#blue milk frog

[froggirleyeball]

Amazon Milk Frog

AKA Mission Golden-Eyed Tree Frog, Blue Milk Frog, Trachycephalus resinifictrix

A buddy from the Amazon rainforest!

These zebra-y buddies produce milk when stressed, and are on the large side, getting up to 4 inches! They often live in vegetation sitting above water, such as a tree with branches over a river.

They have blue blood, and you can see some blue when they open their mouths! So regal!

[deannimal]

blue; the rarest color in nature 🪞

[raindrop-stimmies]

Froakie stimboard!

🫧🩵🫧

🩵🤍🩵

🫧🩵🫧

[gray-ghost-creations]

I have found frogs challenging to draw, but I guess I just need more practice.

Amazon milk frogs, with amazonite minerals and satin pothos.

Done in colored pencils on hot pressed watercolor paper.

Prints - www.grayghostcreations.etsy.com

[talkativelock]

I feel like everyone has that one outdated and lesser used meme that lives so rent free in the back of their head that when someone says the trigger words their brain adds the meme onto it with such undeserved excitement that you have to force yourself not to say it aloud. For me it's when people say "they put [insert thing] in it" to which my brain immediately goes "TO TURN THE FROGS GAY"

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[writerthreads]

SYNONYMS FOR COLOURS

Red (and versions of it): cardinal, coral, crimson, flaming, glowing, maroon, rose, blooming, blush, brick, burgundy, carmine, cerise, cherry, ruby, salmon (requires more detail, ie. "salmon pink"), mahogany (reddish-brown), wine

Orange: tangerine, apricot, coral, amber, rust, salmon, peach, burnt sienna, sunset, blush, turmeric (orangey-yellow), marigold, carrot, marmalade, cantaloupe

Yellow: marigold, sunflower, amber, gold, lemon, canary, mustard, daffodil, saffron, blonde, butter, honey, maize, flaxen, topaz, cream, chartreuse, buttercup, primrose, corn

Green: emerald, olive, jade, lime, mint, forest, sage, moss, grass fern, dark, kelp, seafoam, shamrock, olive, evergreen, lettuce, cyan, turquoise, swamp, apple, honeydew, frog

Blue: aquamarine, aqua, ice, blueberry, Caribbean, teal, navy, azure, sky, cobalt, indigo, sapphire, royal, denim, periwinkle, lapis, electric (+blue), midnight, baby blue, bluebell

Purple: royal, violet, indigo, beet, lavender, hyacinth, plum, magenta, periwinkle, grape, lilac, iris, mauve, amethyst, orchid, fuchsia, heather

White: cotton, cream, almond, pearlish, bleached, ashen, ivory, snow, pearl, milk, chalk, silver, alabaster, marble, cotton, eggshell

Black: ebony, jet, coal, onyx, raven, charcoal, ink, sable, obsidian, midnight, caviar, soot, licorice

[greenwitchcrafts]

June 2024 witch guide

Full moon: June 21st

New moon: June 6th

Sabbats: Litha/Summer Solstice- June 20th

June Strawberry Moon

Known as: Aerra Litha, Birth Moon, Blooming Moon, Brachmanoth, Dyad Moon, Egg Laying Moon, Green Corn Moon, Hatching Moon, Hoer Moon, Honey Moon, Lovers Moon, Mead Moon, Moon of Horses, Moon of Making Fat, Partner Moon, Rose Moon & Strong Sun Moon

Element: Earth

Zodiac: Gemini & Cancer

Nature spirits: Sylphs & Zephyrs

Deities: Aine of Knockaine, Bendis, Cerridwen, Green Man, Ishtar, Isis, Neith & Persephone

Animals: Butterfly, frog, monkey & toad

Birds: Peacock & wren

Trees: Maple & Oak

Herbs: Dog grass, meadowsweet, moss, mugwort, parsley, skullcap & vervain

Flowers: Lavender, orchid, tansy & yarrow

Scents: Lavender & lily of the valley

Stones:  Agate, Alexandrite, cat's eye, chrysoberyl, emerald, fluorite, garnet, moonstone, ruby & topaz

Colors: Gold, green, orange & yellow

Energy:  Abundance, balance, change of residence, communication, decision making, education, family relations, full & restful energy, love, marriage, prosperity, positive transformation, prevention, protection, public relations, relationships, responsibility, strength, tides turning, travel & writing

While strawberries certainly are a reddish-pink color and are roundish in shape, the origin of the name “Strawberry Moon” has nothing to do with the Moon’s hue or appearance.

• June's full Moon is typically the last full moon of spring or the first of summer. The June Full Moon will be extraordinary. For the first time since 1985, Full Moon happens precisely on the summer solstice, when the Sun is highest up. Because the Full Moon is always opposite the Sun, this year, you will see that the Moon is 10 widths lower on the horizon than the Sun ever is. 

