#this is... not my most eloquent production

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k

a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)

── .✦

The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped. 

It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home. 

But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment. 

Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose. 

You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside. 

“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge. 

Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work. 

When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.” 

Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time. 

He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product. 

“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat. 

As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?” 

He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned. 

“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you. 

You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?” 

“Cinderella’s gone missing.” 

“Missing?” 

He nods.

“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.” 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”

“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?” 

He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.” 

You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.” 

He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.” 

“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?” 

“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes. 

Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon. 

“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.” 

Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days. 

You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler. 

“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out. 

“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say. 

He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful. 

It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes. 

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?” 

“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.” 

You nod and hand him another sheet. 

“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider. 

He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.” 

“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.” 

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease. 

He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.” 

You grin, largely at the nickname. 

Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart. 

By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure. 

So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?” 

Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says. 

There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story. 

She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t. 

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself. 

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.” 

“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.” 

“After work then?”

“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.” 

“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween. 

Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number. 

That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent. 

At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive. 

It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule. 

On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference. 

“Hi, Penelope.” 

“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today. 

You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing. 

The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”

“All for you.” 

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm. 

“Wanna help me look for your dad?” 

It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible. 

You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside. 

“Steve?” 

“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs. 

The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs. 

He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.” 

“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”

You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot. 

“Need help?”

“Yes please.” 

You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult. 

The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”  

You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back. 

He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”

It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone. 

“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too. 

“Daddy, are we going now?” 

Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?” 

Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.” 

“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?” 

When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.” 

“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?” 

She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods. 

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.” 

Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above. 

“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food. 

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.” 

“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.” 

She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats. 

Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?” 

“No running away!” 

He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?” 

“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.” 

You coo. 

“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”

You hum in agreement. 

Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down. 

“Did you find something?” you ask. 

Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.” 

Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.” 

“I think he’s dead.”

“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.” 

“Hiding? Why?”

“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.” 

She squints, “For the whole winter?” 

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?” 

“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.” 

One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.” 

The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice! 

Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight. 

Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles. 

You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.  

“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”

“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter. 

You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?” 

He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.” 

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep. 

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases. 

You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.” 

“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.” 

You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.” 

Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger. 

Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.

“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly. 

“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.” 

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.” 

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.” 

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?” 

You smile back. “Exactly.” 

The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.  

You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand. 

He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns. 

“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.” 

“Can I go?” 

Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously. 

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone. 

“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road. 

You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other. 

“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her. 

You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.” 

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks. 

Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.” 

“Wow. Did you write this too?” 

“Yep. My teacher helped me.” 

“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride. 

She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?” 

Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.” 

Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines. 

“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?” 

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze. 

Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you. 

Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.” 

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.” 

“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.  

“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle. 

His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.” 

Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn. 

You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps. 

“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.  

Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence. 

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”

“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach. 

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!” 

He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over. 

He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.” 

Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!” 

“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.” 

Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass. 

He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any. 

Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up. 

And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up. 

“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence. 

Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.” 

“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting. 

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!” 

“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”

“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.  

Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests. 

“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams. 

Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down. 

“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”

She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen. 

“Are you ready to go home?” 

Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again. 

“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”

“Five more minutes,” she begs. 

“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?” 

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” 

Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired. 

He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.” 

Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland. 

Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give. 

Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve. 

His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away. 

You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you. 

Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud. 

“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you. 

You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill. 

You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls. 

“Cinderella,” she whimpers. 

“We’ll look again tomorrow.” 

She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–” 

Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him. 

You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile. 

Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands. 

“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat. 

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter. 

Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”

You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you. 

“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?” 

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.” 

When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own. 

Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says. 

You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?” 

“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.” 

“You know I don’t care, Steve.” 

He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.  

“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”

 “Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.” 

“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?” 

“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?” 

“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.” 

He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room. 

Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms. 

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?” 

Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon. 

“You can pick three, missy,” he says. 

“Five?” 

“Four.” 

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”

“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time. 

It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you. 

“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!” 

“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room. 

Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance. 

The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder. 

You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow. 

He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.” 

Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?” 

“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”

“Pleaseee!” 

“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.” 

“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you. 

Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout. 

“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?” 

Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.

Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin. 

“Am I?” 

He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”

She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book. 

“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”

Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge. 

The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page. 

Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep. 

“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.” 

She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”

You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.” 

She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.” 

Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains. 

You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.

There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons. 

The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.

“You better not be doing my dishes.” 

Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.” 

He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks. 

“What?” Steve smiles. 

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.” 

“Why are you laughing then?” 

“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish. 

He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.” 

“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”

You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.” 

Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous. 

He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.” 

“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”

You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.” 

“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”

Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone. 

He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”

“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.” 

He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.

He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.” 

“Steve.” 

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite. 

You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends. 

“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”

The trill of the phone interrupts. 

“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”

The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic. 

“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!” 

“Who was it?” you ask.

He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.” 

You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!” 

“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house. 

It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs. 

On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words. 

“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.” 

“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words. 

“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.” 

A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”

“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure. 

You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns. 

Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.  

She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper. 

She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes. 

You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar. 

“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.” 

Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late. 

Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says. 

Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”

Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?” 

Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?” 

He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.” 

“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap. 

He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there. 

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.” 

She nods against his chin. 

“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?” 

Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater. 

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly. 

She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs. 

You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open. 

But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips. 

“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.  

He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.” 

“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?” 

“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.” 

“You’ll find her, Steve.” 

He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”

“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”

“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own. 

He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.” 

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.” 

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?” 

He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead. 

There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic. 

He shakes his head, “Come on.” 

You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up. 

In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.” 

You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest. 

He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door. 

The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least. 

“Call me when you get home?” 

A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care. 

“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway. 

It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there. 

There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that. 

And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway. 

“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.” 

You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her. 

You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her. 

Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard. 

You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.

And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.  

“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway. 

Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time. 

“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble. 

She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out. 

You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now. 

“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket. 

She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty. 

You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek. 

“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure. 

She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle. 

“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”

She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude. 

You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest. 

Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope. 

The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.” 

He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?” 

You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.” 

Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm. 

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch. 

He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.” 

Cinderella chirps happily. 

Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you. 

He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.” 

“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.” 

“Here. Come here.”

You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl. 

“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know. 

You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.” 

“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly. 

“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.” 

He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy. 

“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”

Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway. 

A high-pitched scream severs the moment. 

Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins. 

And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it. 

“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen 

He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again. 

Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week. 

She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?” 

“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.” 

“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides. 

Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats. 

Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar. 

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”

“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw. 

Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”

Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”

“You're very welcome.”

Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?” 

It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy. 

“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her. 

She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now. 

“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.” 

Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!” 

“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.” 

“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!” 

Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization. 

“I should head home,” you say. 

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. 

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!” 

Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!” 

Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him. 

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.” 

Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight. 

“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck. 

Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.” 

“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”

His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.” 

“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.” 

You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.

A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.” 

Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin. 

“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.” 

Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget? 

He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response. 

You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do. 

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”

You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.” 

“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”

“I’d love to, Steve.” 

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this. 

When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes. 

But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like light years away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.

[desolateyears]

Have a mini fic about Steve annotating books and Eddie finding it really hot🖤

So obviously, Eddie's a bookworm. Before he had any friends, he spent the better parts of his childhood at Hawkins Library after school and Hawkins Middle's library during any recesses and lunches. He constantly read books, this was before Wayne got him a guitar and before he got into dnd, and being a bookworm tremendously helped him fuel both of those hobbies later on. But before then? The library was like a second home to him. 

And so, recently founding out that Steve reads, like a lot, is something of a revalation. It's not that Eddie thinks the guy is stupid, but he figured the guy spent time doing other productive hobbies at home. But the guy reads, and as previously mentioned, Eddie considers himself a literature connoisseur of sorts. Writing book reports and essays were one of the few things he actually excelled at in high school. 

So anyway, he found out that Steve is a book nerd by finding one of Steve's books open on his bed. Not really the strangest thing that Eddie's come across in Steve's room if he's being honest, and not the biggest indicator of nerdiness, until he focuses his attention and acknowledges the bright colors sprawled across the pages. 

A burst of rainbow colors underlining what Eddie guesses are his favorite parts of the story or important stuff he wanted to remember. And obviously, Eddie has to ask him about it. and Steve explains to him that he has a whole color key and it's made up of romantic lines that make him feel warm, sad stuff that makes him tear up, stuff that is word for word undoubtedly Steve Harrington sprawled on a page. Steve won't tell him which color is which, too embarrassed by it, but he lets Eddie read through them, and then he stares at Steve in unyeilding fondness. 

The look reflected on Steve's is not the same, mostly anxiety and insecurity, which Eddie immediately wants to soothe. It's so so sweet he thinks but Eddie's mouth translates the words into, "That's so fucking hot." Which, shit man, it is but he hadn't meant to say it out loud. 

"Shut up, dude, don't make fun of me right now." 

And listen, books are everything to him, this is no joking matter. They inspire his own stories, whether through a dnd campaign or writing song lyrics. It's honestly probably the most attractive thing a person could do in Eddie's opinion, he didn't know how hot until right about now, but he'll die on this hill. Annotating your books is hot. 

"Listen to me when I say this Steve, while that is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard and I'm, ya know, me. It's also about the most attractive thing that's come out of that pretty mouth of yours, like ever."

And Steve folds his arms across his fucking beautifully sculpted chest and narrows his eyes just slightly, raising a judgemental eyebrow at him. 

"You're being serious."

Oh he's never been more serious about anything in his life. 

"Uh...yeah? Yes. Oh my god."

Yeah, real eloquent Edward. 

Whatever, his heart is pounding profuesely against his rib cage because holy shit Steve is a book nerd and Eddie wants to kiss him fucking yesterday. So he gets on all fours on Steve's bed to lean forward and basically attacks his mouth before he can even think about it. 

And when he pulls back, Steve's pupils are blown wide and his breath has picked up pace, and Steve keeps bouncing between looking at Eddie's eyes and his lips. 

"You just kissed me."

It comes out disbelieving. 

"Yeah and with your permission I'd like to continue, like stat, immediately, now."

"You're insane."

And hands weave through curls and pull. 

Eddie tumbles foward, ending fully sprawled on top of Steve, and, jesus christ, body pressed impossibly close to his. 

And after they're romantic, read: nerdy horniness, little makeout session, he forces Steve to read the annotations himself, going through all the books that are important to Steve. He has to stop himself from moaning to really emphasize how hot he finds it, and to make Steve slightly embarrassed, but refrains. Just lets him continue. 

Eddie has never been so in love in his life.

