“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep.” Natan.
Like all her fellow homo sapiens, Natalie quite likes getting her full eight hours of recommended sleep (on weekdays, anyway, weekends are solely reserved for waking up at 3 PM and watching cat videos until night arrives again) and waking up fully rested so she can tackle her demon-filled day with a smile on her face.
(It pisses them off and Natalie lives for being low-key petty.)
Today, on March fifth, in the year of her roommate’s brother/cousin (add to her to-do list: figure out how Satan is related to Jesus on the family tree) 2017, however, Natalie does not wake up fully rested and smiling, oh no, she wakes up with death written out in the depths of her bottle-green eyes. Whose death, one may ask? For once, it’s not Satan. No, this time it’s the infernal little chirping shits perched outside her window. At five in the mcfucking morning, if she’s reading her alarm clock right.
“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep,” she mumbles, and buries her head deeper into her fluffy, hypoallergenic pillows. Beside her, Satan shifts and yanks her blanket closer to him. “You go make ‘em shut up, kid, I’m not your servant.”
“It’s Sunday, Luce. If those birds don’t shut up in the next five minutes, we’ll be at Church in five hours for Mass.” Natalie smiles victoriously when the Devil practically leaps over her prone body to get to the window. Human - 75, Devil - 125. She’ll catch up soon.
She hears a bird squawk and says, “If you kill any of those birds, we’ll be going for evening Mass as well.”
Satan mutters out curses and grumbles about annoying little girls with too much power in their hands, but appears to comply as she hears the flapping of wings and then sweet, blissful silence.
“Thank you, Lucifer,” Natalie coos as he flops next to her. He tries to steal her blanket again but she merely rolls closer to his body warmth and sighs deeply.
Ik it isn't bitter sunday but like what if tony had a daughter and team free loader tries to go back to the compound and she gives them a piece of her mind ft. Pepper,Rhodey, & Peter
Her name is Vic because of course Tony names his daughter Victory. She is almost as tall as Tony–she’ll get there one day, of that she’s sure–has her father’s curly, brown hair and her mother’s grey eyes–and, as her mother likes to joke sometimes, both of their worst qualities. She’s petty and sharp-tongued and never quite knows when to quit, and she adores Tony almost as much as Tony adores her.
Only Pepper, Rhodey and Peter are smart enough to be terrified of her.
The first time Pepper realises the extend of the Wrath Of Vic™ she’s leading the redeemed Avengers into their old compound. It’s still official SI property and since Tony refused to be here Pepper has decided to handle the team herself. She’s got plans.
Plans she never gets the chance to enact. Because when they arrive at the compound, Pepper is as surprised as everyone else to discover that they aren’t alone. And that every wall–every wall in the entire building, how did she even do that–is painted in the most galling, eye-paining shade of orange she has ever had the misfortune to see.
She doesn’t let any of her surprise show of course. Pepper hasn’t worked for Tony for years for nothing. Besides the returning “heroes” expressions are very gratifying indeed.
The orange isn’t the only new decoration either. In every place where there used to be the trademark Avengers sign, there is now Traitors written in poisonous green letters on the walls. The floors have been covered in a very cheap, very ugly carpet with a lot of suspicious spots Pepper decides she doesn’t want to investigate. The kitchen is filled with food.
Weeks old food.
Pepper is starting to suspect that Vic has been preparing for this ever since the Congress finally decided to take up negotiations on the Accords again.
(She is wrong. Vic has been preparing for this day since she spent seven endless hours in an impersonal hospital waiting room, awaiting the news of her father’s fate.)
The furniture in the personal rooms is mostly still there, if now covered in spray-painted graffitis. Mostly there seem to be a lot of penises and middle-fingers from what Pepper can make out. It’s so pointlessly childish she has to hide her face behind a file for a moment to hide a stubborn smile.
Dirty footprints, drops of paint, greasy hand prints on the windows, dust…the place is a mess.
Pepper is so busy pretending not to bask in Steve Roger’s horrified disbelief, she almost misses the girl sitting cross-legged in the middle of the common room–on the only spot of clean floor available–typing away on a laptop.
“Oh, you’re here,” she comments, shuts her laptop.
Rogers frowns. “Who are you?” he asks distractedly, apparently still in too much shock by the state of his home.
Vic blinks, once, twice, then smiles with all her teeth. “My name is Victory Stark. You may remember meeting my father, Anthony Stark.”
The announcement is met by stunned silence.
