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bellemorte180 · 4 years

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The Halfway Point

There is no time limit on grief; but sometimes the words from an old friend make it slightly more bearable.

The Halfway Point

The halfway point. She didn’t realize she picked it until after she was already on the road. The only thing she could process in her mind was the burning of her mother’s letter, Liz’s final words to Caroline; and never getting to really say goodbye. It ripped and clawed at Caroline’s insides to the point that she just couldn’t stand looking at the town her mother loved so much.

She needed to run.

Call it cowardly or weak but Caroline could no longer bask in her mother’s presence after everything she had done. She needed to get away and for the first time, no one seemed to question her. No one seemed to want to stop her from leaving. Perhaps it was because it was temporary. She would be back; in a day, a week or even a month but she would turn her car back around and drive back to Mystic Falls. Maybe she would make Jo and Alaric’s wedding, maybe she wouldn’t.

For the first time in a long while, Caroline was going to be selfish. So, she drove past the sign heading out of Mystic Falls. She drove down the highway heading south, and it wasn’t until four hours in that she picked up her phone and set a message to a number she never used.

[Caroline 8:32 pm]: Atlanta, Georgia [Emergencies Only 8:33 pm]: When? [Caroline 8:33 pm]: 4 hours [Emergencies Only 8:34 pm]: I’ll be there

Perhaps she should have turned to Stefan. He was still her best friend and he did walk he through everything with her mother and turning off her humanity; he was even there after he switched his back on. But she ruined everything. She forced him to turn off and they did horrible to each other and to their friends. They had sex. Whatever the status of their friendship was, it was irrevocably changed, and Caroline was not in the mindset to deal with that; not yet.

She passed Georgia’s Stateline a little after midnight. She did not stop, not once. She kept going until she was within Atlanta’s city limits. She stopped her car a few blocks down from the SkyView Ferris Wheel. When she was a little girl, her father had always promised he would take her on it in order to fight her fear of heights.

He never did.

Part of Caroline wondered if she should have told him a location to meet her, but she knew he would find her. He was uncanny like that; to know where she was and what she needed. Instead she just sat on the first bench she saw, overlooking that giant Ferris wheel. She waited and it was not long before she felt his presence sit beside her. He said nothing at first, just letting her stare off into the distance and Caroline had never been more grateful.

“When I was six years old, there was a founder’s festival in town. They had this Ferris wheel and I was terrified of it. I refused to get on it. The thought of going up that high, looking down…I was sure I was going to fall.” She laughed lightly but there was no joy in her tone. “My father promised to bring me here. He promised to take me to the very top and that we would look down together. He said that there was nothing to be afraid of.”

“And did he?”

“No. He didn’t. He broke almost every promise he ever made.” The tears started lightly; slowly. She didn’t notice them at first, not until he reached out and wiped them from her cheeks. “I always relied on him and he never came through. When I was turned into a vampire, he tortured me. Literally chained me to a chair, took off my daylight ring and burned me with the sun.” She could see his fist clenching in anger. He had not been aware that her own father tortured her; it was before he really knew her. Despite his anger, he remained silent. “It was my mom who saved me. Tyler was there but it was my mom who held a gun on my father, a man she loved until her dying day, in order to save me.”

“She was an impressive woman. She didn’t back down from a challenge. She was strong and willing to do anything for you, even to invite a one-thousand-year-old hybrid into her home if it meant saving her daughter.” Caroline shot him and look, and he gave her a dimpled smile. “Admittedly, it was my fault, but it still impressed me, nonetheless. As did her daughter.”

“Klaus?”

“Yes love?”

“Thank you. For coming.” Klaus just reached over and took her hand into his. It wasn’t sexual or anything romantic. The last time they had been together was wild, passionate and a memory they both looked back on fondly; one that they knew would someday be repeated in the distant future. She looked over to him and it was as though the dam broke inside her. “My mom is dead.”

The tears flowed down her cheeks and Caroline could no longer control the emotions coursing through her. It became harder to breath; feeling as though there was no oxygen left for her. There was a clutching hollowness in her chest that she wanted to claw at. She wanted to rip her own skin from her bones; burning it until there was nothing left. The darkness was filling her up inside and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

The hollow feeling that she had been holding in since the moment she turned her humanity back on consumed her. All the emotions she wanted to get past flooded her. She told Elena that she would turn it back on in a year, when the worst part was over. What she did not realize that she only stalled the inevitable. Those emotions would be there no matter how long she had that switch flipped. If anything, the nauseating feeling of loss was worse than it had been the day of the funeral.

At some point, Klaus pulled Caroline onto his lap. He cradled her to his chest, kissing the top of her head and whispering sweet nothings to her; hoping that perhaps he brought a small amount of comfort to her. He could not remove her pain and he would not even attempt it. He understood grief; all he could do was be there and be what she needed. With Caroline, it was impossible for him to be selfish.

Longer than she was willing to admit, she let herself be held by him; taking in the scent he provided and the comfort he was willing to offer. Klaus was never the villain of her story and she would never admit it to those back in Mystic Falls, but Klaus understood her better than anyone.

Except, perhaps Liz Forbes.

“How are you Sweetheart?” Klaus whispered to her once the tears subsided. His long fingers where drawing invisible lines down her back. His mere touch brought her back from that black void she had been in moments earlier. She buried her face into his neck and nodded, still unable to speak. She wrapped her arms his shoulders and just brought him closer to her. He just rocked her until she told him to stop. He would sit on that uncomfortable bench until she told him to move; even if it took a hundred years.

“Why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like someone dug into my chest, ripped my heart out and lit in on fire in front of me to watch?” She sniffled, bringing the back of her hand to her nose. It was unattractive but she didn’t care. Klaus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that Caroline would have bet anything actually belonged to Elijah. “It did not hurt this bad when my dad died.”

“Can I tell you something, even though you don’t want to hear it?”

“Okay.”

“There is nothing I can say to take your pain away. There is no magic spell or words that will erase the pain.” He kissed the top of her head. “You lost your father and you bounced back far stronger than anyone expected you too because that is who you are. But the truth is, you still had you mother to fall back on; and she was the constant parent in your life. Your father broke every promise he ever made to you, but your mother was your backbone-even all those times she stayed late at the station. She would have burned hell itself to save you. That kind of love never dies Caroline. The pain you’re feeling now, it will never go away. That kind of grief will live with you, but the magic trick is learning to live with it; and learning to live despite of it.”

Caroline nodded. Klaus was right, this was not what Caroline wanted to hear. She wanted him to tell her that one day she would wake up and everything would be better. That the world would right itself and that she could go home one day to see her mom, sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a strong cup of coffee because she just pulled an all-nighter at the station. Yet, it was never going to be that way again. Her mom was gone, and that empty part of Caroline would remain.

Yet, it was better than the empty condolences she received at the funeral. It was better than Damon’s eulogy and Elena’s voice of understanding. It was better than Stefan’s persistent need to fix her or even the never-ending casseroles sent by countless people in town. They all meant well, Caroline knew that, but it was not what Caroline needed to hear. She knew they tried but she shut them out, turned off her humanity and refused to listen to anything they had to say. Even now, that she had her humanity back, she could not stand to see their pity and sympathy. In truth, Caroline did not know what she needed; she just knew that Klaus was that she wanted in that moment.

“Can’t you compel me to not feel the grief?”

“I could, but I won’t.”

“I knew you would say that.” Just as Klaus knew her request wasn’t genuine. “No offense but your parents were really shitty. How did you become the expert in grieving the loss of a parent?” Caroline asked causing Klaus to chuckle.

“Because I am a father myself.” Klaus replied simple and Caroline almost smiled at that. Looking at him now that her tears had dried on her cheeks, she could see that no matter what happened in his life; Klaus loved his daughter. “I understand everything Liz did for you because I hope to one day be as good of a parent as she was to you.” He leaned in closer. “But if you say that to anyone, I’ll have to rip your heart out.”

Caroline gave a sad smile, knowing that Klaus was rarely this honest or open with anyone; but she knew they had a bond that went beyond a simple bracelet, a gorgeous dress or even a tryst in the woods. They had an open understanding with one another, and they would always be honest with one another. Caroline sent a watery look to him and the tears began to fall again. Klaus just held her hand, allowing the fresh round of tears to subside.

Out of the blue, Klaus stood and turned towards her. He held out his hand and without thinking, Caroline placed hers into his. He pulled her into his arms, and she looked up at him with curiosity burning in her eyes.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m showing you that there is nothing to be afraid of.” With that, Klaus pushed off the ground and Caroline suddenly found herself at the top of the Ferris wheel. Quickly, he broke open a door to one of the black containers and ushered Caroline inside. It was dark inside but with her vampire vision, Caroline could see perfectly. She took a seat on the bench and Klaus sat down beside her.

“What do you see?” It was a loaded question; they both knew that. There were skyscrapers and lights filling the city despite the fact that it was the early hours of the morning. If she listened, she could hear the sound of the highway, ambulances racing down the busy streets and even the voices of people who were enjoying the late night.

“Life. I see life.”

“See. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Actually, I think your wrong. I think life is the scariest thing out there. Because without it, we wouldn’t have the monsters, the pain and all the terrible bullshit that comes along with it.” Caroline said and the corners of Klaus’s lips turned upward. “But what is even scarier than all of that is the good moments. The laughter and joyful events. A dance or a tryst in the woods.” That made Klaus’s cheeks burn ever so slightly. “They are all terrifying but worth every minute.”

“And that is why you’re Caroline Forbes. The woman who will one day take over the world.” Klaus replied and Caroline gave her first genuine laugh he heard since the moment he sat down on that bench. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest. They stayed in that small compartment, swinging on a ferries wheel that was not moving, and just watched the city below. Neither were willing to move, but she knew that come morning, Klaus would have to get back to New Orleans and back to his daughter. Yet, there was something else she needed to get off her chest.

“I slept with Stefan.” The words came tumbling out and Klaus shifted slightly to look at her; raising his eyebrow. He did not seem angry or hurt. If anything, he seemed amused instead of jealous. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you haven’t been a boy scout. You’re the one with a baby. Not me.”

