#The Plough

[the-wolf-and-moon]

The Great Plough

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Le grand chariot (Philippe Garrel, 2023)

[wild-e-eep]

Last night's auroras - mostly columns of light, but I did see one sinuous serpent glide over.

[bellaroles]

I think I made the list before but I can't find it. So I made a new one since I just finished reading Beidou/the Plough

Meng Xi Shi's books signature

The Slow Burn romance is really slow but I love every single little bits of relationship development in every ship so far. Also the payoff is so good! I also love the banter in every one of her books. Very satisfying to read!

Tsundere shou! ( Not always but I think Shen Qiao, Tang Fan, Cui Buqu are these types and also Ling Shu to a certain degree) Though they're under the same category, they're portrayed as very different in personalities and I can't get enough of them. Their respective gong are also very unique and cunning in their own way when it comes to making the shou admit their feelings!

Cross dressings! Hilarity ensues!

Solving mysteries! be it crime investigation, treasure hunting, political machinations, unmasking evil cult or even ruining evil cultivators plan to rule the world etc.

Strong women side characters. Also if they're among the very beautiful then they usually are either evil and end up dead or they find a way out of their predicament on their own.

Spoiler alert: the betrayal! We need at least one scene of either true betrayal (looking at you, Yan Wushi!) or it was just an act (Peerless, the Plough) or qi deviation (Shen Shang)

The last few chapters at least one or both of the main characters fight to the brink of death and yeah their love for each other is reaffirmed because of this but...that's not the true ending though! Go read that in the extras!

I've read 5 series of hers so far and I like them all very much.

Thousand Autumns

14th year of Chenghua

Peerless

Estranged

The Plough

Have Bu Tian Gang on my shelf already. Might start on that next, or All under heaven.

[abwatt]

Sun in Taurus I (19-29 April)

The Sun enters Taurus I on April 19, 20242 at 10:00 am EDT, and stays until April 29 at 4:29 pm EDT. Austin Coppock called this decan The Plough, which makes a nice contrast with the Greek goddess whom the Alexandrians honored at this time of year, Charis the bathing attendant of Aphrodite and the first of the Three Graces. T. Susan Chang called it Sacred Doubt as she showed its connections to…

[dopescissorscashwagon]

A moonlit Bigsweir Bridge, Wye Valley with Ursa Major ( The Plough) rising in its Winter orientation

📸 Tim Scanlan Photography

[apoemaday]

Oh Stay at Home, My Lad, and Plough

by A.E. Housman

Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough The land and not the sea, And leave the soldiers at their drill, And all about the idle hill Shepherd your sheep with me. Oh stay with company and mirth And daylight and the air; Too full already is the grave Of fellows that were good and brave And died because they were.

[dunmeshistash]

is there any additional information on the spell cithis casts on laios in ch 73 that makes him confess the party's intentions? kabru describes it as illusion magic, and we know that's her specialty, but i've always wondered what the actual effect was since illusion doesn't seem like it'd necessarily lead to compulsion

i usually imagine that it makes them believe that thousands of years have passed and that their plan is no longer viable/worth keeping secret, but i think that's just based on cithis saying "do you feel like talking now?" as if time has gone by

I thought it was just mind control

She does say emphasize "wait" here

But here it looks more like mind control tho, idk if time would make Mithrun do things.

Perhaps she used illusions on them because it was the easiest (most cruel?) way to get them to speak

Well at least they don't remember after

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

i knew both of these moments were coming but i was not expecting either of them to take place in, of all things, the acephobia episode

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Uncharismatic Fact of the Day

There's nothing to be scared of about the Australian ghostshark-- it's neither a shark, nor a ghost! Known in Maori as makorepe, this species is actually a chimera; a cartilaginous fish related to sharks, rays, and skates. It's other common English name, the elephant fish, accurately describes the long snouts which they use to search for food along the ocean floor.

