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archadianskies · 3 years

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@dbhrarepairs Monday Day 1: Post-Apocalypse • Sacrifice; Hank Anderson/Rose Chapman TLOU AU

“Alice needs medicine.” It’s said in a whispered hush, paired with nervous glances over at the feverish child labouring in bed. “Her coughs are wet and her chest sounds congested.”

“Adam’s still about a week out from being able to drive back here,” Rose chews her lip, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hank shrugs, “I’ll make the exchange by myself.”

“No!” Her voice is stern, her gaze even moreso but she knows it won’t dissuade him. They both know this has to be done.

“Make the call. Luther can help me load up the truck and I’ll go.”

“Hank-” Kara, sweet Kara with anguish on her face weighing her down, wearier and wearier with a sick child already.

“I’ll get it done, for your little girl,” he pats her hand and there’s conflict mixed with her gratitude. “Luther will keep everyone safe here while I’m gone.”

They’re easing into winter and they all know if he doesn’t go now, there won’t be a chance later when the roads are covered in snow. Doesn’t mean Rose is any more comfortable with the plan, not when the world isn’t what it was and every single day they’re out here they know they’re all on a knife’s edge.

“The cold slows them down,” Hank tries to placate and she raises one brow and he drops that line and goes for another. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Rose says firmly and eases the beanie on his head. “North’s making the drop this time.”

“Doubly, extra triple careful then,” he mutters. North’s tempestuous at the best of times, so Hank knows there won’t be any casual banter or interesting snippets of news exchanged with the goods.

Usually Josh is the one he meets with, sometimes Simon, and on that one occasion which he still is half-convinced never happened- Markus himself turned up. Jericho is one of the largest communities flourishing in the aftermath and has a functioning hospital, and the Chapman farm has, well, fresh vegetables and poultry. It’s a good relationship in this hellscape, one that gives him hope for a future.

“Truck’s all loaded,” Luther thumps the hatch as Hank makes his way over. “If you leave now you’ll make it back before nightfall. I’ll keep an eye on the house, I promise.”

Hank claps his shoulder. “Thanks Luther, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” the man murmurs, his voice more like a deep rumble in that broad chest. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Hey, I’d do anything for her,” it’s the goddamn truth and he isn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Be safe,” Luther squeezes his arm. “It’s your turn to read to Alice tonight, remember?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

He pulls out of the driveway, sparing Luther one last glance in the rearview mirror before it’s just him and the road and all the thoughts he tries so desperately to keep at bay. It’s been ten years since the outbreak, ten whole years since that cursed day he held Cole as his son bled out in his arms. It’s been nearly five years since Rose Chapman found him, half mad with grief and nearly feral with hunger yet too stubborn to die.

He doesn’t really remember the years between Cole’s death and him wandering onto the outskirts of Rose’s farm. She’d saved him, continues to save him day in and day out because he has a purpose here, he matters here, and there are people here he’d kill to protect.

Once the initial wave was over, once the violence cannibalised itself, people did what people do best- they come together, they rebuild, they reconcile, they strive forward. It doesn’t mean it’s completely safe, it doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing, but Hank can see a future now where he couldn’t see one before.

*~*

There’s three kids walking along the tree line; it’s a blink and miss situation, but he definitely didn’t miss it. Three kids, all alone, heading somewhere but nowhere close enough they’ll make it by nightfall. Ah shit. Hank pulls over and the kids are smart enough to dart for cover.

“You kids alright?” He takes out his gun and sweeps his gaze around, trying to spot any infected who might be lurking nearby.

“We’re alright!” One of them calls out.

“Shut up Connor!” One of them hushes the one named Connor.

“It’s only a couple of hours until sundown and there’s no camp you can reach safely on foot in time,” Hank approaches slowly, keeping his voice low. He sees them now, all three of them, skinny boys in ill fitting clothing with backpacks too big for them.

One of them has a bandaid stuck to an old crusted wound right in the middle of his forehead. The other has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, brown with age. And the last one is pointing a gun at him.

“We said we are alright.” The one holding a gun says icily. He can’t be more than ten, yet the look in his eyes says everything; the boy has been through things a ten year old shouldn’t have, but then the same could be said about most children in this hellscape.

“Two of you are hurt. I’m going to Jericho and-”

“Jericho?” The one named Connor perks up. “We’re going to Jericho!”

“Shut up Connor!” The other says exasperatedly, and Hank can see they’re identical twins with the only difference to be found in their expressions.

“I can take you there. Plenty of room in the truck.”

“What will it cost us?” The one with the gun demands, and Hank shakes his head.

“Nothin’. I just don’t want you boys out here all alone, especially once it gets dark and the temperature plummets,” he tries to reason with them, but can’t fault them for their caution.

“We managed to make camp just fine,” one of the twins says stubbornly but Hank can see it, can see that small hopeful expression he’s trying so desperately to mask.

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you can tonight. You just shouldn’t have to, that’s all,” he gestures at his truck. “This way’s pretty deserted but Jericho’s much safer and the truck’s much faster than going on foot. What do you say?”

“If you try something funny, Ronan will shoot you,” the stubborn twin threatens, and Hank nods.

“Alright.”

It’s a tight squeeze but three boys under ten are about the size of one grown man so it spares Hank the effort of rearranging the produce on the back. There’s a blanket Kara crocheted on one of the seats, and he tucks it over them and doesn’t miss the way they snuggle closer, huddling for warmth.

“Is Jericho nice? How long have you lived there?” Connor asks after a while.

“Jericho is very nice. It’s big and safe and there’s other kids in there too,” Hank explains, “but I don’t live there. I live on a farm down the other way, and we supply vegetables and chickens to them in exchange for meds and materials and shi- stuff.”

“You’re making an exchange now?” The one named Ronan asks quietly, the gun still held tightly in his hands now resting on his lap.

“Yeah, uh, Alice, a little girl about your age, she’s sick,” Hank spares them a glance. “Her cough’s getting pretty bad so we’re hoping to get some meds to help.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for me there?” Connor says so softly Hank barely hears him.

“Are you sick? What do you think you need? I’m sure they’ll have it there.”

“You’re not sick!” The other twin hisses, and Connor huffs stubbornly.

“That’s the problem Sean, and maybe that’s why I need help!”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Hank looks over at them and both boys click their jaws shut and refuse to meet his gaze.

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, the ice back in his tone. “We just need to get to Jericho.”

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and Hank’s glad when the large gates loom up on the horizon. He doesn’t drive up to the main entrance, but takes a side road and stops the truck by a clearing where there’s another car waiting.

“Hey Hank,” the redhead greets with a lazy wave, leaning against the trunk.

“Hey North,” he nods respectfully as he kills the engine and hops out.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “new survivors?”

“Yeah I picked ‘em up on the way,” Hank gestures over at them before busying himself with removing the tarp over the cargo. “They were headed this way so I thought I’d get ‘em here safely.”

