#pig slaughter bar

[starielluvsdnd]

During the holidays we had a Dungeon of Duffla session!! We’re now one session away from completing the Devin/Pig Slaughter Bar vaults saga (8mths of sessions), which is super exciting!!

We’re trialling switching player characters to try make the game more fun. Now, Sting plays Oli, Spork (originally my character) and Varien (from Speak No Harm, replacing Delg as both ‘father figure’ characters), I still play Lark and Vie (trying to convince Kings/DM to let me add the revamped Aiko).

We also managed to access some new lore about Devin’s preparation to attack the Kings forces soon while hacking.

Me and Sting did some character work, deciding Vie and Varien are childhood friends making Dakota and the rest of Speak No Harm cannon (instead of just for references). Therefore the SNH version of my campaign will be a simple tour that happened before the guide met the new group Who will move to the faewild and therefore become the party for the Speak No Harm rerun.

It was just generally a great session!! Really excited to play more!! I love DND sm haha!! Crazy seeing the difference in vibe between DOD and AITCN

[msmk11]

a hunger games fic where there’s tension between reader and haymitch but he feels conflicted because of the age gap i don’t know lots of pining and angst so i can go insane

Drunk on You

Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader

WC: 4k

CW: Drinking/being drunk; mentions of death and blood; age gap (legal and consensual- reader is 21)

A/n: Thank you for the request!! I'm so sorry this took so long. I have been in a writing rut and also very busy, but I hope you enjoy this! I know I sure did.

You’d been lucky enough to avoid mentoring the first two years after your games- your first year by claiming insanity and the second merely because of the abundance of victors in your district. But the Capitol, and Snow, were ravenous for the return of their Angel- the sweet, innocent girl they painted you to be despite the blood they knew was on your hands.

And while the nightmares of your games were as fresh in your mind as the day they started, you persisted nonetheless. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else die at your hands, even if the cost to you was great. 

So the day of the reaping you stood by Mags’ side- four’s other mentor this year- as you watched kids be chosen to be sent off to their deaths like pigs for slaughter. 

The girl, someone you barely recognized but knew you’d gone to school with, looked strong. Like a potential competitor. She was tall enough, fairly lean, and the definition in her arms was obvious. Her age- eighteen- was a benefit too.

Whatever her name was (you’d been too anxious to pay attention), would be your mentee this year while Mags took the boy. 

The boy.

Finnick Odair. 

And while the age difference between you two was large- almost 7 years exactly- you guys were close. Like sibling-level close. It took everything in your power to not let the tears brimming at your waterline spill. 

The aftermath was a flurry of rushed goodbyes, heated whispers, and your begging Mags to just help you make it through the games. 

Though every instinct screamed at you to put all your efforts into Finnick’s survival, your mind knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. The girl, your mentee, may not have meant something to you, but she certainly meant something to someone. And she deserved life just as much as Finnick. 

It didn’t make it any easier though. 

And in the nights, when the nightmares and fears came creeping in, you turned to drink. 

That’s how you met Haymitch.

Haymitch Abernathy. Blonde, 31, borderline alcoholic, victor of the second quarter quell. And your new drinking buddy. 

Apparently. 

When you get to the bar in the Tribute Center the first night it’s totally empty except for a few Capitol stragglers giggling in a corner booth. 

You take a seat at the actual bar and order from the bartender- a brunette avox who couldn’t be much older than you. You’re sure to be extra polite as you accept your drink and take a sip of the strong concoction. It burns and you know it’ll fuck you up just enough to take the sting off the emotions squeezing your heart. 

“Drinking alone? Seem a bit young to be doing that, sweetheart,” a voice interrupts from beside you.

You turn to find Haymitch Abernathy standing next to you, his appearance a little disheveled, but still obviously very handsome. 

“Not sure you’re the one to be making judgements, Abernathy. You even sober right now?”

He smirks at you a little, “only buzzed for now. Care for some company?”

You scan the blonde suspiciously and decide he’s basically harmless, “fine, but you buy the next round.”

The District 12 victor lets out a chuckle and slides onto a stool beside you, “thought you had more money than you knew what to do with, four.”

“So do you,” you remind him with a shake of your head, “anyhow, it’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

Haymitch doesn’t reward you with an answer, instead turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey. 

“What brings you to the bar so early in the games?”

“Wanted to fully reacquaint myself with the tribute center,” you huff dryly, “I’ve missed it sooooo dearly.”

“You’ll get used to it pretty damn fast. Especially now that the Capitol’s got its claws back on you, you won’t be able to escape it.”

He takes a sip of his drink thoughtfully, “I mean, their angel has made her return.”

A scoff escapes you in spite of yourself and Haymitch smirks. 

“What would they think if they knew you were getting wasted with the Capitol’s most disappointing victor? Your reputation would be ruined.”

“Then maybe I should stick around you a little longer, Twelve. Let some of your bad energy rub off on me. Maybe even have them catch me leaving your room.”

Haymitch chokes on his drink and you smirk. 

“What?! Catch you leaving my room like, like we?”

“Had sex,” you tease, “goodness Abernathy, I didn’t pin you for a prude.”

He rolls his eyes at you and huffs cockily, “me, a prude? Babydoll back where I come from I have a reputation. I’m just shocked that the Capitol’s perfect little angel could be so naughty.”

It’s your turn to choke when he sends you a wink, and you try to cover it with a cough. 

“Looks can be deceiving, Abernathy.”

***** 

You’re not sure if it’s the booze or the blaring music that’s giving you a headache. Or maybe it’s the relentless stares and unwanted approaches by dimwitted Capitol folks. Regardless, you want to be anywhere but here right about now. 

A party. Celebrating. The arrival of tributes. The arrival of doomed children.

It makes you sick. 

You forget someone is yapping away in your ear until they’re suddenly interrupted by your savior. 

Haymitch. 

“I’m sure the story you’re telling is lovely, really, but unfortunately we’re being pulled away for important mentor business,” he shares calmly, barely suppressing a smirk. 

“Oh, oh. Yes, of course,” the blue-haired person before you chatters, “I’ll have to catch you another time.”

Haymitch, thankfully, is already pulling you away before they can make you answer.

The blonde pulls you through the crowd, hands intertwined, and you can’t help but shiver. You figure it must be the evening chill in the air. 

You seem to be walking forever, further and further away from the party until the voices and music are a faint hum. He’s hidden the two of you away in one of the President’s many flourishing gardens. One that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a rose in sight. 

When Haymitch finally comes to a halt you look at him and smile, eyes darting between his face and your joined hands, “what was all that for?”

He looks at you disbelievingly, “I was saving you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “who said I needed saving?”

“The poor glass in your hand that you nearly squeezed to death.”

You once over the glass full of some colorful drink in your hand and shrug noncommittally, throwing it back and then setting the empty glass on the wall. 

“I think you just wanted time alone with me, Abernathy. Seems like an awfully convoluted plan….showing up to the Capitol party, stealing me away so dramatically….”

He releases your hand and leans back against the wall, “don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the free booze. I only brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

A scoff escapes you and you roll your eyes. 

“Anyhow, you owe me now- for saving you. And for missing out on free drinks because of it.”

“Let me guess, with more booze?”

“How else?”

“I don’t know… a meal, a simple favor…. My friendship?”

Haymitch winces and taked a large gulp of his drink, “don’t think the last would be much of a reward.”

You go to slap his arm but he stops you, his hand grabbing yours.

“You’ve got wicked fast reflexes,” you choke out, trying to suppress the gasp that escapes your lips.

“I’m a victor, remember?”

When you look up at him, his smile seems to briefly vanish, replaced with something much darker. 

You take his drink and finish it while squeezing his other hand. 

*****

“You clean up nice.”

Haymitch looks more than disgruntled to be stuffed into a fancy suit and you can barely suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

It reeks of booze. 

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice that you’ve changed up the homeless look.”

The blonde eyes you with a glare, “And I see they’ve stuffed you into another ridiculous costume.”

Haymitch is right. You do look ridiculous, and you’re not even the one on stage tonight. The white, feathery dress made for you was certainly intended to represent your angel persona. You think you look more like a white duck. 

“I suppose it’s better than usual,” you scoff, flattening out a few ruffled feathers, “though it itches like crazy.”

