#i would probably need both of my boney witch hands to hold one of those stocky mitts but that's the APPEAL™ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

robbyrobinson · 3 years

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OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GOD AWAKEN (PT. XII)

The gang waited patiently for Hypnos to return with the Blight child. While waiting, Luz decided to relay the others on their plan.

“Alright, so Amity and I will go to Earth in our astral bodies and when we find out where the book is, Eda will use this bell and bring us back.”

Eda held the bell in her hand and rang it. “Why did you need Amity in particular to travel with you?”

“I knew that Willow and Gus would be attending Hexside tomorrow, and I couldn’t bring them into this kind of situation,” Luz explained, “besides, if they notice I am gone, I am hoping that they’d protect our bodies when we are gone.”

“I am still somewhat unsure about what we are trying to accomplish,” Lilith said, “Hypnos said that you needed to take these...drugs. How are we going to get them?”

Eda flicked her hand. “Don’t worry, sis, I have the solution.”

Eda walked out of the room and loud shuffling was heard. Some potion jars were dropped on the floor and exploded upon impact. The floor began to transform into different objects and shapes when Eda returned carrying a bottle in her hands.

“Sister, that isn’t what I think it is,” Lilith started.

Eda grinned. “Yes, indeed, Lilith; apple blood from 40 years ago!”

“Eda, why in the Titan’s name would you keep that bottle around for 40 years?” King asked.

“Pipe down, dog, I was actually considering saving this brew for Luz when she graduated Hexside, buuuut we could use this to help her travel.”

Luz gagged on reflex. “I don’t know, Eda; what if that’s dangerous?”

“Luz, how I see it, one of two things could happen: either this apple blood will send your soul out of your body so you can jump dimensions, or it could kill you.”

Luz frowned. “Both options sound too risky.”

“Maybe we can use a guinea pig for this experiment,” King suggested. “Hey, Hooty!”

Hooty’s tube head popped into the room, startling Lilith. “Hoot! Hoot! Hey guys!!”

King grimaced at the annoying voice coming from the house demon. “How would you like to play a game?”

Hooty’s black eyes bulged excitedly. “Ooo, a game! What are we playing? Charades? Chess! Ooo, maybe we can see who can put the most worms in their mouths without swallowing!! Hoot! Hoot!!”

“Shut up!” King yelled, his head throbbing, “we need you to drink this.”

He took a mug and poured the apple blood into it. A dark red liquid dripped out of the bottle with a sickly nauseating plop. He placed the mug at Hooty’s invisible feet and waited his eyes growing more intense. Hooty shifted his tube body to smell the concoction. His feathers ruffled in disgust.

“That smells like a goblin soaked his socks in it for months!!”

King nodded. “I know it smells bad, but we need you to drink it.”

“Mmm...what’s in it for me?” Hooty asked.

King scratched the boney part of his head for a moment. “If you do this, then...”

Luz interjected. “We’ll listen to your stories for a whole week!”

King turned to look at Luz with a hint of frustration on his face as if to criticize her for the suggestion. He turned back towards Hooty and forced his head to nod. “Eh...sure.”

Hooty smiled. “A WHOLE WEEK!? You guys hardly ever listen to my stories; finally, I will have some acknowledgment, hoot! Hoot!”

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” King said, “just drink it.”

Hooty knelt his body down to look at the liquid in the mug. Along with the red tint that gave the beverage its name, there appeared to be green moss growing in it. “Ew...do I have to?”

King flicked his fingers. Hooty sighed and closed his eyes so at the least he did not see what he was about to drink. The tip of his beak formed into a circular shape and he took a long swig of the concoction. King and the others felt their cheeks turning green.

“He’s...really doing it,” King observed, “I was kind of half-kidding when I said that we should test it on him.”

Hooty finished the mug and looked up again at the others. He didn’t say anything to them.

“Uh...Hooty?” Luz said, “are you okay??”

Hooty’s eyes widened and glimmered from seemingly glaring into the universe itself. Before they could say anything additional, Hooty fell to his side.

“Oh cramity, I think we killed Hooty!” Luz said.

Eda knelt down and placed two fingers close to Hooty’s mouth. “Naw, he’s still warm.”

“If only he was dead,” King complained.

“Then that means the astral travel had worked?” Lilith asked.

“Mmm...looks like it had.” Eda answered. “He’s probably already going down one of those wacko dimensions as we speak.”

King poked Hooty with a stick. “He was the security system, though; are you sure we can handle things while he is gone?”

“Of course, it’s just that we have to watch two girls’ bodies while they are traveling through the vastness of space.” Eda shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not that complicated.”

Luz looked at the unconscious tube bird and then at the apple blood. “Well, Hooty’s a house demon, and I’m a human.”

“Oh, that is true,” Eda said, “some drinks in our world might do unspeakably malicious things on your system.”

“Knock, knock.”

Hypnos came in carrying Amity on his back. “I got the girl!”

“Amity!” Luz screamed.

Amity immediately blushed from hearing Luz’s voice.

“Oh, Luz! Fancy meeting you here!”

“I live here,” Luz pointed out.

“Oh, right, you live here,” Amity giggled anxiously. “And I came here to see you.”

Amity tensed up from Luz’s stare. “I spoke to much!”

Hypnos rolled his eyes and sat Amity down. “You can have your infatuation moment later on.”

“Amity, we need your help,” Luz said.

Amity slammed her fist into her open palm. “Yes, who do I have to kill?”

She scanned the room for a moment and saw that Lilith was sitting on the couch. “You wanted me to kill her?”

Lilith held her hand out. “Woah, woah, I know it looks bad, but-”

Without much prompt, Amity conjured up her Abomination and it towered over the older witch. “Abomination, kill!”

Amity’s Abomination grabbed Lilith with his right hand and started to compress her with its large fingers. Lilith squirmed underneath the grip of the blobby monster to no avail.

“Amity, wait, please!” Lilith yelled.

“That’s what you get when you tried to kill my girl!” Amity yelled. She turned to look at Luz only now realizing what she had just said. “I-I mean my friend! No one tries to kill my friend.”

Eda stood up and grabbed onto Amity’s hand. “As much as I can understand your anger, this isn’t why we called you.”

Amity’s cheeks were red again this time from embarrassment. “Oh...sorry Lilith.”

The Abomination dropped a traumatized Lilith on the couch. “So, why am I here?”

They explained to Amity everything from Nyarlathotep’s return to the Boiling Isles, and how Emperor Belos was working alongside the dark god to enact the Day of Unity. Amity sat on the couch and quietly listened. Each passing moment, Amity felt a sense of dread overtake her. She looked down at her hands.

“All the times I used magic; you mean to tell me I was actually profiting off the sacrifices of different witches?”

Luz nodded sadly. “I am sorry that you had to learn about the darker side of the Isles’ history.”

“But if what you are saying is true, wouldn’t it make more sense to infiltrate the Emperor’s Coven and steal the portal door from Belos under his nose?” Amity asked.

Hypnos wagged his finger. “Belos is far too powerful to take on at your state.” He walked over to a wall of the house. “You all would get slaughtered the moment you step foot in his kingdom.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Amity said, “but...drinking this potent apple blood. Would it be too dangerous?”

King pointed at Hooty’s lifeless body. “It worked for Hooty.”

Amity frowned. “He looks dead.”

“No, he’s not dead,” King assured her, “he still has a pulse, see?”

He grabbed Hooty’s head and shook it in his hands. Amity’s fears were not comforted in the slightest. King tired himself out from shaking Hooty and unceremoniously dropped the head carelessly on the ground.

“There is no other way,” Luz said, “there is only one portal key, and that is what Belos currently has in his possession.”

“True, but...I am still worried,” Amity noted.

Luz clutched her hand tenderly. “Don’t worry; I’ll be doing it with you.”

Amity’s heart galloped quickly behind her ribs. Oh, sweet Titan, she was holding the hand of her crush. It was...soft, silky smooth like a baby’s bottom. Even though it was a mundane gesture, Amity felt that she was committing a grave sin. Her thoughts were spiraling out of control she couldn’t stand it. Dear Titan, give her strength.

“Amity, are you okay?” Luz asked in concern.

Amity quickly broke out of cloud nine still as red as ever. “I-I’m fine, Amity.”

“But you’re Amity,” Luz pointed out.

Sweat rolled down Amity’s forehead in beads along with some sweat accumulating onto Luz’s hand. “Oh, right, I am, aren’t I?”

She giggled nervously hoping to at least get the others laughing to feel less awkward. When she was met with the dead eyes of the others, she stopped laughing. “Let’s just do it.”

Outside of the owl house, the spy quietly listened and turned to return to Belos to report on what he had heard. As morning encroached on the Blight family, Odalia was already in the kitchen, having woken up earlier than the other members of her family.

“And this time, serve us something that we’d actually want to eat,” Odalia said sternly to her maid.

“As you wish, ma’am,” the maid groaned.

Odalia withdrew one of her favorite mugs from the cabinet and started to prepare some apple blood for herself. While gathering the ingredients, she heard a slight knock at the front door. Odalia groaned in annoyance. “Who can that be at this hour?”

She yelled for the maid to stop what she was doing and go to the door. She waited around a few minutes, but the same droning of the door echoed through the house. “Come on, what am I paying you for?”

Odalia rubbed her chin. Oh, right, she wasn’t paying her in snails. She thought about waking up her husband, but she couldn’t remember hearing him snore or let alone hear him move around in his bed. Maybe the twins, but they would probably do something mischievous as they often do. Amity? She was still somewhat upset at her daughter’s scathing opposition of her demands so she was likely to continue to be on her rebel streak.

The knock at the door only further annoyed the Blight matriarch. “Alright, fine, I will do it.”

She exited the kitchen and walked to the front door. “Yes, I am here; stop with your petulant, infernal knocking!”

She opened the door and was surprised with what she was seeing. There stood one of the imperial guards of the Emperor. Odalia rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes out of fear of hallucinating the event. But it was very real. In the guard’s hand was a scroll.

“Pray tell, why are you here at my house at this hour?”

The imperial guard didn’t speak. Instead, the guard rolled out the scroll in front of her and read what was on it. “Miss Odalia Blight, the Emperor has requested an audience with you.”

Odalia stepped back. “With...with me? Emperor Belos?”

“Aye; now please come with me.”

Emperor Belos was once again on his throne, passively waiting. His spy stood by the throne on the right side of it.

“Yes, my lord,” the spy replied, “the human girl is planning on arriving to the Earth before you can claim the book.”

Emperor Belos chuckled. He tentatively touched the scar on his mask that he received from his last encounter with the girl. “She is a very resourceful young lady, isn’t she?”

“As you say, my lord; what is the purpose of the book if you do not mind me asking?”

“It is an ancient book that was written thousands of years before I arrived to the Boiling Isles; it records many secrets and accesses to the dark arts. The book documents beings like the Titan and where they trekked and from where they will once again walk.”

The spy was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Kikimora.

“We’ve retrieved her.”

Emperor Belos nodded and held his staff in his hand bidding the spy to leave. The spy understood and began to walk out. Down the corridors, he caught a glimpse of Odalia. Both of their eyes locked on each other. Before Odalia could say something about the peculiar stranger, the spy turned away and fastened his pace. Odalia shrugged and subsequently shook out any iota of suspicion from her mind. Belos stood from his throne to glance at Nyarlathotep.

“The deed is done, Master,” Belos said solemnly.

“Very good indeed,” the Crawling Chaos replied. “Leave us.”

As Belos turned to walk away, Nyarlathotep held out his staff. “I pray ask is your devotion still towards me?”

Belos lightly pushed the staff aside. “Yes, Master; I would never betray you.”

Nyarlathotep directly stared into Belos’ blue eyes for a few seconds and withdrew the staff. “Very well.”

Belos left through the back of his throne, relieved that Nyarlathotep didn’t suspect the spear he had locked away. Nyarlathotep sat down in the place of the Emperor and waited.

“Lord Belos, I’m he-”

Odalia stumbled on her words. Instead of Belos, she was instead in the presence of some...swarthy man. And yet, something about the dark-skinned man was oddly enthralling. His chiseled appearance; the intensity of his eyes; he had colored strips of linen on his head. From what Odalia could speculate, he was without a doubt of royalty.

“Welcome, Odalia, matriarch of the Blight family,” Nyarlathotep replied.

He had a smooth-way of speaking, sometimes even deliberately prolonging the last letter of his words to burrow into Odalia’s mind.

“Who are you?” Odalia finally asked.

“I am Nyarlathotep,” he replied, “I have risen from the blackness of twenty-seven centuries to deliver a message.”

“What is it that you want with me?” Odalia inquired.

“Why to join the Emperor’s Coven of course!” Nyarlathotep said extatically whilst raising his toned arms.

Odalia couldn’t believe it. Joining the coven was always a lifelong dream of hers, but due to forces outside of her own, she was forced to leave it as it was: a dream. This was the exact reason she wanted Amity to try for the Emperor’s Coven when she became of age. But with Amity speaking a lot of insolence lately, Odalia realized that she could not live through her daughter, even if she forced her to dye her hair to match her own.

“Well?” Nyarlathotep asked.

Odalia fidgeted with her fingers. “It is a great honor, my lord, but I feel that my chances of officially joining it are slim.”

Nyarlathotep tilted his head. “I am a representative of the Titan that you revere.”

Odalia raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

“The Titan has informed me that the Day of Unity is at hand: the gods have declared that there would come a new birth for the Boiling Isles, one where the weak are suppressed and extinguished from this land. The strong will rule this land and will never grow weary. Your lineage will be exalted above the heights of the clouds and will be a force to reckon with.”

