(no subject)
Title: I F***ing Do! (Part 1)
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Team: Order!
Word Count: 9 x 100
Rating: M (language)
A/N: This is the first part of the round-robin drabble series ‘I F***ing Do!’, a Hissing Harpies production.
In the south of England, the early morning was perfect. Dew gleamed and a hazy blue sky spoke of a beautiful day to come. Swallows flitted from place to place with cocky exuberance.
Severus rolled over and began the process of waking up his girlfriend. He brushed his knuckles down her spine and farted quite loudly. He shifted his head onto her pillow and his hand onto her hip and murmured her name. Then he repeated it a little louder.
“Hermione?”
“Mmfff.”
“Hermione?”
“Snnnggh.”
“Hermione!”
“Whaaat?”
“Listen, lazy bones! Do you want tea?”
“Yes pleeeaaase.”
He kissed her shoulder twice.
Mooching around in his boxers, trying to keep an eye on the kettle, the poaching eggs and the toast at the same time as he washed, chopped, sliced, stirred and tossed, Severus could hear his best-beloved chuntering away upstairs.
“Seven o’clock on a free Saturday? Slytherin, sodding, sadist!”
The shower door banged shut and the rest of her words were lost to him. He scratched his head and surveyed the bombsite he’d made of the kitchen. Some nimble wand-work would put a significant dent in the mess and prevent an all-out explosion of unnecessary ire before breakfast.
That and tea.
Hermione tucked into egg and toast and eyed her boyfriend suspiciously. He met her gaze with the blank stare of the fully occluded wizard.
“What have you got planned?” she enquired.
“Oh, nothing much. It’s a nice day. I thought we could go for a picnic.”
“Bollocks! You’re up to something.”
Severus looked wounded.
“Can’t we just spend a nice lazy day together? Lie in the sun reading books and eating the pasta salad I’ve just made?”
Ooh. That sounds nice.
“Fair enough. I still think you’re looking shifty, though.”
“Moi? Devious? You must have me confused with another man.”
Hermione waved an orange bottle in his face and removed her bathrobe.
“It looks like it’s going to be really sunny. Can you do my back? No! Before you do my boobs… God you’re such an arse! Give me the bottle back! Oi! Right then. Come here, you dirty great beast of a warlock…”
Severus loved the summer.
Later, he surveyed her shorts and flip-flops and suggested she bring a jumper ‘just in case’. It was a good job too. The sky in Scotland was overcast.
“A picnic in the Forbidden Forest? You must be flipping joking!”
He really wasn’t.
What he hadn’t counted on was the nettles.
Vast banks of itch-inducing, bump-producing, Slicing Hex-resistant nettles. All growing like mad.
He was fine. Sturdy boots and the black combat trousers that Hermione said were trendy protected him.
She was not fine. She stood at the tree line, eyeing what was usually a decent footpath with an expression of complete horror. She waved her wand once more and watched the nettles bob merrily, as if buffeted by the most playful of zephyrs.
“Darling, can we go somewhere else?”
“No we bloody can’t!”
“But-”
“No, Hermione. We can’t. Just come here.”
Severus checked his rucksack was secure on his shoulders and swept her up into his arms. Despite his best efforts, her toes got stung to pieces.
“Not much further, love. There’s a clearing coming up.”
“Shitty, shitty nettles!”
“Here we are. If you spread out the blanket, I’ll find some dock leaves.”
She ended up wrapped in the blanket while he sat on a patch of ever-so-slightly damp moss. They ate his pasta salad (Hermione snaffled the majority of the mozzarella and all but one of the sunblush tomatoes) and drank an extremely nice bottle of Sancerre with unseemly haste.
“I don’t suppose you packed any hot soup?”
“No.”
“Or a cushion?”
“There was supposed to be dappled sunlight and soft green grass. Not light drizzle and bits of granite working their way between my arse cheeks.”
He slid a hand beneath his derriere and produced a pebble.
“Prospero’s jockstrap! Look at this. It’s got some sort of triangle carved on it.”
Hermione leapt to her feet, yanked the stone out of his hand and threw it as hard as she could into the trees. A yelp rang out, followed by the twang-zip thud of a loosed - then buried - arrow.
The arrow hit a beech tree fifteen feet up. Dangling from the shaft, trapped against the flights so it couldn’t fall to the ground, was a ring.
“Oh, for Apollo’s sake!” bellowed Severus. “All I want is one nice day, and a little bit of help from a centaur, and what do I get? Cold, damp, bonkers Scotland lets me down again and a supposedly incredibly wise being cocks up the tiny job he has to do.
“Just one arrow, Firenze! Shoot the fucking arrow into the ground, relatively near where we are, when I actually ask the fucking question!”
Hermione had never seen a centaur looking sheepish.
“Greetings, Hermione Granger. What did you hit me with?”
Firenze carefully examined a bruise on his off-fore shoulder.
“Nothing important… I was just trying to warm up a bit.”
“I will endeavour to recover my arrow.”
Hermione had never seen a centaur jumping up and down, fruitlessly waving his hands in the air, either.
“As Mars is my witness, I will reach it! Heinous, ill-fated twig!”
Despite himself, Severus smiled.
“It was almost worth it to see this happening,” he murmured.
“Plus my answer is ‘I love you, and yes’,” she replied.
A/N
We don’t get poison ivy in the UK. We have stinging nettles. They give you an itchy rash for a few hours that will keep prickling for a few days. There is something acidic about the sting; the best way of alleviating the itching is to use something alkaline on it. A traditional remedy is to rub the leaves of another plant, the dock, on the rash.
