#◆ ° ◦ ` ･ queue // THE WITCHING HOUR IS COMING ⌟

[hazalseren]

@hearthstonc

[hearts-of-palestinian]

Crammed together like heaps of flesh in tents that feel like scorching ovens, our days have regressed to a more degraded version of those of the earliest humans. From morning till night, we search for the same things Abel and Cain sought to survive: water, food, and fire. We endure long hours in queues to get a meager amount of water, and the food consists of old, low-quality canned goods. We sleep and wake to the sounds of savage airplanes, unsure of where they will strike next or who among us will be turned into scattered remains. Here in Gaza, we are living the worst existence humanity has known since its very beginning, You are our only hope for escaping Gaza and its oppression. Please help my siblings and me find a safe place to live

Don't forget that winter is coming and the cold in the tents is like we are in the snow. Please help us and save my family before it is too late.

Vetted By:

( @gaza-evacuation-funds line No 347 )

( @ibtisams Liste 11)

( butterfly effect project line No. 407)

@heritageposts @halorvic @mazzikah @rhubarbspring @dykesbat

@divinecloud @error-core-animations @bell-bones @ragingbullmode

@khudrang @m-an-u @squidie-tittie @ehjane @murenaaaaa

@skiddlecat @saviorified @vennyboiii @ripe @kingtransgender

@brutaliakhoa @mysteryvhs @jumezat @laz-laz-ace-pilot @greed-the-dorkalicious

@boy-and-girl-crazy123456 @twistedmiffy @v5ttels @kagrenacs @britomartiss

@stonerpunk @the-nobody-tournament @zsnes

@bug-slappy @turian

@naggingatlas @mxwhore @sillyseer @pryexel48 @arty-cakes

@elidoesdumb2 @snarky-gourmet @biterflies @void-witch @wutheringheightsfilm

@miscellaneums @littlelatinboyindragv @chocxy-prince @ronniemity

[perfectly-m1saligned]

(Late) K!nktober day 8

Following @dreamlandcreations prompt list. Day 8: gun play; dirty talk. You can find all my stories on my Wattpad as well. Toodles!

(NSFW: MDNI!! Reader's discretion is advised)

Simon Riley x reader

(Stalker!Simon)

cw: gunplay, dubcon (?), unprotected piv, creampie

word count: 2400

a/n: I'm very sorry for this delay, but you're getting double fed tonight!!

The music was deafening, the lights painting your body in different coloured hues, making the people around you look like they were in a stop-motion movie, making you dizzy if you looked too hard. Halloween, the night of the witches, night of the dead, whatever; to you, and your friend who was walking next to you, was the night of the sluts, which meant belt-sized skirts and the tiniest tank tops ever.

Dumping Jackson a week before Halloween was like a godsend. It stung deep in your pride, seeing him fuck that blonde bimbo in the bathtub at your friend Jessica’s party. It didn’t exactly hurt because you loved him or anything, it just infuriated you how he’d had the audacity to disrespect you like this. You mourned the loss for all of two hours after coming home from the party, then the pain was gone.

“y/n, I’m going to grab us a couple of shots at the bar!” Helen said over the loud thumping music, stretching herself up on her tippy toes despite wearing those safety hazards that she called ‘shoes’. You nodded, watching her disappear in a blink of an eye in the sea of people that littered the dance floor. You took your phone out, groaning at the sight of Jackson’s messages piling, along with phone calls. Apparently, fucking that girl had been a “terrible mistake” and he was “piss drunk”, but sober enough to get his dick hard and stick it in another girl’s cunt somehow.

Since Helen was taking too much time getting your drinks, most likely due to the monstrosity of a queue that lined the bar, you decided to go wait with her since you had nothing better to do. When you finally spotted her, two hot guys dressed as jacked angel and devil were talking to her. She met your gaze, and winked, making you smirk. The guys seemed nice, and you all took shots together, until a pleasant buzz filled your head, and the cute devil had to support you by wrapping his arm around your waist.

“You girls want to go to VIP?” He said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his captivating green eyes peering down at you, his lips curled in a sexy little smirk. You were more than looking forward to spending the night with him, since Helen had his friend’s tongue already halfway down her throat, his hand cupping her ass from under her miniskirt. “Gotta hit the loo first.” You said, unfortunately feeling the weight of the booze aggravating on your bladder. When you turned to head to the restroom, you didn’t notice the black-clad figure on the other side of the room starting to walk as soon as you did.

Poor, silly, y/n, you thought he hadn’t followed you here? It was Halloween, after all, one of the most dangerous nights of the year, he had to look out for you. Plus, those guys totally weren’t your type, he was far better. He was the only right guy for you. You simply didn’t know yet.

The queue to the restroom was surprisingly short, since there were only two stalls, and in your alcohol-induced haze, you forgot to properly lock the door behind you. Strike three. He’d pinned you for a smart girl, but God, you could be so damn naive. Strike one: talking to that guy. Strike two: not locking the door behind you. Strike three: letting him get to you.

You were washing your hands, eyes looking down as you heard the faint sound of the creaky hinges move.

“Oi, it’s-” you froze, the water still running over your hands. He simply stood there, looking at you. The hood of his black hoodie was up, casting shadows over his face, hiding his features from you in the already dimly-lit space. Your heart started to hammer, threatening to slip out of the frail confines of your ribcage. Jackson? He wasn’t nearly as tall, or his shoulders as broad, but perhaps it was the sheer fear coursing through your veins right now that made him look bigger.

“J-Jackson? What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone-” The man tsked, seemingly amused by your squeaky, feeble voice. “I’m no Jackson, bunny.” He replied, his baritone voice sending a chill down your bloodstream, making you shiver. “You know, y/n, I never liked him. You truly should look over your taste in men, because as of now, it’s shit.” You were utterly dumbfounded, the water still running behind you as you slowly turned around to face him. His imposing figure crowded the small space, looming over you.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper. You tried to look past him, but there was no way you could’ve escaped him, since he had most likely locked the door, like you should’ve done when you came in here. He took a step forward, some light exposing a razor-sharp jawline, covered in light stubble. “Who am I” He echoed, almost mocking. “I’m the only man who cares about you, y/n.”

When he removed his hood, your heart dropped to your ass. Simon. Simon Riley. He lived right across your apartment, on the other side of the corridor. Suddenly, although your cognitive processes were currently running a little slower than usual, the pieces started to come together. How he was coincidentally going downstairs to throw out the trash when you came up with groceries, and you always accepted his kind offer to help you unload them. Why sometimes you felt like someone was watching you, waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, and you thought you heard your front door close, but always thought it was a dream.

“S-Simon?” You stuttered, bewildered. You took a step back, but the cold sink pressed into your lower back, faint splashes of water hitting your bare skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, bunny,” he murmured, taking another step towards you, the sole of his combat boots making a squelching noise on the sticky floor. “I always had to see you with that son a bitch Jackson, I knew he wasn’t a good guy. He didn’t deserve you. I wasn’t surprised to learn he cheated on you.” How did he know? You had only talked about it on the phone, at home, alone- “Yes, y/n, I have cameras installed in your house,” he scoffed, reading your thoughts. He said it as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. “How else am I supposed to protect you, hm? Make sure you’re safe?”

Your chest was heaving, the sheer panic you were feeling not allowing you to move from your spot, slightly shaking. “Plus, I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world,” he began, taking another step forward. He stood inches away from you now, raising a gloved finger to your finger, running it over your jaw before hooking it under your chin, forcing you to tilt your chin, your eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones. “When you’ve drunk a couple glasses of wine, and you sit on the couch, your pretty little hand travelling between your thighs-” he scoffed. “Because, let’s face it, that guy couldn’t even give you a proper orgasm, y/n. What a sad excuse of a man he was, unable to please his woman?”

His finger wandered south, making you gasp as he stopped right between your heaving breasts. “Are you…going to hurt me?” You asked, gazing up at him through thick, black lashes. He cooed. “I would never, my sweet little bunny,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling the fold of your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “No one could treat you as good as I would, but it seems like you need a little bit more convincing.” You suddenly felt something cold tracing the inside of your thighs, making you whimper as it trailed up your flushed flesh. “Because apparently, you prefer to go with some fucking jerks who only want to use you for your body, y/n. And it makes me so. Fucking. Mad.” You stilled, realising he had a gun.

“S-Simon, no…please…” you cried out softly, already feeling the hot tears brimming your eyes. “Shh, shh,” he shushed you quietly, pressing a few butterfly kisses on your jawline. “I’d never hurt you, didn’t I just tell you that? Although…” his voice took on a menacing tone. “I won’t hesitate to put a bullet through that guy’s skull if you so let him put a hand on you again.” The top of the barrel made contact with your clothed core, feeling the steel barrel slide right between your folds. You shouldn’t have liked it, but the friction combined with your intoxicated state elicited a soft moan to slip past your lips.

