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phantomdoofer · 7 months

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Una nuova vita

Walking up the stairs, Sergio wrung the sweat from his mustache. Mio Dio, what a day. First his day job in construction had run long - there had been another accident, and only Sergio's extreme speed had prevented deaths. I told him again and again that crane was about to break. As it was, the clean-up had taken much longer than expected, because his boss was too busy trying to blame them for his mistakes. The word of some immigrant nobody doesn't mean much, though. It wasn't like he wasn't trying. He and Margherita were both working towards the citizenship test, but that cost money. And with the bambino on the way, we have to be careful.

Then, when he arrived at his night school, his teacher had been totally unforgiving of his lateness. "Sergio, if you want to be a chef, you must be better than this. It must be your life," he had said. Oh yes, he thought sullenly, all of us are famous retired chefs with all the time in the world, you don't have a family to raise... he quashed that line of thinking. He knows, Sergio, he knows. But he cannot show favoritism. Some of the other students would take advantage.

He sighed, and fumbled for the key to their little apartment with tired fingers. One day, we'll have more than this. He quietly opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. He turned and shuffled down the tiny hallway to their common room. He was a large man, and the apartment was tiny to him.

He saw Margherita sitting in the recliner, looking tired. Despite being pregnant, she was working hard too - they couldn't afford not to. She moved to get up and greet him - she was not showing much yet, but she was so tiny it already shifted her weight.

"No, no, amore mio, siediti e riposati." He gently pushed her back into the chair, then leaned to kiss her forehead. The chair was sized for him, and the tiny woman was engulfed in it. But it was the only comfortable chair in the house. "How was-a your day?"

She sighed. "I found out today they offer leave for mothers. The other women told me. The supervisor said they were surprised I had not already put in a request. It even offers pay!"

Grazie a Dio per quello. "Good. I was-a worried how we would support ourselves while you took care of the bambino. I know your-a friends have offered, but..."

She smiled. "I know. You worry too much, Sergio." She patted his hand. "People take care of people."

He reached out and gently caressed her belly with a large hand. "I know. But I can't-a help it. We came-a here seeking a new life, away from your family... and-a their ways." He frowned. They had not approved of her marriage to a poor commoner. They had tried to hide her, but she had broken free, reached him, and they had left for a new home. "I can't-a help but worry. We have no support here. What if something-a happens to me at the workplace? Or to you?" He leaned on the arm of the chair; it creaked alarmingly.

She punched him in the arm. "Sergio Spaghetti, fermare. We will make it. One way or the other. Besides, it's not like you aren't working hard to improve yourself. How was school?"

He smirked despite himself. "Bene. It seems I did-a inherit the family talent. The insegnante is harsh, but I have-a done everything he asks and he can find no fault. His nipote Bruno is-a so jealous." He laughed. "Despite only being five. That one will-a be something else, I can tell you. Better already than-a some of the students. But proud. His nonno chastises him constantly." He shrugged. "The final test is-a next week, and the insegnante told me privately he expects me to have-a no problems. He's already put in word for me at one of his restaurants, a pizzeria." He rubbed his wife's belly again. "That boy makes me wonder how this one will turn out."

She smiled. "We'll know soon enough, Sergio. In time." She struggled up from the chair. "Come. I made some spaghetti for us. I know how you like it."

He smiled. After pizza, it was his favorite food. "You know me so well."

She laughed, the sound dancing in his heart and lifting it up like nothing else. "Of course! I wouldn't have run away with you if I didn't want to spend my life with you!" She punched him in the arm again, too hard.

He rubbed the spot. She was small, but she hit like a truck. "Dolcemente, donna, dolcemente! I need that for work," He laughed.

Laughing together, they sat to eat. It's not much yet, he thought, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

~~~~

"Oy! Sergio! You got a phone call!" one of the other pizzaiolo called.

Sergio quickly put down the crust he was tossing and dusted his hands. "Sto arrivando!" He picked up the phone. "Pronto!"

Margherita's voice answered, calm and tense at once. "It's time, Sergio. The contractions have begun."

His stomach clenched and fluttered and tossed all at once. He tried not to panic. Oh Mio Dio! "I'll-a be-a there at once, amore mio!" He hung up the phone.

His boss was standing behind him. "The contractions have begun, I assume?" He grinned. "Don't worry about here. Go, man, go!"

"Grazie, signore, grazie!" He quickly whipped off his apron and hat, hung them on their hook, grabbed his effects, and dashed out the door. He was halfway down the block before he realized he'd taken off on foot, instead of taking the car. He skidded as he turned around, blazing back at inhuman speeds, jumped into the vehicle, and took off as fast as he could. Stupido, stupido! Did you intend to carry her to the hospital in your arms? While he had inherited his family's signature speed, he only had normal human strength, and while above average, Margherita was much stronger than him due to her family's own talents. If the bambino inherits both our talents, we'll have to keep him in a concrete crib!

He screeched to a stop outside their apartment. Margherita was already waiting, looking remarkably composed for a woman in labor. She's always been the strong one.

She opened the door, handed him her bag, and got in. "Grazie, Sergio, we must hurry. My water has already broken."

Tha ratcheted his anxiety up several more levels. Oh Mio Dio, it could be any moment! He threw the car in gear and headed to the hospital.

~~~~

Sergio struggled to get on the scrubs he'd been given. They were designed for someone a bit less... weighty. But they wouldn't allow him into the birthing room without them. He understood, but he was frustrated. They could arrive any second! I want - I have to be there! He hopped on one leg, growling as he restrained his temper, muttering a string of virulent Italian curses under his breath at the scrubs' designer. He wanted to just shove his foot through the damn thing and be done, tear or no. It was caught on his shoe. He finally managed to work the foot through, and Sergio practically broke through the wall to get into the delivery room.

Margherita was already well along, her face covered in sweat. She groaned as she pushed. He rushed to her side, engulfing her tiny hand in his. "Amore mio, cosa hai bisogno che io faccia?"

She turned and tried to smile, but it became a wince of pain. "They're almost here, amore mio. Just... hold my hand."

He nodded. She focused on breathing and pushing. He tried not to jump out of his skin with fear and concern at every twitch and breath. How women manage this I'll never understand.

Finally Margherita released a huge breath, and a loud, shrill cry filled the air. "It's a boy! And listen to the lungs on him!" Indeed, the small figure seemed to be downright furious, his face red as he wailed his displeasure to the world.

Sergio was enchanted. Our son. It had had a sense of unreality until this moment. And now, he was here. Small and angry and full of life. As the doctors cleaned the newborn up, he turned to Margherita. She looked tired, but triumphant. "It sounds... like he took after Mama in regards to his mouth."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Infatti, amore Mio." When he'd been courting her, her mother had run him away from their home many times, tossing curses that would peel the paint from the walls. "You'll-a have to teach him some of her favorites."

She laughed as the doctors put the newly-swaddled baby on her chest. The three of them locked eyes. The baby still looked angry, but he seemed to already know who they were.

Margherita smiled and looked at Sergio. "We did it, amore mio."

He laughed. "This little salsiccia is all-a your work, Margherita. I just showed up."

"Non dire sciocchezze, Sergio," she said, "this one is ours, together."