“No love, I most certainly have not been a boy scout.” Klaus chuckled. “I’m merely surprised. Stefan is just not someone I would have seen you choosing. That is all.” Caroline gave him a confused look. It was true, when she was human, she wanted nothing more than for Stefan to notice her; or anyone to notice her really. Yet, here she was back at that point waiting for the guy to notice her. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.” She looked down at her hands and played with her daylight ring. “I turned my humanity off. I killed a bunch of people and forced Stefan to turn his off as well. We pretty much went on a spree together, fucked and then he got his emotions back. Even after everything I did, he was still the patient Stefan, trying to…I don’t know. Get the old me back.”

“Caroline, there is no getting the old ‘you’ back.” Klaus replied gently. “That girl you were before your mother died is gone. You changed, grew and learned in the only way life can teach you. I am not the same man I was a thousand years ago, and you will not be the same girl in a thousand years to come; but no matter who you become or what life teaches you; you will be magnificent. No matter the size of the body count.” She gave him a watery smile. “Do you regret it?”

“Sleeping with Stefan?” Klaus nodded. “Yes. I do.”

They both could read between the lines. No matter what Caroline’s feelings where for her best friend, the manner that they first slept together would always be a mistake to her. It would be something she would always regret. Yet, they both knew that the time Caroline and Klaus spent together in the woods behind the Boarding House would be a treasured memory. The petty side of Klaus was proud of that fact and Caroline would allow him to have that.

They said nothing more on the subject of Stefan or anything at all. They just sat in silence, watching the sun rise over Atlanta. Soon enough, the rays lingered over them and they knew they would have to leave the Ferris wheel, or they would have some serious compelling to do. Much like before, Klaus took Caroline into his arms and jumped from the compartment and softly landed them on the ground.

He held out his hand and Caroline happily took it. They strolled the now busy streets until they reached her car. She stood beside it, unsure of what she should do. Should she get into her car and drive off? Head back to Mystic Falls or to parts unknown? Klaus could sense her uncertainty.

“The offer stands. You will always have a place in New Orleans. It is one of my favorite places in the world.” Caroline started to laugh, his dimpled grin only making her laugh harder. It felt cathartic. “There is food, music, art, and culture. I would love to show it to you.”

“Play the step-mom alongside you and Hayley?” She smirked at him. “Tempting but I’m not ready for that.” Klaus held up his hands, not offended because he knew the answer before the words left his lips.

“Well then, I do have a private jet at my disposal. Say the place and I will have you jetting off on your very own adventure.” Alone. The word was unspoken but they both knew what he meant. She was not ready for Paris, Rome or Tokyo. Yet, he was offering her a way to deal with her grief in a way she would not have in Mystic Falls.

“Thank you but no.” She took a deep breath. “Alaric is getting married and I think they would like it if I was there. I think I’ll take a small road trip, make a few stops but slowly go back to Mystic Falls.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not done with Mystic Falls just yet. Maybe one day I’ll take you up on that voicemail, but I think I need to have a few more…. I don’t… experiences first?”

“Of course. Just know you’re always welcome in my home Caroline.” Klaus leaned in and kissed her cheek. He slowly turned and walked away. She watched him retreat from her. She was about to get into her car when he froze and turned towards her. “The day of your graduation. I meant what I said. Tyler was your first love. Whatever you decide you feel for Stefan, I still intend to be your last, however long it takes.”

Klaus flashed off then and Caroline was left standing in the middle of Atlanta with a sad smile on her lips.

In the end, when Caroline gave birth to her twins, she would think back on Klaus’s words to her; about what it meant to be a parent and what they want for their children. She ended up marrying Stefan; a human Stefan. One that died to save Elena on the day of their wedding. She helped Klaus track down his daughter and save her from the hollow. He helped her scourge the earth to prevent the merge between her daughters. In the end, when their children were all grown and the two of them sat in a small café in Paris, fingers linked together, Caroline would replay his words to her.

No matter how old she became or how long she lived; the memory of Liz would always linger in the back of her mind.

The trick was learning to smile in spite of the grief that would always remain.

A/N: So. I was trying to write something happy (part 2s of my one shots from Klaroline week) but I'm really not in a place emotionally to write anything of the sort. I tried and failed. Hopefully, I can finish the light and fluffy stuff I started...or even work on "Maybe One Day" but it's just not coming. This however, flowed. Just Good Business flowed and I think it's because I can relate to what the characters are feeling compared to writing something happy that brings a smile to peoples faces. I’m just not there yet. Hopefully you all can deal with my angst writing because I'm afraid that might be all you're going to get for awhile.

#klaroline #caroline x klaus #klaroline fanfiction #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Serendipity, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

ser·en·dip·i·ty n - the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery.

It's all fun and games until someone gets pregnant.

Modern AU setting, Zemyx. Ienzo is trans and AFAB.

Chapter summary: Ienzo enters the second trimester, and tries to plan for the future.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Moving forward meant telling his other father.

A car accident had killed Ienzo’s biological parents when he was too young to remember them. Even, a long time colleague and recent widower himself, took him in. He was neurotic and particular, though it all came from a place of love. And while he was married to Ansem technically, his real spouse was his job; biochemical and medical engineering. All Ienzo remembered was that one day Ansem was there like he’d always been. He got the notion that the two had long harbored feelings for one another, prior to Even’s marriage.

Most of this dread came from the fact that Demyx was his chosen partner. He could see them clashing like water and oil. Demyx was much too go-with-the-flow.

They all met for dinner at Ienzo’s childhood home. “Parents got money, huh,” Demyx remarked dryly, seeing the place.

He sighed. “The house is ancestral.”

“So, yes.”

He shook his head.

“I just hope your dad doesn’t hate me,” Demyx said.

“He’s… abrasive with mostly everyone,” Ienzo admitted. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

He bit his lip. He was more nervous than Ienzo about this, which was saying something. “I mean. This kinda makes us family.” He gestured to Ienzo’s modestly concealed stomach.

“You’re in academia--he’ll like that.” Ienzo took his hand. “And don’t worry about the other. Him, I’m not concerned about.”

Ansem welcomed them into the house, giving Ienzo a gentle hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Actually quite good.”

“And you must be Demyx. You have to blame Ienzo for such a late introduction. The boy is much too private.” He offered a hand. Ienzo noticed the other man’s was shaking when he took it.

“Nice to meet you. Sir,” he added.

Ansem laughed. “No need. No need at all. Something to drink?”

Demyx blushed. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“He feels the need to hold himself to my Spartan pregnancy diet,” Ienzo remarked. “Go on. It’s okay.”

He watched Ansem guide his wayward boyfriend into the parlor. Only now did he feel dread, truly and thickly. He also needed the restroom. He went and took care of it and when he was through, Even was already in the kitchen. “I see you brought the boy,” he said, digging through the cutlery draw. “These are all tarnished. Everything.”

“I don’t think Demyx needs to be impressed,” Ienzo said. “Funny--he was rather scared of you .”

Even looked up, smoothing away a strand of blond hair. “Why should he be?”

Ienzo laughed. “All of my other partners you derided with a sniff the moment they walked out the door.”

“All of your other partners didn’t cause your inflection to change so when you spoke of them. They didn’t make you feel yourself. I can see that this does.”

He wasn’t going to relax yet. “That so.”

“Ienzo, I will withhold judgement if it makes you happy.” He rolled his eyes. “What type of parent would I be, if I held you so strictly to my own standards? That’s not love, it’s control.”

“...Yet, you railed into me the moment I brought home anything other than a perfect score.”

He scowled. “That was different. You’re too brilliant not to use your mind to its capacity.” He cocked his head slightly, studying him. “You do look different, child,” he added. “I’m not sure what it is.”

Ienzo forced himself to smile. “All things will be made manifest,” he said vaguely.

“...Alright.” He shook his head. “Well. I’m sure the miscreant I call a spouse is wining and dining. Let’s go.”

Ienzo was almost shocked at how well Even behaved himself. While he was clearly put off by some of Demyx’s more eccentric qualities, he seemed to be struggling to have an open mind, asking him about his job, his teaching methods, and so on. There was a moment of considerable tension when Demyx admitted he didn’t believe in traditional testing and only gave grades because he had to--but once he pointed out that it was so difficult to quantify something so subjective, Even relented. He met Ienzo’s eyes over the table as if to say, well, if you must.

Everyone played well.

Time to drop the bombshell.

"I'm afraid we've gathered you here for a reason," Ienzo said. Ansem wore a small, knowing smile. Even's expression was much more apprehensive.

"...And that is?" He asked.

Ienzo looked towards Demyx. He was nervous too; Ienzo felt his knee bobbing under the table. He took his hand. He made himself make eye contact with Even; judging by his calculating expression, the man had already figured it out. "I'm having a baby. Due in November, actually." He bit his lip.

"Oh," Even said softly. He looked at his husband, and his eyes narrowed. "You knew."

"Ienzo needed advice. It was not my news to share."

"But he's our son--"

Demyx locked eyes with Ienzo and flicked his eyebrows. "Isn't this about us?" He whispered. Ienzo smiled despite himself.

"--little alarmed that you kept something so big from me for so long," Even said. "What if something happened to him?"

"I'm fine," Ienzo asserted.

He looked up. For a moment Ienzo thought his eyes were watering. He got up and came around the table to Ienzo. "Twelve weeks? I assume this is why you waited?"

"Thirteen. Auspiciously." He exhaled. "I wasn't sure if it would keep--the hormones. This wasn't... intentional. Evidently I am the most fertile person alive." He rolled his eyes.

"Or I am," Demyx added helpfully. "What?"

Even took Ienzo's hands. "Is this truly what you want? Both of you?"

"...I believe so," Ienzo said. "I… feel almost compelled."

"Not an accident. A surprise." Demyx grinned.

"This isn't going to be easy."

"I know," Ienzo said. "But I've done more difficult things, I think."

Even considered this and nodded. "I'm much too young to be a grandparent," he said. "Very well, Ienzo ."

---

This dealt with… they tried to plan for their life.

The second bedroom, which had been used more recently as a dumping ground for all their excess things, needed to be cleaned out. For a few weeks they squabbled over who really needed what, an argument culminating in Demyx actually sleeping on the couch ("my couch," Ienzo pointed out crabbily), before Ansem offered them attic space for the things they couldn't bear to get rid of. There was no real reason to actually move apartments. They just had too much stuff. The landlord allowed them to paint, and Naminé practically begged them to allow her to put something on the walls.

There certainly was no shortage of love.

The pregnancy did make him feel different, but not in the way Ienzo thought. Once the sickness was over, he realized he liked the way he felt. The hormones were… something, but even they seemed to ebb predictably.

