#i've been missing this story a lot lately

[azertyrobaz]

I decided to innovate a bit and write something different than usual for Day 2. I've been completely taken by The Wild Robot lately, so here's a small story about Fink and Brightbill.

As always, prompts are here if you want to have a look! I will also be creating a collection on ao3 as soon as possible for everyone to use if they want. :)

************

“Can we go say hi to Paddler?”

Fink’s day was ruined. Ruined. He’d intended to go hunt for some tasty eggs away from prying impressionable eyes and nagging robotic voices, but he’d just been relegated to babysitting duties. For 4 hours. FOUR HOURS. This was the ridiculous amount of time Roz needed to recharge her batteries. The sun had just appeared in the sky after several long grey and rainy days during which the robot had drained all her power.

“Nothing a goose expert shouldn’t be able to handle,” she had said. And was that sarcasm he’d heard in her usually no-nonsense voice? The robot was clearly spending far too much time around him. But he had detected something else in her tone – worry. And not just because her lack of resources meant her voice had started to sound wobbly and faint. Fink knew very well she had no one else to ask. Sure, Pinktail would have been a smarter choice – a saner choice – but with 7 kids of her own and an understandable knack for forgetting their names and current locations, Roz had rejected the idea.

Which meant she’d chosen him. Deliberately. Consciously. No one ever chose Fink. For anything. Least of all to protect another life. And yet…

“Yes, let’s go see Paddler,” he replied, and the still incredibly small gosling jumped on his back with a happy tweet. And so they went to see Paddler and agreed that yes, that giant tree wasn’t going to fall today. Or tomorrow. Or probably even this century. After that, the kid wanted to go say hi to the rabbits. The mice. The bloody raccoons. Those damn squirrels.

“Bonjour! Guten Tag! Hujambo! Hola!”

He never tired of saying it – he greeted everyone they came across. And at first he never seemed to grow sad when he barely received any reply. He was the monster’s son after all, and Fink was just…well, Fink. The fox did grow restless and snarled a couple of times, ready to pounce on anyone who would dare not show a modicum of kindness to that sweet though deluded kid. But Roz had entrusted said kid’s wellbeing to him. As much as he wanted to bite and punch and yell at those thoughtless invertebrates, he couldn’t lose his cool. Not yet, at least. Nothing was stopping him from returning later to get his revenge.

This was made especially clear when Brightbill sighed deeply and mumbled “Why does no one want to be my friend?”

“They’re morons,” Fink replied automatically, which earned him a small smile.

“That’s a bad word, mom says bad words should be avoided.”

“Well, your mom isn’t here, and this one can’t be avoided. They are morons.”

Brightbill laughed whole heartedly this time.

“Can we go see if there are some fresh berries behind the old oak?” he asked, and Fink agreed.

Funny, saying yes to everything was proving easy. Telling the truth, too. Which went against everything in his nature. His programming, Roz would say, and he realized he was missing the robot a little. More than a little. Surely she would be recharged soon.

“What is your mommy like? Is she like Roz?”

“Is she a robot, you mean?” he replied quickly, deflecting. Perhaps telling the truth wasn’t actually always so easy or so wise. There were things Brightbill didn’t need to hear.

“No,” the gosling chuckled, “but she must have been good at telling stories, you tell good stories.”

Fink paused in his foraging. They had found so very tasty raspberries.

“They’re better than mom’s, but don’t tell her!” the child added.

“My mother wasn’t very nice,” Fink eventually admitted, because for once he didn’t feel like lying so much. “And my siblings bickered a lot and didn’t really like me either.”

“Oh,” Brightbill said in a small voice, and looked up at him with those big sad eyes that always managed to unravel something deep inside of him. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch. Ever.

“But it meant I got very good at other things,” he went on with more assurance. “Like reading people and knowing how they will react in any given situation.”

“Which made you good at telling stories!” the kid concluded, and he certainly wasn’t wrong there, even if Fink had never looked at things that way.

“Exactly,” he agreed, because why not.

“And good at finding the best spots on the island for berries.”

“That, too.”

Brightbill went back to eating, and Fink took a deep breath in – this had gone much better than he had expected. And that uneasy feeling inside him had morphed into something much nicer. Much warmer.

“Can we go see if mom is awake now?”

“Yes, let’s go,” Fink agreed immediately.

