#somnolent-specter

[scarlet-letter-s-for-soft]

Self-possession

She’s a shapeshifter, a shape-changer

Sloughing off her shell, no longer suppressed

Standing strong, staying soft

Surreal, a science fiction sweetheart

Supernatural specter, you’ll swear you’ve seen her, sometime before

Serpentine and sinuous in her seduction

Stretching, slithering over your sheets

She’ll steal your soul with her siren song

Sighs and sounds so sinful, so sweet

Sultry, sanguine, lay down your sword, your resistance slayed

She’ll suffuse your senses, slow and swelling

Sparks from her searing fingers, doubts smoldering, fears snuffed out

Spilling your secrets into her safe-keeping

Side by side in the silence, after

Shielded, never shared, she ain’t no snitch

She stalks your slumber, splices your sleep

Sister of Morpheus, somnolence personified

Saturday, Sunday, every single second

Sticking to your skin like sweat from the summer sun

Stroking, sucking, leaving you sated and satisfied

Submissive, not supine, never scared of her own surrender

Sure, not stumbling, a willing sacrifice

Supplicant, savior, servant

Saccharine sacrament taken on the altar of sex

Speaking scripture in the sanctity of the night, giving succor

She’s made of sudden stars, streaking across your sky

Silver sparkling in her sight, a sign, an omen

Sliding from your bed in the slanting moonlight, serene

Slick and smooth, she’ll slip away in the night, striking the scene

Stepping off the stage, striding back to herself

She’s a short story to you, a sonnet, a stanza

Swallowed and savored, special, symbolic

She’s a love story dedicated to herself, six years in the making

Stable and structured, on sabbatical from solitude

Subsumed, suffocated, stuffed down, never, ever again

XO Sarah

[auburniivenus]

27.  NIGHTMARE :  for one muse to comfort the other after a nightmare.

Phobetor, the embodiment of nightmares, traverses the realm of the subconscious like an ethereal specter disguised in the nocturnal nuances of indigo. His ever-changing and protean countenance evokes the profound fears of humanity. Within the realm of dreams, he choreographs a grotesque ballet, inflicting night terrors on somnolent minds with an almost sadistic delight. Morpheus, the supreme architect of dreams, undertakes a dual function, possessing the capacity to manufacture both delightful reveries and sinister nightmares. His siblings, Phobetor and Phantasos, bring forth the phantoms of fear and surreal visions, creating a trinity that blurs the boundaries between dreamscape and inferno.

The ethereal threads of slumber wove a disquieting veil, transforming her subconscious into a theater for the phantoms lurking within the depths of her apprehensions. The moonlight, intermittently softly embracing her dormant body, now beheld the convulsions of her disoriented sleep. Tangled filaments of auburn hair outlined a visage marked by arched brows, a canvas painted with the hues of a disquieted mind. As she lay ensconced in the ephemeral sphere of dreams, a specter of unease cast its pallor upon her delicate features.

In the nocturnal realm of her psyche, the familiar landscapes of her daily existence distorted into absurd caricatures. Faces she held dear contorted into masks of sorrow and despondency. Tatsuki’s piercing gaze bore the weight of haunting wistfulness, and Ichigo’s visage, usually a bastion of strength, crumbled into an expression of profound heartache. Echoes of laughter, once boisterous and unhindered, now took on a dissonant cadence, an incongruous refrain that propagated through the corridors of her dreamscape. The vivid hues of her environs progressively deteriorated into a more somber pallet of grays and shadows. Orihime felt the tendrils of apathy twine around her, tightening with each passing instant. She journeyed through a phantasm of her imagination that paralleled a distorted portrayal of her apprehensions, a terrain where the boundaries between reality and nightmare became indistinguishable, forming a blurred haze.

In a delicate manner, she perceived the touch of his calloused fingertips as they gently rubbed against her shoulder in a caress analogous to a whisper. The contact, tender and comforting, illustrated the essence of his implicit commitment—a pledge to serve as the protector, shielding her from the nocturnal horrors that sought to ensnare her mental state. A murmur, scarcely audible, escaped his lips—a melody woven with serene reassurance. A spectral resonance penetrated the liminal space between dreams and reality. His voice, an unwavering beacon, reached her beneath the curtains of sleep, an anchor cast into the tempestuous seas of her delusions. His grasp, acting as an anchor, encircled hers, bridging the fleeting chasm between the dreamworld and the tangible domain.

As Ichigo’s whispered assurances permeated the camouflaged sanctum of her dreams, a subtle transformation unfurled across Orihime’s countenance. The furrowed lines of distress softened, replaced by the tranquil repose that accompanies the banishment of night terrors. Like a ship navigating turbulent waters, she emerged from the depths of her horrors, guided by the compass of Kurosaki’s touch.

With a breath that mimicked the release of a held sigh, her eyelids fluttered open, revealing the clarity of awakening.  “Ichigo.” Inoue whispered, sensing perspiration upon her comely visage. She positioned herself on the disheveled bed and reflected upon him, his attractive appearance illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the partially ajar window. The remnants of the previous war persisted within the depths of her consciousness, and occasionally fear would manifest itself in her dreams. The repercussions of the conflict would require a considerable amount of time to diminish, resembling a wound that necessitates a significant healing period. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her sweet voice affirmed as her delicate arms encircled his figure, enveloping him in a embrace. “Never, never leave.” @ikurosakii

HER LOVER, HER SAVIOR.

[weird-things-to-think]

Ah, the illustrious and magnanimous term “hackneyed,” a word so convolutedly intricate that it would make even the most erudite of lexicographers perspire with trepidation. In the grand tapestry of the English vernacular, “hackneyed” is akin to a well-trodden path in a forest of linguistic obscurity, where the foliage of originality has been trampled into oblivion by the incessant footfalls of overuse.

Now, let us embark on a journey of elucidation, albeit with a modicum of comprehension, for I am but a humble purveyor of 10% of the knowledge I ought to possess. Imagine, if you will, a scenario wherein a raconteur, in an attempt to regale an audience, resorts to the deployment of a narrative device so antiquated and banal that it elicits naught but ennui and somnolence. This, dear reader, is the quintessence of “hackneyed.”

In the realm of the quotidian, one might encounter phrases or expressions that have been rendered devoid of their erstwhile vigor and vitality through incessant repetition. These linguistic relics, once resplendent with novelty, have now been relegated to the annals of the mundane, much like a once-vibrant tapestry now faded and threadbare.

To encapsulate this concept in a manner befitting its complexity, “hackneyed” is the lexical embodiment of the trite and the clichéd, a veritable cornucopia of linguistic redundancy. It is the antithesis of innovation, the nemesis of originality, and the bane of the creative mind.

In conclusion, should you find yourself in the throes of a conversation wherein the specter of “hackneyed” rears its prosaic head, take solace in the knowledge that you are not alone in your quest for the novel and the uncharted. For in the vast expanse of the English language, there exists a plethora of words and expressions yet to be discovered, each waiting to be imbued with the vibrancy of originality.

