#oh l’amour (what’s a boy in love supposed to do?) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lustresky · 4 years

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lal ; chapitre deux ; peu m'importe, si tu m'aimes

l’hymne à l’amour masterlist & lily’s lil’ stories

chapitre un ; et la terre peut bien s'écrouler

Buzzing.

Cold.

Chills.

As you open your eyes, you take a deep yet shaky breath.

Goosebumps litter your skin, a numbing type of ache holding your limbs in place.

You hear the squeak of a chair from the side.

Is it the man from before?

You shift your eyes to the right.

No, it isn’t…

The man now beside you is younger, wrinkles barely present on his face; and instead of wearing a doctor’s coat, he wore a three piece suit. His hair is golden, coiffed perfectly.

“Good day, Miss Collins.”

You narrow your eyes at the name.

“Collins?” You croak, wincing as the shrill sound escapes your throat.

He furrows his brows, and stares straight into your eyes.

“Your name…” He whispers.

“For this role…” He continues.

At the mention of the word role, a switch flips on in your head.

REGISTERING [NEW ROLE]…

He takes a pause.

You stare back at him, expectant.

”Is Elizabeth Collins.”

Your eyes gloss over.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: N/A

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

He takes another pause.

“Now,” He claps his hands together. “What is your name?”

“My name is Elizabeth Collins.” You answer back immediately, zero hesitation in your voice.

He nods.

“Your date of birth…”

REGISTERING [DATE OF BIRTH]...

”Is June 21, 1954.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

You give him a nod.

“Your occupation— for now, at least…”

REGISTERING [OCCUPATION]...

“Is as a journalist at The New York Post.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION: N/A

“Noted.” You say.

He hums in content, and opens his lips once more.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Your mission…”

REGISTERING [MISSION]...

“Is to become Senator Harry Baxter's personal assistant,” He starts.

“Find every little thing— every little secret, about him…”

“Seduce him…”

“Plan and go on a rendez-vous in his villa. Just you two, all alone.”

“Inform us of the date and time.”

“Then, once all’s said and done, follow the man with the metal arm.”

You nod.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION:

Personal assistant.

Seduce.

Secrets.

Rendez-vous.

Inform date and time.

Man with the metal arm.

“Will that be all?” You ask.

A smile creeps up on his face. “Yes.”

A pause.

He opens up his mouth for the last time.

“Go break a leg.”

Baxtor lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

“Well, Miss Collins,” He says, satisfaction clear on his face, and plops your documents down on his desk. “You’re certainly… well suited for this job.”

Personal assistant.

You let your rose painted lips curl into an enthralling smile.

“I believe that that isn’t the only thing that I’m well suited for, senator.”

His eyes widen.

A haze clouds over them.

You tilt your head to the side, fluttering your eyelashes and pursing your lips in an almost pout.

Seduce.

“Would you like me to show you, sir?”

He gulps.

His gaze flickers from your own eyes down to your bust.

“I’d certainly like that, Miss Collins.”

Baxtor enters the room.

You continue shuffling his documents.

“Elizabeth? What are you doing here in my office?”

You look up at him.

“I’m your personal assistant, sir. That means I have to sort through your files.” You say nonchalantly, a smile on your face.

Secrets.

He hums, and walks to your side, his arm coming up to rest on your waist.

You ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach as you continue to act coy.

He leans in close.

“I’m sure that you’re more than that now.” He whispers in your ear.

You force out a giggle.

“Am I, now?”

He nods.

“Well, if you’re so sure,” You say, turning around to face him properly.

You let your eyes drop from his gaze and onto his lips.

“Why don’t you invite me over tonight for a little…”

You take a pause, playfully cocking your head to the side as if you didn’t know the word.

“How did the French call it, again?”

Rendez-vous.

He chuckles.

“A rendez-vous?”

You nod.

He leans in closer.

“So?” You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, his nose brushing against yours.

“Does 8 PM this evening sound good to you?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile up at him.

“8 tonight sounds perfect.”

He gives you one last smirk before pulling away.

“I’ll be waiting, then.”

You watch him leave, a smile plastered on your face for appearances.

As soon as the door clicks closed, it falls.

You whip out your mobile phone.

Inform date and time.

“Today— March 12, 1979. At 2000.”

You hear a satisfied hum from the other side.

“Noted.”

Before you could have even knocked, the huge mahogany door opens wide.

“There she is.” Baxtor smiles.

You laugh. “Here I am.”

He pulls you in for a hug. You inhale a whiff of his cologne as he does so.

Royal Copenhagen, huh?

Once you both separate, you give him a smile. “Shall we get started, then?”

He shakes his head and chuckles.

“I think that we should have dinner first,” He drops his eyes onto your body; clad in a skin-tight, beige, wool dress, ending on your mid-thigh.

You pretend not to notice how they linger and stay on your exposed legs.

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?”

You giggle. “Well if you say so, sir.”

His eyes go back up to yours immediately. “As much as I love hearing you call me that, sweetheart, I’d much prefer Henry for now.”

“Hmm… Henry it is for now, then,” You let your lips form into a perfectly practiced smirk. “But I’m sure I’d slip out and say sir— oh, I don’t know… sometime later tonight?”

His eyes gloss over.

He leans in, making your noses brush against one another— but before he can do anything, you lift a finger up and press it on his lips, effectively stopping him in his place. You open your mouth, and say;

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?”

You laugh as surprise overtakes his face.

After a beat, he shakes his head, a playful smile now resting on his lips. “Let’s hurry, then.”

He lets you in; taking your hand and guiding you through the massive and luxurious villa and towards the back.

When you spot the candlelit dinner beside the pool, you hum appreciatively.

“Ever the gentleman, are you?”

He drops your hand, and instead places his own onto your waist.

“Anything for you.”

You giggle, and shift your eyes to the pool.

An idea forms in your mind.

“You know what?” You say, hands already going for the bottom of your dress; the action making his hand fall to his side.

You look back at him with a smirk. “I think dinner can wait for now.”

Hands grasping at the hem of your dress, you take it off in one full motion and toss it to the side.

In less than a second your body is submerged in the pool with a splash.

You rise up, raking your hands through your wet hair.

Baxtor looks down on you from the side of the pool, complete amazement written clearly on his face.

“Well?” You say, a playful smile on your lips. “Aren’t you getting in, Henry?”

At the sound of his name falling sweetly off your tongue, his whole body stands up straighter; and before long he too has stripped to his undergarments.

With a splash, he jumps in, before breaking the surface right next to you and pulling you in close to his chest.

“May I?” He asks, ever so gently.

You giggle. “You may.”

Your lips connect.

After a few minutes of hand roaming and tongue exploring, you break the kiss for a gasp of air.

He doesn’t stop— now going for your neck; peppering kisses all along your collarbone.

Suddenly, his stomach rumbles.

The chuckle comes past your lips immediately. “Looks like dinner’s gotten tired of waiting.”

His laugh vibrates against your throat. “‘t seems so.”

You put your hands on his shoulders and pull away.

“Let me make myself proper, then.”

He stares straight into your eyes.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

You push your body towards the tiled stairs, leaving him all alone in the pool.

Knowing that he’d like the show, you purposefully sway your hips a bit more as you start climbing up.

You reach the end.

A shot clangs against the air.

You barely flinch.

You look back; seeing Baxtor’s now lifeless body floating in the calm body of water— his blood slowly tainting its clear colour.

You scrunch your nose up in pity.

Poor pool boy.

You bend down, grabbing your dress and putting it back on.

A glint of metal catches your eye.

“Подписывайтесь на меня.”

Follow me.

You translate the words automatically in your head— but you’re not quite sure how.

Last time you had checked, you barely spoke a lick of Russian.

You brush the thought off.

You look up.

A man, with scruffy black hair and a black mask, stares back into your eyes. His case is dangling by his shoulder whilst he stands straight— like a soldier.

You shift your eyes to his left arm, which is mainly covered due to his black leather jacket; but the shine of metal from his hand confirmed your suspicions.

Man with the metal arm.

You look back at him.

He narrows his eyes, as if he recognizes you.

The next words that came out of his mouth makes your entire body freeze.

“Evelyn Richards?”

Your heart leaps in your throat.

What?

Before you can dwell too much on the name, however, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Sir?”

Your eyes widen and shift towards it.

I thought we were alone?

Before you know it, your feet are dragging your body away from the crime scene and outside into the parking lot; a mental map clear in your head thanks to the floor plans of the villa Baxtor had sent to you before he had bought it.

You get inside your car and press on the pedal— not wasting a single second.

It’s when you’ve driven a good amount of kilometers away from the mansion that you realize something.

Something important.

You were supposed to follow the man with a metal arm.

Fuck.

You slam your fist on the hood of your car.

If he hadn’t said anything, you would have; but him saying that name threw you off guard. Whoever lived with Baxtor didn’t help your surprise either.

Evelyn Richards…

Evelyn…

Richards…

You rack your brain.

Who the fuck is Evelyn Richards?

Your mobile phone then rings— effectively cutting off your thought process.

Anxiety and fear courses through your veins.

You pick it up.

“Where are you?”

