The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Shout out to my irl friend (who I do have blocked on this acct lmfao) cause she gave me the idea to write for fem!law so here we are! Basically Law is a bit insecure in the new body so you help her explore what pleasure can feel like.
Pairing: fem!Law x f!reader
WC: 1.3k
CW: established relationship, body insecurity, comfort, tit play, fingering, oral, slight overstim
18+ MDNI
Law stands in front of you, arms crossed with a scowl. Your brows are furrowed as you study him – her? 'Her,' you decide.
“Stop staring. You’re being weird.” She grumbles, cheeks tinged pink.
“Sorry, it’s just… confusing.” You say slowly, cocking your head.
“Whatever. It’ll be resolved soon, so don’t worry.” The words are careless, but her tone points to a deeper insecurity. Something clicks in your mind and your eyes widen.
“Oh my god wait. No, no, no, it’s really not a big deal! I promise, Law. Honestly, you’re kinda cute.”
“That’s what Penguin and Shachi said too!” She groans, dropping into a chair and throwing her hands over her face.
You bite back a giggle, kneeling in front of her and tugging her hands away from her face, “Sorry. It’s true though. You still look like you, so of course you’re cute.”
She glares at you, but doesn’t pull away. You take that as a good sign and power on.
“But it doesn’t really matter what you look like, right?” You grin, poking her cheek as you try to goad a smile out of her, “Cause I love you no matter what.”
She huffs, shoulders slumping as she softens, “Fine. I guess so.”
“I said,” You say, pouting, “That I love you.”
Her lips quirk as she bats your hand away, “I love you too.”
You grin, leaning up to kiss her. It’s strange, the smaller lips slotting against yours. It’s not quite unfamiliar though, the way Law’s tongue brushes yours, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close, is identical to her past kisses.
You push yourself up further, hands cupping her cheeks. Your breath catches as your chests brush, her soft tits catching you by surprise. You break the kiss, blinking down at her chest. The white tank is low-cut, exposing a generous amount of cleavage. Your mouth runs dry, arousal pooling between your legs as you take in the view.
She shifts nervously, crossing her arms self-consciously again, “I know it’s weird. We don’t have to do anything.”
You drag your gaze back up, lips parted in surprise, “Law, trust me when I say that I want to. You look really hot right now. I mean, you’re always hot, so it’s nothing new, but still. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but I think it could be fun. I can show you how good you usually make me feel.”
Her eyes darken, and she after a moment she nods. You grin, leaning in to kiss her again. Your lips slant over hers in a heated kiss, teeth and tongues clashing. You grab her waist, groaning at the way your hands can almost wrap all the way around it. She pushes herself forward, sitting on the edge of her seat as her hands find their way back to your neck and shoulder.
You bring your hands up her sides slowly, settling them for a moment underneath the swell of her tits. Law’s breath catches, back arching to push herself further into your touch. You fight a grin, taking your hands off of her to grab the hem of her shirt, tugging it up.
She pulls back, breaking the kiss and holding her arms up to let you tug the item of clothing off. Your mouth waters at the sight of her bare chest, perky tits and pebbled nipples begging for your attention.
You drop your head, flicking your tongue over one of her nipples. The stuttered gasp that leaves her makes you grin. Law has always had sensitive nipples, and it seems that was exacerbated by the change.
You brace one hand on her waist, the other coming up to knead her other tit. Your fingers pinch her nipple, matching the focus you pay to the one in your mouth. Pretty, breathy moans leave Law’s lips, echoing through the otherwise quiet room.
The weight of her chest in your hand and the feel of it in your mouth is intoxicating, but you find yourself getting impatient. What you really wanted lay further south. Reluctantly, you pull your mouth off of her with a pop, lips shiny as you grin up at her. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted as her chest heaves, trying to catch her breath.
Your fingers make quick work of her belt and pant buttons. She lifts her hips, letting you tug her pants off and leaving her fully exposed. Your hands grip the flesh of her thighs, pulling them open and letting you get a good look at her pretty pussy.
