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delimeful · 2 years

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helpless (4)

warnings: violence, biting, dehumanizing language, blood, spiders, misunderstandings

Roman kept a wary eye out as he navigated the forest, glad that he’d chosen to wait the previous night out in the safety of an inn.

He may have been a valiant adventurer who knew no fear, but that also meant he had enough experience to know that going after a stealthy and spidery monster in the middle of the pitch dark night was a bad idea.

The townspeople had been less than impressed with his reasoning, but it wasn’t like his delay put them in any danger. According to the description they’d given him, the beast only managed to ensnare errant travelers, and even then its success was often only due to the help of the local outcast-turned-traitor-to-humanity.

Really, they should at least try to understand that he would need every advantage he could get.

Bounty hunters moved fast, and normally by the time he got to a bounty there were already a few failed attempts at collecting it, and it was these attempts that provided more details or at the least a better reference for how dangerous the creature truly was.

This time Roman was the first one to take on their recently-posted bounty, so if he wasn’t properly prepared, he would become one of those failed attempts.

Considering the monster he was hunting was a maneater, he wasn’t optimistic about his odds of survival should he fail.

The woods weren’t overly creepy for a monster hideout, birds chirping and small animals skittering about in the trees. Roman glanced at the dirt and wild grasses underfoot, catching no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

He wasn’t truly planning on tracking the beast, though, not with so much ground to cover.

No, it was much easier to wait for it to come to him. After all, keen senses were key to a monster’s way of hunting, and Roman wasn’t doing anything to hide his presence.

If the monster wished to feast on the flesh of men so badly, it could come and try.

Half a day of wandering later, he was still alone, and honestly feeling a bit neglected by his opponent.

He resisted the urge to pout. Was he not tasty enough for it or something? Maybe the reason it hadn’t eaten the outcast was because it had a particular palate?

The only signs he’d seen that he was even in the right place were the few tree branches that held leftover strands of gossamer webbing, much too big to be from any normal-sized spider.

With a low sigh, he turned away to return back to the town for the night, resigned to the fact that he’d wasted an entire day walking in circles.

As he did, though, a low rustling caught his ear.

Immediately, he dropped into a crouch, sword in hand, slowly shifting to face the direction he’d heard it in. After a few moments, the rustling came again, and he wasted no time in following the noise, anticipation rising in him.

The sound seemed to start and pause regularly, like someone was methodically moving through the bushes, and as Roman got closer, he made sure to time his movements with the rustling rather than the silence.

Between one section of underbrush and the next, his quarry came into view.

It was both more monstrous and more human than he’d expected.

Monstrous, of course, because of the huge spider lower half and the surplus of long, hairy legs skittering around. Human because it had shaggy dark hair over a normal human face, and a shawl-like patched cloth wrapped over its normal human shoulders, and was reaching out with normal human hands.

Normal human hands that seemed to be… picking berries?

He watched for a moment as it continued to carefully move from bush to bush, expertly prying handfuls of berries free and dropping them into a small satchel tied around its waist. It was almost a peaceful scene.

Roman shook his head firmly, firming his grip on the hilt of his sword. Those human things were probably stolen from its previous victims, and there was surely some nefarious reason for the berry-picking, too! He had a job to do.

Decided, he shoved through the last of the bushes, launching himself forward to attack while it was preoccupied.

Though he wasn’t loud by any means, he could still see the way the monster’s shoulder’s stiffened as soon as he moved. He only had time for a shiver of foreboding before it was whirling on him, reaching out and catching him mid-lunge.

Oddly enough, it had grabbed him by the torso, not pinning his arms the way he’d expected. It also didn’t immediately launch into any villainous monologues or menacing threats.

“Lo,” it started exasperatedly instead, and then actually made eye contact with Roman. It froze, its expression a picture of shock.

Unwilling to give it time to recover, Roman lifted the arm holding the sword and attempted to bring it down upon the beast despite the somewhat awkward angle.

At the flash of metal, the monster’s eyes went impossibly wider, and in the next second, it was lunging forward and sinking a mouthful of fangs into his unprotected forearm.

Roman shrieked, because ow, and the monster yanked away (ow) and dropped him on the forest floor (OW) as though it had been burned. Roman scrambled back to his feet, a surge of terror running through him as he felt the sudden cool numbness that was spreading through his arm.

The drider being venomous was one of those little details Roman would have truly preferred to not learn firsthand.

His sword dropped from numb fingers, and he scrambled back, wondering if he could outrun something with so many legs. Maybe if he climbed a tree? Could giant spiders climb trees?

Black dots spotted his vision, and he realized he was breathing too quickly, his panicked heartbeat only sending the venom through his veins even faster.

“Oh fuck, I did not mean to bite you,” the drider said, sounding weirdly alarmed for someone who had handily won their little battle.

Could driders even talk? Perhaps Roman was just imagining that the beast was speaking to him.

Still, just in case it had said what he thought it just said, he looked pointedly at the weeping teeth marks on his arm and then back to the drider, making a deeply incredulous face. “Really?”

It wasn’t the best last remark he could have made, but he still caught the way the drider’s ears went red before passing out entirely.

When Roman woke up, he was bound hand and foot by webbing, which he had more or less expected.

There were also two humans standing in front of him, which he hadn’t expected at all.

“You’re awake!” one said, smiling tersely at him. It would have felt much friendlier if there wasn’t a backdrop of enormous spiderwebs tangling all the trees around them. “Are you still feeling numb?”

“Huh?” Roman asked eloquently. He couldn’t see the drider anywhere.

“The venom should be working its way out of your system by now,” the other human responded, tapping his writing utensil against a notebook meaningfully. “You got a larger dose than usual, but it has also been over half a day, which is significantly longer than my previous tests of this venom took to leave my system.”

That clarified absolutely nothing, and Roman turned his confused gaze on the first person again.

“Logan is just trying to explain that you shouldn’t feel numb anymore!” he said, reaching forward to carefully place a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes?” he answered, realizing that he could, in fact, feel most of his body now. Considering he had barely been able to feel any of his limbs before he passed out, this was admittedly surprising. “Did you… rescue me?”

“How about this?” the stranger said, ignoring the question to move his hand down to where a band of gauze was firmly wrapped against his arm. There was still no sensation there.

“No, it’s still numb, but seriously, how--,”

“It should definitely wear off in the next half-day, so you’ll be just fine and you can leave right away!” The stranger moved as though planning to pull Roman to his feet and send him on his way.

“Patton,” Logan cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should at least figure out why he was sent here. If others come, we need to be prepared.”

“He attacked Virgil! With a sword!” Patton replied, frowning forcefully.

Virgil? The only thing he’d recently attacked with a sword was-- oh.

The realization hit like a match coming alight. “There’s two traitors?”

“Traitors?” the two echoed, looking as confused as him. They were all thick glasses and soft clothes, nothing like the mercenary weaselly type he’d imagined when he found out someone had been helping the monster feed.

That was probably exactly what the travelers they lured away from the road had thought, too.

“Yes, traitors!” he replied, feeling righteous anger blossom in his chest. “You turned on your own kind to help a monster!”

Patton’s frown grew more thunderous, and Logan looked at him like he was something he’d scraped off of a shoe.

“The only thing that deems someone a monster is their actions,” Patton said, his voice stern and admonishing. “Virgil is my friend, and I won’t let you talk about him like that.”

