#raw green rust

[gianttankeh]

TFEH presents: Two Thirds Of A Good Thing / Timothea Armour & Friends / Turmeric Acid at The Waverley Bar, Edinburgh: 22/2/24.

TFEH plates up three helfy helpings of the EH? sound: All ingredients have been locally sourced from the front row of our regular audience to provide youse with all the experimental music that you can eat. (This event will also serve as a launch party for the new double CD by the TFEH house band, Off Brand.) You can find out more & buy tickets here.

[wuntrum]

one thing about me is that i'll use brown and blue together for an underpainting

[peachesofteal]

Simon discovers something unexpected:

Light on masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader (single mom)

The first time Simon meets you, it’s on the rooftop of the apartment building in the middle of the morning.

He’s up here for a smoke, his first in hours, his body anxiously craving the nicotine after sitting on a cramped train for too long after the final debrief. His muscles are sore, stitches in his leg bothering him, mind is exhausted, and all he wants to do is smoke a cigarette and then collapse on the bed inside the flat that he hasn’t seen for months.

When he gets to the roof, after climbing four flights of stairs because the bloody elevator is broken, he’s greeted with two surprises. One, there is a garden up here now, multiple raised beds enclosed in sturdy two by sixes, and two… you are kneeling on the brick between them.

You’re on your knees, digging around, dirt smudged on your clothes, purple garden gloves caked with soil. You’re talking aloud too, rooting around in the plants and singing out names of vegetables and their corresponding colors, occasional pulling something green loose and stuffing it in a bag. He glances around the roof, confused, but sees no one but you, your voice carrying on the wind to where he stands by the clunky metal door.

When he gets closer, he realizes you’re not talking to yourself at all, but to a baby. A tiny baby tucked into a carrier, who’s eyes are wide and somewhat tracking your hand movements while you point to things in the garden bed, in the sky, on the ground.

“And this is a parsnip.” You say, brushing some rust-colored earth from the root and turning it in your hand. “They’re not very tasty raw but aren’t terrible cooked.” The baby watches you in awe, little feet and arms kicking and swinging while you smile and nod at them, like you think they understand anything you’ve just said. “Yeah! A parsnip!” You’re smiling, your face is bloody radiant as you nod down to the baby, one of your hands rubbing dirt from your skin onto your pants before you’re reaching out to grab a cloth from the baby’s lap and mopping up something on their chin. The action causes you to shift, your head turning enough to catch him in your peripherals, body tensing like you’ve been frozen, shoulders raising under your ears before you loosen and relax, squinting up at him in the sun. “Hi.” You blink, glancing back down to the carrier. “I uh, didn’t realize anyone else was up here.” He swallows, trying to give you a response, brain fracturing at the seam as it frantically attempts to recall words, civilian words like hello, or hi, or sorry. It’s difficult, because he’s a little distracted by how the light refracting in your eyes, the way it’s shining on your skin and hair, bathing you in the early morning glow like you’re some sort of angel. He’s still a few feet away, but he thinks he can see entire universes in your irises, every color ever imagined shimmering in the rays of the sun.

His brain finally catches up, and his mouth thankfully remembers how to form words.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He’s polite and you shrug, nodding to your little companion.

“You’re not disturbing us. We were just harvesting some vegetables.” You smile brightly, casually stripping off the gloves while you rock up from your knees into a standing position. If the mask bothers you, you don’t outwardly show it, and your posture is relaxed when stand in front of him. “Isn’t that right, Emmaline?” You coo down to the baby, who wiggles in her carrier as a response, face lighting up at the sound of your voice, or her name. He’s not sure. Do you live here? Are you… her mum? The babysitter? Who are you?

You give him a once over, briefly, and he watches your smile shift from genuine to forced when your eyes land on his hands. The smokes. He’s holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand, and you clear your throat, brushing some dirt off the front of your clothes. “We were actually just finishing up.” You bend at the waist to pull the carrier into the crook of your elbow, supporting its weight with your hip, and slide the handles of the bag full of green things onto your opposite shoulder. “Roof’s all yours.” He feels a pang of regret, like he doesn’t want you to go, the sentiment unnatural to him, unsettling. You obviously live in the building, he thinks. But where? Do you lug that carrier up and down the steps all the time, just to get up here? He frowns.

“I can wait.” He tries to stop you, guilt running thick in his veins, and you shake your head.

“It’s lunchtime anyway.” You incline your head to little Emmaline, who’s face is growing a little scrunchy, like she’s upset, and he swallows.

“Alright, then.” You give him another nod, and head off towards the door. He grits his teeth, fingers tensing around the thin carboard in his hand, the little box holding his salvation safely in its grasp, but his eyes slide to where you walk away, and he can’t help but notice the way the carrier lightly bumps against your hips as they sway. Bloody hell.

[thebelugawhalefriend]

Hii! Love your writing. Do you do any sub character content? If so could you do Sub Muzan x Fem or GN reader?

Hihi!! I'm very excited to have a first request! I actually had to go back and watch the fourth season and read his wiki page because WOW this is gonna be a DOOZY to write! I mean this is a man who has every demon praying for mercy at any cost. But, I love a good challenge, so let's get into it!

Merciful - Sub!Muzan x Demon!Fem!Reader

CW: DEMON SLAYER SPOILERS, NSFW, Gore, Death

Note: I have really only watched the anime, so anything from the manga will stump me here ^^

It was 150 years ago when you first met him.

"You BASTARD! Let him go!"

Human and feeble. So weak and small to even your own kind. A towering man stood above you with pure spite behind his green eyes. Muscular with sleek black hair tied tightly behind him. In his hands he held your little brother, ready to slit his throat with a sickle.

"What, him? I caught this boy trying to swipe from my shop! If I had half a mind, I would slice him into tiny pieces."

You were but 18, shivering and scared. Your own blade looked pointless compared to his- only being a mere dagger. And yet, you clung to it tight. This rusted piece of junk was your only chance of your brother's survival.

"I said let him go! Not just for his sake, but yours!"

"And what are YOU going to-"

With the quickness of an eagle, the blade in your hand was digging into his shoulder. You clung to this man as if you depended on him not to fall. It's then you plunge into his back. Again. Again. And again.

"Sister, stop! Stop!"

Your brother was trying to flail from the man's arms- trying to free himself from his grip. It was, however, of no use. Even with a crazed woman stabbing into his body, his sickle made quickwork of the boy's neck.

SWING!

Thud...

"BROTHER!!"

And from there, those moments were a blur. Faint images came back to remind you of your crimes. The shop owner's once proud physique now a pulverized, sad corpse. Bystanders horrified by the situation now also blood on your hands and bodies on the road. Even nearby pets ended up slaughtered by your palms. But... You wanted more. Even if you were still human, this man deserved the most painful death and afterlife you could imagine. Taking his sickle, you carved his chest wide open and ripped out his heart.

"Now wait, young one. Wouldn't you want eating him to matter more?"

Now this man... He gave off a completely different feel than the man who'd killed your brother. Despite a similar look, he held ruby red eyes that peered right through you. You pause for a moment with the heart in hand.

"And just who are you?"

"Such raw emotion and strength... And yet still so weak. You couldn't even save your brother, and here you are, eating a man's heart just for your body to waste it."

"You don't know me! I'll-"

With a finger to your mouth, your body freezes.

"Hush. I'm here to help, just for a small price. I can tell you'll be of great use..."

---

"Lord Muzan~"

You call from one of the halls, flashing this man a daring look. From the moment he met you, you would never let this man have the respect he's earned. Even the Kizuki tremble in fear just uttering the wrong word to him, and yet for you? He would tolerate just enough teasing to let you have fun.

"Now of all times, ____? Can't you see I'm busy?"

His tone is cold, but your glare is chilling.

"Ten months, Muzan. You've left me wasting away for ten months! I understand tending to your other wives and taking care of those demon slayers, but ten months?"

His silence speaks volumes... But you? You've never realized the pure fear that comes with messing with Muzan. He's never put you in your place, and maybe... Maybe a twisted part of him likes that. You remind him of the authority he only had when he was human. No one could command or demand anything. Except... You.

"Come with me, Muzan... Please, just spend one night with me..."

Those (color) eyes you give him... His glare simmers down into a rare soft gaze, backing away from his desk to approach you.

"You're the most fortunate woman alive, ___. Any other would fall to their knees if they spoke to me that way."

"That sounds like a yes to me."

---

For every rough move Muzan would make, you were twice as bad. The poor lord of demons was pinned by the hands while you rode his cock for everything it was worth. Your fangs were oh so close to his neck, and yet Muzan was only encouraging that you bite him. Just one move and he could pulverize you. End your life over your own rush for power. And yet, you were headstrong and uncaring. His breathing was quivering and shaky, eyes of blood red looking up to yours with a submissive lust.

"Like that, dear- Fuck! Like that!"

You could barely focus on his blissfully soft voice. The most powerful man to exist and yet he's under you... Your fangs sink right into his neck yet stay absolutely careful not to drop an ounce of blood. After all, wasting anything precious of his was a death sentence. When his hands shift under yours, you let them go to see what he does.

"Don't be shy now... I know you want more..."

His voice is so quiet and soothing that your focus slips for just a moment, just enough time for him to grip your sides and push you down on him. Keeping you absolutely still. Is this a trick? Some sort of act? You sit up for a moment to look down, seeing him with a playful smile.

"Muzan... Are you sure you want to toy with me?"

One of his hands slip down to tease you as his member sits inside. Pulsing and needing more despite his cool demeanor.

"I want to see that fire I know you have. I let you take over too easily this time... Prove you're worthy to actually let me finish inside of you, ___."

Before the blink of an eye, your claws are quick to dig into his own sides in an attempt to keep going. And yet, one of his hands keeps you still.

"I know you have it in you. I can see that frustration in your eyes, dear."

Oh, you have a plan alright. While your hands worked to mess with his body and neck, your legs were building up strength to keep things going. Just a little longer... One of your claws lunges for his neck, Muzan quick to catch it with the hand that was teasing you.

"Too eas-"

While he was only slightly distracted by your lunge, the sheer force of your legs resumed the session despite Muzan's grip. The free hand practically pouncing to hold his chest down while your speed threatened to break the bed. Once playful eyes now looked to you in awe as he twitched and let out just the tiniest of pathetic whimpers.

"Don't you toy with me, Muzan. I know you like this too much to stop me!"

He really couldn't hold back. Just mere seconds pass before ropes of his semen come through and fill your insides. Yet, your body is absolutely sure not to let a single drop seep from your womb. You can't go wasting even his cum, now can you? Shocked red eyes look up to you, now with a renewed sense of pride.

"Y-you're so damn lucky I'm merciful towards you..."

[minister-for-femslash]

The Truth?

Summary; After Imogen accidentally falls into Laudna's dream, she finds herself face to face with Delilah Briarwood, who wants to show her exactly what happened on the day Laudna died.

Pairings; Laudna/Imogen

Warnings; Torture and mentions of character death

Word Count; 1,885

Imogen doesn't mean to, dream walking is something she's never really done before. But its been so stressful recently and they finally have a chance to stop and not quite relax - that feels like an impossibility at this point – but there's a moment of calm where her and Laudna can curl up together just the two of them. She takes off the circlet because she needs the peace that comes with being immersed in the melody of Laudna's thoughts.

Laudna drifts off first and with their psychic link open, Imogen drifts off with her.

Her mind tumbles.

She finds herself in a corridor, high ceilings and thick stone walls. It's cold, there's a harshness in the air. Dark and dank. Water drips from the ceiling. There's a small wooden door behind her and lanterns on the wall. It feels familiar, but this isn't hers.

“Hello.” Her voice echoes back at her. “Anybody here.” She takes a tentative step forward and peers down the corridor. She's reluctant to go too far. Exploring her own dreams is one thing but accidentally tumbling into someone else's is different.

“Laudna! Are you here!?”

There's a whimper. It's faint, not soft and gentle but coarse like somebody's throat is dry.

“Laudna!”