They hugged around the little bundle, a family at last.

~~~~

Later that night, Sergio carried the little bambino as he fretted. Margherita had fed him before falling asleep, but he was restless. He seemed to be relaxing in his father's arms, though.

Sergio walked to the window. A full moon shone down upon them, giving them its blessing. He looked down at the infant, sleepy but still awake. He could still barely believe it. "My little bambino." He kissed the tiny forehead, and with a final huff, they fell asleep. "So, what will we call you?" He looked back up at the moon.

Unexpectedly, Margherita spoke behind him. "You mentioned once you thought you might name him for your grandfather."

Sergio turned. "I thought you were asleep."

Her voice grinned. "I was, but some little bambino viziato woke me up. Something we should get used to." He heard her sigh. "So? Why not call him that? He was named Giuseppe, was he not?"

Sergio looked down at the sleeping child. Somehow, that doesn't quite fit. He seemed to be a perfect mix of the two of them - not huge, but not tiny. Perfect, in his own way. But so small. Then it hit him. He turned. "What about 'Peppino?'"

"'Little Giuseppe?'" she said. She was quiet a moment, then smiled. "I think I like that, yes. Are you satisfied with that?"

Sergio smiled. "I am." He looked back down at the infant, bathed in the moonlight. "Peppino Spaghetti. It has a nice ring to it."

Husband and wife and son all rested, content, in the dark of the night.

<<Previous/Next>>

#pizza tower au #peppino pizza tower #pizzatower #peppino spaghetti #peppino #baby #pizza tower fanfic #tower town au

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newvista857 · 23 days

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lukehapper28 · 25 days

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Premier Crane Services in Kansas City: Elevating Your Projects to Success

Why Choose Crane Services in Kansas City?

Tailored Solutions for Every Project

Safety First Approach

Efficiency and Reliability

Seamless Integration with Your Team

Conclusion

Additional Benefits of Choosing Kansas City Crane Services:

Cost-Effective Solutions: Our competitive pricing and transparent billing ensure that you get the most value for your investment.

24/7 Availability: We understand that construction schedules can be unpredictable, which is why our crane services are available round the clock to meet your needs.

Environmental Consciousness: We prioritize environmentally friendly practices, minimizing our carbon footprint while maximizing efficiency.

Customer Satisfaction: Our dedication to customer satisfaction is unparalleled. We go above and beyond to exceed your expectations and deliver results that speak for themselves.

#crane services kansas city #Kansas City Crane Services

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hurstvilletowing · 2 years

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Tilt Tray Services

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headachepainmountlaketerrace · 2 years

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Chiropractic Adjustment for Neck Pain Edmonds

Chiropractor for Neck Pain Edmonds

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healthandwellnessreviewtips · 2 years

Photo

Chiropractic Adjustment for Neck Pain Edmonds

Chiropractor for Neck Pain Edmonds

Neck injury can have a devastating effect on the body. Neck pain is one of the top five most prevalent disorders.

Here are some tips for protecting yourself from neck injuries:

Watch the video here: https://youtu.be/ln6JH7G6Qno

GMB LINK:https://goo.gl/maps/Un21dEGkTCHCXa2LA

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localbizreview · 2 years

Photo

Chiropractic Adjustment for Neck Pain Edmonds

Chiropractor for Neck Pain Edmonds

Neck injury can have a devastating effect on the body. Neck pain is one of the top five most prevalent disorders.

Here are some tips for protecting yourself from neck injuries:

Watch the video here: https://youtu.be/ln6JH7G6Qno

GMB LINK:https://goo.gl/maps/Un21dEGkTCHCXa2LA

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity. I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages. A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’ Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy. If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well, when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 6]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the (TBD) name of the fic.

Chapter 1, chapter 2, and chapter 3 are under the cut.

I don’t have too much to do today, so this’ll be shorter.

Set Up

Chapter 1

The words in front of him seemed to squirm back and forth across the screen as he watched, despite the fact that he’d bought this screen to prevent that exact thing from happening. The ‘d’s and ‘p’s and ‘b’s seemed to blur together into a sludge of incomprehensible nonsense, just like the voices around him seemed to. He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d sat there staring at this report. Time itself seemed almost like the words and the people, it swirled past him in a blur of sounds and colors, but he never could quite grab ahold of it.

Something smacked him in the forehead, and he startled, looking up. “Remus,” Janus sighed. He picked up the projectile that had just been lobbed at him. “Did you steal paper from the 20th century supply again?” he asked, staring at the folded-up piece of white paper in the shape of a crane. It was one of Remus’s favorite designs. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“There’s a message inside!” Remus replied, happily.

Janus glared at him and carefully unfolded the paper. He squinted at it, and yeah, that was way worse than the screen. Maybe it was worth his money. Or maybe Remus’s handwriting was just horrendous.

He squinted at it for a few moments and then looked back up. He blinked at his surroundings. The note had said ‘Go home. Work ended three hours ago.’ and that certainly seemed accurate considering he and Remus were the only people left in the office.

“I still have to finish this report about the New Easter Island mission,” he said to Remus.

“I’ll do it,” Remus said. “You’ve been working without a break for hours, and I probably owe the agency some time since I took a coffee break to 22nd century France this afternoon.”

“You what?” Janus asked.

”They have the best coffee,” Remus said, and then grinned wolfishly, “and the best guys.”

“Stop doing that stuff,” Janus hissed. “Your lucky I haven’t reported you already.”

“You wouldn’t,” Remus said, very sure of himself. “You like me too much. Plus, without me, you’ll forget to go home and sleep every night. So, it’d be a loose-loose. Now up! It’s time for you to go home.”

Janus sighed and stood. “Fine,” he said. “I’m going, but that report better be done like you said or I will report you for your coffee excursions.”

“Sure, you will,” Remus said. “Now shoo.”

Janus spared him one more glare before standing from his desk and waving his hand through the air. The machine at his wrist buzzed softly and the display screen lit up around him. He jabbed a finger at the last of the three pre-set locations and, with a feeling like he’d just stepped into a pool of softened butter, he was home.

He groaned and fell back onto his couch immediately. “Time?” he asked.

“1:57am,” a soft voice said from his ceiling. He groaned. Considering the agency liked to keep their schedules aligned even though his house sat almost 2 millennia before the agency even existed, he’d have to be up in 4 hours to head back to work. They said it was to ‘stop them from experiencing time jet lag’ and ‘maintain their circadian rhythm,’ but with Janus it usually just ended up with him ‘not getting enough sleep’ and ‘suffering greatly.’

Sure, he had been fine with it, encouraged the policy even, when the agency was created, but that had been before he’d had to live it.

His stomach suddenly grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since before the mission he’d been on earlier that day. He was exhausted, but he also knew trying to go to bed this hungry would result in him not being able to sleep at all. He dragged himself to his feet and into one of the barstools at the kitchen island. He didn’t want to wait for the auto cook feature to cook him something and he especially didn’t want to cook something himself, so he pressed a few buttons on the side of the counter and a protein infused, still cold pop tart popped out of the table.

He thought it might be a Hot Fudge Sunday one, but he honestly couldn’t tell. The protein infusion made all of them taste rather horrible. For all he knew, it was one of the Burnt Rubber pop tarts Remus had once snuck into his pantry. To be fair, he hadn’t even noticed until he’d went to go stock his pantry and realized that there was half a box of those things. It was just another example of Remus using time travel for things he shouldn’t. They were a year 2513 delicacy.

The 2510s were an odd set of years.

He chewed on the possibly chocolate, possibly rubber flavored pastry and glanced out the window. Though it was dark, one could still see the water of the man-made lake his home sat on thanks to the floating lights that hovered above it. Each agent working for the TPI received a home and alternate identity in a time and location of their choice. (Within reason, that is. Remus’s request to live among the dinosaurs was quickly denied and new rules were put into place immediately after.) Janus had chosen the late 24th century with a moderately sized home on Lake BlueBox. He didn’t have many close neighbors, but the ones he did know thought he was an accountant who went by the name of Declan Banks.

No, he had not chosen the last name. Yes, everyone got those types of names. The Agent Management Office had a sense of humor or were just not creative. Janus only knew one employee in the AMO and he’d been avoiding him for the past three years as much as possible. Cowardly, maybe, but he knew if he gave the man too much information about his general lifestyle, he’d be dragged into the AMO to talk about his mental state and feelings, and honestly, that would make everything worse.

As soon as he finished the poptart, a glass of water popped up from the table making him jump despite the fact that he had been the one to set it to do that automatically years ago. He downed half of the water and picked up the glass to take it to his bedroom. He should probably clean himself off before bed, but he couldn’t be bothered today, and just stripped off his uniform and collapsed into bed in his underwear. The morning was going to come far too soon, he knew. Yet, his mind would not quiet. His brain kept filling out the report he trusted (well, hoped he could trust) Remus had already finished by now.

He eventually groaned and rolled over in bed. “Play something,” he requested. The screen by the side of his bed lit up.

“Randomizing the ‘Something’ video playlist,” the soft voice said from the ceiling.

A dance recital which he knew had been recorded in 2033 started playing. The images moved on the screen in front of him, but the sound drifted from all around him. He let his eyes linger over the way the dancers’ bodies moved as the sounds washed over him. The image of elegantly twisting limbs remained in his head long after his eyelids drifted shut and he finally fell asleep.

Chapter 2

The morning was just as torturous as Janus had expected it would be. He chewed through another poptart, this time bothering to actually check and see that it was a cinnamon-sugar one and drank three cups of caffeinated orange juice. Then, he waved his hand through the air and selected the 1st saved location on his device. He popped up directly behind his desk where he’d been standing the night morning before.

Someone, probably Remus, had shut his integrator down. He swiped a finger across the power button, and it flickered back on, scrolling through its morning start up routine.

The machine scanned through all of the data in the three main system it was connected to and sorted all information into things that concerned him, could concern him, and did not before then sorting the first two categories into order of importance. As it did, he set up his screen reader so he would hopefully not start the day with more of a migraine than he already had. It took about 3 seconds for everything to turn on and settle.

Sitting down in his desk, he dismissed the notification that Remus had finished and submitted the report from their mission the day before.

A mission had been scheduled for him today, and the details were in his inbox. A piece time travel technology had been accidently dropped by an archology student in the 1890s during a trip. It was an earlier model of emergency time travel given to time travels that would dump them back into the Registration Office in the year they originated. It wasn’t extremely dangerous, but could pose some problems, especially if someone who didn’t know what it was activated it.

Surveillance agents had tracked it down and found that it had been picked up by a local and sold. Though no one from that time had known what it was, they had identified that it was made out of a precious metal and it had been crafted into an expensive necklace. Janus and Remus were supposed to retrieve it today. It had been pinpointed that the most opportune time for the extraction was 1923 during a masquerade ball held by those who had bought the necklace.

It was a fairly low stakes mission. He wasn’t set to leave for another couple of hours, so he clicked through the rest of the important notifications and then set off to meet his missions coordinator, Rhi, in her office.

Rhi and Janus got along fairly well. She was a well put together woman who took her job incredibly seriously. It was fair as her job was to organize all information and materials from every other department and make sure the agents she was assigned to got and understood all of it. A mistake from her could lead to an agent’s death or something far worse.

This, of course, made her relationship with Remus… interesting to say the least. Janus could never place whether they were nemesis, frenemies, or mortal enemies, and he doubted he would ever know.

“Okay, but it’s the 1920s America,” Remus was already in her office arguing when Janus arrived. “There were so many gangsters! I could be a gangster. I would make a fantastic gangster! Just give me a gun, a snazzy suit with a white hat, and a buttload of alcohol. I will be running Chicago with Al Capone in five minutes.”

“Al Capone didn’t become a crime boss until 1925 and you are going to 1923,” Rhi said, sounding bored, “you aren’t going to Chicago, and as I have already stated, your cover is already decided.”

“But-”

“It is nonnegotiable, Agent Clockson,” she said firmly. Remus pouted, but seemingly accepted his fate.

“May I come in?” Janus asked.

“Please do,” Rhi said. “You have been to the 1920s before, correct?” she asked Janus.

“Yes ma’am.”

She tapped the screen on her desk in response. “In the last two years?”

“About two months ago,” he responded. She tapped something else.

“Any blacks, reds, or yellows?” she asked.

“All green.”

“Great. Do you need a refresher course on basic cultural or linguistic procedures?”

“No.”

She pushed one more thing and then swiped the check-in document over to him. He glanced at the report stating he’d had no incidents of any level the last time he visited the 1920s and had opted out of the optional refresher course, and then pressed his finger against the screen to sign it with his fingerprint.

The document returned to her side of the desk automatically. “Okay,” she said swiping another document from her left over to be in front of her. She twisted her wrist to copy it and slide copies to Janus and Remus. “Here are exact details on the time, place, and event you are going to, as well as details about your cover.” Janus scrolled through his quickly. It wasn’t as detailed as some he’d had considering this was a brief in-and-out missing, but he still took care to memorize everything on the page.

As he and Remus read through their things, Rhi got to her feet and turned to the storage compartments behind her desk.

She grabbed out two packages and when they’d both signed that they’d read and understood the paperwork, she slid them across the desk to them. “These have everything you need,” she said. “Clothes, money, and an invitation to the party you’re off to attend. You are to get changed now, have a last check in with costuming to make sure everything is in order, and then report to decontamination in 23 minutes. Your set to leave in 38 minutes. Any questions?”

“How much-?” Remus started.

“None, agent,” Rhi said.

“But-”

