#maple rants about

[maplesugarcookie]

warning: spoilers for season four!

I agree with the mischaracterization but,- and please correct me if I'm wrong- in defense of the series, the storytelling is so crazy and complex because it's all about perspective. I mean, they basically make that clear right off the bat in the first movie, A Hero Is Born, by having Tang's version of the Monkey King appear while he relays his story, his version of the events. Monkey King was portrayed as this smug heroic hero who was completely in the right, silently doing his job of serving justice, when we see in the same movie that that's just not who he is! The king is playful and impulsive and somewhat of an antihero, who we later see is willing to kill a child for the greater good instead of being patient and finding another way.

In Season Four, Azure Lion talks to MK and villianizes Monkey King and the other pilgrims because, from his point of view, they were the villains trying to stop them. From the point of view of someone who's watching a strong spirit, his sworn brother who's had such an impact on his life, have such big character growth and a change in his moral compass makes it seems like the pilgrims were manipulative toward Monkey King. Not to mention hearing about the hoop tightening spell used to tame Monkey King must seem like an even bigger indication of manipulation.

However, in the same season, we get Macaque's take on it now that he has a clear head. Macaque tell MK about how corrupted Monkey King's morals were before he met Tripitaka. He even goes on the talk about how Tripitaka saved Monkey King from "becoming a villain" and redeemed him! From the point of view of the Six Eared Macaque, who is said to have full comprehension of the past, present, and future, who basically spent his life watching Monkey King grow up, I think his point of view is far more trustworthy than Azure Lion's perspective, who's judgement is clouded by vengeance. Macaque even throws in the MK should read the book, crediting it as a reliable source of what really went down in Monkey King's past and his relationship with Tripitaka in particular.

But I'm not completely disagreeing with you. Tripitaka is very different from the original but that's also ok, given this is inspired by Journey to the West and not directly from Journey to the West. Familiar tale, new adventures, my friends!

writer's note: i wrote this around 2am so i hope this holds up in the morning...

Great Tang Rant (LMK)

Alright I need to get this off of my chest

I love LMK so much but they way they mischaracterize Tripitaka is atrocious. Literally his reincarnation (Mr.Tang) acts more like him then their representation of the tang monk. 

Tripitaka has like three main character traits, being humble, reacting like a human being, and being to kind for his own good and LMK pulled a complete 180 on us and said “That’s Tripitaka for you, self righteous, eternally calm, and antisocial”

The only thing they got right about him is that he studied a lot, grew up in a monastery, and is a monk. 

They didn’t even get his clothes right. he doesn’t wear the fancy robes because he finds them to ostentatious and bhudists have that whole thing about vanity. That is until he goes to the Thunder cloud monastery to collect the scrolls, which was the exact occasion it was given to him for. The only exception to that is the time he was asked to put it on by the leader of a small monastery and that ended with monks trying to burn him to death to steal his clothes so obviously he never did it again. 

The worst part it that their representation of Tripitaka has lead to people genuinely believing that the character is abusive which is the farthest thing from the truth. Like yeah he used the tight hoop spell on Sun Wukong but only when he literally murdered someone. Also it wasn’t even his idea, Guanyin told him to do it and who was he to disregard the advice of a Bodhisattva. Seriously though, what punishment would you give a murder monkey who feels no remorse and would kill again? A slap on the wrist? Tripitaka is just doing his best to make sure that the journey ends with as little casualties as possible

Tangent aside, please if you like LMK then do your research on the actual pilgrims, they are all very cool and very different then they are depicted in the show 

[eyes-above--the-waves]

Honestly, every time I read mainstream chatter about Mitch and his upcoming negotiations, I truly feel like I'm living in a different reality.

Like, how is my perception of him SO much different than the average Joe? How am I seeing this passionate guy who loves hockey and just wants to win and who has friends on literally every single team in the league and has coaches and other staff who talk about how amazing he is, and everybody else is seeing this money-hungry, selfish asshole who can't play for shit and is jealous of how much money Auston Matthews is making so he's going to go somewhere else? How are we talking about the same dude??

ALSO...how are they so fixated on "he just wants to go where he'll make the most money" and - at the same time - continue to spew "we don't want/need him on the leafs anymore". Okay....so WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO?!? You don't want him to sign with the Leafs, but you don't want him to go somewhere else and make more money? Is he supposed to retire? What do you want from this man?

[maplethedarkshine]

I love idw comics but I gotta complain

Sonic just acts stupid this whole arc, but SPECIALLY regarding Metal

Brother Metal is quite literally lobotomized he does NOT have a choice and Sonic KNOWS THIS why dows he pretend otherwise???

METAL LITERALLY told him so to his face the previous arc, why did he forgot? Is he stupid?

Also also he CHOSE to let him go and “respect his decision”, but then goes and DOESN’T respect it when its one that he doesn’t like (again, not like it was a real choice on the first place, but IF it was, Sonic already knew that this would happen and was ok with it????)

