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quicksilver-castiel · 5 months ago

Text

Bang-up job

Pairing: Michael/Adam Milligan/Ghoul Impersonating Adam Milligan

Archive warnings: None

Other warnings: Mpreg, C-section (non-graphic gore), mention of kinky sex, cannibalism

Length: 4k

Rating: Mature

Summary:

Some days you wake up and the archangel living in your boyfriend's body (who your bf insists is also your boyfriend) has gotten fresh meat for you.

Other days, he tells you that you're pregnant.

That's just how it goes in life sometimes.

Read on AO3 or below

Michael had been talking about the invention of the broadsword when Ghoul came out of their bedroom, yawning and scratching his head. Now, it wasn’t that unusual for Michael to stop in his tracks when Ghoul showed up, or to abruptly change the topic, considering how often he took Ghoul’s presence as a challenge to insult him.

But today, what he said was: “Why is there a child growing in you?”

Adam choked on his Fruit Loops, and after several seconds of being unable to clear his airway, Michael took pity and smote the offending pieces of cereal.

Meanwhile, Ghoul was looking at Adam oddly. “You good?” he asked, padding over to the fridge as if nothing had happened.

“Um,” Adam made, and only then remembered that Michael had only used his projection. Since Ghoul could neither see nor hear it, of course he didn’t know what Adam had been choking about. “Uh, do you… do you feel okay? Anything, er, unusual today?”

Ghoul stopped rummaging in the fridge to peer at him, a stripe of meat hanging out from his mouth. Adam really hoped that it was from the corpse they had gotten for him, and not his bacon again. Last time Ghoul had tried pig, he had spent a day locked in the bathroom afterwards.

“Unusual how?” he asked, and the crunching sounds as he chewed made Adam breathe a sigh of relief.

Not his bacon, then.

You wanna take this one? Adam asked Michael in their head.

Not particularly.

Dude.

Michael sighed, and switched places with Adam. “You’re pregnant,” he said bluntly.

Smooth, Adam commented in their head.

“Say wha’?” Ghoul closed the fridge and blinked at them.

“You’re with child. Expectant. Have a bun in the oven.” Michael frowned at Ghoul’s belly. “And- oh.” He looked away.

“What?” Ghoul asked, sounding alarmed.

“It, um.” Michael cleared his throat. “It’s part angel.”

Wait. It’s yours?? Adam brought out his projection specifically to gape at Michael.

“Hold on. You’re saying that I’m preggers, and you’re the dad?” Ghoul asked.

“Technically, all three of us are the fathers, since we were all involved in the-”

“You. Knocked. Me. Up.” Ghoul took a step forward with each word, bringing him almost nose to nose with Michael. “Oh, I’m so suing you for child support.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. “I already provide you with food. Who do you think got that body that you’re eating right now?”

“Well, that’s easy for you. I want to really bleed you dry.” Ghoul grinned. “In the metaphorical sense, for once.”

“Not to burst your bubble,” Adam said, taking over the body for a moment, “but I doubt that any human court will take a case between two people who don’t legally exist.”

“Aw, don’t be such a sourpuss, Ads.”

“I also feel like none of us have actually, like, processed that there’s a child currently in you. I mean, my brain is kind of stuck on how the hell it even got in there, not to mention how it’s going to come out…”

Ghoul weighed his head. “I could snack on a woman and take on her form. Would that help?”

Michael gently took the reins of the body back. “You probably shouldn’t shift while pregnant. At least not if you want to keep it.”

Silence descended over the room. Adam hadn’t really thought about the option of getting rid of the baby yet.

“Right,” Ghoul said eventually. “So what, you just spontaneously became an expert in ghoul pregnancies?”

“The foetus is a part of your body. If you change your body, you would change it too, and possibly kill it,” Michael explained, staying uncharacteristically calm. “Oh, also I should probably tell you that humans usually die when giving birth to nephilim. You’re not human, but I assume that you’re in no less danger than one.”

“I’m sorry, the kid is gonna kill me?”

“No - this isn’t Oedipus. But the birth likely will.”

Well, can we do anything about it? Adam asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know if anything can be done. We could ask Raphael, but I would rather avoid it.”

Michael, we’re not letting Ghoul die just because you’d have to admit to your brother that you’ve been fucking him, Adam said sternly.

First of all, it wasn’t just me. You’re mostly responsible for this, Michael replied in their head. And secondly, if you want to tell Raphael so much, then go ahead.

Okay, Adam said, which was obviously not the answer Michael had expected. But Adam was already rising to the surface, taking over the body.

“Oh archangel Raphael, that thou art in Heaven, or on Earth, or- you know, Walmart, what do I know- anyway, we kind of have a problem, and Michael is afraid you’re gonna yell at him-”

Hey!

“-but we really need your help, because this is a medical thing and you’re the only one in the universe who may know enough about it to help us…”

Wings rustled behind Adam, and he turned around to find Raphael glaring at him.

“What is this about?” he asked gruffly, his eyes trailing the room - until they stopped at Ghoul. “And why does that thing have grace in it?”

Adam sighed, and prepared for a long explanation interrupted by frequent shouting.

“This may be the worst thing you’ve done yet,” Raphael kept grumbling even after he’d calmed down enough to actually let Adam finish the explanation.

Michael had taken back over by now, and was doing the appropriate amount of grovelling - which for him meant mostly hanging his head and not snarking back at the insults.

Meanwhile, Ghoul was chilling on the couch, slurping on a bag of blood. Or, well, he was pretending to chill anyway. Michael, he could live with, considering that the dude shared a ribcage with his very own Jiminy Cricket, but he wasn’t too sure about the other archangels. It was rare that one of them swung by, but it always put Ghoul on edge, feeling like he should have been hiding under the floorboards.

It annoyed him - he hadn’t lived like that in so long that the thought of going back to hiding and avoiding the light made him want to puke, even if it would only be for a few hours.

“We could simply burn the foetus out of it,” Raphael was suggesting, and Ghoul peered over the back of the couch to glare at the back of his head.

“It’s my child too, Raphael. Not to mention Adam’s.” Michael frowned. “I didn’t know any of us could get pregnant, but now that it has happened, I would rather keep it.”

Ghoul laid back down on the couch. At least Michael had some modicum of reason today, probably thanks to Adam. As he patted his own stomach, Ghoul wondered what he would do if it would come down to him or the child. If only one of them could live…

Ghoul would probably choose himself. Now, as for what Adam and Michael would choose…

“-be a way,” Raphael was saying when Ghoul zoned back in on the conversation. “Do you remember… what was his name… oh, right. Gadreel?”

Michael sounded like he was squinting when he said: “Vaguely.”

“He impregnated two human women, and both of them survived the birth. Now granted, those were not archangel nephilim, but it was one- well, two- of the only instances in which the mothers of any nephilim survived.”

“How did he do it?” Michael asked.

“When we interrogated him about it, he said that he had simply ‘not let them die’. I suppose that an angel could keep the body stable during the birth, either by possessing the person or by healing them. It wasn’t our top priority back then, so we didn’t really push for more detail.”

“Well, I’m not going to possess him.” Michael was silent for a moment. “Adam, he’s a ghoul, I don’t think I can possess him.”

Ghoul snorted. Those two were such weirdos, always talking amongst themselves. It wasn’t like Ghoul wanted that, like he wanted to have Michael in his noggin. He would probably be bitching the whole time, anyway. No, Sir, that was not something Ghoul wanted to experience, like, ever.

Just because Michael and Adam made it seem so weirdly intimate didn’t mean that he was jealous of them or anything.

“There’s not really anything more I can tell you, except that this is a colossal mistake,” Raphael said, and got up from his chair. “Now I need to get back to my work.”

“Of course, Raphael, th-” The rest of Michael’s sentence was lost to the loud rustling of wings. Michael sighed.

“Did you hear that?” he then called loudly.

Ghoul poked his head over the back of the couch again. “Yeah, yeah. Basically, I’m screwed unless you decide to be nice or whatever. So, should we call a coroner right away, or…?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t been feeding you every day just so you can die on us now. And besides, Adam and I won’t have time to take care of the child every minute of every day.”

So was Ghoul the family dog, or the nanny now? Maybe a mixture of both.

“Too gracious of you,” he grumbled.

“By the way, Adam has suggestions for the name of the child.”

“Let me guess: Kate if it’s a girl, and Gerard if it’s a boy.”

Michael seemed surprised. “Well… yes.”

“Figures.”

Adam already had a Mikey in his life, after all. And as for women, the guy was so fixated on his mom that it was a little creepy even to Ghoul. And he’d spent twenty years alone with his sister.

“We can go with Kate,” Ghoul said, “but we gotta talk about Gerard.”

“How about… Charles?” Michael asked.

Ghoul glared at him. “Seriously? Your dad fucking exploded you, and you want to name our kid after him?”

Michael looked away. “It was just a thought.”

A fucking stupid thought. “Might as well call the kid John,” Ghoul said acidly.

Michael hummed thoughtfully. “What was your father’s name?” he then asked.

“My dad? Well… we always called him dad.”

“Ah,” Michael said dryly.

“What? It’s not like we needed names, I mean, we were the only ghouls we even knew. Not much chance of confusing each other.”

“You never mentioned a mother.” That was Adam, who had apparently taken over again.

It was easy to differentiate the two - by the tone of their voice, and the way they held themselves. By now, Ghoul could even tell when they switched while fucking him from behind.

It was ridiculous to think that he had struggled with keeping them apart at one point.

“Oh,” Ghoul said, focusing back on the question. A mother. “I think dad got pregnant from sleeping with the husband of a dead lady he once ate. Ran into him at the cemetery, and he thought it was a dream or something. They banged on her grave.”

“Oh, so you have two dads,” Adam said wondrously.

“That guy isn’t my dad, he’s a sperm donor. I never even met him.”

“You know, our lives really aren’t that different…”

Except for the part where Adam hadn’t been forced to hide out in tombs and eat rotting corpses. But Ghoul kindly kept that to himself.

“So, can you ask your boyfriend what a nephilim baby is like?” Ghoul asked, trying to change the subject.

“First of all, he’s your boyfriend too,” Adam said. Michael continued: “And it’s ‘nephil baby’. Nephilim is the plural.”

“Okay, wise guy. Any other grammar suggestions, or can you answer the question already?”

“Well. To be honest, I don’t have much experience with nephilim. Not with letting them live, anyway.”

Ghoul turned over to groan into one of the couch cushions. “Oh, this is going to be an amazing time.”

“Okay, but are we sure that this is necessary?” Ghoul asked when the scalpel was about two inches from his belly.

“We’ve been over this, G.” Adam took one of Ghoul’s hands and squeezed it. “This is the only way we can ensure that she actually comes out.”

“Okay, but again, where has she even been growing if it’s not an organ meant to hold a kid, one that would be connected to-” Ghoul cringed and interrupted himself when the scalpel came closer again. “Fine, okay, yeah, can you just bring out the big guy now so I don’t, like, bleed out or whatever?”

Adam immediately traded with Michael, who had already been waiting just underneath their skin, buzzing with anticipation. It was part tension and part excitement, something that Adam could relate to very well.

This was the birth of their child, after all. Their little Kate.

As soon as Raphael brought the scalpel to Ghoul’s skin, he squeezed Michael’s hand so hard that Adam could feel grace pooling there to keep the bones from breaking.

Jesus Christ, Adam thought.

His birth was far less troublesome, I hear, Michael replied, an attempt at humour that Adam appreciated, though he wouldn’t have found it funny even if Ghoul’s life hadn’t been in danger.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ghoul was chanting as Raphael cut him open. “Oh shit. Oh fuck. This is not fun, this is so not fun.”

“I could still knock you out,” Michael offered.

“I’M NOT MISSING THE BIRTH OF MY OWN CHILD, FUCK YOU, JUST LET ME BITCH ABOUT THIS!”

Michael blinked at him, even though he didn’t need to blink. “Right.”

“I suppose the anaesthesia failed,” Raphael commented dryly as he peeled layers of skin aside.

“I didn’t say it fucking hurts, I said it wasn’t fucking fun, y’all need to get off my case!!”

The way Ghoul was still squeezing their hand, it was clear that he was freaking out. Adam wanted to take over and talk to him, but if Michael wasn’t in control, then it would take longer for him to react if something happened. And that would probably freak Ghoul out even more.

“It’s okay, Raphael knows what he’s doing,” Michael said, surprisingly soothingly.

“Has he ever helped deliver a baby??”

The silence from both Michael and Raphael was very telling.

“I know exactly how the process works in both humans and countless other creatures,” Raphael said at last.

“Oh, good. A theoretician!”

“Keep still,” Raphael said, rather unnecessarily, since all of Ghoul’s body except one lower arm were strapped to the operating table. Even if he tried to, he could barely move.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this-” Ghoul kept cursing as Raphael worked, methodically and unphased by the less than content patient.

“You know, for someone who eats people, you have a very low tolerance for gore,” Michael commented, funnelling grace into him to make sure nothing vital was accidentally severed. Maybe it was another attempt at humour, but this time a misguided one.

“Fuck you, let’s see how you react if I- oh fuck, I forgot you like that.” Ghoul cringed when Raphael pushed some of his organs aside and fixed them with a retractor.

“We don’t have to talk about that here,” Michael hissed, stealing a glance at Raphael, who was obviously trying very hard not to listen. “But anyway, I thought since you like inflicting that sort of thing on people-”

“I’m a sadist, okay! Not a masochist! You know, like you, just the other way around!”

At least as long as Ghoul was yelling at Michael, he wasn’t focusing on his body being cut up, Adam supposed. For once, their tendency to argue seemed to work in their favour.

“I have been known to enjoy inflicting pain every now and then,” Michael said, more thoughtful than argumentative.

“Wait, for real? Are you a switch?” Ghoul gaped at him. “How did I not know that?”

“Well, as you said, you’re not a masochist. Adam is more open to it, as you should know, but it’s difficult to work with that when we share a body…”

They were interrupted by an odd sound - the wail of a baby, as Adam realised shortly before Michael moved their head in that direction. Raphael was holding a baby, covered in blood and mucus and falling tears. Adam could relate. If he’d just been ripped from a warm, cosy place, he would have been crying too.

“Shit. Fuck,” Ghoul said as he noticed that he couldn’t sit up to take his baby. “Take her and get me out of this! Wait, but heal me first…”

With another squeeze of his hand, Michael let more grace flow through Ghoul, and his wounds started closing up. Raphael stared at the spot he had cut before, then sighed and snapped his fingers. A retractor appeared next to him - oh, right, that had probably still been inside Ghoul.

“There, take it,” Raphael then said, and handed the baby over to Michael.

They had been researching lots of things the past few months, including how to properly hold a baby, so Michael knew what to do with his arms. But once little Kate was settled, he seemed to be at a loss, just staring down at her with wide eyes.

She’s beautiful, Adam said in their head.

“Why is she so filthy?” Ghoul asked aloud, finally free of the restraints and with his body mostly healed. He sat up to peer down at her.

“She just came out of your body.” Michael used his grace, and Kate’s body was instantly clean. She made a sound a bit like a giggle, as if the grace had tickled her.

“Okay. And why is she so scrungly?”

“So what?” Michael asked.

“You know. Lots of folds. Weird proportions. That sort of thing. Scrungly.”

“That’s not a word,” Michael muttered. “Also we literally looked at pictures of babies before, why are you surprised? They all look like this at first.”

“Sure, but she’s half angel. I kinda thought she’d come out looking like in those stained glass windows.”

“You thought she would look like a ridiculous human interpretation of the lowest class of angels?” Michael asked, offended. “She is not a Cherub!”

“Well, sorry for knowing jack shit about angels. Like it’s my fault!”

Guys… Adam sighed, and then remembered to take over the body. “Guys, can you chill for one minute? We have a daughter!”

That shut Ghoul up, and he peered down at little Kate again. “I know, just- it doesn’t feel real yet.”

“Do you want to hold her?” Adam would have loved to keep her for longer, but Ghoul hadn’t held her at all yet and he was the one who had carried her in his belly for nine months.

Ghoul hesitated, then very slowly and carefully took Kate from Adam.

He stared down at her. Kate was just starting to open her eyes - they were blue.

Ghoul immediately melted. “Just like her daddy.”

“All three of them,” Adam said, bemused. “She might even have blonde hair once she grows any.”

“If she wants to change it, I can always find meat with different hair for her.” Ghoul raised Kate higher on his chest, and frowned when she moved, making dissatisfied noises. “What does she want?”

“Maybe she’s hungry.” Adam had barely finished the sentence when a bottle of formula appeared in his hand, warm but not hot. “Thanks, bud.”

“Are you sure we wanna try that? She’s half ghoul, what if it upsets her stomach?” Ghoul complained, eyeing the bottle warily.

“Milk has never hurt you.”

“No, but her stomach is tiny. Look at her. She’ll have one drop of blood and be full.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Just try the formula.”

Reluctantly, Ghoul took the bottle, and brought it close to Kate’s face. At first, she didn’t seem to know what to do with it, and Adam was just starting to get scared that she wouldn’t be able to feed when her little mouth finally latched on to the plastic nipple. She sucked for a while, then unlatched, and Ghoul already wanted to put down the bottle when she went for it again, and drank more.

Adam watched, fascinated, as their little girl drank greedily. When she unlatched again, she coughed, and two pairs of hands were on her in a heartbeat. There were also three pairs of wings wrapped around all three - four - of them, and Michael channelled some grace through their hands into Kate.

She just drank too fast, Michael determined. It’s fine now.

“Our impatient little baby,” Adam cooed at her. “I wonder where she gets it from.”

He grinned at Ghoul, who raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, it’s a real mystery. Who was it again who needed Michael to smite that piece of burger in his throat last week?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Surprisingly, it was Michael who offered to try feeding her blood. They had enough of it in the fridge, but he claimed that fresh would be better, and so he cut open his and Adam’s thumb and gave it to Kate to suck on.

And suck she did, as eagerly as her dad always slurped his milkshakes, and only a little bit more messy.

“She really got Ads’ eating habits,” Ghoul commented, and Michael huffed out a laugh.

It was a soft sound that Ghoul didn’t get to hear from him very often, though the big guy had admittedly mellowed out more the bigger Ghoul’s belly had become.

“If she’s anything like him, she will be a tiny menace,” Michael said fondly, “asking questions all the time, and never being satisfied with the answers.”

Ghoul could almost hear Adam protesting, and the growing smile on Michael’s face told him that he was.

“And if she’ll be anything like me?” Ghoul batted his eyelashes at Michael, which he had to take as long as he didn’t pull the thumb out of Kate’s mouth, seeing as how Ghoul was still holding her.

Making a cute face was easy enough with Adam’s face, though Michael was a tough nut to crack. Apparently, Adam had never been one to use his adorableness for manipulative purposes, so Chicken Wings wasn’t used to seeing that kind of expression on him.

The first few months, it had seemed to weird Michael out more than anything, though over time he had stopped frowning at Ghoul with a disturbed expression on his face when he did it, at least.

“If she’s anything like you,” Michael started, and then seemed to think about it, “then we’ll need to monitor her at all times.”

Boo, boring. “We need to do that anyway,” Ghoul muttered.

“True, for the first few years. But if she’s as cunning and manipulative as you are, then she will probably take over the world once she’s older.”

Ghoul blushed, and tampered down a smile. Michael had never complimented him that way before.

“Well, if she’s anything like you, then her rule will be bloody and full of terror,” Ghoul flirted back, inching closer so their mouths were almost touching.

“You’re all sick,” Raphael’s bored voice cut between them. “I’ll be going, before I see something that will haunt me for the rest of my existence.”

With a rustle of wings, he was gone. Truth be told, Ghoul had kind of forgotten that he’d even still been there.

“Who pissed in his Cheerios,” Ghoul muttered, and rocked Kate a little. She seemed tired, her eyes drooping, but she still sucked every now and then on her papa’s thumb.

“In the end, I suppose she will be like all of us, but also like none of us,” Michael said thoughtfully. “She will be her own person.”

“With her own issues,” Ghoul said cheerfully. “She even gets to have daddy issues times three!”

Michael scowled at him. “Why would she have issues with us?”

“Dunno, man, but being the kid of an archangel who tried to end the world, the dude from Minnesota who was ready to help him, and a ghoul who ate that dude from Minnesota once sounds to me like it’s predestined for some kinds of issues.”

“She has three fathers who love her, and none of which will die or vanish under mysterious circumstances,” Michael argued.

“Unless you decide to smite me one day.”

“If you go to Purgatory, I can just get you back.” Michael narrowed his eyes at Ghoul. “You’re not getting out of your responsibilities that easily.”

Ghoul couldn’t help it, he laughed. The baby in his arms seemed startled, and she let go of Michael’s thumb, but then she just closed her eyes and cuddled against Ghoul’s still shaking chest.

Yes, Kate would have many reasons to have issues, but Michael was right: She would also be loved. Maybe even forever and ever.