“No alcohol,” Rhi said. “It is the prohibition era in the United States anyway.”

“Like there’s not going to be alcohol at the rich people party,” Remus said sullenly.

She pressed her lips together. “It is an in-and-out mission,” she said to both of them, and then turned to glare at Remus. “Do not get arrested.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said joyfully. “I think I still have room for a 1920s mug shot on my wall.”

“Behave,” she said, “or I’ll report you for the cat you smuggled in from the 1800s.”

“You’d never,” Remus said. “You enjoy the cute pictures of Diesel Fuel I send you every day too much, and you know it!”

“Just… don’t get arrested.” She turned to Janus. “Don’t let him get arrested.”

“I’ll do my best,” Janus promised, standing. “Now come on, Remus, we need to get changed.”

“You just want to see me naked,” Remus replied with a wink, but he did stand.

“If I see you naked one more time in my life Remus, my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets,” Janus said, waving to Rhi as he pulled Remus out of the door.

“Kinky.”

Janus’s eyeballs almost did fall out right then and there with how hard he rolled them.

They got changed quickly, Remus complaining and saying if he couldn’t dress like a gangster, he should at least be allowed to wear a flapper dress. Janus had long ago learned to ignore his ramblings. He did seem enthused about the included mask for the masquerade. It was a silver fox shaped mask with green accents that reminded Janus of the Egyptian God Anubis.

Janus’s own mask on the other hand, was only designed to take up the left half of his face. It was mostly golden with a black swirled design. Attached to the side there was a plume of golden tipped white feathers. He had to give it to the costuming department, they did have good taste.

Once they were both dressed, they were poked and prodded by one of the costumers to make sure everything was accurate, fit right, and had been put on correctly.

After that, they went to the decontamination area to have themselves and everything they were taking with them sterilized so they didn’t accidently take any pathogens to the 1920s. They also received an oral vaccination to be sure they didn’t pick up anything from the 1920s and bring it back.

Then they were ready to go. The correct time-space coordinates had already been sent to their timepieces. With a push of a button, they were off.

Inciting Incident

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

“My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

“You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

“I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

“I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

#study break stories #not writing

29 notes · View notes

shipaholic · 3 years

Text

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 2

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11, cont.

Crowley purred upon seeing the Bentley. It was a little obscene, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had a day off in ten years. Going for a drive was one of Earth’s greatest pleasures, as far as he was concerned,[1] and he’d been sorely neglecting it. He stroked the door lovingly before letting himself in.

“Don’t get anything on the seat,” he told Adam.

“Er,” Adam said, peering through the back window.

Crowley leaned back to wave him inside and saw somebody already sitting in the back seat.

“Hello,” she said.

Crowley’s mouth dropped open. “Who the Hell are you?”

Aziraphale leaned his head in through the passenger door. He blinked at the woman in the back, as if unclear whether Crowley had left her there by accident.

“My name is Anathema Device,” the woman said.

She was wearing a dramatic green coat and prim, thick-rimmed glasses. Despite the Wiccan-ish aesthetic, there was something stern and school-teachery about her. Crowley had the impression he was about to be told off.

“You’re two minutes late,” she said. Ah. There it was.

Adam decided he might as well sit down. He slipped into the back beside Anathema. She smiled at him.

Crowley made a decision there and then. No more tagalongs. Whoever this person was, she could get lost.

Anathema leaned forwards, business-like. “I’m here about the Antichrist.”

Adam looked offended. A lot of the people he’d met today seemed to have spoken to his mother.

“Nope. That’s it. I’m done with this. I’ve already processed everything I’m willing to hear today. Whatever revelations you’ve got, you can keep. I’m content not knowing everything, I don’t need whatever you’re selling. Get out of my car.”

“You’re going to want to hear this.”

“I definitely won’t. Angel, get in.”

Aziraphale got in the passenger seat. He gave Anathema a polite smile. “Hello, my dear.”

“She’s not your dear. She’s a woman who’s broken into my Bentley and spread patchouli everywhere.”

Anathema sighed. “Please. I didn’t break in, it was unlocked.” At least, it wasn’t locked very well.

“I don’t lock it for a reason. Because nobody touches my car.”[2]

“I remember you,” Adam said to Anathema. “You came round the house. You were trying to give us magazines. You talked to the head of security for ages. Most people don’t get that far.”

Anathema brightened. “Um, actually yes. I was trying to speak to you.”

“Oh. I was round the corner on my Gameboy,” Adam said.

Anathema had spent an interminable forty-five minutes keeping the security guard talking, hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam. “...Oh.”

“I read the magazines, though. They were cool.”

“Oh! I’m glad.”

“We’re actually in a hurry, if nobody minds,” Crowley said, to no-one in particular.

Anathema straightened up. “Right. Allow me to explain. I’m here to prevent the End of Days.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances.

“Oh, that’s not a real thing,” Adam said, confidently. “That’s just stories an alien told me when I was a kid.”

Anathema looked up, sharply. “An alien? There are aliens in the Book…”

She hefted a much-thumbed, elderly tome onto her lap and flicked through it. Aziraphale’s bibliophilic senses rang a faint bell.

“Yeah, I like books with aliens,” said Adam. “This alien was real, though. Actually, there were lots of them. They kept telling me I was going to grow up and destroy humanity and burn the planet to a crisp. And then Hell would defeat Heaven and blah blah blah. I was a bit worried about it all.” Adam scratched his head, near his gem. Anathema’s eyes zoomed in on it. “But it all makes way more sense now I know it was aliens.”

“Oookay. This is pretty big, actually,” Anathema murmured. She was staring at Adam like a rare specialist who had just made the find of their career. “I wasn’t positive, even after everything… but it’s really you, isn’t it?” Her eyes shone with various emotions. Awe was in the mix. So was fear.

“Nanny was definitely an alien,” Adam said, darkly.

Anathema’s eyes flicked down to the open Book on her lap. They fell onto prophecy 1011, And the devile dide saye: we doe notte have time for alle this nonesense.

“We don’t have time for all this nonsense,” Crowley said.

“I know who you are,” Anathema blurted. “Agnes says you’re going to take the Antichrist away. The family don’t all agree where, there are a few different readings, but the important thing is that you won’t succeed. Listen to me. Armageddon will happen here, at this house.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged tense looks.

“No human prophecies have come anywhere near predicting any of this.” Aziraphale craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the Book. “Did you say Agnes, my dear -?”

Crowley didn’t like this. Who cared what a prophecy said? He didn’t need strange women popping up and putting him off before they’d even set out.

“You two are in this whole batch of prophecies. You can set things right if you just listen to me and don’t leave. Your only hope to save the Earth is if you do exactly what I say -”

Crowley snapped his fingers. Anathema vanished.

“Crowley!”

“She was wasting our time. And we haven’t got much of that left.”

Crowley gunned the ignition. The Bentley sputtered to joyous life. He jerked the steering wheel and veered out onto the road. He almost took out a pillar box that mysteriously leapt into the air and settled safely a few feet down.

Aziraphale shook his head. “All her things are in the back seat. What if she needs them?”

“Should have thought of that before she touched my Bentley.”

Crowley took a corner at an alarming speed. He mumbled something about the emotional violation.

“I’ll be very cross if you’ve sent her somewhere bad.”

Crowley waved the concern away. He tore down the street. It had been too long since he’d done ninety in central London.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Aziraphale finished crossing himself and clutched the roof of the car in the apparent hope that he could jimmy himself in place in the event of a crash.

“My old bookshop, if you would be so kind,” he said.

In the back seat, Adam picked up the Book and flipped through it.

~*~

Newton Pulsifer, Witchfinder Private, perched on the edge of the discoloured sofa belonging to his employer, Sergeant Shadwell. He was just starting on his third hour of daily newspaper clippings when a woman tumbled out of the air and landed on top of him.

There was chaos. There was screaming (mostly from Newt). There was shouting (from Shadwell). There were accusations of foul sorcery and witchcraft (from Shadwell; for once in his life, he was spot on).

Eventually, things calmed down enough that Newt noticed the woman was rather attractive, and that she seemed annoyed but not surprised to have teleported to a first-floor flat in Tower Hamlets.

Her name was, apparently, Anathema Device. Well. Why not. Newt recently learned he had an ancestor called Adultery Pulsifer. He wasn’t about to judge.

Anathema surveyed her new lieutenants in her stand against Armageddon. A cigarette-charred man with an ambiguous regional accent and a scowl that could cut rocks. A nervous young man who was vaguely threatening her with a pair of scissors, but who was obviously likelier to injure himself with them than her. And some kind of “painted strumpet” (not Anathema’s words) across the hall who hadn’t shown up to the proceedings so far, but who they could tag in later if things went badly. Not a promising start. Lieutenants might be too strong a word. Sidekicks, then.

It frustrated her, leaving all her possessions behind in the car. Losing the Book would have devastated her, but Agnes had predicted it, so Anathema was prepared. She had compensated for its loss by memorising the remaining prophecies that seemed relevant.

“OK, guys. Is everything clear so far?”

Shadwell glowered. He held something that was apparently a Thundergun. It slightly resembled a bass trombone. He made no move to shoot her, and she doubted anyone had reloaded it any time in the last century, so his grip on it seemed to be for comfort. Newt had put down the scissors as a gesture of magnanimity.

“I think I’ve followed so far,” Newt said. “The world’s going to end. Um, there’s a boy called Adam Dowling who’s the key to everything, but he’s out of range now and there’s nothing anyone can do about that - er -”

Anathema nodded encouragingly.

“- And our job is to take care of stuff here, and hope that the people with this, er, Adam do their part, because otherwise the Earth is doomed,” he finished. Luckily, he’d passed through the barrier of absurdity and into the vista of calm that lay beyond.

“That’s about it, yeah,” said Anathema.

“So - what should we be doing now?”

“Now we need to stop the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Great,” Newt said, weakly.

Anathema nodded, satisfied. It was coming together. She hoped.

It was the two men, or men-shaped-beings, with the Antichrist she worried about. They had to do the next part on their own. And if that went wrong…

She’d known there was no genuine hope of diverting them from their course to escape… wherever they were planning to escape to. But Agnes said she would try to stop them, so she had to try, no matter how vain the attempt. She had hoped to see more evidence that her words were sinking in before the goth one banished her from his equally goth car.

What they did next was out of her hands, so there was no point in worrying. She turned to her new sidekicks. There was work to do.

---

[1] Specifically, speeding.

[2] Crowley got pretty far, normally, assuming that no-one would dare break into the Bentley. He was mostly correct. Witches, however, were unimpressed by demons.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #steven universe

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elisajdb · 4 years

Text

GoChi Week 2020: Day Two: Villain Goku and Saiyan ChiChi

Deception

Only the sounds of pants, slaps of bodies and a creaking bed was heard in the room. This bed has been the home of many sexual romps but with the constant groans of the mattress and creek of the bedframe it was in its last days.

ChiChi gripped the sheets with each sway of her breasts, with each pound of her hips. The pleasure was intense; the pain was worth it as her sweaty body was slammed again and again. A human could never give her this pleasure. They were all so much weaker than her, hardly a challenge.

“Ah!” She screamed as a firm hand whap her backside.

“You know you love it,” a heavy voice whispered over her. Another hard thrust shoved her forward so hard her head almost hit the wooden headboard. “Say it!”

“I…..” ChiChi gasped. “….Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” A hand reached between her legs and squeezed her clit. “Do it!” he ordered.

“Spank me!”

On command, a hand slapped her firm rear again. “That’s right, Princess. So prim and proper when you secretly love it hard, don’t you?”

“Yes. Harder, love…..”

He smacked her ass again. “You love what I do to you.”

“Yes!”

Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled, “You desperately desire dominance and the love of a good cock!”

“Only yours!”

That rewarded ChiChi with another firm thrust. “Damn right. Mine.” Gripping her hips, he pulled out his soaked cock and slapped it in ChiChi’s body. In and out, faster and faster he smashed her body against his. Fuck,” he cursed feeling the tightness in his cock. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

“Fill me,” ChiChi begged. She desperately wanted that hot liquid filling her. Her fingers slipped between her legs and quickly became coated in her and her lover’s wet juices. She was so close herself. A few more thrusts. A few more strokes.

ChiChi gasped as a furry tail worked its way between her fingers and clit. With her lover’s long, thick cock firmly in her wet, hot body and a furry tail rubbing against her weak spot, ChiChi snapped. A moan she couldn’t stop escaped her lips. Her lover knew exactly what he was doing to her; knew exactly how to get her to submit to him and Kami help her, she loved every moment of it.

****

“When will I see you again?”

It was a question Son Goku asked every time their sexual romp was over; every time ChiChi left his home on Mount Paouz and return to her life as princess and Saiyan warrior. He sat up with the sex stained sheets resting on his upper thighs watching ChiChi as she dressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe a week.” ChiChi sighed as she slipped her dress over her head. “My father wants me to visit some potential suitors.” She rose from the bed, walked to the mirror and examined her appearance. ChiChi grimaced. Goku left his mark on her in several places. “I have to visit martial art students from the Crane and Turtle school. I think one of them have three eyes.”

“You don’t need to search for potential suitors,” Goku growled. “I’m right here.”

ChiChi turned to Goku. She understood why this angered him. She didn’t like it either. “I want to tell my Dad, but I’m not sure how. He doesn’t trust a Saiyan suitor.”

“But you’re a Saiyan,” Goku argued.

ChiChi returned to bed and sat on Goku’s lap. “I know but you know my history.”

“And you know mine, ChiChi. I grew up on Earth like you. I don’t know anything about the Saiyan way of life. And,” he frowned at her, “you didn’t want to tell your Dad about me.”

“Because I believed what Dad said. I know better now.” ChiChi kissed him. “You know that right?”

Goku cupped one side of her face and kissed her. “I do. I just…. it’s frustrating. I knew I was different. I didn’t know how until I met you and saw you had a tail like me. Then the more we got to know each other, the more I like you.” He scratched the back of his neck with his eyes looking away from ChiChi. “I don’t understand, ChiChi, but I want you to be mine. The thought of you with anyone else makes me mad. I never felt this way before.”

