For Serade on Her Birthday

[ceredwensirius]

Title: Author vs. Muses
Author: ceredwensirius
Written For: serade_black
Challenge: Cheering Serade on her birthday
Rating: G
Chracters: Ceredwen, Ceredwen!Hermione, Ceredwen!Sirius, Serade!Hermione, Serade!Sirius, Serade Black
Pairings: Hermione/Sirius
Word Count: 818
Summary: Ceredwen's muses get a little out of hand and then the whole thing goes to hell.
Warning Crack!fic, as in crack smoking on crack!fic
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author's Note: This is what happes when I watch Tim Burton's A Nightmare Before Christmas

How it all got started…

Even before she opened the door, she could hear the argument inside. She thought that was a little strange because it wasn’t a Sunday. With a little pressure from her wrist, the knob turned and she gave the sticky door a slight push to open it. Who was she kidding? He couldn’t be trusted to stay out of her head until Sunday despite the number of times she had asked, even with the other one’s help.

What she didn’t expect to find was a bound and gagged young man sitting tied to a chair with her male muse looming over him with a ridiculous grin on his face, like he’d just baked a cookie and it was all for her.

“What is the meaning of this, Sirius?” she asked of her male muse. She rushed over to help the young man. Her imagination was finally making that fate filled leap into hallucination. She gave a sharp look to her female muse whose head was buried in her hands.

“He’s not real,” he said quickly. “He’s like us, only he belongs to her, the one you wanted to write the biofic for.”

“I don’t understand,” she answered him as she pulled the gag free of the other male muse’s mouth.

“He’s a bloody terrorist!” wheezed the younger looking muse and then coughed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she pulled the blind fold from his eyes.

“Hermione,” he croaked softly as he blinked, his eyes registering a shocked hurt. “Why didn’t you help me?”

“Take him home,” said the author of this ridiculous piece. “I don’t know what you were thinking of when you did this.”

“I’m not your Hermione,” said the female muse, finally standing up and speaking. “I’m trying very hard right now to remember why, but I’m his Hermione. Your Hermione is probably beside herself with worry.”

“Not lately,” grumbled the younger male muse. The amateur author couldn’t see much of a physical resemblance between the two but she was suddenly very aware of the personality similarities. “Won’t even kiss me, bloody stuck up is what she’s become.”

“Now,” said the author tersely. “Before the damage is undoable. Hermione go with him and try to explain things.”

The escalation of matters…

After listening to the argument that had been raging for the last quarter of an hour and with no sign of abatement anytime soon, the author wished dearly for a bullhorn and a whistle. If the two male muses in her living room were in their canine forms she felt certain they would be pissing on the furniture to see who could squirt higher.

The two female muses were completely off topic, keeping their conversation mostly to esoteric points of complicated magic but occasionally dipping into fits of quiet giggles over, shall we say, anatomical comparisons.

“This isn’t working!” said the inexperienced author loudly. “I think its time we say our good byes. I have a few things I need to get done before Sunday rolls around.”

“A quick word, love? Off to the side like?” asked the younger male muse. He was addressing the author but his eyes were trained on the older looking male muse, waiting for his permission. This irritated the author greatly.

“Yes, but make it quick, I’m a busy woman.”

Both of her muses snorted quietly. The older male muse opened his stance slightly, giving his grudging assent. The younger male muse pulled her gently by the wrist into the kitchen and whispered a few words into her ear. His counterpart rushed over quickly and said a few more quiet words and then with a smile, one to the other, they left her to the task they had set.

“Glad that’s over,” huffed the older male muse. “Couldn’t wait for him to leave.”

“I liked her,” said his counterpart. “I think I’ll go write her a letter.”

“Take the night off,” said the amateur author as she opened her laptop. “I’ve got something I need to do.”

“Without me?” asked the astonished male muse. “But how?”

“Run along now,” she insisted as her fingers began to fly along her keyboard. “This won’t take long. Go do something reckless and tortured to amuse yourself.” The male muse scowled at her little smirk.

Where this has all been going…

“Oh Merlin, Sirius! Yes, that… now, just a little harder… ooooo, just like that!”

Serade Black was stretched out on the dingy couch in the employee lounge, her legs across her muses lap and he was giving her the best foot massage of her entire existence.

“Happy Birthday, love,” he cooed to her in a soft purring growl. He threw a sexy wink to his counterpart who sat across from them, studiously knitting away at a blanket that belongs to a story other than this one.

“Yes, Happy Birthday, dear,” she agreed. “Isn’t he just wonderful with his hands?”

~the end

Comments

[serade-black.livejournal.com]

OMG! I adore this! I cannot, just CANNOT thank you enough! Infact, I'm off to PIMP it out, because I'm so incredibly flattered! Just....no words. Thank you!

LOL..just brilliant! And I got the Sirius "I" want!

xoxo many kisses!

[ceredwensirius.livejournal.com]

Oh, you like it! I was worried you wouldn't.
*breaths sigh of relief*

We joke about our muses and I really wanted to write a biofic for you and then the whole thing congealed together into this.