#the prettiest boy i loaf him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tortolette · 2 years

Text

Our wonderland

╔══════ ≪ ❈ ≫ ══════╗

●○ Mitsuya Takashi x fem!reader

●○ Summary: You take care of tired Mitsuya, but the day ends a little bit different than you both expected.

●○ Fluff + confession+ sfw

╔══════ ≪ ❈ ≫ ══════╗

It was a lovely evening.

Indeed, a very lovely evening, it was about 6 pm. An hour that was claimed by the sun herself, the golden hour, the air was fresh, tea was the best. A perfect day, that's how you could describe it.

It was a 4 story apartment in the most beautiful spot in Milan, Italy. I'm sharing an apartment with my roommate Mitsuya Takashi. It was god that brought us together, and I could swear it with my soul because it was too good to be true. Lilac mullet, slightly darker hair at the roots, piercings, and a very beautiful smile. He looks just like a dream, the prettiest boy I've ever seen.

Well truly, you could argue if it was a god or a booking website that brought us together, but since that day that I moved into the apartment, I knew, I knew that he was sugar to my tea. He is really talented, he wants to become a fashion designer, he talks about it with such lust, with such passion, it's very romantic. We are studying at Milan's most famous fashion school, I don't work, but Mitsuya has a full-time job, as a cashier at a fabric store. Well understandably, he comes home very very tired, but still always has some energy to cook dinner or sew something, but this day… this day was different.

When he came back from work, I ran to greet him, but when I walked up to him, it was almost like he was about to cry, eyes red, black under bags, slight frown, very tense shoulders, it was an awful view…He just placed his head on my shoulder and stood there, slightly sobbing.

"I'm tired, I'm so tired darling, I can't anymore" He buried his face even deeper into my neck. My heart shattered, it was like a stab to a heart, hearing him say something like this was heartbreaking. "Mitsuya… what happened? dear talk to me!" I gave him a hug " I just need to lay down, please help me get to the bed"

I took off his coat, set aside the bag, and grabbed his hand. He was stumbling and trembling like a puppy, head down, legs visibly weak. I led him to the living room, since I was watching a movie, there were pillows and a warm blanket on the sofa. I helped him take off his shirt and pants, he sat down on the bed and threw his head back on the pillow.

"Sweetheart, are you hungry, I can give you some soup if you want, it's nothing special, just basic chicken soup?" Worried I asked him "Yes, I would love to, please" with that I ran into the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and grabbed a small bowl, and poured some warm soup into it, also grabbing a loaf of bread that was next to the pot. "sit up my love" Mitsuya placed a pillow behind his back, raising his trembling arms to get the bowl.

*slluuuurp* sniff * slurp*

It was so quiet, you could only hear his slurping, and nothing else. He finished the soup in no second, wiped his lips and smiled a bit, he placed the bowl on the table and took a piece of bread, he looked at it, then at you.

“You want some?” He awkwardly asks you while sniffing and smiling, eyes still red from the tears. Before you could answer, he divided the bread in half and sat closer to you, his hand reached for your lips, he caressed them and slightly opened your mouth

“Mitsuya…?”

“Shh” He tore off two little pieces of bread and placed them in his and your mouth. “Eat up, the bread is really good, apparently not only it helps with hungover but with a heartbreak too” my smiling Mitsuya was back again, my world was back to normal.

“That’s true, I'm going to buy more tomorrow… Do you want to take a shower? It will relax your muscles, you will feel so much better!” You pulled his hand closer to your chest “ Well if you say so, then I won't refuse”

“Lay down for a few minutes, I'm going to prepare the bath” You grabbed half of the bread, and winked at him. After good 10 minutes bathroom was finally ready, it was warm, relaxing, and smelled like cinnamon and orange. You closed the bathroom door behind you and went into the living room, Mitsuya was laying in a pile of pillows wrapped with two blankets, he looked just like a marshmallow with a blueberry on top! “Come bath is ready” you reached out for him, he looked so sleepy, hair was messy, eyes were all puffy, cheeks were full of dry tears. “mm smells so good, I love this candle” He took a deep breath “Are you staying here, like… in the bathroom with me?...”

“Well yes, it’s the least I can do for you, but if you want I can leave”

“No, stay” he grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer “ I want you to take care of me” You grabbed a piece of his hair and put it behind his ear “always” Mitsuya took off his piercings and everything else that was still on, off.

“ Huuuuhhh what about you? I thought we are going to get naked together” he jokingly frowned and crossed his hands “Not today cowboy, get in” There was a noticeable height difference so Mitsuya had to sit on a bucket that we use for water when cleaning the floor. He wasn’t embarrassed of me or himself, he just kinda embraced the fact that he was naked, not afraid of his body. I didn't want to take m clothes off so I just stayed in my undies.

“AHHHHHHHH HOOTT HOOTT AAAAAAAH “ he screamed while trying to cover his face “IT’S NOT HOT THE TEMPERATURE IS PERFECT”

“PERFECT? YOU ARE A WOMAN OF COURSE ITS PERFECT FOR YOU, WOMEN ARE ALWAYS COLD FOR SOME REASON” he turned the water temperature to a much colder side “Soooo do you want to smell like you just killed a bear, or had a tea party with flowers and bunnies?” you showed him the two shampoo bottles. “ I prefer bunnies” a very sassy tone came out of him and he tapped on the pink bottle “me too”

It was so perfect, there was nothing sexual, just me him, and this warmness, not only from the water but from inside, I felt so close to him, he was quietly humming while I was washing his hair, he threw his head back and smiled at me, then closed his eyes again as my fingers dug deeper into his hair. “ 10/10 best shower of my life, I would repeat it anytime,” he said while wrapping a towel around himself. He looked soo much better, I’m telling you hot water fixes every problem. While I was drying his hair with a towel, I felt him glimpsing at me thru the mirror that was next to us, when I looked back at him he looked away and covered his face for a bit.

There was a very long silence until he finally spoke.

“I don't really have words, I feel…I feel so loved, I don't care if the shower and bread didn’t mean anything, I appreciate it more than anything in this world, I can’t thank you enough, it's just” he stopped and took a deep breath “it's just you, everything you do is perfect, the way you look, the way you act and… and-” he cut off as he realised how much he just said, he turned away and left the bathroom embarrassed.

As I was finishing cleaning the bathroom, my eyes caught my silhouette in the mirror, my white panties and bra were completely soaked - they were see-thru.

Cold fresh air greeted me as I walked into the living room, now it was pitch black, you could only hear small raindrops dancing all the way from the sky to the ground. Mitsuya was laying on the sofa, it was much tidier now, he must’ve cleaned it while I was in the bathroom, there was one big blanket and two fluffy pillows “MHHHHHhhhHH…. come here, I want you to sleep with mee”

“You sure? I mean-..” he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into his embrace, your faces now just millimetres away, he placed his hand on your lower back and pulled you even closer.

“ you know… today was horrible, people just got into me, I was so tired, it's almost like I’m not human to them, they think that they can treat me like shit, that's why I got home so sad… I don't think I'm going to work at that shop anymore” his hands were now in your hair - twisting and caressing it. “ I have money saved up, it’s enough for us to live like royals for a few months, quit the job, we will find you a new, better one, I might start working too, but that's a story for another day you smiled as your hand went up to his neck.

‘’I don't know if it's the moon that's affecting me or this work incident, but since we are now so close, I want to ask you something” he took a deep breath “ Can I be the person who you will call the love of your life, while I kiss your neck and whisper how much I lust you, while I kiss your lips and think about the time when we first met” I could feel his voice trembling a bit “ Mitsuya..?” “ Even if you are far away from me, you will never leave my heart even for a second. My love for you will blossom until my dying days because I have felt purpose and I want to show you, love, that will shine when the days are cold and rainy when the nights are dark and creepy when I'm going to carry you in my arms crying because you’re the reason for me to be here, I just love you, and I want you to be my girl, my baby, my world, and my wife when I put a ring on that finger” he leans in and kissed your lips, a tear rolled from my eyes “ the day I stepped into this place, I knew that I was in for a big ride, a ride with you Mitsuya, I love you too - with all my heart “

I fell asleep in his embrace, I dreamt of this moment every night and every day. My tea is finally sweet.

"This is our wonderland"

65 notes · View notes

lilyoffandoms · 3 years

Text

Distant ShoresAW Day One (MC) - Edward x William

To say I’m excited for this week is a huge understatement! This is one of my favorite books despite PBs treatment of it (wish it was the series it deserved to be) and has one of my favorite LI (and one of the prettiest to look at too).

Thank y’all hosts for planning this and for all the hard work y’all have already put into it and will put into it this week!

Also gonna say day 28 (across the ocean) for @choicesmonthlychallenge.

Warnings & A/N: don’t think there are any to note but if I missed any please do let me know.

He had spent hours, years really in self-study. Learning fencing and swordplay. Attending the occasional class hosted at the local rec center by some rich guy with a savior complex looking to better the lives of inner city youth through sport and play. He had spent countless more learning different dialects, languages, and accents sitting at the library computers. Checking out book after book when he was forced to go home at closing. Only to show back up the following day to do it all again. All of it in pursuit of his craft. A profession that was also his dream and one he hoped was his ticket out of his life. Never had those lesson come in as handy as they did now in the golden age of piracy. A history he had spent months studying in preparation for his audition for the soap opera, Jolly Rodger. He laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head a bit as he stood at the helm of Poseidon's Revenge.

Who would have guessed this boy from Burnside, Chicago would manage to scrape together enough money to move to California to pursue acting much less find himself the navigator of a pirate ship sailing the Caribbean in the 18th century. Quite the change of pace from inner city living, he joked to himself as he looked out over the crystalline blue calm of the sea. The breeze brought air fresher than anything he had smelled in his life and he took it deeply into his lungs.

He missed a lot of things about his time, indoor plumbing, modern medicine, information at the push of a button, his parents a simple phone call away, but he did not miss the pollution, the noise, the congestion, the relentless pace, the friends that were not truly friends. He looked up to see the twins moving swiftly along the yardarm, readying them to make port. The others scrambling around the deck with their own assignments. A few shouting back instructions and directions for him.

A smile broke across his face as he met the dark eyes of his captain who gave him a curt nod but the corners of that perfect mouth betraying the pride he felt at his navigator's skill. Even William himself couldn't believe how quickly he had taken to the task and to life aboard the ship he was quickly considering to be his home. He winked at Edward causing him to duck his head and William couldn’t help but chuckle as the man turned away in a futile attempt to hide his feelings. William vowed he would break those walls down one of these days.

Making port, the crew went about their jobs around Tiburon. Edward making his way towards the mayor's house to provide the town their share of the spoils. William waved off the invitations from his crew mates to join them and made his way to the market picking up an assortment of fruits, nuts, meat, fish, vegetables, and spices. Procuring a loaf of bread from the baker and a bottle of rum from Tillie before heading back to the ship and picking the lock to the captain's quarters, made his way in and set the food out for their evening meal.

The crew always spent their first night back in port drinking into the early morning. Edward joined them for a brief time and then inevitably made his way back to his quarters. William kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket, laying down across the bed to await his captain. It wasn't long before he heard the familiar scrape of the key in the lock and Edward opened the door startling at the sight of someone within his cabin.

"How'd ye get in here?" he asked, closing the door quickly as if the crew were about to catch them together. "I put a lock to the door."

It was true. After their last meal together upon making port, Edward had vowed it to be the last time and so had placed a lock upon his cabin door.

"I picked the lock on Monsieur Dupree’s front door and his safe, you think I couldn’t pick that old thing?” William smirked, dropping his accent to that of his normal speech patterns. "I'll teach you if you'd like."

"Tis not old."

William laughed, "Where I'm from, locks have come a long way and that one," he nodded to the door, "is just about the easiest I've ever picked."

"Is there much need for breaking into locked spaces in yer time?" Edward asked as he remained firmly pressed against the door, an internal struggle being debated within but he could not prevent his eyes from roaming across the man in his bed.

"Depends on where you are from. Where I grew up it was a skill most us learned early on," William shrugged, and noticing the shallow breaths of the other man. He smirked and patted the bed beside him. "Join me. It’s your bed after all."

"That it is," he swallowed audibly. "And as much as I enjoy the sight before me, it is probably best that I - that we - maintain the distance."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" William grinned as he slung his feet over the side of the bed. Edward quirked his eyebrow at him, his lips curling into a hint of a smile. "Buuut, we can take this as slow as you need,” he finished as he hauled himself from the bed.

"I got us dinner," William went on, gesturing to food spread out the blanket beside them. "I think this is salmagundi. Or my version of it but I got bread and rum if it ends up being too weird and disgusting."

Edward chuckled and shook his head. Truth be told, these little dinner dates that William had begun springing on him had become the most welcomed part of returning to shore. He found himself quickly returning from his errands to spend time together. Just the two of them. The lock had been a foolish mistake. He wanted these moments, with this man, more than he cared to admit.

William too, found it to be the most enjoyable part of their shore leave. It was rare that he was given a chance to drop his guard and be himself. He was finding it more and more exhausting to keep up his role as navigator of an 18th century pirate vessel. The accent and speech patterns carefully maintained, the baring and attitude confidently projected, the rare slips of information quickly and fully covered up. Amusement parks, ocean liners, germs a few of the words that slipped past his guard. And his phone, that mysterious black contraption that Edward has caught him looking at many times when he first arrived and that now he noticed remained safely hidden, locked away in a draw within Edward’s cabin. All these things, Edward noticed less and less, but they remained a constant reminder of the vast space of time that remained between them. How exhausting must it be for William, he constantly wondered? How tiring to keep up the act of a pirate, to wish for a home that was centuries in the future, to pretend he enjoyed this life?

Edward could see the exhaustion on William’s face and the relief that washed over him when it was just the two of them in his quarters. When the facade William wore was finally taken down for Edward alone. Edward still didn’t know if he truly believed the far fetched story of William’s origins but he did know that the more time they spent on this adventure, the more plausible the story became. And for that reason and selfish reasons he kept hidden from everyone but himself, he allowed them this time together.

