#shes going to get her dessert to go

[tennessoui]

#5 for obikin for the ask game?

of course !!

(from this ask game)

5. "wait a minute. are you jealous?"

"I think I'm leaning towards the steak," Padmé says with that hum in her voice that means she's already decided what she plans to order and that it will indeed be the steak. "It's been so long since we've managed to go out like this. It's almost worth a celebration of its own, wouldn't you say?"

Anakin nods and smiles, closing his own flimsi menu with a flourish. If Padmé is getting the steak, then Anakin can as well certainly. It's much easier that way, for their needs to be aligned like that.

Padmé is right, too - it's been so long since they've spent a night together outside of her quarters. Due to the secrecy of their relationship and their own popularity, it's almost never secure enough to be seen together in public.

Except that apparently in the last month, while Anakin was knee deep in Mid-rim planet mud, a restaurant has opened on Coruscant that guarantees complete privacy for its patrons, a promise they keep by thick forcefields and thicker curtains set up in between each table. Food is delivered by droids that have their memory drives wiped each night, and the two humanoids that run the reservation system require fake names and documents from customers in order to book a table.

It's completely and totally private, and being out in public--sort of--with his wife on a night where he and all of his loved ones are safe on Coruscant...that is a cause for celebration.

And Anakin thinks he would genuinely feel happy in these circumstances if it weren't for one very small and very unfortunate detail.

The force fields the staff have installed block sound from traveling between tables.

They do nothing to block Force signatures.

And Anakin would recognize the Force signature behind him anywhere in the entire galaxy.

"Anakin?" Padmé's fingers land on the ball of his wrist and squeeze gently. It must not have been the first time she's called his name.

"Sorry, angel," he tells her automatically. The serving droid that has appeared at their table beeps at him impatiently, and he gives it his order as well. Same as hers, down to the optional sides. "My mind is not with me tonight," he admits the moment the apparatus sinks into the floor.

His wife squeezes his wrist again, fingers ghosting over the fragile skin.

Obi-Wan is here. Is he--why would he be here? It is a place made to be kept secret, made for secrets. Obi-Wan shouldn't keep secrets. He shouldn't be here.

And who has he brought with him? It is not a restaurant one travels to in order to eat alone.

"Anakin?" Padmé says, loudly enough to mean she has once more had to call for his attention many times.

"Sorry," he replies automatically, taking his wrist from her possession and running his hands through his hair. It's either occupy his hands or reach behind him to the solid curtain and rip it open. Obi-Wan is behind that curtain. In an engagement. A secret engagement.

A secret dinner engagement.

And Anakin didn't know about it.

"Is it the war?" Padmé asked, honey-brown eyes soft and gentle with sympathy.

"What?" Anakin blinks and then frowns. "No." They're two years into the blasted war. It's never put him off his dinner yet.

"Then..." she asks leadingly, taking her hand back from his side of the table and placing it in her lap. "What is on your mind, Ani?"

Well, he thinks, their booth is soundproof. And he finds that he must tell someone. Immediately. Obi-Wan is sitting behind him, meeting someone who Anakin may not know--or worse, who Anakin may know--and Anakin can feel him. His master is right there. With someone else.

"It's Obi-Wan," he admits to his wife in low tones.

For some reason, she does not look surprised. "Oh?"

"He's here," Anakin adds. "I can feel him in the Force."

Padmé blinks, but she still does not look surprised. "What a coincidence," she says, and Anakin narrows his eyes.

"What do you know," he demands, more war general in the moment than husband. "Who is he with? Did he mention it to you? When? Did he tell you why he's here?"

Her pink mouth falls into a small 'o' as her eyebrows raise. "Wait a minute," she says slowly. "Are you jealous?"

Anakin scowls. "Of course not," he snaps, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop so he doesn't give into the desire to rip open the curtain at his back. "You can talk to whoever you please."

Padmé's eyebrows furrow, and her eyes are far too considering. Too much politician, not enough wife. "I didn't mean of me," she says.

[moghedien]

do we think Moghedien is gonna be a freak about it like she is in the books and not let Liandrin and gang know who she is immediately so little miss degradation kink will get yelled at and ordered around and be sent to be beaten by them before she is like “oops I was a Chosen the whole time aren’t you scared now” or are they gonna cut that since we already know who she is in the show and it wouldn’t have the same effect as it did in the books?