At sixteen weeks exactly he felt a flutter, a sensation so brief he had a hard time convincing himself it wasn't gas. But later that evening it happened again, softly, like a pulse of light. He gasped aloud.

“Ienzo?” Demyx prompted, setting down his guitar. “Are you okay?”

“I felt it move,” he said. He blinked back the tears in his eyes. “Right here.” He rested his hand below his navel.

Demyx approached him slowly, almost as if this were a spell. “Is it still doing it?”

“Possibly--but it’s hard to feel.”

Demyx touched the spot too. “Huh,” he said softly. “I… wow.” He sounded choked up. “I mean I knew, but…”

“It’s all becoming real.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Demyx kissed his cheek. “I love you,” he said. “And you,” he added, towards the baby. He swiped at his eyes. “Holy crap. You made that.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Ienzo said breezily.

---

He found himself moving delicately, as though being too quick would startle those little twitches away. As the days passed, they grew more frequent, and he was able to feel them more easily. He eased gently into the fifth month. Comparatively, the bump was still small compared to other people of the same gestational age, but it was growing considerably more difficult to hide, despite uncharacteristically loose clothing and sweaters even as summer got hotter.

One afternoon he was called into the head librarian’s office. “Ienzo,” Aqua said cheerfully. “Did you finish it?” She was referring to a new novel that had come out, a thriller about a woman whose seven lies ended in the death of her best friend’s husband.

“I thought the prose was rather straightforward and clean. Refreshing, for the genre.”

“I know. I really hope it’ll do well. I get so tired of all the shenanigans people get up to in these books. Give me something so mundanely interesting instead . ” She perched on her desk. “Speaking of.”

He froze, feeling something very like dread. “Yes?”

“Sit. It’s okay.” She gestured to one of the upholstered chairs at the side of the room. “How are you doing?”

At his spike of anxiety, the baby began kicking. He had to fight the impulse to rest a hand on it. “I’m well. Yourself?”

She smiled. “Don’t look so terrified.” She got up and shut the door, then sat in the chair next to him. “I know you’re pregnant.”

He took a quick breath. “I suppose it’s pretty obvious now.”

“Not really. Not exactly. I’ve overheard you getting sick a few times. You’re constantly going to and from the bathroom. Your footsteps also sound different. Did you know that?”

“Don’t you have a job to do, other than observe me?” Ienzo asked before he could stop himself.

She laughed. “I just… I want you to know it’s okay. Really. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“I know the situation isn’t… conventional.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re not conventional. We’re librarians.” She gestured towards her hair, artfully dyed blue, her eyebrows pencilled to match. “But really, you’re doing okay?”

He sighed. The anxiety began to ebb, so slowly. “Believe it or not, I actually like the way this feels,” he admitted.

“That’s good. When is it supposed to come?”

“November.”

“I’m guessing you’ll need some time.”

“Well… yes.” He swallowed. “I know I’ve been hoarding my vacation days--”

“We have paternity policies in place,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “You were really just going to blow them all?”

“I haven’t been… great at planning things lately,” he admitted. “I’m alert, but strangely foggy.”

“I would be too.” She patted his hand once. “I’ll start the paperwork. Ienzo? Please don’t push yourself. Don’t lift anything. If you need to rest, rest .” She smiled a little. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I know I’m your boss, but I’m also your friend,” she said. “You don’t have to hide things.”

He stood, slowly. It was getting harder to do so. “Quite. I think this has been an adjustment for all of us.”

---

Ienzo wasn’t sure if he wanted or needed a baby shower. He and Demyx had good enough jobs that they could likely afford everything on their own, and of course there was the obvious truth that Ansem and Even wanted to help them. He didn’t particularly need to be the center of attention. It was annoying enough getting weird looks when he was out and about. Thankfully, there was never anything more than that.

“I just want to celebrate you,” Demyx said one night. It was the middle of August, but Ienzo was strangely cold. He had his head on a pillow on Demyx’s lap, and the other man was stroking his hair. “Is that too much to ask for?”

“Then celebrate me,” Ienzo said dryly. “A shower sounds exhausting. Everyone poking at and fawning over me. On top of the strange gender reveal nonsense. No thank you. Perhaps once they’re born we can have something.” The more time passed, the less the baby was an “it.”

“ Fine, ” Demyx said. “Never thought I’d end up with an introvert.”

“Well, here we are.” He yawned. “Oh--here.” He took Demyx's hand and placed it on his belly, where the baby was kicking. He was far along enough that it could be felt by outsiders.

“Oh man, I love that,” he said softly.

“Honestly, I do too,” Ienzo admitted. “This whole ordeal… I was so worried that I would feel dysphoria. Strangely, I don’t at all.”

“Isn’t that good?”

He exhaled. “It’s very good. Perhaps I’m a broodmare, but I… enjoy being pregnant. Though I admit I’m looking forward to having my body back.”

“I would be too.” He caressed the bump gently. “Do you ever think about what they look like?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Ienzo shifted his weight a little. He could already feel he needed to pee, but was too comfortable with this position and the conversation. “As long as the child can have a good quality of life, I could care less.”

“I hope they look like you,” Demyx said.

“What? Why?”

“Come on, Ienzo, you’re gorgeous,” he said, as though it were obvious. “Have you seen your bone structure? Besides, the gray hair is so badass.”

“I do not need my child to perpetually look like an anime protagonist,” Ienzo said dryly. “I’ve tried dyeing it. My hair just grows too fast, especially now. No. I hope they look like you. Your coloring.” It was a realization. “Even your neutral expression is so welcoming. That could be useful.”

“Rather than your resting bitch face?”

He laughed. “Quite.”

“Well. For all we know it’ll be the best of both of us.”

He sighed. “I surely hope so.”

#serendipity #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts)#ansem the wise #aqua (kingdom hearts)#ienzo is trans #pregnancy

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soul-music-is-life · 5 years

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I'm kind of with you on the lackluster Pilot episode of "The Perfectionists". I don't know whether or not I'm into it either. And not because of Emison (I'm more of an Emaya fan myself). I just thought it was cheesy and boring. I don't know if I should keep watching. What about you?

I have actually gotten several asks about whether I plan tokeep watching and why/why not. So I’m going to answer it here and just referback to it if it keeps coming up.

I don’t mind the asks at all. I love conversing, but because of the volume of asks about thisparticular opinion this is another long driveling post, and I’m sorry. You can mute my ass if you’re sick of me. I get it.

First of all OP, thank you for not ripping into me about notliking it. Also, Emaya had my heart. I loved them, too. Maya deserved better.

Second, this is a full-scale look at the show from a critic’svantage point. I watched the first episode twice because I thought maybe I hadn’tgiven it a fair shake the first time because I was in a weird mood. But even onthe second viewing I found a lot more that I disliked than I liked. Lots ofpeople are going to disagree, and that’s fine. Just don’t @ me. I’m legit notlooking for that. I’m just a girl (cue NottingHill music) standing in front her ask inbox asking those askers to love her.

Will I keep watching? I doubt it. Given that it only got a10-episode order and The Pilot wasn’t that interesting to me, I don’t see myselfsitting through it for 9 more episodes. My reasoning is two-tiered. Part of itis disinterest and the other part is the creative aspect of it in the media. Saddleup for my “truths” (I can’t remember who said that. Marlene maybe). I gave it afew days and considered it, and what I ended up with was this:

1) I’m just not into it. For the same reasons you (OP) stated.But I’ll also add that for me…it was predictable. I called the twists longbefore they happened. If I’m already doing that in The Pilot I can guarantee I’dbe doing that as the show went on. I’m like 93% sure I know exactly how it’sgoing to end this season. I tend to do that to myself. Being a writer suckssometimes. Because you see the way things are going to go from the beginning. You just have to decide if you want to go on the journey anyway.

2) While the characters were likable (I was surprised by howmuch I liked Ava), they are a bit one-sided and kind of bland (except I foundNolan’s duality extremely intriguing). There is the argument that can be madehere that they will grow, and I do agree with that. But when I watch a show’sPilot I need to care about at least one character to see what’s going to happenand where they are going to go (In PLL it was Em/Aria for me). None of the characters in TP did that for me (noteven Mona and Alison, which surprised me, because I’ve been super-hype for thisshow not only for them, but for the newbies, too).

3) The plot (so far) just feels like a rehash of everysingle YA mystery novel/TV show that is hot right now. And I am aware that thisis based loosely on exactly that (Sara’s series), but I think maybe I’ve justbecome desensitized to the same cheesy soap-opera-y murder mystery plots. Or perhaps I’m just desensitized to this particular kind of storytelling. It doesn’tfeel new and different to me and it was very strangely paced with too muchgoing on and not enough time to care about it. It just felt disjointed. Everythingabout the first episode just fell flat for me.

4) And lastly, yes, I’d say there is a tiny part of me…likemaybe…6% that doesn’t want to watch because I’m not about that off-screenEmison drama. I knew it was going to happen and I’m not mad about them beingsplit. I’m disappointed (hears “that’sjust ‘mom speak’ for mad!” echoing somewhere) that the marketing team isusing it for ratings. When you have decent writing you don’t need to play games like that to try andget viewers. It would be one thing to be decisive about what happened toEmily/Alison (Split them. Don’t split them. I don’t care. Just make a fuckingdecision because you’re creating a war between fans and you know it). It’sanother thing entirely to draw it out because you need people to watch and talkabout it.

I am also particularly bothered by hearing the excuse (several times by MK) that “Shay was busy”because Marlene literally planned the spin-off in season 6 (confirmed by bothher and Sasha). It. Was. Planned. I say this as a critic and not an Emison fan: Everything about the way they’ve tried to use Emison to generate buzz was underhanded. And saying shit like that opens the door for people to hate on Shay, and that’s really not cool.

Personally, I think it speaks volumes that the producers felt the need to addthe off-screen drama on top of the really decent plot they already had. Theycould have kept it unproblematic with simple writing choices and less inflammatorycommentary. They could have left the PLL drama in the PLL-verse and given thespotlight to the new drama. I don’tagree with creating old off-screen drama with zero chance of satisfactoryresolution all in the name of ratings. I hate marketing shit like that. It’s acheap amateur tactic and it turns me off.

