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pocket-luv101 · 2 years

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Summary: Kuro is in an arranged marriage. He visits his fiancé in disguise with the wish to know him before they are forced to marry. (KuroMahi, Historical Romance AU)

Kuro stepped out of the carriage and he looked towards the regal castle in the distance. He would meet his fiancé once he arrived at the castle. The purpose of their marriage was to strengthen both of their kingdoms. He would do what was best for his people. However, a marriage wasn’t something he could easily agree to for political reasons. He wanted to know the type of man his fiancé was at least.

He decided to meet the prince in the disguise of a common messenger for his kingdom. His siblings didn’t agree with his plan due to the danger. Kuro intended to travel to Hanafield with only a few trusted servants because the prince would become suspicious if he saw him with so many knights. He would be defenseless in the event that someone discovered he was a prince and attacked him. He assured his siblings that he would only be visiting the kingdom for a short time.

Kuro had never met his fiancé before and he didn’t know what he looked like. He assumed he would easily be able to know which man he was betrothed to by his appearance. Most nobles he met would drape themselves in jewels and fine clothes. He could only hope that the prince was a kind man who cared for his people. As a prince, Kuro couldn’t hope for a marriage with love.

They stopped a short distance from the castle to allow the horses to drink from the lake. Kuro rubbed his neck and he was reminded of why he disliked travelling long distances. His neck was stiff from sleeping in an uncomfortable position in the carriage. He walked to his horse and he untied it from the harness so it would be more comfortable. He stroked the horse’s mane and said, “I hope we didn’t travel a thousand miles to meet a troublesome prince.”

His horse’s ears suddenly twitched and it trotted forward. Kuro was confused by its behaviour because it had a lazy nature like its rider. The horse would usually rest in the shade unless he was riding it. He wondered what caught the animal’s attention and he trailed behind him. His attendants didn’t notice him leave and he walked deeper into the forest.

The sound of voices grew as he approached the person who caught his horse’s attention. He stepped out of the bushes and saw a group of children standing around a large peach tree. Kuro followed the children’s stares to the man standing on a branch above them. He picked a peach and he called down to the children. “Okay, I have enough for everyone. Do you guys want me to get an extra peach to bring back to your family?”

When Mahiru asked the question, he didn’t expect a horse to respond to him. He felt a light nudge on his feet and he almost slipped from the branch he stood on. Mahiru managed to catch himself and he was relieved he didn’t drop his basket of peaches. He plucked another peach from the tree and then he reached down to feed it to the horse. “Here you go, Boy. Where’s your owner?”

“Sorry, my horse wandered away from my travelling party. He must’ve heard you mention peaches and decided to beg you for some as well. He’s troublesome.” Kuro stepped next to his horse and he looked up at the brunette man. The first thing he noticed about him was his large eyes. He wore simple clothes and he assumed he was a caretaker for the peach trees. “I never knew the royal family’s peach trees grew so close to the castle. You should be careful they don’t see you stealing their peaches.”

“There are so many that it’s impossible to eat or sell all of them in a season. Thinking simply, it’ll be a waste to just leave them so the villagers are free to take peaches from the trees. These children are too short to reach them so I’m picking peaches for them.” Mahiru explained and the children nodded in agreement. “Are you a traveller, Sir? I can point you to the direction of the castle. My name is Mahiru.”

“I’m Kuro and a messenger for Hakucho Island.” He introduced himself with the nickname only his siblings would call him. Kuro was careful not to tell him that he was visiting the kingdom to negotiate an arranged marriage between their kingdoms. While Mahiru appeared to be a simple villager, he didn’t know whether there was someone watching them nearby. He couldn’t risk the chance that someone would try to attack him for information on the potential alliance.

“Hakucho Lake and Hanafield are bordering each other but that must’ve been a long journey for you. Would you like a peach?” Mahiru stood to pick a fruit for him. The horse assumed that he was offering him more food and it excitedly stepped forward. It pressed its head against his ankles and the innocent gesture sent Mahiru falling backwards.

Kuro instinctively jumped forward to save Mahiru before he could crash to the ground and hurt himself. He caught him against his chest but he wasn’t able to stop the momentum of the fall. They both tumbled to the ground and Kuro winced as his feet hit the tree trunk. He landed on his back with Mahiru on his chest. He looked down at him and he appeared to be unhurt.

“Troublesome.” He groaned. “Sorry for my horse.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to do anything to hurt us.” As if to agree with him, his horse leaned towards them and nuzzled its nose against his brown hair. The action pressed him closer against his chest. Mahiru reached back and lightly patted its head. Then, he rolled off his chest and he sat next to him. He held out his hand to help Kuro to his feet. He noticed that Kuro grimaced as he moved and he realized that he had been hurt when he saved him.

Mahiru turned to the children and listed instructions to them. “Go to the castle and ask Misono to bring the medic and a wagon here. I’ll stay here and do what I can to treat his leg. Don’t move, Kuro. Your leg could be broken and moving will make the injury worse.”

“You don’t need to worry about me since it feels like a little sprain.” Kuro reassured him as he sat up. He pulled up his pants to examine his swollen leg and he cursed to himself softly. Mahiru’s worry didn’t leave his face and he joked to lower the mood. “I don’t mind laying here for an hour or so. I’m tired from travelling for hours and this is a good excuse to sleep.”

“I never knew a messenger to be so lazy.” Mahiru giggled and his laugh sounded like bells to Kuro. He enjoyed the sound and he found himself thinking of how he could make him laugh again. He pushed himself up so he could lean against the tree and face Mahiru. His words reminded him that he needed to go to the castle to speak with the prince.

“I didn’t expect to arrive at the castle in a wagon. It’s going to be an embarrassment for my kingdom.” Kuro realized that he could take the chance to ask Mahiru about the prince he was betrothed to. He doubted a prince would interact with a simple villager but he could learn how the kingdom treated its people. “The royal family allows people to eat from their peach trees. Are they good people?”

“I like to think they are but it’s difficult to know if others will agree with me.” Mahiru’s voice sounded a little lonely as he moved to sit next to him. He took out a peach from his basket and handed it to Kuro. They each took a bite of the peach. “I am a valet for the prince. He told me that he is to marry the prince of Hakucho Lake. What kind of man is he? It would comfort me if my friend is engaged to a good person. It’s a political marriage but the prince is still a man who wants love.”

He’s the same as me. Kuro thought to himself. “I’ll tell you something about Prince Ash if you tell me something about Prince Shirota. It’s a good trade.”

“I was hoping that peaches would be payment enough.” Mahiru grinned at him as he held up the fruit to him. The peach juice dripped down his chin as he took another bite. He took out his napkin from his pocket and he gently wiped it against the corner of his lips. “Prince Shirota enjoys baking different things with peaches. The cook hates when he takes over the kitchen since it isn’t right for a prince to be working among them. He’s strange, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t look down on people like other royalty I’ve spoken with. Your prince sounds hard working but my kingdom will call ours a lazy cat. Sloth doesn’t like politics and he could take days deciding what he should do with his advisors.” Kuro told him and he looked towards the lake. “He would rather spend time with his siblings.”

“Family is important so I can’t judge him for his feelings. I grew up as an only child and I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have a lot of siblings. I heard that Sloth has seven younger siblings.” Kuro thought of how Mahiru helped the children pick peaches and he likely did so to act like an older brother to them. “You’re a messenger so you probably don’t know this but what kind of food does Sloth like?”

“Noodles. They’re quick to make because you can throw premade noodles and seasoning into a pot.” They fell into a comfortable conversation. Kuro wasn’t a social person and it would take him a while to become open with someone. He found that it was easy to speak with Mahiru. He had a warmth that made him feel at ease and he told him about himself.

Hours passed without them noticing. They only stopped when Mahiru saw the children return with a doctor. A part of him was a little disappointed that their conversation was over and he didn’t know if they would have the chance to talk to him again. He knelt next to Kuro and he took his hand. “Lean on me and I’ll help you walk to Misono.”

“Can’t we just wait for them to come to us?” He asked but he placed his arm around Mahiru’s shoulder. Together they stood and he did his best not to put too much of his weight on Mahiru.

“I’m sorry that your ankle was sprained because of me but I’m a little thankful.” Mahiru admitted and it took Kuro aback. “I was able to learn more about Sleepy Ash. I thought I would have to marry a complete stranger but I know my fiancé likes noodles at least.”

Kuro’s eyes widened when understanding fell over him. “You’re the prince of Hanafield?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at first but I thought this was my chance to learn more about Sleepy Ash.”

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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rmlarson · 3 years

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A husk of her former glory as a family friendly mascot. Despite her worn appearance, she does her best to keep her body in pristine condition and hides away in the Fairy Forest for self-maintenance. Being the animatronic most human in appearance and size, Sara is usually forced to go undercover and attend Hayesville town meetings to eavesdrop on future developments for the restaurant. The lower half of her face was terribly damaged during a fierce brawl with Willy and has never healed properly, using magic to hide it. Her sharpened teeth hints at the problem, exposing the injury to intimidate sacrifices.

—

Name: Siren Sara

Real Name: Mackenzie Stone

Unofficial Name: Mackenzie!Sara

Gender/Sex: Female (anatomically correct)

Species: Spiritually possessed fairy animatronic

Spiritual Age: 30 years old

Coded Age: 406 years old (26 in human years)

Height: 5′5″

Eye Color: Teal

Hair Color: Silver

Skin Color: Pale peach

Occupation: Serial killer; Cannibal; Cult member

Spiritual Beliefs: Satanism; Black magic

Alignment: Evil

Crimes: Kidnapping, stalking, mutilation, non-negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault/battery

Abilities: Spell casting, supernatural speed/agility, vocal impersonation, teleportation, vocal hypnosis

Hunting Style: She will often hide out in the Fairy Forest and seduce any janitor with her hypnotizing songs (one for men and another for women). Once a janitor has been led to the center of the room, she will zip about and taunt them before ultimately pulling them up into the trees to be strangled and eventually eaten.

Likes: Hunting Hayesville residents and outsiders, killing and eating adults and children, the thrill of being feared, feasting on the spirits trapped in Willy’s Wonderland, the Fairy Forest

Dislikes: Willy Weasel, The Janitor, Liv Hawthorne, having to rely on outsiders as a varying food source, the town of Hayesville, being stuck in one location for long periods of time

Whereabouts: Hayesville Willy’s Wonderland restaurant

Status: Alive (spiritually); Self-repairing after blowing up Tex’s car

#willy's wonderland #willys wonderland #willy's wonderland backgrounds #siren sara #mackenzie stone #mackenzie!sara #killer klowns au

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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for tma fantasy week prompt 7: legend

Jon’s foot slips on a tree root, and he nearly falls before he manages to catch himself on a tree, the rough bark cutting into the palm of his hand. He mutters a curse and checks to make sure he hasn’t dropped any items from his basket. The mushrooms and herbs seem to be in order, and Jon carefully tucks a delicate white flower back into place before starting forward again.