[biilletilydoux]

To Myself, The Immortal Architect of Tempests and Luminescence

O sanctified keeper of my sentient marrow, how thou hast navigated abysms untold. A peripatetic specter adrift amidst chasms of somnolent desolation. Thy sinews, wrought of aeonic obsidian, bear the silence of fractured epochs. Yet thy spirit, a diaphanous zephyr, meanders with the delicacy of a sylph’s lament. Thou art the inexorable cascade of torrents cleaving petrified monoliths. An ineffable paean to resilience, etched in the lexicon of perpetuity.

Custodian of lacerations, embossed by fate’s adamant stylus. Thy corpus is a reliquary of revenant dreams transfigured from ruinous ash. Every cicatrix is an astral glyph inscribed upon thy indomitable pharos. An oracular testimony to thy ascent through the quagmire of entropy.

Thou hast lamented dirges to the ephemeral phantoms of thy certitudes. Only to conjure from their vestiges empyrean canticles of reawakening.

In the penumbra of thy trepidations, thou hast entwined with apparitions, shrouded in the raiments of obscurity. Yet thy yearning hath perpetually pierced the firmament’s obscured vault.

From thy dolor hath emerged an elixir of ineffable quintessence. A transmutation of anguish into the aureate cadence of celestial verse. I genuflect before thy sanctum sanctorum, wrought not of flawlessness, but of audacious imperfection sculpted by the machinations of chaos. To thy clandestine conflagrations and veiled apotheoses, I proffer my reverence, ineffable and inexhaustible. Thou art the pelagic abyss and the solitary promontory. The fulmination and the equipoise which follows in its shadow. The calligrapher of thy own transcendent scripture, ineffably arcane.

Advance, O sovereign of thy numinous cosmos. Bearing the astral gravitas of infinities uncharted and let this immutable axiom resound:

Amidst the ceaseless procession of temporal decay, thou art the incorruptible luminance I shall eternally venerate.

In perpetuity and devotion,

Thyself

[byzantiumsaigner]

Somnium by Arthur de Bussières, art by Charles Gill.

When drowsiness weighs down my eyes,

In me I see passing, mysterious dream,

One after the other, in a long procession, my gods,

Specters chanting an eternal lament.

They all come, covered in the shroud, and my eyes

Watch their solemn suite parade

Who glides, free from carnal adornment,

Horribly silent, under the skies.

And I became, while they passed,

Sad, thinking that one day, like them, passed away,

I would have a sinister appearance and pale old bones.

And I tremble to have, in the back of my mind,

Seen the destiny of man written in shadow letters

In the frightening horror of their empty eye sockets.

Français : Somnium à Arthur de Bussières

In : Le Monde illustré Vol. 13, no 653 (7 novembre 1896), p. 441 Somnium

Quand vient la somnolence alourdir ma prunelle, En moi je vois passer, songe mystérieux, L'un après l'autre, en long cortège, mes dieux, Spectres psalmodiant une plainte éternelle.

Ils viennent tous, couverts du linceul, et mes yeux Regardent défiler leur suite solennelle Qui glisse, libre de la parure charnelle, Horriblement silencieuse, sous les cieux.

Et je suis devenu, tandis qu'ils sont passés, Triste, songeant qu'un jour, ainsi qu'eux, trépassé, J'aurais l'aspect sinistre et les vieux os livides.

Et je tremble d'avoir, au fond de mon esprit, Vu le destin de l'homme en lettres d'ombre écrit Dans l'effrayante horreur de leurs orbites vides.

[sleep-study-test-delhi]

The Intricacies of Sleep Positions and Their Profound Impact on Health

Have you ever taken a moment to ponder the intriguing connection between your sleeping posture and your overall well-being? The positions we naturally adopt during our nightly repose are far from arbitrary preferences; they're deeply entwined with the intricate science of human anatomy, physiology, and even psychology. As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Indirapuram, in this exploration into the realm of "Sleep Positions and Their Impact," we'll delve into the hidden mechanisms that mold your nocturnal stance and delve into its profound consequences for your holistic health.

The Power of Posture: Nurturing Spinal Alignment and Well-Being

As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Vaishali, our bodies are a testament to exquisite design, and the positions we adopt while sleeping play a pivotal role in preserving the sanctity of proper spinal alignment. One favored stance, lying on your back, emerges as a prime example of this harmony. It's a posture that allows your spine to cradle a natural curvature, deftly fending off any undue strain on your neck and back. Not just a safeguard against discomfort, this alignment acts as a sentinel against long-term back-related predicaments.

Inhalation Insights: The Influence of Sleep Positions on Respiratory Vitality

As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Vaishali, the rhythm of our breathing can ebb and flow depending on the positions we choose to surrender to during slumber. Unsurprisingly, the laurels of superiority yet again grace back sleeping. It's a stance that enables untrammelled passage for the breath, a gatekeeper against the discord of snoring and sleep apnea. A patent reason lies in the open conduit of your airway in this position, weaving together peaceful respiration and tranquil sleep.

Digestive Serenity: Sleep Positions and Gastric Harmony

Here's a surprise: your sleep position isn't merely an aesthetic choice; it's an active influencer of your digestion. Should the specter of acid reflux loom over your gastronomic landscape, the wisdom of sleeping on your left side shines through. The subtle elevation of your upper body in this pose forms an amiable barricade against the backwash of stomach acid into the corridors of your esophagus. An embrace of this posture underscores an alliance with optimal digestion and the flourishing of your gut's equilibrium.

Heartfelt Rest: Sleep Positions and Their Impression on Circulatory Vigor

The echoes of your chosen sleep position extend even to your cardiovascular sphere. A preference for nestling on your left side materializes as a boon to the circulation coursing through your veins. An epitome of cardiac efficiency, this stance orchestrates the symphony of your heart's rhythm and the streamlined flow of life-sustaining blood. This gesture is particularly poignant for those tethered to certain cardiac circumstances.

Deciphering the Brain's Imprint: Sleep Positions Through a Neurological Lens

As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Indirapuram, the intrigue spirals deeper, as our brain's somnolent sensory processing clandestinely entwines itself with the tapestry of our slumberous postures. The next instance you find yourself ensconced in a particular sleep position, ponder this: it's not merely your body orchestrating this arrangement, but also the whispered prompts of your brain in perfect harmony.

Echoes of Tradition and Evolution: Sleep Positions Through Cultural and Historical Echoes

As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Indirapuram, this science of sleep positions dances far beyond the realm of anatomy and physiology; it extends a welcoming hand to the corridors of culture and evolution. Varied cultures have enshrined specific sleep positions, often influenced by the whispers of their environment and the cadences of societal norms. These multi-layered currents deepen our comprehension of why we surrender to sleep in the ways that we do.

