#guardian pitch sneak peek | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

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

By @lametinkerer

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

By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again.   "Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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

By @lagt-duck

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

By @al-the-frog

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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

By @largeegg

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

By @wasabi-arts

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke. “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

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

By @ded-lime

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

By @vivifrage

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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

By @artisticdragons

#hollowknight #hollow knight #palejesterau #telephoneknight #troupe master grimm #pale king #grimmchild #shadelord #(briefly)

115 notes · View notes

mannien · 3 years

Text

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s�� going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

(Tom) I got you something today

After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood. She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

(Me) You were in Disneyland????

(Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today

(Me) I’m so jealous rn

(Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!

(Tom) it’s alright

(Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

(Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

(Me) I bet you loved this feeling

(Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

(Tom) Don’t tell anyone

(Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

(Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

“I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

“That’s exciting, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

“I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

“No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

“Yeah? How was work?”

“Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

“You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

“I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

“You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

“I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

“You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

“How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

“Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

“It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

“Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb

24 notes · View notes

little-horror-girl-love · 3 years

Text

WIP Excerpt

Just for shits and giggles, I thought I would post the prologue from my current WIP, Monsters. Enjoy!

* * *

“Are you going out again tonight?” Gia asked, watching as her mother paused in the middle of undressing. Her mother straightened up in slight surprise, then breathed a silent exhale before turning a gentle smile back at her darling daughter. Gia knew that smile; her mother wore it whenever she’d been caught doing something she was trying to hide. She had seen her mother flash that smile only once before, when she’d walked in to find her constructing a Guardian coat.

“What are you doing awake at this hour, little one?” her mother asked, stepping forward and fully opening the bedroom door from which Gia was peeking through. “My darling, you should be in bed. It’s late, and you need to wake up early tomorrow.” She smiled and ran her fingers through Gia’s hair. “You begin training for your role in the morning.”

“I know,” Gia said, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed. “But why are you going out?” Her mother paused again, her eyes dropping to the floor in defeat. She’d been caught again—she knew she could no longer keep this secret. “Why do you go out at night?”

Her mother glanced back up at her, briefly thinking her words over, before continuing to undress in silence. Gia understood and remained quiet; she knew better than to press. It would only lead to more silence, as well as a brief annoyed look. She simply sat quietly and watched her mother dress, patiently waiting for her to answer in her own time.

As expected, her mother dressed in masculine clothing—specifically, the assigned uniform of the Guardians: white sleeveless button-up shirt, black trousers, grey running boots, and a long black, lightweight coat. Gia had known for a long time that her mother was going out on the Guardians’ assigned nights, sneaking into the surrounding woods to join them in battling the Beasts.

She had never seen the Beasts, herself—the Guardians made sure of that. Their job was to protect the village from the Beasts, and they would venture out into the woods and battle the unseen creatures. Oftentimes, Gia would overhear the more experienced Guardians boast about how many of the creatures were slain.

From what she’d heard around the village, the Beasts were canine-like in appearance. They had the body structures and faces of wolves, but were around the size of cows, maybe even horses at the absolute largest. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness, their jagged fangs glinted in the moonlight, and their large claws were sharp enough to leave deep gashes in tree trunks. Sometimes, the Guardians would bring back the slain creatures’ pelts to be made into coats and shawls by the Seamstresses; their fur was pitch-black and coarse in texture.

Gia hoped she would go her whole life without ever encountering these monsters.

Once her mother was fully dressed, she turned back to Gia with a worried frown on her face.

“Gianna,” she started, then shook her head before kneeling down beside the bed and reaching under it. “Your father.” Gia stiffened at the mention of her father. She’d never known him, for he’d disappeared not long before she was born. All she knew about him was the descriptions her mother gave: a lean man of tall stature, a kind look in his eyes, and dark hair that’d been slowly greying, despite being quite young; a helpful person who wouldn’t hesitate to assist those in need; and a loving husband who was excited at the prospect of being a father. That was all she knew.

“What about him?” she asked, watching as her mother pulled a large wooden trunk from under the bed. She voiced a silent gasp as her mother opened its lid, looking over the weapons that laid inside. Swords, knives, a crossbow and arrows. These were the typical weapons of a Guardian. Gia held her breath in anticipation as her mother selected each weapon from the trunk and began to load up. The arrows and crossbow were slung over her shoulders, the knives were stored inside her coat, and the swords were holstered at her hips.

“Those monsters,” her mother breathed, returning to her feet before turning her soft gaze back to Gia. “They’re the cause of your father’s disappearance.” This revelation came as the kind of shock where you couldn’t react at first; it took a moment for those words to register in Gia’s head, and her eyes widened in horror once they did.

“They…killed him?” she murmured, clutching at the hem of her nightgown. Her mother’s lips were set in a straight line, and she hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.

“I was…informed of this sometime ago,” she explained, turning an angry glare toward the window. “I will avenge him.” Gia turned her own worried gaze toward the window as well, terrified of the idea that her mother was going out and fighting these creatures. She feared the idea that her mother would fall in battle, be brutally mauled by the Beasts. What would she do without her mother? She had no other family in the village.

Her mother noticed her worried expression before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, a warm smile stretching across her lips.

“Do not worry,” she reassured. “I will always come back. Especially when I have your charm on hand.” Gia’s head perked up at the mention of that, managing a little smile.

This crafting of charms was a tradition set by the village’s third Elder. From what Gia had learned in school, the third Elder received a handmade charm from her grandchild made from a stone, strings, and anything else they could find, supposedly to bring her good health and protection. The Elder was so touched by this gesture, she’d made it a tradition: once the village’s children reached the age of nine, they were to craft a charm to bring good health and protection to their parents. A way to honor the parents of the village, and what better way to honor them than with a thoughtful gift from the little loves of their lives?

“It’ll protect you,” Gia beamed, earning a more genuine smile from her mother. “You always carry it when you go out at night, right?” Her mother nodded before returning to standing.

“Yes, always. As long as I have it, I will always return home safely,” she affirmed. “Now, you must go to sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.” Gia’s smile faded to an unsure frown, and she turned a nervous glance toward the bedroom door.

“May I sleep here tonight?” Her mother chuckled and nodded, darting a slightly impatient glimpse back toward the door.

“Of course you may,” she said, motioning for Gia to get under the covers with a sweeping motion of the hand. Gia obeyed and crawled under the blankets, laying back as her mother tucked her in and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, my sweet Gianna,” her mother whispered, turning and heading toward the door. Before she could cross the threshold, she paused and turned back to her dear daughter. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Gia nodded, blowing a kiss to her mother as she closed the door. She listened to her mother’s receding footsteps, and the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. She will be safe, she told herself. She has my charm.

She laid frozen for a moment longer before curling up and closing her eyes, listening to the distant sounds of the night outside. The crickets chirping, the wind whistling through the leaves of the trees, and the occasional howl of the faraway Beasts. She squirmed at the sounds, the worry she’d felt earlier returning to the forefront of her mind.

The return of this worry made it difficult for her to fall asleep, something that brought a small sense of annoyance to her. She needed to fall asleep, or else she would be an exhausted mess for her training tomorrow.

She tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally sitting up in irritation, rubbing her eyes. Perhaps a drink of water would help her; it usually did when she had problems sleeping at night. She flinched at another distant howl, then pulled the covers back and slipped out of bed. The wooden floor creaked under her weight as she tip-toed out of the room and to the front room.

The jugs of water were kept in the cupboard beside the door, and she almost reached it before something sitting on the countertop caught her attention. The little stone glittering in the moonlight made her eyes widen in horror.

Her charm.

Her mother had forgotten it.

“Did I…?” She couldn’t even finish that statement, the idea that she’d caused her mother to forget it too horrifying for her to say aloud. No, her mother couldn’t forget it—it kept her safe while she was out fighting. It would allow her mother to return home safely. If she didn’t have it, what would happen?

She didn’t allow herself to think about it any longer, as she rushed back to her bedroom and threw open her wardrobe. She dressed in her dressing gown and a pair of boots, then ran back to the front room and grabbed the charm. She would bring this to her mother, even if she was disobeying the village’s rules by doing so. No one other than the Guardians was allowed in the forest at night; it was too dangerous. But she wasn’t going to let her mother get hurt or even killed because she made her forget to take her charm.

She took a deep breath before stepping out of the house, glancing around at the village as she closed the door behind herself. She’d never seen the village at night; it was so quiet and peaceful. To think that, without the Guardians, nighttime in the village would be so different. There’d be Beasts wandering around, maybe breaking into the houses and attacking the inhabitants.

She swallowed the fearful lump in her throat as she turned back toward the woods, terrified. Her mind raced with thoughts of encountering a Beast—that was the last thing she wanted. She stayed where she was for a second, contemplating her mission, then glanced down at the charm in her hand. It was supposed to bring protection to her mother, so maybe it’d do the same for her.

With that thought in mind, she breathed deeply before trotting toward the woods.

* * *

The woods were much darker than the village; it seemed the moonlight didn’t penetrate the forest grounds. It was a full moon tonight, and yet it did nothing to illuminate Gia’s surroundings. She briefly considered going back and grabbing a lantern, but dismissed this; that’d make her easily spotted by the Beasts. If anything, perhaps the darkness was a good thing, as it kept her hidden.

She flinched at a sudden yelp coming from somewhere near her, though she managed to keep her startled gasp quiet. It sounded like a dog that had been injured—it must’ve been a Beast, perhaps hurt by a Guardian. She dry-swallowed before continuing deeper into the woods, keeping the charm clutched in her fist.

Soon enough, the sounds of battle surrounded her. Growls and snarls, howls, yelps, groans of pain, and grunts of effort came from every direction, thankfully never coming too close to her. She looked around as she ran, her eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness. Every so often, she caught a glimpse of a silhouette in the distance, the shapes of humans fighting canine-like monsters.

Please, mother, she thought, stopping beside a large tree and crouching down beside it. She wanted to remain as invisible as possible, even if she was fully hidden by the darkness. Where are you?

A brief thought crossed her mind that her mother had already fallen in battle, a thought that made her shudder and shake her head, trying to purge this image from her mind. She hoped that her mother was all right, so that she could deliver the charm to her.

She stood back up to continue her mission, then paused as her hand brushed against an odd texture on the tree. She looked it over for a moment, her eyes widening at the large scratches displayed upon it. Three large gashes, deep enough to cause concern. These animals must’ve been extremely strong to inflict gashes this deep.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as she gathered her thoughts and trotted away, glancing around as she did. Where was her mother? She had to be around somewhere. She had to be.

She froze as her eyes focused on something up ahead, and she silently crept forward and knelt down beside a large bush.

Her mother. It had to be her mother; she could tell by the long hair pulled back into a ponytail. None of the Guardians had hair this long, considering they were men; the longest they wore their hair was about shoulder-length. Yes, this had to be her mother.

Her mother was facing away from her, in a stand-off against a pair of eyes that glowed red in the darkness. A Beast. Her eyes widened in horror as they returned to her mother. She was in the middle of a fight, but they weren’t attacking each other. Were they hurt?

“Mother,” she squeaked out. Her mother flinched, and slowly turned back to face her. Her eyes were widened in shock and fear as they looked Gia up and down.

“You…” she breathed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Mother, you forgot your charm.” Her mother shook her head, then turned a quick glance back toward the red eyes before suddenly turning back to Gia and rushing toward her.

“No!” she yelled out, the urgency in her voice causing Gia to clamp her eyes shut in fear. The Beast must’ve been charging, and she didn’t want to see more than its eyes. She was already terrified at the prospect of having come across her mother in the middle of a fight.

The sound of something tearing made her flinch, and the following sounds of her mother grunting in pain and a low growling made her heart jump into her throat. She was too afraid to open her eyes, afraid that her mother was hurt.

“G…Gia,” her mother’s soft voice rasped, and she winced before forcing her eyes open. The sight before her made her instantly regret this action, and her eyes widened in horror as her hands flew to her mouth.

Her mother was kneeling before her, a dark liquid dripping from her paling lips. Behind her, a large shape with glowing red eyes, its glinting fangs embedded in her body. The Beast, it’d clamped its jaws down on her torso. Gia whimpered at this sight, tears springing to her eyes.

“Mother…I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I…I just wanted you to be safe.” Her mother weakly nodded, placing a trembling hand to Gia’s head.

