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sparklingpax · 2 years ago

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The Art of Cooking, or...Not Knowing How

A/N:

-Based on my HC that Ginrai can't cook, has no experience since he never had the time to learn, and every time he tries it goes very wrong. On the other side, Hawk is a great cook, and usually ends up cooking for the base when no one else can. Shush, I like this headcanon ok--

-by this point theyre pretty much a couple :3 or at least, openly physically affectionate towards one another ^^

-oo yes also, set in canon, (hence the tags) but tbh, many of my HCs for canon versions of the characters carry into my Reverie stuff so...this exact thing could definitely happen in that universe loll ✨

-shoutout to anyone who has listened to me ramble about this exact scenario before because not only did you endure that bs but now you get a whole elaborate fanfic about it so....holy shit im so sorry jsdjsiskjsd 💀😳

-omg dont hate cloudburst btw I didn't know how to write this to make him look less bad but I swear hes not a bad person and none of the others are either they just. are used to letting Hawk do most of their paperwork for them & also the other three pretenders (not Hawk) have sort of, day jobs? So they are pretty busy....

-literally y'all I'm so sorry this exists, I blame the early morning hours of yesterday and a single cup of coffee this morning getting me from start to finish of this thing in record time. and my own inability to cook fueling this idea in the first place lmaooo I hope it's at least...somewhat enjoyable....so without further ado, here I go again with self-indulgent ginhawk content o///o''

-bruh it's been an actual age since I've written & finished a real fic-type thing...😳😳 again like, I'm praying I didn't miss anything in my grammar/typo checking 😅

-i sincerely hope you enjoy :]

///

“But—but I can cook!”

“You…can cook?”

“Yeah!”

“You can…cook?” Hawk repeated, as if this was impossible to believe.

“I—yeah? Well, I'm not all good at it, but it's food, right? It's edible…” Hawk raised an eyebrow at this as Ginrai pursed his lips and looked away, flushing slightly.

Suddenly, the kitchen seemed to fill again with the distinctive smell of burning chicken.

The image of large, misshapen chunks of it rather…creatively charred to ashy black and stuck to a Teflon pan.

Ginrai waving the smoke frantically, and then grabbing his cup of drinking water splashing it over the smoky meat, rendering it more inedible than it had already been….it was an amusing, yet depressing sight.

Hawk also recalled the price of the new pan he’d gone and ordered online an hour after.

He wasn’t joking when he told me it was dangerous to leave him alone in the kitchen. Was he aware it was burning before the smoke started up?

“Ok, ok…so I’m no world-famous chef...” Ginrai admitted hotly. He started to play with a stray fork from the newly-cleaned load.

Hawk stifled laughter and shook his head wordlessly. Ducking below the counter to organize the lids of pots and pans, his lips played at a smile.

“Yeah, that poor pan might have to agree with you—”

“But I would....like to…try again. Maybe, with some guidance this time,” he added more quietly.

“So that you don’t burn the food?”

“Pretty much,” Ginrai agreed, watching Hawk turn on the sink, continuing to unload the dishwasher.

Absentmindedly, he let his eyes follow the trail of water as it ran from the faucet next to him, freely touching on the items piled in the sink. From the upside-down bowl, down the slim, blue plates, pooling in another bowl, or heading further down to fill an empty red container….

“And…would you be aiming for somewhat of an edible meal this time around?” Hawk asked innocently.

“'Somewhat'—”

A sparkle flashed in the trucker’s gaze, and he reached forward to flick the running water at Hawk, who ducked to the side. The water hit him anyway, but he didn’t mind.

Meanwhile, Ginrai attempted to defend himself.

Hawk began loading the dishes now.

“In my defense, I’ve only made chicken twice in my life, and that fiasco last week doesn’t count!!”

“Well, neither do the other two times, since those were microwaveable chicken dinners—”

“Shut up!”

But they were both laughing.

Hawk got to thinking all the same.

As it was, there weren’t many people left in HQ at the moment, and fewer who could actually cook. Ordering out was not an option since their budget for the month declared they were already $126 over that spending limit.

So, all that considered, the duty of cooking fell upon Hawk once again.

Well…I have paperwork to start on, but as long as nothing else comes up, cooking shouldn't be a problem.

A quick knock on the side of the kitchen’s entrance grabbed the attention of the pair, and they looked up to see Cloudburst standing on the wooden threshold, holding some papers.

Ginrai had no idea what they were, but from the look on Hawk’s face, one could guess he did.

“Oh—hey, Clouds,” Ginrai waved, grinning.

The man waved back a little sheepishly. It didn’t look like he was here to hang around for fun.

He quickly looked to Hawk, and before he could say anything, the Pretender commander straightened and closed the dishwasher, entering the settings for the load.

“You…need those investigative patrol reports done, I presume?” He asked, not looking up. As the machine whirred into action, he moved to the sink and started to clean it.

The silence that followed seemed to suffice for an answer.

And suddenly, Ginrai noticed, Hawk looked tired. Very tired.

After all, Ginrai remembered, it was Hawk who ended up doing most of the paperwork associated with their team. He was supposed to review them, too…

“I take it you forgot to do these, and they’re part of what’s due tomorrow?”

Cloudburst was beginning to look a little embarrassed, and he started to play with the edges of the papers for a moment before stepping into the kitchen and setting them down on the marbled counter.

Finally, he spoke.

“I—well, yes. And I was going to do them tonight, but my office called and, um, they’ve sort of—they’ve got a lot of guys out. Naturally, there need to be people at the desks doing stuff, but also someone to sit watch on the communications station, and I don’t know if my boss would be too happy to have me call in to let him know I can’t…go either…”

Cloudburst broke off abruptly as he watched Hawk slipped his apron off and turned to face him, a polite look tying his features to a mild, calm expression. He leaned over and rifled through the papers for a moment, then spoke again.

“Don’t worry about it, go and do your job.”

“R-really? And…you’re ok with it?”

Hawk nodded. “This kind of thing can’t be helped.”

Ginrai made a slight face. He wasn't so sure about that one.

“I’m just glad you told me now rather than five hours from now. Remember to let me know immediately if anything important comes through the communications room tonight.”

Cloudburst smiled, saluted. “Yes, sir!”

He then gave a ‘goodbye’ nod to Ginrai, and quickly left the room.

Just a little curious, Ginrai leaned over the counter to take a look at the papers himself, then winced at the sight of nearly-illegible text scrawled in different places on the page, in different shapes, shorthand—

So….this is what they look like before they’re done. This is what he’s got to work with.

The young Autobot commander started to feel bad about the fact that clearly, he’d never even done the record-keeping part of reports, let alone the actual filing of them. In his opinion, they were a little pointless, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t get stuck with them anyway.

Yes, it technically wasn’t his duty as the leader of the team, but…he still felt guilty.

It looked like a lot of work, after all.

Hawk really did a lot for the team, Ginrai was always fully aware, just…he wondered if anyone else seemed to realize that. Like, really realize.

If they did, maybe they’d be more careful about their own paperwork stuff, instead of dumping it on Hawk all the time, who’s too nice to say no.

Next to him, Hawk was already starting to read the papers over. Ginrai vaguely recalled the list of projects the man was already swamped with, and came to a new resolve.

Ok, next team meeting, I’ll ask them all to start doing their own reports. I am their leader now, I can do that sort of thing.

Feeling good about this, he put an arm around Hawk, leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on his head. With a soft exhale, Hawk seemed to accept the gesture, letting his weight fall more limply on Ginrai. The smile on his features was a tired one, but it read of soft gratitude.

Neither said a word for a few heartbeats, letting the silence embrace them. No one needed to say anything, no one wanted to.

Outside, the autumn sky had begun to darken, making it seem much further into the night than it likely was. It was as if there was not a living soul in that base save for them.

Then, Hawk shifted and Ginrai stepped to the side to let him stretch.

“Do you need me to do anything?” He offered. The grin from earlier seemed to return.

“Well, Supreme Commander,” Hawk said, giving him a decidedly more sultry look.

“Well, my lovely subordinate?” Ginrai prompted, blushing lightly.

“I’m going to need some help getting dinner done if I want to have time to file those reports before the deadline…”

Ginrai’s eyes sparkled. He knew where this was going.

“…you said you wanted to try cooking again?”

“Hell yeah!”

///

“Alright, now that we have our water…” Hawk motioned to the pot sitting in the sink, then the stove. “It’s got to heat up.”

Ginrai nodded, still rubbing his newly bandaged hand.

Minutes ago, the two had thought to prepare the vegetables going into the pasta before starting on anything else, just to get it out of the way.

Hawk had begun cutting things up while Ginrai watched, then after a few minutes, handed Ginrai the knife to give him a go at it.

Not a minute went by before the man decided to speed up the cutting pace, drop the knife, and well…the band-aid could speak for itself.

It was quickly decided that Hawk would handle all the other parts of this dish, and Ginrai would be on the pasta, and only the pasta.

What could go wrong there, after all?

“Um…you wanted the fire on high?”

“Yes.”

“So, I turn the knob this way?”

“Other way.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“Alright."

Hawk quickly added, a little nervously, “And please, try not to burn yourself.”

Ginrai gave a thumbs up, then moved to operate the stove. He frowned at its lack of fire after turning the knob. After a moment or two of trying, he looked to Hawk again. He’d forgotten to push the knob inwards to get the fire going, but clearly wasn’t aware of that.

