#Rice Fields and Puddles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the12thnightproject · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 15: Mitsuhide POV - Mistake Compounded: (Surprise) Gacha Chapter - Mitsuhide's take on recent events.

All Chapters Archived on Ao3

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“The usual place?” Goro slung the unconscious priest over his shoulders as easily as if he were carrying a sack of rice from the fields. The man had been a farmer once, before the wars displaced his clan. Eventually, he found his way into Mitsuhide’s service, where his combination of brawn and quick intelligence made him a valuable operative, one willing to do tasks that Mitshide would hesitate to ask of Kyubei.

“No.” Mitsuhide found a handkerchief and swiped at a smear of blood on his knuckles. Normally, he preferred to use less physical methods when interrogating a prisoner. Emotional pressure – at least the sort that was his expertise - was generally more effective than torture. But the priest was creature of anger, who only understood violence, one whose family had condemned him to his church in the hopes that their God would do what a strict upbringing could not. “Arrange for him to be found outside a brothel. His more religious brethren will take care of him from there.”

The Nanban missionaries would be horrified; and eager to send him back west, or at the very least, to the Funai diocese in Nagasaki, where they could keep a closer eye on him. Such a man was counter with their evangelical mission.

“As you wish.” With that, the priest was hauled away, leaving only a puddle of urine where he had soiled himself during Mitsuhide’s interrogation.

Mitsuhide cleaned the mess himself – it would not do for the machiya’s storerooms to contain anything but the very best in spices and lacquerware. Blood and excrement would ruin the atmosphere.

As you wish. Odd how Goro’s respectful acceptance of Mitsuhide’s orders echoed uncomfortably with Kaya’s defiant use of the same phrase. Certainly, he would prefer her to be obedient – their task would be far easier – but he was finding her little rebellions and protests entertaining… at least until this evening when he had discovered that underneath her defiance was very real fear.

What was behind that terror (for it had indeed been terror)? What would it take for her to confide in him? Certainly, he did not require her to trust him, for that was not a thing offered even as easily as obedience (and Kaya was anything but that). However, if she ever did grant him her confidence, he would feel honored.

Mai had trusted him… Mai trusted too quickly.

It was with the spector of Mai in his head that he went to scrub the stains of this night off his body. After that… perhaps he had earned the indulgence of enough wine to scrub his memories for a few hours.

Neither would be removed as easily as the stains from the floor.

Respite had not been earned, nor given. The sliver of the moon was still in the sky when he heard the light tapping of feet, as Kaya crept down the stairs. Annoyed at the interruption to his solitude, he offered a challenge that ought to have sent her scurrying back to her room. “Couldn’t sleep? Or… were you interested in renegotiation?”

Even in the dim light of the staircase, he could see her scowl at him. Or perhaps he knew her enough to know that would be her automatic response to that suggestion. “Never mind. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow when you’re sober.”

Oddly, her statement made him want her company after all. The sake wasn’t working to ease his soul. Arguing with Kaya would at least be a distraction. He placed his cup on the desk, as much to prove to her that he was indeed sober, as to prove to himself the same. “I could drink twice this much and remain unaffected.”

She still seemed hesitant, and now that his eyes had adjusted more to the dimness on the stairs, he noticed she was shaking. “What is it?” He beckoned her closer. “I presume this is important.”

“I think it might be.” She threw herself onto the cushion, even at this hour a picture of vitality. Her hair was poking out of her ponytail in all directions – there was even a piece stuck to her cheek. Had she been crying? He pushed away the urge to brush it off her face and instead offered to share his drink.

She shook her head. “I can’t. It gives me nightmares. Waking nightmares too. And, I already just had a sleeping one that woke me up.”

Ah. It was not a surprise that the events of this evening had affected her. Though trained by Akihira, it was clear that the man had not utilized her in any darker ventures. Mitsuhide imagined that if he had a daughter of his own, he would be much the same, and do his best to keep the girl in the light.

As for the priest, at least Mitsuhide could reassure Kaya that he would not trouble her in the future. “A nightmare about the priest? He will no longer be a factor.” The man had acted on impulse – spotting ‘Kyubei’ and Kaya at the shrine, he had taken a chance to be revenged upon the events of the auction. There was no connection between the priest and the disappearances of Hideyoshi, Mai and Aki. Of that, he was now certain.

“A different nightmare.” Three words. Words that made Kaya look small… and cold.

He noticed that she had fled her room without putting on her shoes… or even a yukata. He could see a vague outline of her body through the thin material of her night kimono. The latter observation had him speaking more honestly than intended. “If you’ve come to me to be soothed, I’m flattered.” But the only comfort he had the right to offer was…. He took off his socks and passed them to her. “Don’t protest. I never feel extreme heat or cold.”

“Alright.” She slipped the socks onto her her feet. “I guess to explain the nightmare, I have to go back and explain why I don’t like boxes.”

Interesting. He would finally learn the reason for her terror of … “The palanquin.” This could potentially be a long conversation, so he poured himself another drink – an action he had cause to be grateful for when he heard her next words.

“Yes. Well. About five years ago, someone tried to kill me, or maybe just get rid of me – by locking me in a crate and leaving it in a warehouse.” Her hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white with tension.

The thought of someone locking a child - and five years ago, Kaya… no, she was Katsu… would hardly be past childhood - into a crate and abandoning her made him wish the culprit were before him right now. There would be no mercy, no attempt at emotional pressure. But that… was for another time. At the moment, he could offer the comfort of quiet logic. “The warehouse that currently belongs to Shojumaru.”

“Yes – that one. I don’t know if he owned it then though. The crate I was in got hidden under a heavy shipment of western muskets. I couldn’t get enough leverage to move the lid.” She faltered in her story as the rest of her became as pale as her knuckles.

Before she fainted, Mitsuhide took hold of those trembling hands, willing to transfer a measure of detachment to her. “Katsu. Look at me. Breathe.”

She breathed.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, until the breathing became easy, until her grip relaxed, until …

She pulled away.

Now Mitsuhide’s hands felt cold. He wrapped them around the sake bottle.

She took one last deep breath and continued. “While I was in there – before I realized I was trapped - I overheard a conversation between a foreign merchant and a man he called Motonari.”

Motonari?

It was the last name he’d expected to hear. The man was dead. Had been so for a long time. Too long ago to make that possible. “Five years ago? The only Motonari I can think of who would have been interested in and able to acquire a large shipment of weapons is Mouri Motonari, and he’s been dead for longer than that.”

Katsu shrugged, and the edge of her kimono slipped lower on her shoulder. “So were Kenshin and Shingen, and they’re still alive.”

“You’re suggesting Mouri Motonari is not dead. That’s… possible. The Mouri clan has been rather active of late. However…” It was an interesting avenue to pursue, but she could have told him this in the morning. Perhaps she had come out here indeed seeking comfort… seeking hi-

“The thing is - I think he’s Shojumaru. His voice. It’s been bothering me about him since we met.” Her words knocked the other avenue of thought out of his head. “Shojumaru was the man in the warehouse back then. The one that they called Motonari.”

Shojumaru is Motonari? It… should have come as more of a shock. After all, he had been certain that Shojumaru was hiding something… even the man’s name. Shojumaru. It was a child’s name. Many men discarded their childhood name when they came into leadership. Or repurposed it as he was even now with his own childhood name of ‘Juubei.’ “You are certain about this?” When she bristled in protest, of his questioning, he added, “I do not doubt your story, only what time does to the memory. As you say, it has been five years.”

“Five years of a memory that regularly appears in my nightmares. He could not have been aware that I was trapped in there. That was just a coincidence on his side.” Her voice was calmer, clear with certainty, and he found himself inclined to accept the story.

Inclined to accept it, and curious to know how she had been freed. “How did you escape?” She looked surprised at that – but the Shojumaru revelation could keep for a little while longer. What he needed to know now was how she had escaped that ordeal, and if anything from that escape was likely to interfere with their current task. Interfere more than need to avoid palanquins in the future. “It’s not such an unusual question – someone must have found you, for here you are, sitting with your feet in my socks.”

She glanced at her hands, a sure tell that she was considering lying to him… or avoiding the question somehow. “A person heard me yelling later and rescued me.”

A ‘person.’

