#tin boxes for return gifts

[glistendecor]

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[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

contents: fluff. established relationship. found family. megumi takes up baking and it takes you back to your teenage years when a certain white-haired someone pined for you. 1.4k wc.

Nine year old Megumi has a crush on someone. You were pleasantly surprised when he asked you to take him to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients, and you inquired if there was a special occasion or a school cooking project as you both walked along the aisle and collected the items on his list that he prepared beforehand.

Your heart melts when you learn that he was planning to gift the pretty girl in his class something homemade, and he decided on butter cookies because she mentioned in passing that it was one of her favorite snacks. You think it’s incredibly sweet that Megumi came up with the idea himself, and even more so that he wanted to set aside a weekend to create something completely from scratch with his own two hands when purchasing a square tin would’ve been much easier.

It certainly reminds you of an insufferable yet equally lovable sorcerer that’s way too tall for his own good with too bright blue eyes that make you forget everything around you if you stare into them a little too long. When you both were just two young teenagers pining after each other and he showed up with a white pastry box hidden behind his back on a summer day, with the strawberries in season and nurtured and harvested to perfection. You smile at the pleasant memory before forcing yourself back to reality.

When you are getting ready to pay for the things you and Megumi placed on the conveyor belt, he stops you and pulls out his Digimon wallet (courtesy of Gojo’s taste in presents) and explains he wants to purchase it with his own savings and be able to say that this gift is entirely by him without receiving any help from others.

You almost had to hold back a tear because when did this boy become so sweet? You suppose he always was this sweet and thoughtful, it just took a bit of time and some trust for him to fully warm up to you and Gojo despite the circumstances with his family and almost being sold off like a pawn to the Zenin clan. And now he has a home where him and his sister could feel like they belong and be surrounded with people that he could depend on because at the end of the day Megumi is just a boy much too young to be growing up too fast.

You announce your return home to Gojo and Tsumiki with the soft thud of the grocery bags being placed on the kitchen counter, and Megumi scurries into his bedroom to fetch the printed recipe he tucked away in a drawer. You carefully take out each item from the bags to place on the surface for him to get started, and white tufts of hair come into your peripherals and Gojo greets you with a cheeky grin.

“Angel, you’re back.” His hand falls on your hip and he softly pecks your lips when you turn your head toward him. He does a quick scan of the contents in front of you, and he decides you must be some kind of mind reader or his telepathic messages have finally reached you after several days now. “Aw baby~ Don’t tell me you’re baking something for me? How did you know I was craving—”

“Not me.” You shake your head and cut him off promptly. “Megumi.” And at the mention of his name, the young raven-haired boy enters the kitchen with a loose paper in his grip. You offer him a polite smile before addressing that everything he needs is on the counter and point to where the baking equipment are, and if he has any questions or concerns then you’ll be in the next room with Gojo as you drag your boyfriend by the arm to give Megumi his privacy.

“You see, Satoru, our Megumi here has a crush on someone. And he’s taken it upon himself to bake her cookies!” You say just above a whisper, a proud smile lining your lips and Gojo arches a curious brow. You catch a peek between the threshold that separates the kitchen and sitting area with Gojo looming behind you and find Megumi checking off the ingredients and looking over the instructions. He’s being thorough, that’s a good start.

“Megumi, eh? You know, I’m a little surprised he’s crushing at all. He’s quite the serious kid.”

You huff at him softly. “Well, serious or not, I think everyone is allowed to have crushes. Besides, doesn’t this remind you of something? Like that time you baked me a strawberry shortcake because strawberries were my favorite?” You look back up at him, and in your gaze there was always a sort of sweet and dreamy expression that never fails to make his heart swell three times too big.

“Ah.” Gojo chuckles, and his mind drifts back to the fond memories of his own youth, when he too used to try his hand at baking sweets in the hopes of impressing you. He remembered how long it took and how many attempts he made since he had no prior experience. There was a lot of flour and eggshells, and maybe he did set the oven on fire… but the moment he saw your face light up with your beautiful smile it was worth all the trouble and the mess. “That was the cake that changed it all for us, huh?” His arms move to your waist and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You nod and hum affectionately, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck though with his height he had to bend down slightly. “That’s one way to put it. But as much as I appreciate the sweet gesture, I am so glad you left the baking to me since then.”

“You’re still teasing me about that to this day?” He playfully nips the sensitive spot on your neck causing you to giggle and lightly shove him away. “But hey, I never claimed to be a master chef. A little bird told me that maybe a homemade cake from me would be the thing to win your heart.”

“Well, I hope you know it was more than the cake that won my heart.”

“Yeah, I know it was my good looks and charm, you can’t get enough of me.” Gojo teases, peppering kisses over your shoulders and neck before pulling back just enough so his smirk comes into your view. “Enlighten me then. Since I still don’t have a clue why an Angel like you fell for a great catch such like myself.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his jokes, and you mull it over for a long moment to purposely keep him in anticipation. There are so many reasons that made you love Satoru Gojo back then, and every day you find new things to love about him. But for now the two qualities that come to mind should suffice for an answer. “Maybe it’s because I found you funny. And cute sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Cute most times, I think.” Gojo quips, and he gently pinches your cheeks. “And of course, my sense of humor is legendary. Who else can make you laugh like I do, hmm?”

“Alright, I think that’s enough flattery for you in one day. Any more and I’m afraid your enormous ego might burst.” There’s a teasing lilt in your voice, and suddenly the air around you feels sweeter as Gojo brings you closer to him and kisses your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours.

“But you know I love you, right?” He says in a much softer tone. “I might tease you a lot and act like an idiot sometimes, but I do appreciate you still being here with me through it all. Without you, I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like without you. You make me a better person, you know that?” He tenderly cradles the side of your face and gazes lovingly into your eyes before there’s a flash of his dimples and a boyish giggle. “And the fact you think I’m cute is icing on the cake. Pun intended.”

You groan softly but the laughter that came shortly after is one of genuine affection. “I'm gonna go check on Megumi.” Before you turn on your heel, you plant a big smooch on his cheek then you’re gone the next second. He stands there, grinning from ear to ear as he rubs the spot you kissed like he still was (and he still is) the lovesick boy just a few years back.

꒰ note ᰔ the idea where megumi takes after gojo in some ways really squeezes my heart and that’s what inspired this little piece. ꒱

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.

Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.

The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home). 

Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?

Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep). 

He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that. 

Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?

Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.

He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite. 

Then, one day, he meets a girl.

Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.

He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back. 

“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket. 

“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.

“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”

She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle. 

He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed. 

He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth. 

“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle. 

“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him. 

“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.

He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor. 

When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue. 

Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later. 

In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes. 

A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind. 

He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself. 

Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?

He looks pointedly away. 

It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?

Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave. 

“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”

“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.

“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”

“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”

The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder. 

When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction. 

Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that. 

“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”

[paceprompting]

cinnamon buns

written for ‘christmas’ | wc: 736 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: post season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, and vice versa, christmas together

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Wayne always managed to get Christmas off. Every year.

Eddie didn’t know what exactly he promised in return to manage it, but ever since little eight-year-old Eddie Munson shuffled into the trailer to live with his uncle, every Christmas had been theirs.

Wayne always woke up first, setting out the presents collected throughout the year and hidden under his bed—and Eddie hadn’t peeked since that first year—nursing his first cup of coffee while in his pajamas until Eddie emerged.

When he was still little, he’d bum-rush the tree and tear open the presents, but soon the little traditions emerged.

Playing Rudolph and Year Without a Santa Claus on VCR tapes that survived years of rewatches, but no interdimensional portals.

Cinnamon buns from tins for breakfast, always burnt around the edges and covered in icing—but they split the best one from the middle.

And the last present was always, always Wayne’s. It took several years for Eddie’s wrapping skills to actually look like the box he was wrapping, but Wayne never said a word.

It was one of those Christmases that Eddie got his first set of dice.

Government hush money bought a decent house for them, with real insulation and top-of-the-line boiler. Just in time for Christmas. Wayne actually had a real hiding place for the presents this time, and no matter how hard Eddie had looked, he’d have to wait until next year to find it.

They could get real lights, too. Not just the couple of strings that wouldn’t overload the trailer’s generator.

They also had to, since those lights were carted off to some Area 51 with the rest of the things the government wanted to pretend had never happened until maybe they could use it to their own benefit.

One other thing had changed this Christmas, too.

There were three of them this year.

