#today I brushed my cows and then I drew a bit and then also worked on my whittling project while on the phone w my bestie and then I went

[frootloopscereal]

imagine a life without hobbies. fucking incomprehensible.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 74: Lessons and Dreams

Chapters: 74/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: G

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary:  You are troubled by dreams, while Loki seeks ways to make things easier on you. You receive an unexpected visitor.

They day was almost upon you. The decorations were all up, your drum beat and chant were properly memorized. Several Avengers were on route, and parts of the semi-built city had been cleared and cordoned off for the festivities. Buridag was almost here.

You had your cloak and armor. You had your drum, and your parts memorized. You had your beloved prince, and your Valkyrie escort. There were some things missing though.

You wished Nanna Beth could have been here to see this. You wished someone from back home could be here to see this. Someone other than Todd, who damn well didn't deserve it, but would be here anyway. You had the feeling that, if you asked, Loki would have had him barred from attending, but you didn't want to go down that road. You were supposed to be a grand symbol of the integration of humans and Asgardians, and you didn't think you could do that honestly while at the same time excluding people just because you didn't like them, and they were awful people. Which Todd was. Ugh, why hadn't he gone home yet? He hadn't spoken to you, or tried to contact you, and he didn't even seem to be trying to cause trouble. It was weird.

And then there was the issue of the bull...you still didn't know what to do about it. You were coming to the conclusion that you would simply have to endure, and somehow go on with your life. Would it be good for you? To further experience and understand the importance of death? To become a symbolic provider of plenty for the gathered celebrants?

You would just have to clench your teeth and deal with it. It was one of those hard lessons you would have to learn as the lover-and advisor-to royalty.

You'd probably never touch a hamburger again though.

Sleep had been coming to you only reluctantly; the long, stretching moments after closing your eyes for the night were filled with thoughts and questions about Ymir's Dreamscape. You were not permitted access to the artwork-no one was. For all that it was contained within the protective confines of the shield and size-changing devices, it was still considered too precious for informal handling.

But it haunted you. You saw them painting in your dreams, shapes and concepts you had difficulty understanding. Glancing over their shoulder at the workings of a truly alien mind, and hoping not to be noticed, though you were no more than a mote in their eye.

Streaks of color. Clusters of circles. Shapes that were nearly anthropomorphic, yet wrong somehow.  They drew and drew, in between millennia long stares of contemplation, watching the asteroids clump up bigger and bigger. Occasionally they had to brush them away from their immense body.

They had more fingers than you did, and each one was stained with color, almost all the way to where they joined with the palm. Crackled veins of colored light pulsed up and down the fingers, from a bright spark on the tip of each; it flashed whenever they dragged their fingertip along the canvas they had created.

You couldn't see the whole thing: it was so big, and so far away, and they weren't done making it yet. You would always wake up before they were finished. You would see the colors more vividly in the daytime; certain hues of red and blue, purple, yellow, orange, and green-they popped out at you. Each of the great beings fingers traced its color into your eyes.

Your lessons had tapered off, to give you time to concentrate on the festival. You weren't though; artwork occupied your mind. You doodled approximations of the things you saw in your dreams, close, but never quite right.

You tapped your drum, and recited your chant, the ancient words spinning back countless aeons, and thought about colors.

                                                                        ******

Loki stood out in the paddock and watched the bull. It was a proud creature; it walked the confines of the fence, confident in its great strength and prowess, munched its hay secure in the knowledge that it could not be bested.

It died tomorrow. He would swing the sword he almost never used, and bring the feast to everyone. It wouldn't be the only one: There were pigs and chickens and sheep, already butchered and ready to go, it was just the bull that was symbolic.

“Magnificent beast, is he not, my liege?” Andsvarr asked. “Shame about the public execution though. I know it's tradition, but it seems a bit gratuitous.”

“You speak very freely today, Alarrson.” Loki said. “You lack guile. Say what you came to say.”

“Er, I apologize your Highness, I did not know how to broach the subject. Have you perhaps spoken with your good lady about the bull sacrifice?”

“Not beyond discussing it as a part of Burdag tradition. Otherwise, she has been rather busy learning her ritual.” He paused, realizing Andsvarr knew something he didn't. “Why? Has she confided something in you?”

“I would say that she has, your Highness.” Andsvarr said. “Has she brought up her discomfort with this sacrifice to you?”

“She has not...Though now that you do, I can't say I'm surprised.” That may have something to do with your increased tension lately. The way your mind had been wandering. There was a great deal of stress on you; perhaps he should have thought more about how the live sacrifice of the bull might effect you.

“Humans used to make such sacrifices very often, from what I've read.” Andsvarr continued. “It's one of the customs we shared. It's much less common now, I hear, but since she came from a smaller farming settlement, I would have thought she'd seen one before.”

Loki shook his head. “Her community is agrarian, and a monoculture at that. While I was there, I saw no livestock at all. Just endless corn.”

“Weird stuff.” Andsvarr commented. “But tasty. And so many applications.”

“It is not, I think, only the sacrifice that troubles her.” Loki said. “It is the sacrifice on top of everything else. If that doomed giant hadn't woken up...”

“If we hadn't been digging in the ice.” Andsvarr pointed out, then withered under Loki's stare.

“Don't think I haven't thought the same.” Loki said severely. “But my brother has been studying the humans effect on their own planet, and he tells me that the melting of the ice may have been inevitable. They will awaken, no matter what. Better now that we are prepared. But it shan't be before Burdag, so now I must think of what to do with him.” He gestured toward the ox. “His fate is sealed, but I wonder if there is some way I might change the presentation? Removing her from the ceremony would reflect poorly on the public, but...”

“If it pleases...” Andsvarr interrupted after the pause. “There was talk in the barracks about something one of the gate guards heard from an islandpostur man, that the bets were on whether the Gävle goat would burn this year, and when. I looked it up because some of us were placing bets. You have a hand phone don't you? If you look, you might have the same idea I did.”

“When did everyone around me decide that cryptic was the way to be?” Loki complained. But he realized that Andsvarr was allowing him to claim credit, rather than trying to dictate to royalty.

Andsvarr went off to his drills, and Loki left the ox to his munching. A quick check showed the Gävle to be a kind of effigy, composed of straw-a stand in for a real goat. This was how human civilizations got around the ritual spilling of blood. By sacrificing in the shape of the original.

He saw instantly what Andsvarr had. But how to make it work? The sacrifice and butchering was to be done right there on the spot; obviously, that couldn't be done with straw.

But a container covered in paper and flour paste, shaped like a cow...

Maybe.

He needed to find Beli.

                                                                   ******

There was a flat, dry area outside of Asgard and Trolerkaerhalla that was reserved for the landing of small planes and other aircrafts. It was cleared of snow, and roped off so that the air travelers could get inside the city as swiftly as possible, but that didn't stop the more die-hard of admirers from putting on their warmest clothing and waiting to catch a glimpse of who was coming to the festival. Some of the arrivals were no one of note to the observers, but a few of them garnered great attention; The Vision, in his bright colors, Maximoff, and Dr. Banner, as uncomfortable as ever with the cheering and applause.

They weren't the only important people to have answered their invitations: representatives and ambassadors from all around the North Atlantic Sea were coming in-from the relatively nearby Faroe, Shetland, and Orkney islands, as well as the Hebrides, whose names you were just learning.

You were at the gates to greet these esteemed visitors, speaking what little Icelandic you had managed to learn. There were a surprising number of representatives; it seemed like everywhere in the North wanted to be there-people from each of the Scandinavian countries and various areas within, to the larger island countries; Scotland, England, Wales, Ireland and North Ireland.

You still didn't quite know the difference, but you knew it was important enough not to ask.

There were also people from such far-flung places as Svalbard, Greenland, Germany and Estonia. In fact, it seemed as though most of Atlantic and Baltic Europe had sent someone. To your surprise, Canada and the United States had also come, even though they didn't recognize Asgard's sovereignty.

And then there were the anthropologists, journalists, even a few 'local' celebrities. Everyone wanted pictures of or with you, and you hoped that none of these people would turn out to be horrible, since pictures of you with them were going to be on the internet forever now.

You couldn't help but side-eye the religious representatives- some Christian, and some Heathen, from all the surrounding countries, and from within Iceland itself. You weren't sure what the Christian leaders were doing here: Asgard, by its very existence, posed a great challenge to their faith, so perhaps they were facing that challenge head on? Or perhaps it was to gather information. You didn't think they would have much success in proselytizing here, as it was hard to convince people to turn to a god that wasn't well known for answering directly, when the Aesir they'd grown up with were just right there. And it was extra hard to force conversion when you didn't have a weapon capable of harming the people you were trying to force.

The Heathens didn't make you any more reassured: speaking to Sofie had taught you that there were definite problems within those communities, racism and authoritarianism chief among them. Though, like any group of people, there were plenty who didn't accept such things. It just wasn't easy to tell by looking.

