Gingerly, Tenderly,
Aug. 19th, 2017 11:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iconsensual* Fandom: Sailor Moon
* Title: Gingerly, Tenderly,
* Author: Briar
* E-mail: sacialovesgod (at)gmail.com
* Summary: Fighting Evil By Moonlight. Winning Love By Daylight.
* Spoilers: I’m sure some of you must know that anime lends itself to apocalyptic purple prose. Sailor Moon is something I used to watch before Toonami came about.
* Rating: other
* Distribution: Ask and feedback first, please.
* Disclaimer: It’s been said that Viz Media is the wonderful tool to spread all this love. They own Sailor Moon, which is lovely.
* Author's Note: Fair use. Not for profit. Pure fiction.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tm5I1rydMBM&list=PLjMq7mk3oNJburn6EkiJrE1q2LYaTWi-U&index=28
“Atop those arms one hundred and forty stone saints perched and stared down upon the spectacle below.”
The vigilance required, the focus, the determination. She sweeps her powers left, right, three hundred and sixty degrees in this valley of jasper and quartz.
In this hidden garden, a cluster of gardens looks up prettily from the ground as the pale moonlight strikes rays of silvery light across her face.
And her attackers. She kicks, sweeps, holds her talisman scepter. Focus, girl.
There are three of them, they are quick work.
The leader, she already dispatched. She knows that Tuxedo Man is holding them off, the remains of that corps of evil.
Neatly manicured shrubs are the witness to her shuddering frame, as she gasps with relief.
Bad guys gone! Love will conquer.
The provenance of it, the cost, and the beauty of winning, a life, hers, thrumming.
Reliquiae of her people. She keeps her body in check, shudders still with more tears falling.
The Jerusalem that that love turned out to be, she remembers Luna’s final warning, and the surprise when the curse had broken and Luna had turned out to be her real mother.
Foxes are dittering at the edges of these grapevines, hesitatingly telling her that for sure Good had Won Again.
Returning under mysterious circumstances, she waits in their midst, pale silvery moonlight gathering around her.
A soufflé, was the last thing she ate. And baked. Succesfully! She remembers Rini’s lips closing in around her fingers. Her daughter, pink hair now as long as hers.
Jumping and becoming victim to these horrible vicars of doom and decay.
The passage of time creates in her a certainty that order is returning to the saved world.
How cats could be the magi of her life.
She remembers the day, the acquisition of regular, daily living. A place with no cell phone towers, her frantic fingers pushing the buttons to say, yes she might be late.
She wonders how Darien fares just enough to think, he simply must be here soon!
The recovery of the necessity of the needed, the democracy of design that hangs like a pendant around her soul: there can not be waste!
Not like a loaf of bread hitting the back window of her Mini-Cooper, thrown by an irate woman who doesn’t realize that even an olive-sized moldy croissant piece chucked away irreverently is against God’s desire. Who favors the poor. Serena was in a hurry today. She’d already twice honked.
Now night gathers around her, angelic music of starlight and bright moon slivered silver.
She waits for him. The minutiae of the day continues to creep into her furiously bi-pedaling psyche, the trauma and the horror over, now that they have won again.
Does fortune indeed favor always the brave?
But always. But why?
“A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.” The map of bones across the Eternal City highlight the orchard below as the place of repose for all her friends and family, his now as well, and as she cries in her dreams he folds in upon himself. A gentle touch her, the shoulder. A reassuring brief massage upon her thigh as she continues sleeping.
Jukunen. The “ripe years.” The prime of life.
They are, himself and herself, in the prime of their lives.
What now to do? Every body is not dead.
Because Serena is the light in his eyes.
Kamisan. “The one above.” The lady of the house.
Someone’s wife. His.
Not merely Kanojo. “She.” One’s girlfriend, one’s lover.
He feels the knowledge of satisfaction. Like a wind in the spice garden below.
A draft of cool air. Sunlight gaping through thick shafts into the spacious room; here they are now, high above it all.