Positioned for Insight: The Potential Connection Between Sleep Positions and Personality

Have you ever contemplated whether your nocturnal pose might surreptitiously unveil fragments of your personality? The labyrinth of psychology suggests a tantalising connection. As per Sleep Apnea Treatment in Vaishali, the contours of sleep positions, from the foetal coil to the starfish sprawl, have been gently interwoven with certain threads of personality traits. While no definitive rule governs this discourse, it's an enchanting notion to entertain – the notion that our sleep position could, perhaps, be a silent storyteller of our inner selves.

In summation, "The Nexus Between Sleep Positions and Well-Being" extends far beyond the veneer of comfort; it delves deep into the intricate tapestry woven by the hand of anatomy, physiology, psychology, culture, and evolution. As you nestle into your chosen sleep sanctuary, rest assured that your posture isn't merely a personal whim; it's a pivotal chapter backed by the resplendent science of slumber.

Visit: https://wellsleepsolution.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/well_sleep_solution/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/WellSleep_Delhi

Medium: https://medium.com/@polysomnography.test

Tumbler: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sleep-study-test-delhiYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1deNLTKSMWTS_UKT6nZrpw

[somnolent-specter]

Oh look, I’ve been making art again! This is a sort of vent art reminiscing on how I was feeling about my chest after top surgery. I love it now! Post-surgery depression really does get the better of you

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Severus Snape and the Midnight Tea

A One-Shot by la-topolina

Rated for Teen Audiences

Warnings: Death of a parent

Written for the Severus Snape Bigbang 2019+

Summary: Luna Lovegood is a most curious child.

Author’s Note: For the Snape Bigbang 2019, we were asked to write a story starring our favorite potions master to be illustrated by an fan artist. I was very fortunate to be paired with @owlswithfins​; and you can see their absolutely perfect artwork for this tale here: Poppies+

(picspam by the author)

The first time Severus Snape met Luna Lovegood was at her mother’s funeral. He’d been unsurprised by the news that Pandora Lovegood, née  Nott, had managed to kill herself during a disastrous spell experiment; but he had been sorry all the same. Pandora had possessed a rare quality of unfailing good will and, wild as her imagination would sometimes run, her presence in the Slytherin common room had been a welcome breath of fresh air. 

And so it was, on a atrociously lovely day in May, Severus found himself counted among the flock of Pandora’s mourners, balancing a teacup and saucer and a plate of cold meat and cake in the furthest recesses of the Lovegoods’ garden that he could respectably maintain. The gloriously blue sky was a heartless backdrop to the red-eyed and frequently sniveling guests, as was the riot of greens, blues, pinks, and purples that had burst forth in the freshness of spring around them. Only the crumbling stone wall enclosing the lawn had the decency to display a touch of melancholy decay, and Severus tenaciously clung to his haven in the corner; trusting that his dour expression and ability to avoid eye contact would protect him from the unpleasant task of making conversation.

“You’ve a Wrackspurt in your ear,” piped a small voice near his elbow.

He tensed at the disturbance, and looked down his nose to behold the now motherless Lovegood girl, decked in a white chiffon dress and a crown of violently red poppy flowers.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied stiffly, returning the child’s vague smile with a frown.

“A Wrackspurt. I can tell because you were staring off and not talking to anybody. But don’t worry, it’s to be expected. They’re everywhere today.”

“Are they? I don’t believe I am familiar with that particular creature.”

“Oh, they’re pesky little brutes. They float in people’s ears and make their thoughts get all fuzzy. And they like funerals. Everyone is so sad and distracted you know, so it’s easy for them to get in. They’re sure to have gotten me by now too, since Daddy made me leave off my spectrespecs.”

Severus was beginning to feel mildly dizzy from the speed of the girl’s prattle. 

“Spectrespecs?”

“They help you see the Wrackspurts coming. But Daddy said that there would be too many today to bother with the spectrespecs, especially since they would upset Grandmama Nott. And he can always take care of them during the nightly de-Wrackspurting before bedtime stories.”

“I see.” He did not see.

“Now I know who you are! You’re Professor Severus Snape. I’m Luna Lovegood and you’ll be my teacher in two years.”

She held out her hand to him with a poise that belied her age, her weedy frame, and her odd lexicon. Her manner was so airy that he wondered if she were perhaps as moonstruck as her name implied; but he took her hand and bent over it as though she were a pureblood matron to command such courtesies.

“Miss Lovegood, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape. That’s nice of you to say, and Daddy says you’re usually not nice to anyone.”

He smirked in spite of himself. “That is true. I am not nice to anyone.”

“Did you know that being mean to people attracts Wrackspurts?”

“I was not aware of that.”

“They like to latch onto the purpleness of it all.”

“Ah.” He was not sure whether he was amused or insulted—but he was in no way bored, which was a novel feeling. He eyed her closely, noting the jagged cut of her hair and asked pointedly, “Was it a Wrackspurt that got hold of your hair today?”

She shook her locks carelessly. “No. A Dirigible Leafhopper. It found the scissors, and when Dirigible Leafhoppers get scissors, they will cut hair.”

“Naturally.” Severus wondered if all children this age were so easy to talk to.

She climbed up to perch on the edge of the garden wall and helped herself to the uneaten slice of lemon cake from his plate.

“I saw Mummy die, you know.”

“I did not know. How terrible for you.”

“It was, and it wasn’t.” She cocked her head to one side and her eyes slid slightly out of focus. “I don’t really remember it now. Six o’clock is the hour for remembering. At six I’ll be sad, but at seven I’ll be glad. Your Daddy died too.”

He grit his teeth to keep his jaw from falling open.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, crumbs from the cake clinging to the corners of her mouth, “the Mealytoes were telling me this morning. They went down the whole list of party guests and told me which ones had lost someone.”

“So you would know who to pester?” The child no longer seemed entertaining.

“So I would know who to give a poppy to.”

She finished his cake and plucked a poppy from her crown. Before he could retreat, she had tucked it behind his ear, and his hands were so encumbered by refreshments that he could only muster a glare to protect himself. Admittedly, it was a superior glare. One might say it was a glare sufficient to strike a grown man dead in his tracks. 

It was a glare that did not affect this little wisp of a girl in the least.

“Poppies are very useful,” she explained, wiping her hands on her dress. “They suck up all the bile that gets stuck in your veins when someone dies, and they hold it for you so that you can still remember—but not so brightly that it hurts. Good day professor! Thank you for coming to Mummy’s party. I can’t wait to be in your class at school.”

Hopping down from the wall, Luna twirled about three times and skipped away in a flurry of floating skirts, her effervescent voice trailing after her.

“One for sorrow, two for joy

Three for a girl, four for a boy, boy, boy.

Five is for silver, six is for gold,

Seven for a secret that’s ne’er to be told, told told!”