Odalia tapped her chin with her fingers. That sounded like a good deal; join the Emperor’s Coven and she would reap the benefits of it. “If I do this, I will make the Blight family name the greatest in the world?”

Nyarlathotep sneered. “All of creation will know your name from the furthest parts of the galaxy to the fabric of reality itself.”

“You have yourself a deal, Nyarlathotep,” Odalia smiled.

Nyarlathotep took his finger and drew a circle. From the small portal, a book fell. The book opened itself up to reveal an empty page. Nyarlathotep took the pen fashioned from bone and motioned for Odalia to take it.

“Your blood, please.”

Odalia hesitated at first out of disgust that she would have to prick her finger and write her name in her own blood on some crummy old paper, but the promises that the Crawling Chaos promised her proved too powerful. She jabbed her finger with the bone with enough force that even Nyarlathotep was slightly taken aback by her decision. Her blood dripped through the page and onto the other pages.

“Excellent work, Odalia,” Nyarlathotep proclaimed, “for enlisting, I will bestow you with this.”

He produced a staff and placed it in her hand. “A staff.”

Odalia looked at the staff with curiosity. “But I already have one at home.”

“I know; but this staff, in particular, can collect magic, not just from your magic bile, but from any other source.”

“Hm, that would be useful,” Odalia thought, “what shall you have me do?”

Nyarlathotep turned her back into the hands of Emperor Belos and they walked down the empire. Through the doors, Belos stopped and talked to Odalia.

“It is great that you are assisting in our cause; The Day of Unity is upon us.”

They came upon a door that was locked away from the other rooms. Belos, with staff in hand, placed the tip of it on a sensor button. The door opened to allow the two in. Through the doors, Odalia saw more of the Emperor’s imperial guards walking to and fro on the stairways carrying heavy boxes. What struck her the most was the large machine in the middle of the bizarre laboratory.

“What is that, my lord?” Odalia asked.

“A gateway to other worlds,” Belos passively explained, “when the human girl came to rescue the Owl Lady, she tried to destroy the door that led to the Earth.”

“So, you managed to salvage what was left of it?”

“Very observative, Odalia,” Belos stated, “as we speak, the human and your daughter are going to go to Earth to acquire a book that I am after.”

“Daughter?” Odalia repeated.

The twins were still at home. She hadn’t heard anything from Amity when she had her talk with her which meant....her eyes doubled in size from the rationalization.

“I told Amity to not associate with that rat,” Odalia lamented, “I apologize for her; if she did something treasonous...the family line then....”

Belos held his hand out to silence her. “The Titan has told me that to stop the foolish human girl, you will lead a righteous crusade on the Earth.”

Odalia bowed her head. “It is an honor to work with you in the name of the Titan.”

Belos led her deeper into the laboratory. “As you know, the cost of treason against our way of life is petrification.”

Odalia gulped deeply as a sign of her comprehending the cost of treason.

“But you may not be aware of what becomes of the soul of the traitor, I assume?”

He opened another door in the laboratory. The imperial guards were painstakingly melding together red scraps of metal to form rows of armor. A conveyor belt carried the scraps of metal to assemble them. At the top of the conveyor belt was a large vat. It contained a scorching hot, melted down liquid and tipped itself into tubes. The hot liquid flowed through a series of pipes to a slab of metal. The slabs of metal slammed together with great pressure.

The substance sizzled and cooled remaining that way for thirty seconds until the slabs drew themselves away. In the middle were more of the scraps of metal. Odalia’s eyes twinkled.

“Armor? For what?”

“For the crusade,” Belos explained, “but does something strike you as peculiar about the metal?”

Odalia looked closely at the suits of armor unsure of what to expect. It soon became clear: armor that was being hammered into place moved about sluggishly. Each piece of metal that was hammered on made the armor jolt in excruciating pain. It was becoming crystal clear what Belos implicated with the armor: the armor was alive, and reacting in distress. The imperial guards picked and prodded at the armor suits forcing them into open boxes with their staffs laced with electrical wires.

Belos stood in front of one of the suits of armor and struck it.

“When these former witches committed treason, their bodies were left behind, but as for their souls...they were incapable of escaping their fates. So...after giving it some consideration, I had tasked my servants with collecting pieces of the stone statues and mixing them with metal native to the Isles to create a sturdier metal.”

“Then that means,” Odalia started.

“That is right; the souls of the executed witches were melted down to create the perfect metal for the perfect suits of armor.”

The armor moved around in a method similar to how Abominations are maneuvered. However, it was apparent that they still retained enough of their senses to feel pain. Shrill screams seeped out from the helmets of the metal in forced fits of air. They wobbled on their feet yet could not go one minute without falling over. Black paste oozed out through cracks of the armor making it more unsightly. And yet the imperial guards cared not one bit about the suffering of the souls and resumed work on them. Any of the armor suits that failed to be fully operational were picked up by pulleys and dropped back into the vat to be melted down again so the process could start anew.

“And you need me to lead these...things?” Odalia asked Emperor Belos once again.

“Of course! But when your daughter goes to Earth, you won’t be able to see her without this.”

One of his servants had a necklace on a small cushion. Belos thanked him for it and placed it around Odalia’s neck. “The necklace was crafted from a special type of salt that will make Amity and the human girl visible.”

Odalia took the necklace in her hand and looked at it. “Very well; and how will I lead the armor?”

“With the staff my master granted you, of course,” Belos responded, “you must collect enough magic in order to keep them under control.”

More magic she thought. It could take forever to collect as much magic as she could, and the Day of Unity might already be over. While pondering, she shook her head deeply to Belos and turned to walk away. She was hoping for Nyarlathotep to give her advice on what she had to do, but he mysteriously disappeared without a trace.

She returned home this time hearing someone else stir awake. Odalia tensed up instinctively and hid in the kitchen underneath the table. She held her breath hoping that she wouldn’t be found with the device. The staff glowed ominously sensing that magic was near.

“Mom, is that you?”

Odalia could recognize that voice as belonging to none other than her son Edric. It made some considerable sense because he would typically wake up at the time of day before his twin sister. Odalia was about to respond to him, but she saw that the staff was glowing a deeper shade. The thought crossed her mind: in order for her to control the armor suits, she needed magic. And lots of it. She did live in a house with four other residents...Belos didn’t say anything about where it had to come from.

Odalia got up from the bottom of the table and tapped the top of the staff on its flat surface. “Yes, Edric, come in here.”

Edric came in, hair disheveled and yawning deeply. He stretched his arms until there was a small, audible popping sound. “What’s going on?” He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and caught a glimpse of the staff. “Oh, cool staff! Where did you get it?”

Odalia did not respond to her son’s inquiries. Instead, she walked closer to him with the staff. Edric felt uncomfortable and tried to step back. This did not deter his mom, however. She held the staff’s head above Edric’s head. The spear glowed crimson red and began to “feed.”

A vapor slipped out of the orifices of Edric’s face. They came together to create one green, thick puff of an amorphous, shapeless mass and was absorbed into the spear. Edric gagged and wobbled the more that the staff drew from him. He grabbed onto one of the chairs at the table to hold himself up whilst grasping at his throat with his other hand. The color in his skin began to fade away until nothing more than a paper-thin hue remained.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

He tried to reach towards his mother, but Odalia continued to hold the staff without issue. She stops draining Edric once he fell on the ground.

“That might be enough for now,” Odalia said, “but to be sure, I will have to take you with me.”

#owl house #the owl house #edric blight #odalia blight #fanfiction #the owl house fanfiction #owl house fanfiction #cthulhu #cthulhu mythos #nyarlathotep #day of unity #the day of unity

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seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Bones - Sugawara Koushi

AU: Corpse Bride (Groom)

Revamp

Word Count: 3k

"Watta wuss."

You walked through the forest on the edge of the city, trying to get away from your responsibilities. Decomposing leaves and bark decorated ground you walked on. Looking around you found yourself in an open patch, but towers of wood in every direction. The trees were old and weary, slowly shedding all of their components for fall. You shivered as a breeze whistled through them. A chill crawled down your spine as you sat on the tree stump in the centre of the open grass. You glared into the dark shadows of the forest with a huff.

The moon let off a dim light that made everything look like an old movie, too dark to make anything out. The shadows were intense and the light was dull. Even as your eyes adjusted to the dark, it was hard to see. You fiddled with the golden ring your parents dropped in your hands before you ran off. Leaning forward, you studied the cool metal that was too big for your finger and the small diamond that twinkled gently.

"I have to propose. I have to plan for the wedding. I have to pay for the wedding. I have to buy the house. I have to do everything while he just goes to the tavern every night while his parents think he's doing his damn job." You ranted, getting up to pace in circles around the stump.

"Oh, sir!" You chanted snobbily, freezing in position, holding the ring out in front of you, dramatically flicking hair over your shoulder. "I couldn't help but notice how handsome you were as I was passing by. In fact, I'm meant to get married. I even have a ring that I must use to propose to a man worthy of it! Please, do me the honour of picking up after your worthless self for the rest of my miserable life. Your presence will make it all the more bearable."

Leaning down to a branch sticking out of the dirt. You slipped the ring onto it and spun away, landing on your knee. The wind danced happily through your fingers that were flared open in the air behind you.

"Oh look, a perfect fit! You must be my husband. It's meant to be!" tilting your head toward your shoulder you let out a low grumble, letting your eyes roll along the rim of your eyelid. "If only you would get off your lazy ass for a change."

"Well I sure do hope that wasn't directed at me."

Turning in circles, you looked for the source of the man's voice. All you saw were the dark woods that surrounded you, making fear take over the anger you that was boiling in your stomach. Your shoulders twitched up to your ears.

"Down here."

If someone said a stick could talk, after today, you would believe them. The stick, that was wearing the engagement ring, was now positioned as if wearing a sock puppet, moving it’s thumb as it spoke. The wrist rolled snootily.

"But I sure do hope you won't speak to me like that, because I for one believe that as your fiance, I should be treated like royalty."

Blinking you stepped away from the stick and waddled back around the stump. Crouching onto your knees, you held the wood’s rim tightly. The pinky and pointer fingers curled up, creating a shape that took the place of the hand’s eyes.

"I've gone insane. They've driven me mad. I'm talking to a stick. Wait no, a stick is talking to me!"

Looking at the twig and moving back and forth, you watched as it watched you. Pointing in the direction you leaned. With a loud whine, you smacked your forehead on the wooden stump.

"As much as I deeply care for you. Could you not call me a stick? I am flesh and bones after all, well, mostly bones. But I still have flesh... Somewhere... But I can't seem to find it at the moment. It has a tendency to fall off from time to time,” it laughed. How could it laugh?

The hand moved around a bit more before opening up in your direction.

"You could always help me of course, you are my fiance after all."

You quickly got to your feet, speeding around the stump to face the old root.

"I'm not your fiance. You're not my fiance. I'm dreaming. This isn't real. I'll wake up tomorrow morning and—"

"Do you trust me?"

"What? What kind of question is that? You’re a twig!"

"This world. Your life. It brings you pain. That much is plain to see… uh, hear. If you were to come with me. You wouldn't have to face it any longer. Please, as my fiance?"

Shivering, you looked at the open hand/stick thing as you stepped towards it and let your hand hover over it. Your upper lip curled when you noticed the fuzzy moss that had grown in the center of its palm.

"My names (Y/N). And I'm not your fiance."

"Well, princess, the name's Sugawara, Koushi. And I'm sure you won't be saying that for long."

Placing your hand in it, you felt each joint bend and wrap around it. The gagging was hard to stop when the moss pushed in between the crevices of your fingers.

"You're rather boney, sweetheart. You don't eat much meat do you?"

"Don't have a stomach to do so."

Before another word could slip off your tongue, it pulled you in. The light reflecting off the moon made the diamond on the ring twinkle, giving you a bit of light in the black abyss that surrounded you.

"What in the world?!"

"Correction, what in the underworld," Sugawara said as he pulled you along through the crowds of zombies.

"Underworld?!" you looked around at the walking corpses around you as they tilted their hats, said hello and/or waved in your direction. Your hand quivered as you waved back.

"Yes! I live here. And here we will get married." He turned a corner that led to a flight of stairs.

"Married?!" you stopped dead in your tracks as Sugawara's body continued forward. Leaving his arm with you. His detached hand had a very firm grip on yours. You screeched and tried shaking the limb off, but its grip continued to tighten. “Eughh! Get it off, get it off get it off!”

"Yes married! You proposed didn't you? Oh, do you mind bringing me my arm? It gets attached easily, won't let you go just yet." He didn’t at all seem to mind missing an arm.

A chill ran through your spine at the idea of forever being attached to a detached limb of a dead man. You took a step forward, pushing the arm back into its socket with a sort of snap before eagerly pulling away with a disgusted gag.

"(Y/N), now that my arm’s attached, how about we go talk to the priest and discuss our marriage? Or do you want to go home first? You're probably tired and hungry. Home it is then. I can make you a great meal. Would you prefer decomposed scrambled eggs or mealworm sandwiches? Oh, you know what, I’ll just surprise you. Come along!"

The short ramble was finished when he started walking again. His skin, though still faint of colour, looked much fresher? At least compared to those in the streets, who had flesh falling off their cheeks. His hair was a light grey, though you wouldn't be able to tell if it was natural or just grey from death. He looked young, much too young.

"Sugawara, how did you die?"

Looking at you Sugawara smiled with an upbeat laugh as he continued walking. The light laugh calmed your nerves slightly making you feel at ease despite the peculiar situation. He guided you gently onto cracked old steps that led up a hill.

"I was murdered," he said, opening the door to an old rickety building.