“A random passerby to a warehouse that was used by weapons smugglers.” He had a suspicion as to the identity of that ‘person.’ Would she finally tell him? Or even now would she hold back information that at this point was useless. “For if you had been rescued by Aki, you would have mentioned it. And let me digress to remind you that it’s as important to take note of what a person does not say, as it is to listen to what they do. Therefore, the name of your rescuer…?”

“I don’t actually know if those weapons were smuggled. It could have been a legal shipment….” He stared at her until her rambling prevarication reached a truthful response. “It was Kennyo.”

Finally. The truth was too late, far too late, and Kennyo was dead now. Even so, Mitsuhide was glad to have the gift of her honesty. “Ah. The reason for your stubbornness at the beginning of the summer is now revealed. Were you working or him?”

“What? Oh. No.” She sounded surprised enough at the question for him to accept her denial. “But I felt like I owed him for saving me, and that life debt weighed. And at the time you questioned me, I had no idea that he was anything but a travelling monk.”

That… he doubted, but it was also unlikely that Kennyo had told her what he was doing, or what he had planned. She might not have had direct knowledge, but she likely had had her suspicions. “Katsuko, you are far too smart to believe that.”

He noticed she had turned her attention to the teapot he had neglected to dump out earlier. Were this a true interrogation, he might have denied her a drink, or even taunted her with it. “It’s from this morning.”

She shrugged, so he poured poured her a cup, then laughed inwardly at the look on her face when she got a taste of it. I did warn you. If he had been willing to stop the flow of her story, he might have put a kettle on the irori and boiled more water for fresh tea. “Kennyo.”

“He found me, pulled me out, and Aki caught up to us a little while later. Anyway, he took us back to his encampment, found some clothes for me, and… well, he hinted that he might some day come to ask me to repay him, or ask it of Aki.” She coughed, sipped more tea, and coughed again. “Forgetting that I had not seen him when I briefly crossed his path that night seemed like a harmless way to repay him.”

“Harmless. Did it occur to you that if we had been able to capture him at that point, then he would not be able to return and ask a favor?” The expression on her face did not change, but clearly, she hadn’t thought of that. It spoke of a sense of honor. Misplaced in this particular instance, but honor just the same. “Never mind. Sometimes I forget how young you truly are.”

“Besides, there were so many people in the woods that night. I figured someone else must have seen him too, and if so, you were bound to figure things out without me.” That was an interesting statement, and suggested there might have been other people that she hadn’t mentioned seeing. Before he could call that out, she changed the direction of the conversation. “What do you plan to do about Shojumaru? Motonari.”

Until he could determine if Motonari had taken Hideyoshi and Mai and where he was likely to have taken them, there wasn’t much he could do. Yet. With the access to the Mouri fleet, as well as merchant ships, he could be hiding them anywhere. He presumed that at some point the man planned to make a move – the task was to move there first. “Watch him. See if he makes a mistake. Find out if he has any weaknesses and exploit them. For the moment, de Sousa still seems to be a key here. Hideyoshi met with de Sousa. If I can prove a stronger connection between him and Motonari, it would give me a lever to press. If Motonari is involved, it makes the situation political. They could be hostages instead of slaves. If Motonari had… executed them… he would have taunted Nobunaga about that.”

And if Motonari has executed them, whatever hell he has been through in the past is nothing like he will face in the future. He wouldn’t wait for Nobunaga to determine a punishment. The Oda could have whatever was left of Motonari’s body.

“What are they like? Lord Hideyoshi and Lady Mai. What are they like?” Katsu’s voice startled him. He’d nearly forgotten she was in the room.

He poured himself another drink, allowing every drop of the sake to fall into the cup. “Hideyoshi is Nobunaga’s right hand man. He’s a good man… idealistic… devoted… passionate… honest. An all around pain in the ass.”

He didn’t know what Katsuko was expecting him to say, but it clearly hadn’t been that, for she suddenly laughed. He realized that he had never seen her smile before (true, he had not given her any reason to… not that that had ever stopped Mai). “You don’t smile very often.”

It was like getting a glimpse of a completely different person, one that he wanted to know as much as he wanted to know the Katsu who was capable of passionately arguing with him and the one who was terrified of boxes. That thought was rather terrifying in itself. He didn’t want to like her.

He couldn’t afford to.

Katsu covered her mouth. “Um… what? Should I?”

Nor could he afford for her to become self-conscious about her expressions. Her customary ‘neutral face’ was helpful in this line of work. “Dear me, no. Not if you don’t feel like it. It wasn’t meant as a criticism. For what is needed, your face is completely appropriate.”

“I don’t trust smilers. The man who tried to kill me was like that.” She rubbed her arms, and though he was aware that she had done so to comfort herself, the action again caused her kimono to slip, revealing more shoulder.

To avoid being further distracted, he pealed off his own outer robe and passed it to her. He didn’t need it, especially not now, while he warmed by her presence.

Katsu accepted the robe, and curled into it. She looked like a small child wearing her father’s clothing. “And… Lady Mai?”

What about Mai? His greatest weakness… his greatest regret. His greatest victory – one over himself, and his desires – for Mai and Hideyoshi were each half of the same. Light goes to light. “Completely devoted to Hideyoshi and his dreams. At a look, the two of them can enter a world where they are the only two inhabitants.” He lifted his cup, then noticed it was empty. “Hand me that bottle.”

She slid the bottle toward him. “It’s nice that they found each other.”

“He tried not to want her… but with Mai, that’s not possible.” That… was not something he should have revealed to Katsuko, but with any luck she would not think too deeply on the implications of that. Especially if he directed equal praise toward Hideyoshi. “He believed that Nobunaga wanted her for himself, and Hideyoshi is nothing if not self-sacrificing. The man would work himself until he dropped from exhaustion if no one stopped him. And then he would still find time to scold everyone else.”

He watched her burrow deeper into his kimono, feeling gratified that she found it a comfort. And… did she just sniff the sleeve and smile? He filed that away for future teasing. “Does he scold Mai too?”

“Sometimes. If she works too hard. He can’t help it. It’s in his nature to mother everyone. Though Mai at least can get him to rest.” A few weeks prior to their disappearance, Mai had organized something that she had called a ‘dinner party.’ She’d worked closely with Masamune to choose the foods, had decorated Hideyoshi’s manor for the occasion, and then over the course of the meal, had proceed to gently fuss so much over the guests (which had only been himself, Masamune, and Mitsunari) until Hideyoshi sat her down and made her eat too. She’d told him she didn’t need to relax, but that everyone else did, because she knew they were all working hard to build a better world. “Mai is the most idealistic person you will ever meet. Yet, as she much as passionately despises war, she’ll leap into any fight to defend her friends or an innocent bystander, or… even me.”

“I’m having trouble imagining that you ever needed to be defended.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, as if waiting for the whole story. “Who dared?”

“I dared, in fact. I needed to appear to be working for Kennyo, and I carefully constructed matters to make myself look like a traitor. But Mai cut through the entire charade by refusing to believe I was guilty.” He’d never forget the sight of her, defiantly facing him in the dungeon, threatening to reveal his innocence to everyone unless he confided in Hideyoshi. “And the evidence of my guilt was overwhelming – I ought to know, I manufactured it myself. With my reputation, it would have been more than enough to condemn me. But she and Hideyoshi never doubted my innocence.”

There was a long moment of silence, while she appeared to think that over, her lips pursed in concentration. He directed his senses to the feel of the wine in his mouth, for he was becoming far too curious about how her mouth would feel under his. He’d almost banished that odd urge, only to be surprised when she did finally speak. “Well, to be honest, I would have a hard time accepting your guilt too. I mean, ok, I don’t like you, but anyone with eyes and a logically functioning brain can tell you’re loyal to the Oda.”

It was … not that same as Mai’s blind faith in him. Katsu was a creature of logic, and he was certain that were he to ask her what evidence she had used to reach that conclusion, she would tell him in detail. It was still gratifying that she had been able to put aside whatever resentment and rebellion she felt toward him to give him a fair trial in her mind. The, personal dislike, on the other hand…. “What a pity. I believe I have treated you perfectly well. I am a very likeable fellow. Although I suppose it’s flattering that you too would defend my innocence. Flattering. But foolish.” He tapped her on the nose… a gesture that he would give to a foolish child, to remind her who had the power in this room. To remind himself of that as well. “Have you forgotten that you’re my prisoner?”