This “Strawberry Moon” name has been used by Native American Algonquian tribes that live in the northeastern United States as well as the Ojibwe, Dakota, and Lakota peoples to mark the ripening of “June-bearing” strawberries that are ready to be gathered. The Haida term Berries Ripen Moon reflects this as well. As flowers bloom and early fruit ripens, June is a time of great abundance for many.

Litha

Known as: Alban Heruin, Summer Solstice & Whit Sunday

Season: Summer

Element: Fire

Symbols: Besom, fairies, God's eyes, sunflowers & symbols of the sun

Colors: Blue, gold, green, orange, red, tan & yellow

Oils/Incense: Cinnamon, frankincense, heliotrope, lavender, lemon, lily of the valley, mint, musk, myrrh, orange, orange pine, pine, rose, saffron, sandalwood & wisteria

Animals: Cattle, crab, horse & octopus

Birds: Goldfinch, kingfisher, meadowlark, owl, robin & wren

Mythical: Fairies

Stones: Bloodstone, diamond, emerald, jade, lapis lazuli & tiger's eye

Food: Ale, bread, cheese, edible flowers, garden fresh vegetables & fruit, lemons, meade, milk, oranges, pumpernickel bread, summer squash & wine

Herbs/Plants: Anise, basil, betony, cinquefoil, copal, elder, fennel, fern, frankincense, galangal, hemp, ivy, larkspur, lemon, lemon balm, mistletoe, mugwort, mullien, nettle, orange, orpin, plantain, rue, saffron, sandalwood, St.John's wort, thyme, verbena, vervain, wild thyme & ylang-ylang

Flowers: Carnation, chamomile, daisy, heather, heliotrope, honeysuckle, lavender, lily, marigold, orchid, rose, wisteria & yarrow

Trees: Elder, holly, laurel, linden, oak & pine

Goddesses: Amaterasu, Aine, Anahita, Dea, Cerde, Dag, Dana, Eiru, Fenne, Gwydion, Kupala, Mabd, Phoebe, Skhmet & Sul

Gods: Apollo, Baal, Balder, Bel, The Dagda, Donnus, El, The Green Man, Helios, Huon, Jupiter, Llew, Loki, Lugh, Maui, Mithras, Oak/Holly King, Ogmios, Ra, Surya, Thor & Zeus

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Agriculture, changes, divination, ending, fertility, life, light, manifestation, power, purpose, strength, success & unity

Spellwork: Fire & water magick

Activities:

• Charge and cleanse your crystals in the solstice sun

• Make Sun water

• Create crafts with natural elements such as flowers

• Burn a paper with things that no longer serve you or that you are trying to let go

•  Invite friends & family over for a bonfire and/or feast

• Gather & dry herbs for the upcoming year

• Clean, decorate & cleanse your altar with summer symbols

• Brew some sun tea

• Take a ritual bath/shower with flowers

• Make your own sun dial

• Craft a door wreath out of flowers & herbs

• Enjoy some sunrise/sunset yoga

• Volunteer at a food kitchen or animal shelter

• Plant trees (especially ones that may provide fruit or berries to feed the wildlife)

• Watch the sunset & say a blessing to nature

• Make flower infused anointing/spell oils

• Eat fresh fruits & berries

• Participate in a handfasting

• Create shadow art

The history of Litha reveals its deep connections to ancient agricultural societies & their reliance on the sun's power. Celebrated as part of the Wheel of the Year, Litha symbolizes the balance between light & darkness. Throughout history  customs such as bonfires, herb gathering & the construction of sunwheels have marked this festival. Today, Litha continues to be celebrated by various communities, with gatherings at sacred sites & private rituals in natural settings. It serves as a reminder of our connection with nature and the cycles of life.

• The traditions of Litha appear to be borrowed from many cultures. Most ancient cultures celebrated the summer solstice in some way such as the Celts celebrated Litha with hilltop bonfires & dancing. Many people attempted to jump over or through the bonfires for good luck. Other European traditions included setting large wheels on fire & rolling them down a hill into a body of water.

Litha is often associated with Midsummer, a celebration that extends beyond the pagan and Wiccan traditions. Midsummer festivities are observed in many cultures around the world, including Scandinavian countries where it holds a prominent place in their cultural heritage. Midsummer dances, bonfires, & feasts are integral parts of these celebrations, often accompanied by folklore and traditional rituals that honor the sun's energy and the abundance of nature during this time.

The summer solstice is the longest day of the year & in some traditions, Litha is when The Sun(The God) is symbolically at it's peak time of power & the World will soon be ripe to harvest. It is also when The Goddess is pregnant with The God who is to be reborn at Yule.

• In the Northern Hemisphere the Summer Solstice occurs when the Sun reaches its highest and northernmost points in the sky. It marks the start of summer in the northern half of the globe. (In contrast, the June solstice in the Southern Hemisphere is when the Sun is at its lowest point in the sky, marking the start of winter.)