Another whimper, louder this time. Imogen takes another tentative step, and then another and another. There are bars, thick rusted steel. The stone wall turns into a cell.

Imogen freezes. She knows what this is, where this is. When this is. She doesn't want to see. She doesn't.

“Laudna,” she whispers.

“She can't hear you, dear.”

The voice comes from behind her. Imogen has only heard it once or twice, a faint response to a desperate message sent but she recognises it instantly. A deep seated anger swells inside her chest, an unintentional snarl creeps onto her face as she spins around.

Delilah Briarwood stands in front of her in a long flowing dark purple dress, a choker necklace with a green stone in the centre and the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “She's a little busy. Reminiscing.”

“Is this because of you? Is this what you make her dream?”

“Only sometimes, when she needs a reminder of exactly who made her.”

Imogen doesn't hesitate. Rage flashes and her hand shoots out, a psychic lance aimed straight at Delilah's heart.

It misses.

Delilah's form shimmers, flicker out for just a moment and the psychic lance slams into the wall behind.

A pain filled cry comes from the cell.

“Stop it! Stop this now!” Imogen yells.

“Now now dear, there's no need for tantrums. Don't you want to see the beauty of her creation.” Delilah brushes past her and heads towards the cell, stepping through the bars as if they're not there. “Sylas, darling. Don't be too hard on our sweet girl. She needs to be recognisable.”

Imogen turns away. If she can leave, if she can propel herself out of this dream then she can wake Laudna up. She can free her from this. But the corridor is gone, a large stone wall now inches away from her nose. There's pressure on her shoulders like hands grasping tight. She's pulled back. Her feet scrap against the ground as she tries to resist but this isn't her dream. She isn't in control.

She's dragged up against the bars.

Delilah is in front of her, twirling a large curved blade between her fingers. Behind her is a man, broad shouldered. He has slick-backed dark hair with a white streak running through the middle. There's blood on his hands. He's bent over a figure. Over Laudna.

“My husband, Sylas.” Delilah says. “Such a beautifully vicious man.”

“Don't touch her.” Something raw and bitter wedges itself in the back of Imogen's throat. Her vision blurs and she knows there's a risk of tears.

Delilah laughs. “This moment is long over, it can't be changed. Just relived. And I do hope you aren't lying to yourself, my dear. Even if you could change this, you wouldn't.”

“You're wrong. I won't let you hurt Laudna, ever.” She rushes forward, expecting to move through the bars as easily as Delilah did, but instead she slams into them. Locked out.

“This isn't Laudna. This is Matilda.” She steps back and allows Imogen to see.

Laudna is on the floor, curled up in a tight ball. Blood coats her skin, seeps deep into the fabric of her clothes. There are so many wounds, too many for Imogen to be able to focus on. Her limbs are twisted, bent at odd angles.

“Why would you change this? This is the day of her ascension. Matilda dies so that Laudna can be born, and you, the one who claims to love her the most should see the beauty in this moment.” Delilah brushes past Sylas and kneels down next to Laudna. She picks her up and cradles her almost gently.

Laudna's eyes are open and Imogen can see the pain in them. The fear. She makes another move for the bars, but they hold firm

“It's Laudna you care for, Matilda is just a tragic story. It's Laudna you want, so watch me create her for you.” Delilah brushes the hair away from Laudna's face. It's slick with blood. She brings the knife down against Laudna's ear.

Imogen tries to grasp at the knife with telekinesis, tries to yank it out of Delilah's hand. “Don't!” Imogen tries again. “I said don't!” And again.

It fails.

At the last second Imogen turns away. She can't watch this. She can't. Her eyes slam shut and she tries to will herself awake. To will herself somewhere else.

Laudna screams.

It's the most horrifying sound Imogen has ever heard.

“She made me so proud that day.” A finger presses against her chin, forces her head up and there stands Delilah, blood on her hands.

The stone walls are gone. The bars are gone. They're outside now, the Sun Tree in the distance behind Delilah, it's decaying branches seem to sprout from her shoulders like a grotesque parody of Laudna's beautiful transformation.

“She was Sylas's favourite. Of all the people he hurt, she was the one he loved the most,” Delilah says. “The others were weak, they couldn't survive his viciousness. They were long dead before our presentation. But my Laudna, she lasted.”

“I hate you. What you did to her...” The tears begin to falls. “I hate you.”

There are heavy footsteps behind her, the crunch of gravel under thick boots. Sylas brushes past her. Laudna is in his arms. Her head lolls against his shoulder. Her clothes have been changed, the blood washed away and a single feather placed into her hair.

Delilah and Sylas head off down the path. That invisible force wraps itself around Imogen once again, her arms are pinned as she's pulled forward, forced to walk just behind them. She struggles, tries to fight against the bonds. In her head she screams, rage and desperation battering against the inside of her own mind. She reaches for that connection, for that blinding white light and the power that caused her to level an entire city block. She needs it now. But she's alone.

“We're the same, you and me,” Delilah says.

They're suddenly at the base of the Sun Tree. Quickly. Too quickly. A noose already hangs from a branch.

“No. We're not.”

“I was willing to fight death herself to save the one I love -” Delilah runs her hand down Sylas' shoulder - “and you will do the same. For her.”

Sylas lays Laudna on the ground and then steps back.

“Witch!” A voice comes from the ether.

The night slips into day. The Sun Tree and the noose fades, the house and taverns slowly transform into carts and market stalls.

“She's a witch!”

A crowd slowly forms, their faces twisted with anger and fear. With hatred.

Laudna fumbles, and this is Laudna, not Matilda. She looks exactly as she did the day they met. Pale skin, a flowy black dress, her hair pinned up with a tiny rock hammer. Paté is hooked on her belt, not yet animated but still a piece of her. The small basket falls from Laudna's hands, the fruit she's brought spilling out.

The murmurs are growing, the whispers turning harsher, more vicious.

“It's her. She's poisoning our crops!”

“My horses died because of her!”

This isn't Whitestone, this is Gelvaan and Imogen knows what happens here. What she does. The crowd is growing bigger, a harsh tension building and there's nothing Imogen can do.

Laudna stumbles backwards, tries to speak, to explain, but she stutters unable to be heard over the bark of the crowd.

A rock is thrown. It catches Laudna in the side of the head. She's knocked to the ground, a drop of blood appearing above her eye.

“Leave her alone!” The words are ripped from Imogen's throat. She charges forward, physically forcing her way through the crowd.

Laudna is curled up trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Laudna.” Imogen drops to her knees. “It's okay. You're going to be okay.”

Another rock is thrown. This one misses but it comes close and Laudna visibly flinches.

Something in Imogen snaps. “Back off!” There's an explosion. It rips from the centre of Imogen's chest, this cacophony of pure defensive energy whips through the air.

The crowd is blasted back. Market stalls are thrown into the air, crashing into walls. Windows smash, bodies go flying. A storm of debris, wood and stones, and heavy rocks swirl, forming a protective ring around them. Imogen clings to Laudna tight.

“How do I bring her back? Tell me what to do. I'll do anything.” Imogen's own voice echoes in the air. It doesn't come from her lips, these are words spoken what seems like a lifetime ago.

The storm suddenly drops. Bodies are scattered across the thoroughfare, streaks of blood splashed across the path.

Delilah stands before them, larger than she's ever been. She towers over them. “You begged me once, to save her. I want you to understand, Imogen Temult. Look how far you will go to protect her. Without me there is no Laudna and if you want to keep her, you need me.” Delilah walks towards them, her shadow stretching out behind her.

Delilah kneels in front of her. Imogen's arms wrap tighter around Laudna in some futile attempt at protecting her from the monster.

Delilah grabs Imogen's chin. “This is why I can trust you. You will give me everything I want as long as it keeps her by your side.”

Delilah leans in. Imogen tries to pull back but Delilah's grip is like a vice. She presses a kiss against Imogen's cheek. “You're going to make an excellent daughter-in-law.”

Imogen wakes with a gasp.

Laudna is still asleep beside her, her arm draped across Imogen's waist. She feels nauseous, there are tears on her cheeks. She reaches for Laudna, her fingers brushing just above Laudna's eyes, the wound is long healed but sometimes Imogen can still see it.

She gently presses their foreheads together. “I love you.” Imogen can still feel Delilah's grip on her chin, the ghost of that kiss on her cheek. “I won't let her take you from me.”

[dantesdickferno]

amaretto

Miguel/Reader | Explicit | Chapter 1/?

a/n: I brought this blog back from the dead to post this so I hope y’all enjoy. Gonna be a few chapters but not sure how many yet. Femdom reader, Bartender Miguel basically. Horny and angsty modern NYC AU, no powers. Bit of a slow burn (ish). Enjoy lol

***

The Basilica is, for all intents and purposes, a mediocre bar.

There’s a pothole steps away from the bar’s entrance that customers have to maneuver past in kitten heels and designer sneakers, and the embossed metal sign at the front of the door is almost completely covered in rust. It’s clearly an establishment that’s too pretentious to be a dive bar, but not exactly up to code enough to be an upscale cocktail bar either.

Recent attempts to rebrand the place as a hole-in-the-wall speakeasy have been successful, meaning that it’s now the common haunt for every art history graduate student, Bauhaus enthusiast, and unattainably gorgeous bisexual poet in lower Manhattan who’s willing to spend 17 dollars on a drink.

You stumble across the small chipped navy blue door after a brutal day at work. The patrons at the luxury handbag store you have the distinct displeasure of interacting with were particularly snippy today, and your pair of not-yet-broken-in oxfords feel more like a prison than a fashion statement at the moment. You need a drink to help forget the past ten hours ever happened just so you can do it all over again tomorrow. You’ve never heard of this place, but you don’t feel like getting on the subway just yet and looking for a bar that’s closer to home. This vaguely sketchy place will have to do.

The cozy interior of The Basicilia smells of cigar smoke and melting wax. Lit partially by candlelight, the brick walls and small antique cherrywood tables feel distant, yet homey. There are large gothic-style lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, and servers expertly move through the crowd carrying stainless steel trays full of thick-cut fries and bowls of green olives.

Despite the bar being relatively full, only one other person is sitting at the actual bar when you approach it—everyone else appears to be relegated to the various tables and benches strewn about the space, or hugging the walls holding glasses of craft beer.

With all of the fuss that sitting down on a stool, pulling off your winter coat, and hanging your things on a hook underneath the bar causes, it takes you a moment for you to see him.

But you do.

There’s a blur of movement in the corner of your vision as a tall man in a black button-down with rolled-up sleeves vaults over the bar wall and stalks over to the other end of the restaurant before knocking on a solid black door with the sole of his boot.

“Hey! You awake in there? They need help running food!” The man shouts, not waiting for a response before rushing back across the room and climbing back into the bar.

The sound draws a few eyes, but no one appears to be shocked—it seems to be a common occurrence here, judging by the way the person who appears to be the manager steps out of the previously kicked door looking bleary-eyed and sheepish, a pair of noise-canceling headphones around his neck and a set of keys jangling at his belt.

But your attention has been drawn elsewhere.

The man is tall enough to reach for a bottle of Belvedere vodka on the top shelf to hand to a nearby barback without straining. You notice his hands first—broad, veiny, with nails cut down to the bone. There’s a bandage wrapped around the middle finger on his left hand. A smattering of hair on his triceps, which are all muscle and sinew. And two tattoos—-a fang on his right bicep, and a bundle of marigolds on his left forearm. He leans onto the bar table to address you, his button-down snug around his chest.

Jesus fucking christ. If you had a drink you would certainly spill it.

“What are you getting,” he says—his voice raw from shouting, you assume—and his voice trends downward at the end of the sentence, as if he doesn’t want to ask you, as if it isn’t a question. You can’t even pretend to be offended—working in the service industry is a thankless task, and you know that well enough. But even you can admit that the level of tension in his jaw and the shuttered look in his eyes is disconcerting in a way that has to do with more than the fact that he presumably hates his job.