“I know,” she choked out, her hand slipping from where she’d placed it on Gia’s head before hanging limp. “Gia, I…I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Gia asked, the tears now oozing down her cheeks. She flinched as the Beast released her mother from its jaws, allowing her to drop down to the ground. Her mother managed a fading glance back up at Gia before her breathing stilled and the life in her eyes vanished. Gia’s breath caught in her throat at this sight, of her mother dead before her.

“Mother, why?” she exclaimed. “Why are you sorry?” A brief, choked sob escaped her lips before her breathing hitched as the Beast approached her. She looked the creature over in horror, its appearance matching the descriptions she’d heard. Its red eyes looked her over intently as it leaned forward and sniffed her face. She did nothing to move; she couldn’t, as the sight before her had left her completely paralyzed. All she could do was watch as the Beast sniffed her face, ready to kill her.

But that never happened. Instead, it stepped back before turning and running deeper into the forest. She watched it vanish into the shadows before returning her tear-filled gaze to her mother’s body.

“Mother…” she squeaked out, glancing down at the charm in her hand. This was her fault. She caused her mother to forget the charm, and then caused her mother’s death by distracting her from the battle. Why did she come here?

“Hey!” A man’s voice, and she flinched as she turned her attention up to a man running over to them. She knew him: he was the captain of the Guardians, and therefore the trainer of the boys who received that role. She couldn’t think of his name now; her mind was too numb to think.

“My mother…” she murmured, to which the captain knelt down beside her, switching his attention between her and her mother.

“What happened?” he asked, motioning to her mother’s body with his eyes. She kept her gaze on the body before her, squeezing the charm in her hand. She could feel the edges of the rock digging into her palm, breaking the skin and drawing blood, but she only turned a brief glance down at it before dropping it from her grasp. She hated the sight of it; if not for her own naivety based on the myth behind this item, her mother would be alive.

“The monster…” she choked out. The captain glanced down at her mother again before moving to scoop her up in his arms. She allowed him to, since she still felt like she couldn’t move.

“It’s all right, girl,” he assured, glancing up as another Guardian came running up. This one was younger, still a teenager; perhaps this was one of his first nights out. The captain looked the teenage Guardian up and down before holding Gia out to him. “Garaile, take the girl back to the village. I’ll take care of the body.” The boy—Garaile—nodded before taking Gia in his arms and heading back in the direction of the village.

“What were you doing out here?” Garaile whispered to her once they were a decent amount of distance away from the captain and her mother. “There’s a reason no one’s allowed in the woods at night.

#wip excerpt #writeblr #monsters

4 notes · View notes

aalissy · 4 years

Text

Statue

This is the very first time I’ve written post-reveal, pre-relationship :O. Shocking, I know! Especially because I am very much trashhhh for this trope. I hope I did it justice, though :). Lemme know what you think?

AO3

The drilling sound of a sewing machine filled Marinette’s room as the girl carefully stitched together a new skirt. Adrien was sat on her chaise, occasionally glancing over at the concentrating girl, a notebook balanced on his knees in a half-hearted attempt to study.

It had been a few weeks since the two had both accidentally stumbled into the same alley when they detransformed back. To say it was a shock to see Ladybug’s bright, ocean eyes melt away into Marinette’s cheerful, blue ones was an understatement. Adrien had fallen backwards, his back colliding harshly with a cold wall. He may have yelped rather squeakily, wincing in pain as he rubbed at the sore spot. That was all it took before his lady was rushing forward, peering at him with eyes filled with concern, her lower lip sucked into her mouth, “Adrien?! Are you alright?”

“Me, yep,” his voice rose an octave before he cleared his throat, hoping to lower the obnoxious tone, “Why wouldn’t I be?!”

Marinette’s brow creased with anxiety before she was offering him a hand up, “A-are you sure? That looked like it hurt.”

“Trust me, my lady, that’s the least of my worries right now,” Adrien took her hand, letting her help him up, ignoring the tingles that raced up his arm from the contact, “H-how are you not freaking out right now?”

Her lips quirked for a second before she looked at him rather tiredly, “Well, to be honest, I’ve been suspicious for a while now... and this had to happen at some point. With me being the new guardian it was only a matter of time before we had to reveal our identities,” she shrugged before giving him a weak smile.

“M-Marinette, are you alright?” he reached out for her, his fingers skimming the sleeve of her jacket before she was backing away from him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” her smile was less shaky now, but her eyes... her eyes seemed hollow and empty, “I-I just need a little time to sort through all this. Give Kagami my regards,” she gave him a half-hearted wave before she was running off, towards what he assumed was the bakery.

Adrien watched her leave with a sinking feeling, and, if he were Chat right now his ears would have drooped on his head, his tail limp behind him. But he wasn’t his superhero counterpart, the model sighed, adjusting the strap from his backpack before making his way back to the mansion.

The next day at school, his dread grew and he was absolutely terrified of seeing Marinette. When he heard the telltale sound of the designer rushing in, he avoided her gaze, tapping his pen noisily on the desk. He assumed that she would ignore him as well but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he felt warm fingers scratch through his hair, causing his eyes to flutter close with relief, “What’s the matter, minou? You look tired. Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Adrien’s eyes slowly opened hazily, a small grin growing on his face. He looked up at the bright beam on the girl’s face. This was Marinette. His lady. How could he have expected anything different from her? Damn if he didn’t tumble a little more into love with her right then and there. He grinned crookedly at her, “Yeah. Thanks for checking up on me, bug.”

“Anytime, kitty,” she giggled and his heart stuttered as her fingers ruffled his hair again before she took the seat behind him.

That day in class was one of the worst in his life. All Adrien had wanted to do was crane his neck and stare at the girl behind him. That wasn’t even counting the few glances he did manage to sneak back there to check on her. Every time their eyes connected, Marinette would smile brightly, her blue eyes sparkling at him before she gestured back to their teacher, mouthing at him to pay attention. His head would whip back to the front, heart pounding and his cheeks a deep, rosy red. Yep, he was screwed.

That led them to where they were today. Him, still a hopeless, lovestruck pile of goo when she so much as laughed and her the same confident, teasing superheroine she had always been. Adrien sighed, his gaze once more being drawn over to the girl who held his heart in her hands. At least they were hanging out more, his head fell onto the palm of his hand as he watched her tongue peek out in concentration while she sewed. Most days they were together, hanging out under the guise of studying before ducking out into the Parisian streets to patrol together. He had just always hoped that there would be a lot more hand-holding and kissing involved. His cheeks flamed as he envisioned a world where Marinette would fall into his arms, her eyes filled with as much love as his own.

Adrien scoffed, giving his head a rough shake. As if Marinette could ever like him back. He had thought he had it bad when he was pining after Ladybug but Marinette was even more unattainable. The sweet, cheerful girl who had half of the class in love with her already. The thought that she would ever return his feelings was so impractical that he was surprised he could even think it. He sighed rather loudly, a large pout forming on his lips.

“What’s the matter, minou?” Marinette tilted her head back to look at him, “You look sad.”

“N-nothing. I was just thinking,” he stammered, his blush growing darker as he was caught.

“Thinking about what?” she moved from her desk chair to walk closer, nudging his legs over to sit on the chaise with him. A small, teasing grin spread across her cheeks as she scooted closer, her head turning upside-down to look at his empty notebook. Her pigtails brushed against his knees and Adrien clenched his fists against the urge to bury his hands in her hair. She nodded her head down at his notebook before looking at him mischievously, “Getting a lot of studying done I see?”

His heart tightened painfully in his chest, “Yeah, for some reason my heart just isn’t in it today,” he shut his notebook, putting it on the floor along with his textbook, moving his legs to make more room for her to sit so that he could breathe more comfortably.

Marinette frowned, and god did he want to smooth the small crease in her brow with his thumb, “Are you alright, Adrien? What is it that you’re thinking about? Is it something bad.”

“No, no it’s just,” his eyes darted about the room, searching for something to talk about besides his overwhelming love for her, “Do you remember that time I pretended to be a statue?” Adrien winced. Of all the things to mention why did it have to be that?

The designer in front of him seemed to freeze, her eyes growing in alarm before she scooted slightly away from him, “Y-yeah why?”

He needed to do something, anything, to erase the unease in her eyes. So, he blurted out the first thing he thought of, “No, it’s just... well, I was thinking that was the first time you kissed me where we both remembered it.”

Marinette chuckled tightly, her hand waving in the air before she stood up, “Yep. That... that was definitely a moment. That happened.”

“Marinette?” Adrien frowned as she began pacing her tiny room, running a hand through her hair.

She stopped after about a moment, whirling around to face him, “I just don’t understand why, um,” she cleared her throat before continuing, “Why you’re thinking about well, that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, ducking his head down shyly.

“Just one of those thoughts that popped into your head, then?” Marinette smiled rather tensely at him.

“Yeah, yeah, must have been,” he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

“Good, good,” she blew out a terse breath before murmuring, “I’m sorry, by the way.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed, staring at her in confusion. Sorry? What did that mean? His head tilted before he spoke, “About what?”

“For kissing you, of course,” Marinette chuckled nervously, her index fingers tapping together.

“Well why are you sorry about that?” his frown deepened.

This time she looked at him in confusion, a tiny crease forming on her own brow, “What do you mean why am I sorry? I kissed you without your permission. Besides, I doubt you wanted my lips on yours...”

“Well what if I did?” Adrien blurted out, barely recognizing the words forming on his lips before they came out. Shut up, shut up, what are you doing Agreste?! He berated himself.

“I don’t... I don’t understand... what?” Marinette’s eyes were blown wide, and was that hope in her expression or was he mistaking it for something else?

This was it. This was his moment to back out of this conversation. Laugh it off and keep himself safe. Keep himself stuck in the friend zone forever. But this was Marinette. And she was looking at him so vulnerably, what seemed like hope burning in her bluebell eyes. So, he took a deep breath of courage and repeated himself more slowly, “What if I did want you to kiss me?”

She laughed. A high-pitched squeak of a sound, contrasting harshly with her usual, adorably soft giggles, “Well then I’d say who are you and what have you done with Adrien Agreste? He’d never want to kiss me.”

“And what if he did?” he stood up slowly, so as not to spook her. His steps towards her were slow and cautious, as though one wrong step would ruin the whole dynamic of their friendship.

Marinette’s gaze darted around the room and she took one step back, “I don’t... Adrien, please. I can’t... we can’t.”

“What do you mean?” he got close enough to grab her hands with his, restraining himself from brushing a kiss against her fingers.

“I-you... Kagami... what would Kagami think?” her gaze landed on him almost desperately.

“Kagami? What do you mean?” Adrien looked at her, his head tilting to the side curiously.

Marinette gulped in a harsh breath of air, before returning her gaze to him, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like it very much if I was kissing you.”

“Girlfriend? Marinette, what are you talking about? Kagami and I didn’t work out. She wanted things that I just wasn’t ready for.”

She removed her hands from his and it felt like she took a piece of his heart with her as she began pacing once again, her hand running through her hair. When she finally stopped, she jabbed a finger into his chest, “You told me! You told me that day that the girl you were in love with didn’t like your jokes! How did you and Kagami not work out if you were that in love with her?!”

“Marinette I wasn’t talking about Kagami, I was talking about you,” Adrien’s hands waved in the air in exasperation, “Well, the Ladybug you, I mean.”

Her mouth fell open, her finger paused in the air like she was going to jab at him again, “I... me?”

“Yes, you. Marinette, it’s always been you,” he once again grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly.

“No, no that can’t be... that just can’t be...,” she shook her head roughly, “Cause if I like you and you like me th-,”

Adrien cut her off by practically shouting, “Wait, you like me?!”

“Yes, yes this isn’t new,” Marinette shook her head, her gaze still trained on the floor as though she were trying to work out a puzzle.

“What do you mean it isn’t new?! This is certainly new to me!” he squeaked, his voice high-pitched with shock. He let go of her hands to tilt her chin up, scanning her eyes for any sign that she was lying to him.

“You mean you didn’t know?” her eyes were blown wide, “Adrien it was obvious!! I kissed you and you still didn’t realize I was in love with you!”

He choked out a gasp, “Marinette I asked you multiple times if you liked me that way and you said you didn’t! I didn’t realize you were lying! And that day in the museum you said you knew it was me the whole time. That you were just pranking me! How was I supposed to know?”

“Because literally everyone else in our class did! You were the only one I stuttered, stammered, and blushed around and you still didn’t figure it out!” Marinette’s eyebrows rose with frustration.

“Wait, wait, wait... You mean all this time I’ve liked you and you’ve liked me?” he sputtered out.