You begin to fidget with your dress again as the group of mentors slowly gather in their assigned seats near the front of the auditorium. The shrill voices of an excited audience echo loudly throughout the room as you step inside. You prepare for the stares and whispers, donning your mask and armor bravely.

Still, your hands shake. Your body’s thrown back in time to your games. You can remember clear as day standing up on that stage as Cesar talked and prodded, guiding you right into the role that had already been decided. 

Sweet. Innocent. Lovely. An angel. 

You’d fallen for the trap, mistaking the net for a lifeboat.

And had you ever really escaped it? 

The knots in your stomach are answer enough, and the seat soon before you is a welcome reassurance for your wobbly legs. 

Somehow, you’ve ended up between Mags and Haymitch. The former smiles at you warmly, nodding in a way that is inexplicably reassuring. Deep down, you know that she’s telling you that Finnick will be okay. That you’ll be okay. 

And when a hand lands on your knee, you’re doubly reassured. 

“Stop tapping your foot, it’s even making me anxious,” Haymitch grumbles. 

You still, turning to look at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… weird being back.  I feel like I’m back in my own games, being in this room again. I hate it.”

Haymitch shifts a little and you see him reveal a small golden flask in his hand. 

“Want a drink?”

As tempting as it sounds, you shake your head, “I think I’d puke if I drank. And I want to be present anyway. Ready for anything.”

Your eyes flit to his hand still on your knee and you recall the pleasing warmth as he held yours those few weeks ago. Carefully, you reach out and intertwine your fingers, resting your clasped hands between you. At first he stiffens, and you think he’s going to pull away. But then, he doesn’t. 

And the flask disappears into his pocket, unused. 

*****

The blare of the horn through the speakers nearly sends you into a meltdown on the spot. It feels so deeply real to you, even though you’re miles away from the games. Your eyes are trained on your tribute as she sprints forward towards the cornucopia, and towards her potential death. Still, she’s technically a career, so you have hope that she’ll survive the bloodbath. 

Your eyes stray to Finnick too and your stomach rumbles in worry. But you know that he’s strong and determined, so you try to relax. 

Like usual, the bloodbath is ruthless and you can barely stomach it. It’s worse too because you have a stake in the outcome. Not just your own life or strangers’ lives, but someone you’ve trained, someone you care about. 

It doesn’t register with you that the death of strangers might actually affect you more than you realize. In particular, the two tributes from twelve. They’re struck down quickly, as they often are, and your heart twists. While the death of children is certainly part of the cause, it’s the image of Haymitch that really pains you. Another year, another loss, and you wonder how he bears it. You suppose he doesn’t. 

Hence, the booze. 

Once the initial craziness of the bloodbath calms down and you’re sure that both your tribute and Finnick are safe, you go on a hunt for Haymitch. 

It doesn’t take you long if you follow the trail of beer.

Not literally, of course, but the bar is certainly the right place to start. Haymitch is slumped over on a stool and your heart breaks a little. 

“Drinking alone?” you say quietly. 

The blonde looks at you unimpressed and you’re immediately taken aback by the pain swimming behind his eyes. 

“Care if I join you?”

He hums noncommittally and you don’t take that as an outward no. After you take a seat you order a drink and sip silently for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry about your tributes.”

Haymitch shrugs, “I knew they were never gonna make it.”

“But it can still hurt,” you remind him. 

Haymitch scoffs a little, “I don’t care. I barely knew the kids.”

You study his face and can tell that he actually does. Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you reach out and grab his hand. This time, he doesn’t even flinch as he grips yours back. 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You drag him along to the fourth floor suite and bring him inside. 

“I’ve entered enemy territory,” the blonde says gruffly.

You smirk at him and hold up a bottle of whiskey, “what about now?”

He smiles a little and you pour a drink for each of you before settling on the couch next to him so that your knee is touching his thigh- so you’re fully facing him. 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be strong,” you tell him softly. 

“I’m not pretending, I’m fine.”

Haymitch turns his head away and you hear a small sniffle. 

“Sweetheart,” you coo.

You grab his chin and gently turn his face towards you. He looks embarrassed and teary eyed and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. Haymitch’s eyes flutter shut and you think it’s a rather pretty sight. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper very softly. 

When Haymitch opens his eyes you’re inches apart, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

You both lean slightly closer, your breaths mingling. 

“Haymitch…”

He abruptly pulls back. 

“I think I need another drink.”

*****

You suppose you’re glad it was quick. Hopefully pretty painless. No chance to be afraid or to bleed out slowly. 

But it also happened so fast. One second your tribute was breathing, and now she’s gone. You’d had such high hopes for her, and now she was dead. Was it your fault? 

Was there something you could’ve done to warn her? To prepare her better? 

You feel even more guilty because you’re sort of relieved that she’s dead. Not because you wanted her to die, but because it means Finnick is one step closer to getting out of the arena. Back home to District Four where he is relatively safe- or at least in your dome of protection. 

When the guilt subsides, it’s replaced by numbness. That’s all you feel. 

You understand now why Haymitch drinks. It provides some semblance of warmth when all you feel inside is coldness and emptiness. 

Knocking. You hear knocking. 

You stumble to the door, bottle in hand, and there he stands.

“Haymitch!”

You lunge towards him and he catches you, gripping your waist firmly. If you were sober, you would’ve been able to suppress the shudder that runs through your body from his touch. 

“Want a drink?” you slur, your boozy breath blowing in his face. 

He shakes his head at you and you shrug, “more for me then.” 

You lift the bottle neck to your mouth but he stops you, gripping your wrist gently.

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart.”

A loud laugh escapes your lips and Haymitch shushes you, shuffling the both of you inside and closing the door, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just funny- you telling me I’ve had too much to drink. Hilaaaaarrious!”

“Well I have a better tolerance.”

You shuffle back and topple over the couch arm, sending Haymitch down on top of you.

“Oooooops… sorrrrryyyyy” you giggle. 

The blonde pushes himself up off of you and sets the bottle down on the side table.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks softly, more kind than you’ve ever heard him before. 

You sober up a little at the question and scoff, “Of course I’m not fine. My tribute just bled out on

television in front of millions of people.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters gruffly.

“Why? What was it you said? You barely even knew your tributes…It’s not like I did either. Why should I care? Or be torn up?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” Haymitch adds gently, “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about people.”

He grips your knee and smiles at you sadly. 

“Well I’m done with caring,” you slur, “It only hurts more. I like your way- drink yourself to death.”

You lunge towards the bottle behind him and he reaches out, stopping you again by grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go when he pulls you away from the bottle. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you. 

“What’re you doing?” you mumble into his chest.

“Giving you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

He scoffs exasperatedly, “I can stop.”

“NONONO don’t! Don’t.”

You shift back a little to look him in the eyes, “It’s… nice. You’re…nice.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.”

You look at the blonde softly, infatuated by his face- the stubble across his chin, his piercing eyes, his lips…

By some unknown force, you’re pulled to his lips. You reach out and close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, he reciprocates, his mouth melting against yours. But then he pulls away, “Stop, stop. You’re drunk.”

“So? You’re always drunk and I don’t stop you from doing things you want,” you remind him.

“I don’t- you’re. Even then, it doesn’t matter. You’re too young and I-”

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, abandoning you on the couch, alone. 

*****

Finnick’s return to the Capitol should be more joyous than you currently feel. You’re beyond relieved that he’s back and safe, within arms reach. In fact, you haven’t let him out of your sight in days and you think he’s starting to get annoyed by you. 

Still, something continues to burden your mind or, rather, someone. 

You haven’t seen Haymitch since you drunkenly tried to kiss him a few days ago. Though you were incredibly wasted, his words still ring in your mind clear as day- “you’re too young.”

It’s more painful than flat out rejection, really. Him not having feelings is one thing, but the knowledge that he potentially does and still won’t let you in hurts much more. What-ifs haunt you constantly, and the memory of the look on his face when he pulled away slowly rips your heart to shreds. 

Now there’s only an evening left until you’re set to return home to District Four, only one night until you won’t see Haymitch again until…well you’re not sure how long it will be. 

“You know, I’m the one that should be moping about,” a voice says.

You look up to see Finnick staring at you from the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m not moping…I’m just tired,” you say.

It is true, but so is Finnick’s statement. Not that you’ll tell him that. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you and walks into the room, plopping down on your bed, “Such a bullshit response. Come up with a better excuse if you’re going to lie.”

