#for a) coming back and finishing have his carcase

[o-uncle-newt]

We don't talk enough about the Petherbridge/Walter adaptations of the Wimsey/Vane novels.

(Well, we probably talk EXACTLY enough about Gaudy Night, which is really pretty bad, but besides for that...)

(Sorry, just a warning, Richard Morant as Bunter is fine but I won't have much to say about him here. I just really like this picture.)

The casting is basically perfect, especially Harriet Walter as Harriet Vane. I no longer see the book character in any other way- the only notable difference is that in the book she's noted as having a deep voice, but Walter's has a distinctive enough tone that I think it works regardless. She is just so, so, so good- captures the character beautifully, sells everything she does whether mundane or ridiculous (probably the best/most realistic reaction of someone finding a body I have EVER seen in Have His Carcase), makes the most of every limited minute she's on screen in Strong Poison and leaves her mark every minute that she isn't... and she looks AMAZING doing all of it. Just perfect, could not imagine better casting.

Edward Petherbridge I don't hold up to that level of perfection- I think that, try as he might, he's not really able to capture Wimsey's dynamism (possibly because he's a bit too old for the role) and is a bit overly caricatured in many of his mannerisms. But overall he does a pretty good job, in addition to looking quite a lot like how I'd imagined Wimsey- but in particular, I think he does a really lovely job of selling a lot of the emotion that he has to convey in some scenes that feel like they SHOULDN'T be adaptable from the book- specifically the scenes of him and Harriet. Him proposing to Harriet, him being disappointed when she (completely reasonably) turns him down... those shouldn't work on screen with real humans rather than in Sayers's calculated prose, but it DOES work and in no small part because he's great at selling Wimsey's feelings as being genuine even when his actions seem over the top. And, of course, Harriet Walter sells her end of the scenes right back. All in all, I think I have mixed feelings about Petherbridge as Lord Peter Wimsey the detective, but I'm a fan of him as Peter, the man who has feelings for Harriet.

Overall, though, both are, I think, very successful in capturing these characters- the fact that they take these people who even in the book can sometimes push the boundaries of likeability (which to be clear, is part of what I love about reading them) and make them eminently watchable is a great achievement. And also, in addition to their really looking like their characters individually, they're very well matched as a pair in the way that one pictures them from the book. They're even of very similar height and build, which we know is canonically true from Gaudy Night, and thus at least a somewhat relevant element of their dynamic.

Now, the adaptations are very uneven, and that's even without talking about Gaudy Night because, while it has about as good a rendition of the punting scene as I think we were ever going to get, most of the rest of it is crap and massively expands on what I think are serious problems to Peter and Harriet's relationship that the series as a whole had (not to mention cutting the character of St George, which is a travesty). None of the adaptations are perfect, and mess with aspects of their relationship in negative ways- for example, the ending of Strong Poison is exactly backward in a really awful way. I'll get back to this.

But when the show gets the two of them right, it gets them RIGHT, even when it's adapting Sayers's text/creating new dialogue. There are scenes in this one that I love almost as much as the canon text, like this one:

I don't think any of this is in the book, and there are things that happen here that I don't think Sayers would have ever written. But at the same time, a combination of the dialogue and the actors makes it COMPLETELY believable as these two people, and it captures a moment that is just really key for Peter as he faces his limitations and his feelings- something that in the book is conveyed through a lot of internal narrative on Peter's part that would be impossible to adapt as is, but that in the world of the show needed to happen in a much more visual and narrative way. Not all of the dialogue that this series chooses to fill in those gaps works, but even when it doesn't the actors do their best to sell the heck out of it, and when the dialogue DOES work it is seriously brilliant.

Probably my favorite of the adaptations is Have His Carcase, and scenes like this one are a big part of the reason why:

They change the location, but otherwise it's EXTRAORDINARILY faithful to the equivalent scene in the book, and honestly it shouldn't have worked with real people doing it and yet it does. It's just acted perfectly, given just enough arch and silly humor (particularly with the spinning door) that we don't attempt to take it too seriously, while also conveying the relevant emotions so well. The actors in the scene through only their faces and ways of speaking convey subtext that Sayers, in the book, conveyed a lot later on as actual text in the characters' thoughts, and there's something pretty great about that.

Other Have His Carcase scenes are less good (the dance scene is mediocre at best, I think), but if there's another Have His Carcase scene that I think illustrates how great Walter and Petherbridge are at selling the human sides of their characters, it's That Argument- seen here:

The Argument is a pale imitation of that in the book- the one in the book is, in fact, probably unadaptable as is- but it is still just so good because the actors are so good at selling it. Walter is just brilliant in the role and utterly inhabits it while also imbuing it with her own spin, and makes us feel Harriet's pain- and Petherbridge, through some relatively subtle facial expressions and reactions, is able just as well to make US understand what all of this means to him and how he feels. It's actually really remarkable that, just like how Sayers writes a relationship dynamic that only feels like it works because she's the one who wrote it that very specific way, this scene feels like it only works because these two actors play it in this specific way. Could two other actors do it? Very possibly, but it would feel super different and I wonder if it would feel this authentic. (I do want to note though that this scene made me really wish that we'd seen a Frasier-era David Hyde Pierce in the role of a younger and spryer, but equally posh, witty, and vulnerable, Wimsey. It just gave me vibes of something that he'd do beautifully.)

Now, as I said above, this doesn't get EVERYTHING right. In fact, quite a lot of their relationship ends up going pretty wrong- as I think a major mistake is their throughline which emphasizes Peter's continued pursuit of Harriet as not just reiterating his interest to make it clear that he hasn't changed his mind, but actively taking advantage of moments and situations in a romantic sense, taking a much more specific role in engaging with her physically, commenting on her appearance, saying how difficult it is for him to NOT pursue her more, etc. It makes the whole thing feel a lot more cat-and-mouse rather than a budding relationship of equals, and one where Peter acknowledges the whole time that they HAVE to be equals for a) Harriet to feel comfortable with him and b) them to be good together. In fact, however good the Argument above is, it's kind of undercut by this very pattern- he makes the book's point about him treating his feelings like something out of a comic opera, but he also at that point in the story has had a few much more oppressively serious scenes with her that clearly make her uncomfortable- nothing like anything in a comic opera. It's like the show misses the point a little.

I think the place where this really starts is at the end of Strong Poison. (I could see an argument to be made that it starts earlier, in a few smaller nuances of their jailhouse scenes, but I like those enough that I choose not to read into them too much lol.) After what I think is a great addition to the final jailhouse scene (one that I loved so much I repurposed it for a fic)- "it's supposed to be about love, isn't it" and some excellent reactions from Petherbridge- Harriet goes to court, her charges are dismissed, and unlike in the book, when it's Wimsey who leaves first (which Eiluned and Sylvia point out is a sign of his decency in not waiting for Harriet to thank him), here Wimsey is the one who watches as Harriet rejects him and walks away from him- the beginning of the chase. But nothing about their relationship is meant to be a chase! It's so frustrating to watch as that proceeds to be a continuing issue to a limited degree in Have His Carcase (where it's at least balanced by enough good moments that it doesn't matter so much) and to a MASSIVE, genuinely uncomfortable degree in Gaudy Night.

The only praise I will give it is that while the punt scene in the book is unfilmable, I think this adaptation did its best here and it's pretty good.

I'm not going to spend much time talking about Gaudy Night otherwise, because I'd need all day for it and also I'd probably need to rewatch it to make sure I get the details right and I have zero interest in doing that, but the way that it has Wimsey imposing himself and his feelings/hopes on Harriet to a really ridiculous degree, in a way that he never, ever does in the book, is just so so discomfiting and makes me feel terrible for Harriet. She doesn't deserve that. If I recall correctly, in that scene at the dance at the beginning, she's so happy just being with him and then he's all "oh so this means you want to marry me" and she just droops. He's so aggressive!

And that's what makes the worst part so bad, because not only does this miniseries not depict Wimsey's apology as the book does- one of the best scenes in a book full of brilliant scenes- it would actually be weird if it did, because this show doesn't imply that there's ANYTHING for Wimsey to be apologizing for! In fact, unlike in the books where we see Wimsey growing and deconstructing the parts of himself that had been demanding of Harriet, in the series we only see him get more demanding- until finally he wins. It's honestly infuriating and I hate it- the actors do their best to sell it (and apparently they were given bad enough material that they actually had to rewrite some of it themselves, though I have mixed feelings about the results) but it is just massively disappointing. Basically the whole emotional journey between the two of them is not just neutered but twisted.

For all of my criticisms of the adaptations' all around approach to their relationship, I do have to reiterate- Walter and Petherbridge do a wonderful, wonderful job. (Especially Walter.) When they're given good material to work with, and even often when they aren't, they are able to sell it so well- and particularly in the case of Walter, I genuinely can't think of the character as anyone but her rendition now. She IS Harriet Vane for me. And, for all the flaws that the series has, that's something pretty dang special.

Anyway, for anyone who read through this whole thing and hasn't seen these adaptations, I DO recommend Strong Poison and Have His Carcase- but not Gaudy Night unless you're either really curious or a glutton for punishment. The first two, though, have very good supporting casts, are quite faithful plot wise (sometimes to a fault- another flaw is that they are really devoted to conveying the whole mystery with all its clues sometimes to the point of dragginess, but will drop sideplots like, for example, Parker and Mary- which is totally reasonable, but still vaguely disappointing as those sideplots tend to add some levity/characterization), and just generally are an overall good time. (Some standout characters for me are Miss Climpson in Strong Poison and Mrs Lefranc in Have His Carcase.) And, of course, the best part is seeing the little snippets of Peter and Harriet that come through- less so their journey, vs in the book where that's central, but so many scenes where we just see the two of them together as they are in that moment and it's so satisfying.

[copperbadge]

i'm reading all the peter wimsey novels because someone recommended gaudy night and that's how i work, and now i'm up to the nine tailors and just finished murder must advertise (my favorite so far), but i found it really hard to get through have his carcase, which was odd since i loved harriet vane so much in strong poison. even the characters seemed to bugger off at the end of have his carcase instead of tying up all the storylines and sayers seemed disengaged after the first act or two. i liked the parts with peter and harriet, even the two chapters that are 99% cipher, but everything else felt weak. did you enjoy this one/why or why not? do you have a favorite of the wimsey novels other than gaudy night?

I may be inducing a fight by saying this but I think Have His Carcase is one of Sayers' weakest novels, and certainly the weakest of those featuring Harriet Vane. I tried to re-read it recently and couldn't get very far into it, and I'm a huge fan of Sayers. I think it's also a necessary book in order to create a complete story for them -- but I don't know that it's necessary to read it in the modern era, and certainly not necessary to re-read it.

(My other picks for least enjoyable: Five Red Herrings and Nine Tailors, both of which are visibly her attempts to write like Agatha Christie, one of her literary heroes -- and they're not bad books, I just don't like Agatha Christie style "clockwork" mysteries, which tend to sacrifice personality to logistics. I suspect this may have impacted Carcase somewhat. We will come back to this.)

Gaudy Night is actually not my favorite overall -- I think it's one of her best, but Murder Must Advertise is my favorite and in fact the first one I read. Which is hilarious because Peter spends a significant amount of time Not Being Peter Wimsey in it, but it's just such a combination of things I love. Advertising (which Sayers worked in and which she also clearly loved writing about), secret identities, crime rings, a hint of romance, office gossip...

Anyway, Carcase. I think the problem is that to get from Strong Poison to Gaudy Night, there has to be a bridge, and it has to be kind of an unpleasant one, and thus you get Have His Carcase. One of the major points of Harriet's arc is that Sayers wanted to contravene the "damsel rescued by the hero" narrative. Not so much because she believed women should save themselves or not, but because she believed that a relationship based on that kind of inequality, where one partner was grateful (or was expected to be grateful eternally) for being saved, was inherently unhealthy and unsustainable, and it was also a super common narrative at the time she was writing. This reaction to the narrative is most visible in her unfinished novel Thrones, Dominations -- which was finished after her death by Jill Paton Walsh, and I'm not a huge fan of the end product, but I've seen the original manuscript held at Wheaton and it's evident that this was a theme before anyone else took over, it wasn't forced into the plot.

In any case, Sayers had to get Harriet and Peter from victim and rescuer to equal footing, and while Gaudy does a lot of lifting in that regard, it doesn't do enough on its own, there had to be a previous groundwork laid. In a sense I'm glad that the grappling they have to do, which is sensible and intelligently written but also really unromantic, was done in Have His Carcase, so that it doesn't intrude more than briefly into Gaudy Night. Carcase is a lot about Harriet setting boundaries and testing whether Peter will cross them, and Peter reacting (sometimes poorly) to someone challenging him in ways he's unaccustomed to being challenged. Carcase is two people finding out the worst parts of each other so they can work out that they love the reality of each other anyways, which is what they're doing in Gaudy. But we have to witness it in Carcase, which is unpleasant. At least for me.

As she matures as an author and gains more power over how she's published, you can see Sayers trying new things -- after Bellona (another fave) she gets very literary with Strong Poison, and then seems to swing between these kind of torturous attempts at Christie's style (Herrings, Tailors) and incredibly sensitive, emotionally delicate books like Murder Must Advertise and Gaudy Night. Carcase is a weird combination of the two, where she seems to be applying the dispassionate Christie style to a book that wants to be Gaudy Night but can't be.

Anyway, even her less enjoyable books can still be pretty fun, and it's worth it to have books like Murder Must Advertise and Strong Poison, and the thrilling romance of Gaudy Night. But yeah, Carcase is a bit of a slog to get through.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 6.. December 1837

8 ¾

12 50

fine soft morning F36 ½° at 9 50 and breakfast – before breakfast was over went out to Mr. Wheatley – 2nd visit to Mangnall – doing very well – pity to shoot the horse – would do for a coach-house – then with Mr. Ramsden foundry man, in the new bank, who came about the drying closet – a stone floor would not answer – should be iron, and have a fire (like a boiler fire) to itself from the room adjoining the laundry – R-‘s job would cost about £6 of which about 17/. (2/. for Wood and 15/. for labour) for the models maker then finished breakfast and A- came and sat by me – she poorly but would ride to Bouldhsaw – off about 12 and back about 5 having sent George over from B- to the Bowling iron to inquire about the iron hay racks for farm stable (late cow house) – to come on Saturday or Monday – note to this effect in answer to my message meant to have gone to H-x but had Mr. Sharpe from near Redhall with his dark brown cart horse (led by John Sunderland of the old Dumb mill beershop) price 30 guineas – heavy, gummy legged, tup-faced – must be of slow action – rather slow – but all agree a good horse – six off – S- should have asked £25 thought of setting the gray against the brown – S- asked what I valued the gray at – 27 guineas – as well or better worth that than the brown worth 30 guineas – S- seemed unwilling to leave the horse on trial – asked if he would take gray and Magnall in exchange he made no answer – I said I would think about his horse, and let him know if I thought more of him – Sunderland asked what I would take for Magnall - £10 – what was the lowest? said I might shoot him and get but a sovereign for skin and carcase but I would not sell him for that – Townend came – stood by so did we all – (Sharpe Sunderland John Booth and David B- the mason) – while T- unloosed the dressings – a terrible cut, but veins and sinews safe and the wound doing very well – T- said the horse was not worth more than a sovereign now – I said if I did not have the animal shot, T- would hear and might come again, if he liked in a few days, and we would try to bargain – I would not keep the horse – all this and a long talk with DB. (want Edward to sleep at Northgate till the Crosslands take possession) took me till after 4 – then with Robert Mann + 5 at the low fishpond – and a little with the masons – the passage into the hall re-flagged temporary 3 men at the saddle room doorstead turning to the east end of the building (towards the coach house court) and walling up rewalling up the corner of the building – much shaken before being taken down – in the stables and about till near 6 – a little while with A- she gave me ten pounds towards bill for Northgate sometime in the wine cellar getting in 4 sacks of saw dust brought from H-x the other day and left at the cellar-door – warmed myself by cellaring the stuff myself – dressed – dinner at 7 10 Mr. Jubb here (saw him) this morning just before A- went – came 2nd time (1st on Monday) to see Cookson – much better as to the pain in her side. A- read French I read (much aloud) the newspaper – tea about 9 – wrote all the above of today till about 10 ¾ pm finish day for the time of year – asked Mallinson junior at noon what he had thought about Mitham (some days ago offered him buildings except the barn and Ing and little croft and gardens at £30 per annum) answer his intended father and mother in law very agreeable to it – I conclude .:. no objection to rent – said I had not yet received AG.-‘s answer – 2 swans 1st seen on the meer this morning strayed from somewhere – cousin came gently about dinner time F32° at 11 ¾ pm

[wafflefries13]

A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing

Hey there, it’s your girl, back at it with another story that probably took way too long to finish. 