“Tell me a story of yer life in the future. One about young William. One ye never have shared before with another.”

Edward smiled at William as he dished up food and handed the plate to him. Despite the oceans between them, they choose to cross them each in their own way to reach the other. And that was something worth striving for, something worth holding on to.

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

Tags: @storyofmychoices

Distant Shores Week Tags: @distantshoresaw

#distantshoresaw #dsaw day 1 #edward x william #my oc: william bellamy #choices monthly challenge #dsaw #my drabble #i like to live dangerously and do not edit so pardon any mistakes #lily writes choices

17 notes · View notes

the-girl-not-next-door · 4 years

Quote

I do not have a wanderlust. I mean, sure, I want to sit by a window inside a foreign cafe, sipping hazelnut-blended coffee and occasionally taking a bite of tiramisu while listening to the pattering of rain and watching someone jumping on puddle. But no, I do not have a wanderlust. But yes, I want to light up a fire-chimney in a small cottage. I want to wear those big woollen sweaters and long socks, and I want to read a book in which a boy saves a damsel in distress and take her away to the land of unicorns. I want to bake cookies, and loafs while looking at the stream passing by my cottage. And no, I do not have a wanderlust. That’s right that I want to spend my nights in the greatest city of the planet earth, which hands down is New York. I want to sip my whiskey, eat finger food, and watch two strangers fall in love while dancing intimately. I want to see the night sky of the city with the help of my naked eyes. Not through pictures of the memories experienced by some one else. For once. I do not have a wanderlust. As much as I want to make memories out of dust, I do not have the strength to go through the hoopla that it carries. No, I do not want to buy clothes that I would never wear again. I do not want to buy cosmetic products that I do not know how to wear. I do not want to buy new shoes, ballerinas, heels, wedges, etc which I would never be able to pull off. And do not say,” You do not need anything new to make memories”; because it is untrue. I do not want to pack my bags; because I would have to carry my entire house in my bag because I need everything in my house every day. I do not want to call a taxi. I do not want to go through the security at the airport so that they know if I am carrying a suicide bomb or not. For all the cafes, streams, bars, anything to make memories; I would have to go somewhere and check in and that is where my heart draws a line. I can not possibly sleep in a bed where someone had broken up with someone, someone had made love, someone had fought with his/her loved one, someone who slept there long ago could be dead now, well you know where I am going with this. I cannot sleep on a bed which is not mine. Oh my bed, my sweet little bed. It holds me so perfectly. It is of my shape and size. I can rest my head on my pillow and sleep for days, and I would not know a thing. It has soaked all my tears, happy and sad alike. My bed has never let anyone sleep on it and my pillow would not trade any other head. The corner of my room welcomes me with open arms when I am too tired to climb up at my bed. My cushion fills the gap of the corner perfectly and I can have my cuppa coffee in the prettiest corner on this earth. So when I see people on a hilltop and side of a beach; I do not feel a thing because I cannot go through the effort it takes to be there. You see, in my mind and heart, I have already been to that foreign cafe. I have seen someone jumping on that big puddle. He soon started dancing and his mother was buying groceries nearby. His mother took him away as it was pouring hard. He looked at me and smiled. It was the most precious smile. I have already been in a cottage and read the book. The damsel was never in distress. She was looking for someone who could accompany her to the land of unicorns. She showed a way to that silly boy, not the other way round. I have already been in the New York city. The two strangers fell in love. The man was left heartbroken in the morning because he found a wedding ring in the side-pocket of the skinny jeans that woman was wearing. I know it all. I have lived it all.

Winter

112 notes · View notes

srhlsx · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER 2

master | ch. 1 | ch. 3

Tightening the high ponytail your hair was tied in, you listened to the whirl of the blender on the kitchen counter in front of you mercilessly blending together the fruit and yogurt inside. At first the color was an alarming splatter of red and white, but after a moment it smoothed out to an appetizing pink. The gears grinding together echoed through your empty home and you sighed a bit dramatically.

Ping!

You broke out of your stupor, shaking your head back and forth to clear the fuzziness as you turned around to where your phone lay on the table a few feet away. Picking it up and glancing at the screen, you squinted your eyes in confusion at the name that had messaged you.

New Message: 9:03AM

Oikawa Tooru: (y/n)! Are you busy!!!

You pursed your lips together in thought, unsure about what your classmate and old friend could want at this time of day with such enthusiasm. The school year started in a few days, your third and final year of high school, so it wasn’t like he needed anything relating to that. Curious about what he wanted you typed out a reply.

No. It’s 9am.

Oikawa Tooru: I see the spring weather has yet to thaw your heart </3

Oikawa Tooru: Can I come over, I need to talk to you

You rolled your eyes at his comment, not appreciating the reference to the reputation you’d earned throughout your time in high school. You agreed to let him come over, telling him you’d be in the backyard and he could just let himself in through the fence gate.

Oikawa Tooru: Can I get you anything from the quick mart? Snack? Drink? My treat!

That was odd. Oikawa had never openly offered to get anyone anything. You didn’t really want to go out later in the day, so you asked him for something for your lunch and he quickly replied that he’d get it.

You called out to your dog with a quick whistle, hearing him bounding through the house to come join you in the backyard. He pushed his head against the backs of your legs, urging you to move faster and get out of his way so he could explore the space outside that he already knew perfectly. You laughed and swatted at his butt as he ran past you. “Get going you big loaf.”

Thirty minutes went by and you were throwing a ratty tennis ball across the yard, your dog bounding after it with endless stamina, the jowls on his face flapping back in the wind. It made you laugh as he scooped up the ball and turned around quickly to race back and repeat the process all over again.

As you went to throw the ball again, the sound of the gate rattling from around the side of your house caught both your attention and your dog’s and soon he disappeared. A moment later you heard a yell of surprise, then nervous laughter with a few loud barks.

You turned to the set of matching outdoor furniture arranged around the patio you stood on, pulling out two chairs to accommodate you and your guest.

The tall figure of a boy of your own age rounded the corner with your dog close behind, his closed eye smile was aimed at you as he waved cheerfully and called out to you over the repeated barking and excited yelps. He jumped back a few times to avoid being knocked over, hopping on one foot awkwardly and swatting at the beast playfully. Oikawa Tooru had graced you with his glorious presence on a bright spring day.

“He’s has gotten bigger since I last saw him!”

“Well, he’s still a bit of a puppy,” You laughed, snapping your fingers in their general direction which made your dog’s ears perk up and catch his attention. He quickly bounded over to you, circling a few times before sitting and looking up at you with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. You reached out to scratch his ears affectionately, the whack of his tail wagged back and forth making a loud noise against the patio table he sat under. “He’s almost two now.”

“That’s not a puppy, (y/n).” Oikawa laughed as he walked up to you, pointing at the mastiff that had now moved to laying at your feet. “I know puppies, and that is not a puppy.”

You waved him off and offered one of the chairs for him to sit on. He thanked you, then handed over the plastic bag he was carrying with the food you had requested inside. You thanked him too after taking a glance in the bag and grabbing the stick of jerky you asked for. You unwrapped it quickly and held it down towards your dog, who gently took it in his massive jaw and began munching away.

“Did you seriously ask me to pick up a treat for your dog?” Oikawa asked. The look on his face was less offended and more amazed as he shook his head and laughed.

“He’s such a good boy though!” You grinned, reaching down to squeeze the dog’s face and make all the wrinkles push together as he continued to eat the treat you’d given him. You straightened back up after a moment of babytalk then looked over at your guest. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”

Oikawa removed the sunglasses he’d been wearing, folding them to hang from the collar of his shirt and looking at you sideways. “Am I not allowed to visit an old friend?” He stretched his hands up then folded them to rest behind his head, smirking over at you with that typical, shit eating grin he had perfected long ago.

“Don’t start with that shit,” You laughed darkly, flicking his ear. “You offered to pick me up food, you are clearly bribing me.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” He said, sitting up straighter in his seat as he turned to look at you fully. “I have a proposition for you~”

“Good God,” You stated, looking at him with an unsure expression, eyebrows furrowed together as you waited for him to continue.

“I need you to be my girlfriend.”

You blinked a few times, wondering if you heard correctly. “Excuse me, what?”

“Fake date me,” He repeated, like what he was saying was such a casual thing.

“Why in the world would I do that?” You asked him, shoulders stiffening as you looked at him. You knew Oikawa enough to call yourselves friends, having gone to school together for years now, but this was completely unexpected.

“Here’s the situation, (y/n).” The sudden change in his tone of voice and the look on his face told you that Oikawa was really serious about what he was saying. You hadn’t seen him with that kind of expression very often so you stopped your nervous laughing and actually looked at him. “This year is going to be really important to me for volleyball, we have a really good chance at making it to nationals.”

You nodded along as he spoke, explaining the pressure that was going to be on him and his teammates. You knew that kind of pressure, you put it on yourself every day when you practiced and performed for dance.

“And while I really do appreciate all the girls who come up to me and bare their souls in confession, it’s too much.” He said, running a hand through his hair that was surprisingly unstyled that day. He looked stressed just talking about it. “We’re talking like at least two a day recently, and they’ve started coming to practices, I can tell it bothers the team and coaches but I just can’t be cruel.”

“So you need me to get in the way of all that?” You asked, having slouched down in your chair and playing with the tie at the front of your athletic shirt, you turned your head to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Scare ‘em off?”

“Well,” Oikawa reached up to rub his neck, he looked at you with an almost sheepish expression. “Yes. I figured if they heard I had a girlfriend then they’d leave it alone.”

“Why me?” You asked after thinking about it for a moment. It was a valid question, you were positive there were a number of girl’s he could’ve gone to about this and they’d agree without a second thought. Someone to date for real. But you?

“You’re the prettiest girl in the school, (y/n).” He said right away with a roll of his eyes, which made you look at him with a shocked expression, you hadn’t been expecting that. “And me being me, it makes sense that two good looking people would get together at some point.” There he is.

You scoffed, “Right when I thought you were really desperate for help, you play the vanity card. It’s a no from me.”

“(Y/n), please.” He was almost begging at this point. “You know it’d help you out too!”

“Enlighten me, Tooru.”

“Everyone knows that chump basketball player broke up with you,” The memory made you grind your teeth and look away, embarrassed. You’d been around a little bit and heard what people were saying about you, how they pitied you and how sad it was that you’d been dumped in such an embarrassing way. Oikawa noticed your change in mood and hurried to try to fix it. “(Y/n) the guy was a five, maybe, on a good day and you’re a ten without trying. Let’s be honest and say he did you a favor. Besides, I know tons of guys who are already planning on asking you out the first day we get back.”

It didn’t really make you feel better, but you looked over to him again anyways. You couldn’t deny that what he was saying to you made a little bit of sense, you’d be helping a friend. “What is this all going to entail? What are you asking me to do?”

“Just act like my girlfriend.” Oikawa perked up at the sound of you seeming like you were agreeing. “It’ll be easy, plus I was your first kiss after all so that’s nothing new.”

“That was middle school you idiot,” You rolled your eyes but smiled over at his excited expression. “Like four years ago.”

“And I’ve only gotten better~”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! au #hq!! x reader #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #oikawa tooru

66 notes · View notes

marshmallowbee13 · 4 years

Text

Love Like Yours Fest

Ch2. Caught Red Hearted

Finally, it was Sunday! Ramona had been counting the seconds until she could be free to explore the city with Asra. She had done more chores on Saturday so that her Sunday could be free. When she finished the dishes after breakfast, she asked her aunt for permission to take the rest of the day off.

"You're going to see that boy, aren't you?" Maria asked.

"His name is Asra, and yes. He offered to show me the city." Ramona said.

"Fine, but be on your guard. He may look innocent, but the boy's a thief. And a clever one, at that. It's not uncommon to see him running from a guard."

"I'll be careful, I promise." Ramona said before grabbing her bag and running excitedly out the door. She walked through the market until she spotted a familiar face beside the fruit cart. She smiled and ran up to him.

"Hi, Asra!" Ramona greeted.

"Hi." Asra said shyly. "You look... nice." Ramona had worn her favorite dress, a pink sun dress with a frilly neckline that exposed her shoulders, and wore her hair in two long braids.

"Thank you." Ramona blushed pink like her dress.

"Pretty!" a voice exclaimed, heard only by Asra. A little purple snake peeked out from the back of Asra's shirt. Ramona caught the movement and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Is that a snake?!" She gasped.

"Her name's Faust. She's my familiar." Asra said. "Do you want to pet her? She's very friendly." Ramona nodded and reached her hand out. Faust flicked her little tongue out before bumping her head into Ramona's hand. Ramona ran a finger over Faust's smooth scales.

"She's so pretty." Ramona commented.

"Faust thinks you're pretty, too." Asra said, translating Faust's thoughts.

"She talks?" Ramona asked.

"Sort of. We can communicate, but only I can hear her. Kinda like a little voice in my head. Anyway, shall we start our tour?" Asra offered Ramona his hand. She took it in hers and let her new friend lead her around the city.

Their first stop was the baker's stall for "a bite of the best pumpkin bread you'll ever taste in your life," or so Asra said. The baker was very nice. Upon hearing Ramona was new to Vesuvia, he went and gave them a loaf for free to welcome Ramona to the city.

"Come on, I want to share this with Muriel." Asra said, leading the way.

"Who's that?" Ramona asked.

"He's my best friend." Asra said. "We've been through a lot together."

"Oh. I'd love to meet him." Ramona said.

"He's very shy, so don't be upset if he doesn't seem thrilled at your presence at first. He just needs time before he starts to warm up to you." Asra added. "I think he's still trying to warm up to me and we've known each other for eight years."

Asra took her down to the docks, where Asra told Ramona all the other orphans of Vesuvia lived. Ramona felt sad. As strict as the sisters at the orphanage had been, she felt lucky she had food and shelter at least.

Asra spotted the lump of cloak that was Muriel. He lead Ramona down to him, but stopped when Muriel turned his head.

"Muri! What happened?!" Half of Muriel's face was covered in a big bruise.

"Who is that?" Muriel asked in a deep voice.

