#near my house so i booked it

[thursdaymoonrise11]

Phoebe Honeyball's muggle childhood ✨

✨✨✨

If you will indulge me, this is the life of Phoebe (hogwarts legacy MC) before she was discovered as a witch:

Phoebe grew up in village near Bakewell, Derbyshire

Her father works at the post office, and her mother works in the local cotton mill. They are a close knit family and Bee is both a mummy AND daddy's girl

Her family are not well off, and Phoebe is expected to leave school at 15 to help provide, even though her parents wish she could stay in education

Sensitive only child energy

Missing baby teeth ALWAYS

Plays football with her best friend on the dales, even though only boys are allowed to play sports

(football was stolen from an annoying boy at school, but she will cry if her crime is ever discovered)

Often gets in trouble / is caned (it is the 1880s folks) for being too curious for her own good

Can manipulate fire?? When she's emotional?? How can that be??

Once her parents go to bed, she ignites a candle and reads a book she's borrowed from someone in the village (it might be fiction or something mundane like the train station manual, it doesn't matter)

Tall girl her WHOLE life

Her chalk board goes with her EVERYWHERE

Her clothes are always fraying because she's always rushing and pays no mind to how wild her hair gets

Everyone in the village says she's 'away with the fairies'

(references used)

[astrobei]

arthur from the house in the cerulean sea and aziraphale from good omens. same character different font. do we see the vision.

[thatsrightice]

“…the rosebush that Major Cleven had planted almost two years before, now sprawling alongside the building. It had a rose on it this summer for the first time.”

—Jack Sheridan in his book, They Never Had It So Good: The Personal, Unofficial Story of the 350th Bombardment Squadron (H), 100th Bombardment Group (H) USAAF, 1942-1945

[dejwrld]

i want to write an article about how unethical and toxic the black hair styling community is. like i am so tired of stumbling on videos and tik toks of black women crying, ranting, etc over some stylist scamming them or canceling on them (and keeping the deposit), etc. like we should not be going through this by our own people.

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[mesothulass]

look im rogers #1 hater ok he gives me the creeps

that being said. "you have enemies here. then let them be my enemies as well. any and all of them. and let them come." SIR????? hottest thing he's said or done this entire time

[hervey-gervey-chip]

peak combo of Hobbies That Enable Hoarding are marlinspike seamanship and fiber arts. i have so many pieces of old running rigging and bits of twine and also an absurd amount of cabbage and sewing notions that i simply Cannot Get Rid Of

[lesbiansanemi]

Can Twitter finally just fucking implode I am so sick of hearing about that stupid ass website

[shiv--roy]

truly incredible how leaving the house to hang w a friend for a few hours cures the fuck out of so many of my mental issues wow wow wow

[filolumen]

𓁹𓁿𓁹

[acourtofquestions]

Everything I know heading into Crescent City for the first time (as soon as I hit post): starting with the obvious it’s called Crescent City😂 and written by Sarah J. Maas (and will be my last “unread” series of hers thus far).

The books are very large, and have many cover renditions changing up the color combos, and theories I have based on the fact one has wolves and another has a girl with a lock heart… the latter feels Throne of Glass reference to me, the former to it giving werewolf vibes (which I think some characters are?) though I believe most are Demi-fae

The main characters name is Bryce Adelaide Quinlan, she’s something starry, wine-red hair (same as Ansel), and great representation. She seems to be someone I will love! With some great quotes!

Danika has cool hair, seems like my vibe, will probably love her… I think she’s a main friendship in the books? But I also know there’s a murder so idk.

Lidia Cervos has great fan art (and some ship that looks like day and night) and I have a feeling she might be a favorite for me, plus she’s listed as a Throne of Glass character (though I don’t recognize the name; could be a fandom wiki error) but I have hope as there is crossover between ACOTAR & maybe TOG (I don’t know for sure on that one; I just have hope).

There’s a cute dog/lion/wing (maybe Chimera?) thing/pet/creature and I already love it.

Some guy named Hunt is supposed to be a hunk (yes I said it that way mostly for names sake😂)

There’s good star lines… like literally just talking about quotes about stars!!! A Maasverse classic!

Crossover with ACOTAR???

Who knows… I don’t want to… but I shall find out!

Crescent City Chapter 1 HERE I COME!!!

