#easy recipe for toddlers

[desicomidas]

Spinach Spaghetti

“Spaghetti Pasta in Creamy Spinach Sauce” If you are looking for something healthy and delicious for your little one, this simple and vibrant pasta will do the trick. The gorgeous creamy green sauce is made with spinach, cashew, and coriander.This delicious pasta is my comfort food for a gloomy day and my toddler loves it more than any other pasta dish. Ingredients: To make the…

[himblebo]

Just successfully went for a 25 ish minute walk/jog

[asmalltownmama]

Quick, easy, delicious breakfast : Recipe

Oats with vanilla yogurt and mini chocolate chips. That’s it, that’s all you need, and it makes a healthy, simple, fast, filling breakfast that even my toddler loves! I mean he shovels it, with his hands, because a spoon just isn’t fast enough! A little back story on my breakfast! When I was pregnant with my first baby, (my toddler who loves these oats) it was all by accident. I was fairly…

[vanitasmagickitchen]

How to make Carrot Kheer | Gajar ki Kheer recipe | Indian Dessert | Winter Recipe

Carrot kheer is a traditional sweet dish of India. This recipe is much more easier than carrot halwa. It is also called Gajrela. Gajrela is cooked with grated carrot, milk and sugar along with some dry fruits.

Try this recipe in this winter season. You can serve it both hot and cold.

Ingredients Full Cream Milk- 1 Ltr Carrot -4 Small Sugar- ¼ cup Cardamom Powder- ¼ tsp Almonds Cashews Raisins Pistachio

[adore-laur]

DAD HARRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about. 

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception. 

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. Both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it. 

Having been together for seven years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He told you that if it meant he had more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences. 

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief. 

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely. 

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss. 

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent, just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is. 

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with. 

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime. 

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter. 

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pictures of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe. 

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home. 

—— 

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, which is a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food. 

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face. 

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes. 

But that's beside the point. 

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then types out a response. Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much. 

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they are both now feeling the after-effects. 

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip. 

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge. 

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl." 

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty-one, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes that working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes. 

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service were excellent." 

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here." 

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time." 

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the SoCal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years. 

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special. 

Well, he had lied. 

They were just regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked—at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate. 

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices. 

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice raspy from work. 

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you. 

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers. 

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to Mama, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight." 

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb. 

"I love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible. 

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice. 

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend. 

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

—— 

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter, just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry. 

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beach grass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you." 

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby, who is sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun." 

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together." 

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years." 

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does. 

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest, as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones, his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach...

You're getting carried away. 

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through, I adore all of your soft parts." 

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place. 

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?" 

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress." 

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks." 

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide." 

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you." 

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living." 

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles. 

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice," "you say in a scolding tone. 

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind." 

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot." 

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of." 

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion that you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates. 

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner." 

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says, infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me." 

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed." 

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glances down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations. 

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight. 

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move. 

Harry saunters through the doorway while looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs. 

He casually leans against the jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face. 

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game. 

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there—a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky. 

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?" 

"I'd like you to not be in there alone." 

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?" 

"Of course, baby. You know I always am." 

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers, just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry. 

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom. 

Oh. 

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed, see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He has already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin. 

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own. 

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down. 

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here." 

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering. 

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together. 

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall, while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch. 

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view. 

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert. 

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle. 

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk. 

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long." 

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries." 

So, he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit. 

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good." 

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices. 

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale. 

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angelic eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch." 

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?" 

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time." 

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench--both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on it. 

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity. 

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming the position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall is closest to you, with his other hand gripping his cock. 

This is going to be torture.

——

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Pumpkin Pie

Pairing: dad!Peter x mom!reader

Part of the Charlie May Universe

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Thanksgiving is a shit holiday to me for a variety of reasons, but I really am incredibly thankful for each and every one of you, and I’m so grateful for this wonderfully lovely little space on the internet <3

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” you whisper in the quiet of your kitchen, the sun just beginning to rise over the New York skyline. You’re still in your pajamas because of the ungodly hour, but Peter doesn’t even try to quiet his scoff from where he’s making your coffee. You smile as he hands you the mug, the picture of innocence, even though you know he’s tried over and over to tell you this was not a smart idea.

It doesn’t matter how many Thanksgivings find you seated at May’s kitchen table or how many times she tells you there’s no need for you to bring anything other than yourself, you always feel a gnawing sense of guilt showing up empty handed. This year you were determined to change that, telling her months ago that you would bring dessert, neglecting to account for how difficult it was to make a homemade treat with a toddler running around, who refuses to allow you to spend any significant amount of time in the kitchen making something she wouldn’t be able to eat right away. So, after days and days of trying and failing to get the baking done, you decided it would be easiest to wake up early on Thanksgiving morning and get everything done then, before the sun came up and Charlie woke up, your sweet daughter nothing short of an absolute monster in the mornings.

It’s peaceful, just you and Peter in the semi-darkness, held safely in the warm glow of your kitchen while the rest of the world seems to sleep. Even so, you’re half asleep, having debated over and over with yourself when the alarm went off if you really wanted to get out of your nice, warm, cozy bed, before your determination won over and you managed to rally yourself, slipping out of bed and bracing for the shocking chill that awaited you when you threw off the blankets. You tried to be as silent as possible, and you managed to make it all the way to the kitchen and flick on the flights before Peter joined you, hair and pajamas adorably rumpled.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, as quietly as possible, making your way to the fridge to start gathering your ingredients while Peter heads straight for the coffee maker.

“What’re you doing?” He throws right back, opening the cabinet where you keep your mugs as silently as possible, both of you knowing even in your sleep-addled state that waking Charlie had to be avoided at all costs.

