#Everything gets the same level of candor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asimplearchivist · 2 years

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𝓒𝓗. 𝓘𝓥 — [𓈐𓊪𓇋𓇋𓅱] (‘𝓱𝓻𝓹𝔂𝔀’ | 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu is an odd duck, you come to find. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 12.1k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ whew. only took two months to churn this one out. it’s a bit longer than usual to make up for it. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

While once it might have been relatively easy for you to pick up a new schedule in your younger years (as enduring nursing school necessitated rapid alterations of long shifts, forcing students to develop flexibility in times of intense stress to prepare for truly chaotic clinical environments), getting older, going through a divorce, having and raising a baby, returning from maternity leave to a full-time job, and pledging your servitude to an ancient lunar deity all just might excuse you from not adapting as well to such sheer changes of pace as you once might have. However, you couldn't fathom dealing with said situations, as they were, in any other stage nor context of your life—you'd gathered invaluable experience tolerating borderline unbearable levels of insanity in the last decade or so that had unwittingly prepared you for the near endless list of tasks you faced upon waking every day. And while your parents or your ex-husband may have assisted with babysitting much like Lizzie did (though doubtfully so on the latter’s part), their inquisitive natures and close proximity, respectively, would have inevitably resulted in them discovering the true nature of your 'second job' within days of you coming home late.

Lizzie, bless her soul, was as sharp as a tack, so you'd worried about her sniffing out that there wasn't something entirely right about your established half-truth—however, she valued privacy above nosiness, as she didn't get much time nor secrecy to herself during her childhood while growing up with three siblings in a very small home, and therefore she never pried for more information than was given to her unless she thought it to be a point of concern. You had always appreciated her candor, knowing she would not hesitate to let you know if she thought something remiss about anything relating to your general happiness and well-being, as well as her discretion by giving you ample space to breathe. It's part of what had drawn you to her in the first place upon moving overseas, meeting at a social gathering and introduced by a friend of a friend of your ex-husband’s—both her amiability and sincerity resulted in her being your unofficially designated confidant and longstanding best friend. There was virtually nothing she didn't know about you—your family history, childhood, adolescence, college, relationships...everything. You trusted her with your life, and in return she felt safe enough to impart the same level of information she'd never had an opportunity to share with anyone else. The two-way street of complete disclosure had run unparalleled and unblocked for the entire duration of your marriage to your ex-husband, and now beyond it. You didn't even consider your own family as close to you as she was, separated by both time and distance.

Therefore, to keep a secret from her, no matter how small, almost always caused you to feel physically ill—so something as noteworthy (and perhaps as foolhardy) as you sneaking around in the middle of the night planting punches in the faces of street thugs was eating you alive. Your actual whereabouts and the nature of what you were up to rarely came up, as she'd accepted your fib without question, but you feared her noticing the cold sweat that would crop up on your forehead every time she'd ask how your 'secondary shift' went, if anything interesting had happened, or about the increasingly darker semi-circles under your eyes.

It was a vigil of silence you were forced to maintain, however, as you doubted sincerely she could wrap her head around the finer details of your...ah, arrangement. She never had held a candle to anything even vaguely supernatural, despite her mother being an avid believer in tales of the fae folk (though now you wondered if even they weren't tales so much as they could merely be fractionated accounts of real events and interactions that peoples of old had misunderstood). Besides, Khonshu's existence seemed the muted sort—he only appeared to you, never even the ill-to-do ilk he pitted you against. He was your own private specter, but rather than haunting you for trespassing upon his original abode or for desecrating his resting place, he made remarks on how unintelligent your targets were at times, criticized their lack of form and training in whatever sort of blunt, sharp, or projectile-oriented weapon they utilized, and commented continuously on the constant source of perplexity the human race presented to him in general. You found it odd that he was so finitely fixated upon the idea of protecting humanity when he didn't seem to like humans themselves very much.

While Khonshu never griped about you, per se, nor anyone with whom you associated yourself, he seemed to view the general populace of earth with a plain, uncoated disdain that colored his tone whenever he spoke of your fellow man. He was never particularly venomous with his words unless speaking of those who had acted unjustly, but it still puzzled you that he seemed as adamant about humanity's faults in spite of their (admittedly few) positive traits.

Of course, even what little bit of cynicism you felt whenever you dealt with a temperamental patient, or while in the presence of a self-righteous retail client, after passing remotely near enough a news outlet to hear about the unending stream of malice demonstrated by the cruelest and most uncaring of people despite the world still trying to heal from the scarring wounds caused by the tragedy in New York City back in May, it had been frighteningly easy to slip into a similar callousness, which you had struggled with for quite some time—until Ru had made his way into the world and, subsequently, affixed himself into your life.

You could scarcely fathom the countless things Khonshu must have witnessed throughout the centuries. The wars, famines, pestilences—the innumerable dead and dying. It didn't surprise you that he could be jaded towards life and all of its fleeting, fickle graces. He had been dealt a heavy hand, to live as long as he had and forced to be a semi-passive observer—particularly over the kingdom that had risen from the Nile shores, from quarreling tribesmen to a vast, wealthy, and powerful empire all the way back down to a shackled, colonized, subjugated land. Khonshu's name and image had been uttered, inscribed, and rendered within the homes of the lowest laborers, to the palaces of the highest of kings, to the temples of priests who gave offerings, sang hymns, and recounted prayers for his favor. Nowadays, what vestiges remained of his influence were limited to what reliefs and descriptions had survived erosion from the sands of time, discussed as nothing more than myth and legend when once he had invoked hope and faith in those who called upon him. There was something inherently melancholic to that—a name echoed until it lost its meaning. It made you wonder if he missed his glory days, if he regretted the course of history that had led him to the present, wandering the dark, lonely nights while still clinging to the shadows of his former strength that he had cast against the earth.

...No, you couldn't quite muster any blame toward Khonshu if he was embittered by the current state of things. Not when you weren't entirely happy with everything, either.

Even if any of your idle speculations held merit, however, you still didn't understand why Khonshu remained steadfast in his creed. Humans sucked, yes, and did shitty stuff to other humans. If he were so disgusted with mortals (as it seemed he was), it would make more sense to leave them to their own devices, not continue to toil in the evildoings they wrought.

Your curiosity about your rather mysterious patron had only grown in the last few weeks, in part thanks to your introspection about the inexplicable contrasts of his character. He shared very little about himself personally—any history, memories, or thoughts he shared usually pertained only to the tasks he delegated to you as his avatar (mostly of the brawling variety). You resorted, eventually, to do some research on your own time, reading articles and entries either when getting a rare free moment with Ru during the day or catching up on paperwork in your cubicle at night. Many of the readily available sources contained painfully basic information that sated little of your desire to learn more about him. The more you dug, the more it seemed that there were few consistent, definitive records of him—of course, you realized the lens through which the majority of Ancient Egyptians viewed him would differ from yours as his modern avatar, with an added factor of their civilization spanning the course of over three thousand years, but part of you wished that there was more concrete information on him besides the trivia. He was so much more colorful an individual than that.

Khonshu was the god of night; of vengeance, of protection, of healing. He was an omen of doom to those who wronged others, and a warden of safety to those who had been wronged. He was the embodiment of death and life, of violence and peace, of hurting and healing; as forceful as a tempest and as calm as a breeze. Unforgiving, some had said, spiteful and grudging—others believed he was righteous, just, and nurturing. He was darkness—brooding, ominous, and silent—and he was light—unflinching, all-seeing, and stalwart. He had as many identities as the moon its phases, oscillating as steadily, as gradually, and as inevitably as the celestial body from which he manifested both his power and his identity.

It was not a stretch to think him indifferent, caustic, and capricious—not by a long shot, based on his outward demeanor—but you felt that not many academics who drolled on about metaphorical epithets understood the most basic aspects of his role. He'd been forced to resort to outsiders' worship for the last two thousand years as the majority—Greece and Rome had absorbed and distorted the knowledge and close interactions with their celestial pantheon the Egyptians had gleaned and recorded over the course of their reign. Perhaps most viewed him with distrust and disdain based on early descriptions of him being a cannibalistic deity. But you had a gut feeling that there was a key piece of information missing, something that would bring into context every errant strand of information that didn't tie together on its own, something he had neglected to share with you. Whether it was an earth-shattering revelation that would rock the earth's perception and understanding of the Kemetic pantheon, however, or something comparatively insignificant...you hadn't the foggiest.

You couldn't find it in yourself to think of him as uncaring, however—not really. He did care, in his own strange, perhaps closeted way. And you knew that because he wouldn't spend any extra time around you—or Ru—otherwise.

His visits, while inconsistent, became increasingly common as you worked to find balance in your new schedule. During the day, you took care of Ru, went to the post office, bought groceries, and cooked supper, among other tasks you helped to conduct. In the evening, you maintained your rounds, charted for your patients, and helped the physicians when needed. During the night, you traveled rooftop to rooftop, stalking through alleyways and gliding over side streets in pursuit of the nocturnal criminals on which Khonshu sicced you. Once the throes of dawn started to tinge the furthermost horizon, Khonshu would direct you home. You would sleep through the early morning, sore and tired, but never injured. He made certain that the armor healed whatever wounds you'd incurred from your scuffles—so no one would question the bruises, you suspected. Avoiding an inexplicable topic of conversation was, likely, for the best.

And throughout the length of your day, Khonshu would occasionally appear. He didn't always initiate conversation, sometimes opting simply to observe whatever menial task you were doing with little to no commentary, but sometimes you were able to coax out a stream of thought from him that otherwise he would never have shared. You counted these instances as victories, even if they might have seemed insignificant. He was knowledgeable despite his infrequent petulance about certain subjects, brimming with stories he seemed reluctant to share. Was he uncomfortable with talking for extended periods of time? Or did he think it unusual that a mortal who'd only known of his existence for several months pressed for such casual interactions? Did he want to be revered and feared, or lauded and worshiped? He didn't seem to demand anything of you other than your service while the moon hung in the sky. Did he find it disrespectful or just too familiar?

There was so much you didn't know about him, about being an avatar, and about being his avatar that only produced more questions whenever he did deign to answer one of yours. You hoped that, over time, he would open up more—that he was popping in without an obvious reason gave you some hope that he might be seeking out your company for the sake of sharing the relative silence in the apartment.

It also became increasingly plain that he did not, in fact, know a damn thing about babies.

He is unable to speak?

"He won't really start talking until he's around six months old—and even then, he'll just be babbling, not really forming words."

When will he start to eat real food?

"About six months, again."

Is he going to crawl on the ground forever?

"Until he's at least nine months, but not forever."

If it was some sort of undefined, implicit exchange of information—an eye for an eye, per se—he had never said so, but you didn't mind it. You doubted that, even if Khonshu'd had any children of his own (were demi-gods even a thing in Kemetic mythology like they were in the Hellenistic?), perhaps human children were entirely different, as he'd mentioned before. Of course, the myths weren't necessarily fact, as you'd learned—but he hadn't mentioned any offspring, nor any consorts. The numerous recorded translations from temples and the like never indicated any such connections either, other than his parentage and a different god whom he'd replaced.

It provoked conversation, if nothing else, and despite his prickly exterior, you found that you liked talking to him. He had vastly different points of view on the world within which you'd grown, and he offered insight into things that you'd never even noticed nor considered before. You found his cadence, tone, and vocabulary refreshing, his low rasp undeniably soothing (when he wasn’t shouting profanities in a dead language directly into your ear, anyway). Having him there, even if he stayed silent, helped to pass the time—and, incidentally, made you feel a little less alone with your thoughts despite having Ru, Lizzie, and your coworkers around you. You tended to focus on your paperwork and patients to stay on top of the time lost to emergent situations rather than gossip with the other staff members, Lizzie usually was already gone to her office whenever you got up in the morning and only had enough time to eat dinner with you upon returning home, and Ru wasn't exactly much of a conversationalist other than the times he needed food, changing, or a nap.

You kept yourself busy to mute your persistent, whirring mind whenever he wasn't there, however, feeling the need to keep up with every aspect of your life at peak efficiency after spending so much time off. Follow-up appointments with your OB/GYN and Ru's pediatrician to ensure both your and Ru's postpartum recovery continued to progress smoothly, lunch dates with Lizzie when she had particularly frustrating days and needed a break and an open ear, and maintaining the general state of the apartment (cleaning and meal planning, most notably), among other odds and ends, managed to keep you occupied.

All things considered, it wasn't entirely a surprise when failure inevitably arrived, unannounced and unwelcome, on your doorstep.

You should have known better, honestly. You'd long since learned the hard lesson of overloading your schedule back in college, after taking on too many classes in an attempt to get ahead—add in having to work part-time and trying to stay social, and it had bubbled over in the anxiety-riddled breakdown of a lifetime. You were smart enough to drop some of the classes and to cut back on obligations to your friends before your GPA had permanently suffered for it, but the mental and emotional drain had been enough to slow your progress for another year before you’d gotten your confidence back. To think that you'd become a superhero just because you were an adult was a severe miscalculation on your part.

It resulted in you oversleeping one fateful midweek morning, finally coming to with a start when Ru's wailing pierced the walls of the shadowy apartment. He was hungry, dirty, and very upset with the fact that you'd seemingly disappeared for two hours beyond your normal wake-up time. You weren't able to soothe him for another hour or so, pressing him to your chest and rocking him nonstop after changing and feeding him. Finally, after listening to your heartbeat and gentle lullabies, he stopped crying and proceeded to nap for another half-hour. You didn't dare set him down, opting to place him in a sling while going about your business.

You were stiff all over, particularly in your back, after having wrestled with a man three times your size trying to break and enter a condominium via a fire escape. You'd ended up tumbling over the side into an open dumpster two stories down—with the man landing right on top of you. He was knocked out cold, at least. You'd placed an anonymous phone call to the police about a noise disturbance, laid out the equipment he'd been using to unlock the window as evidence, and limped a couple of blocks away to wait on a rooftop for the officers to arrest him. Whether they questioned the fact that the evidence had been arranged so plainly or that he had several cranial contusions, you didn't know—all you cared about was taking some painkillers once you got home to try to dissuade the headache he'd given you by slamming your forehead into the acid-eroded masonry.

You didn't think you had a concussion, but obviously it had rattled you more than you'd expected since you'd slept so heavily for so long.

An entire page of emails greeted you when you opened your laptop, most of them work-related, and it took entirely too long to address them, to make the phone calls associated with their subject matter, and to defer the ones impertinent to your job to your higher-ups. Two mugs of coffee later, your stomach was howling for lunch. You then proceeded to burn yourself on the stove while cooking, spilled an entire bottle of milk all over yourself and the floor, and in the process of cleaning up you accidentally scorched the food and had to start over entirely.

Ru couldn't bear to stay apart from you, either, once he reawoke. Putting him in the high chair for all of five seconds to get your thoughts together had been a mistake, as he didn't settle back down for yet another half-hour. You dreaded to think of how the evening would play out with Lizzie, prayed that maybe he'd tucker out from all the fussing and either sleep or stay sleepy enough to quieten down.

You hadn't had the chance to shower before collapsing into bed the previous night, so you were struggling to find time to get cleaned up while juggling a clingy baby, trying to keep the laundry circulated, and laying out the ingredients for supper to thaw in time.

At some point, after eating crow (and what was edible from the original meal's efforts, charred as it was) and settling down on the couch for a nap with Ru sprawled over your torso, you managed to get some more sleep. You'd opened the windows to let in some fresh air, and the lulling patter of soft rain helped to soothe your frayed nerves.

At least until the shower turned into a storm, thunder and lightning lashed terror upon the streets, and Ru became frightened thanks to his already agitated sensitivity.

By the time Lizzie got home, her umbrella, raincoat, and boots all vibrant and dripping and keeping her tailored clothes unfazed, you were holed up in your room with a barricade of pillows trying to keep the noise out. The meds weren't even touching your migraine anymore, and you couldn't stand to have any light on for too long. Ru had fallen into a restless slumber, and after your weary, teary-eyed explanation, she just about shoved you out of your own bedroom to go shower and get a few minutes to yourself before he stirred again.

Your guilt was unimaginable, and combined with your relatively unstable hormones, heightened stress, and the shame that only a newly tried mother could feel finally crested and burst. You sat in the shower and cried until you reached that familiar listless, hazy, absentminded state of serenity, and only then were you able to step back from the spiral of your thoughts, take a series of deep, steadying, and calming breaths, and allow yourself to rest under the steaming stream until your fingertips pruned.

When you emerged from the bathroom draped in the fluffiest towel in the cabinet, skin beaded with water and dampened hair bundled up on top of your head, instead of finding Lizzie and Ru in the dim, watery light rendered fuzzy through the thin curtains drawn over the window, Khonshu was perched in the middle of your bed with one ankle propped on the opposite knee, staff laid across his lap while he drummed his fingertips against his shin. The impression and recollection of the previous night's events made you wince as your head only continued to throb.

"I can't, tonight," you told him in lieu of a greeting. "I just can't. I feel like shit and I'm exhausted and after work tonight I am going to be useless."

The lunar god said nothing, merely tilted his skull and eyed you with one solitary socket. You shuffled to your dresser, gripping the fold of the towel over your sternum to keep it from slipping, praying that it covered enough of your ass to keep you from mooning him. You suspected that he had no desire to see the pimpled, stretched flesh untouched by the sun. You shimmied into your underwear and faced away from him while clipping your bra into place, but when you shuffled over to your closet to pull out your scrubs, Khonshu stepped in front of you.

You eyed him incredulously, propping your hands on your hips. "If this is your weird way of getting a free show, I'm afraid you're going to have to try a little harder—"

Elizabeth called your supervisor, Khonshu interrupted. She reported that you are ill and will be unable to return to work tonight.

You blinked in shock, then narrowed your eyes at him. "How do you know that? And why would she..."

You forget what I am so quickly, mortal, he rumbled, having the audacity to sound amused. You released the armor before it fully healed you, and your body has spent the day attempting to recover while you persisted in putting more strain upon it. You are in no state to tend to your patients, or to seek vengeance on my behalf.

You raised a brow. "Are you...giving me the night off?"

He rolled his shoulders back, beak twisting as he peered down its length at you. Would you rather me agitate your condition and cause you to require more time to recuperate?

Ah. He just wanted you to get better faster. Go figure.

"Not particularly," you muttered, dropping your head and rubbing at your burning eyes. "Is that why you've been gone all day? Avoiding having to watch this roaring dumpster fire of a mother I am?"

I had...other matters to attend to. Khonshu leaned forward slightly, stooping at the waist, to loom over you. He tended to do that more often than not—crowd you in, tread on your personal space, give you nowhere to go. From the average person, it would set you on edge. It had always bothered you how men used their size to intimidate or compel or beguile women in general, and since you faced confrontation with angry, ignorant, or downright aggressive people who attempted to belittle or criticize you on almost a nightly basis, your tolerance for it was very short. Khonshu never tripped that wire, however. You were uncertain whether it could be explained as simply as him being an otherwise incorporeal, unearthly being and therefore unrecognizable by your primal, primitive brain, or something as inexplicable as him just being...him. While he was almost unbearable to be around sometimes, you never felt that instinctual urge to get defensive, for whatever reason. And you are not a poor mother.

You scoffed softly, turned, and trudged back to the dresser to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. "That's easy for you to say, bachelor of the gods."

You would call me a liar so readily? Khonshu questioned, shoulders pressing back. If he had feathers, you were certain they'd be ruffled.

"You're not exactly forthright," you responded flatly, "—with anything, really."

I withhold information that is not pertinent, he told you. There is a difference.

"There is not a difference," you retorted sharply. "I appreciate transparent honesty above all else. Only telling part of a truth is still considered a lie. Or manipulation."

Khonshu regarded you for a moment, gauging. The venom underlying your words gave him pause, and you were grateful for the moment to take a breath and resettle your thinned nerves. Khonshu wouldn't know about the circumstances leading to your present contention about hiding things from people for whom you cared—again, keeping your service to him from Lizzie was a thorn in your side you worried would grow eventually vile. You shouldn't take out the threat of old wounds reopening on him when he had nothing to do with it.

And yet Khonshu rumbled before you could apologize, There is merit to your words. Forgive me my ignorance. I attempted to spare you the burden of knowledge I thought unnecessary when you already carry a great deal upon your shoulders, but I understand that it might have seemed unforthcoming on my part.

You blinked. An apology? From Khonshu? Really? Had you drowned in the shower? Were you so concussed that you were hallucinating?

It is also a new moon, he added when taking note of your speechlessness, thus why the armor was unable to fully heal you last night.

You frowned. "So the phases actually affect it?"

They affect everything, he told you, making a brief, sweeping gesture. My power oscillates with the moon. Why do you think the abilities my armor grants you were as enhanced on the full moon as they were? I am at my weakest when the moon does not shine, and you are at the most risk. Therefore...

"You don't want me out and about getting beat to hell." You sighed and rubbed at your face. All you wanted to do was to curl up under a weighted blanket and sleep. "Thanks."

While you are my avatar and under my auspices, Khonshu said, leaning back into your space, your well-being is also my responsibility. I will not lead you to harm intentionally. Last night's events were...unforeseen.

You rolled your eyes, but it only made your headache worse. "Yeah. I wasn't expecting to get thrown off a balcony, either." You squeezed them shut, dropped your head, and rubbed your temples with gentle circles. "Shit."

A resounding snap of long, nimble fingers made you flinch, but the familiar slither of linen around your ankle made you glance down. The intricately woven band of fibers was small, thin, and entirely dismissable—but the warm frissons that it sent up your leg into your aching ribs and throbbing head, just like how the armor felt while it healed wounds you incurred but subtler, were anything but.

You glanced up at the moon god with a questioning, quirked brow, but he said nothing. "Thank you."

What little boon I can give while I am at my weakest, he said. It will benefit you more if you rested.

"I need to check on Ru."

I know. Khonshu shook his skull. You will be better prepared for tomorrow.

You were uncertain whether that was premonition or command, but you didn't have the opportunity to question him because he was gone in the blink of an eye and the whisper of gauze.

"Weird old bird," you murmured, and trudged back out into the hall.

You found Lizzie at the counter next to the stove, chopping up onions on the granite countertop and adding them to the frothing base of what looked like a hearty, creamy soup. "I had a casserole in the oven," you offered meekly.

"It scorched a bit," Lizzie replied mildly, as though it were of no consequence that the whole dish had likely turned to ash in the wake of your scattered mind—she always downplayed your culinary blunders like the most patient of teachers. "I'm just throwing this together real quick so you'll have something on your stomach."

