#like I have a memory of eating that as a kid when i visited

[goonchef]

my grandma: marries an older Austrian refugee fella

me, playing dragon age the veilguard: makes my character fuck the older Austrian man

this jsut .......: isn't happening im not her im not her im not hers

[strang3lov3]

Scrub Daddy

QZ Joel visits you for a bath and a little extra (4.7k)

Tags - smut, dom!joel, mean!joel if you squint and I mean really squint because he does in fact fuck you with a certain kindness in his heart. dirty talking you through it. Ah, fuck it. Who am I kidding. pervy!joel too. dubcon, coercion, unprotected PIV, hand job, nyasty QZ joel eats it from the back, ass play and a tasteful amount of ass eating, nipple play, come shot, sex work, takes place in a brothel, JOEL SOUP (bathing that old man), Joel Miller hog reveal (it’s gargantuan, ludicrously capacious if you will), Joel Miller enjoys the finer things in life ie. pussy, Joel Miller tummy. Joel Miller's broad shoulders come with their own warning. Fic help - @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalnymph @endlessthxxghts Thank you all for your brains and eyeballs! A/N - MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE BUUUUT this is for my sweetheart @merz-8 who so generously streams herself playing TLOU and red dead for me 🩷 this fic is inspired by the many times she bathes Arthur. Mercy I love you!!!!!

Joel turns the tap on his shower and with his eyebrows raised, waits quietly to hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall. Nothing. “God bless it,” he mutters. The water’s been shut off for the past month or so in his apartment complex. He pays extra to have it but alas, nothing fucking works in the QZ. Everything’s broken down, falling apart, or will fall apart - it’s just a matter of time. 

Joel’s got limited options. He could visit the showers downtown, get hosed down like a dog with cold water that feels like knives in his skin, although the showers don’t open until 5AM tomorrow morning. He could wait it out, though he’s pretty fucking rank; he needs a shower yesterday. He could also rinse off at the sink with a damp rag. 

He thinks to himself, hands on his hips and biting his cheeks, weighing his options. Damp rag it is. Joel opens his linen closet and takes his ratty, stringy old rag with him to the kitchen. He wets it with the water from the five gallon jug allotted for drinking, then reaches for the FEDRA issued bar soap that’s meant to be used for everything - hand washing, dishes, laundry, et cetera, et cetera. Joel takes off his shirt and then lathers the bar soap in the rag, the clean and flowery smell permeating the air. He loves this scent - he doesn’t always get this specific one when he picks up his hygiene supplies once a month. God, when did he smell this last? Feels like deja vu. It’s so familiar, it couldn't have been too long ago…

Then the memory hits him: the whorehouse over at the old hotel. That’s where he smelled this soap last. It’s in the men’s rooms but more pertinent to Joel at this moment, it’s the soap used in the bathing rooms - different from the men’s rooms. Joel scoffs and puts the soap and rag on the kitchen counter. Yeah, he smirks to himself, that’s where he’ll catch a bath tonight. He puts his denim shirt back on, stuffs some clean clothes into his leather backpack and heads off into the night for the hotel. 

Joel’s strategic in how he gets there. Curfew’s at six, and it’s eight right now. FEDRA’s not too kind to those out after hours. He moves stealthily through alleyways, avoiding the harsh, white light of the soldier’s flashlights shining from above. Once at the old hotel, Joel knocks in a particular pattern on the side door. On the other side, a man peers through the peephole and verifies Joel’s identity, then opens the door just enough for Joel to slide on through, his belly rubbing against the edge of the doorframe.

It’s dingy on the inside, dark and lit sparingly only by some candles. Joel makes his way to the front room where a different man sits at a table. Joel reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ration cards, flipping through the notes with a practiced flick of his thumb. “M’in need of a shower,” he says, laying the cards down on the table. He scans the room, recognizes a few familiar faces. 

The man covers the notes with his hand and slides them toward himself, then counts the cards through and nods. “Fourth floor, third door on the right.” 

Wordlessly, Joel heads up the staircase, knees cracking on about every other step. God, he’s getting old. Once at the fourth floor, Joel heads for that third door on the right and pushes it open with one hand, unbuttoning his denim shirt with ease using the other. 

This room is different from the others at this brothel. It has no bed, no carpeting, no soft surfaces of any kind that would be typical for activities performed in a place such as this. This room has just one large bath tub in the middle with a small table next to it, and in the corner is a small lamp, covering the room with a low golden glow. Once-green peeling paint covers the walls instead of torn floral wallpaper and cracks cover every tile on the floor below. Joel peels his clothes off and wraps a faded pink towel around his waist, his tummy bulging over the edge. He waits patiently next to the tub for a knock at the door. 

-

Your hands are wobbling in the dressing room. There’s really not much to dress yourself with, no makeup or anything like that. One of the girls suggested melting a colored pencil with some hot water or a lighter and then using that to paint your lips and cheeks, but she wouldn’t share her own with you. In the mirror, you fix your hair and straighten your borrowed dress, breathing deeply to try and calm your nerves. It’s your first night working here at the brothel, and you’re really not sure what to expect. 

Your boss, Jim, knocks on the dressing room door as a courtesy, but doesn’t wait to make sure everyone is decent. He just waltzes right in and announces to you all that there’s a client in room three waiting for bath assistance.

“Do you know who it is?” one of the girls asks Jim. 

“Yeah,” Jim answers. “Joel Miller. Who’s taking him?”  

The girl who gave you the tip on the colored pencils turns to her friends and whispers, then turns back to you. “You should take him,” she tells you. “You’ll love Joel, he’s nice. Very gentle with his girls. A real lover.” 

Her smile feels disingenuous, and it doesn’t help that her friends are laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she lies. “And here–” She pulls out her lighter and a bubblegum pink colored pencil that’s stained black from repeated burning, and lights the end of the pencil on fire so that it melts a bit. She drips it onto her fingertips, then harshly smudges it onto your lips, biting down on a facetious smile. “Yeah. Joel will love you.” 