“Making a pie,” you respond, much too tired for any of your usual snark or sarcasm, and trying desperately hard to focus on gathering all the correct ingredients.

“Yeah, that makes sense, I forget everyone wakes up at four in the morning to bake pies,” his voice is dripping with equal parts sarcasm and affection, and if your brain wasn’t still starting up, you’d find something to throw at the back of his head as he turns towards the coffee pot.

You finish setting out all your ingredients, thanking the universe for whoever invented premade pie dough before turning your focus to the recipe you’d chosen, staring with such intensity it’s like you’re preparing for a test. It promises to be exceptionally easy and perfect for beginners, and you’re equal parts curious and anxious to see just how true that is.

Peter finishes his first cup of coffee and pours himself another before joining you by the countertop, ready to help without you even needing to ask. It’s not often that the two of you have so much uninterrupted time together, especially for cooking or baking together, and there’s something so lovely about it, even as you constantly feel like one long blink is going to send you back to bed. The two of you work well together, you always have, and you fit together seamlessly in the space, mostly silent as you both bask in the early morning glow of the sun, just starting to peek its way around New York City’s skyscrapers. Even with the added light, the city looks drowsy and cold, the perfect weather for staying inside and eating all day long, the gold of the sun matching perfectly with the jewel-toned leaves as they fall from the trees in shades of red and orange and yellow, making way for the snow you know is sure to come.

The baking goes quickly with the two of you working in tandem, and soon the pie is being slid into the oven and you’re hoping and praying that it turns out okay, that it’s edible at the very least, but you have high hopes.

“How long do you think we have until Charlie gets up?” You ask as you pick up your mug, the kitchen awash in the golden light. There’s a creaking of a door and a patter of footsteps and within seconds your daughter appears in the kitchen, looking so rumpled from sleep she might as well have just survived a fight with a bear.

Despite her consistently sour moods in the mornings, you always find her especially precious, with her wild hair sticking up every which way and her little body still warm from sleep. She reminds you so much of Peter, with her messy hair and her tiny little frown as she waits for her breakfast, and especially in the way she shovels cereal into her mouth like she’s been deprived of food for the last thirty years, her spoon in a vice grip. The kitchen’s a mess, ingredients and bowls and spoons all over the counter, and you know you should clean it, but instead you take a seat at the kitchen table across from your daughter, trying to hide your laughter at the enthusiastic way she eats.

Even though you should clean the kitchen, and then wrangle Charlie into getting dressed and brushing her hair, and then get ready yourself, none of that seems very important with the three of you quiet in the kitchen, the whole apartment filled with calm and the scent of pumpkin pie. It’s beyond peaceful, and you’re so full of love and adoration for your little family, for your cozy apartment, for your wonderfully quiet life you’re almost certain you’re going to explode because it doesn’t seem possible for one body to be able to contain so much affection. You’re just absolutely bursting with all of the warm, fuzzy feelings that always seem impossible to name, so instead you rise for your chair and lean across the kitchen table to plant a kiss on Charlie’s forehead before taking her bowl for her, even though she’s normally supposed to clear her own plate.

“What was that for?” Your daughter asks, confused but delighted at the series of events that just took place, grateful for the temporary relief from her typical chores and always appreciative of any sort of affection.

“Just because I love you,” you shrug as you start on the dishes, and as you turn towards the skin, you feel a little body collide with your legs.

“Well, I love you too,” she says, wrapping her little arms around your knees and giving you a squeeze before she runs off again, never one to dwell on a moment for too long.

“Do you think she’ll let me put a bow in her hair?” You ask Peter, who’s finally consumed enough coffee to be a mostly functioning person and has taken over drying the dishes as you wash. You spare a quick glance towards you daughter, lounging on the couch and engrossed in cartoons with the worst case of bed-head you’ve ever seen. Charlie’s always been headstrong, and she doesn’t typically enjoy having you do elaborate hairstyles on her, not because she doesn’t like the way they look but because the process is excruciating for her, sitting still with no wiggle room. You’ve tried everything to make the process more enjoyable for her, like having her sit in front of the TV while you brush out her hair or some slight bribery, but so far, nothing has been successful. But, you have a gut feeling that she’ll allow it today, especially if you move as quickly as possible.

“If she does, I’ll let you sleep in tomorrow when she wants to drag you out of bed to decorate for Christmas,” he responds, and you know by that answer that he has little faith in you. Charlie has been desperate to decorate for Christmas since the moment she returned from trick or treating, but in keeping with the themed activities she does in her kindergarten class, you’d decided to hold off on getting festive until after Thanksgiving. In Charlie’s mind, that meant the second Thanksgiving was over, and all she'd been talking about for weeks was how excited she was for Thanksgiving, when really what she meant was she was excited for Thanksgiving to be over so it could be Christmastime, and really, you couldn’t blame her.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” you tell Peter, finishing the dishes before leaving him to deal with taking the pie out of the oven while you try and coax your daughter off the couch and into her room to get ready for the day.

You’ve never wished for a camera more in your life than the moment you and Charlie emerge from her bedroom, her with a high ponytail and a bow stuck firmly to the center of her head to capture Peter’s expression of pure disbelief that you’d somehow convinced your finicky daughter to wear a hair accessory. Sure, you’d had to bribe her with leftover pie for breakfast tomorrow, but he never has to know that. All that matters is that Charlie looks as cute as always and has no complaints about her hairstyle, and that you’ve managed to secure yourself a morning to sleep in, at least until the sun rises.

Tags: @funktchonalhuman3

[shiorimakibawrites]

Huge congrats on 300+ followers!!! 

