen magick #foodblogger #sabbats #litha #kitchen witch tips #modern witch #modern witchcraft

[comet-forgot-you]

What about River comforting R? Like R’s super ‘tough and reserved’ and all ‘idgaf’, but just breaks when River’s around.

me fr

breathe

river x reader

summary: river comforts you after a very unexpected anxiety attack.

warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack i think thats all

a/n: this is my first time writing something that isnt smut. kinda nervous lol. i had to look up hurt/comfort prompts before settling on this one. do not repost for any reason.

the room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller, a pool of worry gathering in the pit of your stomach. your eyes darted around the booth, hyperaware of every single surrounding. the sound of the person breathing next to you, the sound of the fan rattling in the corner, the words of river’s friends talking getting jumbled together. it was like every sound was heightened.

it was sudden, you didnt know where the sudden wave of pure anxiety had come from. had something happened to someone? your body goes rigid, you glance around the booth again, hoping no one had noticed the slight shift in your demeanor. your eyes find river’s her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at you with worried eyes. you tear your gaze from hers, the feeling of tears prickling in your eyes, threatening to escape was not something you were interested in at the moment. you didn’t want to cry surrounded by people you barely knew. your breath caught in your throat, hands shaking in your lap.

you wanted, needed to leave. you couldn’t stand being in the crowded booth any longer, couldnt stand that constant chatter and scraping of metal forks against plates. it was all too much, the people, the noise, too much. you elbow the guy sitting beside you, the one that had you squashed between him and the girl beside you. your breath came out in a heavy exhale.

“what the fuck?” he winces, cradling his ribs in his hand.

“move, i need to get out.” your voice sounds normal to everyone else, but you could hear the shakiness of it, and you knew river could hear it, too. he stares at you like you’re crazy, but your lungs itch to fill with air that the crowded booth doesn’t seem to be providing. “fucking move!” you don’t mean to yell, every eye in the restaurant landing on you. you could feel it, but you feel like the room is closing in on you, it felt loke the weight of the world was loading itself onto you shoulders. he quickly moves out of the booth and scurry up after, eyes darting to river before fumbling for your wallet stuffed in your pocket.

“are you okay?” it’s the girl sitting next to river that asks. you glance up at her, you fear that if you say something, you’ll break down. but you try anyways.

“yeah, i just..” you’re fumbling over your words. “i forgot about this meeting.” you throw enough cash on the table to handle the two of yours’ meal and rush out of the packed restaurant.

the cool winter air fills your lungs, but it still doesn’t feel like its enough. your hands shake at your sides and you curl them in a ball. your eyes dart around the street before taking off for the parking garage you had parked almost an hour ago in. you make it into the dark, concrete structure when a hand tugs your own.

“hey, what’s wrong?” river. she sounds almost breathless, almost as if she bad been running after you. you turn to face her and you can’t hold the tears back anymore, they fall freely from your eyes. you’re hyperventilating, gripping the hand that holds your own.

“i- i don’t know,” your breathing is ragged, “i couldn’t help it, i’m sorry,” you barely process the words tumbling messily out of your lips. river pulls you into her arms, your head resting in the crook of her neck.

“hey, its okay. you’re okay, i have you.” her hands soothe your hair, an action she knew brought you some sense of comfort. your hands wrap around her waist, hold onto them in an attempt to keep your hands from shaking. “breathe, baby. i know its hard right now, but you need to.” she takes a deep breath in, and you follow her lead, allowing your breathing to regulate. “lets go to the car, yeah? you think you can walk to the car?” you nod against her neck, pulling back. she takes your hand into hers, squeezing it.

the two of you climb into the back seat of the car, your tears having come down with the walk. your hands still shook in river’s hold, she presses kisses to your face, wiping away at the tears that flowed down your face. “m’ sorry, riv. i don’t know why i broke down like that,” you felt so guilty ripping her from her time with her friends. it was a lunch she had been talking about for weeks, talking about how excited for it she was, how much she missed her friends and couldn’t wait to introduce you to them, the thought of letting her down caused a stream of tears to slide down your face. “m’ sorry, river,” the pace of your breathing picks up, borderline hyperventilating. “i didn’t mean to mess it up,” your voice is hoarse.

river cradles your face in her hand. “you didn’t do anything wrong. its okay, i understand, and i’ll make sure they understand. what matters is that you’re okay. you couldn’t help it, and that’s okay. i want you to be okay, we can always reschedule.” her words are soft, they lift the weight that previously sat on your shoulders right off. you wrap your arms around her shoulders, hugging her closer to you.

a/n: im sorry if this is terrible and absolutely not what was wanted, i rarely ever read hurt/comfort and i have the memory of a child at a family gathering that completely forgets you after like 3 days even though they said you were best friends.

#mikey madison x reader #mikey madison #all souls #all souls movie #river all souls #river x reader #not smut for once #my first time writing smth like to is

[wistful-giselle]

foods to heal the soul & body 🦪 ~~

all fruit & berries — raspberries, blueberries, blackberries….. freshly picked, ideally, in a little wicker basket…. pair with live yogurt or kefir and nuts and seeds to eat like a fairy or bird-like creature……

organic vegetables of all colours — kale, squash, mushrooms, carrots, edamame, potato, beetroot, chard, (baby) cucumber, sweetcorn, peppers — for beautiful salads with chickpea hummus and oils and tofu and olives and feta cheese….

seasonal treats for winter : bûche de noël and marzipan fruit and crystallised petals and hot milk with honey like a child before bedtime and pink heart biscuits for valentine’s day….

for autumn : toffee apples and mulled wine and syrupy coffee and oat porridge with banana in the morning and hearty seasonal soup with hot soft bread to break and share… .

for spring : hot cross buns with (homemade) cherry jam and simmel cake and chocolate rabbits with gold foil and eggs to paint….

for summer : lychees and watermelon and white peaches and figs off trees and ice cream by the seaside and freshly caught fish stewed with cherry tomato and herbs and onion and lentils…

little garnishes — edible flowers, parsley, pomegranate seeds, pistachio, rosemary and thyme, lavender lemongrass….

and above all, whatever brings joy alongside sustenance — dates stuffed with almond butter, italian fettuccine in antique bowls, birthday cake and non-birthday cake, oysters, melon cut out to look like stars, sushi and sashimi, jellies in fanciful moulds, crepes from french markets and stroopwafles from dutch markets…. etc.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

#romanticising eating… #mine #food #nutrition

[jaydeewis]

"The Lord of White Harbor had furnished the food and drink, black stout and yellow beer and wines red and gold and purple, brought up from the warm south on fat-bottomed ships and aged in his deep cellars. The wedding guests gorged on cod cakes and winter squash, hills of neeps and great round wheels of cheese, on smoking slabs of mutton and beef ribs charred almost black, and lastly on three great wedding pies, as wide across as wagon wheels, their flaky crusts stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, mushrooms, and chunks of seasoned pork swimming in a savory brown gravy. Ramsay hacked off slices with his falchion and Wyman Manderly himself served, presenting the first steaming portions to Roose Bolton and his fat Frey wife, the next to Ser Hosteen and Ser Aenys, the sons of Walder Frey. “The best pie you have ever tasted, my lords,” the fat lord declared. “Wash it down with Arbor gold and savor every bite. I know I shall.”

#a dance with dragons #house stark #house bolton #house frey #house manderly

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Stuffed Butternut Squash with Sausage, Spinach, Pecans, and Cranberries.

[𝐆𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐍-𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄, 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘-𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄]

Main ingredients

Butternut squash is rich in dietary fiber and is an excellent addition to your menu. This winter squash is a great source of vitamins A, B6, C, and E, as well as several minerals, including magnesium, manganese, and potassium.

Sausage. I used spicy crumbled Italian sausage.

Onion. The onion is lightly caramelized in the beginning and then combined with the sausage. You can use any variety of onions: sweet onions, yellow onions, or white onions.

Spinach. It’s high in fiber and a good source of many vitamins and minerals. I used fresh spinach which I added to the skillet with the cooked sausage. You can also use frozen spinach (thawed completely and drained of any liquid). Another option is kale.

Nuts. Pecans add crunch and texture to this stuffed winter squash. Or, use walnuts.

Dried cranberries. They add sweetness to the sausage mixture.

