#pink and blue midliners my beloved

[jerseyartblog]

Little Shigure destress doodle after I handed in a project at the day job xD

[vannahfanfics]

Not the Same

Category: General Fluff, Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Monkey D. Luffy and Boa Hancock

Requested by: killercroc (FanFiction)

The ocean breeze whipped away the sigh as Luffy heaved it, carrying it away into the vast landscape of rolling waves that stretched ever on before him. He was sitting on the figurehead of Boa Hancock’s luxurious ship, his favorite spot to be, but it just wasn’t the same as his perch on the Thousand Sunny; it was the best that he could get, though, considering his ship was still moored at the Shabody Archipelago. He wondered what had become of his beloved ship, the lovingly crafted re-imagining of his faithful Going Merry, which had been put to rest after their many arduous adventures. He wondered too what had become of the rest of his nakama, after being forcefully ejected from the island by the strange android Bartholomew Kuma. More than anything, though, he worried about the welfare of his brother, whom he had just recently learned was being held prisoner by the World Government and slated for execution. As he thought about the terrifying prospect, his fists curled around the stained wood of Hancock’s ship, dangerously close to sending cracks streaming through its sanded surface. I won’t let that happen! I’m gonna save Ace, no matter what!

He told himself that, but his bravado vanished in an instant and he deflated slightly; without his faithful friends behind him, even he had to admit sneaking into a maximum-security prison and busting out his brother was a daunting task. At the very least, he had the beautiful warlord’s help. He just wished at the moment to have something to relieve the boredom of sailing towards Impel Down, because it was giving him way too much time to get in his head. He whirled on his behind to look at Hancock, thinking maybe she could entertain him a bit; she was standing on the upper level talking to the warrior woman who was at the wheel, in active conversation. Luffy stretched his arm out to grasp the railing beside her and vault himself over, landing lightly to crouch on the railing like a lanky monkey. Hancock jumped at his sudden appearance and blushed profusely while stammering, “L-Luffy, what is it?”

“I wanna go fishing.” That was his favorite pastime on the Merry and Sunny, aside from sitting at the figurehead fantasizing about their next adventure and destination; he was always reeling in some massive specimen or another, and Sanji always could find a way to incorporate it into a tasty dish. His mood soured slightly as he realized that Sanji wasn’t around to do it this time, and Hancock’s cook, no matter who they were, could compare to his chef. I’ll see him again soon, just as soon as I save Ace. He knew his crew were probably fine, wherever they were; they were probably back on their way to the Archipelago right now. He would just be a little late to the party, that’s all. As Luffy voiced his proclamation, Hancock whipped around with a firm screech.

“A fishing pole! Someone find Luffy a fishing pole!” The women actually didn’t have a fishing pole on board, which Luffy found asinine (What kind of pirate ship didn’t have a fishing pole? What did they actually do for fun?), but at Hancock’s insistence they fashioned from a spear and some various spare string and thin metal that they had lying around. Once he had his fishing pole in hand, Luffy was actually quite pleased, and he whistled a tune jovially under his breath as he walked over to the side of the ship- that is, until Hancock asked what he was singing and he realized it was Brooke’s favorite tune “Bink’s Sake,” and he got depressed that the funny skeleton man wasn’t around to serenade him. With a slight frown, he plopped down on the edge of the ship and grumpily flung his line into the water.

“Being sad sucks,” he muttered under his breath. With lidded eyes, he watched the ripples that the quivering line cast through the swirling water. Usopp and Chopper loved to fish, too; they would often join Luffy and would have competitions on who could bring in the largest haul. Luffy usually won, because he just had the best luck at yanking Sea Kings out of the sea. His shoulders slouched slightly as his depressive mood heightened. Apparently, the powerful queen of the island of women had noticed Luffy was not in his normal, happy-go-lucky mood, and sidled over with an expression of concern and a pink haze on her cheeks.

“Luffy? Is something the matter?”

“I miss my nakama,” he mumbled. Though Hancock couldn’t really do anything about it- as far as he knew, her talents did not lie in magically plucking people out of thin air- he saw no point in lying. He was always honest about his feelings, because feelings were important. They meant you cared about something. His head flopped down as he heaved another heavy sigh. “It’s just no fun if they’re not around.”

“Kyaah?! You mean you’re not having fun, Luffy?” When he glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, she had turned red with tears flooding her dark eyes and her bottom lip quivering pathetically. Her cheeks were puffed out, like she was holding her breath. Luffy shrugged at her and straightened back up, wiggling the line of his fishing pole a little in an attempt to entice something from the deep.

“Of course, I’m having fun with you, Hancock, but it just isn’t the same, you know?” Luffy really wasn’t sure how to explain it. He liked Hancock; she was nice, having offered to help him in his effort to sneak into Impel Down and save Ace, and he enjoyed her presence, but with his friends, it was… different. He hated having to walk across the deck and not seeing Zoro asleep, slumped up against the mast or the wooden walls. He hated not smelling the scent of Nami’s tangerines carried on the breeze as it shook their dark leaves, or the mouthwatering aromas of Sanji’s newest creation wafting out of the kitchen. He hated not doing morning stretches with Franky, laughing when Nami came out to scold them for being too loud. He hated not having Robin there to answer his many, many questions about all the things she knew. He hated not having Usopp or Chopper around to assist him in his jokes or pranks. He hated not hearing Brooke’s melodic voice and violin dancing on the wind practicing some new catchy tune or another.