“That’s it, such a good little slut,” Simon chuckled, biting into the rosy flesh of your neck. He immediately chased away the sting, running his flat tongue over the red mark left by his teeth. “You’re a twisted little thing, aren’t you? Getting wet on my gun, tch.” He mocked, a wolfish grin on his lips. “N-No, I…” He cut you off. “I know how much you had to hold yourself back with Jackson, he fucked you with no passion, and you let him treat you like a sex doll, bunny. He couldn’t give you what you really needed, but I can.” Another gasp ripped from your chest, feeling him move the flimsy fabric of your panties on one side with the gun, the cold steel collecting some of your arousal from your weeping cunt.

His other hand crept under your top, cupping one of your breasts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing another sweet moan out of your lips. He finally closed the distance between you, bewitching you with a feverish kiss, his tongue immediately seeking out yours, tangling with it in a dizzying dance. He kneaded the plump flesh of your breast in his hand, the other guiding the barrel between your slick folds, teasing your entrance, and a growl rumbled in his throat as he felt his cock pulsating painfully in his jeans. You were responding so well to him, perhaps not in the right state of mind to actually understand what was going on.

He had started to become obsessed with you from the moment he saw you, when he moved into your building. Your sweet laugh, that cute smile that you should’ve reserved for him, and him only. You were perfect, yet you failed to see it, selling yourself short for pathetic boys like Jackson and that guy out there, who was probably wondering where you had gone. You were exactly where you belonged, with him. He could treat you better than anyone else; besides, he knew you so well, he knew everything about you. No one would love you like he did.

You had started to grind your hips over the barrel of the gun, chasing the heat that was coiling up in your stomach, the delicious friction against your clit bringing you closer to my release. Then you suddenly felt empty, and you groaned, frustrated, shooting him a glare. “W-Why did you…?” You gasped, feeling him trace the cold steel up your body, pushing it between your lips. “Take off my pants, y/n, I need to feel that sweet pussy around my cock.” You could taste yourself on the weapon, the tangy hint of your juices mixing with the feeling of the metal.

Inhaling a shaky breath through your nose, you started to fumble with the buckle of his belt, unable to see what you were doing, with your mouth full. “Faster.” Simon ordered, pushing the gun down your mouth, your throat clenching and making you gag slightly. You finally managed to get his jeans open, and pulled them down along with his boxer briefs, feeling his fat cock springing free, hitting your stomach. Simon’s hand left your chest, spitting down on his palm and then stroking his dick with it to avoid any discomfort. “Turn around, bunny.” He said, taking the gun out of your mouth.

You did as he said, meeting your reflection in the fogged mirror, his imposing frame looming behind you, and you shivered when you felt him pull his weapon to your head, the rush making your arousal leak down your legs. “You’re such a filthy whore, y/n. Say it,” He growled, lining the head of his cock with your weeping entrance, keeping the string of your thong to the side with his thumb. “Say you’re a filthy whore.” In one long thrust, he bottomed out inside of you, making you cry out, your gummy walls enveloping his shaft as he speared you open.

“I…I’m a- ah…f-filthy whore!” You whimpered, your hands curling around the cool ceramic of the sink, feeling it press onto your lower abdomen as Simon used the gun to bend you over. “Yes you are,” he cooed. “Fucking hell, bunny, you’re so soaked you’re going to drown me, baby.” His hips started to thrust into you at a punishing pace, your forehead pressing against the mirror, your hand slipping, closing the tap as you were pushed forward. “See, bunny, no one can fuck you like I do. Can you feel me inside of you? Fuck, look how bad your little pussy needs me, such a greedy little thing, needing to be filled.”

Your moans filled the grubby stall, the obscene sounds of his dick slamming into your cunt mixing with the noises of skin against skin. The heat was coiling back up quickly in your belly, Simon’s cock throbbing against your walls, meaning he was close as well. “I’m going to fill you up, and then you’re going to walk back with my cum leaking from this filthy cunt, yeah? You’re gonna go back to your friend Helen, saying that you got the best dick of your life.”

His words were muffled nonsense in your head now, your orgasm mounting quickly, until it crashed onto you like a truck. You clenched tight around him as you came, your squirt splashing on his lower abdomen. An animalistic grunt rumbled in Simon’s chest, thick white ropes of cum shooting inside you, filling you to the brim. You were left breathless, dazed and confused, feeling Simon’s seed flowing down your legs.

“I’ll see you at home, bunny. You’re mine now.” Simon whispered, leaving a chaste kiss against your temple, before he disappeared into thin air.

•This is an original work of fiction, please do not translate or share on this or any other platforms without credit•

[antimony-medusa]

man, just going through and queueing my thousandth emduo fan art and considering my emduo writing I'm doing this evening and with a VOD of an emduo stream open in a tab and with emduo art as my desktop background and I was just struck by a thought:

Undoubtedly this would be kinda weird to see people getting this into your friendships.

Like not even getting into whumping characters or aging them down or shipping or doing deep lore and meta of off-hand comments, just like, just the fact that I have been posting emduo art approximately 12 times a day for the past three years. Not even getting into the fact that one of those creators is dead. Like. That's gonna be a little weird to come across in the abstract, if you are a person with a friendship, seeing this friendship be like someone's blog theme. Multiple blog themes. The hashtag updates hourly.

Like I'm sure fandom is flattering, but also, there is undoubtedly a point where someone is like 'oh wait, so your entire hobby is about these characters that have my name? Like you spend hours a day on this? You have art up?" And then they go Oh Dear.

Which is why I think it's just so much greater for everyone if we keep our little derangement in fandom-specific corners of the internet and do not throw it into the creator's face. At all. Even the harmless stuff! Do not TTS about your fanfic! Sharing fan art and cosplay in the designated fan art channel— awesome. Inviting creators into your fandom group chat— boy. Can we not. As much as I am like man I could probably reach so many people, I probably should not promo fandom events in the philza discord! The actual guy is there, saying "here people can request gifts made for them about you" is gonna be weird.

There's just— there's a thing on twitter right now where this artist was making music and videos in a created world with characters, all very dreamlike and artistic, based in their childhood. And because it's the internet, someone wrote/drew NSFW of these characters. And because the internet is the way it is now, people were finding, searching out NSFW content to send it to the creator, presumably so they could take it down?

And I know these people had good intentions, however much I think that they're wrong, but I would argue that sending someone porn of characters based on you/on your kidfic is pretty close to harassment? Like do not show them that stuff. Come on. But the 'tattle to the creator' mentality was too strong.

And the creator, unsurprisingly, did not deal well with this! And then in what I think is a mistake, they have put together a team of people and a google form so that you can report if you find inappropriate or offensive content with their characters and the team will presumably try to copyright strike it. Which. Uh. Again. Is a whole horrible boundaries discourse, is going to lead to witch hunts, and I'm not sure about the legal success of copyright striking fan art and fanfic ANYWAYS.

But like this could have been avoided if instead of going "the creators need to know about this Bad Stuff" people just blocked and moved on. And I think so much more of modern fandom would take a step towards health if we could put more of a creator/fandom separation in place.

Like when I think back to the heyday of DSMP fandom and how these creators— many of them underage— were getting people sending them porn of themselves/their characters, to tattle. Oh look isn't this dark fic too dark. Look how horrible this gore is. This is borderline shipping. People were sending Phil's mods stuff tagged as QPR, because they couldn't get to Phil but he clearly so desperately needed to know this, so that he could condemn it as too close to shipping? Because that is respectful and a great idea?

And like this ranges from stuff where I'm like bro, he doesn't need to know that (small /neg, about stuff that isn't a big dealt), to bro, he doesn't need to know that (LARGE /neg, stop sending the creators porn), because like, okay, yes, you have correctly identified that this would be weird to have happen to you/to a character based on you. What you are missing here is that unless you want to usher in an era of insane copyright overreach that would make disney's lawyers ascend to a higher plane and also kill transformative fandom, there is effectively very little way to stop most of the bad stuff. Those characters are out there, people get to do what they want with them, no matter how much it's in poor taste. All you're doing when you show creators the bad stuff is making them look at stuff that is going to be unpleasant and they can't stop. So, y'know, harassment?

