Latest Posts by peeweekey - Page 7
salmonberry season
Spring is winding to its end in Remoria Farm—Ambrose likes the tartness of salmonberries, and Milene likes him.
original characters, Milene & Ambrose (!!!) ; farmer/farmhand
Ambrose thrives in the valley.
Milene knows because she watches, always watches him. She knows that he hums to the beat of cheesy love songs while watering parsnip seedlings. That he likes to lie in the chicken coop and cuddle the hens in his arms when he thinks she isn’t looking. The townspeople that laugh brightly when talking to him—they like him, it’s obvious by the way his arms are never empty from a trip to the town, there’s always another pot of soup or a jar of pasta sauce.
Most of all, though he can’t recognize it himself, Milene sees the bright spark in his eyes.
She remembers what they looked like before they moved to the valley, dull and unfocused and so far away. His office job in Joja made him slowly waste away. Now, the green in his eyes shine whenever he wrangles a particularly fussy fish, or when the two of them stand side by side in the kitchen, following televised recipes that leave the house smelling deliciously of caramelized onion and garlic.
Even now, when they sit under a thick branched tree away from the hot midday sun, Ambrose keeps the twinkle in his gaze. Sticking side by side, they share a handful of spring salmonberries—handpicked by Ambrose himself. The berry is sweet and tart, sticky and viscous all over her fingers and lips. She wipes the red stained juice smeared on her fingertips off on the hem of her shorts.
Absentmindedly, Milene reaches to pluck another pea-sized berry from him, but he twists his body away, hiding the salmonberries with a faux frown. She stretches her arm farther, reaching for the berries, resting her other palm on the grassy bed below. She shoots him a puzzled look.
“You had your share,” he says. Milene raises a brow. “The rest are mine.”
Huffing, Milene reaches again, her arm bumping his shoulder. Ambrose, this time, fully turns his back to her and protectively cradling berries to his chest, making the reach unsuccessful. She scoffs at his childishness and pokes him in the side.
“Selfish.”
Ambrose wiggles his eyebrows, aiming a smug smirk at her. “And you’re a leech,” he replies just as fast. “If you joined me in picking berries we’d have more, but you didn’t. You get what you get.”
“Excuse me,” she forcibly rests her weight against his back. Ambrose breathes on a wheeze as she leans over him. “I’d assume you’d be able to do something as simple as that on your own.”
Milene can hear the smile in his voice. “Picking berries is not simple.”
“Putting up with a brat like you isn’t simple either,” she replies dryly, pinching at his ear. “What did I do to deserve this? You’re breaking my heart here, I’ll have to go back to my dingy apartment in Zuzu city to save some face.”
Ambrose stiffens, his back ram-rod straight, his lips pressed into a line when he looks back at her. Milene sits back, the sudden change in atmosphere making her heart rate spike—did she say something wrong?
Milene rests a steadying hand on her chest. Damn this man for making her emotions run all over the place.
His hand flexes and rubs absentmindedly at the denim of his overalls. A nervous tell of his, for what reason he is buzzing with nerves she can’t tell.
“—Ambrose,” she can hear the high pitchy quality in her voice, she cringes inwardly. “You eat a rotten berry or something? What’s up?”
Small steady streams of light filtered through the branches shine on them, Ambrose turns his head back and looks her directly in the eyes.
“Don’t say that,” he says under his breath, Ambrose speaks it like a secret along with a long suffering sigh. Like he’s been hiding the sentiment for a while. “Don’t say that you’ll leave.”
Oh.
Immediately, Milene feels the giddy swing of her stomach, the knotting and unknotting of her gut as giggles slip past her berry-stained lips. Ambrose fixes her with a weak glare, more of a pout if anything.
His posture is significantly more relaxed when he goes to chastise her. “Dude, not funny—”
Milene takes the opportunity to pluck a salmonberry from his hand while his attention is taken away. “Very funny. Hilarious even.”
His frown deepens as she pops the berry in her mouth, but she knows better. The twinkle in his eyes are bright, overwhelmingly so. The sight makes her heart swell and threaten to burst out of her chest. It’s honestly kinda terrifying.
“There’s nothing for me in the city,” she murmurs, pressing her thumb and pointer together, they stick together with berry juice. “I won’t leave, ever.”