He hated being alone, and he hated being alone because he had failed to keep them all together in the first place.

“Luffy-“ Hancock was interrupted as the fishing line jerked dramatically, and Luffy had to throw his arm back and wind it around the mast to keep from being yanked clear off the ship; his other arm stretched a bit as the powerful force carried the rod underwater, and then he managed to clear his mind to focus on what he was doing and began pulling violently on the makeshift pole.

“Come’re, you stupid fish! I want lunch!” he shouted angrily as he tugged hard on the fishing pole. Slowly, the water beside the ship darkened as a massive form was dragged to the surface, and the water began to slosh and swirl as its massive tail whipped about under Luffy’s vigorous assault. White foam sprayed up against the side of the ship, speckling the determined Luffy and started Hancock with its misty droplets, and the ship began to rock lightly under the force of the waves slapping against its sides. With a grunt, Luffy grabbed the pole with both hands and gave a strong, swift jerk; with a tremendous splash that sent a wave of water rolling over the deck, soaking everyone out in the open from head-to-toe and nearly carrying Luffy’s precious hat away, a massive, colorful fish leaped out of the water. Luffy’s grin was wider than it had been all day at the sight of the spectacle. Its scales were a magnificent emerald, with speckles of jade and other shades across its midline; its fins were sharp and powerful, and its jaw was pointed with row of pointed teeth sticking out. It wriggled about in the air, sending a rain of water droplets arcing about, before crashing about into the ocean with another magnificent splash. Luffy grunted as he was pulled up against the side of the ship, but he firmly held onto his catch. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re going in my belly!”

“Luffy, just let it go! You’re going to capsize us!” Hancock screamed from where she was clutching to the mast, her dark hair plastered to her face. Luffy threw a wink over his shoulder at her, making her melt into a pile of gushing putty, before planting his feet against the wall of the ship and tugging so hard on the fishing pole that it looked like he was standing upright against the wall.

“Nuh-uh! No stupid fish is gonna get the best of me!” Despite his best efforts, the fish was a formidable foe; the ship actually began to stream through the water, jumping in the wake of the massive predatory fish he had hooked. “One… more… time!” he grunted, and once more, the fish vaulted out of the water into the sky, flapping about in rage. This time, Luffy was prepared, and bit down hard on his thumb, blowing air into his body to inflate the bones within his arm. As his limb swelled to massive size, the wood underneath him buckled a bit.

“What are you doing?!” Hancock screamed at him. Luffy just cackled happily and used his free arm to stretch up to grasped the top sail, sling-shotting himself right up to the still-wriggling fish. “It’s lunchtime!” he hollered in glee before delivering a savage punch to the belly of the fish. It instantly stiffened on impact, quivering under the force of Luffy’s blow, before it went rocketing up into the air. It disappeared for a moment, and Luffy landed on the wood holding the top sail and put his hand to his eyes, scanning the blue sky for a black speck. It appeared after a moment, rapidly growing larger as the fish plummeted to earth like a meteor, and he could hear the warrior women running around in circles on the deck screaming that they were going to be crushed. Luffy jumped up to the crow’s nest and then jumped off again to deliver another punch to the fish’s side before it could land directly on the ship, sending it blasting into the ocean so fast that it skipped like a rock a few times before sinking below the waves. After a few seconds it rose back up, belly-up and bobbing lifelessly in the churning water. Luffy landed on the main deck with a triumphant hoot.

“Yay! Lunch! Let’s go get it, let’s go get it! Usopp, Chopper, didja see-“ He cut himself off as he whipped around and remembered that his normal spectators weren’t there, and he deflated again; he continued doing so, shrinking down to the size of a three-year-old, as were the side effects of him using Gear Third. As he pouted, Hancock came running over to him, picking him up underneath his arms and lifting him up with an expression of both joyous glee and acute fear.

“Oh my goodness, you are so cute! Why are you cute? Luffy, what’s happening? Oh, who cares, you’re so small!” she squealed and waved him about as she ranted, then cried out and hugged him to her chest, squeezing him like a vice grip. Luffy’s protests were muffled by the pillow of her voluptuousness. Ignorant of his pleas for air, she just nuzzled him affectionately while crooning, and just as Luffy thought he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen she pulled back to hold him high up and look at him in wonder again. He gulped in big breaths, his face turning from blue to white to normal color, while Hancock’s eyes sparkled innocently. “Will you be like this forever?!” she asked, and he didn’t know if she was horrified or delighted by the prospect.