“A mojito, please,” you say, with less confidence than you’d normally have. You’re used to sitting at bars alone and making conversation with the bartenders, but tonight doesn’t seem to be going in that direction.

“A mojito?” The man repeats, and you know it’s the wrong choice somehow. Other than an almost imperceptible eye roll, he nods, turning his back to you to grab the right ingredients.

Still. It makes you curious.

“What’s wrong with a mojito?” you ask, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. It’s like his entire being is on constant guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop–you can see it in the way he turns back to look at you, his jaw set as he sets down a collins glass and starts picking damp mint sprigs out of a chilled metal container.

“First time here?” he says, and again, it isn’t a question. He places the mint leaves on a paper towel to dry before rubbing them on the rim of the collins glass and putting them in a separate pint glass.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with a mojito?” Normally you’d take your cue from the bartender and quit trying to make conversation, but something about him makes you want to poke and meddle, like touching a live wire with the tip of your finger.

“Nothing.”

“I won’t get offended. Is this one of those ‘what your drink of choice says about you’ things?” you probe, leaning onto the bar top. The other conversations seem to fade to a lull in the background of your mind, your sights set on tormented brown eyes and tense, broad shoulders.

“No.”

“Because that kind of seems like what this is—”

“No.”

“Then what is it? If you don’t mind me asking. I hope I’m not committing a major bar crime, or something.” He clearly minds, and the sigh he lets out is nothing short of torturous sounding, but he seems to indulge you anyway. You briefly register his hands reaching for various cups and bottles at an even tempo, his movements intentional as he makes your cocktail. He crushes mint and lime and sugar together with a blunt tool before opening a carafe of ice. A shiver runs through you, completely against your will, as you watch him work. You’ve always had a soft spot for competence.

“It’s more of a practical thing,” he explains, and you settle onto your stool, sensing a tangent incoming. “Mojitos aren’t complicated to make, but they take time. They have a lot of moving parts. And then once one person orders it, I get ten more people who saw me making it asking for it too, and I have to start the process over again. And then more people order it, and next thing you know I’m making mojitos for the rest of the night.”

“So when I ask for mojitos at other bars and they say they’re out of mint, are they lying?” you tease. He places your drink in front of you then, topping it off with a mint spring and a lime wedge at the rim of the glass.

“...Every bartender hates you,” he says in response, leaning in, and you give him a soft smile, sipping from the glass. It’s one of the best drinks you’ve ever had.

There isn’t an ounce of enjoyment to be seen in his eyes, or in the shadows of his face. But you swear you see a flicker of something there, like something that has long since lain dormant coming back to life—if only for a second–before it dissipates.

“What’s your name?” you ask, pushing your luck. Any spark that had once been lit is extinguished. He backs away, the lanterns from overhead casting shadows across his features that make him look like a stranger again. You silently curse yourself.

“I don’t do that,” he shakes his head, before venturing to the other end of the bar to help a seemingly new bartender whip up a martini. You wait patiently, watching the way his mouth moves and his hands gesture as he corrects the bartender on their…technique, or something. You have no idea. From afar, he looks equally as intimidating, if not more so. The lines of his body don’t indicate any kind of softness, and his shoulders are slightly hunched as if he’s ashamed of himself. You wonder if he does bicep curls in a concrete room for hours until he sweats out all of the vulnerability. Or maybe he runs from it, in the early morning, breath labored and lungs aching until his sneakers are worn out.

“You don’t do names?” you ask him as soon as he returns, and his time he doesn’t even pretend to hide his exasperation, rolling his eyes again before resting his elbows on the bar so that his face is inches away from yours. Your heart lurches. A quick glance around rewards you with a few of the patrons regarding you with a vague amount of interest—and concern.

“Listen. I’m not a therapy session bartender,” he says with enough disdain to cause your eyebrows to raise in surprise. “I like the theory of it. The drink making. That’s it. Talk to that guy,” he continues, gesturing to a fellow bartender with a man bun and gauges who’s currently chatting up the only other person sitting on the other end of the bar. “He’s chatty.”

This close-up, you can see the dark circles around his eyes, his slightly chapped lips. You get a brief urge to trace the wrinkles across his forehead with the pads of your fingertips, but you hold off, of course. The man seems like he’s too old for anyone. He’s lived a million lifetimes.

“I don’t want to talk to that guy,” you say, feeling emboldened. I want to talk to you. “No offense.”

Something in his expression flickers back to life once more, like a butterfly trying to fly without one of its wings.

“Miguel,” he says after a while, sounding pained. You tell him your name, and he gives no indication that he’s registered it.

“Do you wanna open a tab, or close it?” Miguel asks then, and his voice sounds weightier.

“...Keep it open.”

***

The bar is sweltering, but the cold, sour tang of the mojito keeps you cool as you watch Miguel make his way across the bar to help mix drinks for other patrons. You feel pinned to your stool somehow, like a bug under a microscope, even though Miguel doesn’t spare another glance in your direction. The music in here is alright, but not noteworthy. You wish you had someone to dance with.

The bartender with the man bun makes you another mojito before you can say otherwise, but it tastes different somehow. Too much mint maybe. Not enough bitterness. Miguel’s theory seems to be wrong; you scan the bar for other tall glasses with sprigs of bright green mint and find none. After brief consideration, you decide not to bother him any further by informing him of this fact.

The bar gets increasingly more crowded as the night goes on, and it becomes abundantly clear that Miguel isn’t going to check on you again. You want to believe it’s because he’s too busy, but you wonder if you made the wrong impression somehow. You wonder why you care. You hate that you do.

You settle your tab and gather your things before buttoning your coat and setting off into the night. Your two drinks have muddled your senses just so, but not enough to be completely disorienting. On the precipice of happy, maybe.

As you zip your coat up to your chin and walk down the sidewalk, you think about going home to your studio apartment and cuddling with your cat Cinnamon. You think about hopefully getting a few hours of sleep before the workday comes back around in the morning to swallow you whole once again. You think about the harsh line of Miguel’s jaw, about the fact that he’ll likely forget about you come morning.

“Every bartender hates me,” you repeat to yourself—a truly harrowing fact—before shaking your head and walking down the steps into the subway.

a/n: lmk if you enjoyed/if you wanna see more—mwah x

[awstenlookbook]

For the Real Super Dark visualizer, Awsten wears the following sunglasses:

1 - Akila Alias in black ($140) & Akila Analogue in rust/sky (originally $120, no longer available).

2 - Akila Apollo Raw in sky blue (originally $140, sold out) and Akila Apollo Raw in orange (originally $140, sold out)

3 - Akila Idol in white pearl (originally $145, sold out) and Akila Vertigo in green (€160.00; sold out in the US).

4 - Akila X Patrick Nagel New Wave in grey (originally $125, no longer available) and Akila X Patrick Nagel New Wave in yellow ($125)

5 - Oakley Gascan in black ($125) and X-Large x Akila Apollo in yellow (no longer available).

6 - Strata Roadcase in black/rose ($240) and Strata Roadcase in black/azul ($240).

*This is not all of the sunglasses in the video, just the ones I was able to confidently ID (which was 12/~20). There is also a pair Awsten wears which I could ID as Akila Legacy Raw however I could not confidently ID the specific colorway.

[mogwai-movie-house]

The Best Album Per Year for Sixty Years

No-one asked for it, of course, but I do like making lists, so here's me pondering what have been the best Long Players in the album artform the past 60 years. I originally tried to keep it to just one per year, but many years that proved impossible: when listing multiple albums I have tried ranking them with the one I feel narrowly edges out the others first, and I use lower case to indicate an album that is not at the same level as others on the list but was the best I've heard from that time.

Feel free to have fun with the list and make up your own.

----------------

1962 Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan 1963 The Freewheelin' - Bob Dylan 1964 another side of - bob dylan 1965 Highway 61 Revisited - Bob Dylan 1966 Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys / Blonde On Blonde - Bob Dylan / Revolver - The Beatles 1967 Magical Mystery Tour - The Beatles / The Velvet Underground & Nico / Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme - Simon & Garfunkel / Safe As Milk - Captain Beefheart 1968 Astral Weeks - Van Morrison / The White Album - The Beatles / Bookends - Simon & Garfunkel / We're Only In It For The Money/Lumpy Gravy - Frank Zappa 1969 Let It Bleed - The Rolling Stones / Abbey Road - The Beatles / In A Silent Way - Miles Davis 1970 Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel / Plastic Ono Band - John Lennon 1971 Imagine - John Lennon / Blue - Joni Mitchell / What's Goin' On - Marvin Gaye/ 2 - Moondog 1972 Exile On Main Street - The Rolling Stones / Discover America - Van Dyke Parks / Clear Spot - Captain Beefheart / Ege Bam Yasi - Can 1973 Raw Power - Iggy And The Stooges 1974 Blood On The Tracks - Bob Dylan 1975 Horses - Patti Smith / Discreet Music - Brian Eno / Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd / Velvet Donkey - Ivor Cutler 1976 The Ramones - The Ramones 1977 Low - David Bowie / New Boots & Panties - Ian Dury / Marquee Moon - Television / 77 - Talking Heads 1978 Music For Airports - Brian Eno / This Year's Model - Elvis Costello / Third (Sister Lovers) - Big Star / More Songs About Music & Food - Talking Heads 1979 Unknown Pleasures - Joy Division/ Fear of Music - Talking Heads / Into The Music - Van Morrison / Sheik Yerbouti - Frank Zappa / Rust Never Sleeps - Neil Young 1980 Remain In Light - Talking Heads / Closer - Joy Division / One Trick Pony - Paul Simon / Common One - Van Morrison 1981 Faith - The Cure 1982 Thriller - Michael Jackson / 1999 - Prince / 4 - Peter Gabriel / Too Rye Ay - Dexys Midnight Runners / Big Science - Laurie Anderson / Nebraska - Bruce Springsteen 1983 Swordfishtrombones - Tom Waits / Murmur - R.E.M. / Hearts & Bones - Paul Simon / Off The Bone - The Cramps 1984 Purple Rain - Prince & The Revolution / Hatful Of Hollow - The Smiths / Various Positions - Leonard Cohen / Reckoning - R.E.M. / The Unforgettable Fire - U2 1985 Don't Stand Me Down - Dexys Midnight Runners / Rain Dogs - Tom Waits / Around The World In A Day - Prince & The Revolution / Suzanne Vega - Suzanne Vega / Hounds of Love - Kate Bush / Hunting High & Low - A-ha 1986 Parade - Prince & The Revolution / So - Peter Gabriel / The Queen Is Dead - The Smiths / Graceland - Paul Simon / Steve McQueen - Prefab Sprout / Blood & Chocolate/King of America - Elvis Costello 1987 Sign O The Times - Prince / Strangeways Here We Come - The Smiths / The Joshua Tree - U2 / Actually - Pet Shop Boys / Tango In The Night - Fleetwood Mac 1988 Irish Heartbeat - Van Morrison & The Chieftains / Green - R.E.M. / Viva Hate - Morrissey / The Serpent's Egg - Dead Can Dance / Surfer Rosa - Pixies / Naked - Talking Heads / Introspective - Pet Shop Boys / I'm Your Man - Leonard Cohen / Blue Bell Knoll - Cocteau Twins 1989 Disintegration - The Cure / Technique - New Order / Doolittle - The Pixies / Oh Mercy - Bob Dylan / Avalon Sunset - Van Morrison / Rei Momo - David Byrne / Behaviour - Pet Shop Boys / Candleland - Ian McCulloch 1990 Extricate - The Fall / The Good Son - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Songs For Drella - Lou Reed & John Cale / Jonathan Goes Country - Jonathan Richman 1991 Screamadelica - Primal Scream / Achtung Baby - U2 / The Bootleg Boxset - Bob Dylan/ Having a Party with - Jonathan Richman 1992 It's A Shame About Ray - The Lemonheads / Henry's Dream - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Automatic For The People - R.E.M. / Good As I Been To You - Bob Dylan / The Future - Leonard Cohen 1993 Debut - Bjork / Dubnobasswithmyheadman - Underworld / Neroli - Brian Eno / Exile In Guyville - Liz Phair / Come On Feel - The Lemonheads / Zooropa - U2 / Vena Cava - Diamanda Galas

