#we also text each other sitting across from each other sitting in the tavern

[benjhawkins]

In case you were wondering if me and @pentecostwaite were really Like This in real life

[starbornvalkyrie]

what we could be | part four

A/N: I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to update this one! This part fought me hard, to be honest. It’s a little shorter than the previous parts, but I just had to get past it to move the story along. I’ll leave you with this: things have to get worse before they get better. Enjoy!

warnings: language, smut, alcohol.

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“What did you just say?

He heard a huff on the other end. “I know you’re not that dense, Rowan,” she growled, “You know exactly what I said.”

“But… but…” he stammered. So unlike him. “But how?”

“How? Hm, well, when a man and a woman both consent to it, they get naked, then the man takes his dick and--”

Rowan snapped. “Aelin, shut the fuck up, I’m not an idiot.”

“Coulda fooled me,” she mumbled, and Rowan let out a sigh.

“You’re pregnant.”

“About nine weeks, yes.”

Rowan paused. “And it’s mine?”

Aelin barked a laugh with no humor behind it. “Unless you’re also accusing me of cheating, then yes, it’s yours.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it all,” he retorted. Rowan’s head is spinning. It feels strange, not being able to control his emotions. He wants to suggest they start the conversation over, a little more calmly.

But of course, it’s Aelin. She’s a firecracker on a good day, and he had to assume she hadn’t had a good day in a long, long while. “What is there to make sense of? We fucked, you didn’t pull out, and now I have another life form growing in my stomach.”

He was about to correct her on the location of the baby when his brain caught onto her tone. “Hold on. Are you… mad at me?” he asked, rubbing his temples to chase away the impending headache that was forming. 

“Yes! No… agh, I don’t know! Damn hormones…” She said that last part more to herself than to him, and he was starting to soften up to her mixed feelings when she yelled, “You got me pregnant!”

“Well, it takes two to tango, Aelin!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Gah, Aelin!” 

“Rowan!” She screamed so loudly, Rowan could have sworn he felt the sonic boom from across the ocean.

He had to remember who he was talking to, had to think about what she’s going through. As calmly as he could, though there was still a slight bite to his words, he said, “I think… I think I need some time to process this. Can I call you later?”

There was a pause so long that Rowan had to check to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. After a minute, he heard her take a deep breath, something he knew she did whenever she was trying to prevent herself from saying something stupid. Or mean. Or all of the above.

“Later… Got it. Bye, Rowan.” And she hung up. Rowan wasn’t sure how long he stood there with his phone still to his ear, but he pulled it away and stared at it, willing all the answers he wished he knew to appear from out of nowhere. When did he even stand up?

Aelin is pregnant.

Aelin is pregnant with his child.

From the sounds of it, she’s going to keep it. Gods, they hadn’t even gotten that far in the conversation.

Aelin is pregnant.

Rowan is going to be a father.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

Deep breaths, Rowan.

Rowan waited until he was sure he wasn’t going to lose the sandwich he ate on the way home, then left to find Fenrys.

Fenrys will either know what to say or sit with him while he drowns himself in liquor. Either way, Rowan just needs his friend.

Rowan ran from his housing to Fenrys’ classroom on Mistward’s campus and got there just in time to see him flirting with one of his classmates.

“Moonbeam.”

Fenrys looked up at him and grinned. Rowan wasn't sure what his own face looked like, but he could see concern flash through Fenrys’ eyes. 

“Hey, Whitethorn, why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Fenrys clapped Rowan on the shoulder, trying to lighten his mood.

“Aelin is pregnant.” Fenrys’ smile faltered, his grip tightened ever so slightly. He looked over his shoulder to tell his classmate he’ll catch up with her later then guided Rowan towards the edge of campus where the bars are. Rowan had never felt more grateful to have a friend like Fenrys.

They made their way to the hole-in-the-wall tavern they found their first week in Wendlyn. The bar food is subpar, but they have a top notch selection of beers on tap. Rowan, however, went straight for three shots of tequila then an old-fashioned to sip. Mixing tequila and whiskey at three in the afternoon probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but Rowan didn’t feel like being smart.

Fenrys waited until Rowan ordered his second old-fashioned before speaking. “So… Aelin is pregnant.” It wasn’t a question, but Rowan nodded. “Wow. Okay, um, how do you feel about that?”

Rowan took a long sip of his drink before answering. “I don’t know man, I haven’t really given myself time to process it. She called to tell me, we fought, we hung up. And now I’m here,” he lifted his glass. Drink. “Gods, I’m also pretty sure we broke up before I left for the program here.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘pretty sure’? Are you together or not? And what on earth did you have to fight about?” Rowan drank for every question Fenrys asked, finishing the glass. His brain was finally getting muddled, his racing thoughts becoming an ugly, incoherent blur. He signaled for another drink. 

“I don't know, man. We fought before I left, and I told her we’d talk when I got back to Terrasen. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.” Rowan thought drinking with Fenrys would help him, but it actually might be pissing him off instead.

Before Fenrys could pester him some more, he tossed back the old-fashioned in one go, and stood up on shaky legs to leave. “Hey, let me help you get back, dude.”

“No, thanks, you’ve helped enough.” A hurt look flickered across Fenrys’ face, and Rowan felt guilty for a moment. It wasn’t his fault Rowan was in a shit mood, but he couldn’t do anything about it in this state. He made a mental note that he hoped he’ll remember to apologize and have an alcohol-free conversation with him later.

The walk back to his housing was a blur. Rowan had to stop multiple times to settle his stomach, but luckily he made it back without ruining the pristine Wendlyn sidewalks with his vomit. He had hardly sobered by the time he found his building.

Rowan’s feet took him in the opposite direction of his room, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He didn’t care to. Next thing he knew, Remelle opened the door to his incessant knocking for the second time that day. She looked like she was about to yell at him again, so Rowan grabbed the back of her head with one hand and her waist with the other and crashed his lips to hers. She didn’t protest.

He pushed her back into her room and slammed the door behind him. He led her towards her bed, clothes flying along the way. When she laid back against her pillows and spread her legs, he didn’t hesitate to climb on top of her and enter her roughly. There was no passion in their coupling, only the urge to release, to forget.

They stayed in bed through dinner, alternating between laying there, panting, and fucking each others’ brains out. It wasn’t until Rowan slid into Remelle for the third time that night that he let himself realize what he was doing--let himself realize that even though he was in bed with Remelle, he was imagining he was with a different blonde across the sea.

He pulled out of her abruptly, much to her dismay, and gathered his clothes. Not bothering to don his shirt, he ran back to his room.

In the privacy of his own quarters, in the silence with his thoughts, Rowan allowed himself to cry.

---

After Aelin’s conversation--if she could even call it that--with Rowan yesterday morning, she thought she’d panic. But instead, she felt hollow, alone. She didn’t know what she was supposed to expect. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up when Lysandra forced her to eat something and to take a bath where she stayed for two hours.

She’d wished that her mother was there to tell her what to do next, but then she cried thinking that her parents would never meet their grandchild. Her baby would only know about Evalin and Rhoe through stories, her memories. She’d always thought that if she did one day find herself pregnant, she’d have her mother there to guide her.

But her mother was dead, Rowan couldn’t even speak to her, and Aelin was alone.

Eventually, Lysandra got sick of Aelin’s wallowing, no matter how supportive she was trying to be. Aelin thanked the gods for keeping Lysandra with her. When they had dinner last night, Lysandra suggested she needed to go out and do something to distract herself from the pit Rowan left in her heart.

At the same exact moment, she’d received a text from Chaol asking if she was feeling better.

Lysandra took that as a sign and urged her to reach out and reschedule their coffee date.

So here she was, sitting at a table in UT’s campus coffee shop. Aelin sipped on her lemon-ginger tea--not her favorite, but it helped her stomach--as she waited for Chaol to get out of his class. She couldn’t stop checking her phone for any messages from Rowan, but there were none. Even a quick Instagram search revealed he hadn’t been active since yesterday morning. With a sigh, she silenced her phone and put it in her purse.

After a few minutes of people watching through the window, she spotted Chaol’s tall figure coming from the chemistry building. Aelin waved at him as he entered and watched as he went to order before joining her.

“Aelin! I’m so glad we could meet. You’re feeling better?” He sat down across the table from her, but the table was small and his legs were so long, his knee brushed hers. The subtle touch made her blush, and she tried to keep the color at bay.

She smiled at him. “A little. Enough to be out and about, not enough to scarf down a whole chocolate cake no matter how badly I wanted to.” He laughed and the sound made her heart flip. Damn pregnancy hormones.

“Well, when you feel like you can eat again, I’ll gladly buy one for you.” He moved to grab something from his backpack-- a stack of papers. “I know this is the last thing you’d want to think about right now, but before I forget, these are the notes and everything from the lectures you missed. You still have to make up a lab, but the professor said you have until the end of next week.”

Aelin took the papers and thanked him. She suddenly felt guilty for how sweet he was being to her without knowing the extent of the situation she’s found herself in. She likes Chaol a lot and didn’t feel that it was fair to string him along.

“Can I actually--”

“So, Aelin--” They both spoke then broke off at the same time, chuckling at their synchronicity. “You can go first,” he said.

She released a steadying breath through her nose. “Okay, there was a reason I wanted to meet with you today. I have something to tell you, but I’m not entirely sure how you’ll react.”

“It’s alright, Aelin. You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” Too sweet. Too damn sweet, this guy.

“Okay,” she repeated. “I- I’m pregnant.”

Aelin watched Chaol as he processed the bomb she just dropped. She noticed his eyes widen ever so slightly, his mouth gaped open. After a few agonizing moments, he shook his head to clear the daze. He was about to reply when the barista called his name to pick up his order. 

With an apologetic glance, Chaol stepped away. Aelin closed her eyes, mourning whatever could have happened between the two of them. She opened them when she heard Chaol take his seat across from her once more.

“So, you’re pregnant.”

“I am.”

“And I’m assuming… Rowan is the father.” She nodded apprehensively, knowing his acquaintanceship with Rowan was tense, at best. The two men never clicked. They had only met once last semester when Aelin and Chaol had to work late for an inorganic chemistry lab, and whatever vibes they gave each other were not pleasant. Ever since, she tried to avoid the two of them ever crossing paths again, though Rowan frequently expressed his displeasure whenever she brought up their work in the lab.

“Wow. How are you really feeling then? You’ve been having morning sickness, I take it?” Aelin tried not to show how shocked she was by the genuine concern and automatic acceptance in his voice. Why couldn’t this have been Rowan’s reaction?

Nonetheless, she nodded. “It actually hit me for the first time when we originally planned our coffee date. I went straight to Lysandra’s house to take a test and had it confirmed at the doctor at the end of the week. I think I’m still processing it all, actually.” 

“That’s understandable, Aelin, this is huge. And Rowan, does he know? He’s studying abroad in Wendlyn this semester, right?”

Aelin let out a humorless laugh. “Oh yeah. He knows. Not that he cares.”

Chaol narrowed his eyes, likely figuring out how their conversation had gone, but he didn’t pry for more details. Aelin was grateful for that. Grateful for him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, Aelin. I get it if you’re not looking to date anyone while you figure this out with Rowan, but I still want to be around you.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I like you a lot, I have for a while now, in all honesty, but a friendship with you is better than nothing.”

Aelin stared at their joined hands, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Chaol. Your support means more than you know.”

He leaned across the table to kiss her on the cheek, and Aelin couldn’t stop her blush this time. They steered the conversation to other topics, talking endlessly about everything they could think of.

Though Aelin was sad at the thought of what could have been, she felt hope reignite in her chest.

---

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be added to/taken off my general SJM tag list just send me an ask! i’m very good at losing them in the comments. love y’all!

@maddymelv​ || @lucy617​ || @tillyrubes10​ || @faerie-queen-fireheart​ || @tottenhamboys20​ || @the-third-me​ || @superspiritfestival​ || @rolltide7​ || @courtofjurdan​ || @sleeping-and-books​ || @aelinchocolatelover​ || @julemmaes​ || @sorrehnotsorryy​ || @courtofjurdan​ || @acourtofaelinbryceandfeyre​ || @darlinminds​ || @lucieisabooknerd​ || @queen-of-glass​ || @jlinez​ || @abookishfreak​ || @stardelia​ || @ladywitchling​ || @rockgirl321​ || @sjmships​ || @thewayshedreamed​ || @mamakramer​ || @meowsekai​ || @sweetlyvillainous​

[francescasportfolio]

INGLORIOUS BASTERDS (2009) REVIEW PART ONE (CHAPTERS 1-4)

Set in the Second World War, a group of spunky, vengeful Jewish-american mercenaries navigate their way through enemy territories, killing every Nazi they come across, combined with a grief ridden jewish girl, a German double agent movie star, and a chilling anti-hero. If the Basterds’ German fiends are smart enough to give them the information they want, they give them a special mark to ensure they remember their nationalism for the rest of their lives.

Tarintino works in his usual way of chapters, splitting the story into neat chunks and carefully constructing the tension, so at that last chapter (in this case CHAPTER 5) the audience is ready to fall off their seats in anticipation.

CHAPTER ONE

Interestingly, our story doesn’t commence with an introduction to our protagonists, but with a dairy farmer named LaPedite accused of hiding Jews and the ‘villain’ of our story COLONEL HANS LANDA OF THE SS. The farmer seems on edge and somewhat acknowledges his fate, yet Landa introduces himself very politely, complements the farmers daughters and asks before doing anything inside the farmer’s house. However, Tarintino drops in slight peculiarities to ensure we understand who Landa is, for example, he only shakes the hand of the daughter with blonde hair and blue eyes-- the only one who looks aryan. Landa makes small gestures like grabbing the daughter’s arm who is getting him wine, although masked with a kind comment, Landa’s power is being asserted. The Colonel himself, is telling the farmer that he is the weak in this situation, yet leads LaPedite to believe he is in a position of power with his meticulous manners. 

But, Landa places another finger on LaPedite’s throat as he asks him to switch to speaking english, although both are more comfortable in french. The audience is always posed with the question ‘Does Hans Landa know?’, does he know that the Jews under the floor boards cannot speak english? 

Landa is terrifying because the audience can never quite tell if he is ignorant or not, everything he does points to him being so until the moment he reveals he knows more than you ever thought he did. In this chapter, we see this when he sets about asking questions to LaPedite about a jewish family, the Dreyfus’, they seem easy and uncompromising until the camera lowers underneath the floor boards where the family lay, trying to catch their breaths in their mouths. Landa continues and confirms the interrogation is complete, LaPedite has kept his cool and made it through. Until, Landa asks for another glass of milk, and the tension is drawn out making us squirm in anticipation. The score builds, and Landa utilises the Dreyfus’ incompetence in english to create a ‘masquerade’ which will ensure they are executed. Hans ushers LaPedite’s daughters back inside, thanking them for their service, but like Landa’s other scheming up until now, everything is not quite as it should be. German soldiers gather around the floorboards and the music explodes with the sound of gunshots, which feels vaguely reminiscent of Hitchcock’s suspense filled scores. Tarintino does an excellent job of using framing and shadow to visually show us Landa’s brooding presence over our story. More intriguingly though, is that Landa lets one of the family get away, Shoshanna, who will hold great importance later in the film. He aims at her before playfully pretending to shoot, Landa takes great pleasure in other people’s distress, like a child playing with toys.

CHAPTER 2

Finally, we are introduced to the Basterds and Aldo the Apache, Aldo explains the premise of their mission and a ‘debit’ each of the Basterds owe him. One hundred Nazi scalps. What is interesting about Tarintino is his creativity with violence, unlike typical slasher movies the gore in Tarintino films is in context, it holds a deeper connotation to the character or situation. For example, Aldo and his Apache Indian style techniques, or Shoshanna and her use of fire later on in the movie. Moreover, although there is a large volume of Basterds, the majority of them are characterised by a particular event, object, or name. In the ‘ditch’ where the Basterds have ambushed a Nazi patrol, we are introduced to nearly all the Basterds. Most notably, Hugo Stiglitz, who gets a whole tangent dedicated to his origin story. This movie is so fun to watch because it is self aware, it lets you know you are watching a movie, we see this through the on screen text and out of context distorted guitar that lets us know who Hugo Stiglitz is as a character in our story. Moreover, Utivich is good at scalping, Hirschberg is tiny with a massive machine gun, Wicki can translate and Donowitz is known as the ‘Bear Jew’. The scene progresses and although we have already been introduced to Sergeant Donowitz, we are informed of his character as the ‘Bear Jew’, Tarintino’s dialogue is snappy and unconventional, it sounds more like crass poetry than conversation, using alliteration and rhyme which makes his scripts so memorable.  We also get some insight into the nature of the Basterds, although they are living in great times of terror and hardship, they laugh in the face of adversity. They make fun out of the patriotic germans that refuse to divulge information and cheer as Donny beats them to death as a result.

CHAPTER 3

Shoshanna is still bitter four years after the massacre of her family, working at a cinema. We are introduced to a new character, Fredrick Zoller, a happy-go-lucky Nazi soldier who takes an interest in Shoshanna. Zoller seems sweet, and somewhat charming, perhaps he mistakes Shoshanna’s dismissing behaviour for mysterious charm and a cold exterior wanting to be broken into. However for shoshanna, we know it isn’t so romantic, he represents a psychotic regime that killed her entire family. Tarintino employs a specific trait of his writing that makes it so unique, the characters have a seemingly innocent conversation about German cinema, as Shoshanna’s cinema is playing one of Zoller’s favourite directors. Shoshanna shares her mixed feelings about the movie Piz Palu and through this minutiae, Shoshanna lets Zoller know her actual mixed feeling about the Germanic position. Zoller seems unaffected, not listening to the actual substance of Shoshanna’s argument, so he goes on. Zoller asks for her name, her paper’s say ‘Emmanuelle Mimiueux’, and he presents himself, surprised at Shoshanna’s little reaction and so he leaves. 

The next day, Zoller’s presence in the movie is instated. We are in a bar, with Shoshanna and he is there at the window, waving. He is becoming a pest. He comes in to see Shoshanna, when they are interrupted by a wave of excited german fans, all asking for Zoller. Zoller is a Germanic war hero, he explains rather proudly his exploits, and even shares that Dr Goebbels is making a movie about him. Shoshanna is pushed over the edge of tolerance and storms out, leaving Zoller confused, but unfortunately, wanting more.

