iron pat

we must not look at goblin men; we must not buy their fruits

The sad part of it is, he did everything right.

Sasha carried salt packets in his pockets, wore a bracelet of iron, left brightly-wrapped pats of butter outside his dorm room. He crossed running water whenever he could, and yet there is still a not-boy with deer antlers draped over him on the couch in the living room of whoever is hosting this revel (it is not a party, there are too many of the Fair Folk here for that, but Sasha had felt especially brave that night and so he went anyway), demanding the kind of flattery that in fairy tales is reserved for kings.

Sasha obliges, of course. It does no good to anger the Fair Folk, not in any story of any people of any land.

He’s never been quite so glad to be a poetry major as he is now, quoting half-remembered lines in English and Russian both to the not-boy still draped over him. The not-boy (he hadn’t given Sasha a name to use, and Sasha has no intention of guessing at one) doesn’t leave, so Sasha keeps talking, says whatever he can come up with as long as it’s complementary, until the not-boy stands and laughs and tells him, “You’ll do very well,” and walks away without another word —

— what have I gotten myself into, Sasha thinks, with no small amount of bewilderment and no small amount of fear.


In the morning, Sasha does not wake up in his dorm room. (He cannot properly call the place where he wakes up a room at all — it’s too open, too natural, with trees for pillars and something that might be ceiling or might be sky — but Sasha can’t think of a better word, so he sticks with room.)

He gets up off the floor. Sasha feels like he’s being watched, but pretends that he doesn’t. It’s beautiful here, and he does not pretend not to notice, but mostly he’s looking for an exit; he doesn’t really expect there to be one out in the open, but there is always the chance that he’ll be lucky.

The not-boy, whose antlers are silver now, solidifies out of the air somewhere to Sasha’s left, in his peripheral vision but not directly in front of him. Sasha continues to pretend not to notice, until the not-boy says, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Sasha says reflexively. If he wants his freedom back then more than anything he needs to win favor, and flattery will get you everywhere. “What should I call you?”

The not-boy smiles, and his teeth are much sharper than Sasha remembers them being. “Ayala will work just fine,” he says, and stands directly in front of Sasha. His smile turns sweeter. Sasha doesn’t trust it. “Tell me again what you said last night?”

Ayala doesn’t say please: he is not making a request, and Sasha is not doing him a favor.  

Sasha does.


In Sasha’s pockets there are packets of honey and pats of butter and tubs of coffee creamer for offerings, iron supplements and salt packets for protection, and a single orange. Sasha makes it last for two days, and then he stops eating. He knows what happens when you eat in Fairyland. (He counts himself fortunate that Ayala doesn’t bring him food — he also knows what can happen to those who spurn gifts.)

Time seems to stretch — it cannot possibly have been more than three weeks, because Sasha has not yet starved, but it feels like it’s been months, years. Sasha writes, and Sasha talks, and Ayala brings him flowers and pretty things and treats him like a favorite pet, and if sometimes Sasha thinks that if it weren’t for the gnawing desperate hunger in his stomach he could almost like it here — well. That’s his business.


Ayala brings Sasha a nectarine, the first food Sasha has seen since he was desperate enough to give up on protection and swallow iron supplements by the handful. It’s soft in Sasha’s hand, still warmed by sunlight, the most tempting thing that Sasha has ever laid eyes on.

Sasha knows the rules. If he eats it, he can never go home.

But he is so, so, hungry.

Skin parts easily under Sasha’s teeth, juice dripping down his chin, and Sasha could sob with how sweet it tastes.


gloryfliesabovethem  asked:

i just remembered that two years ago in metalworking class i made a "letter opener" (read: dagger, but we couldnt Technically make knives) out of rebar. i'm not sure about the exact carbon content but it rusts and i smithed the damn thing with my own two hands, so i like to think that it would offer some pretty good protection against the Fair Folk. (of course, I know it would be stupid to display it too openly. there's defensive measures, and then there's a Threat. and Threats get– dealt with.)

Holy shit that’s the funniest thing you’ve got the rule-bending down pat

anonymous asked:

Hi! I wanted to ask you what is YOUR definition of "feminism"? I read your "bio" and opened your "profile" photo, but also found a post and it means the oposite of the two first things I mentioned before, so I'm a little conffused now 😅

My username/bio/profile photo are an ironic homage to Pat Robertson and one of the most famous and ridiculous (willful) misinterpretations of feminism ever. I chose the name also to play off of people’s preconceived notions of feminists. So many people just judge me and the blog’s content based on the name without taking the time to see what it’s actually about, just like what a lot of people do with feminism. It’s not about female superiority or special treatment; it’s about fighting gendered oppression (remembering that it is often linked with other forms of oppression).

Deleted lines from the Avengers script #520
  • Loki: Ehehehehe I missed you, too.
  • Thor: Do I look to be in a gaming mood??
  • Steve: 50-love!
  • Natasha: Steve, this isn't tennis; it's football.
  • Bruce: You mean soccer?
  • Fury: 50 demerits for calling the wrong sport!
  • Clint: Who's been using my arrows as shuttlecocks??
  • Tony: Sorry! I got some stuck in the basketball net!
  • Maria: Who won the trampoline contest??
  • Thor: *(eating a hockey puck)* MOAR MEAD FOR US ALL!!
  • Loki: *(sighs)* I wanted to play Scrabble.
Drunken boyfriends

My senpai, @oi-aokaga, gave me the scenario of how some of the knb boys act when they’re drunk, and we kind of started to talk about it XD. So, I’m also writing a few others for @knbaes-n-bakas and @anniecrow because I can’t stop laughing. Hopefully this will help with my writer’s block!