“Their actions--? I think eating people is pretty monstrous no matter who you ask!” Roman shot back, unable to believe he was even having this argument.

Patton stopped short, blinking at him like he was insane. “Virgil doesn’t eat people.”

“Uh, yes, he does!” Did they seriously think he would buy this?

Logan stepped closer, his cold look replaced by a more thoughtful one. “I can assure you he does not. Though many driders are reputed to attack and eat humans, I’ve been observing Virgil’s diet consistently, and he sustains perfectly fine off of this forest’s ecosystem, much like a pack of wolves or mountain lion.”

Roman wasn’t having it. “Tell that to the scholar that entered these woods in pursuit of the beast and never returned!”

“... That was me.”

What? “What?”

“I am the scholar in question. I never planned to return after finding a drider. I’m perfectly capable of making camp in the wild, and Virgil offered me a protected space to do so.” Logan reached into a bag at his feet. “Am I correct in assuming that the nearby town sent you?”

Roman’s stunned silence spoke volumes.

“I should have known,” Logan muttered, his brow furrowed. “Any municipality that was willing to shun Patton of all people clearly has no common sense amongst its population.”

“Aw, thanks Logan!” Patton said, flinging his arms around the scholar with a grin. “I think your company is pretty great, too!”

Logan fumbled for a moment before patting him on the back stiffly, apparently much more confident with the effects of monster venom than basic human contact. Patton’s happiness didn’t seem dampened at all as he pulled back.

Clearing his throat, Logan pulled a clear vial from the bag and held it up, revealing an off-color, oily substance within. “Please listen carefully. You’ve been lied to. Virgil does not abduct or eat humans. Frankly, I believe he tends to avoid most human interaction if at all possible.”

“How do I know you’re not the ones lying to me?” Roman challenged, though the fact that he hadn’t been murdered and devoured was pretty compelling evidence. “How am I going to prove to the townsfolk that there’s not actually any danger?”

“He’s right, Lo,” Patton added, drawing into himself slightly. “They haven’t been happy about this since I first helped Virgil. I don’t think they’re going to let this go.”

Logan seemed to sink into thought for a moment, tapping his fingers along the side of the vial absently. Then, he paused.

“Perhaps it’s time we move on, then.”

Patton gave him a curious look, and Logan hurried to elaborate.

“Neither of us are fit to fight, and Virgil can only be awake and vigilant for so long. If they’re not willing to leave us in peace, we should simply leave them.”

“Oh!” Patton said, tilting his head from side to side as he considered the idea. “And we can make a new home somewhere else!”

“Precisely.” Logan turned on his heel, pointing the vial at Roman. “You, bounty hunter.”

Roman huffed in offense. “I am not a bounty hunter! I’m an adventurer, thank you kindly!”

Logan raised an unimpressed eyebrow, which was fair, seeing as he was literally here to collect a bounty. Still, Roman couldn’t let that slight stand.

“I’m not! I simply... occasionally take bounties in order to fund my adventuring lifestyle!”

“Close enough,” Logan said. “I’ll pay you double whatever you’re being paid by the town below to escort me and my companions to a new forest.”

“Done!” Roman agreed immediately. It was the best of both worlds: he could make sure that they were telling the truth, and he got paid!

“Excellent.” Logan reached over to drip the contents of the vial onto the webbing bonds, which promptly weakened enough for him to pull his hands and feet apart. “Patton, if you’ll go pack up any of your belongings you wish to take with you?”

“Alrighty!” Patton agreed. “You’ll go tell Virgil?”

“Of course,” Logan agreed. “We don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Wait a second. You said I’m escorting you and your companions. Do your companions include the huge spider monster?”

“Naturally.”

“... I want hazard pay.”

“Request denied. Rest assured, Patton’s puns are more hazardous to your health than Virgil.”

“I want hazard pay for the puns, then!”

“If I don’t get hazard pay for the puns, neither do you.”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #drider au #spiders tw #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton #helpless #my writing #writing #im noticing some trends in my writing. help #this is what happens when you love to make your fave into a hugeass monster creature i guess

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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Demigod MC Series: Demeter

Have I been using this series to vicariously punish Belphie for the events of Season 1? I cannot confirm nor deny that statement.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter

Lucifer

Didn't think too much of the "human" when they popped out of the portal. Sure they had a straw hat and a huge basket full of produce but it wasn’t like they were… Wait… No… Were they…?

Oh no. Oh nonononono, this is not good…!!

Demeter is notoriously doting and protective of her children (see her freakout and breakdown after Hades abducted of Persephone as proof) and they've pretty much done the EXACT. SAME. THING. here!!

It was a mad scramble by him and Diavolo to contact and appease their godly Mother Bear before she came roaring down to Devildom herself to turn them all into barley. Thankfully, Zeus must have intervened at some point because though she was indeed PISSED, she didn't threaten to barge in… yet.

She made one thing very clear. Bend so much as a single hair on her precious child's head and there would be WAR…

The MC received a 24 hour security detail after that. Just Mammon wasn't going to cut it, he needed NO chances. It was a full rotation of Mammon, him and Beel for the entirety of their stay (Asmo and Levi both threw hissy fits at the prospect of babysitting, Satan couldn’t be trusted not to kill them just to irritate him, and Belphie was out for… obvious reasons).

In some ways, it wasn’t so bad. The MC was a very mild sort of person, rather even tempered. He’d dare say they were pleasant, mostly content to just tend to their gardens and be out in the moonlight…

But the problem was, he just could not convince them to stay OUT of nature. Including the forests, which were full of hellish beasts fully intent on gnawing their flesh from their bones… and their specialty was plants, not animals, sooo…

Their habit of sneaking out to wander the woods got so bad that he very nearly considered pulling a Belphie 2 and locking them in the basement for their own good. But Devil knows what damage their mother would do if she found out…

At least they make for pleasant company… And Diavolo seems to like them quite a bit himself so the mortal gets a pass from him. Now if they’d only consider their own safety for a change…

Mammon

They make him a KILLING.

Like, no seriously. Their produce is insane!! He’s never tasted food so good, especially stuff that’s come fresh from the ground! It only took a few berries for Mammon to throw on a straw hat himself and start harvesting! He’s a farmer now, baby!!

Weeellll not quite. He’s still absolutely only in it for the money, but anything he brings to a farmer’s market goes so fast that he can hardly care about the labor! He’s never made this much Grimm in his life!! And it’s totally legit for a change!

He bought himself another car, paid off half of his debt, and even got Levi back that 2 or 3 grand he leant him centuries ago. Really, Mammon’s living his best life and it’s all thanks to MC!

It’s a good thing his blatant grifting doesn’t hurt his relationship with them at all, in fact they seem to enjoy having his help regardless. They bring him drinks on hot days or invite him on picnics and stuff, it’s… it’s really sweet. They’re very nice to him and he appreciates it…

But… COULD YA JUST STAY PUT ALREADY???

It drives him INSANE that they won’t stay out of dangerous places!! After he started caring about them for more than just a meal ticket it only got even worse!!

He’s not usually one for monitoring someone’s every move (that kind of control freak behavior is more a Lucifer thing) but he eventually had to set up familiars around the House just to keep them from sneaking out at night...

What was so interesting out there anyway?? There wasn’t any kind of plant that he could bring them himself! They didn’t have any need to be out there!!