Until now, Zoller has been relatively chivalrous, complementing Shoshanna and somewhat respecting her boundaries but Tarintino doesn’t want us to forget he is still a Nazi war hero. Instead of asking her in person, Zoller sends a Gestapo Major to force Shoshanna into a car, not knowing the meaning of the endeavour. We find Shoshanna at table full of Nazis, meeting Dr Goebbel’s himself. The entire scene is now from Shoshanna’s perspective, a calculated move to ensure that the audience feels the same dread she is feeling, when Hans Landa eventually enters. She had been called to this meeting to convince Dr Goebbel’s to change the premiere of Zoller’s film to her cinema. In this scene, language is also used as a device to upkeep interest in the situation, having Goebbel’s being only able to speak German and Shoshanna, French. 

Later, when a dolly shot looms up to Landa, we feel the atmosphere change from a hazy uncomfortableness to honest dread. Landa persuades Zoller to let Shoshanna stay, as he must talk to ‘Mimieux’ about security measures. Everything checks out, the others leave. Landa then commences a mind tournament with Shoshanna, interrogating her by the condolences of her dead aunty and uncle Mimieux. Shoshanna keeps up and doesn’t break a sweat, however, Landa orders Strudel and a glass of milk for Shoshanna. Landa forgets what he wanted to ask her, but puts his cigarette out in the strudel. He knows and Shoshanna knows that he knows. The waiting and the silence is where the real terror lays, this is because there is a factor of uncertainty-- and Tarintino abuses this terrifically.

Shoshanna will host the premiere of Nation’s Pride, herself and Marcel, her projectionist devise the 350 35mm Nitrate Film Scheme. The main aim, to burn it down. 

CHAPTER 4

Next, we travel to England, meeting our new foreign exchange basterd, Archie Hicox. Tarintino uses yet another expositional sequence that is disguised as a formal chat with his General, Ed Fenech. Hicox explains he was a film critic before the war, and adds another force to our Nazi Vendetta, he is to be apart of the english operation KINO with the German movie star, Bridget Von Hammersmark. The aim of the game is to blow up the basket full of their rotten Nazi eggs at the Nation’s Pride premiere, and Hicox is to join the basterds and Hammersmark in France.

Their rendezvous is in a basement tavern, the German speaking basterds and Hicox pose as Nazis to meet Von Hammersmark. Aldo and Donowitz share some concerns, alerting the audience, Stiglitz is calm but sharpening his knife, Hicox tries to reassure them but it seems to fall flat.

The opening shot of the La Louisianne Tavern is of drunk German soldiers, which Hicox assured us there wouldn’t be. The scene is doomed from this point on. Von Hammersmark sits casually with the drunken soldiers, reacting to a comment a soldier makes, replying ‘the character is the character’, although she is german herself, she tells the drunken Nazis her position nonchalantly through the silly game they are all playing and they applaud her for it, missing the subtext of course.

Eventually, she joins the basterds, and they attempt to discuss the developments of Operation Kino, almost getting to the end of her sentence before being interrupted by a soldier, Wilhelm, that has had a baby and wants her autograph. He pesters their table for a while longer before Hicox looses his temper, talking for a sustained amount of time, enough for the drunken soldier notices his peculiar accent. This is where the magic of Tarintino’s writing resides, the terms of which turn the scene sour are so particular to the situation that they become iconic. The scene progresses as our Gestapo Major that we met earlier reappears, what is interesting about Hellstrom is his similarities to Landa. He plays with the minds of the characters surrounding him, interrogating Hicox about his accent as his first introduction, however this is where he sets himself as a weaker antagonist than Landa. Our characters already know they should be weary of him, so all his friendly actions and notions to play drinking games seem slimy. 

We can see the other characters losing their cool now, Stiglitz’s distorted theme tune is coming back with some flash scenes of the atrocities he faced at the hands of Nazi’s. The drunken soldiers are still loud and raucous and Hellstrom is still being arrogant, making jokes that aren’t funny. Throughout the scene, Tarintino has dropped some visual breadcrumbs for us to pick up along the way, Von Hammersmark’s shoes, the Scotch, her autograph and now, Hicox’s final mistake. Hellstrom urges them to try some Scottish Scotch, asking for new glasses but not wanting one himself. Hammersmark opts for champagne, so three glasses are needed. Tarintino again illustrates his ability to take the nuances between cultures and shape them into plot points. Hicox signals for the english three finger gesture, as opposed to the German. He tries to cover it up, but he and Hellstrom are now in a Mexican standoff with Stiglitz not being able to help himself but join in. 

Hicox finishes his scotch, and the scene erupts in a complete shoot out. No Basterd survives. One thing that I have always found bittersweet about Tarintino’s work is his lack of remorse for killing off main characters, they always make sense and move the story along, but are still a bit of a downer when you were starting to get attached to the character. 

The aftermath reveals Wilhelm, the new dad and Von Hammersmark shot in the leg, but alive. After making a deal with Aldo for Hammersmark, Wilhelm is killed by Bridget on account of him calling her a traitor. She gets away, but the plan is ruined. A short interrogation with fingers in bullet holes and the reveal of the development in operation KINO being the Furher attending the Premiere, propells our characters into a ‘How-I-broke-my-leg-mountain-climbing-story’ for Hammersmark’s injured leg, and Aldo and the film star settling on her escorts being Italian over German, the plan isn’t foolproof but the Basterds can brazen through it, so they think.

The last part of our chapter is brief but integral, Landa visits La Louisianne Tavern. We see a different side of Hans Landa, as he was a detective before the War, it is almost as if he is arriving at a crime scene. Scanning the blood-soaked, basterd filled room, he finds the autograph signed Bridget Von Hammersmark. We are now informed, that Landa knows.

[galfridus1]

Melban Weekend Day 1: BROTP

I’m super excited to publish this for @meliodas-and-ban’s Melban Weekend. Thank you so much @jacklynnfrost for writing this with me. You are amazing to collaborate with. Partly inspired by my drinking pal and a song with the same title by Gene.

Fill Her Up

A collaboration between Galfridus and Jacklynnfrost

As soon as the door opens the muffled music expands forth to pound the bass line in his chest, and he feels the sounds reverberate inside his ribcage. He frowns softly, stepping in and looking around the place. Booths line the left wall, a bar is to the right with half the stools empty and a female bartender reaching for a top-shelf bottle of amber liquid. It smells like stale barley and a little like cigarette smoke, but mostly disappointment.

He recognizes none of the faces, looking over the group by the window and giving a second glance to the full table beside the restrooms. With a sigh, he walks to the bar while pulling out his phone to double-check that this is the right establishment. It is, but while double-checking a text comes in from one of the colleagues of the many included in this plan, ‘Bar meetup is canceled, we’ll try again next week.’

Since he’s already here and thirsty for something warm and bitter, he finds a seat at the far end away from the couple cozied up together. The shiny table-top is sticky and he frowns before moving over a seat, eyeing the community bowl of nuts before him. It isn’t as if he is particularly interested in getting to know any of the people he works with, but he made the effort today where no one else seemed to take the plans seriously.

“Yo!” a deep voice calls out, one he recognizes and he turns to see that one of his colleagues has also shown up. The man looks almost too young to be in a place that serves alcohol, his green eyes sparking with an almost indecent enthusiasm and his small face alight with a wide, beaming grin. “Hey Ban, sorry I’m late. Where’re the others?”

“Meet up’s canceled~” Ban drawled as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“Aww, really?” Meliodas flops into the seat opposite him, shaking out his messy head of blonde hair. “That’s a shame. I could really do with a drink.”

Ban grins, a sharp canine poking out from the side of his mouth. “We’re here aren’t we?” he says leaning forward. “I’ve got nothing else going on this evening.”

“You’re on!” Meliodas sits up a little straighter. “What’s your poison?”

Now, this is more like it. Ban grins. “Aberdeen Ale,” he says with a bit of a leer.

Meliodas cocks his head to one side. “Hey! Me too! Okay, coming right up!” Meliodas hops down from the chair and Ban quirks an eyebrow to see just how small the man is. He can’t be more than five feet at most. As Ban checked his phone, listlessly scrolling through Facebook, he found himself wondering more about the man who was busy buying him a drink. Meliodas has a reputation for being an extremely effective operative, someone who can sell rocks to a troll. Ban is not bad at it himself, well he hits all his targets each month, though his rivals would say that’s because he scares all the clients.

“Here you go!” Meliodas is suddenly back at the table, plonking two frothing pints of dark brown liquid down before him. Ban cackles, wrapping his fingers round the cool glass. “Cheers!” the other declares as he retakes his seat, and both men take deep, grateful drafts of the ale.

“So, how did you get into sales?” asks Meliodas. He swipes his sleeve across his face to make sure he does not have any foam on his mouth while speaking.

“The usual way,” Ban replies, “I needed a job so I found one.” He grins, raising his glass as his companion snickers, “I’ll drink to that.”

Their mugs rest on the bar top, silence between them but the noises of the bar are loud. Meliodas taps his fingers on the wood, barely hearing the sounds he’s making while Ban vaguely turns to the television currently showing a commercial. “Is it what you want to do?” he finally asks, not out of real interest but more for something to say.

“Nah, of course not,” Ban says with a laugh, taking another long drink and Meliodas stares. The man certainly is putting it away. Not to be outdone, he too takes a draft, clearing just a little more of the ale than his companion has done. “This is just a temp thing, you know.”

“Same.” Meliodas’s gaze flicks to the table and back again. “So um… what’s the plan, long term I mean?” Ban says nothing so he presses on, “I want to open my own bar, actually. Do a better job than this,” he adds with a smirk as his eyes rove around the room taking in the faded decor, the peeling paint and the obvious shine of something sticky on the bar itself. “Have you seen the toilets?”

“Not had that pleasure,” says Ban with a grimace, “and it’s my round. Same again?”

Meliodas gives a cheerful nod then drains his glass ostentatiously as Ban does the same. With a grin, Ban gets up from the table, his long legs elongating before him like a spider’s. Eyebrows raised, Meliodas watches as Ban makes his way to the bar, the slight smile on his countenance broadening to a huge grin as his colleague returns with not two pints, but four.

“It’s happy hour,” Ban explains. “Drink up, we should get another round in before these go back to full price.” Meliodas gladly obeys, sinking half a pint in one go. “Not bad,” Ban observes as he sets down his own glass, now more empty than full.

“Not bad yourself!” Meliodas drains his pint then raises the next. “Bet I can finish this before you.”

“You are so on!”

Together Ban and Meliodas raise their glasses, clicking the vessels together. “Three...” Meliodas begins.

“Two…” Ban follows.

“One...” teases Meliodas as he pulls the pint close to his face, the tang of ale on the air making his mouth water.

“Go!” The two immediately place their drinks to their lips, chugging down the alcohol as quickly as they can. They are both fast - very fast - and Meliodas makes himself hold his breath as he downs the drink more quickly than even he is used to, feeling a little lightheaded as he swallows the last of the ale. When he bangs the glass down on the table, he is gratified to see that he is a second before Ban, whose face is now a little pink round the cheekbones.

Meliodas stands, swaying slightly as the room reorientates itself. “S’my round,” he declares, grinning to Ban over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bar. Feeling the thrill of a challenge, he decides to buy six of the ales, the bartender giving him a sideways look and a tray.

“There!” Meliodas sets the tray on the table, joining in Ban’s chuckle as his colleague rubs his hands together. “Alright!” Ban declares as he takes one of the glasses.

“You know, that’s my plan too,” Ban slurs.

Meliodas’s brows furrow. “What is?”

Ban barks out a laugh. “You wanna set up a bar. Me too. That’s what I’m saving up for.”

“You do?” Meliodas’s jaw hangs a little slack, and he closes it quickly, covering his confusion with a draft from his own pint.

“Yeah. I figure there’s not a lot better than being surrounded by alcohol all day. Plus I can cook. I’m damn good. I want to have this traditional pub, cobbled stone floor, oak tables with stools, the lot. You know, like a tavern they’d have in the old days.” Ban’s face is dreamy, his eyes set into the middle distance as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table. “I’m gonna get someone to do front of house while I cook pies and roasts. It’ll be heaven.”

Meliodas is breathing heavily, and he swallows hard. “What’s eating you?” Ban asks with a cackle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mind made up, Meliodas reaches for his bag, pulling out a worn, leather-bound sketchbook. “I… you mean something like this?” he asks tentatively as he opens the book. He watches Ban carefully, heart pounding in his chest as the other looks down at the page, his expression morphing from curious to amazed. He looks down himself at the scene he has so carefully drawn: cobbled stone floor, neat little stools set by round tables, patterned diamond windows, and a well-stocked bar. This is his dream, and he looks into Ban’s wide-eyed stare, excitement flowing through his veins.

“I call it, The Boar Hat,” he says diffidently.

“Oh. My. God.” Ban glances at him, then picks up the book, gazing with intent at Meliodas’s sketch. “This is perfect. It’s exactly what I imagined. How did you… what… how?”

Meliodas gives an awkward laugh. “I’ve wanted to set up my own bar as long as I can remember. It was, um, a distraction from… stuff.” He picks up another pint, knocking it back to cover his embarrassment, rolling the liquid around in his mouth.

With the book in one hand, Ban reaches for his glass as well while staring at the page and takes long drags from the beer. The pages fan out without his hand there to hold it in place and sketch after sketch flashes, too fast to make out more than a few. “You must have needed a lot of distractions,” Ban notes, trying not to pry as he rights his new friend's book and slides it across the clean side of the table.

Meliodas shrugs, having just finished a deep swallow of his beer to dive back into it before fully breathing, finishing off the glass. “Same, honestly,” Ban notes, looking down into the amber liquid as if it had the answers, if not those he knows it has some relief. To keep up, and with memories trickling in, Ban finishes off his glass as well.

They both reach for another, in tandem and when their gazes meet their expressions are mirrored as well. The two are physically different but it's like one wounded soul recognizes the other, seeing that deep dark pinch of something that had been left to burn inside. Seeing it sparks a true connection. “Huh,” they both exhale and then snicker as they lean away with their cups and take another healthy swig.

“You too, huh?” Meliodas asks, shaking his head in a mix between exasperation that the world is so fucked and companionable wry acceptance. Ban shrugs, taking a second deep inhale of his drink following his first. He gives a start, his glass slowly lowering from his lips as he realizes that had been Meliodas’s non-answer moments ago. A heavy laugh bursts forth, a bit too loud until Ban slaps his hand over the table. “We’re the same!” he declares, edging into inebriation.

Meliodas laughs with him, downing his glass before smirking with foam on his lip, uncaring about his appearance at this point. “Fifty bucks says I had it worse.” He’s joking but Ban’s shoulders square up to their table, “Buck-fifty, and you’re on.” He accepts, both look to their next glass on the table, their last one, and say together, “We’re gonna need another round for this.”

To keep with the pattern, eight glasses are ordered and he’s all snickering grins as he wobbles the tray to their table not spilling a drop of the golden comfort. “You go first,” Meliodas demands.

“Nah, mine’s way more disturbing. I don’t wanna ruin yours.” Ban leans back in his seat, his crimson eyes a challenge as he takes yet another long drink of the ale.

“Confident huh?” Meliodas downs his pint. “Okay, but you’ll regret it.” He picks up another of the glistening glasses, condensation beading around the outside. “Life was alright when I was young. My old man has always been… well, he’s always been him but my mum did her best to shield me from it. He was never violent, you see, just… horrible.”

He gulps, wincing a little as Ban stares at him intently, a bit of heat burning the back of his neck. “I didn’t really know how bad it was at the time but I’ve pieced things together since, you know? He wouldn’t let her go out on her own, except to buy groceries, and if she spent too much or didn’t get the right things he’d yell at her for hours. And I mean really yell, at the top of his lungs. He’d call her all sorts of names.” Meliodas pauses, taking another draft of ale as his throat starts to burn. “He chose what she wore, wouldn’t let her have friends, wouldn’t let her talk to her family… I didn’t know that was weird until much later.”

Ban is leaning forwards now, his eyes slightly misty. “Go on,” he murmurs softly as Meliodas sucks in a deep breath.

He nods, then continues, “She… died when I was ten, giving birth to my brother. I didn’t even get to see her…” He takes another breath, willing himself to keep it together. “So there I was with my father and this baby and I had no idea what to do. I had to learn pretty quick,” he says with a laugh. “And Zeldris was tough work. He’s great and all but…” Without thinking, Meliodas tugs at a lock of his hair. “Anyway, with my mum gone, my father turned his attention to me. My grades weren’t perfect, Zeldris made too much noise, the house wasn’t clean enough.” He breaks off at this, contemplating his glass before drawing the remaining liquid into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Ban says, all trace of slurring gone from his tone. “That sounds shit.”

“I really did think it was my fault,” Meliodas says with a laugh. “It wasn’t till I met Elizabeth, then I realised that it’s... not normal. She took me to see her family and, well, they are. Normal, I mean. They’re nice to each other. I… I wasn’t nice to Zeldris,” Meliodas says with a rush. “I was pretty nasty to him actually. He won’t talk to me anymore…” He zones out, looking over Ban’s shoulders seeing nothing as he mutters, “I left him there, he was a kid and I, I knew.”

Ban sets down his pint with a thunk. “You should make it up him,” he admonishes, his voice cold as frost. “Brothers and sisters are… you look after them.”

“Yeah.” Meliodas takes another drink. “I know. I’ve tried to apologise,” he pleads as he looks into Ban’s face to see a stern line to his companion’s jaw. “I really have. He doesn’t forgive easily.”

“Then keep trying.” Ban glares, then his eyes soften, his own emotions spiking. “Aw, I know you are. And don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll come round. Who’s Elizabeth?” he asks, a smile creeping back onto his face to help his friend focus on the good part of his life he just shared.

Meliodas grins in return. “My girlfriend. We’ve been going out for a few years now. If I get a bonus this month, I’m gonna buy a ring.”

Ban slaps the table harder than the first time, his laugh so loud it reverberates over the thumping bass of the music and other patrons turn to gaze at the pair. Behind the bar, the staff glance at each other with worried looks. Then the hubbub of conversation resumes and the staff relaxes, returning to the serving of drinks and wiping down surfaces in a desultory way. “That’s why you’ve been working like crazy! It all makes sense now! Rings are damn expensive,” Ban says rather glumly.

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.” Meliodas peers at Ban, whose face has turned slightly red. “You are talking from experience,” he declares. “Go on! Tell me more.”