“Nah. It’s just temporary. It happens every time I use Gear Third,” he explained while picking his nose, disinterested at the entire ordeal. “Can we get my fish, please? I worked hard for that, y’know.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Hancock stood up, as she had been kneeling in front of him the entire time, and he expected her to put him down; instead, she hugged him to his chest like a little girl would a teddy bear, arms around his shrunken waist with his little feet dangling as she walked and instructed the crew to haul up and prepare Luffy’s catch. Carried around like a pet, Luffy felt kind of like Chopper. Thinking of the reindeer made him blue again, and he sagged like a limp stuffed animal in Hancock’s arms. Not even making a legendary catch like that could keep his depression away for long. He pouted like a little baby, muttering under his breath at how stupid being sad was, because he had more things to worry about. Hancock eventually caught on to his grumbling, and set him on a barrel to lean over, hands on her knees as she talked to him at eye-level.

“Now, Luffy, it’s okay to be sad that your friends are gone.” Luffy’s nose scrunched up as she took a baby-talk tone with him.

“Hancock, I may look like a baby but I’m not one, so can you please talk normal?”

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” she laughed as she put both her hands on her cheeks and gushed, hearts practically flying through the air around her. “What was I saying? Oh, right. I know it must be hard on you, being apart from them.”

“Yeah…” he murmured as his shoulders slumped. “I wish they were here. I know I’m strong, but somehow I just don’t feel like I’m strong enough without them with me.” That was the root of his blatant refusal of his sadness; he didn’t want to admit that he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to pull this off alone, that he was too weak to avoid dragging his friends into something so dangerous. That he was too weak to keep anyone safe, Ace or anyone else.

“I know, but, I’m sure that wherever they are, they’re still supporting you. Just because they aren’t right there next to you doesn’t mean that they’re not beside you, at every step. You still have their strength, right here,” she smiled kindly and poked him right in his little chest, where his heart was. Luffy looked down, blinking. It made sense, kind of. Even if they weren’t there, they were in his heart, and he was sure he was in theirs, too. With a giggle, he beamed up at Hancock.

“Thanks! I feel better! Can we eat now?” he asked before lightly hopping off the barrel and strolling toward the kitchen with a contented hum. He heard Hancock sigh and tut behind him before she followed, her long dress swishing as she walked. Luffy held onto the top of his hat as a swift breeze whisked across the deck.

Being on the ship with Hancock wasn’t the same as being on the Sunny with all his friends, but he didn’t have to be sad about it anymore. No matter what, they would see each other again, and Luffy could still rely on their strength in the trial ahead- he knew they would be shouting from the sidelines, cheering their captain on in spirit, and that knowledge was enough to get him raring to go.  

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[pvcked]

“ oh, darlin’. ” darby shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “ don’t make me use this stick on something other than the puck. ”  

or, alternatively :  ‘tis i, linc, back at it with my second !!  say hello to darby belle montpellier,  varsity womens’ hockey team captain & songwriter/frontwoman of west ham’s own folk-soul band,  pelagia. !!   hit that read more to learn more about this southern belle .

[   d    a    r    b    y        b    e    l     l     e      ––    M A N I C    P I X I E    D R E A M    G I R L .

✔ ┊❝ ( natalia dyer. 18. she/her &. cisfemale ) rumor around town is that darby belle montpellier was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that she prayed to make a deal with the devil to bring her mother and father back to life, but suspects something may have gone amiss when laying out the terms, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as saccharine & virtuosic, but who knows when they’re known to be diaphanous & dewy-eyed from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: darby belle rose montpellier

nickname(s) or alias: darby belle, darby, dee, belle, db ( by her teammates ), puck ( by her late father only )

preferred name: darby belle. belle’s not a middle name; it’s part of her first! but she won’t correct you! darby’ll do just fine.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: pisces

gender: cisfemale

preferred pronouns: she/her

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: a modest two-story condominium, owned by her older sister, elody mae. they’ve lived in the same condo since moving to west ham in the summer of 2014, following their father’s untimely passing. they originally hail from small-town tennessee, so their condo took a while to acquire the typical connecticut aesthetic. darby belle’s hockey and speed skating trophies are displayed proudly in the front foyer. their kitchen displays elody mae’s art, and features lots of succulents and small-scale flowers. darby’s room doubles as a music space, so her guitar, banjo, and piano line the far wall. a secondhand drumset sits in the corner for when her band convenes there, or when she goes ahead to demo entire songs herself.

current occupation: student, student athlete, musician.

language(s) spoken: english, enough spanish to get by ( acquired from high school classes, but her southern accent kinda bleeds through? so kids in class always kinda smirk when she tries out the speaking exercises  ).

native language: english.

current relationship status: happily in a long term relationship with clark, @wildguard .

( &&. background )

reason behind name: darby belle was named after a beloved family dog who was tragically killed by an automobile the night before she was born. how... quaint. her mother insisted on adding “belle” to match her older sister, elody mae’s, “name flow”. her father never really approved, but he his second army deployment began just before her birth, so her mother went ahead and did it anyway.

birth order: second ( and youngest ). her older sister and current guardian, elody mae, was born 7 years prior.

ethnicity: american. the montpellier family had strong roots in small-town jonesborough, tennessee. people always speculate there’s some french in their bloodline, way back, but they don’t speak it now.

