piled high

I Like You

“Psst! Hey! Hey, Cas!”

Cas looked around, confused, trying to figure out who was calling his name.

“Look down,” he heard, so he did. His eyes widened in surprise. His best friend Dean was sitting comfortably under the Winchesters’ dining table, eating a large slice of pumpkin pie piled high with whipped cream. “C’mere,” Dean said, gesturing with his free hand.

Written for the prompt: Imagine your OTP eating pie underneath the dining room table, as Thanksgiving family madness happens around them. (1.2k)

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans, and happy random Thursday to everyone else!


“Psst! Hey! Hey, Cas!”

Cas looked around, confused, trying to figure out who was calling his name.

“Look down,” he heard, so he did. His eyes widened in surprise. His best friend Dean was sitting comfortably under the Winchesters’ dining table, eating a large slice of pumpkin pie piled high with whipped cream. “C’mere,” Dean said, gesturing with his free hand.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, frowning in confusion.

“Just come on,” Dean said, waving for Cas to join him.

Cas glanced around. No one was paying him any attention. “I have another piece for you,” Dean added, and that was the final motivation Cas needed. He slid down his seat until he was seated next to Dean and grabbing the other plate.

“Why are you under the table?” Cas asked again curiously.

“Because,” Dean said. “There are too many people up there. And Aunt Missouri won’t stop asking me how school’s going. Why does she even care?”

“Oh,” Cas said, taking a bite of the pie. Dean’s mom had made it the previous afternoon, and it tasted as amazing as it always did. “So how long are you planning to sit down here?” he asked in between mouthfuls.

“As long as necessary,” Dean said, dead serious, and Cas noticed, not for the first time, the complete stubbornness in his green eyes.

“I’ll stay, too,” Cas decided, spreading his legs out in front of him and leaning against one of the table legs.

A few years earlier, the Winchesters and Novaks (next-door neighbors and close family friends) had decided to host Thanksgiving dinner together, and they’d done it every year since. All of their family and some close friends would gather in the Winchester’s dining room (and living room because they had so many people) to eat and be together, and it was one of Cas’ favorite days of the year.

“Did you bring your turkey home?” he asked Dean as he ate his last bite of pie. Their third-grade class had made turkeys out of construction paper during craft time earlier that week and Cas personally thought that Dean’s was the best. He’d told him as much when Dean had finished, and he remembered how Dean had flushed with pride.

“Yes, it’s on the fridge,” Dean said happily. “Mom said it was beautiful and wanted to be able to see it all the time.”

Cas smiled too. “Mine’s in my bedroom at my desk. I had to make sure Gabe wouldn’t steal it. He’s mean sometimes.”

“Yeah, he is,” Dean agreed. They peered out from under the table, observing what their families were doing. On the other side of the room, Dean’s parents John and Mary were looking at the pictures on the wall and making comments about them. Cas’ mother Naomi was not far away, having a discussion with a friend of hers from work, Linda Tran, as Linda’s son Kevin stood not far away. They could see Gabriel chasing Dean’s younger brother Sam around, Sam laughing hysterically, and in the corner by the TV Uncle Bobby was talking to Ellen Harvelle, both of them completely absorbed in their conversation.

“I think they like each other,” Cas said, eyes pausing on Uncle Bobby and Ellen.

Dean followed his gaze. “Me too,” he said. “I think Uncle Bobby’s gonna ask her out and then they’ll kiss. That’s what grownups do when they like each other.”

“What do kids do when they like each other?” Cas asked curiously, and Dean shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Share toys? Draw each other pictures? Maybe they kiss too.”

“Really?” Cas asked, and Dean nodded. Cas pondered that for a moment before leaning forward to peck Dean on the lips in an innocent kiss. “I like you, Dean,” Cas said, and Dean grinned.

“I like you too.”

Fifteen years later, Dean and Cas (now twenty-three) sat on the couch snuggled up together after a full Thanksgiving meal. Most of their family had gone home by now and their parents were cleaning up while Sam and Gabriel had gone outside to talk, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the living room.

“How many years have we been doing this?” Dean asked, fingers tracing light patterns on Cas’ arm.

“You mean this?” Cas quipped, referring to their current position.

Dean laughed. “No, having Thanksgiving dinner here,” he said. “It’s gotta be eighteen years at least…”

“Something like that,” Cas agreed. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing, I was just thinkin’ how we sat under the table that one year to eat our pie. Remember? And we watched what everyone else was doing ‘til they left and we fell asleep.”