“Her name’s Elaine, and that’s all you’re getting tonight.” Ban grins then drinks. “I’m gonna ask her this weekend.” Meliodas does the same at the news, tilting his mug in Ban’s direction in a mini salute to his new friend's future happiness. Their glasses hit the table and Meliodas arches a brow. “All I’m gettin’, huh? I spill my metaphorical guts and you only give me your girl’s name. I think this is the easiest one-fifty I’ve ever made.” After a breath and a smirk, he continues, “Maybe Elizabeth will get her ring first with all this easy money coming in.”

Ban snorts, takes a drink of his beer, finishing it with long gulps before pushing it to the side with the other waiting empty mugs. They clang together and with a flushed face he announces, “If this were our bar, these would be taken care of already.” Ban sighs when his declaration goes unacknowledged before turning to Meliodas with a small wince. “My old man was the opposite, never said much but communicated through violence. Ma wasn’t much better, sending me out to steal for them. Her requests were always impossible and when I’d return with less than asked for, I’d get punished. But all that shit, that’s fine.” Ban laughs humorlessly, fingers stretching across the sticky table for another of their waiting beers.

“See, I learned my lesson too late too, the one about protecting your younger siblings.” Ban grinds his teeth, hissing in a breath between them. “I hate that my life got better after. That I benefited from her death. I was put in a nice home, got a father figure worth his salt, food every night and even a brother my age… all at the cost of my sister’s life.” He can take no more, the memories sparking and leaving his chest tensing, his actual heart aching. Ban tips his drink back in a clear sign he is done revisiting the dark, but never forgotten, corners of his life.

“Fuck.” Meliodas grimaces, finishing his mug so Ban isn’t drowning himself alone. “I think this is a wash, then.” They both eye the other, then take another drink. The two gather up their next beers and Mel starts drinking but Ban halts, bringing the mug to eye level. He spots that this cup still has red smears of lipstick stains on it, he’s drunk enough to holler again. “Wash!” He yells, not gripping what Meliodas is talking about as he focuses on the dirty glass. “This place wouldn’t know clean if Mr. Clean himself squeaked in here with a soapy rag.” He holds up his glass, showing no one and everyone in the same go. “Look at this! I’m basically making out with a stranger with these lip marks!”

Finally the bartender glares over to him, and in an exaggerated move Ban points to his current cup before sliding the full mug across the table to clang into all the empty cups waiting for pick up. Meliodas snickers, finishing off his beer with a sloppy wipe of his face on the back of his sleeve. “We’ll have pretty girls serving and picking up the dishes,” Ban determines.

Meliodas’s eyes grow wide, his hand slaps at the table top making the glasses jiggle together in a chiming chorus perfectly timed between songs and the bartender gives an exasperated, audible grunt from behind. “Elizabeth in a cut off shirt with a short, short shirt. Mm-hm, It’d be the uniform, she can’t refuse.”

Meliodas finds this idea brilliant, he’s practically beaming as his mind races with all the things he can ask her to do dressed like that. He’s mumbling, drunk enough to not realize he’s speaking out loud. “Obviously she’ll have to reach for the top shelf stuff, being short has its perks, and bend to pick up the fallen cups…” He’s practically licking his lips about it when Ban laughs.

“If you put Elaine in that ‘uniform’ I’ll knock your block off. C’mon let’s get some more. In, like, clean - CLEAN - glasses’s time.”

Ban’s slurring just about makes sense and Meliodas grins. “I’ll drink to that,” he cries, using the table as support to stand making the pile of glasses clink together from the unstable wobbling. “Alright. I’ll come with ya. We'll carry more with… um… one, two, three, four! Four hands. Right? Right!” He counted it out on his fingers and holds them up with a snorting laugh from his perceived success.

When they reach the bar, however, the staff stand in front of the vast array of multicoloured concoctions forming a firm, supportive line, their shoulders pressed back and some with arms folded across their chest. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, sirs?” the bartender asks, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Meliodas’s head is swimming like a fish in a tank, but even he can make out the insolent tone and his fists are curled by his side in an instant. He’s about to swing when Ban leans over him, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Who you callin’ sirs?” He growls, the effect somewhat undone by the way he leans his hands on Meliodas’s shoulders so hard the blonde loses an inch off his height as he fails to keep his knees straight.

“I will have to ask you to leave.” The bartender’s face is thunder. “Don’t make me call security,” he threatens as Ban leers and cracks his knuckles audibly.

Meliodas has a brief moment of clarity - they ought to leave, they could go back to his and continue their session, Elizabeth is staying at her sister’s tonight - but instead, he shakes his head and yells, “You and who’s army!” He picks up the nearest thing to hand - a dull metal fork, bits of food adhering to the prongs - and starts waving it about in, what he imagines to be, a rather menacing way. The bartender rolls his eyes, and a moment later Meliodas feels himself being picked up by the scruff of the neck and carried towards the exit. He attempts to swing round and to use the cutlery he is carrying but it is pulled from his grasp.

Ban is yelling as they are marched from the premises. “This’s a shithole anyway!” he proclaims, his words all blurring into one another. “You should’ll come t’our bar, it’s got, like, a pig, and a hat and like… it looks good okay, and it’s CLEAN.” Meliodas snickers, “Yeah!” he calls. “And we don’t have any mice either.” At this, the other patrons look around the bar with sharp glances, some pulling their feet up from the floor. A few leave money on the table and make a hasty exit as the bartender slaps his face down into his palm.

“Don’t come back,” the security guard warns as he deposits Meliodas and Ban out on the street before dusting off his hands and stepping back inside.

The pair stand on the sidewalk, swaying slightly as they break into spontaneous giggles. Meliodas claps Ban on the back, the latter nearly careening into the road under the force of his blow. The two look at each other and, in silent agreement, shuffle along, their sides bumping together as they make their way to a rival establishment a few paces along the street.

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

starhearth: episode five

Second Month of Spring, Day 5-6

Early in the morning, while the last of the rain from the day before is still petering out, the explorer who promised to trade us some cricket golems returns.

[ID: A screenshot of a notification box titled ‘The explorer returns!’ The text inside the box reads, “The explorer returns!--I’m back! It looks like you’ve made me the 5 Wooden Window Frame I asked for. Are you still interested in 2 Autonomous Cricket Golem in exchange? I assure you, they are more useful than any normal person at carrying things!”]

Once activated, the two little golems quickly go to work picking up items and moving them to the stockpiles. These guys will be very helpful to us. As more and more of the villagers become crafters or warriors and spend most of their time focused on that, there are fewer and fewer people to do the necessary work of just hauling stuff from one place to another. The cricket golems will help pick up the slack.

[ID: A screenshot of the item stockpile, containing animal pelts, bones, strips of rawhide and blocks of wood, as the two golems pick up items from the stockpile. The golems are dark gray and rectangular in shape, with four stubby legs, small square gray heads, two glowing yellow eyes, and two glowing rectangular antennae.]

More good news: we’ve got enough food and networth to pick up another villager.

Now, I realize that you may have increasingly been thinking, as this game continues to progress, “uh, where the hell is SPOCK? you’ve literally included LESLIE in your roster before SPOCK? what are you even doing here” or something along those lines. Well, you can rest assured I did not forget about Spock. The reason I haven’t made him a villager yet comes down to one simple thing: I had no absolutely no idea what to do with him. There is no position available to the Hearthlings that even remotely corresponds to ‘science officer’. Herbalist, maybe, at a stretch—but there are multiple characters who fit that job better by virtue of being actual medical professionals. I thought about making him a warrior of some kind, since Spock takes out a fair amount of foes throughout the series, but that didn’t seem to fit him very well. Spock’s not a warrior at heart. He’s just a guy who’s willing to nerve pinch a bad guy or two if the situation calls for it.

But of course, we’ve gotta have Spock in here somewhere. So in the end, after much deliberation, I decided...to make him a Weaver. Weavers are a crafting class that refine fibers and animal pelts into thread, leather and cloth, which can then be used either by the Weaver to make clothes that provide various benefits to Hearthlings, or by other crafters to make things like bows and armor.

My reasoning for this? Spock’s fabulous sense of fashion. That’s it. That’s literally it.

[ID: A screenshot of Spock’s Character Info window, which shows that his mood is content, his stats are 6 Mind, 5 Body and 4 Spirit, his class is Worker, he has the trait ‘Night Owl’--represented by a crescent moon icon—and his mood is being improved by the ‘Pioneering Spirit’ buff. Below, Spock’s portrait is seen in the information box at the bottom of the screen, showing him to be a white Hearthling with brown eyes, short square black hair, and thick black eyebrows.]

Spock has an impressive stat spread—6 Mind, 5 Body and 4 Spirit—and the trait Night Owl. You might remember that Kirk also has this trait; it makes the Hearthling stay up later at night and wake up later in the day. So Kirk and Spock can keep each other company. As it should be.

The character appearance options aren’t exactly equipped to make Vulcans, so the best I can do is give Spock some really big eyebrows. Unfortunately, a strange graphical glitch results in those eyebrows floating in the air next to his head instead of remaining on his face as eyebrows usually do.

[ID: A screenshot of Spock the Hearthling running over the grass with his eyebrows floating at the right height, but to the right of his head instead of on it.]

my god, those NBC execs were right all along! his eyebrows are demonic!

Well...it’ll probably sort itself out.

Meanwhile, McCoy needs to build himself a cauldron so he can craft potions. This requires a bit of stone. Once we start mining for ore, we’ll have more stone than we know what to do with, but for the moment we’re fresh out. Luckily there are some boulders standing out in the fields around the village, so McCoy goes out to break those down for stone. Apparently he doesn’t much feel like picking it up afterward, though, because he just kind of stands there while a cricket golem comes to collect the stone instead.

[ID: A screenshot of McCoy standing in the grass staring at the stockpile and doing nothing, while behind him a cricket golem picks up a block of stone.]

what? did you not get your coffee today?

Once the stone is in the stockpile, though, McCoy—begrudgingly, I assume—goes to craft a cauldron out of it, and begins brewing some potions. A few energy potions made from the ad hoc little herb garden will make everyone move a bit faster for a while, which hopefully will speed up production of the tavern.

[ID: A screenshot of McCoy bending over a bubbling cauldron next to his workstation in the grass. The information box below describes him as ‘crafting energy tonic.’]

Uhura has befriended another rabbit, this one named March. I really hope March and Thumpy don’t breed, because if we get into a Trouble With Tribbles situation I don’t think my CPU will be able to handle it.

[ID: A screenshot of the camp with a small rabbit sitting next to the empty hearth, while Kirk patrols nearby and McCoy gets something from the stockpile in the background.]

Night Owl Spock stays up to finish putting the roof on the tavern after everyone else has gone to bed. He’s not completely alone, though; he’s got his eyebrows to accompany him.

[ID: Spock walking across the roof of the tavern in the dark, eyebrows still hovering next to his head.]

The next morning is warm but a bit rainy. With the tavern itself completed, all that’s left is to place all the windows and doors. Everyone chips in to help.

[ID: A screenshot of several villagers walking across the grass towards the tavern, each carrying a door or window. Rand is selected in the information box below, which says she is ‘placing Wooden Door.’]

Some more Entlings attack...or rather, they try to, but they’re up on the cliffs surrounding the town to the north, and can’t get down. So they just kind of stand there angrily for a while before wandering off again.

[ID: A shot from the front of the tavern, showing four Entlings standing on the cliff some distance in the background.]

The tavern is finally finished, and everyone takes a moment to celebrate.

[ID: A screenshot of McCoy, Rand, Chapel, Leslie, Spock, Chekov, and Scotty all standing in front of the tavern with their hands in the air as confetti and clouds of dust fly up from the completed building.]

There’s not much time to stand around, though—now that the building is complete, it’s time to start moving things into it. Eventually we’ll make individual houses for people and use the tavern as, well, a tavern, but for the moment it’s more pressing to just get everyone under a roof, so the beds are moved into what’s theoretically the tavern pantry. Well, almost all the beds. One of them can’t be moved for a while, because Kirk is sleeping in it.

[ID: A screenshot of Kirk passed out in the one remaining bed next to the berry bushes.]

The berry bushes and herb garden are also moved over to be closer to the tavern, and the outside storepiles decommissioned in favor of moving all our supplies into some more neatly organized boxes inside. Scotty queues up some more storage boxes as well as a few more beds to support the growing population, but he needs wood to make them, and building the tavern has used up our whole supply of it. So a few people are sent to cut down some trees. Just cutting down the trees growing nearby has given us enough wood so far, but that’s not going to be a sustainable solution forever. We’re going to need an orchard for wood, so a few acorns are also planted out back to get that started.

One of the felled trees drops a bee’s nest. This is actually a good thing—a Herbalist can collect the bees and put them in a hive which will supply honey. McCoy is sent to go pick up the bees, but he decides he’d rather get a drink instead.

[ID: A screenshot of the field behind the tavern, mostly cleared but with a couple of tree stumps in the corner. One of the stumps has a swarming bee’s nest on the ground next to it. McCoy is running away from the stump, and the information box below says that he is ‘getting a drink.’]

Yeah I can’t really say I blame him.

[stcky-rogers]

just friends | nine

summary: bucky barnes, now a successful record executive, confessed his unrequited feelings for his best friend. ten years later, he returns home for the holidays when his plans to go to paris fall through. stuck in brooklyn with his crazy family and an egotistical pop star, bucky tries to get himself out of the friendzone. movie au, just friends

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: language, mentions of death, angst-from tfios, fluff.

eight

you let out a sigh as you slumped into the uncomfortable chair. you eyes low as you stare up at the dull lights on the ceiling. you stretched your legs out in front of you as you waited for the doctor to return with more information. 

“miss stark,” the doctor called as she approached you and your head snapped in the direction of the recognizable voice. “peggy,” you breathed as she sat in the chair next to you. peggy began telling you everything you needed to know about bucky’s injuries. “bucky has multiple lacerations on his lower mandible and a mild concussion.” you nodded, toying with the stray thread on your sweater.

peggy chuckled before placing her hand over yours, “he’s going to be fine, there’s nothing for you to worry about.” she encouraged. peggy told you to follow her as she leads you to bucky’s room. when peggy opened the door, bucky was on his feet. you entered the room behind peggy and stopped in your tracks, bucky was shirtless. 

damn, he looks good.

bucky grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. you gave a small smile and bucky returned it, momentarily forgetting about the retainer steve was making him wear. you frowned slightly, “what’s with the retainer?” bucky snapped his mouth shut, “steve says i have to wear it until the stitches come out.” you shook your head and smiled, “it’s your yearbook picture all over again.” bucky rolled his eyes at you. 

once bucky signed the discharge papers, you left the hospital. you drove bucky home due to his concussion and made your way home. the walk was a very short and cold one, you made your way inside, shrugging off your winter accessories and found your parents sitting in the kitchen making dinner. 

your dad smiled, “hey, honey. i didn’t know when you’d be home,” you returned his smile and sat down on the stool across from your father. “bucky injured himself playing hockey with the kids earlier today,” you said, accepting a cup of hot chocolate pepper placed in front of you. 

your dad shook his head, “that kid was always injuring himself skating,” you shrugged, “i just hope he gets better.” you said, taking your cup and moving up the stairs. your cellphone began ringing in your pocket and you gave a slight frown, it was just after nine o’clock. you looked at the unfamiliar number and answered your phone anyway, a soft ‘hello’ escaping your lips.

“doll,” the voice called, “hey,” you opened the door to your bedroom and smiled at hearing bucky’s voice. “hey, how are you feeling?” you asked, plopping down on your bed. bucky scoffed, “like a million bucks,” he chuckled and you rolled your eyes. 

“hey, i was thinking, maybe we could, um, see a movie or something tonight,” you sip your drink as bucky continued, “there’s a showing for the fault in our stars at ten-thirty.” you perked up at the mention of the movie, nearly choking on your hot chocolate. “sounds good to me, i’ll pick you up.” you grinned and bucky chuckled, “great, doll. i’ll see you soon,” bucky said before hanging up the phone. 

bucky raced to his room and found pietro giving natasha a massage, grimacing bucky yanked his brother off of her and watched as he landed on the floor with a thud. natasha quickly scrambled into a sitting position, grabbing a blanket to cover herself. “where the hell have you been?” she glared at bucky and he frowned, “i was getting you food.” he held out the tupperware bowl as she pulled it from his hands.

“are you wearing braces?” pietro squinted, trying to get a better look at his brother’s teeth. bucky glared, “no, it’s a retainer,” he said before yanking pietro out of the room. 

“take natasha to the tavern and just have her perform or something, i’ve got another date.” pietro perked up, a mischievous grin on his face. 

setting down your drink, you began pulling off your clothes. wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, you made your way into your bathroom for a shower and when you stepped out, it was almost ten. you dressed in a comfortable sweater and leggings, pulling your hair into a bun, you raced down the stairs. 

you knocked softly on peter’s door and within seconds, the door swung open revealing peter with his gaming headset on. “hey, i’m going to see a movie with bucky,” you informed and peter instantly cut you off, “how is he, by the way?” you gave him a brief rundown on bucky’s state and he nodded, “you mind bringing me back some of mrs. barnes’ infamous cookies?” peter asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes and you chuckled before nodding. 

you were pulling on your boots and your other winter accessories before your phone rang in your hand. you answered the call as you left your home. 

the drive over to bucky’s was short and within minutes were getting out of the car and knocking on the door. the door swung open and revealed wanda, the two of you squealed and wrapped each other in a tight hug. “wan, i’ve missed you!” you cried into her hair and she giggled. “i’ve missed you, too.” her accent thick as she spoke into your ear. pulling away from each other, she quickly pulled you inside and nearly pushed you into bucky. 

bucky’s arms reached out and wrapped you into a warm hug and you almost melted. you could stay wrapped in his warm embrace until the day you die, but your fantasy was short lived as someone behind you cleared their throat. you had forgotten about your other friend. “thor,” bucky spoke, shock lacing his voice as he stared up at the blond haired man in front of him. 

you looked up at bucky only to find his piercing blue eyes staring back down at you, “i hope it’s not a problem that thor’s tagging along,” you bit your lip and bucky almost kicked himself for feeling upset with you. “no, of course not.” he grinned, but inwardly he was screaming. wanda grinned as she looked at you and her brother, completely ignoring the man standing behind her. 

she wrapped you and bucky into a tight hug, “be safe and have fun,” you chuckled as bucky grumbled something about wanda being just like their mother. “hey, why don’t you join us?” thor spoke up, a look in his eye bucky couldn’t quite detect. 