Severus immediately deposited his plate and teacup on the toadstool table nearby and snatched the poppy from behind his ear. He felt vaguely nauseous, like he’d been sitting too long on a merry-go-round. The urge to crush the life from the hapless flower coursed through him, and only Xenophilius’s untimely interruption prevented it.

“Oh, my Luna has given you a poppy!” Xenophilius blubbered, clapping Severus on the shoulder. “She is such a good girl. I am so fortunate that she is safe. I do not know what I would do if I had lost both her and my Pandora.”

Here the man burst into fresh tears, and it was some time before Severus managed to extract himself from the embarrassing and unnatural position of sympathetic listener. By the time he effected his escape, the poppy was no longer as offensive, and he tucked it into a pocket as he slipped away from the Lovegood house into the freedom of the afternoon.

That evening, for some damned fool reason he could never later explain, he placed the poppy in a vase on the shelf over the desk in his sitting room at Hogwarts.

And it never wilted.

*****

The next time that Severus Snape met Luna Lovegood was on September first of 1992, long after the newly-minted Ravenclaw should have been in bed. He was walking his rounds, stalking through the darkened corridors and soaking in the somnolent atmosphere. He would never admit it, but Hogwarts without its students in residence was a dismal place. A week—or two at most—was as long as his spirits could stand the lack of human contact; especially after an entire summer spent alone in the despondent home of his childhood. 

He had reached the entry hall, and was intending to retire to his rooms for reading and bed, when he saw her. The girl had not grown much since that unfortunate day two years prior. Her hair was scragglier, and her fingernails were ragged and dirty. She was wearing pink and green unicorn pajamas, and there were red trainers on her feet. Drifting through the hallway like a specter, she paid him no attention. Her small, white hands floated out in front of her, and when she reached the oaken door she started pushing at it, scrunching up her face with the effort.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. Go back to your tower immediately,” he said, stifling a yawn. 

She didn’t answer—she merely kept wrestling with the locked door.

“And detention tomorrow evening. Miss Lovegood, classes have not even begun. This may be a new record.”

The silly child was beating on the unforgiving wood, completely ignoring him. He snarled and grabbed her by her thin shoulder; whipping her around to face him. Her eyes were rolling beneath her half-closed eyelids. The sight was so strange that he drew back at first, before realizing that she was asleep and dreaming. Disgruntled, he took her by the shoulders again and shook her once.

Her eyes snapped open instantly, and she started to shriek.

“Mummy! No Mummy, no!”

Severus clamped his hand over her mouth and she bit him, drawing blood. As he withdrew his hand, she started raining weak blows on him, like a kitten wrestling a tiger. He held her firmly by the shoulders until she ceased to fight; dissolving into tears and wetting the front of his robes. When the child’s fury had spent itself, he took her firmly under the arm and marched her down the stairs to the potions room.

Luna’s teeth started chattering as they descended, and her breathing was still punctuated by periodic sniffles. The dank chill of the lower part of the castle was uncomfortable at night, but he did not bother to light any of the fires, even when they came at last to his meticulously ordered classroom. 

“Is it time for lessons now?” she asked, perking up despite the tears still seeping out of the corners of her doleful eyes. “I thought it was still night. Do we have classes under the moon?”

“Silence Miss Lovegood,” he ordered, “And sit down.”

As docile now as she had been disobedient earlier, she did as he asked, taking a seat at one of the empty work benches and running her hands over the smooth wood. He risked leaving her there long enough to retrieve a Calming Draught from the store closet, breathing a sigh of relief when he returned to find her where he had left her.

“Drink this,” he said, handing her the vial.

“A Calming Draught!” she said, beaming. She drank it without complaint, and then began hopping the empty vial over the top of the work bench, singing, “A Calming Draught, a Calming Draught, five knuts for a Calming Draught! A Calming Draught for me!”

“Cease that nonsense immediately, Miss Lovegood!” he snapped. “It is well past midnight, and, in case you have forgotten, classes begin in the morning.”

She stopped singing, but continued hopping the vial. “Yes, sir. But I think you’d best come with me up to the tower so that a Thistle-toed Night Creeper doesn’t catch me. I saw some of them skittering through the hallways.”

“To my understanding you were asleep whilst you were traipsing through the hallways. It must have been a dream,” he countered; but he was already leading her out of the dungeons on the long journey home.

“I was,” she agreed, tossing the empty vial up and down as they walked. “But you can see some things better when you are sleeping. I thought you knew. Don’t you see things more clearly in your dreams?”

He snatched the vial out of the air and shoved it irritably in his pocket. “One more word out of you, and I will deduct enough points from Ravenclaw to make Professor Flitwick sorry he ever saw you.”

She shrugged, but contented herself with whistling merrily as thy climbed. As stairwell after stairwell passed under their feet and failed to wind her, Severus mused that Luna was a truly strange child. He wondered how much of her mother’s daring curiosity she had inherited, and he began to tremble inwardly for the safety of his potions class.

By the time they reached the top of Ravenclaw tower, Severus’s calves were screaming. The eyes on the carved eagle head guarding the door flamed to life, and it posed its evening riddle.

“Nails and straw, cabbage and thee; all are longing—at last—for me,” it said.

“A bed,” Luna replied almost before the knocker had finished speaking.

“A paltry riddle,” Severus remarked.

“It’s only the first day. Good night, professor. Watch out for the Creepers!”

“Miss Lovegood.”

When the door was safely closed after the little Ravenclaw, Severus began the long trek back to his quarters. The castle whispered around him, but the night-time noises were old friends to him, settling his nerves rather than setting them on edge. 

He did notice the flicker of something out of the corner of his eye as he unlocked his door. It was a winged shadow of sorts; and the edges of its form could be called thistle-like in structure. He turned his head to catch sight of the creature, but it vanished into the shadows like a puff of itinerant smoke. 

Humbug and nonsense, he thought; and let himself in to bed.

*****

By the next afternoon, he was ready to kill her.

He’d begun the class with his usual lecture meant to impress upon the students the gravitas of the subject they were about to undertake—not that any of the dunderheads were capable of grasping the concepts he was placing before them. Once again the first year class was predictably dull, staring at him with stunned expressions due no doubt both to their confusion, and to their awe of him. All were staring, save one. 

Luna had claimed a seat on the front bench, in the exact spot she’d taken during the small hours of the morning, dancing her empty vial over the wooden table before her. Now she was tapping her fingers on the wood in what Severus assumed was a disrespectful show of boredom. With a dark expression fixed on his face, he stalked through the aisles towards her as the students around him ducked their heads in expectation of the rebuke. But as he approached, he began counting the erratic movements without realizing what he was doing; and before long a familiar pattern emerged.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21…

Perhaps the girl was not as lost as she appeared. Nevertheless, he hovered over her, scowling, until she deigned to turn her attention from Fibonacci to her disgruntled teacher.

“I love spirals, sir, don’t you? They’re so very spiral-y,” she said, blinking up at him nonplused.