Cas smiled. “How could I forget? And your mom had to carry us up to your bedroom so we didn’t spend the whole night on the floor.”

“She did, didn’t she,” Dean said with a chuckle. “I wonder if we can still fit…” Dean mused as he stared at the table, and it was Cas’ turn to laugh.

“We were quite a bit smaller then,” he teased.

That didn’t stop Dean from standing and reaching out his hand, an unmistakably mischievous twinkle in his eye. “C’mere,” he said, and Cas recalled eight-year old Dean saying the same thing. He hadn’t been able to resist then, and he wasn’t able to now either.

Dean got down on his hands and knees and crawled under the table, careful not to bump his head as he sat up and Cas followed him.

“Hi,” Dean said softly.

“Hi,” Cas answered with a smile.

Dean glanced around. “Wish we had some pie.”

“Yeah, it’s not quite the same without,” Cas replied, nudging Dean’s shoulder.

“I know what would make it better,” Dean said slyly.

Cas humored him. “And what would that be, Dean?”

Dean shifted so he was kneeling in front of Cas and pulled out a little black box from his jacket pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful gold band. “Marry me?” he asked simply, and Cas sat in shock for a second before he came to his senses, rising up to grasp Dean’s face in his hands and pull it to his, kissing him breathless. “Yes, yes!” he whispered. “God, yes!”

Dean smiled against his mouth, and murmured, “Good.” They broke apart so Dean could slide the smooth gold band onto Cas’ finger and then Dean pulled him in for another kiss. When they separated again, Cas laughed.

“This is where we had our first kiss,” he said. “Is that how you planned it?”

Dean nodded bashfully. “I, uh, wanted to make it special.”

“Well, you made the perfect choice,” Cas said with a smile.

That night, as they cuddled up together in Dean’s old bed for the first time as an engaged couple, they watched the stars out the window, something they had always done during sleepovers at Dean’s house. Just before they drifted off to sleep, Dean uttered three familiar words and Cas replied as he knew how.

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

I’m like 100% positive that when Jack visited Georgia for the 4th of July both Mama Bittle and MooMaw fell in love with him, and not because of the charming accent or his slammin’ hockey bod but because of his ability to just inhale food.

Like after Jack finishes his first generous helpings of potato salad, macaroni salad, baked beans, and burger complete with all of the fixings, Mama Bittle and MooMaw plop themselves across from Jack in the shade. They both fuss over him, telling him that there’s plenty of food for seconds and thirds and to help himself.

So Jack stands up with his festive red, white, and blue paper plate and disappears for a few minutes before returning with an extra plate in his hand. Both women look over his plates with a wide smile; one plate was piled high with all of the different sides, and the other plate was holding three burgers and two hot dogs.

The two women chatted eagerly as they fanned themselves and sipped at their sweet tea, watching Jack with lovestruck eyes as he tucked into his plate quietly.

When dessert time comes around everyone serves themselves but Mama Bittle fixed up a plate especially for Jack with extra helpings of everything, which he absolutely demolishes in minutes.

After Bitty finished helping clean up dinner stuff he found Jack rocking on the front porch swing, his head tilted backwards, and his eyes closed.

“Mama get to you?” He asked with a small smile, sitting down next to him.

All he got in response was a soft, “Mhm”.


The streets of Hanoi teem with bicycles, many of them ridden by street vendors carrying fruit and flowers. It’s amazing to see them gracefully pedal past on bikes piled high with colorful cargo, but the impact is lost amid the chaos of Vietnam’s capital. That’s why Loes Heerink photographs them from above. Only then can you can see just how much they’re hauling, and how colorful it is. “They’re works of art,” Heerink says.

SEE MORE: Bike couriers got nothing on these Vietnamese street vendors.


Characters:  Sam x Reader

Summary:  Research leads to more between Sam and reader.  Basically a little plot, a little poetry and some good old fashioned smut.

Word Count:  2313

Warning:  Smut, language.  Sorta rough sex.

As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.  Tags are at the bottom.


It’s a Thursday night and you are seated at an enormous table in a public library after hours. And no, you didn’t enter through the front door. The method of entry for you and Sam had been a window around back that Sam had managed to open with his pocket knife. Because that’s how hunters roll.

