#and i get that but like. haruka's side of the story is often ignored completely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

docholligay · 4 years

Note

For the Valentine’s Day prompt: HARUMICHI

In recent years, I have come to love the easy way Haruka has with me, the way she asks for what she needs, and gives freely of her emotions. In no way would I replace the confident, tender, open woman Haruka has become, and it makes me happy, as simple and borderline garish as that sounds, to see her so at ease.

All that being said, I often recall the awkward and bashful energy that accompanied our first Valentine’s day together.

We were both such idiots.

I thought of myself as a woman, then, though of course that was only the utter nonsense of some young thing pretending to something greater. We were not quite living together, not yet, though I was anxious for the opportunity. It was tiresome, I thought, to have the driver go all the way over to Haruka’s dreary little apartment, only to occasionally be told they had to leave, for her mother was in some state of intoxication, or with her boyfriend, or more than likely, both. It was also ridiculous, the wisdom of my younger self imagined, that I had to play at stocking Haruka’s kitchen, or buying her new linens for her sad mat on the floor, or anything Haruka clearly needed but struggled to accept.

And so, Valentine’s Day gave me a bit of an excuse to lavish things on Haruka that otherwise she might have been forced to create an elaborate pantomime around. I strolled about the Mitsukoshi department store, picking up things here and there, having associates bring them to the front. A set of dishes, for romantic dinners, I would say. A pile of fine pajamas, for all of our sleepovers. A silk kimono–really more a gift for me, Haruka, that you might accompany me at the mundane events my brother holds. A set of luggage, which you simply must have if I am to take you to Paris.

Haruka had little, and I found it utterly exhausting, This first holiday was a chance to change that, and if we had only been together a few months, it made little difference to me, a swipe of my allowance that barely made a dent.

Haruka had already refused to let me take her out to dinner, insisting she would cook herself. After much negotiation, Haruka had at least conceded to allow this silliness to take place at my first apartment, which I had dubbed small, with mediocre appointments, compared to my parents’ penthouse, but dwarfed Haruka’s.

Oh, I know. I am well aware that I hardly come off as the heroine in this story, but if we are being quite frank, there are few stories of my youth in which I do. I was spoilt beyond belief and thought nothing of pride, for mine had never truly been at issue. I saw Haruka as a stubborn fool, albeit a stubborn fool of whom I was growing very fond, and could not imagine why anyone would be proud over the issue of a few thousand yen.

In any case, she agreed to my wishes, and I had the gifts wrapped and delivered to my home. I treated myself to demi baguette with roe butter and a glass of wine. Haruka, you see, had asked that I not return until later that evening, that she might surprise me with the things she had created. I had little doubt in my mind that I would be surprised, and, in case of a surprise to us both, picked up a fine tart from the bakery before I left for home.

When I arrived, the kitchen was a flurry of activity, Haruka in her little apron running back and forth between things. It was charming, though unnecessary, to see her work so hard. Our small table was set with a white tablecloth that had a few spots on it, unable to be resolved from whenever she had purchased it. A pair of ceramic candlesticks were in the center, candles burning down quickly inside them. There was a single rose inside a cheap porcelain bud vase.

Snottily, I though, ‘well, at the very least she’s used my china.”

You have to understand, in those days, I thought it was I who had everything to give to Haruka, and did not realize that she had plenty to give to me as well. I will not attempt to make an excuse for myself, but when one is raised as I was, one tends to get the idea that lowering yourself to the little people is only done out of a sense of noblesse oblige. It is for this reason that I was so resistant to have M.A. marry back into society, though she certainly seems to have threaded that particular needle with far more grace.

So, as I was saying, Haruka was working very hard, and I took my appointed seat as she began to serve. I remember that it was not particularly elegant, but ti was clearly made with a great deal of effort and love, and as you know Haruka is not without some talent in the kitchen. It’s silly, the way memory works. I remember so much of this night and yet I have completely forgotten what it was exactly that she served. Perhaps that is the least interesting part of the story, after all.

I do remember dessert. She presented a sweet, small cake, with a pair of uneven hearts made of chocolate in the top of it. The raspberry filling was spilling from the sides a bit, and you could see the spots where the crumb coat had not quite covered. I brought out the tart I’d purchased–you know, Dominique Ansel had a space there, at the time–a dark chocolate and matcha torte, the chocolate shell tempered to perfection, even and smooth ganaches, elegant dusting on the top.

Haruka looked at me and said, “Oh, you brought dessert.”

I am, even now, not often given to shame, I see no point in it and have no use for it, but in that moment I realized that I had somehow undermined all she had wished to in my pursuit of that which was considered the best. There was a quality in her voice that contained an edge of hurt, and her enthusiasm faded for a moment.

And then, of course, being as difficult as I was back in those times, she brushed it off, tossed her hair back and declared that this cake was fine and all but it was too much for just two people, is all she meant, a phrase which, i think you can agree, Haruka has never uttered in earnest in her life.

The moment was gone, and even if it had not been I did not have qualities in me to soothe her. We truly did grow up together, she and I, and if there were a God, I would thank him for the miracle of our staying together while we tripped over each other.

The parade of gifts came, and each one after the next I noticed Haruka’s discomfort more and more as she unwrapped them. I brushed it off as yet another of her little fits over the fact that from time to time I would like to provide for her, and rather ignored it. She was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t bothering her anyhow, telling me she didn’t need the whole store and things of that nature. I told her it pleased me to do these things, and that, at least, was true. It has always pleased me to treat her, to care for her, only then I was not so good at realizing money is not always a substitute for the softer things, which she needed much more.

