#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.”

[blankdblank]

Anaticula Pt 7

Hermione enters! Blowing through to the second year to keep the story going.

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 -

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…

“So let me get this straight-…” Regulus groaned in your passing the kitchen. You walked towards the stairs leaving Neville snuggled up comfortably reading through his latest book on Herbology while you went to change out of your stiff clothes still partially frozen from your hour long snow battle with Harry, Ginny and Ron. A clear tie had to be called before you would all come inside and Neville had to practically be peeled off your leg from his near fall in the snow covered fountain. Here in your bubble charm protected manor out in the middle of the vast ranges now buried in feet of snow while a blizzard raged outside.

After you had been tasked to help the twins fix the cocoa and stew when they had been torn from their final touches on an essay due when you returned for extra credit. The whole while all you could think of was the Longbottom were coming, the Tonks were coming and even Lucius had wiggled himself an invite playing his wife’s maiden name to do so. Your father’s side would all practically be here and that simply left the Dursleys.

Petunia had lost her sisters and according to the muggle world, you. That sting dug even deeper and seated at your desk in your room you spotted your owl peeking up as soon as you picked up your pen. Her beak worked at the door to her cage she freed herself from and she hopped out and trotted over to you.

On the paper you brought out you wrote simply,

‘Aunt Petunia,

I know this may come as a shock but for the past eight years I have been living under a fake name with disguises to protect me. Those were left behind when I got accepted into Hogwarts though. This comes way out of the blue, however, I simply hoped to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Maybe one day if you are willing we might meet up for tea get to know one another.’

Wetting your lips you signed your name then shifted your gaze and found a photograph of you from today, seated in the snow beside your uncle Regulus crafting a giant Cerberus out of snow, both giggling at its refusal to sit still. Carefully you folded the letter around it and sealed it. An enchanted pouch was added around your owls back and chest to help keep her safe in the distance through any bout of weather. A pat on the head later you opened your window and watched her soar out into the distance growing smaller by the second.

Changed into a fresh pair of pajamas and a thick sweater matching your socks you were down again to snuggle up to Neville’s side to hear all about the plants he found the most interesting. These would all be from the regions you would trek through on your summer break with Regulus and the Twins, again returning to your collecting rare venoms.

All of which only adding to your amassed credits for your Magical Creatures youth program the three of you had been part of for years now run by the Ministry. No matter Fudge’s problems with you those venoms came back with vastly little risks compared to when others were sent for them. You were needed and paid fairly handsomely by the companies in charge of brewing up the antivenoms you collected for.

With a promised list of seeds and cuttings you would return with to be added to your vast greenhouses you helped Neville to tend to. Bedtime came soon enough and you were back again in your own bed fairly early knowing you had an appointment the following day.

.

Between the Twins you were bundled up and hatted with your curls tucked in a long braid down your back with your curly bangs tucked behind your ear. Through the doorway on Grimmauld street you headed off to your right and paused at the base of the stairs clapping your hands over your mouth to muffle your loud squeaking laughter as the Twins loudly snorted and laughed around you at Bill and Charlie both slipping on the ice and stumbling oh so ungracefully to the bottom of the steps. Groaning lowly they jumped up and brushed themselves off narrowing their eyes at you three in your turns to lead the way off to your appointments.

The pale yellow waiting room folded around you and for the first time you would be arriving as yourself, though with your normal black eyebrows and hair showing at the roots to give the impression you had dyed it the silvery blue color it bore. All over your stagnantly purple eyes. Easily you wrote out your name and thanks to an earlier drop in by Remus with an allowed charm to swap out your name on all your dental records you took your seat and waited.

As it went the Grangers seemed nice enough, though each time you came their daughter seemed to have her attention fixed on you instead of the books they kept trying to remind her to read. Another hopeful pair wishing for a great future for their child it seemed, though halfway through your cleanings an unruly bird broke through a half cracked window knocking over a bouquet of flowers.

One sneeze from their daughter was all it took and all the furniture started floating. With wide eyes Bill and Charlie hurried through the building ensuring only the parents and child were there before they drew their wands muttering the counter spell. The panic of the parents ceased while the girls cheeks stopped halfway to tomato red and she looked at you all hopefully with her bright blue eyes. At your side Mr Granger peered down at you as you said to his daughter, “Bet you thought you were the only one that could do that, huh?”