“Miss Lovegood,” he replied, allowing a trace of snarl to color his tone. “I expect strictest attention to the task at hand at all times in this class. Even a concoction so simple as a Fog Potion can cause considerable damage when mishandled.”

“Yes, sir. Is it not the time for spirals?”

He let the question pass unanswered. “I also expect silence.”

She gave him an airy smile, and he glared back at her for an embarrassingly long time before he realized that she was not going to respond.

“Five points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood,” he growled as he turned back to the rest of the class. “There are thirty minutes left. You will use them to prepare the ingredients for the Fog Potion that you will brew on Wednesday. Precision is more important than speed at this point in your education, but you will not use that as an opportunity for laziness. The instructions are on the board. Begin.”

He flicked his wand and a list of ingredients and their preparations appeared on the black wall behind him. As the students began to nervously chop and crush their hollyhock and toadstools, he took a final circuit of the room, before retiring to his desk to review his notes for the next period’s lecture. He fully expected someone to make an idiotic mistake within ten minutes, but he felt it best to give them some time to fail on their own. Holding their metaphorical hands while they worked would only create dependency. Better to allow them to experience the humiliation of failure in the hopes that the lesson would stick.

“Oh dear…”

Miss Lovegood’s mild voice was the only warning he had; even as he glanced up from his parchment the explosion was erupting. He slashed his wand through the air, containing much of the damage within a hastily cast Shield Charm, but the students directly beside and behind Luna were already mewling like wounded kittens. Luna herself seemed unconcerned, staring at the ugly red welts on her arms as though they were a new problem to solve.

“What in Merlin’s name were you doing, Miss Lovegood?” he demanded, as he began slapping dittany, none too gently, on the injured parties. “You were told to prepare ingredients only. Did you misunderstand me?”

“No sir,” she replied. “But I’d finished, and I had some extra bilious solution, and I wanted to test what would happen if I added some asphodel to it.”

“Ten more points from Ravenclaw, and a foot of parchment on the importance of  following instructions due next class.”

“Yes sir.”

He had no idea how she managed to maintain such an innocent and blameless expression under the black look he knew he was giving her, but he did not trust her penitence in the least.

It was a most inauspicious beginning to Miss Lovegood’s Hogwarts career.

*****

Severus was well and truly at the end of his rope come the beginning of October. He muttered darkly to himself as he strode through the halls one Sunday evening, irritated beyond measure by the sweet autumnal breeze and the glorious sunset streaming in the windows, lighting up the inner beauty of the castle just so. Students scattered as he cut through the groups of them where they gathered, frolicking and playing Exploding Snap. He had no time to bother with disciplining any of them, however, and he kept to his course until it led him to Filius Flitwick’s office high in Ravenclaw Tower. 

A sharp rap on the door brought the diminutive professor immediately, and Severus glared down at the man until the older professor raised his bushy eyebrows in question.

“Good evening, Severus,” Filius said, puffing on his pipe. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?”

“That Lovegood girl is a menace,” Severus pronounced, eschewing all pleasantries with the intention of coming to the purpose at once.

“Is she? I find her charming. But do come in, and we’ll see what’s to be done about the matter.”

Severus swept into the office behind Filius, but refused to sit when the other man indicated the eagle-headed arm chair before the fire. Unperturbed, the charms professor shrugged and climbed into his own little rocking chair, still smoking his pipe.

“Now what seems to be the trouble?” Filius asked, watching Severus as the younger man paced through the chamber, dodging floating books and models of various magical destinations to which the Ravenclaw head had had the pleasure of visiting.

“Since the beginning of term, Miss Lovegood has caused no less than a dozen explosions in my class due to her refusal to follow direct orders. Her insubordination is endangering the lives of everyone in the room—nay every one in the castle itself!” 

Severus emphasized the severity of his accusations with a sharp gesture that sent a miniature Sphinx toppling through the air and bouncing off the opposite wall. 

“That is serious,” Filius agreed mildly.

“I’ve deducted house points,” Severus went on.

“Ah, I had wondered about that,” Filius murmured.

“I’ve given her extra essays. I’ve given her detention. I’ve set her to remedial tasks. Nothing deters her from her willful misbehavior. She will go her own way and damn the consequences. Most of the time she appears to be in another world altogether!” 

Severus’s heart rate rose, along with his temper, as he enumerated the girl’s crimes.

“Perhaps she is. Have you asked her?”

“Of course not!” Severus spat. “Why would I do such a foolish thing?”

“You might learn something,” Filius replied, his eyes twinkling with something suspiciously like merriment.

“I beg your pardon!” This was not a laughing matter.

“Severus, when was the last time you ate?”

At the mention of food, Severus’s stomach started to rumble, and he growled, “I don’t see how that has any bearing on the subject at hand.”

“Humor me.”

“I…seem to recall eating breakfast…”

“Better than I’d guessed.”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Ah. In that case,” Filius hopped down from his chair and scurried over to a rope-and-pulley system lined with tiny bells near the fire. The top of the contraption stretched up to the domed ceiling, and the bottom extended through a small hole in the floor and out of sight. The charms professor quickly tapped out a ringing tune, and a moment later the rope started moving, sending the bells into an obnoxious bout of tinkling. “Tell me, is there anything else our Miss Lovegood is doing to trouble you besides her classroom difficulties?”

“She is your Miss Lovegood and I will thank you for keeping her.”

“I shall, happily. And here we are.”

A tray of mackerel pâté with pickles on rye, and a steaming cup of earl grey with milk came up through the floor, attached to the rope by an oversized clothespin, and Filius pressed the sustenance into Severus’s unwilling hands.

“I didn’t ask you for tea, Filius,” Severus grumbled, even as he settled himself into the armchair and fell on the sandwiches like a ravenous beast.

“I know, but I find that one tends to think more clearly when one’s energy is not diverted to the task of keeping one upright in the face of starvation,” Filius replied jovially. He sat back down in his rocking chair, and went about the task of refilling his pipe while Severus demolished his food.

“Why is it, do you think, that Miss Lovegood is so troublesome to manage?” asked Filius, tapping his pipe against his chin.

“Because she’s a defiant brat,” was Severus’s quick reply as he took a bracing sip of the perfectly brewed and balanced mixture in his teacup.

Filius shrugged. “I have not found this to be so.”

“Why would you? She’s in your house.”

“Severus, be fair.” Filius’s tone took on a hint of warning. “I think you are aware that I am perfectly willing to discipline when required, and I am always open to constructive criticism from my colleagues. You do remember Mr Whitehouse and the lacewing fly theft?”

“I suppose you did deal with that,” Severus admitted. The food and the tea were slowly robbing him of some of his foul temper. 

“Thank you.” Filius puffed in silence and then remarked, “I have found Miss Lovegood to be a delight in class. She is light-years ahead of her fellows in terms of grasping the potential of charmwork.”

