#pastila

[ruscatontheroof]

Belevskaya pastila is a regional variety of Russian pastille, which has been produced in the city of Belev, Tula Region, since the end of the 19th century. It is prepared from the pulp of baked apples of the Antonovka variety whipped with sugar and egg white. The beginning of the production of Belevskaya marshmallow is associated with the name of the merchant Amvrosy Pavlovich Prokhorov, who in the 1870s invented a recipe for apple marshmallow and began to produce it at home.

Белёвская пастила-региональная разновидность русской пастилы, которую с конца XIX века производят в городе Белёве Тульской области. Готовится из взбитой с сахаром и яичным белком мякоти печёных яблок сорта антоновка. Начало производства белёвской пастилы связано с именем купца Амвросия Павловича Прохорова, который в 1870-е годы изобрёл рецепт яблочной пастилы и начал производить её в домашних условиях.

[madb0nes]

[semnebune]

O lume în altă lume, la Art Machine

Începând cu 22 martie, la Art Machine, automatul de tip vending machine inițiat de gruparea artistică Pastila Roz și amplasat în București, în Cărturești Parklake, Nairam, noua colecție de 100 lucrări de artă originale realizate de artistul Marian Văsii, va fi disponibilă publicului amator de artă contemporană în format neconvențional. Marian Văsii, prin abordarea desenelor realizate pentru Art…

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Ruler of Dreams. Short I

Previous post

Self-Aware! BSD Characters x GN! Embodiment of Dreams! Reader

Warning: English is my second language. Crack-ish

/BSD Characters have a nice evening together./

/Suddenly, the door is opened. Aya, who looked unwell, walked inside on wobbly legs. Face-plant on the couch. You are behind her, looking normal. You are holding some sort of sandwich in your hand./

Bram: checking on Aya, looked worried What happened?!

/Aya whines. She managed to talk/

Aya: It was horrible! I only wanted to thank Mister RL! Gogol for delicious breakfast!

/You lean on the nearest wall, observing everyone. Sandwich in your hands start slowly sparkle with your powers. It was changing to be the most delicious sandwich in the world/

Aya: I made pie for him! And he... He...

Bram: enraged, looks at you Did he hurt her?! Control your...

/You raise your hand, signaling Bram to let Aya finish/

Aya: still sobbing He invited me to their part of the castle... I went here... And there...

/Aya can't even talk and. She wined, holding her stomach. You spoke instead of her/

[Y/N]: And there were five tables, full of meat, vegetables, drinks. Tons of food, made of everything that lived in Russia or Ukraine. And Gogol, who insisted on 'Thanking a nice girl for giving us delicious pie'. And nice girl didn't know, when to stop. And the arsonist¹ can be pretty convincing.

/You sat near Aya. Still with changing sandwich in your hand/

[Y/N]: Aya, do you remember his kulebyaka on four corners? In one corner were sturgeon cheeks and fish bone marrow. In another corner there was buckwheat porridge with mushrooms and onions. In the third were milts. In the fourth - brains...²

/Aya whine and curled on the couch. You signed and, with a wave of your hand, summon a little bottle of medicine/

[Y/N]: Take it. The pain will go away. But remember... you walked away from Aya, waving the Perfect Dream Sandwich around If I say 'Don't gift food to Gogol' you better listen. You can't say no to his cooking.

/Aya nodded. Bram helped her to take medication. You were still waving sandwich around./

Ayatsuji: [Y/N], what are you doing?

/Suddenly, a blur, that appeared from one of the closets, snatched the sandwich from your hand. RL! Ayatsuji greet BSD Cast with the nod and continue eating sandwich/

[Y/N]: Was looking for a person, who, with the rest of the alive authors, were forbidden from entering my kingdom for meeting you, until I allow it.

/RL! Ayatsuji winked at you./

RL! Ayatsuji: You can't blame us, Dream. We are curious.

[Y/N]: rolled eyes Yea, yea. Now please, privacy.

/RL! Ayatsuji clapped your shoulder and disappeared in the direction of The Portal room/

/Everyone are silent. You wave your hand towards one of the corridors/

[Y/N]: Writers still having their party. If you want, you can join them. Personally, I would like to eat some pastila³ with FM.

/You left. Soon, BSD cast joined you. It was one of the first steps in bonding with the Dream Kingdom./

______

¹ Gogol burned some of his unpublished works, that he considered a failure.