Absently she rubbed her nose. Brushing away his touch? Or memorizing it? “Don’t worry. I think you’re capable of a great many morally grey things. But in service to a Nobunaga’s cause… not for personal gain.”

His thoughts returned to the blood and urine stains he’d cleaned out of the storeroom. “For this cause there must be someone willing to take on the burden of evil. And someone must be the light to my dark. That has always been Hideyoshi. It’s a delicate balance we make up – Nobunaga needs him, his honesty, as much he needs someone to carry out the missions that no one speaks about. Someone to interrogate--”

Interrogate… perhaps Katsu was more skilled at this than he had imagined. Had tonight been a ploy to discover his weaknesses? He took hold of her chin and looked directly in to a pair of defiant eyes. “Is that what this has been? An interrogation? Looking for a weakness in your captor?”

Her eyes stayed on his. “Always.”Then she shrugged. “Making conversation. Trying to chase away my own nightmares.”

Which had been the truth? Her defiance? Or the need for comfort? For the first time in a very long time, Mitsuhide couldn’t read someone. Maybe both had been true. Maybe neither. Either way, it was a signal to end this conversation. And a signal to return their … association to its prior transactional level. He did not need a friend. He did not need to drag another person into darkness with him. “Have they been chased? For I know that if Hideyoshi were here at this moment, he would tell us both to go to bed now. And to clean our teeth first.”

Understanding his unspoken message, Katsu stood up.

Good. He would stay here, alone, in the dim light where he belonged.

But Kats-Kaya would not leave him even that. “He would be correct… in both. You should go to sleep… Lord Mitsuhide.”

Once again, time to remind her of her precarious position. Of her options. “Will you escort me to my bed? It’s not too late to renegotiate.”

She would refuse him, of course. She must. The other alternative was not thinkable.

“To your door.” Her voice, her posture echoed Kyubei’s. Kyubei, who was obedient, but was confident enough to speak his mind.

“Planning to take on Kyubei’s role?” That would be a workable compromise – a vassal whom he could count on to follow directives. He would be responsible for her, naturally, but there was no need to encourage a friendship.

With that in mind, he took her arm… and the feeling of her skin under his fingertips was like a drug in the blood, more potent than sake.

Over the course of the journey up the stairs, to the door to his room he concentrated only on putting one foot before the other, his own breathing, and not on her warm presence beside him. By the time he stepped inside his own room, where she, as planned, halted at the threshold, he had his pulse in check once again. He could return to thinking of her as Kaya.

He lightly pulled on her hair, then turned his back on her, even as she slid shut the door.

As he heard her footsteps fade away, heard her own door open and shut, he decided to spend as little time with her as possible. It ought to be simple enough to make her hate him again.

Tomorrow… he would ride to Azuchi, and discuss with Nobunaga what they had learned.

Perhaps he would even stay there for an extra day or two.

@selenacosmic @bestbryn @lyds323 @akitsuneswife @tele86 @lorei-writes

#ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen mitsuhide #ao3 link #ocfairygodmother #ten things #ten things I hate about mitsuhide #surprise gacha chapter #mitsuhide not monday

17 notes · View notes

waiting-on-a-dream · 2 years ago

Text

Prisoner 001: Kanai Ichiro - Trial 2

General info

Verdict: GUILTY

Physical changes: His bangs are longer, completely covering his left eye. He's developed an unhealthy coping mechanism of hurting his face (scratching, poking, and/or slamming into things) which lead to wounds that need to be bandaged. His uniform reminds mostly the same, just with longer restraints that swing with each movement.

Behavioral changes: He's been more out of it ever since he found out about his verdict, being less responsive and spacing out for longer periods of time. Haruto took his stuffed koala away, so he can be found mumbling to himself more often. He frequently tries to grab Haruto and beg to have Keiko back, but the guard's force field activates every time, sending him flying back.

His temper has worsened and he's always in a bad mood nowadays. Tantrums quickly develop into full blown meltdowns. He has to be calmed down delicately and only by certain people. Daisuke once grabbed his arms to stop him from clawing at his face and he kicked at the man's shin in retaliation. Kiyoshi had to pull them apart.

His art supplies have been taken away so he can't even draw anymore. He spends most of his time sleeping or mumbling to himself. Most of his meals go untouched. He's been hearing more voices than usual, saying such horrible things. it hurts.

Trailer art: His body is angled directly at you, hands clasped around his sides in a sort of defensive hug. His head hangs low, slightly tilted to the right, a sullen and tired expression on his face. His right cheek is bandaged. Behind him, there's a wooden door painted grey, slightly ajar. Its a normal door you'd be able to find at any apartment.

Voicelines

– Second trial trailer

Give him back...

– Character voice trailer

Dinner has gone cold... Can you help me heat it up please?

Cover info

Canon Milgram song cover: All-knowing and all-agony (Once a Haruka kinnie, always a Haruka kinnie. If Haruka's story remains consistent for the third trial, Ichiro would probably cover his song as well. Its impressive actually.)

DECO*27 song cover: Re:[repaint] (The melody reminds me of raindrops falling onto a puddle for some reason. Its a short song, but packs some philosophical lyrics well suited for Ichiro here. The art is so Ichirocore too.)

Non-DECO*27 vocaloid song cover: Hitorinbo envy (I think the art and music styles of this song really suit Ichiro. The themes of loneliness and dreaming of a better reality certainly resonates with him too.)

Music info

Song title: Love and sorrow

Song preview: One night I submerged myself completely in the bathtub. The water was warm and inviting. For a moment, I was wrapped tightly in the embrace of "ai".

I want to be included, I want to be part of the family. Look at me, hug me, play with me. I'm begging you! I'm still here, I've always been here. Don't I deserve to be loved even though I'm guilty?

MV description: This MV retains the same crayon drawing style from the first MV, along with some frames being pastel and bright while others being shadowed and dull. Yellow, blue, and white turn up a lot.

The MV starts with Ichiro's mom smiling while holding a baby in her arms. The man from the previous MV stands behind her, a hand around her shoulder. The camera slowly pans out. In the light of the white background, they're the picture of a perfect happy family.

The camera cuts to a younger Ichiro (around 12 years old) sitting at the top of a slide. An empty playground. The setting sun casts a purple shadow over the equipment. Ichiro continues to play. On the swings, on the monkey bars. He plucks some nearby weeds to make a bouquet. Its nighttime already. The frame is washed with blue.

Then he's having dinner with his mom and the man. The colours of this frame are back to pastels with a yellowish glow. They sit around a table, eating a meal of katsu curry rice. They're smiling.

The camera cuts to Ichiro soaking in a bathtub. The bathroom is mostly white and grey with blue outlines to differentiate things from each other. A close-up of his face. He takes a breath and sinks completely into the water. He blows out bubbles that rise up to the surface, increasing in number until his face is obscured.

The camera cuts again to the POV of someone (presumably Ichiro) opening the front door to a house. A framed photo is displayed on the nearby cupboard: A young Ichiro, his mom and the man all huddled together with awkward smiles. There are also drawings, Mother's day cards and other knickknacks. Ichiro's mom appears with a smile, reaching out to pat at the person's head. The man is further away, hanging up his coat. Black crayon swirls appear over the man's face, and then Ichiro's mom before it takes over the whole frame. End.

Author's notes

The canon Milgram song previews for trial 2 only have 2-3 lines but we don't do that here, haha. There's no way I'm writing lyrics for a full song so a longer preview will have to do.

Haruka and Yuno both reference their thoughts on their verdicts in their songs, so I'm going to do the same for Ichiro and Akane.

Picrews used: - https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1969833 - https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1820833

#the prisoners' second signature colour will be revealed in t2!#you guys are gonna be seeing a lot of blue haha #his trailer art is most similar to mahiru's!#prisoner 001: kanai ichiro

5 notes · View notes

thebirdhasteeth · 2 years ago

Text

At the end of it all, Carrie crawls out of the bunker. She is dripping blood, viscera and gore sticking her hair to her face and gluing her ruined clothes to her body. Wide eyed, she trudges aimlessly out into the pasture, eyes glued to the ground, turned grey and black in the vastness of the dark. She stumbles past the husks of things that could have once been cows, their shapes pulled apart like clay, changed and left to rot.

She could feel the presence above her. She feels as if, in some way, it had always been there, but the notion is fanciful.