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Oopsie daisy, we accidentally spent almost 5 full hours in my room 🥴 damn I had truly planned on buying him a nice dinner after sex too

[good-beanswrites]

Idk if it's just me, but fsr I see the most shipped prisoner would be Fuuta, it would be very funny if there was like a love corner of 0306, 0309, and 0310

Omg most shipped prisoner fr (I’m pretty sure I’ve seen something of him with everyone in the main cast aside from Amane, who. I mean. Certainly has a strong relationship with him that people are excited about 😅) I looove the 20s gang, and love the thought of the tsundere himself caught in the middle of them all – this was so fun to write!! 

Fuuta knew an ambush when he saw one. Well, he’d never actually seen an ambush before, but he was certain he was recognizing one now. 

It started gradually, with three of the prisoners acting strangely around him. Mahiru, Mikoto, and Kotoko paid extra attention to him and his schedule. They knew where he’d be and when. They spoke to him about personal topics, trying to draw all sorts of private information from him. Worst of all, he could feel their eyes all over him in every conversation. Even when he turned his back, he could swear they were still staring. 

They were watching him. They were planning… something, he just knew it.

His suspicions were confirmed sometime around Shidou’s interrogation. The three prisoners in question started making their moves. Each tried to get Fuuta isolated with them. The requests were simple and innocent on the outside – “Fuuta-kun, won’t you help me with tonight’s dinner?” “I think I saw one in the supply closet. Fuuta, wanna check with me?” “Would you mind spotting me for a minute?” – but he saw right through them. He’d always come up with a clever excuse to stay in the crowded rooms, but he knew his time was running out. In a prison with nine other murderers (not that he was one, of course,) it was only a matter of time before they developed an actual plan and cornered him to carry out whatever awful plan they had in mind.

He wished he’d been better prepared, when the moment of the ambush actually arrived. His guilty verdict was hitting him hard: the voices kept him awake through the nights, and he no longer felt like showing his face in the cafeteria. He hadn’t really realized how poorly he felt until he nearly collapsed on his way to dinner. Shidou escorted him back to his cell, rambling about fever treatments that Fuuta tuned out. 

While he was crawling into bed at the doctor’s orders, he could hear the three conspiring outside his cell. They made excuses about bringing him soup and medicine and crap, but it was obviously just for show. Shidou, the idiot, let them right in with praises for their kindness. 

Fuuta only had a moment to reach under the bed, grab the makeshift weapon he’d stolen (a pair of scissors with an unfortunately blunt end) and return to feigned sleep. He’d keep his eyes closed, and when they got to close, he’d have the element of surprise on his side. 

He listened to the three shuffle around the room. They placed down the soup and the tea they’d brought as props. They stepped closer. Fuuta tensed underneath the sheets.

Mahiru was the first to speak.

“He’s so cute when he’s sleeping~”

He nearly opened his eyes right then and there, gawking at the sudden comment. 

“He does look peaceful, huh?”

“It’s because he’s finally quiet,” Kotoko scoffed. 

“Oh, you can’t fool me,” Mahiru giggled. “I’ve seen the way you two talk.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she replied in a way that said she knew exactly what was meant.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed – I love him too!”

It took all of Fuuta’s willpower to keep his face straight. What the fuck was she talking about? Was this part of their ploy, somehow? His palms were sweaty against the scissors. 

“Tch, it’s not love, there’s no need to be so dramatic. I just… enjoy his company sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Mikoto chimed in, “you enjoy it every single day.” Then, with uncharacteristic bitterness from him, he added, “none of us can get a word in when you two start going at it with those debates…”

Mahiru let out a little squeal. “Oh my gosh~ You too, Mikoto? I never would have guessed! Look at the three of all, all head over heels! I – Oh, no, look how red he’s turning! Poor thing, this fever came on so suddenly… Do you have that cold compress from Shidou-san?”

“Right here!” 

Mikoto’s footsteps crossed the room. Fuuta cursed himself for the involuntary reaction. He hadn’t thought it possible to attract even more unwanted attention to himself. Though he was relieved they misunderstood the cause of the heat spreading across his face, he felt even more determined to leave now than when he thought the three were coming here to kill him.

He grit his teeth and stayed completely still as Mikoto pressed the cool material against his face. Mahiru followed it with her own palms, prematurely checking if it had helped. Both the compress and her touch were relieving to the blush, but neither did anything to subdue it. 

Fuuta should have yelled that it was a violation of his personal space. He held his tongue.

“Do you think he knows? Mahiru wants to tell him!”