“Doc will want to check them over,” North looks at the boys and Connor is the only one who offers a wave. “It’s just protocol of course.”

“They’ll need her help anyway- Sean has that wound on his forehead and Connor has the bandage on his arm,” Hank looks over his shoulder at the boys. “Blood looks old but it can’t hurt to give it a once over and a dressing change.”

“And the other one who looks ready to murder me?”

“That’s Ronan. He’s holding a gun.”

“Clever boy,” North smirks, coming around to the driver’s side and peeking in through the open door. “You boys want to come stay here with us, you have to get checked by the Doc first okay?”

“Okay,” they chorus obediently and Hank finds himself grinning helplessly.

“Got the meds and some honest to god wool yarn for Kara,” North informs him as she loads up a crate onto the back. “Otto farm about six hours away made the exchange and I kept a couple of skeins for her.”

“She’ll love that, thanks North,” he pats the crate happily. “And we all profit it from it, so…”

“It’s more an investment than a gift,” she grins before beckoning to the brothers. “Alright kiddos let’s go. Come in and grab a coffee Hank, while the guys unload the rest and refuel.”

“You’re a saint, thanks.”

*~*

Jericho is a nice place. It’s a really really nice place. It’s full of life and learning and healing. No matter how hard others try to take this place for themselves, no matter how much violence they try and inflict, the sheer resilience of its people keeps the place running. That, and well, having nearly an entire SWAT team complete with a Captain in residence can’t hurt.

Far better, kinder, saner team than the rabid FBI team led by Prickins from a few years back who tried to destroy Jericho and take it for themselves. The whole debacle saw over half of Jericho burned to the ground and dozens slaughtered.

It’s when he and Rose took in Kara and her family, because the sheer trauma was too much for Alice to process and she could never return. Adam stayed on as a nurse and found his calling. It feels like a lifetime ago too.

He takes his coffee over to the little clinic at the side entrance where newcomers are screened because he wants to make sure the boys are alright.

“This is a burn,” Adam frowns as he inspects the wound on Sean’s forehead. “How did you get this?”

The boy doesn’t answer, looking over nervously as doctor Anthea unwraps the bandage from Connor’s arm.

“Oh my god-”

“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his mouth before he can stop himself.

“It’s three weeks old we swear!” Connor cries, nursing his arm to his chest, tears in his eyes. “It’s three weeks old!”

Before Hank can comment any further he’s being slammed to the wall, North placing a gun under his jaw. “You brought a fucking kid with a bite into Jericho and expected to leave him here?!”

“I didn’t-”

“He didn’t know!” Ronan shouts, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “We didn’t tell him in case he left us behind!”

“He should’ve left you behind!” North growls.

“It’s old,” Anthea raises her voice. “The teeth indentations have healed over. This is new scar tissue right here.” She’s gently tracing the mark on Connor’s arm, the boy’s bottom lip trembling as tears spill down his cheeks.

“How the fuck is that possible?” North steps away and lowers her gun, too shocked to be angry now it seems. “Everyone who’s ever been bitten turns after eight hours at the most.”

“He must be immune, then,” Anthea smiles in disbelief as she smooths Connor’s hair away from his face. “You are one of a kind, Connor.”

“We keep him in holding overnight,” North declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just to be sure.”

“No, you keep us together!” Sean spits, fuming at the mere suggestion of separation.

“I don’t have time for that, I have to get back to Alice!” Hank argues and North cocks her brow.

“No one’s asking you to stay, Hank, you can go.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting you lock up these kids outside of Jericho’s walls!”

“You can go, you got us to Jericho, you don’t need to do anything else!” Ronan adds and oh Hank can see it, Hank can see the fear of being left alone in those big grey eyes.

“I’ll go, I know the way,” Adam offers, holding his hand out for the keys. “It’s my home, after all. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll spend the night in holding, then,” Hank nods as he hands over the keys to the truck. “Tell Alice I’m sorry I’ll miss storytime.”

“You spend the night in holding,” North orders as takes his gun from the table and presses it back into his hand, “and you put him down yourself if he turns.”

“And then us too,” Ronan says in a voice so steady, so resigned for a child. “If you shoot him, you have to shoot us too.”

“It won’t come to that,” Hank says firmly.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Anthea runs her fingers over the bite on Connor’s arm again before gently thumbing away his tears. “I guess we shall see in the morning, hm?”

The holding area must have been a security control room at some point. It’s now been caged by wire completely, with a chained and padlocked gate. He must be losing what little sanity he has left, but at least he’s not losing his compassion. No way in hell he’s about to abandon three boys to an uncertain fate, no matter how brave they’re trying to be.

“You could’ve gone back to the farm,” Ronan points out as Connor curls up on the lumpy mattress under the covers with his twin.

“Yeah I know,” Hank shrugs, nursing his coffee mug. Simon had left them with provisions to last the night, including a large thermos of coffee because he’s an angel in this apocalyptic hellscape.

“What if we’re lying and Connor turns and kills you?” Sean demands, though it’s not so effective given Connor’s clinging to him tiredly.

“Then I’d die,” Hank offers them the soup thermos. “Alice is still getting her medicine tonight, so that’s perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you have family at the farm?” Ronan accepts the thermos and pours out a cupful, handing it straight to Connor.

“Losing me won’t be that big a loss for them.”

“That’s a lie! Everyone has someone who’d miss them!” Connor shouts, nearly spilling the soup in his outburst. Hank admits defeat there. Rose would miss him, he thinks, because she’s all heart and soul.

She took him in when he was a husk of a man and together with Adam they toiled and tilled the land, took in every broken survivor and sent them on their way to Jericho with a full belly and provisions to spare. And Hank shot anyone who ever dared to raise their hand against Rose because people like that, greedy fuckers who want to take and take, have no place in this new world.

“What happened to you boys out there? What happened three weeks ago?” It’s The Question and no one seems to want to answer it.

“We wanted to go to the stream to see the fish,” Ronan eventually starts quietly. “We snuck out because Amanda didn’t give her permission.”

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have insisted,” Connor stares into the soup as if it could offer comfort. “I just really wanted to see them.”

“We didn’t see the infected one until it was too late and it bit Connor,” Ronan reaches over to hold his hand. “We tried to hide it but it was bleeding a lot and Amanda heard us in the bathroom getting the first aid kit.”

There’s a pause and Hank realises Sean hasn’t said a single word, resolutely avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“She dragged Connor out the back and-” Ronan falters, pressing his lips into a tight line as he darts a look at Sean. “She gave Sean a gun and told him to shoot Connor as punishment for sneaking out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank swears, recoiling in horror and it makes sense now; the small burn mark on his forehead is from the shell casing hitting him.

“She made you do it, Sean, I don’t hate you!”