None of this was anything you'd ever had to think about back home. Diplomacy, poise, professionalism, visibility, navigating complex social and political relations-what use did a simple baker have for such as these?

You hadn't baked in weeks. Your time was mostly sucked up by lessons and political stuff, and though Loki had promised you respite after the ceremonies, you still couldn't help but wonder if that part of you life was simply over.

The cooks had learned your cinnamon roll recipe, and most of Asgard was picking it up. Loki was spoiled for cinnamon rolls these days, and showed no sign of growing tired of them. You wanted to introduce him to cornbread, snickerdoodles, or even no-bake cookies, but there just hadn't been time. Everything was lessons and dreams.

The sun dipped low, and though it was still early in the day, you would be going back inside once darkness fell. It simply got too cold to stay out. Luckily, it seemed that all the visitors had the same idea, and the stream of representatives and celebrities trickled off with the fading light.

Soon there was only one plane left, tiny, even smaller than the flock of already small planes that had come and gone. Only two people disembarked, no bodyguards, and they struggled against the strong winds. At least they were properly dressed in warm coats. Coats that you recognized.

No, there was no way. No possible way. But they were here.

“Daddy!?!” You squealed, and threw yourself into his open arms. Professionalism could be damned.

[sweetest-honeybee]

To Hell and Back

Chapter 17

Summary: Wels basically tries to kill Tango.

Characters: Wels, Tango, Beef mentions

TW: Hella violent chapter, includes blood and pain

———————

Even a couple days later after his little dispute with Beef, Wels was still quite annoyed. For those couple days he decided to just stay around his base, careful not to wander over into Beef’s territory. The butcher was now the last person he wanted to see right now and he was fine with staying home alone if it meant he didn’t.

But inevitably, he’d have to leave for some particular reason at some point. Today was that day and he was going to have to meet with Tango. He already rejected the offers to visit or receive visitors from other Hermits, but suspicion was bound to rise if he continued to reject the many invitations. Especially since he started in the series so late. The others wanted to see him again.

That being said, he laid in bed wondering if he could come up with some kind of excuse. He had to breed cows for hours, his portal needed some recalibration, he needed to grind for new stuff because he lost all of it again, something like that. It would be believable but Beef was bound to chatter off to someone.

Not that Wels thought anything was wrong. He was still the same old chivalrous knight he was for years beforehand, Beef was just overreacting. But if the butcher happened to tell Xisuma what he thought, the admin would definitely ask some questions.

While he thought, his communicator buzzed a few times. Kicking off his blanket with a groan- despite being only noon- he saw that Tango was persistent in making sure Wels left his house. There were at least ten new messages pestering him to come over.

Mostly with bribes for good trading which Wels knew he probably wouldn’t be able to turn down if he tried. He needed some stuff that Tango was willing to trade for a lower price than the shops in the shopping district. The buzzing continued.

<TangoTek> Helloooooo

<TangoTek> Wels

<TangoTek> I’ll give you a bunch of iron

<TangoTek> Gunpowder?

<Keralis> I’ll take some

<TangoTek> :(

<TangoTek> I can see you reading my messages

<TangoTek> Please come over

<MumboJumbo> What on earth is going on?

Wels rolled his eyes. Desperate much? He winced at the thought. No, no, Tango had a point. He’d never call him desperate just for wanting to see him again. Actually that was odd. Wels was not the type to ignore everyone.

Was that what Beef meant? Of course not, Wels felt fine. Great, in fact. He hadn’t felt this good in ages, just a little more irritable than usual, he supposed. Maybe he was just stressed from continually trying to avoid everyone. He really did probably need to see someone.

And that someone would be Tango, he guessed. Might as well. His communicator kept buzzing repeatedly. With a sigh, he finally replied.

<TangoTek> WWWEEEEEELLLSS

<Welsknight> I’m coming over

He threw it back into his pocket and left his bed for the first time in probably at least 24 hours. Stretching his legs felt odd after being still for so long when he was used to walking around every day. Still, he threw on his armor and elytra, not immediately noticing how grey his feathered wings looked than usual.

Wels assumed he wouldn’t be gone for long so food wasn’t necessary- not that Tango wouldn’t lend him some if it became a problem. However, he still kept his sword on his hip if there were any….complications. Unknowingly, he snickered at the thought. With a last look in the mirror, he decided that he was fully ready to leave, completely disregarding his feathers’ new color.

As he walked out the front door, his head turned to the general direction of Beef’s village. An intense scowl crossed his face but before he could think further, he fired off his rockets. He had no time to keep thinking about that lying little butcher.

He winced at the thought again. He didn’t like Beef much now, but that was a bit harsh. Either way, Beef was going to start drama if this continued and Wels wasn’t a fan of being in the middle of one huge argument, especially something having to do with Helsknight of all people. The dark knight was also one of the last people he wanted to see either. He was almost too glad that Evil Xisuma kept him so far away from Wels.

Though, he was beginning to not like Ex either, to be honest. Avoiding the other hermits for three days left more time to think and most of his thoughts consisted of recalling different memories of other evil hermits who threatened to destroy something they loved. Evil Xisuma was certainly one of them.

The counterpart thankfully lost most of his power over the last couple of years. Ever since he decided to move back into the Overworld, he wasn’t granted as many abilities by Xisuma as he had when he lived freely off of the powers given to him by ‘The Lord of Darkness’.

But Wels was getting sidetracked. He plastered on a grin and kept his pace, soon eyeing the colorful asymmetrical buildings on the horizon. The sight always brought on a chuckle from the knight and the grin quickly softened into a more genuine expression. Despite his previous thoughts, he was beginning to grow more excited to see his demon friend.

He opted to land on one of the rooftops and pulled out his communicator. Wels didn’t immediately type in any messages in case Tango was somewhere nearby or flying around while he waited for Wels to arrive. That assumption seemed to be correct when the bat winged figure came into view about a hundred feet away and quickly made its way over.

When Tango landed, the knight was pulled into a spine crushing hug followed by some pats on the back. Awkwardly, Wels just lightly patted the other on the back, not really reciprocating the hug as enthusiastically as Tango probably would’ve liked.

The demon pulled back but kept a hold on the knight’s shoulders which Wels gladly showed some disdain towards. “Jeez, where have you been, man?! Nobody’s heard from you for a couple days now!” At the uncomfortable expression from Wels briefly glancing at his hands, he pulled them away.

“Just needed to be away from people for a while, ya know? I had some personal stuff going on.” He picked something dirt off his shoulder and flicked it away absentmindedly as if Tango dirtied his shirt sleeve.

“Oh, anything you wanna talk about?”

Wels shook his head. “No, no, just Helsknight stuff.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyways! You had some trades in mind? I’m really running out of iron and I’ve got beacon pyramids to build.”

Abandoning his previous worry, the demon lit up with a snort. “I may know a guy….” Tango eyed Wels with a grin. “Iron shop sells a stack of blocks for a diamond, I’ll give you two stacks for a diamond. Or, if you can provide me with a ton of concrete, we can work something out there.”

The knight thought for a second, considering the offer. “Hm, that sounds like one hell of a deal. I’ll think about that while we discuss some other deals.” Wels brushed his fingers over the hilt of his sword absentmindedly. “Heard from the grapevine that you have a creeper farm too.”

Tango eyed the hilt curiously. His eyes followed back up to Wels. “There’s a TNT and rocket shop in the shopping district, but if you want to be fully self-sufficient, I’ll just let you use the farm whenever if there’s something you can offer of equal value.”

“Awesome, one more thing. Obsidian, tons of it, just tons of obsidian. It’ll make sense in a couple months, but I can’t say what it’s for right now.”

Tango raised a brow. “Tons like….a hundred stacks? Or….”

“About four hundred stacks.”

The demon’s jaw practically fell to the floor. “F- Four hundred?” He rubbed at his neck and whistled for emphasize the amount. “That’s….a lot. And a LOT of hours. Even with efficiency and insta-mine, that many stacks is still days worth of mining.” He sighed. “I’d love to help with that but I’m not exactly made of diamonds or have that much time on my hands. It’s not exactly something that can be automated like iron or gunpowder.”

Wels rolled his eyes which Tango made a confused face to.

“Fine, fine,” Wels began with huff. “I’ll find someone else then. Make it four stacks of iron blocks for a diamond and I’ll give you half my loot from the end for the creeper farm.”

Tango stuttered at the utterly ridiculous proposal (though some shulker boxes would be nice, but Wels didn’t visit The End often). “Wha- four stacks of iron blocks?! For a diamond?!”

The confusion didn’t phase Wels in the slightest. “Yes, that is what I said.” His gaze hardened on Tango, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Is there a proble- Wels that’s the worst deal I’ve ever heard of! I mean I guess a few shulkers would be nice for the creeper farm but you rarely visit the end!”