Eddie heard the crunch of tires on asphalt from the kitchen. He was supposed to be setting up the ham to go in the oven—which he’d never done in his life, yet he’d volunteered—and he’d only gotten as far as preheating the oven.

So, he headed straight for the front door, sans any sort of jacket or shoes.

Eddie had hated the cold most of his life.

When you lived in a metal box with shitty heating on a good day, the cold months meant shivering through showers, mainlining coffee just to be warm for a couple minutes and layering blankets because sweating was better than losing a toe.

But there was something about Steve Harrington in the cold.

Or, more specifically, in the snow.

He eased out of the driver’s side of the Beemer, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders filled out the blue denim of his jacket, which matched his jeans—which stretched over his pert butt.

Not that Eddie was looking. For too long.

Maybe Eddie liked the cold a little bit more now.

But the whole reason Steve had bent over in the first place was to bring out a few things from his backseat. He held them behind his back as he straightened, and Eddie pouted as he trudged through the snow onto the porch.

His cheeks were pink when joined Eddie by the front door, ducking his head as he offered a hello.

“Hey, Eds,” he said.

Eddie leaned over to try and peer at what Steve had behind his back, eyes widening when Steve brought out a Tupperware that looked like it had several stacks of cookies, warm enough to steam up the inside.

“For me?” he asked, raising his brows.

Steve let him take the cookies with no comment.

“No, I thought it’d be rude not to bring something.” He shrugged, and it took Eddie a moment to realize that his other arm was still bent behind him. Eddie stared pointedly, and Steve smiled before revealing a more Christmas-y gift—in red and green plaid wrapping paper and white ribbon. “This is, though.”

Eddie immediately swapped cookies for the present, holding it close with a wide grin.

Steve cocked his head, sliding his hands (probably cold) into his pockets. “You’re not going to open it?”

He propped his present on his hip and reached forward to grab onto Steve’s wrist. With probably wild eyes, Eddie met Steve’s gaze, waited until Steve leaned forward just a bit and said, with every bit of seriousness, “We haven’t had the cinnamon buns, yet.”

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

8 letters, 3 words!

synopsis: confessions are tricky.

genre: fluff

characters: lyney x gn! reader

warnings: modern (college) au, reader is referred to in 2nd person, navia + lynette cameo

a/n: hehe hi @ariicandy! i'm your secret admirer for @ecrin-de-litterature's kiss don't tell event :> hope you like this gift hehe happy valentine's!! likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2024 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

“oh my, y/n, you really do have expensive taste.” navia grins at you from across the table. “did you win the lottery, or something?”

you huff. “no, i found them on my table.” the second you open the lid of the (previously) beautifully decorated tin box, the sweet fragrance of macarons wafts into your nostrils— you almost miss the way your friend’s jaw drops as she openly gapes at the treats. 

“what?” 

“you… er, well, do you know what those are?” navia gleefully looks between you and the macarons.

there’s a soft clink as lynette sets down her teacup. “5 bucks they have no clue,” she bets, earning a soft “tsk” from you and a smug navia crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair. 

“of course i do! they’re macarons! hey–” you protest, as navia dissolves into giggles and lynette sighs, “hey– listen, listen, i may have flunked midterms but that doesn’t mean i—stop laughing!—that doesn’t mean i don’t know a sweet treat when i see one, okay!”

lynette leans forward, an odd glint in her eyes. “these aren’t your ordinary macarons, you know. there’s only one bakery that sells them like this, and people queue for hours just so they can get their hands on one of these– they only sell eleven boxes each day, mind you. it’s like you’re saying your louis vuitton is just some random bag you picked off the streets. a single box can quite literally cost you the skin of your a–”

you cut her off. “i think we know what you mean, just take some if you wanna try ‘em, okay?” 

“still, who’d gift you something so expensive?” navia muses, chewing on the lemon macaron she’d nicked while you weren’t looking. 

“probably the same mystery guy who gave me that plushie bouquet the other day, and then those chocolates from yesterday, and also probably that box of pâte de fruits…” you hum in thought, utterly oblivious to your friends’ astounded gazes.

“...y/n, i think you might have a secret admirer.” 

“wha– hey, wait! what was with that tone when you said ‘who’d give me something that pricey’? you tryna say i’m not worth those?!?”

laughter echoes across the empty cafeteria as you lunge at navia and screech something about wanting her to return the macaron. none of you notice the pair of periwinkle eyes fixed on your figure from afar.

—

“ooooh, does someone have a secret admirer~?” navia peeks over your shoulder at the white envelope lying innocently on your desk. “y’know,” she continues, unfazed by your side-eye, “if it’s the same guy that got you those macarons, maybe you should consider getting–”

“shut up,” you grumble, feeling your ears heat up, “i don’t even know who gave me all these.” 

“do people not normally sign their names somewhere?”

“just the initials.” you unfold the enclosed paper, pointing to the very bottom, where the letters LS were printed. “who’s that supposed to be? lonely spirit?”

you don’t see a certain someone’s eyes dim when you don’t bother reading the letter and shove the envelope into your bag.

—

13 february. 7 days since you started receiving letters. 7 days since you got your first plushie bouquet (how the sender knew your favourite blooms and even your favourite character was a mystery you had yet to solve). and 1 day before valentine’s. 

the letter you got today was way simpler than the flowery words that filled the pages from before:

3 boxes, 8 letters. think you’ll be able to figure it out, ma chérie? that’s the key to your last gift.

(hint: the way each letter starts is important. good luck♡)

“the way each letter starts?” lynette shrugs, “no idea. probably something like the first letter of the first word.”

“lynette,” you begin, “you’re a genius!”

one problem, though. you only received 5 letters. oh, well, didn’t hurt to try, right?

“let’s see…” you lay out the letters on the table, trying hard to ignore the contents that made you blush so furiously in the safety of your bedroom. “u, l, v, o, i, e…” you mutter, before navia gives you a light shove.

“no way it’s taking you so long, isn’t it already so obvious?”

“???”

“rearrange the letters—where’s my pen— and what do you get?”

you stare mutely at the letters. “...i love u.” you read, before you’re hit with a realisation.

“wait– boxes are containers, and then words are like containers for letters– and then, and then… and then i love you makes up eight letters in three letters! i’m a genius!”

“if you’re such a genius, you should’ve noticed a certain someone staring at you.” lynette nods at a point behind you, “go get your man, y/n. i don’t wanna hear complaints about being single for valentine’s.”

you turn– and there stood lyney snezhevich, in all his glory, a bouquet in his hand. he offers you an apprehensive smile as he extends his arms for you to accept the flowers—your final gift— and averts his eyes. 

“seems you’ve managed to crack the code, ma chérie. now, then, if you hadn’t known from the letters… will you be my valentine?”

taglist: @yinyinggie @lynyluvr @kazemiya @meidnightrain @thexianzhoujade @dailypenpen (send ask to be added to taglist!)

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[fayemouse]

A mouse finds a dress.

A doll left it laying on their dresser after playing with its own doll.

They put it on, pulling the zipper up but knowing it won’t make it all the way to the top. Their shoulders too broad, their stomach too wide. The teeth purse and split.

Their arms fold across the neckline, holding it firm across their chest. It swishes past their feet, too tall for their frame. It kicks up powder and dust as they waltz with themselves, coating their fur in a fine layer of grayed pink.

They sneeze, a squeak and a huff that masks the opening of the door's latch. An involuntary flutter of their ears beats away the creaking rumble of the hinges. A witch, the doll’s witch, the mistress of the house they’re but squatters in and interlopers to rightfully peers down the bump of her nose at them.

Words with sound-forms too large for them to comprehend and a poorly-aimed slam just next to them freeze their muscles. Their claws grip into ersatz linen.

They’re off.

Scampering over jewelry boxes and necklaces, discarded receipts and forgotten notepaper, they run on all fours. Fear grips their heart and burns their lungs as they try to remember left or right, stop or go.

They hear a tear and know a hem has come loose. Their feet are no longer sure. Their legs flail into a metal tin with a bang.

Breath comes in gasps and wheezes, their skid-marks clear as day to them but too small for untrained eyes. Blanketed by shadows, a rest against the cool aluminum is a gift they savor.

It’s time. They must go a direction. The way doesn’t matter. They pull themselves forward with their free arm.

They never drop the dress. Not now, when they’re so close to absconding with it. Not now, as they share a moment with the doll’s doll. Not now, as they nearly reach being something more than just a skittering intruder to a better, more orderly, greater place.