He walked in with his hands open, palms facing the old wooden boards, and a small sway. It looked like he was trying to not skip around. You stayed in the doorway. Nails digging into the skin of your arms. You had forgotten to grab a coat when you ran out of your house.

"Ah," he sighed as he pushed things around on a circular table in the room. "Home, sweet home. Don't mind the mess, it's just something I've been working on."

He picked up various bottles filled with things from liquids to objects and set them on a counter nearby. The house wasn’t messy, just old and slowly collapsing on its side.

"Murdered? By who? When?" you asked, holding your hands tightly together as Sugawara sat you down at the now organized table.

"I don't quite remember. Your mind begins to go the longer you're dead. Time-wise it might have been 5 years ago? Maybe 6." he went to the kitchen and began putting some food together, but continued to talk over his shoulder. "Tomorrow morning I need to speak with the witch. So, we could go speak to the priest first and then consult the witch on my project."

He placed an unknown pile of what could be food before you. “It may be a bit rough. I haven’t needed food for a long time. Or air for that matter.”

"Either you live." The old (oh so very old) man's finger shifted to point in your direction instead of Sugawara who he was speaking to, "Or she dies."

Smiling, Sugawara nodded, grabbing your arm to pull you towards the door. "That went well."

"Well?" You asked. Eyebrows beginning to push in opposite directions.

"Yes well. We have two options and they are both very simple. Now knife or mallet?"

"For what?"

Stopping Sugawara turned to you with a slightly confused look on his face.

"To kill you of course. What else would they be for, princess?"

Completely freezing in your place you shook in fear at the thought of dying at the hands of a weapon. Sugawara's laugh on the other hand gave off a completely different story. Turning around, he took hold of your shoulders, squeezing them with his sharp, boney fingers.

"I'm kidding! Why do you think we're going to the witch? I've been planning for this for ages. Now my chance to live again, take back the life that was mine and get rid of a murderer in the process. Maybe an axe? That would hurt more right?"

When the two of you got to a large door, Sugawara used the looped handle to knock against the wood. An old (but definitely less decayed) lady opened the door and allowed the two of you inside.

You mumbled to Sugawara under your breath, “Whatever lasts the longest without knocking them unconscious will be the most painful.”

"Last bit," you said, dropping an unidentified liquid into the brewing mixture in front of the three of you.

Sugawara clung to the side of the pot but suddenly let go when it began to boil, causing his hands to rip off as they still hung to the metal. You gently pulled them off and shoved them back in place, giving Sugawara back the ability to pat your head gently. He sighed looking at the lavender liquid as it bubbled.

"This took longer than expected," you grumbled.

"How long did you think it would take?" Sugawara smiled down at you and laughed to himself.

"A week at most. I now know that I drastically underestimated the amount of time it would take to do this. Do you want to try it?" you asked holding his boney arm above the brew.

"You should take a sip too. Your time spent here has taken a role in your health. You look like a ghost." He smiled, filling two vials with the potion.

You grimaced, looking at your skin that had lost a lot of pigmentation since getting here.

The old lady packed away her things and pulled out a book on potions and magic and she sat to read. "Close your eyes. That way you won't go blind." she croaked out.

Sugawara handed you a vial as he held his own. He smiled so broadly it ripped the sides of his mouth. He didn’t seem to feel the pain. You winced for him and held up the potion.

"Cheers."

When you had shown up to your parents’ house with a man that they had never seen they were a bit more than furious. After a number of days spent missing just to turn up with someone other than the ones they had suggested, your parents were more than willing to give you a lecture that lasted a few hours. You apologized for running away before going into your own rant about how poor their choice in men was (your dad was more offended by that). After discussing the agreement further, with Sugawara happily listening in by the closed doorway, the three of you had finally come to an agreement.

Sadly it left you in a similar situation as before. Working and paying for everything until Sugawara found a job. A job that wasn’t going after his previous murderer.

Trees created a thick wall around the two of you. You laid down in the grass circle in the centre of it. Looking up at the sky, you watched as the pastels melted together in a sunset. Forcing yourself to sit up, shifting the extra weight on your legs as you tried to move and lean against the tree stump.

"It's good to see the colour in your face. You look alive. You aren't skin and bones either. You finally have some muscles in that body of yours." Your fingers twisted the ends of his silver hair as his head rested on your lap, looking upwards to see the tops of the trees and light sky. His cheeks were full and free of tearing the skin. His hands were strong with underlying muscle but still looked gentle. No bones were in sight. His hair colour didn’t seem to be a bi-product of death though.

"It's nice to have a heartbeat. And be able to feel yours."

You smiled and let your hand rest on Sugawara's chest as he breathed in suddenly and heavily.

"Don't forget the breath."

"Sorry, I still have to get used to that."

You looked up at the trees, watching the bright birds flying around as they enjoyed the spring heat.

"Is that marriage proposal still on the table?"

"Mawiage," the priest, though trying, said horribly. He continued on, his lisp making his words come out jumbled and difficult to understand. He stood on a tall stool and wore a long robe to appear much taller than he really was. He read off a folder to the few people who sat in the audience that was made up by your closest friends and family. Which meant they were all laughing loudly every time the priest spoke and ready to go out and get drunk.

In front of you, Sugawara held your hands gently squeezing them every time the priest tried to pronounce any 'l', 'r' or 's' sound. At least he was cheap, or at least you thought he was.

"May youw wove watht ath wong ath the mithithippi wiver. Wasthing until death doeth you part."

Sugawara squeezed your hands tightly as a snort escaped from him. The priest shot an annoyed look at the silver-haired man wearing a nice suit. You pinched your lips together desperately trying to hold onto your breath

“Sorry,” he whispered.

A small number of flowers were spread along and around the small church. Your friends sat in their seats smiling in nice clothing as they watched you and a previously dead man get married. Earlier that day your friends split themselves up between jobs. Some took Sugawara to get a suit, a few grabbed decorations and brought them to a small church all while booking a last-minute priest and the last two shoved you into a white dress that flowed around your ankles. It had a few holes here and there, and it had definitely been worn by multiple people before you, but did the job. But, it was obvious that they spent more money on Sugawara’s suit.

"Would you pweath not thpeak. I’m twying to wowk hewe."

"Sorry, again. Please continue."

Sugawara turned to you, smiling gently as he leaned closer to rest his forehead against yours. He huffed a restrained breath through his nose.

"Your friends are amazing. It's hard to believe they managed to do all this in a morning," he said.

"They probably have been planning this for weeks. They love you." You smiled, flicking your eyes to your friends.

"I love you," he whispered, trying to pull you as close to him as possible.

"I love you too."

"Yeth yeth, I wove you too. But you may now kith the bwide."

Laughing, Sugawara pulled you closer, holding you as if you were about to dance out of the church and onto the streets. You tried not to snort into his face as his hand tickled your side. It got harder to restrain yourself when he started to talk.

"May I kith you, printheth?"

You chortled, throwing your head backwards while smacking his shoulder repeatedly. He chuckled but waited for your response.

"Yeth you may, my pwinth."

With a grin, Sugawara placed his hands on the small of your back pulling you right up against him. Your heart throbbed sending tingles down your spine and onto the palm of your hands. He held you like a glass sculpture that could shatter at any moment.

He places his lips gently against yours, squeezing you when he began to run out of air. He huffed, sucking in as much as he could.

"I still got to get used to this breathing thing."

I would put a gif of Betty White dabbing, but that’s distracting. - Bacon

Posted: 03/08/2020

#Haikyuu x reader #Sugawara Koushi #sugawara x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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smolthealmighty · 4 years

