anonymous asked:

For the ask meme, #50, Victor and Yuuri (look I know Yuuri has a lot of guilty pleasures but one of them has to be the Worst)

  • 50: this character’s guilty pleasure?

VICTOR: hugh grant romantic comedies, eastern european disco from the 70′s and 80′s, pelmeni, getting his asshole waxed and bleached, biting the soft of yuuri katsuki’s inner thigh just to hear the noise he makes every time and feel the uncontrollable keen of his body into victor’s mouth

YUURI: the track “You & I” by one direction, victor nikiforov, not wearing pants if he absolutely doesn’t have to, victor nikiforov, trying to get a rise out of yuri plisetsky, victor nikiforov, dipping fries in milkshakes, victor nikiforov, 

thevalesofanduin  asked:

Hi honey! If you've still got a spot on your memory thing, I was thinking AOS Chekov. There's so few HC's I've seen about him so seeing your thoughts on that would be super exciting! Random fact of my choice would be "favourite book" because that says so much about a person... Congrats again honey, you're amazing <3

Childhood Headcanons, 4/10, for @thevalesofanduin

Originally posted by teller-marie

AOS Pavel Chekov

Pav’s first memory

“Cover your ears, Myshka, you’ll catch cold,” Baba reaches down to adjust the flaps on his cap.

“I am not a mouse,” Pav protests, stamping his little feet and glaring mutinously at Baba.

Baba tuts. “You are my little mouse.” She bends carefully, straightening Pav’s scarf one last time.

Pav pulls it back down. The wool is thick and heavy, and it tickles his neck.

“Come, come, out of the threshold, Myshka.” Baba ushers him quickly out of the doorway. “Uvy! Do you want to bring ruin on our house?”

Pav stomps his booted feet against the thick snow. The night is cold and dark. He huffs a deep sigh, giggling at the little puff of breath that lingers at his lips.

“Look, Myshka.” Baba comes to a stop at the edge of the clearing, laying a gnarled hand in Pav’s curls. “See the stars.”

And Pavel sees.

Pav’s favorite hobby

Pavel Chekov was born a genius.

He’s the only son of Andrei Ilyich Chekov, world class astrophysicist and pioneer of the antineutrino phase shift model.

He skips right from syllables to sentences - “Baba, no more,” he tells her at ten months. Baba had dropped her spoon, she was so surprised.

He’s reading at university level at the age of four.

When Pav is six years old, Andrei starts bringing home his old physics journals.

They sprawl on the floor in front of the fire, Papa and Pav, journals spread open between them. Baba sits near them in her rocking chair. Her knitting needles clack, and she hums softly.

Oh frost, frost,

Don’t freeze me

Don’t freeze me

They play games with numbers, jabbering back and forth, faster and faster until Pav is squealing with excitement and Andrei is laughing. They discuss formulas and theories, and Pavel scrawls his calculations in cramped little letters in the margins of the pages.

He is never wrong.

“Well done, my Myshka,” Baba says every evening, hardly glancing up from her knitting. “Andrei, it is as I said, is it not? Your son is smarter than you.”

Every night, Andrei sputters good-naturedly.

And every night, Pavel beams.

Pav’s biggest fear

Pavel is afraid of birds.

He’s four years old. Papa is teaching, and Baba is in the kitchen.

A bird lights on the windowsill. It folds its wings delicately, ruffling the feathers on its silky-dark back.

Pav comes a little closer.

The bird tilts its head, eyeing Pav curiously from the side. Its eyes are round and black.

Pav leans his forehead against the cool glass.

The bird warbles, just once, a low, harsh sound. Pav sees the muscles in its throat twitch.

Tap, tap, tap.

It clicks its beak on the widow.

Pav giggles, and taps back.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Pavel!” Baba is running to the window. “Shoo, shoo,” she cries, flinging her arms and waving her apron. “Leave us in peace!”

The bird shrieks as it launches gracefully away from the window, and Pavel imagines he can hear its wings beating as it takes to the sky. “Why did you chase her away, Baba?”

“It is the butcher bird, Myshka,” Baba tells him seriously. “A bad omen.”

“Bad?” Pavel thinks about the wickedly curved beak, about the dark, unblinking eyes.

“An omen of death.”

A Defining moment

Pavel Andreievich Chekov is accepted into Starfleet Academy at the age of 13 years, 2 months, and 28 days.