That’s what he gets for foraging at night, he supposes. But the flowers he’s looking for bloom in a very specific time frame, and if he doesn’t pick them then, they’ll lose their medicinal quality. So, Jon grits his teeth and slows his pace slightly, taking more care with where he places his feet lest he end up actually hurting himself or—gods forbid—losing some of his supplies. He needs those flowers; most of his medicines rely on the little purple blossoms clustered near the shore of the lake, and he’s the only one who makes them. So, he spends most of his nights in the woods and most of his days fighting off exhaustion. The bags under his eyes have reached rather impressive proportions.

It’s not his fault everyone else is too scared to venture into the woods at night. Putting so much stock in a local legend, in what is essentially a child’s tale, is ridiculous, and Jon will have no part of it.

He’s heard the legend before, of course, so many times that the words have begun to grate on his ears like sandpaper. According to legend, there had once been a man who lived in the very center of the forest. He lived alone, isolated and hidden away in the trees, with only the flora and fauna for company. But it had never bothered him, and he had spent his time painting the forest in yellows and purples and blues, spreading wildflowers all the way to the edges of the wood and carving paths in the earth for creeks and streams to flow. (This was the part that annoyed Jon the most; a man living alone in the woods he could believe, but that? Ridiculous.)

The man had grown comfortable being alone. He’d loved it. And then, one day, another came to the center of the wood, looking to build a home there. The stranger stepped on the flowers the man had carefully cultivated and scared away the birds and disrupted the gentle silence of the trees and the leaves with boisterous words. So, from within the forest, the man summoned a great fog, thick and heavy as it rolled over the ground and through the trees, and swallowed the stranger whole. And then the man was alone again.

Something something legend says he still lives in the woods, something something only comes out at night, something something people sometimes see fog peeking through the trees when they get too close, whatever. It’s all nonsense. Jon knows it is, because he’s been visiting the forest at night for months and he’s never seen anything but a few startled rabbits and a plethora of moths.

They’d even named the place after him. Blackwood Forest. Jon had always disliked the name—it felt rather repetitive for it to contain both wood and forest, and there had almost certainly never been a man called Blackwood living in this forest.

Jon is crouched by the lake, halfway through collecting that night’s quota of flowers, when he realizes with a start that he can’t see his hands clearly anymore. They’re hazy before him, like he’s viewing them through warped glass, and when he looks up and over the lake, he’s met with only grey, stagnant and flat and unmoving as it surrounds him.

Jon stands, gripping his basket tightly. He can barely see its contents; they’re smudged by the fog, turned greyscale and desaturated. His own skin looks sickly, like all the color has been drawn out of it.

“Hello?” he says, his voice too-loud in the stillness that surrounds him, and if it shakes a bit he pretends it doesn’t because he’s not scared. There’s no ghostly specter of a man planning to trap him in fog forever. It’s a temperate night; fog is to be expected. There’s nothing supernatural about a bit of fog.

Then, a voice drifts out of the fog, and Jon nearly drops his basket in shock.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” it says. The words reverberate through the fog, echoing over and over again until they trail away into nothing.

What? Indignance wipes away Jon’s surprise in the span of a breath, and he snaps back, “I can go where I very well please, thank you. I’ve been coming here for months, and I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to.”

Gods, he’s talking to fog. This is a new low for him.

There’s a moment of silence before Jon swears he hears the fog sigh. It’s almost absurd enough to make him laugh. “Still, you… you should leave.”

Jon scoffs and decides to entertain, just for a moment, the notion that he’s speaking to the man everyone’s convinced is haunting these woods. “What, can’t you just threaten to steal me away? To hold me captive in the fog forever? Apparently, it’s what you do.”

It’s quiet for a long while—long enough that Jon begins to shift impatiently and consider how long it might take him to navigate out of the forest without being able to see the route in front of him. Then, so quietly Jon can barely hear it, the voice says, “It’s not.”

If Jon didn’t know any better, he’d think that whatever’s hiding in the fog sounds sad. “What?”

The fog clusters a bit heavier around Jon, tickling at his skin and leaving behind a fine mist of water, before retreating suddenly, leaving the ground and the trees bare around him, illuminated by the moon above. And, not five feet away, stands a man, his edges blurred and every part of him an icy white, from the curls that spill down his shoulders to his skin to the cloak he has wrapped tightly around him (though, when Jon looks closer, he thinks that might actually be fog, thick and clinging to the man’s skin). The man is looking at a point just behind Jon’s shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not,” he repeats. “I- I don’t want to hurt anyone. I haven’t hurt anyone.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Who’s there to hurt? Nobody comes here anymore.”

Well. Jon still doesn’t believe in legends, but this is hardly a legend anymore, is it, with the man in question stood there in front of him? A bit warier, Jon says, “So then… what do you want?”

The man looks at Jon then—really looks at him—and a shiver runs through Jon’s body like he’s just stuck his hand in ice water. “I… I don’t really know?” He hugs his cloak tighter to him, the fog shifting as he does so, and continues, “I… I suppose we could… we could talk?”

“Talk,” Jon repeats flatly. “I hardly see why the fog was necessary, then.”

A few tendrils of fog snake out from the man, reaching toward Jon, before the man seems to notice, and they retreat back into the fabric of his cloak. More sharply than Jon expects, the man says, “I’m a bit out of practice, okay? Like, a few decades out of practice. I think I’m allowed a bit of leeway.”

Maybe Jon’s imagining things, but he thinks, just for a moment, that he sees a flash of color—a wisp of tawny brown lacing through the man’s hair. When he blinks, though, it’s vanished, and so he puts it out of mind. “And what did you want to talk about?”

The man pauses at that, wrings his hands together. “Anything?” he says finally with a small shrug. “Like, er… what do you use the viccolas for?”

“The what?”

The man gestures toward Jon’s basket. “The viccolas? They’re one of my favorite flowers here—a shame they only bloom at night, really—and I used to use them in my tea, to- to help with the pain. I, er. I used to be quite ill before I…” The man trails off and makes a small, distressed noise.

“Died?” Jon suggests helpfully.

“What?” The man’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with surprise, and there it is again—that small flash of color, just for a moment, this time along the side of the man’s face, a light peach almost indistinguishable from the pale white surrounding it but there all the same. “No, I- I’m not a ghost! Why- why would you think that?”

“To be fair, you do look like one.”

The man makes a frustrated noise. “I- I suppose, but that’s- that’s not what happened! I’m still alive, I’m just not—”

The man cuts off again, sharper this time. When he speaks again, his voice is choked, as if with tears. “I’m just not human anymore, I don’t think.”

Well, Jon could have told him that much. It’s really rather obvious. Still, he doesn’t think that would be well received. So, instead, he says, “I use the flowers for medicines. Nobody else comes into these woods at night, but I’ve never been afraid of- well, of you, I suppose.”

He wants to ask the man if he’d created the flowers. If he’d painted them by the lake like the legends say. But that would be ridiculous, and Jon’s not keen on indulging his own childish sense of curiosity.

“Oh,” the man says quietly. “So, then, you… you’ll keep coming back for them?”

Jon frowns. “Yes, of course. Some of the people I help would die without the medicine I give them.” His expression turns wary again. “So I would suggest you not try to stop me.”

“No, no, of course not,” the man says quickly, looking rather horrified at the thought. Which does put Jon’s mind at peace a little. “I… I suppose I just thought that maybe we- we could talk again? Er, whenever you come back, that is.” He lets out a small, bitten-off laugh. “I promise I won’t surround you with fog this time?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.”

The man’s eyes brighten at that, his irises lit briefly with a flash of baby blue. “Is- is that a yes?”

He looks so excited at the prospect of another conversation with Jon—one that will surely feel just as much like pulling teeth as this one, though that could just be Jon’s poor interpersonal skills. And unlike what some people might think, Jon is not heartless. Besides, he can’t deny that he’s curious about the man who lives at the center of the Blackwood Forest.

“All right,” Jon says with a small nod. “I’ll be back this time next week.”

The lips that smile back at him are rosy red. “G- great! Er, sorry, I- I realize I never actually asked… what’s your name?”

After a pause during which Jon briefly entertains the notion of giving out a false name, he says, “Jon. You can call me Jon.”

“Jon,” the man says, as if testing its weight upon his tongue. “I’m- I’m Martin. Er, Martin Blackwood.”

Right. A bit of truth in the legends after all, then.

Jon leaves with his flowers, and Martin fades back into the fog that hangs over the lake’s surface. And when Jon returns the next week, they talk. And the next, and the next, until it becomes routine. Until it becomes something Jon looks forward to. Until he spends most nights in the woods, sat next to the lake and unraveling every facet of a man whose life is so much more than has been spelled out on paper.

And when the flashes of color begin to resolve into vibrant skin and hair and eyes and Martin begins to cry, Jon wraps his arms around a man who’s become solid once more and finds him warm.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tmafantasyweek #jonmartin #my fic #my writing #and that's it! ending the week with my most self-indulgent jmart yet #ft. skeptic jon and not-a-ghost martin

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Blue Fire Tree

Prompt: Everlasting (last day omgggg) | Gift for @tinaillustrations ! Hope you like this fluffy piece! I enjoyed writing this one. 🤗| Happy HitsuHina Week! @hitsuhina-week 💛💙

“Fire trees should be blue not red,” Ichika mumbles while filling in the traced pattern of the tree on the canvass as Hinamori gathers her unruly red mane into a semblance of a bun. Her charge was a Shinigami apprentice and had the hodgepodge attitude of both of her parents. She was sarcastic, blunt, inquisitive, passionate, and kind.

Renji thought she was the best person to teach his daughter common spells to start off her training. Not that Hinamori disliked being the resident kido expert. She particularly loved the monicker, but there were times she felt she didn’t deserve the title. Like today when, for some other reason, Ichika and her was blindsided by arts and crafts.

“Wouldn’t you like the flowers to resemble your hair?” Hinamori clips the last of the strands and looks over the child’s shoulder. The colors spill out of the lines and the scenery seems to change from summer to winter.

“But blue is the hottest color. Imagine trees blooming with the brightest flames, the most intense warmth, and the most lasting flowers.” Ichika finishes the piece with a last dash of blue paint. The apprentice turns to her and asks, “Does it look so desolate?”

“No, not really. To me, winter has always been warm.“

Someone coughs behind them to get their attention. Hitsugaya Toushiro, captain of the 10th Division, stands awkwardly at the entrance of the dojo with a tray of tea and pot of biscuits. It doesn’t escape her notice that he used the tea set she gave last Christmas, and this observation makes her feel giddy inside.

Maybe I’m just appreciative of people who use my gifts, Hinamori justifies to herself.

“Hello, Captain Hitsugaya. Is that for us or for Vice-Captain Momo?” Ichika greets him as she takes the tray off his hands.

The blush creeps on the captain’s face just as quickly as his brows furrow in annoyance. He quickly glares at the mischievous remark of Ichika and redirects his gaze to his equally flustered childhood best friend. “This was not of my own good will. I was threatened by Byakuya to take good care of his precious niece, and it just so happens that this space is under my jurisdiction.”