"Hello, my name is Ramona." Ramona greeted. "What happened?" The bruise looked dark purple and very painful. Muriel didn't look at Ramona and addressed Asra.

"Those kids again. They wanted to fight." Muriel said.

"That looks painful. Muriel, if you let me, I can heal that for you?" Ramona offered. Muriel looked to Asra, then glanced at the strange girl. There was a small, almost unnoticeable nod. "Okay. I have to touch your face. I promise to be gentle. It'll feel warm, then it will stop hurting."

Ramona softly touched Muriel's non-bruised cheek and just under his jaw. She closed her eyes in concentration. The spots where she touched Muriel's skin and the bruise itself began to glow a bright gold color.

Asra watched Ramona work, his eyes softening as some kind of feeling began to build in his chest. She treated Muriel so delicately, so kindly. He then stared in amazement as the bruise on Muriel's face slowly shrunk until there was nothing but unmarred skin left. Ramona dropped her hands and took a steadying breath. She always felt winded when she did that.

"Wow. Where did you learn to do that?" Asra asked in amazement.

"I don't think I did. It's just something I've always been able to do." Ramona said. Asra noticed she looked a little drained and split the pumpkin loaf. Asra held off eating his until he saw Ramona's reaction. She took a small bite and her eyes practically rolled to the back of her head.

"Oh my God, you weren't kidding. It's like love and happiness in a loaf." Asra laughed at her reaction and ate his piece.

After their meager meal, Muriel joined them in their tour, if only to keep them out of trouble. Asra showed Ramona their favorite places to be, where the best place to snatch up dropped coins were, and...

They had been walking through an alley when Asra suddenly pulled Ramona close, hiding behind a stack of crates.

"Asra?" Ramona asked. "What is it?"

"Lucio." Asra whispered. Muriel grumbled in response, almost like a growl.

"What? Who's that?" Ramona peeked around the crates.

"See the man wearing red? With the golden arm?" Asra whispered in her ear. She did. He was talking with a group of young boys, about their age.

"He's Count Lucio. He rules over Vesuvia. Since I was a child, he's been trying to recruit me and Muriel."

"Recruit? For what?" Ramona asked. Asra just shrugged.

"My magic? Other services? Sex? I never stayed around long enough to find out. Come on, let's go somewhere else." He steered them to a different part of the city, still holding her close. If he did anything for his new friend, it would be to protect her from Lucio. He was no good and Ramona didn't need to be exposed to him.

Ramona clung to Asra, a bit scared. Was the ruler here really that bad? Why did their count need to recruit kids from the streets? The sisters would tell stories of terrible people who would take kids off the street for their own diabolical purposes, but Ramona had always though it just a story to scare them into behaving. Was Lucio one of those people?

Asra noticed Ramona looking nervous and tried his best to cheer her up. He showed her the Floating Market and the places with the best views of the city. Muriel generally stayed in the shadows, away from the crowds.

...

The sun was setting when Asra felt it was a good time to walk Ramona home. He didn't want her out after dark and he was sure her aunt would kill him if anything happened to her. They stopped at the shop door.

"Thank you so much, Asra. I had a lot of fun today." Ramona said before pulling him into a hug. Asra held her close. She was warm and smelled like flowers. She let go and turned to Muriel. "And it was nice meeting you, too, Muriel. Is your face okay? Does it still hurt?"

"It's fine." Muriel answered. Ramona smiled.

"I hope to see you guys again soon." Ramona said. "Goodnight, be safe."

"You, too." Asra said as she disappeared inside. Asra lingered for a few seconds before turning in the direction of the docks.

"You're smiling." Muriel commented.

"Am I?" Asra couldn't help it. Ramona was beautiful. And sweet. And she smelled good. He was... definitely falling for her.

"Ramona's so great." Asra commented. Muriel just grunted, but he did find himself touching the place where the bruise had been just this morning. He had to admit, Ramona was... something different...

...

That first day out together triggered more and more until not a day went by that Asra and Ramona weren't seen together, whether doing errands, or chores, or even simply enjoying a sunny day together. They were like two peas in a pod. Three, if you counted Faust. Muriel rarely joined them, not being one to socialize much.

That year, Asra asked Ramona to the masquerade. He and Muriel made masks to sell, but the prettiest one he gave to her. Ramona wore her nicest dress. They danced and enjoyed the party, all the while making a game out of avoiding the goat-masked Count.

It was that night of the masquerade that Ramona received her first kiss. They were taking a break at the fountain in the center of the garden maze, sitting beneath a willow tree when Asra had leaned in. His lips were soft against hers, sweet like the champagne they had sampled. Ramona wondered if this was what being in love felt like. They could have stayed there for hours, but a rustling in the bushes got them running again.

@lovelikeyoursfest

#lovelikeyours2020 #the arcana #the arcana game #Apprentice Ramona

9 notes · View notes

hwarang-number · 4 years

Text

[Fic] The Distance Between You and Me (Pt 1)

Pairing: Jonghyun/Minho (Jongho)

Rating: T (at the moment; may change with Pt 2)

Word Count: 5,112

Summary: The moon loved a herdsboy: a sun-bronzed youth with eyes like dark stars, set in a face so beautiful that Jonghyun (for such was the name of the moon, or rather the god who embodied it) lay his head upon his arms and wept at the thought of it. Myth!AU written for Jjong’s Month 2020.

A/N: I’m painfully new to SHINee fic, so I’m certain this must be an overdone trope/prompt, but when I read “write a one-shot titled after one of [Jonghyun’s] songs or lyrics (can also be songs he wrote for SHINee or other artists),” all I could think of was “Selene,” with moon!Jonghyun/shepherd!Minho. Because I’m so new to this and had so little time, I leaned heavily on my established writing style from previous fandoms/projects, which I fear may have resulted in a terribly cheesy end product. But I really wanted to at least try after a dear writer friend expressed her excitement at the prospect of me writing such a fic. <3

I was really pressing to get this whole thing done in time (it was intended to be a oneshot and will eventually be posted to AO3/AFF as such), but the past month has been a non-stop string of personal crises and it just wasn’t happening, no matter how hard I tried. :( I’ve written about half of Pt 2 and am hoping to get it finished and posted within a couple of weeks; in the meantime: please forgive typos/clumsy wordage/other glitches (my brain has been short-circuiting of late with stress and lack of sleep).

***************************************************

The moon loved a herdsboy: a sun-bronzed youth with eyes like dark stars, set in a face so beautiful that Jonghyun (for such was the name of the moon, or rather the god who embodied it) lay his head upon his arms and wept at the thought of it. The youth was lean and long-limbed, his body shaped for finer pastimes than the pursuit of wayward goats, and wore his hair tied at the nape with a scrap of red ribbon.

Such ribbons were easily caught upon branches or tugged free by the impish breeze who admired the herdsboy in his turn – and the fall of soft black hair about that handsome face – and Jonghyun kept a treasure box of them behind a loose stone on the back of his altar, the most precious of which still bore strands of long black hair.

In winter, the herdsboy wound a length of coarse wool about his throat and wrapped his long, beautiful legs with goatskins against the chill of wind and snow.

He was a merry youth, laughing often – at the antics of children or the foolishness of his goats – in an unlikely, high-pitched tremolo that doubled him over and as often as not, sent him tumbling to the ground, clutching his stomach in mirth, and Jonghyun could never hear enough of it. And each night the boy crooned to his flock in the gentlest voice Jonghyun had heard in centuries of surveying the earth: husky and low and so impossibly sweet that it stilled the breath in the moon god’s lungs and brought tears to his eyes.

He was – everything.

And were the rest insufficient: the youth was devout, attending Jonghyun’s temple daily with a plump skin of his richest milk for the priestesses, who blushed at his smiles and silently lamented their vows, and he routinely brought the prettiest and most docile of his goat kids for them to rear and make pets of.

His hut lay hard-by Jonghyun’s temple, and every eve he stabled his goats just before sunset and returned to lay some additional token upon the altar before Jonghyun ascended to illuminate the night sky. A handful of berries still warm from his palm, a piece of honeycomb wrapped in green leaves, or perhaps a soft goat cheese rolled in lavender; some small edible to help sustain the moon ere he began his night’s work.

And every evening Jonghyun waited, lovesick and trembling in the shadows behind his altar, ever aching to rise and peer over the stone a heartbeat sooner, to catch a glimpse of the herdsboy’s large, lustrous eyes instead of his lean silhouette and the bob of his hair tail – for he always, endearingly, tidied his appearance before entering the temple – as he made his way home.

Jonghyun had so little with which to demonstrate his favor and was afraid to make a spectacle of it, and so each night he lingered a little longer above the herdsboy’s hut, as though he could saturate the thatch with the silver light of his adoration and the boy would welcome it.

This was the very essence of foolishness, for the boy cherished his slumber and begrudged any interruption of it, but on the very best nights, when the sky was clear of clouds and Jonghyun’s pale light illumined the landscape as brightly as day, the boy would leave his hut to bathe in the nearby stream, which flowed beneath Jonghyun’s temple and kept it cool throughout the summer. Caught in moonlight, water shimmered like diamonds along every contour of that long, lean body, and Jonghyun keened with longing to trace the paths of those drops with his fingertips and lap them up where they pooled in the shadowy hollows of the youth’s form.

Kibum, naturally, found his agony ridiculous.

Bed him, for pity’s sake, the sun urged his brother in exasperation. Slip beneath his coverlets at dawn and rouse him with kisses, or court him properly and make him your consort. There’s no law against it, neither for you nor the boy.

But Jonghyun knew better. While it was nowhere forbidden for god nor mortal to take another man for a lover – indeed, Kibum had enjoyed many such already – a mortal man wanted a bride and babes: a beautiful woman to share his bed and keep his home and birth his children; a legacy of his own body.

The herdsboy was of age to be married, some four winters now, and while maidens openly admired his face and form and he had received suits from many hopeful fathers-in-law, he had yet to choose a bride.

Clearly, only the rarest beauty would do for him.

Jonghyun found himself waning sooner and longer, his slim body growing thinner still, and one morning just before dawn, a scowling Kibum took the reins from his hand and replaced them with a stout, steaming elixir.

The people fear that the moon is displeased – or ailing, he warned. The spring festival is scarcely a fortnight hence. Sleep now, fortify yourself, and find some way to demonstrate your favor, and swiftly.

I’ll blossom the apples for you, Kibum offered, laying an uncommonly gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his brow. But you must act on this boy or put him behind you. The very earth feels the pull of your longing; surely this herdsboy cannot be immune to it.

But he was; surely he was, for each day the herdsboy smiled brightly as ever as he led his goats to pasture and back again, cheerful and whistling and thoroughly unaffected. Perhaps his offerings had grown a little heartier – he left a cheese every day now, for it was too early for any wild fruits, as well as an apple or pear from his winter store and sometimes even a small loaf of coarse bread, made by his own strong hands – but this was easily attributed to his devotion to the moon god. Others had also cautiously increased their offerings, for while Jonghyun was not known as a wrathful being – indeed, he could afflict mankind little more than by ceasing to shine at night, something he did once every 28 days regardless – Kibum had spoken truly, and there was uncertainty and concern at his present, prolonged waning.

Wearied by Kibum’s directive and the weight of constant lonely longing, Jonghyun took himself to earth and sat beneath an apple tree, one of several in the meadow that flanked the herdsboy’s hut, wrapping his silver foxskin about him as a coverlet and nestling his chin amidst its plush pile. It was the first truly warm morning of the new season, and he watched through his lashes as the herdsboy emerged from his hut and unstrapped the goatskins from his legs with a jubilant cry, then sat on his stoop and sighed with pleasure at the warmth of Kibum’s light on his winter-paled shins.

No, this one belonged to Kibum’s world of sunshine and merriment, not Jonghyun’s soft darkness and melancholy and lullabies.

Jonghyun tipped his head back against the trunk and let his eyes fall closed, the lids heavy with unshed tears.

He had surely drowsed no more than a minute when he was startled awake by the soft low voice he loved so well, so nearby that his heart stumbled in his chest.

“Have you breakfasted, stranger?” the herdsboy asked, and Jonghyun opened his eyes to find the youth crouched before him: near enough to touch, were he to stretch out a hand; closer than they had ever been before, with the innermost edges of his brows raised in concern: an expression Jonghyun had long adored.

Face to face, he was so beautiful Jonghyun could not draw a breath, and so he gave no reply, expecting the youth would direct him to the temple, for it was an easy distance and the priestesses always fed travelers – and the herdsboy was unmistakably headed there himself, for already he bore the plump goatskin bag over one shoulder.

Instead, he leaned forward to lay the backs of his fingers against Jonghyun’s forehead, brows knitting as he sought for fever, and the moon – feverish in truth, if not in a way that mortals might detect – trembled beneath his touch.

“You are pale with exhaustion,” the herdsboy observed with a frown. “Have you no proper place to lay your head for a few hours? My hut stands just yonder,” he explained, throwing back an arm in explanation, “and my goats are freshly milked. I will make you grain porridge with milk and honey, and you may sleep awhile upon my cot.”

At this something buckled in Jonghyun, like the latch upon a floodgate, for even gods may dream impossible things. “You need not,” he whispered in token protest, but he was truly so very weary with lovesickness and the sleeplessness that follows in its wake, and all at once the boy caught up Jonghyun in his arms. Those lean, strong arms he had ached for so long to envelop him now curled beneath his back and knees, hefting his body as though he weighed no more than a moonbeam.

The youth smelled of wood fires and warm milk, of goat-musk and boy-musk and the last of winter’s chill, and Jonghyun clenched his eyelids against a tide of hot tears.

“You are so spent you can scarce keep your eyes open,” the boy worried. “Or are you ill in truth?”

Jonghyun shook his head, for he did not trust his voice, and buried his face in the boy’s tunic – poor peasant’s cloth, softened by countless washings in the stream and saturated with the scents of the boy’s body. At this proximity he could feel the pulse of the boy’s heart beneath his cheek: quick and hard – no doubt, at the burden of another’s body in his arms, however small and slight.

Surely it was Jonghyun’s imagination, but it seemed the boy cradled him closer as he carried him to his hut and inside, to lay him carefully upon a thin straw pallet near the hearth.