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, suicide ): it’s complicated. she was raised christian. went to weekly sermons. sang in the church choir. but after her mother died in the housefire that nearly wiped out the entire family when darby was 6, she began to... question. if god were real, why would he let bad things happen to good people? her father returned from afghanistan in 2007 and seeing him struggle with ptsd despite her persistent prayer contributed to her doubt. he took his own life in march 2014, the day before darby’s 13th birthday. from that point on, her view on religion became pretty tumultuous. believing there’s nothing out there makes her anxious. but believing in a higher power makes her angry. she still struggles to reconcile her relationship with god, and wonders if she’ll ever be able to. moving to west ham offered a new start, and she’d always yearned to get out of jonesborough –– she just never thought losing her father would wind up being the way so-called-god would choose to make it happen.

political views: fairly moderate. can agree with liberals and conservatives on different issues, but mainly toes the midline. maybe a bit more left than right. she’s... not that keen on discussing all of that stuff. she never got to come out to her mother or her father, so it’s all very... touchy.

financial status: comfortable, but by no means as affluent as the rest of west ham. she and her sister live off of their inheritance and their father’s life insurance policy. but elody mae is intent on using it as minimally as possible, so they live modestly. their condo is adorable, and offers just enough space for the two of them, plus occasional guests. they eat well, but smart. elody mae’s income as a local commissioned artist and interior decorator isn’t colossal, but it’s enough to avoid skimming much from the inheritance. that’s the only money they’ve got for darby’s college. but she’s fielding several hockey scholarship offers, so hopefully tuition won’t even be an issue.

hometown: jonesborough, tennessee. yes, she has the accent. you don’t have to tell her it’s adorable –– she already knows.

level of education: high school senior. darby does well in school. she’s no ap student, but she’s got brain cells and knows how to use ‘em. she often chooses to forego studying to create new music, and between pelagia. & the varsity girls hockey team, she doesn’t have much spare time for homework. she’s in a lot of teachers’ good graces, so they let it slide, for the most part. this past year, her grades have slipped a bit –– she’s just got other priorities. catch her drawing music staffs and notes in her biology notes instead of copying down cell structures. scribbling lyrics in the margins of her in-class essays. she’s a dreamer. 

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): natalia dyer. for now, with mid-length brown, curly hair. i’d like there to be a point where she impulse decides to cut and dye it platinum blonde... so maybe we could plot that out, somehow. like a brittany 2007 moment. a nervous break.

height: 5′0. she’s tiny. nobody expected her to be the rumored hockey legend transferring to west ham high her freshman year. but there she was, a zippy right wing on the ice. her speed’s uncanny. her agility’s surreal.

weight: 108 lbs. fuckin’ protect her.

shoe size: 6

figure/build: very, very thin. surprisingly muscular, though. not built like a typical hockey player but boy, does she command the ice. her strength, like... bewilders everyone. recruiters came to see her play this spring and fuckin’ lost their shit. this girl ?!  captain ?!  right wing ?!  does she disintegrate when she’s checked ?!?!

hair colour: light brown.

hair length: down to her shoulders. curly.

eye colour:  aqua blue. 

glasses?: no, but she does own zenni optical glasses for the computer.

skin tone: light, some faint freckles that intensify with sun exposure.

tattoos: none. she’s gotten into actual fist fights on the ice before. but needles? scary stuff. she’ll pass.

piercings: she has her ears pierced, but rarely wears earrings, since they’re prohibited on the ice.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some burn scars from the housefire that killed her mom in 2007, on the back of her left forearm/wrist and across her stomach. she’s really insecure about them and almost always wears long sleeves because of it. she also has a birthmark shaped like canada on the arch of her left foot. when they were alive and darby was very young, her parents used to joke that god put that mark there because he knew their daughter was going to be a hockey star.

dominant hand: right-handed, hence she plays right wing. but she prefers to cut food with her left.

if painted, what color are their nails?: she keeps her nails very short, and they’re usually painted neutral shades: gray, pink, nude. she’s recently gotten into a forest green phase.

usual style of clothing: long sleeve sweaters, jeans, vans. graphic long-sleeve tees –– she really likes the nature designs on patagonia ones, or cool/eclectic designs. converse. timberlands, leggings, and oversized sweatshirts. denim jackets. in the winter, she’s always bundled up because she runs cold. honestly? she’d sooner wear a hoodie and shorts in the summer than throw on a t-shirt. she does wear short sleeves, but mainly for team workouts and runs.

frequently worn jewelry:  she wears her father’s wedding band around her neck on a thin gold chain, always tucked under whatever top she’s wearing. her sister does the same with her mother’s.

describe their voice, what accent?:  she’s got a very soft voice. light tennessee accent. when she sings, it’s got this delicious rasp and rawness to it. i’ll post a spotify playlist soon with the vibe –– but think molly burch, tomtsu, julien baker, mothers, angel olsen, and you’re on the right track.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: darby’s laugh sounds kind of like breeze-rustled leaves and cotton-candied skies: light, melodic, buoyant. she speaks quietly, for the most part, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for complacency. she speaks slow, deliberate. her words matter. she’ll speak quicker when she’s mid-laugh, or when she’s intoxicated. when she’s angry, she’s more likely to bite her tongue and stare. her doe-eyes speak leagues. on the ice, her dialogue’s punchy, gutteral. she calls out plays and opposing teams are flabbergasted that such a strong sound can come out of such a small frame. 