The window: it’s still open a crack. The moment is right. They slip through.

The moonlight shows the damage. Slightly duller, no less elegant. Slightly torn, no less tight.

The disgust and fear of the witch -- protecting its dolls, protecting her home from an infestation -- still quickens their pulse. They’ll never try to return.

In their own nest, they mend and alter the dress. Cut and hem. Patch and seam. Let out and pinch in. It’s still the doll’s doll’s dress.

In their own nest, they follow motions they try so, so hard to understand. They practice dusting. They make themselves tea. They wiggle their whiskers and tut-tut a visiting ant. They treasure and hold so, so dear what they scavenged.

A mouse found a dress.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Cookies and Brownies - Gaz x Reader

Content Warnings - Fluff with some very, very minor angst.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Normally, Gaz did not find leaving his flat so difficult. Usually he was already gnawing at the bit to get back onto the field from his mandatory leave, to get back to doing something instead of lying around. Well now he had a reason to want to stay, for the person next door who also happens to work at his favorite bakery/cafe.

There is something cruel about that, ironically cruel. Gaz has never had any trouble getting people to come home with him, sometimes he didn’t even need to put on any of his charm. But he knows it was because of his looks, charming like a prince in a fairytale. Was it the military lifestyle? Was that why he found it so hard to keep people around him and wanting him? Maybe.

But you, you were different. You didn’t see his return to the military as a goodbye, closing your door on whatever is happening between the two of you. No, you worked out a solution in mere seconds. Gift packages, he’d seen some men he’s worked with before get them. Packages usually from loved ones, like family or partners. Sometimes from friends. Gaz hadn’t gotten one since his early days, back when his grandmother was still around. God rest her soul.

It’s two weeks later, two weeks into being at this base in this fucking desert that the package arrives. His name is called out alongside others and he is handed a package, it has several postmarks slapped onto it with your handwriting on the box for the address.

His stomach twists at the sight of your handwriting, how is that possible? How can he feel that way over handwriting? It’s not just anyone’s handwriting, Gaz thought, it's yours. Distinctly and completely yours. Something no other person could replicate, just you.

Gaz waits until he’s in his tent, empty thankfully, to cut open the package. Inside there is a letter on top of several tins that his mind immediately thinks are sewing supplies until he connects the dots. He opens the letter first, imagining his grandmother slapping the back of his head for being rude and going for the gifts first.

More of your handwriting, his heart pounds as he reads through the letter. He can’t help but rub his thumb over where you wrote his name. Kyle. His real name, not a call sign given to him years ago. Kyle Garrick.

Kyle opens the first tin and finds it filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies. It dawns on Kyle then that there are four tins, which means lots of baked goods. He licks his lips as he pulls out the other tins and opens them, just to know which one’s hold which.

There is another tin of cookies, white macadamia nut and two tins of brownies. One looks like the classic kind and the other filled with cookie-brownies. He feels like a wolf staring down prey, unguarded sheep ready to be eaten. Before he digs in, he puts the tins away and rips a piece of paper from his notebook and writes.

Dear Kyle,

Hello! I hope the package found you alright and that I had added enough postmarks for it to make the journey. I hope you’re still at base and not somewhere fighting bad guys haha. Things here have seriously slowed down or maybe its because our best customer isn’t currently here. I made some cookies and brownies although they might be stale. If they are, I’m sorry but I’m not sure how to stop that from happening. Do you have any kind of favorite candies? If you send me a letter with your favorites I’ll be sure to include it in the next batch, maybe even bake it into the cookies.

It’s been raining impossibly often but according to Mrs. Thompson its that time of the year. Is that true or is she trying to keep me from rightfully complaining about not seeing the sun in a week? Why is it that when you left the sun decided to hide behind rain clouds? Do you have some kind of deal worked out with the weather? If so, let me in on it, there’s only so much rain a person can handle. Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Enjoy the likely stale cookies and brownies.

[lopezpierce]

Brittana: Ten Year Anniversary Gifts

Santana let out a deep relaxed sigh as the water hit her body. She really didn’t know how she ended up her. Ended up married to her best friend, living her dream in New York, and being a Mom. She never would have thought an anniversary let alone their 10 year anniversary, their day would have gone the way it did.

She almost shrieked when she felt cold hands cascading down her wet body. She melted into Brittany’s touch when the initial shock of the temperature wore off. “I didn’t even hear you sneak in, baby.”

Brittany kissed her wife's shoulder softly and hummed, “That’s the point of a sneak attack.” She kissed her neck and smiled to herself. “Do you want help washing your hair?

Santana could only nod at the request. Brittany had always loved showering with her. She wasn’t going to complain. Santana turned around in her wife's arms and kissed her gently on the lips, “I would love to return the favor after my turn.”

Over an hour later the couple was sprawled out on their bed exhausted. Brittany was teaching advanced physics at one of the local community colleges and also teaching dance at a local studio. Santana had gone into music producing with a smaller but still reputable label. She had a few of her own songs floating around itunes. She still was acting some on the side. But their family life had gotten busy. They had a rough time getting pregnant for a couple years. But now they had a beautiful 4 year old son named Jonah. 

“Did you ever imagine our 10 year wedding anniversary would involve a reenactment of our wedding while being forced to have dino nuggets, mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese for dinner?” Santana laughed deeply as she curled into her wife’s side.

“He really wanted to help make dinner. Since those are only things he really loves he figured we would love it too,” Brittany smiled at Santana and kissed her softly,  “But I, as a good wife, know you need real food. So the chinese food should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“I wouldn’t change it for anything. I love our little family,” Santana threw her leg over Brittany’s waist and sat on her stomach. “So I know we weren’t supposed to buy each other anything since we are going to Hawaii next month…But I couldn’t resist.”

“Santana…” Brittany said with almost a warning tone in her voice, “We’re supposed to be saving money for the trip.”

“I know. But I skipped getting coffee on my way to work for two weeks,” She grabbed a loose fitting T-shirt and threw it on. “So you know it wasn’t super expensive. But it just fit….” The brunette went into her closet and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper.

“Can I open it?” Brittany said excitedly as she sat up. Santana was also so thoughtful and good with gifts. They were kind of her love language. 

“Yes,” She handed it to Brittany and returned to sitting beside her, “It’s going to sound silly. But I wanted to explain it.”

Brittany leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, “Explain away, love.”

“I remember so clearly how traditional you wanted things for our wedding, even though we are far from it.” She watched Brittany slowly peel away the paper, “Traditional 10 year wedding gifts are tin or aluminum. I know you said your office at school feels ‘impersonal.’ So I wanted to help you fix that.”

Brittany almost cried when she saw the gift. It was a Songbird sculpted in a shadow box made of what she assumed was aluminum. “I can’t believe you thought of this…” She leaned forward and kissed her deeply, “I love it so much!” It even had their wedding date on it. 

Santana put her hand on the side of Brittany’s cheek and smiled softly, “I love you so much. Happy Anniversary baby.”

Brittany smiled back at her. “I love you too…and I also didn’t listen to the no gift rule. I was going to wait until we were on vacation…But I want you to have it now.” Brittany turned quickly to dig through her bedside table. She handed Santana a small beautifully wrapped gift. 

Santana took it from Brittany and opened it slowly, “We really are made for each other. We are stubborn and don’t listen,” She mumbled as she opened her gift. 

“Traditional is tin,” She leaned close to Santana and kissed her cheek, “Modern is diamond.”

Santana nearly squealed when she opened the velvet box. “You got me bling!” 

Brittany couldn’t help but laugh at her wife’s reaction. She was a little worried Santana would start stressing about the budget. She had gotten Santana a small tear drop pendant necklace with a small diamond in the middle. “I did get you bling,” She motioned for Santana to turn around so she could put it on her. “I love you too. So much.”

Their wedding anniversary might not have been as exciting as some people, but neither one of them would change it. 

[leggerefiore]

Dads’ reactions to their kids giving and receiving Valentines?

Cyrus and Emmet are probably panicking that their daughters are growing up too fast.

cw: valentines day stuff

▲Ingo▼

● A natural romantic, Ingo always found himself attracted to the allure of Valentine’s Day. He would try his hardest to get a gift for his dearest, even if his workday proved all consuming and too busy. If he could, he would even attempt to make dinner and woo them. So, Ingo was not so shocked when he was approached by Erin, who wished to know what to get a girl for Valentine’s Day. While the Subway Boss certainly wondered who this mysterious girl was, he helped Erin pick out some chocolate and a gift for this girl. He found Erin's choice of a tech part a bit odd, but if that was what he thought she would enjoy… (He later spied Erin bashfully handing these off to a certain blue-haired girl. She seemed a bit confused but took them nonetheless.)