“It’s your Saiyan nature,” ChiChi explained. “I don’t understand it myself. I only know of what my Dad told me.” ChiChi wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I’ve enjoyed discovering our Saiyan nature.” She rubbed her nose against his, “Especially on a full moon where we are both insatiable and can’t keep our hands off each other.”

“Me, too.” Goku settled his arms around her waist, his tail intertwined with ChiChi’s. He rests his head against her breasts. Goku’s eyes fell on his nightstand. He smiled at the small corked bottle. “Today’s not a total loss. We have the last dragon ball.” ChiChi picked up the orange ball and stared at it mesmerized. “Any wishes you want to make?”

ChiChi shook her head. “No. I just want to protect them. Someone used these years ago to revive King Piccolo after my father killed him. My father died because of that evil wish.”

“But he was revived.”

That was true. If it wasn’t for Goku, ChiChi never would’ve known about the dragon balls and never would’ve been able to revive her father.

“I will protect them from evil,” ChiChi vowed.

Goku took the dragon ball from her hand. “I’ll hold on to this one.”

“Why?”

Goku shrugged. “Sentimental value. My gramps had the four-star ball. I want to protect this one.”

ChiChi saw nothing wrong in that. “Then I’ll protect the rest.”

“Which is?”

“They’re safely locked in my room.”

“Your room?” Goku didn’t like that idea. “That doesn’t sound safe. What if the servants there find it?”

“I trust them and even if I couldn’t, the dragon balls are in a safe where only a person with Saiyan DNA can open it. So, that’s you, me and my Dad. With us three knowing, there’s nothing to worry about.”

****

ChiChi gazed out her window as her airship descended towards her palace. Sometimes she really didn’t understand Earthlings. Years ago, her father, Gyumao left Planet Vegetasai. He did not support Freeza’s rule or King Vegeta’s incompetence in letting the Saiyan race fall under Freeza’s command. Fearing the worst for his race under Freeza’s rule, Gyumao escaped Planet Vegetasai. He staged the death of himself, his wife and daughter to make it appear as an accident. The plan was perfect until on their trip to Earth the pod of Gyumao’s wife malfunctioned and blew up, killing her instantly.

Only Gyumao and ChiChi arrived on Earth. For a year, Gyumao remained in secret; feared he would’ve been searched for by his kind or Freeza. As time passed, Gyumao grew more comfortable that he will not be found. He settled into life on Earth but his Saiyan nature took over. Saiyans were fighters; conquerors and landing on this docile planet Gyumao decided to take it for himself. For years, he had to follow the orders of other; of King Vegeta; of Freeza. Now on this weak planet, Gyumao had a chance to be in control and rule. With his Saiyan strength, his intimidating height and massive power, Earth easily fell to Gyumao’s hands. Earth’s armies and warriors fought their hardest, but they were no match for Gyumao.

After King Furry surrendered Earth to Gyumao, Earthlings initially feared Gyumao would unleash horror on the planet but the fears were squashed when Gyumao allowed Earthlings to continue their life without interruption. Gyumao wasn’t an evil ruler who killed for joy or pleasure. He allowed Earthlings to live as they want if they acknowledge him as their king. Some Earthlings still had doubts until Gyumao saved the world by defeating King Piccolo. It was only after this defeat, the people of Earth officially crowned Gyumao as King of Earth and his daughter, ChiChi, Princess of Earth.

A castle was built in their honor; treasures and money were given to Gyumao as a sign of peace and loyalty between Earth and their Saiyan rulers. Gyumao’s daughter and only heir, ChiChi, was doted on. She was educated by the finest scholars on Earth, but she also trained in the Saiyan ways of fighting and spent several years traveling the world to build her strength and skills as a Saiyan warrior.

At twenty, Gyumao thought it was time for ChiChi to marry and produce an heir. ChiChi honored her father’s request to meet the suitors but they weren’t what she was looking for in a husband.

They weren’t Goku.

As she stepped out of her airship, ChiChi noticed the tall, massive imposing form of her father approaching. From the look of his face, ChiChi knew he wasn’t happy.

“ChiChi, I heard from Master Crane and Master Roshi.”

“That’s not important, Dad---"

“It is important!” Gyumao cut her off. “You turned down a proposal from Tienshinhan of the Crane School and Yamcha from the Turtle School.”

“Tienshinhan has no interest in me, Dad. He’s focused on his martial arts and he can’t beat me in a fight. He barely made me sweat. Yamcha is interested in me but he’s not strong.” It bothered ChiChi her father was more interested in her suitors than the dragon ball. “And that’s not important considering I collected another dragon ball.”

Gyumao turned away as he walked to the palace. “I understand collecting the dragon balls are important to you, ChiChi, but there is nothing to worry about. I killed King Piccolo.”

“He was mysteriously revived by the dragon balls and killed you three years later.”

“And you killed him, avenging me but you spared his son.”

“I had no choice. King Piccolo’s son is tied to the dragon balls and we might need them again.”

Gyumao shook his head stubbornly. “A true Saiyan warrior doesn’t rely on anything but their skills to win a battle. You should not be reliant on the dragon balls.”

“I’m not being reliant. I’m being proactive. We need to keep the dragon balls out of the hands of evil and keeping the dragon balls in our possession help prevents anyone from using it against us.”

Gyumao disagreed. “You’re thinking too much like these Earthlings. You’re losing your Saiyan edge, ChiChi.”

How ironic ChiChi thought. “That should make you happy since you want me to marry an Earthling and not a Saiyan.”

“There are no Saiyans here and if they are, I wouldn’t trust them.”

“Why not?”

“If a Saiyan is here, then they were sent to plunder this planet. That means they still work for Freeza and you don’t want to ally yourself with anyone serving Freeza. If a Saiyan had good intentions, they would’ve revealed themselves by now, but that’s not possible because Saiyans intentions aren’t good.” ChiChi opened her mouth to argue but Gyumao put his hands on ChiChi’s shoulders. “You grew up on Earth, ChiChi. You grew up with kind and honorable people. You didn’t grow up on Vegetasai. Saiyans, our people, aren’t like the people here. We will betray each other to save our own skins. Our people don’t have honor or camaraderie like Earthlings do. I rule fairly here but I was selfish in obtaining that goal to be King of Earth. I overthrew the world’s army; killed so many to get what I want and I made enemies. I never should’ve been revived.”

“Dad---”

“No, I’m right, ChiChi. When King Piccolo killed me, it was karma for my own sins. It was balanced when you killed him, but it became unbalanced when I was revived.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Gyumao was firm, “but that’s not important now. What is important is you finding a suitable husband and producing an heir.”

“I don’t believe this,” ChiChi muttered stepping away from her father. She ignored her father pleas for her to stop. She didn’t want to hear this.

****

ChiChi headed to her wing of the palace frustrated. Her father didn’t listen to her at all! He didn’t care she collected all seven dragon balls. He only cared about her finding a suitor and producing an heir. Right now, her father was probably in his office making calls to set up another meeting with a potential suitor and ChiChi was sick of it.

ChiChi shut her door of her apartment sized bedroom. She pressed her head against the door and closed her eyes.

“He’s never gonna approve of me.”

ChiChi turned, her heart skipping a beat at the man standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Goku!” ChiChi ran and jumped in Goku’s arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she showered his face with kisses. “My love, I missed you!”

Goku stumbled backwards into ChiChi’s bedroom. “Not as much as I missed you.”

“It’s been hard on me, too,” ChiChi nibbled his neck as her hand open his blue obi. Her hands rolled his shirt up his chest and over Goku’s head. While her hands were busy, her tail slipped inside Goku’s pants and gripped his penis, stroking it to hardness.

“Ngh,” Goku groaned at the double attack of feeling ChiChi’s tail stroke his most sensitive area and ChiChi’s mouth biting his neck. ChiChi was hungry for him! So was he. He returned her kinky assault with kisses and bites on her neck. In between his kisses, he told her, “How did you think I felt knowing you will be seeing suitors and knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do if you marry them?”

ChiChi grinned slyly enjoying seeing this jealous side. “You would hate it.”

“Of course.” ChiChi laughed. “What’s so funny?”

ChiChi unwound her legs from Goku’s waist and hopped down. “If you miss me that much, show it. Show how much you love me.” After her talk with her father, ChiChi need a fun distraction. “Show me how passionate and intense a Saiyan love can be.”

Goku stared at ChiChi blankly. “How would I know that? I grew up on Earth like you.”

ChiChi pouted playfully. “I guess you don’t love me so passionately then.” She walked away from him feigning disappointment. “I think I shall tell my father I will accept courtship from the one called Yam---”

A firm hand gripped ChiChi and yanked her body to Goku’s. Her lips slammed against Goku’s. This wasn’t like the gentle kisses Goku gave her in the past. He devoured her lips as if she was a meal. Her lips parted under his persuasive tongue and her body clung tightly to his as she felt him awakened between his legs. Goku’s right hand slid up ChiChi’s pants and ripped the seat of it. His tail quickly found a home in her moist heat.

ChiChi moaned in his mouth as Goku’s tail stroke ChiChi’s insides faster. Not willing to be the only one lost in desire, ChiChi’s tail wrapped around Goku’s harden penis again squeezing it so tight, liquid pearls of arousal leaked from him.

Goku broke the kiss with a loud groan. ChiChi smirk as she squeezed him harder. Gaining some control, Goku mirrored her smirk plunging his tail in and out of ChiChi in rapid succession. “You’re soaking my tail. You’re squeezing me to tightly. You’re gonna cum before me.”

She would and they both knew it but Goku wasn’t going to relieve ChiChi yet. Instead he carried her to the bed and dropped her on the mattress.

Momentarily dazed, ChiChi stared at Goku confused. She sat up on her knees. “Why did you—”

Goku gripped the top of her cheongsam and ripped it splitting her clothing in half. Her breasts bounced free from the confines of her dress and Goku’s eyes darkened. “No bra.”

ChiChi didn’t understand why that bothered Goku. “So?”

The low growl in his voice, the intense, pleasured gaze in his eyes caused ChiChi to lick her lips at Goku’s Saiyan nature awakening. “I should punish you.”

Feeling aroused herself, ChiChi removed the tatters of her clothes until she was naked before him. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her legs. “Then punish me with your tongue.”

Goku shoved ChiChi, pushing ChiChi on her back. “All right,” he answered while removing his pants. Before he crawled on the bed, ChiChi pressed her foot on his chest and pushed Goku down. The sudden push knocked Goku on his butt.

“No,” ChiChi sat up before him. “Kneel.”

“What?” Goku’s voice rose challenged.

“On your knees,” ChiChi repeated.

Goku narrowed his eyes briefly before slowly kneeling before ChiChi. He’ll let ChiChi have her way… for now.

For a moment, ChiChi swore Goku was angry. Surely, he understood she was being playful. Not discouraged at Goku’s brief annoyance, ChiChi widened her legs. “Now, serve me.”

Gone was Goku’s initial annoyance. He found her ordering him arousing. Try as he could, not even he could resist this lust of Saiyan nature when aroused. “As you wish.” Goku grabbed ChiChi’s legs, spread them wide and smashed his face against the wet curls of her sex.

ChiChi sank her nails into Goku’s hair and her head fell back at the wonderful sensation of Goku fondling her most sensitive area with his tongue. Eyes shut, ChiChi shrieked, her body shuddered and squirm delightfully as Goku licked and sucked ChiChi, as his tongue vibrated against her clit and his hands moved up to grab her breasts, pinching her nipples and massaging the soft flesh mounds with his hands.

“Don’t stop,” ChiChi whimpered. “Please don’t stop.”

Goku was all too happy pleasuring ChiChi. Her soft moans echoed over the room and her body writhed in need. Her taste so sweet; her scent so strong; cause his own desire to swell. It was nearly too much to bear and his hunger for ChiChi was almost too overwhelming for him. He needed relief himself. One of his hands slipped from her breast and reached between his own legs to ease some of the pleasured tightness between his legs.

ChiChi’s fingers continued to massage Goku’s wild hair. “I need you inside me, Goku.” Patience for more wore thin as Goku suckled her mercilessly. “I need you now.”

With a jerk, ChiChi pushed Goku off her. He landed on his back with a thud. Before he could react, ChiChi straddled him. Her nails dug in his chest as she centered her body over him. “My turn at your body.”

Goku’s breath locked in his lungs as ChiChi slammed down on him. Being shield so tightly in ChiChi almost had him spilling in immediately. He was powerless to do anything other than watch ChiChi’s parted lips, see the desire in her eyes as her plump breasts swayed over him as she rose up and down. Goku reached up to take a harden nipple in his mouth and was promptly slapped.

Goku blinked, stunned. Did ChiChi hit him?

Above him, ChiChi’s faced flushed with arousal as she moaned. “I’m not done.”

To prove her point, ChiChi pinned Goku’s arms down, raised her hips and slammed down on him again and again. More moisture spilled from her legs, coating his shaft and balls. He tried to move but ChiChi tightened her hold over him. With force, he could break her hold but once again Goku found himself relinquishing control to ChiChi. Having ChiChi ride him, watch her breasts sway without him touching her was sweet torture for Goku. He was never restrained before or slapped like this and it made his cock swell further inside ChiChi and his orgasm building. Unable to resist, Goku broke ChiChi’s pin, grabbed her hips as his thrust up further into ChiChi as he succumbs to the needs of his body and let ChiChi’s body milk him dry.

****

ChiChi laid on her stomach gazing at Goku who laid in bed with his arms behind his head staring at the ceiling. ChiChi hugged her pillow not believing what she did. She and Goku made love in her bedroom, in her home, where her father was around and could knock on her door at any moment! And that aggressiveness! Where did that come from? Usually it was spark during a full moon. Not in the middle of the day!

It would’ve been embarrassing if ChiChi did this with someone she didn’t love but with Goku, it thrilled ChiChi. For Goku, she’d do anything for him.

“You make me happy, Goku. I love you so much.”

ChiChi expected Goku to smile at her and say he love her, too. Instead, he said, “You’re gonna make me happy, ChiChi.”

“Make you?” ChiChi took his right hand and brought it to her lips. “Don’t I already make you happy?”

“You’re a good fuck,” Goku confessed as he rolled on his side. “Best I’ve had.” He touched her lips with his fingers. His words didn’t feel warm at all. It felt oddly cold. ChiChi noticed a change on Goku’s face. Something was wrong. “You’ve given me so much already. You told me things I didn’t know about being a Saiyan.” He kissed her. His lips were warm but the emotion behind it left her cold. “You’ve awakened things in me that I’m finding addictive. You’re gonna be a strong Queen for me.” His finger trailed down her lips, down ChiChi’s breasts to her stomach. “You’re gonna give me strong children.” Taking her hand in his, Goku kissed the palm of it. “And we’re gonna rule this planet with an iron fist.”

ChiChi eyes went up to Goku’s. What? The change on Goku’s face was now complete. He looked absolutely sinister. ChiChi pulled her hand from his as a cold shiver ran down her back. “What are you saying?”

“I’m gonna be King of Earth and you my Queen. Thanks to you, I have all the dragon balls in my possession. No one can make a wish against me.”

Why was Goku looking so evil? What was going on? “You don’t have the dragon balls.”

The chilling smile Goku sent ChiChi left her stomach twisting in nervous knots. “I don’t?”

Scared, ChiChi scrambled from the bed and raced to her closet. She checked her safe where she kept the dragon balls and found it empty. The dragon balls. All of them were gone. Where did they go? When did Goku---