“Is…is this thing on?”

Hawk fought the urge to start laughing. It would be light-hearted, but he didn’t want to hurt Ginrai’s feelings, so he bit his tongue instead.

He must not be joking when he says everything he eats is store-bought and microwaved.

What made this especially funny was how he did this wearing an apron Hawk remembered receiving as a Christmas gift from Waverider.

The front side read “Master Chef, Move Along” in English, written with big, red letters.

The irony of it was almost too much for Hawk. However, he composed himself and walked over to the stove.

“Push it first, hold,” as he did this, a rhythmic crackling noise sprang from the stove, “and then, you’ve got a fire. So now, turn it where you need.” He stepped back and watched as Ginrai tentatively held the knob, then nodded to himself.

“Alright, fire on high, here we come,” he murmured. And with a gentle twist, the fire popped up under the smoky grates at what seemed to be the ‘high’ setting.

At last, they were getting somewhere!

A half hour had gone by, but perhaps the next one would make up for the lost time. And, thankfully, Ginrai hadn’t burnt himself on anything—or burnt anything—yet. The pot was carefully placed atop the fire with no troubles.

Now, it was time to for Hawk to focus on finishing the rest of the meal. Dumping the tomatoes into the bowl and beginning to crush them, Hawk called to Ginrai to add the pasta to the water if it seemed to be boiling.

“And…how do I tell it’s boiling?”

“Bubbles,” Hawk responded more quietly, seeming very focused on smashing the tomatoes in his bowl.

“Got it!”

The trucker glanced at the pot and saw a couple bubbles. Two, he counted, probably from when he’d filled the pot with water.

Did he mean a lot of bubbles or a little?

Guess there was only one way to know.

He then looked to the unopened box of pasta lying near the edge of the counter. Quickly, Ginrai opened it and plopped it into the water, jumping back as it splashed out a little.

From where he was standing, Hawk called out to him.

“Could you grab the two bowls near the window? The water will need some salt, and this paste will need some flavoring.”

“Roger!”

Hawk thought about going to check the bowls, but his present task seemed to have all his concentration. He only hoped Ginrai knew the difference between the two ingredients.

And once again, Ginrai proved he could not be left to do anything alone in the kitchen.

He played a short game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe to decide on which bowl was going to the pasta, and which was going to Hawk. Then, feeling satisfied with his decision, he flipped one of the small bowls upside down, dumping the entirety of its contents into the pasta.

No, he had no idea which was salt, and which was the flavoring. He'd instead opted to hope it was salt he’d just added to the pasta.

As the water started to bubble more vigorously, the trucker stood and stared at it, thinking.

Huh. I didn’t know you put that much salt in pasta. Maybe that’s why they say it’s bad for your cholesterol or…something.

“Hey, before you bring the flavoring here, you might want to make sure the pasta fits the pot! It’ll be easier to work with if its been cut down to fit.” Hawk called over again, seeming to still be working on the tomato paste.

Ohh…well, that makes sense. How do I get that out of the pot to cut it, though?

Ginrai tapped his chin in thought, still staring at the murky, white water as it bubbled—viciously, now—and the pasta as it started to bounce and move.

I wonder if—

He reached in to pick up the pasta with his bare hands, then snapped back, hissing in quiet pain.

Obviously, it was hot by this point, and so it had burned him. But what really hurt was when the heat felt like it had seared through his band-aid and touched his cut from earlier.

Was cooking supposed to be this painful?

Calm down, you're just resizing it.

He exhaled slowly and carefully putting the pasta back in the pot so he could contemplate plan B.

Which was…well........those scissors near the knives looked pretty good.

Because maybe, he didn’t even need to take the pasta out of the pot?

Shaking out a hand to get rid of the burning sensation, he reached over with the other to take the scissors, and without a second thought, began to cut the tops of the noodles so they didn’t stick out so much.

“When you’re ready, I need that flavoring!”

Ginrai nodded and dropped the scissors on the counter, grabbing the unused bowl and heading to where Hawk was working.

He didn’t quite notice all the extra pieces of cut pasta had rolled all over the floor, the counter, and…into the grates below the pot. Right next to the fire.

“Here you are,” Ginrai said, grinning, brandishing the bowl and getting ready to pour it in. Hawk looked up to thank him, and was glad he did.

“Oh, that’s the salt, what I need for this should be in the blue one. Though, you can add some salt if we need it.”

Ginrai felt the heat rise to his face.

Oh no.

Hawk tilted his head at him, looking a little concerned.

“Did you put the flavoring in the pasta?”

Meekly, Ginrai nodded. He was sure his face was red by now. But Hawk just smiled.

“That’s alright. Pasta can have flavoring of its own,” he resumed stirring the tomatoes as he continued. “But I’ll need both for this, then. Just add as much of the salt in here as what you put in the pot over there, okay? Hold on, I need something from the fridge.”

It’s…okay. Alright. Ok.

As Hawk put the bowl down and headed for the fridge, Ginrai swallowed, staring at the salt sitting on the counter.

He was no cook, but…he wasn’t sure there should be that much salt added to tomato sauce?

But Hawk is a cook, maybe he has his own reasons. He said same as with the pot.

So, Ginrai lifted the bowl, and turned it upside down, same as before. Then, seeing nothing else to do, he started to mix.

Meanwhile, Hawk returned, but didn’t say anything for a moment as he noticed the empty bowl of salt. For a moment, he stood there, visibly piecing together a couple things.

Then it seemed to hit him all at once as he slowly looked from the bowl to Ginrai, eyes wide.

“Um. When I said 'the same as the pot'…”

“…yes?” Ginrai slowly stopped mixing and put the bowl down. He heard the slight uneasiness in Hawk's voice.

“Exactly...how much did you put in the pot?”

“Er….all of it?” He answered slowly.

“I see…so, I assume…there’s no more of the flavoring?”

“Um...and…no more salt, either,” Ginrai finished his train of thought for him.

"I...see...."

Ginrai touched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling the heat return to his cheeks.

Hawk stared at the bowl again, trying to figure out how to salvage this.

Perhaps if we start over, and I handle the pasta. He could crush up the tomatoes.

“Um, Hawk.”

But first there would have to be—

"Hawk."

Ginrai poked him timidly. Finally, he looked up, then followed his gaze to the other side of the kitchen. And promptly regretted taking those extra seconds of thought.

Oh, Primus, please tell me I’m hallucinating.

The deity seemed to answer through the pasta itself.

From under the grate, there was a violent crackling noise and a pop of light. And just as suddenly, smoke started to rise from the floor, the counter, under the grate.

All the while, the milky-white water in the pot seethed with bubbly rage, beginning to overflow and spill over, jostling the uneven pieces of pasta sticking out with such force that a few fell to the floor.

“It's burning!” Ginrai exclaimed, audibly starting to panic. Hawk blinked at it, somewhat amazed at the spectacle.

Yes, it was. It was definitely burning.

“Is—is it supposed to do that?”

No, it wasn’t.

Without responding, Hawk darted towards the stove and reached out to turn it off, but pulled back sharply with an utterance of pain.

The fire had burned him.

Judging by the pieces of pasta everywhere, he must have…literally cut the pasta off to resize it.

After a second try, he was able to switch the stove's fire off, and the two of them quickly stamped out the little flames started on all the pieces of burning pasta.

Then, Hawk ran over to the pantry to get the oven mitts, so he could get the pot into the sink.

But the smoke hazing their visions wasn’t hanging around for decoration. And Hawk realized that a little too late.

He looked over from the sink to see Ginrai carrying the bowl of tomato paste to the garbage and called to him.

“Um—Ginrai, my hands are full, could you open the window so the smoke doesn’t set off the—”

Before he could finish, the piercing, high-pitched sound of their fire alarm went off, startling Ginrai enough that he dropped the bowl he was holding. With yet another loud noise, the ceramic shattered, and the tomato paste went all over the floor.

But, rather than worry about that, he knew Hawk had been trying to ask him for something.

“The what?!”

“The window! Please!” He repeated, his voice rising.

"Open it?"

"Yes!!!"

The window was opened. And thankfully, the noise stopped after a couple beats.

Quietly, the two watched as smoke drifted out of the kitchen and into the night air. Then, they began to clean in silence.

Hawk began to think.

Pasta had been, in his opinion, the easiest option for a guided intro to cooking next to a literal salad, but at this point, he wasn’t even sure if that salad would have been a good idea.

“Hey, um…"

Ginrai’s tentative tone caused Hawk to stop what he was doing and he turned to see the 19-year-old fiddling with the cleaning rag, standing by the counter.

“I feel like an apology isn’t gonna cut it here, but…I wanted to apologize anyway…” he continued, looking to the floor, ashamed.

He was still wearing the apron with words that created such irony to the whole situation that Hawk couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m really, really—”

“It’s alright, Ginrai,” Hawk responded, setting the clumps of rubbery pasta back down in the pot and walking over to him.

He looked quite surprised, so Hawk elaborated. “We’re good at different things, and you tried here tonight. Plus, with practice, you’ll get it right someday.”

He then placed a hand on Ginrai’s arm, and squeezed lightly.

The young commander gave a flustered smile and blushed again.