She doesn’t let you check your appearance in the mirror before ushering you to the bathing room, her hands on your lower back as she pushes you to the door. She slaps your ass, then heads back to the dressing room with the other girls, barely concealing a giggle in her wake. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, then knock on the door. The man - Joel - opens it for you and guides you inside, then locks the door behind you. Clad in nothing but a towel, he crosses his arms as he looks you up and down with a slow scan of his eyes, which makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. His brow is pinched together, he’s biting his inner cheek. His expression turns from studious to curious. 

The first thing you notice  is how handsome he is, you can’t even help yourself. His crossed arms strain his big, thick biceps. He has a full head of curly, graying hair, and a full set of teeth. Tall. He’s towering over you with a hulking form. His top lip sports a big, thick mustache, and his face is covered in a perfectly patchy beard. Sharp. He’s got a sharp nose, sharp jaw, and a sharp look in his inky dark brown eyes. You don’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t him. 

“Name’s Joel,” he says. “Your turn.” 

You tell him your name, and Joel reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “S’that your real name?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

Fuck. “N-no,” you lie. 

Joel chuckles. “So you’re the new girl, huh?” 

“Mhm.” 

Joel laughs again. 

You squeeze past him to get to the tub, then twist the knobs of the bathtub, twisting them quicker when the water doesn’t come out. Joel watches you struggle for a minute, then comes up behind you and puts his strong hand on your lower back, fingers pressing against your ass. “Y’got it all wrong. Do it like this,” he instructs quietly, pulling up on the knobs, causing the water to come pouring out of the spout. He twists the handles himself, holding his hand under the running water to test the temperature. “See?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Learn somethin’ new everyday, don’tcha?” 

Joel rounds the tub, then pulls out the tucked in end of the towel on his waist. You quickly turn your head in the opposite direction, garnering another chuckle from him. Every time he laughs at you, you feel worse. “No point in lookin’ away,” he tells you. “You’re gonna see it whether you wanna or not. Jus’ the nature of these things.” 

Joel hands you his towel, then steps into the long tub. From here, you get a good look at his naked form. He’s muscled beneath his softness, no doubt stronger than an ox. He’s broad, with vast shoulders and a relatively slim waist in comparison. His member is substantially sized, even soft, as it is now. His balls are even bigger, heavier. 

The bathwater moves as Joel’s weight sinks in, rocking back and forth in the tub. He sits down and stretches his legs out, the water running over his feet. You keep your distance as you fold Joel’s towel while waiting for the tub to fill the rest of the way, familiarizing yourself with the toiletries nearby. Washrag, shampoo, bar soap, plastic cup, a tub of petroleum jelly, a glass, and a bottle of whiskey. When the tub is filled, you shut off the water. 

Joel pours himself a large bit of the whiskey into the glass, “Quiet one, ain’tcha?” Joel says to you, then downs his drink. He pours another, then sips it. 

You shrug, unsure of how to respond to the man. You’re not really sure if you’re supposed to talk and if so, what you should say. You move to the end of the bathtub where Joel rests his head, then reach for the cup and fill it with Joel’s bathwater, then wet his graying curls. Little ringlets still form around his neck. 

Shampoo comes next, so you take the small bottle from the table. With wet hands you twist the cap, but it doesn’t come off. Joel waits patiently as you dry your hands on your dress and try again. 

“What’s goin’ on back there?” 

“The uh, the shampoo,” you say. “I can’t get the cap off.” 

Joel reaches behind himself, “I’ll give ya a hand,” he says, and you put the bottle into his palm. He unscrews it with ease, then hands it back to you as he tells you that you seem nervous. “Wait a second,” he says, “C’mere,”  and taps the edge of the tub with his right hand. 

“There?”

“Yeah, sit down.” 

Bottle in hand, you sit at the edge of the tub. “Closer.” Joel tugs you by the arm. “Ain’t gonna bite ya.” 

You pour a bit of shampoo into your palm, then Joel takes the bottle and sets it on the little table. You reach forward and scrub the soap into his hair, quickly working it into a lather. Joel watches your face closely, how you avoid looking him in the eye. He dips his hand into his bathwater then reaches for your face, his steaming hand on your jaw as he uses his wet thumb to wipe away the colored pencil that was hastily rubbed on your lips. You’re stunned, and Joel watches you with dark and hungry eyes, a little bloodshot too. “Pretty one, aren’t you? A girl like you shouldn’t be workin’ here.” 

You ignore him and continue washing his hair, tangling your fingers in the sudsy, thick curls. Joel holds your chin tighter and forces you to look him in the eyes. “You’re not givin’ me the silent treatment, honey, s’posed to talk to your clients. Make a man feel human. Answer me.” You’re intimidated immediately. If he is who the girls call nice, then…

“Wasn’t my first choice of a job,” you admit quietly. 

“How’d you end up here?”

“I needed money,” you whisper. “And the other girls said they wanted someone on bath duty. But that I wouldn’t have to-” 

Joel laughs loudly, cutting you off. “Oh, bless your fuckin’ heart. No, you’ll have to put out,” he says. “Job ain’t just washin’ dirty old men, sweetheart, that’s what a nursing home’s for. Those girls were fuckin’ with you. Sorry.” Joel gestures for you to continue. 

Your blood goes cold. You feel sick, even more nervous than before. Looking through the water, you see that Joel’s already hard for you as well.

“Go on. Speak.”

 You swallow thickly. “They also said you’re nice. Gentle.” 

Joel nods, then sips on his drink. “That’s some wishful fuckin’ thinkin’. Not me, darlin’. Think they’re hazin’ you. But-” Joel sets his drink back down, “-I’ll behave myself, be a gentleman for ya. Scout’s honor.” 