She comes to a stop somewhere in the middle of the field, as good of a place as any to stop when she knows everywhere is as destroyed as here. She stares at her bare feet, no longer able to recall when she took her shoes off, and stretches her toes, wiggling them in the grass. She watches as the grass sways and curls in a way it has never done before, as if it were underwater-- like it is reaching for her, responding to her presence.

In a way, the grass is what defeats her. The smallest, most inconsequential thing to her has been changed. There is nothing left here; nothing left at her level.

Finally, she looks up. Her vision is eclipsed, totally and completely, by the Black Planet.

Suddenly, she can see far beyond herself. She sees it, without the barrier of a lens or a screen, as if the thousands of miles between herself on the ground and it far outside the atmosphere were mere inches instead.

Its surface writhes, coils of black, gaseous shadow interlocking and overlapping. They reach out into the space around them, shooting off like inky solar flares. She wonders how many stars they have touched, how many it has tainted and consumed. Through the squirming shapes and flickering tendrils, there is nothing. It is almost as if Carrie sees through it, through the wriggling nest of matter and to the other side, to the path of nonexistence on the other side; like a cosmic eraser, carved through the universe in a single, ever-advancing line.

It is not a planet. The thought comes to her so suddenly, it almost feels planted there by something other than herself. Everyone was wrong.

It bears down on her, ever approaching. She feels sticky, stiff with drying blood, her eyes burning as she stares unblinking. Carrie wishes she was more fanciful, could see a face within it; something intelligent, with either a malevolence or a kindness. Something to make her believe she could understand it, that there was a reason she could comprehend. She wants to believe it is a thing, and that it is hungry, and that Earth was chosen as its next meal with some intelligence.

But nothing stares back at her; there is nothing there to do so. It is only her.

The earth begins to break off in chunks, as if entire farms and towns and counties have been beckoned, called to the void's side. And they go; the pull is too great. She sees the distant masses of earth rise as easily as birds into the sky, and ground shakes with the violence of a world being eased apart, but Carrie's feet are stuck-- the grass, thick and unnatural, is curling around her feet. She watches entire sections of Earth, once so vast to her, disappear through the Black Planet's surface like grains of rice dropped into a puddle of ink.

And Carrie laughs. Even as the ground begins to crack and split beneath her, Carrie stands with her arms outstretched to either side, blood dripping from her hair and her fingers-- and she laughs, because there is nothing left to do.

She laughs as the tears track down her face, clearing thick blood out of the way in long trails. The grass curls up her ankles and the points pierce her skin.

She laughs, lungs burning and body seizing, until she can no longer breathe-- until no matter which way she looks, all she can see is blood and unintelligible darkness.

When she can no longer laugh, when there is no longer a Carrie Huff or anyone else to continue to laugh, there is nothing to witness the end of the earth. Its pieces are crumbled, consumed-- and the things moves on, in its uninterrupted path. It spares no thought to the dying or the dead, to the terrible, twisted things its own presence has caused life on this planet to become. It spares no thoughts, because it is incapable.

It simply continues on.

Like it always has, like it always will.

#[ the black planet ]#maz writes #📢#cosmic horror

3 notes · View notes

onmywaytofanfic · 2 years ago

Text

Day 2: Diary

I know that I have been doing the wrong challenge, in terms of the year. But, I have already settled to do it with that one so... sorry

Words: 807 yes it is really short sorry. (Chokako's name is Chikako, but Reina as misspronounced it since she was a baby and everyone knows her by her misspronounced name. She actually likes it, finds it cute. Also, yes Chokako is a trans character and she stated her gender very early and since that moment everyone has addressed her with the correct pronouns and name. So, I hope that nobody comes talking about it so everything is clear. )

-Cho-The lovely lady smiled at her broadly, showing her teeth without shame - You will be in charge of Reina for today okey? - Cho replied laughing happily. - Yes, I am with the baby!! - shouted. She immediately took her humble sandals and started to walk around the compound towards the Aburame home. - Hello!!!! Good morning!!- shouted the girl who was just 5 years old. -Choo- could be heard equally vividly by a tiny squeaking voice. In the garden a toddler. Reina was wearing a shirt too big for her and her barefoot was touching the grass. She giggled when she saw her and started to run to her sister. Chokako hugged her firmly -Chookakoooooo - said the toddler who kept elongating the vowels laughing while doing so. Cho tried to take her in her arms, the soft voice of Takeo looked at them - Chokako are you going to help me with this rebellious bumblebee? - the tall man approached both girls holding a big guard, he then put it on his back. The girl smiled seriously - It’s today’s mission, sir yes sir - Reina was bubbling some words trying to imitate her.

The small group started their walk towards the rice fields. Reina did not have shoes for her, but the toddler seemed to not care about it. Chokako held her hand firmly while guiding her, they were straight behind Takeo. Aburames were usually in charge of everything related with the agriculture in that place, the overflow of chakra than the seed produced led quite usually to huge plagues that endangered the town’s supplies, or better said Kamo’s cargo. Aburames took good care of all of it, Chokako had lately accompanied her mothers to the repair and construction sites, learning the profession they would tell her; although it was more about learning about everything that was expected from her. However, today they need help keeping an eye on Reina. Nobody told her how, but Shiori’s serious face made her uncomfortable. Something happened, she was sure about it…but what?

-Apa apa gapa ? - said the toddler

-Let grandpa rest, ladybug - Chokako look at Reina

-Buna is ill?- Reina answered by munching her shirt. Nobody answered either of the toddlers. When they reached the rice field, Takehiko and Chio were already there. They just wave their hands.

-Girls, stay near me okey? - both nodded with their tiny heads. Takeo started to work as was expected of him. He took the guard off his back and opened the jar. He then did some signs using one hand and started to concentrate his chakra, some insects left his body and started to do their routine checking the state of those big fields. While the insects started to work on that, Takeo went into the rice puddles, and started to harvest the rice. The girls looked at him amazed

-Daice - laughed tiny Reina while giving little jumps. The man looked at both girls - Let me see your palms darlings - both girls offered their hands and the man put some rice on them

-Is brown? - said Chokako amazed by the look that unclean and unprocessed rice had before it was ready to be eaten. Reina tried to munch it - Nooo -shouted and took the rice off. A very agitated conversation started among both toddlers about why they shouldn’t eat that rice. Takeo laughed low and kept working.

After some hours the girls run out of ideas to play with. Takeo had cleaned almost a whole field, experience and the fact that he was a shinobi for real allowed him to work faster than any worker. He got closer to the girls - What are you doing? - they were drawing with a stick on the Earth.

-Is a picture of you! -

-PAPA - said Reina, sometimes she got her words right. He felt his heart break in two any time she said that word. - I should write that in a diary.

-What 's diary?

- It’s like a book, but the pages are empty and you write what you want there. Most people write about their day. - The tiny Chokako looked at the mud thinking - Let’s make a diary Reina

-Deina- repeated her. Both girls started to draw in the mud their own particular diary. Chokako could actually write her name and her clan name, but Reina just made a huge mess of sticks and figures.

-No Reina is not like that - reprehend the kid.

Those were good times, but not the best of them. They kept playing with the mud, practicing more their letters and stick figures, forgetting about the rumbling in their stomachs and about the sounds that visitors made to the rice fields. Forgetting that they were trapped there, so did Takeo.

Takeo Aburame teaching young Chokako Akimichi and Reina Aburame to write their names and family name.

4 notes · View notes

lanceragrico · 6 months ago

Text

Lancer: Till Every Field, Every Season!

This month's lineup tackles all your tillage needs:

HP Series: Budget-friendly tilling for mid-range tractors. AKSHAT Series: Puddling power for rice farmers. HD Series: Conquer any terrain with heavy-duty tilling. Presto PM Series: High-speed disc harrowing for optimal prep.

Lancer has the tools to cultivate your harvest success!

🌐 : https://www.lanceragrico.com/ 📞 : +91 88 99 33 55 33, 📩 : [email protected] . . . . .

#indianagriculture #farmer #lanceragriculturemachine #farming #farmingtools #farmingequipments #tip #farmingtips #lanceragrico #gujarat

1 note · View note

mobilerepairingcoursessimar · 9 months ago

Text

Water Damage Repair for Samsung Phones: What to Do After a Spill.