Hinamori tilts her head in a slight apology. “I hope we don’t bother you too much. Would you like to join us for some art session? Ichika loves to paint today.”

He almost says something, but he stops himself. His stance goes from alert to rigid, and tension fills the air. “Maybe some other time.” Ichika glances from her current teacher to the captain and back to her teacher again.

“Oh, sorry for taking up your time.” Hinamori slightly bows, unsure of what transpired just now, and Hitsugaya nods in return. Before he is completely out of her sight, she calls out to him again.

“Shiro-chan?” He glances back at the sound of his nickname. “Thanks for the tea.”

He smiles in mild annoyance before he flash-steps out of their sight. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you.”

--------------------------

“Something’s bothering you,” Rangiku says to Hinamori as she slides beside her in the ramen booth. “Your treat in exchange for my wisdom.” She proceeds to order her usual ramen and sake combo.

“How was your trip to the Land of the Living?” Hinamori asks, obviously skirting the issue she wishes to raise.

“Kazui is subdued and gentle like his mother, but somehow, he manages to get into fights with bullies on the street. It’s his Ichigo genes.” The combo meal arrives along with two shot glasses. “How are you doing with the chaotic devil spawn Ichika?”

“She’s progressing really fast with the kido, but she gets so distracted easily. It’s cute though that Renji and Rukia are not pressuring her. Great parents. How nice it must be.”

Rangiku side-eyes her while slurping the thick noodles. “How nice what now – “

Hinamori plays with her empty bowl and fidgets with her chopsticks. “To not be alone.”

She chokes on her noodles and quickly downs half of the sake bottle. “Oh, this is great news! I have someone on my mind who would like to be in your company forever.”

Hinamori gives no response and instead continues fiddling with her bowl. “How nice it is to be also like Shiro-chan, content and busy enough to be single. How do I become like your captain, Rangiku?”

The smile fades from the woman’s face and is replaced by a bustling vein near her temple. “I’m sorry what did that short man do or say to you?”

“I asked him if he would like to do some art with us, you know, help me with babysitting for a few minutes, but he literally stiffened like a stick. Seems like he doesn’t want to waste time with kids or do any family-related activities. Or maybe he’s just too busy, captain duties and all.”

And yet he took the time to bring you tea, a voice screams inside her mind.

“That’s….rude,” an exasperated Rangiku remarks. She pours a glass for Hinamori and decides on a plan. “Unless you’re seeing him as….?”

“Huh? Oh no no no.” Hinamori downs the liquid in one gulp, suddenly embarrassed by her friend’s insinuation. “We’re just friends, childhood friends. I…don’t see Shiro-chan that way.”

“Sure, whatever you say Momo. Do you want me to introduce you to some people?”

Hinamori looks up at her, doe-eyed.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

--------------------------

Hinamori actually forgot about her request to Rangiku as she and her student started to settle in a rather serious kido training. The plan apparently was set to happen after a week when she came across a bulletin announcing her quest for a perfect match through a one-day interview application. This was the first time Hinamori wanted to be swallowed by the void and never return to Seiretei.

She finds herself visiting Division 10 HQ every afternoon but to no avail since coincidentally, Rangiku has some errands to do in Karakura, and won’t be back until the date of the interview. Or maybe it has also something to do with Hinamori avoiding Hitsugaya and having to do all the explaining. And so she had no choice but to wait for the inevitable day.

“Uhhh Vice-Captain Matsumoto, you said introduce, not organize a whole dating screening process!” Hinamori’s voice goes a pitch higher for each word, but Rangiku is too busy arranging the people lining up to notice her.

Her current captain, Shinji Hirako, chuckles beside the blondie, amused by the growing line of eligible Shinigami singles in their HQ. “You are quite the eye candy in our division, huh. Didn’t expect you’d have this many suitors.” He squeezes his vice-captain’s shoulder as form of reassurance. “You should have told me, Hinamori. I could have set you up in an arranged marriage.”

“Captain, that’s atrocious!” Hinamori protests. She walks over to Rangiku to disperse the line, but Yumichika and Ikkaku move to her side and grabs her midway through her litany of objections. They lead her to a makeshift container with two chairs facing each other and a table in between.

“This is ridiculous,” Hinamori mumbles her breath, her energy already defeated by the two dumbasses in front of her.

“Well to be fair, Hinamori, this is a long time coming,” Yumichika says.

“And the result necessitates this kind of method so stop mumbling and screen your admirers, babe,” Ikkaku supplies. Irritated, Hinamori chases them off with two fireballs.

The first ten Shinigami ‘applicants’ were too insufferable as they were clearly aiming for the prestige of her position.

“If dating a vice-captain would give me a higher seat in Gotei 13 then why am I still single?” she bats the question to the 11th person who sat across her. When they didn’t give her an answer, she sighs, “Next please.”

“Would you know what’s my favorite brand of tea?”

“Uhh, Robusta.”

“I believe that’s coffee. Next please.”

“Hello, vice-captain Hinamori, I brought you peaches. They’re my favorite.”

“I’m allergic to them. I’m sorry. Next please?”

“What are your strengths?”

“Well, I can do shunpo.”

“That’s basic Shinigami skills.”

“…………..”

“I’ll see myself out. Thank you for your time, vice-captain.”

“I know you’re traumatized by Aizen-“

The container collapses as Hinamori summons Tobiume.

--------------------------

“I think I will be forever alone.” Hinamori looks on as her fellow vice-captains clean up the mess she incurred over the unfinished statement earlier.

“I’m really sorry if I did the whole thing over the top,” Rangiku tells her sincerely. She hugs the raven-haired girl and waits in silent for the commotion to die down. “Though the last one was really foul, and you were valid to be angry.”

“I was afraid I’d burn down Captain Shinji’s quarters.”

“You can, just to piss him off. The whole process is so draining, huh?” Hinamori nods at the observation. Rangiku continues, seemingly voicing her own thoughts, “It’s hard to put yourself out there especially when they don’t know batshit about you. Would be easier if you have common interests or when they’re already your friend.”

The last phrase is said so pointedly that Hinamori’s mind automatically pictures Hitsugaya. She runs along with her imagination. How easy it would be indeed to spend the rest of her life with him. And as if her mind conjured him, the 10th Division Captain comes into view alongside Ichika. It looks like her student dragged him to the unfortunate event.

There’s an angry glint in his eyes that Hinamori noticed. It was the torn expression he wore when she wounded her knees back when they were kids, the same frown when she told him she would kill for the traitor, the same worried eyes when she almost died. But his eyes refuse to meet hers.

“You missed all the fun, Captain.” Rangiku stretches out her arms as she stands up. She gestures for the rest of their friends to come nearer so they could re-group and go home. “It was a bad plan, and I owe Hinamori one. So we’re kinda ready for your scolding.”

Hitsugaya stays silent throughout the shuffling of his fellow Shinigami, in fact he remains frozen for too long that Ichika elbows him to get a response out of him. “Come on, you ruminated one week for this, and I had to physically stop you from harassing the interested applicants.”

“Shut up, Ichika,” the silver-haired captain mutters.

“I’ll tell on you to Uncle Byakuya!” the redhead sticks out her tongue and runs over to the side of Rangiku.

More annoyed than ever, Hitsugaya grunts and storms off towards Hinamori. “I’m not here to scold anyone. I’m here for the….dating application,” he gulps amid the collective gasps that ran through the group and the muffled laughter of Rangiku who clearly foresaw this.

“Well, what can I say, but fucking finally!” The blonde swigs a new bottle of wine from inside her robes and goes to do a little crowd control.

Hinamori’s eyes get a little bit bigger, and she stares at him with mouth agape, but she lets him grab her hand, in a gentle manner that he usually does, and brings her to the farthest fire tree in the area.

“Shiro-chan, what did you mean……” She continues to stare at his hand who somehow refuses to let go of her yet.

Ironically, he is also staring at the same hand, unsure whether to let go right now before he can actually say something. “I don’t know why you had to go through all of that.”

“I’m..I’m still confused, to be honest. It was just a passing feeling of loneliness, and I rambled to Rangiku which she took seriously….” Hinamori knows she is starting to word vomit out of nervousness, but she halts when he finally lets her go. Maybe she has misunderstood his presence again.

Hitsugaya raises his palm to her. “Would you let me…uhhh…word vomit this time?”

She slowly nods, rather shocked at his insistence, and even more so when he chooses to ramble.

“Momo, I have a cold reiatsu. My touch is never warm. But I know you like green tea, steeped in warm water for exactly 10 minutes, and that you don’t put sugar. You are afraid of storms, and you need a blanket around you to calm down. You like watermelon, but I think it’s because I subjected you to multiple summers of conditioning. You’re my childhood best friend. You’re hardworking. You are a kido expert. You earned your right to be a vice-captain, and you’ll do greater things.

And I know it’s not enough to say that I know you, I’ve always known you, but will it be enough for you to allow me to stay beside you?”

Hinamori leans against the trunk of the fire tree, breathless from his train of words. “Oh my god, this is too overwhelming. I thought you hated being not single.”

“What?” Hitsugaya looks at her with a puzzled expression.

“You don’t like Ichika. Or doing art…with kids.”

“Well, Ichika is a brat to me, but she’s a good student and will be a good Shinigami like her parents.” He nurses his temples for the growing headache. “Momo, listen to me.” He steps closer to her and makes sure she’s only looking at him. “I panicked because I visualized you and me….and you know. It wasn’t right when I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

“Oh.” The moment of realization dawns on her. “Oh, that’s great.”

“So we can finally go back to how we were.” Hitsugaya lets out a shaky breath as he sits on the grass and watches as the red petals of the fire tree shower them lightly.

A blushing Hinamori crouches down to his level. “Well, not quite. You should know, Shiro-chan, your reiatsu has always been warm and comforting to me.” She reaches out to take his hand and intertwines their fingers.

Hitsugaya smiles as he silently thanks himself that he outgrew her by two inches so he could easily slip a kiss on her forehead. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya.”

--------------------------

Ichika tries to see beyond the wall of spectators but Rangiku is not letting anyone through. She huffs indignantly, wanting to know whether her incessant prodding and pestering of the oblivious Hitsugaya bore some fruit. She has no choice but to juice out all the details later on from her uncle.

On second thought, maybe she won’t have to. Blue petals swayed with the light breeze of the wind, and on the far edge of the Fifth Division’s HQ is a lone blue fire tree.

#hitsuhina week #hitsuhina day 14 #hitsuhina #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #hitsugaya #hinamori #bleach couples #anime fanfiction #this is my first time participating in a gift exchange im so happy

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allykakamatsu · 3 years

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Danganronpa V3 Smash Bros Tournament!

•Monokuma decides a good way to get everyone to kill each other is a Smash Bros Tournament, I mean, with all the salt someone’s bound to snap.

•No one kills each other, aside from Maki attempting to kill Kokichi, but it does become a weekly tradition despite the rage.