He is the second youngest cadet in history by a week.

Pav’s best friend

Pav’s best friend is Baba.

Baba, who tucks him in bed with stories of Mother Russia.

Baba, who clucks and tuts and worries.

Baba, with all the wisdom of the generations before her.

Baba, who cried tears of joy when Pavel got accepted into the academy.

Baba, who still calls Pav, “My little mouse,” long after he’s all grown up.

Baba, who sends him a new cap and scarf every year for his birthday.

Baba, who first bundled him up and took him to see the stars.

Pav’s least favorite food

Pavel Chekov eats voraciously.

“Uvy!” Baba exclaims as she spoons another helping of pelmeni onto Pav’s empty plate. “You will eat us out of house and home, Myshka!”

Pav doesn’t have a least favorite food, at least, not until he moves to San Fran and has his first grapefruit.

“Ach!” he sputters, spitting it emphatically onto the sidewalk and glaring at Gary Mitchel with as much ire as a 14 year-old can muster. “What is it?”

“It’s a grapefruit, Pav.” Gary’s looking at him like he’s nuts. “You’ve really never seen a grapefruit before?”

Pavel eyes the fruit distastefully. “We do not have zem in Russia,” he huffs.

Random Fact Pav’s favorite book

Mikhial Bulgakov’s The Master and the Margarita

Tags @feelmyroarrrr@musikat18Sorry this took so long!

Link to Anna’s Masterlist here.

I love to cook, so I can relate to this prompt a bit. That’s why I ended up picking some of my absolute favorite characters from Overwatch as well as characters that don’t get a lot of attention on here. I hope you like this. If you have any questions, message me.

Also, this turned into a request will all girls.


The mission had been long and arduous, draining Zarya to the point of exhaustion. She hadn’t eaten for some time, and she could hear the vicious rumbling of her stomach. Stumbling into the kitchen, she breathed in the sweet scents of the air and realized someone was cooking. Her eyes snapped open, and she smiled.

You were gently stirring a pot of food, balancing on a stool to attempt to see what you were cooking.

Zarya approached you quietly, flinging her muscular arms around you. She nuzzled your neck as you jumped, not realizing your girlfriend was here. You giggled as she peppered kisses across your skin.

“What are you making, myshka?” She asked, her eyes on the pot.

“Pelmeni,” you said, trying to peel yourself away from her hands. She tightened her grips and hummed a noise of approval.

“Oh, you are wonderful. Thank you,” she said.

“Go sit down, Zar. I’ll finish this and bring you some. Alright?”

She pressed another kiss to your neck before taking a seat, watching you with love in her eyes. You blushed and turned away from her, stirring the pot.


Satya sighed softly as she returned to her home, sweeping a hand through her hair. She was terribly tired and needed a nap, but she had quite a bit of work to do. As she stopped to adjust something out of place, a familiar scent swirled around her. Spices danced through the air, and she found herself wandering toward the kitchen.

She stopped and watched you, crossing her arms over her chest. You were a bit of a mess, but you had somehow kept the rest of the space clear of dirt or debris.

“What are you doing?” She asked, and you whirled around, stray hairs fluttering.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you come in! I, uhm, making food. Well, I’m making jalebi? I believe that’s what it’s called,” you said. Though you were a fan of cooking and did it constantly, you had never delved into that side of cuisine.

“Yes, that is what it’s called,” she said as she approached you, brushing back strands of your hair. She tucked them behind your ear and smiled, using a cloth to wipe the sauce on your cheek. “Thank you, my sweet.”

“Alright! Take a seat. I am going to serve you when this is done!” You said, smiling wide.

Deciding to humor you, Satya took a seat and watched you return to the food, so focused on what you were making. It was rare when she saw you so precise, but cooking was you specialty just like light-bending was hers.

It was sweet to see you so passionate.


Amélie wandered into the apartment, peeling off her uniform. She was ready for a long, dreamless sleep, and she wanted to spend the night cuddling with you. It wasn’t something she did often, but she needed some semblance of a normal night.

However, her plans were interrupted by the smells wafting from the kitchen. She moved without a sound, entering to kitchen to find you placing two plates on the dining room table. It didn’t take a genius to know what you had made, but that didn’t stop Amélie from smiling when she realized what it was.

“Ratatouille? What’s the occasion?” She purred, stepping up behind you.

You jumped and whirled around, staring up at her.

