#Corn Cobbled

[theworkshopmann]

Corn Cobbled

City mercs spend paychecks on Australiums.

Country mercs make do.

Type: Warpaint

Class: ALL

Accepted in game: No

This warpaint was made by Steam user DEER GIRLS! DEER GIRLS!!!! X3333. Posted on September 14th 2024, you can vote for this here!

[casual-praxis]

"Praxis stop making AU's only to abandon the concept immediately" challenge: Failed.

Here's a wip of something I probably won't actually finish since the concept is so far outside Four Swords it's basically its own thing.

I've been listening to Tales from the Gas Station again and it got me wonderin' how I could throw the Four Swords boys into a similar scenario, and somehow we got this concept from it, despite having no basis in either media.

Vio wouldn't even be the protagonist technically--just a recurring secondary character who turns out to be only slightly better than the actual antagonists.

He also dies at the end of everything, so there's that too.

More rambling below the cut for anyone interested. It turned into a mini-fic on accident, whoops.

From what I managed to cobble together while staring into the oven at work and giving myself an eye-strain headache, the actual "main character" is Blue, and they all work at either a very slow gas station or a very slow food establishment.

There's a weird cornfield right behind the building that's kinda funky if you look at it wrong sometimes, but that's pretty normal for their town. Lotta strange things in that place. Weird happenings all around.

So obviously since business is basically a graveyard all the time, the best way to pass the time would be to dare someone to go into that weird af cornfield, right? Yeah, makes sense. Which is why Blue nominated Red.

Of course, Red doesn't want to go in the weird cornfield--it's almost dark out, and the corn smells strange, and what if he gets lost, and, and, and--Blue doesn't care. Get in the cornfield, Red.

And so Red goes. And he's gone. And he's gone. And, huh, it's been an hour. Did he actually get...oh, nope there he is.

Red returns, but he's acting a little...weird. After being in the weird cornfield. Probably not connected in any way. But just to make sure, Blue asks if Vio's also getting weirded out by weird Red.

"That's not Red," Vio insists, but that's stupid. Vio's being stupid, and Blue tells him as much.

"What were you even expecting?" Something funny, probably. Not...whatever this was. It was like Red had found a twelve-pack of five-hour energy drinks out in the maze and decided to chug the whole dozen.

"So he'd be dead."

He's not dead! He's probably just...spooked stupid, or something. He'll be normal Red again tomorrow. Yeah. Once the nerves wear off, he'll stop being so...hyped about life?

"Huh, funny that. Guess what rhymes with Red."

Shut the fuck up, Vio.

And so, the wait for normal Red's return begins.

A day passes; still being weird. Another day goes by. Not much difference. Soon, a week has passed, and Weird Red seems to be here to stay.

Honestly, Blue is not vibing.

Sure, Normal Red kinda pissed him off, but at least he was genuine! ...probably. He was kind, at least. Not this... saccharine, doe-eyed...thing pretending to be Red. It wasn't even doing a good job at it! Red would never forget to water the fake plant in the window! He loves that stupid piece of plastic like only an overly empathic idiot could.

Vio was right. They had a corn demon among them or some shit. The real Red was probably still wandering in circles out in the cornfield, he had to be. And since it was kinda, sorta...maybe Blue's fault that Red was lost, he should probably be the one to go looking for him.

It was a little strange how the fake Red seemed to disappear after Blue told Vio his plans, but so long as he didn't get ambushed by the thing out in the field, he was golden. Or, well, he was Blue, but you get the point.

With that in mind, he bravely entered the weird cornfield on his lunch break. Because surely, Red was just a little lost and not...

Oh fuck.

"Wonderful." A cold hand grips the side of his face, dragging his reluctant gaze away from the mangled... His vision blurs, barely making out the familiar silhouette of-

"You found the body."

Vio.

Why was-?

"It's so sad," Vio intones, tightening his hold as Blue resists. "The guilt must be eating you alive, huh? This was your idea, you know."

What-

"How sad," he repeats, as if attempting to empathize. "You made a mistake, but it's okay. I've already taken care of the doppelganger."

An unnaturally purple fluid drips from the corner of Vio's mouth as he speaks, nearly iridescent in the evening light. Just the sight of it is enough to activate Blue's fight or flight response, but despite his struggling, Vio's grip doesn't falter.

"I can repair the rest, too, if only you forget this ever happened." Vio smiles, disarming and kind.

It doesn't reach his eyes.

Blue's mind blanks. The bitter taste of...something burns his throat. He tries to remember what it was he last ate, but he can't seem to think straight anymore. What was he doing again? He can't seem to remember, and-

Blue opens his eyes.

Red is staring at him in obvious concern.

Apparently, he'd zoned out in the breakroom again. Weird. He's been doing that a lot lately for some reason. Oh well. He couldn't afford health care, so that issue was just going to have to sort itself out.

He decides to spend the rest of his break trying to get that gross bitter flavor out of his mouth, while Red goes to water that fake plant he still hasn't realized is plastic.

All is as usual in their weird ass town.

Then again, Blue can't really remember a time when it wasn't weird. Like seriously, who planted a cornfield behind their store? It never seemed to die or go out of season...super fuckin' weird.

Maybe he should go poking around in there one day--er, actually, something about that idea just made the bad taste worse. Yuck. Maybe not.

--

This was not supposed to read like a fanfic but that's just how it ended up manifesting, my bad.

Here's some rapid-fire notes to make this a little more coherent:

+ Blue (and Green, though he didn't appear here) both tend to ignore anything supernatural that occurs. Both of them have had their memories altered by Vio on several occasions, but only because they keep winding up in situations that require it due to brushing off the signs.

+ Vio is a spider demon inhabiting this weird little town because of the sheer number of supernatural happenings. The way demons operate here is a little strange, they're constantly seeking out other supernatural beings to kill and consume their souls for power. This town is basically just Vio's territory at this point, enter at your own risk.

No one knows he's a demon, and he's constantly pushing the limits just to see when someone'll notice. Very frequently he'll say something along the lines of, "I'm completely normal" or "I'm human" mostly unprompted.

His saliva contains venom, of which can be used to erase the memories of anyone who gets it in their body somehow. The amount of memory lost depends on the dose, but Vio never ends up needing to erase more than a few days at most. He usually just spits on his fingers and shoves them in someones mouth to administer. (If he tried hard enough, he could neutralize the effects, but he doesn't have a reason to. For now.)

+ Red actually did die here. No amount of memory manipulation was going to undo that. Vio was still able to bring him back, but he's not really human anymore. His soul basically belongs to Vio now, but seeing as Vio wants him around, he allows Red to remain as some kind of will-o'-the-wisp given human form. Red does know Vio is a demon because of this, but he isn't going to say anything.

If Vio were to die and his was consumed by another demon, Red would die as well. So it's a good thing Vio's soul isn't consumed when he dies. :)

+ Shadow shows up in town at some point and starts working at the same store as the others. He's there under the orders of Vaati, but mostly he just wants to fight Vio. They have history, though it differs depending on who you ask.

After befriending everyone, he decides to go against Vaati, who's goal is to take the town as his territory to reap the benefits. This culminates in a massive fight between the minor supernaturals and Vaati's forces, and Shadow and Vio vs Vaati himself.

They manage to defeat him, but in one last bid to take Shadow down with him, Vaati lashes out with the last of his power, hurtling a sharp piece of debris from the battlefield at a weakened Shadow. Vio intercepts it, because of course, and though he's able to stop most of it's momentum, he's still down two of his mechanical spider legs, and it pierces through his weak point (chest gem) despite the other two.

There's a brief moment where they make eye contact, kinda just in disbelief, before Vio's physical form dissolves and all that's left is his purple soul. Shadow has to fight his natural instinct to consume it for power, and instead hold it gently as he returns to the others to let them know Vaati was gone now, his soul shattered and scattered to the wind.

