The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Ghosts of White Day


The ghost of white days past said to Chuuya, “Chuuya is all work and no play. You need to get some good, sweet loving, find a nice felinoid girl and settle down.”

And Chuuya said, “Fuck that, I get plenty of play.”

“We were trying to be polite,” said the ghost. “You need to get laid.”

“Fuck off,” Chuuya repeated, tail twitching irritably, ears laid flat. Chuuya was always irritable this time of year, with those obvious signs of impending heat, but no one was about to say so and end up a depression in a new crater.

The ghost sighed and said, “Behold!” And the scene dissolved into a vision of the past.

Specifically, the first time Dazai got goo goo eyes at Chuuya around white day and Chuuya nailed him to the floor with a fist, then stomped on him. Hard. Unfortunately, craters were right out since Dazai was immune to For the Tainted Sorrow.

The vision faded.

“Your point?” Chuuya demanded.

The ghost sighed again. “Will you remain forever lonely and unclaimed?” Its tail twitched and ears drooped sorrowfully. “Cats are not meant to live alone.”

Chuuya made a very rude gesture and the ghost disappeared, muttering sad disappointed things to itself.

The ghost of white days present said to Chuuya, “If you don’t want Dazai, you should find yourself a nice catgirl and settle down.”

Chuuya just glared.

This ghost was smaller and nicer and at least seemed to care about the fact that Chuuya had no intention of embarrassing himself with Dazai. Again.

Oh yes, dear reader. Once upon a time in a scene the ghost of white days past wisely refrained from exhibiting, Chuuya was a very irritable catboy in heat that had punched Dazai into the floor just hours before. But later, he was growling and hot and horny and still quite irritable and Dazai was altogether too amused when he allowed Chuuya to punch him into the floor with his dick instead of his fist. Three days later, when Chuuya’s senses returned, he punched Dazai again and spent his next heat shut up in a vacation home more than a hundred miles away from the bandaged bastard.

“But you can’t keep getting through heats with just a dildo,” the ghost of white days present told him.

“Watch me.”

“It’s not really working,” the ghost added. “That’s why you’re so miserable and irritable afterward too.”

Chuuya growled and didn’t answer.

“Besides,” the ghost pointed out, “it’s bad karma to not return a valentine.”

The scene dissolved into a vision of Dazai on his futon in his own place, feet kicking back and forth as he poked disconsolately at what was left of the big bag of chocolates he’d used to give a nicely arranged box of to Chuuya. Which couldn’t have been Dazai’s idea. Or at least not with anything good in mind. Dazai’s idea of gift-giving left much to be desired.

But anyway, it was a month later and Chuuya, as in years past, had sent no response at all.

“I hate you,” he told the ghost.

“Yes,” the ghost agreed impassively.

The ghost of white days future was the nicest dressed and most formal of the lot.Chuuya was not pleased to see the ghost.

“Your future will be lonely if you don’t find yourself a partner.”

“I had a partner,” Chuuya said. “It didn’t go so well.”

It went great, by Mori’s standards, until the shitty bastard had betrayed them all, but Chuuya had never been particular impressed.

The scene dissolved and a disconsolate Dazai was lying beautifully in a coffin, and for once, Chuuya didn’t even wait for the ghost to finish. “He’s trying to die and my letting him fuck me isn’t going to have a single effect on that.” Chuuya’s ears were flat and his hackles up.

The ghost merely raised an eyebrow. It waved and Chuuya could see himself, miserable in heat, no one around and cursing Dazai under his breath for dying.

“Lonely,” said the ghost. “You don’t really want a nice catgirl to settle down with.”

“Maybe I do!” Chuuya slammed the door behind him as he went out into the evening, away from the ghosts.

Dazai wasn’t so smug this time when he ended up with a lapful of Chuuya in heat, and thank every spirit that mattered (which did not include the three ghosts of white day), he got with the program quickly because Chuuya was impatient and wanted right now and wasn’t shy about digging his claws into Dazai’s shoulders, his teeth into Dazai’s neck, and shredding every bandage he got his hands on.

By the time the first wave ebbed, Dazai’s bewilderment had been neatly put away and he looked too confident and please with himself.

“You shouldn’t buy cheap chocolates from the grocery store and pack them in a nice box,” Chuuya told him. “I can tell.”

“It worked,” Dazai pointed out.

“It did not. I was harried here by ghosts.”

Dazai looked properly consternated for a moment and that made it worth it to hand such potential ammunition over as any belief they were fated for a relationship. Then Dazai broke out laughing and Chuuya had to roll over and shut him up with a mouthful of fur.


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