They’d keep telling him they’d be fine but it’s not like he’s going to actually buy that. They were too… nice to be dangerous or anything so why would he believe them?

No more running off, MC! Please, he’s beggin’ ya!!

Leviathan

Wait, gardening? Like, being outdoors and stuff? Ew. No thanks, he’ll pass.

That was more or less his first reaction when they showed up and it never really got much better than that…

He admits that they’re friendly and it’s not like he dislikes them or anything, but their thing so far from his thing that they just don’t have a lot in common… you know?

For starters, they get So. Antsy. when they’re inside for too long! He tried to invite them to a marathon once, but they could hardly keep still and kept looking around like they were searching for a window… He said, “to jump out of.” They insisted just for some fresh air, but he didn’t buy it...

They’re nice enough to listen to his rants, but they’re barely ever inside for him to do so and like HELL is he going to leave his room and stand around out there for that long. Ranting is at least a one to two hour engagement! What if he gets hot out there? And have you SEEN Devildom bees?? Hell no!!

He has, however, asked them on multiple occasions to reproduce flowers he’s seen in different anime, especially ones that have a very unique look and they’ve done some real wonders with that!

He can now claim to be the only person to ever own a Ruby-Jade Vine plant, straight from the pages of TSL when it was used to brew tea for the Lord of Lechery during his brief illness and-is anyone even still listening anymore?

The point is, it’s a flower so rare it was imaginary but now HE has it!... or had it for about a week until his utter incompetence of all things plant killed it…

He begged the MC for another but they were out of the plants they needed to make it and would have to go back to the human world to find more… He’s still mourning his loss… Poor Henry 4.0…

Satan

Well… He’s called this MC “salt of the Earth” and he does truly mean it. Take of that what you will.

He doesn’t get much in the way of intellectual conversation out of this mortal UNLESS he’s talking about plants, farming, or botany… Interesting topics and complex in their own right to be sure, but that’s pretty much their wheelhouse and they like it there.

That being said, the feats that they can perform are genuinely mind-blowing! They are the ONLY person he has ever met who can cultivate the Devildom’s own ultra-rare Phantom Orchid, a plant only blooms when it reaches a perfect state of undeath (i.e. both taken care of and neglected just enough so that it's only barely alive. The balance is so tricky to master that one hasn’t bloomed down there for centuries!)

There’s also something just genuinely relaxing about watching them work or helping them in the gardens… More so than he’d ever expected from such a simple activity.

He admits that he’s taken quite a few strolls through the flower-filled courtyard of the Demon Lord’s Castle just to admire its beauty... But anything that they can grow just blows all of that out of the water!

They even taught him several magic botanical techniques so now he can grow some pretty mad plants himself. Lucifer never expected to find that giant Venus Flytrap in his closet, but one was there regardless. 😏

Just… out of curiosity one day, he asked the MC if they could make him a new kind of catnip. Not for any nefarious reason! You know… just for research purposes…

The nip they made was so effective that the House grounds were FILLED with nipped-up cats for a whole month! He was in Heaven!! (and Lucifer practically wiped those plants from existence so he couldn’t get any more… asshole...)

That must have inspired them because they apparently made a demons-only version that they told him about WELL after the fact. Had he known, he probably would have burned the stuff on principle... Do you know how dangerous demon-nip could be to them? Experiment responsibly, MC!

Asmodeus

Ehhhh, gardening SOUNDS like one of those things that should be super Devilgram-able, but then you realize how sweaty and dirty you get in the process and it’s a huge turn off… Sorry MC.

When they first came down to the Devildom, he thought two things: 1) Such a sweet little flower child, as adorable as they were, would never survive; and 2) even if they could, he would never ever see eye-to-eye with them on the “wonders” of getting all up in the dirt.

Well, he was right about 2, but certainly not 1. Personally, he thinks his brothers worry about them too much, they ARE still a demigod.

At one point he saw a pack of hellhounds almost trample one of their vegetable gardens and they lost it. Word to the wise, never try to take on a child of Demeter in their own garden. Those hounds were wrapped up in rose vines before they could even yelp...

Yeah, the MC would be fine.

That being said, while everybody else clamors over their produce, he thinks that their flowers are really where it’s at!

Taking just five minutes in one of their gardens is something else... He’s never seen blossoms as healthy and immaculate in all the Devildom before! Their beauty could (almost) rivals his own! What they do isn’t just a hobby, it’s an art.

He’s taken multiple pictures with their blossoms and they go viral every time. It’s so rare to actually see gorgeous, petal-filled flowers in the Devildom, most of the native plants are of the man-eating variety.

His only complaint about this MC is that they seem to feel much more at home in work clothes and dirt than they do in any sort of party-look he tries to give them… Cute as they are, they can afford to gussy up sometimes can’t they? Mud and grass stains don’t make for a good look, sorry.

Beelzebub

Beel gardens and the MC gardens as well. Add on that they seem to be able to grow all manner of fruits and veggies and he likes this one. A lot.

They had just finished apple-picking when the portal nabbed them so they had a massive basket of apples at the time. Naturally, Beel more or less stole the thing on sight, but the apples inside were so juicy and good that he almost shook them down for more on the spot!

Imagine his surprise when they, half pleadingly, explained to him that if he got them some seeds they could just grow more… and it wouldn’t even take that long.

To be clear, the formula he saw was this: Get seeds > bring seeds to mortal > mortal grows seeds > mortal makes endless supply of food….

Congratulations MC, you’ve now earned the sixthborn’s eternal loyalty after a grand total of… two minutes. He didn’t even know their name, but he was willing to take a bullet for them (provided he got more of those apples).

The next several months were spent with Beel attached to them to the hip in some way, but honestly? It was just so wholesome anyway…

If he’s helping in the garden, he never complains. He does most of the heavy lifting and actually likes being out there with them (unlike others...)

Many afternoons were spent sitting under fruit trees and talking. Sometimes, they go to the trouble of preparing a picnic or something but it would always inevitably end with Beel plucking the whole tree clean of whatever ripe (or unripe) fruit he can get his hands on with a smile.

The MC never minded though. That’s just another excuse to grow more, right?

His only problem was when the MC would sneak out to the forest… especially when they get too antsy and just go alone.

He HATES it when they do that! How is he supposed to keep them safe if they just wander off?? He knows that they have a special connection to nature and all, but it isn’t safe…

He’s flown in and scooped them back up to the House on numerous occasions and his “talking tos” get sterner after every rescue... Please stay put, MC! He’d have so many reasons to be sad if you were eaten… 😔

Belphegor

Okay, he was looking for a capable, if not gullible, human. Not a shoeless flower hippy!

He honestly wasn't expecting much out of this one... Damn their little heart because they did genuinely believed his lies, it’s just that they weren't… well… They were really good at gardening.

… And it grew kind of hard to keep hating them whenever they'd show up just to give him fresh berries or a bouquet to see him smile�� He may claim that his heart is made of nightmares and orphan tears, but who doesn’t enjoy being given a batch of flowers?

Damn their sweetness too… Right to here.

When it came time to kill them he had a heavier heart than he thought he would, but kind of saw it like putting down the sacrificial lamb. Gotta be done to reach better goals... Stiff upper lip and all that.

