The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉
As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist
part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k
a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here
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“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?”
“Fuck– sorry. One sec.”
He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him.
You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question.
The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up.
“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor.
The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble.
Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.”
She shrugs, “Need a snack.”
Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead.
“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.”
“Candy?”
“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”
She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options.
Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.”
And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf.
You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.”
Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable.
You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.”
“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.”
Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast.
“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides.
“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees.
A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid.
Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”
She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.”
When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them.
“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.”
“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again.
It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?”
Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see.
Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare.
You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much.
“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory.
Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission.
“You want to?” He asks.
She nods, then adds, “Snack too?”
“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks.
“Fruit snacks or pretzels?”
Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out.
You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.
He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.”
Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily.
“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.
And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix.
Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back.
“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door.
She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”
You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met.
She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs.
“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?”
She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.
“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper.
She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.”
“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?”
“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.”
“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?”
She hums no and strains to tear off a piece.
“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork.
“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down.
She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.”
“Why only sometimes?”
She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve.
“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit.
Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?”
You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.”
“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.
“No? Why’s that?”
“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.”
“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?”
Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.
“Why not?”
“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.”
“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?”
“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.
You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?”
Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway.
You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.
“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table.
“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?”
“I’m coloring my family.”
“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.”
“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!”
“What? Why’s that silly?”
She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!”
“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?”
“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”
“What! Why does he think that?”
Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.”
“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”
She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!”
“It is! You can’t tell?”
She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head.
You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”
Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?”
“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”
“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.
The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe?
“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”
“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?”
She bobs her head animatedly.
“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.”
“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?”
“Well, does she live with you?”
Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”
“She sort of lives with you?”
“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do.
“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”
“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!”
Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age.
“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask.
“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling.
“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.”
“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green.
“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.
“White!”
“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?”
“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.”
You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?”
“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”
“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone.
“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.”
You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him.
Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope.
“Your dad is very right about that.”
She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”
“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!”
And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying.
The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior.
Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze.
Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.”
“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”
She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”
“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.”
Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.”
“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts.
“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.”
He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.”
She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?”
His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”
Penelope huffs.
“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?”
She looks at you like you might object. “Here.”
If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child. “That okay?” He asks you.
“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure.
“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.”
You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”
Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”
Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously.
The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad.
She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open.
Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care.
A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.”
She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”
“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”
“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction.
Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.”
“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee.
“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you.
You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”
“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”
“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.
“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.
She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti.
“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple.
Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love.
“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them.
Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”
Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”
“Thank you for helping me clean!”
Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?”
His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”
She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”
“A million? Surely not.”
“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise.
His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.”
You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”
A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.”
Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside.
“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful.
You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”
“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap.
“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him.
“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.”
You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk.
“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light.
Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”
“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.”
“I can! I did at school!”
“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.”
Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door.
“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours.
“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.”
“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.”
Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him.
You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?”
“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell.
“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope.
“I’m gonna look for frogs.”
She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers.
“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.”
“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.
You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile.
“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”
“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!”
Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.
Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”
She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.”
Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape.
He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.”
She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”
“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.
He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”
“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his.
“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.”
“Better help her look then.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness.
“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”
“Well, maybe next time.”
You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time.
You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer.
“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?”
“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”
“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.”
“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”
“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.”
“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features.
He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?”
“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side.
“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door.
You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!”
“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.”
“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds.
A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.
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AN: Source for tarot reading
Transcript under the cut
Morgan: Ever done this before?
Nancy: Can’t say that I have.
Morgan: Are you as put off about this as that other bible thumper?
Nancy: [rolls eyes] We’re not all the same. I’m more than my faith.
Morgan: I don’t doubt that. I’m sure there’s many layers to you. Where are you from?
Nancy: Brindleton Bay.
Morgan: Really, I’m from Portridge, a small town south of the Bay. Originally.
Nancy: Yeah? So, how did you end up a Fyres?