“Oh! Well, I wanted to surprise you. I knew you’d be hungry and tired, so I decided to make you something I knew you loved. I hope it’s good.”

“It’ll be perfect, my love. Thank you for this,” she whispered as she collapsed in her seat, pulling you onto her lap, “Je t'aime.”

You blushed beneath her stare and smiled softly, lowering your head. You said, “I love you, too.”

anonymous asked:

Alpha Zarya finding out you are pregnant with her pups?

You knew something had been wrong the last few weeks. Your sense of smell had been amplified, just like during your heats, but the timing for that was all wrong. You weren’t due to have another one for at least another 38 days and Zarya hadn’t gone into her next rut yet. Then waves of nausea would kick in throughout the day, making you feel like your stomach was being tossed around on an unhappy sea. You had eaten breakfast or lunch several times those weeks only to have it come back up, your Alpha fretting over you before setting you on a diet you could finally consume with no problem. Tea with honey, plain white rolls with raspberry jam and pelmeni; all flavorful but not overwhelming to your sensitive system. And of course Zarya cooked these meals for you, insisting that while you were sick it was her job as your mate to care for you.

So every meal for the last week, Zarya would lift you onto the counter and ‘make’ you drink your tea as she cooked. You’d tease the former bodybuilder, turned Overwatch agent as she’d make meals, idly wondering aloud if the rest of the world knew what great homemaking skills her mate had. She’d shoot you a look before walking over and placing a hard, playful kiss to your lips and say that they’d be even more jealous than they already were. Although…as of late she’d pause during kissing you and give you a heavy sniff before saying that you smell ‘different’. You suggested that it may have been the sickness, and the Russian woman took your word for it but now you were very worried. So you had quietly gone to Angela while your mate was training, explaining your symptoms and asking the Swedish doctor to run the normal panels of tests. And now you held the test results in your hand.

Pregnant. You were pregnant and were going to have pups, the number not quite known as of yet. Giddy, anxious butterflies fluttered in your stomach, one of your hands subconsciously dropping and smoothing down over the slight bloat of your stomach. Now you understood why your stomach hadn’t shrank even though you weren’t able to keep down any food; your body was growing with your pups. Family is a discussion that you and Zarya had talked over multiple times, the Russian powerhouse often expressing how, after they crushed the omnics, she would be happy to have a big pack of beautiful, strong children with you. She wanted to create a world where those she cared about and loved could be safe and happy–this was definitely ahead of schedule. A nervousness chewed lightly at your insides; a small voice in the back of your mind questioning whether Zarya would truly be happy with pups now. You’d find out soon enough…

Zarya rushed through the door to your shared bunk, hands touching far gentler than any woman her size and strength should possess. She smelled frenzied, anxiety rolling off of her as she looked you up and down from head to toe.

“Pchelka”, she breathed out, brow furrowed in worry as her hands gently took your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. You smiled as she said your nickname, your hands covering hers and massaging gently. She had told you it meant ‘little bumblebee’, that you were sweet as honey to her. You tried to exude a calm energy for her, nuzzling into her skin and smiling soft as you looked up at him through your lashes. “What is wrong? I received your messages about going to see the doctor. Are you ill? Should we try my babu–”

You shook your head hard, placing one finger gently over Zarya’s lipsticked lips to quiet her. You knew that when she was worried she would ramble until she guess what was wrong but you doubted she would get this.

“I’m pregnant Aleks”, you said, voice very soft as if you were afraid speaking it too loudly might frighten her. “I…I am going to be having your pups.”

Her reaction was quick and if you weren’t used to her, you probably would have missed it. Her green eyes got big before she let out a yell of excitement. You grabbed on tight as her arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up easily and spinning you around with  a laugh. You laughed suddenly, feeling lighter than air as Zarya pressed her face hard against your stomach and kissed over and over.