Next Chapter
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Team: Order!
Word Count: 9 x 100
Rating: M (language)
A/N: This is the first part of the round-robin drabble series ‘I F***ing Do!’, a Hissing Harpies production.
In the south of England, the early morning was perfect. Dew gleamed and a hazy blue sky spoke of a beautiful day to come. Swallows flitted from place to place with cocky exuberance.
Severus rolled over and began the process of waking up his girlfriend. He brushed his knuckles down her spine and farted quite loudly. He shifted his head onto her pillow and his hand onto her hip and murmured her name. Then he repeated it a little louder.
“Hermione?”
“Mmfff.”
“Hermione?”
“Snnnggh.”
“Hermione!”
“Whaaat?”
“Listen, lazy bones! Do you want tea?”
“Yes pleeeaaase.”
He kissed her shoulder twice.
Mooching around in his boxers, trying to keep an eye on the kettle, the poaching eggs and the toast at the same time as he washed, chopped, sliced, stirred and tossed, Severus could hear his best-beloved chuntering away upstairs.
“Seven o’clock on a free Saturday? Slytherin, sodding, sadist!”
The shower door banged shut and the rest of her words were lost to him. He scratched his head and surveyed the bombsite he’d made of the kitchen. Some nimble wand-work would put a significant dent in the mess and prevent an all-out explosion of unnecessary ire before breakfast.
That and tea.
Hermione tucked into egg and toast and eyed her boyfriend suspiciously. He met her gaze with the blank stare of the fully occluded wizard.
“What have you got planned?” she enquired.
“Oh, nothing much. It’s a nice day. I thought we could go for a picnic.”
“Bollocks! You’re up to something.”
Severus looked wounded.
“Can’t we just spend a nice lazy day together? Lie in the sun reading books and eating the pasta salad I’ve just made?”
Ooh. That sounds nice.
“Fair enough. I still think you’re looking shifty, though.”
“Moi? Devious? You must have me confused with another man.”
Hermione waved an orange bottle in his face and removed her bathrobe.
“It looks like it’s going to be really sunny. Can you do my back? No! Before you do my boobs… God you’re such an arse! Give me the bottle back! Oi! Right then. Come here, you dirty great beast of a warlock…”
Severus loved the summer.
Later, he surveyed her shorts and flip-flops and suggested she bring a jumper ‘just in case’. It was a good job too. The sky in Scotland was overcast.
“A picnic in the Forbidden Forest? You must be flipping joking!”
He really wasn’t.
What he hadn’t counted on was the nettles.
Vast banks of itch-inducing, bump-producing, Slicing Hex-resistant nettles. All growing like mad.
He was fine. Sturdy boots and the black combat trousers that Hermione said were trendy protected him.
She was not fine. She stood at the tree line, eyeing what was usually a decent footpath with an expression of complete horror. She waved her wand once more and watched the nettles bob merrily, as if buffeted by the most playful of zephyrs.
“Darling, can we go somewhere else?”
“No we bloody can’t!”
“But-”
“No, Hermione. We can’t. Just come here.”
Severus checked his rucksack was secure on his shoulders and swept her up into his arms. Despite his best efforts, her toes got stung to pieces.
“Not much further, love. There’s a clearing coming up.”
“Shitty, shitty nettles!”
“Here we are. If you spread out the blanket, I’ll find some dock leaves.”
She ended up wrapped in the blanket while he sat on a patch of ever-so-slightly damp moss. They ate his pasta salad (Hermione snaffled the majority of the mozzarella and all but one of the sunblush tomatoes) and drank an extremely nice bottle of Sancerre with unseemly haste.
“I don’t suppose you packed any hot soup?”
“No.”
“Or a cushion?”
“There was supposed to be dappled sunlight and soft green grass. Not light drizzle and bits of granite working their way between my arse cheeks.”
He slid a hand beneath his derriere and produced a pebble.
“Prospero’s jockstrap! Look at this. It’s got some sort of triangle carved on it.”
Hermione leapt to her feet, yanked the stone out of his hand and threw it as hard as she could into the trees. A yelp rang out, followed by the twang-zip thud of a loosed - then buried - arrow.
The arrow hit a beech tree fifteen feet up. Dangling from the shaft, trapped against the flights so it couldn’t fall to the ground, was a ring.
“Oh, for Apollo’s sake!” bellowed Severus. “All I want is one nice day, and a little bit of help from a centaur, and what do I get? Cold, damp, bonkers Scotland lets me down again and a supposedly incredibly wise being cocks up the tiny job he has to do.
“Just one arrow, Firenze! Shoot the fucking arrow into the ground, relatively near where we are, when I actually ask the fucking question!”
Hermione had never seen a centaur looking sheepish.
“Greetings, Hermione Granger. What did you hit me with?”
Firenze carefully examined a bruise on his off-fore shoulder.
“Nothing important… I was just trying to warm up a bit.”
“I will endeavour to recover my arrow.”
Hermione had never seen a centaur jumping up and down, fruitlessly waving his hands in the air, either.
“As Mars is my witness, I will reach it! Heinous, ill-fated twig!”
Despite himself, Severus smiled.
“It was almost worth it to see this happening,” he murmured.
“Plus my answer is ‘I love you, and yes’,” she replied.
A/N
We don’t get poison ivy in the UK. We have stinging nettles. They give you an itchy rash for a few hours that will keep prickling for a few days. There is something acidic about the sting; the best way of alleviating the itching is to use something alkaline on it. A traditional remedy is to rub the leaves of another plant, the dock, on the rash.
Next Chapter