"Well....at the very least, I'm glad we got to spend some time together, you know?" he murmured, still smiling.

“Absolutely. I’ve got a long night of paperwork ahead of me, which I’m dreading, so this was nice. As chaotic as it was, you know I’m glad for the time we spend like this…not fighting battles with Decepticons, not sitting through conferences for battle plans and upgrades…I’m...really happy right now, Ginrai…”

He hugged Ginrai suddenly, trailing off. And after a moment, Ginrai smiled and hugged him back.

“I’ll ask more questions next time,” he murmured.

“I’ll be clearer as well. I was at fault here, too.”

"No way..."

"I was. So don't be too harsh on yourself for it."

“I love you,” Ginrai whispered finally, squeezing Hawk lightly.

“I love you, too…”

And I’m glad both of us come away with only mild cuts and burns, nothing more.

After a period of silent affection, Hawk drew back gently and gave a slight smirk.

“I’ll always love you,” he repeated, “even if you can’t cook to save your life.”

And they started laughing again.

Standing in a messy kitchen with the window open and wearing aprons that read silly things in English. Hawk, with a small burn on his hand, and Ginrai with bandages on his.

The pair laughed about the whole fiasco.

Sure, they’d go into something like $200 over their “ordering food” spending limit after tonight. If there was nothing left to eat from their cooking attempt, then ordering was their only Plan B.

But…tonight was a night to remember, like many others.

And, Hawk would be going into yet another paperwork session feeling less stressed than before.

For that, he was also glad.

Who knew the good that could be accomplished by, well, setting pasta on fire?

///

#ginhawk #kuniwrites #fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #writing #transformers fanfiction #tf #super god masterforce #transformers super god masterforce #super god masterforce fanfiction #for fun #scenario #Masterforce #masterforce moment òwó 🥺💖✨

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aelaer · 3 years ago

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Thanks for answering that last ask, lol. I half-expected you were going to ignore it tbh. I was hesitating when I wanted to send the ask, bcs, well, duh. It's controversial af lol. Just wanted to let ya know that you're not the only one with that view. (Great minds alike, am I right?) So please don't stop. Really.

This is gonna be a bit of a rant, and if you feel the need not to answer this ask, due to the fear of causing controversy in your blog, I 100% understand. Dunno if tumblr will cut off my ask so i'm hoping this is sent in its full-form.

I honestly agree that Tony gets maybe a *bit* too much spotlight (especially after the CACW shit and fans picking team tony/steve), and I hate that Stephen is just used as a plot device. I don't get why exaggerating a char's innocence is a good thing. Especially if they put other characters *too* antagonised and spiteful. It's petty. And putting another character in it (refer this as Stephen) as a plot device to make the main char more angelic is just.... idk. I'm only using rather insensitive words bcs I'm on anon ngl hahahahah.

Which is why, when I found your ao3 profile, I felt like you saved my life. Cus like. Idk. It's rare to find fics alike. Not really good with words so yeah.

Also thanks sm for tagging your fics properly, lest I wouldn't have found your works.

Ik some authors who share the same idea with the matter, but either they wanted to reach a wider fanbase by venturing into ships and fulfilling people's cravings (that require an ooc stephen, wince), or they simply don't have the writing capabilities to match their intentions -- like you do -- yet, I'm not so sure.

So basically yeah. Binge read your works this week. You're doing super great. Please keep going or else I would've probably never been here in the first place.

Fucking love your works. Don't hate on me for this if you happen to find it irrational ;-; Though if you do, I'm honestly interested with what you think. Sorry for sending a long ass ask.

Hey it's all chill, my anon friend. I really try not to hate on folks, even when I don't agree with everything they say or do. The world needs more empathy after all. And you've done nothing wrong in this ask here.

I personally don't ignore asks. It may take a month or two to get to some as it has in the past during busy or bad seasons, but I get to them. (I also don't get a ton so they're easy to answer haha.) The only ones not answered are short fic prompts that have taken me over 2 years to get to, which I'd like to finish eventually... some day.

I expanded on the topic about other characters in the last ask so I won't get into it again here, but I will say that unfortunately Stephen is not a terribly popular character compared to many other MCU characters like Tony, Bucky, and Loki. It makes finding fic starring him very challenging. He's also a difficult character to write well, though I applaud folks for trying, truly. It's great when people challenge themselves and don't let the fear of failure or judgement keep them from trying.

Anyone who hasn't written Stephen because they're not sure how to write him, or have written him but aren't confident with their writing of him, I recommend rewatching his origin film in particular as that's often forgotten for what we saw in IW and Endgame. There's also some good video essays about the character on YouTube. Some fanfic of him is good, while others are very bad, so it's a hit or miss there. One shot character pieces that are not concentrating on a ship tend to be more reliable, in my experience, for a better character analysis because the goal of the piece as a one shot is more a character study, and without the romance you aren't looking at the character as part of a unit. You need to know the character before you study how he works as a romantic partner, IMO.

I'm hoping his film helps his popularity, but I do have some fears that it will be drowned out a bit by Wanda. We'll have to see what happens on AO3 in particular, which is where my primary fandom interest lies in this case. I really, really want to see fic that isn't just reader inserts. Totally legit fanfic, but romance is already not my cup of tea and, if they aren't just smut pieces, those tend to be caretaker-Stephen fics which are a dime a dozen with his fics with Tony and Peter. So yeah, hopefully there will be more variety in the coming weeks. Of the action/adventure/drama type. A girl can dream.

I'm thrilled you like my writing. And also my tagging, some of the tagging is very hard to complete with some of the one shots xD but seriously, you're sweet. And you're good. Don't sweat it ❤️

#stephen strange #mcu #ask #answered #anonymous #writing advice #fanfic

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nicolebonnet · 3 years ago

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🌻 a gif tutorial by: me! 🌻

i know there are so so many WONDERFUL tutorials out there, but i can’t say no to a very kind anon so!!! here we go. hopefully this is helpful for someone out there! if anyone doesn’t do well with picture tutorials and would find it more helpful for me to do a video, i would also be happy to try that too!!

this is definitely not the fastest way to do it, i’m sure, just the way i’ve always done it and i’m bad at learning new things so ldkjfoiw also i’m using photoshop cc 2021 (tho this method should work for any version of photoshop i think) and i use video frames to layers to gif just as an fyi

step 1: get whatever media you’re giffing! i use torrents and direct downloads. that’s how i’ve always giffed, i’ve never tried capping so i can’t help with that. sorry!

step 2: make clips of the scenes your fc is in! i have a folder dedicated to the character the fc is playing and keep all my clips in there. when i do movies, i typically only do about 12 clips at a time because it just feels less overwhelming for me. when i do a show, i only clip one episode at a time for the same reason. i use quicktime to clip, but i know some people use VLC and i’m sure there are other options out there to try, too! again, this is just what i’ve always used so i’m comfortable with it and know how it works.

when i clip, i try to start the clip a few seconds before the scene my subject is in and a few seconds after just to make sure i’m getting every single frame.

step 3: import video frames to layers! so once you have photoshop open, go to file > import > import video frames to layers

then go to your folder where you have all your clips saved and choose the one you want. i took this one out of my trash because the rest of the gifs i have to do in this episode are in the dark and that was gonna be too annoying to me lkdjfkslofw so i’m just re-making one i already did a few days ago. i’m giffing sofia carson and you can see that my clip starts on someone else’s face so i can make sure i have every frame of hers!

step 4: select the range for your gif! just like with clipping, i try to get a few frames before and a few frames after of the fc i’m working on so that i don’t miss anything. if you aren’t interested in giffing them in every single second (which is totally fine, i know a lot of people prefer not to!) then you don’t need to be as concerned with it

because i’m using a direct download, i’m not going to limit my frames to every 2. it’ll be really fast and choppy. if you screen recorded, i would suggest limited to every 2 frames and then going through and deleting each duplicate frame (when i giffed via screen recording, i found that every 6 frames or so was a duplicate). this will make sure your gif is smooth and exactly the same as one made from a direct download. it IS time consuming though, so i recommend doing a direct download/torrent if possible! if you ever need help finding downloads or need something torrented and converted for you, please feel free to message me and i’ll be happy to help!!

step 5: delete the frames you don’t need! this is the time to delete any extra frames at the beginning, end, and any duplicates

step 6: set your speed! you can do this later if you want, but i like to do it as soon as all my extra frames are deleted. my personal preference is typically .06 seconds for most of my gifs. if they’re on the shorter side (under 35 frames), i’ll do .07-.09. i know some people have very strong feelings on gif speed lskdfjpwe i do not. it’s all about what feels best for you! .06 is where i feel my gifs feel the best, but there are plenty of beautiful gifs that are slower or faster!

step 7: crop it! as you can see above, i set my W x H ratio to 268px x 170px. this is a size i really like, but you can make yours smaller or larger. i do suggest using the W x H ratio setting to set it to your specific pixel measurements because it cuts out having to resize after cropping.

also, i have a few hundred frames in this one particular gif that i’m going to cut down in the next step. however, i know that she remains pretty much in the same place throughout the frames which is why i’m cropping them all at once. if it’s a gif where you get a few hundred frames that you’re going to turn into multiple gifs and the person moves around a lot, definitely only crop one gif at a time!