[foldingfittedsheets]

There was this park near where I grew up. I remember we’d just moved to the area so I was around six and we drove past and saw this waterfront area. My parents decided to check it out so we went for a walk. It was a lovely park, there’s a lazy slough, lots of trees, extremely picturesque. My parents ambled along the trail enjoying the nature while my siblings and I ranged around in their orbit like excitable moons.

Then I saw something odd. Something vibrantly alive down by the water that was entirely the wrong color. I called back my vital scouting info and my family gathered around me. We looked down the steep verge toward the slough, screened by underbrush. We couldn’t quite make out what it was. The only thing we could agree was that it certainly wasn’t a duck. However it was about duck sized and roughly duck shaped. It just wasn’t a duck.

This led to some heated debate amongst my siblings and I but we were forbidden to scramble down the muddy hill to harass the mystery animal. Reluctantly we continued down the trail, speculating wildly when a chicken popped out of a bush in front of us with a train of several chicks.

We froze. The chicken did not. She placidly herded her little puffs across the trail, pecking happily for seeds, unbothered by our proximity. My family had not yet delved into farming and this was the first time any of us kids had seen a chicken up close. It was like a fairytale thing, a creature we had seen over and over in books was suddenly here in the wilderness of the park. We all realized the mystery creature had likewise been a chicken.

Another couple came up the trail and saw us staring.

“Is this your first time at the park?” They asked?

We nodded.

They informed us that this park had become a dumping ground for unwanted chickens. Once the chickens were dumped they were park property and the locals didn’t mind the eccentric additions at all. No one looked after the chickens, but they got on surprisingly well.

As the years went by we visited the park regularly. Signs were added to warn people not to dump off chickens or they’d be fined. They were also excluded from snatching the existing chickens. The hope was that the chickens would eventually run their course and the park would go back to normal.

It did not.

Instead the menagerie grew. Peacocks cropped up occasionally, turkeys; and one visit we saw guinea fowl. But there were always chickens. Eventually feed dispenser were installed so park goers could pay a quarter to enjoy the motley flocks.

Because we’d moved into a house with land my mom started up a chicken coop and we got our very own chickens at the feed store like proper folks. The first rooster we had was a gentleman, politely clucking at us when came into the coop, but the second proved troublesome a year later. He either adored or hated me. Every time I entered the coop he’d dance and flounce and brandish his spurs.

My mom didn’t want to off him frankly she didn’t know how at that point but his fascination ended with him flying at me and the rooster was sentenced to banishment.

We drove to the park.

We saw him there for years afterward, clucking dutifully around a small flock of hens. He did pretty well in exile.

Anyone who’s kept chickens knows that eventually there’s always a tragedy. Ours happened when a neighbors dog broke into our coop and slaughtered the flock. I was absolutely distraught, my lovingly hand reared chicks all decimated in a flurry of senseless bloodlust. I have not loved a chicken since. They are too fragile to bear it.

After a few days of mourning my mom offered that she knew where to find some more chickens. To make up for the massacre she planned a night raid with us. We stayed up past our bedtime and drove to the park with tarp covered kennels in the back of the truck.

We crept down along the gravel parking lot, looking up into the trees, spotting the telltale lumps of shadows that meant chickens. We quickly developed a strategy. We picked a chicken branch, creeping close underneath. Then we reached the end of the branch and gave it a good shake until the roosting chicken glided down to the ground in confusion. It was easy to scoop them up and we went home the proud new owner of a handsome flock of chickens.

The Take a Chicken Leave a Chicken park is still a beloved feature of its neighborhood to this day.

[kingpeachyy]

It’s my 28th fuckin birthday gang 🫶🏽🥰

[girltomboy]

Just remembered that last night a man under the influence of something (probably drunk since he was drinking beer but idk, my friend said he looked high) came up to me to ask me if I'm making the list for karaoke (the event that comes after the quiz every Wednesday at the pub) since I had papers in my hand (I was helping my coworker calculate the points for each team). I told him no, but karaoke will start soon once we're done announcing the winners. He sat on a random chair he found (it was someone else's chair) and listened to my coworker announce the winning teams, and laughing his head off for some reason. I told my friend he looks like my dad and showed her a photo and she couldn't stop laughing because she didn't think I was being so literal lmao.