1994 Selected Ambient Works Vol. II - Aphex Twin / Toward The Within - Dead Can Dance / Let Love In - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Dummy - Portishead / Autogeddon - Julian Cope / Vauxhall & I - Morrissey 1995 Anthology - The Beatles / The Ugly One With The Jewels - Laurie Anderson 1996 Boys For Pele - Tori Amos / Gone Again - Patti Smith 1997 Ladies & Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space - Spiritualized / The Boatman's Call - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Time Out Of Mind - Bob Dylan / Vanishing Point - Primal Scream 1998 Up - R.E.M. / I'm So Confused - Jonathan Richman 1999 Play - Moby / I See A Darkness - Bonnie Prince Billy 2000 XTRMNTR - Primal Scream / All That You Can't Leave Behind - U2 / The Marshall Mathers LP - Eminem / Kid A - Radiohead / KY - Lemon Jelly 2001 Vespertine - Bjork / Love & Theft - Bob Dylan / No More Shall We Part - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 2002 The Eminem Show - Eminem 2003 Room On Fire - The Strokes / The Man Comes Around/Unearthed - Johnny Cash / The Wind - Warren Zevon 2004 Has Been - William Shatner / How To Dismantle An Atom Bomb - U2 / You Are The Quarry - Morrissey / The Milk-Eyed Mender - Joanna Newsom / Smile - Brian Wilson 2005 Another Day On Earth - Brian Eno / Le Fil - Camille 2006 Modern Times - Bob Dylan / Surprise - Paul Simon / Love - The Beatles 2007 for emma, forever ago - bon iver 2008 vampire weekend - vampire weekend 2009 No Line On The Horizon - U2 / The XX - The XX 2010 show me the face - michelle gurevich 2011 Angles - The Strokes / So Beautiful or So What - Paul Simon 2012 Life Is People - Bill Fay / Old Ideas - Leonard Cohen 2013 Comedown Machine - The Strokes / Crimson Red - Prefab Sprout 2014 Ghost Stories - Coldplay / 1989 - Taylor Swift 2015 ★ - David Bowie 2016 Lover, Beloved - Suzanne Vega / Stranger To Stranger - Paul Simon 2017 American Dream - LCD Soundsystem / antisocialites - alvvays 2018 music for installations - Brian Eno 2019 weezer (teal album) - weezer 2020 rough & rowdy ways - bob dylan 2021 happier than ever - billie eilish / lindsey buckingham - lindsay buckingham 2022 dragon new warm mountain i believe in you - big thief

[crescentbelle]

The Motel

Jake Lockley X reader word count: 1k warnings: mentions of violence?? blood and injuries, angstyy but also fluff?? who knows

my neighbours were having the loudest sex the whole time i wrote this and it did not help with the ambiance i was trying to create for myself

You look over the text again.

I'll be back late, leave the door unlocked. 

Please don't stay up, I love you.

And of course, you are choosing to ignore it entirely. Chained to habit, you slip up onto the basin and prep to play makeshift nurse. The motel is grimy this time, with blue-hued fluorescent lights and cracking pink tiles. You are sure this is the worst place you've stayed in, spending time hyping yourself up in case of a rogue cockroach and trying to find the source of a bleach ridden smell.

From the crack of the bathroom door, green numbers stick alight, displaying 3:35 AM. Fourteen motels and hotels across the US have been home, running away from one problem or another for months. And for the last 4 hours, you have the fantastic entertainment of buzzing lights and hissing pipes, waiting for Jake's return.

The janky doorknob turns, and a whisper of a swear is caught. Jake is finally crawling back in. Two quick thumps of his boots echo with the pat sound of leather to wood.

"Hi, my love," You whisper, trying to take in the state of him. You don't know what to say. Grazes litter the high points of his face, rouge and raw. His left eye is almost swollen shut, bruises littering his brow bone and a cascade of other injuries, covered with their fair share of blood. The lighting makes it look all the more vicious, the tacky liquid coming up black.

"I told you not to stay up." His voice is barely alive, hoarse and bare.

"Stop it," You start to fiddle with alcohol wipes. "You're too stubborn. Have I ever told you that, Mr. Lockley?"

Jake hushes you, moving between your legs and gliding his hand to the nape of your neck. It's self-soothing, as he brushes at the soft skin, easing into closing his eyes. "I'm fine, mi conejita."

A stillness settles, and for a moment, you try to figure out where you're supposed to start. In all honesty, his condition scares you. He almost seems unreal, face swollen at awkward angles and vulnerable. Jake's stare is cold, a dissociated look locked into the rusted sink. You wonder if Steven or Marc are saying anything or if the pain is just that bad.

"I'm taking there's still no word from Vengeance himself?"

"I don't know what he wants." The words are like déjà vu, ringing out into the silence. Memories of hot dunes- a knife to sutures, courses to the front of your mind. Marc's body crawling towards you, fisting at useless, liquid sand. "I'm stuck waiting like a fucking dog."

You kick-start yourself into shitty medic mode and away from any echoes of the past or failed humour. Slipping your hands down the buttons of his shirt, you peel the soaked cloth off his body. The process starts, patiently wiping away blood from his chest and neck, sinking into soft kisses across the aftermath. It's slow, and the man is patient, keeping his eyes screwed shut.

Jake has always been the toughest, which, contrary to popular belief, might not be the best quality. He's loyal, and harsh, and like a fucking brick wall sometimes. There's a confidence and strength of his that has a way of enveloping you, and something about another man's blood on his hands is (disgustingly) enticing.

And yet, despite this, tonight has proven that things are hitting their boiling point. Khonshu's absence is becoming worrying, and the boys' absence is becoming painful. How much longer can Jake endure cleaning up a ghost's messes, one that he refuses to let the others do?

"It's all just power plays." You soothe, "From experience, I don't think he's actually waiting on anything. Maybe one of us should offer up as a human sacrifice, that'll get his attention."

A snicker escapes Jake, and a kiss is planted on the crown of your head. "Smart girl. It's a wonder why he never chose you for an avatar."

You sneak a mischievous grin, "I think I would be great, don't you?" There's something to his slight grin that might make you consider it.

The man shakes his head, pointing absentmindedly to the mirror. "Hm careful, Marc didn't like that one." Of course that's what brings Marc forward to say something. You try to ignore Jake's morsing glimpses in the mirror and the sour turn to his grin.

"Things will be okay, okay?" You reach out, smoothing over his shoulders. "I know you don't like us saying it- and you don't have to believe me, but it's true."

There's no response from the brooding man, but his eyes lock onto you, brow furrowed. There's that look, the one that chokes you up.

Within seconds, you melt into a meek woman, legs dangling on the bathroom sink- caving into yourself. It's as if he sees through you, watching the cogs turning as you try to figure him out. You'll never win because giving respect to Jake is giving in, letting yourself live on the impulse of submission. It's breaking out of the mould for Steven or Marc and trusting (or more likely, devoting) yourself to what he tells you.

"Come on, let's get in the shower. You can help me clean up." Holding out his hands, they slowly guide you off the sink and eventually into hot water. There you both soak, wincing soft I know's that stay with the steam until the warm water cuts. It's as peaceful as it can be, and you feel your body aching for sleep.

"We'll be home soon, conejita. You've been so patient with me." The brunette whispers, cocooning you with a thin towel and drying himself off in following. It almost feels like home, the chilly draft of London and scratchy cloth.

"Maybe we can wait a bit," A smirk creeps up. "I'm gonna miss the moustache too much."

"I always knew you had great taste."

[gianttankeh]

Hannah Ellul / Jules Rawlinson / Off Brand (Firas Khnaisser & Ali Robertson) at The Waverley Bar, Edinburgh: 30/6/22.

Firas is getting better at making posters so this warranted re-posting we reckon. You can get tickets here.

[tac-bat]

Haha look at my Rain world one shot I wrote about Suns and Pebbles haha (Moon and Sig are also there in the background)

!!MAJOR SAINT & RIVULET SPOILERS AND MINOR MASTER SPOILERS!! LIKE END GAME SPOILERS FOR SAINT

Anyways here’s the Ao3 link word count: 630, under read more is the raw text if you wanna read it here :3

The chamber was dark, four iterators in pairs of two sat on the opposing sides, conversing with each other. On the surface, having two— more less four puppets would be nigh impossible. Yet here, in this shifting dream, it was. Two of the iterators, one pink and one yellow, sat next to each other, facing the rusted metallic wall that they’ve both known since creation.

“So,” Suns broke the silence, “you gave your last refraction cell to the Moon?”

Pebbles nodded, the clink of metal following the action. “I suppose she told you after her systems were restored?”

“She did, yes.”

“I am glad she was able to communicate with you and the local group, it was the least I could do for her.” Pebbles peeked over their sounder, watching Moon and Sig converse more actively than him and Suns, their voice’s faint from distance. Pebbles turned back to the wall. “She deserved none of the consequences of our actions.”

“Indeed.” Suns brought their puppets knees under their chin, arms linked around their legs. “Watching our creation, our turbulence, our great’s and our falls twist and break together over and over again, it’s fascinating .” Suns reminisced, “I can feel the moment I sent out that pearl, see our conversations, hear my attempted amends and the crushing defeat from rejection I am not used to.”

“And I see my decay,” Pebbles too, reminisced, “my desperation to save it all.” Pebbles turned his head to Suns, his mentor doing the same. “I can hear my anger for you doing this to me.”

“And I can see my guilt, watching the overseer feed go black as the fate of the Messenger was obscured.”

Suns messenger, Pepples hadn’t thought of it for a long time. “Did it come back to you?” He inquired.

“Yes,” Suns nodded. “It did.” A small release was felt in the thick tension. Both stared at each other, at their pasts and their mistakes, how it all led to the now.

“Pebbles.” Suns titled their head, an attempt at emotion with the limited expression from their puppet. “My poor judgment was the downfall of your and Moons’ collapse. Back then, I truly thought I was doing the right thing. Being here now, seeing— no, feeling that this is merely a dream, an outsider's view of time wrapping and collapsing on itself was something that none of us could imagine nor recreate. Even if you succeeded in erasing the self-destruction taboo, it would have never achieved this. And I suppose you know that now too.”

“Yes, it was futile in the end.”

Suns hesitated with their next words, but soon it was forced out.

“I’m sorry—“

“I don’t forgive you.”

Pebbles snap was instant, yet despite it, his leveled tone never changed. He spoke more of a fact. “And I never will, I cannot even forgive myself.”

The pause was for a moment, Suns held their head higher in response.

“Good, that’s good.” They sounded content, placing a hand over their chest. “I don’t forgive myself either.”

Pebbles hummed. “Then we are in agreement of our mistakes.”

“Yes. We do not have to forgive, we have had cycles upon cycles to think, to process it all. It seems we will be here for all eternity, or until we wake from this dream, which I doubt will happen. What is the point of forgiveness when we know nothing will change if we do forgive?”

Suns looked behind them to watch Moon and Sig, the green iterator seeming to say something that made Moon laugh. If Suns could smile, they would.

“Pebbles, would you like to know something?”

“What?” He turned to Suns, who looked up at the chamber ceiling.

“Being stuck here for eternity with you all, I look forward to it.”

[armedjoy]

growing up there was this field that was a 15 minute bike ride from my house. it was a long fallow farm of roughly a dozen acres. i dont know what happened to the farm but the neighborhood kids and i were keen on running around amongst the chest high straw grass after dinner, when the fireflies would come out. there must have been thousands of them. we found and marked a slew of special places in the surrounding woods - two trees that bowed together like a heart if you stood in the right spot, a couple of old rusted cars that were totally overgrown, a tree that fell and safely extended 20 feet over a brook, the muddy offshoot/ ditch of the river where you could always find a toad, the abandoned railroad spur that was an unpaved forest road straight to the corner store we'd get our candy at in town. but the firefly field was raw magic.

today its a development of 3000+ sq ft pseudo colonial-garrisons crammed against each other on 1/4 acre lots. and those tiny lawns are kept to a short, chemically perfected green.