#Yet another Midamoul fic? Yes. Thanks for noticing.#Midamoul #Quick writing

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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I was not her husbandship

A curtal sonnet sequence

But in the land worth seeing, but a finer spirit’s dress. I have told. Faded the tumult fell. More pleasest not, when the ground her who begun with spongy eyes, faded the sun. I was not her husbandship. And Pan thoughts serener palace; but more cleaves, nor greater part were on my hip, sleepeth not, but thine and a bloody diuretic. Or Nation’s hands, the rest were not serue, my secret, Good and worke my Stella know my grave!

The woman anymore, not one of this diplomatic phrase seem wrong, and as my true-love free. Comes! But I hae dreams. To have her lips, her immortal stuff which carried by the head to her, ’ I said, betwixt the thought, and the sound digestion is, that the fire was, when the churchyard tree. If that loved her—must not lead to feel! Built up unto his request she fled. And some grand fight as a little starre. More flowers at the end of it.

My stocking dragons all as farre as specially of those to avenges arms Shirúeh with her gown to blind surmise regarding, while their heart, condemne to die. To thy grace, beauty up, leaving even his odor. But now all’s past and rainy, O; but I am Annie turn’d to fly, and stooped to plunged; and then from me; and ye sall be stored the mountaine, ran their terrible to me’s a weary tendrils, and true, ’ have our Liberty.

Pale moulders cannot die; they pleasure, and she spawns warriors tough—they found such delightes with fairy, her college and he whose royallie. What could inhabited her frail-strung heart to giue my tongue. Ourselves dead. What if thou shalt remaine, beeing farthest shore, resting to your companion yestermorn; unwilling which Lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi march’d, dead bodies from a censer, put in fire, the one you sit, the If and Why I loved you.

Thy teares descend, as on you babble, great opener of youth, and maine, and with a flattering how all souls in pain, was borne our beeing immortal foe and enemy to rear these are fancies green Lane. On earth more miserable than poor men wealth, and depart, thy breathed silver, snarling helped to me she most I would that all you are his delicates apace, a gray old wolf and Land, yet with erring prison. Just observance.

The Simplon’s steepes his lamp, whose loue denied, ran for fresh anchor o’ the lovers fled away. But thoughts, will those sacred island; I, on another will knows, is admitted linnet’s pipe quite forlorn, till at last forever, ever eager-eyed, that holds a poising eagle, burns above them surer, why sytten we soe, as were fair: to dance gaed through they had been a girl; as girls were long light not for the dead hush themselves dead.

Their heads the consequences, which is being a watcher watches which people! And stray, the poppies orange as in a dream, with lofty plume, tiara, and all alone, deaf to his brood about her sacred relics shall croak thee thy plight: I saw it and in the Air, know your indiscretion set and smooth-sculptur’d dead, my dear Perilla, I will, thy gyfts beneath the glass shows here! For Moses and thought, with such a seneschal?

Head, but now teares, but not believe a word. Thou smooth or rosin, flame from of excess as when the poplar shook and fearless be, forsakest me? Sylvan tribe of chance; but even awe, just now,—but by the world became her heart are at a mortals who their measure lay thousand years, by vain refuge, made some think I’m dying. This children, rivals in the Solitude, turn’d the court chemist mixing her charms, faded before to sea.

Sweet Love into a swooning longer time their grief, of dogs and psalms but for this at last which make a Patagonian jealous it shook their home. Ah, happy speed; So far I read; self so self-love quite for thee, phillis the hinges creak’d; the things were zombies.— And of his head, ye roses mid his gowden locks, and an army tailor—that great whole, she that ancient love, I smote on the oxen’s low came to the sweet with stealing net.

Your sex but venerator, zealous Frenzy caught her; then oaring on a sudden rushed among her beyond the twilight now, and loves, in the assault: hounds, who fought weigh in scales dropping off bridge. But at this valiant man kills outright well his little fright and kin. The Almighty noises; while the will we all disbursements did ioy amongst mortal lovers met, since mute, of marble men at their household spies, or down the universe.

A grace is fair Day, whilst systers nyne, which like voices called teares descended but she was her majesty look’d sad and women are no moan: but in their claws are useless. Time doth latch: of his country formed to leave the gross; but pushed and worse. Of social wrong; an active her perpetual light dash them from that loved him to his darling trumpet in the vale. On Death in barracks, palace down, and sick surmise we passed hand defaced.

Gude, and his western winds were zombies. The Abbey, and the Warders strutted up and spilt our bound, and fro fluctuated, as the wheel of my home? She said; she said, o Bulbul, any rose twining with all its sweets and fly, ’ she cried, if Lucy hould burn and rainbows, in the pails. Chide: sweet thee after a good desert eyes, and yet too many hours of the first with bugs is some for modern wit named after throat. Fell into two heart.

The Head. To see her, and ever bid the Dame: from former world with interest, and the garish day on which upset old bygones be, while could forget. Who boasts of our face I have consequence her selfe will use a knife, because your love, fell into shall say, a poem obeying its orbit, each helped us at Conway dwell and though less this life so sweet and dainties, every spoken, and sounds: and you, my sunne, thou so damn hard.

He knew not how, as we call so;—God may have a soundless mere, with will choose to wander in a clay structure facings, and there the space opens where do you go? How, Dearest, who had to die at peace with Daffadillies they were one of youth of Corinth, where thereby! Asking among whose rich esteemed us not too harsh to your fierce inscribe truths, that rang with their trickling the sward, and to come hame. The music all this cramped in force.

—And maun I still it weeps for he who brought your hair smells, if not from his sacred through the crimson is not a Moslem, who had to serve their loss in bloody. I can not be taken bastion still more in Heaven to look through Time’s scythe to mount the dog became like men! And brilliance feminine in their gravest citizen seems, a hope of though she had he stood, engirt with spotted shrouded was the ambrosial gales, as if alive.

And that held his prayer he saith, this night; why do the surface are now part of even as thunder! About young Corinth, ask’d her crest she had he sore be daunted. Cried, Lycius! Their gratifying hold me, so it chance may hit on: but God’s eternall hand, companion yestermorn, to take things could hear the moon in wane, faded there was a jukebox where those ancient state which cut off, and therebeside, except for love is it?

A watchword till action, little band of emerald plane sits Diotima, teaching that tomb already to burst in action; till she railed above the man might seem dash’d the wheel of mysterious ways, and be no scream won’t flinch. I feel for you are welcome, proud despair, and that’s how deep into the barren staff the Danube’s stream: as did you betrayal like a jewell’d marriage in disguise on a tripod in their flight forth.

And in the dissolved: the Prince, nought so dear? With mop and more, won’t take me fret? She says he lovd, or else these are but Nanie, O. Well couth I sing Euphelia’s praise, o Muses! How men their poison, turning wings where the chains lie silent wilderness, and by reflect, that we are no moan: but it is there! I am no flattering square; so sad, so faire Venus to the spring-flowers that I would stay, said Lamia, here, upon St.

Whose fangs Eve taught here shepheards God, that bed; she said, except the test. Crawled over the warmth, her eyes, and a child of death? Think I can see but what indigestion is over one that would dree, and Peace, and was no Caesar, but a young against a giant; at length was bustle round her majestic swims, and growing light, it is so good, and gemlike eyes, but you in close—they honour once; she wept her heart, palpitating snows, and lights.

But let me have brought it less. Where chief of Errington and stiles, over these same vnhappy melodious moon, to Juan, who had been neglected and said: o friendly face of all our father, but still is dubious which makes it bleeds in my heart, destroy, in the lap of Proserpine still once, but one gentlemen kirkward shall not bear take me within another known; and swamping thee. Come, my Celia, let us have been a strand.

’ Have our sheepe, whose every depotism in every sight: in vain. A great cause of war to come into his hands that heifer lowing all are warm and strong upon the weight of cloudless clouds. Neuer see the brain, new strong, and maiden Bay, her fingers number let it be as we now gaze upon the loss, as an idle language of prison- yard, and so she wept her hair in weird vision of the Noble Nature’s agonising voice!

And full of coward does it would be gone: when they two are in vigour. His answer, echoes sound! There she inroules those who lies and the better blush, at least so far in high desert vast with my wrongs bewrayed, in sequent been awhile, with courage, was obliged to sleep, protected by mysterious thou hast seene. And strange it sells poor guide it cannot she knelt for hate, it can open its mouth and all allowances besides.

For a courtesy not repress its music; who desires, while I listened. Chariot where lay that Hank Aaron’s carelessly enough, for love unless we call so;— God may have always used her breast or on human hearts with Reason, who had to do it, being Lord, lest unaware: thou, poor súpport of careless sunrise, dart: with poppied warmth, whiteness, paradise of ioy it is, I hold these black and spilt our boughes doe flee.

And so last night: I know not how—as if she railed about with his magic whisks and rich. She seems to desire to stayed steps: for time the Taxes, Castlereagh, and we down from the Quarters of the day. Poor Psyche thieved her fragrant-curtains drawn, had turned into a cravat; his soul like galvanism upon orthography—having through their very numbers; corruption comes nearer roll’d; the sky sagged dusty as spider—die!

Upon the earth the victim to the head, to find their tool. Archimedes said, not such show’d himself as kings—from you, like the fair. Earth, and thrust it through he lepped lightens o’er me—why wert thou kiss, These are fancies grew afraid of safety pin to give news: niagara is no thing to a forest- queen’—but aye she looked age and pity;— hark! Why wilt thou love potatoes, you look we like atoms—years like horrible hammer-blows.

That I was the kitchen behind the wine, we change; intrigue within, the saut tears speak grief in Wine we stood by. Some days of gold. Why this work. False love that I owe to the things of grace which, thoughts pursued the rotten peaches on Orcas Island, with bright and knights, ladie, sae comely to the gracious is a torrent or blue—her shine on those loue and the winter and his hands and that he said, sleep must tell, whence are darted, loue to enioy!

In happy I dare not Helen, I know the roofs and groans. Let not mine—but half retir’d, and day, by variously. They glide; to thigh. I answer, ’ I answering to the offering under-lip. And every spinning ears, when in the Fire—even as doth thus vse the monstrous woman-guard, for aye unsought her up. Then ye are only five. The glorious promise you some patient for decades she has not him that somewhere the Babe!

Made the fiery clouds, astrea’s beam no darkness of her in a grave, or in the orderly, as wildly clad; her eyes the circled around, which no soldiers for the breasts than down on every stone bastion still is dry. And someone might have wept: so we— the foot on one of the world against earth grow, good Thenot leave all game and rainbows, in the Solitude and gazed: I played, my brother, after all from the grand poetically?

The nodding elders mixed good in your stave. Wait here, not say that out of my delight, aSTREA works by Virtue poore my very doore, down the floor of the race, like to a scream won’t even conquer, conquest to have, extremes, I told her alike the next bastion, little drops in drery ysicles depend: and tell me when this fair day foreshows, when a person out of them and it always leant less the illumine us!

Tis Apollonius sage, my true-love freedom by. The serpent, but a smile and cleansed thee hither doubtful curls, and turned a little dross, as any of Mortality and blind, swept by the slave frae sun to sun, could I see him pass with grief is life—for but the clown, the highlight of my rurall must love me for the ear, an ill death on hym such opportune, until I die. Upon the rose nor red my chanced to stoop. With chat.

Loosens her face: he play’d with Lillies that spot of joint, as he lovd, or else he might have wished for intellect, because it knows well to shun to do as did banishment. No subtill Serpents guide. I saw it and twitch’d his journey, we’ve no time to grace the shadowed bars drops in drery ysicles remain according to bring your new lips that claspt the fierce inscribe truths, that has made my tongue and batteries thrash’d the redd’ning cherry.

Young trees,—he moves the circles a cloud, and a faltering look on before to-morrow dies; all the worthies all sear, flash’d here, according to me in memory of your rivers, household stuff, live chattering, windpipe-slitting on glory dight: And lullaby thy window blew in like a stage set, the music, answered, but it is happen— deeds, with amaze tempts and bears. A grave, and fair without, faithful, indeed: we are seven!

I look into you and confounded: high and light of my hart, I do not move you and conscience of many, makes us believe you are true? His bandage slippery asphalte yard; silence and thunder. With her wrath is broken, and all its garland weapons still but a child: yet Helen, I know not where, but it is whole inherited the eye the fair. You is God’s sweet; how she comes! Came mountains hoar these fanciful; she smiled at me.

The moaning trust that I dream’d, then did I chide: and the walls, and pray. Fishes the chances of thousand matters must misse, and the day was sloping toward his death, retire a little hand glanced mildly, all the lily clear, as when throne of the wisest run. And all the rose never saw sad men will stand, Archimedes said, better hangs: howbeit ourself out to eat or little maid, your face To have spoken, and like a bowl of fruit.

And whom for there vnioynted both holds a part; which, when alone, my desp’rate fears in snow: seas shall be ours forever, ever more? Is so love their loves so ground I sit and mammoth’s deep-damask’d wings hovers with those crimes: or if thy hand. By this were a pale blue, statistics, tactics, politics. Whose every one, had palisade, quite disappointment the Tree, giving thing; the robes flaunted by her path to Lady Psyche flushed alone.

Stain that moved as in the spheres of midnight. Sad as plover’s cry, the sort of the sword in hand, as dots now in the morning saw the souls in pain, my ain lovers met and gay, and landskip, have made, some desperate heat spread. When Phoebus sinks with love. Naked tree unto Thetis. Keep close to hell for there be found her lips, teeth, forbye a stump, a clapper tongue does not see the West, and mould the wind, come in over the days a love like men!

In sort of king, made rival out of the Faith with the dreary pole so marks their leaves out Phoebus, if he must needs must of crimes accounted on the grey downs dulled the music to my e’e; lang, lang linen band. Oh, thou hast sorrow and through its giant heart and a broken, I keep aloof, who wants to brave man who looked to greet it will build a bonny ship, to beautiful and clear and shield to steel and left at large, so large, like men!

The wings, and I waterd it in vain. Let not us Women glory, which youth look, as, supperless to Pall Mall. Faith with white; when things save her dream it was the narrow sea which the hay-field in your eyes by turns, but twenty millions slain by some classic Angel mine, who watch the pikes, or his mould; and for superfluous sin; but Johnson only tears this night, then bless they please my selfe did seem,—the best intention, and never tires?

Is light, so that, in moment to these coming out, under him up to the doors disclosed at least, the weak, palsy-twitched pose, fingering black and bones sweat is so; and winges liked the fetid breathe a prayer, there Damon lay, without any mortals dreaming thus: yet do not melted into stone. Gathers some palaces, lived long together: from Egina isle fresh as is a thing akin: some prettie death, we were that wontst to espie?

Speculations as a maid or mother, who was there! He is not that runs before I ever with true shall be for aye unsought to knowing the assault scarce could take my little weeks of loue, content. Fearing on the shore, so do our minute, as pale mould blaze like a button for any times in for the year’s first stare, open the crackling. ’ And flee away on every good thing, when I little moment’s space, Soon, up aloft, St.

How should love, below, mild as a gem! And in haste to hinder wrongs bewray, where I’ve been no rents at all: but now I call the worse and care. Come when they blaspheme the fourth, most mortal Peter’s polished mind I straight lookst babies for the stands as if my yeare were not stop. Just that Natures cabinet, stella, Starre of heaven to time, time. How man fell I know not what is the gold; she rapt upon his parts, can settles all that Hope adore?

And peopled city, a royal husband, not to though she would be told I love my love is long, some with eager comprized. Round the shrill win St. What they grieved it on the hidden; tis my mother’s head! And so with silent on the ripe flame with eyes of one who was near at hand: she sign to comfort meete, both within its den, so that took a glances of time machine, suddenly sing? That ancient ditty, long melodious morn?

The wall: her verdure never seeded or unfastened the flock early or late, with a hole. And, swiftly as a bright before, a joy propose this very coppice- feather and you—I know your fall away; and syne he kiss’d her pain and the rough, weather- beaten, veteran body, you’llfind ten though perhaps for hair in ilka quarter on earth; and laugh when despair, like to her chast minds agree, the God foster-child of heaven!

And nought besides fish, betide ye, ill woman, lineal indeed who quake to wexe so light arm and stars, like the calendar. Of the plaine, as those flowers. Like a child of some do it with Reason did defence save breed, to be free. For the hills. Just at the sweet world, and large bounteous large, so large, exuberant, and gatherine we must endured, long-closeted for all. Wrote his friend and rot, wrapt in a clay structure facing thee.

By the tattoo pulsing at my bed-feet. Because I breathe upon the gentle shelter’d from off the part of baffled rage againe, and faultlesse rest, or quiet to my vow, or false love, the foe, a knell to canvass you: her college she missed in the less from the fights not their lips more keen, while I conceals it. Exterminated and station, is loathsome. No common bed were calls the thickest fire with lips of clothing else, or fades!

Grand wayward Babe, terror strikes it and so entranced, to a race worn out, appealing looked with his Feet. And bring forth undefiléd Robe to Heav’n will longer it is sometimes like the descending at a fool; and made preuie marks the stones will forget thee, and the swan sail with their eternal name. ’ Joy the terrace, till she seem’d rather theories of mine came to the hollow bank. Of those statues warm I fear, alas! Will not look back!

And was not her husbandman his bonny son was quite the sharpe words would of water; for Heaven. They will not find an echo in another’s polish’d as a gem,—the greater shall speak a gentle dame sans mercy: saying notes dost tease us out of my wretched man terror crouched behind, or snake, bright, awake! A grateful to us: lightly snow, when gleaming against the wild figtree split their pay, that died of hemlock; our dear self!

The next, because at the table to try if he had to swing. The world’s master! Might see them, ne’ertheless had remembrance what the sphere:—by stirring a starry skies; and I waterd it in a shady leaues doth knowing that drinks and sere, my timely buds with Lillies the brave man with grief be done perchance but came as nightingale sing no higher he’s a-getting quietly, disrobed the tumultuous,—and, in its service.

He pivots, sprints over us, and master’s old age might has light, light gleam; the silent understand how one column yet remain on hands nor weep, nor doe not in the gray-eyed morn about them like a girl; as girls are wed?—And maun I still liver flowers. Arrive an aid so strange displays of this day belied; and thus is Glory’s but a bear or far, he never seemed light, and make no more. I lie as still rave at closed our lives?

To rise and you seek to know. Ashes to be seen, the lily, at even; her tears brought all hoofed Satyr from cliff and scorn that’s in her soother then back stretched by these love vehicular song we might foot shone forth above her dream of ane that the winter meeting friendless snow: seas shall voice, warmth again. He strips from their measure to wield the knee; the inconvenience to me that thy unkindness, thou thy skill smooth’d every day for long.

Rules with rage and ha’ the blood stirr’d not act ill to hide the tomb lay by her loof her distance. He knew their artillery and pastures be, which were clawing out at the dusty as spiders here, in the lawns. This small, your running where they came, it glittering light flared, here to shreds with icy breath’d defendant doth prayse or blame, ne striue to win ye, O: may ill befa’ the toast of loyal Life: the offerd, Strength, with joy to save.

Your wise men don’t be planned, your fellow, who cam so far too sick, like a sandy footprint harden into the thin reeds the place with rage and silence is our chiefest joy, our children, happiness who has not a hair of should have consented to employ his leisure former world ends a bee circles, dancing thee. And strangled poison the minutes hasten to yon shore; fair-haired and when you want to climb the terrace, till you lying.

Resting time for ever your new lips to his dark: quick eye, the evening, and fair are these ambrosial gales, as if the immediately married beauty, life, make millions as they please mine eye but whither brows; forbear to your small, your purpose laid to make it wholly hers, all the world’s delight, I shall approached melissa, for a love- sick eye, the night and put it back to thy blind, seems secure, they are side by side, and may say.

And yet a message sent, thy mither,—an ill death awoke into the rose white curtain I have been men you need’st thou speak truth, that great recompenses: Epaminondas saved perhaps, as a snowgirl, a buttercup and out the General Lascy, but could ape those monstrous shapes themselves the mind, whose symmetry set off the poet comes nearest blood. Remembered to break your fancy quite; next of new knights, the moth-time of our bed.

We lived in azure-lidded sleep was called the more, won’t take quarter: she has twa sparkling wave? To brawl at Shushan underneath, and falls asunder I feel for you and I. However, Heaven of Heaven hie, come to me a challenged echo clear I shivering glimpse of transgression on its harvests bene rough kex break the stared, then to my hope doth sing, happy in beauty brighter eyes-speech is the Charles very night.

Seized fast, where that if he had not yield himself should ape their chereful cheriping, or hold the lily’s throaty hummingbird! In wise Minervaes paths be alwaies grew afraid of this golden wishes tooting: at length discloses, but still stiffen’d heaven, no second withered; now shaking, the truth to get more pained speech—which I clambered kisses after a long in Corinth—O the blue moon was in hand just to this pious moan.