You look up to your left, and see a sign.

Doing your best to not let your voice quiver, you say, “Between Emery Way and Myers PL.”

A beat.

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute later, exactly just like they said, a black van pulls up to the back of your car.

You get out and walk towards the vehicle; head hung low and heartbeat high.

The van door opens as soon as you step foot in front of it.

“How did you not know that he had a personal butler?” A man, whom you’ve never seen before, spits the question at your face, anger laced through every word.

You open your mouth to defend yourself. “He never listed it in any of his records.”

“Oh, of course,” He huffs and scrunches his nose up at you. “And he definitely writes down the fact that he wants to change jobs and become the Undersecretary of the World Security Council instead, doesn’t he?”

You scoff up at him. “Those things are completely different from one another.”

“Sure they are.” He sneers. “Whatever, get in— boss is gonna have your neck once we get back.”

You keep your jaw shut tight and did as what you were told.

Whispers.

“How did she not know?”

“She said that it wasn’t written on any of his records, boss. Probably hired illegally.”

A scoff, then a pause.

“And where is he, now?”

“We’re still not sure, but we’re doing our best to find him.”

“Well do better.”

A shuffle of the feet.

“We will, boss.”

Another scoff.

“You better, I don’t pay you people for nothing.”

Another voice then pipes up.

“Sir? Should we wipe her now, or should we wait for him too?”

A beat.

“Wipe her now— the sooner she forgets, the sooner we can use her again.”

You feel a needle prod your thigh.

“Noted, sir.”

It plunges.

You thrash, but nothing changes.

“Might as well freeze her now, too.”

A hum.

“All right sir.”

You feel your body being shifted into another spot.

The cold welcomes you once again.

chapitre trois ; coming soon! as always, requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

#lily’s lil’ stories #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #marvel x reader

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barbecutie · 5 years

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OH L’AMOUR

BROKE MY HEART AND NOW IM ACHING FOR YOU

MON AMOUR

WHATS A BOY IN LOVE SUPPOSED TO DO

i’m getting this song tattooed on my ass

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hearttstopper · 5 years

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the idea of harry covering an erasure song has me flipping the fuck out. i want it so bad. he would absolutely do “always” so much justice — or “oh l’amour” — what’s a boy in love supposed to do?

#also if you haven’t heard erasure’s cover of lay all your love on me... peak #peak gay culture #anyway

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lighthouseroleplay · 5 years

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ROMAIN AUCLAIR

( 21 , cis male , he/him )

♪♫ currently listening ⧸⧸ victorious by panic at the disco!

a bottle of champagne shattered on the ground, syllables fumbled in a mouth unused to them, fingertips that smell of smoke. a smear of crimson lipstick, white teeth grinning widely, dark leather jackets on broad shoulders. neatly tailored shirts, autumn trees’ burnt orange hue, marble statues, an ever-present disdain for authority. the gleam of fireworks, dark alleys, a loud arrogance.

• montgomery was a hookup, nothing more. or at least that’s what you’d assumed? in a back corner of a party, kissing gently, until you or he disappeared back into it — barely something to register on your own radar. it seemed to have registered, on his, though, and the way he blushed to look at you, avoided you in class and stammered, shyly: it was endearing, and made you curious, made you wonder if to him it was perhaps more than that to him.

• ramirez was your partner in crime, unused to the type of luxury you reveled in, but a willing participant nonetheless. you appreciated their effortless cool, shared their music with your friends back in france, and wanted their success, not for the acclaim it would bring you, as their friend, but in a surprisingly selfless way. they had a passion for music in a way you didn’t understand, but admired: you’d never felt so passionate about anything. music, intellectual pursuits, sports, all had always felt almost useless, a means to an end, never anything you wanted to devote your life to. ramirez knew what they wanted to do, who they wanted to be, and you longed for that kind of certainty.

taken by julie ⧸⧸ younes kahlaoui

PARIS, FRANCE

“vraiment, cette attitude, il tient ça de ta famille.”

“t’es pas sérieux? t’as vue ta mère? elle se prend pour la reine-mère, nous parle comme si on était qu’une bande de chiens. elle est aussi arrogante que ton fils!”

“non. définitivement pas. ce gamin, c’est ton fils.”

the road ahead is flat, uneventful. trees are running, and romain tries to find someone, something, hiding into the trees. his father’s driving, fast and careless. his mother is fixing her makeup again. they’re both trying to convince each other that romain is not their son; that his faults are a result of either DNA, and not a result of their parenting. never would they win an award for being the most present, caring parents. both are successful, father works in the financial world, his mother a up-and-coming fashion designer. they fight, alot. not often about their three older sons. but mostly about the youngest. they often do that when the boy messes up. today, it’s a fist in an annoying girl’s face. she kept telling him that he was stupid. kept laughing at him you have girl lips and pointing at him. his mother always told him that he should never hit girls (but boys are ok, right mother?) but his father always told him that real men stood up when they are intimidated, bullied. so why, oh why, is it bad that he hit angela’s bird-like face? she certainly deserved it. romain is a real man, he stood up.

his mother sighs, romain keeps his attention focused on the road outside. she turns to him, her dark hair encircling her face, accentuating her jaw. his mother, imane auclair, née imane karam, is the epitome of refinement. though, her eyes are never kind. especially not towards her last son. she told him, once, that she hated him. hated how gorgeous he was, as if he stole all of her remaining beauty. romain was seven at that time, and he remembers this as if it just happened. he despises imane. can’t wait to be out of her clutches. “mais pour l’amour de dieu romain, pourquoi t’as frappé cette fille? t’es en manque d’attention, c’est ça?” she barks the words at him, but he focuses on the scenery outside. thinks that if he keeps his attention elsewhere, then her words would glide off him. she scoffs and turns back to rearranging her lipstick.

romain does not understand where his anger comes from; would never quite be brave enough to look deep. it is probably rooted in this twisted thing the auclairs call family.

the trees are running, and romain thinks he spots something dark, dangerous, lingering in the woods.

they send him to Sainte Perpetue’s lycee, in the heart of Paris. he’s fourteen and has been expelled from three different elementary schools. no matter the price his parents offer, not a lot of lycees wants him in their ranks. he��s been into fights, he’s been arrogant, he’s been abusive. he’s a bully and he knows it.

of all the things they do, they send him to a boarding school. he wouldn’t have minded the public educational system, rather than this prissy, snob school. it’s a school known for its disciplinary measures. nuns march the corridors, brothers watch their recess time. it’s a prison, disguised as higher education. they think that he will learn his place in the world.

instead of discipline, romain learns procrastination.

instead of rigueur, romain learns the taste of stolen champagne bottles.

he meets beatrice there, whom is highly mean but highly fun. she teaches him how to put makeup on, lipstick red and messed up on his face. une image de sa mère, pâle parodie, un amour cynique. she does not care much about a lot of things. romain can relate.

he meets martin there, whom he kisses in front of the whole school in cinquième. martin does not speak to him for two whole months after that; romain knew he was not ready to come out. but romain has never been much of a good friend, or patient. but martin is a steady, if not a bit overwhelming, friend.

he despises the uniform, gets detention everytime he forgets his tie. the evergoing stares of the teachers, watching them, making sure they form a line, that they don’t run in corridors, that the uniforms are pressed and cleaned. nothing better for difficult childs, the principal assured his mother. she did not even say goodbye, désolé, mon chéri. j’ai une réunion avec les investisseurs.

it’s not all bad, romain knows. he discovers literature, and poetry, then. gets lost in music. martin makes him listen to new bands, americans, french, even canadians. he joins beatrice in secret parties, they get into bars during the weekends, even though they’re underaged. they drink and smoke, and it eases everything. no more pressure, just the low, warm feeling in his belly, like a beast that has finally calmed down. he kisses martin again, in a dark alley, the night heavy around them, like a blanket protecting them from the outside, the reality of their own situation. martin is pliant, flexible, under his hands. and when romain gets on his knees, martin whispers his name against the silence, and romain loves how it sounds like a prayer.

martin comes up to them with a crumbled sheet, sits next to romain (close, always too close, romain feels claustrophobic) and ignores the dirty looks sent by beatrice, who was busy talking about romain’s mother new collection (she keeps insisting that romain introduces her to his mother). “vous savez pas, je fais partie de l’échange!” he’s shaking the paper so much, which contains a list of name, and romain tries to take a look but can’t. he frowns and goes to fetch it as soon as martin calms down a little, an agile move, like a panther going for the kill. as soon as he reads it, he scoffs. gives back the paper. “quoi, romain? t’as pas été pris? hallelujah pour ces pauvres américains.” beatrice snickers, steals the rest of romain’s vegetables.

romain is pissed. not that he’s definitely passionate about traveling, but everything sounds better than france right now. and he’s got good grades (he’s got excellent grades). and he didn’t get into detention for the last three weeks. he wanted a place in the exchange, mostly to shut up martin. but they decided to choose martin, of all people. sweet, immaculate, pure and well-mannered martin. he looks over at martin, who’s ecstatic, listening to beatrice’s advices on how to get in bed with american boys with a small smile. he feels robbed.

martin is called to the principal’s office a few days later.

martin gets detention for the rest of the year, then. loses his spot in the exchange. that’s what you get when the schools finds pot and alcohol in your room, under your bed. they don’t listen to his defenses, because nothing can go against cold, hard evidence.

and coup de théâtre! romain gets the spot (also gets a black eye from martin’s fist, but no one comments on that).