Italian seasoning combines dried herbs, such as thyme, sage, and oregano. Or, use Herbs de Provence.

+

The Directions

This is a quick overview of recipe instructions along with helpful step-by-step photos. For a complete and detailed recipe, scroll down to the recipe card.

1) Roast the squash. You will need 2 medium or large-size butternut squash. Carefully slice each one in half, and scoop out the seeds. You will have 4 butternut squash halves. Roast in the preheated oven at 400 F for 30 or 40 minutes.

2) Make the filling. While the squash is being roasted, prepare the sausage filling. First, cook together onions and sausage. Then, add Italian seasoning and minced garlic. Finally, add spinach, cooking it until it wilts. Then, mix in dried cranberries and pecans.

+

3) Prepare the roasted butternut squash halves for stuffing. Using a spoon, scoop out the flesh leaving about a 1-inch border along the sides.

4) Stuff the squash. Reheat the sausage filling on the stovetop if needed and then add it into the cavities of each of the 4 butternut squash halves. The dinner is ready!

Cooking tips

Use cooking time efficiently by preparing the sausage stuffing while you roast the butternut squash in the oven.

Salt. I did not add any salt to the sausage mixture, because the sausage I used was salty enough. I did season the squash generously with salt and pepper when I roasted it.

Reheat the sausage mixture. Before you stuff the butternut squash with the sausage mixture, reheat the sausage filling in the same skillet on the stovetop right before adding it to the freshly roasted squash halves to keep everything hot before serving.

[Julia's Album]

#recipes #butternut squash #sausage #stuffing #main dish vegetarian

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter One (Part 2)

I swear that every new mobile home I’ve ever been inside has been exactly the same as the last. The Healy’s mobile is small and clad with painted wood. It’s full of old knick knacks and there is an ancient radio sitting on the windowsill, coated in layers of dust with its plastic cracking and bleached by the sun. A tiny, pale green laminate finish kitchen is squashed into the corner of the mobile. Its counters are worn down and shiny in places from decades of elbows and hands, scratches from the knives drawn across it and stains from food prepared. There is a calendar from last summer on the wall still. Cartoon cat themed. One stares out at me under the words AUGUST 2009, and I stare back, mesmerized by it’s eyes. It is hideous.

“I think that’s everything there, Evie.” Shane grunts as he drops two more clothes-stuffed gear bags onto the floor. One of them rolls immediately onto its side and something inside it makes a heavy thud, but neither of us attempts to pick it up. He’s breathing heavily from the effort of hauling our bags in, and his hair is wet. He glances down the narrow hallway towards the bedrooms, where I can hear my two friends chatting. 

“Kelly?” He calls out “That’s all the bags in, now.”

“Right, thanks” She calls back. He hesitates by the front door, fiddling with his car keys inside the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. I wonder if he’s waiting for them to come out of the bedroom so he can have another look at Claire. They don’t emerge.

“I’m off, so” He says, still not making any moves to leave, and I feel awkward just watching him standing there, and am urged to say something to fill the silence. “Where are you staying again?” I say, wiping a winter’s worth of dust from the top of the oven and then analysing it on my finger. 

“Some friends down the other side of the beach” He tells me “Not any of my friends from home or anything, you wouldn’t know them. Just lads I know from all the summers we’d have come down here.”

“A caravan park too is it?”

“No, a house. One of the lads has a proper holiday home. His parents are letting us have it this summer because obviously we’re not going away anywhere for our leaving cert holiday.”

I nod. If we’d all been born three years earlier, the final years of our school experience would have been very different. When the economy crashed, foreign holidays were off the cards for so many of us. Where Shane and his friends might have gone to Majorca or Ibiza or Magaluf, the nation’s slimmer wallets meant that they were instead shacking up in someone’s presumably dusty holiday home on a wet and windy beach. I feel bad for them, just a little bit. It seemed to me like they were missing out on some kind of fundamental teenage experience. 

“Sure we’ll probably see you around the village at some point.” I say. 

“Ya” He says, finally stepping back over the threshold. “Enjoy the place anyway, don’t get up to too much havoc. I’ll be inspecting it in August.” He winks at me facetiously and shuts the door behind him. 

I join my friends at the back of the mobile, and together we discuss who will take each bedroom. We decide that because it’s Kelly’s family holiday home, she should get the double room. The other two rooms are tiny, so it doesn’t seem to matter too much who gets what. Claire suggests I take the twin room, insisting that it’s the better one because I could switch up where I sleep every night just to keep it interesting. She also pushes me on the view out the window between the beds. It’s the only room with a sea view. I know she wants me to take this room because she wants the extra wardrobe space in the other one, but I oblige anyway. The idea of being able to see the sea at night, even if it’s only the tiniest sliver between the dunes, feels romantic to me and I’m okay with sacrificing space for it. 

By the time we’ve unpacked our bags and filled the mini bathroom with our shampoos and toothbrushes, the rain has stopped, and Kelly hauls three wooden folding chairs out onto the deck in front of the mobile and cracks open a bottle of wine. We pour it into colourful plastic picnic cups and sit out looking at the ebbing sea in the distance. It is the longest day of the year, and the sun won’t dip below the horizon until ten tonight. Even when it finally does, we won’t get that true, inky black darkness again until late July. This is my favourite time of year. The days stretch out ahead of us endlessly, and everything feels slow and languid. I sip from my plastic cup, the smell of petrichor from the soaked tarmac is filling my nostrils, but the breeze is soft and warm again. I can’t hear the waves from here, but I can imagine how they’d sound if I was closer to them, feeling the sea water lapping gently against my ankles. 

An old man stops on the path and welcomes us to the park. Kelly knows him, and asks him about his family. He has grandchildren in a mobile home just around the corner and he tells her all about how they are. She and her family have spent every summer in this place. I bet they know every person on every corner in this whole village, and I wonder what that’s like. For me, the point of a holiday is to get away from the people who know you, to be free of the character you play for them for a little while, a chance to disappear into anonymity. I struggle to understand the appeal of being so known, to be a recognisable face in the area. 

The three of us laugh and chat together as the evening draws in, Kelly theatrically recounting all of her caravan park experiences, still remembering the names of all the boys she’d kissed behind bushes, on the tennis courts, on playground swings and in campsite shower rooms. Every childhood and teenage drama, her summer days like patchwork squares sewn together making her into the person she is. 

“He wasn’t actually Bono though, was he?” Claire said incredulously. “Like hardly it was the real one? Or..?”

“No!” Kelly cackled “He was hardly the real Bono. What, a fifty year old man hanging out with a load of fourteen year olds in a caravan park? Everybody just called him that, like, I’ve no idea why either. His real name was Cormac.” We all laugh as she empties the last of the wine into my cup. 

“I’d probably lead with that” I tell her “Like, ‘Bono touched my tit behind the village takeaway’ sounds so bad.” 

“Whatever!” She grins “Fine, Cormac did. Your one Amy from Sally Park was fuming about it too. She thought she’d be the first one of us to get to second base.”

I feel warm and fuzzy from the wine, and I let happiness flood into my body as I laugh and chat with my two best friends well into the night, as a crescent moon finally rises above the sea and the grasshoppers croak. The holiday homes that line the coast are now lit up with warm light, shining in a long line like a glittering string of beads in the distance. I wonder to myself if Shane and his friends are staying in one of them, and idly wonder if boys have these kinds of conversations with their friends. Maybe they’re on deck chairs too, drinking wine and talking about girls they’ve kissed and ones they wish they could.  

I promise to myself sleepily that tomorrow I’ll go for my first swim of the year. Maybe down to the other side of the beach. Something about those glittering lights is pulling on me.

Prev // Next

#sims 4 story #sims story #sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #writing #fiction #romance #sims4 storytelling #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 1

[whoopsmorewhump]

It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay' (platonic stobin fic)

Robin and Steve feel each other’s pain more than they’ll admit, even to each other. From Whumptober day 30, “It’s okay just to say I’m not okay” bridal carry; plus, another lovely prompt from pearlravenlapis (not quoted here, as it gives too much plot away!)

Rated T; no warnings; Also on AO3.

***

The day had started more than okay.

This adorable girl rocked up at Scoops, with the latest issue of “UFO Reality” tucked under her arm. Robin blurted: “You read it yet? The story on alien skulls inscribed with teeny, snack-sized messages from Elvis totally slayed me dead.”