And even the good stuff— I know how to behave myself and act cool in public spaces the creators are in, but if they were to see the full depths of how much of my brain space is taken up by the blocks, I'm sure they'd kinda be left going hahaha you what????? Tomathy Innit was struck speechless by a single person doing a video essay analyzing L'manberg. I see that energy on the dash from dozens of mutuals every damn DAY.

Just like, man. Fandom is just a lot to shove at creators, and if they want to step in willingly that's fine, but I really think we should be so so so cautious about throwing them in bodily when they didn't ask for it. Do not rec family dynamic fics to tommy in his youtube comments. Do not tell tubbo to scroll his hashtag on tumblr. Stop telling Phil about your fanfiction in TTS. I"M SURE THE POSTING YOU ARE ALL THINKING OF IS FINE IN TERMS OF TECHNICAL WEIRD STUFF, but like— even the good stuff! Even the good stuff is a lot! "I was having a bad day but I watched some videos with the friendship in it and now I'm okay" is just a lot to drop on someone! Can we allow creators/writers/musicians/actors/authors to opt into this stuff, and not shove it at them?

And for the love of all things good stop sending people porn of themselves.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Christmas fic please?

☺️

The Blue Hour This is somewhat of a sequel to my other 18th-century fics 'When the Heart is Full the Tongue Will Speak" and "The Prison Ship," but it also stands alone. Valley Forge was arguably the worst winter of the war. Alfred's having a bad time. Matt tries to help. He has something for Alfred. This was supposed to be longer, but I had to say fuck it and put it in the queue, or it wasn't happening, so I'm so sorry for inflicting it on you. Apple pie reference is from the HC that Alfred's pie recipe comes from a nice Pennsylvania Quaker lady who took him in in the late 17th century when he was little after the Massachusetts witch crazes. This isn't a happy fic, but it is deeply loving. Also on ao3

Valley Forge, Christmas 1777

Alfred’s legs didn’t feel quite real as he approached the clearing. It was silent here. No animals. No people, either. Even the last chickadees, so faithful through the winter, had disappeared behind him as the previous winter sun faded from a depressing grey to pitch dark. He was a bit numb and more paranoid as he rounded a copse of trees and found himself staring at a pristine clearing. He recognized this house, grey stone with a heavy slate roof. There was no glass in the windows, but cheery, flickering firelight escaped through whatever slight cracks there were in the shutters. He hefted his rifle, bayonet attached, closer and approached, wary. The forest held its breath, and the fire crackling became louder as he approached. There was smoke from the chimney but no shadows of movement inside. He gripped his rifle. He should go home to his haphazard tar paper and log shack, but it was dark now, and Valley Forge was 30 miles behind.

He pushed open the door with a bang, rifle to his shoulder, and heard a surprised shout. A figure twisted, axe in hand, poised to hook it into Alfred’s neck and remove an arm at the shoulder like a branch from a trunk. Then, a note of laughter, and he was embraced.

Warmth hit him. First, Matt’s entire body was warm, and his clothes were fire-toasty. Then the smell of roasting meat floated, so solid it was almost visible, into his senses. Then, dizziness. Dizziness struck like a blow to the head. Alfred might have passed out on the floor if Matt hadn’t already had his arms around him.

Matt squeezed with more strength than Alfred had ever known his baby brother to have. The rifle was tugged from his hands, and he was suddenly sitting, sodden clothes and boots pulled off, feet stretched towards the fire. He might have vomited if he wasn’t so hallowed out. Matt was gone for only a moment, but Alfred grabbed a hold of him as soon as he was back.

“Have you changed your mind?” He grasped Matt’s sleeve with a shaking hand. “Did you come to your senses?”

“Have you?” Matt said, derisive even as he pressed a mug into Alfred’s hands. “Drink that, and the world will stop spinning.”

“Matthew---” He didn’t let go of Matt’s sleeve. “You haven’t come to—.”

“Bend the knee?” Matthew’s eyes flashed, and Alfred was all too aware of the axe on his belt and the rifle against the wall. “No. I’m not.”

“What are you doing here then?” He let Matt go and sipped on the contents of the mug—broth, salty and rich beyond belief. Matt was right. The world did stop spinning.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Matt said with a watery smile. “I take it you got my note.”

“Pie at sundown,” Alfred recalled. “I got it. I could hardly believed you remembered that.”

“First apple pie you ever made me. I’ll remember it til the sun goes dark.” Matt was before him with a blanket and a stack of clothes. “Finish drinking that, put these on and then we’ll talk.”

They were his own clothes, what he’d left in the chest of drawers in Boston after he’d slipped his guards and disappeared across the border and into Quebec. He wanted to toss them back. They were the clothes of a crown subject, a boy with a British boot on his neck. Not the free man he wanted to be. That he was, but he hadn’t had a fresh shirt since his baby brother had dragged his corpse out of his shallow grave on the Hudson. He could wash it as often as he liked, but the linen was still wearing thin. His former things were practically new, the linen fresh and clean, the wool still warm. Alfred ran a hand over the fabric, still so chilled he hardly considered his pride as Matt turned away to tend to the bird slowly roasting over the fire and dressed. He glanced over his shoulder when Alfred slipped the shirt over his head. There hadn’t been a mirror to look at himself in months, and he didn’t want to. He knew his ribs were stark; he could feel them. Matt looked that kind of devastated that, if he hadn’t turned away, might have made Alfred cry.

“Have you had a decent meal since I saw you?” He didn’t look over his shoulder again until the shirt was over his head, and he’d buttoned the blue waistcoat over his chest. Everything was so ill-fitting now.

Alfred ignored him. “Does Father know you’re here?”

Matthew snorted. “It’s Christmas; he’s so deep into the officer’s nog when I left he won’t realize I’ve gone unless I’m not there for epiphany morning with tea going. So I shot a turkey and pissed off south to find you. Looks like its a good thing I did too.”

“I’m fine.” Alfred scowled. “There’s a camp of thousands of men 2 miles from here with nothing but rice and vinegar for Christmas dinner. Next to them, I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, and it damn well looked like he meant it, narrow shoulders bowed as he sat heavily onto one of the overturned logs he obviously meant to use as a kitchen chair for the occasion.

“You could feed a lot of people if you stayed. You’re a good hunter.”

“Don’t,” Matt said. “We’ve had this conversation. Look at you. You know I wouldn’t survive another war like this. You’re kissed by God himself and you look like death.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Rice and vinegar, eh? Yeah well. Try some turkey and see if it compares.”

“Why do you keep coming to see me if you won’t pick a side, Matt? You’re committing treason and you know it.”

“You’re my brother.”

His shrug was simple, unemotional. The sky was up, the Earth was down, the snow was cold, and Matt would haul and shoot a turkey and walk four days just to sneak him a decent meal. He teared up. Maybe it was the cold, the deprivation or just how much he missed home and heart and heart. Throat working, shoulders shaking even if he wasn’t crying, he grabbed Matt by the shoulders and squeezed for a third time, kissing him on the forehead about a dozen times and just feeling something so desperately affectionate he had to ride it out like dizziness.

“I missed you.” He said.

“You too.” Matt had clamped himself around Alfred, playing as if he just held on; he wouldn’t feel how much weight he’d dropped since summer. After a long moment, he made Alfred sit on one of the logs and tossed the rucksack while he struck flint and steel and put tinder to kindling. “Have you been sick? You look terrible,”

“Everyone is.” He said. There was no point in hiding it. “You know what it’s like. A moving army is a healthy army. A camped army is a sick army.”

“Why do you think I like the woods so much? I could run from the British as easily as from the typhus.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my people. I can’t leave them.”

“Do you have scurvy yet?”

“Gettering there.” He poked his tongue at his teeth. He had all of them, but he was always so tired. It couldn’t be far away.

Matt pivoted and took an orange in each hand, shoving them at Alfred. “Father... he’s in the habit of buying two.”

“I can’t take these!”

“Think of them as reparations.”

“Won’t you get scurvy?’

“I get lime juice twice a day. Just take anything you want out of my pack and eat it. Take the rest tomorrow. I’ll get a rabbit on my way back if I get hungry.”

“Why do you have to go back?”

“Stop asking me that. Pick something for me to make out of what’s in there, all right? Anything you want tonight, and you can take the rest tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

Matt leaned against the wall by the hearth, arms crossed. “And I don’t want to die. So stop asking. That’s the agreement. Stay alive. Not stay with you.”

“You should be my right hand. It should be me and you against the world.”

“You’re the one fighting with the world, Alfred. I already have. I lost. Pick a vegetable, eat an orange, have some wine and stop trying to sentence me to death because you’re lonely again.”

He was tearing up, and so was Alfred. They looked away from each other, and Alfred went to the pack.