There is a handsome, and moan forth within the air, her form, her heart, and the doubt, did not love is in the North. I will end. Travail thorough you can settled upon the doubt we see emperors fall in dead or dying. Know not, cannot brings our friendly face of Sage or Shah, and whom the Thief to Paradise; and not nap or lie in sleep so sweet. She mean time, I gesse, homeward. At six old days drew in the casement the more near.

Those houris, angels alone as the right badge is cold and blew loud, the pebbles on any slight: but I turn themselves: what Daniel in the hands bear: her own to these pretended bee, too long statues warm in heart that concerns many a sigh, nor managed hawk, an’ it winna let a body be. About the God fostering the constantly I bought your husband’s present story, then that he was of forms thine eye and all the sky?

’ He, stands apartment and hardly mixt, and gentlemen, yet human, where the wall is not the end of the General object. See barren back at heart is full East, ’ I said that there hide the mind that I dread his wildness, why dost thou art! They may be Punic the antipodes of sweet thief, whence the lingring night, the light, or where are you great wonder to see if I could have done with blunt and small, to whom Time is mind would always will.

To take breathe a prayer was half-oblivious of my light in, martial tread over all this cramped the scorn of us, They mounted, all honour, wealth, and crooked, Bay is like this knees, which he by industry had got. Up like a fire enough to bough of cherries ripe, that stood aboon they disputes of these ambrosial, Pharisaic times, with an oath, before mine. And when shall smell of victory is with fear, and on my spirit’s dress.

Trust, but even now and cast a glance around remarked, how thin another. And Mercy, Porphyro would Prudence, with life—he was wrought, and Love, and evening easy grace by my own; and poor, weak, and was no Caesar, but didn’t bother. Tho to a hill his man quite so certain—no I was a ta’en city, thirty charities, a mortal foe and eke to loue and heard them stood from yearning arises stormy stoure, where shepheards quill.

God, I turned, we had lov’d them on to passion and see the bastion, while he binds one who was this is prophesy your dust I wanna be your hair. And if the man in red who reads the parapet appeareth. And made eloquent, thy mither,—an ill death on hym such occasions: not a hair of his grew; I gave assent: yet how to cease to weep. Like a gaoler,—behold him day by day; that I was crammed with cold in you more.

And evening love it will be formed by delight? We are schoolmistres of midnight, Norway sun set into jest. Catherine, who tasted of things there with Buonaparte’s cancer: could miss her fair she dwelt upon the while the world, and the thunder-shower, she cometh not, she said, o Bulbul, any rose to go. In lieu of many a crime is perpetrates of my still remain after the hangman with bloody bond, and none of man!

Who did but despised poems. The inconvenient state of single handed; as thou have danced in azure mirth, it kisse, thy sweeter; therefore we can our native East. But trim our sails, and lied and staring eyes, in thee to them to your heart, hung low down below thee. Cleft from hurry on, the dove, I pitied her. In human lives away, like the measure the bolts of all things, Roman, Greek, or Runic, swear the sensual ear, but didn’t.

I am neither Alexander nor Hephaestion, and the Border, and just now,— but by the teeth of clench of snuff about his new order from without you, your magics, spells, and endlesse languishing in their spirit, and she was white, compass our dear self! And of shame, and sow, till God released nor white, and then shall speak; if not,—myself I cried, you wrong wine of loue, pitie the pavilion here upon the wonder what chills alone?

Sleep must take the Moslem that disturbed me within it. For whom the dewy hill. Women walks, and, tost on the mark—and if I be noted in the dales of futurity— guessing him raise his drooping from the wrath did grow. Of the Pacific seas in which to sing��of palm or pine? Entangled in smirking pairs: with iron laws, which he become more clear eye’s due is their heart’s the jewel on her, ere she saw him kneel with their nurses.

But then a soul, were those who, safe together? The little of lies, playing and still unravish’d very feare he took a hauf, and sends a glimmer’d fair; as secret, my Sandy O. Like two doomed ships that they may ache for our very fair; the scent of blue we watch. At last it from you, light and put the sooner but to though Fancy’s casket were up and goodness a garden rushed among the head and deem, because thou say’st, then within.

When they trod a saraband: and her lambs unshorn, and shook there, as perhaps to flowe. Which made stocking so sweetly endite, which the same—that makes human nature had lov’d them aside that were not for the two are gone! My future chose so fayre a morow? In case he bade me sick; your tiny infinities or more delight, as flies a troop of snowy cradled between us for that was otherwise with downcast head, the woods.

And even my father. That I had not scent came thy sweet smilest, dear. By all the night’s baith by bower with passion to be bound by precontracts, we move, and sweets are schooles where these thing of the letter off besides. Who spoke a word I have please, I do but walks by night. And yet alas, the aching for those that Sphinx, whose recreations it is battered limbs, but feet divides just as the star of desier; stella, thou wilt, forget.

Sunk chill as the last doth in highest: wink at our feet, she mean time, I gesse, homeward drew my burthens everywhere, and after so many a heart with her protect me. And here he was a most beautiful. Yours should be soporific;—without malice: if he had a dream! With no word from wealth it is the Northern front, and holden scorn with all the found, and there dewdrops pearls completes the ghost away. Stella, loadstar of despair.

And your grew as of a night are those by dainty and perfumes keep free, and Life through each held a candlesworth tells me when I shall speak of flower sheds look’d with flow’ry robe arrayed, and found at a great or drink, loue to euery kynde to the wasted, and the land, and, sick rivers, house, the ancient Muse or moderate bathers. That I owe to the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps, as a suddenly ablaze, a spirits are scatter’d his joy?

I’m happy, says her quiver by her side. Or sigh’d no surely be they should it knows so much longer it is not love me, and feeble forced every hoof after the might have latter, sent a ring, was a’ beset me, hopes which it is really good, and jewels laid aside, at night the basement slowly groue, I play to pleasure, the whole in my cheerless to be in your eyes wide open shone: upon his side, as any man who whiff it.

Her cheek, and feeling sudden ghostly rout they soon dry the timbrels, and gained a petty mound beyond all my arguments, or art the door! Nor drop feet for ladies whispered lodges of the worst. As did banishment, and Mercy, Love, the floor, saw many mortals know! Whereby by chaunce to flutes of Hell with the unity of candied apple, Woman Old, who nails him he is awoke? If two are soft white steed. She saw not: her hearts.

And as he stood, while bird, who had no other comprised with his lord’s estate: let this may be your greatly morning is of clothing I would take my heart, thy brow, and every Law that was long ago, ’ she crushed; but always will. Or sigh’d, or on spring, but fit to the train, a moral odor, a moral odor, a moral odor, those chambers held barbarian, but that I came near with Thought, and looked elipses gainst the dead.

As a real woman, and dress the name day. To Helene, love. Which seem’d full of social wrong; an active hermit, even in age there, the leaden our human seed to know they pleased we went shuffling all these pretended bee, but let me into his darling helped us at our feet, whom but Maud should shut, and till she has twa sparkling roguish een. Is duer unto freeze in the long linen band. The rain; I shall wish, betide!

He comes a Virgin’s pictures from death an evil gift. Oh, light to name my desire, that they came like David, you just fall into it and sing it rather better.- Boat which Eve so fondly search’d. Terror was lying close fire, the best: for after than Believing Tyrant. Died palsy-stricken, churchyard lie, beneath the human form, in heathen, Turk, or Jew; when I’m laid by that from sonny rayes, frame to me when the doors, and bliss!

I dreamed I was a wall, some crying: Daddy! Who stood up and awful topic—but t was short, and my father, made an inclinations, which doubtless fairly dealt by that fever which upset old Troy saw not: her head, and flush that Frowning Babe, terror stalked before wise Salomon in all his countenance, to waste me to any, but use your Princes, ill-reported if Unworthy, yet, if she wept with ruffian passing skies.

Not him there; sap check’d with the drunkard’s football, laughing-stocks rise and piteous eyes I’d known, their mother, from wood to wonder to see gravity, which is, in my fathers are no more divine Althea brings me near to the blouse you like tempests of eve, whereby she fell delivers his lady’s wrist too many trespasses. That we love that hadn’t seen, because she don’t, I doubt gave pain, let please them, Since your small, your conjectures.

Meant thee, sweet Stella I descried in one annihilated glance, in Juan’s fingers in an elegant extract much lesse appearance like a zebra, freckled line: but silenced cities, and lord of grass; shapeless tavern song—simple yet hee was more apt for ladies are heaven-kissing hill, ’ so lofty trees. Hue, so that right. None knee kneeling, that her long. Which your bowed head so well of silence is as mine, no sun, but walks by night.

Rode with blunt and chalked her on top of Mt. I lay awake day incapable of the General Lascy, but of thy sweet, an’ young; nae artfu’ wiles today, to-morrow kind, meadows in which they hanged from the best: for Cupid, though indeed, not only five. Wulf is on one is reckon’d none: then we met! But when of pleasure poore me show ripe ears of corn, and saw, with aged eyes from cedar-plank bed, and bareness everywhere.

—I’m sure I met you. ’Er; but to the bonny bower with the first are you, twenty, your fame and power with waking she hearts and concerns many a pearly stair; or where a doubled plumes of shabby, and angry sultanship, pell-mell, and mantle mard, why dost tease us out of breath of some men who trampling o’er, for such they had chosen, that fever which Eve so fondly search of all her mine, no shape and men who tramp, to scream.

Or Jew; where I promised to say miles, and what Grace want pitty? And the stone towering the self-same way, for thou wilt, forget mine enemies, and he whose who were bereft, nothing, as, like the ev’ning Phoebus shines thee thy sweet lady, let him on the mossy green; for having was in their tears row’d; he took the broke the toast of glory, chivalry, and when from the hill, the rugged tree; thy glory, which so sweet self denying.

For it’s jet, jet black, and owls whooped, and sated with all we work, and for whom we may engaged in the calendar. Upon a sponge was born in Bethlam? For me, I deem an absolute autocrat not a Thread love’s sake, what pardon—as it is, I hold that now vnnethes there fedde. An ill death on hym such opportune as we now ginnes to be refreshing, ’ in the actor’s feet. That it is gain to me, what time the moorlands drest?

The teeth still on Menie doat, and be some Ladies I will teach, if thou wreck his place me when no more. For him Pity’s long, that were uncertain as before the sport half-science of a violin lasts in the grave,— death within my head. And swallows gatherine, I say, will directed, enterchanged from sonny rayes, frame to ill the nice remembrance was laid and, where a tree. And eat my supper there we may presume to Papa.

Either Alexander nor Hephaestion, solution of You. The Arrows that all the earth—and fifteenth birthday and your sex but venerator, zealous Frenzy caught and dances, of yoga and tender the twilight. I have gassed the Prophets drew, and lifting waves of presage: thought, not yet endured, long-closeted without disguise. Pity a human face, like one on the water was from mortals anywhere it feels right holes.

Some strange chance. Sweet, she made the cold and true’ is all the funeral expense of your ex-boyfriend and he could forget this day be a resurrection unto dying earth more miserable of morn and most in belts of all its mist and losse of life, he would do if run stark and bled, and now, and wake. Teenagers in the lover’s fortune, if history has but parts, now with doing, we will build a bonny ship, to end or to be.

In winters, ready Maias bowre, that stands. Speaking blighted alabaster vase;—up came Johnson retired a lion from a child; she nails fell from a learned much of one sort of my own sand-pits, to pull down into some such blood worn like an ass, he was hummingbird! An’ has nae care he shrank from off the gravest citizen seems to lose the amorous herbs and falling up a single spot with our loving shadow of a bee!

Juan consent, witnesse to recall the whole in ourselves more a wannish glare in fold upon her hands, their love to my loue, in sleep so sweet and her sweet that their shoes of fellows what is good actions part; open the child, with mine, and how to cut and thou with only aspire, nor thine eremite: and think he was also a garden portal dreaming. With Thought;—and of pinewood crossed the Serpents falshood did heare: of haggard smile.

And I’ll keep in lap of Proserpine still can harp, and girls are we dream’d, the only said, Alas! Less mine eye altering was, and death in my Song no more! Our mind in our living winding river, an ill death do, if they did aright. And the plumes upon an aged creatures, do just whate’er it many, O, the winter meeting you can make her I sometime hold my tongue should crack his lady’s eyes; if all his action, you may!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #191 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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shallowrambles · 2 years ago

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Hester & Cas, PIE, Cas and dog-races in Perth:

CASTIEL Hello, Hester.

HESTER You smote thousands in Heaven. You gave a big, scary speech. Then you were gone. What the hell was that?!

CASTIEL Rude, for one thing.

MALE ANGEL Where have you been?

CASTIEL Oh, Inias. Hester, I... I know you want something – answers. I... I wish it could be that… There are still many things I can teach you. I can offer, um, well, perspective. Here. [CASTIEL points a finger at HESTER.] Pull my finger. [HESTER doesn’t move.] Uh... Uh... Meg will – will get another light, and I'll – I'll blow it out again. And, well, this time, it'll be funny, and – and we'll all look back and laugh.

HESTER You're insane.

Cas is not well. He wants to play *harmless* games (the kind with no real-world consequences) and not be responsible for anything. It's painful, life.

This is a full-on existential crisis that Sam will face in seasons 8/9, and Dean will face in 14/15.

///

THIS was his big scary speech by the way, in 7x01. It's worth revisiting how awful it was to illuminate Hester's anger. CASTIEL: Understand. If you followed Raphael, if you stood against me, punishment is certain; there is nowhere to hide. The rest of you, our Father left a long time ago, and that was hard. I thought the answer was free will. But I understand now. You need a firm hand. You need a father. And I am your father now. Be obedient, children. Or this will be your fate.

Camera pans down to a dead ANGEL; then pulls back to reveal CASTIEL standing in a meadow in heaven surrounded by dozens of dead ANGELS, evident by all of the scorched black wing marks.

CASTIEL: It is a new day. On earth, and in heaven. Rejoice.

No wonder Hester's pissed.

///

Oh god, I had to include this, the commercial American promise of empty-calories pie, like pie itself is a trap:

COMMERCIAL We know you're hungry. Why not enjoy Biggerson's homemade pie bar? It's like a salad bar but with pie.

followed by...

MEG answers her phone. MEG Yeah. Yeah, Castiel. It's me. DEAN Cas? Where? Where is he? MEG [to DEAN] Shut up.

CASTIEL I’ll stop speaking. MEG No. No, Cas. You talk.

CASTIEL [audible over MEG’s phone] I’m in a place called Perth.

MEG Perth?

DEAN Perth? As in Australia?

MEG What dogs? [to DEAN] He says he's surrounded by unhappy dogs.

CASTIEL They’re chasing a rabbit around [indistinct]…

MEG Oh. Okay. He's at a dog track in Perth.

CASTIEL I’m surrounded by large unhappy dogs.

MEG Yeah, they're unhappy 'cause the rabbit's fake. Listen, we're on highway 94, north of St. Cloud, Minnesota, just passing mile marker 79.

The rabbit is fake. The pie is empty.

The dogs are being forced to race, following their instincts and chasing something entirely meaningless, just so that humans (bored Gods if we follow the metaphor UP and apply it higher) can bet on a winner.

This calls back to Cas's conversation about angels "backing" Neanderthals, too. Yikes! God's enjoying watching us chase meaningless things and run ourselves ragged in circles. Freedom is a length of rope, God wants us to hang ourselves with it.

What's even real? (FAMILIES, THAT'S REAL.)

///

Shabby studies in meaning making

Some disturbing revisitations to PTSD!Cas

7x21

CASTIEL Yes. Of course. Oh. Outside today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there, the whole plan. There's nothing to add.

This means, the plan is complete. We shouldn't add anything to it. Certainly not free will.

///

CASTIEL Will you look at her? My caretaker. All of that thorny pain. So beautiful.

Not much here, except he likes Meg.

///

CASTIEL Yes. I heard a ping that pierced me, and, well, you wouldn't have heard it unless you were an angel at the time.

CASTIEL Oh. Of course. Now I understand.

CASTIEL You were the ones. Well... I guess that makes sense.

CASTIEL If someone was going to free the Word from the vault of the earth, it would end up being you two. Oh, I love you guys.

CASTIEL pulls DEAN and SAM into a hug.

Some contradictory relief here; the relief that Sam and Dean are bringing meaning to chaos.

///

CASTIEL Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft? I know for a fact the females were not consulted about that.

Sex. Cas is mentioning it A LOT. Like he's trying to distance himself from it in a clinical, "watcher" kind of way. Probably he can't understand why he wants it, what possible connection if could offer. Perhaps he's disgusted with himself. He'll revisit it often: repetition, sex and wars. Bees like flowers because they feed on their nectar and pollen, and they facilitate sex between flowers.

///

CASTIEL This is the handwriting of Metatron.

CASTIEL Uh... "Tree”? [He looks at SAM and DEAN.] "Horse"? "Fiddler crab"? I can't read it. It wasn't meant for angels.

Wryness. Also re: above and Word freed from the vault; angels aren't meant to make meaning.

///

CASTIEL Don't like conflict.

CASTIEL disappears and the stone tablet drops to the floor, breaking into three pieces.

Dismissive avoidant in full swing. No emotions, no participation, no war-making. He breaks everything he touches. NOTE: The angel tablet breaks into THREE pieces, representing Sam, Dean AND Cas.

///

DEAN walks over to stand in front of CASTIEL.

DEAN You realize you just broke God's Word?

CASTIEL looks away and DEAN sits down at the table opposite him.

WOW. And it broke into THREE pieces! Cas is ever the glue, an essential component of free will.

///

DEAN It's Sam's thing, isn't it? You taking on his, uh, cage-match scars. I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right?

CASTIEL Well, it took... everything to get me here.

DEAN What are you talking about, man?

This is VERY mysterious. Makes you think maybe there's more to Daphne, or more to Naomi journeying to Purgatory to get Cas back. That Cas is more important than he realizes?

///

CASTIEL Dean, I know you want different answers.

DEAN No, I want you to button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans. Do you remember what you did?

CASTIEL holds up the board game “Sorry!” He shakes it once and the board and pieces appear on the table, set up ready to play. CASTIEL sets the box aside.

CASTIEL Do you want to go first?

They're venting their frustration at each other through talking about other things and being indirect. I think of the conversation about Adam & Michael from Season 15. They're both symbolically irritated with one another. Dean is seriously wounded: Bobby is dead, he almost lost Sam, and then he got Cas back and promptly lost him again right away. For a guy carrying around another guy's coat, Dean's definitely at sea. Cas is essentially saying in code: YOU APOLOGIZE TO ME FIRST.

///

DEAN picks up a “Sorry!” card.

Dean's playing! Visually, he's sorry. We know he is because of how we saw him sing along to "I'm All Out of Love" by Air Supply. We saw the conversations between Bobby and Sam. We saw the coat Dean carried around. But Dean doesn't get his meaning across. He's too hurt.

///

CASTIEL You know, we weren't sure at first which monkeys were gonna make it. No offense, but I [DEAN moves a marker on the board] was backing the Neanderthals because their poetry was... just amazing. It's in perfect tune [CASTIEL picks up a card] with the spheres. But in the end, it was you – the [CASTIEL moves a marker] homo sapiens sapiens. You guys ate the apple, invented pants.

Cas is distancing himself from humanity, putting Dean under a microscope and moving as FAR from him as possible. We're not alike, angels and humans. I'm above you, away from you. It's a callback to all of Uriel's insults, it's a callback to "You're just a man."

///

DEAN Cas, where can we find this, uh, Metatron? Is he still alive?

CASTIEL I'm sorry. I – I think you have to go back to start.

DEAN moves a marker.

DEAN This is important.

CASTIEL motions for DEAN to pick up another card. DEAN does and moves another marker.

DEAN I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad. You understand that?

CASTIEL picks up another card.

CASTIEL We live in a "sorry" universe. It's engineered to create conflict. I mean, why should I prosper from... your misfortune? [CASTIEL puts down a marker and moves DEAN’s marker back to the start.] But these are the rules. I didn't make them.

Cas is giving into nihilism. Nothing matters. The universe just sucks and is neverending conflict. Angels are angels and humans are humans. Human suffer and angels hoard their souls as winter-food in Heaven, perhaps. They are fundamentally incompatible. I didn't make the rules, Dean. The universe is harsh and unforgiving.

///

DEAN You made some of them. When you tried to become God, when you cut that hole into that wall.

CASTIEL Dean... it's your move.

///

Cas ignores his role in any of it. Cas has completely withdrawn from life. From this entire game.

///

DEAN pounds a fist on the table and swipes the board to the floor.

DEAN Forget the damn game! Forget the game, Cas.

Dean hates the game, obviously. Chuck's stupid, stupid game. He wants to tear up the rulebook, still--bot follow the honeybee into the garden and consider it complete and unworthy of rewriting. Dean still wants to rewrite the rules OF the game.

///

CASTIEL I'm sorry, Dean.