She nodded and neared your chair as you extended your hand, “Jaqi Black.”

A proud grin spread across her face firing back, “Hermione Granger.” With a reach up to shift an unruly string of curls that had slid free from her braided bun.

Mr Granger, “You, you can do that?”

You nodded and Charlie added, “You wouldn’t happen to have an odd relative up your family tree, likes solitary life, seems a bit shifty when having others over or sharing about their jobs or education?”

He nodded, “My great Uncle.”

Charlie grinned and sat down as he continued to finish your cleaning, helping you up as Bill finished, “Well we all go to Hogwarts. Off for the holidays. No doubt if her sneezes are that powerful she’ll be getting a letter.”

Out of the chair you called K mentally and had him fetch two books, both of which you handed over to Hermione with a soft grin, “You’re my cousins age, so when you turn eleven you should all be in the same year. Now, here’s a Muggles guide to magic, sort of an introduction to our world. And this one is Hogwarts : A History, obviously the history of our school.”

On your feet Mrs Granger asked weakly in a bear hopeful tone, “Your parents can do magic as well?”

You nodded, “Ya, um, here,” you turned grabbing one of their cards to write down the enchanted muggle phone in your home, “I know it looks like an odd number, but it rings at our home. You can call anytime you need help, like if the furniture floats again, and also you could come by for tea, or, cocoa, whichever and you can talk to them about it instead of us Friday would be good, they’ll all be home. If you’d prefer.” The card was cradled and they grinned helping you to make your next appointments for another checkup and then watched you head out the door with another thanks and a beaming grin from Hermione before she rushed back to her seat to begin reading her gifted books.

Free of the steps without a fumble this time you all chatted in your trips to the shops nearby. All the added guests meant you needed extra presents. A point Charlie used to his advantage for more time with you at your side outside of school grounds and your parents’ watchful eye. Thankfully two magic shops were nearby passing easily for muggle ones, mainly selling muggle goods but able to be paid for with wizard money, a common stop for those mixing between worlds. Books, odd figurines, a couple interesting hats and as many blankets as you could manage later everyone would have at least one gift, the Malfoys getting the oddest, except for Draco, who would be getting a full set of Peter Pan tales complete with enchanted copies of the Animated Peter Pan film.

.

“Alright, which one of you cast a spell in front of a muggle?”

Remus’ hands were planted on his hips and Charlie answered, “In our defense you said we could go unsupervised.”

Bill swatted his arm and added, “The Dentists little girl sneezed and the furniture started floating. We just righted it.”

Regulus shifted a bit more out from behind the couch he was lounging on, “Muggle born?”

You all nodded and the twins added with you, “She looked about in tears.”

Regulus nodded and stood up moving to the phone, “I’ll call in the report then.”

Sirius, who was leaning against the wall moved closer to peek into one of your bags, “You explained it to them?”

You nodded, “Even gave her the typical intro book and the one on Hogwarts history. You should have seen it, such a powerful spell from a sneeze.”

Remus, “Any other patients?”

Bill shook his head and Charlie answered, “We made sure it was clear.” Then he chuckled and added, “Expect a call, Jaqi invited them to cocoa or tea.”

Sirius chuckled and leaned in kissing your forehead then asked, “Who gets the cow figurine?”

“Uncle Lucius.” That made him chortle and Remus chuckle through Regulus’ loud laugh in the other room, “Just thought of him.”

Sirius grinned eyeing the upright cow in a tuxedo jacket with a monocle, top hat and cane. “I am certain he will love it. And for Narcissa?”

“Um, she always had this peacock pin on, so I found this fuzzy blanket with one on it.”

Sirius guides you in to help you set it all out to wrap properly and add under the massive tree in the main sitting room already Christmas themed overlooking the glass wall exposing the mountains you were hidden inside across from the homier one they had been resting in after work. “She will adore it then.”

“And I found these Peter Pan books for Draco and an enchanted version of the muggle animated version.”

Remus nodded, “No doubt we could also play the Robin Williams version after dinner as well.”

“Exactly.”

Regulus entered the room stating, “Alright, related the event in question. It matches the reports from the walk in they sent to inspect the Dentists and their daughter, who has been added to the list of discovered Muggleborns.”

Your grin grew, “Good. She seemed so happy.”