Morgan: Great question. My mom was his secretary. Super scandalous shit, which would explain while the Royal Barbie hates my guts. He’s not a bad step dad though. Hell of lot better than my actual dad. So, your parents-
Nancy: Isn’t the probing developing a bias or something?
Morgan: Just a little small talk. So, is there a question you want answered? Perhaps, a question about your past, your present or your future?
Nancy: I-
Nancy Narrates: [I want to get forget my past. I want to survive my present. I want to escape my future. Could there really be an answer for all that in those cards]
Nancy: I don’t know...
Morgan: That’s ok. You intention will guide us.
Morgan: Pick three cards that call to you. Based on the three, we will see what the cards have to say about your past, present and future.
Nancy: And you believe in this?
Morgan: We believe what we believe in, right? You have your three?
Nancy: I think so..
Morgan: Let’s take a look.
Morgan: Your past—the Upright Fool. Innocence. Curorsity. Something new and exciting—perhaps a first love in your youth that swept you off your feet?
Nancy Narrates: [Already I hated this...]
Morgan: Your present- the Reversed Star. Insecurity. Self doubt. A loss of faith. Interesting. Perhaps a struggle with one’s own faith? Are you having any doubts, Nancy? About yourself? About your God?
Morgan: Your future- the Upright Devil. Lust. Obsession. Temptation. Could be for the material things of life, or maybe a desire of the flesh.
Nancy: [clears throat] That all seems incredibly vague.
Morgan: [grins] Does it? Your poker face could use some work. Let me ask you something. Who exactly did I remind you of? Someone from your past?
Morgan: Your silence is very telling. I have a real gift for reading people.
Nancy: I’m sure you believe you do.
Morgan: [laughs] I really do!
Morgan: Tightly wound, fidgeter. You bite the hell out of your nails, right at the skin on the tips of your fingers, unconsciously. You pick at it until it bleeds. It’s the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to your own body. The pain, that is.
Morgan: Right?
Geoffrey: You made it! And making friends! Sorry, am I interrupting girl talk?
Morgan: It’s cool, boy wonder. Want me to do your reading?
Geoffrey: Are you kidding? Of course I do!
Nancy: Actually, I think I want to g-
Geoffrey: Really quick, Nance, then I’ll walk you to your dorm!
Geoffrey: Upright Death for my future sounds kind of scary when you think about it, huh? She said it could mean profound change. Sounds promising.
Nancy: [tsks] That could mean literally anything. That whole practice strives on vagueness. You can never be wrong if you’re bound to be right.
Geoffrey: Yeah, but it’s about how you perceive it, right? It’s unique. She did yours, didn’t she? What did yours say?
Nancy: Yeah, I um, don’t remember.
Geoffrey: Maybe you can ask her again. You two seem to hit it off.
Nancy: [huffs] Please. I am not going back to that shabby bar. She’s a sham. Those cards mean nothing. It’s stupid.
Geoffrey: [sighs]
Nancy: What?
Geoffrey: [blows raspberries]
Nancy Narrates: [Truth was, I was more curious than anything]
Nancy: So. Those cards. Could they...I don’t know- tell me something that could happen in a week? Like if I asked if I’ll pass my Statistics exam?
Nancy Narrates: [I was completely captivated by this otherworldly experience, whether I’d admit it outloud or not]
Nancy Narrates: [and Morgan was always happy to indulge me]
Nancy: [whispers] So I past my exam. How does this even work? I mean, how could they know? The cards. Could you do another reading after the debate?
Nancy Narrates: [But of all the questions I did ask, there was one that burned inside me more]
[heavy metal spills into the hallway]
Morgan: [startled] Nancy?
Nancy: Is this a bad time? I know it’s late...I can come back another time. I just have so much on my mind and I can’t sleep.
Morgan: You want another reading?
Nancy: Is that ok?
Morgan: Of course it is, Nancy. Come in.
Morgan: Sorry for all the smoke. I can open a window.
Knox: Babe, who’s this? It’s not my birthday.
Morgan: [smirks] Want me to get rid of him? I can.