At the end of it all she thanked me, although not with the enthusiasm I had hoped, but with a sort of awkward huff, as if I had somehow displeased her. She turned her face away from mine, and looked toward the clumsily-wrapped package on the windowsill.

“Well,” I said, brushing off her moodiness, “I suppose it’s now my turn to open.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “sure. I didn’t have a lot of time, so I’ll have to make it up to you, take you out somewhere nice.”

“Oh,” I unwrapped the corner, “You’re being perfectly silly just now.”

It was a picture frame with wide sides, whatever color it had been in a former life painted over with a layer of cheap acrylic, a soft turquoise color that matched the sheets of my bed. There were clumsily painted hearts on one side of it in pinks and reds, and across the top and down the other sides, old scrabble tiles spelled out ‘Michiru’ across the top, ‘Haruka’ down the side, our names intersecting at the ‘ru.’ In the center, a picture of us, at some holiday festival, smiling, colored lights gaily sparkling around us.

I have told you previously, though, you have known me for so long I feel this hardly needs telling, that I was, an to some extent, still, an inveterate snob, who tolerated only the finest things in life. And, while this is true, I must tell you that I had never allowed that someone might spend time on a gift for me. The acrylic was cheap, but obviously carefully layered, and the tiles were so straight as the must have been set with a line and level. She had gone to great effort for me. I was deeply touched, my chest aching with love for it, with love for her. She loved me as a human, you see, and not as a doll, to be dressed and posed and mollified with gifts.

I wish I could tell you this was the part of the story where I tell her how much a valued her gift, and all the reasons why. That would be a lie, I regret to say. I thanked her, and said I would put it immediately by my bedside, and she had chosen such a lovely picture. I wish I could tell you Haruka swelled with pride at the compliment, but she simply touched the edge of the pajamas I’d given her and shrugged. We polished off a bottle of wine, had sex, and went to bed.

Oh, don’t look that way, it all turns out in the end, you know that. I tell you this to inform you that even the greatest highway begins as a dirt road, and so it was with Haruka and I. You know, this last Valentine’s Day, for I still have the frame by my bedside, though I change the picture year to year, she gave me another. M.A. and Kimi, it said, in English tiles that she had Mina help her work out, for of course the intersection is impossible in Japanese, M.A.’s full name being French. I nearly cried, when she gave it to me.

I tell you this so that you will know the journey is worth making, and that things will be made softer, and better. A life can be changed, and a person can grow, however impossible it seems.

I tell you this, for I have come to love Valentine’s Day.

#Anonymous #Valentine's ficlets

47 notes · View notes

beneathtreemomo · 5 years

Text

LTT Q&A Answers!

Q: Yoru, was Fubuki your first crush? If not, who?/ Who was Yoru’s first love?

A: “Well, I think Shirou was my first crush?" Yoru admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously while a blush rosied his cheeks. "I’d never felt like that with anyone before him, but I’m also still trying to figure out just how crushes and being in love feels like. Sometimes it feels like I don’t feel it right, even now. But I do know that I love Shirou more than anything, and that’s what matters. So… yeah, Shirou was my first crush.”

Q: YORU, MY BOY, what movie can you watch over and over without ever getting tired of? AND what’s wrong but sounds right?

A: He blinked, staring at the question. “Uhhhh, that’s actually a really good question and I don’t have a single clue. I tend to get tired of a lot of things if I watch or listen to them too often, so I try to keep my favorites out of the ‘Frequently Watch’ list. But if I had to guess, I’d say the movie I’d watch over and over would be The Pacifier. It’s silly and a really good story all in one, so I feel like I'll always be able to enjoy it.”

With the first half answered, he reread the second half of the message, “Something wrong that sounds right? I guess…" He tapped his chin in thought, letting out a hum as he tried to think of something. "Trying to please everyone as your source of happiness. It’s not that aiming for that goal is bad, per say, but there are people who you just can’t please, and if you focus only on pleasing others without focusing on yourself, you’re only going to get hurt. And at that point, unless you change how you're thinking, you may never be happy because each failure will be plaguing you.”

Q: Since Coach Kudou is now in the story, a question for him: what’s the most epic way you’ve seen someone quit or be fired?

A: For a few minutes, Kudou was silent, thinking about how to answer the question. When he started talking, there was a small smile on his face. "I don’t necessarily think it qualifies as “epic”, but when I worked at Sakurazaki Junior High, there was this one kid very few of us could stand. He was constantly talking back to the teachers and correcting “mistakes” that we’d make, or point out things we already knew and either dumbed down for the kids or were on the way to getting to. He actually got one of the teachers so mad she stormed into the principal’s office and started shouting at him about it. Somehow, they got the PA system started and their argument rang loud and clear through the air. Of course, it ended with her shouting "I QUIT!" and the door to his office was shut so hard it made the PA system screech."

Q: For one of the best girls, Matoro, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve broken?

A: Matoro laughed, rubbing the back of her head. "I once broke a family heirloom. It was this old pocket watch, and I took it with me to skating practice. When I landed on my butt after failing to do a trick, I ended up, uh, crushing it. Glass shattered, hands stopped moving, it almost sounded like the pocket watch the Mad Hatter and March Hare ruined in Alice in Wonderland by stuffing it with sugar and jam! ….. Oh yeah, I panicked and thought it’d work again if I did that, so…. That didn’t help. But we got it restored, and they fixed it up perfectly! I wasn’t allowed to touch it again until recently, though.”

Q: Shirou, share some stupid stories and tell me when was the last time you got to tell someone “I told you so.” after a ridiculous situation?