A night of passion. At least, and at last, for her some measure of resting.
He will wipe away her tears. He will tear the bars of the prison of her nightmares, he wishes, hopes and dreams for her. They can still make everything right again.
Together.
Kare. “He.” A girl’s boyfriend, man. Guy, buddy, bub, friend, fellow, fella, compadre.
Kareshi. “Mr. He.” A woman’s boyfriend, man. Hers.
Kisama “Your honorable self.” You, used affectionately by his lady, as a sweet pejorative as well.
She is not to be Kizumono. “Damaged merchandise;” an unmarried woman who has lost her virginity, damaged goods. They have been together for thousands of years. Thousands of years into the past, thousands of years into the future.
Koitsu. “This guy.” She sometimes swears. Daylight brings new dawning. But she needed the sleep. She needs the rest, so the world folds away reassuringly, glad to be saved.
He, my man, this mother.
Ronin. “A wandering person.” Someone who has failed entrance examinations and is presently out of school studying to retake them, someone looking for work, a ronin.
And her? Merely Sakura, then. “Cherry.” “Blossom.” Shill, booster, plant, decoy, claquer.
Honorable prosperity for the company tribe they lost.
They will live on, and in so doing, so will the others be in the stead of their flesh, living temples to the memories now gripping them both. I live in honor of you, my wife, and our dead family will be representing by our bodies only joy for having lived in the first place.
Humankind, as the Sailor
Rasputina
Ties that bind,
Knots that fail or
A screw shaft carved in soap instead of bone
Humankind as the sailor
Embarking without hope of a safe way home
Keep in mind the moon makes paler
What is dark and what is soaked by the sea alone
Humankind as the sailor
Embarking without hope of a safe way home
The size of the storm that is buffeting us
Is absolutely huge and enormously dangerous
We who rescue others,
Lovers, sons and mothers
Now we feel like the orphans ourselves
If we don't keep up the grind,
I will surely fall behind,
Wave after wave
Right into my face
Humankind
Of one mind,
Set adrift to ride the storm
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lURwOmtcB40
* Title: Gingerly, Tenderly,
* Author: Briar
* E-mail: sacialovesgod (at)gmail.com
* Summary: Fighting Evil By Moonlight. Winning Love By Daylight.
* Spoilers: I’m sure some of you must know that anime lends itself to apocalyptic purple prose. Sailor Moon is something I used to watch before Toonami came about.
* Rating: other
* Distribution: Ask and feedback first, please.
* Disclaimer: It’s been said that Viz Media is the wonderful tool to spread all this love. They own Sailor Moon, which is lovely.
* Author's Note: Fair use. Not for profit. Pure fiction.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tm5I1rydMBM&list=PLjMq7mk3oNJburn6EkiJrE1q2LYaTWi-U&index=28
“Atop those arms one hundred and forty stone saints perched and stared down upon the spectacle below.”
The vigilance required, the focus, the determination. She sweeps her powers left, right, three hundred and sixty degrees in this valley of jasper and quartz.
In this hidden garden, a cluster of gardens looks up prettily from the ground as the pale moonlight strikes rays of silvery light across her face.
And her attackers. She kicks, sweeps, holds her talisman scepter. Focus, girl.
There are three of them, they are quick work.
The leader, she already dispatched. She knows that Tuxedo Man is holding them off, the remains of that corps of evil.
Neatly manicured shrubs are the witness to her shuddering frame, as she gasps with relief.
Bad guys gone! Love will conquer.
The provenance of it, the cost, and the beauty of winning, a life, hers, thrumming.
Reliquiae of her people. She keeps her body in check, shudders still with more tears falling.
The Jerusalem that that love turned out to be, she remembers Luna’s final warning, and the surprise when the curse had broken and Luna had turned out to be her real mother.
Foxes are dittering at the edges of these grapevines, hesitatingly telling her that for sure Good had Won Again.
Returning under mysterious circumstances, she waits in their midst, pale silvery moonlight gathering around her.