Sam is seated across from you. Books are stacked all around, piled high. Dean, the lucky bastard, is staking out the apartment where the suspect lives. You, however, drew the short end of the stick and are stuck doing research for the next ten billion hours. At least, that’s what it feels like.  

The upside is that between paragraphs, you can sneak peaks at Sam Winchester. The way his eyebrows draw together as he concentrates, the way his hair falls down to cover his face as he reads, it does things to you. Fucking hell, it doesn’t’ help that he’s wearing his Fed getup. That white button down shirt? Jesus Christ. It makes your cheeks feel hot in a cool room, your stomach does somersaults. He always has this effect on you, he just doesn’t seem to realize it. Which only serves to make him more desirable.

Blowing out the lungful of air that you’ve been holding in, you force yourself to return to the centuries-old text in front of you. It smells comforting, old leather and musty pages. As much as you hate research, you have a fondness for books. Fiction is more your speed. When it comes to research, you’d prefer some wifi and Google. Ancient lore, unfortunately, isn’t usually found with a few keystrokes.  

Okay, time to concentrate. Grabbing another book from the stack to your left, you quickly scan the table of contents. A chapter labeled ‘Kamadeva’ catches your eye. Flipping quickly to the right chapter, you read the text. Hmm, this sounds like it could be useful.

Keep reading

how to survive a blizzard

so my pal brooke @onethousandroaches​ got into harvard today!!! and to celebrate i wrote her this lil ficlet. she asked for fluffy nurseydex in the kitchen. ~500 words, gen rating

The snow was already piling up as high as the Haus porch, and the forecast called for another foot and a half before the day was out.

“C’mon Dexmeister, we gotta eat something. Bitty’s staying in Providence for the weekend, and we’ve got all these groceries. You’re the only one who can cook. C’monnnnnn…”

“First of all Derek, cool it with the pet names, someone might hear. And second, literally anyone can cook. Just find a recipe and do what it says.”

“As far as the pet names, Bitty’s not here and Tango and Chowder won’t be back till late. No need to worry. As for cooking, do you really trust me to operate a stove, Dexybug?”

“……Fair point. I’ll see what I can do.”

Keep reading

pushes on the tip of my tongue,
an apology for the things i do right.
never enough for the wrongs.

for my introverted mind,
even though anxiety climbs up my throat at the thought
of mingling with people with empty eyes,
single-minded with the thirst to fit in.

for feeling too smart,
flaunting words and tales while others
glare and
i should be considerate of such jealousy.

for doing too much
when it doesn’t feel like enough,
balancing responsibility piled high on
twice-broken arms,
no weight-bearing strength left but
i’m too scared to let them topple.

for the emptiness
that has built itself inside.
happiness is the dessert for my depression,
eaten up with a silver spoon,
feasting upon my insides,
letting the remains fester with sadness.

because i agree
with things i do not believe in,
just to make others think they are right.
i don’t wish that upon them,
sometimes i say that just for you.

this isn’t poetry
this isn’t poetry
—  pensive xix

The Ultimate Jedi Who Wastes All the Other Jedi and Eats Their Bones

Stay true to the path young Jedi
Cleave to the precepts you’re given
Remember those who went before and cleared a way for you
Let your deeds give hope and comfort to the living
Let your deeds give hope and comfort to the living

Do your best in city or in swampland
Peace over anger, honor over hate
At the end of all your days one Jedi waits for you
With the dust of Jedi bones piled high like parsnips on his plate
With the dust of Jedi bones piled up like parsnips on his plate

Specifically just their bones
All the soft parts you can keep
“It’s the bones that have the calcium”, so he says
The long feast will be filmed for mass consumption
The cameras Rian’s got these days are unimaginably high-res

Despair not for the end that waits for you
Fear not the fire in which your flesh must burn
All the Jedi from all the planets in this putrid universe
Get eaten by this last one and now it’s your turn
They get eaten by this last one and now it’s your turn

Bones, bones, bones, bones, bones
Bones, bones, bones, bones, bones
The ultimate Jedi who wastes all the other Jedi has eaten up all their bones
All their bones, bones, bones, bones, bones


