day 7: free [crane game joe/endo]

look at these nerds theyre made for each other

day 6: wish ⛩ [mamoru/motoki]

day 5: costume[seiya/michiru]

day 4: rainbow[mars/venus/serenity]

day 3: food[ami/makoto/taiki]

day 2: key [setsuna/reika]

day 1: competition [haruka/elsa]

Day 5: Costume | Usagi/Rei

Somewhere before that video game convention in episode 191 bc I figured Rei would be the type to make her costume herself

This is last entry that I had started for @sailormoonrarepairweek , thank you again for hosting the event :D!!!

(Belated@sailormoonrarepairweekcontribution)

Day 3: Travel | Usagi/Rei

Another missing scene, this time somewhere in ep 20 when they stay at the creepy hotel :>

I’ve finally been able to finish day 2 for smrarepairweek2022!

Day 2: Secret
Usagi/Rei

It’s a missing scene somewhere in episode 51 43 :’))

Edit: I suddenly remembered that I had recently read a fanfic that also portrays this scene?? So I tried to find it bc I had undoubtedly unconsciously been inspired by it, and I wanna give credit to it. Here it is, please give it a read!! :)

On the last day of smrarepairweek2022 I post this for day 1 //D

Day 1 : Proposal
Usagi/Seiya

This was a really quick doodle and it’s tiny (ca. 8x8cm) haha… I love Sailor Star Fighter all roughed up and with loose hair!!! :>

The Journey For Cosmos

My entry for The Rarepair Week for Prompt 3 Travel/Food. A journey to try and find Usagi causes Mamoru and Seiya to bond. This one came to me for a whale as I was exploring the idea of Mamoru moving on after Usagi remains Sailor Cosmos. Now that this one is done I’m gonna work on finishing my Dark Endyminion story before going back to Choker of Love. I hope everyone enjoys it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38048506

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14060204/1/The-Journey-For-Cosmos

sai

Rare Pair Week: Day 7 - Free

So I had absolutely no plans to do anything for rare pair week. It’s really not my wheelhouse, and I’m already neck-deep in another project. The week rolled in, and seeing everyone’s enthusiasm, I smiled and thought to myself, ’That looks like fun. Shame that I write nothing but UsaMamo.’

Then I remembered this post. Later that night I had an outline.

While I’d hoped to have a complete (short) piece done today, it turns out this is going to be longer than I’d initially thought. But in the spirit of participation, I thought I’d post the first part here on Tumblr.

Kudos to everyone who has contributed fantastic work this week. The fandom is lucky to have you. ♥

She drops to the cold stone with a heavy thud, and her sharp cry of pain gives me an undeniable rush of pleasure. When she grunts and pushes up from the floor, I lean forward ever so slightly, eager to get my first good look at her. The ridiculous costume doesn’t suit her, and the yellow hair is different, but when she lifts her chin my breath catches. Though she looks a touch younger, her face is the same. Just as I remember it.

Her fearful gaze scans the room, seeking me out, and I sink back into the welcoming embrace of the shadows. Seated upon my throne, cloaked in darkness, I am shielded from her sight. The muscles in my legs twitch with anticipation, poised to rise, but I keep my seat a while longer, determined to let the tension build. I have long awaited this moment, and I intend to savour it.

Unable to detect the threat looming before her, she turns her eyes away, and a low hiss escapes my lips. Clenching my staff, I surge to my feet, ready to make myself known.

“Welcome Princess, you have done well to come this far. I commend you for that.”

Her head whips around, and the shadows recede at my bidding, revealing only what I wish to display. Her blue eyes grow wide.

“You’re…Queen Beryl?”

Indeed I am. But it was not always so. And she did not always look upon me with such fear.

——-

The day began like any other.

Awakened at dawn by the crowing of roosters, Beryl rose from her bed and began her daily chores, doing so quietly, so as not to wake her father. His habitual late nights spent in the tavern meant he rarely stirred before midday, and given that he was prone to fits of temper when disturbed, Beryl had learned the importance of stealth. Completing her indoor duties with swift efficiency, she grabbed her sunbonnet and apron from their hooks and stepped out of the cottage.

It was a beautiful summer morning, bright and warm with just a hint of a breeze. Though the sun was not yet high, Beryl donned her wide-brimmed bonnet out of habit, not wishing to add to her unfortunate collection of freckles. Cursed with her father’s red hair and pale complexion, any exposure to the sun left her burned or spotted or both. Running through a mental list of the tasks she wished to accomplish before supper, Beryl tied her apron round her waist and headed out to the garden.

Gardening was her favourite pastime. Years ago, it had been her father’s passion—and profession—but after Beryl’s mother had passed, everything had changed. Now Beryl tended their small plot of land on her own, and though the work was at times arduous, she found it rewarding. Her father had always taken meticulous care of the garden, and Beryl prided herself on maintaining those standards.

But beyond that, the garden was her sanctuary; the only place in which she was truly at ease. Outside among the plants, digging in the soil, she could weed out frustrations, prune away worries, and root herself in the present. Connecting with the earth and helping beautiful things to grow gave her joy, and the quiet work brought her peace. Beryl didn’t mind solitude. If anything, she preferred it. She had no desire to share her refuge.

