Summary: "Who am I? Why, I am your Fairy Godmother. However, you may call me Gill—Stop laughing Angela..."
Dedicated to my New buddy Kit. And because I totally need to upload some stories…XD
Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon or its wonderful collection of bishies. I do however own this twisted story.
Gill was upset—actually, he was positively furious.
I mean, wouldn't you be pretty steamed if you were suddenly trapped with the covers of your bed? Oh but wait, your insane, idiotic father says he was just tucking you in. Tucking you in tightly, each corner of your warm comforter place safely under your bed, stapled--because he fears you'll try and escape this much needed moment of father-son bonding? Then he'll insist on telling you a bed time story, like he did when you were younger.
Or else. He'll just leave you there, doomed to stay trapped within the walls of the organized, but clustered room. One window— a window that lets you sees horrible things. What kind of horrible things? Well, let's just say, Yolanda needs to use the curtains to her bathroom window. And perhaps shave more.
You can shudder now.
Gill gritted his teeth, clenched and unclenched his fists in an impatient manner underneath those heavy covers. It was all he could do, besides glare daggers at his damned father.
Hamilton chuckled at his son's silly attempts to set himself free. Children were so funny sometimes. Squatting down on the chair, which was located by Gill's desk, Hamilton prepared for the greatest story telling in the history of storytelling. But first, he'd need a book. Lucky for him, there was a forest green hardcover book on Gill's desk.
And that book just happened to be Gill's diary.
Gill's eyes widen for a split-second, only to be narrowed as he began squirming under the stapled covers once more.
"Father..." he murmured, in quite a dangerously low tone."What do you think you're doing with that?"
The bumbling mayor blinked innocently, unfazed by his son glowering at him menacingly. Then it hit him. Hamilton chuckled.
"Don't worry my boy--It's just a prop!" his father reassured, tapping the hard cover with his stubby index finger. He clearly had no idea that was Gill's diary. Poor man still believed his son was manly. "I've got the whole story right in here anyway!" Here he pointed at his head. Gil snorted.
"You mean in that hollow log you call a head?"
"Hm? What was that boy?"
"Good! This means we can begin our tale." Clearing his throat, Hamilton flipped open the diary. Running his fingers gently through each page, careful not to rip any of the neatly printed pages--he didn't want to deal with his son's complaining. He stopped on one random written on page, glancing at the neat and tidy hand writing before speaking.
"Once upon a time..."
Strangely enough, and to Gill's shocked mixed with disturbance face, Hamilton spoke in a deep voice, very different from his normal jolly one. It was almost like one of those creepy horror movie voiceovers. Gill swallowed an imaginary lump in his throat, dreading the idea of having to hear his father tell him a gory story of murder. His father was known to have quite the imagination. Meaning Hamilton enjoyed detail. I'd like to emphasize on the word Gore.
Looking back up at his father, he found the man scanning his diary from left to right. With those beady black eyes; looking as if he was pretending as if he was actually reading from the book. Hamilton parted his lips slightly, creating suspense that irked Gill to no end.
"...I didn't know you've been having dreams about--"
Hamilton winced at his son's outburst, dropping the diary; letting it roll under the boy's bed. He held his arms up in defense, Hamilton grimaced.
"Alright! No props! I'll just start over..." he offered, scooting the chair back. His son could possibly get loose and scratch out his eyes. Gill huffed, turning away from his father. The mayor knotted his brows, watching his son intensely. Clearly, he couldn't use a prop; and without one's prop, you couldn't really do a proper story telling. So Hamilton had to improvise. However, dear old Hamilton had nothing.
Biting his lower lip, he watched his son pout on his stapled bed. He observed the corners where the finger-sized staples were stapled into and thought. Perhaps he should have strapped Gill into bed with belts. That way, there would be no chance of escape. At all. Hamilton did have to bond with his son after all. Moreover, this was the reason he was trying to tell Gill a story. Like in the past, when Gill was young and sweet. Well, in truth Gill was the same--exactly like now...except he would leak out his true feelings on everything. In a quite dreadfully curt way. Despite this...Hamilton knew the younger Gill had enjoyed story time. So he needed to complete this personal mission of his. Now all he needed to do was find something to begin his story with. What does Gill like...What does Gill like...What does Gill like...What does Gill like...
"Tomatoes!" he blurted out, jumping out of his seat in realization.
Gill stared at him. "What?"
Hamilton blinked, looking back at Gill; only to suddenly shrink under his piercing icy blue eyes. He needed to think of something. Quick. Gill's glare could kill you know. Or at least make you lock yourself in your room for a whole season.
And then it hit him.
Hamilton sunk back down onto the plush seat, a blank expression on his aged face.
"Her name..." Instantly, he began grinning. "...was Angela..."
His Glass Slippers
Usually, one would begin a fairytale with a classic 'once upon a time'.
However, this fairytale is far from a classic. Certainly far.
There was a Kingdom--something all fairy tales possessed, be it a good kingdom or an evil one--Known as Waffle Kingdom. This— as ironic as it is—was located on what was called Waffle Island.
However, our story doesn't start exactly here--It begins on the tiny land plot of Sunset farm. The owner of said farm was a young petite female.
And her name was Angela.
I hope you saw that coming. I did.