Unfortunately for him, they had taken to carrying packets of demon-nip with them as a self-defense measure…

He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when they shouted “Get nipped!” at him mid-attack, but it wasn’t a face full of some smelly herb! Like, really smelly…! Actually, that smelt kind of good… Hold on.

Turns out murderous rage really doesn’t last long after you get what is effectively ultra-strong catnip thrown in your face. They ended up having to go and tell Lucifer what happened themselves because Belphie was way too blissed out on the floor to do anything... They were legitimately worried they might have fried his brain...

He’s told the effects of the demon-nip lasted three days. He doesn’t know, because he hardly remembers any of it... They described him as like he was high on “weed” and “ecstasy” at the same time but he doesn’t know what either of those are either so it wasn’t helpful…

Truthfully, they were so nice to him while he was recovering that he couldn’t even be mad afterwards so all's well that ends well? Either way, he’s sleeping under their orchard trees from now on. It’s peaceful out there...

They burnt all that nip though. It’s some strong stuff...

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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jaybear1701 · 4 years

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It was supposed to be a simple spell.

At least, that’s what Tally had said. One sprig of mistletoe and an easy-as-pie incantation:

Love is precious Banish your woe Love is found ‘Neath the mistletoe

It had sounded fake, if Raelle was being honest. But she had no reason to doubt her fellow Gryffindor and was willing to take the chance. But, like with many things in Raelle’s Collar’s 16 years on earth, nothing was ever that simple.

Perhaps she had said the words wrong or emphasized the wrong syllables. Or perhaps the intensity of Raelle’s emotions had given her magic a little too much oomph. Or maybe she didn’t use the right mistletoe. “It had to be picked on the night of a waning gibbous moon,” Tally had exclaimed only after everything went to hell. Whatever it was, it backfired. Spectacularly.

Instead of the enchanted mistletoe appearing above the archway leading to the greenhouses—where the object of Raelle’s affections would go every morning to help Professor Sprout with all the magical plants (the mushrooms, especially, were her favorite)--it now appeared above every archway, in random locations and times, catching students and professors and even ghosts unaware.

What made it even worse: the nefarious mistletoe trapped unexpected couples underneath it until they kissed. (Raelle didn’t think she’d ever be able to purge from memory the sight of Headmistress Alder locking lips with Peeves the poltergeist.) Anyone who dared to defy its mandate were forced to have their deepest crush announced to every corner of the castle by multiple Howlers--which is how everyone now knew that Libba Swythe, a Slytherin, had a thing for a Gryffindor. And not just any Gryffindor. Her sworn nemesis: Abigail Bellweather.

At lunch, the Great Hall was decorated like it always was during the winter holidays. A massive Christmas tree with all the trimmings sparkled at the front of the hall. Giant wreaths adorned the walls, and a flurry of snowflakes floated above their heads. The air smelled of pine and sugar cookies, and Raelle would have enjoyed it if not for the calamity she had brought down on Hogwarts and all its residents.

Sitting at Gryffindor’s table, Abigail’s scowl was dark and furious. She stabbed at her meal with more force than necessary, glaring at Raelle as she vigorously chewed.

“This is all your fault,” Abigail said, very much heated.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Raelle lowered her head, glancing to the left and right. The last thing she needed was for Professor Quartermaine to find out that she caused everything. “Besides, it was Tally’s spell.”

“Um, excuse you, it was not my spell.” Tally looked offended. “No one forced you to use it, Rae.”

“She’s right,” Abigail grumbled. “And now everything’s the worst.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s the best,” Tally sing-songed, high on a dreamy cloud after sharing multiple kisses with Gerit Buttonwood all over the castle. “As do a lot of people. Nothing wrong with a kiss here and there.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “None of this would have happened if you just told Ramshorn the truth,” she said. “And what's worse is that you haven't even tried to catch her under one of those vile weeds."

"I'm working on it," Raelle said.

"You are the most cowardly Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors,” Abigail stressed.

“Look, it’s not that easy, okay?” Raelle stole a glance over at the Ravenclaw table, where Scylla looked as effortlessly gorgeous as ever, head buried in a thick tome, as usual. She was probably crafting all sorts of new spells and potions in that brilliant mind of hers. Uncertainty washed over Raelle. Even if she managed to kiss Scylla under some mistletoe... how would she go about telling one of her best friends that she's in love with her? What if Scylla didn’t feel the same way? Would Raelle ruin their friendship? She couldn’t imagine life without the bright, witty, and rebellious Ravenclaw.

"It’s not like you’re running to Libba even though she loves you too for some reason," Raelle deflected.

The blush on Abigail’s face was brighter than the red on her robes. “This isn’t about me.”

Raelle watched as Scylla stood from her table and made her way out of the Great Hall. At the Hufflepuff table, Porter Tippett also stood. He only had eyes for Scylla, as well. Oh hell no. On instinct, Raelle shot to her feet. The last thing she needed was for Porter to try to rekindle anything with Scylla because Raelle’s spell had gone awry.

“Where are you going?” Tally asked, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know,” Raelle said. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Abigail shook her head.

Raelle ignored them both to follow Scylla, who had some free time before her next class--not that Raelle had memorized her schedule or anything. Perhaps she was going back to Ravenclaw Tower. She had to find Scylla before Porter did.

Raelle walked quickly down the hallways, shoes clacking against stone. She bounded up the moving staircases, two sometimes three steps at a time, drawing warnings from several of the portraits to be careful. She hoped she was taking the right path to Ravenclaw Tower. No matter how often Scylla told her the way, Raelle found it confusing, as if it was an ever shifting puzzle that only the Ravenclaws could figure out. Thankfully, Porter apparently found it just as mystifying because Raelle lost him somewhere between the third and fourth floors.

Skidding around a corner, Raelle’s heart lodged firmly in her throat when she saw Scylla underneath an archway, alone thankfully, staring up at a bundle of leaves and white berries. Raelle willed herself to be calm and approached slowly, not wanting to startle Scylla.

“Looks like you could use some help,” Raelle called out. Nerves made the tips of her fingers number and she rubbed her hands together.

Scylla’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice, shoulders visibly relaxing when she saw it was Raelle. “Thank the goddess it’s you,” she breathed out.

“I guess you could do worse,” Raelle said as she joined Scylla, pulse ticking ever upward.

“Not by much,” Scylla teased.

“Ouch,” Raelle said.

Scylla’s gaze returned to the mistletoe. “I can’t believe some idiot botched this spell. I mean, a first-year could do it. Whoever it was probably picked the mistletoe during a waxing gibbous moon.”

“R-right.” Raelle rubbed the back of her neck. “What an idiot.”

Silence stretched between them, awkward and thick.

“Well, I guess we should get this over with.” Scylla looked at her expectantly, but Raelle found she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place, as if someone had hit her with an Immobulus charm.

“Are you okay?” Scylla’s brows furrowed.

“Yeah, I just…” It was hard to speak with the way her mouth suddenly dried out.

“It’s just a kiss.” Scylla moved closer and touched Raelle’s elbow. “No big deal.”

Raelle’s stomach dropped. Because of course . It wasn’t a big deal to Scylla because she didn’t feel the same as Raelle. And in that moment, Raelle knew she had messed up. Royally. Why had she thought some mistletoe would miraculously lead to Scylla returning her unrequited love. She should have never cast that spell.

She was so stupid .