“Well you should!” Sean yells. “You should because I pulled the trigger!”

“She made you do it!” His twin insists, squeezing his hand. “She made you and if you didn’t she would’ve killed you!”

“So I killed her,” Ronan says evenly, as if he’s simply stating the sky is indeed blue. “I took the gun from Sean after he missed, and I shot her in the chest and after she fell over I shot her in the head.” Ronan looks at him defiantly. “So we’re fine. We can look after ourselves, you don’t have to care about us.”

Hank slowly sinks to his knees, taking the cup of soup from Connor and setting it aside before gently gathering the boy into his arms and reaching for the other two. He’s a big guy, he has enough wingspan for all three, and he enfolds them in as tight a hug as he can manage and that’s it, that’s what sends the last of their defences tumbling down. They cry loudly, the trauma of it all finally being given a proper outlet and he holds them and he vows to himself that he’s never letting them go. There will be no more Amandas in their life, not now, not ever again.

“Takes us with you,” Connor sobs. “Don’t leave us here.”

“We’re leaving once Adam gets back. All of us,” Hank promises. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

He’s used to watching the dawn, used to getting up this early now to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. He’s even used to waking up with a child still fast asleep on him, now that Alice treats him like a grandfather. There’s something different about this moment, though, with all three boys snuggled against him.

There’s something hopeful about this because it’s eight hours later and he’s still whole and alive and unbitten. And that means Connor is indeed immune. With Sean being an identical twin, that means he too could carry the natural immunity. The hope of the entire world, fast asleep in his arms. It’s a beautiful sentiment.

“Good morning Hank,” greets a voice at the gate and there’s Mister Markus Manfred himself; Jericho’s saviour and leader. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is Adam here yet?”

“Not yet,” the man shakes his head. “But Simon made breakfast for you and the boys. They’ll have a room near the creche with the other children, and we can get them settled in afterward.”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then as soon as Adam gets back, we’re heading for the farm,” he meets Markus’ gaze steadily. “They’re not staying.”

“Hank, Dr Anthea told me Connor is immune. That means we could work towards developing a vaccine.”

“You still can,” he shrugs as best he can with three sleeping kids piled on him. “We can make the trip every weekend. But these boys are coming home with me.”

Markus looks at him, scrutinising him, and Hank can see both the leader and the saviour at work, weighing up the pros and cons and trying to find the common ground for the greater good. Hank would never want to be in his shoes, no sir, no thank you.

“Breakfast, then?” Markus smiles one of his charming presidential smiles as he unlocks the gate and gestures towards the entrance. “Simon made pancakes and we cut up some of the strawberries you brought over from the farm.”

“Pancakes?” Connor stirs sleepily, rubbing his eyes and there it is, there’s the bite on his arm, three weeks and one day older.

“Yeah kiddo, pancakes for breakfast before we head home.”

“Home,” Ronan echoes with a soft smile.

“We’ll be good, we’ll help out on the farm and work extra hard,” Sean whispers nervously, and Hank runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“I know you will.”

Connor and Sean Dechart are ten years old- very nearly almost eleven, Connor points out. Ronan Dechart turned nine two weeks ago, a birthday forgotten entirely in the struggle to survive so Hank makes note to bake a cake. Their parents had died in the initial outbreak, and Professor Amanda Stern had taken them in after finding them hiding at the nearby university where she taught. The story unfolds on the drive back to the farm and the more he learns about their time with Amanda the more he’s glad Ronan shot her and shot her again.

Luther greets them on the driveway, Alice bundled up in a thick down jacket and blanket sitting on his arm. She waves enthusiastically, cheeks rosy and smile bright and Hank feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Rose is standing on the porch and she’s giving him A Look and he wants to say sorry reflexively but he’s not actually sorry for anything.

Alice takes Connor’s hand and drags him inside, the boys trailing, and she announces loudly that she’s giving them the grand tour. Luther claps him on the shoulder before following Alice.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Rose sighs heavily as she pours him a generous mug of freshly brewed coffee. Her tone is reprimanding, but there’s something fond in her eyes as they take a seat at the dining table.

“I couldn’t leave them,” he shakes his head. “Not out there on their own, and not even at Jericho. Not after all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Because you’re a parent, Hank,” she says it so softly, so gently and his breath hitches in his throat. “You’re a father. It’s just what you do. It’s just who you are.”

“They’ve been through hell, and they deserve better. They deserve a second chance.” His vision blurs as he raises his head and looks at you. “You taught me that.”

“I did, and now you’re teaching them that,” Rose is smiling, a big radiant smile and he can’t help but lean over to kiss that beautiful smile. As far as second chances go, he reckons this is about as perfect as it gets.

#Hank Anderson #rose chapman #connor rk800 #rk800 60 #rk900 #Detroit: Become Human #detroit become dad #dbhrarepairsweek #tlou au #annie writes: dbh

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rikrakyarnncrafts · 5 years

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Dye Bare Yarn with Kool-Aid!

Did you know you can experiment with dyeing yarn in your kitchen, using food-safe & low-cost products, and get some really cool results?! What a great way to play with our Bare Yarns!

All the yarns in this post were dyed with Kool-Aid (or sometimes other brands of unsweetened drink mixes), in my kitchen. Above is Bare Capretta, and below is Woodland Tweed. There are lots of different ways you can dye yarn with Kool-Aid; today I’ll show you my latest favorite, in the microwave!

The question I hear the most about dyeing yarn with Kool-Aid is: is it colorfast? Or, does it wash out? The answers are YES, and NOPE! I have yarns I dyed 12 years ago that are still bright and vibrant. I won’t say they are 100% colorfast—some dyed many (over 10) years ago look lighter than I remember, but they’re still colorful and look great, even if slightly faded over a decade+. I do recommend storing items away from direct sunlight and I’ve never seen any dye come out during washing.

If you’re interested in learning more or other methods besides the microwave, google is your friend, and also I wrote several tutorials many years ago: an intro to dyeing with Kool-Aid when I first started doing it, how to dye striping yarn on the stove, dyeing in a crock pot (I used to use this method a lot, it works so well!), and another self-striping tutorial for really long stripe sections. Lately I’ve been enjoying the microwave method because it’s easy and compact (you just need a bowl, no big pot or crock pot) and fast! And it works well for speckle-y kinds of dye jobs.

Something else you may want to think about when planning your project is color mixing, how to get the colors you want. Kool-Aid doesn’t limit you to just the base powder colors—you can mix, overlap, and over-dye! The way to darken or mute colors isn’t to use more or less of a color. Instead, adding some of a complementary color (opposite on the color wheel) could achieve exactly the results you’re after. For example, adding a little orange to a blue will make a darker, less vibrant blue, and vice versa. It doesn’t have to be the exact complementary color; you can try mixing colors that you might not think would mix well just to see what results you get. One of my favorites is adding some orange to green to make it a more olive, darker shade of green.