● Now, what shocked him more was a knock on the door and familiar face requesting Erin. His Sinnohan pen-pal turned classmate certainly was a sight commonly visiting his home, but he did not fail to notice a small heart-shaped tin in her hand and a gift box. He stepped aside as Erin rushed over to greet her. Watching from a distance, he saw his son eagerly accept the gifts and hug her. It was quickly reciprocated. Poor Ingo only found himself worried about Erin, though. While she seemed like a polite enough girl, her father made him have concerns. But… He would not ruin Erin's clear happiness for today.

▽Emmet△

○ Emmet loved Valentine’s Day. He could get sweets for just being in love… How could he not enjoy it? Well, he felt himself learning how. Emma was a beautiful young girl who would attract the attention of most around. He expected her to receive many gifts, but seeing her actually trying to make her own chocolates for someone left him shocked. She carefully made small chocolate roses and stared at this wistfully. Just who would make her feel like that?! Emmet bit his lip is concern. While she was no longer the little toddler who would sit in his lap and cuddle, he could not view her as the maturing young woman that she was. He tried to stop her, but it was fruitless. She simply informed him that she would be back later. Emmet cried a little bit.

○ Then, much to his horror, many gifts were dropped off at the house for Emma. She seemed apathetic to most of them, simply scooping them up and mostly wanting the sweets, but one in particular seemed to break her stoic face. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she hugged it to her chest. Emmet desperately tried to see the same of the sender, but Emma managed to avoid letting him see. He was horrified that some unknown person was sending his little girl a gift that made her so happy. His attempts of sneaking to see it later also failed. He cried a little bit more.

○ Too much of Emmet's horror, Inka, too, was seemingly celebrating the holiday. She held a purchased chocolate heart in her hands as she sat on the couch, clearly bored. He felt panic rush through him. Why?! Inka had always claimed disinterest in dating. Who could have caught his precious darling's eyes! Even more than Emma, he felt worried about what was to come. His attempts at questioning (bluntly asking who they are for) failed to give him answers. Then, she left. Emmet actually felt the need to chase after her, but she vanished before he could.

○ Her return with flowers made his heart race. He asked again in a panic, especially seeing a clear hickey on her. Inka just stared at him strangely and told him no. Emmet took this one far worse than Emma's own. His littlest girl… He was so deeply upset. Ingo had to remind him that his daughter was a teenager. It did not work.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Galactic Boss was uninterested in such holidays. While his partner may have wanted to do them, he, himself, had little reason. So, he was shocked when he came home to find Cyllene in the kitchen desperate, trying to make chocolate. She was pouring a melted batter into small train moulds and clearly heavily focused on her task. Cyrus found himself shocked at the idea that she had anyone on her mind. So, naturally, he found himself asking what this was. She responded plainly that they were for her Unovan pen-pal. He wished to stop those, but she had already spoken of his plans to gift them when she returned to school. Her cheeks even dusted with a bit of colour. Cyrus felt like he was going mad. He had a new target of his ire. (Grunts that he had watching her overseas reported that she was hugged for her gift and even returned it herself. Cyrus felt himself panic at the thought.)

☄️ Once more, they reported back to him that she had been given a gift in turn. Some piece of a mechanical project that Cyllene had been working on and chocolates. His worry about why this boy had given her a gift before White Day was overlooked as he worried that she was going to be corrupted by this horrible world. What if she was hurt!? He felt himself growing far too concerned about the possibilities. Nothing he did could stop this, however. Cyllene had already mentioned her affection for this boy. Before he could rush over to Unova himself, however, his partner stopped him. No, apparently, he was not going to save his daughter from the horrors of this world. He refused to accept that he was being overprotective.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ The gambler could find himself quite intertwined with Valentine's Day. The holiday was often an easy way to get a one-night stand before becoming something that he actually needed to focus on. He tried to be some idealised boyfriend for his partner, but he would not pretend that he was always capable. Though, when he spied Nero seemingly sitting at the table ruminating over a box of chocolates, he found himself curious. Opting to be fatherly, he sat down and asked Nero who they were for. The glare he got in reply was an answer in and of itself. He chuckled. Ah, young love. A warning to be careful with any contact gets him another glare. He chuckles at that.

♡ What shocked him more was when Nero returned with his own chocolates. It was far more cute and feminine than he expected. Asking how it went gets him no reply. A sigh leaves Grimsley. Oh, Nero. He can see the colour on his son's cheeks as he stares at the gift. Whoever gifted it to him clearly had his heart. Grimsley only hoped that he would not let himself be hurt. Maybe he should give him a proper talk about the world… The gambler opts to leave Nero is his young love for now.

◇ Morrigan was clearly smug. Grimsley took notice of that easily. She held a card and chocolates in her hand as she got ready to go out. He somehow pondered if she had an actual date or a “target” in mind. He really saw too much of himself in his poor daughter. All her movements were far too familiar to him. Though, judging by the card, he felt it was more likely a date. Just who could catch her eye? It was a mystery, certainly. He knew if she was like him, it would simply be someone who drove her nearly mad in being able to resist her charms. He wished her luck as she headed towards the door. She only shot him a grin.

♧ Her return with a bouquet of roses and a simple box of chocolate for later on told him that her conquest went well. The girl suddenly hugged him and babbled on about some Paldean who absolutely intrigued her. He nodded along, finding it fascinating that she was so open about this. In the end, he could tell that somehow this poor guy had really caught her attention. Grimsley only hoped that he was ready for her pursuant his daughter could be in getting what she wanted.

👑Lear💎

🪙 The romantic that he was, Lear knew that his children would likely inherit this fascination. Love… He wished for his children to find it naturally. But, he was a bit bemused when he saw Regan pacing in front of a giant chocolate heart box. Who could have captured his son's attention? He really did not know. Yet… He was more than ready to encourage his son. So, he caught the pacing boy and told him simply that if his feelings were true that there should be no hesitation from him. This snapped Regan from whatever stupor he was in as he lifted up the gift and nodded. Lear felt confident that whomever the recipient was, they would not dare reject such a grand gesture. It actually reminded him that his own order for his partner should be arriving soon.

🪙 Regan returned later with a small card and a strange graphic print box of chocolate. Lear worried for a moment that he had been rejected, and that was a polite way of saying no. Yet, he stared at the box and sighed. He caught a glimpse of the card, seeing a heart and flower drawn on it. He felt a bit distressed. Asking how it went earned him a simple reply of “well” from the boy. Lear stood stumped. Now, he suddenly felt concerned about his own grand gesture going south. He needed to give Regan advice about being more ruthless in his courting. (Thankfully, his partner intervened.)

🪙 Lear was uncertain of how he felt about his daughter wishing to go out shopping. Normally, he would simply assign Sawyer to Rachel to join her and give however much money she requested, but what she wanted perturbed him. Valentine’s Day chocolates. Why? He could not comprehend what she was doing. Maybe she was going to give them to him and Regan again. She was quite fond of doing that, but her cheeks flushed a bit when he asked why he was not allowed to join her. There was no reply. So, while he still let her, unable to say no, he asked Sawyer to report what she did to him. Needless to say, the prince nearly died when he learnt of his precious daughter's crush and her demands for a date. Immediately, he needed to meet this boy and let him know that Cordelia was far too fragile to be played with.

🪙 Lear had ended up following Cordelia, far too worried about her as usual. Her health was on the rise, and she seemed well, but her condition always felt fragile to him. So, he took time from his schedule (manically planning a date with his spouse) to observe her goings-on. He felt himself freeze when a ruffian looking boy approached her with a box of chocolates. Cordelia gasped and took them. Her excitement was electric in the air. Lear observed how nervous the boy seemed. His fist clenched. Was this fool taking advantage of his precious princess!? Before he could intervene, Cordelia embraced him and ordered him to join her. He only nervously followed behind. Lear then began to wonder if the boy felt afraid to tell her no (as he should). A plan to speak with Cordelia was made in his mind.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 He found holidays neat from a sociological perspective. All this fixation and desperation for romance due to a societal pressure to meet a holiday's goal… Utterly fascinating. Of course, he dared indulge himself… Wishing to impress his partner and play along in this expectation. Granted, he found himself a bit stunned to see his daughter also playing along. She was dedicatedly attempting to make chocolates from scratch. No doubt in order to impress a possible mate. He stepped in to ask what she was doing. His answer was a firm none of his business and to leave. He noted this in his log of her emotions but obeyed her request. (He watched her put the chocolates into a far too cute tin and rush out the door. He debated following her but decided to respect her privacy.)