Here's my Ask for the -

Warm and Fuzzy Feelings - prompt for fluff!

Well, I know that you enjoy baking and have posted some tasty recipes in the past, so my Ask is for a fluffy little fic where Reader is in the middle of baking and Matt asks to help or just suddenly joins in! :P  What Reader is baking I will leave totally up to you! :P

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Matt being cute and hot, referenced sexual activity, playful teasing Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza

Cookies

You were reaching the cookie dough in the fridge where it had been chilling when you felt a playful slap to your ass.

“Matthew!” you protested, laughing as you turned to look at him. You really needed to get that bell for him. You hadn’t even heard him come in from work. Even though he had already shed his suit jacket and dark glasses.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, grinning at you. “Cookies?”

“Yes,” you said. “For the cookie exchange.”

“All of them?”

You had to suppress giggles at how disappointed he looked. “No, silly. I only need four dozen cookies for it. The leftovers are all ours. And I’ll get at least a dozen from the others in the exchange.”

He made a thoughtful hum. You watched as he inhaled deeply, his tongue peeping out from his lips. “Oatmeal Raisin, Gingerbread, Pumpkin, and Oatmeal Apple.”

“Good guess,” you said, teasing him a little. You knew he wasn’t guessing.

He laughed. “I smell dried cherries. Did you make some more trail mix?”

Once again, you had to suppress giggles. He was so excited. Matt was obsessed with the unique blend of trail mix that you made for him.

“Trail mix cookies,” you corrected.

“For the cookie exchange?”

This time you couldn’t stop the giggles. He was pouting like a toddler at the thought of having to share any of his precious trail mix, even in cookie form, with your coworkers. “No, silly. These are just for us.”

“Can I help?”

You hesitated. Matt was a good cook but he usually left the baking to you. And the few times he had attempted to bake . . . well, the results had been tasty. Even if the kitchen had been left a disaster. And sometimes it took him three or four attempts to get that tasty result.

“Sweetheart, I can tell you’ve been on your feet for hours,” he said. “Let me take over and take a break.”

It was tempting. Your feet were rather sore. And all he had to do was scoop the cookies on the baking sheet and bake them.

“You’ve been at work all day,” you pointed out.

“It was an easy day,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I think I can handle some cookies.”

Seeing his forearms with all its muscle and dark hair emerge was rather distracting. Especially since it automatically drew your eyes up his arms to those thick biceps and broad shoulders, how his shirt strained to contain them. Matt noticed your attention because he always did.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?” he asked, a sly grin spread across his face.

You shook your head. “Nope, not telling. We have cookies to bake.”

This did nothing to dispel that grin. “You’re right. Cookies first, eating you out second.”

“Matthew!” you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. Among other places. He knew that too. You could see it in that smug, cocky grin on his face, that familiar hunger building in his eyes.

[patrys3ccfinds]

Sul Sul!

If you're looking for fresh content for your game, this is something you'll want to check out.

I created this blog to gather all the Sims 3 content I know and discover over time in one place, keeping it well-organized and categorized for easy browsing.

Happy Simming!

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A heartfelt thank you to all these creators, and to those I can't include here due to Tumblr's frustrating limit, for dedicating so much time, effort, and love to their content and the community. You are truly amazing. 💙

@ryenardo

@kwimii999

[hallow-witxh]

So you want to make permanent runes?

Look no further; I gotchu. Runes are great tools. They can protect, defend, enhance, and so much more. They're genuinely one of my favorite things to use in my craft because they're easy, can be as simple or complicated as you want them to be, and are effective. However, as much as I like drawing or painting them onto things, I sometimes want something a little more... permanent. Something I could hang in front of my window or paste/glue onto the front of a book. That's why I make and use salt dough. It's simple, it's fun, it's family-friendly, and it dries really well. You can even color it with food coloring or add in herbs. You can do anything with it! So, without further blabbing, here's my recipe for salt dough:

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup table salt

3/4 cup to 1 cup water

Parchment paper

Baking sheet

An oven

Optional: rolling pin

Optional: thread/ribbon

Optional: dried herbs

Optional: food coloring

WHAT YOU'LL DO:

Preheat your oven to 225F (107-ishC).

Optional: Mix your dried herbs into your salt or flour.

Stir your flour and salt together.

Optional: To color your salt dough, stir your food coloring into water before you mix it with the dry stuff. Ensure it's very saturated because it will lighten considerably with the 3 cups of dry ingredients.

Add in 3/4 cup of water and mix. If the dough is too dry, slowly add in up to 1/4 cup more of water until it's kneadable.

Turn onto your parchment paper and knead until it's smooth, pliable, and not sticking to your fingers.

Optional: If you want to cut out shapes instead of molding them, flour your rolling pin and roll out the dough to a thickness of roughly 1/4 inch, then carve out your runes with a skewer or knife.

Roll out pieces of dough into 1/4-inch wide cylinders and form them into your rune/s.

Place them on a parchment paper-covered baking sheet and bake them for 1-4 hours or until completely dry. If you make thicker runes, they might take even longer.

Flip them over carefully every hour. If they're still pliable, try again every half hour.

Once they're dry, remove the pan from the oven and let them cool down until completely cool.

Once they're cool, they're done! You can now hang them up with string or ribbon, glue them onto things, paint (acrylic paint only, don't add water), etc. Just don't get them too wet!

As you can see, despite the long instructions, it's quite simple! It's also edible if you bake the flour first, so if a curious toddler tries to stick some into their mouth, it won't hurt them - but they might spit it out and make a mess.

Happy making, and blessed be!

Support your local witch on Ko-Fi!