But she had a chance to fix it now. To bury her feelings and give Scylla a quick peck and be done with it. But...

“I can’t,�� Raelle whispered, tired of hiding.

Scylla’s face fell and that made Raelle’s heart crack. “Would kissing me be that terrible?”

“What? No!” Raelle covered her face with her hands. This was a disaster. “That’s not…”

“Rae,” Scylla gently pulled down Raelle’s hands, blue eyes as clear as the shimmering waters of the Great Lake on a cloudless day. “It’s okay. You don’t have to kiss me, if you don’t want to.”

“That’s the thing.” Raelle’s chest throbbed. “I do want to. More than you know. But not like this.”

“Like what?” Scylla asked, baffled.

“Like it doesn’t mean anything.” Raelle took a deep breath. It was now or never. She’d prove she wasn’t the most cowardly Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors. “Because, Scyl, it’d mean everything to me. Because you mean everything .”

Scylla licked her lips. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for as long as I can remember. But I understand if you don’t feel the same.”

Closing her eyes, Scylla ducked her head down, shoulders beginning to shake. Raelle couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

“Scyl? Say something. Please.”

When Scylla finally looked up, Raelle for sure thought her heart stopped. Tears shone in her eyes, and her mouth curved up in a trembling smile.

“You know what Muggles say about assumptions, right?” Scylla said.

Raelle watched dumbfounded as Scylla stepped away and out past the perimeter of the mistletoe’s reach. Howlers appeared out of thin air, and their screech was deafening. They flapped to all corners of the castle. Even with her hands clapped around her ears, Raelle could hear the message clearly:

Scylla Ramshorn, Seventh Year, Ravenclaw, is in love with Raelle Collar, Sixth Year, Gryffindor.

The message repeated for what seemed like eternity before it finally ceased, leaving Raelle in stunned silence, facing burning.

Scylla shrugged helplessly.

In less than a fraction of a second, Raelle erased the gap between them and kissed Scylla, cupping her jaw and burying her fingers in soft, auburn hair. Scylla wrapped her arms around Raelle and brought them even closer. Raelle melted into the softness of Scylla’s lips, warmth spreading throughout her entire body as her heart expanded to the point of bursting.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Scylla whispered when they broke apart, foreheads resting against each other.

“Why didn’t you?” Raelle countered, smiling so widely her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

“I guess we’re both idiots.”

“Guess so.”

Scylla nuzzled the tip of Raelle’s nose. “Speaking of idiots, I’ll have to thank the one who bungled the mistletoe spell after all.” Her gaze traveled up to the archway. The mistletoe had already disappeared to claim its next victim.

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to search very far,” Raelle confessed.

Scylla’s eyes widened. “It was you?”

Raelle nodded sheepishly, and Scylla could only laugh, pulling her in for another kiss.

#raylla #motherland fort salem #mfsweek #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #hogwarts au #mistletoe trope #bc why not

28 notes · View notes

callboxkat · 4 years

Text

A Little Nightmare (part 6)

Author’s note: My puppy was kind enough to let me write today! Sorry about the wait, and thank you all for your patience. :) I hope you enjoy, and more importantly, that you’re all staying safe. <3

Warnings: fear, death mention, mentions of being eaten, illness and injury, referenced drowning, pressuring people into things, food mention, censored swearing, arguing, rat/mouse mention, a dog

Word count: 3530

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

Joan opened up the cabinet beside the microwave, their eyes scanning its contents, searching for the small red and black coffee tin that should have been inside. They frowned, moving aside a few spice canisters. The tin wasn’t there, as far as they could tell. Where was it?

They stepped back, eyebrows drawing together, and opened the neighboring cabinet door. Perhaps they had misremembered where they had last put the coffee? They didn’t drink it much, so that was a reasonable possibility. They hoped they weren’t out. It had been Nunya’s one request, the one thing she claimed might make her forgive them for their blunder with the dog.

That had been pretty dumb of them, Joan thought, taking their eyes off of Marco long enough for him to get to Nunya’s door. They should have realized that she would be nervous about a dog sniffing around, even if he couldn’t get into the room.

They sighed, moving on to the next cabinet.

…

With Joan gone, Remy turned back to her plate of food. She picked up the strawberry and took a bite, closing her eyes with a soft, pleased hum at the sweet, juicy taste. She very much liked the strawberries—she didn’t exactly get them often, surprise surprise, given that most humans she’d encountered didn’t just leave fresh fruit lying around for littles to find. Not that she was going to show Joan just how glad she was to have them, but she would take the fruit.

Perks of almost dying and being caught by a human, she supposed.

She paused to wipe the juice off of her chin, glanced over at the rest of the strawberries on the plate, and decided she didn’t have to try to make this one last. She finished off that strawberry, leaves and all (it was small, stop judging her) and reached for another. She dragged it towards her, wincing at the strain on her chest, and took a bite. She slowed down a bit at this point, not wanting to get full too fast. She wanted to savor it, and actually taste her food. Who knew when the next time she’d get strawberries could be?

Remy was about a quarter of the way finished with the berry when the bedroom door opened, causing her to jump. She turned around to see Joan poking their head in the door with a guilty expression. She squinted, wondering what this was about.

“Um… hey. I’m sorry, but turns out I don’t have any coffee after all. I must have run out and forgot. I can get some, though, if you want? It shouldn’t take long.”

Remy looked at them for a moment, searching, then slowly nodded. Late coffee was better than no coffee, obviously, assuming that that was really what Joan was going to do.

“Maybe you can take a nap while I’m gone? Marco’ll be in my room the whole time.”

Remy’s expression soured at the mention of the dog. Joan seemed to be waiting for an answer, though, so she just said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Joan nodded, glancing away, then retreated. The door closed with a soft click.

Once she was sure they were gone, Remy went back to her food, still ignoring the peanuts and crackers that Joan had brought her along with the strawberries. She had those all the time, at least comparatively. While she was accustomed to often having trouble finding any kind of food, if she had options, she was going with the fruit, thanks.

She finished about half of the second strawberry, then got to her feet, having no plans to take a nap like the human had suggested. Sure, she was still tired, her chest throbbed, her headache had only slightly let up, and her nose was starting to feel stuffy; but now would be a good time to go exploring again, with less chance of the human interrupting. There might be something she had missed the night before.

She made herself a mental map of the room, taking note of any potential escape routes: outlet covers, the vent cover that she might be able to squeeze through, the door, maybe the window; as well as hiding spots: the nightstand, the bed, the closet, and the space behind the door when it was open. She wished it wasn’t such a plain room. More hiding spots would be nice.

Still no red flags that she could find. In this room, anyway. At one point, she heard the tapping of claws in the neighboring room as the dog walked around. That was a pretty big red flag, especially since she had no guarantees that it really couldn’t get to her. But mostly, she focused on exploring this room.

Just when she was starting to consider calling it quits, so that she’d be back in the blanket when Joan returned, she found it.

A seam, so perfectly fitted that she nearly missed it, in the wall under the bed. Remy brushed her fingers along it, frowning, discovering that it made a door-like shape. A distinctly her-sized door-like shape.

She hesitated, then shook her head. Why should she be nervous? What did she expect to find inside, a booby trap like some Indiana Jones movie? Ridiculous. The worst thing she was likely to find was, like, a giant rat. Or maybe a skeleton.