describe their scent: vanilla, lavender, eucalyptus. she dabs a few drops of essential oils on instead of perfume. she’ll really only wear a marketed fragrance after practice or games –– and then it’s dolce & gabbana, light blue.

describe their posture: darby holds herself with a silencing kind of grace –– she glides through rooms. her chest is always open, collarbones broad. she has a great deal of strength in her legs and in her stride, but the way she carries herself resonates more like a dancer or figure skater than a hockey player. on the ice, she’s all forward momentum and down-striked strides, whipping around and coming at opponents with a vengeance.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: no, she never got her license! her sister will typically drop and pick her up from events, or she’ll carpool. in terms of arriving for the trip, she walked across town, since they got into an argument about the letters her father left –– elody mae had them locked away in a bank safebox, and hasn’t let her younger sister read them.

have they ever been arrested?: no. honestly, could anyone arrest this sweet cupcake? her bandmates have gotten busted for shoplifting snacks high before, but darby’s always been able to sweet-talk them out of punishment. too bad they’re not around to steal her pretzel sticks now. not that stealing is necessarily still a crime...

do they have a criminal record?: no. squeaky clean. she respects authority, almost too much. so this new ham situation... it’s going to throw her for a loop.

have they committed any violent crimes?:  not if you don’t count breaking an amherst high girl’s nose during a fist fight on the ice. she called one of her teammates something terrible, so... the bitch had it comin’.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: no opportunity to! unless west ham suddenly persecutes for jaywalking down empty roads in the wee horus of the morning.

other crimes?: not yet.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: b positive.

date/time of birth: march 18. 1:42pm. the only labor nurse on duty had to put down her bologna sandwich to assist in the birth. on a potato roll!  she complimented darby’s mother at the end: “congrats on the bologna. i mean –– baby.”

place of birth: franklin woods community hospital, jonesborough, tennessee.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: female

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / pain pills. more than she should. shhhhh.

addictions: pretzel sticks. she’s gone days without real meals because she’s just been munchin’ on those things.

allergies: strawberries. peanuts. bees. good luck surviving in new ham, gurl. hope no one poisons ya!

ever broken a bone?: her left clavicle in pee wee hockey, 2005. fractured wrist from getting checked, 2009. right ankle, mid-game pileup, 2015 –– still scored, though! three broken ribs from a particularly gnarly check ( three girls v. one ), 2018.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: insomnia, since her mother’s death. worsened with her father’s passing. i imagine it’ll get worse with her sister disappearing, too. her mild dependency on painkillers.

any medication regularly taken: leftover meds from her injuries. it started with the pills she found in her dad’s medicine cabinet, after his passing. it’s not... bad. yet. it’s harmless.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  UNO.  DOS ( her chillin’ with her athlete broskis. )  TRES ( her babysitting ) .  “ honey, you got a big storm comin’. ”

positive traits: tenderhearted, saccharine, strong-willed, musically inclined.

negative traits: diaphanous, dewy-eyed, easily manipulated ( somebody break her ).

likes: underdog succulents: the ugly ones people tend to walk past. late nights spent mixing new tunes. singing along to the radio, rewriting top 40 songs to sound more interesting. performing at small local gigs with pelagia. ; the cacophonous beauty of each soundcheck before doors open. the scrape of metal on freshly smoothed ice. the feel of her favorite hockey stick in her hands. taped fingers. narrowed eyes. confused gasps as she whizzes past bigger players, barely detected. pulling long sweater sleeves over her hands. finger-picking her acoustic guitar. clark beecher. singing stevie nix in the shower obnoxiously loud, just to aggravate her sister. coconut macarons, fresh from the oven. pretzel sticks. blue gatorade. toe-tapping in the locker room between periods, to her pumped up playlist. texting silly pickup lines to her friends. trading cute little jingles for rides around town. petrichor. sunflowers. bees ( from a distance ). worms, insects, dirt. she loves cupping her hands around beetles and showing them around the place like they might stay a while.

dislikes: being cold. birds. crows, specifically –– they ripped a bag of pretzels right out of her hands, once. unsweetened coffee. sore losers. waking up, and the momentary serenity before her life story locks back into place. the smell of smoke. fires. paying $20/month for her father’s inactive cell line –– they have yet to deactivate it. knowing that the last thing she ever said texted him was, “ can you bring a gatorade to the game tomorrow? yellow kind. thx. ” thx. text talk. :-) . smiley faces with noses: only her dad was allowed to use that kind. drew barrymore. short sleeves. high heels. remembering.