ChiChi put a hand over mouth. She knew.

Goku took the dragon ball from her hand. “I’ll hold on to this one.”

“Why?”

Goku shrugged. “Sentimental value. My gramps had the four-star ball. I want to protect this one.”

ChiChi saw nothing wrong in that. “Then I’ll protect the rest.”

“Which is?”

“They’re safely locked in my room.”

“Don’t worry,” Goku said as he stood naked in the doorway. “They’re in a safe spot.”

“What did you do with them?”

“As I said, they are in a safe spot; far from here; far from you.” ChiChi’s face went from shock to anger. He could feel her Ki rising, see her fists clench. “Are you really gonna fight me in your condition?”

ChiChi stilled. What did Goku mean about that? She placed her hand on her stomach. Goku could not be saying……

“I wasn’t sure myself but there’s a definite fluctuation of your Ki centered around your stomach.” Goku laughed. “After all the fucking we’ve done you can’t be surprised.”

There were so many times; last week; last month during the full moon; the months before that. “You used me,” ChiChi accused him. “You used me to get the dragon balls. You never cared about me.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not immune to Saiyan nature and their feelings for their mates. I do desire you. On nights of a full moon, I want to fuck you to exhaustion. Your taste and scent are addictive. It’s maddening how much I’m drawn to it but I also desire power and complete obedience.” He grabbed her hand and yank her to him. “You are mine; our child will be mine and I’ll kill anyone who will try to take that from me. That includes your father if he doesn’t immediately surrender his throne to me.”

“My father was right,” ChiChi whisphered. “Saiyans can’t be trusted. But…..” she tried to understand. “You grew up on Earth. You shouldn’t be like the Saiyans my father told me about.”

“I was sent to Earth as a baby. I took a huge lump on my head but I didn’t lose my memory. I remembered my mission; my Saiyan name: Kakarrot but that’s it. As I recovered, from my injuries, I realized it would be smarter if I let my caretaker Gohan think I changed.” He laughed wickedly. “I fooled him well. For years, he thought I was a sweet, innocent boy who just want to help people and get as strong as possible. He thought when I changed into an Oozaru and crushed him, it was an accident.”

“It was deliberate?”

“As deliberate as my rescuing you from King Piccolo and his son.” He pointed to himself. “You see, I gathered the dragon balls and revived King Piccolo so he’ll kill your father. I knew you would immediately trust me when I told you about the dragon balls and how it can help you revive your father.”

ChiChi stepped back horrified. “You…. You were the mysterious person who revived King Piccolo. Why?”

“Like I told you, I was programmed to kill everyone on Earth. However, that lump on my head did affect me. So did your arrival.” Goku could see ChiChi didn’t understand. “After I killed Gramps, I traveled the world, fought different opponents, befriended others for my personal gain.” His sinister laugh sent a cold chill down her spine. “I got rid of the Red Ribbon Army because they were a threat to my plans but everyone thought I was helping the weak. I played that part of hero well. I even used the dragon balls once to revive a kid’s father. I only did it because I wanted him to die at my hands. It was my intention to kill everyone but when I learned about your Pops killing King Piccolo, everything change. I battled King Piccolo and almost died but your Pops won. You were a threat to me so I had to study you and find a weak point.”

“Me?” ChiChi realized. “I was the weak point.”

“A sexy and alluring weak point.” It was meant as a compliment but the words fell flat to ChiChi. “I know more about by my heritage thanks to you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

“You’re angry,” Goku observed. “I understand. You can be angry for now but you better get in line,” he warned her. “Your Pops had enough time ruling. Now it’s my turn and I will rule this planet as a Saiyan was meant to rule.”

“I won’t allow it.” ChiChi made a mistake falling for Goku but she wouldn’t let the world suffer for it.

“Oh, you will.” There was no doubt in Goku’s mind. “For that babe growing in your stomach and for the life of your father, you will allow it.” Goku gazed at ChiChi’s angry eyes. Even in a losing situation, ChiChi had wills of steel. She will curse at him, hit at him but Goku knew ChiChi knew she couldn’t beat him. “For now, you have no choice but after the child is born, you will plot some escape or someway to defeat me. I can already see the plan forming in your mind. You’ll train in secret; befriend more people on this planet to defeat me. You’ll try, but you won’t win,” Goku promised. “I’ll see to it.”

That’s what he thinks. If he can spend years plotting, so can she. “And I’ll see to it,” ChiChi vowed, “that one day, I will kill you.”

#Gochiweek #Gochiweek2020 #Son Goku #Son Chichi #Goku #ChiChi #Dragonball Z #fanfic

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

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Moonlight Chapter 15: Alder and Spruce

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 15/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Fourteen+

Chapter Sixteen+ >>

Note:

Throughout the story, text set in ALL CAPS indicates that it is in Morse Code.

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“How was your New Year?” Rachel asked cheerfully on Friday morning.

Miranda paused in the middle of pouring herself a cup of coffee from the press-pot on the Lee’s kitchen counter and glanced at Severus. He was leafing through a book that he had found sitting on the table, but he looked up long enough to give Miranda an ironic smirk.

“Tolerable,” Miranda said evenly. “How was yours?”

Rachel either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore the exchange and she said, “Just fine, although I was in bed well before 1996 started. Do you read Japanese, Severus?”

“No. Not at all,” he answered, still studying the volume. “Is this a book of spells?”

“Not exactly. It’s a facsimile of the Murakami Tenchi hajimari no koto, which is the sacred book of the Kakure Kirishitans.”

“Kakure Kirishitans?”

“It means, ‘hidden Christians.’ During the Edo period it was punishable by death to be a Christian in Japan, so those that remained faithful practiced in secret. The Tenchi existed as an oral tradition as much, or more, than a written one, and I’ve been comparing the different versions that we have records of. It would be fascinating enough as a religious study, but there is also evidence that the Kirishitans coded magical knowledge that they learned from their contact with the western missionaries and traders before Japan closed its borders in the seventeenth century.”

Rachel had started to speak excitedly as she explained her research, but she broke off when she realized that Severus was staring intently at her. Her pregnancy-flushed cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and Miranda smiled behind her coffee mug, recognizing the greedy look Severus’s face always wore when confronted with some heretofore unknown piece of knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said sheepishly. “I tend to get carried away when I’m talking about Edo Japan. I know it’s not the most interesting thing to listen to.”

“On the contrary,” Severus replied, “I would be interested to read your findings.”

“Oh. Well, I’d be happy to send them to you. Will you be joining us this morning?”

“I’m afraid not. I am here only to prevent Miranda from falling into another tebo pit before she manages to replace her wand.”

“Which you’ve done admirably,” Miranda said, blowing on her coffee.

Rachel smiled and said, “I’ll be ready as soon as I get my things. Have a good day, Severus.”

When Rachel was out of sight, Severus closed the book and crossed the kitchen to where Miranda was leaning against the counter. He tilted her chin up with the tip of a long finger.

“You are to stay out of trouble today,” he said sternly.

She opened her eyes wide and replied innocently, “What? Me get into trouble? Perish the thought.”

He gave her a withering look, and set her coffee mug on the counter in order to kiss her soundly.

“Do you need anything from Diagon Alley?” she asked, toying with his hair when they broke apart.

Despite the fervor in his kiss, his face was still stern and his tone imperious. “Salamander blood and unicorn horn. Although I hesitate to entrust the choosing of such subtle ingredients to you.”

Rachel was showing no signs of returning to the kitchen, so Miranda used the opportunity to apply her lips to a spot on Severus’s neck that was never quite protected by his high collars. It tended to render him incoherent when stimulated, something she found useful when he was becoming overbearing. The muscles in his neck tensed and his frown became fiercer as her lips began their work, but, before long, his breathing became a bit ragged, his eyes drifted closed, and one corner of his mouth curled into half of a smile.

She pulled back, the better to admire her handiwork, and asked saucily, “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Hmmm?” he said distractedly. “I seem to have forgotten whatever it was that I was saying. When should I expect you?”

“I’m having lunch with Rachel, so late afternoon. Do try to remember to eat something. There’s some leftover stew in the icebox.”

“I make no promises. Until then.” He traced her cheek with his finger and headed back to the cabin, where his lesson plans--and Miranda’s potions--awaited.

“Miranda, if you don’t tell me everything that’s been going on with that man, I might have to stop being your friend,” Rachel joked when she returned to the kitchen.

Miranda laughed. “Over lunch, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

The ladies made their way up to the main floor of the Embassy and queued for the communal fireplace. Rachel shifted her weight from foot to foot as they waited, as though she were not quite used to the new weight she was carrying. She was a small woman and the baby was already rounding out her middle nicely.

“Rachel, you’re absolutely glowing. How are you feeling today?” Miranda asked.

Rachel sighed and rested her hands protectively on her belly. “Pretty well. My hands ache most of the time, but the nausea’s finally gone. I’m still exhausted in the evenings and Aaron keeps teasing me about going to bed so early. But I keep telling him that we have to sleep while we can. Once the baby’s here, there won’t be the opportunity for years.” She smiled slyly at Miranda and added, “Speaking of sleep, I was surprised to see you so early.”

“I know. You can blame Severus for that. I thought that Patrick was punctual, but Severus takes the cake.”

"How is Patrick?"

"Well. He and Anna are expecting a baby in the spring too."

"That'll be four for them, right?"

"Yes. I think they're hoping for a boy to balance out all the girls."

"And how's the Romanian coming?"

"More quickly than I'd thought. Severus seems to be a natural at picking up languages and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him learn it faster than I do. Especially since I had a week's head start.”

They reached the front of the queue and Rachel stepped up to the fireplace first. She took a pinch of Floo Powder from the mouth of the bronze Piasa bird on the mantel and tossed it into the fire. The green flames flared up impressively and she shouted “Diagon Alley” as she stepped into them. Miranda followed suit and the ladies emerged into the dimly lit dining room of the Leaky Cauldron.

“Good morning, Tom,” Rachel said pleasantly as they dusted soot from their cloaks.

“Mornin’ Mrs. Lee. Will you be wantin’ anything this mornin’?” Tom grunted as he wiped the bar with a rag of questionable cleanliness.

“No, thank you.”

Tom shrugged and Rachel followed Miranda out into the sunny January morning. It was one of those cold, eerily bright days and they pulled their cloaks more closely about them and huddled together as they hurried over the cobblestones to get out of the frigid weather.

Ollivander’s shop was on the south side of Diagon Alley and Miranda held the door for Rachel as they ducked into it. The shop was long and narrow with so many wand boxes stacked in every available spot that the light from the windows was almost totally obscured. Miranda and Rachel craned their necks upwards as they stared, awestruck at the selection.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to choose one,” Miranda murmured.

“You do not choose the wand,” came a clipped voice from the back of the shop. “The wand chooses the witch.”

Miranda’s body tensed instinctively and her hand went to her empty wand pocket. Rachel seemed unconcerned, and she gave a friendly smile to the thin, wrinkled man who appeared behind the counter and eyed the women somewhat suspiciously.

“Americans, I see,” he sniffed.

"I'm afraid so," Miranda said easily, relaxing her stance. "My wand broke in an accident a few days ago and I need a replacement."

He gave her a horrified look. "I hope that you intend to take better care of this one."

"Of course,” she answered, but then she snapped, "Hey! That's getting a bit fresh I think." Several tape measures had begun attempting to examine most of Miranda's body and she swatted at them. They drew back as though affronted.

"Ahem," Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat. "Young lady, I am afraid that you will have to be measured if you hope to be fitted with a wand. I had thought that you had been through the process before."

Miranda pursed her lips. "We do things differently where I'm from."

Mr. Ollivander gave her a look of barely concealed contempt, and she allowed the tape measures to continue. They did so, although it seemed grudgingly. Mr. Ollivander began examining his stores, fingering the boxes fondly as he did. He went up and down ladders, pulling out box after box while he muttered to himself. Each time he chose one, he would shake his head and push it back into its stack. At long last, the frisky tape measures floated away and Mr. Ollivander set two fine wooden boxes on the counter.

He opened the first to reveal a plain, but beautiful dark brown wand. “Alder and Dragon’s Heartstring, ten inches, rigid,” he said. “Excellent for nonverbal spells and exceptionally loyal once won over. Extremely proud and difficult to control before that happens. Perfect for the duelist.”

Miranda picked up the wand and savored the feel of the smooth wood in her hand. She decided to start with something basic and flicked it experimentally as she thought, Wingardium leviosa. A stack of twenty boxes shot into the air, and clattered noisily to the floor.

Mr. Ollivander sighed and waved his wand to clean the mess.

"A bit sensitive, aren't you baby?" Miranda said with a smile.

She replaced the wand and Mr. Ollivander opened the second box. This wand was also made of a dark wood, but it was intricately carved.

"Dragon's heartstring and Spruce. Ten and three quarter inches, flexible. A powerful wand, perfect for the brazen spellcaster, particularly if she has a good sense of humor."

This wand also felt good in Miranda's hand. She repeated her test and the quill sitting on the counter floated gracefully up and down. She tried it on a few other items in the shop and each one behaved obediently.

"This one seems easier to manage," she observed. "Although I wonder if the other might give better results after I got over the learning curve."

She set down the Spruce wand and went to pick up the Alder. Her hand was still six inches away when the wand leapt into it. Mr. Ollivander raised his eyebrows and she curled her fingers around it.

Wingardium Leviosa she thought as she flicked it at her messenger bag where it sat on the floor. The bag rose quickly into the air and began to set itself lightly on the counter. All seemed well, until the Alder decided to try to set the bag on top of the Spruce wand. Mr. Ollivander snatched the Spruce away just in time, a look of patient long-suffering on his face.

"Hmmm..." Miranda repeated her test and a few more items rose and fell evenly. By the fifth try, the items were rising and sinking exactly as she chose, and even seemed to move with more grace and panache than they had with the Spruce wand.

She turned back to the counter and said, "Why don't I give the Spruce another go, just to be sure." She tried to set the Alder back in its box, but when she uncurled her fingers, the wand stuck stubbornly to her hand.

Rachel laughed and said, "I think it likes you."

Mr. Ollivander nodded solemnly. "The wand chooses the witch."

"I guess I can't argue with that," Miranda agreed with a smile.