Remy’s mouth thinned.

But probably nothing. Nothing was the most likely answer.

With that thought, she hooked her fingertips in the seam and pulled. It took her some effort, probably because it was stuck and definitely not because she was so weak; but then it gave, and the door swung open. It was cleverly only partially cut on one side so as to allow the movement but not let the door fall open entirely. She’d luckily pulled on the correct side. It would have been embarrassing, to be standing there tugging on the wrong side of the door for who knew how long.

Remy glanced behind her, towards the room at large, as if to make sure Joan hadn’t returned, then turned back to her find.

“Hello?” she awkwardly whisper-called, feeling very stupid but also apprehensive. “Is, uh, is there anybody in there?”

She didn’t get an answer, unsurprisingly—even if there really were other littles in the house, they could be practically anywhere, and she was unwilling to raise her voice. She poked her head in the wall, hoping for some clues.

The tunnel within clearly hadn’t been used in some time, she realized with a sinking heart, probably at least a year if not more. There was dust on the floor, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she even saw a couple of dead insects lying on the ground about a foot down the tunnel.

Remy swallowed and stepped back.

So… no littles, then. At least, no littles recently. Perhaps they had moved out because of the dog. That would certainly make sense.

Of course, it would also make sense that they had been eaten by the dog, or killed by Joan or some other human, or had had some other horrible thing befall them; but Remy was trying to think positively, here.

She stepped back, taking a breath, and shut the door. It blended nearly seamlessly with the wall once more.

Did she want to stay, after finding this? What if something had happened to those littles, and it had had to do with Joan? What if this was her one warning to get out while she could?

She put one arm around herself and rubbed her sore head with the other hand. She swore, conflicted.

If she stayed, she would be taking the risk that this really was a clue to some horrible thing that Joan was hiding. But if she left, she would definitely be putting her life at risk, when there might well be a perfectly reasonable and non-nefarious explanation for there to be abandoned tunnels in the walls.

She debated for a long moment, and eventually, she decided to continue to stay, for now. Leaving posed a big risk, especially since she wouldn’t even be able to get back to her supplies and still had nowhere to call home, not to mention her… current situation.

She made her way back to the blanket, glancing several times towards the hidden door along the way. She sat down there, hugged the baggie of peas to her chest, and waited.

Nearly two hours had passed in total, judging by the movement of the shadows in the room, by the time Joan returned. Remy was starting to get antsy. She was promised coffee, and she was not known for being patient. Granted, she was barely known at all, but no one who did know her would call her patient.

She turned as soon as she heard the knock on the door, opening her mouth to ask where exactly they had been for so long; but when they actually came in, she broke off, her mouth beginning to water.

She recognized the rich aroma as soon as the door opened, tickling her nose tantalizingly from across the room. She sat up, unable to help the thrum of anticipation within her.

Joan poked their head in, smiling and carrying a tray laden with goodies that Remy’s eyes immediately zeroed in on. “I’m back!” they greeted, “and I’ve got something for you.”

Remy pushed off the baggie of frozen peas—well, they weren’t quite frozen anymore—as Joan approached. The human stopped about a foot away and went to set down the array, then paused. They picked up the shot glass filled with dark brown liquid and took a sip from it, probably to demonstrate that it was safe. Remy just watched, shifting where she sat like a kid trying to contain her excitement.

Joan lowered themself to the floor and set down the tray in front of her, then scooted back a couple of feet to give her space. The tray they left behind was laden with a couple of sugar cubes, two shot glasses, several little bowls made of tin foil, plus some extra unshaped foil, and even what looked like a small cookie. The dark brown liquid in the first shot glass was obviously the coffee, while the other must have been the milk. Almond milk, she remembered Joan mentioning it was. She didn’t know what exactly that was—almonds were a nut, weren’t they?—but she didn’t ask. She had her coffee, finally. That was all she cared about.

A bit of steam curled lazily from the first shot glass. Hot coffee? She knew coffee was usually supposed to be served hot, or at least, not room temperature; but she’d never actually had hot coffee before. She glanced up at Joan, then slowly approached. She paused, then poked one finger into the coffee to test the temperature. It didn’t seem too hot, so she took a tiny sip. It was bitter, but in a familiar, pleasant way; and it warmed her insides. She could tell it was freshly made, too, which was not exactly usual for her caffeinated treats.

“You like it?” Joan asked, seeming hesitant.

“Hmm,” Remy hummed, too pleased to bother with a sarcastic comment. She looked at the rest of the tray’s contents, then picked up one of the clumsily folded aluminum foil cups and used it to scoop out some more of the coffee, filling it about three quarters of the way. After a pause, she filled the rest up with almond milk. She took a sip, belatedly realizing that she hadn’t seen Joan try the milk. But it seemed okay.

Coffee and milk. Not bad, actually.

She finished her first cup and went to refill it. She had already decided that hot coffee was vastly superior to the room temperature kind. This must have been what “good coffee” meant. She felt briefly gratified that she had insisted upon the good kind.

Meanwhile, Joan was watching, but totally pretending not to be.

She glanced over at them as she measured out the coffee, milk, and sugar ratio she wanted to try next. “What took you so long, anyway, girl?” Don’t get her wrong—she sure as heck wasn’t complaining about the extra investigation time, since it would have been rather… ah, awkward to explain what she was doing if they’d walked in in the middle of it; but she had thought that humans were faster than that at getting around. Her tone was slightly accusatory, suspicious about what they could have been up to, but it was mellowed slightly by her satisfaction at finally getting her caffeinated nectar of the gods. A bit of her nerves might have shown in her voice, which sucked; but Joan, thankfully, either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Oh—sorry, I had to stop upstairs for a minute. One of my tenants emailed about a leaky faucet. I had to take care of it. And then I had some trouble figuring out how to make some cups for you….”

“…Tenants?” Remy echoed, not recognizing the word.

“Yeah. I own the building we’re in. I rent most of it to other people, they pay me for the space, and I take care of the building.”

Remy blinked. So, this wasn’t just a house, after all—it was an apartment building. Now that she paid attention, she thought she could hear something above them, maybe someone walking around, and a television or something playing. She hadn’t noticed before. Something that she felt was more than justified in her case.

More importantly, though…. “Are you going to try to make me “pay” too?” she asked suspiciously. “For, like, taking up space here, or whatever?” Maybe that explained the empty tunnels…. The littles hadn’t been able to pay whatever Joan’s price was. And now the human was trying to trick her into taking their place.

“What? No—no, that’s a different thing. You don’t owe me anything. I promise.” They frowned, seeming upset.

“Hm.” Remy would hold them to that promise.

Joan stayed silent until Remy went back for her third cup.

“You know,” they ventured quietly, making her pause, “I really do think you’d like Marco if you met him.”

Remy sent them a sideways glance, scooping the coffee into her cup. Yeah, I’m sure I’d have a great time getting eaten by that mutt.

“He’s really sweet,” they continued. “Not threatening at all.”

Remy crumbled a few grains of sugar off of one of the cubes and sprinkled them in. Once they dissolved, she took a small sip, glancing once in Joan’s direction, skeptical of their claims. She took another sip of coffee and firmly directed her small, satisfied look at the cup. If only Joan wasn’t here, annoying her.

“Maybe if you gave him a chance, you’d see you don’t have to be scared.”