“Yes, finally!” Plagg sprouted out from the pillow that he and Tikki had been sharing, “I can’t believe it took you two geniuses this long to figure it out!”

“Plagg!” Tikki scolded him before looking at the two teens apologetically.

The black cat turned to his partner, rolling his eyes, “Well it’s not my fault, sugarcube. I figured the reveal would solve all this lovey-dovey mush. I didn’t think it’d make it worse. Do you have any idea how long I’ve listened to this one gush about how cute Marinette looked in class today, and oh, how Marinette did this today. It was exhausting.”

“You act like I didn’t have to deal with Marinette giggling about how Chat saved them from an akuma today or how that stupid cat was going to kill her with his playful teasing,” Tikki chuckled.

Adrien swallowed a harsh lump in his throat, his cheeks a bright red before he turned to face Marinette whose own cheeks were on fire. Sucking in a deep breath, he gave her a wobbly smile, “This may be long overdue my lady, but would you do me the purrleasure of being my girlfriend?”

“Are... are you serious?” she turned to him, whispering the words as she searched his eyes.

“Cat’s honor,” he grinned at her.

In the next second, she launched herself into his arms, planting her lips on his own. His eyes widened for a second before he melted into her kiss. He picked her up, clinging her to him happily as their kiss deepened. When they finally pulled back, he was breathing raggedly, but he smirked in satisfaction at the state of Marinette’s rumpled hair.

“Shut up, minou,” she stuck her tongue out playfully, “You look just as raggedy.”

“I’ll let you know that I always look purrfect!”

“Oh my god, why did I agree to date you again?”

“Because you love me,” he teased, pulling her into another passionate kiss.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #adrinetteapril2020 #adrienetteapril2020 #adrinette #adrienette #identity reveal #post reveal pre relationship #post-reveal #post reveal #pre-relationship #pre relationship #fic

72 notes · View notes

overmooneleven · 2 months

Text

So what do you think they’re talking about?

#diagnosis of empathy #guardian pitch sneak peek #my art #myart #16 panels and I’m only half way

29 notes · View notes

vercopaanir · 4 years

Text

Chapter 10 Sneak Peek

The Lovely Moons Series

So I’m not sure when this chapter will be out. Probably in the next few days. But I’m really excited for it, because it sets off a whole slew of things! Anyway, here’s a tidbit.

“There is not a word for it that I know of,” he says thoughtfully. “The Mando’a call the taste heturam. We prefer a burning, spicy flavor when it comes to food.” His patient tone makes your stomach feel light. Ever since his flying lessons, you have found a hunger for learning from him.

You watch as he feeds the child a small bite, and you tilt your head.

“Over everything? Salty or sweet, even?” you ask curiously, chewing carefully and considering the flavors. It is a myriad of different seasonings mixed together, and you want to ask where he acquired it. Did he eat it as a child? He must have, you think, watching the little one smack his small bites with joy.

His visor tilts up toward you, casting a bright red gleam from the fire. “N-No,” he says, his baritone pitched oddly low. “I like...sweet.”

You both stare at each other for a long moment, heat blooming in your cheeks and in your breast. Your food is forgotten about, noticing the light moving over his chest plate where his breath rises and falls faster than before. You want to say something, but there is something else being said in the quiet, and you aren’t sure how to stop it.

Or if you want to.

The child decides for you, tugging at the Mandalorian’s glove with a whimper. He does a double take down at the little one, letting out a deep sigh and picking up more food to help feed him.

The heat you feel takes a long while to dissipate, and you finish eating by the time you trust your voice again. You gather the cloth up carefully, cleaning your hands and deciding to wash them later. The bounty hunter cleans the child’s face carefully, against the little one’s huffing and turning his head away from the motions. Eventually he escapes the fussing to toddle across the short distance to you, grabbing upward with his hands. The Mandalorian sighs loudly, but fondly.

“So this...is it an animal?” you ask, lifting the baby up into your lap once more and touching the pendant hanging from his little neck. With a full stomach and a warm fire, you feel like you could curl up and go back to sleep, but your curiosity for the Mando’a is stronger with each bit of information shared. “What is it?”

The Mandalorian begins to clean the area, gathering the utensils he used to cook with. “A mythosaur,” he says, and you think he must like this topic because his voice is lighter now. When he finishes, he lowers himself on the log beside you, your knees touching. He uses one of the skewers and begins to draw in the dirt near the fire, suddenly gaining the child’s interest. “It was a great beast, long ago, and the Mandalorians tamed and rode them. Many signets bear the bones of its face.”

You scoot closer, trying to peer down at what he draws, but it’s simply too dark for you to make anything out. The baby coos suddenly, and you can’t help but smile wide. “What are you doing?”

He chuckles from behind his helmet, and you elbow him gently. “My guardian told me the stories, warriors with sabers and horns on their helms riding these creatures. It’s easier not to be afraid of the dark when you know the monsters won’t hurt you,” he says, carefully looking down at the child in your lap.

“Very wise,” you say softly, and you listen to the drag of the skewer through the soft dirt. Soothed by the crackling fire, the warmth in your belly, and the scent of trees and clean skin, you slowly lay your cheek against his pauldron.

The Mandalorian stills.

#The Lovely Moons #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #my writing #my fic #din djarin has a crush and doesn't know what to do about it #we got TENSION MY FRIENDS #MY COUNTRYMEN WE GOT ROMANCE!!!#:O

50 notes · View notes

ravenandwritingdesks · 4 years

Text

Affinity Sneak Peek

Here’s a sneak peek at a future chapter in Affinity my AU anthology. The theme of this one is dark versus light.

xxxxxxxxx

Illuminated

Where eternal daylight brushes against eternal night

xxxxxxxxx

Warm air dances across the illuminated skin of outstretched arms, carrying the sound of festive music. The constant sunlight pools around a lithe body, bouncing off the radiant silver of the leaves. The girl in the tree could stay this way forever, basking in the warmth of her world. Everything is light, calming, uplifting, even the bark of the branch she lies upon is smooth.

“Sakura!” A voice calls.

Eyelids flutter open, gently, squinting at the bright world around her. Hanging high in the sky, the golden light of the sun rains down around her.

“I know your up there,” the voice teases, prompting her to peer down from her perch. She’s met with a blinding smile and brilliant blue eyes visible despite the great distance between where he stands and her height in the great tree.

“Very informal of you, Guardian Naruto,” Sakura responds, faking a pretentious tone. She sees her guardian’s body shake as he chuckles at her jest.

“My apologies,” he bends down in a mock bow, his shining blonde hair falling in his eyes “Princess.”

Rolling her eyes, Sakura returns her head to its previous position, staring up at the intricate network of white branches. A giggle escapes the content girl as a pleasant breeze makes the glowing leaves dance around her. The wispy fabric of her dress lifts around her body, creating a beautiful illusion of looking through a wedding veil.

“Come back to the festival, Sakura,” Naruto calls up. “It’s tradition for the royal princesses and their chosen guardians to share the last dance.”

“Celebrating the entrapment of our people does not appease me,” she responds, not looking back down at the man sworn to protect her. “Besides, you’re a horrible dancer.”

“Aw, no need to be rude,” his words sound hurt, but the princess of light knows that her young companion is just teasing. “And the establishment of the walls is not an entrapment, it’s a gift, allowing us to be protected from the beasts on the other side.”

She does not need a history lesson, she’s heard the story a million times. It begins with a past, so war torn and bloody that the creatures of light were forced to live in hiding. The fear was so great, her people could not even trust their shadows, for the enemy embodied them. So her ancestors did what they thought best and fled to the safety of the wall.

Sakura has never seen the monsters that inhabit the other side, but she’s heard of their imposing presence. The darkness clothes them, snuffing out the shine of her illuminated people. Their eyes glow red, as consequence of living in the shadows and along with the monsters they’ve trained to ravage their enemies, they are a force to be reckoned with. The drawings of such creatures within her dwelling’s ancient library gave the young princess nightmares for a week. Only the building of the barrier could spare her world from such horrors. Of course, that occurred long ago, sparing her from ever having to witness their much talked about enemy.

She stares up at the imposing wall directly beside her beloved tree. The shiny gold surface taunts her, practically begging her to peer over its great height. Perhaps that is why she loves this tree, it fuels her curiosity, bringing her almost close enough to see what’s on the other side. She’s been coming here almost everyday for as long as she can remember, climbing as high as she dare numerous times, but it’s never been quite high enough to peer into the other world. It’s not like she’s discontent with her current life, quite the opposite in fact. She loves this place she calls home, with its luminescent people, eternal sunlight, and constant warmth, however, something about the unknown has always tempted her to take a peak at the darkness.

“You can’t stay up there all night!” Naruto calls out to her once again.

Little did he know that she’s done it plenty of times before, he’s not the most observant guardian at times. However, the eagerness in his voice causes her to surrender her stubbornness and stand. Though the sun maintains its permanent place in the center of the sky, she knows that the day has been long, and her people will be retiring to their beds the moment the festivities have ceased. Taking a minute to fix her wind-ruffled hair, she gazes up at the tree one more time. As she begins to position herself to climb down though, something unusual catches her eye.

There, towards the very top of the looming vegetation is a branch that had never been there before. It’s longer than the other branches, protruding towards the wall. No, it doesn’t just reach towards the wall, but it is high enough that it surpasses it.

This is it, this is what she has always wanted, a glimpse at the unknown. Before her brain even processes what’s happening, she’s climbing. Higher and higher she goes, bare feet and fingers finding holds in the natural knots on the smooth white wood.

“Sakura, you’re going too high!” She hears her companion exclaim. Tuning him out, she continues her ascension. She’s so close she can almost feel it. The gold bangles around her wrists and ankles jangle with her rapid movements and the ground moves further and further away as the top of the wall comes into view.

Naruto, having caught on to what the young girl is planning, begins his own attempt at scrambling up the tree. “Sakura, stop!” he cries, but his sense of balance is not as good as hers. He struggles to heave himself up and missteps on a limb, causing him to tumble back to the beginning. “You don’t want to do this! It’s dangerous!” His panic at the situation prompts him to attempt the treacherous climb once again.

Being higher than she’s ever been before, the young princess should have some sense of fear as she reaches the mysterious branch, however, her sense of accomplishment is stronger and quells all other emotions. The branch is smooth and sturdy, reaching impossibly far. One golden foot passes in front of the other and soon enough, the top of the wall is underneath the princess. The top of the blockade is thicker than she thought possible, comparable to the size of the street the town’s market lies upon. The tree is so great though, the branch passes this expanse and more.

Sakura hesitates, if she takes one step further, she’ll be standing over the darkness, the unknown. Perhaps she should turn back, however, she considers this only a moment before her curiosity gets the better of her. A few more inches are all that stands between her and the biggest mystery of her life, what her ancestors so long ago wanted to hide from. She hears Naruto calling at her to turn around, but she can’t be bothered by his distraction, she’s so close.

Mind made up, she takes another step. However, as her foot comes down to land on the branch, it slips. Green eyes widen at the realization of what’s happening. Her guardian screams her name, but it’s drowned out by the rushing of wind as her glowing body plummets to the ground.

xxxxxxxxx

The traveler wraps the dark furs around his body as the cold wind whips brutally around him. Though he is thankful for the time away from the main village, Sasuke is looking forward to finishing his rounds and warming by the fire. Wanting time to himself, he had sent the rest of the party back that morning, claiming he could finish the inspection of this span of the wall on his own. After all, in his years of traveling the distance of the hulking barricade, nothing has ever changed.

Despite his large load, the dark-haired man moves silently over the snow. Survival instinct and the reliance on hunting for food forced him to hone skills such as this early on in his life. As he passes the expanse of solid grey stone, his head roves over the turmoil waiting for him back at the council. With the outskirt villages beginning to fight, everybody is on edge, though Sasuke can’t blame them for their desperate attempts; there is not much else to do when people start running out of food.

He begins to turn away from the wall, ready to start the four-day long journey back to his home when something strange catches his eye. There, peaking out from behind a snow drift is a hint of pink. Not entirely sure of what this could be, Sasuke moves cautiously around the mound of white.