+ I have no idea if any romantic relationships would be present here, but at the very least Blue and Red are soft for each other in some way (post cornfield). Shadow's feelings for Vio definitely aren't straight, though Vio's feelings are a mystery even to him. And Green's around here somewhere. Zelda too.

All of this was thought up in the span of like two hours so it's not very coherent, but it's what I've got so I offer it to y'all in place of actual cohesion.

Oh, also Vio's probably going to get revived. Shadow gets to be the one doing the resurrecting for once. Just gotta find those Vaati soul shards and shove them into Vio's. I'm sure it'll work out fine.

[viridiave]

O Great and Powerful Viri I'm back again with flower language requests. I'm writing a drabble for Miguel/Darius and flowers are involved. Am unsure how yet, but would it be possible to give me a few flowers that describe them? If possible, some for Miguel, some for Darius, and some for both? 🥺🥺🥺🥺pls?

Heya Zazu! No praise necessary aksjak I might die before I can get to answer this question properly

To tell you the truth this was a challenge to put together because the Language of Flowers generally deals in sweetness and virtue so the ratio of good flowers to flowers that I would actually use to describe Miguel and Darius is like. 9:1. Plus I'm not overwhelmingly familiar with how this relationship tends to be portrayed outside of like. the Discord exchange we had a couple years ago - but I tried my best, so buckle down for the list I managed to cobble together from going through my dictionaries

MIGUEL Trying to look for flowers for a guy that's really more of a narrative tool than a character was tough. I'm not familiar with your game but this was the fanciest I could manage.

Anchusa - Falsehood Anemone - Forsaken Nettle - Cruelty Evening Primrose - Inconstancy

DARIUS Now Darius is a little easier and it did surprise me that at least in terms of what we actually see of him in-game, he has traits that can distinguish him enough from Miguel that I can compile a further list.

Adder's Tongue - Jealousy Corn-cockle - Peerless and proud Bramble - Envy Brunfelsia - Beware of false friends Calliopsis - Vanity Heath - Solitude Hollyhock - Ambition

If this looks a bit barren to you, don't worry - I took the liberty of gathering other flowers that could be used to describe them both because they have a NUMBER of overlapping themes, though I'm not sure how well they can fit into your vision:

Aloe - Bitterness and pain Aspen - Lamentation Bay leaf - I change but in death Bilberry - Treachery Narcissus - Egotism Darnel - Vice Tamarisk - Crime

And now as for the list that'll accommodate them being a couple, I've actually got a couple here that MIGHT help? Lemme try to do what I did with the Eisenbright list real quick:

All is not gold that glistens (Bartonia aurea), but riches (California Poppy) tempt (Quince) me all the same. It is a dangerous pleasure (Tuberose) to pursue its luster, but in my world there is little else to cling to (Monkshood, Misantrophy / Scabiosa, I have lost all). By hook or by crook (Argemone), glory will be mine (Laurel).

There is no unalloyed good in this world (Lapageria). You and I, at the bottom of the world - buried in delusions of rare worth (Achimines). You understand this intoxication (Heliotrope) better than anyone.

In the dead of night (Catchfly), cling to me (Chickweed).

Lemme know if none of this fits what you had in mind lmao I don't have 20/20 vision on this pair at ALL

[crimsonrae]

Thoughts of Scruffingtion?

You know I didn't fully understand the allure of Norrington until Dead Man's Chest. The minute he stepped out, scruffy and embittered, as opposed to his previous polished and rigid, my entire being went "Well, hello -" while my lady bits went, "Now that's interesting ;)"

He was a mess. 

Though, that wasn’t saying much. All the men in this port were messes. He seemed somehow...sadder. Marty realized as she studied him from her perch under the veranda that he had been a man of some standing. His coat while in dire need of mending was made from a fine quality wool. The collar indicated he was likely military – perhaps a deserter. Remnants of a powder wig were still clinging desperately to his head under his tri-corn hat.  

Yes, Marty decided, he was sad. 

But handsome in a rugged sort of way. 

Not that it mattered, messy, sad, and likely drunk, made for an easy target – she only hoped that he had something worth taking on his person. She waited idly as he wandered aimlessly away from the tavern before trailing silently after. Shadows hid her graceful figure like a well-worn cloak, waiting to be shed when the moment was right. 

Anticipation quickened her veins when he stumbled into an alley to lean heavily against a wall. It wasn’t empty, others were cutting through the slim path and in the darkness of an alcove a by-the-minute paid rendezvous was coming to a quick end. He didn’t pass out to her surprise but his laxed state was enough for her to go to work. 

Marty swept down the alley like she owned the cobbled stone that lay under her feet, timing her passage with another drunkard. It was perfect, the drunkard swayed, and she used the excuse to bump into her sad man as she darted past. She came away with a fairly hefty coin purse and pocket watch –not that her sad man would notice until she was long gone. 

At least that’s what she had thought... 

Strong fingers enwrapped her elbow and Marty cried out in surprise as she was swung into the alcove that had just been vacated. Eyes that resembled thunderclouds glared down at her, “I believe you took something that belongs to me.” 

Marty breathed out as she realized that her sad man was not nearly as inebriated as she had thought. Bad calculation on her part, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t wriggle out of this one, “I beg your pardon -” 

“My effects, madam.” His voice was firm, timbered like smoked coals of a fire. 

Delicious, her mind supplied. She let her gaze draw down his body over the sword at his waist and the pistol strapped to his other side.  

“You appear to have your effects on you.” Marty drawled lightly, running her finger over the smooth wooden handle of his pistol, “Or were you asking me to divest you of these? If so, you’d need to pay.” 

Something dark and sinful entered those thunderous eyes and it sent a sharp thrill down her spine. Marty knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was fascinated with raw wildness the man was barely keeping contained. She dearly wanted to see him break. 

“Seeing as you have my money, I believe I’ve already paid.” He growled before shoving his leg between hers and hoisting her, so her toes barely reached the ground. 

Her heart thundered, but strangely she wasn’t afraid. Her core clenched involuntarily, and she could only wonder what it would be like to have that coarse beard of his bushing her thighs.   

Marty allowed her shawl to slip off her shoulders and revealed the plunge of her neckline. The tease of her bosom drew his gaze, and she was pleased by the heat it bolstered. 

“Have you? Perhaps you should search my person as you have no proof that I have your money.”   

[blackbloodteeth]

Snippets again? No problem! Thank you for the Snippet Sunday tag @bcbdrums haha, you may recognize that things are quite different today indeed, but it feels good to start getting back into the swing of things, hm. Excitement abound!

————

"What is this?" He looks his arm around, then the other, less with a sense of panic and more without a lifeline. "What did you do to me?"

The stitches, or perhaps markings, vary in thickness and etch haphazardly throughout his skin, even up to his neck as he feels his pulse tick, tick, tick, metronome. And yet it is not purposeless. "You'll understand soon enough."

He glares at the mad professor again, flitting back and forth through the room in that absentminded way he usually does before he knocks a stack of papers over (he wasn't going to get to his paperwork today anyway) while digging up what he's been searching for. His mind wanders for another moment, trying to remember what his face looked like. He doesn't recognize it in the cabinet window's reflection.

"Ah-ha!" The object in the professor's hand almost grabs his attention more than how fast he wheels over to him in the office chair – Like a model of something larger, cobbled together with screws and strips of metal. It's being handed to him…?

"This is it! Take it; You'll need it."

Irritation itches across his skin as he passes by more vague masses walling him off to take another turn. Everything still smells like dirt, and corn husks, and petrichor, and he really, really wishes he found his glasses because already navigating what he assumes is a corn maze when it perpetually feels like it's about to rain is driving him – in summarized words – completely mad.

The collar of his sweater gets fidgeted with for the umpteenth time until he ends up stopping at yet another turn in the maize, squinting at a motionless shape of a person… holding something? And in what might be a bigger opening in the path? Well at least it's a change of pace…

With not much else better to do and not really caring if he does or doesn't have a death wish at this point, he "hope for the best, prepare for the worst" approaches the clearing in this path, proving himself indeed correct that there is supposedly a figure standing there, possibly even waiting as they haven't reacted yet.