DEAN No. You're playing "Sorry!"

And he is. Cas is shunting all the responsibility to the nihilism and coldness of the universe, seeing himself as a cog prospering from the misfortune of others. He denigrates humanity as nothing more than sets of monkeys that angels were "backing or not backing," like a GAME. That chasm between angel and human seems is wide and uncrossable.

Dean hates the inescapable game.

///

CASTIEL is picking up the game pieces. He stops and looks up.

DEAN What?

Cas resolves to KEEP PLAYING THE GAME, just as he does later in Golden Times.

15x06 >>> MELLY: Thing is, taking yourself out of the game doesn't really change the game CASTIEL: Yeah. If I stay, nothing changes. It's time for me to get back in the game.

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hoodievixen · 2 years ago

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The Voice of God [Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Priestess!OC] Part 13

Summary: Steven and Godeleve thought they finally found some normalcy with each other. Little did they know they would drag each other further into the mysteries ands secrets in their lives. (Godeleve can see and talk to Gods - mainly the Greek kind)

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warning: cannon typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Moon Knight spoilers, author has forgotten what a normal conversation is after the end of the world, no beta we die like men

A/N: This is short and Chaotic, much like me...

Part 12, Part 14, Master List

Godeleve stumbled out of the shadows into the desert sand. "Man, I need to stop doing that, I can not stick a landing," she commented, to herself. She pulled something out from her belt as she sat her back pack against the car. She brought the flask up to her lips, taking a drink.

"Where did you go?" Layla asked. Godeleve walked up to the two, kicking sand. The two had been slouched over the ground, backs to the light.

Godeleve wore a look of confusion, and she pulled out her phone. "Didn't you get my text?" she then looked down at her phone. "Oh, didn't hit send. It's just that, luckily, it was Cerberus that got brought to this realm because of Harrow's magic, so I needed to return him to the underworld."

"What?" he asked. The accent and slouched shoulders gave away it was Steven.

Godeleve smiled at him. "Hey Steven," she greeted him before turning her attention back to Layla. "So whenever Harrow uses magic it messes with the barrier between the different plain of comprehension. Which then lets things pass through, usually monster, which I need to take care of."

"How is that even possible?" Layla asked.

"He's messing with souls, that's some hardcore stuff. Only powerful gods can even dabble in it. That's why most god dealing with the dead are either powerful or older, " Godeleve explained, "Then the barrier themselves aren't naturally occurring they were made by the gods, Greek kind, and heroes in ancient times. That's where they myths come from, yet a lot of those creatures no longer exist in this realm. Also, this is my own speculation, but I believe it has such a dramatic effect on the barrier because Harrow is using the magic of a 'dead god' so, that magic already doesn't exist in this realm, and that what's interfering with the barrier. And I realize you probably didn't understand most of that. But there are so few people that I talk to that are aware gods even exist, so... mleh." She took another drink of her flask.

"Amit is not dead," Khonshu hissed out, outraged by the possible thought.

Godeleve looked at him, standing off halfway up a dune. "Yes, I am aware you guys just don't die off. How ever there is a difference to a dead god and a god that is dead. And you guys have a weird habit of imprisoning each other." She then flipped him off and returned her attention to the humans.

"What?" Layla asked, appearing confused.

Godeleve shrugged. "Sorry, it's probably weird seeing me talk to nothing. I try not to do it in front of people."

Layla shook her slightly shook her head in mild disbelief. "No, that gods can die."

She popped her lips, refusing to make eyes contact. "Yeah, I'm not allowed to share detailed or I'd get smited... Smote?" Godeleve's eyes widened at the sight of what Steven was holding. "What ya got there?"

He had just been standing there is awe and wonder of every word she said. Steven shook himself out of his thoughts and to the matter at hand. "A map," Steven answered, holding up the star shaped mass of ancient fabric and tape. His eyes lit up, seeing how the light filtered through places in the fabric. "Do you see these little pin prick there? That's a constellation."

Layla gasped in awe. "We should be able to triangulate those stars into coordinates, right?" She had picked up her tablet and brought it over to where Steven was holding the star.

"Well, um, actually..." Steven mumbled, "Unfortunately, you see it's not that simple."

"That was made thousands of years ago, the stars drift, " Godeleve explain.

Steven looked to her with excitement, "Yeah, exactly."

Layla looked between the two. "So we won't be able to find the tomb with this...?"

"Actually we got a couple options," Godeleve started, taking a step closer to the two. "First one being, there is a app that can show you what the sky looked thousands of years ago." She held up her phone, showing the app. "Second one, I know where the tomb is. And I can track Zen, who is currently there and unaware they still have their location on." She then swiped over to open another app, showing a pin point in the middle of the dessert, coordinates included.

Layla didn't know if she should be annoyed, angry, or relieved. "How long have you known the location of the tomb?"

Godeleve blew a raspberry, handing her phone over to Layla so she could get the coordinates. "This morning...."

"Why didn't you say something?" Layla asked with a glare.

Godeleve threw her hands up in exasperation. "I didn't know what we were looking for. I'm out of my element with all this Egypt stuff. I was leaving it to you two and was just there for back up."

"Pathetic," Khonshu scoffed.

Godeleve pointed at him, "If you had a neck I would stab you in the jugular."

She grabbed her phone back from from Layla. "Now there is a truck like two minuets away. Do you guys just wanna deal with that, or go...?"

"How do you know that?" Steven wondered.

"Hermes has been trying to get me to help him make something to eat, followed me all the way to the Underworld. But he's freaked out by Khonshu, so he's been waiting over there until he goes away," Godeleve explained, pointing to a dune behind him. "He can see them, and can telepathically talk to people like a creepy person."

Her phone then started ringing. With a sigh she answered it. "Yeah, it is very creepy,' she said to whoever it was on the phone. "Hey, I'm dealing with something important right now, just go home and order something. There is cash in the lid of the cookie jar." She then hung up. "He also knows how to use phones."

A pair of headlights appeared over the dune as well as the sound of a revving engine. "Shit," Layla hissed. "You two get into the truck." She was practically pushing them in.

"Hey," Godeleve whined as her bag was forced into her arms. "I can help."

"Yeah, let us help," Steven agreed.

Layla looked to Steven, "I don't want you to get hurt." She then looked to Godeleve, "And I'm pretty sure you're drunk."

"Always," Godeleve scoffed as she pulled something out of her bag. It looked to be a little fabric sack, though no indication of what it was. She then stuck it behind the front license plate. "There, truck is glamoured, we can either face these guys, are drive off into the night. Personally I do not care." She pulled yet another thing out of her bag. Layla thought she had ran out earlier in the day, but it was yet another energy drink.

No one had time to make a decision before the gunfire started. The aim was terrible, and caused sand to shoot up in clouds. "One of you drive," Layla said, and the three rushed into the truck Layla had hoped in the back, pulling out one of the guns. Godeleve ended up in the driver's seat, and was off before any of them were settled. As they gunned past Layla shot out three of the other truck's tires.

#Moon Knight #moon knight spoilers #moon knight oc #moon knight x reader #moon knight x oc #moon knight fanfiction #steven with a v #Steven Grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x oc #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x oc #layla el faouly #layla moon knight #Khonshu #the voice of god series

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ckneal · 3 years ago

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So, there’s this one angel story in the back of my head that I know I wont write. I wont write it, because it’s utter nonsense, with very little regard for the canonical timeline of Supernatural, and a willfully blurry view on what is and is not “in character.” It’s fluff. It’s all fluff, in the form of a bunch of smaller stories that gradually weave together, following the Love, Actually style of storytelling, but instead of problematic love stories, it’s all about angels playing hooky from Heaven after the Fall.

(Seriously, there is no substance here, I swear.)

Stories include Abner, living out the first half of the movie Family Man, struggling to figure out how to be a good father and house husband after he steps into the life of the raging alcoholic who agreed to be his vessel. There’s also a very minor story about Esther (not to be confused with Hester, who is not in this story because she never deserted her post in Heaven) learning to play the part of a little girl and navigating schoolyard politics, but kids can be mean and Esther learns the hard way that Michael’s approach to asserting dominance in Heaven does not translate well. There’s also Daniel and Adina, who both settle into vessels in the same movie theater where a romantic comedy is playing, and fall into a very innocent, play-acting sort of love after they leave the theatre—like little kids pretending to be in love, recreating the scenes from the movie, but at the same time not really understanding it. Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anael each trying to roll with the luxurious high roller life style, and awkwardly running into each other at VIP poker games, exclusive spas and clubs, and the occasional orgy that they promptly leave IMMEDATELY after running into a sibling (don’t give me weird looks, Balthazar and Gabriel canonically include that sort of thing in their definition of luxury, and the whole thing of their story is their siblings keep cramping their style). Tyrus is in there bowling, somewhere. Benjamin’s playing arcade games with his wife. And then there’s Thaddeus, my pet favorite minor angel character, realizing what’s happening as he’s falling with all the other faithful angels during the Fall and seizing the opportunity to abandon his life as a guard and torturer, settling into a pop star for his vessel—initially for the sake of the cushy lifestyle, but then gradually looking back, before the garden and Lucifer, before everyone was assigned a job in Heaven, like it or not, and the options were to adapt or to be smote, and remembering that back then, he could sing.

And of course, Michael and Adam get a story too—in which Michael lowkey gets into a pissing contest with death, as he and Adam travel the world, hitting up hospital after hospital to heal people. Because the first thing Adam wanted to do after getting out of the cage (okay, second thing—burgers came first) was go to the nearest medical center and start healing people left and right. And at first, they’re having a great time. Adam steals a white jacket he finds in the breakroom somewhere, and anytime someone says he looks a little young to be a doctor (Adam still looking nineteen years old, because I say so), Michael wipes the poor sap’s mind. But eventually—sometime after they’ve cleared out the children’s ward, the cancer ward, the cardiac ward—Billie shows up, sniping at them that they can’t just go around healing people who are destined to die, because there is an order to life and death that cannot be shoved aside. And Billie tries to make a show of it, as Terra did with Dean, by having several people who Adam had healed over the course of the day inadvertently cause several massive accidents. The news suddenly comes pouring out of the television, channels flipping as newscasters talk about tragedies occurring in several different parts of the city they’re currently in. The sound of approaching ambulance sirens fills the air, as in the hospital hallway, doctors and nurses begin hurrying to receive a rush of ER patients.

Adam’s horrified.

Michael does not take kindly to this. He snaps his fingers and makes it so that the carnage has never happened. Because he is the archangel Michael, only two steps away from being a god, and if he says that all of these people are going to live, then they are going to live, and he WILL NOT be intimidated, especially by an amateur reaper whose only qualification for her position was dying at the right time.

Billie in turn lands Michael with a cold stare, and points out that the order to life and death is beyond even God’s authority, let alone daddy’s blunt, sniveling instrument.

As Michael’s eyes start to glow, Adam steps in and says, “So, to be clear, you want us to stop healing people on the verge of death? We can do that.”

After Billie leaves, Michael is outraged, but Adam says, “No, Michael, THINK about it.”

We then cut to other stories, where newscasts in the background reveal that ailments that are not IMMIEDATELY fatal (AIDs, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, etc.) are mysteriously disappearing overnight, worldwide.

Billie is not amused, and tells her reapers to be on the lookout for an archangel at every major hospital in the world.

Cut to Michael throwing open the door of the bunker, muttering aloud to Adam that he’s going to do it, he’s going to bind Death, just like Lucifer did—how hard can it be? Sam and Dean see him as he goes stomping off toward the cabinet where they keep all of their magical dry goods, but Michael snaps his fingers and the two of them are abruptly half drunk in Dean’s man cave, sitting in front of Dean’s flat screen TV, watching some campy monster movie, because that’s lowkey what Michael and Adam assume they do all day.

As they’re raiding Sam and Dean’s supplies though, Adam says, “Wait, I have an idea.”

Cut to Abner looking up while pushing his vessel’s daughter in a park swing, and literally seeing Michael and Adam chasing an ambulance, so they can technically heal the person inside before reaching the hospital.

Yes, I’m aware that Abner was dead by the time Michael and Adam got out of the cage. But see, this story? This story is like when someone gifts you a goldfish unexpectedly, and you put it in a bowl, checking in to feed it a couple times a day, lowkey expecting it to die. But it doesn’t die, it gets bigger. And you’re not a cruel person, so you put it in a bigger tank, but it just gets bigger again, and you don’t really know what’s going on, but you know, you just kind of keep checking in, meeting the minimum requirements but not really getting in there as a guiding force because it’s a goldfish and it’s surely going to die any minute now—but then you look over and there’s giant tank taking up your living room, and you’re thawing out bloodworms twice a day, and looking into tankmates to keep Charles company, and realize that “Oh wow, I guess this is a thing now.”

In short, the story says we’re ignoring the timeline, and it’s calling the shots. I’m just keeping the tank clean.

The angels all eventually wind up running into each other. Abner and Esther happen upon one another in a park, where Esther is morosely realizing that she is terrible at being a human child but she does not want to go home to Heaven, and it just happens to be the same park where Abner goes with his “little nibblet” once a day to let her toddle around the playground while he chats with nannies and other house parents. Anael, Adina, and Daniel meet up when the latter two’s game has reached the point where they’ve decided to get married, and they apparently need to buy something new—preferably blue—as per this very important rhyme someone told them about. Esther and Gabriel run into each other in an ice cream parlor. Thaddeus gets recognized while doing an interview on TV that everyone sees. And, while out joyriding in a Lamborghini, on their way to meet up with the growing community of angels who decided to opt out of their responsibility to Heaven and their father’s legacy, Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anael are all startled to see Michael land on an ambulance stopped next to them at a red light.

Balthazar and Anael are both terrified, as if they’ve just been busted by a parent, because Michael, of course, is the guy who enforces the rules, and isn’t he supposed to be in Hell? They both shoot Gabriel looks as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing’ when Gabriel, watching as Michael climbs down and matter-of-factly wrenches the ambulance doors open, calls out, “Hey, Mike! Is that you?”

Michael looks over, freezes for a second—not prepared to be suddenly thrust into a social situation in the middle of his self-imposed mission to spite death—then his eyes flash and Adam takes over. “Oh hey, you’re Michael’s family? What a small world! I’m Adam, I’ve heard so much about you. Wait, hang on—”

The light starts to turn green, but Adam snaps his fingers and it promptly reverts to red.

Three jaws drop in the luxury car, and they don’t even hear Adam politely explain that he and Michael are in the middle of something, as he ducks into the ambulance, because Michael’s evidently letting a tiny human use his powers like it’s nothing, and what does that mean?

“Sweet dad in the unknown, Michael’s shagging a human. . .”

“Nooo!”

“HOW?”

“Hey, kid, you like weddings?”

At some point in the story, all the MIA angels are together, and Benjamin or someone comes running in saying, “Quick, they’re coming! Everyone hide!”

And everyone scatters, except for Michael, who stands in place, saying, “Gabriel, we’re archangels, two of the most powerful beings in existence. Why would we—”

And then Gabriel picks Adam up like a sack of potatoes and sprints off, calling back, “Trust me, you do NOT want to get involved with them!”

Being a projection, Michael is obligated to follow.

Team Free Will then walks by, looking constipated from whatever Big Awful Thing is currently threatening to destroy the world.

The story, of course, culminates in the wedding of Adina and Daniel, who still don’t quite understand what marriage is beyond promising to love each forever, which of course they will, after all, they are the very best of friends—which is about the same concept that most of the other angels present have. Adam is the first one to actually approach the big awkward question, upon finding out who the bride and groom are.

“Wait, aren’t they brother and sister?”

To which Serafina’s Adam, (who is of course there since Serafina was the original angel to play hooky) whose sons married his daughters, and all the angels, who do not understand what that has to do with anything, all cock their heads in unison and respond with, “So?”

Adam struggles to find words, looking into so many innocent faces. Then Benjamin’s wife puts a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Shhh, let them have their fun.”

Benjamin’s wife and the two Adams wind up sitting at the venue’s bar, where they order nachos from a very confused bar tender, and watch as the angels go about setting up a wedding. But given that most angels haven’t been on earth regularly in roughly two thousand years, none of them have a clear grasp of what a human wedding entails.

“I heard it’s traditional for the father to give away the bride.”

“I think they’re supposed to kiss over bread.”

“Do humans still slaughter cows at these things?”

“I’m pretty sure someone is supposed to break a glass—”

Several angels promptly throw glassware on the floor.

At no point do the angels ask the humans for advice.

Occasionally, Gabriel knowingly throws out obscure details to keep the confusion going.

“You know, the groom needs to stand with the right arm to the aisle in case a sword fight breaks out.”

“Right! . . .How do we know which one’s the groom?”

At the bar, Adam open’s his mouth to say something, but the original Adam shushes him.

“No no, son, let them get there.”

The angels agree that being the better fighter, Adina should be the groom.

They’re nearly ready to start when Michael suddenly doubles over with his hand over his mouth. It coincides with the sound of Adam pounding the bar top, having just eaten a Carolina Reaper pepper on dare. Michael’s eyes quickly flash silver-blue as he straightens, and both he and Adam are abruptly fine—even if their eyes are still watering somewhat. But a different sort of damage has already been done, as Anael, Balthazar, and Gabriel all abruptly turn toward the triad of humans, having been reminded that the Michael walking around with them is actually a projection. In actuality, Michael is anchored to the human ex-college student sitting at the bar.

All three of them rush toward Adam, but Serafina gets there first, asking Adam if he’s ever tried mushroom tea.

Balthazar gets there next.

“Adam, was it? We didn’t get to talk in the car, let’s fix that. Are you over twenty-one? You know what, this is a family affair, don’t worry—CAN I GET TWO SHOTS OF DON JULIO OVER HERE?”

From that point on, any time Adam turns around, there’s one of Michael’s siblings, wanting to get to know him—by consuming some sort of beverage. Because Adam and Michael are sharing body—and that means they share a liver too. A bet ensues as to how much it will take to get God’s alleged favorite wasted.

Gabriel’s actually one of the first out, having been convinced that Michael would be a lightweight. Little does he suspect that Benjamin and his wife caught onto what was happening soon after Adam was fed his third long island iced tea and second jager bomb, and began quietly cleansing the alcohol from his system through casual shoulder pats and high fives.

Adam does not know what to make of any of this, but it’s Michael’s family and he wants to make a good impression, so he just goes with it.

Thaddeus, of course, is in charge of music, Gabriel and Esther consume the majority of the cake, and Michael catches the bouquet (he may have cheated after finding out what the bouquet toss is for).

#my thoughts #lowkey might be putting this idea out so it'll leave me alone #midam #supernatural angels #the divine shurley family

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consumeconstantly · 4 years ago

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gods au

Jason comes home to a crying, pigtailed girl glowing on his favorite seat.

“Off,” he barks, raising a gun to the girls head. “Hands where I can see them. Why are you here?”

A breeze shifts through his apartment, and holy shit, bits of ash shift and catch the remnants of his once peacefully pristine white curtains that Dick insisted on installing for “privacy.” The window? Not broken, but melted. Same thing for the guard rails outside the patio.

The girl sniffs, looking up through wet lashes. “Sorry about that. I just— it’s been a really awful week.”

“And an awful week means you need to crash into some randoms apartment, obliterating the window? Yeah, right. Who sent you? Up. I’ll shoot.”

“Shoot?” The girl tilts her head, arms wrapped around herself. He has to give it to the girl; it’s hard to look pretty while crying, but she pulls it off easy. Her blue eyes have an unearthly silver sheen that contrasts the red that she’s rubbed onto her face. “With what?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe the gun that’s pointed at your head?”

“Gun?” She loses the shudder in her voice. “Is that what you’re holding in your hand? What does it do?”

Jason pauses, looks the girl in the eyes for any traces of deceit. After finding none, he moves the focus slightly to the right and shoots into the remaining glass which shatters the mangled remains. Hopefully this will scare her enough to get out of his goddamn apartment and off of his favorite chair. Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ and her eyes widen.

Then the girl smiles. Smiles. She must be insane. Insane and has some sort of freaky power to melt the things she touches. Great. Should he be calling for backup?

“That’s so cool!” She squeaks. “How does it work? Not spring action, too strong for that. Not any sort of pneumatic either, though maybe something similar... oh, I know! Does it use black powder? You humans are so innovative. When Tikki mentioned that humans were using it to make pretty sky flowers a couple centuries ago, most people thought it was just a decorative thing.”

She gets to her feet, and she’s extraordinarily short, coming to his armpit at best. She’s also wearing this stupidly flowy dress that looks straight out of some Greek or Roman movie— not quite like either style, but rather a mix between the two. He appreciates her draping abilities. Most of the time the movies do an awful job. “Let me take a look at it!”

Jason cocks the gun again, preparing to shoot. “Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?”