Ambrose snorts, bringing two berries into his mouth, his lips stained red along with it. “What if there’s a drought and we lose all our money?”
“Hell no,” Milene entertains his inane imagination. “You wouldn’t survive without me. You’d die of loneliness, or starvation.”
“Gee Milene, you really know how to cheer a guy up.” he deadpans.
“Not trying to cheer you up,” she smirks. “It’s just the plain simple truth.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay, but what if—”
“No,” she interrupts, waving her hand. Milene tucks her feet closer underneath her, staving off the brunt of the summer heat.
She rests her hand by his side, studying his face intently. The curve of his nose, the slope of his cheeks and the cut of his cheekbones, his eyes—his eyes that glitter and shine like emeralds.
Milene thinks that she can stare into them forever.
“Besides,” she shrugs, “I like to watch you. You’re happy, I’m happy too.”
i bet stardew valley green rain tastes like the vegetable smoothies fitness influencers make
what was supposed to be a 15 minute to-and-from errand has gone out control and morphed into some how-to farming class, and honestly sam doesn’t mind at all. he wasn’t planning on staying long, really.
but you’re kind and patient, directing him where to scoop mulch and pack it tight. his attention has never been a stationary thing, everything about your farm (and you) is captivating and new and interesting.
wiping the swear dripping down his temple, sam watches you prune your melons. the rhythmic motion of your wrists as you take gardening shears to unruly buds and leaves feels like a formation of a melody in real time.
surely this is why he came over to your farm, to watch you make music with the sway and jerk of your limbs as you tend to crops or how easy you make conversation… and if there was something he was supposed to come for, he bets your beaming smile and singing crops will welcome him again tomorrow.
Sam who gets sent by his mom to go and pick up some produce from the farm while she brings Vincent for a check-up but ends up getting distracted by the farmer themselves
witnessing myself develop a caffeine addiction in real time
Sam who gets sent by his mom to go and pick up some produce from the farm while she brings Vincent for a check-up but ends up getting distracted by the farmer themselves
tag your results!
i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!
part i, part ii, part iii
a/n: the well awaited end to this fic is here! enjoy :)
synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.
tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing, miscommunication
It’s Valentine’s Day, and the most unusual thing to ever happen to you—happens.
A pristine white note falls out of your locker, and you never thought you would see the day. You’d assume, being a workaholic and being relegated to tasks (due to people pleasing tendencies you can’t seem to shake off), that you’d finish off the school year without falling victim to Valentine’s day sickeningly sweet confessions.
Please meet me in the homeroom lab after classes. – H
If it was any other day, you’d assume one of the teachers wrote you this note, and that you were going to be subjected to a ruthless talking-to. Yet, coincidentally, it’s that time of the year, and everyone else is getting notes like these too.
For the fun of it, you still decide to go where the note directs you. Mostly because you’re deathly curious to who this H person is. No expectations, of course.
When the dismissal bell rings, you quickly scramble out of your classroom, pointedly ignoring your friend’s confused call of your name. Leaving your bag and belongings behind. You’ll get back to her later—but now, the curiosity is killing you.
You navigate the sloppily decorated hallways; passing by lovestruck couples and through streamer paper decor of pinks, whites and reds. Cupid balloons and the overwhelmingly sweet scent of roses suffocate your senses.
The homeroom lab is at the end of the hallway, where all the decorations dwindle or are practically deflating with the lack of attention to detail—it irks you slightly, if this is a confession like you suspect, the surroundings could afford to be somewhat romantic. Not this cheap, unenthusiastic mess, it certainly wouldn’t be helping your case.
Your eyes lock onto one heart helium balloon, it drifts aimlessly across the floor—not enough to float up but not completely deflated. You glare at it, like trying to pop it with only your gaze, then to the door.
Steeling yourself, you take a breath then slide it open.
The last person you ever expect to be there, is there too.
“Alhaitham?” you ask, breathless and puzzled.
Was it him that sent you the note?
You shake that thought away, although you got your hopes up the tiniest bit, it’s probably unrelated to anything hearts themed. You’re pretty sure he’s been actively avoiding people confessing to him today. Maybe that’s why he hid in here, you muse.
“It’s me, yes,” he nods. “I assume you read my note?”