[offtorivendell]

Banana, oat n' nut cookies

Given the absolute gorgeousness of the other contributions to @elainarcheronweek's cookie exchange, I feel a bit ashamed sharing this recipe. I've been putting it off for a couple of weeks, 'cause let's face it: they are neither pretty nor decadent, nor do they require much skill.

Please remember that these cookies are intended for little palates who are not used to a lot of sugar; I usually make them without the chocolate chips, so they're more appropriate for a regular snack/energy bomb for kids who love to run themselves ragged. But 'tis the season, so the chocolate chips went in this time.

I think Elain would agree.

Nyx certainly would!

I like that these contain the veggie form of omega 3 in the chia seeds and LSA, and you can swap out the nut butter you're using to maintain regular allergen exposure to different nuts. They are also vegan, which means your kitchen pixie is unlikely to give themself salmonella when they shove their hands in the bowl to "help" and taste. Side note: if you have any tips to get a toddler to actually roll the dough into a ball instead of straight up eating it I'm all ears!

If you are my irl friend, and you happened across this post and think it looks just like the recipe I shared with you for your kid... no it doesn't. You didn't see anything here. What is a fandom anyway? I wouldn't know.

But I digress! I think this would be the perfect recipe for Elain to make with Nyx, as it's both super easy and forgiving, and - so far - the kids all love them.

Banana, Oat 'n Nut Cookies

Makes approx. 20 without the choc chips, a few more with them.

Ingredients

3x overripe bananas, mashed

½ cup pitted dates, minced OR 2 tsp sugar

1 pinch salt (optional)

2 heaped dessert spoons of nut butter (PB, almond, a mix like ABC etc)

1 tsp vanilla extract

½ tsp ground cinnamon

¼ cup chia seeds

½ cup rolled oats

½ cup desiccated coconut

½ cup LSA (linseed, sunflower, almond meal mix)

100g chocolate chips (optional - I used vegan, you can use whatever you prefer, or not at all)

Plain/all purpose flour as required (at least 1 cup)

Method

Preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F, I like fan forced.

Mash the bananas and mince the dates if using them; add both together (or the sugar instead) and stir in the salt, nut butter, vanilla and cinnamon.

Add chia seeds, LSA, oats and desiccated coconut, then let the mix sit for 15 mins to absorb some moisture.

Gradually add in plain flour as required, mixing until you can form firm but tacky balls. Flatten them a little on the lined baking tray if you prefer the shape.

Bake at 180C/350F for 10-12 mins, until cookies are lightly golden brown but still soft-ish to touch.

Enjoy! Or let cool and then freeze, they defrost quite quickly at room temp and don't turn awful in the process.

I am not a food blogger, so please excuse my very sad attempt at food photography. 🫣

🎁🎄🎅🏻 Happy Christmas! 🎅🏻🎄🎁

[fandom-nursery]

Beetlejuice agere headcanons

Usually around toddler age. Typically 2-4

Regresses pretty frequently. He finds it very easy to slip and even when he isn’t fully little he is often between headspaces 

His regression is pretty involuntary and tends to sneak up on him

It confused him for a long time since he wasn't sure what was happening. Then once he figured it out he was in denial for a long time. 

The one time that he regressed in front of his mother she was not very nice to him about it and it became just another thing about him that she ruthlessly criticized. After that experience he was pretty wary of letting anyone else find out about it 

Beetlejuice isn’t very good at being aware of his surroundings so be bumps into and knocks over things a lot when little 

When he’s little he wears his heart on his sleeve and his hair tends to have a more pastel color scheme 

He’s pretty talkative when little but frequently it’s more babbling or growling than it is actual words. When he gets frustrated or upset he has a difficult time with words 

When he’s regressed beetlejuice is very emotional and a bit more openly unsure of himself 

He tends to stick close to people and gets very upset if they leave him or if he can’t find them. Even if that “leaving him” is just them going to the bathroom. He has a lot of separation anxiety due to his fear of abandonment and will cry nonstop if left alone while small

This isn’t usually too much of an issue since little beetlejuice also needs near constant supervision in order to keep him out of trouble. Having a toddler aged beetlejuice who loves pranks and has full access to his powers is a recipe for disaster if left unsupervised 

He constantly insists he doesn't need to nap (and honestly the Deetz-Maitland household is sort of unsure if he does since he’s a ghost and a demon) but if he pushes himself too much and forgets to sleep he does end up cranky so they figure its for the best that he has a naptime just in case 

He likes to be carried a lot. Barbara in particular feels a huge amount of personal satisfaction when she learns she is able to harness her ghost powers to make herself incredibly strong and is able to carry Beetlejuice around with her with the same ease as one might carry an actual toddler 

At everyone else's instance he does have a bathtime but he’s determined to be as difficult as possible about it. (this lasts about 5 minutes before he is introduced to bath toys and bubbles and having someone wash your hair and then he’s completely enamored) he still throws a fit every time he needs a bath though (and if he gets bored and he isn’t being closely watched he will make a break for it while soaking wet and fully nude). He also has to be stopped from eating the soap and drinking the shampoo  

He’s very creative when little. He likes to color and play with clay and slime and playdoh. He also likes to be outside and play in the dirt. He likes to make a mess and frequently tracks dirt into the house or gets slime in the carpet. He has been banned permanently from glitter of any kind. 