“no, wanda has homework she needs to get done.” bucky stated and wanda rolled her eyes. “you don’t need to speak for me, james,” wanda huffed and grabbed her coat. “let’s go,” she said, dragging you out to the car. 

the four of you were completely silent as you drove to the movie theater. bucky had purchased yours and wanda’s tickets, leaving thor to buy his own. smirking as he placed his arm around your shoulders, bucky drug you off to the concession stand. you purchased your popcorn and drinks before making your way inside the theater. 

bucky rested his head on fist as he watched the movie as augustus confessed his feelings to hazel. he didn’t see why people were making such a big deal out of it. rolling his eyes, he continued watching the movie as it played on the screen in front of him. nearly falling asleep, bucky’s eyes snapped open when you reached for his hand, tears rolling down your face. turning his attention back to the screen he saw hazel lying in bed and he frowned. 

“augustus waters died eight days later in the icu, when the cancer, which was made of him, stopped his heart, which was also made of him.” bucky gave your hand a small squeeze as you stared at the screen in front of you. even with tears rolling down your cheeks, bucky thought you were the most beautiful sight in the world. bucky leaned over to get a look at thor only to see him crying as well. he looked over at wanda and she was on the verge of sobbing. 

after the movie was over, you drove everyone back to bucky’s. you turned to face the siblings in the backseat, smiling, you said, “so, what are we doing next?” thor looked over at you, “sadly, i have to head back for a shift at the hospital.” bucky chimed in, “oh, that’s too bad. doll, come inside for a cup of cocoa and brownies.” you immediately nodded at the offer. 

you said your goodbyes to thor and watched him get into his car and drive off. the three of you made your way inside the house and watched old home videos to go with your desserts. 

bucky dropped his head as one of the most embarrassing moments of his life popped up on the screen. you two had been singing along to the song and you planted a kiss on bucky’s cheek before his verse came, leaving him so flustered he stammered throughout the whole verse. you giggled softly at how sweet bucky used to be and you’d be lying if said you didn’t miss it. 

that night you went home with a huge smile on your face. you placed the cookies bucky had given you on peter’s desk before heading up to your room. you changed out of your clothes, climbed into bed and before you knew it, you were out like a light. 

when you woke the next morning, you received a text from bucky asking you to accompany him for some christmas shopping. you agreed and told him you’d be by to pick him up in an hour. you went downstairs to enjoy a nice meal with your family, only to see thor sitting at the table. 

“what are you doing here?” you frowned, taking a seat next to peter. “i ran into your dad earlier this morning and he invited me over for breakfast,” your dad gave you a cheeky smile as you looked at him. pepper set a plate in front of you as peter leaned over to whisper something in your ear, “two guys at breakfast in two days, you go girl,” you lightly jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow and he grunted. 

breakfast was completely awkward, your dad was trying to set you up with thor and he was failing miserably. “you hear that, sweetie, thor’s free for your grandparents’ anniversary party.” you forced a smile, “that’s, awesome.” you finished your food and placed your dishes in the sink and turned to see thor standing behind you. “i have to get going, i’m needed at the hospital.” thor planted a kiss on your cheek and headed out the door. you went upstairs and prepared for your day with bucky. 

“oh my god, no, bucky, you cannot give that to your mother.” you shook your head as bucky held up a john wick poster. he frowned, “why not, the woman loves keanu reeves.” you snorted and took the poster out of his hands and put it back where it belonged. 

“no, you don’t give something like that to the woman who gave birth to you.” you sighed, looping your arm through his. the two of you had been shopping for hours and you found gifts for everyone, except for pepper, bucky’s mom, and bucky. you were currently searching for a gift to give mrs. barnes and you had happened to come up with the perfect one. 

“a family portrait,” bucky gave you a confused look, “think about it, you’ve been in la for the last ten years, a picture of her three children in front of the fireplace would be such a beautiful christmas gift.” you shrugged, “and if that doesn’t work by her a charm bracelet,” 

when you two had finished shopping, you were starving. bucky took you one of your favorite diners in brooklyn, an older couple had ran the diner and absolutely loved tony stark’s and winnifred barnes’ children. walking in, you shrugged off your coat as you approached the booth. bucky looked around, nostalgia hitting him in the face. there were so many things and places he’d forgotten about brooklyn. 

“well, if it isn’t my two favorite troublemakers,” bucky grinned up at the old man. “in the flesh,” stan chuckled. “it’s good to have you back, son.” he clasped his hand on bucky’s shoulder and bucky’s smile faltered. 

“oh, uh, i’m not back. i’m just visiting for the holidays.” stan snorted, “sure, kid.” he muttered before he took your orders. dinner went by smoothly, there were accidents, rude comments, or any storming out. you two had a really good time. in fact, you two were laughing, talking, and telling jokes until it was time for the diner to close. bucky helped you into your coat and put his on as well. you two hugged stan and his wife and said your goodbyes as you left. 

you turned around to see bucky holding something above your head. “mistletoe,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your lips. bucky grinned, “rules are you have to kiss me.” you snorted as you stepped closer, leaning in to close the gap between you, your breath mixing with his. your lips brushed over one another’s, right before you captured his with your own. 

the kiss was soft, sweet, and innocent as you moved your lips together. bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. your hands cupped bucky’s cheeks as he deepened the kiss, tongue twisting and exploring your mouth. you pulled away slowly, sucking in a breath of air as you stared back at the man in front of you. your lips tingled when the cold air met them, bucky took his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned in for another breathtaking kiss, but someone called your name. you turned to find the voice and you really wished you hadn’t. 

it was like a punch in the gut when you whispered his name, “bruce.”

ten

taglist:

@starkxpotts / @captain-avengerss / @metermarker / @propertyofpoeandbucky/ @inlovewith3 / @thisismyfriend-tree / @amor67figment-love / @sourieeseb / @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency / @renalilo/ @skin-like / @comicaluke / @breezy1415 /

[fiddler-unroofed]

{four instances of a favor}

(quick author notes: the timeline skips a lot & I used greek for halfling because why not)

warnings for lowkey suicidal thoughts but generally just trying to convince yourself you’re okay with dying, and some mentioned but not very descriptive wounds 

Prompt from @idonottlikethishellsite: from the list of shit i hope never actually happens-- been thinking a lot about how reincarnate is the lowest lvl spell that could change nott into something other than a goblin but would require her to die first. the thought of nott purposely wanting to use that spell and trying to talk caleb into it keeps me up nights.

***

"Would you ever let me die?"

The question is asked innocently enough, but it still gives Caleb pause. He turns to look at Nott, but she doesn't meet his glance. Her feet dangle over the tavern table she's sitting on. At her side, her flask lies, their cause for visit.

Caleb nods. "Ja," he says flatly. "Over my dead body."

(Not that it's worth much.)

Nott smiles at him, but it's strained. Her lips are clamped over her teeth like she's holding a secret. "That's very sweet."

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." Her fingers twist into each other, and she fiddles with them aimlessly. Her feet have started to swing under the table. "Just one of those silly thoughts I get sometimes, Caleb, you know me."

"Mm." He does know her, and that's what worries him. It's only been a few weeks, and already he knows her like the back of his hand, like the color of the sky. He'd know her blind or deaf. Which, by the way, he'd have to be in order to believe such an obvious lie.

He lets it drop anyway. “Long day tomorrow," he says instead, and carefully watches for her reaction. “Lots of shopping.”

It worries him more when she gives him none. "Yeah," she says. Absently. Like she's still turning something over in her mind, molding it into shape. Caleb knows what's it like to overthink things, (he knows it far too well) and he knows it's not what's happening here-- but for the life of him he can't figure out what is.

"Yeah," he echoes in her voice. And then, returning to his own: "I was thinking we could stop by a book shop I found on the way here. It sold many things-- mostly books-- but I think you would like it." He tries for a smile. It falls short. They always do. "Lots of trinkets. For your collection."

Nott's expression remains blank, but by the way her ears droop Caleb knows his approach backfired. Shit.

"My collection," she agrees, fake cheerfully. It sounds as far from sincere as he's ever heard her. "I do love trinkets."

Caleb drops the pretense. "Look," he says hesitantly, "I know I am not the best person to talk to about... things. Or stuff. Or anything, really. But if there is something troubling your mind, something that I am able to help with--"

"No, no," Nott interrupts him. She jumps off the table and dusts herself off briskly. "I'm fine. I swear it. Just drank a drop too much, and well..." She gestures to herself sheepishly. "I'm not always a happy drunk, I guess. I'll be right as rain in the morning."

"Ah," Caleb says. He wants to believe her. He wants it more than anything else right now. "That is all?"

"That's all," Nott promises. She leans up, on tiptoes, and beckons for him to bend down. Caleb does, and before he knows it a sudden warmth tinges his forehead and Nott's pulling away with a look that he can only describe as familiar. He blinks at her owlishly, and she smiles. Still through clamped lips.

"Night, Caleb," she says, turning on her heel and already making her way across the tavern to where they've scoured up enough coin to book a room for the night.

 "Good night," he says. He doesn't think she heard him.

Slowly, he reaches up and presses his fingers (the fingers of a murderer) against his forehead. The warmth has already left it.

"Good night," he repeats to no one in particular. It is a good night. No, maybe good is not that right word. It is a strange night, is what it is. Only on strange nights do your little goblin friends ask you odd questions and don't tell you what's wrong and kiss you on the forehead (it's so familiar, like his own mother's when she'd tuck him in at night) before going to sleep at 10 pm.

But then again, he reasons, she gave you her excuse. Who are you not to trust her? She says she drank too much, and this is another side to her you have yet to see. Just because you know her a few weeks does not actually mean you know her a lifetime. Who are you to claim that she's lying?

He stands up, a little more satisfied with his choice, and goes to head after where Nott left. The flask shines forlornly as he passes it, and he takes it by habit, shaking his head a bit at his little friend's forgetfulness.

Then he stops.

The flask is still full.

***

“D'you think you'd be upset?”

They've been on the road a while now, and Caleb is getting antsy. Only a while ago did they encounter a pack of vicious hyena-like creatures (he thinks they're called gnolls) and only a while ago did he have to watch as his little friend nearly got slashed in two. He tried to patch her up, tried to look past the amounts of crimson pouring out of her and do his best, but he's no cleric. Just a wizard.

(Just nothing.)

Nott trails after him now, her eyes drooping and with the faint tinge of iron to her scent. As she asks the question, she sways a bit, and Caleb instantly slows down.

“Upset?” he asks. “Over what?”

Nott shrugs. “Me. I dunno. If I died.”

Caleb stares at her, but she's resolute in not meeting his gaze. Something about the whole scene rings familiar in his mind, and he strains, trying to remember where they might have had this conversation before. A tavern? No matter.

“Ja,” he says, slowly. “I think I would be very upset.”

“Oh.” She rubs at her eyes. “Well, er… how upset? Like on a one to ten scale, maybe? Can I get an approx--”

“Nott,” Caleb says, and gods help him he's already starting to get upset thinking about it, “Are you planning something?”

Nott has the nerve to look offended. “What? No!”

“Then what are you asking me for?”

“It just doesn't make sense to me, that's all.” Nott shrugs, and her footsteps quicken a bit. Caleb picks up the pace as well. “I mean, you could always just revive me, right? You're a wizard. You're magic--” (and oh, how beautiful the word sounds on her lips, like glitter and awe and everything magic was, once, everything magic should be) “--and you're powerful. I don’t think I’d be gone for long.”

(Too powerful, some might say.)

Caleb swallows, and tastes bile at the back of his throat. “Yes, that is true. But I'm no cleric, Nott. And the idea of me reviving you does not cancel out how horrifying you dying would be.”

A pause.

“Do you. Want to die?”

No response. Not even a whisper. Caleb's heart sinks, and for a second, flames flicker in his eyes. He thinks about Nott, jumping in front of him to confront the gnolls. Nott, completely fine with the idea of being torn apart if it meant he would get away safe. 

He grabs her arm. She freezes, and Caleb instantly adjusts his grip so it's not hurting her.

“I do not know what you're hiding,” he says softly. “But please. You know you can talk to me, ja? You know that I am here for you? I would do everything in my power for you. You know that, don't you?”

She looks up at him, just two golden eyes blinking in the dark. The mask hides her lower face, and he hates it. Hates not knowing what she's thinking. Hates only being able to read half of her.

“Yes,” she finally says, and relaxes in his grip. “I know. Thank you, Caleb.”

He lets go. That's not the answer he wanted, but he's never been one to push the matter. And Nott seems tired as it is right now.

“Let's camp out here for the night.”

“Okay.”

She helps him light the fire.

For once, his parents are the last thing on his mind.

***

“Caleb!”

Caleb looks up reluctantly from where he's poured over the newest book he's bought. It's a fascinating text all about transmutation and history, and it's wrapped up in the kind of red leather case that makes his heart skip a beat. Being broken out of the trance that comes with it is beyond infuriating.

He opens his mouth to snap out a ‘go away i'm reading’, but stops when he sees Nott's face. It's flushed and excited, pupils round and smile stretching from ear to ear. Something good must have happened. And he always has time for a shred of good news.

He slowly puts the book down and beckons her inside. She looks like she might explode.

“You seem... happy,” he says.

She nods, head bobbing as if on a spring. “As a matter of fact, I am!” she says giddily. “Read this.”

She shoves a bright blue book in his hands (where did she even get that) and waits, bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently as Caleb examines it. It's a fairly old book, nothing like the red one Caleb was just reading but still in its decades. He squints at the letters before identifying them as Halfling.

He doesn't read Halfling.

Where on earth did Nott get this book?

He hands it back to her in confusion. “I appreciate the literary enthusiasm,” he says slowly, “But Halfling is a tongue I do not speak.”

“No, I know that,” Nott says in a voice that implies she did not, in fact, know that. “But it's a really easy passage, just go to page 117 and you'll see, I've taught you all the words you need to know!”

Caleb sighs and obliges her. Page 117 is in the middle of the book, and based on the scribbled in pencil marks and circled words, he has a feeling it's also the most read part.

He starts to read.

Reincarnation

Casting Time: 1 ώρα

Έκταση: Touch

Components: Σπάνια oils and αλλά πράγματα αξίας at least 1,000 gold και τα λοιπά, δεντρολίβανο

Duration: Instantaneous

Εσύ touch a dead humanoid ή ενα piece of a dead humanoid. Εξαρτιόταν ότι the creature has been dead no longer than 10 days, the spell forms a new ηλικιωμένο body for it and then καλεί την soul to enter το body. If the target’s soul isn’t free or willing να το κάνει, the spell fails and

He closes the book.

“Nott,” he says, and the dread coiling around his heart is all too familiar to him, all too cold and heavy, “what is this?”

Nott grins. “It's a spell, Caleb! A spell that can change people! Isn't it wonderful?”

“Yes,” Caleb says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. His parents’ form flickers in front of him when he closes his eyes. After a second, Nott's joins them.

He hands her back the book and stands up. His foot has fallen asleep, and he tries to shake it awake again but it's too late, now his other foot is asleep too and he's numb all over, numb and cold and confused.

“Why did you show me this?” he asks.

Nott looks at him like it should be obvious. “For me,” she says simply. “I didn't think it was real at first. I don't know much about magic and spells and things, so I thought maybe it wasn't. But then I looked more carefully, searched a few bookstores, nicked a few tomes and-- here it is. The spell that can change me. Reincarnation!”

She does a giddy little jump. Caleb can only stare. He knows how Nott feels about herself. He knows her hopes and dreams, even if they'd never crossed her lips to him. He knows more than she thinks. He always does.

But in this moment, he feels like he doesn't even know who he's talking to.

“Nott,” he says. “This spell requires way too many things than we can afford.”

Her ears droop, but she's still smiling, undeterred. “Like what?”

“Oils. 1000 gold. More things I cannot read.”

Nott laughs, and it's all wrong, this whole conversation is wrong and Caleb wants to go back to reading his red book and acting like this never happened. “Oh, don't worry, I have quite a bit of coin saved on the side. Just a few more months and I'll probably have even more than that book asks for!”

“And the oils?”

“I'll nick them. I dunno. I'll find a way.” She grins. “Oils, Caleb, really, is that what you think is gonna throw me off after all this time?”

“No,” Caleb says, and he hears a faint ringing in his ears, “But I thought the fact that your corpse is required might.”

For the first time, Nott looks a little disturbed. Not a lot. It's barely noticeable, just a quick flit across her big yellow eyes, but it's enough to make Caleb feel better, if only for a moment.

Then the doubt is broken, Nott is clearing her throat, and the ringing in Caleb’s ears has returned.

“Well,” she says simply, “you thought wrong.”

And Caleb leaves the room.

***

“I'll do it without you if I have to.”

Caleb doesn't even turn his head. It's way past midnight where they're staying, and both of them should be sleeping-- but of course, neither of them are.

Neither of them have for what seems like months.

There's a moment before Nott speaks again, her raspy voice slicing through the silence like a knife. “I don't want to. But I will.”

“How will you do that,” Caleb says flatly.

A muffled huff from Nott informs him that his friend isn't sure either. “I don't know yet,” she finally admits. “But I'll find a way. I always do.”

“It's a powerful spell.”

“I have powerful friends.”

“It's difficult.”

“It's worth it for me.”

Caleb nearly pinches his nose on instinct, but stops just in time. He can't bear to close his eyes anymore. They've started playing tricks on him again. They'll show him Nott burned into the insides of his eyelids, Nott bleeding out on the ground and Nott with her little limbs all twisted up and Nott with fire consuming her from the inside out--

He realizes his mouth has gone dry. He swallows.

“You want to die,” he says. It's not a question.

He can almost hear Nott’s shrug, almost hear the flicker of doubt smothered under fierceness. “No. No, I don't want it. But I'm willing to.” A small laugh. “I've always been willing to. For Jester, and Beau, and Fjord, and you--” her voice catches a bit, but she plows on “--and Molly… why can't I do it for myself for once?”

Caleb doesn't answer her. He doesn't know what he'd say.

There's another beat of silence before Nott speaks again.

“I was so happy when I heard about it,” she confesses quietly. “I didn’t even know about the coming back as me part. I thought that when I died, I’d come back as someone brand new. And I was fine with that, I really was, but then I thought of you and I didn’t tell you about it and I dropped my research because I knew you'd get cross, and I knew you'd get sad, but then you said you'd do everything in your power for me, that one night we fought the gnolls together, don't you remember, and I started to look into it more actively, and I thought--” A sigh. “I don't know what I thought.”

She rolls over from where she's curled at the bottom of the bed like a cat, and even through the dark Caleb can feel her eyes, two golden pinpricks almost like lanterns trained on him.