You laugh, shutting the homeroom lab door unceremoniously behind you. “That was you? Dude, you could’ve just told me, what’s with all the secrecy?”
“There’s something that I need to discuss with you.”
“Discuss with me,” you repeat, walking over to lean against the working table. Which, thank heavens, is pristinely clean. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” he responds and you hum in faux relief. “Though there is something else.”
Alhaitham produces a sleek black chocolate box from seemingly nowhere—or maybe you hadn't seen him hold it—and holds it out to you.
“Sweet!” you grin, snatching the chocolates and examining the box. “This is some really good chocolate, Haitham. Who gave you this one?”
“No one,” he says. Alhaitham picks at his black painted nails—ones that you yourself painted a few weeks ago in his apartment. The polish is immaculate, almost looking freshly painted if it weren’t for the new nail growth starting underneath. “Those are completely from me, for you.”
You double take, taking a long lingering look at the gift. On the smack middle of the box, is the same type of note from earlier in your locker, but this has your name written in elegant cursive:
Happy Valentines. It writes, and you feel strange tingles travel down your spine. Not entirely unpleasant.
“You shouldn’t have,” your eyes widen. “I didn’t get anything for you, I never thought we were getting each other friendship chocolates!”
There’s a lengthy pause before you hear any reaction from him. Alhaitham makes a strangled noise from deep in his throat. “Friendship chocolates?”
He stresses your name, while massaging his temples. “...I wrote you that note, I waited in here for you and have the audacity to think what I gave you are friendship chocolates. Does that sound logical to you?”
“Of course,” you snort, putting down the chocolates to rest on the low table. “The only other reason I can think of would be because you like me, which I doubt—”
His lips flatten in unamusement. “So what if I do?”
“Wait, what?”
He inhales deeply, and you swear you see the slightest hints of pink on his ears that peek from underneath silver hair. The silence now is absolutely deafening, and the anticipation even more so. To you, the knowledge of his bashfulness makes the situation feel all the more real.
Alhaitham utters your name softly, like he’s pleading you to understand so that he needn’t repeat himself. Which he never does, the damn prideful man.
You’d make a teasing remark if you weren’t so frozen with nerves, the sound of your name from his lips is causing ticklish shivers up your spine. It sounds so intimate when he says it.
Like a secret, even. Although Alhaitham might be the most self-preserving and unambitious person you know, when it comes to the things that matter to him—he takes initiative right away.
“So you like me–” you breathe, the button up collar of your shirt feels all too tight all of a sudden, you tangle your fingers together and squeeze tightly. “Like, like like me?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” he sighs, low and long-suffering. “For three whole years.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Your eyes widen and you feel a low simmering heat spreading all over, even till your fingertips. You recall all the other times, past Valentine's days and recounting his strange behavior. All the dots start to connect together and you wonder how you never noticed. “What the hell.”
“So that one time last year when you were offering me your button—” you gasp. You remember, it’s a stupid highschool tradition, a boy would offer the second button of his uniform to a girl if he liked her. It’s the closest to the heart, but to you, it’s a thoughtless way to ruin perfectly good clothing. “Haitham, did you ask Kaveh for advice or something?”
“Matters like these are irrelevant to argue with him about,” he scoffs. Alhaitham folds his arms across his chest. “He ran off and came to the conclusion himself. Ever since then, he’s been bothering me with trying all types of confession tradition.”
Laughter starts to bubble out of you, disbelieving and flustered to the maximum level. “Dude, I basically friendzoned you and had no idea! You should’ve told me.”
His shoulders stiffen and he gives you such a disarmingly attractive look. And if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks the teensiest bit hopeful too. Right now, you feel like your heart is beating right out of your goddamn chest. The sound is so loud, the quickening thumping sound of your chest that you swear he might hear it too.
“...I see that now,” he says, his expression is exasperated—but so unbelievably soft. You feel yourself melting like butter under his gaze. “Though I am disappointed in your lacking ability to identify context clues.”
“Oh whatever,” you bump your shoulder against his, though you don’t move back away. The warmth of him is all consuming and comforting as hell, you could burrow yourself in him and never resurface, you think. He accepts your closeness with a strong arm wrapping behind you to hold you by the hand. Your stomach does somersaults in your stomach. “It’s all your fault. You’re an idiot for not telling it to me straight.”