Wait, is this… Ah. Find himself at the center. That must've been literal.

Weirdly though, whoever this is looks similar to him (at least in that he's covered in sutures when he gets close enough to start appropriately conversing), but the eyes are… red. Also without glasses. It reminds him of that kid… Soul, was it?

"It's about time," he grumbles as the him-that-isn't-quite-him finally waves at him where he can see it.

"No, it's actually about space." The… it is that Soul kid, smiling at him with sharp teeth and pointing up to – Oh, he wasn't holding something, there's a sign pointing in opposite directions with… two birds sitting on top of it? "Time is just an afterthought."

[scarypistols]

I need you to hear me out on this alright. I think Hol Horse is a good cook, BUT he doesn't know how to cook most normal meals. He's a cowboy! He travels all the time and usually gets his meals from places he stops or cooked by the women he's stopped by! He doesn't really have time or need to learn how to make full meals. But, BUT, he does cook well. He can cobble together random shit and have it taste good. Ground beef and corn and random sauces is all he needs to make a surprisingly good meal

[emotionallychargedtowel]

Hello! For the ask game: 🍪☕🌴??? Rose💜

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

This is a tough one for me. I like to bake, so I have too many ideas here. But I think I’ve settled on one.

If I were a cookie, I think I’d be a ��magic bar” a.k.a. a “seven layer bar.” It serves the purpose of a cookie and can take on the role of one, but it isn’t a cookie in the strictest sense so it doesn’t quite fit in. It’s kind of trashy in a mid-20th century way, like something you’d find in one of those cookbooks put out as fundraisers by churches and civic groups. (Is that an American thing, or did they have those everywhere? They were big when I was a kid in the 80s.) It’s kind of like the cookie equivalent of a casserole made with condensed soup or those notorious Jell-O salads.

It’s not so much made as cobbled together, like a weird take on trail mix got glued together with sweetened condensed milk and pressed into a graham cracker (or crushed cookie) crust. Sometimes people go a little wild and put pretzels or corn flakes in it. It has a sort of bored-housewife-trying-to-be-creative vibe that could be endearing or a bit cringe-y depending on how you think about it.

The magic bar is kind of old, kind of weird, and doesn’t go about things in the usual way. It looks pretty funky. It comes at you with a conglomeration of textures. In short, it’s a bit much. But it can be surprisingly compelling. Sometimes it unexpectedly wins over a diehard food snob or gets reinvented by a hip young chef (who you just know was probably high at the time). There’s a weird little kid at the potluck who keeps going back for one more. The magic bar actually has a lot to offer if you can look past your first impressions.

In case folks aren’t familiar with these things, here’s a classic version and here’s a fancier variation. Maybe I should try one of those recipes or even make up my own variation, in true bored suburban mom style.

☕ Coffee or tea?

I can’t do caffeine in significant quantities—it gives me migraines, not to mention being kind of a lot on top of my ADHD meds—so no coffee or black tea for me. Occasionally I have decaf but it makes me shockingly hyper.

But I’m a big ginger tea drinker lately. I had a barley tea (mugicha) phase a while back. I like rooibos chai, fruity herbal tea, and iced hibiscus. And sometimes I drink hojicha (roasted green tea), which is low in caffeine but has lots of L-theanine, the stuff in tea that makes you feel relaxed.

My ginger thing involves steeping sliced fresh ginger for at least 20 minutes and adding lemon juice, cane sugar, and yuzu “tea” (it’s more like yuzu jam/marmalade that dissolves in the water and has peel bits that kind of steep in the water as well). It’s lovely. Honestly, just writing this makes me want to make some right now. Which I might do.

🌴 Desert island item?

I’m indecisive and not great at packing light, so I’m terrible at picking this sort of thing. But I’ll try.

Actually, the first thing that comes to mind is a white noise machine. I can hardly sleep without one anymore. My family and I have had two power outages recently that lasted multiple days and both times, being without white noise messed up my sleep really badly.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 1

Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Summary: Seeking support for the foundation of the SAS, David Stirling finds himself a new recruit in the most unlikely of places, and Diana Fayed is offered her first opportunity to make a real difference in the conflict that has taken over her home.

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language, descriptions of injury and sickness (fever, vomiting), death

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The room was spinning, the fountain - now broken beyond repair - spilling out a pool of water that edged slowly closer and closer. There was blood on her hands. On her chest, on her face, the taste of it reaching her tongue. One of her eyes was swelling shut, but even as her vision began to blur, she could not tear it from the body at her feet - him sprawled across the tiles, lying on his face, her sitting silently beside him, leaning back on her elbows, the metal pipe in her hand leaving her palm cold and numb.

There were footsteps echoing off the walls, approaching from the corridor behind her, speeding up from a stroll to a run, getting louder and louder with each passing second. But the sound scarcely reached her, the thrumming of her heartbeat the only thing that felt real. Solid. The only thing she could truly focus on.

How did she get here? Was this her mission - her purpose?

The footsteps reached her, and she grew aware of a figure standing beside her, pausing a moment to take in the chaos.

"... Fucking hell."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

David Stirling marched along the streets of Cairo with purpose, an idea blooming and taking root further in his mind with each laboured step, his crutches clacking noisily against the cobbles. The sun scorched the exposed skin of his scalp, and he cursed the layers of woollen that made him sweat so profusely.

This was a long way to come - especially alone, and especially in his condition - but Stirling was seeking affirmation in the best place he could think of. The SAS was an insane, reckless, borderline insubordinate notion. Who better to seek approval from than a General known for his insubordination, recklessness, and insanity?

Armed men were posted at either side of the mansion's main entrance as he approached, keeping watch with as much seriousness as if they were guarding Buckingham Palace itself. The pair watched David with keen eyes, and he tried to ignore them as best he could as he stepped up to the door, rapping upon the wood with his knuckles.

Barely a moment passed before it was flung open, and Stirling almost stepped back in surprise, his grip on his crutches tightening. He had expected a butler, or another guard perhaps. What he had not expected was to be greeted by General Hannigan himself - peering up at him between a thick brow and even thicker moustache, his front emblazoned with countless medals from the Great War.

"Ah! Stirling, I take," the General smiled, ushering him inside. "You look rather like your mother. Ears like your father, though, I'm afraid," He sighed, offering a sympathetic shrug. David might have been offended somewhat had he not been so busy being utterly taken aback by the man as he followed him deep within the house. He had heard stories about Hannigan - of his maverick tactics on the battlefield, of his staunch dislike of any authority that wasn't his own - and even remembered meeting him briefly at Keir many years ago. But somehow the General still defied his expectations.

The house seemed to expand exponentially on all sides, every surface covered in souvenirs from travels all over the world. At the centre of the building, an open hallway snaked around the perimeter of a large courtyard, palm trees casting shade in every corner, a huge fountain bubbling away in the middle. One of the garden tables was littered with military papers, at least half of which Stirling was undoubtedly forbidden from reading. Nevertheless, Hannigan invited him to sit without making any effort to conceal them. "Right, tell me about this idea of yours, then. I've heard it's really something," He prompted, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But as David laid out the plan for his proposed regiment, littering enticing images of destruction and mayhem to further draw him in, he found his spiel derailed, distracted by two figures on the other side of the courtyard. One was a huge brute of a man, tattoos covering his muscled arms, handlebar moustache sliced through by a scar that covered much of his top lip - even from here it was as if he could sense the force that would come with each blow as he raised his fists. Standing against him however, was a girl. A whole head shorter than her opponent, bruised knuckles bared, she watched him with dark, sharp eyes, peering out from beneath freckled skin, an unruly mane of curls piled high atop her head. They were smiling at each other, smirking as if they had done this a hundred times before, and without a word of warning the man leapt at her. Before he could blink, the pair were going at it, wrestling against each other's bodies, hurling blows, their feet occasionally slipping against the polished tile floor.