Kaede Akamatsu

• Get’s into a heated debate over who gets to main Rosalina with Kaito, but after a bit she caved and agreed to pick someone else.

•She end’s up picking Peach after Tsumugi makes a comment that they kinda look alike.

•Little did anyone know that Kaede is actually kinda a monster with Peach and frequently does really well in the tournaments.

•Favourite stage is New Donk city, and every time she gets to play on it she sings Jump up Superstar the entire match.

•Nobody is sure if they love or hate it.

•When not singing, she’ll make the stage music anything that has a dominant Piano.

•Favourite item is the Star Rod

Shuichi Saihara

• Acts like he’s never played before and decides to main Chrom due to him seeing easy enough to play and liking his personality.

•In actuality has played on and off for years and is a proud Dedede main but is too embarrassed to admit it.

•Also plays Pikachu but cause it’s Miu’s main he doesn’t usually use the electric mouse.

•Usually middle of the road in the tournaments.

•Prefers to fight on Battlefield but so long as the stage doesn’t move he can live with anything.

•Likes to keep items off.

Rantaro Amami:

•Good with all three Link forms, but has a bias for Toon Link.

•Can’t remember when he started playing, but given how he’s the only one who doesn’t panic by tripping they assume it’s Brawl.

•They also assume this because whenever someone picks Meta Knight he gets visibly distressed.

•Tournament wise he Can either do really well or really s**t depending on the day.

•Doesn’t have a favourite stage but tends to pick the Zelda stages cause he likes them the best.

•The only one who’s happy when a warp star shows up.

Ryoma Hoshi:

•At first played Incineroar cause its the only cat.

•After realising how bad his recovery was though, he kinda just tried anything to see what would work.

•Found a few semi-mains, namely Snake, Link and Villager

•Usually doesn‘t try to hard in tournaments so comes in last, or will even sit out, but when he wants to win, he will.

•Moral of the story, if he picks Villager, panic.

•No stage or item preference, but when it’s his turn to pick he tends to go with Shadow Moses island cause he likes the look.

Kirumi Tojo

•Mains everyone and is good with all of them.

•Like, can beat Mario with Little Mac good.

•Does have a slight preference towards Shiek though due to her admiring the ninja’s loyalty.

•Due to her skills, she tends to sit out with Ryoma to give everyone a chance.

•When she does play though, well, try not to loose too fast.

•Also usually the one who has to stop Maki killing Kokichi if he beats her.

•Always goes random when stage picking time comes, but also puts all the stages in battlefield mode in case it lands on something BS.

•For similar reasons tries to ignore items

Angie Yonaga

•Everyone expected her to pick Palutena, and while she does have her as a sub main, Angie usually plays Sephiroth. •Why? Angel (kinda), kick ass theme, and loves watching the others panic when they see him. Plus, Atua told her to pick someone unexpected.

•Also tried Pit and Dark Pit, and while she likes their personalities she isn’t big on their gameplay.

•To this day the only one who’s beat Kirumi in a match, and outside of that time she’s still good in tournaments.

•Atua told Angie to pick Big Blue one day, and ever since everyone dreads her turn on stage select.

Tenko Chabishira

• Always plays as a girl no matter what.

•Plays Min Min more often than not, but occasionally surprises everyone by whipping out villager.

•Why? “She’s Himiko cute!!”

•Pretty good at the game, but super competitive. Unless you’re Himiko, be prepared to get yelled at at least once if she looses.

•One day while everyone was playing random, she got Ken and kinda hated that she likes it so she occasionally plays him in private. •Shuichi caught her doing this while he was playing Dedede, and they both promised to never tell a soul.

•Punch Out stage or bust!

•Doesn’t have an opinion on items, but when she plays villager she hopes for the bunny hood cause she thinks it’s adorable.

Korekiyo Shinguji

•Lucario or bust (he likes the aura theme) though he’s also kinda a monster with Lucina

•Strangely though, whenever he uses Lucina he acts... different? (the class is convinced he’s possessed when this happens.)

•Outside of that though, tends to be one of the worse players.

•Second to none at recovery though.

•Hyrule castle has been his favourite stage since day one And that’s never gonna change.

•Always has items on, he likes the surprise factor (he and Shuichi are never allowed have a one on one fight)

Miu Iruma

•Has probably been playing the longest aside from Kirumi.

•Has played all the games, and cause Of this is decent with all of the OG 8, but will always pick Pikachu.

•Will only ever pick someone else if it’s a random match or someone makes her give Shuichi a turn, and in that case she picks Pichu as a backup.

•Despite her boasting, is usually in the lower end of the group.

•Doesn’t stop her from rubbing it in when she wins though.

•Tends to go for Wily’s castle for her stage, if for no other reason than she’s the only one who can handle the yellow devil.

•Super Hammer or bust!

Gonta Gokuhara

•Likes Donkey Kong the best, but also tries to learn how to play Joker from Kokichi cause he looks like a gentleman.

•Also likes all the Pokémon even if he isn’t the best with them.

•Honestly, aside from Olimar he likes everyone, and he only really dislikes Olimar cause he’s bullying the bugs!

•Everyone agrees to never touch the pikmin rep when he’s in the room.

•Tends to come in last with the only one he can beat kinda consistently is Ryoma without villager, but he still has a lot of fun.

•Tends to pick whatever stage everyone likes best, and has no clue how to use items.

Kokichi Ouma

•Always plays Joker because who else is a phantom thief going to pick.

•Actually he plays Villager in his spare time but Kaito is the only that knows and that was a mistake so shh.....

•Begrudgingly teaches Gonta how to play, if only from the horror on someone’s face when they get cocky only to loose to the guy who didn’t even know what a Smash Bros was a few weeks ago.

•Peak troll. Camps with gun, let’s people *cough* Kaito and Miu *cough* Hit fake smash balls, always picks the auto scrolling stages, he just loves making everyone groan.

•Only thing that makes him visibly salty is Miu on stage select cause f**k yellow devil.

Kaito Momota

•A proud Rosalina main. A badass space princess that protects the stars, what’s not to love?

•First time they all play, they all expect him to suck..... so you can imagine their surprise he‘a one of the best players in the class, especially at edge guard

•Despite that, is the most susceptible to stage hazards and bad items, especially fake smash balls. He has gotten better at recovering from them though.

•Never asks anyone to turn them off though, cause it’s worth it for the black hole and the assist trophies.

•Whenever Kiyo plays Lucina, he makes sure to sit at the other end of the couch.

•Always tries to give people pointers, though since he really only plays one character he’s not the best at it.

•Will ALWAYS pick either the Mario Galaxy stage or the Star Fox stages

Tsumugi Shirogane

•Tends to pick Kirby for A, the cute hats, and B, it gives her an excuse to rant about the lore. You know those Kirby fans who obnoxiously push how the series is super deep? That’s Tsumugi.

•Rants the whole match, leading to people preferring Kokichi obnoxiously joining in on Kaede’s singing to it. •Knowing they’re not safe when she’s not playing either, they all agree that unless it’s random’s to never pick a Kirby stage or character (another reason for Shuichi to hide being a Dedede main)

•She’ll occasionally rant about other series too, but Kirby is the biggest example.

•Despite this, she’s actually a pretty good player, even if she can be a bit to sadistic with down special sometimes.

Kiibo

•Refuses to touch ROB or MegaMan to avoid falling into the stereotype of the robot playing the robots.

•Instead picks Pyra and Mythra cause they’re great characters with a bit of computer theme that only Tsumugi knows about mercifully hasn’t ranted on yet.

•Plays very predictably, but just because you know a Lightning Buster- Prominence Revolt is coming doesn't mean blocking it is easier.

•As such is usually in the middle of the pack tournament wise. •Refuses to use side B as Pyra because one time he did and Kokichi did a stupid combo which took him from 30% to death so he’s not taking any chances again.

•Tends to put The stage on random, which he occasionally regrets if he rolls a side scroller.

Himiko Yumeno:

•Mains ALL the magic users. •Robin, Zelda, Hero, Sephiroth, so long as they have a big focus on magic she’s all in.

•Tends to use Hero the most, specifically Eight, because she likes the MP gauge.

•Despite seemingly never practicing and only doing okay with most moves, is the fastest thing in the freaking world at picking the right spell. If she gets magic burst or Kamikaze, prepare to die.

•Everyone assumes she’s probably played Dragon Quest cause of this, but she hasn’t confirmed and just chalks her skill up to magic.

•The only one who can make Tenko stop raging.

•Keeping with the theme, will usually pick the World Tree stage.

Maki Harukawa

•Messed around with everyone a bit but was only super good as Zero Suit Samus.

•Even then she’s mostly middle of the pack, but she doesn’t mind too much.

•Unless she looses to Kokichi, then it’s a struggle for Kaito and Kirumi to stop her from killing him.

•Tends to handle snacks cause Kirumi has to be in the room to keep order and she usually gets knocked out early. •The most frequent subject of Kaito’s tips, which range from helpful to ”Kaito I don’t have a f**king Luma”

•Tends to pick Shadow Moses island cause she likes the look, and though she won’t tell anyone she loves the music

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 3 years

Text

A Truman Show Star

PART FORTY-ONE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.5K

Summary: Ella goes to the little blue house for the last time.

Wringing her hands to keep herself from biting her nails off, Ella trudged up the front steps to Luke’s. Luckily, her old parking spot was open. It made her remember evenings when she’d come straight from visiting her aunt in New Britain. How safe the diner had always made her feel. A refuge from school and home alike. Her heart ached, traveling back into the past for just a moment. She couldn’t think of one second since her father’s death that she’d felt the least bit secure. Hopefully, Luke’s would help at least a little. But a strange, uneasy surreality flooded her as she entered the diner’s warmth. Life had gone on without her there. She noticed small changes to the place she had spent most of her youth in, slight differences in paint color, placement of certain mugs on the back display shelf, even new menus. At least the ‘No Cellphones’ sign hung behind the counter, as it always had. Ella doubted it would come down until Luke was long dead.

She didn’t take off her coat, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone for too long. Miss Patty was busy with her mid-morning tap class, Ella knew, and Babette wasn’t in sight at the diner either. Kirk must’ve been at work too. In fact, the diner was nearly empty, the transition between Friday breakfast and lunch creating a lull. She hopped up on a stool at the counter, right in front of the coffee machine. Luke was making a fresh pot, his back to her. He turned around once he had finished, coming to face her. For a moment, Ella felt a wave of relief at the sight of him. His baseball cap, his red flannel, his worn jeans. Luke hadn’t changed nearly at all over the course of her entire life. But then, an unwelcome thought about what she would do in the event of Luke’s death intruded her mind. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to think of anyone without picturing them six feet under.

Luke’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Hey, Ella, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, fighting the urge to have any bit of emotion cross her features. “I just came to get my stuff out of the old house. Fiona’s putting it on the market pretty soon. At least, she says she is.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “You want something?”