“In potions I am afraid she is a disaster.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

Severus’s temper started to flare again. “Filius, I hope you are not insinuating that I am the problem.”

“No. But perhaps your methodology might be examined. You mentioned that you’ve tried all the usual things; detentions, deducting points, extra homework, et cetera?”

“Yes, weren’t you listening?”

“I was. It is difficult not to listen when you are in a snit. What was the purpose of the punishments you’ve meted out thus far?”

“To inspire remorse and respect in the student, of course.”

“I would have said shame and fear.”

“One and the same.”

“Not so,” Filius countered, blowing a trail of smoke rings that danced in and out of each other through the room. “But for the sake of the experiment, let us assume that they are. I would venture to guess that the reason these tactics did not work in this case is because Miss Lovegood cannot be motivated by either shame or fear.”

“I see. She is an ungovernable dunderhead, isn’t she?”

“This brings me to my next point. The remedial work you are torturing her with may be making her behavior even more trying than it needs to be.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed at the other professor. If anything, Filius’s mild expression aggravated him more than if the man had been raging in defense of his silly student.

“Filius, I will give you half a minute to explain what you mean before I take serious exception with you.”

“I thank you, even for that.” A set of rotating orbs descended from on high, and Filius examined their glowing depths as he expounded his theory. “Some students become bored easily, and when they become bored they make all sorts of trouble, because their minds cannot cease being busy. If these minds are not properly directed, they will take their own, sometimes destructive, paths.”

“Are you saying that Lovegood is being impossible simply because she is bored?”

“I am.”

Severus stalked over to return his tray to the kitchens via the pulley system, and tugged at his sleeve irritably as he resumed his pacing.

“Even supposing you were correct, what am I expected to do about her problem?”

“It seems to me that it is your problem as much as hers. Challenge her. Give her more interesting work rather than less.”

“And I am to have yet more work thrust upon me? Is she to be rewarded for misbehavior in such a way?”

“It need not be overly complicated. Something as simple as variations on the potion at hand should suffice.”

“I don’t like it, Filius. It goes against the grain.”

Filius tucked a vibrant magenta ball into his breast pocket, and sent the rest of the mobile floating back up towards heaven.

“Sometimes the most challenging students are the most rewarding, when we reach them.”

“I would dispute that conclusion in general, and in this case in particular.”

The Ravenclaw looked up at the Slytherin with a pointed gaze, and observed, “It would seem to me that you have nothing to lose by trying. How much time are you already wasting with Shield Charms, disasters, and injuries?”

A hot retort beat its way to Severus’s tongue, but he knew Filius well enough to glean when he was within an inch of pushing the man too far. It was rarely worth pushing the charms professor too far.

“Very well. I will put your plan to the test for the next week. But if I do not see immediate improvement, your Miss Lovegood will spend the rest of term cleaning bedpans in the hospital wing.”

The merry gleam returned to Filius’s eyes, and Severus felt his shoulders relax a tick. 

“You must do as you see fit, Severus. But I would wager that you will not be disappointed. Now, is there anything further?”

Severus frowned, debating whether he should mention the child’s other problem.

“I see that there is. Come now, what else is the lass doing?” Filius prompted.

“She sleepwalks. At least once a week I see her out of the Tower during my rounds,” Severus said, leaning on the back of the armchair. 

“My goodness,” Filius replied, his merry look replaced with one of concern. “I was not aware of that. Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain! And it’s a damned nuisance to wake her, calm her infernal screaming, and escort her back to her dormitory.” 

“All that and you not being as young as you used to be.” Severus opened his mouth to take the bait, but Filius continued without allowing him the time. “Waking her is what is causing the trouble.”

“I should think that her sleepwalking is what is causing the trouble.”

Filius shook his head firmly. “Not so. She is attempting to accomplish something; something her subconscious mind finds of highest import. The next time someone finds her in this situation, he would do better to help her accomplish whatever her task may be, and lead her back to bed without waking her.”

“This child becomes more bothersome by the second!” Severus exclaimed. “First I must make new lesson plans, and now I am expected to aid her on some sleep-addled, featherbrained quest?”

“If I am the one to catch her in the act, I will do the same.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to. The subconscious mind is sometimes more insightful than the conscious one. Why don’t you give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll talk to Madam Pomfrey about other options, but I would rather avoid giving the child more potions than absolutely necessary. I don’t need to tell you how habit forming they can become.”

“No. You don’t.” Severus flicked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve and started for the door. “Good night, Filius. I shall take my leave of you before you add any other tasks to my already considerable workload.”

“Good night, Severus. I look forward to hearing the results of our experiments.”

Severus gave the Ravenclaw a short bow and started the journey back towards the dungeons; unsure as to whether he wished for Filius to be right, and thus save him further troubles—or wrong, and thus give him the pleasure of telling the man so.

Either way, it appeared he had little to lose.

*****

A week into the experiment produced such improvement in Miss Lovegood’s behavior, that Severus had merely smirked at Filius when the head of Ravenclaw had asked him about it. The potions master had taken the trouble of reseating the Lovegood girl as far away from the potentially explosive supply cabinet as possible, and he had partnered her with Margaret Baskerville at Filius’s suggestion. Miss Baskerville had demonstrated a remarkable affinity to the Shield Charm, as the Ravenclaws had discovered one evening during an overexcited match of Exploding Snap. Severus had even begun to hope that the moon child’s sleepwalking days had ended when he passed several nights of patrol without encountering her. Perhaps she had merely required a period of time to acclimate to her new surroundings.

One mild night in mid-October, Severus’s hopes were dashed—yet again—when he discovered Miss Lovegood, willowy arms heavy laden with a checked picnic blanket wrapped around some unwieldy burden, attempting to escape from the castle by the locked front door. He silently approached her, his hand ready to shake her awake even as he braced himself for her inevitable screaming.

Just before his hand reached her shoulder, he recalled Filius’s advice to help the sleeping child rather than hinder her. Cursing himself for a fool, he murmured the incantation to unlock the latch, and pushed the door open to the night air. She shuffled through it without waking, her red trainers crunching fallen leaves beneath them, and her fluffy yellow bathrobe flapping in the light breeze. The full moon bathed the grounds in silver-blue light as he followed the girl all the way to the shadowy edge of the Forbidden Forest. Doxies and nightwings flocked to them, and far off an owl hooted a warning. Severus drew his wand and swatted at the pests until they flurried away; and Miss Lovegood continued on the forest path, still firmly asleep. 

As they progressed deeper into the forest, the darkness pressed in on them; the half-dressed arms of the trees blocking out the moonlight overhead. The lumos from Severus’s wand gave him enough light to see the girl’s eyelids flickering, and he wondered briefly how exactly she was able to walk over the uneven ground without stumbling in this state. Once or twice he thought he caught a glimpse of red eyes peering at them from behind some gnarled shape; and more often than that, he contemplated waking the child and dragging her screaming back to the castle. He fully intended to give Filius a set down after the antics tonight.