I think the show could have been something special had theynot marketed it as PLL. But they did, so of course there was a certainexpectation. And of course there is some backlash. Because there are these twoworlds that have nothing to do with each other and so far I don’t feel likethey’ve blended it together well. For me, it was like watching PLL, but with less magic and less chemistry. If I had to describe it I’d say it feels alot like a recipe where you’re just throwing a bunch of ingredients into a bowlwith no idea what you’re making and you’re just hoping it’ll be edible by theend. Rather than focusing on the new universe the marketing team chose to focuson Ali/Mona’s new world and the drama that comes with them. And to me that almost says they don’t have faith that TPwould have been able to stand on its own without the PLL universe. Part of methinks I’d be more interested if this had been a completely fresh start. I wasactually more compelled by the newbies than I was Alison/Mona (though I adorethem, too).

That being said, I really wish the best for the cast/crew. I’llcontinue to watch the behind the scenes games/cast antics. I’ve been a fan ofSasha since I discovered PLL (everything about her seems very sweet and genuine andjust positive all around). And Janel as Mona was one of my favorite castingchoices of all time. In fact, I think my very first PLL post here was praisefor Janel. I’ve been following Sydney since she was a smol lil bean on theDisney Channel (and loved her in Tia’s Mowry’s show “Instant Mom”). Sofia seemslike a sweet girl, and I have enjoyed her other work. And Eli honestly justseems like he’d be a cool dude to kick back and have a drink with (is he evenold enough to drink? Jesus, they’re all babies). I love them all. In fact, I’veenjoyed the fun behind the scenes stuff more than I enjoyed the show. I’dwatch a reality show of them all day. That’s where I’ll get my fill. Watching them being goofy.

Final verdict: No, the show will not be getting my views. I’llprobably just watch the absurdity of Riverdale instead. Cheryl is fucking wild,y’all. And I’m kind of living for mean-dark-snarky Betty. And Sweet Pea is like…myfavorite character ever. My dumb asshole child.

As far as whether or not youshould watch it, I have no idea. I have a lot of people asking me my opinion onthat (which, I’m like the worstperson to ask, please don’t give me that responsibility. I don’t even likebeing responsible in the real world. I literally had a cookie and Cocoa Puffsfor dinner). I will say that if you’re only watching for Emison then I’d changethe channel. Because guaranteed it’s just going to make you rage. You’re not going to get anything out of it. Fill yourevenings with something more pleasant and positive for you.

And be nice to others on social media. At the end of the day, it’s only a show. You like it or you don’t.

#The Perfectionists #PLL #Pretty Little Liars #Emison asks

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

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The Way I Do: Chapter 4

Pairing: Centurion!Bucky x Visigothi!Reader Summary: Your search for a way to gather intelligence leads you to an unlikely place and even more unlikely people. Still, this opportunity is the best you could find and Centurion Stark and his servant Jarvis seem like almost-trustworthy people... too bad they’re Romans. Warnings: None Word Count: ~3,071 A/N: For @killmongerdreams‘ song roulette writing challenge. Sorry for the lack of content recently, folks. The last two weeks have been a doozy.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

But the same draw was there. Just as before, he wanted to hold her close and kiss all her problems away, only to remember the last time he opened his heart and home to a gothi, and pushed all those thoughts away. He stood with a curse, wincing as his cold, sore muscles stretched themselves out.

By all rights, his duty as a Centurion to the Roman Empire compelled him to find her and uncover the truth… but he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

In the end, he resolved to keep an eye out for her, though he wouldn’t call in any other agents of the Empire to help. This was his task, and his alone.

Your POV

Your time in the city passed without so much as glimpsing James again, much to your mingled relief and disappointment. There were whispers on the street of your tribe disrupting the Empire in the west, though according to all sources you’d found it seemed as though Emperor Pierce was content to let Governor Sitwell deal with the problem for the time being.

You knew, however, that Sitwell was no match for Fritigern and the other leaders. It was only a matter of time until Sitwell would be killed or forced to send for more soldiers.

Time was not on your side. You had to find an in to Roman command, and you had to find it fast.

That was how you found yourself, just two weeks after your arrival, you found yourself on the doorstep of a Centurion’s home, scroll with the information of the open servant position clutched in your hand. Serving in the palace would have been more ideal, but the palace had simply thrown you out while laughing in your face when you’d attempted to find work there.

So, serving a Centurion had been plan B. He was high enough up the chain of command that he’d receive any important and relevant information that- god willing- you could pass on to your people.

You glanced nervously up at the house, its sheer size intimidating you more than you thought possible. You knew Centurions were paid well, but this was a bit excessive, wasn’t it? Or was that just your bumpkin gothi speaking?

You shook your head and gathered up your courage before raising your hand to knock at the intricately carved heavy wood door. You could practically hear the sound resonate through the empty house as though it was completely empty on the inside.

A loud clunk from the other side gave you only a half second to prepare yourself before the door swung open silently, revealing a medium height man with well-trimmed facial hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to take all of you in in and instant. “Are you here for the job?” he asked without any preamble or introduction, catching you off guard.

It took you a second to collect your thoughts. Was this man a servant of the house? Surely he wasn’t a Centurion. “Uh, yes, sir. Are you-”

“Please, call me Anthony. No one calls me ‘sir’ except my servant, no matter how many times I tell him not to.”

“Well, it’s only proper, sir.”

You jumped in surprise, not having heard the older man approach. He had slicked-back hair and kind eyes and held himself so primly that you found yourself straightening your back reflexively.

Anthony merely waved the man’s polite protest away. “You know I don’t care about that crap, Edwin.”

“Quite right, sir,” he said with an almost sarcastic smile and nod of his head.

You, however, were very confused. If this man had a servant- and an unfairly adept one at that- why did he put the word out that he was looking for a new one? “Excuse me, but why-”

“Did I invite you here to work as a servant when I already have Jarvis?” Anthony asked, a smirk dancing on the corner of his lips.

Your mouth snapped closed and you nodded. This man was sharper than his affable air initially lead you to believe.

“Well, I’m leaving, which means Edwin is coming with me and leaving the other man who lives here all on his own. The poor fool doesn’t take care of himself. I think he’d have wasted away years ago if it wasn’t for me and Jarvis here taking care of him.”

Your brows furrowed. “So he’s the Centurion, then. That makes sense,” you said, nodding, posture relaxing a bit when you realized you weren’t in the presence of anyone too important. You’d have to turn the job down, though. You couldn’t gain useful information from an ordinary cives-

“We’re both Centurions, actually. Not Jarvis, of course. The other guy. The one you’ll be working for.”

You gaped for a moment before dropping to your hands and knees, forehead nearly touching the ground. “Forgive me, Centurion! I had no idea. My insolence cannot be tolerated and I beg that you sp-”

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” You let out a squeak of surprise as Anthony hauled you bodily to your feet, hands wrapped firmly but not painfully around your shoulders. He didn’t look that strong, but you supposed he was a Centurion, after all. “I normally don’t mind a girl begging, but this is entirely the wrong situation and place,” he said with a flirty wink, patting your shoulder comfortingly as the meaning of his words sunk in. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and fumbled for an appropriate response.

However, Anthony powered on. “Now, the man you’ll be taking care of is a bit of a loner. He’ll spend most of his day in his room or in the city, leaving you to cook, clean, whatever else it is that servants do,” Anthony said, turning on his heel to walk further into the opulent house. Although you knew his station, he still managed to look out of place in the sparkling marble home in his casual chilton. You wondered why he wasn’t wearing a toga. A man of his station probably had the money and power to own dozens.

You started when Edwin Jarvis touched your arm gently, gaze flying to his face. He motioned you to follow Centurion Anthony with a kind smile and wave of his hand and you gulped and trotted after him, taking in the house as you went. It was opulent and kept so nicely it was as though actual people didn’t live there. You suspected it was Jarvis’ diligence that kept the house in such sparkling order and you hoped, fleetingly, that you’d be able to do the same. Statues, vases, and plants lined the halls and hid in alcoves and you half expected to see a grand fountain when you turned each corner. The sound of the Centurion’s quick-talking tour caught your attention and you chided yourself mentally. For all you knew he could have let slip important information while you’d been admiring masonry.

“You’ll have your own room. It’s Jarvis’ old room. Not as big as the master suites, but probably bigger than anything you’ve lived in before today.”

“Today?” you asked, surprised.

Anthony glanced at you over his shoulder. “What, is that too soon?” he turned to Edwin. “Is that too soon?” he asked skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest, eyebrow raised.

Jarvis shook his head. “We specifically asked for someone who could begin immediately.”

You gulped. You’d missed that part on the scroll, apparently. You supposed you shouldn’t complain.; it meant you could start gathering intelligence at once.

“Well, you heard the man. Today!” Anthony said, pacified, resuming his tour down a plush-carpeted hallway. “This is his room. I would take you inside but he has a strict ‘No Tony In My Room’ policy. I tried sneaking in once or twice but he always seemed to know when I did. He had no problem with Jarvis, though.”

“That is because I am supposed to be in there, sir,” Jarvis said quietly. “And also because you snoop through his things,” he added matter-of-factly. You tried to not let those implications unnerve you.

Anthony shrugged. “I’ve served with that man for years and he’s still a mystery. I can’t help that I’m naturally curious. It’s one of my many, many charms.”

“Quite right, sir,” Edwin said with a sort of dry placating smile that somehow morphed the genial statement into a sarcastic rebuke. You had to bite back a grin and Anthony huffed discontentedly at Jarvis before turning his attention to the next room on his impromptu tour. A somewhat subdued dark wood door gave you a guess at its purpose before Tony even opened his mouth.

“This is your room. Dining room is at the end of the hall. Kitchen is in a sub-level attached at the other end of the room. There’s a back door to the alley so you can bring in food and supplies without dragging them through the magnificent entrance hall.”

That will be good for sneaking in and out when needed, you thought to yourself. “The house is stunning, sir. What will my responsibilities be, exactly?” you asked, turning a sun-bright smile on Anthony.

“Cleaning, cooking, errands... Jarvis knows better what that sad sack’s needs are. I mostly knock down his door once a week and force him to drink until one of us passes out.”

“You are always the one to pass out first, sir,” Jarvis chimed in helpfully, kind smile on his face.

“She doesn’t need to know that, Jarvis,” Anthony said, scandalized, clapping his hands over your ears. You willed yourself not to flinch or react too strangely, which was more difficult than you might have imagined.

“I can still hear you, sir,” you said, peering up at him from between his hands.

Anthony rolled his eyes, but finally let your head go, hands once again flying through the air as he talked. “Point is, Jarvis is the one to talk to for details. I’m just happy if you manage to keep the house standing and that idiot fed.”