Ella shook her head after a moment of thought. “No, thanks. I just wanted to stop in, since I was on my way by.”

“Alright,” Luke said, averting his eyes.

“What?” she asked, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Luke sighed. “Jess called me this morning.”

Swallowing dryly, Ella breathed in a deep breath. “Did he?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s not coming, is he?” she asked. At some point on the drive, it had occurred to her that he might follow her to Stars Hollow, continue the conversation. But just the idea of seeing the hurt in his eyes was enough to make her stomach do a flip. She wasn’t ready to keep talking. Maybe she never would be.

A joyless smirk appeared on Luke’s face. “He told me you might ask that. No. He’s still in Philly. He just wanted to let me know you were coming, make sure you got to town safe.”

“Okay,” she said, again forcing down all her feelings, her face solemn. “I take it that’s not all he told you?”

“No,” he said, as Ella raked an anxious hand through her hair and once again tried to keep her nails away from her teeth. After a shot pause, Luke continued, trying to catch her eyes once more: “Listen, kid, it’s all gonna be okay.”

“That’s convincing,” she said with a humorless chuckle.

Again, he sighed, weary and frustrated. He readjusted his cap on his head. Eyes doing a quick scan of the diner, he found the other customers, all at tables, not listening, enjoying their food. “I know you don’t scare easy. And I know how angry being scared must make you.”

She rolled her eyes, and all of a sudden she looked just like a teenager to Luke. A teenager with no mother and not much of anything to go home to. No matter how annoyed she could make him, he cared about her more than he cared about himself.

“Don’t listen if you don’t want to, but I’ve lived a lot longer than you, Ella,” he began, curmudgeonly as ever. “Believe me, I know what’s gonna be okay and what’s not gonna be okay. And you are gonna be okay.”

“Sure,” she said, dejected but trying her best to go along with his advice session.

Luke sighed again. “Look, my mom died when I was a kid too. And then, when my dad died, I went a little bit nuts too. I spent thousands of dollars I didn’t have to open this place up. But eventually, things felt normal again. And look at me now.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, mocking. “You’re the most well-adjusted person I know.”

“Shaddup,” he scolded her affectionately. “I have no doubt in my mind that this will pass, and you’ll go back to your life just fine.”

She only nodded half-heartedly.

“Ella?”

“Yeah?” she asked, finally venturing to face him fully again.

“Jess loves you. You’re the thing he loves most in the world, as far as I can tell,” Luke said.

She swallowed harshly, looking away from the momentary eye contact she had held with him. For a second, she was worried she would cry, but she bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the pain instead of the sadness. “I know, Luke.”

At that, he decided to let it go. He’d never been the best with emotional, soul-searching chats in the first place. He smiled a bit at her in a way he hoped was reassuring. “You wanna come over for dinner tonight? Lorelai’s gonna bite my head off if I got to see you and she didn’t.”

“No, I can’t just show up like this and then eat your food,” she said immediately.

Luke only scoffed, watching as a customer began approaching the register. “You know you’re not getting out of it, kid. Dinner’s at six.”

Before she could reply, he went over to ring up some townie Ella could barely recognize. She wanted to protest further, but knew she didn’t have the energy for an argument with Luke. And, she had to admit, she couldn’t think of anything better than seeing Lorelai. For some reason, she had a deep, sorrowful longing for the Gilmore woman’s warm hugs and kooky way of approaching life, at just the mention of her name.

“Fine,” she said, as Luke came back over to grab the coffee pot and do refills.

Luke gave an affirmative grunt in response. Apparently, the conversation was over, and neither Luke nor Ella were particularly upset about that. She slung her purse back over her shoulder, hugging her peacoat around her a bit tighter as she prepared to go outside. As she passed Luke on the way out, she stopped in her tracks for a moment.

“Hey Luke?” she said.

He looked up expectantly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, voice sincere, though his face barely softened a bit.

. . .

The sun would soon start to set. She looked out her old window, a view of tree branches and golden clouds. The sight made her remember the day Jess had taken her to the Met, showing up at her window. And other days, when he would climb in and her small room felt like the whole world, made special for just the two of them. Swallowing harshly, she sat down on the old carpet, back against the wall and one leg crossed over the other. On the right wall, she could still see the remnants of the last mural she’d painted through the fresh white color. The realtors hadn’t taken kindly to the artwork, Fiona had said, letting Ella in, showing her the room, and promptly leaving to go stay the night at her new apartment. She’d given Ella a kiss on the cheek before going. Ella had smiled, despite the lipstick stain she knew Fiona’s bright pink lips left. She was glad Fiona was getting away, wasn’t getting stuck. Not like Ella herself was. She focused on her breathing for a moment, and she could have sworn the room still had the faint scent of lavender candles.

She’d carved out more time than necessary to pack everything up. When she’d first moved to Lane’s, she’d only left her closet full, and a few odds and ends in the attic. Clothes she would be donating, childhood drawings she would be throwing away. The photo album was the only thing she was surprised to find. She’d forgotten about it. Maybe simply because she’d wanted to forget about it. It was the only thing she hadn’t managed to fit in the three cardboard boxes which now sat in the corner of the otherwise empty room. All she had left to do was load everything in her car and drive to Lorelai and Luke’s for dinner. And she would never see the little blue house again. No matter how much she’d disliked living there, she couldn’t shake the small part of her which wasn’t ready to lose it, let it go. Even if she’d known for a while the house would soon be gone.

Before she could think better of it, she grabbed the photo album from where it sat next to the boxes. She could have squeezed it in if she tried, but she didn’t want to risk breaking it. It was of her, her life. Her family. Her mother had made one for each of her children, adding to them all the time. A project left unfinished after her death. They’d gone away with the rest of her belongings. Had she not gone up into the attic, Ella probably would have assumed it had been thrown out years earlier. But there it was.

She ran the pad of her finger over the words on the front cover gingerly. Eleanor Mary Stevens. Heaving a deep sigh, she opened it and flicked through her early years. Her mother on the day Ella was born, long blonde hair and hazel eyes, a tiny baby in her arms. Another one, with her grandmother holding her as a baby. Ella felt for a chain around her neck without noticing. She flipped through a few more pages, and had to stop when she came across the photo of the whole family on her thirteenth birthday. The second to last before her mother’s death. They were all crowded around the small kitchen, the walls behind them painted a distinctive shade of peach. Ella’s smile was wide and naive, a big cake with candles about to be blown out sitting before her on the round table. The table where she and her father had sat for weeks, drinking, after her mother was gone. Her mother had blown up balloons, decorated a birthday banner, invited Julie and her family down for a small little surprise party. Thirteen was an important one, her mother had said. A whole new phase. It was Julie who had taken the picture, urging the five of them to squish together and fit in the frame. Ella’s mother looked arguably happier than Ella did. She’d always gone all out for birthdays.

But Ella’s mind didn’t take long to wander to the hours following the picture being taken. The dinner when her father had raised his voice over something she didn’t even remember. Ella had been feeling brave and confident, newly a teenager and high off the fanfare. She’d tried to interject, calm her father down, restore the light mood. She should have known better. He didn’t hit her, didn’t lay a hand on her. He’d yelled instead. Ella could tell, though, that he’d wanted to smack her. She could recognize how red his face got, and the particular way he spit out his words through gritted teeth. He was just so angry, for no reason at all. She hadn’t let him see her cry, of course. Later, after they’d all slunk to their rooms for the night in awkward, pained silence, she’d wept into her pillow. She never knew whether her mother had heard her, or whether she’d just sensed something was wrong. Ella could still hear the soft knock on her door, her mother’s gentle voice as she walked in.

. . .

“Hey, apple pie,” Sophia began, shuffling into Ella’s room and closing the door silently, carefully.

Turning on her side, facing away from her mother, Ella rolled her eyes at the nickname. She’d been stuck with it for years, since she was a little girl and was obsessed with helping her mother make holiday pies. She couldn’t help but be embarrassed by it, even when it was just the two of them. It made her feel like a kid in overalls, not a girl who was just about to start eighth grade. She was practically in high school, after all.

Frowning at her daughter’s silence, Sophia came over and sat on the edge of the bed. She stroked Ella’s messy hair. Ella tried to hide her sniffling, but was unsuccessful. Her mother was the only person she ever really openly cried in front of.

“Will you look at me?” Sophia asked, feigning a happy smile. They both knew the day hadn’t been exactly what either of them wanted.

Though she huffed in frustration, Ella sat up against the wall behind her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and wiping at her cheeks and nose. Sophia’s face softened at the sight of Ella, and she gave Ella’s knee a squeeze. Despite Sophia’s valiant attempts to get her to talk, Ella didn’t meet her eyes and remained quiet. She was struggling to stop her watery hiccups.

“You know he doesn’t mean it,” Sophia said.

Ella shook her head. Her voice was raw and unstable when she spoke. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sophia agreed.

“And it’s my birthday,” Ella continued, new tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.

“I know,” Sophia sighed, willing herself to remain positive. It wasn’t the first time she and Ella had had this talk. “Look, Ella, he’s had a hard life. Sometimes...he just doesn’t know how to handle it when he feels angry. He loves you so, so much.”

Scoffing harshly, Ella finally turned to face her mother. “Sometimes it’s kinda hard to tell.”

Looking down, Sophia nodded. “He’s working on it. Baby steps, okay? I’m sorry about today. Tomorrow, I know he’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay,” Ella said tiredly. Weeping had made her feel exhausted. She just wanted to go to sleep.

“Hey, I’m serious. Perk up,” Sophia said sternly, though Ella knew she was just teasing.

Ella gave a weak smile. “Okay. I’m just tired. You’re right. Today wasn’t so bad, anyway.”

Sophia’s smile grew. “Yeah. It was nice to see Aunt Julie, right?”

Tugging anxiously at the ends of her hair, Ella nodded. “Yeah. Good surprise. Thanks for the party, mom.”

“Sure thing, apple pie,” Sophia said. She kissed Ella good night and rose from the bed. Before she left, she gave Ella’s shoulder one last squeeze. She pointed to the candles alight on Ella’s desk. “Tomorrow will be better. I know it will.”

Snorting a laugh, Ella let her smile become just a bit more genuine. She repeated the saying she had heard her mother utter about a thousand times as they gardened together. “Mmhm. Lavender is for luck.”

“That’s right,” Sophia said with a chuckle, shooting Ella an affectionate wink. Then, she padded back out into the hall and shut the door behind her.

. . .

Startling at the sharp ringing of her cell phone breaking her from her reverie, Ella gasped slightly. She snapped back to the present, shutting the photo album and placing it back atop the nearest box. She leaned back against the wall, frazzled, not bothering to look at the caller ID before answering. Breathing out slowly, she blinked back the shine from her eyes.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ella,” Mabel greeted her through the line.

