Hello Mary Sue
Jun. 11th, 2009 04:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pyjamapantsI managed to work myself into a stressed out fit today for no particularly worthwhile reason. Just trying to cram more into the day than reasonable and stressed that my 30+ body can't keep up with the 20-year-old model that I think I still have. My own husband had the gall to call me insane when I proudly proclaimed that I'd done chores two days in a row WHILE brushing my teeth.
I couldn't sleep tonight, so I wrote the most self-indulgent bit of fluff I've written since (uh-oh, self-embarrassment filter seems to be entirely absent at 5 AM) I was fourteen and wrote a story featuring yours truly and INXS. Hopefully, this effort has marginally more merit. Thanks to luvsev for the beta! Night owls unite!
The Great Blue Yonder
"Sshhhhh, you're fine, love," Severus whispered, smoothing her frizzy hair away from her face. "You know, this happens every time you set such ridiculous deadlines just before the hols."
"Well, yes, I know," she spluttered in between tears.
"And yet, you still insist on driving yourself to exhaustion. It isn't healthy, you know."
Hermione snorted at that. "Severus, my life expectancy is 147 years. I highly doubt I'll miss a few years off the end. Besides, you'll be gone then."
He had several clever retorts up his sleeve, including "Yes, but you hardly make time for me while I'm here." He stayed his acerbic tongue – the couch was lumpy and still had a bit of Kneazle vomit on the throw pillow – and glared at her sternly as he waited for his mind to substitute gentle murmurings for vitriol. Or, at the very least, something that wouldn't earn a slap. He fumbled. "Yes, but if you keep doing this, you'll drive me to an early grave as well."
Hermione's lips flattened into a terse line, and her eyes narrowed, leaving her face a crimped set of perpendicular lines. "Always about you, isn't it?"
"Oh, Merlin. It was a joke, Hermione."
She did not look amused.
"Hermione, you need to learn to pace yourself. All the research will still be there tomorrow, the day after, the week after. You needn't worry about someone stealing it from you. You've proven yourself time and time again. They're not going to reassign your pet projects to someone else."
She rolled over and curled her back against his belly. He took the hint and clutched an arm around her waist.
"I know that, in theory at least. But I get so caught up in it all, and I do like my deadlines." She sniffed. "There's just so much I want to do! And I'll never fit it all in if I don't set a schedule for myself."
"Hermione, if you don't stop every now and then and enjoy life, then how on earth will it be worth it?"
Her body stirred in the warning signs of protest, and he hurriedly spoke to forestall both her Gryffindor arguments about the greater good and her pointed barbs about the four desk chairs he'd worn out in the past two years. "Yes, I'm fully aware that I'm hardly better at finding balance. But I'm actually enjoying the hours I spend in my lab, not furiously rushing because my experiments are running behind. I realized years ago that I had enough research ideas to fill four lifetimes. You know as well as I do that one answer spawns four more questions."
"But it's not fair! I should be able to get more done in a day!"
"You were entirely ruined by your year with that blasted time turner. Now, roll over and pull up your shirt so I can see them."
"No! I look like a Hungarian Purple-Speckled Warthog."
"Hermione, you're being utterly absurd. They're just hives. Besides, I've seen it all before."
At that, Hermione did roll over, if only to deliver a look he'd seen in the mirror of his Hogwarts quarters a thousand times in the summer of 1981. The ability to emote without Marauder provocation hadn't come naturally, after all. That she could produce the same effect unpractised was more than a little alarming.
A different tact then. "Do you know what I worked on in my lab today?" he asked, turning away to retrieve a vial from the top drawer of the bedside table.
"What?" she asked with the petulance of a five-year-old denied a promised Honeydukes visit.
"Anti-itch salve. Perfectly formulated for stress-induced hives." He unfurled his hand to reveal a shimmering, pale blue potion.
Her eyes flew open, just as her right hand was rubbing furiously at her navel.
He slapped her hand away. "Stop that. You know the scratching just makes them worse. Anyway, it's a good thing I worked on it. Quite lucky, really. I was scheduled to work on Mandrake Anti-Acne Potions."
"Git. Hand it over."
He raised the vial and dangled it out of her reach. "Not until you promise to spend the entire day tomorrow in the sitting room or garden instead of your office."
Severus smirked as four additional spots sprouted into existence. "It will be worth it, I assure you."
"If it was really worth it, you'd make me promise not to leave the bedroom," she grumbled. "Oh, all right. I promise."
He dropped the vial into her outstretched palm. "If you're willing and able," he paused to glance down as her stomach was covered in the blue liquid, "then I'm sure we can transfigure something to suit our needs."
Hermione finished applying the salve and yawned. "Did you put a sedative in this, you sneaky bastard?"
He suppressed a laugh. "Yes, I rather think you'll need it. Now, be a dear, and roll onto your side and turn out the light."
"Dammit, you know I hate it when you dose me with Calming Draughts or sedat—" Her diatribe was interrupted by a large yawn. Despite her protests, she complied and settled under the top sheet. "Nox," she said before yawning again.
"Buggering hell, Severus! It glows in the dark!"
"Yes, I know, love. That's why I added the Sleeping Draught."