[slasherhoe87]

🌹Loving Michael🥀

Multi chapter fic

I have taken liberties with the storyline to suit my fic

This is an OG Michael fic but because I prefer a modern setting I have moved the origins story ahead - so Michael will be a man in his early thirties in present day (2023)

Laurie & co. + Loomis bashing

Warnings: NSFW / Dub-con / Age gap / Death / Gore / Dark themes / Fluff / Angst

OG Michael x Female Reader/You

Minors DNI

Link to Chapter 2: (https://www.tumblr.com/slasherhoe87/711602779207106560/loving-michael?source=share)

Chapter 1:

Your lungs were burning, your breathing labored. Your forehead was drenched in sweat and your legs trembled, but you kept pushing forward, kept running, to get away from him.

Terror caused you to scream into the chilly night air but no one would hear you. Not so far out of Haddonfield and at the old derelict Pickens Factory, swallowed by decay and the green of creeping nature.

You tripped over a bit of rusted metal piping and fell hard onto the moist gravelly ground with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of you. Your knee scraped raw and your ankle burning. You sat up quickly with a groan and a cough and let out a fearful shriek when you saw the flash of a white mask in the misty distance at the treeline by the edge of the factory.

You hopped up and tested your weight on your ankle - a slight bit of pain but you were good to go. No major harm done.

You took off again in a frantic sprint hoping to get to your car before you were caught. Unfortunately this meant that you had to make your way through the dark, spooky factory - although that did present you with many hiding places if needs be on your daunting escape to your car.

Quickly pushing open the metal back door of the factory you stumbled through it and shut it before running past all the rusting, rotting conveyer belts which once ferried canned foods to and fro.

You were almost at the end of the large workspace before you heard the door you had come through slam open with enough force to rattle the nearby windows. You instantly dropped to the dusty, dirty ground and crawled as quietly as you could beneath a paint-chipped metal office desk. You compressed your body into a tight ball and held your hands over your mouth to quieten your heavy breathing.

You could hear his slow and heavy footfalls - no doubt scanning the factory for the slightest of movements, ears open and alert. The breathing behind that expressionless latex mask was deep and measured... and it got closer and closer to you. Chilled tingles ran up and down your sweaty spine.

After a while and just when he started to walk off in a different direction a massive cockroach crawled up your leg. Its long spindly antennas moved in every direction and its crispy sounding wings flapped once, then twice.

On instinct and due to your behemoth of a fear for roaches, you shrieked, knocked it off your leg and simultaneously hit your head on the desk as you crawled out ready to simply dash as quick as you can to your waiting car. Your cover was thoroughly blown and he was far to close for you to try and hide again.

You didn't take the time to check where exactly he was but you bolted through the set of double doors to your left and through a long corridor with broken and chipped teal and white checkered tiles. Thankfully the moon was bright as gleaming silver tonight so you could for the most part see where you were going. Unfortunately that also meant that he could get a good view of you as well.

Eventually you stumbled into the factory's main foyer before spying the reception area.

Salvation! The entrance.

You nearly shat yourself when you turned your head to see him round the corner into the foyer. A terrified scream left your lips again before you ran again towards the entrance which was now your saving exit.

The cold night air hit your flushed skin as your burst through the doors but your feet didn't, couldn't stop. You careened towards the parking lot where your lone rust-bucket of a truck sat, waiting patiently for you.

Fishing your keys out of dress's pocket you fumble with them for a moment as you try to find the right key with your shaking hands. Eventually finding it you shove it into the keyhole and hop into your truck.

Too late though.

He barrels into your trembling body with a force which knocks you back on to the bench seat as he jumps into the cab of the truck. His large, heavy body presses down onto your smaller one, he's breathing labored and excited. His strong hands wrap themselves around your throat and start to squeeze.

The Boogeyman of Haddonfield had finally caught you.

xoxoxox

Chapter 2 up soon.

[jadegretz]

Dynamic Emerald: She-Hulk's Allure by Jade Gretz

Jennifer Walters, better known as the emerald-tinged bombshell She-Hulk, wasn't known for her fear of the dark. After all, she wrestled Abominations for breakfast. But something about the abandoned Gamma Research Facility, sprawling in the shadow of Mount Grimclaw, sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the mountain winds.

The moon, a tarnished silver dime, shed an anemic glow on the crumbling concrete towers, each window a vacant eye socket staring into the abyss. Vines, thick as pythons, snaked around rusting generators, and the air hummed with a low, electric thrum that vibrated through her bones.

Stepping through the creaking front gate, Jennifer felt a primal unease tighten around her throat. It wasn't just the desolation, the whispers of past horrors clinging to the walls like cobwebs. There was something else, a malignant presence lurking just beyond the edge of perception.

Ignoring the prickling on her skin, she transformed, green muscles rippling beneath her clothes as She-Hulk emerged. Towering over the desolate courtyard, she scanned the facility. Empty labs, shattered beakers, and flickering neon signs mocked her with their ghostly luminescence.

But then, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Deep within the facility, in a sub-level hidden beneath layers of overgrown foliage, a faint luminescence pulsed like a malevolent heartbeat. Curiosity, potent as gamma juice, surged through her. Cautiously, she ripped through a wall of twisted metal, creating a gaping maw into the unknown.

Descending into the bowels of the facility, She-Hulk felt the temperature plummet. The air crackled with static, every shadow a potential maw. The hum grew louder, a hungry chant rising from the depths. Finally, she reached a vast chamber, bathed in an eerie green glow emanating from a massive crystalline reactor humming with raw gamma energy.

But that wasn't what sent a primal scream echoing through the chamber. In the reactor's core, suspended in a shimmering green cocoon, pulsed a monstrous form. Towering twice her height, its flesh a patchwork of mutated tissue, it resemble …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[exhausted-archivist]

Dishes, Sauces, Soups, and Sides

Updated: 2023/12

As of now this list is updated with everything found in media released as of Oct 2023.

Like the original, this contains all canonical breads, desserts, dishes, sauces, soups, and sides. If known to a specific region it is marked next to the item in parenthasis, if it is not it is either unknown or universally eaten.

For Other Food Posts

Drinks

Raw Ingredients

Prepared Ingredients

Canonically Possible Foods and Drinks

Food and Drink Master Post

Disclaimer

Though real life plants may be listed here as edible it is for fictional use only. This is not intended to be used as a reference nor guide for what plants are edible or safe to eat. Please do not use it as such.

Breads

Bark Bread

Biscuit

Whole Grain Biscuit - Commonly made in Chantry cloisters. A staple in their simple diets.

Black Bread

Braided Honey and Date Bread (Anderfels)

Brown Bread

Buns

Butter Puff - Bread made by folding butter into the dough allowing it to become puffy and softer than usual bread. (Orlais)

Crumpet

Dark Bread

Dried Bread

Flat Bread - A no-rise bread. Served with dip, brushed in oil, and/or as a side. (Nevarra)

Honey Loaf

Lichen Bread - Bread that is made using lichen. (Orzammar)

Black Lichen Bread

Peasant Bread - Comprised of wheat, grease, and salt in equal measure, made by Dalish and city elves in Orlais. They top it with butter, jam, and sometimes sugar. (Elves - Orlais)

Pumpkin bread - A favorite of Dorian Pavus (Tevinter)

Raider Queen’s Bread of Many Tongues - Created by the Raider Queen, this bread calls for flour, baking powder, salt, butter, brown sugar, molasses, eggs, bananas. The creator calls for Par Vollen bananas but another version of the recipe says Rivaini bananas are an acceptable replacement. (Rivain)

Rolls

Bread Roll

Sweet Rolls

Ryott Bread - Made of a protein rich grain called ryott. (Ferelden, Chasind)

Sweet Bread

Thin Bread - A thin bread used to make wraps in Seheron.

Whole Grain Bread - Another staple made in Chantry cloisters.

Wraps - Described as "soft" bread.

Appetizers, Starters, and Refreshments

Blood Orange Salad - a salad of bitter greens with blood orange slices served on top. (Nevarra)

Canapé - a type of hors d'œuvre.

Couscous Salad - A salad comprised of couscous with many varieties, one such variety includes red bell peppers and mint. (Rivain)

Crab Cakes - a classic dish in Kirkwall. (Kirkwall)

Dried Bread and Fruit

Eggs à la Val Foret - An egg dish served with a cream sauce. (Orlais)

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding - Celery, pepper, mackerel, diced onion, mustard, salt, Antivan pepper, ground mace, cardamom seed, eggs. Also known as Feast Day Fish (Ferelden)

Fried Crab Legs - A subsitute for the Orzammar dish of fried young giant spiders.

Fried young giant spiders - A common food in Orzammar, usually served with an alcohol-based sauce that varies with every establishment. (Orzammar)

Roasted Cave Beetles - Roasted whole and eaten out of the shell. (Orzammar)

Roasted Prawns - A substitute to cave beetles, said to have the same taste and texture.

Shredded Dried Meat and Cheese - A dish that is commonly used as a spread by the dwarves and used for lunches. (Orzammar)

Snails Dressed in Butter and Oil (Avvar)

Snails and Watercress Salad - A non-traditional dish inspired by Avvar cuisine featuring snails and watercress to appeal to lowlander pallets.

Stuffed Deep Mushrooms - A dish derived from various Orzammar deep mushroom delicacy. This Fereldan creation is stuffed with cheese and spinach. (Ferelden)

Rations, Tavern Fare, and Travel Food

Beer Nuts (Kirkwall)

Bread and Cheese

Chicken Wings - Sold in The Rusted Horn as ‘Wyvern Wings.’ (Ferelden)

Crow Feed (Antiva)

Dried Foods

Dried Fruit

Dried Meats

Fereldan Hearty Scones - a scone filled with bacon and cheese, careful, a mabari might snag it. (Ferelden)

Fish Pockets - A meal of fish, crisp vegetables, spices, and a soft wrap.(Seheron)

Fish Wrap - Fish wrapped in thin bread (Seheron)

Grey Warden Pastry Pockets - A hand pie filled with meat and other foods. Olesian Grey Wardens put their own twist using Olesian puff pastry.

The Hanged Man's Stew - The tavern’s featured dish, made with a different mystery meat every morning. (Kirkwall)

Jerky

Jerky Ball

Spiced Jerky

Meat Skewers - A portable snack. A known Orlesian version of this snack is primarily eaten by nobles while out on hunts and are not interested in the hunt, made of meat, cheese, and wine-soaked fruit.

Pickled Eggs - Eggs, sugar, salt, vinegar, and various spices and seasoning of the cooks preference. Favored in Ferelden and seen as a cure all. Served in nearly every Fereldan tavern. (Ferelden)

Pig Oat Mash - A constant dish on The Hanged Man menu, a popular hangover cure if washed down with brandy spiked cider. This warming porridge contains apples, dried salt pork or smoked bacon, dried rolled oats, berries, ale or water (Kirkwall)

Poison Stings - "Poison stings" is the colloquial name. Orange peels coated in chocolate, a crunchy yet chew texture that is both sweet and sour. A favored snack of Dorian Pavus when traveling from Tevinter to Ferelden. (Tevinter)

Provisions and Rations - Typically consist of dried meat, nuts, and a variety of other simple foodstuffs.

Dry Ration

Hardtack

Qunari Ration

Stuffed Vine Leaves - Common tavern food in Tevinter, stuffed with rice, herbs, and sometimes minced meat. Can be topped with lemon juice or tzatziki sauce.

Treviso Energy Balls - Made of peanut butter, oats, and dried fruit, it is a famine food invented during the occupation of Treviso in the Qunari Wars/The New Exalted Marches.

