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baseballstockings2017-12-24 01:08 pm
kuramochi) wrote in baseballstockings2017-12-24 01:08 pm
Entry tags:
a gift for icie!
to: icie (aicqt)
from: mel (kuramochi)
fandom: daiya no ace
ship: miyuki kazuya & takashima rei
rating: T
content warnings: minor character death, smoking, implied violence, body horror-ish elements? it's a mushishi au, so.
notes: things got shuffled around a bit and it ended up like this, somehow. i've been sitting on this idea forever and i'm glad i finally got to finish it for you so i hope you like it!!
kazuya is roughly six years old when his mother vanishes into the balmy summer dusk. later, he will remember the slack angle of her mouth, her shadow lingering in a doorway she will never cross again, the way she does not speak. she does not turn when he calls out to her and his short, sturdy legs are no match for the way she seems to float toward the horizon, shrinking into the distance.
his father persists for three more years, drawn and tight about the eyes before he collapses, a strange, wild light shining from his face. he doesn't die but he doesn't wake, and the village elders stop ignoring the way kazuya's eyes follow things no one else can see.
rei takes one look at him and says, come with me.
the first time they meet, he is small and wild in grass-stained yukata, glasses askew and dirt on his face, old bruise on one cheek and a fresh scrape on the other. he's standing at the edge of his yard like a guard dog, house looming dark and quiet behind him. mushi surround him, a shimmering veil of light, saturating the ground, swarming over every surface of the house. she can tell from here, whatever's left of his father is beyond reach. the boy is strong.
why should i? he says, cloud of mushi buzzing around him, gathering shape from his anxiety, a great patchwork snake ready to strike.
because, she says, producing a cigarette from her sleeve, it's the only way you'll survive.
the mushi pull back from the first curl of smoke; the repellant is strong, inexorable. the snake wavers, then dissolves. the boy feels the weight lifting whether he realizes it or not, startled eyes flashing to rei's face like he's seeing her for the first time. she smiles.
come with me, she says. i'll teach you.
he dreams of coughing up petals, cold fire in his chest and creeping roots choking his lungs. he dreams of a blooming branch underwater, held down by the river current, white flowers soaked and glowing. he dreams of fire in the mountains, a ring of great grass-crowned shapes looming over him in the burning dark. he dreams of rooms filled with glass birds trembling on wires, the warning jangle still ringing in his ears as he struggles awake, limbs twisted in his blankets.
the campfire has burned down low, the glint of glasses in the moonlight the first sign that his teacher is still awake, mushi-repelling cigarette unlit in her hand.
is it always like this, he says, thinking about yesterday, about the chill of the water, translucent skin and the rain-heavy fall of hair. she smiles the way she did the first time he met her, gentle and slight, like she's sharing a secret, like she knows exactly what he's thinking.
you'll learn, she says, patting the empty space beside her, face tilted up to the velvet half moon sky. everything has its place in the world.
he shivers as he settles down next to her, feeds a branch into the fire to ward off the dream of ice lingering in his bones. everything?
yes, she says, touching her cigarette to an ember, the familiar incense scent of the smoke spreading, mushi drifting away from her like reluctant stars. you, me, mushi. we're all just trying to survive.
survival, he thinks, breathing in the scent of the fire and the smoke, the sting of autumn air. he feels heavy and warm, more anchored to himself than he has in years, watching paper lanterns float away on the tide, the voices of angry children in his ears. yes, he says. i can learn.
years pass and kazuya grows, fast like a weed in the sun, absorbing knowledge and craft with an insatiable thirst. he rockets upward in skill and height almost between breaths, suddenly towering over her on the road, their box of accoutrements strapped to his back, grown broad and strong. rei watches him with her hands folded into her sleeves, time and distance mapped out with milestones of his progress. another handspan in height and his first try at solving problems on his own in a village full of aching knees and the distant ringing of bells, face bright with determination.
be more gentle with them, she tells him later, stepping gracefully back into focus from her watchful post in the background, arms full of flowers.
his hands pause on the pestle, preparing poultices for tomorrow. the mushi?
no, she says, carefully sorting her blooms into categories. the villagers. kazuya may have felt more mushi than human by the time they met, caught in the space between and not quite fitting in either, but he'll have to learn this, too.
they don't understand, he says, objection milder than it would have been last winter, shallow footprints in the snow, the jut of his lip sharp enough to cut.
no, rei says, stripping the leaves from a flower, hands patient and sure. they don't, always. you have to teach them.
there's a pause and kazuya nods, the line of his mouth softening in thought.
he leaves on a spring afternoon, brand new box strapped across his back, drawers mostly empty and rattling to be filled. i'm ready, he'd told her last week and she'd smiled, like she'd been waiting for it. it's warm out, april sun high and clear, breeze gentle on his face. he left her on the veranda, long pipe in her hands, a parting gift. he doesn't need to look back to know that she's watching.
the road is quiet and brilliant with life, the soft chirp of crickets in the grass and the slow drift of familiar mushi in the trees, leaves fresh and green. his step is light, lighter than when he left home all those years ago, adrift and uncertain in her wake. he's not uncertain now, feet steady on the path and heart steady in his chest, sure of his place and his way forward.