Dream-girl’s shy smile turned Robin’s knees to jello.

She introduced herself as Maud, and they chatted UFOs for the next forever. Right until a square-jawed, smug-as-hell knucklehead loped into the store, and Maud announced he was her boyfriend.

Now, Robin watched her latest unrequited crush sharing a Strawberry Sundae Extra with her excruciatingly not-worthy-of-her date.

“Seriously, Robin,” said Steve, levelling at her shoulder. “I’ve seen more electricity between a pair of squashed ants. They’re not even talking.” 

Robin wasn’t in the mood for chirpy delusion: “That’s because they’re mainlining ice-cream, Steve.”

“She’s hardly stuffing her face. She couldn’t stop blabbering with you.”

Unable to endure the sight any longer, Robin swung her attention onto him. He was chewing on… Hmmm, to be fair, that was only his first banana of the day. Unusual. He dumped half of it, uneaten, on the hatch.

“Did she even actually wanna talk to me?” wondered Robin out loud. “I honestly can’t remember if she got a word in edgeways. You know how it is, when I can’t stop talking. It’s a fault, believe me I know—"

“You were fine. You said stuff. Maud said stuff back. And it’s not a fault—your mom spouts nasty bullshit, you should accept that. My point is, that girl you like totally—”

“—hates me.” Robin sighed.

“No. She’s probably confused.” He sniffed, pushed his hair from his brow. “She should dump that moron’s ass. Who hangs out in an ice-cream joint when it's this damn cold? It’s practically snowing out there."

"It's not cold in here, Steve.”

“It’s goddamn freezing! I mean, it’s this stoopid outfit—what fascist dictator makes their staff wear shorts in winter?”

“Stopped caring. I'm too institutionalised into looking like a dweeb.” She peeped back, to where Maud spooned a cherry into that jack-ass jock’s cakehole. Argh! She wanted to scream. Instead, she mumbled: “Shit-birds, do you think Maud thinks I'm a dweeb?”

“Jesus, how many times? Look, she reads dweeby UFO mags. So do you! Beyond that, I’m not an alien mind-probe, so quit bugging me already.” She gawked at him—wtf? He skittered his fingers over his eyes, groaned. “Sorry. This stupid cold is making me cranky. I honestly reckon Maud liked you. It’s just—”

“—horribly, insanely, eternally complicated?” Her fists clenched so tight her fingernails gouged her palms. On top of it all, she’d suddenly gotten this anxious dread, churning in her gut. Huh? Go figure. “I guess I’ll just keep smiling through. See my customer service smile?”

She bared her teeth maniacally.

“Remind me to get a mask of that for Halloween.”

“That bad, huh?”

He smiled, kinda pensively. “Nah. If I was a babe into babes, I’d still be battering down your door.”

She wanted to hug him then—despite his germs, which she was kinda grateful she hadn’t caught. Yet. A bratty little mall rat clanged on the bell, Steve hurried off to serve, and Robin continued feeling really, really shit. Right up until he caught her in the backroom, dabbing runny eyeliner with her knuckles.

She turned her back on him. Habit, really.

“Hey.” His hand landed softly on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing new.” It’s her turn to sniffle.

“Look, I’m sorry I chewed your head off."

“You apologised already, Steve.”

“I’m apologising again. For the whole goddamn human race. I mean, I totally get your thing with UFOs, because, honestly, you deserve another planet. A better one. Worse thing is, I used to think like the dumbest dumbass in this world of crazy, till I met you, and now… Look, things will be better for you someday, because nobody deserves it more. Till then, I know it sounds cliché, but I’m here for you, and I guess… I dunno, when you have this much bullshit to put up with, it's okay just to say you’re not okay sometimes.”

She flung his arms around him and sobbed noisily into his shoulder. He patted her back, then rubbed soothing circles, and she sobbed even harder. She didn’t really know why she was crying. Yeah, what he said touched her deeply. But she’d never been a random public crier, today’s flop was nothing out of the ordinary, and she couldn’t even blame her monthly cycle… Uuuurgh.

She lifted her face, sniffed hard, grimaced. “I made your uniform all soggy.”

“No sweat. I dig your snot.” His sarcasm dropped off: “Any better?”

She shrugged. Superficially, yes, she felt less doom-y. Her catastrophic life remained just that, however, and that weird unfocussed dread loomed ever larger. 

He reached into his pocket, brought out a paper napkin. “It’s clean, honest. Although I guess the cost of that hug was probably catching my cold, so who cares, huh?”

“I care.” Ew! “And yeah, that had occurred.” She still couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the hug. However much she hated them with anybody else, she had to admit that it’d released happy chemicals. She blew her nose noisily. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Uh, you’ll probably need another for the eyeliner. There’s black goop, like, everywhere.”

She whipped out a powder compact with a mirror. Oh yeah. She’d gone for the full-on Joker look. Possibly, this was why she averted her despairing attention and started scrutinising Steve.

“Steve, are you okay? You look kinda—”

“—terminally dweeby? Or terminally dweeby and totally wrecked?” Catching his own reflection in the little mirror, he dabbed his slightly-less-buoyant-than-usual hair back into place.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a bit peaky.”

“It’s just this stupid cold. Plus, the crappy lighting in this dump. Seriously, sometimes guys need make-up too.”

She used her mirror to stare at him harder than herself now. Yeah, he looked pale, the shadows around his eyes nearly as shouty as her make-up malfunction. She snapped the mirror closed, spiralled back to face him.

“Steve, something else is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Woah! You’re, like, witchy when you do that, right?”

“Witchy?”

“Okay, maybe a bit psychic.”

“Alien brain-probe-y?”

“Yeah, that too. I mean, I figured I didn’t want to bother you, but…” He threw his hands up in surrender. “Let's just say my father has been extra cranky and disappointed in me lately, even by his short-tempered standards. That means extra shouty, and…” He rubbed his brow wearily. “Makes me feel even shitter about my life, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” She longed to pay back that hug, though even with Steve, she was too squirmy and inexperienced to initiate one. He left then, anyway, heading back out front.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day. He seemed exhausted, and smothered increasingly regular bouts of coughing. She wanted simply to get home, bypass her mom’s daily character assassination, and then sob and bitch to herself about life in general. 

When she finally sank her face into the soon-to-be disgusting and soggy pillow, that feeling of dread overwhelmed her. She simply couldn’t stop worrying about Steve, to the point she felt ill. Which was ridiculous. After all, he was at the end of a phone line, right?

She snuck out past her mom—who was howling her butt off at some screamingly homophobic sit-com—and dialled Steve’s number. When his dad answered, she gritted her teeth, forced herself to be mega polite. 

“Hi there, Mr Harrington. Sorry to disturb you. Is Steve there, please? It’s Robin.”

“Robin? Are you the latest girlfriend?”

“No,” she managed to grind out. “I’m the… friend-friend.”

“Don’t try to be cute.” Seriously, I wasn’t! “If you see him, tell him he owes me a thousand bucks.”

The line went dead. Robin dropped the phone, stared at it as it swung from its coiled wire. What just happened?

She went back to her room, sat down on the edge of her bed. If Steve wasn’t in, was he on a date? He hadn’t mentioned one. That said, given her eternal back-catalogue of disaster on the dating song-list—and her latest episode of moping—he probably didn’t want to upset her. She switched off her lamp, tried to sleep.

Impossible.

What his Dad said rankled, and made no sense anyhow. Why did Steve owe him a thousand bucks? That was a year's wages! Then again, Steve had mentioned something a while back about his tightwad parents charging him rent. It was probably what they’d been rowing over.

By the early hours of the morning, that sensation of dread had flourished to the point where she could no longer stand it. Sleep wasn’t happening, so she pulled on a warm coat and scarf, headed out, and grabbed her bike.

Once Henderson had gotten over the initial shock of her tapping on his window at four a.m., he considered her theory seriously enough: “You reckon his parents threw him out, and he’s sleeping rough somewhere,” he clarified, while he unlocked the wheel of his bike. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“He can be kinda proud like that. Plus, I was having a beyond-horrible day.” She clutched her handlebars ever tighter. Steve hadn’t needed to tell her, anyhow. She’d known, and her anxieties flurried toward panic. He’d been getting up sick, right? As her clouding breath confirmed, tonight was bonkers cold.