“I’m not lying I-”

You shut up as he looks at you unimpressed. 

“Come on, I can read you like a book. What’s wrong?”

You sigh and look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Nothing I- I kissed Haymitch,” you murmur.

“What’d you say? I can barely hear you.”

“I kissed Haymitch,” you say more boldly. 

Finnick’s eyes widen, and it would be comical if it were any other situation, “Abernathy? You kissed Haymitch Abernathy?”

“Yes, Abernathy. Is there any other Haymitch?”

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief, “I owe Mags five dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mags told me she thought you two liked each other. But I didn’t believe her, so we bet on it. Guess I can’t be that mad though.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, we’re not together or anything.”

Finnick looks at you intently, “why not?”

You sigh and pause for a moment, “Because he said I was too young.”

“That’s such bullshit,” the blonde scoffs, “you’re only like, what, ten years younger? Anyhow, you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”

You shrug your shoulders and sigh, “I just wish I never would’ve done anything. I was drunk and stupid and now he won’t talk to me.”

A pillow gets thrown at your face and you wince, scowling at Finnick, “what was that for?”

“Drunk you was smarter than sober you. She acted on her feelings. Now you’re just sitting around moping.”

“I-”

Finnick looks at you seriously, “Don’t waste your chance. We both know life is too short to have regrets.”

You stand up quickly and kiss Finnick on the cheek, “when did you get so smart little bro?”

He only rolls his eyes at your endearment and shoves you out the door.

Your hand shakes as you hold it up to the twelfth floor door. It’s ridiculous, really, how you’re more nervous to confess your feelings than you were to fight in the games. 

You take a deep breath and finally knock stiffly. 

There’s momentary silence and you think maybe Haymitch is asleep or not there. But then you hear shuffling from the other side and the door is yanked open- “Wha-?”

Haymitch freezes at the sight of you, his likely nasty reply hanging off of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks more calmly.

“I-I came to apologize.”

Then, you shake your head, “that’s a lie. I’m not here to apologize because I’m not sorry for what I did… for kissing you. I’m only sorry you left too soon and I was too drunk for us to talk about it.”

Haymitch stands in the doorway still and only stares at you dumbfounded.

“Can-can I come in?”

Finally the blonde nods and steps aside, welcoming you into his space. It’s slightly messy and you suppose he hasn’t left the suite in days, not that you blame him or mind. 

You find a seat on the couch, comfortably separate from Haymitch on the other end. 

“Haymitch-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For walking out on you. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I-I panicked and you were drunk and…and I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

You stare at him softly and your heart beats in your chest, “So you did feel something.”

Haymitch runs his hand through his hair exasperatedly, “Fuck, of course I did. I mean, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful, how could I not?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look down at your hands awkwardly… “but you think I’m too young. You said that.”

He sighs, “I-I did. And I meant it. I still do. You’re young, you still have a life to live. You deserve to be with someone young and put together and better…”

You scoff gently, “Did you ever think to ask me what I think I deserve? Why do you get to decide for me?” 

Haymitch’s mouth opens and closes silently like a fish.

“Maybe what I want- maybe what I deserve- is a kind, handsome guy who might be a little rough around the edges, but who is gooey and sweet on the inside. What then?”

“But I’m a drunk and fucked up and…”

You reach out and grip his hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drink in days. And also, look who you’re talking to. I don’t exactly handle my trauma well either. I’m a victor too, remember?”

You shuffle closer to him, “Please don’t push me away, please-”

Before you can finish your response you’re cut off as Haymitch moves forward and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

You melt into his touch and sigh, finally being rewarded with what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, “you know, you’re right. I haven’t drank in days because I found something better. I got drunk on you instead.”

[acquelus-ussy]

So ive been a reader for quite some time now and i just decided to write stuff! So this is my first time writing please give me criticisms and i hope yall will enjoy! Pls be nice i will literally cry Also Afab reader! Sorry guys i don't know how to write for amab