“Oh, hi,” Ella said dumbly, not expecting her call. Not that they didn’t talk on the phone regularly, because they did, but they also usually saw each other frequently. A cold call was a bit out of the ordinary.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mabel asked, and Ella could hear her take a quick inhale. She was probably smoking. Usually, Ella would accompany Mabel on her smoke breaks when they were hanging out, so she wouldn’t have to stand out in the cold all alone, even if Ella had been resisting the habit with relative success since the night after her father died. “I just wanted to check in. Jess said you were still too sick to come to dinner tonight.”

She cleared her throat. Apparently Jess hadn’t let them in on whatever was going on. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’m okay. Just still on the mend, I guess. How are things over there?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she listened as Mabel told her about the fight Chris and Matthew had gotten into over where to order takeout from. Leo had also gotten involved, apparently. Mabel laughed as she spoke, and Ella missed the sound. It was not the first time she had considered what she would be giving up if she and Jess broke up. Chris and Matthew were his business partners. She would be the one who was iced out. And she couldn’t blame any of them for it. But she was suddenly homesick not for Stars Hollow, but for Philadelphia. She missed hours spent discussing Tennesee Williams on Mabel’s couch, or playing Leo’s keyboard while he messed around with some new song and asked for her help with an accompaniment, or mocking Chris about his sweater vest obsession and receiving some witty jab in return, or debating with Matthew about the best way to achieve world peace when drunk and hopeful. Another wave of regret and sadness washed over her. She had found a new family, despite her best efforts not to.

“Alright, I’m gonna head back inside. I’m freezing my ass off out here. Do you want me to bring you up and put you on speaker so you can say hi to the guys?” Mabel asked.

“Um, no, that’s okay. I’m probably just gonna head to bed. Will you…” she began, hesitating before she continued. “Will you tell Jess I said good night? I’ll probably be asleep when he gets back.”

She couldn’t remember the last time they had spent a night apart. And she couldn’t shake her worries about him, if he had a nightmare, if he had a panic attack. Would he call her? She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back in time to help him. Concern bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it down. At least he was with everyone at Truncheon, having takeout. Friday nights were takeout nights, after all.

“Will do. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” Mabel said.

Ella sighed out through her nose. “Yeah.”

“Okay, love you. Get better, please.”

Biting harder on her cheek, Ella tried to ignore the smile she could hear in Mabel’s voice. She could see exactly the expression Mabel had at that moment.

“I’ll try,” Ella said.

. . .

Sipping her water while Lorelai drank her red wine, Ella felt her skin buzzing with nerves. Since the remodel, the Gilmore house looked completely different to Ella. The changes hadn’t been especially big, just some new wallpaper here, a fresh decoration there. But she missed the little things only she and the other people who had been in the right place at the right time could remember. There were no longer pencil marks in the guest room’s closet wall from when Rory and Ella were practicing their signatures. Dreaming of the days when they would be signing autographs, Rory a famous journalist and Ella a famous artist. She missed the reddish stain on the kitchen ceiling from when Lorelai had dropped a bottle of ketchup at just the right angle and the condiment had spewed up in a stream. They were there in her memory, but gone in her reality. Everything had changed, and she had hardly noticed until it was all different. It was too late.

“So, Michel finally made the exterminator sign this contract he drew up, promising no mouse would ever be found on the premises again,” Lorelai said, finishing her saga of a mouse recently wreaking havoc at the Dragonfly.

Ella snorted halfheartedly. “Well, I hope for the exterminator’s sake it’s not legally binding.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already mysteriously lost it,” Lorelai said with a conspiratorial wink.

Laughing along with her, Ella let her eyes linger on the red wine as Lorelai brought it to her lips. She didn’t want it, not really. But she knew how much better she would feel if she drank it, if she could get her thoughts to quiet down for just a little while. The thought made her grip the edge of the table momentarily, before it passed. She missed the feeling of Jess’s hand in hers, squeezing it, reassuring her. And then anger rose up inside her for missing him. Lorelai cleared her throat, breaking Ella from her daze.

“Oh, sorry,” Ella said, flushing with embarrassment.

Lorelai’s brows furrowed in concern and she sighed, preparing to finally address the elephant in the room. They hadn’t really discussed anything serious over dinner, keeping the conversation light while they ate some chicken made by Luke. He’d gone to bed a few minutes earlier, the night darkening past nine. The next day saw early morning deliveries and he had no intention of being sleep-deprived for a Saturday shift. Besides, Lorelai had formed the game plan before Ella even came over, after Luke told her why Ella was in Stars Hollow in the first place. She’d known the girl long enough, and through enough, to have an inkling of how she dealt with things.

“Sweetie?” Lorelai said.

Ella hummed, tilting her head at Lorelai in askance.

“What’s been going on with you?” Lorelai asked earnestly, a sympathetic glint in her sparkling blue eyes.

Chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, Ella looked down into her water. Then, she looked back up with tears stinging her eyes. And her words came out in a husky, rough whisper. “I don’t know.”

Lorelai nodded. “That’s okay, Ella. But you can’t ignore this. I know you want to, but I just don’t think it’s gonna work this time.”

“Why not? It’s worked so well in the past,” Ella said with a sardonic laugh, sniffing and trying to blink back her tears. She willed herself not to cry in front of Lorelai. She would not be a woman in her mid-twenties crying over a boy with her friend’s mother. Not even if the boy was the love of her life.

“But has it?” Lorelai asked doubtfully.

Taking in a deep breath, Ella swallowed thickly. “I just...I don’t want to lose him.”

“If you break up with him, I’m pretty sure you’ll lose him, sweetie,” Lorelai said, her tone hushed with gravity.

“Well, obviously, I know, but…if I have to lose him, then at least it’ll be on my own terms,” Ella continued, feeling squirmy and embarrassed speaking to Lorelai so openly. She had confided in Lorelai in her teen years, but for so long Jess had been the only one to hear about the inner workings of her mind.

Lorelai nodded, thinking.

“I’m just...I’m so fucking mad,” Ella admitted, shaking her head. She scoffed at herself, at how childish her own words sounded.

“Why?” Lorelai asked simply.

“Because when my mom died, it just ruined...it ruined everything. It killed my dad, it killed my brothers. She...it ruined everything,” Ella said.

Frustration brewed in her gut as she spoke. She didn’t want to be mad at her mother. It wasn’t her fault she had a heart condition. It wasn’t her fault she died. But, for whatever reason, Ella couldn’t help the sick rage in her stomach. If her mother hadn’t died, her father wouldn’t have started drinking again, maybe. And then he wouldn’t have crashed his car. And she wouldn’t have felt so terrified about Jess. She wouldn’t be so utterly exhausted, so drained from the grief. And it was easier to be mad at her mother than at the whole world.

“But it didn’t kill them,” Lorelai insisted. “And it didn’t kill you. You’re allowed to be happy, Ella. You are.”

Bottom lip trembling, Ella looked away from Lorelai. “No.”

Lorelai sighed heavily, hoping to make her see. “Not everything in your life is going to be a beginning and an end. You deserve a middle. Let yourself have a middle.”

Ella blew out a shaky breath, but didn’t speak.

“You told me at Thanksgiving that you had everything you wanted. And I saw it. I saw you there with Jess, with your art. You can have that. Don’t stop yourself from having it because you’re scared and you don’t think you deserve it.”

Ella’s stomach did a flip and she fiddled with her hair to keep herself from crying. Somehow, Lorelai had always been able to get to the root of her problems, to see things as they were. Maybe it was because both of them had grown up earlier than other people. Biting at her cheek, Ella let her mind drift back to Jess, to the way he made her feel. She had been in love with him for so long, she didn’t remember what it felt like not to be. To not instantly feel at home when she heard his voice, to not relax at his touch, to not feel her heart fluttering each time he smiled at her, like she was still sixteen.

Sixteen. She’d been mixed up then as she was now. And she had gotten herself through it on her own, but she would have been lying if she said Jess didn’t help. Jess showed her what it was to live with intensity again, with passion. To let herself feel the deepest things and not be afraid. Her mind wandered back to her walk over to the Gilmore house a few hours earlier, as the January sun was setting. The air was freezing, but it felt only right to walk, since she’d just been inside the little blue house for probably the last time. For old time’s sake. She’d left her key on the kitchen counter. She didn’t know the next time she would be back in Stars Hollow. She wanted to say goodbye to the town, in case she didn’t get to later. Passing over the bridge, she’d spotted two red cardinals flying around in the dusky light of the evening. One was chasing the other, and then they would switch. A lively dance. They were so vivid against the dull blanket of winter. They reminded her of the way she was with Jess, the way they were together.

Sniffing again, Ella nodded. She locked eyes with Lorelai, sincere. “Okay.”

Lorelai let a soft smile across her lips, and pressed a kiss to the top of Ella’s head as they said goodnight.

. . .

Driving so early in the morning, with Stevie Nicks on the radio, made her feel like she should be smoking a cigarette. Usually, it would take Ella less than four hours to make it back to Philly from Stars Hollow. But the frigid ice made the roads slick, and she was forced to go much slower than normal. Her lips were bluish with cold as she bit at her nails, the cloudy sky lightening to a murky pink. It was half past five and her eyes were heavy, but her body was wired with energy. After her chat with Lorelai, Ella had made a decent effort to actually get a good night’s sleep. She just couldn’t get Lorelai’s words out of her head, and her thoughts of Jess. She’d started up her Station Wagon just a little after midnight.

A middle was something she hadn’t considered. Truly, she hadn’t. She felt so silly. But it hadn’t occurred to her that she and Jess were just beginning. Their middle was coming. Maybe sooner than she had realized. For so long, she had been expecting the worst, even when she wasn’t. It was always there, in the back of her mind, whispering at her not to let her guard down, not to get comfortable. Not to feel love. Ella knew she couldn’t change overnight, and she felt like she was going to throw up just thinking about facing her fears. But Jess was right, as much as she hated to admit it. If she worked hard enough, she could feel better. She knew she could.

So, there was a scribbled note left on Lorelai and Luke’s fridge and she sat bleary-eyed in her driver’s seat. As she pulled up in front of the apartment building, small flurries began to fly down on her windshield, glistening in the muddled sunlight. She trudged up the stairs, trying to stay quiet in her dirty snow boots. But her feet seemed leaden in her exhaustion and she felt bad for her neighbors. She bit at the insides of her cheeks as she ascended the stairs with her suitcase in hand. Tears were welling in her eyes, and for once, she couldn’t bring herself to hold them back. She let them drip down her cheeks, which had just begun to pink up in the warmth of the building.

When she got to the door, she fumbled with her keys, her hands shaky. At first, she had the instinct to knock, before she remembered it was her own house. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. So much, she thought, and then let a bitter laugh slip from her lips. She really was exhausted. Just before she could stick her key in the lock, the door opened for her. Jess stood on the threshold, disheveled. His hair was mussed up and she could tell he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Soon, he’d have a full beard. His eyes were reddish and she could tell he had just woken up.

She swallowed dryly, dazed. She was aware she was still crying, but hardly knew why. She dropped her suitcase next to her, and her keys jangled to the ground as well. She raked both hands through her hair and sniffled.