Warnings: Fighting, cursing, threat of violence. 

~~~

It was fine. This was fine. Staying in a small cabin in the middle of the woods, getting back to nature, away from the city, away from those yakuza who were tracking you down because your dad had skipped out on the massive amounts of gambiling debt he had, and seriously, Dad, you knew he had a problem, not that he would ever listen to you, but did he really have to go and play mahjong, freaking mahjong, with some super sketchy people and really think everything was just going to be fine that he was going to be okay when he already had a massive pile of debt from that pyramid scheme that you told him was a pyramid scheme or the loss from that horse race last month, and seriously, Dad, this is why mom left-!

But it was fine. You were fine. 

The cabin was small, a one room structure that gave you flashbacks to ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ Thankfully, the owners had attached the outhouse to the actual house a few years back, installing a slim standing shower. Electricity came from either solar power or a gas generator hook-up out back, but there was no way you would ever get an internet connection all the way out here.  But it had a fireplace! That was pretty cool, right? 

You weren’t exactly sure how long you’d be out here. The detective from vice told you to stay off the grid as much as possible, that they’d get in touch with you, not the other way around. The police officer had dropped you off about an hour ago after bumping over an unpaved road tangled by tree roots and overgrown underbrush. You would never have been able to find this place by yourself. But you supposed that that was the whole point. 

You’d spent your first few hours there getting the cabin to an actual livable condition. Vice had told you that this place wasn’t used a lot, and you could immediately see it. Every surface was coated in a thick layer of dust. The windows were covered in who knows how many years of grime. Cobwebs littered with tiny insect carcases huddled in every corner and crevice. You were lucky you hadn’t found a racoon nest in the chimney flue. 

Finally, as the sun set, your muscles aching from the work, you decided that your temporary home was livable enough. You summoned all your knowledge from watching ‘Man vs Wild’ and lit a fire. You heated up a can of chicken noodle soup on the gas stove. The cabin didn’t have a bed, so you stacked several thick quilts stored in a cupboard, rolling out your sleeping bag on top. 

You sat on your makeshift bed, back pressed against the wall, slurping your soup. Outside the window, you watched as the light slowly faded away. Wow, you didn’t realize how dark it could really get out here. You put way too much stock in the light you could get from the moon and stars, apparently. There was no accounting for the noise, though. It sounded like a million different insects were screaming from the woods outside. You thought cricket noises were supposed to be comforting, like listening to the ocean to try and fall asleep. But this just made you itch and wish for another can of bug spray.  Man, vice really sent you out here with nothing, didn’t they? 

Sitting back and contemplating your possible execution via yakuza boss in the near future, it took you a while before you recognized the change. Every noise outside your four walls had fallen silent. The popping of logs in the fireplace was tantamount to gun fire. 

Slowly, you set down your half-finished can of soup, dragging a wooden bat out that you had snagged before the vice police shoved you in the car to bring you here. Staying as low to the floor as possible, you crawled to the front window. You pressed your back against the wall, like you had seen spies do in movies, and slowly lifted one corner of the thick curtains. You tried to crane your head to look out, but it hurt more than you thought it would and your visibility was cut by way more than half. 

Why hadn’t vice at least given you a gun or something? 

Taking a deep breath, you stood, holding the bat in front of you like a sword. Before you could convince yourself that this was a bad idea (too late) you burst open the front door, ready to swing at whatever you saw first. 

Noise exploded back into existence as soon as you stepped into the small clearing around the cabin. Panting heavily and breaking out in a cold sweat from the adrenaline, you whipped your head back and forth to look for intruders. Left? Clear. Right? Clear. Front? Clear. Behind-?! Wait, that was the cabin, you were just there. 

You felt all the energy leave you at once. The bat suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. You slumped forward, bracing your head on the backs of your hands settled on the pommel of the bat. 

You heard something from the other side of the cabin. A low groan, the result of footsteps. Gulping hard, you raised the bat again, silently making your way to the corner of the house. You whipped around the corner. 

A giant furry shape was slumped in a pile in front of you. It let out a low whine. You could see the powerful muscles under its thick fur coat ripple and stretch as the thing tried to get comfortable. Sensing your presents, it reared its large head, pinning you down with ruby red eyes. 

A wolf. There was a wolf in front of you. You had always assumed wolves would sort of look like giant dogs, but this close you could see how different they really were. This thing was huge, first of all. Its head would come up to your shoulder when it stood. It also had long thin legs, built for fast running and careening over obstacles. The wolf snared at you, its lips pulling back as a deep growl emanate from its throat. You could almost swear it was glaring at you. 

Its threat was cut short, however, by a pained yip. As it tried to stand, it faltered and fell over, back into a furry heap. You could see a patch of mismatched fur coating its back leg up along its haunch. The fur was matted, dark with something wet. 

You dropped the bat, holding your hands in front of you in what you hoped was a non-threatening pose. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You said softly. “I’m just gonna… I’ll be right back.” You ducked back around the corner, heading into the cabin. You threw open the cabinet doors, rummaging for a first aid kit you could have sworn you saw somewhere while cleaning. You found the small white box, hoping that whatever was inside was as suitable for giant wolves as it was for people. 

You headed back out. Going around the cabin, you saw the wolf trying to stand and limp away again. He didn’t make it two steps before collapsing. Instead of a pained noise, this time he just left out a frustrated humph. You giggled despite yourself. The wolf’s head reared back around, locking eyes with you again. It growled at you. 

“I don’t think you look as menacing as you think you do right now,” You said. You tried to talk calmly in a low voice. That’s what you were supposed to do with frightened and injured animals, right? Well, you also were supposed to leave them alone and call animal control or something, but you didn’t really have the option of doing that right now. And you didn’t think you could sleep, much less live with yourself, if you knowingly just let this wolf suffer right outside your door. 

You took another step closer. The wolf snapped his jaws at you but didn’t move from his heap. “Hey, easy, big guy. I just want to help.” You held up the first aid kit, as if that was supposed to mean anything to a wild animal. The wolf glared at you, but didn’t make any movement as you took another cautious step forward. As you knelt down beside his injured back leg, he huffed again, turning his head away and resting it on his massive paws, resigned to accept you unasked for help. This close up, you could see his fur was an unusual blond. It reminded you of wheat fields just before harvest (not that you had ever seen that, being such a city kid, but pictures and imagination counted for something, right?). 

You opened the kit and pulled on a pair of gloves. Parting his fur, you hissed in sympathy at his wound. There was a gash slicing through his entire haunch, more wide than it was deep, but still bleeding profusely. You could see smaller cuts and bite marks, punchers in his flesh, littering the rest of his leg and up his back. Some of these wounds had already half-healed, but had reopened again, oozing and clotted. 

You threaded a hand comfortingly through his fur, speaking softly as you dabbed an antiseptic wipe along the largest gash. The wolf winced and barked at you in annoyance at the sting, but after a glare (you didn’t even know wolves could glare with such intensity before this), he resigned himself and plopped his head back down. There were some butterfly sutures that you hoped would stick on with his fur. You pushed them down, pulling the edges so the flesh closed. You tried your best to clean the other injuries, but you didn’t have a lot of butterfly sutures, and bandaids certainly weren’t going to stay down. 

As you were contemplating this, a chorus of howls erupted from the woods around you. The blond wolf sprung into action immediately, jumping up and circling himself around you. You probably would have thought that was amazing or cute or something if a sense of panic hadn’t seized you. The wolf was still limping, trying to keep his back leg off the ground. His head jerked from side to side, ears constantly twitching. Whatever was out there, you could only imagine that it was closing in, and it was out for blood. 

“Oh, this is going to be a bad idea,” You said to yourself. The wolf cocked his head at you. “But, hey, I’m not making any good choices tonight, I guess. Come on.” You picked up your abandoned bat, standing to guard the wolf from the tree line. You started backing up, genteling nudging the wolf with your hip in the direction of the cabin door. He seemed to get your meaning, limping along, but trying to maintain his sense of canine bravado by making threatening growls and fangs bared. 

Backing your way into the cabin, you quickly locked and barred the door. You had no idea if conventional locks would keep out blood-thirsty wolves, but you figured it wouldn’t do much against determined yakuza members either, so maybe you should just cut your losses. 

You heard a loud slurping and turned around. The blond wolf had his muzzle buried in your reheated soup, lapping it up and spilling everything that didn’t immediately make it into his mouth. 

“Hey!” You chastised. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes at you. Could wolves do that? Like, physically? His long tongue licked his chops when he was done. He took a few stumbling steps then collapsed by the fire. 

“Alright,” You said to yourself. “I guess this is happening, huh?” You could have sworn the wolf made a sound of agreement. 

~~~

You woke up to the sound of bird song and a mouth full of fur. 

Sputtering, you pieced together the events of last night in your head. The wolf had you pinned against the wall of your makeshift bed, his back pressed against your stomach and chest. You had a fleeting thought that he was putting himself between you and any danger that might break in. You had heard stories of mother wolves protecting human babies, maybe this was something like that? Or were you thinking of The Jungle Book? The founding of Rome? Whatever. 

Either way, it made you smile a bit, petting his fur. Wow, you had no idea wolf fur was so thick! Your hand just seemed to drop forever through his soft coat. Your action was enough to rouse the wolf from his sleep just a bit. He cast a tired glance over his shoulder at you. You could have sworn you could read his expression. “Really? You’re waking me up for this?” 

“Hey there, sunshine,” You said. “I should probably take another look at that leg, huh?” 

The wolf huffed, rolling over. You thought for a second he was giving you room to get up, but when you started to move he rolled back over, landing heavily across you and pinning you down. “That’s, uh, that’s a no then, huh?” The wolf just shuffled to a more comfortable position (on top of you) and closed his eyes. 

You sighed, reaching up and rubbing the fur between his ears. “This is my life now, huh?” 

He blinked open his eyes, staring right into yours. They were a deep red, almost like uncut garnets. You had no idea animals could have eyes like that. Not just that, but something about them looked almost too… human to you. The proportion of iris to whites just sort of off from what you would expect from your average dog. Before you could put your finger on it, the wolf closed his eyes and rested his head again. 

His heat radiated through you like a miniature sun. You pet through his fur, deciding to narrate your thoughts out loud. You told him about how you came to be in these woods, in this cabin, your struggles with dealing with your father's gambeling addiction for so many years, the fall festival you had gone to last year, how you wanted to start hiking now that you were trapped out here, this song you couldn’t remember the words to, summarizing the plot from some book you had to read for English class. 

After the sun had already started to rise high in the sky, the wolf (you really needed a name for him, huh?) slinked off of you. You let out an exaggerated breath, thumbing your chest a few times. He flicked his tail at you. 

You opened up the cooler you brought with you. Take two slices for yourself, you handed the wolf the rest of the sliced turkey you had bought for sandwiches. He ate the entire pack in one massive bite, looking at you expectantly for more. Huffing in mock annoyance, you tossed him the other two slices. He caught them in the air, flicking his tongue to get the juice from his canine maw. 

He tested his weight on his back leg. You could tell it still hurt him, but he still tried to walk with his other three legs. He stretched out, arching his back. “Oooh, big stretch!” You said. There was that glare again. 

He limped over to the door, scratching it. You opened it for him, assuming he had to do his doggy business or something (wait, was he trained to go outside? That would explain some things). But when you tried to close the door again, he barked at you. He scratched the door frame until you followed him outside. He would walk several feet ahead then sit, looking over at you and barking. You went back inside and tugged on your hiking shoes, spraying yourself down with a healthy dose of bug spray. 

The wolf was still pretty unsteady on his feet. He would stumble occasionally, but when you would put out a hand to help him, he would snap back at you. Whatever the case, he at least seemed to know where he was going. Even in his injured state, he could keep a good distance ahead of you. 

You heard water rushing as the wolf dropped out of sight. Thinking he might have fallen, you rushed to where you last saw him. The trees broke away, revealing a rippling river with cool pools stretching through the forest. You took in the beautiful scenery, the ice blue water cascading down tiny waterfalls, when sudden movement caught your eye. You focused where you saw it and gasped. A salmon jumped from the water, swimming upstream. That one was joined by another, then two more, until the whole river seemed to burst with fish. 

You laughed in shock and amusement at the sight, but were cut off short by something cold and slimy hitting your face. You sputtered against it, swiping it away from you. Looking down, you saw your assailant was flopping on the sandy river bank. A giant salmon, mouth gapping and scales shimmering in the sunlight. 

You heard a huff that you could have sworn sounded amused. Looking up, you saw the wolf at the edge of the bank, dipping his paw in the water. He looked deeply into the river, still as a rock, before striking all at once and bringing his paw up. He batted another fish out of the water. You put your hands up, catching it in a slimy, uncertain grip. The fish thrashed around and you ended up dropping him on his friend. 

“You know all the best places, huh?” You said. The wolf shook water off of his fur and went back to focusing on the river. “I’m going to run back and get the cooler! We’ll be able to carry a lot more that way!” You weren’t sure why you were telling a wolf this, as if he could understand you, but it felt right somehow. 

You carefully followed your footsteps back to the cabin, breaking a twig or making a mark on a tree as you went to make a path. Back at the cabin, you quickly pulled the food you had brought with you out of the cooler, shoving it in the mini-fridge. You didn’t have an ice maker in the cabin, so you hoped the already half-thawed cold packs would work. Almost as an afterthought, you grabbed the first aid kit, tossing it in the cooler. Luging the cooler over your shoulder, you followed your improvised markers back to the river. 

You set the bulky cooler down heavily on the bank, looking up with a wide grin for your new companion. Scanning the banks and treeline, your face gradually fell as your search turned fruitless. Your new wolf buddy was nowhere to be seen. 

At first, you felt sad that he had just up and left, then scared for his injury. He was still having trouble walking. What if whatever was prowling around your cabin last night came back and tried to take a bite of him? 

“Wolf?” You called out, almost immediately feeling like an idiot for doing so. You knew you should have named him. Although, it wasn’t like he was trained to respond to your call. You had to remind yourself that this was a wild animal and not a trained dog from the pound, despite his reluctant friendliness. “Wolf? Where’d you go, big guy? Hello?” 

“If you keep yelling like that, a whole pack is going to come and tear you apart.” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the very human response. Bracing your hands on your knees, you looked down the drop away from the bank to the river. There was a tiny beach there. Leaving against the sandy drop was a boy, head tilted back and face bathed in the sunlight. Despite his relaxed body posture, one leg spread out in front of him, the other bent to his chest, arms loosely crossed, he had an annoyed if not pained expression across his face. His hair was the color of fresh cut wheat, but as spiky as a porcupine. Lolling his head in your direction, he opened his eyes under furrowed brows. You thought it was a trick of the light, but you could swear they were a deep red. ‘Like garnets…’ You thought, memory jumping back to your missing wolf friend. 

“Uh, sorry,” You said. “I was just looking for-” 

And then your heart stopped as you suddenly remembered why you were out in the middle of the woods. The whole reason you had come here, why the police had dragged you away from your everyday life for your own protection. 

You tripped over your own feet flinging yourself backwards. You landed heavy on your butt. Scrambling back, your head whipped from side to side looking for something to defend yourself with. Damn it! You should have grabbed your bat when you got the cooler! 

“Hey!” He yelled up at you. “You going to keep spazzing out or give me a hand here?” 

“Depends,” You said. “What are you doing out here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” 

“The hell do you think I’m doing? I work out here.” You saw his hand come up and grip the edge of the bank. He pulled himself up, but winced in pain. Bracing his arms against the bank, he said, “I’m a forest ranger, kind of. Tag some of the animals, make sure no one’s starting forest fires, keep poachers away, that sort of thing. I kind of got banged up here, though, can’t put a lot of weight on my ankle.” He rolled his eyes, leaving the statement hanging in the air for your response. 

“Oh!” Of course, you thought to yourself, you had no real reason to trust what he was saying. He didn’t look like a ranger, dressed in a black muscle shirt and dark green cargo pants. But you could tell he was having trouble standing. But then, that could be an act too… 

“Sure,” You finally decided. “Hang on.” You looked through the brush until you found a fallen tree branch. You lugged it over, dropping half down the bank and keeping it ancored under your foot. You held out your hand to him. He grasped just beyond your wrist, pulling up and using the branch and a foothold to push himself up. Once he was up on the upper bank, he tried to take a step. You could immediately see his ankle give out, crumbling like wet paper. He fell to his knees with an annoyed sound, catching himself on his palms. 

“You okay?” You said, retrieving the branch and not so subtly holding it in front of you. 

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He tried to brush you off. You could see his entire calf was wrapped in bandages. It looked like some wound had reopened and was bleeding through. 

“What happened?” You ask, nodding to his leg. 

He looked down, growling at the red soaking through the bandages. “I have to get pretty close to some animals for my job. Checking tags or making sure they’re not hurting themselves. I thought I’d tranquilized a bear, but I guess he wasn’t all the way under.” 

“A bear?! You fought a bear?” 

He waved a hand at you. “I didn’t ‘fight a bear.’ I was just trying to get a blood sample and must have spooked him. He took a swipe at me. I’ll be fine.” 

“That sure doesn’t look fine.” You pointed to his bandage. 

He clicked his tongue. “Damn it.” 

You rung your hands around the branch. “I have a first aid kit. I’m pretty good at it. I could take a look if you want.” 

He practically snarled at you, trying to stand up again. “I don’t need some-” As he tried to put weight on his ankle, he let out a choked yelp, cutting into that tough guy persona he obviously was trying very hard to portray. He lost his balance, wheeling his arms. You dropped your branch, lunging forward just as he fell. You caught him under his arms, throwing your balance off. You both fell, you landing on your back. You groaned, rubbing the back of your head. Opening your eyes, you squeaked seeing his face so close to yours, bright red eyes locked on to yours. Your mouth suddenly went dry and your face went hot. He was practically pinning you down. 

His face burst into a blush as he threw himself off of you. He crossed his arms stubbornly.  Looking away, he said, “Yeah, fine. Maybe I need a new bandage.” 

“C-cool! Yeah! Great!” Well, at least you were pretty sure he wasn’t here to kill you. That would have been a pretty good opportunity. Unless he wanted to slay you with embarrassment, which seemed like a possibility. 

You silently checked out his ankle, spraying it out with antibacterial and put a fresh bandage on it. At this rate, you were going to run out of medical supplies before the week was over. 

“Hey,” You said in an effort to break the tension. You noticed the tips of his ears were still a blushed red. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the wolves around here?” 

His eyes snapped back to you, suddenly suspicious. “There haven’t been wild wolves in this area for over a hundred years.” 

You blinked. “Wait, no, that can’t be. There was a wolf at my cabin last night. It sounded like he was being attacked by another pack or something.” 

He looked at you hard. “There haven’t been wolves here in a long time. If you think you saw one, you didn’t.” 

You huffed. “I’m pretty sure I know what I saw, not to mention felt. He spent the night in my cabin.” 

“What kind of idiot lets a wolf spend the night in their cabin with them?” 

“Ha! So you admit it could have been a wolf!” 

“I didn’t say that!” 

You smiled, leaning back on your hands and looking out over the river. “It was fine though. He seemed trained or something. A little prickly, but he was hurt so I didn’t mind.” You heard him mutter something that sounded like “not prickly.” You continued, “He disappeared this morning, though. Around here. I’m kinda disappointed. It’s kind of lonely out here. But hey! I guess I have a new friend now!” You good naturally punched his shoulder. He winced and you just now noticed the fading bruise. “Oops. Sorry.” 

“Sure you are. And who said we were friends, anyway? You don’t even know my name.” 

Putting on your most welcoming smile (and trying not to grimace at his tone), you held out your hand. “(Y/N) (L/N), trapped out in the middle of nowhere for the foreseeable future for reasons I cannot currently disclose. Very nice to meet you.” 

He looked from your hand to your face a few times. He looked like he was turning something over in his head. Flexing his hand, he lifted it up and gripped yours strongly. You could feel the heat radiating from it, like he was a living space heater. “Bakugo. And that’s all you’re getting.” 

You fake pouted. “We will be friends, mark my words.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What were you doing out here anyway?” 

“I told you, I cannot currently discloses that information.” 

He huffed a laugh. “What, are you a spy or something? Lost princess?” 

If only, you thought. “Something like that.” 

“Hmm. You don’t have a fishing rod.” 

“Uh, yeah. I was kind of counting on my wolf friend to help me out. He did this thing where he just sort of whacked them out of the water.” You mimicked the motion in the air. 

“For the last time, there aren’t any wolves around here. Just drop it.” 

“Fine, fine. There wasn’t a wolf even though there definitely was. And I don’t know what I’ll do, exactly. I suppose I can survive on canned soup, saltines, and beans for however long I’m stuck out here.” 

“That’s disgusting.” He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the clouds. “Alright, here’s what you do. You at least have a knife, right? Good. I’m going to teach you how to make a fish weir.” 

For the next hour, Bakugo talked you through cutting reeds and shaping them into a W-shaped trap in the river. According to Bakugo, the V-like entrance made it easy for fish to get in, while the indented center made it hard or impossible to get out. After some (a lot) of trial and error,  you successfully trapped a huge salmon. 

“I got one!” You yelled in excitement. “I got it!” 

“Good for you,” Bakugo said. “Now take your knife and stab it.” 

“Yeah, what?” 

“Right behind the gills.” 

“Uh, right, okay.” For a few blissful seconds there, you forgot you had to kill a fish to be able to eat it. Using another reed you cut for an unsuccessful weir, you pinned the fish to the side. Wincing, you stabbed the fish’s gills, trying to ignore how it flopped around the trap. Spearing it on your knife, you hoisted it out of the water, flicking it onto the bank. 

“Oh, gross, gross, gross, gross, gross!”  You flapped your hands. Bakugo laughed at your distress. You tried to ignore how much you liked the sound. “Oh, shut up. It’s my first time.” 

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Your first time, huh? Glad I could walk you through it.” 