“Please, Caleb,” she whispers. “I need this. I've always needed this.”

“But I need you,” he says. It’s such a selfish thing to say, such a selfish reason, 

(but he’s always been a pretty selfish man, hasn’t he?)

“I’ll still be here,” she says. “You’d bring me back as me. It’d still be me.”

“My hands were built for destroying,” he says. The words burn as he speaks them but he knows they need to be said. “Not for creating. And any creation built from destruction is a creation I want no part in.”

His breath rattles in his chest as he says his next sentence, all in one go, not letting it burn anymore than it has to: “I can't do this for you, Nott. I'm sorry.”

Silence. It stretches on for so long that Caleb half thinks Nott's fallen asleep, and a part of him hopes she has, hopes so desperately that she'll let this conversation be nothing but a bad dream in the morning.

But hope's done nothing but fail him so far, and tonight does not intend to prove an exception.

“Well,” Nott says, and it's the emptiest Caleb's ever heard her, “Then I guess I’ll have to find someone that can.”

They don’t speak again.

[sylviainwriting]

a pointless recollection of 8/24/2019

It was a night that stood out from the typical fridaysaturdaysunday bullshit. An outlier worth remembering and worth dancing my fingers on the keyboard for. My memory fucking sucks and if I don’t write it down, it didn’t happen five years from now. 

Plank Road Tavern was the destination. Taylor, my typical sidekick for the night. A glass of red and a realization in the Uber that we were hardly tipsy enough for a Saturday night. We went to watch a friend perform and pretend to be a country singer. The bar was dusty and dark. The locals sitting on the stools looked like they may have planted themselves there since noon. The live music was bursting through the cracks on the walls, our legs taking us straight to the source. The patio was muggy, lined in romantic yellow lights, and as perfect a Summer night you could hope for. 

It was a goddamn high school and college reunion that I would have avoided had I known. When I saw a former best friend, she aggressively started diving into the latest drama in a way that you would not do if you were in the company of a genuine friend. The other former friend not even hiding her disinterest in seeing me. Her eyes darting from side to side as we say our hello’s and halfheartedly hug. Let’s all shake on a pact to stop hugging people we don’t like. All of us secretly sizing each other up. Does she look the same? Is she seeing anyone? Is she happy? Happier than me? Girls are fun. 

Then there were the college acquaintances. Years ago I may have smiled, maybe given a wave. Some sort of acknowledgment that we spent four years blacked out together. No, I don’t owe these people anything. There’s a reason we didn’t keep in touch and I don’t need to find out why that was. It doesn’t surprise me that you live in Lakewood at 27. I know I sound bitter but it’s coming more from a place of not caring and caring enough not to be fake. 

Taylor and I needed a body guard by the name of alcohol. A survival tactic in this highly dangerous environment of past friends, lovers, and enemies. Two tall doubles? Sure! $10 each? I got paid yesterday.  

The Tito’s was tasting better by the sip and I found myself giving the bartender my credit card for the third time. The night was looking like it just got a fresh coat of paint; the people less annoying, my mood softening, and inhibitions melting.  But I was in trouble because vodka was in control now.

A tall, dark, and bearded boy was suddenly to my left, asking me how my night was going. Finally a man striking up conversation in real time and not behind a gray bubble on your iPhone. Dressed head to toe in all black, a hat covering dark brown hair that was definitely cut in hipster fashion. There was something inviting about his demeanor. Was it his kind eyes? Lips that stayed turned up, as if in on a secret I didn’t know about? We kept the pleasantries short, as I hate being the girl who leaves her friends.

They all agreed he was handsome, the words suddenly waking me up to how handsome he really was. Something told me to go outside on the patio and seize the moment. Seize this man who was confident enough to approach a woman at the bar. 

I heard my name shouted from the corner, my strategy falling into place. He was seated at a picnic table with who I came to learn were coworkers of his, finishing their shift together at none other than Plank Road Tavern. He was a cook there. They welcomed me surprisingly well for a girl who looks like me and was drunk like me. They began recounting their night and telling me the best foods on the menu. Asking me what I liked to eat. It was nice to be a wallflower at the end of the table, hearing what it’s like working in the restaurant industry. A world I was never privy to. 

The boy followed me inside, which turned into following me into the Uber, and eventually onto a couch. I was happy to have a shadow as cute as him. The night was blurring ever so slightly, the details less sharp, but I wanted this. I don’t take strangers home, ever, but felt my old fashioned values slipping away. I think that’s why I’m writing this. It was so out of character that it needs to be documented in my life’s personnel file. 

We apparently had conversation in the car. It must have flowed well enough. I was starting to regret those tall doubles. Word to self: you’re too old to get that drunk. Stop it. 

I brought him back to Taylor’s house, where my car was. Thank god I didn’t drive and that Taylor also brought someone home. We crashed onto the couch and stripped our clothes in record time. He was on top and I moaning on the bottom. He said I was tight. He’s not wrong. I don’t let just any willing participant feel that part of me. Many girls look for validation in the number of men that desire them but I think your relationship with yourself is so much more meaningful. 

He gave me his black shirt to sleep in because my clothes were hastily thrown across the room. I woke up at sunrise, sweating and with an inevitable pounding headache. I crept into Taylor’s bed, one eye open and one eye closed on the walk there. I woke up again hours later to Taylor saying there was a strange man reading a book on her couch. Fuck. I shouldn’t have left him alone on the couch. Someone once told me that’s bad manners. 

Reality hit me like a wave. I looked down to find myself wearing a shirt that just barely covered my ass. “I couldn’t leave without my shirt”, he said, shirtless and sporting a dad bod that I appreciate. I noticed one of his front teeth was stained a different color than the rest and wondered why that was. Something that wouldn’t have caught my attention at night but of course in the day is one of the first features I notice on a person. 

He asked if I could drive him to his car. I made sure to put on my favorite playlist, hoping he’d hear something that would peak his interest. I found out his name. 32. Studied at the Cleveland Institute of Art. From Rochester, NY. Nothing that came as a surprise to me based on the person sitting next to me. Apparently it was a repeat of our conversation from the night before. But I felt myself putting walls back up and being prickly towards him. With each mile, I was battling thoughts of “do I speak to him again or is this not for me?” Maybe he is slimy and does this at the end of every shift— finds a girl who had a few Tito’s too many. I began asking questions but tuning out his answers and then welcomed more silence into the conversation altogether. Let him ask some questions for a change (not a strength of men BTW). To my surprise, he asked what my plans were for the day. His shift didn’t start until 1 pm. Did I want to get breakfast? Words started coming out of my mouth before I could stop them. I told him I had a family thing, which was a lie. Before he left, he gave me a hug and reminded me that I have his phone number. 

It was a Sunday x10. The kind that you want to sleep all day but you’re awful at taking naps / your body still hates you / interacting with humans feels like a mistake. I caved at 7 pm, sending him a “nice to meet you” text. I don’t know what it was that ultimately changed my mind. Maybe it’s the way he folded my shirt and jeans neatly in the morning. Or offering to make us breakfast but there were no eggs. Or asking if I wanted gas money for driving him to his car. It could’ve been him telling me he plays drums in a band since I’m a sucker for musicians. But I think every person you meet was planted there by the universe. The universe watches with a glass of wine and makes bets like your life is a poker game. You win some, you lose some, and sometimes you even get to orgasm (not this time).

“Yeah I was worried I wouldn’t hear from you again”, he texted back.

[mercurialmind]

What Did Happen at Herald’s Rest?

This is how the night of Wicked grace actually happened (at least in my head), and I want to share it with you :D

The text is part of a longer fic The Sword and The Quill, but can easily be read independently.

Pairings: Shae Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Cassandra Pentaghast/Josephine Montilyet

Other characters: Iron Bull, Blackwall, Sera, Cole, Varric, Cullen, Leliana, The Chargers

Genre: Humor

Raiting: T

“I would find it most romantic if Shae took a sword in hand and defended his love for me”, Dorian told smirking and received an elbow, gently to his side. Shae smiled at him from the corner of his eye.

“I would swoon from the excitement”, Dorian continued, dramatically leaning his body over the Inquisitor’s arms, pursing his lips, ready for a kiss.

Shae pressed his lips together to an awkward smile as he held Dorian’s weight. “I am sorry to tell you... but you are too heavy”, he chuckled.

“How rude”, Dorian huffed, standing up and winking at Cassandra who shook her head.

“You are beyond hope”, she told him.

Although weeks had passed since the duel in Val Royeaux, it still remained on the tip of everyone’s tongue. But what else could she have expected? Sometimes, all the fuss about it was annoying, but Dorian’s joking did not bother her.

The Inner circle was enjoying a rare night at the Herald’s rest. There was no one else at the tavern that night. Iron Bull and Blackwall carried more ale to the table were Varric and Sera were sitting and laughing. Sera was already quite drunk compared to the others. Her loud chatter carried around the tavern.

“Bull, you remember the blonde with big ditties, right?”

Bull sat down in front of her, his drink sloshing over the border of his mug. “I’ve told this before, but they have names too, you know.”

“I knooow ”, Sera snickered, “but I can’t remember.”

“You should work on your memory”, Bull said. “Girls appreciate if you at least remember their name.”

“Yeah yeah. But you see, I…got some of that .”

Cassandra huffed. She did not wish to hear more of that discussion, thus she let it fade to the background as she looked around. Josephine was engaged in heated discussion with Cullen. The Inquisitor was currently talking with Leliana.

“I don’t remember having fun like this since... well, ages”, Dorian told, handing a glass of wine to her.

“That is entirely true”, Cassandra said smiling. “But only two days, and we will yet again be heading out to danger.” Emerald graves demanded their attention next. It would take again weeks to settle the problems in the area. There would be fighting, more demons, giants... She sighed and glanced at Josephine who was smiling, her hands gesturing excitedly as she talked. It would be the first time they were going to be apart since they had professed their love for each other.

“It must be difficult”, Dorian said, his face growing serious.

Cassandra came back from her thoughts to look at her friend.

“I cannot imagine how it would be like to leave Shae behind...or to stay at Skyhold while he is out on the field”, Dorian continued.

Cassandra sighed again and took a sip from her wine. “I do not wish to think about that now. It is too lovely night to dwell on such dark thoughts. Tonight we shall celebrate friendship and all the happy things we have”, she said, and a smile returned to her face.

Dorian raised his glass and smiled at her. “Truer words have not been spoken.”

They kept on chatting, drank more wine, and at some point, they joined in the discussion with Josephine and Cullen.

“Time for Wicked grace!” Varric’s voice carried over the chatter. “It’s the time we got some action.”

When the crowd began to move to the table, Dorian looked around. “Where is Sera?” he asked. “She was just there a moment ago.”

Cassandra looked around. “Perhaps she left to find the woman with…large breasts?”

Dorian laughed. “I think you might have had quite a few drinks tonight, Cassandra.”

They all gathered around a long table and pulled out their coin purses.

“Tsk tsk, you shall not sit next to each other”, Dorian pulled Cassandra up from her chair and sat her down at the end of the table, taking her place beside Josephine. “We don’t want any scheming. “

Cassandra frowned at him. Shae took a place on the other side of the table, opposite of Dorian. The others had already settled on their chairs.

“I hope I recall the rules”, Josephine smiled. “It’s been a while since we played a game of Wicked grace.”

“Are three drakes better than a pair of swords?”, Cassandra wondered. “I can never remember.”

“Seeker”, Varric said. “Just don’t show anyone your hand. That rule also includes announcing it to the table.”

“I would not…”, she told narrowing her eyes at him.

“There’s a crown on his head, but a sword too. His head didn’t want either”, that was Cole, under his oversized hat.

“Don’t talk to the face cards, kid”, Varric told smiling at the boy.

“I can’t stay long”, Cullen said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I still have a thousand things to do tonight.”

“What would you have to do at this time of the night - after so much ale?” Leliana asked smirking. “A woman?”

“No”, Cullen looked at her, blushing, which received some chuckling around the table.

“A man, then?” Leliana continued, now smiling innocently.

Cullen rubbed at his neck and sighed. “Maker.”

Varric chuckled. “Curly, I am not an expert”, he said, “but isn’t that blasphemy? What do you think, Cassandra?”

Cassandra laughed. “Why would you ask me?” she said dryly. “Commander may do whomever he likes. I’ve had too many drinks tonight to care about such things.”

That received a chorus of laughter around the table, and Cullen buried his face deep into his hands.

“Curly, if any man in history needed a hobby, it’s you”, Varric laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Then he handed the deck of cards to Josephine. “Go ahead, deal us in.”

Josephine took the cards and leaned back on her chair. “Dealer starts. Ooh...I ...believe…”, she was hesitating. “I’ll start at...three coppers! Do you think that’s too daring? Maybe I’ll make it one...No! Boldness! Three it is!”

Iron Bull threw his coin on the table and leaned over. “Seriously?” He roughed. “Who starts at three coppers? Silver, or go home.”

Blackwall placed his coin on the table. “Sounds good, I’m in.”

“Bolder the better, right? I’m in”, that was Dorian.

“I am in as well”, Cassandra told.

“Me too”, Varric said, throwing a coin of silver on the table. “What about you, Freckles? Are you in?” he asked Shae.

Shae placed a silver on the table. “Please, remember, I’m still new to this game.”

“Don’t worry”, Varric smiled. “You’ll pick it up in no time.

When they all had placed their bets, the game could begin, and it was more fun than Cassandra had remembered. The best thing of all was the moment they all shared together.

While playing the game, they shared funny stories. The ale kept flowing, and the chatter grew louder as the night went on. Even Cullen ended up finally laughing.

“Alright, I have a story”, Shae told suddenly, gaining everyone’s attention. “I’m tipsy enough to finally, come clean about something.”

“Ooh, confessions!” Dorian chuckled.

“Even you don’t know about this”, Shae told mysteriously. “It happened before you joined. ”He cleared his throat and took another sip of his wine. “It was the very beginning of the Inquisition, my hand was burning, and I was alone in the chantry hallway. I thought cold would help, so I tried using magic to cool it.”

“I have a hunch where this is going”, Leliana said, leaning back on her chair.

“Well...”, Shae continued, looking at her apologetically, “the anchor was making my magic unstable, and I wasn’t used to it.”

“You did it!” Josephine pointed a finger at him.

“Yes I did”, Shae told. “I was the one who froze the entire corridor.”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged looks across the table. “And we tried everything to find out who was vandalous enough to do such a thing”, Leliana said.

“I remember hearing voices approaching behind the door and had just enough time to sneak… or better to say slide... to the room next to the war room, to hide”, Shae told chuckling. “I have to admit, it was not easy.”

“I can imagine”, Leliana laughed. “When I entered the hallway with three nobles who were ready for their meeting with the Ambassador, all of them slipped and fell on top of each other onto the frozen floor.”

“I heard screaming and opened my office door”, Josephine continued, giggling. “It was terrible...Three nobles on all fours, trying to crawl to reach something to help them stand.”

Now they were all laughing around the table.

“Excellent!” Dorian pointed. “I’m sure they all deserved it.”

“We spent two days defrosting the hallway”, Leliana said smirking. “But it was all worth it.”

“I must agree”, giggled Josephine. “But the Inquisition would be ruined if anyone found out it was you.”

***

“And the dealer takes everything!” Josephine stated at the end of another hand. “I win again.”

Cullen frowned at her and leaned closer, over the table. “Deal again”, he said. “I figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador.”

Josephine leaned closer as well, slightly tilting her head. “Commander! Everyone knows a lady has no tells.”

“Then let’s see if your good fortune lasts one more hand.”

Others chuckled when Cullen threw thunderous glances at Josephine across the table. Cassandra smiled too. Josephine was in her element, and Cassandra took all the joy watching her.

***

When nearly everyone had already folded their cards, Cullen and Josephine were staring at each other. Josephine had an innocent smile on her face as she glanced at her cards again.

“All in”, Josephine told, looking at the Commander.

“I bet my clothes for this one”, Cullen grinned. “Lady Ambassador, I know you are bluffing.”

“It’s not even your turn yet”, Iron Bull laughed.

“What about you Seeker?” Varric asked.

Cassandra glanced at her cards once more, not believing her eyes. She had the best hand anyone could have in the game, she was sure of that. “I am in”, she said finally and pushed all her coins to the center of the table, receiving a series of astonished gasps.

“This is getting interesting”, said Dorian and drank from his wine.

“I’ll pass”, Shae told and placed his cards on the table.

“So then?” Varric said, looking at Cullen.

“ All your clothes?” Cooed Josephine, not letting her eyes leave the Commander’s.

“ All of them”, Cullen said.

Josephine smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Very well then”, she said. “You all heard him.”

“Show the cards!” Iron Bull roared.

As they did, everyone could see that Josephine had absolutely nothing. Cullen laughed when he slammed his cards on the table. “Well this hand is mine!” he triumphed.

“Not so fast, Commander”, Cassandra told smiling as she laid her hand on the table. “I think it is mine.”

Everyone stretched their necks across the table to see her cards, and the laughter started gradually rise among the friends.

“I think we have a winner then”, Josephine smiled and turned to Cassandra who was still baffled by the result. “You won the whole pot!” she sang. “I knew you could do it, my love!” Then she tilted her head at Cullen. “I am afraid you were right after all.”

Cullen rubbed at his neck, looking at Cassandra’s cards, not believing his eyes.

“Still”, Josephine continued through the noise of laughter, staring at Cullen in the eyes, smiling smugly, “you have lost your garments.”

“Strip them off already!” Iron Bull shouted since Cullen just sat still.

Cullen looked around the table and rubbed at his face. “Maker”, he breathed and began to remove his coat.

“It comes off. I didn’t know it came off”, Cole said when Cullen was sitting bare naked on his chair.

“Don’t say a word, dwarf”, Cullen growled, side-eyeing Varric who was laughing hard.

“Here, Seeker!” Varric threw the Commander's furry coat to Cassandra. “It’s yours now.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Put it on, of course”, Dorian said.

“I most certainly will not”, Cassandra protested.

“Oh do it, Cassandra!” Leliana chuckled.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Shouts began to carry around the table.

She must have been truly drunk that night, because she did. There was a slight smile on her face as she dressed up in the Commander’s uniform. The whole thing was quite amusing after all. As she caressed the fur around her neck, she looked at the others. “Happy now?” she huffed, and received yet again a series of laughs from the others.

Cullen looked uncomfortable. “May I borrow something to cover myself. I would very much like to retreat to my quarters.”

“No, you may not”, Leliana smirked. “Rules are rules.”