A: "The last time I got to tell someone 'I told you so' after something ridiculous was actually pretty recent! The Hakuren team, Yoru, and I were all hanging out at Yoru’s place and they built a little pool-like area that we can use as a skating rink, so it’s pretty big. We were all doing whatever we wanted in the snow when Matoro suggested we try having a match on the ‘ice rink’. I and a few others actually opted out of it, mostly because even though the pool is big, it’s not going to hold all twelve of us.

“I told them to be careful, because the ice was probably a bit thin due to the weather starting to warm up a little, and while they said they were going to be fine Yoru and I just kind of… knew that it was about to be a disaster. So before the match started we said not to fall through; at most they would have gotten damp calves but, still, there’s a reason there’s ice and snow.

“Long story short, we were having a blast but on one collision the ice broke underneath Matoro and Kitami and they fell in. That’s the most recent silly ‘I told you so’ that’s happened!”

Q: Watanabe, because I don't get your mind at all, what are you interested in that most people aren’t - and no, murder isn't a proper answer?

A: Watanabe gave a charming smile, laughing a little. “I’m interested in lots of popular things! If it’s not popular, then—"

A teammate of his popped up beside him after overhearing the conversation, crossing his arms and giving the questioner an annoyed look. Watanabe glared at the teammate. “He enjoys throwing rocks at birds. And from his track record, there are worse things I could mention.”

Watanabe hissed, shoving the teammate away as he growled, “Would you shut up?!” He turned back to the questioner, smiling politely. “Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about! I love anything popular, I don’t think there’s really anything I like that isn’t something most people enjoy!”

Q: Haruka, what was cool when you were young but isn’t cool now? AND what songs hit you with a wave of nostalgia every time you hear them? AND because the Angst is real, when was the last time you immediately regretted something you said?

A: “Oh!!” She gasped, grinning and clapping her hands together, “I lived in America for a few years and I fell in love with Alf and Mr. Rogers. I thought they were so cool! But nowadays it feels like you’re lucky if someone even remembers Alf, and the generations that really seem to remember Mr. Rogers have come to a close after they stopped airing the show. I think Hyouga’s generation might be the last.”

At the question about what songs make her nostalgic, she hummed thoughtfully and looked up at the sky. Coming up with an answer, she snapped her fingers and looked back at the questioner. “Maybe I’m Amazed by Paul McCartney. That song was probably the first one Natsume and I danced to as a couple, and then as husband and wife. It’s a special song that I wouldn’t trade for the world, and each time I listen to it, it reminds me of those days.” As she spoke a bright blush began to cover her cheeks and she looked away, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Other than that… I don’t really know. A lot of songs, I guess, but none really stick out like that one.”

For the third question her blush only deepened, her smile slipping and being replaced with sad regret. “Oh gosh, there are plenty of things I wish I hadn’t said.” She admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “The most recent… I think it was back after Yoru got injured. We were all pretty wound up because of it, and all of us said and did things we regret. But I remember snapping at Natsume that Yoru should just “Get over it” or… something along those lines. The words weren’t near as blunt or sharp, but the intent was clear, and I regretted it immediately. It took me over a month before I could look Yoru in the eye again even after I apologized then and there. I’m really lucky it didn’t sour my relationship with either of them completely.”

Q: And last one for Yoru! What’s the most awkward thing that happens to you on a regular basis?

A: Yoru groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Natsume refuses to let me bathe in peace and I wish I was joking.” He sighed, glancing uneasily at the questioner. “If you want one that still makes me feel awkward, though… it’s whenever I snap at people. There’s just something in the air, you know? Like you know you screwed up but you can’t apologize or you did and it just makes things more awkward. I’ve also caught people staring at my eyes before, that happens pretty often. Can’t really say which is more awkward though. They’re all pretty high up there.”

Q: What’s Natsume’s job?

A: “Oh, oh! I’ve got this one!!!” Araya cheered, waving her hand enthusiastically. “Natsume’s a baker/patisserie! He owns a cute little bakery in town, near some ice cream parlors and cafés. He’s actually super popular, too! One of the town’s best, hands down. His specialty in the store is castella cakes and melonpan! Yoru told us he loves experimenting with the recipes and coming up with new flavors along with ones that already exist.” Her eyes twinkled with excitement, “But if he’s got a booth at festivals or wants to help make something for a party? Expect the best sata andagi and/or amanattō you may have ever tasted!”

Q: Was Yoru always this fluffy?

A: Yoru frowned, biting his lip. “Sorry, I don’t think I understand the question? Fluffy how?”

Natsume cleared his throat, holding up a hand. “I can answer this! Just give me a second.” He ran out of the room, coming back with a rather large photo album and opening the pages to show pictures of a toddler with familiar mismatched eyes.

He pointed to one where the boy, slightly older than in the pictures before it, was on a surfboard in the sand with an instructor to side, encouraging him. “Here’s a picture where 6-year-old Yoru is learning to surf.”

At the sound of his name Yoru’s eyes widened, a yelp escaping him as he tried to cover the picture with his hands. “No, don’t show them that!” He cried, even as Natsume moved the book out of the way and above his head. Yoru jumped as high as he could, growling under his breath as he tried to grab the book, “You are so lucky I don’t like using hissatsus outside of matches.”

Natsume grinned, pointing to the picture again as he leaned away from his brother, “Look at how wild his hair is! He looked like an adorable kitten, and it didn’t help that we lived right along the beach; sea air can affect your hair in many ways, you know, and for him the extra waviness added more volume and made him even more fluffy than he is now!”

“Natsume!!”

Q: Did he (Yoru) ever have problems with heterochromia? (ie, other people making fun of him for it?)

A: Natsume sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from the questioner. “He did, actually. When he was little, some jerks used to call him strange or creepy and make fun of it since it was scary to them. He ended up getting really reclusive, and hid his gold eye behind his hair. It stayed like that until he was like, ten.”