You almost moan at the sight, arousal dripping freely and leaving everything slick. You bring your thumb up to her pearly clit, pressing ever so slightly on it. Her hips jerk, a yelp escaping her.
Your eyes flick up to meet hers, a grin spreading. Her eyes are wide as she looks at you.
“Holy fuck that’s sensitive,” She breathes, making you laugh.
“Tell me about it. Should I stop?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. You grin, bringing your thumb back down to rest on her clit. A shiver wracks through her body, but she otherwise holds still. You rub your thumb slowly, watching her twitch and whimper at the unfamiliar sensation.
You bring your other hand up, using your index finger to circle her weeping hole. Her breath catches, chin dropping so that she can watch you. You slip your finger in slowly. It moves easily from how wet she is, slipping in to the hilt.
Her walls clamp down on your finger, a loud moan leaving her. She starts to grind her hips subconsciously into your hand, and you take the hint. Your thumb draws quick circles over her clit, your finger pumping in and out of her.
You pull your finger out of her, ignoring her mumbled complaint. You quickly replace the finger with two, scissoring them in her tight warmth, enjoying the way she squirms. Her face contorts in pleasure, the expression almost identical to the one you’re used to on male-Law.
You pull your thumb away from her clit, making her whimper in frustration. You bring the hand up to knead her tits, dropping your head to flick your tongue over her clit instead.
She cries out, body shaking as her orgasm wracks through her. You continue your motions, pumping your fingers steadily into her spasming warmth. You suck on her clit as you watch her shatter, back arching off the chair as her fingers dig into the arm rests of the chair, desperately holding on.
You feel her come down slowly, finally pulling away from her when she pushes your head away with a whimper.
“Too much,” She breathes, voice cracked from how loudly she’d screamed.
You pout but oblige, tugging your fingers out of her too. Unable to resist, you suck the fingers into your mouth, eyes rolling back in your head at the heady taste of her arousal. You can hear her breath catch, making you grin as you suck your fingers clean.
“How was that?” You ask, lips quirked in an uncharacteristically cocky grin.
“Fuck off,” She mumbles, pouting slightly. “You know it was good.”
“Maybe I wanna hear you say it,” You laugh, brushing her hair out of her face to admire her flushed cheeks.
“Fine.” She huffs, though you know her annoyance is disingenuous. “It was really, really nice. I– Thank you.”
Your grin widens as you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, “Good. Cause there’s so much more we can explore together while you’re like this, if you’re interested.”
Her chin dips in a nod, a slight smile spreading, “I’d like that.”
Welp. It looks like my story was scraped for AI on AO3. That's incredibly frustrating. I've had to privatize the story on AO3, which means only registered users would be able to have access to the story going forward. It's an unfortunate step that needs to be taken to slow possible attempts to scrape stories for AI, should it happen again. Unregistered users should be able to still read the story here, unless AI attempts to scrape stories on this site as well. Praying that doesn't happen. I had nearly all my other stories were also scraped on my other account. I am so upset. Having your work stolen really kills the vibes when it comes to writing.
eyes like sinking ships on waters (i almost jump in)
Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x OFC
Summary: He’s a stranger. She’s an unusual assignment. He may be everything she’s looking for, but she’s a presence that grows more intriguing – and infuriating – by the moment.
CHAPTER EIGHT: help me hold onto you
[previous chapter] [AO3]
Dracule Mihawk knew no deeper sleep than the slumber that came when he had Aurelia in his arms.
It was the type of rest that rejuvenated the body and brought peace to the spirit. He could not recall a time when he experienced such a feeling before knowing her. He would not settle for anything less now. It was because of that Mihawk woke from his soothing slumber with brows furrowed in confusion. His arms -- limbs that were once wrapped around Aurelia’s warm body -- were now cold and empty. The only sound breaking the silence was the constant purururu that rang out.
His earpiece.