“Four stacks.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Slowly, the sword was being pulled from its sheath. Tango noticed instantly.

“Put the sword away, Wels. You’re better than that,” he gulped. His voice wavered ever so slightly which Wels merely smirked at. This wasn’t like him….

“Four stacks, Tango. Or we’ll have a better form of negotiation.”

Tango lifted his hands defensively, moving one to the hilt of his own sword. “Okay, please tell me that you’re Hels in disguise or something. You’re not actually going to try to threaten me into a deal here, right?”

That seemed to set off something in Wels’s mind when Tango saw the familiar bright blue eyes bring on a redder hue.

And that in itself was already more concerning. Almost too quickly, the knight lost his previously colder stare and lashed out.

“Argh!” The knight unsheathed his sword. “Why do you guys keep saying that?! I’m fine! I feel fine! I-“ Wels swung once at Tango. “-Don’t-“ The demon drew his own sword to block the hit with wide eyes. “-Want-“ The knight swung again. “-Anything-“ Swing. “-To do-“ He lifted it above his head. “-With that-“ He threw an intense glare at Tango. “-Stupid knight!” He brought the sword down, only narrowly missing Tango’s left.

Frantically pulling up his inventory, the demon threw on his armor. He ducked and hopped around and leaned away from each swing of the blade. Each time, he tried to persuade the knight into calming down but evidently to no avail while the other spewed curses at him.

“Wels- Wels stop! I’m not fighting!” Tango took some rockets and flew away, Wels only just on his tail. “What’s gotten into you?!” He shouted. He felt the blade just barely nick his boot. “I’m sorry I said that-!” He turned and took his own swing at Wels, grazing his shoulder. “We can talk about this!”

“I don’t need to talk! I’m not-“ Wels swung again. “I’m not anything like him!”

Only now while the knight struggled to balance himself out after the swing did Tango notice how dark his feathers were. Were they that grey before? The sun was shining right on them earlier, they seemed so light before. With a closer look, the demon could see feathers falling to the earth with each frantic flap, revealing patches of dark skin underneath.

“Okay, okay! You’re not but will you stop trying to kill me?!” Using a kick to the other’s chest, he boosted himself away from Wels. Wels on the other hand only kept struggling. Flying wasn’t his strong suit, Tango knew, and he’d use that to his advantage.

Using another couple of rockets, he tried to get as far away from Wels as possible. Mostly, he flew in circles around him to keep an eye on what he was trying to do. Wels mostly just sent glares in his direction because he knew that he wouldn’t maneuver his way towards Tango that quickly. That in itself only angered him further.

While he flew each lap around him, he took the chance to talk at least some sense into him.

“Wels, what’s going on? Did something happen?” He asked from afar. Wels didn’t answer, still giving him the death glare. Tango spoke again, this time touching on something a bit more personal. “What did Hels do?”

The knight’s hands balled into harder fists around the sword. “I don’t need to tell you anything!”

Tango sighed. He was running out of rockets. “Okay, you don’t, but whatever you’re going through doesn’t justify trying to kill your friend!”

“You-“ Wels growled “- are not my friend!”

As Tango circled by too close this time, Wels swung once more, slicing a straight line across his side and into his right wing. With an audible gasp, the demon was sent flying with now broken elytra into the direction of the towers. The familiar blue concrete came into view quickly and he already knew how much the impact was going to hurt from previous experiences. God, how much he hated respawning. He was almost certain he was going to die the second he made contact with the roof.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, he initially felt his face slam into the cold concrete roof but in a panic, he took his wings to shield himself from further impact. It was a pathetic attempt at not injuring himself more than he already was. His armor shattered and disappeared in a wisp of blue and purple, leaving room for scraping his arms and legs.

His bad wing burned when it tore further and when he finally landed, he laid on his side and curled in on himself with heaving breaths. It hurt, everything was hurting and he hated that he wasn’t dead already. His sword flew off somewhere else but he assumed Wels would just put him out of his misery.

Wels landed and practically stomped towards the demon, sword still in hand. Tango could only watch as blood- his blood- dripped down the blade disturbingly. On the bright side, he wouldn’t be awake for much longer, he was out of it. He coughed meekly.

“N-nngh….hh….” he muttered out. He couldn’t speak. It hurt to move anything in his face. He simply opted for closing his eyes. Hopefully, someone would come and see what happened. Wels needed some serious help.

And as if his prayers were answered, he heard an all too familiar deep voiced, robotic accent.

[space-kates]

Lover’s Spat

Summary: Prompt for Person A treats Person B’s injuries and a lover’s quarrel

Pairing: Cara Dune x Reader

Warnings: swearing, injuries, canon-typical violence

Words: 1.9 K

A/N: Round 2. A continuation of my first Cara fic with less flirting and more angst. Also dedicated to @teddiebuns​ cause she kicked my ass in gear with this prompt.

 Today had not started out as a good day. No. Far from it. And from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to end on a good note either.

Cara fidgeting around on the edge of the crate she sat on in the hold of the ship wasn’t helping your mood in the least. Especially when you were trying to cut away the charred and bloody fabric away from her leg. The result of, yet another, fight she’d gotten herself into. Granted it wasn’t entirely her fault, but your irritation with her had been steadily mounting all day.

“Stop squirming.” You demanded crossly, snipping the scissors closed perhaps a tad harsher than was really necessary. She wasn’t going to listen. You knew that. She never listened to anyone but herself and even then, it was debatable since she never seemed to follow her own advice. She was always telling you not to go getting into fights, but here she was rushing head long into a kriffing warzone like she was made for it. Which maybe she was but that was besides the point.

When you managed to cut enough of the fabric away from the wound you tossed the scissors down onto the crate, the noise clattering in the quiet of the ship as you rummaged through your med pack for a wipe to clean up the blood and dirt around the area.

Cara hissed when you started to scrub the area, shoulders tense and you could see the way her arms, which you normally admired, flexed in response to the pain. You’d been worried when you’d first seen her limping back to the ship, dirty and bloody, seized by a fear that her injury was worse that it was. Now, now though you were just pissed off as the fight that had sent her storming off the ship in the first place was back at the forefront of your mind.

“That hurts!” She protested and tried to move her leg away when you gave a particularly aggressive wipe across the area. Honestly you weren’t even sure if you were trying to be gentle anymore.

“Maybe if you could avoid getting into a fight every ten minutes, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and it would hurt less.” Came your retort before you could stop yourself. You didn’t want to reignite this fight but Maker you were tired.

You’d avoided looking at her face since you’d gotten her situated on the crate and returned with the med pack, but now you looked at her, unafraid of the scowl on her face. It matched your own as you grabbed hold of her knee, keeping her leg in place so you could finish your work. Your expression was challenging, and Cara never backed down from a challenge, or a fight, even when that fight was with you.

Normally Cara would have a smart remark, something equal parts flirty and sarcastic. Right now though her shoulders were stiff and her jaw was a hard line. You could see the bags under her eyes, prominent under the yellow overhead lights in the hold. She hadn’t slept much this past week. But neither had you and you knew it wasn’t helping either of your tempers. You both needed to sleep but that was the last either of you had in mind right now.

Neither of you said anything and the silence stretched uncomfortably around you. You knew she wasn’t going to back down this time but you weren’t about to give in this time. Not this time. Not when she was being reckless and hotheaded and stupid and stubborn. Not when she had gotten involved in something that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you.

So you just stared at one another, your grip on her knee firm and unwavering until she opened her mouth again.

“Are we going to talk about it or are you going to continue to sulk?” The bluntness of her question caused you to reel back like she’d slapped you, though she hadn’t even lifted and hand.

An angry flush bloomed on your cheeks and you bristled at the accusation. Sulking!? Was that what she thought you were doing!?

“You had no right-” you began hotly, fully prepared to lay into her and use her as an outlet for all the frustration you were feeling. At least you were until she stood, a full head taller than you, back straight and glaring down at you in a way that made the noise in your throat die. Cara cut an intimidating figure, something you usually admired and on occasion ogled. Except you’d never had it turned on you before. Not even in previous spats you’d gotten into.

She took a step toward you, not even a wobble in her step, causing you to hastily step back hoping to create more room between you. You never thought Cara would hit you, still didn’t but the glare on her face was enough to make the tiniest bit of fear curl up in your chest.

Cara didn’t let the space last long and pretty soon you had your back pressed up into the wall of the ship doing your best to maintain your own glare, not give her the satisfaction of seeing you cowed. You refused to let her win this. Like it was even a competition.

“I had every right.” She snarled and you could feel your throat bob as you swallowed tightly.