His explanation, though, was drowned by a soft snore. Breathing a sigh of relief, Severus nestled against her and draped his arm across her once again, careful not to let his forearm rub against the salve.
---------
And yes, I'm feeling much better now. *scratches arm vigorously*
I couldn't sleep tonight, so I wrote the most self-indulgent bit of fluff I've written since (uh-oh, self-embarrassment filter seems to be entirely absent at 5 AM) I was fourteen and wrote a story featuring yours truly and INXS. Hopefully, this effort has marginally more merit. Thanks to luvsev for the beta! Night owls unite!
The Great Blue Yonder
"Sshhhhh, you're fine, love," Severus whispered, smoothing her frizzy hair away from her face. "You know, this happens every time you set such ridiculous deadlines just before the hols."
"Well, yes, I know," she spluttered in between tears.
"And yet, you still insist on driving yourself to exhaustion. It isn't healthy, you know."
Hermione snorted at that. "Severus, my life expectancy is 147 years. I highly doubt I'll miss a few years off the end. Besides, you'll be gone then."
He had several clever retorts up his sleeve, including "Yes, but you hardly make time for me while I'm here." He stayed his acerbic tongue – the couch was lumpy and still had a bit of Kneazle vomit on the throw pillow – and glared at her sternly as he waited for his mind to substitute gentle murmurings for vitriol. Or, at the very least, something that wouldn't earn a slap. He fumbled. "Yes, but if you keep doing this, you'll drive me to an early grave as well."
Hermione's lips flattened into a terse line, and her eyes narrowed, leaving her face a crimped set of perpendicular lines. "Always about you, isn't it?"
"Oh, Merlin. It was a joke, Hermione."
She did not look amused.
"Hermione, you need to learn to pace yourself. All the research will still be there tomorrow, the day after, the week after. You needn't worry about someone stealing it from you. You've proven yourself time and time again. They're not going to reassign your pet projects to someone else."
She rolled over and curled her back against his belly. He took the hint and clutched an arm around her waist.
"I know that, in theory at least. But I get so caught up in it all, and I do like my deadlines." She sniffed. "There's just so much I want to do! And I'll never fit it all in if I don't set a schedule for myself."
"Hermione, if you don't stop every now and then and enjoy life, then how on earth will it be worth it?"
Her body stirred in the warning signs of protest, and he hurriedly spoke to forestall both her Gryffindor arguments about the greater good and her pointed barbs about the four desk chairs he'd worn out in the past two years. "Yes, I'm fully aware that I'm hardly better at finding balance. But I'm actually enjoying the hours I spend in my lab, not furiously rushing because my experiments are running behind. I realized years ago that I had enough research ideas to fill four lifetimes. You know as well as I do that one answer spawns four more questions."
"But it's not fair! I should be able to get more done in a day!"
"You were entirely ruined by your year with that blasted time turner. Now, roll over and pull up your shirt so I can see them."
"No! I look like a Hungarian Purple-Speckled Warthog."
"Hermione, you're being utterly absurd. They're just hives. Besides, I've seen it all before."
At that, Hermione did roll over, if only to deliver a look he'd seen in the mirror of his Hogwarts quarters a thousand times in the summer of 1981. The ability to emote without Marauder provocation hadn't come naturally, after all. That she could produce the same effect unpractised was more than a little alarming.
A different tact then. "Do you know what I worked on in my lab today?" he asked, turning away to retrieve a vial from the top drawer of the bedside table.
"What?" she asked with the petulance of a five-year-old denied a promised Honeydukes visit.
"Anti-itch salve. Perfectly formulated for stress-induced hives." He unfurled his hand to reveal a shimmering, pale blue potion.
Her eyes flew open, just as her right hand was rubbing furiously at her navel.
He slapped her hand away. "Stop that. You know the scratching just makes them worse. Anyway, it's a good thing I worked on it. Quite lucky, really. I was scheduled to work on Mandrake Anti-Acne Potions."
"Git. Hand it over."
He raised the vial and dangled it out of her reach. "Not until you promise to spend the entire day tomorrow in the sitting room or garden instead of your office."
Severus smirked as four additional spots sprouted into existence. "It will be worth it, I assure you."
"If it was really worth it, you'd make me promise not to leave the bedroom," she grumbled. "Oh, all right. I promise."
He dropped the vial into her outstretched palm. "If you're willing and able," he paused to glance down as her stomach was covered in the blue liquid, "then I'm sure we can transfigure something to suit our needs."
Hermione finished applying the salve and yawned. "Did you put a sedative in this, you sneaky bastard?"
He suppressed a laugh. "Yes, I rather think you'll need it. Now, be a dear, and roll onto your side and turn out the light."
"Dammit, you know I hate it when you dose me with Calming Draughts or sedat—" Her diatribe was interrupted by a large yawn. Despite her protests, she complied and settled under the top sheet. "Nox," she said before yawning again.
"Buggering hell, Severus! It glows in the dark!"
"Yes, I know, love. That's why I added the Sleeping Draught."
His explanation, though, was drowned by a soft snore. Breathing a sigh of relief, Severus nestled against her and draped his arm across her once again, careful not to let his forearm rub against the salve.
---------
And yes, I'm feeling much better now. *scratches arm vigorously*