Dustin jammed his woolly hat down over his ears. “Right. If you were sleeping rough in Hawkins, where would you go?”

They tried the bus station, the shop fronts on Main Street, even the High School outbuildings. They wound up outside the police station, debating about whether to go in. 

“Nobody will take us seriously,” pointed out Dustin. “I mean, he’s not technically missing. We don’t have any evidence that he’s not at home in his bed, comfortably snoring, while we’ve been cycling around freezing our faces off.”

“He’s not,” said Robin, and creepily—witchily? —she’d rarely been more convinced of anything in her life. “He’s in trouble. I know it.”

“Seeing as we’ve looked, basically, everywhere, I’m going to need something a bit more scientific than that.”

“We’ve barely started!” protested Robin, as a police wagon drew up beside. Chief Hopper got out, bleary eyed and with a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth.

“God, that was a wasted call-out,” he muttered, then, belatedly absorbing who they were, said: “What the heck are you two doing here?”

“Being total idiots!” said Robin, so loudly even the Chief baulked. “It’s so obvious! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Hopper looked crankier. Dustin gesticulated wildly with his thickly mittened hands: “What!?!”

“His car! His dad said something like, ‘Steve owes me a thousand bucks.’ That’s about the value of his car, right?”

“Steve Harrington?” asked Hopper. “Yeah. Kid’s got a nice set of wheels. Anybody gonna enlighten me what you’re doing here at this godforsaken hour?”

“Steve’s been sleeping rough,” said Robin. “In his car.”

“What? Last night?” Hopper frowned. “Temperatures have been sub-zero.” 

“Yeah, we know,” mumbled Dustin. “We also don’t actually know for sure that Steve isn’t home, and this isn’t all in her he—"

“It’s not in my head, Henderson. He’s out there. Chief, you’ve got to help us find him.”

Hopper wearily stubbed out his cigarette, swung open the passenger door. “Get in.”

***

Shivering hurt. His teeth hurt from chattering. As the night got colder, Steve curled up in the backseat of his car and discovered everything hurt.

He never knew cold could feel like this, like how his gran used to describe it—creeping through his veins and into the marrow of his bones. Whatever the heck that was. He was wearing, literally, all his clothes. What the hell else could he do?

He'd used the heater the previous two nights, since he’d taken off from his parents’, basically homeless. Now he was out of gas, and there was no chance of getting a refill can till next payday so…

He curled even tighter, wrapping his arms around himself. Like a hug. He recalled how he and Robin had hugged earlier, how he’d felt better after that, about… everything. Which was stupid. Because it’d solved nothing for either of them. He faintly hoped he hadn’t given Robin his germs. If they even were germs. Who needed germs, when you were this damn freezing?

At length, his fingers and toes stopped hurting and turned numb. Then, at last, he sensed some warmth. Which was weird, but then again, he felt increasingly weird—his skin kinda prickly as if he sweated, then suddenly, he was way too hot. Which was totally nuts, and confusing, but he’d take it. He shrugged off his blanket, which slid into the footwell. He might have removed his scarf, which was getting suffocating, but he was too damn tired.

He slept, shallowly, and the darkness beneath his eyelids grew pitted with white. It wasn’t like snow. Nothing was that yielding or soft. He hadn't the strength left to rub his eyes. He threw all his effort into his next, shallow, whistling breath, and… Christ! It suddenly made sense. He could see his lungs, right? Which was insane, but his fevered little mind saw it anyhow. They seemed all brittle, lined with scratchy glass, scraping and tearing with every breath, until...

An ice-toothed gale blasted him sidelong. Robin's scared face veered up in front of him. Uh, he’s definitely hallucinating, right? Nobody knew he was here; nobody should know. He needed her, though. Kinda figured he’d die here without her, and then… he was just plain scared.

He closed his eyes. Too much. Waaaay too much. And, shit, maybe that wasn’t Robin. Maybe it was her aliens, and those were lights from a spaceship—a UFO?

Somebody—some thing —slid an arm around his shoulder, another under his knees. He was scooped up, and felt the sensation of being carried. His stomach performed a feeble flip. Am I dying? Am I dead? Or am I zooming to another planet!?!

Then nothing. Until…

His lungs still felt too tight. He was lying somewhere warm and soft, however, and the air didn't burn or freeze, nor make him prickle and sweat. In fact, it was kinda soothing and sweet, though it still proved a struggle to get enough.

Somebody squeezed his hand. Somebody or thing was holding his hand! Aliens? If so, why wasn’t he freaking out? He pried his too-sleepy eyelids open. Robin! 

"Steve!" She smiled and gave him another squeeze.  There was a plastic mask over his mouth and nose, and he lifted a hand to bat it away. She stopped him, settled the mask again. “I’d leave that, it’s the oxygen. You’re okay now. You’re gonna be just fine.”

He tried to talk, though speech wasn’t happening. Just an embarrassing croak. Her make-up was smudged again. He almost forced his dry lips into a smirk. He must look worse, but with Robin, that’s okay.

A nurse turned up, checking his pulse, and the oxygen machine, fluffing the pillows. She talked, but he was too sleepy to listen. Robin bobbed up again, working her face strangely, and he couldn’t read whether she was about to laugh or cry:

"Look, Steve,” she burst out, “yeah, it's okay to not be okay. Next time, can you please be more specific about EXACTLY HOW NOT OKAY YOU ARE."

"Okay," he wheezed, and she started up talking again. Her voice soothed him, even though he was too far gone to listen. 

He isn’t okay. He feels weak and jittery and everything aches.

From this new all-time low, he can’t even start to think about what his future might hold without wanting to yell. Which he can't even do! But her, and their friendship—it’s good. Which was probably why, even now, he’s feeling her pain again, just as strong as his. He hated how she suffered every single day, keeping her hopes and dreams a secret. Jesus, whatever hurt her, hurt him, too. And he was stupidly grateful for that, which made no sense either.

Perhaps he should tell her, when he’d gotten his voice back? Before or after he’d thanked her for having somehow saved his life. Or perhaps that would sound crazy and a bit creepy. Or witchy and physic? Huh, hadn’t he accused her of that earlier?

Listening to her talking, he ebbed and sank into somewhere safer and warm.

****

Part of this fic series (whump, platonic stobin & steddie fic)

#stobin fic #stranger things #stobin fanfic #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #steve harrington whump #i love them #whumptober2023 #stobin #platonic with a capital p #steve & robin

[winslowat3am]

WINSLOW! 😃😁😄 If Winnie the pooh did cottagecore things what would it look like? House decor, hobbies, cooking, and stuff like that what stuff would he like and the visuals?

Oh my fuck, I love this question! So glad you asked. 😏🐻

If Winnie was a cottagecore king, he would live in a small, wooden style cottage, similar to his own, but maybe he has a little rose/flower bush outside his bedroom window where he tends to his flowers in the morning. Maybe some small fruit & veggie bushes & trees too (strawberries 🍓, grapes 🍇, squash, bananas 🍌, carrots 🥕 etc) that he uses to prepare food for his other animal friends. 🐷🐯🐴

I'm thinking the interior would have wallpaper since he has a happy personality. He would love floral or any kind of bright vintage wallpaper to add some color. I can definitely see him wearing a little garden hat that Piglet made for him & maybe he hangs it on a wall like this when he's done picking berries & veggies. Lol. He'd also have pictures of his friends/family hung on the walls & bits of nature photography hung that he took himself.

Bedroom! Same as before, it would be colorful & bright, florals, vintage, handmade items by himself & his friends. Quilts. He would LOVE quilts! Warm colored afghans & quilts would replace the summery thin sheets during the colder months. Various fabrics & designs. Some stuffed plushies to make it more cozy & homey. A hand painted dresser that's chipping because he's had it for eons, but refuses to replace it. On the walls is where he keeps more framed photos of art they made, & on top of the dresser is a lamp, journal & vintage knickknacks.