Unidentified Meat - Despite it's ominous name, it's simply chicken legs. Sometimes served with Nevarran flat bread. (Tevinter)

Dips, Glazes, Gravy, and Sauces

Apples Stewed in Brandy Sauce

Applesauce

Cherry Sauce

Cheese Sauce

Cream Sauce

Deep Mushroom Flavored Cream Sauce - Commonly served with seared nug. (Orzammar)

Dragon’s Blood Sauce (Nevarran)

Gravy

Honey-glaze - A sauce used to glaze various foods, particularly meats.

Hot Sauce

Llomerryn Red Sauce - A sauce that goes on almost everything, contains pulped tomatoes, onions, red pepper, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, mustard powder, hot pepper powder, salt, cinnamon stick, allspice, cloves, fennel seeds, dill seeds, mustard seeds, black peppercorns, bay, garlic. (Rivain)

Mushrooms cooked in ale - One recommendation for this sauce is to be served over roasted nug.

Mushroom Sauce

Nesting Roast Gravy - Gravy made from the pan juices of a nesting roast. Meant to be served with the roast. (Orlais)

Plum Sauce

Red Wine Marinade

River-herring Gravy - a gravy as white as apple blossoms. (Orlais)

Special Sauce - A sauce infused with the essence of fifty-two herbs, prized for the ability to help with “inadequacy”. (Kirkwall)

Spider Leg Sauce - a variety of alcohol-based sauces unique to each Orzammar establishment, meant to be paired with fried young giant spider legs.

Tzatziki Sauce - Served with stuffed vine leaves. (Tevinter)

Wild Flower Glaze - A honeyed glaze made of wild flowers, it is recommended to use flowers plucked at dawn and the lowest blossoms. (Anderfels)

Yogurt Dip - Often served with flat bread (Nevarra)

Soups and Stews

Barley Soup

Blood Soup - Merrill is credited with the creation of this creamy beetroot soup, it is topped with roasted chickpeas. (Dalish)

Butter Soup - A simple, inexpensive, and easy soup. Made as midmorning meals or midday refresher for field workers. It is commonly fed to children and convalescents due to its nutritious nature. Ingredients include water, potatoes, cinnamon, star anise, clove, bay, peppercorns, salt, noodles, cream, butter (Orlais)

Cabbage Stew (Ferelden)

Deepstalker Stew - A stew of deepstalker is made when rations run low. (Legion of the Dead)

Denerim-rabbit Stew - Made with rat (City Elf)

Enchantment Soup - Made by Sandal, edibility unknown.

Fereldan Potato and Leek Soup

Fereldan Turnip and Barley Stew - White beans, oil, onion, carrots, celery, garlic, stock, turnips, turnip greens, sausage, barley, cumin, dried basil, oregano, salt, pepper, herbed wine vinegar

First Day Festival Stew (Orzammar)

Fish Chowder (Antiva)

Fish Stew

Lamb and Pea Stew - Alistair has his own version of this soup. (Ferelden)

Lentil Soup - A universal soup, with lentils being common in every Thedosian pantry.

Nettle Soup

Norbotten Fruit Stew - This dish is used to rehydrate dried fruits: dried apricots, pitted prunes, raisins, mixed dried fruits (cherries, apples, cranberries, etc), lemon or orange, cinnamon, cloves, water, sugar or honey, brandy. (Anderfels)

Pea Soup

Ram Stew (Ferelden)

Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup (Ferelden)

Turnip Stew (Ferelden)

Turnip-Goat Stew (Ferelden)

Wild Rabbit Stew

Main Course

Alamarri Pickled Krone - Krone, Brine, (optional) pine pitch and druffalo dung.

Baked Fish - An Avvar cooking method where they wrap fish in pungent leaves and clay before cooking it in banked coals. (Avvar)

Baked Krone with Honey - The honey is typically used as a side sauce for dipping. (Fereldan)

Beans and Bread

Boiled Roots

Braised Nug with Elfroot (Dwarven)

Braised Ram with all the Trimmings (Ferelden)

Broiled Boar Head (Fereldan)

Cacio e pepe - A dish of three ingredients; spaghetti, pepper, and pecorino romano. (Antiva)

Dalish Deep Forest Comfort - String squashes, halla butter, garlic, mushrooms, elfroot or spinach, diced tomatoes or beetles, hot red pepper, rock salt, halla cheese or goat cheese, edible wildflowers (borage, chicory, etc), pine nuts. (Dalish, Southern Orlais)

First Day Chicken - a dish served during First Day in some parts of Orlais. (Orlais)

Fish in Salt Crust - Cooked much liked the baked fish, instead of using clay, the fish is covered in salt and wrapped in pungent leaves before being cooked in banked coals. (Avvar)

Fresh Oyster - Noted to go well with Llomerryn red sauce.

Fried Fish

Fried Mush (Orzammar)

Glazed Krone (Ferelden)

Gilded Swan with River-herring Gravy - An eastern spice, flour, gold leaf, river herring, swan, yolk. (Orlais)

Gnocchi (Antiva)

Goat Custard - A broiled goat head, not to be confused with the dessert. (Ferelden)

Grilled Poussin - Grilled chicken, typically a younger chicken. (Chasind)

Ham

Anderfels Smoked Ham - It tastes of despair

Avvar Ham

Ham Stuck with Cloves

The Jade Ham - Honeyed with wild flowers (especially those picked at dawn), masterfully seasoned, and spiral-cut. Not considered edible but better used as a weapon. (Anderfels)

Orlesian Ham

Smoked Ham

Herbed Chicken and Biscuits (Ferelden)

Jellied Meats

Jellied Pigs Feet - A delicacy in the Free Marches and originally a popular commoner food that has risen to the tables of nobility. Pigs feet and/or pork hocks, salt, onions, garlic, allspice, peppercorns, bay. (Free Marches)

Veal Galentine (Orlais)

Liver

Lutefisk

Nesting Roast - This dish is classically made with a quail stuffed in a pheasant stuffed in a swan. Served with gravy made from the pan juices. (Orlais)

Mad Burnard’s Gift of Flesh - A nesting roast unlike any other, involving a whole wyvern, stuffed with a whole gurn, stuffed with a horse, stuffed with a large halla (horns and all), stuffed with a swan, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a quail, stuffed with a bunting that choked on a gold piece. (Orlais)

Nug Steak (Orzammar)

Nug-gets (Orzammar)

Nug-loaf (Orzammar)

Nug-Nug - A dish meant to resemble a nug peeking from its burrow; made of ground meat (beef preferred), parsley, egg, salt, crushed cumin or mustard seeds, black pepper, cooked rice, tomatoes, onions, chives (Orlais)

Paella - Made with rice, saffron, and a variety of seafood; such as shrimp, cuttlefish, and mussels. (Antiva)

Pancake - The breakfast food and savory dishes.

Crepes - A very thin pancake that can be filled with sweet or savory ingredients. (Orlais)

Hearth Cakes - Described as a common fare where they are baked on an iron griddle. They are made with halla butter (can be subbed for goat or cow butter), flour, hardwood ash (can be replaced with baking powder), cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, sugar, mixed dried fruit (like cranberries, raisins, and currants), an egg, and milk. Described as baeing crispy and flaky on the outside, but remains moist on the inside. They are grilled on one side and then are flipped over, ensuring they are all crisp and bown. (Dalish)

Nug Pancakes - A savory pancake made with nug. A favorite among dwarven children. (Orzammar)

Porridge

Bland Porridge

Deer Porridge - A savory porridge served with deer.

Porridge with Raisins

Savory Porridge - Served with meat, vegatables, or spices.

Pudding - A sweet or savory, steamed dish that can be topped with gravy or chocolate.

Rack of Ribs (Ferelden)

Ram Chops (Ferelden)

Ram Cutlet (Ferelden)

Rice and Boiled Vegetables (Tevinter)

Roast

Gurgut Roast with Lowlander Spices and Mushroom Sauce (Avvar)

Roast Boar - One cooking method involves the boar being stuffed with apples (Ferelden and Orlais). Another has it served with a side of candied yams.

Roast Chicken

Roast Duck

Roast Hog

Roast Lamb

Roast Turkey - Common in the Free Marches, especially among Starkhaven nobility, as well as the Chasind.

Roast Wyvern - Common with the Avvar and Orlais.

Roasted Cave Beetle (Dwarven)

Roasted Giant Spider (Dwarven)

Roasted Nug (Orzammar)

Roasted Phoenix - One of the most infamous meals in Thedas, it is served with sweet red wine.

Roasted Rabbit

Roasted Venison with Wild Greens - The venison is seasoned with mint and pepper, served with wild greens and sweet pastries. Paired with wine to drink. (Ferelden)

Slow-roasted Nug-let (Orzammar)

Spit-roasted Deepstalker (Dwarven)

Spit-roasted Nug with Hot Sauce (Orzammar)

Sandwich

Ham Sandwich

Sausage - There are about twelve different kinds of sausage unnamed mentioned in Last Court.

Black Pudding - A type of blood sausage made from pork or beef blood, pork fat or beef sue, and a type of cereal. (Orlais)

Smoked Sausage

Spiced Sausage

Savory Pies

Dove Pie - A pie made with live doves, for the theater of the meal. (Orlais)

Nug Bacon and Egg Pie (Ferelden)

Pigeon Pie

Pork Pie

Starkhaven Fish and Egg Pie - Fish from the Minanter River (carp, trout, or others), wine, onion, carrot, thyme, bay, sea salt, dried currants, sliced almonds, boiled sliced eggs, butter, flour, fish broth, milk, salt, pepper, nutmeg, cream, fried whitebait or other small fish. (Starkhaven)

Turnip and Mutton Pie (Ferelden)

Unmentionable Pie - It is a meat pie that uses the typically undesirable parts of an animal. (Ferelden)

Venison Pasty - A hand pie filled with venison. In Serault, it is served with curls of goat cheese. (Orlais)

Seared Nug - Usually served with a deep mushroom cream sauce. (Orzammar)

Simmering Partridge - Cooked with sweet onions and pale beans (Orlais)

Smoked Meat

Smoked Boar

Smoked Fish

Smoked Rabbit

Smoked Venison

Spiced Nug

Stuffed Cabbage - A seasoned cabbage head stuffed with meat.

Venison with Apples Stewed in Brandy Sauce

Wandering Hills - A delicacy made from large creatures of the same name. (Anderfels)

Wyvern Steak

Sides

Antivan Olives - Soaked in vinegar and stuffed with capers.

Boiled Turnip (Ferelden)

Brandy Soaked Cherries (Orzammar)

Candied Yams

Croutons

Fried Potatoes - Recommended to be served with Llomerryn red sauce.

Hard-boiled Egg

Honey Carrots - Most common in Orlais where it is traditionally sweeter compared to other places due to the use of honey.

Jarred Olives (Tevinter)

Jellied Eels (Ferelden)

Mashed Turnip (Ferelden)

Peeled Grapes (Tevinter)

Picked Foods

Pickled Apples

The Pickled Apples of Arlathan - Apples said to be from the time of Arlathan. The taste is described to be one of fresh apples, with the same crispness.

Pickled Fish

Pickled Lamprey

Pickled Nug

Pickled Ox Tongue

Pickled Vegetables

Pickles

Roasted Sides

Roasted Chestnuts (Nevarra)

Roasted Figs (Rivain)

Roasted Potatoes - Recommended to be served with Llomerryn red sauce.

Roasted Turnip (Ferelden)

Sera’s Yummy Corn

Smoked Bacon

Steamed Beans

Steamed Turnips (Ferelden)

Stir-fried Turnips (Ferelden)

Toast

Toasted Bread - Used for dipping in stews.

Toasted Chickpeas - Used as a topping for soups and salads, sometimes as a replacement for croutons.