What greets him on the other side surprises him, causing dark eyebrows to pitch up in confusion; a woman lying face up in the snow. However, she does not look like any of the villagers or tribesmen in the area. The source of the pink is the great lengths of hair that fan out around her face messily while a purple jewel rests between closed eyes. Though it is obvious the girl is unconscious, her body wracks with shivers unsurprisingly due to her thin clothing. Other than the flimsy wisps of white that rest from the top of her chest to just below her hip bones, the only items covering her skin are delicate golden chains that loop from her middle finger to her dainty wrists. However, the most striking feature that designates her as different is the way her skin glows, casting a golden light in the otherwise darkened world. He blinks, wondering if the long week in the outskirts is causing his brain to play tricks on him, but no, the illumination remains.

Glancing up, Sasuke wonders how this creature of light happened to tumble into the darkness, nobody has ever passed over the wall from either side. He would know, after all, a crucial part of his job is to inspect the wall for any possible means of penetration. Inspecting the stagnant smooth grey, he finds no break in the unforgiving stone. She must have fallen from the top, but how did she get up there?

Making a split decision, Sasuke gathers the shaking girl in his arms and begins walking, the council must know of her presence.

Xxxxxxx

Consciousness begins to slowly ebb at Sakura’s mind as her eyelashes flutter open. At least she thinks they flutter open… why is it still so dark. Trying to remember what had happened before she fell asleep, she cycles through the day: the festival, the tree, the wall… Her eyes widen as she remembers slipping.

Jolting upright she realizes she’s in a small canvas tent with some sort of softness covering her body.

No, no, no, no, she thinks to herself. This is impossible.

Starting to panic, she searches blindly for some sort of escape from the tiny structure and manages to find a slit making up a crude entryway. Bursting from the tent, she starts running, barely taking in her surroundings. Tall spiny trees, strange white stuff everywhere, the wall… where’s the wall? Adrenaline rushes through her veins as panic sets in her heart. She turns her body every which way until she finally locates an area where the endless trees grow thin. Running towards it, an expansive structure begins to take form.

Knees fall to the ground at what lies ahead. Confusion washes over Sakura as she takes in the sight of the wall made of dull grey stone. This isn’t right. Where is the gold? As her rush of energy leaves her, she notices her body shivering uncontrollably. What’s happening to her? What is this strange stuff on the ground? It resembles the soft down on young birds yet makes her legs tingle uncomfortably.

The feeling of a hand grasping her shoulder causes a renewed sense of panic to fill her body. Slowly she turns and is met with a tall creature, their distorted shape covered with dark fur. Her eyes travel up the strange being. It stands like a human, however, the sight of its face causes a small scream to irrupt from Sakura’s throat. Instead of a mouth or nose there is a great shadow of darkness and its eyes, oh its eyes, they practically glow a deep crimson.

“Stop that,” a muffled voice instructs, but her fear and her cries drown it out.

A hand comes up and removes what must have been some type of covering to reveal a perfectly normal mouth and nose. “I said stop yelling.”

Sakura silences, staring peculiarly up at her companion.

“What’s happening?” she gasps out, panic welling up within her. This isn’t right, this can’t be real.

Taking in her surroundings, she realizes there is so much more wrong with this world than she originally realized. Her hands grasp onto the strange feathers littering the ground. No, wait, it isn’t like feathers at all. It’s something that crunches when she moves her hand over it and causes her body to shiver. Her eyelids flutter upward only to be met with something she’s never witnessed before, darkness. The sky above her is discolored, not the typical light blue that reminds her of Naruto’s eyes, but a deep sapphire, so dark it appears black. The sun also looks different almost as if it’s sick. Rather than the golden color that usually shines down, it’s much less bright, dimmed by a pale pallor.

“Here,” the man, at least she believes he’s a man, removes the fur from his body and places it around her shoulders. The sight is discomforting, after all, she’s never seen the skin of another creature used as a covering. She doesn’t let it bother her too much though as the her body instantly stills the little convulsions as the delicious heat envelopes her.

Staring up at the strange person, she takes in his shocking appearance. Hair that matches the strange sky above them frames his face while the rest frays out behind him. His eyes are the same disconcerting red color, with strange symbols lazily spinning inside them, but what she finds most strange is his skin. It’s pale, as if the darkness of this world has prevented it the shine that adorns her own. It’s staggering and gives him a disconcerting aura, as if she has no business even being in his presence.

“How did you get here?” he asks gruffly, hoisting her up by the arm he still grasps in a gloved hand.

She hesitates. This man is so foreign to her and obvious not from the shining world of Konoha, the elders would not approve of her speaking to her. However, she feels as if there’s no choice, given her current situation.

“I fell.”

#my writings #sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #affinity

27 notes · View notes

anathemafiction · 5 years

Text

With Honey on Your Lips

Commission made by a lovely anonymous.

The Pitch: How would Hadrian, Alessa, The Pirate King, Vallen, Rafael, Alain, and Ysabella react to waking up in the middle of the night to an MC singing a romantic serenade under their window.

Gender undefined MC.

4k words

"Your eyes akin to flaming ice."

You are most clearly drunk.

"Oh, cold beauty heed me. Do not leave me."

The last line is delivered in a shrill note that pierces into her eardrums and rattles the back of her teeth. Alessa closes her eyes momentarily, hiding a grimace as she lounges against the window. Her hip is cocked on the thick railing, her arms crossed over her chest as her blue eyes look down towards the patio of the Company's headquarters.

"Oh cold heart, melt for me."

Some other fool, Brion from the looks of it, is playing a fiddle beside you. The sound as wavering and reeling as your voice. You shout to the sky in drunken enthusiasm, your arms spread wide, your face red from drink and lack of air, and lovestruck awe. You sway as you sing, steps faltering although you stay in the same spot.

Alessa's mouth downturns when more drunken fools step out from the shadows to form a semi-circle around you and Brion. They have their mugs in the air and hmm to the lyrics you sing.

"Melt for me, my darling."

You smile up at her. A wide, happy, foolish smile that has her frown deepening and her lips curling into a fond smile of her own.

You idiot.

She is in her nightclothes, the evening breeze chilling her skin. She had fallen asleep waiting for you to return, but what she woke up to instead was to an awful cacophony right outside her bedroom window. Her first instinct was to throw a bucket of ice-cold water at the fools, but she quickly recognized you.

Staggering towards her, drunken love song bursting from your beloved lips.

"Forever!"

You end in a high pitch note that tears the night sky and makes her recoil by the intensity of it. The improv bard finishes with a flourish of fingers that look entirely ridiculous and accomplishes nothing besides a broken string. Brion yells but it's ignored as you suddenly take one faltering step forward, your eyes boring into hers, your chest heaving.

"Well, Ales-" you hiccup. "Alessa, How did you li-like it?"

Silence falls.

Your mouth hangs open, and you look up at her as if your life depended on her next words, and she will be damned if it doesn't spread a warmth to her chest and makes butterflies beat their wings against her stomach. Alessa sighs. My idiotic darling one.

She wants to kiss those dumb lips of yours which sang her a terrible, perfect love song. She wants to throw her arms around your neck and squeeze you to her until the doubts vanish from your eyes. She wants to let go and act like a foolish milkmaiden who has never left her parent's farm, but Alessa cannot. She is up here, and you are down there, and half a dozen of her fellow mercenaries are staring at the both of you.

So instead, she squares her shoulders, and lifts her chin, and gives you the small, secret smile she stores just for you. "A most perfect song, my darling one."

You smile, fist-pumping the air. The drunken mercenaries cheer in unison, and Brion still cries over his broken string.

Alessa's smile has never been so wide.

- - -

It had taken him a long while to fall asleep.

The bed is all wrong. Too wide and tall, the mattress too soft and plump. But the worst thing is the stillness. The ground is completely static, not a sway to be had, not a slight up and down or a sideways undulation. It unnerved him, threw his balance off.

The Pirate always hated sleeping in dry ground. So when he was finally able to slip into dreamland, after several curses and threats to his ancestor's spirit guardians, the Pirate is less than happy when in the middle of his well-deserved slumber, something wakes him up. Or someone.

As his dark eyes blink, and he groggily sits up in the terrible bed, dark clouds are gathering above his head already. Nine fingers curl in the sheets as his head snaps to wakefulness.

A voice. And a loud one at that.

The Pirate breaths out slowly through his nose and narrow his eyes at the window. Oh, you silly twit. It comes from there. He can't make out the words, but someone is speaking outside. He cocks his head as he listens to the gentle undulation, the soft fluidity in the notes, and The Pirate's mood lifts slightly as he listens on.

Not speaking. Singing. Like a bird who woke up much too early to greet the sun.

His bare feet land on the ground and he stalks slowly to the window, dark eyes landing first on the roof of those awful, terrible stone buildings. No water in sight. But he doesn't dwell on the thought as, standing on the cobblestones below, here lies you.

You, swing sweetly at his window, seated at the base of a marble column. You have your knees tucked in and a soft breeze pulls at your hair, and he has to blink again to make sure you are not a lovely visage but made of flesh and bone.

When your gemstone eyes land on him, you smile around words of declaration, and The Pirate smirks immediately back, his chest swelling in pride and his hands shaking for your touch.

Hakuho.

Beautiful, lovely, precious peach. Singing for him. He owned the Spirits an apology. This was the best gift he could hope to receive.

He doesn't hesitate when he flexes his legs and jumps over the window railing. The fall is heavy and painful, but The Pirate barely grunts when he meets the ground. He's closer to you now, and that's all that matters. You yelp, halting your lovely song as you launch for him, your beautiful eyes wide in concern and he does not want that.

"What are you doing!?" you hiss, your hands coming to grab his arms, but he laughs loudly and holds you instead, strong arms looping around your waist.

(…)

Here is a sneak peek! The full commission is available on Ko-fi for one-time supporters (this includes those who have requested a commission or donated!) or monthly subscribers!

The Commission.

This one was fun! Thank you so much for making the request! 🖤

Do you want to request a commission yourself? Or are just feeling generous? Here is the link to the Ko-fi (◠‿◠✿)

#commissions #The Golden Rose #ko-fi commissions

72 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Rise of the Guardians: Earthsong

Ao3

Chapter 9: Always

With a miserable sniffle, Nat leaned over to begin picking the herb leaves from the floor, only letting out an occasional hiccup or poorly stifled sob. Jack watched in pure agony as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks and drop down to the floor below, like puddles of paint melting from a wall. How could someone as smart and talented as Nat be so isolated from everyone?

The incorporeal Jack and the crying Nat both jumped nearly a foot in the air as there came loud, persistent knocking at her door. Those boys couldn’t have come to mess with her some more, right? Or worse, could it be someone from the village to harass her? He thought and poked his ghostly head through the wall to investigate. To his shock, it was his human self, smiling and unaware of the abuse Nat had just suffered. Jack couldn’t remember much about his past life, but surely he too was not in the business of beating up on the girl, right? Thankfully his question was answered almost instantly because Nat didn’t hesitate to open the door.

“Hello, Jack.” The melancholy in her voice was painfully obvious. He watched as his brown-haired self gasped in horror before his hand flew up to push her tousled blonde strands away from the gaping wound.

“Oh, no! Did those boys come throw rocks at you again?” So it was a daily occurrence. Rage burned up Jack’s insides like a bubbling volcano. His human form scowled and whirled on a heel while rolling up to sleeves of his simple brown shirt. “Those punks! I’m gonna go teach ‘em a lesson!” Nat’s slender arm wound around his, pulling him back as he tried to set off to do just that.

“No! Please! They’ll only get angry and come back!” she insisted. Her voice was high-pitched with pure fright, and the tears had begun to spill over her emerald eyes again. She dropped her head miserably, bottom lip wobbling. It was such a strange thing, to see the strong and capable girl a meek, timid crying mess before him. “Please… I’ll be okay… Just keep coming to see me, Jack,” she said softly and looked up. Even though it was only indirectly for him, Jack felt his heart twist into pretzel knots. God, she was beautiful, even the way she was- disheveled and bleeding and dejected. That smile of hers carried more warmth and affection than anything Jack had seen in his life, and he would’ve been an idiot to deny it.

Nat was in love with him. That instant, as the memory of past feelings revived, Jack knew that he was in love with her, too.

“Always, Nat,” his human self laughed good-naturedly, and Nat smiled broader as she pulled him inside. As the door swung closed in his face, Jack twisted his fingers into the blue fabric of his hoodie.

“Always.”