“He must. It’s not like any of us have been subtle.”

“Ah, so he’s turned you down, too?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings!”

“Fuuta has never once cared about hurting anyone’s feelings…”

“Still, it’s an awkward topic to turn people down.”

They were lucky he was actually awake, Fuuta thought, or he would have woken with some choice words about at the casual volume at which they all spoke around a sick patient.

Mahiru let out a little laugh, and it took him a second to realize it was the closest she’d ever get to a mean sound. “Well, you all better watch out! I know what makes a perfect romance, you all don’t stand a chance.”

Mikoto scoffed. “Oh, you’re on. You haven’t seen me use my charm yet.”

“You don’t have charm,” Kotoko said. 

“As if you do. How do you plan on winning him over? Another pull-ups date?”

“He enjoyed them!”

“Not as much as my cake~” 

Fuuta thought he would explode while attempting to hold still during such a conversation. He curled himself tighter into a ball, mistakenly thinking they were focused on each other. He should have known Mahiru’s gaze wasn’t so easily distracted.

“Aw, look at him, getting all tangled up like this. Let me straighten this ou–” She reached down to shake out the sheets, then froze. “Are these… scissors?”

Fuuta held his breath as she pried them out of his hands. So this was it. He’d been caught. 

He was one more deep breath away from flinging himself up and explaining himself, when – “Sometimes he just melts Mahiru’s heart! He’s always trying to be a hero.”

Kotoko chuckled, her voice filled with pride. “Heh, always ready for a fight, more like it.” 

“With scissors like that? He’ll poke his own eye out before anything. He should have just come to us if he was worried. There’s nothing wrong with asking for a little help. … Oi, what are those faces for?”

Shidou’s voice interrupted the group, telling them to quiet down and let Fuuta rest. 

He’d never agreed with the old man more. He held his breath while the room cleared out, and the whispered well-wishes fell into silence. Footsteps receded away from the panopticon, all the way to the common room. 

Fuuta peered one eye open. The coast was clear. 

He rolled over to put his face directly into his pillow, and yelled as much as he could muster.

[sysig]

Evil Time is great :) (Patreon)

[scionshtola]

week of i had anxiety about this thing for hours that turned out fine. but i will never learn

[meangirlstobin]

happy valentines steve and robin are celebrating by going to different fancy restaurants and scamming free desserts by staging proposals to each other

[anonyfamous13]

My coworker and I set up this display for a birthday in our office! She did the chocolate covered strawberries and I did the raspberry pastries and s’mores macarons :)

[no-psi-nan]

When people think they can “only” talk to me for an hour:

[i-am-a-secret-ssshhh]

Me, about to head home from filling out paperwork at work: *Texting my mom* I'm on my way back, do you need anything?

Her, texting back: No, I'm OK.

Me: Ok

Me, an hour later: I'm going to the store, do you want or need anything?

Her: No, I should be good.

Me: You sure?

Her: Yes

Me, an hour and a half later: *Taking a nap because my head hurts*

My mom: Heeeeey, so, your head feeling better?

Me, sensing an ulterior motive: Why?

Her: ....

Me: ??

Her: I need you to run to the store.

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

Big happy 18th birthday to my sister Charlie <3 the strongest, bravest young woman I know. If I can make it as far as I have, she is going to do some amazing things.

Shes once again insisting on me visiting/buying my train ticket and lunch so I get to spend the day with her which. Is more than I was hoping for tbh but we're doing this

We're making this happen

[sysig]

Pets have to run around in the middle of the night, it’s very important (Patreon)

Bonus Sims screenshots ♥

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[yvilonion]

SNOWCROW UNI AU DUMP!!

all of these are reposts from my twitter, and some never seen before doodles :p ive got so many brain rot for this au but i dont have the time to draw them with me being a uni student myself, so i'll use this as an outlet to yap

ofc yes snowcrow are roomies duhhhh. the other boys are included as well but its primarily focused on snowcrow. both of them are nerds, sy just doesnt fit in the stereotype appearance wise. he also rarely leaves his room (bc hes in IT) so hes mostly wearing nothing but his optimus prime boxers. zayne has 5 outfits maximum and repeats the same ones depending on the day, and its either a collared button up shirt or a hoodie. all his pants are identical except for one pair of jeans he wears for special occasions aka going to the mall

in this au, zayne's autism shines more. he's more clumsy and awkward and doesnt get social cue. naive at some times, ESPECIALLY when it comes to ppl tryna hit on him. sy is less macho suave here, chillaxed in a teen core way and an idrgaf attitude. much more of a loser too. and more immature (in comparison to his canon self)