Also, no, they DID NOT give him freedom, they literally had him there and instead of reprogramming him to stop being loyal to Eggman they just let him go. Why the hell are they acting surprised when the machine programed to follow Eggman… follows Eggman???? As programmed???? Idw is incredibly unfair to Metal, that man is a slave and the narrative blames him for it

More given the fact that Mr.tinker was in the same situation (Turning back to evil ways by something out of their choice) yet Sonic condones Mr.thinker and berates Metal for the exact same situation???? Sonic what is your moral compass on this arc I do not get you

This isn’t freedom, this is the illusion of freedom, they’re giving him an offering he really can’t take as much as he’d want to. They did absolute jackshit to help him, he lacks the agency to help himself then blame him for it

Honestly Shadow and Espio were right, the metal virus was Sonic’s fault, but not for letting Mr.Tinker live. His sin was’t his compassion toward him, his sin was expecting Metal to overwrite the coding that makes him a slave

Honestly I could make a whole rant about how much I hate Sonic’s writing in early idw but I won’t because they had gotten better and thank god he’s no longer like that

[thepassionthatunitesusall]

I honestly hate the people who are taking the EF stuff about Marner and going "wHaT AbOuT tHe PlAyOfFs?!?"

Marner could have a dominant playoff performance. He could average over a point per game in the playoffs, lead the Leafs to the Cup and win the Comm Smythe. And those same people will go "well do it again next year" and "where was this before?"

Just admit you hate the guy, you're never going to give him credit when he earns it, and go cheer for another team

[maple-leifarts]

goddd ive got deltarune on the mind again bc ive been watching shayy play deltatraveler and i came up with another aptau au fuckkkk

[twilighttrekkie]

Your mystery question is here! :)

Butterfly: What's the biggest change your OC has faced in their life?

YAYYYYYYY TYSM for asking <3

Anyways I'm gonna do this with Cal, Tillie, and Lyra, the three main characters from my (WIP) show Baffled In Bucklinn! :D

(Cal - she/they, Tillie - she/her, Lyra - they/them)

Cal: The biggest change she's faced is honestly just moving to Bucklinn, which she does at the beginning of the show! It requires her to come out of her shell a bit more, and get to know her energetic cousin Tillie. Through the adventures they'll have with Tillie throughout the show, they''ll both learn to loosen up a little bit, but also learn how to be a confident leader!

Tillie: The biggest change she's had to deal with in her life is losing her mom. It happened when she was about 10, so (since she's 14 during the show) it still feels quite recent. Since then, despite being the youngest, she's tried a few times to "grow up" faster than she should to help the family, but her big sister Maple and dad Alan are very supportive, always there to keep her from pushing herself too hard.

Lyra: The biggest change in their life is meeting Cal and Tillie in episode one. Cal and Tillie aren't their first friends, but they ARE the first to actually join Lyra's previously one-man rebellion against The Watcher (the main villain of the series). Having people that are officially in their group, and people that are of a different species + from an entirely different realm no less, makes a big difference.

[c0untry-mouse]

Ok, just one quick question...

Why is it so fucking expensive??

[hexiewrites]

me: so I've been arguing with people on reddit again

spouse: oh, about hockey?

me: no, about the canadian election, but actually yes also about hockey

spouse: what even is there to argue about hockey wise?

me: MITCH MARNER IS THE MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED PLAYER IN THE NHL AND THE LEAFS FANDOM DOESN'T KNOW HOW GOOD WE FUCKING HAVE IT THAT HE STILL WANTS TO STAY HERE WITH US! HE'S ONE OF THE HIGHEST SCORING-

spouse: yeah no i got it, shouldn't have asked, sorry

every time i see people being like. wow mitch marner has finally gotten the monkey off his back... i can't believe 4 nations cured him. like girl he LEAD THE WHOLE LEAGUE IN PLAYOFF POINTS AFTER ROUND 1 OF 22-23..... HE JUST TIED SUNDIN, CLARK, AND KENNEDY FOR 5TH MOST MULTIPOINT PLAYOFF GAMES IN LEAFS FRACHISE WITH 15 TONIGHT.... just because people cherry pick his stats or refuse to examine the context of leaf playoff runs (like oh idk him playing through a high ankle sprain last year) doesn't mean he's playing some weak timid game he needs to grow out of. it's so tiring lol

[bootsukki]

fluff ig :) birthday special for all of you!

birthdays weren't a big deal in high school. you were "old" for streams, classroom songs and cakes shared with classmates and teachers. most people you knew just shot a quick "happy birthday!" text and let it be.

when you found the little paper bag on your desk that morning, you blinked at it, unsure it was even meant for you but you noticed the folded edge and staple pinched at the top.

carefully, you opened it: a small pack of your favourite chips, your favourite milkshake and a chocolate bar you swore you had only mentioned in passing.

without thinking, you turned your head to look at the blond boy on the other side of the class, pulling out his textbook without looking at you, but you were no fool, his ears were pink and the hand on his face hid the slightest blush.

he didn't say anything until lunch, when you walked by him on your way to the cafeteria. "happy birthday." it was flat, casual but you heart skipped a beat and you smiled.

"thank you, kei."

that was the first time he wished you a happy birthday. kei wasn't the person to say things directly, you knew that but... he noticed things no one seemed to notice.

you weren't dating but your relationship was toeing the blurry lin e between friends and more than friend but timing was never right and kei wasn't someone who rushed into anything.

you stayed in touch after graduation, going to the same university. messages, meetups when you were stressed or after volleyball practice and eventually, in your second year, everything changed.

one evening, during a rainy week in early spring, you found yourselves in the dining hall. you were ranting about your lastest assignment and kei seemed quiet, deep in thought.