“I didn’t–didn’t know Tony had a daughter,” Steve manages to get out eventually.
Impossibly, Vic’s grin widens.
“Don’t worry,” she says as she gets to her feet, shoulders her bag, “You’re unlikely to forget any time soon.”
And with that she pirouettes on her heels, kicking an open can of Red Bull until it falls over and spills on the ground where she sat just a moment ago, and strides out of the room, humming I’m sexy and I know it as she does so.
[”How did you do it? You’d have to have been painting day and night to do this much damage in such a short time!” Pepper asks curiously a few hours later.
“Would’ve been some well-spent weeks.” Vic shrugs unapologetically. “Wasn’t necessary though. I just asked on craigslist if any Iron Man fans felt the need to make their feelings known to the dear Captain.”
“And proprietary damage is what you came up with?”
“Oh, no.” Vic’s smile is unholy. “That’s just the start. I got together with some girls from my school to brainstorm. Honestly, how more people aren’t deathly afraid of cheerleaders I’ll never know.”
early morning sunshine, lazy afternoons, acoustic songs, dust swirling by the window, fuzzy peaches, eyes that turn hazel when light hits them, strawberry picking, yellow paint, floppy puppies, golden shadows, nature adventures, watching the clouds, glittering sand, sunsets by the beach
Hi ! Can I please ask a request where Draco had a crush on a reader who didn’t even notice. Because she has an abusive relationship with her parents. They are terrible, she don’t trust anyone and feels so lonely. One night, Draco follows her to the edge of a lake and catch her crying. Then he decides to react. I guess i just need fluff and comfort.
ages about fifth or sixth year!
Warnings: abusive parents, sad reader.
Like always, you felt sad, but today, something made it worse. You were woken up at your house in London to find that your father standing at your door. He looked rough: he had a cigarette in on hand and a bottle of alcohol in another. He shot the bud of the cigarette on your floor, stamping on it, leaving a mucky grey residue. It was only 9:00am and yet he was found with his bad habits yet again. You began to wonder if you would ever get your father back.
Warmer-than-normal weather launched allergy season early this year, pumping up pollen counts across much of the nation. And if you think you can retreat indoors to relieve your sniffles, think again.
Two thirds of people with allergies suffer them year round, said allergist James Sublett, M.D., co-founder of Family Allergy & Asthma in Lousville, Ky. And the leading cause of those year-round allergies are dust mites, animals and cockroaches, he said, all of which make their homes inside of ours.
Outdoor allergens will make it into our homes through normal ventilation, Sublett said. “And of course it gets tracked in, too.”
Jungkook: As you’re standing atop the counters by the windows, dusting the blinds with a feather duster, you mime Jungkook’s routine in We Are Bulletproof, singing and dancing with the same zest he demonstrates in the music video, occasionally whipping your feather duster around to point into the imaginary camera in the distance. Little do you know that Kook has actually been hiding in the house the past hour. He wants to know what you do in your spare time whenever he’s not around, and now, he has his answer. He can’t help but be somewhat embarrassed and proud for you at the same time. Kook enjoys watching you hop around from window to window like an energizer bunny, and has to restrain himself from grabbing you and just kissing the life out of you. He really wants to join you, he really does - but he doesn’t want to interrupt, so he passes the rest of the song by, by mouthing the lyrics along with you. He waits for you to finish the whole song before he finally surprises you by applauding wholeheartedly.
“Jjang! My sweetheart has so many hidden talents!”
Taehyung: Intense hip thrusts occur while you simultaneously try to fluff the pillows raised in your hands; soon after, you slide into Tae’s verse in Silver Spoon, alternating the lean on both sides of your shoulders according to the choreography. Taehyung sits silently in the living room when his ears suddenly pick up muffled singing from the bedroom. Is that you? He suppresses his laughter before pressing his ear against the door. He very discreetly slides it open, peering in with his head stuck through the opening as he catches you singing and dancing on the mattress. When he sees your animated, boisterous body moving around to the beat, his own body starts to wiggle comically. He hops onto the bed and shimmies up to you with a mischievous look on his face; he’s happy he has someone who can consort to his spirited ways. When he sees you this hyped, it makes him drunk love and appreciation for his quirky, whimsical partner. Every day spent with you is never a dull moment.
“Turn up! Let’s perform together, jagi - you do my verses well, so I’ll sing Jungkook’s parts!”