“You didn’t have to kill him.” You snapped back already seething again at her audacity. The self-righteous way she claimed the rights to your problems like they were her own. “That wasn’t your place. You could have just-”

“Just left the man who tried to hire me to kill you live. Let him get someone else to do it? Have them come after us?” She interrupted you again, voice tight. She reached out, hands gripping tightly at your biceps as she crowded further into your space, nearly pressing you into the wall. Her grip was tight, not painful, but you still grimaced and tried to pull away. For all the good it would probably do you. “I don’t give a damn what kind of trouble got some low-level syndicate sleaze out for your head, but I’m not about to let him put out a hit on you.”

“I don’t care about some syndicate moron who is mad about a few credits! I care that now they’ll come after you!” The heart of the problem really. And you voiced it loudly. Loud enough it felt like it echoed around the half empty hull. It wasn’t that you minded that she’d wanted to help. Or even that she’d killed someone. You both knew she had blood on her hands long before she’d ever stowed away on your ship and talked her way into your bed.

What bothered you. What really bothered you, was the thought that she’d all but put a target on her back in the name of getting you out of trouble. This was going to get put on her chain code. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without getting identified by slum lords and bounty hunters and pirates looking to cash in. And sure, you’d had to deal with a few before because Cara was mouthy, but the syndicate was dangerous. It had existed during the old republic, had thrived under the Empire, and though it was forced back into the underground with the rise of the New Republic, the leaders were very much still in power of much of the underworld. No one wanted to mess with them.

“Does it look like I care about that?” Her brows drew down even further. Like she was offended you would think it had even crossed her mind.

“I do!” You cried out, shoulders slumping as you finally looked away from her face. Maker you were mad. Mad she was considering your safety was more important than hers. Furious she was jumping in the line of fire.  The implication of what that could mean terrified you. “I can’t watch you put yourself in danger like that! What if they manage to actually get to you? I… Cara I can’t lose you.”

As loud as your voice had been it softened to almost a whisper. You could stand losing her like you could lose an arm or a leg. And you tried to ignore the way she’d gone still in front of you, like that tiny quiet admission had turned her into some kind of living statue. Maybe in the middle of a fight wasn’t the smartest time to admit something like that.

Silence for the span of a heartbeat and then. “Okay.” Soft. Gentle. Not like the angry biting tone she’d used just a moment ago. The grip on your arms eased up and she small amount of space between your bodies felt just a little less suffocating.

Your head snapped up, nearly cracking against her chin. “Okay!? That’s it!?” You asked sounding madder than you really felt now. Okay no. You were still mad. Could she at least manage a proper apology?

“I’m not sorry about what I did.” She said in her defense. Her head dropped to rest against yours, face close enough that her nose brushed against yours even as you could feel yourself bristling in anger again. “I’ll do it again if I have to. He had it coming anyway, no one tries to hurt my girl.”

“Cara-” She was stupid and reckless and stubborn and by the Maker you wanted to throttle her. But you’d be damned if that wasn’t as close to a love confession as you’d likely get from this woman and that was enough to settle you down just a bit.

“I really want to sit down. Can we stop fighting now?” She asked eyes fluttering shut as she leaned against you and you were suddenly reminded that she was still injured and that neither of you had really slept in the last few days between jobs and getting into trouble.

“Sit down then.” You weren’t done being mad. But the fire had cooled for now and you really did need to get a bacta patch on her leg before it got infected and you had to do something drastic like amputate it.

A small nudge had Cara moving back, her intimidating stature from before gone, shoulders slumped in exhaustion as she hoisted herself back up onto the side of the crate so you could have better access to her leg.

You stepped forward again, gathering the bacta patch from the med pack and applying it far more gently than you would have earlier if she hadn’t literally backed you into a corner. The bandages that came after to keep the patch in place were harder to apply when Cara dropped her head onto your shoulder, impeding your movement but at this point you were too tired to scold her. You were however a bit curious.

“What kind of fight did you get into to get this anyway?” You asked when you had tied the bandages off nearly.

There was a huff from Cara, like she was laughing. Her arms wound around your waist, pulling you into her chest carefully so as to not agitate her leg. You could hear the smile in her tone when she spoke.

“I told you. No one tries to hurt my girl.”

[inexpensiveprogress]

Bardfield Cookery Collection - Vol III. Walter Hoyle

As part of this series of posts looking at the illustrations of Great Bardfield artists in cookery books, here is Walter Hoyle’s contribution. In a previous post I have noted Hoyle’s biography.

 Geoffrey Ireland - Walter Hoyle, 1956 

In 1969 Walter Hoyle illustrated the ‘Women’s Institute book of Party Recipes’. This series of little illustrations are some of his best in my opinion.

They form a curious set of mixed media works that I believe to have been printed by Hoyle in lithograph then sent off to the book printers to be mass-printed, with the look of being a lithograph, but without it being so. Clearly the book was designed to be cheaply printed, for one it is spiral bound - but this is rather helpful in a cookery book. The other indicator of cheapness is that it has a very limited colour palate of orange, red and black. It was printed by Novello & Co Ltd, who mostly make sheet-music scores.

 Walter Hoyle - Sauces, 1969

The illustrations are pencil and ink drawings with colour overlays in orange and red. I love the way that either the printer or Hoyle flood-fill the backgrounds of some of the drawings with pure colour. The method of printing used at this time was called ‘Simulated Lithography’, where any drawing could be put onto a printing plate and printed in one colour tone by using plastic films and scans of the original drawings. This process was easier than using lithographic stones and artists can line up the plastic films and work at a print to get the coloured edges correct.

Instead of drawing on lithographic stones or plates the artist drew on a transparent sheet of plastic grained like a lithographic plate. The advantages were that any opaque material, chalk, pencil, ink etc. may be used, because the sheets of plastic are not transferred but are used in the same way as a photographic positive would be. That is, placed in a printing frame against a lithographic machine plate and then exposed to light. By this means an offset printing plate capable of a hundred thousand run can be produced. Also machine plates can be duplicated from the plastic original without any deterioration in quality, for the artist can superimpose one sheet on another. It is possible that the use of plastic sheets came to be common with the scarcity of metal, being used for ammunition in wartime. †

 Walter Hoyle - Poultry, 1969 

Below I have separated two layers into Colour and Black (K), the chicken, duck and turkey picture above. What I like about this print is the colour layer is a mixture of line drawing and flicked ink splats to give texture. The black layer has a fine line children and the outline of a white duck using the almost scrubbed brush black turkey design.

 Left: The Colour. Right: The Black overlay. 

 Walter Hoyle - Front and Rear Covers, 1969.

Below are a set of illustrations that in 1969 would have been more familiar than today's shopping life. The picture of the antiquated scales is beautiful.  

 Walter Hoyle - Meat, 1969

Above is a drawing of the Cattle Market and although it could have been Braintree (closest to Great Bardfield) it is impossible to know. Below is Braintree Cattle Market by Walter Bayes in 1940 from the Recording Britain project, but this type of market was common all over Britain as many towns had their own cattle markets. I thought it would be nice to point out the scales and auctioneer’s hut next to the ring.

 Walter Bayes - Braintree Cattle Market, 1940

 Walter Hoyle - Sweets, 1969

Above is an illustration from the cookery book of a man picking apples in an orchard and, below is almost the same drawing made four years later for the BBC book of the Countryside by Walter Hoyle in 1963. As the WI book illustration have been drawn on to printing plate the image would have been reversed - so the ladder, man and fruit crate are a mirror image to the figures below. I know the picture from the Countryside book isn’t mirrored as it came from an ink drawing and I own those drawings. 

 Walter Hoyle - September, 1963

The rest of the illustrations I present below I can find nothing too remarkable to say other than Hoyle is cunning about the use of a soup tureen in an antique auction reminded me of the Cow for ‘Meat’ in an auction, rather than illustrating the food stuffs. There is a bit more imagination going on here. 

Some of the scenes like Eggs and Sauces have a French and Italian flare, but it is likely because Hoyle and his French wife Denise spent many holidays there. The Sauces location looks like Civita di Bagnoregio but it’s very hard to know.

 Walter Hoyle - Eggs, 1969

 Walter Hoyle - Vegetable, 1969

 Walter Hoyle - Soup, 1969

 Walter Hoyle - Rear Cover, 1969

† Ruth Artmonsky - The School Prints - A Romantic Project - 2006, p98

[one-of-us-blog]

If at Last You Do Succeed (TGG, Season 6, Episode 3)

Today Eli is forced to watch and recap If at Last You Do Succeed, Episode 3 of the sixth season of The Golden Girls.  Blanche and Rose find an unexpected windfall, and Stan finally finds financial success.  Wait, WHAT?  Stan?  Stanley Zbornak?!  Success?  What can this possibly mean?  Keep reading to find out…

Drew, you did a fantastic job of recapping a pretty terrible episode of Doctor Who!  Sleep No More just stands out to me as the one total misfire from this particular season, and I’m glad to have it behind us.  Thankfully, we have some powerful episodes left to finish things up, including one of the best episodes of Doctor Who ever (but I’ll wait to say more about that particular episode when you get to it).  For now, I had better get to work on my own review.  I have a feeling this is the one that will finally help me to strike it big!  Let’s head to Miami!

