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.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
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!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ :)
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
LISTEN I WILL SELL MY SOUL FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE THIS AN ACTUAL SHOW OKAY
PLEEEEEEEEEASE, I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!
OH MY GOD BY THE END OF THIS I WAS CRYING I NEED THIS TO BE REAL LIKE SHAUBSHAKAGSHJSHSBSBSB
Okay what if Todd didn’t have a name before this- didn’t need one. He was a demon, just meant for summoning and getting things done. So when this sweet old lady mistakenly calls him Todd, something just unknowingly clicks. It’s something Todd always had been missing- a name. And, even if it was a mistaken identity, he quickly loves it and accepts it as his
If I ever see any of you in public, the code is “I like your shoelaces”
that way we know we’re from tumblr without revealing anything
I’m just going to say this to strangers until i find a tumblr person
must keep reblogering!! Im going to be so suspicious if any one tells me this now!
Remember the answer is: I stole them from the president.
always reblog tumblr identification
This is an absolute tumblr relic. I feel like an archaeologist right now. This is incredible that this is on my dash.
date of origin: 2nd of july, 2012.
Bro what it’s the second of July 2020. Happy 8th anniversary of this classic tumblr post!!!!
9 years ago today…
John
I have an idea for a drabble for whenever you have the time. Did you see those videos of people leaving scrap metal and going "Oh I hope some big, strong, metal man won't follow me home. That would just be awful. " and his s/o doing that? :3
A screw here, a washer there; your pockets were beginning to empty as you trailed around the factory.
“Wow.” Another nut, falling to the ground with a reverberating tink, “I really hope some hot, sexy, engineer mechanic follows me to the bedroom.”
Your voice echoed off the walls, grinning slyly as you dropped one of his wrenches; giggling softly at the slowly approaching footsteps. “It would be a mighty shame, if the owner of this factory found me.”
“it would.” His voice was far away, a passing grunt causing another giggling fit as you imagined him bending down to retrieve the scrap. “Mighty damn shame.”
You trudged on, hands grasping the few pieces of metal before they fell to the floor like rose petals leading to a honeymooners suite; except, the suite was buried deep within the resort. Underground. Unkempt.
“Oh hark, I have lost the remains of my breadcrumbs. For what shall I do?” Your eyes watched him round the corner, his gloved palm outstretched as he picked each piece up and grouped them before shoveling them in his pocket.
Your eyes watched the little pieces slowly rise from the ground, vibrating as they reeled back toward his slowly walking form.
“I’ll tell you what to do; get in there and I’ll show you.”
Heisenberg simp here:
I would love your take on the best way of comforting him after a bad nightmare.
I feel he doesn’t have too many nightmares to begin with; he did at the start of the Cadou but he eventually pushed them out and now he doesn’t have them. He probably rarely ever dreams either.
But, when he does dream; it usually leads to nightmares. Nightmares consist of what his life was before and how Miranda had taken him, dissected him, made him an experiment, and he question’s his humanity; questions himself. His future.
He wakes up in cold sweat, and the only thing you can do is listen to him if he wants to talk or hold him if he wants to be held.
But, for the most part, he’ll take leave and just take a walk around the factory. Maybe have a little bit of a private cry at the loss of his old life that’s fading from his memory.
Find him, wrap your arms around him. Let him hold you for as long as he needs while he nuzzles and nudges against your neck.
“I won’t let her take you, I won’t let her take you, I won’t let her—”
He’ll ramble on, your hands gently soothing his back as his tears start to dry and he gets tired again; usually these nights you all end up asleep against a wall not far from the bedroom.
Hey! Can I request yandere!Karl Heisenberg? I love your blog aesthetic, it’s so pretty 🤩
oof, holding the heart of heisenberg is a treat and a half
you were once but a humble villager, spending your days with dirty knees out in your garden
however, curiosity prevailed once again and sent you into an abandoned mineshaft, signs reading, “DANGER!” and “DO NOT ENTER!” adorning the entrance
and with that, you began your adventure into the dark abyss with only a shattered lantern to defend yourself with
maybe you’d find a crystal or two that would compliment your cottage, you considered
maybe you’d find a rare trinket that would sit well in the duke’s purse, you pondered more
“fucking lycans! what did i say about-…! well, you’re not local. are you, sugar?”
and just like that, you have now been captured acquainted with karl heisenberg
you would have never guessed that being mistaken as some werewolf-mutant would send you spiraling into the factory that the village whispers about in terror
your sparkling wonder with the world, your heavenly features that rival aphrodite, and your enchanting character that’d make any soul with a functioning brain drop to their knees
i mean, can you really blame him for being head over heels?
you are by far the most captivating creature he has ever met…
and now you have become the most valuable thing in karl heisenberg’s life! congratulations!
karl never paid too much attention to keeping a conventional profile, but now that he’s got this beauty on his hip, he has to make a good impression!
he’ll polish the factory spotless (to his best ability) and clean up his appearance, finding a tailor in the village and flaunting a new coat that isn’t discolored by oil and blood
(he even ties his hair up to keep a modest appearance 🥴🥴)
you’re perturbed by how softhearted the man your neighbors titled the “big bad wolf” is, but as i’ve said before, this man is possessive
and these tendencies root from karl’s jealousy and insecurities (thank you miranda)
he’s aware of how replaceable he is; he knows that if you had to choose between him with his lycans up in a factory and some prestigious civilian down in the village who’d help you further pursue your love for gardening, you’d pick the latter
however, if you console him of his worries with even the fairest of reassurance, he’s on cloud 9 with a melted heart and weak knees
and you can’t think of a single soul who’s given you the same praise karl has given you
not even the village creep whose stares made you nauseous or the village drunk who swore you were the reincarnation of a greek god
karl himself isn’t even sure if he can stop himself from drowning you in the praise you deserve
however, when the lords all meet together, that gooey-eyed man you once knew and adored is replaced with the facade of the villain you once presumed to be (give him any form of affection and that facade will shatter in a millisecond, btw ;))
yes, by request from mother miranda herself, you are obligated to attend every meeting at your lover’s side
she has taken notice of karl’s devotion and how his anger simmered with you on his lap, almost like a pacifier to a baby
just don’t be surprised if he tries to slice the gills off the fish-out-of-water or nearly tears the head off of the broken barbie doll if any of them let their eyes wander
for lack of a better phrase, karl has that “i-hate-everyone-in-the-world-but-you” attitude
but if you’re not at his side?? oh boy…
all that machinery of his has to go to some good use, right?
with cameras, microphones, trackers, there’s never a moment this man can’t keep an eye on you
whether that’s by sending the lycans to watch and protect as you wander about or looming over you as you explore the factory, it is impossible to escape from his grasp
but his tone is so sweet and his embrace is so warm, why would you want to leave anyway?