Q: What’s Yoru’s favorite color?

A: Yoru hummed in thought, answering a moment later. “I like purples and greens, so I guess maybe a dark forest green or some sort of dark purple?”

Q: Has he (Yoru) ever tried sports that aren’t soccer?

A: Yoru nodded, smiling brightly. “I used to surf back in Okinawa! That’s actually how I met Tsunami, aside from being in the same class. I also do all the winter sports Hakuren has to offer, but some of them weren’t really me doing “sports” so much as just… messing around, I guess?” His eyebrows furrowed in thought, smile turning into a curious pout. “Is it still a sport if you don’t treat it as such?”

Q: Does Yoru watch babyTV with Hyouga?

A: Yoru shook his head “We don’t watch babyTV; honestly we mostly just watch random videos on youtube or whatever kid friendly things are on Netflix. So lots of animated movies.” Behind him, Hyouga started playing something on the tv. The Digimon theme song started playing and Yoru sighed, smile turning a little strained. “And Digimon. Lots of Digimon.”

Q: If Yoru, Watanbe, Haruka and Natsume were paladins, what lions would they command?

A: Watanabe would operate Sincline, but if he HAD to have a lion it’d probably end up being Black, and only because none of the other lions fit him (sorry black sweetie you deserve better). Yoru would either be Green or Blue, Haruka would be Yellow, and Natsume would be Red!

Q: Will Tsunami ever call Watanabe a wet paper shark?

A: Tsunami’s jaw dropped. “That…. Is the best nickname EVER,” He cried, leaping to his feet and pumping a fist into the air as he grinned, “And you bet the next time I see that jerk’s face I’m calling him it!”

Color drained from Yoru’s face at the thought, letting out a nervous laugh. “Please, don’t.”

Q: Is Yoru ticklish (and does Shirou know/exploit this)?

A: Shirou smirked, eyes ringed with gold. He crept over to the couch where Yoru was sitting and reading a book, ducking behind it when Yoru glanced over his shoulder. When he was sure Yoru’s attention was back on the book he sprung onto Yoru, grinning as he started to mercilessly tickle Yoru’s sides. Yoru shrieked, laughter filling the air as he tried to push Shirou away and wriggle away from his fingers. “Yep,” Shirou laughed, stopping after a few minutes to hug Yoru and nuzzle his cheek. “Definitely ticklish.”

Q: Did Natsume and Yoru ever have a Naruto phase?

A: Haruka giggled, hiding a smile with a hand. “One time in college, Natsume was trying to impress me and I was stressing out during a time crunch for fashion class, so he pretended to use “shadow clone jutsu” and ran around the room pretending like he was a ton of different versions of himself helping me pin down patterns or sew on details to things! Then when I was smiling he pretended to use Naruto’s coveted “sexy jutsu” and did a silly little shimmy that had me crying from laughter.”

Natsume blushed, laughing weakly and holding up his pointer finger, “I’d just like to say my actual Naruto phase was back when I was ten. I just really didn’t want to see her so stressed.”

Yoru snickered from beside them, rolling his eyes at Natsume’s correction. He glanced at the questioner, smiling apologetically. “I’m not a fan of Naruto, to be honest.”

Q: How tall is everyone?

A: I actually made a height chart once for the Yukimuras! As of FFI, Shirou is 5’0 (152cm), Yoru is 5’1 (154cm), Hyouga is 3’1 (94cm), Haruka is 5’8 (172.7cm) and Natsume is 5’10 (177.8cm) though I’ve accidentally been saying he’s over 6ft/180cm for like, three or four months now.

Q: Is Yoru your first IE OC?

A: Yep, he is! I created him in I think August of 2017, maybe earlier. I just felt like Shirou needed someone who understood a little, you know? Not even romantically, just… in general. And my sweet little shipper heart couldn’t help but make it gay so I did xD Originally, he was going to be from a random school Raimon stopped at before getting to Hokkaido, and even when he was in Hokkaido he was just going to be someone with a secret who insisted he come along! Things changed of course, and I’m actually really happy with the “fallen star” persona I’ve given him!

Q: What do you think there’s not enough of in the IE fandom (Male!OC, underrated canon characters, etc.)?

A: Well, to be frank, I wouldn’t even really notice what’s missing/not enough because I simply just don’t read a lot of IE fanfic or leave my bubble of select few content creators. I read it from my friends or writers I like if it’s topics I can stomach, of course, but other than that I just stick to my small corner and support everyone w/o having actually read their stuff xD But something that’s usually severely lacking in ALL fandoms is Male OC stuff. It’s like Nessie the Loch-ness monster sometimes! I mean, I also get WHY it’s not that popular, and I’m actually fine with Male OCs not being popular, but I’ve always noticed that there’s usually one male OC fic to at least 10 female OC fics in just about every fandom that has OC fics.

Q: How did Yoru realize his sexuality?

A: Honestly, if he hadn’t gotten a crush on Shirou, he might not have put two and two together until he was in his 20s because he honestly would have just… kept subconsciously waiting for a switch that wouldn’t have come until he found The One.

Before Yoru got a crush on Shirou, he figured he was gay at the very least—he didn’t like girls so he figured he liked boys but he still hadn’t… felt like it fit? Like everyone else seemed so certain about who they liked and while he didn’t care he noticed that he didn’t really get it, either. Then when the crush on Shirou hit, he assumed he was homoromantic, demisexual. But then as they get older Yoru realizes that, wow, he really doesn’t see anyone else in the same light he does Shirou? Like not even a little baby tickle of it.