Some also believe the history & spirit of Litha revolve around two deities, The Oak King & The Holly King. In Wiccan and Neo-Pagan traditions, each King rules the Earth for half of the year. From Yule to Litha, the Oak King rules. On Litha, the two battled for the crown and it is then that the Holly King triumphs. The Holly King will rule through fall until Yule, and the cycle will begin again.

Related festivals:

• Vestalia- June 7th -15th

Was a Roman religious festival in honor of Vesta, the goddess of the hearth & the burning continuation of the sacred fire of Rome. It was held from 7–15 June & was reserved as a women's-only event. Domestic & family life in general were represented by the festival of the goddess of the house & of the spirits of the storechamber — Vesta & the Penates .

On the first day of festivities the penus Vestae (sanctum sanctorum of the temple of Vesta which was usually curtained off) was opened for the only time during the year, at which women offered sacrifices. As long as the curtain remained open, mothers could come, barefoot and disheveled, to leave offerings to the goddess in exchange for a blessing to them and their family.

For the last day, the penus Vestae was solemnly closed, the Flaminica Dialis observed mourning & the temple was subjected to a purification called stercoratio: the filth was swept from the temple and carried next by the route called clivus Capitolinus and then into the Tiber.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[daisychainsandbowties]

i love when fic authors write ava being really excited about going to the grocery store it’s like!!! yes! ava is excited to see oat milk. yes she wants to try every variation of haribo candies in every tiny european corner store they visit. yes she loves that things come in cans and that there’s drinks that are blue like in star wars

and also yes to bea seeing her swerve hard away from the baby food aisle. sneering in tandem with her at the applesauce and at cans of watery soup. bea teaching her how to season things so they don’t taste like powerlessness and neglect and hunger and rotting away

sighing indulgently when ava appears with another box of cereal to mow through in one night. bea brushing granola pieces off the bed without a word while ava sits cross-legged on her crumpled-up side with a book in her lap, one hand pressing the pages flat and the other elbow-deep in a box of chocolate hazelnut granola. scattering light crumbs everywhere

just yes to ava loving food and approaching it with so much joy it makes beatrice realise that there is actually something holy in a silce of orange, in a snack cake and in granola crumbs and haribos in the shape of little frogs.

something about how the ones we love feed us and how they can teach us to love. something about love leaking through ava like light through stained glass and beatrice realising that it’s not the sunlight itself that’s beautiful, or the glass all alone, but the two together, shining

[dilfsfordinner]

Thinking about watching as your husband Levi rocks your newborn in his arms, the little bundle quietly cooing as your lover’s voice softly fills the nursery.

“You’re a little shit you know that? Waking your mum up every night just to get a full belly,” Levi mumbled, his tone clearly teasing, mouth struggling to fight off a smile. He was standing diagonally in front of the open window, rays of moonlight highlighting his figure, as well as your son’s.

He was almost identical to Levi, the little tufts of hair atop his head akin to onyx, his skin so soft it almost felt like porcelain, and he had an attitude. At 3 weeks old he’d begun to fuss like no other, the only difference between the two of them being that Levi showed his sassiness in ways other than screaming and crying.

You’d awoken to the sound of his wails, his need for milk so routine it’d become almost a robotic nightly response. But before you’d even stepped into the nursery, there he was, your husband, cradling your babbling child in his arms, a bottle already in his greedy mouth.

Through the slightly opened door you could just make out Levi’s face, his expression so soft you thought you’d crumble right then and there. His eyes were gentle as they watched your little boy, his long fingers delicately stroking the soft blue cotton of your baby’s ‘jammies.

“Mama loves you so much you know,” he whispered, his voice apparently very comforting as your son eyed him carefully, almost as if he was matching the voice he’d heard in the womb to a face. “Daddy loves you too, tantrums and all.”

Your baby’s eyelids started to flutter, his blinking becoming like that of a frog, slow patterns indicating he was about to drift off, his father’s voice soothing enough to convince him to ease off the bottle’s nozzle. Levi’s arms never ceased their gentle rocking, his chest a firm pillow for your baby’s head. Leaning down, he left a kiss to the sleeping child’s forehead, his little fingers now wrapped around Levi’s index.

His words had not only lulled the little bundle to sleep, but they had taken their toll on you too, the soft inflections he delivered sending waves of drowsiness through you. Quietly padding away from the door, Levi’s last words rang between your ears, his vulnerability weaving strings of love even tighter around your heart. Your husband, humanity’s strongest soldier, a softie in reality.

“I love you, my baby boy..”

[mothyandthesquid]

The Amazon Milk Frog (Trachycephalus resinifictrix) is a large species of arboreal frog native to the amazon rainforest in South America. They are nocturnal, have large, adhesive toe pads for climbing, and a loud barking call.