strengths: darby belle has the capacity to be compassionate toward anyone. almost to a fault; it’s been exploited before and i doubt those times’ll be the last. great texter. she can channel such wild doses of emotion into her music –– take away the lyrics and you’ve still got such magic. add the words back in, and it’ll do an even better job of wreckin’ ya. she manages to befriend a wide variety of people: because of her band, she’s mixed up with some eclectic folks. her role as varsity captain makes her accessible for most of the school’s athletes. i like to think she’s down with the bros? isn’t afraid to play-fight, mess about. despite all she’s been through, this girl’s got a real knack for life.

weaknesses: yearns for stability, but the world’s kind of delivered that a bit late. prone to rampant reminiscence. sells her soul to her passions, so other obligations fall to the wayside. still can’t figure out snapchat.  will defend her teammates ‘til the cows come home, and that’s gotten her injured on the ice before.  kind of cultivating a dependence on painkillers.  can’t hide when she’s teary-eyed.  can’t hide emotions at all.  when she falls in love, she falls  h a r d .  and when others feel something for her, she often lacks the ability to see it.  short-tempered with her sister.  lets anxieties fester and build up until she lashes out at someone ( usually her sister ) .  stutters when angry, sometimes, so will often avoid the issue or just stay silent about it.  prone to heartbreak.

insecurities:  what if she could have done something to save her mom? her dad? what if this is all some kind of punishment for her religious doubts? is god laughing down at her? does he even exist?  maybe we’re all just living on borrowed time.

fears/phobias:  snakes.  being stung by a bee.  never being loved  /  never having the wherewithal to find it.  not getting a hockey scholarship.  emptying the medicine cabinet.  not being able to call her dad’s cell to hear his voice.  losing elody mae.  losing everyone.

habits:  tapping her fingers on flat surfaces.  skipping meals when she’s stressed.  texting thumbs-up emojis to avoid having to give an actual answer to “ how are you? ” .  masking darker thoughts with game suggestions and silly jokes.  deflection.  wearing her father’s old army tees to bed, and sniffing them each time as if the laundered clothing might still hold onto even just a whiff of his cologne.  falling for the wrong people.  believing.  letting her nail polish chip and chip and chip until all that’s left is a silhouette of pigment.  biting her nails.  midnight runs.  pressing leaves into notebooks to capture moments for which she lacks the words.  over-gifting outside her means, arguing with her sister about it later.

quirks: bites her bottom lip and rolls it between her teeth when she’s thinking.  squints directly at the sun despite being scolded for it for years.  latches on to friends’ arms as if the universe might tug them apart at any moment, and navigating the school parking lot is exhaustively complex –– like she might get lost; like she might lose them.  calling instead of texting.  sniffing peanut butter: she can’t eat it, but she loves how it smells.  sleeping all curled up in a ball, on her left side, with the blankets tugged up tight against her chin.  wearing beanies and baseball caps indoors.  waking up early enough for church each sunday: getting dressed, beginning the walk across town, only to turn back halfway.  running drills at the rink instead of attending lunch hour.  jotting down lyrics on standardized tests.  humming in school stairwells, when she thinks she’s alone.  tapping her locker dial three times with her index finger before putting in her combo. wriggles her nose when she’s trying not to laugh. gaze always, always drifting to the nearest window.  funky patterned socks.  she has a pair with picasso.

hobbies: hockey. guitar, banjo, piano, drums. singing. songwriting. running, weightlifting. elody mae tried to get her into yoga, but her headspace is far too cluttered.  making late-night ice cream runs to the local parlor, because she knows the owner and he’s always ready to give her a free scoop.  

guilty pleasure:  the chainsmokers. they’re shit songwriters, but their songs are vibey –– if you tell anyone she told you this, she’ll hit you with her hockey stick.

desires: to get out of west ham in one piece.  to find some kind of meaning.  to feel something more, or less, or different than what she feels now.

wishes: she could have told her parents who she really is. her father could have seen her bring the west ham womens’ hockey team to the regional finals four years in a row. she wishes she could apologize to her father for not being enough to make him stay.

secrets: she stole her father’s dog tags and told her sister he must have pitched ‘em. she keeps them under her pillow. she’s never felt a love as strong as her songs might suggest. she’s popping pain pills to cope with things besides hockey injuries.

turn ons:  soft smiles. hand holding. shared gummy candies. someone who can watch hockey with her and not get bored. fake wrestling. dimples.  silly face tournaments.

turn offs:  prying.  counting on fingers.  preoccupations with time.  disliking vegetables.  top 40 pop.  people who won’t admit they’re afraid of the dark.

lucky number: 4. ( her jersey number, as per request. what her family used to be. )

pet peeves:  squeaky shoes.  mic feedback.  dull skates.  vanilla shakes that taste like nothing.  crunchy cookies.  stale pretzels.  people who make fun of her laugh ( sometimes she snorts ).

their motto:  “ hockey is figure skating in a war zone. ” –– her father.