Mihawk shot up to his feet, eyes instantly taking in the sight before him. The plank of wood left out of place, the Den Den Mushi retrieved from its original spot hiding beneath the flood board… and Aurelia nowhere in sight. The pieces flew and fit together in his mind, and came to the same conclusion that Aurelia must have. The type of conclusion Mihawk hoped for would not be entertained. The type that could derail everything.
“Where is she?”
The question was immediate once Mihawk neared the campsite. Shanks seemed to be making good on his plan to pack up camp and prepare voyage towards the next port town, as his crew worked to transfer what remains of their goods back to the ship. He had expected guarded expressions at the sight of him. As joyful as the crew seemed when drinking, Shanks and his men were a force when it came down to business. He wouldn’t get an inch of ground when it came to Shanks’s men. Not when they’ve all decided to close ranks and defend their own. They considered Aurelia one of theirs. Mihawk knew only one man who could possibly grant him aid. The same man who made it quite clear where he stood when it came to Aurelia and her wishes.
“She does not wish to speak with you.”
Mihawk’s eyes snapped in the direction of Shanks’s voice. His old friend leaned over the side of the ship, eyes no longer twinkling with amusement. He made no movement; made no indication he would meet Mihawk halfway. Mihawk knew right then and there that he had lost what little advantage he had going into this battle. With his jaw firmly set, Mihawk marched towards the ship, enduring Shanks’s disappointed gaze all the while.
“If what she said is true,” Shanks continued, “I fear I may have to join her.”
Mihawk’s eyes scanned the deck of the ship the moment he stepped aboard. No trace of Aurelia in sight. He knew she would throw her lot in with the other pirates and knew they would be more than happy to comply. He also knew Shanks. If Aurelia had come to Shanks upset, Mihawk knew the other man would have bent over backwards to comfort her. Starting with having her settle somewhere private. Roaming gold eyes slowed to a stop at the sight of the captain's quarters… and its conveniently closed door.
“You’re mistaken,” Mihawk finally replied, “And so is she.”
Shanks fell into quick step alongside Mihawk as he began to move in the direction of the closed quarters.
“When we spoke last night about Aurelia, I thought you were seeking out my infinite wisdom and approval--”
“I don’t need your approval when it comes to her.”
“Well, that remains to be seen, as who you currently seek has decided to take up solace in my chambers.”
Mihawk stopped abruptly outside of the door, whirling around in his boots to face Shanks. Golden eyes were lit with near-deadly heat at the other man’s words. Shanks held up a hand in peace, though he held his ground.
“When you spoke of taking her with you to sea,” Shanks said, “You failed to mention you were still in communication with those seeking to capture her.”
“Who I’ve spoken with does not matter--”
“Marines,” Shanks stopped him, nearly spitting at the word. He lowered his voice to soften the harshness, though it seemed a fruitless effort the more he spoke. “A Vice Admiral at that!”
“They are of no concern to me,” Mihawk said, “Nor are they a threat.”
“To you, perhaps,” Shanks returned, “But she is not you, friend.”
“If she were with me, she’d be protected,” Mihawk said, “I would ensure her safety.”
“You promise her security without even questioning why she requires it,” Shanks said, “You seek to claim her, yet you do not truly know her.”
“And you do?”
“More than you apparently.”
Shanks saw it then. The twitch of Mihawk’s fingers. The way they itched to reach for his cross knife -- or worse, Yoru.
“Have you even a clue why there’s a bounty on her?” Shanks sighed out, “Or who sent Marines to find her? Had you even taken a moment to ask?”
Mihawk opened his mouth to reply, though no words came out. In truth, he did not ask. He did not care to know. In his time on the island and his moments with Aurelia, those questions had escaped him completely. Shanks’s shoulders softened at the sight before me. His friend, all-knowing when it came to battle and the sword, completely out of his depth in the ways of women. Or at least this particular woman.
“Hawk-Eye,” Shanks took pity on him then, “There are things we must continue to discuss--”
The words were halted as the door to the captain's quarters was thrown open and the two men’s eyes were drawn to the woman on the other side of the door. Her expression was one that had clearly soured, walls that were so carefully taken down seemingly placed up once again.