Fred, “No doubt a lot of kids her age aren’t levitating things with a sneeze.”

George, “At least now she can bond with Neville, seems bookish like us. Ron n Harry might need some coaxing to be buddies first.”

.

“Here is your tea and your cocoa.” Sirius grinned at Hermione as she peered around the house then grinned when she saw you walking into the room briskly.

“Sorry, snakes were a bit unruly today. Draft somewhere…”

Mr Granger’s brows rose, “Snakes?”

Sirius nodded as Regulus answered, “Yes, part of my job, me and the triplets go to search out rare snakes and collect their venoms to sell and for antivenoms.”

Mr Granger, “You take children?”

You grinned at him, “I can talk to snakes. Not so dangerous.”

Mrs Granger didn’t blink as she asked, “You can talk to snakes? Is that common?”

“Oh, I have a great Uncle that can talk to cockatoos.” You wet your lips then added, “I’m not being a smart ass, they really do talk. Their language sort of sounds like Yiddish.”

Sirius added, “Speaking to certain animals are mainly passed down by blood. Jaqi inherited it from her mother.”

You grinned at Hermione saying, “Why don’t I show you the library, my cousin Neville’s in there.”

She glanced at her parents who gave her a nod and cradled her cup and stood to walk with you as Mrs Granger asked, “And is her mother at work?”

Sirius drew in a breath and as you left the room you heard, “No, there um, there was a war, a few years after Jaqi was born-.”

Hermione glanced up at you stirring another grin from you and she said, “Thank you.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I really thought I would have to learn all this alone.”

Weakly you chuckled and then paused, “I should warn you about one thing though.” She nodded, “My family is very old, and very prejudiced.” She nodded again tentatively, “Up until about my father’s generation was the idea of associating with Muggles considered. Now, my mom, she was adopted by a muggle family, so please don’t take this the wrong way. The Weasleys all love muggles, hell their father’s entire job has to do with muggles. Though when you get to school there will be students who will treat you differently, even be cruel to you for being muggleborn.”

With another confident nod she replied, “I will bear it. To learn all I can.”

“I promise you, when you get there I’ll do my best to look out for you. The Weasleys too,” your head tilted for a moment, “Though maybe not Ron right away, him and my cousin Harry tend to keep to themselves obsessing over Quidditch, it’s our top sport.” She nodded again and joined you in restarting your walk, “If it helps they didn’t give me such an easy time either when I started. Actually I got sorted to Slytherin and then got moved to Hufflepuff on my first night for my other cousins coming after me for being so lax on remaining pureblood and holding to their ideals.”

“Is it better now?”

Your head tilted again, “Well a group of them got expelled after our fight. Though after a while it sort of died down to occasional insults. Mainly when they fail at something or have their egos hurt.”

“When do you go back?”

“14th we ride back on the train, 15th I believe classes start again.”

“Is it difficult?”

You smirked at her, “That, is entirely dependent upon the effort you put into studying. First year isn’t normally too trying, a nudge to get you into the schedule, all working up to fifth year for the big exams, the O.W.L.S followed by the dreaded N.E.W.T.S in seventh year.”

“They don’t give tests till fifth year?”

You let out a weak giggle, “Those for fifth years help to determine which field you work in. Usually by then you’ll have an idea what you want to do, they cover a great deal of jobs available in your fourth year, and then certain jobs don’t just accept grades for OWLS you have to get a certain amount of NEWTS too.”

Through the doorway to the library a gasp came from Hermione seeing the endless bookshelves making you grin and say, “It’s enchanted to make a copy of every book ever written, all fireproof and all that, pristine copies.” Wetting your lips you guided her farther in to where Neville was lounging on a round couch and grinned up at her sheepishly and offered her a hand, “This is my cousin Neville, Neville, this is Hermione.”

Neville released her hand and said, “I’m just finishing this book on the Endlessly Crying Pickle Plant from the Sahara Dessert. All of its fruit taste like pumpkins.”

