bitchen-fiction

[bitchen-fiction]

get a grip rook this is getting out of hand

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So how has your 10 year wait been?

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🐲 JUST 1 (ONE) day until the worldwide release of Dragon Age: The Veilguard! 💜

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Look man I just think it’s crazy that as a piece of world building the Star Trek writers go “yeah Vulcans are touch telepaths so they are very sensitive to any touch. Even Hand holding is considered very intimate.” And then have Kirk and Spock CONSTANTLY touching each other. Which could mean nothing

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This is how Destiel's goodbye had to be

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im so excited for today!!!

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Can you tell I’m a little excited…

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we all need to remember this tweet in these trying times

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i love dragon age because consistently in every game it has allowed me to be a slut for doomed by the narrative romances. Sure you can have a happy ending if thats what youre into but if you want to romanticize existential dread, martyr complexes, the clock running out and falling in love with god bioware sees your freak and matches it

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[bitchen-fiction]

minotaurs.

the patreon prompt from SpaceDancer was actually "spooky minotaurs", but all my spookier ideas weren't coming out right, so now everyone gets gothic pin-up bull titties.

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Man oh man did this take a while but I finally finished the family bonding montage at last! Wasn’t expecting it to take me so long but eh. Enjoy these sweet moments with the favorite family ❤️

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“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[bitchen-fiction]

there is so much intimacy in creating something together