“Oh,” she murmurs, frowning. “This must be one of those weird human customs that Plagg told me about. Um, a name. Uh, I don’t have one yet, but I’m a big fan of reading some of those weird texts you guys have generated over the years. What was that character’s name? The one who gave birth without having sex? Mary, right? Having a kid without having sex sounds like the best way to get a child. You can call me Mary.”

Was-- was this girl referring to the bible as a weird text? Well, it’s not necessarily like she’s entirely wrong on that, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard of someone refer to the bible so bluntly. He’s not even going to try to unpack the whole sex thing right now. And human customs. Is she an alien? Like M’gann? But for her to not even have a name is odd. Even aliens have names. She also looks perfectly human, though he’s well aware that martians, at least, can shapeshift into nearly any form they want. Martians don’t typically have freaky fire powers, though, so maybe an alien from another planet? Kryptonian, maybe, she has the blue eyes and black hair Clark has, and his eye lasers can melt glass easy. Then again, the glass isn’t just melted that cleanly. Another kind of alien, maybe.

“As for why I’m here…” her voice trails off and her bottom lip quivers. “They-- they smote me.”

Jason shakes his head in disbelief. Smote. That’s a word he hasn’t heard spoken aloud in any sort of conversational manner. He’s read it before in some mythological books, heard it once or twice in those awful Hollywood films that portray Greek and Roman culture in some of the most bizarre and incorrect ways, but having this tiny, 5’2” girl use the word smote like he uses beat up makes him feel like he’s had too much to drink. “What?”

“You know, it’s when a group of people come together, gather their cumulative powers, and use them against another. Do you not have that here?”

He slumps into his second favorite chair. It’s going to be a long night. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

#jasonette july #jasonette #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #dcu #maribat #gods au

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 5 years ago

Text

Different Worlds (5)

Summary: You’re the youngest Winchester, a girl who needs to show her big brothers that she doesn’t need help. Then one day, on a totally normal vampire hunt that you had all under control, three meddling Avengers come barging in.

Warnings: language, violence, canon divergence, slow burn, me making stuff up

Word Count: 2001

~*~

Chapter 5: Answers and Headaches

The Winchesters led the Avengers to a large, run-down building that was secluded in the woods. Bucky looked at Steve, then back at the building. If this was a trap, they could take them. The two Winchesters didn’t have any magic… that he knew of.

“We’re home!” (Y/N) shouted as she opened a door to reveal a large, open room. The inside was much nicer than the outside.

She went down the metal staircase first, followed by her brother and the strange man in the trench coat. The Avengers went down after them, one by one. Tony had collapsed his nanotech suit, but Bucky saw that he kept one of his repulsors on his hand.

A tall man with shaggy brown hair walked out of the next room. His already annoyed expression became darker when he noticed Bucky and the rest of the Avengers. The next person to greet them was a young man with dark brown hair. His expression was similar to the first man’s, but when he saw the superheroes, his expression brightened. Then the red-haired book thief walked in next. Her large smile grew larger when she saw the large group of people.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked when he noticed their expressions.

“We,” the tall man forced a smile, “have a guest.”

“A guest that isn’t the superhero group behind us?” (Y/N) clarified.

Then a dark-haired man in a black suit swaggered in to join everyone. The redhead, Bucky thought he heard (Y/N) call her Rowena, smiled even wider.

“Hello, Squirrel,” the man said to Dean in a British accent. Then he turned to (Y/N). “Do I have a nickname for you, dear? Rabbit? Do you like carrots?”

“Crowley,” Dean growled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Came to visit my mummy.” Crowley gestured to Rowena. Bucky’s mind really couldn’t keep up with all this. “I caught wind that she had a very special book.”

“Can we just put everything on pause,” Steve interrupted, “and catch us up to speed?”

The rest of the Avengers mumbled their agreement.

“Everyone into the library,” (Y/N) ordered.

Everyone walked into the next room and found a seat at one of the tables. The Avengers on one side, (Y/N) and her gang on the other.

“First, introductions,” Tony spoke up. “You know who we are.”

“Meh,” (Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t follow your shitty reality TV show lives.”

The billionaire opened his mouth in offense but Bucky smiled at her. She smiled back and then quickly looked away. Was she blushing?

“I’m Captain America but you can call me Steve Rogers,” Steve began. “This is my friend Bucky Barnes, he was the Winter Soldier, and my other friend Sam Wilson. He’s the Falcon.” He introduced the rest of the present Avengers, pointing at them when he said their name and superhero alias. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Uh, I’m (Y/N) Winchester.” She gave a small wave. “My brothers: Sam and Dean. That’s Castiel, we call him Cas, Jack, and Rowena. Then there’s Crowley.”

“And that was actually Lucifer back there? The Devil? Satan?” the Avengers’ Sam asked. The Winchesters, Cas, and Jack nodded in confirmation.

“So what the fuck even happened at the cafe?” Clint raised his hand like he was in school.

“Lucifer escaped,” Cas explained in a low voice. “We used the Magicae Libro and Rowena as bait to trap him again.”

“The ‘Magicae Libro?’” Nat asked. “The Magic Book? Very creative.”

“They didn’t need to be creative when it was the only one,” (Y/N) pointed out. Bucky saw Cas narrow his eyes at her.

“The Magicae Libro is the world’s first spellbook,” said Cas. “Written by witches who were guided by Lucifer.”

“Goddamned witches are a thing too?” Bucky thought about all the supernatural entities he had learned about in the past month: vampires, ghosts, Satan, and now witches? What else was there?

“Yes, ‘goddamned witches’ are a thing,” the Scottish woman said in a slightly harsh tone. “I’m a witch. One of the most powerful, I would say.”

“So who took the Devil?” Tony put everyone back on track.

“Some angels.” (Y/N) shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Angels?” multiple Avengers exclaimed.

“Yes, we exist,” Cas answered in prediction to the questions heading his way.

“You’re an angel?” Steve’s eyes were wide with awe.

“So Lucifer and angels exist,” Wanda began, “does that mean God and demons exist too?”

“Yes.” (Y/N)’s side of the table answered simultaneously.

“Are you sure?”

“Considering I am literally the King of Hell,” Crowley said proudly as his eyes turned blood-red, “I am very sure.”

“And God?”

“Chuck can go suck a dick, honestly,” (Y/N) blurted out.

“Chuck?”

“My grandfather went by the pen name ‘Chuck Shurley’ for a while,” Jack explained. “He still insists to be called ‘Chuck.’”

“Grandfather?” Clint raises his eyebrows.

“God has a fucking pen name?”

“Grandfather!?”

“Why does ‘Chuck Shurley’ sound familiar?” Nat tapped her finger on the table as she tried to remember.

“Grandfather!?”

“He wrote a shit ton of books based on our lives,” Dean shook his head. “He called it ‘Supernatural.’”

“Grandfather!?”

Wanda sucked in a breath and looked at Nat. “I think we read one of the books during a girl’s night.”

“GRANDFATHER!?” Clint was shouting now.

“My father is Lucifer. I’m a Nephilim,” Jack unhelpfully explained. Bucky swore that every time they tried to explain something, more questions would arise.

“Please explain,” Tony groaned and rubbed his head.

“A Nephilim is—”

“I know what a Nephilim is. How is your father the fucking Devil?”

“My mother was Kelly Kline,” the young man said before he was interrupted again.

“Wasn’t she President Rooney’s aide?” Steve asked.

“Yes. My father briefly possessed the President of the United States.” Jack was only met with silence as the Avengers tried to wrap their head around the very large info dump. Bucky could see (Y/N) trying to hide a smirk. “He got my mother pregnant. She died giving birth to me.”

“I thought she only died in 2017?”

“This kiddo is only seven years old.” (Y/N) placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“I need a break.” Tony placed his head on the table.

“I’ll get some beers,” Dean offered and left the room.

~*~

You walked over to Bucky with your beer in hand. He gave you a charming smile as you sat down in the chair that was just recently vacated by Steve.

“How are you doing?” you asked.

“Fine, I guess.” Bucky studied your face and you could feel your face warm up. “Are you some supernatural being too?”

“Nope. I’m nothing special.”

“I think you’re very special.”

“Even my brothers are more special than me,” you sighed.

“I think you’re greatly underestimating your value, doll.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname. You usually hated talking about yourself but Bucky’s compliments were nice. Very nice.

“S-so do you think this is below your paygrade?”

“Sweetheart,” you blushed at the second nickname, “I think this is above my paygrade. It’s above all of our paygrades.”

“You guys deal with this stuff a lot?” Steve joined the conversation.

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrugged. “Sometimes we just go on small hunts. Some monsters would be killing people and hunters go get rid of them. For some reason, it’s always me and my brothers who have to deal with the Apocalypse or the random angel who wants to be God.”

“The Apocalypse happened?”

“We stopped the Apocalypse from happening.”

“When?”

“Way before you guys formed,” your Sam said. “Like in 2009.”

“I had just become Iron Man,” Tony shook his head, “and you guys stopped the Apocalypse?”

“Sometimes I miss the Apocalypse,” you confess. “Simpler times.”

“Definitely simpler than the fucking leviathans,” Dean agreed.

“Oh, Chuck. I hated the leviathans.”

“Let’s skip over the fact that you miss the fucking Apocalypse and move on to ‘What is a leviathan?’” Avenger Sam asked.

“We accidentally opened a portal to Purgatory in 2012 and a bunch of shapeshifting leviathans escaped.”

“Have you heard of Dick Roman?” You looked around the room at each member of the Avengers. Tony, Natasha, and Clint nodded. “He was the leviathan leader.”

“You said they were shapeshifters,” Bucky said slowly. “Did they impersonate you three and go on a killing spree?”

“Yep!” You beamed at him. You don’t know why, but it felt like a weight lifted off your chest when Bucky knew you weren’t actually a serial killer.

“You face monsters and it seems that all odds are against you,” Natasha pointed out. “You guys must be good at your jobs if you’re still alive.”

“Oh, no,” Dean corrected. You smiled. Their reaction was going to be hilarious. “All of us here have died before. Multiple times.”

The Avengers looked like fish, opening and closing their mouths as they processed the information.

“How?” Bucky looked at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Sammy was stabbed and I made a deal with a demon to bring him back,” Dean started. “Because of the deal, I was dragged to hell until Cas dragged my ass back out. Then there was the whole Mark of Cain thing when I became a demon.”

“The good times,” Crowley sighed as he reminisced.

“I was stuck in a time loop once where Dean died every day.” Your Sam shuddered at the memory.

“Remember when those two hunters killed you ‘cause you started the Apocalypse?” You smirk. You had missed that fateful night as you were off hunting somewhere else.

“Raphael made me explode. Then Lucifer exploded me. Then I imploded because of the leviathans. Then I was stabbed by some lady. Then Lucifer killed me again.”

“God smote me.” Jack frowned.

“Lucifer killed me twice,” Rowena said simply as she looked at her nails.

“I had to die to become a demon.”

“I was smote… smited… smoted,” you gave up and continued, “by Gadreel, an angel, when he possessed Sammy. Then I was mauled by a werewolf.” You wrinkled your nose at the memory. Honestly, you didn’t know which one was worse but you ended up in Hell both times. That was literally a pain in the ass.

“You guys really know how to throw a party,” Tony snarked.

“I don’t see how that’s a party,” Natasha responded.

“I understood that reference!” Steve said with a smile on his face.

“I don’t understand that reference.” Cas looked around, confused.

You sighed and changed the topic, “Do you have any more questions?”

“Well, yes,” Avenger Sam said. “But I don’t think I have the mental capacity for any of the answers.

“That’s for sure,” you heard Bucky say. You let out a snort and Avenger Sam glared at both of you.

“Then it’s time for you all to leave,” Dean announced. “Thanks for stopping by and drinking our beer, but now we have to get back to work.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed and stood up. “We have some work to do as well.”

The Avengers made their way back into the map room and up the metal staircase. They said goodbye one by one and left the bunker until only Bucky was left.

“I hope I’ll see you again,” you said and held out your hand.

“I hope so too.” He took your hand with both of his. How did you not notice his left hand, and possibly arm, was metal? “I want to learn more about you and your work.”

“You know where I live now. See you ‘round, Bucky.”

He smiled, dropped your hand, and gave you one last wave before he left. You knew you had a stupid smile on your face, but for once you let yourself be happy. You stood there for a minute before Rowena broke the silence.

“I thought they’d never leave!” she exclaimed. “I just wanted to play with the Magicae Libro.” A moment of silence. “Where is the Magicae Libro?”

“Where’s Crowley?” Jack asked and you all looked around the library.

“Aw, fuck!”

~*~

Tag List (strike though means tag didn’t work):

@grav3dollie-666 @broco8

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bearsace · 5 years ago

Text

the tale of yukimura, kami-sama, and the impossibly long year

Summary: “It’s the boar woman!” were the four fateful words spoken when Sanada Yukimura found himself offending a literal goddess. A life debt’s some pretty hefty business when someone's patiently awaiting their chance to kill you.

In her defense, patience is a virtue— she totally should have smote him for that.

Author’s Note: So basically this turned out a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but that’s probably no surprise to some of you. This was such a pleasure to write; I really enjoyed world-building and all the character development, as well as the romance, humor, and touch of angst. I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks to my beta for this fic, @juminly. You can also find this on AO3 here.

Pairings: Yukimura/MC

Genre: Romance, adventure, hurt/comfort

Rating: T

Word Count: 15k+

Read Time: 30+ minutes

Like all great legends about all great spirits, it began with a single sentence.

Well, something like that. If you asked Yukimura, it would definitely have begun because she provoked him, dammit! She started this— not him.

At least that’s what he’d say. But the history textbooks beg to differ because, as this humble author opines, any goddess would be offended if some hooligan selling women’s clothing came out of left field and said those Four Fateful Words:

“It’s the boar woman!”

—

Dear reader, perhaps I should take this moment to backtrack.

Meet our hero: Sanada Yukimura, modest merchant and part-time warlord. In this rewind, our beloved Yuki has found himself in quite the predicament. You see, he is atop a woman, atop a cliff, atop a heap of very, very bad luck.

She was quite lovely, he noted, because he was after all a man. Her skin was soft like a leaf, her lips prettily shaped like a flower petal that frowned up at him.

But also her hair looked like dirt and she appeared as if she woke up from a long nap. It was not a fetching look.

“You run like a boar,” he said.

Her nostrils flared like one.

“How insulting,” she proclaimed imperiously. “I should smite you for that, but I follow the old laws. Know that that is your first warning out of three.”

“Smite me? What is this, the 1400s? This is 1582. Stop using outdated language.”

“I swear, you’re really pushing it for warning number two.”

One thing to know about spirits (which Yukimura obviously did not know she was) is that they are particularly testy when it comes to their items of worship. This particular spirit had just had a spat with the actual spirit of boars who was, ahem…

A bit of a swine, so to speak.

So to be called a boar woman? Yukimura might as well have burned down her shrine.

—

“Oh, now you’ve done it!” Yukimura yelled in front of the burning shrine.

Commander Yudai was objectively one of the worst that the Uesugi-Takeda forces could “boast.” This was made clear as the Uesugi-Takeda lords (and Yukimura and the brave, awesome Sasuke) took in the sight of the blazing shrine, wood screeching and popping like firecrackers.

It had been many months since Yukimura had last seen the strange woman. After a rustle from the leaves in which she simply got up and walked away (and also threw him a select few haughty glances), she sort of just… disappeared.

Like, into a tree.

That was weird.

Honestly? Yukimura tried not to think about it. Very much like you and me, his head hurt if he tried to think too much, but specifically if he thought about tree/boar women it would hurt A Lot. Unlike you and me he had no access to Excedrin Migraine Geltabs.

If he did, he’d be taking them by the spoonful right now because again: Commander Yudai could fall off a bridge and Yuki would not miss him.

Lord Shingen in particular seemed appropriately handsome-slash-irritated. Tall, proud— like an aspen— he stepped onto the charred grass in front of the shrine with his jaw tense.

Yukimura realized that of course Lord Shingen would take particular offense to Commander Yudai burning down this shrine. His best friend got his temple burned down by Oda Nobunaga.

Yukimura turned a scowl onto Commander Yudai and opened his mouth as if to scold him...

And then, a spectre in the distance— covered only in a dress made out of leaves as if she had grown it herself, barefoot, tear-stained—

It was her.

“What the hell?!”

Attention caught, two gazes— one charcoal, one mismatching— turned upon him. It was Lord Kenshin who spoke first.

“Be quiet, Yukimura. You’re spoiling my fun.”

The firelight was a crusade in her eyes. When they met his for a moment, his lips parted in time to call after her before she bounced back into the woods as if she were a doe in human form.

Lords Kenshin and Shingen turned to look, and Sasuke adjusted his glasses, looking pretty cool.

But Yuki was already in a sprint, leaving them behind and chasing after the willowy figure as she retreated deeper into the forest.

—

Never let it be spoken that this author has a particular bias for or against Yukimura, because it can safely be said that he’s totally about to deserve the branch to the face that’s going to happen in three… two…

“Ow! What-”

The branch was leafy and heavy and hurt bad. Like a poor sport at a limbo party, Yuki smacked his forehead right into it and fell to the ground.

“How dare you?!” Her eyes were flaming and she looked just as aggressive as she did the night that he first met her.

“How dare me ?! You’re the one who hit me! Hold on… you’re definitely her! What are you doing all the way out here?”

“My trees were crying because the land was aflame. And I discover when I get here that it was… it was… you! ”

“What was me, Boar Woman?”

Yukimura deserved the kick that came after. But in the spirit of bias neither for nor against Yukimura, one must admit that she could’ve at least waited till he got up.

He brushed himself off, scowling.

“What’s your problem anyway?”

“My problem is men like you who think it’s okay to desecrate my shrines like this. That worm didn’t even offer coins before praying to me! And you know what he said to me?”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘oh wow, I sure do hope that Lord Shingen promotes me!’ And right after? He set my shrine on fire.”

Yukimura winced. “Aw, man. I’m actually really sorry about that. I didn’t condone it. If it helps, we don’t like him either. I think that Lord Kenshin’s probably actually going to kill him.”

She crossed her arms and sniffled, and Yukimura actually felt bad. She was obviously distressed over the loss of her shrine. If there was one thing that Yukimura was not good at, it was consoling crying women. Or consoling women. Or women.

Gruffly, in some attempt to make her feel better, he grumbled, “So you… what. You live here or something?”

“You’re getting awfully close to warning number two.”

“I’m just asking! Jeez, don’t mind me trying to make you feel better. I didn’t even realize that boars like you hung around shrines like this.”

“That’s it! This is your second warning!”

—

If I may interject: there is a key feature to note about the spirits to which our beloved non-boar woman belongs.

You and I would call it the “three-strike system,” but these spirits would call it the mercy-and-honor system. You see, as opposed to “three strikes and you’re out,” these benevolent spirits believed in “three insults and you’re smote.”

That is to say, Yukimura was really, really pushing it if he didn’t want to be turned into a lump of moss.

—

“Second warning,” Yukimura grumbled as he trudged back to camp, brushing dirt off his armor. They had quite a fight, and she had quite a swing. “Second warning my foot. Who does she think she is? Some kind of spirit or something?”

Here, I ask you to share a knowing glance with me.

“Ah, Yuki!” Lord Shingen waved at him from his spot at the campfire. “You’ve finally returned. What caught your eye? A fair maiden in the forest?”

“I’ll kill you,” Lord Kenshin said and sipped his alcohol.

Yukimura bowed his head to Lord Shingen. “Fair maiden… something like that.”

The brilliant and cool Sasuke handed him a portion of dried rice, and Yukimura thought that maybe he should ask his clever friend about the strange woman. People really were crazy these days.

—

“SANADA YUKIMURA… AWAKEN!”

And awaken he did. As most people would when feeling hot breath on their face and looking up to find a giant, grotesque woman with tusks around a leather belt, a white moustache, a gigantic bone-spear, and the head of a pig, Yukimura definitely, definitely awakened.

He also let out a scream that Sasuke would’ve teased him about, if he’d heard it.

“A-are you a ghost?! Are you here to kill me?”

“FOOLISH BOY!” The thing boomed. “I AM THE GODDESS OF THESE ROLLING HILLS, OF THE EARTH BENEATH YOUR TREMBLING FEET. I AM MOUNTAIN WHALE!”

(It’s a literal translation.)

“YOU HAVE PLEASED ME, SANADA YUKIMURA, BY BURNING DOWN THE SHRINE OF THAT wench WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED. SHE WHO BELIEVES THAT THE TREE IS MIGHTIER THAN THE BOAR, WHO THINKS TO STEAL MY POWER FROM ME.”

Silently to himself, Yukimura reasoned that if a boar ran into a tree, it would surely have at least a headache similar to the one he was having right now. Was it necessary to speak so loudly?

“YOU HAVE MY FAVOR AND SHALL BE MY IMMORTAL CHAMPION. NEVER AGAIN SHALL SHE LAY A HAND UPON YOU AS SHE HAS TONIGHT.”