******

It was almost noon by the time Rachel and Miranda hurried out of the cold into The North Wind. They stood in the doorway, stamping the snow off their boots and enjoying the warmth from the enormous fireplace. When they had some feeling back in their faces, they approached the bored-looking waitress by the cash register. She was young, obviously on break from school, and her electric blue hair made an odd contrast with her prim, black and white dress.

“Welcome to The North Wind,” she muttered around a wad of chewing gum. “Do you want a damask, a linen, or a checked cotton?”

“Damask, I think,” Miranda answered.

The waitress shrugged, flicked her wand, and a richly patterned green damask tablecloth floated up from behind the counter. Rachel and Miranda followed it through the wooden longhouse, underneath a ceiling that was littered with shields, spears, drinking horns, and a viking longboat. When they reached the back corner, the tablecloth unrolled and settled itself neatly over a round table.

Rachel sighed heavily as she sat down, and she took the liberty of putting her feet up on the chair next to Miranda.

“Are you sure about the damask?” Rachel asked after they and their packages were settled.

Miranda smiled easily. “Oh yes. This is a business lunch charged to Lucius Malfoy by way of the Ministry of Magic. I mean, surely Malfoy was simply testing my abilities at his party. That would make the damage done to my wand a business expense. And we have to eat after all that exertion replacing the wand. So, yes, it’s definitely a damask day.”

Rachel laughed and they put their hands on the tablecloth. Immediately, platters of Swedish pancakes, lingonberries, sausage, meatballs, and cakes appeared, alongside mugs of coffee, tea, and mead. It was a feast fit for warriors and the ladies happily tucked into it.

They had done quite a number on Diagon Alley after Ollivander’s. First they had been to Flourish and Blotts for Strega Ilithyia’s Wanderings with your Wee Wizard or Witch, followed by Slug and Jiggers for the potions ingredients. Miranda had sent the poor clerk back and forth so many times before she approved of the salamander blood and unicorn horn, that he had muttered something comparing her to Professor Snape in terms of choosiness. She felt sorry for the young man, but she knew that she had succeeded in selecting specimens that would meet with Severus’s approval. Next, they had taken a turn through Thumbelina’s Things for Tykes to finger the outrageously priced baby trousseaux. The last stop before lunch had been Kircher’s Kabinet of Kuriosities. Miranda had been looking for something specific among the astonishing array of antiques, and it had taken her nearly an hour to find it.

“Romania is absolutely fascinating,” Miranda began, avoiding the topic she knew Rachel most wanted to discuss. She did this partly to tease her friend, and partly to put off the moment when she would have to decide exactly what to say about Severus. She had spent the morning deliberating, and she still had not quite settled on what she should share and what she should conceal. “Did you know that they don’t have a school?”

“No, I didn’t,” Rachel answered. “That does sound fascinating, but…”

“Some of the families send their children to Durmstrang,” Miranda interrupted, “but most of them stay in Romania and are trained by teachers called Solomnari. There are ten Solomnari, one for each district, and the children spend a year with each.”

“That must make for a varied education. Now, about…”

“They learn to ride dragons, if you can believe it. I hope I get the chance…”

“Miranda!” Rachel gave her as stern a look as was possible while still smiling. “You had better tell me what’s going on with tall, dark, and silent, or I’ll lose my temper.”

Miranda laughed. “You couldn’t be angry with me. But I’m glad you think he’s silent. He must have behaved the night of the party.”

“He was…intense, but polite. Is he not usually?”

“He’s got a mouth on him, that’s for sure.”

“As bad as Finnian’s?”

“Worse. Finnian had Patrick and Seamus to keep him in line, so he developed a filter. Although, in fairness, I usually find Severus’s remarks amusing. Usually. He’s also very intelligent and can be quite thoughtful when he wants to be. He took it upon himself to brew all the potions I’ll need for my first month in Romania when he really should be writing lesson plans.”

Rachel swallowed a forkful of pancake and lingonberry. “That’s sweet. How did you meet him?”

“At work.”

“Oh dear. Which case?”

“The vampire one. He wandered into the alley at just the right moment, so I made him my accomplice for the night.”

“It seems as though it’s been longer than a night.”

Miranda shrugged as she cut up a piece of sausage. “It’s been off and on. He’s completely devoted to his work.”

“I think a lot of teachers are.”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I don’t mean the work at Hogwarts.” She glanced around and, when she noted that the nearest patrons were on the other side of the dining room and deeply involved in what appeared to be an argument, she added quietly, “He’s in the Order and his assignment’s dodgy. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I gather that it’s not the safest thing in the world for him to have a relationship at the moment.” She hoped Rachel’s usually keen insight wouldn’t see through her bending the truth a bit. She decided not to add anything about the Voldemort connection. That was something that she hoped she would never have to discuss with the Lees. They were understanding, forgiving people, but Miranda doubted that they would be eager to have her involved with a Death Eater--even a former one.

Rachel looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. “It sounds like it’s getting serious if you’re risking so much to be together.”

“No,” Miranda said lightly. “It’s a fling. A great fling, but a fling nonetheless.”

Rachel’s thoughtful look turned dubious.

“What?” Miranda asked, a little defensively. “I’m a grown woman. I can’t have a fling if I want to?”

“You know I wouldn’t judge you,” Rachel reassured her. “He just seemed so worried about you when he thought you’d gone missing the other night. I wonder if he cares more for you than you realize.”

Miranda blew on her coffee before answering. “I don’t think so. If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s in love with his childhood sweetheart.” She took a sip and added, “But I don’t mind. I don’t think he’s the marrying kind anyway. Hell, I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.” This was true, for the most part. Whatever pull Miranda might have felt towards something deeper than friendship and fucking was severely tempered by a desire not to be responsible for another wizard’s undying love and devotion. It hadn’t gone terribly well the first time and she was not eager to repeat the experiment.

“You used to be the marrying kind,” Rachel observed mildly.

Miranda sighed. “That was a long time ago. David was different. I was different.” She spooned some sugar into her mug and stirred it for a moment, watching the black liquid form a small whirlpool. “I expect that eventually I’ll go back home and Severus will stay here and I’ll have a lot of spicy stories to season my memoirs.”

Rachel was silent for a long time and when she finally spoke, it was with some hesitation. “Miranda, is it possible that this is really about Isaac?”

Miranda felt a wave of panic in the pit of her stomach. It had been years since anyone had dared to mention that name to her. Every muscle in her body tensed and she said icily, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t bring him up.”

“So you haven’t told Severus about…”

“Of course not!” Miranda snapped. “And I’ll thank you to drop the subject.”

Rachel looked distressed and said softly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Miranda took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew that Rachel meant well. She laid a hand over Rachel’s and said, “I’m sorry for snapping. I simply don’t want to talk about it.” Forcing a smile, she went on, “Tell me about the baby and the pregnancy instead. I want to hear every detail.”

*****

Severus flipped the pork shoulder with a flick of his wand. It was simmering quietly in its pot and the milk was well on its way to coagulating into a delicious brown mass. He had been dubious when Miranda had made this dish for him in the fall, insisting that her sister-in-law’s recipe was foolproof. She had proved her point, though, when the result of the three hour simmer had far surpassed the sum of the two simple ingredients. There was at least another hour left now before it would be ready, and he set the lid back in place for the duration.

The sun was low in the sky and he threw on his cloak to go out into the afternoon. The wind whipped violently off the Channel, and as soon as he was free of the wards surrounding the cabin, he Apparated to Miranda’s makeshift training ground five miles inland. He appeared with a crack in a clearing surrounded by gnarled, bare trees and covered in sloppy piles of melting snow. There had been a thaw during the last few days, and dirty puddles of water sat sullenly where the still frozen earth could not absorb them. The wizened trees did manage to block some of the wind and this, combined with a ring of torches that Miranda had conjured around the edge of the tree line, made outdoor training tolerable. Miranda was standing in the center of the clearing, hard at work with her wand when Severus found her.

“Expecto patronum,” she cast with a flourish. A silvery feline about twice the size of a house cat sprang forth and ran towards him. She turned and smiled at him as her Patronus circled him.

“A lynx?” he asked, studying the animal.

“No,” she corrected. “A bobcat.”

“I am not familiar with that particular breed.”

“They’re wild American cats.”

He smirked. “I would have expected something larger, although a wild cat does seem to suit you.”

“I wouldn’t scoff if I were you,” she chided. “A bobcat can bring down a deer if it wants to.”

His face must have shown his amusement, because she asked, “What’s so funny?”

He waved his wand and commanded, “Expecto patronum.” A silvery doe leapt from it and bounded around the clearing. Miranda started laughing and the bobcat stopped circling Severus in order to chase the doe. The witch and the wizard watched the Patroni chase one another until the shimmering beings disappeared behind the trees.

When they were gone, Miranda turned to Severus and asked, “Are you up for a sparring match?”

He stipulated, “If you are certain you have that thing under control.”

She had spent quite a bit of time practicing with the Alder in the cabin, which had resulted in a fair amount of destruction and minor injuries. Severus had found the process highly amusing to watch, although the wand had paid him back in spades on the one night they had spent at his quarters at Hogwarts. He had wanted to set her wand to open his door and, when he had cast the necessary spell, the blasted thing had shocked him. Miranda had laughed and said that her wand was very loyal to her. And, the more she learned to use it, the truer that seemed.

“It’s all in the way you talk to it,” she said.

Severus took this as answer enough, and they bowed formally to each other. They turned to mark their twenty paces, and then whirled back to cast the first attack in one fluid motion. Her white sparks and his red ones met and sizzled, but it was a languid exchange, more of a tease than anything. Another volley went forth, quicker and stronger the first, followed by a third, and a fourth.

Severus felt that Miranda did indeed have her wand under control and decided to test her further. If the truth were to be told, he was eager to see what she was made of. Without further preamble, he slashed his wand at her, and a whirlwind twisted out of the tip. She grinned wickedly when she saw it ripping its way across the clearing, spewing snow in all directions as it bore down on her. She snapped her wand violently, and a jet stream of hot air shot underneath the tornado. The windstorm slowly lost speed and, before Severus’s eyes, it started spinning back towards him. He darted away to give himself time to halt the spell.

By the time the tornado had fizzled into nothingness, Severus was underneath the canopy of the trees. Miranda was right behind him, and she flicked her wand to pull a branch down on his head. He blasted it in half, and she immediately brought down another. He deflected this one to her, but she vaulted it and it clattered harmlessly to the ground ten feet behind her.

As soon as she landed, he was ready with another wand flick and she was jerked into the air by her ankle. He had started to smile by now as she rose towards the tree branches.

“I’ll bet you do this to all the girls,” she quipped, sounding completely relaxed as she undid the clasp of her cloak and let it fall to the earth below her.

“That was my reason for inventing it,” he bantered back. “Although it is much more satisfying when the ladies in question neglect to wear trousers under their robes.”

“Ha! You’d have to ask awfully nice if you wanted that sort of a thrill.”

By this time, she had floated high enough to be among the tree branches and she slashed her wand at him, knocking him to the ground. With another slash, she liberated herself from his spell. In one motion, she pocketed her wand and caught hold of a nearby branch, swinging around it like a circus performer, and landed lightly in a squat on the upper side of it. She had her wand out as soon as she landed, and sent a string of hexes at him from her perch.

“Thanks for the high ground!” she laughed as he dodged her onslaught.

“A miscalculation on my part,” he returned. “I should have realized you were part monkey.”

After he had physically dodged the third hex, he was able to start parrying them with his own hexes, but could not make any advance on her.

“This will never do,” he chided.

Miranda had fallen into a somewhat predictable rhythm with her attacks, and Severus took advantage of the mistake to counter and thrust during one of the pauses. A shower of arrows appeared over her head, and she had to ignore him for a moment in order to turn them into a harmless spray of flowers. In the time it took her to do that, he sent a stream of ice onto the branch and trunk of her tree. She lost her balance on the branch and fell towards the earth, but she slowed her descent with a flick of her wand, hit the ground in a somersault, and rolled to her feet in a fluid motion.

He applied the ice spell to the ground between them, turning it into a treacherous path of frozen earth. She turned her attention to maintaining her balance, and he used the opportunity to snatch her wand out of her hand and call it to his.

“You naughty boy,” she purred, but she did not try to retrieve her wand immediately.

Instead, she backed away a few paces, and then charged him, going into a slide as she hit the icy patch. He was so focused on catching her wand, and so surprised by her physical attack that he made for easy prey. She crashed into him, feet first, and he went tumbling over her, landing awkwardly on his side. As she reached the end of the ice, Miranda pushed herself to her feet and snapped her fingers to call her wand back to her. Severus tried to keep hold of it, but the Alder wand started sending stabbing pains into his hand again, and he had to let go.

“What on earth was that?” he demanded, but he was having difficulty restraining his desire to laugh.

“The result of having four older brothers,” she replied jubilantly.

Her face was radiant with exertion and mirth, and Severus was distracted by its beauty long enough that she was halfway across the clearing before he realized that she was headed for the ruins of a stone wall and staircase tucked into the edge of it. He scrambled to his feet and gave chase, but he could not stop her from once again claiming the high ground.

She climbed to the top of the crumbling staircase and whirled back to him, just as he had managed to leap onto the lower part of the wall. As she flicked her wand, a massive, fork-tailed bird flew forth, shooting lightning bolts at him, to his astonishment. The first one grazed his shoulder, and he had to physically dodge the next bolt before he managed to cast a shield charm. The lightning slammed into his shield, knocking him backwards off of the wall, but the shield held firm. After a few moments of the attack, he noticed that there was a pause after every seventh bolt, and he used the opportunity to cast his favorite curse at her.

The Sectumsempra flew silently at Miranda, but she sensed its approach and deflected it to the side. It grazed her arm, neck, and cheek, causing her to lose her balance on the edge of the staircase. She let herself fall lightly and rolled across the wet snow. The Thunderbird disappeared and Severus bounded over the wall to her. She was lying on the ground, singing the quiet incantation to heal the wounds from his final curse.