[coquelicoq]

Xiao Heng had managed to get his very inebriated wife into their room without carrying her, but only just. He had in fact tried to pick her up at one particularly tricky part of the hallway (a lip in the floor had threatened to trip her up, literally and figuratively), but she had insistently pushed at his arms until he let her get back to her very important business of navigating around the obstacle. Now he led her to the bed and sat her on the edge, hovering for a moment to make sure she wasn't about to fall over, then settled on the floor to take off her shoes.

He had just gotten the first one off when she spoke. "Hey," she said.

He looked up. A'Li was staring at him, a bit glassy-eyed, a furrow between her brows. "Yes?" he said, and when a reply was not immediately forthcoming, added, "How are you feeling?" She needed to drink some water, though he had been hoping to get her in a more stable position first before going in search of a pitcher.

"You," she said suspiciously. "Whatchu doin' down there?" She squinted. "Gongzi," she tacked on after a moment of consideration.

Gongzi? That was a new one. "I'm taking off your shoes," he ventured, and held up the one in his hand. "Since I think it may be beyond your capabilities at the moment."

The brow-furrow deepened. "Your face," she said.

She wasn't always the most eloquent drunk, but she'd get to a sentence eventually. "My face?" he prompted.

There was a pause as she inspected him with half-lidded eyes. "'s good," she said finally.

Waiting for her to make a sentence had been worth it. "You like my face?" he said, delighted. His wife was a delightful drunk.

"'s good face," she said, sounding defensive. Her lips were turning down at the corners. Adorable.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, still feeling, despite all the intervening years, just as warm as he had that night in the rain in Luyang.

She must have found something about his reaction unsatisfying because her frown deepened. "'s'not that good," she said. "Not as good as th' face--" A hiccup cut her off and she startled, losing her train of thought. She stared at him in surprise. "What?" she said, as if he had been the one interrupted.

This would be the perfect opportunity to move the conversation in a more productive, sleep-adjacent direction, if he weren't dying to know whose face his wife liked better than his. "You were saying, you've seen better faces than mine, apparently," he said. He was not pouting, because he wasn't a baby.

"Yeah," she said, emphatically. "Face of Xiao Heng. M' husban'."

"Your…husband?" he said slowly. "Your husband Xiao Heng? You like his face better than my face?"

"So what?" she said, belligerent. "'m allowed. He's mine."

"That he is," Xiao Heng agreed, nonplussed. She must be drunker than he thought. Drunk enough to forget who he was--but thankfully not so drunk that she forgot he existed. Theoretically. Somewhere.

"Well," she said, seeming appeased. "You got good eyebrows."

"You like my eyebrows, huh?" He raised them at her.

"Yeah," she said, jabbing a finger in their general direction. He caught it before she could poke out his eye. "Nice an' hairy."

"You like my eyebrows because they're…hairy?" he asked, but she had already moved on, her gaze now trained hazily on his mouth. "What?" he said, curious to know what she would have to say about that part of his anatomy, but she just kept staring. "You are so drunk," he teased.

"'m not," she said, frowning again. She pushed at his hand until he released her finger.

"No? You're totally sober right now? Could have fooled me," he said.

"Not drunk. Don't get drunk," she said. "Not safe."

Now it was his turn to frown. "How come it's not safe?" he said, though he wasn't sure why he was asking. He already knew the answer.

"People can do stuff. To you," she said, enunciating carefully, "when you are incap…sasitaded."

"Incapacitated," he said automatically.

"Sapsidated," she agreed, nodding her head, then stopped immediately and clutched her temples. He put his hands on her thighs to steady her, then thought better of it. She thought he was some stranger, after all.

She squinted at him again. "You're not gonna, though," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not gonna what?"

"Do stuff to me."

"That's right," he said. "I won't do anything. How could you tell?"

"Just know these things," she said loftily.

"Oh?" He smiled, relieved and endeared. She felt safe with him, even when she didn't know why. Teasing, he asked, "But how do you know these things?"

"Tell you a secret," she said, leaning forward precariously. He caught her by the shoulders, propping her up. In the whisper-shout of drunks everywhere, she said, "'m a very. Smart. Cookie."

He loved her. To the ends of the earth, he loved her. "Is that so?" he said, and thought about how much he would kiss her in the morning. She would be cranky, and her breath would be horrible, and he would kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. "And that's a secret?"

"What's a secret?" she asked curiously, and he laughed, and she glared at him, and he felt his love for her like a balloon about to burst inside of him. "I think it's bedtime for you, sober-niangzi," he said.

If looks could kill they'd be scraping pieces of him off the walls tomorrow. "Sober-furen," she corrected, and then added, "'s'not for you to decide," managing to sound imperious despite her drooping eyelids and the fact that only his intervention was keeping her from faceplanting onto the floor.

"That's true," he said. "That was just this one's humble opinion. What does sober-furen think? Perhaps she'd like to play a game of Go?"

"'m very good at Go," she said, and then, emphatically, "very good. Better'n you def'nitely."

"Yes, I believe that," he said. "Well, you would be doing me a great favor not to challenge me to a game of Go this evening. My ego is very fragile, you know."

"Yeah, I bet," she said, much more confidently than he thought was warranted, then she smiled at him. "'s'okay," she said, reaching out and haphazardly patting the side of his topknot. "Least you got good eyebrows."

Xiao Heng felt his heart clench inside him from an excess of tenderness. One of the things he had learned from knowing A'Li was that hearts could do that. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than for her to recognize him, to remember that they played Go all the time and she was in fact better than him, specifically. For her to love his eyebrows because they belonged to him, her husband. "Have you told him?" he asked. "Your husband. Does he know how much you like his face?"

"He knows," she said. "I told him."

"Maybe you should tell him again," said Xiao Heng. "The next time you see him. I think he'd like to hear it again."

"You think?" she asked, and then, before he could reply, she started to rise from the bed, as if to find him and tell him that very instant.

He caught her and pulled her back down. "Not right now. Just sit and rest your eyes for a moment. When you open them, he'll be here and you can tell him anything you want. Okay?"

She looked down at him, still on the floor. "He'll be here? How d'you know?"

He smiled. "Just know these things," he said. "I'm something of a smart cookie myself. I get it from my wife."

She was quiet long enough he thought surely she had lost the thread of their conversation. But eventually she said, "Okay. Then I'll wait here fr'im."

He thought of the long years she had already waited, and wanted to tell her, he's here, I'm here, I'll never make you wait again. But her eyes were closing, and she trusted him, both the him-that-was-here, to be a safe person, and the him-that-was-her-husband, to return to her. He knew what a gift that was, to be trusted by her.

So he took off her other shoe, then made quick work of her hairpins. He swung her legs onto the bed, one hand behind her shoulder blades to lower her back onto the cushions. He lifted her head and repositioned the bolster under her neck. He hadn't had the chance to make her drink water, and he'd surely hear all about that tomorrow. But he was looking forward to it--tomorrow, that is. Tomorrow she would recognize him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "See you when you wake up," he murmured, and looked toward the east, willing the earth to turn faster, willing the sun to rise.

[elysiansparadise]

Are there any placements you wish you had in your birth chart?

I'm very happy with my chart, but yes, there are placements that I would love to have.

Placements I wish I had

🤍Virgo Moon. I think this is because of the love I feel towards these people, I genuinely consider them very admirable people and considerate of those around them. Empathetic, rational, highly intelligent and a trustworthy personality, they are often not given credit for that stunning creativity and I don't see them being mentioned for having the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Their self-sufficient and independent personality that is very aware of the needs, emotions and essence of others seems incredible to me, they have that remarkable balance. Many are introspective and are not afraid to analyze the depths of their emotions and it is something that not many usually do.

🤍Libra Mercury. Minutes have passed and you won't even know how but you will be there, listening or reading what they communicate, because they have the quality of catching and captivating through communication. Convincing, astute and above all highly intelligent communicators. Since I mentioned their intellect, in addition to seeing a situation from many different perspectives, they understand ideas quite quickly, in addition to this, these people love the idea of ​​continuing to learn about... any subject in general, they have a wide variety of interests.

🤍Uranus in the 5th house. Their personality is enigmatic, sassy, ​​multifaceted and full of charisma. They know how to grab your attention, but more importantly, they know how to keep it. They have an impressive stage presence and everyone I've met has a skill that stands out considerably from the rest. They are highly creative, very witty and socially charming, even if they call themselves introverts, they make memorable first impressions. They are passionate and unique lovers, I would dare to say that they are even difficult to forget.

🤍Venus in the 6th house. Beyond being charming, kind and self-conscious people, I have noticed that they have a unique quality that they don't realize, that of giving beauty touches to anything. Impeccable taste in fashion, aesthetics and an incredible eye for details and any organizational issue. They do things with their heart, they put their soul into projects, hobbies or causes that they consider important. Their souls are gentle and beautiful, knowing them will bring you many surprises, and each one will be better than the last. They are great as a friend and as a couple, they always seek the well-being of those they love and are capable of giving their best in their relationships. As a personal comment, the dates with them are incredible, they seek to do things that both enjoy and find a balance in their relationships.

🤍Mercury in the 9th house. Smart, funny, eloquent and people with extensive knowledge in their areas of interest. I love it. They are curious people by nature and once something catches their attention they dig deep. A quality to highlight in addition to all the above is their maturity and ability to understand that others think differently and instead of seeing it as a threat to their beliefs, they find what is fascinating in ideas different from their own. They defend their points of view tenaciously and can be very persuasive and skillful with their speech.

🤍Mars in Earth house. I think that in any of these houses [2nd, 6th or 10th] you have two things that I deeply admire, productivity and ambition. I really admire their ethics and the way they work, tenacious, strategic and excellent at long-term planning. They usually have a back-up plan and don't put expectations on anyone. They are demanding of themselves and are very professional in getting the work done. Qualities that I find very attractive. I add that I would like that in addition to this there was either a sextile with Saturn or an opposition.

🤍Moon-Saturn trine, sextile, quintile or biquintile. The self-control and resilience that these aspects give me fascinates me, it gives birth to a strong individual who is aware of all the difficulties they have gone through and is capable of trying to move on. When the Moon-Saturn aspects are used positively, the natives tenaciously rebuild themselves and although they look back to see those things from their past that afflict them, they know that they deserve better than that, that they are better than that and that their past does not define them. Likewise, they give a lot of peace and tranquility in their relationships, they are a great pillar for a partner, friends and family, and most importantly, they seek to understand and take care of what they most love.

[bunnyreaper]

i still get jealous

pairing - gabriel reyes x f!reader, minor niran prukamanee x f!reader wc -  1414 warnings - flirting, jealousy, mild sexual content notes - niran crush is developing but... i can’t cheat on my baby gabe so here is the product of that... ill add a follow up chapter... eventually? also on ao3

"Hello there."

A smooth, eloquent voice cuts through your thoughts, diverting your attention from spectating the bartender to the man that's appeared at your side. When you turn, the last person you expect is the VIP, the man of the hour himself.