The bluish green colouration and brown markings provide camouflage amongst trees and vegetation. They arise from a combination of

1. Melanophores, cells containing black or brown melanin pigments,

2. Xanthophores, those with yellow pigments), and

3. Iridophores, which have reflective or iridescent properties rather than pigment, and appear blue.

When threatened, specialised skin glands secrete a milky, white, and toxic substance rich in alkaloids, particularly bufotoxins. This behavior, known as “foaming,” is a common defense mechanism observed in various frog species, but the Amazon milk frog is particularly well-known for the potency of its secretion. Bufotoxins are potent chemicals that can cause irritation or even be harmful if ingested or if they come into contact with mucous membranes or open wounds.

[vomittedsoap]

How characters in AMC The Terror would drink their coffee (/morning drink)

John Franklin: Black, your grandpa's instant Kirkland brand coffee. Either that or 7/11 big gulp that smells like motor oil and piss. Owns a "world's best boss" mug but uses it as a pen cup.

Francis Crozier: black (with whiskey). Jopson makes it for him in one of those plaid Thermos or green old-fashioned Stanley.

James Fitzjames: he takes Starbucks and Dutch Bros very seriously. Big fan of a chai latte as well. Anything with cinnamon sprinkled on it. (insert Larry David Latte joke from Crozier)

Blanky: Same as Crozier but with some sugar and cream

Jopson: owns a French Press that he uses to make Crozier's coffee, drinks his with just a LITTLE sugar but a lot of milk. Also likes espresso sometimes. Drank from a simple white cup or whatever's available.

Hodgson: uses Jopson's French Press (and lost the lid one time). Adds CoffeeMate flavored creamer, pumpkin spice is his fave but hazelenut is fine. Really enjoys stupid mugs so most of the mugs on the Terror belong to him. His favorite is the Rainforest Cafe frog one.

Little: a double-quad-shot of espresso in a Solo Cup means nothing to him. But alas he drinks it anyways. Such is life. Sometimes will have a coffee in Hodgson's mug with a picture of a kitten and puppy playing on it.

Irving: insane amounts of sugar and milk, but will never admit it. One time a shipmate accidentally mistook it for his and instantly spat it out. Irving claimed he didn't know whose it was. The mug changes but says his favorite is the one with John3:16 on it (but actually he covets the Rainforest Cafe frog mug).

Goodsir: actually he's an herbal tea guy. Likes chamomile or things with rose/lavender. Brews them in a mug Hodgson gave him that had some dumb science pun on it, a gift for which he's unnecessarily thankful.

Stanley: black. No fun allowed.

Tozer: regular coffee with french vanilla creamer. Normal.

Hickey: Panera lemonade that kills you. Also takes sips from Crozier, Tozer, or Irving's drinks when they're not looking. ("if you have a milkshake... and I have a milkshake... and I have a straw; see? Watch it. My straw reaches across the room... and starts to drink your milkshake: I... drink... your... milkshake!")

Gibson: doesn't like coffee, but is a big fan of coffee-flavored things.

Collins: espresso with lead and an extra side of lead (with whipped cream)

Silna: Haznelnut latte with which to take her ibuprofin. Lord knows she needs it. Drinks from a baby-blue Stanley Goodsir gave her.

[peggyao3]

Pt. 16 - Lactation

A/N: Of course, it had to be Lactation when given the choice out of three prompts xD

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, sub!Feyd, mommy issues, angst

WORD COUNT: 320

Peaceful like a little angel, Feyd-Rautha's face is nestled against her bosom, feathery lashes tickling her skin. The soft light from above streams in golden ribbons across his hollowed cheeks and full, pink lips.

If she ever meant to kill him, it would have to be while he drinks, eyes closed in bliss and mind lost to primal daydreams of a faceless woman with eyes as blue as his and hair as blonde as his had been when he was but a boy on Lankiveil.

Yes, she could slip a blade between his ribs while her warm milk streams into his soft, thirsty mouth, while his fingers sink mindlessly into the space between her thighs, neglect mingling with desire in rotten ways that only a flayed soul can produce, taken apart since birth and put back together in the shape of a man who had never grown up.

There were times when she had the blade tucked between the sofa cushions and her heart clamored with fear, anticipating the right moment which never seemed to come.

But ever since she learned it all, revealed to her in secret by his own brother, and looked at him then, with his eyes closed at her breast, she just couldn't.

A boy who was born as a bargain, a compensation to the sisterhood for birthing a firstborn too brutish to be controlled. A boy who was promised to the Baron when he was still in the womb, destined to grow up on Giedi Prime to be different from his brother. Thora Rabban could never love her poor, dammed son.

As if sensing her thoughts, Feyd-Rautha's eyes blink open, deep blue and glossy with a sad, hidden question that makes her tilt her head and sigh, pulling him closer to her chest almost fiercely.

How could she, his wife, ever hurt him like his mother did, when all he needs is to be loved?