She began to move past the two men, stepping into Shanks’s space just to avoid brushing against Mihawk. Her steps went no further than three before Mihawk’s hand shot out and took hold of her wrist. The low little dove that left his lips was as much of a warning as it was a plea. The look in her eye was nothing short of murderous though. A lesser man would have shrunken away from such a withering look.
Unfortunately for Aurelia, Dracule Mihawk was not a lesser man.
Unfortunately for Mihawk, Aurelia knew men of the same caliber as him.
Mihawk heard the distinct click of a pistol readying one in the chamber, knew it was Benn Beckman before he could turn his head to the side and confirm. His fingers remained around Aurelia’s wrist, thumb unconsciously brushing over the pulse point there. One swipe, then another before Mihawk moved to release her.
“Place as many men between us as you please,” Mihawk said, voice low as he spoke to Aurelia alone, “But you must hear me now.”
Mihawk watched as Aurelia’s eyes moved to look at Shanks. The other man had posted himself by the door to the captain’s quarters, body leaning against the frame seemingly without a care in the world. The aloofness in his body couldn’t hide the look in his eyes though. Shanks looked back at Aurelia with a seriousness in his gaze. Silence passed between them, but Mihawk was certain the two were engaging in a conversation with only their eyes. It was brief, but the synchronicity between Aurelia and the other pirates left a strange pang in Mihawk’s chest. A feeling that he forced himself to set aside for the moment. He’d have all the time in the world to unpack that after he secures Aurelia’s trust once again.
“If you insist on speaking your truth,” Shanks finally said, “It might be beneficial for all parties to do so. Get the whole picture and whatnot.”
All parties?
There was a coolness to Mihawk’s gaze as he watched Shanks nod in Aurelia’s direction. The chill there ran up Aurelia’s spine when he turned his eyes towards her. Despite Mihawk’s cooled expression, Aurelia remained relatively calm. Aloof even. A mask, of course. One that Mihawk chose not to mention. Given the circumstances, she had the right to it.
“If you insist upon it,” Aurelia finally said, “It’s of no consequence though. Truly. I don’t think it’s even worth--”
“You’re stalling, sweetheart.”
Aurelia itched to cross her arms over her chest, as childish as it may look. Instead, Aurelia brought her hands to her back, fingers interlocking once she did. She straightened her back; shoulders stiff in place as she turned to address Mihawk fully. The nearby pirates grew silent as Mihawk waited. Suspiciously silent . The unnatural kind of silence that came with this kind of bunch. The kind of silence that came with holding one’s breath.
“The Vice-Admiral who sent you to me was employed out of Citrinetown, the central city of Ore Island,” Aurelia began to explain, “Where Iron Island’s resources go to inventions, Ore Island’s resources are dedicated to the detection of minerals used for the manufacturing of weaponry. The Marines being the group outsourcing the results the most.”
Aurelia cast a look towards Shanks, continuing.
“The Marines have their connection to the island,” she continued, “It’s why the Vice-Admiral sought out the best to retrieve me and return me there.”
“And why would that be?”
She spoke the words before she could meet his eyes.
“Because that land is my birthright.”
Dark eyes met gold.
Held the gaze.
“Because in time that island, it’s people, and those resources will be bequeathed to me... and will be mine to protect and command with my life as their queen.”
The silence that sat between them was enough to fill a thousand ships. No one in the area seemed to move an inch. All were unsure what doing so would do when it came to the Warlord of the Sea, who remained eerily silent. It would be Shanks, the gentleman that he was, who would attempt to dispel the tenseness of the moment.
“You see now, do you not?” Shanks asked, “Why it is important that she does not be delivered to the Vice-Admiral?”
Silence. Cold, distant silence from the man Shanks tried to break through to.
“Shanks.”
Beckman. A low warning. Asking permission to intercept should anything go awry.
“Captain’s quarters.”