The landscape blurred around him before reforming. It was now summer, based on the smothering heat and the abundance of near-ripe crops dominating the various vegetable plots alongside the quaint cottages. Something was off, however. The streets were devoid of citizens enjoying the pleasant atmosphere of a summer’s day; they huddled close to their homesteads or peeked out from windows. As Jack looked around, he noted several buildings that had every window and door boarded tightly shut. The children were not playing or chasing the butterflies that fluttered along tasting the last of the flower’s nectar, but were clutched close to their mother’s sides or staring with frightful eyes through small gaps in curtains. The world was alive, but the village was the epitome of a graveyard.

“What is going on?” he wondered aloud. He gasped as half of his misty body was blasted through by a horse’s thundering form, hauling a large wagon with a man in a thick black coat and a silver bird beak mask. A plague doctor?! Jack thought and dashed after the carriage, which was shuddering down the uneven road at alarming speed. The doctor snapped the reigns to bid the horse halt in front of the large building at the end of the way, and as Jack approached, he raised his arm to cover his nose, for he was greeted by the overwhelming stench of death and misery.

“Doctor, please!” begged a man standing on the steps, seemingly an authority figure given by his slightly more formal clothing. “Nearly the entire village has been infected. We have resorted to cremating the bodies because we simply can’t dig graves fast enough! Please tell me you have news from afar!” He sank to his knees on the wooden steps, and Jack could see his glittering tears even from the small distance. “My wife… She does not have much longer.”

“I am afraid that the surrounding settlements are no better,” the doctor’s voice echoed from within the mask. “There is no cure. Quarantine is your only hope.” With a strangled sob, the man curled up and pounded his fists against the wood. His memory began to tug at him, prying free of the bars that had locked it for nearly four hundred years. He recalled it now… A vicious respiratory plague had swept through the village late one summer. He had caught it, and his sister too. It had been so painful, hacking until his chest muscles burned like fire, shivering as a high fever had gripped his body with icy claws, unable to move or eat or drink or even think for the delirium… but it wasn’t the doctor who had saved them.

“Doctor! Mayor! Please!” Jack whirled about as she came bounding down the street, bare feet cracked from harsh contact with the sandy stone ground. A basket full to the brim with herbs swung on her arm. She had various bandages covering parts of her body, and far more scrapes and bruises than the last time he had seen her human form. Right, he remembered; since the spring of that year, the abuse had escalated dramatically, to the point that if Nat ever entered town, she had to sneak around in a cloak. Jack had resorted to bringing her various things and standing sentry at the entrance to her little enclosed bubble of a home because the neighborhood children tortured her viciously. “I can save them!”

“You witch! You aren’t coming anywhere near this sick house! I’ll have you burned!” the man snarled viciously, making Nat halt in her tracks with an alarmed recoil. Tears brimmed in her bright green eyes, wide with fear and hope.

“Please! These herbs produce a special compound that-”

“Enough of your witchcraft!”

“Doctor!” Nat cried insistently and looked at the medical professional. His cold glasses glittered lifelessly above the intimidating mask.

“Leave, girl, lest you catch the plague as well. Herbs can only prevent illness; they cannot save those who are already ill. They will live or die by God’s will alone.” Nat’s shoulders hunched up to her ears as rage contorted her expression into a monstrosity that Jack never wanted to look upon again. It was almost demon-like, with the cold fire that flashed like an emerald’s gleaming gemstone and the ruby-red hue to her flushing face.

“You place your hopes in God and ignore the power in your own hands!” she screamed and thrust out the basket of herbs so forcefully that a few of the leaves jumped out and fluttered to the ground. “Sometimes, we have to save ourselves! Mayor, your wife is inside! Doctor, your daughter is inside! My best friend is inside! Please! I can save them!”

“Quiet, girl, with your blasphemy! It was your vile existence that has brought God’s wrath upon us!” the mayor screamed at her. Jack’s fists curled into tight balls; how could these people be so impossibly backward? Nat was nothing like that. She was sweet, and kind, and had only ever wanted to help people. Nat’s face scrunched up in further agony, and then hung her head in defeat. He could see her entire body shaking with anger and dismay, and the tears rolling down her dirty cheeks to drop down to the dry, dusty ground below.

“Why… Why don’t you understand?”

The landscape blurred like paint smearing across an easel as she whirled to run back to her cabin. The next scene was a drastic change; night had fallen over the forest. Compared to the daytime, it was very much alive with life, though not human. The crickets were singing in a loud symphony in the long grasses, accompanied by the occasional resonating hoot of an owl. The wind shook the branches lightly to fill the air with a consistent fluttering of leaves. Jack even spied the horned form of a stag grazing beside one of the boarded-up cabins. Suddenly, it reared its massive head to peer with glittering eyes down the pathway, before its powerful legs sent it in a springing leap back into the depths of the wood. Jack turned to find Nat creeping through the shadows, with her little herb basket clutched tightly to her side. The sick house had no guard. He wondered if everyone in the village had fallen ill, aside from Nat.

The wooden steps of the sick house creaked loudly as Nat hopped up them, and she paused for a moment, wildly looking around to see if anyone had been alerted. After a minute or so of continuous quiet, she ascended the rest of the steps and entered the building. Jack followed her inside, phasing through the wood, and instantly recoiled in revile. The stench of illness and death was ten times more pungent inside, and the sounds of nature did not penetrate there. No, the only symphony to be had was a dismal one of coughs and groans and pleas to Heaven.

Nat made her rounds through the patients quickly and efficiently. She kneeled beside the fever-gripped men, women, and children, mixing what he recognized as a fever reducer and a cocktail of herbs she had said would accelerate healing and drive away illness. That’s what Jack used to visit her for; he would inquire all about the various herbs that she grew and what they did. He had only ever understood it on a surface level, but he just loved the way her eyes would sparkle and alight as she told him everything she knew. Nat would always jump up with her hands clasped and announce that her herbs were the key to medicine; she said that illness wasn’t God’s wrath or miasma, but a natural phenomenon caused by something that man knew nothing of yet. “One day, it will come to light! The world is growing smaller every day, Jack, as humanity takes each step closer to discovery. I want to use my knowledge to help people! One day they will know I am not a witch, but a form of doctor, too!” She would proclaim that, and every fiber of his being would agree. She had been destined for greatness.

What had cut her life so short? It trembled on the edge of his memory, but for the life of him, he could not will it forth.

His attention was wrested back as Nat scurried over to someone curled up alongside the wall. Like a ghostly fairy, he skipped over to find himself again; it was kind of humbling and distressing, seeing himself in the grips of the strange illness, gaunt and sweaty and groaning. Nat kneeled beside him to roll him onto his back, while the phantom Jack crouched down to eagerly watch her administer the medicine. Everything was so hazy from that time; he very barely remembered her visit to the sick house, but the delirious fever had him in such wild thralls that his memory failed him for the most part.

“Nat… No… You shouldn’t be here…” His voice was weak and feeble and raspy. After forcing out the words, he instantly dissolved into a series of wracking, rattling coughs that shook his entire frail body. Nat gently shushed him and brushed a few strands of his oak-brown hair from his slick forehead.

“Be at ease, Jack. I am going to save you and everybody else,” she assured him with such gentleness he had never heard from her before. It was a complete dichotomy from the Nat that he knew, who held him at arm’s length with a cold, calculated meaning. God, he wished the present her would look at him the way her past self was looking at his living body; her smile was so pure and warm like the radiating rays of the sun, and her green eyes were filled to the brim with the most potent love he had ever seen. She wasn’t even looking at him directly. Yet the fact that she had looked at him like that once was both liberating and gut-wrenching. What had happened in the span of four hundred years? Surely she had learned of his true identity at some point. Why hide? Why lie? Jack just couldn’t figure it out… Or maybe he didn’t want to.

Nat crushed a mixture of the herbs in a little bowl into a thick, succulent paste. “Jack, I need you to eat this,” she commanded and scooped up a bit of the gum with her finger, holding it to his mouth. His past self groaned and shook his head weakly, panting as his fever continued to mount.

“Nat… I… I am done for… Save yourself.” Nat’s shoulders sagged as she sighed lightly, a hint of a wistful smile on her lips.

“Oh, Jack. I was saved a long time ago.” Her whisper was like a breath of the wind, fleeting and barely audible, but powerful enough to knock Jack right off his feet. She popped the paste into her mouth before leaning over, grabbing Jack’s face gently to part his lips before enveloping them with her own. Jack knew that she was only forcing the concoction into his mouth to force him to swallow it, but that fact didn’t seem to want to register in his mind. His ghostly fingers feathered over his deathly pale lips, which seemed to recall the sensation of her mouth against his own, tingling and titillated. She kissed me. She saved me.

Jack wasn’t prepared for the landscape to shift again; he gasped and fell back on his haunches as it dissolved around him. He was out in the street again, and this time it was eerily familiar to him; the village was in the claws of a savage winter, with snow piled high on the thatch roofs and sweeping in gross waves alongside the street to form high drifts. A great crowd had gathered in the small courtyard in front of what was once the sick house, which Jack remembered served as the community doctor’s office. The community physician had sought the aid of a traveling plague doctor, who took over once the old doctor succumbed to the respiratory illness. Jack phased through the crowd until he came to the front and was very alarmed to see the mayor with a kneeling Nat before him, for he had her arm twisted painfully behind her back. Her cascade of blonde hair lay in sheared streams about her knees; it had been sliced through just below her ears. It was an act of dishonor.

“This has gone on long enough!” the mayor was hollering. By the wild, beastly look in his injected eyes and the tomato hue to his face, Jack could instantly see the man had become deranged. “The winter should have long since been over! This is God’s judgment upon us for allowing this witch to live among us!”

“Please, doctor, she saved us- and you! Because of her, all the children survived!” a woman shouted from the crowd. A ripple of agreement chorused through them, but Jack was alarmed to hear that it was fainter than he would expect.

“Her witchcraft was an act against God! She had no right to act against his will and use her pagan arts in his temple!” Nat said nothing as he twisted her arm further, only cried out in pain, and hung her head. He could see streaks of bright red blood in the blonde curls where she had been struck with a blunt object. “Look around you! You know it to be true! Unless we be rid of the witch, this endless winter will continue, and we shall truly perish! God is giving us the chance to repent!”

“Stop this! You’re a madman!” It was Jack’s voice this time. Beside him, his lean brown-haired form shoved the adults to stay front and center.

“Silence, boy!” The mayor snarled at him with all the viciousness of a feral wolf. Both Jack and his ghostly counterpart took involuntary steps back in the face of such venom. “Are you in league with this witch?”

“No! No!” Nat suddenly screamed, writhing in the man’s iron grip. “I will confess! I will confess! Just leave Jack out of it!” She calmed down after her desperate fit as the entire town looked upon her in shock, most of all Jack, who’s chest was heaving as he fought against everything he knew to allow her to sacrifice herself. Suddenly the adults began to take up the chant, pumping fists and pitchforks into the air- “Kill the witch! Kill the witch!” The mayor grinned demonically as his victory was all but handed to him.

He wrested Nat up by her arm and began half-pushing, half-dragging her down the street, with the crowd surging around him to chuck stones or whatever piece of debris they could at the hapless girl. Jack’s ghostly self could run alongside them just fine, merely phasing through whatever impeded his path, but his real person was left in the dust, on his hands and knees screaming.

“Nat! Don’t do this! Nathalie!” Her feet scrabbled uselessly in the cold-packed dirt as she was hauled towards her solitary cabin in the woods. Her lingering blond strands flashed in the white moonlight as she whipped her head to look at him, through the ghostly apparition of the pale boy of the future to the ghost of his past self wailing her name.

“Thank you… for everything.”

Jack was forced to follow as the landscape shifted to the cottage, though everything within him didn’t want to witness what happened next. Nat was shoved into her cabin, and a piece of thick wood lodged under the doorknob so she could not escape… and then they brought the torches. Jack jumped through the building walls, expecting to find Nat screaming, crying, terrified, and desperate for a way to escape. Instead, he found her sitting calmly against one of the walls, tenderly holding a little potted flower that bloomed despite the winter’s incessant chill.

“Nat…” he whispered, his thick voice choking his throat more than the smoke that was now billowing in the ceiling. Nat let out a quiet cough as she gently stroked the bright pink petals of the small flower; a single tear rolled down her cheek to splash down onto its silky surface.

“I wish I could have told him,” she sighed quietly to the flower. The flames began to crackle as they eagerly licked at the wooden walls of the cottage, climbing to stretch their red fingers to the black night sky. The smoke blanketed the ceiling like a puffy dark comforter, while smaller wisps weaved about the lower latitude, diving into Nat’s failing lungs eagerly. She began to cough like the citizens had during the plague, doubling over and knocking the pot over. It shattered, and soil spilled out like blood, with the flower’s frail roots now poking out of the dark substance. Nat collapsed onto her side as she fought for breath and reached out with a trembling had to cup it ever-so-gently and hold it to her chest.