SOFT YANDERE ALERTTTT

~~~

Yandere! Cowboy who came back to the county after a bounty hunting mission bringing back tons of money He went to the bar where he frequents and decided to buy everyone a round of drinks (he really got a big bounty) then thats where

Farmer! Reader comes in you were drinking with some of your employees when you heard yandere!cowboy say a round of drinks was on him And you being the ever so kind darling! after the hype died down you went to his table to thank him

"Well, hello there, Mr. Cowboy! I just wanted to thank you for the round of drinks. If you want, I can buy you some grub to go with your beer."

Then you slipping some cash discreetly to him he pushes back the cash

"Thank you, sweetheart, but it's 'aight. What's the use of buying y'all drinks for free if you're just gon' buy me some grub? But if you must insist… why not keep me company, sugar?"

And you, looking rugged from a day's work on the farm milking the cows, gathering the eggs, and butchering the pigs you can’t help but wonder is this man flirting with you, or is he just really nice?

He pushes off the person who was sitting next to him and pats the seat "come on sugar you sitting or what?" he looks at you with heart eyes he knew he was in love

"If you're making me your lady of the night, I am not a whore, darling. And besides, a few drinks aren't enough to buy me for the night. I look too dirty to be a common whore, let alone be yours I'm a pig-slaughtering farmer, for God's sake."

you say

"If I were to make you my lady of tonight, you would already be sitting on my lap and giving my cheeks wonderful kisses, ain't it? And don't worry, that wasn't my intention at all, sugar, but you caught my eye. Tell me more about you, what do ya say? Pig-slaughtering farmer."

he chuckles lowly tilting his giant mug of beer to you then drinking it

When he first walked in and saw you sitting there, smiling with your people, something in his heart told him he must have you right then and there. But he didn't want to creep you out, so he set up a ploy buying everyone a round of drinks, hoping you'd come by to thank him. And you did.

You even offered to buy him some food to go with his beer what else could a lonely cowboy ask for?!

Soon, in the middle of the night, you'll hear some rustling outside the barn. But don’t worry, sugar it’s just your sweet cowboy, trying to discreetly see you, pookie. <3

[greenerteacups]

Jkr as a writer anon, sorry for the follow up!

I so agree with you! One of the things that I found kind of… not smooth in this transition, is that she wanted the characters to behave in a certain way which would serve the plot and would be very “we knew all along that Harry is a messiah and was supposed to die” while never giving them space for reaction.

Snape is shocked at the revelation that Harry was “brought up like a pig for slaughter”, and he does… nothing. Characters have no time to react to that, too, they have no time to get angry and upset. Hermione and Ron are not even allowed to contemplate that their best friend, a very precious and loved friend, was brought up so that he could sacrifice himself, and that in aligning themselves with him they also became in the eyes of Dumbledore fair targets. An orphan, a sixth Weasley boy and a muggleborn walk into a bar, and no one cares.

I always felt like Sirius was not supposed to die this early. There are empty spaces where his character should have been in later books (regulus mystery feels like something very glaring, no one reacts to that, there is no emotional pay off - that’s what I mean).

And at the end she just slaps Harry calling his kid after Snape and Dumbledore, to shut the plot hole completely. Idk. Feels very… authoritarian to me

So it's really interesting you say that!! Because — and you may know this, so sorry if I'm rehashing — Sirius was only one of several names on the shortlist for the Big Death at the end of Book 5. Miscellaneously it's been said in fandom spaces that Arthur was the "original sacrifice" for OOTP, but to be honest, I can't find any primary sources for that, and I think it's one of these fandom urban legends that people have been shopping around without sources for so long they're accepted. The best I can do is this Leaky Cauldron interview from 2007, where the interviewer asks her "what would have changed if you killed Arthur in Book 5?" Which is not the same thing as her saying that she was going to! But then again, since it's an excerpt, it might have been in response to a remark she made earlier about him being the original. Here's the quote:

I think they would have been very different and it’s part of the reason why I chose my mind (sic) … By turning Ron into half of Harry, in other words by turning Ron into someone who had suffered the loss of a parent, I was going to remove the Weasleys as a refuge for Harry and I was going to necessarily remove a lot of Ron’s humor. That’s part of the reason why I didn’t kill Arthru (sic). I wanted to keep Ron in tact …

Take that as you will. I (a sicko freak) personally love the idea of turning Ron into "half of Harry," conceptually — not necessarily by killing Arthur or Molly but like, the idea of Ron/Harry as foils to each other that are so deeply entwined with each other's lives that they become shadows of each other thematically and plot-wise. Ron yearns to be like Harry and Harry yearns to be like Ron, right? So they both get what they want, and Ron suffers a tragedy, and Harry realizes the terror of having a family to protect. And they trauma-bond over it as they increasingly become the only people who understand each other. Etc. They're destiny, they're chosen soulmates, they're fated to find each other, that's not always a good thing, etc. You know what I'm like.

Incidentally, this is the same interview where we get the infamous "full circle" quote explaining why she killed Lupin and Tonks:

The only other reason I didn’t kill Arthur was that I wanted to come full circle. We started with an orphan, someone who lost their parents because of the war. ANd so I wanted to show it again … Even though you don’t see Teddy, I wanted to express in the epilogue, that he gets an even better godfather than Harry had, because Sirius had ihs (sic) faults, I think we must admit. He was a risky guy to have a s a godfather. Because Teddy gets someone who really has been there, and Harry becomes a really great father figure for Teddy as well as his own children.

So both times, it seems like Arthur's death is contemplated, but he's spared because of what the Weasleys mean to Harry, and the effect it would have on Ron. Which. I've already talked about my thoughts on the Epilogue and Teddy Lupin, so I won't go off about it here. Worth noting, however, that Sirius dies because Book 5 (and this I agree with) wants an "anchoring death," or something to shift the books another step into the dark tone of a war. Book 4 ends with the death of a child; Book 5 ends with death of a parent, an adult. Book 5 is also substantially about disillusionment with the adults around you, and learning to navigate a world of complex, flawed grown-ups who all have substantially more power than you do. So there's a reading where Sirius — someone who's never really "grown up" — dying drives home the lesson of putting childish things aside and seeing people for what they are, etc. Thematically, I'm not mad at it. I am mad at the fact that plot-wise, it bricks up our easiest window into the world of the Blacks, so any first-hand account we could get of Regulus or Narcissa or Bellatrix's upbringing vanishes with him. Tonks and Andromeda theoretically could fill that void, but we never meet Andromeda, and Tonks dies after spending the whole of Book 7 off-page, so we never get that chance to learn what their lives were like. But hey! Can't do everything, I guess.

[inkwell-passion]

The Death Of Dionysus

The Old Dionysus was a white, feminine man with blonde hair that was cut short and slicked back, he was a tyrant, forcing any and all bars to shut-down, trying to gain a monopoly on the concept of sin, even trying to take the Sirens from Apollo's dominion. One of his workers, a dark skinned man with a rich sultry voice, and a spectacular androgyny, hired under the name of Dresden, hated The Old Dionysus. He thought the Olympian did not properly represent the God he bears the namesake of. Dresden's sister, the Wild Olympian Pan hatched a plan, one that the God of Wine and Madness would shine proudly upon.

Dresden took extra shifts to learn the Old Dionysus' schedule, mimicking the nature of a crazed employee having been broken by his boss' habits. On one particular day, when the Old Dionysus was watching over the bar, Dresden had started to sway and move through the crowd with a drunken stupor like grace, before 'tripping' and splashing Wine on his boss. Before the boss could say anything, Pan's performance on the stage started, causing the patrons to stand up and dance with each other and the staff, a wild performance that heightened emotions, a perfect chaos to pay tribute to the Wine God.

In the madness of the dance, no one noticed The Old Dionysus being tied up by the dutiful Dresden, nor did they make any comment when the man was hoisted up onto stage, and suspended above a throne made of wood from a pine tree. Soon the smooth, sultry voice of Dresden rung out above the song.

"My Fellow Maenads!" as his voice rung out, a colorless gas of Dresden's own design would be released, the crowd becoming more crazed and ecstatic with Pan's performance, and the words of the young employee. "We have found our Medium between us and our divine God to be lacking, all those who concur shout in unison!" There were shouts erupting across the entire crowd. "I shall take the mantle of Dionysus, of Bacchus, of our God of ritual Madness! But first I must make a sacrifice to our God! I need a knife oh fellow Maenads!" Without question, the ritual blade that was sat on the bar would be brought onto the stage, Dresden taking the knife gratefully and handing it to Pan.

Dresden would then sit on the throne that he fashioned himself, leaning his head back as if in ecstasy as Pan would slit the throat of The Old Dionysus, the sweet ichor of the man's blood flowing into Dresden's mouth, before overflowing and coating the man in his life essence, the Old Dionysus being bled like a pig in a slaughter house.

The man who once was Dresden sits caked in the blood of his predecessor, having been born anew in the ecstasy of ritual, Dionysus now sits on his throne, presenting the corpse of the tyrant in front of him. "My followers!~" Dionysus' voice rings with a new presence, his eyes glowing that Olympian glow. "I insist you must join me!" His voice gains volume. "Come upon this stage and imbibe in the flesh of the imposter!" He'd bellow, his voice rising with the chaos of the ritual dancing, the patrons of the bar would climb on the stage and descend on the man that once was Dionysus' body, shredding him and tearing him apart.