Huge bug collector. Lydia helps him identify what kind they are. He eats about half of them

“Food” is sort of a loose term with beetlejuice since he is able to eat a lot of traditionally non-food things without consequence. He likes to eat bugs sometimes and he loves pizza and ice cream. Delia’s cooking, which often comes out borderline inedible to everyone else, is actually some of his favorite (he especially likes it when she burns things because it “gives the food more flavor”). Delia has decided to take this as a personal win and does genuinely love making meals for little Beej. the Maitlands who are both very good cooks try not to take it personally that their little demon prefers Delia’s cooking over theirs 

Beetlejuice is messy in general and when he’s both eating and little, that mess triples. All of his dishes are plastic and suction to the table and he is only allowed to drink out of sippy cups. Usually adam or barbara will attempt to feed him to help curb some of the mess and he’s usually so starry eyes at being taken care of by them that he readily accepts it  

Once everyone in the household knows about his regression beetlejuice finds himself in the sudden possession of a large number of toys. He has ugly dolls from Lydia and a bunch of stim toys that he pretty much always has on hand. Delia very quickly realized that while Lydia wasn’t interested in most traditionally girly toys, beetlejuice very much was and so she frequently buys them for him. Charles has also taken it upon himself to get beetlejuice some toys that he thinks he would have purchased for his son had he ended up with one (the remote control car was a huge hit especially once beetlejuice realized he could shrink himself down and ride it while Charles steered). Adam and barbara can’t exactly go to the store but they have both made him several things as well 

When he first told her about his regression, Lydia gave him one of her old childhood dolls as a show of support. It is rattly and patched and she stitched it to look as menacing and strange as possible. He loves it more than anything in the world and takes great care of it 

The Maitlands were pretty insistent that he own more clothes than just his suit and asked charles and delia to take beetlejuice clothing shopping. He hated it a lot but there were some shining moments like when Delia encouraged him to buy the pretty sundress he was looking at instead of making fun of him. Or when Charles helped him adjust the coat he was trying on and patted him on the back. His favorite thing to wear when small are sweatpants and a hoodie. He likes to be comfy 

Beetlejuice chews and bites at everything and so to manage this his family bought him a lot of teething toys, chewlery, and pacifiers 

Delia claims to have known about his regression first “because of his aura” and whether or not that’s true is anyone's guess but beetlejuice officially told the Maitlands first. They convinced him to confide in the rest of the family. 

Everyone pitches in to take care of him. Lydia acts like an older sister to him when he’s small and they play fun games and get into trouble together. Adam and Barbara are usually there for the softer parts of his regression like bedtime and bathtime. Delia is oddly good at calming him down if he’s upset and the two actually get along really well when he’s small. Charles is a little more distant but he’s trying in an awkward dad way

After a while of living with them and once they are all aware of his regression beetlejuice will occasionally slip up when small and refer to delia, charles, adam, and barbara as some version of mom/dad 

Loves nicknames a lot. Bumblebee, beetle, juicebox, bug, beetlebaby, baby, beej, and bee are some of his favorites 

He is very anxious about messing up when small as and as a result of Juno’s abuse tends to expect the worst over small mistakes. Yelling is an absolute no for him in any headspace. He will usually just need a lecture and to maybe clean up or apologize. Occasionally Adam and Barbara will put him in time out (delia is a bit of a pushover and won’t follow through if he cries and charles is the person in the house beetlejuice is the most scared of. Not because of anything he did really but because beetlejuice doesn't know how to handle father figures) 

[asmalltownmama]

Simple French Toast : Recipe

Wheat bread cinnamon French toast w/ scrambled eggs and coffee with a side of cubed French toast for my toddler. I LOVE breakfast! When I was a kid,we did breakfast for dinner a lot, and it was a favorite of mine. From French toast, to pancakes, to biscuits and gravy and usually a side of bacon. It was a rare occasion, like Christmas morning, that we ever had breakfast foods for breakfast! But…

[welcomefamily]

Who is best friends with who out of the kids? I know home is small but you have to have someone you like more than all the rest, right?

So! All the older kids hang out together often! I mean being the only teens in Home, there isn’t much else to do other than keep each other company! But if we’re honest, Mane and Addy have been best of friends since they were small! Webster has a single close friend but they live outside of Home and they only see each other in school! Ted is the eldest out of all the them being freshly 20! He claims he’s “baby sitting” when hanging out with this group, but he actually really enjoys the company and the wonderful food Addy makes! It’s usually the only thing that keeps him running!

The Twins, Peter and Wendy, are each other’s friend! If you see one without the other, it usually means bad news! You’re gonna get a good tricking or pranked! The little trouble makers love messing with the adults and the teens, finding them to be the most vulnerable to their jokes except for Barnaby. Barnaby knows when a prank is about to happen to him but he over dramatically feeds into it which makes him too easy of a target. Eddie and Howdy are often enough subjected to these little tricksters! And as for Nugget? Well,

Nugget’s the only toddler in Home and shier than the rest of the children, so it’s a little harder to make friends for them! But with Addy being Nugget’s main baby sitter, they’ve grown attached to her! Addy gets paid in new recipes to try but without the recipes, she’d still try to be the bestest baby sitter a chick could ask for!

[witchofthesouls]

Deliciously fucked up way for Team Prime to find out about the supernatural: Have a fae show up in one of the kid's homes. False Artifact preying on Raf's baby/toddler siblings, a Pooka replacing the pet dog at Miko's, or a Kobold decides Jack's place is nice enough to stay. The kids have a feeling something is up but the bots think it's just nothing.

Until they find an old school packet with info that eeriely matches the signs in their respective home. Miko's Pooka Hunting goes a bit awry so Bulkhead ends up seeing her get chased outside the house by something that definitely isn't a dog. Raf barely got one sibling away from being eaten by a False Artifact. Arcee might've damaged the house to grab Jack as he accidentally spook a Kobold.

Cue concerned bot noises upon seeing the packets. I don't think they like the idea of children eating fae in their charges' homes.

Ahhh, this went in a different direction.

Warning: off-screen character death (age-related and car accident), dubcon/noncon body modifications, and underage drinking

Now the Darby household does have a Kobold. It's been following them (and the lineage) for a very long time. Generation after generation, parent to child as the unspoken agreement is held with family traditions, superstitions, and practices that have been ingrained into family lore.