Let’s get to the dyeing tutorial, then I’ll talk a little more about color at the end! I’ll show you exactly how I made the yarn pictured above, which is Bare Superwash Merino Twist. A note before you begin! You’ll want at least THREE ties in your skein so it doesn’t end up a tangled, wet mess—not all of our Bare yarns come with three ties, so you may need to add one yourself. I recommend using a cotton yarn for ties.

Also, this kind of dyeing only works on animal fibers— wool & alpaca especially—with nothing or only a little of other things mixed in. No cotton! No acrylic! A small percentage of nylon is okay.

First, I like to soak my yarn in water with a big splash of white vinegar for an hour or longer. The Kool-Aid has acid in it so it’ll set onto the yarn without the vinegar, but I think the vinegar makes it a bit more colorfast in the long term, and it doesn’t hurt! If I’m going to dye several skeins, then I’ll soak them all in vinegar water in a big bowl or bucket together, then take them each out to dye them one at a time in a separate bowl. In this case, I was just dyeing a single skein, so I soaked it in the same bowl I’d be dyeing it in.

Next, place your skein in a glass (or otherwise microwave-safe) bowl with just enough vinegar water to cover the top of it. If you want to dye the skein in a certain pattern (like different colors on different sections of the loop) then position the yarn intentionally. For my skein, I wanted all-over speckle-y variegation, so I purposely let it be messily positioned in the bowl. Now sprinkle on some powder!

I purposely let the oranges, greens, and blues overlap and mix. Then cover the yarn with plastic wrap and microwave it for 1 minute. (I use maximum power, but I have a small microwave; if you have a high-power microwave, you might want to use a lower power setting.)

When you take it out, that powder should be mostly absorbed into the yarn. Now you’ll go through the process of adding more dye, and giving it more time in the microwave, until you’re happy with it. Your exact process may vary depending on how you want your yarn to look. I usually flip the skein upside down (that’s what I’d just done in the above right photo), then add more powder, then give it 1 more minute…

…then I repeat one or two more times. Reposition the skein, add more dye, another minute. I usually end up doing four minutes total. Never do more than 1 minute at a time (it could hurt your yarn!), and when the water looks clear, it’s set! Dump the yarn into a colander to cool to room temperature. Below, left you can see how the water is cloudy, but white, no dye. As long as there is no colored dye left in the water, it means the dye has set into the yarn, not in the water, that’s the important part!

Then rinse it in water (the same temperature as the yarn) very gently. If you want to get the vinegar smell out, you may choose to wash the yarn with a good-smelling wool wash now; I usually just rinse it with water, knowing that I’ll wash the finished object after knitting it up. Gently squeeze the water out in the sink, then roll the skein up in a big towel and gently press on it to squeeze the remaining water out. Shake it out, and hang it to dry over a hanger, shower curtain rod, or coat rack. It could take a couple of days to dry completely (reposition a few times to help it dry).

Here’s the finished yarn! This method is great for this kind of look with the white showing through, but if you want a more saturated look, just use a bit more water and stir mix the dye around for full coverage. Below are two more skeins of the same Bare Superwash Merino Twist dyed with similar Kool-Aid colors in different ways. The left-hand one was actually partially dyed on the stove first, for the dark solid green section, and then overdyed more in the microwave, and the right-hand one was using the same microwave method above.

For further color information, you can find Kool-Aid dyeing color charts and blog posts online to get mixing ideas, and you can also try mixing a little in a cup with water, and then dipping a white paper towel into the mixed dye to get an idea of the color you’re making, before using it on your yarn. Also, Kool-Aid can be hard to find in lots of colors (flavors) so your local options may be limited. You can use other brands of drink mix, but—this is important!!—make sure they don’t have sugar! Kool-Aid mix comes unsweetened (you need to add sugar when you make the drink) but many other mixes already have the sugar included. This would be bad news for your yarn! Another pro tip: generally, you can preview the color in the packet by looking at the color of the liquid in glass cup portion of the illustration (and not the color of the packet background).

Above are a few old yarns I dyed with Kool-Aid years ago, to show some different color effects. I do tend to prefer bright colors, so the lack of darker/muted shades has more to do with my preferences than with the possibilities!

There’s also the option of dyeing vibrant Kool-Aid colors over the top of other colors. Using our Simply Wool & Simply Alpaca yarns as bases instead of Bare can get you beautiful, darker, toned-down color results! Or dyeing Bare yarn with tea or coffee first, to give it a brown base, or just adding tea or coffee with the Kool-Aid… lots of options!

Those are two skeins of Bare Shimmer Bulky that I dyed (using the same microwave method) with a couple of shades of orange/yellow, for a tonal hue. I then over-dyed each skein separately, with totally different colors (below). On one, I overlapped a few shades of red and pink, for kind of a tonal coral; on the other, I used blues and greens, which mixed with the light orange base to be more muted versions of those colors. Orange and blue are complementary colors, so adding blue and green to that orange base worked to tone down the shades… if I’d mixed them all at the same time, it might have been muddier than how it turned out with this over-dyeing method. This kind of color mixing is a lot of experimentation; I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but I’m happy with the result! You can always dye a very small amount of yarn first to try out a color idea, before using a whole skein.

I love doing this, as a full grown adult knitter, but it would also be a really fun activity to do with kids, to give a hands-on lesson on the basics of color theory, or just to play and have fun! If you dye your own Bare yarn, we’d LOVE to see the results! Post links in comments below, or tag us on instagram, etc. Have fun dyeing!!

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onegirlatelier · 5 years

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La Toscana Shrug, August 2019

Of all the design elements out there, lace happens to be my comfort knitting option and white happens to be my favourite colour to knit with. Lace makes it airy, and white makes it light. A fairy project.

I hadn’t had a proper lace project since the Magnificat in G shawl in spring 2018, and didn’t have plans for any—though I longed for one—until I saw the original Arashi pattern. It was a large shawl, but somehow the repeats didn’t seem boring or too simple. It was something I would like to lay on or drink in with my eyes. I decided then that after a series of gift knits, it was time for some pleasure knitting.

I debated for the longest time whether to make a shawl or a shrug, and finally decided on a little shrug. Two reasons: the yarn was expensive and a shrug would take two skeins less than a shawl of the original size; a shrug would be both practical for a student (or an amateur ballet dancer) and fancy enough for a date. Despite the reduced number of lace repeats, it was still satisfactory and what I needed.

I am naming this shrug La Toscana, because the white and light earth tones remind me of this area in Italy. It is featured in a book about the cultures and interior design projects in Italy, and I have been dreaming of a trip to the country for as many years as I have owned the book. When I close my eyes, I can picture myself wearing the shrug over a dress dyed with marigold, strolling down the streets in southern Italy. I want to be far, far away from the current troubles in my life, and just relax and have a true conversation with my travel companion…my mother. We both have had a chaotic year and I miss being on a vacation with her.