Text

Spinaraki Week 2020 Day 1: Fantasy

And From This Slumber You Shall Wake

The kingdom of Yuei has cast a curse upon Shigaraki that they believe will not only prevent him from interfering with their upcoming battle, but will take him out of commission entirely. After all, who could ever truly love a destructive monster like him...

~~~~~

The army of Yuei was visible from the tallest tower of the abandoned castle the League of Villains had made into their newest hideout, and Tomura Shigaraki would not wake up.

It hadn’t taken long for Ujiko, the resident necromancer, to figure out what happened when their leader had first collapsed only a few days prior, but the cause of his unconscious state spelled uncertainty for their future. It was a curse of endless sleep, most certainly cast by the magic users of Yuei if the leaked plans of their upcoming attack were true, one that could only be broken by the age-old method of true love’s kiss.

“Blast it all! Of all the curses they could have used,” Ujiko cried out, as he violently pushed himself away from the desk full of spell-casting texts, nearly shaking Toga down from her perch on the desk’s edge. As he made his way over towards one of the many bookshelves in his vast library, the league’s fiery sorcerer turned to the rest of the group. “You gotta admit, they did make one hell of a smart move.”

“Dabi, now is not the time to praise the enemy,” hissed Mr. Compress, the illusionist clearly incensed by the comment as he helped Toga to steady herself. “Dabi does sort of have a point, Mister,” the rouge witch said. “They chose a spell that not only took our dear leader and heaviest hitter out of the fight, but also made the cure something they’d probably think is impossible to fulfill.”

“Yeah, we know Shigaraki is really a lovable softie on the inside. Always making sure we’re okay. Someone’s gonna fall for him sooner or later,” declared Twice, the emotional barbarian sounding joyfully optimistic, only to abruptly sour his own mood as he hollered, “No chance! He’s an ugly, heartless bastard! Not a single drop of compassion in him!”

From the bookshelves, Ujiko shouted over his shoulder, “We can’t rely on someone magically falling in love with him now of all times, not with Yuei most likely on their way here as we speak. Now are you going to sit around or are you going to help me find a different method to break the curse?” The league quickly mobilized and started to comb through the shelves, both to save their unconscious leader and to keep Ujiko from yelling again. Before starting her own search, Toga dragged Spinner, the league’s dragonborn paladin, off to the side.

“Toga, what are you doing? We gotta find the–”

“And we will, but we also need someone to keep an eye on Tomura just in case anything happens, don’t we?”

Spinner stiffened, eyeing Toga in an attempt to unearth any ulterior motives, but he never was the best at reading others, or at most things regarding social interactions for that matter. After a moment, he asked, “Why me? What makes me more suited for guarding Shigaraki than helping out here?”

At this, Toga’s mouth curled into a smile that, while undeniably sweet, was coated with a smugness that even Spinner could see, as if she knew something that he, –and maybe even the others– didn’t.

“Trust me on this, Spinner. I think it’ll be the best outcome. Just keep your sword ready, and have some faith in yourself for once,” she grinned, and with that she retreated into the maze of shelves before he could ask her anymore questions.

The days the league spent in the library still had not brought forth anything helpful, and now Yuei’s army was marching ever closer. Spinner quickly turned away from the view from the tallest tower and made his way back to his post at Shigaraki’s side. He had barely stirred since the curse started, with only the occasional twitch and the ever steady rise and fall of his chest as proof that he was still alive. Miraculously, Shigaraki could still swallow the water and porridge brought to him, meaning that Spinner didn’t have to worry too much over his leader becoming even more malnourished than he already was. It was a small comfort, but one that soothed his own fears nonetheless.

“Bad news, Shigaraki,” Spinner groaned as he sat down in the wooden chair he had dragged over to be as close to Shigaraki’s bedside as he could. “Yuei’s army is within our sight, and it looks like they’ve got every knight within the surrounding lands to fight with them. Time’s really running out now, huh.”

He slowly reached towards Shigaraki’s hand but paused at the last moment, unsure how Shigaraki would react, or if he would react at all, before stealing his courage and taking Shigaraki’s hand into his own.

“You’ve always been the strongest one in our band of oddballs, always pushing yourself beyond your limits. So, now you gotta get up, okay? Shigaraki?”

Unbeknownst to Spinner, fighting within the heavy waters of his own conscious, Tomura Shigaraki was barely keeping himself from sinking into oblivion. It wasn’t enough to wake up on his own, but Tomura was just able to occasionally squirm and swallow the food and drink Spinner had offered. And although he knew Spinner couldn’t hear him, Shigaraki replied anyway.

Trust me Spinner, I’ve been trying to get up since this damn curse started! No way would I intentionally leave you guys to fight a battle on your own like this, especially if Yuei’s army is as big as you’re making it out to be.

“I know we’ve barely been getting by nowadays, but the only way we’re gonna see brighter days is if you wake up. And not– it’s not just in terms of victories, you know. I understand that you want everyone to get what they want in life, some happy memories and experiences, and I just think you deserve some of that too–”

He suddenly cut himself off with an involuntary sob, and Spinner noticed the tears that were gathering in his eyes. Once he realized he was crying he couldn’t stop, droplets of warm salt water cascading from his eyes.

Spinner, are you okay? Never mind that’s a stupid question, clearly you aren’t! I can feel your tears landing upon my hand. Damn it! It’s been a while since I used to be this much of an emotional sponge, a decade at least. Just another one of my dormant traits the league has brought out of me! You especially, Spinner. If I could, I’d tell you I’d actually like that, those happy experiences you want me to have. But only so long as I can share them with you, if not for my own sake, then so you never get as upset as you sound right now ever again!

“Please!” Spinner shouted, tears now pouring from his eyes like desperate waterfalls. “Please wake up! I–I’m just realizing how badly I’m gonna miss you if you don’t wake up. Please come back, Tomura! Come back, I…”

In that moment, faced with the increasing possibility that he would never see the boyish sparkle in garnet eyes, never brainstorm any more high-stakes plans to defeat the next challenge in their way, and never feel fuller than his hollow sense of self had ever felt before meeting Tomura, Spinner finally realized the core reason he was left utterly devastated in the face of Tomura Shigaraki’s endless sleep.

“I love you.” Spinner’s confession was only a murmur, as soft as petals landing on the ground after being unceremoniously ripped from their flower. “I–I love you, so please…please…” he continued to whisper, before finally bowing his head, allowing himself to be consumed by the despair of losing a love formerly unrecognized before it even had the chance to bloom, perhaps never even being reciprocated in the first place.

And from deep within heavy waters, at the risk of never again experiencing the warmth of an emotion he previously thought he was incapable of feeling, Tomura Shigaraki summoned his remaining mental power, and squeezed. As his strength finally gave out, Tomura knew that the scaled hands that held his own had surely felt his last call from the depths of his own mind, hopefully understanding the meaning behind it, and with his trust placed in the dragonborn paladin he had come to truly admire, he sank into oblivion.

Spinner was quickly tugged out of his mourning by the nearly bone-breaking squeeze of the cold, boney hand he was holding. It couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds before it went completely limp, but it was enough time to shock Spinner out of his depressive state and realize that not only had Tomura somehow heard his cries, but answered them the only way he knew how in light of the curse. Although the first fact left him embarrassed for a moment, the second practically set him ablaze with the implications of what the squeeze most likely meant. So in spite of his embarrassment and the already creeping uncertainty in his interpretation of Tomura’s message, he built up his resolve and slowly started leaning downwards.

What if I’m wrong about this? What if he meant something else by squeezing my hand?

He could feel his face grow hotter, his stomach twirling itself in knots as his self-doubt grew.

But what else could it mean? Dammit, I’ve never been good at reading cues, especially ones that could possibly be romantic.

He could begin to feel the soft puffs of air from Tomura’s perky nose, slow and steady in his cursed sleep.

Ugh, what would Tomura do here? What would he tell me do?

At this point, his lips were mere inches away from Tomura’s, quivering slightly in apprehension and hesitating before the point of no return.

But I know what he would tell me, don’t I? Hasn’t he already told me that I should get what I want in life. Well, someone I want is right in front of me, and I think that someone wants me too. He’d tell me to go for it.

And so, he went for it, gently pressing his scaled lips to Tomura’s ever-dry ones in a chaste kiss. A few seconds passed, and Spinner started to worry that he’d gone and ruined everything, until he felt the twitch of fluttering eyelashes against his cheek and a slight press upwards from the lips below his own. He pulled away just in time to see the garnet eyes he adored reveal themselves from behind heavy eyelids.

With the last remainders of his shock, Spinner could barely get out the words, “Me? Really?!”

“Pft, yeah you!” Tomura laughed, as his soft smile widened into the enthusiastic grin that caused Spinner’s heart to speed up.

“I just,” Spinner inhaled as he gathered himself, trying to shake off the rest of his disbelief, “…why me out of everyone? I’m not all that powerful or amazing at what I do, so I’m not sure what you see in me, you know.”

“Well you’re thinking about it from the wrong angle, first of all. I could probably recruit a hundred swordsmen, but I know none of them could ever fit by my side as well as you do.”

Hearing the reassurance straight from the mouth of his true love, Spinner was finally able to settle down, taking the opportunity to hold his beloved close as Tomura returned the action and continued.

“You’ve always been so loyal, yet never at the cost of leaving your opinion unheard. You allow me to lead, but you know when to step in and suggest another idea when I’m about to do something stupid in the heat of the moment. You’re another critical yet encouraging mind that I can bounce ideas off of. But most importantly, despite all the potential to worship me for my godlike strength, you continue to treat me as human I am within my innermost layers, something that I’ve barely ever been seen as by everyone else. You’ve never been too aggressive, or too submissive, when interacting with me. In fact, you’ve always been so good to me. So how could I do anything other than do right by you in return?”

Spinner, struck silent by the confession, could only reply in the form of yet another kiss, this time fully reciprocated by Tomura in a sweet and loving affirmation of their feelings.

The only thing that prevented their kiss from continuing any longer than a minute was Twice yelling about the Yuei’s fast approaching army, yet as the two lovers dashed towards their companions to hash out a plan, scaled hand in boney hand, they both knew that they would most likely have all the time in the world to explore their new relationship.

#spinarakiweek2020 #spinaraki #shigaraki tomura #spinner #shuichi iguchi #smol’s stuff #smol's stories

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divagonzo · 5 years

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Knight’s side Bishop - Ch. 5 of Beloved

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: My thanks to those who are reviewing and reblogging. ‘Tis appreciated.

In light of having ace followers, this is a T-rated version (and you can find the full one on Ao3) for those lovelies who find adult physical activities less than amazing. *wink* (Cripes I forget who I need to tag for this update) How about @barmy-owl, @headcanonsandmore, @vivithefolle, @lytefoot and I dunno who else.

Give me my demarcation line

Audrey held two cups of tea, one fresh and one tepid. The day-old scones, freshened up slightly for crème tea were her second favourite for breakfast but in this case, anything was better than nothing. She bumped the door with her hip to quietly slip into the room and froze for a moment, thinking that everything went sideways in the last ten minutes.

Hermione was laying her head under his hand, crying. "I can't lose you. I need you. We need you. You have to come back to me, to us." Hermione took his other hand – pale, yet scarred from the brains from the Department of Mysteries so many years ago – and threaded his fingers one by one through hers, using his hand to pillow her cheek on top of his blankets. "You promised me, Ron. You promised me six months and four days ago that you'd never leave me, and to always return to me. Those were part of our vows to one another, you insisted since how important they were to you to have them included. You said our vows had to include them, as your promise to me. I told you it wasn't necessary but you said it was to you, that you insisted on it, even going so far as to promise an Unbreakable vow. I knew you meant it and how serious you meant it."

Audrey took a deep breath, realizing that their entire world hadn't yet gone sideways. It was Hermione finally coping with the grief in her soul. Merlin knew she'd stuffed so much down in her soul already and this was only a small portion she kept locked away inside.

Audrey put down her parcel and paper cups of tea down, content to listen and keep watch while Healer Cattermole took her kip. She could work and focus on the notes in her satchel and not pay too much attention to Hermione lamenting her situation.

While what she was doing was blurring the ethical lines between personal and professional, she owed it to the junior healer more than the distraught witch sobbing into the starched bedclothes. She could answer to Director Sinclair later on if there was an issue. But she would cross that chasm if she came to it.

Audrey opened the file to look over Ron's medical notes. Healer cipher was easy to discern since it was based on Greek and Latin. "Healer Cattermole was right," she thought to herself. "It's a huge balance. Not long enough and he's disabled the rest of his days. Too long and he doesn't wake." Audrey made a couple of notes on the margins about complications and consequences and treatments. She added that they shouldn't try to wake him until Wednesday evening, almost 3 full days after he was brought in. From her previous patients from the war, anyone who was awoken before the 3-day mark was left permanently handicapped and two were in the Janus Thickey ward because of it. After six days and the patient wasn't going to wake at all. That list was over a hundred after the fighting ended. Those were some very dark days, the first week after Voldemort perished.

There was no way in Hell she was going to share that knowledge with anyone remotely related to Ron.

She looked up from her notes and saw Hermione asleep on the blanket, softly snoring. Let her sleep¸she she might be grieving, no one else mattered at the moment except Ron. The lad in the bed, whom Audrey had come to appreciate in the last few years for how much a foundation he was with the family, and also the steadfastness that they all somehow depended on to continue living after losing one of their own, was the focus. Yet she also knew that it was a roll of the dice when it came to whether he was going to pull through this. Even if she believed in luck and burning incense and praying to her ancestors, she wouldn't put a galleon on whether he would come through. And while she knew that it was a critically poor prognosis from all of the medical notes, if anyone could pull through this ordeal and survive the worst, it was the one in the bed, clinging to life and potions to hopefully help him heal, surrounded by passionate people who loved him immensely, to pull him out of his ordeal.

She hoped. The brain was the last frontier in the medical field. There were no guarantees he would even wake.

Audrey looked up from her notes and saw Hermione lay her head down on his hands, weeping into the blanket covering her comatose husband.

'You're home!" Hermione leaped up from the oversized chair she curled up in to read in the evening, a table for her tea next to her along with a stack of books knocked over. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow night!" She snuggled up next to Ron, giving an enormous hug. He immediately stiffened under her crushing hug.

"You're hurt."

"Somewhat but I've been cleared by a Healer. I'm off duty a few days and if you're game, I'd love for you to take a day off to spend it home with me."