( &&. favourites )

food: pretzel sticks. sometimes dipped in chocolate.

drink: water! or yellow gatorade.

fast food restaurant:  she misses bojangles.

flavour: vanilla.

word: perseverance.

colour:  army green.

clothing: though she doesn’t wear it a lot, she loves her hockey jacket. but it comes second to one of her dad’s deep blue sweaters –– it fits her almost comically oversized, and it almost, almost feels like his arms around her.

accessory: her father’s wedding band, secured around her kneck with a thin gold chain. or her hats: she loves beanies and baseball caps.

candle scent: she doesn’t fuck with candles. open flame. but eucalyptus, lavender, and peppermint make for a great diffuser blend.

game: hockey. ( jk, y’all already knew that! )  she gets a kick out of go fish. really!  and pick-up football.

animal:  any kind of insect, especially fireflies.

holiday: new year’s eve. she loves getting to blow party kazoos in everyone’s faces.

weather: breezy, sunny mornings, when the dew’s still clinging to glistening blades of grass.

season: mid-spring, after the rain, but before the blossoms finish opening. it’s beautiful. and she doesn’t have to worry about bees.

book: twenty-thousand leagues under the sea by jules verne. her father used to read it to her at night, chapter by chapter. it inspired her band name: pelagia .  it means the open sea.

artist: elody mae montpellier. she’s biased.

band/group: cigarettes after sex, stevie nix, amy winehouse, the band camino, car seat headrest, lany, daniel caesar, jeremy zucker. the beatles. the beach boys ( her dad loved them ).

song: don’t dream it’s over, crowded house.

movie/film:  the wedding date. she’s a sucker for those stupid rom-coms. the mighty ducks. slap shot.

tv show:  she grew up watching bob ross specials with her sister.

sport: hockey. speed-skating, for a brief time, when she was in elementary school.

possession: her father’s dog tags.  her lucky puck  ( he gave it to her after her first ever hockey game, complete with a heart and smiley face carved into the side ).

number: 4.

person: clark beecher. but she’ll tell you she doesn’t believe in favorites.

( &&. skills )

talents: musicianship. performing. songwriting. agile skating. playmaking. interpretive dancing. making her friends laugh. going cross-eyed for long periods of time. rolling her tongue.

ability to drive a car?: no. not legally. or well.

can they ride a bike?:  no. her parents never taught her. 

do they play any sports?:  hockey.  pick-up football games with her pals.

anything they’re bad at?:  meditating. lying.  makeup –– she doesn’t really wear any.

do they have any combat training? why?:  yes, some self defense moves her father taught her before her first day of middle school.  “ to keep those rotten boys away from ya, puck. ”

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: her mother spilling roasted carrots and potatoes all over the kitchen floor. little darby belle watched from her high chair and laughed. her ma probably made a joke about confetti.

crush: lenny hawthorne, in preschool. the teacher handed out strawberries to the class and he volunteered to be her protector.

email address: heyitsdarby@aim.com

job: ice cream scooper. learn-to-skate instructor.

phone: a trackphone, shared with elody mae.

kiss: kitty hawthorne. seventh grade. because she said lenny wanted to learn if darby was a good kisser before he kissed her himself, and “ same blood means it doesn’t really count. ”  it counted.

love: clark. she gets starry-eyed just thinkin’ about him. her beautiful curly-haired doofus. she’s lucky.

sexual experience: with lenny hawthorne a few weeks after the kiss with his twin sister, kitty. only, throughout the entire time, darby belle caught herself wishing the lips against hers were a bit softer, and still tasted like grape chapstick.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  it’s hard to pick one. she never really had a time in which both of parents were there with her, and choosing one? feels wrong. choosing any feels wrong. she likes when they were both alive. all of that time qualifies.

worst childhood memory? (tw: death, suicide) :  2007: waking up to the smell of smoke and a red-orange flickering light in the hallway.  waking up in the hospital to the news her mother didn’t make it. 2014: returning home from the game her father was supposed to bring gatorade to. finding him in their living room, slumped on the floor.

what were they like as a child?:  darby was always bright-eyed and sociable.  she rarely began conversation, but she’d inititate the precursor to it, running up to strangers, beaming at other kids in the park. it took a while for her to learn how to be aggressive on the ice: she didn’t want to be mean! her mother facilitated most of that –– “ your daddy’s a soldier, darby belle, don’t you forget that. ”

any crushes growing up?: a few. she probably would’ve had more, if she’d spent less time on the ice. or thinking about the ice. or using hockey as a way to avoid confronting her demons.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: frugal, but not inexpensive. a good middle ground.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open, about most things.

introvert or extrovert?: extrovert, but prone to retreating into her thoughts.

optimistic or pessimistic?: optimistic, outwardly. sometimes it lapses to pessimism, but her natural disposition is peaceful –– so she can be angry and upset and unsettled, but eventually has to find some kind of way to mediate it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious, to an extent. ( let’s change that. )

logical or emotional?:  emotional.

generous or stingy?:  generous.

polite or rude?: polite to most, even when undeserved. on the ice? she can be a menace.

book smart or street smart?:  street smart. she’s not not book smart, but her intelligence is definitely channeled more through the game and through music.

popular or loner?:  popular. darby’s a crowdpleaser. she ebbs and flows from sphere to sphere without much trouble. she fears being alone, and often prefers to have people around –– watch her struggle with having an empty home... yikes.

leader or follower?: leader. she’s hockey captain, after all. but she is quite impressionable, so others have a large impact on how she leads.