“Does that mean you reciprocate?” he murmurs, leaning closer to whisper in your ear.
You pull back enough to take the box of chocolates, opening it and popping one in your mouth. “This chocolate is pretty good. Guess I’ll have to let you stick around for more.”
I like you too.
He nuzzles into you, leaving a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “I guess you do, don’t you?”
i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!
part i, part ii, part iii
synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.
tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing ; miscommunication
Valentine’s day comes rolling around the next year, and you are sadly not present to witness Alhaitham lengthen his trail of broken hearts. A shame, really. This year, you were looking forward to bringing popcorn for the occasion—just to see him squirm.
You’ve been cooped up in the homeroom lab for the better part of the week, sewing and snipping away at one of the costumes for the school’s fair. Unlike last year, you don’t have your seniors to help you pin fabrics right or to assist in hand stitching plastic beads, as the newly appointed tailor's club head you have a lot more duties to take on.
It’s exhausting, you feel the deep creases underneath your eye—dreading to head to the bathroom and accidentally look into the mirror to face your own haggard appearance—and the dull ache in your hands and back is blocking any sense you could have.
The club room is otherwise quiet if not for the lo-fi beat playing from your phone’s speaker and the rhythmic snips of scissors gliding over fabric. You focus all your brain power on the task—fabric is not cheap and you don’t have enough mora in your wallet if you lose focus and mess up—and remain blissfully unaware of any potential distraction.
To be honest, it hadn’t even registered in your head that you weren’t alone in the room anymore, until the gentlest tap on your shoulder has you snapping your focus away from the brocade.
The sight of just who has you unconsciously gaping your mouth like a blubbering fish in shock—Alhaitham.
He stares at you blankly, his gaze is so intense it’s a little unnerving, you freeze up before him, and probably make yourself look like an idiot in the process.
Suddenly, the state of your appearance becomes a presiding worry. Having skipped lunch in favor of patterning tulle perfectly on the dummy mannequin. Your uniform is crumpled, creased with the lack of motion, stray threads and fabric fibers cover you head to toe similar to lint. It’s almost humiliating to be seen so disheveled by Alhaitham—when he himself looks like the epitome of put-together flawlessness.
“Haitham,” you start, smoothing out the fabric laid out on the table, it’s soft and smooth under your fingertips. “Need something?”
He spares a glance to whatever you’re fidgeting with behind you then to your face, which in turn makes you fist the work-in-progress fabric tighter in your hand.
Alhaitham seems to search for something in your expression, his gaze feels like it’s poking and prodding in your soul. Your hands itch to cover up whatever’s he’s fixated on, but you settle on the second best option; staring back just as hard and ten times more intensely.
“The second button of my shirt,” he says, Alhaitham points at his stark white button up, right where a button lay missing. You arch a brow at that, he’s most definitely only here to ask you to mend his shirt. No other reason.
And you are definitely not disappointed right now too.
Swallowing hard, your eyes drift to his face. “Do you need a replacement button?”
A crease forms between his brows. “No.”
Well.
“O-kay,” that stumps you, “What about it then?” you shoot him a puzzled look, folding your arms tightly across your chest.
That makes him pause. “I wanted to check if you wanted it.”
“…your button?”
“Yes, that’s why I came over here.”
He must be kidding. The two of you are standing in the homeroom lab, there’s a surplus of small white buttons, you’d rather pick from there than have him ruin a perfectly good shirt.
“Uh no thanks,” you scratch at the back of your neck, extremely confused. “I have a lot more buttons in the drawer, there’s no need to take one off your back.”
Once you said that and saw the expression on his face, you knew immediately that it was the wrong choice—even if it wasn’t a test question. Alhaitham does not pout, but that’s something he would say. If you were asked, the way his lips twitch downward slightly is pouting.
“I understand,” he says shortly and starts to turn back and reach for the door. You cannot hide your bewildered expression, pinching your brows in confusion.
“Wait—hold it right there,” you call, stepping a step or two following him. You, not wanting your conversation to end on such an unusually awkward note. “What’s up with you?”
“It’s nothing,” he says and you practically hear the sulky edge to his voice—something you swore he left back in middle school—still, he turns back to face you. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you.”
Sighing, you step even closer to close some of the distance, holding your palm out impatiently to him. “Come over here, grumpy. I’ll take the button.”