You felt yourself flush. “Oh my god!” Without thinking too much about it, you speared another fish in the trap, using your knife to fling it. The half alive fish landed smack on his chest, flopping around in a mess of falling scales and fish slime. 

He sputtered, slapping it away. He snarled, “Hey!” 

You laughed, hands resting on your thighs. “What? Now we both have dinner.” 

Catching a few more and storing them in your cooler, Bakugo taught you how to make a box-like campfire. Creating a grill with your reeds, you roasted some of the fish over the fire, picking it off with your fingers. You both sat by the river and watched the sun set. 

Not wanting your time together to end, but becoming too aware of the late hour, you said, “I should probably get back to the cabin. Not sure I could find it in the dark.” 

Bakugo shrugged. He struggled to stand up, waving you off when you tried to help him. Taking a few separate steps, he gripped a low hanging branch from a tree. With a thunderous crack, he ripped the branch off. Pulling off a few twigs, he held it under his arm as a makeshift crutch. 

“Hey,” He said, not looking at you. It sounded like he was deliberating something. “If you ever need help, I’m usually at the fire watchtower. See? You can see the roof from here. It’s about two miles that way.” He pointed over the tree line. You could just make out the top of a brown corrugated roof. 

“Sure you don’t want to take any of these back?” You asked, motioning to the cooler of fish. 

“Naw. You need all the help you can get.” 

“Hey!” As he wandered off, you yelled to him, “Watch out for the wolves!”

“There aren’t any wolves!” 

“You’ll believe me eventually!” 

~~~ 

You methodically tapped your fingers against the mug you held, letting the heat of your hot chocolate seep into your fingers. You were sitting in a folding chair just outside the cabin, bat leaning against the chair’s arm. You were snuggled up in a heavy blanket, watching the fireflies dance through the heavy trees, trying to remember consolations. 

But really, if you were being honest with yourself, you were waiting for the wolf. 

It didn’t matter if Bakugo said he wasn’t real. You knew what you saw. Maybe he had escaped from some conservation area or zoo? And he seemed used to people, so maybe he was trained? But that didn’t explain the howls you heard as you tended to the wolf’s wounds. It definitely sounded like some rival pack was hunting him down. 

It broke your heart to think of him all alone and injured out there. 

As if called by your thoughts, a round of howling rose from the depths of the forest. You jumped to your feet. The hot chocolate sloshed from your mug, burning your hand. Frantically waving your hand to ease the burn, you didn’t notice the heavy foot falls until it was too late. You turned as the thumping was right behind you. 

It felt like you were hit by a train. Your breath left you with a ‘woomp.’ Falling hard, your arms came up to wrap around what had just barrelled into you, catching it like a football. You would like to say that you were more surprised than you actually were  when your fingers dug into thick fur and bursts of dog breath panted in your face. 

“Hey there, Golden Boy,” You said, rubbing between his ears. You had decided on his name, Golden Boy, while trying to convince Bakugo of his existence. It seemed apt given his brilliant coat.  Your wolf friend yipped at you. Scrambling off, he crouched down in an attack position, growling at the trees. “Come on, bud.” You juggled your folding chair, blanket, bat, and (now empty) mug, pushing open the cabin door with your hip. The wolf backed into the cabin, eyes never leaving the tree line, lips curled into a snarl, until you closed and locked the door again. 

You took out a bowl from the cabinets. Opening a bottle of water, you filled up the bowl, placing it near the tired wolf. Crawling over on his stomach, he didn’t even lift his head as he started to lap at the water. 

“Yikes,” You said. “Rough night, huh?” You ran a hand along his back. He managed a half-hearted glare at you before deciding it wasn’t worth it and going back to his water. 

“So, you’re a wolf, right?” He ignored you, which is what you expected. But you always had a habit of talking to animals like they could talk back. “Because I met a guy today, yeah, I’m not the only person stranded out here, can you imagine, and he said there aren’t any wolves in this area. I mean, I guess you could just be a really big dog. You ever seen an Irish wolfhound? Probably taller than me. Or a Caucasian shepherd dog? I hear they used to breed those in Russia to hunt bears.

“I guess it’s kind of nice to have someone else around. Not that you’re not great company.” Could wolves roll their eyes? “Just… It can get kind of scary out here, you know? Well, probably not, you live in the woods and all. No offence and all, but this isn’t really my idea of a vacation.” 

You leaned against the wall, sitting cross-legged on your bed pallet. Golden Boy shuffled to you, resting his massive head in your lap while you checked his wound and changed the dressing. It seemed to be healing rapidly, way faster than you would have expected. 

“The truth is,” You continued. “I’m actually in hiding. There are some people who, uh, I’m pretty sure they want me dead. Maybe not me specifically. My dad made some bad choices, hey, that can be the title of my autobiography, and now I’m paying for it.” 

You felt your throat tighten up as a wave of emotion snuck up and crashed over you. You hiccuped, pressing your lips together as you tried not to cry in front of your canine audience. He looked up at you, wide, deep red eyes. Your eyes burned as tears threatened to spill out. 

Without warning, Golden Boy jerked his head up, wiping his long, wet tongue across your cheek, ineffectively wiping away your tears. You sputtered at the dog drool, breaking out into a giggle fit as he kept licking your face. 

“Okay, okay, I get it, stop already! I have a big, strong protector here to take care of me, huh?” He buried his head in your lap again. You  rubbed his ear between your fingers. “And I’ll take care of you, too. You know that, right? We’re in this together.” 

~~~

“Bakugo! I’ve come to pester you!” 

The next day, you awoke to find your wolf friend missing. You weren’t exactly sure how he managed to get out of the cabin since all the doors and windows were still securely closed, but you’d seen videos of pets doing weirder things. Maybe you should have named him Houdini. After cleaning up the cabin a little and finding a more stable storage space for the salmon you caught yesterday, a deep loneliness started gnawing at you. Stowing a tin of shortbread cookies under your arm, you set out in the direction of the river to find the watchtower Bakugo had pointed out to you yesterday. 

You finally found it about midday, only being scared to death at the possibility of getting hopelessly lost twice. You climbed up the high stairs to the box structure on top. The sides were made up of mesh screens, covered from the inside by thick curtains, you guessed so that he could keep an eye out for possible forest fires. 

“Hello? I brought an offering!” 

You heard some grumbling and banging around from inside the box. You heard a heavy lock slide open as the door cracked open. Bakugo’s ruby eyes met yours and you felt a pang of worry for your Golden Boy. 

“An offering, huh?” Smiling, you held up the tin. “Fine. I guess that’s a good enough reason to bug me.” 

You practically skipped inside. Bakugo pulled at the curtains causing them to zip up and spin on their rollers. The room was cluttered, which you mostly expected from going over to your bachelor friend’s houses. What you didn’t expect was exactly how it was cluttered. It wasn’t like clothes had been dropped on the floor and forgotten, a pile of dirty dishes and overflowing trash. The reality was more chaotic, like someone had turned over the place robbing it. Papers about the geography, flora, and fauna of the forest were strewn on every flat surface. The cot bed was stripped bare, looking like it hadn’t been slept in in days. There was a tall stack of books stacked on a table next to a wooden folding chair half pushed under a desk. A cork board was above the desk, red string connecting bits of cut-out newspaper articles, Polaroid photos, sticky notes with chicken-scratch handwriting, and marked-up calandras. 

Bakugo half-heartedly picked up a shirt from the ground. “Wasn’t really expecting company.” 

You shrugged. “You a big reader?” 

You set the cookie tin down, picking up one of the books. Its pages were marked with various colored tabs. Flipping through the pages, you saw blocks of text that had been highlighted. The book fell open to reveal a copy of a wood-cut illustration of a large man with a wolf head. His snout was pointed to the sky, jaw open in mid-howl. In his meaty hands, tipped with razor sharp claws, he cradled a woman in some medieval German peasant dress. Her head was fallen back, eyes rolled back in her head, a blood stain spreading across her neck and chest. In the background, a mass of angry villagers marched forward, armed with the standard torches and pitchforks. A bone white full moon hung overhead. 

Bakugo snapped the book closed in your hands. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to snoop through people's stuff?” 

“I wasn’t snooping,” You said defensively. “And just so you know, no, they didn’t. My folks weren’t exactly the etiquette type.” 

“Clearly.” 

“Hey!” 

He smirked at you, prying open the cookie tin and munching on a piece of shortbread. You sat down in the folding chair, looking down dubiously when it creaked under you. 

“So, how does a guy get a gig hanging out in the middle of the woods, anyway?” 

“How do you?” 

You pressed your lips, trying not to let Bakugo feel the sudden drop in your mood. You blinded him with a smile. “Maybe I just really like bird-watching.” 

“Sure. Bird-watching.” 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Standing, you turned away and looked out the messy windows, taking in the acres upon acres of unspoiled wilderness. “Wow, you can see for forever up here.” Squinting, you saw the dip in trees around your cabin, the red roof just barely visible. “Hey, that’s my place!” You looked over your shoulder at him and winked. “You’re not spying on me, are you?” 

He popped in another cookie, wolfing it down in one bite. “You wish.” 

You hummed, looking back out over the trees. “Can you..” You trailed off. “Can you see if people come into the woods?” 

He came over to stand next to you, hiding the tin in the crook of his arm. “I don’t get records of who comes in or out, if that’s what you mean. That’s for the rangers at the front gates. I see campfires, sometimes. Need to make sure they don’t get out of control.” 

“And if someone, or, like, a group, maybe, was trying to sneak in? Like, not going through the front gates so there was no record of them being here?” 

He paused mid-bite and looked at you sideways. “You’re hiding.” 

You mock-laughed. “What? No, no. Of course I’m not hiding. Why would I be hiding?” 

“(Y/N),” He cut you off. He moved his head so you were forced to look directly into his ruby-red eyes. 

You crossed your arms and looked away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” 

He leaned back. “That’s okay. But, hey, we can look out for each other, yeah?” He curled his biceps, flexing his muscles. “Besides, you got a big, strong protector here, don’t ya? You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

“Big, strong protector, huh?” You echoed. 

He leaned closer, eyes half lidded. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yeah.” 

You suddenly became away of how close you two were standing, how you could smell the remnants of the sweet cookies on his breath, about how soft his hair looked and thinking about what it might be like to run your hand through it, about how his muscles looked when he flexed them. 

You blinked hard, jerking yourself out of this impromptu daydream. You felt the tips of your ears burn as your face flushed. 

“The wolf came back last night,” You blurted. 

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth falling from a sultry smirk to a frustrated frown. “He did, huh?” 

“Yup! I named him, even. Golden Boy. Cause his fur is this really pretty yellow, you know? Kind of like your hair, but less shaggy.” Before you could stop yourself, you reached up and messed his bed-head. Good god, it was just as soft as you thought. 

He pulled away, scrunching his nose and fixing his hair. “Th-that’s stupid. Why would I look like some dog?” 

“So you admit he’s real?” 

“I said dog, not wolf. His owner probably just dropped him off in the woods somewhere. It’s sad, but it happens. Sounds like he’s doing alright for himself.” 

“I wouldn’t say that exactly.” You leaned on your elbows. “Every night he’s come to my cabin he’s been pretty beat up. Could another animal be targeting him? A bear or another wolf - sorry, abandoned dog?” 

Bakugo looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe. There’s a lot of dangerous creatures out in those woods.” His voice dropped low. “A lot of dangerous creatures.” 

You looked over at the stack of books, the one with the werewolf illustration placed haphazardly on the top. “Like werewolves?” You joked. 

He didn’t answer you. 

~~~

“Buckle up, Golden Boy, we are going on a field trip.” 

It was night again a few days later. You’d spent almost two weeks in the woods by this point. Your days were mostly spent hanging out with Bakugo in the fire watch tower or hiking through the forest with him. He’d given you a blank mole-skin notebook. You’d started sketching and labeling plants and animals you saw on your hikes with him. He’d ramble off information he’d learned from preparing for this job. While your drawing skills needed some improvement, you liked the calm, methodical motions and scratch of pen on paper, taking note of the tiny details that made one plant safe to eat and different from the poisonous one. 

Your nights were spent with Golden Boy. His wound had long since cleared up, surprisingly fast, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all. You weren’t exactly sure why he kept coming to you at night. He obviously didn’t need any help finding food. Maybe he felt safer with you behind protective walls? A few times, you thought you saw reflective eyes in the depths of the trees, watching as you let Golden Boy inside the cabin as the moon rose. Or maybe he really did used to be someone’s pet and just felt lonely abandoned out here. He’d always be gone by the time you woke up, no matter how many times you’d fallen asleep leaning against him or curled under your arm. 

You’d also  kept arguing his existence to your hot-headed friend. Tonight, you finally decided to prove yourself right. You were going to bring your proof right to his front door. 

“Come on,” You said, clapping your hands at the wolf lounging by the fire. “You’re going to help me rub some sweet ‘I told you so’ in a cute guy’s face.” He raised his head at you, giving you a look you had come to read from his doggy face. “What? He is. Or maybe I’ve just been stranded in the woods for too long.” You shrugged. Golden Boy let out his ‘you’re ridiculous’ puff of air noise and flopped over so the fire could warm his belly. You took two quick steps forward and rubbed your hand over his belly, it sinking into the thick fur. He let out a surprised yip and curled up, nipping at your hand before licking it and resigning himself to your attention. 

You laughed, heading back to the door. “Come on! I haven’t gone hiking at night before. Think of all the cool nocturnal animals I can record in my journal. And I need my bodyguard, right? It’ll be fun-“ 

You cut yourself off. You opened the door, freezing as you came face-to-face with a fist, poised to knock. Looking past the fist, your throat went dry, heart dropping into your stomach, head going fuzzy. A man stood there in an expensive looking suit. He looked a little surprised, then flashed a wide used-car-salesman smile. One of his teeth was golden. You could see scars criss-crossing his knuckles and up one of his cheeks. His hair was practically a helmet with all the pomade in it. 

“Well, hello there!” He said, chipper. That somehow made it worse. “I don’t suppose you’re (Y/N) (L/N), are you?” 

The door blurred as you slammed it shut. Just before it closed, the man stopped it with his hands, which now seemed way too large and strong. You tried pushing it closed, but your muscles, even flooded with the adrenaline shooting through your veins, were no match for his. 

You stumbled backward as he threw the door open. You saw several more equally if not more menacing men behind him. One was rolling up his sleeves, one checking the knuckle-dusters shining on his hands, one methodically fiddling with the safety on a gun. 

You backed away, stopping when the back of your calves nudged into Golden Boy, who was now standing, a low growl emanating from his throat. 

“Hey there, pup,” The smiling man said. He leaned down, rubbing his fingers together to encourage Golden Boy to come forward. Your wolf just snapped his fangs. “Aw, well. You hate hurting animals, but sometimes it’s just a hazard of the job.” He drew out a long hunting knife from a sheath shoved in his belt loop. It glistened in the fire light. 

You were going to throw up. 

“I don’t know anything,” You said, hating the waver in your voice. How could you have become so comfortable, so careless? Where the hell was your bat? “I don’t know where my dad is, I don’t know where your money is. I don’t know anything, I promise.” Tears were blurring your vision, stinging the back of your eyes. 

“I’m sure you don’t, sweetheart,” He said. The other men crowded in through the door. The cabin suddenly felt ten times smaller. “But, you know, loose ends.” 

Yellow blurred in your vision. Golden Boy flashed in front of you, powerful jaws clamping down on the man’s knife hand. He yowled in pain and shock, the knife clattering to the floor. The other men were stunned for a moment before lunging forward. One hit Golden Boy hard on the back of his head, another grabbing his back legs and yanking hard. Golden Boy kept his death-grip, red oozing from his mouth. 

You scrambled backward, head whipping around to look for your bat. It now felt woefully useless. There, cast off in a corner. You’d been using it to dry dish towels. 

It felt like 100 pounds in your hands. 

You heard an unsettling thump followed by a yelp. Whipping around, you saw the man had managed to dislodge Golden Boy, throwing him against the wall. You cried a broken noise. You felt a hand grab the scruff of your neck. You jammed the bat behind you, connecting with the soft bulge of the man’s stomach. He “oof”ed and his grip loosened. You flung yourself forward, landing hard on your knees, and scrambled up. The door was wide open, the men temporarily distracted. You didn’t think twice. 

You shot up, sliding like a baseball player going to home plate in front of Golden Boy. You held your bat in front of you like Excalibur itself. 

“Don’t you fucking touch my dog!” You’d never said anything with such venom in your voice, but you still didn’t feel like it was enough to appropriately express your rage. Golden Boy shook his head, getting back to his feet. He stood by your side, head lowered between his shoulders, baring his teeth stained with blood. 

The smiling man, who was now scowling in disgust, wrapped his bleeding hand with a way too expensive handkerchief. “God, typical. I hate dogs. Let’s hurry up and finish this.” 

The one with the gun raised it, pointing it right between your eyes. You stood fast, gripping the bat so hard your hands were turning white. 

You wanted to see Bakugo. It hit you like lightening that that was who was coming to your mind. You wanted to say something to him, an explanation of why you wouldn’t wake him up tomorrow morning. You wanted to make him promise he would take care of Golden Boy, after making him admit that you were right about the wolves. You wanted to hug him, to go on a walk someplace other than the woods, you wanted to cook a real meal in a real kitchen with him, you wanted to wake up in the morning with him at your side, Golden Boy at your feet. 

You wanted so many things you knew you wouldn’t be getting. So you had to focus on what you could get. You wanted Golden Boy to get out of here, to be safe. And by hell or high water, you were going to do that. 

You swung the bat back, aiming for the gunman’s wrist. You would knock the gun out of his hand, grab Golden Boy, kick him if you had to, get him out the door to get a head start. You’d probably get shot in the back doing it, but maybe the loud noise would startle him into running away. As long as he was safe, what else mattered? 

One second you were staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, making peace with yourself. The next, the gun was gone, and so was the man. Blinking, you looked around to see where he had disappeared to. The other men, equally baffled, didn’t have time to react as they were tackled to the ground along with their firearm friend. 

Golden Boy was in front of you, pushing you back by leaning his weight against your legs. You watched as your tiny cabin filled with giant wolves, gray, red, black, brown, all with flashing fangs and claws. One man with a knife reared up, pulling his arm back to throw the knife at you. Materializing out of thin air, a new man, one you hadn’t seen before, appeared behind him, catching the first in a headlock and pulling him down until he went limp in a choked-out sleep. 

The new man snarled, whipping his head around to stare right into your soul. And he was naked. How did you not notice that? The man looked like he threw full grown trees around for fun, and cut them down for work. Every inch of skin, and there was a lot of skin, had some scar tissue or mark indicating a life of hard-scraps. 

His eyes snapped down to Golden Boy, still setting himself firmly between you and the raucous crowd. The man jerked his head to the open door. “Wait outside,” He said, voice unbelievably gruff and low. “We’ll take care of this.” 

“Okay?” You said, voice loose. You felt like you were going to faint. You grounded yourself with a tug on your sleeve. Looking down, you saw Golden Boy, his teeth gently closed around your sleeve. He somehow managed to avoid looking at you, pulling you on unsteady feet out in the cool night air. He kicked the door shut with his hide leg as soon as you were out. 

All of your energy left you at once. You slumped against a tree, forehead leaning on your knees and blood rushing back into your hands as you dropped your bat. You sat there, still save for the involuntary tremors that racked your body, for who knows how long. 

You heard a quiet whimper. Peeking your eyes through your fingers, you saw Golden Boy. He was pacing, eyes downcast and tail tucked between his legs. He was limping a little, his old wound bothered in no small part due to being bodily thrown against the wall. 

“Hey,” You said softly. He jerked to a stop and looked up at you, bringing his eyes back down in a guilty expression. “It’s okay. Come here.” You held your hands out, palms up and fingers splayed. He trotted over to you, resting his enormous head in your hands and laying down, his chest pressing on your legs. You buried your face in the thick fur on the back of his neck. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” 

When the cabin door creaked open, panic seized your adrenaline abandoned muscles. Your hand shot to the bat, its strange weight now frighteningly familiar. Golden Boy barely stirred in your lap, only lazily opening his eyes and shifting closer to you as if hiding from some sort of punishment. 

The burly man stepped out first, still naked, you (unfortunately) noticed. He had two yakuza members with him, one slung over each shoulder, limp and unmoving. Next came three huge wolves, one of them walking backward while pulling along another gang member by the cuff of his pants. A woman came out with him, also naked, with the longest hair you had ever seen, similarly scuffed and scraped as the first man. She was followed by two more wolves. The strange group dumped the bodies of your attackers in a haphazard pile near the tree line. Were they dead? You couldn’t tell. God, which option was better? 

The man stretched, thick cords of muscle rippling under his skin. He sighed, like a tired parent, and turned to you. You cut your gaze away quickly, making sure to keep your eyes above a certain level. 

“Are you badly hurt?” His voice was the same low rumble of an earthquake. 

“Um, no. I-I think we’re okay. Thank you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders. “No thanks necessary. We stand for our own, no matter the pack.” 

“I’m sorry, pack?” You asked, voice squeaking. Your brain was working overtime to process everything. 

“Hmph.” The man looked disappointed but not surprised. He nudged Golden Boy with his foot. The wolf whined again, turning his head away. “You still can’t shift on command? How are you meant to lead your pack when you can’t do the most basic things?” Golden Boy whined and grumbled. 

“I-what? What does any of this have to do with my dog?” You wrapped your arms protectively around him. 

The man quirked an eyebrow. “A wolf without a pack is a dangerous thing. A lone creature who can’t even control his own body needs to be culled. Now that he has found a pack, he has a greater responsibility. He’s part of a whole, not only himself.” 

“Hang on-” You tried to stand up only for Golden Boy to shove his weight down on you harder. “Were you the ones hurting Golden Boy? What’s the matter with you? Why would you hurt an animal? And, sorry, but why are you naked? I tried not to say anything but it’s kind of bothering me a lot.” 

The man stared you down, looking back to your wolf. “You didn’t tell her anything?” Golden Boy whined. The man sighed. “This will be more difficult than I thought. Our pack must move. We’ve completed our duty.We’ll deal with this… refuse.” He looked at the unconscious yakuza. He nudged Golden Boy again. “Take care of this one. He has a lot to learn.” 

The man turned, a yell building in your throat. In front of your eyes, he shifted, skin sprouting silver gray hair. You heard the pop of bones as the man seemed to fall over, but you quickly realized his entire body structure had changed. Where a person had once stood, a wolf walked. The woman from before was also gone, now just the group of wolves. The gray wolf looked back at you, nodding once, before raising up a howl with the rest of his pack. 

When you finally managed to feel your heartbeat slow to a non-life-threatening level, you looked down. “Alright, we have a lot to talk about, because apparently you can do that?” Golden Boy turned away from you. “Yeah, alright, nap first. Nap sounds good.” 

You passed out. 