No one truly remembers what happened to the Old Man, nor who his identity ever truly was, but the worship of Dionysus has never been stronger since that fateful day.

[velvetvexations]

i have a weight gain and stuffing kink. when i first moved into my apartment i got a little moon chair that said it could hold up to 350lb(im 280) and when i sat in it it instantly buckled underneath me and flattened. the bars were unsalvagable. it was the most embarrassing and sexiest thing ever. i want to be made fun of how fat i am so badly about it 😫

you're so very cute and adorable I want to pinch your chubby cheeks and maybe give your fat as a good slap to watch it jiggle

Kink time: I love being a pig. In the ‘pig nose, curly tail, fat shaming’ sort of way, sure, but also in the ‘forced to piss in the mud and then roll around in it like a barn animal’ sort of way. In the ‘head shaved and nose hook permanently installed’ sort of way. In the ‘gagged with some kinna toy that only allows grunts and oinks and squeals to come out’ sort of way. In the ‘teats stretched out and never allowed to stand on my legs like a human again’ sort of way. In the ‘fed leftovers and scraps in a trough and explicitly told I’m being fattened for slaughter’ sort of way. I’ve legitimately considered tattooing additional nipples on the rolls on my belly for the full piggy effect.

I used to be real into pig play!

My kink as a woman in her 40s is being a total loser simp for hot bitchy girls half my age. There’s nothing quite like publicly and pathetically calling a skinny stacked 20yo “mommy” as I follow her around while she shops using my credit card, as I beg to slurp on mommy’s titties, as I clean her house, as she fucks my husband.

ahahahahaha that's so pathetic <3

In my quest to be a total porn rotted gooner freak, I’ve recently discovered donkey transformation porn. It’s so fucking weird and edging to it makes me feel like such a degenerate porno addict, I love it.

high five for humiliating donkey kink

gay man anon - you are totally fine!! im glad it makes you worked up hehe. you deserve nothing but adoration and a nation at ur fingertips

you're so right

There's this specific genre(?) of porn that gets me off so hard and it's basically impossible to search for - I fucking love porn where all the people perpetuating the cruel or violent or rough sex have their identities hidden, whether masked or pixellated or whatever, but the submissive/victim is on full display, instantly recognizable if you ever see her in public. Sooooooo hot.

it's a great display of subtle cruelty

not sure if kink confessions are still happening but- I want my husband to fuck a hotter tighter better woman on top of my wedding dress

I'd let him jerk me off with it <3

Lmao your response to the anon who pointed out what trfs have resorted to with you reminded me of the 'Don't bully me, I'll cum' tshirt. Would you ever own one?

well then people might not bully me lol

we need to get hornier for small tits!!! big tits are awesome but they're the only ones people talk about!!! small tits r hot too shout out to everyone with A-B cup breasts

much love to all my smaller titted pals

Are we still kinkfessing? I’m a homoromantic bisexual girlie and my biggest kink is fetishising my lesbianism for men. Making out with and having sex with other girls in a way that is very porno rather than what actually feels good - sloppy kissing/licking each others tongues, light clit rubbing that’s angled so he can see it, etc. it’s so fucking hot and I love being a ~problematic~ lesbo teaching men that lesbians are sexually available to them ^-^

love that for you anon

Idk why I'm getting nonstop recommendations for mtf detrans/misgen blogs but crazy kinks are not just transmasc purview ok the girls are also gettin it

They sure are.

since it *sounds* like a fetish, i think if we should just *turn* "transemasculation" or whatever into a fetish term. just use it for maybe detrans forcefem or the sph that is specifically catering to trans men. that is if that gross term doesnt die soon. it actually makes me really uncomfortable

It was actually already a term coined by transmascs to describe a subset of transandrophobia, but I like the way you think and encourage you to apply the "turn it into a fetish" solution in the future.

Some of the humiliationy stuff some of velvet nation seems to be into kinda reminds me of this post so I thought I should share

making my subs dress cringe lmao

yeah I'd do that but I'd also probably be dressed like the guy on the right myself

Forever chasing the sexual high I got from the domme who held my head down and forced me to eat dog food while fucking me with a knotted dildo if we’re being entirely honest..

They had your head down forcing you to eat dog food, but they were using a knotted dildo? That seems...confusing!

realizing I have a bit of a mould kink.

fascinating

I’m 19, half japanese, and the only thing that’s ever been in my pussy are the beasty dildos from bad dragon. I have the tentacle the stallion and the tongue one. And lately I’ve been getting more and more obsessed with the idea of like — leaning into that? Like I’m a dumb little hentai addict anyway so why not let people use my throat and my ass but only ever actually get pussy fucked by monster cocks, you know?

you know what you want anon

Well if we’re still doing this: I’ve been thinking a lot about my dream T4T relationship lately. Me, the trans guy whose testosterone makes him insanely ferally horny constantly. Her, the trans woman whose HRT makes it difficult to achieve and maintain erections. Obviously the solution here is for her to torture and abuse me, satiating her sadism by forcing me into more and more fucked up and humiliating things in the interest of our sex life being fair and balanced. After all, if I can get horny from a stiff breeze, she deserves the same level of dedication and commitment to her arousal, right?

You'll make a t-girl very happy some day.

it's times like these that i am glad my kink is weird and stupid and nobody would ever attempt to make it into a political statement

lucky :(

[too far gone into tumblr discourse voice] i only jork my peanits to praxis and protecting women unlike those transandrodorks with their forced masc

moral purity is what kink needs

[devoted1989]

farrowing and gestation crates

On many factory farms, pigs are locked into crates after they become pregnant, where they will remain until after they give birth. Gestation crates are narrow cages made of metal bars barely bigger than an adult pig developed to help farmers run the most efficient animal feeding operation possible.

A standard crate measures 6.6 ft x 2.0 ft (2 m x 60 cm).

The pork industry argues that gestation crates are humane and necessary for production, preventing animals from hurting one another and allowing farmers to monitor their health closely.

Sows remain inside gestation crates for the entirety of their pregnancies- a little under four months. The sow is then moved to a farrowing crate for about three weeks to wean her babies.

Farrowing crates and gestation crates are very similar in design. Their primary difference is the timing of their use: gestation crates are used during pregnancy and farrowing crates are used after a mother has given birth. Farrowing crates also have a small opening on one side that allows piglets to suckle.

After a brief recovery period, the mother pig is then impregnated again, and the cycle begins anew. 

Sows give birth to 2 - 3 litters a year for around 3 years after which they are slaughtered.

In most U.S. states gestation crates and farrowing crates are legal. 

Source: Sentient Media.

Image found on Facebook - Words on Life. The pig’s babies can be seen on the right hand side of the image.

[randomnameless]

So because of Leopold's support and the shadow assassinations by the Agarthans and Humbert , it would be irrealistic to have a civil war happen early on (as in it start during the first year of the war) despite how Edelgard's extended lmanifesto (not just the church part) screw over the nobility while at the same time screwing the church that, unlike the nobles, the civilians of Adrestia seem to somewhat give a shit about?

At least if the intent when writing a fanfic is to respect the lore/world building of Canon?

We don't see enough Adrestian civilians to even know what they think about, we heard about "missing" church people in Adrestia, but nothing about the commoners - we only hear in passing iirc Ashe talking about starvation because of the war, but idk if he's talking in general or about Adrestia.

Ferdie'n'Lysithea's paralogue tells us the randoms in Hrym and being bled dry under Ludwig's name (when he's actually framed by Thales!), and even if the game tries to avoid this topic like the plague, I still wonder where all those "war assets" are coming from, especially since the "people working" on those projects didn't hesitate a second to use Adrestians as guinea pigs (iirc Remire is in Adrestia!).

So Hubert's secret police + starvation + whatever is happening thanks to Agarthans riling people up like what happens in Hrym + Leopold being in charge of the army (that is made up of people from other places than just, Bergliez) + Hubert being Hubert, aka willingly take people hostage or threaten them to make their families comply + Supreme Leader (I mean Hubert) jailing/rekting "corrupt" nobles in the first days of her ascension to the throne...

Nopes apparently says Enbarr's people are pretty happy about the war, because they're revanchists and are hell removed from the frontlines - but what about the rest of Adrestia?

I once compared the coronation scene in CF to a coup (because Billy and Supreme Leader are accompanied by soldiers) but it would sort of match, Supreme Leader gets total control of the army through Bergliez's lust of power/conquest, control over the finances because Linhardt's dad is just like that I guess, Hubert oversees everything and, at least in FE16, Arundel still sides with her.

Aegir was neutralised, Vestra Sr was put in a trashcan, and Varley is either reduced to a puppet or to House arrest.

There are no powers left to oppose her in Adrestia, and if commoners somehow managed to rebel, they would have to deal with their very own national army, secret police and random Agarthans... on top of finding enough food to eat to survive while the ressources are given to the frontlines.

But in a way, everything I'm just saying bar the canon facts of :

having Leopold and the Army + Waldemar and the money