Buttocks tight!

Episode written by Robert Spina, directed by Matthew Diamond

The episode opens with Sophia cooking food, and also cooking up a devious scheme, burning the mouths of her unsuspecting friends just to get her kicks.  Blanche is upset to learn that Rose is having an impromptu yard sale, and offers to take all of her stuff off her hands for $50 to keep the riff raff off her lawn.  Speaking of riff raff, Stan shows up at the front door and implores the gals to turn on the television.  He claims that he is now a rich man, and we soon discover why.  An infomercial heralds the arrival of the Zbornee, a patented, revolutionary baked potato opener that will forever change the world as we know it.  Rose buys in instantly.  Apparently, Stan has already managed to sell over half a million of these things, and with a price tag of $12.95 each.  Sophia quickly does some math and immediately begins kissing up to her old son-in-law.  Stan tells Dorothy that he still needs her help.  He wants his company, Zbornco (of course), to begin exporting to Japan, but he needs a date for his meeting with a Japanese businessman.  He thinks that Dorothy’s very presence is just what he needs to take his business endeavors to the next level.  Dorothy, reflecting upon her history with the man, turns him down.

In the next scene, we find that Blanche has been looking through the items she purchased from Rose (before tossing them in the garbage), and she asks Rose about a St. Olaf war bond she discovered.  Surprised, Rose confirms that St. Olaf did indeed sell bonds in an effort to fund a line of attack cows during the war.  This particular bond is worth $1,000.  It is only at this point that Blanche reveals that she actually found 50 of the bonds, worth a total of $50,000 (and a cool profit of $49,950 based on what she paid).  Rose thinks the two friends should split the money, but Blanche thinks she should keep it for herself.  She paid for all this stuff, after all, and the bonds now belong to her.  Meanwhile, Stan sends Dorothy a kimono and a potato-centric note in a continued effort to convince her to join him for his business dinner.  Sophia has also obtained a wad of cash from Stan, and Dorothy protests that the man is simply trying to buy her love.  It seems to be working.

The monetary dispute between Blanche and Rose proceeds, with the two friends no longer on speaking terms.  Dorothy takes a vote via secret ballot to settle the matter, and it is decided that Blanche and Rose should split the cash.  Stan shows up again, this time with a sweet Game Boy for Sophia, who immediately snaps it up and disappears into a Tetris frenzy.  I feel you, Sophia…I feel you.  Stan also tries to give Dorothy a convertible.  Despite the charming POTHEAD vanity plate (short for POTATO HEAD), she turns him away.  Disappointed, Stan complains that she will never allow him to make up for his mistakes, and will always see him as the same person.  He doesn’t plan to bother trying to change her mind any longer.

Checking back in with the B plot, we find that Rose has called St. Olaf and received some disappointing news.  Due to financial difficulties, if the girls cash in their war bonds, St. Olaf will go bankrupt.  Just think of it…no more Children’s Cheese Museum!  Sophia comments on Stan’s recent development of a backbone, and even Dorothy seems impressed that the man actually stood up for himself.  But despite this fact, and perhaps even a slight attraction to the “new Stan,” she just can’t bring herself to trust him again.  We finish up with a story from Rose about St. Olaf’s tallest woman, who got “in trouble” at a young age, much like Dorothy.  The tale doesn’t really help with anything, but it’s very entertaining.

Rose continues to feel guilty about St. Olaf’s potential fate, but Blanche just wants that cash money.  At Dorothy’s suggestion, they make a pros/cons list to help them decide whether to take the money, or to let the town keep it.  Eventually, Dorothy urges Blanche to stand behind Rose and protect her beloved St. Olaf.  Blanche reluctantly agrees, and Rose offers up a special dance.

Blanche sits down in the kitchen with the war bonds, ready to tear them up to save St. Olaf.  Rose reveals that the town is going to build a special statue to honor Blanche Devereaux for her kind deed, and this is enough to convince Blanche to tear up the paperwork, which she quickly does.  Dorothy then asks how a broke town is supposed to afford a status, and Rose casually mentions that all the money will come from the $500,000 emergency statue fund.  Huh?  Blanche is aghast.

Stan returns, not to beg Dorothy again to join him, but to ask her to tie his bow tie for the big night.  She does, and the two reflect on old times.  Stan says that he always wanted to be a success, but now that he has succeeded at something, he’s terrified and needs help.  Dorothy surprises the old doofus by agreeing to go with him as his date.

In the final scene, we find Blanche trying to explain to Rose that St. Olaf isn’t as broke as they claim.  Rose eventually agrees to call the town elders again, but it might be hard to track them down since it’s “Everybody Hide the Corn Day.”  Stan and Dorothy return from their date, and Dorothy remarks that Stan has come a long way.  Perhaps they can do it again sometime, as they make a good team.  To the delight of the studio audience, the two share a parting kiss, and Dorothy finds herself bewildered.  Sophia, who has been spying, says that Dorothy is going to send her to an early grave.

The End.

Wow, what an episode!  On the one hand, this outing brushed up against corny sitcom territory a few times, and stretched credulity a bit by positing that Stanley Zbornak could suddenly find success.  I mean, can you believe it?  But really, I loved that the episode caused Dorothy and Sophia to re-evaluate their opinion of the man, not because of his surprise wealth, but because he actually demonstrated a sense of self-worth.  I’m curious to see where this storyline goes.  The B plot actually got a lot of screen time, and I felt myself just as frustrated as Blanche when Rose casually mentioned the emergency statue fund.  This episode would probably land at about a 3 for me, but you KNOW I’m boosting the score after it featured that Game Boy!  I can relate to Sophia’s immediate fascination, as I spent approximately 2 years of my life staring at that screen.  I give If at Last You Do Succeed a score of 3.5 poofy hairdos out of 5.

Check back in soon for Drew’s take on Face the Raven, the next episode of Doctor Who, and I’ll be back this weekend with my review of Snap Out of It, the next episode of The Golden Girls.  Until then, as always, thank you for being a friend, and for being One of Us!

[devereauxsdisease]

Good Cannibal, Sit

This is my late (sorry) entry to @hannibalcreative‘s #ReleaseTheCrackin! It’s also dedicated to the ever wonderful @evertonem, because I promised her dog-related crack in the hopes of bringing some cheer. I hope you enjoy!

         In retrospect, Hannibal could admit that giving Will psilocybin mushroom tea might have been a bit of an overreaction. Will had been unusually quiet for days, and Hannibal had let fear, of another cliff or another person, get the better of him. He’d tried speaking to Will, but was greeted with eyerolls and the invitation to “shut his big bazoo”.

         Still, perhaps it wasn’t wise to drug the one you love. Will certainly hadn’t reacted well to the stabbings, so he probably wouldn’t react well to surreptitious hallucinogens. Hannibal made the decision to bring out a tray of goodies and replace Will’s tea with a slightly less nefarious chai blend. If Will wanted to be moody, then Hannibal would just have to let him.

         “Will?” Hannibal walked along the flagstones toward the patio that overlooked the Loire Valley, a tray of fresh blackberry jam and brown sugar scones in one hand.

         “Hey! Put that down!”

         Hannibal turned to see Will stomping toward him, stern expression on his face. With a raised brow, Hannibal took a few steps and placed the tray on their wrought iron table. When he turned, Will flicked him on the nose.

         “Bad! No stealing food!” Will swatted Hannibal on the ass. Hannibal opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when noticed Will’s empty teacup by the tray of scones. A hallucination then, but of who?

         Will looked at Hannibal for a long moment, something soft creeping into his eyes. Hannibal cocked his head taking in the expression. Will yanked Hannibal to his chest, his hands sinking into the doctor’s hair and scratching roughly.

         “God, I’ve missed you,” Will whispered into Hannibal’s disheveled locks. “Who’s my good boy? You are, Winston. You are!”

         “Will…” Hannibal tried to disentangle from Will’s grip. Clearly, he’d overestimated Will’s tolerance for the mushrooms. He should probably have him lay down and hydrate before dinner.

         “What are you doing? Feeling frisky, huh?” Will laughed, ruffling Hannibal’s hair and dragging him to the ground. Hannibal pushed back and frowned at the grass stains on his cashmere pants. “Want to play?”

         “No.”

         Will rolled his eyes and produced a tennis ball. Hannibal cocked his head again, wondering where on earth Will had procured such an item. Will laughed and pointed.

         “A-HA! I knew you couldn’t resist your ball!” Will stood, shaking the ball before Hannibal’s eyes before throwing it down the bank and into the flower field behind the house. “Go get it, boy!”

         “Will,” Hannibal straightened up, attempting to brush pieces of leafy detritus from his person with as much dignity as possible. “I’m not chasing a ball, I’m not going to tolerate any more ear scratching – I’m not Winston.”