If there's one thing June absolutely misses about her ex-husband, it's his family. While June hadn't cut ties with her own blood, her own kin (even her own parents) never spent time in one place for too long. They welcomed into their home. Treated her well with food and warmth and taught her their traditions as she married a son of theirs.

It's an unfortunate fact of life that time comes for all. Oma survived years of hardship by war and reconstruction, without her beloved husband, and the deaths of her own dwindling family, she died peacefully in her sleep during a visit to see a toddling Jack. His parents, though...

When the call came that his parents were killed in a massive pile-up on the freeway, their lives came crashing down.

Grief manifests in so many ways. June cherishes what was left behind. She uses the quilts and recipes and leaves out a portion of dinner for the 'spirit of the hearth.' Her husband, however, drowned himself inside the hospital; unable to come home and look at the reminders, refusing to do anything with it.

Their divorce comes and it's... amicable. The man who was once her husband stares back with a frozen heart, shrouded by his own grief, and he offers to leave them the house as well. June declines and searches for warmer shadows.

The house is sold. June and Jack move on, and the Kobold follows them.

June is a Darby child, and her son follows her as well. Memories are cherished by them. (Faithfully. Hungrily.) And June dutifully attends to her once-husband's family's traditions: leaving dusty corners, a few dirty plates in the sink, grease on the stove, and many, little things that keep the home running. He may try to escape them, but she won't deny their son the same happiness and joy in it.

Jack was too young to remember his family's faces outside of photos and portraits, but there is a lullaby that follows his dreams, crooning over his head and chasing away his nightmares.

For the longest time, he thought the extra dinner plate was for Oma because it's the same dishes and sweets she once ate, even to this day. Jack was quick to hunt for tidbits about them, and always attributed missing left shoes, misplaced kitchen pens, tipping empty glasses during holidays, and creaking floorboards at night as her mischief. I'm still here, it said. I won't leave.

Jack grew up with the same quilts that consumed him, produce that never spoils (the milk might, but it's easy to make cheese from sour milk), and all the little things that made a house a cozy home.

Much like her own family, June and Jack moved frequently as well. Pests were never a problem for them, nor were mold or leaks. They were strangely lucky in that regard.

The Esquivel home does have Others in their vicinity. It's due to the unknown actions of their youngest member. One day when Raf was far younger and playing hide-and-seek with his siblings and neighborhood kids, Raf came across a pitiful, little creature in a drying puddle.

It flopped and croaked, squirming and clawing at the edges of the barely wet concrete of the patio. Scales flaking in dull, resplendent hues, and its side bleeding a sluggish black ooze. It wasn't a fish. Fish had no arms or torsos, nor had his older brother's books on marine life had anything about fish with two tails. Or fish that scream hard enough to make his nose bleed and cry oily marbles that plink on the ground.

To this day, Raf doesn't know what compelled him to step closer but he did. He saw the strange eyes, blinded and pulsing with veins. Later he'll find out about nictitating membranes, but at the moment it was strange to see how a little, blind not-fish stared back at him, mewling something that skittered across his senses and he tasted blood at the back of his throat.

Mama Esquivel was livid over his son's wet jacket and then concerned when he showed the deep bite on his hand and how his nose continued to bleed.

The birdbath in their backyard does get visitors. Raf rises with the sun to watch strange fish-like creatures splash around the small fountain, singing beautifully to coax birds to eat them whole. His sisters think there's a hawk or an owl nearby that hunting down the smaller birds. Raf knows better. He leaves them lizards and newts, dead rats and mice from traps, and leftover meat and nopales that he can carefully sneak away. Much like corvids, they leave him those oily-slick marbles (pearls), carved sea glass that store whalesong, and beautifully intact shells that contain the noise of a howling tempest and the sea at its most furious.

He knows because they explained it to him. Safety, they said as Raf learns to invoke a flashflood and charm to remain inconspicuous and he understands.

"I wish I knew what you're saying to me," a boy told a small fae that was dropped by a red-tailed hawk, far away from any source of water to return home. Its laughter was the sounds of a babbling brook, the river rushing into the ocean's arms. It asked its savior what was the boon he wished for, and the child unknowingly answered. < Wish granted, little Mudman. > And it savagely bit his hand to share their blood for water touched everything and anything, and who else but the fae could bestow the gift of language of any tongue?

Just because Miko is far from Japan, that doesn't mean she doesn't have something attached to her. And of course, it's a cat.

At first, she thought a feral cat lost a match with a cactus or a porcupine and had recently escaped a trap based on all the pins and dragging tail, but not at all. Much to her amazement, it's fast on its paws. Far more agile and durable, she has seen the creature slash massive cacti and easily jump from the ground to rooftops.

The host family she stays at isn't as boring and straight-laced as she once thought. They do enjoy making homemade brews and other fermented goods. They allow the kids to sample it, but only on the weekends and after a good meal.

She gets a little information from her host family. It's a Catcus Cat - a mythical beast; something that isn't real.

Miko leaves a shallow bowl of her own efforts at making mead and other alcoholic beverages, and the Catcus Cat seems to take a liking to the fruitier and sweet drinks.

The Catcus Cat follows her to the Autobot base. Even when she was riding with Jack and Arcee, she was able to spy the beast racing alongside them in the sand, easily keeping pace.

It allows her to pet it occasionally. Purring as it keeps its spines flat and soft, still prickly but leaving no damage. But it prefers chasing games, so Miko cobbled a fishing rod with pieces of raw meat to play 'Fetch' and got a laser to watch it scramble up solid walls and scale cliffsides.