You giggled as she sat beside him as he turned to the first section showing her the pictures of it, you sat on his other side while he carried on, “You’d be surprised at just how many odd plants there are out there. Jaqi’s heading out this summer for a hammer tailed soaring sniper, it’s a form of snake bred with a scorpion, one of the meanest out there, and they live off these, she promised to bring me back a seed, I’ve already got the habitat set up in the greenhouse.” After a pause he added, “A lot of people overlook Herbology in magic, but a great deal of survival skills and even potion masters would heed the warning to master the subject. I’ve cleared out nearly three full bookshelves on the subject in here. Though they keep writing new ones so Jaqi’s bought me little ribbons I can fold in them to hang out, so I know which I’ve covered already.”

Her smile grew and she stated, “Well I won’t overlook it. I intend to learn all I can.”

His smile doubled, “Well if you ever need help with it I’ll help as best as I can. Besides, this is the best place to learn.”

A few more books were added to her supply, mainly the History of Magic book from the first year with a few good introductory books to Herbology Neville had suggested for her to borrow. All of which added to an enchanted bag and eased over her shoulder, whatever your father, uncle and Remus had told them had eased their worries from the topic of the former war. Even to the point that between your trips you had been asked if Hermione could come by for day visits while they were at work to be among kids like her near or at her age to ease her into the change. Plus while you were in school you had given her the address to the Muggle Post Office box that would direct it towards you in Hogwarts.

…

Your third day was when the Tonks arrived, a bit confused at the muggle entrance for a small hidden brownstone only housing an enchanted doorway at the end of a hall feeding into your distant shielded home. Only for them to be awed at the two days they hung around with Tonks thoroughly loving the practice pitch you had. By the next day however on Christmas Eve the Malfoys arrived. Also through the muggle entrance and ready to claim their bedrooms for the night, both quite lavish and fully stocked for them. Though for all he should be doing Draco claimed all the time he could with you, bonding with Neville instantly as he was clearly your favorite while trying to at least get to know the Weasleys and Harry.

All day you explored the library after they got too cold playing in the gardens with you. By dinner you had been cornered with an odd suggestion, looking you straight in the eye Lucius said, “Surely you could find time for Draco to come and visit during your summer break.” His eyes turned to Regulus, “He does hate it when we have to bring him along on our work trips.”

Regulus glanced at you and nodded, “Sure. The more the merrier. We would love to keep little Draco entertained while you’re away.”

The tension was clear between your Uncles, mainly coming from Lucius, however all that dropped the moment your presents were unwrapped. The stoic face of Lucius cracked into a weak smirk as he looked over at you saying, “I will treasure it always.” Right before protectively shielding the gift against his chest from Theodore Tonk’s arm moving to draw his blanket and gift of book on paper airplanes. “I know just where to place this on my desk at work.” His smirk deepening as he eyed the blanket earning a wide grin from Narcissa while Draco’s mouth fell open for a loud gasp that brought on a full tackling hug complete with muffled thanks into your shoulder making you giggle.

Though all that tension was gone and after watching the film pre chosen for the awed boy in love with Peter Pan and his world you were all off to bed. Breakfast followed and still all in your pajamas a couple hours later lounging in the sitting room as Draco watched te animated version of the film he was gifted beside you all eyes turned to Frank and Alice when they arrived. The stoic pair greeted their son and accepted the tea offered. Both sheepishly asking random questions until an innocent comment on the flowers they had passed on the way leading Neville into a spilling conversation on all he’d read bringing on a trip for the pair to be pulled into the greenhouse where they both gasped seeing all they boy had accomplished so far in his self taught studies. A timid common interest eased the door open for a possible friendship between the trio and by the time they had left Neville had calmed that the plan wasn’t to take him away from the only home he knew.

…

The mingle of relatives and the few visits from Hermione before her muggle school started up classes again had ended and two weeks after another tug away from sight by Charlie, where you were wished a happy new year with another stolen kiss, you were back at the station again. Peering over Bill’s arm at the extra bundle of books he had borrowed from your library you asked him with a grin, “I thought you were taking it easy this year.”

With a shrug he said, “Seven NEWTS can’t be as difficult as all twelve OWLS.”

You nodded and giggled, “I’m not certain it wouldn’t be. There have been some to have panic attacks with three to study for you know.”

He nodded and slung his arm around your shoulders, “That’s why, my dearest baby sister, I am going to hire you as my study buddy.” Making you giggle, “All the sour skypops and whistling moonhips I can manage on my trips to Hogsmaede.”