day or night person?:  day. but she’s most creative at night.

cat or dog person?: dog person, 100%. won’t hate on cats, but dogs love more openly. and she was named after a beloved childhood pet of her mother’s, so... maybe there’s some kind of soul connection there.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?:   c l o s e d . and barricaded.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to all. briefly including tinder, at a hockey slumber party freshman year.

if so; name on facebook: darby belle. ( she leaves out her surname, because people never pronounce it right anyway. )

instagram user: officialdarbybelle

snapchat user: puckyouverymuch

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: waiting for you –– tomtsu.  ( but it’s also canon her song... yep i did that. )

makes them sad:  our day will come –– amy winehouse. her mother used to cook to it in the background and serenade the ingredients. ave maria –– her father always used to beg her to sing it at christmas time, at their baby grand.

makes them dance:   blame it on a dream –– vhs collection.  it has vintage vibes. she can swivel her hips to this.

loves the most:  old fashioned –– bruno major.  it makes her cells thrum in the most delightful way.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yeah.

are they a virgin?: no.

describe their signature: neat spirals. looks a lot like calligraphy.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  she’d be the unlikely underdog to come out on top.

do they travel?: not really. the only travel she’s ever done has been for hockey games and tournaments, or the big move from tennessee to connecticut.

one place they would like to live:  ontario. it looks so calm.

one place they would like to visit:  los angeles.  she feels like she’d fit right in.  and their hockey mojo’s great right now.

celebrity crush: torey krug, bruins defenseman.  & matty healy.  what a dreamboat.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: chapstick, spare stick tape, spearmint breathmints. pictures of her parents, folded up and hidden behind a few miscellaneous receipts.

place(s) your character can always be found:  on the ice.  in her bedroom, making music.  the local coffee shop open mic night.  the grocery store, struggling on her tippy-toes to reach the jumbo bag of munchie mix.  running in the park, or all around town.  playing pick-up games on the school green.

when does your character like to wake up?:  4:45am.  to fit in a morning workout before school.

what’s your character’s morning routine?:  scrunch up her face and pull the blankets tighter, in denial that her alarm’s actually going off. rolling out of bed to switch the buzzer off. stretches. change into running clothes. a few loops around the neighborhood, then outdoor HIIT intervals, weather permitting. shower. throw on a long-sleeve, leggings, and her boots. grab a pop tart for the car ride to school and listen to elody mae scold her about a well-rounded breakfast the whole drive there.

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?:  when elody mae cooks, darby eats well –– lots of pinterest recipes and plant-based meals.  left to her own devices, she reverts to ease: poptarts, protein bars, almonds. sunflower butter and jam sandwiches. she typically skips lunch at school to write, or free skate, or sneak into the weight room with whatever team’s rented it out that period.

how does your character spend their free days?:  jamming with her bandmates or on her own. playing gigs or open mics. going for long runs. hiking, in bee-free zones. goofing off with her pals, road tripping to random landmarks around connecticut.  going on art supply runs with her sister, sometimes helping her set up her booth at the local farmers’ market on saturday mornings.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  night run, bodyweight workout. stretches. some songwriting or listening to in-progress tracks. texting her friends. tossing and turning. sometimes falling asleep successfully. sometimes popping a pill or two to make it happen.

what does your character wear to bed?: comfy shorts and a sports bra. she likes to load up on the quilts.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: her parents.  her father.  if there’s a god.  if there’s really... anything.  lyrics.  her friends.  clark.  she’ll usually text him into the wee hours of the morning, if he’s up.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?:  getting her parents back. unattainable.

on what occasions do they lie?:  almost never. she really can’t do it successfully!

most marked characteristic: her eyes, her stature, her smile. her stupid canada birthmark on her foot.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  find some way to compensate for whatever left her dad still wanting –– enough to leave.

how would they like to die?:  happy. she realizes the irony, given her definition of it.

do they snore? nope!

can they curl their tongue?: yes! and she can also do that clover thing.

can they whistle?:  most of the time. it’s kind of a gamble.

** do they believe in the supernatural?:  does she believe in anything? she’ll get back to you on that.  but uh...  she tried to reason with satan to rescue her parents from wherever they wound up after their deaths .... and suspects something might have gone wrong. did she cause this whole trip situation? was this her?  does she believe in all that religious stuff still anyway? uhhhhhhh....... she’ll also get back to you on that, too.

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  she’s been heartbroken, non-romantically. romantically? not yet.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. and probably without knowing it.

are they squeamish?:  not at all.  except around bees, or allergens.

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?:  she’s seen people  d e a d .  but never in the act of.

are they a lightweight?:  y e s !!  it’s hilarious.  you wanna know a secret?  do ya??  you sure??  are you positive?  okay, okay.  she’ll take a breath, tryin’ not to giggle too much in between words.  “ one time, in ninth grade, mr. hot sexy math man –– mr. keebler, yeah –– asked me out to dinner. would ya believe that ? ”   she’ll dissolve into a fit of melodic laughter and knock back the rest of her second drink.   yeah.  it be like that.