In the kitchen he has wooden furniture, those old school curtains that you hang up by hand, he collects teacups, table cloths & honey jars, flower vases (that he actually uses), decorative plates, maybe some china, & pots from hand-me-down thrift stores. The curtains are always drawn to allow sunlight in for the flowers. He kind of has kind of, like, a grandmacore vibe going. I could see him being hella into grandmacore, art, sewing, scented candles & interior design, lmao. Perhaps he's sewn more cute belly shirts all in different colors for when his iconic red one gets dirty. He totally still wears pajamas & sits next to the fireplace during the winter, btw. Everything is a little mix & match, but pleasing & to his liking. He has small rugs here & there, & in his bathroom is probably a bowl sink, more wallpaper, with acorn designs, too. There's an old couch, coffee table, display tables in corners, tall glass cabinets for his china display & tv set in the living room that connects to the kitchen.

& yeah! I think that's about it for our tour. Unless I forgot something? I don't think I did. His hobbies would be handmade art of sorts, cooking, gardening, nature walks, sleeping, eating honey & enjoying time with his friends.

Edit: Oh, & he uses the veggies he harvested to make pot pie in his tiny old style kitchen, eeee! ❤️

It's old, it's vintage, it's home. ☺️🏡🌿

#basically his house would be cozy as fuck & you would want to live there #he'd invite his friends over for dinner & they'd cook together & eat from his harvest #honey is for dessert of COURSE! DUH! 🍯😊 #everything would feel lived in & there's little chips of wallpaper or paintings cause it's all a bit old but still in good condition! #ask #ask box #📬 #inbox 💌 #winnie the pooh #cottagecore #grandmacore #cozycore #oh & I forgot he loves picnics! he makes the food for the rest of em most of the time

[gingerel]

three am | aerti | ff7

Posted as Warm on AO3.

There’s a scar on Tifa’s hip, normally hidden beneath the waistband of her skirt but visible to Aerith for the first time now. Bizarrely illuminated from the little light sneaking in through the hastily closed curtains so that Aerith can do little but stare at it, even though there are a number of other interesting things before her.  

She was probably there when Tifa was injured in the first place, but Aerith doesn’t remember. There is always so much happening, all at once; new people, new places — the undeniable discomfort of aiming to hurt, not heal. Tifa’s a better fighter, but Aerith can tell she doesn’t like it any more than she does. Good at raising her fists in defence of her friends, sure, but it’s not Tifa’s natural recourse for fixing things.

“Are you cold?” Tifa asks, looking over her shoulder.

She’s stripped off most of her layers, in just her crop-top and the little black shorts she wears under her skirt. They bought fresh clothes when they arrived in town, but Aerith forgot to pick up anything to sleep in — she pouted, playfully complained and Cloud dragged a t-shirt from a bag and tossed it quite literally into her face without saying a single word.

As charming as ever.

Tifa looks completely relaxed, laying belly down on their shared bed, flipping through the pages of a book she found stuffed into the nightstand of their motel room. She’s more exposed, yet Aerith is the one with goosebumps prickling at her exposed arms and legs.

Aerith shakes her head and Tifa’s mouth curls with a soft smile. She shuts the book, shoves at it until it slips off the bed with a dull thud then rolls onto her side with enough ease to make Aerith’s breath short. Tifa raises one of her arms, inviting Aerith in.

Like an idiot, she ignores the invitation, something in her unsure, too tentative to risk it. Instead, Aerith simply takes Tifa’s outstretched hand, cups it with both her own and holds on as tight as she dares.

“Aren’t you cold?” Aerith asks, though she can tell Tifa isn’t, knows she wouldn’t be lying about as she is if she was trying to preserve heat. Not when she knows she already has Aerith, that there’s no need to seduce and beguile because all the work was already done almost the first moment Tifa smiled in her direction.  

She does know that, right? She must know that.

“Nothing compared to a Nibel winter,” Tifa promises, with another of those smiles.

“Is it snowy?” Aerith asks. She’s so … sheltered. Knows so little of the world, really, even though everyone that’s come into her life has tried to teach her things, one way or another. Ill intent or good.

“Can be, in winter with the mountain so close” Tifa says softly. “But not all the time.”

“Is that why Cloud never wears sleeves?” Aerith teases and a beautiful, inelegant snort tumbles from Tifa’s mouth. Aerith wishes she could chase it with her own, feel it against hers, taste the edge of it with her tongue.

She can, maybe. She thinks she can.

“I bet it helps,” Tifa laughs. “You are cold.”

Not a question.

But Aerith feels warm, almost flushed. Just the sight of Tifa on the bed, her bed, clenching her belly, making every muscle in her body feel tight, braced for what Aerith knows not. Tifa looks warm, skin warm and soft over hard muscles, cascade of loose hair over her shoulder and onto the pillow beside her.

Aerith never thought herself particularly frail. Sure, Zack was a head and then some taller than her, could pick her up with just one hand and squash monsters with his sword in the other, but he never made her feel like this. Tifa’s hands are no larger than hers, she’s not really any taller. But when Tifa catches her arm if Aerith trips or hooks her own around Aerith’s waist, she feels minuscule. Like thin paper stretched over a frame of brittle wood.

Aerith doesn’t hate it.

Not even a little bit.

Thinks she wouldn’t even mind if Tifa did shatter her into pieces. Not if Tifa is willing to keep just one fragment of Aerith’s scattered remains with her for the rest of time.

Aerith squeezes Tifa’s hand and it’s tugged a little, her bed partner trying to drag her close. This time Aerith goes to her, lets herself be pulled onto her side, sighs softly when Tifa hooks her ankle around one of Aerith’s and pulls it between her own.

Maybe Aerith was cold before, because it’s blisteringly hot this close to Tifa, hands parting so Tifa can set hers at Aerith’s waist, the skin of Tifa’s stomach scorching when the backs of Aerith’s fingers brush against it, her own hands settling awkwardly on the bed between them.

There’s thin cotton keeping Tifa from her skin and Aerith hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it. Wishes she’d tossed the offensive garment right back in Cloud’s face, that she was brave enough to strip down to her underwear like Tifa, to make it easy for this to go where she so desperately hopes it will.

“It’s late,” Aerith finds herself saying, frowning at the words even though she’s responsible for putting them into the world.

“You don’t seem tired,” Tifa says softly, stroking her hand from Aerith’s hip to the top of her ribs, dangerously close to the soft curve of Aerith’s body where she is bare beneath the cotton. Back down it goes, teasing Aerith though she doubts that’s Tifa’s true intent.

“I’m not,” Aerith confirms.

Last time three in the morning rolled around Aerith was drooping against Tifa’s shoulder, hunkered down on the outskirts of town, waiting for Cloud and Barret to return. They insisted on checking it out before the girls followed, Tifa staying alert and focused even though nothing and nobody was going to make it past Red pacing in front of their hiding spot.

“What should we do then?”

Tifa isn’t even trying for coy, her smile genuine and soft. Aerith feels suddenly shy though. Not like she’s never done this before, not like she doesn’t know Tifa thinks she’s beautiful. It just feels like this will mean something, a lot, everything and she doesn’t know how to process that.

So, she nestles close, until her nose brushes against Tifa’s and her skin burns hot over her cheeks. Aerith braves inching her hands forward, so she’s pressing into Tifa’s surprisingly soft belly and fingers suddenly clench at her own waist.

“Aerith,” Tifa whispers.

When she tilts her head, Tifa finds her mouth, lips soft and plush, gentle but eager against her own. The bed shifts and Aerith expects to be rolled over, to be pinned under the firmness of Tifa’s body. Instead, it’s Tifa that rolls back, drags Aerith over on top of her so she sprawls a little inelegantly, laughing straight into Tifa’s lungs.

The mattress is worn, creaks a little when Aerith pushes her palms against it to get enough leverage to balance in a position more like she’s pictured in her fantasies. They smile at each other, Tifa’s eyes impossibly dark in the low light of the room. Her hands pass down Aerith’s back again, all the way down to her bare thighs, inching the return journey achingly slow, slipping under the thin cotton t-shirt to pass over lace clad hips and settle at the dip of her waist.

Tifa’s so warm.

“Okay?” Tifa breathes.

Aerith nods, too energetically, almost feeling silly for it in the quiet stillness of the room. Tifa just smiles more broadly, tugs at Aerith’s waist until she collapses forward, supine over Tifa’s body. It’s ludicrously comfortable. Natural. Perfect.

“Okay then,” Tifa says. And kisses Aerith again.