Accidents happen, and sometimes those accidents involve our beloved smartphones taking a dunk in water. If you've just dropped your Samsung phone in the toilet, sink, or even a puddle, don't panic! While water damage can be serious, there are steps you can take to try and save your phone. In this blog, we'll guide you through the process of water damage repair for Samsung phones.

The mobile repair industry is booming, with a growing demand for skilled technicians. If you're interested in a rewarding career fixing devices like water-damaged phones, consider enrolling in a mobile repairing institute in Delhi like Hi-Tech Institute. Established in 2004, Hi-Tech Institute has trained over 3 lakh students in laptop and mobile repair, equipping them with the skills to succeed in this exciting field.

Now, let's get back to saving your Samsung phone! Here are 8 steps to follow:

1. Act Quickly: Time is of the Essence

The longer your Samsung phone stays submerged in water, the more likely it is to suffer permanent damage. The first thing you need to do is remove the phone from the liquid as quickly and safely as possible. Every second counts!

2. Power Down Immediately

With the phone out of the water, don't waste any time trying to power it on. Even if the screen seems to be working, water can cause electrical shorts that could damage internal components. Press and hold the power button until the phone turns off completely.

3. Remove the Case and Any External Accessories

A phone case can trap water against the phone's body, so take it off immediately. Remove any other external accessories like headphones or a screen protector as well.

4. Dry the Phone Thoroughly

Use a clean, lint-free cloth to gently dab the exterior of the phone to remove any excess water. Don't rub, as this could force water further into the phone. Pay close attention to areas where water can easily enter, such as the charging port, headphone jack, and speaker grills.

5. Resist the Urge to Use Harsh Drying Methods

Here's a crucial point: avoid using harsh methods to dry your phone. Don't put it in the microwave, under a heat lamp, or in direct sunlight. These methods can warp the phone's delicate components. Don't use a hairdryer either, as the hot air can force water deeper into the phone.

6. Use Desiccants for Deep Drying

For a more effective drying method, consider using desiccants. These are moisture-absorbing packets that often come with new shoes or electronics. If you don't have any desiccants on hand, uncooked rice can be a decent alternative. However, silica gel packets are more efficient. Place your phone in a sealed container filled with desiccants and leave it there for at least 24 hours, preferably 48 hours.

7. Be Patient: Allow for Ample Drying Time

Even after removing visible moisture, there might still be water trapped inside the phone. Resist the urge to turn it on too soon. Patience is key! Let the phone sit in the desiccant container for at least the recommended time to allow for thorough drying.

8. Seek Professional Help if Necessary

If your phone still doesn't turn on after following these steps, or if you're uncomfortable performing any of these procedures yourself, it's best to seek professional help. Take your Samsung phone to an authorized Samsung service center or a reputable phone repair shop. They will have the tools and expertise to diagnose the water damage and attempt to repair your phone.

Thinking About a Career in Mobile Repair?

The mobile repair industry is projected to continue growing rapidly in the coming years. With the increasing number of smartphones in use, the demand for skilled technicians who can fix water-damaged devices and other problems is high. If you're interested in a rewarding career in this field, consider enrolling in a mobile repairing course in Delhi offered by a reputable institute like Hi-Tech Institute.

Hi-Tech Institute's mobile repair courses equip students with the knowledge and skills needed to diagnose and repair a wide range of smartphone issues, including water damage. Their experienced instructors provide hands-on training using industry-standard tools and equipment. Upon successful completion of the course, you'll be prepared to enter the workforce and potentially earn a competitive salary of Rs. 40,000 to Rs. 50,000 per month.

So, if you're looking for a challenging and rewarding career path, consider exploring the world of mobile repair. With the right training and skills, you can help people like yourself recover from unfortunate spills and keep their beloved Samsung phones functioning properly.

#Water Damage Mobile Repair #mobile repair #mobile repairing #mobile repairinrg course #mobile repairing institute in delhi

0 notes

warrenbenedetto · 10 months ago

Text

"Many Deaths Before Dying" accepted into the Horror Over the Handlebars anthology

My coming-of-age horror story Many Deaths Before Dying has been accepted into the Horror Over the Handlebars anthology. When a giant, silvery puddle appears in the field where they play, four boys encounter an inexplicable horror that will change them forever. The empty lot next to Eddie’s house was the football field where Joe Montana threw the game-winning touchdown to Jerry Rice. It was the…

View On WordPress

#acceptance

0 notes

gunelle · 1 year ago

Text

@stephenwilkes

1-. The Friendship Bridge at Thakhek links Laos to Thailand, a fellow Buddhist Nation. The bridge opened in 2011, and is one of four Thai-Lao friendship bridges build over the Mekong River since 1994

2-. A mother elephant watches over her young calf as they make their way to a nearby watering hole in the Serengeti

3-. A young girl explores what appeared from afar to be nothing more than a shallow puddle. Yellowstone National Park

4-. A hiker takes in the incredible views that the Gran Canyon has to offer. This natural wonder holds over 1 billion years of rock

5-. Craters left by the US air strikes during the Vietnam War pepper the elegant landscape of Phonsavanh, Laos. The bombings left pock rice fields like this one in Xiangkhouang Province with craters

6-. Seen here is a lightning strike at the South Rim. Grand Canyon

7-. Stupa on Laos

8-. The beautiful mountains of Northeastern Laos

#photography #paisajes #world

0 notes

ksagrotechpvtltd · 2 years ago

Text

DSR(Direct Seeded Rice) from KS AGROTECH PVT.LTD. is used for planting seeds of Rice direct in the fields without any preparation or wet field and it also maintains plant-to-plant spacing in a row. saves a lot of time and men power. Rice can be directly seeded either through dry or wet (peregrinated) seeding. Dry seeding of rice can be done by drilling the seed into a fine seedbed at a depth of 2-3 centimeters. Wet seeding requires leveled fields to be harrowed and then flooded (Puddling). The field is left for 12-24 hours after Puddling, then germinated seeds (48-72 hours) are sown using a drum seeder. Seed can be broadcast for either dry or wet seeding,

#DSR #direct seeded rice #Seeding machine

0 notes

tourdion · 5 months ago

Text

hot tubs, rain, rice fields, oceans, canals, toilets, paddling pools, bidets, muddy puddles, mop buckets, foot baths, fountains, underwater springs, water pistols and more... lots at play here. much to consider.

44 notes · View notes

fionaostby · 7 years ago

Photo

Walkin’ to school with Mom and her weird shoulderpads

#comics #comic #illustration #lgbt #countryside #puddle #japan #1980s #f #t #artists on tumblr #digital art #watercolor #tree #rice field

14 notes · View notes

foxghost · 2 years ago

Text

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

A Bird’s Eye View of the Realm2

“Duan Ling! Duan Ling —!”

Riding on Wanlibenxiao, Wu Du charges all the way out of the capital of Jiangzhou. He stares at Duan Ling with an exasperated look on his face. On a side road just beyond the capital’s walls, Duan Ling turns his horse around unhurriedly beneath the star-studded night sky with a brilliant Silver River cutting through the background. Edged with starlight, Duan Ling smiles at Wu Du.

“Let’s go?” Duan Ling says.

“Let’s go? Your emperor uncle is going to skin your lord and master!” Wu Du’s not sure if he should laugh or cry.

Duan Ling heaves a sigh and nods with a frown, ready to head back to the city with Wu Du. But seeing him like this, Wu Du just can’t bear to make him go back to the palace. It’s almost like if he could wipe that frown off Duan Ling’s face, it’s worth getting himself skinned.

“Come on then … Where’d you want to go?” Wu Du says, “Come on over here.”

Duan Ling’s frown disappears, turning into a smile. “Seriously?”

“Where to?” Wu Du asks. “The sun’s going to come up soon. What could be so important that you couldn’t forget it by the time you wake up again anyway?”

“To the ends of the earth,” Duan Ling says, slowly approaching Wu Du on horseback.

Wu Du shoots a glance at Duan Ling. “Let’s go then. I’ll let you go wherever you want, even to the ends of the earth.”

Duan Ling puts his foot into Wu Du’s stirrup, and with a swing of his leg over Benxiao’s back, he’s sitting in front of Wu Du. Now that they’re sharing a horse, Wu Du shakes the reins and shouts, “Gup!”