The blooming flower perfectly aligned with her heart, which was beating slower and slower by the second. Jack watched helplessly. He had never felt so useless in his entire life; even though he knew this had already happened, that there was nothing that he could do, Jack could not fight the overwhelming urge to do something, anything. She doesn’t deserve to die like this! Nat let out a deep, contented sigh and closed her eyes, embracing the end while Jack looked on as an unwilling spectator.

“I love you… Always.”

The ceiling could bear no more. With a sickening crunch, the weight-bearing beam snapped right up the middle. Everything collapsed in on itself, an inferno of red and orange and yellow and ashy black, and Jack just stood there, a pale white ghost enshrined in the roaring flames, a spirit who could not even touch Nat’s beautiful, rosy skin as her life burned away.

It was close to dawn by the time the fire finally died. Jack sat with his knees drawn up beside the smoldering wreckage, number and more chill than the instant he plunged into the freezing waters of the lake four hundred years ago. His pale eyes watched unseeing as the smoke trails slowly rose in ethereal wisps to the heavens. They looked down with cold indifference; the world did not weep for Nathalie. The stars still shone with all their brilliance. The pale moon said nothing; it refused to cast its lovely white rays upon the scene to illuminate her final resting place. Jack’s stomach was so twisted and sickened that nausea threatened to do him in at any moment. He had never imagined it would’ve been like this. Never. He would never be able to look her the same way again, knowing this grave injustice haunted her. Now, at least, he was haunted too.

“Tsk. Humans always were such barbaric creatures, never to know what a plague they are upon the Earth and each other.” Jack glanced over his shoulder as a woman spoke, her voice as smooth as velvet and carrying the authority of a queen. She stood a few feet behind him, looking upon the embers with eyes like fresh-cut diamond, harsh and yet loving at the same time. They were precisely like Nat’s emerald eyes in that way. Her dress wasn’t white, but the color of red maple leaves and luxurious roses and ripened apples; her hair trailed down to her calves, curling cascades of ringlets the shade of hardy oak and hard tree nuts. She was every bit of gorgeous as he imagined Nat’s predecessor would be, but yet she still couldn’t hold a candle to Nat’s angel-like beauty. Jack watched from his little perch as she strode across the small clearing to stop in front of the wreckage. She waved her hand over the smoking mess, and Jack watched in awe as the little pink flower budded from the ashes, soaking up the moon’s brilliance to shine like a pink opal in the bleak night. “Rise, little one. Your story doesn’t end here.”

Jack inhaled sharply as the ashes shifted about, and Nat sat up, blinking blearily as the gray powder rained down from her hair and body. She was holding the small flower in its little mound of soil in her hands, and her blonde hair had re-grown to its waterfall length, streaming behind her like rivers of gold cutting through the black ash. She looked up with confused green eyes at the regal woman before her.

“Who… Are you?”

“I am Mother Nature… And you, kind child who bears the Earth’s soul, shall succeed me.”

That was where it ended. The light came with the rising of the spring sun, sending Jack back into the present. It took a moment for him to adjust to the bright light and scent of wildflowers gracing his nose instead of the bitter tang of burned wood; he was sitting on the mosaic, the container of Nat’s memories held in a white-knuckled grip. He felt something wet sliding down his cheeks and swept his finger over his face to see them come away with sparkling tears. He looked down at the box, then with a disgusted shout, flung it aside. It landed in a thick sprig of grass a few yards away. Jack fisted his fluffy white hair as he curled up, shaking at the gravity of the sequence of events he had just witnessed. He wanted to be sick. Nat had been shouldering for all her life. No wonder she couldn’t be near him. It brought all that back, all that pain and suffering and that gruesome, God-awful-

“Jack…?” He gasped in shock and jerked up, eyes flashing wildly in panic. She stood at the edge of the clearing, wary but concerned. Beautiful, she was so beautiful, like a goddess descended to the mortal plane. Her green eyes slowly trailed to the box, which was turned at just the right angle to show the small drawing of child Nat on the cover. As her emerald eyes drifted back to meet his like ice, he shivered and averted his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut for the guilt that prevented him from looking at her. What would she say now? He betrayed her trust. He should have waited for her to trust him, to be willing to face what had happened. Now, he had all but forced her hand, forced her to confront that bitter end to her life. He didn’t even care about finding out about why they couldn’t be near each other now. He grabbed his staff, preparing to take off. He couldn’t bear it. He needed to get away, give her some time, yeah, that was it-

“I meant what I said that night. Always.”

Here’s the next chapter! Want more stories? Check out my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

#rise of the guardians #rotg #frostednature #frosted nature #jack frost #rotg oc #jack frost x oc #rotg fanfic #rotg fanfiction

1 note · View note

shining-red-diamond · 4 years

Text

1. The Arena

A/N: Dialog in italics mean they’re speaking in Korean, and listen to “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne when reading the actual fight. It makes it more epic, in my opinion. Hope you enjoy the series.

Darkness was all that surrounded them. No windows, no sunlight, nothing. They had no idea where they were. One minute they were figuring out a mission they were to complete, and the next minute they were inhaling silvery-white smoke, which caused them all to black out.

Seunghwan was the first to open his eyes after what felt like hours of a deep slumber. However, he knew he and his team were in danger, and he wasn’t about to waste any time by just sitting around.

“Kangmin,” he called to the youngest member. “Howl if you’re awake.”

He did so. It wasn’t one of his loud ones, but it was one that said he was in the same area as his leader.

“Couldn’t you have just done Marco Polo?” Minsung groaned, his voice groggy from waking up.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Milo asked.

From where their voices were echoing off of, it sounded as if they were in some confined space. Despite the pitch-blackness surrounding them, they seemed to be in some large room of some sort. Seunghwan felt around the space until his hand felt something hard and cold. There’s one wall, he thought. Placing his ear on it, he could barely make out what sounded like a large crowd cheering.

“Hyung, where are we?” Hyunkyung asked.

“I’m not sure,” the leader replied. “But I hear what sounds like cheering.”

“Ladies and gentleman!” a voice boomed over a muffled speaker. “Welcome to the arena!”

“ARENA?!?!” the team repeated.

“Just this morning, we received not one, not two, but seven new challengers to compete against all seven of our champions!” The crowd roared in excitement.

“What are we competing for?” Kyle finally spoke up.

Seunghwan didn’t answer but kept listening to what he figured was the emcee of whatever was going on. However, a low rumbling sounded from the wall he pressed against, and he quickly moved back. Bright light began to fill the dark room, and the boys shielded their eyes. Once they had adjusted, the other side of the wall, or doors, reveal a large stadium-like structure with thousands of people sitting in the stands.

“And here are your challengers!” the emcee’s voiced announced.

“Is that us?” Milo asked just before all seven of the boys were pushed into the arena.

The arena was a spherical structure with wood and metal railings. Dirt covered the ground, and scraps of old car parts littered the surrounding area. The air was thick with tension and excitement as the audience kept cheering.

Each of the boys looked at each other in confusion as to what was happening.

“We’re fighting someone,” Hyunkyung spoke up.

“Challengers, meet your opponents and our champions!”

The crowd roared even louder as double doors on the opposite side of the arena opened up. Seven young women emerged from the darkness, each of them very beautiful but also walked with a sort of confidence with each step they took. The look in each of their eyes told the boys they weren’t damsels in distress.

Three of them were Caucasian with red hair, but all three had different shades of red: strawberry-blonde, auburn, and fiery. The strawberry-blonde was the tallest out of all of them; standing at about what Minsung could guess was around five feet and six inches in height. She was dressed in different shades of pink, her crop top and shorts a reddish pink hue and thigh high bubblegum pink boots. Kangmin took note of the auburn girl, who looked like she was some tiger humanoid with stripes on her face and feline eyes. The fiery girl was dressed in a dark shirt and maroon jeans with dark brown boots covering her feet. A long dark coat covered her body, and she made eye contact with Kyle, smirking as she eyed him up and down.

The other four were Asian decent. The second to the smallest one had angel wings that framed her small figure. The smallest girl wore an indigo cape and dark makeup, giving her a mysterious aura and sending chills down Milo’s spine. One of them had purple streaks in her hair and kept eye contact with Yunsung, and the fourth girl caught Seunghwan’s eye as she had her jet-black hair tied up into a bun and wore a white cape. He immediately noticed her artificial left leg. It was white and covered with diamond-like jewels, giving it an icy look.

“Champions and challengers,” said the emcee, “this is not a fight to the death. This is only a test of strength. Use your abilities well, but whatever you do, do not kill your opponent. To the audience, let’s start the countdown!”

The crowd shouted, “3! 2! 1!”

A bell sounded.

All contestants simultaneously began to fight.

Kangmin howled and began to run towards the tiger girl, and she immediately growled loudly as her sharp canines flashed before him. The wolf boy ran the opposite direction, eventually jumping behind a bumper and yelling, “Nice kitty!”

“Woah! Looks like we have one of our challengers, Fang, already surrendering to Tora.”

Yunsung made himself disappear and began to run, but the dirt on the ground became his enemy. The girl with the purple streaks began to chase him, following his footsteps that appeared on the ground. He quickly learned what her abilities were when she began shooting lightning bolts at him. Yunsung ducked behind a desolated truck. The lightning bolts suddenly stopped. He peeked out of the corner and breathed a sigh of relief as he made himself visible again.

Suddenly, his body felt hot and pinpricks all over, and he shook uncontrollably as if he had a seizure. Falling to the ground, Yunsung couldn’t move, but still felt electric shocks running through his veins.

“And a sneak attack from Glitch has brought the Phantom down!” the emcee announced as the audience roared again.

Glitch waved to the crowd, and then knelt down by Yunsung. “Sorry about that,” she apologized in a calm voice,“but you’ll be okay in about two hours. Just try not to move. I’ll stay by you until the fight’s over.”

Milo used his super speed to try to outsmart the mysterious girl, but no matter how many times he ran around the arena her eyes remained locked on him. She stood still for quite awhile, before she did something unexpected. While everything seemed to be still as he ran up towards her in an attempt to knock her down, her head unfroze and followed him. Wrapping herself in her cape, she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“Uh-oh, looks like Indigo is up to something,” said the emcee, his voice sounding almost amused by her actions.

Milo stopped in his tracks. He looked around himself, but couldn’t see her anywhere. He ran again. Not a trace of her. Once more he ran. This time he felt a pair of hands gently turn him in another direction. Before he could process what had happened, his face met the wooden wall, causing him to fall to the ground.

“And Turbo just got outsmarted by Indigo,” the emcee chuckled. The crowd cheered again as Milo’s head felt as if a ton of bricks were weighing it down.

Kyle attempted to battle the fiery haired girl. He tried to conjure water from the air, but it was to no avail. To his horror, he realized what climate they were in. It was dry. And she was approaching him with a fireball ablaze in her hand.

“Oh dear!” he panicked.

She stood in front of him, her blue eyes meeting his. He couldn’t help but notice the dark red lines that pointed down from her eyes, but they didn’t hide how pretty she looked. They seemed to almost mimic pained tears.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, her tone sharp. She spoke in Korean.

Kyle decided not to answer and make her mad, so he got on his knees and his hands up in surrender.

“Well, this is a first,” the girl said before waving her hand up, diffusing the flame.

“And Triton has surrendered to Flamethrower,” the emcee commented. “Fear was the only power she’s inflicted on the challenger.”

Flamethrower looked disgusted at the comment. Kyle wasn’t afraid of her, he just felt empathy for whatever pain she was probably feeling.

Seunghwan and the girl in the white robe had been battling for quite awhile. He wasn’t willing to hurt her; he just wanted to see what she was made of. Something about her fascinated him. Was it how she moved around so well with her artificial leg? Her ice powers? Her beauty? He couldn’t tell. Using his telekinesis, he levitated the car parts one by one and tossed them at her, and she either dodged or froze them. Seunghwan also dodged or redirected the ice blasts.

However, she got the best of him. Once more, he directed three car doors towards the girl. She staircase ran top of each one with ease, and Seunghwan began to run. An ice blast fell in front of him and he ran right through it and fell face first with a thud. His body was now covered in ice. His body temperature began to drop.

