#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!

[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.”   

[simplykorra]

Let me start off by saying I really enjoy your writing. It's just... SO good. It just hits the nerdy little writer part of my heart and that's not even starting on the story itself and the characters. *chef's kiss* I am in the process of writing a little Avatrice fanfic myself and I can only dream to be as good and as proficient as you are one day. I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice. I'm currently stuck on a part that is supposed to have a text conversation between Bea and Ava and while I think I have the general stuff down (the difference between how they'd express themselves) none of my drafts come out feeling natural only clunky and forced. Do you have any advice on how to write text message conversations and would please be willing to share?

first of all, thank you for the kind words <3

as to your question, the way i approach texts between ava and bea is all in the layout and the way that they express themselves

meaning beatrice's texts are going to be straight to the point. no detours and they're all properly formatted and punctuated and perfect. she doesn't use shorthand like 'lol' or 'idk' or anything like that - though ava has probably tried to get her to drop and lol every now and then

as for ava, her texts are more frantic and all over the place

i also think she texts in bunches, like splitting one sentence into three texts for emphasis or dramatic effect. there's no proper formatting, no capitalization either

so to me texts between them would look like

Ava: ok so we need two potatoes and a stalk of celery

Ava: why is it called a stalk?

Ava: oh! that reminds me of another joke ok what did one ear of corn say to the other ear of corn?

Bea: Ava, I'm standing in the produce section, please give me the list

Ava: cmon bea! just guess!

Bea: Fine. One ear of corn said to the other ear of corn - I think someone is stalking us

Ava: :( HOW DID YOU KNOW??!?!

Bea: Because you used the word 'stalk' right before the joke and as it was the most unique word in our exchange thus far, I assumed it triggered the memory of the joke

Ava: what?

Bea: I know how your brain works, darling. Now please give me the rest of the list

fjklasfjalf so yeah something like this (sorry this was cobbled together at 6:30am so not the most sane thing i've written) but i hope this helps lol

[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

[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…

[gluttonemporium]

Halloween was always hugely popular in Tokyo—the locals flooding the streets and taking the opportunity to indulge in every manner of celebration—carving pumpkins, trick-or-treating, exploring haunted houses—but through her research Futaba found one element disturbingly absent: the corn maze!

Always delighted by Halloween herself, Futaba felt a strong desire to give the people of Tokyo the seasonal maze exploring experience they deserved—and she knew just how to do it! When you broke it down, a corn maze was just a safe, Halloween associated place where people could wander around for hours in with plenty of fun twists and turns—exactly like Mona’s belly! With his unique shadowy physiology, the chubby NEET was sure he could easily hold some maze goers safely the entire night while they enjoyed a once-in-a-lifetime experience!

While apprehensive at first, Morgana was easily swayed once Futaba convinced him that this would be a rare opportunity to not only eat his fill but be as close as possible to Ann—who she was certain was sure to show up given her mutual love of Halloween!

And so it was that Futaba and Morgana planted themselves in a comfy and relatively clear backstreet with a sign cobbled together reading “MAGICAL MAZE,” with Morgana in his Metaverse form as a “magical familiar,” and Futaba dressed in a poorly fitting witch costume she had left over from last year.

Said costume’s short dress did little to cover the wobbling pale moons of her asscheeks that stuck out like a sofa behind her, nor did the tights contain her wide, treetrunk thighs beneath them as pockets of fat oozed out of popped seems, nor did the top compress her doughy potbelly, which was almost entirely visible strained through the fabric—at least she looked cute in the witch hat!

“I’m starting to feel kind of ridiculous—you’re really certain that this is a good idea Oracle? Even I don’t know how much I can control myself,” Morgana’s own pudgy gut wobbled somewhat as it groaned airily in hunger GOROWOOWL, the chubby catboy doing what he could to fight back his growing appetite as he stared at the scantily clad passerby (and Futaba) as well as his own sense of shame.

“Nonsense my dear familiar! Once the first person gives it a try, everyone will be ensnared by my clever trap—er, advertising—and see that this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience!”

Just as Futaba finished assuring Morgana, two particularly busty girls dressed as nurses approached the plump pair, curious about what it was they were offering. While Morgana eyed them up and swallowed down some drool, Futaba fought back her anxiety and got to work, “Huh? O-Oh I mean, yes, welcome to the magical maze! For the small price of just a bit of your Halloween candy, step forth into the portal at my familiar’s mouth and be transported into a mysterious labyrinth of excitement and intrigue!”

On cue, Mona opened up his waiting, salivating maw surprisingly wide—prompting some awed “Ooos,” from the two girls as they stared down the dark, slimy “portal.” Apparently sold, the girls handed their candy buckets to Futaba and inched closer to the hungry catboy’s yawning void of a mouth.

“So like, do we just hop right in or—“

Unable to wait any longer, Mona’s mouth wetly clamped down on the girls’ arms, and quickly yanked them down his throat with a single, long SHLUUURRRP

“I-is there a signal for when we want to get out or d—“

“GUUULP!”