"are you okay?"

"yes. i was just thinking about how much i liked you in high school."

you blinked and laughed.

"i know. i liked you too." you said, sipping your drink. "still do."

things felt natural with him. loving him, learning about each other in a deeper way... you began building a life together, small pieces at first. study sessions that led to dinner and sleeping at his place, weekend trips and quiet dinners where his hand softly caressed your thigh. you learned his patterns: how grumpy he was after waking up from a nap, his use of sarcasm as an armor, how he always listened. and he learned about you, the way you spent more than an hour doing your make-up and acting like you were filming a vogue video, the way your curled your fingers into his when you were nervous, the true sound of your laughter when you were happy...

so, when you decided to move in together after finishing university, it felt like it was just meant to be.

you found a modest, little apartment between his workplace and yours. it wasn't anything fancy but it was yours. a shared space filled with love.

moving was exhausting. between boxes, paperwork, lost screws mno one seemed to find and long days, you hadn't even realised your birthday was around the corner. you were just too tired to care.

but kei noticed.

he always did.

that morning, you woke up groggy, back sore from sleeping on the mattress that was still on the floor after the furniture store misplaced your bed frame. the apartment was a complete mess with half-unpakced boxed, plastic wrapped furniture and no dining table.

you'd barely had the energy to shower the night before.

you shuffled into the kitchen, ready to settle for a 7/11 breakfast and instant coffee, when you noticed something was different.

the boxes were pushed to the side, the floor had been swept and in the middle of the living room, there was a small blanket laid out and on top of it paper plates filled with pancakes. homemade pancakes.

your favourite pancakes. the ones kei always cooked with a "secret ingredient," as he said (you knew it was chocolate chips and a tiny bit of maple syrup).

somehow, with half of your kitchen utensils still in boxes and a barely functioning stove, he cooked for you.

and there he was, still in his pijamas and messy hair, rubbing the back of his neck.

"happy birthday," he said, softer this time.

"you did this?"

"we don't have a table or chairs and this was the best I could do. i'm sorry if it isn't..."

you nearly jumped into his arms, chest tightening. your hands roamed his back and the soft hairs at the base of his neck. "this is amazing..."

hugging you, he sighed, hands resting on your lower back. "you've been really stressed with moving and this is the... i wanted to help."

you leaned away from his embrace, kissing him softly. "I love it, thank you, thank you so much."

kei leaned into a hug again, leaning down to hide his face on your neck.

"this is probably my favourite birthday."

"hm... why...?" he murmured against your neck, placing a soft kiss into your skin.

"because even though there are so many things wrong and we still have a lot of work to do, you... you took the time to think about me. you make me happy, extremely happy."

because that was how kei loved. not with grand gestures or loud words, but in the quiet. in remembered snacks. in pancakes. in soft kisses on your neck and long g embraces that made you feel safe.

that birthday, amid boxes and clutter, became one of the best memories you had.

because with tsukishima kei, everything was okay.

[eyes-above--the-waves]

I cannot believe that some people's takeaway from the game (on Facebook, not here) is that this team is better without Mitch Marner because they played well and won a game without him in the lineup. Like...guys...can we please stop trying to run this poor boy out of town? It's just bumming me out at this point.

[lilhughesy]

Maple Lattes and Cheese Croissants. | Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! none!

summary: it’s hard to not fall in love with your friend when he treats you so well and does little things like paying for your coffee.

a/n: sorry super rushed and not my best work!

It came out of the blue, you and Quinn’s friendship. He was new to Vancouver and you’ve grown up on the island but had visited the popular city multiple times before. After high school, you decided to move to the mainland to experience real city living and he was drafted to the Vancouver Canucks.

He had ran straight into you on the sidewalk, causing a movie-like collision with your purse, phone, and keys going flying up in the air and you nearly falling — before his hands caught your waist. You had apologized multiple times, as did he. Before the two of you laughed it off and quickly became friends.

The two do you were miraculously the same age and still getting to know the city — so why not do it with a friend?

And within the past few years, the two of you had grown quite fond of each other. His schedule was packed with practices, training, and meetings while yours was busy with work. Nonetheless, the two of you allocated time for one another; whether it be trying a new restaurant for lunch, a new coffee shop, or a hidden bookstore for you two to pick up a new read. The two of you cherished your time spent with one another as it was like an escape from your realities.

Time together was comfortable and easygoing. You two seemed to understand each other like the back of your hands. He felt like home away from home. He was your shoulder to cry on, a person you could rant to when work got stressful, and he would always come pick you up after your night out with your girls. Quinn never failed to make you smile and he always knew how to bring up your mood — often bringing you takeout on nights you were too exhausted to cook, or buying you your favourite flowers because he knew how much you loved a pop of colour in your kitchen.

Some may think that you two were a couple, which you always had to deny. Although at times you wished that you were something more with the Canucks captain. You found it harder and harder to find a man to be with, as they never treated you as well as Quinn did. At some point you seriously wondered if it was even possible to find a man who would treat you better than Quinn.

“Hey! How was practice?” You greeted the hockey player as he approached you. He pulled you into an embrace the second he reached you,

“Tiring as always,” He chuckled, before the two of you started walking together, “How was your day?”