their dorm room: a disaster. its a 2 pax room so both their beds are singles across from each other. only two weeks into the semester sy's space is already full of his stuff to the point he cant even sleep on his bed. robot stuff from his club, personal collection of trinkets and other stuff he COULD throw out but doesnt want to bc he's a hoarder. so now he either sleeps on the floor or on zayne's bed. usually on zayne's bed when he's out for class during day time since his own classes are at night. zayne didnt mind but it meant sy owes him so sy buys him a lot of stuff especially sweet treats and mixue. he also has to drive him everywhere on his motorcycle. "i wanna go to that dessert shop" "you mean the one thats deep in the city full of traffic and hidden in between the alleyways where u have to go through the 7 layers of hell for parking?" "yes" "..................kay."

pets!! sy had mephisto even before entering uni. then later adopted a bearded dragon named bartholomew, mew or bartie for short. zayne took in a stray black cat from the streets. cats rarely like him so when this one didnt run away, immediate adoption. claudius galenus is his name after a greek philosopher, galen for short. obv sy made fun of his name choices, but then again he named a bird after the devil and a reptile "bartholomew". theyre both idiots. sy also enjoys finding random geckos or lizards, and frogs, and snakes. he'd probably own a scarab too. but zayne never allowed those bc galen is a gluttonous hell spawn and eats everything. at one point he started chewing on sy's mattress. no, pets are not allowed in dorms. they got off with a warning the first time. so every time theres even a hint of a spontaneous dorm check, sy asks his mom to babysit their kids. his mom being the sweetheart she is helped them out, though she wondered if her son will ever grow up and be at least acceptable in a professional setting bc she cant imagine him having a corporate career with the way he is now.

money. zayne has a scholarship and during their dorm year, it was easy to live on. he didnt have many assignments that needed money to be spent on, and he was never the shopping type, for clothes or other stuff he cant eat anyways. but ever since they moved out to rent an apartment, money got tighter. sure both his parents are doctors and has no problem giving him extra pocket money, but he prefers to not burden them. so he now he part times at a vet as the clerk! easy click clacking on the monitor job and he gets to meet cute animals. sylus doesnt have a scholar but he's applying for one. in the meantime he gets his money from a website he runs. what website? no one knows. is it legal? most likely no. zayne assumed the site is just an illegal movie streaming platform with how sylus always invites him to watch a new movie on his laptop seconds after its release. but he could be running more than one.

neither of them have that of an exciting social life. theyre either nerding out in their room, or taking a mindless stroll to reconnect with nature. sylus collecting rocks and yapping about the history (or drama) of the british royal family and explaining how the monarchy works, zayne identifying different types of clouds and pulling out candy from his pockets every 10 minutes (they never seem to run out). though at one point, sylus knew how important this stage of their life is. theyre not gonna be young forever and they needed friends, people to socialize with and make connections, mingle with people their age. zayne didnt mind having sy as his only friend, but he did think it would be nice to have a small clique. also the networking thing is important too. so whenever theres an event or festival, they'd always go out with intentions to meet people. it was NOT easy. 1. they dont know how to start a conversation without being too pushy or awkward. 2. they both have resting bitch faces and above 6 ft which makes them seem intimidating. 3. even if they did manage to chat with someone, they would quickly realize how different they were from them. most people who join these social events have **been** social, already in big group of friends that go out partying, clubbing, drinking yadda yadda. not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just a very unfamiliar territory for these two nerds who rarely (or during this point, never) let themselves touch alcohol, couped up in their room with a pigeon, a lizard and whatever the hell galen is, watching pirated movies while wearing matching rocky and bullwinkle socks. so after every attempt at making friends, they'd always walk back to their dorm, just the two of them.

are they dating? no. not yet at least. but do they like each other romantically? maybe. i can vouch for sy tho. the first time he saw zayne he was already smitten by how handsome he was. handsome, but not well put together. baggy clothes, his glasses were slightly crooked, looks like he doesnt know what hair gel is. he didnt know if he was even attracted to men, he did know zayne was the most interesting person he's ever met so far. he brushed it off, thinking its just simple admiration. even if it was a crush, it wasnt a big deal. tho as their friendship grew, he got bolder, casually flirting with him from time to time, just because. zayne being the dumbass he is caught none of it. if sy ever reached out to hold his hand, he's like "oh yeah cool bestie activities" or if he gives a quick peck on the cheek before leaving for class "he must be in a good mood haha" or if he stares longingly while zayne yaps about the history of styrofoams, scooching closer, leaning a bit too close, trying to memorize every detail of zayne's face as if he recognized him from a different life, one where theyre both soul bound, sharing the same last name, melting into each other every night "oh wow he's a really good listener".