² This exact Kulebyaka (type of pie) was described in Gogol's "Dead Souls".

³ Pastila is a traditional Russian fruit confectionery. It has been described as "small squares of pressed fruit paste" and "light, airy puffs with a delicate apple flavor". Interesting facts, F. M. Dostoevsky was fond of pastila

[microtyalm13]

What are your ocs favorite types of foods?

yippiee 🎉🎉

gavriil. — food does nothing for him, and so usually he doesn't want to waste resources that someone else might need. but if you were to really insist or cook something specifically for him: he prefers very spicy and savory food. something hearty and nourishing. also a fan of korean cuisine bc of his frequent visits to vivian (and vivian's habit of cooking for several people) where they often eat budae-jjigae or jukkumi.

xiaolong. — fish soups with\and garlic bread. he's a great cook... <З he also LOVES oranges and mandarines\tangerines and truly believes that peeling oranges for someone is a love language in itself. also loves puer! especially with jasmine and a little bit of lemon. dabbles in baking so will have you taste tasting his stuff quite often since he's not much of a sweet tooth.

taisya\tasechka. — just like his creator, he gains nothing from food, but he's ready to eat anything you give him. a micheline meal, a cloud of dust, a pair of old socks. anything. any thi ng. he's like a dog that's addicted to eating cigarette butts off the sidewalk.

derzena. — very easy! moose meat, tea mushroom and cod. and, well, men of course, but it's more of a 🎀little treat🎀 for her rather than a full on meal. she also grows her own tea fungus in her home and probably has some sort of makeshift garden where she grows vegetables. she's a big woman, needs to eat a lot. usually makes soups or goulashes. <]

veniamin. — expensive liquor and cigarettes. 🧍‍♂️ alright he also has a massive fucking sweet tooth. sooo... baklava, rahat-lokum, pişmaniye, and pastila. his previous followers used to brings him sweets and alcohol as offerings. right now if anything makes him at least a little excited - it's trying new sweets or just buying a whole lot of his favorites and eating all of them in one sitting.

livy. — medium or small game like rabbits, capercaillies or roe deers. and tree sap. as a treat. he's not picky, like at all. always open to trying something new even if he doesn't like the smell or the look of it. and has a pretty bad memory so probably gets mild poisoning every month or so because he keeps eating poisonous mushrooms and caterpillars that are DEFINITELY don't want to be ingested and make it VERY clear by looking weird as hell.

[ohshy]

do u have any bald bull or soda popinski headcanons ? 🩷

HELL YEAHHH u get both !!!!!

🫧Soda Popinski🫧

keeps trying to get hippo to try different types of soda. hippo tried one once and nearly passed out from the amount of sugar. needless to say, it was funny and a little scary trying to explain it to passerby

soda is one of the few people that knows about kaiser's berliner partying days. its something kaiser likes to keep secret, seeing as he feels like he has a ''reputation to protect''. it did help that soda's a very gregarious guy in general though, he just has a certain energy ab him that makes people wanna confess things to him.

in general, soda knows how to keep secrets really well, especially if he spills anything about the russian government, the consequences might be dire…

speaking of the russian government, his mother is a scientist who originally created soda in a lab as an assignment to create the ultimate fighting machine. as such, she isn't allowed to have full custody of her son, as he partially belongs to the government lab. Poor lady…

all of soda's family and acquaintances are nicknamed after soda. He has a girlfriend named cola (credit to mabs for that idea), his mother is nicknamed popuschka, and he calls his headscientist dr pepper.

like ive said before, he learns english from macho and disco, and often gets words mixed up. one time he called macho man ''brogus'' and macho absolutely hated it.

has a tendency to underestimate his strength a little. if you make him laugh particularly hard, he'll slap you on the back and you'll likely end up w/ a fractured spine. (exaggarated obviously, but it WILL hurt)

hangs around a lot w/ the other two nicest guys of the WVBA, them being disco kid and bear hugger. disco refers to their squad as the ''turntable trio'', as they all like to dance. ms bear makes him feel at home as well, but the squirrell freaks him out a little. also shares a sweet tooth w/ hugger so theres that too hehe.

aside from soda, total sucker for certain russian desserts, especially medovik and pastila.