You shrugged, adjusting your jacket slightly, “I called my mom earlier about plans for Thanksgiving and just went to work… You know, the usual.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s good, she seems to be doing well!” You beamed as you guided him towards your destination, “So my coworker told me about this cafe, she says that the croissants and the cinnamon sugar donuts are really good.”

He nodded before opening the door for you, “After you.”

You smiled at the boy before entering the cafe. The warm smell of coffee and buttery-sweetness of the baked goods surrounded you like a blanket. There was quiet chatter amongst the other people sitting in the cafe alongside the hum of the coffee machines.

Quinn stuffed his hands into the pocket of his joggers, standing right behind you as the both of you took time to read the menu.

“What are you thinking of getting?” You asked him, turning your head slightly to look at his face.

He hummed, “Probably just a coffee and maybe a ham and cheese croissant, that sounds pretty good.”

“Yeah that does sound good,” You replied before approaching the cashier, “Hi, how are you?”

“Good afternoon! I’m good, thanks! What can I get for you?”

“That’s good to hear! I’ll get the maple latte and a cinnamon sugar donut please.”

She nodded while typing your order into the tablet, “For sure! Anything else?”

“No, that’ll-”

“Yeah a medium coffee and a ham cheese croissant too.” Quinn objected before tapping his card on the machine.

“They’ll be ready for you just over there by the window!”

“Quinn, you know you didn’t have to pay for my food.” You sighed, leaning a shoulder against the wall as the two of you waited for your order.

He chuckled, adjusting his Yankees cap on his head, “Yeah, but I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” You offered him a smile which he returned before nudging you with his shoulder lightly.

When your order was called, Quinn went to retrieve the bag of food and the cardboard drink holder and motioned towards the door. The two of you walked at a comfortable pace in the direction of his apartment, making easy conversations as always. Whether it be his ongoing hockey season or drama at your work, it always flowed with ease.

You two settled into his living room, Quinn at one end of the couch whilst you on the opposite side. You cradled your coffee near your chest as you giggled at whatever joke Quinn had cracked.

He looked peaceful, comfortably lounging into the corner. His navy hoodie hugged him perfectly in a slightly oversized fit which made Quinn seem so cozy. He had one arm relaxed on the back of the couch while his other held his own coffee. His legs were in their typical manspread position as his neck extended back as he laughed.

“Luke said that?” You repeated, eyes still slightly widened while you tucked your knees towards your chest.

He nodded, “Yeah, Mom had to correct him super fast after that one. He’s lucky he didn’t say that in front of any other woman.”

“That’s so funny,” You laughed before taking another sip, “I hope I can meet your family one day, they sound amazing.”

Quinn smiled softly, his eyes glancing between your cuddles up figure and his drink, “Yeah, I hope you can meet them too. ‘Though, you’d probably be the first woman I introduce them too.”

“Oh really?” You questioned, your hands getting slightly clammy, “You’ve never introduced your girlfriends to your family?”

He only shrugged, “Never had a serious relationship before. Just a few flings or hook ups here and there.”

You hesitated before saying your next words, cautious of what may come next, “Have you ever fallen in love before?”

Quinn caught your eye, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob and the air in his throat hitch slightly, “Yeah, every time I look at you.” He breathed out.

Your stomach flipped, “Really?”

“How can I not?” He chuckled as the rosy colour spread across his facial features, “You’re everything I could ever ask for in a woman. You’re smart, strong, kind, beautiful, and yo- you’re breathtaking.”

A smile crawled up onto your face as you watched Quinn rub his jaw with his free hand. You placed your drink on his coffee table before moving closer to sit right next to him. Your legs curled underneath you as your hand played with the sleeve of his hoodie, “I think I fall in love with you more every time I see you too.”

His eyes softened more at your words, as he put down his own drink — not looking away from you. One of Quinn’s hands cupped your shoulder gently, “Yeah?”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

His focus bounced between your eyes and your glossy lips, “Can I kiss you then?”

Your hands moved to cup his face as you brought him closer to yours. Your lips melted with his as he eagerly kissed you back. His hands pulling your body to be pressed against his. Quinn’s strong arms wrapped around your waist as your hands danced in his soft hair.

You pulled away slightly, your foreheads touching, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, Quinn Hughes.”

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” He chuckled before kissing you again, “Now that I’ve kissed you, I don’t know if I ever want to stop.”

You beamed at his words, “Good. I feel the exact same way.”

His hands softly ran up and down your sides, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course, Q.”

Quinn grinned before pressing a kiss to your neck. You giggled as the feeling of his hair tickling your skin and you hugged him close. You didn’t have to worry about finding someone who would treat you better than Quinn, because he was finally yours. Your chest swelled with love and adoration for the man as he adjusted your bodies to be cuddled up in the couch, where the two of you would spend the rest of the afternoon together. The light patter of the Vancouver rain on the window and whatever movie the two of you chose to watch playing on his TV. You were so content to be wrapped up in his arms, even though the maple latte and cheese croissant were forgotten on the table.

[mystikmyloe]

psssttt psssttt

dippers name actually works out in wings of fire bc theres a bird named it(that coincidentally has the SAME COLORS AS DIPPER) but sadly it really only works for seawings, skywings, and kind of rainwings

God I hate being autistic. Go my Wings of Fire x Gravity Falls au‼️‼️

I feel like they both have nightwing powers but like, super toned down due to being half rainwing. Dipper has prophetic nightmares dreams that are frustratingly vague and just make him worry about nothing most of the time. Mabel can’t read minds but she can always tell how someone is feeling. Also I might give them names that fit in-universe more because I feel like them having human names is a bit silly lol.