step 8: delete the frames you aren’t using! everyone has a different way of deciding how many frames their gifs are. for me, if they’re talking, i actually go and watch the segment i’m giffing to see what they’re saying, read their lips as i go through each frame, and crop it there. it’s a little more time consuming i guess but i feel like it gives me the best results. totally optional, though! if the person is NOT talking, then i typically just try to make it between 60-80ish frames and base it on facial expressions or body language. sometimes it’s more, sometimes it’s less! again just comes down to what your preference is.

step 9: convert to timeline! basically just press that lil highlighted button down there next to the “forever” and convert to timeline. pretty self explanatory

step 10: sharpening! this is where i use my sharpening action which is linked right here. i’ve been using it for a while now and i really love it! i’ve tried other sharpening actions since i made it and they just don’t make me as happy as this one lol

hit play on your action:

for my action, i get this popup twice and just hit “continue” and it keeps going through the steps with no problem

step 11: COLORING!!! get your psd and slap it on! i have different one base psd that i use for almost everything and will edit it to fit whatever scene/show/movie i’m working on. i’ll also save different versions of it based on the media i’m giffing. for example, the lighting on liv & maddie is SUUUUUPER different from the writing on pll: the perfectionists. so i have a “liv” psd and a “loralie” (name of my char that i use sofia for, idk why i named the first psd after liv and not my char but whatever ldkfjsoi) psd. same base, same layers, just different levels. i also will often combine psds! i’ll put my base down and then add layers from other psds or create new ones to fit whatever scene i have going!

step 12: save your gif! go to file > export > save for web (legacy)...

people use different settings for saving their gifs, too. these are my personal settings. i really like them and feel they work for my gifs. feel free to copy them or play around with your own settings! just make sure it’s always on the 256 colors

step 13 (optional): preview! i like to hit the preview button just to make sure i like my gif before i save it. if i don’t like it (coloring looks off, too fast/too slow, feels like it cuts off in a weird place) i’ll hit cancel and undo everything until i’m back to wherever i need to fix it.

step 14: save your gif, yay!! YOU DID IT!!!! save that beautiful gif and feel so proud of yourself!!

step 15 (optional): if you’re making multiple gifs from the segment you imported, go back and cntrl/cmmnd + z everything until you’re back to having allllll the frames again. delete the frames of the gif you just made (in this case, it would be 52) and start again from step 8!

i hope this made sense and was helpful for anyone! please let me know if there’s anything you need clarification on!!

#tutorial #photoshop tutorial #gif tutorial

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gamerwoo · 4 years ago

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Hansol: Fire and Ice (Part Ten)

Characters: Hansol x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff (finally lmao), more mentions of depression n stuff, hansol’s super sweet but we been knew

Word count: 1,583

Summary: You’ve always been one to let your emotions get the best of you – your power reflects that – and you’ve never been good at expressing them. That’s why you always thought you’d be awful with a mate, but you never thought things would be this awful.

a/n: things in bold are in english. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY: i’m minimizing updates. i have online stuff i gotta do for work, and between trying to do that while also trying to write parts for josh (since he’s next and i don’t have any pre-written parts like with the other parts), AND trying to go through the entirety of the series to take notes on things that i think are important, i definitely feel like i need to slow updating so i can try to catch up with josh’s parts so i’ll be able to post somewhat consistently when his series starts. so i’ll be updating once a week now, probably on mondays. i’m sorry i can’t post every single day anymore but this will definitely help me spread out everything i need to get done so i’m not trying to do everything at once in one night.

Previous | Next | Fire and Ice Masterlist

Hansol was surprised to wake up to a warmth beside him. He rubbed his eyes and turned his head, seeing a lump curled up under the blanket. Your face was concealed by the bedding, your entire body engulfed in the fabric that was still charred in some spots.

Smiling to himself, Hansol smoothly got out of bed, careful as to not wake you. While the movement of the bed did have you rolling over, you went right back to sleep. So he opened the door silently and wandered down the stairs to grab some breakfast for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk at all despite everything that happened last night – rather, especially after everything that happened – but he still had to make sure you ate something. He didn’t know when you last ate, and he assumed the lack of hunger was due to your depression.

“Morning,” Seungcheol nodded as Hansol entered the kitchen.

“Morning, Cheol,” he yawned, stretching his arms high above his head.

Mingyu, who was sitting at the table, pointed over to the stove, “We left extras for _____.”

“How is she?” Danbi wondered from where she sat in her mate’s lap.

“She’s sleeping,” Hansol reported plainly, grabbing the remaining food from the stove for him and you – mostly for you, though, since you needed it more than him. “I’m sorry that you all got woken up last night.”

“Don’t apologize,” Seungcheol told him, “it’s nobody’s fault. Besides, the screaming was worse, even if Seungkwan did muffle it.”

Hansol’s brows furrowed, “What was Eunjin screaming for?”

“She claims Jiung was around,” Mingyu shrugged. “Maybe he visited her last night or something.”

“Does that mean she’s done treating you poorly?” Soonyoung quizzed, sipping his mug of tea.

“Give her a break, Soon, she’s depressed,” Seungcheol scolded, whacking the younger alpha in the arm.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean she can push everybody away and walk all over them,” Soonyoung pointed out. “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m just saying–”

“Her twin brother was murdered and she thought it was all because of her mate – who is now the only person she has a true connection to in this world – and after all of it, she was still expected to be an alpha,” Danbi listed off before Hansol could even open his mouth to explain. “After that, she found out that she didn’t even belong in her own pack anymore, therefore, could not be alpha. No, her being rude shouldn’t just be allowed because she had a hard time, but maybe you should also understand why she’s acting the way she is. However, I also don’t think she’ll care if you like her or not; it’s Hansol’s forgiveness that matters.”

Soonyoung stared at Danbi silently before nodding and staring at the table.

“Thanks,” Hansol said quietly, giving the older girl a small but grateful smile. “You are right, she shouldn’t have done a lot of the things she did. But…I personally forgive her, and I want to understand why she did it.”

“If there’s anything we can do to help, just let us know,” Seungcheol said with a small smile.

Hansol went back upstairs, carrying the plate of food in his hands. When he opened the door, he saw you were still fast asleep, just a ball under the blankets. He chuckled softly, setting the plate on the nightstand before he crouched down by the bed and gently shook the lump that was you.

“_____,” his voice was soft, gently pulling you from your slumber, “it’s time to wake up. I brought breakfast.”

But you weren’t hungry. You hadn’t been ever since that night, and you weren’t sure when you’d get your appetite back, so you just grunted at him and pulled the blankets tighter around you.

Hansol frowned, “You have to eat, _____. It’s not healthy to starve like this. I know you’ve been lying about eating when you’re in town.”

You weren’t sure how he knew – mate instincts, probably – but you were a bit grumpy that he called you out on it. Still, you stayed under the blankets as memories of the previous night filled your thoughts. Then your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and your eyes were filling with tears from both sadness, and the shame of Hansol witnessing everything. You sniffled, squeezing your eyes shut to hold in the tears, but Hansol was already aware of what was happening.

The blankets were pulled back from your face, the cooler air hitting your skin. You opened your glossy eyes to see Hansol looking at you sympathetically, his golden eyes full of concern and love. He wasn’t sure what would be okay with you or what you would find helpful – he didn’t want to touch you in any way and go past your boundaries.

“What can I do to comfort you?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know...” you admitted in a quiet whimper that made you even more embarrassed because it showed you were weak.

Slowly, his hand went to your hair as he gauged your reaction. His palm stroked over your tangled hair, but the gesture was a little soothing.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You just nodded, averting your eyes.

“Can I try something?” he wondered.

You shrugged, rubbing your eyes to get rid of the tears that still wanted to escape, mumbling, “I guess…”

Hansol pulled the blankets back a little more before he climbed into bed beside you. He sat up with his back against the headboard, wincing a little as he pressed against the wood. Then he pulled you in between his legs, letting you curl up into his chest like you had the previous night. His arms held you gently, and despite his power of ice, they were warm. One large hand continued to stroke your hair as your cheek laid against his chest.

“Is this okay?” he checked, glancing down at you.

Honestly, it felt nice being in his embrace. Obviously, you were still upset, but it actually felt a little better than being alone. Even though you were still uncomfortable showing emotion like this – even around your mate – you like the feeling of being this close to Hansol.

But still, part of you felt indifferent about it, so you moved out of his lap. He let you, keeping his arms rested by his sides while you shifted to sit beside him instead. Your arms were touching, giving you a little bit of that contact your instincts craved, but enough space for your head to be okay with it.

At the last second, your hands grabbed at his closest to you, and you fidgeted with his fingers.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” he offered, quickly adding, “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“I just miss him,” you mumbled, your voice breaking toward the end as more tears filled your eyes.

“I know. I wish I could do more for you.”

“‘S’okay…”

“It’s okay for things to not be okay,” he reminded you, tilting his head to look at you. “It’s okay for you to not be okay.”

“Can we not have this conversation?” you asked, a slightly annoyed tone to your voice.

“Of course,” he shrugged, grabbing the plate of food he brought him instead. “You still have to eat, though.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you still have to eat.”

“I can’t.”

Hansol let out a sigh, “_____, I know it’s hard because of how you’re feeling, but you have to.”

