Kitch Kitchen Witchery

Easter bunnies (aka chabbits, skvaders, or boultry) are GMO designer pets turned practical livestock from Runaway to the Stars. Each breed has a distinct egg color! They are popular choice for small spacer colonies, since they’re quiet and produce eggs and meat on a completely vegetarian diet.

Baba Yaga’s Hut

Hey now, you’re an all star

listen to what I orchestrated

Guinea pig bridge song (🔊)

hey yall this is the 4th annual samhain giveaway!! winner will be decided October 30th, 2019, Samhain. 12:00 EST. i’ll message/inbox you, will ship international!

must be 18+ to enter!

need to be following this blog to win!

please don’t reblog to giveaway blogs please! (nor tag it as one)

winners will be chosen randomly by an online number generator

please answer within 24hrs or a new winner will be picked 

Stained Glass Slouch by Krazy Kabbage

upon seeing THIS in the thor: ragnarok trailer

They cheer.

Wait … cheer?

Fenrir slows, confused. He smells no fear, senses no rage. This is … a very strange army.

The first hand—weaponless!—reaches for him; he tenses, ready to tear the offending limb to shreds, and lets out a high little yippy whine when it pats him about the ears.

Immediately the noise is reproduced by some four or five of the nearest humans; he smells excitement; more hands are patting him.

It’s nice.

The humans crowd around him, patting him and scritching him and shuffling around to give others a chance. Voices coo, and make puppy noises, and someone catches just the right spot and he cocks his leg and scratches himself, drawing a multitude of oohs and ahhs and cheers and squees.

At some point, his hunger awakens at the scent of burnt flesh; a human has brought him what he later learns is a hot dog; he swallows it in one bite, to more cheering, and looks around hopefully for more.

It is not long before more is bought: steaks and Big Macs and bacon; it seems like much of the group has brought him a snack of some kind and was hoping for a chance to give it to him.

Is this some psychological warfare, he wonders, designed to undermine his confidence and remind him that he is nothing more than a monster who needs to be chained? 

“Who’s a good boy, huh, huh?” “Who’s my good boy?” “

And then one of them answers the question for him.

“You are!”

‘Me?’ he thinks. But if there was any doubt, she confirms it.

“You are, yes you are.”