But last night I had a horrible dream involving my dad and it was like he was about to assault me, and I couldn't fight it so I started trying really hard to numb my brain somehow and like disconnect from the present. And then I started to slowly lose my senses in the dream, but it was because I was actually waking up irl. I couldn't believe what had just happened in my brain and I went back to sleep hoping to erase it and never think of it again.

[prisonhannibal]

Do you remember what you were doing when you were fifteen? I remember. When I was fifteen I used to love comic books and drawing and spent a lot of time wondering about what I wanted to be when I grew up and what school to go to. I loved spending time with my friends and going to the library. The genocide has taken all of that from the children of gaza. One day you’re hanging out with friends and doing homework and studying for your future, and the next day all of your books are buried under the remains of your house, your school, your home.

Ibrahim (@ibrahim-family) is only fifteen years old. He has lost access to education, his home, and his safety, and now he has to spend his time trying to fundraise for his family’s safety.

€4,840 out of €10,000 goal

He lives in Gaza with his family, and only a few days ago a bomb near him injured one of his relatives and martyred two others. Every day in Gaza is dangerous, every hour could be the last. No child should have to go through this. Children should be safe enough to worry about exams, not whether or not they’ll wake up to news of more loss. Think of yourself at fifteen, now think of everything you’ve experienced and done since then. Every achievement, every class, the birth of younger cousins, birthdays, weddings. even the small things, like a good meal you’ve had or a movie you watched. that’s what’s being taken from every child martyred in gaza. their whole future, everything they should get the chance to experience and do.

When I asked Ibrahim if there’s anything he wants me to tell everyone in this post, he said that he is very very sad and scared and that he has just lost relatives. Ibrahim has expressed to me more than once that when he goes to bed he’s afraid he won’t wake up in the morning. Even after losing his relatives, he doesn’t have time to grieve in peace, because he’s always in danger himself. It’s not safe for him or his family in Gaza.

Please help Ibrahim and his family be safe. I’m very worried about Ibrahim, because donations have been slow. My heart breaks for him every time he tells me he’s scared. He is so young and has so much life in front of him, he deserves safety. I ask you if you have anything to give, please help bring Ibrahim and his family to safety so that he can rest and recover and go back to school to follow his dreams.

thank you for reading, if you can’t donate please share this post so it may reach people who can ❤️

this fundraiser is vetted by @gazavetters, number 25 on the spreadsheet

@90-ghost @tamamita @dirhwangdaseul @butchniqabi @vampiricvenus @heritageposts @neechees @furiousfinnstan @khanger @autisticmudkip @appsa @strangeauthor @akajustmerry @spaceboytoi @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ibtisams @feluka @toesuckingoctober @sawasawako @fluoresensitive @anneemay

[inbabylontheywept]

Babylon and the Duck of Butter

I have a gift for falling in love with random objects. One time, my aunt got me a little rubber chicken, and whenever I squoze it, a little egg thing popped out. Very silly. Except that chicken became something like my best friend. I carried it with me to school, and I kept it with me in my pocket, and whatever social hazards there were about Being The Guy Who Got Stressed Whenever His Rubber Chicken Was Missing were far outweighed by being The Guy Who ALWAYS Had a Rubber Chicken On Him. There's a lot of comedic opportunity that comes with always having a good prop on your person.

Of course, the chicken did eventually. Explode. And such was my grief that I did not eat for 36 hours. This was very stressful for many people. Mostly my mom. I was a very strange child to work with. She took parenting so incredibly seriously, and then I'd pitch her these curve balls like refusing to eat for a day and a half because my rubber chicken died. No parenting book tells you what to do when that happens. You just have to feel it in your heart.

A less tragic story of an object that I fell in love with was a large, foam toad that I found in a trinket shop. The toad was the size of a very large grapefruit. Much too large to carry with me to school (thank god) but enough that I could move it around the house, to keep me company during my solitary pursuits. If I was reading, the toad was there, and if I was tinkering with legos, the toad was there, and even when I slept, I would wrap the toad up in layers and layers of blankets, and then spoon it. I did this until the rubber coating on the foam started to wear out, and the foam started to get brittle and break down and leak this repulsive yellow powder. Then I simply put the toad in the playroom and would consult it on matters of great importance. Eventually I stopped doing that, and someone took the opportunity to dispose of it. Not sure who. By the time I noticed its absence, too much time had passed for me to actually be sad. As an adult, part of me thinks I would have maybe liked burying the toad, but part of me also thinks I might have refused to part with the toad, which would have resulted in it leaking more repulsive yellow powder into the house. So I understand why that decision was made. 