🐂Bald Bull🐂

comes from a rich family. his ma is a singer and his dad a retired athlete

along w/ a mansion, has a HUGE ranch where cows n bulls roam, this is how he became inspired to name himself bald bull.

quite the introverted guy, and doesnt socialize much outside of his own circuit. He is quite chummy with Sandman and Soda though. One time, he offered Soda a turkish delight , and the rest is history. He also relates a lot to sandman due to both having issues w/ quick irritability.

the only other person outside the world circuit that bull interacts with is disco kid, mainly thanks to the fact him and soda are acquinted. Disco gave bull a rly nice outlet for his anger issues, namely dancing! Disco one day saw bull roll his fists in the ring, thought ''WOW that guy can really move !!!!'' bc it reminded him of a classic disco dance. he then talked to soda about him and the rest is history :3

Audhd. paparazzi not withstanding, does not manage his symptoms well.

has very mixed feelings on his mom. On one hand, her voice is like sweet nostalgia to him because she always sang him sweet lullabies, but at the other hand she has broken his trust in many ways that he feels cant be repaired. gets along better w/ his dad tho

used to have a rly sweet school girl type giggle, but his family teased him out of it :(

thinks hes like clark kent whenever he disguises himself as Mask X. the world circuit all know, but the paparazzi is none the wiser somehow. dw nobody in the WVBA will tell :]

interests outside of boxing include arm wrestling, farm animals, and (very rarely) singing. You gotta b real special for him to sing for you. Very private person in general.

[arsene-fixates]

IM REALLY HAPPY THAT HE CONFIRMED THAT HE LIKES CHERRIES

and along with the “they say it has soothing properties and is very nutritious” of courrrrrsee of course you’d like something because it’s good for your health i know you soooooo well

had a feeling he was a fruits guy because of how it was mentioned that he liked pastila (traditional russian fruit confectionery)

specifically he likes the rolled up kind

visually it comes close to this ^

[darkmaga-retard]

Karl Sanchez

Aug 20, 2024

City of Angels Memorial Cemetery in Beslan

On his way North from Azerbaijan, President Putin made several stops before finally landing in Chechnya. The first stop was the Agro 07 horticultural farm in the village of Germenchik in Kabardino-Balkaria, where he and portions of his staff were given a tour of the production and processing part of the facility.

Here’s the Kremlin’s readout:

LLC "Agro 07" Founded in 2007 and specialized in the production and processing of fruits and vegetables, primarily apples. The gardens of the agricultural enterprise are located in two municipal districts of Kabardino-Balkaria on an area of about 200 hectares, the farm It has modern fruit storage facilities. Since 2020, the company has been specializing in and in the cultivation of blueberries, and also produces natural fruit pastila without Sahara. On a trip The President is accompanied by Head of the Kabardino-Balkarian Republic Kazbek Kokov, Presidential Plenipotentiary Envoy to the North Caucasus Federal District Yury Chaika and Minister of Agriculture Oksana Lut. During the visit The agricultural enterprise was explained by its founder Rashid Tumov.

I find it of interest (my ancestors were called citrus ranchers in Southern California) that groves and orchard operations are termed horticultural farms in Russia. There’re more photos of the visit at the above link. The woman accompanying Putin is the current Minister of Agriculture. Putin then met with the Head of the Kabardino-Balkarian Republic Kazbek Kokov, who also toured the facility.

[tetroon]

I'm back, baby! But now with with my own Cookie character.

Meet happy-go-lucky Pastila Cookie. If you ever go caroling, make sure to visit her. You will get a lot of sweet treats that can please even the most picky Cookie. She can be found at her candy stall almost at every market day!

Her lovely bird companion, Golden Cockerel, helps her remain punctional. Don't be fooled by his sweet appearance - his sweet nature does not exclude pecking sleepy Pastila Cookie.

[hasufin]

Risk

The upside to me having unfettered usage of the kitchen: Tasty treats!

The downside of me having unfettered usage of the kitchen: "You know, TRADITIONALLY pastila is only made with apples, but there's no reason one couldn't use, say, melon..."

The upside of going to bed while I'm still doing stuff in the kitchen: Near 100% chance of waking up to baked goods. (This has been known to happen even to people who do not live with me)

The downside of going to bed while I'm still doing stuff in the kitchen: Uncomfortably high risk of being woken up by the smoke detector; new and unnatural molecular gastronomy ideas happen at 3am.