🧪 The scientist was shocked to see many different people show up at Prisma's dorm when he visited to drop off chocolates and gifts. He noted at least a dozen. How fascinating. Was she that beloved? While the girl seemed to enjoy the gifts, there was a bit of annoyance in having so many. She started stacking them, and Colress noted in his logs further about her ability to attract followers. His questions about this were not appreciated and met with a disdainful look. He dropped it. (He noted that one gift in particular made her quite happy. When he tried to see who it was from, she hid it with a blush.)

🌿N👑

🟢 The green-haired man was quite amused by the holiday. Romance… Really, he had not ever had a need to celebrate such things before being in a relationship and grew up without the cultural connection to it. So, when he had Clover pull on his hand and ask him to go with her to the store to shop, he joined her. She first grabbed a box of cards and a bag of candy. From what he understood, this was common in schools. Though, what shocked him was the small heart she grabbed with a Lillipup print on it. He helped her buy it all. She seemed to sit at the table for a while, scribbling little notes in each card. He could only wonder what all this was. Most of them were just kind words, but one simply had a heart drawn on it. He felt concerned just a bit.

🟢 She came home later that day with a giant chocolate heart far more than what she could easily carry and a bag of more cards and sweets. It seemed her quest went well, whatever it was. She happily showed him all the nice notes she got. One, however, caught his attention. Its impressive script read something about being grateful for her gift and enjoying her company. N… felt more concerned. None of her friends that he knew seemed like they would write like that. Yet… Her soft smile reassured him. She probably just had all kinds of friends. 

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 The Kahuna simply did not care for the holiday much. What love was there in his life? His partner might give him a glare for that, but it was his mentality for many years. The only chocolates he would but would be some for Acerola the day after on discount. So, he was stunned to see Ohi'a carefully observing some pretty expensive chocolates at a store. His approach clearly startled the boy who nervously tried to act like he was just trying to get some for Acerola to be nice. He knew better than that. While he no doubt would get some for his adoptive sister, he knew that it would be some luxury kind. A question to who actually made Ohi'a even more nervous. Nanu grew a bit cornered for his son, but the boy assured him it was fine. So, he let it go and planned to follow him. (He was shocked to see him handing off chocolate to the owner of Pasio's daughter. Her excitement about it bewildered him more.)

🌑 Nanu had just been sitting with Ohi'a, mostly just zoned out with their Meowths. Yet, a knocking brought the boy up to answer the door. The older man turned his head to keep an eye out in case it was something dangerous, but otherwise, he made no move to join him. He was shocked to see a far too nicely dressed girl at their door holding out a giant heart of chocolates to Ohi'a. He could see the nervousness and shock on his face. Yet, when she forced it into his hands, he took it. He quickly realised it was that prince's daughter. Nanu had no idea how to process whatever just happened when Ohi'a was hugged and told to meet her for a date later. Apparently, his son had accidentally caught the attention of a princess by protecting her from some evil goons. All Nanu could do was watch his son awkwardly navigate this situation without being banned from Pasio for hurting someone's feelings.

[unchartedentity]

Christmas Island--- @lotf-secret-santa gift for @mmeqkoi!!

(A/N: Ach, I usually draw something for this but I ran rather low on time :(. This took longer than a short little fic blurb should have, haha. Ralph and Roger is such a slept-on dynamic. Kinda tweaked the timeline for the dates to match up, don't come for me lol. Anyway, Merry Christmas!)

Christmas Island (984 words)

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The boys had been on the island for three months before Ralph and Roger had a proper conversation alone. It was one of those lazy days— all the shelters had been built and rebuilt, a sizable collection of fruit lay gathered on the platform, and the hunters had already returned from today’s campaign (Empty-handed, as per usual). The peace sent a twinge of unease through Ralph; there was always something to do, someone to talk to about hygiene or shelters or some other rot like that. He felt it was impossible to lounge about the beach like all the other boys, so he contented himself with strolling up and down the stretch of coast within view of the encampment.

It gave him a start when he came across Roger, alone in the harsh sun, forcefully digging his fingers in the sand and hurling the grainy clumps into the gentle waves. The boy’s furrowed brow and curled lip showed no indication of want for conversation; Ralph, however, mustered up the courage to approach him. “Hullo. Hunt went alright?”

Roger tossed a few more handfuls of sand before answering. “It’s Christmas. Did you know that?”

Ralph blinked. “What— you mean today’s Christmas day?”

“Yeah. Well, depends. November has thirty-one days, right?”

“Just thirty, I think.”

“Damn. Well, it’s boxing day, then.”

Noticing a sudden, uncharacteristic slump in Roger’s shoulders, Ralph lowered himself onto the sand next to him. “You’ve… been keeping track of the days?”

“Didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. But I always had to take my pills every ten days, so—” Roger drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and dug his fists deep in the sand. 

“What’d you ask Father Christmas for this year?” Ralph joked, unwilling to point out Roger’s slip of the tongue.

“I hate Father Christmas. Haven’t asked him for anything since I was nine.”

“God, what has Saint Nick ever done to you?” Ralph chuckled.

Roger screwed his face into a scowl. He had uncovered a natural cache of rocks and was starting to hurl them into the ocean. “He hardly brought me any gifts in the first place. Just stupid coal in my stupid sock on the stupid radiator. And the years he did bring me things were rotten years anyway.”

Roger curled further into himself and clenched his fist around a jagged rock. Ralph thought he saw a trickle of blood run down his arm, but Roger didn’t show any signs of pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but Roger beat him to the punch. 

“I got a butterfly net when I was five. My mom took it away when I started pasting the bugs I caught to the walls. I got a tin racer when I was seven. My stupid little brother smashed it flat the next day.” With each new memory, Roger threw the rocks from his pile with more and more rage. “Broke a kid’s nose on the playground when I was eight, so I didn’t get anything that year. Year after that, I got a cat for Christmas. God, I—” His voice broke and his aim faltered. “That was a good cat. But once it bit me deep as hell so I threw it at a wall. Broke its goddamn neck. And if it wasn’t for those good for nothing pills, I—”

“Roger, stop,” Ralph cried, snatching the other boy’s wrist. Roger looked up. In his reminiscing, he neglected to notice three littluns that had wandered into a surf a few yards in front of them. Clutched in his hand was a stone the size of an orange; if Ralph hadn’t stopped him, he would have hurled it right at the kids’ heads. The rock fell to the sand with a soft beat.

Roger’s mouth felt dry. When he spoke again, his voice came out low and hoarse. “I’ve never told anyone that.” He grabbed Ralph’s shoulder and dug his nails into the fair skin. “If you ever tell anyone I said that, I swear to God, I—”

“Roger. It’s okay. I…” Ralph sent him a bashful smile. “They gave me pills for a while, too. Jitters. Made it hard to play the flute.” He mimed moving his fingers along the holes of the instrument. When Roger gave no reaction, he cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, if you ever need any… if you want any— I guess I’m just saying—”

“I don’t need another shrink,” Roger shot back. “But… maybe sometimes, I… well I suppose what I’m trying to say is.”

“You’re welcome.” Ralph stood and beat the sand off his shorts. “Well. Have a good sleep.” He began to stroll back to the camp.

“Hey, Ralph.” The chief turned back around. “What’d you ask Father Christmas for?”

Ralph couldn’t keep the beginnings of tears from his eyes. He pushed his ragged hair out of his face and tried his best to smile. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to go home.”

The next day, Roger found something new wrapped around his spear— a small, pink shell with a messy hole punched through its center, through which ran a poorly-braided cord of dry grass. No note— not that there was any method of leaving one. Roger took it, but held it close to his body so the other biguns couldn’t see. During an hour of respite, he sat in the shade and inspected his newly acquired possession. The shell was the same sort of pearly translucent material as the conch. Roger’s mind immediately darted to Ralph. He scoffed at the gesture. Idealist. He reared back his arm to throw it into the forest, but stopped short. He contemplated the shell for a moment, then strung the braided cord around his wrist and carried it to the platform.