~~~ 

You woke up with a headache knocking at your temples. Your mouth felt thick with cotton. You felt warm, gradually taking note of the blanket that had been carefully draped over you. Blearily opening your eyes, you watched dust motes float through shafts of light that filtered through the curtains on your cabin windows. You must have forgotten to dose the fire before you went to bed. It was still crackling in the fireplace. 

“Golden Boy?” You said, voice craggy. Why were you still wearing your day clothes? “Yout there, bud?” 

A knuckle rapped gently on your forehead. “Exactly how hard did you hit your head?” 

You shot up, immediately regretting it as pain flared up your spine to bloom in your skull. “Whoa, hey, take it easy.” A pair of hands steadied your shoulders, helping you sit up. 

You blinked hard, looking up into now familiar red eyes. “Bakugo?” 

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can call me Katsuki now, you know. I think we’re close enough, after everything.” 

“Everything-? Oh. Oh! Oh my god!” You tried to jump up, knees giving out underneath you. Your limbs felt like they were encased in lead. 

“I told you to take it easy, dumbass,” Bakugo, Katsuki, said. He caught you before you fell, helping you sit back down. He stood up, going to the stove and sliding a pancake on top of a stack, still steaming. Pulling half onto a separate plate, he came back, handing one to you.

Numbly, you took it, tearing a piece off and shoving it in your mouth. “You have pecans in here.” 

“We didn’t have any syrup, so I thought this would be a good substitute. Having pancakes on their own is kind of boring.” 

“Sure. Yeah. So.” You let it hang there, watching him avoid your eyes and much on pancakes. 

He swallowed. “So.” He ate half of another one before continuing. “I’m a werewolf.” 

You blinked. “Okay.” 

He scowled. ‘There it is,’ You thought. “‘Okay’? That’s all you have to say?” 

You shrugged. “I mean, what else am I supposed to say? I’m pretty sure a group of werewolves saved my life last night. I literally saw a guy turn into a wolf, so that checks out. I might still be in shock a little bit, to be honest. So, uh, werewolf, huh?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes and shoving another pancake in his mouth. You cracked a smile and joked, “Well, you sure eat like a dog.” He punched your shoulder. You both laughed anyway. 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” He said eventually. “I don’t think anyone does. I got bit by a rogue wolf. Turned pretty soon after. I’m not going to lie, I did some pretty bad stuff. I was freaked out, half out of my mind, those wolf instincts kicking in. It’s not an excuse, but… I got a job out here, thought I could isolate myself, research to see if I could find a cure or something. The pack found me almost immediately. I mean, I practically waltzed right in to their territory, so I can’t blame them. That rule they have, it’s true. A lone werewolf, someone without a pack, they’re dangerous. Unpredictable. They tried to… put me down. I usually managed to get away, but one night I made a stupid mistake. I should have died.” He looked up at you. “And then I ran in to you.” 

“And then you ran in to me.” You reached out, petting your hand through his hair. It was still soft, whether as a golden wolf or a human. “So, I’m your pack now? That’s what that guy said, the other werewolf. What does that mean, exactly?” 

He blushed, pulling apart his remaining pancakes. “A pack is like a family. They look out for each other, stand with each other. I didn’t tell them we were a pack or anything. I guess they just sort of inferred. Since, like, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, no matter what form.” 

You grinned. “They think you’re my boyfriend?”  He punched you again, with less malice this time. “Hey, I didn’t say I minded.” 

“It’s a lot,” Katsuki continued quickly, the words all rushing out as if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say it all. “I still don’t know a lot about all this. I always shift at night. I’m trying to get better at controlling it, but it’s hard. And it’s hard to go through all the history and stuff and pull out fact from fiction. I feel like I can’t control anything and I’m so fucking useless and I-“ 

You pressed your lips against his. Finally. His lips were chapped, and your teeth clacked together at first, but the warmth that spread through your chest made it all worth it. A plate clattered against the floor as he shifted closer to you. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, bringing you closer. Your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt, pulling. 

He pulled back, your breath mixing together. 

“I think I like the woods, now,” You said, softly. “It’s nice out here. Good company.” He chuckled, lowley. “And I like you. A lot. And I love dogs.”

He laughed loudly, once, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

[anothersillyfanblog]

Earth On Hell

This is my Sanders Sides gift for @marsupials-of-mars for @sanderssidesgiftxchange!!! Basically all the sides are demons, hanging out in hell, but one of them (wonder who) is a teeny bit more chaotic than the others. (P.s I am gonna post on ao3 in a few days as well btw.)  Btw I’m not great at tags so mega apologies if it still slipped through sorry.

Hell.

Lunch breaks round here weren’t boring- there was plenty to see and do in hell- it had just kind of reached a point for Janus where most of it had already been done. Hence why, no matter what his colleagues in the eighth circle said, there was something interesting about sitting down with this chatty little demon and watching the human flesh blister.

“Y’know what I think?” the younger demon, Remus, casually asked. Janus sighed. “I try not to.” “I think that everyone who ends up here is dumb.” He tossed a rat into his mouth “All you gotta do is act nice and suck up to the big daddy in the clouds- that’s it! Easier than boiling babies!” “No,” Janus raised his eyebrows. “Because it’s based on the nature of your soul not what you do.”

“Well that ain’t fair! What if you can’t HELP dreaming of torture and carving hearts into carcases (or whatever these idiots got in here for), like it’s in your pretty little head from day uno?” He wagged his finger at Janus. “They could never do anything wrong in their entire life but get sent here for naughty thinking… seems a lil shitty to me.” “Well apparently they can ‘repent their sins and get eternal salvation’.” Janus revelled in the other guys’ confusion for a moment. “Say sorry a lot and it’ll be ok.” “Ohhhhhhhhhhh right. Oh yeah ok.” Remus nodded. “Seems a bit suspicious, are you sure that’s a thing?”

A couple of screams got louder, and Janus turned to see a scrawny horned demon carrying a bucket and biting his lip. He had his arms comically wrapped all the way round it- an ugly neon yellow bucket with a ‘warning’ label (because hell needs health and safety standards)- and he was edging towards a nearby cliff.

“Hey Virge!” Remus called out “What’cha doin?” “I…” the horned demon tipped the bucket over the precipice as the screams intensified “…am adding a couple… of new souls… to the… whirlwind.” “Come get lunch, Virgil! It’s rat day!” he grinned, holding up a rodent “Also didn’t Pat tell you to do that like, a week ago?” “Yes but I’m also a dumb bitch.” Virgil sat down next to Remus. “Who’s this?” he glanced awkwardly at Janus. “I-” “HE’S my friend from the EIGHTH FUCKING CIRCLE!!!” Remus interrupted. “That not being the eighth circle of fucking, though it might well be…” “It’s not.” Janus clarified. “Yeah, I didn’t think it was.” Virgil smiled “I’m Virgil. I work with him under Patton? Second circle so-to-speak.” “Oh yeah I know the guy.”

Patton was the overseer for a lot of things in the lower levels. Not really a specific tier, or a specific expertise, but if you spent any time in one-five then you at least saw him. Most people ‘above’ him were aware of him in a general sense. Janus had met him twice? Three times? Yeah, if you counted bumping shoulders at the river Styx that one time, then it was three.

It made sense that Remus and Virgil worked for Patton- a lot of the younger demons did these days.

“UGH doesn’t everyone?” Remus whined “He is annoying!” “He’s your boss.” Janus observed. “Yes, and he’s annoying! I say we, I dunno, set fire to his ass or something…” Virgil shrunk into his seat “He’s our boss? Also he isn’t in charge of everyone, he has a boss right…” “Yeah, but uh…” Remus clicked his fingers “We were saying weren’t we?” he looked at Janus. “No. Whatever you think we were saying, we weren’t.” “People shouldn’t get here for wanting to do crimes!” he clapped his hands “I think we should break everyone out of hell.”

One week later: Hell

Work hours, naturally. Janus was trying to process new souls but honestly there was no signal and his tablet just wasn’t working.

“And they say eighth circle is an enviable job…” he tapped the screen “I- I’ll be with you in a moment, sorry about this.” He said to the guy in line to be thrown into the pit. “No, no, take your time.”

Finally, the sound of footsteps approaching! Janus looked up and smiled. “Ah, the tech guy! Yeah, there’s no service on this, so if you could-”

“Where’s Remus?” Janus smiled a little “Excuse me?” “Which circle can Remus be found in?” the tech guy kept his face stern (if he was the tech guy) “I know you know him.” “I’m working right now, or trying to, so come back when I’m not and then we can talk.”

The tech guy ripped the tablet out of Janus’ hands.

“Where can Remus be found?” “He isn’t an important demon-” “Lower tiers…” “Not what I mean, I meant you shouldn’t need him.” “But I do.” “Why?” “Irrelevant, just tell me where he is located.” “Well forgive me for thinking you’re going to hurt him, but I think you’re- you know- going to hurt him.” “Falseh- it’s inconsequential, I must find him.” Janus paused. “Fix my tablet, please. I believe you.”

The tech guy looked momentarily confused before realising what Janus meant and doing so. “Second circle, every time I’ve seen him.” Janus said “Is… is he in trouble?”

“Not with me, negative. I do not have the influence to get many people into trouble. As for the future…” he sighed “I would advise you to keep your distance from him, though that’s my observation.” He left off towards the exit of the tier.

Janus grimaced, looking at his now-working tablet.

“If it’s any consolation, it probably won’t affect you.” The guy in line said, making Janus jump in surprise. “Shit! I need to get all you processed, I am gonna get in trouble.” He smiled at the guy who now frowned. “Okay name and age at time of death…”

One month later: Hell

“Where’s-” “Remus?” Patton interrupted. “we’re dealing with it.” Janus chuckled “Will anyone down here actually let me finish a sentence?” “Of course, my apologies- what were you going to say?” “Where is Virgil?” he smirked. “He works in your general bracket, right?”

Patton breathed in sharply. No one had seen Virgil since Remus had started (conveniently) quietening down, and Janus knew it. Everybody knew it. His work tallies were still placed in- by who, nobody knew- but the second circle was widely lacking in Virgil.

“He’s doing some work on…” Patton’s eyes darted round rapidly “admin. He’s working on potential field experience up there, needs to put in the admin first.”

Janus raised his eyebrows, looking up towards the Earth. “The thing is, Pat, I’m Eighth circle. I specialize in fraud- you know what that is?” Patton nodded. “Deceit, Patton, lies. And every day suave fuckers queue up trying to tell me why I have ‘the wrong circle’ or why ‘they should get special treatment’ and guess what, Patton? It’s always bullshit.”

He stared straight at the other demon. “I have been doing this for too damn long to not have the fucking right to tear the throat of anyone, ANYONE, who dares to be as lousy as you at lying to me. So don’t ever tell me that Virgil is doing admin, FUCKING ADMIN, because no one here will believe- or miss- you.” He sighed. “Let’s start again. Where’s Virgil?”

Patton swallowed “I…”

“Do you not know?” Janus asked, “This will go a lot better for you if you just admit that you don’t know.” Patton shook his head “Not exactly, no.” he whispered, “We’re not sure where he is.” “Not sure or don’t know?” “We know he’s in hell… we know that, we’re aware of him but not where.” Janus pinched his forehead “Okay so out of all the nine circles of hell, you have no clue, none. Lovely.” “If Remus would co-operate…” Patton muttered. “If I would what now?”

Ah yes, Remus. Walking cheerily towards them, smile slightly wider than ever, living his best life. Of course it was most likely that he had been questioned on Virgil’s whereabouts, given their activities during the past month-or-so, but Remus had decided to ‘calm down’ now and had ‘no idea about anything that anyone was doing’. Or so he had said to Janus.

“Patton! You already know I told ya everything about Virge, didn’t I?” he grinned. “Of course, don’t doubt it.” Patton said, as if he were lecturing a child. “And you got all your silly little friends to stand down which was very good of you.” Remus clapped his hands. “Yes! I did that!” “BUT!” Patton wagged his finger “I think you may have forgotten places that Virgil could be- or things you knew about Virgil.” Remus gasped in shock “Oh no!” “We want to find him, you want to find him. Let’s do this together please.” Patton nodded towards Janus. “Isn’t that right?” “Huh?” Janus smirked “Oh yes, working together. Of course.” Patton smiled again, then turned to leave.

Remus groaned “Ugh, what an annoying piece of poop! Wanna feed him to a pack of rampaging squirrels!” “Where’s Virgil?” “Up your butt!” Remus laughed, “Just kidding, don’t check, I have no idea.” Janus nearly prayed out of sheer frustration. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Remus, unholy shit.” “Okay, okay!” he giggled. “So I might know… but I can’t tell you.” “Why?” Janus asked, confused, “You think I’m going to run to Patton?” Remus looked down “Well, Logan says you shouldn’t be involved in-”

“You’re still working with Logan? You said you’d told them to stand down…” Remus chuckled “You believe that?” “Well, no,” Janus admitted, “But I…what the fuck are you planning?” “Eh, just a little bit of trouble…” “What you did already was a ‘little bit of trouble’- hell, it got your supervisors’ attention, so actually it was kinda a bit more than that.” Janus explained. “I made a group?” “A militia.” Remus threw his arms up “Well, we barely did anything! Pat WAY overreacted!” “Not… if you’re actually planning something he didn’t.” “So you are on his side?”

“I…” Janus looked away. “I don’t want this going south. For you, Virge, us. That’s the bargain you make when you leave heaven, to look out for you and yours. Get what is considered ‘best’ down here.” “But what if what is ‘mine’ is…” Remus looked wistfully at the hurricane of souls swirling around them “Never mind. See you around!”

He made his way off towards the offices where he worked, leaving Janus listening to the winds scream for mercy.

One year later: Hell

“Here.” Janus held out a bucket of blood that spat angrily at both of the demons, “from management.” Roman didn’t look up. “Chuck it in, before they get too comfortable.”

Janus peered down at the bubbling lake, almost glad to see that some parts of hell hadn’t changed that much. He poured the new blood in and watched the souls writhe- no hope of Remus for this lot. Though somehow, in some corners, they screamed out his name. How? Patton had nearly torn his horns off the first time he’d heard it, because how? How could they know about him? And that was the problem when the fresh blood was added and the screaming began anew.

What they screamed for.

Roman rolled his eyes “I’ve never wanted them to stop more…” Janus scoffed “You should see Patton, he has lost it.” “How so?” “Apparently,” he began, “He’s been inventing and subjecting harsher tortures for any souls who mention his name- or the others.” Roman chuckled at this “Well! Woe betide any gossip outlet, then…” “He’s getting them shut down, I think.” Roman gasped “His higher-ups can’t approve of that- right?”

Janus raised his eyebrows “His higher-? Roman, after the whole, well, you know… after Remus did all that, his only higher ups were a couple of folks in what used to be ninth circle.” He looked to the lake of blood. “Now? I don’t think some of them would even challenge him…”

“Oh.” Roman smiled. “How long’s that going to last?” “What?” “Patton- in charge? Until things are figured out, right?”

At this Janus started to laugh. He kept laughing and laughing till Roman joined in then realised it just wasn’t funny because it never had been.

“Forever.” He scowled. “He’s going to stabilize and reorganize the layers he has, take back the ones he doesn’t, put the souls back into torment, then execute the demons. All of them. Remus, Virgil, Logan, Remy, ALL OF THEM WILL DIE. Painfully. And then! He will rule over hell forever.”

“That’s a bit cynical.” “Well EXCUSE ME-” “No, I just thought- being an ex-friend of Remus- you might’ve been more cheerful.” Janus bit his lip. “We weren’t friends because we were even remotely similar. We were friends because I was bored, work was boring.” “Okay, makes sense!” Roman smiled. “So we’re all gonna end up working under Patton (if we aren’t already) and it’s gonna be aaaahhh ooohh not good very bad?” “Little bit more than that, but yes.” “Ah so more painfully terrible every moment we’re awake?” “Yeah.” “Hm… why not leave?” Roman casually asked. You know, casually.