​Sorry about the special interest crossover aus. It will happen again.

[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. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 

“From The Wizard of Oz?” 

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  

“You did?” 

She nods, shining with pride. 

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 

Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 

“Where’s your dad?” 

“Umm. Cleaning?” 

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?” 

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 

“You kill someone?” 

He stiffens. “What?” 

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 

You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 

“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 

“I’m not sneaky!” 

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 

“Then trick-or-treat?” 

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 

“They look stunning! You painted these?” 

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 

“You’re a talented artist.” 

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 

“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch. 

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 

“Now it’s perfect.” 

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 

“Go and look– get the treats.” 

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?” 

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 

She nods. 

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 

She nods again, equally jaded. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 

“Ew! Daddy!” 

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 

You gasp. “Penelope!” 

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 

“I was?” 

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 

“Oh. Am I still little?” 

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 

“She likes princesses’.” 

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 

“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 

“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 

“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 

“No?” Penelope giggles. 

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 

“Is that when we got pizza?” 

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?” 

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.” 

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 

“Very much. You?” 

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 

“Addams family?” 

“Who’s who?” 

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 

“You held it?” 

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 

“See you Friday?” He asks. 

“See you then.” 

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Chris likes how the donut glaze looks on your lips.

Warnings: Smut, p n v, cum eating, male receiving, and more.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The street lights reflected on the dashed white lines as I make a left turn down the street. Music had been stopped a while ago, Chris’s voice being the only source of noise.

“No, yesterday for a video idea we tried a bunch of different donuts, but they all sucked-well, except for maple, but still-I’d prefer glazed. I was craving donuts, not garbage.” Chris rants through the car speaker.

I let out a soft giggle, the same complaint that had already been explained to me at least three times.

“How far are you?” He questions.

Gazing around at my surroundings, his house is right around the corner. I had the map to his house memorized mindlessly at this point.

Afterall, we are best friends.

“Um-I’m at the ugly green house.” I mutter.

“I’LL BE AT THE DOOR IN FIVE SECONDS! SEE YA!” He yells as I hear the line go dead.

I park the car in his driveway, looking over at the plastic food container in my passenger seat. Before I have the chance to grab it, Chris is yanking open my door and pulling me into his arms.

“Fucking missed you. God, I think I’m going insane, you even smell like donuts.” He compliments, inhaling deeply with his nose against my neck.

Goosebumps travel up my spine from the sensation. I pull away from his embrace, seeing a slight pout appear on his lips.

“I made us donuts! They’re the homemade one I made for your birthday last-”

The sentence is long forgotten as I let out a shriek. Chris’s arms reattach to me, squeezing me while jumping up and down.

“I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!” He proclaims.

His voice echoes loudly so I place my pointer finger over his mouth. Chris shoves my hand off, holding it in his own.

“Don’t try to shush me! I’m excited! Now, let’s go in and eat!” He announces.

He leans into the open driver’s side door, grabbing the container on the adjacent seat and dragging me inside.

***

The cold kitchen counter feels freezing against the back of my thighs. I sit on the smooth granite, watching as Chris stands by the microwave.

“Why? I just want them now!” He whines with a child-like pout.

Laughing at his antics, I playfully punch him in the arm. “They taste better warm, remember? It’s only ten seconds!” I reason.

He begins to roll his eyes, but the beeping of the microwave snaps his attention back to the donuts. Pulling out the plate filled with an array of donuts, he places it on the counter next to me.

He moves in between my legs as he picks one up. He takes a colossal bite out of the warm desert and moans softly.

“Don’t be greedy!” I exclaim, placing a flat hand on his chest.

Chris moves the donut in front of my lips allowing me to take a bit. As my mouth waters from the sugary taste, I feel the warm glaze on my lips.

“Mmmmmmm, fuck these are so good.” I acknowledge, savoring the sweet taste on my tongue.

I bring my tongue out, licking my bottom lip clean as an attempt to wipe off the glaze. I shift my gaze up, seeing Chris’s intense stare.

He was staring with a certain look.

A look best friends don’t give each other.

“Chris?” I ask, calling him back to reality.

He shakes his head slightly, “Sorry, zoned out there for a minute,” He responds.

I move my hand that lays flat on his chest up onto his shoulder. He didn’t have a shirt on, which wasn’t unusual, and neither was me touching him. We constantly were hugging or leaning into each other.

Physical touch was our main way of showing how much we cared about one another.

One time, we had decided to get severely high together. One thing led to another and…we really showed physical affection. Especially him as he fucked me into pure bliss. The next morning, we agreed never to talk about it again.

But that didn’t stop me from thinking about how good he fucked his cock up into me all the damn time…

Especially right now.

The cold counter beneath me did almost nothing to soothe the heat between my legs. A burning of desire building up as I felt myself be overcome with a need for him.

“Here, open.”

I open my mouth, letting him place the donut inside.

As I take a bite, he pulls it away, brushing it all over the side of my face. His eyes look hypnotized at the sight.

“Chris!” I exclaim.

I pull my hand off of his bare shoulder to cover my mouth as I chew.