He eases up slightly. “Don’t force yourself.”
Why you ought to wring this man by the neck. You place your free hand to rest on your waist. “You’re not forcing me, now hand it over.”
Alhaitham stands his ground, but eventually cracks, offering a compromise. “...I’ll leave it on the table.”
“Okay,” your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion and slight irritation—confusion more than anything. “See you, Haitham.”
He bids you goodbye, calling your name softly.
You hear the door slide open, then shut.
When you open your eyes, a singular translucent white button sits on your working table—along with a box of fine confectioners chocolate.
What a loser, you think. Though your smile betrays that thought.
You skip back to your work and suddenly, you aren’t so exhausted anymore.
i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!
part i, part ii, part iii
a/n: i wrote this for valentines last month and only got around posting it now, here you go!
synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.
tags: alhaitham/reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing
“S–sorry! These are for you!”
A breathy utterance, the girl speaking is shy and completely red in the face, while holding out the pink paper bag like an offering to some higher being—and maybe to her, he is.
You swear you can almost hear the cheesy background music that television shows play with these types of scenes, you lean in as much as your desk will let you and strain to hear his response. Gripping the wood of your desk tight. Some of your other classmates are tuning in too, drama hungry vultures they are, you can feel the buzzing energy of anticipation waiting for his answer.
Without missing a beat, he offers her a shallow nod of his head.
“Thanks.”
…and another one bites the dust.
Slumping back in your chair, you gaze at a disheartening confession scene from your seat across the room, picking idly at your sandwich’s crust, sighing to yourself and for the poor girl that has been plainly rejected by Alhaitham.
The whole class either lets out sounds of disappointment—they only wish that once Alhaitham is off market, they’d have their chance, though you doubt it—or loud sighs of relief—aka, those who, too, wish to make themselves known to him. They all don’t register much to you though. All you can see is her crushed expression.
He isn’t even looking at her for goodness sake. Poor girl.
Valentine’s day is not only a day of cheesy confessions and plush teddy bears and chocolate (though you especially enjoy those), for those lonely souls without a valentine it is the perfect day for witnessing the drama unfold. It’s like watching a telenovela in real time.
Alhaitham is that telenovela’s perfect lead.
He’s breathtakingly handsome even as he delivers the driest response to whatever-her-name’s confession. His gray-silver hair tumbles artfully on his head and glints as the afternoon sun outside hits just right. The aquamarine of his eyes are enrapturing and absolutely intense as he stares down his new goodie bag.
It’s a little silly to see such a stoic man gripping heartsy pink gift bags that are filled with the high quality chocolate you can only dream of. His marble-carved physique and top tier face makes up for it though, it makes it all the more endearing to you. You understand wholeheartedly why he’s such a magnet for so much romantic attention. Not that you’d fall victim to it yourself.
You find yourself unable to conceal the way your lips turn upwards in amusement, a little cruel knowing the situation. Taking a generous bite of your sandwich, you laugh to yourself quietly (honestly, you’re making it seem like you’re not all there).
“What’s so funny?”
Summoned by your laugh—or the thought that you are laughing at him, for some not-so-crazy reason—he stands tall in front of your desk.
You’ve known him since your bratty elementary school phases, you’ve fought, pulled at each other’s hair but you consider Alhaitham to be your closest and oldest friend. Before he was a stunning romantic magnet, he was an insufferable book worm in junior high.
When you started exploring your interest in sewing and fashion design, he was by your bed and bluntly critiquing any piece you’d show him. You have come a long way since then, having become an integral member of the fashion design club.
You crane your neck to look at him, giving him a lazy grin, you kick blindly at his shins from underneath the table in an attempt to draw some form of reaction (though he doesn’t even bat an eye).
“Nothing, nothing,” you wave him off, speaking through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “As long as you’re on the market, there won’t be enough for the rest of us.”
He gives you a look, though you can’t take it as seriously, he’s still holding all those valentines. “Irrelevant. Your sense of humor needs fixing, not even Cyno would find you entertaining.”
“First off, I do not appreciate all this sass.”
His lips twitch. “I had quite the persistent teacher.”
This time, you flat out laugh at him. “Whatever,” you snort. “Anyway, you should consider taking up acting. Pretty boys like you will have people salivating like starving wolves.”