Janus scoffed “Because of the whole dying thing?” he gestured wildly “I can’t go off on my own; I don’t stand a chance, I can’t repent; you have to mean that shit, and I can’t go with Remus and his crew because- because…” he looked down “I’m sorry Roman but the reason I never got too involved in the first place is because what he plans just isn’t going to work. He can’t win- he’ll die, and if I get involved then I will too and the point of all of this,” he spread his arms round “Is so you can look out for yourself, so you don’t have to be selfless and give up everything for someone else. Why do I have to be ashamed for not wanting to be a martyr?”

“I… you don’t.” “Exactly” Janus snapped. “If you truly believe that this is what’s better,” Roman added. Janus whistled “No, that’s…” he shook his head “Anyway. Whatever happens, they can’t be faulted for trying.” “No, absolutely not! Wait we are talking Remus and-” “Of course I’m talking about Remus’ lot.” Roman nodded “Ah, well yes- I agree. They’ve done a surprisingly competent job, all of them.”

They both paused for a moment. “It’s because they have the tech guy.” “It’s coz of the tech guy.” Roman agreed “I mean it’s not like the rest of his crew can’t organize things, but…” “It’s the tech guy.” Janus concluded “I hear he orchestrated the ‘Virgil plot’.” “Exactly!” Roman exclaimed “and that was wow, just impressive as anything (if you don’t mind me saying), like- hiding Virgil for that long to steal that many souls? If they don’t win it’ll be a little depressing.” “It’ll be more than that.” Janus smiled solemnly.

“It’ll be the end of life as we know it.”

Ten Years Later: Italy.

“Virge!” Janus could hear someone calling outside of the cavern “can you get that thick ass over here, please?” That ‘someone’ was probably Remus. “Janus, that includes you too!” “How does ‘Virge’ include me?” he called back. “Don’t question the king of crimes!”

Reluctantly, Janus stood up and wandered out to the frosty mountainside. He grimaced- the cold bits of hell had never been his favourite, even when they flaunted ‘coveted positions’ and such. Still.

“You want a coffee?” Remy asked. “Please.” He gestured over to a nearby hut “The coffee machine is right there, honey.” “But I never get the ratio right…” Janus pleaded. Remy chuckled and sipped his drink “Girl, that just ain’t my problem!”

“Janus!” Remus grabbed his arm suddenly and yanked him away “You sexy motherfucker, I called you an AGE ago! Now come on!” “Right, what do you need?” “Emotional stability…” Remus placed his hand on his chest “Just kidding! So basically, the waterpump’s broken (but Logan’s “dealing with that”), we received word that Patton has guns now- so we need better defences just in case- and also Patton has guns so yeah. Can we have those please?” Janus’ eyes widened. “Ok so is Patton-with-a-gun confirmed, or a rumour? Because hell basically never deploys projectiles.” “Are you sure I can’t be used as a projectile?” Remus half-spoke aloud “Yeet me at them.” “You’re getting distracted.” “Oh. Yes, it’s confirmed. One billion percent.” Janus pinched his forehead “Well, somehow I doubt that statistic, but okay. Let’s work on anti-gun strategy, defence, etc. because it is possible they’ll get hold of unholy projectiles specifically for us.” “Why can’t we get guns?” “Maybe one day, but if you actually think I trust you with a GUN-” “Fair point”

“Um, I was called?” Virgil was stood in the snow, watching them talk. They both jumped. “Yeah like, FIFTY YEARS AGO!” Remus cried. “Oh I’M sorry, look I did show up- it’s just I didn’t want to interrupt…” he trailed off. Janus smiled. “That’s understandable.” “That’s understandable.” Remus mimicked “Ooh, whatever, we were just chatting! No rules on chatting! Also what are your thoughts on guns?” “I think we should focus on hiding for now…” “BORING! Guns?” “Let him speak” Janus warned. Virgil looked down “I mean, our last skirmish went well, and we are getting more to join… but right now I think we should focus on what we have. And that advantage is mystery. Let’s keep it.” “Ooh mystery! Spooky!” Remus wiggled his arms. “No, I get what you mean.” Janus nodded “Like how you got so many in the beginning because they were intrigued, people will talk if we stay off the map for a while.” Remus tutted “Oh, you. Being sensible.” He frowned “We’ve been lucky, haven’t we? To live?” Janus smiled “Like this? Absolutely.” “Yeah, we should go under. Be sneaky! Recruit people who aren’t dicks and so on.”

Logan agreed with the idea for once, which was probably because it was Virgil’s, but also he stated: “We have already been living ‘both figuratively and literally underground’ so it makes an appropriate amount of sense to make this an officially secret place of dwelling.” 

He also agreed with Janus’ gun-plan. This, of course, being that they focus on defence and perhaps work on getting weapons of their own in the future. Though he was a little heavier on the “no gun-wielding-Remus” stance, stating: “On no condition can he be allowed a gun, none. Others in our company- fine. I will trust from the upper-most generals to the smallest child amongst us with a projectile, but never Remus. Oh and can we consider adding Remy to that list?”

Janus didn’t bother to question the part about trusting children with guns, he simply nodded and got to work on defence, sometimes smiling at Remus as he did.

And it didn’t matter what anyone was or wasn’t doing, Remus always grinned away.

One Century Later

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

17th March >> Mass Readings (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Solemnity of Saint Patrick, Bishop, Missionary (Ireland)

      or

Second Sunday of Lent, Cycle C.

Solemnity of Saint Patrick, Bishop, Missionary (Ireland)

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Either:

First Reading

Amos 7:12-15

'Go, shepherd, and prophesy to my people Israel'

Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, said to Amos, ‘Go away, seer;’ get back to the land of Judah; earn your bread there, do your prophesying there. We want no more prophesying in Bethel; this is the royal sanctuary, the national temple.’ ‘I was no prophet, neither did I belong to any of the brotherhoods of prophets,’ Amos replied to Amaziah ‘I was a shepherd, and looked after sycamores: but it was the Lord who took me from herding the flock, and the Lord who said, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.”’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

Alternative First Reading

Ecclesiasticus 39:6-10

The wise man will be remembered for generations

If it is the will of the great Lord,

he will be filled with the spirit of understanding,

he will shower forth words of wisdom,

and in prayer give thanks to the Lord.

He will grow upright in purpose and learning,

he will ponder the Lord’s hidden mysteries.

He will display the instruction he has received,

taking his pride in the Law of the Lord’s covenant.

Many will praise his understanding,

and it will never be forgotten.

His memory will not disappear,

generation after generation his name will live.

Nations will proclaim his wisdom,

the assembly will celebrate his praises.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Either:

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 138(139):1-3,7-10,13-14

R/ If I dwell at the sea’s furthest end, even there you watch over me.

O Lord, you search me and you know me,

you know my resting and my rising,

you discern my purpose from afar.

You mark when I walk or lie down,

all my ways lie open to you.

R/ If I dwell at the sea’s furthest end, even there you watch over me.

O where can I go from your spirit,

or where can I flee from your face?

If I climb the heavens, you are there.

If I lie in the grave, you are there.

R/ If I dwell at the sea’s furthest end, even there you watch over me.

If I take the wings of the dawn

and dwell at the sea’s furthest end,

even there your hand would lead me,

your right hand would hold me fast.

R/ If I dwell at the sea’s furthest end, even there you watch over me.

For it was you who created my being,

knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I thank you for the wonder of my being,

for the wonders of all your creation.

R/ If I dwell at the sea’s furthest end, even there you watch over me.

Or:

Alternative Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 115(116):12-19

R/ A thanksgiving sacrifice I make to you, O Lord.

or

R/ Alleluia!

How can I repay the Lord

for his goodness to me?

The cup of salvation I will raise;

I will call on the Lord’s name.

R/ A thanksgiving sacrifice I make to you, O Lord.

or

R/ Alleluia!

My vows to the Lord I will fulfil

before all his people.

O precious in the eyes of the Lord

is the death of his faithful.

R/ A thanksgiving sacrifice I make to you, O Lord.

or

R/ Alleluia!

Your servant, Lord, your servant am I;

you have loosened my bonds.

A thanksgiving sacrifice I make;

I will call on the Lord’s name.

R/ A thanksgiving sacrifice I make to you, O Lord.

or

R/ Alleluia!

My vows to the Lord I will fulfil

before all his people,

in the courts of the house of the Lord,

in your midst, O Jerusalem.

R/ A thanksgiving sacrifice I make to you, O Lord.

or

R/ Alleluia!

Either:

Second Reading

1 Thessalonians 2:2-8

We were eager to hand over to you not only the Good News but our whole lives

It was our God who gave us the courage to proclaim his Good News to you in the face of great opposition. We have not taken to preaching because we are deluded, or immoral, or trying to deceive anyone; it was God who decided that we were fit to be entrusted with the Good News, and when we are speaking, we are not trying to please men but God, who can read our inmost thoughts. You know very well, and we can swear it before God, that never at any time have our speeches been simply flattery, or a cover for trying to get money; nor have we ever looked for any special honour from men, either from you or anybody else, when we could have imposed ourselves on you with full weight, as apostles of Christ.

Instead, we were unassuming. Like a mother feeding and looking after her own children, we felt so devoted and protective towards you, and had come to love you so much, that we were eager to hand over to you not only the Good News but our whole lives as well.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

Alternative Second Reading

2 Timothy 4:1-8

I have run the race to the finish; I have kept the faith; it is time for me to be gone

Before God and before Christ Jesus who is to be judge of the living and the dead, I put this duty to you, in the name of his Appearing and of his kingdom: proclaim the message and, welcome or unwelcome, insist on it. Refute falsehood, correct error, call to obedience – but do all with patience and with the intention of teaching. The time is sure to come when, far from being content with sound teaching, people will be avid for the latest novelty and collect themselves a whole series of teachers according to their own tastes; and then, instead of listening to the truth, they will turn to myths. Be careful always to choose the right course; be brave under trials; make the preaching of the Good News your life’s work, in thoroughgoing service.

As for me, my life is already being poured away as a libation, and the time has come for me to be gone. I have fought the good fight to the end; I have run the race to the finish; I have kept the faith; all there is to come now is the crown of righteousness reserved for me, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give to me on that Day; and not only to me but to all those who have longed for his Appearing.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation

Luke 4:17

Praise and honour to you, Lord Jesus!

The Lord has sent me to bring the good news to the poor,

to proclaim liberty to captives.

Praise and honour to you, Lord Jesus!

Either:

Gospel

Luke 5:1-11

They left everything and followed him

Jesus was standing one day by the Lake of Gennesaret, with the crowd pressing round him listening to the word of God, when he caught sight of two boats close to the bank. The fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats – it was Simon’s – and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat.

When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, ‘Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.’ ‘Master,’ Simon replied, ‘we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.’ And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear, so they signalled to their companions in the other boat to come and help them; when these came, they filled the two boats to sinking point.

When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, ‘Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.’ For he and all his companions were completely overcome by the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon’s partners. But Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on it is men you will catch.’ Then, bringing their boats back to land, they left everything and followed him.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ.

Or:

Alternative Gospel

Matthew 13:24-32

Let them both grow till the harvest

Jesus put another parable before the crowds: ‘The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field. While everybody was asleep his enemy came, sowed darnel all among the wheat, and made off. When the new wheat sprouted and ripened, the darnel appeared as well. The owner’s servants went to him and said, “Sir, was it not good seed that you sowed in your field? If so, where does the darnel come from?” “Some enemy has done this” he answered. And the servants said, “Do you want us to go and weed it out?” But he said, “No, because when you weed out the darnel you might pull up the wheat with it. Let them both grow till the harvest; and at harvest time I shall say to the reapers: First collect the darnel and tie it in bundles to be burnt, then gather the wheat into my barn.”’

He put another parable before them: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed which a man took and sowed in his field. It is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the biggest shrub of all and becomes a tree so that the birds of the air come and shelter in its branches.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ.

———————-

Second Sunday of Lent, Cycle C

(Liturgical Colour: Violet)

First Reading

Genesis 15:5-12,17-18

God enters into a Covenant with Abraham, the man of faith

Taking Abram outside, the Lord said, ‘Look up to heaven and count the stars if you can.’ ‘Such will be your descendants,’ he told him. Abram put his faith in the Lord, who counted this as making him justified.

‘I am the Lord’ he said to him ‘who brought you out of Ur of the Chaldaeans to make you heir to this land.’ ‘My Lord,’ Abram replied ‘how am I to know that I shall inherit it?’ He said to him, ‘Get me a three-year-old heifer, a three-year-old goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtledove and a young pigeon.’ He brought him all these, cut them in half and put half on one side and half facing it on the other; but the birds he did not cut in half. Birds of prey came down on the carcases but Abram drove them off.

When the sun had set and darkness had fallen, there appeared a smoking furnace and a firebrand that went between the halves. That day the Lord made a Covenant with Abram in these terms:

‘To your descendants I give this land,

from the wadi of Egypt to the Great River.’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 26(27):1,7-9,13-14

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

The Lord is my light and my help;

whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life;

before whom shall I shrink?

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

O Lord, hear my voice when I call;

have mercy and answer.

Of you my heart has spoken:

‘Seek his face.’

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

It is your face, O Lord, that I seek;

hide not your face.

Dismiss not your servant in anger;

you have been my help.

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

I am sure I shall see the Lord’s goodness

in the land of the living.

Hope in him, hold firm and take heart.

Hope in the Lord!

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

Either:

Second Reading

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Our homeland is in heaven, and from heaven comes Christ to transfigure us

My brothers, be united in following my rule of life. Take as your models everybody who is already doing this and study them as you used to study us. I have told you often, and I repeat it today with tears, there are many who are behaving as the enemies of the cross of Christ. They are destined to be lost. They make foods into their god and they are proudest of something they ought to think shameful; the things they think important are earthly things. For us, our homeland is in heaven, and from heaven comes the saviour we are waiting for, the Lord Jesus Christ, and he will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body. He will do that by the same power with which he can subdue the whole universe.

So then, my brothers and dear friends, do not give way but remain faithful in the Lord. I miss you very much, dear friends; you are my joy and my crown.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

Alternative Second Reading

Philippians 3:20-4:1

Christ will transfigure our bodies into copies of his glorious body

For us, our homeland is in heaven, and from heaven comes the saviour we are waiting for, the Lord Jesus Christ, and he will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body. He will do that by the same power with which he can subdue the whole universe.

So then, my brothers and dear friends, do not give way but remain faithful in the Lord. I miss you very much, dear friends; you are my joy and my crown.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation

Matthew 17:5

Glory and praise to you, O Christ!

From the bright cloud the Father’s voice was heard:

‘This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.’

Glory and praise to you, O Christ!

Gospel

Luke 9:28-36

Jesus is transfigured before them

Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up the mountain to pray. As he prayed, the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became brilliant as lightning. Suddenly there were two men there talking to him; they were Moses and Elijah appearing in glory, and they were speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were heavy with sleep, but they kept awake and saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As these were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ – He did not know what he was saying. As he spoke, a cloud came and covered them with shadow; and when they went into the cloud the disciples were afraid. And a voice came from the cloud saying, ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him.’ And after the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. The disciples kept silence and, at that time, told no one what they had seen.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ.

[frederickwiddowson]

Leviticus 11:1-8 comments: rules about unclean and clean animals

Leviticus 11:1 ¶  And the LORD spake unto Moses and to Aaron, saying unto them, 2  Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, These are the beasts which ye shall eat among all the beasts that are on the earth. 3  Whatsoever parteth the hoof, and is clovenfooted, and cheweth the cud, among the beasts, that shall ye eat. 4  Nevertheless these shall ye not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the hoof: as the camel, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. 5  And the coney, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. 6  And the hare, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. 7  And the swine, though he divide the hoof, and be clovenfooted, yet he cheweth not the cud; he is unclean to you. 8  Of their flesh shall ye not eat, and their carcase shall ye not touch; they are unclean to you.

 First, what does chewing the cud mean in the Bible and at the time this Bible was translated? Simply put, without reading back modern distinctions into the 1611 Bible, animals that chew the cud eat their food, or at least some of it, twice. Ruminants, like cows, regurgitate food and re-chew it. Pseudo-ruminants, like rabbits, may re-ingest their soft poop with additional microbial processes going on in digestive parts we don’t have. The modern English word cud comes from the Old English cudu or cwidu meaning, “what has already been chewed.” It is related to an old Norse word for chewing.

A clovenfooted animal, called an even-toed ungulate, has a foot that is separated into two toes. If the animal has this clovenfoot and redigests its food it is okay to eat. If it redigests its food but has toes like a camel or rabbit it is not okay to eat. Of note here is the mention of a camel, saying that it does not divide the hoof. This is pretty advanced stuff as a camel is considered an even-toed ungulate. But, a camel’s feet are not actually hooves although each toe has a hard nail that seems like a hoof.

Remember that Christ’s finished work cleansed the ritual uncleanness of animals. See the episode with Peter in Acts, chapter 10, one of the most theologically significant chapters of the New Testament showing that no animals are unclean after Christ, that people who have not heard of Christ but believe in God and want to do right are saved showing that once Christ is preached to them they must believe or be damned, and how we Gentiles receive the Holy Ghost and then are baptized, being saved first as baptism itself does not save us.

Acts 10:1 ¶  There was a certain man in Caesarea called Cornelius, a centurion of the band called the Italian band, 2  A devout man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God alway. 3  He saw in a vision evidently about the ninth hour of the day an angel of God coming in to him, and saying unto him, Cornelius. 4  And when he looked on him, he was afraid, and said, What is it, Lord? And he said unto him, Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a memorial before God. 5  And now send men to Joppa, and call for one Simon, whose surname is Peter: 6  He lodgeth with one Simon a tanner, whose house is by the sea side: he shall tell thee what thou oughtest to do. 7  And when the angel which spake unto Cornelius was departed, he called two of his household servants, and a devout soldier of them that waited on him continually; 8  And when he had declared all these things unto them, he sent them to Joppa.

     9 ¶  On the morrow, as they went on their journey, and drew nigh unto the city, Peter went up upon the housetop to pray about the sixth hour: 10  And he became very hungry, and would have eaten: but while they made ready, he fell into a trance, 11  And saw heaven opened, and a certain vessel descending unto him, as it had been a great sheet knit at the four corners, and let down to the earth: 12 Wherein were all manner of fourfooted beasts of the earth, and wild beasts, and creeping things, and fowls of the air. 13 And there came a voice to him, Rise, Peter; kill, and eat. 14  But Peter said, Not so, Lord; for I have never eaten any thing that is common or

unclean. 15  And the voice spake unto him again the second time, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common. 16  This was done thrice: and the vessel was received up again into heaven. 17  Now while Peter doubted in himself what this vision which he had seen should mean, behold, the men which were sent from Cornelius had made enquiry for Simon’s house, and stood before the gate, 18  And called, and asked whether Simon, which was surnamed Peter, were lodged there.

 It is interesting in that Christ cleansed ritually unclean animals so that the Jews could eat them as God told Noah it was appropriate after the Flood to eat animals in general which apparently had not been done before.

Genesis 1:29  And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

 Genesis 9:2  And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; into your hand are they delivered. 3  Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things.