[holocene-sims]

just a guy and his snowpal ⛄❄️

[brittlebutch]

the thing is, you’re absolutely right! because what neurotypical people sometimes don’t understand is the massive difference between the average level of social interaction that they themselves vs other people get outside of organized or scheduled events like work or school, and also don’t understand the massive difference between what failure looks like, and how those two things overlap. i’m told that among the average neurotypical person, they’ll make a point to talk to people in their lives or hang out with friends or go on dates or chat with other people in public spaces, al to have casual interactions, multiple times a day, multiple days a week. meaning, if they have a failed social interaction, it’s buffered by the many successful interactions they’ll go on to have. failure most likely won’t mean complete isolation, because they have multiple avenues of interaction to fall back on. and, moreover, a failure in a social interaction when you have (on average) fewer than most means that now rather than that person going “oh that was a weird interaction, i talk to them a lot and it’s not usually like that, maybe it was an off day” they go “huh i don’t know that person very well maybe they’re just like that?”, which means that the odds are way different on whether relationships stay good after mistakes.

social skills are not actually as inherent as neurotypical people like to think. it’s just that when you’re always in practice, always getting back on the proverbial horse, the advice “just get back out there!” does actually work very well. but if you’re not able to do that for any variety of reasons, you can’t play the game the same way. my advice is not “try harder”, it’s “lower your expectations for yourself on what a good interaction and a moment of connection might be”. just as it’s possible you’re somehow unintentionally upsetting people, it’s possible you’re unintentionally making them feel happy, or valued, or heard, even in small, passing interactions. remind yourself that you’re working with fewer resources and a much more limited data pool. a lot of the advice being given is coming from someone who assumes they understand what the math looks like for you, because it’s very difficult to imagine that other side. so instead of trying to overlay a system made for someone who has resources that you just don’t have, you need to figure out what a functional system of interaction looks like for you, and adapt the advice given to fit your situation. my advice, bearing that in mind, is that finding communities and groups can look like a lot of different things, and getting your social needs met can come from a lot of sources, and ideally should! you would understand best what your situation is, and there’s no shame in changing tact to accommodate for your own needs and boundaries.

forgot to answer this for a bit lol BUT yeah, the post was a little bit more about the Conceptual argument than it was about me specifically, so I'm definitely already with you re: 'finding out what your Individual social goals are and working based off of those instead having high expectations based off of other people's metric' stuff. You definitely have a huge point with the "social buffer disparity" between NT people and ND people, where failures are both less demoralizing internally and less impactful externally when you're able to have a greater average of interactions generally also

but I really appreciated the "just as it’s possible you’re somehow unintentionally upsetting people, it’s possible you’re unintentionally making them feel happy, or valued, or heard, even in small, passing interactions" aspect of this message. I do definitely have a recurring problem of like, labeling Myself as an Uncanny Valley Person and automatically assuming that every interaction I'm involved in must be some level of uncomfortable for the other person -- it actually was kind of a revolution moment reading this and realizing that OH it does make sense that if I can unintentionally make people uncomfortable, it's statistically just as likely that I can unintentionally lift people's spirits in one way or another! So thank you very much for that!!

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[shannonsketches]

Terrible news gang after the passing of Toriyama sensei my DBZ brainrot is back

[last-flight-of-fancy]

hey, hey, quick internet fandom ettiquete lesson; X has two hands jokes only vibe if you are talking to someone who is ALSO already talking about how X has two hands. Okay? Okay. It is in fact very rude to go onto other people’s posts where only one set of hands is involved to evangalise about two hands. When seeing ship art/fic of only half your ot3, it is proper ettiquete to simply enjoy the art/fic as it is, and if so inspired create/commission/seek out the ot3 content of your choice. This has been your quick internet fandom lesson, thank you for your time.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

r.une is so awesome! he's the kindest guy ever and I always drop by the thieves guild whenever I'm not doing anything just to hear his pretty voice

[seithr]

Randomly remembered the half-reason i call my oc-verse by the name it has while laying in bed. One-half of the reason i still knew, but I had forgotten what had truly, really cemented it jointly until now

(it was a song from my favourite band I haven't listened to in a while.)

(the song fit so well at the time, still does, that i needed to hold onto it for the main protagonists forever, by partially naming their story in reference.)

Does this explanation make any sense? Does anyone know why I'm tearing up remembering this. Aahh

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I know Quackity said "Don't stress if you can't watch every single POV and if you don't know all the lore" and all that, but it genuinely frustrates me so much that I cannot, realistically, know every single detail of the QSMP storyline. Even trying to just focus on the "main" story isn't possible since so many people are doing things tied to it, and so many unexpected things happen.