"I will," She hugged him again, inhaling his particular scent, mixed with some healing balms, sweat, dirt, and some residual smoke. She pulled back a smidge and felt his hands caressing her face and back of her head. Long fingers threaded into her loose curls up under her evening bonnet before melting into a much-awaited kiss, renewing their vows of promises of return, of accepting however he returned, asking no questions until he was ready to share if he could. And if not, giving him anything he needed to open up to her, even if it was with a particular form of non-verbal communication that they loved sharing.

He pulled back one inch, placing a gentle kiss on her nose and forehead before capturing her lips once again.

Two tears leaked out, washing down her face and across his lips.

"I missed you too, love."

"You were gone so long, too long without you."

"I know. The bugger was moving every night and it was sod all trying to track him down. While he escaped, we also captured his partner and released a dozen muggles they had trafficked in from Morocco. Between that and some contraband potions that were highly dodgy, we broke up a major criminal ring."

"How did, I mean, um, "

"How did I get hurt?" His smile was infectious and Hermione smirked back. "Well, Jones and I were dueling Dolohov – "

"You saw him? Antonin Dolohov?" Hermione blanched.

"Yeah. The two finest duelers in the department and we couldn't take him down. Bugger nailed her but I'd tripped him right before he got his spell off, she wasn't hurt bad. Sure it's enough to make her sore and angry for the next week – "

"You mean?"

Ron laughed. "Well, when he tripped, he nailed her right on her arse. She got hit with a massive stinger and it was like getting stung by a Firecrab. I tried to apprehend him when she went down but he escaped, the bastard."

"And you're hurt because – "

"Well, he'd nailed me with a curse earlier."

Hermione gave him a dirty look. "How bad did he hurt you?"

Ron looked down at his feet. "Well, it's not a big deal, but it felt like someone knocked a bludger into my wedding tackle."

"Oh honey," Hermione hugged him again, patently avoiding the front of his trousers. "I know you're in agony."

"I was. It was almost as bad as catching your boney arsed knee in the bits."

"I'm not that bad!"

Ron smiled down at his wife. "Yeah, you are, especially at 8 am after I've been asleep for 2 hours and you shift to get out of bed after a lie-in."

"I don't mean to," She cringed and Ron laughed again.

"I know, love, but you do anyway. It's a barmy way to wake up from a good sleep." Ron smiled down at his lovely wife. "So if you're looking for some fun tonight, I'll be happy to take care of you but I dunno if my cock will be up for the task."

"Well," Hermione dropped her eyes a bit, tinkering with the belt holding up his trousers, "Maybe a hot shower and some tender loving care will change your mind?" She looked up at him and saw his eyes had grown wide and dark.

"Are you offering, love?"

She reached for his hand, her face blushing hard, pulling him towards the stairs leading to their loo.

Give me my demarcation line

Director Gawain Robards sat back in his ancient chair, the springs squeaking under his girth. "Merlin's saggy bits. Quit begging me for information. I know you're married but I'm not breaking mission protocol to tell you where he is."

"Do you really think I am going to tell anyone?"

"It's not about you. It's about rules for everyone. You probably can keep your gob shut but Smythe? Get him pissed on Firewhiskey and he'll natter all night to Hannah at the Leaky and every sodding bloke who barters in information will be rich – and my Aurors will be dead. So I'd love to let you in on everything but – "

"Rules are rules and for everyone," she lamented. "Well, these rules are crap."

"And I agree but protecting the Aurors out on a mission is paramount. Even you realize that. Do you think Jones likes going away from Aurora and not telling her? She makes you look like a piker when it comes to worrying."

"Rubbish," Hermione crossed her arms while regarded the grizzled Auror Director. Gawain Robards was considerably older than most in the Ministry, having survived both wars and somehow still trusted. "I know Professor Sinestra. She is nothing short of a walking example of a British upper lip."

"You've never gotten a firecall at 3 am from her then. She's ripped my bollocks off me wondering where Hemera was, why she was late returning."

"And yet with all of us honorable people, we still can't be afforded information to know where our partners are at." Hermione stood on the other side of the desk, appearing as a 1.6m towering ball of impotent rage. "This is bullshit, Director."

"I see Weasley's finally rubbed off on you. Good. But that's the thing about rules, Granger. They aren't in place for the honourable people. Those who are find it stifling. The rules are for the ones with little common sense, who would natter about sensitive information to any walking cock and blow investigations or give a tip to someone who is under surveillance.

"We still have a few Death Eaters in the wind, stirring up trouble and causing problems. That is who I send the best out to hunt down." Robards gave her a long, non-blinking look. "So any information that would be shared outside of me and the Aurors in question could have deadly consequences. That's why I am not telling, and why your worries are legitimate but also under mission orders, from me and Kingsley himself."

"Well it's crap."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

Hermione picked up her purse and satchel. "So maybe he'll return by the end of the month?"

"It's the 2nd of the Month, Granger. He's only been gone a week."

"I know. I'm asking whether I need to work long hours while he is away."

Give me my demarcation line

Their home was quiet - entirely too quiet. Harry was at work. Ginny was off at Holyhead. Ron was on day 3 of his mission. The fire crackled and her tea steamed for the fifth time. But the house was cold. She was cold. Her world was subdued, like someone turned down the color in a photograph from full color to sepia or even greyscale. Work was satisfying but it wasn't her life. Even the enormous grumpy fuzzball known as Crookshanks, asleep on the footstool by the fire enjoying the warmth, too, was the only real colour in her life. Nothing tasted good and she barely slept, missing his snoring and long arms around her when they shared sleep.

No, her life was off somewhere, on a mission she wasn't privy to, trying to track down the remaining criminals who were responsible for the coup years gone by.

This wasn't the first night she was left home alone while everyone else was out living, working, flying. And it probably wouldn't be the last one, with Ginny flying for the Harpies and Harry and Ron working with the Aurors. But it wasn't like she was going to beg him to stop working in the job he seemed naturally suited to. She shared so much pride in him finding an occupation that he seemed brilliantly suited for.

Soft footsteps drifted to her ears behind her.

"Miss Hermione, is there anything you need this evening?"

She pointed to the plate of croissants and jam on her plate, her dinner when everything tasted like chalk and mouldy cheese, much less sleep. "I wish Ron were home," She said wistfully. "But I don't think you can make him appear right now."

"Well, Miss Hermione, I could fetch Master Ron for you." Hope erupted in her chest. She wouldn't need him long – only 5 minutes to snog him breathless and just know down to her bones that he was alive, healthy, and whole. Maybe she could sleep tonight if she just knew he was fine instead of worrying herself sick. "Kreacher can do that for you." The diminutive elf looked upon her with his watery green eyes, droopy ears, the well-tailored trousers held in place with suspenders and his cravat, emblazoned with the letter B on it and waited.

Ever since he chose to work for Harry for wages and choose his own livery, he had perked up, seemed to grow confident and even taking to being almost polite to her. Almost. She did catch him muttering under his breath on occasion, usually when she was being short-tempered. She took the time to make amends to him later in some way that he appreciated. The last one was finding some old photographs of Regulus Black in the archives. That photo was on the wall of his small room, the one he chose off the kitchen.

Would his appearance compromise mission safety if he showed up at the wrong moment? Would Ron get hurt if he showed up? Face an inquiry? Made redundant? Decisions tossed back and forth in her mind, one as important as the other. A decision erupted in her mind, one that would suffice.

"Kreacher, would you do the following? Would you ask Ron? If he says he is busy, then no. I miss him terribly but not to risk their mission. I know you can apparate silently and that would help him and you."

Kreacher departed in a lightning crack, leaving Hermione alone in the parlour, curled up in the chair by the fire, Crookshanks asleep on the footstool in front of the fire, staying warm, while she waited as each second ticked by on the clock in the foyer.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

She turned to stare at the ancient grandfather clock at the other end of the parlour. It had been in the attic, banished decades ago, according to Kreacher. Harry thought it would be useful once Mr. Weasley fixed it to show their own family – the five of them under the roof, along with Luna and Neville. That present had been a gift from Ron – Kreacher's own arm on the clock, either at home or Hogwarts, and one minuscule location known as the Hog's Head – since Aberforth had taken a liking to the wizened elf and kept half-pint mugs on hand for him – and a few dusty bottles of elf made wine.

Tonight was one of the many nights where she wished that bloody clock had been relegated to the rubbish pile or left in the attic.

A sharp crack exploded across the parlour, frightening Hermione up from her chair. Kreacher, still looking rather dapper, stood before her, his ears hanging down along with his proboscis nose. "Master Ron says he can't leave, that it's too important. And in his words, Kreacher blushed, or what passed for blushing for him, 'Don't believe I don't want to come home and give it to you. I do.' Those are the words he used, Mistress Hermione."

Hermione swallowed down the salty tears that flooded her nose and throat. "Thank you for asking, Kreacher. I appreciate you taking the time to ask. I will see to the dishes if you wish to retire for the night."

Kreacher stood up a little taller – which was not quite 1 meter in height – and straightened his suspenders holding up his dapper trousers. "Master Harry has paid my wages this week and Aberforth has asked that I come to visit him this evening." He made a noise which she had learned passed for a laugh. "But if you need me," he croaked.

"Yes, I will call for you straightaway. Have a good night, Kreacher. Enjoy your half-pint."

"Good evening," He croaked one last time before toddling away to the kitchen doorway, another lightning crack telling her that she was now utterly alone in the house, not including Crookshanks.

Hermione looked at the footstool and saw it empty, too. Crookshanks had left when she wasn't looking, either plodding down to the kitchen to eat or to chase the vermin that infested the second basement. No matter how hard she tried, various bugs and rodents made their way into that damp space. That was the only downside to having a shared home in central London.

She looked at the tome in her hands, something dry and related to work that she couldn't be arsed for the moment, not when she was completely alone in the enormous home the five of them shared. She couldn't even ring up her parents, not after the last exploding row she had with her mum a fortnight previous.

She looked at the small table and saw her forlorn croissants and jam. She cringed, the thought of that meal making her gag. Hermione pulled her wand from her curls and pointed it towards the other table, a silently accio towards the basket containing the takeaway locations in their neighborhood. Like most nights when she was home alone with no one else to share a meal with, she put it back down, sighing to herself. She replaced the book in her work satchel, locked down the fireplace for the night and slowly walked up the stairs to the second landing, going to bed at half seven without her dinner or her lover.

Give me my demarcation line

Hermione raised her head with a start. "Audrey?"

The older witch stopped packing her satchel. "I was about to leave to do my rounds. Do you need anything?"

"No, I don't think so. Something woke me, I think. Did I doze off?"

"I do think you took a kip. You were pretty quiet for about half an hour." She glanced at Healer Cattermole and saw her put her nose into her parchment – a Healer sign that they weren't paying attention. "You were crying earlier and I think you cried yourself to sleep."

"Well, um, I might have," Hermione lifted her face up and rubbed it, moving the bonnet around on her hair and showing a few escaped curls. "I am exhausted."

"Well, if you need me, I'll be around the hospital. I have rounds to do and patients to check on."

Hermione gave her a pointed look. "I need my husband awake, healed and completely healthy."

"We're working on it." Audrey collected her satchel along with her purse and went over to Hermione. She gave a hug and whispered words of encouragement and she left, leaving Hermione with Healer Cattermole.

Mary stole a glance at the couple on the other side of the room. Maybe Mrs. Granger-Weasley would settle in rather than acting as an impatient owl. She put her head back down to continue writing.

Quill scratching on parchment was the only noise in the room. Healer Cattermole was writing up what ideas she had for saving the patient and how much risk it was for potential infections, for recovery and therapy to help him if he woke, and how long that might take. The senior healers were glad to have some ideas from the Muggles and how they could help their patients they couldn't heal straightaway. Anything to help the patient without harming him was all on the table. But now it was still a wait and see.

A harsh hiss broke the silence of the room. Healer Cattermole looked up and saw Hermione collecting her small purse. "I, uh, um, I need to run home and change clothes. I'll be back shortly."

The young healer nodded. "I'm on duty until 8 pm." She turned her head back to the parchment, continuing to scribe additional ideas.

"Thanks," Hermione bustled out the door.

Time ticked by and Healer Cattermole continued to work, listening to the even breathing of Mr. Weasley in the bedclothes.

Sometime later, she looked up to see Harry return, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "How is he?" Harry asked softly, not to disturb Mrs. Weasley who was tending her son in the bed by adjusting his blankets, rubbing his feet and hands with what appeared to be some sort of lotion and moving his legs in what appeared to be a bicycle movement. Arthur unpacked her large tote, bringing out more potions and lotions and a pillow for Mrs. Weasley. He placed it gently in her chair before returning to her side, looking down at his son and surreptitiously wiping his face occasionally.

"He's not moved since he was placed in the bed, according to my notes," Healer Cattermole looked past Harry and grimaced, "Well, he's not moved on his own since he was put in the bed."

"Notes?"

"Yes, sir," she looked down some to avoid his harsh stare. "Healer Reeves stayed with him while I caught a kip. She said she wanted me alert today so I did as she instructed. When I returned, she left. Mrs. Weasley-Granger left a little after she did, saying she needed to run home and change and would return." She looked back up at him and he tried to smile and failed, instead looking vexed. Worry creased her face in discomfort. "I am a junior healer and I have to follow any Healer's instructions, especially when they will offer an hour's rest."

Harry finally was able to smile. "I know Healer Reeves pretty well, too, professionally. We have to do what she tells us, right?"

The junior healer sighed in relief. "Yes sir, we do."

"It's odd that we didn't pass Hermione or Audrey in the lift or downstairs," Arthur spoke up and Molly silently shrugged. "No matter,"

Harry took a seat in the plastic chair on the other side of the room, facing the door. Some habits were hard to break and having his back to the door was the worst one. But then he didn't expect the worst to happen since it already had, putting Ron in the hospital bed teetering between life and death.

"I think I'm going to go home and change too, and maybe check-in at the office before returning."

"I'll stay with our sons," Molly looked across the room at Harry, too. "I won't leave them alone today."

He felt a rush of affection for Mrs. Weasley for her comment. It still boggled him from time to time how his adoptive family actually liked him and wanted him around.

Harry went to the side table and reviewed all of the potions there, along with the script on each one signifying what he was taking. Nerve regeneration potions, blood replenishing potions, an ampule of clear liquid sealed inside a glass vial, strong pain potions, and two bottles of skele-gro. Harry put the paper down, unread, and really looked at Ron under all of the bandages and protective padding.

"Well, I'll, um, I'll be back at lunch, then, and then after dinner. I can stay the night if you want to go home and sleep." Arthur came over to hug Molly from behind, whispering soft words into her ears and only for her ears. Harry averted his eyes, seeing the ones whom he cherished in a moment of intense intimacy, almost like walking in on them. He didn't look towards his surrogate parents, not while they were having a somewhat private conversation.