Unlike the Darby's Kobold and Raf's aquatic visitors, the Catcus Cat had interactions with the Autobots. Particularly Arcee and Bumblebee. They enjoy racing in the high-noon sun and dark empty roads at night. It comes along because very few can truly challenge them. And the Autobots think it's a baseline Earth animal. A charming one, even if its yowls are thundering.

Out of all the Autobots, it's Arcee that figured out something is off. Unlike Miko's inability to hide a new car and the Esquivel's already full garage, Arcee can fit comfortably in the Darby's garage. June even partitioned out an area for the Autobot to transform and scavenged large bean bags and thick body pillows as a makeshift bed.

June often works and Jack is either at Knockout Burger or the base after school, so Arcee has no idea how there are fresh meals, hot and ready on the stove as well as how the Pits her pillow nest is fluffed and straightened when there's no one at home!

Arcee thinks there's some sort of weird intruder in their house that likes being domestic, and it drives her nuts that June and Jack are completely nonchalant over the fact.

She's definitely not happy hearing it's been happening for over a decade, and no she doesn't believe it's the ghost of a dearly departed relative!

[awildaspenappeared]

Day 3 of @traumas-tmntober-2024 Starvation:

Of Hunger And Heart

Words: 1802

Being raised in the dark sewers by a previously human rat mutant wasn't a recipe that lended well to healthy eating habits. Mikey is often underesrimated but his observation skills were always brilliant even as a small child who couldn't convey his feelings nor findings properly.

So he vompensated in a different way.

OR

Why Mikey will eat anything.

Michelangelo hadn't always been considered a glutton. Someone who would eat anything whether it was edible or not. He had picked this trait up very early on, however.

His earliest memories were shrouded in. darkness. It was also cold and wet and the walls echoed any noise that was made. The echoes of growling stomachs and soft whines were deafening and he could remember holding his hands against his tympanum to stop it.

That made hearing his father's quiet crying and lack of presence ever more obvious, at least to him. Raphie and Lee and DeeDee were still asleep in the turtle pile but Mikey was a light sleeper and his Chichi's fur and warmth was gone.

Mikey didn't get out from under his siblings even though he desperately wanted to. Mikey never sought out his papa or told him he'd witnessed many moments like this. Times where in the dim light he could make out the hunched form of their sensei holding his keepsakes from his first family or quietly counting tins of food.

It wasn't easy to see with the streaks of the far away streetlamp that his younger self had dubbed 'the mini sun,’ either. It was in this low light surrounded by his brothers that he had made the decision to be as helpful as he could. Whilst watching them play he'd keep him distracted, drawing him out of that hauntingly distant look. He would demand his attention and affection to keep him in the moment. He knew it upset Chichi when he was awake late at night. So, he would make up for the sad nights by getting up early to babble and take his mind off of what was upsetting him.

Most of all, Michelangelo would never refuse any food he was given. Unlike Raphie who would refuse foods that looked gross or he knew would taste weird, or Dee, who had cemented what he liked early on and never even tried anything new. He never complained about the food like Lee used to. He always ate without fuss.

Human food was difficult to attain for Sensei but he had tried when they were learning to turtle. He couldn't get money so he was forced to steal for what they needed, which he still tried to do in the most honourable way. He only took the bare minimum and he usually took what was already going to be thrown out and wasted.

It still proved too difficult to sustain. Having 4 babies to keep an eye on as he gathered blankets and formula and avoided witnesses and the sparse cameras was difficult enough but the danger of leaving his toddlers in the sewers as he scavenged alone made it even harder. Especially with some of the events going on at the time.

Mikey hadn't known any of this back then but there was a clear difference from seeing their father disappear every few nights to only seeing him leave once every few weeks, his shoulders taut with stress and exhaustion. Instead, often taking them throughout the sewers to collect sewer water and algae.

Mikey had loved the little bucket he had that was decorated with small painted pictures that he'd use to carry water and algae. He'd help Splinter separate the algae to be stored and to crush eggshells every now and then for the calcium. He did this whilst balancing precariously on the rickety chair they had found on the side of a road to reach the table that Splinter had rebuilt when it'd been thrown out with the bins.

He had first learnt to cook with his Chichi. Well, cooking was a loose term for everything they were doing. He wasn't allowed too close to the fire but Dee was because he was being taught how to purify the water so they could drink it. Instead, papa spent hours teaching him how to cure and plate and make the algae more palatable and something to do with hydraulics and his skills only expanded with age.

Mikey was the algae's biggest advocate. Chichi didn't love it but he bit his tongue and ate all of Mikey's dishes without a word and he was ever so grateful. That confidence and trust was what he needed.

Leo followed eventually, looking up to their Chichiue more and more and copying him but he still didn't find enjoyment from eating this food. Mikey had long banned him from the kitchen the few times he'd try to do something and destroyed parts of his kitchen. That boy could burn water and they did not have the resources for that!

Donnie didn't ever have anything nice to say about the algae but he'd usually hold his beak when Master Splinter ate with them. He only ate what was nutritionally required and sometimes not even that when he was cooped up in his lab. He'd snuck a few bits of lettuce at times, Mikey noted.

Raph ate the least of his food. He picked at it, threw it at his siblings and fed it to Mikey's favourite turtle at-the-time: Spike. That was why when Mikey was old enough he would always beg Sensei with his best puppy dog eyes if he could grab lettuce if nothing else. Raph would show his gratefulness with soft noogies and a quick thanks and less moaning about the food directly after. The first time he even let Miley look at his comics!

Mikey didn't like the algae either though but he didn't truly realise until he had that first slice of pizza on their 15th mutation day. Mikey didn't realise how hungry he was until that first greasy slice hit his tongue. The cheese stretched and clung to his teeth, the warmth of the dough filling his stomach like nothing ever had before. It was like tasting joy for the first time. Just having enough would never be the same.