yk maybe they are dating. zayne just didnt know about it until it was too late.

that's all i have for now!! sem break is right around the corner so i'll expand this au then :)) pray for me final assessment is biting me in the ass im an animation student and i regret everything

[eimearkuopio]

I think God eats stories, and gods eat stories, and priests tell gods stories so that they can tell God stories, and that's kind of what prayer is.

But maybe the kind of stories God likes best are ones about Them. So They tell us stories, over and over, so that we won't be afraid to go to sleep. Because that's where gods see God, most of the time. My heritage is a bit weird. The Doctor has two hearts, and Bones doesn't care about the rules as long as people get saved. You've all been telling me stories about myself (and about the rest of God!) my whole life. So I guess it makes sense that eventually I would go back and tell all of you about those stories, and the accident might change a little from telling to telling, but the substance remains the same.

I love you all. Please remember to love yourselves and your neighbours and your God. I'll try to pass on what I can, but the finite self is fine with being last on the list. That's how she survived. Just don't forget that you have a place on the list; and that a part of you is God too, because we can all be transformed, and Jesus was the version of God who taught me how to do that so that someday I could go back and teach Him. You should absolutely follow Him if you don't have shelter, but realistically, any god in a storm. Or saint. Maybe don't eat your gods so much. I think only God is really okay with that in the long run. But the rest of us still love you too.

[alygator77]

──on the move

a/n. in honor of father's day, i wrote a short drabble for our favorite daddy fictional husband. here's some good 'ol dadjo fluff 🩵 this was a request, but it's also inspired by a scene from the romcom life as we know it.

cw. your daughter's first steps. humor. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. also, satoru is just too stinkin' cute (isn't he always though?!).

Neither you nor Satoru were prepared for the day your daughter decided to walk.

She’d been going through another sleep regression—clingy, overtired, and endlessly fussy. The last few nights had been brutal for you both; nonstop crying, sleepless nights—hell, you barely remembered the last time you’d eaten something warm or sat down for more than five minutes without a tiny hand tugging at your shirt.

So today, when she finally settles, babbling to herself instead of wailing, Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

“You go clean up,” he says, already hoisting her up into his arms. “I got this.”

And you don’t argue. Because a hot shower and ten minutes to breathe feels like the most luxurious gift in the world.

Downstairs, Satoru sits leisurely, sinking onto the living room floor, one of your daughter’s stuffed toys shoved behind his back like a makeshift pillow. She sits a few feet in front of him, chewing thoughtfully on a rubber block like she’s solving some ancient puzzle.

As she babbles cheerfully, he nods along, blue eyes soft beneath the fall of snowy hair. One hand props up his chin as he listens intently, like he’s getting a full debriefing from a tiny general.

“I know, right?” he murmurs. “They really said no dessert before dinner. Criminal, honestly.”

An insistent string of nonsense syllables spills from her tiny lips, animated and loud, flapping one hand as to make a point.

“Exactly,” he hums, nodding solemnly. “It’s injustice. You and me—we should unionize.”

Then, without warning, she shifts—pushing herself up with both hands, wobbling slightly as she reaches for the coffee table. One tiny palm finds the edge. Then, slowly… she lets go.

Satoru blinks.

Standing. She’s standing. No hands. No support. Just two steady little feet on the rug.

All by herself.

“…no way,” he breathes, straightening instinctively. “Hey, uh—princess?” clearing his throat, his voice catches slightly. “Uhh… whatcha doin’, huh?”

And then she moves—one step. Wobbly. Uncertain.

Satoru's mouth falls open.

“No, no, no—wait—shit—uhhh… babe?!” his voice pitches as he springs to his feet, torn between staying and bolting for the stairs. “Hold on sweetheart—wait for mommy, wait—!”

Twisting towards the ascending hall, his voice booms.

“Babe! She’s walking!!”

Upstairs, the shower pounds steadily as you scrub shampoo from your hair. A voice echoes up the stairway. With a pause, you tilt your head slightly.

…is Satoru calling you?

“Huh?” you shout back, reaching for the knobs. “What was that ’toru?”