So many sentiments packed into a single project. But that is exactly the purpose of making things for myself—to create anchors for memories and hopes which I don’t have the words to express.

Pattern

Arashi by Ema Marinescu. I only used the lace chart and it seemed clear enough. There is not a pdf file for the pattern, only a webpage on knitty.com. The layout of the webpage is not very neat, but that’s probably because I don’t like line-by-line written instructions (not even just seeing them.)

The smocking detail attracted me at first sight. I am not usually drawn to simple fan lace stitches, but when the smocking is placed right along the centre back, the large pattern repeats radiating from the CB resembles the dainty wings of a butterfly.

Yarn

Quince & Co. Sparrow 100% linen, 155m/50g. It is composed of four strands of 2-ply linen yarns.

#233 Lunar 50g. (I have literally one metre left.) It is a bright white just as pictured on the website.

#256 Sea Salt 76g. It is more of a light toffee colour than the off-white colour shown.

A single pattern repeat (26 sts*24 rows) took 4g of yarn. The rectangle base of this shrug took about 34g #Lunar and 68g #Sea Salt. (See construction below for how I came to this estimation.)

The yarn was soft for linen and not hard on my fingers at all, but then I have a high tolerance and have knitted with pure wool yarn that was almost as tough as this linen one. It felt clean and crispy both during the knitting process and after blocking, though it indeed softened as advertised.

Environmental issues: linen is a durable fibre that requires relatively little water and energy to produce. For me, it makes less of a difference whether the linen is organic, but it’s nice to know that this one is. It’s also low maintenance and doesn’t require special care. The carbon footprint of the transportation process bothers me a little, though—the linen was grown (presumably) somewhere in Europe, made into yarn in Italy, shipped to the USA where the company is situated, and then to a stockiest in China, and finally to me in a different city. That was a lot of miles. I want to support the values of Quince & Co. and I do realise that global trade is inevitable, but I really should look harder for a better solution.

This is my first linen project, and I wanted to invest in a good linen yarn to get the right impression and set the standard. Overall, I am really pleased with Sparrow and think it’s been worth my time and money.

Needles

I used a 3.25mm circular for the rectangle and the rib for the cuffs. Then I used a 3.00mm circular for the rib on the body.

Finished Size

The main body is 30cm*70cm.

The ribbing for the neckline is 5.5cm wide, and the ribbing for the hem is 5cm wide.

Construction

I first knitted a rectangle in flat as the main body. It was worked from the centre. For each half of the rectangle, I did two columns of lace in toffee and one column in white using intarsia. At first I did five repeats (24*5=120 rows) for each side, but then after I blocked the rectangle, I decided to shorten the width of the shrug. I ripped out a few rows and ended up with 102 rows (24*4+6) for each side.

I asked the pattern author on Ravelry and confirmed that her long stitch is one normal wrap plus an extra wrap, which means two wraps in the same stitch. She calls this ‘k1, elongated twice’, yet I have a feeling that it should be ‘k1, elongated once’. I’m not sure. I replied on my instinct and it did turn out fine.

Also when knitting the rectangle, I did a one-stitch stockinette on the white side and a three-stitch garter stitch on the toffee side, because I had intended to only add ribbing to the white side and leave the toffee side as it was. I ended up knitting a wide ribbing for the toffee side as well as the white side.

I kept the last row on each short side of the rectangle ‘live’. After it was blocked and I was happy with the width and length, I folded it and casted off the first and last few stitches of the shorter edge with a three-needle bind off, to sew this portion together. It didn’t even occur to me that I could’ve simply used a mattress stitch. Note: I wanted the pattern to align nicely, so I let the garter ridge hang there and bound off from the first stitch of the main pattern (a LS). I bound off ten stitches for each side of the seam.

Then I knitted about five rows of 1*1 rib to form the cuff.

After that, it was time to deal with the loose hem and neckline. At this time, the hem hanged away from my back and the neckline was far too wide. It was clear that a lot of short-row shaping was underway. I did short-row shaping in 1*1 rib, and picked up 3 stitches for every 4 stitches. For the shoulder parts, I picked up 2 stitches for every 3 stitches to make it snug.

I first did some short-row shaping for the hem using white yarn, and I picked up the live stitches of the toffee-coloured garter ridge as if doing a knitted border, whenever I got to the ‘side seam’. This means I knitted three complete rows of white after the short-row shaping was done.

Then I did the shaping for the neckline in toffee. I wanted my shoulders and the base of my neck to be covered, so there were more short rows on the neckline. After I finished with the shaping, I knitted the neckline and the hem together using intarsia. It wasn’t exactly knitted in the round…it was more of back-and-forth knitting, but it formed a round because of the intarsia. It was all very intuitive so I figured it out as I went.

Then I knitted one full round with white yarn to give the whole garment a shiny bright white edge, then I did invisible 1*1 rib cast off.

Before the final blocking, the neckline and the hem sat snug against my body. After the blocking (and some mishandling by a family member), they loosened a little. The hem now hangs a little away from my back, which is not ideal. It is a minor issue, though, so I am leaving it the way it is now and maybe try to re-block it later.

Further considerations

I’ll be honest: I still don’t know how to do a proper provisional cast on. When I need one, I just cast on like I usually do and knit a row, then join in the working yarn. I will definitely learn the correct method.

As mentioned, the ribbing loosened after blocking. If I were to do this again, I would go down another needle size to 2.75mm for the ribbing. Or I would just pick up 2 stitches for every 3 stitches through the neckline and the hem. I haven’t tried dancing in this shawl yet. I think it might need a few extra rows of ribbing to stay securely on my shoulders. (You can see from the comparison below how it gaped at the back of my neck after I did some stretching.)

Lastly, I would love to make a bigger version of this shrug, or use a lighter-weight yarn to make a full-sized shawl of the same pattern.

#Arashi #knitting #knitblr #stories #La Toscana

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forever-dreaming-cullen · 7 years

Text

[FIC] Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme, Chapter Three

Image credit @fontofnothing

Wow, I am so happy with all of the positive feedback this fic has received, both on Tumblr and AO3. It makes me want to write more and more!

Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, left comments, or kudos on this work. You guys truly make my day and fuel my creativity.

Anyway, without further ado, here’s Chapter Three. Read it on AO3

I hope you enjoy!

Washes The Grave With Silvery Tears

Eala knelt in front of her clothing chest, tossing garment after garment onto her bed. All unacceptable! Did she own nothing that was at all festive? For the first time in her short life, she actually cared about how she looked to others — well truth be told she cared only what one other person thought — and that was pure foolishness on her part. She stood with her hands on her hips and curled her lip at the pile of clothing now obscuring the coverlet on her bed. She picked up a black dress that she had worn just once before — when she was interviewing for the position of healer, as a matter of fact. It wasn’t exactly a party dress, but at least it was slimming on her frame and wasn’t at all worn down from repeated washings. It would have to do.