“My cover is unequal to your own,” the boy said ruefully, glancing between the coarse patchwork of goatskins that served him as a blanket and the lush silver fur that currently lay over Jonghyun, but the moon caught the boy’s hand as he made to withdraw the humble coverlet.

“By your leave, I will enjoy them both,” he pled, a little hoarsely. “For I am grown thin these days and feel the cold more keenly.”

“The day promises to be warm,” the herdsboy said with a smile, tucking the goatskins around Jonghyun as well. “But I would not have you take chill in my home.”

He quickly prepared a grain porridge, hot and hearty, with generous measures of milk and honey, then propped Jonghyun’s back against the wattle and daub and chafed his feet between long, strong hands as Jonghyun raised each spoonful to his mouth with trembling fingers.

“Still you are shivering,” the boy remarked, and snugly bundled the covers about Jonghyun’s feet before adding more wood to the hearth, then brought him an apple for good measure.

“I must take the goats to pasture,” the boy told him, almost regretfully, and shouldered the skin bag of milk once more. “And I must visit the market as well this day, but freely avail yourself of any of my meager comforts. I will return before sundown to stable the goats, and –”

“I must depart before sundown,” Jonghyun interrupted him, so gently, but still the admission cracked his heart, for he ached to hear the boy’s intentions for the evening, however impossible. Surely he meant to offer Jonghyun a portion of his supper, perhaps even a place to sleep for the night…

“Of course,” the boy said softly, as though he had expected this answer, and Jonghyun closed his eyes once more, this time with regret.

Something brushed his forehead then, something light and warm and fleeting, making Jonghyun’s scalp prickle with pleasure, but when he opened his eyes, the boy had gone.

Porridge and apple lay forgotten as the moon cried himself to sleep, face buried in a straw pallet that smelled of the herdsboy’s body and a goatskin patchwork drawn over his head.

To his astonishment, and in spite of his grief, he slept better than he had in nearly a decade – since first he had glimpsed the herdsboy as a merry child with sunburned cheeks, all lanky limbs and a curly tangle of black hair that defied the confines of ribbons – and he rose mid-afternoon with a fine appetite and devoured cold porridge and apple in minutes, with several mugfuls of goat’s milk, and even caught himself perusing the herdsboy’s larder for more. It was humble and scanter than Jonghyun would have guessed in light of the gifts the boy always left at the temple, and Jonghyun forbade himself any further repast – for he had food aplenty at home, but this boy did not.

“I could feed you,” he whispered, circling the mouth of the nearly empty flour jar. “Such food as you could scarce dream of, and you could pasture your goats among the stars.”

He let himself think of the kiss – if indeed it had been such – only thrice, stroking the place on his forehead where the herdsboy’s lips had touched him. A brow kiss was a blessing; a well-wishing, seen as often betwixt kin as lovers, and the boy – this vibrant, beautiful, perfect boy who laughed with his whole being – had found Jonghyun all but crumpled beneath a tree, wearied to a thread and thin as a beggar’s child.

No, if he had kissed Jonghyun’s brow before departing, it was motivated by compassion, which the herdsboy possessed in no short supply, not ardor.

As desperately as Jonghyun wished to replenish the boy’s larder – to burst it at its seams with parcels of rich food and drink, then exchange his humble straw pallet and goatskins for a marble pedestal pillowed with deep cushions and draped in furs – he knew he dared not, for the boy could not know that a god – let alone the moon himself, who loved him to distraction – had slept on his cot and eaten his porridge; that he had carried a god to his own bed and chafed his feet warm and kissed his brow. Jonghyun would – must – remain a weary traveler to him, grateful for his generosity but too poor to repay it in any material means.

With this in mind, Jonghyun carried both pallet and goatskins outside, to air them upon the sun-warmed grass and dry the damp left by his tears, then he swept the hut from stoop to sills, for tidying the boy’s home would demonstrate Jonghyun’s thankfulness while costing him nothing, nor betraying his true identity.

You are the veriest fool, declared Kibum; faintly, for he was quite some ways off, in Jonghyun’s mind. If you truly wished to show him favor, you would have pulled him beneath the covers and bade him hold you while you slept, not tidied his home, which little required it.

Jonghyun ignored his brother’s chiding and spent half an hour scouring the meadow for dandelions – there were but three at this early date; their brave yellow faces the very first of the year – to lay upon the herdsboy’s refreshed cot as a token of gratitude.

The hut smelled of Kibum when Jonghyun was finished: of warm grass and meadow-pollen and dusty golden light – as befits the herdsboy, the moon reminded himself when the realization saddened him – and he busied his hands with assembling a meal for the boy upon his return: a simple, hearty potage of root vegetables simmering over the fire and a dish of baked honeyed pears. The nights were still so very cold, and the boy might well be chilled upon his return, in which case a hot meal would be a better reward than any sum of gold.

This being done, Jonghyun stood in the doorway, foxskin wrapped about him and eyes fixed on the empty meadow as Kibum drew the light ever lower. It is not yet your renewal night, came a distant, regretful whisper from just above the horizon. I will give your boy a few minutes more, but if he does not return soon, you must leave without saying goodbye.

Jonghyun’s heart panged, for though he had known it was unlikely that he should see the herdsboy before departing – had expected, even intended as much – still he had hoped the boy would return in time for a farewell greeting. For one final smile, given only to Jonghyun; for another lungful of rustic musk, or a fleeting touch of long fingers.

He ducked back inside the hut, heart sore and eyes burning, and was halfway through lighting the lamps when he heard the first bleat, closer than he could have dreamed. “You came,” he breathed, and ran to the doorway once more to watch the herdsboy chase his goats into their shelter by the fiery orange light of Kibum’s valiantly slowed sunset, barking to hasten them while glancing frantically over his shoulder at the hut, and his handsome face grew radiant with both joy and relief when he caught sight of Jonghyun on the stoop.

Gate bolted and goats secured, the herdsboy reached the hut in four long strides, ruddy-cheeked and panting, his black hair ribbonless and wind-tangled about his shoulders, and Jonghyun thought he had never looked more beautiful.

“I meant to return much earlier,” he said, “but the kids strayed off, and I was so afraid I should miss you –”

“I would not leave without thanking you for your hospitality,” Jonghyun replied, but he lowered his gaze at the boy’s words, feeling his cheeks warm.

The boy slipped a large cloth bag from his shoulder and pressed it into Jonghyun’s hands. “To sustain you on your journey,” he said, adding shyly: “T’was why I went to market this day.”

Jonghyun opened the bag to find a bounty of foodstuffs that would have cost the herdsboy a milk-goat at the very least. A large golden loaf of the finest bread and a portion of cold roast beef, savory roasted nuts, rare citrus fruits, sweet filled pastries, a flask of pale wine, and a fat pouch of honey candies: offering foods of the richest sort. The sort of gift that kings lay upon the altar of their favorite god on feast days – and the very fare Jonghyun had ached to provide to the herdsboy, whom he worshipped in his turn.

“Thank you for visiting this humble place,” the boy said softly, his eyes on the stoop beneath Jonghyun’s bare feet, then he dropped to his knees, bending low to press kisses to each one. “For taking shelter in my home,” he sighed, resting his cheek against Jonghyun’s calf in a gesture of reverent submission that stole the moon god’s breath away.

Jonghyun curled his fingers into fists against the urge to reach down and stroke that wind-tangled hair; to gently lift that face and kneel in turn to bring his own to meet it. “I am not who you believe,” the moon said as evenly as he could manage. “I am a weary traveler only; you gift me far too richly.”

“I would gift you richer still, had I the means,” the herdsboy whispered, and dipped his head to press a kiss to each sensitive ankle bone in turn, making Jonghyun’s thighs tremble.

Kibum’s light flickered warningly, clinging to the very edge of the horizon, and Jonghyun slipped the priceless foxskin from his shoulders. “I am not who you believe,” he said again, his voice quaking beneath the weight of the lie, “and so I will repay your generous gift with one of my own.”

He draped the fur about the herdsboy’s bent form, whimpering silently as he lifted black hair as soft as feathers to lay the garment against the youth’s nape, but before the herdsboy could raise his head and respond, the moon had vanished.

Breathless and shivering, Jonghyun appeared in his temple, to quickly collect the evening’s offerings before his imminent ascent, and his breath caught anew at the sight of a cloth bag; a twin to the herdsboy’s gift, awaiting him upon the altar.

“From your beloved,” the priestesses confirmed, for they were full aware of the moon’s adoration. “He came early and in a feverish hurry, with his entire flock in tow, and had a quarter hour’s labor rounding them up again as they gamboled about the courtyard with their fellows.”

Jonghyun smiled at the image in spite of his state and took the bag from the altar, finding its contents to be identical to the one he already carried – an unimaginable expense for a poor herdsboy – save for a familiar scrap of red ribbon that had seemingly fallen inside as the boy made up the parcels.

He would have sold two goats, Jonghyun realized: fine milking does, substantially reducing his income in order to afford such luxuries – not to mention, needlessly traveling far out of his way to obtain them. And why prepare a second gift – an exorbitant expense – if he intended to bring an offering gift to Jonghyun at his hut?

Because he feared to miss you, Kibum supplied in Jonghyun’s mind, his tone at once impatient and pitying, and Jonghyun joined him a moment later, weighted down with the herdsboy’s gifts.

He knew you for the moon god, Kibum said frankly, tossing the reins without watching to see whether his brother caught them, and was terrified you would depart before he could offer proper tribute, be it upon your altar or upon your person.

The sun god arched one sharp black brow in shameless intimation, and Jonghyun glanced betwixt the reins in his hand and the rich parcels weighing him down at either shoulder. He is…singular in his devotion, he conceded.

He carried you like a lover within moments of your meeting, then laid you in his own bed and departed with a kiss to your brow, Kibum recalled dryly. And when you made to leave him, he showered you with offerings; knelt before you and kissed your feet like he’d never beheld anything so precious. And still you believe him to be merely a pious devotee, who wishes a beautiful maid for his bride?

Jonghyun flicked the reins and set off before Kibum could press the issue, but his brother’s voice followed him into the night sky, gentler now: How can you believe he could never love you when this day he has given overwhelming proof that he already does?

He promised himself again and again that he would take no special notice of the herdsboy as he passed, nor linger above the hut he now knew so well, but his hands faltered at the reins when he spotted his beloved far below, wrapped in Jonghyun’s foxskin against the evening’s chill and seated upon the stoop, a steaming bowl of Jonghyun’s potage cradled between his hands and his face upturned to receive the moon’s light.

Thank you for this day, Jonghyun told him silently, tears burning in his eyes. For your care even more than your gifts, though I cherish them as well, and the sacrifices you made to obtain them. I will find a better way to thank you – to fully reward your kindness.

You know that method already, Kibum informed him upon his return, as though he had been a full participant in Jonghyun’s internal dialogue. Make love to him: this morning, if you like, or if you prefer to be in finer form ere you present your body beneath his coverlets: go to him during the festival, on new moon night. You will have nearly a fortnight to restore your flesh and fully a night and a day to enjoy him.

Jonghyun pondered all of this in the days that followed, as he reverently consumed every last morsel of the herdsboy’s extravagant gifts while seated on the floor behind his altar and absently counted the ribbons in his treasure box. The youth’s offerings had not altered since their encounter: without fail, and despite his decreased supply, still he delivered a full skin of goat’s milk every morning for the priestesses – and Jonghyun too, who always drank a mugful, sweetened with honey, ere he settled to sleep for the day. More often than not now, rather than returning to his palatial bed at home, Jonghyun slept in one of the empty pilgrims’ cells off the temple courtyard, furnished with a straw pallet and thin coverlet and sometimes a goat-kid or two trotting in to lie beside him, for in such a place he could easily imagine that he lay again in his beloved’s bed, and that this time the herdsboy would return early and join him beneath that coverlet.

The boy still came to the temple before sunset with his little tokens – humble once more; a small coarse loaf baked by his own hands, an apple, and almost always a bit of cheese – and now there were dandelions among them, tied with a scrap of red ribbon or, better still, woven into a flower crown, which Jonghyun donned without hesitation and wore on his journey, scenting his hair with the midday meadow and lending a faint golden hue to his light.

The herdsboy gave him dandelions because he had given them first, Jonghyun reasoned, even as such explanations made Kibum apoplectic with exasperation. It was not uncommon for the boy to leave flowers on the altar with his evening gift, nor for Jonghyun to wear them in his hair; he offered dandelions now because there was little else in bloom, or perhaps he had concluded that Jonghyun admired them, having received three of them from the moon himself.

The moon’s visible face waned as appointed as the festival drew near, though Jonghyun swiftly gained back the weight and vigor he had lost with restful sleep and a steady supply of goat’s milk and cheese – and adoration, Kibum chimed in dryly. His gifts nourish you differently now, filled as they are with unabashed love.

Jonghyun blushed and dismissed this with a roll of his eyes, but the festival drew ever nearer, and Kibum wrung from him the promise to spend it in the meadow near the herdsboy’s hut, where there would be feasting and merrymaking and contests of swiftness and skill, in which the youth always took part and excelled.

Kibum had pressed for a greater commitment, of course, even threatening to bar Jonghyun from his celestial duties – to delay the very waxing of the moon – if he did not at least kiss the herdsboy at the festival, but Jonghyun was reluctant to encounter the youth again: afraid, he admitted only to himself, that he would find no repetition of those tender gestures, only a handsome head bowed to the ground in reverence.

The herdsboy, Jonghyun was certain, wanted a beautiful maiden at his hearth and in his bed, and he would surely seek and meet this mate at the festival. And so the moon conceived a plan that would enable him to encounter the youth one final time – and then, he promised himself, he would put such longings behind him forever.

He would guise himself as a young woman, and with little difficulty, for Jonghyun stood a head shorter than the herdsboy and was possessed of a small, fine frame, nipped even slimmer at the waist. His jaw was strong and his cheekbones high, to be sure, but his eyes, dark and delicate, were exquisite as a maiden’s; his nose small and his lips ripe as rosehips. It would take precious little embellishment to give him the semblance of a pretty maiden: a maiden who might openly approach the herdsboy at a festival and share wine with him, perhaps even ask him to dance – an activity beloved by the agile youth, though he only ever partook in the group dances; never alone with a partner.