Hannigan followed Stirling's gaze, and a pleased grin tugged at his expression. "Oh, yes. That's my Diana," He passed a glance at his watch. "If she's sparring already, we must be having tea soon. Perhaps you would join us?"

He ignored this offer, watching intently as they fought. Everything he had come to learn led him to expect that she would lose - that this man would hurl her on her back, knock her down with one blow, that she would be crushed beneath his hulking weight. But she was not. She held her own - hell, she seemed to enjoy it, grinning every time she sent her opponent reeling, clutching at his nose or crotch.

"She's good," He nodded.

"Well, she'd better be. She's been training near twenty years longer than any of your boys."

Stirling barely had time to respond to this before an ear-splitting crack echoed across the yard, making him cringe. He was unable to tell where it had come from until the man was knocked flat on his back and finally yielded, taking a moment to nurse his wrist, pain contorting his expression as Diana turned to approach the table.

"We'll need to find someone else for a while," She informed her father breathlessly, her fringe plastered to her forehead with sweat. "I think his wrist is broken."

"Very well," The General nodded, his tone startlingly non-committal despite the grunts of pain still coming from the man in the corner. "Diana, this is David Stirling - He's founding an exceptionally interesting new regiment, sounds like something you'd be interested in."

At this, David raised a brow, opening his mouth to speak but receiving no chance as Diana stepped forward, extending a hand to introduce herself. "Ah. Diana Fayed, a pleasure to meet you-?"

"Lieutenant," He nodded politely, accepting her hand with a shake, before suddenly remembering what her father had said. Still gripping her palm in his own, he turned his gaze back to the General. "Sorry, one moment - what do you mean she would be interested?"

"Oh, you really ought to take her with you, David. It's about time she saw some real action - not much use keeping her here so she can break the bones of every un-enlisted man in Cairo, is it?"

Stirling frowned, his brow creased with uncertainty. "Are you... familiar with parachutes, Diana?"

"Not intimately. Although I daresay I could manage it without paralysing myself," She smiled, and he suspected she knew more about him than he had previously thought. It suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly the type of person he was searching for to join his unit, and had she been a man he would have accepted her on the spot. It appeared the only person not thinking clearly here had been David himself.

"Have you enlisted?" He asked.

"Don't worry about that," Hannigan waved a hand dismissively. "I'll get the paperwork through by tonight, it's no matter. Now, let's call for some tea-"

"Actually," Diana interrupted. "I'm going out." With an affectionate kiss to her father's temple, she turned away, and made it halfway across the courtyard before calling out. "Aren't you coming, David?"

Unsure of what to make of such a family, Stirling's gaze travelled slowly from her to the General still sitting opposite him. Hannigan shrugged. "Don't look at me, son. Just do as she tells you, and you'll make it out alive."

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In all his life, David Stirling had never met anyone quite as bad at driving as himself. Until now, that was. Streaking at blinding speed down the streets of Cairo, he could have sworn the wheels lifted off of the ground on one side of their car as Diana took the corner at speed, her hair flying wildly at all angles in the wind. At one point, she almost hit a tradesman as he scurried about in the street attempting to hock some watches, and called out over her shoulder in Arabic a string of what was either apologies or curses - both of which seemed equally likely to him at the time.

"So, the plan is to raid the airfields and destroy the planes before they can take off, yes?" She asked, the vehicle slowing to a somewhat manageable speed. Stirling felt the sudden and rare urge to thank some higher power.

"That's right, yes. It's never been done before, which is why I need to find some mad, tough bastards to do it."

"You have anyone in mind?" Diana turned to look at him, tearing her eyes from the road, and he fought to suppress a yelp as they crossed a busy junction without so much as a pause.

"... Have you heard of Paddy Mayne?" Stirling asked, his fingers digging into the side of the leather seat to steady himself as they rounded another tight corner.

"Heard of him? I've met him - at least I think I have. Saw him in a bar a few months ago, he mistook me for a prostitute and then got arrested for punching some bloke's teeth out."

"That was... definitely Paddy," He admitted, running a hand over his brow.

"Well, he seems a good fit. If you can get him out of Ghadzi, that is," They drove in silence for a while, slowing as they reached traffic. "Where was it you needed us to go, by the way?"

"I will be getting out on the corner and going to the nearest bar I can find in an attempt to make myself forget every minute I've spent in this car with you, Diana. You will be going to Ghadzi, to pick up Paddy Mayne."

She raised a brow. "What?"

"I've already gotten him out of prison, it's all sorted. They will, however, be in need of a lift, and this car is... very large."

The pair rolled to a halt at the changing light, and Stirling seized the opportunity to get out of the vehicle, taking his crutch with him as he clambered out and closed the door. Before he could walk away, he bent down to poke his head through the open window. "Oh, and... let one of the others drive once you get there."

Diana chuckled, leaning across the passenger seat to call after him as he began to leave. "You're going to want to stop at the second nearest bar! The first one is... It's really bad."

"I will take that to heart," David nodded, and they offered each other one last smirk before parting ways.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana was leaning up against the bonnet of her car, hand raised to shield her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun as Paddy Mayne stepped out of the gates to Ghadzi Prison, deep in conversation with the man at his side. He appeared filthy and battered, but ultimately in no worse condition than he had been in the first time they had met. The man with him was dressed in the standard army uniform, head tilted towards Mayne as he muttered into his ear, occasionally letting out a huff of amusement at something the man said. Neither of them seemed to notice her presence until the moment she spoke.

"Lieutenant Mayne?" She called. For a moment, he looked irritated that someone had interrupted him, severing his train of thought, but once it appeared to register who was standing before him, he sighed.

"Noooo. No. No, no," Mayne shook his head, raising a hand as if to bat her away whilst his companion watched on with a furrowed brow. "Whatever you've been sent for, I'm not fuckin' interested, alright?"

"Well, Stirling was certainly under the impression that you were coming," Diana shrugged, watching as Paddy's expression twisted with indignation.

"You know Stirling now, do you? Christ alive, he'll let anyone in, won't he?"

"Do you know her, Paddy?" The other man asked, slotting his hands into his pockets as his gaze flitted between the two.

"I'm Diana Fayed," She smiled politely, and he returned the gesture, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Eoin McGonigal."

"Aye, we've met," Paddy scowled. "Handed me over to the MP's, she did."

"I did not. I suggested you should be removed from a club after you punched a man so hard half of his teeth fell out. And, if I remember correctly, you mistook me for a prostitute and tried to pay me to leave you alone."

McGonigal let out a bark of laughter at this as Mayne passed his weight from foot to foot, staring at Diana as he found himself suddenly short of reasons to be angry at her. With a clench of his jaw, he tore his gaze away from her, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he leaned his back up against the side of the car.

"Parachuting into the fucking desert," He muttered, his head still shaking side to side, seemingly unable to suppress the motion since the moment he had left the prison.

"It would seem so," Diana confirmed.

"General Hannigan's daughter, she is," Paddy told Eoin nonchalantly, gesturing to her with one hand.

"Oh, really?"

"Adopted," She shrugged - an answer that seemed to satisfy them all.

It fell silent between them, just long enough to become awkward. Diana craned her head to the side, glancing back at the traffic passing by behind them. Becoming suddenly agitated at their stillness, she let out a huff, turning to seize the passenger door handle. "Alright, let's go-"

"Nope." Paddy shook his head. She planted a hand on her hip, gnawing the inside of her lip irritably.

"Why?"

"Waiting."

"For who?"

His head lolled to the side, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in a smile she could tell was intended to annoy her. "Fresh meat."

Opening her mouth, she found her tongue had run dry of anything to say. Her gaze darted momentarily to Eoin, who stood to the side with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently and quietly, content to ignore Paddy's attempts at riling her. Looking back at Paddy, she finally spoke, her jaw clenched. "... What?"