“You have to show me that one again,” she said as he gave her his hand to pull her to her feet. “As in, right now. Where did you learn that?”

Pride expanded in his chest and he answered, “I invented it.”

“Of course you did. Where have you been all my life?”

She said it flippantly, and he knew that she meant it lightly, but it was a wonderful thing to hear all the same. In fact, he felt rather foolish and awkward at how good it was to hear, and he frowned slightly in order to cover the reaction.

Clearing his throat, he faced a nearby tree to demonstrate. “Sectumsempra,” he cast. The bark of the tree exploded as gashes appeared on the trunk.

It took her a few tries, but soon she was casting it as viciously as he always did.

“Show me how to cast the lightning bird spell,” he ordered, when she had mastered his curse.

“I’m afraid only Thunderbirds can do that. But there’s another one I can teach you,” she replied.

“I had no idea that barbarians were so exclusive until I met you.”

“We’re full of surprises,” she bantered back, her eyes twinkling. She turned back to the unfortunate tree and cried, “Fulgur!” Several bolts of lightning struck the already damaged trunk.

He followed suit, but instead of lightning, a shower of soot and ash spewed out of his wand.

She laughed out loud and said, “You’re not saying it correctly.”

“Excuse me?” He was torn between amusement and irritation.

“You’re rolling your ‘r.’”

He tried again to the same result and she laughed harder.

“You’re flipping it now. You have to sort of swallow it.”

“Are you saying that I have to butcher it the way you do?” he asked mockingly.

“Only if you want the spell to work.

He shook his head and then flicked his wand, imitating her lilting, mid-western twang perfectly. “Fulgur.”

Lightning struck the tree so sharply that it lit on fire. They extinguished it together with a fountain of water and exchanged a satisfied glance.

*****

Later that evening, after the pork and peas had been demolished, Severus set the last vial of Strengthening Solution in its box. Miranda was in her bedroom, haphazardly throwing items into her bag. He took his time tidying in the potions room so that he would not have to watch her do so, both because her cavalier attitude towards packing agitated him, and because he did not care to think about the next day. It had been a very comfortable Holiday and he was more disappointed than he cared to admit that it was ending. Once he had resigned himself to Miranda’s mission, they had settled into an agreeable routine of work and recreation. After that unfortunate New Year’s Eve, the Dark Lord had not deemed it necessary to summon Severus again, and even Albus had left him to himself. Severus had found that if he ignored some of the details regarding what exactly he and Miranda were preparing for in their work, he could pretend for brief stretches of time that his life was actually rather normal.

When he could dally with the potions no longer, he emerged into the main room and noticed a tin and a package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the table. They had not been there when he had gone into the potions room and, when he went to examine them, he saw that his name was written on the paper.

“Miranda,” he asked, “what is this?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” she called back from the bedroom. “Or don’t you civilized Brits remember each other’s birthdays?”

It had been at least ten years since anyone had remembered his birthday. He raised an eyebrow and opened the tin, discovering that it was full of toffee. He selected a piece to sample and found that it was indeed as good as Aaron had made it out to be. He closed his eyes as he swallowed it, hand already going back for another piece.

Severus’s father had never cared much for him or his mother. Severus had never understood why and certainly no one had ever talked about such matters. He had learned early that it was best to stay out of his parents’ way—his father’s because the man was free with insults and fists, his mother’s because she was usually exhausted and impatient with him. But there had been times when his father had been out of the house and his mother would make an effort to give him some attention. This had been particularly true once he had grown old enough to begin to use his magic purposefully rather than doing so accidentally. His mother had also managed, on his birthdays, to slip him a tin of some treat or other. Consumable presents were safer as there would be no evidence for his father to find. His father considered gift-giving a waste, and so nothing of the sort ever happened in the house, except secretly, once a year in January.

His mother had continued to send him a letter by owl to mark the day through early adulthood, but it had been years since she had done so. The last occasion he had spent any length of time with his mother had been just after his father had died. He had felt the need to attend the funeral—if only to see the corpse and know that the man was truly gone. He’d stayed a week with his mother then, settling matters with an irritating Muggle solicitor. He had noticed during that visit that she seemed to find him difficult to bear. He had gone to see her once or twice after that, but she had been withdrawn and had tended to flinch whenever he frowned. He didn’t understand why this was either, and he didn’t intend to ask her about it. He doubted she would have told him the answer even if he had asked. He had simply stopped visiting and stopped writing, and she had done the same.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you eat it so quickly,” Miranda teased as she came back into the main room.

“It’ll be worth it,” he muttered, but he forced himself to stop and put the lid back on the tin. He wasn’t a little boy hiding from his father anymore. He could save the rest to eat at leisure without fear of repercussion.

He picked up the other package and unwrapped it slowly. The brown paper gave way to reveal a silver cigarette case with a mosaic of a serpent on the cover. He flipped it open and found it was full of cigarettes.

“For when the Dark Lord gets tired of your cheek again,” Miranda said over her shoulder as she continued packing at her desk. “And that’s not all it does.”

“No?”

“Watch.” She pulled out her own case, set it on the desk, and started tapping on it.

Before his eyes, the tiny bits of colored stone rearranged themselves into a new pattern of dashes and dots. He flipped over the wrapping paper and saw that the key to the code was written on the back of it. It took him a few moments to decipher the message: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

She had turned back to her desk, and so he did not try to suppress his smile of pleasure. Slowly, with much reference to the code on the wrapping paper, he tapped back: THANK YOU

She paused in her packing to reply via code: YOU ARE WELCOME

He laboriously decoded her message and then sent one of his own: WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY

She laughed and smiled at him over her shoulder before sending back: MAY 4

He fingered the case, enjoying the cool, smooth feel of the metal as he studied Miranda in the firelight. He slipped it into his pocket and felt rather as moved as he had been when she had presented him with the unexpected tebo harvest. He supposed that if he were less of an ass he would say something sentimental to her. But his mind, that was so quick to invent insults, was rather stunted when it came to praise. It seemed trite to speak of friendship, crass to speak of shagging—and dishonest to speak of anything else. So he said nothing at all.

He went back into the potions room and retrieved the box he had made for her. Bringing it to her, he silently set it on the desk, letting his fingers linger on the top of it. She smiled at the box when she saw it—she was so quick to smile—and put her hand on top of his. Their eyes met and he brought up his other hand to trace her cheek with his finger. Perhaps, for now at least, there was nothing that needed to be said.

*******

Sunday evening found Severus irritably pacing his sitting room at Hogwarts. He had finished most of his lesson plans that afternoon—although he had pointedly ignored the lessons that he most detested to give. Albus had demanded that he teach the Potter brat Occlumency and Severus was petulantly refusing to prepare. It was going to be a disaster, he knew that much already. Potter was completely unable to control himself. He wore his heart on his sleeve and Severus believed that it would take nothing short of a miracle to teach the boy.

Severus had argued heatedly that Albus should take on the task himself. After all, Potter liked Albus and the boy would probably make more of an effort for him. But nothing Severus had said had made any difference. Albus still insisted, and now all Severus could do was try and watch the experiment fail. He had stipulated that he be given use of Albus’s Pensieve. Severus did not want Potter anywhere near his mind, and there were certain memories that he wanted to ensure the boy never saw.

After half an hour of pacing, the glint of the cigarette case on his desk caught his attention. The corner of it was peeking out from beneath a scroll with the final month of the First Years’ plans. He sat down at his desk, intending to finish the scroll, but his eye kept moving to the case. Surely Miranda had only intended the thing be used to summon him to put her back together after the next time she got herself maimed. And, whatever her intention, she was probably asleep. It was almost eleven o’clock where Severus was, so it was close to one in the morning in Romania. But, despite all these reasons not to, he found himself tapping: ALBUS WANTS ME TO TEACH OCCLUMENCY TO POTTER

It took him some time to tap all of that as he had only just committed the code to memory. He almost put the thing away in a drawer of his desk, he felt like such a fool by the time he’d finished. He left it where it was, though, and went back to his scroll. And, before long, a message arranged itself back to him from Miranda: MY CONDOLENCES TO YOU BOTH WHAT IS ALBUS THINKING

Severus still felt like a fool, but he replied: I HAVE NO IDEA

And she answered: THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DISASTER

Lesson plan forgotten, he tapped: I AGREE HE WOULD NOT LET ME REFUSE

She replied: TRY NOT TO KILL POTTER

An idea to turn her sympathy to his advantage occurred to him: I MAY NEED SOME INCENTIVE

There was a pause, and he could almost hear her laughing. Finally, she replied: YOU ARE A BULLY

He smirked and tapped: I THOUGHT I WAS AN ASS

She answered: THAT TOO BUT I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE FOR THE BOYS SAKE

He raised an eyebrow and asked: JUST FOR HIS SAKE

She replied: AND FOR YOURS AND I EXPECT I WILL ENJOY IT MYSELF

Pleased with her agreeableness, he set down the case and wrote another line or two of his lesson plan. But he found his eyes kept wandering to the serpent mosaic, and before long he had asked: HOW IS ROMANIA

The mosaic rearranged itself to say: IT IS BEAUTIFUL I WISH YOU WERE HERE TO SEE IT

Severus studied this message for a long time, hesitating to respond. But, finally, he replied honestly: SO DO I

---------------------

End Notes:

Thank you to the amazingly awesome Jo Raskoph for betaing this chapter! I am so grateful to you for your time and your insights!

The Kakure Kirishitans and the Tenchi are real and have a fascinating history. The Beginning of Heaven and Earth: The Sacred Book of Japan’s Hidden Christians, translated and annotated by Christal Whelan (1996 University of Hawai’i Press) is a great introduction to this if you’d like to know more. I totally made up the part about the Kakure Kirishitans coding magical knowledge into the Tenchi, though. I do think, if JKR’s world were real, such a thing could have happened.

The descriptions of the wand woods, cores, and flexibility were taken from pottermore.com.

If anyone missed it in chapter 6, Miranda’s living brothers in birth order are Patrick, Seamus, and Finnian.

The North Wind restaurant was inspired by the Norse folk tale, Peter and the North Wind.

The magical education system in Romania was inspired by Romanian folklore, which includes legends of wizards called Solomnari (singular, Solomnar) who live in caves and collect children with magical abilities in order to train them into future Solomanri. They also ride dragons.

------------------------------

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Fourteen+

Chapter Sixteen+ >>

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reviewinglocalbusinesses · 2 years

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bastardsonofday · 5 years

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OHKAY SO @rhyciensmut SENT ME AN ASK AND I LOST IT CUZ IM AN IDIOT BUT ANYWHO HERE IT IS

hi!! im not really sure if you're still taking these but rhycien + "you’ve had a rough day so let’s get in our PJs and watch a cute movie together and cuddle"?

Sure thing!

Prompt: hey you’ve had a rough day so let’s get in our PJs and watch a cute movie together and cuddle bUT IT’S TOTALLY PLATONIC ALRIGHT

(Yeah you can still send me these if u want) (also i changed cute movies to cute tv shows and gilmore girls is a personal comfort show of mine)

Lucien lay on the floor of Feyre and Rhysand's dorm room to study. He was here and not his room because currently Vassa was entertaining some of her friends from her "Queens" roller derby team and they were.... a little intense to say the least. So he'd taken refuge at Feyre's like she always said he could.

Feyre herself was out on a date with Mor and she promises that Rhys would be late home anyway because of the Poli-Sci class of his doing some thing or another, so it would be quiet. Food was in the fridge and he was free to use her Netflix account.

Not that Lucien minded Rhys. In fact, they had become friends recently, and Lucien actually rather enjoyed hanging out with him. Too much, actually.

Way too much.

And anyway, Lucien was busy. It was a good thing that Rhys would be out late, Lucien had a soc paper due and he couldn't have any distractions (also the reason he hadn't headed over to Cass & Az's place, though, albeit, Rhys was certainly a much more welcome distraction than the two of them).

Lucien turned on Criminal Minds as background noise and got to work.

Lucien hadn't realized how late it was until the door blew open and Rhys stormed through. Lucien jumped at the sudden noise and fumbled with the remote as he turned off the TV. "Oh. Hey Rhys."

Rhys glanced down at Lucien and a flash of surprise lit his face. "Lucien. What're you doing here?" He said in a way that was cold and harsh.

Lucien flinched. "Feyre said I could study- I'll leave if I'm disturbing you-"

Rhys' face softened immidately on seeing Lucien flinch. "No. Stay." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I was just- Today has been a bad day. Sorry if I'm a bitch tonight."

"Oh, that's okay. I was gonna just study anyway--no need to feel like you have to pay attention to me or anything." Lucien tapped gently out a sentance on the keyboard of his laptop as Rhys struggled out of his coat and scarves.

"Want to talk about it?" Lucien asked.

Rhys shook his head and sat down on the couch. He pulled a pillow up to his chest, resting his chin on it. "Not really." He muttered.

He glanced over at Lucien. "Paper for Spellcleaver's class?"

"Yeah."

"Heard he's a tough grader." Suddenly Rhys flushed and looked away. "Sorry." He mumbled. "You probably want to write in peace. I'll just go to my room-"

"Actually, I'm pretty much done. I've just got a few more line of the conclusion to write, but I can do that tomorrow." Lucien said. He saved and closed his laptop. "You don't have to leave. I was planning on sleeping over anyway so what do you want to do to make you feel better?" Lucien asked.

"Don't make fun of me." Rhys warned.

"Would I ever?" Lucien asked retorhically because while they both knew he would under normal circumstances they also both knew he wouldn't at this very moment.

"I just kinda... want to sit here and watch fluffy tv shows... okay?"

Or well, knew Lucien wouldn't after he got one shot in. "Should we also paint each others nails?" Lucien teased.

"You said you weren't going to make fun of me!" Rhys whined, hitting Lucien gently on the arm.

Lucien chuckled. "That was the only one I get for the night. Promise." He tossed the remote over to Rhys. "Alright, slumber party it is. Pick a show and I'll see what junk food you have."