“What are you eating for breakfast?” you asked with a raised brow, seeing only one plate and one set of utensils.

“Mates eat first,” he countered with a playful smirk, imitating you at lunch the day prior.

“But I’m also a werewolf, so you’re the mate to me,” you stated, folding your arms across your chest.

“But–”

“No. This is a two-way street.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, but scooped up some food on his fork before putting it in his mouth, staring at you as he chewed and swallowed. Then, he got a new forkful and held it up to your mouth, looking at you expectantly.

“I held up my end of the bargain,” he told you.

So, with a quiet groan, you opened your mouth and let him put food in it. His smile was triumphant, showing off his gummy grin that you found both annoying – considering the circumstances – and adorable.

You and Hansol ate quietly, alternating between bites – he’d feed himself and then feed you, continuing with that pattern. It wasn’t until he was scraping the plate with the side of the fork that he spoke again, bringing the last bite to your lips.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” he asked.

You shook your head, closing your mouth around the fork as he slipped the now empty utensil out of your mouth. You were still worrying about if Hansol actually forgave you or not. You felt more than guilty for treating him how you did, so you were trying your best to be closer with him even if it was a little weird for you. But hey, you were trying.

“Not yet,” you said after you had swallowed your food.

‘Yet’ was the keyword, and Hansol noticed that. You would talk about it when you were ready, just not right now. And Hansol was fine with that. He’d wait for you. He always did.

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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

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so…now that we all know what you DISLIKE about star wars (and 400% fairly so, you have my full support here)…

what drew you into the universe, what keeps you around?

favorite characters, ships (OTPs or actual spaceships lol), overall themes, do you have a favorite random weird creature or robot that you adore? whatever you wanna talk about!

go off honey (again, but supportively 💖💖💖)

tax paid: the very nerdy star wars punk vest i made and the even nerdier matching vest i made for starsky

Lmaooo, entirely valid. You were like "star wars?" and I was like the drunk person at the bar who can't stop shouting about how much their ex sucks. But now that I have gotten all that off my chest, let's talk about why I love it (since if I didn't love it, I wouldn't have such strong opinions). Basically my feelings on the OG SW trilogy are similar to my feelings on the OG LOTR trilogy, as that tumblr post floating around somewhere put it: sure, they have flaws, but also, they're perfect. I have a complicated relationship with the prequels, as do we all, since George Lucas cannot write dialogue or direct actors to save his life (stick to what you're good at, George, hire other people to do the rest), but even they have their moments. Like. Hit me with that "Across the Stars" love theme, John Williams. Gahh. Just like that.

Because... Star Wars wasn't actually this omnipresent corporate global entertainment monolith when it started out. It was a dorky low-budget indie sci-fi film in the 1970s which everyone thought was going to bomb. But it told a simple and compelling story in an interesting way, everyone agrees that ESB is one of the best films/sequels ever made, and then ROTJ gave it a happy ending while it was still okay to do that. My main thematic gripe with the Disney trilogy (I will try to keep those to a minimum, lol, but I have to bring it up to compare) is that it very clearly fell into the "actual happy endings are naive and unrealistic and a cynical postmodern audience won't accept anything less than things being Bad" trap that, yet again, we have GOT to thank for. It obviously existed to some degree before that, but GOT blew it up to huge levels, where the only valid situation or character is that which is Grimdark and Depressing. Which, in my view, misses the heart and soul of what SW is all about??

Like. ESB is genuinely dark. ANH was this fun plucky little sci-fi film where the scrappy good guys won the day against the Nazi stand-ins, as they were supposed to, and then ESB comes along (speaking of John Williams, let us all chant together, DUH DUH DUH DUHDUHDUH DUHDUHDUH, DUH DUH DUH DUHHHH DUHHH DUHHH DUHHHH) and things go... wrong. Leia and Han are on the run for most of the movie, then get captured and tortured by the Empire and and betrayed (however unwillingly) by Lando. The Rebellion is attacked on Hoth (I tell you, those fuckin AT-AT walkers were SCARY when you see it as a young kid for the first time), and forced into hiding. Luke loses his hand, doubts Obi-Wan and Yoda and realizes that his mentors are fallible, makes dumb mistakes, and of course gets hit with The Most Famous Line In Movie History. But it's also just adrenaline and excitement. THE ASTEROID FIELD! THE HAN-LEIA BANTER! THE FIRST LUKE-VADER DUEL! THE FACT THAT YOU HEAR TWO FRICKING NOTES OF THE IMPERIAL MARCH AND YOU'RE JUST LIKE OH YEAH OH YEAH OH YEAHHHH!

But also then... Return of the Jedi. It gets shat upon for the Ewoks and reusing the Death Star as the Big Bad and being supposedly cheesy and not as Thematically Dark as ESB. Which is all kinda silly, in my opinion, but also, can we talk about Luke Skywalker's character arc and how he chooses possibly the most radical compassion ever demonstrated by a hero in an action movie, let alone a space opera. He insists that Anakin Skywalker is still in there somewhere and puts his own neck on the line to prove it. Luke doesn't save the galaxy by being a Badass Jedi. He saves it by throwing away his lightsaber and saying "I will not fight you, Father." He saves it by trusting that even in the depths of darkness, Anakin can come back from the charred ruins of Darth Vader and finally do what he was supposed to do all along. He can end Palpatine for good and all (we don't talk about "Somehow Palpatine has returned" because it's nonsense, obviously). Anakin can avenge the Jedi and what was done to him and all the lies he believed and the pain he wreaked on the galaxy, even then. It's not too late. It's not too late. Like. I don't care if this is Lightweight or Childish or whatever. It makes me CRY every time I watch it. Especially the moment where Luke takes off Anakin’s helmet and sees how ruined he actually is under there, and yet the downfall and death of the trilogy’s chief villain is not triumphant at all but instead utterly heartbreaking. “You were right about me Luke... tell your sister... you were right.”

Excuse me, I need to just /CRIES INTENSELY/

Luke won't be tempted to the dark side for his own sake, but Leia's ("If you will not join me, then perhaps she will"). I likewise hold firmly that Anakin/Vader is one of the best movie villains/antiheroes of all time and likewise have many feelings and Strong Opinions about his arc, prequel writing clumsiness and eye-rollingly tepid love story aside. (See: he and Obi-Wan were deeply in love and in a way they still are, don't @ me. I have no problems with Padme and obviously stan Natalie Portman at all times, but Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship is the real love story, the heart of the prequels, and in some ways even the subsequent movies, the end.) And “so this is how democracy dies, with thunderous applause” is... raw af as a line. For being in a Star Wars prequel movie. What?? (Also, the Revenge of the Sith novelization had no business being as good as it was. If only that dude had also written the movie.)

Anyway, my point is: the OG trilogy had plenty of moments of staggering emotional weight and where things genuinely sucked for the good guys and the outcome wasn’t entirely clear. The difference is that it didn’t choose to dwell on them, and it allowed for a transformative fictional space where a happy ending, fiercely fought for and squarely earned, was the right outcome. We didn’t need to go back thirty years later and make everything suck for fear that a cynical modern audience couldn’t connect with it otherwise. (Like I said, we didn’t need the new movies at all, but Disney heard that Cha-Ching of the Almighty Dollar). Star Wars was sci-fi, sure, but it also had the fantasy elements that allowed a happy ending to be the right choice for what we saw the characters go through and the philosophy that carried us through the original trilogy.

Likewise it’s just... Peak as far as dynamics go. C-3PO the fussy metal butler who worries about Everything and R2-D2 who is the droid embodiment of YOLO? Flawless. Sassy scruffy space pirate and badass politician warrior princess bicker constantly, butt heads, drive each other crazy, and then fall in love? Iconic. (And has shaped my ship tastes for... all of eternity, oops.) The above-discussed transformation of Luke Skywalker, whiny ordinary teenage kid, to the truly great man who fulfills what Obi-Wan, Yoda, AND the rest of the entire Jedi order couldn’t manage to do, because of their own flaws and blind spots and black-and-white moral views that didn’t know what to do with a man who loved as passionately as Anakin Skywalker, for better or for worse? The guy who managed to save the galaxy with love? STAN.

So... what? The Disney trilogy decides to retcon all that, throw everything that they’ve fought for out the window, make Han, Leia, and Luke miserable and rejecting the roles they grew into in the original trilogy, and die without ever really reuniting or seeing each other again as a trio? The underlying message was that “these happy endings aren’t satisfactory/realistic/sophisticated enough” and idk, maybe it’s just the shitshow of the last few years, but I’d like to see some entertainment that had the cojones to tell me that despite all the darkness and despair, maybe there’s a chance for hope. (”Rebellions are built on hope,” thank you Only Valid New Star Wars Movie Rogue One.) And Rogue One worked so well, despite being utterly GUTTING as all the heroes died one by one, because we knew what was coming next (A New Hope) and that their sacrifice was going to be worth it. I don’t care if that’s “realistic” or not. As I’ve said before, that’s what stories are for, and if I only wanted things that were Real Life, I would only read the news. Besides, the idea that happy endings never happen in reality is equally bullshit. We as a culture need to accept that more, instead of finding reasons to tear everything down.

So just... yes. The original trilogy might have flaws, but also, it’s perfect. And do I want to rewatch it all now? Kinda.