Namjoon: Do you, do you, do you, do you - do what the fuck you want. Namjoon walks in on you as you’re rapping the lyrics to his solo playing in the background, while mopping the ceramic tiles in the kitchen. He’s seen you slip into the groove of a song once in awhile, but you usually stop pretty quickly since you tend to slip on your words - you always seize up whenever you have people watching you sing or rap. When he notices that you are performing one of his hardest tracks flawlessly, for the very first time, his body indulges in the flow of your rapping, bopping to your rhythm; he is bursting at the seams with extreme pride. He gets a little flustered by how good you’ve gotten, practicing on your own. In his mind, though, there’s nothing sexier than you spitting out his spiteful lyrics ever so intensely - something about it seems so dominant to him, that he sort of gets turned on by the sight of you when you rap. When you come to the end of the song, he snaps out of his infatuation, voicing his opinion.
“Aish! As soon as you learn how to write your own lyrics, we’re putting out a mix-tape, okay?”
Seokjin: Jin hears the sweet melody of House of Cards just out the back of the house, past the glass sliding doors. He’s just come home from practice, and wonders if that talented voice is, in fact, you. He has a hard time believing it at first, since he doesn’t hear your singing voice often. However, when he finds you harmonizing to the track on your phone with all that you have, all while hanging fresh laundry - he is instantly bewitched by your sterling charms. Jin freezes on the spot as he watches you encircle the white sheets around you, fading in and out of view as you spun to the melody of the ballad. The vocalist of Bangtan is injected with awe, as if he’s a starstruck fan - to be fair, he’s always been a fan of you. When he finally catches up to you moving in and out of the hung-up laundry, his strong arms lock on to your knees, lifting you off the ground. This is something he could only envision coming right out of a romantic TV drama, and as cheesy as it is, he’s gratified he even has the chance to experience something like that with you.
“Ah, jagiya, your voice is so angelic - are you trying to woo me? Because it’s working!”
Hoseok: His keys jingle as he opens the lock on the door, walking in on you breaking down to Cypher PT 4, mid-way of his verse in the track. The blatantly turbulent volume of the song’s backing track, primed with the loud drone of the vacuum cleaner creates a scene of chaos, to the point that you don’t hear Hoseok walk in at all. He flashes a lighthearted smile, letting out a carefree laugh. He enjoys the air of confidence at which you are carrying yourself while you dish out the animosity in the cypher; your arms are waving to the downbeat. He knows how supportive you are when it comes to his career, and getting to watch your encouragement in the flesh just makes his whole year. Hoseok loves your radiant personality, and he doesn’t want your fiery showmanship to end there. He hurriedly drops all the bags he shoulders, running over to your side to ease you into the cypher’s chorus. He picks up the remote control for the television off the coffee table, screaming enthusiastically into it:
“Never fear, Hope is here! I love, I love, I love, I love myself!”
Yoongi: Yoongi opens the door to his home, with Jimin tailing behind him. You and the rapper have been living with each other for awhile, but it came as a surprise to both of them when they’re suddenly able to distinctly hear you running your mouth off to Never Mind. The two artists exchange cheeky glances before they tiptoe into the bathroom, finding you bent over the toilet bowl with a brush in hand. Min Yoongi whips out his phone, tapping and holding the red ‘record’ button on the screen. Did he want to embarrass you? Sure - but he mostly wants to show the world and his friends that this silly human being right here belongs to him. He listens closely to the pacing in your enunciation, the strategic timing of your breaths; Yoongi is taken aback by how thoroughly you’ve studied his laborious craft. He can’t keep the jubilant grin from surfacing on his lips, and Jimin notices his complete adoration for you as Yoongi whispers boastful comments about you in his ear. Once you are finished, they both startle you by clapping wildly.
“Yah, you really outdid yourself - but you’re gonna have to try harder than that to surpass me!”
Jimin: It’s been a long day, all Park Jimin wants to do is crash on the couch and doze off. As he enters his home, your faint voice calls to him like a siren’s song - he quickly picks up on the lyrics to Save Me, as they pour out of your lips like honey. The clatter of dishes in the sink and the sounds of rushing water don’t bother him; his fatigue wastes away when he sees you standing peacefully in the kitchen while you follow the melody of his lines in the song. He’s never gotten to hear your relaxing voice before. It pacifies his exhaustion. Jimin creeps up to you from behind, slipping his hands around your waist, and you smile knowingly. He rests his chin on your shoulder, kissing the nook of your neck. He really, really, liked hearing you sing. This newly discovered little detail about you drives him crazy, and all he can think of right now is to curl up in bed with you, to hug and smooch you to death (possibly most likely even more than that). Before you can say anything, he curtly interrupts you; his cheeks become flushed as he requests one thing of you:
“Jagiya, I really love the sound of you singing. I think you should do it more - for me.”