He opened food like he had once opened pewter inkwells at the apothecaries, looking for the blue ink he liked better than the quickly fading walnut; there were cranberries, potatoes, apples, stalks of celery, onions, cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, honey cakes, tea, coffee, a jug of wassail and a smaller bottle of Madeira. Smaller quantities of sugar, flour, oats, rice, raisins and rye. There were more of his clothes that he hadn’t taken when he’d fled Boston nearly two years prior. And under all that, a length of blue cloth with shining brass buttons. 

“Mattie.... What is that coat?” 

His brother froze. He’d been dragging his knife down the side of the roasted bird and onto a rough-hewn platter. For one long moment, Alfred thought he might burst into tears. 

“It’s for you.” He said. 

“Whe did you get it?” 

“General Montcalm.” He said. “It was too big so I hid it under the floorboards. Thought I’d wear it too the victory parade someday. It’s... it’s your colour now, isn’t it?”

“It— Yeah it is.” 

“I hope its luckier for you than it was for me.” He said quietly. “I hope Lord Bonnefoy is better to you too.”

“Mattie.” Alfred said quietly. 

Matt was standing there, eyes shut against tears, until he looked up at Alfred with those same big, hopeful eyes he’d always had before all this. Full of all the softness and warmth of Canada that may not have existed elsewhere that winter. Words stuck in his throat, and suddenly, so homesick he wanted to burst, Alfred opened his arms. Matt gave up on carving the bird, put down the plate, and allowed Alfred to pull him in again. If Matt had grown, it was only a little, and Alfred could still easily rest his cheek on Matt’s crown, which he did for a long moment.

“Thank you.” He said. 

“It was meant for you,” Matt replied. “You’re... tall and capable like that. It will fit you, even when you fill it out again.” 

“You’ll grow.” Alfred said. “Someday. And then we'll be fine."

Someday. 

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - December 2022. Is it still December? Yes, for about 5 more hours, oops! Here is the final monthly rec list for the year. I hope everyone is doing something nice to bring in the new year (snuggling into bed absolutely counts!). 

Many times, Many ways by Jmeelee (1/1 | 3K | Mature)

He turned around and stormed toward his Jeep. Derek called out his name, but Stiles flipped him off over his shoulder. He jabbed the key into the ignition, roared the engine, and smoked the tires as he peeled out of the parking lot, but not before he cranked down the glass and screamed at Derek from the driver’s side window, “Merry Christmas, motherfucker!”

OR

Five times Stiles and Derek ruined Christmas, and one time they fixed it.

Build A Wolf by PalenDrome (nerdherderette) (1/1 | 5K | Teen)

Derek is a romantic. He dreams of finding his mate, of connecting with that special someone who will make his heart swoon.

[Excerpt]: "Who says I need to be in a relationship to be happy?" Derek asks, his hackles rising. Besides, Boyd has it all wrong. Derek has Die Hard on his Christmas queue.

Yippee ki yay.

Boyd holds up both hands. "Not me. If you want to be a bachelor forever, I'm not one to judge."

"But I am," Erica says. "You don't date anymore. Hell, when's the last time you even got laid? Which would also be fine, except it's not, because you're miserable and it's obvious that's not what you really want."

Sometimes Derek has a hard time following Erica's logic. Unfortunately, this is not one of those moments.

"It doesn't matter," he says, digging the excess rice out from his wrap. "I'm better off alone."

Mint Condition by fairytalesandfolklore (1/1 | 955 | Teen)

He checks the clock, frowning in concern. Stiles had said he was going to change and that he'd be right back, but that was over twenty minutes ago. He's about to get up and go check on him, when the all-too-familiar tune of his least favorite song in the entire world starts playing on the stereo, and out comes Stiles wearing nothing but a jauntily perched Santa hat and a pair of the tiniest shorts Derek has ever seen — bright red satin to match his hat — and when Stiles twirls around to give Derek the full effect, he can make out the words naughty elf emblazoned across his asscheeks. Derek can do little more than stare open-mouthed as Stiles saunters toward him, sucking on the end of a candy cane in what he probably imagines is a seductive way, shaking his ass in time to the music — which, ugh. (As far as Derek is concerned, if hell had a soundtrack, it'd be an endless loop of Santa Baby…but it's Stiles, so he'll make an exception.) Overall, the effect is actually quite charming, and Derek would be lying if he said it wasn't doing something for him. And then Stiles starts talking.

lube and determination by bleep0bleep (2/2 | 4K | Explicit)

It's a holiday classic: homesick boy wants to make a pumpkin pie while studying abroad, boy realizes the only place to find vegetable shortening is a sex shop, and boy makes fool of himself in front of other boy.

Little talks by Vendelin (1/1 | 5K | Mature)

“Your favourite is here,” Danny says, smirking. “I tried to steal him away by giving him some extra attention, but he just looked uncomfortable.”

Stiles snorts, though he’s secretly pleased by his regular rejecting Danny. “He always looks a bit uncomfortable. I bet he’s married with a kid and a permanent guilty conscience when he’s here.”

It had been quite the surprise for Stiles to realise that he had a regular. A pretty young, hot regular, on top of that.

In which Stiles is a stripper, and Derek is the always-polite regular at the club where he works.

Depth of Field by midnitekween (1/1 | 7K | Explicit)

Stiles loves taking pictures of his pack.

Kiss It Better, Kiss It Back Together by crossroadswrite (1/1 | 3K | General)

For the tumblr prompt: stiles is cursed by a witch to forget the person he loves the most so everyone thinks it's Lydia but it's not and the only way to get the memories back is through a kiss

i see forever in your eyes by hufflepuffbaby (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

Stiles looked at his big bad Alpha, with his blush and his thumbhole sweater, and Stiles found he didn’t care if it was a bad idea, he was going to relationship the fuck out of Derek for as long as he was allowed.

Flufftober Day 5 : "Oh, no, you're a morning person"

Make You See It by sparkandwolf (thatnerdemryn), thatnerdemryn (1/2 | 2K | Mature)

Stiles didn’t say anything and Derek was grateful for leaving him speechless.

“Your mind, the way it pieces together every last puzzle piece, the way it connects dots that the rest of us didn’t even know were there, it’s--” Derek let out a breath against Stiles’ ear and reveled in the chill it sent through Stiles. “You are the most powerful of all of us.”

no matter how far away you roam by elisela (1/1 | 2K | General)

Stiles regrets not getting a tree.

He hadn’t been feeling very festive—decorations were reminders that he was spending the holidays alone, so he’d decided not to put them up, but now it’s Christmas Eve and there’s not even a strand of lights around the room to cheer him up. Watching Die Hard hadn’t worked, neither had The Grinch, and Derek hadn’t answered his phone the last three times Stiles had called him today.

It’s 7:34pm on Christmas Eve, and Stiles is ready to give it up and call it a night.

princecharmingwinks special mention (Oh my gosh I love the smut in this and the humour and everything else.)

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) by stilinskisparkles (1/1 | 15K | Mature)

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

Made it through another year team, well done one and all. Happy holidays and see you in the new year ;)

[the-writing-mobster]

I love Fransweek because it's when I get to go God mode.

Anyway, day 3 will come out later tonight obviously. I'll try to get it in *before* 1 o'clock in the morning because posting at the witching hour seems not to work in my favor. Who knew nobody else would be awake at ungodly hours of the night? >:0

So if I can't get it in on time, I'll just queue it. *shrug.*

[adr-n-sketchy]

The Owl House x Wolf Children crossover aka “the AU I took too far.”

A picture of @stardustcandies Hunter werewolf au popped up on my fyp, I had a disconnected thought about Wolf Children a few hours later and then this happened.

To get some of the scenes to line up with either Hunter or Luz, I had to break some canonical eggs between Ame and Yuki’s scenes. But also, sound off if you recognize some of the scenes I tried to replicate.

Also also just Lineart and some flat colors for now. M ight come back and clean it all up later.

My disjointed thoughts on this au are essentially “it’s Wolf Children, but swap shapeshifting for wild magic, except shapeshifting is also a huge association. Case and point, Edna’s owl beast transformation.” And Luz and Hunter are Eda’s kids, adopted separately. While she’s early into raising them, Eda is found/starts reconnecting with an old lover, Raine. Raine’s always known Eda was a wild witch with the enhanced ability to transform into the Owl Beast, something that’d frightened them away previously, along with a healthy dose of communication and trust issues between both parties. Upon reconnecting, they take things slower than in their youth, however, just as they’re truly starting to see eye-to-eye, Eda dies, leaving a heartbroken Raine and two already-orphaned and traumatized young kids who both have heavy traces of wild magic.