“Hi,” she began, her voice weak and watery. “How’d you know I was here? Am I the star of the Truman Show or something?”

He shrugged, letting a sad smirk cross his face and then fade immediately. “I heard you.”

She furrowed her brows. “Well, you should’ve brought a bat or something. What if I was a murderer?”

Again, the joyless smirk. “I was in the kitchen making coffee and you laughed. I could tell...it was your laugh.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding. She scoffed self-consciously. “Yeah. I didn’t really sleep and I guess I’m kinda punch drunk. But I um...I just...had to come home.”

“You did?” he asked, keeping his voice even. If he sounded too hopeful, then he might be hopeful. And he couldn’t have that. But she’d said she would be back on Sunday, and it was only Saturday morning. Surely, that had to be a good sign.

“I did,” she said, then her face crumpled and she uttered a little whimper. She looked down at her shoes, stomach swirling with embarrassment. Then, she looked back up to face him and sniffled again. “I was just really fucking scared. I’m sorry, Jess.”

His face softened and he nodded, watching as she put her head in her hands to hide her face. Silent sobs overtook her.

“I know. I know,” he said gently, then wrapped her up in his arms.

She cried into his chest.

“It’s nothing for you to be sorry over, alright?” he said, leaning back slightly and taking her face in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not okay!” she exclaimed, pulling away from him, speaking earnestly through her tears. “I can’t believe I said I wanted to leave! I’m such a fucking coward. We said we would always try, and I wasn’t fucking trying! And I’m just-”

“Eleanor, honey, just take a deep breath,” he said, running his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to relax her. “We can figure this out. You and me.”

“But you don’t have to-”

“Hey, Daria,” he began calmly, taking her suitcase and her keys from the floor beside her, “just come in and get some sleep. We’ll talk about it when you wake up, okay?”

She eyed him for a moment through a blurry, watery haze. “Do you promise?”

For the first time all morning, his tiny smile held the hint of something pleasant. “I promise.”

#jess x oc #jessocfanfiction #jess mariano #jess mariano fanfiction #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfiction #oc fanfiction #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano au #gilmore girls au #luke danes #lorelai gilmore

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piduai · 3 years

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what do you like or dislike about living in japan? i'm half myself, and ive never really lived there, and i always wonder how hard it would be to navigate living and working there, as someone who is a foreigner to the system (sorry if this comes up as rude...)

i like how neat and organized and effective everything is, i like the clean streets, i like the trains that are always on time and how accessible the train system across the whole country is, i like the busy train stations, i like the blood orange of the torii gates, i like that people get into an orderly line when boarding a bus, i like the spotless condition in the free toilets in convenience stores and how they’re everywhere, i like that all bureaucratic processes are causal, i like that people in the service and other industries are never rude to you, i like the bidets, i like the pretty packaging on most things, i like that selling subpar goods is unheard of, i like the starbucks seasonals, i like that vending machines are everywhere, i like that everything comes with a very detailed and comprehensive how to use guide be it a product, a service, a process or a task, i like that i don’t feel unsafe on the streets, i like that people don’t smoke while walking, i like that there’s no littering, i like the orange trees, i like the amount of shops, places and activities you can go to, i like sakura in bloom, i like the view of the mountains in small towns, i like the pebble paved gardens by traditional houses, i like amazon prime, i like that everything has a designated place, i like the cafes with neatly arranged beige tables, i like that everyone keeps quiet on public transportation, i like that people who have been brought up in safety and economic security feel lax enough to leave their phones on the table when they go to use the bathroom, i like hydrangea blooming in june and manjusaka blooming in october, i like that nobody robs the passed out drunks on sunday mornings in the middle of shinjuku, i like the trust system of leaving 100 yen when you draw the omikuji, i like the amount of shiba dogs i see on the street and how their owners let me pet them, i like a lot of other stuff. when i say that i love japan i always think of small, trivial things in daily life rather than general big ones (which i like too!) like a big economy or a good infrastructure. i grew up in a post-soviet country in poverty and abuse where mcdonalds was a luxury, bribes were not only normal but expected and encouraged, people are aggressive, poor, unhappy, close-minded and suspicious, so it’s all a matter of comparison. a lot of the things that westerners may take for granted are marvelous to me. another thing is that i chose japan specifically because it’s a secluded island difficult to reach so i could escape my family and give them no opportunities to haunt me. they know nothing about my life and can not do anything to me while i’m here.

what i don’t like is mostly small things too. fruit is unreasonably expensive, the shift of going from, say, 100 yen for 1 kg of peaches to 500 yen for 1 peach still hits me hard, i love fruit and being unable to have it often greatly annoys me. a lot of foods that i consider staple are overpriced in general, cheese is expensive as fuck and tastes like shit, the milk is weird, the bread and the chocolate are absolutely disgusting, bruh THE PIZZA is both wildly overpriced AND tastes absolutely repulsive... i think it’s mostly food lol i do miss the cuisine from home and so did every single other foreigner i knew who stayed here for longer than 2 months. i think that no matter how much you love a foreign food you’ll always long for the stuff that you were eating your whole life, that’s just how humans are... what else. i don’t wanna talk about work culture, hierarchical law, cultural misogyny, nationalism, overwhelming amount of prostitution and pedophilia, those are heavy subjects that all require contextualizing. there are a lot of small things that annoy me i am sure but i prefer to just not focus on them so i forget about them unless i have to confront them. oh and the summer heat and humidity, summers in japan are fucking BRUTAL as all fuck.

immigration is a difficult process that requires sacrifice and putting up with certain things you don’t want to put up with regardless of the place. at the end of the day an immigrant will always be an outsider and a different kind of person, even if completely naturalized. i don’t know where you live, but if you were born in the global west and don’t need to go through the hardships of moving countries in order to chase a better life, i’d be counting my blessings. i’ll always be envious of people who were lucky enough to be born somewhere where the rest of the world wishes their children could move to.

also i don’t want to be discouraging but every single halfie i’ve met who has lived in the west expressed a desire to go back, like not a single exception. they like visiting but they definitely preferred their lives in europe/the us/oz. the experiences of complete foreigners and half-japanese people are very, very different. halfies always seem to be in a transcendent place, if they don’t look foreign enough they don’t get the automatic special treatment that the foreigners get, they’re judged more harshly if their japanese is lacking or they mess up at something, but they’re still considered _foreign_, not part of the whole, outsiders. on the other hand they can pass as locals and get the privileges that come with that. difficult situation. as i said i’ve never met one who would be like ‘actually i like life here much more’, they always wanted to go back. at the end of the day japan is very much a conservative, traditionalist, rigid, patriarchal society with a lot of corporate abuse, if you’re like me and grew up in the same climate this whole thing isn’t new, but if you’re a westerner and grew up used to your human dignity and rights being respected and having individual freedom, it can very much feel like a downgrade.

#me: violet we're DEFINITELY keeping it short and concise this time ok? you can do it i believe in you #me when i'm finished writing and looking at the amount: hm.#anon

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theladyragnell · 3 years

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How about your thoughts on colors! Both the ones you like and the ones you don’t ;)

I’ll give you the full ROY G BIV treatment!

Red: A classic, though solid Primary Color Red isn’t my favorite, just a bit too Out There for me. Give me a good burgundy, though, and I am with you all the way. And pinks generally fall under red too! I’m always fond of a nice pink, particularly a nice dusky rose. Apparently I like my red tones rather subtle! Or as subtle as red tones ever get.

Orange: My least favorite of the colors! I am fond of a nice peachy color (I think it would be nice to someday have a peach kitchen, if I found precisely the correct shade), and there are orange things I like, like sunsets and red hair (which I have always coveted, perhaps my dislike of orange is deep-seated Redhead Envy), but so often it’s just So Brash. So Bold. No Subtlety.

Yellow: A cheerful and pretty color! The color of many of my favorite flowers, your gorgeous dress, and pretty in nearly all shades. I’m not as fond of the mustardy tones of yellow, I prefer to shade more from cream to buttercup, but I’m still fond of it.

Green: One of my favorites! Many good things in this world are green, like the leaves of most trees and moss and peas. My one beef with it is that I have a dreadful time finding green fabric I like for projects, especially solids, which are never quite the shade I want them to be.

Blue: Another classic! Undemanding, calming, beautiful in all its shades, easy to blend and adapt. The color of many lovely things, like the sky, large bodies of water, and the dress of my favorite doll as a child. One must just find the correct shade for the situation--my sister’s bedroom is blue, and it looked different on the chip, but it ended up Primary Color Blue, basically, and it’s too saturated to make for a really restful bedroom.

Indigo: Underrated and elusive! One of my favorites, though, especially when you can find just the right shade that makes you say “indigo” rather than “slightly different blue.”

Purple: My favorite color as a child, though these days I am pickier about it! I am fonder of the amethyst or dusky or blue-ish tones than the mauve or pinker ones. Lilacs are a favorite flower of mine, so that’s one of my favorite shades of purple.

Bonus round: teal/turquoise: A favorite of both of us, I think! Always makes me think of the ocean, and rather a lot of my wardrobe ends up in this color range.

#samyazaz #answered asks

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

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Could you do 5: “ Why do you hate me? ” with Arthur and his crush because I live to suffer

Oh my God, how many weeks ago were these requests sent in? Well, here it is! For once, it turned out shorter than I imagined!

Request sheet here

Read all my works here on AO3

You finish cleaning the last of the laundry for the day. It’s nearly sunset and the tips of your fingers have been rubbed raw from the washboard, but you ignore the slight burn. Your hands have been getting tougher the last few weeks, calluses developing on your once soft skin. Your entire body is growing firmer living here with this wild bunch.

You’ve been with the gang just a little over a month now and your life couldn’t be more different. You spent most of your life with your parents until they both died years ago in a drowning accident near the banks of Blackwater. Since you weren’t quite an adult yet, you were sent to live with your uncle. He was a pastor for the local church, but he was as far from Godly as he could be.

For the next few years, your life with your uncle was horrible. Your uncle, despite his preaching to be good, clean people, he constantly got drunk and beat you. There were a few times he even touched you inappropriately, and when you tried fighting back he’d beat you even harder. He dragged you to church every Sunday and you’d have to sit through his sermons and hear the hypocrisy spill from his mouth. How you hated hearing him tell everyone else to be kind and patient, to give charitably, to avoid excessive drinking and to be as much like Christ as they could be. How dare he say those things when he was doing such terrible things to you behind closed doors?

When you got to be older, you tried many times to leave, to run away, but he seemed to have a sense of when you’d try and break out. It got to the point he started chaining you to your bed at night, and sometimes left you there for days, bringing you just enough food to stay alive. When people mentioned your absence, he’d wave them off by saying you were visiting a cousin and would return shortly. He also brushed away any visible marks he left on you by stating you were a wild child, falling from horses and running through the brush, but that he wouldn’t try to curb your active nature.