“I’ve compiled a list of his various... needs and... irregularities,” Jarvis said carefully. You had a sneaking suspicion that this mystery man was odder and more reclusive than you’d originally been lead to believe. If it got you an in with the Roman military, however, he could do or be whatever he liked... though you drew the line at cannibalism. “He’s truly a quiet man and I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t see him often. I find it easiest to clean his room whenever he’s out. He never takes his meals in the dining room- always in his own bedroom. Although that may have been because Anthony eats in the dining room and he simply wished to avoid him.”

Anthony clutched a hand to his chest with a dramatic flourish. “You wound me, Jarvis. I’m delightful company.”

Jarvis sent him one of those smiles that was so heavily laced with dry sarcasm that you knew immediately anything he was about to say would be a playful jest at Anthony. “I don’t believe I ever said you weren’t, sir.”

Anthony sighed and turned his full attention to you. “You can start immediately, right?”

You nodded quickly, just trying to keep up with his unusually fast-paced talking.

“Do you want the position?” he asked, as though he was asking if you liked the weather and not asking for a position under a Centurion.

“I’d be honored, sir,” you said as earnestly as you could manage. It must have come off unquestionably sincere because Anthony smiled broadly. “Good, good. Jarvis can have all of your possessions moved into the manor by sundown and-”

“I only have one bag. I can manage, but thank you, sir.” Like hell you’d let them touch your things. You’d been careful so far and didn’t leave any clues to your true identity, but you sure weren’t going to take any risks.

“One bag? ... How?” Anthony asked, as though the very thought couldn’t compute. You supposed if you lived like this living out of a single rucksack would seem impossible to you, too.

“I grew up on the outskirts of town. I’ve never had much to my name, but my mother insisted I learn my letters and some math, too. Said it would help me one day,” you said with a shy smile. That much wasn’t a lie.

Anthony nodded knowingly. “Smart mother. It’ll definitely come in handy. You’ll be communicating primarily through notes, more than likely. He isn’t much for talking face to face.”

Yet again the man’s habits seemed odd, but he was a Centurion. He had information your people needed to survive the war. You would happily bear any oddities short of explicit threats on your life (you weren’t good to your people dead).

Still, it was a tense nervousness that you couldn’t quite quell that led you to ask, “Is he kind?”

Anthony’s smile was softer than you’d seen it thus far and that alone eased some of your fears. “Yes, but he’d swear to Rome and back that he’s not. Worry not, he’ll treat you well.”

You let out a relieved sigh, heat rising to your cheeks when it was more audible than you’d expected it to be and both Jarvis and Anthony sent you smiles (Edwin’s was understanding, Anthony’s teasing).

Anthony fished around in his robe blindly for a moment before he pulled out a very nice, ornate key, and tossed it to you. You nearly fumbled it, but manage to keep hold of it by the tips of your fingers.

“Alright, you’re hired. I’m paying you, but you’ll do what he asks... although cleaning the house and feeding him is mandatory. Everything else will be in Jarvis’ instructions. Have a good one, little lady. Don’t piss off the big guy or I’ll have to kill you.” When you turned wide, horrified eyes on him he burst out laughing. Behind you, Jarvis let out a long resigned sigh. “Kidding, kidding. But if you’re horribly incompetent, I will relieve you of your post.”

You gulped, body still humming with adrenaline from the [fake] threat a moment ago. “Understood, sir.”

With that, Anthony and Jarvis headed for the door, the latter giving you a shallow bow before he glided off after his master.

You heard the front door slam shut with a resounding thud and you nearly sunk to the floor.

This was it. This was everything your people needed. At long last, you could help them. You stared down at the key in your hand before your fingers closed around it in a fist, eyes blazing with determination.

Step one: Move in to this stupidly-nice house.

Step two: Dismantle the Roman Empire.

Bucky’s POV

With an annoyed huff, Bucky finally gave up his search for the day. He hadn’t seen heads or tails of the girl in at least a week. Whether it was by chance or something more sinister, he couldn’t determine. The Visigothi were making more and more noise in the west. Stark was already being called to the palace. Apparently Pierce was eager to use Anthony’s brilliant mind to develop new and deadly weapons.

He kicked loose stones all the way back to his- well, Anthony’s- manor, eyes glued to the ground. Something about the entire thing just didn’t sit right with him.

He found himself in front of the front door before he knew it, only realizing he’d stopped walking a few beats after his feet had ceased moving. With a whispered curse he yanked on the door handle, only to find it was locked.

That was odd. Jarvis never locked the door until he returned-

Oh, right. He and Tony were leaving and had been determined to find someone to take care of him and the house in their stead as though he was an invalid.

But then he remembered the state his room was in before he moved in with Tony and Jarvis and realized they probably weren’t too far off in the assessment of his self-care abilities.

The door was locked, which meant they’d found someone. He had half a mind to bang on the door until they woke up, but thought better of it. It was late and he didn’t fancy waking up the entire neighborhood.

He dug around in his tunic for a moment or two before pulling out the house key (he was suddenly thankful he didn’t go anywhere without it) and shoved it in the lock.

The door opened silently, as always, revealing the surprisingly well-lit interior. They may have locked the door, but they at least had the sense to leave a light or two on for him. He grabbed the nearest lamp and headed to his room, pausing at the writing desk in the hallway.

He could just go to bed, but he knew he’d just ignore whoever they’d hired tomorrow; he didn’t have the patience or temperament for people anymore. The least he could do was leave a note welcoming them to his home.

He sauntered over to the table and set the lamp down, uncorking the ink well and grabbing the nearest quill and piece of thick parchment.

Greetings,

The silence in the house leads me to believe I’ve returned after you’ve already retired to your room, but it would be ill-mannered of me to not greet you in some way. I’m afraid I spend most of my time in my room or in the city, so it may be some time before I see you in person.

Regardless, thank you for assuming the monumental task of taking care of this house... and of me. I would tell you what I expect of you, but I’m sure Edwin Jarvis has already fully briefed you on any and all expectations. Still, if you have any questions, you need only ask... preferably through notes, as I’m afraid I’m of little use around people unless I’m giving commands on the battlefield.

Still, I would like to know a bit about you, if you would not be opposed. I’m afraid I don’t even know your name yet, as Centurion Stark tells me little.

With kind regards,

Satisfied, Bucky left the note in front of the servant room’s door before shuffling like the dead to his room, collapsing onto his bed without so much as removing his sandals.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. I’ll find her tomorrow.

Next Chapter

If you’d like to be tagged in this series, like this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #tony stark #tony #iron man #jarvis #edwin jarvis #the way I do #centurion!bucky #visigothi!reader #rome!au

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gretagarbosdirtysocks · 6 years

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Star Wars/ DJ Imagine We Met In A Jail Cell Part 4

This was supposed to be a oneshot for DJ and then I went buckwild as the thirst increased.

Character Pairing: DJ and OC from the Last Jedi. Summary: DJ meets a woman in the jail cell before Rose and Finn arrive. He frees her, and stows her on board The Libertine. I like to draw out my romances. I hope you enjoy it. Word Count: 15k in total. I’m uploading them in parts. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

She headed back to her boss’s daughter’s room to change back into her clothes. It might be her room for the time being, unless the man decided to leave her somewhere. She put her energy sword away, wondering what would be next for her.

When she went to look for him, she found his workspace empty. The object he was building was missing too. He must have finished it. She eventually found him in the bar room. She’d never been allowed in here before. It was where her boss entertained important guests, and held a few meetings. The lights were out, save for the illumination the open door brought into the room.

He was surrounded by shadow. The single light shining on him, he didn’t seem to react as he relaxed on the couch. In one hand was a glass of brown liquor, and in his other what looked like a small pen, which she guessed must have been the item he was building. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Looking at him, she wondered if she’d interrupted some time he wanted to spend alone. When she began to turn to leave, she noticed him glance up at her. His eyes questioning, and soft. Feeling drawn to him, she sat down. He gulped the last of the brown liquor in his glass. He looked rough, rougher than usual at least. His hair was still a black mess. Leaning in, he looked intently at her face, his dark eyes conveying something which excited her. No, his eyes weren’t dark, she realized. They were a light shade of hazel. They looked darker when he narrowed them, but his eyes were wide as he looked into hers. His breath smelled sweet from the drink. His presence felt intoxicating, as she felt trapped again in his gaze.

“When I look at you, I feel all my worries go away shadow-lady. How do you do that?” Her hand had been sitting on her leg, he put his hand over it. Her skin tingled as her breathing became slightly erratic. His touch sent a pleasant chill down her body. “I barely know you,” he said with a soft chuckle, picking up her hand and examining it.

He was so certain in his advances. Normally with men, they’re much more hesitant to even look at her because of how easily she could kill them. When he looked at her, he knew. He knew she felt something between them just as he did. He also knew she could kill him easily. She could see it in his eyes; it wasn’t fear. It was a craving. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She only hoped he wasn’t looking for someone to hit him, because she wasn’t into that.

He took the pen from his hand and placed it on her bracer, “Are you a jedi?” he jested, looking at her arm.

She scoffed, “I have an energy sword, not a laser sword.” The bracer snapped. At the same time, the door to the room automatically shut behind her, closing off the light and leaving them in total darkness. The man removed the bracer, and rubbed the spot where it had been. The woman felt her ears begin to ring, as the man continued to stroke her arm.

“That’s what you were building,” she said in a whisper.

“Mmhmm,” he said faintly. His large hands, continued to caress her arm. They felt more intimate in the darkness. She didn’t know where they might trail. She could hear his breathing….long deep breaths with a slight hoarseness to them, almost like a growl. The darkness had heightened her senses, making the moment seem to last forever. Her thoughts trailed in the way she hoped his hands would.

“Was I a part of that deal?” She asked. It was stupid question, but she wanted to hear the words from his lips.

“Of course,” he said with a whisper. It made her heart race. He let go of her arm and leaned away from her. She tried to relax. “Do you feel more comfortable in the dark, shadow-lady?” he sounded amused.

“Why?” she asked him, ignoring his question.

Suddenly, he leaned in towards her. “You know why,” he said with a low growl in her ear. He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“I’d like to hear a reason,” she said. After a moment, he leaned back again in his seat, laughing quietly to himself. She felt a little embarrassed. This was a game they were playing and she couldn’t tell when it ended…only that he was winning. He was teasing her, and she enjoyed it.