Hubert doing Hubert things

opposing big name nobles being swiftly deposed/neutralised just after her coronation (or before in Nopes!)

food shortages

FE16 wise : Agarthans taxing randoms to death/ Nopes : Agarthans killing people randomly

FWIW, AG where we learn a bit more about Adrestia, and how, apparently, Agarthans and bandits (?) are slaughtering randoms there, but the nobles are too concerned by the Kingdom's assault to protect their people, and would rather see them die than divert troops to, just, have the bandits/agarthans stop creating rivers of blood with the bloods of the people they're supposed to protect.

Everything else is headcanon/AUs/fanfic/however you want to call it.

So bar those points... Adrestia just exists and it's a damn shame, because even Begion managed to get its pseudo civil war between Sanaki and the Senate where commoners/people supported one over the other, but in Adrestia? Bar the BE peeps and a few dads, you have the feeling no one else exists.

FWIW, in the non CF routes, the opera company joins Billy's army iirc, so maybe they're not loyalists? And represent some people who aren't that gung-ho about the war?

i have that random headcanon that in Nopes, Manu and Mittelfrank are used for spying stuff, and actually, through Yuri and Manu herself, give intel about what happens in Enbarr to the CoS while the opera workers try to sabotage as much as they can some stuff in the Imperial Army... but that's just an AU lol

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 64 The Slaughterhouse Slaughter

Got back from 1-day vacation and I'm still kinda sad and dazed and a bit sick ngl but HCDVJSDFBVSK

hhhhhhhhhh the book is in such bad condition i don't even know how this happened

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Irratino finds where the map really leads. It leads to the worst place in the entire world. More terrible than the Island of Bad Dreams. More terrible than Irratino’s childhood home. It’s the place where they all go to die.

Blood and meat coats the walls and floor. Blurry figures stand before the lord of goats. The smell is overwhelming, clogging his lungs. He falls back against a wall and tries to catch his breath. But he can’t take it anymore, and passes out.

He wakes up with Champagne and Coffee looming over him.

COFFEE: Thank the lord! I thought you were dead. IRRATINO: [very weak] What are… you doing here.  COFFEE: Well, haven’t you heard? There’s been a human murder at the slaughterhouse! 

Turns out Sable has set up a cocktail party here.

IRRATINO: What… is WRONG with you. SABLE: I’m telling the tale of when I was a castaway! I just thought this place had the right mood…

Irratino is disgusted. When Logico met Sable, she was as sweet as can be. Now, money has turned her into a complete snob.

COFFEE: I’m here because my father worked here! COPPER: And I’m here to STOP THIS MESS!! IRRATINO: Y…You? COPPER: That’s right. I’ve been a vegan for 20 years! A place like this shouldn’t exist in the world. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE GOAT MILK COMES FROM??

Irratino sounds like a deflating balloon as he cries.

IRRATINO: YES…

General Coffee has a bloody saw.

IRRATINO: You’re guilty. COFFEE: No I’m not! You’d have to prove it.

Irratino doesn’t even care. He’s staring eye-to-eye with the sad, hopeless pigs in a small cage, praying for this to be over. He begins ugly sobbing, knowing that he’s all alone in this cruel world. And while Copper is being a decent person for the first time in her life, she is still not helping.

COPPER: THIS is what happens to the animals we slay.

She’s holding a bucket of something so horrible that it cannot even be described. It doesn’t matter how many times it’s already happened, Irratino can’t hold it in and vomits on the floor. Made even worse when he falls onto it since he can’t keep his balance! He clutches his head, suffering a migraine. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is the vision of Sable in a cage of her own, gnawing at the bars like a rabid bear…

It’s what he sees when he opens his eyes too. Who put her in there?

CHAMPAGNE: I did. She didn’t just kill that human, she tried to eat them. SABLE: I CAN’T HELP IT! I developed a taste for human flesh when I was stranded on that island. You think I was the only castaway?? IRRATINO: You were on that island for six days! SABLE: How do you know?? IRRATINO: I have my ways… SABLE: UGH! [crying] It was so boring! And is a background human any different than an animal?? IRRATINO: SABLE! We are all animals. We are all literally animals!! But you’re taking this too far. You still need to be human, no matter what you are.

Sable looks guilty. She always looks guilty, she’s adorable by default. 

SABLE: I don’t know what’s happening to me… 

She cries. A lot. And Champagne is just… sitting on the floor, tucked in a ball.

IRRATINO: …Ch… CHAMPAGNE: [shallow breathing] Look… if it weren’t for this place, I wouldn’t’ve had to move out to raise Tange.

This is the last straw. Irratino uses Coffee’s saw and frees every live animal there is in the building. And to make sure this never happens again, he burns the place down, with a terrifying look in his eyes…

He knows it’s arson. But the only people in this wretched world who care about crime are him, and Logico. And Logico’s not here.

The end!

sorry for rushed hhhh I'll be better tomorrow I hope

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Meghan Pitches ARO on Shark Tank by u/wenfot

Meghan Pitches ARO on Shark Tank I can see it now:MM: As a woman of color, Damond, you would be a perfect investor. You are in the pet food space, so my designer dog biscuits would add prestige to my -- oops, your portfolio.DJ: You forget that you abandoned your dog before you left for the UK and your other dog had his two front legs broken. Animal abusers aren't good spokespeople. I'm out.MM: Lori, you are the queen of QVC. I'm a discount duchess! We will be a royal success! My superb acting skills would be a major hit on QFC!LG: A bad actress can bring an infomercial down. You are a bad actress. I made millions of of Scrub Baby. You are not going to clean me out of my cash. I'm out.MM: Daniel, you made your fortune with KIND bars. I'm so kind, you'll love me! I have food experience: I stole (oops borrowed) recipes from my chef ex-boyfriend! And I make avocado toast! And jam! On toast! I write messages on bananas! We are people of color who have SOOOOOOO much in common!DL: I'm Kind of sick of your bullshit. I'm out.MM: Mark, you own sports teams! With athletes! I can make them happy in more ways than one! You're a tech czar and I own bot farms! I'd be ideal for your portfolio.MC: You're about as good a partner for me as CrowdStrike is for Microsoft. And I don't need you to be a yacht girl for the Mavericks: we have the entire Kardashian family for that. I'm out.MM: Mr. Wonderful! You're Canadian! I slept my way through Toronto! You're a member of the the Chevalier du Testevan wine experts! My grapes are nice and sour! This is such an amazing opportunity!KOL: The amazing opportunity here is to leave here and never show this to anybody again. You're a pig! Pigs get slaughtered. Your ScamJam should be taken behind the barn and shot! Whatever happens today, your future is in bad theater. Opportunity knocked, no one was home I will crush you like the vampire cockroach you are. You're dead to me.****These are all actual Kevin O'Leary quotes. post link: https://ift.tt/nI0jbVu author: wenfot submitted: July 29, 2024 at 06:15PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[witchwood-a]

HE WAS NEW TO THE AREA, let alone the country. but with his set of english skills in his back pocket, the west seemed to be a good fresh start for the rapper that had fallen from grace. he had taken his EARNINGS and had chosen to pay his debts and use what little was left to start a life for himself. maybe it was starting SQUARE ONE over here, but any square was better than where he had left off before the games.

he had stumbled into a music venue, THE SLAUGHTERED PIG, to get a few drinks and absorb himself in the scene. he enjoyed the band that played . . . BATHTUB CIGARETTES, the cover on the kickdrum had read.

after the set, he knocked back his drink and set it on the bar with an empty clink before he swaggered back to find the band as if he had always been a patron here.

" HEY, BRO, " he greeted @holedug, a cool grin tugging across his lips. maybe he was swaying on his feet due to the drinks and the pill he had popped . . . or maybe it was his overall aura, who knew? " i like your sound. how does someone get themselves heard like that here? you friends with the owner, brother? "

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 , accepting!

[vilisisms]

˚☽˚.⋆ ― riley shaw / post event self-para

Every second since she opened her eyes in the oea headquarters she hadn't been left alone. It wasn't a mystery to her as to why. Her friends and family had lost her, seen her displayed like a pig after slaughter. That does damage. The kind that was hard to repair, only time and a good therapist could stitch back up. That didn't change the fact that riley was not a people person, she wasn't clingy and she hated when people hovered. The hybrid knew it was all out of love, concern, worry, and though they might not being saying it to her, she could smell the guilt. Riley only blamed the oea, the people responsible only got a taste of what they have coming to them, especially now that she had completed her transition.

It was hard to think about anything though, with everyone suffocating her. She was trying to best to be there for them, despite being the one to have gone through the trauma of being tortured and killed and then waking up in transition, she felt she had to keep a facade up for them. So they knew she was ok, to do her own twisted version of comforting them with dark humor and sarcastic comments. The truth was, every time someone looked at her she could feel every ounce of her body flood with emotions begging to overflow and pour all over them. As a werewolf, she was used to the heightened emotions and had damn near perfected repressing them. Now it was harder, where as before they grew like a flame, but now it felt like a bomb igniting within her. It was getting more difficult to keep the explosion behind her brick walls, they were growing weak with every attempted smile, every failed attempt from her sister to not cry, every time oliver couldn't even look her in the eyes (not that she wanted him to, they have since turned into a glass window)...