Knox: Hey! I’ll be quiet! Won’t even know I’m here.
Nancy: I don’t mind. I just had a question.
Nancy: Could you do a reading for someone else, even if they’re not here?
Morgan: [hums] Not really...not without their permission or their intention. Who is this person to you?
Nancy: [looks away] Someone from my past. Someone I need to forget but- I can’t.
Morgan: Did this person hurt you?
Nancy: [shakes head] If anything, I hurt them. I ruined them with my... [lowly] um, perversions. I just need to know if they’re ok. If they hate me for it.
Morgan: [softly] I see... Here’s what we’ll do. Just like before, I’ll do a three card spread.
Morgan: Set your intention. Clear your mind. Ask your question. The first card is ‘you’. The middle card is ‘them’. The third card is the relationship.
Nancy Narrates: [‘Vanessa, do you hate me?’ ‘Do you blame me?’ ‘Do you regret loving me?’ ‘Do you know that I never stopped loving you?’]
Nancy Narrates: [‘Do you know that I’m sorry?’ ‘Do you know that I miss you?’ ‘Do you know that I need you?’]
Morgan: [exhales] It says... that you are a filled with love, Nancy, even though the world around you wants to drain you of it. There’s just too much of it inside of you and your friend-
Nancy: [weakly] Vanessa.
Morgan: [smiles] Vanessa. She loves you all the same. She may be experiencing her own hurt in this world, but having loved you keeps her strong. You two brought something bright and beautiful into each other’s lives.
Morgan: You can’t rid her from your life, because she’s apart of you, and...I- I think that’s a love worth fighting for, Nancy.
Nancy: [between gulps] Right. Right, thank you. Thanks, Morgan.
Morgan: Wait, Nancy, you don’t have to leave. It’s ok-
Nancy: It’s fine. I uh- I should go.
[door clicks shut]
Knox: Uhh, did you just make all that up?
Morgan: [weakly] I don’t know why I did that..
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Genuine question, not trying to start a fight, why do you get so upset about gods and churches being presented in a negative light in fictional works?
No pbs!
I guess it's a mix of being too common, too forced and having, in general, the cast use common tropish arguments to fight /defeat them.
I rant a lot about this game, but take TS where we have three sort of factions opposing each other, and each are supposed to suck. Who is the faction who never receives any "positive traits" or "pet the dog" moment?
The game force fed us a scene where an Aesfroti soldier - when Aesfrost is depicted as a highly militarised nation with a cult of personality towards their current ruler, that invaded the protag's home and slaughtered several civilians and NPCs in the process - say goodbye to his wife and kids before going to "war" to defend his land against, well, the protags who are invading it to kill their warmongering leader.
As force-fed as this scene was, it, I believe at least, tried to tell us that even the Aesfrosti who pillaged villages and killed their inhabitants are humans, and care about their loved ones, sure it's corny, but it's all about not deshumanising any party.
When we attack Hyzante? Niet, zilch, nothing. No similar scene where random soldiers, or NPCs, worry about what is going on and if they're going to die when their wall has been breached. They just, don't exist in this context.
I think the cherry on the cake is the Golden Route scene, where, apparently, nationalists Aesfrosti decide to turn back against their ultra charismatic leader because, uh, he "lied" when he declared the war and used a false pretense, so the soldiers and people who were butchering babies and invading a city where people were preparing a marriage apparently now have morals and rebel.
There's no similar scene for Hyzante when the cast reveals that the teachings of their Goddess were made up and salt wasn't exclusively given to them by divine intervention, because rock salt exists everywhere. Sure it would be a bit weird and forced that people thinking they're chosen ones and looking down on everyone else suddenly, hm, don't break down when their entire system of belief is shattered, but hey, if the Aesfrostian Gregor can have morals after washing his hands of all this Glenbrookian blood, why shouldn't religious npc #55 not make the same heel face turn?
And then, we have the slavery/human experimentation plot - in general, when TS tries to give nuance, they more or less explain/justify why something that "sucks" is done, it's basically Silvio's character.