I barely finish swallowing the donut as he shoves it in my mouth once more, catching me off guard. More glaze is decorated on the side of my face, practically dripping from my chin.

That wasn’t the only thing dripping either.

I meet his gaze, the heat becoming hotter between my legs. I let my thoughts wander to the familiar memory of the hazy night we spent together. The night we were tangled up in the sheets with no regrets until the morning.

“Chris, are you even gonna eat the donuts I made you? I thought you were craving them!” I reclaim, holding his wrist back from shoving the warm dough back into my mouth.

Using my other hand, I grab the napkin next to us and wipe my face off.

“I’m not craving donuts anymore.”

The way the sentence falls out of his mouth makes my thigh squeeze together subconsciously, closing in around his torso.

“Chris…” I warn.

Chris places the donut back down on the plate, pulling me towards him. My legs wrap completely around him as he rests his hands where my hips and thighs meet, caressing with a firm grip.

“Chris…we can’t. We’re best friends.” I remind.

His face doesn’t falter in the slightest. His gaze only focused on my lips.

“How often do you think about it?” He asks.

He pulls his face down to the crook of my neck, leaving slow, soft, teasing kisses. My mind goes blank, but I don’t push him away. I rest my weight back on one hand behind me as my other one wraps in his hair.

“Think about what?” I ask, a newly found neediness clouding my emotions as I anticipate his response.

“Us. That night.” He mutters, his lips continuing against my neck.

I snapped back into my senses, “Chris. We agreed not to talk about it.” I state.

“You don’t wanna talk about how good I fucked you? How perfect you looked taking my cock, hm?”

I feel myself clenching around nothing at his words. His lips become hungrier, starved as his kisses turn to sucking and sucking turns to biting. I grind myself against him, attempting to get some sort of friction subconsciously. He pulls back up to my face, looking me directly in the eye.

“You gonna answer me or do I need to get it out of you in a different way?” He cocks an eyebrow up, tilting his head slightly to the side.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I fist my hand in the collar of his shirt and bring him down to me. He doesn’t hesitate, kissing me back with an aggressive passion.

Becoming dizzy from the lack of air, I pull back. He lets his lips kiss the side of my mouth, trailing a path down to the base of my throat.

One of his hands snakes up under my oversized shirt, a light pressure from a single fingertip tracing my skin as his lips are all over my neck. He places his palm flat, caressing my torso right below my breast.

“Do you want this?” He asks, pulling away to look up at me.

I nod my head, “Touch me, Chris.” I reply.

He grins at me, his hand covering my breast before tweaking the nipple, making me moan as I wrap my hand back in his hair. He brings his lips back down, ravishing each inch of my neck with a mix of soft kisses, harsh sucking, and light nibbles on the skin.

I couldn’t help but rock my hips against his hard erections, making him groan against my neck.

He pulls away once more, bringing his hand to take off my shirt in one swift movement. His lips come down to my chest, using the same pattern that he used on my neck.

It felt more than just good.

From the way his mouth was moving against me, his other hand rubbing the top of my thigh, getting closer and closer to where I wanted him most, to the friction I got from moving my hips to grind on his hardness.

It all felt fucking amazing.

Shamelessly, I let every sound slip out of my mouth, encouraging him as he continued.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, sweetheart…” he trails off, bring his hand up to my face and swiping his thumb against my bottom lip, “Wanna fuck your mouth and cum on your pretty little face.” He finishes, a daring look peering into my eyes as I look at him.

I nod, he helps me off the counter, pulling my sweats off as well. I let my knees land on the hard, wooden floor and place my hands on the tops of his thighs to support my weight.

I put my hand on his clothed dick, trying to pull his waistband down, but he stops me. “Uh-uh-uh, not so fast…gotta put your hair up first, hm? Good thing I always have a hair tie for you.” He remarks, pulling the black elastic off his wrist.

He had always carried around a hair tie for me. After I had complained about losing them, or not having one when I needed it, he bought some and always made sure to have one for me.

It was endearing and sweet, making me feel a warmth of comfort.

This didn’t though.

This made me burning hot, desire flooding as I watched him bring his hands behind my head. He starts gathering my hair softly, pulling it into one spot.

I gasp as I feel the abrupt movement of him yanking me back by my hair, pure want written all over his face as he stares down at me.

“Gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth?” He asks, looking down at me for a response.

“Please.”

As the word leaves my mouth, he places the hair tie in my hair and finishes putting my hair up.

“Good girl, now open up for me.” He directs.

He lets one hand stay on the back of my head, holding me by my hair. The other pulls out his hard dick, placing the tip against my lips. I gather spit in my mouth, licking up and down his shaft as best I can to lubricate his hard length.

I bring my hand up, jerking him slightly. He pulls my hair back, grabbing my wrist with one of his hands.

“No hands. I just want to fuck your mouth. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, sticking out my tongue.

“Mmmmm fuck.” He hisses out, sliding his wet cock in my mouth as I cover my teeth with my lips.

Only around half his length is slowly thrusting in my mouth. I get antsy, moving my mouth forward to take more of him. He pulls harshly at my hair, keeping me in place.

“Who's greedy now, hm?” He teases, thrusting his entire length in my mouth.

Tears immediately well-up as his pace ensues faster and faster. I can feel him sliding down the back of my throat. I gag each time he reaches the back, his head thrown back at the sensation.