 Speaking of Noah, apparently this concept of ritually clean and not clean animals was understood so that although they were not eaten from Abel’s time they were used as sacrifices to God.

Genesis 4:4  And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering:

 Genesis 7:2  Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, the male and his female: and of beasts that are not clean by two, the male and his female.

 There are a number of possibilities for the distinction between unclean and clean animals. The first reason would be that God’s people must learn to separate the clean from the unclean and that this distinction was, in type, the same as distinguishing between sin and doing right. Another possibility, at least in Noah’s time, is that the animals that were not clean may have been polluted like mankind by the fallen sons of God. Even another possibility, for Moses’ time, is that the animals marked as not clean were being used for dietary and ceremonial purposes by the heathen and God wanted to reinforce the separation of Israel from those people. Whatever the case, there were animals that were not to be eaten by the Jews even if you use the modernistic argument that the restrictions were of a sanitary nature for the health and well-being of the children of Israel.

Nevertheless, Matthew Henry pointed out in his commentary that animals were sacred in heathen religion. In his commentary, which is free online, for this passage he notes “The swine, with the later Gentiles, was sacred to Venus, the owl to Minerva, the eagle to Jupiter, the dog to Hecate, etc.,”  The strict dietary regulations given here distinguished the children of Israel from the heathen world around them. Also, predators eat the flesh of animals, scavengers eat carrion, and some shellfish are poisonous. We really cannot say why something was clean or unclean to them but we can surmise based on common sense.

I have read that the camel was considered sacred in the worship of AL-lat, the Meccan mother goddess, and chief deity of one of the Arab tribes. She was also supposedly one of the daughters of Allah. Although this particular worship may not be three thousand years old it does give us evidence of the camel’s spiritual importance to heathen tribes long before this particular goddess was worshipped.

At the time the King James Bible was translated, using the University of Toronto’s Lexicons of Early Modern English online, the coney was a rabbit or a hare. It is noted that George Gascoigne’s 1575 The Noble Art of Venery or Hunting that a young hare was called a leueret and a young conie (coney) was called a rabet (rabbit). This is also confirmed by cross-referencing in the Bible. Read Deuteronomy 14:7. The difference between a hare and a rabbit might be of interest to a hunter who wants to know their habits or a zoologist who wants to catalog them but are virtually meaningless to our study. The Bible could also be talking about a rock badger or rock hyrax, a mouse-like creature, which is also called a ‘rock rabbit’, remembering that modern classifications of animals should not be read back into the Bible. The hyrax notion is buttressed by Proverbs 30:26 although actual rabbits exist in a number of habitats including mountainous terrain. The likely understanding of the translators would be the coney or rabbit as a cousin to the hare with differences like where they live and how they react to danger. Hares live in burrows, rabbits in nests, and hares run while rabbits hide and on and on if what I read is correct. You hunters or rabbit-keepers would know better, I am sure.

The hare was worshipped in ancient earth religions as a symbol of fertility in the goddess Ishtar’s veneration. Perhaps we get the word Easter and Easter bunnies and eggs ultimately from Ishtar. Ishtar was also the goddess of freedom, exiles, immigrants, and prostitutes in ancient Babylon I have read. She has many names around the world from Amaterasu in Japan to Astarte in the ancient Near East to Aphrodite in Greece and Venus in Rome. The goddess also, in one of her many forms, was personified in the Roman goddess Libertas who stands in the harbor at New York as Lady Liberty. Anthropologists have noted that gods and goddesses can be traced back to a small number of individuals so we can see Ishtar’s many forms around the world.

Swine were sacred in Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, and even Celtic religion among others. The Greeks sacrificed pigs to the goddess, Demeter, goddess of agriculture. Some authors says that in Egypt the god, Min, was born of a white sow, one of the manifestations of Isis, the Egyptian version of Ishtar. The evil god of Egypt, Set, is sometimes depicted as a swine.

There is a principal given here. We learn in Job that God says bad things will happen to good people and they may never know the reason why in this life but we are to trust Him as He is in control of it all, no matter how painful or grievous our suffering is. Here, we learn that God gave commands to Israel and did not bother to explain Himself except to say that the unclean must be separated from the clean. Trust me, I have it under control and do what I say without expecting an explanation are two things that are bitter pills for a twenty-first century American to swallow.

There is also a lesson here for us and many potential sermons on rightly dividing the word and what constitutes bad doctrine and wrong interpretation which although derived from the Bible misrepresents God by an impious and imperfect agenda.

[acatinabox]

Ambrosia - Day 6

He opened his eyes but the room was dark. At first, he couldn’t see a thing. Reyes instinctively raised his hand to his bare chest and patted it, there was medi-pack gel on his wound, regenerating the tissue, numbing the pain. It was a deep wound though, medi-pack alone wouldn’t be enough. He could still feel some pain just by stroking his skin. He couldn’t find his shirt by patting around the bunk where he was laying, but he suspected it was beyond recovery anyway. He had a metal taste in his mouth and he was parched. Slowly, his eyes adapted to the shadows and he finally discovered that he wasn’t alone. A pale, emaciated woman stared at him, without winking. Her eyes were grey and her head was shaved, she barely looked like a person, but only in shape.

“Hello” he said, trying to stand up. His head was throbbing and his stomach grumbled. With the drugs and the fact that he hadn’t been eating since who knows when he was starting to feel hungry. Very hungry. She didn’t speak, but gestured him to follow her and then left the room.

Reyes sighed and coerced his limbs into a standing position. He leant on the wall, realising that it was dug in the rock. He must have been underground, and now the fact that the air was chilly and damp made sense. How far, though? He couldn’t tell. He followed the white miss in the tunnel.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, relying on the walls around him to walk straight.

She didn’t reply, as she never replied in the following five minutes or so, while she led him deeper and deeper under the surface, swaying in her plain white robe with no sleeves that looked more like a repurposed sack than actual clothing. He finally started to see a light getting closer, in front of them, beyond the ghastly pale girl. As soon as she entered the room, she moved to the side, to let Reyes go inside.

Rays of light illuminated the centre of the cave, where a huge bonfire was laid and several humanoids of various species were gathered. He felt the sweet and sour smell of roasting meat and felt the craving growing in his guts. He got closer until he could see the carcases roasting. The closest one was giving him an empty stare, its head in front of his, and amidst the burning skin and hair, and exploding innards, he could still recognise the melting blue eyes of Reese, one of the “contestants” that were gathered in Ambrosia with him.

Reyes backed off, trying to resist the urge to throw up. He kneeled, stumbling onto his own feet, disgusted and he gave in to the revulsion, eventually, although nothing but bile would come out of his empty stomach.

“Don’t worry, you’ll change your mind” said a familiar female voice. He raised his face, looking at the woman who gave orders in Ambrosia first and then in the wasteland. He could see her face now, anonymous traits crowned by brown shaggy hair. It was to pinpoint her features, they were familiar too, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen her. “The hunger will take you too, eventually” she said, laughing hysterically.

Reyes tried to open his mouth to talk, but then he was enveloped in the sweet scent of death and decay and had to put a hand on his mouth to avoid throwing out again. “Who the fuck are you?” he managed to gasp.

“I was just a no one like many others in Kadara Port” she said, resting her hands on the hips “not unlike you, Reyes Vidal, smuggler” her lips let go a giggle that sounded almost impish, inhumane. “My name was Remi Tamayo, but now I’m something much greater than that, I’m the Priestess” she screamed, widening her arms in a dramatic gesture over her head and laughing again, less and less human with every sentence she spoke. He remembered her now. She was just a random lowlife making a living in Kadara’s alleys, one of Sloane’s thugs sent her away from town by mistake, thinking she didn’t pay her protection fee, and she was lost, they thought, maybe in the desert or eaten alive by animals. “They wanted me as a sacrifice, but I could see the Light and they made me one of them” she whispered then, bending down until her face was close to his, her eyes wide open “I’m their First, now!”.

Reyes was paralysed, he couldn’t back up as he wanted. All he could do was to ask “Why have you brought me here?”.

“To eat you” she said, giggling, staying too close to him making him uneasy “No, just joking. We need someone to get us supplies to take over Kadara, of course” she explained and moved slightly to the side to let him see the banquet of Human, Turian, and whatever else flesh that was roasting. She still kept her head close to his, though. “Apparently, you are the best, so let’s get it over with the initiation and let’s start talking business. It’s time to take down the Charlatan”. She raised a hand to point at the roasting meat, inviting him to partake of the meal. When he hesitated, she pulled him up, making him stand. They walked towards the flesh fest, where several cannibals were salivating, eager for the meal but waiting, probably for him to start the ritual. He could feel the heat of the fire caressing his skin and he could see the melted eyes of the body who was once Reese, dripping laconic in the fire. He wanted to throw up again but was sure that nothing was left in his stomach, not even bile.

“What if I refuse?” he asked, staring at the fire without watching.

“Oh” she said, making a displeased noise and leaning closer to him to grab his bare arm “You know what will happen then” she stood on her tiptoes and licked his face, unceremoniously, slowly enough to send shivers down his spine and give him goose bumps. She then moved away from him, leaving his arm and waiting.

Reyes couldn’t see a way out. The only entrance he could see from where he stood was the one from where he came in, and it didn’t lead to the surface. There must have been another, probably behind the bonfire, but he wasn’t sure he could reach it, before getting eaten alive.

“Don’t test our patience, Reyes Vidal” Remi said, eagerly. She looked craving like she almost hoped he refused to eat him too.

He couldn’t run, he couldn’t fight them all, he definitely couldn’t throw himself in the fire and hope for a relatively quick death before getting eaten, because that would have made them happier. The only way out was staring at him with empty eye sockets and flaming hair. He swallowed, terrified, and closed his eyes. He would have prayed if he could, but the only thing he believed in, the only person he believed in, was probably crying in an empty apartment, thinking that he left her or that he died, or that he was an asshole. It didn’t matter. He raised his hand to move towards the carcas, almost touching it and then… a sudden bang exploded behind the walls of the cave, in an indefinite place above them, possibly closer to the surface.

The cannibals all turned around at once, then turned towards Remi Tamayo, expectant. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, screaming and waving her hands “We are under attack, go defend the temple!”. They all stumbled away, their bony limbs uselessly swaying while they walked towards the exit. She turned his back at him, observing her minions run away. It was exactly what he needed.

He wrapped his arms around her neck from behind, in a deadly embrace. Even if he wouldn’t come out of this alive, she had to go. Reyes tightened and tightened his grasp, but she fought back, scratching, kicking, grunting, punching. He wasn’t strong enough to finish her quickly, weakened by the wound, the fasting, the drugs. She finally remembered his weakness and sunk her nails, her fingers, deep into his wound, reopening it. When he let her go instinctively, then she kicked a pinch of ashes and embers on his face, blinding him and burning him. He brought his hands to his face to clean it, but she didn’t leave him the time to do it, she kicked his face, hitting his hands. He felt a stinging pain, one or more of his fingers broke at the impact.

“What’s wrong with you Reyes Vidal?” she snarled, kicking his chest and forcing him to fall down on the ground with a muted scream. “I thought you could be one of us” she added and pressed her foot on his throat. “Well” she licked her lips, pressing the foot deeper on his throat, while he desperately tried to grab with his broken fingers her ankle to breathe “You will become part of us, only in a different way”. He tried to kick her, but couldn’t reach her, his fingers were painfully grasping at her calf, useless. While he stared frightened at her wide open drugged, crazy eyes, he realised in despair that his last sight before dying would have been the grin of a predator, not the warm, peaceful, freckled smile of Shea Ryder. When he almost gave up on his chances of survival, though, he glimpsed a bright blueish light crossing the room through the fire, he heard a crash above him, and he finally could breathe again.

[dawnkiwi-blog]

A Beautiful Mind - Tony Stark fanfiction // dawnkiwi

A Beautiful Mind - Avengers fanfiction | Iron Man / Tony Stark-centric | #1 in the Wretched Adrenaline series

Summary: Summary: 'Prodigious clarity conceived', Tony Stark is the most enlightened mind of this existence. Like an elastic band, his mind expands to encompass all knowledge he comes across. Bands snap. Featuring: Tony Stark x Pepper Potts Steve Rogers Thor Odinson

Genres: Drama/Family

Word Count: 2,500 Chapters: 01/05 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness / familial abuse and trauma / mentions of sexual activity

moodboard / gifset for this chapter can be found here

Prelude - Mad World

In the span of 40 years, Anthony Edward Stark had accomplished more than some civilisations could in the span of a hundred.

As the Merchant of Death, he carries the honours of being both a creator and a destroyer.

His true passion, however, remains entirely separate from his peace-shattering works of art.

Hidden from greedy eyes and safely sequestered more than a hundred feet below the streets of Manhattan, Tony sat hunched over a gleaming metal desk. In his hands, he twisted and tinkered with one of his numerous homemade 'toys'. A nifty little scanner he'd managed to construct from the properties of that damned sceptre.

It glowed an ominous blue when activated, and served to create a holographic interface of whatever he aimed it at.

Pepper's bitter denouncement stemmed from Tony's obsessive need to spend as much waking time as possible in his lab. Strewn across the concrete floor were bits of metal and wiring; numerous unrecognisable pieces of machinery. A reminder of the neglect Pepper faced..

His latest fixation happened to be the laws of physics, gravity, and time. Far from his usual technology, Tony had a burning need to understand the more abstract elements of science. It consumed him like a disease.

Pepper believed Tony had become jealous of Jane. Jane believed Tony was rightly curious, and perhaps justly terrified of what the universe held. Steve Rogers had given his two cents and informed Pepper than the prodigal Avenger was likely suffering from an acute case of PTSD.

He was feeling challenged. A strange sensation to a man who had rarely ever felt intellectually stumped.

Glinting like a slice of opal sky, the shard discarded upon the desk stared him in the face. It haunted him.

"What are you made of.." Tony muttered to himself. JARVIS had kindly informed him that the remains he had swiped from the shaken streets of NYC did not match any known material on earth. It seemed the strange material was entirely from another world. Even his new prized scanner could tell him nothing of value.

How fitting, he thought, for the remains of the chitauri to be completely isolated from man's known elements.

"Bring up the carcases again," he said, swivelling around to face the floating holograms behind him.

Scenes from the Chitauri attack flitted across each projected screen. They zoomed in and stilled to focused on the slain behemoths. Any and all CCTV of New York had been scrupulously downloaded and hoarded on servers hidden around the world. To Tony, while his mind functioned in near eidetic capacity, knowing what he had experienced had been seen by the rest of the world served to ground him, and keep him sane.

Forty tonnes of celestial monster lay prone and cooling aside Central Park. They were so beautiful, Tony often thought, but beautiful in the sense of untold horrors.

Tony loved his Lovecraft.

When the time had come for the monumental cleanup, Tony had done his part and donated a nine-figure sum to hush up the moaning politicians and appease the very front end of the public outrage which continued to pour, more than two years on. A part of that sum, however, included Stark Industries personally cleaning up the mess. Housed in a remote New Mexico bunker, the corpses were cryogenically frozen for Tony's personal research.

It was poetically humorous, in his opinion, for the remnants of the Chitauri to be stored in the home state of all things weird. He could have gone with Nevada, but the CIA were still impolitely hostile to him, so he hadn't bothered. It was also fairly apt, considering New Mexico seemed to be Heimdall's favourite drop-zone.

Not to mention my tower, he thought irritably.

Tony still wanted to see Asgard.

On his holographic screen, the body which splayed itself like a bludgeoned pineaaple gave him no more insight than he already had.

"Just what are your secrets, puppy-dog," he sang to himself in an ill attempt to stifle his growing irritation.

With a sigh, he stood up and stomped over to his kitchenette for more coffee.

The microwave blinked a neon 6:44 AM at him. Nearly time for breakfast. The coffee maker clicked on, it's whirring tearing apart the silence.

These past few months hadn't been kind to him. According to Pepper, rather. In Tony's mind, the last few months had been some of the most enlightening. Ignoring his reoccurring nightmares, in which beasts of incalculable size and strength dominated his mind; in which his fears of losing his precious Pepper, and in which the gaping void stared unshakably at him. He loathed it. But in many ways, Tony longed for the terrible dreams. They powered him forward like a ravenous wolf, always seeking the answers to questions previously unthought of.

He loathed it.

But in many ways, Tony longed for the terrible dreams. They powered him forward like a ravenous wolf, always seeking the answers to questions previously unthought of. It was like searching for air in the Mariana Trench.

When he had fallen from the sky, the only thing on his mind was Virginia Potts. He would never see her again. He would never be able to tell her he loved her. They would never have a family. All the unspoken words and missed moments. Gone.

Dead.

And then to wake up on the cold ground with the Hulk's giant gnashers roaring in his face... it had been the single most defining moment of his life. Afghanistan had changed him many ways. Most of them subtle. Tony couldn't be handed things; he couldn't take a bath or step into a pool. The ocean sparked a dread in him he hadn't previously known, and the desert was like a nightmare of desolation and heart-stopping agony.

But that void.

It haunted him, it taunted him; it fucking broke him in two, then moulded him back like a mended shirt, only to be torn again. It never ended.

In his dreams, the void did not move. There was no sound. There was no light. Nothing but that singular, gaping hole in the sky that served to remind humanity how insignificant they all were.

He would wake gasping for breath in a silent scream, trying his hardest to make any noise he could. But in space no one can hear you scream.

He had known this already, of course; that humanity existed akin to a pimple ready to rupture.

To be a man who makes death weapons is one thing, and carrying a legacy like the Manhattan Project is a weight that comes with the gift of money. But with a heart that only beats due to a battery he had personally engineered... even if it is a world-changing innovation.. life is very fragile, indeed. Pepper's own fragile form bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Pure horror can act as energy. Like lightening, he mused, much like Heimdall and Thor, and even Loki's abilities which defied known science. It strikes when you least expect it. It surges like a violent bolt of love; passion and frenzy. The outcome never matching love, but exceeding it, like the death of loved one.

"Your coffee is ready, sir." JARVIS broke through Tony's tormented thoughts. Absently, he had begun to grip his mug so tightly he had nearly shattered it.

Just like me.

Pouring the obsidian liquid into his mug, he stood quietly, questioning if he should emerge from his lab and eat.

Logic won him over, and he stepped into his elevator.

In the communal kitchen, Steve Rogers stood preparing a delicious breakfast. The scent made Tony's mouth water.

"Capsical," Tony proclaimed, throwing himself onto a leather stool, "What are you making me?"

Steve shot him a bemused look. "Pancakes, with bacon and eggs. How many do you want?"

Tony hummed. "Better make it three. I'm trying to preserve my figure, you know."

Steve rolled his eyes but dumped the requested number of pancakes onto a plate for him.

It had taken them a long time to get to speaking terms. In fact, they didn't do much 'speaking' outside of forced interactions, or the occasional glib remark. But every now and then, one of them would try to be nice, and it made all the difference to those around them. Even if they were patronising each other, it was a world better than the snide and often callous remarks aimed at each other. Few days went past when any of them did not find themselves lost in thought of their tense interactions near the sceptre.

Loki's legacy lived on.

Feasting upon the admittedly perfect pancakes, neither man spoke until Vision stepped into the kitchen.

Steve gave his usual polite greetings, whereas Tony had to be Tony.

"Hey, JARVIS one."

"Hello, Tony."