And he’s perfectly fine with Shirou touching him in certain ways but the idea of it with anyone else? Skin crawling (SIDE NOTE: You don’t have to be sex repulsed to be ace/demi. Being ace/demi involves feeling little to no sexual attraction. Quite a few on the ace spectrum just happen to be sex repulsed as well) Heck, sometimes with Shirou it’s not a comfy feeling (don’t worry whenever they do something it’s consensual) So he throws terms around in his head until he comes to the conclusion he’s demiromantic and asexual and after that he just stopped caring about labeling it.

Q: What’s Haruka’s job and how did she meet Natsume?

A: Haruka grinned, pulling open the door to her studio. The room was filled with an organized mess of fabric rolls and mannequins of all shapes and sizes, some of which had either completed, half-finished, or barely started outfits, the tables covered in just as much mess. “I’m a fashion designer/tailor!” She chirped, closing the door as she continued to explain. “I mostly do freelance jobs like making costumes for plays and ballets, music videos, movie shoots, or parties. I also do small mending jobs that people in town need, like taking a dress in or out. But I also have my own lines of clothes that I sell online in batches with the help of my darling family as well as Yoru’s friends Araya and Matoro as models!”

Natsume took over for the second half, eyes bright with nostalgia and laughter. “We met in high school, became friends our first year thanks to being in the same group in the cooking club. At the time I was actually crushing on someone else and Haruka wasn’t bothering with dating, but my dad was constantly trying to prove we were dating— which, in hindsight, was hilarious. When we entered college, we started dating about halfway through our first year! It just kinda happened, y’know?”

Q: Shirou lives in an orphanage in LTT right? Will he move in with the Yukimuras one day? :3

A: In a way! He’s kinda already living there, but hasn’t really “moved in” because, well, Natsume and Haruka aren’t sure they have time to take the training required to become legal foster parents—even if it is inadequate. By the time high school comes to a close though, Shirou will have pretty much moved into the Yukimura household, though not officially. He’s still listed as living in the orphanage. During college, Yoru and Shirou get an apartment in town!

Q: Watanabe, why are you a grumpy old man?

A: Watanabe sputtered, letting out a dramatic, offended gasp. “WH—I AM NOT A GRUMPY OLD MAN.” He cried, clearing his throat and crossing his arms as he straightened his back. “I’ll have you know I’m quite distinguished and I deserve every right I have to be bitter about Yukimura’s bought—” He froze, catching sight of his teammates. He smiled, eyes flashing for a moment as he backtracked on the remark he was about to make. “I mean!! I just tend to have anger issues, is all. Nothing major, of course!” He laughed, holding out an arm as if to make a point as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “And really, it isn’t fair what happened with Yuki, right?”

One of his teammates shrugged, “I don’t know, I think it’s alright. He’s a competent manager, I’d say he earned a place on the national team.”

Watanabe laughed, his eye twitching and smile sharp. “Yes…. Of course, you make a valid point!”

Q: How did Natsume react to the news he was going to be a dad? Was Haruka worried? How did YORU react? XD

A: Haruka giggled, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Natsume fainted.”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

She rolled her eyes, her smile wide. “It wasn’t exactly planned for us to have a kid, even though we’d both been talking about it. But the moment he woke up he had the hugest grin on his face and kissed me over and over. It was so cute! Yoru’s reaction wasn’t really amazing or anything—he got wide-eyed and super happy and with Tsunami’s help threw a super small party over it. Nothing fancy, just a little “congratulations” and some cupcakes and movies.”

“And yeah, I was actually really worried—about being pregnant, not Natsume’s reaction, although the fainting startled me.” Haruka admitted, ignoring how Natsume shouted again that he didn’t faint. “We were both still in college at the time, and college is stressful enough without having to worry about being pregnant, too.

“We talked about it and Natsume, the absolute sweetheart, decided he’d just quit school and become a full-time employee at the restaurant he was working at. I took a year off of school, worked via my online store a little bit leading up to the final term, and once Hyouga was ok to leave with Yoru, Miyu, and Hayato, I went back to school for a little while. Natsume’s still on the fence about whether or not he wants to go back, now that he’s got his own bakery.”

#LTT extras #louder than thunder fic #LTT #LTT Q&A Questions #Yukimura Yoru #Yukimura Natsume #Yukimura Haruka #fubuki shirou #matoro juka #kudou michiya #watanabe katashi #tsunami jousuke #ask mo and co.

1 note · View note

docholligay · 5 years

Text

A Little Love Story, Part Three: Queens, Lovers, and Fools

Hello! This is the penultimate part of the story commissioned by @keyofjetwolf, a subversion of the “love breaks the spell trope” making it all platonic, as she much loves. this is 2,000 words! The rest of the series is here.

It had never occurred to Haruka that there could be a basement to a cave, but if such a thing were possible, this would have been it. It was dark, and dank, and she halfway imagined to find a passage covered in cobwebs, only to realize that for that to have been true, something would have to be able to live down here.

The only things that could live down here, had maybe never been alive at all, not in a way Haruka understood.

She had transformed, and walked through the long corridors of stone and stalactite, her only companions a long, deep drip and the unearthly glow from the walls now and again that signaled the unreality of this place, the way it only mimicked the rules of earth, but lived far off, by laws Haruka could not know.

Haruka had transformed because she hadn’t been sure what to expect, and Mina had taught her to be ready when walking into a probable trap. It had not come to mind, as she stormed out of the senshi meeting, that she was walking into a probable trap, but as she descended further into the belly of this would-be earth, she could hear Mina’s voice in the back of her head, that annoyance twinged with love that rang out every time Haruka did something foolish.