“Maker’s breath, I would appreciate if you all could at least look away so I can stand up from this chair.”

Everyone looked at each other and nodded. “I think we can do that”, Blackwall said.

“I do not wish to witness the Commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks”, Cassandra told.

“But we can’t promise for the people outside”, Josephine giggled.

So as they all looked away, Cullen took his leave and disappeared butt naked to the night. Cassandra saw Dorian take a peak just before Cullen was out of the door, and raised an eyebrow at him while he received the smiling Inquisitor’s elbow to his side. Dorian chuckled.

“Look who has been here the whole time”, Leliana laughed, pointing at a foot sticking out from under the table.

“Sera!”

Shae kneeled on the floor and poked his friend who was apparently, fast asleep. “She’s alright”, he said after examining her breathing.

They pulled her up, and as they did so, she woke up slightly, slurring something incoherent. Shae volunteered to walk her upstairs, to her room.

There was a sudden clang at the door, and loud noises as The Chargers burst in the tavern.

“Hey guys!” Bull retorted. “Glad you decided to stop by.”

“We wouldn’t miss a great party”, Krem told.

The Chargers had seemingly started the night with drinks already. Their happy chatter merged with the others, and music began to fill the air as they pulled out some instruments and began to play.

Iron Bull and Blackwall decided to arm wrestle, which drew Varric and Dorian along as well. Bull won Blackwall easily. They laughed and wrestled again as Dorian and Varric took a measure of each other. Dorian was a good opponent to Varric, but the countless times of firing a crossbow had made its work on Varric’s arms.

“Cassandra!” Varric’s voice carried over the music after their match, and she turned to look at him.

“We never got the best of each other, thanks to Freckles’ interference”, he laughed, referring to the spat they had had, after Hawke’s arrival to Skyhold. “Let’s do it now.”

“Varric, there’s no need to…”

“If you want to forfeit...”, Varric said and shrugged.

Cassandra took a step closer. “I will not.”

Varric smiled. “Well, then”, he said and placed his arm on the table, gesturing at Cassandra to join him.

Cassandra glanced at the others who had mostly stopped what they were doing and were now looking at them.

“Fine”, she huffed and sat on the other side of the table. Her elbow hit the wood, and she grabbed Varric’s hand in a firm grip. “Show me what you got then.”

Bull banged the table with his hand, and the others cheered as they began to wrestle. Cassandra gritted her teeth when Varric’s arm twisted hers, pushing it slightly closer to the table. She held tighter to Varric’s grip and pushed her limits.

Varric grunted, and looked at her, grinning. “I did not expect less”, he breathed between his teeth.

Cassandra did not answer, but applied all her strength to her arm that gradually, began to push down Varric’s, finally resulting to a sound of his knuckles hitting the wood. She pulled her sweaty hand away, raising up from her chair, a small smile on her lips.

Varric chuckled. “I think I’m happy Freckles got between us.”

After that match, she had to face Iron Bull as the last opponent, but that wrestle was quickly settled for Bull’s account. No one could best him. Had anyone seen the size of his arms?

The Chargers kept on playing music, and people danced. When Leliana and Josephine finished dancing together, Leliana picked up a lute and joined the players. Her voice was beautiful as always when she began to sing.

Cassandra danced with Josephine, Shae with Dorian, Krem with Dalish. And when the song switched to another, Blackwall came and bowed to Cassandra.

“Can I have this dance, my lady?”

And so Cassandra let go of Josephine’s hand and took his instead. She was carried across the tavern floor by strong warrior arms, and could not help but be pleased in the moment.

Josephine, on the other hand, grabbed Shae’s hand and robbed him from Dorian.

***

“I must admit, this fur coat suits you”, Josephine giggled. She was sitting on Cassandra’s legs, both of them resting after a long time of dancing. “But it does not smell very nice”, she added.

Cassandra laughed. She was still drunk, a slow tiredness taking over her body, beginning to make her sleepy. She buried her face into Josephine’s neck and placed a small kiss there. The sun was already rising, you could tell it from the pale light coming through the windows. The music had stopped; Bull, Blackwall, Stitches, Dalish and Skinner were talking, their voices low now; Dorian and Shae had disappeared somewhere upstairs; Rocky, Grim and Krem had fallen asleep at the table. Krem mumbled something they could not understand.

“I have a feeling you might have affected the outcome of the game”, Cassandra said and looked at Josephine with a small smile.

“I do not know what you are talking about”, Josephine told smirking, and tightened her arms around her.

Suddenly, Cole appeared at the table where the three men were snoring. “Her voice, beautiful and soothing. Her face, lovely like a morning sun. Spending my days watching, listening. Will she ever notice me?” Krem moved and mumbled again. Then Cole was gone as fast as he had appeared.

It was Leliana who approached them now, with a smirk on her face. “Look what I found”, she sang, holding up her hand. There was a piece of clothing hanging from her fingers, and they could quickly, be identified as the smallclothes Cullen had let fall to the ground at the end of Wicked grace.

“Leliana?” Josephine said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yes?”

“You are not planning on doing what I think, are you?”

“What will you do with them?” Cassandra asked curiously.

Leliana giggled. “You will see in the morning”, she said with a hushed voice and disappeared through the door to the courtyard.

[elleywestbrook]

Shirin Neshat.

Rebellious Silence, 1994. Ink on LE silver gelatin print. 131.8 x 92.7 x 4.8cm.

Shirin Neshat is an Iranian artist living in exile.

 https://www.ted.com/talks/shirin_neshat_art_in_exile 

Shirin Neshat left Iran in 1975 to stay in the US with her elder sister when she was 17 years old. She transferred to a school there speaking not one word of English. Her sister subsequently left the States to return to Iran, leaving Shirin to remain alone and continue her studies. She then found herself isolated and exiled following the Islamic revolution and the toppling of the Shah in 1979. Iran was now a fundamentalist Islamic Theocracy and Neshat was not able to return until the early ‘90′s. She was separated from her family for 12 years. Her series ‘Women of Allah’ is a response to the changes she encountered in Iran from the country she grew up in, the enforced wearing of the veil and her life, lived separated from her culture and her family.

Speechless, 1996.  Ink on RC print 132 x 99.7 x 4.8 cm.

Between 1993 and 1997 Neshat worked primarily in photograghy. She then adorned the images of the women depicted in words from writers and poets in Farsi and also often in decorative Persian patterns. In the catalogue ‘I Will Greet The Sun Again’, created for the Exhibition at The Broad,  Los Angeles, Neshat is credited with explaining that  ‘the inscriptions give voice to her subjects, expressing their inner desires and beliefs’. 

I Pity the Garden.                   Poetry by Forugh Farrokhzad

Translated from Farsi by Sholeh Wolpé

No one thinks of the flowers. No one thinks of the fish. No one wants to believe the garden is dying, that its heart has swollen in the heat of this sun, that its mind drains slowly of its lush memories. Our garden is forlorn. It yawns waiting for rain from a stray cloud and our pond sits empty, callow stars bite the dust from atop tall trees and from the pale home of the fish comes the hack of coughing every night. Our garden is forlorn. Father says: My time is past my time is past, I've carried my burden I'm done with my work. He stays in his room from dawn to dusk reads History of Histories or Ferdowsi's Epic of Kings. Father says to Mother: Damn every fish and every bird! When I'm dead, what will it matter if the garden lives or dies. My pension is all that counts. Mother's life is a rolled out prayer rug. She lives in terror of hell, always seeks Sin's footprints in every corner, imagines the garden sullied by the sin of a wayward plant. Mother is a sinner by nature. She prays all day, then with her "consecrated" breath blows on all the flowers, all the fish and all over her own body. She awaits the Promised One and the forgiveness He is to bring. My brother calls the garden a graveyard. He laughs at the plight of the grass and ruthlessly counts the corpses of the fish rotting beneath the sick skin of shallow water. My brother is addicted to philosophy he sees the healing of the garden in its death. Drunk, he beats his fists on doors and walls says he is tired, pained and despondent. He carries his despair everywhere, just as he carries his birth certificate diary, napkin, lighter and pen. But his despair is so small that each night it is lost in crowded taverns. My sister was a friend to flowers. She would take her simple heart's words —when Mother beat her— to their kind and silent gathering and sometimes she would treat the family of fish to sunshine and cake crumbs. She now lives on the other side of town in her artificial home and in the arms of her artificial husband she makes natural children. Each time she visits us, if her skirt is sullied with the poverty of our garden she bathes herself in perfume. Every time she visits she is with child. Our garden is forlorn Our garden is forlorn All day from behind the door come sounds of cuts and tears sounds of blasts. Our neighbours plant bombs and machine guns, instead of flowers, in their garden soil. They cover their ponds, hiding bags of gunpowder. The school children fill their backpacks with tiny bombs. Our garden is dizzy. I fear the age that has lost its heart, the idleness of so many hands the alienation in so many faces. I am like a schoolchild madly in love with her geometry books. I am forlorn and imagine it is possible to take the garden to a hospital. I imagine I imagine And the garden's heart has swollen in the heat of this sun, its mind slowly drains of its lush memories.

Allegiance with Wakefulness, 1994. Ink on silver gelatin print. 

132 x 107.6 x 4.8cm

Shirin Neshat is dealing with a lot of issues in her photography. She is challenging the Western perception of Iranian/Islamic women, she is challenging the atrocities carried out by a horrific Iranian Government, she’s confronting Western issues about the veil and many more. I am researching her and her series ‘Women of Allah’ for my Critical studies essay and I find her and her work fascinating. When I initially came across the topmost image, Rebellious Silence, I made an assumption about its meaning. I immediately assumed it was a comment on women taking to arms in a post 9/11 conflict somewhere in the Middle East. These images were taken prior to  that terrorist attack and that very fact made me want to look into her body of work and try to understand it. These photographs can be very challenging for a western audience terrified of a perceived Islamist threat, I posted some of them on my social media sites to see what sort of response they elicited. Absolutely none. For the first time ever my Instagram ‘story’ received not one like or acknowledgement, no one engaged with a comment or opinion, not even a question. I found this very interesting and wondered how deep our presumptions and prejudice's run. Are we controlled by our fear, generated by images and reports that we are bombarded with via the media? I certainly made an initial judgement about her work before knowing anything about it. It was the eyes that drew me in though, they stare straight at you and the gun bisects her face suggesting a duality of purpose or character.  

The adding of Farsi text, poems, to the image after printing and then re-photographing it is a process that I am going to explore further. Not with Farsi text obviously but the suggestion that adding to, or subtracting from a processed image is interesting to me now that I am playing around with photography and the projected image. 

Shelly Slark has explored reworking an image post production too and we were able to see her work in the Friday level 6 project space at College. She  sanded her images to distress and obscure them further and added evocative objects before re- photographing them. It was a really successful and an engaging space she created. 

I haven’t even scratched the surface of what is possible when using photography as a medium and not being a photographer I am not constrained by the accepted norms because I haven’t a clue what they are. I can begin a journey of experimentation (sorry to be so cliched!) I am a little daunted by the scope of possibilities and feel I need to put my head down and just start producing work irrespective of whether it works out or not because that is,  indeed,  how I will learn, and discover what I like and what I think is successful and what is obviously not. 

[briannasroger]

Hackers and Hijinks (ch.1)

pairing: nalu words: ~4200 rated T for language probs.  note: don’t steal if you can avoid it, kids~ also, decided to publish this on a whim. next update? idk, but I know this won’t be very long. Four chapters max.  read on ff.net. 

summary: There’s thieves and then there’s Thieves. Know the distinction because while thieves might steal your pants, Thieves will ruin your life. Lucy Heartfilia, solo hacker code-name Ashley, has no reason to ruin anyone’s life till her odd new team takes up a job a little too close. 

-- aka the leverage au no one asked for --

Her computer was a beaten up old thing that Lucy had built from scratch and when she turned it on, it gave an awful sort of roar before she tapped the tower with her toes gently. It spluttered and then calmed to a low hum as it began to boot up. She straightened up, stretching her arms as she waltzed to the fridge on the other side of her apartment. It would take a gracious minute for Crux to load up and her stomach ached for sustenance after the lackluster food of her last job. Chips and bottled soda were useful in moderation, but for three days while she tried to crack a code that was prehistoric was disgusting. She pat her stomach, grimacing, as she resolved to do a few extra sit-ups in her workout regnum -- whenever she got around to doing that, of course. It was like they expected her figure to stay this way through vigorous workouts rather than healthy eating choices.

She considered cereal, just to be lazy and rush back to her computer, but Crux was still humming, the noise similar to a snore, and it was still on the logo screen. Perfect. It left plenty of time for her to make some scrambled eggs and toast. She mouthed a song as she made her food and when it was done a few minutes later, she deposited it onto a paper plate and made her way back to her desktop.

"Good job, Crux," she said, setting her plate aside to free her hands. Old Crux wasn't useful for missions on the go; it was too heavy and complicated for travel, but most of her work from home was done on Crux. With its extensive passwords designed to give her system time to delete anything and everything if someone didn't type one of the passwords right, it was the safest place in the world for her to keep record of things without fear of someone getting a hold of it.

All prepared, Lucy munched on some of her eggs, opening a document to write on and adding some information from her last job. Nobody required her reports, but she kept careful track of everything she did, from who sent her the job (Nab) to how much she got for it (10,000 jewel) to what she had to do (hack into some CEO's computer and send along the incriminating files to his now ex-wife's new business and then erasing all of it from existence) to how long it had taken (roughly three days, most of which had been spent erasing all of it from some websites that pushed her from performing a slightly illegal act to an entirely illegal act).

It wasn't a fun objective, but the jewel was worth it, especially since her rent was coming up soon. Very soon, she thought with a grimace, her eyes falling to the calendar where one week from today was circled in green ink. She didn't have quite enough and she didn't know if there was anything else for her to do in that short amount of time. Hacking wasn't as easy as it looked on television -- it required dedication, patience,

Lucy tapped her nails on the desk, shoveling a bite of eggs into her mouth, doing a mental tally of how much she had received in the last few weeks. Definitely, definitely -- one of her jobs had paid her quite a bit to hack to disable a security system long enough for one of their hand-selected thieves to steal a priceless harp and run for it. Lucy pumped the air, relieved, and whirled around in her seat to face Plue, a medium sized, white haired dog that eyed her with something like amusement. "Ugh, can you imagine if I hadn't done that job? I was worried about working with someone, but without it, I would be about 10,000 jewel short!"

Plue barked and then growled.

She frowned, turning in her seat to face him. "No, she didn't, I think I would remember that, Plue!"

He growled again.

"Definitely not, she wouldn't- OH NO, SHE DID!" Lucy eyes had landed on the computer screen, where her meticulous notes told her plain as day where a 35,000-jewel job was dropped down to 15,000. In the notes along the side, she could read the simple IDIOT in green text in a tab labeled notes. Lucy dropped her forehead onto the table, narrowly avoiding a collision course with her plate of eggs and wailed. "She only paid me half!"

Plue wagged his tail.

Lucy shot him a look. "Don't look so smug. If I get kicked out, so do you."

He whined.

"That's what I thought. C'mon, buddy, we're going for a walk and we need to move fast."

...

If there was one thing that Lucy hated about her lifestyle -- other than the fact that it was entirely unethical -- was how little she could predict the shortcomings for it. Nobody told her the day she ran away from her father would end up with her put those long hours spent learning the craft under a hand-selected tutor's eyes to good use, but not by creating top of the line security in a constantly changing market. No, she was using every skill and bit of knowledge to worm her way through each of those security measures her father loved. It was a fun job usually, her own pickiness kept her from straying too far down the wrong moral spectrum, but the money was few and far between no matter what she did.

It, perhaps, didn't help that her job had very specific requirements. She was a hacker, damn it, not the person who handled fighting people like a beater and not adept at adopting personas like a grifter and she couldn't pull off the dedication of a thief. Even in this technological age, most jobs required something of the other three and Lucy didn't really want to learn how to do any of them. Well, not to the same extent as others who fine-tuned the craft as well as she did hacking.

Sometimes she wondered if the lifestyle change from heiress to Thief (capital T because it wasn't the same thing as thief), but then she imagined her father fuming in his large, loveless manor as he tried to keep her betrothed in the dark and the hassle was worth the freedom.

"Come on, Plue, we're almost there," she said, trying to sound cheerful for both their sake's as she led him down a dimly lit street at midnight.

The cobbled road was worn and cracked, making her stumble often in her haste, but she didn’t notice as she picked her up again, eyes focused on an ugly, green-bricked building across the street. A rickety sign of florescent red hung from proclaimed it to be the tavern Twilight Ogre. It was a sign of her desperation that she made a beeline for the door, grimacing at the custom ogre head they had for a handle. She shoved it open, the creak of the doors like a gunshot, but nobody heard over the blaring sound of some sport playing on a television in the corner. The tavern was at full capacity for a Wednesday night, but all the better for her, that would mean her target was nearby. The woman only ever came in when the place was busy.

Her eyes narrowed, fingers fisting around Plue’s leash when he strained, lips curling up in a snarl at another patron’s barking dog. A dog easily twice his size; no doubt it would be taller than her on its hindlegs. If she hadn’t been terrified at the idea of wandering down a dark street with only mace and some rudimentary self-defense skills, she wouldn’t have even brought him. The other dogs would eat Plue in a heartbeat. She pulled him away, heading for a slightly less busy corner of the tavern and crouched to rub his head, murmuring soothing words till his growls dropped to a whine.

“I know, buddy, but we’re desperate,” she said, giggling when he licked her face. She shoved him away after a final pat and straightened. She scanned the crowd, passing over the woman in the corner till the sequin on her blue bikini flashed under the lights very briefly. It was just enough to draw Lucy’s attention back to her and grin. The woman smiled back, tightening a jacket over her top once more as Lucy stepped around a few people to reach her.

“People are going to ask questions if you keep showing up here,” the woman said, nursing a glass of booze. She was average height with wavy brown hair and dark eyes. Though the smile on her face was a picture of innocence, the tilt of her head suggested thoughtfulness. Like an animal examining a new threat. “I thought you didn’t want part of this mess?”

“I don’t. Whatever you and your team are trying to do with this place is up to you, I already gave you the files,” Lucy replied exasperated. “I’m not here as competition, Cana”

Cana’s face lit up. “Well, you never know these days, I heard just the other day that the Thunder Legion cut ties with the rest of their team.” Lucy bit her tongue, trying not to get drawn into the gossip. Then, satisfied that Lucy wouldn’t be stepping in on the current job, Cana leaned forward to say, “Even heard that Phantom Lord is heading this way.”