#ffvii #ff7r #aerti #aerith x tifa #aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #fluff #it took me eight days to write this #i would normally make something like this in one sitting #so i'm not better #but i'm getting there #ff7

[balkanradfem]

On garden and winter food

I've decided to go and take inventory of all of my canned good, to figure out what kind of stash do I have for this winter, and to know how quickly am I allowed to go thru it. Half an hour of counting and sorting in my basement informed me I had 37 jars of salty-sour types of preserves, and 32 jars of sweet preserves. This is more sweet stuff than I've had in the past, but not nearly enough of salty-sour. 'What was I thinking?' I said to myself, and then I remembered, no, it's not for a lack of planning, I was sick the whole summer, I've done all canning I possibly could. The lesson was just not to get covid in the summer.

Still, I was worried it wouldn't be enough to get me thru the winter, and, since I've been so sick and neglecting my garden, it wasn't going to start producing a lot of new food anytime soon. Not going to the garden for so long really affected its production.

I later remembered, that I forgot to count all of the non-canned stash. I've put extra effort in dried food this year, I have over 10 jars of dried goods (tomatoes, zuchinni, mushrooms, roots, fruit), and there are many meals that can be made out of that. I also have plenty of potatoes, my two big bags of walnuts, many squashes, lots of garlic, and, the ability to still forage for apples and wild edibles.

Usually at this time I would be getting lots of carrots and broccoli from the garden, and some kale, but since it wasn't all planted in time, I have none of that. What I do have is black radish (or turnip, I'm not sure if it's black radish or black turnip. It's white on the inside, and big), celery, parsley, chives, cabbage savoy (not very big), swiss chard, green onions. Which is not a whole lot, but it's a valuable source of fresh produce. I also could possibly locate the jerusalem artichoke planted somewhere in the field, I love eating them during the winter.

I've had to face my own food issues, and that is that I'm incredibly stubborn not to buy anything that I can make myself, and also lazy to make it myself after I don't buy it. For instance, I could make a meal from pasta and a sauce made with sun-dried tomatoes, but I refuse to buy pasta, and I'm never starting the food making process until I'm hungry. So I end up never making it. The entire ordeal can be avoided if I reserved one day, to make a big batch of homemade pasta, have it dry, and then I could make tons of meals from dried good and pasta! Like pasta with mushroom sauce, pasta with zuchinni sauce, cabbage and pasta, pasta salad, those are things I would definitely eat!

In this spirit, I did gather my enegry and made a big thing of pasta, occupying the entire kitchen while it was drying for the whole day. Then I stuffed it all into a large jar, and now I have a big decorative jar with pasta sticking out, and it looks so pretty, now I just never want to eat it. Nobody has yet figured out that it's pasta in the jar, everyone thinks it's some decorative plants in there. It's understandable, since I'm known to put plants in jars for decoration.

I also have some new exciting preserves that I made for the first time this year! My first innovation was related to the pears; we have a pear tree close to the building, but it produces extremely tough and difficult to eat types of pears, everyone just ignores it. Except me, I scurry around it and scramble to collect all of the pears and then I cook them into a compot, feeling like an evil mastermind for figuring out how to eat them. Eventually, I got tired of the compot, and then I figured I could try making a pear-sauce, like an applesauce, but with pears. I wasn't sure if it was gonna go well, because they were so tough and not very sweet, but the result was absolutely fantastic; it's smooth and delicious and sweet. I love this more than I love applesauce. Pleased with my pear-related success.

I also made a spicy jam, made out of blackberries, grapes and plums, and then I added a few hot peppers in. I did this because every single winter I am longing for sweet-spicy mix, and I felt that I would want to eat it. And I was right, when my sinuses started to act up, I was grateful to have a spicy preserve that could make them clear up. I actually think it could be spicier next year.

I'll find out this winter, if I prefer eating the preserves or using the dry goods for recipes, drying is definitely easier and takes less effort, but it should be eaten before February, when the bugs eggs will start to activate inside, making it way less appealing. So that's where the canned goods come into play, they are completely protected from being eaten or spoiled. Hopefully next summer, I'll be healthy and better at getting more canning done.

#winter stash #food stash #canning #drying #food preservation #winter garden #eating homemade thru winter #survival #cooking from scratch #i'm constantly sick now i haven't been able to get my garden food for a week #i had to forage for chickweed from my way home from work #its frustrating #i wish my garden was where i lived :( #if i had my garden next to my house i could just run out and be there in a minute #having to bike there limits all access when i'm sick #and its so cold i can't even think of sitting on a bike when sick #i would die #:(((

[newtsnaturethings]

Ranking of all the Winter Squash I’ve Tried

SSS

Kabocha:

Sorry nothing can top this one. Sweet, chestnut-y, and DENSE but in a good way. So good I can usually just roast these dudes in the oven or simmer in some salted water and just eat ‘em.

A:

Honeynut:

Cool varietal that’s literally bred for flavor. And it shows. It’s sweet and nice and a great roasting squash. Idk what else do you need.

Sweet Meat Squash:

Not the best in terms of names. The outside is pale blue and the inside is a lovely muted orange. A good balance of sweet and savory.

B:

Acorn:

Less sweet and a bit more nutty. Verges on bland but skirts that line like a champ. Great stuffed.

Delicata

Sweet and slender. Cooks faster than other squash in this group but also a but more delicate as a result and falls apart more easily.

C:

Kuri:

I have been duped into thinking this was a kabocha a couple times and still feel the sting of betrayal. Sorry Kuri squash it’s personal. But in all seriousness this is a pretty decent squash. Very mild and a good balance of sweet and nutty.

Hubbard Squash:

Only the big ones are really edible and they are A LOT of work. But they are a nice sweet squash.

Sugar pie pumpkin

Sweet and good for pie. Not much else. A bit one note. Texturally it’s alright. Can be stringy.

D:

Butternut

I’m neutral about butternuts. They’re fine but kind of bland.

E:

F:

Spaghetti Squash

Yeah nope.

#squash #winter squash #newts thoughts

[beatrice-murray]

Taking Stock (with @jockbrannigan)

Bea and Jock go through the town's winter clothing and find common ground in mutual awkwardness.

Bea: -It was officially cold enough at night that Bea was switching her attention to dressing the town for warmth. That meant figuring out what they already had and what they’d need. So she headed to the market to find the newest inventory guy and see if she could cobble together some idea of what she had to work with. It took a good twenty minutes to find him tucked in a corner near the sports equipment. And even then, she had to clear her throat to get him to notice her.- Hi there! Didn’t mean to spook you—are you the new inventory guy?

Jock: -He's in his own little world right now, squashed into a far corner of the Supermarket, his back against the wall, his legs crossed and his laptop in his lap. He's happily tip-tapping away at the laptop keys as he sets up a new section of the Redwood database. He's so engrossed in his task that he doesn't notice the woman until she clears her throat and speaks to him. He jumps a little, his hands steadying his precious laptop before it could fall out of his lap.-

"Jesus, fuck!"

-He cringes when he realises there was no need for such cursing and gives the woman an apologetic smile-

"You didn't mean to spook me but ya did! Congratulations. Yeah, I'm the new inventory guy. I'm Jock. And who are you, apart from being a spooky lady?"

Bea: It’s the ghostly pale complexion, isn’t it? -she laughed a little, hoping it was clear she could take a joke- I’m Beatrice. Bea. I’m the seamstress, weaver, knitter, tailor, clothing person around here. If you’re busy, I can come by later!

Jock: -He laughs along with her, although his laugh sounds considerably more nervous than hers. He listens as she lists off her various responsibilities and lets out a whistle to show how impressed he is-

"Nah, I can make time for ya, since you made the effort to come out this way considering how much work you've probably got going on already. What can I do for you, Bea?"

Bea: Well, it’s getting colder, so I wanna make sure there’s enough winter wear for folks in town. Some have already come to me to ask for patch ups to sweaters and hats and stuff. But I’d like to get a tally on stuff like scarves and gloves—get a sense of what we’re short on that I can make. I’m also interested in stuff that could be used as insulation. For windows and doors and stuff? Rolled up towels stuffed under doors will help keep cold air out. Anything like that. I was hoping you might have a better idea of what we’ve got on hand.

Jock: "Yeah, that makes sense. All of it. All of it makes sense. It's good forward planning, I like it!"