(Anyway. I warned you this was gonna be long. Oh look, it’s long, and I’m sure there is even more I could say, but still. Ahem.)

sleepover weekend asks

#buffaluff #ask #star wars #long post

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host-club-hq · 4 years ago

Text

Call of the Scar pt. 1

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 3.4k

➼ summary: Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley embark on their great journey together in their fourth year at Hogwarts. What does this unsuspecting year hold for them this time?

➼ part 1 of many :)

➼ want to request? do it here. let me know what i can write for you :)

➼ talk to the characters!

Frank Bryce sets a kettle on the stove and- with a shaky hand- adjusts the flame. He leans forward, squinting to get the fire right, and the window beyond his is revealed. Something flickers. Softly. Then again. Frank turns.

Atop the hill, light dances in one of the windows of the manor.

CLANG!

Frank emerges from the cottage, walking stick in hand. He limps into the yard and approaches a door almost completely covered in ivy. He fits a rusty key into the lock

The knob squeals dryly. The walking stick pierces the shadows, then Frank himself enters. His nostrils flare against the sour air. He cocks an ear. Frank's shadow spreads darkly on the landing. Above a small table is an old calendar, freckled with Mildew. August 1943

Frank reaches the top and stops. His breath drifts like smoke.

At the end of the hallway, a door stands ajar, casting sliver of light across the dusty floor. Frank edges closer and sees a narrow slice of the room beyond. A feeble fire flickers in the grate. From within: voice.

"But where here, my Lord? It seems so... inhospitable.

"How fastidious you've become, Wormtail. As I recall, only recently you called the nearest gutterpipe home. Could it be that the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you?"

"No, my Lord! I only meant-"

"I have my reasons for coming here. Thirteen years of reasons."

"Perhaps if we ere to do it without the boy..."

"No! The boy is everything!"

Just then, the tip of Frank's walking stick vibrates against the floorboard. He eyes it curiously, then- in mute horror- watches a giant snake emerge from the shadows behind him. As it skims past his shoes and into the room, an eerie hiss greets its arrival.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail. According to her, there is an old Muggle standing just outside this room."

The door flings wide, revealing a short balding man- Wormtail.

"Where are your manners, Wormtail? Step aside so I can give our guest a proper greeting..."

Slowly, Wormtail withdraws. Frank's eyes dilate. A flash of green light sears the walls. The walking stick clatters to the floor, handle charred black, weeping smoke. A brittle whistling rises from the shadows of the empty Gardener's Cottage, a tea kettle squealing madly, rising like a scream on the night sky.

Harry Potter sits bolt upright, a gasp in his throat. He winces and presses his palm to the scar on his forehead. Across the room, Ron lies sleeping.

"Having a bit of a lie-in, are we?" A smug voice comes.

Harry spins, seeing you, his closest girl friend, grinning from beside his bed.

"Y/N. When'd you get back?" Harry breathes heavily. You had gone for a morning walk- as you usually do when sleep eludes you.

"Just now. You?" you’re referring as to when he arrived at your family’s burrow.

"Last night." Harry begins to sit up.

"Must have missed you. Though, how could I? With your clumsy arse." you ruffle his hair and Harry groans.

"Says you." Harry bites back playfully. You grin.

Hermione comes stalking in loudly and Ron wakes. "Bloody hell!" Ron bolts up and tugs the blanket over his chest.

"Oh, honestly. Come on. Get yourself dressed or we'll miss the whole thing." Hermione claps at Ron.

You watch as she leaves, then look at Harry. The two of you stare at each other before you whack him upside the head.

"Blimey, Y/N! What was that for?"

"I dunno, maybe I just wanted to hit your dumb ass." you walk out.

Harry rubs the back of his scalp before turning to Ron, who was still on the verge of sleep.

"What are you looking at me for?" Ron grumbles.

"She's your sister. I wonder where she gets it from." Harry throws his feet over the bed.

"Not bloody likely... more like all that time she spends with Hermione. God awful, the pair of them."

"Don't be dramatic, Ron." Harry shoves him slightly as he gets dressed.

A string of sleepy silhouettes- Fred, George, Harry, Ron, you, and Hermione- trail a huffing Arthur Weasley. Fred has a battered pair of omnioculars slung over his neck.

"Where is it exactly, where we're going?" Harry turns to you.

"Dunno. Say, Dad. Where're we going?" you holler forward.

"Haven't the foggiest. Keep up!" Arthur replies. Harry looks at you expectantly.

"Why are you looking at me like I know where we're going?" you raise an eyebrow.

"Why don't you know where we're going?" Harry teases back.

"Because I've never been to the bloody thing. Merlin, Harry, sometimes you're so daft." you sigh, teasingly, again. Harry eyes her curiously. Daft? Yeah, right.

A ruddy faced wizard appears atop the crest ahead.

"Arthur! It's about time, son!" The man shouts in greeting.

"Sorry, Amos. 'Fraid we got a bit of a sleepy start. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. Works with me at the ministry. And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?" Arthur guesses.

An extremely handsome 17-year old boy shakes hands with Mr. Weasley, whom he towers over.

"Sir." Cedric confirms.

"Bloody hell." you sigh. Harry looks to you.

"What? You think he's attractive?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

"How could I not? Look at him." you grin widely. Harry pouts.

"Don't be a baby, you're still adorable." you pinch his cheek and he yelps.

"Bugger off." He swats your hand away.

"Merlin's beard! You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Ced's talked about you, of course. About playing Quidditch against you last year. I told him- Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will: You beat Harry Potter!" Amos grins. Lorelei frowns and steps beside Harry.

"Harry fell of his broom, Dad. I told you, it was an accident-"

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you? Best man won. I'm sure Harry'd say the same." Amos grins. Harry frowns and you take his hand in yours. As much as you tease each other, you both know how much you care for each other.

"We'll see about that this year, won't we?" you challenge with a subtle smirk. Amos's eyebrows furrow before Arthur interjects before his daughter escalates.

"Well, shall we? We don't want to be late." Arthur clears his throat, as he should.

"Hm? Oh, right. It's over there." Amos points.

Harry cranes his neck. Lying in the short grass is an old boot. Each person places a finger to the book, arms extended like spokes to a wheel. Harry leans to you and whispers.

"Can you tell me why we're all standing here pressing our fingers to this manky old boot?" Harry grimaces.

"It isn't just any manky old boot, mate." Fred interjects.

"It's a Portkey." you finish.

"A Portkey? What's a-"

SWOOSH! The hill lurches then tilts. The sky begins to spin. A howling wind rises and the sky spins faster and faster and faster still... and becoming a blur... until...

... Harry slams hard onto his feet and- like the others beside him- topples onto his back. Above him, the sky reels dizzily, like a carousel, spinning slowly to a halt as Arthur, Amos, and Cedric cycle into view, windswept but upright.

"That'll clear your sinuses, eh!" Arthur exclaims.

"And I thought I hated Floo Powder." Harry groans. A hand comes into his view and he trails his eyes up the arm that connects to you.

"Come on, then. Up you go." He takes your hand and helps himself to his feet.

"Floo Powder is still my least favorite. Getting covered in soot just to land in a ruddy fireplace." you grimace as you recall your first Floo Powder experience.

Harry looks past you to the field beyond. Thousands of tents stretch to the edge of a steep cliff, to the deep bowl of a stadium.

"This reminds me of just how many witches and wizards there are sometimes." you appear next to Harry, your knuckles tightening around the straps of your backpack as if you were anxious. Or, you could be excited- Harry can't tell.

"That's an interesting way to look at it." Harry acknowledges you with the tilt of his head, nudging you.

"Keep up, we don't want to be left behind." He starts off first, trusting you’ll follow. And you do.

Harry glances about in fascination as he and the others trudge through the sea of tents. Exotic accents dance upon the air, every nationality in evidence.

"Well, here we are!" Arthur pulls aside the flap of a small tent. A very small tent. Harry watches curiously as the others pass through.

"How in Merlin's name are we all meant to fit in that?" Harry gestures lazily to the tent in disappointment. You peer in from his point of view and shrug.

"Dad's got all sorts of tricks up his sleeve- just you watch." you inhale deeply and disappear inside the tent. Harry draws in the same sort of breath and ducks inside himself.

Harry looks around and smiles- he's standing in what's equivalent to a 3-bedroom flat. "I love magic." He grins as she sloppily drops his bag on the floor.

"I'll take that. You're welcome." you sling Harry's and your bag own over your shoulders. Harry rolls his eyes and follows you at your heal.

"I could've done that myself." Harry says matter-of-factly.

"You wouldn't owe me that way, would you?" you raise an eyebrow at Harry. You know Harry can't raise a single eyebrow and you take every chance that you can get to tease him with your ability.

"Ah, I knew there was a catch." Harry grins goofily as you place his rucksack on one of the beds on the boys' side of the tent. You turn on your heal to place your own where you and Hermione will be sleeping.

"We're separated?" Harry blurts unknowingly. The color red creeps onto the apples of his cheeks as you turn at his query.

"Yes... why do you ask?" you tilt your head as you turn your body to face him. Harry shrugs nonchalantly.

"Harry..." you gently takes his hand in yours, causing Harry to look down at you with sparkling eyes.

"I'm sure you'll be alright for a night or two. What do you do at home when I'm not there, hm?" your thumbs stroke the back of his hand as you look up to meet his eyes.