Finally it all got to be too much, the beatings, the rape, the lies. The hungry nights chained to a bed. One night at the table, he started getting drunk and you could see the telling signs he was preparing to attack you. You armed yourself with a large knife and when he rushed you, you shoved it into his throat and killed him. It was only a day or two before people discovered him, but you’d already fled town. Everyone knew it was you and you heard rumors they wanted to hang you for killing the preacher.

A week after killing your uncle, you were in desperate need of help as you knew nothing of living outdoors and on your own. You had no food or any kind of shelter. All you had was your horse and a few sparse supplies. You didn’t even have a gun.

You went to Blackwater, where no one was looking for you. You became a street beggar, but with little success, so you started pick-pocketing people when you could risk it. One day, you picked the pocket of a tall man with black hair and a thick mustache. He caught on quick and dragged you down an alleyway where he was met by another man, thin and grey-haired.

You thought these two men would shoot you, and for a moment they seemed to think they might. Then they surprised you by suggesting you come with them, join their gang of outlaws. You took their offering.

Not long after you joined, the Blackwater heist fell apart, forcing you and everyone else to flee and leaving a couple of the others scattered or dead. A young girl close to your age named Jenny was killed and another man named Mac was shot. He died on the way to a frozen town named Colter.

Now, here in Horseshoe Overlook, you and the others are settling in. You’ve become quite close with most of the others. You work with the other three girls, Karen, Mary-Beth and Tilly. They welcomed you with curiosity and friendship. They helped teach you how to survive in this gang, how to pull your weight to keep an old crone named Grimshaw from getting after you.

When you first arrived, you were horribly afraid of a man named Swanson as he was a drunken reverend. It didn’t take long though to realize that he was completely harmless and he never showed interest in attacking anyone. In fact, he was more prone to hurt himself instead of any of the others. He was a man of God who’d just fallen on hard times.

You get along with pretty much everyone, and most of them seem to like you. Or at least they’ve accepted you. There is one exception though: a man named Arthur Morgan doesn’t seem to like you at all. He’s pretty much ignored you this whole time and he only spoke with you once when you first arrived. He did nothing but ask your name and your story and when you finished telling him, he wandered off and said nothing more.

A few times, Dutch and Hosea, the patriarchs of the gang, have suggested to the other girls that you go with them and learn how to do some proper robbing. Whenever Arthur heard though, he’d come over and tell them you were the worst choice to go out and do any work like that, you simply couldn’t handle it.

There’s been other instances where Arthur seemed to think you were too weak to handle yourself. Sure, you grew up in a luxurious life, but you were willing to learn. Arthur just didn’t want to let you for some reason. In fact, he seemed to think you didn’t belong here. You wondered many times why he disliked you so much. It unsettled you a bit how you often found him staring at you, and when you looked at him, he’d look away. The other girls said that Arthur had an extremely tough exterior but he possessed a good, soft heart. They could always depend on him to protect them when they needed it. You just couldn’t see how that could be.

Grimshaw comes over and tells you to stop working, that the day’s chores are done and to get yourself some dinner. You go over to Pearson’s wagon and scoop yourself some of his stew onto a plate. Most days, this is what Pearson makes, but on occasion, he’ll mix it up with some cornbread or fresh vegetables. Of course, he always has cans of food and other provisions available at his wagon. You take a can of peaches before heading to the round table to eat.

Just as you’ve sat down and begun eating, Arthur walks over and sits down across from you. You don’t know why he does since he clearly doesn’t like you. He’s done this a number of times, sitting near you at the fire or coming to listen when you’re chatting with the others. He never says anything and you can’t read what he’s thinking from his face. You swallow heavily and debate on whether or not to leave. After all, he’s a high-ranking member of the gang, directly underneath Dutch and Hosea. You’re just some dumb newbie compared to him. But you decide to stay, not wanting to seem rude and give him a reason to like you even less.

The two of you sit at the table and eat, not speaking. He glances up at you every so often, making you feel incredibly small and pathetic. As you finish your meal, Pearson walks over.

“Arthur, can you go to Valentine tomorrow? I need some supplies picked up from the store.”

“Sure,” Arthur says and Pearson hands him a list.

“Oh, and can you stop at the post office too?”

Arthur nods and looks at the list. “Guess I’ll need to take someone along. Quite a list, Mr. Pearson.”

Pearson looks at you and points in your direction. “Take Y/N here. Sure she can handle it just fine.”

“No,” Arthur says, returning to his plate of stew. “No, she needs to stay here. Stay where the others can keep an eye on her.”

Your heart sinks. You’d been hoping you could go to town, you’ve been cooped up here for weeks. You’re tired of seeing the same trees, the same people. Pearson sighs. “Just take her, Mr. Morgan. What’s the worst that can happen on a shopping trip?”

Arthur throws him a look as if to say Pearson didn’t know how dangerous a shopping trip could be, but then he shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. Y/N, I’ll be leaving early. Be ready.”

“Yes sir,” you say quietly.

He throws you a curious glance but then he gets up and takes his empty plate over to the wash barrel. He doesn’t say anything or even look at you the rest of the night. You know he’s only taking you because Pearson twisted his arm.

In the morning, you get ready as soon as the sun is up, but Arthur doesn’t even stir from his cot until the sun’s well up. Even then, he doesn’t leave immediately. He gets himself some coffee, chops some wood and then has a quick discussion with Dutch. You stay ready to go at any moment though, not wanting to give him a reason to get angry with you.

Finally, Arthur calls you. “Let’s go,” he says. You rush over and climb into the wagon. He sits down next to you and you stiffen up. He lights a cigarette and then grabs the reins.

“Know anythin’ ‘bout drivin’ wagons?” he asks.

“A little,” you say. “My dad taught me the basics when I was young.”

He hands you the reins and you drive the wagon to Valentine. Nothing happens on the way there, but you’re happy to see the little, muddy town. Other people mill about, most looking like ranchers and farmers. You drive the wagon down the main street and stop near the stables, not too far from the store.

Arthur hops down without a word and throws the butt of his cigarette into the mud. He hands you Pearson’s list. “I’m gonna go check the post office,” he says and walks off.

You go into the store and hand the clerk the list. He snaps at a shopboy who begins piling items into a box. You help him carry the boxes out to the wagon and start sliding them into the back. Arthur comes back after a short period, his hands empty. Post office must not have had anything.

When the shopboy’s done loading up the wagon, you both climb up into it. You’re about to grab the reins but Arthur takes them and whips the horses into a steady trot. You wait for him to say something during the trip, but he doesn’t. He seems tense, anxious. You are, too. Why does he dislike you so much? Sure, you’re extremely inexperienced, but he won’t give you the chance to go out and learn. It’s not that you’re unwilling, you’ve even begged Dutch and Hosea a few times, but Arthur wins them out, pointing out that something is surely to go wrong.

When you get back to camp, you start unloading the wagon when Bill and Lenny come up to you.

“Y/N, you ever rob a stage before?” Bill says.

“I’ve barely robbed anything before,” you say.

“She’s perfect for the job!” Lenny says with a smile. He explains that the stage he and Bill want to rob will have drivers that are heavily suspicious of being robbed. They want you to go and stop the stage and pretend to be lost. Since you have no experience robbing, you’re the most innocent person in camp.

“It’ll be easy,” Lenny finishes.

“Just make sure you get into cover as quick as you can if they start shootin’,” Bill adds.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur says, attracted by Lenny’s excitement. Lenny tells him the plan and Arthur lowers his brow. “Absolutely not. You ain’t takin’ her nowhere. She’s gonna stay in camp, work with the girls.”

“But she’s perfect, Arthur!” Lenny pleads. “You’ve robbed this company before, you know how quick they are to draw fire.”

“Exactly my point! She don’t know nothin’ about robbin’, ya ain’t takin’ her!” Arthur says.

“Mr. Morgan!” you say sharply. “I want to help! People keep asking me to help with jobs and you won’t let me! Dutch and Grimshaw are always saying that everyone needs to earn my keep, now let me do my part!”

“You ain’t goin’ and that’s final!” he snarls. You hold your ground. Arthur turns to Bill and Lenny and orders them to get someone else. When they turn away, muttering, you glare at Arthur.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” you ask.

He sighs. “Fine.”

You lead him into the trees and then round on him as soon as you’re out of shot from camp.

“What is your problem with me?” you demand.

“I ain’t got a problem-”

“Yes you do, Mr. Morgan! Ever since I showed up, you haven’t liked me for even a second. The others want to teach me how to do work and I want to learn, but you always get in my way! I can learn, I’m a fast learner. I know I don’t know much now but that’ll change.”

“You ain’t goin’ robbin’, Y/N. You ain’t right for the job!” he says.

You stand there for a second, your anger rising. This man has done nothing except make your life even more difficult than it is, given the situation. You can see now he’s arrogant and prideful, and he doesn’t want you taking a share of the profits.

“Why do you hate me?” you demand of him.

“What?” he says, clearly taken off guard.

“I said why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate-”

“Bullshit, don’t lie to me, Mr. Morgan! You haven’t liked me from the start. I don’t know what I said or did to piss you off, but you’re being an ass! All the other girls keep telling me I’ll see that you’re a nice guy, but you’ve done nothing to prove them right!”

He sighs, his mouth in a tight frown. He looks down, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “I don’t hate ya, Y/N. Farthest thing from it, actually.” His voice is soft and rough.

“Then why are you doing this?” You put your hands on your hips.

“Because I… I’m afraid for ya. You’ve been hurt a lot by that awful uncle, I just want ya safe.”

This is the last thing you expected. Safe? Why would he care for your safety? Then you begin recalling all the arguments you’ve heard him have with the others when it came to you going out and working. He’s always mentioned that something could go wrong and you might get hurt, but not that you’d be the one causing it to go wrong.

“I’m sorry if I’ve come off coarse,” he continues. “It’s just I… when I first met ya I…. I just wanted to… just wanted to protect ya.”

He rubs the back of his neck. You take a step back from him, confused still.

“Protect me? But you seem to be unhappy that I’m here.”

“I’m not. Y/N, I don’t dislike ya. Maybe that’s the problem. I…. I really like ya. Been wantin’ to talk to ya for weeks, just didn’t know what to say.”

“You say hello. You ask me my favorite color, for God’s sake, Arthur!” you say a little more harshly than you meant to. Is he being serious? Has he been so stern about you doing work because he wants you safe because he has a crush on you? That can’t be right. You’re a nobody and he’s, well, he’s Arthur Morgan! When you first saw him, you noted how tall and broad he was, and how lovely his eyes were.

“I know. I been doin’ this all wrong,” Arthur says. “I just didn’t think you’d want to talk to me, big ugly bastard that I am.”

You frown at him a bit. Those are the last words you’d use to describe him. “You always assume things when you meet someone new?” you ask quietly. “Don’t you?” he says. “I’m real sorry I came off that way, Y/N. Do you mind if maybe we start over? Try to get off on the right foot?”

You sigh. “Sure, Arthur.”

He smiles and it brightens up his face. “Thank ya. By the way, what is your favorite color?”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #writing prompts #awkward asks

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