You are the veriest fool, Kibum sighed, even as he painted Jonghyun’s cheekbones with stardust. Would you truly have him love you as a maid?

He will not love me, Jonghyun assured him. I merely wish to be near him one last time.

Kibum chuckled and shook his head as he cinched an embroidered girdle at Jonghyun’s waist, belling the skirts about his narrow hips and small, thoroughly unfeminine backside. And if he desires to bed you like this? he wondered impishly, darting a hand inside his brother’s blouse to pinch and rouge his nipples, furthering the illusion of breasts beneath, and Jonghyun leapt back with a mortified cry, to the sun’s riotous laughter.

If I drape your loin covering just so, you can lift your skirts and take him inside you without him once knowing that he mates with a male, Kibum offered, even as the moon turned away, face burning, to arrange a veil over the back of his head, concealing the short length of his wavy dark hair.

I’ve done it many a time, the sun assured him. Your positions are limited somewhat, but none are unpleasant in the least –

I will not deceive my beloved into bed! Jonghyun snapped. I go tonight simply to be near him one last time; to be in his presence without the disparity of god and man between us. To laugh and dine and dance with him – and then let him go, to find the maiden he means to wed.

Kibum sighed once more, somber now, and handed Jonghyun his finest earrings. I accept this, though I may not agree, he said quietly. I have observed your beloved in my turn, and I feel this evening may not proceed as you intend. How will you respond if you are the maiden he wishes to wed – or, like as not, he recognizes you as the god he worships daily?

He will do neither, Jonghyun replied, for your disguises are flawless, and he will wed a girl from his village.

If you are wrong, the sun teased, but gently, I sincerely hope I shall not see you back here till tomorrow evening.

If I am right, you shall not see me till then either, Jonghyun told him, for I expect to weep in my temple at least that long once I have freed him of the burden of my love.

You may find him more than eager to bear that burden, Kibum said, and swatted his brother’s backside with clear affection. The apple trees are in bloom, as I promised: go now, and dance and dine and laugh with your boy.

#jjongsmonth #jjongsmonth2020 #i inadvertently made a little prince reference in here and was so happy when i realized it!#my opus in my previous fandom is full of moon imagery and little prince and the fox references #so i really wanted to try it here with jonghyun #the distance between you and me #selene!jonghyun #moon!jonghyun #endymion!minho #selene and endymion #jongho #jonghyun/minho #hohyun #jongho fic #fanfic #my fic

7 notes · View notes

julietandcinderellavocaloid · 4 years

Text

Determined Alice Chapter 4

The inside of the bar was a sight to behold. It wasn't falling apart, exactly, but it did have that older, run down look. Sickly green paint peeled off the walls, the wooden tables wobbled from under the patrons' elbows, and there were a couple of what Meiko desperately hoped were beer stains on the floor. Animal heads with bald spots dotted the walls. None of the bar stools matched.

Wearing confidence like a new outfit she was eager to show off, Meiko stalked into the bar and dropped onto a barstool next to the guards. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt, and Meiko could feel their eyes traveling up and down her body as they sized her up, and some maybe checked her out while they were at it. Meiko was used enough to it that it didn't bother her if one or two of the guards kept their eyes on her for a moment too long, which she was sure exactly what happened.

"Gimme the strongest thing you've got," Meiko said when the bartender came to request her order. She slapped a gold coin on the counter. "And some bread, if you please?"

The bartender grunted and accepted the coin. He bit it to test its authenticity, and Meiko had to resist grinning at the look of surprise on his face. Now that he knew the coin was real, the bartender didn't hesitate any longer to fill Meiko's order.

Meiko spun around, rested her elbows on the bar, and leaned back. Most patrons may have turned their heads when she first entered, but now they returned their attention to whatever they were doing before. The guards, however, still studied her.

"Excuse me, miss," began one of the men. He was neither the oldest or the youngest of the group, instead somewhere close to the middle, but the way the others let him speak indicated that either he was the one in charge or the only one they trusted to speak for the group. It was possibly because he had the prettiest face.

Receiving her drink and loaf of bread, Meiko took a big gulp from the mug before she responded, "Yeah?"

"Would you mind sitting elsewhere? My men and I are discussing important matters."

So he is in charge. "Don't mind me," Meiko casually replied before taking another sip. "I'm not bothered in the slightest."

"With all due respect, we're not really concerned whether or not you're bothered."

Meiko turned the upper half of her body and allowed part of her now unzipped coat to fall with the gravity, exposing some of her cleavage. "Then I don't see what the problem is."

While the other men definitely noticed Meiko's breasts, even if some pretended not to, the one speaking didn't react. He merely maintained eye contact as he stated, "Please, my men and I are tired and would like to relax somewhat as we discuss future affairs. If you could relocate elsewhere so we can discuss confidential information without risking too much civilian eavesdropping, you would have my eternal gratitude."

I'll tell you what you can do with your gratitude. Meiko mentally swore. Either he's got some serious self-control, or he's queer or ace. Just my luck.

Changing tactics, Meiko picked up both mug and loaf and said, "Well excuse me, sir. I didn't realize only men in uniform were allowed to relax wherever they pleased."

The man didn't appear to care if Meiko's feelings were hurt. It was fine. Nose turned upwards, Meiko spun around and stalked towards an empty table in the corner, close to the washroom. She plopped down into the chair and took another swig of her drink, the alcohol burning her throat as it ran down. For as cheap as this bar looked, at least it didn't water down its beverages.

"I'm so sorry about him."

Just as Meiko anticipated, when she set her mug back down, one of the guards had approached her table. He was the youngest of the bunch, and in every way, the stereotypical cute guy. With light brown skin, blond hair and blue eyes, and the confidence of someone who knew his dimples could kill but wasn't sure how to use them to his advantage, Meiko knew all the right things she needed to do to play this lad right into her hands.

"I'm not too salty about the whole thing," Meiko said, waving her hand in a way that invited the lad to sit with her. "I'd walk around like I sat on a broom handle too if I came from the Capital. Is it really as bad as the news is portraying? It seems like the sweaty armpit of the goddess's evil twin sister over there."

There was a pink tinge to the lad's cheeks. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Yes, ma'am. An assassin was caught spying inside of Lady Sora's mansion. His execution was meant to be just like any other execution – done and over with, hardly anyone caring at all.

"Only we got word of rebels intending to break him out. Now we're running around all over the district, trying to stop any suspicious individuals."

It took all of Meiko's self-control to not furrow her brows. Who sold us out?

"Oh, um," the young soldier began looking around, "but I suppose I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Don't worry," Meiko promised as she placed her index finger against her mouth, "my lips are sealed."

The lad relaxed in the chair and let out a steady breath. His curled fingers loosened. Seeing this, Meiko promised not to wring too much private information from the boy. This lad was too innocent-looking to be much of a threat. If Meiko got him into too much trouble, she wouldn't feel good about herself for a day or two.

"So," she said lightly, as if discussing the best time to purchase oranges imported from the Summer Continent, "are you coming from the Capital or returning?"

There must not have been any harm the lad could see in answering the question, for he responded, "Coming. We're on route to Synchronicity. Higher up cares more about stopping anyone from coming in than fighting them once they already arrived at our doorstep."

"Really? Won't that leave the Capital vulnerable?"

"In most cases, yes, but some of our best fighter teams have stayed behind while the best scouters and the rest of us nut cases are out and about in search of rebels we don't even know for sure will show."

You're a talkative one, aren't you? So glad your pretty face came to check on me.

Before Meiko could open her mouth to wiggle the last bit of information she needed – in which direction was the Capital, someone cleared his throat. When Meiko and the lad turned their attention towards the sound, they saw the guard from before looking down on them. The lad's fingers curled again.

"Return to your seat," the man said. "Now."

"Yessir," the lad said in a rush, jumping from his seat and scurrying away without another sound.

Meiko hoped he wouldn't get into too much trouble for her sake.

Pretending that the lad did not just reveal potentially sensitive information, Meiko leaned back in her chair and said, "Why'd you have to ruin the conversation? The pretty one was just telling me the best place to get a drink around these parts."

"He doesn't drink."

"That you know of."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Look, lady, I don't know what game you're playing, but you need to stop it right now. It's obvious enough already that you're up to something."

"I'm not up to anything." Meiko slowly tore a piece off the loaf and popped it into her mouth. "All the lonely woman I am wants is some decent conversation. Is that too much to ask?"

"I think you should leave."

Laughing without humor, Meiko said, "I'm sorry, but who are you to tell me to leave this establishment? This isn't your business. I doubt you can kick anyone out just because you got a fancy uniform on your person."

"You think I won't?"

"Go ahead," Meiko challenged, smirking. "I'd like to see you try."

The problem, however, was Meiko didn't expect the man to try. She was sure he would grunt and storm away, and maybe complain to whoever was in charge about having her escorted off the premises. So when he lurched forward and grabbed Meiko by the wrist, instinct took over.

With her free hand, Meiko instantly had a knife prepared to make its new home inside the man's neck. However, something faster than her caught her wrist before she could send her blade flying. Before she could contemplate what had happened, a gruff voice spoke.

"Is this lady causing you trouble, sir?"

Eyes flickering to Meiko's exposed knife, the man replied, "A lot more than I would like to think."

"Shall I remove her from the premises?"

"Yes."

That was the end of the conversation. The man behind Meiko yanked her weapon away and pinned both her wrists behind her back. Kicking and screaming, Meiko tried to break free from the man dragging her out of the bar. Everyone turned their attention towards the scene, but none made any effort to help Meiko. All the thrashing Meiko could do was single-handedly but futility fight her way out of this large man's grip.

When she was hauled out of the bar, the winter air bit into her skin again. The wind had picked up. Jerking, Meiko reacted to the piercing air as she continued to try and fail to break free.

"Meiko! Meiko! Enough! It's me, Meiko."

Meiko's flailing came to a halt when recognition crashed through her. In her stunned state, the man holding her back loosened his grip. When she regained herself, Meiko broke free, spun around, and glared at Big Al.

"I had everything under control back there," she snarled.

Big Al didn't even bat an eye. "Really? It didn't look like it from where I was standing."

"You didn't have to get involved."

"I'm pretty sure if I didn't, a fight would have broken out by now, and the police would have been called. Is that what you want? To get arrested? Maybe you aren't aware of this, but you would be useless to help anyone if you were locked up in a jail cell of some small town in the middle of nowhere."

A remark was on Meiko's tongue, but before she could say it, Big Al grabbed her by the upper elbow and began dragging her away. Meiko again reacted by trying to get one of her knives, but she stopped when Big Al snapped at her to not try it. For a moment, Meiko began to reason with herself that this was Big Al and she didn't need to fight him off. Only emotion didn't always find logic. Not when this scene was all too familiar.

The last time something like this happened—

"LET ME GO!" she shrieked, and Big Al immediately dropped his hand. Meiko took a big step back, heartrate accelerating.

Big Al stared at Meiko as if he had never seen her before. His golden eyes widened at her curling in figure. Meiko could see the understanding beginning to form in his softening features.

Before he could so much as utter a sound, Meiko spun on her heel and dashed away from the man. The winter wind stung her eyes. That was why tears were rising and threatening to fall.

Finding an empty alleyway, Meiko turned the corner and dropped to the ground. She hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees. For the next few minutes, Meiko focused on her breathing. Her heartrate slowed. Her inhales and exhales soon became even again.

All the while, she kept her eyes open. Nobody would sneak up on her a second time, not if she could help it. That was how she noticed Big Al find her a minute after she fled but remained a few feet away while she regained control of herself. Shame dropped onto Meiko like a ton of bricks. The last thing she wanted was for anyone, especially Big Al, to see her like this.

Well, she reluctantly decided, there's no going back now.

Picking herself up, Meiko shuffled her feet towards the older man. Big Al kept his arms crossed over his chest, only tightening his hold on himself as Meiko drew nearer. When she stopped approaching after coming within earshot, Big Al kept his words short and low.

"Either you can run off again, or I can give you a second chance in this mission. The only condition is you do as I say. No questioning orders. No doing things your way. Just what I say when I say it. Your choice."

As much as Meiko didn't want to be honest with herself, she knew there were no better choices. This mess they were in was all her fault. If not for her, she and Big Al would still be with their legion, possibly in the Capital by now instead of God knew how many miles away.

"Fine," was all Meiko said, and that was the end of it.

Big Al merely nodded. "Good. Now, let's go. While you were gathering your information, I found a way to get us to the Capital and get some much needed sleep in while we're at it."

"Really? How?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, we need to move."

With that said, Big Al turned and began to walk away without checking to see if Meiko would follow. Meiko hugged herself and contemplated walking the other way, leaving all of this behind for good. After a few seconds and a deep breath, Meiko marched forward, walking at a quick enough pace to not lose Big Al but to keep the distance between them.

#Vocaloid #Juliet and Cinderella #Determined Alice #Vocaloid Fanfic #Meiko #Sakine Meiko #Meiko Sakine #Big Al

2 notes · View notes

javistg · 5 years

Text

Ethan’s Adventure

This lovely artwork is by @white-dandelion-seeds who requested a birthday drabble for her sister.

Hope you like what I came up with. 😊

For the birthday girl: I hope you have a wonderful day! ❤️

Prompt: Canon compliant story about a toast baby and Haymitch’s geese.

Ethan’s Adventure

Ethan Mellark stood on the tips of his toes and peered over the fence into Haymitch’s backyard.

His gray eyes narrowed as soon as he found the gaggle of geese which had woken him up with their cranky honks in the middle of the night.

“Nuisance,” Ethan whispered, pouring all his anger into the word Haymitch usually used to talk about his geese.

At almost five years old, Ethan didn’t know exactly what the word nuisance meant but, judging by Haymitch’s tone, it wasn’t something good.

He had never understood why Haymitch complained so much about his birds. But, after hearing them last night, the boy was starting to believe that, maybe, it had something to do with the fact that they could keep the entire neighborhood up with their shenanigans.