At the moment he had firmly decided to abort this fool’s mission, they came to a large clearing, guarded by towering evergreens. The moon was hanging overhead, smiling down at them like some idiot dreamer, and Severus crossed his arms, watching the girl pad her way to the middle of the brown grass and drop her heavy load. She started struggling to untie the many knots holding the bundle together, until Severus scoffed impatiently, and flicked his wand at the mess. Instantly, the blanket unfolded itself to reveal a lovely spread of strawberry sandwiches, lemon cakes, and steaming tea; along with a mishmash of tea cups, bowls, plates, and brightly colored napkins. Luna settled herself, tailor style, in the midst of this unorthodox tea party, a most serene expression on her now obviously awake face.

“Oh, Professor!” she said, yawning up at him. “Was I sleepwalking again?”

“You were,” he replied irritably.

“Won’t you sit down? Have I been very much trouble?”

“You have.”

“I’m so sorry. But it was time for tea, and I didn’t want my friends to think I’d forgotten them.”

“Your what?”

“Look.”

She made a fanciful gesture with her hands in a northerly direction, and as Severus turned his aggravated glare towards the exterior darkness, he beheld half a dozen thestrals gliding into the clearing. Their serpentine tails curved and swished, leaving a trail of silvery ash behind them, and their skeletal, equine bodies moved in an undulating fashion that was disorienting to witness. As they slid up to the blanket, they dropped to their boney knees and wrapped their inky tails around them, their eyes of chartreuse flame sparking as Luna babbled happily; pouring tea into bowls and arranging morsels on plates for her cadaverous guests.

“Hello there!” she bubbled. “I’m so happy to finally see you when we can talk, aren’t you? Things have been monstrous busy since I came to school, and it’s been awful trying to find the way out to the clearing. But here I am at last!”

Severus stared at the morbid production with the horrid fascination of one watching a Quidditch accident. The beasts stank of talcum powder and formaldehyde; and he shut his eyes against their reptilian forms. There, in the darkness of his mind, he was assaulted by death; as memories of Lily’s body, lifeless and beautiful, mingled with those of his father’s corpse; poisoned by drink and by every venomous word that had tripped like water off the bastard’s vile tongue.

His eyes snapped open and he sneered at the mad princess and her deathly court. “Miss Lovegood, as you have regained whatever senses you possess, I insist that you return to the castle immediately.”

One of the younger thestrals reared up and bounded to him. Before Severus could react, it had its head in the small of his back, and was pushing him onto the blanket with enough force that he stumbled and fell to his knees.

“I think they’ll be angry if we leave just now, professor,” Luna whispered loudly, passing a teacup to him.

He snatched it and flung it across the clearing, where it shattered against a tree trunk. Another thestral snorted at him and pawed the ground with a dusty hoof.

“It’s no matter, I’ve another,” Luna said, unfazed.

“I don’t want any tea!” Severus spat.

“But you shall have some all the same.”

She set another cup before him—a black one, painted with a whimsical bat curving in flight over the porcelain interior—and filled it to the brim with steaming tea from her poppy covered teapot. 

“I’m having a lovely time at school,” she chattered to the thestrals while the beasts snorted and lapped at the tea and the victuals. “Charms is my favorite so far, but after that is potions. Professor Snape has been setting me all sorts of tests and dreams to try, and I like it ever so much better than Professor McGonagall who makes me do everything one slow step at a time.”

His anger was choking him, and he knew that Miss Lovegood’s words were worthless, but he scooped up the cup and drank some of the scalding liquid, desperate to cover the bilious taste in his mouth. The concoction was not proper tea; but rather a tincture of lavender and chamomile, steeped exactly so. The talcum powder and formaldehyde receded into the background, as did the sound of Miss Lovegood’s chattering. He must have been more tired than he’d realized, for the next thing he remembered, he was jerking awake, and the last of the thestrals was disappearing into the forest. The dishes were all packed away, and Luna was watching him with a patient and pleased smile on her face.

“I’m ready to go back to the castle now, sir,” she said cheerfully.

“If you’re ready then, please, by all means,” he sarcastically replied.

She hummed to herself all the way up to Ravenclaw tower and, while he wanted to fume at her, he found that he was too uncomfortably relaxed to do so. When they gained the top of the tower stairs, she turned to him, her eyes shining in the moonlight that ghosted in through the windows.

“Thank you for helping me tonight, sir. I think I’ll be able to get there on my own from now on,” she said.

“Need I remind you, Miss Lovegood, that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to students?” he chastised.

“I know it is. But don’t worry, that doesn’t bother me.”

“Obviously.” 

“And it’s important I go,” she said earnestly.

“Why ever would you think that?”

“So the thestrals will help me with my mother.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “If her spirit is troubling you, there are better ways to deal with it than breaking curfew and risking life and limb in the Forest.”

“No, not her spirit, she’s gone on. It’s the memories. The poppies can’t hold enough; but if I go to the thestrals, they’ll help me hold enough. I’ll still remember, but I won’t get lost.” She broke the seriousness of the subject by twirling like a top and adding, “You can join me anytime you like.”

“I shall not take you up on that offer, and if I catch  you out of bed, you may be sure that I will punish you for it. Good night, Miss Lovegood,” he snapped.

He whirled away and descended the stairs in a swirl of his black robes. Merlin, this moon child was turning out to be as much trouble as the Potter brat.

“Midnight teas And thank you please, Moonlight, wand light, All sleep tight!”

Luna’s ethereal voice and her nonsense song haunted him all the way down to the dungeons.

But he slept better that night than he had in ages. And in the morning, the memories of his dead did not wake with him. He was halfway through his morning class before he first recalled the sprawled form and the spray of auburn hair. Even when it came upon him, the memory did not cause his blood to run cold or his heart to pound.

Luna looked up from her work and smiled at him, as though she sensed the moment that the unwanted recollection sprang up in his mind. He restrained himself from giving her the satisfaction of a response, and turned his attention to his marking.

And the next time he caught her on her way to tea, he docked Ravenclaw ten points—and carried the blanket bundle to the clearing for her. 

*****

End Notes:

Luna is tapping out the Fibonacci sequence; in which each number is the sum of the two numbers prior, and relates to spirals.

I head-canon that thestrals smell different to each person, depending on that person's experiences aand beliefs about death.