I want to state that this does not happen often, and it does not happen on purpose. I don't choose to fall in love with random objects. And it's always a little bit embarrassing when it happens. 

Which brings me to my wife. 

Before meeting my wife, I did not often go to places with crowds. I didn't really think of it as avoiding them - those places just didn't seem fun to me. But she liked those places, and I really liked her, and being with someone who really likes something can kind of sell you on liking it too, so I'd take her to places and watch her Visibly Enjoy the Fair and go: Alright. The fair is pretty sweet.  

Which is a thing that happened. After fourish months of dating, I took her to the fair. And she fell very visibly in love with a large series of quilts, and she stayed near them for a while, which she thought was very embarrassing, and I got to pretend to be understanding as an outsider, because I thought it would be much more impressive than also being the type of person that would fall in love with a quilt. 

Do not do this. The gods punishment for my hubris was that the room next to the quilts was full of butter sculptures, which was an entirely new thing to me, and I immediately fell embarrassingly in love with all of them. It was like the biggest, sappiest non-sexual crush you've ever had, but not only did the other person not recipropcate, they could not, because they were made of butter. I actually got yelled at for pressing my face against the glass, which is fair, but also, I hadn't realized I was pressing my face on the glass, I just started leaning forward because after approximately 30 minutes of staring wistfully at a cow made of butter my legs got tired. And I think I should be given some grace for that.

Anyway. My wife was very patient with me taking more time to look at the butter sculptures than the average person might spent at the Louvre, and she also felt much less embarrassed over falling in love with a quilt, and we had a good laugh about it on the ferris wheel. 

A few weeks after that was my birthday. And I don't know what I expected, exactly - but I did not expect what she did. 

Dear reader, she made me a butter sculpture. Of a duck.

She picked a duck, because our first kiss was at a Japanese friendship garden. It was our second date, and she'd made up her mind not to do any kissing until the third date, but as we sat on the grass, a duck walked past me, and I'd just seen the hold-duck-gentle-like-hamgurber meme,

so I sort of impulsively reached out and snatched it. I honestly didn't think it would work. I don't know who was more flabbergasted, me or the duck. But we looked at each other, and then I looked at her, and then she looked at the duck, and she looked so incredibly envious that I assumed that must have wanted the duck so I just handed it to her.

It turned out she was actually envious of the ability to just grab a duck as it walked by, but she accepted the duck and stroked it a few times before releasing it. (She also made up her mind to kiss me in that moment, which was very nice.)  

Anyway.

She made me a butter duck of my own. Obviously, I fell in love with it immediately. I cleared out all of the freezer-portion of my mini fridge, and I put the duck in there, and for the next several months, when I felt sad, or lonely, I would open the door up and spent some quality time. Just me and my duck.

But this is, of course, not the end of the story. 

Because.

After several months. 

The mini fridge died. 

I really didn't use it that often. It was mostly my duck storage container. But one day, I walked by it, and it struck me that it wasn't humming. So I opened the door, and it was just. Far, far too late. The duck was dead. Dead dead. Turned into a foul-smelling slime dead. 

I cried. I did. After the rubber chicken thing, I thought I had changed, but I had not changed, and the unexpected death of my butter buddy left me pretty shook. I texted my then-girlfriend now-wife about how sad I was, and she actually came over to help me say goodbye. We didn't even bother scraping the duck out of the mini-fridge, we just said our goodbyes to both and threw them together in the nice dumpster behind the chapel, because it seemed appropriate to put it in God's dumpster. And it did actually help quite a bit. I certainly did not go 36 hours without eating again. 

And that was, for some time, the end of the butter duck. 

However. Three (or four?) years ago, for my birthday, my wife was looking around thrift stores. And she found something interesting. 

The original butter duck had an odd pose. She'd sculpted it laying flat, intending to raise it up later. But the butter was less flexible than she thought, and she was afraid of cracking it so she left it down which left the duck with a very elongated, very in-motion appearance. And she found a brass statue of a duck in the same, running posture.

It wasn't the original. But it was oddly on the nose. It was a yellow brass, it had the same strange posture, the same crude little face feathers. 

I think it was $3, but it remains perhaps the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I got very choked up when I unwrapped Butter Duck, The UnDying. 

Pic provided.