         Will looked as if he’d been struck. Tears came to his eyes, his shoulders hunched forward while his chin dropped to his chest. Within a breath, the fierce Will Graham that had sprung from the waters of the Atlantic was replaced with the cowed empath that hid in the woods of Virginia all those years ago. Hannibal felt his pulse quicken, pain creeping into his chest as he watched the transformation.

         “Oh,” Will whispered. “You haven’t forgiven me. Winston, I’m sorry I left you, boy. I- I had to go with Hannibal, I had to- God I miss you every day. Please, please boy, I’m so sorry.”

         Hannibal closed his eyes. Truly, there was no debasement greater than love. If only Alana or Frederick could see him now, they would finally see what it meant to best Hannibal Lecter.

         “Pardon me,” Hannibal said with a weary voice. “I have a ball to retrieve.”

         With as much dignity as he could muster, Hannibal marched down the hill, hoping the pollen wouldn’t cling to his shirt, which was at least salvageable from this little experiment gone awry.

         After thirty minutes, Hannibal had a list of things he hated most in life. At the top were the deceptively steep hill in their backyard, his aging knees, tennis balls, and the patch of stinging nettles that Will kept throwing the infernal toy into. Though he was about ready to put their gardener on Thursday’s menu for not clearing the nettles, Hannibal couldn’t seem to muster any ill will for the man jumping up and down at the top of the hill, smiling broadly as he encouraged his best boy to fetch. The scar on Will’s cheek drew his smile broad as he beamed at Hannibal trudging back up the embankment.

         "Honestly, how you can love a creature so bemused by this game..." Will snatched the ball from Hannibal’s outstretched hand, before sinking his fingers into Hannibal’s sweaty bangs to offer a good ear rub.

         "Winston, why are you so grumpy? You love fetch.” Will tucked the ball into his pocket, freeing both hands to pet Hannibal. “Who's my grumpy boy? Who is he? Who is he?"

         "Will, I've asked you not to ruffle my hair."

         Will smiled, Hannibal was taken with how easy his smiles came today.

         "Do you need a belly rub? Do you?"

         Hannibal paused, taking a moment to picture Will splayed alongside him in the grass, absently stroking over Hannibal’s stomach. The image was shamefully appealing.

         "...I wouldn't be opposed."

         "Ok buddy, if you're good. Go get the ball boy!"

         Hannibal sighed. "Will, you didn't throw the ball. You just feigned throwing it."

         "WHAT A SMART BOY!"

         Heaving another sigh, Hannibal reminded himself that he had fought for this moment. For this chance to be with the annoying man still scratching behind his ear.

         "Such a good boy!" Will pulled Hannibal closer, pressing kisses on his nose. Hannibal felt something warm flood through his chest. “My smart boy.”

         "Well, I suppose I am rather smart..." Hannibal leaned into the pecking kisses. He waited for three years for Will to finally see the beauty in what they could create, he could last another hour or so until the mushrooms left his system.

         Will frowned, rubbing a spot of dirt on Hannibal’s cheek. “Hmmm, I think someone’s going to need a bath.”

         “I’m sorry?” Hannibal took a step back.

         Will moved with a surprising quickness, snatching the collar of Hannibal’s shirt and dragging him toward the house. “Don’t you fight me on this, Winston!”

         Hannibal allowed himself to be shoved toward their home – at least he wouldn’t have to go down the hill anymore.

         Though Hannibal had permitted Will to march him up the stairs and to their en suite, and had only minimally fussed as Will stripped him, there were some things he just wouldn’t do. He stood in the tepid bath water, arms crossed and lip curled, looking at Will.

         “I will not.”

         Will’s hand shot out, smacking Hannibal on the nose again. “Don’t you bare your teeth at me. Bad! Bad dog.”

         Hannibal’s lip dropped to a frown, but he stood resolute as Will pointed to the ground.

         “No.”

         “Honestly, Winston, how the hell am I supposed to bathe you if you don’t stand properly?”

         “No.”

         Will sighed. “Winston, buddy, I can’t wash you if you keep standing on your hind legs. Please, bud?”

         Hannibal hated Winston. He hated Will. Mostly, he hated himself for glaring one final time as he lowered himself to all fours. Will smiled, and Hannibal leaned into the hand that scratched behind his ear – he was getting used to the sensation.

         Will dropped to his knees, lathering his foul-smelling shampoo between his hands before sinking soapy fingers into Hannibal’s hair. The fingers left his scalp and Hannibal could hear Will choking out soft breaths. Something odd hitched in Will’s breathing, and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if the empath was crying.

         When he looked up, suds stinging in his eyes, Hannibal found Will gasping for air on the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks as he laughed.

         “Will?”

         “I- Jesus Christ, I-” Will swallowed a few breaths, trying to stop the guffaws. "I can't fucking believe you let it go this far."

         “What?” Hannibal’s lips thinned, he swiped at the mound of suds sliding down his nose.

         Will offered Hannibal a shit-eating grin. "You know I poured that fucking mushroom tea down the sink right? Earl Grey my ass."

         "You were not drugged."

         Will shook his head and offered a shrug. 

         "I was just curious to see what you would do." Will slapped Hannibal's wet ass. "You were a very good boy."

         Hannibal recoiled, scrambling to stand tall and maintain what little bits of sudsy dignity he could. "I can't believe you would-"

         "Be a manipulative shit just to fuck with you? Yeah, where could I have learned that?" Will stood, still chuckling as he took in the enraged cannibal before him. “You know, my dad used to say I looked mad as a wet hen sometimes. I never understood that phrase until this very minute.”

         Hannibal leaped out of the tub, grabbing wet handfuls of Will’s shirt and pinning him to the wall. He snarled at Will, sharp teeth edging closer to his neck. Will grinned, the heartbeat under Hannibal’s knuckles was steady and unafraid.

         “I’m furious with you right now,” Hannibal seethed. “You’re going to have to work very hard and bend into a plethora of uncomfortable positions before I forgive you for this.”

         Will’s grin grew, Hannibal watched as the empath’s pupils dilated. Hannibal leaned closer to Will’s ear and continued.

         “But when I do forgive you, in a week or so, perhaps it’s time we go to the animal shelter and pick out a small dog. Something to keep you happy and keep me from walking up that hill with a filthy tennis ball.”

         Will’s arms wrapped around Hannibal’s soapy frame, pulling him into a warm hug.

         “Thank you. I promise, no more than 12.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, but accepted the kisses pressed into his neck with a small smile. Will pulled back, eyes dancing. He scratched Hannibal behind his ear. “You really are the best boy, you know that? Now, who wants a belly rub?”

         Will slipped from Hannibal’s arms and ran for their bed, Hannibal heeling behind him.

[magicalfuckingunicornwritingblog]

Firinel’s Writing Prompt

I had been walking for what felt like hours, but had probably only been about thirty minutes.  The sun beat down on my face and it felt like I was slowly cooking inside my armor.  “Here lies Leir, the knight that steamed to death inside their own armor.” I said to no one in particular.  It had been a frustrating day of being a hero, not the least of which was an unwanted stroll in my metal suit.  I paused my clanking along to listen, there it was, in the distance, the sound of a stream.  Just what I had been looking for.  Time to take off mail and go for a much needed dip.

Looking down the path I spotted a very large tree, an old oak, with branches outstretched in all directions.  I was a little bit off of the path, but it extended far enough to shade the edges of the road.  I seemed as good a place as any  to disarm and disrobe myself.  Normally I wouldn’t have trudged for so long, on such a hot day, wearing my plate, but my horse, who I was quite sure was half-jackass, had run off during the skirmish.  She acted like she had never heard metal crashing before, when that was pretty much her whole life.  Her aversion to all things fighting, while being a knight’s horse, explained why I got her so cheap.  Or maybe they just picked the most unpopular knight for the most poorly trained horse, either way, this is where it left me.

Plunking down next to the tree I pulled off my gauntlets and set them in a hollow between the large roots.  With my fingers now free I reached back and unbuckled my gorget, letting the plated throat protection fall off of my neck and into my lap.  A breeze picked up just then, sending a small shiver down my sweat soaked back.  I couldn’t wait to get the rest of the armor off and feel the breeze for real.

I took my time unbuckling straps that held my breastplate.  It would have been a lot easier going if I wasn’t sitting down, but after that long, hot walk, there wasn’t enough gold in the world to make me stand up again until I was naked.  All the while I quietly cursed my horse.  I know she would come back eventually, she always did, she was just a major inconvenience in the meantime.  “I shall sell her!” I declared to no one, an empty threat anyways, I wouldn’t be able to get much for her, knighting did not pay all that well and I actually did kind of like the wretched beast.