Benxiao runs on four hooves as though stepping on clouds, onto a Jiangzhou highway swirling with mist, kicking up a great trail of dust. The humidity of morning mist brushes them by, and the stars of the Silver River above gradually fade away until they all vanish in a flash of morning sunlight. A red sun surges above the horizon at the end of the Yangtze, bestowing this world new life.

“Whatever happened last night?” Wu Du whispers, putting his arms around Duan Ling so that he’s encircled, and protected.

“Last night’s stars and last night’s wind, west of the painted tower east of the hall …” Duan Ling recites smilingly.3

“We lack a butterfly’s wings and thus cannot fly as one, but my heart and yours will sing as one —” Wu Du follows by reciting the next line.

“We play pass the hook and drink warm spring wine, the shell game is fun and the candles are especially red …”

His memories gradually take him back to a time in the Illustrious Hall, and the voices of children reciting poetry join him in unison.

“Ah, I hear the nightwatchman’s clapper signalling roll-call — I spur my horse onwards but my heart only spins in place.”

Curled up in Wu Du’s arms, Duan Ling slowly nods off. Upon exiting the Jiangzhou highway, the ponds to the left and right of the road are blanketed with the remnants of lotus leaves. The morning breeze sends a ripple through the water, its crystalline lines reflecting the boundless blue sky.

Wu Du brings him all the way north, fording the Yangtze, turning into a gust of wind as they gallop past golden rice paddies, past the wide open prairies with the returning geese flying overhead, through puddles big and small left behind by the autumn rain, kicking up the fresh scent of the earth as they continue north. The mountains and clouds above them and the fields and forests they travel past are no longer black and white like an ink-brush painting but have gradually filled in with colour.

This sky, this earth, they seem to become a fast-moving painted scroll, multicoloured, fresh and elegant. Duan Ling slowly wakes from his sleep, and he looks up from Wu Du’s embrace to feel as though he’s travelled from early spring to midsummer, then through the cries of cicada and lush greenery, into gold-foiled late autumn.

Spring weeds grow lush in a land now vanquished; summer palace ruins lie buried beneath mounds of dirt.4

“Is this where you wanted to go?”

“No.”

— Thus they cross the Southern Chen border and pass through Runan.

The geese fly south but no letter came; the bamboo by the River Xiang is stained with tears.5

“How about here?”

“Not here either.”

— Thus they leave Luoyang without stopping to rest.

Finally, tracing the path he took north many years ago, Wu Du takes Duan Ling all the way to the outskirts of Shangjing. Whatever wounds that war had given this capital of Great Liao had healed long ago, and the biggest city in the north is also populated again.

The sun is beginning to set. Bells toll in the distant mountains, and the autumn wind rustling through the yellowing leaves already feels a bit chilly. A pale full moon hangs at the horizon, seemingly blending into the dark red sky. Wu Du stops halfway up a mountain, quietly watching Shangjing from above. Lights flicker in the city as every household hangs its lanterns.

It’s the fifteenth of the Eighth Month, the day of the Mid-Autumn festival. The Mongolians don’t celebrate this holiday; many years ago, the Han passed slips of paper in their mooncakes, and in the name of “resisting the barbarians” had risen up in rebellion, commencing a fierce battle beneath Mount Jiangjun.

Of course, the Mongolians don’t eat mooncakes, and they don’t celebrate this Han festival either, but the Khitans do. They say that at every Mid-Autumn Festival, Yelü Zongzhen’s seasonal palace in Zhongjing would be hung full of decorated lanterns so that he may reminisce fondly about old friends.

“Do you want to go take a look inside?” Wu Du crouches before the cliff’s edge in his white martial artist robes, looking into the distance like a white tiger in the night staring at the excitement and hubbub of the mortal world beneath the mountains.

They already came all the way so of course they ought to go inside and have a look around, but knowing Duan Ling as he does, Wu Du thinks sometimes all Duan Ling wants to do is to see it from a distance.

And as expected, Duan Ling says, “Never mind, let’s just leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Wu Du says, turning to Duan Ling with a smile.

Duan Ling suddenly finds the sight of Wu Du’s back extraordinarily reliable, so much so that he decides to throw himself on there, and sprawls over his back. Wu Du smiles, saying, “Let’s go home.”

A gush of warmth rises from Duan Ling’s heart unbidden. Carrying Duan Ling on his back, Wu Du looks around him before slowly approaching the city via a small footpath. Shangjing is no longer the strictly defended stronghold it used to be, and it’s no longer the most important city in the north either; when Wu Du gets to the city gates, he takes Duan Ling’s hand, and when Duan Ling tells the soldiers at the gates in Khitan that they’ve come to visit relatives, the soldiers don’t press him for more details before letting them through.

“It’s reunion night,” Duan Ling says, standing at the city gate, facing the city of Shangjing in the midst of a festival. On either side of the main street are maple trees with leaves as red as blood, and underneath the lanterns, the street is bustling. A bright moon sits on the horizon.

This is clearly the Shangjing he remembers, and it has never changed; he takes Wu Du’s big hand and crosses the main street with him, walking towards his home. When they pass by an apothecary, the two of them stop automatically.

“I’ve been here before,” Wu Du says.

“I’ve been before as well,” Duan Ling replies.

Wu Du picks up the apothecary’s door and shoves it aside. Duan Ling goes behind the counter and notices that the place has been in a state of disrepair for a long time already — the drawers that used to hold herbs and medicinal ingredients are lying all over the place, whatever used to be in them long gone. Duan Ling picks up a half stick of candle left on the counter and lights it. When he stands it back up on the counter, the room is immediately suffused in a warm glow, casting their shadows onto the window lattice.

“Let’s go out this way,” Duan Ling says, taking Wu Du out of the apothecary through the rear courtyard. Just before leaving, he takes a glance behind him. The entire apothecary looks to him like a giant magic lantern, reflecting all the mortal world’s joys and sorrows, its many partings and reunions.

After the calamity that befell this city, people haven’t moved back in to fill all of its houses yet. Duan Ling walks through the alley that leads to his house and pushes open the two redwood doors that have almost rotted off their hinges to find the courtyard covered in lichen. A water bowl sits on the table still, left behind by Cai Yan just before they departed. It’s filled by half with rainwater.

I’m not a very good cook. I don’t have Zheng Yan’s skills. Someday when you taste better food than this you won’t think much about this table full of food, but for now you’ll have to make do.

It feels like Lang Junxia is still busying himself in the kitchen. Duan Ling sticks his head in for a look and asks smilingly, “Lang Junxia, where’s my dad?”

Lang Junxia looks up, glances at Duan Ling, and replies, “Your dad should be here by the time the peach blossoms bloom.”

Duan Ling turns around and walks into the courtyard. Wu Du is lying on a lounger Li Jianhong once used. He says to Duan Ling, “Come over here and look at the moon.”

And so Duan Ling goes to Wu Du and leans back against him. They lie there without a word.

“Mud all over your hands, and you wipe them all over your dad’s face.” Li Jianhong says, smiling at Duan Ling as he passes through the gallery.

Duan Ling thus quickly gets back on his feet, but all he hears is a gust of wind moving through the gallery, setting the rusted wind chines clanging.

Wu Du asks, “Are you hungry yet?”

“I’m hungry,” Duan Ling says. “Let’s have a walk around. I remember a shaobing place around here that was pretty tasty.”

Wu Du puts away his sword and leaves the house with Duan Ling. When they get to the main street, Duan Ling walks along the city wall. As they cross the river in the middle of the city, Wu Du can’t help but keep staring at the water. Duan Ling knows he’s remembering how he’d had to jump into the frozen river years ago, and teases him about it.

Soon, Wu Du picks up Duan Ling and leaps onto the roof. Stepping along the roof tiles, he jumps from roof to roof for an entire street, then he lands and buys them two pieces of shaobing, two catty of beef, and four taels of wine. Holding all that with one hand, he leaps onto the roof again and heads down to another street.

As they arrive at the Illustrious Hall, Duan Ling is surprised to find that the place has been renovated, and school is in session again. Right now though, the children have already gone home for the holidays. The gatekeeper is someone new as well; an old man, tipsy from drink, who left rather early.

“I’ve been to this stable,” Wu Du says as they walk in through the back door.

Duan Ling is chewing on a shaobing, and upon hearing this he almost spits it out. “You also crashed through the roof of the main hall.”