“Love I’m dizzy”, you hummed softly, patting her shoulder to get her to look at you. Her apology was quick and stuttered but the grin on her face had not left. She still hadn’t let you touch the ground, instead now putting her face into your neck and nuzzling hard, scenting you. You hummed happily, your body soaking up the attention of your mate, hands combing through her pink locks affectionately. You could hear her murmuring words of I love you in Russian and English against the side of your neck, drawing soft contented purrs from your throat. “So I take it you are happy?”



pelmeni are russian dumplings consisting of a filling (typically minced meat, fish, or mushroom) wrapped in a thin dough. they’re easy and simple to make, and could be offered to slavic deities or house spirits (like a domovoi).

be warned, this recipe makes A LOT of pelmeni (about eighty) so if you don’t want that much, feel free to cut the recipe in half etc. pelmeni can also be frozen and stored fr quite a while.


fr the dough

- 2 large eggs
- 2/3 cup water
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 3 ¼ cups all-purpose flour 

fr the filling

- 1 large finely grated onion
- 8 ounces ground pork
- 8 ounces ground beef
- 1 ½ teaspoons salt
- ½ teaspoon pepper 

here’s what you do:

in a large bowl, combine eggs, water, oil, salt, and half the flour. add the rest of the flour and stir until a smooth dough forms. sprinkle some flour onto yr kitchen surface and turn the dough on it and knead until it’s no longer sticky. wrap it in plastic and leave fr about half an hour. it can be refrigerated until it’s ready to use.

in a medium bowl, combine the grated onion, the pork and beef, and the salt and pepper (even other spices if you wish; i sometimes use chilli), until it’s thoroughly mixed.

grab the dough frm the fridge, and cut it into eight equal pieces. while keeping the rest of it covered, roll one piece of it into a finger-width cylinder. cut the cylinder into ten pieces. roll each of the pieces into about a two-inch circle. spread 1 teaspoon of the meat filling into the middle of the circle. pick up the circle and fold it to create a half-moon shape and pinch the edges together. it’s important to make sure there is no air in the dumpling, which could cause them to burst and spill the filling while yr cooking.

put a large saucepan of salted water on to boil. put about ten pelmeni in each time. when they rise to the surface of the boiling water, boil them fr an additional one to two minutes. remove the pelmeni frm the water with a slotted spoon, and place them on a wet plate to prevent frm sticking. repeat with the remaining uncooked dumplings.

once done, pelmeni are typically served with sour cream and topped with melted butter, but some serve them with soy sauce. you can also lightly fry them in butter until they turn a golden brown.

finally, set it out and dig in !!!


Papyrus prepares perfect pasta with poise and precision.
Papyrus picks plump tomatoes and purees them in a particular progress. Papyrus prepares in a pan, his pasta, which can be Penne, or Pillus, or Pacherri, or Papperdelle, Pici, Puntine,Perciatelli, and Pelmeni. Papyrus peaks his pasta with Parmesan and a pinch of Parsley.
Papyrus is provoked with puns and playful pups procuring to place paws on his precious pasta, but he persists in his practice, for Papyrus is prim and proper. Papyrus will plate the proportions promptly and posthaste, for his pals and peers with picky palates push Papyrus to portion the picture perfect pasta with a passionate personality.
Popular and prestigious Papyrus is proud and pleased for the pasta he prepares is the pinnacle of culinary perfection.

…so I like alliteration
Also I substituted for  some of the pasta that I could not find. 
I may not be as great as the Pasta Master Papyrus when it comes to macaroni art, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

This is the amazing original HERE

And a very happy anniversary to this blog. It means a lot!

No One Else

for swedishmeatballarmin SweetheartAnatoly x reader fluff thanks for being the 700th follower you rock girl xoxo sorry it took awhile!!

“For the love of God, man, the point!! Do you understand the concept of an open player?? Pass to the point!,” you yelled at the Islanders game on your TV as you looked up from where you were cutting vegetables in your kitchen, grumbling that this team would be the death of you.

You felt a familiar pair of rough hands grab your waist from behind and you felt yourself relaxing at the touch even though you continued to chop with ferocity.

“Shhh принцесса, it is just a game,” Anatoly chuckled into your ear as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

You sighed. “It still makes me mad knowing how much these придурки get paid to play and yet they play like shit!”

Anatoly grinned and cupped your face upward; you couldn’t help but smile at him beaming at you. “I’ll buy you new team and you can coach them all however you want, da?”

You let out a genuine laugh and placed the knife down to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your lips to meet yours as he tightened his grip around your waist.

You had been dating Anatoly for a few months now and anyone who looked at the two of you could tell how absolutely smitten you both were. He may have been tough on the outside, but there was an underlying sweetness there that captivated you. You knew he would do anything for you. Whenever you stopped by the garage to see him – even if his men or brother were around he’d croon out “Привет, красавица” and pull you into his lap while you played with his hair as he worked on whatever paperwork he had to read over that day. You’d usually go for a walk and despite the odd looks from some of his men, he never let go of your hand first. You knew he was proud that you were his, and you loved that he wasn’t afraid to show it. It was the same when outside of work; constant compliments and kisses over every inch of your skin. He made you laugh and he made you want to believe in yourself. You would never tire of hearing him say “I love you,” in either Russian or English and you would never tire of saying it.