“I think I am more used to her.” I muttered to myself, slipping my boots and my leg armor off, “like these,” I flung the battered boots away from me, glad to have my feet free, “in terrible condition, barely useful, but incredibly comfortable.”   Peeling off my socks I tossed them away from me in the direction of the boots.  Then I rocked onto my knees and bent at the waist to shake my mail shirt off.  As I did, I swore I heard someone giggle.  Letting the mail crash onto the ground I stood up and drew my knife from my hip, crouching down in the same motion.  I looked around but saw nothing.

Then I heard it again, the faintest of giggles, from somewhere very nearby.  Grateful that I was free of my armor, and could move even quicker, I stepped over the large roots of the tree, looking to the other side in case someone had snuck up and was hiding.  It seemed unlikely that I could have missed it, but I’m not always the most careful.

There was nothing on the other side either.  Was it the heat getting to me?  But I was sure I had heard it.  Then again, there was that time during training where a bunch of us had snuck out and eaten the mushrooms from the cow fields, and I swore I heard a lot of things that weren’t real that day.  No mushrooms recently, though.  Frustrated with chasing ghosts, or whatever it was that was plaguing me, I called out to it.

“Show yourself!  Only cowards hide in the shadows.”  Granted, as a wandering knight I was pretty partial to guerilla warfare myself, so this statement was a tad hypocritical, but hopefully it encouraged the intruder to out themselves.

A giggle again, this time, even with my heartbeat in my ears, I could trace it.  I looked up.  Sitting languidly in the branches of the tree was a woman, naked but for her bark-like skin, and there were branches in her hair, or her hair was branches, I could not say which.  A dryad, odd, since dryads were generally understood to be shy, and usually did not consort with humans.

“What in the seven hells…..” I breathed, then caught myself.  Regaining my composure I put my hands on my hips and scrutinized the nymph before me.

“You probably get a pretty good view from up there,” I called up to her, “Have you by chance, seen a horse?  Big, white thing?  Looks like it could be magical but is actually about as useful as a third elbow?”

The dryad looked me over and then giggled again.

“Clearly this is very amusing to you,” I said, “Me trying to defend my life and all, but I assure you, if you want the full show you will have to show me some gold.  Honor and duty is all well and good, but I do not work for free.”

“You are an odd knight.” she said, brushing her branch-hair away from her face.

“You have known many of us?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.  What she said was true, though, I was an odd knight.  

“Yes,” she replied, “All men, though.”

“You know, lady knights are not all that odd.” I replied, which was true.  Since the first woman proved herself fit to fight for the king a few decades ago, lady knights had actually moved from being just a rare oddity to a fashion for a bit.  The mania for having a lady knight in one’s court had all but died around the time I entered training, but I didn’t care.  Having accolades for being a lady doing a thing that still mostly just men do did not mean a lick to me.  Lady knights had already proved themselves several times over, I was just trying to get by.

“I suppose not, women have always had the strength of men.” the dryad conceded. “It was the men who did not want to admit it.”

“Having a pretty strong queen changed a lot of people’s minds.” I told her, wondering how caught up on current events a tree nymph could be.  “Do you know much about what goes on in the kingdom?”

“I catch words from travellers as they head down the road, though travellers are not as common as they once were.” she seemed a little sad.

“Understandable,” I said, glancing back at the road I had come up, “You have a bandit problem real bad, that is why I am here.” Well, that and bounty on the bandit’s heads.  Today’s skirmish resulted in handing over two thieves to the queen’s patrols, and that sum would get me a new pair of boots at least.

“To kill the bandits?” the dryad asked.

“Ehhhhhhh…..” I shrugged, “I do not like to kill, if I can avoid it.  Plus, some of them, I cannot blame them.  The famines have not made it easy.  I just hope that the court goes easy on them, no lopping off fingers or anything.”  My conscience was a little split on the morality of the issue, but my stomach usually rumbled louder than my conscience.  As a knight I was sword to the code of chivalry and protecting the innocent, which meant standing up to robbers and thieves, but were not the same robbers and thieves innocent victims of circumstance?  It was not their fault the rains did not come.  I had my qualms with my line of work, but it was also my only line of work.

“A knight that does not like to kill, you are odd.” the dryad commented, smiling at me.

“You know, not all knights are blood thirsty slayers for the queen.” I reprimanded her, “I know some of them get all caught up in the code and righteousness and they think every swing of their sword is blessed by the gods themselves, but we are not all like that.”

“Clearly,” the dryad said, “But how many are like you?”

“Hells if I know,” I replied, “It is not like I keep in contact with them.  I learned my letters right well, but I never get to use them.”

“No one to write to?” the dryad had guessed it.

“Well, and things to write on are very expensive.” I danced around the word parchment, since I did not want to talk to a tree nymph about things made from the flesh of trees.

“You are alone in the world.” the dryad said, it was not a question, but a statement.

“You assume a lot.” I shot back, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was right.

“How many of your kind are there?” I asked before she could continue her line of questioning.  

She looked sad at my question, “Not as many as there once were….”

“How long have you been here?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“As long as I can remember, I’ve lived through many of your dynasties.  I sleep sometimes, though, for long periods and short ones.  The last knight I met might have been a few decades ago by your reckoning.”

“You seem to have a penchant for knights.” I said, plucking at the neckline of my sweaty jerkin.

“Perhaps I just like shiny things.” the dryad said, looking me over.  My armor, lying on the ground next to me, was definitely not shiny.  Dull, and a bit rusty from life on the road, just like me.

“Yeah, I am definitely not that, unless you count the sweat.  Speaking of which my lady….” I hesitated because she had not given me a name yet.

“Dryads do not have names that humans can pronounce.” she replied.

“All right, M’lady of the name unpronounceable, would you do this dusty knight a favor and watch over my possessions while I wash off in the nearby creek?” I asked with all of the flair and fancy of court that I could muster, filthy and tired as I was.

“Of course, good knight.” the dryad smiled at my attempts at charm.

“Thank you ever so much.” I replied, “If anyone comes along the road or if you see my damn horse anywhere, please be so kind as to give a shout.”

“I will do my best.” the dryad promised.  

I bowed at the waist, and then stepped over the tree roots to where I had dumped my armor and removed my sweat soaked gambeson, leaving me in just my light shirt and pants, the former stuck to my skin with sweat.  Barefoot, knife still in hand because you can never be too prepared, I ambled down the to the creek, a hundred yards from the large tree the dryad inhabited.

At the water's edge I stopped next to a large boulder and stripped off the last of my garb, laying it on the rock to dry in the sun.  My knife I laid on the bank, in an easy to reach place.  Stepping into the creek I stood, shin deep in the cool water and stretched, happy to be naked under the sun.  I took my time getting in, wading deeper and deeper until I was swimming, treading water against the pull of the current.  Diving down, I did a slow somersault, letting the dirt and sweat of the days work wash off me. Resurfacing I looked around and thought about my horse again, the beast would likely show up here if it showed up anywhere, she had to drink sometime.

Swimming back towards the shore I made a plan to lie in the sun and dry, and if my horse did not show up in that time, ask the dryad if maybe I put my armor in her tree or something while I looked for her.  Tracking in a full suit is not only not fun, it’s actually pretty difficult.  Exiting the water I squeezed my hair out and combed my fingers through it to remove any knots.  I kept it short for that reason, and because being mistaken for a boy worked in my favor more often than not.  As I was fixing my hair I heard a faint rustling of leaves, which was odd because there was no wind.

“The dryad.” I said, and faster than I ever thought possible, I jumped into my pants, threw on my shirt, grabbed my knife and ran up the hill.  

On the other side of the dryad’s tree was the road, and coming up the road were four figures.  I got lower as I got closer to the dryad’s tree, and then on my hands a knees, hiding behind the tree’s thick roots.  Walking up the road were three of the bandits I had encountered earlier, and they were struggling with a very reluctant horse.

“That explains what was taking so long.” I muttered.  I calculated, they would be on us in just a few minutes, not enough time to don my armor for a fight.  There were three of them to my one, and they were all armed, with knives and bows though, you can’t usually find swords on a bandit’s budget.  Bows would only be useful at a distance, knives a very close one, but it would not be hard for three men with knives to overtake one without, even if they had a sword.  I would have to rely on surprise to throw them off guard.  

“I wish that horse would actually respond to commands.” I muttered to myself as I slung my sword belt around my hips and buckled it.  She was trained as was horse, but predicting when she would act like one was a fool’s errand.  Oh well, I could just hope luck was on my side.

“Excuse me, miss, but would you mind terribly if I scaled your tree?” I asked the dryad I could not see hiding in the branches.

“You are more than welcome.” a soft voice replied.  Without a second to spare, I grabbed the nearest knot and began climbing.  My calloused feet clung to the bark, and my sword trained hands made short work of the distance between ground and canopy.  The bandits were drawing closer as I crawled out on one of the larger branches hanging out over the road.  I held my breath, hoping against hope that I would not fall, or that one of them would not look up.  Fortunately, my horse was giving them enough of a time that they were too busy trying to get her to move to bother looking anywhere else.