THE DAY

“Grief is something you carry around inside of you, like a secret second heart, its rhythm known only to you.”

she keeps talking and talking about it. it’s an obsession, one he can’t quite get into. he wishes they could go back to smoking joints by the port without andy going on about the damned lighthouse. he tells her that; romain hasn’t known her for as long as some other students here, but they developed an easy, honest kind of friendship. harsh she is, she often tells him how an asshole he is. and in the same way, he calls her out when she’s being too much. “can you … chill? i mean, you were supposed to show me california, not some dusty, old … books.” he gestures to the book she borrowed (stole) from the archives. she fixes him with a glare, one he’s come to know so well in the last two years. he likes tenebrin, more than he would admit to martin an beatrice. but he felt somewhat calmer here, away from the imposing pressure of his family. he still got detention in tenebrin, though. it seems that teachers did not like his french callouts. or french replies. fair enough, he guesses.

“fine, walk me through it again.” that’s something they both have in common. their curiosity. how much they both can push against tenebrin before tenebrin pushes back? when she asks him, have you ever swam in the ocean and he easily says yes, he can see the jealousy in her eyes. he thinks he understands then.

so he follows where she goes, because he’s curious. though, there’s an anxious feeling that creeps up in the back of his mind as soon as they arrive in the port. a storm is brewing, the waves crashing upon the shoreline. violent, angry. he’s familiar now, with the weather, grey skies painting the scenery, the morning fog and the dark waves. andrea is far in front of him, and he takes a moment to look at the lighthouse. standing strong in the port, he never really gave it too much attention. but now, he thinks, it feels as if its guarding the town from something. he wonders about the tales that andrea filled his mind with, all those months ago, when he first set foot in tenebrin. reaching out without much thinking for his phone, he texts ramirez real quick. a message, void of any fun or jokes. like they’re used to. “andy! wait up!” he runs after her.

he comes back, mouth shut, eyes empty. martin and beatrice shoot him looks, they’re worried. he keeps reaching for his phone, an unsent text to andrea. if he calls her number, he can still hear her voicemail. his cellphone bills explode, long distance fees ignored. the clares hasn’t deactivated it yet. maybe like him, they like to call her. maybe like him, they have unsaid things, heavy on their heart, that they pour in andrea’s voicemail. he didn’t even stay for the burial. unable to meet mrs. clare’s eyes, guilt pressing on his shoulders. pressing, and pushing down. soon he’ll join her. maybe he should have joined her, should have tried to save her. a voice in the back of his mind (why didn’t you help) keeps interrupting his every thoughts. his days are (coward, coward) disrupted, short and too long.

beatrice brings him to the school’s counselor; romain doesn’t see the point. in less than a week, they’ll graduate. he will leave the Sainte Perpetue’s white halls, will bid adieu to the white, austere marble statues adorning the school’s corridors. will shed the school’s uniform like a second skin, and will fly away. the school knows what happened, of course they do. they probably think it’s his fault. but they say nothing to him, and the counselor only hands him pamphlets to help him deal with his fucking grief.

romain laughs in his face, something twisted and ugly. remembers; that’s what you get when you let people in.

le deuil.

his brother says something, accuses the dead. time holds still, all of them waiting for the other shoe to drop. her mother silently scoffs at manu, sends him a glare. manu shrugs. romain understands, in this very moment, that they don’t really get what happened. they think it’s his fault (they don’t say it, but he knows. oh yes, he knows that this guilt, eating and gnawing at his heart, is nothing but deserved).

romain hits manu, his mother screams and brunch is, once again, ruined because of him. his brother said well she just had to put a lifevest or something. his knuckles are red, tainted by his anger, by blood that’s not his. gabe grabs him and shoves him away. he wants to tear them apart, he wants to see them in her place, fighting against the waves.

WELCOME BACK, WILD CHILD

Sometimes it makes no sense at all

If I stumble, will I fall?

If I fall, I'll tuck and roll

Close my eyes and let the love-light guide me home

Let the love-light guide me home

martin looks at him, smoke hanging from his lips. romain would like to immortalize this look, he thinks. the moon plays with shadows on the other man’s pale skin, an halo around his head. a marble statues in a long corridors of mistakes and lies. a fixture in his life, unmoving. present. “romain, you know you’re an asshole, yeah?”

waves crashing upon the shoreline. violent, angry

romain nods, moves slowly, like a cat ready to hunt. kneels before martin, the wooden floor hard underneath him. “yeah, i guess.” his long fingers takes the cigarette, brings it to his own lips. inhales, exhales. martin leans, breathes the smoke for a moment. crashes in romain a second later, hand in his hair. they kiss for awhile, practically unmoving. romain realizes that he missed him, somewhere between the end of the high school and his moving away to london. it resurfaces now, as he came back to france. romain’s father suffered a fall from horseback, a tragic, ugly thing. his death does not come that much of a surprise, or does not bring grief.

after what happened, three years ago, romain knows grief well enough. does not need it anymore. his father’s death is a sad affair, brought him back to la mère patrie. he’s been studying photography, back in london. working with some of his mother’s contacts (a debt he knows he could never repay). heard through beatrice that martin was sick. some kind of unpronounceable cancer. if romain had been a poet, he might have convinced himself that he was cursed to love ghosts.

the waves are --

“you’re leaving. again.”

romain nods, again. he hates how martin always sees through him, but revels in this easiness. the dreams came and stayed. romain told himself at first that he perhaps associated martin to everything that happened in tenebrin. that would be the reason why he kept having those horrible dreams.

-- crashing.

“are you coming back?” martin’s fingers follows the hard lines of romain’s jaw, cheekbones, lips. romain closes his eyes for a moment, focuses on the feeling. he’s not sure what will happen back in tenebrin. he has a bad feeling about this.

“i don’t know.”

have you ever swam in the ocean

(well she just had to put a life vest or something)

“what a fucking asshole.”

romain chuckles, looks up at martin’s perfect face. if he’d been less than an horrible man, perhaps he would have told him that he’d call him. that he’d miss him. romain does not know about those things; his head is filled with waves, crashing and violent.

he sets foot in tenebrin port once again, his jacket heavy on his shoulders. he walks, slowly, through the silent streets. it’s too early, and ramirez won’t answer his texts. he got practically nothing with him, beside a small hand bag. he remembers some of the stores, colourful against the usual monotony of the port. fishermen told him, once when he travelled in newfoundland, that the people used to paint their houses with bright colours so that the sailors could see the coast, and recognize their homes. why would tenebrin do the same, when their sea was nothing but murderous?

romain walks, and walks. and ends up here. their bench. he sits, looks down at the tips of his fingers, pink with cold. looks back up, at the sea : “alors, on fait quoi maintenant?”.

#auclair: skel #skel: all #auclair #skel: closed

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lils-writes · 5 years

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“À Quoi Ça Sert L’Amour” - Ch. 1

| Chapter 1 | Next >

AO3

CHAPTER 1 - Lonely In The Streets of The City of Love

The streets of Paris never seemed this dull in all of Adrien’s life. But now, with a small suitcase in one hand and a small piece of paper in the other, the city of lights shined no more and everything felt out of place. Or maybe it was just him who was out of place. But what was his place? Where did he belong?

Adrien Agreste was the heir to the Agreste fashion empire. He was, in the past. Now, he as just Adrien. Adrien nobody. His father decided that he had enough of his son, showed him the door and handed him a check, just enough for the boy to survive for some time. What was he supposed to do now? The press would quickly be on his trail, once the news was out. He couldn't live his life on the run.

Soon enough, the blond dug through his bag, pulling out his phone. Out of habit, he composed Nino’s number, only half expecting the touring DJ to answer. Nino had just always been a source of comfort for Adrien. His best friend always knew how to cheer him up. Luckily enough for him, an energetic voice shot through the speaker, making Adrien smile a lit.

“Hey dude! What's up? Why you callin' so late?”

“It’s 8 in the morning. How is that late?”

“3 am, dude! Remember, I'm in America with Alya? Time zones, pal.”

“Oh.” It was all Adrien managed to get out. The words caught in his throat, turning his stomach over. “Sorry, I'll call back another time, then.” Adrien almost hung up, had it not been for Nino's shouts.

“Wait! What happened? Another fight with the old man?”

“He kicked me out for good this time.” Adrien’s voice was barely over a whisper, a shameful whisper. It hurt more than he thought it would. It had been 5 years since the passing of his mother, 5 years since his father became increasingly cold towards him. Nathalie used to say that it was because he resembled his mother too much for Gabriel to handle, but this grief of his had gone too far. The father-son bond was ruined to the point of no return. It had gone from a little distance to being completely disowned.

“You can stay in my apartment if you want? I’ll call my landlord, tell her to give you a key to my place if ever you want.” Nino's voice sounded desperate, desperate to help his best friend. Adrien smiled on the other side of the line.