Unaware of Ethan’s annoyed scowl, —or perhaps unconcerned— the fat birds waddled about, stretching their long necks in the warm sunshine as they grazed.

Their fluffy plumage gleamed —white as a spring cotton cloud— under the golden morning light.

Ethan sighed, already letting his irritation go. No matter how loud they were, the geese were the prettiest animals he had seen up close. For the longest time, he had longed to run his hands over their wings.

Touching the soft down Haymitch gave Momma to fill cushions and comforters when the birds molted was one of his favorite things. The small feathers were as warm and soft as a caress, and Ethan imagined that the long feathers on the geese’s wings would be as smooth as the beautiful silk dress Momma wore on New Years’.

But, as much as he wanted to reach out and touch them, he knew he wasn’t allowed.

Momma said the geese were dangerous. Her face always turned serious when she reminded Ethan to steer clear of them. “I know you think they’re pretty, but they’re just as big as you are, and they’ve got sharp teeth inside those bills. They’re not our pets, Ethan. Just leave them be, OK?”

Ethan always nodded –he could tell Momma wasn’t playing around-- but he wasn’t sure her words were true. Yes, he had seen the teeth —Haymitch had shown him once when his parents weren’t around to scold him— but he couldn’t believe the geese would ever hurt him.

How could they when they always seemed so happy to see him? They all waddled over to the fence to greet him with happy honks whenever he went by.

Which was more than he could say about Whiskers, the family cat Willow had found hiding behind the bakery once.

Come to think of it, Whiskers wasn’t very fond of the geese either.

Willow said it was because he had snuck into their garden once –back when he was a kitten—and one of the geese had stomped on his tail.

Ethan was sure it had been an accident. Haymitch’s geese were rowdy, but they weren’t mean. Still, Whiskers never went inside the fence, and if the geese ever came out –which they sometimes did—the cat kept his distance.

Unlike Momma, --and Whiskers, apparently-- Papa didn’t think the birds were dangerous, but he didn’t like them much either. He called them thieves.

Papa was always telling Haymitch to lock them up and was quick to blame them whenever a loaf of bread went missing.

Momma knew better, though. “They feed on grass, Peeta,” she’d say, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “They might peck here and there for breadcrumbs, but they don’t need to sneak into our kitchen to take a whole loaf.”

Momma’s teasing always made Papa huff and puff in response.

Ethan didn’t like it when his Papa was upset, but the thought of a fat bird waddling at full speed through Victors’ Village with a loaf in its bill always made him laugh. He would have loved to see one of the feathered thieves in action!

After some more grumbling on Papa’s side --and some more teasing on Momma’s-- the conversation invariably turned to Haymitch, who was the most likely culprit.

Papa’s forehead would crease the way it did when he was cross but, as soon as he mentioned stepping out to give Haymitch a piece of his mind, Momma put her hand on his cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Ethan didn’t know what secrets his parents shared when they acted like this, but Papa’s protests invariably turned into a soft hum when Momma whispered to him. Their hushed conversations always ended with laughter and a kiss.

Ethan didn’t care much for kissing, but he liked it when his parents laughed. It warmed his chest from the inside; made him feel safe.

If Ethan’s parents were happy, everything in the world was right.

Except, this morning, things were not right.

Ethan scrunched up his face in confusion. Something was definitely up. It was odd enough that Haymitch’s geese had kept him awake during the night, but now they were ignoring him!

Letting go of the fence, Ethan stomped toward Haymitch’s front door. He knew it was early, --his grouchy neighbor preferred to stay in bed until the sun was high in the sky-- but he didn’t care. There was a mystery here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

With the fierce determination he had inherited from his parents, Ethan climbed the steps to the porch, closed his little hand in a fist, and knocked the way Papa did: loudly and without pause.

He was still pounding on the door when it swung open, and a bedraggled Haymitch appeared at the threshold.

Before Haymitch could say anything, Ethan spoke, “What’s the matter with your geese, old man?”

Haymitch’s eyes snapped open. Unlike his mother, the boy was mostly sweet-tempered. “Hey! What’s with the attitude, Kid?”

“They kept me awake all night!” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, his gray eyes dropped to the floor, and he scowled. “And now they won’t even talk to me.”

Haymitch ran a hand through his hair. It was sticky with sweat and… Well, he hoped it was just sweat. Crouching down, he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Kiddo. They’re just a bit tired, that’s all. Wanna see something neat?”

Intrigued, Ethan looked up. “Yes!”

“OK, follow me.” Haymitch stood up and closed the door, using the motion to stretch his back. The geese weren’t the only ones who were tired this morning. With Ethan at his heels, he walked to the kitchen.

Before going in, Haymitch stopped and turned to the boy once more. “OK, grab on to my legs, walk behind me, and don’t let go. Understood?”

“Yeah, but--,”

“No, no. No buts. If you want to see this, you have to do as you’re told. Stay behind me at all times.”

Ethan pouted. He wasn’t satisfied, but he was much too curious to challenge Haymitch at this point. “Understood.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, don’t make a sound. Think you can do that?”

Holding on to the legs on Haymitch’s pants, Ethan nodded.

Haymitch went into the room, carefully adapting his strides to Ethan’s short legs. The pair moved past the kitchen table and kept walking until they reached the entrance to the laundry room. Instead of going in, Haymitch stopped.

Intrigued, Ethan peeked from behind the victor’s legs to see what was further ahead.

His eyes popped open, and he gasped. Remembering Haymitch’s instructions, he tightened his hold on the victor’s pants.

A goose and a gander sat on the floor just a few steps away, right in front of the washing machine. Between them, protected by the grown birds and a soft, worn blanket, two newborn goslings napped.

Ethan leaned forward, pressing his face to the side of Haymitch’s legs as he tried to get closer without alerting the geese. The babies were so small he was sure they could fit in Haymitch’s hands! They were nowhere near as beautiful as their parents --they had no feathers, and their bills were gray-- but the little family seemed peaceful and content.

Ethan knew he had promised to keep quiet, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Can I pet them, Haymitch?” he whispered.

“No!” Haymitch hissed. Before the geese could react to their intrusion, he turned around and carried Ethan out of the room and back to the entrance hall. “Not right now,” he said once they were out of earshot. “But I’ll tell you what, when they’re a little older, I’ll let you. And when you grow up a little bit more, I’ll let you pet the bigger ones too. How’s that, Kid?”

Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Crouching down, Haymitch placed Ethan back on the floor. “Now, scoot along! I haven’t slept all night, and it’s time for my nap.”

Ethan scrunched up his nose. “Are you going to sleep like that?”

Haymitch looked down at his clothes. He hated to admit it, but the kid made a good point. He looked like he had gotten into a bathtub without undressing first.

His wrinkled trousers were dripping at the cuffs, and there was a brownish stain on his shirt that looked suspiciously like bird droppings.

How did that get there, Haymitch wondered, stretching the fabric to inspect it. “I’ll take a shower first. How’s that?”

“Good. You…” Ethan twisted his lips the way his father did when he was looking for the right words to say. “You sort of stink.”

“Alright!” Haymitch opened the front door. “Now get out of here! And don’t come back until tomorrow, you hear? We all need some rest.”

Walking backward, Ethan stepped onto the porch and waved. “Goodnight, Haymitch!”

With a chuckle and a nod, Haymitch closed the door.

Ethan rushed into his house. In his eagerness to share the happy news, he let the front door slam shut behind him and kept running until he reached the kitchen.

His Papa was there, standing by the stove. The scent of melted butter and cinnamon filled the air, and Ethan’s stomach rumbled in response. Papa was making French toast!

“Morning, Papa!” Ethan pulled out his usual chair and sat down.

“Morning, E!” Papa looked up from the pan. “You wash your hands?”

“I did before I went out.” Ethan inspected his palms. Everything seemed to be in order. “I haven't touched anything,” he grumbled.

“Where were you, little one?” Papa placed two toasts on a plate next to a spoonful of fresh fruit and doused them with maple syrup.

“Over at Haymitch’s.”

Papa looked up; blue eyes worried as he carried the plate with toast up to his son. “This early?”

“I wanted to see what was wrong with the geese.”

Papa took a knife and fork and began cutting the toast into bite-sized pieces. “You heard them last night?”

Ethan nodded. That was old news, though. “But guess what, Papa?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna have to lock our doors from now on.”

Papa stilled his movements and gave his full attention to his son. “We are?”

“Yup!” Ethan stabbed a piece of toast with his fork and smiled. “Cause we got two new thieves in the neighborhood!”

#things I write #bits and pieces #Ethan's adventure #canon compliant #post epilogue

44 notes · View notes

aqgarts · 5 months

Text

Tis the prettiest pink boi

I loaf him :3

Now I just need to get his health up and what not :3

Also stabbing ballas was fucking amazing

#warframe #umbra #umbra wf

2 notes · View notes

lesmisbbc · 5 years

Text

Andrew Davies’s Introduction to the new BBC tie-in edition of Les Misérables

Les Misérables is a great baggy monster of a book. War, poverty, crime, justice, injustice, punishment, love, hatred, redemption, revolution: It seems that Hugo wants to encompass the whole world and everything in it, in a single novel.

At first it seems as if Hugo is telling a number of unrelated stories. He recounts the modest and virtuous life of a Bishop in the town of Digne in the south of France. The Bishop is visited by a newly released convict by the name of Jean Valjean, who steals the Bishop’s silver candlesticks but is forgiven and given the chance of a new life.

Then we are introduced to Fantine, a 17-year-old seamstress in Paris, the youngest and prettiest of her little gang. The girls pair up with a group of wealthy students, who show them a good time but then leave for their country estates, and Fantine is left with a baby and no means of support.

We encounter Thenardier, a human scavenger, robbing corpses in the aftermath of the battle of Waterloo, and amassing enough loot to set himself up as an innkeeper.

Meanwhile, in a grand house in Paris, a little boy called Marius is brought up by his autocratic Royalist grandfather, while his despised father, a hero of Waterloo, can only occasionally glimpse him in church.

All these people seem to inhabit different worlds, but they will be shown to be inextricably bound up in each other's fates. Fantine’s daughter Cosette is enslaved and abused by the Thenardier family, rescued by the ex-convict Valjean, and eventually encounters and falls in love with Marius (who is also loved by Thenardier’s daughter Eponine) and who turns away from his grandfather’s Royalist beliefs to join the abortive insurrection of 1832.

At the heart of the story is Jean Valjean, who has spent more than half his adult life in the prison hulks at Toulon for the crime of stealing a loaf of bread. He has been brutalised by this experience, and is now an avowed enemy of society, but he remains troubled by guilt and remorse. His nemesis is Javert, whom we first encounter as a prison guard, then as a chief of police. Javert is obsessed with Valjean, eventually to the point of madness, because Valjean confounds his rigid beliefs about personality and predestination. The conflict between Javert and Valjean takes on a mythic, almost Biblical grandeur. It is a debate about the very nature of humanity.

When I start thinking about an adaptation, I always ask myself: Why this? Why now? At one level, the question is easy to answer: Like War and Peace, Les Misérables poses the big questions: How should we live? How does love grow? What do we owe our parents, and vice versa? How do we endure suffering? How do we forgive others? How do we forgive ourselves? In this way, Hugo’s novel will always be relevant. But it speaks directly to our times too: great cities like London and Paris present glaring dichotomies of wealth and squalor that are difficult to ignore: Les Misérables forces us to look closely and identify with the wretched and forsaken of this world.

And of course, the long-running musical adaptation proves that Hugo’s novel still speaks to a contemporary audience. And these days most people will know of Les Misérables through the musical. I wanted to introduce the television audience to the full complexity of the novel, from the battlefield of Waterloo to the cloacal horror of the Paris sewers, and the final reconciliation and resolution, which I placed in the Bishop’s garden in Digne. And I hope that lovers of the musical will find their appreciation of the story enriched by this fuller version. In particular, we get to know and love Fantine as a carefree affectionate young girl, before all her trials and troubles begin. And as a father of a daughter, I was particularly engaged by Jean Valjean's relationship with little Cosette, who has been so abused by the Thenardiers. Jean Valjean and Cosette learn to love each other so purely and intensely: and then Valjean has to learn to let her spread her wings: a particularly intense expression of a universal experience.

We also see Marius grow from a charming toddler into a cocky and snobbish little boy, and then into a troubled young man. We see Gavroche as a neglected baby, Eponine and Azelma first as spoilt little girls, then as exploited teens. And we get to understand what monsters M. and Mme Thenardier really are.

Hugo includes a great many coincidences and not a few improbabilities in his story. Perhaps the hardest to swallow is that Hugo seems to expect us to believe that Javert turns up at Montreuil-sur-Mer by coincidence, and then he and Valjean fail to recognise each other. Every problem is an opportunity in disguise, and the story becomes a much richer one if we have Javert coming to the town by design, and playing a cat-and-mouse game with Valjean, both men having recognised each other instantly without acknowledging it. And in production, David Oyelowo and Dominic West were able to extract all the dramatic juice from this situation, in two extraordinarily powerful and subtle performances.

As always, it hasn’t been possible to include everything in the adaptation. Readers of this edition who have watched the show first will find so much more to enjoy. I feel very proud that my adaptation will have led many new readers to this magnificent, extraordinary masterpiece.

[x]

#les mis bbc #andrew davies #bbc les mis #les mis #les miserables #les miserables spoilers #spoilers #i'm too tired to even comment on this

61 notes · View notes

fantasyandromancelover · 5 years

Text

The Tale of Tales Chapter 11

Sometime next week Titania had planned to take a trip to the village to buy a few things unfortunately though she had caught a nasty cold and was too weak to go.

"I could go get it Granny." Erza offered.

"I don't know sweetheart. You've never gone through the forest and to the village by yourself before."

"I'm not so little anymore Granny. I'm nine years old and I know the way."

"Very well." After a coughing into a handkerchief a few times she handed Erza a basket, some money, and a knife with a silver blade. "Go to the village and buy a loaf of bread, some butter, and a pitcher of milk. Stick to the path, don't go into the forest, keep your hair hidden, and come straight home."