Remy still pretended not to hear them, focused on her coffee.

Joan sighed.

Remy tapped her fingers on the sides of the cup. “How long have you had that thing, anyway?”

“What?”

“The dog.”

“Oh. About two years now.”

She took a contemplative sip of her drink. That timeline did check out with how long the tunnel appeared to have been empty. So, the dog probably had had something to do with it. Which wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed.

“And he’s never, like, caught anything, right?”

Joan had perked up, apparently thinking she was considering their offer. “No, never. I was actually kind of afraid he might be vision impaired or something when I first got him, he was so chill around birds and stuff. Turns out he’s just like that, though.”

“And what about… uh, mice? Or, like, rats, I guess.”

Joan’s eyes shifted to her tail, which twitched self-consciously. “No, nothing like that.”

“Have you ever even had mice around him? How would you know if you’ve never had mice?”

Joan looked sheepish. “Well… we used to have mice, I think. I put out some traps, but I never caught any. I think they’re gone, now, though. I haven’t seen any sign of them in a few years.”

Remy mulled that answer over for a moment, and the tone in which it was said. They hadn’t avoided the question, and it sure didn’t seem like they were hiding anything in it. She didn’t exactly like that they’d put out mouse traps to try to catch littles, but it seemed that they didn’t know that they weren’t actually mice. The answer still didn’t tell her what she needed to know, however, and it was always possible she was missing something. Focusing was not her strong suit at the moment, and she’d only known this person for a day—not to mention that she hadn’t ever even spoken to a human before now, and hadn’t planned to. She was no psychic, or expert on how to read humans. She was just doing her best.

The pause was lengthening, so Joan spoke up. “He really is very sweet. He’s harmless.” They seemed to know they were pushing it, but they still asked, “Would it really so bad, to just see him, so you could see for yourself?”

Remy took a long sip of coffee. She didn’t want Joan getting ahead of themself just because she was asking questions. “Nah, girl. Pass.”

…

Joan wilted a bit at her flat, negative response, but they tried not to be too disappointed. They tried to put themself in her shoes (or boots, technically). They tried to picture what it would be like to face a dog like Marco at her size. They supposed they might be a bit intimidated by a corgi the size of a house, even if he was a sweetheart. Especially if they hadn’t known that he was a sweetheart. Corgi or not. Maybe it was a bit cruel of them, trying to push her into this, despite how much they felt that it would put her at ease to know what kind of dog was “lurking” outside.

They dropped the topic for the time being, watching her enjoy her coffee. As she went back for a fourth and then fifth cup, Joan started to wonder where she was putting it all. Did she have a coffee-loving black hole for a stomach? Perhaps it was good that they’d gotten her decaf coffee. They’d debated for a while at the store, wondering if caffeine was the best idea for someone in her condition. They’d also grabbed some regular coffee, too, just in case; but they’d made her decaf for now. If she somehow ended up staying longer and wanted regular coffee, they had it.

“So...” Nunya said, breaking Joan out of their thoughts, “what happens when your absolutely flawless plan fails?”

Oh. She just wanted to criticize them some more.

“It’s not like he’ll be near you. I’ll have him on a short leash.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” they said. “I told you. I won’t let him near you if you don’t want him to be. Definitely not until you’re comfortable with it. And if that never happens, it never does.”

“Uh-huh. Girl, you said you want me to meet him. How do you meet someone and not get close to them?”

“Just see him, really. You don’t even know what he looks like. Would it really hurt just to see him?” From the sound of it, Nunya had had a very difficult time sleeping the night before, imagining their enormous, vicious, bloodthirsty dog coming after her. Seeing the fluffy, adorably harmless reality might reassure her and make her stay that much easier. She wasn’t going to get better if she didn’t feel safe enough to rest.

…

Remy frowned down at her cup. Part of the reason she was drinking so much was so that the caffeine would perk her up and make it easier to think clearly, but it didn’t seem to be working. Her headache and head fog were still overpowering. She stifled a cough, sniffling, and put the cup down.

Joan was still waiting for her answer. Well, she’d already answered, like, a bunch of times, even if most of them hadn’t technically been verbal; and it shouldn’t have taken a genius to get the hint. But that wasn’t good enough for them, apparently.

She should have just reiterated a flat “hell f*cking no” and clammed up on the topic, but she paused.

She thought of the empty tunnels again.

A part of her felt curious—okay, maybe obligated was a better word—to find out what had happened to their builders. But was it even worth the risk, when, if Joan was to be trusted, she was leaving the next afternoon?

“Maybe you can think on it?” Joan asked.

Remy closed her eyes, resigned. “Fine,” she huffed.

“Fine… you’ll think about it?”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But you, ma’am, had better make damn f*cking sure that that mutt of yours can’t reach me.”

Joan’s shoulders loosened, and they sent her a relieved if uncertain smile. “Well, I do have an idea… but I’m not sure how much you’ll like it.”

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gaudeixcc · 6 years

Text

Peleton News – Confessions (G18 Tour special – April 2018)

This year’s tour was a little fractured to start with.

JT, my honorable (although diminutive) co-chair has been living in Munich for some time, so has reluctantly lobbed all administrative tasks my way. He still of course has a pointy figure hovering over the keyboard most hours of the day to fire off a bullet-like reminder should any delegated task fall in to the overdue category.

My approach this year had been to further convolute the whole process by sub-delegating further down the value chain. This year RTA picked up route-planning duties, shouldering the full burden once Moley had thrown the metaphoric towel into the Gaudeix corner.

JT arrived the night before to settle into Hotel Mariposa and to busy himself ready for our arrival next morning, where, his welcoming party preparation of sundry nibbles, iced towels, freshly pressed mango juice and 6 flutes of chilled Champaign could be seen exactly nowhere.

Quietly bikes were built and readied.

I don’t with to appear overly-critical at this early stage, however I feel it is important to highlight areas where improvement could be made.

My first area of improvement relates to a mathematical ratio.

13.2 is an acceptable ratio.

60 is a completely unacceptable ratio.

Back in the day when I rode motorcycles for my thrill-seeking pleasure, the most expensive item of an accessory nature was the helmet. An oft quoted saying was ‘If you’ve got a £10 head, get a £10 helmet’.

I valued my head at considerable more than £10 and hence why I could be seen peacocking about the place in the latest stealth MotoGP inspired bonce-protecting loveliness from Arai, makers of the very best.

And the same is true of bikes and their bags.

If you’ve got a ratty old Trek which you equally be happy to see as landfill as opposed to nestled between your legs, then by all means bag it with a carrier from Tesco.

If on the other hand you have a carbonfibre creation, with composite wheels, electronic shifting and less weight than a fat sparrow, then for fucks sake, buy a proper bag.

Is there a correlation between 2 visits to a bike shop for fixing 2 bikes hurled into fifty quid bags?

Answers on a postcard…

Next year we are going to be introducing the video referee to dish out ‘after the event’ fines and tickets to offences against cycling such as this little atrocity.

Anyway, peleton delayers aside, we had quite a good tour from a reliability perspective.

No flats at all in 3 days of riding.

Not bad going considering the excess baggage about 50% of the peloton where wheeling about the place.

It can be a harsh life travelling with a pack of cyclists. As a group, we are generally slow to acknowledge quality but lightening-fast to highlight weakness.

This year’s theme was most definitely fatness.