Poking him in the stomach in the walk from the luggage car to your first year car you said, “You are lucky I have a weakness for taking on impossible tasks. Seven NEWTS to study for in barely five months.”

“Best sister ever!” He said with his hands up easing through his hair in his turning walk back to the cars up front for sixth and seventh years while Charlie chuckled tugging him along easing his fingers through his again blonde hair after his own set of bribed treats to dye it back again.

.

The second week back held the third game of the year, Ravenclaw vs Slytherin, another loss for the new green team, though the two hour rumble gave your team seeker a good chance to stare at the object of his affection once again. Cho Chang, a fellow Seeker who shared most of your classes and with a cousin in Hufflepuff she tended to eat at your table since your second weeks project with another Ravenclaw student brought you to forcing a seat for yourself. That move triggered Cho to swap for your place conveniently next to Cedric and across from her cousin with a couple Gryffindor students sighed and moved to the Slytherin table to get a start on theirs. By Christmas the tables were free reign mainly a welcome sight for the stunned professors awed by what you had started.

February had the big show down, Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff, the Weasley players split down team lines, two brothers against one another. Though neither expected the sheer hell their younger brothers would put them through. Between the bludgers to avoid they could handle and the easily enough traded quaffle they thought they had the game sealed but in the time off and back again your practices had been well used as it unleashed all shades of crazy. The Chasers were barely able to keep their eyes on the quaffle long enough to even try and steal it between the skillfully batted bludgers leaving only Oliver seeming like he knew what he was tasked to do. All in all it wasn’t that bad of a score, matched at 50 each until Cedric managed to snatch the Snitch right in front of Charlie’s face while he was mistaking a glint of gold by Tonk’s side for the coveted flying ball.

.

March came with a sting granting you permission for a night at home when, by surprise, Frank and Alice had written to share that Alice was expecting another baby. An easy sting for you to mend as Neville was halfway excited to be a big brother and show a younger sibling about plants too. By that Monday he’d started a list on all he wanted to share with them and you were relaxed into your same routine of classes, studies, choir and another set of studies with Bill between random detentions and extra credits lumped on top of your quidditch practices.

Leading up to April, the best game for Slytherin yet and up against the Puffs no less. Two games in a row, as usual for the team lineups. A win by ten over the Snitch’s capture points thrilling the crowd in the close game brought on by the settling newcomers. But that game left you little comfort as Bill’s study sessions increased and grew tenser by the day only eased by you and your forced bouts of walks or swims were you reminded him to breathe and live a bit.

.

The morning the testing began in the third week in May all younger students were asked to be respectful of those testing and to steer clear.

Monday was Charms. Nice and easy for his best subject. A must have for a treasure hunter and curse breaker.

Tuesday was Transfiguration. Between your studies and the not so subtle hints from McGonagall he didn’t feel as stressed as he thought he would.

Wednesday was Herbology not his best subject but with your help he seemed more confident than he was in his OWLS. A subject he knew if he failed Neville would never let him hear the end of it.

Thursday was DADA. Another easy one for him.

Friday was Ancient Runes. Arguably his hardest to study for, but another mandatory one for what he wanted to pursue.

Two days off freed him to curl up and wrap around you, both in relief for what he’d accomplished on top of more cram sessions for what was left.

Potions was on the second Monday. The written part he felt he did tolerably but the practical side let him feel he’d bested it over what he had assumed he could accomplish.

With another day to spare between that and Arithmacy that Wednesday he relaxed some more and tried not to drown in the puddle of sweat Arithmacy seemed to be. A subject Charlie had to mainly tutor him in as you hadn’t understood most of it quite yet, even after trying to read the textbook for yourself. But even if he came home with a Troll in it at least he gave it a shot and his mother would be pleased for how badly he had tried to show her he was grateful for the sacrifices she and their father had made to get him through school with all necessary tools and trinkets so he could get to his graduation, even with so many other children to raise after him.

June was last with a final bout between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. A much needed win for the exhausted Gryffindors who struggled at Bill’s hectic schedule and study habits to match yours keeping most up at his irritated shouts in the common room. A study group soon growing in popularity when they knew just why the seventh year was shouting at two in the morning. The final month was theirs to relax in while the first two weeks held the OWLS for fifth years. Again silence and respect for their struggles before the final two weeks of bliss ending with yet another train ride home again.

Pt 8

[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

[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.