You’re very welcome, hun! I hope you didn’t mind, I just chose random songs that the reader would sing. Please enjoy this react; thank you for requesting! <3
The Girl at the Window. Josephine Daskam Bacon. New York: D. Appleton and Co. 1934. First edition. Original dust jacket and illustrations by Clara Elsene Peck.
A rather pious story of a girl who – through her own selfishness – was hurt in an accident and spent many months as an invalid. From self-absorption to an interest in other people’s problems – and even a share in solving a kidnapping case, – so the story goes. Interesting enough, and the mystery will give a sales angle. – Kirkus
All through the town, the silence of the new world slunk, filling streets somberly, rolling around with the faded trash and debris, prowling on fences and painting windows with dust and decay. The entire world was brown, clumps of dead lawns, upturned dirt, dead branches– it all blurred into the same shade inevitably.
summary: Nursey and Dex being dorks. Nursey finds Dex feeling bad, and he tries to cheer him up a little. Maybe a little ooc but I don’t have a beta reader to check it out for me and I just felt like writing this.
Nursey was not good at noticing when people around him were feeling sad or annoyed. Anger was easier to notice and to react to; yelling, gripped hands, wide eyes were easy to identify. Eyes that looked away, hands that hid themselves in pockets, a posture that leaned downwards were vague. They could mean anxiety, sadness, distress, exhaustion, grogginess. This is what Nursey tells himself when he walks into the attic in his third year and sees Dex sitting on the floor eating valentines clearance chocolate two days after valentines ignoring Bitty’s yelling for him to come down stairs for pie.
Dex looks up and rolls his eyes when Nursey walks in. Nursey thinks about how Dex has been avoiding him for the last two days and he feels nervous. He doesn’t know if he did something wrong.
It’s 6'5" and meaty, has hair too long and skin too tan, laughs at his own jokes, and sometimes it punches Dean breathless going 85 on a highway in the passenger seat fast asleep.
The way the city lights reflect against the raindrops on the window where his face rests against it and paint it with watercolor dreams makes Dean weak in the knees so he feels lucky to be driving, Christ, he’d fall down flat if he saw all that beauty standing upright. He tries to focus on the road and not the way Sam’s breath leaves a cloud of dust on the window. He tries to focus on the road instead of the way Sam’s hand is resting on top of his own, always seeking Dean even in sleep.
He tries to focus on the road instead of the way he loves Sam in every stupid way he can think of.
ron and hermione~ silly hats.random road-trips.freedom. singing along to your favorite song when it comes on the radio. warm tea in cups clasped in mittens. scarves. sheer curtains. big, shaggy dogs. perfectly wrapped presents with bows. holiday wreaths. saving the box from fancy chocolates your s/o got you. pressed roses in shakespearean plays. pumpkins. laughing so hard your stomach hurts. fallen leaves that haven’t turned brown yet. what home feels like.
dean and seamus~ warm crackling fires. when you’re so happy you feel like you’re going to explode. fireworks. charcoal. sketchbooks with rough paper. bruises on fists from fights and necks from nights with no sleep. that moment when you finally get what you’ve waited for and wanted forever. strawberries. inside jokes. being a shoulder to cry on, and having one when you need it. cheering on your favorite team.
low, intimate chuckles.
anticipating something so much that you’re worried you’ll be let down, but then it’s even better than you thought it would be.
ginny and luna~ meadows. flowers in your hair. that bubbly feeling that fills you up when you can’t stop laughing. dancing in the rain with no shoes on. sunlight after the rain clears. skirts. orange cats playing with string. spinning in a new sun-dress. babbling brooks. patterned designs. exploring in the woods. sunlight streaming through treetops, making the ground look speckled. crying without knowing quite why. scrapbooks. the feeling right before the fall.
ginny and hermione~ notepads. black notebooks and matching fountain pens. the smell of fresh broomstick wood. sweaters. holding hands and watching the red-orange sunset. the smell of freshly-mown grass. when a prank fails but you had fun with it anyways. movie ticket stubs. old books with yellowing paper, books that have stories of their own that have nothing to do with the words on the pages and that get thicker each time you read them. a new day after a bad week.