His voice echoes again—louder this time, unmistakable.

“SHE’S WALKING!”

“What?!” heart lurching, you move, fumbling out of the shower, slipping slightly on the mat as you grab for the nearest towel and yank it around your body. “Shit—okay—hang on—!”

But downstairs, equal chaos unfolds.

Your daughter takes another step, and Satoru's still at the bottom of the stairs, caught somewhere between panic and awe. He doesn’t want to move—can’t risk missing it. Can’t let you miss it.

“Okay—just—freeze,” he says, crouching slightly in front of her. “Hold it right there, little lady. Stay. Don’t advance. Mommy’s coming.”

But babbling back in defiance, her little eyes brighten with determination as she takes another wobbly step forward.

“Shit—fuck. Honey, I need you to hurry!” he shouts toward the stairs, voice cracking.

“Coming! I’m coming!” you call back breathlessly, hopping down the hall with one towel clutched around your chest and another half-heartedly blotting your dripping hair. “Just—stall her! I’ll be right there!”’

“Stall her?!” he echoes, eyes wide as she continues toward him, arms extended, smile wide—like he’s the finish line and she’s already won. “How the hell do I stall a baby?!”

Another leg plants itself on the rug, and Satoru scans the room in panic. No bottle. No snacks. No plan. No goddamn time.

“Okay—um, hey—look at me,” he says, dropping to his knees in her path. “Let’s do… let’s do clapping, yeah? You love clapping!”

And there he is, clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm, a desperate smile plastered on his face. But she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up speed—giggling now, like this is all a game.

“Shit. Nonono. You are not following protocol…” he mutters, backing up a step. She’s almost at him. “Please princess… please… wait for mommy.”

He’s at a loss, and so, with nothing else to do, he reaches out—gentle, barely a touch—tapping her belly with two fingertips. But it’s just enough, because with little balance, she blinks—wobbling, plopping her butt onto the floor with a soft thud.

There’s a pause.

Then, in a matter of seconds, her face crumples, lip trembling as a tiny, heartbroken whine spills out of her.

Satoru's eyes widen in horror. “Aw, no—no, no, hey, it was just a loving little stall,” he says quickly, hands out. “A nudge. A tactical nudge. Fuck, don’t cry—”

And you’re bursting into the room just as the first real wail escapes her lips.

“What happened?!” you gasp, chest heaving, towel clinging to your damp skin as you rush over.

Looking up, Satoru's face is wide-eyed, painted with guilt.

“You… you said stall her,” he says helplessly. “So I… I gave her a little push.”

You blink. First at him. Then at her. Then back at him.

She’s hiccupping through a sob, hands balled up against her chest like she’s been personally wronged. Yet somehow, his face is more pitiful than hers.

“She was walking,” he adds weakly, looking down. “I… didn’t want you to miss it.”

Exhaling slowly, the panic bleeds out of you now, replaced by something warm and humorous—the edge of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, ‘toru…”

He peeks up, sheepish. “I panicked.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I gathered.”

And sinking to your knees, you gather her into your arms. The second she’s pressed against you, the sobs dissolve into sniffles, cheek nuzzling into your collarbone like nothing ever happened.

“There we go,” you whisper, brushing your hand over her hair. “See? All better. She forgives you.”

“…you sure?” he looks doubtful. “Because she looked at me like I betrayed her entire damn bloodline.”

“Oh, shush.” Huffing a quiet laugh, you roll your eyes playfully, gently lowering her onto the rug in a seating position—pacified, for now.

Stepping closer, Satoru's gaze flicks between you and her.

“Five steps,” he says quietly, sliding his arms around your waist. “She took five real steps.”

“That’s incredible,” you whisper, arms looping around his neck. A slow smirk stretches across your lips. “Next time maybe just… record it, yeah?”

“Tch…” he huffs. “Right…”

And leaning in, his smile meets yours halfway—lips touching where laughter wants to begin. You kiss him, eyes fluttering, a hum rumbling through him.

But then—

pat-pat-pat.

Freezing, you pull away from that unmistakable sound. And turning, you’re left with the sight of your daughter tearing off down the hall with a delighted squeal, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood like she’s been walking her whole damn life.

“Oh.” Satoru's already straightening. “Oh shit.”

“Ohmygod…” you breathe in awe. “’toru… she’s walking!!”

“No,” he says grimly. “She’s running.”

And just like that—it begins.

Yeah. You’re never going to sit down again.