She was impetuous, and he made her feel so. When the woman wanted something, she normally went after it. But he was enjoying chase, and she didn’t want to take that from him. For a change she enjoyed being sought after. They sat in the darkness a moment more. Then he went to the wall and turned the lights on. He was wearing a loose brown shirt she hadn’t seen before, one perhaps that’d been on under his coat.

“Okay.” He said as he poured himself another glass. “I’ve been t-t-thinking of hiring someone to protect me. I prefer to stay out of the fighting, and you seem to…” he pointed at her, “enjoy running into it.”

His response took her aback. “You put me in the deal because you wanted me to be your bodyguard?”

“Oh, I want more things from you than that.” He implied, locking eyes with her while taking a sip from his glass. She felt her cheeks turn red, as she clenched her thighs together instinctively. He noticed and smirked, turning to pour himself another glass. “But guarding seems like a good place to start,” he said.

She tried to compose herself, and get her head back in the game. This was her future, but she also wanted to play too. She didn’t want to tag along behind him. She stood up and gestured to his drink, which he happily gave to her. She took a big swig and coughed. It was stronger than what she was used too.

As he patted her on the back, he assured her, “I would pay you of course.”

She looked at the empty glass, pondering what to say. She wanted a bit more freedom than having to watch over someone. He watched her with amusement.

She then turned to him, offering a hand and said, “I’d rather be your partner.”

His eyes shined as she said this. He firmly grasped her hand, respecting the handshake. “Whatever you want-t-t, shadow lady.”

She nodded her head, and made herself another drink. As she went to take a swig she thought better and instead gave it to the man. He took her glass and poured it into his. Other than the extreme attraction between them, there was another elephant in the room. Neither of them knew one another’s names. She wondered how necessary it was to really know what his name was, and whether it’d make a difference. She had a name her boss had given her, and she didn’t know what her birth name had been or if she’d ever been named anything at all. The thought of him calling her shadow-lady made her smile.

“What?” he said peering at her, trying to read her expression. He had been watching her. He hardly took his eyes off her. He looked at her as if she were some work of art he couldn’t understand but was in marvel of. Usually, she’d mistrustful of a stare like that, but his eyes were genuine. She was beginning to get used to it.

“I was just thinking how insane all of this is. How different my life is right now in this moment.” She grabbed his glass and took a gulp. He patted her on the back again, as she continued “Where I was yesterday, who I was...My new name. It’s all changing, and I’m comfortable with it. I don’t know why I am…it should worry me but it doesn’t. I have the instinct to trust you, which makes no sense.”

The man took his drink back from her, taking a final swig from it. He stared at the bottom of his glass.

“If you ever want to leave. I won’t stop you. This ship can be ours.” As he said ours, he put his hand on her shoulder. She glanced at his hand, as a few of his fingers went to touch her hair. He had a knack for leaning the front of his head towards her, and almost seeming to peer through his raised eyebrows. It was a compelling way to look at someone, and it worked on her easily. She thought of kissing him, but she remembered she was trying to play the game.

“I don’t understand you,” she said plainly.

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” he said, lightly touching her hair. She moved his hand away from her. He didn’t seem offended. She went to the exit of the room.

“And I suppose I should call you Don’t Join?” she meant it jokingly. She hadn’t expected him to take her seriously.

“DJ.” But he did.

He had a devilish look on his face. She could tell he liked when she resisted him. In that moment, looking at him she realized he was looking for power, and he wanted her to give it willingly to him. He wanted her to fold under him, like a lamb before a wolf. She could finally see it in his eyes. The craving he had behind them intimidated her. She wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted, but she was intrigued. Maybe he needed her permission. She didn’t want to resist too much, but she didn’t want to throw herself at him. He still had to know she wanted him, but he needed to be certain. He didn’t seem the type to act on assumed feelings. Maybe he wanted to wait for the right moment. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him yet. At least that was what the woman told herself. Her thoughts raced, as she went back to her new room, and tried to sleep, unable to get his hungry eyes out of her mind. She imagined herself as a lamb caught in a wolf’s terrible embrace, and found she enjoyed the bite.

Part 5

if you made it this far, thank you so much. follow me. i made this tumblr just for fan fic. also if you have any advice thanks

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surfersofbole · 3 years

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Going to Fall: What will you do?

This is the fifth installment in my “Going to Fall” series, which is based on Bob Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall.”

What will you do?

Here, your father must now mention if God has seemed unjust, unkind, then, have you paid him no attention? Our sins are many, of great kinds; punishment ‘s held with retention

not unlike the water vapor within the clouds above the world. All the clouds won’t harm a scraper, but rain upon a cardboard home turns the walls into soaked paper.

I can sense your apprehension, and I can sense your broken pride. Do you have some great dissension? Well, now, just take your small asides to relieve any contention.

Some of us find things enlightening when we must live in heavy dark. Lightning rods control the frightening and brightening flash of the short night. Umbrellas keep th’ tensions tightening.

You would think there’d be prevention - that God himself would take the lead. God wants no Earthly dimension and so he goes ahead, concedes rain must fall without suspension.

What will you do, my blue-eyed son? Somethings are hard to answer. Some… What will you do, darling young one? Think you that I should know this thing? Morning comes now with the bright sun.

Going back out before the rain starts falling

I wake up scared as hell that things are going wrong. Why? I was not quite sure of what was going on. My mind was in a cell. I lie down quietly. The motionless allure of a ceiling, empty...

A day begins anew. Will I ever arise? A thunder I have heard; the skies will be disguised. The rainclouds now accrue. I’m scared to leave this place; though, maybe I’m absurd, and I should go/make haste.

I’ll walk the beaten path; I know it will be short. All the small excursions other souls couldn’t afford... I'll face the wanton wrath because the world will fear I am leading an incursion with my mouth that all’ll hear.

The depths of the deepest, black forest

Electrified air climbs to clustered cotton fluff; screams turn to grumbles.

Some schwarzwald sunshine prawns prowl blister-black water - ice of a night sky.

Sharp whistles whittle brittle branch and bark, bitter for the burning blight.

Hollow trees topple. Then, forests from dying flames born of detritus.

The people are many, their hands are all empty

Xerotic mouths agape, facade of night entreats a dreamer thirsting not the light, "neglect a cleanly state and state that you ordain the rain to fall as it is due."

Disguising no intentions with delight, obsessed with obfuscating appetite, come cumulating nimbus clouds above haranguing with each lightning strike thereof.

In time, hard rains again will lift the plight and everyone will be an acolyte lest all the clouds they see move out of sight.

The pellets of poison flooding their waters

(The vending machine hums softly. A whirring and some clinking kick off a habit, and I press a button. A quarter? I try again. In the mechanism, it moves. Thunk. Mother's approval.)

Someone's swimming in the pool.

Crystalline medium with waving surface dances the light upon the ceiling.

Diving at the deep, he sinks into the bottom for the longest moment until he is diluted by the dark.

I sit beside the edge, staring.

No manacles bind us to the station we submit.

Someone's swimming in the pool, but I've a job to do. "Refill the canister with two chlorine tablets. Lock up and leave."

The home in the valley meets the damp, dirty prison

I walk to where the sidewalk ends en masse, past the concrete's blend with grass and the footstep-muddled pastures.

I found the last spot God had cried: an oasis that has dried in the desert of this life.

The rain is not the coldest where the trees have met the forest and the mountain meets the valley.

The executioner’s face, always well hidden

At mass, the priest, in his white, polyester robes, stood among pink roses.

"I say, precious Lord, look upon us and see not injustice; instead, find hope."

Among the heightened exaltations of the chorus, water came down upon us.

Back when crimes against the Lord and his people were punishable, men like Christ and Beckett, with their deaths, made leaders grovel.

King, bearing a new weight, shouldered a poor people's campaign; in his memory, we hid this struggle. In this new poor people's campaign, shall hidden faces make another man infamous?

"Do this in memory of me."

The word of the Lord makes requisite that we do things in memory of others that perhaps, through us, they could live on. Such a cause as theirs is worth perpetuating; such a love as theirs is the great communion.

"Mass has ended. You may go in peace"

Hunger is ugly, souls are forgotten

Oysters - pried apart with pearls squeezed from their soft flesh - are discarded shells that cleansed murky waterways. Layered nacre anchors banks.

Black is the color, none is the number

For the briefest second, worlds are colorful and palm fronds, like percussion sections, fill the wind with scratching sound. As raindrops themselves drive through darkness into broken asphalt, thunder-crash! The crack in night, it vanished while a youth in leather shoes and wetting socks went running to a covered walkway. Hole-filled pockets bore some grimed receipts, old notes, worn cards, and damaged pictures in a wallet that was drawn up. She inserted plastic; as the m'chine slow- processed four fast digits, vehicles blurred past and disappear until, at last, a menu let her check the balance. Black in text, a zero showed up. Buzzing lights then flickered; rain felt bitter/harder.

Tell it, think it, speak it, breathe it

False flags on steel poles; you find their real goals cause hard heads to feel soles as reeled votes steal polls. Loss is a hand that's doled to thoughtless card holders; well oiled, pristine political machines need propaganda's grist cleaned and shoveled on the screens. Greed - democracy's splotch - fills you with the scotch blues; when the night is botched, sit back up to watch news. Feel cold and say burr under a cedar tree, or passover seder with Sam Seder, see his angered, sabered tongue work hard/labor long; hundreds of lungfuls from racist uncles tapered off. Like flaming fungal masses on crumpled paper, scoffed arguments hindered turn to cinder; try not to join the splintered dense blocks of tinder, dry rot. "Freedom isn't free, son..." some person breathes on as a prison's breeze comes; truth in neon: "Freedom isn't free, and it isn't freedom." Jaime Peck 'n' Michael Brooks wait with bridled facts on homicidal cops and Congress' idled acts. The left's best anchors, hosts of the Majority Report, unveil the languor of neofascist authority.

Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it

Guinness in my system at a Regal cinema; someone said, "I miss him." Liquor mixed with cinnamon makes my throat feel dry; is that why I'm stifled? "On everyone's behalf, when we heard you laughing at Dave Rubin's gaffes, all our sides were halfing." Why am I nervous before the final curtain? "He did the world a service, that I say with certainty." "I want to drink, alright, rather than think all night; pour shots until bar fight hour is a starlight tour." Drink my Tennessee whiskey and Hennessy briskly in backgrounds of dim-lit rooms. As this dim-wit reflects, chances look slim; the future's a grim skit. Pillow to my head and sink in like lead, a stone carelessly embedded in the river bed alone.