“Just like that-fuck!” He exclaims, picking up his pace.

I can tell he’s close by the way his hips become messier in their movements and the way his hand grips my hair tighter.

He looks down at me as I stare up at him through my eyelashes, watching as he furrows his eyebrows and his mouth hangs slightly open.

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

He grips my hair, gripping hard as he holds me back.

“Open up, pretty girl.”

I succumb to his request, opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue. He jerks himself off, white spurts of cum landing mostly on my tongue as some falls onto my face.

He drops his throbbing cock, letting his hand in my hair pull me at an angle to lean me back and face up at him. He takes his other hand, wiping my face before shoving it into my mouth.

“Mmmm…looks even better than I imagined. I wonder what my cum would look like dripping out onto your thighs…”

I swallow the salty liquid, “Why don’t you find out?” I urge.

A sadistic smile creeps on his face as he yanks me to my feet by my hair, “If you say so. Bend over for me, princess.” He commands, pushing me against the counter.

I bend over, the cold counter making my nipples harden from the sudden change. But, it doesn’t last long as everything starts to get hotter and hotter.

His hand rubs my thighs from behind, spreading them as he rubs over my heat, making me moan.

“So wet, baby. This all for me?” He asks.

“Yes, fuck.” I moan out, his hand wrapping in my hair again as his other directs his cock towards my entrance.

“Tell me, princess. How often do you think about that night?” He asks.

I grind my hips back, attempting to get some sort of friction. He immediately drops his dick, his hand slapping against my ass with a loud snap.

“Tell me or I’m not giving you anything.” He threatens, leaning down and whispering the dirty words into my ear.

“Fuck-all the time! Every time I touch myself, every time I think of you. Please!” I beg, wiggling my hips in desperation.

“Tell me what you think about, baby.” He requests.

My mind is hazy, but all I can think about is how much I need him.

“I-I…I think about how you were-fuck!” I scream out, putting my hands behind to push him away as he forces his entire length into me, filling me with a gut-wrenching stretch.

“Keep talking, baby. Doing so good, just keep talking.”

I take in a deep breath, feeling him grind himself into me and letting me adjust to the feeling.

“T-think about-um-how you were pounding into me-mmmm..” I moan, the feeling of him pulling out and pushing in slowly bringing me an undeniable pleasure.

“You like it when I pound you, princess?” He questions.

“Yes!” I let out, my hands feeling his bottom abdomen as his stomach flexes. “Fuck, too much!” I scream out.

As my hands push on his stomach, he grabs both of my wrists with one hand and pins them to my back.

“Hey…it’s okay, you’re taking me so good, princess.” He comforts, thrusting at a slow pace deeply.

I moan, clenching around him as he starts picking up the pace.

“You want me to pound you, hm? Remind you how good it feels?” He asks, a loud clapping noise sounding as our skin slaps together with each thrust.

“Please!”

The simple word seems to adhere. Chris starts pounding relentlessly up into me, fucking his cock up in my gut.

“Fuck-you feel so good. So close, yeah?” I moan out as a response, letting myself clench down around his cock as my mouth falls open with deep moans.

“Good girl. That’s right, princess. Cum all over my dick.” He praises, slowing down his pace as I ride out my orgasm.

However, he doesn’t stop or pull out. Instead, he starts fucking up into me again.

“You’ll give me one more, right baby? You can do it.” He says.

I nod my head, letting the pleasure build up once more as he pushes me further down into the counter. The pressure on my lower stomach makes his dick pounding in and out of me even better.

My mouth opens wide, a strangled moan coming out as I cum around him once again.

“Gonna be greedy with my cum in your pussy too?” He says, leaning down as his breath fans against my ear.

I nod, writhing beneath him as his thrusts become more erratic.

I feel his cum fill me, leaking out as he pulls out.

I try to stand up, but his hand holding my wrists pushes me back down. I feel his hand let loose of my hair, pulling my thighs apart.

“Looking so pretty with my cum dripping all over you.” He compliments, rubbing the skin of my thigh roughly.

He lets go of my wrists, pulling me against his chest.

“You okay?” He asks, laughing at my fucked-out expression.

I nod my head, letting my weight fall onto him. He pulls my clothes back on me, setting me back on the counter as stands in between my legs.

My eyes are closed as I try to catch my breath.

“These donuts are so fucking good.” I hear his muffled voice say, his mouth full as I look up at him to see him finishing the donut from earlier.

I laugh at him, “Yeah, well…they’re better when they’re warm.” I remark, echoing my same statement from earlier.

He rolls his eyes, shoving the donut into my mouth. I give him a blank look, remembering his previously similar antics.

“It’s just a glazed donut this time, I swear!” He exclaims, holding his hands up in defense.

“Okay…” I trail off, accepting the bite.

He moves the donut back to his mouth, chomping on another large bite.

“I fucking love glazed donuts.”