Two words sent a wave of hesitations through the ship, but Mihawk spent no moment thinking about it. He immediately moved, striding past Shanks and Aurelia towards the quarters. The two that were left behind exchanged a look as Mihawk disappeared into the room, a silent attempt at planning the next move. Mihawk’s voice boomed from the room when Shanks began to move towards the quarter’s lone door.
“Not you. Only her.”
Aurelia made no effort to rush after Mihawk. She’d follow, but there would be no begging to explain. There was nothing further to explain. Not to the man in league with those who sought to drag her home. She sent a reassuring nod in Shanks’s direction as she moved towards the door. Shanks would trust the situation in her hands. That thought would only be confirmed just moments later, as she heard Shanks tell the others to get back to work.
Aurelia moved into the captain’s quarters, closing the door with a soft click. When she turned, Aurelia saw Mihawk’s back to her. He had set Yoru atop the wooden desk across the room. Bent over the desk slightly, his palms pressed to the surface of the desk. Immediate thoughts ordered Aurelia to approach, but pride dictated she remain where she stood.
“I won’t apologize,” Aurelia finally broke the silence, “Not for leaving your side after discovering what I did and certainly not for who I am—”
“What you are is mistaken and hard-headed.”
Aurelia’s eyes narrowed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I do believe you heard me,” Mihawk replied. He brought a hand up, taking his hat off and dropping it on the desk beside his blade. “Your Highness is many things – frustratingly stubborn, brave to a nearly reckless fault – but you are not hard of hearing.”
Mihawk turned then, crossing the distance between them until he stood before Aurelia.
“I’ve no intention of following the Vice-Admiral’s orders,” he told her, “The idea that I would have died the day our lips met. In truth, all previous intentions flew away the moment you first slipped from my hands. All I wanted after that was to find you... and I found you. Not under idea circumstances and certainly not with ideal company—”
“Shanks and the others are perfectly fine company—”
“Little dove,” Mihawk said, nearly exasperated, “Just this once allow me the upper hand.”
Aurelia set her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing slightly. It didn’t deter the man before her.
“I found you,” he continued, “And you could curse me now by leaving once more, but I will give you fair warning that I will give chase. I care not for the trouble Shanks and his men will cause me, nor what the Vice-Admiral wants. I haven’t a care for your family’s wishes. I do not give a damn regarding your rank or social standing. It’s all meaningless to me, but you…”
Mihawk let out a sigh.
“I care for you,” he confessed, “No matter how many times you vex me, your company is all I care for. Your approval, your affection… You, darling. And damn you for it, but I will do whatever it takes – for however long it takes – if the result is you returning the feelings I possess for you.”
Aurelia searched Mihawk’s face. Hand still set on her hips; she let the air around them fill with silence as she considered his words. His truth. Right there. Nothing more.
“You can understand how one might have doubts, do you not?” she finally asked.
“I do.”
“Waxing poetic one moment about whisking me away to a castle, then the next I hear a Vice-Admiral—”
“I apologize for the trouble it did to your heart.”
“I mean honestly,” Aurelia continued, “If you knew so early, it made no sense to keep it from me for as long as you did—”
“Torturous woman,” Mihawk interjected, exasperated breath slipping from his lips, “I confess the depth of my affection to you – forsaking all others and all plans – and you choose to prolong my suffering with chatter?”
Aurelia saw it then. The faint curve that appeared and disappeared on the corner of his lip. A ghost of a smile. Mihawk raised a hand slowly, fingertips faintly tracing the outline of Aurelia’s hair. No lighter than a feather’s touch. She was out of reach before his fingers could comb through her hair. A small step back. A divide between them.
“It’s a lovely dream,” she told him, “Being swept away to a castle by a dashing, albeit infuriating confident and competent pirate. Entertaining the idea of a future with you would be beautiful and thrilling... and utterly unheard of.”
Her gaze dropped, a faint sigh filling the space between them.