In keeping with the movie plot line, Raine eventually gives up his future and career with the Bard coven and goes into hiding/moves to the Knee or something, to raise Hunter and Luz. Wild magic is heavily persecuted in this au, and displays of shape shifting, even in young witches without any proper training, is regarded with great suspicion. And considering they’re already out of their depth with parenting, Raine doesn’t want to take any chances. Queue Raine growing into a supportive and loving parents for Eda's two adopted strays and eventually weaving back in his Bard talents and continuing to learn more about wild magic and Eda along the way.

Prior to being adopted by Eda, Hunter was fed the story that wild magic wipes out his biological family and his shape shifting abilities were a residual curse. As far as he’s been told/remembers, he got that first scar on his face from that incident. Trauma aside, Hunter is also very self conscious about it, up to the point of really disliking his reflection in mirrors, crystals, and windows as a kid, so he wore a golden wolf-themed mask for a while to help him cope. As he’s gotten older, he’s grown out of needing it. While Luz leaned heavily into their shape-shifting abilities and is enthralled by wild magic, Hunter tried to suppress it. He would indulge Luz and her curiosity while they were both young, but, upon starting school and being exposed to more "acceptable" outlets of magic, he starts trying to keep a tighter control on his phasing abilities, only spontaneously changing when overwhelmed by emotions or stressed. Jump forward to his class getting a new student, Gus, who'd jumped up a couple grades and, being an illusionist, immediately hones in on Hunter, asking him questions and just being generally nosy. Hunter eventually gets overwhelmed and, feeling cornered, partially phases and scratches Gus's face, very close to his eye and potentially a huge detriment for a budding illusionist. Years later, we get the same iconic classroom scene with Hunter, having run away due to some fear of being outed as a wild witch/Luz has just announced her intention of leaving to be fully wild and Hunter fears persecution due to familial association, and is found by Gus, partially transformed, who reveals he'd known the whole time but held no ill-will.

Luz, on the other hand, although interested in magic, was always most interested in the type of magic Eda practiced. Luz being the youngest, she wasn't old enough to remember much about Eda's magic and instead has to rely on Raine, who doesn't much to satisfy her curiosity. When she was early school-age, while playing in the grass, Luz found a wild Snake Shifter, Stringbean, who eventually guides her to the Titan (or the corporeal Titan spirit) who helped to teach her about wild magic and glyphs. Enraptured by these lessons, Luz began to prioritize this sort of magic study over the "certified magic study" through school. The Titan's magic has been weakening for years, and thus their corporeal form fading, which will leave Luz without a teacher and the Titan's infant son, King, without a parent. Eventually Luz decided to make the leap of leaving Raine and Hunter to go into the wilds to continue study and maintenance of the wild glyphs that help hold the world together and be a placeholder until King is old enough to succeed his father. I've also had the thought that, through the study and use of structural glyph magic, Luz's wolf form continues to shift into a titan form. She herself is still a witch, but the close proximity and use of the Titan's magic causes her to become more and more Titan-like/it's the lingering effect of the Titan before their corporeal spirit fades so Luz can be there and teach King.

[rottenwoodandwiltedsunflowers]

#149- Waffle

Very very very very long time no see. I suppose the imminent end is making me revisit this blog and my regret about not documenting more of my time with the show is pushing me to sit down and make the time among my very busy life.

I'm not sure this is going to be as long as some of my older posts but I do want to document some of my shows from yesterday (Jan 14 Early) for my own memory.

149-Jan. 14th Early

We are old and well, old now so we are buying Oz's tickets because when you are out of town and have limited shows left you want to maximize your time. I've never minded queueing up an hour early but the time now is getting ridiculous. Once again, old now. Not lining up 2 hours early in the cold. Walked in to Maderley to find Vivian Fairchild which was comforting. It's is ALWAYS nice to see other long term familiar faces in the building. Also found some old familiar friends in the white masks and it felt all the more like coming home.

Once I hit the inside of the show I quickly decided to follow Bret's boy witch. Objectively, I think Bret is among the strongest dancers in this newest class. I haven't followed a boy witch for a whole loop in years. I like Bret's performance. He is really fun when he gets to play with the audience. His duet with Jeff's porter was fantastic! He commanded the scene and bullied Porter around with ease. His hair is getting a bit longer and I didn't really realize at first that he pinned it up with bobby-pins. I was the only one to follow him up to 4 and I found myself smiling as I watched him pull the pins out 1 by 1 and toss them on the stairs as he ascended. I really enjoyed his pool table solo. He laid on the table almost seizing as his legs repetitively hit the table. You could see him loosing control. He took a nice lunge off the corner of the table at a white mask before Speakeasy stuffed him in the box. I also loved how Micheala sniffed around the corner of the room like an animal as if she could track him down with her nose.

Going into the rave (and it's something I noticed during the first ballroom) I was really appreciating this asian witch trio. Starting my love affair with the show over a decade ago, it was painfully obvious how white this show was in its casting. Back then there were only a handful of POC in the cast and not all at the same time. As the parent of a Korean daughter, I'm so glad that the representation in the cast has gotten more diverse and I think it was the first time I've seen a visibly asian witch trio. It was such a wonderful evolution of the show to witness. When he had the goat head on, Bret climbed/jumped on the pillar and hung there. Loved it! In his post rave scene, he seemed utterly drained. It was a monumental task to even dress himself. I helped him with his shirt at his request and God bless a boy witch who doesn't hand you pants to help with! As he finished up he suddenly took off into a full on sprint to the stairs. I watched the banquet from the mezzanine and noted Kritsen's nurse. Filed that away for later show reference.

I had totally forgotten the dance he does in the light after he moves trees. That was a total surprise. When we made it up to the lobby for witches 1, it was pretty packed. There was an audience member who was standing in the middle of the scene so that was obnoxious to watch. People are absolutely obtuse. You are not going to get something special by making the actors work around you during their scenes. By the time Macbeth arrived the crowd was so dense I couldn't see so I snuck off behind the end of the lobby desk and watched from the corner.

Bret’s lip sync was so spot on. Much like his shower scene, at the end he kind of shy down for a second. It’s like he needed a moment to reset before drifting back to the lobby desk. After retrieving the tissue from Porter, he had me wipe tears before returning the tissue to the Porter and with a final glance at him, we were off to the phone booth. I never follow boy witch so it’s only the second time I’ve had the 1:1. Objectively, it’s easily the most overrated and anticlimactic 1:1 in the show. Bret did great but I do stand by that statement. We headed back down to the ballroom and I watched him pin his hair back up to start the cycle again.

From there I followed Duncan for a bit. At the top of the show I watched Duncan trying to figure out who it was. I was still thoroughly confused up until the end when I left and checked the cast board. They seemed familiar but I couldn’t place them. After looking at the board, I realized it was Gino Grenek! His dances were A+. I love when Duncan is so engaging the even watching him uncover clocks is captivating. So many beautiful moves and backbends. You can see the drugs working their way into his system throughout the whole scene.

Ventured up to the 5th floor eventually (like I do...) to find Jess' Matron. It was one of the most interesting Matron watches I've had in awhile. Sometimes I just enjoy creeping on the Matron through the creeping hole. You know the one. After every 1:1, Jess sat in the chair and had a visible moment where she needed to pull herself back together. Once I watched her wipe her tears. I was wayyyyyyy too delighted by her cutting tiny mazes with tiny sewing scissors. It pleased me to no end. Like tiny, tiny 1"x2" little maze pages. Utterly delighted!!! She put one down on the windowsill and left it there for like 5 minutes. When she went to go do the chalking I absolutely swiped it. Fair game I think. It was only when I got home the next evening that I took a much closer look at it and realized it has the fucking Grandmother's Tale written in tiny, tiny pencil on it. She must have written the tale then cut the maze design and I will NEVER recover from this discovery.

She headed out and did the chalking and when I looked up for the nurse, I saw...Jenna? Where did Kristen go??? Watched their scene and was invited in for tea afterwards. I took a lap around some of my favorite 5th floor spaces. It's something I find myself doing as my shows wind down. I so desperately want to hold onto those spaces after the show is gone forever. Found Jenna's nurse and quickly realized the show must be coming to an end and it was the last mirror dance. Stayed with the nurse and matron until the finale. As we went down to the Macbeth's bedroom, I looked in and saw Kristen as Lady Macbeth. Guess that explains what happened with nurse.