At that moment, the door to Ghadzi was pulled open again, the rusted metal hinges drawn back with an uncomfortable screech. As the guard stepped aside, a man emerged into the daylight, peering up at the bright sky above him. Blonde hair slicked back away from his face, he sported a slew of minor cuts and bruises, littered across his face and knuckles. He carried a small bag of his belongings and walked with a confident swagger, and it became alarmingly clear that this was Paddy's idea of a good candidate... although she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

"This is Reg," Mayne introduced, pushing himself away from the car with his boot, leaving a muddy imprint of his heel upon the door that made Diana frown.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eoin stepped forward, offering his hand. He seemed by far the most agreeable of the bunch, accepting Reg's handshake as the newly released soldier eyed him up and down.

"Another fucking Paddy," Reg teased, his accent thick, gaze travelling back and forth between the other two men as Eoin let out a chuckle. "This regiment isn't all fucking Paddies, is it?"

"Nah, not all, we have women too, eh?" Mayne teased, giving Diana a playful slap on the shoulder. Side-eyeing him, she stepped closer towards Reg, reaching out for a handshake. If Paddy Mayne sought to make her regret coming here, she would ensure he found it awfully hard work.

"Oh, yeah?" Seekings asked distractedly, shaking her hand as they introduced themselves to one another. He treated her far more graciously than he had the others, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been in Ghadzi - how long it had been since he'd last seen a woman.

"Right, if there's no one else lurking inside we need to collect, shall we go?" Diana asked, and Paddy nodded, the party turning towards the car. She had made it all the way to the driver's side door before she paused, her hand hovering over the handle before withdrawing. "David ordered that someone else drive the car. Apparently, I display 'a concerning disregard for the sanctity of human life', according to him."

Seekings laughed at this, and Paddy agreed to take the wheel, shunting her into the backseat. It would be a long drive to Kabrit, and God knows how long before she would see her father or her home again. For as long as she could remember, she had been preparing for this moment, fighting all her life to make herself into a soldier her father would be proud of. She was his prodigy, his legacy, and it was only now that she was here, swaying with each turning as they wove through the city and out towards the desert, did she realise what enormous pressure she was under.

The year had been 1920, some time after Diana Fayed's third birthday, although the exact date of this had long been lost to years of inadequate record-keeping. The ceiling of the tiny flat hung low, drapes covering every window to shield its inhabitants from the fierce afternoon sun, the water in the glass upon the table slowly evaporating in the sweltering heat. Years down the line, Diana would remember little of this time, save for the overpowering stench of sweat and sickness that bathed the place, an ever-present reminder of the life that ebbed further away from her mother day after day as she lay, curled up in the bed they shared, passing in and out of delirium, weak groans escaping her dry throat. A fever ravaged her body, droplets of sweat beading on every inch of her skin save for the dry flesh of her lips, which had grown chapped and cracked as she found herself increasingly unable to hold down food or drink, her vomit coming more and more watery with each passing day.

They could not afford a doctor. They could scarcely afford anything since the day Diana had been born, her father's death on the Middle Eastern front savagely ripping away the only real income they had. When she had been strong, her mother had been a seamstress, sewing gowns for the wealthy white women who lived on the nicer side of Cairo. When Diana had been a baby, she had been strapped to her mother's back, carried to and from their home to the lavish houses of her clientele, and laid to rest in a wicker basket as the woman worked away at her sewing machine, the constant whirring soothing the infant to sleep.

But once the sickness had set in, everything had stopped - the walks across the city, the comforting sound of work, the money. There was little food left in the flat, and what they did have was turning sour in the oppressive heat, flies gathering in the corners of the room, feasting on the fruit that had gone too foul to eat. For weeks now, Diana had survived on little more than scraps of bread, the meats and cheeses running out a few days prior. She had grown thin, waiting for her mother to die, her ribs sticking out under the thin fabric of her shirt.

When her mother finally died, her last breath escaping her in a violent fit of coughs, the sound of the child's inconsolable crying had alerted the neighbours, and an old woman had come to the door, holding a scarf to her face to ward off the stench that now permeated every inch of the place. She had taken Diana's tiny body in her arms, feeding her out of her bountiful pantry before taking her to the orphanage, handing her over to live among the other children who had lost their parents to war, sickness and poverty. She could not remember if Diana had been the name she had been born with, but somewhere along the line, it had become hers. She had always been Fayed. The people she had grown up around remembered her father, remembered his loss and remembered his name. If she had lost everything else she had been born into, she had always kept her father's name, the sound of it as it rolled off her tongue a constant reminder of how far she had come.

General Rupert Hannigan had saved her. He had brought her out of the gutter and into his home, had called her his daughter and never made her relinquish the name that had once been hers. The least she could do was make him proud.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you sure about this, David?" Jock Lewes asked sceptically, brow raised as the pair examined the file put before them. It had been alarming how swiftly these papers had found their way to Stirling's desk, as if Hannigan had had Diana's file assembled years ago, keeping it close to his chest, waiting for a chance to send her out onto the battlefield. As her photograph stared back at him, Stirling remembered watching her in the courtyard - the way she had taken that beast of a man down in moments, shattering his bone without hardly breaking a sweat. When the SAS had been but a figment of David Stirling's imagination, he had not known it yet, but Diana Fayed had been exactly the soldier he had in mind.

"I'm sure."

"You really want her?"

Stirling looked over to the man beside him. What they were doing was insane. It was unthinkable, the first of its kind, and unspeakably dangerous. And he realised then that this was one of the only things he was really, truly certain of.

"I need her, Jock."

[glamboyl]

Thanks to Owen for sending Bunny Cobbles and Corn Cobb for Easter. Happy Easter my Friend!

[unaffiliatedpangolin]

You can tell how cobbled together and inconsistent laws are when you look at them side by side.

You can carry a loaded firearm but not brass knuckles?

You can carry a knife just as long as it can’t open with the push of a button?

I need to wear a seatbelt in a car but don’t need a helmet on a motorcycle?

There are subsidies for corn to make sugar cheap, but then extra tax on soda because it has too much sugar.

Laws should expire so we can reevaluate them or just clear them from the books.

[zelphin124]

You know I usually don't post scripts I want to dub later on in life, but why not?

*Pulls up to Chickfila, Killer driving, Cross in the passenger seat, Dust and Horror in the middle, and Error and Nightmare in the back*

Waiter: Hello-

Killer: Ullo? 

Cross: That's not how you say hello-

Killer: SHUT UP I'M ORDERING!

Cross: YOU DIDN'T EVEN LET THE GIRL FINISH!

Killer: NOT MY FAULT SHE DIDN'T KEEP TALKING!

Error : Guys, c-chill Horror is a-about to get h-h-hangry

Horror: Want... food…

Dust: Hurry up.

Cross: Are you even capable of ordering?

Killer: Yes yes, *turns to waiter* Hello darling, can I get some cheeseburgers? 

Waiter: Sir, this is Chickfila.

Dust: See you already ****** it up.

Error : WOAH LANGUAGE-

Nightmare: Watch your tongue, Dust!

Killer: I've never been here! What do you expect me to order, human flesh? 

Horror: They have… human flesh? 

Cross: NO! Of course they don't! This is a normal society! 

Error : W-What do t-they have? 

Cross: I don't know! Ask her! 

Killer: Geez calm down C, *looks at waiter again* my apologies, dear. Um, do you have a menu on you? 

Waiter: *Hands menu with shaky hands*

Killer: Thanks darling.

Horror: *snatches menu, Dust appearing over his shoulder*

Killer: *looks back* don't hog the menu we are all hungry-

Horror: *hisses with his bare teeth*

Dust: I'll have the number one with sweet tea.

Horror: Twelve strips

Error : *Grabs menu* what's a-a Cobb s-salad? 

Cross: You won't like it, it has corn on it. 

Error : C-Can I g-get it with no tomatoes a-and no corn?