She set the dress aside and tossed everything else back in her chest. It was early; she had plenty of time to bathe before the festival began. Moving quickly, she went into her second chest to grab out a towel and her bathing kit. Tucking everything under her arm, she left her room, exited the cabin she shared with two other girls and headed for the bathhouse.

The early afternoon was as hot and sultry, but the breeze from the lake promised a balmy evening that was comfortable enough for dancing, feasting, and whatever other merriments the villagers might get up to. As she crossed the village square, she noted that the workers had finished setting up for the night’s festivities: there was a stage for Maryden and her band, and a dance floor large enough for the lively Fereldan reels the villagers of Haven favored.

The smells of roasted pork, august ram, and beef filled the air and already, the village women who had volunteered to make the food were loading down trestle tables with a variety of tasty foods. Eala’s stomach growled, and she realized that she was famished. Inhaling the appetizing aromas, she grinned; it was a good thing that she had decided to forgo lunch today.

When she reached the bathhouse, she sighed with relief when she saw that it was empty. She did not like taking off her clothes in front of other people, did not like being aware of her pudgy stomach or the huge mounds of her breasts where others could see. It made her feel dowdy and dumpy next to the slim, nubile shapes of the other girls her age.

While the tub filled, she went into the smaller dressing room off to the side and slipped her black dress into one of the cubbies that lined the wall for that purpose, along with her shoes and her hairbrush. She fingered the material of the dress and hoped that the Commander noticed that she was wearing something he hadn’t seen her in before.

Back in the bathing room, she quickly took off her clothes and sank gratefully into the steaming water. She ducked her head beneath the water and tossed the mass of wet curls back as she reached for her hair soap. As she lathered her hair, she wondered if the Commander was getting ready for tonight right now, too. She pressed her thighs together uncomfortably as she remembered what his naked body looked and felt like — all hard muscle overlaid by soft golden skin. Her fingers itched, longing to feel those shapely muscles shift under her touch. Sweet Maker, what in Thedas was wrong with her? To be thinking such thoughts about the Commander — a man she stood no realistic chance with, even if he was not under her care. Did she honestly think that he would turn away from the beauteous Herald to pursue her? What rubbish!

With a snort of self-disgust, she sank her head under water to rinse the soap from her hair. As she cleared the water from her face and brushed the long skeins of her curls away from her ears, she thought she heard a noise coming from the dressing room. Was that giggling? She cocked her head and listened closely, but all was still and silent. She frowned, then shrugged her shoulders; it must have come from outside — the sounds of the children playing, perhaps. Giving it no further thought, she finished her bath.

Wrapped in a towel and carrying her things, the sight that greeted her when she entered the dressing room brought her to a standstill. Her mouth fell open and the items she was holding clattered to the floor. How had they done it? She searched the room and spied the exterior door left slightly ajar. The laughter she had heard — she pictured the sadistic smiles on Jocelyn and Heather’s faces as they perpetrated — this. Every good feeling, every positive expectation she’d had for this day vanished into a morass of anger and despair burning in her chest.

Dragging herself forward, she knelt in front of the remains of her black dress, piled in the center of the room like an offering to some mercenary god of old. She fingered what was left of the material, cut up and torn viciously into thin strips and marked up with white paint. Maker forgive her, but right now everything inside her urged her to confront the two perpetrators and…and…she honestly didn’t know what. But what would that accomplish? She sighed and bowed her head, tears falling onto plump cheeks and spilling onto the sad pile that remained of her dreams for this night.

Dressed in her least worn dress, Eala ducked around the boisterous crowd of villagers as she looked for the Commander. She had left her hair, her only good feature, free to tumble loose in a riot of inky curls down her back, except for the pieces she had secured away from her face with a yellow ribbon. The ribbon was to add some color to her otherwise dull beige dress, foolish though it was. While she wasn’t dressed in her most slimming outfit nor the newest, she wanted to see if he noticed that she had done her hair differently that her usual single braid.

She spotted his distinctive blond head towering over the rest of the crush almost immediately. He stood near one of the trestle tables and was spearing pieces of roasted meat onto his plate from the cornucopia laid before him, and beside him stood the Herald. He laid down the serving fork he was using and paused to slip a piece of succulent ram meat into his mouth as he listened to something the Herald said. He nodded, licked his fingers, then picked up another piece and offered it to her. She opened her mouth to take it from his fingers, and even from this distance, Eala could see the Herald’s pink tongue darting out to caress the Commander’s fingertips as the morsel disappeared between her perfect white teeth.

She closed her eyes and fought with the images spinning out of control in her mind of him doing the same to her. Andraste preserve her, she could almost taste the flavor of the meat melding with the that of his skin. Cheeks flushed pink and shame burning in her gut, Eala slowly backed away from the scene. What a silly ninny she was — letting her crush on her patient, of all things, get out of hand like this. It was probably for the best that those girls had ruined her dress. If she had been wearing it, perhaps she would have gone over to him and made an even bigger fool of herself. Striding away from the festival, Eala resolved to spend the rest of the evening in her room reading. She had always known that festivals, feasts, and parties were not for her.

As she slumped her way toward her cabin, a disembodied voice sounded from somewhere above on the nearby roofs.

“Oi, you,” it said.

“Hello?” Eala looked around, but away from the torches of the festival, the village was dark, and she couldn’t see anything.

She heard the sound of leather and cloth scraping on wood and stone and then a tallish elf with unevenly shorn blond hair and dressed in an oddly patched tunic and leggings appeared at her side.

“’Lo,” said the elf as she placed a calloused hand on her shoulder and urged her forward. “Don’t want the rest of them toffs hearin’ this, yeah?”

Eala narrowed her eyes, tugged her shoulder away, and stood her ground. “What do you want?” She recognized the elf now — she was one of the Herald’s inner circle. Her name was Sera or something?

Sera studied her for a moment, the light of mischief in her blue eyes. “Eh, it’s not what I want, yeah, it’s about what you want.”

“If the Herald put you up to this, there’s nothing —”

“Hey, I’m here to help you.” Sera interrupted, her lips drawing back over her teeth in a wicked grin that was just this side of crazy.”You’re the healer what’s takin care of the jackboot, yeah?”

“Jack… you mean the Commander?”

“Yeah, guy what stomps around yellin’ at people all day long with a scowl on ‘is face.”

Eala frowned. “Yes, I am the Commander’s healer. What do you want?”

The elf sighed and crossed her stringy arms over her chest. “Again, with the wantin!’ I’tain’t about what I want, all right?”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she said, brows going up. She may regret this later, but now she was curious.

The smile returned to Sera’s face. “Okay, ‘ere it is: The ‘erald glowy person is too elfy for your Jackboot.”