Lucien stood and walked over to the kitchenette when Rhys called "Feyre's got some Ben and Jerry's in the freezer!"

While Lucien grabbed a handful of crap-food from the kitchenette (Ben and Jerry's included) Rhys went to his room and changed into a pair of pajama booty-shorts he'd gotten as a gag gift from Mor (they read "Enemy of the State" across the butt, 'cuz he was a poli-sci major Mor had explained) and a sweatshirt. Lucien tossed him a bag of doritos and stuck a Plate of nachos into the toaster oven to cook while he took the oppertunity to change into pajamas as well. (His, however, proclaimed no discontentment towards the state of any kind).

By the time he was done so was their food and they settled down on the couch, nachos between them, as Rhys clicked on Gilmore Girls (currently his go-to feel good show). Rhys liked to yell at the characters when they did something stupid and loved the sense of humor. Lucien didn't feel much of one way or another about the show, but Rhys loved it. And He-

Nope. Not going there.

Lucien settled his eyes back on the TV, hoping the redness of his cheeks would fade before Rhys looked over.

Seven episodes, two nacho platters, three bags of chips, two hot chocolates, and a half a pint of ice cream later, Rhys and Lucien were curled up together on the couch, Rhys laying on Lucien's chest and Lucien trying really really hard not to be- well... hard.

Dead puppies. Professor Helion in a bikini. That time you accidently walked in on Eris. Naked Grandma. Amren.

Rhys shimmied slightly in Lucien's grasp, and Lucien caught his breath. He'd been trying so hard (really, he had to stop thinking about that word-) not to have a guest appendage apperance that he hadn't noticed the "Are you still watching" Netflix message. How long had that been up there? Why wasn't Rhys reaching to-

Oh. Lucien craned his neck around to see Rhys's face. Rhys had fallen asleep.

On Lucien.

So here Lucien was trapped. Until the end of his days. Not a bad way to go, Lucien thought absently as he restrained himself from brushing Rhys' hair from his face.

Lucien gently reached over Rhys and turned off the TV, careful not to wake him. He then settled back under Rhys, curling his arms tighter around Rhys's waist so he wouldn't fall off the couch and riskily place his head in the crook of Rhys' neck. His eyes flutter closed right as Rhys said groggily: "Lucien?"

"Hmm?" Lucien's heart pounded in his chest as Rhys shifted around, tired eyes blinking open, long thick eyelashes sweeping.

Lucien forgot how to breathe. And any luck he'd had preventing an erection was suddenly out the window.

"Thanks for tonight." He mumbled, yawning loudly. His eyes fluttered closed again, as if he couldn't keep them open anymore. "I know I-" he took a break to yawn again, "-interrupted your studying with my shit, but you've really made my day better. You're a good friend." He turned back around and settled back against Lucien.

Yeah, Lucien thought, heart crushed. Friend.

Lucien leaned his head back down against Rhys' neck and closed his eyes. He was just on the verge of sinking into sleep when could have sworn he'd heard Rhys breathe a slightly incoherent: "love you."

Lucien's heart skipped a beat as he said back, "love you too."

#diana writes prompts #diana writes rhycien #diana writes lucien vanserra #diana wants attention #diana replies #anywho sorry abt losing the ask hope this works #me????? posting content???? never!

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aithne · 5 years

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(Illume) Epilogue: Wear Red When You Bring Me Offerings

Yukiko delivered her child, a healthy son named Ryutaro, on the second of October. Iyotushi Akechi was crowned Emperor on October fifth, 1583.

When the smoke cleared, all of the retinue but Reiko could be healed and returned to life. The spirits were dispersed into the land through Tadaki's tower, and there they reside to this day. After the coronation, the retinue departed for the four corners of Japan, to see if the war-torn land could be salvaged.

The Crane Clan was decimated by the machinations of Arenro, and on Lord Akazawa Tsuneyasu's death in 1585, the Crane was simply folded into the Scorpion, Tomika and Funitsu ruling jointly over the combined clan. The pair stayed married (though why they did so was the wonderment of all who knew them, except Yukiko), and eventually had three children, two boys and a girl. Soshi Tsutsako never married, preferring her shujenja studies to all worldly affairs, so she claimed.

The Crab did survive to rise again, though Hideyoshi did not return to his former position as Clan Lord. Haku's daughter Kita was adopted into the clan and ruled them for forty-four hard years, as the Crab fought to regain even a shadow of its former glory.

Haku married within his clan and had five children--not including the one who was Yukiko's son. Few ever guessed Ryutaro's parentage, as he took strongly after Yukiko's father. Those who did guess never spoke of it; Haku took the secret to his grave. It is unknown if Yukiko ever knew who the father of her child was.

Hideyoshi served under Akechi as the general of the Imperial Army for seven years. His body never fully recovered from his extended spirit possession, and as his health declined he gave up his position and went to live in Sapporo, in the newly rebuilt Phoenix palace. He died in his sleep in 1598.

Hiroshi found that life within the Unicorn suited him and kept both of his wives pregnant almost constantly for years. Sun Bear took over leadership of the clan when she gained her majority, and proved to be a fierce and wise leader. Hiroshi died in battle in 1622.

Panda and Nibori eventually had a number of children, most of whom were hengenyokai, two of whom were nearly pure Air Spirit Folk, the twin heirs of Skyhome. Tadaki visited regularly until Nibori's death in 1642. Panda outlived her husband by twenty years, but on his death gave leadership of the Lion clan over to her eldest son and retired to Skyhome. To her dying day, she went for daily flights with Gryphon.

Gryphon found himself a mate--a number of them--and lived quite happily in Skyhome for the rest of his days. He always seemed to have a kitsune or two around him, the only gryphon to ever keep pet foxes.

Tadaki moved the City of the Sun to a large island far off the coast of Japan, and used his now-formidable arts to cloak the island with spells that even today prevent any who are not of hengenyokai blood from finding it or even being able to think of it for very long. He married Kintro, a childhood friend, in 1585. (When she told the story of their betrothal, Kintro never failed to point out that Tadaki, when Kintro told him he was going to marry her, looked around panicked, in hopes that it somehow wasn't him she was speaking to. He did eventually reconcile himself to the notion of marriage.) As of the early 1700's, he still lives in the City of the Sun, the staff that he carries extending his lifespan far beyond the usual for hengenyokai.

Iyotushi Hirohito, at a strongly worded suggestion from his brother, surprised everyone by marrying Soshi Karasuko, Funitsu's stepmother. Thus he cemented the Imperial family's ties to the Scorpion clan. He held the official position of Imperial Advisor for the rest of his life. He and Karasuko had no children.

It turned out that the Demonbane had been holding what was left of the original Thrykreen and the entire remaining population of kitsune in a secure cell under his now-destroyed palace. There were six of each, and by the time they were found they had all paired off. Fortunately for mankind, the two halves of the race decided that they vastly preferred each other's company to living parasitically off of humans. To this day, the myobu (as they call themselves, after the Celestial kitsune who were all killed by the Demonbane) live very quietly in small communities that are usually walled away from the human life around them. A number of them also live in Skyhome.

All of the altered Thrykreen died within six months of the Demonbane's death. The Warresh still slumber in their crystal city, and hopefully always will.

Jeron spent a time wandering the length of Japan, occasionally dropping in on those who had been his compatriots, attending each wedding and funeral alike. For a while, he sailed on the Benevolent, becoming friends (and, it is rumored, lovers) with the copper-eyed second mate, Kalva. When Japan opened its borders in 1642, he traveled west, first through China and India, then Europe, eventually settling in London for a number of years. In 1685, he returned home, settling down to write an English translation of the events of the Spirit War.

The Phoenix Clan passed to Yukiko's son, Ryutaro, and Yukiko served as both the Phoenix regent and Empress until he reached his majority. Akechi ruled for thirty years, overseeing the rebuilding of Japan after the Spirit War, but insisted on keeping the borders of the country closed to outsiders. He died in 1613, followed by Yukiko in 1618. Ryutaro passed on the rulership of the Phoenix Clan to his firstborn daughter and took on the mantle of Emperor. Under Ryutaro's rule, the borders of Japan became progressively more open and the Clans began to fall out of power, as the Emperor worked to make Japan a part of the world.

Takumi Yamashita and Edi-lo were buried in the same shrine, on the grounds of the Phoenix estate in Sapporo.

Takumi Reiko was buried on the Iyotushi estate, just outside of Kyoto, in a shrine built for her by Akechi and Yukiko. The shrine is on a hill overlooking a river. From the torii of the shine, one can look down to the riverbank and see the place where a mage and an immortal once met and fell in love.

Her grave is one of the few places on the earth that the myobu hold sacred.

--Saruwatari Jeron, September, 1703

September 12th, 1703

Jeron leaned back at his desk, looking at the manuscript in front of him. "That's it, then," he said aloud to the empty room. "It's done."

Even with Reiko's spirit gone, he still retained the habits that having her around for a century had ingrained in him: speaking his thoughts aloud, leaving offerings at the small altar under one of the windows in this small house, double-checking to make sure he didn't accidentally close the door on her tails when she was frisking around in fox form.

He had begun the translation after she'd gone, almost twenty years ago, returning to Japan and finagling his way into the Imperial vaults, where Yukiko had stored her journals and letters before she'd died. There was currently a fad in London for myths and stories from the Orient, and Jeron had a publisher interested in his translation. The desk before him was littered with paper and parchment, covered with elegantly handwritten Japanese script.

"Funny. Only the myobu and hengenyokai will ever realize what this is, if they ever read it. The humans have already forgotten us. It's probably for the best."

He stretched and rose. He'd go visit the shrine on the Iyotushi estate tonight, he decided. Since he had returned, visiting Reiko's grave had become another habit. Seemingly by accident, he had ended up living only an hour's walk away.

Though I am not certain what I will do, now. Return to London, I suppose, for a little while.

That evening, he walked into the shrine overlooking the river. A young woman, fine-boned and very small, was standing on a stool, lighting lanterns. She heard his step behind her and turned, smiling. "Welcome, stranger."

Jeron stopped cold.

The girl's eyes were amber as topaz. He felt the prickle of her life force against his skin, like a subtle wind. She was kitsune, and from her raised eyebrow, she knew that he was Thrykreen. He bowed slightly, and went inside. The shrine attendants were usually human, though he supposed it made sense that a young kitsune might come here to serve a few years.

After paying his respects, he returned outside. The shrine attendant was standing at the torii, looking down at the river with a wistful expression on her face. He sat on a stone beside her. "How goes the hunting?"

She quirked her mouth in a small smile. "Well enough. Tell me, have we met before? You look familiar, though I can't place you."

"We might have. What's your name?"

"Ishimaru Kaede. I grew up in Skyhome, and my parents finally let me out into the world on the condition that I do a turn as a shrine attendant. I picked here, because it feels very peaceful to me."

"I haven't been to Skyhome since Panda died. That was--has it really been forty years now?" He looked over at her, and in the light from the lanterns saw something that he had missed before, a pure white streak in her black hair.

She saw where his glance went, and self-consciously patted the streak. "I was born with it. The priest said it was a sign that I had a troublesome last life. And, yes, it's been forty-five years since our Panda died. I'm only nineteen, so I never met her, though my parents are friends with her sons. What's your name?"

He hesitated. His name was legendary, and he felt a great reluctance to give it and possibly ruin the first good conversation that he'd had with one of the myobu since Reiko's spirit had left him. He couldn't bring himself to lie, so he said, truthfully, "Saruwatari Jeron."

The girl blinked. "Oh." She considered this, and her hands crept to the hems of her sleeves, fidgeting with them. The gesture was unconscious and so reminiscent of Reiko that Jeron's heart gave an unexpected twist.

Nonsense, he told himself. I need to stop looking for her in the face of every woman I meet. This is a pleasant girl, a pretty young kitsune, nothing more.

"I've heard stories of you my whole life. It's interesting to have the reality sitting beside me. You're not as tall as I thought you would be. The stories make you sound like you're a giant."

He chuckled. "Things get exaggerated. I'm a Thrykreen like any other, Kaede. I'm just a bit older than most."

Kaede tilted her head, considering this. "And you were a part of the Spirit War. And you knew Takumi Reiko. What was she like?"

He closed his eyes, remembering. "Small, smaller than you, even. Confused, much of the time. She held great sorrow within her, enough to almost drown her at times. She loved fiercely, and she was one of the bravest souls I've ever known. She died the death of a warrior, fighting for something she believed in."

"Is it true, that her spirit is still attached to you?"

Jeron shook his head. "A century to the day after she died, her spirit disappeared. I believe that she had finally worked out her sorrows, and was ready to move on--whether to another life, or to whatever afterworld waits for myobu."

"Ah. I'm sorry, Jeron."

An odd question occurred to him, and it came out of his mouth before he had time to think about it. "Tell me, do you have nightmares?"

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. "I do. How did you know?"

"I don't know. What do you have nightmares of?"

Kaede looked down to the river, her eyes distant. "I dream of battles with demons who spit molten copper. I dream of sailing ships, of another kitsune dying because I could not protect her. I dream of standing in front of a man who I am terrified of, even though I don't know why I am. I dream I am walking naked on the deck of a ship, and a black-garbed man stops me from throwing myself into the ocean. I dream that my father tells me that I am no daughter of his--though my real father loves me dearly. And other things. I don't know why I dream these things; my life has been a happy one so far, and I count myself very blessed."

Jeron said, softly, "Perhaps they're just echoes of the past. Sometimes stories take on lives of their own. But I doubt it means anything, really. They're probably just nightmares."

"Probably."

He stretched and rose. "I must be off home. I do visit regularly, though, so I should see you again. It was good to speak with you, Kaede."

"Likewise. I'm glad to know there's another myobu living in the area. My parents would be pleased to know there's someone around who can keep me out of trouble."

He grinned briefly, the first evidence of the sense of humor he evidently kept well hidden flashing in his eyes. "I'm not so sure I'm the one to keep you out of it. Perhaps we could find some to get into, one of these days."

Kaede's eyes glittered with amusement. She watched the Thrykreen walked down the road and away from the shrine, murmuring to herself, "I think we may both be in trouble already, Jeron."

(Ishimaru Kaede and Saruwatari Jeron were married in April of 1704.)

Here ends Illume, a chronicle of the conflict that became known as the Spirit War. 3/2004 - 10/2004

#so queued #gaming recaps: illume #D&D recap

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