You both broke apart only when hearing Vladimir’s exaggerated noise of disgust, the two of you flipping him off in unison. “Save that shit for when I leave and focus on the food, I’m hungry,” Vladimir huffed out irritably from your couch, a glass of vodka in one hand.

“Keep up that tone and I’m not feeding you,” you shot back tauntingly as Vladimir made a face at you.

“It probably won’t even be edible,” he said with a wicked smirk.

The smirk vanished when you whipped a well-aimed clementine orange off your counter at his spiky blond head, earning an approving clap from his brother and a glare from Vladimir. “She attacks me and you clap for her? What the hell, Tolya?!” Vladimir snarled.

Anatoly merely shrugged and looked at you proudly. “You know better than to piss her off.”

You smiled sweetly and went over to a sulking Vladimir, kissing the top of his head gently. “I’m sorry I hurt you, little one. You are the reason I’m cooking, anyways.” Vladimir grunted in acknowledgment and you smiled – you two fought a lot, but you knew that he did at least like you and would kill anyone who tried to harm Tolya’s girl.

After getting tired of hearing Vladimir bitch about American food (even though he mostly ate Chinese takeout) you had finally lost it and yelled that the brothers would be joining you on Sunday for real Russian cuisine at your place and there would be no questions about it. Vladimir had looked at you skeptically – you were only half Russian from your mother’s side and Irish on the other. But, you insisted fiercely, your mama had taught you a kickass family recipe for Borscht and if he didn’t want to try it, he didn’t have to come. And while he had grudgingly agreed (you knew Tolya would be there without question), you knew how Vladimir really did miss the sentimental food from his old home – but you knew he was too stubborn to ever admit it freely. And it helped knowing that Tolya had told you in secret how excited Vladimir really was for this dinner – you really did want to make it nice for both of them.

So there you were, putting the finishing touches on your Borscht. You had also picked up a really nice loaf of rye bread, made your favorite garlic-rich pelmeni dumplings, Olivier salad and, as a surprise for later, Apple sharlotka (a recipe from your beloved grandmother). The boys only really knew about the Borscht, but that changed when Vladimir’s head snapped around from the couch like he had whiplash. “What do you have there?” He asked hopefully.

You couldn’t suppress a grin. “Pelmeni, why, does someone like?”

Vladimir’s jaw actually dropped and he raced up from the couch to tear the plate out of your hands with a hurried, “I’ll help you with that,” quickly placing it on the table and staring at it lovingly.

You tried to suppress your giggles as Tolya muttered, “Those were always his favorite. Good call Ангел.” Tolya grabbed the bread and salad while you ladled out generous portions of Borscht into bowls, humming as you dolloped sour cream in it. Putting your waitressing skills to use, you easily balanced three bowls and set them down in front of your boyfriend, his brother and your own place.

“Alright, my loves, enjoy,” you said happily, staring in amusement as Vladimir lunged at those pelmeni. “Damn, Volodya,” you said teasingly.

Vladimir looked up at you intensely as he swallowed. Before you could shimmy away, he had grabbed your face and planted a huge kiss on your cheek. “I know I tease the shit out of you, but that stops,” he said earnestly with a smile. “As long as you keep cooking like this.” You wiped at your cheek but also smiled. Anatoly beamed at you, grabbing your hand and placing his lips to kiss your knuckles and sending butterflies through your stomach. “This is perfect. We can make Sunday our family day,” he said, looking directly at you.

Your heart skipped a beat as he included you as part of his family now – solidifying your importance in his life and in his future. You didn’t know what to say, but the look on his face as he gazed at your tender expression seemed to say he understood what that meant to you.