He says it so earnestly that you feel inclined to believe him. “You promise?” 

“Cross my heart,” he says. “I’ll break ya in real nice,” he adds under his breath. His little comment - or rather, what feels like a threat, has you flinching. “Relax, relax.” Joel holds his hand to your waist, keeping you close to him. “You’re fine. I treat all my girls nice. I told you I wouldn’t bite. You’re fine,” he repeats. Joel reaches for the plastic cup and fills it with his bathwater, then gives it to you to rinse his hair with. He closes his eyes, groaning softly. You’ll hear those same groans escaping his lips later when he fucks you, eats you alive. 

You admire his profile, that sharp slope of his aquiline nose, pouty lips and dark eyelashes. Water cascades down his thick neck and the broad planes of his freckled chest, landing into the pool of suds. After rinsing his hair, Joel takes the rag and the bar of soap and wets both, then hands them to you. You lather the soap on the rag, then Joel takes the soap back. You scoot closer to him and begin washing his neck and the muscles surrounding, scrubbing the rag into his skin. 

“Feel tense, don’t I?”

You’re not sure how to answer. “I guess, yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you’ll fix that. Get me right.” 

Joel leans forward and tilts his head down, sighing as you scrub his broad shoulders, leaving little tracks of soap suds on his body. “Lil’ harder, sweetheart,” he groans. “Put some muscle into it.” 

You rub harder into his skin with the rag, massaging those tight muscles in his back and shoulders before lifting his heavy bicep to scrub his arm. Joel lifts his free arm and reaches for you, then tugs the front of your dress down, exposing your cleavage. “S’posed to show me a little skin, darlin’,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on your breast as he rubs his thumb left and right over your skin. “Gotta earn them tips somehow, right?” It makes your face heat up and your heart beat harder, faster. His fingers feel like electricity on your skin as he dips his hand lower, catching your nipple with his fingertips. He rubs the bud until it’s pebbled, then twists it between two fingers, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Joel smiles at that. 

Flustered by both his words and his actions, you pull his hand out of your dress, and Joel wears a crooked smirk. He outstretches that arm for you to wash, and you scrub his limb with the rag, speeding through the activity out of uneasiness and nerves. You drop his arms and quickly pat your hands off on your towel, then get up to leave. 

“Nuh-uh.” Joel grabs your arm and pulls you back down so that you’re sitting on the ledge of the bathtub again, the water splashing a bit when you land. “You ain’t finished yet. Legs need washin’, don’t they?”

“Umm…” 

“Think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ important too,” Joel mutters under his breath. He props his leg up next to you, and you can see his heavy balls and his thick cock standing at full mast beneath the water. With the rag, you scrub up to his knee. 

“Higher.” 

About halfway past his knee. 

“I said, higher.”

You scrub his upper thigh beneath the water’s surface now, washing right where his leg meets his hip. Impatient, Joel pulls the rag from your hand and holds your wrist, then guides your hand to that space between his thighs, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. “Right here,” he instructs you. “I’d reckon a man’s member certainly needs washin’ too, don’t it? ‘Less you like it dirty. Some of us do.”

You quickly stroke Joel’s shaft, just a quick slide of your hand up and down. Joel holds your hand under the water, “Keep goin’,” he mutters. You move your hand and down again, though your back aches from the angle and you have a difficult time reaching him. Joel notices your struggle. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I can’t like- you’re too far-”

“Mm. I getcha,” Joel says, nodding in understanding. “Stand up for a minute.”

You stand up off of the ledge of the bathtub and Joel shifts in the tub, the water sloshing with his movements. He puts both of his dripping hands on your waist and then turns you where he wants you, then begins bunching up the fabric of your dress. “You do the rest,” he tells you. You pull the dress off of your body, feeling insecure under Joel’s watchful gaze as you fold the garment. “Panties too.”

You shimmy your panties down your legs and tuck them beneath your folded dress, which amuses Joel. So modest, so bashful. Those qualities of yours won’t last long here in the brothel.

After setting the clothes down near Joel’s belongings, you make your way back to him. He’s holding out his large, masculine hand for you to take. “C’mon in, there’s plenty ‘a room for us both. Watch your step,” he warns, using his strength to guide you into the tub. “Attagirl.”

You lower yourself into the bath, the hot water making your skin tingle. “Yeah, the water feels nice, don’t it?”

“It feels good,” you agree. You’ve always loved a hot bath, a rare luxury in the world you live in. 

“Now, where were we?”

Joel pulls you through the water so that you’re straddling his thick thighs, the head of his cock nudges against your pussy which sends a flutter through your stomach. You wrap one arm around Joel’s shoulders to stabilize yourself, your other hand staying below the water’s surface as you once again find his cock. This isn’t so terrible. 

You pump Joel’s cock, memorizing every vein on his shaft with the palm of your hand. He tilts his head back in pleasure, brows knit together as he sighs deeply. 

“Am I doing okay?”

“Doin’ just fine, hon’,” Joel mumbles. “All the way up, all the way down. Jus’ like that.”

On the next pass, starting from the thick tip of Joel’s dick, you squeeze him on your way down, down, until you reach his balls. You give them the kindest of squeezes, earning a moan from Joel. “S’perfect. Fuckin’ A,” he hisses.

And all the way up again. You increase in speed, though to avoid splashing, you don’t work him too quickly. You can feel him pulsing under your touch, a sensation that has your core throbbing. He’s breathing heavier, surely getting close now. You squeeze him harder and incorporate a twist of your wrist into your movements, coaxing his release along. 

Just as you find your groove, Joel stops you. “Yeah, nice try, kid. I ain’t payin’ for a fuckin’ handjob. Could do that shit myself for free.”

Joel spins you in the direction opposite of himself, then nudges you forward. He puts the items sitting on the wooden end table on the cracked floral tile below, then pushes the table over to your end of the bath, the wood creaking and groaning. 