"Yes Granny."

"I meant it Erza. I don't want you going into those godforsaken woods and I don't want you staying out after dark. Remember what I told you happens if you go into the forest or stay after dark?"

"Yes Granny. I remember."

"Good also no buying strawberry cake from the bakery! You are to only get bread, butter, and milk."

"I know."

"And one more thing, stay away from that boy Jellal."

"But Jellal is my friend Granny. Why don't you like him? He's sweet and smart and very fun to be around."

"I don't like you around that boy when I'm not there. If you see him today just say hello and be on your merry way."

"Oh Granny."

"Don't oh Granny me. Your mother started hanging around boys when she was your age and I wasn't cautious enough then. I won't make that mistake twice, you pay him no mind when I'm not there understand?"

"Yes Granny."

"Good girl. I'll see you this afternoon. Behave yourself now and be polite."

"Yes Granny."

Erza then put on her red hooded shawl and walked down the path leading to the village. Magnolia had mixed feelings toward little Erza. Some people were very fearful and suspicious of Erza believing her to be the child of a witch who would one day grow up to be one just like her mother. But others like Reverend Makarov thought that she was a darling child who deserved nothing more than kindness and a friendly face. He had been a dear friend of Titania for years and was one of the few reverends who were against the accusation that her daughter Irene was a witch. He tried to prove her innocence but the majority of the villagers we're in Reverend Hades's favor. Though Titania had no blame toward him, Reverend Makarov believed that it was his fault she was burned and every Sunday he would leave flowers at Irene's grave and visit Titania and Erza.

"Good morning Erza." Makarov said when she walked by the church.

"Good morning Reverend Makarov." Erza greeted politely.

"How's your grandmother?"

"She has a cold so I'm going to buy what we need from the market while she rests."

"She's unwell? Well then here take her this." He placed a little glass bottle in her basket. "This is a special tonic I brewed. It should clear her cold right up."

"Thank you Reverend."

"Have a good day Erza, give my regards to your grandmother."

"I will. Thanks again."

When Erza arrived at the market place she went to buy a loaf of bread, some butter, and a pitcher of milk just as her grandmother had instructed her to do. As she started to head home the villagers began to whisper about her.

"Look it's the witch's child." One person whispered.

"There she is wearing that same shawl. You know she never takes it off."

"You know I hear that it was blessed by a priest and it keeps her from using dark magic."

"If you ask me they should have burned that child along with her she devil of a mother."

Erza felt tears prick her eyes as she heard them. She never let it show but it hurt her very much when people said things like that about her and her mother.

"Ow! Hey! What the- Who threw that?!"

Erza and everyone else turned in the direction of the shout that came from the man who made that last insult about Erza. Someone had thrown a stone right in that man's face causing his nose to bleed. Everyone searched for the culprit but they couldn't seem to find him or her.

"Serves him right." A voice behind Erza said.

Turning around she found a boy smiling mischievously behind her while tossing another stone up and down in his hand. He was Jellal the blacksmith's son and the only child in all Magnolia who was Erza's friend. Titania didn't like him and was always warning Erza to stay away from him but he was so kind and friendly toward her, he always made her smile and whenever the other villagers said bad things about her or upset her he would always come to her defense. Yep if there was only one of her grandmother's rules that Erza defied it was "Stay away from Jellal." The one rule she just couldn't obey.

"Are you okay?" He asked her.

"Yes."

"You know that idiot doesn't know what he's talking about. You're not a witch and neither was your mother. Don't ever listen to what they say Erza because it's all lies."

"Thank you Jellal. You're always so nice to me. I wish there was someway I could repay you."

"Well you could let me walk you home."

"Oh I would love to Jellal but my Granny told me to stay away from you."

"I don't get why she doesn't like me. I'm always nice to her, I bring her firewood in the winter, I even let her have some of the wool from my father's sheep."

"I think she does like you she just doesn't like you around me."

"Why? Is she scared that I might try to kiss you?" He teased.

"Kiss me? Why on Earth would you try to kiss me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're the prettiest girl in the whole village."

"You think I'm pretty?" She said blushing.

"Yes. You have the prettiest eyes, the prettiest smile, and I bet that you have the prettiest hair too."

Erza covered her face with her hood, to hide both her hair and the blush that continued to spread all over her face.

"You know I've always wanted to see your hair. Can you show me it?"

"Granny says that I must'nt let anyone see my hair."

"Why not?"

"I can't say."

"Come on Erza you know you can trust me."

"Jellal I can't let anyone see it."

Hearing this Jellal took her hand and pulled her along.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"You'll see."

He led her off the path and toward the forest.

"Jellal no! We can't go into the forest!" She objected.

"It will only be for a short while. Trust me."

Erza knew that she should never for any reason go into the woods. Her grandmother had warned her since day one not to set so much as one foot into the woods. But she trusted Jellal so she complied. He led her to a big oak tree that was near a creek, where there was plenty of shade and leaves.

"There now we're somewhere no one can see us." He told her. "So can you show me your hair?"

"I'm scared Jellal. I'm scared that once you see it you'll be afraid of me like everyone else is."

"Erza I could never be afraid of you. You're sweet and kind and caring. I can't imagine ever being afraid of you."

Erza took a deep breath then pulled down her hood exposing her red hair. She closed her eyes and prepared to hear Jellal scream and call her a witch. But instead she felt a hand gently stroked her hair and when she opened her eyes she saw Jellal staring at her with eyes full of wonder and amazement.

"You're more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined."

#fairy tail #fairy tail au #fairy tales #erza scarlet #jellal fernandes #jellal x erza #jerza #brothers grimm #little red riding hood #fanfic #fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

juggiesbuggie · 6 years

Text

A little story I wrote for my history class about the prelude to the Holocaust. I don’t know if anyone is interested but feel free to read and leave a comment!

I dip my dark brush into the jar, swirling colorful water looks like fairies dancing around in the recently clear liquid.

I choose red for the pretty flower letting my brush swim in the small circular pan until I press it onto the paper drawing one abnormal petal. Looking up out the window in front of my desk I see him. Peter was watching me, noticing me, spying on me.

Does he like me?

Do I like him?

I smile and wave like my mother taught me and his face turns as red as my paint when he sees me looking. He smiles, waves and then closes the blinds.

Josef walks up our large steps only seconds later beckoning for me to come downstairs for dinner.

“Come Lucy, come. It’s time for dinner,” He says motioning to the kitchen.

Downstairs there is chicken soup waiting hot and ready at a table set for four. My father, a plump man with a large mustache sits at one of the seats listening carefully to the radio playing in the background.

I smile and pull out a chair, “Hello father. How was- “

“Shh shh shh Lucy!” He says quickly shushing me and pointing to the radio.

I should have known. Right when he gets home he sits down at the dinner table to listen to the news on the radio. He would enter through the front door, give my mother a kiss and hand her his apron for her to hang up. He would then sit at the kitchen table ready for dinner.

He always says that being a bakery owner can be one of the hardest jobs in Berlin. I would say, how hard is it really? You are just making breads and pastries.

We wouldn’t have this large house if he didn’t work at the bakery he would say, right on cue. If it wasn’t as successful as it is we could be living on the streets. We don’t want that.

My mother places a plate in front of me. Her long brown hair tickling my cheek. Josef sat down at the chair across from me. He smoothed down his tie carefully trying to flaunt it. His girlfriend got it for him as an early birthday present and he’s been wearing it ever since.

“So Josef, what do you want for your birthday?” My mother asked as she placed a bowl of chicken soup in front of him.

“I’m not sure,” Josef said dipping his spoon in his bowl of soup, “Only three years left and you’ll be fifteen too Lucy.”

I shuddered at the thought of even aging a year. Twelve was such a good age. “I don’t want to grow up Josef.”

“It’s not a choice,” My father said finally switching his attention from the radio. I nod sadly and start to dip into my soup.

The shiny silver spoon chinked against our fancy bowls. I have learned over the years to not feel bad when I pass a poor person on the street. We have so much and they have so little. But I look straight and make sure not to give them too much attention. Mother says that they only want your money so they can do bad things.

“I already know what I want for my birthday,” I say sipping the chicken soup from my spoon.

My brother rolled his eyes and said, “Lucy your birthday is months away!”

Yes, I know my birthday is far but I’ve had this on my wish list for ages. “I know, but I really want a new set of watercolors. You know I’ve always wanted to be an artist,” I say dreamingly.

Art has been a dream of mine for years and years. Ever since I got my first set of watercolors I have used them ever since. The feel of the brushes against the thick paper has always made me happy. Creating beautiful paintings out of colored water.

“Anyways Lucy, how was school?” My mother asks me, sitting down at the table and picking up her spoon. She was always doing stuff for us. Taking us to the cinema, washing our clothes, making dinner. She rarely ever sat down. Nobody ever asked about her day. And that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“It was okay. I mean, how interesting can Berlin Public School get? But I stayed with Maria during our break,” I say setting down my spoon and sitting back in my chair. Maria was my best friend and my only friend really. She was possibly the prettiest girl in school. Her short blonde hair was always making me jealous. That and her bright blue eyes. Sometimes I wish I was a Christian with a Christian body, Christian hair and Christian eyes. But instead I have a Jewish body, Jewish hair and Jewish eyes.

I had lived in Berlin all my life and it just got more and more boring. I wanted to move a while back but my parents said no. We had worked too hard to get here and we weren’t going to throw that all away.

A couple months later as Maria and I were walking along the street on the way to school. We started a conversation about the election.

My father had been worrying for so long about who would get elected. There was one guy who he really didn’t want but I forgot his name. It wasn’t important to me.

“My dad is really worried Maria,” I say holding my books tight to my chest. “I’m not really sure why.”

She shrugs and continues to walk. Our parents have never gotten along. Their views on Germany and the world are very different and I know Maria doesn’t always agree with them. She doesn’t want to be known as the person with bad parents and that may be where it’s going.

We walk into the courtyard straightening our cardigans and taking a hold on our books. I spot Peter across the field and blush remembering our recent encounter. I bend my head down and keep walking trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies in my stomach.

As far as I go to not run into him, it still happens. “Hello Lucy,” He says blushing and waving as he passes us.

I wave back and try to ignore the ooh’s and ah’s from Maria. “Do you like him?” She asks curiously. She proceeds to tell me how cute she thinks he is.

“No Maria, not me. But he might like me. I’m not sure,” I can’t help but feel butterflies in my stomach as I say that.

That night as my mother set down our meals and my father turned on the radio he shushed us dramatically.

“Everyone be quiet. They’re about to announce the Hindenberg’s decision!” My father speeded over to the radio to turn the volume up listening intently. My mother stops in her tracks and also listens.

“Hello, we are here to inform you about the new chancellor of Germany. Adolf Hitler was appointed and we are very excited to see what he does with our coun-.”

My dad shuts off the radio and I hear him groan and realize Hitler must have been the person he didn’t want. I still had no idea why, but he didn’t like it. He banged his hand on the kitchen table and swore.

It had been months and I was walking to my father’s bakery after school, I could tell something was different right away. His very popular bakery which was usually very crowded now only held a few people buying pastries and breads.

I opened the door and heard the bell clang like the church bells did that one time I went with Maria. Except our bell was much quieter and definitely not as beautiful.

“Father, why is the bakery so empty today?” I ask voicing my question aloud.

He sighed and walked around the counter to give a big soppy wet kiss on my temple. “Hitler has this strange grudge against the Jews and ever since he was elected people don’t really want to buy from Jews anymore.”

Oh. So this is Hitler’s fault. Did he have something against us? I didn’t want to anger father by asking. It seemed a sore subject for him.

He walked me back behind the counter and sat me down on my stool, taking my books out of my hands and setting them on the ground next to me. He opened one of the shiny glass cases and let me smell the delights inside. Pointing to a blueberry scone he asked, “Do you want to have a scone Lucy?”

I nod and he picks up a clean plate placing the warm freshly baked scone on it and handing it to me. I start to eat just as the bell on the door jingles once more.

And in walks Peter. I shrink behind the counter hoping he won’t see me but it’s too late.

“Hi Lucy! I didn’t know that your family worked here,” He said with such enthusiasm it made my dad jump. I had to remind myself that this was the same boy I saw out my window blushing and too nervous to even wave back.

“Hello Peter,” I say in a shy voice. My father smiles at the ground noticing how red my face was. I was so embarrassed.

My father cleared his throat and said, “So, what do you need boy?”

Peter turned his eyes away from mine and said to my father pointing at a loaf of bread, “Only a loaf of bread sir.”

My father opened the glass case once more and slid out the thick loaf slipping it into a brown paper bag. Peter handed over some coins and took the bag waving at me. And left letting the door close slowly so the small silver bell could sway in the wind making the sound last twice as long.

A large yellow star. A symbol supposed to mean hope or peace. But when it’s painted on the window of a popular Jewish bakery, it means hate. It means that people are turning on them. It means a boycott for my father’s bakery. It means we might lose all of our money. It means that Germans don’t like Jews anymore. It means we’re going to live a life of sadness.

Later that month as my dad drank his alcohol and we were trying to find ways to gain more money now that our used to be popular bakery is going downhill. My mother has been trying to get him to go to the city council to discuss the boycotting but my father barely even gets off the couch anymore. I have to go and turn his radio on every night when he gets home. When he does go to work he comes back with a frown and empty pockets. It’s hard for me to see him like this. I think that maybe work was the only source of his happiness and now it’s basically gone.

One day I hear a knock on the door. Although I’ve been told to not answer the door on my own I didn’t think my dad would be fit for it. And my mother was out shopping at the market. So I take a chance and I open the door. A young man with a bundle of books by his side stands on the threshold.

He straightens his back and says to me, “Hi, I am here because we are doing the book burning near here. I put together this list, do you think you could hand over any books you see here?”

A book burning? Why do we need to burn books? I tilt my head to the side confused.

“We’re burning any books that the students at my university don’t see fit to have,” He said explaining to me what exactly a book burning is.