“Elfy?” Like that made any sense. “Yes, the Herald is an…elf.” And so are you, she wanted to add but chose not to point that out.

“Yeah, you know, she’s all into Elvhen glory and all.” Sera raised her hands to shoulder level and waved them in the air.

“I’m afraid I’m still not following you. Can you please clarify.”

Sera gave an exasperated sigh. “She’ll never be serious about your Commander Tight Arse because he is not an elf!”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m just his healer.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m the Queen of Antiva. I see the way you look at him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eala denied. Maker, if this elf saw it, surely the Commander had to notice it, too. “T-thank you for telling me this.”

Sera laughed. “Oi, t’was nothing. I like to look out for people, yeah?” She gave Eala a little wave and then the weird elf girl disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, vanishing in a puff of smoke into the night.

As summer wound down into autumn, Eala’s days fell into a predictable rhythm. She would wake, head over to the Commander’s tent, work on him, then go to the healer’s cabin to treat the soldiers and attend the rest of her duties. When her day at the healer’s cabin was over, she would eat supper at the tavern and then go to the Commander again for his night treatment.

As the weather cooled and the autumn winds brought rain up from the valleys, the Commander’s aches and pains became more troublesome than they had been during the summer. He was crankier, often impatient and short tempered. When she watched him training his men, she noticed that he would sometimes step away from the field to rub the back of his neck or knuckle his lower back when he thought no one was watching him. She tried to help him where she could, and now devoted more time to him every morning and evening to work out the kinks in his muscles.

One particularly wet night, when Eala arrived at the Commander’s tent, she found him already abed and drenched in sweat. He had a forearm thrown over his eyes, and she could hear him cursing under his breath. As she approached the bed, a flash of lighting lit up the inside of the tent as if it were broad daylight and the almost immediate crash of thunder caused him to curl in on himself and whimper with pain.

“Maker, please stop this pain,” he whispered as she knelt beside his bed. “I can’t — I can’t —“

“Commander,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice low. “Is it the headache?” She suspected as much, but she had to be sure it wasn’t something else that ailed him.

“Eala,” he gasped. “Thank the Maker you are here. Y-yes my head is pounding. It has been since this morning.” He shifted his arm so that he could peer at her through one bloodshot eye. “Maker, I – I “ He covered his mouth, and his torso shot up.

Anticipating his need, she found the bucket he had placed near his bed and handed it to him. She turned away to give him privacy as he emptied his stomach into it. As she listened to him be sick, her heart ached for him. She knew his migraines were severe and debilitating and this one looked like one of his worst.

When he was through, she turned back to find him sprawled on his back, breathing heavily, his body covered with a fresh layer of sweat. Quietly, she removed the fouled bucket and placed it outside for the cleaners to take and replaced it with a fresh one in case he needed it again.

Working quickly, she found what she needed in his medicine chest and prepared a solution of elfroot and mint in a bowl. Finding a rag, she immersed it in the solution, and after ringing the excess out, she began to wipe down his torso with it. The Commander groaned as she carefully drew the moistened cloth along the muscles of his neck, shoulders, chest, and finally down his jerking abdomen. She cleaned him, wiping away all traces of sweat from his skin and he sighed, clearly enjoying her ministrations.

Next, she moved to his face. His expression was pinched; his eyebrows were furrowed, and the line between them was etched deep. She tutted gently as she wiped away the sweat and tears from his handsome face. As she did, his features softened a little. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“That’s better, isn’t it,” she soothed, unable to help reaching out to brush back a curl that had fallen onto his forehead. His answer was a low hum of approval that went straight to her heart. It took so little to please him. Just the barest touch — the barest kindness, and he turned into putty in her hands. Pressure was rising in her chest, exploding in a heat suffusing her body from head to toe.

“Oh, my dear Ser,” she whispered. What had his life been like up to now that so little care undid him so completely? She dipped a fresh cloth into the mixture and draped it across his forehead, making sure it covered his eyes. He breathed a soft sigh and shifted a little on his bed.

As Eala settled herself at the top of his bed, she hoped that the Herald was worthy of his love and would care for him as he deserved. She carefully slid her hands under him, making sure to cradle his neck and head and she slid forward so that his head was lying in her lap. As he sighed again, she placed her fingers on his temples and began to press gentle circles against his skin.

“Maker, that’s —“

“Shh,” she hushed him as she moved her fingers over his forehead, paying special attention to the area above his left eyebrow where she knew his pain was always the worst, then swept them back to his temples, then over his scalp, searching out the pressure points she knew of. She moved lower, lifting and cradling his head as she massaged the base of his skull and his neck. Finally, she pressed light and careful circles on his shoulders and upper chest.

For an hour, she worked on him, making the entire circuit, from temples to forehead, back to temples, scalp, neck, shoulders, and chest, before starting over again. When the muscles in his jaw finally unclenched, she knew the worst was over. She cupped one stubbly cheek and smiled down at him as he sighed and pulled the cloth from over his eyes. For a long moment, he just stared at her with those liquid gold eyes, searching her face, as if he were memorizing her features.

“Maker, you’re a wonder,” he said, turning his face to press a kiss into her palm. “Thank you for caring for me. “

She quickly withdrew, her hand tingling from where he had kissed it. Her throat constricted as she struggled to respond. What do you say when the man you’ve been pining over forever does something like that? He didn’t mean anything by it, he couldn’t. He wanted the Herald, the beautiful, slender, and powerful Herald — not her.

She decided to say nothing. Indeed, what could she say? That caring for him was no big deal to her? That she would happily do it for her entire life — and his if he would let her? That she cared for him more than she should? No. It was better to remain silent.

“Mm. “ He shifted in bed and his brow furrowed. She resumed her careful strokes, gently smoothing out the line between his brows.”You know,” he said, “ I don’t deserve your care. None of it.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut. “I —I did something bad today.” This last was whispered so low she wasn’t sure if she heard him right.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “I did something bad.” His voice cracked “ This morning. B-before the headache took me. And I d-do not think she will forgive me.” He turned his face away from her. “ I don’t deserve it anyway.”

Eala frowned and bit her lip, but remained silent, choosing instead to communicate her comforting presence by carding her fingers through his hair.

“I promised myself I would be a better man. I failed that today.” He took a deep breath. “I-she allied with the Rebel Mages at Redcliffe. A full alliance, and I — Maker, I was so angry.” He closed his eyes and his face twisted in a grimace. “I blew up at the Herald. I said some things I — Andraste preserve me — I didn’t mean them.”

She took in his words, considering what she should say. She had heard that there had been some sort of ruckus up at the Chantry in the morning and that the Herald had returned from Redcliffe with the mages, but she had not been privy to the details. She knew the Commander had been a Templar before coming to the Inquisition, so it did not surprise her that he would react like that to a pure alliance with the Rebel Mages.