He lifts you up and leans you over the edge of the bathtub, having you rest on the table, the cool air on your wet skin causing goosebumps to erupt. From here, you can see all the cracks in the wood, the swelling from the water damage. “Spread them legs, sweetheart. Make room.” 

The water splashes behind you as Joel moves into position and you brace yourself for the inevitable pain of Joel’s cock splitting you open. 

Only, it doesn’t come. You feel Joel’s thumb sliding through your folds before he spreads you wide, exposing your asshole and your pussy to himself, a picture perfect view. 

“Such a pretty cunt,” he whispers. “A fuckin’ shame it’ll get ruined.”

Joel presses a kiss to your asshole, then kisses his way down to your warm center, before finally dipping his tongue into your warm entrance. He groans at your taste, how sweet on his tongue you are with his face between your cheeks. He kisses his way up, up again, then spits on your tight hole. He circles the muscle with his tongue, tracing round and round before forcing his tongue inside. It’s fucking filthy, what he’s doing to you. All salacious and obscene. But you love it, god do you fucking love it.

“Yeah, old Joel ain’t so bad, is he?” Joel murmurs tauntingly into your flesh. He kisses his way down again, all sloppy and messy. He loves the sweet little sigh of relief you breathe out when he reaches your clit, the area you need him most. He moves his lips slowly against you, loving how you grow slicker and slicker. How your soft cunt feels against his face. Joel breathes you in deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal. No chance in hell he’s washing his face after this. Your musk will live in his facial hair for days, acting as somewhat of a comfort to him. Or perhaps a trophy. 

With his tongue pointed, Joel traces along your folds before plunging into your slick hole once more. He could spend forever between your thighs, that soft, sweet, most private of places. The momentary reprieve could last eternally, if he were so lucky. 

Joel savors all of you. Your hot, wet cunt, how your hips twist and turn as you chase your own pleasure. When he sucks your clit, he can feel your thighs twitch around his skull. Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. He has half a mind to take you back to his apartment when he’s done with you, keep you all to himself. Leave you lying naked in his bed, be his little slice of heaven in such a cruel, fucked up world. 

Joel circles your clit with his tongue, finding that perfect pleasure that has you moaning his name. Steadily, steadily, he keeps you like this until you’re coming for him, gushing all over his face as he fucks you through your release with his tongue. 

You’re left breathing heavily on the table, trying to collect yourself. Joel leans over you and wears a cocky grin. “What’d I tell you, huh?” he asks. “Told you I take good care of pussy. Shoot, look at ya, all fucked out.”

You can’t help but smile at him. Joel moves behind you once more, spreading your legs wide and slotting himself between them. 

“But,” he says, “Fair’s fair. My turn now, sweet girl.”

Joel tugs on his cock, as it’s softened a bit without any stimulation. God, he’s getting old. Once at full mast again, Joel drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, all slick and slippery with your wetness. “Ready?” he says, notching himself inside you. It’s already a painful stretch. 

“Mhm,” you hum, uncertainty lacing your tone. 

With one hand guiding his cock inside, Joel has the other on your hip. He squeezes you comfortingly as he inches his way inside. He can see that you’re squeezing your eyes shut, wincing in pain. “Oh, I know, I know, I know,” he coos. “S’a tight fit, I know. Take a deep breath, breathe through it. You got it,” he says. “You are a professional after all, hm?” Joel teases. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, your walls stretching and aching as Joel’s thick cock pushes deeper and deeper inside you. 

“Halfway there,” he tells you. “S’easier f’ya let me rip the bandaid off.” He’s not asking your opinion, it’s a warning of what’s to come. A courtesy, perhaps. 

Joel pushes inside you all the way, the slide inside your body has him groaning and throwing his head back. The intrusion of his cock is so sharp it shatters you and scrambles every thought inside your head and you feel impossibly full, every other sensation disappearing as your mind focuses only on what you feel between your legs. 

Joel pulls out of you slowly, then pushes back in. He repeats the motion until your expression has softened, until you’re not biting your lips and your brows relax into a natural position. “There she is,” Joel praises you. “What a good girl. Knew you had it in ya. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He builds a steady pace, quickening it to his liking in time. His thrusts are fluid, deep, and intentional; he fucks you perfectly, with consideration for both you and himself. This, this was not what you were expecting. You feel both of his strong hands squeezing your middle, and Joel watches how your flesh bulges between his fingers. 

“Joel,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, feels good. Goddamn, you feel good.”

The water sloshes as Joel slams his hips into yours, not that he gives a shit. He fucks you harder, faster, building that pleasure deep in his gut. Joel leans over you and finds your clit with his hand, pulling back the hood before rubbing tight little circles into the sensitive part. “Gimme another,” he breathes. “One for the road. M’gonna miss this pussy.”

Joel pounds into you, the tip of his cock hitting that special place inside you that feels so good, a primal sort of pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it, let him guide your orgasm along with his measured thrusts and skilled fingers. It’s only a little longer of him drawing in and out of you, and then you’re coming all over again. It’s a hot and intense, all-consuming sort of pleasure. A sensation you’ve never known before now, before Joel. Fucking nothing compares. 

“Oh, fuck. Christ almighty,” Joel groans, feeling your cunt squeeze around his shaft in non-rhythm. He looks down at where his body meets yours, the creamy rings of arousal you’ve painted onto his cock. Joel quickens his pace even further, hips stuttering as he frenetically pounds into you. You groan at the loss of him pulling out of you, but your displeasure is swiftly soothed by the feeling of his hot spend painting your backside. Rope after rope of his come, all warm and sticky. 

It’s quiet, save for the splashing of water. Joel searches for the rag and the soap from before and lathers both, then scrubs his come off of your skin, which tickles you. “See?” he says. “What’d I tell ya. M’a gentleman. Somethin’ like it, at least.”