He pauses and just stares at you, it’s a little peculiar and totally out of character for him, you tilt your head in confusion.
“Pretty boy?”
You almost choke on your sandwich, bringing a fist to your mouth through coughs. Out of everything you said, that’s what he chooses to focus on?
“Uhm, yeah,” you mutter, laughing sheepishly, and suddenly feeling out of place. Internally, you cringe at yourself. “Have you ever looked in a mirror or something?”
Once the words tumble out of your mouth, you feel the heat of mortification crawling up on the expanse of your skin. Oh my god, do you ever stop talking?
Alhaitham says nothing, he stares you down with the intensity increased by tenfold. If anything, the expression on his flawless face looks displeased.
“I meant platonically, of course,” you blather on, pointedly avoiding eye contact. The table looks especially interesting as of the moment. “I mean—I would never—”
He puts his free hand up, sharply stopping you from going further on your flustered tangent. Something you are all too well acquainted with, Alhaitham does not have much patience for dalliances. Immediately, your jaw locks shut—you’d rather not start a fight with him if you wanted to mooch off all the valentines chocolate he received.
You take another big bite of your sandwich.
You roll your eyes, mumbling. “Okay, whatever. Don’t be a pretty boy, then. As long as I get a share of your chocolate, it’s whatever you want.”
“I didn’t say anything about that,” he deadpans. In his arms, the goodie bags shift as he moves closer.
A small plastic-wrapped chocolate box is dropped inelegantly on your table, resounding with a heavy thump. It’s pink and smells heavily of chocolate and cinnamon. Your eyes widen at the pleasant surprise—but more importantly, the price. A crazed smile curls from your lips, and you clutch the chocolates to your chest.
You gasp. “Oh my—fuck! Haitham, these are like a thousand mora a box!”
Alhaitham raises a perfectly arched brow. “Is that so? I should get it back then.”
Even if you’re pretty sure he’s only messing with you, your hold around the chocolates tightens into a death grip. You turn your chest away from him, shielding the box away from his view.
“That’s too bad,” you sing-song. “No take backs.”
A smug smile tugs at his lips before it completely melts away—the thing that growing up with a boy so ungenerous with his expressions makes these small moments all the more special.
“Then I’ll just have to keep the rest of these for myself.”
“Haitham, no! You promised to share—”
glue song by bebadoobee is THE stardew valley song
salmonberry season
Spring is winding to its end in Remoria Farm—Ambrose likes the tartness of salmonberries, and Milene likes him.
original characters, Milene & Ambrose (!!!) ; farmer/farmhand
Ambrose thrives in the valley.
Milene knows because she watches, always watches him. She knows that he hums to the beat of cheesy love songs while watering parsnip seedlings. That he likes to lie in the chicken coop and cuddle the hens in his arms when he thinks she isn’t looking. The townspeople that laugh brightly when talking to him—they like him, it’s obvious by the way his arms are never empty from a trip to the town, there’s always another pot of soup or a jar of pasta sauce.
Most of all, though he can’t recognize it himself, Milene sees the bright spark in his eyes.
She remembers what they looked like before they moved to the valley, dull and unfocused and so far away. His office job in Joja made him slowly waste away. Now, the green in his eyes shine whenever he wrangles a particularly fussy fish, or when the two of them stand side by side in the kitchen, following televised recipes that leave the house smelling deliciously of caramelized onion and garlic.
Even now, when they sit under a thick branched tree away from the hot midday sun, Ambrose keeps the twinkle in his gaze. Sticking side by side, they share a handful of spring salmonberries—handpicked by Ambrose himself. The berry is sweet and tart, sticky and viscous all over her fingers and lips. She wipes the red stained juice smeared on her fingertips off on the hem of her shorts.
Absentmindedly, Milene reaches to pluck another pea-sized berry from him, but he twists his body away, hiding the salmonberries with a faux frown. She stretches her arm farther, reaching for the berries, resting her other palm on the grassy bed below. She shoots him a puzzled look.
“You had your share,” he says. Milene raises a brow. “The rest are mine.”
Huffing, Milene reaches again, her arm bumping his shoulder. Ambrose, this time, fully turns his back to her and protectively cradling berries to his chest, making the reach unsuccessful. She scoffs at his childishness and pokes him in the side.
“Selfish.”