Stand on the ocean until I start sinking

When one recollects that the keystone oft sank in the sand before standing aloft among clouds on a mountain so solid of faith and devotion, it's then that a false step compels men, "Recover!" I noticed thrombosis had felled the calm warrior, that saint among saints that is Archangel Michael; the champion of men and proponent of justice inspires l'avant-garde to claim in it's crawling a victory not pyrrhic but won with empiric- al knowledge against an- tithetical sirens that draw men towards hatred with bigotry, envy, and greed. So, surrender your voice, but renounce not your thoughts, and remember the message borne by a colossus that called out to Lazarus, "Come forth."

Know my song well before I start singing

Cantos coming soon to a year near you!

Notes

This is the order in which the poems were written: 2, 1, 4, 3, 6, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. I plan for poem 13 to be a series of cantos based on my time walking through a park in my home town.

What will you do?

This poem was written months ago while I was still a Tumblr poet and is the introduction to the final section of the Going to Fall collection of poems I've written. The next poem will be posted when I figure out where I saved it.

The depths of the deepest, black forest

I thought I had a poem for this portion of the final section of my "Going to Fall" poetry collection, but I couldn't find it. Luckily, the haiku challenge issued for November prompted me to write this in place of the imagined poem.

The people are many, their hands are all empty

There were two prompts for this poem. The first is an obscure words poetry contest that I volunteered myself, in which I received the prompt "Xenodochial" (which means hospitable or kind to strangers). The second was from a challenge I made [for] myself [...] I had been stuck on this particular portion for months now, so I'm glad to have something appropriate and fitting.

The pellets of poison flooding their waters

Perhaps I put too much thought into a story about a guy closing up after a hallucination. The stuff in the parenthesis was typed last, but I only put it in because I could find no better way to add that the narrator is thirsty. I was going to write a twelve poem collection on this prompt, based on monthly news stories of people making the world a worse place, but the poems were scrapped. I do hope to revisit the idea under a different title.Perhaps I put too much thought into a story about a guy closing up after a hallucination. The stuff in the parenthesis was typed last, but I only put it in because I could find no better way to add that the narrator is thirsty. I was going to write a twelve poem collection on this prompt, based on monthly news stories of people making the world a worse place, but the poems were scrapped. I do hope to revisit the idea under a different title.

The home in the in the valley meets the damp dirty prison

I had the first two lines stuck in my head for a couple of days. This is the result.

Hunger is ugly, souls are forgotten

This is just a poem comparing oysters and people.

Black is the color, none is the number

October 11, 2020 corrections: *line 4 - "And" -> "As" *line 7 - "." -> "," *line 8 - "Thunder-crash!" -> "thunder-crash!" and line split. *lines 13-16 - "Hole-filled pockets - dirty, wet - hold paper/plastic cards and damaged pictures in a wallet. It is" replaced with current version. *lines 18-21 - "plastic; as the machine processed four fast digits, vehicles dove on past and then they disappeared. At" replaced with current version.

Three Poems for the Great Progressive

This poem came together from the following stanza that I spit out a couple of nights ago: Passover seder with Sam Seder under my cedar tree. Say burr, see his sabered tongue labor long. Hundred lungful's hinder cindered minds. The tinder finds a racist uncle's baseless tongueful like dry rot: the fungal waste is erased from space. Try not It includes one line I wrote a few years ago: "I drink my Tennessee whiskey and Hennessy briskly." The poem is basically about listening to the news all the time because you're sick, feeling restless, going out to the movies and bars, and finally going to sleep. July 20, 2020 update: Completed in honor of Michael Brooks. Also, I wrote the following poem soon after I heard the news, but did not put the time into it that I would have liked. The ground is dry and leaves grow thin. When the new moon is out the fuses trip, the grid's offline, and the world stands too still, I look to the sky as the gold flecks fly; ember is ash. A chill climbs up my spine; stomach can't dip lower. I cannot scout a star within the restless sky. August 11, 2020 update: I saw a contest early morning and wrote the first stanza of the third poem. The second stanza was written after I returned from work. The prompt was the first line from the Beatles' "A Day in the Life".

NOTE: This is the title for “Tell it, think it, speak it, breathe it,” “Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it,” and “Stand on the ocean until I start sinking.”

#poem #original #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #writerscreed #Going to Fall #What will you do?#Going back out before the rain starts falling #The depths of the deepest black forest #The people are many their hands are all empty #The pellets of poison flooding their waters #The home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison #The executioner’s face always well hidden #Hunger is ugly souls are forgotten #Black is the color none is the number #Tell it think it speak it breathe it #Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it #Stand on the ocean until I start sinking #Three Poems for the Great Progressive

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zukadiary · 7 years

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All for One ~ Moon Troupe 2017

This was my first live Tsukigumi since Puck. And really, the only Tsukigumi I’d seen at all since then was Aasa’s A-EN and part of one Arthur stream... so yeah, long time no see, Tsukigumi. I’m not sure anything can beat HOT EYES!! in terms of how far past my expectations it flew... but this is a really close second.

All for One is an original Koike-sensei fantasy involving the Three Musketeers. It’s 2 acts, and I was concerned that it would be presented in a questionable state of doneness and not interesting enough to hold my inevitably sleep-deprived attention. I was very wrong!! The first thing I did after leaving the theater on Tuesday was hunt down a good seat for today, and now I’m kind of desperate for a third chance. This show presses buttons I didn’t know I had (but apparently denim capes and barrel throwing are real turn ons for me).

--BRIEF SUMMARY, WILL INCLUDE SPOILERS!--

The story is very silly even for a comedy, and nearly all the punchlines are pretty groan-worthy. Chapi is not actually Louis XIV but his twin sister; she was supposed to be tossed aside when they were born but they gave away the wrong baby, and raised her as a boy while frantically searching for the real Louis to no avail. So she’s assumed the role of king, and meets d’Artagnan (Tamakichi) when he’s brought in to give her fencing lessons. d’Artagnan gets overexcited and knocks her down, she gets upset (mostly from being compelled to fence in the first place) and orders him to leave the Musketeers. Later, sick and tired of pretending to be a man—especially now that her mother is trying to concoct a plot marry her off to the Queen of Spain (Umino Mitsuki) despite this lie—she puts on a dress and wig and goes out to mingle. She sees d’Artagnan in a bar drowning his sorrows with the other Musketeers, and starts engaging him in conversation in hopes of drawing his feelings toward “the king” out of him. They fall madly in love! Meanwhile, everyone else in the bar starts making fun of Cardinal Mazarin (Itsuki Chihiro), whose nephew Bernard (Tsukishiro Kanato) is the captain of the royal guard. Bernard and some guards walk in just in time to see this, and the Musketeers are ordered to disband as punishment. They find the real Louis while visiting Porthos who has taken another job as an actor, and the rest of the show is just kind of a general hullabaloo of Chapi trying to figure out how to avoid marriage and be with d’Artagnan, and the Musketeers trying to get the real Louis into the palace and their band back together, while Bernard continues trying to ruin everything. Act 1 felt more polished; it has some really big impressive musical numbers (and I’m always wowed by Tsukigumi’s overall vocal level when I see them live). Act 2 felt like Koike ran out of steam a little; it was more generic Takarazuka, and the final chaotic series of fights on the rotating stairs reminded me an awful lot of the end of Kenshin. He’s also clearly still really excited about sword noises (not complaining... so am I).

It’s not the story that I fell in love with as much as the incredible balance this troupe has APPARENTLY DEVELOPED WHILE I WASN’T LOOKING, and I think Koike’s biggest success here was putting every little piece in exactly the right place to maximize that balance. We all joke that Chapi is the real top star of Tsukigumi, but in All for One she essentially was. MiyaRuri and Toshi are so obviously more polished than Tamakichi, but they don’t hold back, and instead of showing her up it highlights her purity. Reiko definitely doesn’t mesh yet, but Bernard is a ridiculous character, so she’s free to be awkward for now and still totally succeed... plus she’s a type that I think really adds something to the troupe. Ari has the challenge of being overly masculine and funny, and she’s still finding her feet but it’s a great time to make her try this. The energy of the troupe overall has gotten so much less competitive and more FUN AND HAPPY since the last time I watched them. I did not think making Tamakichi a premature top star would accomplish that, but it seems it did, and I’m so glad I was wrong... this Tsukigumi is truly a delight, and I hate them a little for making me want to continue throwing them my money.

My highlights...

Manaki Reika as Louis XIV/Louise: Completely the star. Every time I see Chapi I think about that 2012 Christmas TV special where she barely knew how to talk, and every bit of growth makes it harder to believe she’s the same person. It’s so fun to see her dance, order people around, do a boy and a girl and both voices (and SING in both voices) all in the same show. I also love that they don’t make her do the standard musumeyaku only-think-of-your-partner thing, and lower herself to raise Tamakichi up; it was so much fun with them both at the center.

Tamaki Ryou as d’Artagnan: I found Tamakichi SO COMPLETELY CHARMING in this, she has the overgrown puppy appeal dialed up to 1000. I just LOVE that they’re aware of her youth and USING IT instead of trying to hide it, and lord I hope that’s not a one-off thing. Having her play the wide-eyed hopeful pure hero/young man IN LOVE (circumstances be damned) worked so well, especially coupled with her very imposing stature—it was adorable. It’s kind of a weird feeling, because she’s definitely not my type, but I still loved watching her so much, just with like... a completely energizing and not life-ruining happiness. IMAGINE THAT.

Miya Rurika as Aramis:

You know that feeling, when you see that one role, played by someone who you *like* but who isn’t *yours* or anything, and you can’t even say “this was a brilliant portrayal because of xyz,” but you’re like, ok, this is just the trash can where I live now, please forward my mail...

That’s all I’m going to say, lest I risk descending into impurity.

(RIP the lady she targeted during her solo today, with a last second lunge, several rows back from her usual spot)

((Also, she just seems so much more comfortable with both Kacha and top stardom (?) out of the picture. I guess I don’t know if it’s just 3 years’ growth or if a weight really has left her shoulders, but either way it’s made her lethal x1000))

(((Also, her lips are like a Rococo painting. Who looks like that??)))