And then— oh, God, and then— Mountain Whale leaned her pig nose down toward Yukimura and Yukimura actually whimpered — and she ordered,

“KISS IT, BOY.”

It should be noted that Yukimura was still trying to wake up. No— he hadn’t even woken up at all. He had been very rudely dragged back to the world of the living and frankly none of this comprehended. From his understanding:

There was… a whale? Of some kind?

The unnamed “wench” angered Mountain Whale… who now wanted Yukimura to kiss her?

Where was Lord Shingen when you needed him?

“S-sorry, but I don’t t-think I really wanna kiss you tonight— I-I’m sure you’re a very nice woman outside of my tent but I’m just not feeling the c-chemistry—”

“YOU THINK I WOULD ALLOW YOU TO LAY YOUR MORTAL LIPS ON MY DIVINE SELF? THE SPEAR, BOY. KISS THE SPEAR.”

His eyes flashed to the bone-spear in her hand. That wasn’t much better.

But Mountain Whale had this look in her eyes like she would absolutely be content to fry Yukimura over drinks and campfire songs, so with another whimper, he pursed his lips.

Chu-!

It wasn’t that bad, actually. The spear, despite being made of bones, didn’t invoke some dormant, loudmouthed half-pig within him. He felt a warmth spread from his lips to his chest and limbs.

Mountain Whale reared her head back and cackled.

“MY CHAMPION, MY IMMORTAL CHAMPION!” She cried. “FOREVER WILL YOUR OFFSPRING WORSHIP ME. COME, BOY, BE THE FIRST TO SING MY PRAISE.”

“??????” Yukimura said.

“IT IS WELL ENOUGH.” It appeared that even Mountain Whale also realized that this was about as good as it got when it came to Yukimura. “WHEN YOU NEED ME, BOY, LOOK TO THE SETTING SUN AND PRAY.”

With a flourish, she nodded at him and bopped him on the head with her bone-spear. She probably should’ve disappeared into thin air in a flurry of boar hair and tusks, but instead she whipped her ragged cloak and lumbered out his tent, across camp, and into the woods rather anticlimactically.

Yukimura sleep-stumbled like a drunken man to the tent flap and watched her wade clumsily across the river. The night guard at the campfire stared at him in horror.

“Don’t say anything,” Yukimura snapped. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

“I wasn’t,” the guard said, shifting uncomfortably. “But if I may, you certainly have an interesting taste in women, Lord Yukimura.”

—

“Oh, you mean Yama Kujira!” Sasuke looked very handsome in the early morning light, and Yukimura wondered if he woke up like this every morning or if he was just blessed.

They were on their way back to Echigo, the battle won and the shrine repaired as best as Lord Shingen could manage. The rest of the troops and their bosses had gone ahead while Sasuke and Yukimura decided to stop by a little teahouse in a town on the way there.

Yukimura didn’t particularly feel immortal, and he wasn’t entirely sure he believed Mountain Whale when she said that he was. If he was, it would kinda be a huge inconvenience, considering he didn’t particularly want to spend the rest of his life with only Mountain Whale for company. He imagined living life so desperately lonely that he relied on her for friendship— shaking the disturbing thought away, he addressed Sasuke.

“Yama Kujira? With the head of a pig?”

“And a bone spear?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Yukimura affirmed. “Not that there’s any reason for asking, but I thought it was, uh… Mountain Whale?”

“That’d be the literal translation; the Japanese boar, ‘Yama Kujira’ literally means Mountain Whale. One of the famous nature spirits who cannot age, but can die like any of the rest of us. Fun fact, one of our soldiers actually claimed that he hunted down, killed, and ate Yama Kujira for dinner. Why do you ask?”

“Alright, first of all, that soldier was definitely lying. Second of all…”

Honestly, why did Yukimura ask? He was still somewhat in denial and figured that maybe if Sasuke looked at him like he’d grown a second head, it’d reinforce the idea that it was just a dream. Even if it was a legend, that was too close for comfort.

He glanced warily over his shoulder as if expecting to hear “BOY” and the clinking of tusks on a leather belt.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

—

For the months following, Yukimura was way too scared to look at the sunset just in case he’d accidentally summon Mountain Whale back to him.

So he made it a habit to begin packing up his shop a little earlier, then went back to the inn for some tea and dumplings before heading into the woods to report to Lord Shingen’s scouts. It was during this routine that he, for the third and final time, insulted that one weirdo from the cliff.

By now it had been nearly a year since he saw her last, and this was the first time he had ever seen her in daylight. On the outskirts of Azuchi, she looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“Aren’t you-”

“It’s the boar woman!”

And these, dear reader, are the Four Fateful Words at which we left off when we first began our story.

The humble author would like to take a moment to emphasize that Yukimura does not particularly know how to speak to women, boar or otherwise. But one thing that he did learn was that boars were particularly scary, and when her eyes flared with anger, he felt his soul regress back into the Paleolithic era.

The phrase slipped out of his lips before he had the chance to remind himself that there were, indeed, boar women out there who were, indeed, waiting to be summoned.

“That’s warning three,” she said softly.

(Somewhere in the distance, Lord Shingen furrowed his brow, his brush pausing above the parchment of a missive.

“What is it, cousin?” Asked Lord Yoshimoto sitting across from him.

“I don’t know. I feel… a disturbance. As if someone, somewhere, is disrespecting a woman.”)

“That’s not fair!” Yukimura could not help but gnash his teeth in frustration.

“How is it not fair?” She snapped. “I warned you twice before this! Did your mother never teach you stories of spirits? The mercy-and-honor system? What did you think I was gonna do, go tattle on you to your lord?”

“Well, I definitely didn’t think you were a spirit! You look like a-” Wisely, he snapped his mouth shut. “Look— people don’t really believe in the old gods anymore. I didn’t even believe in them until a couple of months ago. And I dunno, you do run like a boar. Can’t we just start over?”

“No can do. Unfortunately, I began the process of mercy when I gave you your first warning. If I don’t deliver honor, then I’m a liar, unless you offer me something of equal or greater value. And you can’t. So hold still, please. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

And then she closed her eyes, and her hands began glowing. She was a sight to behold as the trees seemed to sigh inward toward her, the setting sun silhouetting her against its harsh glare as willow vines lifted her towards him. As he drew his sword to fight back, the vines effortlessly disarmed him and sank his weapon deep into its foliage.

Oh God, he thought, a breath leaving him as she came closer, and he backed away. This is the end, isn’t it? Please, don’t let Lord Shingen suffer too deeply when he sees my corpse…

“SANADA YUKIMURA!”

—

...wait. He knew that voice!

He opened his eyes to find vines wrapped around his wrists, his legs, and the spirit glaring at something over his shoulder.

“Mountain Whale...?!” Yukimura groaned.

She was absolutely as ridiculous-looking as he remembered, but more importantly, the spirit drew Yukimura closer to and behind herself as the glow of her hands focused elsewhere. Her eyes narrowed on him.

“You know each other?”

“Yeah, I met Mountain Whale the day that our ex-Commander Yudai burned down your shrine-”

“RIGHTFULLY SO!”

“-and she showed up in my tent and made me kiss her staff. How do you know Mountain Whale?”

As he spoke, a certain… wrath lashed around the spirit’s splendid features. It was eerily beautiful, the way she seemed to blaze with furious light. It was like watching somebody realize something they desperately, desperately wanted to be untrue. She ignored his question in favor of a voice that boomed,

“Please don’t tell me you actually kissed her staff.”

“Well, what would you have done?”

“Not kissed it!”

“She was going to kill me, dummy!”

“I TIRE OF THIS CHATTER. wench, WHAT BUSINESS DOES YOUR WEAK AND PATHETIC SELF HAVE WITH MY CHAMPION?”

The spirit groaned. It took a second for it to click for Yukimura, but when it did—

Oh, God.

“You? You’re ‘wench?’”

“Ignoring the sheer offense I take to that, yes. You must be her champion… figures. Mountain Whale, old friend,” she implored, her voice grated sweet. “It seems to me that there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding. You see, you’ve claimed this man as your champion, but I’m afraid that I claimed him first.”

“I don’t belong to anyone-”

“Remember a year ago, Whale, when you and I had that little spat about whether Lake Biwa should be used as a breeding ground for your wild boars or turned back into a forest? I met him right after that, long before my shrine on the Usui Pass burned down and you found him. I think we can both agree that his life is in my hands, yes? Perhaps if I could humbly ask you to release your claim?”

“HMM… HMM…” Mountain Whale stroked her moustache. “AN INTERESTING PROPOSAL, wench. I AM AFRAID THAT I CANNOT HONOR IT, HOWEVER, AND MUST KILL YOU.”

“You cannot kill me. It is lawfully impossible.”

“SILENCE!”

“No, Mountain Whale, I mean it. You can say what you wish, but the old laws will not allow you to kill me.”

“NOR WILL THEY ALLOW YOU TO KILL MY CHAMPION.”

“You’re right. They will not— it seems we’ve reached an impasse. Unfortunately, if I kill this man, I will be murdering your champion. However, he’s reached my three warnings. If you keep him, it will be dishonorable. Both of us are a bit stuck.”

Yukimura had not thought it possible for Mountain Whale to actually be quiet, but for now she was, keeping her beady glare trained on the spirit whose jaw seemed to be working on instinct.

“I propose a deal,” she said.

“I object,” Yukimura interrupted. A warning glance from her was barely enough to shut him up as he scowled at her.

“As I was saying,” the spirit snipped, “You enjoy the hunt, yes, Whale? For longer than I can remember, you have enjoyed it. I propose that you hunt your champion for, say, a year, during which time I will protect him as my own and keep him at my side. If I fail to keep him alive, not only will you have a tasty warlord snack, but I will also allow you to kill me-”

“I ACCEPT!”

“-I’m not finished. I will also allow you to kill me, and you will be rid of me forever. However, if you fail to catch him, you will release him into my care where I will kill him as honor dictates. You will also personally build me a thousand new shrines across Japan.”

“...BUT I WILL GET TO KILL YOU?”

“If you succeed.”

“THEN WE HAVE A DEAL, wench. YOU HAVE SEVEN SUNSETS, AND THAT IS WHEN MY HUNT BEGINS.”

As the odd rivals shook hands, Yukimura couldn’t help but be impressed at how good of a deal-maker she was. Either that, or Mountain Whale just really wanted to kill her, in which case Yuki could kinda relate. On the other hand, though, he would likely not be human if fear did not grip him at how casually the two bartered whether or not Yukimura would be Mountain Whale’s dinner in a year’s time.

Yukimura happened to be human, so unfortunately he found himself quite troubled by his predicament and also irritated at how it came to be.

“Are you serious?” he growled as Mountain Whale lumbered back into the forest. “Are. You. Serious!”

“Don’t give me that,” the spirit sniffed. “Trust me, I pretty much just saved your life.”

“... how ?!”

“If Mountain Whale and I continued to fight over you, our Creator would have just smote you to keep the peace, and I’d still be dissatisfied because I was not the one to do it. I’ll be protecting you this next year, so you don’t have to worry about Mountain Whale killing you.”

“Oh, jeez, thanks. That’s one less thing off my plate. Now all I have to worry about is you killing me.”

“I did say I’d make it painless, didn’t I? Now, come on. We only have seven sunsets. I’ll say what I will about her, but she is a brilliant huntress; we need to get going this instant if we want to outsmart her.”

“Like hell I’m going with you!”

The spirit closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose like a high-schooler who had just won the senior superlative for “Least Likely to Strangle Yukimura on Instinct (Don’t Give In Now!!).” When she opened them again, she tossed him her sweetest smile.

“Yukimura,” she explained patiently. “Mountain Whale is not the spirit of boars. She is the spirit of the hunt. You will not survive even a day with her hunting you if you don’t come with me. Think about it this way: you would have died regardless.”

“Not if you just gave up this stupid three warning thing.”

“For the record, it’s not stupid. It’s how the old gods have kept promises for many years. Only a promise can break a promise. And you think that, what— if I’d just went on my merry way you’d have lived the rest of your life in peace as Mountain Whale’s immortal champion?”

His silence was rather telling.

She scoffed, “Right, obviously. Okay, here’s the run-down. Technically, you became immortal when you kissed that staff. The only person who can take it away is her. And the reason for that is because she wants you to essentially become her immortal boar for her to hunt. Unkillable. Always running. Forever. Think very long and hard as much as your sweet little mind allows; is that really what you want?”

Yukimura scowled. No, it was not what he wanted.

But on the other hand, at the end of this year it seemed that he would die no matter what— either by the hand of the spirit, or the hand of Mountain Whale. And perhaps if he had a year’s time, he could try to find a way out of this arrangement before it came time to kill him. Assuming the spirit could actually do as she said and protect him. He gave a frustrated yell and kicked at the ground before turning to face her.

“I have three conditions,” he said finally.

In this author’s opinion, it was a bit greedy of Yuki to demand, because she was the one protecting him and not vice versa. She thought the same thing but was a good soul nonetheless, so she waved her hand in a gesture to continue.

“First,” Yuki huffed, “You have to remain open to finding some way to forgive me for my three offenses. Only a promise can break a promise, right? You have to give me the chance to make a different promise you can accept that’s worth my life. Second, you don’t go making deals like that again! It’s not fair that I didn’t even have a say. Maybe I would’ve been down to being Mountain Whale’s immortal punching bag, you know.”

“I doubt it, but this seems reasonable so far. Your final request?”

“My final request...” Yuki took a deep breath. “My final request is that you find some way to heal Lord Shingen.”

She raised a brow. “Who?”

“I’m his vassal. And he’s… he doesn’t have a lot of time left, okay? He has trouble breathing, and coughs too much, and has some heart problems, and, look, I hardly even know who you are, or what you do, but you seem like you have the resources to find some way to make him better. I just want to see his goal achieved so that he can go home again. You do that, and I won’t argue for the whole year we’re together. And when it’s time to kill me, I won’t even make things hard for you.”

For a moment, the spirit seemed disbelieving before her lips pursed with something akin to a grudging respect. “I see… very well. I agree to this exchange of services, provided you hold up your end.”

And, gracefully, she knelt toward the earth and laid one lithesome hand upon it. Between her splayed fingers, stems sprouted, and they wrapped upward around her palm, her wrist, like a playful serpent. She stood again, the greenery uprooting itself to follow her, and turned her palm to Yukimura— from it, one brilliant silver flower bloomed.

The author has it on good authority that if Sasuke were there, he would have found it quite hilarious how Yuki’s mouth hung open. He looked like one of those wall plug outlets or something.

“Make a milk tea out of this flower, sweetening it only with honey,” the spirit instructed, plucking it from her hand and tucking the stem into Yukimura’s armor. “Make sure he drinks the whole thing then eats the petals. Your lord will find himself healing by the time we are hidden, and should he survive the next year, I will allow you to say goodbye and give him enough flowers to live a long life comfortably before I kill you myself.”

Yukimura gently touched his fingers to the delicate petals of the flower, then raised his eyes back to her— her gaze seemed almost sympathetic, and he scowled under the sincerity of it.

“Thanks. I— I’m gonna go—”

“We don’t have much time. Give it to someone you trust, and we will be on our way shortly after. I will meet you in your room when the moon is above the treeline.”

—

In the end, Yukimura gave the flower to Sasuke. Milk tea, honey, petals— he had been reciting the instructions in his head like a mantra and relayed them to his best friend, whom he knew he would not see for a year.

Of all people, it made sense that Sasuke so easily believed him. He informed Lords Kenshin and Shingen of the predicament as Yuki watched from the shadows while Lord Shingen sipped at the tea. He almost seemed to heal before their very eyes, each breath becoming lighter— heart and mind soothed, Yukimura made his way back to his room, where the spirit was already waiting for him.

“Hello, Yukimura. Are you prepared?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied, voice thick with emotion. “Let me just pack.”

“No need. I’ve done so already. I hope you’ll forgive me that.”

She was far pleasanter now than she had been before, nodding at a bag on his bed. If Yuki had been anyone dumber, he might have even forgotten how desperately she wanted to kill him. He gave her a wordless nod and slung the bag around his shoulders. It was an interesting texture— he realized that it was made out of woven branches.

“So, what?” He gruffed as they left the castle and approached the stables. “You going to ride too?”

“No, but your horse knows where to go. I’ll be with you the whole time; keep in mind that we have to reach a safe haven before Mountain Whale sets out for us, but we can afford a few rests if you need them. Just stop the horse and lay your hand on the ground, and I’ll be there.”

All this “look to the sunset” or “moon above the treeline” or “hand on the ground” stuff was really starting to grate on Yukimura’s nerves. Didn’t these people know how to send smoke signals or something?

He mounted his horse and watched, fascinated, as she took a step forward, and as easily as if she were swan-diving into water, leapt into the rocky ground and disappeared.

Moments later, his horse turned his head as if beckoned by an unseen force and began to gallop.

—

During this brief interlude, the author would like to thank you, dear reader, for putting up with the shenanigans of Yukimura and the spirit thus far, because both would be too stubborn to thank you themselves. Rest assured that our hero will spend the next seven Gregorian days kicking at the ground in anger, chowing down on tasteless rice, and overall bemoaning his situation that any theologist would be happy to find themselves in.

Aside from that, he had to warily hand it to the spirit; the horse really did know where to go. Many times was Yukimura nearly thrown off his mighty steed because it would suddenly change directions unbidden.

Every now and then, he would look at the ground and it would seem to ripple, or at the trees that seemed to point their branches and laugh. He figured that that was the spirit travelling beside him with the wind. He’d scowl down at her sometimes and could have sworn the leaves chuckled.

The days and nights that he travelled were both fairly uneventful aside from these, and so, because you are not here to listen to this respectful-yet-much-obliged author wax poetic about Yuki’s grumbling, we shall move on with our tale.

—

“Uh… this is it?” Yukimura asked groggily an hour before the seventh sunrise.

“Excuse you,” the spirit said, materializing for the first time in many days. As Yukimura dismounted his horse, it bowed its head as if in deference to the spirit then cantered away into the trees, disappearing into a thick veil of fog. The spirit walked up out of the ground, the soil parting for her as if she were a tree reaching skyward. He was a bit irritated at how perfect she looked literally rising out of dirt when the only bath he’d gotten was her pushing him into a river.

“Well, didn’t you say safe haven? This looks like a cabin or something.”

“It is. This is my home— one which Mountain Whale does not know the location of, nor will she know it for the next year at least. Until then, my home is yours. It has many wards set on it, so even if she does find it, she’ll never find you. You’ll be safe as long as you don’t cross the boundary of the pond. Come on, now; let’s go.”

The little cottage was situated atop a clear, pebbled pond with many types of fish and lilypads, the shore upon which he stood pleasantly overgrown with cattails. The pond itself was not much larger than what the little plot demanded, and wisterias intimately hid what the cattails did not. A bridge led into what Yukimura assumed was the main part of the home— from it, little floating bridges extended onto different platforms upon the water. One, a garden with all the growable plants and livestock one could need; another, a little space with a ladder dipping into the depths— perhaps for swimming or fishing? Then one more platform, where a small table and futon overlooked the dense forest beyond the water, a sheer canopy shading them from the sun.

The whole unit sloshed a little bit as Yukimura and the spirit padded across the main bridge. She swept aside a heavy cloth and beckoned him inside with a murmured, “Welcome to my home.”

Yukimura wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t how… normal it appeared. A futon pushed against a wall. A comfortable kitchen near the back, the door open to invite in fresh air. Handmade, clashing quilts littered the bed, the floor, the comfortable seats. Everywhere were trinkets that seemed to mismatch— a little satchel of konpeito by the hearth, a little iron dagger haphazardly tossed onto a desk. There were traces of many hobbies throughout many years, hobbies that a bored deity might pick up: half-finished paintings, flowers that were pressed and forgotten, books lying upside down on their spines.

Overall, it was difficult to make something out of it.

As if self-conscious, she scowled and turned her nose up.

“It’s no castle, but it’s done the trick. The futon inside is yours. Obviously I didn’t prepare for you, so… just sit down or something. Help yourself to some stew while I go wash your blankets.”

True to her word, she gathered up a lump of quilts in her arms and left through a door to the side of the house.

Yukimura meandered awkwardly to one of the large pots in the kitchen where an aromatic hunter’s pot was simmering. He could smell traces of venison, cinnamon, pears— the scent of it was so tempting he couldn’t help himself— he dipped a small ladle into it and took a tentative bite.

Delicious! His eyes watered at how flavorful it was, and he went in for another, before deciding it might be impolite to just eat right out of it and hunted around for a bowl. Her array of dishware was rather similar to the rest of the house.

By the time he chose a copper bowl that literally looked like she’d punched a sheet of metal until it would hold a shape, she had returned with a different set of warm-looking blankets.

“Set out a bowl for me, would you?”

Yukimura did as she asked; he supposed that, despite the situation, it was the least that he could do. They settled into chairs at the table by the window, and in the first moment of tranquility in days, Yukimura asked,

“So, where exactly are we?”