“Thanks Nino, I’ll think about it. I should let you rest, it’s late where you are. Sleep well.”

Adrien stared at the red phone icon on his phone as the call ended. At least he had a place to stay for a few weeks. Nino wasn't his best friend for nothing. They always had each other’s back, no matter how far apart they were. Adrien was grateful for the other boy’s generosity. He'd have to find a way to repay this generosity. Maybe he'd do something to the apartment, or get Nino some kind of equipment he needed. Then again, Adrien no longer had the money to do that. Money had always helped him repay these kinds of debts. Now, Adrien had to be more creative with his ways.

Somehow, unconsciously, Adrien hit Chloe’s contact and held the phone to his ear. He was lost. He needed a friend. He needed someone, badly. Insecurities had started flowing back in, blanking him. His life was upside down and he didn't know how to deal with this.

“Bonjour, Adri-chou! How are you today?” The pitchy voice of his first friend made him smile. It was comforting to hear Chloe so happy.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to know if I could see you today.”

“I'm sorry, Adrikins. I'm out of the country for a little while. My mom booked me flight to all the hottest places to be. Red carpets, photo-shoots, everything I've ever wanted. It really boosts my career as a fashion critic.” Chloe actually sounded apologetic for once.

“Oh, alright. In that case, I hope you have fun and that we’ll get to hang out once you're back in Paris. I have to go now. Talk to you soon, Chlo.”

“Ttyl, Adrikins!”

Chloe blew him a kiss before hanging up. Chloe had really changed, these past few years, but she still remained Chloe. She was still bubbly and affectionate, but she had grown into a better person. She was nicer with everyone, putting all that bad attitude of teen Chloe behind her. Age made her realize that kindness would get you farther than bitchiness would. The thoughts temporarily made Adrien happy, pushing the bad thoughts of Gabriel to the back of his mind. It helped him make his way to Nino’s apartment. Adrien needed a place to crash down in to think.

On his way, Adrien crossed a bakery. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in hours. The smell of fresh pastries pulled him in. He had always been a sucker for anything sweet, even if Nathalie always forbade him from having any. Being a model meant he had a strict calorie counted diet, and Nathalie judged sweets to be an unnecessary waste of those precious calories. Slowly, he walked in, a little bell announcing his arrival.

“Welcome to the Dupain-Cheng bakery! How may I- Adrien? Good morning, Adrien!”

The girl behind the cash grinned at him as she grabbed a croissant from the display case. She was still talking, but Adrien didn't catch a word she said. When was the last time they had spoken? How many years had it been? She still remembered him, gleefully greeting him, as if it had been just a few days. She had always been a cheerful person, always there for everyone. Marinette really was a wonderful girl.

“Here, it seems like you’ve had a rough night.” She handed him a fresh croissant, smiling at him. “On the house.”

Adrien held up few euros, trying to convince her to accept them. He had enough money to buy a croissant. But Marinette was stubborn. Something about treating her friends. Adrien gave in, taking the croissant with a wide smile and sitting near the counter, close enough to still be able to talk to his old classmate. He liked her voice. It was comforting.

Surprisingly, conversation flowed naturally. It wasn't anything like the conversations Adrien had with Chloe or Nino, but it was also very different from the memories of conversations the two had had in their school days. Marinette seemed a lot more confident, stuttering a lot less. She was smiling more, seeming more like who Marinette must have really been. She was hardworking, but also seemed laid back. Her work looked effortless and with an extreme precision, clashing the image of the clumsy girl Adrien had always had. Maybe Chloe had been exaggerating, calling her Klutzy Mari all those years. It was nice to see Marinette at peace, happy, herself. But all that’s good must eventually come to an end.

#Marinette Dupain-Cheng #adrien agreste #ML #MLB #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #ladynoir #marichat #gabriel agreste #marinette x adrien #à quoi ça sert l'amour #fanfic #lils write #ladrien #chloe bourgeois #nino lahiffe

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noscorpsaladerive · 5 years

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All right LRA Korea Write Up Part Two aka I have now seen this version of this musical five times on y go moflos

Okay this is going to be organized into general notes then by actor then stagedooring because my notes are a mess so that’s how it’s gonna go down

Also warning I wrote this on an airplane after very little sleep so it’s gonna be loopy alright let’s go

Details I hadn’t noticed the first time we saw it: During A l’enfant, all of the actors in Morgane’s play are women, which to me makes sense given her backstory so that was a cool detail. On the screen behind them they have shadow puppets acting out the story too which was also a cool detail.

For Tu vas le payer, they did keep a bit of the gender bending happening like everyone was wearing these overskirt things so I appreciated that nod to the original production.

Fave staging ever goes to Délivre nous like hot damn. Not only does Arthur walk among the people, but for the last verse and chorus Arthur is center stage in a white spotlight while everyone is gathered around the edges of it and they’re reaching for him and act as if they’re banging on a glass wall trying to get his attention and it’s so freaking good and brillant y’all

Okay now for stuff by actor starting with the Arthurs:

Han Ji Sang !!!!! My dude!!!! We only saw him the one time but I still LOVE his transition from boyish squire to grown ass man king. His curtain call bopping is also my fave. I think my fave thing was how he responded to the people (as in Arthur’s subjects), like it really seemed like it was coming from someone who used to be one of them but now finds himself in a position of power over them

Pretty Arthur aka Hoonjeong: his was the most reserved Arthur?? Like his singing was so lovely and he did act it very well but in a lot of ways he was more timid but not necessarily in a bad way. He just was a more reserved Arthur.

Noodle Arthur aka Seungjo: MY NOODLE ARTHUR HAS RETURNED FROM WAR!!!!!! His performance reminded me the most of Flo’s (not DVD Flo but live Flo) but Seungjo took the noodle like fifty steps further and it was BEAUTIFUL. Like he and Kay are in shenanigans together from the beginning and he’s hugging Kay a lot and he’s so damn cute y’all. Seungjo is a very like physical actor??? He would grab Merlin’s staff (wow that sounds like a bad innuendo I’m sorry i’m tired y’all) and would bang it in the ground to establish authority like right before going after Méléagant and Seungjo would grab Merlin’s cloak when he was unsure or angry and oh my god this dude with Guenièvre. Oh my god. During Rêver l’impossible he’s like adjusting his clothes and running his hands through his hair because he’s gotta look good for the beautiful woman and when he finally speaks to her he’s on his knees like he doesn’t think he’s worthy of her or like he’s in awe of her and when he starts to head off with Merlin but Guenièvre’s like “Mais le roi est fatigué” this noodle just does a 360 around Merlin and he’s so smiley and cute and at one point during quelque chose de magique Guenièvre dances with the ladies then Arthur does a lil dance with the boys and while Guenièvre’s dancing Seungjo claps and waves at the boys to get their attention like “come on we gotta dance to impress!!!” Also Seungjo gets really into the kissing like not just on the mouth (although he does smooch a lot more than the other Arthurs) but he kisses Guenièvre’s hands and is constantly whispering and giggling with her in the background of scenes it’s so damn cute y’all.

But like for act two he’s all serious and the physical element of his acting is still there but it’s never comical in a bad way just either cute or heightening the emotion of a scene. Like during Ce que la vie a fait de moi Arthur and Guenièvre go down the line of wedding guests to greet them and Seungjo hugs Kay and bounces up and down with him and when Léodagant gets down to bow to Arthur Seungjo gets on his knees and makes his father in law stand back up and ugh i love it ;lakdjf;ladksjfsa;dkl. Oh omg when Gauvain is training him Seungjo’s like ugh come on give it a break then he’s like oh hey what’s over there? Then he attacks Gauvain and it’s so cute ;lakdjf;adslkjfsdk. Also Seungjo had the best “cette femme est ma femme et c’est la reine!!” Like the other Arthurs didn’t emphasize it that much but he really did and ugh i love him. Seungjo was also on the floor a lot whenever Arthur was stressed which is a Mood but it also makes me want to protect him. Like his face after Tu vas le payer he looked so scared and confused I wanted to run up on stage and just like wrap him in a blanket or something. Like Seungjo’s voice is beautiful but it’s not vocally my fave but his acting is what really pushed him to the top of my Arthur list.

Okay so for the Morganes:

Soojin!!!!!!! I’m love!!!!!! She did a great job of making Morgane evil but you still want to pity her and vocally she’s incredible and just w o w

Lisa overall was almost as good as Soojin in my opinion. Her voice is gorgeous and especially the last time we saw it she was sooooo into it and having fun but she makes a couple of choices that I just can’t get on board with like at one point during Dors Morgane dors she like goes for a high note but it comes out like a screech????? Not a huge fan. The way she acts her final scene too just didn’t quite make sense to me either but still I’m overall a fan of her.

The Guenièvres:

Miyeon was having such an off night the first time we saw her bless her heart but the second time I really loved her???? She has a pretty deep voice which I love and she was like crying during Auprès d’un autre???? Like wow way to tug on my heart strings.