lavender and parvati~secrets. giggling. knowing something no one else does. old clocks and pocketwatches. constellations that you see reflected in your best friend’s eyes as you star-gaze. chapped lips. cinnamon. honey in your tea. glitter and sparkles. hour-glasses. when you apply eyeliner just a little crookedly. diaries with locks, the keys to which have been lost. origami fortune-tellers. freshly-sharpened pencils. gems on manicured nails. those nights when you feel limitless.
harry and ginny~ going to a candy shop for the first time. ordering a scotch and downing it in one. bouncy balls. driving in a convertible with the top down and your hair flying out behind you. game nights with your friends, posting silly photos and videos of all your antics the day after and smiling to yourself. the exhilaration of a long-sought victory. sun bringing out natural highlights in your hair. ripped jeans. the rush right before a first kiss.
luna and cho~ blue flowers. blank sheet music with treble clefs. ravens. sunflowers. hairs standing up on your arms and the back of your neck. flowers kept in necklaces. soft drizzles. lying in the grass, naming shapes you see in the clouds. that feeling you get after cleaning your room. duct tape dresses. ribbons. making the heart shape with your hands. tree houses. communicating through a string with a cup at either end. collecting coins. fully-stamped passports. finding a way to be okay after everything.
neville and luna~sun-showers. stained-glass windows with the light streaming through at just the right time of day. warm milk before bed. botanical gardens at night. the smell of pure vanilla extract. random compliments to strangers. giving your friends hand-made cards and home-made gifts that are actually good. daisies. holding hands on swings. polka-dots. the giddiness of first love.
james and lily~whiskey that burns your throat. feathers. all-nighters, working down to the wire, with only coffee keeping you going. a windswept look. binge-watching a whole season in one night. getting sunburn at the beach. classic rock. strings of mini-lanterns. snow dulling rainbow christmas lights. leather jackets. winning a teddy bear at a theme park. dusty boxes holding mysteries. going to a midnight opening of the first film of your favorite book series.
remus and sirius~adventures. black licorice. long, complicated words you only learned the meanings of so as to impress people at parties. firecrackers. the feeling you get when your friend tells a bad joke and you laugh at how bad it is. quills. gas-lights, new orleans style, with stands and everything. plaid. the smell of oak. oxford commas. that moment when you realize it’s all about to go to shit anyways so you stop caring and just laugh.
bill and fleur~seashells. butterflies. windchimes. swans. a sense of belonging. cobblestones. piano. light illuminating dust dancing by the window. getting paint on your clothes. shiny golden plates. plastic forks. mugs from every place you’ve been. a lot of mugs. chestnut. laughing at yourself. love songs at three in the morning. jumping in puddles. when it’s not perfect, and it doesn’t need to be in order for it to be just what you need.
a/n: Please see this post to vote on what my next series should be.
Despite the curse placed on the castle, life in the village continued on with the villagers having no memory of the prince or his parties. In fact, the village moved along just fine with the prince’s absence, his tax and cruelty forgotten by all who lived there, and every day in the village was like the one before for all but one resident.
[Y/N] [L/N] and her father had moved to the village when [Y/N] was only a baby, her mother having passed in Paris soon after her birth, where her father continued to work as a painter and where [Y/N] was taught to read and write, pursuing inventing as a hobby, much to the dismay and hate of the other people in the village.
You see the village people did not like change, it scared them, and a woman known how to read and write was certainly knew as all the other women and girls in the village were simply housewives that cared for the children while their husband worked, or who helped teach other young women to be the perfect bride for their future husband. But [Y/N] was not like the others, she never had been.
The morning sun greeted [Y/N] has she took her [F/C] ribbon and tied her [H/L], [H/C] hair up in a ponytail as she watched the village begin to awaken with sounds of roosters crowing from her own front and from the distance within the village boundaries. Her father lay asleep on his bed, having been up late during the night painting and working on a music box [Y/N] had since she was a baby, fixing it up so that it was functioning once again.
Smiling at her father’s sleeping figure, [Y/N] lifted a small pouch filled with coins of the kitchen table, as well as another empty pouch that was larger in size, that she tied around her waist, they had as she was going to get their supplies for the day and for her father before he journeyed to the city to sell more of his art. Leaving the small house that she called a home, [Y/N] let out a sigh, one that was slightly reluctant due to the way the people of the village treated her because she was different than them and she didn’t know if she wanted to face them.
Walking down the small pathway that guarded her vegetable garden, [Y/N] stepped through her gate and into the rest of the village. It was quiet as she stepped through the archway into the main part of the village, where the markets and shops were, but the chimes of the bell tower awoke the town as windows and doors opened, revealing the village people as they began their day.