The door crashed open and Harry had his wand pointed at the door before Arthur could lift his head. George stood there looking haggard and disheveled. "I came as soon as I heard," he told them. He bent over, huffing and puffing, holding his side like he had a stitch.

He looked at Harry and watched him keep his wand trained on George. "Tell me something that only I'd know."

"Harry!"

"Either tell me or you're going to have a bad headache while in a holding cell at the Ministry."

"You're the reason why the git got new robes his sixth year."

Harry dropped his wand instantly, feeling mortified at following protocol in a hospital room.

Molly toddled over to hug her son fiercely before she let go, letting her husband get a hug in too.

"How bad – " the words got lodged in his throat, looking gaunt. Dark shadows hung under his brown eyes and his clothes looked as if he slept in them. He probably had yet again.

"He's pretty bad. It's stable but it's a wait and see."

"Fuck," he said half-heartedly. He looked up and saw Harry standing on the other side of the bed, looking forlorn. "On duty?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you do it?"

"George Weasley!"

"No, it's fair he asks." Harry shuffled his feet. "And no, I didn't do it but it still happened while I was with him."

"You're always there when something happens. Why?"

"Hell if I know, George."

The two men shared a long, hard look before George turned away. "So what is wrong with him?"

"Head injury," Molly spoke up first, dabbing her eyes yet again. "They did some barbaric muggle surgery on him to save him but he's like this. They said they will try waking him later today. But if he doesn't wake, it's a race. If he doesn't wake shortly, he – " her voice broke into a gut-wrenching sob.

"They said if they can't wake him soon enough, he might never recover, or wake. But if they wake him too soon, he could be disabled permanently."

"Fuck," George spoke under his breath. "Why him?" George turned on Harry, a few inches shorter but with ingrained anger at the world. "Why did he get hurt? Everyone aims for you. Why him?"

"A walking knob ended excuse of MLS officer cocked up. So blame me if it helps you feel better, but I didn't do it."

George acknowledged Harry's explanation before he turned back towards his brother in the bed. "He looks like a half-wrapped mummy." He huffed. "Brilliant," he said to no one in particular, "the first time in three years I get a weekend off because this prat was gonna cover for me – "

"George!"

" – and he goes and gets himself hurt. I wonder who I made crackers in the universe to make this happen to me again."

"This isn't about you, George. It happened and – "

"I know, Mum," George yelled before muttering sorry under his breath. "I'm complaining and this sucks and I can't cope. Cut me some slack huh?" George turned back to Harry. "You know, I don't want him looking like Moody before he's 25. Maybe you can suggest he retire or get a desk job, huh? Not like I want the tosser sharing space with Fred before I do."

"George Weasley!" Arthur's face was bright red. "That's enough." A sob erupted. "Quit upsetting your Mum."

"Fine," He made his way to the door. "I'll be back later." He stormed out, leaving the door open to the hallway.

"Arthur, why - " Molly's words echoed out from her husband's chest.

"Do you remember how you were after Gideon and Fabian were murdered?"

"Yeah, I do. But after Ginny, I got over it."

"And it took how long?"

"Few years," she muttered. "But – "

"It's only been a few years. This is hard for him. We should give him some distance on this."

"Last time we did Percy had to take him somewhere to dry out."

"Well he has more help now," Arthur saw Harry standing quietly, distracted by the side table of potion vials. "Harry, you know he doesn't blame you for what happened."

"I know but it still bothers me," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'll manage better once Ginny arrives."

"Did you owl her?"

"Well, no. I figured Hermione did."

"Well, we didn't owl her. We did let Fleur know but she's home with the kids since Bill is in Madagascar for the Bank."

"Bugger," Harry grimaced. "I better owl her or firecall the Harpies office to let her know. Last time I checked, they were on a tour of the Far East right now. I dunno if she will be able to take emergency leave. You think we should tell Charlie?"

"I think he needs to know, even if he can't come home because of the expense."

"You stay," Arthur came over to give Harry a much-needed hug. Arthur pulled back, looking slightly down at Harry through his glasses. "I'll see to contacting the others, including Bill. I'd be more comfortable if you were here keeping Molly company while I was away." Arthur quietly left the two behind, to see informing the others.

Harry looked over and saw Molly pull out a skein of wool and set her knitting needles to work. She was immediately engrossed in what she was doing – reading the Daily Prophet and glancing every so often at her work. He'd been in this world 12 years now and seeing how she could multitask using magic always put a smile on his face and warm his heart.

Harry pulled a rigid plastic chair to the side of Ron's bed and sat down, trying to find a comfortable spot before giving it up as a bad job. He leaned in while using his wand to silently spell the area around Ron's bed into a cone of silence, keeping Molly from knowing what he wanted to talk about.

Some habits never die.

"Ron, I should have listened to you. I should have put a stop to the entire mission once I realized Trowbridge was brought on. Damn," He ran his hands through his hair before smudging his glasses, making the person before him even blurrier. "Why didn't I listen to you? Why did I just let things slide again." Harry ran his hands through his hair and fought down to anguish in his heart.

"I fucked up real good this time."

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 5 years

Note

"😓A misunderstood character is ostracized, perhaps even threatened, for their peculiar habits, interests, or studies" - this is gonna be v specific but like.... Drabble where vetinari and downey giggle about people gossiping about vetinari being a vampire? Perhaps? Pls?

Thank you so much for the ask! i’m not sure if this is quite what you were hoping for, but I hope you enjoy.

Midnight and Downey hears clicking so he’s half-awake, then fully awake and thinking there’s someone in the room with him. He can’t see them but knows a presence when it is felt, only: he can’t move. The clicking increases, an insect-noise, as something prowls near his head and he does not wish to look over but does, because he can’t help it, and there sits a monstrous creature poised with stinger above his face and the weight on his chest holding him down reminds him of that one poor man accused of witchcraft, or was it being vampire?, all those hundreds of years ago who was pressed to death in the main square. The rocks they put on his chest were later used to build the base of the Brass Bridge. When you walk over them you walk over his ghost.

And now Downey is awake. Awake and sitting upright, which means he can move, but he’s still seeing the insect so there remains whispers of the dream. It is a dream, he reminds himself, because he has had such before and, more importantly, he knows all the insects on the Disc and the one he imagined next to him is not one of them. If he is going to go and discover a new species it won’t be whilst half-asleep in the middle of the city.

He rubs eyes, looks to pillow beside him and finds it empty.

Sinking back into bed he pulls the eiderdown up around his head and burrows in an attempt to reclaim even a shred of disturbed sleep.

But it’s gone. His mind is already going fast-fast-fast there are so many things he must do as Term moves into exam season and holiday festivities must be planned and budgeted for and rooms prepped for new students joining them for Winter term after Hogswatch. Then there’s City Council matters and Guild matters and three jobs lined up, hasn’t he already decided he’s too busy, tired and old for this?, and then there’s the never ending social calendar. Which he enjoys. But, it can be a bit much.

Bedroom silence is as maddening as his racing mind. He’s staring at the thin pool of moonlight on the floor. It’s autumn, so skies are a perpetual grey with only a weak sun to splash watery gold and pink across horizon at morning and evening. The grey continues into the night obscuring stars. So everything is a shadow of its summertime self.

He is restless. His nerves are up. He has spooked himself and remains half-convinced there’s someone in the room with him. The presence, he repeats to himself, was the dream and the dream was made of stress.

He rolls around for a bit. Then, out of a sense of paranoia, he retrieves a blade from between mattress and headboard, and prowls about his room but finds nothing and neither do Alsace nor Harold. He ought to be content if not pleased.

Fear is an anathema to him. One of the first rules of performing assassin is knowing that you are the most dangerous thing that walks the streets. And if you don’t know it in yourself, for certain, then at least exude it to others. Smoke and mirrors &tc.

One autumn, as a boy of seven, he developed a deep fear of vampires. They can turn into mist, slide into bedrooms through keyholes and hide under the bed or in the closet. They drink your blood and make you one of them whether you wish it or not.

The fear left him as he grew up. At first, because he learned how to kill them. Then, later, he met a few, became friends or an approximation of friends, with a few. Olivia Hunter, one example, said, it’s being damned for a sin you’ve no part in. People look and say ‘We know your kind’ when they know nothing of anything. What is my kind? Genuan? Black? Woman? Secretary? Vampire? Omnian?

And that’s a sentiment he understands, was raised to understand, for his grandmother would talk about the bad old days in Brindisi when she was a girl and they had to leave, which happens sometimes, because people decide they know your kind and whatever it is, it’s unwanted.

He dresses. Alsace and Harold become very excited at this sudden change in events. As always, he takes a circuitous route through the city to the palace. He weaves through alleys, up and down stairs and closes, trots this way and that across streets. For a time, he loiters on the Brass Bridge and peers at different stones. The foundation stone’s date has worn away with time so when you trace fingers over it there is only the merest indentation. Was this the stone that finally killed that man all those years ago? He’s never seen a witch stoning and has no desire to. There are some violences and brutalities that go too far.

The palace is shades of moth-wing grey. Downey slips in between shadows and up to the patrician’s bedroom where, as expected, Vetinari is up. The man is seated at his desk half-dressed with robe wrapped around him and a blanket over shoulders.

‘Have you considered a brazier?’ Downey asks upon entrance. Vetinari flicks a look at him. ‘It would help with your consistent lack of heating.’

‘I am quite content, Downey. If the temperature was comfortable people might wish to stay.’

Downey feigns offence. He drapes himself across the bed and stares up at canopy. Alsace and Harold make themselves at home by the meager fire next to Mr. Fusspot who remains unphased by the sudden presence of dogs easily three times his size. He snores on in peaceful slumber.

‘May I be of assistance?’ Vetinari’s voice drifts over coupled with the ruffle of paper.

‘Oh no, you’re fine.’

‘Is there a reason you’re here?’

‘Must there always be a motive for my coming? I had a desire to be mildly chilled and to stare up at your canopy.’

Vetinari makes a noise, a scoff or snort. Downey smiles at the fabric above him.

‘We didn’t have plans,’ Vetinari says, quietly, to himself and his desk. Downey does not respond. Vetinari’s penchant for exact order crops up time to time. They are both men with strong affinity for order, but applied in very different areas of their lives.

Downey orders butterflies and beetles and natural and manmade poisons. He also orders accounts, aligns the debit-credit column of the guild, his wardrobe, his drinks cabinet. He does not order his personal life. He doesn’t need to, Vetinari orders it for him.

‘You know,’ Downey drawls as a thought occurs. ‘Your desire to have cold rooms and no creature comforts is probably why people think you’re a vampire.’

A cough from the direction of the window.

Downey props himself up and looks over. ‘Tolerant of extreme temperatures? Lack of expected, human reactions to circumstances? Patience of a rock? Never seen sleeping?’

‘You have seen me sleep.’ A lofty, disinterested expression, ‘and you can attest to my ability to react appropriately in certain, ah, circumstances.’

It’s a lascivious grin on Downey’s face. Vetinari tells him that he is being lewd. Downey replies that he is not being lewd at all. Vetinari says, ‘very well, your face is making lewd insinuations.’ Downey begs his pardon with great animation, delighting in the other man’s long suffering sigh. He delights in most things Vetinari does, including his more obsessive ticks. It’s a pleasure to know there’s someone who won’t judge you for talking to your plants and will understand the extreme stress of holding one’s tongue when someone is wrong about biology in public. Which happens with great regularity.

A huff, Vetinari decants from his desk to the bed where Downey, who has pried boots off and deposited cloak, scarf, hat, gloves, frock, and so on, on the floor, happily scoots beneath covers.

‘And you have very cold hands,’ Downey continues.

Vetinari snorts, ‘the people of this great city really have nothing better to do than speculate upon my supposed inhumanity?’

‘I think it’s an improvement over their wildly inaccurate speculations about your manhood.’

Vetinari’s face is a portrait. Downey kisses it.

He continues, ‘I would correct them, of course. But that would cause more grief than it’s worth. Now, you as a vampire on the other hand, I can see their reasoning.’

‘I’ve eaten food in public. I drink…wine.’

Downey snorts, ‘Mr. Warrender at the Cloak and Dagger believes it all to be an elaborate ruse.’

‘I see,’

‘He was going on about this the other night,’ Downey begins plucking at Vetinari’s robe which he considers an affront as it is another layer of clothing to take off. ‘I think he managed to make a few converts to his cause. He says that he’s never seen you handle coin before therefore you’re avoiding silver. You don’t attend religious ceremonies because of holy ground. Your robe is annoying me deeply. And you rarely go out, uncovered, in daylight due to discomfort in the sun.’

‘I’m not sure Mr. Warrender would have any opinion on my robe. Downey, I’m quite busy tonight.’

‘Yes, I’m here now. Your metaphorical dance card is full for the remainder of the evening.’

Vetinari stares. Downey stares back. Vetinari opens his mouth to reply, apparently reconsiders it, and sighs. Downey kisses him again as it seems the right course of action.

Downey rolls Vetinari over to his back, snaking a hand beneath robe, down, pulling up nightshift beneath. Vetinari liftst hips to allow the clothes to be hitched up, ‘why are you here, Downey?’

Downey raises an eyebrow. Looks down at their bodies then back up.

‘That’s not why you’re here. This is a symptom, not the cause.’

‘I dislike that. Being associated with disease isn’t something I enjoy, but I’ll save my annoyance for tomorrow. I was awake and restless.’

‘Right.’ A beat. ‘My apologies.’

‘Thank you,’ Downey hums. He cannot think how to explain: I had a dream and spooked myself. So he chooses not to. He continues with vague answers and determined exploration of Vetinari’s body, a boney, you’re-a-bit-of-a-shut-in sort of experience. Being opposites in most regards, Vetinari has nothing spare, all strung together with skin and only the amount of muscle needed to operate a body compared to Downey’s more, as he puts it to himself, comfortable, frame.

As teenagers, therefore posturing with great energy and determination, Vetinari once said: I’m an aesthete. Downey hadn’t been entirely sure what an aesthete was so made some general scag-dog-botherer related insult and went off to ask Ludo what it meant. Ludo explained asceticism with a wry expression. Downey then spent the remainder of the day mocking Vetinari for being a nerdy prat.

Downey thinks that to be fair to sixteen-year-old Vetinari the young man hadn’t been wrong. He was, and is, very much an aesthete. But, Downey adds on, he was also a nerdy prat.

Not that he, himself, was a joy and pleasure to be around at that age. Eleven to five-and-twenty, he thinks, those are terrible years where no one is at their best.

Vetinari scoops an arm around Downey’s neck and leans up, pressing their mouths together. ‘Would you still be here if I was a vampire?’

‘Yes. Though, there’d be very strict boundaries.’

‘Naturally.’

‘’I’ve no desire for immortality. The one thing I wonder is,’ Downey settles on his side. ‘Would you still be you if you were one? It’s a rude question so I haven’t asked anyone I know.’

Vetinari shrugs. How does never dying change a person? How does not tasting, not needing sleep, not bodily changing, shape an individual? Would that change be any different from the normal changes all people go through as life forms them forever into something new?