Wine Soaked Fruit

Baked Goods, Desserts, and Sweets

Bread Pudding - Made with stale bread, eggs, milk or cream, and other ingredients varied by if it is savory or sweet (Ferelden)

Cake

Cake with Apples

Cake with Nutmeg

Chocolate Cake

Cupcakes

Cherry Cupcakes - Historically a common method used to poison people, often served in the theater. (Tevinter)

The Exquisite Misery - A little cake topped with a dusting of anise, deep mushrooms, and gold dust. (Orlais)

Found Cake - A chocolate cream cake topped with white frosting and strawberries (Ferelden)

Hearth Cake - A pan-made cake; made of flour, hardwood ash or baking powder, halla butter, sugar, mixed dried fruit (currants, cranberries, etc), egg, milk. (Dalish)

Honey Cake (Orlais)

Lamprey Cake - contains no actual lampreys, it is modeled after the appearance of lamprey.

Lemon Cake

Petit Fours (Orlais)

Pound Cake

Round Cake - Often topped with poppyseed and honey. In Serault, they will sometimes have the antlers baked into the crust. (Orlais)

Sponge Cake (Orlais)

Sugar Cake - One version is made with strawberries and sugar-cream icing dressed on a pound cake. (Ferelden) Another version is made with a "humble cake" and is dressed with butter, sugar, and almonds. Both are seen as great gifts and good pick-me-ups after long days of traveling, and are often served by merchants.

Sugar-drizzled Lemon Cake - A type of lemon cake that was used in Antivan Crow history to assassinate templars.

Sugarcake - A dense cake usually topped with powdered sugar.

Sweet Cake

Wedding Cake

Candy

Black Licorice Candy - Can be salted. (Tevinter)

Bon-bons

Candied Almonds

Candied Fruit

Candy Apple (Ferelden)

Candied Dates (Tevinter)

Candy Cane

Carastian Candy - A candied chocolate. (Tevinter)

Peppermints

Spun Sugar (Ferelden)

Sweetmeat - A confectionery treat, sometimes candy coated fruit.

Toffee

Unnamed Candied Nuts with Spice - A candy that is sweet until swallowed, then they leave a spicy aftertaste. (Orlais)

Cobbler

Dalish Forest Fruit Cobbler

Strawberry and Rhubarb Cobbler (Ferelden)

Cookies

Biscuit - A hard, flat, and unleavened baked treat that can be sweet or savory.

Butter and Sugar Cookie - This cookie isn’t specified as it is only described by these ingredients.

Raisin Cookies

Shortbread

Tea Biscuits

Wafers

Custard

Goat Custard - Differing from the Fereldan savory counterpart. This custard is made throughout Thedas with goat milk and has numerous varieties. On pairs it with roast fig. A Rivain variation uses milk of the Ayesleigh gulabi goats specifically for its sweeter milk.

Donuts

Ice Cream

Orlesian Guimauves - Another name for marshmallows.

Pastries

Antivan Apple Grenade

Cinnamon Rolls - one of Varric's favorite pastries.

Croissant - Vivienne starts every morning with one. (Orlais)

Honey and Nut Pastry (Tevinter)

Macaroon

Marie du Lac Erre’s Sweet Ruin - One version of this pastry with a dramatic history, the recipe contains; butter, powdered sugar, chocolate, vanilla extract, flour, orange or mint extract, baking powder, and milk. (Orlais)

Tarts

Unnamed Blueberry Pastry - A light, sticky pastry with blueberries. (Possibly Nevarra)

Varric's Favorite Pastry - A pastry spread created by Devon, a Fereldan cook, after consulting with Varric Tethras on his favorite pastry.

Pie

Apple Pie

The Blessed Apple - A pie made by a small cloister of Chantry sisters tending to the orchard, they use the windfall apples and share the pies freely; as well as the apples. The ingredients are flour, salt, butter, water, apples (golden apples from Lady’s Orchard preferred but others are acceptable substitutions), brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. (Orlesian)

Minced Pie - filled with finely chopped fruit and sweet things.

Pudding

Blancmange - A white pudding made of milk or heavy cream, its name is Orlesian for "white eating". Because of the mild, sweet taste it can have a variety of toppings such as toasted almonds, ribbons of fresh mangos, red grape compote, cherry saus, or Vivienne's preferred plating of white chocolate curls with whole jasmine flowers. (Orlais)

Caramel Pudding

Dessert Pudding

Rice Pudding

Scones

Sour Cherries in Cream (Orlais)

Sticky Figs Rolled in Nuts (Tevinter)

Sticky Jellies (Orlais)

Sources:

(If you want to find the direct links or page numbers, check out the Wiki's Food and Ingredients page.)

Primary Sources:

Dragon Age: Origins (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: Awakening Dragon Age 2 (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: The Last Court Dragon Age: Inquisition (DLCs + Multiplayer)

Books:

Dragon Age Tabletop RPG Core Rulebook Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Blood in Ferelden Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Game Master’s Kit: Buried Past World of Thedas Vol. 1 World of Thedas Vol. 2 Dragon Age Official Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne Dragon Age: The Calling Dragon Age: The Masked Empire Dragon Age: Asunder Dragon Age: Last Flight Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Short Stories:

Short Story: Paying the Ferryman

Comics:

Mage Killer Knight Errant Deception

Codex Entries, Letters, and Notes:

Entry: The Ben-Hassrath

Codex Entry: Blackwall the Last Few Years

Codex Entry: A Compendium of Orlesian Theater

Codex Entry: Feast Day Fish

Codex Entry: The Diary of Triolus Hertubise

Codex Entry: The History of Soldier’s Peak: Chapter 3

Codex Entry: A Letter to Harding

Codex Entry: A Magister’s Needs

Codex Entry: The Noladar Anthology of Dwarven Poetry

Codex Entry: On Avvar Cuisine

Codex Entry: The Pickled Apples of Arlathan

Codex Entry: In Praise of the Humble Nug

Codex Entry: Ram

Codex Entry: Redcliffe (Inquisition)

Codex Entry: A Scholar’s Journal

Codex Entry: A Supply List

Codex Entry: A Tattered Shopping List

Codex Entry: Waterlogged Diary

Letter: Feeling Inadequate?

Note: Cook’s Note

Note: Instructions for the Maid

Note: The Rusted Horn’s Menu

Note: Short Note

Armor, Items, Junk, and Weapons:

Armor: Wade’s Superior Dragonbone Plate Boots

Item: Found Cake

Item: Sugar Cake

Item: Lamb Bone

Junk: Stale Biscuit

Junk: Qunari Rations

Weapon: The Jade Ham

War Table Missions:

War Table Mission: Abernache over Under

War Table Mission: Disaster in the Deep Roads

War Table Mission: Inspire

War Table Mission: The Tevinter Resistance

The Last Court Cards:

A Tumbledown Shack

An Unofficial Meeting

Decide the Archoress’s Fate

Flames of Freedom

The Fields

Go Hunting

Good Neighbors

Graffiti

The Next Course

Outlaw Councils

The Whispering Woods

Your Bailiff is Attacked

Wanna support this blog? You can check out my ko-fi.

[anonymous-dentist]

Stupid Idiot Death Knife

My piece for @dreamoirezine. I am now the c!punz expert. Go to the Dreamoire blog to download the zine itself, it's literally even badass.

-

Once upon a time in a land not too far from our own, there was a tower, and inside of that tower was a man on fire. Why he was on fire is not important, nor is the question as to how he came to be on fire. What is important is that there was a man, and that he was on fire, and that he was very unhappy with his current situation. 

“Fucking Tommy,” he swore (for that was the name of the absolute jackass that had set him on fire in the first place), hurriedly rushing to the nearest water basin to try and douse himself. “I’m going to kill him, I swear to god.”

(And that was where his troubles began, because when you swear to the gods, they sometimes even listen.)

He was in so much of a hurry to put himself out that he didn’t notice the sudden flash of light or the sudden trumpeting of angelic horns so high up in the heavens that even his tower couldn’t reach. He didn’t notice the sudden change in air pressure, nor did he notice the rise in temperature. 

What he did notice when he turned around from the basin was a tall golden table standing right in the middle of the floor where there was no table before. And then on that table was what appeared to be, by all means necessary, a dinky little rusty-ass dagger, and a neon green index card next to it covered in scribbly red-ink letters in a language he didn’t know. The only word he could make out was his name, Punz, and that alone was worrying enough to keep him from approaching fully. 

“What the fuck?” Punz asked, voice barely above a whisper. It was not terror that gave a notable termor to his voice, though it really should have been. No, it was confusion, and, above all, annoyance. 

He stared at the dagger, hair still smoldering and hoodie singed beyond all recognition. He was insulted, frankly, just a little. Just a little. Not because of the sudden divine intervention, but because whatever force had decided to bother him gave him the shittiest fucking knife that he had ever seen. Fae, demon, god, whatever it was, it obviously didn’t know his reputation. Because he was a mercenary, the best of the best. Diamonds were beneath him; how could iron even think to compare?

But still, he found himself picking the dagger up and turning it over in his hands. It had a good weight, at least, and the edges were still sharp. The rust almost looked like a bloodstain spread across the entire blade. 

Once more, he repeated, “What the fuck?” 

His eyes shifted from the knife to the card that had come with it. What were scribbles a moment ago were suddenly clear and legible English. 

Use Me :)

And, now, Punz wasn’t a stupid man. He might not have been Dream or Wilbur levels of intelligence, but he knew enough to know that suspicious knives with even more suspicious labels were baaaaaaad news. 

“Fuck this,” he declared, dropping the knife back onto its pedastal and backing away. 

He looked up at the ceiling as if it was watching him. (It was.)

“Yeah, no thanks,” he told the ceiling. 

On a whim, he flipped the card over and written on it was, And Get Your Just Rewards. 

And, now, Punz wasn’t a stupid man. He was not stupid, no, but he was greedy. Greed makes the world go ‘round, so they say. So when he saw the word ‘rewards’, his brain momentarily shut down. Little green dollar signs floated above his head, and he himself felt as if he was floating on a cloud. 

“I mean, I dunno…” he muttered, running a finger along the knife’s edge. It came away bloody, but he couldn’t tell his blood from the rust on the blade. “It’s just kinda fishy, y’know?”

He glanced back up at the ceiling again, waiting for a reply. No dice. 

As his eyes traveled back down to the dagger, they caught on a shine on the table that wasn’t there before. A single chunk of raw gold right where the dagger had been. 

Oh, Punz thought. The gold was cool against his burned palms. 

“My just rewards, huh?” he mused. He nodded. “Alright. Bet.”

And with that, he slipped the dagger into an empty sheath on his belt, and he stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, and he took the gold to a chest upstairs, and he thought, Alright. I can work with this. 

-

There are very few things more powerful in this world than greed. Spite is one, hunger is another. (And then there was fear, but that was hardly relevant.) The other three he could work with. 

One, greed. He never liked to consider himself a greedy man. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Greed, no, he was just… well, he was greedy, but not in that way. Who wouldn’t want money? Money makes the world go ‘round. If he was broke, he wouldn’t be able to afford food or clothes or fancy decorative swords to hang on his walls, or Fortnite V-Bucks. It was just simple economics. Not greed; stonks. 

Two, spite. Punz liked to consider himself a pretty chill guy, all things considered. He wasn’t Sapnap or Tommy; if someone pissed him off, he just let it slide. Usually. Sometimes. Well. The thing about spite is that it mixes with anger and makes a kind of pissy kind of soup. Punz knew that soup well. He had it for dinner every night alongside caviar and imported English iced tea. 

Three, hunger. Punz liked food. Enough said. 

But fear? Nah. That wasn’t his style. What did he have to be afraid of? Dying? He couldn’t die. He was badass. Kickass, even, all of the -asses. Death feared him. 

Death rewarded him, too. One lazy afternoon Punz took his new knife out to the forest to test something out and came home to a pile of gold on the table and five rabbit pelts and ten wolf skins slung over his shoulders. Death wasn’t a scary thing. Death was just a capitalist. He could fuck with that. 

But there was a difference between killing animals and killing humans. Punz preferred his kills to be clean and efficient. Nothing’s worse than getting blood on your white hoodie, he figured, and maybe he should have just changed his aesthetic. Maybe he should have done that. But what he did instead was do things meticulously, so meticulously, and it worked. 