Jisoo was a good Guenièvre!! Like she has an absolutely lovely voice but I can’t think of anything like super spectacular but I did really enjoy her performance. Her L’amour quel idiot reprise was more heartbreaking like she’s almost ugly crying and it was so freaking sad :((((

The Lancelots:

Niel was better than we were expecting!! I think this is his first musical and he did so well!!! He did some almost growl like things in Wake Up which sounds weird but it worked really well. He was maybe my least fave if I had to rank them because the poor boy has such a nasal voice which is just how his voice is but that’s also not my fave thing in the world rip. Something I really loved was during Faire comme si he catches Guenièvre’s arm and holds her hand for a second (which all the Lancelots do) but he holds his hand there after she lets go for a second as if he can’t believe he got to touch her. He’s also the only one who tries to kiss Guenièvre as he’s dying but their lips don’t quite touch sad emojis

Giant Lancelot aka Byeonggeun: Holy shit this boy is big. Like he’s so tall???? And so broad????? We only saw him once so we don’t remember too much bless his heart. I liked him though!!

Pretty Lancelot aka Jihoo aka my actual son: First time we saw him i LOVED his voice but he had some volume control issues??? We weren’t sure if that was the mic or him but the second time I kept saying in my head “ça c’est mon fils!!!!!!!” Vocally he is by far my favorite and I just adore him he’s my son now

Now the Méléagants:

Chungjoo: We saw him the last time we saw the show and I really like him as a performer but not as Méléagant. His second act was better than his first but his high range isn’t quite there for me personally but holy fuck his lower range is absolutely gorgeous and I want him to play Jack in Jack the Ripper oh my god. Acting wise he was good, he played Méléagant unhinged from the beginning instead of just for act two like the others. He was also very touchy feely with Guenièvre during Nos corps à la dérive (not in a weird way, just in a grab shoulders and face way) whereas the other two were almost too scared to touch her, which like neither choice is good or bad it’s just different

Pretty-agant aka Chanho: first of all his eyebrows?????? Amazing. Second of all his voice????? Even more amazing. His high notes sounded so easy and he was so damn into it like he did the Un Nouveau Départ body rolls and the Mon Combat hip sway (which the others did not do) and something we loved after seeing him was his act one at first seemed a lil boring???? Like his voice was too clean???? But his second act he was becoming more unhinged and his voice rougher so it wasn’t boring it was just acting. But he was just so damn good oh my god and his performance reminded me the most of Fabien’s which isn’t necessarily good or bad it’s just a thing. Something that I loved that Chanho did was he reached for things??? Like after he couldn’t pull out Excalibur he held his hands out like “i almost had it” then he reached for it again and as he was leaving the stage after Un Nouveau Départ when Au diable is starting Chanho reaches for Guenièvre and I love

Lucheni-agant aka Hongseok: I love him so much I just ;alkdjfa;ldkjfd. Like honestly his high notes weren’t as good as Chanho’s but it still worked and it wasn’t screechy which is good and I just adore him he’s so nice ;lakdjf;alkdjfa. Like idk how to explain it but his Méléagant is just so captivating for me???? Like I already mentioned this but when he has Excalibur after Arthur hands it to him there was really such a strong sense of oh shit what’s gonna happen. It was also super fun seeing him as Méléagant after seeing him as Lucheni.

Omg I almost forgot the second time we saw Hongseok as Méléagant there was a Mishap. So before Mon combat Morgane explains the kidnapping plan to Méléagant and Leia is supposed to attach Lancelot’s cape around his neck. Except the cape clasp didn’t stick, and Hongseok couldn’t get it to clasp. He threw it away at one point then picked it back up and tried to sling it over his shoulder but it kept falling off and finally he was able to throw it offstage but it was funny bc during the kidnapping scene itself after he reveals his identity Hongseok just ripped the cape off entirely and didn’t just take the hood off he looked so done with that cape ;aldkfjadklsjf

Okay now stagedoor times!!

We stagedoored for Seungjo twice, and the first time there were sooooo many people there for him and he looked so small and overwhelmed and mildly alarmed like he didn’t know what to do with all these people???? He kept smelling the flowers people gave him and he was so quiet and shy then he almost couldn’t get out because the fansites were almost in the way ;aldkjfds

The second time he was way more prepared and people kept going up to him in front of everyone and giving him gifts and Vanessa was like “come here!!” And I thought she meant to the end of the line so I could see because short but nope she meant in front of everyone but I stayed back because shy and I can’t speak Korean but she went up and gave Seungjo some Reese’s and said that we’d seen the show in France a lot and he’s the best Arthur and he laughed like he couldn’t believe but his laugh was so beautiful and he’s such a cutie I love him and will protect him. He also posted a pic of his gifts from that night and you can see Vanessa’s Reese’s and he also used #thanks in English for the first time which we’re choosing to believe is bc of us/mostly Vanessa

We stagedoored for Hongseok three times, twice at King Arthur and once at Elisabeth which I’m gonna write about here lol. The first time Vanessa told him how many times I’d seen the show in france and he looked concerned??? Impressed???? Idk but he took that to mean I was French lol but he makes the best face in pics with fans I love it. We told him we were seeing him as Lucheni that weekend which seemed to just confuse him ;alkdjfa;ldkjfasd Next when we saw him after his last show in Elisabeth (which I’m not exaggerating when I say I would sell my soul to see him as Lucheni again) he remembered us and was like “American and French right??” But Vanessa told him I’m American and I’d just lived in France. All of his other fans were very impressed with Vanessa’s height lol. We also got to see his wife and new baby and they were all so cute!!! Hongseok also brought rice cakes to his fan club which was so sweet.

Third time was after King Arthur again which that theater’s stagedoor is actually in the first floor lobby by the bathrooms so people usually stagedoor in the lobby or in front of the actual theater entrance on the second floor and you just linger until you see the person you’re waiting for but as soon as Hongseok came out that night he headed straight for me and Vanessa because he knew exactly who we were there for lol. Vanessa told him he’s amazing again in Korean then he was like “I can speak a little English” and Vanessa was like “wanna practice??” And he was like “Practice? Sure!” With a little bit of an oh shit what did I get myself into face but dude you were the one who pulled out the English not us lol. So we mostly just squealed about how awesome he is and I was just like “I’ve seen this show so much and you’re my favorite” and we got a selfie again then after the other fans talked to him Vanessa told him we were going back home and we wouldn’t see him again so he went to shake our hands but Vanessa is brave and was like “Could we get hugs?” So he hugged us and his sweater was very soft and he’s just so sweet and I wanna go see him in more shows because he’s such a great performer ;lakdjf;lakdjfad

Anyways long story short I love and miss this show so much and if you’re going to Seoul while it’s still running PLEASE go see it!!!!

#ella writes text #stagedooring shenanigans #y'all this is so long a;lkdjadfls;kj #ella sees lra

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yoitsjuli · 10 months

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New chapter of oh l’amour is out!

#eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie #reddie fanfiction #oh l’amour (what’s a boy in love supposed to do?)#oh l’amour #teenage reddie #it 2017 #it 2019 #it stephen king #it 1990 #ao3

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zukalations · 5 years

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Debut Roundtable Talk - 103d class, marching onward!

This talk, featuring several members of the 103d class and Snow Troupe Top Star Sagiri Seina, was published in the June 2017 issue of Kageki.

Debut Roundtable Talk - 103d class, marching onward!

Sagiri Seina (Snow Troupe) with Hanataba Yume, Ruri Hanaka, Haon Mika, Yumeshiro Aya, Ayaji Yurika

Sagiri: So, first, why don’t all of you tell me where you’re from and your nicknames, as well as the reason you wanted to join Takarazuka.

Hanataba: I’m Hanataba Yume. I’m from the Nerima Ward of Tokyo. My nickname is Keika.

Sagiri: Everyone in Snow Troupe has been calling you ‘Bouquet-chan’, though (laughs). And why did you want to join Takarazuka?

Hanataba: The first Takarazuka show I saw was Prelude of Love, and the theme song left such a deep impression on me, and then the revue was all so pink and I thought it was such a beautiful production that I made Takarazuka my goal.

Sagiri: I wonder if it’s alright to ask your blood type, too? (laughs)

Hanataba: Yes! I’m B-type.

Sagiri: You’re definitely a B-type sort of person...not that I have much to go on (laughs). You and I have the same birthday, right, Bouquet-chan. Okay, next person.

Ruri: I’m Ruri Hanaka. I’m from Kyoto city, Kyoto prefecture. My nickname is China. The first Takarazuka show I saw was Kozuki Wataru-san’s Rose of Versailles*, but the strongest memory I have of that is that I was really scared of the gunfire sound effects. After that, I saw Russian Blue…

Sagiri: Oh, I was in that.

Ruri: …’s poster…

Sagiri: Ah, the poster. I wasn’t on the poster (laughs).

Ruri: I saw it at the train station and I was really interested, so I went to see the show and during the middle of it I thought in my heart ‘I’ve got to get in here!’

Sagiri: China looks like an A-type, but you’re an O-type!

Ruri: I’m an A-type.

Sagiri: Hm? I messed up (laughs). Alright, next.

