#fincskylark

         ❝ i’ll only tell you if we do the pinky thing,❞ he announced as he put his pencil down ceremoniously —english homework could work, this was a serious matter. the pinky thing had always felt like some kind of a solemn ritual and he treated it as such. ❝ deal? ❞

Headcanon Meme

   •☾ As a child Nima had a complicated relationship with darkness. Most often it didn’t bother her but there were certain parts of the house in which the darkness caused an extreme unease. The basement was one such place, she avoided being down there in the dark if it was possible. There was also a spare bedroom, used as an office by her father, that gave her the creeps when it was dark. 

   As an adult she still has this sort of relationship. Being able to feel certain energies effects how she feels about the dark. If the area is clean of negativity she finds the darkness soothing, comforting almost. She respects the darkness because she knows what can be lingering in its shadows, the power it holds. ☾•

             “This is why you made me drive three hours out into the middle of nowhere?”

“Uhm– yes?” She moves to the back of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out a thick blanket. “This is the best place for stargazing. You didn’t have to come with me, if you didn’t want to.” 

   •☾ Sᴛᴀʀɢᴀᴢɪɴɢ. Sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ, ꜱᴏ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ɪɴ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ. The brunette pulled herself from the car, keys held loosely within her palm. “How else would you get yourself out here” came the soft retort. What annoyance she’d held had faded quickly once the cool kiss of night brushed against her skin. The glow of the city nothing more than a dim nightlight to the growing darkness. Nim walked to stand next to the girl, blonde curls dancing in the dim moonlight. With her free hand she shut the trunk and the two began to descend into the field just off the gravel road. 

     Pencil moves across his notebook as he tries to focus on the math problem. He couldn't really make heads or tails of it... not for lack of knowledge, but for lack of focus. The homecoming dance was happening in a couple of weeks and a part of him wanted to ask Luna to go with him, but the other part (the predominant part) was too nervous to be straightforward about it.

     He looks up just as the toy begins to shake in place and is then zooming across the room and into his friend's hand. “Did you just accio Twisty?” he asked between soft giggles, glad that this is drawing attention from his initial inquiry. “It's okay, it was actually really cool to see that. Next time, think you can try and summon us snacks, maybe? Or do you have to see your target?”

     But now they were back to his questions and he kinda regrets having asked at all. His mom’s so good with words, with writing speeches that make a point and circles back to things with such a beautiful flow. He is not. How does he say what he wants to say without saying it? “Because, if you did, I thought maybe I could go with you? I mean... dances are stupid, but if you had to go it would be better to go with someone you trust, right? I mean... I'm not going to my homecoming, but I'd go to yours if you were to have one, you know?”

     The evidence spoke for itself; tear-stained cheeks, a heartbreaking heaviness in her voice, the sniffles... something terrible had happened. And while he was happy to see her, his first reaction was not to greet her, but to jump into action and try to make it better. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting... I was at band practice,” he explains as he carefully places the clarinet case by the bottom of the stairs. “Mom made me join. Said it's good for my student portfolio.” Pursed lips twitch as he shrugs ---he doesn't think he's particularly skillful.

     He reaches for the handkerchief he keeps in his backpocket and crouches slightly in front of her before he uses it to gently wipe her cheeks, while paying close attention to her words. It had to be tiring... feeling what everyone felt at all times, knowing who disliked her, who wished her ill. He wasn’t even sure how she handled it; she and her mom were the strongest persons he had ever met. "Always, Luna. I’m always here for you. ---You're my best friend.” Lips curve into a small smile and he offers her the cloth. “Do you--- do you, maybe, wanna come inside? Mom won’t be back until later. Maybe we can... get something to eat and you can tell me more about all these mean girls?”

     His pinky was locked with hers, she had to be telling the truth ---it's how it works. But how could it be? Powers were only a thing in comics, not in the real world... right? “What kind of powers?” he asks, curious eyes fixed on her face. It's part of ‘the thing’, keeping eye contact, just like Winter had done it.

Code? Seriously? It was like they didn’t trust her or something. How did they even know Luna was listening in for her? Maybe the girl just wanted a snack, hmmm? Did they think of that?

No. Of course not.