-He starts tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop-

"I haven't got a full inventory of the clothing but I have made a start, funnily enough with the warm stuff. We can finish that section together, maybe? Because you're the expert in such things, you can tell me if the quality of what we have is good enough for standard use or if the items are better off scrapped and recycled in somethin' else."

-He stops talking and blinks as he looks up from the laptop screen at Bea-

"Unless you've got any better ideas?"

Bea: Wow…sorry, the laptop is just a trip. I mean, it makes sense! Lots of ways to use a laptop without the internet. But still, kinda wild to see. Almost feels…normal.

-a little self conscious as he stares, she shoves her hands in her pockets-

That sounds good though! Do you have time now, or do we need to schedule it? I don’t wanna mess with your flow.

Jock: "Huh, normal. Who knew such a thing could exist anymore, huh?!"

-He picks up on her self-consciousness, recognising the hands in the pockets trick he uses whenever required. He first looks up at the ceiling and then back to his laptop, figuring that's a more normal look to divert his gaze for the moment.-

"Yeah, I have time now. And you can mess with my flow. I give you permission!"

Bea: -surprised to find herself smiling- Well that’s mighty gracious of you. Maybe…start with the big stuff like coats and jackets?

Jock: -he smiles at his screen before peeking over the top of it, trying to be careful to not make Bea feel self-conscious again by staring too much. He closes his laptop and gets to his feet. He shakes his legs out before pointing further into the Supermarket before walking in the same direction.-

"The clothing section is that-a way. As we walk, may I interest you in some awkward small talk? How long have you lived in Redwood?"

Bea: -she followed his lead- I love awkward small talk, it’s the only kind I’m any good at. And I’ve been here…almost six months? It feels longer. But also like I just got here yesterday, y’know? You’re brand new, right?

Jock: "Yeah, brand spanking new. Got here just in time for the prom and everything though. I don't remember seeing you there though?"

Bea: I was only there for a little bit. Things got kinda chaotic and while I love some drama when I’m watching from a safe distance, it was a little much for me. Shame, too, my friend Cass helped me find this really snazzy old ball gown to wear…kinda went to waste. Did you have a good time?

Jock: "I'm sorry about your ballgown. Can you not wear at home? Give it a twirl whenever you feel the need? Is that something people do?"

-He winces as he thinks about his night at the prom-

"Yeah, I saw some of that drama up way too close for my comfort. But I did get to meet some new people, so it wasn't all bad. The whole thing was kinda too much for me though. I do better in more mellow situations!"

Bea: -she nods, mostly to herself- God, I’m right there with you. Not big on parties. I kinda like the ones here ‘cause they’re few and far between. And it gets better the longer I’m here and get to know people. I didn’t have much fun at the first one I was here for, but since then, my friend met the apparent love of her life…and man, that was cute as hell to see at prom. It’s easier to like the social stuff when you like the people there, I guess. What were you doing before you made it here?

Jock: -The concept of people finding love in the apocalypse causes Jock's eyebrows to raise. He never managed to find love before the world ended so he had given up hope of finding it after the end of the world. it was good to know it was actually possible though.-

"It's good to know it gets better. And good for your friend, that sounds awesome, it really does. I was at a place called Hyland Farm before here. It was home for about five years. I was doing the same there as here: inventory management, but on a much smaller scale than here."

Bea: Oh wow, did something happen to it? Or did you just decide to move on?

Jock: "The Hylands, Len and Gerry, they both passed, leaving me and, like, a handful of others living on their farm. The others, they were all planning on moving on and I couldn't look after the whole place alone so I had to move on too."

-His expression gets sadder as he talks about his former home but he changes it when they reach the necessary aisle-

"We've arrived at our destination. Thank you for travelling Jock Airways!"

Bea: -she could see his expression drop as he talked about losing his home. It wasn’t her place to say, what with not knowing him yet, but she felt sure he’d find some kind of home at Redwood. Then he made his joke and she snorted again.- Okay, I gotta ask—where does “Jock” come from? I’ve heard Jack and I’ve heard Brock, but Jock’s a new one.

Jock: "My birth name's Joseph but I never felt like it really fit me. At school, some kids started calling me Jock as a joke since I was rubbish at sports and I kinda just owned it. Like, yeah I'm the Jock who can't throw for shit, what of it? And it stuck."

Bea: Well it's interesting, at least. Unique. More fitting than Joseph, anyway. -She was glad for the distraction of the clothes before her since she was getting to the rambling phase of her small talk strategy- Wow, we've got more than I expected, that's great! A little short on things for kids, but it's way easier to make things for kids by hand.

Jock: "Thanks!"

-Now they had reached their destination, Jock settled himself back on the floor, his legs crossed and laptop already open on his lap, fingers racing across the keyboard-

"Ready to start cataloguing everything when you are."

Bea: -the work went quickly once they got a good rhythm going- Y'know, this reminds me of the time I took an archaeology class and we took this trip to a place that was a quarry site for the Hopewell tribe and I thought I'd be like, digging in the dirt or being all cool like Indiana Jones, but mostly I just counted rocks while a grad student filled out spreadsheets. Except this is way more useful. And I'm not sweating my ass off. And less dirt.

Jock: "Yeah but if every archaelogist was like Indiana Jones, they'd be whipping all over the place and shouting about things belonging in museums but not getting any of the essential work done, like cataloguing rocks for research purposes."

Bea: Well that’s a very practical outlook you’ve got there, my professor would’ve loved you. -she counted the last rack of heavy coats and leaned over behind him to peer at the spreadsheet- 7 more women’s, 5 men’s, and one toddler coat on this last rack. There’s one with a faulty zipper I’m gonna take home and fix, but we’re in way better shape than I thought.

Jock: "Yeah, I prefer practical. Makes more sense than anything else. Which is really obvious now I've said it out loud!"

-He finishes tapping in the last of the figures as Bea leans in to take a look at the numbers. He adds that one jacket is going with Bea to be fixed up before looking over his shoulder at her-

"I haven't had a chance to go through all of the overflow storage yet so there might be more coats and stuff there. But for now, I think this is it for the supermarket's stock. The towels and blankets are in a different aisle. You wanted a look at those too, right?"

Bea: Yes! Thank you for this, by the way. The last guy who was here in charge of inventory…well, we butted heads a lot. Made this kinda thing a chore to dread.

Jock: -Jock closes his laptop and gets to his feet. He gives Bea a soft frown-

"Good to know I'm making a good impression so far. The previous guy, though, what did he do to butt heads? I'm not asking to be nosy but to make sure I can avoid butt heads with you. I don't wanna do that."

Bea: Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You seem far too sweet to pull the same shit he did. He and I got to Redwood at the same time, so we were stuck in the precinct together for a while and he was just…-she grumbles to herself- Grumpy? Grumpy’s the nice word for it. And since I wasn’t, I don’t know, edgy and cynical and brooding all the time, he acted like I was a naive child. -she scrunches her nose up in disgust- He called me Barbie all the time. Not even a clever insult.

Jock: -She calls him sweet and immediately he blushes. He bashfully looks down at the floor as he wills the bluch flushing in his cheeks to go away-

"Yeah, I never got the whole edgelord, cynical thing. Even at my worst and even when the world ended, I never got it. Good to know you don't get it either."

-He looks up to see her adorable nose scrunch and he scrunches his own when she tells him about the insult-

"I solemnly swear to never call you Barbie unless you ask me to."

Bea: -she snorts at the last promise- I have never once likened myself to Barbie, so that’s highly unlikely. Maybe Strawberry Shortcake though. -they make it to the home linens aisle and she lifts a large beach towel with Yoda printed on it- Mm, no accounting for taste, huh? But the ridiculous thing is, a towel this big is perfect for insulating the drafty doors of some of the cabins around town. Like David’s. You met David yet? If you haven’t, once you do, imagine him with an 8 foot Yoda covering his front door.

Jock: "I also promise to not call you anything other than your name unless you tell me too. I just wanna cover all bases, y'know!"

-He looks at the large Yoda towel and grins at it-

"Nah, I ain't met David yet but if he doesn't want this, I'll take it. You not a Star Wars fan, then?"

Bea: I am, actually! I mean, I know Star Trek a lot better, but I loved Star Wars growing up. Never been big on merch, though. Kinda…overstimulates my eyeballs, y’know? Hey, where are you living, anyway? Do you have all the linens and stuff you need?