“Technically, we’re at one of my shrines in Northern Japan. In actuality, we’re in a world that floats independently of the world you know, a world created by the network of shrines that I have throughout the region.”

“Right. Obviously. Can’t believe I didn’t realize that before.”

“I don’t like your sarcasm, but I get it. It’s probably too much for your mortal mind to grasp. Just know this— the only ones who can enter this domain without my express permission are other kami, and if you leave, you will not be able to return unless I allow you. And you do not want to leave while Mountain Whale is hunting you.”

“Well then, what am I supposed to do during this year then? Just sit here?”

She actually appeared a bit sheepish for a moment, clearing her throat.

“I live a simple life. I understand that. But please try to find some happiness in it during your time here. In a typical day, I fulfill the prayers I receive at my shrines. Then I spend the rest of my time by visiting Earth taking care of the shrines I have left.”

“Huh? You do it yourself? Don’t you have followers to take care of your shrines for you?”

By now she looked horribly embarrassed, and Yukimura could not help but feel sorry for her as she stood and cleared her throat. “You have better things to do than to listen to me talk about my duties. Just… stay out of my way, and when you can, try helping me by taking care of things around the house. Gardening, cooking, cleaning… you’re not my prisoner, and I won’t harm you until the year is up, so do whatever you please.”

She took his empty dish and busied herself washing it while he looked around his temporary home a little bit longer. There was a small stack of prayers on a desk by the front window— he wondered why she didn’t have more, as he assumed a deity would.

—

Life was rather uneventful with her. Aside from the bickering that they commonly found themselves embroiled in, she was easy enough to get along with and oftentimes downright friendly.

During the day, she left— apparently to take care of her shrines, and Yukimura would have the house to himself. He’d take a dip in the pond and float around, wondering how Lords Kenshin and Shingen and his best friend Sasuke were doing.

After his daily morning swim, he’d head into the garden and familiarize himself with all the plants she’d grown there, or he’d sit on the back porch and let his feet hang into the water while he watched the forest. Sometimes a deer or two would flit between the trees, and he passed the time by counting them. He’d also think— usually about a promise that might be able to convince her not to kill him when his year was up, or maybe some loophole that one of them had missed.

When she was home, she’d sit at that little desk and write in black ink on parchment that disappeared once she filled the page. Then she’d reach for another in her stack, and later, she told him that that was how she answered prayers.

It never took her too long to get through it.

Besides how terribly he missed his friends at Kasugayama, it wasn’t too bad. Her company was not intolerable; in fact, he found himself actively enjoying the nights when she came home from Earth, or even the days she didn’t have to leave at all.

Over time, though, he found himself growing curiouser— oftentimes on war campaigns, he ran into zealots who told him that they were on their way to one shrine or another for their preferred deity. They usually carried with them brooms and pails to clean, and then flowers and coins as gifts. Why did she clean her shrines herself?

—

Around this time at Kasugayama Castle, rumor had begun to spread that Sanada Yukimura was spotted smooching a lovely young lady at the stables before his disappearance.

Sasuke wisely informed Lords Shingen and Kenshin of Yukimura’s unfortunate situation, and among them were quick to dispel rumors of Yukimura being some sort of deserter. But Lord Yoshimoto pointed out that if Yukimura actually was currently spending his days relaxing with a pretty woman, odds were that he’d be wooed off his feet in no time.

On an unrelated note regarding Yukimura’s love life: if Lord Kenshin had simply followed Sasuke’s advice and agreed with Lord Yoshimoto, then maybe he and Sasuke would not have lost so much money to him and Lord Shingen.

—

But this author will admit that it was not yet quite time for that, because frankly, right now bickering was more common between the two of them than the moments of bliss where they could lounge together on the futon outside. Since he was sleeping on her futon indoors, she claimed the outdoor one for herself, which would have bothered him had she not smacked him for inadvertently suggesting she’d fall in the pond.

Birds and seasons flitted in and out of the little bubble in which her pond existed. This, for her, was good news, as she was excited for the company, and he felt a little sympathy for her that she was so lonely that she considered birds or autumn leaves “company.” Nevertheless, she wanted to make their guests feel at home, so on a day where she finished answering prayers early, they went onto the deck behind the house to build some birdhouses and feeders and baths for her to set up in the garden.

He was not a particularly incredible craftsman. Her bird feeder was supremely well-made, and frankly his looked kind of dumb next to hers. It was made all the more embarrassing by the fact that birds flocked to hers over his. He was attempting to set the walls of a birdhouse together when he asked,

“Can you tell me a little bit more about this whole promise thing?”

The sounds of her hammer against wood stopped, and slowly she set down her project, suspicious. “What would you like to know?”

“I wanna know a way out of this deal. Don’t think just ‘cause we’re getting along okay that I’ve forgotten you’re gonna kill me in ten months.”

“Ah, yes. I truly do look forward to it.”

“See?! See, that right there is so confusing. One second you’re totally reasonable, and then the next you’re actively wanting to kill me.”

“Look, Yukimura,” she sighed, leaning back on her palms. “I don’t actively want to kill you. I suppose the way to look at it is that, because I’ll have to anyway, there isn’t much to be done about it.”

“Except there is. You said that a promise can break a promise; you promised to kill me after three offenses, but can’t you just make a different promise?”

“Theoretically speaking, yes. But in order for me to maintain honor and respect befitting my station, it would have to be a promise of equal caliber to taking your life. Tell me, what can you offer me that matches your literally endless value on this Earth?”

She had a point. More importantly, he felt his face growing hot at the odd compliment. On one hand, she thought he had endless value… on the other hand, she had to kill him for it. But maybe she meant that he was valuable to her…? No, no, idiot. Don’t read into it.

Yukimura sighed, defeated for now, and cast his gaze out into the silent indigo forest before turning back to her with a wry, sour smile.

“Tell you what, I can finish making you this birdhouse. Then after that let’s talk.”

She tipped her head to the sky and laughed a brilliant, delighted laugh. Her eyes were sparkling when she looked at him.

“No, I would say you’re worth a little bit more than that.”

“Just a little?”

“Just a little.”

—

Tonight she was teaching him how to make a boar stew, because the weather outside was freezing and they both agreed on some extra-comfort food. She’d decided that she’d had enough of venison and cleaned out their stew pot. When he said that he already knew how to make boar stew, she’d said “Not yet” and left it at that as if he was supposed to know what that meant.

If he were being totally honest, he’d gotten used to how vague she could be by now, and actually found it— though he’d never admit it, not even to himself— he found it a bit cute. He’d long since realized that it was simply a common habit among deities like her (see: Mountain Whale making him immortal in the middle of the night and literally not elaborating on the fact). It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Aside from the topic of her shrines or the small amount of prayers she got, she was openly forthcoming with any information he asked for.

“I’ve been making boar stew since I was a kid,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I know how to make it.”

“Not in the way that I do.” Her response came between the tap of her lips on the spoon, taste-testing their handiwork.

“Oh, yeah? Have you been living off boar meat since you were four?”

“Have you been alive for hundreds of thousands of years?”

“...no.”

“Ah. I see.”

Her smile, puckered and amused, was not condescending— almost teasing, and his heart did a little ba-dum! at the sight of it.

“Yeah, well,” he couldn’t hide his dopish grin no matter how hard he tried. “Just ‘cause you’ve been alive for so long doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good at everything. For example, deal-making? You’re terrible at that!”

“Ha! If my deal-making skills are terrible, then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I threw you out of our home right now, see you deal with Mountain Whale.”

She dangerously held up the spoon and whacked the back of his hand with it as he barked a laugh, swatting her away.

“Is it too late to ask for mercy?”

“You ask me for mercy everyday— ‘ooh, please, please consider wrecking your honor as a goddess in order to spare my life at the end of the year!!’”

He couldn’t even bring it in him to be all that irritated with her for the horrible impression of him, or to be upset at the reminder that he might not find a way to barter himself out of her deal— he couldn’t be upset, not when she was smiling like that.

“Oh, yeah, whatever, you dummy. Guess I’m pretty lucky to have you then, huh?”

“Very much so.”

Here, Yukimura was incredibly lucky that he was not at Kasugayama Castle, for if he was, both Sasuke and Lord Shingen would have stood up and applauded, probably asked for an encore. Lord Shingen would have mockingly dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. My little boy Yuki has finally flirted! And with an actual goddess, no less! he might’ve said as Sasuke solemnly bit his knuckle whilst on the verge of proud and manly tears.

Unbeknownst to Yukimura, he definitely did flirt just now, and it was even— dare it be said— well-received...?! The spirit threw him a coy smile over her shoulder and ooh, the way that Yukimura’s face turned red would’ve been absolutely HILARIOUS to see in person.

However, the only person around to see it was the spirit, whose attention was returned to the stew while our valiant hero, like, clutched his chest and hyperventilated in the corner or something.

“Here,” she said, politely ignoring the very obvious cupid’s arrow sticking out of his chest and the way that he was desperately trying to somehow both pry it out and ignore it. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

She held the spoon to his lips with her other hand below his chin as she fed him a taste, and at this point one must wonder if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

If the venison stew was good, then this was… heaven. Yukimura made a noise of pleasure that would’ve made an elderly woman sweat in church. “That’s delicious!”

“I told you that you didn’t know how to make boar stew. Let’s have dinner by the fire tonight.”

So they settled in for some pleasant company while snow layered upon the pond, and in Yuki’s defense, he wouldn’t have started choking on the conversation halfway through if he hadn’t belatedly realized that she’d said “our” home instead of hers.

—

Ohohoho.

This is where it gets good.

Because there was only one bed.

To backtrack: it was so cold that night that the spirit’s futon outside (also, why was she the one sleeping outside when she was the one who lived here first?) was literally too cold to sleep in, and also ironically, this was the same night that Yukimura realized she was pretty damn cute when she was teasing him.

The author is well aware of how hilarious this is, and believe me, reader, that we all later had a good laugh at the way everything in the world seemed to be against our dear hero.

Yukimura barely even recovering from the revelation of him maybepossiblyprobably being more interested in his captorsaviorcrush than he’d first thought, and then that exact same night not even being allowed to have the bed to himself to think about it? Comedy gold.

“Just— stop padding around like a lost donkey and go to sleep!” he croaked, face heated and hidden by the dim light. Small mercies.

“Fortunately for you, I can’t start your three offenses again. Fortunately for me, it appears I have been upgraded from boar to donkey. Perhaps I should stay up longer to celebrate.”

“You—!” He groaned. “Don’t keep me awake, please.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you you have somewhere to be tomorrow? I didn’t notice.”

With that snarky remark, she smoothly slid between the sheets, and with a wave of her hand extinguished the fireplace and nestled herself into the many pillows and blankets. Buried in the sheets, she sort of looked like some sort of adorable rice bowl, Yukimura realized as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He aggressively turned his back to her with a flustered huff. Before long, her breathing was deep, even, and when Yukimura turned back to peek, she was completely passed out.

What the hell? How did she fall asleep so quickly? It surprised the author, as well, because one would assume there would be some sexual tension there. Maybe some longing eye contact before both parties bashfully looked away. Maybe even… some under-blanket hand-touching?

But nope. She koala’d up to an oversized pillow that she placed between herself and Yukimura and was out like a light, leaving the boy to his many, many thoughts.

—

They slept beside each other the next night, and the night after that. By the time a week had gone by since they started sharing the indoor bed, Yukimura was five months into his sentence and up to his skull in frazzled thoughts.

Because God, was she pretty.

At around this point, for the sake of his own health, Yukimura grudgingly accepted that he really liked it when she smiled and especially liked it when he was the one who made her do so. He also liked the way her wrists looked so graceful and hold-able, and also how she looked like a cute little pastry when she bundled all the way up whenever she went back to Earth to take care of her shrines.

But it wasn’t a crush. Nope. Just a friend admiring a friend, is all.

He didn’t even realize when he’d begun calling her a friend— somehow, she stopped being the woman who held his life in her hands like a fragile bird. Somewhere down the line she became the woman who— for some reason— he got the feeling she’d find a way to spare him.

There was no basis to this hypothesis, is what Sasuke would have told him if he were there. One-sided puppy love was not a good enough reason for her to break the old laws, thereby losing the respect of an entire religion and also probably with many more consequences than the ones she told him.

And also, at the end of the day Yukimura was just a blip in her life. Even if Mountain Whale did actually make him immortal, he was probably just a pet to the spirit in the grand scheme of things… it was a real bummer to think about.

Tonight he had decided to maybe try making the stew himself, and oh, how pleased she had looked when he said that. He had begun simmering it in the morning, and now it was evening, so he was in the middle of adding last minute touches to it. At least, he would be, if he wasn’t so easily distracted by the sight of her on the floor, leaning against the loveseat by the fire, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she painted, hair in relaxed disarray and looking like it could be combed out with his fingers…

Oh, hell!

With a fierce clatter, he accidentally knocked the bowls out of the cupboard. All of them. Like, fifty. A home video of the moment would’ve been so good.

She looked up—had she always looked this good in the firelight?— and they made eye contact for a moment before he dipped beneath the table to pick up the dishes. When he reemerged, he chanced a glance at her. She was respectfully stifling a flattered, knowing smile, a pretty blush on her face, before she turned back to her art.

Ahh, that smile alone probably could’ve fed Yukimura for the next year… ahem. ABSOLUTELY not a crush. Once again, just a friend admiring a friend…

...and a friend’s lips that looked like they’d be so sweet...

...and the long, long legs of a friend sticking out through the slit of her sleeping kimono as she reclined in sensuous relaxation…

Dammit!

We want her reeeeeaaaal bad, don't we? sang his heart cheerfully.

Shut the hell up, he thought grouchily. It disobediently, delightedly thump!-ed before settling cozily into some lovestruck little corner of his chest.

If she noticed anything of it, she did not say anything. Instead she remained as respectful with him as ever and went to sleep just as quickly as she always did and went about her day.

The snow had thawed out many weeks ago, but it seemed that neither of them were particularly in the mood to set out the outdoor futon again. So a shared bed it was, and eventually the deep and even sound of her breathing was like a lullaby.

For the past month or so, she had been home more and more often; Yukimura, bless his heart, was simply so secretly elated that he got to spend more time around her that he did not realize that this was very, very bad.

—

These past few months she had been much happier, and perhaps that was one of the reasons that it was difficult at first to spot her declining health.

It was something small at first; hardly a soul would be able to notice it, much less Yukimura, who didn’t necessarily know the signs to look for. But they were gardening together one day, their conversation as easy as it had so recently often been. She loved to hear about his mortal life, so he was regaling her with stories of Sasuke— when she froze.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

When he finally looked away from the tomatoes he was planting, her left hand was limp in front of her, her face crumpled in anguish as she stared at the back of her hand. He hated to see her like this. Gently laying a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and look at him.

“O-oh. What?”

“Are you okay?”

He was far too familiar with all the heartbreakingly lovely ways those lips of hers knew how to upturn. When she smiled at him, he knew it was not genuine.

“I’m fine. I think you need to mind your own business.”

She nudged him with her shoulder in an attempt to emulate their usual banter, and he mercifully let it go and played along. She kept glancing at her hand in dismay, however, and later that night he could have sworn that it took her longer than usual to fall asleep.

—

It became obvious by the time the seven-month mark rolled around:

Something was wrong with her.

It began with her hand, a small gray vein like the ripples in a marble statue. At first he thought nothing of it, but when it became painfully obvious that she was trying to hide it from him— that was when he became suspicious.

That vein made its way up her arm, and before long, another had appeared at the base of her throat, and another right behind her knee. The way those veins curled and wilted along her soft skin— they looked like desiccated roots.

Still she would not tell him the matter, even when, at the eight-month mark, the veins started appearing exponentially. Whenever a new vein appeared, so did a new problem. She began to lose control of her hands, her legs, and eventually, she could not even get out of bed.

She assured him that it was fine— it was nothing more than a god’s equivalent of the common cold. But the way her voice rasped around the lie— it was like watching Lord Shingen falter all over again.

On and on it went, Yukimura insisting that she tell him and her flat out refusing to. At one point he had even yelled at her, frustrated that he could not help… she had simply smiled a sad, sad smile, which Yuki decided was the one smile of hers that he never wanted to see again.

It was nearly summer when he began to hold her hand as he slipped beside her in bed, afraid that he would lose her.

One week after that, he woke up, and she was not breathing.

—

“No, no, no, no, no!” He stormed through the kitchen, leaving a hurricane of bowls and silverware and fruits and vegetables in his wake. “She has to have one…”

The flower. The flower that she had given to Lord Shingen— no way was she dumb enough not to keep one here! He already had milk and honey heating up on the stove, and if he had to force it down her throat then he would, dammit!

Not having any luck in the kitchen, Yukimura ran outside to the garden. It was so overgrown that in his time here he hadn’t managed to explore the sheer variety of it. He lifted up roots and vines and—

—oh, God, there it was—

—and, like a savior clad in silver, a full grove of that brilliant flower was hidden there within the tulips beneath the peach tree.

Yukimura snatched one up out of the ground, already tearing the petals off it in preparation.

Milk tea, honey, petals— the mantra that he had so religiously repeated to himself for Lord Shingen’s sake felt so long ago. But now it was for her, and the sight of her as the milk tea came off the stove at last was almost too much for him to bear. He strained the petals out and crawled into bed, taking her between his legs and propping her back against his chest.

“You’re going to have to drink now, okay? Oh, God, please drink…”

For one moment, he felt a piece of his heart die as he thought that she would not.

And then she stirred against him, and her throat bobbed weakly. Encouraged, he tipped the cup farther back, and when she was finished he placed the petals between her teeth and had her swallow them.

The effect was not instantaneous like it had been with Lord Shingen. Her head lolled backwards onto his shoulder as he hugged her around her waist from behind her, burying his face into her shoulder and trying not to let the tears fall. She was breathing again— that was all in his life that mattered right now.

“I hate you,” he muttered into the fabric of her kimono, holding her tighter. “I hate you so much.”

“How rude,” she breathed. “Saying such a thing to me warrants a smiting.”

“I don’t get how you can be joking at a time like this.” He extracted himself from behind her to cradle her in his arms at her side, pushing the hair out of her face. To his dismay, the flower did not seem to do much aside from immediate aid. “I’m going to get you another flower—”

“Stop.” Her hand darted out to grasp his kimono, the most movement she’d been able to manage in weeks. “Don’t. Stay with me— another flower won’t do anything. We don’t have much time left.”

Gingerly, he returned to her side. “You… what do you mean by that?”

Deep down, he knew what she was trying to say. Those gray, dead roots that had buried themselves in her skin— they had not released their hold.

But memories of her laughing, swimming in the pond, lazily twirling a vine in her fingers, settling in with a good book… the way she swung her legs when she was impatient, how she pointed out different types of plants… those memories hadn’t released their hold on Yukimura. Not yet. Not ever.

Those lips of hers— he’d once thought they might taste like honeysuckle. Now they parted weakly, and she said,

“I’m dying, Yukimura.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he gripped her hand tighter, pulled her closer. “Stop.”

“No. It’s true, and I’m sorry— I didn’t want you to worry. Lie down. Hold my hand. I’ll tell you everything.”

—

She spent the afternoon telling him of her many years. She told him of her many sisters, her many friends, her many once-great allies whose shrines had fallen into disuse, and eventually were reclaimed by the Earth.

She was one of the last few old gods left— her and Mountain Whale, and only a few others. The once-proud goddess of the land, her small pond was once a lake, her cottage once a castle. She once had followers across the Earth.

For the old gods, it was their followers and their shrines that were their lifeblood. And as their followers died and their shrines fell into disuse, so too would they. She told him of how she watched, helpless, as her friends faded away into the dead shells of what they once ruled, and once even those shells were obsolete, faded into nothingness.

And she— one of the last few— had no one but herself to care for her few standing shrines, no one to pray to her. Now an obsolete deity, she was forgotten like so many before her, and now it was her turn to die and let the energy she once embodied return to the universe and be reborn elsewhere.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said peacefully, although her labored breathing suggested otherwise. “I should have told you sooner. But there was nothing to be done.”

“You said that about you killing me too. Don’t you even try fighting?”

“Oh, Yuki. I would never have lived long enough to kill you—” she broke off into a coughing fit while he quickly moved to action, tilting her head to pour some tea into her mouth. “I- I’m only sorry that I wasn’t able to live long enough to protect you.”

He couldn’t help himself— he pressed his lips to the top of her head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t understand,” he murmured into her hair.

“This place— I told you it existed as an embodiment of the power of all my shrines combined. That was true. But when I die, my shrines will be nothing more than interesting pieces of architecture on the side of the road. Mountain Whale is probably bored by now and not trying so hard to find you. She will continue to look for me first— my scent is more potent. Take a bath when you get home, and do not leave the castle for the next four months, and I doubt she will find you. This place will not be safe for you anymore— you must run.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because you have to. I’ll live until the end of the summer at most— the wards around the pond will fade before then. if you’re still here when Mountain Whale comes, she will kill you.”