[Y/N]s first stop was the bakery and as the baker emerged from his home, she took some coins from her pouch and placed them on his tray as she lifted a fresh baguette, the heat still radiating from it as she placed it in her empty pouch, “Bonjour.” Her voice was soft and sweet as she spoke, offering the Baker a smile as she walked away.
A larger smile grew onto her face as she walked towards the carriage horse, lifting her hand to scratch between his eyes and down his nose while her other hand moved slowly down his neck, petting him.
“Ah, good morning [Y/N]!” Turning away from the horse, [Y/N] greeted the voice with a smile as she spoke, “Good morning Monsieur Bruce.” Walking towards the tall man, who’s shoulders and buff physique made him look intimidating, “Have you lost something again?” [Y/N]’s [E/C] eyes reflected concern as she got closer to the Bruce, who offered her a confused look as he continued to search around him, “I’m afraid I have. The only problem is, I can’t remember what!”
It was the same every day, Monsieur Bruce was always looking for something but could never remember what and [Y/N] genuinely worried that he was going crazy as he could never seem to find what he was missing. “Oh well, I’m sure it will come to me.” [Y/N] walked forward, pulling an apple from a bucket that was near Bruce and offering it to his mule, who gratefully took the treat as [Y/N] gave him a light scratch. “Where are you off to?”
Turning towards Bruce and walking backwards, [Y/N] offered an answer that she was sure to get judged about, “To a return, a book I borrowed from pére Sebastian, it’s about two lovers in fair Verona.” She continued to walk backwards, only turning when Bruce gave his reply, “Sounds boring.”
Rolling her eyes slightly, [Y/N] let a tiny and almost silent chuckle past her lips because she knew the people of the village would never understand. Walking through the village, [Y/N] could feel the wandering eyes of the villagers as they stared after her and she could hear their voices as they talked in hushed whispers about her, but of course she took it all in her stride and ignored it but she could pick up on some of their words. Especially as she passed the women of the village doing their washing up and she could pick up words and phrase like ‘funny girl’ and ‘head in the clouds’, the woman of the village were not quiet in their disapproval of [Y/N] and it was not like them to speak in quiet tones or hushed voices.
Walking through the village, an amused smile grew on [Y/N]’s face as she watched the usual exchanges in the village, the man who sold the eggs trying to flirt with the fishmongers wife and someone commenting on how his eggs were too expensive and in her mind her thoughts were of one simple thing, there must be more than this provincial life.
Looking away from the rest of the village, as she had now reached the church building that lay at the edge of the village, she pushed open the wooden door with a smile as pére Sebastian greeted her. “Ah, if it isn’t the only bookworm in town.” He had been up a latter, dusting at the windows and so as he looked to [Y/N] he began to climb down them so he could talk to her. “So, where did you run off to this week?”
Clutching the book to her chest, [Y/N] gave a reply to pére Sebastian. “Two cities in Northern Italy, I didn’t want to come back.” Sebastian now stood in front of the girl, his duster in front of him as he leant on it for some extra support, a smile on his face as he listened to her talk and watched her move with ease in his domain. “Have you got any new places to go?”
Moving to look at the small collection of books, [Y/N] placed Romeo and Juliet back and turned to Sebastian as he gave his answer, “I’m afraid not. But you can reread any of the old ones if you like.” Scanning the titles, [Y/N] reached for a favourite of hers ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ and stood back up, once again clutching a book to her chest. “Thank you, your library makes out small corner of the world seem big.” As she walked through the door and back into the village, she heard the voice of pére Sebastian call out to her, “Bon Voyage.”
Opening the book as she stepped into the street, she started to read, ignoring the stares and whispers of ‘peculiar’ and ‘strange’ and of course the questions of ‘is she well’. [Y/N] pressed the open book against her chest as she reached the flower and jam stall ran by Ivy and Harley, two women who lived together after the passing of their husbands. Once again she reached into her coin pouch and lifted a jar of jam, handing the coins over to Harley with a smile before placing the jam in the pouch with her bread.
As she walked through the area where Ivy kept her flower, she kept her eyes on the book and skillfully avoided the various people looking over Ivy’s gorgeous bouquets, closing the book when she left the area in order to navigate the more difficult portion of the village where many people were walking. Of course, the three girls her age that were vying for husbands looked on and stared after her as she was said to be the more beautiful girl in the village and they were jealous of the fact that many believed that, including the man they all wanted as a husband, and so they whispered of how different she was to them.