Some people: A villain, unredeemable, sociopathic! Me: A little angel, obviously.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

[whalesforhands]

kaizen daycare! 3

previous masterlist next

“Are ya gonna follow us home t’day?” Megumi rubs at his little eyes as his puppy-themed socks come to a stop before you, trying to stifle an incoming yawn. He sounds hopeful, dare you even say, excited.

“Daddy said you were gonna eat at our house too.” He’s suddenly holding his arms up towards you, asking to be carried as he awaits with still half-opened eyes.

“Oh? Megumi-kun, are you excited about moving in?” You’re bending down, your hands picking him up and supporting his weight, letting the child’s head loll and rest against your chest. His cheek squishes against you, a sleepy comfort overtaking him once more now that he’s in your arms.

“Mn.” You feel him press his ear against your heartbeat, smiling at the steady, slow vibration, his innocent eyes already starting to close once more as he cuddles himself against you, getting comfortable in your embrace. “I just wanna see you there…” His words trail off with his sleepy haze, going limp in your hug as he finally falls back asleep.

You feel a blush overtake you at his words, the gentle chime of a nursery lullaby flowing into your ears, accompanied by the adorable snores of your other children as you sat upon a nearby cushion with a sleeping Megumi in your arms. So cute.

Maybe it was a good idea to accept their family’s invite afterall?

——

Sometimes, you’re utterly at a loss for words at a certain trio within your class. Even as Mimiko sips on a cup of milk whilst sitting on your lap, Nanako humming, sprawled out on the floor next to you and drawing with her plethora of crayons and Megumi playing with the toy trucks by his sisters.

(“Hmm…” Mimiko leans back, staring up at you, hands fiddling with her now empty milk carton. She’s always been one to speak her mind.“(name)-sensei…”

“Mm?” You look down at her, snapping out of your dazed out trance, your fingers that were mindlessly combing through her hair stopping abruptly.

She doesn’t respond, her eyes scrutinizing you as you give her the moment to collect her words. Is something wrong? Did her milk taste bad? You had the same one, you don’t think—

“You’re so pretty.” Just as pretty as her Papa and Daddy. Maybe even more? She’d have to ask her plushies one by one later on who they think is the winner. She’s betting on you.)

“Nanako-chan, do you need me to call him? It isn’t like your Papa to be late…”

“Nope!” She pops the ‘p’ as she skips over to her cubby. “It’s realllll good that we’re the last ones left, and so earlyish! Pap— We thought we were gonna have to wait longer!!” She digs around the frog themed backpack, her tongue stuck out in concentration before she pulls out her phone.

Her very expensive, high-tech, latest in the market phone that was leagues better than yours and probably costed around an entire month of your salary. “Papa said to just text him if he’s late, and Daddy’ll come zooming the fastest around!”

That was approximately 4 minutes ago.

“(name)-sensei, (name)-sensei! I drew this for you!” A sheet of A3 paper is thrusted into your face, a burst of colour that dyed your eyes in fascinating intrigue as they slowly focus in on the drawing.

Matching blonde and brunette bobs, right next to a darker ponytailed brunette and spiky black. Shiny, smiley faces that were drawn on with an attempt to scribble the characters of their names just above them.

Though, that wasn’t the main focus. You notice 3 more figures upon the paper, characterized by neon-blue crayon for eyes, another having long shadowy black for hair… And the unmistakable pink of your apron you wore for work.

(You can’t even deny that it’s you. You saw her peeking over and trying to see and copy down your name embroidered onto the top of your apron.)

“That’s a wonderful drawing, Nanako-chan! What made you want to add me in?” Megumi and Mimiko have now gathered near you, squeezing in under your arms to stare at their sibling’s art work.

“That’s cause we love (name)-sensei a wholeeeeeee lot!” She draws a circle in the air with her arms, the widest circumference she can go. “Wayyyyy more than this!”

We…? Why, you feel flattered— A knock at the door sounds, a boisterous voice disrupting your train of thought.

“Daddy’s here!”

——

“But Nanako wants to sit on (name)-sensei’s lap!” A pouty complaint as she tugs on her dad’s jacket, narrowed brown squinting up at him as she hugs her frog plushie backpack close to her.

“Nope!” The grown man makes an X cross with his arms. “Papa’s gonna have my head if you’re not in your booster seat.”

“Then you sit in the back and Nanako will drive!” She’s determined to be able to be next to you on this short drive back.

You’re already helping Megumi buckle himself into the booster seat, a sleeping Mimiko all strapped in as her soft breaths are barely heard. You notice the soft, chubby fingers that rests themselves over your hand just as you were about to pull away.

“Hmm? Megumi-kun, what’s wrong?” He says nothing as he stares at your hand, eyes downcast and as if too conflicted to let go. “I dwon’t want you to go…”

You think you’re going to die from cuteness.

“I’ll be with you real soon, okay?” You ruffle his hair, watching as he grunts lightly at the sensation before he lets you go.

It isn’t long before Gojo gets his blonde daughter to behave and obediently settle next to her siblings, hugging her plushie close as she receives a wave from you from outside.