Harry learned that you were quite skilled at helping him through his nightmares and you were more than happy to lend your skill. Often when you were younger, you helped Ron through rough nights of nightmares after he'd eaten too much for dinner, or too much for dessert. You quickly learned that it was best to not wake him, for he could reel all too quickly back into reality and startle himself. You would bring the blankets back up over his chest to restrain the thrashing, stroke his cheek to maintain the mumbling, and whisper positive affirmations into his ear to send the nightmares into the abyss- replacing it with a nice, pleasant dream. As soon as you saw the smile on Ron's face, you’d known you’d done your job, and would quietly slip out of the room back to the welcoming warmth of your own bed. The nightmares often only came once a night. You wouldn't have to go back after that.

All of the same techniques seem to work in calming Harry from his own nightmares. Although, you find it best to embrace him in his sleep to restrain thrashing, as the blankets can do next to nothing to restrain him.

"Dunno." Harry bites the inside of his cheek and breaks eye contact. Your hand moves from his hand to his shoulder and you smile brightly.

"If you really do need me, come and get me, yeah?" you pat his shoulder thrice and turn on your heal to the girls' side of the tent. Harry's eyes follow you warily as you walk and he sighs shortly.

Ron claps Harry on his back, startling him as he spins around.

"Don't worry too much, mate. She's a light sleeper. If she hears you, she'll wake and be at your side before you know it." Ron starts to unpack his rucksack and Harry nods.

"Yeah... yeah, no, I'll be fine." Harry forces a smile, which Ron returns.

Harry and the others climb to their seats. Flags of all nations ring the stadium and vendors apparate here and there among the crowd, selling their wares.

"Get your Quidditch World Cup programs! Only five Sickles!"

Fancy gold handwriting races repeatedly across a giant blackboard: Gladrags Wizardwear- London, Paris, Hogsmead...

"There's the Peruvian Minister for Tourism. And that man there's the African Head of Magical Games and Sports. And- oh lord- there's Ali Bashir. He's been truing to import flying carpets for years. I keep telling him they'll never replace brooms, but he sees a niche market for a family vehicle..."

"Blimey, Dad. How far up are we?" Ron marvels, ignoring his father's rambling about their surroundings.

"Well, if it rains, you'll be the first to know."

The voice is Lucius Malfoy descending the stairs with Draco. Arthur, tight as a drum, only glares.

"Father and I are in the Minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself." Draco boasts with a smug smirk.

"Oh, bugger off-" you begin.

"Don't boast, Draco." Lucius jabs his walking cane into Draco's chest. Draco grunts and places his hand over where he was jabbed, looking at his father incredulously.

You look to Harry with disbelief.

"Well, that's a first-"

"There's no need with these people." Lucius finishes.

"Ah." you cut yourself off with a disappointed sigh. Harry chuckles and nudges you. You smile.

Malfoy's eyes trail nastily over you and Hermione, landing on Harry.

"Mr. Potter."

As he passes, Harry eyes the walking stick in Lucius Malfoy's grip. A silver serpent encircles his ring finger, inlaid with emerald chips for eyes.

Harry and the others have settled into the upmost row, where the wind whips coldly. As a fleet of broomsticks jet into view, a roar rises in the crowd.

"It's the Irish! There's Troy!" Fred exclaims excitedly.

"And Mullet!"

"And here comes Moran!"

Before Fred can finish, a fleet of dark-clad riders soar over the opposite rim of the stadium. The crowd roars again.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." Although your cheeks are smeared in green, (curtesy of your older brothers and Ron) your interest in professional Quidditch have never exceeded your brothers' of course. You do find a small interest in the magic of brooms, but the sport itself has never perked your interest.

"Here come the Bulgarians!" George points as he leans over the railing.

"Hm. Who's that?" you squint your eyes at one particularly young player.

"That, sis, is the best Seeker in the world." George smirks with a smug nudge to your side. You swat him.

"He flies rather well, doesn't he?" Hermione acknowledges. The boys exchange amused glances.

"You could say that." Fred stifles his laughter as George nudges him.

Fred lifts his Omnioculars to his eyes and spins a dial. He dials Krum in closer, then runs the image forwards and backwards.

"What's his name?" you ask as you place your hands on the railing.

On cue, thousands of fans on the opposite side of the stadium flip large cards bearing the face of the surly looking boy with thick eyebrows. Each one is emblazoned with his name: KRUM.

"Krum?" Hermione guesses.

"Krum." Harry, Ron, Fred, and George assure in unison.

As the boys look up in admiration, Krum gets past the vast mosaic of his likeness with a nary glance, flying with such breathtaking skill that Harry's jaw fairly falls open. You lean over and press your index finger to his chin, effectively shutting his mouth.

"You'll catch flies." you smirk as Harry swats your hand from his face.

"Lay off." he grumbles.

In the ministry box, Cornelius Fudge rises as Lucius Malfoy and Draco take their seats nearby.

"Good evening! As Minister for Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup! Let the match begin!"

A ball of light busts from Fudge's wand. Harry watches Viktor Krum rocket upward, the crowd roaring as he rises into the glittering night sky, the stadium growing smaller, a glimmering disc of light.

Harry and the others lie about, unable to sleep as they excitedly re-live the match.

"Such a big fuss over a sport. All he did was catch a ball." you grumble as you flip to another page of you book from where you lie on your bed, shoes tossed lazily about on the floor next to you as you rhythmically tap your sock-clad feet.

"An incredibly fast ball that's near impossible to spot!" Harry drapes an Irish flag over your lounging figure and you growl, tearing the flag off in the split second after it made contact with your body.

"You're infuriating." you wad up the flag best you can and chuck it towards Harry violently, who catches it with ease.

"Thank you." Harry smiles cheekily.

"Brilliant Krum, wasn't he? Did you see him put Lynch into the ground with the Wronski Feint? It was positively brutal." Ron rambles on.

"I think you're in love, Ron." you giggle from where you sits, eyes never leaving the spot on your page.

"Quiet, you." Ron bites back.

Just then, a chant of voices rise like a lion's roar beyond the tent. Fred grins.

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on." Fred ambles confidently towards the flap of the tent before Arthur bursts in urgently and looks around frantically.

"It's not the Irish."

The others turn to see Arthur standing by the flap peering out. Something in his voice causes their smiles to wither.

"Get yourselves dressed." Arthur orderes hurriedly. Once he notices the hesitation in everyone else, he barks another other. "Now!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and you scramble out of the tent and stare with disbelief at the hellish tableaux before you. All around you, people run in terror, trampling fires and kicking up sparks. Then you see why:

A teeming clot of black-robed wizards, faces concealed behind hideous masks, are marching across the campsite, laughing drunkenly. Some clutch torches while others point their wands skyward, where four people tumble eerily high above.

"Who are those people? In the air?" your hand shakes as you gesture to the bodies above.

"Muggles." Arthur answers solemnly. You gulps hard and divert your attention.

"And the ones on the ground?"

"Death Eaters." Hermione answers in the same fashion.

Harry looks puzzled by this, but as Arthur draws his wand, Harry does the same without question.

"No." you grab his wrist and push his arm back to his side.

"Get back to the Portkey, all of you. And stick together. Fred, George, you're responsible for Y/N. Y/N, you listen to your brothers." Arthur insists firmly as his eyes scan over the group. You shift uncomfortably and open your mouth to reply when a scream cuts you off from a passing civilian. The scream set everyone on edge and Arthur takes his tone up a notch.

"Y/N! Did you hear me?!" he scolds intensely. You blink, startled by your father's fierce expression, then nod slowly and surely. Arthur dashes off.

Fred and George glance at each other and nod. They gently shove you towards Harry and you grunt, spinning around to face them. "Dad said to-"

"We know what Dad said. You're better off looking after Harry and him after you." Fred smiles slightly.

"Yeah, and with your clumsy ass and your looking-for-trouble attitude, you balance each other out." George finishes curtly.

"Stay safe!" They disappear into the frantic crowd.

Harry is the first to move, reaching back and swiping your hand from your side and holds it close to him. "Come on." he beckons, pulling you along through the chaos.

They streak past blazing tents. You feel your hand become less and less tightly gripped in Harry's fingers before you find it slipping away. Lost in the mob, you falls back. Fred and George flash briefly in the crowd, then vanish. Hermione turns, frantic eyes finding Harry.

"Y-Y/N was with you- where is she?" Hermione's frantic eyes search the panicking crowd. She sees no glimpse of you.

"Where is my sister?" Ron steps towards Harry and gazes at him accusingly. Harry looks back and realizes that his hand is in fact empty. He takes immediate action.

Harry dashes on, buffeted back and forth by the raging crowd. He stumbles, falls, struggles to rise, and is trampled again. Bootheels punish the earth all around him. One strikes his temple hard and he collapses. He sees you, frantic, before his vision escapes him.

#Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter series #harry potter movies #hogwarts #hermione #Ron Weasley #hermione granger #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley #harry potter smut #harry potter angst #Magic #wizard #witches

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googledocsdyke · 4 years ago

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i have not seen any episodes of spn past season 10. but i am asking u because i trust ur opinion. should i watch the other 5? or is it not worth it?

oh ABSOLUTELY watch the other 5. you'll get some big hits and some big misses. my opinion on ~dabb era~ as a cohesive concept changes every time the wind blows but (and i was yelled at on discord for this) season 12 is one of my singular favourite seasons of supernatural. some general pros of seasons 11-15:

- genuinely post-carver supernatural just feels like it's less afraid to have fun. like you get yockey and perez who specialise in writing an all-caps WHAT IF... on the top of a whiteboard and just fucking slamming the gas from there. but like WITH the reading. the 3-episode season 12 yockey hat trick is like. BING BANG BOOM. angel gender! cas backstory! hunter funerals that aren't lonely devastated burnings but a big crowded house full of drinking games and collective community lore! THEE banes twins! other one-episode wonders include the chitters, scoobynatural, baby, regarding dean, tombstone, ouroboros, mint condition..... late seasons supernatural is at its best when it says fuck the very tiresome molasses mytharc and let's be insane and do a Concept. and it WORKS. like the finales mostly drag but many individual episodes are so good that i could live there

- you get claire's coherent arc!! miss newton killed it in 10x09 and 10x10 and 10x20 but a lot of it is claire having like. the worst fucking life of all time and being prickles and thorns and too much anger behind too small of a gun. her relationship w jody is SO good and aching and the wayward sisters setup is super fun even if. yknow. they didn't follow through

- BILLIE is truly one of the best chars they've ever done though they did her dirty at the end. like she haaaates the winchesters but rather than being some deep seething hyper-personal resentment she has a fascinating relationship to like. the desire to generally bring order to the universe — not imposed power, but just like the natural cycle of being in the world. in a way she's not so much working against the winchesters as she is the like very existence of the entire show — what dies Should stay dead and what is clearly dying Should be put out of its misery and YET the show rolls on. like it's deliciously uncomfortable every time she's on the screen because she's RIGHT! the only reasons the winchesters "should" survive another day is like.... they want to. her style her flair her lines her philosophy her position as Librarian mwah!

- rowena as well. god. milfnatural REALLY goes crazy in the later seasons i don't know what to say she's so good. the FLAIR the drama the royal court shakespeare production of it ALL

- MARY PLOTLINE HIIIIII. WOW. Well. if i think about mary for too long my brain does microwave noises but like the fact that they Literally resurrect the ghost of an inciting incident, the mother-as-plot device who does not speak, never the mourner eternally mourned???? And they stick her into the living world????? And she takes off that stupid nightgown???? big qualms w mary in lebanon and lack of john followthrough BUT LIKE. and her relationship with dean like she cannot meet his eyes. she cannot meet his eyes. multiple dean mary scenes that i cannot physically watch it's like a live wire MMM DELICIOUS

- JACK. SO important to understanding cas' arc. he is gay and he is a dad and he is a dad ON PURPOSE w such sweetness and sincerity and presence like i will become so fiercely father-shaped it's just quite excellent like the dude queers fatherhood. i am of split minds of how they did the dean jack relationship bc at the risk of over-spoiling it i think it's all setup and no followthrough/denouement/proper resolution. and like this is a general problem w supernatural in general that doesn't go away in late seasons you can see the moving parts of something great and then they kind of shrink back and explain it away in the vaguest way possible. But still. jack amazing mesmerising so much potential much of it realised it IS ABOUT father and sons

- you get to see dean and cas build up to 15.18. which is just, like, delicious and SO rewarding. season 12 almost-get together! widower arc! divorce arc! tenuous quasi-parenting debates! all building to I Love Every Body Be Cause I Love You

basically like much of supernatural, it has a lot of truly delicious moving parts with a lacklustre mytharc and some truly egregious writing decisions thrown in. it's not coherent in a way that supernatural has never been and arguably gets worse. BUT it has some of my personal favourite characters and writers of all time and if you want to see any of the above it's like. entirely worth it. and there is something delightful if disturbing in watching a show go on for so long that it parodies itself and references itself and eats itself whole. it is so often so much FUN let's hear it for cwification

#answered #anonymous #sorry for this being insanely long. also this isn't my coherent/complete view on 11-15 just some of the delights that come to mind #spn

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official-weasley · 3 years ago

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heeeey, just wanted to ask questions about FFWF, i have a bunch of questions.

1. how did you come up with nova's name?

2. Any Headcanons for Rylee and Charlie as parents?

3. how did you start writing nova's story ? Was the way you ended it they way you originally wanted it to end? would you change the end now, if you could ? (for both endings)

Heey! Omg, such good questions! (I can't promise this is going to be short)

1. I knew 2 things before I named Nova. One - it's has to do something with space because I knew that her hair color is going to be blue. Two - I want it to stand out and not completely fit in the world. So I did some research and first wanted to name her after one of Jupiter's moons but it just didn't seem fit. Then I decided I wanted it to have a connection to her hair and for some reason a supernova came to mind and then I did some research about them and there was this article with a picture of a supernova exploding and it was blue and I knew then that she can't simply have a different name than Nova. 💙

2. That is a hard question because when I ended the story and started thinking about their life together, at first, I didn't picture them having a family at all. Rhylee lost the baby she was supposed to have with Nick and that fear of it repeating never really went away. Charlie wanted to have a family but maybe only one or max two kids (because he still wanted to work with dragons as much as possible) and he was very traumatized from the War and the loss of his brother hit him hard. They both went to therapy for years (Rhylee needed a whole month to convince Charlie to give it a go) and after they could both leave the past in the past they didn't feel like thinking about having a family but rather just enjoy life together.

They did talk about it but it was always a very short conversation both kind of avoiding the topic. It wasn't until Victoire's 5th birthday that something sparked in Charlie. Victoire wanted to know when she is getting a cousin and she told Charlie that he would be a great dad because he is the best uncle and that made him think about it more.

That night he talked it over with Rhylee and she told him that she has been thinking about it a lot lately but she is afraid that something bad would happen again and Charlie calmed her down and suggested that they could go and visit a doctor. In the next week, they visited Rhylee's best friend Lyla and since she had a little girl Rhylee asked her for advice. Lyla recommended her the doctor she had when she was pregnant and they made an appointment. The doctor calmed them both down and told Rhylee that everything should be fine but that she should try and be under as little stress as possible and that lifted her mood because she was nothing but happy with Charlie.

After that, they started trying and welcomed their baby boy a year after that. They named him Arthur after Charlie's dad but everybody called him Artie.

3. This is SUCH a good question, I am shaking from excitement!

So I was rereading the HP books and when I finished, my obsession with the dragon boy began and one night I couldn't sleep and I started getting these scenes in my mind (I am a very visual person) - it was like a movie. It was the scene at the Sanctuary when they get attacked and Nova dies. I know it's weird to say that that sparked something in me but I found it interesting that I was daring enough to try and kill off the protagonist. At the same time, I wanted to write a story about Charlie and kind of my version of why I think he never married and since he was mentioned so little in the books I wanted to write about his time at Hogwarts as a student and I connected one and one together.

The scene where Nova dies was the first one I've written down and then I started to write a plotline from their first year and everything that would lead to that moment.

When I wrote down the summaries of each chapter (that's usually my writing process before I start writing individual chapters) I knew there would be 8 parts but the last chapter was originally supposed to be Charlie telling Molly about his decision to stay alone. But once I wrote it, it didn't feel like an ending. I felt too heartbroken and I couldn't leave Char as it was. It was already killing me that he didn't have a happy ending but I couldn't leave it like that. I needed about a week to come up with Char getting hit and seeing Nova again so I wrote the additional chapter Charlie's Goodbye. It was bittersweet but at least I gave him closure and he could tell Nova that he loves her.

I was happy with that ending and I was so so so certain I was going to keep it. I cried so many times writing Part 8 and writing all the heartbreaking scenes but I knew it was the "right" thing to do because that was my original plan. It wasn't until I started posting the story and rereading it and coming to the inevitable Part 8 that I couldn't be strong anymore. It was the chapter before Nova sacrifices herself for Char - Planning the Future - when they talk about having a family that an alternative ending came to mind for the first time. I wanted to fight it and I did - like in an epic battle but when I reread the chapter Now, Then and Forever and cried yet again when Char talked to Molly and I knew what the next chapter had in store and I knew I got too attached to him and to Nova (who I already missed like crazy and wanted to write more about her) so despite fighting and despite writing the longest A/N that I won't change my mind about killing Nova I gave in and wrote an Alternative Ending (which is now going to be my base for HCs and one-shots about Nova and Char because I am weak and they have too big of a space in my heart and I have to write some more about them!).

So, basically to conclude my rambling I changed the ending 2 times and based my decisions solely on making Charlie as happy as I possibly could, and in conclusion, I am one weak and soft baboon who can't bear to break a fictional character's heart! 😂

Now that the story is done and I have two endings, I wouldn't change it. I thought I was going to regret writing and posting the Alternative Ending but I really don't. I am actually quite proud of it and am really really happy I made the decision that I did. I would never erase my original idea of me killing my OC but the fact that with one chapter I brought her back to life and gave her a happy ending too, I am content with how I ended things. If I only stuck with one ending I know I would never have a peaceful mind, however. Somehow, it seems fitting that the story concludes with 2 endings.

I knew I won't be able to keep this short! 😂

Ecaterina, your questions were just too good! 🤭

#writer confessions #nova x charlie

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bearsace · 4 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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