"I've eaten today," you said lamely.

Her look of incredulity made your face flush with immediate shame. "More than coffee and a couple of bites?"

You sighed, slumping into a chair at the table. A wistful glance towards the unoccupied high chair likely gave her enough explanation, as perceptive as she was.

"He's asleep in his crib," the ginger told you, returning her attention to her task. "Poor thing was tuckered out."

"He's been up all day," you lamented, dropping your face into your hands. "I overslept and he got upset. He never really settled down."

"I figured you weren't feeling well when I popped in to check on you before I left," she responded. "Usually you've at least gotten up to check on him."

"I slept through my alarm," you murmured. Your eyes stung with the imminent threat of more tears. "...Lizzie, I don't know that I'm cut out to be a mom."

She scolded your name with all the ferocity of a stern, knowing mother despite not being one herself—though being the eldest of five siblings would surely have given her some experience at some point. "...are you actively choosing to neglect him?"

You frowned. "No!"

"Are you not buying him all the things he needs?"

"Yes?"

"And aren't you doing your best in your present circumstances?"

"I..." You sighed. "...I'm trying. My best, anyway. It's not what I should be doing, but—"

"'But' nothing." She turned and pointed the knife at you with an arched, fiery brow. "All you can do is your best. He is one of the most spoiled, loved, and contented babies I have ever seen in my life, dear. You're juggling a full-time job—with one of the worst shifts ever—as well as working overtime, at the same time you're maintaining a household and raising a baby without a husband to support you. I couldn't do what you're doing right now. You are an astounding woman—I've always thought so—and how well you've endured all of this has only proven that tenfold. Badru is lucky to have you as his mum."

You swiped at your eyes as discreetly as you could manage. "...Thank you, Liz."

She scooped the onions into the pot before turning and stepping over to wrap an arm around your shoulders. "Don't give in yet, dear. Everybody has bad days. The fact you've gone this long without bumbling about is awe-inspiring." She patted your arm lightly. "I called your supervisor and told her you needed to rest tonight. She said she was shocked that you hadn't called in any days sooner."

You laughed quietly, nodded, and gestured to the stove. "Thank you. Is there any way I can help?"

"I've got a cake in the fridge that you could cut up," she grinned with a wink. "We deserve it."

And, yeah. You had earned it, hadn't you?

The cake was good, supper was better, and the fact that Ru didn't fuss very much for the rest of the night all combined into a balm on your worn nerves. You bathed him and put him to bed in the coziest onesie he had, taking extra time to rock and sing and hold him even after he fell asleep. You and Lizzie shared half a glass of the wine (nonalcoholic, of course—you were eternally grateful at how accommodating she was) that she'd picked up on the way home, tore through half the cake, then retired for the night.

When you woke the next morning ( before your alarm, oddly enough), you felt substantially better—less like the shuffling dead and more like the breathing living (a significant improvement, you felt). Your head remained tender to the touch, but all the bothersome symptoms of your concussion had dissipated. You took a hot shower, started breakfast, and woke Ru with a smile.

He didn't mind being placed on the floor while you tidied up around the apartment and cooked, nor did he whine when you were a little late on the draw for lunch. You were able to get everything together for the evening, and Lizzie got home without issue.

...That was where your short spurt of luck ran dry (again), however.

Torrential rain opened up when you left for work, and your raincoat couldn't keep you safe from the whipping, biting winds. The bus broke down in the middle of the city, so you were forced to call a cab and spend much more on fare fees than you had anticipated (and thus vanquished what was left of your cash until your next paycheck). When your foot hit the doorstep, you were immediately flooded with five patients all in labor at the same time and only one doctor on call trying to finish up her shift while the others were experiencing similar troubles in getting to the hospital on time. Two of the babies had to be placed in the NICU, one mother had to have a transfusion due to a nasty third-degree tear, and one of the new fathers shouted at you for having the gall to try to help one woman turn over into a different position and accidentally touching her bare backside as a result.

Paperwork from missing the previous evening stacked nearly as high as your shoulder, one of the nurses had gotten fired and thus you had to play catch up to patch together her charts, and the power flickered out for about five minutes before the generator had kicked on—resulting in losing all your work on a rather lengthy report for the mother of child number four experiencing some complications with the birth and ending up with an emergency cesarean. You had no time to eat supper until midnight, which was inhaled on your way out of the door and into the maintenance sector leading to the fire escape.

The only good thing was that Khonshu's armor still kept you dry and warm despite the rain and chill.

However, it being the first night of a waxing sliver (somewhere behind the mantle of black clouds, anyway) meant that the full strength of the abilities it granted was not yet returned—which became acutely obvious when, upon stopping a trio of thugs from robbing a small tavern trying to close up shop, one of them got in their getaway car and proceeded to plow over you at full acceleration.

Waking up to the sound of sirens peeling around the corner and the face of the owner looking rather terrified at the possibility that you weren't exactly human looming over you was not pleasant in the slightest. The fractured ribs, twisted ankle, and pounding head combined with Khonshu shouting in your ear to GET UP! did not exactly help matters.

The rest of the week quickly devolved into much of the same. Stressful nights caused overslept mornings and scrambling afternoons culminating into worse and worse performance—both for your employer and your eldritch patron.

Khonshu was going easy on you, you perceived quickly. As the nights wore on, he directed you to easier and easier targets—ending the week on a pickpocketer skulking around a nightclub. You didn't know whether to feel grateful for the easier quarry or insulted that he was giving you a lighter hand. He'd never held back his punches before (literally and figuratively, mind you). You'd rather struggle with his criticism than accept his pity.

(...You may also have been a tired, sore, angry mess and may be resorting to self-destructive tendencies, but you specialized in obstetrics, not psychiatry.)

Saturday morning rolled in as bleak, cold, and gray. You woke up with a migraine and a text from your supervisor that two nurses had called in and needed you to work overtime. You had laundry to wash, groceries to buy, and an apartment to clean. Ru's stomach also decided to stay upset well into the afternoon, resulting in extra laundry.

So, after a solid week of hell on wheels, it couldn't be a surprise that your luck would dictate Khonshu showing up in the absolute middle of everything.

He appeared in the dead center of the kitchen, and you nearly collided into him mid-turn of loading up the fridge with all the perishables. Ru was fussing into your shoulder, you'd pulled something in your back swinging around the gallons of milk, and the sudden rush of adrenaline at his silent, unexpected arrival spiked your irritability significantly.

You dropped the milk carton, upon which it burst upon the tile in a spectacular splash.

"What?!" you snapped at him, after recovering from a sharp, gasped curse and scowling at your soaked socks. "You really couldn't be bothered to give me some damn warning?"

Flustered beyond reason, you shoved Ru into Khonshu's spindly arms, already brushing past him to get the mop out of the utility closet in the corner. You ran hot water over it in the sink, rung out the excess, and started scrubbing the floor as though it had wronged you personally.

"It's enough that everything possible has been going wrong this week," you growled at him, eyes trained on the spill, "but the fact that you've been giving me special treatment doesn't make me feel any better. I know I'm next to useless, but you could at least pretend that I'm doing more good than tying up petty thieves for the police to find. You've always expected the most of me and that shouldn't change just because I'm tired. If you'll just give me time to work through all this, it'll go back to normal, and I'll—"

Gs, rqy Srit mwt.*

Your eyes snapped up to glare at him for his audacity—you'd had enough men curse at you in different languages for the week, thank you very much—but you realized that Ru was no longer crying. Khonshu had him tucked into the crook of one elbow, tiny in scale despite him taking up residence on your entire side. Ru had the moon god's free hand grasped firmly in both of his grubby ones, gumming at his gauze-bound knuckle with sparkling eyes focused upon the taper of his beak. You hadn't even been thinking, hadn't even considered whether Khonshu would be corporeal to Ru as he was to you, hadn't stopped to wonder whether the god would drop him. But for him to just so casually hold your son, as though he were used to it...the sight extinguished your anger instantly.

"He hasn't stopped crying since this morning," you said helplessly. "How?"

You forget so easily, Khonshu rumbled, shaking his skull. Healing infants is much easier and quicker than it is to heal adults. There is much less...mass.

You frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

Gas. He's had colic the last two weeks, and that is why it's been harder for him to settle.

Colic. Of course. You should've known that.

"Shit," you muttered, rubbing your face and leaning into the mop. You peered at your boy through your fingers. "...Thank you."

It will not be a permanent fix. You watched Ru wrangle with one of Khonshu's fingers, and the longsuffering lunar deity offered him the end of his thumb as a pacifier. A glimpse of unblemished copper disappeared into Ru's ravenous maw. But it will settle him for now.

"I don't guess I could hire you as a babysitter," you muttered, dropping your attention back to the spilled milk. (The irony was certainly not lost on you.) "I'd actually be able to get some sleep if he's like this."

It will get better over time.

"I hope so." You let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know that I can last much longer like this."

You are doing well, all things considered. If this is the first time that you've truly questioned your capabilities, it has taken you much longer than most to admit to it.

You studied the moon god for a long moment, words brimming on the back of your tongue. Questions—you conjured so many questions when it came to Khonshu, you couldn't fathom having the time to ask them all, much less glean satisfactory answers from him that would sate your endless curiosity.

"Thank you," you finally repeated instead.

His beak bobbed in a singular nod, and he turned with a sweep of his tattered cloak to stride out of the kitchen in all but two steps before disappearing down the hall. Finish your chores. Your incessant stress will only worsen his symptoms.

How the hell Khonshu would have any intuition about Ru besides what information you'd relayed to him was well past your knowledge—as well as your capacity to comprehend it, as frazzled as you were—but you weren't about to pass up free help by any means.

You did as he bade. You finished up mopping the spill, then got the rest of the groceries put up—far more slowly than usual, since you had to favor the tender place right below your shoulder blade. You started the laundry, sorting out the separate loads on the utility room floor. You pondered getting started on cleaning, but the thought of dragging around a vacuum cleaner over all the carpet in the apartment, as well as having to move furniture, made your back tighten by proxy. Deciding to take a break if nothing else, you wandered to the nursery to check on Ru.

Fast asleep. You lingered in the doorway, incredulous, lips parting as you took in the scene. Khonshu was far too big for the cushioned rocking chair in the corner, as disproportionate as an elephant in a dollhouse. Yet he seemed to have made it work: one ankle propped on the opposite knee, reclined, arms overflowing the rests, and skull braced against the pillow. He had the babe pressed against his chest, long hands clasped over the length of his spine to hold him securely in place, while his beak draped a long, dark shadow over him. The boy's fingers were knotted delicately into the fraying gauze wrapped over Khonshu's emblematic golden crescent—but something was different. Khonshu's overall dusty appearance, no matter the circumstances, rendered his bound body off-white at best, giving the impression of him having just walked out of a sandstorm at all times. However, submerged in the gloomy gray shadows from the lack of sunshine outside as he was, he still seemed to glow a crisper ivory than ever before.

Odd, you thought, but decided not to comment on it lest you rouse your restless son.

Khonshu either didn't notice your presence or didn't deign a conversation necessary, because he didn't move for a considerable amount of time. He couldn't exactly close his eyes, seeing (or not) as he lacked any in the physical sense. You decided not to disturb the pair, heart tightening in your chest as you fought the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Perhaps Khonshu had a soft side, after all.

Things did get better, after that—just like Khonshu predicted (because of course he was right; you knew he'd look all of a smug bastard if you admitted to it).

The odd crunch time of absences trickled to a stop as the weather stabilized into autumn proper, families got over their annual battle with the flu and the like, and kids started back to school. The holidays loomed ahead, but for the moment everything had settled.

You and Lizzie were able to take a weekend off with accumulated sick time in the heart of autumn, when the leaves had all turned into a vibrant array of cinnabar, rust, and ochre all over the city. The pair of you took the time to enjoy yourselves: sleeping in, going out shopping during the day, eating at restaurants that were new trials and old favorites. The apartment was spruced up to match the season coming into full swing, and you spent an entire morning baking cookies and pies for your favored neighbors and coworkers. It was a much-needed break, and Ru seemed to enjoy the cool weather and vibrant colors with how raptly he stared at them.

You gradually fell into a tentative rhythm with Khonshu, as well. He would explain your destinations as you would finish up your shift, then whisk you away on a crisp wind as soon as you donned his armor away from prying eyes. You grew accustomed to gliding over the city, cloaked in moonlight, swooping down upon evildoers both mildly mischievous and maliciously motivated like a bird of prey in your own right.

The most unexpected development, however, was finding Khonshu more and more frequently lingering around the apartment during the day. If Ru fussed for extended lengths of time, Khonshu would emerge from a shower of motes into coalescent shape to hold out a hand towards you—and once placed in the moon god's grasp, the babe's unease would lift, unerringly and instantly, every single time. While Ru napped, you would find the avian-headed deity looming over his crib like a sentinel, silent and still as he thumbed the grip of his staff thoughtfully. When Ru played, Khonshu would sit nearby, an empty and watchful socket trained upon the babe's gradually steadying movements at all times. He spoke little during these snatches of quiet, only responded in singular words if you addressed him directly, and you had taken to studying the scenes as subtly as you could manage. (Committing them with pencil to paper proved to be far more difficult, however.)

Khonshu's sudden interest in your son puzzled you to no end. Before, he had barely acknowledged the infant; now, it seemed, the latter could scarcely be found without the former somewhere nearby. Elsewhere, Khonshu behaved as he always had—impatient, capricious, and snide, always a rebuke ready on his incorporeal tongue. But seeing him so completely overtaken by a mortal as simple as a six month-old stayed your frustration many a long night.

As Ru grew stronger, so did you. As active as Khonshu kept you, you felt better than you had in years—no longer did you struggle to brace patients when needed nor to move heavier equipment; no longer did you get so short of breath when jogging across the wing, nor when you raced across rooftops in pursuit of your quarry; and no longer did you struggle to block the inevitable blows thrown at you in desperation, nor to incapacitate those Khonshu determined should be put away for their crimes. You couldn't seem to eat enough, especially after particularly taxing nights involving a lot of healing from Khonshu's armor or multiple conjurings of his weapons, though it never added to your figure. Sleep rarely was hard to come by anymore, as weary as you were by the wee hours of morning Khonshu returned you home. Despite all this, however, you didn't realize how much your lifestyle change had affected you until Lizzie pointed it out.

In the haste of a morning during the weekend, Lizzie had popped into your room with a question while you'd just gotten out of the shower and were getting dressed, Ru already propped on her hip and gnawing ravenously at a teething ring. Her fiery brows had inched halfway up her forehead, surprise clear in her pale eyes. "Good night, love, have you been going to the gym in the middle of all this?"

You glanced down at yourself, clothed only in your underwear, then into the mirror. The black athletic fabric contoured to your shape without clinging, and you paused to take in the subtle press of muscle just beneath your skin. You weren't jacked by any means, but you certainly appeared as fit as you had been while you'd boxed in college, if not more. While stretch marks still lingered, lacing like lightning along your lower belly and navel, your stomach had mostly returned to its normal shape. No wonder your bigger scrubs had grown too baggy to wear comfortably.

You looked...good. Very good. Even throughout all the hormonal hell you'd endured, you glowed.

Maybe something good came from being an ancient deity's avatar after all.

"I guess work has whipped me back into shape," you said nonchalantly, despite the pleased smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Lizzie gave you a long once-over, appraising with her approval. "I'd say. They've been running you ragged."

The revelation of your improved physique led to several others in rapid succession. Though your OB/GYN had warned of potential hair loss, your hair was as glossy, thick, and full as ever. The other new mothers on your floor gave voice to their envy of your clear complexion, and when you caved to wearing more form-fitting scrubs, they could scarcely believe that you'd recovered from delivery in so short a time when some of them still struggled years after.

As a joke, you'd often responded to their demands for your secrets with, "I guess I've been blessed."

It gave you a boost of self-confidence unlike any off-handed compliments or half-hearted reassurances could have offered, to know yourself as capable. (Never mind the fact that you were regularly going toe-to-toe with men sometimes three times your size and knocking them out in seconds.)

Whether word had been passed around the entire ward or your newfound assurance simply exuded beyond your knowledge, you started to garner more attention from your coworkers—namely those who hadn't even noticed you before, or those you at least thought hadn't. (Namely one gentleman in particular.)

"Gideon asked about you again yesterday."

You looked up from your computer screen towards your office door, raising a brow at the NICU nurse leaning against the jamb—Riley, tall and thin and as tan as a penny against her bleached-blonde hair. "Did he really?"

Her perfectly red lips, consistently applied throughout the day, curled into a smile to display her fluorescent white teeth that didn't quite reach her icy eyes. "Oh, yeah. Looked all over the floor for you. Had to tell him you were home sick."

"With my son," you reminded her patiently, returning your gaze to the screen. "He had a mild reaction to the sweet potatoes I fed him for lunch."

"Right, right." She turned over her hand to inspect her bright pink, bedazzled manicure. (It was truly a wonder she managed to type even as few reports as she did with how inconveniently long they were. You'd thought it against regulation, but she never seemed to get corrected for her bent rules since she wielded such a sweet tongue around your supervisor. "Anyway. Just thought I'd let you know. Think he might stop by in a bit—he's been booked up with tests all evening."

"Thank you for letting me know," you responded, flipping to the next page of your handwritten notes. "I'll be sure to give him your lingering regards."

The blonde stiffened, huffed, and whirled on her (non-standard) wedged heel to disappear back into the hall of the administrative wing. You shook your head to yourself with a sigh, rubbing at your eyes. One hour into your shift and you were already exhausted—Khonshu had helped to settle Ru the evening before, but he hadn't been able to hold him the entire night, citing other responsibilities to which he must attend. (You could have imagined it, but the lunar deity had seemed a bit reluctant to depart.) The boy hadn't slept very well after, even with you holding him, therefore you hadn't, either—you were starting to wonder, idly, if you were his favorite person anymore.

About half an hour of silent, mindless data entry passed before another shadow passed over your lintel—perhaps when the devil spoke, the spoken of should appear.

"Is the coast clear?"

Gideon—Doctor Aumere to most, though he always insisted upon such familiarity even with strangers—was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Soft-spoken and a tad too muscular to have gained it strictly from his field of medicine, every woman in the maternity ward (taken or not) gazed after him doe-eyed and agape whenever he passed. His close-trimmed beard was speckled with a fetching silver, his eyes a matching mercurial gray, and he always had his silky raven hair combed over with product that emphasized his peppery cologne. Very attractive, you acknowledged, and very personable—even a brief, passing mention of his name used to incite intense envy in your ex-husband after having met him the first time at a Christmas faculty function—but you'd always kept a polite, friendly distance for the sake of professionalism.

Braced against the doorframe by his forearm, he made for much prettier eye candy than its previous occupant, anyway.

"All clear," you chuckled, folding your hands over your notes and giving him your full attention. "How can I help you, Doc?"

He shot you a look—your gentle refusal to address him as anything but his earned title was a joke as old as your residency there—but chose not to quibble about it. "I heard you were ill last night—are you sure you're feeling all right enough to work?"

Riley and her proclivity for withholding information while spreading gossip. You refrained against the urge to roll your eyes. "My son was sick," you told him, "but he seemed better this morning. He didn't quite agree with sweet potatoes."

"Ah, my little girl didn't, either," the radiologist agreed, bobbing his head. An errant cowlick fell free from its bonds and caressed one angular brow. "She outgrew the sensitivity eventually, but she still avoids them like the plague. She has a thing for textures."

"Understandable. I only really like them in pies, anyway," you agreed. "How's the start of her last year in primary treating her?"

"She's definitely excited," he beamed. "Loves her teachers, too. She's making perfect grades in maths and science so far, so she's getting to visit her Nan up in the country this weekend as a treat."

"I'm sure she'll love that." Gideon's wife had passed away from a terminal illness two years prior, but since his own parents presently lived in France he'd kept his daughter as involved with his mother-in-law as possible, as she was the only grandparent relatively close. "Tabitha's doing well, then?"

"She's running the whole town, as usual," Gideon scoffed fondly. "Giving them what-for since they've started construction on an old plot that was someone's homestead at some point. Spirited one, she is."

"Like her granddaughter," you teased with a smile.

"Apple sits not too far from the tree, indeed," he laughed, low and rumbling. His eyes glittered in the flat, cold white lighting—normally unappealing on anyone—but his swarthy tone kept him as vivid as a Rembrandt. He straightened, then, rolling his shoulders back and easing a half-step further into the office in a slow slide. "Have anything interesting planned for this weekend, or just keeping up with the little one?"

"You know how the teething stage is." You reclined in your chair, dropping your hands into your lap to fiddle with the hem of your scrub top. "No rest for the weary."

"Elizabeth's busy, then?" he queried conversationally, tipping his head to the side.

You quirked a brow, smile broadening. "Asking for a friend, are we?"

"Something like that." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous tic you'd never observed in him before—then he surprised you further by reaching up and scrubbing the back of his neck, eyes falling briefly away from yours. "So...think you could find out if she's able to babysit?"

Your brows furrowed. "You...want to know if she's available...to babysit?"

He blinked. "...Yes?"

"But you said Abeille is visiting Tabitha," you said slowly, confused.

"I...yes." He frowned, just slightly, just as perplexed as you were. "...I meant for Elizabeth to babysit Badru, so that you might be available."

"...Oh." Oh.

"If you want it," he amended hastily, dropping his hand and flexing his fingers, "that is, if you're free—I don't mean to impose...but if you don't want—"

"Sure," you blurted, sitting up in your seat. "I—when?"

Gideon blinked rapidly, lips parting—surprised that you accepted, or shocked at your enthusiasm? "Oh, ah...your shifts end at midnight, right?"

"Saturday I'm on for morning," you offered, then winced. Khonshu. "But I have something to do that evening, so..." On reflex, you glanced at your desk calendar—then blinked at the full circle upon that very day: a new moon. "Oh, wait. Sorry. I'm good." You flashed him a sheepish smile. "Give me a time and a place and I'll be there."

His brows rose. "I thought—well, I could pick you up, save you the fare. Five-thirty?"

"Oh, um. Sure!" You snagged a sticky note from the dispenser and jotted down the street corner closest to Lizzie's apartment—you never gave exact addresses, but it would be close enough he wouldn't wait long for you to walk down. "Here."

He accepted it gingerly—warm, soft fingertips brushing yours—with a grin so bashful it de-aged him by ten years. His ears were red. "Any food allergies, sensitivities, or preferences?"