"Oh, hi!" You offer him a bright smile, somewhat taken aback by how radiant he is close up, and how he somehow manages to appear delicate and imposing at the same time. "Niran, right?"

His handsome face splits into a grin, his eyes lighting up with joy. "The very same. I assume you've heard of me?" He purrs, as if the entire party isn't dedicated to his arrival.

"You're all anyone will talk about around the base." You reply, taking a quick sip of your drink.

New arrivals are always welcomed with open arms, especially when they seem to be gaining adoring fans at an alarming rate. 

When Kiriko was brought to the base, everyone was happy, but with news of Niran's arrival, most of the women and plenty of others were going absolutely nuts. 

As he takes a seat next to you, his scent catches up to you—uniquely floral, a good balance of delicate notes and unforgettable aroma.

"Good to know that I've made quite the impression." He sends a wink your way, which you hate to admit makes you blush. 

You sip desperately at your drink, hoping the alcohol will chase away the fact that, from a purely objective standpoint, he's incredibly attractive. 

He looks good in pictures, but you never quite got the appeal until now, as he sits before you and steals your attention. "I'm sure you're more than used to that." You comment teasingly, as you know there's no way he's clueless about the effect he has on people. 

"Perhaps." He chuckles, an angelic sound leaving his lips. "You never told me your name." 

"Y/N." You offer, giving him your hand to shake, more as a formality and act of politeness. 

"A beautiful name for such a beautiful flower." He coos, a certain look in his eye as he takes your hand. Peaking through fluttery lashes, he presses a kiss to your skin. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"You too, Niran." As you begin to laugh. 

Indulging him with some seemingly harmless flirting was one thing, but he was clearly a man on a mission. 

This would make a great story later. 

"How are you enjoying the party?" Niran asks, cutting through your thoughts once more. 

"It's nice, I'm a little dead on my feet from extra training today, but, commander's orders..." You sigh, giving him a shrug and a smile. 

He leans in, coming even closer into your personal space, in a way you find both amusing and suffocating. 

"Your commander likes to work you hard?" He asks, a genuine spark of interest in his eyes. 

"Oh, you have no idea." You giggle, taking more sips of your drink.

In fact, you could say the Commander has it out for you personally. 

"I can help with that." His voice is flirtatious once more, and the offer takes you by surprise. 

"Oh?" 

Niran leans back, a beaming smile on his face as he conjures a sparkling, ethereal pink rose, before he offers it to you like he would a lover. 

"It's so pretty." You gasp, fascinated and transfixed by the display. 

The flower sits gently upon his fingers, magically persisting despite having appeared from nowhere��you've obviously not seen his use of Biolight in person before.

"Take it. You'll find you feel quite rejuvenated." 

You hesitate, wondering about the implications of accepting the rose, and yet fascinated by the chance to experience its healing effects for yourself.

You reach out and take the stem, and as you cradle it between your fingers, the pain in your muscles seeps out of you. "Wow." You gasp. 

"Am I interrupting something?" 

You don't need to turn to know Gabriel has chosen the perfect time to make his appearance at your side. 

"No." You supply quickly.

"Yes." Niran speaks at the same time, and you can't help but laugh. 

"Niran, this is Commander Reyes." You fight to keep the smile off your face, finding some amusement in both the realization Niran is about to have, and the jealous waves rolling off of Gabe. 

"Oh, the martinet you mentioned earlier." He retorts, without skipping a beat, and yet the smile he directs at Gabriel is perfectly polite. 

You thread your arm around Gabriel's waist, pulling him closer to your side. You welcome the feeling of him so close. "And... my boyfriend." 

"Oh!" Niran gasps, and you expect his expression to fall, yet his smile seems to beam wider. "Well, I suppose it makes perfect sense that such a beauty would be spoken for, and by such a fine specimen, too." Niran's sultry gaze turns back to Gabriel, unperturbed by the frown on the older man's face. 

"He is fine, isn't he?" You giggle, your hand slipping down to squeeze his ass teasingly. 

"Doesn't sound like that's what you were saying earlier." Gabriel mumbles as his gaze breaks with Niran's and he faces you, a quietly annoyed look in his eyes. 

"Well, you are a hardass too." You laugh once more, and keep your hand on the aforementioned hard ass. 

"You make quite the couple." Niran comments, seemingly leaning in to both of you. "Are you open to another?" 

A choking sound leaves you in an instant, as Gabriel's eyes go completely wide—shock is not something you're used to seeing on him.

"Uh, we'll get back to you on that." You reply, struggling to hold back your laughter. You rise from the barstool, and thread your arm in Gabriel's as you intend on tugging him away. "It was nice meeting you, Niran." 

Your tone is polite despite your clear intention to leave.

"You too." Niran grins, still unperturbed, his eyes flicker to Gabriel once more as he offers the man one final sultry look. "Both of you." 

You and Gabe weave through the throngs of people until you make it to a more secluded area of the room. 

Gabriel still looks a little taken aback. "Did he start flirting with me too?" 

"I... think so, yeah." You respond before finally letting free your laughter. 

"Huh." He comments absentmindedly, before he turns and tugs you closer to him. He peers down at you, a questioning look on his face. "I didn't know you were into prettyboys." 

The way he says prettyboys is quite clearly derisive. 

"What gives you that impression?" You giggle, really taking pleasure in Gabriel's possessive display. It's not the worst he's been, or the most dramatic, but it still riles you up nonetheless. 

"The doe eyed look you were giving him, your little giggles." His jaw tightens as he talks. 

You know he trusts you fully, yet you also know there are just some emotions that overwhelm him easily. 

"Somebody's jealous." You coo, as you rest your hands on his chest and cast him a cheeky look. 

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight and close. "Not jealous, territorial." 

"Don't worry, my real type is still tall, dark, handsome, and called Gabriel." You beam up at him, as you truly wouldn't even consider actually entertaining anyone else's affections.

In the arms of your love, you feel completely at home. Looking up at him now only reminds you that you're right where you belong. 

"Good to know." He replies, then begins to haul you away by your arm. "But just in case, I think you need a reminder." 

"We're ditching?" You ask, as you struggle to keep pace as he heads back through the crowd.

He comes closer as the two of you move, his head dipping down beside your ear. "Oh, you'd rather stay at the welcoming party of your new friend?" 

"No Gabe." You still him for a moment, as you return his whispers. 

"Good." He grunts, resuming your journey once more.

When you're out of everyone's earshot and on your way to your quarters, Gabriel slams you into the wall of the hallway. 

His hands come to your waist, pressing you in as he traps you against the hard surface. His eyes are dark and stormy.

"I'm gonna fuck you until you forget his name." He growls. "And your own." 

He presses his growing erection against you, as he comes to whisper to you once more. 

"My name will be the only one you remember." 

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien Sharing Date English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Perhaps it's an illusion, but after he removes his glasses, those eyes that have always been looking at me seem even deeper.

With my soft exclamation, the already close distance becomes even more intimate, not leaving any gap.

His lowered lashes tremble lightly, brushing against my cheeks like butterfly wings.

His hot breath lingers on the corner of my lips for a while before finally enveloping it eagerly.

special thanks to ivi (@ivioivioivi on twitter) for helping me with translating some abstract things here 🫶

✂———————–

—[Part 1]—

The lecture hall is almost full, filled with students from the Film and Television Department of Loveland University.

Due to my previous programs consistently ranking first in viewership, universities' Film and Television Department often use them as case studies.

However, it's the first time today that both the production team and I have been invited to campus to give a sharing session.

Even though I've attended many events and ceremonies, as a behind-the-scenes person, I still feel a bit nervous under so many attentive gazes.

MC: Hello students, I'm MC.

Noticing a subtle unease in my tone, I can't help but recall the solemn vow that I made last night.

—[Flashback Start]—

MC: As long as I step onto the same podium where Professor Lucien once stood, I'll surely have the same demeanor as you!

Seeing me confidently waving the speech notes, Lucien couldn't help but chuckle.

Lucien: I'm curious, in your eyes, what kind of demeanor do I have?

MC: Of course you're someone who is both patient and effortlessly competent, and able to make complex concepts lively and engaging. In short, you're simply the best teacher in the world!

He gently gazed at me for a moment and then pulled me into his arms.

Lucien: [chuckles] If this biased classmate really were my student, my evaluations would probably become the highest in the whole school.

MC: What! The original highest score wasn't yours?

My exaggerated tone amused him, and Lucien rubbed my hair.

Lucien: If the Great Producer keeps showering me with praise like this, I might not be able to resist feeling proud.

Lucien: After the poster for the sharing session was put up, many colleagues came to greet me because of this outstanding family member*.

(T/N: his colleagues refer to MC as XM/Lucien's family🥺)

MC: So it seems that the reason I agreed at that time was very correct~

Facing his curious gaze, I winked at him.

MC: Because that was the invitation sent by your school.

—[Flashback Ends]—

Looking down at the audience below once more, I steady my mind.

Just as I'm about to speak, I hear a familiar voice.

??: Sorry, teacher, I'm late. Can I still come in and listen now?

MC: Of course—

Unwittingly, I glance towards the classroom door, my eyes widen in surprise when I see Lucien.

The classroom buzzes with murmurs, as the students have also recognized him.

Lucien: Thank you, teacher. Sorry to interrupt everyone.

I stare dumbfoundedly as he approaches and calmly places a piece of paper on the podium.

Lucien: My late slip.

MC: Ah, okay…

Not until he steps down to find an empty seat do I notice that the completely blank late slip is covered with a sticky note-

-filled with a drawing of a little rabbit on the lectern talking eloquently, and in the audience seat, a little fox applauds with a smile on his eyes.

I can't help but look up at him, seeing that he has already found a seat and is quietly gazing at me.

The distance between us isn't close, but his gaze has already dispelled most of my unease.

So I collected myself and took out my speech notes.

MC: I originally wanted to chat with everyone, but our department head wouldn't allow it, so I had to prepare a speech.

A wave of friendly laughter ripples through the audience, completely easing my nerves.

Very soon, I smoothly finished speaking according to the notes.

MC: ...Actually, the birth of every successful case is influenced by many uncontrollable variables.

MC: Even if we as creators replicate the so-called “speak from experience”, it may not necessarily generate new successful cases.

MC: In the end, I think sharing some practical insights is better.

MC: I often feel that filming is similar to life, it's a process of establishing a stable relationship with the world.

MC: And some specific yet small orders will bring us a sense of certainty about life and becoming an important part of life.

MC: If you don't know what to shoot, you can look within your own world.

MC: Taking myself as an example, like... the flower shop that opens at 8 a.m. near my home. And also...

As I speak, I look at the audience, meeting head-on the gaze that has never shifted.

There is an itch in my heart, always wanting to express something. Before I know it, I've already put down the speech notes--

MC: [smiling softly] The light from my neighbor's house next door often stays on until 4 a.m.