Mikey didn't handle the change from no real food to having so much of it that well. He probably took advantage of April's kindness those first few months asking for outlandish ingredients and amounts of so many new foods. He finally got to cook! He got to make food his family actually enjoyed. He got to experiment with wild concoctions.

Mikey was hooked on seeing his family's eyes light up at his dishes and come running when the smell of food wafted out of the kitchen. He got genuine compliments and felt useful to the team!

There was another problem, however. He started hoarding food and snacks in his room and silently panicking when the hunger pangs returned. Suddenly, going without food like during times when they were held hostage or just on a long patrol were even harder even though he knew he had gone days without anything when he was much younger. A few hours shouldn't scare him so much. It was a weakness he hid and buried deep down.

He and Casey often hung out in his room reading comics and holding their own really bad karaoke sessions or planning skating routes. Sometimes Mondo joined in. He hadn't expected Casey to find his stash when he hadn't before in all the times they'd hung out in his room.

Casey had held Michelangelo tightly and stayed quiet for a while until he dropped the bomb on him. “I understand.”

Mikey may be more in touch with his emotions than his brother's but he still wasn't a cry baby. Though he isn't afraid to admit that he ugly sobbed into Casey's shoulder and got snot everywhere.

Once he had settled down, Casey had promised not to tell the others so long as he spoke to his dad and let him clean the food out. Mikey agreed and Casey got to work. He didn't ask Mikey to throw out the food Casey could tell he was itching to hide it again. Instead Casey took the fresh produce and binned it. Mikey jumped in at first unable to let go of the food. What if they needed it? The apple was only a little rotten, it could sustain him for a bit if they couldn't get more food. He couldn't just waste it! Casey gently wrestled it out of his hands and sat him down.

“You know how shitty my sperm-donor is? Well he wasn't good at buying food for his offspring either. We don't usually have food I can hide but whenever there's free food handouts or some food going out of date I could take or Murakami's leftovers Ianaged to store up I'd hide em. They'd be gone within a few hours if I put them in the kitchen and not cause my little sister had eaten it either.” Casey stopped for a moment to breathe. He wrapped an arm between the lip of Mikey's carapace and his neck and pulled him closer.

“What I'm trying to say is you deserve better and this food is gonna get you ill. I'm not saying go cold turkey but leave the stuff that goes off out of your room. You hear me?” Casey grinned at that last but, using his other arm to lightly punch Mike's arm. The giggle that was pulled out of him had them in a better mood, joking as they continued.

Mikey still itched to stop Casey touching his hoard but he stayed disciplined and forced himself to watch as Casey finished binning all the gone-off food and placing the snacks that wouldn't go out if date or at least soon in a little box. He'd also taken the random bits like the tin if kidney beans out. It overwhelmed Mikey even though he hadn't actually done anything but everything felt so big and strange.

Mikey put the small box under his bed and hugged Casey again. He felt so lucky one of his best friends cared so much, hadn't judged him, and let him keep some snacks. He forgot he had promised to talk to his papa until Casey mentioned he'd ask about it the next time he came over.

Mikey was thoroughly stuffed. That was not going to go well but he decided that was a tomorrow Mikey problem. For now, Mikey was going to make sure Dee had eaten and then maybe head to bed.

He felt lighter and anxious all at once and it was a feeling he felt was best slept off. Maybe he could put off talking to Sensei if he talked to Casey about it instead.

How could he tell Chichi that, despite all his sacrifices, it hadn't been enough? That they had still gone hungry? He wouldn't do that to him. He couldn't bear to hurt him like that.

The thought was forced out of his mind as he dragged open the lab's sliding door.

Hello!!! Thanks for making it this far, I appreciate it and hope you enjoyed it!! This fic is very personal to me and a lot of it is my own projections adapted to fit my child: Mikey!

Chichi and Chichue both are japanese endearments for father that I believe the tots would use more than sensei and Mikey would still use as he does Papa in the show.

Mikey mentions hyrdaulics but he's actually misinterpreted this as its hydrolisis, one of the ways algae is treated and the egg shells are actually for the calcium carbonate needed.

I have so many little tidbits in these fics I add in like Casey having a little sister and using his IDW backstory as inspiration for Casey's backstory. Also a lot of these are headcanons that are reflected in fanfics like Hey Sunshine by @leadenn (my favourite fanfic series!! sorry for the tag but its so worth the read!) and I'd love to hear about my writing criticisms and all from those who bothered to read it!!! Thanks for listening to my tangent, enjoy yourselves!!

Edit: Tyyy so much to my mate who beta read this just as I posted and pointed out a few mistakes, theyve been fixed now!!

[elliespuns]

Bet Joel is the king of one-pan-recipes tho. He had to know how to cook something, Sarah and him couldn't live off of take out forever. But he's still bad at cooking and he's also like real tired after long work days, so one-pan-recipes are his go-to: quick and easy but still good. Oh and I'm sure he can make some real good and tasty pasta. King of barbecues tho, no one can beat him when it comes to barbecue.

Joel likely possessed at least some basic culinary knowledge (he must have known at least a few simple recipes). Relying solely on take-out indefinitely would have been unsustainable and unhealthy, especially when Sarah was a baby and young toddler in need of proper, nutrient-rich meals for optimal growth and development.

And Joel was a devoted father who would stop at nothing to ensure his little girl received only the best—even if it meant enduring years of edible experiments gone awry. For Sarah's sake, he would have to summon the culinary "arts" within (shut up, Tommy! I can hear your giggles) , even if they came out more charred than gourmet.