"It's all good," you told him, touched that he'd even think to ask. "Believe me, food is my friend."

He laughed softly, then, the tension bleeding out of his athletic frame. "Mine, too—perhaps too close a friend, at times."

You nodded with a chuckle, and a beat of silence passed.

"Well," he said, folding the note carefully and tucking it into one of the numerous pockets lining his scrub top, "I've results to read before I go, and—"

"No, yeah, that's fine," you responded, breathless and flustered. "See you Saturday?"

"Yes," he beamed, the absolute happiest you'd ever seen him. "Don't work yourself too hard, choupinette."

"I'll try not to." You waggled your fingers at him as he stepped out of the doorway. "Give Abeille a kiss for me."

"I will. Send my love and well-wishes to Badru, likewise."

His absence was as acute as it was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded beneath your breast, your hands trembling, your face hot—you forced yourself to take a deep breath to grasp at some semblance of calm.

Never had you thought Gideon would have been interested in you—out of all the gorgeous European women flaunting up and down the halls, he spied out the awkward, quiet American? Preposterous, surely, at least to his admirers once word got out (and it would, inevitably). Even with idle, harmless speculation while married, you'd always imagined him impossibly far out of your league.

To have been flirted with earnestly for the first time in close to a year, by someone admittedly far more genial and attractive than your ex, was scattering the cloud of butterflies you'd thought long dead within your belly in a flourish. You pressed your hand over your cheek, pulling in the fading remnants of his cologne as you reached over to tap your phone awake with pursed lips.

'Lizzie, I need a favor.'

Not even a minute passed before your watch chimed quietly. 'Whatcha need?'

'Would you mind watching Ru Saturday evening? If not, it's totally fine.'

'It's no trouble at all—get called in for another shift?'

'No.' Your smile finally broke forth. 'I may or may not have a date.'

Half a minute passed.

'A D AT E ?'

The following tide of 'who's, 'when's, 'where's, and 'why's forced you to silence your notifications with a giddy chuckle. 'Gideon, 5:30, not sure, and hell if I know. He just asked me out of the blue!'

'I TOLD you he was interested!'

'Forgive my skepticism—I am not worthy of your infinite wisdom.'

'Damn straight. We need to go SHOPPING!'

'You're lucky I'm getting paid this week.'

You turned your phone over with a chuckle, though it did take you longer than you'd like to have admitted to be able to concentrate fully on your work once more.

"I haven't gone on a first date in over five years, Liz. What if I absolutely fumble it? What do I even talk about?"

"Whatever he talks about. You're both in the medical field, you should have plenty of topics to cover. You only chat with him in passing, right? So you can skip the awkward small talk."

"Since I've been there, yeah. But what if he doesn't talk? What if he doesn't want to discuss work at all?"

"Then talk about his little girl and Ru."

"And if he's wanting to be distracted from that, too?"

Lizzie stared at you for a beat, sitting back in the kitchen chair and taking in your fretful fidgeting with the billowing sleeve of your dress. The makeup brush in her hand still glittered in the warm sunlight pouring through the kitchen window with the eyeshadow she was applying to your lids. She uttered your name with a shake of her head and a fond smile. "...you're overthinking it. Relax. If he didn't want to spend extra time with you, he wouldn't have asked you out in the first place. He obviously wants your company." She resumed her work and casually added, "Just text me if I need to vacate Ru from the premises."

"I—no," you assured her hastily, "there won't be any need for that."

"You say that now. From what I saw on social, he's a dreamboat—you could use a good roll in the hay."

"Elizabeth Kelly," you scolded, "I will do no such thing."

She shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt. I've got condoms in the medicine cabinet."

"Drop it."

"Okay, okay," she chuckled, gesturing for you to close your eyes again. She resumed her work, shading in the creases. "I know you're more careful with that sort of thing, I was just teasing."

"I know." You coiled the fabric around your knuckle and squeezed, fighting down the flutters of anxiety low in your belly. The last time you'd had sex was seared into your mind as the catalyst that flipped your entire world upside down—Ru was truly the best thing to come out of the entire ordeal, your newfound freedom aside. "...I didn't mean to snap."

"You're fine, love," Lizzie assured you. Her brush lifted and she set it aside. "All done. You look stunning."

"Not like a chronically exhausted single mother?" you mused, glancing at the small, round mirror she had propped up to the side. The billowing, rust, linen dress was accented by the shades of amber and honey she'd chosen, your blush a touch dark but not out of place in a brisk autumn evening. She had done well to cover up the imperfections, though not nearly as heavily as she decorated yourself (at your request), namely the dark circles beneath your eyes. You looked...put-together, for perhaps the first time in months. Lizzie did well.

"Not at all. You look like a lady ready for war." The ginger winked and began to gather up her supplies. "Now go get those cute, heeled boots and knock his socks off with that perfume that smells so good."

You rolled your eyes as you stood and shuffled into the hall. "Doll me up and send me out to break my neck. I see how it is."

"You need to show off those calves after whatever you've been doing to bulk them up!" she called after you with a laugh. "And I'm not going to bring up the fact your thighs could crush melons!"

You shook your head while slipping into your room, opening your closet, and stooping to grab the pair of boots in question: caramelized leather with braided straps, decorative buckles, and four-inch heels. It was the nicest pair of shoes you owned, and you hadn't had an excuse to wear them since you'd had Ru.

Speaking of—he was asleep in his crib in a post-dinner nap, but you wanted to at least kiss him goodbye before you left.

You stepped into the shoes, zipped them up your ankles, and straightened. You turned to your chest of drawers to spritz your perfume, cradling the bottle in your hands, but the rising of the hairs on your neck made you twist back around expectantly.

Where are you going?

"Out," you muttered to him, spraying your neck and wrists and rubbing the fragrance into your skin. Your gabardine coat, hanging on the back of your door, was next. "New moon, right?"

The lunar god, ghostly white even in the dim light peeking in from the open doorway, hunched forward to loom over you. His fingers tightened around the grip of his staff. Yes.

"Okay. I made plans." You grabbed your purse, downsized from your normal tote for the sake of convenience for the night, and slung the long strap over your shoulder. You reached for your scarf next, plaid in a warm, fall foliage palette, but the deity's shadow fell over you.

Where are you going? he repeated, standing so close that his wrapped, belted front brushed against the back of your coat.

You faced him again, squinting, looping the knit fabric around your neck and tying it over your throat. You fiddled with its tails to lay over your chest. "What does it matter?"

Why are you being difficult? he pressed.

"Why are you being pushy?" you shot back, brows furrowing. "What does it matter if I'm off tonight?"

Khonshu rumbled low in his chest, clearly agitated.

"You always know where I am anyway, right?" you added, stepping around the door to stand in the mouth of the hallway.

I do. The tension in his shoulders and hands eased, just a bit. His tone suggested he had wanted to say more, but he remained silent.

You eyed him for a moment, speculative, before giving him a shrug, turning, and walking across the hallway. He didn't follow you.

Ru was still fast asleep, huddled around one of the many stuffed animals Lizzie had bought for him on a whim (he had a veritable mountain piled into a basket in the bottom of his closet)—this one a raven, black as night, with shimmering silver eyes. You stood beside the crib for a long moment, taking a series of deep breaths to steady your nerves. He would be fine, you would be fine, it would be fine. It was just a date—not even a date, maybe, since Gideon hadn't specified the nature of this outing. Perhaps he was just trying to persuade you to work in his office, or buttering you up for a difficult favor, or just wanted to get drinks after work. He could have perfectly platonic intentions in mind, for all you knew.

Ru snuffled in his sleep.

...Who were you kidding? It was definitely a date.

You let out a sigh and stooped down to kiss his temple. He stirred only slightly, the flutter of lashes against the generous swell of his cheek, "I'll be back before bedtime, buddy," you murmured, inhaling the scent of lavender soap from behind his ear.

Lizzie was peering out from between the curtains on the kitchen window when you re-emerged into the main room. "You didn't tell me you've landed yourself a sugar daddy, love!" she breathed, not even bothering to tear her eyes away. "He's got a Jag!"

You refrained from the terrible urge to roll your eyes. "It's one date, Liz. He'll probably run for the hills after tonight. Hell, he might move back to France."

"If he knows what’s good for him, he'll snatch you up like the catch you are!" She turned and surveyed your completed look with a smile. "Or have those thighs as earmuffs in no time."

Your face grew unbearably hot. "Please stop."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, stepping over and shooing you towards the door. "I've already written down his license plate. Keep me posted. If you need me, call me—I don't care where or when."

"I know. Thank you." You gave her a pleading look. "Please let me know if Ru's giving you trouble."

"He'll be fine. He and I have a tradition now."

"Eating ice cream and watching Hallmarks is not exactly stimulating for an infant's developing mind."

"Pish posh, you're just picky. He'll need to know the finer points of romance for when he's having to beat off all the girls with a stick."

"That seems counterproductive."

Lizzie scoffed and began to shoo you toward the door. "Go on, have a good time! Keep me posted!"

"I'll try," you sighed. You turned as she opened the door. "Don't stay up waiting on me if I'm late—I'll wake you when I get home." Lizzie's brows waggled, and you batted at her face. "Stop that. I'll see you later, you brat."

Lizzie's exuberant laughter followed you down the hallway, even while she shut and locked the door behind you.

You trotted down the stairs onto the ground floor, quickly emerging from the building and rounding the corner that you'd given to the radiologist. True to Lizzie's word, Gideon stood under the lamppost with a sleek, charcoal Jaguar purring beside him. She had failed, however, to share the fact that he was cradling a brimming bouquet of spotless white lilies almost bursting from the paper and ribbon constraining the blooms. He smiled as soon as he spotted you, slipping his phone back into the inside pocket of his rather fetching navy sportcoat—his khaki slacks accentuated his long legs, but his pale blue shirt was unbuttoned to the top of his sternum. A hand-knit brown scarf was bundled around his neck and tossed over his shoulder. (Business casual? Should you have dressed up more?)

"Bonsoir," he crooned your name, stepping up to meet you and offering the bouquet gingerly. "You look stunning."

"You've cleaned up pretty nicely yourself," you returned, then inwardly cringed. You hid your flaming cheeks into the flowers under the guise of smelling them (though they did have a lovely scent). "You didn't have to get me flowers—thank you. What are they?"

"They're alstroemerias. Why wouldn't I? It's the gentlemanly thing to do," he returned with a chuckle. He cupped your elbow and gestured to the idling vehicle. "Please, let me get you out of the cold."

He steered you around, opened the door, and shut it once you were safely tucked into the passenger side. The scent of freshly-sprayed cologne, musky and warm, mingled with the clean air freshener plugged into the central vent into a heady mixture that you found yourself drawing full breaths to enjoy. Gideon settled into the driver's seat, quickly shutting the door against the breeze whipping up in his wake—the product in his hair loosened enough that an errant lock of raven hair fell over his brow.

"The forecast didn't say anything about strong winds," he muttered, mostly to himself.

You shrugged with a smile. "It enhances the look. Where are we going?"

Some color diffused beneath his cheeks and he gave you a bashful grin before slipping the Jaguar into drive and pulling out onto the street. "I know a nice place uptown," he said, "if you're agreeable to Asian."

"Perfectly agreeable." You tried to ignore the fact that your stomach gurgled at the mere sound of food—you'd forgone lunch in your rush to get everything done at work. "So long as I don't stick out like a sore thumb, anyway."

"You couldn't if you tried," Gideon chuckled, and pulled onto the road proper.

You didn't spot the glimpse of the stiff, linen-wrapped silhouette perched upon the streetlamp where you'd stood in the vehicle's rearview mirror.

#fanfiction #moon knight #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #mine #original character(s)#original male character(s)#original female character(s)#fisara's codices

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dauntless-gothamite · 3 years

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Prove Them Wrong [2/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: it seems this may be a little bit of a slow burn, based on the pacing and where I am in chapter three right now... Enjoy!

You woke up to the sound of metal clanging together, an unpleasant alarm if you’d ever heard one. “Get up, get dressed, and be in the training room in two minutes,” Four said, banging the metal together one last time before leaving the room.

Everyone scrambled to get dressed in their new black Dauntless clothes, and as people entered the training area, they began to form a semicircle around Four and Eric. “Ok, let’s get started,” Four said, clapping his hands together. “There are two stages of training. The first is physical, you will push your bodies to the breaking point and you will master the methods of combat. The second is mental, again breaking point. You’ll face your worst fears and conquer them--unless they get you first. You’ll be trained separately from the Dauntless-born, but you’ll be ranked together. After initiations, rankings will determine what jobs you move into: leadership, guarding the fence, or keeping the factionless from killing each other.”

“The rankings will also determine who gets cut,” Eric cut in, rising from where he sat on a concrete slab. An uneasy whisper spread throughout the initiates. No one knew about this, and you had to admit, you were getting a bit nervous yourself. “At the end of each stage of training, the lowest-ranking initiates will be leaving us,” Eric continued.

“To do what?” asked Al.

“Well, you can’t go home to your families, so you’ll be factionless.”

Another wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd of initiates, but it was quickly silenced by Eric’s glare. “Someone should have told us,” Christina said.

“Why? Would you have chosen differently? Out of fear?” Eric replied challengingly. “I mean, if that’s the case, you might as well get out now. If you’re really one of us, it won’t matter to you that you might fail, alright? You chose us. Now, we get to choose you.” Eric looked at each initiate, his blue eyes challenging each person to look away. Some people did, others didn’t. You didn’t.

Instead, you held his intense gaze as the itch to prove others wrong that had been inside you since the day you were born rose up, ready to be set free. What Eric said was scary, but it didn’t matter--all your years of studying the faction system told you that they would try to scare the initiates, and while you hadn’t expected this, you had known it wouldn’t be easy. But you had worked your ass off for years to be top of the class in Erudite, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to do the same here, in your new faction.

“Everyone, get some water before we move into the next segment of training,” Four called out. It took everything in you not to bend over as some others were doing; you knew standing up straight, getting fresh air in your lungs, would make the cramp in your abdomen go away faster, even if it hurt more now.

“Tris, stand up straight,” you whispered to your friend, who was red-faced after running twenty laps around the room, which was everyone’s warm-up for the day.

“Just so you know, tomorrow we won’t just be running laps,” Four said, surveying all the tired initiates. “So get used to this.”

You sighed, mentally thanking yourself for joining a small workout group in Erudite. It was fairly new, and it was only created because studies showed that after some physical activity, the brain was better equipped to come back to problems it struggled with earlier and continue working whereas remaining stagnant was more likely to result in burnout and fatigue. The workouts were nothing like this, but you were still appreciative of them.

“Alright, everyone find a punching bag and start hitting. Eric and I will be walking around correcting your form, but it’s on you to put our advice into practice. Go,” Four announced after barely even a minute of the “break” had gone by.

Turning on your heel, you walked over to the nearest punching bag and lined yourself up. Feet spread evenly about as wide as your shoulders, then step the left foot forward just a bit. Knees bent slightly, fists raised high. Then, you get to punching.

After what felt like an hour of hearing Four quietly critiquing other students between Eric’s shouts of disappointment at other initiates, the two trainers finally got to your area of the training room. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Four walking up to Tris, slightly adjusting her position and giving helpful tips. Another set of footsteps came to a stop behind you, which meant Eric would be the one helping you. Your shoulders tensed for a moment, but you quickly forced yourself into a more relaxed position and continued punching. Just pretend he isn’t there, you told yourself. After hitting the punching bag six times, called out “Stop” from behind you. He walked over to your side and took a fighting stance. “Make sure your hips are square, like this, so when you throw a punch with the hand that is further back, you can twist your hips and use core strength to put more power into it,” he said stoically, and you did your best to mimic his stance. “No, like this,” he said, grabbing your hips and twisting them, holding you firmly in place for a second before letting go. “Try it now,” he said. You started throwing punches again, and he nodded before silently walking away. When you paused to readjust your stance, you heard Eric yell “Did I say you could stop, Y/N? No, I did not; keep going!” You took a deep breath and began the next onslaught of punches as the room fell quiet save for the sound of fists hitting punching bags, a rhythmic thumping sound.

“First jumper!” Eric called out, disrupting the steady beat and sense of calmness in the room. “In the ring.” Beside him, Four sighed and looked down at his feet, and you had a bad feeling about whatever was about to happen. “Last jumper,” he continued, looking at a girl with dark hair--you think you may have heard her friends call her Molly, but you aren’t entirely sure. “Time to fight.”

Tris and the girl stepped up to the ring. “How long do we fight for?” the girl asked.

“Until one of you can’t continue,” Eric said in response.

“Or one of you concedes,” Four interjected, stepping forward.

“According to the old rules,” Eric corrected. “With the new rules, no one concedes.”

“You really want to lose someone in their first fight?”

“Well, a brave man never surrenders.”

“Lucky for you, those weren’t the rules when we fought.”

Eric clenched his jaw, irritated, before saying “You’ll be scored on this, so fight hard.” Tris and the other girl squared up and began to circle each other, but Eric was getting impatient. “Go!” he barked.

After nearly falling off the mat, Tris lunged, but the other girl dodged, twisted, and retaliated with a swing of her own, landing a punch to Tris’ face. As Tris retreated, the other girl pressed her advantage, catching Tris’ waist, bending her over, and punching her stomach a few times before Tris managed to break free of her hold. Just as she reached the end of the mat and turned, Tris was met with another punch to the face, sending her to the floor. The other girl--Molly--glanced at Eric since Tris was down, and he nodded, signaling Molly to send one last blow Tris’ way, knocking her out. As you watched the fight, you felt bad for your friend; she was much smaller than Molly, and part of you wanted to speak up about the cruelty that the trainers were showing, but you shoved it down. There was no need to compromise your position right now.

“Next,” Eric yelled, pointing to a girl named Selene and a former Candor named Peter who had made fun of Tris, calling her a Stiff several times. You secretly hoped Selene would kick his ass, but it was unlikely, he was tall and strong, plus he was willing to fight dirty--he’d admitted as much in the dorm area. Guess he still couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even though he’d left Candor.

Selene was tough; what she lacked in strength she made up for in endurance, but after a few rounds of dodging Peter’s punches, he finally landed one to her solar plexus, stunning her, allowing him to sweep her legs out from underneath her and kick her as she lay on the ground. You clenched your jaw as he did so, feeling anger rise up inside of you. Selene was unable to fight, that was the stopping point of the fights, but Peter was still kicking her. And Eric, the emotionless person that he was, didn’t do anything.

“Peter,” you said, “stop it.” Peter turned towards you and smirked.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he taunted. You considered for a second before turning to Eric.

Looking up at him, you steeled yourself. “I know we don’t get to determine the fighting order, or who we fight, but I would like to fight Peter. Now,” you said, sure to keep your voice level and maintain eye contact with the leader.

He raised an eyebrow at you curiously, and thankfully, Peter had stopped kicking Selene when you started speaking to Eric. Selene scooted to the edge of the mat, but that was as far as she could move without assistance. “You two,” Eric yelled at two initiates, “help Four get this one,” he pointed at Selene, “to the infirmary.” Then he turned back to you. “What are you waiting for, initiate? Get up there.” For a moment you were stunned, you didn’t actually think you would end up fighting Peter, and you knew that both Eric and Peter were expecting you to lose quickly. You caught Four’s eye as he carried Selene out with the help of two initiates, and you looked around to see Christina, Tris, Will, Al, Edward, Molly, and a few other initiates staring at you like you were mad. Maybe you were, but it was too late to back out now. You stood in a low, sturdy fighting stance, just like Eric had shown you. Peter did the same. For a moment, the room was dead silent as your eyes locked with his, and then both of you whipped into action.

Peter went right for the face punch, but you quickly blocked upward and threw a low roundhouse kick at his knee, making him wobble. He recovered quickly, and he quickly used his height to his advantage, moving to grab your shoulder and slam you into the ground. You were smart though, and you let him move you slightly before turning the downwards motion into momentum that allowed you to do a somersault, twisting his arm and landing on your feet. As he was turning around to face you, you sent a snap kick right to the back of his knee, making it buckle. You moved quickly to his other side, ready to send a few punches to his face and knock him out, but he sprung forward, wrapping strong hands around your neck and squeezing. For a moment you panicked, hitting his arms, but they didn’t move. Everyone was sure that was it for you, but you had another trick up your sleeve--Peter was overly confident this would weaken you and in the process of squeezing, he had left his own body defenseless. So you kicked him in the groin. Hard. He called out and released you, and as he leaned over in an instinctual reaction to pain, you kicked his forehead with your knee, shoved him to the side, knocking him over, and kicked him again, this time in the solar plexus. You stood there, stone-faced, and when Peter didn’t make a move to fight back, you turned to Eric, who nodded, and you jumped down from the mat.

You landed next to Will, Tris, and Christina, all of whom were staring at you in a mixture of horror and admiration. You blushed in embarrassment and looked at the ground, thinking to yourself, What the hell did I just do? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize the next two initiates were on the mat and fighting, and you only came back to yourself when Eric yyelled, “Hey! Are you deaf, initiate? I said go grab some ice for your neck, I don’t want to hear complaints about it tomorrow!”

You nodded to your friends and said “I’ll be back in a minute,” shocked at how hoarse your voice was. “Just going to… yeah,” you trailed off before walking quickly towards the infirmary.

A/N: can you tell I love writing fight scenes? also I do martial arts and have played sports my whole life, so I love when I get to use my knowledge of anatomy and physiology two write action scenes :)

Tag List: @shykoolaid

#eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #divergent #divergent im #dauntless #erudite #divergent fanfiction #abnegation #amity #candor #tris prior #four divergent #tobias eaton #peter hayes #caleb prior #motherfxking-flannel #motherfxking flannel

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

Note

What clone boys (+ the bad batch boys) looking for in their s/o? What is their ideal s/o?

Well, I kinda sorta went nuts with this question and got just a liiiitle carried away... oops...

Cody would be impressed by someone who could take charge of a messy situation or unruly group of people. He'd like someone who is independent and self-sufficient; he recognizes he may not always be there for them and wants to know they can take care of themselves. When he is around, he wants them to feel like a team, partners who are in sync, share the same goals, and make up for what the other lacks. He is attracted to good leadership skills, but turned off by cockiness.

Rex needs someone he can walk through life with side-by-side as equals, no exhausting power dynamics. He'd like someone who is dedicated to their beliefs and goals, but also someone who knows how to let loose and have a bit of (responsible) fun. He wants to know he can be himself around them, whether it's having an honest, soul-baring conversation or just acting really silly for no reason than because they can. He is attracted to good-humored attitudes, but turned off by shallow-ness.