✂———————–

—[Part 2]—

Amidst the continuous applause, Lucien beamingly applauds, bearing a striking resemblance to the little fox on the sticky note.

At this moment, the dean beside me suddenly leans in, lowering their voice as they speak.

Dean: MC, you delivered your speech too smoothly. Here's the bad news: there are still 20 minutes left before class ends.

MC: [sweating nervously] Ah? What should I do? Do you have anything else you want to say?

Seeing him shake his head, my brain starts to work at lightning speed, and suddenly, I think of something.

MC: Since we're out of things to say, we'll just have to let the students speak.

The next moment, a student stood up bewildered as we called their name.

Dean: Everyone, feel free to express your thoughts. Share your feelings after attending the sharing session.

Student A: Oh! I found Teacher MC's talk very interesting. I've also been pondering about some small "orders" just now.

Student A: Like the video call my mom makes every night and the taro ice cream that the school convenience store restocks every Thursday afternoon at three.

Laughter instantly fills the room, as if this were a well-known understanding among everyone.

Immediately, several students also raise their hands, eager to join the conversation.

Student B: When spring arrives, the peach blossoms on the campus will bloom the earliest.

Student C: There's an old librarian who likes to blow his beard, it turns out he's stuck on sudoku.

This time, everyone fell silent for a moment, emitting small gasps of surprise.

Student C: Because of the old man's habit of blowing his beard, I made a documentary about him... but the film lacked soul.

Student C: So I want to ask, how do you find something worth expressing?

I think for a moment before speaking earnestly.

MC: The best way I can think of is to ask yourself what you most want to express from your heart.

MC: Once you have the answer, you will discover that it may have just been sustaining the order you rely on the most to survive right now.*

MC: It's also the closest connection between you and this world—

MC: At that moment, many natural words or images will appear before you effortlessly.

(T/N: tbh it's really abstract even in CN LOL, but I take from it that perhaps what you want to express is already on the orders in your life all along? Keep this in mind until the last part)

I instinctively glance at Lucien and notice the corners of his eyes slowly curving.

Student C: Can you give an example?

MC: Um?

Perhaps the answer was too clear before my eyes, and in that moment, I hesitated instead.

As I realize, I've already missed the opportune moment for the best response, and I can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

And the person in my line of sight seems to have chuckled, raising his hand.

Lucien: I'd like to share something too.

As soon as these words were spoken, students turned their curious gazes towards him, and I also waited nervously for his speech.

Lucien: I feel that, often, before finding the expression, perhaps it's the order itself that takes precedence in life.

Lucien: After you become aware of it, it has already brought about natural habits and rules.

Lucien: Therefore, for me, perhaps the modification and alteration of the order itself appear to be more special. The things born from it make people want to dig and explore deeper.

Lucien: For example, the hot milk that always appears when I write a paper, or the scolding I received for not sleeping, which seems to have started at some unknown point…

Even as I try to control my expression, I still feel my cheeks getting a little warm.

The instigator, however, seemed oblivious to my shyness, unabashedly casting an eager gaze my way.

Lucien: Teacher MC, if all the orders of life point to one person at the same time, then wouldn't her existence—

Lucien: Be tantamount to the closest connection between me and this world?

✂———————–

—[Part 3]—

The meeting ends, and after saying goodbye to my colleagues, I decide to take a walk around campus with Lucien.

I'm still immersed in the confession that only we knew a moment ago. Even my steps feel a bit light.

Lucien: You seem to have more talent for being a teacher than I imagined.

Lucien: If I had a teacher like you when I was studying, I would definitely sit in the front row every class.

Lucien: Would this teacher choose me as the class representative?

As he speaks seriously, I pretend to consider.

MC: Hmm... I'll think about it.

He nods thoughtfully, but a smile slowly appears in his eyes.

Lucien: So, to become the class representative, it seems I need to pay more attention to the teacher.

Lucien: [teasingly] Your face seems to have been flushed since I raised my hand to answer the question. Are you feeling uncomfortable?

Colliding with his narrowed smiling eyes, I blush and playfully poke his arm.

MC: Lucien!

Lucien: [chuckles] It seems that the teacher has already remembered my name.

Seeing his pretending-to-be-serious expression, I can't help but laugh.

Lucien: Moreover, it seems you set an example for me first.

I raise my puzzled gaze, then collide with his slightly teasing smiling eyes.

Lucien: After all, it was teacher MC who mentioned me first.

Lucien: It appears that I didn't realize I had become part of your order so long ago.

MC: ….!

I belatedly react, embarrassedly wanting to reach out and cover his mouth.

He chuckles softly and catches my hand, squeezing it into his palm.

Hand in hand, we walk through the campus, bathed in the gentle light filtering through the trees, softly resting upon us.

Occasionally, students pass by us, heading in the same direction.

The moment I curiously glance in that direction, he already grasps my hand, leading me towards it knowingly.

Ten minutes later, standing at the entrance of the convenience store, we look at the taro ice cream in each other's hands and laugh together.

Despite the slight chill in the air, I eagerly take a big bite, instantly filled with the soft, sweet flavor of taro.

MC: No wonder it can become an unspoken understanding among everyone, it's just too delicious!

Lucien also takes a bite of the ice cream, his eyes widening slightly.

Lucien: [gasps in a pleasant surprise] It's a bit cold... but indeed the taste exceeds imagination.

MC: But it seems quite popular on campus. You've never tried it before?

He shakes his head, then as if something catches his eye, he lifts his hand and gently rests it on the top of my head.

Lucien: Although there are indeed many beauties in this world that I have yet to discover…

Lucien: They always seem to be miraculously brought to me by you.

He opens his palm towards me, revealing a pale pink petal lying inside, probably the one he just picked from the top of my head.

I raise my head, and several peach blossoms hanging from the branches come into view.

Realizing that the scenes shared by the students seem to be coincidentally unfolding before us, I look at Lucien with some excitement.

MC: How about we go to the library again and see that old man who loves to do Sudoku?

Unfortunately, the one sitting at the librarian's desk in the reading room is a young girl.

MC: Looks like the old man isn't on duty today…

Sensing my gaze, the girl looks back at me with a puzzled expression.

I instinctively turn to the side, then immediately hear a muffled chuckle from above.

Lucien: [chuckles] Are you forgetting that you* have always had the right to come and go here?

MC: Right…

[T/N: Actually, Lucien teasingly refers to MC as 教师家属 (teacher’s family member) in that sentence. Anyway since he’s a teacher here, and she’s his ‘family member’ she has the right to just come to the library at any time. They can find him at another time together^^]

The familiar reading room, the season of peach blossoms blooming, and the person beside me with a smile, everything seems to be no different from two years ago.

[Reference to Impression Date!]

But unlike back then, the once quiet and empty reading room is now filled with students quietly reading. I can't help but lower my voice.

MC: I don't think I asked you last time, where do you like to sit when you read?

His indifferent gaze falls lightly on the sun-drenched tables and chairs without much emotion.

Lucien: I prefer to borrow books from the third-floor lending room and read them at home rather than here.

MC: Oh? I always thought you wouldn't be picky about reading environments.

Lucien: For me, the environment indeed has little impact on the reading experience.

Lucien: However, at home, there's always a little lady who will snuggle up next to me and read together.

He pauses for a moment, looking at me earnestly.

Lucien: It's hard not to develop a sense of dependence on the comforting environment you create.

✂———————–

—[Part 4]—

MC: Wow, it's "Essays in Love"!

Just as I stepped into the lending room, I paused in front of a somewhat familiar novel.

Lucien: Mm, compared to the story in the book, I'm more impressed by MC's "kidnapping”*.

[T/N: reference to Devotion Date where MC 'kidnaps' Lucien]

He holds my hand and leads me with a smile, I haven't even taken a few steps yet when another book catches my eye.

MC: "YOUR ATOMIC SELF"? You just read it recently during the check-in event!

Lucien: Yes, I returned it after finishing. If you want to read it, there's a new copy in the study that I just bought.

We walk hand in hand through the empty shelves, and every few steps, we come across familiar traces.

MC: Hehe, this book is one we read together.

Lucien: However, after flipping through a few pages, it seems like a girl fell asleep in my arms.

MC: [sweating] Haha, it's the kind of thing you can forget about.

Lucien: [teasingly] Oh? Looks like MC isn't too curious about what happens after she falls asleep.

His lips curled a bit, as if recalling something amusing.

MC: What is it?

Lucien: Actually... [chuckles] about half an hour after you fell asleep, I fell asleep too.

MC: Pfft! If even you fell asleep, then it must be the fault of the book.

Lucien: Though it's a bit impolite to say, the author's writing does lack logical coherence.

Seeing his slightly furrowed brow and troubled expression, I suddenly felt the urge to tease him, so I struggled to suppress a smile.

MC: But I think it's impressive in its own way.

Lucien: Hm?

MC: It can be used for hypnosis~ Next time if I find you refusing to sleep, I'll just read it aloud beside you, and you'll drift off in no time.

Seemingly taking it seriously, he even pondered for a moment before speaking.

Lucien: [chuckles] But the feasibility of this method is not very high.

MC: Why?

Lucien: After all, it seems like you'd get sleepy before managing to lull me to sleep.

Seeing him speak earnestly, but his eyes already betraying laughter, I can't help but laugh along with him.

The clock hanging on the wall quietly completes a full circle as we step into the innermost section of the document area.

Scholarly journals written in various languages are neatly arranged on the bookshelves, bringing together a vast ocean of wisdom.

Suddenly, I remembered something and looked at him with a hint of anticipation.

MC: I remember you recently published a paper in a core journal. Can we find it here too?

Lucien: Nowadays, many publications are distributed in electronic formats. I'm not sure if the library would have hard copies.

His gaze wanders through the dizzying array of titles for a long time, seemingly without finding anything.

So he walks over to the search computer, typing the journal's name on the keyboard, and after hitting the enter key, he squints a little at the screen.

Lucien: [chuckles] Found it.

MC: Huh? They have even the newest ones. Can I find the article you published earlier too?

Five minutes later, I find myself dazedly staring at the thick journals in my arms.

MC: Even though I know about every paper you've published, seeing them all together still makes me want to marvel at your brain…

MC: Can I absorb some of your wisdom by reading these articles?

Lucien: I don't think so.

With a lingering inflection, he leans down slightly and pecks my lips.

Lucien: [chuckles, then whispers] But maybe this way you can.

His earnest demeanor makes it impossible for me to suppress a smile.

MC: Hehe, with Professor Lucien sharing his wisdom with me, I'll definitely be able to read research papers with ease in the future!

As I speak, I flip through the pages and quickly find Lucien's article among them.

Unfamiliar foreign languages and complex technical terms occasionally trip me up as I read, but it doesn't stop me from carefully perusing the text bit by bit.

In his concise and clear theories, it feels like I can see every dull piece of data he recorded and every sleepless night he endured.