As Belle wandered through the village, Lex Luthor looked on from the distance through a telescope and watched her as he spoke to his loyal and faithful companion, Oswald Cobblebot. “Look at her Oswald, my future wife.” Taking the telescope down from his eyes and handing it to his companion, he spoke in order to emphasise his point, “[Y/N] is the most beautiful girl in the village, that makes her the best.”
Oswald handed the telescope back to Lex with a questioning glance and his hand extended outward, moving over Lex’s body as he spoke, “But she’s so well-read and you’re so athletically inclined.”
Looking out toward the village, Gaston through over [Y/N] and why he wanted her as a bride before he voiced his thoughts. “I know. [Y/N] can be as argumentative as she is beautiful.” Before he could continue, Oswald managed to get a word in, “Exactly. Who needs her when you’ve got us?” He wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, but Oswald knew he would be lonely if Lex was to ever get married and left him alone, after all, Lex was the only friend he had.
Lex slouched in his saddle slightly before continuing, “But since the war, I’ve felt like I’ve been missing something. She’s the only girl that gives me that sense of…” trailing off, Lex raised his hand towards his face and rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to find the right word before Oswald offered a suggestion, “Je ne suis qu'à?” Bringing his hand back down to the reign and kicking his horse into motion, Lex admitted, “I don’t know what that means.” As they descended onto the village, Lex described the moment he fell for [Y/N] to Oswald.
“Right from the moment that I meet her, saw her, I said ‘she’s gorgeous’ and I fell. In town, there is only she, as beautiful as me, so I’m making plans to woo and marry [Y/N]”. But of course, [Y/N] had no intention to marry anyone and she certainly had no intention of marrying Lex.
As she went about the village, [Y/N] made her way back to the back of Ivy and Harley’s stall, where she was spotted by Gaston who had dismounted his horse and started his search for her, and smiled thankfully as she was offered various goods from the people around her in a kind decline of their goods. As she got to the fountain, she leant her arms against and it gazed into the water for a moment, not noticing Lex standing only a few meters away from her with a bouquet of flowers for her.
Standing up from the fountain, [Y/N] stepped back and started making her way through the village square once again and once again, she ignored the stares of the people around her only to be called to attention by the voice of a man she would say she hated, if she had not been taught that hate is a word that should only be reserved for the most evil of people in the world.
“Good morning [Y/N]!” As he jogged up to her side, [Y/N] turned to look at Lex with a raised eyebrow. “Wonderful book you have there.” [Y/N] doubted he had read it, in fact, she doubted he had read anything! And her doubts were confirmed as she looked to her book and then back to Lex, “Have you read it?” Lex’s answer almost made her roll her eyes, but she simply stared at him with mundane disbelief.
“Well, not that one. But, you know, books…” As he trailed off, [Y/N] forced back a sign and jumped back slightly as Lex offered up the bouquet he had in his hands, “For your dinner table.” Pushing his luck, Lex asked a question [Y/N] thought he would know the answer too after trying to win her affections for so long, “Shall I join you this evening?”
Struggling to find words, [Y/N] almost let out a sound of exacerbation but she held back and decided to answer him, “Sorry, not this evening.”
“Busy?” As he asked his question, Lex rose an eyebrow hoping for the answer to be yes but known that it would be
“No…” Lex looked at her in disbelief as she turned away from him and even walked away from him before he was joined once again by Oswald asking, “So, moving on?” But of course, he wasn’t.
“No Oswald. It is the ones who play hard to get who are always the sweetest prey. That’s what makes [Y/N] so appealing, she hasn’t made a fool of herself just to gain my favour. What would you call that?”
Oswald watched as [Y/N] walked away from the two of them, his eyes half amused with Lex’s pursuit of the, clearly, disinterested girl and replied to his friends question quite honestly. “Dignity?”
Turning towards his friend, a large grin was on Lex’s face as he spoke. “It’s outrageously attractive, isn’t it?” At the sound of his name being called by three women, he left his friend and joined them.
As she arrived back at her home, [Y/N] turned to see if Lex had followed her and at the appearance that he hadn’t she let out a relieved sigh before continuing to her door. It was here that the familiar sound of a music box filled her ears and brought a feeling of warmth to her, causing a smile to break out on her previously worried face.
As she entered her small home, the sight of her father working on a music box styled sculpture of her parents and her as a baby greeted her, as did the sound of her father singing the lullaby that accompanied the music box.