He placed it upon a rock and crushed it with the butt of his spear to thicken his face paint for the next day’s hunt.

[mollywog]

Laurel

Read chapters 1 & 2 on Ao3

The beginning of Chapter 3

They say no one really feels married in District 12 until after the toasting: They’re right.

~~~

She moves into Peeta’s house in Victor’s Village, bringing only a single bag of her scant possessions.

He gives a brief tour, before leading her to a bedroom prepared for her. It’s not what she’s expecting; clean and modestly decorated in District 12 fashion rather than the Capitol’s style. She’s thankful for that and pleasantly surprised.

“I know it’s a little plain,” Peeta says, misinterpreting her silence. “I don’t know what you like, but I can paint it… any color you want…”

She doesn’t miss his crestfallen look as she shakes her head effectively ending the conversation. She doesn’t need him doing more than he already has.

She hasn’t slept alone since she was five; before her sister was old enough to share the mattress in their room. It shouldn’t be this hard to rest in a bed this comfortable, but sleep plagues her. She’s no stranger to nightmares, ever since her father died a decade ago, but now the usual mine explosion is replaced with visions of Prim clutching a wailing child as life drains from her eyes. Katniss wakes frantically reaching across the empty bed for her sister before remembering where she is.

She doesn’t know what Peeta does at night, but she knows it’s not sleep. She can hear his heavy tread in the hallway and movement from the room next to hers.

They rarely see each other during the day. She leaves early to hunt, returning in the afternoon to bathe before leaving again to have dinner with her sister and mother after school, meandering back to arrive only after dusk.

After the first few days of this routine, she finds a basket on the counter on her way out the door. The note reads: ‘for your family’. She can’t resist the urge to peek inside, finding bread still warm from the oven, oranges, peppermints, a shiny tin of packets from the tea house, and cookies, beautifully iced with softly colored flowers. She scoffs at the offering; she can provide for her family just fine. Maybe there are no cookies or candies, but she manages the necessities. Shoving the basket across the counter, she grabs her hunting bag and stomps off, letting the screen door slam behind her.

But the next day another basket sits with all the same things, with the exception of a new loaf and perfectly rectangular shortbread. The note reads: ‘for your sister’. Her hands hover over the handle for a moment, before she retracts it, leaving it there once more.

The third day the note reads, ‘For the baby’, and she knows she’s been had. She scowls at the ceiling, before scooping up the basket with its heavenly smelling ginger snaps and fresh loaf.

Prim groans as she takes a bite. ‘The first thing she’s enjoyed eating in weeks,’ she claims and her sister's praise dulls the sting of Peeta’s victory.

After that she stops refusing his gifts, leaving behind a skinned rabbit or squirrel in his ice box as meager repayment.

~~~

Next

Big thank you to @rainymyx for the fic aesthetic!!

[glistendecor]

Looking for tin boxes for return gifts online in India? Visit Glisten Décor for stylish, eco-friendly, and reusable tin boxes. Perfect for birthdays, weddings, or events, they offer affordable prices, great designs, and delivery across India. Shop now!

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Chains of thought

(Sooooo this is a tad bit of a mess but I felt the need to write it, just a peek into the relationship between the twins and Comet. As always, ugh I may come back and brush this up. Little bit of an allusion to violence, nothing really.. maybe some angst. This takes place during the war, before Earth. @quibble-auk :D)

-

Standing sentinel, easy and soft. They sit close, optics on either the door to their shared crawl space of a berth room. Or their brother. Sunstreaker sighed deep in his chest at the stillness of it all. Sideswipe was indulging in a data pad that had been downloaded with epics, old stories and legends he was lucky to have saved. All the other copies were probably lost after the archives had been melted and groped. While the glittering hall and it’s swathed passages had been burned, it was ransacked for physical treasures. All the art and soul left to die.

Sideswipe had been lucky enough to have the dented scratched pad as a gift from long ago, it was beyond precious to him now. He only read through the stories one at a time, never allowing himself to over indulge in the tales for fear he would lose a detail or grow tired of them. Not many noticed his gentleness with words, nor how that pad stayed with Sunstreaker’s old tin of brushes. Gilded and gleaming like its owner.

No, they assumed the twins were energon soaked grunts, berserkers, he even heard the word monster thrown once. When Sunstreaker felt himself fall too far from his feet, when the sun couldn’t reach him, Sideswipe would pull out that box and remind them both they had slivers of their old selves still alive. The Artist and the Reader, danced slow bashful steps with the Gladiator and Frontliner. Sideswipe’s optics twitched up as their third huffed softly in his recharge, though long ago they had found the term “sleep,” recharge was fitting enough.

Sunstreaker slowly checked over the youngest on the other berth, scanning his oddly grooved frame. Comet was curled tight within himself, resting from his latest reconnaissance that had almost outed him. Long hours and lack of food had put him in a ditch both mentally and physically. Tired wet optics and a gaunt look had told them everything when they had been reunited at their chosen coordinates. He had succeeded in finding what had needed to be found, locating vents on the underground base and their procedures on maintenance. Lots of sitting, and not moving. No organics existed on that rock of a base so that had left him with no choice but to be hungry. He still hasn't eaten since they returned. He had slept. Comet eater hadn’t twitched till now, tight in his ball. Some would assume that such a position would allude to discomfort, but to the twins it spoke of pure vulnerability. Face tucked into his chest and legs bent close, showed a certain tell that he was not as he seemed. Curled and breathing deeply while his brothers recharged flat on their backs. Comet groaned softly, moving to stretch one leg before rolling up again, now face down. Sunstreaker hardly fought back a smile turning back to his sketch.

Under one of his favorite pens was a soft scribble of Sideswipe enthralled in his Epic. Optics wide as if trying to will the characters out of the text. Below that, was the beginning of a doodle of Comet. Sunstreaker in bold strokes illustrated his young brother sleeping soundly. Sideswipe didn’t try to hold back a soft laugh at the groan that erupted from said organic. A sure sign the male was finally awakening. “Primus, are you choking on something?” Slowly, Comet rolled so his face was at least half visible, opening one optic. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but wince, wrinkling his faceplate, as Comet made a show of opening his wet double lidded optics, knowingly.

That shiny golden eye dilated on Sideswipe, who only smirked at his utter deadpan. “Did you finally try to take a bite out of Jazz? Probably got his visor stuck in your throat Commy.” Sideswipe nudged Sunny with his humor over the bond, Sunstreaker responded with a smirk. The wet optic narrowed, and with a tremendous sense of  damaged pride, joined Comet’s face in flopping back onto the berth. Sunstreaker shook his helm at the display, his brother’s joy and amusement over getting some sort of response out of their little brother flooding the bond. It was warm and bright with relief. Both of them would never admit it, unless to each other, but the organic tended to worry them

He had been hardly more than the equivalent of a newspark when they met him, shiny eyed and scared. It didn’t take long with their once soft sparks, and Comet’s complete and utter lack of malevolence. Their duo in the slums became a trio, and they had been holding on tight ever since. Sunstreaker was still shocked by it, at times when moments get quiet, them allowing that squishy meat shifter into their sparks. 

They probably couldn’t have done that now. 

No. He imagined himself as he is now allowing such a potential threat to live.

How the now Sunstreaker wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Comet.

 He wouldn’t have stuttered when the young thing had let out a sob, his helm falling back on the ground of that old mine, shiny eyes overflowing with fear and pain. Sunstreaker, if he was as brutal as he is now, would have run that blade home.

That thought made his pen stutter. 

Sunstreaker had been so lucky that the organic super predator had a good spark, had not been older. Not been utterly out of his processor with hunger yet. 

He had been lucky that the young mech he was, had been soft sparked.

That even though the damn thing had been inches from killing him, he had let go of Comet’s throat.

Sunstreaker sat with that odd train of dark thoughts, a look of brooding clouding his face plate.

He jolted as Comet rolled onto the floor with a thump, and let out a string of annoyed clicks as Sideswipe chuckled loudly at the male’s miscalculation.

His twin had sensed the dark turn of his thoughts and shoved another gentle reminder over the bond, that they were here and together. That’s all that matters.  Sunny allowed himself to relax slowly from his spiral as Sideswipe goaded Comet and tapped him with his pede. Comet took a claw to the appendage with a hiss, still attached as sideswipe lifted it.

The two bickered and batted at one another as Sunstreaker allowed himself to smile.