Haon: I’m Haon Mika. My hometown is Osaka city, Osaka prefecture. My nickname is Mii. One of the older students at the ballet studio I was studying at since I was really little debuted with NOVA BOSSA NOVA/A Second Fortuitous Meeting, so I went to see it, which was my first time seeing Takarazuka. I was struck by the totally different type of dance from ballet, and I thought it was so energetic and amazing, so I decided to take the entrance exam.

Sagiri: (looking through Otome**) ‘Good organizational skills’...in that case, Mii must be an A-type!

Haon: Yes.

Sagiri: Oh! I got it! Next person, go ahead.

Yumeshiro: I’m Yumeshiro Aya. I’m from Tokyo City’s Suginami Ward. My nickname is Mottii. I took ballet since I was little, and I liked musicals theatre music, but I never saw Takarazuka. After entering highschool, I thought I wanted to try something different from ballet so I started studying vocal music, and my mother saw the curriculum offered at the Takarazuka Music School and recommended it to me.

Sagiri: You entered without knowing anything, so all the other things besides the curriculum must have been quite a shock, right? (laughs)

Yumeshiro: I had fun, though.

Sagiri: Your blood type is...it says you’re good at making accessories, so you must be A-type!

Yumeshiro: I’m O-type.

Sagiri: Oh? (laughs) Alright, next is our only boy.

Ayaji: I’m Ayaji Yurika. I’m from Toyonaka City, Osaka Prefecture. My nickname is Miwa. My first time seeing Takarazuka was also Kozuki-san’s Rose of Versailles, and after that I would always wear white ruffled blouses at home, and I had my parents buy me white boots, and I would pretend I was Oscar all the time. Once I shouted ‘Captain Oscar!’ in my sleep and woke myself up.

Sagiri: In your dream you must have been a member of the Gardes Francaises (laughs). I’m happy to see in Otome that the role you would like to play is Okita Souji in Man of Starlight, since I’ve played that role too.

Ayaji: I was lucky enough to be able to see Sagiri-san’s performance.

Sagiri: Oh, is that why? Ah, sorry about that (laughs). Miwa-chan’s blood type is...and don’t betray my expectations this time...A-type!

Ayaji: I’m a B-type.

Sagiri: Oh my gosh… (laughs). Alright, next I’d like to ask how you feel about your debut.

Hanataba: I’ve always been a big fan of Sagiri-san and Sakihi-san, so ever since I heard that our debut performance would be with Snow Troupe, every day has been so happy for me. It feels like a dream that I’m able to stand on the same stage with you. Every day has been full of happiness as well as gratitude for all the applause we receive from the audience.

Sagiri: That is great that you had that connection with us at the very end.

Ruri: On the first day, doing the address and the line dance was so fun, and it made me so happy, and I felt even more strongly how much I love Takarazuka.

Sagiri: And right now, what part do you think is the most fun?

Ruri: When we do the final pose, and the audience applauds so warmly.

Haon: When I was going through the entrance exam process, I saw the debut performance of that time over and over, and every time I thought ‘I would be so amazingly happy to be able to stand on that stage’ and was really moved. Right now every day I’m so happy that it all feels like a dream.

Yumeshiro: When the curtain opened the first day, I was surprised at how warm the whole atmosphere was. I’m also very happy to be able to learn so much while we’re together with the senior actresses of Snow Troupe.

Ayaji: I’m so happy that I’m able to perform with all the amazing senior actresses I admire so much and as my beloved classmates, as well as having so many people supporting our performance backstage, and so many audience members coming to see us. I’m working hard to be able to treasure this time forever.

Sagiri: I’m so happy you all have such passionate feelings. What kind of performer do you all want to be in the future? Actually, at the start I didn’t really have that kind of goal. I just liked Takarazuka and being an otokoyaku… Still, I think I’d like to ask you anyway.

Hanataba: I want to put all my energy into the things that need it, and keep learning without forgetting the aesthetic of the Takarazuka musumeyaku.

Ruri: I want to be hot-blooded and cool-headed...and I always want to be ‘clear’.

Sagiri: ‘Be clear’?

Ruri: I want to be true to myself without feeling like I have to explain myself to anyone.

Sagiri: Ah! What a stable person.

Haon: I want to be a performer who takes on everything directly and expresses everything clearly.

Yumeshiro: I want to be a musumeyaku who can perform in all different genres of dancing, singing, and acting.

Ayaji: I want to always challenge my own weak points, and someday I want to be an otokoyaku who is cool but still has a natural atmosphere.

Sagiri: What is it that all of you most like about the performing arts?

Hanataba: I like dance, so I’m longing to perform in numbers like the one Choreographer Bryant*** created for this show.

Sagiri: Ah, Yuumi-chan’s (Sakihi’s) chair dance scene!

Ruri: I like acting the best.

Sagiri: In Otome it says that a role you would like to play is Fuku from I Won’t Forget the Young Day’s Song, I see.

Haon: I also like dance the best, and I would love to be in a dance scene where all the musumeyaku are wearing simple dresses.

Sagiri: You’re so slender, that would look great on you!

Yumeshiro: I especially like expressing myself through singing.

Sagiri: What is your favorite genre of song?

Yumeshiro: I like songs like ‘Hymne a l’Amour’ where you can express many different emotions in the same piece.

Ayaji: My favorite is acting, but they say it takes 10 years to become a good otokoyaku…

Sagiri: Right, since there’s ‘ten years to otokoyaku’. Alright, I’m sure you all have questions as well?

Hanataba: What do you think are the good aspects or traditions of Snow Troupe right now, and what are you trying to focus on since your retirement is approaching?

Sagiri: I think one of the good things is that everyone cares for each other, and tries to look out for each other without being restricted by the vertical hierarchy. Everyone’s attitude of trying to teach one another is I think one of the good points or traditions of the current Snow Troupe. Something I feel is important right now is that, since this is a show that’s supposed to make the audience happy, to make sure I’m conscious of the people who have come to see the show during my performance. That way, I feel like I’m getting something back from the audience and that becomes energy for me.

Ruri: When you get advice from someone, but it is a bit different from your own thinking, what do you do?

Sagiri: You ask really deep questions (laughs). Of course if someone tells you something that’s different from what you’d been thinking, it would be startling and disturb you a bit, but I think it’s important to try to accept those kind of things. It can guide you to the right answer and help you grow, I think.

Haon: What are you thinking when you come down the Grand Stairs in the parade for each performance?

Sagiri: I seem to always feel how happy it makes me to be on stage, and how happy it is that I made a convincing performance, and how happy it is to make the audience so happy and that they applaud for me…

Yumeshiro: When you perform the same role for a long time, do you find your approach to the character changes?

Sagiri: In my case, when I was in shinjin kouens, everything was leading up to one single performance so I would decide everything in my performance carefully. But at some point, I got tired of being like that so I stopped planning things out so strictly, and then things became really fun. My horizons widened out and I was able to observe so much… So now, in rehearsals, I try to get to the roots of my character through trial and error, and once I’m onstage I let myself go with how I feel that day and the atmosphere of the show. That way it naturally ends up a bit different every time.

Ayaji: What were your goals when you were a junior actress, and after graduating from shinjin kouens, and then when you became Top Star?

Sagiri: When I was a junior actress in Cosmos Troupe, I was surrounded by so many really big otokoyaku, and since I was small I longed to be a large-scale otokoyaku like that a lot. I got a lot of ‘cute younger friend’ sort of roles, which was totally different from what I wanted to be, so my goal was to become seen as a man in my own right as soon as possible. But after I graduated from shinjin kouens, I went totally the opposite way from that issue, and became determined to achieve my own individuality. When I was considering how I could be the sort of otokoyaku that was unique to me, I began feeling more strongly that I wanted to perform as the characters rather than just as an otokoyaku, so I think at that point my goal became to try playing all kinds of characters, without limiting the kinds of roles I would play at all. And then when I became Top Star, I began thinking of Snow Troupe and the show as most important, rather than myself. I started thinking always of how I could make people love Snow Troupe more, and what I should do about that. Are you done with the questions?

All ken-1s: Yes!

Sagiri: Takarazuka is made of all the feelings the students have towards Takarazuka itself, and towards the stage arts…talking with you 5 today has really made me think of how Takarazuka is built on those pure emotions, so I think if all of you keep treasuring your pure feelings, I think you might...no, you’ll definitely become wonderful performers! Therefore, I want you to keep marching onward. Even once I’ve retired, I’ll still be watching over you from far away, so do your best!

All ken-1s: Yes! Thank you so much!

* The Rose of Versailles: Fersen and Marie Antoinette, in 2006.