Wu Du laughs so hard that he doubles over. He grabs Duan Ling and takes a running leap onto the roof. The two of them lie down on the roof, and facing the bright harvest moon at the horizon, they drink and gaze at the moon.

“Milord,” Duan Ling says.

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, drinking his wine. “The moon is particularly round in the north. I’ll take you to Shangzi next year.”

“Sure. There are still lots of tall mountains and great rivers still, and I want to see them all.”

“There’s plenty of time. Did you leave a message for your uncle?”

This concerns Wu Du’s skin after all. Duan Ling smiles as he says, “I left one when I left the palace that day.”

They look up at the sky, and as the moon rises to its zenith, there is a sudden squeak from the back gates as someone pushes them open. The sound is followed by a familiar voice.

“I never thought I’d run into you here,” Batu says.

“Jiangzhou … couldn’t go there,” Helian Bo says as he waves his sabre around fancily. “So I thought I’d … keep His Majesty … company. Have a walk … around.”

“Let’s call a temporary truce on my account,” says Yelü Zongzhen’s voice. “Borjigin, it’s not like you can come all this way here all the time, and you don’t have many guards with you either. Starting a fight inside the city won’t do you any good.”

Batu turns his nose up at the idea. “If you people hadn’t ambushed me I wasn’t planning to show my face anyway.”

“This trip is a trip down memory lane, so let’s just say we’re having a reunion dinner. See? We were meant to see each other again,” says Yelü Zongzhen. “Get someone to bring us a couple of catty of wine, and we’ll drink it here. We will raise our cups to Duan Ling in the far south — the moon is full and our table is full, and no matter the distance, we’re looking at the same moon.”

Duan Ling stares at them without a word.

Wu Du takes one look at Duan Ling, and as he’s just about to jump down there, Duan Ling grabs him and puts a finger in front of his lips, letting him know that he shouldn’t act without thinking. Then, while Yelü Zongzhen’s guards go around to secure the Illustrious Hall, Wu Du picks Duan Ling up sideways and walks to the end of the flying eaves like a great big cat. The two of them conceal themselves in the shadows of the next building over, quietly watching those in the courtyard as they gaze at the moon and drink their wine.

Helian Bo, Yelu Zongzhen and Borjigin Batu drink to each other beneath the moon, while Duan Ling and Wu Du sit still against each other on the roof. Time passes, and the silver disc moves across the sky, shining its bright light into the world. Three rounds of drinks later, Batu suddenly starts singing a bold, heroic tune.

His voice is forceful and unruly, startling the crows that have been sitting still on this moonlit night so that they fly off towards the horizon. Helian Bo and Yelü Zongzhen beat their cups with chopsticks, making a rhythmic clanging.

It’s a Mongolian pastoral song, and Duan Ling can understand the lyrics; with a full moon above the prairies, the wind blows through a sea of grass, sending waves in every direction, and yearning, like south-flying geese, has returned again.

Batu lets out a long sigh at the end of the song, but then they hear a flute start to play. It comes from above them, faint and barely there, lingering from the rafters to the horizon. All three are startled by the sound and look up together. All they can see is a young man’s pitch-black silhouette against a bright, clear moon, sharp like a paper cutout, while another man stands on the flying eaves protectively at his side.

The guards make to step up, but Yelü Zongzhen raises a hand to stop them. Slowly, Batu stands incredulously and walks to the centre of the courtyard to look up at that silhouette.

Duan Ling’s flute playing is melodic and bright, and through the years he has spent with Wu Du, he has finally learned how to play this song. It may be a bit shaky, but the music is more or less piercing with a wintry air.

Compared to Wu Du’s way of turning his tempered, steel-like strength, into the softness of a feather touch, Duan Ling plays with a lot of power, and the song inevitably takes on a strong resonating tone. The music sounds like a farewell, and it also sounds like regret; and finally, beneath the moon, it fades away until it can no longer be heard.

“Duan Ling?” Batu says, his voice trembling.

Wu Du becomes a black shadow, and with Duan Ling in his arms, he leaps from one uneven rooftop to another, leaving Shangjing behind. They get on Wanlibenxiao and gallop away from the city.

Just before he leaves, Duan Ling looks up at the bright, clear harvest moon above.

“Let’s go home!” Duan Ling says.

“Let’s go home. Gup!” Wu Du urges Wanlibenxiao on and takes Duan Ling away from there as though riding on the wind, looking down at ten thousand miles of the realm.

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

The title is from a poem by Xin Qiji, and like many of Xin Qiji’s poems, may sound like it’s about yearning for someone while being a poem that yearns for a lost homeland, as it was written during the Southern Song dynasty. The whole line that the title came from would read: I wish to ride on the wind and get a bird’s eye view of the realm. ↩︎

A poem by the Tang dynasty poet Li Shangyin. The second line that Wu Du recites is so famous that it’s essentially an idiom. ↩︎

This poem opened chapter 1. ↩︎

Another poem by Li Shangyin. This one is about yearning for someone far away. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things #LAST UPDATE #!!!!!

38 notes · View notes

monthofsick · 2 years ago

Text

Away from Home

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 5: Away from home

OCs: Corey, Jesse

Out of all the stories for Nov(emeto)ber I’ve written so far, this is probably the most innocent and cutesy one. Still, it was the one that gave me a nightmare. Being sick is so much worse when you’re not at home and it’s such a relatable scenario many of us have been through. Maybe it’s a bit more tolerable with some love and care.

TW: Vomit

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

Corey didn’t know he was into guys before he met Jesse. When Jesse joined the high school‘s track and field club, the two boys quickly bonded over their shared passion for sports. Jesse was energetic and lively, a bit childish and mischievous. He cracked the dumbest of jokes, but still made everyone join in with his contagious laugh. He had big blue eyes and soft brown hair.

He was the cutest thing Corey had ever seen.

When the entire club participated in a national meet, Corey was beyond excited – not only because of the competition. There was free choice of room, so even though Jesse was a grade below him, they ended up sharing a bunk bed. In accordance with school hierarchy, Corey as the senior had the privilege to pick top or bottom. Of course he claimed the top bunk. Not only was it less claustrophobic, it also provided him with the opportunity to observe Jesse in his sleep. Which was admittedly super creepy, but Corey just couldn‘t resist temptation.

They arrived on the evening before the meet. After the long bus drive, Corey felt a strange combination of tension and exhaustion. Everyone was treated to a light, yet rather plain dinner of chicken and rice. Jesse hung out with three of his classmates during mealtime. It was the usual combination of affectionate insults, jokes and quarrels. Corey knew he had no right to be jealous, but it was a bit of a let down. He hoped the juniors wouldn’t stick to themselves all the time.

After the plates were cleared, the young athletes went to bed early. The first events would start in the morning and they wanted to be in top form. Jesse and his friends messed around for a while until the morning larks who tried to fall asleep gave them dirty eyes. Finally, Jesse took off his sweat pants and crawled into his bed below Corey’s.

„Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the crab lice bite“, Jesse chuckled and curled himself up under the blanket. He looked younger with his eyes closed. It was a rare occasion to see him in such a tranquil state.

„You’re disgusting.“ Corey couldn’t suppress a smile, which soon turned into a yawn. „Sleep well and don’t snore or it’s underwear to the face.“

Drained from their hours on the road and a busy school week, Corey was fast asleep.

It was still dark when Corey woke up disoriented and confused. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t at home in his own bed. Then he became aware of the breaths and snores around him, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of a room full of teenage boys. The meet, of course. Corey turned to the other side and was ready to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, there was the sound of water splashing on the floor. That was weird. Why would someone pour his drink on the laminate? It was only when Corey heard a muffled retch, followed by the patter of more liquid hitting a hard surface, that he understood someone was vomiting. He pushed himself up and peered over the rail.

Right below him, Jesse had bent over the side of his bed. His shoulders hitched as he was shaken by another heave. With his eyes adapting to the darkness, Corey could vaguely see a puddle spreading under Jesse’s face. Immediately, Corey was wide awake. He climbed out of the top bunk as quietly as possible.