Wolffe would be into someone with style and sass, someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind or stand up for what's right. He'd like someone who is fearless and passionate, but also full of hope, who will meet his glass-half-empty attitude with unwavering and inspiring optimism. He may butt heads with his S/O from time to time, but they keep him honest and he does appreciate them for it, even if he looks unamused. He is attracted to wit, but turned off by self-centeredness.

Fox likes someone who is warm and friendly, someone who embodies the spirit of the word home. They would need to be dependable, loyal, and a real sweetheart. He is a true romantic at heart and would continue to "woo" his S/O even after they got together, so they would need to be appreciative of such gestures. After a tough day or mission, he'd rather go home to someone who can help him relax and maybe laugh a little. He is attracted to stability, but turned off by laziness.

Fives would fall for someone with a zest for life and a great sense of humor. They don't need to be chipper all the time; in fact, he appreciates someone who takes things seriously and who will fight for what is right, even when it's hard. But he also needs someone he can have fun with, who can find the joy in any situation, and maybe even get into a bit of innocent trouble from time to time. They would be his best friend. His other half. He is attracted to liveliness but turned off by ditziness.

Jesse is drawn to the sweet, innocent types, someone who would get flustered by his flirting in the cutest of ways. He likes the feeling of being depended on and would take that duty very seriously. He's secretly a sensitive guy and would need someone he feels safe with, who would listen to his feelings without judgment and encourage him to be the best he can be. He really doesn't want to argue with his S/O. He is attracted to pretty smiles and turned off by stubbornness.

Kix admires someone who isn't afraid of honest, hard work, who will not hesitate to roll up their sleeves and do what is needed. But he'd also like someone with a flirty side, who could really surprise him and keep his days interesting. It's important to him that his S/O gets along with his brothers in the 501st, even allowing their free time to be spent with the battalion. He is a family-oriented guy and would need his partner to be, too. He is attracted to spontaneity, but turned off by recklessness.

Tup would like to be with someone who is more reserved, who can be a constant and steady presence in his life without being overwhelming or controlling. He is a bit withdrawn and struggles to feel understood sometimes, so he'd need someone who is patient with him, and comfortable with a less-intimate relationship. He'd be intrigued by someone creative or artistic, as well, and would be their biggest fan. He is attracted to gentleness and turned off by impulsiveness.

Hardcase would dig someone who can keep up with him, someone who is vibrant and always ready for an adventure. He wouldn't mind if they were chaotic or didn't have their life figured out; they could grow and learn together. When others try to hold him back, his S/O would encourage him to keep pushing; they'd be his cheerleader, and he'd be theirs. He finds it really sexy when someone puts themselves out there, both physically and emotionally. He is attracted to spunk and turned off by passiveness.

Dogma prefers someone who is rational and level-headed, maybe a little book-smart or nerdy. He wants to be able to have interesting and meaningful conversations with someone, about anything and everything. He likes someone who takes on quiet responsibilities, not needing to be seen in order to help. He also likes a level of tenderness; nothing too flirty or passionate, just simple and caring. He is attracted to humility and turned off by emotional reactions.

Echo has a soft spot for someone who is charismatic but compassionate, someone who uses their people-driven attitude to be hospitable and generous. He'd like to be with someone who's a little more outgoing than him, but not someone he'd have to keep up with. They would need to be polite and thoughtful, and always willing to communicate, even when it's awkward. He would want to share everything with them. He is attracted to candor but turned off by demanding attitudes.

Hunter wants someone who is easygoing and laid-back, who is uncomplicated and doesn't get caught up in drama or chaos. Someone who makes it clear what they think and what they want, rather than withdrawing or leaving him to make his own assumptions. They would be easy to be in a relationship with. But he does enjoy a good adventure, so it's important that they are active in that regard, too. He is attracted to wholesomeness and turned off by high-maintenance personalities.

Wrecker would be smitten with someone who meets his strength and brutality with softness and gentleness, who is a good balance for his rather intense way of living. They can't be timid in any way, though, because he'll challenge them to try new things. As long as they're a good sport, even if they're out of their element, he'll be very happy. They'd need to have a nice laugh, too, and he'd make it his personal mission every day to hear it. He is attracted to femininity and turned off by cowardliness.

Crosshair is interested in someone who lives their life honestly and sincerely, who is deeply kind but won't let themselves be walked over. Someone who accepts him for who he is but also challenges him when he's being too stubborn or unfair. They would be his rock in life, a person he will always seek out to have by his side. Their maturity puts him at ease and he never has to worry about them or doubt his worth in their eyes. He is attracted to confidence but turned off by popularity.

Tech would fancy someone who looks at the world with wide eyes, who asks questions and listens with their whole heart. They do not need to be super smart or an academic, but they do need to have curiosity and passion. He'd bond with someone over shared interests, but would be equally thrilled to learn something new from someone knowledgeable in other areas. Looks would hardly matter to him; it's their mind he'd fall in love with. He is attracted to talent and turned off by apathy.

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edendaphne · 4 years

Text

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 17

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

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CHAPTER 17: LULLABY

(Mood Music: Quiet Beauty - James Todd)

One Chilly Sunday Evening

Chat Noir laughed so hard he was practically gasping for air, and his heart thumped like a drum in his chest.

How many times had they done this? Was it five? A dozen? A hundred? Racing Ladybug across city rooftops felt so normal, so natural, as if he’d done it a million times across countless different lifetimes. Whatever the case, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I win!” he announced, breathless, as he landed on the solid ground of the Dupain-Cheng bakery’s balcony, promptly followed by his partner.

The light of the moon illuminated her graceful frame as she caught her breath, and it took all of Chat’s willpower not to gawk as a bead of sweat made its way from her temple to her cheek, then trailed down her jaw and onto her neck.

“Only because you cheated!” Ladybug chided, trying (yet failing) to hide an amused smile.

Chat put a hand on his hip, cheekily cocking it to the side as he caught his own breath. “I bet you could’ve won if you really wanted to. Were you trailing behind me on purpose to check out my assets? Or don’t tell me that you’ve never been tempted to take a peek?”

Ladybug raised a quizzical eyebrow, and a beat later replied with an impish smirk, “Well... I never said I haven’t.”

Chat’s eyes grew wide, his bright, chartreuse-green sclera becoming more visible than Ladybug had ever seen, their faint glow a stark contrast with the red color that bloomed on his cheeks.

Ladybug giggled (How dare she be so adorable yet still so attractive?!) and stepped towards him, placing her finger under his chin and closing his mouth with a small click. When had his jaw popped open??

“What’s the matter, Chaton? Can’t handle when somebody flirts back?” she teased, her face mere inches from his.

Chat suppressed the urge to squirm under her touch. They’d flirted countless times before, but why did his chest feel so tight when they did so lately?

Trying to compose himself and insert as much confidence as he could into his voice, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very desirable bachelor in my day-to-day life! I happen to have more suitors than I can shake a stick at!”

He’d said it jokingly, expecting to get rebuffed; but Ladybug gave him an exaggerated pout, tapping her mouth with her fingers (a gesture he couldn’t help but follow closely with his gaze).

“Ohh, I see…. Should I be jealous?” she said as she looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “Do I have competition?”

Chat reached for her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips with a slight bow. “Never,” he replied, with a bit more conviction and candor than he’d intended. “Nobody could ever hold a candle to you, Milady. Your wit, kindness, and beauty surpasses them all. It is you alone who holds the key to my heart.”

Now it was Ladybug’s turn to get caught off guard. His words were theatrical and over-the-top, as usual; but there was sincerity behind them. There was something about the way he’d said them that made it feel… real. She couldn’t help but shyly look away, her cheeks a bright crimson hue, and she tucked some hair behind her ear as she always did whenever she was flustered or nervous.

“Flatterer,” she said timidly, attempting to deflect the compliment.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he replied with a wink.

Ladybug stared slack-jawed, and could only stutter out an ever so eloquent “I-I-I...” By this point, her entire face was as red as her suit, and she covered her face with both hands in embarrassment. “Chaaaaaaaat!” she cried helplessly in defeat.

Chat let out a hearty laugh, giving her a quick, comforting squeeze. He’d won this round of impromptu chicken. Deciding to have mercy and spare her from any further teasing, he changed the subject.

“Anyway, it’s too bad I can’t be the one to drop you off at your house, Bugaboo. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But alas, I’m lacking in the whole ‘majestic white steed’ department,” he remarked as he crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall.

She laughed lightly through her nose. “Well, we’re not exactly your average, run of the mill coupl– uh, partners. Plus, I already know where you live, so that’s easy to do.”

Chat ignored her slip of the tongue, since he didn’t dare to hope for more. At least... not yet.

“That’s for sure,” he replied with a small chuckle. “We’re a rather unique situation. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ladybug leaned next to him against the wall, pressing her back against the cool surface of the bricks as their shoulders bumped.

She hesitated for a few moments, seeming to gather her thoughts. He eyed her curiously, waiting for her to speak her mind.

“So…” she began, looking out into the dark autumn sky. “Which part is true? That you think I’m... beautiful, or that I hold the key to your... t-that I…”

A jolt of lightning traveled down his spine and he stared at her like a kid who’d just broken a window. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out– not even a flustered stammer.

He hadn’t meant to blurt out his feelings so casually a minute ago. In fact, he’d been working on an elaborate speech for when the time was right! It still needed lots of work; he was only on the seventh draft.

He paused to consider. Would it be so bad, though? If he were to confess to her right now?

It wasn’t how he’d planned it. There wasn’t an elegantly decorated rooftop full of roses and strings of lights, or soft romantic music, or any of the other things that would have made it perfect. He was supposed to carry her to a surprise location (bridal-style of course), her lithe arms wrapped around his neck, with a snugly placed blindfold around her eyes to amplify the mystery and anticipation.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d be impressed with his efforts enough to accept his feelings before she could realize that she was too good for him.

Truly his adoration for her knew no bounds. So much so, that he’d asked himself whether it was truly love, or if just an overblown obsession or infatuation.

And yet, he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew she wasn’t perfect. She didn’t need a pedestal. He’d placed her on one when they’d first become allies, but she pulled him up to her level, never allowing him to lower himself or place himself beneath her. She made sure that he always knew he was her equal, and not her subordinate. I mean, how could he not fall in love with her?

So, despite the fact that it wasn’t at all how he planned and he’d suddenly blanked out on his entire speech... he wanted to tell her. Now was as good a time as any.

Ladybug must have sensed the shift in his mood because she recoiled somewhat, jolting away from the brick wall.

She hastily began to backpedal, “N-nevermind, forget I said anything!! Um, anyway, have a good night!”

Chat shook himself out of his daze, then lunged forth to catch her arm as she reached for her yo-yo.

“M-milady, wait!”

She turned to face him, her face full of regret and embarrassment. “S-sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tease you. Well– I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just–”

“No! N-no, don’t worry, you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve been… wanting to tell you something. Something important.”

He felt her stiffen at his words, and her eyes grew wide with apprehension.

Crap. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” he tried to reassure her. “Or… at least, I don’t think it’s bad. I mean, I hope it isn’t. To you, that is. What I mean is…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a groan, then let out a nervous, shallow breath.

She quirked her head to the side, as she unknowingly did whenever she was feeling curious or inquisitive. He tried (in vain) to ignore how cute she looked so he could focus on the task at hand.

This is it. You can do it. Be brave like Marinette!! She’d believe in you!

The butterflies in his stomach multiplied tenfold; there was no going back.

And yet... how do you even begin to tell someone that you can’t imagine your life without them? That you’d sacrifice absolutely everything for their happiness; that you’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than to ever see them in pain? That the thought of losing them kept you awake at night more often than you’d like to admit?

How could he put into words that until she came along, he never imagined he’d be able to feel happiness again?

No; words could never suffice. There was nothing he wanted more than to grab his Lady by the waist and give her the most passionate kiss he could muster so that he could show her his love instead.

But he couldn’t. He had to know how she felt in return before he did something that rash, something that could potentially wreck their partnership if his actions were unwelcome.

He didn’t want to ruin anything. He was utterly terrified. And yet… he yearned for her to know.

He had to try. It might be selfish, but he had to tell her how he felt. Just in case she might maybe, possibly, someday, feel the same way.

Ladybug gently touched his forearm, her slender fingers skimming up and down the fabric of his gloves. “Kitty,” she began, concern written all over her face, her piercing sky blue eyes searching his own. “Is everything alright?”

Chat did his best to offer a reassuring smile, placing his opposite hand on top of hers. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I just have a bit of a confession to make.”

Ladybug’s face softened, and she returned a small smile as she waited for him to proceed, still unsure but relieved.

He swallowed thickly, and tried to steady his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long. Well, I mean– technically we’ve known each other for years– but what I mean is that we haven’t really gotten to know each other ‘til recently. Uhh, that is––”

Ladybug gave a small giggle. “It’s okay, Chat. I know what you mean.”

Chat smiled back. “Anyway, I want you to know that our friendship means absolutely everything to me. And I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that, not ever. With that said, I still need you to know that I… that I...” he trailed off, looking away and biting his lip.

A few seconds passed, and he felt Ladybug’s soft hand touch his cheek, which gently turned his head to face her once again.

“Talk to me, Chat. You can tell me anything.”

Those eyes. Those big, gorgeous, absolutely amazing eyes. She was the sun and moon and stars all wrapped up in a tiny, polka-dotted package, and all he could offer her was himself. Was he enough? He silently prayed she hadn’t noticed how much his hands were trembling right now.

“I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know anything about your civilian self. Not really. Where you live, where you go to school, who your friends are. Whether you already have a special someone in your life. Or whether you–” he gulped “–whether you could ever feel the same way about me as I do about you.”

She stepped closer, sliding her hand down his arm and wrapping her fingers around his own (he’d never been as grateful that his suit had gloves as he was now, given how sweaty his palms were at the moment).

“And… how do you feel about me?” she asked, with a– dare he say– hopeful tone in her voice.

Her eyes bore into his own with such intensity and heat that he could no longer feel the chilly night air. He forced himself to hold her gaze, so she could be sure that his words were genuine.

“I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything or if it should wait until after we defeated Hawkmoth. I didn’t know if I was ready to… to open myself up and risk getting hurt in the process. Because I am so, so afraid of losing you.” He bit his lip, but continued, “But I don’t think I can wait that long. You have to know, because I might not get another chance...”

His posture straightened a bit, and he took both her hands into his. (Was it his hands that were still shaking, or hers?)

“I love you,” he finally uttered, his voice husky and low, as if it were a declaration far too sacred for others to hear. He heard her breath catch slightly. “I love you so much, My Lady.” Chat’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he let out a shaky sigh. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. When you’re with me, I can’t help but feel truly happy. Happy to be your teammate, happy to be your friend… happy to be alive. You make me want to become a better person, and I just needed you to know that.”

He shrunk into himself somewhat, taking an unsteady, quivering breath, having expended all his bravery with his proclamation of love.

He’d done it. He’d confessed.

...Now what?

A few moments passed in silence. He bit the inside of his cheek anxiously, unsure of how to continue.

Mayday. Mayday. The hairs in the back of his neck stood up on end; his mind nervous and uncertain.

“A-anyway, that’s all I wanted to say,” he blurted out. “I know it’s a lot to take in; you don’t have to say anything back.” He let go of her hands and crossed his arms, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I’d prefer if you said something back just so I know where we stand, but you definitely don’t have to,” he continued to ramble. “I don’t want it to be awkward or uncomfortable between us, so I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what you want. I’ll always respect your wishes and do what you think is best, ‘cause I have complete faith in you and I–”

His nervous ramblings were cut short by warm, delicate lips delivering a featherlight kiss to his cheek, and Chat let out a small gasp despite himself.

“Was that alright?” she asked, her voice breathy and soft.

Chat practically swooned in disbelief. “More than alright,” he exhaled. “S-so… does that mean that you like m–”

Ladybug stood on her tiptoes and surged forward to capture his lips, answering his question in a way he never would have imagined when he woke up that morning.

There was no way this was actually happening. Was he still breathing?? The girl he loved not only liked him back, but was doing something he’d only ever dreamed about.

He decided to take a chance. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to which Ladybug responded with a small, surprised moan, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. At some point, his hands had ended up on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, and he was sure she’d be able to feel his heart pounding.

Several blissful moments later, they separated to catch their breath but didn’t pull completely apart. Chat was sure that if he let go of her, he would surely melt into a puddle on the spot.

Ladybug panted lightly. “So… does that answer your question?” she asked, still smiling, her lips almost brushing against his.

Chat cleared his throat, then managed to stammer out in a raspy voice, “Uh, yeah, that works.”

He bent his neck forward so she wouldn’t have to stand on her tiptoes anymore, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes in contentment. Surely this was too good to be true, right?! Was he asleep??

But as always, the overthinker in him struck again and a thought came to him. He furrowed his brow in concern as he became acutely aware of the fact that just because she liked him back didn’t mean she wanted to become anything more than partners. Maybe the kiss was a one-time thing and she wanted to keep things professional? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Why can’t I just be satisfied with what I already have? This is more than I could ever ask for, so why press my luck?

Ladybug, perceptive as ever, noticed his unease.

“What are you thinking about, Chaton?” she whispered with a slight frown.

Deciding to be honest, he loosened his hold on her and stepped back, his jaw tensed. A few thoughtful seconds later, he tried to explain, “I just… What do you want me to be to you? I know we can’t exactly act like a ‘normal’ couple. It’s not like we can go to the movies or amusement parks together, and you can’t exactly take me to your house to meet your parents. So, umm… what happens next?”

Ladybug reached for his hand, squeezing lightly. “If you’re worried that I’m only interested in a fling or a friends-with-benefits type of relationship, I’m not. I don’t know how this is gonna work, and I do want to take things slow, but… you are so special to me, Chat. All I know is that I want you in my life. As more than teammates. Do you want that too?”

“Yes!” Chat exclaimed (a bit more emphatically than he’d intended) and nodded. “I want to make this work! I really do.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb, and he couldn’t help but lean into her caresses. “And, while I don’t think we really need a formal label for what we have, if giving it a name makes you feel better, then… What if we’re ‘dating’? What do you think? Sound good to you?”

Chat grinned, lifting his hand to run it through her long, dark hair. “It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for,” he replied, completely elated. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

She stepped back into his space and wrapped her arms around him, letting her hands wander until they settled on the base of his back. And even though he was much larger than her, her hugs always somehow managed to completely envelop him in feelings of safety and comfort.

“You already make me happy, you dork.”

Chat shifted his body so he could make eye contact with his beloved once again. His hand wandered to her jawline, which caused her to shiver with what he hoped was pleasure and anticipation. He made his way down her jaw towards her chin, his movements slow and deliberate, relishing how absolutely beautiful yet adorably shy she appeared in this moment.

Tilting her chin upwards with his forefinger, Chat leaned down and Ladybug’s eyes fluttered shut, her blush still visible under the faint glow of the balcony lights. Chat shut his own eyes in preparation…

...Only to bolt upright in alarm. His ears twitched and he whipped his head around, searching. Without a word, he scooped up Ladybug and bounded up onto the rooftop, landing behind the balcony wall. Ladybug let out a less than dignified “EEP!!”, clinging to him as she was whisked away.

Upon landing, she was about to ask Chat what was going on but he gently placed his finger on her lips. Then he moved it to his own lips, shaking his head. Ladybug understood and nodded. Then they stood there, still as a statue, and waited.

Hinges creaked as the hatch door swung open, and the pair heard someone climb out onto the balcony. Said individual took a deep breath of the fresh evening air, then walked towards the railing to look out into the city.

A few minutes passed, and Chat finally realized the rather intimate position he and Ladybug had put themselves in during their hasty escape. There he stood, back pressed to the wall, with his partner essentially plastered up onto him, their limbs an intertwined mess, leaving not even a sliver of free space between their bodies. Ladybug seemed to realize this at about the same time, and they looked to each other with matching flustered grins, blushing furiously. She made to move away slightly and give him some space—

But her yo-yo had partially unraveled during their clamber onto the roof, and had wrapped around them, becoming tangled in both his cape and his tail. She giggled awkwardly, then began squirming— first lightly, then a bit more vigorously when it became clear that that was ineffective. Chat bit his lip almost painfully, trying very hard not to think about their current situation, lest he unwillingly embarrass himself in a more... somatic way.

A voice cut through the silence of the nighttime air, jolting them to a halt, and they ceased their struggles once again to listen in. Chat twisted his mouth, frowning. He wasn’t normally the type of person who enjoyed eavesdropping; but he didn’t exactly have a choice at the moment.

“What are you doing up here, Tom?” asked the voice of Sabine Dupain-Cheng as she climbed out onto the balcony.

“Oh, nothing. Just, uhh... getting some fresh air. No other reason,” Tom replied, with a tone that wasn’t entirely convincing.

Sabine made her way to stand next to her husband. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for a certain housecat to return from the akuma attack that happened earlier tonight, would you?” she asked knowingly.

Tom stammered, “N-no! No, of course not! I’m not waiting for anyone! And I’m certainly not worried! Nope, definitely not worried sick whatsoever; not at all.”

Sabine leaned into him with a playful giggle. “That’s what you say, dear. But I can tell you’re very fond of him.”

“I-I am not!” he sputtered. “I just… wanted to make sure he was going to show up at work tomorrow, that’s all. We have that big shipment of sugar coming in and—umm— my back is sore, so I’ll need the help! Yeah, that’s it. I’m just making sure he acts responsible.” He nodded solemnly, crossing his arms.

On the other side of the wall, Chat couldn’t help but crack a smile at Tom’s poorly-hidden concern. He’d never seen this side of him before, at least not as Chat Noir.

Sabine patted Tom on the back. “Well, you should come back inside. It’s pretty chilly tonight and we can’t have you catching a cold. He’ll be back soon. He’s probably just having some ‘alone time’ with Ladybug.”

Chat and Ladybug practically jumped at this statement, whipping their heads towards each other, then back down at their current predicament. Chat shrugged apologetically with a rather sheepish expression on his face, and it took all of Ladybug’s willpower not to laugh at how cute he looked.

“Hmph. You’re probably right,” they heard Tom say, and then footsteps as the married couple made their way back indoors.

“Come on, I’ll make us some tea.”

With that, the balcony hatch closed, and the pair remained still for a few moments to verify that Tom and Sabine wouldn’t come back, in case they’d left anything behind.

Chat was the first to break the silence. “So, uhhh… Now what?”

Ladybug did her best trying to find and figure out where the biggest tangles were, but the range of her movement was quite limited.

“It’s too dark, I can’t see anything,” she replied. “And even if I could, I can’t move my arms much.”

“Same, my arms are pinned down. What should we do?”

Ladybug scrunched her face, deep in thought. A few moments later, her brows raised as an idea came to her.

“Uh… I have an idea, but it’s a bit risky.”

Chat cocked his head to the side with curiosity, waiting for her to elaborate. “Go on.”

“Well, umm… don’t freak, just hear me out. What if we detransformed?”

Chat looked at her like she’d suggested that they throw themselves into an active volcano, and she quickly added, “W-with our eyes closed, that is! That way, we can re-transform and everything will be in its proper place.”

Chat pondered her words. It did seem like the simplest, easiest solution.

“Well… Okay,” he replied. “Let’s do it. I swear I won’t look.”

Ladybug grinned widely at him. “I know. I trust you.”

She leaned into him, placing her head against his chest.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah. Claws in.”

“Spots off.”

A flash of neon green and pink briefly illuminated the rooftop, and then it was dark again.

A detransformed Chat couldn’t help but let out a gasp. This was the very first time he’d ever touched Ladybug without the barriers of their near-indestructible suits. Her shirt was made out of some lightweight fabric, much too thin for this kind of weather, as if she’d been lounging at home when the akuma attack had begun earlier and she’d left her house in a hurry. He took the opportunity to savor this moment, wrapping his arms around his Lady’s shoulders, keeping her close and warm.

His fingers touched something silky and sleek, and he almost gasped again in awe. “Your hair is down,” he uttered, almost too quiet for Ladybug to hear.

He felt her smile against his chest. He took this opportunity to glide his bare hand down her long, thick locks, relishing the feel, knowing he wouldn’t be able to touch her like this again. At least, not for who knows how long. He wished with all his heart they could stay like this forever.

Her body shifted slightly, and a beat later he felt her fingers sneak into his own hair, massaging his scalp in a comical manner.

“If you get to touch my hair, I get to touch yours,” she stated, her voice impish and playful. “Good Lord, what shampoo do you use?! Your hair is so soft!!”

Chat let out a hearty laugh. “I bet we look ridiculous right now, just two people on a roof groping each other’s heads. Good thing it’s too dark to see anything.

Ladybug snickered as she lowered her hands, holding onto him to help keep her balance. The rooftop was relatively flat, but the physical contact made her feel safer regardless. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone could see us if they were to look out their windows; it’s a new moon tonight. But we should still keep our eyes closed, just in case.”

She laid back into him and they embraced in silence, enjoying the calm. His hand traced gentle patterns on her back, and she nuzzled even closer to keep warm.

“Your voice,” Ladybug said, cutting through the stillness.

Chat raised an eyebrow. “Hmm? What about it?”

“It sounds different somehow. Kinda… softer? I dunno,” she said, shrugging slightly.

“Now that you mention it, you sound kind of different too,” he agreed.

The glamour magic must be stronger when they’re transformed, he realized. The magic was still present while in their civilian forms, albeit weaker. Out of costume, Ladybug’s voice sounded more… familiar somehow? He tried not to think about that too much; this wasn’t the time or place.

“D-do you like it?” he added, his tone tentative.

“Yeah!” she blurted out. “I-it’s nice. Really nice. I like it.”

He made a pleased sound, then replied, “And yours is lovely. I can’t wait til I get to hear more of it in the future.”

“Same.” Ladybug let out a long, contented sigh. “We should probably get going. They’re waiting for you inside. But you heard Mr. Dupain-Cheng; he’s most definitely not concerned about you,” she said with a snicker.

Chat busted out laughing. “He’s pretty great. Just cautious, is all.” Then he added jokingly, “He probably doesn’t want to get too attached, just in case I suddenly decide to go on a feral murder spree one day.”

Ladybug blew a raspberry and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Noooooo, I am one hundred percent sure he does not think that! I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time!”

“I hope so,” he replied with a chuckle. He hesitated before speaking again. “Umm, Bugaboo… Before we transform back, would it be alright if… if I kissed you again?” Ladybug’s entire body twitched in surprise. “Just once, as our real selves.”

He felt her chest rise and fall as she let out some flustered noises. She managed to settle down a bit, and replied in a hushed voice, “Yeah. Th-that would be nice.”

He moved his hand, blindly feeling around until he found the side of her face. He cupped her cheek with a featherlight touch, his other arm snugly around her waist, keeping her steady. She placed both hands on his chest, craning her neck back, eagerly awaiting what was to come. He lowered his face slowly, to avoid bumping their heads together. Their breaths mingled, shallow and nervous. Their first kiss out of the masks… would it feel any different, he wondered?

Their noses touched, and then—

BONK!

They let out a simultaneous “Ow!” and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes closed in his confusion.

Ladybug reached up to feel his face, then gasped in disbelief.

“Chat! You… you wear glasses!”

He snickered at her surprised reaction. “Is that so shocking? Do you not like glasses?”

She sputtered, “N-no! I mean, yes! I mean, th-that’s not it. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all!”

Chat couldn’t help himself. “So would you say that you made a… spectacular discovery?” he said cheekily.

Ladybug let out a long, exaggerated groan at the pun as she plopped her head onto his chest, causing him to break into a barely-contained giggle fit.

“My soul just died a little from that terrible joke,” she croaked out.

“I apologize; that’s just how eye roll!”

Ladybug made an even more dismayed sound that resembled a deflating balloon, which only made Chat crack up even harder.

“You’re soooo awwwwfuuul,” she groaned, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Here,” he said, sliding his glasses off his nose and onto the top of his head, resting just above the hairline. “Now they’re out of the way.”

“Good,” Ladybug giggled. “Because I’d really like to try again.”

He chuckled, angling his head down. “Whatever My Lady desires,” he replied, more than happy to comply.

-----------

Marinette glided across her bedroom, half-dancing, half-skipping, humming along to the music coming from her computer while she brushed her teeth. She paused to pick up her mannequin, spinning it around as if dancing with an imaginary partner.

“Marinette, you probably shouldn’t do that with a toothbrush in your mouth,” Tikki advised, though an amused smile tugged at her mouth.

“Hnn-kay,” Marinette replied with a giggle, setting down the mannequin, then made her way to the sink to finish up her bedtime routine.

When she was done, she walked over to where Tikki was resting at the desk, in a little handmade bed that could pass for a stylish pin-cushion or phone rest.

“Ready for bed?” she asked in a chipper voice, scooping up the kwami into her hands then heading up to her loft bed.

Tikki snickered at her charge’s excitement. This was definitely one of her favorite parts of mentoring a Ladybug. “Today was a good day for you, wasn’t it, Marinette?”

“Gosh, you can say that again!” she replied, voice high and giddy. “I just can’t believe it, Tikki! It feels like things just keep getting better and better. Now I get to plan our dates, gifts, anniversary milestones–”

Tikki raised a brow. “Uhh… Marinette, what happened to ‘taking things slow’?”

The girl pouted. “I am taking it slow! It’s not like I’m planning our wedding or anything!” The kwami rolled her eyes fondly in response.

Marinette set Tikki down on the pillow next to hers and flopped down stomach first. She turned around, still holding the pillow, and screeched happily into it, kicking her legs into the air. Tikki couldn’t help but giggle.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep with all this excitement?” she asked.

Marinette turned off the lights and snuggled under her blankets, squeezing her giant cat plushie.

“Yep! Boy, am I beat! I’m totally gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

Tikki smiled warmly. “Great to hear. Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette let out a long yawn and rubbed the top of Tikki’s head with her finger. “G’night, Tikki.” ------

(Mood Music: The Lonely - Christina Perri)

This was most certainly not a good night. Marinette’s bleary eyes glanced over at the clock next to her bed.

3:00 AM, it said.

She groaned inwardly. She’d woken up about an hour ago and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, despite being completely bushed.

Something just felt… off. Her stomach was churning and her skin felt like pins and needles. Should she check to make sure the front door is locked? Did she forget to do any homework? Was there a test tomorrow in one of her classes? She just couldn’t think of anything that would require her attention. Why was she feeling so stressed?? Frustration had set in, and she dreaded having to go to school tomorrow (or rather, later today, in a few hours’ time).

Maybe she just needed some water to calm down her nerves. Because that’s clearly what it was, right? Just some subconscious anxiety, maybe about the future, or getting into a good university, or having to defeat Hawkmoth.

Well… when put in that way, she supposed there were a few rather stressful things happening in her life. But even still! She hardly ever had a hard time sleeping before, because she was always exhausted!

She slowly scooted out of the bed, careful not to wake Tikki, and climbed down from her loft. Letting out a lengthy yawn, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Maybe that would help settle her stomach.

And yet somehow, now that she was here, the uneasy feeling intensified.

What the hell?!

The last time she'd felt this kind of unexplained restlessness and malaise was when…

...When she’d found Chat in that alley after his confrontation with Hawkmoth.

Panic sunk into her gut and she bolted towards Chat’s bedroom. She reached the door and was about to burst inside, but she paused. Maybe stampeding into someone’s room uninvited while they were asleep was a bad idea. Not wanting to wake him up, but not willing to leave until she was sure of his safety, she instead crouched and placed her ear against the door.

Expecting to hear nothing except maybe some light snoring, Marinette’s eyes widened when instead she heard whimpering and sobbing. Needing no further invitation, she entered the room.

Chat was curled up in a fetal position facing away from the door, shaking and crying. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could tell he wasn’t transformed.

Is he upset? Is he sick??

She called his name with a small voice, “Chat Noir?”

The panting and sobbing continued, getting stronger and stronger with each second that passed.

“Chat, what’s the matter?” She sat on the bed and placed her hand on his back. The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin; his body was drenched in sweat.

Again, there was no response. By this point he began to toss and turn, almost thrashing in distress and terror.

He’s still asleep, Marinette realized.

“Chat, wake up!” she cried, shaking him vigorously, trying to rouse him from his nightmare. “Kitty, please! Wake up!”

He turned towards her, hair covering his face and sticking to the damp skin, and she had to force herself to not look at him directly to keep his identity a secret.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he surged forward, seizing her by the upper arms, his grip tight as a vise, and Marinette cried out in surprise.

His head hung down, and he sobbed as he squeezed even harder, “No! I won’t do it! I won’t hurt them! You can’t force me!”

She ignored the pain in her arms and called, “Chat! Please wake up! It’s me, Marinette!”

“No!! I’ll never hurt Marinette! Not ever!” he cried in a quivering, desperate voice; then he groaned and hissed in pain, in a way she could only describe as the sound of someone being tortured.

“I’m here, Chat! Marinette is here! You’re safe at home! You’re having a nightmare! Open your eyes!”

He seemed to respond slightly, his hold on her slackening somewhat, and she took this chance to slip completely out of his grip. She threw her arms around his shoulders and he seemed to go limp. She whispered into his ear, “Shhh… It’s just me… You’re okay… you’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine. I’m here to help. Don’t be afraid...” She began to rub his back, making long strokes up and down his torso, hoping that touch would help to awaken him.

Her calm reassurances and rubbing of his back continued until Chat’s hyperventilating stopped, and he slowly seemed to come to. He let out a shocked gasp and threw his arms around her.

“M-Marinette?! Marinette!! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, and she felt fresh tears drip onto her sleeve.

She cradled the back of his head. “Chat! Why in the world are you apologizing?!”

“For everything. For being so weak. For being nothing but trouble for you ever since I came into your life. I never meant for all this to happen. It would’ve been easier for you if you’d left me in that alley that first night. It would’ve been easier for you if you hated me, just like everyone else.”

“Minou, I could never hate you,” she reaffirmed fervently, which only made him sniffle harder. “No matter what you’ve done or what mistakes you’ve made, you are deserving of love. You’re a good person, and more people love you than you might think. Things will get better. I promise.”

She held him as he continued to cry quietly, the pair still wrapped in each others’ arms in the otherwise silent darkness.

After a while, she dared to ask, “You don’t have to tell me what it was about, but… How often do you have these kinds of dreams?”

She felt him hesitate, unsure of whether he should divulge this information; but a few seconds later, he relented, and answered in a small voice, “I’ve had vivid nightmares every night for as long as I can remember, ever since I became Chat Noir. But I haven’t had one this bad since before I moved in with you guys. And… I’ve always been able to wake up on my own.”

“Oh, Minou…” she lamented, then kissed the top of his head.

He sniffled a little, rubbing her arm up and down gently in silent apology. “Marinette, I’m sorry to ask, but… c-could you stay? Just for a little longer? I-I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, Minou. I can stay.”

“Oh, Mari… I was so scared,” he cried. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

She closed her eyes so she could lower her head and kiss his forehead, barely able to contain her affection for him; immensely relieved that he’d finally calmed down. They situated themselves in the bed, arranging themselves into a position that would be comfortable for them both, and she was careful to avoid looking directly at him. He nuzzled into her, hugging her waist, and thanked her quietly. She ran her fingers through his still slightly damp hair, hoping to help him get as relaxed as possible.

Before long, she noted that his breathing had finally slowed, and she was content to watch his torso rise and fall in a tranquil rhythm until, eventually, she too was lulled into a restful slumber.

Meanwhile, outside the slightly ajar guest bedroom door, a certain baker pursed his lips in dismay... and regret.

------

Discordant Sonata Music Youtube Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcYhk0HianmrUJWi61Hkbux08qc9oCTdB

#Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Marichat #Chat Noir #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Ladybug #Enemies AU #fanfiction #Discordant Sonata #Eden writes #aged up #ML AU

194 notes · View notes

a-monsters-love · 4 years

Note

I hope this isn’t an uncomfortable request, i have a lot of scars on my arms because for years i’ve been scratching them as a form of relief for my anxiety, my therapist just told me that even if i don’t think about it it’s still self harm and i never actually thought about it. Anyways, could you make an headcanon for shouto, kirishima and kaminari finding out their s/o has a lot of scars on their arms and is embarrassed about them? You can leave the whole self harm thing out if you prefer💕

Ahh, my dear sweet Nonnie. Thank you for your candor, I love this for a few reasons. So in all honesty when I was a teen (I’m almost 25 now) I did self harm, I have a similar nervous tick where pick at my hangnails until they bleed and go down my fingers rather than staying at my cuticles. I also had a friend who had the same nervous tick as you when we were in high school. I’m glad to know you’ve reached out to a therapist/have someone to talk to about these things. I’m very proud of you for taking measures to take care of yourself.

If anyone on here see’s this and doesn’t have someone to talk to there is a great resource [here] for crisis counseling. It’s a free service and you can text a Counselor for advice on things from self harm to suicide. [The Trevor Project] is also a great resource, as well at [To Write Love On Her Arms] who have been around for years and have dedicated resources for our friends in the LGBT+ community. These are only 3 of many different resources available to us. Please don’t hesitate to use the service and if you just need a friend to chat/vent with my inbox is always open.

[Master List]

WARNINGS: implications of self harm, mentions of blood

Now let’s get supported by our favorite dummies ☺️

Todoroki Shoto:

Shoto wouldn’t think much of the scars

He would probably have seen them in passing when you reached for something

He’d seen them once during training when Bakugo’s explosions destroyed one of the sleeves of your gym uniform

He watched you tuck your arm away

When he saw that he noticed more

You always wore long sleeves (even on hot days)

Your hero costume had long sleeves

You always pulled at the cuffs of your shirts and sweaters

As someone with a big scar on his face he would understand the embarrassment of having visible scars

What he didn’t quite understand was the scratching

You had your hand tucked up your sleeve once when he saw it

Tiny amounts of blood stained your sleeve

Recovery Girl checked on you often

You always smiled at her like everything was fine

She’d heal your open wounds and give you snacks

Your cheeks heated every time

You struggled to keep eye contact with her

He didn’t know how to approach the question

So he figured he’d do what he does best

Quietly support you

He’d see your hand go up your sleeve and he gently put him own on it while not saying anything

He’ll hold you hand more

He’ll ask it you were okay when you’d get twitchy

One day the class is talking about a trip you’re taking

The beach, you internally panic

Shoto would ask if the two of you could watch a movie in your room that night

When he showed up you were picking a movie

“We don’t have to go to the beach if you don’t want to” He says

You freeze and look back at him

He doesn’t say anything else

“It’s not that I don’t want to go, I just-“ You cut yourself off and unintentionally look at your arms

He scoots to sit in front of you, offering his hands to you

You hold his hands, “I just don’t want to wear a bathing suit..”

He hums in consideration

You confess to why

“Can I see..?” He asks softly

You nod and push up your sleeves

He pulls your arms close to his face

He can tell the difference between the old and new scars

He’ll gently kiss all the ones he can tell are new

You struggle to not pull your arms back in embarrassment

He stared at you, “If anyone can understand, I think it’s me.”

He points to his face nonchalantly

You bite your lip, part of you wants to chuckle the other part wants to cry

He pulls you in for a hug, “Scars or not, I still think you’re beautiful and I love you regardless”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and squeeze him

He doesn’t want to watch you hurt yourself but he wants you to know he’s here for you unconditionally

Kirishima Eijiro:

Similar to Todoroki he’d have been observing your attire, interactions with Recovery Girl, etc

I’m not gonna type that out again

Honestly, he probably thinks having scars makes you a badass

However, he understand having low-self esteem over something some people may consider ‘within your control’

The two of you had been together for some time

He didn’t notice it was a nervous tick until you started dating

He’d ask if you were okay when he noticed

You’d stop or say you were fine

You were sparring with Mina when her acid burned through your shirt sleeves

In a panic you threw off your shirt (obvi you have an undershirt on)

Scars litter your arms from shoulder to wrist

You rushed out of the gym due to feeling so exposed

Claimed you were getting a new top to Aizawa before he could argue

Kirishima ran after you

Gods you were fast

When he finally caught up with you, you were already in your room

He’d knock on your door gently

He’d hear you stifle a noise, probably tears

“Babe- it’s just me.”

You shuffle in your room

“Talk to me (Y/N)” He’d plead gently

You’d open the door eventually

“What happened out there?” His voice was quiet

You open your mouth to say something but stop and just look at your forearms

He’s reach out to touch them but hesitate and ask

You’d agree after a moment

He’d rub his thumbs and fingers over them

He could tell they were self inflicted due to their patterns

He’d show you a few of his own self inflicted scars

He’d explain that he’d unintentionally cut himself with his quirk

He’d reassure you that they’re badass and that they don’t make you any less of who you are

Would be the type to encourage you not to be ashamed

Would make sure he can be some sort of emotional support when you get twitchy

Kaminari Denki:

This doofus

In all honesty you’d have to have some level of thick skin to date this idiot

This guy would be so oblivious of the scars

Wouldn’t even notice them

He’d be oblivious to the nervous tick at first

I swear he has no spatial awareness when it’s not shoved in his face

He figured you had allergies that made you itchy

Would absolutely offer allergy meds or anti itch cream

Would actively ask why you wear long sleeve shirts all the time

You snort and make some sort of snarky retort but totally not answer the question in any way

That would make him curious

Once when hanging out playing games in your room he took it upon himself to dig through your closet

“HOW ARE THERE ONLY LONG SLEEVE SHIRTS IN HERE??” He’d cry out

You’d be embarrassed and scowl at him

He’d apologize for his statement immediately

You’d sigh and wave it off

He’d see a scar on the inside of your wrist while you held the controller

You’d pull at your sleeve subconsciously

One day

Denki would burst into your room to show you something

He has no sense of privacy

His face burns red because you’re changing out of your uniform

You had just the bottoms of your uniform and a tank top on

He’d see your arms

You scream at him to get out while blushing a color he didn’t think anyone could become

He’s frozen and staring at you

You’d try to physically remove him but he just gently grabs your wrists

You’d make an abysmal attempt to get him to let go

His thoughts are spiraling with curiosity and concern

Your drop your head while he held your wrists and looked at your arms

Ashamed and embarrassed you’d mumble, “Denki, please stop..”

He’d snap back to reality hearing you

“Is this why you only wear long sleeves?” He’d ask quietly

You’d nod

Denki would pull you into a firm hug

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

Feels guilty about how insensitive he’d been

Part of you never wanted him to know

The other part of you knew he’d find out eventually

The two of you sat in your room and talked about it

You stayed in your tank top even though you felt very exposed

You explain that it’s a nervous tick that got out of control

Like Kirishima he would tell you how badass you look and encourage you not to be ashamed

“You’re a lot more than just scars and anxiety, (Y/N).” He says nonchalantly

He’ll be more proactive in making sure you’re okay

Will absolutely flirt with you 10x’s more than usual

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suttttton · 3 years

Note

groundhog day?! 👀👀👀 i love time loops alsdghkagsdh blease

Groundhog Day is about our dear Elias getting stuck in a time loop between the day before the Unknowing (when he’s briefing everyone) and (more or less) the apocalypse. It starts after he dies in the original apocalypse, so he initially thinks it’s his second chance to create an apocalypse where That Doesn’t Happen. Then when he gets sent back again soon after the second apocalypse starts he thinks maybe the Eye wants Jon to fully embrace Beholding?? Then when that still doesn’t work he’s like??? Okay maybe the Eye cares about the rest of these people for some reason and I need to get them all to become full-fledged avatars??? And that goes on for. A while. Just Elias trying every way he can think of to start the apocalypse and continually failing.

Eventually, his desire for power dissolves beneath the weight of his desire to not be caught in this time loop anymore. He decides that the way to break the time loop is to simply not start the apocalypse. Easy. He abandons everyone at the Institute without a word of explanation and goes into “retirement”. And then eight months later Jon just??? Appears in his basement??? In real bad shape, covered in spiderwebs, desperately needing a statement. So Elias finds one for him, and wouldn’t you know it?? The Webpocalypse starts.

Luckily, the time loop resets again. Now Elias knows that he can’t just leave Jon to his own devices, he needs to steer him away from getting marked. But the thing is. Why would late s3 Jon ever, in a million years, listen to Elias’ advice? So Jon just keeps throwing himself in front of danger and Elias has to keep running after him, having the worst time trying to stop the apocalypse and completely regretting all of his previous choices. It’s great.

Also slowly, slowly, slowly, Elias falls deeply and inescapably in love with Jon. This fic has a lot of really fun, borderline crack scenes (and a lot of really terrible scenes where Elias brutally murders people we like), but I’m really, seriously hoping that i can pull off this complicated one-sided romance thing. What do you do when the person you love is a living testament to your sins? (Answer: You give up everything for them)

This answer is already really long but I’m going to put an excerpt under the cut anyway because I just wrote this scene a few nights ago, and I like it. It’s from one of the final loops, in which Martin gets stuck in the Coffin, and Elias goes in after him to keep Jon safe from the Buried mark. When they get back, Elias hands Martin off to Jon and immediately leaves in order to avoid admitting to Jon and himself that he is doing Really Bad, actually:

Elias drives himself home.

He unlocks his front door.

He stares at the mirror in the entryway for a long time, thinking.

He decides that cleaning up should be his first priority.

He realizes with a bit of manic humor that, although this is his second time in the Buried, it’s his first time washing the dirt off. But it doesn’t matter. He’s seen it so many times by now. He knows, more or less, what to expect from the process.

His entire body aches, but he refuses to fill his tub with that black sludge. Instead of sinking into a warm bath, he stands, letting the water rush over him, turned up as hot as he can stand it. He doesn’t look to see what splatters against the shower floor.

He scrubs at his skin, hard, but the washrag comes away black. There’s no perceivable difference to the level of dirt on his skin. He keeps scrubbing, to no avail.

Eventually, he starts to feel light-headed. Passing out in the shower sounds like a bad idea, so he shuts the water off. Pats himself dry with a towel he’s sure is now ruined. He goes to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water. Between sips, he holds it to his forehead, enjoying the coolness. He wonders if he’s feverish, or if it’s just the leftover heat from the shower.

He drains the glass, then pours another and takes it with him to the guest bathroom. He starts to fill the tub with hot water, knowing now that his legs won’t support him for long enough to get the dirt fully cleaned off.

He steps in and, as expected, the water turns black almost immediately. He drains the tub, fills it again. And again.

In past, watching Jon do this so many times, it’s taken as many as 15 tries to get the water to finally clear.

Elias passes 15 and keeps going. Twenty. Thirty. He’s absolutely exhausted, and the water is still utterly black, opaque. A nightmare.

Elias swallows, wonders if this is a problem specific to this loop. He checks in on Martin and Jon, expecting to see them dealing with the same mess. But they’re already tucked into what looks like a very soft bed, curled around each other. Martin is clean. Safe. Loved.

Something hot and thick curls into Elias’ throat, and he swallows, trying to clear it. It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Buried release Martin, but not him?

This is all so pointless.

The thought takes him by surprise, the kind of depressive candor that he doesn’t normally allow himself.

Honestly, though, what does he think is going to happen? Okay, he saved Jon from getting marked by the Buried, at the cost of himself. The Web will just find another way to mark him. Same with the Slaughter. All he’s done is buy Jon a temporary reprieve.

The world will end. The loop will repeat. He can’t stop it.

He’s so tired.

A sob forces it way from his throat, much as he tries to suppress it. He tries to keep a lid on his composure. He can’t fall apart, he doesn’t want to fall apart.

But it’s like falling, like gravity. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

He tucks his head into his elbow, leaned against the side of the tub, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Elias cries. There’s simply nothing else he can do.

Then something grabs him, beneath the black sludge he’s sat in. A hand that isn’t a hand, curling around his ankle.

Elias jerks away, out of the tub, filthy water sloshing onto the floor around him. His heart is hammering in his chest, painfully loud. He presses both hands to his mouth, biting back a scream, trying to smother the panicked hissing of his breaths.

After a few moments of nothing happening, nothing crawling out of the tub after him, Elias stands. His hands shake as he towels himself off, and he can’t bring himself to turn his back on the tub. He backs out of the room, makes his way back to the kitchen.

He pours himself another glass of water, makes himself a sandwich that he can barely force himself to eat. The adrenaline subsides, eventually, replaced by nausea and a hopeless kind of exhaustion. He drags himself to his bedroom, collapses on his bed. His blankets will all need to be replaced, and that’s such a trivial concern it almost makes him laugh.

He sleeps. The nightmares shouldn’t be able to touch him, but they do anyway.

#is elias in-character? i don't know #this is a man who told jon he looked like swiss cheese as far as i'm concerned anything goes with elias #asks #inklingofadream #elias time loop fic

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bowtied-pasta · 4 years

Text

True and Splendor mafia au stuff 🥰

A night off and a pretty dress she had hung outside of her closet days ago catching her eye several times, seeming to call to her to put it on and go out. That’s how she ended up in this bar.

It was an unfamiliar bar, not Ben’s. The alcohol still fairly priced and the atmosphere was still welcoming. As unwise as it may seem to go out on her own, but she was sure nothing would happen to her. Having a don as a friend could get you some cushy comfort you wouldn’t think possible in a place run by gangs and mobsters, but as long as she stuck to the right parts of town, she was safe.

This led her to ordering a drink she knew well. The flavor fruity and the alcohol levels not too dangerous. Sipping on it and thinking over a few things she would need to get done over the next couple days, making idle notes in a small pad of paper she had taken with her in her bag.

Her writing slowed as her brain drifted to far less organized thoughts. Thoughts of her friend that offered her so much comfort in areas like this, even if he wasn’t around. Splendor, or Dots, as she had taken to calling him.

She wasn’t dumb. She knew her own emotions well. She liked him, a lot. It was dumb to hope for the same on his end though. What could she possibly have to offer him? He was a don for one of the most dangerous gangs around, if she was being honest. He was powerful. He could have anybody. So why would he have her?

His dropping by her workplace to get a coffee near everyday were some of her favorite times. He always seemed to know when to stop by, meaning when they were slower or when she had just clocked out for break. He was a great friend. She tells herself that every time he directs that smile at her. Every time she manages to make him laugh. Every time he says something sweet or holds her hand to walk her somewhere.

A very good friend.

She sighed and closed her notebook. Dropping it back in her purse with the pen and placing her head in her hands. She knew note taking was blown now. Her train of thought had been consumed by her friend and she knew she wouldn’t stop thinking about him until... well... ever. Really.

She huffed, lifting her head and picking up her drink. She lifted it to her lips, taking in the room while taking a sip. Her eyes shot open when she spotted a familiar man across the room that was moving towards her, causing her to chug her drink suddenly and choke on the offending liquid before coughing. She slammed her glass down and fumbled for a napkin to wipe her face. Why was Splendor here?

Still lightly coughing when he reach the table, her cheeks were flushed a bright pink and her eyes were watering as she worked to catch her breath. “Splendor, uh... Hi?”

He looked taken aback when she turned to him, sitting next to her in the booth quickly and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? You look ready to cry. Did something happen? Was it someone here?”

She watches his eyes glance around the room for anyone that might be the cause of her troubles, but she metaphorically bats away his troubles with a hand as she takes a sip of her drink to try and soothe her throat. “Its nothing like that, I just uh... I choked on my drink a bit. I’m fine now though, thank you.”

He relaxed next to her, his arm around her pulling her into his side. The small hug causing her cheeks to warm a bit more. “I’m glad it’s nothing too bad. What are you doing on this side of town anyway? I mean, its still a safe area, I’m sure you know that.”

“Yeah,” She sighed, leaning back into the plush booth. “I know its safe here, and I kinda wanted something different. I heard this place had good atmosphere, so I decided to take a look.”

She watched him nod along to what she was saying, suddenly curious. “So what are you doing here? I mean, obviously you can pretty much go where you please. But, you know.”

He chuckled, picking up his own drink that she hadn’t seen him bring over. Taking a sip before responding. She found her buzzed focus watching his lips against the glass, shaking herself out of it before he could notice. “I actually heard you were here. Wanted to make sure you were okay. Can’t have my favorite lady getting hurt, can I?”

She was shocked, eyes wide and locked on him as he shot her a wink with a soft smirk. It wasn’t often she saw him smug. It was even less often that something so flirty was said so directly. But it couldn’t have been meant that way. Right?

He sighed as he set his drink down, getting up while patting her hand. “I’m going to get you a knew drink, one for myself as well. I’ll be right back, okay?”

She sat frozen as he moved across the bar. Did he actually just flirt with her? Maybe the alcohol here was stronger than she thought? Maybe she was misunderstanding things? He had never been so direct before. Or maybe it really was just a friendly statement. She was the only girl she knew he talked to on such a level. She had met Finley already, one of his top people, but she wasn’t close to him. Finley wasn’t his friend.

So maybe she really is his favorite lady, if not just because she was very likely the only other woman he knew well enough to say he knew her. She finishes off her drink and nods to herself in reassurance. Thats what it was. She was just misunderstanding.

Even telling herself this, she couldn’t help but watch him walk back toward her. She could feel that stupid smile stretch over her face as he moved. Her alcohol washed mind made everything look hazy, all except him. She wasn’t drunk, but she could only really focus on him. Maybe the alcohol here is stronger than she thought, no... it definitely was.

He slid a drink over to her, the color was pink and she could tell it was fruity, but she had no idea what it was. She knew he wouldn’t give her anything bad though, so she thanked him before taking a sip and telling him he picked well.

He smiled at her, sliding his arm over her shoulder and scooting in closer. She didn’t feel caged in by him, but his behavior was still a bit odd. He usually wasn’t this touchy with her. The most she had gotten out of him in the past was hand holding.

“You know, True.” He started, watching her drink more of her beverage. “You’re very pretty tonight.”

She took a second to process what he said, leaning against him and tilting her head up to look at him. “You think so?”

Her muddled mind focused on his face, watching the soft look he gave her, feeling something playing with her hair. “I do. If I’m being honest though, I think you’re beautiful all the time.”

She awed softly, grabbing at his jacket as she nuzzled into him. The drink he had gotten her having hit her like a brick wall. “Thats so sweet. You know, I think you look good all the time too. And I like your laugh. And I like your sense of humor. I like a lot of things about you.”

She didn’t see him tilt his head and stare at her incredulously. His hand stilled in her hair and he subtly moved her drink away from her before she could drink anymore. “You think so?”

She wiggled until her legs were draped over his, looking up at him and struggling to focus. Damn, that drink really was a hard hitter. He didn’t mean to get her this drunk.

“I do think so. I think you’re an amazing man that deserves a lot of good things. I think your laugh is nice. I think you’re one of the kindest men I know, regardless of your job. I know you would never hurt me. You protect me, even if you think I don’t see it.” She trailed off, mumbling into his chest. Humming as his hand picked back up in her hair and he hummed to himself in thought.

“That’s sweet of you to say, bumblebee. Thank you for your candor.” He gently tugged her hair back until she was looking up at him blearily, her eyes glassy and cheeks a dusty pink. “I’ll have you know I feel very much the same about you.”

Her eyes fluttered and she gasped, shoving away from him gently. Pointing a finger at his chest and poking him. “You like me? Really? Oh god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why you like me, but I like Splendor. I can’t possibly return your feelings. I’m sorry, but he’s too perfect to give up on quite yet. I know my chances, but he’s so nice and he’s so perfect. We can still be friends though. Just, just don’t tell Splendor okay? Its our little secret. Shhhh. Shhhh...”

He sat there, eyes wide as she stumbled on in her accidental confession. The humor of the situation making him struggle not to laugh as she placed a finger to his lips and shushed him. “Your secret is safe with me, bumblebee. I promise.”

#splendorman #true #my oc

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coreastories · 4 years

Text

Modern Royals: The queen bares her heart about her new project, her queenship, and the king

This author is very honored (and tickled) to be invited to the palace for a private tete-a-tete with the queen

This isn’t exclusive, but I did get a note from The Royal Public Affairs Office that I’m the first in the lineup of the press junket, so yes, I screamed in the powder room

Also in the note: As long as I interview the queen about her project, I can ask other questions I want. They’re confident that I would remain respectful of Her Majesty’s privacy.

Well! They knew how to rein me in, didn’t they?

The October air was crisp and cold that morning but the thought of meeting the queen warmed me up. We were offered breakfast upon arrival. My team ate. I couldn’t. I was too excited. You remember that I’ve been dreaming of an interview with the queen for ages!

At eight, we were brought to the interview location. The media room was simple, with zero clutter. The furniture was modern minimalist. The walls were white, the floor-to-ceiling windows were bare. Your eyes were drawn to the lush grounds.

And it was so warm you could forget it was autumn. Rather than a press junket, the room gave the impression that the queen was meeting you as a friend, invited to relax in that gorgeous room.

Once there, I discovered I could eat. I drank tea and had some of the best scones I’ve ever had.

At eight fifteen, the queen arrived in her trademark, understated elegance. Barely any makeup. No lipstick. Hair splendid and shining but unstyled. Her outfit looked like something you wore at home, because of course it might be a palace but it was her home.

Well, something you wore at home in different brands, unless you’re also upper crust Corean who can afford head-to-toe Chanel, because the queen’s outfit was all Chanel, from her Coco Crush earrings to her suede calfskin and grosgrain mary janes.

Her Majesty was just lovely. She made us feel like friends. If I weren’t in love with her before, I would certainly have been head over heels then.

Don’t get me wrong-- the queen is not friendly in that overly familiar style that just manipulates you to respond in the same way. No, the queen simply charms you with her sincerity, despite her obvious shyness. If she asks you a question, she genuinely wants to know the answer-- it’s not just small talk.

When everything was ready, the queen sat in her chosen chair. We shared a laugh because it’s exactly the type of chair the king didn’t want her to sit on when Their Majesties dropped in on us for his flash interview.

Without further ado, darlings, here’s my interview with the queen on her new project.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

The Queen’s project revolves around Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, a day of remembrance for pregnancy loss and infant death, which includes, but is not limited to, miscarriage, stillbirth, SIDS, and the death of a newborn.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is held on October 15 in several countries. Are we going to have a separate day for it in Corea, Your Majesty?

HM The Queen: I found out about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day on the same day it was confirmed that I’m pregnant. So we’ve been working on this project for several weeks. I wanted to unveil it on the remembrance day, but I didn’t want that strict deadline on anybody’s head.

Thankfully, we still managed to be quite close to the Remembrance Day. So we are launching the Eomoni Foundation this year and Corea will join the international Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day next year.

The Eomoni Foundation

Eomoni Foundation is literally “Mother” Foundation. Is it for all mothers in Corea?

HM The Queen: Yes. Mothers do so much, even before the moment they learn they’re expecting a child. When they’re trying to conceive, or when they suspect they’re pregnant and they’re not sure yet if it’s happy or unwelcome news. There’s just so much there, unspoken and unrecognized. Eomoni Foundation stands for everything a mother needs before, during and after pregnancy.

Because of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, we’ve talked to experts on how to support this often overlooked aspect of becoming a mother.

Mothers who lose their children during pregnancy or infancy need the most support. So Eomoni Foundation is their safe harbor, where they can come for informational, emotional, medical, and peer support.

And the foundation is truly up and running?

HM The Queen: Yes. The helpline is up, the website is live, and Eomoni Foundation has fully-staffed centers in Seoul, Busan, Pyongyang and Hamgyong. Of course, we’re still learning everything, but we have reliable models from other foundations worldwide. The Queen’s Office and the Office of the Prime Minister are both working together to have a Eeomoni Center in every city in Corea.

What’s your goal for the foundation, short term and long-term?

HM The Queen: We’re in talks with the Ministry of Labor about requiring all private and government businesses and organizations to have training for Infant Loss and Bereavement. I want parents to have company policies and HR that support them. This is both the short and long-term goal, to change policies and laws to support parents in this difficult time.

I suppose this is very personal for you, Your Majesty, now that you’re expecting? How has that affected this project you whipped up so quickly?

HM The Queen: Of course, it’s personal. And this is almost never discussed because it’s terrifying, but this is a mother’s biggest fear: to lose her child. It’s very real to me right now-- I can understand that fear and I can imagine the devastation and grief at this visceral level, so I wanted Eomoni Foundation up, and we do have the means to do that. There were no impediments for this project to get on its feet.

No superstitions at all that might have cautioned you against it?

HM The Queen: Ahhh yes, there was something said about it, but even the most superstitious understood. I mean, of course I wouldn’t want anything to happen. But not touching this because of that has no logic at all. No one wants to get cancer, and should that mean we couldn’t touch support and research and funds for cancer patients?

So we pushed through with this, because this is absolutely needed.

Congratulations, Your Majesty, this is stupendous.

HM The Queen: Thank you. We had a lot of help. Her Excellency, of course. And Dr Chae. And Elizabeth Locke of the Infant Loss Foundation in the United Kingdom. The Corean Association of Counseling is also offering training specifically for Infant Loss Counseling, under Eomoni Foundation.

That’s wonderful. Your Majesty, you’ve had so many projects since becoming queen. It makes my head spin. Do these help with the adjustment from your previous job to this one? Did you have an adjustment period at all? How--what was it like? You’re handling so much, and now you’re also pregnant.

HM The Queen: I’ve been a public servant ever since I became an adult, and my role now just continues that, only on a bigger scale.

I got married. And my marriage happened to come with a queenship.

The adjustment period was more on the small “big” things, like people bowing, and not being able to go out and about like I used to, and events where I’m the center of attention instead of being invisible in the background.

I had to learn the protocol and I had to get used to so many things. I suppose I was already trained for this because a cop should be adaptive. You need to be nimble for every case, every situation, and if you transfer to another station or another department-- or if you even just get promoted--you also need to adjust there. You shouldn’t get comfortable, or be afraid of change.

It’s such a huge change, Your Majesty. Do you ever feel regret for what you gave up? Do you ever think of your previous career?

HM The Queen: No. I made my choice and it’s something I don’t regret at all. I do think of my previous job. Who wouldn’t? But even though I loved it, I wasn’t really in a position of influence.

After becoming queen, I had to wrap my head around the fact that I can do what I want. I’m in this position where I can help and serve people without all the bureaucracy I would have had to go through first.

Once I’ve done that, I filled pages and pages of notes on everything I could do for Corea. That’s why you’re seeing so many projects. I talk to the Prime Minister a lot. Secretary Mo is also a great advisor. I have a lot to learn if I want to be a working queen.

The king is supportive, of course. And the king and I have always planned to have a family. So having a baby is just part of everything, too. I went into this with both eyes open and I’m determined to do my best.

That’s what it’s like. I’m learning, adjusting, asking questions. I do have a lot of help. And for many of my projects, I’m simply a patron. I get it off the ground, I raise funds, the experts do the work.

I admire that so much, Your Majesty. Thank you for your candor. I’ve always been curious, what does being patron of these foundations involve?

HM The Queen: It involves signatures and funding for the most part, and support where needed, for both the best developments and any bad circumstances.

How are you, ma’am? No more morning sickness? I hope it’s alright to ask that. Everyone’s thinking about you.

It’s adorable how the queen refused to touch her baby bump throughout the interview, but often came close to doing so anyway.

HM The Queen: I do still get sick now and then. We’re told this is normal and might go away. Or not. And I thank everyone for their concern. I’m very well taken care of. Sometimes to the point of excess, but I’ve learned to accept some of it, and we’ve all gotten better at it.

Can you share something about that, Your Majesty?

HM The Queen: Well, the king is almost back to normal and no longer snaps at Jangmi’s every move. I mean Jang Mi-reuk. And Lady Noh is always giving me tisanes and soups. I’ve told her which ones I like and which ones I absolutely wouldn’t drink, so we’ve all come to an agreement.

How is the king? Is he excited-terrified, or excited-impatient?

HM The Queen: I think he tries to be neither. We’re excited, of course, but we try to temper that and just stick to happiness every day. We just savor each day.

That is lovely, but also surprising. So you don’t plan for May, for example? No birth plan?

HM The Queen: That’s already done. We got it out of the way on the first days. We don’t dwell on it. We enjoy each new day, each new milestone.

So I suppose you have names ready?

HM The Queen: Ahh, I think I’ve been told not to say anything about that.

That reminds me of that time Your Majesties dropped by! Can I ask you some of those questions?

HM The Queen: Of course, you can ask me. I just won’t guarantee the answers.

I’ve always been curious about that blessing His Majesty mentioned. He said, and I quote, that you “were blessed by God to meet and stay together. God made sure our paths would cross and stay intertwined.” What does this mean?

HM The Queen: That’s exactly what it means. We were fated to meet, and then fate kept us together, as cheesy as that sounds. All our doubts and fears were answered and addressed.

That’s just as cryptic as what the king said. Let me capture something non-cryptic at all. The rings you’re wearing right now. They’re the Coco Crush rings. Any significance? We haven’t seen your wedding rings at all.

HM The Queen: My wedding and engagement rings are both very thin bands-- and they don’t fit my fingers right now. These aren’t part of my bridal jewelry. They are gifts from the king. I wear them sometimes when I’m at home.

And when he’s not home? When she misses him? The king is currently away on kingly duties to Russia, China, Thailand, and Singapore.

First thing that comes to mind: what do you love about the king?

HM The Queen: His dimples. So I guess that’s his smile. The rest of him isn’t bad at all either. You think he’s vain but he’s not. He’s a man of principle. What he said in your interview was right: He does know how to joke in difficult situations.

It amazed me that I didn’t become a puddle of goo in that gorgeous press room at that point. Despite her smiles and giggling, there was something in the queen’s eyes that told me she’d witnessed a demonstration of the king’s stalwart principle. This queen admires and respects her king in the highest degree. And these two are so in love it’s almost contagious-- no wonder the whole kingdom is in love with their love, too.

It’s probably his principles that took him away from you these days?

HM The Queen: Well, these diplomatic visits have been scheduled for months. He comes home from Singapore in a few days.

Just in time for the King’s Birthday?

HM The Queen: Hopefully.

What is something you adore about the king, something we won’t see or notice at all because we don’t live with him, but something we can watch out for in public appearances?

HM The Queen: If you ever see him pick something up with his right hand, sometimes his pinkie would be sticking out. He hates it when that happens, but it’s not really something he can control.

And laughing at that little detail, our interview came to an end. I feel quite blissful. I don’t know if I’d asked what I’d wanted to ask, but I’m content.

Stay tuned because we’ll be back at the palace for the king’s birthday!

For more information about Eomoni Foundation, go here.

Images from Elle Korea interview video. Love that so much.

LMH’s pinkie sticking out is as true as KGE missing her pockets lol

#CoreaNews #CoreaFiction #the king eternal monarch #the king: eternal monarch

77 notes · View notes

asimplearchivist · 2 years

Text

I posted 442 times in 2022

That's 442 more posts than 2021!

14 posts created (3%)

428 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@longer-than-i-should-admit

@rudjedet

@snippychicke

@wickedscribbles

@fanficmemes

I tagged 442 of my posts in 2022

#humor - 225 posts

#writing - 141 posts

#fanfiction - 68 posts

#reference - 48 posts

#characters - 40 posts

#text - 35 posts

#things to remember - 32 posts

#mental health - 32 posts

#quotes - 31 posts

#bearfriend tag - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#if i'm stuck i will languish in facts and research until it's pitch black outside and i have more tabs open than there are bacterium

My Top Posts in 2022:

𝓒𝓗. 𝓘𝓥 — [𓈐𓊪𓇋𓇋𓅱] (‘𝓱𝓻𝓹𝔂𝔀’ | 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu is an odd duck, you come to find. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 12.1k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ whew. only took two months to churn this one out. it’s a bit longer than usual to make up for it. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

——————————☽☥☾——————————

Of course, even what little bit of cynicism you felt whenever you dealt with a temperamental patient, or while in the presence of a self-righteous retail client, after passing remotely near enough a news outlet to hear about the unending stream of malice demonstrated by the cruelest and most uncaring of people despite the world still trying to heal from the scarring wounds caused by the Blip, it had been frighteningly easy to slip into a similar callousness, which you had struggled with for quite some time—until Ru had made his way into the world and, subsequently, affixed himself into your life.

...No, you couldn't quite muster any blame toward Khonshu if he was embittered by the current state of things. Not when you weren't entirely happy with everything, either.

It also became increasingly plain that he did not, in fact, know a damn thing about babies.

He is unable to speak?

"He won't really start talking until he's around six months old—and even then, he'll just be babbling, not really forming words."

When will he start to eat real food?

"About six months, again."

Is he going to crawl on the ground forever?

"Until he's at least nine months, but not forever."

See the full post

7 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

𝓒𝓗. 𝓘𝓘𝓘 — [𓂋𓎨] (‘𝓻𝓱𝓷’ | 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 [𝓲𝓷])

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ the first full moon you share with khonshu is an eventful one. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 8.1k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this chapter was a bit of a struggle for me to write, a bit moreso than the last one because i’m actually having to forge the plot leading into the pockets of time passing where i’ll actually have a little more wiggle room as far as ideas should fit in. if it seems a bit choppy, that’s why—writing full-length, continuous fics is not something i’m very successful at maintaining most of the time (looks at the multiple WIPS both in my docs and posted). i’m doing my damnedest to keep this one going, though, because i love this concept and i want to do it justice. ⤏ …can you also tell that I’m atrocious at writing combat of any sort? yeah. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

——————————☽☥☾——————————

“I’ve accepted a secondary position,” you finally told Lizzie one night over dinner, on the weekend preluding your return to work. Your maternity leave had drawn to a close, and you could no longer completely withhold recent developments from your friend, as your work with Khonshu would only continue to occupy your nights after the end of your shifts. She needed to know that you’d be out until the wee hours of the morning, even if you couldn’t give her the entire reason why. “It’s going to keep me working a lot later than what we’re used to. Do I need to arrange for a sitter? I know Ru can be a lot to handle sometimes.”

Lizzie’s brows rose minutely, mid-chew from the hunk of lamb you’d meticulously prepared in anticipation of dropping the news on her. Once swallowing it down with water, she offered you a tentative smile. “You know I love taking care of him, it’s no trouble at all. But why did you take on more than what you were doing before? Won’t it wear you out?”

“It’s…something of a favor I owe an acquaintance of mine,” you told her, fiddling with your fork as you pried at the roasted chops submerged in sauce. “It’ll be tough, but it’s my responsibility for now. I’ll try to keep you posted on when I’ll be getting home once I get a better idea of what I’ll be doing.” You gave her a firm look. “And I’m serious. I’ll find someone to help with Ru if I need to—I don’t want you to have to stay up all night with him just to turn around and have to go to work the next day. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Lizzie said your name exasperatedly, patting your hand. “I promised you I would help, at least until you got back on your feet. You’re still in that process. If this is something you’ve got to do, then it’s something you’ve got to do—no buts about it. Just forgive me if I don’t make it waiting on you to get home, you know I need my beauty sleep.” Then her smile turned wry and she joked, “I just hope you’ll get paid overtime.”

“You’re not going to wait for me all night, either,” you responded, sidestepping. You suspected that service to an ancient deity didn’t exactly come with a pension. “Get as much rest as you can. That tub of lard you call a boss isn’t the forgiving sort if you were to be late.”

“‘That tub of lard I call a boss’ is paying salary, not hourly,” Lizzie replied cheekily. “As long as I get my paperwork done and return any missed calls, I’ll be fine.”

You rolled your eyes. “As I said, I’ll need to see how all this is going to work out before anything definite is decided. Just bear with me if it seems weird, at first.”

“You bore with me all throughout university,” said the ginger, “I owe you the rest of our lives babysitting for that entire mess.”

“You have a point,” you agreed with a nod, reaching for a slice of toasted bread to dunk into the marinade. “...Thank you.”

“I’ve told you a million times by now—you don’t have to thank me.” Lizzie dipped her head briefly, fiery curls bobbing. “But you’re always welcome.”

Rue made his malcontent well known at that point, and you soon had him tucked in the crook of one arm while continuing to eat and discuss the week’s plans with your friend.

Her eyes glittered with amusement, watching the ravenous baby feed for what felt like the tenth time that evening. “He’s never full and you never run out, huh? Most women I know would’ve gone dry by now.”

“I guess I’m blessed,” you replied dryly, taking a moment to brush the downy wisps of hair back from his forehead. “I certainly wouldn’t be able to afford all the formula it would take to keep him going.”

“He’ll probably be seven feet tall by the time he turns sixteen at this rate,” she chuckled. “Leave it to you to have a monster of a baby.”

You directed a smile down at your son, tracing the supple curve of his cheek with the end of your index. “All the better for him to reach the top shelves where I can’t, my dear. Oh, and to kill bugs on the ceiling. And to tote me around when puddles are too big for me to jump over. Not to mention beating off any wayward bachelors with a stick…”

Lizzie’s laughter filled the apartment in response.

——————————☽☥☾——————————

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

15 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

‘ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓. ’ | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ☾ ⤏ Khonshu possesses as many facets of divine responsibilities as the moon has its phases—a warden of protection and vengeance has been his primary identity for centuries. In addition, one might add, he patrons fertility and childbirth. ⤏ However, fatherhood is another matter entirely. 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ☾ dubcon (only in first chapter), cheating/unfaithfulness (not performed by reader), mild mention of sexual intercourse, divorce, labor/childbirth complications (non-graphic) 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ☽ canon compliant, pre-canon, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, (attempts at) humor, pining, slow burn, strangers to lovers, pregnancy, kidfic

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 ☥ [𓅘𓏏] (‘𝓷𝓗𝓽’ | 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 ☥ [𓋩𓏏] (‘𝔁𝓽𝓶𝓽’ | 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ☥ [𓂋𓎨] (‘𝓻𝓱𝓷’ | 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 [𝓲𝓷])

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 ☥ [𓈐𓊪𓇋𓇋𓅱] (‘𝓱𝓻𝓹𝔂𝔀’ | 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭)

26 notes - Posted July 5, 2022

𝓒𝓗. 𝓘𝓘 — [𓋩𓏏] (‘𝔁𝓽𝓶𝓽’ | 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you decide the terms of the pact. khonshu is just bemused enough to allow you to do so. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 5.8k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ i am…a bit overwhelmed with the warm reception to my idle domestic fantasies (feat. the least domestic character ever written) so far. i was worried i’d come to join the fandom too late lol. thank y’all so much for your words of welcome—moon knight is now my new special niche to escape from daily life and it gives me so many feelings even though i know so little about the lore. but ancient egypt? that’s an old, careworn dress i wear well. a lot of what i expound on here is based on things i know or have read in my reawakening from childhood adoration. (the amount of articles/entries i’ve read about khonshu lately is nuts. don’t at me.) ⤏ this chapter is a bit uneventful, but a little more set-up is a necessary evil. i tried to make it entertaining to compensate, at least. is this how one writes “comedy”? who knows? certainly not me. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

——————————☽☥☾——————————

Clumsy, slurred introductions when you were half-conscious had at least afforded him to know your name, in the midst of all the chaos that had followed.

After much deliberation (and quite a long time leafing through multiple worn, dog-eared name books with one hand as the other arm cradled the newborn voraciously breastfeeding, lips pursed and brows furrowed in thought), you named the boy Badru for the night he was born, opting to refer to him as 'Ru' whenever you spoke to him in an unwavering, soft and loving tone. It was a fine name; one that pleased Khonshu for the small funnel of energy that it sent him through the child's newly-strung tether—as pale as starlight illuminating dewy spider’s silk, thin and tenuous, but undoubtedly brimming of potential.

You refused to be separated from the babe for any extended lengths of time, and the nurses all shook their heads with amused smiles whenever you reached for him with splayed hands, like a child yourself, to return him to your grasp. "Found the love of her life now, she has," said one to her shadowing intern, smiling all the while. A handful of your colleagues stopped in to greet the newborn and check in on you one by one, gushing about his apparent cuteness.

Khonshu elected not to disturb you for the time being, as you had quite enough on your plate. The doctors could not understand how you had no wounds when it had been plainly obvious you'd lost an alarming amount of blood in the time before the EMTs had picked you up and had rushed you to the hospital; the nurses were astounded at how easy of a time you'd had during the birth itself, with little to no pain and strain despite it being your first. You should have been exhausted, yet you were still awake and alert and ready to face all of the routine post-labor tests and procedures performed for the most part.

You faced an entirely different beast, however, when Lizzie finally arrived half an hour after the fact, as red in the face as the hair piled on top of her head.

("What do you mean you tried to drive yourself?!"

You shrugged. "I thought it would save time."

"The doctors said you nearly bled out on the sidewalk!"

"Just a scratch," you'd returned. "I'm all right."

The ginger had growled and gestured towards the babe still sleeping, blissfully unaware, in your arms. "You're lucky you didn't lose him, too!"

"Lucky, indeed," you'd murmured, eyes glancing around the room and passing right over Khonshu's slumped form on the changing station in the corner. Whether you'd actually been trying to find him, he couldn't say, since you'd already been doing your damnedest to avoid her blazing eyes already.)

The ginger, armed with an overnight bag on each shoulder for the both of you, made herself quite at home in the room despite the tight space and the constant influx of perplexed, curious physicians and assistants. It didn't take long for her to grow tired of all the poking and prodding you'd been wordlessly enduring up until then, shooing them all out when your primary OB/GYN had confirmed that, yes, everything was fine, and there weren't any other required tests to be done. One had let you know she'd be back to check on you and the baby in an hour, and took Lizzie's ire in perfect stride.

"Page me if you need me," she said.

"I will," you responded.

Khonshu eased back into the pale cream sheet rock to the side of the windowsill, fingers drumming on his knee as he rolled his staff in his other hand. He observed silently as Lizzie dimmed the lights, reached through him to draw the curtains shut (and shivering at his presence, despite her conscious ignorance), and settled into the recliner in the corner. "I'd offer to take him, but I know better."

"I'm fine," you told her, leaning into the pillows with your head tipped back. Your eyes were closed, the top of your gown was still draped around your waist, and your skin nearly glowed in the wan shafts of moonlight peeking in through the window. Badru was sleeping soundly, and Khonshu studied the child’s features carefully.

As his blessings had worked before, the child's traits were mostly shared with his mother. A smattering of downy hair on his head matched the strands framing your face, his skin nearly melded where his body was in contact with yours, and his delicate features almost mirrored your own face. He was a healthy weight (perhaps overly so), and thus far no issues had been discovered by the physicians. A miracle, some had whispered, though any Khonshu’s blessings were rarely counted as such anymore.

The moon god’s fingers curled around his staff, the weathered gauze creaking over his knuckles. You were fine, he knew. You were no longer in any danger, thanks to his abilities—he was perfectly able to take his leave.

And yet...

"...He's precious," Lizzie commented after a while, looking up from her tablet. "You couldn't have asked for a better baby, despite everything."

"I agree," you murmured, opening your eyes to gaze down at Ru warmly. "Despite everything."

Khonshu's shoulders tightened, and he finally slipped further back into the astral plane. He had other things to which he needed to attend, and...

...Well. That you had nearly died and were made to suffer by his mistake continued to weigh heavily on him.

——————————☽☥☾——————————

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

34 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

𝓒𝓗. 𝓘 — [𓅘𓏏] (‘𝓷𝓗𝓽’ | 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu hasn’t blessed a child’s conception in centuries. a sincere young woman afflicted by unfortunate circumstances manages to turn his head. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 9.4k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ um...hello. not me sliding into the pigeon-fucker category at light-speed after hearing his voice the first time. (lying. it’s totally me.) ⤏ this fic was inspired by half-asleep musings at how khonshu would interact with a child, and it quickly devolved from there into a series of vignettes that has given me much more serotonin than a literal mummified birdman should ever have the right nor ability to. ⤏ he’ll definitely be ooc but that’s only because this is the version of khonshu that lives rent free in my brain. (also I promise this ri is not a crybaby. just a lot of shit happens at first and it gets a lot worse before it gets better. plus hormones are a bitch.) ⤏ enjoy. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

——————————☽☥☾——————————

Khonshu did not typically observe mortals with whom he had no direct interaction; his avatars were normally the only ones to whom he would speak, and he was invisible to the rest of humanity without expending precious energy to project himself fully into the physical realm. It was easiest on nights when the moon was fullest—but even still, doing so cost power he could scarcely afford to waste, given his separation from the rest of the Ennead and their shared domain. He mostly turned his attention to more important matters than the mundanity of common people who did not need his protection.

Not many mortals, especially outside of Egypt, knew about the Ennead in the present day, and even fewer knew about himself and what he represented—a comparatively microscopic fraction of those actually believed in the Ennead anymore outside strictly academic study, as advanced as their science and reason had become in light of faith towards the intangible powers that were. Thus Khonshu received very little power from the mortals themselves; it was partly why his semi-coalescent state appeared as deteriorated as it did. Relying upon the moon from which to draw his power was taxing at best, and the lack of devotion certainly didn't help.

Threads of dedication bound him to those precious few who did indeed call upon his name for the blessings he offered—protection was the most common, as scarce as it was, and vengeance often spurred him (and thus his avatar) to immediate action when his devoted faithful were wronged in any way. The tethers remained dormant most of the time and Khonshu was quick to address them whenever they did reawaken. New threads would appear occasionally, usually in the passing down of tradition from a parent to a child.

It was this reason that made the prayers of the faithful—even those ignorant to their intentions—that much more potent. It gave him an influx of power that he could scarcely contain, lasting for days at a time. Even passing, thoughtless, lofted pleas for assistance with no specific designation towards their recipient caught his attention. Often he blessed them because no other lunar deity would, too prideful to lay claim to the nameless, half-minded prayers. Khonshu had little other choice.

It was in this way that he found you—by pure, unanticipated happenstance.

The whisper tugged at him, nudging against his greater consciousness like the brush of a hand along his spine. The night was waning, the moon was beginning to descend as the sun caused the edges of the horizon to blush, and his avatar trudged through the balcony entrance to collapse face-first, already half-asleep, into the rumpled bed. The armor dissipated with the quietest susurrations of gauze over flesh, and that designated portion of Khonshu's power returned to him in a steady trickle. He ignored the sound at first, forcing the sliding glass door shut and locking it with short, pronounced gusts of air—this human would get killed from negligence, he knew, due to insufferable forgetfulness. It would serve Khonshu little good to have another avatar die so soon after the last, and this neighborhood wasn't the safest.

The weeping was what turned his head.

Plaintive, sincere heartache thrummed along the link steadily winding around his inner being, like white flaxen thread, coiling tighter and tighter until Khonshu could no longer ignore it—not quite sound, but vibrations that resonated like the echo of the more acute feelings stifled by distance. It was a fist lodged inside his chest, clenching, unyielding even while shaky, measured breaths passed through a clamped throat.

Khonshu slipped out of his tentative, semi-physical state, leaving his avatar to sleep the precious few hours before the day's work would begin, and followed the inexorable draw all the way across the Atlantic in the blink of an eye. London stood tall and winked in the clinging dark, midnight cast in a silvery hue from the moonlight streaming down from between the murky, gray clouds. The crescent moon was nearly spilling with light, full in its glow. The majority of the city was sleeping, but he could sense the nocturnal portion of the population still active in different pockets. Khonshu descended where the thread grew taught, settling upon the roof's edge of a hospital's side building, knee propping the arm curled around his staff as the other leg dangled. Ambulances wailed at his back closer to the reception for the ER and EMTs shouted at each other about the unfortunate victim of an automobile accident, but he paid them no mind. The perpetrator had been negligent, and those inside the opposing vehicle he'd struck with his own were only mildly rattled.

Out in the parking lot of the laboratory, the streetlights scarcely illuminated the scarce amount of vehicles scattered around the tarmac. He tipped his head down to peer into a vehicle that looked too old to be road-worthy, the paint faint and peeling, the tires bald and dry. He sat at such an angle that the driver's arms and lap were plainly visible, but her face was hidden. He focused on her trembling hands, the crumpled sheet clutched in her fingers and the teardrops dampening the paper, and leaned forward. Her shoulders were wracked with sobs that rippled through the tether, one golden-ringed hand lifting to smother the sounds he could only feel spilling from her clenched jaw.

No words were uttered—couldn't be, with the intensity of emotion gripping the young woman—but Khonshu could feel the crests of the tumultuous thoughts inside her mind. Typhoons of grief, cyclones of despair, and shockingly potent spearpoints of self-hatred crested and crashed, making her shake in their wake. He could sense the source of her hysteria without any degree of difficulty, as an image of the hospital's nursery filled with swaddled babes sleeping under warming lamps reared embittered and vile like a viper's bite in the back of her mind.

Her crying intensified in response, unadulterated want squeezing her from the inside, and Khonshu slipped off the edge of the roof to rest on the windowsill one story down to get a closer look.

'Test results negative.'

Ah. Khonshu laid his staff across his lap, arms folding over his thighs. He skimmed through the young woman's immediate memories, humming quietly to himself at the flashes of matrimony, of flying overseas, of making a home. Her husband wanted children more than anything, and she wanted to give them to him—today marked two years of continuous trying. Troubles in her marriage had festered to a breaking point in that time—a rotten combination of occupational complications, interpersonal tensions caused by perceived envy, and constant disappointments—and she was terrified of the looming outcome of the results for this "one last try".

Khonshu watched as she wiped the sticky trails of tears from her cheeks, sucking in a series of deep breaths in an attempt to control her emotions. She folded the damaged sheet carefully, tucking it into her purse in the passenger seat, then turned the key over. The vehicle sputtered and smoked and refused to start.

God, he felt, a punch right to his gut. Can this night get any worse?

Khonshu sensed her pain. A long, unforgiving day in the maternity ward, assisting new mothers in birth, filling in for vacancies made by other nurses who failed to arrive for their shifts by working late into the evening. The nursery used to be her respite, her haven of quiet and calm, but the jealous, caustic streak that had long grown lodged under her rib worsened it all. Receiving the blood test results from the sympathetic, knowing laboratory technician after clocking out had sealed the sarcophagus, so to speak.

He had dealt with many ailing, aspiring mothers throughout time. He had stimulated livestock to produce in times of hardship, and he had promoted many births for just, sincere couples desiring families—countless babes were conceived on nights like this one, with bright crescent moons, many of whom had been named after him in gratitude. It was an ability that had always delighted Tawaret to no end, and she had always thanked him profusely for his contributions—but that was before his banishment. He hadn't much cared for the sponsorship of new lives when so many of them grew up to incur his wrath, and what kindness and mercy he'd once had was limited. His exuberant efforts to better the mortal’s lives had reduced him to a shell of what he'd used to be, and though he still dedicated his existence to protecting the innocents, he had little tolerance for anyone else.

This young woman, however…

Khonshu's fingers tightened around his staff, watching her drop her forehead against the steering wheel and let out a short, shrill shriek of frustration—this he heard, piercing his skull and resonating like a broken, plucked string. He winced and slipped from the building altogether to approach the vehicle in a slow, cautious stride.

The bags under her eyes were startling, dark against the otherwise healthy tone of her skin, and the red streaking in her sclerae proved how long she'd been upset—held tightly in the base of her throat until she'd enclosed herself in the semi-privacy of her vehicle. Her knuckles were white around the steering wheel, her face scrunched into a pitiful, agonized expression.

She was a protector and a healer of those most vulnerable in the night, often taking the late shifts to monitor the health of her newborn charges, as well as their weary, recovering mothers. She was an extension of himself and his dogma, even if she was unaware of it. Perhaps this was why her distress had drawn him so strongly.

Khonshu studied her profile carefully, watching as defeat finally settled into the slump of her frame and the sorrow in her eyes.

"...I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered, and with his proximity, the words struck him like blows from a club despite her being completely ignorant to his presence. "I'm begging—I need some relief. Something. Else I..."

She didn't finish the thought. She didn't have to. She let out a long sigh, shaking her head at herself in evident deprecation.

"What're you even doing?" she murmured, tilting her head back to rest against the seat. "No one listens. No one ever does."

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105 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

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note-a-bear · 3 years

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Oh! I also found out today that one of my managers has been salty for like almost two months because I told him the closer needed to do the entire fucking work routine ONCE and I was not polite enough because I was trying to get out because we don't get overtime and I was already like 15 minutes over my time and id worked like...idk how to phrase it in a way ppl who don't work grocery understand, but somewhere in the neighborhood of several hundred items that are all temperature sensitive, made the order worked material HIS closers hadn't worked for four days AND just finished staging the work for them so that all they had to do was bring the product to the floor (which, ironically, it never made it and we had to scrap maybe 25 pounds of meat 🙃)

Like. This man is such a sensitive brittle ass bitch and I'm so fucking tired of it. He's always got a story or an excuse and the result is his team never has any accountability to anyone else.

None of this is hard. The fundamental objective is to look at what is in storage or recently received and then look at what is empty or low on the floor. Thassit. And somehow everything becomes a battle of wills or personality and I just don't fucking care enough.

I'm happy to make friends, but I'm there to do a job. I don't care about the company, I don't care about making sure I kiss the right ass. I've told off my direct boss and the store boss before. I'll tell off whoever has earned it. (And as much as I hate it, I expect the same level of candor/respect if I go too far or am shirking an expectation of my job.)

None of this is deep enough that any of us should be taking this personally or wasting time tweaking someone else's nose.

#work stories #don't reblog

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pierreslittleredblog · 3 years

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Inside the Eastern Bloc: A Brief History Of The Ex-USSR

“All victories inevitably come at a cost.” ‑ Mikhaïl Gorbachev, HBO Chernobyl

Nikola Tesla Boulevard on a summer evening, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Tale Of Winners & Losers

Nothing feels more hopeless than a self-destructing world around you. We often forget how easy we have it, snuggled in our cocoons of excessive love and smothering. Sometimes, we need to be remembered who we are and where we come from. Not too long ago did our grandparents struggled and fought for their basic needs. Of course, now, with our technology, we don’t even have to worry about the basic survival priorities of the past. With the simple click of a button, we can have everything delivered to our doorstep without even raising an arm.

Ah, doesn’t it feel good to taste the sweet fruits of our capitalistic labor? Isn’t it great to be the “winners” of today’s world? Sometimes, we tend to forget that our victories come at a great cost. Sometimes, we forget to humanize our enemies. They too can love, laugh, cry and fear. They too, are humans like us.

Propaganda poster of Yuri Gagarin - Photo Source: @soviet.propaganda on Instagram

Watch Out For The Communist!

Let me ask you a question: How many times have you heard the word “communist” on the news? My guess of your answer is quite a few times. Although rare, sometimes it is used simply to describe the people that identify with the socialist Marxist-Leninist ideology. Most of the time though, it is used as a pure and simple insult. An insult that describes everything we don’t understand, fear, and dislike.

This exact description though is exactly what our grandparents were told about the red flag-carrying “commies” over in the eastern bloc. When the canons of wars tear through the skies, governments tend to create a sense of unity within their population to, somehow, justify the war on a national scale. They dehumanize their enemies and convince us that we must fear the others, and win this war at all cost (as they did with Vietnam).

But when we don’t even know who our enemies are, how can we fully grasp what’s at stake?

Propaganda poster of Lenin’s revolution - Photo Source: @comrade_quotes on Instagram

Rise Up, Comrade!

Before getting into the modern Soviet Union (the 1970s-1990s), let’s focus on the beginning. If you went over to the former republics of the Soviet Union in 2021, you would notice how terrible everything looks. Potholes, crumbling buildings, outdated trolleybuses, and subway cars, beaten up Lada’s plowing through knee-deep puddles under the unimpressed look of the driver’s face.

When you come to witness this spectacle in person, it is easy to assume that the Soviets must’ve had it rough back in the day, and boy you would’ve been right. Once the Tsars were no more, the new Soviet party lead by the revolutionist Vladimir Lenin promised a bright and equal future turned on the workers and the equal distribution of their labor. However, this promise wouldn’t be easy to achieve. What followed afterward were decades and decades of purges, wars, hard work, and brutal leadership by our good ol’ friend Comrade Stalin. Some argue about Uncle Joe’s good intentions, but this is not what I want to focus on. Here I want to talk about the last soviet’s aspirations and dreams, the ones our western leaders promised to crush for our freedom.

Haludovo Palace of Kirk, Croatia - Photo Source: @socmod on Instagram

For The Happiness Of All Mankind

The 1970s was a great time to be a Soviet. If you were a citizen, you would’ve been able to move into brand new apartments, get a stable job in any industry you wish, get all the food you can eat, obtain the diploma you wanted, have access to healthcare, you would even be able to get a brand new Lada, and all for free! Yes, you’ve read that right: for free.

Communism in the Soviet Union wasn’t about a totalitarian regime and oppressing its citizens (as the western propaganda wants us to believe), it was about universal free access to one’s every need. Now of course there were some questionable policies such as limited free speech and limited access to the outside world beyond the iron curtain (however more and more freedoms were given to the Soviets in the 1980s with the arrival of Mikhail Gorbachev into office). The Soviet Union wasn’t lacking behind in technology either, in fact, it was the world’s second industrial and military superpower back in its heyday! They even sent the world’s first man into space.

This is what the real Soviet Union was about: unity and comradeship. They truly had a will to build a greater future for humanity and like us today, they had reached such a level of comfort that a bright future was taken for granted by everybody in the USSR.

However, this candor belief in a great future would suddenly come to a brutal end.

Edge of the Chernobyl Red Forest, Ukraine - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

Porridge With A Side Of Radiation

It’s April 26th, 1986. In a small town of the Ukrainian SSR, citizens are eating breakfast and preparing for yet another routine day. Children are headed to school and parents, to work. Some of them could notice smoke coming out of the industrial site nearby, and others had heard rumors about a possible roof fire that started in the night.

However, nobody seemingly cared as everybody went on with their day none the wiser. At the same time on the other side of town, ambulances are flying in one by one into the general hospital, carrying firefighters from the smoking site. Nurses run outside and discover men with unusual burns, screaming in pain. Nobody knew what was happening and they all tried to assist them to the best of their knowledge. The citizens didn’t know it yet, but only 3 kilometers away from their homes, the worst nuclear disaster that mankind would ever experience had happened.

Today, this event is simply known as “Chernobyl”. Of course, back then, they had no clue about what was actually happening, and Soviet bureaucracy would immensely delay the travel of information up to the top state officials. It took them a full 3 days before they evacuated the town of Pripyat, and on the same occasion, creating the famous 30 km exclusion zone (which is still in place today). Of course, by then, it was already too late. Most of the citizens had already received a fatal dose of radiation that would affect their descendants for generations, and make their land uninhabitable for hundreds of years.

This event was a true shifting point for the USSR, as the Soviet leader Gorbachev took the opportunity for the first time in Soviet history, to be as transparent as possible with its citizens and to the world. He finally admitted that the Soviet Union is about to crash.

Palace of Yugoslavia, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Russian Traitor

Gorbachev told the shocking truth to its citizens. The country’s banks are empty, and for years the Union was living off the reserves accumulated in the past decades. The Soviet Union wasn’t producing anymore, and instead, became buyers. The self-sustaining system they had built before was no longer in place and everybody would have to brace for the rough years coming ahead.

This news naturally came as a true shock for the entire population, and suddenly all hopes of a bright future were lost. The citizens learned that the good years are over, and from now on, they should expect misery and poverty. The Cold War and the Afghanistan War had ruined the country’s economy, the former leader Leonid Brezhnev had lost the leadership with his lazy ways and had become too comfortable in his spending.

However, amid all this chaos and confusion, not a single second did anybody think the Soviet Union would simply collapse and disappear. They truly believed in the strong and powerful nation they had built in the past 69 years, and never imagined one second that it would come to an end. They thought they would simply fight through the rough years and rise again as they had done in the past century.

One politician though had another idea of how things would turn out. Boris Yeltsin, a man rejected by the Soviet party for having ideas too far away from the communist ideology, was grooming republics for their independence and made deals with the Americans without the knowledge of Mikhail Gorbachev, the leader of the Soviet Party. This is how bad the bureaucracy had gotten. They became so out of touch with their own reality that on December 8th, 1991 the Belovezha Accords were signed by Yeltsin and two other figureheads (without the knowledge of Gorbachev), essentially ending the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

Soviet mosaic bus stop in Kalmykia, Russia - Photo Source: @realbaldandbankrupt on Instagram

Shock Therapy

It’s Christmas Day, 1991, and the Americans have won. The Soviet Union, which they had fought for decades to end, finally ceased to exist. The dreams that were built, the futures seemingly so bright that was promised to its citizens, all disappeared on that one fateful night. What was a great victory for one side of the world, was a terrible event for the other. They had lost their nation, their future, their security.

They had now entered a decade of banditry, crime, and chaos. They were living through what we now refer to as “Shock Therapy”. The shift from communism to capitalism was so brutal that there were no more police to ensure safety. No more government to tell you what you can and cannot do. No more authority existed which left space for anarchy. The now ex-Soviet citizens were promised better times with the arrival of democracy but were only betrayed by the incompetence of their new leader that only brought them crime and misery.

Deteriorating children’s playground, Moldova - Photo Source: @kuca_ky_ky on Instagram

Crumbling Streets & Broken Dreams

Nowadays, the cities of the former Soviet Union seem to be nothing else than vast jungles of crumbling concrete. The brutalist blocks that were once the pride of a powerful nation, are now nothing but the symbol of a lost past and broken dreams. Elders remember the good days when they lived in a stable country, and the youth, forever and ever seduced with the exotic lifestyle of the Americans, see no future in their country and only dream about moving to the sunny beaches of California.

Ironically, the ex-Soviet generation fancies the lifestyle of those who caused their end, but we cannot blame them either. They truly don’t have much of a future in the former eastern bloc, and their old enemies seem to thrive more than ever now that their 20th-century nemesis had been eliminated for good. In the victories we win, we forget to remember the fate of our opposing forces.

On the surface, it may only seem like we are ending a powerful and evil regime, but underneath the surface, we fail to consider that we are also ending the peace and unity that existed in the nation.

We must recognize that we are not only ending a government but also all the hopes and dreams attached to it and that sometimes, we must put humanity first and political interests second.

The Genex Tower of Belgrade, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Word For The End

Thank you for reading my blog post about what I’ve retained from my trip to the former USSR. Please note that this is not meant to take a political side, but only to focus on the human aspect of the events. Either you’re a communist or a capitalist, everybody deserves a future and secure access to food, housing, education, and healthcare.

I have seen and met people who were deeply saddened by what they went through, and by the loss of their native country. Please remember that the government doesn’t always represent the population. A nation is 1% leaders, 99% normal people trying to make it in the world just like you and me.

If you are interested in learning more about the former Soviet world, I invite you to check out the YouTuber “Bald and Bankrupt”, which explores former USSR republics. He is the one that inspired my trip to the Ukraine last month.

If you are into music, I suggest you check out “Sovietwave”, which is a musical genre based on the nostalgia of the dreams and aspirations that the soviet people once had.

Thank you for reading and have a good day.

До свидания!

#ussr #sovietunion #russia #history #communism #socialist #soviet

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tosikoarts · 4 years

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SFW Alphabet | Nate River

Whew, that was a lot of work! You can check tosikowrites tag for more! Warning: there’s like 3000+ words under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

It's hard to understand what's on his mind. His emotionless facial expression, some kind of sluggish movements, mysterious silence do not help matter either. The way Near shows affection is as puzzling since you can’t say exactly how he does it. Do not expect any straightforwardness and stock up on patience.

At first, the only thing he resorts to is rationalization and meeting all needs of the loved one in accordance with the Maslow pyramid. Any desires from chocolate-mint ice cream and a brand new sweater to horseback riding courses and scientific conferences will be met with no questions asked.

Third level of the aforementioned pyramid is the hardest one for Near to comprehend. He is full of respect for loved one and shows it by short but telling complements accompanied with a gentle smile. But showering someone with excessive affection is not his style.

One of his favorite pastimes includes playing Lego games (any games, really) together, building, basically, anything their heart desires. Letting another person touch his belongings is huge sign of trust. If they are not in the mood, Near would like to talk while he builds a house of cards or solves tricky Japanese puzzle box.

While he doesn’t seem like a huge fan of physical affection, Near likes to hold hands even if it’s only by the pinkies. He playfully stokes their palm with his thumb, squeezes their hand and taps it with all of his fingers. When in public Near may stealthily grab loved one by the hand, both showing his love and anchoring himself in the fussy surroundings.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Near is pretty hard to miss in a crowd so acquaintance is preceded by a long time of staring from one or both sides. He is the one to approach person with some kind of question that drags them in a conversation like a quicksand. If he finds an individual interesting, he will find them again.

Talking with him reminds classical Socratic dialogue. Conversation are never the same and tend to last for hours, leaving you with more questions than answers. They may include superficial topics but you always end up in something deep like is the universe infinite or are we living in simulation.

Despite the innocent appearance of a snow-white cloud, Near is a friend that will tell you the truth no matter how harsh it is. The fact of friendship doesn’t justify misdeeds. He would want his best friend to grow in a great person accepting and correcting their mistakes.

Overall friendship with Near is stable, devoid of drama and abrupt changes. He loves being around them since he doesn’t have real friends but also understands if he’s being too much for person to handle.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Likes to cuddle from time to time. When you see him you automatically want to knock Near over and squeeze him in your embrace. Most of the time he is indifferent and will simply surrender to one’s love but sometimes he will take initiative and put his head on person’s shoulder for them to pat. He will lay on them with hos whole body and close the eyes like he is about to fall asleep. Thankfully to his small size (only 5' 1" or 155 cm) he is ideal partner for spooning with Near being small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes and no. Since the burden of being the world’s best detective now is placed on his shoulders, Near’s mind is occupied with thoughts how to succeed in this difficult task. Five, ten, fifteen years have to pass before he considers to settle down. He has little housekeeping skills but eventually gets better at them. When you enter his house, you can immediately notice his passion to arrange things by whether color or material. Cooking skills are non-existence so we won’t talk about it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Near’s candor is almost painful. His voice is firm, close to official, like he is reading from the paper. Tired gaze is directed somewhere to the side and there’s a pensive look on his face. He deals with it how he would deal with public speaking: first comes introduction, then body, then conclusion. You can’t tell if he cares at all and if it hurts him (spoiler alert: it does!) because of confident pose and restrained tone.

Won’t check on person after the break-up. Near vanishes from their life to ease their plight, not because of ill intend but because of fear to hurt them more. After everything days seem longer and bleaker. For once, he spends a day in the bed, doing absolutely nothing. Near is back in the game after two-three weeks.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Even without signed papers, Near is committed to relationship he ended up in. It takes him around 10 years to consider marriage but he is completely confident in his decision. Proposal is especially important event. If Near can't handle countless tasks on his own, he will find several assistants. Selection of a place, music, menu, even people who will surround them at the moment, has to be approved by him. Thanks to painstaking work, this day will forever remain in their memory as well as in Near’s heart. Behind the mask of calmness there is an intoxicating feeling of joy and happiness.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

More gentle in physical sense than in emotional. Near’s touch is almost weightless, it is warm and soft. He is also a professional in small gestures like, again, holding hands by pinkies, putting head on their shoulder or head (if he can reach it), maybe, nuzzling into their neck. After unraveling a tangled ball of his own feelings, Near starts to share his inner experiences without fear of being misunderstood.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Very, very huggable person, there’s no such thing as bad mood for hugs. The only time he will refuse being caught in someone’s arms is intense brainwork where he becomes inaccessible from outside world. I mean, you can definitely try to embrace him but he will grumble the whole time. Due to lack of experience in relationships, Near doesn’t always feel comfortable to initiate hugs. He does it in, like, 4 times out of 10.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

If he doesn’t mean it, you won’t able to pull this phase out of him even with forceps, and when he does, time has to pass for him to come to a conclusion that is exactly what he feels. Near may need a push from the loved one to say “I love you” in return. Probably, asks a lot of “do you really love me? Are you sure?” after hearing it for the first time. So, yeah, a lot of time, from 2 to 5 years. Pop a champagne and celebrate when it happens tho, because he may hide back into his shell right after.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

To be honest, he is jealous person. Just like a kid who can’t stand seeing his favorite toy in another’s child hands, Near can’t ignore anyone hitting on his loved one. He gets fed up really fast. Coquetry, flirting glances, chatting with implications – that’s a short list of things Near won’t ever tolerate. He is easily hurt and if his loved one wants to try him, they will get cold shoulder with zero explanation. Day passes, then two then tree before Near decides to talk about situation. By the way, if they get offended or upset by his treatment, he will simply shrug his sloping shoulders in disinterest.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Near’s kisses are brief but warm, with a fresh aftertaste like he just got rid of a bubblegum. It’s hard to call him experienced or skilled but he is interested and eager to learn new things. One of his favorites is Eskimo kiss in which he presses his nose against loved one’s nose and rubs it since this is so innocent and amusing. Second favorite, for the same reason, would be cheek pecs.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Either way becomes best friend with a kids while playing with them or sits in the distance and watches them closely to prevent any unpleasant accidents. It is easy for him to entertain children with the huge collection of plushies, constructors, dolls and yadda yadda yadda. If Near found kid especially interesting, he will give them away any toy they pick. Gets tired of constant noise like that and will try to pawn yelling baby off to someone reliable.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

One of the benefits of being an independent detective is ability to plan your day however you want it. Flexible schedule allows Near to choose days for sleep in and have lazy mornings with loved one without worrying about accumulated case information. He probably describes his wild vivid dreams to his loved one with children's delight in the eyes while they are stretching and shaking off drowsiness. Near may ask them to brush his messy hair and even allows them to braid it.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He doesn’t like to go out no matter how good weather is and how exciting events in the downtown look. If loved one is in the mood he will take them in the hot bubble bath. Shelves in his bathroom are cluttered up with colorful shampoo bottles, different conditioners, hand-made soap, bath bombs and anything one can think off so Near basically entrusts them all to his loved one to take care of this mess on his head. He likes to wrap in the blanket and watch movies together, biographical films preferably. If they insist on going out, Near would pick small coffee shop or any place with nice view and little people.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Obviously, takes it slowly. It seems he reveals facts about himself, at least some details, but the feeling that there’s so much more covered in the shadows never leaves you. Near doesn’t look like your normal common man so naturally he doesn’t have a trivial past. Signal that trust limit is reached is him opening about orphanage, existence of Mello, Matt, and other children. Never talks about his work or anything linked directly to the Death Note though.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patient just like Matt but in colder manner. Near keeps it together in the most stressful situations where another person would lose their shit completely. When his patience runs thin, he is also the one to throw harsh lines with icy tone. Very calculated, balanced, but not stress free because this stuff still deposits in the subconscious. One fay Near will lose it and world will end for real.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Remembers the most important facts now and then. Remembers they told him about this one specific thing but he can’t tell what the details were. Doesn’t keep any notes and totally relies on memory. Mixes dates and events eventually. Seems like a totally normal person in this regard, nothing more to say.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First anniversary when his loved one dragged him out of the house to the amusement park! Myriad of colorful blinding lights over the soaring skyward attractions kept blending into one mess in his eyes, overflows of laughter around and constant tings of someone trying to hack the claw machine stunned him but still. With a right person by his side, Near felt on the seventh heaven. After the wild ride on the roller coaster and shared cotton candy, he would give them small present like cute notebook or bunny plush that plays music when you press its small pink paw.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Yeah, Near can’t protect when fight breaks out but he will never allow it to happen in the first place. He suggests the best way to protect yourself in everyday life like cameras, alarm installation, vpn and antivirus, time-tested bank to put your money in etc. If they want personal guard they will get one. If they want self-defense classes they will get them too. Never crosses personal boundaries unlike some other people *cough-cough*.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Near never stops trying to impress his loved one but it looks like he never puts any effort at all. Mostly because his affection finds expression in gifts that person wants and all he has to do is to write a check. In other areas he is casual: his loved one is responsible for dates because Near would suggest something minimally energy consuming. Everyday tasks do not seem to bother him either. He puts more thought into anniversaries, and these are special occasions in which he’d ask them out on a trip or just walk around the city. In fact, his main effort goes into opening up during activities together, establishing trusting relationship, and giving them emotional feedback. It is important for Near to feel encouragement as well to confirm that his efforts did not go to waste.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Typical issues in those who has to work with sophisticated logical chains and predict hundreds steps ahead include overly rationalization. Professional deformation is a scary thing since you can’t control it and the ways it changes your perception of things, your reactions, and personality in general. Thanks to that Near keeps applying his detective knowledge and continuous rationalization that comes with it to everyday situation. It gives him bad look of heartless person with no emotional input in his decisions whatsoever.

Near was a kid with much on his mind, no friends around, probably all up in the fantasies so cliquishness is another of his characteristics. No, he doesn’t want to meet your friends or go outside, there’s too much noise coming from people who don’t know shit, and he also may become needy when you’re away too.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Well, looking at his appearance, long messy hair and one-colored clothes… Near isn’t America’s next top model. He has zero concerns about his reflection in the mirror. His brush is his five fingers. No, ten, Near switches hands from time to time. Sees ironing as waste of time: he will lay around and sit in this weird pose and clothes will crumple again so why bother? And still, all the shirts and pants smell like alpine meadows and sea breeze. How? Who knows.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Depends on the time spent together. If they happen to leave his life by the one year anniversary, Near won’t care that much. He will take time to analyze what happened and draw conclusions from his own behavior. That’s all. If it happens later in the relationship he will become numb. No thoughts, head empty. Why would they do it? He can’t shut down inner dialogue because of continuous flow of cases that need his attention but at the same time he can’t push himself to sort it all out. Near wants to talk one more time to calm down. Decides to stay away from relationships for a… long time.

If they were killed, Near will do his best to find the killer and put them behind the bars. It is the only thing he can think about since the loss felt as insult to their memory.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If you do not take in consideration his dark eyes, Near fits approximate description of albino. Since synthesis of melanin pigment is disturbed, his skin is extra susceptible to harmful effects of sunlight, and Near has to have regular check-ups with his dermatologist. Not only that, but development of the optical system is highly dependent on the presence of melanin too. His eyesight is poor so he uses lenses during the day and switches to strong bifocal glasses in the evening. You know, those big ass square glasses like Richie Tozier from It had? Near looks like him but dipped in white paint.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Near canonically is a type of person to see the end goal and ignore all obstacles. This machine is unstoppable I can see him as someone who hates insecure people. Those who always hesitate, ask everybody what they think, pull back at the last minute.

Slurping, smacking, gulping, or any other unnecessarily loud mouth noises. If you pop that bubblegum next to him, you’ll receive the dirtiest look in your life. People who can’t chew with their mouth shut are automatically out.

People who are trying to change or shape him for their own benefit. Near will make it very clear he is not going to change for anyone and if person is not okay with that, they can use exit door right there.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Near is huge night owl so he falls asleep around three a.m. and wakes up when it’s already time for lunch. His sleeping schedule is surprisingly stable in its instability and all alarm clocks on the phone are turned off.

At the same time when difficult case comes up his genius mind takes off the brakes and falling asleep becomes a huge problem. It forces Near to take pills, sometimes potent ones, since harmless melatonin does nothing. In addition to this sleeping anxiety wakes him up every two hours. With head is full of thoughts that keep slipping away he physically can’t get back to sleep.

Near rarely remembers any dreams but when he does they look crazy. Vivid, colorful, dynamic, furthermore when they feel almost real Near catches small things that tell him about dream nature of events and becomes lucid. Sadly, this state doesn’t last more than few seconds and he wakes up.

#death note #death note headcanon #death note imagines #near #nate river #near headcanon #tosikowrites

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