𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 / 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ✳

      “ I DON’T KNOW. . . ” adora squints suspiciously, her lips pursed as if in serious thought. “ something seems— off. . . ” she holds her gloved hands out in front of her, to create a frame with her thumb and index fingers which she peers through ; she holds this lens first horizontally, then vertically, as if a shift in perspective is all that’s needed. “ maybe it’s the nose ? ” she huffs a sigh, moving in to nab the carrot from the snowball head of one very lopsided snowman. “ i don’t know— what do you think ? ” 

       “ WELL THIS ISN’T right. ” adora blows a sigh through her nostrils, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger for the briefest of moments before returning once more the the heaps of cardboard boxes piled beside a very tall, very  b a r e  evergreen. the behemoth stood sentinel in the entryway of the pumpkin motel ( perhaps the only tenet the place had seen all month ). she stoops to rifle through the nearest box of lights, hopelessly tangled as they are. why had she offered to help with this ? decorating was so not her thing. “ um— any chance there’s a box around here with stuff that isn’t broken ? ” 

      “ YES, ” ADORA SQUEALS, trying ( and failing ) not to visibly salivate. she snatches two from the plate, downing them each in practically one bite. “ oh my god these are delicious,” she mumbles appreciatively between chews, nabbing with her tongue a spot of melted chocolate at the corner of her lips. reaching for a third, she asks, “ what kind are these ?” 

        THIS WAS NOT a suggestion which adora needed made twice. at wendy’s mention of snowman-building, the blonde dropped to her knees— almost as if on command—and began to push snow into a pile between her mittened palms. “ okay ! i’ll start building the base— do you think you can find any good sticks for his arms ? ”

      “ PFFT, I’M NOT ! ” adora shakily reassures, between rapid waves of her oven mitt-clad arms. she coughs once, reaching up to switch on the vent fan, the other arm still gesturing wildly in a  ( totally fruitless ) effort to clear the smoke. she bends swiftly to pull a cookie sheet from the oven, depositing one seriously burnt batch of peanut-butter blossoms onto the countertop. another cough.   “ seriously. i’ve got everything under control. ”