„Hey“, he announced himself before he knelt down and put his hand on Jesse’s back. „What’s wrong with you?“

„I… I don’t know.“ Jesse looked up, teary-eyed. „I woke up and felt sick. I wanted to go to the restroom, but I didn’t make it.“

„You didn’t get very far.“ Corey took a brief look at the mess Jesse had spewed on the floor next to their bed. At least he hadn’t spoiled the mattress and what had come up had been mostly liquid, except for a splodge of grainy mush in the center. „Shall we give it another try?“

„Yeah… I think I got the first course out.“ With a wry smile, Jesse scrambled out of bed, stepped over his own puke and headed towards the door on wobbly legs. Just to be safe, Corey put an arm around his waist and supported him on the way out of their room and across the gloomy corridor. The shared bathroom was equally bleak, mostly covered in small, off-white tiles. Not exactly inviting. They headed towards one of the toilet stalls and closed the door behind them.

Jesse lifted the toilet lid and skeptically eyed the floor. It looked clean, but sitting down in a public restroom wasn’t necessarily enticing. A stomach cramp took the decision from him – he grimaced in pain, clutched his middle and curled up into a squatting position. All off a sudden, Corey felt baffled and unsettled. They barely knew each other. Maybe Jesse wasn’t even comfortable with his presence.

„Hey… shall I wake up one of your friends?“, Corey asked. Jesse shook his head vigorously.

„They’re just gonna laugh their asses off if I gotta hurl.“

„Do you want me to stay, then?“ Corey’s heart leapt into his throat. He had never wanted to protect and comfort someone so badly, but he knew he couldn’t force it on Jesse. The younger boy remained completely still for a few seconds, then he nodded slightly. With a quiet sigh of relief, Corey knelt down next to Jesse and put an arm around his shoulders. The slender body shivered under his touch.

For a few minutes, they just sat in silence. Jesse tensed up more and more, than began to rock back and forth. His breathing became erratic. It was easy to tell that his nausea was spiraling out of control.

„Think you’re gonna be sick again?“, Corey asked as Jesse made no move to get closer to the toilet.

„I really don’t want to.“ When Jesse lifted his head, he looked much worse than before. His skin was greenish pale and his lower lip trembled slightly. He was fighting hard to hold back tears, but his eyes were already watering.

„Maybe you should just let it happen. You might feel better once you got it all out. It has worked before, after you woke up, right?“

„But… it’s just…“ Jesse couldn’t suppress a sob. „I feel so bad and… and… I really wanna go home.“

„Hey, it’s alright.“ Corey hugged the younger boy and gently stroked his back. „I know it sucks when you get sick at a strange place. But you’re gonna be okay. It will be over before you know it and then you can sleep through the rest of the night.“

Jesse pressed his face against Corey’s chest. The fabric of his shirt became wet with tears. It was heartwrenching to see Jesse so deeply distressed. The weeping seemed to aggravate his nausea even more and soon turned into violent retches.

„Easy, easy there“, Corey tried to calm him down. „You gotta breathe, you’re making yourself sick.“

Jesse’s body convulsed with a harsh heave and for a moment, Corey was sure that the boy in his arms would cover both of their fronts in a surge of vomit. Gladly, the only thing that came out was a wet belch from the agitated depths of Jesse’s stomach. Still, it couldn’t be long until the dam would burst. Corey rapidly dragged Jesse over the porcelain bowl. The pungent smell of cheap toilet cleaner instantly caused him to gag again.

„Don’t fight it, I promise, you’re gonna be okay.“ Corey still hugged Jesse from behind, hoping to give him some comfort while also keeping him in place. Jesse’s body was shaken by retches and sobs. Then he lurched forward with a guttural gargle that finally brought up a thick stream of puke, plopping heavily into the toilet. „Here it comes. Yeah, that’s it, let it all out.“

Almost immediately, a second gush shot out of Jesse‘s mouth, much more forceful than the first one. It left him panting and spluttering, then snorting as he tried to get out the lumps that had been stuck in his nose. Long strands of snot and vomit clung to his face as he hung over the bowl with gaping mouth and eyes.

„Keep going, you’ll feel so much better once you got it all up.“ Corey rubbed Jesse’s back in circles as the younger boy hunched over, stomach muscles clenching repeatedly. His entire body tensed as he tediously expelled a sludgy mass of rice and chicken bits. The grains were mostly intact, so what Jesse threw up didn’t look much different from their original dinner. He spat and gagged until the last lumps of undigested food had slipped over his lips.

The next two waves came out easier, looking more like a murky smoothie instead of actual food. When Jesse gasped for air and relaxed a little, Corey hoped the bout was finally over. An ominous burble from Jesse’s belly proved him wrong.

„I just want to go home“, Jesse whimpered again, clearly approaching a breaking point. Corey held him closer, putting an arm around his chest to support his exhausted, shuddering body. With his free hand, he flushed the toilet so Jesse wouldn’t have to stare at his upchucked meal.

„I’m here, okay? I know you want your own bed and your own bathroom and your own toilet and I can’t take you there, but I promise I won’t leave you alone.“

„I feel so fucking sick, I want this to stop.“ Tears were running down Jesse’s pallid cheeks. Corey had never seen him like this, couldn’t have even imagined it. Jesse always had this radiant smile, big bright eyes and a laugh that lit up every room. Now he was tired and desperate and helplessly homesick.

„It will stop, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.“ Corey knew perfectly well that he couldn’t do much except trying his best to help Jesse through the unpleasant procedure. His body would get rid of what was bothering him on its own. Saliva dripped lazily from Jesse‘s lower lip and his core muscles chlenched again. It seemed like he was in for another round. „Just let it happen, I got you.“

„No, I don’t want to-huuuuaaarrrrggh!“ Jesse was cut off by a gag that sent him towards the bowl. His chest heaved against Corey’s palm with a sickening jolt. Several retches shook his small frame until an explosive burp released another cascade of puke. It splattered into the bowl, staining it with watery mush and morsels of rice.

„Yeah, get it out, you’re doing so good.“

Jesse winced, gagged, but this time he vomited mostly bile. He brought up less and less liquid before his heaves became unproductive and then, at last, stopped. Still sobbing, Jesse sank into Corey’s arms.

„See? You did it.“ Corey tore off toilet paper and carefully wiped Jesse’s mouth and chin. He let him blow his nose and discarded the stained sheets in the bowl to flush them down with the rest of the mess. Then he pulled Jesse into a tight embrace, just holding him until he was all cried out. When Jesse‘s breath became steady again, Corey gently lifted his head and brushed away the tears. „Feeling a little better?“

„Mhm.“ Jesse nodded faintly, but he couldn’t look Corey in the eyes. Now that he had calmed down and the nausea had subsided, the shame kicked in with full force. „Sorry for freaking out and barfing and stuff.“

„Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you back to bed, you look like you need some rest.“ Corey helped Jesse get on his feet and led him to one of the sinks. While Jesse washed his face and rinsed his mouth, Corey grabbed a stack of paper towels and removed the garbage bag from one of the waste cans. He probably wouldn’t be able to perfectly clean up the vomit spill next to their bed – let alone get rid of the stench –, but it was better than leaving the nasty accident for everyone to see and make fun of.

With Corey’s arm around Jesse’s shoulder, they trotted back through the deserted hallway. Waking up sick in the middle of the night wasn’t fun, but at least it had granted them some privacy. Quietly, they snuck back into their room and Jesse climbed into his bed where Corey tucked him in. With the blanket pulled up to his chin, his long lashes casting dark shadows on his pale cheeks, Jesse looked incredibly vulnerable. Corey stroked his head softly.

„I’ll place the trash bin next to your bed, just in case“, Corey whispered. „Wake me up if you need to be sick again. I don’t want you to go through this alone.“

„Okay“, Jesse mumbled, half asleep. „Thanks, man.“

„It’s okay.“ Corey let his fingers run over Jesse’s hair one more time before he got him the emergency bucket. Then he dedicated himself to the challenging task of wiping up a pool of puke without waking up anyone in the room. The only way was to work slowly and carefully, but that took time. Something told Corey that he wouldn’t be in peak physical condition at tomorrow’s meet.

For the first time in his life, he couldn’t have cared less.

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

Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

tumblr: birdnamedenza

#submission #tw vomit #tw emeto #prompt: away from home #2022 day5 #nov(emeto)ber 2022 #novemetober 2022 #fandom: original characters #birdnamedenza #THIS IS MY KINDA FIC YESSSSS #getting more obsessed with your writing by the day op i'm not kidding #this is so freaking sweet and adorable

22 notes · View notes