Jock: "Yeah I liked Star Trek but I loved Star Wars, y'know what I mean? They talked a lot on Star Trek and my attention span couldn't handle that whereas Star Wars moved faster with more explosions. Way more my speed!"

-He looks at the towel and as much as he loves it, he can see where Bea is coming from-

"I'm in a trailer out by the solar panel yard, just a little, basic place but it's more than enough for me. I got linens, towels, plates and cutlery. How about you? What kind of place do you have?"

Bea: -she's so focused on the idea of making sure his will be kept warm that she's not expecting the shift to her- Oh, uh…similar, actually. A little trailer on the farm. Means I can keep near the sheep. I'm kinda invested in the whole wool thing.

Jock: -He smiles as she is quick to reassure him. This adds to the good vibe he's picking up from her, like she is a genuinely good person, the type he wants to be friends with-

"You had me going for a moment there! I'm very glad you agree though. Makes me feel good. Not that you owe me anything, wanna make that very clear!"

Bea: -she frowns a little at his clarification and nudges her elbow against him- It’s okay, yeah? Maybe I do owe it to you. You seem decent. You should be owed some decency in return.

Jock: -His cheeks flush in the wake of Bea's nudge and assurances-

"Thank you. I try. Not that decency is difficult for me but not everyone thinks the way I do. Then again, the way I think has been called unique on more than one occasion, and once by a therapist if you can believe it… So towels. We should be counting towels!"

-He winces at his less-than-delicate segue in the conversation-

Bea: -she takes a deep breath and weighs his wording before getting brave and pointing one thumb at herself- I’m on the spectrum. Let your freak flag fly. Whenever you’re comfortable, I mean. Aaaaaand in the meantime, yes. Let’s count some towels.

Jock: -He's grinning now and he can't resist bouncing on the balls of his feet for half a moment in his excitement. It feels like he's about to make a good friend here with Bea. As well as getting some good work done that will benefit the town. That too!-

"Towels, towels, lots of towels!"

-He sits on the floor again, his legs crossed like last time and gets his laptop open again-

"Count away, Bea!"

#with: Jock #jock001

[leslie-lyman]

Stranger At My Gate: Tessa’s Recipe List

Today in “things absolutely nobody asked for,” I hearby present a list of all the recipes Tessa makes in Stranger At My Gate. This is mostly just so I can keep track of these things for myself, but in case anyone else is interested, here you go! All recipes are from Smitten Kitchen unless stated otherwise.

Also if you ever make any of these IRL, please please feel free to pop into my inbox and let me know!

Chapter 1:

Brown butter brown sugar shorties

Chapter 2:

Classic grilled cheese + cream of tomato soup

Prosciutto-wrapped stuffed chicken (from Chrissy Teigen’s Cravings)

Chapter 3:

Russian tea cakes

Runny BLT egg sandwiches

Chapter 4:

Shakshuka + garlic bread

Big apple crumb cake

Stuffed eggplant parmesan

Oven-braised beef with tomatoes and garlic

Pear, cranberry, and ginger snap crumble

Winter squash soup with gruyère croutons

Chapter 5:

Pumpkin pie

Apple pie

French silk pie (from Preppy Kitchen)

Sweet cherry pie

Brown butter mashed potatoes

Caramelized onion and goat cheese cornbread

Apple-herb stuffing

Green bean casserole with crispy onions

Dry-brined turkey with roasted onions

Chapter 6:

N/A

Chapter 7:

N/A

Chapter 8:

Kaiserschmarrn (Austrian torn, fluffy pancake)

Chapter 9:

N/A

Chapter 10:

Winter squash and spinach pasta bake

#samg!inspo #stranger at my gate

[veggiehotdog1]

HBO TLOU Fanfic

First Impressions

Summary:

In HBO's TLOU we were shown Ellie's first impressions of Dina. But what did Dina think of Ellie and Joel?

Notes:

At around 21:50 you can also see Dina walking by the hot stations, bottom left side

————————————

Dina had been late to lunch, held up by her friend Jesse endlessly talking about how he'd been approved for group patrols. She liked the guy, had become friends, but sometimes he just didn't know when to stop talking. And she recognized that was saying a lot coming from her.

Now there'd only be sandwiches, the hot bar undoubtedly closed or out of food. She shouldn't complain. This was a paradise she'd somehow found and been welcomed into. Even a few months ago a sandwich would have been a rare, exquisite treat that she'd have been so, so grateful for. And she was! She definitely was, but cold fried egg sandwiches weren't her favorite. That's what was always left over.

To her surprise the buffet was still open and had a varied selection left. A stranger caught her eye as she dished up a few stations away. The older man was loading his plate overfull with squash and carrots and chunks of stewed deer. It wasn't that unusual for a new-comer to arrive; Dina would estimate Jackson had a population of a few hundred. Every few weeks a survivor or two would be vetted and allowed in.

An apprehensive but relieved look, like a burden had been lifted or a fear quelled, was etched on his face. What was missing was the overwhelming wonder and happiness usually present on new faces upon seeing the abundance and variety of food, the electricity, the fresh water. Dina concluded he was a reasonably jaded man, no doubt. Was he here to stay or just passing through?

Her curiosity was piqued when a girl sidled up to him, quickly plucking the last filet of trout from the tongs he was holding. The man gave a disapproving look and speared his fork into the fish, effectively cutting it in half before sliding a piece from her plate onto his. The girl broke out into a wide grin at the take-back before moving on to the next station.

As Dina gathered silverware she kept a discreet eye on the pair. Both the girl and the man seemed rough around the edges, a sign of being out in the wilderness or open cities for too long. Not too dirty, but worn enough. Their clothing and shoes faded and coming apart. The man's face held the seriousness of a hardened survivor, the girl's less so. Her demeanor was more defensive, a front put on to seem tough and unafraid. The look was well-recognized; Talia often had a similar standoffish posture. Then Dina herself while traveling alone after her sister died. It didn't come naturally though, and upon her entry into Jackson the facade fell away quickly.

The man went back towards the tables, but the girl continued to roam, taking in everything with open delight. She ate as she went, holding a piece of bread in one hand and plate in the other. Dina furrowed her brows at how fingers were licked of gravy as the girl would pick pieces of meat off plate and plop them into mouth. Her sleeves wiped her face clean. There were napkins everywhere. Surely she knew how to use a napkin?

Once at the patrol station near the door the strange girl's eyes lit up. Stocked on that table were portable and dried foods that would stay good, easy to transport on a shift outside of the community's walls. The girl glanced around, seeing if anyone was watching, before stuffing an apple in her pocket. A handful of nuts followed. Then fistfuls of jerky were snatched and placed deep into pants pockets.

Dina couldn't help but laugh under her breath. It was like watching a squirrel get ready for winter, flitting from one area to the next, storing until bursting at the seams. Stuffing her face until it puffed. It was funny, this little string bean with a big appetite.

Dina continued to sit and eat and quietly observe. They were with Maria and Tommy, two of the governing body that ran Jackson. They must be staying! A welcome meal was always in order for new arrivals. At least one or two council members would take the time to properly introduce themselves over a meal. A kind of orientation to Jackson, and to make people feel they belonged.

Excitement was building in Dina at the possibility of another friend around her age. How old was she? Kinda small, but could just be an underfed QZ kid.

The pair were now protectively hunched over and scarfing the spread laid out before them, like it could be snatched away at any moment. Dina raised her eyebrows at the slurping of soup, heard all the way over to her at the far end of the hall. She wasn't judging, she had been nearly the same way when she'd gotten here. The new girl just seemed...really interesting. A lot of things about this girl were intriguing. Her mannerisms. The way she carried herself. The audacity to steal all the jerky.

Dina finished and took her plate to the bussing station. Bunching a napkin in hand, she approached the trash bin nearest to their table. She wanted one more closer look, curiosity becoming too much.

She was startled by an aggressive, "What?" volleyed her way. A deer in headlights, not expecting to be caught and called out like that, Dina hurried off. As she left the hall she shook her head in amusement. First impressions were wrong. Maybe this girl was less like a squirrel and more like a feral, rabid cat!

#the fanfic of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #ellie williams #ellie tlou #dina tlou #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic