#vitimir toh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honey-climb · 4 months

Text

It'll be a Ball

Characters: Hettie Cutburn (Healing Coven Head)/Vitimir (Potions Coven Head)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Requited love, Idiots in love, Crushes, Mild Gore (in reference to the vague description of a cadaver in the third bit), but that's what romance is really all about: unethical experiments with the girl you crush on, also non-sexual putting your fingers in someone's mouth

Word count: 5k

Description:

The royal ball looms close as Vitimir struggles to ask Hettie out.

Read on AO3!

So absorbed in his work sitting at his desk, Vitimir found it easier than usual to block out all external stimulus. He focused on his piles of papers and notes and his various tubes and beakers, all displaying different colours. As he scanned an ancient text, the margins rotten and frayed, he ignored the consistent knocking at his office door.

If it were a real emergency, his unwanted guest would soon give up and find a more readily available headwitch. Vitimir exchanged the text for a small tin, which he carefully unscrewed the cap of. Beautifully fragrant dried herbs greeted him.

Beyond him, the office door opened. Sturdy footsteps entered, annoying Vitimir, but not enough to make him glance up.

“Headwitch Vitimir? Coven Scout Captain reporting, by direct order of Emperor Belos.”

Heavy boots crossed the floor, kicking and crinkling papers as they went.

Vitimir stayed focused on his work. He pinched a thimbleful of the herbs between two black painted nails. He assessed his selection with narrowed eyes, before bringing them over the lip of a tall beaker holding bright blue liquid.

A soft parcel dropped on the desk. His focus broken at last, Vitimir paused and glanced up.

“...Whassthis?” Vitimir mumbled, hardly offering the Captain his entire attention.

The Captain crossed their arms. They glared down at Vitimir with an almost bored distaste behind their mask.

“A formal invitation from Emperor Belos. He’s hosting a ball and inviting the Isles.”

That caught more of Vitimir’s attention. He pinched his brows together, snarling softly underneath his scarf and wide brimmed hat. He retracted his hand and returned the herbs to their tin. Only a small portion of a leaf fell into the beaker.

“I don’t have time for this. No one does.” Vitimir huffed. As the herb collided with the liquid, the potion boiled and exploded with a puff of bitter smelling smoke. Unfazed, Vitimir grumbled, “At least those of us who do work around here, anyway.”

The Captain coughed and waved their hand in front of their mask. Once the air cleared, they leaned forward to tap the envelope on Vitimir’s desk.

“Read the invite. You’ll find that attendance is mandatory, Headwitch. Failure to comply will lead to punishment at Emperor Belos’ discretion.”

The practiced, almost monotonous edge to the Captain’s voice lead Vitimir to believe that they’d already recited this part a few different times. Vitimir wondered how many headwitches also expressed a similar distaste to the frivolity.

Annoyed as he was, Vitimir still snatched the envelope from his desk. He hooked his nail under the seal and ripped it methodically open.

“What a waste of time...” Vitimir uttered.

The Captain shrugged. They cleared their throat loudly. “You said it, not me. But he wants all the headwitches there to leave a good impression.”

Vitimir scanned the text of the letter. Fancily typed on crisp paper, with a golden boarder and the Emperor’s Coven sigil stamped on it. All Vitimir saw in it, despite its beauty, was a shitty work party chock-full of awkward, unavoidable social interactions and small talk. If Vitimir wanted to endure such torture, he’d check himself into the dungeon with Warden Wrath, or head to Terra’s for high tea.

“...If you want my opinion,” the Captain said, having dropped the more formal edge to their voice. Vitimir casted them a curious, narrowed eye glance. “Treat it like a day off. Drink. Be merry. Invite a date to share it with.” The Captain shrugged again. “Why not? If the old fart is forcing you to be there, you might as well make the most of it.”

“Rrrrr,” Vitimir mumbled. Under his scarf, his cheeks flushed a hot teal. “I got it. Yer dismissed.”

The Captain gave a half-hearted stance and salute to Vitimir, before they turned and left.

A quick glance to the clock, and Vitimir grumbled to himself again. “Rrrrr.” Clearing his desk entirely was not an option; Vitimir arranged everything important into a pile and swept them up. Awkwardly he balanced a fine collection of papers and glass potion bottles in his arms. Then he exited his office, crinkling the same discarded papers that the Captain had on the way in.

Vitimir crept through the halls, accompanied only by the sound of his clicking talons and his thoughts.

Invite a date... The thought made Vitimir’s mouth dry. What was he, a schoolboy? There was no time for dating or social mingling while you were the headwitch of a coven. He had more important things to worry about, and beside—who would lower themself enough to want to go with him, anyway?

Vitimir would say that his friends were few and far between. His rough exterior and lack of social skills often left him isolated, which was fine, Vitimir enjoyed that mostly. He was close with a handful of witches under him in the Potions coven, but nothing like that . He wasn’t even sure if that would be allowed. As far as people outside the coven, that was a bust, same for the other covenheads.

But then again, there was Hettie Cutburn.

Vitimir flushed thinking about her.

They were... Close. Close enough, anyway. They spoke before and after meetings quite often, and Hettie had recruited Vitimir’s help on a personal project she worked on during their downtime. Could he consider her a friend? He’d hesitate to say it aloud first, but inside he felt it.

Maybe he even felt something a little bit more than just ‘friendship’, too.

Vitimir couldn’t entirely explain it. Hettie was beautiful, but the word didn’t seem to do her enough justice. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of her being. She was tall, broad, impossibly strong—yet graceful and precise while holding a scalpel and forceps. She had an unexpectedly light and melodic voice, even when reading off the clinical symptoms of Chlamydia. Her smile , so bright and brazen while she worked at stitching up a fellow’s massive abdominal cavity wound.

The halls Vitimir crept opened up into a large lobby of sorts. A group of witches stood by chatting. However, lost deep in thought, Vitimir saw little except the carpeted floor in front of him.

The word ‘love’ felt like an iron weight tugging Vitimir’s tongue down into his stomach. What he experienced towards Hettie had to be different—admiration, probably. Infatuation most certainly. But how could you not be completely absorbed in her while she commanded a roomful of surgeons like an army general with her squadron—

Vitimir’s talon caught on the slightly ruffled rug underfoot. He stumbled and pitched forward with a startled yelp.

Reality came crashing back then as hard and violent as the castle floor. Vitimir’s knees and elbows took the brunt of the fall, graciously saving his long nose. However, the scrolls bounded everywhere and the potions shattered as they evaded Vitimir’s grasp. A thick cloud of noxious smoke arose from the broken jars, enveloping him.

Disoriented, Vitimir coughed. The fumes, though he tried not to breathe them in, made his head spin. Above the cloud rose the sound of snickering laughter from various voices. Vitimir’s heart sunk, embarrassment lighting inside him.

Suddenly he truly did feel like a schoolboy again, lost in the halls, desperately trying to find his way while the popular kids laughed at him. Strange, awkward Vitimir, who fell flat on his face.

With his mind rushing, Vitimir dug into his pocket for a potion of invisibility; at least then he could escape with some dignity.

Then a voice—a beautiful, light, familiar voice—scolded, “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

A hand parted through the potion smoke. It stretched out towards Vitimir, clad in a white disposable glove. Vitimir almost choked on his breath.

Hettie’s face came shortly into view, emerging through the smoke as though she were an angelic vision. She pursed her lips together into a worried frown, the only part of her expression visible through her uniform.

“Are you alright, Vit?”

Faced with this towering beauty, Vitimir eloquently responded with a noise as though the air was being let out of him. “Aaarrg.”

“Excuse me?” Hettie asked, tilting her head.

Vitimir’s face exploded into a bright teal blush.

The potion cloud dissipated. Hettie stared confused and worried at Vitimir, thinking perhaps that he’d hit his head. Vitimir stared back like it was his first time seeing another witch. Beyond them, the small gaggle of previously-scolded Healing Coven witches stared just as baffled, sporting various degrees of amusement.

Words continued to evade Vitimir. “Er,” was the only sound he could make. Though, in an act of mercy from the Titan, Vitimir’s body moved. He reached out and gingerly took Hettie’s gloved hand. Nerves sparked through him as her fingers clasped around his. She pulled him back up onto his feet like he weighed nothing; Vitimir feared that his weak knees might give out under him. Thankfully, they stayed intact.

“Err... Thank you.” Vitimir finally managed to mumble.

For a long second their hands stayed clasped. When Vitimir realized, he flushed even hotter and quickly took his hand back.

“You’re welcome.” Hettie replied. She gave a smile—that big, beautiful smile that made Vitimir want to melt. “Be more careful next time. You could hurt yourself being so clumsy.”

Hettie reached out. Vitimir flinched on instinct; she gently took the brim of Vitimir’s crooked hat and adjusted it. Satisfied, she grinned wider.

“I don’t want to see you in my office with a broken nose any time soon. Especially not before Belos’ ball.”

The ball. Oh, damn, the ball. Vitimir’s head spun.

Hettie was right here, he could invite her now. It could be so easy. He just needed to move his lips, and say the words.

But he stayed silent. No sound would escape. Even when Hettie knelt down and began collecting his discarded things, Vitimir couldn’t move. He was petrified in place. Chewing on sand would have been more pleasant than how he felt now.

“Speaking of,” Hettie continued. She placed the scrolls into Vitimir’s arms. “Are you planning to invite anyone with you?”

Vitimir’s heart rate spiked into full-on panic. Sweat poured down his ashy skin.

Say the words! Now! Now, Vitimir! Say them!

“I’mnotsure,” is what Vitimir said instead. He hesitated. “Ihavetogo. Goodbye.”

Vitimir hightailed it out of there before the embarrassment could get any worse. Hettie didn’t try to stop him—perhaps too stunned to speak then—and only watched as Vitimir ran, followed by the giggles of the Healing Coven behind him.

Once he was far enough away, Vitimir found a secure supply closet, locked himself inside, and screamed into his scarf until his voice was hoarse.

—30—

It took a fair amount of internal back and forth, but eventually Vitimir decided that he would try to ask Hettie out again. With more preparation this time, surely he could do it.

Slinking through the Healing Coven sector of the castle, Vitimir followed closely behind the Healer who greeted him at the front. The walls were a sanitized white tile all around and smelled faintly of bleach. Vitimir needed to squint to tolerate the bright lights.

“Headwitch Cutburn has mentioned you,” the Healer said. She walked with her hands suspended at her chest and lightly clasped. She had a sharp, unnerving smile. “You come up in conversation every now and again, I mean. I reckon it’s about time that you came to see us.”

“Rrr.” Vitimir mumbled. He tugged down the brim of his hat, hoping to block out the worst of the light. “Only good things, I hope.”

The Healer tilted her head back and forth slightly, then she turned her wide smile to Vitimir. With her eyes covered, her smile had no warmth; if anything, she looked like a snake that was preparing to swallow its prey whole. Vitimir bristled slightly.

“Good things? Yes. Yes, you could say that.”

Then she turned away again, leaving Vitimir with more questions than answers. Before he could ask any of them, the Healer swept up to a door. She knocked thrice in rapid succession, then let herself in.

“Headwitch Cutburn?” She practically sang. “I brought your next patient for his physical, the Potions headwitch.”

Vitimir poked around the Healer like a child peeking through his mother’s legs.

Hettie’s office was meticulous, the polar opposite to his own. The floors sparkled; the walls were clean and sparse with a few framed documents. Cabinets were lined with floating organs and specimens in murky jars, all neatly labelled. Her desk was tidy with decorative models displaying the inner workings of a witch’s anatomy.

And then behind it all sat Hettie. She glanced up at the Healer’s words, her square shoulders jumping. A pause, and then she grinned widely.

“Excellent. Thank you, Viridiana.”

The Healer flashed Hettie a thumbs-up, then disappeared again through the door, leaving Vitimir suspended there awkwardly. He jolted as the door slammed shut behind him.

Hettie swept her hand out, motioning Vitimir in.

“Hello, Vit. Come in. Don’t be shy.” She flashed him a smile. “I don’t bite.”

Vitimir’s weak knees shuffled forward. He deposited himself into a stiff plastic chair across from the desk.

“Did you forget that your physical was today, Vitimir?” Hettie flipped open a file. She scanned it briefly, tracing her fingers over the pages.

“Err, not exactly—”

“I hope you weren’t trying to avoid me.”

Hettie gave him a teasing smile. To it, Vitimir’s heart skipped a beat. He thought he might choke on his tongue as his cheeks went aflame.

He buried his face into his scarf and curled up slightly in the uncomfortable chair. “No. No. Busy, busy, always busy—”

“You work too hard.” Hettie commented. She snapped the file shut, before setting it aside. “You need to slow down once in a while. What good is a coven without their headwitch?”

She rose and came around the desk.

Sweat pooled on Vitimir’s brow and his palms. Hettie towered over him normally, and now sitting he felt positively puny. Frozen in place, all he could do was stare.

“Could you remove your hat for me?”

Vitimir swallowed the words stuck in his throat. With a shaking hand, he pulled off his hat and laid it across his lap. Hettie snapped her gloves on, then descended upon Vitimir. She smiled with all her teeth—a beautiful sight as far as Vitimir was concerned. His heart thundered like a storm.

“Thank you,” Hettie said. She leaned in, Vitimir held his breath. Her hands slid over his jaw, cupping it. Her fingers were so cold that they practically burned against his hot skin. “You’re my favourite patient, Vit. Don’t tell anyone.”

She gently squeezed his jaw and the side of his neck. Vitimir let out a pathetic, trailing breath. “I won’t.”

Hettie chuckled, and it made Vitimir want to melt. She slipped her hands down Vitimir’s throat, pressing gently, to feel his pulse. Under his touch, Vitimir could literally feel his nerve slipping away. He couldn’t ask Hettie to the ball. There was no way. She’d laugh and spit on him, or worse, he’d ruin everything. He’d make things weird. She’d never want to be seen with him again.

“...Vit?”

Vitimir offered a strangled noise hardly audible through his dry mouth. “Errrryes?”

“Your heart rate is spiked. Are you feeling alright?”

This type of closeness was one seldom experienced. Actually, Vitimir felt like he’d die if Hettie ever took her hands off him. He wished he could crawl into her arms and never leave.

Instead, Vitimir said, “YesI’mfine.”

Hettie hummed. She pursed her lips together. “Alright. Let me know if you’re uncomfortable. Open your mouth for me, please?”

Quivering, Vitimir pulled down his face covering. He tilted his head back and unfurled his jaw.

“Good. Beautiful.” Hettie said approvingly.

Vitimir’s heart slammed. He squeezed his eyes shut as Hettie examined his mouth. The taste of latex lay heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t do this. He would have to risk petrification from Belos and miss the ball, he couldn’t invite Hettie. Unless she could miraculously read his mind now as she methodically counted each of his teeth, he couldn’t do it.

“Everything looks good so far,” Hettie hummed, obliviously examining his sharp teeth. “I’m impressed.”

“Th’nk yew.” Vitimir slurred around Hettie’s fingers.

“But I have to ask again if something’s wrong,” Hettie continued. She moved further into Vitimir’s mouth. Vitimir locked his jaw as to not bite her on instinct. “You’re sure you’re feeling alright? No new illness or symptoms?” Hettie pried Vitimir’s jaw open wider, earning a moan of discomfort. “It doesn’t hurt to come visit me before self-medicating with your potions.”

Vitimir could barely think over his racing heart. Feelings boiled under his skin and through his throat as though he were going to explode. Or vomit. Even then that might be less embarrassing than what he was about to do. If he could just put his mind to it, say the words, move his mouth—

“Achsually,” Vitimir slurred around Hettie’s fingers. He couldn’t believe he managed to do it. Holy shit. His stomach churned itself into knots. “I’s won’ring— about th’ ball—”

In that same moment of bravery, Hettie’s office door flew open. The Healer from before appeared in the doorway. Both Vitimir and Hettie flicked their eyes to her.

Dark stains stretched across her robes and gloves. She seemed noticeably more dishevelled than before, her strange smile more strained.

“Headwitch Cutburn— I’m sorry,” the Healer said in a rush. “We’re having kind of an issue out here—”

A scream rang out, followed by a crash and clamouring. Alarmed voices cried out.

Hettie scowled. She removed her fingers from Vitimir’s mouth and leaned back.

“You all can’t be on your own for five minutes.” Hettie sighed. She snapped off her gloves and discarded them aside. “I’m sorry, Vit. I need to deal with this.”

Vitimir almost curled up in a ball on the chair. Any nerve and bravery seeped out of his pores and pooled on the floor beneath him. His voice tumbled out of his mouth like an overfilled cup, “‘Sokay.”

“You don’t need to stay. We’ll reschedule and pick up where we left off later.”

As Hettie went to leave, Vitimir sadly unravelled his gangly limbs. He slumped off the chair, feeling utterly defeated. Then Hettie paused suddenly by the door, turning back to look at him.

“...What were you going to say, by the way?”

Vitimir’s skin crawled with gooseflesh. He shivered from the base of his skull down to his tailbone.

“Nothing. Nothing important.” Vitimir squeaked.

Hettie looked at him for an agonizingly long moment. Vitimir wished he could see her eyes, and discern what she was thinking; based on her lips set in a straight line, Vitimir imagined that she didn’t believe him for a moment. Or she found him revolting and insane.

Instead of voicing any of these concerns, Hettie frowned briefly, then forced a more neutral expression.

“Well. Okay. I’ll see you again before long, won’t I?”

She quirked her lips into a half smile, which Vitimir imagined would suffice as a wink. It had the same effect on him; a hot wave washed over him as he nodded dumbly.

“As always.”

Once Hettie disappeared, leaving Vitimir alone in the office, he bit down on his tongue and did everything in his power not to scream.

—30—

There’s only so much that one witch can withstand. After multiple failed attempts at asking Hettie to the ball, Vitimir had relinquished to the fact that he might never succeed. He would risk either a horrific night at the ball or a petrification. Whatever. As is Vitimir’s miserable life.

At least sitting in the small hut on the outskirts of the Emperor’s castle, Vitimir could forget his troubles. Instead he was able to put his focus on Hettie, her project, and the dead, partially dissected body stretched out on an examination table. By the low light he forgot himself, and his plight, and cared only for his task of administering an adrenaline potion into a cadaver while Hettie carefully stimulated the heart and lungs.

“...So the emperor’s ball is in a few days,” Hettie commented. She was dressed down in only her robes, missing her face covering. Vitimir hardly ever saw her murky white eyes and her exposed, towering horns, but he tried not to draw attention to it.

Vitimir nodded sagely. Perspiration collected on his brow just below the brim of his hat. He didn’t need that reminder. “So it is.”

“What do you make of that?”

Only Hettie Cutburn could make small talk while she was wrist deep in the chest cavity of a cadaver.

Vitimir tilted his head side to side. Carefully he pressed down on a button which administered a slow drip of potion into the cadaver.

“...It’s a waste of time and resources,” Vitimir finally said. As his thumb reached the applicator, he waited a moment, before switching out the tube with a fresh one. “I became a headwitch to do something with myself, not waste my time at... Rr...”

Vitimir snapped his free fingers as he struggled to find the right word. Without looking up from her methodical massages, Hettie offered, “A glorified office party?”

“Ah. Precisely.”

“Maybe we ought to spike the punch. Make things more interesting.”

Vitimir’s heart skipped a little beat. His thumb almost slipped on the applicator, though he quickly restrained himself. The presence of the ‘we’ in that sentence implied that he and Hettie would be there together, right? Or maybe Hettie meant the general, royal ‘we’. After all, they were colleagues. Nothing else. He shouldn’t make those types of assumptions, least he disappoint himself down the line.

Hettie sunk her hands deeper into the cadaver. Vitimir watched with almost envy; he wished Hettie would reach into his own chest and massage his heart as tenderly as she did with the corpse. Metaphorically or literally. He would trust her with any of his important organs.

“You know, Vit, speaking of—”

The corpse jostled.

Vitimir jolted in his seat, snapping back to full attention. For a moment he assumed that they were making progress, but then came a hissing sound from inside the body.

Hettie gasped and wretched back. Sizzling green acid bubbled across her hand.

“Balls. Shit. Fuck.”

The short, downy feathers on the back of Vitimir’s neck stood straight. A shudder pricked through his body as he leapt up from his stool.

“Hettie? What happened?”

Hettie shook her head as she quickly peeled off her steaming rubber gloves. “Damn. Damn.” She flung the offending gloves into a corner, where they proceeded to melt into the floor. She rushed for a sink on the other side of the operating table. “I thought I got all the acid sack out before. Sloppy.” She stuck her hand under the running faucet and hissed.

“Rinse it and let me see.”

“I told you, I’m fine. It doesn’t feel deep—”

“With all due respect,” Vitimir said firmly, surprising even himself. “You wash yer hands about a thousand times a day. You can’t feel almost anything. It could be worse than you think. Please, Hettie. Let me check it.”

Hettie paused to that. So used to wearing her Healing Coven face covering perhaps, she offered little to no outward expression. She stared at Vitimir, giving only a small twitch to her brow. But after a long moment she scoffed and smiled.

“Fine. Come here.”

Vitimir shivered again from head to talon. He slunk around the table to Hettie. Part of him wanted to apologize for being so stern with Hettie just then, but the other part knew that her stubbornness wouldn’t respond to anything else.

Hettie sucked in a breath as she held out her hand. Vitimir took it with all the care he had in his body.

Any other time, he would be thrilled for the opportunity to touch and hold Hettie’s hand; now, all he could focus on was her well-being. He turned her hand over, presenting her palm. Vitimir frowned. Hettie hissed.

A large acid burn ate up the majority of Hettie’s palm. Her white skin had been turned an angry red, fit with forming raw blisters.

“Ugh,” Hettie uttered.

Vitimir shook his head in grim agreement. “No good.”

Cupping her hand in one, Vitimir dug into his pocket with the other. Hettie tipped her head to the side as he produced and uncorked a potion. He shook a generous glob of thick, viscous liquid out onto Hettie’s open and waiting palm.

Immediately on contact, she jumped and hissed, “Ah! Fuck!”

“Sorry. Stings.”

“No shit.” Hettie laughed tensely.

Vitimir flushed teal at the sound. Oh, Titan, her laugh was so beautiful it hurt. He pocketed the bottle again, and carefully worked the tincture into her wound

Hettie watched as though transfixed.

“You know, I’m grateful to have you, Vitimir. Really.”

He shivered. “Rrr. It’s nothing, really. An aloe-mineral-witch hazel mixture... With a twist not yet approved by the Potions Coven.”

Hettie cracked a smile, even laughed a bit. Vitimir rubbed slow methodical circles into her palm.

“But it should help. It’ll moisturize the burnt skin and promote healing in the tissues.”

Hettie cleared her throat. “Vitimir...”

“If you left this, it would’ve gotten infected. Ya never know what type of bacteria’s gotta live in the acid sack.”

“Listen, Vit...”

“Yer a doctor and you take care of others, but you gotta take care of yourself too, yaknow—”

“Will you go to the ball with me?” Hettie blurted out.

Vitimir responded initially with stunned silence. He paused full bodily and stared at Hettie bewildered. Then he muttered, “Errrrwhat.”

Hettie exhaled heavily. A grin overtook her lips. “Oh, Titan, I’ve been trying to get that out for days .” She laughed, then, so casually. Too casually. Vitimir meanwhile felt like he was going to explode.

“What.” Vitimir said again.

“There’s never been a good time, and you’re so busy—”

“Youwanttogototheballwithme.”

Hettie grinned wider, displaying all of her straight teeth. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Vitimir short-circuited. His brain became a collapsing supernova inside his skull. So blindsided by this statement that he actually forgot he was holding Hettie’s hand so tenderly in his own, gently clasping her palm. He forgot to think about how cold her hands were, yet so incredibly comforting and soft. He actually forgot to blink, too, leaving him only to stare blankly at Hettie.

“I. Rrr.”

Hettie’s smile faltered. It edged closer to worry than relief.

“Oh. It’s alright if you don’t want to go. Together, I mean. I just thought, well...” Hettie’s fingers flexed in Vitimir’s hand. “I guess you know what they say about assuming—”

Vitimir’s heart leapt up into his throat. He thought he’d choke, but it squeezed out a string of words instead.

“I’dlovetogowithyou.” Vitimir said in a rush. Then, after a pitiful inhale, he clarified, “To the ball. If you’d have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you, you silly bird man.”

Hettie did the unthinkable. She leaned in over their clasped hands, ignorant to how Vitimir flinched out of habit.

She laid a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips were cold, though quickly Vitimir’s face turned ablaze up to his ears.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, too.” She admitted.

Vitimir stammered nonsense for a long moment as his stunned tongue tried to remember how to move. Hettie looked at him with her murky white eyes, waiting and smiling patiently.

“So you... I... Err... Have I been missing something?”

“Yes. You have.” Hettie found a piece of Vitimir’s long hair and twirled it around her finger. “You’re painfully oblivious.”

“Oh.” Vitimir hesitated. “I’ve been. This past week. I. Have also been trying to... Ask you out.”

Hettie stopped. Her lips parted. “You’re kidding.”

Vitimir shook his head.

“Oh my Titan...” Her lips split with a grin. “We’re both oblivious.”

Something clicked to Vitimir then. He realized—he didn’t understand. He thought that everything was so black and white, that he knew exactly how the world worked and spun. But it wasn’t true. Vitimir had gotten in his own way believing that Hettie was above him, too good to even consider dating his weird, awkward self, when this entire time she had been trying to ask him the same thing. The thought rocked him, incomprehensible, bubbling up through his stomach and his throat...

Vitimir laughed. A chuckle at first, scratchy and strange, as though the sound was foreign to him. Then he lost control of it, and it got louder, until he was laughing like he’d been told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

At it, Hettie’s expression lit up. She raised her brows, eyes bright, and grinned. She laughed with him.

“Whaddya say we sew this fellow back up an’ retire for the night?” Vitimir’s own brashness shocked him. But fuelled by Hettie’s beautiful smile and her eyes, he felt like he could do anything.

“Let’s.” Hettie stood straight, grabbing a roll of gauze from her collection of things from the sink to wrap her hand. “Can we go get some food? I’m starving.”

Vitimir’s heart lay full and bright inside his chest, and he couldn’t stop his crooked smile. He knew then that he’d follow Hettie Cutburn to the end of the world if she asked him to.

“I’d love that.”

#the owl house #toh #toh fanfic #hettie cutburn #Vitimir toh #this one was written for my bestie for his birthday slash christmas #and the mother fucker had me convinced that this was a popular ship beforehand #Hettimir

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