“I know you said she would be worth something, but maybe we should just eat her instead.” one of the men suggested.  I bristled at the suggestion, I myself suggested it at least once a week, but she was MY horse.

Now I was far enough out that my weight was affecting the branch, it tipped a bit as I pulled myself into a crouch, not easy on a thin branch with a three foot sword on my hip.  They were almost under the branch when I drew my sword, slowly and silently.  Saying a quick prayer to gods I did not believe in, I stood slowly and waited until my sometimes war horse was directly under me and stepped off the branch.

My aim was immaculate, I came down in the saddle hard, but clenching my butt helped keep my pelvis from slamming into the saddle with too much force.  I held my sword high, to keep from striking my horse’s head, but exposing my sides for an easy target.  Fortunately, I had the element of surprise.

A second after I landed chaos broke out.  My horse, understandably frightened, gave out a shriek and bucked in an attempt to get me off.  I grabbed onto her mane with my free hand and held on for dear life.  The bandits dodged her flying hooves as she reared and bucked again.

“It’s me!” I yelled, it was an attempt to comfort my scared horse, but it came out with all the cockiness of a challenger in a duel.  The bandits looked at me in confusion and then recognized the voice they had heard from inside a helmet earlier in the day.  I took advantage of this surprise to bring my sword down, slapping the flat of the blade onto the forearm of the man holding my horse's reins.  He let got out of reflex and I swung my sword close enough to graze to drive him back.

My horse turned in a circle, stomping and snorting while I swung my blade menacingly.  The men backed up, going for their knives.

“Knives in a sword fight would be a foolish move.  You keen on losing some limbs today?” I taunted.  The one with the bow, I noticed, was backing up the hill a bit.  I couldn’t let him get any range or else I was a goner, but I also couldn’t get my horse slashed to bits chasing him down.  

I grabbed my horses reins in my free hand so I had greater control over her movements.  The two bandits with the knives stayed a wary few feet away, the other one was retreating further up the hill.

“Leave now and I will allow you to keep your lives.  Continue this law breaking behavior and I will personally deliver your heads to the sheriff to collect my bounty!” I yelled, very aware of the fact that without armor, and barefoot, I was a much less intimidating personality.

The bandits gave no sign of either backing down, or attacking.  The third member was further up the hill, almost bow range.  They were giving me no choice.  With a grunt of frustration, I turned my horse one more time, quickly so the bandits could not see what I was doing, and slipped one leg over her side.  Pushing off with my one free hand, I jumped off her back and landed in front of the bandits, barefoot in the dirt, both hands on my hilt, sword up and ready.

They rushed me at the same time, as I expected they would.  That was fine, as long as they were near me, the archer would not be able to get a clear shot. I stepped back, letting the slightly faster one close to me before swinging my sword in a deflective maneuver.  As the bandit reached out to stab me, I smacked his arm away with the flat of my blade.  Turning my strike quickly, I hit him in the side of the head with the flat of the blade.  It would cause a severe pain and ringing in the ear, but hopefully no permanent damage.

As he turned away the next bandit was right behind him, knife already headed for my ribs.  My arms were still high from my last strike, but I brought them down to my waist, using the pommel of my sword by slamming it into the hand of my attacker and deflecting his blade.  In too close of quarters to swing again, I released my sword with my left hand and backhanded my attacker across the face.  He staggered back a step and I brought my sword point level with his throat.  He froze, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Stop!” I called to the attacker I felt advancing on my left side, the ringing apparently subsided enough to fight again.  “Move an inch and I will put this through the back of his hood.”

“Knives on the ground now, and kick them towards me.” I ordered.  The men hesitated and I pushed my sword point against the man’s apple.  A pinprick of blood appeared at the tip.  My sword was not fancy, or new, but I kept a razor’s edge on it.  He dropped his knife and kicked it towards me as best he could with my point at his throat.  To my left I heard a knife hit the ground, and then felt it tumble over to me.  I glanced over real quick to see the man standing there, waiting for further instruction.  Then I heard the rustle of leaves.

I glanced up and realized that the archer had gained the high ground.  Next to the dryad’s tree he was high enough that there was a good chance he could get a clean shot from where he was.  I had a split second to make a decision, skewer this man in front of me and use his body as a shield, or….

Suddenly the arms of the dryad reached out from behind the tree and seized the archer’s arms.  He screamed in surprise as her powerful hands wrenched the bow from his grasp.  Terrified he clawed himself free and scrambled away from the tree, falling to his knees before it.  Surprised and amused by his reaction, I began to laugh.

All of the bandits, even the archer scrambling on his hands a knees away from the tree, turned to look at me.  I realized that I must have appeared mad and quickly turned my laugh of mirth into one of gloating.

“Clearly you lot have not made peace with the spirits of this forest!” I barked at them.  “How rude, to be stalking these grounds and not pay proper respects.  She has turned against you intruders.”  The branches of the oak tree began to shake in response to my words, little leaves showered down on the astonished men.  I stepped back from the one I held at sword point.

“I, Leir Magedaughter, fear not this forest, for I have paid reverence.  The forest protects me.  But you,” I turned and looked at each bandit, pointing my sword at them in turn, “You are not welcome here anymore.  Go now with your lives, while you still have them and I will not follow you.  It is up to the forest if you leave her bounds alive!”

Deciding not to take chances with angry trees, the bandits gazed at me for one more horrified moment, then ran, leaving their knives and bow.  As the took off down the road, I sheathed my sword and breathed a sigh of relief, then bent and scooped up the knives, tucking them into my belt.  Walking towards the tree I felt my heart rate begin to slow from it’s battle speed back to normal.  Glancing around I saw my horse, standing near the streams edge.

“See what happens when you run off? I have to rescue you!  As if I did not have enough work to do already!” I yelled at my ungrateful beast.

Scooping to pick up the bow, I approached the tree.

“This will get me at least a decent meal, it is well made, thank you.” I said to the dryad I knew was lurking.  “For this gift and for your help.”

“Saving your life?” the dryad asked slyly, appearing in the branches above.

“Saving theirs.” I corrected, “It would have got real bloody real fast without your help.”  

“I noticed you did not cut them.” she commented.

“Gave one of them a bit of scrape, but no, I try not to.  My master used to say do not draw your sword unless you are willing to kill, but I see no point in killing if you do not have to.  I draw a lot and never kill anything.”

She shook her head at me as if she could not quite believe it.

“So you do not kill, but you do lie.  You are a strange knight.”

“I have killed.  And I do lie sometimes, but usually it’s to save a life, so I reckon it's not so bad.” I shrugged.

“You are good at it.” the dryad said, sliding down the tree trunk.

“Lying?  Yes, well I have had a great deal of experience.” I said, no point in being dishonest now, at least not with her.

“Knighting, you don’t keep THE code, but you keep A code that I find much more compassionate.” she stood closer, she smelled like moss and all things green.

“That’s me, the compassionate knight at your service.” I gave a little bow.  

“I thought you were Magedaughter?” she teased.

“Oh, that part was definitely a lie.” I said.

“But Leir?”

“As close to the truth as I get.  That’s my knight name, and the only one that matters these days.” I said.

“Leir,” she tested it again, leh-air. “You can call me Vinaka.”

“I thought dryads did not have pronounceable names?” it was my turn to tease her.

“We do,” she said “But I picked that one just for you.”

I smiled, I was pretty sure she was flirting with me, but I am also pretty dense.

“What are your plans now, compassionate knight?  Your horse has returned.”

“Well, it’s pretty late in the day, so probably set up camp somewhere around here.  If the lady of the tree does not mind that is.” I said.

“You are more than welcome, Sir Leir.” she smiled.

“Leir will do just fine.” I replied, pulling the knives from my belt and setting them next to my armor.

“In fact, stay right here, close to the tree, and we can exchange stories.  I want to know of your training, and your name before your knight’s name.” she leaned against her tree, smiling at me in a way that was completely beguiling and almost human.

“Only if you tell me stories of the kingdoms past, and the things you have heard from travellers.” I retorted, for I was honestly curious about the history of the location.

“Very well, a deal.” she said said, holding out her hand, I took it in mine, surprised to find the skin smooth, despite its bark-like appearance.  I held on for a second longer than I intended, enchanted by the strange feel of her.  Her eyes caught mine and I released her hand.

“Maybe later you can pay reverence to the forest.” she whispered, disappearing back into the tree with that parting shot.

I exhaled a long breath and went to fetch my horse, “As long as it doesn’t give me splinters,” I muttered as I walked away.

I would end up returning to that forest several times over the years of my life.  Over time bandits abandoned the area completely, and my minor skirmishes turned into folk tales. Catch a late night meal in the nearby town and you might hear the story of the knight who charmed the forest.