“all right so I see that while I was doing a phone interview some of you noticed this already but you may remember on Friday I was joking around with @rianjohnson about his big Star Wars news, and the joke was "have you then rejected my song?” whose title, at that point just an of-the-moment joke, was “The Ultimate Jedi Who Wastes All the Other Jedi and Eats Their Bones.” @rianjohnson responded, right here on twitter dot com: PLEASE WRITE THIS. Who am I to turn down the guy who directed “Ozymandias”? Not me, not this guy. I set to work immediately. It is important that the world learn the truth of this Jedi. But where to host? I don’t know if y'all know this but a lot of people are into Star Wars. So I wrote to @rianjohnson, and I’m like, here’s the tune, right. and he’s like “Should I put it on my Soundcloud?” And I’m like “rest up, do that on Monday!” So here’s the song. Enjoy!“

—from Twitter

Made with SoundCloud

Dragon Aesthetic

Fire crackling in the dead of night, smoke slithering and choking its victims, scales chinking like armour, being underestimated, skulls piled high from your previous enemies, a blazing inferno that no one could hope to stop, being famous worldwide, being feared by all who know you, hoarding everything precious in your sight, being worshipped as a god, taking out your rage against the world, the small smell of burning that makes you question your safety, appearing out of nowhere, dramatic entrances and exits, trying to live up to your name but knowing you’ll never make it. 

Trick or Sweets

Trick or Sweets, the Netherworld candy company based in Peyroux, has been busy conjuring up a new variety of flavors. Released just in time for Halloween, the slime-based sweets line has been an instant hit with the taste testing terrors.

Black Bunch Crunch: A caramel and ooze ball rolled in dirt, piled high with stinkweed, and wrapped in a magical scroll.

Pumpkin Slime: The inner string guts of a pumpkin mixed with spider webs and cotton candy. The ball is then rolled in seeds and foxglove petals before being stuck to a chocolate-dipped finger bone.

Underwater Sludge Surprise: A salty treat developed by sea sirens! Sailor bones and coral mashed into a nougat and candied. Octopus ink is drizzled in skull shapes on top.

Ecto Bones: A modern take on a classic recipe. A spoonful of graveyard dirt and bone shards are boiled in a copper cauldron, hexed with blue- violet magic under a full moon, and then enrobed in witch chocolate.

All Trick or Sweets candy and packaging are enchanted to be enjoyed by the living, undead (corporeal and non-), and monstrous alike.

Stay true to the path, young Jedi

Cleave to the precepts you’ve been given

Remember those who went before and cleared a way for you

Let your deeds give hope and comfort to the living (x2)


Do your best in city, or in swamp land

Peace over anger, honor over hate

At the end of all your days, one Jedi waits for you

With the dust of Jedi bones piled high like parsnips on his plate

With the dust of Jedi bones piled up like parsnips on his plate


Specifically just their bones, all the soft parts you can keep

It’s the bones that have the calcium, so he says

The long feast will be filmed for mass consumption

The cameras Rian’s got these days are unimaginably high-res


Despair not for the end that waits for you

Fear not the fire in which your flesh must burn

All the Jedi from all the planets in this putrid universe

Get eaten by this last one now it’s your turn (x2)


Bones (x10)

The ultimate Jedi who wastes all the other Jedi has eaten up all their bones

All their bones, bones, bones, bones, bones

Made with SoundCloud
Dean's Gay Thing

Sam was about to land a decent chunk of pocket money from his mark at the pool table. Cas had his own hustle with darts. He looked like a dorky desk jockey who was drinking his day away instead of going home to his wife. Dean stayed at their table to work his way through the piled high nachos.

“From the gentleman at the bar,” the waitress said as she slid some blue drink full of fruit in front of him. He smiled a thanks to her and tried to casually glance to see who sent it to him. He chuckled to himself and raised the glass.

“Aaron! Thought you were cruising raves in places I can’t pronounce.” Dean stood and gave him a hug when he made his way to the table.

“Dean, you killed Hitler. The least I could do was hop on a plane and buy you a drink.”

Dean gestured for him to sit and proceeded to tell him all about taking down one of the worst monsters mankind had ever seen. Aaron filled him in on his travels and research until Sam returned with his winnings.

Cas joined them a few moments later with his own haul in his trenchcoat pocket. He was confused at how friendly the brothers were being with this strange man in his seat and how comfortable he seemed to be around him. He stood next to Dean and waited to be noticed.

“Cas! Hey, I want you to meet Aaron Bass. Aaron, this is Castiel.”