“Snowflake has now frozen the Guardian,” the emcee called out. More cheers from the crowd.

Seunghwan felt hands turn him over until he was staring up at the girl known as Snowflake.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’ll be unfrozen soon.”

“Th-Thank you,” he replied with a shiver. He couldn’t move his body, but he could move his eyes and mouth and he could breathe. Snowflake had beaten him, but she had gone easy on him.

Hyunkyung was another member to surrender easily. He had tried to use his energy blasts, but his opponent’s wings were titanium deceiving the eye with a soft and feathery appearance. No matter how many times he tried to penetrate her, she kept strolling towards him gracefully, each wing protecting her from harm.

You’re quite strong, Hyunkyung, she spoke to him in his mind.

The same could be said about you, he replied.

“What else can you do?” she verbally asked.

“That’s it,” he shrugged.

“Do you want to continue fighting?”

“Not really.” Hyunkyung held up his hands in surrender.

“Fauna and Neuroblast have made a truce,” the emcee commentated. “However, we have to declare Fauna the winner since the challenger surrendered.”

Minsung and the strawberry-blonde girl just stared at each other for a solid minute until he decided to draw his sword and approach her. Once she was right up to him, the tip of her index finger lightly pressed the tip of his double-edged weapon down.

“Put it down,” she commanded, her voice sweetly high-pitched. “I only work in hand-to-hand combat.”

Following suit, he placed his sword on the ground and posed in a beginning fight stance.

“I’ll go easy on you,” he promised.

“Aren’t you a gentleman!” the girl smiled, her curled locks bouncing as she chuckled.

Her hands quickly met his chest, and he was pushed with barely any force. Minsung went flying and landed halfway across the arena. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him.

“I’m not going to go easy on you, honey,” she stated.

Minsung chuckled as he stood. As angelic as this girl appeared to be, she wasn’t afraid of some competition. She was a tough one, but a cutie.

Not the time, he scolded himself.

He didn’t want to hurt her. Although, she revealed to have super strength, he wasn’t going to allow himself to cause her any harm with any moves he made.

The two began their spar. Punches were thrown, some wrestling moves were thrown, and the girl even roundhouse kicked him at one point. Both were equal in strength and self-defense, but Minsung secretly hated it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy putting his skills up for a challenge; it was the fact that he was using it on a woman. Even more so now that it was on one he was beginning to like, despite having met her just seconds ago. Yes, she had a beautiful face and a model’s figure, but she was more than that. Minsung could tell she was a sweetheart; she just had extra physical strength.

A punch to his face made him stumble backwards. He felt a rush of urgency to finish the job, but he was done. He couldn’t fight her anymore. However, he knew the other girls had taken out his entire team. They were counting on him to try to defeat the champions.

“Give up yet?” the girl joked as she held a hand out.

Minsung straightened himself as the emcee announced, “I think Cherry Bomb’s about to call a truce. Will Warrior surrender?”

Taking her hand, he grinned and pulled her into him close. “You wish,” he whispered into her ear.

In swift move, his free went to her waist, and his foot kicked hers out from underneath her. She began to plummet, but just before she could hit the ground, Minsung caught her.

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed the emcee. “Warrior just pulled a fast one on our strongest champion! Has he just become the new champion?”

“I honestly thought you were going to throw me for a second,” Cherry Bomb giggled as she stared into Minsung’s eyes.

“I was tempted,” he admitted as he set her down gently. “No more fighting. I don’t want you hurt.”

Cherry Bomb said nothing but gave him a soft smile. She left go his hands and held up her arms in surrender.

“LADIE AND GENTLEMAN!!” the emcee shouted in excitement. “MEET YOUR NEW CHAMPIONS!!!”

The crowd went nuts as Minsung helped the girl up and waved.

“What’s your real name?” he asked as they began walking out of the arena, his arm around her waist to help her walk in case she was injured.

“I’m Kelly,” she answered.

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #romeo #romeo kpop #romeo scenarios #romeo fluff #romeo au #romeo seunghwan #romeo yunsung #romeo milo #romeo minsung #romeo kyle #romeo hyunkyung #romeo kangmin

3 notes · View notes

chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years

Text

The Grinch Who Stole New Year

You no longer like Christmas, you love Christmas. But perhaps it was still your heart that grew three sizes before the end of the year.

guardiandemon!Jimin x reader

genre: slice of life, supernatural, fluff, comedy

word count: 4.4k

A/n: You know me, I never get stuff out on time LOLL But to make up for it, I tried to do a mash up of the two big holiday/season into this one drabble. Hope everyone’s had a great holiday and a happy New Year! 2019, let’s get this bread. Forewarning; it’s half unedited so....asfsdkgh

December 31st

“You look awfully happy.” Jaehee comments from the kitchen threshold. You glance up only briefly, not bothering to hide the dopey, wide smile you currently have. It makes Jaehee laugh before she asks, “Is it the guy you told me about?”

You sputter, nearly knocking out the lone ear bud you’re wearing with how you jostle your laptop to indignantly squawk, “As if!” You take a hold of your laptop and turn it just slightly to show her your paused screen, cooing affectionately as you say, “It’s my boys.”

“Oh.” She drags out the sound and rolls her eyes playfully, “Should’ve known.”

You grin back at her before continuing where you left off. Curled up on the sofa with the fluffiest blanket, sipping one of your favourite white wines, you’re watching your copy of BTS’ Seasons’ Greetings 2019 on your laptop. Sure buying it might’ve put a rather large dent in your wallet but in your defense, it was deemed to be your Christmas present to yourself. Plus, in your opinion, it’s worth every penny.

“So what happened to the guy then? Did you ghost him or something?” Jaehee calls out again, coming to settle on the other end of the sofa where your feet haven’t reached.

“Oh… him.” You reply offhandedly, paying more attention to the conversation the group was having on screen but at the thought of…. him, you can’t help the snort that comes out of your mouth that isn’t entirely because of BTS’ antics.

Oh, Jimin…. Well, your demon version of Jimin….

You can’t say you feel completely sorry for him because ever since the season to be jolly had crept closer and closer, he had become more and more like a mixture between the Grinch and Grumpy Cat and while it should’ve made you a little apprehensive of his temper, you were absolutely loving it.

12 days before Christmas

“On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” You find yourself singing as you work on stringing the Christmas lights up so that they frame your living room windows. You stand back to admire your handy work, still humming the song and you can’t help the giddy wiggle when you see how perfectly the lights twinkle in rhythm.

“You bought more lights?” A begrudging voice sounds from within the darkened depths of your room. You turn and the grouchy mood your room invader has does nothing to dampen your own high-spirited one. In fact, his appearance looks too much like a certain grumpy house cat that even his glowing ruby eyes doesn’t detract the image. It makes you choke back a giggle, which seems to make him bristle (much to your delight).

“Don’t you know that you can never have enough lights?” You make show of reprimanding him as if you’re an over-enthusiastic grade school teacher, hands on either side of your hip and head slightly tilted. He glares harder at you and you think this is the perfect chance to rub it in his face more. “And guess what else I got?”

You whirl around to reach into your shopping bag and pull out your two additional purchases, shaking them excessively in both hands with excitement and a shit-eating grin stretching so wide you feel your cheeks starting to hurt. “Santa hats!” And they’re not just any old, normal looking ones. They’re red sequined and they jingled.

“You’re disgusting.” is your only response before he promptly slams the door shut to your room. But you can’t be bothered, too busy cackling to yourself from his reaction. You’re honestly living for how much your demon guardian is loathing the holiday season. Before, you can barely get him to stop popping up at the most inconvenient times, claiming it to be ‘watch duty’ (when really it’s just to annoy you and give you a heart attack for his own amusement) but ever since Christmas started to loom around the corner, he’s gone reclusive, avoiding the outside world like the black plague was on the loose.

Needless to say, you were ecstatic. You could finally meet up with your friends without having to look over your shoulder or become too distracted because he thinks it’s funny to do outrageous things under the invisibility spell (you’ll never forget the time he decided to make balloon animals two seats away from you, all the while keeping the most stoic face you’ve ever seen).

So it’s no surprise that you’ve decided to take full advantage of this new discovery, going to lengths you never had before in a way to get back at him. To be honest, you weren’t even that big on Christmas, doing the bare minimum in the past to celebrate the holiday but thanks to him, you’ve gone all out in the decorating department and it only seems to fuel your enthusiasm (so no, you wouldn’t call it being completely petty; just more festive).

A most wonderful time of the year indeed.

You toss the Santa hats onto the couch, taking the moment to step back and admire your entire setup. The tree was up and filled with ornaments on nearly every branch you can hook, standing in a corner by the sofa, blinking prettily with it’s many lights, complete with a faux fur lined tree skirt. More lights were pinned just above the sofa and along the small bookshelf while garlands and wreaths were placed on your front door, above the kitchen threshold and the railing outside of your entryway. The magazines on your coffee table were tucked underneath in favour of the poinsettia candle-holder centrepiece, complete with faux self-lit candles.

And although you don’t have a fireplace, it didn’t deter you from buying stockings to hang just below the TV stand (I mean, if you turn on the fireplace channel, it could still work right?)

Overall, you’re quite happy with your little home makeover. Your place looks exceptionally decorative and you get a kick out of annoying your demon house cat for once. Two birds with one stone.

2 days before Christmas

“What is that?”

“What’s what?” You ask innocently, biting your lip to hold back a snicker as you pretend to busy yourself in fixing the holly you’ve got in your hands. You can practically feel the temperature drop behind you from the sofa but you’re perfectly warm in your oversized ugly Christmas sweater.

“That!” He hisses. You spare him a glance but his gaze is so fixated on the little ceramic figurine on the coffee table that you actually think he might set it aflame.

“It’s Mary and Joseph and the newborn king, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; gosh I thought you of all beings would know them?” You flippantly reply, having to turn away again to hide the smile that’s starting to creep up on your lips.

“I do but I also know for a fact that you’re not even Christian. So why do you have this here!?"

“Jesus loves everybody and it’s not exactly them, it’s a very abstract depiction of them. And besides, it’s a nice candle holder that says Noel so calm down.”

You hear angry muttering and then a huff, making you sneak a peek only to nearly burst out laughing at the pout he’s sporting. You have to admit, it’s adorable but only because he looks like Jimin. He turns to you and you can’t help the corner of your mouth from twitching. Your Jimin clone raises a finger, pointing at you as his expression turns accusatory, comically so.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Did what?” Your voice comes out in a higher pitch because you’re trying so hard not to laugh but also because you’re clearly lying through your teeth.

“All of this!” He finally exclaims, like his week long pent up frustration is coming to head. “I can’t believe you would go along with the capitalism of this holiday, just to get back at me!”

“You’re a demon! I thought you’re supposed to encourage this sort of thing?”

“There are many things I encourage…and this is definitely not one of them!”

“Oh c’mon, don’t act like you totally hate the holiday season; I’m not the one sneaking gingerbread cookies at two in the morning."

A pause.

And you smirk; gotcha.

Yeah, there was no way you wouldn’t have noticed that every time you decided to bake some holiday treats (for the household and your workplace), the portion left for home would mysteriously disappear at an alarming rate. You knew for sure you didn’t eat any because you literally had your fill when they were fresh out of the oven. Jaehee didn’t really like gingerbread cookies nor sweets for that matter but she indulged you and had the bare minimum.

So doing the math for that wasn’t too hard and if the deep crimson blush Jimin had on was anything to go by….

“So what? I had like two…” He says defensively, crossing his arms. You let a snort go, turning back around to fiddle with the fake holly berries.

“Sure…whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Demons don’t really sleep.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean.” You roll your eyes, finishing up and stalking back towards the kitchen again. “Anyways, I’m gonna go make some cookies since someone keeps eating all of them before I can leave any out for Santa.”

“He’s not even real!”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

Safe to say that your chewy chocolate chip cookies turned out fantastically, you think they’re good enough to open your own bakery even. Once the tray cooled, you take three for yourself and a glass of milk, heading back into your room. You take a quick a glance in the living and find that your demon guardian has vanished. You shrug, kicking open your door and get settled in for a little movie night in bed.

The next morning, you find the tray more than half empty.

“Oh wow, chocolate chip cookies. You should really open up a shop, Y/N. You’ve got a knack for baking.” Jaehee comes up from behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Why’d you make so little? Just had a craving last night?”

“Yeah…” was the only thing you can say in utter disbelief.

That bastard.