I shake my head slowly my stomach doing flips. Was this why my father didn’t want Hitler to be elected? He didn’t seem like a very good man. What did the Jews do? I didn’t steal anyone’s money? I say bye and close the door ready to go and tell my parents about this.

At school almost a year later the teachers talk about the usual boring subjects. And then the usual boring subjects become less boring. One day as I sat in the front of the class Maria sitting next to me, a teacher suddenly tapped my shoulder.

“Yes ma’am,” I say reaching my eyes up to hers.

“Lucy, I have to ask you to sit in the back of the room.”

I have to sit in the back of the room? Why? “But why?” I ask confused. Maria’s eyes looked worried. Was this another one of Hitler’s rules? All Jews have to sit at the back of the room? What I was told was much worse.

“We’re starting a unit and I don’t think you’re going to be comfortable sitting in the front,” She says placing a hand on my back.

Oh. A unit? What kind of unit? I drag my bag and my books to the back of the room as my teacher stands up by the front wall and starts to talk about what terrible things Jews have done to Germany.

After class that day I hurriedly walk out the door. How am I supposed to show my face here again? Miriam catches up to me running across the grass.

“Lucy! Lucy! Wait for me!” She yells, I keep walking.

But then I am stopped. A tall boy with blonde hair stands in front of me. I lift my head and see him. Peter. I expect to hear him say hi or you look nice today. But instead he stands silently with his arms crossed.

“Hello Peter,” I say quietly. He stays silent. “How are you?” I say hoping for an answer.

He gives me an answer. But not an answer I wanted. “You don’t belong in Germany.”

I feel the tears coming but I try to keep them handled. “What do you mean?” I ask very confused, “I’m a citizen.”

He shakes his head. A few people walking out of school notice us and I can hear Miriam’s breathing behind me.

“No, you’re a subject,” He says uncrossing his arms. I can’t seem to hold the tears any longer and I let them loose.

“Filthy Jew,” He says slapping the books out of my grip. Gasps echoed around me along with a couple cheers. Maria tries to say something but it’s too late. I was already running home. Tears streaking my face.

A couple months later, in class as I sit at the back of the room, Peter turns his head around to see me. I look down at my desk pretending I wasn’t looking. The teacher asks a question I know the answer to. Nobody raises their hand. I sigh and lift up my hand so the teacher could see.

“Nobody knows the answer?” She asks looking around the room.

I skootch up in my seat and stretch my hand above everyone else’s heads, waving it around. A few people giggle and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to tell you the answer,” She says with a sigh turning around to write the answer on the chalkboard. What is going on? She used to love me.

I get up out of my seat and head for the toilets. Maria gives me sad eyes on my way out. What did I do wrong?

I dip my brush into the water letting the left over paint float around in my cup. I look out the window and see Peter staring back out at me. I stand and close my blinds quickly. I didn’t want to see his face. I didn’t want him to know that I am not okay. But just as the curtains were about to close I heard a scream.

I looked down the street and saw a small group of people smashing the windows of Jewish stores. I look back up at Peter and see the fear in his eyes. I close my blinds for good this time and rush down our large staircase.

“Father! Mother! There is a fight down the street!” I yell on my way down.

My father rushes out of his office and knocks wildly on my brother’s door.

“Joseph! Come on, we have to go!” He says and the door opens almost immediately. Josef comes out looking confused followed by my mother, a laundry basket in her hands.

“Walter, what is this about?” She asks setting the basket down on the ground and walking over to my father.

“Hitler has something against the Jews. It’s a riot. I thought since we lived in a German neighborhood we would be fine but I think they’re here,” He explains and my stomach does flips.

We rush downstairs and my father rushes us into the corner of our dark musty basement. And then we wait. Hearing the screams and the smashes of our windows above us. But we continue to wait.

My mother looks out the window the next day. We were lucky. Only one of our windows had gotten smashed, we weren’t sure about the bakery though. My father said it was probably ruined from the riots.

The shards of broken glass lay scattered on the floor, my mother being too sad to even get off the seat by the window. I had never seen her like this. She seemed so… so helpless. I didn’t know what to do or say, so instead, I went up to my room to finish my painting from the day before.

My mother sews the yellow star on my jacket with careful stiches. Her hands were pale and shaky. I was worried for her. Ever since the riots she has been so… paranoid. Even though it had been so long, it still seemed to affect her.

“Why do I have to wear this mother?” I ask watching my mother thread another needle.

“Because we are no longer citizens. We are subjects Lucy,” She says not taking her eyes off the yellow patch.

Peter’s words echoed in my head. But that was so long ago. I should be over it. Sometimes I do wish that he would smile at me when we make eye contact outside of my window. But he would never. Apparently once it’s known that you’re a Jew people start to lose interest in you.

My mother hands me my coat with the finished patch on the dark fabric. “Hier sind Sie Lucy,” She says with a smile. I give her my best fake smile back and head to my room, the coat in my hands. All I really wanted to do right now was to paint. But I couldn’t stand looking out my window. It was all too much.

February 25th 1946

Here lies Lucille Goldstein

1920- 1940

Tears rolled down her face wetting her cheeks. “My baby. That’s my little girl,” she says stroking the gravestone with two of her shaking fingers.

She died too young. Much too young. They couldn’t find Josef and they couldn’t find Walter. Anna thought Lucy would be the only one left. But they found her body in the forest, a gunshot in her heart.

That young girl was gone. The little girl who sat at her bedroom window painting little bright flowers. The little girl that kissed her father on the cheek before bed. The little girl who hugged her brother when he got home from school each day. She was gone.

Maria walked up behind her and placed a hand on her aging shoulders. “I am so sorry Ms. Goldstein,” She said, a tear rolling down her cheek. Even though it had been years since she and Lucy had even talked, she missed her so much.

“May she rest in peace,” they said together tears falling down their faces. Anna just missed them all. She wanted her family back. But they were in a better place now. Their suffering had ended. It was all done. It was all over.

#mine #not riverdale #creation: writing

3 notes · View notes

peter-parkouuuur · 7 years

Text

Chapter 1: Meet Cute (Spider-Boy - Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

THIS IS CHAPTER 1 OF SPIDER-BOY

READ THE PROLOGUE BEFORE READING THIS IN ORDER TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THE STORY.

THE WATTPAD VERSION IS ALSO AVAILABLE. HOWEVER, IT’S A TOM HOLLAND FANFICTION BUT SOMEHOW HAS A SIMILAR STORYLINE.

CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5, CHAPTER 6, CHAPTER 7, CHAPTER 8, CHAPTER 9, CHAPTER 10, CHAPTER 11, CHAPTER 12, CHAPTER 13

After Y/n Stark’s first day at Spence, it was time for your internship at Stark Industries.

“Helena, I won’t need you once I’m here at the tower, I’ll be fine. My dad’s here. He is Iron Man.” Y/n tells her helper.

“Actually, your father insisted that I go with you, Miss Y/n/n.” Helena protests.

“ Helena, you should go back to the apartment, Happy’s going to drive you there. I’ll be home before 8.” you reassure and smile at her.

Helena smiles back at you and hands you the box of cookies she made for Tony Stark, and nods before heading back inside the car.

Y/n walks inside the Stark tower to see Tony Stark with a bruised eye. His face breaks into a grin upon seeing you after 2 months when you left for France in the summer.

“There she is! The prettiest girl on Manhattan island!” Tony greets her daughter.

You smile at your dad before looking down at your uniform, realizing that you should have changed into your regular clothes after school.

Tony hugs his daughter and kisses her on the forehead.

“Good to see you again, sport.” He tells you.

“It’s good to see you too, dad.” Y/n replies.

You hand Tony the box of cookies as your dad’s eyes grow wider.

Are those from who I think they are?” He asks you.

“Helena’s specialty.” Y/n smiles at Tony.

Tony takes the cookies from Y/n and begins devouring them.

“Now listen.” Tony starts, barely coming up for air as he chews.

“I need you to be on your best behavior, I’m taking you with me somewhere.” He adds.

“Where are we going?” Y/n asks.

“Come to think of it, it’s great that you’re wearing your uniform. It’ll help me with the lying and stuff.” Tony diverts.

“Dad-” You try to cut your dad off but can’t.

“Does your Spence charm work on every teenage boy? If not, you can also charm the aunt. We’ll think of something.” Tony interjects.

“I’m not going until you tell me what we’re doing and why need my ‘Spence charm’, whatever that is.” Y/n crosses her arms.

“We’re going to Queens. I have business to do.” Her father finally answers her.

The two Starks walk out of the building and slide inside Tony’s Audi.

“What about the traffic?” Y/n asks.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Tony pulls into the traffic as the Audi roars and begins to pick up speed.

The car is parked in front of a 7-storey building in Queens. The two Starks are discussing what they’re going to do.

“Okay, here’s the thing. I need this kid to work with me.” Tony tells Y/n.

“WHAT?!!! I had to convince you for the stupid internship while you’re going to offer this teenage hormone to work alongside you?!” Y/n admonishes.

Tony glares at you for your ‘stupid internship’ remark.

“Sorry, it’s not stupid. I just... don’t get it.” Y/n mumbles.

“He won’t work for the Stark name, he’s going to work for Iron Man.” your father replies.

“Are you replacing Happy?” Y/n asks.

“No! This kid is too cheerful to become the new Happy. As ironic as that sounds. He’s coming with me to Germany.” Tony responds.

“Germany?! How come? What about me?” You ask.

“This kid isn’t what he thinks he is. He has something that I’m going to need.” Your dad replies.

“Come on, we have work to do.” Your father slides out of the car as you follow suit.

The two of you walk inside and proceed to the 7th floor of the building.

“So what am I going to be? The distraction?” Y/n asks.

“Exactly. Charm their pants off, sweetie. You’re good at that. Pretend that he’s going to work alongside you in the internship.” Tony tells his daughter before knocking.

Y/n nods her head.

A woman who looks like she is in her 50s, opens the door with a confused look.

“Hi! I’m Tony Stark. I’m looking for a Mr. Peter Parker. This is my daughter.” Tony signals Y/n.

“Bonne après-midi! My name’s Y/n... Et toi?” Y/n greets the brunette-haired woman.

“I’m May. I’m Italian, so I can easily understand what you’re saying.” May grins at the Starks.

“May we come in?” Y/n suggests.

A bit shaken, May nods her head and opens the door widely for the two to enter.

“Please have seat. Peter will be arriving from school in a while.” May states.

“Your nephew applied for a grant, the September foundation in my company. I approved and now I’m here to officially welcome him.” Y/n dad explains, convincingly.

May goes to their kitchen while my dad and I sit down in the relatively uncomfortable sofa.

‘How did he manage to come up with that lie so quickly?’ You think to yourself.

“He didn’t even tell me he applied for an internship, let alone for Tony Stark.” May questioning your dad’s lie.

“He probably wanted to surprise you. I surprised my dad as well when I applied. I know it’s a great opportunity for me to expand my knowledge in the corporate setting while balancing my time at Spence.” You come to your dad’s rescue.

May puts down a plate of Walnut Date loaf and says that it’s a family recipe.

“You’re from Spence? That exclusive all-girls school on the Upper East side? That’s pretty impressive.” May sits in front of you and Tony.

The both of you eat her baked goods which are surprisingly delicious, not bad for something that is home-made.

“I am. My dad told me that your nephew and I are in the same grade.” You tell her.

The two adults begin to converse while having flirtatious comebacks in between. It feels awkward for you to see your dad flirting with another woman who isn’t your mom as they have divorced almost 5 years ago much to their children’s dismay. Y/n’s little sister Eloise was barely 1 when they agreed to split.

The door suddenly opens to reveal a cute teenage boy wearing a white shirt, grey hoodie and dark denim jeans, holding what seems to look like a DVD player.

“Hey May!” He greets his aunt.

Y/n’s eyes follow the teenage boy who is yet to recognize the two Starks with her aunt.

“There’s this crazy car parked outside- Whoa.” He looks Tony and the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, unable to utter words.

“Mr. Parker.” Tony greets.

“I-I’m Peter. What uh.. What are you doing here?” Peter asks your dad, with a wide grin on his face.

“Tony. It’s about time we met. You’ve been getting my emails right?” Tony asks him.

“Yeah regarding the...” He waits for your father to finish the sentence.

"To talk about the grant, right? My dad is excited to have you on board with us. We’re going to have so much fun.” Y/n adds.

“Yeah.. fun.” Peter moves his gaze towards you, star struck that Tony Stark and his gorgeous daughter are inside his apartment congratulating him for something he did not apply for.

Peter looks at Y/n adoringly, ignoring what May and Tony are saying.

“Mr. Parker....” Peter interrupts his thoughts.

“Are you done ogling my daughter?” Tony asks the smitten teenage boy.

Y/n just looks at her feet, not knowing what to reply.

“Can I borrow him for 5 minutes?” Tony asks May.

The two begin to walk towards Peter’s room while you are left with May.

“So you and my nephew are in the same grade.” May starts.

The conversation turned out to be something like out of the Bachelorette with Peter’s aunt trying to set up the two teenagers.

You aren’t opposed to the idea but calmly tell May that you would rather focus on education and internship. You change the topic by talking about May’s cooking which she then gushes about.

After about 4 minutes, Peter and Tony walk out of teenager’s room, both with smiling faces.

“Dad!” Y/n stands up in relief.

“Ready to go, princess?” Tony asks.

“Yup.” You reply swiftly.

“Bye, kid. Bye, May.” Tony walks toward the door.

“Bye Mr. Stark!” Peter waves at your dad.

“Au revoir May!” You stand up to give May a hug.

“Hope this isn’t the last time we talk! You should visit us more often.” May tells Y/n.

You just nod your head at the possibility.

“Bye um u-uuhhh.” Peter stutters.

“I’m Y/n, and Au revoir. See you, Peter.” Y/n smiles at Peter whose cheeks instantly turn red.

The two shake hands, Peter not wanting to let go.

“R-right. See you...” Peter stares you a little longer.

“You can let go of my daughter anytime soon, Parker.” Tony interrupts Peter’s gaze.

“S-sorry.” Peter lets go of your hand.

“Let’s go, sweetie.” Tony reminds you.

143 notes · View notes