Looking down at the man resting his head in her lap, at the lines of strain appearing on his forehead and around his eyes, there was only one thing she could do. “Shh, now Commander. You are ill and should not excite yourself, “ she crooned as she resumed her massaging circuit.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Maker, I hope she can forgive me. If she does not, I – “

“Hush now,” she interrupted him. “Just relax. You can deal with it in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

“Will you stay with me — at least until I fall asleep?” The plea hit her in the gut; he sounded so lost, and she could clearly imagine the tow-headed little boy he had been, tucked into his mother’s embrace as he sought solace from his childish fears.

She smiled, and unable to stop herself, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his forehead. “Of course, dear Ser. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, then let out a long sigh before his eyelids closed over tormented golden irises, and he fell asleep.

The sounds of the rain drumming against the roof of the tent and splashing onto the hard-packed ground outside woke her a few hours later. Eala yawned as she stretched, and then froze. She wasn’t in her bedroom. And she wasn’t alone in this bed: there was a warm body pressed against her back, a very large, very warm, very male body. And that was not all: this man’s well-muscled arm wrapped around her middle and held her against him. In his sleep, he murmured something against her and shifted her closer to him.

Her eyes widened as she realized where she was: she lay in the Commander’s bed! With the Commander! She clapped a hand over her mouth as she suppressed a shocked squeak.

Maker! How did this happen? She thought back over the details of the night before and remembered that she’d been massaging the Commander’s head and shoulders to ease his migraine.He had asked her to stay until he fell asleep. After that, she guessed she must have fallen asleep, and — had he moved her into her current position? He must have — but why?

She looked around the tent: it was still dark: it must be very early in the morning. If she could just get free of the Commander’s arm without waking him, she could quietly leave and go back to her cabin, without anyone being the wiser.

She started wiggling a little but stopped when behind her, the Commander groaned and shifted, tucking her more firmly against him. She almost groaned herself. Maker’s breath, but this was an impossible situation! There was no help for it; she would have to wake him.

“Commander.”

“Hmm?”

“Commander, you need to wake up.”

Two warm lips found the skin of her nape and brushed gently against the skin there, just the briefest touch, but it still made her shiver. “Just a moment longer,” he murmured as he buried his face in the join between her neck and shoulder.

She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to the Maker to give her strength to resist the pull of this man. It was then that she noticed that one of his thighs had slipped between her legs and was pressed against her clothed center. She could feel every single hair on that muscular leg against the sensitive skin of her own legs, and she nearly moaned at how good it felt.

“C-Commander,” she tried again.

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?” Her voice had a high, thin, breathless note and heat flooded her core as the blasted man shifted, causing his thigh to brush against her again.

“Resting in bed together,” he said, his voice husky with sleep. “ And I quite think you can call me by my given name, now, Eala.” His tone was so matter-of-fact like there was nothing unusual about this at all.

She ignored that. “I-I have to go — I can’t be seen leaving your tent in the morning. People will talk.”

A long sigh. “It’s early yet. Let’s rest a little longer.” He yawned, and she felt his whole body stretching behind her, like a great jungle cat. “Then I promise I shall let you get up. Just — please stay.”

Now it was her turn to sigh as she settled back against him. “All right. But only a little longer.” She could refuse him nothing.

When she next awoke, the sounds of rain striking the canvas roof of the tent were gone, and the soft, pale light of dawn was creeping under the edges of the closed tent flap and illuminating the space within.

“Sweet Maker!” She shot up out of bed, waking the Commander, who sat up grumbling at the rude awakening. His bare legs were thrown over the edge of the bed, and the sheets were crumpled about his hips — his very bare hips.“I-um, I have to go,” she said, turning toward the tent’s entrance.

“Eala, wait. “ She turned back to him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and rested his head there, elbow propped up on a knee. He watched her with golden eyes still bleary with sleep. “Thank you again — for last night.”

“I am your healer, Commander. I but did my duty.”

His brows knit together as his expression clouded. “We are friends, are we not, Eala?”

Her expression softened. “Dear Ser, I am your friend. But now,” she looked back at the increasing light coming through from outside. “Now I have to go. I shall return for your treatment momentarily.”

He smiled sadly. “Very well. I shall see you shortly, then.”

“That book must be quite interesting. What are you reading?”

Eala looked up from her book to find the Commander seated across from her, golden eyes warm and one corner of his mouth lifted in his signature smirk.“Oh! Forgive me I-“ she blushed, peering at him from under lowered lashes. “I-It’s a text on healing techniques from Rivain.”

“I see.” He looked around the quiet tavern and leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I trust you have not fared poorly because of last night?”

She returned his smile and waved a hand dismissively. “No, so far no one has given me any trouble over it. I am your healer, after all. How are you feeling today?”

“I am better, thanks to you.” He raised his mug of tea and smiled ruefully. “I am erring on the side of caution on account of my stomach, and I still have a slight headache, but nothing like last night.” He did look better; his skin had more color, and his eyes had regained their sparkle. There was still a hint of pain around his eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth, but that was usual for him.

“I am glad to hear it. Have you, um, spoken to the Herald?”

He took a sip of his tea before answering, smoothing down the napkin on the table in front of him with his broad, blunt-fingered hands. “I — yes. She, ah, came to my quarters and we spoke of —matters.” His expression tightened, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “She — she’s a good woman. She accepted my apology readily enough.”

Eala kept her counsel on whether the Herald was indeed a good woman. She hoped she was, for his sake. “I’m glad,” she told him, and she was. She was happy that the thing that he feared would come to pass and that had given hm so much grief the night before in the midst of his sickness.

He smiled crookedly at her, his face relaxing. “So, what’s so interesting about Rivaini healing?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Only if you wish to tell me.”

“Well, my mother is from Rivain, and she taught me some basic techniques. What I am reading here is much more advanced that what she showed me, and I am trying to put it together with what I already know.”

“So that is where you get your looks,” he said and reached out to brush back a strand of dark hair that had come loose from her braid. She inhaled sharply and flinched away, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. What in the Maker’s name was he doing? Why did he insist on...on such gestures when he didn’t —

She swallowed hard and rose to her feet, gathering her books.”I-I have to go. I will see you tonight, Commander.”

He stood up as well, his brow knitting. “Did I say something wrong? Forgive me, I did not intend to offend.”

“No, it’s fine,” she denied. “You did not offend me. I just — I have to go. They are expecting me back at the healer’s cabin.”

“Of course,” he said. “I did not mean to keep you from your duties. I shall see you tonight, then.”

She nodded at him. “Until later, then, Commander.” She turned then and walked out, not daring to look back in case she saw what she wanted to see in those golden eyes.

#fanfic #cullen rutherford #cullen/oc #cullen/lavellan #pining #parsley sage rosemary and thyme

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