“My parents wouldn’t allow it,” she continued, “Their Marine affiliates would object to it. At the end of the day, I’d still have a kingdom to be concerned of, and you’d never truly enjoy being tethered to one island for all your days. A royal and a Warlord of the Sea... It sounds like an impossibility.”
Mihawk watched as Aurelia took a step back – and another and another – until her back neared the door. She leaned against the door, her hand resting on the door handle as she did. She took a moment, eyes falling closed as she considered her next words.
“But in a world of impossibilities,” she continued, “There is one thing I am certain of.”
Her eyes slowly opened.
Met his.
“The affection you feel for me, I feel for you in return,” Aurelia confessed, “And I do not wish to be parted from you. Not today, nor any of the days that follow...”
Aurelia’s words trailed as Mihawk moved forward, closing the space between them wordlessly. His forehead dipped down, rested against hers. Hands – his and hers – reached for each other, held on. Refused to let go. He could feel it in her touch. The wanting and the worry. The admission of feelings coming in waves and the looming concerns on the horizon. He wanted nothing more than to rid the conflict from her mind. He would in time. He was certain of that.
But that would be later.
“Mihawk,” Aurelia began to speak.
The man before her shook his head, giving her a soft shush as he did.
“We’ll go over logistics after, darling,” he spoke against her mouth as he leaned in closer.
He felt her smile against his lips as she whispered to him.
“After?”
Mihawk reached over, fingers flicking the lock on the door.
We gonna talk about Crater Lake, and Wizard Island and not mention the Old Man of the Lake?
The Old Man of the Lake is a log that floats around the lake. It is somewhat strange in that it floats vertically. It's roughly 30 feet tall, with only about 5 or so feet sticking out above the surface of the water. It was first 'offically' recorded in the early 20th century, though there are oral reports of it as far back as 1896 (and likely earlier still given the cultural importance of Crater Lake to the Klamath tribe of that area.
The Old Man should have rotted away long ago or at the very least become waterlogged and sank into the water fully, but nope. Over a hundred years, and there is this log still in the water just floating.
So y'know how I said the fact that it floats vertically was 'somewhat strange'? Let's get into some actual strange territory regarding the Old Man. It moves. Against the wind. It has been recorded moving in paths that do not make sense, never getting stuck on the shore of Wizard Island, nor the area of shore around the lake. Now that's strange.
So now let's get freaky: The free-floating Old Man posed a hazard to boats since it moves, and only a small portion of it was above water. (though personal boats are no longer allowed on the lake) Anyway, in 1988 a team was using a small submersible to explore the lake. The scientist figured it'd be a good idea to moor the Old Man near the coast of Wizard Island out of their way, for safety. So they tied some rope to it, to move the Old Man. As soon as they did so, the clear blue skies of a warm August day turned dark. The wind kicked up, bad, and it started to rain, then hail, then snow in the span of a few minutes...again in August. Now snow in that area is common, but not in the summer months. It gets super warm in that area in summer (like 70 to 90 degrees on average) So the scientists decided to nope the fuck out of the water, because of this freak storm. They unmoored the Old Man, preparing to get the fuck out of dodge of this summer snowstorm. As soon as the rope loosened and was in the water, as quickly as the storm had come on them, the darkened skies cleared and it was once more a fine sunny summer day.
As a kid, I spent my summers with my family who lives like... 40 some odd miles from Crater Lake National Park so I had this knowledge just kinda buried in my head somewhere.
Somehow no one has mentioned yet that Crater Lake is the deepest lake in the U.S, and the 10th deepest lake in the world. She Is Deep And Full Of Secrets guys, perfect wizard territory
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
OH MY GOSH IT’S TRUE. There were 0 notes, now i liked and just one note popped up! I’m.. I’m not sure how this can happen..? But now I’m part of history YEAH
24th March 2016 - 03:05 am
OH MY GOSH IT’S TRUE. There were 0 notes, now i liked and just one note popped up! I’m.. I’m not sure how this can happen..? But now I’m part of history YEAH
24th March 2016 - 03:05 am
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