And it worked. 

And it worked until there was a battle for a country he had no part in and that he didn’t care about. A dethronement, and then a war, all in the same day. He would have stayed home and ignored the whole affair in favor of catching up on Grey’s Anatomy if he wasn’t getting paid enough money to drown a cat with. (And, being friends with Sapnap, he knew plenty about drowning cats.)

It was in the heat of battle when Punz stabbed his first child. Pogtopia wasn’t the most populous nation in the world (if you can call it a nation to begin with), but it had enough supporters to make Punz’s attempts at getting at the commanders really fucking hard. He had already lost his sword in the initial rush, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes and a couple of chunks ago. His ax was stuck in the chest of a woman on the ground, and his shovel really wasn’t up for battle. 

So when the kid snuck up on him, Punz grabbed the only weapon he had on him and plunged it into their chest blindly, eyes defocusing as they stared up at him in shock. His face was warm from exertion and blood. Sticky. His hands were sticky. 

A small tickle in the back of his mind told Punz that he got blood on his hoodie. A much larger tickle told him that there was a good chance that he had just become a gold ingot richer. A gold ingot could pay for so many chocolate bars. 

It wasn’t too hard a decision to make. His hoodie was already ruined, anyway. He could just buy a new one after the war. 

Yanking the dagger out of the kid’s cold body, Punz slipped it into its sheath just long enough to wrench his ax free of the corpse holding it. 

By the end of the war, Punz was a half stack of raw gold blocks richer. 

This, he decided, looking down at the chest of gold in front of him. This would be enough to last until the next war. 

-

Three weeks later, the dagger slipped between a crack in Sapnap’s armor. It was almost worth enough for an ice cream cone. 

-

One, greed. 

Punz was not a greedy man. He was just a capitalist. Big difference. Greed requires a certain amount of other, some extra oomph to give it meaning as anything other than just plain old want. It isn’t greedy to want a new pair of boots. It isn’t greedy to want a Robux gift card. It isn’t greedy to just want. 

There is a difference between wanting something and craving it. Punz never craved the rewards he got for killing. He wanted them. Big difference. He could put the dagger away and never touch it again. He simply chose not to. He liked getting money. Money is cool as hell. So are the things you can get with money. Like a new PlayStation. Or a hamburger at the McPuffy’s when you don’t feel like baking a fresh loaf of bread. 

-

Punz liked explosions. They were loud and, well, explosive, and they reminded him of happier times when all he had to worry about was childrens’ attempts at war and Sapnap being a fucking idiot. Punz had always been one for chaos, and nothing, nothing was more chaotic than an explosion. 

But as the butchers scattered before him like headless chickens, there wasn’t the usual rush of adrenaline. Punz was almost bored as he chased the L’Manbergians around. He was bored when he let them chase him around. 

The knife on Punz’s belt itched. 

He wasn’t explicitly told not to kill anyone, but he wasn’t told to do anything other than distract. But he was bored, and that was making him sloppy. He let himself get hit in the shoulder with an arrow and grit his teeth into a grin at the sudden burst of energy he got in response, blade singing in its sheath. 

Fundy had a crack in his armor. The butchers’ armor was ragged and worn, obviously leftover from the war, and Fundy had a crack in his armor. 

It wasn’t until Punz felt the weight in his pockets that he realized that the knife had made contact. 

Fundy let out a cry, and Punz felt the knife shaking in his grasp, but he wasn’t moving. Punz wasn’t moving. 

The call to retreat, Dream’s voice in Punz’s ear telling him to get the fuck out of there. 

Three dollars. Chump change. More next time, Punz hoped. 

-

Two, spite. 

Once upon a time, Punz used to feel spiteful. Angry, too. Sad. Betrayed. But it’s kinda hard to feel betrayed when you don’t have anyone to betray you. And maybe that was Punz’s own fault, but, really, who could fault him? The server was an active warzone six out of seven days of the week. How the hell are you supposed to keep a friendship going with someone that might stab you in the back at an Olive Garden? 

Punz was no diplomat, and he never pretended to be. What he was was a mercenary, and a damn good one. No loyalties when someone can buy yours for a stack of gold pieces and a Chili’s gift card. 

It might have occurred to Punz once that maybe he would be the guy to stab you at an Olive Garden. 

Well. So be it. You probably deserved it, anyway.

-

Punz had a child. He refused to think of the dead chicken at his feet as his child, but it was his child. Its head was snapped clear off its tiny body, but Punz remembered seeing it blinking up at him in its first moments of life. 

The puddle the dead chick was in had long dried by the time Punz got around to visiting it. 

There’s something to be said about the death of a child. Your child. Punz had chicken for dinner two days ago, and he killed the chickens himself and got a pocketful of gold for his troubles. But this thing? This miserable little wretch of a dead chicken? 

Punz scoffed and lightly nudged its body with the toe of his boot. His boot came away stained. 

He wrinkled his nose. Fucking gross. 

The spirit that had so graciously come to hang out and talk about dicks for an hour was long gone, but Punz still felt the familiar urge to dig his knife into something and not let go. If he stabbed something longer, would that give him more money in reward? 

The knife on his belt twitched like it was shrugging. Punz pretended not to notice. Not his problem. Sentient capitalistic daggers were the least of his problems. He had wars to fight in, battles to decide, chickens to avenge. 

Vengeance has gotten a bit complicated recently. You can’t just blow someone’s house up and call it a day. No, someone always has to get pissy about it, and that was fine by Punz’s standards. He was a mercenary; his trade depended on people getting pissy. No pissy people meant no paycheck, and a life without a paycheck would be a sad one, indeed. 

There was the rush of battle, the adrenaline-charged thrill of removing a motherfucker’s head from their body and immediately getting a broken rib for the trouble. Punz missed his broken ribs. There wasn’t enough going on to warrant a broken bone. What, the L’Manbergians were causing trouble? That was old news by that point. 

War was profitable, but war was also getting just a tad bit boring. 

A chicken war would at least be interesting. 

“Cock war,” Punz absently said. His voice echoed around the wilderness sounding entirely unfamiliar and too much like someone from a YouTube anti-depressant medication commercial. 

He smiled at his own joke anyway and looked back down at his dead child. The little thing wasn’t quite important enough to him to warrant revenge or anything, but it gave him an excuse to go and stab someone on his terms. Maybe that’d make the whole thing feel a bit more worth it. 

-

Three, hunger. 

Punz had a fridge full of leftovers. Chinese, mostly, some Chipotle. Homemade stuff. There was a veggie platter he put together for a failed Christmas dinner he was supposed to have with some friends. 

That went well. 

He liked food. He loved food, actually. Didn’t mean his stomach wasn’t empty all the time, or that he wouldn’t constantly be feeling like he needed… more. More. His fridge was full, but his pockets were empty. He could look out the window and see Tubbo and Ranboo walking down the path with their pickaxes hitched up on their shoulders. A couple of minutes’ walk away, Bad and Skeppy had their mansion. Punz had a tower, and he had a knife, and he had Dream. 

And he had Dream. 

Maybe hunger isn’t exclusively for food. Maybe it’s for something else. Like companionship. Or a Planet Fitness membership. 

-

Punz killed a dog. Two gold coins added to the pile. 

Across the growing crater that used to be New L’Manberg, the world was ending, and that was just fine. None of Punz’s business. To steal a phrase, it was never meant to be. (Or something like that, anyway.)

It was weird being on this side of the war. Punz couldn’t see Dream in all the chaos, but he had his orders not to look. Can’t act too suspicious… 

And so Punz stabbed another dog and ignored the way he wanted to cry over it. They were just stupid dogs. No big deal. 

Somewhere, Tommy was screaming. In all the racket, it was hard to pick it out from every other scream of pain, fear, agony, desperation –Technoblade’s triumphant rambling and Philza’s relative quiet. Dream above watching silently (somehow, Punz knew that he would be looking right at wherever Tommy was.)

But that didn’t concern him, so he stabbed another dog. Up to six coins now, hell yeah. He can get a Happy Meal with this kind of money. Funds were drying up with all the battle prep, but he’d be able to treat himself after the apocalypse, at least. 

Idly, Punz wondered if there would be a McPuffy’s left after this. He decided he didn’t care. 

It was a little hard to care about anything when all there was was the splash of blood against his face and the panicked screeching of a bunch of idiots running around like headless chickens. 

On his way to try and take down one of the withers (how much money could a wither get him?), Punz tripped over a root and nearly face planted into one of the dogs that Sapnap had butchered on his way to his dumbass fiance. 

It was red. The root, that is. Small, barely poking above ground. Punz stared at it for just a moment longer than he should have before snapping out of it with the sound of a wither skull being shot at his head. 

He narrowly managed to dodge out of the way, landing in an awkward half-roll that sent his dagger skidding across the ground out of reach. 

NO

Panicked, Punz lunged for it, scrambling around in the dirt and the bloodied mud to get it back before it got lost or (god forbid) someone took it from him. 

He picked the knife up with both hands, lungs heaving, and, when he looked at it, his reflection in the blade was thin and sunken like a skeleton’s. 

His hoodie was ruined. That was fine. He could just buy a new one. 

-

Four, fear. 

Punz was not afraid of anything. He wasn’t sure if he could be afraid anymore. He couldn’t be much of anything anymore. He could be cold; his blankets had begun wearing thin, and he needed new ones before the winter got too bad. He could be wet; his umbrella broke months ago and he never bothered replacing it, not seeing a point to when he had a hood. He could be tired; he never got enough sleep, not anymore, and even his sleep was restless thanks to the itch under his skin. 

He slept with his knife under his pillow. The rust had long worn off, and he didn’t remember when he started being able to see himself in its reflection or when the mirror over his bathroom sink shattered, but he just blamed the mirror on yet another home intrusion and called it a day. 

Use Me :), the note had read, and Punz had. There was a box under his bed full of gold coins, enough to make a pirate horny or a banker cry. 

And Get Your Just Rewards, indeed.

Punz sure felt rewarded. The world was silent, and he could finally sleep.

-

What came first, the chicken or the egg? 

Punz was a chicken once. He birthed a child, even, not that he chose to think about that too often, just when he was drinking and trying to think of fun weekend vengeance plans to fill his calendar with now that his friends were all leaving to join some weird breakfast cult. 

Boredom, that’s what Punz could feel. 

Boredom. 

No wars. It was quiet. Any adrenaline was long gone. Maybe he was addicted, maybe he was going through withdrawals, but when a gigantic egg said that it could provide for him, well. It was more convincing than it would have been a couple of months ago. 

Well? It asked. 

“Well what?” he responded. 

It looked down upon him judgmentally. A heavy feeling settled on Punz’s shoulders, one he didn’t like. It felt like hands curling, claws digging in. Into his skin, into his flesh, into his soul. (He didn’t even realize he still had one of those. He thought he lost it months ago when he first picked up that knife and his eyes were opened to the world for the very first time.)

Punz was alone. Bad had escorted him down and had left with only a smile and a wink and a pat on the shoulder. It wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary for Bad, honestly, but something about it left Punz on edge. 

And then the Egg started talking. 

What are you waiting for? the Egg asked. Its smile curled around Punz’s brain and squeezed. 

He didn’t realize he was raising his dagger until he saw its blade glinting in the dim red light. 

The Egg liked him, It had said. It heard all about him already from previous visitors. It had seen him Itself, because It sees everything. Knows everything. Is everything. 

Punz wanted chaos, It had determined. 

No, Punz wanted to argue. He wanted the money that just so happened to come from chaos. He wanted a cure to his boredom. 

(He wanted to feel again, he didn’t say. That would be embarrassing.) 

All the Egg needed was a show of loyalty. It couldn’t just accept any old merc off the street. It had to know he was being serious, and there was only one way of doing that.

The dagger shook with anticipation, level with his chest, aimed right towards where he distantly remembered his heart being back when he still had one. Punz stared his own reflection right in the eyes. His reflection was smiling; he was not. 

The knife plunged in, and Punz bled gold.