[way-to-the-future]

Capernoited (Lore, late tavern times) >:)

For the sound of the sea and the balmy breeze drifting off the shore, there was still something cloyingly familiar about a dusty little way house that would never be on any map but which nevertheless provided all – or almost all – the comforts of home to an ever-changing cast of peddlers and wanderers who happened to settle here for a night. The anonymity of it was a boon to Castor; he could sit here, swirling his claret in its glass, looking out at the last dimming rays of twilight sun that streaked across the Rhotano, and let his guard drop. After all, what could there be of interest so far out of the way? The willows outside bent sluggishly, inducingly in the breeze that would soon grow unpleasantly chill, but for the moment all was silent but for the baritone rumblings of one of the schooner captains by the bar, crooning out some ancient shanty that sounded half dirge and half lullaby. With the wine heating his cheeks and making what little candle light there was seem harsh and dizzying, Castor could close his eyes here and take in a few good, deep breaths.

               The somnolent specter that was hovering over Castor’s shoulder was banished by the sudden and unmistakable sound of a goobbue bellowing in the near distance. The scavenger wasn’t the only patron to notice – the whole bar shifted in their seats – but the commotion died down quickly enough, and most of the lushes in attendance seemed more than content to get back to staring into their cups. Damn La Nosceans were too used to the great mossy things; just as Castor’s tipsy irritation gave him half a mind to go out and ensure that the beastkin didn’t go crashing into the tavern’s side wall, the door opened to reveal a new guest. Though it took Castor’s scrambled senses a moment to take in the newcomer, it took far less time for his attention to be hooked when he made out a few details.

               First and foremost, the arm. It wasn’t the first time the mercenary had seen a prosthesis of similar function, but stars, the limb looked practically like the real thing with an ultra-thin layer of plating sealed over the top of the skin. And the articulation of the joints! If nothing else, the tooling would be exceptional, but it moved almost, as if not as natural as if were the arm the stranger was born with. Castor narrowed his blurry vision to pick out other identifying features from across the dim bar – weren’t those marks on his neck the same the Sharlayans wore? Well, be that as it may, he was plainly no bookworm – the chopper on his back signaled as much. Certainly not the type Castor would want to tangle with in less-than-friendly circumstances, but an engineer’s curiosity has superseded his better judgement in his impaired state. Besides, he seemed pleasant enough by the way he broke into friendly conversation with the barkeep shortly after entering. Who was to say he would mind Castor picking his brain?

               The scarlet-and-silver-haired young man was already halfway out of his seat by the time he finished the thought. Sliding – almost slithering – up to the bar with the air of someone trying very hard and failing to appear casual, Castor settled his folded arms on the counter top and leaned over with a nigh-conspiratorial grin. “Evening, mate. So, er – what’s with the arm?” The scavenger winced retroactively. “Sorry. That was probably out of line. A bit – capernoited.” Capernoited? Where the hells had that come from? Bloody bones, this one was tall, up close. This introduction was proving one of the worst Castor had given in a while. Back to basics. “Name’s Castor Arendt. Though I’d be keen if you just called me Castor.” Castor offered a hand to shake – and found himself wishing that the convention were to shake with one’s left hand.

(Thanks for the ask :D)

[neils-bizarre-adventure]

Somnolence

Araki had the benefit of his readers not knowing English, so he could name something “Like A Virgin” and get away with it. I don’t have that luxury

Somnolence is the drowsy state that comes just before falling asleep. “Somnolence” is a Clown Circus! song about somnolence.

Somnolence (the Stand) makes you sleep, duh.

Or more accurately, it puts you in a state of somnolence, where you really want to sleep. It can be resisted if your willpower is strong enough (aka if you’re the protagonist)

Here’s the obligatory list of two things, this time lyrics I’d like to mention:

- “A specter in a shell” refers to the “ghost in the shell”, the idea that the mind is separate from the body. I’m just kidding, the line is actually “scepter in a shell”, Neil fricked it up. Remember in Frozen at Elsa’s coronation where they gave her the gold ball and stick and she got nervous and froze them? No? Frozen’s almost 10 years old? Anyway, that “stick” is a scepter. (I looked it up just now. I thought it was walking-stick sized, it isn’t.)

- “Maybe it’s painted red but it’s in your head”: I’m not sure how to make something red-but-not-really, but I think having it just be a Stand-related aura glow might work. Touch an object with the scepter and it glows red. Touch the red thing and you get put to sleep.

I have yet to mention why this is useful, but it seems like a good way to stun people. If someone doesn’t know how to use their Stand and it goes a little bit wild, this Stand can make the user sleep. I don’t think it’s established whether it would work (only the Death 13 fight to go off of), but I’m just gonna say it does in fact deactivate the Stand.

[starlightgirl242]

Agent Pen: Please do make this quick. The somnolence serum’s effects will wear off after 6 hours. 😥

Agent Rock: You’re right. They need to save Painty before he wakes up.

Agent Specter: Ready, Agent Star? 😃

Okay, let’s do this! 😉

[Agent Specter holds Agent Star’s hand and pulls her in a hug, causing a bright flash of light to illuminate momentarily, which almost blinded Dragon Toughie and the K.D.F. agents. Once it had subsided, they gasped, staring at Agent Star’s new form.]

Agents Moon, Pen, & Rock: Woah… 😮

[Star’s dream soul form looks very similar to her normal appearance. However, she became a dark, ethereal figure depicted as looking like a shadow of herself with jet black clothes, hair, and skin along with glowing white eyes and mouth.]

Agent Specter: Wow! 🤩

I’m ready, Specter. And, Pico, wish us luck. 😎

A battle of two kaijus

[somnolent-specter]

And another one. This is one of my not-yet-named orc ocs!

[starlightgirl242]

[Painty begins to smell something sweet and proceeds to follow the sugary scent. On top of one of the buildings is a giant plate of chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven and ready to be enjoyed.]

Painty! We’ve made you some amazingly delicious cookies! 😊🍪🍪🍪

Agent Specter: Yeah! Ya better get ‘em while they’re warm! 😄

Agent Moon: And we added the secret ingredient. 😉💕

Agent Pen: Indeed. 😁

Agent Rock: (to Dragon Toughie) *whispers* We included the somnolence serum into the cookie dough and Agent Star added love to them. 😗

A battle of two kaijus

[starlightgirl242]

Guys, I have a plan. And I’m going to need you to trust me on this one.

Agent Specter: Okay, team. Hear her out.

First, I need agents Moon and Rock to aid Dragon Toughie on this mission.

Agent Moon: Of course!

Agent Rock: Yeah!

Next, I need Agent Pen to create a somnolence serum for a giant syringe and aim it at his neck to knock him out.

Agent Pen: Affirmative. Beginning sedative synthesis. *proceeds to make a tranquilizer serum by mixing two chemicals carefully* ⚗️🧪

Agent Specter: And what do we do, Agent Star?

Once Painty is asleep, we’ll use your special technique. 😉

Agent Specter: *gasp* *whispers* The dream soul technique… 😧

Exactly. 😏

[Unbeknownst to the agents of Kaiju Defense Force, they flew within Dragon Toughie’s earshot. Because of this, he heard about the team’s plan. The K.D.F. agents anxiously wait for the dragon kaiju’s response.]

A battle of two kaijus