Neither choose to answer the questions. Downey figures they were rhetorical more than anything. But even if they weren’t, he has no answer. He likes his humanity. He’s content with being merely mortal. There is a thrill to life that he thinks wouldn’t be there if you knew you weren’t going to die. Pleasures would lose their meaning. He likes luscious fox fur, richly patterned cambric, heavy brocades because he knows they are his but for a limited time. When he dies they’ll be of no use save to cover the body until it’s cremated. But doesn’t that limitation of enjoyment make it all the sweeter? There will be a finite end to champagne and oysters and music and dancing and gold and silver.

But as a vampire, at least with regards to the clothing and objects, you would have it forever. One fades, buy another.

Perhaps they find meaning in other things less worldly than clothes and beautiful things.

What a terrible concept.

‘You had a mistress who was one, didn’t you?’ Downey asks.

‘Mistress,’ Vetinari’s bemused by the word. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘What was her view?’

‘On how she was before? She didn’t speak of it much, but I think she takes the long view of things. So time is both fast and slow. She said that because relations with humans are so fleeting she found them more precious.’

Downey pulls a face. See, finding meaning in less worldly things. Vetinari flashes a smile, returns to his usual impassive self.

‘I don’t think it’s life that would suit you, Downey.’

‘I’d have to become philosophical, which is a horror. I would be required to place value in things other than material wealth. Absolutely terrible.’

Vetinari props himself up on an elbow and takes to considering Downey’s face with great intent. Downey looks away. He frets that Vetinari is going to say something about him being more than what he intends himself to be. Which Vetinari tends to do because he enjoys telling Downey home-truths.

Life delivers. Vetinari says, ‘I think you hold things beyond material wealth as important. A limited amount,’ he amends. ‘Perhaps a very limited amount. But nonetheless, they exist.’

This is too much, Downey can feel a flush crawling up his chest and neck so leans up, gives a messy kiss, then rolls over in search of his clothes. He says he should go back to the Guild. It’s late, he has much to do in the morning. Vetinari sits up and watches him dress. Downey swans about, makes it a bit of a theatrical moment, then the final flourish, he places his hat on.

‘I will see you tomorrow,’ Downey says.

‘You will. Or today, as the case may be. We are well into the small hours.’

At the door Downey pauses. Behind him is the sound of Vetinari dressing. The shift of linens, bare feet on soft, wooden floors.

‘I don’t think it would be a life that suits you either,’ Downey says to the doorframe. His palm rests flat against it, a profile to Vetinari’s line of sight.

‘Immortality, or vampirism in particular?’

‘Both.’ Or maybe, Downey doesn’t think, he wishes to believe that for his own sake. He doesn’t like to think of Vetinari going on, existing as some lonesome, grey rock in the midst of human life for any longer than he already has.

‘Possibly. Quite possibly you’re very right.’

Downey sucks in a breath through teeth then, because he enjoys hurdling head first off cliffs from time to time, ‘I’m glad things are working out, you know. Between us. Despite the fact that you’re a nerdy prat, Dog-botherer.’

He’s gone before Vetinari can reply though he imagines he heard a soft exhale of a laugh. One of those dry ones Vetinari gives when amused but feeling many things at the same time. It’s a ghost of a sound and follows Downey through streets homeward. He wishes to remember it forever.

#lord downey #vetinari #writing #ask #reply #gothic prompt

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acesmildfics-blog · 5 years

Text

It’s Raining.

For the first time ever, Kris is anxious to get to school. They’re excited to get back to the Dark World. They may have managed to seal the fountain, but there’s a lot more to do. They’re not sure exactly what, but they’re sure Ralsei will let them know what’s next on the to-do list.

They decide to walk to school, leaving a half hour ahead of schedule, hoping that Susie has the same idea. It was pouring a little earlier, but now it’s slowed to a drizzle. Kris doesn’t care if they get a little damp.

In front of Catti’s house, they run into a familiar face.

It’s the witch, holding a clear umbrella and staring into a huge puddle. She looks significantly more put-together than the last time Kris saw them. She’s wearing real pants and everything. Her pink hair is pulled into a pair of tight buns on top of her head. It takes her a moment, but she finally notices Kris staring at her, and smiles at them. “‘Mornin.”

Kris says nothing.

The witch walks over to them. “Woah, hey...no umbrella? Or do you want to get soaked?” she looks them up and down with a questioning expression, then shrugs. She holds the umbrella so that they’re both half under it. “C’mon kid. Walk with me. We’re going in the same direction, anyway.”

They walk in silence for a block or so, until they get to the corner with the grocery store. There, waiting under the awning, is a little skeleton in a striped shirt. Kris remembers talking to Sans yesterday, and figures this must be the little brother he mentioned.

The second he sees the witch, his face breaks into a bright smile - even though it was technically already a smile, what with the lack of lips and all.

“LEVIE!” he yells as he breaks into a sprint. The witch quickly hands Kris her umbrella before opening her arms.

He barrels into her, and she lifts him into a spinning hug. Once she puts him back on the ground, she uses her sleeve to wipe away the rain collecting on top of his skull. “How’s my baby bones?”

He clings to her shirt and looks up at her. Somehow, there are tears in his eyes. “I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!”

The witch chuckles, “pretty sure it’s only been a couple of days.”

He takes half a step back and stomps his foot, “BUT I USED TO SEE YOU EVERY DAY! EVERY TWO DAYS IS UNACCEss...UNACCEpter...NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”

She sighs. “Sorry, kiddo...things are a little different now.”

“I KNOW…” the little skeleton seems to notice Kris for the first time, and shifts to stand behind the witch, half-hidden but clearly staring. “IS THAT ANOTHER HUMAN?” he whisper-yells, plenty loud enough for Kris to hear.

“Sure is. Papyrus, this is Kris, a new friend of mine. Kris, this is Papyrus.”

They stare at each other, neither moving an inch.

“...Come on, you two. Papyrus, I know your manners are better than this.”

“SORRY, LEVIE…” he moves slowly out from behind her and offers his hand for Kris to shake. “IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU, HUMAN.”

“‘Human’ isn’t their name,” the witch chides.

“...IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU...KRIS.”

Kris switches the umbrella to their other hand so they can shake Papyrus’s. The little skeleton and the witch both look pleased by this. The witch takes her umbrella back, and the odd trio continues walking towards the school.

When they reach the school, Kris is surprised to see Father Alvin standing just inside. He’d probably be waiting outside, if not for the rain. He doesn’t look happy to see them...or the witch, either.

Based on the witch’s expression, the feeling is mutual. She pats Papyrus on the head, “okedoke, kiddo...you head on in. Old Al...uh...Father Alvin’s waiting for you.”

He turns around and wraps his gangly, boney arms around her. “I LOVE YOU, LEVIE!”

She smiles at him fondly, and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, baby bones. With my whole heart.”

He gasps, “NO! YOU CAN’T!”

The witch gives him a puzzled look.

“NOT WITH YOUR WHOLE HEART! THAT’S NOT FAIR! YOU GOTTA SAVE HALF OF IT FOR SANS, OKEDOKE?”

The witch’s face flushes, and she darts a look at Kris, who honestly couldn’t care less. “S-sure, baby. You got it. Go on, now.”

Appeased, Papyrus rushes into the school building, greeting Father Alvin enthusiastically before rushing off to his classroom. Kris is a bit surprised to see him head in the direction of their mother’s classroom. They thought he looked a bit older, but then again, it’s pretty impossible to guess a monster’s age when they all look so different.

Before Kris has the chance to follow, Father Alvin comes out into the rain. He crosses his arms and fixes the witch with a cold glare. He opens his mouth, but she doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard your spiel before. You feel it’s inappropriate for a human - specifically me - to be associating with a monster - specifically him. Here’s the thing, though...that job the mayor so generously offered makes it impossible for him to walk his little brother to school.”

The elderly turtle clicks his beak in derision. “Are you suggesting that he might run into trouble on the way? I assure you, Hometown is perfectly safe for monsters. Your experiences are not universal.”

“Relax, old timer. I’m not saying the town is dangerous, I’m saying the little guy has trouble staying focused. He’s likely to get distracted and wind up late for class. Can’t have that, now can we?” She asks, with narrowed eyes. “So, here I am. Helping out. What was it you used to say? One good deed a day…?”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning his attention to Kris. “Welcome, Kris. It’s good to see you here bright and early! Though, it’s also...unusual. Why, your mother isn’t even here yet! Perhaps you’ve come to get a head-start on your studies?” he chuckles, as if he doesn’t quite believe it could be true. It’s not, but it still gets on Kris’s nerves a little. He walks back through the doors, presumably to make sure Papyrus made it to his classroom without getting distracted.

As Kris follows him, the witch speaks up.

“Oh, hey, before you go, Kris...A little advice from a pro. It might be unsolicited, but hey, it’s free.” Kris turns back to face her. “Now that you’ve opened the door, it can appear anywhere. So, uh...be real careful about all these puddles, okay?” Kris nods, their concern over the closet not opening fading away. “See ya, kid. Good luck.”

Father Alvin is still watching as the witch leaves, muttering to himself. “Honestly, I don’t understand why those brothers continue to associate with her…”

He catches Kris by the shoulder as they walk by. “Kris. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Sans. Ms. Rothschild is a dangerous individual. She cannot be trusted.”

*Because she’s human?

He shakes his head. “Certainly not. If it were because of her race, I would also be wary of you, would I not? No, there is something far more sinister about her than perhaps you realize, child.”

*Because she’s a witch?

He looks surprised. “You know she’s a mage, then? Well...to answer your question, yes. Her magic is what makes her dangerous. Humans were not meant to wield magic. She may think she knows what she’s doing, but no human will ever be able to truly understand the power of magic.” The old turtle takes a deep breath. “Kris. Listen to my words: Do not think that you are safe just because you and she are the same species. Levi Rothschild does not belong among monsters, nor does she belong among humans. She is best left alone. Do you understand?”

Kris does nothing, which Father Alvin mistakes as an act of agreement.

“Good. Now, get to class. I need to go check on that young lad…”

Kris stares after Father Alvin as he makes his way to the children’s classroom. They aren’t especially moved. Kris just needs her to upgrade his gear - no trust necessary. Their relationship is strictly business. Still, she seems fine. Helpful, clearly close with that skeleton kid...she doesn’t seem scary.

But then again, they don’t really know much about her, do they?

#The Witch #Deltarune #part two of that thing I said I wasn't gonna keep writing #babybones #this one has Papyrus in it!#because who doesn't love teeny tiny Papyrus?

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ascottywrites · 4 years

Text

Love on a Silver Platter -- All Hallows Eve

Love on a Silver Platter

All Hallows Eve

Behold the power of the Tide and all the wishes made wherein…

12:00 AM October 31

A fog rolled in over the city, covering it like a winter coat. An unusual sight for the time of year. But that’s not what set this day apart from the other, going unnoticed by the one who most needed to see it. Though, perhaps if those involved would have been more wary and there would not be a story that needed telling. In the stead of ominous weather, it all started because of a book. A thick leather-bound thing that took obvious care to create. Something taken as so innocuous it could be given as a gift from one friend to another. A petty little parcel accompanied by a birthday card with sarcastic note written inside:

All Hallows Eve. The one night of the year when the link between the two worlds is at its peak. Doors are opened. Spirits can cross. Wishes can be made and magic appears where magic did not exist before. Happy Samhain.

Happy Birthday weirdo! Open on your birthday ONLY and go to the marked pages. I’ll know if you don’t you cheating cheater who cheats.

Love you Asshole Call me in the morning

Blinded by ignorance, none took heed off that rolling fog or the series of perfect events Siobhan Ferguson unwittingly set in motion that would make this gift something far from trivial.

2:00 AM

Happy Halloween my lovely weirdos!

Veronica Torres replied to your comment: Yooooo! Happy Birthday asshat! Did you open my gift?

Penny Sutherland replied to your comment: Happy Anniversary of the day of your birth! Why are you still awake anyway?

Siobhan Vonnie Ferguson: Veronica I did open your gift and did so at the specified time. Penny you know, the yoose. I lit the fireplace too late. Waiting for it to die so my apartment doesn’t catch fire while I’m sleepin’. Thank you both, my best loves!

Siobhan snorted when the chat window popped up at the bottom of her screen.

Veronica: Your only loves you fuckin’ liar. Open it! Siobhan: I did open it you asshole. A book of spells? Really? Penny: Hahahaaaaaa!! Veronica you’re such a dick! Veronica: No. I’m a godsend. Penny I got the book, true. But really I got her the specific spell inside. Penny: OMG I’m afraid to ask. Veronica: It’s time for her to get laid. She’s gonna be 40 before we know it. Penny: A love spell? I just died laughing. Siobhan: I’d appreciate you two not carrying on like I’m not here. Veronica: But frfr have you ever thought of it? Siobhan: What? Being a virgin until I’m 40? Seriously? Penny: OMG! Please! Why am I friends with you two? Veronica: No you idiot. Veronica: Are you telling me you never thought Oh my birthday is on Halloween. Maybe I could be a witch? Siobhan: LOL No. Penny: Bullshit Siobhan: Eh? Penny: Every girl our age that laid eyes on a TV growing up at some point thought she could be a witch. Veronica: True Penny: I mean Justin Timberlake in your closet. Saving the world every week and looking hot doin in? Penny: Come on Siobhan: Lol Penny don’t pass out. Penny: Whatever Vonnie ijs. If I could live in a bomb ass Victorian instead of my current shitty apartment and blow shit up. I’m down. Veronica: ANYWHOOZLE Veronica: In all seriousness. Happy B-day Von. I still love your non-magic havin ass. Penny: I guess I do too Penny: Speakin of love. We getting together soon? I miss you nerds. Siobhan: Right on, love you guys too Siobhan: I agree. We should make it happen soon. Veronica: Talk about it in the morning? Penny: Sure Siobhan: Sure. Everything should be cooled off enough anyway. I should go pass out. Veronica: Do the spell. See if it works Siobhan: Seriously Penny: If you get a man I wanna try it Siobhan: omg Veronica: Couldn’t hurt. Night! Penny: G’night! Siobhan: Love you guys

Setting her laptop aside Siobhan took a sip from her wine glass, a festive little thing that was too big to constitute a normal serving, more goblet than glass, and sported an obligatory conical hat toting witch caught flying across the face of a full moon. She hummed, squinting dubiously at the book setting on the coffee table in front of her. It was interesting if she had to admit anything. A touch faded and well worn. Something that probably would have been passed down along the generations had it not somehow found its way in the back of whatever thrift store Veronica liberated it from. Setting her glass to the side, Siobhan reached out to graze cool-tipped fingers across the edges until she could dig her fingers to the split seam, wedged open by the ornate bookmark Veronica placed inside. “Almost thirty and you’ve never been in a real relationship.” She huffed. “…couldn’t hurt.” Then ripping it off like a band-aid, she wrenched open the book. Then there is was, after a complex looking spell to bind and tagged as ‘Romani’ and before a simple seeming, non-descript incantation for peace, the ‘gift’ Veronica meant: To Call for Love. It began as all good recipes do, with a description. A short blurb that described the spell as a combination of invocation and summoning. That both were precarious in their own right and could be even more so when forced together. That because of the inherent danger of dabbling in matters of the heart and summoning the unknown, one should be pure in their craft and sure in the work they will commit in influencing the natural currents of life and love. “Don’t do this if you’re just lookin’ for a good time. Got it.” She read on

…One virgin candle to ignite desire and a waxing moon…