And there's also that curiosity that never extinguished, even after countless failed attempts.

Merely watching him moving forward fills me with immense pride.

Unconsciously, I reach the end of the paper, and suddenly, I feel as though I see my name flash before my eyes.

I calm myself and carefully read through the last section once again.

The next moment, as my gaze flicks over the acknowledgments section, I feel my heart skip a beat.

There, my own name actually appears-

And finally, I would like to thank my dear (y/n)-

--whose love and support has always been the driving force pushing me forward.

I stare at him in disbelief, but he just looks at me and smiles.

Having a faint idea of what's going on, I proceed to flip through several other journals.

Without exception, there's a line of acknowledgment dedicated to me after each of his articles.

An indescribable surge of emotions overwhelms me, leaving me momentarily speechless, but he instantly pulls me into his arms with a chuckle.

Lucien: [chuckles, then whispers] What to do.

Lucien: Seeing my little lady so surprised, it seems I can't easily showcase my research results in the future.

His pretended distress amuses me, and I lightly pat him on the shoulder.

MC: You know very well that I'm very happy.

He pulls me into his hug, his chin rubbing against the top of my head.

Lucien: [whispers softly] Um, of course I do.

Lucien: [x2] It's just that seeing you happy because of me, I can't help but feel happy too.

MC: You never mentioned it before.

He looks into my eyes as if trying to see into my heart.

Lucien: [x3] Just like eating and sleeping every day, I don't seem to feel that this is something necessary to mention specifically.

Lucien: [x4] Just as you appear in every corner of my life…

Lucien: [x5] I naturally think of you in the moment of completing an article, and naturally want to express thank you to you.

Lucien: [x6] This natural feeling…

Lucien: [x7]...is like when spring arrives, flowers will naturally bloom.

My heart feels like it's being gently tickled by his whispers, making me unable to resist any longer, so I stand on tiptoe and kiss him.

The next moment, he gently lifts me up, quietly closing the distance between us.

The gauze curtains sway, casting a touch of charm onto the light and shadow falling upon us.

Perhaps it's an illusion, but after he removes his glasses, those eyes that have always been looking at me seem even deeper.

I stare at his handsome features in a trance, unaware of the sudden strength supporting my lower back.

With my soft exclamation, the already close distance becomes even more intimate, not leaving any gap.

His lowered lashes tremble lightly, brushing against my cheeks like butterfly wings.

I have to close my eyes so that my heart doesn't beat too chaotically.

His hot breath lingers on the corner of my lips for a while before finally enveloping it eagerly.

The pleasant breath gradually penetrates my lips and mouth, and then spreads all over my body, making me completely surrender myself to him.

In my hazy consciousness, I faintly hear the sound of flowers blooming.

My next spring with him- really seems to have arrived.

[waywardmillennial]

watchergate & where we go from here...

To start at the end, I purchased my annual Watcher TV subscription on April 20th because I wanted to support them when it felt like so many others were not. I'm cancelling another subscription to make this work with my budget, and I'm very happy with this!

Watcher has always made high quality, entertaining content that I love, and I'm happy to support them as they try to grow like they've always wanted to so they can bring on more creators and give us more diverse art.

So, moving forward, I'm going to be posting about Watcher TV when it comes out - spoiler parties with the sexy moots! - and I'll be blocking any and all haters I see. 💜💜💜

(read more bc ofc this got long)

To walk this back and give a little history/context, *ahem* [sotto Byron voice]

April 12, 2024: Watcher announced they had a surprise coming for us in a week's time. The news came in the form of a very spirited ad-read in the Mystery Files s2 finale. And afterwards there were a few blogs posting about it, but I commented to a friend that my dash had been devoid of Watcher posts (oh, how that sweet summer child would grow to long for a day such as that).

There were some corkboard theories, and I broke down the new logo design, but nothing big happened until the following Thursday.

April 18, 2024: I saw the leak for the announcement. It was on reddit and a sock tumblr blog was made sending the link out to people. I didn't post it or share it because it wasn't my news to share. I wanted to wait to see how they were going to explain it.

Maybe I should have said at the time (but it's fine if you don't believe me now I guess) but I was hoping Watcher TV would become like their enhanced Patreon replacement, where the new shows like "Puppet History Karaoke" and "Road Files" would be exclusive, and some other perks like early access. [note: if Apollo is laughing at him right now, I'd kindly request he stuff that red ball somewhere Helios doesn't shine]

I imagined some people would be mad at the streaming news but it didn't prepare me for how bad it would get...

April 19, 2024: Most of us know what happened. The announcement was not well received. Watcher's silence right after wasn't helping, but I don't think many people were willing to give them any grace for their pre-planned trip to the UK and instead demanded answers immediately.

Do I think maybe their announcement could have been timed better? Or maybe given a different tone? Perhaps. But either way what they were trying to communicate was not what people chose to hear, and the response from many viewers was, to choose a very formal phrase here, absolute bonker banana balls insane.

The main anti-streamer "arguments" I saw basically boiled down into these categories:

"high production tv quality content is what they want to make, but we don't want that - we only want them to sit in a blank room and talk to each other with blue and yellow text like the bfu days!!"

"Steven's the one behind all this bc he's rich and greedy and only eats gold"

"they already make enough money off their patreon why are they doing this?? they should have consulted [insert other yt-er here]"

"they've become the capitalist elite that we swore to destroy! so we have to tear them down from their thrones!!"

Even now, feeling better than I have in days, I don't have the energy to say why each of those takes completely misses the point of who they are as a company, as creators, and as human beings. But there are some eloquent posts in my #watchergate tag, or my other post, if you're interested.

April 22, 2024: We got the Watcher update - giving people access to all videos after a month on the new streamer - and that seemed to placate a lot of viewers and those on the fence. But it was also the day I learned about that horrible petition against Steven, and I'd been following all this drama for several days (foregoing some self-care) and so I had a little meltdown...

Even though the new setup is closer to what I'd hoped for like 10 days ago, I hate how we arrived at it. It's shown people that they can bully creators to get them to compromise on their company. In fact, I've seen accounts celebrating this.

Opinions like this have given me trust issues when it comes to the Watcher fandom at large now. As many of my beloved mutuals have said, I'm going to be wary of accounts that follow me and be applying that blocking feature liberally.

I can also only imagine how things like this must have broken some of the trust that the Watcher crew feels for us - fightingfuries really said it best. If they do start distancing themselves on socials and things, I wouldn't really blame them.

I don't have more to say, other than I'm going to support them as much as I can, for as long as they continue to make content. I'm going to send the team a care package. And I hope in time we'll earn back their trust.

Now I'll let Ryan Bergara play me out...

As for the question of why we decided to launch our own platform, when we started Watcher in 2020, we wanted to create shows that we were proud of, that we had ownership over, and that would provide you the caliber of content that we felt you deserved. However, we were finding it harder and harder to stay relevant to advertisers and the constantly changing YouTube landscape. We faced some incredibly challenging decisions. We didn't want to compromise our content to ensure they met advertising requirements. And we definitely did not want to lay people off that have brought Watcher to life behind the scenes. And we didn't want to bring Watcher to a close, which would have happened if we stayed solely on YouTube. - An Update, April 22, 2024

[prettieinpink]

being smart makes u prettier !!

If you’re somebody who’s not an active student rn, you’re on holiday, you want to become more smarter, looking for brain exercises before studying or you just want to be smarter without studying everyday this post is 4 u!!!!

READ!!!!!!! 

This is crazy to me, the amount of people who don’t read is so high. You don’t even have to read a hard-copy book, just reading an article is literally enough to keep your brain exercising. 

Some benefits i’ve noticed with reading consistently are my memory is literally boosted and my vocabulary is better. Though, i’ve only started reading every night like 2 months ago. 

It does not need to be an educational or extensive literature book. Even some random book like an fantasy romance is gonna give you the same benefits. 

Start writing whatever 

This goes in pair with reading, but writing is literally the best brain exercise ever. Even if its journaling or some stupid short story, it all counts plus its really fun

One you begin writing, your mind just becomes less cluttered and you’re just less stressed. And its a perfect creative outlet for those who arent as artsy 

Focus meditations

Before literally any task, whether its deep or shallow work but its still exerts your mental energy, do a focus meditation

Helped me become 10x productive and its so much easier to get into the flow of work 

So important if you're an student or studying anything!!!

Download elevate!!

Its available on IOS but idk about androids 

Basically it's an app where you can do three mental exercises each day, and it keeps track of your progress and gives you highlights after each session 

It helps with mental maths, communication, eloquence and general writing!

Learning how to think on your own

It's crazy to me how much people rely on the internet. You do not need to scroll pinterest each time for outfit inspiration, searching up writing prompts each time you write or even ask the internet for personal advice

OR

When people are bored, so instead of just being bored they decide to consume a whole lot of content that is not nourishing the mind 

Its definitely okay to do, but not always

So take a step back, and ask yourself, ‘could I really survive a day of doing tasks without once using any source of the internet?’ ‘is this media allowing my mind to flourish? Or is it killing it?’

Thinking by yourself is now such a valuable skill, if you don't have it, DEVELOP IT. 

Randomly research everything

If u get curious about something don’t just let it float in your head, taking up mental space

Instead research it! Even the little things like an random flower, how are playgrounds manufactured, the history of beds or the most expensive pencil ever.

conservations are so easy 4 me now because i know a lot of random stuff that the usual person doesn't care about! It makes it so easy for you to stand out too

[pwhl-mybeloved]

Really conflicted about the britta curl situation like from what I’ve seen yes she did do some things that are actively harmful and her apology I can’t say is the best thing I’ve ever seen but also I think the complete amount of hatred isn’t productive and only serves to damage the league. Like sending a mob after someone has never been an effective way of changing their views and from what I can tell there’s like a handful of comments? That she apologized for and Maybe the apology wasn’t the most eloquent but if her actions reflect it over time then I think it’s exceptionally unproductive to continue to hold her to an impossible standard and punish the league for it in the process

Has she apologized ? I haven’t seen that so pls direct me to that bc I’d love to have that info. Apologies and renouncing views are also different things too.

I think apologizing because you dinged someone’s bumper while backing out is an instance when an apology can be wishy washy. An apology for statements made and upheld about the humanity of a population can’t be wishy washy. And I don’t think fans want to hold her to an impossible standard. I think they want someone who is racist and transphobic to not feel super comfy to be loud and proud about those views.

And as for punishing the league, my take on that is the league is a business. Thinking about punishing it in the same terms as punishing a person is kinda a false equivalent? You absolutely can and should use your dollars and fan engagement to hold the league to a certain standard. As a business, it’s the only thing that can work.

Also, I think there’s more to the upset of fans than just ‘Minnesota canned Darwitz and drafted curl 😠’. I think the lack of communication that the league has had with fans about both actions is salt on the wound for two huge missteps by that team.