Aomine: “Oyyyyaa.. *hic* _-_-____-chan~”

You’d just walked in the door when your boyfriend started stumbling to you, a huge goofy grin on his lips He tripped over his foot, hands grabbing your shirt, ripping it right off your skin, causing you to shriek.

“D-Dammit Daiki!! What the FUCK?!”

He started snuggling into your breasts, face tinted red as he made snorting sounds, hands groping your ass cheeks.

“I..I.. I want to play.~ Come play ____-chan!”

Releasing a sigh, you frowned, “NO! You’re drunk! Why would you rip my work shirt dammit?! You’re so annoying!”

You gawked as he pulled his head from your breasts, tears welling in his eyes before he released you altogether, standing up and running away while shouting, “_____-CHAN DOESN’T LOVE ME!!!~~~”

There was a loud crash, making you run after him and staring in disbelief as he tripped over his foot, face planted into the floor as blood dripped from his forehead. Not only did you learn he was an emotional drunk, he was clumsy as hell.

Hyuga: There was loud knocking at your door, startling you from your book. Placing it down, you went to answer it, eyes wide as you saw Kiyoshi carrying a very drunk Hyuga in his arms.. as a.. bride?!

“Ah.. Sorry ___-chan.. Hyuga insisted on being carried like this..” He chuckled, entering your house and placing him in your shared bedroom. You shook your head, patting the Iron Heart’s arm. 

“It’s okay, Kiyoshi! Thank you for bringing him back safely!”

He nodded, heading home and just as you shut the door, you heard loud… singing? and you went to investigate. When you got to your room, you stood in the door way, completely stunned as he was now shirtless, red tinting his cheeks as he yelled the words to a song you didn’t know.. 


He looked your way, a goofy grin on his lips as he bounced on the bed, swinging the shirt around like a guy at a rock concert.. Umm.. W-What? 

“I.. I LOVE MY _____-CHAN!!”

You winced at his loud voice, gasping when he hits his head on the ceiling fan, knocking him out cold. Shaking your head, you approached him carefully, taking off the glasses and preparing a hot cloth to help with the bruise on his skin. Now.. THIS you’ll never get used to.

Kasamatsu: You were greeted by the smell of food burning as you shut the door, taking off your shoes. Peering your head into the kitchen, you saw your boyfriend, wearing nothing but an apron, cheeks tainted red as he whistled a tune rather clumsily.. 

“Uh.. Y..Yukio? The food-”

His head snapped up, steel-blue hues wide as he ran towards you, engulfing you in a very tight bear hug. Your nose, pressed completely against the fabric, wrinkled at the smell of alcohol and you tried pulling away to at least turn off the stove, but he wouldn’t budge, giggles leaving his mouth.



You only pulled back for him to attack your mouth, though it was for a brief moment, choosing to attack every part of your skin exposed to his eyes. He pressed you against the counter, hands sneaking under your shirt as you bit your lip, trying not to moan out loud. Your boyfriend was a pervert when he’s drunk!

You managed to turn off the oven before he threw you over his shoulder, almost stumbling to the bed as he proceeded to ravage you until he passed out half way through the third round. You definitely weren’t letting him around Moriyama again, not without supervision.

Kise: “_____-cchi… Marry me.”

Blinking in shock, you saw the very serious expression in his golden hues, although you also noticed the dazed look as well. Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, frowning.

“Ryouta.. You’re drunk.”

He pouted, though his eyes narrowed slightly, his hands now grasping yours.

“I’m being totally serious. I wanted to ask you for six months now.”

You shook your head, pushing against his forehead.

“Ryouta.. I’m covered in sweat, I’m exhausted from work. Why did you choose now to ask?” you smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before hugging him.

“Ask me against in the morning, when you’re sober. I’ll answer then.”

Although he had a complete hangover, he somehow remembered what you said, and proposed first thing in the morning, resulting in the two of you being tangled up in the shower and him swinging you around happily as you replied, ‘yes’.

Murasakibara: “_____-chin! Come cuddle with meee~”

You yelped, being pulled into your tall boyfriend’s arms, his cheek rubbing against your head as he planted wet kisses all over your cheeks. You couldn’t stop laughing, returning the affection and rubbing his back gently.

“You know how much I love you, right ____-chin?”

You nodded, kissing his forehead as he tickled your sides, hands trailing all over your body, as if memorizing the feel.

“Yes, Atsushi.. I know..” you heard snoring, looking down at him and shaking your head as he passed out on your chest, drool dripping from his open mouth. Well.. the affection was good while it lasted..

It’s October! Let’s make a GHOSTBERRY PIE!

Pie Crust Directions
1 cup of sugar
2/3 cup of oil
2 cups of flour
2 teaspoons of baking powder
½ teaspoon of salt
1 cup of milk

Mix ingredients together in a bowl and then use ¾ of the dough to line the sides of a 10” wide 3” deep pan (preferably a cast iron one). Pat the dough down with an extra ¼ cup of flour to keep it from sticking to your hands. Then use the remaining dough to slice into strips to cover the top once the filling is poured into place.

Pie Filling Directions
2 cups of mixed berries
½ stick of butter
¾ cup of sugar
1/3 cup of flour
2 eggs
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
1 teaspoon of allspice
1 teaspoon of nutmeg
1 teaspoon of ginger
2 drops of almond extract

Mix the ingredients together thoroughly and pour it into the pie pan lined with dough. Place the remaining strips of dough criss-cross over the top and bake at 360º for 50 minutes.