So she’d touched her ring, and whispered the words she’d yelled so many times. Haruka had always enjoyed the surge of power that came through her when she transformed, the way she could feel herself grow stronger and broader, the touch of her sword in her hand. But not today, and maybe that was why she’d whispered. Today she didn’t want to fight, because today Sailor Uranus might be less useful than Haruka Tenoh, which was not a thing she could often say, and not a thing she might have ever said at all, but for the love of her people, one of which she was chasing down a dark cave with no layout she was aware of, without any backup, after someone who wanted her dead.

Rei might have had a point.

Though, Haruka was pleased to know that if she died here, at least she wouldn’t have to hear Rei say it. What was her plan, precisely? Haruka was no tactician. She relied on Mina and Michiru and even Ami to help point her. She was a blunt object, she knew that. She wasn’t smart, she knew that, too. She was probably going to die here, just like Rei said.

But she had to try. If no one else was willing to try and save MIna from herself, she had to try. Mina would do the same for her, Haruka was sure, even if Haruka would tell her not to. Mina could talk a tough game about tactics and falling behind and sacrifices, but she was also the girl who had more than once given a lecture while tenderly patting a cloth over some deep cut in Haruka’s side. She was also the girl who’d yanked Haruka back from the brink more than once.

Haruka knew that Mina loved her, and Haruka couldn’t say that of many people. She could barely say it even when she knew it was true, without wanting to whip around and ask them why.

Even in the darkness, the shadow of guilt came over Haruka. Mina had felt unappreciated. She did so much for the team, but she never got to be the star of it, even to the other senshi. Everyone had just sort of taken it on faith that Mina would always be there, leading and guiding, and Haruka had been just as ignorant as the rest of them. She could have done better by Mina.

She should have told her how nice it was to have someone look out for her. People hadn’t done that, most of Haruka’s life. She should have told her that she admired Mina’s skill on the battlefield, her smarts. Haruka didn’t have anything like that. She should have told her how funny and clever she was, how Haruka was always amazed at even the quips that were aimed her own way.

Haruka should have said a lot of things, she thought, and because she hadn’t said them, Mina was in trouble, and it was Haruka’s job to fix it. Had to be her. Even if she was no match for Mina.

Maybe, she thought darkly, if she kills me, it’ll at least bring her back. Maybe if I die, she’ll remember. The thought gave her some comfort, that even in her failure she could succeed, somehow. It would be worth it to die, if Mina could be saved.

The comfort of that thought was somewhat decimated by the fact that Michiru would, without question or hesitation, kill Mina, spell broken or no, if Haruka was killed in the attempt. Even Rei wouldn’t be able to stop her.

She barely dodged the blade

Haruka hadn’t been able to hear well out of that left ear since she was about fifteen years old, and she did her best to cover this, the particularly astute noting that she had a tendency to cock her head, and that Michiru often sat to her right, but mostly quite getting away with the illusion. But Mina knew, of course, and had known long before Haruka had awkwardly told her the story, sitting across from her in that dive of a dumpling shop they both loved.

And Mina, as she was now, would only ever approach from that side. The weak side.

The immediate danger of fighting someone who knew every facet of your entire being had not occurred to Haruka, as she had stormed out of the Senshi meeting. It had not blipped on her radar, as she had crept down into this crypt and kingdom. When she had transformed, it had only been with the nebulous idea of an enemy.

However, it came into very sharp focus as Mina’s sword rung out in the night air, the high whistle of it as it blew past Haruka’s jawline singing out everything that had changed between them. Whispering that if she’d been one second slower, she’d already be gone.

She jumped back.

“Mina, it’s me!” It seemed a weak sort of defense, and lacked all the feeling she had hoped to put in it, but it was the only thing her mouth would give her.

Mina did not seem to hear her, swinging again in a fluid movement, Haruka narrowly blocking it with her own blade. It almost felt like those moments they would spar, Mina always on the attack, Haruka so rarely getting one in, and Haruka felt the twist in her heart at the memory. This was missing most of it: There was no laughter in Mina’s voice, no goading for Haruka to do and be better, no grins exchanged between them when Haruka successfully fended her off.

But the feel of Mina’s sword on hers was enough, and it hurt all the same.

Haruka wanted to believe that she was a creature of deep nuance, but wanting to believe things about herself did not make them true. Michiru was better at that--in Michiru’s world, there was room for many truths, for life to contradict itself--but Haruka was a creature of sunshine and shadow. Mina was her friend. Mina loved her. It had taken her a long time to know these things, and now that she knew them, no simple spell cast by some dumb bitch from space was going to change that, in Haruka’s mind.

She yelled through the sense of loss and dread, ripping it from her heart. “You really don’t want to do this, Mina!” Another barely-missed blow, “You’ll hate yourself forever!”

Mina laughed. “Oh, Uranus.” She stepped back a moment and shook her head. “You really do believe your experience of life is universal, don’t you? Such an idiot. Not everyone has to hem, and haw, and quake, over the things they need to do.”

Haruka looked at her with a little smirk. “You’re always complaining about how I run into things, Mina.”

Mina gave an almost playful tip of her blade. “You’re so eager to sacrifice yourself for something. Foolish enough to die without being brave enough to kill. Ready to blame yourself for everything.” She laughed. “I won’t think about it past the moment I see your eyes fix and gloss over.”

“I know that’s not true. We’re friends. You don’t want to kill me.” Haruka was not sure who she was trying to convince more, as she looked into the hungry eyes of Minako, saw the half-starved tiger that had been lying in wait for years.

“Oh but I do,” she smiled, “if I kill you, which I will in just a minute here, then I will kill Neptune, and the entire house of cards will fall from there. Easy. Elegant. I will be Queen of Earth in the fall of a curtain.”