[oharabunny]

Happy Autumn Moon Festival ☾ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Disclaimer: I was given to write this fic by @kairiscorner for an anon (I am @hisachuu). I'm Chinese-American, so I write from the perspective of one and my own personal experiences! Also, this is a reupload because I was unsure if anyone could see my reblog. Warning: Miguel x GN!Reader // Reader is Chinese-American // Fuckboy Miguel if you squint (but more like a flirt) // Shy!Reader

Word Count: 2229

Summary: Imagine sharing mooncake with Miguel under the moonlight

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

It was that time of the year again. You made sure to google around September so you never miss the date since it always changed every year according to the lunar calendar, even if the date was usually towards the end of the month. The Autumn Moon or Mid-Autumn Festival. You were disheartened when Miguel assigned you yet another hard anomaly mission for the 4th time in a row with him that you just finished, without so much of a proper break. It was a blessing and a curse. It meant he had immense amount of trust in you along with great approval. (Something you secretly craved) But it was beginning to take a toll on you, as you were beginning to miss your family. You won't be home to celebrate with them with all the work that you do for the Spider Society.

For Miguel.

You were in the middle of your thoughts when you were approached by some of the other Chinese and Chinese-American Spider variants who came up to ask your plans for the holiday. You all chatted for awhile and some were discussing how they were part of the Mid-Autumn Festival like lion dancing or helping their family's vendor in their home universes. Some variants were still teenagers who were volunteers to guide the traffic. Some of the older variants shared their homemade mooncake and gifted you some snacks.

That gave you an idea.

If you couldn't go home to spend the holiday with your family, then you could bring the holiday to Miguel. It's not like he knew about the Mid-Autumn Festival, so perhaps a fun cultural exchange could eliviate some of the stress you were put on.

You told Lyla you would be right back, and quickly left HQ for Nueva York's Chinatown to pick up your favorite brand and type of mooncake: the traditional one with lotus paste with salted duck yolk...though you also picked up a box without the yolk just in case Miguel didn't like it, and also another box of assorted flavored snow skin mooncakes from the freezer section if he just couldn't handle traditional mooncakes as well. You decided to go with your favorite to stay true to yourself since it wasn’t economic to buy all three boxes. You left the other two back on the shelf before checking out.

You also picked up jasmine green tea (your personal favorite) on the way. You went into the cafeteria, and asked the kitchen crew to let you brew the tea, which they happily allowed. You gave them one of the mooncakes you bought (a box has 4 mooncakes typically), and taught them what it was and what it was for. Safe to say they were not the biggest fans, but that was no surprise to you. You were used to it, but there was only one person's opinion you cared about.

Your heart skipped a beat in anticipation and nervousness of what he would think of the mooncake. Would he like it? Hate it? Would he even care?

You slowly approached Miguel's office where his super high platform resided in. To no one's surprise, he was up there working for who knows what, for who knows how long. Almost as he anticipated for your return, he turned around, and cocked an eyebrow at the bag of the metal tin box and thermos you were carrying.

"What's all this?" Miguel lowered his platform quickly for you, which he rarely did for anyone. But for you, he made an exception.

"Ah, well I got us some mooncakes and tea, for you know, the Mid-Autumn Festival." You motioned the bag and thermos at him. "It's today. If you have time, that is." You broke eye contact with him, a habit of yours when you weren't sure about something.

Luckily for you, Miguel was receptive to your emotions and habits from working with you all the time. Overworking you was his way of making you spend more time with him, which is how he picked up your subtle mannerisms. Not that you knew, of course. Your compliant and people-pleasing nature didn't question it, to his delight. Now you were standing before him all fidgety and nervous while holding a bunch of things that you were trying to share with him.

How cute. Miguel mused. "Sure, I have time."

Miguel was not a tea and cakes type of guy, but again, for you, he'll try anything once.

"How about we go on the roof? The moon is said to be at the fullest and brightest tonight."

"Of course."

You two swung and zipped through the halls of HQ, and reached for the top of the building. You set your thermos and bag down on the floor of the roof. Miguel closely followed and watched you as you sat down and took out the tin box, and noticed the intricate details that were painted and embossed on the lid. As you were about to open them, Miguel pointed at the female figure from the design.

"Who's she? And that rabbit."

Your eyes beamed in excitement the moment he asked. You were afraid he was only going along with you for your sake. (He was interested in anything about you.)

"She's the moon goddess, Chang'e, who's famous for stealing her husband's elixir of immortality. Her husband, Houyi, was an archer that was rewarded the elixir by the gods for his services. She escaped to the moon, stayed there, and became its goddess. The moon is said to be the fullest and brightest according to the lunar calendar today which is why she is always referenced for the Mid-Autumn Festival." You explained as much as you could remember from stories you were taught in Chinese language school. You pointed at the rabbit. "And that lil bunny there is always with her because Chinese people think the moon crater looks like a bunny pounding more of the elixir of immortality! So it's like it's always with her."

You looked up at Miguel who was looking straight at you with soft brown eyes as he leaned his weight extremely close to you. He wore a soft smile from listening to you, making your heart flutter and temperature rise on your cheeks.

"You look so lovely under the moonlight." His eyes were half-lidded looking down on you. "Looks like you're stealing something from me too."

He was leaning dangerously close as his lips ghosted yours. You could feel every fiber of your muscles in your entire body tensing up and heat reverberating. Your breath hitched, but before anything else could happen, you panicked and looked down at the mooncake tin beside you.

"U-Um let me cut you your share." You said awkwardly. You didn't even notice Miguel pouting in disappointment.

You opened up the tin box. Miguel frowned and crossed his arms. He looked at the opened tin and noticed a missing mooncake. "You shared them with someone else, first? Guess I'm really not that special to you."

"I-I didn't mean to! I just had to brew some tea at the cafeteria and I wanted to thank the kitchen crew." You explained hurriedly like you were in trouble.

"I'm just teasing." Miguel chuckled and squeezed your arm for reassurance. He moved on and noticed something. "They're much smaller than I thought they'd be. Are they mini cakes?" He tilted his head to the side in curiosity, examining all lines, shapes, and characters of the design on the mooncakes.

"No, they're meant to be this size. The cakes are super dense." You had cut up the mooncake into 4 pieces. You held up the plastic tray it came in for Miguel. "Here. It has a salted egg yolk, and the filling is lotus paste. It's sweet and salty, and also my favorite!"

He took a piece of his share and you watched tentatively, unsure of his reaction. His eyes widened, but not in shock, rather in delight. He nodded in approval. He followed with a small smile.

"That was actually really good. I won't lie, I thought the salted egg yolk was weird at first, but it actually works to balance out the intense sweetness of the mooncake." He paused. "Could I get some tea though?" He pointed at the thermos.

"Oh, yeah, of course!"

You quickly pour him the tea into the lid of the thermos that also served as a cup. The tea was still warm as steam was coming off of the cup. You gently blew on the cup before handing it to Miguel. He immediately sipped the tea. He had let the tea sit in his mouth before swallowing to taste the tea.

"Think this might be my favorite tea. The light floral flavor helps neutralize the stickiness and sugar of the mooncake." He noted.

You couldn't be more happy to hear his compliments and analysis. Your need for his validation and approval was more than satisfied at this point.

"It's a bit rare for someone who never grew up on them to like these traditional mooncakes." You reminisced a bit on your childhood growing up. Even the other Chinese kids didn't always liked traditional Chinese food.

"Well I'm just cultured like that." Miguel dramatically flipped his hair, being the cheeky guy he was. "I have good taste."

You giggled. "Yes you really do!" You paused for a second. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He replied softly, a tone he almost never used with anyone.

"What did you celebrate usually at home?" You could feel yourself regretting to ask due to his past, but you couldn't help wanting to reminisce with him and learn more about him.

"Well, growing up, we celebrated the usual holidays like Christmas and Halloween. Although for Mexican holidays, usually just Cinco de Mayo." Miguel looked away to the moon. You too gazed upon the lunar plane, mezmerized by its soft light as Miguel's voice carried you away. "And you know, my Gabi, she used to make sure I celebrated every holiday she liked with her. Christmas was her favorite. She loved getting presents, playing games, and making cookies for Santa."

You looked back at Miguel. His face was stoic, but you knew better. A war of emotions dazzled in his chocolate brown eyes against the moonlight. You took a deep breath. "She and I have in common then, I love Christmas. It's the best holiday for families. My family usually celebrates major Chinese and American holidays with a good feast. I always pitched in activity ideas for them or else we'd do nothing else but eat eat eat."