Killer: *turns to waiter* Can the lad get a cobble salad with no potatoes and no porn? 

Dust: What the heck, you're literally deaf. 

Killer: IT WAS A JOKE~

Cross: I'll have the mac n cheese please, thank you. 

Killer: Nightmare do you want anything? 

Nightmare: A lemonade would suffice. 

Killer: One lemonade, and surprise me with whatever darling, do your favorite meal. All I ask for is some fries, no salt sweetheart. 

Horror: stop flirting with the waiter. 

Error : Yes let's g-get a move on.

Killer: Okay okay geez! *Rolls eyes towards waiter* people these days am I right? 

Nightmare: Killer~

Killer: Fine fine, that'll be all. Throw a six pack of cookies in there. 

Waiter: That'll be 58.64

Dust: 58 WHOLE DOLLARS?! 

Cross: Holy crap, that's so expensive! 

Error : No wonder b-boss had us w-work extra s-shifts… 

Uno: Hungry

Killer: Here's my card, pray it works boys. 

Waiter: *hands card back, payment accepted*

Killer: Great thanks! See ya around darling~

Cross: Thank you for your patience.

Error : Will she accept tips? 

Dust: Hell nah, we already paid 58 buckssss~

Nightmare: *rolls down window and hands her a 20* Keep it. 

Waiter: But-

Horror: not a suggestion

Cross: Yeah that's an order to keep it, Hun. 

Killer: Wow boss… yeah if your boss takes it from you, we will handle it, mkay? You deserve it. 

Waiter: I-I don't know what to say, thank you

Nightmare: My pleasure.

*All the car groans as they pull forward and eat their food*

Killer: Nightmare really? My pleasure? 

Error : Wowwwwwwww

Dust: Beat the chick at her own game

Horror: hehe… a chick at Chick-fil-A-

Nightmare: *rubs head in irritation* She doesn't get paid enough to deal with us. 

Killer: Ain't that the truth…

[exhausted-archivist]

As I plan the garden for the year I not only stare at the fact that grocery stores carry such little variety (for many reasons) and that we only, on average have access to 200-400 times fewer varieties of vegetables than 50 years ago. We don’t grow them any more.

Thinking about that and the dozens of varieties I’m growing this year I can’t help but wonder about the floral varieties in Thedas. How many types of lettuce do they have? Does Markham, the city state dedicated to agriculture research also develop new varieties? Are they trying to create hybrids that are resilient to the Blight like Deep Mushrooms but also don’t pass it on?

Do they experiment with corn as much as we have in the past? Since a majority of the crops domesticated in Thedas come from the Americas, where did the originate? Tevinter, Rivain, northern Antiva, the Anderfels prior to the Blights?

The food that the Anderfels grows, we know are hardy and often bitter and full of tannins and the like, but are they resistant to the intense heat of the short summers or do they favor frost resistant crops and rely on things like cold frames and the like during the icy, snowy winters?

What about Nevarra? We know their portion of the Minanter river freezes in the winter and they eat roasted chestnuts. But they are also home to Mediterranean crops like the blood orange. Was that an imported hybrid? Was it cultivated with a more cold hearty variety in Thedas compared to irl?

The official cookbook has Devon comment that children hate vegetables. But that is rather strange to me considering the food pathways, food preservation technology, and the restrictions on hunting/poaching in noble lands. Based on the rough estimate of era, logically all of the children would be used to a primarily vegetable and fruit diet with some aspects of meat, dairy, and eggs. Which means they also likely had the same massive variety of vegetables that we had in history and there for had plenty of options to avoid the largely bitter ones. So is this just a Devon thing? Or do Thedosians have less access to fruits and veggies than we do in the modern era?

Like from a meta standpoint I know that BioWare cannot possibly explore all the massive varieties possible. Nor do I expect them to. It is also easy to see when they fall back on common misconceptions of the various periods they’re referencing or just operating on less actual facts and more on personal experience or misconceptions and biases.

That said I’m even more curious to how they’re going to explore the subterranean flora (and fauna) given they’ve made it so the deep roads don’t have any geothermal properties. In the sense if there is no lava flow or if you don’t have a torch you’ll freeze to death.

So how do deep mushrooms thrive? And all the native fauna. What about the flora and fauna in the titans? I always love looking at fictional flora because you can really see the Frankenstein cobbling of plants. Sometimes the designs are really well informed and other times it’s just informed by aesthetics. Which is fine, BioWare isn’t really focusing on the biology of Thedas in that way.

I’m just really glad they are exploring the natural world building in the game because it’s often overlooked or left out. Which just begs to question, how are Thedosians genetically modifying their crops? What are their goals? Form over flavour? Flavour over form?

Are they doing it the tried and true way of just selective breeding and choosing desirable traits from the crops each year? Are they using magic? If they do how wide spread I the use of magic acceleration for such things? Is it accessible to the common people or just nobles and upper class? I have questions about Thedosian horticulture.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 27

CW: Alcohol, Past trauma. Notes: For the incident Elo is remembering, see this story on AO3.AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo knocks on the door and pushes it open. "Hey, Brek!" "Hi, Bug," Farren calls from the kitchen. Elo kicks her shoes off and shucks her coat, indicating that Storri do the same. Then she points to the end of the living room, speaking over her shoulder to the ubiquitous black suit who's followed them in, "Window's over there." Farren's condo is modest – a bedroom, a bathroom, and the living room separated from the kitchen only by a breakfast bar and the trellis where the coats go. But the picture window gives a gorgeous view of the city, and it's just him so it doesn't need to be big or fancy. And anyway, Elo likes it because it's cosy. "Man, something smells good," Elo says as she comes around the trellis screen. "What's for dinner?" "Monday didn't give me your message until late, so it's kinda cobbled–" Farren's voice cuts off as he looks up to see King Storri standing next to her. Storri sheepishly puts two bottles of wine, a white and a red, on the breakfast bar. "Good evening, Detective." Farren turns down the hob burner and, in a strangled voice, says, "Bug. A word?" He gives her no option as he catches her arm and hustles her towards the bedroom.

"Yes?" she asks. "When you said you were bringing company, I thought you meant one of your brothers, not the fucking King of Iceland!" "You wanted to have dinner. I'm supposed to be showing him the city. What else was I gonna do with him?" Farren scrunches his eyes closed and gives an exasperated huff. "It would have been nice to know. I could've made something fancy." "He doesn't care." "Bug–" "Listen," Elo takes his hands and speaks low and rapid. "As long as you don't give him food poisoning, it doesn't matter. He's not here for fancy. He can have fancy any time he wants. He's after different. Unique. You know, the first night he was here, he asked me to take him to the Scholar. Not exactly haute couture." Farren frowns. "That's clothes." Elo waves a hand. "Whatever, you know what I mean. We went to this proper restaurant for lunch, and he barely touched his food. At the Scholar, he inhaled two plates of those shitty barbeque wings. I promise – whatever you're making, he will devour it like a starved man. And, y'know, he wants to meet you." "What, why? What did I do?" Elo gives a nonplussed shake of her head. "You're important to me. I was important to Auntie 'Lex, and Alexis was important to him. He's just following the chain, I guess." "Pardon me, Detective Beakwood," Storri calls, "but your onions are starting to burn." "Fuck," Farren hisses.

They leave the bedroom to see Storri stirring the pan lifted away from the heat. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I've got it," Farren says, hustling over, and Storri retreats from the kitchen with a gruff nod. Elo rolls her eyes and goes to the fridge. "What beer does anyone want? We've got Crap, Rubbish and Dear Gods Why Do You Drink This Stuff?" "You are a philistine," Farren says, adding something to the pan. "Give me a Dear Gods." Storri chuckles from where he's leaning against the breakfast bar. "I'll take a Rubbish." "Lousy choice," Elo says, grinning, as she selects a bottle for herself. She pops the caps and passes the bottles as requested. "So what is for dinner?" she asks. "I need to know which wine to open." "The red. I'm thinking of calling it Conquistadors's Revenge. A bolognese meat sauce with Mexican spice because I didn't have any Italian herbs. Corn, black-eyed peas, water chestnuts and bean sprouts, with wild rice." "Conquistadors are Spanish, Brek," Elo says as she struggles to open the bottle. Storri gently takes it from her and finishes the job, adding, "I don't believe bean sprouts are traditionally associated with either cuisine." Farren shrugs from where he's cooking. "I made do with what I had. We only serve unique experiences here at Chez Breakwood." Farren turns and winks at Storri, whose eyes dance with delight, and Elo feels some knot of worry leave her.