Futaba watched as with a series of feverish, wet GLKs a bulge easily six times Morgana’s size slid down from his overstuffed cheeks and into his now monstrously bloated bed-sized stomach, the squirming imprints of the bodacious costumed babes clear beneath a layer of inky catboy pudge. The fat NEET pressed her face into the writhing pile of gut, “Enjoy your time in the maze!”

Morgana, meanwhile, picked his teeth with one clawed hand while the other patted his bulging belly in satisfaction, playfully kneading the lumps of one of the girls’ massive breasts through his own fat, “I was wrong OOOOOUUUURRRPacle, this was a great idea,” neither of the two paid any mind to the bassy boyish belch that propelled the girls’ saliva soaked nurse hats onto the ground in front of them.

Futaba snickered as she wolfed down the girls’ candy, “I’m glad you’re beginning to see the appeal—ready for more visitors then?”

Morgana didn’t even need to reply, his greedy gut did all the talking for him, growling loudly enough with a GURRUUMMBLE that the entire black mass shuddered ominously, to the chagrin of the maze explorers within.

Admittedly, Futaba became a little concerned when she noticed that same ravenous gut rounding out slightly after that rumble, and the way Morgana was staring at her—but that was a problem for later on in the night—right now, she had people to wow!

“NEXT!”

"Oookay... HIC! I've changed my mind... this is a great idea~"

About a dozen people in, and Morgana had forgotten all about his shame, or sense of holding back, or anything - focused only on the building stretching sensation in his overflowing gut. Had it really been this easy all along?!

But Futaba caught on fast. Without any need to keep his "customers" stowed away safely, his amazing belly had done it's job super quickly and turned them into more... well, him! Exploring the maze that was his body just got a lot harder, now that they were permanent padding on it in places...

Oh, he was absolutely going to make Futaba join in the fun eventually - her waving that big fat butt of hers like a rump steak was ASKING to be swallowed down whole! He would let her play her games first, get as many innocents crammed into him as possible, before turning his jaws on the hacker...

Siiiiigh... hopefully Lady Ann will stop by before that happens~

[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

[clatterbane]

Tonight's delight: some easy stew, with more cornbread which I started craving! 😎

We had some ground meat that needed to be used, plus leftover lightly buttered boiled potatoes in the fridge. (Actually blandfärs, mixed beef and pork, which is popular for meatballs and cheaper than straight beef.) So, something like this suggested itself.

I also threw in some celery, and closer to the end frozen mixed veggies with some thyme, marjoram, and garlic for extra yum. The cooked potatoes went in the last 5-10 minutes after the rest had already been thickened, to simmer and pick up flavor while hopefully not falling totally apart.

Success! It turned out pretty satisfying for the amount of time and effort involved.

This would also work pretty well to just thicken with Japanese curry roux (and adjust the other seasonings accordingly).

I considered doing that myself today, but cornbread! 😅 Plus not really feeling like cooking up my own GF curry roux. It probably wouldn't go together badly at all, but I didn't really want to triple carb it tonight. Curry rice will have to be a project for another day, likely before too long! Possibly with chicken.

As for the obligatory cornbread porn:

This is more cobbled together using a blend the overly coarse yellow polenta and fine yellow corn flour that I could easily get hold of here. Not really my ingredient preference, but it did turn out pretty good again with the same small pan recipe that I used for reference last time.

[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!🤗

[sveniasblog]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. A POEM.

Fiona Lynne

Home is where the heart is, they say.

but this heart is a wanderer

a nomad

an immigrant

always and never at home.

Thin white roots stretch their delicate fingers behind me

each time I go

a spiders web of belonging wrapping up this world

in its soft cocoon.

I am often leaving but never letting go.

This heart first found its home

in a sleepy village

where neighbours know your news before you do.

It stays there now

barefooted and wild haired

playing forty-forty in the lanes

growing strong and independent.

That independent heart

and those bare feet

picked themselves up

in search of the next adventure.

This one, she was born with wings,

my mum will say, wistfully.

Now a wanderer

a nomad

an immigrant.

Those white roots hold me still to a dusty southern land

eating fresh corn and sugar cane

hailing minibus taxis

daring proud teenagers to love

and live.

They stretch north again to icy beaches

and purple hills

with coffee carried in cold hands along cobbled streets

watching red robes dancing on the stone pier.

Tendrils stretch west to a land loud and bright

to warm days and warmer hugs

learning to love sushi

learning boldness

These roots they spin their way across this mainland here

weaving tighter around the city of kriek and frites

looking into the eyes of the displaced

finding love with another immigrant heart.

Now stretched thin and translucent

they begin to weave themselves around this

new home

new land.

What does it take to be rooted with this heart a nomad, a wanderer?

How do I trust these four walls

name them home

again

weave new tendrils

again?

It comes naturally

this work of building

of trusting

or rooting.

Over my shoulder a thick weave

roots me to a dozen different lands

and up ahead

on the horizon

a city shining in the sunlight

still far off

still unknown

but it will come.

And so I look down at this land

city, street, flat, desk.

It begins here.

Home begins here.

In the meeting, the kissing, the knowing, the serving, the working, the decorating, the laughing, the feeding, the talking, the praying, the advising, the visiting, the befriending, the risking, the celebrating, the planning, the dreaming.

And in the loving.

Home is in the loving.