“Uh, you need to be more worried about Michiru, I think.” Haruka scoffed. “Not to doubt you, kiddo, but--”

Whatever her thought was after that, it was never to be completed, as Mina swung in quickly, slamming a foot into the side of Haruka’s knee as she slashed across her back. Haruka fell to her knees, howling, the dank water of the cave floor splashing up into her face, a red line, like a ribbon, going down her back.

In the darkness, Michiru tightened her grip on her dagger. She had made Haruka a promise, that she would let her do this. She would let her try. But she had made no promise that she would make even a mild attempt to spare Mina’s life, if Haruka were unsuccessful. The other girls were nestled behind her, watching, waiting for Rei’s signal, Usagi’s head buried into Mako’s back as she gamely tried to suppress her weeping.

MIna’s voice echoed off the walls. “I should have known you would be so stupid as to come here alone, to the lion’s den.”

Haruka nursed her shoulder and weakly reached for her sword. “I came alone because I’m your friend. Like I said.” she dragged her sword toward her, the metallic ring of it a sad final song. “C’mon Mina, you know me.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Of course I do, you pathetic thing.”

Haruka winced, and even Mina could not have told you if it was from the pain of her injury or the pain of the statement.

“I know you so well, that your death was assured before you walked in the door.” She circled Haruka like a hawk about to dive, “That’s unfair, isn’t it? Not giving you chance to defeat me? Well. I’ll give you a chance. Because we’re friends.”

She said it as though it was a knife, dragged through Haruka’s flesh. Mina stopped when she got around to Haruka’s face again, and let her sword drop her side, her shoulders relaxed. She smiled down at Haruka as she towered over her, a deep, cold wind from the caves fluttering the air around her, sweeping up her hair.

“Raise your sword. I’m not in position. You’re supposed to be fast. Please, take it. Your best shot at me, Uranus.”

“Ruka,” she tightened her grip on her sword, “You call me Ruka, sometimes.”

Mina grinned and her eyes flashed with her pride and rage and delight. “Well then, old friend. Why don’t you show me what you’re made of?”

Haruka looked up at her, clutching her sword to her chest, eyes swimming in despair and confusion. Rei took Usagi under her arm and turned her face into her shoulder, giving a whispered advisement to the others.

“Anyone not wanting to see Haruka’s brutal murder should look away now.”

Michiru watched. Michiru waited. The heat of the waiting dagger wore a hole in her palm as it begged for escape.

Mina nodded leaning lightly on her sword, leg popped onto her toes, opening her arm to Haruka, her voice bubbling with mirth.

“Uranus. Come at me.”

50 notes · View notes

docholligay · 7 years

Text

Cinderuka: Chapter One--The Ashes of a Burnt Life

This is the beginning of my contribution to the Same Prompt Party! I hope others join us, and let me know if you like this--I’ll have an eye to completing it! 1900 words

Most fairy tales start with a dead parent, and ours will be no different, as there is no improvement that has yet been found over the course of storytelling to put a young woman into a peril quite like killing her parents.

Tragedies come in threes, they say, and so it was for Haruka’s young life, a happy little blonde girl, rambunctious in the sun at eight years. She had never been terribly feminine, this Haruka, running in the sun in her breeches, but her mother took it in stride--not all flowers are delicate, she would say, why, look at the dandelion, rough and tumble and no less a flower, no less bright and beautiful, for that.

She made Haruka feel very special indeed.

And so, of course, she took very ill.

Haruka was standing in a field, picking dandelions and violets and wild irises, when the first great tragedy of her life struck.

Those were her favorite wildflowers, and her mother had always said how perfectly they blended together, smiling whenever Haruka brought them by. She wanted to make her mother smile. She’d been so sick.

Her father’s voice rumbled her name like thunder across the otherwise blue sky, and only moments later, Haruka would know the rain of her own tears.

But parents are not the only things that die in stories. Dreams too, often die, the trail of the story a song of hope that they might rise like the eternal phoenix.

And so it was with a princess so very far from Haruka, who was not trapped by any dragon in a high tower, but felt as well as she might be, for all the freedom she had. Princess Michiru sat at the desk of her tutor, looking out the window at the flowers, wishing she was among them, running, and not a princess at all, even they bowed to her in the wind, and dreaming she was anywhere else, anywhere real.

“You are very fortunate, Princess,” her tutor called her attention back to the books, and Michiru sat straight, remembering herself, “in some less civilized kingdoms, women are not permitted to rule, even if they are the firstborn.”

Michiru scowled a bit, in the way the young parts of her still remembered how. “That’s foolish.”

“Women are considered incapable of rule, in such places.”

Michiru shook her head. “It’s as reasonable as not permitting those who are brunettes.”

The tutor lowered her glasses. “I did not say it was reasonable, I said it happened. This is why you must polish yourself, to be a fine ruler, Michiru. You will have to prove yourselves in the eyes of the world.”

There was no freedom, Michiru realized, in moments like these, even in her young life. She must be educated and crisp and stand tall in the face of any adversary, poised and perfect. She must not only prove herself in the eyes of the world, but her parents and her followers. Dreams must sometimes be laid to rest, the same as the mother of a little girl across the kingdom.

The second tragedy in Haruka’s bundle came not in funereal black but in wedding white, her father smiling broadly as he took the hand of the woman next to him. It had been a year since her mother died, too long for him to remain a widower, said the people of the town, so handsome and well-off, a magnificent tailor who had taught Haruka t his hand since he was little.

She was a fine lady, Haruka thought, with two daughters that would now be her sisters, and she extended her small bouquet happily to her.

“These are for you, Mother!”

She smiled weakly. “No, no, that cannot do,” she looked over at her father, as if to explain, “I would never want to take you mother’s place. I am not your mother, you know.”