Riley knew she had to get away. Away from it all. There were moments where things felt normal again but she couldn't even be around her friends without being excessively aware of the sound of their blood pumping through their veins. The thirst was the worst part, it consumed her. A blood bag does the trick but not when she was constantly surrounded by the real deal. Hurting her own family friends was the last thing she wanted but it was getting harder to pretend like she had it all under control. Not when the truth was that she had never felt more out of control in her own body.

The decision to leave was easy. All it took was one look in rykers eyes, her beautiful hues told a story and she didn't like the ending. every time she looked at the girl that had her heart in the palm of her hands, she knew she was now being unfair to her. she was a hybrid now. her family friends may have watched her displayed by the oea but at least they didn't know they were going to see that. riley knew she was going to have to watch the people around her grow old and die while she remained. she knew she would watch ryker do the same and the thought of holding ryker back from the life, no, from the love that she deserved to have, it was paralyzing.

the blonde left a note on her bed explaining she was going to be gone for a while to work things through, needing the space and the wide open road to clear her mind, to adjust, to say all the things her fucked up head struggled to say out loud. asphalt, gravel, and the speed of her bike have always been able to comfort her, speak to her in, help her in ways people never could.

'who am i?' she asked the sunset one night, and the silence that she got back was deafening.

she didn't know who she was anymore, what life would look like for her anymore. was she even pack anymore? she knew she would always have parker as her pack now, and that brought a little comfort but after a week of the road, she still had no answers. the only silver lining to the trip was she learned how to snatch, snack, erase. she had met some pretty awesome people at dive bars along the way, but they only helped her temporarily forget her situation and then she was back on the road.

"shit, brace for impact, riles" she whispered to herself as she passed the mile marker heading back into town. she thought the roadtrip had worked, or at least slightly fixed her but everything that she had ran away from came rushing back. with the open road, the moon overhead, and the wind all around her the hybrid let it all out. a scream ripped through her, joining the night. she hadn't screamed like this since the night of the gala. a part of riley wanted to stay away, like it would be easier to go ahead and cut the ties to avoid the slow burn that her immortality would bring but she never could stay away from new orleans for too long, no matter how many times she swore she'd never come back. she knew there were people there that needed her, as fucked up as that was, she couldn't leave them.

just, not yet. she had to do what she could to make the oea pay for what they've done first, and she was determined to do whatever it took to make that happen. then.... maybe then she would rip the bandaid off.

[spider-self]

@tczier liked this for a starter

In the early years when Derry was little more than an idea of a few weary settlers. IT had mapped out the area IT wished to inhabit, weaving threads of silk across the land until IT’s territory was firmly established. Every few cycles IT refreshed the lines, spinning and working until there wasn’t a single place in Derry IT didn’t have some form of access to. In the quiet of IT’s inner sanctum, IT laid IT’s many legs on each strand and listened to the town, picking IT’s prey from the whispers IT heard. Poor Eddie Corcoran, poor Betty Ripsom, poor poor Veronica Grogan. When the brats forced IT into early slumber, it was the twitching of the threads that woke IT up. Each of them thrumming with a note of violence and pain too tantalising to ignore.

Poor Adrian Mellon, beaten to a pulp and thrown over the side of the bridge for the audacious act of having a boyfriend in public. Such a crime could not exist in a town such as Derry, small minded and stupid, it was almost a matter of civic pride how much the other was abhorred. It was an attitude IT cultivated as IT did the steady outbursts of viciousness and cruelty that popped up within the boundaries. If they hurt and killed each other, half of IT’s work was already done. All IT had to do was sup on the meat, and Adrian Mellon had been a hearty meal. So rich and full of terror, pain and regret salted him well and with each bite, IT learnt more and more. How he’d never thought this would happen here. Not in the town he loved so much, not in this place where everything was going so well. What about Don? Was he okay? Was he still alive? What about the book he was writing? Who would finish it now?

The scent of those fears came to IT now as IT slowly trailed Richie through the town. Fear, shame, a kind of uneasy excitement. Interesting… In the time between IT’s summons and their arrival, IT had made an effort to learn what the losers’ club had been up to for all those years. Each was successful in their own right, rich and famous. None more so than Richie who seemed to have made a career out of what IT found so dreadfully irritating. His voice. For someone who had lived in such a big city and traveled all over, IT would have assumed he would have gotten over such a fear. The rest of the world was not Derry. Surely there would be somewhere he would feel comfortable to simply be?

Evidently not, being back here had only reignited those fears. IT had toyed with him briefly, claiming to know the secret that was only all too obvious to anything with a nose. Human scents were so primitively obvious it was a wonder they could hide anything from each other. Considering Richie’s disposition, IT wasn’t surprised when he slipped into a bar. Perhaps he thought such a place would repel IT. A good guess if not a foolish one. After all, what childhood monsters could stand up to the assured adulthood of a stiff drink?

But IT was a nightmare unlimited in IT’s scope. Children were easier but adults were just as tasty. For the longest time all IT had wanted was a good meal and IT’s long rest. The losers had introduced IT to a new concept entirely, a want for revenge. Perhaps IT would thank them after they were dead. It was a learning experience worth having.

IT followed him.

The bar was full, raucous laughter filled the air along with the stink of stale sweat and low level aggression. IT found within Itself a certain admiration for Richie in choosing such a place to bolt to. Among its many vices, Derry was a drinking town. Depressed by nature and deprived in others, there was little else for many to do but piss away their pay check and seethe at their misfortune. If only they could leave, if only things would change. They never would of course and it was that anger that fuelled the many acts that kept IT’s belly full. IT loved them as only IT could, like pigs IT had carefully and tenderly raised for slaughter. As IT picked IT’s way through the crowd, those who had enough sense to know IT in some small way shivered as IT passed, a hush settling in little pockets between the noise.

As for Richie, he seemed several drinks in. An almost empty glass set in front of him, his posture low so he was almost hunched over the bar. It was nothing for IT to force the bartender away with a simple command, the flexible mind snapping under the force of it. Now IT was directly in front of him and IT took the time to shift IT’s features, mimicking the human it had sent away.

“Don’t you think you should slow down a little, buddy?”

[ladynighthaunter]

Where did I leave this AU?.....

Oh, right.

White Chapel

Mist hung to the streets as Konrad hid, she had sent messages to her fellow "Butchers" her Night Lords to patrol White Chapel for Fulgrim, to keep an eye out for this "Ripper." But several nights had passed and there was little to show for it.

There was footsteps, stealthy, up the ally behind her. Pulling into the shadows, she relaxed when she saw it was one of her butchers, Jagato Sevetar, his face pulled into a grimace from a scar he received in a bar fight years ago, his dark eyes looking around. "Nothing to report ma'am.... Think he knows we're onto him?" He spoke softly.

Konrad shook her head, despite the weather, there was still the sounds of the street, drunkards bumbling along, street workers calling for clients, night shift men marching off to the factories that never sleeps. "He is out there... We will find him-" she cuts off, head turning like a hound with a scent. "Blood." She growls and takes off into the mist, Sevatar giving chase.

Konrad's nose lead the way, down back allies and between old houses till the reached the screen, a young harlot layed out on the ground, cut open like a pig for the slaughter, blood pooling around her as a shadowy figure made their way out of sight. Sevatar reacted first, drawing his revolver and unloading all six shots in the figures back.... Only for them not to fall, but speed up in their escape.

Letting out a low growl, Konrad gave chase, blades in hand as she powered down on the figure on strong legs, catching up to them she could make out a black coat and hat, but not much else as her blades slashed out.... Only to cut thin air as the figure seemed to melt into the the mist.

Sevatar caught up to her, looking around in confusion. "What the bloody hell was that? Six shots and your blades, but no body?"

Konrad growled. "This reaks of magic... I must see my sister Magnus it seems." She stowed her blades. "But let us be off, those gun shots are bound to bring people... And with our rep, I don't want to be found by a corpse."

The two nodded and headed off into the night, before hurried footsteps came and shouts of alarm could be heard as the poor girl was discovered.

[islifearecipe]

The Little Pig SG Review: Best Food in Katong? We'll soon be finding out...

THE LITTLE PIG SG REVIEW: An Islifearecipe exclusive (of sorts), as our BFF, Adrian Houghton, announced this on Facebook and we’re singing from the rooftops already. This exactly what we need on the East Coast, that certain little thing that has been missing since our mates Rabbit Carrot Gun left us. It is early doors as the place is now a building site, as Adrian and the crew re-factor what was Zaffron Kitchen, you know next door to another Islifearecipe favourite: Griglia.

Zaffron was supposely Michelin rated, but I ate there twice and viewed it as over-rated, over-priced, and quite arrogant in the serving staff. Another massive positive to have that gone and The Little Pig SG coming soon in its place. To say we’re pumped is an under statement, and we commit to visit upon opening and turn The Little Pig SG into a “proper review” with real photos, and our personal experiences of the locale, which might become our new “local”.