Joel steps out of the tub and dries his hair, turning it into a fluffy mess. He pats his body down next, and in your blissful, fucked-out state, you get a perfect view of his plump ass before he dresses himself. He combs his hair back with his fingers, then reaches into his pocket for some ration cards. 

“Let’s see here,” he murmurs, licking his thumb before flicking through the notes. He pulls out a generous amount, then slaps the cards down on the end table where you rest your head. “Think we’re square. You come and find me if I’m short, though, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely lucid. 

Joel pushes some hair out of your face and bends down to kiss your cheek. “Until next time,” he says. “Keep outta trouble.”

-

IF YOU ENJOYED PLEAE TELL ME SO! I love talking to you guys, and I love how you make this blog feel like a community. Reblogs, comments, ASKS!!! Are all so appreciated. Mwah. Have a safe week, everyone 🩷

Extra kitty pics cuz I love ya.

[hello-sweetheart]

Neat Freak

Steve’s parents don’t make him keep the house spotless. He really is just that clean and when Nancy tries to tell people there like “lol, sure” but she knows.

He’s a neat freak.

When she would stay over she would change into her pjs and make a small bundle of her day clothes on his desk chair, and steve would just. Fold them. Before getting in bed with her.

Doesn’t take long after for the others to realize it.

Robin thought it was just a guy thing, caring that much about their car. Scolding her for kicking her socked feet up on the dash, and leaving crumbs of toast when she had breakfast to go.

But then she visits his house the first time and Robin has never been good at using a coaster, too scatter brained to pay attention where she sets her drink down each time.

Steve, though? Without missing a beat he will move her glass to the coaster. Every time. Doesn’t even break his strike or pauses his conversation it’s just muscle memory by now.

The kids have had their will broken and no longer put up a fight.

Without being told to anymore, they toe off their shoes and hang their coat by the doorway. They don’t even do that in their own home. How Steve was able to get those wild animals house broken? No body knows.

His mom didn’t actually choose his room decor. It looks a bit barren but Steve likes it that way. It looks clean, easier to do so, too. Everything has its place tucked away from sight so it’s not an eye sore.

Even his plaid wallpaper and curtains he chose for himself. He spent all day finding the curtains that matched the closest and he was really proud of himself when found some.

“Steve, buddy, this looks mental.”

“But look,” (closest the curtains to show that even the pattern lines up seemlessly) “you almost can’t even see the difference between the wall and fabric. It’s like magic! It’s cool!” >:(

He’s very meticulous about his appearance. Dustin is absolutely flabbergasted when he sees his full hair routine for himself. Everything must be done a certain way in a certain order every time. It’s routine.

“Three puffs of the Farah Fawcett! THREE!”

“I DID THREE.”

“YEAH, BUT YOU DID THEM WRONG.”

When they discontinue it, Steve has a mini breakdown. He doesn’t like that his very specific and set routine has been broken. He’s convinced he’ll never find a hair spray to replace it. Everybody stocks up on cans of it to try and lower his anxiety.

He just loves cleaning, okay?

Ironing his kakis and polos until there are no wrinkles is so satisfying. Glass without finger smudges is so nice. His closet being organized by color is so efficient. When he’s worried, anxious, or angry he likes to keep his hands busy and it just calms him down going ham on a water stain in the bathroom.

When he hangs out at Eddie’s, he mindlessly starts picking things up here and there. It’s like heaven for him. He sees a mess and just wants to go to town. Eddie doesn’t mind as long as he knows where everything is in the end. He’ll admit that having his music organized alphabetically is pretty convenient.

It’s also a little funny to watch Steve iron his ripped jeans and battle jacket with an iron he brought from home.

“You’re a freak, Harrington.” Eddie has a shit eating grin. Steve flips him off.

“Fuck off.”

[markleessodalite]

NCT Dream as Girl Dads

Headcanon: what would nct dream be like as girl dads?

content warnings: none that i can think of, its literally just how i think the members would behave if they had daughters so it should be fine unless you've got daddy issues (which is valid because so do i lol)

word count: 840

Mark:

Mark is completely enamored with anything his daughter does, whether it be big or small. Mark thinks that any little thing she does is a sign of who she’s going to be in life. She giggled at him when she was an infant? She must have a great sense of humor! She made him a fake lunch with her kitchen playset? She’s got the mind of a chef! She gets excited for the ride to visit grandma? She’s gonna travel the world one day! Mark as a dad can be summed up in one word– enthusiastic. His train of thought may be a bit idealistic (just because she likes playing on the swingset doesn’t mean she’ll be a pilot) but at least you know he will happily support her in whatever she does.

Renjun:

Gifts, gifts, and more gifts. Renjun’s daughter will always be dressed to the nines, even before she’s old enough to eat on her own– he’s got designer bibs at the ready. If she wants a dollhouse that’s 4 feet tall and takes up more space than her bed, she knows dad will get it for her (you told him to at least save it until her birthday, but he couldn’t wait). Renjun doesn’t see the harm in spoiling his little girl. Why would you not want to treat your daughter like a princess? However, Renjun is certainly not a pushover; his number one rule is bad attitude = no gifts, and he doesn’t tolerate brats.

Jeno:

Jeno is his daughter’s number one protector. No one is going to hurt his little girl on his watch. If any playground bullies push her out of the sandbox, it takes everything Jeno has to not lose it on the kid’s parents. In fact, he’s already… unpopular with the neighborhood parents, after he glared at a kid a little too hard for catching an attitude with his baby. It’ll get annoying when she’s a teenager and every boy at school is terrified to ask her on a date, but Jeno will say its good to be selective– because there’s nothing that would break his heart more than seeing his little girl in pain. 