It bothered him. That his beloved AI technically lived on a man- was he really a man?- but had assumed total sentience. It freaked him out, if he was honest. At first, it had hurt; he had, all things considered, birthed the most advanced AI known, and once said AI had become self-aware, he had fixated on Wanda like Tony fixated on the Chitauri.

Of course, Tony didn't hold it against him. Whatever had occurred between the two, for he didn't really know, they had formed a bond. They doted on one another, Vision more so than Wanda, like Pepper longed for Tony to do. They cared for each other, and functioned as any healthy couple should.

So Tony had spent weeks holed up in his lab, refusing to leave once, and recreated JARVIS. JARVIS II technically. The new JARVIS could do everything the original had. But in his fearful mania, Tony had installed and formed new abilities. It meant that if Tony was ever mortally wounded, JARVIS could take care of him. JARVIS is his friend, his confident, his doctor, and his therapist.

Pepper hated it. She had originally broken up with him when she didn't see Tony for nearly a month.

He hadn't intended for that to happen. But when he had gone down there, the fear had taken hold of him and driven him to better what he already had. JARVIS, his bots, his suits, his cars. Everything he had at his disposal had been upgraded, reinvented, and re-engineered to answer only to him.

He would never be able to rely on another person. Despite his self-assurance that he didn't hate Vision, he still resented the abandonment which plagued him.

It was irrational and childish, but Tony couldn't rid himself of the feelings.

Tony hadn't slept for weeks. A personal record, as far as he was concerned, but a serious health issue. Soon after he began the mammoth task of rehauling his creations, the delirium had set in. The hallucinations. His code swam off the screens and danced like a puppet, refusing to do as he commanded. Every time he began to focus, the shadows of his lab had leered at him, taking the form of the Chitauri, or Loki, and even Ultron.

Naturally the only answer was to install lighting in every corner, and have the room lit up like the face of the sun.

After twenty four days, Pepper had stormed into his lab, smashed his Starkpad, and dragged him out onto the streets of Manhattan.

"Look at what you're doing to yourself," she had screamed, uncaring for the eyes which devoured this controversial argument.

He had tried to defend himself but resorted to begging and pleading.

"Pep, come on, I'm sorry. I just.. I lost track of the time. I didn't know where I was, or even who I was."

Pepper had not been placated. "Then you need help, Tony," she had spat, "I'll call Lizbeth right now. You are going to end up dead at this rate."

They had made the headlines in every major publication and gossip rag, going as far as featuring at the bottom of the NYTimes front page. It had been embarrassing, sure, and that itself had been enough to make Tony snap out of it.

"I swear to god, Tony, if you don't stop this insanity, we are over."

"Pepper!" He had been verging on shouting at this point. "That isn't fair."

She had seemed so tall and powerful in that moment. It made him want to shy away, and curl into himself. To run back to JARVIS and lock everyone out. Knowing he had been so erroneous as to leave his lab unlocked shook him to the core. Another potentially fatal mistake.

Pepper shook her head, hiding her tears behind her fringe. "We're over Tony. Go get help, and get yourself back to some level of sanity. But until then, don't contact me."

She had left him standing on the street. Tony didn't remember much after that, only that he had collapsed defeated on his couch. Another week of absence went by before he could muster the courage to step out of his lab. Only Virginia Potts could force a man like Tony Stark to do something he didn't want to.

"Are you alright, Tony?"

Steve's baritone wrenched Tony back to the present and away from the awful memories.

He placed a megawatt smile on his face and winked at Steve. "Right as rain, scouts honor."

The door slid shut behind Tony. Steve shook his head with a sigh.

"He really needs to talk to someone," he said.

Vision concurred. "Tony does appear to be in ill health. Perhaps we should contact Ms Potts?"

Steve shook his head again. "That will only drive Stark further into himself. He won't talk about whatever is bothering him. You know him and Ms Potts broke up?"

Vision did not know these. "I was under the impression they are still in a relationship."

"They are," Steve said, "But a few months ago Pepper left him. She wouldn't say much, just that Tony was too much to handle."

Vision mused over Steve's words for a few minutes, leaving the Captain to his thoughts. Steve had considered getting Sam to talk to Tony. His fellow Avenger is, after all, trained in dealing with PTSD. But regardless of whoever approached Tony, the result would only be more isolation, and likely a lingering sentiment of betrayal.

While Steve didn't care all that much for Ironman, he still believed in an ingrained sense of camaraderie.

Something had to be done for Tony, for better or for worse.

This is the first chapter of five. I'll upload the next one either tomorrow or the day after. The story is finished, so you don't have to worry about me abandoning this fic. If you enjoyed this, consider checking out my parallel story 'Fortune of A Broken Man' which is set a few months after the end of this story. Neither of these stories need to be read to understand the other.

FoABM is a James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (the Winter Soldier) centric fic, featuring Steve Rogers, my OC Lizbeth Barnes, Darcy Lewis, Dr Selvig, and Loki.

Have a nice day y'aaaaall.

[missameliasmithers]

Find Your Place: The First Night

Part 1

Read on AO3

After stopping for supplies from a kind merchant along the road, Aloy and Nil made camp in the middle of a clearing in the woods. The pink glow of sunset had already bathed the sky in a warm glow, so they gathered wood for a fire and laid out their newly acquired bedrolls. Seeing the wild look on Nil’s face when he held the canister of blaze, Aloy confiscated the bottle and set the fire herself with a drop or two. The last thing they needed was for Nil to dump the whole canteen in and burn a signal flare in unclaimed lands or worse still, scorch the entire forest to the ground.

Before they lost the last traces of light, they set out on a hunt. The forest was bountiful and teemed with plump fauna for their supper. They fell a turkey and a boar each, knowing from experience they would need smoked meat for the times ahead when hunting would be scarce. As Nil cleaned their kills, a satisfied gleam in his eye, Aloy arranged a small smoker from the scraps of an old, broken watcher. It was crude, but it would have their food ready by the time they set out the next day.

They cooked half the turkey over the fire that night, starved from travel and the remnants of the grand battle they fought earlier.

“It all feels so long ago,” Aloy said after a bite. “Like it should be years since we defeated Hades, but it’s only been a few hours ago.”

“Big moments tend to have that effect,” Nil replied through his meat. “The suspense of it all builds to a climax that makes the denouement feel insufficient. The prologue is always a calm, one that is such a stark contrast to the rising action that everything slows. You just have to learn to appreciate the tranquility of it all.”

She stared into the fire thoughtfully. “It seems like my whole life has been never ending rising action. I’ve hardly ever given myself a moment to rest. I’m not sure I know how to handle tranquility.”

“It’s easy enough,” he said. “You find something in the quiet that means something to you, and you let the stillness of the moment lull you into meditation.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Is that what you do after killing someone?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I actually did it a lot more when I was a kid.”

Aloy perked. Nil never offered much about his past. “Really? What did you think about?”

“My parents, mostly,” Nil said, taking another bite of his turkey leg. “Everything I did as a child was a reflection of them. I remember I was eight when I killed my first boar. My father had been training me with a bow for weeks and I wasn’t very good at it; kept hitting rocks and ruining the arrowheads. But one day my arrow struck right between the eyes of a male boar and the only thing I could think about in the ringing silence of victory was how proud my parents would be when I brought home the carcase.”

A soft smile spread across Aloy’s lips. “It sounds like you really love them.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before she could name it.

“Yeah,” he said.

They finished eating by the time the final moments of day disappeared on the horizon. Bellies sated and muscles tired, they fed the fire, walked the perimeter one last time, and stoked the little smokehouse. Smoothing out their bedrolls, they began shedding their gear for the night.  

Their armor accumulated in a pile beside their rucksacks. Aloy removed her warrior’s circlet from her hair as Nil made to pull off his helmet.

She suddenly realized she had never pictured what Nil might like under that metal headdress of his. She supposed her mind had just assumed he had hair like many of the Carja she has seen in her travels, all tight braids or cropped cuts, anything short that didn’t catch on their helms. As he yanked the helmet off however, Aloy discovered that Nil’s hair was as unexpected as he was. It was razored at the sides and brushed back to keep stray strands from falling into his eyes. He did not tease it into thick strands as Rost had done, nor did he tie it back in Carja fashion. She did notice however, as he ran his fingers through his locks to loosen them, that there were smaller braids intermingled here and there.

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until he met her gaze.

“Problem?” he asked.

He almost looked like another person. Smaller. More vulnerable. More human.

“I’ve never seen you without your helmet before,” she replied.

He snickered. “Did you think it was attached to me?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You just look… different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Just… different.”

He chuckled to himself as he unbuckled his holster, letting the conversation drop.

They settled into an amiable silence as they crawled inside their bedrolls. The ground was a rough comfort to Aloy, reminding her of previous travels and her past hunting trips with Rost. The night air was mild and calm, a slight breeze sweeping by to rustle the trees intermittently. The sky was dark but cloudless, the moon illuminating the clearing and complimenting the multitude of shining lights scattered across the heavens.

“What do you think they are?” Nil asked suddenly.

Aloy glanced at him. His arms were folded behind his head as he stared, bright eyed and transfixed at the sky. “The stars?”

“Yes.”

She returned her gaze to the night. “I’m not sure. The Nora used to say they were the freckles of All-Mother.”

His laugh rang in the silence. “That’s a lot of freckles.”

“Some people have a lot of freckles.”

“I’ve noticed.”

There was something in his voice that made it sound like was talking directly to her, but when she looked over he was still looking at the stars.

“I always thought they were the Old Ones,” he said.

“Really?” Aloy asked, surprised.

“Yes. There was just something reassuring about the idea that the slain could live on above us, watching and protecting us.”

“That’s an odd thing for you to say,” she remarked, “considering how many people you’ve killed.”

“I don’t believe every soul can live on,” he said. “Those who live tainted lives should be cast to the demons. When I see the light fade from the eyes of the wretched, I hope they fall into the deepest darkness. But those who are pure, the children, the innocent, and the people who fight for justice, I think they should be able to continue on, to see the contributions they made to the world, the people they’ve affected.”

She thought of Nakoa. She thought of Elizabet. She thought of Rost.

She sighed. “That would be nice.”

She was in Mother’s Heart, sitting around a fire with Teb. The tall flames kept them warm as they perched on logs side by side and discussed the years between their first meeting and the present. Teb held cloth in his lap and stitched the fabric as he listened to her tell stories of her childhood in the Embrace.

She was with Petra in Free Heap, hunched over a worktable and tinkering with bits of the forgewoman’s latest invention. They passed tools to each other as they worked, and took swigs out of the same water canteen. They filled the silence with sly banter and hearty laughter.

She was in the forest, bow at the ready and Talanah at her side. The sun was rising over the hill and backlit the imposing pair of Ravagers before them. She shared a look with her Hawk before pulling her string tight and loosing a barrage of fire arrows at the machines. The beasts roared and charged, and their hunt was underway.

She was in the banquet hall in Meridian, flanked by Erend and Avad as they ate supper at the impressive, imperial dinner table. Her plate was full of food from her lands and her cup with drink from Erend’s. The air was filled with their energetic chatter as they snickered and chuckled at each other with a sense of familiarity that only came from close friends bound in battle.

She was trapping with Rost.

The woods were bright as they ventured out to check their snares. Two had already come up empty, but their third held a rabbit that would feed them well enough. They walked together in that earnest companionship they had forged as foster-father and daughter. Every now and then they would stray from the path to pick off the wandering Watchers in the area, competing amongst themselves who had the better shot before moving back to the trail.

They were checking their fourth trap, talking about medicinal plants, when the darkness crept in. It seeped up from the ground and swarmed in through the air, engulfing the two of them in a black haze. The thick of it pressed into her lungs and she choked, looking franticly at Rost in panic. He was gasping for air just as she was, wrapped up in the skulking shadows that seemed to swallow them. She tried to scream, but no sound could escape past the smoke in her mouth. She reached out for Rost, but the darkness just consumed her hand. She started thrashing around, trying to loosen the grip the mist had on her, needing to get to Rost the more the life left his eyes.

“Aloy! …Aloy!”

Aloy jolted awake, a desperate gasp wrenching from her lips. Her chest heaved with each laborious breath and her mind reeled from the shock of reality. Her forehead was drenched in sweat and her hair clung to it in matted pieces. She had also somehow wiggled out of her bedroll.

“It’s okay, just breathe. You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Nil was kneeling beside her, hair tousled from sleep and shirtless in his nightclothes. He was holding her upright, bracing her back on his shoulder and grasping her upper arm with his hand gently to support her weight. The feel of his skin was a small but effective comfort, a tactile reality. Still, the dream lingered in the shadows of the forest night and Aloy found herself reaching for Nil in return.

“That must have been quite the nightmare,” he said, voice groggy. He must have just awoken. “You were flailing in your sleep. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said numbly between breaths. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She didn’t need to look at him to know he didn’t believe her.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

The darkness flashed back into her mind, devouring her friends, stealing the soul from Rost… She shivered despite herself. “No.”

His voice was a patient, soothing rumble in her ear. “It’s normal to be afraid of dreams, you know. They’re one of the only things in the world we cannot control.”

The laugh she barked out was short and skeptical. “That sounds odd coming from you.”

She could feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled. “I’m not without my own fears. There are plenty of horrors lurking in the crevices of my mind ready to assail me the moment I close my eyes.”

She tried to twist around to see his expression, but their position made the movement uncomfortable. “What could you possibly be afraid of?”

“Perhaps that is a discussion for another day,” he said. “All you need to know is that dreams are fabrications; they do not exist. Nothing can hurt you in your own mind.”

“The past can.”

“Yes, it can,” he said with a nod, his stubble brushing against her hair. “But it can also heal. You have to purge your mind of plagues, dominate what controls you. Your mind is your own and no demon has the right to dictate your thoughts. You’re a warrior, Aloy. You can slay the darkness hounding your dreams.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed his words, but the fact that he was here speaking them helped settle her racing heart. “Thank you, Nil.”

And then there was that rumbling chuckle again, like thunder after a drought. “After all you’ve done, it’s the least I could do.” He paused for a moment, assumedly looking at the horizon as he said, “Day will break within the hour. Shall we break camp and venture forward?”

Relief flooded her. After all this fuss, she wanted nothing more than to keep her idle hands busy and her frantic mind off that black smoke. She detached herself from Nil and stood, fixing her twisted clothes.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go find something to shoot.”

His mouth stretched into a mischievous smile. “Now we’re talking.”

They set about collecting their things; putting their armor back on, collecting the meat from the smoker, tying up their bedrolls. As they worked, she kept catching Nil yawn and felt a pang of guilt. Of course, she hadn’t meant to wake him up during the night, but he had awoken regardless and left the warmth of his sleeping sack to rouse and calm her. This too, suggesting they depart now instead of going ack to sleep, she realized was for her sake as well. He understood the need for her to do something after an unpleasant night like hers.

As he turned to her, gear slung over his back, Nil flashed her that Cheshire grin of his, and Aloy felt grateful for his presence.

Part 2 end

[godseyegalaxy]

The Flame and Wax Flower 1

      Salt saturated the air and settled itself into the wood’s grains like the clusters of barnacles on the hull of the ship. The sails, ropes and every article of clothing were drenched with the sea’s vapor as well as the crew’s sweat, but still the group of men and women worked under the sparsely decorated mid-morning sky. On deck, piles of nets and heaps of dead or dying sea life twitched and emitted a layer of cooking rot that hovered inches above the carcasses. One by one crabs, urchins, and sea grass were picked up and thrown in separate piles accordingly while the fish were left on the deck for later.  

   Bodies carefully picked their way through the mounds as they pulled on ropes or cleared an area for the new load being lifted out of the water. A myriad of shouts coordinated together to pull the heavy net out of the water, up the side of the hull, into the air and finally over the steaming deck. Within three short commands, the area was cleared from crew members and the net dropped. Along with the sound of a couple hundred fish bouncing on top of their brethren, a loud thud got the attention of the closest crew mates. A series of calls for the Captian echoed from person to person until the message was delivered below deck by a sea sick girl to the Captian herself.          A dark-skinned woman of thirty-something swung open the warped door with a bowl of oatmeal in one decorated hand and a spoon in the other. Icora already had her coat on her shoulders and boots laced, she handed the apprentice her bowl and spoon and started to tie back her tangled black hair into a loose pony tail.       “Go back an’ lie down Martie- I heard the commotion from updeck when they started holorin’.” Icora gently pushed the lanky girl back towards the bunks with her elbow.   “Alright cap’tan, tell me what goin’ on when ya get back, yeah?” Martie wobbled down aisle with the empty spoon in her mouth.   “If you’re awake to ‘ear it.”      Icora forwent the idea of tying her hair back and proceeded to wrap her forehead with a stained turquoise cloth, the common visage of the captain, as she climbed up. She threw back the door and shielded her eyes against the rising sun. Kicking fish out of her path, members of the crew ushered her forward wreaking Icora’s headache.    She scowled, “Alright, Alright! Settle down one at a time, Brinkley! Where are ya?”    The first mate pushed his way passed two large twins, “Here, Captian,” He turned to the crowd, “Back up, folks, captain's here, let's clear tha way an' get back to work!”       A number of the crew nodded and returned to their task at hand while others backed away but still kept an eye on the situation. Icora slid her arms into her leather coat as Brinkley lead her to the far side of the deck. To the left another net sagging with the weight of fish was pulled out of the sea.      A wall of bodies surrounded the object of interest and only when the captain announced her arrival did the fortress open up. The captain stepped forward to see a woman-like figure picking kelp from her hair on top of the mound of flopping fish. The mermaid glanced over frowning and made the effort to flip her iridescent tail over so that her body faced the Captian.    “I thought we agreed to stop meeting like this.” The mermaid’s voice was low and smooth, but obviously displeased, however she spoke fluently and loud enough so the circle could understand her. A rarity among her kind; merpeople didn’t need a spoken dialect because of their usual underwater status. The mermaid flicked a wet clump away from her face, her frown becoming more prominent.      Icora barked out a laugh that made the entire ship’s deck go silent. Her heels crushed a fish’s skull as she stepped forward and bent down to face the gray-skinned catch.    “I may be named after Icarus, but you are the one that flies too close to the sun!”    The maid scoffed and turned away from the Captian and tried to pull her way to the boat’s railing. “Very well! I’ll take my leave now.”    The captain watched smiling as the crew sidestepped the topless creature as she pulled her body down fish carcases, her silver fin following uselessly in the damp heat.      “Oh, come now, Cera, you just got ‘ere! Come, stay until the sun set and have a few drinks. We’ll share stories and a few laughs.”  Cerinthe screeched as she was lifted by her waist up into the air by the captain herself. She clawed for the cursed wooden planks until she was flipped over and made to face Icara’s square face.  “I insist.” Her broad smile was yellow, square and crooked and her breath was a sickening mixture of cheap gin and sea food.      The mermaid reared back, pushing her body away from the pirate while her tail flailed for a solid surface as Icora spun around and presented her like a prize to those silently listening on deck.    “Listen and look fast fellas! Someone specials payin’ us a visit! Treat’er nice an well and I might just let ya dogs have supper inside. Got it?”    “Aye, Captain!” The bodies on deck shouted before returning to the normal work, letting the net on the left side drop to the floor.    Cerinthe sighed in defeat and pushed her hands in her armpits. Looking away from her captor, she said, “I hate you, you know that right?”     “Huh?” The Captain started to move back to the shade of the cabin; refuge from the growing aura. “I thought pirates and mermaids had great relationships with each other.” She laughed.     Back in the dim light, Cerinthe shivered and shook lose droplets of water. Her tail slid against the wooden pillars and her hair stuck to the walls and slapped each step as they went down. The lower deck was only lit by a single lamp and the shards of lights that broke through the shutters and accompanied by the rhythmic swinging and grinding of rope against rope. Carelessly, Icora's boots pounded down the aisle, walking in time to the boats swaying. She barged through the doorway into the chaotic entanglement of hammocks, crates, and canvas sacks.      A few feet from the entrance, Martie looked up, she looked sicker in the flickering light of her personal lantern, but at least the accompanying sight of puke was missing from the scene. The little island-native girl squinted her eyes and switch between the familiar sight of the astute captain and the merlady in her arms.      Cerinthe mumbled and glanced behind her, also squinting in the red light.       "Hey... Martie."     "Oh, 'ello Cera... nice to see ya again."   Cerinthe mumbled in reply while Icora set her down in the hammock across from where Martie lay. The majority of her tail settled on the floor and her hair made an ink pool beneath her.     "Keep her company, will ya? I need to finish some work before we all talk." Icora lit another lantern above them and promptly left, footsteps fading until the undeniable sound of the captain's door opening and slamming shut.     Something that felt like silence seeped in from the outside, or maybe from below. The lamp overhead oscillated, pulling the little flame in circles. The grinding of the ropes faded into white noise as Cerinthe stared half-lidded up to the dripping ceiling.       Martie rested her head on the edge of the hammock. "Want me to brush your hair?"     "Sure." She replied.