Although, I will be complaining to Adrian, as to why he is not opening in Siglap…?

For now we’re using content from our mate Adrian of the concept itself, some GenAI jiggery pokery for the images and our usual creative flare… Bookmark this one, folks, keep watching the updates here and make sure you book a table at the newest and potentally best restaurant in Katong: The Little Pig SG

The Little Pig SG: The voice of the restaurant...

“Originally opened in 1881 this Greenall Whitley Pub located in North West England, Sutton Manor, St Helens was called “The Victoria”. With often tears of laughter in her eyes the landlady would tell the story of how a piglet from the local farm escaped and ran into the bar area (there was a Saloon Bar and Wine Lounge), the regulars ran around upending furniture trying to catch it. After quite some time said piglet was finally apprehended and returned to the farmer only to be told it was off to the slaughter house.

Too much time and effort had gone into the capture of the little pig so The landlord of the Victoria decided to adopt it living to a ripe old age (for a pig). The regulars retold the story, often without the truth getting in the way of a great tale and the story spread. Soon the pub was being called the Little Pig and the name stuck. In earlier days tales have been told of piglets from Fletchers Slaughterhouse being used as payment for regulars “slates”. For some time it was the only pub in England to have two name boards on it façade, eventually The Victoria was retired and The Little Pig remains to this day.

The landlord and landlady, Jack and Val had a little boy called Adrian, he moved to Asia settling in Singapore and is now proud to be the Landlord of the new “Little Pig”….No pigs where harmed in the telling of this story!”

Unless you order the roast pork for the Sunday Roast, of course. What a great story though. I truly love that background and origination of the name. 

The Little Pig SG Menu: what can we expect?

The Little Pig SG Menu: They are called are called The Little Pig SG for a reason…not The Little Vegan. There will likely be a Breakfast menu available Sat & Sun, alongside the a la carte and Sunday Roast menu. Likely they will feature pork products, such as gammon steaks, full English breakfast with bacon and pork sausages and the signature dish the pulled pork sandwich, the soon-to-be-infamous: “TLP Sandwich”.

Special menus will likely be on offer for major sporting events. Guest Chefs might be invited periodically for “pop-ups”, and on weekends it is likely that we will see a BBQ offering from time to time to replace the regular Sunday Roast: I wonder if ChillaxBBQ might get a call up???

I am literally salivating all over my keyboard… Rule Britannia!!!

The Little Pig SG: Full English Breakfast (minus the black pudding, damn you GenAI...)

The Full English Breakfast is basically Britain’s answer to “how much can we fit on one plate?” Think sausages with serious attitude, bacon that’s crisped to perfection (or delightfully floppy if you’re a traditionalist), buttery fried eggs, mushrooms, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, and, if you’re feeling brave, a slab of black pudding from Muir’s Deli. Toast soldiers stand at attention, ready to mop up the glorious chaos, while a steaming mug of builder’s tea, or lager: as I hope it is available all-day, holds the whole affair together.

After demolishing this gut-busting masterpiece, you’ll need to wash it down with a few of The Little Pig SG beverages whilst watching the football. They’ll have this local beverage on tap, that’s called beer. I am intrigued, and can’t wait to try it.

The Little Pig SG: Full English Sunday Roast

Ah, the English Sunday Roast — proof that Brits can conquer the art of patience and gravy in one glorious sitting. Picture this: slabs of roast beef, chicken, or pork that’s been lovingly cooked until it’s so tender even your Nan would nod approvingly, all piled next to crispy roast potatoes that shatter on contact and Yorkshire puddings that rise to the heavens . Drenched in gravy and accessorised with a cheeky blob of horseradish or mint sauce, it’s less a meal and more a national treasure. Make sure you swing past The Little Pig SG when they open, to plan next Sunday’s feast — after all, the best way to recover from a roast is to start planning the next one.

The Little Pig SG Restaurant photos

The Little Pig SG is bringing back sport to the East Coast: HALLELUJAH!!! Live Sports Action showing EPL, F1, Rugby, Cricket and all major sporting events such as Wimbledon, Rugby, Football World Cups, Melbourne Cup and so on. Also with a selection of beverage promotions such as beer towers and buckets with a snack menu that is easy to eat and not over engineered. I am loving this concept more and more as I type.

The Little Pig SG Restaurant Menu

Of course, folks, as soon as she opens we will be a visiting and eating and boozing: just for you. Once that takes place we will be gathering and posting The Little Pig SG Menu for you, atop this initial review.

Voice of the Restaurant: The Little Pig SG

“Happy to announce that we took possession of the venue today. Formally was the location of Zaffron at 135 East Coast Rd….Now the hard work starts.

The Little Pig SG Restaurant Review: Final Thoughts

Ah, The Little Pig SG — the kind of place where your morning fry-up will meet your evening pint, and somehow make perfect sense of your day. There’s going to be something so comforting about tucking into a proper Full English Breakfast with sausages that mean business and black pudding that doesn’t shy away, all while eyeing up the blackboard for Sunday’s up and coming roast line-up, or “pop-up” guest Chef. You’ll be mopping up baked bean juice with your toast, already thinking about the infamous pulled pork sandwich (“TLP” sandwich) which you’ll need to return for later.

Come sundown, The Little Pig SG will morph into your local pub, with big screens showing rugby scrums and football drama, accompanied by the raucous cheer of folks who might’ve “just popped in for one” – even offering Guinness Zero for my BFF Spence. The pulled pork sandwiches will become the stuff of legend, packed so generously you’ll likely need both hands and a napkin the size of a bath towel. And when Sunday rolls around? Forget cooking — the roast here will be the dogs, complete with crispy spuds and Yorkshire puds you could use as a sun hat, will make you wonder why you ever bother again with your own oven.

You’ll be coming here for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and like me maybe just a cheeky pint (or ten) to watch the match. The Little Pig SG will charm you, fill you up, and probably convince you to stay longer than you intended. Bring it on Adrian and crew: Cheers to that!!!

The Little Pig SG opening times

Islifearecipe will be updating The Little Pig SG opening times once they are annouced, watch this space…

The Little Pig SG Restaurant Address

The Little Pig SG Restaurant Address: 135 East Coast Rd, Katong

Is The Little Pig SG Restaurant Halal?

There’s a clue in the name, folks: The Little Pig SG. What do you reckon? Oh yeah, and also serving copious amounts of alcohol and porky dishes. Do I need to explain it? OK, Is The Little Pig SG Halal? The answer is categorically, no…

What is The Little Pig SG Restaurant Dress Code?

It’s your local pub, it’s a sports bar, it’s a British cafe… come as you are, I might even dust my Kaftan off, just for Adrian and the opening night…

The Little Pig SG Restaurant Reservation

Islifearecipe will be updating The Little Pig SG reservations once they are announced, watch this space…

The Little Pig SG Contact Details

Islifearecipe will be updating The Little Pig SG Contact Details once they are announced, watch this space…

[galaxy--bunny]

TW : Domestic Abuse / Schizophrenia / Cannibalism / Murder

This is just gonna be a ramble lore post about Neilo and his Life->Afterlife

Leave now if you're uncomfortable

Still here , cool , let's get to it

1934 : Neilo is born in Posadas , Argentina to a Christian mother and butcher father. As ww2 goes on , Neilo ages and moves to Brazil with his father to publicise the family business

1947 : Neilo meets a young Brazilian woman named Joséfina Oliveira at a bar and the 2 quickly fell in love. Meanwhile , his father began to become ill and set Neilo with what knowledge he could give to him.

1948 : Following his father's death , Neilo used part of his money for a small wedding between him and Joséfina and the rest on buying a small loft for him and her above the butchers when he worked at. During their time together , Joséfina taught him to make pies and small pastries that managed to sell well

1948-1950 : Through the 2 years , Joséfina moved to a more adult line of work to support her and Neilo's business , offering services to richer clients and constantly returning home late. During this time , Neilo would notice her constituency to have 1 partner in particular "Celso Rodrigues". After meeting one day at a winery , Neilo began to hook up with him in secret.

1951 : After 1 year of work , on a drive out in their van , Neilo began telling her about how he heard about moving into the amazon to find better meat to slaughter. Joséfina's last words would be "You're too much of a whimp to murder anything" before Neilo would slam on the breaks and force a butcher knife onto her eyes. He confessed to knowing of her affairs and knowing most wasn't just for money as she slowly died in the car.

Upon arriving back home with her body and a pig , the mutilated both , hiding them in his freezer before reporting her missing in the Amazon to the authorities. While questioning himself on what to do , he came up with a quick idea. Stuffing her body into pies + rolls and selling bones to canine shelters.

1951 (but later) : When Celso turned up at his house questioning where Joséfina was , Neilo confessed to knowing , leading him to a pond where he would drown him. And mutilate him as well

1964 : After years of keeping secrets - and developing schizophrenic symptoms - Neilo was one day welcomed to the authorities at his door , drawing him to 15 murders. He would slam the door and murder himself by jumping out a window.

Afterlife

Upon death , he found near immediate solace in Jack - the sin of Death - and refused to leave his side becoming an "annoying spirit". After a while , Jack would hide him from the rest of the royals until his exile when he and Neilo began living in the ghost worlds

1989 : After many years of wandering and killing souls , Neilo would go on to be the first supporter of Yillit and eventually aid in her coup of Aleksey. Gaining the title of "Emperor of South America" that he still bares today. Still a gay lil cannibal freak.

...so...tada