Ambrose wiggles his eyebrows, aiming a smug smirk at her. “And you’re a leech,” he replies just as fast. “If you joined me in picking berries we’d have more, but you didn’t. You get what you get.”
“Excuse me,” she forcibly rests her weight against his back. Ambrose breathes on a wheeze as she leans over him. “I’d assume you’d be able to do something as simple as that on your own.”
Milene can hear the smile in his voice. “Picking berries is not simple.”
“Putting up with a brat like you isn’t simple either,” she replies dryly, pinching at his ear. “What did I do to deserve this? You’re breaking my heart here, I’ll have to go back to my dingy apartment in Zuzu city to save some face.”
Ambrose stiffens, his back ram-rod straight, his lips pressed into a line when he looks back at her. Milene sits back, the sudden change in atmosphere making her heart rate spike—did she say something wrong?
Milene rests a steadying hand on her chest. Damn this man for making her emotions run all over the place.
His hand flexes and rubs absentmindedly at the denim of his overalls. A nervous tell of his, for what reason he is buzzing with nerves she can’t tell.
“—Ambrose,” she can hear the high pitchy quality in her voice, she cringes inwardly. “You eat a rotten berry or something? What’s up?”
Small steady streams of light filtered through the branches shine on them, Ambrose turns his head back and looks her directly in the eyes.
“Don’t say that,” he says under his breath, Ambrose speaks it like a secret along with a long suffering sigh. Like he’s been hiding the sentiment for a while. “Don’t say that you’ll leave.”
Oh.
Immediately, Milene feels the giddy swing of her stomach, the knotting and unknotting of her gut as giggles slip past her berry-stained lips. Ambrose fixes her with a weak glare, more of a pout if anything.
His posture is significantly more relaxed when he goes to chastise her. “Dude, not funny—”
Milene takes the opportunity to pluck a salmonberry from his hand while his attention is taken away. “Very funny. Hilarious even.”
His frown deepens as she pops the berry in her mouth, but she knows better. The twinkle in his eyes are bright, overwhelmingly so. The sight makes her heart swell and threaten to burst out of her chest. It’s honestly kinda terrifying.
“There’s nothing for me in the city,” she murmurs, pressing her thumb and pointer together, they stick together with berry juice. “I won’t leave, ever.”
Ambrose snorts, bringing two berries into his mouth, his lips stained red along with it. “What if there’s a drought and we lose all our money?”
“Hell no,” Milene entertains his inane imagination. “You wouldn’t survive without me. You’d die of loneliness, or starvation.”
“Gee Milene, you really know how to cheer a guy up.” he deadpans.
“Not trying to cheer you up,” she smirks. “It’s just the plain simple truth.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay, but what if—”
“No,” she interrupts, waving her hand. Milene tucks her feet closer underneath her, staving off the brunt of the summer heat.
She rests her hand by his side, studying his face intently. The curve of his nose, the slope of his cheeks and the cut of his cheekbones, his eyes—his eyes that glitter and shine like emeralds.
Milene thinks that she can stare into them forever.
“Besides,” she shrugs, “I like to watch you. You’re happy, I’m happy too.”
letters to the sea
Another thing; the melusines seem especially eager to share correspondence with you. They asked me personally for the mailing address of your new residence and I could not refute them. They seem to be abusing the soft spot I have for them, do forgive me.
With the help of the Hydro Sovereign, the melusines have taken over the mailbox of Furina’s new residence.
furina/neuvillette ; fluff
07/20 Lady Furina,
As per your request, I have provided you residence outside the Palais Mermonia. Take as much time as you need in moving in, I shall send Sedene to check on you every few days. I would have done it myself had it been that she was so insistent on it. Do not fret about repayment, this is the least I could do for you. It is hardly a dent in my coffers.
Another thing; the melusines seem especially eager to share correspondence with you. They asked me personally for the mailing address of your new residence and I could not refute them. They seem to be abusing the soft spot I have for them, do forgive me.
Rest well, if there is anything else, do not hesitate to send me a reply.
Your dear Iudex, Neuvillette
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07/28 Dearest Lady Furina,
Is your new house comfortable? When I visited you last time, it was cramped. And it was dusty and it smelled kinda bad… If you want, I can help you dust it the next time I visit. Even if I don’t understand why you’d choose to live there, if it makes you happy, then I guess I can be happy also.