Aaron extended a hand and Cas begrudgingly shook it. He had a thin smile. “How do you know Sam and Dean?” He asked with a slight edge.

“They helped me with a Nazi problem and how to use my golem. I helped them out with some info a few weeks ago. Had to come buy Dean a drink and thank him personally for killing Hitler.”

Ugh. All Dean has talked about is bagging his biggest trophy. And some stranger is buying him a drink. And sitting in his seat. Who the hell does he think he is? Cas stood with his arms crossed then let one drop to Dean’s shoulder.

“He was also Dean’s gay thing,” quipped Sam. The brightness left Cas’ eyes and turned dark and cold.

“Funny story. I’m going all over town looking for leads on this case and I keep seeing this guy everywhere I go. So I call him out on it and he starts flirting with me. I whipped out my FBI badge and he says…”

“…is that supposed to make you less interesting?” Aaron finished. The three men at the table laugh in unison but Cas is still maintaining his forced smile.

Cas looked at the blue cocktail and assumed it was the precedent to another flirtation. He was not pleased.

“Anyway, if it had been anyone else I would have politely declined the drink.” Dean reached and pulled Cas into his lap. “Seeing as I’m off the market.” He smiled at his angel. He knew Cas was getting tense so he decided to make a very public display of their relationship.

“Mazel Tov!” Aaron toasted them. Cas even tipped his half bottle of beer. Dean took one sip of the blue drink and made a horrible face. He handed it to Cas.

“Here. Too sweet for me. Have a Smurfarita.”

Cas accepted and didn’t mind the taste. He didn’t mind Aaron either. Dean proved he was totally committed to them, to their gay thing.




School Grade: Junior high school

This character was formerly written 疊, a combination of 冝 a variant of 宜 good/meat piled on altar, and 畾 a Chinese-only character meaning divided fields. Here 畾 is being used simply for its composition in order to indicate “quantity” and “repetition.” This reinforces 冝 which is used here to mean “pile up” in a broad sense. Originally 畳 meant to “pile something up layer upon layer,” giving the meanings of “fold” and “repeat.” In Japanese it also came to be applied to “matting,” especially the “tatami mat,” and is used as a “unit of size” based upon the tatami mat (approximately six feet by three feet).

Holiday Drabble ~ 23

23. “You can’t spend Christmas alone!”

“I have no one to spend it with.”

“You have me.”   + Yoongi 

What do you mean the guys aren’t there?

Yoongi sighs and drags the blanket up his chest, glaring out of the frosted windows at the dark, snowy street. Steady snowfall that day had piled high on the streets, covering the buildings and sidewalks in white fluffy sheets. He debates the likelihood that the Chinese he’d ordered for dinner would actually arrive, before dropping his head onto the back of the couch. Fuck, he should have taken Jin-hyung up on his offer to bring leftovers from his house over that afternoon.

“Not much to be confused about. They went home, wanted to spend Christmas with their families,” he grumbles irritably, before immediately regretting it. It’s not your fault the boys had all bailed on a Christmas at the dorm. Yoongi’s not really all that angry himself–he gets it. If he’d not been working on his next mixtape, he probably would have gone home himself. 

He glances at the box on the floor by the couch, full of cheap garlands, popcorn and string, and a tiny plastic tree with lights that he’d bought on his way home from the studio that afternoon. Kicks it with his toe and looks away.

But I thought you were going to have a little party, you and Namjoon and Seokjin.

Me too. Yoongi sighs. “Namjoon’s parents came into Seoul just to see him, and hyung got invited to dinner with Hyosang’s family.”

Oh…” you trail off, a low murmur of voices in the background of the line. You’d gone home last week, once your finals had ended, to spend the week up to Christmas day with your family. “Did Namjoon not invite you to go with them? Or Seokjin?

“Yeah, because being their awkward third-wheel is so much better. No, I’ll just hang out here. Eat some take-out, drink a beer. Enjoy the peace and quiet for once.”

Yoongi, you can’t spend Christmas alone!” He can practically see you biting your lip anxiously in his mind’s eye, brushing your hair back from your face and frowning down at the floor. 

“I have no one to spend it with,” he replies, trying for impassive but landing somewhere in the area of poorly-disguised disappointment. You’re silent over the line, a small ring, like a doorbell, echoing through the phone, and Yoongi winces. “Look, Y/N, really, it’s not a big–”

You have me.”