Aesfrost' Gustadolph manages to push his "freedom" mentality because his land is a harsh place where people are desperate to survive, salt smuggling is reprehensible, but it's the only way to give some to the ones who cannot afford it. Of course is everyone is free, no one is because, as Gustadolph puts it, they're basically free to die for his ambitions.
Hyzante? Follows a racist creed where Rozellians have to pay for some great sin, and are slaved away in a lake to recover salt until they die. It's, later, justified by Hyzante wanting to keep its salt monopoly else they don't have anything, and wanting to curb down the Rozelle people because they know about the exitence of rock salt (and I guess getting free workers to harvest salt from the lake + having state enemies make his own population docile/not willing to rebel ?).
And then, we have the human experimentations, that are just done for, uhh, Idore's lol. When Hyzante is known for its "advanced medicine" and we could have had the usual dilemna of, idk, having those humans experimentations used to develop this medicine that is reknown in the world (idk, sacrificing a Rozellian to save someone else's life?) - it's not the angle the devs picked. Rozellians are sacrificed to power up an idol, Idore wants to control the world through his idol and soft power (compared to Gustadolph's hard power) and manipulates his people (just like Gustadolph) to do so.
The two are very similar, but who is the final boss? Complete with a transformation in an eldritch monster? The war-mongering imperialist or the jaded old man who is leading de facto a religion?
Hopefully there's the entire "human experimentations for no other purpose than the lols" to settle them apart.
---
I recently watched Dune, and even if I have some issues with the adaptation, the Bene Gesserit isn't portrayed as "comically" evil-er than the Harkonen Empire, I reckon the comparison isn't adequate, because Dune is multi book series when I'm mostly talking about video games.
Symphonia's church of Martel is a font for the Big Bad (tm) to put in motion his nefarious plans, and yet, through the game, we see how random clergymen use their, uh, religious buildings to help people around. Ultimately Martel herself is reincarnated through plot device and tells the big bad to stop being an ass and the story is less about "church and gods evil" but "big bad distorts Martel/church's teachings and role for his plans because he has a tragic backstory"
(but then Symphonia ends with the biggest whitewashing from every Tales I've played for its big bad so I'll stop talking about it because otherwise I'm going to be salty).
Abyss' church is more or less the same thing - the Church is supposed to help people deal with the fact their verse has "predestination stones" where the future is already written, and in the course of the game, we see how it has several factions and one opposes the group (who has the pope as a NPC!) - but it's not a story about "gods bad church BaD".
I remember playing Suikoden Tierkreis a long time ago, and while the game seemed to go through familiar "church bad gods bad" route and we end with defeating a god-like entity... I pretty much loved the twist that, in a game that relied on alternate dimensions/universe, the god-like entity was actually the protag if he made different choices!
In those games, if you fight a religious body and someone pretending to be a God or what not - it's not because people fight against an eldritch creature who wants world domination and to erase puny insects, or is the reason why everything goes wrong, but because, at the end, the conflict/fight is ultimately caused by someone, generally a human or at least a non "god like" entity, wanting to destroy the world.
I don't remember if FE was my first JRPG series or not, but I always liked the idea that if the world is doomed in those games and the heroes must prevent said doom, it's not because a god-like being wants to destroy the world, but because people, humans/randoms are the most shitty ones out there.
---
As for the "tropes" often used to deride fictional churchs and religious people, well, I will again point to TS - which did a splendid job in the Benedict Route where you smash Hyzante after allying with Aesfrost.
There's one battle where out protags diss Hyzantese because they worship a goddess and have no free will, listening to Her teachings and Her says (the traditional "religious people have no free will and listen to their churches who tell them how to think!") - which is immediately countered by one of those Hyzantese characters asking Serenor if he's not the same, but instead of blindly listening to a Goddess, blindly follows Benedict. And it ends with the final chapter title referencing automatons/puppets : who is that title talking about ? The fake "idol" Idore created, or the fake "king" Benedict created?