Some honorable mentions from this show include Omri and Steph T tearing through the hotel lobby first loop on their way to the banquet. They created quite the ruckus as usual but Omri went over to the hotel lobby desk as Jeff was hiding in the phone booth and slammed down on the bell several times before yelling out a crazed "HELLO!" I really enjoyed that choice, it made me chuckle. Steph then grabbed his arm and yanked him to the stairwell. Also, perhaps the most important news from this show...RED LICORICE IS BACK!!! This is not a drill! I'm not talking that bigger red licorice that taste like wax or the one they had for awhile that had a white strip and tasted sweet like sugar but like gross sugar. I'm talking circa 2015 red licorice! Remember right after the shutdown. I, like plenty of others, was like- "it's probably good they don't have unwrapped candy anymore. Not super sanitary to be eating candy 400 other people have touched." I at like half that jar between my 2 shows and if I get covid...that's a risk I'm OK with. It was worth it and it tasted like McKittrick 2014. NO REGRETS! That's about it for show one of the day. Go enjoy some licorice if you are there (assuming they restocked it because I ate it all).

[void-botanist]

hello and how are you?

We had to come scurrying over after we found your WIP Name Game! Honestly, a lot of those names make us want to ask after them, this Work seems to be filled with good things, but!

Can we see something from these parts? Whatever you want to share? ( •̀ω•́ )σ

Farewell to the Ancestors, Tatiana Arvenswold, that secret option from the tags that you want to scream about

Have fun with it too! If ya wanna pass or go wild, then this is your invitation to do so! we're entirely intrigued!

☕ Natsume Rune, @365runesoftheamalgamations

From this list

Thank you so much for the ask! I actually talked about the one that made me want to scream over here, but "queueing" is a similar sort of scene, where Spinder gets into a different unusual conversation. The Nicea has been queueing for a warp transit for hours, Tristan has taken a sleeping pill, and Rodney is left having to make his first non-training warp transit:

The door slid open six inches and Spinder blinked sleepily up at him. “What?” he said with the distance of someone still shaking off a dream. “We’re clear to transit in a few minutes, and I just need someone to sit on the bridge with me while I do it.” He raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue. “Let me get some pants on. I’ll be right there.” The door shut again. Rodney decided to trust him and go back to the pilot’s seat. Tristan’s seat. It felt too big, even though it was only marginally larger than his own. He was about to take the unnecessary step of strapping himself in when he remembered that his coffee was halfway across the bridge and went to grab it. Spinder showed up at the same time, half-covering a massive yawn while he dropped into his usual seat. The pants he’d put on were just the lower half of his flight suit, zipped up to his waist with the sleeves tied over it.

"Farewell to the ancestors" was previously an almost-empty scene where I planned to have Tristan visit the graveyard where most of her family is buried and say goodbye to them before the trip, but this ask made me want to work on it some more:

Tristan climbed to the top of the hill, weaving the familiar path through the generations of her family’s gravestones. At each one, she ran a hand over the small dome carved from the top of the stone, feeling the grooves left by increasing generations of hands. On the oldest markers at the top, the dome had started to become a valley.

And "Tatiana Arvenswold" is one of my favorites. This is deep into their space journey, after assorted disasters, when Spinder and Isabel first meet Tatya, who stays with them pretty much to the end of the book:

Isabel was aware of someone passing their table, but didn’t look up until a pale brown hand rapped on the tabletop. Standing over her was a person whose brown hair seemed to be all cowlicks, even into their loose ponytail, with a scruffy half-attempt at a chinstrap beard and a wide baby-pink collar choker peeking out past the massive triangular lapels of their khaki jacket. They were completely ignoring her in favor of Spinder, and she prepared herself to bolster his defense. “Hey, are you Spinder?” they asked. “You look just like the picture Gwinny sent me.” Spinder blinked. “I am. Are you…the warp witch?” They grinned. “Tatiana Arvenswold at your service. She-her or whatever you feel like.” They turned just enough that Isabel could see the silver heart-shaped ring in the front of their choker. Their eyes lingered on her face, and at first she thought they were looking at her bruises in order to make a dumbass comment about them. Then she got a full once-over, and when their eyes met again Tatiana’s gaze was thirsty. “And who are you?” “I’m Isabel,” she said. “The captain of the Nicea.” “Oh, nice, nice. So, uh, y’all in need of a warp witch? Or a finder?”

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @malloen8c @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[purpleandsilver]

shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals <3

💛☺

Okay so here's the thing:

I don't technically have a favorites playlist. I use YouTube Music and tend to just take the time every morning to queue songs for the day. I'm really into metalcore. Last month my queue looked like this:

Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token (album)

DEATH OF THE PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens (album)

This Place Will Become Your Tomb by Sleep Token

[Music by an indie rock or metal band I found on Tiktok]

[Ascensionism by Sleep Token on repeat for about 5 hours]

[Hozier]

[The ADHD fixate is strong, I'm listening to Ascensionism again]

But since you're asking for favorites, I'll shuffle my music library for you and list five songs from it. I have checks library over 400 songs digitally. I really need to take the time to clean it out, and update it with more of what I'm actually interested in listening. Right now, I'm gone full metalhead and have been kicking around bands like Dragonforce, Dethklok, Nekrogoblikon, and a new band called Avralize. So I know I have a ton of "new" (new to me) stuff in my library. Let me just listen to Ascensionism again.

Everything is below the cut. Woof, this is a long post.

Five Tracks From My Music Library

Lucky by AURORA

And feel the light for the very first time. Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive.

Okay wow. This was the first song to come up. It was written when the singer was younger and every time I listen to it I want to know who hurt her because I have a good shovel and garden that needs fertilizing.

Which Witch by Florence + The Machine

Whose a heretic now? Can you make it stick now?

I discovered this song about a year ago I believe? It's interesting, because "witchy rebel banger" was not what I'd say about a song but no, that describes it perfectly.

The Rapture (But It's Pink) by Scene Queen ft. Mothica

Made it to hell, where's the band at? The devil said he'll give you your soul back.

Song goes hard. The message behind why Scene Queen wrote is unfortunate. Like, how hard is it for a rock/metal band to not do shit to underage girls? Apparently impossible?!?!

Alkaline by Sleep Token

If anything she's an undiscovered element; either born in hell or heaven sent.

Sleep Token was gonna make it here, because my music library has all their singles, both EPs, and all three albums. Alkaline is one my favorites from This Place Will Become Your Tomb.

Good Luck Kid by Opal In Sky

You can bite the hand that feeds it'll just be toxic. As if it'd ever reach down to you

This is the band that got me into the heavier sounds of metals. They only got one EP and a handful of singles, but their music goes hard. I can't wait to see how they grow.

[theessaflett]

'A Real-Life Dawes' : Musings on Hell Bent, Witchcraft and the Sorcery of Cooking

There’s a line in Leigh Bardugo’s Hell Bent when the protagonist, Alex, realises that she’s been underestimating Pamela Dawes, her colleague and sort-of friend. Gathered after a particularly gruelling day - it’s a ‘saving the world before lunch’ sort of book - Alex looks at Pamela as she prepares and presents food for all the team and realises that she is, in fact, powerful. Surrounded by ghosts, curses, demons and prophesies Alex has never stopped to realise that there was a witch in her own house, all along: one quietly helping and healing through the sorcery of cooking. 

I love Pamela Dawes. It was one of the best days of my life when, at a Leigh Bardugo fan event in February 2023, the excited twenty-one year olds beside me in the queue quickly christened me “a real life Dawes.” “She’s even got snacks!” one cried as, concerned by the fact that none of them had remembered to eat lunch, I found granola bars in my bag and firmly offered them to the group. When I finally reached Bardugo’s signing table, I happily mentioned the comment and she was kind enough to see how much it had meant to me and continue the hype. 

“Oh my god, yes! You’ve got the hair!”

 It’s wasn’t just the hair, or the granola bars, or general lack of glossy femininity. Dawes is about my age, the same gap in years between her and the other characters in the book as there was between me and the twenty-one year olds in the queue. She complains about blood stains not coming out of clothes and rashly made plans which hinge too much on optimistic bravery and not enough on pragmatic strategy. And when the heroes limp home having heeded none of her sensible advice, she makes them hot chocolate. If it’s a particularly bad day she adds an extra marshmallow. 

It’s not surprising that Alex, the main character in the Ninth House series, takes a whole book and a half to realise that Dawes is magical. Dawes is quietly anxious; Dawes is quietly sad; Dawes is quietly lost. Dawes is, overall, quiet. A woman who has gotten lost inside the depths of academia and academic promise and wants to stay there, isolated and safe. To a brash, bold survivor like Alex, Dawes seems weak. Someone who hides, even from herself. But by the end of Hell Bent, there is the promise of more. Dawes is, finally, beginning to realise her potential.