Haruka nodded quietly.

“You must call me Stepmother. I think that will do.”

Haruka nodded again. “Yes, Stepmother.”

The wedding bells chimed overhead, and Haruka could not help but notice that the high pealing sounded a little bit like the rain on the cobblestones.

Haruka’s father was a good man, if not a brilliant one, and with him, things carried on happy for some time. Haruka helped in the tailor’s shop, learning to cut carefully vest and dresses and all assorted other things. She liked the work, and she had a talent for it, even in her youth, and took bits of remnant home to practice her craft by candlelight.

She began imagining taking over her father’s shop, when he decided to retire--with years of apprenticing and experience, she might overtake even him in skill, though she would never say such a thing to him.

Her stepmother held her always at a distance, never giving Haruka the mother she craved, and her stepsisters were beautiful and handsome at turns, witty and talented in the more classic ways--their mother was the widow of a fine horseman, who had kept them in some wealth over the course of his lifetime, and so they had learned music and finery and all the graces Haruka had not learned inside the tailor’s shop--but they were, to her, quite unkind, and ugly in the ways that mattered, and so she kept to the shop or to her fields, and did not worry overmuch about her home life, for her father was always there.

But they say tragedies come in threes.

Haruka was walking home from the shop, her bag laden with little odds and ends she had managed to nip around here and there with her father’s blessing. He walked alongside her, smiling, telling her of the magnificent job she did with the suit edging today, the line tight against the lapel. The Baron would be so pleased.

Then, there was a shout in the street, and the both of them looked up to the end of the road, where a fire had broken out in the baker’s building, ineffectual buckets of water being thrown at the flames.

Haruka was only eleven, but she had a sense of blind bravery within her that would follow her for all of her life, and she dashed to the end of the road, her father hot on her heels. She loved the baker and his wife, loved the bread they made, loved the way they saved a piece of the fruitcake for her at Christmas.

She could hear yelling from the second floor. Their children. So small, four and six, their mother screaming from the streets, being held back.

Haruka began to dash, but a firm hand threw her to the ground and surpassed her, dashing into the burning building, and Haruka could smell him one last time, the scent of hard work and cotton and silks.

She got to her feet as there were screams, and the cracking of the wood, and the house fell to the ground in an exhausted heap, the embers thrown into the sky like stars that foretold every ounce of Haruka’s misfortune.

And so we begin our story in a classic way, a princess in a tower, and a girl orphaned and friendless, both of them staring at the overwhelming enormity of the lives they have never chosen for themselves.

7 years later

Haruka had her gentle sides, and many of these sides revealed themselves when she was in the company of the small furred and feathered creatures of the world, but none of this gentleness or kindness for reserved for the hours of the breaking dawn, when the rooster crowed her from her pleasant dreams, which were not so grand as one might expect, but were generally limited to her having a small one room cottage of her own, where the fire was warm, and a woman called her sweetheart and kissed her face, and she sometimes had a donkey. She rather thought their ears charming.

With or without the donkey, the rooster was an unwelcome intrusion.

She sprung from her bed and flung wide the shutters of her bedroom, high and tucked away in a corner of the house to be forgotten.

“I’M GOING TO TURN YOU INTO THE BEST GODDAMN STEW!” She howled out the window, the sun peeking over the fair city. “I SWEAR!”

There was a caw, and her crow came to rest on the sill of her window. She called it her crow because it was certainly no one else’s, though she was never certain it would have respected her saying so. She picked a piece of dried meat off her dinner plate, as she did every morning, and laid it on the sill.

“Here you go, Blackie,” She leaned against the window now, as the rooster ignored her, “what did you see last night? Anything good?”

A squirrel chittered at her, and crawled onto the edge at her other side, waiting for its bit of bread.

“Blondie, you get so jealous!” She smiled and handed over the bit of bread.

They had been with her since she had been moved to the tiny room in the high corner, shortly after her father died, and if she ever thought it was odd for a squirrel and a crow to be so sociable or long-lived, she never put that thought into the air, perhaps fearing the world would agree with ehr and take her two little friends away.

She sighed heavily, staring over at the palace, brilliant in the early morning sun. Her father had told her one day she might be tailor to a queen or king, with how her talents were coming along. As hard as she still tried to work on her craft, it seemed a silly dream now.

“You you ever wonder what it’s like over there?” she stared faraway to the glowing palace.

They seemed to be ignoring her, playing tug of war over a tiny bit of corn Haruka had left, and she swatted at them.

“Stop it, you two! Get along!”

They both looked up at her, more annoyed by her than with any desire to stop.

She put her elbows down on the sill and stared across the town. “Imagine having no responsibilities, just…being able to do what you want, and everyone waiting on you, all the time. Imagine getting to sit in the nice, warm hall instead of the damn kitchen embers. Imagine everyone listening to you, all the time...”

From below, voices rang up the stairs.

“Cinderuka! Cinderuka! Where’s breakfast??”

She snorted. “I should ask my stepsisters how it feels. Must be nice.” She pushed off the sill and put on her pants, pulling her shirt over her head and slowly moving to the door. “I’d take just someone being nice to me for once.”

Blondie chittered at her in a reassuring way, and Blackie seemed to scold her in a caw, leading to the two of them arguing in their strange interspecies way.

“I know, I know,” She stretched, “I have you two. And the little mice in the kitchen.”

“Cinderuka!”

“Coming!” she shook her head and opened the door, shuffling down the stairs as the palace glowed brighter in the light of the morning, reflecting back on Haruka’s house that was no longer a home, illuminating the pumpkins in the garden below.

#a holligay joint

22 notes · View notes