How does a moment last forever
How can a story never die
It is love we must hold on to
Never easy but we try
Sometimes out happiness is captured
Somehow a time and place stand still
Love lives on inside out hearts
And always will
The sound of her father singing made [Y/N] happy as she made him some jam and bread from what she had just bought, with the sound of stopping as she approached him with it, startling the man as he finally noticed her presence for he wasn’t really one to sing with her around.
“Oh, [Y/N].” Setting the plate of food down beside her father, she lifted a small work tool as her father lifted out the clockwork of the music box and asked her, “Could you hand me a…” Upon noticing she already had it, the two exchanged smiles as he let out an ‘ohh’ sound. While he was working with that tool, [Y/N] lifted another and extended her hand out toward him just as he turned to her once again, “I also need…” He looked over the tool before claiming, “No. No.No.” As [Y/N] raised an eyebrow and gave him a questioning glance, he looked back to the clockwork before deciding, “Yes, that’s exactly what I need. Thank you.”
Sharing a smile with his daughter, he turned back to his work only to be pulled out be a question from [Y/N]. “Papa, do you think I’m odd?” [Y/N] lifted a trinket of the table and moved around the room a little, setting it down on a stool as she listened to her father talk, “Odd? My daughter odd? Wherever would you get an idea like that?”
With a gentle sigh, [Y/N] looked over the trinket she had set down before she continued, “Oh I don’t know. People talk.” Her father watched her, his eyes kind and filled with love, “This is a small village, you know. Small minded as well.”
Looking up to her father momentarily she listened to him, “But small also means safe.” She could understand what he meant, they had previously lived in the large and beautiful city of Paris but the death of her mother meant they had to leave and so, to a small and safe village they moved. Lifting a box from the ground, [Y/N] moved to put it where it belonged as her father continued to talk, “Even back in Paris, I knew a girl like you, who was so…” [Y/N] knew he was talking about her mother, he often commented that they were alike in many ways, “ahead of her time.So different.”
As she sat by the fire, [Y/N] continued to watch her father as he spoke of her mother,”People mocked her. Until the day they all found themselves imitating her.” With a gentle smile, [Y/N] rose from her position once again and walked towards her father, words that had been burning in her brain only coming out when she reached him, “Please, just tell me one more thing about her.”
Her father contemplated the idea, sitting back in the chair he was in and knitting his eyebrows together, “Your mother was…” He trailed off slightly and leant forward once again, looking over his music box once again, “Fearless.” This made [Y/N] smile and her eyes sparkled as her father nodded and looked at her, repeating “Fearless” once again before looking back and closing the music box.
“I have to leave now.” Nodding, [Y/N] helped her father pack up the music box of the old windmill they lived in that depicted their family so he could show it and helped him out to the carriage, where their horse Phillipe was and she gave Philippe a treat while scratching his head and giving him a kiss between his two eyes. Walking back to her father, who was climbing onto the carriage, she had a melancholy smile on her face as she knew he had to leave but he was sad that he had to leave.
[Y/N] handed her father the reigns that would allow him to control the carriage and Philippe her smile turning genuine. Placing her hands on his knee, she looked to her father as he spoke, “So, what can I bring you from the market?” She knew what she wanted, it was what she always wanted when he went to market.
“A rose. Like the one in the painting.” Her father chuckled and shook his head slightly, “You ask for that every year!” His voice was slightly disbelieving but he knew that she loved her roses.
“And every year you bring it.” She was always so happy getting the rose and her father certainly loved seeing the light in her eyes brighten when he gave it to her. “Then I shall bring you another.” Removing her hand from her knee as her father reached out and lightly gripped her chin, “You have my word.”
[Y/N] smiled at her father and stepped back away from the carriage, “Goodbye, Papa.” Moving towards the path that lead to her home, [Y/N]’s father lifted the reins, “Goodby, [Y/N].” Watching from her door as her father lead Philippe away she shouted out to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It was far too quiet in the parking lot. A single, abandoned pickup truck sat in the middle of cracked concrete. The body was starting to rust, weeds sprouting around its deflated tires and orange dust lay on its windows. It had been months and months since it had last been turned on, left in the middle of the parking lot to become part of the scenery.
In the dusty truck bed, Sidney and Jonas sat, their eyes trained not only on the supermarket in front of them but on each and every alleyway and road around them. The houses around them were spaced out and few in number. The roads were wide and filled with pot holes.
They were in the open and not safe. Not yet at least.