Unable to resist, Lucy dropped into the booth beside her. Plue’s leash was loose in her hand and any other time, she would worry, but he settled himself on her feet protectively beneath the table and stared out. “No way?” She asked, gaping. “They haven’t been seen this far north since-- “

“Since that whole issue with their element team getting their asses handed to them,” Cana said, smug. Her plans were the ones that lead them to it and Lucy didn’t bother piping in about her own contribution. There were some secrets that she would take to the grave and her ties with Phantom Lord was one of them. “They must have finished licking their wounds and are looking for new territory in Bosco.”

“Or maybe a job?”

“Nah, there’s too many people out here with game already and most of us know what they can do, nobody is stupid enough to call for them. Maybe desperate, but I haven’t heard anything like that, they would have gone snooping around somewhere for me to hear,” she said, tapping the table thoughtfully. “Bosco seems like the best bet, they lost too many good players to try again and nobody is going to trust a leader that loses his entire crew.”

“True,” Lucy agreed. Then she shook her head. “I’m not here to gossip!”

“Figured, you would have been more interested in the first bit. What are you here for?”

Lucy bit her lip. It was one thing to have the epiphany in her apartment among the comfort of her home and the desperation to keep things the way they were, but in the bar, confronting her, felt a little like Lucy was selling her soul to the devil. But then it would surely be a death sentence to end up on the streets now when her father’s nose poked out of every other sanctuary. Mind made up, she settled her hands in her lap beneath the table to hide the nervous fidgeting. “I… need a job.”

Cana grimaced, lowering her drink to the table. “I don’t have any for you right now, I’d have to take a look. And I can’t ditch this job for another day or two at the soonest, maybe a week at the most.” Lucy didn’t believe in teams, but contacts were a different story. The only way to make it anywhere in the world – whether that be the vapid politics of her father’s world or the morally questionably portion of Lucy’s – was to know people.

Lucy and Cana’s friendship extended to any last-minute hacking that Cana needed at the drop of a hat and Cana passing along jobs that her own team wasn’t doing or planning to do. They were both runaways, she figured that was why they got along so well, even Cana didn’t necessarily know about the similar stories between them.

“Next week would be too late. My rent is due soon and I’d still need time to do the actual job,” Lucy whined. “You don’t have anything?”

For a moment, Cana’s face was hard and unrelenting, but then a shadow passed over her face and she grimaced, ducking her head down. “I do, but you’re not going to like it.”

Lucy slumped. “I’m desperate, but I’m still not going to become a murderer.”

“What? No! We’re Thieves, not death dealers and I wouldn’t recommend a job that bad,” Cana said, aghast. “I meant that I have a team in need of a hacker since their last one ran for it again -- and you’d be perfect for this job.”

Again? How many hackers did this team lose on a daily basis? Wait…  

“A team?” Lucy’s brow furrowed. The last one she worked on was the whole reason she was stuck here, groveling for help, and she certainly didn’t want a repeat of that mess. …you’re not going to like it. She froze, eyes widening. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me it isn’t— “

“Yup.”

How desperate was she?

Beneath the table, Plue whined and she groaned, knowing the answer.  “Shit. Fine. Whatever. What’s the job?”

…

Meetings were, in her opinion, one of the worst parts of the job. First impressions were crucial and a bad one could make or break a job when it came to meeting clients – no one wanted to add a hacker that looked as though a strong wind would knock them over, not unless they had the notoriety of Levy McGarden, a hacker who was as deadly as she was small.

First impressions were easy with clients, she had managed to charm enough of them for the brief moments of speaking that she didn’t worry. But a team? People she would be working with for an indefinite amount of time?

She blew a curled strand of blonde hair out of her face, waiting for the rest of her team to arrive. After leaving Cana the night before, she had hurried home to set up a go-bag and Plue for a few days with her neighbor before collapsing in an uneasy sleep, waiting for Cana to send her the meeting spot. She had thought going to sleep at 7pm had been early, but when the text came at midnight to meet them after dawn at the port south of the city, she had been grateful for the extra sleep.

Not so much for the rush job to get herself ready to meet them with a portion of her gear in tow. With first impressions on the mind, Lucy had curled her hair and dabbled in her too expensive for daily use make-up before tossing on a yellow jean skirt, a fitted green tank-top, and her favorite pair of brown boots. Cute yet casual and - the most important part - easy enough to sprint in. She didn’t think Cana would set her up, but she hadn’t made it this far by being so trusting.

When half an hour passed without anyone’s arrival, Lucy almost bolted with that exact panic in mind. She held herself in place, poise in her stance, hiding the rising anxiety when the murmur of voices echoed in her ears.

Good news: Cana wasn’t setting her up.

Bad news: Cana hadn’t been joking when she said her team was with him.

“Hey, I know you!” He said, a fanged grin on his face as he left behind a scowling dark-haired man. “Not sure where. Have you stolen from me before?”

“No.”

“Have I stolen from you?”

“In a way,” she answered honestly, crossing her arms. “And I was hoping Cana was joking when she said it was you.” Her sigh made the other man laugh.

“Cool,” he laughed. “No hard feelings?”

She didn’t reply. It wasn’t the first time she had worked with Natsu Dragneel – it wasn’t even the first time she had worked with him this month. A note labeled idiot stood out in her mind, though it was hard to attach that thought with the cheerful smile on his face.

It was her first time seeing him in person rather than through pictures. He was taller than her by quite a few inches with the muscles and build of someone who could easily be a beater and she admittedly found it hard to focus when he wore a vest instead of a shirt, exposing his toned stomach to the world. She tore her gaze away, narrowing her eyes on his hair instead. It was a bright pink, spiked away from his green eyes – it was the exact opposite look for someone who was a thief. Maybe that was why he sucked at it so much, she thought, remembering her docked pay.

She added, “It makes sense that I’m working with you since it’s your fault I’m in this mess anyway.”

Natsu blinked. “Eh?”

“We worked on the harp case together. You know, the one where you went against the plan. I’m short on rent now,” she said, rubbing her face.

“No way. That was you?”

“How do you remember me but not from where? There were pictures of the team before you signed on!”

“I didn’t look at it much, I was more focused on getting the harp,” he admitted, scratching his chin.

“As lovely as this reunion is, we should get down to business, we’re already running low on time and I’d rather figure this out before we get on the train,” cut in the other man. Lucy blinked, remembering the other two. The man who spoke was easily the tallest of the team, seeming to stare down at them with narrowed blue eyes and an icy frown on his face. As though he could think of better place to be than here. A woman wearing a bullet-proof vest and a skirt stood beside him, a cool look on her face and a cascade of scarlet hair falling down her back.

“Fine, fine,” said Natsu. “That’s Gray and that’s Erza, they’ll be working with us on this job as well.”

Lucy froze in place. The name Gray wasn’t as familiar to her, but Erza Scarlet was a legend in her own right and it took everything in Lucy’s power not to squeal at the sight of her. She settled on a dazzling smile, hoping to convey her admiration for the woman in her handshake. Erza returned it firmly, crushing her fingers, and Lucy hid a wince, wondering what she had done to offend her already.

Then Erza smiled, a bright beautiful thing that transformed her entire face. It was hard to imagine that someone who looked so kind could beat up a squad of 100 men by herself. “We’re happy to be working with you, welcome to the team,” said Erza, releasing her hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to ask Cana your name?”

“Pleasure. I’m Ashley,” Lucy said, the lie falling from her lip easily. It’s easier to use her middle name than trust them with her secret. They were thieves -- wshe didn’t know the price they would need to give her up, but she knew everyone had one. She shook her fingers, trying to regain feeling. “So, what are we doing? I wasn’t really told anything about the plan other than the fact that we aren’t going to murder anyone.”

“With Erza here, that might be a little unlikely to hope,” Gray muttered to Natsu, who nodded vigorously before seeming to realize who spoke. Lucy ignored them as they began scowling at each other, focusing on Erza instead.

“I need you to dig up everything you can on a man named Jiemma,” Erza instructed, sinking down onto the bench beside her while Lucy unfolded a notepad for notes. “We don’t know much about him, not even a last name, but he’s the current guild leader for Sabertooth.”

Lucy’s pen jolted, a blob of ink streaking across the page. Sabertooth was a well-known law firm on the outside, but everyone who was anyone knew it acted as a base of operation for a group of freelancers who did any number of jobs for money. Some within the bounds of the law, some not. It wasn’t unlike Fairy Tail, another group of freelancers, who specialized more in stealing back from other thieves; they were a bunch of Robin Hood’s. It was a mentality that Lucy could appreciate after escaping from her father’s uncompromising will, but a naïve one. People didn’t just join Fairy Tail, nobody even knew where they were headquartered. Hell, she didn’t even know people in Fairy Tail, she had only ever seen their calling card once.  

But Sabertooth… They were the only guild to be out in the open and it was well-known who the mastermind behind it was.

Lucy found her words. “How? I thought the leader was someone named Eucliffe.”

The smile dropped from Natsu’s face like a stone. The group shared an indescribable look, communicating silently with their eyes and Lucy glanced away from the uncomfortable team moment. She was aware, now more than ever, that they had been a team together for a while. Her contribution was last minute and in the dark. Her only job was to hack, to give them information – it didn’t matter who the mark was or why they were after them either.

“Never mind,” Lucy started, raising her notepad again to continue the debriefing, but Natsu cut across her.

“Sting’s the client, we’re here to clear his name and prove that Jiemma is a crackpot old fool before word gets out too far,” he explained slowly, adjusting a checkered scarf around his neck. Briefly, she caught glimpse of a large, faded scar that stretched from one half to the other, like a botched beheading, before it was covered once more. She forgot about it in the next second, biting back the urge to ask what Sting’s charges were, but half afraid that they would deny her the knowledge. Natsu, unnoticing or uncaring, continued, “It would be bad if people found out he wasn’t the master anymore.”

“Bad is an understatement,” Gray said, kicking at the ground, his hands shoved into his pocket. “Sabertooth takes the heat off all the other guilds, nobody is going to look any deeper than them if another calling card comes up, but if Jiemma changes the game for the worse like he is then people are going to dig more.” Lucy felt cold just listening to him speak; she wouldn’t be in any danger from Sabertooth, her work was too independent, but the worry in his words, so different than the emotionless drivel of his introduction, made her feel as though a target was growing on her back by the second.

“Which is why we need to know everything about him,” interrupted Erza, punching her hand into the bench. Lucy swallowed her yelp as the wood splintered under Erza’s attack in a shower of shards, but Erza paid no more mind to it than her companions. “The only other thing we know about him is a connection to Jose Porla.”

Lucy stilled, a blot growing on her paper beneath Jose’s name, trying hard to keep the shock from showing on her face. At this rate, her page would be less notes and more of an artistic statement.

Erza brushed the dust from her gloves. Like Natsu, she seemed oblivious to Lucy’s reaction. “Eucliffe reported that he saw them hanging around together often before his fall. They were last seen in Crocus, which is where we’re heading together on the next train. How soon can you dig up everything on Jiemma and Jose?”

Lucy cleared her throat in an attempt to appear casual and hoped that Gray, with his narrowed eyes, would fall for it as easily as his companions. “Jiemma might take a little while, he might be the master of Sabertooth, but if this is recent, then he likely won’t be in any of their official files yet. I’ll need to do an independent search from the get-go. Jose Porla though… I actually know him already,” she said, her words growing sheepish when Erza frowned. Natsu’s mouth hung open, but she couldn’t tell if he was paying attention to their conversation or not.

“How?” Gray asked skeptically.

“I’ve done a job involving him before that went south, before Cana’s team took him down,” she lied, shrugging her shoulders. Gray nodded, placated. “It’s been a while, a year or two, so I’ll double check what I know, but he was quite comfortable the last time I saw him and he isn’t the type to change his routine.” Her fingers tightened around the pen, but she forced them to relax. No need to broadcast that her last encounter with Jose Porla had been only a week before she had changed her identity from Lucy Heartfilia, heiress, to Ashley, hacker.

Natsu’s eyes were too excited for her comfort. “What do you know?”

“Too much to tell you before the train gets here. You know, it’s a good thing we’re going to Crocus already. He’s based in Oaktown, but he’ll be in Crocus for business around this time, most of his type are. Might be able to take them both down before the day is up.” And she wondered, briefly, if Cana knew a lot more about Lucy than she ever confessed. After all, who would be more perfect for a job involving Jose Porla than the girl who ruined his life?

[ciathyzareposts]

Realms of Arkania: The Long and Winding Road

Taking a mountain trail between two cities.

            I spent most of this session wandering the sea lanes, trails, riverways, and mountain passes between various towns, on what has become a clear quest to collect various map pieces and other bits of intelligence about Hyggelik’s resting place. In its outdoor explorations, the map recalls Curse of the Azure Bonds, where you had fixed travel routes between towns (some of them interesting, some of them boring) which you selected and watched your party move on its own, and upon which various events could divert the party for a while. I gather that Arkania offers a mix of fixed and random encounters whereas Curse‘s were mostly fixed.

Arkania‘s encounters tend towards the type of text-driven interface that I complained about in Tunnels & Trolls (and did not, perhaps paradoxically, complain about in Darklands). There have been a couple of occasions in which my progress along the road was broken by the discovery of a cave or dungeon, but most of the time I’ve been asked to read a few paragraphs and select my options from a list. I won’t know until later in the game whether I think it used text for too many encounters, as Trolls did, or whether it achieves a better balance.             

The game offers a lot of these textual encounters as you cross the map.

          One of the things I like about Arkania‘s system is the palpable tension that these encounters engender thanks to the limited saving system. As we’ve covered, the game docks every character 50 experience points when you save outside of a temple, and in between towns there are limited opportunities to even take advantage of that penalty. When you haven’t saved since the last temple an hour ago, you’re a lot more careful in your choices. You start to sweat some of the skill- and attributed-based challenges, as well as (of course) the combats. When I was writing about Camelot, I forgot to discuss the delightful sense of fear the game imparts when you’re exploring a level or two above your head. Arkania evokes some of those same feelings.

Combat has gotten a little easier as I understand the tactics better, as I leveled up, and as I poured spell points into the “Fulminictus” offensive spell. I concede to my readers who argued that the keyboard interface works well once you get used to it, although I still don’t see any excuse for not mapping each distinct action to a unique key, nor for the inability to attack on the diagonal, nor for the way that the arrow keys work differently depending on whether you’re moving or attacking. I’m also having a unique-to-me colorblindness problem where I find it hard to distinguish party members from enemies (especially when they’re standing in a cluster) or even see the thin outlining on the floor tile when it’s selected.           

Fighting some goblins. The battle wasn’t too hard, but it’s hard for me to distinguish what’s happening in that blob of characters and enemies.

        But the worse problem is that combats are just too frigging long. Enemies and characters should both hit and damage each other more often. Even in the rare cases in which the outcome is a foregone conclusion and I use “computer controlled combat,” I mostly just sit there and watch for a quarter of an hour as the characters and enemies bang against each other to no avail.

I confess that I have been a bit spell-lazy. The spell system in Arkania is one of the more complicated ones that we’ve seen, with virtually no overlap with, say, Dungeons and Dragons. In fact, the creators of The Dark Eye system seem to have deliberately created as opposite a system as possible. Making things worse, the manual is extremely sparse in this area and doesn’t describe the effects of the spells. (Yes, I know there are external resources.) There are 12 spell categories (e.g., “Combat,” “Demonology,” “Movement,” “Illusion”) and four spell “lore” categories (magician, elf, druid, and witch), and about 80 total spells. It isn’t as simple as druids are good at “Demonology” and magicians are good at “Combat.” Rather, within the “Demonology” category, druids specialize in “Banish Spirits” and “Conjure Spirits,” magicians specialize in “Blood and Furor, Deadly Fate” and “Heptagon and Eye of Toad,” and witches and warlocks specialize in “Summon Crows.”

But theoretically any spellcasting character can cast any spell, if they put the points into it. Every character has an individual rating with each spell that can be increased during level-ups. The manual suggests that if a spell isn’t in your “lore” category, it can’t be used in combat, but I know that’s not true because everyone seems capable of casting “Ignifaxus Lance of Fire” in combat and that’s a magician-specific spell.

A lot of spell names are impenetrable: “Solididrid’s Rainbow Hue,” “Witch’s Knot,” “Odem Arcanum Sensum Such.” The game manual encourages you to “experiment,” but here we run into the final issue: spellcasters are nerfed more in Arkania than any RPG I can remember. Even at Level 3, I can cast maybe three spells per combat before my characters are out of spell points. And spell points regenerate much more slowly than hit points–only 2 or 3 per night’s rest. Spellcasters need to be melee fighters, too, to pull their weight. Because of all of this, I’ve only been slowly experimenting with new spells, spending most of my points on “Ignifaxus Lance of Fire,” which I know does its job.           

Fighting a druid, harpies, and direwolves. Bramele is nominally an elf, but her magic has almost run out, so now she needs to be a fighter.

         Most of my characters have leveled up twice now, which is an interesting and long process. First, you get to increase one of your “good” attributes by 1. Then you get to try to decrease one of your “bad” attributes (avarice, acrophobia, etc.) by one. None of the bad attributes have been much of a bother yet, so I’ve just been decreasing the highest ones. It fails about 50% of the time. The game then randomly rolls for boosts to your magic resistance, health, and magic points.            

My dwarf tries to take the edge off his natural greed.

           Then you get to assign about 20 skill points to your various skills, but there are a lot of restrictions. It seems that each weapon skill can only be advanced once per level-up (very annoying) and most other skills can only be advanced twice. I’ve been using the process to make each character stronger at his strengths rather than trying to improve his weaknesses, but even under that philosophy you end up sinking extra points into questionable skills like “Carouse” and “Train Animals.” Attempting to increase a skill fails about 33% of the time and it’s always annoying when it does.

Magic-users also go through a phase where they get 20 or 30 points to advance their various spells, but again the same rules are in effect by which you can only increase each spell by 2 points per level-up, no matter how low it is to start. Some spellcasters–or maybe just one; I don’t feel like checking the manual–have the ability to swap skill boosts for spell boosts or vice versa.           

My elf gets better at a combat spell. Notice how poorly she takes to the warlock’s “Terror Boom.”

              Failing your increases is so frustrating, and the random rolls for health and mana increases are so variable, that there would normally be a huge incentive to save-scum the process. In practice, that would be really hard. You’re prompted to level-up as soon as you cross the experience point threshold, so you’d have to save before the battle that gave you the experience in the first place, then fight it again with no guarantee that you’d do better the second time. Thus, I’ve just been accepting what happens. I do generally like the process and feel that the characters are getting notably stronger.             