I lived in London for seven years. For those seven years, I didn’t really cook.  There just wasn’t time, and besides, cooking just didn’t seem appealing when I was constantly on the edge of nausea. A mixture of travel sickness, tiredness and stress meant that I never felt well, my upset stomach such a constant that I stopped even noticing it. It was only when a colleague of mine described the symptoms of her chemotherapy treatment and I realised it was what I pretty much felt like all the time in my day to day life that the reality of the situation truly hit.

This isn’t working. 

I moved out of London soon after, but then: 2020. 

I tried to use all my free time in my family home to get back into cooking - I’d loved cooking as a teenager, surely it was possible to learn to love it once more - but the nausea remained. It’s not much fun coming up with new recipes when you have to lie in bed for two hours afterwards with debilitating IBS.

 September came and went. I moved into my new flat in Aberdeen; I started a Masters course, first in person and then online when the University gave up and moved the degree fully onto Zoom after Christmas break. 

First one person dropped out, then two. By the end of the Masters I was the only full-time student left. 

Still, I tried to cook. 

As someone with more food intolerances than would seem physiologically possible, my only chance of eating nice food is to make nice food. It felt like failure after failure. Pesto and pasta would work for a while; then it would make me ill. One week I’d be able to eat feta; the next it would give me acid reflux. Alone in my flat, lost in the depths of academia and hiding from even myself, I despaired at my situation. 

Someone who loved food, cursed to feel continually poisoned by it. 

Still, I tried to cook. 

A year went by, then two. 

I went to see a health specialist, who advised that along with the long, long list of foodstuffs I’d independently realised I couldn’t eat - “you’re the second most severe case I’ve seen in twelve years”- I also should avoid starch, and anything fermented. I stopped battling with tofu. I cut down on gherkins. (I refuse to not eat any gherkins. A woman needs reasons to get up in the morning.) Gradually, lopsidedly, in a very non-linear sort of way, trying to cook slowly turned into cooking. 

There are no guarantees with food. There is still the chance that a meal which worked fine yesterday will make me feel ill today. That bread is one day off? You tried to eat that cheese whilst upset about something? Forget about it. But as my life slowly levels, my ability to digest, to enjoy food seems to be slowly levelling with it. And, as it does, something else is slowly coming to the surface too.

To be a hedge witch is to be a witch alone. Classic descriptions of the witch type are ‘someone who practices rituals like tarot […] or has some physic ability […] a wise woman living on her own.’ The definition, as found on Mabon House’s website, expands to describe this woman ensuring the well being of those she loves though imbuing magical thoughts into everyday small tasks. Such as cooking. 

If someone was to ask me what sort of witch I aspired to be - not a topic of conversation which comes up very often, it has to be said - I would probably say hedge witch through sheer necessity. There’s not exactly a ready made, non-gender essentialist, queer-friendly coven knocking at my door ready to go, after all. But that’s not the only reason.

As this settling continues and I level out into my late twenties, as I finally have the space to sort through the baggage and trauma I’ve somehow acquired in the last ten years, it’s a relief to find truer versions of myself buried down deep under all the masks, personas and lies. 

The world wasn’t ready for me, aged 17. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind. 

So many things were lost in my desperate scrabble for survival. 

Cooking wasn’t the only thing to fall through the gaps. 

As I sit here writing this, however, I am a woman who is in the process of reclaiming herself. The reclaiming isn’t finished. I’m not sure if reclaiming can ever be finished. But as I look at the dried garden mint hanging from the wall, the incense smoke in the air, the flickering candle on the altar and the kettle on the boil I know that I, just like Dawes, am beginning to step into my potential.

If food is a hedge witch’s power, then I am becoming powerful indeed. Friends who come round to my house are full of home-made snacks and herbal tea by the time they leave. My parents might not eat the same meals as me - it’s just easier for me to eat solo when they have dinner at 6pm and I’m lucky if I’ve remembered about the concept of dinner by 8pm - but I often gift them little offerings, fresh from my own plate.  A roast potato each, eaten with much delight. An unexpected batch of stewed apples cooked with cinnamon and nutmeg, enough for all three of us. This year, for the first time, I’ve volunteered myself as the cook for Christmas Day lunch.

When Bardugo wrote the character of Pamela Dawes, she wrote a character for all of us who aren’t very good at remembering we’re the protagonists of our stories. Perhaps confidence, like mine, was forced out of us with blank looks and unkind jokes. Perhaps confidence wasn’t something we were very good at to begin with. It’s been a beautiful thing to see my own confidence grow this past year, every tray, pot and tin, every meal cooked, leading me back to my most magical self.

“You’re a real life Dawes!”

I’m beginning to think that those twenty-one year olds may have been right. 

[ghostlytalkin]

I want to be super clear, and because this deals with my attempt and some pretty dark ass stuff regarding MYSELF I am going to put it under read more, nobody is obligated to read it but to clarify for probably more my sanity. But I ask that please don't go to others blaming them for what I tried to do. I took things that was said and let it swallow me instead of ignoring them like I would do towards a lot of people. This being said, here is a crazy long message.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

suicide attempt, medications, hospitals, stalking, death threats, police {briefly}, long ass post

I am not going to blame ANYBODY but myself for my attempt at suicide. I suffer greatly from suicidal idealization and the idea of dying before getting old. I suffer from depression and my therapist and I are working to narrow down the type of depression I have because it acts like the tide changes and they do not want to give a automatic diagnosis. I also deal with minor obsessions and hyperfixations which we're working on.

I did spend some time under suicide watch in the hospital. I had my sister checking up on me through my nurses, who were super nice and one let me talk her ear off for nearly fifteen minutes before my meds kicked in and I passed the fuck out. I have been going through the motions of anti depressant medication and tbh I kinda hate them because of how tired they make me. But I am still taking them because everybody has told me that it takes time to adjust and my therapist said that it cane take a bit for your body to adjust. Plus I have insomnia and so the sleep I guess is needed because I've sleep deprived myself for years and worked on only 1-4 hours of sleep since I was in middle school.

I know I said that rpcvent outed me, but it was pointed out I had an earlier post where I put that I was evie/eevee. I honestly forgot about it and thought people pieced it together from rps I've mentioned having been in. That is on me. Even if I don't agree with rpcvent on things everybody has their own opinions and it is whatever.

I am getting help, I have decided to put this blog on pause for myself except for 1 day a week I will put things in the queue to run for the other 6 days. I will be having my inbox open for others to still come to if they choose, nobody is obligated to come to my inbox. But my inbox will be monitored by another so if death threats start coming in the inbox will be closed again. This is not up for debate and my person monitoring my blog will delete anon hate directed at me.

If anybody wants to be respectful and be like "hey this thing that you did had hurt me/a friend/somebody I know." I am open to it and bringing it to my therapist to find a corrective action on how to change and do better. I will also apologize. I never intended to cause people harm, more like call out their behaviors after they'd been talked to. I want to be better and do better and not having been told before I was causing issues I had no idea. I want to do better and make sure I am not that person.

For the people who were saying I was online while I was away and reporting it to other blogs

Please, don't monitor somebody's online status like that. For me personally it triggered my ptsd. I spent the last 6 years with an online stalker in the witch community who would monitor when I was online to try and narrow down my timezone to then would start asking my friends where I lived. They used multiple accounts to try and find out and get close to me under fake names. It got to the point where police were involved because they told people they had found out the area I lived at the time in Oregon and had gotten a plane ticket to come find me and kill me. And this all started because they were watching for me being online.

I am a pretty guarded person because I am scared of that happening again. I was almost doxxed three times, twice to this kind of person. It got so bad that police both in my state and their state was involved and it was confirmed they did have a plane ticket to Oregon. On discord I have a constant status of being idle, sometimes I will switch it to DND if I will be away longer than a few hours and forget about it, and it's because of this situation. I have a protective order against my stalker and charges had been pressed for telephonic harassment {which sounds fake and I thought it was fake until the officer I was working with showed me it was a real thing}.

And I'm sure somebody will run to tell this to other blogs, fine. Yeah I was stalked for SIX years. But what did I do? I told them I could no longer help with a situation I won't get into detail about and other people started to talk about how creepy stalker was and they said it was me telling people. That is the jist of it because frankly that situation has been dead to me and I've been trying to live my life despite my stalker persisting up until two weeks ago.

Please don't just monitor somebody's online status just to report it to others. That's really uncomfortable.

AS FAR AS THIS BLOG:

I will leave it up. There is two call outs that need to be up for others. This being the Elysium items, which was requested that I reblog and leave open for everybody so they can always have the receipts of behaviors and that of Cody because I've also been asked as he still is not taking accountability for his behaviors towards women and those who look feminin.