(Image: An Australian ghostfish (Callorhinchus milii) by Fir0002/Flagstaffotos via Wikimedia)

[sprnklersplashes]

I think it says a lot about kaz brekker as a character that when he was nine years old he watched his father get crushed underneath a plough forcin ghim to leave his home and move to another city and it's only like the third most traumatising thing to happen to him

maybe not even because that boy went through some shit in those books

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Le grand chariot (Philippe Garrel, 2023)

[hardly-an-escape]

hello. in honor of Armistice Day, have a snippet of The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough, which I swear I am still plugging away at. in this human AU, Hob and Dream are both British soldiers serving in France during the Great War. Hob is a corporal (the lowest-ranked non-commissioned officer) and Morpheus is his captain and commanding officer.

September, 1918. Second Battle of the Somme.

Hob’s recollection of the bomb was blessedly fractured.

He remembered crouching next to Morpheus against the dirt wall of a trench. He remembered rocks and clumps of sod raining down around them like a storm. He remembered a whistling sound, almost gentle, approaching from the sky like some strange bird. And then there was a silent flash, and he remembered nothing at all.

He awoke, some time later, in a white place that first appeared to be a cloud and then resolved into the relatively clean canvas walls and sheets of a field hospital. Hob was still for some moments, slowly coming to the realization that every inch of his body was in pain, except where he could not feel it at all.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. And then, desperately, “Morpheus.”

He tried to sit up. Struggled mightily with the bedclothes and his own limbs and then with the sturdy nurse who came hurrying over to push him back down to the cot.

“My friend,” he gasped, subsiding. “I mean. The captain. In the trench with me. Did he – is he –”

“He’s here,” the nurse said soothingly. “Both of you were brought in by the same ambulance.”

“How is he? Is he alright?”

“Such devotion!” she clucked. “He’s alive, if that’s what you mean, which is about all that can be said for either of you. Doctor says you’re both to be moved to an evacuation hospital this afternoon for surgery. And after that – you’re most likely for home, Corporal.”

Home, Hob thought as the nurse bustled away. Whatever that means.

The horse-drawn ambulance ride to the evacuation hospital was a haze of morphine and pain. Morpheus was on the stretcher next to him, at least; but he was pale, paler than Hob had ever seen him, and he neither opened his eyes nor responded to Hob’s voice.

Hob didn’t see him again for three days.

The evacuation hospital was on the grounds of a mostly-destroyed manor house, and some of the recovery tents opened out onto the ruined remains of the formal gardens. They must have been a thing of beauty before the war, but now were nearly as ravaged as the Front itself; the lawns and flower beds were dry and hard, and the formerly ornamental hedges looked scorched and stunted. There was an autumnal chill in the air, though the afternoon sunshine was warm. An orderly wheeled Hob out to take some air, and there was Morpheus: lined up with the other wheelchairs, one heavily bandaged leg stuck straight out in front of him at an awkward angle.

The orderly parked Hob at the end of the line of invalids, next to Morpheus, and wandered away.

“Captain,” Hob said softly.

“Corporal,” Morpheus responded.

He looked awful; pallid and horridly thin. There were dark marks under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, such that Hob couldn’t tell what was bruising and what was the tightly-drawn result of pain and lack of sleep. The bones in his hands stood out starkly where they laid on the arms of his wheelchair. Even the timbre of his voice sounded somehow tighter, thinner.

Nobody was looking at them. Hob reached across the gap between them and ran one finger along the back of Morpheus’s hand. Morpheus flicked his eyes over to meet Hob’s. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly and Hob felt something tense inside him relax suddenly. Maybe it would be alright. Maybe they could come through this, as they’d come through everything else in the past year: together.

[bellaroles]

I’m back with my cross dressing fan art. Ling Shu in Qipao. The blue qipao that made Yue Dingtang be up in the clouds for a while! (Damn I just knew it he got this thing about Ling Shu in woman clothing for real lol)

Drawn from reference.

[abwatt]

Sun in Taurus I - Charis

The Sun enters Taurus I on 20 April 2023 at 4:14 am EDT — a part of the sky that Austin Coppock named The Plough, as a place strongly associated with the process of doing work now to enjoy delayed gratification later. T. Susan Chang recognizes this part of the sky as associated with the 4 of Disks — the management and control of wealth within and through the tools of urbanization and…