He pauses for a second before a warmth grows in his chest, a smile growing on his lips that’s only a little bittersweet. I wish. “No, I know you’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be fine tonight, babe. Maybe go to bed early.” A loud knocking comes at the door, prompting him to get to his feet and slide his feet into his slippers. “Ah, hold on.”

Who’s that?” You ask, a smile in your voice. 

“The Chinese take-out I ordered like forty-five minutes ago. Shit’s probably cold by now, but I guess I should still give a tip. Poor bastard did travel through four inches of snow to bring me fucking chow mein and egg rolls.” Yoongi strides down the hallway, grabbing his wallet off of the dresser and holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he thumbs through some bills. 

Definitely,” you laugh quietly. His heart skips at the sound, and for the umpteenth time that week, he wonders what it would have been like, to have been with you tonight. Knowing you, there would be cheesy decorations and classic movies and cavity-inducing, diet-crashing amounts of sugar and cookies, and you’d have him struggling to breathe in a ugly, itchy sweater covered in bells and sprigs of mistletoe. Staying up until midnight, cuddled in blankets. Wrapping you in his arms, carrying you to bed when you fall asleep. Waking up together in the morning, exchanging gifts and making breakfast.

Fuck that sounds nice.

Pulling several bills out, Yoongi makes it to the door. He’s dressed in his late-night studio outfit– baggy hoodie, sweatpants, hair unbrushed, bare-faced–but  fuck the take-out guy if he dares to judge him. He unlatches the door and scratches the back of his head, saying, “Hey, man. Sorry to drag you out in the–”

He looks up. His phone falls from his shoulder.

You’re standing in the doorway, phone in hand, his old beanie on your head. Snow sits on the shoulders and the buttons of your winter coat, the bight red scarf your friend had knitted for you protecting your neck and ears from the cold. Still, your cheeks are pink from the winter wind, the tip of your nose bright red and sniffling slightly. A bag hangs from one mittened-hand, the sparkle of  tinsel and the red fabric of a santa hat visible from the opening. 

Yoongi’s mouth drops open. “Y/N….”

You beam at him, the sheer happiness in your eyes stealing his breath. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

Originally posted by radgies


No Words: a Fred Weasley x Reader Imagine

Requested: yes

In this imagine, a shy Ravenclaw reader has major feelings for Fred Weasley. The problem is that he will never notice. When an old friend makes some unwanted advances problems arise. There are no words for the butterflies or the stones in the readers stomach over the course of this week, but then again, sometimes there’s no need for words.

*Note: you can substitute another house while reading if you like, but the requester specifically wanted Ravenclaw. If you spot any errors please let me know.

Warnings: light cursing

Y/N - your name
Y/L/N - your last name
~~~ - used to show passage of time

Word count: 3,008


The pale yellow of the ceiling is fading into a powder blue as the Great Hall fills with half sleeping students. Four long tables are piled high with all variety of breakfast foods. On either side of me Ivy and Ethan, my two best friends, take their seats at the Ravenclaw table.

Keep reading

I feel that Hogwarts Students would have just eaten ice cream and indulgent food for like a long while once shit calmed down post-war. As a coping mechanism, you know?

Not just because i like the mental image of Harry Potter being happy and eating cookies because this boy deserves joy, but also because man. Do you know how hard it is to make yourself like eating something when life has gone to shit and you’re sitting there putting the pieces back together?
Really hard.
So you get stuff on a plate that you used to love to death, pile it high and push it around on your friends that are still there so that by the time they’ve had SOMETHING and you feel that they’re ok you can make yourself choke some down. Or you can talk yourself into eating dessert over veggies because your body at least craves sugar, so there you go. Promise yourself you’ll eat something green later, after you stop the pit in your stomach from making you feel sick.
It isn’t hunger or anything, it’s the fact people are still seeing places where they saw their friends die and breaking down in the halls.
So eat a pastry and try to do your last year while the pieces are being picked up. 
Don’t look like the shaken mess you and everyone else in the war are in front of the first years– they were afraid in their homes while it happened. It’s bad enough the second and third years are in the state they’re in. 
Eat something sweet so you can trick yourself into believing that your sugar crash is hunger so you can stand the great hall long enough to force through something substantial.

Carry your chocolate for when you see one of the new ghosts haunting the campus grounds, and recognize the face as a sibling, a housemate, a friend, a family member. 

Something with sugar to help the misery settle down.