"You and Gabi would get along. She had quite the creative and active mind, like you." Miguel snuck a compliment in.

"I would have loved to meet her." Your heart ached for him. "I can never understand the pain and loss that you feel, but I do miss my family a lot too."

Miguel looked down, and then back up into your eyes. "I'm sorry, I know I've been overworking you. Had I known today's a holiday for you, I would've given you a break."

"It's alright. As long as you let me go home at some point." You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of what to say next. "I'm grateful to be here...it's just...I want to see my family more."

He nodded to that. "I can give you the week off, but can I ask something of you first?"

"Of course! I'll do anything!" You jumped up in people-pleasing mode.

Miguel felt some heat when you said that, but held up his composure to ask: "Can I kiss you?"

You were taken aback by the absurdity, but you weren't opposed to it. Unlike before, your nerves couldn't get the best of you this time. "Y-Yes. I'd like that very much." Blush and heat formed on your face. This couldn't be happening right now. You thought you blew it earlier.

With definitive confidence from you, Miguel shifted closer to you and guided his hands so that one was on your hip and the other guiding itself up to cup your cheek. He lingered to gently rub his thumb on your cheek before lightly pinching it.

"Ah! What are you doing?"

"Your cheeks remind me of a lil bunny rabbit. You're too cute." He said before silencing you with his mouth. He was holding you like a flower, as if he was so afraid to crush you in his strength. His kiss was firm yet soft, as if he was kissing his spouse. His body began to hover and push against you until he was on top of you. He nipped your lip teasingly, and pecked your lips. He peppered little kisses all over your face before giving your forehead one final kiss. He pressed his forehead against your own.

"You're wonderful. You know that? I appreciate with all that you've done for me and for all of us. Don't overextend yourself more than you have to. Don't be afraid to tell me no." Miguel spoke barely a whisper. "I...care about you."

You could melt into a puddle and ascend to heaven right now. Everything in your mind was being scrambled like a stir fry. Words could not even begin to form in your mind to explain how you feel. Your tummy was in knots while butterflies were threatening to spill out. You could've sworn the moon became brighter than before. You could almost hear someone urging you to go to him. As if in sync, the two of you leaned in and sealed another kiss under the moonlight.

"Me too."

‎‧₊˚✧[fin.]✧˚₊‧

a/n: How do you feel about this format? I want to switch it up for the style of my new blog. I kept the old fics from the main blog the same format for consistency sake.

中秋快乐！

  ◌                             ◌                                       ◌                                                        ‧₊ :･ﾟ彡       ◌                 ☽︎       ◌             ◌                                 ✩彡 ･ﾟ :                                                                      ◌                                        ◌ ◌                                                  ♡                                         (_(\      /)_/)                                         (      )    (      )                                      ૮/ʚɞ  |ა ૮|  ʚɞ\ა                                       ( ◌    |      |     ◌ )

[townofcadence]

A return gift from Gale to Artair! Inside a impeccably wrapped box was a few items personally made for him. First would be a goat made out of straw and red ribbon. Next would be a circular metal tin, filled with an assortment of shortbread looking cookies of all shapes, patterns, some with jam centers and some without. And finally, bundled in a leather wrapping with a bindrune burned into the material, was an intricately carved dagger in the shape of a bird feather. The handle was modest, simply wrapped in more leather and held in place with silver bolts. The blade itself was the show stopper, carved on both sides to perfectly resemble a falcon's flight feather.

Along with the gifts came a note; "Blessed Yule and Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy this assortment of Swedish treats I made for you. The Julbock (Yule Goat) will bring you good luck if you hang him from your Christmas tree, or you can pass him onto someone you think needs a little more luck going into the new year. The dagger was the trickiest to make with limited resources here, but my sisters were able to help me make it happen! It carries a little piece of me with it, and an intention to bring you victory and protection in your future endeavors. May it serve you well!" It was signed by Gale, with a little doodle of a raven off to the side of her name.

@as-above-rp // Gifts!!

With the distinctive red string, it's easy to tell it's a miniature replica of the Gävlebocken. A lot of what he does for the holiday is from Yule, and he's seen many a picture of it burning in an almost holiday tradition.

The small one is cute. He'll place him on his uncle's tree for Yule. He'll have to share the cookies as well, but try a few for himself since Gale was so kind as to send them.

The last thing though.... the knife is absolutely stunning. It's light in his hands, intricately shaped, with small detailing grooved into the metal. It's beautiful, but practical and just as sharp and effective as most any knife or sword hanging from his wall.

But this is now officially one of of his favorites. How fucking cool was that?? A feather shaped weapon? How rad! He loves blades, has since he was a baby going to the renaissance fair with his uncle, so it feels extra special to be given a weapon. Gosh, it's like three steps shy of a marriage proposal! And she had it made for him?

Wow....

Artair toys with it, in his hands. His face is warm, until he pats his cheek until it clear. He'd.... definitely have to think of a way to say thank you. An umbrella wasn't going to cut it now.

He nibbles on a jam centered shortbread and reads her letter again.

[lal-ffxiv]

THE FIRST OF MANY PARTING WORDS - Part 1 of Two (The Adventure[r])

“Take care of yourself more this time. We won’t always be here to catch you.” 

“Don’t go jumping into every trouble that passes you on your travels.”

“Because you can outrun a sandworm, doesn't mean you will outrun every beast out there.”

Each piece of advice primed Luka for their journey. In fact, Luka felt their very blood rushing so fast in their body. Luka couldn’t stay still anymore. Luka bounced in place until the tearful eyes were met with rising cheeks on smiling faces of those around them.

It wasn’t as large a gathering which had seen them off before when they left with –. 

There was the cook that let Luka sneak off with pieces of dried drake, the gate guard that called Luka ‘Sandcat, and U’lolamo, who always gave Luka tasks to ‘keep out of trouble’. Together they gave Luka a parting gift which brought forth a thought that Luka had gifts to part with as well. 

None of the items in the previously hidden tin box had actually been given to Luka, but Luka had treasured the items nonetheless. 

To the gate guard Luka returned an ink blue headwrap, to the cook Luka gave back spoons of decreasing sizes, to U’lolamo a single wine red hora, and to the Chocobokeeper Luka returned feathers dyed the colors of the sky.  Then, Luka had sought the others that were not gathered here. Some laughed at being given something which the miqo’te had believed lost to the sands, and others scolded Luka for the past thievery. 

Luka was released from a great shame when Luka returned the earrings to Healer of the Drake, and got an earful from Ranger of the Drake before being given a final dismissal. A sort of goodbye truly.

This time Luka felt every true goodbye. It made the gap growing in Luka’s heart an ilm larger with each parting. It threatened to swallow them whole, but before that emotion could eat Luka up, there was lastly The Junkmonger.

In the box were now were only riverstones Luka had polished to a shine. One a dusty dawn, one mossy water colored, and other a deep burnt sun shade. Luka left the tin buried back in the sands, and put the rocks in their honestly gifted belt satchel.

Luka found Junkmonger waiting for them by the gate with a single chocobo porter.

The Junkmonger wouldn’t look at Luka, and Luka wasn’t brave enough to face her either.

Luka put the orange riverstone into Junkmonger’s hand. “For you.”

“And this for you.” Junkmonger gave over a bound packet. “I was going to have this sent to you sooner, but all is fine that you came for it.”

Luka couldn’t quite well remember what they had come to the Springs for, so it might as well have been this. Luka placed it into the rucksack on the porter before grabbing the reins that The Junkmonger still held. 

Luka took in the last sight of the Springs. The aetheryte is spinning and glowing. The Nunh’s hut. The den with the babes and mothers in the shade. Luka took the last of sounds too. The water falling down from rock, the sands working into a sandstorm, the breeze carried over the Huntresses amidst drills with the initiate guard.

“Remember what I’ve told you?” The Junkmonger’s tears overflowed, drowning out her voice. The words barely made it out her throat, but she didn’t need to say a goodbye. Only to hear Luka speak the promise.

“I have light.” 

The promise to keep moving forward. To keep hope in themself, and never to let the light die out again. 

The Junkmonger released the reins. 

The faintest whisper mixed in the zephyr and chocobo’s stomping reached Luka’s ears, “I’ll miss you”.

Luka had looked back until the Junkmonger faded in the horizon behind them. Then, Luka gathered all the air from their lungs and shouted “GOOD-BYE!” into the winds as they faced the path ahead of them.