Thus, she was understandably disconcerted when she walked into the garden that morning and found someone standing amidst her rosebushes.

Startled by the intrusion, Beryl stared at the cloaked figure in mute apprehension until they bent to touch one of her prize blooms. “Excuse me!” she called, her voice sharp.

The trespasser whirled around and blinked at Beryl with the largest, bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Oh,” they said, drawing back the grey hood of their cloak. “Hello.” It was a young woman, small of stature, with pale, almost luminescent hair and skin. She wore her hair in an odd style, tied up on either side of her head in two identical spheres with trailing tails that disappeared into her cloak.

“…Hello,” Beryl replied with caution. “What are you doing here?”

“Admiring these beautiful roses,” the young woman said, gesturing to the bushes surrounding her. “Is this your garden?” Though she spoke with a strange accent, Beryl had no trouble understanding her.

Somewhat pacified by the compliment and perceiving no immediate threat, Beryl relaxed a degree and answered, “Yes.”

The young woman’s face bloomed into a brilliant smile. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed, whirling around in a circle. “I’ve never seen so many colours all at once. I didn’t even know roses could be red!”

Beryl blinked. “You’ve never seen a red rose?”

“No, we only have white roses on the—where I come from.”

“Where are you from?” Beryl asked, sweeping her gaze across the grey cloak once more, this time noting its rich fabric and fine stitching. The garment bore the telltale signs of finery.

“Oh, far from here,” the young woman replied, turning back to the roses. “I wish we had these at home. What are they called?”

The evasion had not gone unnoticed, but Beryl decided to leave it be for now. “Crimson Glory.”

“Crimson Glory…” the stranger repeated, pausing a moment to consider the name before her bright smile returned. “I love it! And I love them! Vibrant and striking, just like their caretaker.”

Mirroring the young woman’s infectious smile, Beryl quirked a brow at her last comment. “Do you mean me?”

“Who else?” the young woman answered with a small laugh. “With your sparkling green eyes and lovely red hair you make the perfect pair!”

Beryl lowered her chin as heat flooded her face. Reaching up to check that her long braid hadn’t come loose, she mumbled a reply. “That’s very kind, but I think most would say I’m a better match for a carrot.” Many had said just that. Beryl hated her hair; hated that it made her stand out when all she’d ever wanted to do was blend in.

The young woman clucked her tongue. “Fiddlesticks!” she said. “Anyone who would say such a thing is only envious. Your hair is gorgeous! Certainly better than my drab, colourless mop.”

“I think your hair is lovely,” Beryl told her, though the timid admission only renewed the warmth in her cheeks. Apart from the odd style, the young woman’s platinum hair shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting all the colours of the rainbow.

The young woman blushed before batting her eyelashes and adopting a sly grin. “Now who is being kind? You must tell me your name so I can thank you properly.”

A sudden fluttering in her stomach prompted Beryl to lower her gaze. “Oh, it’s um…it’s Beryl,” she stammered, fingering the frayed edge of her apron.

“Mine is Serenity. I’m delighted to meet you Beryl, you and your Crimson Glory.” Serenity’s smile faded as she turned to the roses with a look of longing. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve already strayed too long. Thank you for letting me admire your garden.”

Strangely reluctant to see her go, Beryl surged forward. “Wait!” Grabbing the pruning shears from the pocket of her apron, she moved to the bush and snipped its largest bloom. Checking to ensure the stem was free of thorns beforehand, she extended the rose. “A gift,” she said, “to commemorate our meeting.”

Serenity’s face broke into a smile, and her fingers brushed against Beryl’s when she accepted the rose. “The first of many, I hope.”

So too, did Beryl.

Hijacked by a head-canon…

@mangakachan asks this question in the Moonlight Legends Discord tonight:

“Does anyone recall how Mamoru addressed Usagi’s friends in the manga? Specifically, what does he call Makoto? Is it Mako-san? or Makoto-san?”

Being the helpful soul I am, I promptly reply:

“Greetings fellow orphan.” When he’s feeling casual.

I apologize, this is a poor attempt to cover my own inadequacies so far as it comes to canon knowledge. I have no real solid answer, only a vague notion that they all seemed pretty formal with each other. No doubt some much smarter fan can cite myriad examples to prove me right or wrong.

But seeing as how I don’t let myself get bogged down with any actual FACTS from SM canon, that leaves a lot of room in my brain for useless junk. So later I was thinking about the question again and had a thought. Soon enough it was big enough I thought I might write it down.

Clover, thanks for the question. This obviously still isn’t the answer you’re looking for, because…well, reasons above, but I had fun exploring this anyway (and completely ignoring my other writing).

Didn’t realize until later that this fits with Rare Pair Week. ❤️ Lil’ platonic MakoxMamo

Please note: I wrote this quite late as a stream of consciousness, so the writing isn’t polished. (Also a thousand apologies for perfect participle…it just kind of happened that way.)

Also note: this head-canon is 90s anime based, making Mamoru older than manga Mamoru (let’s say 18ish when meeting the girls).