I think where I’ve come to in this is if holding the league accountable damages the league, then i am ok with that. Damage does not mean it folds tomorrow entirely. Damage can be repaired. What’s that quote ‘if it can be destroyed by the truth than it must be destroyed by the truth’ that’s my energy here.

I think early on in this league is the only true window we have as fans to communicate our expectations. Allowing things to be swept under the rug for the ‘sake of the league’ will only do everyone a disservice in the long run.

This got longer than I meant it to but thank you for your ask, I appreciate that we’re all thinking critically about this!

[bi-ss]

~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Summary: You agreed to arrange marriage when you were little, after seeing who you are to marry. You wish you could go back.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions on getting drink, idk what else lemme know.

(Also, for the people annoying me about when this will be out i do have otherthings going on and if i say its almost done i just need to read it over doesnt mean imma drop everything and finish it lol x)

You feel like you've been driving for ages but its only been 15 minutes max, his hand keeps twitching on the gear stick like he wants to talk but doesn't know what to talk about, so you start up the conversation instead to be nice.

"So what colour is the bathroom? Black, white, grey?" You wanted to know so your towels matched and your robe and skincare products, no one will be going in there, but just in case.

"We're getting married in 3 weeks, and you're more worried about my bathroom -" he scoffs seemingly more stressed than you in this moment in time.

You roll your eyes as you go to look out the window again "just so I know what to unpack first, you know the necessities" you interrupted him with no shame what so ever, you realised your been driving for a very long time, suspicious long so you took a guess to put him in the hot seat and to seem smarter and more calm and confident then you really are.

"We aren't going to yours, are we?" You say blankly and calmly which, from where your sitting looked like it freaked him out a bit, only for a second, though.

"No. We're not. We're going to the main house. " woah ok, straight to the the point, I guess that was what you thought, but you nodded and hummed at his confession. There you were again sitting in silence. Wait, main house? You thought as you pulled into the longest driveway in the world, like stupidly long, and it like gravely and uncomfortable but at the end of the stupidly long driveway was a castle like Manor, which would do you just fine. The gravel driveway was lined with cypress trees and beyond the thin row of them there were big front lawns, you smiled to your self when you saw a older looking man on one a drivable lawn mowers, you don't know why you always found them funny.

When you arrived at the front (finally) you got out of the blacked out car, to see James stopped at the front midway to open it for you, you took note of the sad empty flower boxes under 2 big windows and 2 small plant pots next to the front door, James opened the door for you to see the shiniest polished white marble floors you've ever seen, the grand stair case also white marble but looked more gritty with a dark grey carpet drapped over them, the ceiling feld the most eloquent depictions of angels, flowers and small animals, the ceiling also held one of the most stunning chandeliers you've even seen, it's off white with diamonds looking as if their falling from it like rain. You could live here, you thought.

You were interrupted by a heavy bang, looking over to see what it was, but it was just James bringing in your bags, the necessities. He huffed a little before asking "Ill have someone bring your bags up to our room later, in the meantime go look around" you nodded silently, thinking, "I guess you have work to do.. so do I, I have to make sure your closet will be big enough. " You smiled at him before turning to walk up the stairs while the door opened and closed behind him as he left.

You realised looking down the long corridor full of dark wooden doors that you weren't told which door was yours, but then you thought of what a great excuse that was to snoop around and snoop you did. You must have spent hours just walking around opening and closing random doors to rooms your sure you weren't meant to be in, like a dark blue bed room with mens clothes all over the floor and the smell of expensive cologne that ever man wears to feel rich, or the power blue room that looks childish but also mature all at once, you liked it, was all well until you entered a room you knew you shouldn't be in, his office.

It was underwhelming, to say the least, old worn-out desk with papers shattered on every inch of it and lovely painting of his parents on their wedding day on the wall behind his desk to left 2 massive windows looking out to the small side garden with a green house and other gardening things, there were bookshelfs up against the wall from his desk to the door on the right, when you turned you was a little cosy seated area, with 2 sofas that sit 3 people facing a fire place with an arm chair tucked in the corner, it was peaceful you liked it, until the doors burst open and a small man walked in.

"You shouldn't be in here lady, why are you in here?" He spat at you like he owned the place, 2 can play that game.

"I'm waiting for James..-" you weren't even done before this 5'4 nobody started speaking over you, you weren't entitled or you didn't think you were but you already didnt like him one bit.

"First, it's Mr Barnes to you, and second, he's getting ready for something important so you'll have to leave now" alright fuck this, you thought if James didn't even tell his staff you were coming or even what you looking like he mustn't care right? Either way , you're going home to your house as you can already come to dread the problems ahead.

"Oh alright then, tell Mr Barnes I was here and to give me a ring" you smiled at the tiny man as you quickly left his office and gracefully made your way down the marble stair case, you looked up as your were at the bottom going for you door to see him smiling and waving so you blow him a kiss and left closing the door calling your bestfriend to come pick you up and get ready for some serious gossip.

Once she finally got there in her soft yellow mini, getting in you first mentioned how it took for 45 minutes then apologised as it wasn't easy to find surprisingly then you went on about how James just picked you up, what you think was flirting he tried to do in your bedroom then took you to his real house, left you like some cheap tart and the cherry on top he didn't bother notifying his staff about you.

"You know what, let's go to mine. Get pissed have a great time, then have a sleepover because that's not it right there" spoke your bestfriend since collage, you used to hate each other, you can't remember why but you both did.

"I can't have an event to go to tomorrow.." You pulled a disappointed face looking at her from the corner of your eye. You saw her with a look of 'wtf is she serious' while side eyeing you, "I guess I could get tispy for a little" you were so confident but your loving bff gave a small laugh before shutting up and forcing herself to considerate on the road, but you knew deep down that you'll get tipsy and wake up in the desert drenched in water somehow dressed as a tele-tubby.

TAGS: @learis @unaxv @cjand10 @pattiemac1 @coffee-winter-and-silence @scott-loki-barnes

[kingdomvel]

A Gift exchange

Stardew Valley au | farmer Anakin | Town doctor Obi-Wan

As he does most mornings now, Anakin takes Obi-Wan’s empty milk bottle from his doorstep and exchanges it for a full one from his cows. He wakes up early every day to milk his cows and come to the town early enough to beat the milkman to the bottle. Or most days. There are days when the animals need extra attention and he can’t get to the town early enough, or at all, but most days it’s Anakin’s cow’s milk Obi-Wan is drinking, and he also leaves some eggs and vegetables often for him.

Anakin is still crouching, empty bottle in his hand, when a sound makes him freeze. The front door to Obi-Wan’s house and clinic has just opened. Immediately to his right.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. And Anakin doesn’t answer, trying not to look as mortified as he looks as he feels at being caught. Anakin looks up at Obi-Wan, and what he finds in his face is a bit confusing. There is surprise, but he also looks like he expected to see him here and is pleased to be right.

“Uhh… good morning. I was just-“ Anakin gestures with the empty bottle in his hand. Purses his lips. Looks away. Looks at Obi-Wan again.

“Leaving milk for me before the milkman comes like you do most days?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I… guess. How did you know?”

“You know I do have to pay for the milk, right? The moment he told me that he was not the one leaving the milk for me every day I immediately thought about you.”

Anakin’s heart jumps in his chest, because Obi-Wan immediately thought about him.

“I will have to pay you for it, of course.” Obi-Wan says, and puts his hand inside of his pocket.

“What? No! I don’t want you to pay me.” Anakin exclaims, finally standing up so he is at the same level as Obi-Wan.

“It’s the product of your work, I need to pay you.”

“Well I don’t want you to. It’s a gift.”

“I assume the eggs and vegetables are also gifts from you?”

Anakin shifts his weight between his feet, purses his lips so he can take a second to answer. He didn’t know Obi-Wan had also put that together.

“Well, yeah.”

“Anakin I have not done enough to deserve so many gifts.” Obi-Wan says, and he may be right, but Anakin can’t really say I wanted you to pay attention to me and court you but I didn’t know how to so this is the best thing I could think of.

“You have taken care of me.” He settles on saying. And it’s true, Obi-Wan did his check-up, and has taken care of him when he has overdone it because of the sun a few times.

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head, like he is resigning himself to not argue more, but still doesn’t agree with him.

“Wait here for a second please, I have something for you.”

“Wait, you don’t-“ Anakin starts to call out, but Obi-Wan is gone inside his house before he can say anything more.

Anakin waits, and wonders if maybe he should allow himself inside to wait. A woman across the street is looking at him, and she doesn’t return his wave. When the milkman arrives and shakes his head with a smile at Anakin as he passes the clinic, Anakin decides to let himself in. He is just closing the door after him, one empty bottle in one had and one full one in the other and wondering what to do with them, when he hears Obi-Wan coming down the stairs and he appears in the corridor a couple of seconds later.

“Oh, I left you outside, excuse my manners.” Obi-Wan says from behind a black box. He leaves the box on a side table, takes the bottle of milk from Anakin and leaves it next to it. He takes the box again and offers it to Anakin.

“This is for me?” Anakin asks eloquently.

“Yes. You can open it.” Anakin does as Obi-Wan continues talking, “it’s not much, really, but I thought that maybe you wouldn’t wear a hat because you didn’t have one and, as I understand, this is what people wear in Tatooine farms-“

Anakin stares at the cowboy hat inside the box, lifts it carefully to take a good look at it. It’s dark brown, the sides lifted slightly. The material feels good in his hands and when he puts it on it fits him perfectly.

“You got this for me.”

“Yes. I’ll understand if you already have one and just don’t like wearing it, but I honestly think you should wear a hat when you are out in the sun, I hoped this would be an incentive.”

It IS an incentive, because if it’s a gift from Obi-Wan, Anakin doesn’t think he will take it off again. Wearing the hat will be a reminder that the man thinks about him, cares about him in some degree. Anakin did have a hat like this back in Tatooine, but the material was not that good and he had lost it when he moved here. He had looked into buying one, but the cost of the shipping alone was too much for Anakin, still trying to get the farm going again, which reminds him…

“I can’t accept this,” Anakin says, taking the hat off, as much as it pains him.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan asks, genuinely confused. He doesn’t make a move to take the hat from Anakin’s offering hands.

“It must have cost you a fortune getting this here, it’s too much.”

Obi-Wan waves his words off with a gesture. “Take it as an exchange for all the things that you leave at my door. And it wasn’t that expensive, a friend of mine came back from Tatooine not too long ago and he brought it with him.” Obi-Wan puts one of his hands on top of Anakin’s with a smile, and Anakin’s heart skips a beat. Anakin relaxes his hands under the touch. He hadn’t realised he was holding the hat so hard. “Please, accept my gift, so I don’t have to constantly worry about you out in the sun when the weather is warm.”

“Okay,” Anakin agrees, “but you will tell me if you need anything, no going back to the store for things I can provide you with.”