Haechan:

Haechan is his daughter’s best friend. As soon as she was old enough to walk, he was planning all sorts of fun father-daughter activities. He’s gonna take her to the carnival, and the water park, and the mud flats, and the fairgrounds, and anywhere else that his daughter might want to go. Of course he’s going to raise her on good music too, and one of her favorite memories will be going to her very first concert with her dad. As she gets older it might take him time to understand that teenagers need privacy– she’s not so little anymore, and he can’t expect her to tell him everything she thought and felt like she used to. But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop being his babygirl’s best friend.

Jaemin:

Jaemin has very high standards for his precious girl. She’s the daughter of Na Jaemin after all– she only deserves the best! He makes sure she gets home cooked meals (and only the finest restaurants if they choose to go out), he takes advice from Renjun to get her the finest clothes, he only gets her bedsheets with a specific thread count and skincare products with specific ingredients. He may go a bit overboard sometimes, like when he tries to forbid her from seeing certain friends or from watching certain tv shows, but you know it comes from a place of care. He just wants the best influences for his little angel.

Chenle:

Chenle wants his daughter to be amazing in everything she does. He’s going to encourage her to pursue anything, as long as she’s pursuing something. He’ll have her enrolled in a variety of clubs and activities, he’ll help her study to get the best grades, he’ll do volunteer work with her so she can experience many different paths her life could take her. Sometimes you have to pull him back a bit when he’s putting a little too much stress on her, but he just sees so much potential in his daughter.

Jisung:

Jisung lets his daughter get away with everything, for better or worse. Jisung is not much of a disciplinarian… and it drives you a little insane. He just hates seeing his baby with tears in her eyes, even though you’ve explained that she’ll be fine in 5 minutes and move on to something else. She took a toy from another kid? Well… maybe we should just buy her that toy instead of scolding her. She’s refusing to lay down at bedtime? Well what if we just let her watch a movie with us? Jisung just wants his little girl to always be happy, and turning the dial from sweet dad to mean dad kills him. But he knows its his responsibility to raise his daughter, not just fawn over how cute she is. So he will turn into mean dad when he needs to. Begrudgingly.

[fairuzfan]

19 October 2023: In Gaza, we have grown accustomed to war

Horrific experiences of death and destruction have permanently impacted Palestinians’ culture, language and collective memory. “Is it war again?” asks my little Amal, 7, memories of the previous Israeli assaults still fresh in her mind.

The wording of the question shows the maturity she has been forced to develop. Last year, Amal asked her mum if it was “another war.”

Yes, it is war again in Gaza! In Gaza, we have grown accustomed to war. War has become a recurrent reality, a nightmare that won’t go away. A brutal normality. War has become like a grumpy old relative, one that we can’t stand but can’t rid ourselves of either.

The children pay the heaviest price. A price of fear and nonstop trauma that is reflected in their behaviors and their reactions. It’s estimated that over 90 percent of Palestinian children in Gaza show signs of trauma. But also, specialists claim there is no post-war trauma in Gaza as the war is still ongoing.

My grandmother would tell me to put on a heavy sweater because it would rain. And it would rain! She, like all Palestinian elders, had a unique sense, an understanding of the earth, wind, trees and rain. The elders knew when to pick olives for pickling or for oil. I was always envious of that.

Sorry, Grandma. We have instead become attuned to the vagaries of war. This heavy guest visits us uninvited, unwelcomed and undesired, perches on our chests and breaths, and then claims the lives of many, in the hundreds and thousands.

A Palestinian in Gaza born in 2008 has witnessed seven wars: 2008–2009, 2012, 2014, 2021, 2022, 2023A and 2023B. And as the habit goes in Gaza, people can be seven wars old, or four wars old. My little Amal, born in 2016, now holds a BA in wars, having lived through four destructive campaigns. In Gaza, we often speak about wars in terms of academic degrees: a BA in wars, an MA in wars, and some might humorously refer to themselves as PhD candidates in wars.

Our discourse has significantly changed and shifted. At night, when Israel particularly intensifies the bombardment, it’s a “party”: “The party has begun.” “It will be a horrific party tonight.” And then there is “The Bag,” capital T and capital B. This is a bag that is hurriedly prepared to contain the cash, the IDs, the birth certificates and college diplomas. The aim is to grab the kids and one item when there is a threat of evacuation.

The collective memories and culture of Palestinians in Gaza have been substantially impacted by these horrific experiences of war and death. Most Gazans have lost family members, relatives, or loved ones or have had their homes damaged or destroyed. It’s estimated that these wars and the escalations between them have claimed the lives of over 9,000 (it was 7,500 when I started drafting this last week!) Palestinians and destroyed over 60,000 housing units.

Death and war. War and Death. These two are persona non grata, yet we can’t force them to leave. To let us be.

Palestinian poet Tamim Al-Barghouti summarizes the relationship between death and the Palestinians that war brings (my translation):

It was not wise of you, Death, to draw near.

It was not wise to besiege us all these years.

It was not wise to dwell this close,

So close we’ve memorized your visage

Your eating habits

Your time of rest

Your mood swings

Your heart’s desires

Even your frailties.

O, Death, beware!

Don’t rest that you tallied us.

We are many.

And we are still here

[Seventy] years after the invasion

Our torches are still alight

Two centuries

After Jesus went to his third grade in our land

We have known you, Death, too well.

O, Death, our intent is clear:

We will beat you,

Even if they slay us, one and all.

Death, fear us,

For here we are, unafraid.

23 October 2023: Five stages of coping with war in Gaza

Our familiarity with war in Gaza has led us to develop a unique perspective and unique coping mechanisms.

We can identify five major emotional stages that Gazans go through during these grim conflicts. The stages are denial, fear, silence, numbness, hope, despair and submission.

This is day 16 and Israel has killed more than 5,000 Palestinians (many are still unaccounted for under the rubble), including over 2,000 Palestinian children, Gaza authorities tell us. More than 15,000 were injured and over 25,000 Palestinian homes were destroyed. And Israel says it is ready for ground invasion.