I don't really have a point to make with this post, I'm just venting my frustrations. I like knowing complete stories and knowing I can't do that with QSMP frustrates me so much.

[shinehalley]

"You can't mix two adaptations of the same character in the same universe and make it feel coherent, it's impossi-" The Futaba family and the Homare family are related. Sherlock and Shishio are cousins, if you want me to be more specific.

[deadpresidents]

The Milk for Schools program had some definite benefits and a few negative aspects. Warm, partly-curdled milk left out in the sun until morning recess wasn’t appetising and a lot of students rejected it. For some economically challenged families, it was a bonus. I know of children whose parents could only afford to serve their cornflakes with water. My husband’s father was a dairy farmer and he always sent a pail of fresh milk every morning to a neighbouring family living in such poverty. The one thing I must say is that very few of my generation had milk allergies or lactose intolerance or sensitivity. Maybe it was all that school milk.

Was there a question in this message? Did I get drunk at some point and ask people to tell me random stories? I feel like I'd remember if I asked for story time.

[noxtivagus]

DEATH UNTO DAWN ON SPOTIFY 🥹🫶🏼

[itmightneverbetherighttime]

...

[silentpinessave]

V.1: Silent Pines, 1998 Special Credit: Silent Pines is heavily inspired by and uses a very similar style to the stunning @windbrook savefile by @folkling, the gorgeous portsim savefile by @florwal, and the amazing builds by @moonwoodmillz. Thank you all for your hard work, I take a lot of inspiration from you all. Silent Pines is a base-game only save file inspired by Life is Strange with 3 major worlds, a whole new set of townies, and a complete mystery to solve.

Version 1 contains;

Willow Creek as Silent Pines

13 Community Lots

3 move-in ready homes for your sims

A total of 9 houses, 6 of which are filled with townies

18 households with jobs, story, and drama

A complete mystery to solve (should you want to)

DOWNLOAD, INFO, AND SCREENSHOTS BELOW

I used S4Studio to rename all the worlds, and I've decorated all the neighbourhoods with T.O.O.L. As I said before, Silent Pines is completely base-game friendly, absolutely no packs or kits are used. There is some custom CC, mainly posters that add to the story. The CC is one package file and adds nothing other than some customisation to the story. It is not required.

For example the missing poster of Cleo Emerson, a girl who disappeared under mysterious circumstances;

SPECIAL THANKS Thank you to my beta testers @theemodernsim, @authorspirit, @acuar-io, @aridridge for all your help! You've been amazing and I really am very grateful. And thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, followed, and generally supported Silent Pines. It means the world to me to be able to share my work with people!

🌲 Download (Patreon) 🌲

Gallery ID: Cosmoosims

DISCLAIMER: There have been reports of the 'build mode item missing' message popping up, especially in the downtown area. I've tried to fix this to the best of my ability, and I hope it's alright! Also, if there is anything I should fix or have left out, please let me know. Thank you for your patience <3

ALSO: Due to the Sims 4 being a broken game, I really don't recommend playing Silent Pines with Rental Units, in case the T.O.O.L objects up and disappear lol.

Silent Pines is heavily inspired by Life is Strange, the Windbrook save file, florwalsims' Portsim save file, as well as the hazy nostalgia of the late 90s and early 2000s. I hope to see you all soon for V.2!

The Mystery Update A more comprehensive outline for this update will be coming soon, but essentially it will contain;

Hopefully the fixed Harris household

More mystery clues to make the mystery more engaging and easier to solve

Better and complete lot descriptions

Love from, Silent Pines.

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[neil-gaiman]

I struggled with depression for many years and finally got it under control around 2017. It is still hard I still have periods where my symptoms flare up badly. Lately it's been more difficult. My family moved away in 2022 and I miss them a lot. My best friend moved away in October last year and my grandma died suddenly in December. My partner's mom just told us she's been diagnosed with ALS after several months of believing she had Bell's palsy from a viral infection and it's progressed to affect her speech and arm and I don't know a lot about ALS but from what I've read so far it seems like this means her prognosis is worse than it might have been if it was only affecting her arms/legs. Most people who are diagnosed with ALS die within a couple years of the diagnosis. How do you personally find moments of positivity in life?

As best I can. I think for me the moments of positivity are always small but enormous. The stars at night, a really good cup of tea, a child's hug, a song or story I love, the touch of a friend's hand. Tiny smiles that make the world worth sticking around for.