“Deal,” Obi-Wan says, “but please lower the amount of eggs you leave at my door, I’ve run out of things to do with them and room to store them.”

[fandomiplier]

bi-han and affection

pairing: character study; no pairing

genre: angst; no comfort

warnings: intergenerational trauma, death

hi there! this was just something i wrote in a hurry because i desperately need more bi-han characterization/character studies. also, yall can snatch autistic!bi-han from my cold, dead hands. hope you enjoy!

bi-han is not a conventionally affectionate person.

as far as he recalls, he never was. bi-han doesn't dwell on childhood memories as much as his brothers do - he doesn't see the usefulness of reminiscing, especially on memories he sees as useless. but, as far as he recalls, he's always been distant, even in the beginning of his training.

(bi-han doesn't have any memory from before he began his lin kuei training; his oldest memory is holding a bo and learning how to use it as a weapon by his tutor. he was 7).

he does not enjoy physical contact. he never enjoyed it, even as a kid - being touched without consent is something bi-han despises with a fiery passion. the cryomancy does not aid in that aspect; the warmth of the touch is bothersome and sometimes painful. but it feels uncomfortable in a different way, almost as if his bones ache inside his body once people touch him without consent or warning. it often leads to an angry discussion or someone leaving with a broken nose. kuai liang tends to deal with the situation for him, especially when the perpetrator is an important figure or of interest to the lin kuei. but sometimes his reaction time gets the best of him - and confrontation is inevitable.

at the same time, bi-han is not verbally affectionate. when necessary, bi-han can lecture his students on fighting techniques, on weaponry, on war strategy and philosophy. he has done it before countless times, each time more eloquently than the last - bi-han is an excellent teacher, even though he lacks patience most times. but when it comes to interpersonal relations, bi-han is a complete disaster. surely, he can converse with other clan leaders, can discuss politics and trade deals, can and has secured alliances with other clans ever since he became grandmaster. he looks smooth - but, in private, bi-han falls flat every single time he has to interact with someone. it feels odd and weird and uncomfortable, both for the person and for him. it feels just like being touched, like his bones creak under his muscles once the awkwardness sets in - it feels physically painful.

so he refrains. he refrains from most celebrations or social gatherings, he does not interact with people outside of work or training. he leaves his bedroom in the early morning, works and trains until exhaustion and, once he's satisfied with his productivity, returns to his chambers to bathe, eat and sleep. that is, if he doesn't sleep at his table, in the grandmaster's office - kuai liang finds him unconscious on top of stacks of papers, sleeping over lin kuei documents and mission reports.

(on those nights, either kuai liang or tomas leave him a cup of tea and some food for once he wakes up. bi-han never thanks them for it, but they know he appreciates the care).

even before he became grandmaster, bi-han had the exact same routine: wake up, train, classes, train again, eat, bathe and sleep. his cryomancy interfered severely with his sleep - something about his metabolic rate trying to compensate for the cold, so he feels constantly awake. insomnia has accompanied him for years and the easiest way to sleep is to just exhaust himself enough that he passes out and sleeps until the next morning. it doesn't always work - but it does the trick on most nights. his mother was desperate seeing her son exhaust himself to sleep, but they had no other solution to the issue.

his mother worried about him. she knew bi-han was the most dedicated of all her sons, even though kuai liang and tomas have always been as devoted to the clan as the eldest. but bi-han's obstinate nature worried her. it worried her that bi-han would exhaust himself to the point of death to fulfill his father's demands. the lack of physical contact and verbal communication, even with his own family, terrified her; and realizing how closed off bi-han had and would always be made her worry for his wellbeing even in her last days.

kuai liang and tomas don't talk about it. they know trying to argue with bi-han is futile - and would end badly for both of them. tomas knows bi-han is closed-off because he feels uncomfortable and would rather die than force his brother into an uncomfortable situation. kuai liang still worries and wishes his brother would open up more, even if only with his brothers, but he also knows bi-han is not the type of person to verbalize concerns or issues. his brother is practical and methodical; the type of person to solve the issue before telling anyone about it. so he knows that, if someone were the matter, he would know sooner or later; but his mother's worry rubbed off on him.

bi-han may not be verbally or physically affectionate, but one can clearly tell when he is worried. bi-han cares for very few people in this world and he unconsciously dotes over them a little when worried - which is a lot, considering bi-han does not dote on anyone in normal circumstances. questioning on their welfare and wellbeing is a very clear sign bi-han is worried (at least for his brothers, who are often at the other end of the question). tending for wounds and aiding with training unprompted are also possibilities, while less common. openly admitting worry is the final and rarest event, only reserved for his late mother.

for bi-han, worry and doting are a display of affection. not that he realizes it consciously, since he rarely dwells on the reason why he acts like this with specific people. but ensuring their safety and wellbeing is how he shows people that he cares, even if he can't verbalize it properly. (he doesn't verbalize it at all; bi-han does not do feelings).

bi-han may not be conventionally affectionate - but he worries plenty for the ones he loves. and that is enough, at least for him.

(c) fandomiplier. do not repost.

[nereidprinc3ss]

aubrey plaza is a zionist. all i had to google was “aubrey plaza zionist”; i understand they were being very rude about it but please attempt to educate yourself next time. ❤️

hi, I'm writing this on my laptop because I couldn't focus on my phone so please excuse if the capitalization is weird or inconsistent, and fair warning this is going to be very rambly and not incredibly eloquent. but we are for real going to talk about this now

i do not consider Aubrey plaza relevant to what is going on in Gaza. i do not consider knowing every single actor's uninformed takes on a genocide as being useful or important. a lot of these celebrities don't even have a high school diploma and can't conceive of an issue they cant pay their way out of, so I don't go to them for their politics or their ethics. she is utterly irrelevant to Gaza and she is utterly irrelevant to me politically speaking. I called her hot. that has absolutely no bearing on my values and I sincerely resent the idea that calling a celebrity hot suddenly means you are responsible for knowing everything about them and you are endorsing all of their idiotic takes. I absolutely would not consider knowing Aubrey plaza's take on a two state solution as being self-education because it literally could not mean less. I know my opinions, I know where I stand, and she does not factor in.

if we want to talk about educating ourselves, lets talk about following journalistic sources on the ground in Gaza, lets talk about reading books (a good read is the hundred year's war on Palestine by Rashid khalidi), lets talk about donating. I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be the most educated person in the world, or that I have the authority to make declarative statements about Palestine, but I sincerely hope people do not consider paying close attention to American celebrity culture as being activism or self-education. what is going on in Gaza is more than any of us can conceive of and I think its really strange to water it down and make it about celebrities. if this were an Aubrey plaza stan blog, these messages would receive a very different response, but as it stands, I am not an Aubrey plaza stan, never claimed to be, and spoke about her one time. I am glad to know that we have fundamentally opposing views, and if I were in any way supporting her that would stop with this information. but I'm not and never was. what I will not do is call her hot again because Zionism is NOT sexy! and I agree that we should not be uplifting celebrities who are known zionists. but if your activism only goes as far as knowing what actors and actresses have the wrong opinions, that's not enough and it's not activism.

i hope this doesn't come across as too defensive. I acknowledge that this is not the most productive use of anyone's time. I'm probably making it too much about myself but it has really been odd to be accused of being a Zionist because I said one thing about a celebrity when that is so unaligned with my values. I'm aware that is such a first world issue--me whining because I don't like how I'm being perceived on the Internet, but I think it bothers me because this is so far from being an issue about Aubrey plaza and I find it upsetting that the most flagrant and vehement pushback i've ever gotten on this account has been about one comment I made about a celebrity because that's all people know about the genocide in Gaza. that's not activism and it is not useful or helpful to the people being rounded up and exterminated.

tumblr is not the number one place to be educating yourself, but I will link to a website that is a really good starting place to learn more about the issue. its true that if you don't have an expendable income, being informed and educated is the best tool of resistance you have to help the palestinian people. and that doesn't mean just skimming and reblogging whatever comes across your dash, it means seeking out information and making a concerted effort to learn. I would really really recommend this website as a starting point if you don't know much, it's not overwhelming and it's very informative.

i haven't talked about it at length here because sometimes I think an issue warrants its own dedicated space, not to be mixed in with smut and fanfic and my day to day ramblings, but I am capable of being wrong and sometimes there's not a clear right or wrong thing to do. I apologize if I handled anything poorly but I assure you that my goal is always to be doing the right thing. still, I am not an authority, and I don't become an authority just because I have a small following. I don't think everyone with a few thousand followers on Tumblr is qualified to be talking about this because most of us are not educators and are not well informed enough ourselves to be trying to educate anyone else, but it's entirely possible I haven't been clear enough about where I stand. this is just a criminal minds blog, but the girl who is typing on her silly little Chromebook in her silly little bedroom right now is always pro decolonization. I do not wish to associate with Zionists, on my blog or in my personal life.

and let me reiterate I'm not an authority, I don't know everything, and I don't claim to. but you also don't know anything about me beyond this blog, which is so incredibly far removed from any real world issues. I truly hope Tumblr is not the place where any of us are doing most of our activism and talking about Palestine.

anyways I wrote this over the course of like two hours and will probably come back and edit it a lot so please do not take any of this as being like set in stone, some of it is reactionary and some of it is more level headed and well thought out, but I hope it makes enough sense and that I got my point across effectively and in a way that is not harmful

[blackbatcass]

how would you rank bat-children from bruce's least favorite to favorite? also i'd say do the same for ollie's kids but he would kill himself if you made him do that (mia still his fav though)

oh my god you guys do want me dead💀

I'll be honest, i don't think there's much value to be found in 'rank-the-favorites' discussions. like the honest answer is 'it depends' and i just don't think it's productive. I do think that in most cases wrt relationships with bruce, dick is always going to come out on top. as i've said those two are just on a whole other level. they Know Each Other in a way that no one else will even come close to. I don't think it's controversial to posit that actually raising dick from childhood adds a layer to the relationship bruce has with him that really can't be replicated with anyone else. like...jason was with him for 2-3ish years as a tweenager, cass and tim were adopted in their mid teens. meanwhile bruce was effectively dick's parent from age 8 onwards.