Now Angela wasn't the most beautiful girl on the island, the fairest, or even the lovable one--Oh no. People barely knew she existed. You see, Angela wasn't allowed to leave the farm. So, not many were able to get familiar with her chocolate brown locks, that framed her slightly childish face almost perfectly, nor her round, soft amber, innocent filled eyes.
Well, Angela didn't live alone. She lived with three others. Three terrible others.
An Evil step mother and two Ugly step sisters.
Sound familiar? Of course not.
Her step mother insisted on keeping Angela in the safe confinement of their land. God knows what was out there! Besides, who would clean the house? Cleaning the house instead of being kidnapped or harmed sounded way more comforting. Her step sisters would tease her, leaving Angela with very little self-confidence in herself. Once she believed she was a boy, because only boys did rough, dirty farm work. Heck, she thought she was an animal for two good years, forcing herself out into the barn because she didn't want her loving family to be stuck around a filthy animal like her.
Naive she was. Despite her naive mind, Angela kept her head up. She was always working diligently on the crops, caring for the animals, and even completing everyday house chores in record time. However...
Angela would always secretly long for more. There was just nothing more for her.
And she knew that.
It was green.
It was freaking green. A nasty olive green.
Scramble eggs were NOT supposed to be green. Or so I've been told. Amber eyes watched the frying pan cautiously.
Angela winced, watching little green flakes fly out of the pan and onto the heated stove top.
She sneered at the scramble eggs. How dare they sizzle on her once clean stove, staining it with their disgusting shade of green? Euw.
Angela flinched, glancing behind her left shoulder, at a painfully slow pace, to see none other than her Evil step mother.
"I know..." she replied flatly, gazing back at the green food herself.
"Humph. You're supposed to be good at cooking."
"Apparently I'm not."
"What kind of slave can't?"
Furrowing her brows, Angela thought she should blame the eggs for this. "I'm not a slave," she grumbled, hoping the eggs would just blow up under her heated glare. "I'm supposed to be a step-daughter." There was a scoff in reply.
Angela glanced over once more, seeing a massive amount of luscious purple hair being flipped by a feminine hand.
"Or perhaps, you could always try cooking for us, Julius." she deadpanned.--
"Julius!? I-is Angela's Step-Mother!?" exclaimed Gill, eyeing his father closely. Eventually he had given up on ignoring his father and decided humoring him by listening to whatever nonsense Hamilton would spew out.
"Of course! Don't you think Dear Julius could fit the part of an Evil step-mother? Hm?" Hamilton said stoutly, looking at the other as if he was the one at fault here. Gill twitched.
"...Well I suppose Julius could play off the evil character portion of this story...but," Gill narrowed his eyes, hoping his father would understand. Sadly, Hamilton was a freaking idiot and stayed clueless as to what his son may have been hinting at. This would be the part where Gill would face palm--however he was still trapped by his STAPLED to the bed covers. So bitterly he added, "Father...Julius is a male."
Sighing, Gill remained unfazed when his father was suddenly sprawled out on his clean cut carpet, because of the failure in his brain that kept him sitting. It was no surprise Hamilton was in complete shock. Gill had seen worse reactions anyway. The mild shock was lost in mere seconds as Hamilton regained his composition. Clearing his throat, he helped himself back onto the chair, looking flustered with embarrassment.
"I knew that."
"That's not what step-brothers do, my dear Angela."
Angela blinked, eyeing Julius oddly.
"Weren't...weren't you my step-mother a second ago?" she questioned, knowing damn well he was--unless he had a magical sex change in two seconds. Hm.
Awkward silence was ensured.
...Ruby red irises narrowed.
Amber ones blinked.
"...Just because I'm prettier than you, does not automatically make me a woman." he flipped his hair, scoffing at his step-sister's stupidity. "Besides, my children would never dress as disgustingly as you do."
Speechless by Julius' clever insults, Angela did what any other sensible person would have. Glare.
And Glare she did. However, Julius could deflect any sort of glare shot at him, so she failed. Failed miserably.
"What a vile brother you are..." she hissed, stilling attempting to glare at him. Julius shrugged, barely able to contain that smug grin creeping onto his red lips.
"Thanks for the compliment. Flatter gets you everywhere." He winked, which caused her to pout, and swayed off to check on their other sisters.
Angela's nose wrinkled in disgust before turning back to her green eggs; only to find that they were now a brown-ish green. They must have burned while she was busy not paying attention. Serves them right. Being green. She gave a curt nod to no one in particular, pride swelling as she did. She had won the battle. That and there was nothing to eat for breakfast now. Oh wait, that's a bad thing.
The brunette nibbled on her lower lip, fear bubbling in her. She had screwed up--meaning she was in store for terrible things. Punishment.
Luckily for her, she had scuttled out of the kitchen to hide; meaning she would be safe for another day on this cruel planet.
Unluckily for her...she had left the stove on.
Annnnnnnnd....I've decided that I'll turn this into a multi-chapter story. Only because I wanted to post it, get me some feedback, and then have more motivation to finish it up...83
As a sidenote--This is intended to be a humorous fic with a decent amount of romance...so please forgive me if this isn't of your taste. D: I'm best at humor and crack-ish kind of things...so yeah... T_T