** Otome is basically a field guide to current Takarazuka actresses, with photos and profile information.

*** Bryant Baldwin is a Broadway performer who currently is a choreographer and instructor in Japan.

#takarazuka #article translation #mag: kageki #sienne: sagiri seina #sienne: hanataba yume #sienne: ruri hanaka #sienne: haon mika #sienne: yumeshiro aya #sienne: ayaji yurika #troupe: yuki

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borncruel · 7 years

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LYRIC SENTENCE MEME : erasure edition. 🌻

“ i try to discover a little something to make me sweeter. “

“ oh baby refrain from breaking my heart. “

“ i’m so in love with you. “

“ i’ll be forever blue. “

“ you give me no soul. “

“ i hear you calling. “

“ don’t you tell me no. “

“ baby please, give a little respect to me. “

“ if should falter would you open your arms out to me? “

“ we can make love not war. “

“ what religion or reason could drive a man to forsake his lover? “

“ it’s not the way you lead me on. “

“ i just couldn’t wait to see you. “

“ sometimes, the truth is harder. “

“ sometimes, it’s the broken heart that decides. “

“ it’s not the way you caress me. “

“ climb in bed beside me. “

“ oh l’amour, you broke my heart. “

“ now i’m aching for you. “

“ what’s a boy/girl in love supposed to do? “

“ you were looking for me. “

“ oh love of my life, why leave me alone? “

“ you said i wasn’t your kind. “

“ you don’t remember my name. “

“ i lay down and die. “

“ always, i want to be with you. “

“ wear no disguise for me. “

“ you love in motion. “

“ am i here in vain? “

“ love and hate, what a wonderful combination. “

#◟ ♕ * . ° › ⊱ ━━ meme.#sentence meme #rp meme #meme #dearindies

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bunysliper · 7 years

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(Original image belongs to Helen Owen on instagram. I claim no ownership and mean no harm in borrowing it for this story. To reblog just the photo and not the fic, please reblog from here.)

l’amour est le miel

A ‘Waking Up in Vegas’ verse ficlet

"La vie est une fleur dont l’amour est le miel."

(Life is a flower of which love is the honey.)

– Victor Hugo

She might be exhausted, running on one too many cups of coffee to be healthy, and rethinking every answer she had given on the test, but she is free.

Finally.

How had she survived this quarter? Clearly by miracle, because the last few months have been frustrating, draining, and downright brutal. Either way, she is done, and free (except for work at the firm in New York, of course) for the next three and a half months.

And she is so ready to see her husband.

It's been weeks since their last visit – abbreviated as it was – and quick phone calls between book signings and study sessions will not cut it anymore. She doesn't even want to wait the four days until she's back in New York. She needs Rick.

"Hey stranger."

Pausing mid-stride, Kate searches for the source of the call. Campus is all but deserted at this point, making it easy to spot the yellow cab and the familiar – gorgeous – man leaning against the side of the vehicle. He lifts his eyebrows, a cocky grin carved into his features.

"Long time, no see," he calls, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Eager like a little boy.

"I–" she stammers, scrambling down the steps, practically tripping over herself to get to him. He catches her with a laugh, the cab at his back absorbing the impact of their colliding bodies. "Oh my god, what are you doing here?"

His answer is swallowed by the press of her mouth, the slide of her tongue over his lip, the tangle of her fingers in his hair. His breath mingles with hers, coming in ragged puffs against her lips by the time she releases him.

"Couldn't wait to see you," he rumbles, dropping his forehead to rest on hers. God, she knows the feeling. "I have a surprise for you."

Her heart taps a giddy rhythm against her ribs. "Yeah? Are you staying the week to help me pack? My roommate already moved out, you know," she adds, trailing a finger along the collar of his shirt. "So that means we have the apartment to ourselves for real."

"Mmm, not quite," he starts, thumbing her sides through her shirt. Oh, she can't wait to get him home and into her bed. "Give you a ride and I'll explain on the way?"

Kate's brow furrows. "The way? To my place? It's not that far, Rick. We can walk."

She watches a hint of pink creep up his neck. Rick opens his mouth to respond, but the cab driver beats him to it, jolting them apart with the horn.

"Look, buddy, meter's running. It's your money and all, but I'm burning gas. You coming or what?"

Rick's head bobs. "We're coming, we're coming." His lips skim her cheekbone before he pulls away and yanks the door open for her. "Trust me, Kate. You'll love this."

They've barely pulled away from the curb when he drops his surprise on her, handing over a slim piece of printed cardstock tucked into the dark blue book she recognizes from her desk drawer.

"My passport? Rick…"

"Look where we're going," he insists, nudging her to open her passport. Her eyes widen at their intended destination, and a protest rises to her lips. There's no way they can just go. She has to go back to her place, she has to take care of getting her stuff back to New York, she has to– "I let myself into your place and packed for you," he continues, sensing her reticence, "things I like and things you like, don't worry. And I arranged for a moving company to handle getting your apartment together and shipping most of your things home while we're gone. We'll take care of doing the final walk-through and turning in our keys when we get back."

Stunned, she can only stare at him, taking in the brilliant, eager flare in his eyes, the excited lift of his chest. He's insane, showing up to whisk her away after her finals, utterly certifiable. But she adores him just the same.

"This is insane," she murmurs, palming his cheek. Dipping his head, her husband's lips brush the inside of her wrist, quickening her breath, driving her half-crazy already. "You're nuts."

"Maybe," he grins against her skin, "but can't I treat my wife to a getaway to celebrate the end of another grueling quarter?"

Kate laughs, brushing her thumb over the skin beneath his eye. "I suppose I'll allow it, but Saint-Tropez? Rick, that's extravagant, especially for a spur of the moment trip."

His mouth collides with hers, flooding heat through her limbs. She lists into him, settling hard against his side as the cab takes another corner. "There is zero point to being a millionaire if I can't use the money to take care of and spoil the people I love."

"I know," she says, not wanting him to think she's unhappy or arguing. They've had similar discussions about splurges before, some more heated than others, but that's not what she wants right now. "I just want you to know I will get you back for this someday."

"I look forward to it," he murmurs, sliding gentle fingers into her hair, tasting her mouth again.

She nips at his lip, grins against his mouth. "I can't believe you're taking me to France on a whim."

Her husband chuckles. "You're gonna love it. I showed your mom some pictures of the hotel and she said she would pack a bag for herself, just in case you didn't want to go."

Laughter bubbles from her lips. "My mom would say that. She'd probably act on it, too. So don't tempt her."

Rick laughs harder, taking another kiss from her mouth. "Somehow I think your father would take issue with that – his wife running away to the French Riviera with his son-in-law."

She giggles. "Sounds like a plotline on Temptation Lane. You should pitch it and see if they can use it to bring back your mom's character."

"Now would that be for your benefit or my mother's?" he teases, thumbing her jawline.

Leaning into the touch, her lips lift. "Hmm, little of both."

"That's fair," he agrees, stealing one last kiss before slipping an arm around her, encouraging her to get comfortable for the remainder of the drive to the airport.

She wakes on the first full day of their stay to sunlight streaming through the tall windows in the living room. Their villa is gorgeous beyond words, modern but homey, the view breathtaking, and as much as she would like to stay pressed against her husband's side, the outside world is calling, enticing her out from under the covers to marvel at her surroundings.

Rick murmurs as she slips to the edge of the mattress, his fingers clasping in search of her while she pads to the bathroom and then to her suitcase to find clothing for the day. Thankfully, her husband hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd packed more than just lingerie, and she pulls on a pair of cuffed denim shorts and a tank top over one of the (tiny) bathing suits Rick had included.

She makes a detour to the bed, brushing a kiss across her husband's brow, tenderness flooding her chest. He gives so much of himself, making time to visit her when she's at school, springing for trips for the two of them, all while working to craft some pretty amazing books. It's no wonder he's worn out (that, and they had thoroughly enjoyed each other the night before). She'll let him rest, even though every cell in her body wants to share this experience with him; there'll be time for that later.

"Gonna make coffee and head out to the balcony" she whispers, stroking soft fingers over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips purse under hers, but he doesn't wake. "Come find me."

She hears the slap of his feet on the tile just as she's close to finishing her second cup of coffee and contemplating a third. Kate twists, leaning back against the railing to watch him lumber through the kitchen, bare chested, pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair askew.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she calls, hiding her grin behind her coffee mug when he turns. "You look like you could use some of this."

Almost against his will, her husband yawns. "God, yes."

Kate abandons the railing and steps inside to meet him at the kitchenette counter, her fingers seeking the mug she'd left out for him. "I'll take pity on you," she teases, stretching up to kiss him. "I got it."

"Mmm, I love you."

"I know you do," Kate says, stealing another kiss before turning to make his coffee the way he likes, refilling her own in the process. "Love you, too."

His palm skims her back, lands on her hip as his mouth connects with her shoulder. "You were outside?"

"Yeah," she says, sinking back against him, lifting her coffee to her lips. "It's gorgeous here, Rick. The view? Breathtaking."

His lips are warm from his first sip of coffee when it touches the curve of her neck. "I agree."

She grins, bumping her head against his. "So charming, Mr. Castle. I bet you use that line on all your wives."

"Just the ones I really like," he quips, looping an arm around her waist, holding her tighter. His lips brush the curve of her neck.

"Funny man." Kate drawls, squirming away from his affection and taking his hand, leading him out to the balcony.

"Wow," he breathes, taking in the panorama of pink and orange, brilliant green, and sparkling blue. Kate nods, leaning back, fitting her body against him.

"Look at this place, Rick," she thumbs his hand, glancing up at him.

His head dips, his kiss gentle, quick. "I was talking about you. But this place is pretty good, too."