A soufflé, was the last thing she ate. And baked. Succesfully! She remembers Rini’s lips closing in around her fingers. Her daughter, pink hair now as long as hers.
Jumping and becoming victim to these horrible vicars of doom and decay.
The passage of time creates in her a certainty that order is returning to the saved world.
How cats could be the magi of her life.
She remembers the day, the acquisition of regular, daily living. A place with no cell phone towers, her frantic fingers pushing the buttons to say, yes she might be late.
She wonders how Darien fares just enough to think, he simply must be here soon!
The recovery of the necessity of the needed, the democracy of design that hangs like a pendant around her soul: there can not be waste!
Not like a loaf of bread hitting the back window of her Mini-Cooper, thrown by an irate woman who doesn’t realize that even an olive-sized moldy croissant piece chucked away irreverently is against God’s desire. Who favors the poor. Serena was in a hurry today. She’d already twice honked.
Now night gathers around her, angelic music of starlight and bright moon slivered silver.
She waits for him. The minutiae of the day continues to creep into her furiously bi-pedaling psyche, the trauma and the horror over, now that they have won again.
Does fortune indeed favor always the brave?
But always. But why?
“A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.” The map of bones across the Eternal City highlight the orchard below as the place of repose for all her friends and family, his now as well, and as she cries in her dreams he folds in upon himself. A gentle touch her, the shoulder. A reassuring brief massage upon her thigh as she continues sleeping.
Jukunen. The “ripe years.” The prime of life.
They are, himself and herself, in the prime of their lives.
What now to do? Every body is not dead.
Because Serena is the light in his eyes.
Kamisan. “The one above.” The lady of the house.
Someone’s wife. His.
Not merely Kanojo. “She.” One’s girlfriend, one’s lover.
He feels the knowledge of satisfaction. Like a wind in the spice garden below.
A draft of cool air. Sunlight gaping through thick shafts into the spacious room; here they are now, high above it all.
A night of passion. At least, and at last, for her some measure of resting.
He will wipe away her tears. He will tear the bars of the prison of her nightmares, he wishes, hopes and dreams for her. They can still make everything right again.
Together.
Kare. “He.” A girl’s boyfriend, man. Guy, buddy, bub, friend, fellow, fella, compadre.
Kareshi. “Mr. He.” A woman’s boyfriend, man. Hers.
Kisama “Your honorable self.” You, used affectionately by his lady, as a sweet pejorative as well.
She is not to be Kizumono. “Damaged merchandise;” an unmarried woman who has lost her virginity, damaged goods. They have been together for thousands of years. Thousands of years into the past, thousands of years into the future.
Koitsu. “This guy.” She sometimes swears. Daylight brings new dawning. But she needed the sleep. She needs the rest, so the world folds away reassuringly, glad to be saved.
He, my man, this mother.
Ronin. “A wandering person.” Someone who has failed entrance examinations and is presently out of school studying to retake them, someone looking for work, a ronin.
And her? Merely Sakura, then. “Cherry.” “Blossom.” Shill, booster, plant, decoy, claquer.
Honorable prosperity for the company tribe they lost.
They will live on, and in so doing, so will the others be in the stead of their flesh, living temples to the memories now gripping them both. I live in honor of you, my wife, and our dead family will be representing by our bodies only joy for having lived in the first place.
Humankind, as the Sailor
Rasputina
Ties that bind,
Knots that fail or
A screw shaft carved in soap instead of bone
Humankind as the sailor
Embarking without hope of a safe way home
Keep in mind the moon makes paler
What is dark and what is soaked by the sea alone
Humankind as the sailor
Embarking without hope of a safe way home
The size of the storm that is buffeting us
Is absolutely huge and enormously dangerous
We who rescue others,
Lovers, sons and mothers
Now we feel like the orphans ourselves
If we don't keep up the grind,
I will surely fall behind,
Wave after wave
Right into my face
Humankind
Of one mind,
Set adrift to ride the storm
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lURwOmtcB40
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