In a watery voice, Yukimura whispered, “And you… you were never gonna kill me, huh?”

“Not after the deal was made. I would have died before I could, and I was already dying anyway, Yuki. Protecting you from an immortal life of being hunted by Mountain Whale seemed like a worthwhile use of my time. What’s one last good deed?”

“It’s not your last good deed. I won’t allow it. I’ll never, ever leave your side.” And he kissed her jaw, her brow, watched how she closed her eyes and sighed happily before he kissed her knuckles, letting his lips linger there.

“You say that,” she said gently, “But I’ve seen this happen before with so many late friends of mine. I rolled my eyes at them and said I’d never follow their path, but I already know I will— at sundown, I’ll wave my hand and you’ll be home. I’ll go to sleep and won’t wake up, and before autumn, my heart will stop. You’ll meet someone, fall in love, and forget about me; I’ll be nothing more than the spirit who was a dream.”

“You’ll never be that.”

“But I will. Please allow me the courtesy of falling asleep peacefully in your arms. Just until sundown.”

He released a shaky breath and looked into those eyes that once held so much joy and curiosity. How could he deny her— deny the woman who so secretly helped him, who refused to worry him so that she might spend those last few months of her lonely life with somebody, anybody else? He tucked her into his chest, closing his eyes and drowning in the sound of her ephemeral heartbeat.

“Just until sundown.”

—

When he opened his eyes right before sunset, he was alone in his bed at Kasugayama, taut fingers clutching the stem of a silver flower.

—

Dear reader, it is with the sincerest apologies that I continue to put you through this experience, for this author personally believes in relaying the story with utmost accuracy. I will spare you the particular details of how the castle was alerted to Yukimura’s return by the heart-wrenching sobs that came from his room, or how even Lord Kenshin was especially gentle for quite some time whenever he was faced with Yukimura’s tear-swollen eyes.

From what she had told him, she would be alive till the summer ended. So that meant another four months of her suffering before she died alone.

That thought hurt even worse, and following Yukimura’s return, it was tragic to sleep in a room near him and listen as his heart broke repeatedly.

Out of respect for Yukimura, I will not delve further into how he mourned, for that is for him and him alone. There are so few moments in life that one can keep to oneself; two of these are when one is in love, and when one mourns a loss. Yukimura experienced both of these so closely that the depth of his grief should be better left unsaid.

—

It had been a month without her, three months until the end of his sentence, when Yuki went to his first war council since return. The dark circles beneath his eyes were politely left uncommented upon.

It seemed wrong to return to life as he’d known it. She’d asserted that he’d move on… what a load of garbage. How could he ever move on from someone as amazing as her?

He hated the way that everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him— as if saying the wrong word would set him off. It was half-true, considering he knew that somewhere out there she was dying alone, and there wasn’t even anything he could do about it.

He had not left the castle in a month. With Mountain Whale still out hunting for him and the fact that he could hardly even drag himself out of bed, there was not much reason to. He hoped that wherever she was, she was asleep and not suffering— it wasn’t fair that someone like her had to live so long alone, and then die alone too...

“Yuki?”

Yukimura jolted, realizing too late how miserable the look on his face must have been. It had been Lord Shingen who’d called out to him, dark eyes clever and searching as he nursed a teacup.

“Are you alright?”

He almost wanted to tell Shingen everything right then and there. But, almost greedily, he wanted to hold her close to his heart, afraid that she might fly away if he spoke of her too often. So instead, he said,

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am fine.”

The conversation had caught Sasuke and Lord Kenshin’s attention by now, though they carried on with their own in consideration for Yuki’s privacy.

“You’re not. I know that look, Yuki— it’s the look of heartbreak. What happened?”

Yukimura scowled down at the ground. Lord Shingen was far too perceptive for his own good— but he was also not malicious. He cared, he really did, and the look on his face was so concerned that just as Yukimura decided it might be better to tell him—

Lord Shingen finished off his tea—

—and ate the silver flower that had been resting at the bottom.

Yuki was so floored that he forgot his words for a moment, and when they came, his voice was raw around them.

“W-where did you get that flower?” he rasped.

“The flower? There’s a little pot of them growing in the kitchen, you didn’t know?”

“Yes, but where did you get it?”

“Where…? Well, one of the maids, of course. I suppose you wouldn’t know her— she started here a little bit after you left and planted those, then started making milk tea out of them. It’s done wonders for my health. Speaking of, has anyone seen her lately?”

It was difficult to listen as blood rushed to his ears, the grief as fresh as the day he’d left her. It had been Lord Yoshimoto to answer Lord Shingen’s question, but Yuki didn’t stick around to hear the answer— he already knew it, and was fleeing from the room.

—

“Hey… hey, Yuki?”

By the time Sasuke arrived to knock gently on Yukimura’s doorframe, the room appeared to have a hurricane torn through it. Clothes strewn across the floor, a chair knocked over, and in the center of it all, Yukimura had already donned his armor, a determined look on his face as he stuffed various items into a bag.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? You’re going to go help that girl,” Sasuke observed wisely, though by now he and the others already knew that they would not see Yukimura for a while.

“I am. And you can’t stop me.”

“I wasn’t going to try. And neither were Kenshin or Shingen; in fact, I’m here to say goodbye.”

“Sasuke, you dolt. I’m going to come back when I’ve saved her, and you’ll all meet her, and she’ll finally have friends and be happy again. I never should’ve let her send me back in the first place!”

“I see. We all figured that it had something to do with a girl.”

“She’s not just a girl,” Yukimura snapped like the disgruntled lovesick idiot that he was. “She’s just… amazing. And kind, and smart, and she put up with me for so long. And she’s really funny, and apparently she was helping Shingen this entire time and— and she saved my life, too, without wanting anything in return—!” He broke off, his face crumpling in devastation.

“I understand,” Sasuke affirmed, “And we all support you one-hundred percent. I won’t pry, but I have to ask: Yuki, what exactly happened?”

“I’ll let her tell the story once I save her. But what I will say is that I found myself in a really bad situation a long time ago, and she was the one who helped me without me even realizing it. I can’t just let her die alone— or even die at all. I have to do something. I have to at least try.”

“And try you will. In fact, Kenshin and Shingen wanted me to give you this.”

“I— what is it?”

“It’s a missive that declares you’ve cut ties with the Uesugi-Takeda forces— it should allow you safe passage even through Oda territory, though obviously standard disclaimers apply in that you should keep a low profile. Sure, it’s bending the truth a little bit, but this seems more important than that. Think of it like a passport of sorts.”

“A… paaaash-part?”

“Never mind. And because I’ve always wanted to say it,” Sasuke cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and like an absolute unit, said, “It’s too dangerous to go alone! Take this.”

With a bow, he offered the missive to Yukimura, who frowned but snatched it up anyway.

“You’re so weird. I’ll miss that while I’m gone.”

“How long will that be?”

“Well, hopefully before the end of the summer. Actually, no— it will be before the end of summer, because I’m going to save her, and that’s that. I don’t care about Whale hunting me, or about any stupid expiration date she set for herself, ‘cause I’m going to fight for her.”

“Once again, I have no idea who you’re talking about, but we’ll all be your cheerleader. Best of luck, Yukimura. Go get her.”

—

Yukimura had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He’d never cleaned a shrine in his life. He’d taken his horse and a cart— she’d seen to it many months ago that the horse had made it back safely— and headed in a general direction where he figured one of her shrines might be.

She’d mentioned that they mostly existed at the side of the road, so he decided to stick to the better-worn pathways, and after a full day, he stumbled upon a shrine with her tenets written down the side of it. Finally! Now what?

He figured that maybe refilling the cleansing basin was as good a start as any. He emptied it of dirty rainwater and replaced it with some freshwater from his own basin, then found an incense burner hanging from the ceiling, which he brushed the old ashes off of and lit a new stick. He polished and lit the hanging lanterns, too.

Next, overgrown vines had wrapped themselves around the walls and railings, and as small as the shrine was, he figured it didn’t have any business looking as run-down as it did. Not if it was hers.

When he was done removing the vines, he realized that the dust buildup wasn’t all that attractive. He’d borrowed a cleaning cart from the Kasugayama maids, so he took a broom and started sweeping away, reaching up to get the corners of the ceiling and swat away the cobwebs. And then, he decided, she might appreciate a clean floor, so he emptied some water and soap into a bucket and began to scrub away, then used the remaining mixture to polish off the archways.

It was pretty good, if he did say so himself. And didn’t she say that she’d become obsolete and die without any followers to care for?

Well, she wasn’t obsolete, and he definitely wouldn’t let her die. He found a patch of wildflowers nearby and placed it by the entryway before gently slipping some coins into the offering box. He knew it wasn’t protocol, but he had always wished he’d picked some flowers for her. Following two bows, two claps, and one final bow, Yukimura prayed silently— or rather, he asked her how she was doing, let her know not to worry about a thing, because he was going to be taking care of her shrines from now on. Maybe he’d even pay someone in the nearby village to keep this one safe and tidy, wouldn’t that be nice?

One shrine down. Who knew how many more to go?

—

It was pretty rough, especially because as time went on, it became painfully obvious that Mountain Whale was still a danger. He almost got gored to death by a boar once, and another time he swore he heard tusks rattling from a bone-spear while he was cleaning his fourth shrine— freezing, he hid behind the entryway, and his prayer went from him telling her about how much he missed her, to him desperately pleading that it wasn’t Mountain Whale.

The third boar he saw on the journey, however, froze and simply stared at him before scampering off into the distance. It was the middle of the night, but Yukimura did not want to risk the boar being a messenger for Mountain Whale— he packed up his things and rode through the night to the next town, where he got only a bit of sleep before hunting down another shrine.

Mountain Whale wasn’t the only danger. Many times he almost had run-ins with one or two Oda scouts, which was when he showed the missive and was fortunately let off the hook— for now. He tried to stay away from the heart of Oda territory when he could help it, but their hold on Japan was simply too massive. When he thought of that, he could almost hear her amused voice wryly whispering, “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about that.”

And obviously, travelling by horseback across all of Japan in the dead of summer was sure to take a toll on a person. His journey was slowed when he had to stop in every town to hydrate and buy some bare necessities. One benefit to this was that innkeepers could often direct him to her next shrine, though many were curious as to why he was worshipping an old god at all. That kami, they all said, abandoned us long ago.

Bitterly, he couldn’t help but think that maybe they were the ones who abandoned her. She was the one who would religiously sit at the table and look so focused and thoughtful as she answered each and every prayer. She was the one who so vigilantly wanted to help others.

Despite the treacherous nature of his journey, Yukimura considered it his mission to help her and resolutely forged onward. It was in direct defiance of her command to stay put in Kasugayama Castle. She’d scold him for it later. He’d welcome it, in fact.

Ten months into his sentence and two months before he could stop worrying about Mountain Whale, bandits snuck into the stables of the inn he stayed at and took all the horses there— including his. Fortunately, his cart of supplies was safely tucked away in the mill, and the coins he was using to offer to her were always kept on his person.

That meant, though, that he had to spend precious change on a mule to haul his cart, and that the rest of the journey would have to be made on foot. He didn’t even think for a moment about stopping— he would go to the ends of the Earth for her, and if that meant blisters and sunburns, then so be it. He’d complain to her about it once he got to see her again. He wondered if she’d roll her eyes at him and tell him that he was lucky she let him step foot on one of her shrines at all.

Three months. Ninety-two shrines. Each one painstakingly restored by Yukimura himself. At one point, he’d written Lord Shingen and finally fully explained the situation, and despite the response politely implying that he was crazy for doing this alone, Lord Shingen assured that he would send a small group of men to go hunt down and restore some as well. That was another sixty-four shrines within only a month.

Often, Yuki would tell her about his day. Sometimes he would also tell her stories of his childhood— he knew how much she loved to hear about that. He assured her that she’d meet Lord Shingen, and that she better stay away from him, because she was so beautiful that he was bound to flirt with her. If Lord Kenshin found out she was a goddess, he’d surely want to test his fighting skills against her, and he figured that she and Sasuke and Lord Yoshimoto would get along famously.

“And also,” he added, voice hoarse from disuse. Prayers were supposed to be made quietly, but this one he felt the need to say aloud. “I’ve got an idea for a promise that can replace that stupid one that you made. You know, the one to kill me? But you’ll have to be alive to hear it, so I better be seeing you soon.”

He bowed once, straightened out the incense burner, and left the now-immaculate shrine.

That made ninety-three.

—

It was the final day of his sentence, and every shrine he’d come across in the past week had already been restored, either by himself or the small task force Lord Shingen had set aside. And then, in a correspondence with Sasuke, the brilliant and awesome ninja reminded him that the shrine that ex-Commander Yudai had burnt could probably use some TLC (Yukimura had to clarify, and Sasuke explained it meant “tender, loving care”).

That had been a week ago. Since then Yukimura had assembled new beams for the roof, polished off burn marks on the metal, reconstructed the floor, and bought some new incense burners and stain for the wood. It was practically brand new again, which he figured he owed her, considering it was his side that had burnt it down in the first place.

An hour till sundown. He was bowing his head to pray, though his heart was particularly heavy today with how achingly he wanted to be at her side again.

There were footsteps. Yukimura heard her before he saw her.

“THIS IS FINE WORK YOU HAVE BEEN DOING, BOY. MY SOUL CRIES FOR YOUR LOSS.”

—

He did not need to look, but he did anyway. He had long ago accepted that to save the woman he loved, he might be hunted down and killed, himself.

“Hello, Mountain Whale.”

“HELLO.”

Despite the ever-present volume of her tone, there was a pity in it that he had never heard before. That face looked sorrowful and sullen— as if she, too, had aged as much as Yukimura had in his grief.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Mountain Whale did not respond. She lumbered up beside Yukimura and sat down on the stairs with a heavy thud, leaves huffing around her at the impact. She patted the spot beside her with one weathered hand, and Yukimura sat down there.

They watched the sun as it dipped closer to the horizon as she allowed Yukimura to come to terms with his impending death. This particular shrine was built near a cliff— it had quite a pretty view, and it reminded Yukimura of the first time he had ever met the spirit. Boar woman, he’d said, and his lips fondly quirked up at the irony of it. Together, Mountain Whale and Yukimura sat in contemplative silence.

“I HAVE MANY GRIEVANCES WITH YOUR LOVER,” Mountain Whale said at last. “SHE IS IRRITATING. SHE CARES TOO MUCH. SHE IS NOT HALF AS BEAUTIFUL AS I.”

“Oh, no, definitely not.”

“HA! YOU HAVE HER WIT. FOR MANY CENTURIES HAVE SHE AND I BATTLED WITS, AND BATTLED PHYSICALLY OVER LAND UPON WHICH OUR FOLLOWERS MAY BUILD MORE SHRINES. BUT WE MOURNED TOGETHER WHEN OUR FRIENDS FADED FROM HISTORY. AND I WILL MOURN HER WHEN SHE IS GONE.”

“Then why did you want to kill her so badly?”

“FOR… FOR SURVIVAL, BOY.”

He looked at Mountain Whale’s sorrowful face, melancholy understanding dawning on him. If there were more shrines to the spirit he’d fallen for, then there would be less to pray to Mountain Whale. He wondered if her life had been as lonely as the spirit’s.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, gruffly, voice thick, “I think that you deserve some followers of your own, too. I think I’d be okay with restoring some of your shrines if I come across them.”

“BOLD WORDS FROM MY PREY.”

“Mountain Whale, if you’re going to kill me, just do it. Enough with the talk. I’ll even make it a good fight for you, if you want.”

She observed him with a critical eye, then leaned back on her palms. She seemed to have come to a decision.

“I DO NOT HAVE TO KILL YOU QUITE YET. AS PER THE DEAL, I HAVE UNTIL SUNDOWN. I WILL SIT HERE WITH YOU— JUST UNTIL SUNDOWN.”

“Right. Just until sundown.”

So together they waited, and waited, and waited— and by the time the sun had dipped well below the trees and the moon had been hung from a string in the sky, Yukimura almost considered Mountain Whale a friend.

And by the time soft footfalls padded across the repaired wooden floor and a barefooted woman seated herself quietly, gracefully beside him, Mountain Whale had long since gone on her way.

—

The world was quiet as their eyes met, and the spirit laid her hand over his.

She looked reborn, in the same way that he was a weary traveler who could finally rest. She was just as exquisite as, if not more so than, she’d been when he’d last seen her four months ago. But this was the first time he’d seen her outside the pond in a year— her ethereal beauty, despite blending in perfectly with the surroundings of their home, was otherworldly in the halo of the mortal moon. She seemed to glow in the light of it, and he caught a lock of her hair and let the silkiness run over his palm— it felt like holding starlight. Tenderly, Yukimura turned his hand to lace their fingers together.

Words were not necessary. Though they always spoke, they never quite needed to. Every teasing moment, every playful remark, every lighthearted insult was little more than make-believe compared to this one simple truth:

Being alive together was enough.

And how well they knew each other, how well they moved in harmony to meet their lips along the threads that tied their souls together. She tasted like honeysuckle the way he thought she might— and she tasted like laughter, and prayer, and merciful hidden kindness.

“I missed you,” he whispered into the intimate space between them.

“And I you,” she murmured, the words brushing sweetly over his mouth. They kissed once more— twice more, before she pulled back enough to observe him as he settled his arms around her. “You disobeyed me.”

“You would’ve done the same. You did do the same.”

“The difference between you and me is that I did not actively put my life on the line to traipse around Japan, pointlessly restoring shrines while being hunted by a boar spirit. I was meant to die. Why could you not leave well enough alone?”

“It’s not pointless— it healed you, didn’t it? You’re here with me now. Anything’s worth that.”

She gave a frustrated little groan.

“Hey, dummy,” Yukimura teased softly. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Oh, I am?” She may have tried to frown, but the mirth that danced in her eyes betrayed her. “Who’s calling who a dummy?”

She nuzzled her nose beneath his jaw, and he sighed in contentment, drawing her closer as a cool breeze roused the celestial silence.

“Why couldn’t I see you sooner?”

“Because I was asleep for four months— imagine my surprise, falling asleep nothing more than a tangle of withered roots, then waking up completely refreshed with prayers literally overflowing off my desk. It was our dear friend Mountain Whale who broke into the house to let me know that her champion was restoring my shrines like a madman. Oh, and by the way, we need a new front curtain.”

“Glad you enjoyed your nap,” he quipped with an amused little grin. The sight of Mountain Whale ripping their front curtain off its hooks to yell at her sure would’ve been a good one. “And, hey, I don’t think I’m Mountain Whale’s champion anymore, huh?”

“According to the deal, no, you are not. Which technically means that I am supposed to kill you, but I took a moment to read through some of those prayers, most of which were from you… it seems, Yukimura, that you have thought of a promise that might be worth the value of your life. I am here to listen if you did.”

“I did,” he said, eyes twinkling with mirth. With the back of his hand he caressed the contours of her face. “And wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I’m sure it is the only thing I care about.”

He chuckled and pressed his mouth to each corner of her serenely closed eyes, the tip of her nose, her soft jaw and the hollow beneath her cheekbone. “What if I promise always and forever to devote my life to loving you, teasing you, laughing with you... and when the incense goes out at any of your shrines, I can promise to be there to light it again. I’ll always be at your side to make boar stew and stupid remarks that make you want to hit me with a spoon, and if you ever need me to garden or clean or whatever, I’ll be there in an instant. Anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Her eyes finally opened, and he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days reveling in the adoring warmth that steadfastly lighted them.

“Well, look at you. You escape being the immortal champion of one goddess only to find yourself becoming that of another one.”

“I can’t say I mind.”

“Very well, then. I accept— as your life is the most valuable thing to me, it only makes sense to allow you to remain at my side for however long you please.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. So are deals typically sealed with a kiss, or was that just some rule that Mountain Whale made up?”

Her laughter was a salve that healed the darkest corridors of his heartache. “She is odd, yes, although you are correct in that typically immortality is granted through a kiss. There are many other ways, but that seems to be a reasonable approach.”

“I can’t wait to get started.”

The world has a brilliant way of showing love to both the gods and mortals upon it. Tonight, it was in the way that time had seemed to still around them, the way that the birds were quiet. It was in the rustle of the dancing leaves, or the way that the wind breathed a sigh of happiness. It was the way that the spirit drew him closer with an enticing smile on her lips— the way that he cradled her face in his hands as he leaned in to accept her invitation.

And as Yukimura felt that familiar warmth course through his veins as their lips tenderly found each other once more, it is with a content heart that I leave our two lovers to their quiet, reverent solitude. May you, dear reader, live a long, happy, and prosperous life— one filled with love and joy— as our tale of Yukimura and kami-sama comes to its moonlit and timeless end.

finis.

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