Professor Membrane x Reader

Dead! Membrane x Necromancer! NB! Reader (Fluff)

(Y/N)'s POV

God, this class was a chore. Well, all of them were. But the journalism class at the college I went to, specifically. I was only taking this class because a friend wanted me to.

We had to interview someone we looked up to. And write a report based on the information we learned. It was supposed to be a way to show what we already know.

I asked if we could do someone who was dead, and she allowed it. On the condition we show proof we were with them. How funny. If it weren't a challenge.

That's right. I was determined to do my report on someone dead. Who? Why, the most influential man of all time—Professor Membrane.

But there was an obvious problem. How do you actually interview a dead person and get proof you were with them?

To me the answer was obvious. Necromancy.

I went to the local occult store. I'd never believed in this shit, but it was my best bet. Plus, if all else fails: photoshop.

The girl at the counter was hella cute. Who knew all the cuties worked at the occult stores? The girl and I talked, and I found out her name was Penelope. We then flirted for a bit, and I somehow secured a date.

But first I needed to raise the dead. Priorities, people.

I got a dagger, candles, and a book.

I looked in the book for the right ritual, and found out I needed the fresh blood of an animal on the knife. I'm an animal, right? Technically I am. While I didn't like the idea of cutting myself, it was going to be worth it.

Soon, I went over to the burial site. It was the only one on the hill. The trek up left me tired. But it was time to do this.

I was prepared. But not ready.

I slit the back of my arm with the ritual knife and pressed it to the raised ground. Once a good amount of blood was soaked into the dirt, I tried to bandage the cut up. I didn't do a good job, but it was enough to stop the bleeding.

Funny enough, if you just say what you want to happen in Latin, hold any occult book and a bloody dagger, and get some gold colored candles, it will happen.

Because sure enough when I began chanting, it began to storm. And that was NOT in today's forecast. I continued with my unholy chant.

"Unum, quod fuerit abiit
resurget post longa
quod tempus habet, diminutae
revertetur, et morari"

The rain one by one put out the candles. Spooky. But expected.

The ground shifted. Almost like it was being disturbed from underneath. Bingo. I peered over the candles and looked closer at the burial site.

Suddenly a laser shot up from the ground. I stumbled backwards. A gloved hand rose from the earth. My eyes widened and I smiled.

I did it. I raised the dead. I'm. Amazing.

As I cheered and hollered, the hand clawed at the ground, trying to pull the body up. Another hand sprouted from the opening in the dirt. It pushed apart the ground until there was a wide hole.

The sound of an engine sputtering to life was heard, and as I looked up, I saw him. He was floating above the grave. I forgot he was buried with his rocket shoes.

"Dónde soy?" He was talking. Oh my god. He was actually talking. "¿Quien es usted?"

"Holy shit, you're actually conscious," I blurted out.

"¡Ey! ¡Lenguaje! ¿Y por qué no estaría?"

I stared at him. "Do you not...speak English?" I put my hand on my chin. "Coulda sworn you did..."