—

Makoto fingered the rose affixed to her right earlobe and released a weary sigh. It was the first moment of quiet she’d had all day.

Up at dawn to bake a special batch of celebratory blueberry muffins, she’d been taking the last pan out of the oven when everyone arrived. With nerves and excitement running high, no one had actually been hungry…well, except for Usagi. While she munched her way through the mountain of muffins, Ami had forced Rei to listen to the final version of her valedictorian speech (this was probably her hundredth or so ‘final version’). Makoto set to tackling Minako’s hair, and she’d gotten nearly three quarters of the way through curling it before Minako had decided she’d rather wear it straight after all. Makeup had been an ordeal, but they’d gotten through it, and as school uniforms were mandatory, wardrobe hadn’t been an issue.

Usagi had cried (ruining her mascara), then grumbled, then cried again (ruining her second application of mascara) when Rei announced she was leaving for her own ceremony. She was only permitted to go after making numerous assurances that Yuuichiro would videotape everything. Soon after, it was time for the rest of them to leave, and they’d shuffled out of the apartment together (after Usagi had secured a few more muffins for the road).

The ceremony itself had gone by in a blur. Only a few key moments stuck out. Minako planting a kiss on the principal’s cheek after he handed her her diploma. Usagi tripping as she walked up on stage…and then tripping again as she walked back down. Of course, Ami’s amazing Valedictorian speech (the FINAL final version).

Oh, and when Makoto had gone up to get her own diploma.

She hadn’t tripped, hadn’t kissed anyone, hadn’t made any speeches, but she had felt rather proud at that moment. It had taken a lot to get there, more than most anyone knew, and she’d congratulated herself on a job well done. Then she’d looked out into the crowd and smiled at all the familiar faces while forcing herself not to think about the two faces she didn’t see.

Afterwards they’d all hugged and laughed and gushed and cried. They had plans to go to a karaoke bar later, but the parents swarmed in before, eager to take their graduates to lunch. Ami was the first to go; her mother had a shift at the hospital in an hour. Minako went next, rolling her eyes at her mother’s scandalised rebuke. Then it was just Makoto and Usagi left, and as the Tsukinos showered praise upon their daughter and promised a hearty meal of all her favourite foods, Makoto had seen the hesitation in her friend’s eyes.

“Come with us,” Usagi had said.

Makoto had smiled and racked her brain for a way to politely decline. She loved Usagi, loved what she was trying to do, but Makoto couldn’t bear the thought of sitting through an entire meal with her wonderful friend who had two wonderful parents. Not today.

“Actually Usako, I thought I would take Makoto-san out for lunch.”

Mamoru. Until then, Makoto had forgotten all about him. She hadn’t meant to…he was just so quiet sometimes that he tended to fade into the background. Thus, his unexpected offer came as quite a surprise.

She’d blinked and looked at him, and for the first time in their long acquaintance, they had shared a true moment of understanding. She’d found herself nodding, and then he and Usagi had shared a look too intimate for Makoto to intrude upon.

Once Usagi had left with her parents, Makoto had turned to Mamoru. “Thank you Mamoru-san,” she’d said, meaning it. “You don’t actually have to take me to lunch though.”

“I’d like to,” he’d replied, his voice soft and sincere.

And so they’d wound up having lunch together in a small cafe just off campus from his university. It had good coffee and tea, he’d explained, and it was quiet. It might have been awkward, had it not been for Mamoru’s efforts to make small talk. He’d talked about nothing at first; the weather, school, books he’d read…nothing personal or anything that required more than a monosyllabic response. Being that Mamoru was not a big ‘talker’, Makoto knew he had been doing it for her benefit. She’d been content to listen to him, sipping her tea and letting her thoughts drift throughout the quiet moments.

When the food had come, they’d eaten in companionable silence, relaxed enough now that chit chat wasn’t necessary. When the waitress had returned to retrieve their plates and asked if they wanted dessert, there had been no awkward glancing at watches or stilted excuses about places to be. Slices of triple chocolate cake and cherry pie were delivered promptly along with refills of coffee and tea. It was only as Makoto took her first bite of the tart pastry that Mamoru told her about his own graduation day. As he’d recounted his tale of a quiet morning, a faceless crowd, and celebratory cake for one, something had shifted between them.

Until that day, he had been Usagi’s Mamoru-san. The quiet, composed, reserved college student that hovered on the edge of their boisterous group without ever really becoming part of it. Makoto realized this was perhaps her own personal bias. Though he had been their ally all these years, a part of her had never forgotten the cold soldier who had fought for the Dark Kingdom, or the (seemingly) heartless boy who had broken her dear friend’s heart. While Makoto was well versed in forgiveness, she rarely forgot.

But when they stood from the table, and Mamoru excused himself to pay the cheque, Makoto fingered one of her rose earrings and saw him through fresh eyes.

“Ready to go?” he asked, offering her one of the restaurant’s complimentary mints.

“Yup,” she said, taking it.

When they reached the car, Makoto paused with her hand on the door latch and looked at him across the roof.

“Thank you Mamoru-kun.”

“You’re welcome Mako-chan.”