Farren breaks away from his cooking to retrieve the wine. "Huh, this looks fancier than normal. Thanks, Bug," he says as he carries it back to the hob and proceeds to splash a good measure into the food. "What are you doing?" the King asks, horrified. "Beef mince is always better with a dash of what you're drinking." "Uh, it's not the usual plonk-de-plonk I get. His Nibs bought it," Elo says. "Don't ask how much it cost." Farren looks again at the bottle and places it down against the splashguard where it can warm up. Elo sees his Adam's apple bob. "Right." Storri looks away from the kitchen then, casting his eye around the small room. "Detective Breakwood, do you mind if I…" he gestures to the room. "Go ahead. And, y'know, this is gonna be a long evening if we stick to formalities. Call me Farren." Storri looks back and tilts his head thoughtfully. "Very well. For this one night only, you may address me as Storri." The two men share a look that Elo doesn't understand. "Alright," Farren says. Storri gives another of his gruff nods and begins to wander Farren's living room.

It's not a large room, but Farren has filled it with things that Elo thinks are quintessentially him. A big forest green sofa dominates the space, in front of a chunky TV which sits against one wall on a console decorated with a kid's craft projects. On the wall to one side of the TV, there's a series of family pictures featuring a woman and a girl, and on the other is a movie poster for some pulp horror flick. Behind the sofa is a low sideboard filled with trophies, and on the wall above hangs a fight poster, Micky Stanford vs Kaleb Cain. The sideboard contains a few books, and next to it is an armchair of that same forest green with a standard lamp glowing behind it. Elo is in the process of setting the table when Storri asks, "Do you wrestle?" "Boxing," Farren corrects. "An interesting sport. Though perhaps not unsurprising for someone in your career to take up?" Elo freezes, a bundle of cutlery and napkins in her hands. The pot burbles in the sudden silence. From where she stands at the end of the breakfast bar, Elo watches Farren turn down the burner and reach for his baccy pouch. "I didn't get much of a choice," Farren says. He leans back against the other counter so he can see Storri and starts to roll himself a cigarette. "I'd done some fight training. Enough that when higher-ups came looking, everyone pointed at me. They needed someone to go undercover, see. They told me this guy called Ragmar was running cage matches, using them to launder money. They didn't have the proof, so I went and got it for 'em. But it meant I had to get real good at kicking the shit of the other guy. Ragmar, he coached me himself. Said he saw my potential. So boxing became my bag." "You must have been extremely adept to have accumulated so many trophies. Though, the poster… Did you know one of these men?" Elo's heart is hammering in her chest. Farren pauses where he's tamping the tobacco into shape and barks out a laugh. "Yeah, you could say. See, I didn't just get the proof to shut down their operation. I got myself a title too." He pulls a wry smile, lifts his hands apart. "You are looking at regional lightweight champion Micky Stanford." He goes back to rolling his cigarette. "So you know, I get myself a title and pull out of the competitive side of things. Ragmar goes away, so the money laundering stopped. But the cage fights didn't. And, I didn't need to, but I kept going back." Farren leans over to light his roll-up from the burner. "And, damned if I didn't need some help to stop." Elo grips the cutlery tighter to stop it rattling in her shaking hands. Storri says, "You speak as if it were a type of addiction." "It was, of a kind." Farren takes a deep drag of his cigarette. "I lost my family during the Greydown incident." "My condolences," Storri murmurs. "I was using the fights as a crutch." Farren is looking directly at her. "Took someone who cared, who had clarity, to make me see reason. Was almost too late, and all." Elo is viscerally thrown back in time. Hears her own voice screaming at some two-bit thug with delusions of grandeur as he digs a knife into her partner's throat. That had been a solid eight on the scale. "Got a broken rib for my trouble. But you know, I count myself lucky that was all I got." Farren takes another long drag. Storri says nothing. Elo releases the cutlery and it clatters on the counter. Over by the window, the black suit's head whips around. She holds up a hand. "Are you well, Elowyn?" Storri asks. "Just hungry," she replies. Farren stubs out his cigarette and returns to the bubbling pot. "Almost ready."

Talk over dinner is much more relaxed. With the ice rather spectacularly broken and the excellent wine, the two men act like old friends – or maybe that's just Farren's natural affability coming through. Either way, Elo contributes little. With the ubiquitous black suit here in the room, many more scattered throughout the building, and Merri in a mobile command centre somewhere below, Elo allows herself to relax into the wine's velvet embrace and forget what perils exist outside this room. They chat a little longer as the food, delicious despite its strangeness, digests. Then Elo hauls herself up and starts collecting plates. "Come on, Storri," Elo says. "You wash, and I'll dry and put away." The King blinks. "I beg your pardon?" "Farren cooked, it's only fair we wash up." "I see," Storri says, with a thoughtful frown as he rises to take the stack of plates from her. "You never had to do your own dishes?" Farren asks, lounging back. "Not even as a punishment?" "My father had specific opinions on what a young prince was and was not to do. Plus, his punishments were…" He purses his lips. "Fitted to the misbehaviour." Farren raises an eyebrow, catching Elo's eye. Elo clicks her tongue, then gins. "Well. Sixty years old and never done your own dishes. 'Bout time you learnt then." "I am not that old," he grumbles, following her.

Dishes devolve into antics, but they get done and nothing gets broken. Soon enough, they're lazing on the couch, a bucket of ice cream passed back and forth and some sport on the TV. Elo's cuddled into Farren's side. The rumble of the commentators' voices, full belly, booze, Storri's laughter and Farren's warmth have her eyes fluttering closed. Farren nudges her awake, and Elo grumbles, snuggling closer. He moves to put a hand on her forehead and checks her pulse. "Gerroff. I'm tired, not dead." "Just checking. You gonna be okay to drive home?" Elo grunts. "We came in His Nibs' ride. I'm sure if I ask nice they'll drop me home." Elo can feel the look they're giving each other over her head. "I believe Agent Ironforge would prefer that to Elowyn making her own way home. Who has been seeing to your dressings?" This last is aimed at Elo, so with a sigh, she says, "Mrs Higgins." "The Landlady," Farren clarifies for Storri's sake. "She'll be asleep by now. I've got some supplies. We can do it here." "I know how to do my own dressings," Elo says. "Where is your kit?" Storri asks, rising. "Bottom drawer next to the fridge," Farren replies. To Elo, he says, "Alright, shirt off." "And you wonder why you don't have a girlfriend," Elo says as she unbuttons her blouse. "Let's have a look at your waist then." "Don't forget about the bullet wound," Storri calls from the kitchen. Farren freezes. "What bullet wound? You didn't tell me anything about getting shot." Elo's mouth works. "I forgot." "How do you forget getting shot!" "I don't know, there was a lot going on." "You told me this was a six. Getting shot pushes that up dramatically." Elo's fists are clenched. "He had a sword, Brek! Fucking three-foot long cavalry sabre." Her shoulders are shaking. "So, excuse me for being a bit distracted!" Then Farren's arms are around her, and she's sobbing into his shirt, and he's murmuring nothings into her hair and stroking her back as her wails are muffled by his shoulder.

By the time Elo comes back to herself, the first aid supplies are neatly laid out on the end of the sofa, and the King and his black suit are nowhere to be seen. "They just stepped out to give you some privacy," Farren says to her wild head-turning. "After I've fixed you up, it's probably best you go home. Unless you want to spend the night here?" "Thanks," Elo says with a watery smile, "But my bed is comfier than your sofa." "Alright." The smile he gives her is affable enough, but there's still worry in his eyes.