Stage one: Denial

In the early stages of a crisis, there is often a sense of denial. We convince ourselves that this time won’t lead to war. People are tired of the recurring conflicts, and both sides may appear too preoccupied to engage in warfare. As missiles fall and soar, we maintain a form of partial denial, hoping that this time will not be as lengthy or devastating as past wars.

No, this time it’s not going to be war. Everyone is tired of wars. Israel is too busy to go to war.

Palestinians are too exhausted and too battered to engage in a war. It could just last five days, give or take, we hope.

Stage two: Fear

Soon, denial turns to fear as the reality of another war sets in. Gaza is paralyzed as civilians, including children, are attacked by Israeli bombs. The pictures and videos of massacres, of homes obliterated with the families inside, of high rise buildings toppled like dominoes turn the denial into utter terror.

Every strike, especially at night, means all the children wake up crying and weep. As parents, we fear for our kids and we fear we can’t protect our loved ones.

Stage three: Silence and numbness

This is when Israel particularly intensifies the bombing of civilian homes. Stories are interrupted. Prayers are cut short. Meals are left uneaten. Showers are abandoned.

Therefore, amid the chaos and danger Israel brings, many in Gaza, especially children, withdraw into silence. They find solace in solitude as means of coping with the overwhelming emotion and uncertainty that surrounds them. Silence prevails.

Then numbness follows. As people attempt to protect themselves from the constant onslaught of distressing news, they grow indifferent. Because we could die anyway, no matter where we go. Emotional numbness sets in, as individuals attempt to detach from their emotions to survive.

Stage four: Hope

In the midst of despair, glimmers of hope may emerge. Even in the darkest moments, Gazans may hold onto the belief Israel might at least kill fewer people, bomb fewer places, and damage less. The most hopeful of us wish for a lasting ceasefire or an end to the siege or even the occupation. But this is merely hope. And hope is dangerous.

We hope that politicians will man up. We hitch our hope to the masses taking to the streets to reassure their politicians and warn they will be punished in future elections if they support Israeli aggression against Palestinians in Gaza.

Stage five: Despair and submission

Unfortunately, hope can often be fleeting, and many Gazans have experienced recurring cycles of despair. The repeated loss of life, homes and security lead to deep feelings of helplessness.

In the final stage, there is a sense of submission as Gazans accept the reality that they are unable to change the situation. That they are left alone. That the world has abandoned us. That Israel can kill and destroy at large with impunity. This is a stage marked by endurance, as Palestinians strive to adapt and persevere in the face of ongoing challenges.

These stages of war have become an unfortunate part of life in Gaza, shaping the resilience and perseverance of the Palestinian people in the face of unimaginable hardships imposed by the Israeli occupation.

27 October 2023: What it’s like when Israel bombs your building

I have six children. And so far we have survived seven major Israeli escalations, unscathed. We are an average family. My wife, Nusayba, is a housewife, I have two children in college and my youngest child, Amal, is 7. In Gaza, Amal is already four wars old.

We are an average family in Gaza, but we have had our fair share of Israeli death and destruction.

So far, since the early 1970s, I have lost 20 (and 15 last week) members of my extended family due to Israeli aggression.

In 2014, Israel destroyed our family home of seven flats, killing my brother Mohammed.

In 2014, Israel killed about 20 of my wife’s family including her brother, her sister, three of her sister’s kids, her grandfather and her cousin. And destroyed several of my in-laws’ homes.

Combined, my wife and I have lost over fifty 50 members to Israeli war and terror.

2023 war on Gaza

As the bombs fall and Israel targets sleeping families in their homes, parents are torn between several issues.

Should we leave? But go where, when Israel targets evacuees on their way and targets the areas they evacuate to?

Should we stay with relatives? Or should our relatives stay with us, whose home is relatively “safe?” We can never be sure. It’s been more than 75 years of brutal occupation – and over six major Israeli military onslaughts in the past 15 years – and we have so far failed to understand Israel’s brutality and mentality of death and destruction.

And then there is the fear of what to do if – when – we are bombed. We try to evade them. But how can you evade the bombs when Israel throws three or four or five consecutive bombs at the same home.

The big question Palestinian households debate is whether we should sleep in the same room so that when we die, we die together, or whether we should sleep in different rooms so some of us may survive.

The answer is always that we need to sleep in the living room together. If we die, we die together. No one has to deal with the heartbreak.

No food. No water. No electricity.

This 2023 war is different. Israel has intensified using hunger as a weapon. By completely besieging Gaza and cutting off the electricity and water supplies and not allowing aid or imports, Israel is not only putting Palestinians on a diet, but also starving them.

In my household, and we are a well-off family, my wife and I sat with the children and explained the situation to them, especially the little ones: “We need to ration. We need to eat and drink a quarter of what we usually consume. It’s not that we do not have money, but food is running out and we barely have water.”

And good luck explaining to your 7-year-old that she can’t have her two morning eggs and instead she will be having a quarter of a bomb! (Israel later bombed the eggs.)

As a parent, I feel desperate and helpless. I can’t provide the love and protection I am supposed to give my kids.

Instead of often telling my kids “I love you,” I have been repeating for the past two weeks:

“Kids, eat less. Kids, drink less.” And I imagine this being my last thing I say to them and it is devastating.

Israel bombs our building

If we had a little food last week, now we barely have any because Israel struck our home with two missiles while we were inside. And without prior warning!

My wife Nusayba had already instructed the kids to run if a bombing happened nearby. We never expected [our building] to be hit. And that was a golden piece of advice.

I was hosting four families of relatives in my flat. Most of them were kids and women.

We ran and ran. We carried the little ones and grabbed the small bags with our cash and important documents that Gazans keep at the door every time Israel wages a war.

We escaped with a miracle, with only bruises and tiny scratches. We checked and found everyone was fine. And then we walked to a nearby UN school shelter, which was in an inhuman condition. We crammed into small classrooms with other families.