[ecotone99]

The Rumble [HR]

Alex was working on homework in his room about 9 o’clock at night. He was wrapped in his blanket, eating dry cereal, and was just about to finish the first draft of his essay (due tomorrow), when, far away, he heard a deep, low rumbling. This was not like any noise he had heard before. It was not like an earthquake, that was a sound he had grown quite familiar with. And he also knew the sound of distant construction, as his father was a construction worker, and that wasn’t it either. This rumbling, Alex thought, sounded like the stomach of something very large, and very hungry. This thought bothered him for a moment and he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, but after about 10 minutes had passed and nothing else of note had happened, Alex got back to work on his paper and tried to forget about the strange sound.

It was about the time he typed the final word of his essay, that he began hearing a scattered, wet thumping against the far side of the house on the second floor. This unnerving sound started slow, but almost like popcorn after it has been in the microwave for several seconds, the thumping got quicker. And the sound multiplied, getting progressively louder until it sounded like some unholy rain pouring down horizontally on only one side of the house.

A sense of panic growing in him, Alex took out his phone, and began attempting to call his parents, who were out on a date night, only to find he had no signal, and that the home wifi likewise was absent of any internet connection. The sound still raging on outside, Alex ran to turn on his radio and television. Both produced only static, but Alex swore he could make out the screeching tones of the Emergency Alert System ringing out underneath it. Alex turned off the tv, and pressed his ear against the speaker of the radio, straining to hear anything other than the pounding and the static.

But just as Alex was sure that he could hear the stilted, monotone words of the emergency broadcast, the electricity drained from the houses power lines, leaving Alex utterly in the dark, and silencing his radio. Shortly after, the thudding outside also came to a close and there was complete silence. For a long time alex just sat there, still kneeling at his desk, his ear still pressed firmly against his radio speaker. Alex had been terrified of the loud noise outside. But as he sat there, frozen, the silence also seemed to carry in it some sort of danger to be avoided.

When a time passed that felt to Alex like an hour or more, and all was still silent, he made a firm decision that whatever was happening, inaction would do no good against it. He needed to investigate and assess whatever was going on for himself.

Promptly upon stepping out from his room, alex was overcome by a feeling of…. He wasn’t sure, but deep in his chest he knew that something was different. Something had changed imperceptibly, and was now very wrong. It was as though, Alex thought, he felt someone watching him, but watching from within his own body.

While trying to shake off this sense of dread, he crept through the dark quiet house, using the light from his phone to illuminate his path. He moved down the hall moving from one room to the other, checking each of them briefly for any sign of, well, of whatever was going on, until he arrived at the front door.

He braced himself. If he was going to figure out what was going on he would have to go outside and see what the cause was of all the thudding he had heard earlier. Alex paused, took a deep breath, and stepped boldly into the night air. Still using his phones flash to light his way he began slowly making his way towards the side of the house the loud, wet thudding had been coming from.

When he rounded the corner he nearly vomited. And then he did vomit.

In mounds around the base of the wall were hundreds of dead birds of every variety he could think of, and some he had seldom thought to consider, most with clearly broken necks, some still twitching as they lay on the ground. This must have been the source of the terrible noise, Alex thought. He looked up at the second story of the house and found it covered in thick, bright red blood. As he saw this a powerful scent of iron suddenly enraptured his sense of smell, seeming to catch up with his other senses in witness of the horror he had discovered. He almost vomited a second time, but managed to keep it down.

Alex was seriously considering grabbing his bike, and booking it through the darkness into town, when out of the woods came another deep, low rumbling. It sounded like something very large, and very hungry had come just a bit closer to it’s meal.

Before Alex could think of why he had come to that conclusion, the deep rumble was followed by another rumble of sorts. This one had more of a plural sound to it, like thousands of drums being beat over and over all at one time. Then the ground began to shake, and before he knew it, Alex was surrounded on all sides by stampeding animals of every kind. Hoofed, clawed, big, small, predator and prey all unified under one goal: get away. Or at the very least get somewhere that’s not here. Realizing that he was in grave danger, Alex quickly rounded the corner away from the side of the house that the birds were mounded beneath (which the animals were also running full speed towards) and flattened himself against the side of the house parallel to the direction of the stampede. Several horns, antlers and various other dangerous animal appendages came close to seriously maiming Alex, but after several minutes passed he found that his strategy awarded him relative safety.

He stood there, eyes sealed, hands clutched over ears to escape the awful sound, when he felt, above the shaking of the ground, a small something shivering against the inside of his leg. Alex cracked an eyelid opened and peered down to see that a small house dog had taken refuge between his feet which was now looking up at him as if pleading for protection. Filled with compassion, Alex waited for a gap in the flow of terrified animals in front of him and quickly reached down to rescue the dog.

He held his new friend close to his chest, and closed his eyes tightly once again. However now that his hands were occupied protecting the dog, he was helpless but to hear the whelping and whining, the screaming of the animals around him. He heard animals crushing bird carcases under foot, only to ram head first into the wall and join the corpses collected there to be crushed themselves moments later. This went on for what alex was sure this time must have been hours, as the forest purged itself of any life capable of running from whatever threat remained inside.

After some time had passed the sound of pounding feet and hooves slowly began to grow more scattered, more quiet. Until it was replaced only by alex’s own heart beat, the whimper of the dog in his arms, and the pained, desperate sounds of several dozen trampled animals slowly dying around him. Alex kept his eyes closed and as he did so, he heard the injured animals, one after the other, die and grow quiet. This time alex had no concept at all of how long he stood there, hearing the life finally leave those poor husks desperate to be rid of it. Until only his dear companion remained and eventually went quiet and limp in his arms as well.

And then Alex was suddenly aware of the absence of his own heart-beat. And yet he was still awake. Still aware of his body. He began to panic, but with the absence of an ever increasing thumping in his chest he didn’t know how he could tell panic from any other emotion - fear, sadness, regret - that he was feeling in that same moment.

It was in this state of confusion and anguish that the familiar sound, a deep, low rumbling, no longer distant in the slightest, felt like a relief.

And alex thought to himself, though he knew not why, that it sounded like something very large, and very hungry, that had finally come upon its prey. Alex dropped the lifeless dog and looked into the eyes of the one One who had come seeking him.

And he looked through Its eyes at himself.

And he looked through his own eyes at himself.

And his eyes were Its eyes.

And Its eyes were his.

And all the fear and sadness and regret, as well as all the joy and pleasure and happiness, as well as everything Alex had ever known, or thought or felt was gone. And in its place was nothing but truth.

Its truth.

And a deep low rumbling sound came from far within Alex’s gut, and to all who heard it, though none could explain why, it sounded like something very large, that had been very hungry, for a very long time.

And It was finally satisfied.

submitted by /u/yourguidefortheday [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2ERTqXt

[salutethepig]

Curing & smoking (& sundry other diverse arcana)

In my quest to learn everything there is to know about the art of charcuterie (an impossible task, I know, but this is after all, a voyage of mystery & discovery, not a race to finish at some well defined ending), I’m constantly reading different guides and recipes and books and articles.

One of the ones that I keep going back to, reading & re-reading it constantly, is “Curing & Smoking” by Steve Lamb, of River Cottage fame. It’s detailed, passionate, fun, informative and pretty much a (secular) bible for people interested in the craft and history of charcuterie.

So, the chance to spend a day learning at the feet of the master, with Steve at River Cottage HQ in Dorset came up and I jumped at the opportunity.

After a bone-shaking trip down to the farm in the back of a tractor-drawn trailer (the normal short meadow walk being blocked by a large bull), the day started with a small but gorgeous snack of “face bacon*” & maple syrup, on small Scots pancakes along with a glass of Kingston Black apple brandy.

Face bacon & other great cuts ©Root of NOLA 2014

(This image isn’t from River Cottage by the way, but it’s explained below)

* And what is “face bacon, I hear you ask? Here’s a great description from Chef Phillip Lopez, of Root in New Orleans (a restaurant that wasn’t there when we were working in the Crescent City, but reason enough on its own to go back. I’m going to ask if he’d let me apprentice with him):

I gotta say the face bacon. By far, it’s my favorite. It was a crazy idea I had before coming to Root, and I started experimenting with the face. I spent a long time defining this technique. And we utilize the the face bacon in different ways. Of course, it’s on the board, but when we were serving marrow bones, we would make a face bacon jam to go with it. And we always have scraps leftover from slicing, so I asked the bartender for ideas. We came up with this – well, we would render the fat from the face bacon and add it to Bulleit bourbon and sous vide it for 24 hours. Then we’d freeze it, so the fat could be easily separated. Take the fat off, and we have face bacon bourbon! Voila, face bacon manhattan. It’s a little smokey and it’s pretty freaking awesome. The demand for it is so high that we’re making like five bottles of it a week.

And so to work…

A delightful piece of meat, half of a 9 month old, rare breed Oxford Sandy & Black (I’ll be writing up a history of this great breed shortly, for the History pages) is what we all soon started working on. Remember that commercial breeds go to be butchered at only five months. Madness.

Bred on their farm, slaughtered close by a day or so earlier, this couldn’t have been more local or fresher. A lovely piece of meat, with great fat depth & even marbling (as we were to find out) although not quite at the Wagyu beef level but then this is a pig after all, not a cow that’s been raised for close to 36 months before being slaughtered. Anyway, enough, I’ll be doing a piece on Wagyu beef elsewhere at some point.

½ a pig at River Cottage

In the background, you’ll see (a) Steve in whites and (b) the meat grinder. The former started work straight away, the latter only came into play an hour or so later. With only half a dozen other people there, it made for a great atmosphere and gave everyone the chance to practice their knife & butchery skills when it came to breaking down the carcase.

Nothing was going to be wasted – “respect the animal” in action.

So with some cursing (certainly on my part when I was asked to remove the skin from a huge side) and much furious knife wielding & regular sharpening by everyone, the carcase was broken down, cut by cut, under Steve’s guidance.

Remembering that “nothing wasn’t to be used”, meant that whilst none of us could claim to have reached Master Butcher standards at any point, that wasn’t important. What was important was that we learnt what the cuts & muscles were and that every piece of meat & bone was to be utilised, either by us in the charcuterie or by the chefs for stock & sausages.

I’ve no ‘photos of the resultant pieces, sorry, far too busy listening to Steve describe what we’d be doing with them later.

We ate everything that we worked on — thank the deity that I’m not doing this course every day or I’d be the size of the side of a house within a week.

This rather attractive grouping of salami was produced by everyone. The first one was actually produced by me, although how you’d know, I’ve no idea.

Salami. That’s it.

And here, courtesy of Steve & River Cottage, is how we went about the first part of this process:

To get the right texture, it’s very important that the back fat is diced extremely finely. It does take time, but it’s worth it. It’s a good idea to freeze the fat first, which makes it easier to cut.

Ingredients: Makes about 15 salamis

6 metres of beef runners or beef middles

2.6 kg lean pork from the shoulder, minced on an 8mm plate

400g back fat, cut into 2mm dice

1-2 cloves of garlic, peeled and very finely chopped

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1-2 glasses of red wine

60g salt

Malt vinegar and olive oil, to finish

Before you get to work on your salami mix, put the beef runners to soak in a large bowl of fresh water. Slosh them about to rinse off the salt then leave them to soak overnight. When they are slippery, flexible and completely rinsed of salt, they are ready to use.

Mix together all the other ingredients (except the vinegar and oil) – with your bare (but clean) hands, if you like – so that the salt and fat are well distributed throughout the mix. Load up your sausage-making machine with the mix, slide a length of beef runner on to the nozzle, and tie the end of the casing into a knot, as you would tie a balloon. Then tie a short length of butcher’s string in an ordinary granny knot inside the knot. Make a loop with the string so you can hang the sausage up, and tie it again with a second knot in the same place. Stuff the casing with the mix until you have a filled a length of 40–50cm. As you work use a very sharp pin to prick the casing all over. This allows any air to escape and ensures you get a nice, tight salami. Cut off the runner, leaving enough unfilled runner at the end to tie another knot.

Hold up the filled casing with the knotted end at the bottom and squeeze the mixture down the casing gently, so it is nice and tight. Prick it again with the pin as you do this. Then tie another knot in the top of the runner and make another loop with string, just as you did at the other end. The compacted sausage, tied at both ends, will now be 30–40cm long, although you can make shorter ones if you like. It’s useful to have two people on the job for an efficient production line: one to do the filling and cutting, the other to do the knots and hang up the filled runners.

The salamis should be hung individually by the string loops in a cool, well-ventilated place where the temperature is not likely to rise above 12°C. Make sure they are not touching a wall, or each other, and they are not in direct sunlight. Over the coming weeks, a number of moulds, ranging in colour from grey-green to white and even orange, may form on the casings. None of these should worry you but you can wash them off with a cloth soaked in malt vinegar if you wish.

The salami may take anything from 4 to 10 weeks to mature, depending on the conditions and, indeed, on how you like them. They can be tried as soon as they are fairly firm to the touch and dry-looking, but they will continue to dry out and harden until they are practically rock hard. When they reach the stage you like, wipe off any mould from the outside with a cloth soaked in vinegar. Rub the salami with a little olive oil and transfer it to the fridge. Serve your salami in slices 2–3mm thick. If you prefer, peel off the ring of casing from each slice before eating, although it is perfectly safe to eat.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of various cuts, techniques (inc. brining, dry rubbing hot & cold smoking) and flavours and textures. I’d be typing for another day or so to cover everything that Steve showed us. Suffice to say that you need to (a) buy his book (and he signed my copy, that I’d brought along that day, with a smile) or (b) book a day on his course. Or (c) — which is what I’d really recommend — both of these options.

Curing & Smoking: River Cottage Handbook No.13

He’s a hugely passionate, committed and interested tutor and I can’t praise him too highly or underplay just quite how much I enjoyed this day. I came away even more confident that charcuterie is what I love doing and also that there’s nothing to be scared of in either the techniques or in recipes given — just a case of practice, practice, practice and experiment, experiment, experiment. Think of your own additions to the the mixes and rubs and brines and see what they do. They may well work.

And finally? Finally, a shot from inside their temperature & humidity controlled hanging store. If this doesn’t have you drooling over the page and wanting to do your own charcuterie, then nothing will.

Inside the temple of River Cottage

And finally, finally, a quick shout out to The Whole Hog in Lyme Regis for their dedication to producing just one thing, but that one thing extremely well; a hefty portion of pork pulled off the joint, accompanied by crackling, apple sauce, reduced onions & gravy inna white bun. Kudos guys. It’s great.

Me? I’m off to start work on a 12-month Prosciutto cure. Wish me luck.

Curing & smoking (& sundry other diverse arcana) was originally published on Salute The Pig

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 6.. December 1837

8 ¾

12 50

fine soft morning F36 ½° at 9 50 and breakfast – before breakfast was over went out to Mr. Wheatley – 2nd visit to Mangnall – doing very well – pity to shoot the horse – would do for a coach-house – then with Mr. Ramsden foundry man, in the new bank, who came about the drying closet – a stone floor would not answer – should be iron, and have a fire (like a boiler fire) to itself from the room adjoining the laundry – R-‘s job would cost about £6 of which about 17/. (2/. for Wood and 15/. for labour) for the models maker then finished breakfast and A- came and sat by me – she poorly but would ride to Bouldhsaw – off about 12 and back about 5 having sent George over from B- to the Bowling iron to inquire about the iron hay racks for farm stable (late cow house) – to come on Saturday or Monday – note to this effect in answer to my message meant to have gone to H-x but had Mr. Sharpe from near Redhall with his dark brown cart horse (led by John Sunderland of the old Dumb mill beershop) price 30 guineas – heavy, gummy legged, tup-faced – must be of slow action – rather slow – but all agree a good horse – six off – S- should have asked £25 thought of setting the gray against the brown – S- asked what I valued the gray at – 27 guineas – as well or better worth that than the brown worth 30 guineas – S- seemed unwilling to leave the horse on trial – asked if he would take gray and Magnall in exchange he made no answer – I said I would think about his horse, and let him know if I thought more of him – Sunderland asked what I would take for Magnall - £10 – what was the lowest? said I might shoot him and get but a sovereign for skin and carcase but I would not sell him for that – Townend came – stood by so did we all – (Sharpe Sunderland John Booth and David B- the mason) – while T- unloosed the dressings – a terrible cut, but veins and sinews safe and the wound doing very well – T- said the horse was not worth more than a sovereign now – I said if I did not have the animal shot, T- would hear and might come again, if he liked in a few days, and we would try to bargain – I would not keep the horse – all this and a long talk with DB. (want Edward to sleep at Northgate till the Crosslands take possession) took me till after 4 – then with Robert Mann + 5 at the low fishpond – and a little with the masons – the passage into the hall re-flagged temporary 3 men at the saddle room doorstead turning to the east end of the building (towards the coach house court) and walling up rewalling up the corner of the building – much shaken before being taken down – in the stables and about till near 6 – a little while with A- she gave me ten pounds towards bill for Northgate sometime in the wine cellar getting in 4 sacks of saw dust brought from H-x the other day and left at the cellar-door – warmed myself by cellaring the stuff myself – dressed – dinner at 7 10 Mr. Jubb here (saw him) this morning just before A- went – came 2nd time (1st on Monday) to see Cookson – much better as to the pain in her side. A- read French I read (much aloud) the newspaper – tea about 9 – wrote all the above of today till about 10 ¾ pm finish day for the time of year – asked Mallinson junior at noon what he had thought about Mitham (some days ago offered him buildings except the barn and Ing and little croft and gardens at £30 per annum) answer his intended father and mother in law very agreeable to it – I conclude .:. no objection to rent – said I had not yet received AG.-‘s answer – 2 swans 1st seen on the meer this morning strayed from somewhere – cousin came gently about dinner time F32° at 11 ¾ pm