Well, she had that mulberry scented candle she lit every evening when she came home and she wasn’t all that worried about the phases of the moon. A little improvisation couldn’t hurt anyway. Swiping the half spent, burnt candle from the side table she set it on the coffee table beside the book. “Anoint the candle with your vaginal secretions from the bottom up.” Her face scrunched in distaste. “Well that’s not happening.” And that was that. “Conjure the image and characteristics you would desire of a perfect mate and hold them tightly in your mind’s eye.” Well that she could do with veritable ease. Had been doing it for a good while if she were being embarrassingly honest. Which is probably the very reason why Veronica had stooped to the supernatural in the first place. She winced at that. “Goodness gracious. Let’s just get this done.” The last of the fire diming in the hearth went unnoticed by Siobhan as she closed her eyes. He would be strong, passionate, desperate to love her and hot with a touch of villainy to keep things interesting. Always having had a weak spot for dark hair and light eyes she was not surprised by the image that sprang to life in her head. One with a gaze the brightest of blues and a head of perfectly coiffed golden hued brunette hair. She laughed at what her mother would think. Her lips pulling up her crooked mouth. Just another black girl mixing it up with some white guy that was going to undoubtedly ruin her life in the end. Not that she blamed her mother for her opinions, not with their family history. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t real. Just a mesh of ideas she’d put together in her head. And after a slew of bad dates…oh who was she kidding, they were all completely horrible, disappointing failures of the worst kind and she deserved this fantasy. “As you hold onto this ideal gaze into the flame and repeat the incantation three times. Each time with more conviction than the last:

During this dark witching hour I call upon the witch’s power Take this description near to thee And bring my heart’s desire to me”

She repeated the words and each time with more determination. Staring deep into the blue of the flame. Caught in its hypnotizing sway. Half wishing that it could all be real. As if to prove itself the candle flickered and blew out. Severing the thrall its dance dragged her into. “What in the world?” Curious and confused, Siobhan leaned forward. There was no breeze from an open window. No air from the A/C. She had not touched the flame or moved near it. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. Blood thrumming in her ears. What now? Then as the world around her became still and quiet the flame flickered back to life and a sound crash came from behind her. She flinched with a hard yelp, spilling the wine in her lap. “God damn it Pogue!” A haughty meow came from the kitchen. That cat was going to be the death of her. Sucking her teeth, she wiped at her lap. It was useless, the wine was going to stain. Sighing, she carefully moved to stand. Setting her glass atop the coffee table with a little more force than she meant the stem snapped. The broken glass slicing into her palm. She hissed a curse, cradling her bleeding hand. Completely engrossed, the few drops of blood that sizzled on the newly lit candle and the flickering flame that held strong went unnoticed.

3:30 AM

Wrapped in the snuggliest blanket burrito known to man Siobhan snuggled deeper into its warmth. A sigh of con-- "Oh fuck!" he eyes snapped open. She forgot the chili on the stove. She screwed them shut. "Whatever." The embers in the ash heap, the leftovers, the mess of glass and wine, they'd be alright 'til morning. If the window in her living room cracked open just a bit, well…she was one the fourth floor, that would be fine too.

5:45 AM

Siobhan groaned. Unsure of what it was that woke her in the middle of her beloved REM. Whatever it was, though, it left her buzzed and when one wanted nothing more than to sleep, to feel electrified from skin to boney center was the last thing desired. Fortunately for her she knew her body, even in her sleep inebriated state and the best, sure-fire sleep remedy she had up her sleeve was one good orgasm. She’d rub one out like a pro and pass right the hell back out. Her eyes slipped shut. Fingers slipping into the juncture of her thighs to find the nubbin waiting just there. She wasn’t ready, not in the slightest. But she didn’t have to be. Her imagination was solid and just the idea of what would bit sitting at the end of the other side of the rainbow was enough to make her flutter. Dry, wet, it wouldn’t take long either way. She thought back on the face she created of her perfect man. Imagined how his body would look. How it would feel against hers. How warm he would be. …How beautiful his hard cock would look jutting up from his lap. Looking like an offering sitting relaxed on her couch. Waiting for her to take the initiative, to come sat astride his lap. The next she knew, he was moving against her, around her, inside her. His words whispered hotly against her ear, deep and desperate and harsh, “Fuck –yea. That’s it. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” Oh! All right brain we’re just jumping right into the thick of it then. Which that was just fine, she didn’t need to build up just the release and there was nothing that was going to get her there faster than the desire to beat her partner to the finish line. To give him what he begged for and to take everything he offered. Her skin turned hot to the touch, burning beneath the blankets, her breath devolved into short bursts pushed out by the rapid beat of her heart. A fresh rush of arousal surged forth to slick her way around the engorging nub. She imagined large hands clinging desperately to each cheek of her ass, thick fingers dinging in deep enough to leave bruises. “I’m gonna come.” His voice brought to a reedy whine by her ministrations. He wrenched her closer. “F-fuck. Gonna come in you.” He could. That was fine too. Because even if he did, even if he pled for her to slow down, to give him a respite from his oversensitivity, she would keep riding until she finished. She would take and take until there was nothing left. Ring him out until he was a goddamned husk if it came to it. When she came it was with a seize that took her whole body and to the idea of a pathetic sounding whine coming from the barrel of a finely sculpted chest. “Goddamn. Well that was fuckin’ new,” she whispered to the darkness of her room. It wasn’t long after that she was fast asleep once again.

8:00 AM

She shot up with a start. Restless. An unusual buzzing trapped beneath her skin. Not so unsimilar to that surprise the few hours before, if only a little more subdued. She chalked it up this time to the gruesome details of her fading dream. Goodness, had it been the wine? Whatever the case may be, the results made her shudder in disgust all the same. But the further away she moved from the realm of sleep the fuzzier the dream became, leaving her with mere vestiges of what happened in it. Like trying to see into the farthest reflection of a mirror in a mirror. But there was still a piece of her that knew it was something horrible. Something involving her friends. Something…that made bile sting at the back of her throat and sent a cold shiver racing down her spine. But…whatever it was slipped through her fingers like sand through a sieve until there was nothing more for her to grasp onto and she was left with just that feeling of that restlessness. Christ, she needed to get out. Needed fresh air. A walk would do. She cleared her throat against the burn and clenched her hands into tight fists. They were shaking. What the hell was wrong with her? …Air.

9:00 AM

The next thing she knows, Siobhan is stepping through a dinner door. The chime overhead startling her enough to bring her into the present. How had she gotten here? “Mornin’. How many?’ Hearing the words felt strange, as if they had been the first sounds she heard since going to bed the night before. “Uh — jut me.” She followed on suddenly unsure feet when the over-coffee’d waitress pointed to one of the empty booths seated along the windows. “So what can I do ya for?” She wasn’t from around, that was for sure. “Just coffee for now, thanks.” “Cream?” “No thanks.” “Be just a minute then.” What the hell was she doing here again? Old fashioned Greasy spoons, while not unheard of in a city like San Francisco, the city’s eclectic aspects catnip for hipsters interested in such hospitality throwback, weren’t places she typically found herself spending her time and she’d definitely never seen this place before. But that wasn’t the point. Point was…well… what the hell, she couldn’t remember. Her mind was slipping and sliding, this way and that, racing in some thoughts, sluggish in others. Tugging in all opposing directions. Almost as is if it was actively working against her. Keeping her distracted. “There ya are hun.” The waitress returned, shocking her out of her inevitable spiral. “Did you get a chance to look over the menu?” “Sorry.” Siobhan cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I haven’t even looked.” “Well that’s alright. Take your time. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” Siobhan returned her sweet smile with and uneasy one before she flitted off to another table. “Try the French toast. It’s pretty good here.” His voice rang clearest of all among the den of senseless chatter and Siobhan couldn’t help looking up at its source. Oh wow, he was beautiful. She stared up at him, transfixed by eyes the deepest blue, shaded by thick, dark lashes. He took the seat across from her. Plopping down comfortably, confident he wouldn’t be turned away. “So, French toast?” She grimaced, her stomach flipping at the idea of the sweet treat…or was it because of him? Holy hell, she was losing it. “I think maybe I drank too much last night,” she confessed, unprompted and rightly confused to why she felt comfortable enough with this stranger to do so. “Ah.” He smiled, commiserating. “Then you need the hash browns.” He took her menu, flipping it to the back, mulling over the options listed there, “Maybe with bacon, sausage, and two over-easy eggs. Sound a little more appetizing?” “Over-easy?” Siobhan asked, admittedly a little more lost than she liked. As if she just couldn’t keep up. What the hell is going on? “Sunny side up. Goes good with toast. It’ll help with your uneasy stomach.” Then the stranger smiled, and it was like a punch to the gut. Everything about him grew clear as if he existed superimposed on the world around them. The most prominent thing to exist in the hazy mess of people around them. And in that moment, she knew him. Those blues eyes were familiar, that sculpted collar and thick neck revealed by the three open buttons of his soft looking Henley…familiar. “Holy shit,” she breathed. It worked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

9:30 AM

They chatted through breakfast and into a late morning dessert… “This place has the best New York Cheesecake in town.”… and if she was so caught up in it that she didn’t notice that she’s missed several calls well…enough had been missed so far, what’s one more drop in a pail full of water?

5:00 PM

After a reluctant goodbye and a date planned for later that evening Siobhan finally put the leftover chili into the refrigerator and cleaned out the fireplace. The restless feeling suddenly dissipates and the exhaustion that had been lurking around the edges finally takes its toll. She laid back along the couch, happy to take advantage of a few winks, and before she knew it, she was sound asleep.

6:45 PM

Unprovoked, Siobhan leapt into consciousness, cursing with a quick glance to the time. She was supposed to meet Him in fifteen minutes. There was no way she would make in on time. In her haste she tripped over Pogue, the cat screeched, and she went tumbling into the coffee table. Pressing her hand tight against her stinging bicep she was sure that when she lifted her hand, she would pull back blood. “Fucking shit! Goddamnit Pogue.” She couldn’t go like this. Then, as is the way of things, her phone started buzzing, rattling persistently against her breakfast bar. The name flashing across the screen, one she couldn’t remember adding to her contacts. She answered anyway. “Hey! I was just calling to see if you wanted to try this Irish pub I found instead of going to the Mexican place we were talking about earlier.” “Peter?” she asked, needing the confirmation. When had they even exchanged numbers? She shook her head against the errant unease creeping up on her. “Oh my goodness, your timing is incredible. I was just going to call you.” “You’re not canceling on me are you?” He chuckled into the phone, a suave sound that made her forget any possible blooming discomfort. She smiled at it. “No! I mean, I was going to ask if you wanted to just hang out at my place tonight. But if you’re dead set on that pub—“ “No-no. I’d be happy to spend time with you anywhere. Just text me your address and I’ll be there soon as I can.” “Great. I’ll be here.” I’ll be here? What the hell? Where the hell else are you going to be? “See you in a bit,” she blurted, fumbling to hang up before she said anything else embarrassing. Good job you awkward ass. She looked down to her cat, “At least he was kind enough not to laugh.”

7:30 PM

Pogue has never been of the friendly sort. Not even towards Siobhan, the hand that feeds him, no matter how reluctantly at times. Siobhan and Pogue are enemies caged in an apartment that is not big enough for the both of them. Their war a near daily one beginning with a cat slap to the face and a reciprocated angry toss worthy of a football quarterback. While other smarter, more humane people with a fully developed sense of self preservation would have called it quits long ago, the two had instead come to an understanding that one day one of them would wake up dead and when push came to shove, both of them were fine with that dysfunctional set up. That being said, when it came to strangers, Pogue rarely paid them the time of day. Would have lazed about the apartment, being his usual blaze self, preferring to pretend that whoever that cretin to deign to exist in his space simply didn’t exist at all. So when Pogue hisses something fierce, bats at the air, his hair standing on end, before shooting off as if the hounds of hell are on his tail leaves Siobhan standing flabbergasted in her doorway where Peter waited patiently to be allowed in. “I’m sorry about that,” she mumbled. “That was weird, even for him.” Peter shrugged it off, a half smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Some cats just don’t like me. Call it my personal curse.” His eyes flickered to the bandage on her arm when she shifted uncomfortably. “What happened? You bleeding?” “It’s nothing.” She shied away, trying to hide in her invitation. Peter asked nothing more about it after that. In fact, he wouldn’t say much at all for the rest of the night. But Siobhan wouldn’t judge. Wouldn’t think on it at all really. It could have been the way he touched her, a gentle graze against her skin. Or the way he looked at her, with hunger lurking just beneath the surface. Being able to pinpoint what it could have been exactly was of little consequence in the grand scheme of all things. All she knew…all she needed to know…all that mattered was his mouth on hers. Was how it felt when searching hands tugged impatiently at the hem of her dress; groping, desperate, and moving with a single purpose: to bring her to the height of pleasure and hurl her over the cliff. She never thought she would be the type. One to fall in bed –couch…semantics…whatever—with a veritable stranger. The kind so willing to be devoured. Such a severe about face from who she knew herself to be. The change was exhilarating, and she lost herself in it…him. In that mix of pleasure and the right side of pain he coaxed from her. Burning her from the inside out. Lost herself in his breath, his moans, his grunts, his praise, and everything else that was him. It was dangerous. She couldn’t bring herself to care. She groaned, a sound birthed from deep in the hollow of her chest at the press of his hand against her throat. His thumb pulling roughly at her bottom lip. Tilting her head back. Arching her spine. His grip tightening with each forceful thrust of his hips. For a moment she thought she might die as he filled her overwhelmed by the feeling of being both empty and full. Then came the swell, building from the tips of her fingers and toes to converge at her center and form the tightest of knots until it was strained to its limit and shattered into a billion pieces. The world around her falling to white noise.

11:59 PM

The fire is dead. The food is still out. The wine she poured, spilled against the white carpet in the living room. Siobhan remembers these things for little more than a second during the five minutes of lucidity wherein she also notices that she’s alone. Five minutes of a flash of worry and oppressive insecurity fighting to rear its ugly head. But then, he was slipping back beneath the blankets with her and where he when, why it was long enough for the sheets to turn cold, none of it mattered. And when he started touching her, his hands warm against her skin, God, nothing else outside of him mattered and in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could ever be convinced that anything would again. It made it so easy to ignore the fact that his hands were wet and that the room suddenly smelled more of copper than sex. To instead, bury herself deeper into his warmth. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she whispered into his mouth. She felt him smile against her when he said, “I’m one of a kind.”

That he was. Wouldn’t her friends be proud.

Happy Birthday to me.

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