[maple-leifarts]

some lore stuff i cooked up last night bc i dont think its ever gonna be revealed in the story wee

so TECHNICALLY negative energy serves as an amplifier of sorts (so like when demons give it to humans for fun they already have to be somewhat depressed to have the desired results)

so ranboos episode that we saw in arc 10 was amplifying his pain (from tom punching him) plus his ache to not be alone (yknow. DONT LEAVE)

and his recent “controlled” episodes have just been him letting the energy amplify his emptiness which sends him into that blank emotionless state :3

[studioeisa]

hello im here for ur jealousy drabble game 😗

"maybe i have a crush on you. so what?" with 🥁🥁🥁.... Mingyu! (surprise surprise haahah)

ⵌ royalty!mingyu x royalty!reader. ⵌ word count: 998 ⵌ notes: alternate universe: royalty, mention of alcohol, teensyyy princess diaries mention. laughed at "... mingyu! (surprise surprise)". ilysb, maple. and since this was our last conversation, i offer you some royally down bad gyu! 🙂‍↔️

When you're the crowned prince, you tend to get everything that you want.

Mingyu doesn't even have to ask. Anything his heart might desire has been served to him on a silver platter insofar. That horse for his eighth birthday? That Mercedes-Benz CLK-GTR for when he started driving? You name it; Mingyu has it.

He tries not to let it get to his head. Really, he does. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. He refuses to be the future monarch that's seen as spoiled, that's viewed as a brat.

It's getting increasingly hard, though, as he watches you from across the ballroom.

Mingyu's fingers are tight around the stem of his champagne flute, almost to the point that the delicate glass might just break. There's somebody trying to talk to him— some sultan from Brunei— but Mingyu is only half listening to him. He knows he ought to pay more attention. It would certainly be the polite thing to do.

Instead, he's trying to catch your eye as you dance with Lee Seokmin of all people.

The thought of the smiley prince from some small country almost makes Mingyu scoff. Seokmin isn't even the heir to the throne! He's a goddamn second born!

… And yet, you're looking up at Seokmin like he hung up all the stars in the sky. Mingyu doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says to the sultan, who had started ranting about oil reserves. "I fear that duty calls."

Duty calls is one way to put it, Mingyu thinks, as he strides off to where you're waltzing with Seokmin.

Mingyu clears his throat the moment that he reaches the two of you. Without missing a beat, Seokmin folds into a curtsy. You follow, albeit with a barely concealed roll of your eyes. If he was less on edge, Mingyu might have teased you for it.

"I was hoping I could get a dance," he says coolly.

"Of course, Your Highness," Seokmin answers.

Delicately, he passes your gloved hand over to Mingyu's grasp. Mingyu doesn't miss the flash of disappointment on your expression, and oh, does that make him want to scream.

He doesn't, of course. Not in this party of dozens of some of the most important world leaders and their children. Not when all eyes are on him, are on the two of you, as you stiffly place your arms around Mingyu's shoulders and he rests his palms over your waist.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You simply fall into the practiced choreography of this familiar dance, this tried-and-tested charade. Back, forth. Back, forth.

Mingyu breaks the silence with, "So, how was hanging out with Prince Charming?"

He sounds a touch more scornful than intended. You pick up on it as you often do. "Prince Seokmin is fine," you answer cordially, carefully. "He's a delight to be around."

I noticed, Mingyu wants to say. You laugh so freely when you're with him. You never laugh like that when you're around me.

In the end, he only says, "I'm sure he is."

The song you're dancing to winds to a close. Your arms twitch around Mingyu like you might pull away, but— despite his better judgment— Mingyu's fingers tighten at your hips. "Indulge me for one more song," he says.

There's a ghost of a smile on your face. "Is that a command, Your Majesty?"

"Never." His answer is quick, thoughtless. "I— I would never command you to do anything."

You seem appeased at that. At the knowledge that Mingyu's question was more of a plea than anything. You relax in his hold, and some of the tension eases out of him as well. Another song strikes up. Your waltz continues.

Mingyu thinks it's going pretty well, that things are falling into place, until you decide to poke the bear.

"You seemed rather cross with Prince Seokmin back there," you muse. "Has he wronged you somehow?"

It's a good thing that Mingyu has spent much of his life in dance lessons. Otherwise, he might have stumbled over his feet. As it is, he manages to maneuver you past a dancing couple without breaking a sweat— even though a muscle in his jaw does jump at your brazenness.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answers. "I was perfectly civil with the prince of middle-of-nowhere Genovia."

A decisively un-princess-like snort of laughter escapes you. Mingyu's heart— the bloody traitor!— skips a beat or two in his chest. He's dazed at the thought of making you laugh, even if it is at his own expense. The back-and-forth that ensues is dizzying, matching the quickening pace of your dance.

"You weren't civil, you were cold."

"Well, I don't owe the prince anything."

"I think you're jealous."

"Am not."

"I think you want me all for yourself."

"And what if I do?"

The words are out of Mingyu before he can reel them in. He doubles down as he spins you around, his words spoken in a rush. "Maybe I have a crush on you," he says. "So what?"

When you turn back to face Mingyu, your palm lands on his chest. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place, as the two of you try to catch your breaths after the whirlwind of a dance. You're staring up at him and he's terrified that you can feel the hammering underneath your palm.

There's only a hint of surprise on your features, but it's as gone as quick as it came. When you answer Mingyu's hasty confession, it's with the ice cold composure that you're infamous for.

"Well, I would hope so," you say. "We're getting married in a few months, aren't we?"

The reminder of the arrangement is like a bucket of water over Mingyu's head. He swallows around the lump in his throat before giving you a jerky nod.

"That's right." A beat. "So don't go dancing with any other princes aside from me, then."

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.