[my-guitar-journey-by-jonathan]

Holy Molly x RAVA - Spune-mi | Official Video https://music.apple.com/us/album/pastila-de-somn-single/1714715670

[belladonazeppole]

Arcane Headcanon #3

Viktoria knows how to bake (she has a huge sweet tooth) and one of her ways of showing her love is to gift the stuff she bakes.

People who have received something from her:

Jayce: Pastila and conchas (she asked Ximena for help on these, and Jayce was delighted to eat them).

Heimerdinger: Croquembouche

Sky: Blini, Kulich and Tiramisu

Silco: Flourless Chocolate Cake (especially with an espresso) and Karavai

Jinx: Zefir, Cupcakes and Macaroons (anything that go with a tea party!)

Sevika: Kogel Mogel and Rum Cake

Ekko: Dark Chocolate Chunk Brownies

Viktoria favorites are Medovik, Kulich and Devil's food cake and definitely more!  (and anything that go with sweetmilk!)

Silco, Jinx, Sevika, Sky and Ekko particularly value this because in the Undercity it is hard to get ingredients.

She was particularly nervous about giving something to Silco as she didn't know if he liked sweet things. She was relieved to see that the whole cake was eaten.

[mishervellous]

now, now, won't you look at that, husband back in the asks to annoy the dash 🌾

it's apple picking season at the cottage! we could go pick them together! and bring a blanket, and warm tea, and some snacks for in-between breaks (i will absolutely steal an apple or two for those). we could make so many things of them, too! baking apple pie together (heads up, i suck at baking)? making compote? apple sauce to eat with pancakes? baked apples? and apple juice! we could warm it up with some cinnamon when the evenings get colder and drink it together on the porch, chilling with the cats and the hens before they get back to their coop for the night.

and don't get me started about being silly and starting to throw fallen leaves at each other, or jumping into piles of 'em.

also, not to be that person, but i bet you rock some plaid fall aesthetic 😌🌾

my love, i think everyone would agree with me that any time you’re on someone’s dash/in someone’s tags, they’re all looking at you with heart-eyes (me included! that’s actually my default look when you’re involved but i digress)—so no worries about that! and if anyone is annoyed that you’re here, let me tell you, you are on the wrong flagged profile my gender neutral bucko 😤

apple picking is like the apple stealing goblin’s christmas, so of course we’re going! i hope napping and koala-hugging and kinda bothering you while you’re trying to clean the prettiest tree of all its apples (namely with: apple puns, tickles and hugs) are all acceptable activities too eheh also don’t worry, you’re married to the chocolate chips cookie champion (of my building) so baking will be easy peasy! and if you get frustrated, we can always dance for a bit, jam the blueberries away 🌷i have this recipe that i’ve always wanted to try and i think this would be the perfect occasion to: pastila! it’s, like, apple marshmallows. they look delicious and, although lengthy, fun to make too—perfect with the pancakes and the apple sauce the next morning if you ask me 😌 i have a pretty good apple cake recipe too, if one of the cows is an october child or something 🎂

i’m definitely making fallen leaves confetti and sprinkling them in your hair when you’re busy doing something else🍁

also, i peep a biased hubby with my eyes! but i do own some pretty comfy and cute plaid shirts and a couple of vintage overalls, so the wannabe farmer aesthetic is on—might have to take a couple of breathers, but if you’re there it’ll be aaall a-okay 🥰💙

did you know you’re the apple of my eye? 🍎💙

[randomtimes-com]

Pastila, the historic russian treat that turns apples into marshmallows

Dostoevsky love it, just like Catherine the Great and Sofia, Tolstoy’s long-suffering wife and assistant, and It was once the quintessential Russian dessert: pastila. The sweet, fluffy treat was a classic afternoon tea snack at aristocratic Russian soirees of the 19th century. To make it, you need simply applesauce, egg whites, and sugar, leavened with lots and lots of air that’s forced into the…

[hypnosiacon-archived]

✈✈✈ >:3c

@gender-mailman

Oh no more planes /pos

✈️: My eyesight today is worse that usual, eyes are in pain even when I'm not wearing glasses ((

✈️: Today again these 3 classes where I do nothing, so... Time for Korean. My partner even said jokingly "From NEUROpean to Korean" LMAO

✈️: My friend-classmate gave me some pastila and it's so tasty +_+