“Oh!” You said suddenly, standing up from the table to run to your room to grab dessert. You came back triumphantly as the boys looked on inquisitively. “I know it’s early on, but I needed to show Blondie over here just how good I really can-” “SHARLOTKA?! MOTHERFUCKING SHARLOTKA?!” He yelled out like a very mature kid on Christmas.
You grinned. “I guess the teasing is over forever.”
Vladimir shook his head incredulously spooning Borscht into his mouth with ravenous delight. “I take anything mean I ever said back, just let me have that dessert!” Tolya laughed and stood up to grab the dessert from you, placing it lightly on the table before pulling you into an intense kiss. “я люблю тебя. спасибо, любовь моя,” he murmured thickly and you were surprised to see his eyes looking rather wet. You kissed him gently.“я тоже тебя люблю.”

Vladimir looked up this time not to make fun, but almost thoughtfully. “You need to marry this woman, Tolya. No other one in New York can cook like this.”

Tolya looked at you in the kind of way that made you melt. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “There’s no other woman in the world like this.”

-Hey, beautiful
- I love you. Thank you, my love.
-I love you too.

today lunch with the oligarchs: pelmeni and chai. a pianist and Čajkovskij. pasticceria italiana. a great blizzard, holes in my silk socks, red carnations and Bolshoi.

ao3 link

There was a hand running down Yuri’s arm, soft, gentle. There was a dip in the mattress and a weight, something firm, something warm, something good, hovering over him. There was a hitched breath.

Everything was hazy and soft, and Yuri couldn’t really see everything, but he could feel, and he could feel all these touches. And then the press of lips, the ghost of a breath over his ear. His hands came up and wrapped around something that turned out to be someone. Whoever it was nuzzled into Yuri’s neck and Yuri bared it easily.

“Mmm,” he let out a soft noise, kind of like a moan. He still couldn’t see who it was exactly, but he had a feeling. He forced himself to open up his eyes, to see a little more and his suspicions were solidified.

“Otabek,” he managed, and his voice came out almost quiet in the room.

“Yes, Yura?” was the response. Otabek’s voice was rough, and it made Yuri shiver and arch up into him, into his touch. It made Yuri pull him closer.

“I need…” Yuri began, but Otabek’s mouth was on his in a second and they were kissing, and Yuri was letting out soft noises, starting to squirm under Otabek.

“What do you need, Yuri, what is it?” he inquired when he pulled away to start kissing down Yuri’s neck again.

“B- Beka, please,” Yuri sighed. Yuri swallowed thickly when he felt Otabek’s hand creep under his t-shirt. There was skin on skin, his fingers warm, starting to creep down, his hand going down further, teasing the line of Yuri’s sweats. “Beka,” Yuri breathed out, closing his eyes.

He paused, and he expected more to happen, he expected to feel Otabek’s hand go lower, he expected to feel more but then everything started to fade.

Yuri groaned, still breathing out Otabek’s name as he was slowly pulled to consciousness. It took him a moment or two before he realized that he was alone, in his own bed, in St. Petersburg, and Otabek was no where near him.

It took him a few moments to realize it had all been a dream and he had pretty much been squirming and tossing and turning under the covers. He also realized that it was extremely hot under the covers and he was practically sweating. He tore them off with an angry huff of air, spreading his limbs out wide on the bed.

He closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. He went over the dream a little in his head and then came to another realization, the realization that was pretty obvious. He was achingly hard. He groaned even more at the discovery.

Flailing a hand out, he reached over to his bedside table for his phone. He grappled with it for a moment before pulling it into his hand and checking the time. 2:15 A.M. He scoffed and tossed it aside. There was probably a reason he had had that dream, that reason being he hadn’t seen Otabek in way too long.

Long distance relationships suck, but Otabek and Yuri had a way of making them work.

Keep reading


Thank you for the tag, @isthisabattleship :)

1 Song: Sneaker Pimps - Small town witch

2 Movies: Tokyo Godfathers, Ravenous

3 Series: Preacher, Constantine, The Legend of Korra

4 People: Marlene Dietrich, Jessica Williams, Matt Ryan (the actor), Ruth Negga   

5 Foods: mint chocolate chip ice cream, tom kha, salad from all the fresh spring greens in my garden, cheese omlette, fried pelmeni with sour cream

6 people to tag: @fifty-shades-of-garbage, @jumalrebane, @origami10, @lipinipik, @thehatlady & @a-lonelycat :)


Pelmeni - (Russian: пельме́ни) plural, пельмень pelʼmenʼ — singular) are dumplings consisting of a filling wrapped in thin, unleavened dough. The filling can consist of minced meat (pork, lamb, beef, or any other kind of meat), fish, or mushrooms. Their place of origin is in Russia.