A nice reward for the druid battle.

           I have been disappointed in my progress when it comes to weapons and armor. This seems to be one of those “realistic” RPGs where once you’ve purchased your base items, they don’t change much unless something breaks. In 10 hours of play, I’ve only had a few item “upgrades.” I wasted time chasing a tavern lead that “this Tulamidian in Overhtorn, Kherim Al Sherammi, only stocks the finest quality [weapons and armor],” but I didn’t find anything spectacular when I visited his shop.

There’s a “survivalist” element to exploration that I have mixed feelings about. Very often, I’m faced with an encounter that requires some kind of skill or attribute check and/or some kind of inventory check. For instance, we reach a cliff face that’s climbable if every party member has a rope or sufficient skill in “Climbing.” Or we’re sneaking up on a party of enemies and can either trust our “Sneak” skill or the “Silentium” spell. Or we’re crossing a high rope bridge and someone misses an acrophobia check and begins to freak out; we can either blindfold him or cast “Bambaladam” to make him trust us long enough to lead him across.          

Climbing a cliff face. Either my skill or my rope is responsible for my success.

          These occasional inventory checks have made me paranoid about what I’m not carrying. I have some ropes, a couple of pry bars, a hammer, and blankets and extra shoes for each character. But the general store sells fishing hooks, climbing hooks, drinking horns, recorders, cutlery, flasks, shovels, nets, throwing hooks, oil, mirrors, rope ladders, quills, scrolls, hoes, and dishes among other things. Do I really need to load up with all of these possibilities? Even worse, I suspect every character needs some of these things for action to be viable.               

Which of these many items do I need to buy?

             There are a couple infuriating parts of this skill/spell/inventory check system during encounters. First, the game often asks me who will do something without giving me any ability to check and remind myself who has the highest skill or spell level in a particular area. I can barely remember who’s what class, let alone who has the highest skill in “Camouflage.” Second, the game often requires the lead character to have the necessary skill or item. That’s not a huge problem (although it’s still annoying) when you’re in town or a dungeon and you can easily re-arrange the characters. But you can’t change the order of characters on the road. This led to a ridiculous situation in which the slain Gorah left a locked treasure chest behind, but I wasn’t able to open it because the character who had lockpicks (and lockpicking skill) wasn’t in the lead. I had to abandon the chest and go all the way back to the nearest town to swap the party order and then go back to Gorah’s lair, spending about 5 days in the process. At least the chest was still there.         In contrast, it has not been a big issue (so far) to manage hunger and thirst. A good meal at an inn or tavern refills both meters and lasts for a couple of days. Only a few trips have taken longer than that, and a few backpack rations easily manage the remainder. The game keeps giving me opportunities to hunt for dinner, but I haven’t really had to explore that option yet. Perhaps later there will be more extended wilderness trips.            

Camp options at night. I’ve never needed to “replenish stocks.”

           I had ended the last session in Felsteyn, which was at the head of its river. My furthest-north lead was in Vidsand, so I thought I’d go there and then make my way back south. The path out of Felsteyn led through the mountains to Orkanger. On the way, I ran into problems. A fixed encounter has the party find the corpse of a traveler slain by brigands. On his body, they find a document.           

A fixed encounter between two cities.

           While they search, a group of brigands attacks. There are options to flee and bargain, but they didn’t work well for me. I found myself in an inevitable and difficult combat. When it was over, it was followed immediately by another combat. Then (before you’ve had a chance to save or even read the document), the game has you stumble upon the brigand camp. Yes, you have an option to sneak away, but it just doesn’t feel right.           

The resulting brigand battle in the narrow mountain pass.

          I know that my obstinacy isn’t the game’s fault, but the end result is that I beat myself against it until I finally won those three combats in a row, which took more than half of this session’s length. The final victory led to my first round of level-ups.

As for the document, it said:              

The unicorn knows many ways to help you. He can even recover lost items, if he himself believes them to be of importance. In doing so, he is faster than the wind.

              (This led me to a mental digression about unicorns, because they seem prominent in German games specifically. I didn’t actually research the matter, but I thought of the various ways that unicorns have been portrayed in media, and it made me think that in Anglo culture, we’ve basically infantilized them, making them delicate, fey creatures voiced in lilting, worried tones by Mia Farrow, whose horns are a combination between hood ornaments and magic wands–whereas portrayals in continental culture seem to retain unicorns as, first and foremost, horses, with horse strength and horse appetites–carnal beasts whose horns are metaphorically penises and practically lances. Am I on to anything or is it just selective memory?)

The game grew a bit insidious at this point, having me next encounter a cave. I know now that I could have continued on to Orkanger, saved at a temple, and then turned around to go back and explore the cave. But at the time, I thought it might be a non-repeatable encounter, so I checked it out. It led me to a small dungeon map with several random and fixed battles with goblins, who thankfully aren’t that hard. Still, I started to get nervous about how long it had been since the last temple, so I sucked up the 50-experience point loss and I saved. Thank the gods. Moments later, the party was torn apart by some “giant stagga” (they look like giant ants) and I had to reload. I avoided that combat–I hate not being able to fully clear an area–looted the goblin’s treasure, and returned to the road.           

This is not the sort of option you want to see when you’ve won three battles in a row and haven’t saved in an hour.

           Backpacks bursting, we arrived in Orkanger to find that the small town had no weapons shop. But the inn was welcome, and there was a temple to save. We continued on the trail to Clanegh, which also had the same paucity of retail. We finally found a weapons shop and unloaded ourselves in Tyldon. From there, we followed the road to the coastal town of Vidsand.

In Vidsand, we met Ragna Firunjasdotter, who after some conversation showed us her piece of the map to Hyggelik’s tomb. She wouldn’t give us the piece, just show it to us. So later, when we got a third piece, Ragna’s piece did not appear on the resulting map image. I don’t know if that means it was a waste of time or not. In real life, I’ll be able to make a composite of the map from the various images, but I’m not sure if the game will require me to have the whole thing.          

With another piece of the map.

          Ragna gave me some more names, one of which I’d already visited (Isleif in Felsteyn). This made me wonder if all these NPCs aren’t supposed to have maps, and perhaps whether they show or give them to you is a result of skill checks for various social skills. It thus made me think I should perhaps have been saving before each encounter and better ensuring that I had the right party member in the lead. On the other hand, perhaps the game is generous in the number of NPCs who possibly have maps, thus giving you a chance to screw up one or two of the encounters. I wouldn’t mind an explicit hint in this area, because if I’ve put myself in a “walking dead” situation, I’d like to know.          

I wonder if I’ve made the wrong decision in places like this.

         From Vidsand, I hopped on a ship that circled a little bay: Vidsand to Liskor to Tjanset. After a wasted visit to the armorer in Tjanset, we took a mountain path to the town of Orvil, where we had a lead on an NPC named Unbrik Sevenstones. Outside Orvil, we saved a shepherd from some direwolves (easiest combat in the game so far), and the shepherd told us of a “foul druid” named Gorah who has been charming wild beasts and sending them against the people of the various towns.           

I think Baldur’s Gate II re-uses this plot.

         In Orvil, Unbrik would only help us if we agreed to kill Gorah and return with his rune bone. Unbrik told us that he was about a day outside of town but didn’t specify which direction. We tried south, on the way to Skjal, as we had to go to Skjal anyway, and we got lucky along the way and found Gorah. (Or perhaps Gorah lies along whatever road you choose.) We approached his lair with the “Silentium” spell and attacked him with his group of direwolves.          

What I wouldn’t give for a “Fireball” right now.

        We defeated him without too much trouble even though he summoned a couple of harpies to join the battle. Most of the party leveled up a second time. We had to return to Orvil and come back again because the only character with lockpicks wasn’t in the front of the party. From the druid’s chest, we looted the rune bone as well as some other herbs and potions.               

One day, I’ll have to learn what all those herbs do.

         Unbrik had another piece of the map and a couple more names. From Orvil, we turned around and went to Skjal, where Jurge Torfinsson gave us yet another map piece. Unfortunately, we were unable to find Swafnild Egilsdotter, a pirate who I heard hangs around the Skjal port.

On an overland path from Skjal to Ottarje, we found a faint trail heading off into the forest. Something appeared to have been dragged along the path. We followed it to a cave blocked by a giant spider’s web, which we cut to gain entry. I had to stop playing at this point, so I sacrificed the 50 experience points to save at the mouth of the cave. I’ll explore it next time.

As I reached the end of this session, the list of places and people to visit has grown to:

        Ottarje: Hjore. I realized while I was composing this entry that this is the name of the shepherd I rescued outside Orvil, not far from Ottarje.

Some port or another: Swafnild Egilsdotter, a pirate

Brendhil: Tiomar Swafnildsson (are they related?)

Phexcaer: Gerbald

Hjasingor: Algrid Trondesdotter

          Miscellaneous notes:

          I didn’t record what the game was asking me to confirm at this moment, but it’s fun to speculate on the possibilities.

                    I don’t know why the developers made travel routes dependent on specific exits from the town. It doesn’t add anything to the game except time.

Because favored weapons have a decent chance of breaking in combat, it’s a good idea to carry more than one weapon and to have each character specialize in more than one weapon type–that way, you’re more likely to be able to press a looted weapon into service.

In any given city, about 80% of the houses are just regular citizens’ houses. About half of these have an angry citizen who throws you out. The other half are unoccupied, and the game gives you a chance to burgle them. For role-playing reasons, I haven’t been doing that, but after a recent save, I decided to try to see what happens. The answer is nothing. In about 8 attempts, I simply found empty rooms. I wonder if this option ever becomes necessary or lucrative.

         A completely uninteresting game option.

        One area of the game that I’ve left completely unexplored is herbology. I occasionally run into an herb-seller in town, I have a character high in the “Herb Lore” skill, and the game gives an option to search for herbs when you camp at night. Despite this, I’ve only just now bothered to scan the manual for what these herbs can do. 

A couple of wilderness encounters have led to the party sneaking up on enemies and observing them from afar. These encounters have offered the option to “rain a hail of arrows on the enemies”–which I think has been effective despite the fact that I haven’t been keeping bows and arrows in the party.

            I’m pretty sure I don’t have a bow, so unless I’m arranging the arrows on the ground to spell out “HELLO,” I’m not sure what this option is doing here.

            My takeaway from this session is that I haven’t really been enjoying Realms of Arkania but it’s mostly because I haven’t been fully engaging it. I’ve been playing it like it’s a different RPG. I need to take time to learn the spell system and the herb system, find a more effective way to manage my inventory, and re-read the manual in general.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/realms-of-arkania-the-long-and-winding-road/

[twirlinginthefade]

Home Is Where the Heart Is 10/?

In which: Bath time and fade time

Rowan gave a heavy sigh.

The rest of the day had gone by quickly, her soulmates pressing for every detail she would tell them about Earth and her life there. But as the day turned to night, Rowan’s temporary energy waned and eventually, Cullen escorted her to the small cabin she had woken up in, and ensured she had a hot bath and food before she went to bed.

Athras thankfully left her alone in the cabin, choosing instead to take her dinner in the Singing Maiden tavern nearby. Rowan’s own dinner was of milder fare due to Adan’s concern that rich foods may cause her to get sick. Soft, plain bread, cheese and a cup of tea were supplied, although he told her that if she felt she couldn't stomach anything, Flissa had broth ready for her if she needed it.

But still, Rowan felt no inclination to eat, instead submerging herself in the warm bath and making no move to move from it.

Haven was cold, and Rowan had been walking around in only a long-sleeved tunic and leggings, her boots the only thing really keeping her warm. She was surprised she hadn't noticed how cold she was until she sank into the hot water and nearly melted.

Quietly humming, she sank further into the water until only her head was above the water. The water made her sleepy and it took effort to not fall asleep in the bath. Her bed was probably just as warm but the air between made Rowan curl deeper in the water.

A knock interrupted her woolgathering and she blinked sleepily at the door across the way, resting her chin against the rim of the tub.

“Who is it?”

“It's Cassandra Herald. May I come in?”

Rowan blinked tiredly at the door and thought for a moment.

“Enter”

The Seeker pushed open the door, carrying a stack of books in various sizes, talking all the while. “You left before we could discuss the rest of yo-oh Maker you’re naked” She dropped the books in surprise, staring at the young woman in the tub.

Her rift-green eyes were heavy-lidded and blinked slowly, looking her with mild curiosity. The soft waves of her hair fell around her face, plainly washed and in the middle stage of drying, for all she was still in the tub.

But what had Cassandra blushing was the way she was positioned.

Her head was gently resting on her forearms, cradled against the metal. It gave Cassandra a good view of the soft, pale skin along her shoulders and neck when her head tilted. She also knew if she walked a few more steps, she would be able to see into the tub, from her lithe chest down to the tip of her delicate foot.

But the Herald obviously cared nothing for her nudity, instead focusing on the books scattered on the ground, a lazy smile on her face.

“Ooo, books. What did you bring me?”

Cassandra blinked, not expecting the curious look Rowan gave her. “After the meeting was dismissed, I realized no one had given you the texts you would need for your lessons. They are mainly apprentice books, such as treatises on the Fade, beginner spells and wards, along with how to defend yourself from various demons.”

Rowan examined the pile. “What about that one? It has a...fox?”

“A fennec.” Cassandra nodded. “After you adopted the nug” “Vanyel” “...Vanyel, I thought it might be best if you received a book on the animals that live in Thedas. There is also a book on plants that I included for you if you are interested.”

A soft splash followed Rowan's movement as she sat up, leaning over the tub. “Thank you Cassandra. I’m glad you thought of me” Her thanks were followed by a large yawn and a series of blinks. The action caused Cassandra to smile for a moment before she realized how tired the Herald was.

“Herald, I think it is time I take my leave. It looks like you are very tired and I should not keep you up any longer.” She gathered the books and kept her eye line on Rowan’s desk as she put them down, ignoring the hum of agreement from Rowan and the soft splashing from behind her.

“I suppose you're right.” More splashing and a quiet curse as Cassandra arranged the books. “Good lord, I wish I had crutches” She filed that away as she turned back to Rowan, to find the Herald wrapping a towel around herself and carefully leaning against her bed frame.

“Herald!” Cassandra leaned forwards to help her, willfully ignoring the half-nakedness, only to be waved away by Rowan.

“I'm fine. Just tired” She sat down, massaging her stump. Rowan then looked up and gave Cassandra a small smile. “Go on Cassandra. I'm afraid I won't be the best company in a little while.”

Cassandra watched as Rowan grabbed the nightgown sitting on her nightstand and slipped it over her towel, letting the towel drop when she stood again, draping it on the top of her bedpost.

Cassandra gave a small salute before walking over to the door as Rowan settled, disturbing Vanyel, who was sleeping on the foot of her bed, a small red ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. “Good night Lady Herald”

Rowan gave a quiet mumble. “Night Cassandra”

Between hearing the door open and close, Rowan fell, landing softly in the hammock inside of her stone and vine gazebo.

“Ah, you're back” Rowan turned her head, finding Pragma quietly sitting on one of the benches, flipping through a book. Or rather, something that looked like a book, but each of its pages had an animal walking around, made of paper.

“Were you waiting long?” Rowan swung her legs over, finding the weave of the hammock more solid than she was expecting. Pragma shook their horned head, closing the book and putting it on the bench beside them.

“I like this place that you made. It is peaceful, and surprisingly well guarded for you being a new mage.” Pragma smiled down at her, still slightly stooped due to the Rowan-sized gazebo. Then they blinked as they looked down at her chest. “That’s new”

Rowan stared at them and looked down. Across her chest was a chest plate, styled the same as Cassandra’s was. But in the middle of her chest was a lock, with a keyhole in the shape of a fourteen pieced heart. Looking at the rest of herself, there were small patches of scale mail covering each of her marks, save for the one on the outside of her right thigh, where a red and bronze fire burned. She looked around, trying to see if any others were uncovered, but only Cullen’s mark remained, burning painlessly against her skin.

“Huh. That is new.” She tapped the plate with a fingernail, bells tinkling with every tap.

“The Fade echoes your feeling in the real world. Perhaps that is why?”

Rowan thought back to the day earlier and nodded. “Definitely why” Then she remembered the price for her lesson the other night. “Hey Pragma? Can you bend down for a sec? I need to see something.”

Pragma cocked their head and leaned down as asked, only for Rowan to grasp their face and press a gentle kiss to their lips.

“There, price paid,” She said, grinning as she pulled back. Pragma stared blankly back, then a tiny smile appeared on their face.

“Most mages wheedle their way through deals, wager and haggle. It is refreshing to see one who pays their dues without hesitation.”

“I won't hesitate if I can deal with the price. If I don't like the price, I don't make the deal” Rowan pulled aside the vine curtain, stepping gently on the grass spread around the gazebo. Tiny white morning glories littered the ground, opening and closing with the wind.

“Seems fair.” Pragma followed her out and plucked a rose from the trellis, it’s color dripping onto their hand. The spirit tucked the flower behind Rowan’s ear, smearing electric pink against her cheek. “Pink looks good on you. Brings out the life in your cheeks”

“Thanks.” Rowan tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and frowned at the sky. “I have a request, and I want to know the price”

“Ask, and I will tell”

“Courtship procedures. For as many cultures as you know”

Pragma cocked their head in surprise. “For your Missing I presume?”

“Ye- wait. Missing?”

Pragma touched the scale mail on her shoulder and the connecting gorget around her neck. “They are not yet yours, a piece missing from your heart. Once they accept your gift, they will be a part of your soul, only parted in death.”

“Oddly poetic, but yeah. I need to know how to court them, in their way.” She looked down and rubbed at her shoulder. “I want them to be happy, but I want to see if I can make them happy”

Pragma considered the offer. “A fair desire. I grant it”

“And the price?” Rowan raised a brow, perching on the now carved redwood log serving as a bench.

“Same as before. A kiss, on your next visit. But, I will not be here next time.”

“Then who receives the kiss?”

“My sibling, Eros. They would like to meet you, but I thought a warning is in order. They can be...overwhelming. To say the least. Do you agree?”

“I do”

And with those words, Pragma pressed a kiss to Rowan’s lips, flooding her mind with the nuance, process and order of courtship in Thedas.

Then she woke up with a pounding headache, a roiling stomach and a want to punch Orlesian traditionalists in the face for their courtship bullshit.