It’s just you and their other father now.

“Gojo-san, thank you for offering me to drive me back.” You’re smiling up at him, oh so innocently. It almost makes him want to—

“Sa. To. Ru.” You feel a tap to your nose at the last syllable. “We’re gonna be neighbours, aren’t we?” He sends you a charming wink. “Plus, I don’t mind driving you back. I’d even it rather be a regular occurrence, if you left it up to me.”

(S-so forward! Isn’t he scared of what his husband will think?! Driving another adult around so casually in his car!)

“That isn’t necessary at all, Gojo—“ You see him pout, his cheeks starting to puff up. “Sa…Toru-san. You really don’t have to.”

“Hmm.” He leans in— Almost intimately close as you back off slightly, your back coming into contact with his car. Vibrant blue stare into your own, as you tilt your head in innocent confusion.

“You know, (name).” His voice trace over your name with such a deep, almost fulfilling tone that makes your heart stir. “I’m been kind of worked up lately.”

An arm that extends past, lightly brushing your hip as he gets the door for you. Except… He doesn’t seem to be opening it anytime soon, choosing to box you in between the car and his body. “You could say that I’m even a little… Excited.”

(“Oh? I suppose it is a little nerve wrecking to have a guest over when you just move in.” You nod, ignoring the warmth that was exceedingly close to your waist, your gaze still holding his own intense orbs. “Even I wouldn’t dare to invite someone over when I’ve barely got everything set up yet, so I get you, Satoru-san.”

He blinks, the tension diffusing in mere seconds before he starts breaking out into a boisterous laugh, tilting his head downwards towards the ground and a hand over his mouth.

“Ahaha! That’s right, sensei!” You’re so cute.)

——

“Hello!” A sparkling set of eyes and rocking feet, hands clenched into excited fists that pump into the air. “Welcome to our new house!” A little girl no older than 3 or 4 appears in front of you, her brown hair fluttering with her bouncy joy that radiates off of her in waves.

“My name is Tsumiki! I like drinking strawberry milk and being praised!” She ends her introduction with an eager V-sign, bright teeth out in a grin and eyes upturned into the cutest little crescents, before she flattens her arms at her sides, bowing to you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“My, you’re so polite.” You lean over to pat at her head, your bag long placed on top of the counter at their genkan. “I’m (nam)—“

“(name)-sensei! You live in the apartment right next to us, you work at the kindergarten my brother and sisters go to, you’re super, suuuuper sweet like kikufuku mochi and, and—!” Her eyes are sparkling more intensely, practically reflecting a constellation of her thoughts as she looks up at you. “And you’re even super, super pretty!”

(Even prettier than all the other times she’s seen you.)

You’re honestly at a loss for words right now. How much are you talked about here…?

“Mmm, but I suppose calling you sensei when you aren’t my sensei is a little strange, right, sensei?~” She’s strangely playful, big grin and eyes that gleamed with something you can only describe as a yearning want.

She taps her chin in thought, eyes averting to the side and upwards as if in deep thought. “Ah!” She claps her hands together. “Can I call you Mama?”

(W-whaaaaaat?! So upfront!)

“Please, please?” She’s already wrapped her arms around your legs, her pouty, mischievous eyes pleading up at your blushing form, her head buried into your tummy as she’s on her tiptoes.

You’re blushing hard— Your eyes swirling with bashful shyness that makes you so, so nervous. Sure, she’s adorable— So forward and so cute pleading you like this…! You did always tell yourself that you wanted kids—

“Now, now Tsumiki. You’re teasing our poor guest too much.” A tut and a ruffle of her head from behind as an all too welcomed figure appears.

“Papa!”

“Geto-san…!”

“I’m sorry. She takes after Satoru a little too much in that sense.” She turns his gaze downwards. “Tsumiki, help me set the table, please.”

“Okay!” And she patters off, socked feet against the wooden floors as she skips away. “Talk to you later, Mama!”

(Ohhh… You feel like you’re going to burn up from gratified embarrassment… You like the way it sounds but it’s so embarrassing—! Especially when she’s not your child…!)

“No, no, Geto-san. It was lovely being able to talk with her! You raised all your kids so well!” You’re gushing as you talk to him, a hand pressed over your stuttering heart, letting him lead you around, not even noticing the hand that had intertwined with your own as you lost yourself to your overactive mind.

“I sometimes wish they were my own.” You’re turning sheepish, body turned slightly to face his with the still all too cute, all too adorable smile of yours. He stops in his tracks, fingers closing in on your face to brush a strand of your hair back, the graze of his skin against yours makes you shiver in a sense of delight… It always felt strangely— Good whenever he does this.

(He can make that happen, you know?)

“Trust me, sensei—“ He feigns a tired sigh, pulling away, causing your shoulders to slump in visible disappointment, much to his adoration. “They can be up to no good if they want to be.”