He could’ve saved you some to last the week.

Christmas Day

Oh boy, you probably should not have drank that much. You’re regretting it deeply now as you stumble up the stairs after thanking your Uber driver and wishing them a happy holiday. The Christmas party your friend held was super fun, something that wasn’t too rambunctious like a frat party even though you're totally sloshed right now. It was a gathering of close friends and their dates but friends who definitely know how to party. The night started off rather tamed with the exchange of presents and pleasantries in catching up, eating and light drinking before the games started.

That’s when the drinks started pouring because games are fun but they’re even more fun when alcohol is involved (and anything can be turned into a drinking game if you tried hard enough). Coupled that with your fairly low tolerance and it’s no surprise that you’re about ready to fall asleep in the closest corner you can find. But no, you’re a trooper and you held on, even when Jaehee (who was no less sober than you), insists on going home with you. So after ordering you an Uber she deemed trustful (cancelling around five of them), she saw you off, not without demanding that you text her when you’ve arrived safely at home.

You’re almost inside, fumbling with your keys and checking thrice to make sure it’s the right one before slotting it into the keyhole. As the door opens, you let out a loud noise of relief like you’ve just finished a marathon.

“Goddammit….” You slur to yourself as you shut your door and nearly topple over in removing your boots. You fling them off after finding your balance on the wall, heaving yourself to the living room where you promptly collapse onto the couch, energy spent. Your head is pounding already as if your hangover is beginning to form even before your body has a chance to sleep it off but you still have so much to do; take off your jacket, text Jaehee, change your clothes, wash your makeup off, brush your teeth, drink some water, the list was endless but all your body and inebriated mind wants to do is to close your eyes and just rest here for a bit because this couch was so comfy…man, investing in those throw pillows and blankets sure was a good ide—

“I don’t remember letting in a hobo.”

Through your curtain of hair, you blearily make out a shadow looming over you. Tossing your head back a bit more, you find an infuriatingly handsome face staring down at you, one that you want to punch but kiss at the same time.

“Jimin…?”

“Yes, but not quite darling.”

You frown, muddled mind sifting through information like dial up Internet before you make a noise of affirmation. “Not Jimin…English too good.”

You hear a breathy laugh as your heavy head lops to one side, too tired to hold it up any longer. A clicking sound, the kissing of teeth in a way you can only imagine a mother would do when scolding her child.

“Someone’s indulged a little too much in the blood of Christ.”

In your head, you think you’ve formed words that sound something like ‘You don’t even like Christmas’ but in reality, it comes out half way before dying in a mumbling, incoherent mess. Your head continues to pound to the rhythm of your heart and as you close your eyes, trying to will it to go away, you very nearly drift off when you feel a tug at your arm. You make an attempt to swat at it but fail miserably, giving up because you don’t have the energy to care.

“I don’t get paid enough for this….” You faintly hear as you’re suddenly lifted into strong arms and the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender invades your nose.

“Mm…So strong…” You giggle drunkenly, head burying against the soft cashmere sweater he’s wearing. A groan rumbles against your ear before you’re unceremoniously dumped onto the fluffy comforter of your bed. You whine loudly at being jostled, blindly rolling to your side in an attempt to sit up. A firm hand stops you from straight up falling out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Mm’face is dirty…”

“Don’t worry, you rubbed half of it off on my sweater anyways.”

“Jimin…!” You whine petulantly, a hand stretched out as if you could summon a cleansing wipe if you thought hard enough. Even drunk you refuses to go to bed with makeup still on your face; imagine the mess it’ll leave on your pillows!

A loud sigh and before you know it, you feel the dampness of one of your cleansing wipes in your outstretched hand. You take it with a grunt of appreciation before slapping it onto your face and begin rubbing it in the best way you think you can get the makeup off. You try to be strategic about it, going by sections of your face but eventually, you keep forgetting if you’ve went over the area or not. You end up wiping your face for a good fifteen minute straight.

“I think you missed a spot.”

You let out another grunt, loudly, tossing the wipe in the direction you hear his voice coming from, “Shuddup.”

The wipe doesn’t come close to reaching his stupid handsome face like you wanted it to, it lands rather pathetically at the edge of his knee, right where the rip in his jeans were. Still, he takes it and effortlessly sends it flying to your trashcan.

“Finished?”

“Mm.” You hum, snuggling into your pillows before letting out a content sigh through your nose. You feel the covers tuck a little closer to you, the weight lifting from your bed and your hair being brushed out of the way.

“Now stay, and sleep.”

“Mm…Merry Chris…Nn—Merry Holiday, Jimin.” You mumble sleepily, drifting off finally though for a split second, you could’ve sworn you heard a “Merry Holiday” in return.

The next morning, you wake up with a splitting headache that renders you incapacitated for half the day. When you did have enough strength to get up, you’re pleasantly greeted with a steaming mug of peppermint tea (the one with cute little snowflakes on it) and a pack of painkillers.

Jaehee’s door was still shut, no doubt she’s either still passed out in sleep or she might’ve spent the night with her date so it’s with a half-hearted reluctance that you accept who could’ve done this. Nevertheless, you gratefully take the tea, cradling it in your hands as you make your way over to the couch. Settling down on the plush seat, you go to reach for the remote on the coffee table, only to notice one minor detail.

Your little Noel candle holder was missing.

You could only let out a sigh. In truth, you’re not even mad.

Present day

“You sure you don’t want to head over to Jisoo’s? We can stay only until the countdown is over.” Jaehee asks once again as she straightens her sequin dress.

“Nah, I think I’ve maxed out my social metre for the year in just this past week alone.” You laugh, stretching your arms over your head before settling back down again, cradling the laptop perched on your knees. You’re halfway done the season’s greeting DVD and you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself where you are.

Jaehee acquiesces, adding a couple of finishing touches to her look, giving you a twirl and you giving her your seal of approval in return. She throws on her jacket just as her phone goes off, signaling her dates’ arrival to pick her up. Jaehee bids you farewell, wishing you a happy new year beforehand as she slips through the door. You brief chill from outside reaches you and you bring the throw over blanket closer to you, resuming your video.

Throughout the entire time, you’ve got a smile stretched wide across your face. You can’t help it; BTS does that to you. Even when the DVD comes to a finish, you’re still left with the faint feeling of happiness and utter adoration for them and honestly, it kind of makes you care even less that you’re spending your New Year by yourself.

So with a content sigh, you eagerly fill your glass again, wiggling happily as you settle further into the cushions to continue perusing the Internet. Now this is what you call self-care.

“You look crazy.”

You resist the urge to groan aloud.

“Well, look who decided to crawl out of their bat cave.” You decide to shoot back sarcastically as you glance up just in time to see him emerge from the darkness beyond your living room. The way he strides towards you makes it look like the shadows had melded to his form and given shape to his clothing as well; all black but looking rather cozy to your surprise; a simple black hoodie and sweatpants, the comfiest and most casual you’ve seen him. The change is startling and makes your heart palpitate a little, though you brush it off as the wine working its way into your system.

“And I see you still have those obnoxious decorations up.” He looks disdainfully at the numerous Christmas lights still strung up and around the space, crinkling his nose a bit. “When are you gonna take it down?”

“When I feel like it.” You deadpan, going back to search up the latest performance video.

“Do you want me to burn it down for you?”

That causes you to snap your gaze up, eyes narrowing in warning. “Don’t you dare.”

All you’re met is a devilish smirk, eyes challenging before he turns and seats himself on the opposite side of the couch, preening. You only puff up in annoyance but then forgo getting worked up over the light bantering. It’s a common occurrence between the two of you now; a strange, love-hate, dynamic that though you may yell and complain about how much you find him absolutely irritable, a very, very, very deep part of you admits that he’s grown on you…. like a rash.

“So are you really just going to spend the remaining part of your year binge watching BTS related content, drinking wine?” You hear him ask. You spare him a glance over the top of your laptop, finding him doing the same except he’s scrolling through his iPhone X (which you have no idea how he even got). He’s got the judge-y eyes but you see the underlying teasing glint in them that only causes you to roll your own.

“We’ve been over this; the only thing that can melt my glacial heart now is seven beautiful and talented Korean men whom one of which, might I reiterate numerous times now, you stole their identities to.”

“Details, details.” He says unconcernedly, making show of stretching his neck and working out the kinks. “Ever heard of how there are actually at least six people in the world that look almost exactly like you? So it’s not that big of a deal.”

You could only shake your head (because low-key yes, he’s right but you won’t admit it), opting take a generous gulp of your wine.

“Careful darling; wouldn’t want a repeat of six days ago.”

“Hey at least I didn’t throw up on you.” You say defensively, cheeks heating up slightly when you recall what he said you did after getting home from the Christmas party (as payback, he made you hand-wash his sweater). You set down your glass to pour yourself more wine, feeling him watching with eyes piercing though that does not deter you at all (you will assert your dominance here). He scoffs but does nothing to stop you from filling your glass three-quarters of the way and taking another sip so you take it as a small victory in proving that you’re right.

It continues on like this; a comment made here and there, some back and forth before you both settle rather comfortably, just sat across from each other in actual companionable silence. You’re halfway through your bottle before you had the conscious to stop, feeling the buzz hitting you in growing waves. By then, you’ve settled onto browsing through your phone, much like how he’s doing right now but even after a few minutes, you had to rest your head against the back of the couch, too tired to keep it up. The strength in your hands is the next to go and soon, you had to resort to taking mini breaks in between.

It gives you the chance to really look at Jimin, or more like this entity that has taken the form of Jimin. You take in the way the lights bounce off of his face; all soft yet sharp angles at the same time, the way his lashes flutter at the tops of his cheeks when he blinks, and the dainty mole right at the edge. You see how the dangling silver earring catches the light at the slightest movement of his head, but also notice the helix stud that is shining as well. It’s such a small detail, however one that you find most profound; the real Jimin doesn’t have a helix piercing anymore.

Now, as the more you look, you’re starting to find other things that the real Jimin would have that the one in front of your doesn’t; like the faint dusting of freckles you would see when real Jimin isn’t wearing makeup and when the Jimin in front of you brushes his hair back from his forehead, you don’t see the moles that should’ve been there.

Half of you thinks that this shouldn’t be that big of a deal, given that a major difference between this Jimin and the real one is that he’s fluent in English (and you have a sneaking suspicion other languages too), but there’s just something about actually seeing the differences physically now with your own eyes makes you feel….

“Your eyes are going vacant darling; is it way past your bedtime?”

His voice snaps you from your thought and the familiarity of it in contrast to what you have discovered seems all the more jarring. You blink to focus, the spitting image of the idol coming back into your view.

“I’m not old enough to start falling asleep before the countdown happens.”

“But you are old enough to miss it completely.” Jimin’s voice is laced with hints of laughter bubbling at the edges but his remark makes you whip your phone up to your face, checking the time to see that indeed it’s 12:01.

Well, damn.

The laugh he’s no doubt been holding back finally bursts out, a raspy sound that’s just the slightest bit airy. It’s probably from the look of utter disbelief on your face but you don’t really care, eyes too transfixed on the way he’s thrown his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing and after he calms down to just grinning do you see—

That his teeth are perfectly straight.

“I guess we should say, 'Happy New Year’ yes?”

He’s smiling at you so brilliantly, eyes almost turning into crescents as they twinkle at you with this boyish charm, cheeks rounding a little more the same way that Jimin had made your heart stutter. It makes your own smile tug onto your lips, and you have half the mind to marvel at how easily swayed you are by him.

This Jimin, that is so like him—

Yet not at the same time….

The feelings tug at your heart again, except this time you think you might be able to pin what it is.

You feel…. relieved.

But for what?

Your smile falters for a split second at the revelation, but you swiftly pull yourself together, covering up by reaching for your forgotten wine glass. It’s empty, however you raise it all the same to him.

“Happy New Year.” You breathe out softly as if you’re afraid to disturb the peaceful atmosphere between you two, all the while the words have you feeling like a small weight has been lifted from your shoulder.

He smiles in response and for a split second; his face softens almost endearingly as he replies to you with an equal softness in his voice, “Happy New Year.”

In the quiet of your living room, with only the twinkling lights of Christmas past, you find you're less alone than you would be welcoming in the New Year.

And somehow, you don’t quite mind that it’s thanks to him.

Bonus

“You owe me a new Jesus candle holder.”

“…How about no?”

New Year, and he’s still insufferable. It was worth a shot.

415 notes · View notes