So he changes the dressings, and Elo's dropped home by the King's driver. The paper bag with Snotgrut's clothes is empty, and the Dvasia is nowhere to be seen. So she tucks the revolver under her pillow and falls into an exhausted, deep, and dreamless sleep.

[00venator]

Holy SHIT I probably just had the most incoherent dream.

In the dream I was getting suck into fictional settings whenever I interacted with them. All well and good until you get yoinked into the warhammer universe. IMEDIANTLY had to do a talk about knives. I was very confused and overstimulated, when this happens in my dreams I usually teleport outta the situation and calm down. Couldn’t teleport. Just stood there t posing. Lots of stuff happened I can’t rember. Somehow got yoinked to ancient roam?? Idk I must have read something. My mum materialised from somewhere?? Got ona boat. Took the boat to an island. I got scared and turned the boat around halfway. Try agin. Boat turned into a bus. It was like a school trip and All the kids where looking at me funny. Turns out its modern day now?? Get off the bus in some European looking cobbled street. Second bus appears and my mum gets off. I’m calm now so I just walk away and my mum disapears. Get on a second bus. Skip the entire trip where in my town now. Exempt it’s very uncanny. “It just has the same vibe as your home town. It’s not actually your town.” Ah yes it is actually. Get off the bus. Buss driver says I look different. Im like “what do you mean.” And he’s like “Have you looked at your self lately?” “No I don’t have a mirror.” Same kids as the first bus are looking at me weird. Dad comes and picks me up in mums car. I don’t fit into the car. Get in there anyway. Dad can’t drive the car cause it’s mums car, not his ute. Theres a massive corn feild on the road outside the primary school. (There’s lots of other weird stuff as well. It just looked super AI generated.) We drive threw it, hitting 4 corn stalks. Crash into a tin fence. Im annoyed because dad hurt the car. we appear in my aunts drive way.

Then I woke up.

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

A little girl skipped down the stone path, a bright meadow full of flowers to her right, the dark forest to her left. Her basket was filled with cake and wine, swinging from her wrist.

From the forest the wolf watched, the red of her cap an easy target. The girl hummed to herself, one arm catching the sole lantern post and swinging herself around the cobbled corner. She was almost to grandmother’s house now. The wolf followed.

Grandmother’s house was surrounded by oak trees and hazel bushes. Herbs sprung up, both lazily and messily from the boxes attached to the windowsill. It smelled of summer and sweetness, and the girl wondered, idly, if grandmother might have some preserves to take home.

From the forest the wolf watched, the girl leading the grandmother to her chair, setting up the food, placing plates beside them. She cut a slice of cake for Grandmother, before settling herself with a plate of scones, slathered with strawberry jam. Her teeth were stained with red when she smiled.

A gunshot cracked the air, startling the wolf, as well as a number of birds, all diving to get away.

The hunter beat away the wolf, then turned to survey the cabin the wolf had been eyeing. He remembered the tales, the whispers of the children he used to play with, saying the old woman (and indeed, she had been old as long as the hunter could remember) was a witch. One with an evil eye, they used to claim, who would curse them if they were to walk up to her door.

Even now, years later, he still hadn’t the courage to knock on that door.

That was, until he saw a flash of red in the window.

It took him a few days to build up the nerve, but soon he found himself in front of the door, knocking.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and the hunter entered, his boots loud against the worn wood floor. The cabin was small and cozy, an open floor plan with a large bed to the left and a kitchenette to the right. In the corner sat the old woman, with long, white hair.

The hunter stepped forward. Next to him, on the dresser, was a portrait of a little girl, a toddler dressed in red.

“My granddaughter.” The old woman said, her crone hands coming to rest on the blanket on her lap. “That painting was done a few years ago, shortly before I took sick.”

“Does she come by often?”

“As often as she can.” The old woman said. “Tell me, dear hunter, what brings you to this corner of the woods?”

“I—uh—inherited my family’s cottage a few miles from here. We’re neighbors now.”

“Indeed?” The old woman asked with amusement. “Well as neighbors, let me be the first to welcome you. You may help yourself to whatever you please, dear hunter.”

Her granddaughter, singing, opened the door and entered, wine and cakes in hand.

The hunter smiled, spotting, quite clearly, what he wanted.

Little Red wasn’t as little as she used to be.

“That’s a lovely red hood you’re wearing, my dear.”

“Of course it is.” The girl replied. “My grandmother made it for me.” She turned away. “Grandmother,” she called. “What would you like for dinner?”

“Meat, if you please.” Grandmother replied. “I’ve eaten so many vegetables lately you’d think I was a rabbit. And enough creamed corn you’d think I was old.”

‘You are old,’ the hunter wanted to say, but instead he kept silent.

It has been years since he first knocked on her door and the girl was still the same age as the day he’d first met her.

Grandmother was gone that evening, out in the garden doing some planting, leaving Little Red to tidy the house in her absence. The hunter knocked on the door, and Little Red let him in.

“You know you have the most beautiful eyes.”

Little Red battled her eyelashes. “Really?”

“Really.” The hunter afirmed.

“The better to see you with, my hunter.”

Her hunter. He liked the sound of that. He took a step forward.

“And your hands are so dainty,” he replied. “Just perfect for sewing and holding.” He took her hands. She didn’t pull away.

“The better to embrace you with, I say.” Her eyes danced with mirth. The hunter was delighted.

“Could you smile for me? I’m sure a girl like you would have a beautiful one.” The hunter said. His hair was thick and beginning to grey, his nose sharp. Age may have taken its toll on him, but Little Red was forever and eternally beautiful.

The child smiled. Her teeth gleamed in the firelight.

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

The hunter never saw the ax coming.

—excerpt from Moonburn

[communist-hatsunemiku]

what's your ramen recipe?

So this is a hard question, are we talking about the broth? The toppings? I dont really have a recipe like that, the pork and other things that need to be cooked are kind of straight forward.

Like the pork belly you gotta roast and let chill(30 min at 450, an hour at 275, for approx a pound of belly, slather that shit in sugar+salt+pepper, let it chill before slicing), the soft boiled eggs you gotta boil at a low boil(like the water is bubbling but not about to boil over) for 6:30 minutes and then immediately put them in an ice bath, peel em, and slice. I roasted some corn in the oven but corn can be cooked in a myriad of ways, so thats your preference. All other toppings can be cold prepped, at least the ones I used. Fish cake is already cooked and can be found at your local asian market, green onion is also readily available. There is a whole galaxy of ramen toppings so it's really your preference.

The noodles can also be found at the asian market, there are noodles with RAMEN right on the package. I actually bought some fancy noodles that are like, parcooked i think? you find them in the refrigerated section and they only take three minutes to cook(there are full on dry noodles you can get as well they will just take longer to cook). like i said, three minutes, drain, hit with some cold water real quick and they are ready

So now the broth, which is imho is the key to a great ramen. Restaurants are going to have the means to make a extremely rich complex broth that takes a day or more to actually make. It involves animal bones and veggies and a huge fucking cauldron and letting it simmer for long periods of time. SO! at home I used miso paste, crushed ginger(i took whole ginger and smashed it a bit to let it steep), chicken bouillon, chili oil. salt, water(obviously), garlic. I combined all this in a pot and let it sit at low for like two hours. This is just a cobbled together thing I came up with, but it turned out alright! There are like a million ways to make and flavor a broth, so this is how I did it personally. Really what you wanna do is get some animal parts and some herbs and let that shit simmer in water for like a day, thats the good shit. You can however buy broth at the store and maybe punch it up yourself with things you like.

This 'guide' was banged out in approx 20 min so like, if youre really tryna make some ramen I'd do some more reading. Writing this out was fun tho i appreciate the ask!🤗