"Smooth," she says, knocking her head against his.

Rick chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. His arm tightens around her waist, keeping her close and sneaking soft kisses in between sips of coffee.

"You know, I never actually asked how your final went," he says after the whisper of wind through the trees has been replaced with the hum of life around them.

Leaning her cheek on his arm, she lifts a shoulder. "Oh, it was fine. I think I passed, which is all I could hope for after a quarter like that."

Putting their coffee aside, Rick's fingers slip into her hair, pressing gentle circles on her scalp. "Next one'll be better. Your classes won't be nearly as tedious."

He's right about that. With the completion of general chemistry, she's done with the basic courses and moving on to things more applicable to her major. But even then, she's not entirely sure everything will be better when school starts again. It'll still be stressful, plus–

"We'll still be on opposite ends of the country."

Rick's lips find her forehead. "I know, honey. We'll figure out a schedule, though. Better than the one we had this quarter."

It's not ideal, but what else is she going to do? Ask him to move to California? Move back to New York? Stanford has been her dream school since she was a kid, to transfer halfway through undergrad seems...

"Kate," he murmurs, lifting her chin. "We'll figure it out. And in the meantime, think of all the getaways we can take to help us get reacquainted at the end of each term."

Well, he has a point there. They certainly have been enjoying their reunion this time.

"That's true," she agrees, allowing his pragmatism to pull her from her funk. "I do like our trips. Even the staycations are good."

Rick nods, knowing he accomplished exactly what he set out to do. "Me too. And that's why I think we shouldn't worry so much about what happens in a few months. Because we will always have this."

It's cheesy - really cheesy - but somehow it's still sweet and sincere. Her arms wind around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers, opening to him when he kisses her back. Her husband rumbles her name, easing an arm around her waist to lift her onto the railing.

"Careful, careful," she warns, bracing her feet, holding tighter to his shoulders. Her balance is good, but there's something reckless about perching so high above the ground.

Rick steadies her, his body a solid wall between her knees. "I got you," he breathes, trailing his lips along her jaw, down her neck.

Kate sighs, palming the back of his head, giving him better access to her skin. After a moment, she feels the arc of his smile against her collarbone.

"You picked the blue one," he murmurs, kissing on either side of the bikini strap, slipping a finger underneath the elastic.

She puffs a laugh. The blue bikini is relatively simple, two triangles and a matching string bottom, but it's still bright and sexy. "Decided to save the others for later; black's such a popular color, I wouldn't want you to lose me in the crowd."

He grins, ducking his head lower. His lips trail over the hem of her tank top, teasing with dipping lower. "Like that could ever happen."

"Plus," she continues, sifting her fingers through his hair. Her foot makes a lazy stroke up the back of his thigh. "I don't think you could handle me in the black one right now."

He grunts, tightening his grip on her waist, cupping her breast through her shirt. "I can handle anything you've got."

Kate pulls him up, sealing her mouth over his, her lips insistent, greedy. "Show me, then." She arches into his hand, welcomes the heat of his palm through her shirt. "Show me, Rick."

It comes as no surprise when he lifts her off the railing and carries her inside, taking his sweet time proving it to her. When they do finally make it out to the beach, she's wearing the barely-there black and gold bikini, just to make his head spin.

Prompt from @inmyveinsalways: The fluffy Friday, waking up in Vegas scene you did..I think it needs to be continued 😏😏

#Castle #Castle Fanfiction #Castle Fanfic #Caskett #Caskett Fanfic #Waking Up in Vegas Verse #My fanfic #prompt responses

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h-godrej-blog · 7 years

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L’amour de ma vie tw: death, alcohol

The blinds are drawn, leaving the white lights to flicker above him. He hates it, he hates how much they remind of him the MORGUE. The doctor doesn’t seem too happy, trying best to keep a straight face. The file between them is the only string of connection they have; an analysis on the Montague Captain’s health.

The doctor hesitates, “. . . Hiran, you’re dying.”

You’re dying.

The words sound odd. As if Death had finally decided to knock on his door ( without any surprises or explosions ). Hiran merely blinks, “ – because of my heart?”

The doctor tosses the file aside, pulling down his glasses to give him a serious look. “No, young boy, because of your liver.”

Later that evening, Hiran makes his way to the bar. He finds the doctor’s concerns to be out of character, a hoax. Perhaps the Capulets had paid him off ( or the Spades ). Regardless, it shouldn’t have been a matter of his liver ( it should have been his heart ).

The beating organ.

It felt heavy, the weight of all the losses smothering against it. Hiran wonders if he can die of a broken heart, he wonders as he orders another round of drinks.

He wonders . . . what love tastes like, his hands slowly reaching for the glass of whiskey.

Ishq. The first time he sees it, he’s a young boy. His parents are a few steps ahead of him, their hands intertwined. They are about to see an opera, and Hiran is about to complain the entire time.

Halfway through the second act, he manages to fall asleep. However, the crescendos are too LOUD, the applause too magnificent – the poor boy wakes up in a daze, finding a strange sight. His father had leaned over, giving his mother a kiss.

Hiran tilts his head, wondering what that meant. He had never seen it before . . .

. . . and now the grown man gulps down two vodka shots for his parents. They had taken a good chunk of his heart with them the moment they fell to the floor, their souls departing from the bodies. He wonders if this why his heart feels so empty.

Mohabbat . This time, he doesn’t see it – he FEELS it. Feels it in the way she sighs his name into his ears, in between blind touches and roaming lips. He can remember the way her back arches, his fingers tracing down her spine.

This is a FAKE affection, something created between lingering touches and untamed desires. They are not lovers, they are not friends, they are conquerors. One night stand gone horribly wrong ( but oh so right ).

She accepted him with open arms, turning a candle into a fire. She was his rival, she was the enemy. And no one would know what she looked like in those odd hours, no one but him. It’s hilarious, he thinks. For the Montague never asked Rafaella to take their secret to the grave.

And now he asks for some more rum, denying the slight ache his heart felt. Denying everything. It had been nothing ( it had been something ).

Pyaar. They told him to never look at the sun directly, they told him it would be harmful for the eyes. He finally understands what they were talking about the moment Hector steps into the room, his neck covered in bruises that do not look like fingerprints.

They look like bite marks, left by a lover.

Hiran gulps, looking away. He doesn’t want to ask anymore, and Hector never tells him. He merely wants to RIP his heart out of the ribcage, wondering why it ever grew attachments to others. Wondering why there were so many holes, so many scars.

His heart was dying.

His heart is dying, he claims. Ordering one more drink before the bartender cuts him off. Hiran wants to bitterly tell them that friends are supposed to be honest with each other. But the words come out slurred as the realization slowly sinks in; they were never friends.

No one looks at their friend the way Hiran looks at the sun.

Fanaa. The liquor burns down his throat, warming his stomach. The room slowly spins while his head feels light and airy. There is a smile on his face ( for once ) and peering out into the crowd, between the blur of dancing bodies and slowed laugher, Hiran realizes.

This is what love tastes like.

It tastes like a tequila shot; rigged as the salt, HOT as the liquor, and refreshing as the lime. Over and over again, Hiran feels it – he feels LOVE.

Except he’s falling, not sure how to make sense of things. This is where the madness descends, the CHAOS of intoxication. He loved it, he loved he loved he loved.

He loved so much, it broke his heart.

What a shame, to crave something that will inevitably destroy him. What a shame, to pour affections from a bottle. Hiran tries not to cry, or laugh, for Death had been waiting for him. Death would take him, bit by bit, piece by piece, until there was nothing left in his heart to salvage.

He stumbles into a worried face, one that would’ve been pretty had it not been for his glossy eyes. Hiran winces, knowing well how this ended.

Calina.

This was the face of Death, the face that ended it all. A night of good fun abruptly coming to a full stop. He blinks, admitting, “ . . . get me home.”

Get him home, so he can seek love for another night. Another bar. Another drink.

And yet, they tell him that he’s dying.

#( journal )#( silhouette )#// this is slight AU #// but also you can blame ark cause i was inspired by ark to write this :)))#// WHAT IS LOVE? BABY DON'T HURT ME #// DON'T HURT ME NO MOOOORE

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krissysbookshelf · 7 years

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Free Ebooks (8/2/17)

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT THE FREE PRICING IS ONLY A SPECIAL FOR THE DIGITAL FORMAT OF THE BOOK THAT IS LISTED AND IS ONLY AVAILABLE FOR A LIMITED TIME, SO BE SURE TO PURCHASE THE E-BOOKS BEFORE THE PRICE RETURNS TO ITS NORMAL LISTING. (Unless you want to buy them at full price:)

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Diary of a Confused Harry Potter: The Cowardly Wizard by Alex Pan: Everybody knows the story of a brave Harry Potter: he was the great wizard who conquered Lord Voldemort. But have you ever heard the story of a wimpy Harry Potter? Harry’s a regular kid, who hates fighting, and just so happens to be named Harry Potter. But he’s not the Harry Potter you’re thinking of! Coincidentally, this wimpy Harry Potter does go to Hogwarts, and guess what? Hogwarts stinks!