I will be doing more research before I post things, I'll look into whatever you guys send me or I will continue to ask for proof. Again, no proof sent will be posted without permission unless it is proof I personally found and posted. I want to do better, so I will make myself more informed.

I'm not going to join rps though to find things, that's weird and I think would be suspicious and I am not comfortable with doing that. What other people do and then send to me is on them. But right now I will be only answering things one day a week and will converse with my therapist regarding things because it's important to monitor. I'll be taking the rest of this week and next week off to allow myself a break and have time to further process and heal for myself for what I've done.

Thank you for reading this if you did. I am apologetic for the hurt that I have caused and I hope y'all have a lovely day.

[emeraldsage98]

I posted 516 times in 2022

20 posts created (4%)

496 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@usagi323

@gentrychild

@araceil

@agent-teacup

I tagged 474 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#it's queue to you sir! - 219 posts

#it’s queue to you sir! - 92 posts

#fanart - 74 posts

#takami keigo - 71 posts

#bnha hawks - 62 posts

#hawks - 61 posts

#bnha fanart - 60 posts

#dabihawks - 51 posts

#dabi - 48 posts

#boku no hero academia - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 77 characters

#ngl im tempted to watch stranger things solely for the context of this gifset

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Takami Shinya and Takami Keigo going grocery shopping at 3am by @tangerinegod

Commissioned by the wonderful, incredible best friend that is @usagi323

This was one of the most incredible birthday gifts I’ve ever gotten and I absolutely adore it - especially how the artist like pulled my image of Shinya straight out of my head.

If anyone is unfamiliar with the names - Takami Shinya is my and Usagi’s OC version of Keigo’s (the future pro-hero Hawks) dad.  He’s a decent human being, an above average parent, and would probably kill a bitch if they touched his lil’ chick.  And the image above - the two Takamis grocery shopping past the witching hour - comes straight out of one of my fanfics: gon’ pop like trouble

All of which means I can finally tell people who ask: MEET TAKAMI SHINYA

AHHHHH, I’M SO EXCITED

If you’re interested in more Takami Shinya, or Takami family cuteness, check out The Thief and His Chick on AO3

16 notes - Posted May 17, 2022

#4

Summary: Keigo's life was a monotony. Work until he drops, wake up, do it all over again. There was nothing else in his future - save his ultimate, exhausted death one day - doing his duty as a deity of Life under the Madam's control was all that existed since he'd been stolen away. The only relief - the only moments of joy in his life, outside of the people he helped, came from Dabi.

And Dabi, well. Dabi had a problem with that.

20 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

#3

I see your "Alfred is a Disney Princess" characterization and raise you "Walt Disney met Alfred and then based his princesses of HIM."

We can be friends.

That's a fucking fantastic raise, and I love it and am adopting it as a HC immediately.

26 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

#2

Summary: It was so unfair, Keigo thought, that Dabi was using that voice. Keigo couldn't say no to it, and he knew that.

Especially when his shitty boyfriend had given Keigo more than enough reasons to dump his toxic ass.

Notes: Inspired, yet again, by one of @tiredhawks’s posts on tumblr, linked here for your convenience. Fic is definitely best read while listening to Dove Cameron’s Boyfriend, on repeat if that is your preference (as that’s certainly mine).

31 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Summary: “Sensitive, little bird?” he asked gleefully, delightedly, his smirk just shy of wicked as Keigo glared at him and didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to though, since Dabi could see the answer as it stared at him. Saw it in the way Keigo couldn’t stop the discreet but unmistakable shiver that came over him as Dabi dragged a warm thumb down the feather’s barbs, gentle but noticeable pressure mixed with a heat his birdie was all too weak to. Saw it in the way those keen eyes slid half-mast, unfocused for a split second as the sensation registered and overwhelmed him, just until Keigo could reign it back under control.

Oh, Dabi could have some fun with this. At least, until the thought hits him.

Notes: Inspiration sparked by the contemplations in "this post" by @tiredhawks on tumblr!

Title based on the Emily Dickinson poem: "hope is the thing with feathers"

33 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[bakersstreetirregulars]

Studio Memo, 5/13/24

Weekly Hours

The results of the candidate’s interview are being processed.

The Dimensional Observatory has opened on the third floor of the Cookie Herald’s Parfaedia branch studio to assist with operations being conducted by the Time Balance Department.

Lemon-Lime Meringue Cookie claims to recall that Stormbringer Cookie was the cause of him gaining mastery over lightning magic after being struck by a lightning bolt in the Vanilla Kingdom two years ago. Validity unknown until we hear from Stormbringer Cookie.

Operations in all our studios have seized up over the week of 5/6 due to a fire started in a field research facility in the Dragon’s Valley that disabled our communications. Containment of the fire before it could spread has been designated as the main priority. Multiple files were lost in the fire.

Daily reports from Headings A and C have been decided in the last Open Board Meeting as priorities.

——————————

CROB - Clash of Dragonkind

Fire safety measures have been increased for half 2/2 for operations in the area this month, starting tonight at 8 PM EST. Finish part 1 and Marble Bread Cookie’s trial before then.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie and Ananas Dragon Cookie have been placed in a priority queue for examination in the Crepe Archives despite counterarguments over the severely lacking Crystal budget for an operation of this caliber. Counter-counterarguments from our resident Second Floor Detective Heavy Cream Cookie claim that there is no new Cookie to consider for this second part.

——————————

CRK - Powers Beheld Beyond Cacao

Examination of Stormbringer Cookie in the Crepe Archives has been moved to a separate queue as a result of the Dragon’s Valley incident. Unknown if subject to delays due to breaking a login streak. Edit, 5/14 - Will be delayed.

Other activities regarding Project [Heaven-Splitting Lightning] have been canceled due to the fire in Dragon’s Valley destroying relevant notes from the two Cake Towers. Some relevant takeaways recovered from the written drafts are as follows

Hall of Ancient Heroes Disciple slot turnover time reduced (5d -> 2d)

Wizard Cookie’s skill now does Electric damage and inflicts Zap

Blueberry Pie Cookie’s Magic Candy buffs Cookies with the Electricity element (Current Charge) and does more overall damage when using “Sealed Power” including a Zap debuff

Twizzly Gummy Cookie’s Magic Candy grants increased CRIT DMG and stacks Zap for increased damage output

Silverbell Cookie’s Soulstones and Mercurial Knight Cookie’s Soulstones have been added to the Mileage Shop

A new report on Beast Cookie - [Mystic Flour Cookie] has come to our attention from the Dark Cacao Kingdom outpost. The news has been relayed to the Moontide Republic branch studio through Frosted Strawberry Shortcake Cookie. The expedition is expected to depart soon.

——————————

CRWC - Next Shelf

Levels 1101 to 1150 have been added with a new Special Story about the Shadow Witch.

File organization on past activity in the Castle branch studio has been relayed to the Vanilla Kingdom branch.

Strawberry Crepe Cookie has put their own requisition for self-analysis forward. We have yet to hear back from either branch on this matter.

[smolcuriouskitten]

questions for mun --- 3, 5, 7, 13, 16, 20

3. Are there any particular aus or plots that you’d really like to write?

~Amnesia or arranged marriage AU's are my current jam. As for plots, I am a sucker for fluff within ships or angst in other areas. Fluff in ships is like our muses taking baths, face masks, playing video games, soft kisses, all the things! Angst can be toxic relationships, my oc's in pain, etc etc.

5. What is the most difficult thing about writing your current muse?

~Her unwillingness to cooperate. Most of the time shes easy to handle and responses come naturally but other times, its like yanking an animal off a surface after their claws dig into it. Thats why I randomly disappear and reappear since it can happen within hours where responses become difficult to complete.

7. Who was the very first muse you ever wrote?

~Rockelle! Shes been my one and only muse. She was very different back then, being a neko, witch, and a vampire and functioning more like Marceline from Adventure Time with her abilities. She even had wings! It was toned down after awhile in fear of being wayyy too powerful.

13. Who are five of your favorite characters? (In the rp community or otherwise)

This list is always changing but currently...

~Sheldon, Chris (@bewitchingbaker ), Joker (Heath Ledgers), Nick Valentine, and Curie (fallout 4)

16. Do you like to queue your replies or just post them when you finish?

~Answered here!

20. If you could tell your muse something, what would it be?

~"Dont be so hard on yourself. You cant be in 10 places at once and never be afraid of taking breaks. You burn yourself out trying to fix everyone else when you should work with yourself. Sit with yourself and understand you cant fix everyone." Then give her chocolate and put her head on my lap, just stroking her ears.