Uzuki Hayate as Athos: Not generally being a watcher of Tsukigumi, this is probably the first major thing I’ve ever seen Toshi do (although one time I took an internet quiz and it said she’d be my boyfriend). I do know this was kind of a big deal role for her to land, and I loved her in it very much. Her LOOK is ON POINT, and she really completed the chemistry of the main-4 group as the serious one. I particularly liked the dynamic between her and Ari, when they paired them—”SIGH, don’t drink that,” etc.

Akatsuki Chisei as Porthos: Ari still has a lot of growing to do, but her youthful exuberance and the fact that she’s a giant person worked really well for big, strong, (perpetually drunk?) Porthos. She also had some of my favorite individual scenes, featuring the hurling of shockingly large objects at her troupe mates. I’m glad she’s getting a role that’s forcing her to stretch herself, and I think more than anyone she’ll get better and better as the show progresses.

Tsukishiro Kanato as Bernard: Predictably, Reiko is completely Yukigumi... but in her favor, she BROUGHT THAT SHIT TO THE SWORD FIGHTS, dear lord girl. Bernard is a safe stretch for her, if that makes sense... it’s a comedic role, which is not her forte, but he’s ridiculous enough that she can go over the top with it, which I think is easier than finding subtlety. And she looks DAMN GOOD all in black, and consistently flanked by Kizuki Yuuma *swoon* and Chinami Karan, who also look damn good in their dark metallics and wildly colored hair (this show really is looks for days). Reiko has also adopted Chigi’s exact furrowed eyebrow smolder face for finale numbers, which is both heartwarming and heartbreaking, and VERY WELL suited to her particular brand of otherworldly beauty.

Saou Kurama as the Dutchess of Montpensier: I’m here for Lady Koma. She’s in love with Louis and determined to teach him the joys of indulging in women until she figures out what’s really going on. It’s not a huge role and not strictly necessary, but it definitely adds another layer of charm and silliness to the story, and it is what it is specifically because it’s Koma.

I also particularly enjoyed Touka Yurino as Chapi’s mother.

I think I could watch this every day until I leave. I’m not even sure why I love it so much... it’s pretty dumb. But I love it. Tsukigumi, this was not our arrangement, you were supposed to leave me alone.

#takarazuka #reviews #all for one #Dramatic S(ummer 17)

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pete31gordon · 7 years

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“At the Well”

It’s Friday night. I’ve been working and what I really want to do is lie down and binge watch West Wing.

But instead I am here, typing.

I just listened straight through Bethany Barnard’s new album three times in a row. The fifth song is called “At the Well.” It has a sort of haunting sound to it (in a good way), so haunting that it compelled me to forgo my binge watching for the evening and write this instead.

Have you ever been continuously drawn to a certain passage in scripture but you weren’t sure why? That’s how John 4 has been for me. I wrote a devo on it for She Reads Truth a while back and ever since, I keep coming back to it. Thinking about it. Wondering about it.

That Samaritan woman at the well.

And tonight as I listened to that song (three times), I remembered it again. Go back to the passage, I heard my soul urge. Ask me why you’ve been drawn to it. And it hit me. Just like that.

To recap, the story of the woman at the well (John 4:1-30) occurs when Jesus is on his way from Judea to Galilee. He stops at a well in a city in Samaria and asks a woman to give him a drink. They proceed to have a pretty amazing conversation. Go read it and then come back.

When I was studying this story for She Reads Truth, I learned that Jesus breaks three cultural barriers of his time in order to speak to this woman:

He is speaking to a woman, and traditionally, Jewish men were not to be seen conversing with women.

He is speaking to a Samaritan, and as the scripture says, Jews had no dealings with Samaritans at the time (v. 9).

He is speaking to a woman he knows is an “adulteress.” A woman who has had more than one husband and was now with a man she wasn’t married to.

Jesus didn’t have to be in Samaria that day. Because the Jews and the Samaritans didn’t get along, most Jews would go around Samaria if they were traveling somewhere, avoiding it if at all possible. The HCSB commentary says, “…rabbis considered Samaritans to be in a continual state of uncleanliness.”

It’s also particularly strange that Jesus is talking to a woman. As the same commentary says about verse 27, “The disciples’ amazement that Jesus was talking with a woman stemmed from the common Jewish teaching that talking too much to a woman, even one’s wife, was a waste of time, diverting one’s attention from the study of scripture and reflection of God.”

It’s worth noting here that Jesus pursues the conversation with the woman, not the other way around, and he keeps pursuing it until he reveals who he is:

“I know that the Messiah is coming…”

“I who speak to you am He.” (vv. 25-26)

Remember, at that time Jesus wasn’t going around telling everybody who he was. This is very significant.

I have been needing something from God lately. I’ve been needing him to explain to me why the faith I believe in appears to have been turned upside-down and twisted into something I don’t recognize by people touting the identity of “evangelical,” and, in the name of Jesus, trying their hardest to further marginalize the already marginalized.

I have felt so put off by my own religious affiliation I threatened to my mom on the phone the other day that I was going to quit. Just evangelicalism leave. Possibly forever.

I knew, of course I knew, that a president making executive orders and a handful of big evangelical names supporting those were not the actual true voice of my religion. But it felt that way. It felt like they were hijacking what I believe and know to be true about Jesus and molding it into this unrecognizable thing. This weird, sad, patriotic thing disguised as “safety and security.”

And now I know why John 4 has been rumbling. I told God I needed something. I needed to know what He thought about this, what He was going to do about this and here, I see it.

Jesus took who no one else wanted—a woman a Samaritan—looked her in the eye and offered her his very self, the living water. He turned it upside-down. And he let his disciples see it—that cultural norms and discriminatory attitudes will not hold him back. That the gospel does not push away, it moves toward. It doesn’t build barriers, it crashes through them. At all costs. At the cost.

I don’t like this tendency of mine to let others’ voices get loud and tell me who I am and who everybody else is. As if the loudest one on TV wins, and I just have to deal with it. But the reality for us right now is that we are going to have to fight for this. As Christians, we are going to have to consistently come back to the well, to the one who knows us, to the truth that lies underneath. Because not much of it is at the surface right now. We will have to be diligent at reminding ourselves and each other, as the voices roar, that the Jesus some claim to serve is not the Jesus we serve.

The Jesus we serve is holding the faces of the unclean.

It was not a practical answer. God did not tell me how I was going to solve all of this. Instead, He told me He is with me in it. He is with us. And that is what I needed. Because the disbelief and the despair had silenced me, and I needed to know that the same one who drew near her, draws near me, and all of us. And he isn’t going to stop.

P.S. If you are looking for a practical way to help refugees during all of this, check out Preemptive Love Coalition. They are the rock stars of my life right now.

And, I was really inspired by this last week, written by Sharon Hodde Miller: Evangelicals and the Loss of Prophetic Imagination.

The post “At the Well” appeared first on Andrea Lucado.

from Andrea Lucado http://andrealucado.com/2017/02/13/at-the-well/

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marianic36rich · 7 years

Text

“At the Well”

It’s Friday night. I’ve been working and what I really want to do is lie down and binge watch West Wing.

But instead I am here, typing.

That Samaritan woman at the well.

And tonight as I listened to that song (three times), I remembered it again. Go back to the passage, I heard my soul urge. Ask me why you’ve been drawn to it. And it hit me. Just like that.

When I was studying this story for She Reads Truth, I learned that Jesus breaks three cultural barriers of his time in order to speak to this woman:

He is speaking to a woman, and traditionally, Jewish men were not to be seen conversing with women.

He is speaking to a Samaritan, and as the scripture says, Jews had no dealings with Samaritans at the time (v. 9).

He is speaking to a woman he knows is an “adulteress.” A woman who has had more than one husband and was now with a man she wasn’t married to.

It’s worth noting here that Jesus pursues the conversation with the woman, not the other way around, and he keeps pursuing it until he reveals who he is:

“I know that the Messiah is coming…”

“I who speak to you am He.” (vv. 25-26)

Remember, at that time Jesus wasn’t going around telling everybody who he was. This is very significant.

I have felt so put off by my own religious affiliation I threatened to my mom on the phone the other day that I was going to quit. Just evangelicalism leave. Possibly forever.

And now I know why John 4 has been rumbling. I told God I needed something. I needed to know what He thought about this, what He was going to do about this and here, I see it.

The Jesus we serve is holding the faces of the unclean.

P.S. If you are looking for a practical way to help refugees during all of this, check out Preemptive Love Coalition. They are the rock stars of my life right now.

And, I was really inspired by this last week, written by Sharon Hodde Miller: Evangelicals and the Loss of Prophetic Imagination.

The post “At the Well” appeared first on Andrea Lucado.

from Andrea Lucado http://andrealucado.com/2017/02/13/at-the-well/

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michael31kuh · 7 years

Text

“At the Well”

It’s Friday night. I’ve been working and what I really want to do is lie down and binge watch West Wing.

But instead I am here, typing.

That Samaritan woman at the well.

And tonight as I listened to that song (three times), I remembered it again. Go back to the passage, I heard my soul urge. Ask me why you’ve been drawn to it. And it hit me. Just like that.

When I was studying this story for She Reads Truth, I learned that Jesus breaks three cultural barriers of his time in order to speak to this woman:

He is speaking to a woman, and traditionally, Jewish men were not to be seen conversing with women.

He is speaking to a Samaritan, and as the scripture says, Jews had no dealings with Samaritans at the time (v. 9).

He is speaking to a woman he knows is an “adulteress.” A woman who has had more than one husband and was now with a man she wasn’t married to.

It’s worth noting here that Jesus pursues the conversation with the woman, not the other way around, and he keeps pursuing it until he reveals who he is:

“I know that the Messiah is coming…”

“I who speak to you am He.” (vv. 25-26)

Remember, at that time Jesus wasn’t going around telling everybody who he was. This is very significant.

I have felt so put off by my own religious affiliation I threatened to my mom on the phone the other day that I was going to quit. Just evangelicalism leave. Possibly forever.

And now I know why John 4 has been rumbling. I told God I needed something. I needed to know what He thought about this, what He was going to do about this and here, I see it.

The Jesus we serve is holding the faces of the unclean.

P.S. If you are looking for a practical way to help refugees during all of this, check out Preemptive Love Coalition. They are the rock stars of my life right now.

And, I was really inspired by this last week, written by Sharon Hodde Miller: Evangelicals and the Loss of Prophetic Imagination.

The post “At the Well” appeared first on Andrea Lucado.

from Andrea Lucado http://andrealucado.com/2017/02/13/at-the-well/

0 notes