Anyways, the usual "religions people have no free will because their church/religion tells them how to think" trope reeks of r/atheism and the double standard - bar in this route of TS, but I guess, in TS itself in the Roland route! - is never called out, blindly following a charismatic leader is okay, as long as charismatic leader isn't religious?
Regardless of my IRL thoughts about religion, usually those tropes are presented as a "gotcha!" when they are... not at all, but the games/books leave it at that and we're supposed to roll with it.
I'd say it's lazy writing or, as we saw in Naruto, a quick way to end a story without having to dwelve in characters and their motivations : "you're a god/alien/other being and you're bad, so let us do what we want!" - end of the story.
Hopefully some fillers and to an extent, Boruto gave her more meat bar being the 11 hour villain we had to defeat quick and who manipulated the previous sad'n'lonely antagonists - but it still felt rich from Naruto, known for his famous "talk no jutsu" and trying to understand people he's fighting against, to drop the ball with Kaguya, calling her pure malice and ending with some "let us live the way we want" to wrap up the plot so he can wrestle with his boyfriend later on.
In the end, we often end up with "religion bad bcs the big bad manipulates people through it", as if those mangas/animes/vg never have other examples of charismatic people not using religion to manipulate their randoms/people or "gods bad they should let humans do what they want" when we've read/seen/played through various, uh, really fucked-up shit humans did - but on their own! and ultimately, but it's more in fandom spaces, with have Projection 101.
TLDR : church/religion/gods are too often used in those works as the ultimate scapegoat to either wrap up a story in a rushed ending or to pretend to have "nuance" but still have a common enemy where all the "nuanced" characters can grow/be whitewashed and side together against that "common enemy".
Just like in all things I guess, I prefer when something isn't painted as purely negative and all of the positive traits are erased because there is a need for a perfect scapegoat - sure, bring out too much "nuance" and writing/designing a game/manga/anime becomes harder because there's no "clear cut" antagonist, and yet, the one who always gets fucked in this scenario is the religious/church side.
Want a generic stock villain who will destroy the world so the heroes have to fight against them? Just create a "religion" in your setting, and have the big bad either hell bent on resurrecting Chtullu to destroy the world because Chtullu BaD, or have them be the most corrupt piece of shit who manipulate everything in the shadows, so the rest of the world, even the ones who slaughter others bcs they feel like they must start a war, can be whitewashed at the end.
I mean, there's a saying about diverting attention from a fire by starting a bigger one near, or a trope of "aliens made them do it" : who cares if Madara started a continental war and targeted a village full of random civilians he swore to protect because he lost the elections? Did y'know he was manipulated by a woman, I mean, an eldritch thing created by a woman, regarded as a God, who ultimately wanted to get out of her fridge to kill everyone?
Roland must get over his hatred for Aesfrost for barging in his kindgom and killing hundred of his people while they were preparing for a wedding, because hey, Idore is evil and plans on ruling the world through his sham religion!
I'll forever be salty at TS for not giving Kamsell the occasion to rise against Idore, or not even have minor NPCs get the same treatment as Sycras suddenly going all "u lied to me gustadolph so i won't listen to u anymore + sad goodbyes to my wife'n'kids".
Extremism of all kinds can lead to wars/tragedy/fucked up shit - Sure I don't want to get my History lessons in video game medium when I play lol, but what I really don't like is how it feels like depicting "they're extremists because they're religious" feels like the default/easy answer : want a bunch of brainwashed people the heroes must fight against and can't talk no justu their way out of this fight/will fight without looking too BaD? Depict those people as "misguided" members of a corrupt church/believers of a religion, no one will givea fig. If they are instead supporters of a charismatic leader who throws them through the meatgrinder to further their goals? Well, there's no automatic loyalty so either you have to show/depict it on screen, else it can be challenged at key points to demonstrate how those people - who follow the charismatic leader - aren't completely "mindlessly listening to their leader" or how their leader "isn't that bad after all".
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