The food that you made for us last time tasted funny, my lady, I think you don’t have much talent in cooking. When I told Monsieur Neuvillette, he wrinkled his brow. He does that a lot lately, and sighs a lot more too. He’s busy all the time now, especially with all that paperwork you left behind! He always asks me about my visits to you after, I think he’s worried about something. Anyway, I’ll bring that cake you like next time! I’ll just have to ask Monsieur Neuvillette what it was again…
I will stop my letter here now though, my hand is starting to ache.
All love, Sedene (P.S. I miss seeing you everyday, Lady Furina)
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08/10 Hello Lady Furina!
Work at Meropide Fortress has been hectic lately, but I finally found time to send you a letter. Now that you’re human, you have to take much more caution with your health, but if you ever come down with a case of the sniffles, I’ll come to you right away! I’ve also collected some cosmetics that you will absolutely love, I can even tell you about their properties and benefits, if you want to of course.
I’ve been wanting to visit you and Monsieur Neuvillette a lot, I have a lot of stories to share. Like when one of the prisoners at the fortress taught me how to braid hair, I tried it on Mister Wriothesley but his hair isn’t long enough. I told him he should grow it out, you agree right? I’ll try braiding yours once I find the time to visit, I’ll even ask Monsieur Neuvillette to tag along.
Anyway, I hope you don’t feel too lonely anymore. You can chat with me anytime you want, my lady, I always want to hear from you! And before I forget, I put a sheet of stickers in the envelope with this letter. It’s melusine themed! And they are scratch and sniff stickers. I’ve been saving it but I want to give it to you. Cute, right?
Kisses and well wishes, Sigewinne
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09/23 My Lady,
I have written and rewritten this letter countless times, I hope you don’t blame my poor writing skills. Some of the melusines I’ve spoken to say that they see you around the court more often than before. But I haven’t had the chance to see you again. If ever you make your way to Marcotte Station, I hope I could greet you then.
Monsieur Neuvillette has been taking the private aquabus ride to Opera Epiclese alone now, and the rides to and back are silent. He sometimes chats with me, but I’m not too fond of talking. I guess all the chatter you two had came from you.
From, Elphane
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09/30 To Miss Furina,
Congratulations on your stunning theater performance, Miss Furina. It was truly a sight to behold, you are a natural in the limelight. I hope to be able to attend more of your future performances. I can clearly see you flourishing brightly now. And truly, I am happy for you, Furina.
It is also nearing your birthday. Your first as a human, I have to say it is quite bittersweet for me. But if you’ll have me, I’d want to visit and celebrate that day with you. Like we always had done before. I will not come alone of course, the melusine children are practically buzzing with excitement.
Please do not think of me a stranger, Furina, you are the closest person to me. You are always in my thoughts and I hope to hear from you soon.
Yours, Neuvillette
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10/20 Dearest Lady Furina,
I’m sorry, my letter is probably the latest out of all my sisters! I’ve been quite busy with my aquabus shift much more now than before! I think it has something to do with the performances you do for the theater troupe now. All that heavy rain stopping is surely a plus, too. before I overheard a passenger saying that she desperately wanted to watch one of your shows, but the tickets were all sold out! It was a shame, she looked like she came all the way from Mondstat too, don’t worry I made sure to cheer her up with my tour guide skills.
If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, your face seems so much brighter! Like the glow of Lumitoiles. Even Monsieur Neuvillette has been much more perky lately, most don’t notice it but I do. Maybe because you’re spending time together again, I’ve seen a lot of articles on the two of you in the Steambird. The two of you must be super close again if you’re holding hands and sharing desserts. Your good mood is surely infectious! I’m grinning so hard, my cheeks hurt. It’s amazing!
Anyway, if you see me around, please say hi! I can be quite ignorant of my surroundings at times…
Don't be a stranger! Aeval
to celebrate the birth of my blog im posting all my ao3 fics here
New patch going great...
Anyone else give their animals in Stardew cutesy names? My dog is Mr . Muffin , my horse is Mr. Bagel, my chickens are Twig, Petal, Marigold and Nectar and my cows are Latte and Cream.
now that stardew valley is trending it’s the perfect time to remind you guys that MERMAIDS are canonically in game