Now that you’re actually in their house, it definitely feels a little high class. Their cushions that looked and felt like they were too out of this world, their curtains looking a little glamorous… Not to mention how amazingly soft the couch you were sitting upon felt…

You were so sure you passed by your own apartment next to theirs not too long ago. Now you’re not even sure if you’re even living in the same realm of possibility…

“Dinner’s about to be finished up. Do you mind waiting a bit?”

“If you don’t mind,” You tilt your head to the side as you watch him. “I could lend a hand.”

——

“Gumi, c’mere.” Tsumiki beckons her younger brother towards her, the little boy waddling over with his towel wrapped around him, dripping with water as he holds onto his sister’s hand.

(It’s normal for them to wash up a little bit before dinner, they’ll take their bath later.)

“Don’t they look like a marriage?” A proper one. Like in those late-night soap operas one of her Mother’s ‘friends’ used to leave on. The way Papa is smiling as you taste test his cooking, the way Daddy tried to eat whatever you touched, the way you all laughed in an emotion that cannot be anything else but utter joy.

“Get— Suguru-san, I think it needs a little salt.”

“Mm, is that so?” He doesn’t even hesitate to place his lips onto the spoon you had just used, tongue peeking out to lick up any leftover remnants that could be there. “It might be the lack of dashi stock. I need to go to the market soon.”

“Oh, there’s one nearby, I could show you—“

“Suguru! No fair! I wanna taste too!”

“Aren’t you meant to be helping the kids dry off, Satoru?”

“Mmm, I will if I get fed!” He opens his mouth towards you, “Pleaseeeeee? I’m getting hungry!”

You’re the one. Tsumiki knows you are. She just does. Her grip on the door frame tightens ever so slightly, a twinkle of longing, of yearn in her gaze.

“Better than Mother ever looked with any of those men…”

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Notes:

It’s very important that you do not leave the nap room for very long during naptime. You went out to do some administrative work and you came back to a crying Mimiko that was biting into her plushie, trying to silence herself so as to not disturb the rest while she huddled into a corner and silently wailed for you.

“(name)-sensei…! D-don’t leave Mimiko again…!” Her tears are soaking into the front of your apron, her small hands gripping onto the fabric of upon your shoulders as she clung onto you. Desperate, scared.

The other children do not like it when you’re not around. Stay in the rooms with them.

“Aww, I thought I heard something from outside. Was it you, Megumi?” Geto Suguru soon scoops up a blank, sleepy little boy dragging a blanket in.

“Oh? What do you have in your hands for me, Gumi? It’s—“ He continues to smile. “Are those my… Contact lenses? Thank you very much…” The transparent item is plopped onto Suguru’s open palm, a silent Megumi burying his face into his father’s chest soon after.

What a peculiar child.

[neuroprincess]

Baby's First Tantrum - Melissa Schemmenti/Female Reader

Melissa Schemmenti/Female Reader

Summary: A garden carrot and some earth lead the moms to deal with LuLu's first tantrum.

Classification: Domestic fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: +1300

Unrevised

Formula and breast milk were quickly replaced by a variety of different foods, from fruit and vegetables to meat, occasionally light desserts and often pasta. This is Luca's diet and, to his moms' pride, he eats almost everything without hesitation. But that doesn't mean that the couple give everything or let him eat whatever he wants whenever he wants, they don't give sugar, candies, chocolate or anything with condensed milk, the first sweet he tried was a birthday cake in the first year of life and didn't seem interested. The boy has a great interest in vegetables in particular, taking the beans out of the pods, hunting for pieces of zucchini in the rice, eating pumpkins as if they were watermelon, having fun destroying the "little trees" aka broccoli with teeth, which may have helped his teething more than the dozens of silicone toys bought. He also likes fruit, bananas not so much, apples only in juice, but he loves citrus fruits, can devour an orange easily on his own and loves to crush tangerine slices in chubby little hands before eating it. Any pasta on the colorful plate will disappear in less than half an hour, without even needing help. Sometimes Aunt Kristen fills him up with pumpkin tortelli while no one is looking, his favorite and her most favorite crime. In short, since babyhood he has developed a good relationship with food, with different tastes, colors, scents and textures. It's no different with what's planted and harvested. Mel's mother keeps a vegetable garden at the back of the house, full of healthy tomato plants, bright strawberries, long-stemmed carrots, radishes, green beans and a dozen spices that make the Schemmenti's recipes extra special. It's a sunny Sunday after a rainy week, perfect for checking, fixing and taking care of anything the garden needs, and of course the little boy, who has just learned to run and jump, wanted to join in, exploring the environment and the places he couldn't reach before growing a few inches in the last quarter. There are a few toys that the other grandchildren play with too, flowers in different colors, ceramic decorations from gnomes to colorful frogs, but his main interest is to be around his moms. 

"LuLu, which color is that?" the teacher asks pointing to the blue watering can in hand, seeing it as a great opportunity to teach him colors and new things.  