aicqt)from: mel (
kuramochi)fandom: daiya no ace
ship: miyuki kazuya & takashima rei
rating: T
content warnings: minor character death, smoking, implied violence, body horror-ish elements? it's a mushishi au, so.
notes: things got shuffled around a bit and it ended up like this, somehow. i've been sitting on this idea forever and i'm glad i finally got to finish it for you so i hope you like it!!
kazuya is roughly six years old when his mother vanishes into the balmy summer dusk. later, he will remember the slack angle of her mouth, her shadow lingering in a doorway she will never cross again, the way she does not speak. she does not turn when he calls out to her and his short, sturdy legs are no match for the way she seems to float toward the horizon, shrinking into the distance.
his father persists for three more years, drawn and tight about the eyes before he collapses, a strange, wild light shining from his face. he doesn't die but he doesn't wake, and the village elders stop ignoring the way kazuya's eyes follow things no one else can see.
rei takes one look at him and says, come with me.
the first time they meet, he is small and wild in grass-stained yukata, glasses askew and dirt on his face, old bruise on one cheek and a fresh scrape on the other. he's standing at the edge of his yard like a guard dog, house looming dark and quiet behind him. mushi surround him, a shimmering veil of light, saturating the ground, swarming over every surface of the house. she can tell from here, whatever's left of his father is beyond reach. the boy is strong.
why should i? he says, cloud of mushi buzzing around him, gathering shape from his anxiety, a great patchwork snake ready to strike.
because, she says, producing a cigarette from her sleeve, it's the only way you'll survive.
the mushi pull back from the first curl of smoke; the repellant is strong, inexorable. the snake wavers, then dissolves. the boy feels the weight lifting whether he realizes it or not, startled eyes flashing to rei's face like he's seeing her for the first time. she smiles.
come with me, she says. i'll teach you.
he dreams of coughing up petals, cold fire in his chest and creeping roots choking his lungs. he dreams of a blooming branch underwater, held down by the river current, white flowers soaked and glowing. he dreams of fire in the mountains, a ring of great grass-crowned shapes looming over him in the burning dark. he dreams of rooms filled with glass birds trembling on wires, the warning jangle still ringing in his ears as he struggles awake, limbs twisted in his blankets.
the campfire has burned down low, the glint of glasses in the moonlight the first sign that his teacher is still awake, mushi-repelling cigarette unlit in her hand.
is it always like this, he says, thinking about yesterday, about the chill of the water, translucent skin and the rain-heavy fall of hair. she smiles the way she did the first time he met her, gentle and slight, like she's sharing a secret, like she knows exactly what he's thinking.
you'll learn, she says, patting the empty space beside her, face tilted up to the velvet half moon sky. everything has its place in the world.
he shivers as he settles down next to her, feeds a branch into the fire to ward off the dream of ice lingering in his bones. everything?
yes, she says, touching her cigarette to an ember, the familiar incense scent of the smoke spreading, mushi drifting away from her like reluctant stars. you, me, mushi. we're all just trying to survive.
survival, he thinks, breathing in the scent of the fire and the smoke, the sting of autumn air. he feels heavy and warm, more anchored to himself than he has in years, watching paper lanterns float away on the tide, the voices of angry children in his ears. yes, he says. i can learn.
years pass and kazuya grows, fast like a weed in the sun, absorbing knowledge and craft with an insatiable thirst. he rockets upward in skill and height almost between breaths, suddenly towering over her on the road, their box of accoutrements strapped to his back, grown broad and strong. rei watches him with her hands folded into her sleeves, time and distance mapped out with milestones of his progress. another handspan in height and his first try at solving problems on his own in a village full of aching knees and the distant ringing of bells, face bright with determination.
be more gentle with them, she tells him later, stepping gracefully back into focus from her watchful post in the background, arms full of flowers.
his hands pause on the pestle, preparing poultices for tomorrow. the mushi?
no, she says, carefully sorting her blooms into categories. the villagers. kazuya may have felt more mushi than human by the time they met, caught in the space between and not quite fitting in either, but he'll have to learn this, too.
they don't understand, he says, objection milder than it would have been last winter, shallow footprints in the snow, the jut of his lip sharp enough to cut.
no, rei says, stripping the leaves from a flower, hands patient and sure. they don't, always. you have to teach them.
there's a pause and kazuya nods, the line of his mouth softening in thought.
he leaves on a spring afternoon, brand new box strapped across his back, drawers mostly empty and rattling to be filled. i'm ready, he'd told her last week and she'd smiled, like she'd been waiting for it. it's warm out, april sun high and clear, breeze gentle on his face. he left her on the veranda, long pipe in her hands, a parting gift. he doesn't need to look back to know that she's watching.
the road is quiet and brilliant with life, the soft chirp of crickets in the grass and the slow drift of familiar mushi in the trees, leaves fresh and green. his step is light, lighter than when he left home all those years ago, adrift and uncertain in her wake. he's not uncertain now, feet steady on the path and heart steady in his chest, sure of his place and his way forward.
no subject
shoves it in my mouth.
this is good.
thank you so much.
no subject
now... posted from the correct account lmao sobs
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