I also think the timing is something that would be almost impossible to replicate. dick entered the picture very early into bruce's years as batman. bruce was the one solid thing in dick's life after his parents died. they were literally each other's crutches through all that emotional turmoil and became, for better or for worse, extremely codependent. all that to say, dick and bruce's relationship is just so crazy insane that pretty much nothing compares. he just has the advantage. you can't recreate the mind bogglingly deep connection 25 yo bruce had with 8yo dick grayson it just can't be done.

on the other hand, cass also has something with bruce that can't be replicated by anyone else: she is Exactly Fucking Like Him. she is his carbon copy. they Get each other's rock-solid convictions & moral code sooo deeply. fandom tends to use this as evidence to point towards cass being the favorite child, but like as greta mysterycitrus has eloquently said in the past, she is exactly like him (derogatory). bruce obviously loves cass deeply, that is his daughter, but I don't think having that relationship with her is always easy for him. her existence points out some uncomfortable truths about himself that he doesn't always want to confront. I mean... if you were to meet yourself as a seventeen year old it would probably be weird as FUCK lol. I especially think the fact that cass has killed someone really fucks with his head and forces him to reevaluate his own morals/worldview.

and like...I don't think he always treats cass fairly. we see it over and over again in bg 2000. he thinks he knows what's best for her because he sees himself in her, but the things he thinks are best for himself are Not Healthy to say the least. he intentionally keeps himself at a distance because he initially did not want that close, father-daughter relationship with her: it was strictly batman and batgirl. and he thought that's what she wanted/needed. but being so singlemindedly driven to a cause with no boundaries or normal life is not exactly the best way to go for a teenager. so I think those two had a lot to figure out when the dust settled.

I have much fewer thoughts about jason, tim and damian simply because they are not my blorbos like dick and cass are lmfao. i do think tim deserves a whole lot of credit for stepping in to save bruce and helping when bruce was at his lowest. like. that was obviously NOT easy lol. bruce and tim are interesting because bruce held himself back from being a father to tim for so long, when jack was still in the picture. but when it comes to a head and tim gets adopted, it's just...natural? like there was nothing else that could have happened there? I am honest to god not the biggest tim fan and have not read enough of his comics to talk intelligently on him any more than that lol. but I do know bruce loves him very very much and would be lost without him<3

jason....jason. I mean what is there to say lmfao. if your dead teenager turned up and started mass murdering what would you do. I think it's pretty obvious to say that losing jason was soul-crushing for bruce and permanently changed him as a person; we see those aftereffects in his relationships to people like tim, steph, and cass. jason will never stop being his son, and bruce will never stop loving him. but things will never be the same again. I don't think jason's actions post-resurrection will ever be justifiable or forgivable to bruce. like even if jason woke up one day like 'suddenly i'm cured of being a villain' I don't think he would be welcomed back with open arms or anything. jason is a murderer. he has killed like a fuckton of people in cold blood. that is something that will never be okay with bruce. grappling with loving your son versus your son being a murderer which is antithetical to everything you have spent decades building...that's rough buddy. is that controversial? idk i spend as little time as possible thinking about jason todd

I think it hurts bruce to look at damian sometimes because he just can't stop seeing talia. I think he loves damian deeply but it isn't always easy. that whole timing of final crisis was just so messy that they didn't get off to a super smooth start and had to do a lot of work rebuilding that relationship. I think damian has to reconcile his childhood hero worship of bruce with the actual very flawed man which isn't easy. it has been a LONG ass time since i've read damian's comics so that's about all I got.

IN CONCLUSION! This is very long and I absolutely did not answer your question sorry. but these are kind of my cliffnotes thoughts on each of the wayne kids' relationships with bruce.

and yeah if you tried to get ollie to rank his kids he would knock himself out with a boxing glove arrow

[selfdestructivecat]

I’ve seen quite a few posts in response to Thomas’ recent video, specifically his year in review. In this video, he discusses the setbacks he’s faced the past few years — such as the quarantine, Joan’s departure, and his own personal doubts and insecurities — and how they impacted the production of Sanders Sides.

And I truly sympathize with him. No, seriously! It’s already difficult to create something this big almost entirely on your own, but I’m sure this year only made things even more difficult. I know I’ve definitely felt insecure to the point of feeling sick when it came to things I created, so I can empathize with the enormous amount pressure he must be feeling.

However, many posts I’ve seen following this video are saying things along the lines of “If people still criticize Thomas after this video, then I’m going to lose it” or “Not that people who criticize Thomas even care, but Thomas really struggled this year. I’m with him all the way!”, or even “I bet SaSi critics will still demand the finale even after this. I doubt they’ll even watch the video!”

I want to clarify that this is obviously not everyone who doesn’t like ts criticism. People who block criticism blogs and/or the tag, who ignore criticism in general, or who feel upset when they see criticism of something they love: this is not about you. You are absolutely valid and entitled to feeling the way you do, and I hope you have a lovely day. Feel free to block me if that would be good for your mental health. Please take care of yourself. /gen

But to those vocally condemning ts critics, I want to make several things clear.

First of all, you are lumping everyone who criticizes the show in with people who demand the finale with no regard for Thomas’ well-being, for the well-being of his crew, and for basic common sense. While many people are upset that the finale isn’t out yet, we aren’t specifically mad that we don’t have a completed video to watch; rather, we are frustrated with what this says about the SaSi crew, their work ethic, and how they treat fans of the show.

We aren’t upset that we can’t watch the finale right now. We are upset that we’ve gotten very few updates about the show during this period between canon episodes. This video provided wonderful insight into why the finale has been delayed, and we would have loved something like this years ago. Obviously it didn���t have to be a 20 minute video, but maybe a Twitter thread? Something small that made us feel heard?

Hell, even announcing an official hiatus would have satisfied the vast majority of critics (myself included), instead of throwing SaSi into this limbo of “Oh it’s going to be finished this year, we promise- oh whoops, never mind! Next year for sure!” It’s been a constant chain of broken promises, and we were more than happy to give the crew some grace the first few times, but after a while, a repeated mistake becomes a pattern. And this pattern is not pretty.

We are upset that the crew seems incredibly disorganized (going back to the lack of updates, and of course taking into account how we haven’t gotten even a single part of the finale in five years), which could affect the quality of this series we all love so dearly. beauty-and-passion has spoken about this a lot (and is a lot more eloquent than me lmao, please go check out their stuff!) The most recent Christmas video seems to demonstrate that the series may be on the right track, and I will admit I was wrong in regards to this video, but the Inside Out video is a mess in so many ways. Even if this doesn’t prove a decline in quality, it certainly indicates a lack of consistency, which can be just as damning for a series.

We are upset that, while SaSi is in this limbo, Thomas seems to have been focusing on his other projects without telling us about this change in priority. He is welcome to pursue other projects, obviously. I’m thrilled that he is having fun with Roleslaying with Roman and My Roommate is Hades. But these new projects have come at the cost of Sanders Sides content, which also points towards a lack of organization. Some clarity towards which projects Thomas chooses to focus on would have been wonderful and greatly appreciated, so that we know not to expect something we won’t receive. And hey, maybe if we knew not to expect SaSi content until much later, maybe we wouldn’t have been constantly asking why we weren’t receiving SaSi content?

(And this is not an excuse for aggressively demanding content, obviously. But I feel like people who are confused and frustrated at not receiving something promised to them are justified in these feelings.)

And maybe we’re jumping to conclusions in many regards. I won’t pretend that we are prophets who can peer into Thomas’ mind and know what he’s thinking and feeling at all times. But it’s pretty damn difficult to say that NONE of the above could suggest that Sanders Sides isn’t held in the same regard as it once was. Hell, Thomas even admits in the video that he doesn’t feel as connected with these characters as he once did.

Second, many people attacking critics are also quick to drag their character. We are impatient, greedy, selfish, and cruel. We don’t care about Thomas; we only care about the end product! More Sanders Sides at any cost! We don’t like critical thinking, since we obviously didn’t watch the video; we only want to find mean things to say about Thomas and the show! We don’t like engaging in civil debate with our fellow Fanders who may disagree with our opinions; we only want to make other people feel bad, and to make others hate the show, too!

Well, guess what? You’re doing to us exactly what you think we’re doing to Thomas: you’re assuming the absolute worst of us and looking for any reason to drag us down.

We are critics. We analyze media (media that we love, mind you) and we acknowledge that it isn’t perfect, that the creators aren’t perfect, and we point it out. But we still love it anyway, because to truly love something is to love it with its flaws, to know that it could be better, to brainstorm how it could reach its true potential, and to keep doing so because you believe in this potential.

We aren’t trying to take away the joy you feel from Sanders Sides. So please don’t try to take away ours.

[ovaryacted]

A little announcement cause I have to be real with y’all.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been on the precipice of getting overwhelmed not just with writing but with my life as a whole. I’m falling behind at work with assignments that keep piling up and the past two weeks have just been a mess that derailed me. So I’ve been doing damage control trying to restart and get reorganized before it gets out of hand.

There are only 24 hours in the day, most of that time is spent working at my job and I work a busy and time consuming legal job where I can’t fuck around and scroll. I usually do that on my lunch break and disappear for the rest of the day, and now I’m picking up somebody else’s slack cause they quit, so their workload is going to be transferred to me, which is a lot as it is.

When I get home, it’s more stuff I have to deal with. I don’t always have time for myself. I live with my family who lack boundaries and who constantly need me so I’m always doing something for them (eldest daughter curse). I cover bills and expenses here and I’m usually forced to interact with extended family on the weekends so I don’t always get to enjoy them or use those two days productively to write. My household is noisy, my upstairs toxic ass neighbors aren’t helping, and overall rent is so godamn high in my city I can’t move out on my own unless I live with roommates or fuck somebody’s rich daddy for a $50k down payment on an apartment (and I just might).

Somehow, with everything I just said, I still need to find the time to make meals for myself, exercise, be social, invest in my hobbies (writing being the main one), and prep to work on applications for law school which is a year long process starting with taking the law school entrance exam that I have to ace. And of course, dodging seasonal depression is the biggest thing, cause when it’s bad, it’s bad.

All of that being said, I just don’t have enough time to write as quickly or eloquently as I want. I’m the most productive at 12 am - 3 am, but staying up late to write all the time when I need to be up in 5 hrs for work isn’t healthy. I’m not the fastest writer or reader, and I take writing seriously and passionately despite it being a hobby because I want it to be good, because I want people to enjoy it, and because I want to make myself proud since this is something I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve never half-assed my work, and I don’t want to start now nor am I making excuses, but things are getting hectic for me. I mean, I’m falling behind on WIPs, I’m falling behind on interactions, I’m falling behind on reading fics I want to read and finishing projects I’ve been planning for a while. I legit cried yesterday cause I was getting frustrated with a WIP I’m working on. If that’s not sign enough I gotta chill and not think this is all a race, then the next time it hits me I’ll crash out. It’s just a lot.

So, if you see me not being as active in the next couple of weeks or this month, don’t get worried, I’m probably still writing but I just gotta focus and tackle some shit first before bouncing back. For my mutuals who have me on here or discord, you can send me posts you want me to see since I have my notifications off (I promise I’m not ignoring you). I’ll be actively working on the pieces I have for challenges from August & September, and I’m forcing myself to finish them this month if I can.

I don’t want to get burnt out like I did last year, because I enjoy writing and I love doing this, but I just need to find that balance again cause I lost it. I’ll be in and out on here. 🫶