"Bwue!" he shouts excitedly and shrilly, the way a toddler can "Sky is bwue!"  

"Yes, sweetheart. The sky is blue." Y/N agrees, caressing her son's coppery hair, then puts the bucket hat on to protect him from the strong sun "And the trees?" 

"Yewow!"  

"No, it's green, like grass." she takes some grass from under their feet and shows it to him before putting it in his little hand so he can feel it better "Grass is nice, isn't it?!"  

"Green..." he repeats.  

Luca agrees, opening a big smile, one very similar to the other mom's, showing teeth. Green eyes sparkle as he plays with the small amount of grass, until a gust of wind snatches it away from him and scatters everything across the garden where it belongs. He looks at the scene with sadness and tears in the eyes, a cute little peck if it didn't mean imminent crying. Not only had he inherited his mom's tough and temperamental side, but also her sensitive side, the one she usually showed with family and friends. They had to be alike in every way, she thinks to herself as she lovingly caresses her five-month-old belly, wondering if their little girl will be like that too. Her wife quickly comes to the rescue, attracting attention by acting surprised as she pulls a carrot out of the ground, it's like magic for LuLu, who quickly forgets about the grass and concentrates on the vegetable, enchanted by it... and the brown thing around. 

"And which color is that, bambino?" she asks as he approaches with slow and clumsy steps, there's no answer. Before she can say anything else, the carrot is practically snatched out of her hands, and he immediately tries to put the dirt-filled piece in his mouth, but is stopped by his mom "No, sweet..."

"Mama Mel, mine." the baby protests unsatisfactorily, clenching hands in frustration and frowning in an angry expression "Eat."  

"You'll eat, but first we have to wash the carrots, sweetheart." Melissa gets up, putting the dirty gloves in the pocket of her gardening apron, going to the garden tap to do it.  

"Mama!" he turns to the younger, pointing to the carrot that's moving away from him so that she can do something about it "Mine carrot!"  

"LuLu..."  

"No! No! No! Mine!" he now shouts scandalously while he watches the vegetable being washed "Noooo!" and continues as the teacher approaches, kneeling down to offer the food.  

His agitation only increases with the gesture, Luca continues to shout more and more, like never before. Both try to calm him down patiently explaining why washing is necessary and that he can now eat. This is completely ignored during the child's tantrum. All the boy wants is the carrot as it was before and to eat the dirt together, no matter how much the moms insist that it might be bad for him, it doesn't matter, it's what he wants at the moment and the only thing that matters, his needs. It's not as if they haven't faced some of their son's scenes before, but never like this, on this scale when the boy starts throwing himself on the ground too. Hands and feet hitting the soft grass hard, hot tears running copiously and shrill screams make up the first official tantrum, with the bonus that he's getting very dirty in the process. 

"LuLu, my love, please stand up." Y/N tries to lift him off the ground, without success, considering how chubby and strong he can be, her growing belly not helping at all with the task. 

"Bambino, be a good boy! You don't have to cry like that..." Mel is a little harsher in tone, just like the one she uses when her students are making her lose hair or giving headaches "Look, the carrot is here, mama just took the dirt off, you can eat it now, sweetheart." she tries to point out, only making the situation worse.  

"I want!" he shouts, standing in front of them "Mine!" and takes it from her hands, staring sadly.  

 "Earth is bad for your stomach, love." the younger explains once there is a space for it, and the crying stops momentarily.  

"Carrots eat." even at less than two years old, he already seems to know how to argue "Me too."  

"But earth tastes really bad, you know what it reminds me of? Chocolate, it tastes like chocolate." she tries to argue back, using his aversion to food and how the two things are almost the same color.  

"And that's where the worms live, do you want to leave them without a home? We can't eat someone else's home, LuLu." the redhead helps, patting his back with one hand and wiping away the tears staining his flushed cheeks with the other "Right?"  

"Right!" the boy agrees after thinking for a second and he smiles at them both, and they sigh in relief, then smile at each other. 

He finally gives in and takes a big bite out of the vegetable, not managing to tear off as much as he wanted, but leaving a mark with his teeth and taking just enough to taste it. His eyes close in delight and the toddler flashes a huge smile. Without even remembering that a minute ago he was trying to eat earth, in less than five minutes he totally forgets what he wanted and what has just happened, Luca runs excitedly around the garden exploring every part that his sneaky little legs can take him and hands can reach, all the while eating pieces of his carrot proudly grown by Grandma. A little adventure in the garden on a late Sunday afternoon, the best family time  

"Ready for round two?" Y/N asks as she sits on the garden stool, putting her hand on belly.  

"Ready for her?"   

"Nah, she won't give us any work. I'm talking about making LuLu take a bath, our son is so dirty." 

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[fellowshipofthenoodles]

Polite friend asking for bugs

[id: Oat, the blue, brown and black Amazon milk frog, sitting on the edge of a bridge in their enclosure, looking out]