It all started when Dripping decided to relax on day one and let his guard down.

The relief a fat Victorian lady must feel when at the end of a day grazing on mutton, savory puddings and broiled swan, she releases the strings on her corset, was probably how Dripping felt as he gently supped an ale whilst not ‘tensed’ or ‘sucking it in for dear life’ sitting quietly in the sun.

It was harsh and cruel for Mac to take a picture of Dripping at rest in such an unguarded state. The resulting snap caused almost immediate physiological damage, which was then added to by verbal slappery of the worst kind from almost all.

Macca’s boobs got a much lower level of attention than would otherwise have been.

But the real crime in the whole torrid ‘fatgate’ affair, was a quietly outed photo from Colchester Mac which showed what looked like a Michelin Man ballooned around a struggling Cannondale, legs bouncing hard off an impressive midriff as the owner snuffled and puffed his sorry arse up a hill.

That night James in a moment of shocking and completely unexpected kindness said to me ‘You’ve put on a bit of timber this year’…..

It’s about as nice as he’s ever been to me in the 15 years of friendship we have shared.

Ever.

Meanwhile, back in the Peloton, Whatsapp was on fire as fat Michelin man took a breather from cycling, sat down, drank a beer, guzzled food and then promptly took a micro-nap to allow his body to digest this latest onslaught of calories.

The peloton…. They can be mighty cruel to those built for comfort.

Anyway…let’s move on. Let’s talk compliments….

‘Love the tattoos’

‘You’re girlfriend is very pretty. The plastic she has had inserted in the chest area is both proportionally perfect and pleasing to the eye’

‘Nice denim’

‘Wow.. impressive steed’.

All of the above are probably good ways to make a hells angel feel special.

Alternatively, you could surprise the life out of him by slapping him on the arse as you cycle past at 15 mph…. showing shock and dismay on your face and general surprise that he hadn’t apparently heard your tinckly bike-bell.

I arrived at a stationary Peloton to find Macca being verbally abused by a very angry biker who was busy calling us all arseholes……. I mean he was right…. Must have been a lucky guess.

This was another visible demonstration of Macca’s intolerance to a good swathe of human kind.

On the flight out, Moley’s seat on the plane had been taken by a Turkish lady of more senior years and built like I will be if I don’t stop eating constantly.

She was resting up from the exertion of having had to climb the stairs at the rear of the bus and drag her cabin bag the 6 yards to her seat. The bag was then occupying Macca’s seat whilst she appeared to be cuddling it.

This was clearly a cue for some helpful soul to then lift it into one of the overhead lockers and help her out.

Macca, ignoring this cue like the plague, barked at her. He informed the startled greek lady that he owned the seat, not her bag, and would she kindly get a shift on and move it.

The plane went awkwardly quiet.

Trembling, the lady dressed in black wobbled to her feet and with oscilating bingo wings hoisted the bag upward. There was a moment or 2 when none of us could be sure the bag was going to make it. Like an Olympic weightlifter going for a PB, there was a pause, a grunt and then a final push… the bag was in.

Macca looked on in bland indifference.

She sat down, glazed with a sheen of garlic and thyme perspiration.

I think secretly Macca was hoping for an engine issue, a wayward turbofan blade and the exiting of the Greek weightlifter from the above-wing window seat.

He fumed quietly for most of the flight.

I suppose I should at some point talk about the cycling.

As with all these tours there is a lot to cover. But, as with most years, I generally can’t be arsed doing so and instead revert to the well-established highlights list.

So, here goes for G18, Malaga;

• Dripping confessing to having voted tactically in previous tours when it came to the yellow cap. Berlusconi-esque in its political nefariousness • C&N orange camo base layer • Mrs RTA’s contribution to the tour…. Can’t name it for legal reasons, but it went down exceptionally well • RTA’s ghost-like completion on date realisation • General higher standard of dress quality (although I still feel the shame and hurt from the explicit savaging I got from Dripping on the yellow cap voting paper… he went into enough detail to require and appendix FFS…) • Damo’s use of the back pen on photos • Whilst he did fuck all in his season of pink, Damo did at least sort out everyone elses mechanical catastrafucks whilst on tour • RTA’s route planning. Magestic. Simply nailed it to the floor. The pink was going one way only after 3 days of beautiful scenery • I hate losing. I especially hate losing to Dripping. I especially especially hate losing to Dripping twice. First time I made an error of timing. After having nearly lost a lung hunting down my prey I should have tailed his sorry ass for half a K before nailing the finish. I didn’t and paid heavily. Day 3’s mechanical was akin to running out of petrol 50 yards short of the finish line. I was running in the red and Drip snuck in and nicked my lunch. Absolute bastard. • Col Mac’s ‘Spam’ top • Macca’s deep-seated suspicion of foreign restaurants… he had me convinced that the preparers of our final meal where going to triple the bill, hack our phones, empty our accounts, spit in our food and quite possibly steal our children. What they actually ended up doing was serving us food which was simply sensational and probably the best meal I’ve eaten in the last 12 months, and then go on to charge us very modestly for it too. • Strange fact number 1. Everything edible in Malaga is cooked in beef fat. • Strange fact number 2. There is nothing wrong with 7 over 40 year olds drinking pink gin with berries in the glass. Completely hetrosexual and in keeping with the modern men we are. (On reflection, I think Colchester Mac way have swerved the gin actually) • If I have to hear one more bloody time about how good wahoo is…… you didn’t invent the fucking thing for the love of sweet baby Jesus… • Shit Garmins • The descent on day 3…on day one going up it I nearly died…. On day 3 coming down I could have cried…. Probably the best descent this peloton has tasted. • This year’s tour caps…. Top quality. • A vintage year that saw our first triple-cap…. ! Yes, my (well deserved) orange nailed a hat trick of caps (although only 2 physical caps probably maketh the point moot). • Desire takes many forms. But few have the strength and longing that have been displayed with the force of a Dripping wanting yellow. He may have ‘bought’ the cap, but god it was worth it to see his little face!! • Murdering 9 oranges to make 1 drink

And finally, whilst we have our highlights list, we also have a lowlights list. This one is my own personal list…. Only 2 entries… and neither of them spotted or witnessed by the Peloton;

1. On unpacking my bike and reassembling, somehow my fat fucking fingers and squinty eyesight have managed to crush the Di2 cable that runs the front mech…. FFS… bike now on turbo in just the little ring…. Horrible humble and apologetic call to Damo/Amy coming shortly. I can actually feel Damo’s eyebrows raise as he reads this…. (and can actually here him say ‘well you’re a fucking idiot aren’t you’…..) 2. Do you know what Raybans hitting tarmac at 20 mph sound like? No? It took me a while to figure it out too…. Well, 10 miles worth of fast riding to be precise…. And then I sulked quietly for 20 mins when I realised that day 2 would be the last time I went our armed with more than one pair of sunnies…… I kepy it quiet because Trusler would have definitely shit himself laughing at that one…..

So there we have it. Drip and Mac need new bike bags if they are to show their cycling faces ever again, Macca needs to take a tolerance pill twice daily, Damo needs to tut in my general direction, JT needs to not mention sunnies to me ever again, Moley needs to get his shit together in readiness for G19 and RTA needs to take a well deserved bow to a round of applause from the Peloton.

Malaga, G18…. Magic.

Hoppo

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