With that, we lost our last sense of safety. We lost our water. We lost our food and the remaining eggs that Amal loves.

We are an average Palestinian family. But we have had our fair share of Israeli death and destruction. In Gaza, no one is safe. And no place is safe. Israel could kill all 2.3 million of us and the world would not bat an eye.

[tojikai]

Sundered (Alt. Ending): CRUSH

Pairing: Gojo x reader - Toji x reader (this part)

• Part 1  |  Part 2   | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 5.8k

a/n: here it is! (it's late, sorry. not proofread too😭) im forever grateful to you all who waited and supported the sundered series and for supporting my other stories too. i cant do much but this means so much. ily.

If you never talk to him again, he will miss you forever.

“Do I not deserve it?” You asked him, almost flinching at your words when you promised yourself you’d never ask anyone that. Toji sighed, taking both of your hands and bringing them to his lips. “Not this. You deserve more than this. You deserve to be genuinely happy without sacrificing anything, without feeling spent.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to contain another flood of tears threatening to overflow from your already swollen eyes. Why does it always have to be so hard when it's you? When it was Satoru who tried to move on, he did with Naomi. You wouldn’t say it was a breeze for them but you just know it was never this hard.

Naomi and Satoru stayed together for a year, being the family you couldn’t give your child. And now you, you couldn’t even make it work with Toji. Why do you always have to feel stuck? Why does he refuse to take your hand and pull you out of this void that is slowly sucking you down?

Along with these thoughts, you felt a squeeze in your hand. “Y/N?” Toji called, “Y/N, it’s gonna be alright.”  No, it’s not, you thought. The roof of your mouth tastes bitter against your tongue; so bitter that it burns. “It’s not. But it’s alright. I just don’t want you to feel burdened with this, alright?” You reached up to his face, eyes wandering.

“I’m sorry.” You felt selfish. You felt so selfish for not thinking about how this void of yours could pull him down with you instead of him pulling you up. You felt so selfish for wanting him to keep hurting just so you could feel safe. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, I didn’t realize it would be this hard on you too.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.

You stepped away from him, sniffing as you wiped your tears away. You couldn’t remember what else he said, you couldn't remember how you ended up in that room alone, crying as you clutched your chest, blaming yourself for wearing out such a good man.

You couldn’t remember, or more like you chose not to carve into your memory how that day ended. The only image you can see in your head is how he cuddled you to sleep, woke you up to eat with him and the kids, and went home. You remember him saying that they could always visit. And you hated yourself for doubting him.

Now you smooth out the bed, rearranging the pillows and gaslighting yourself that you’ve been the only one sleeping on it all this time just so it wouldn't feel so unfamiliar. You changed the sheets and prayed you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for the man you love. 

And the fact that this wouldn’t be the first time that you would do so…

You remembered how you would wake up and break down at midnights during the first few months of your separation from Satoru, weeping as you ran to your daughter’s crib just to remind yourself to be stronger, locking your phone away to not call and embarrass yourself in front of him and his then-new girlfriend again.

You heard the sound of the video your daughter was watching as she sat on the bean bag in the corner of your room. “Mama, look it.” You heard her tiny footsteps tap the floor as she ran to you, holding the phone out. The screen flashed with Toji’s caller ID, “Thank you, baby.” You kissed her cheek as you picked her up to sit her on your lap. 

“Yeah?,” You answered, hearing a sigh from the other end. You pulled your toddler closer to you just as she started to move near the edge of the bed. You that your voice didn’t sound hoarse at all. You didn’t cry as hard as you did with Satoru, but it was painful enough that you had to pause some chores just so you could think of a solution to fix it. 

You doubted there was a fix and if there was, you felt like Toji would only be trying out of pity for you.

You’re tired of that. You don’t want people to feel sorry for you anymore. You feel like you’ve been nothing but pitiful every year of your life. Your dad gave up on you and your mother, your baby daddy gave up on your relationship with him and now you feel like you caused Toji to give up on you too. 

Your brows bumped together at the thoughts and you were quick to shake your head, hoping it would shed off the searing pain in your chest as well. You can't have self-pity when you have a child. You’re determined to be better for her. Your index finger found its place on your lips, listening to your ex’s voice.

“Just wanna know how you’re doing.” You wanted to laugh, not to mock him but because you don’t really know how to explain how you feel to him. You decided to answer it from the surface, “I am okay, surprisingly.” You sniffed, hearing a sigh from the other end of the line and a tiny laugh from Megumi, probably watching something on his iPad. 

You would say it’s too early for him to call you, but this whole breakup isn’t even like the normal ones. You broke up for each other's well-being. Not because you fought, not because one of you cheated, not because you just started to hate each other. You broke up wanting only the best for each other.

“I know this is for the best.” You wanted to help Toji feel better about this decision. You could tell that there was guilt on his part. He probably feels like what he did was just an inch kinder than Satoru’s way of leaving you. That would eat him inside. The last thing Toji wants to do is shatter all your progress.

“I don���t feel the best about it.” There was no hint of amusement in his chuckle, no trace of smile in his words. You don’t even know if he meant to say he feels bad for doing this to you. You don’t want to assume that he’s not doing better away from you because you’re pretty sure he’s more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to worry about his girlfriend thinking of someone even when she’s with him. 

“Please, don’t dwell on it. I, uh, I have thought things through and it’s… it’s just getting kind of lighter for me.” You blinked away each tear that came with the lies that are flowing out of your tongue. It’s not getting any lighter. If anything, the crushing weight is still continuously pressing down on you and you know any time soon, you might break down in this phone call.

“I don’t know if I can trust your words…” Aside from the fact that it has only been a day, Toji thought back on your last conversation before you broke up. He’s well-aware of your tendencies to push all of your feelings aside  because you blame yourself for the fall of your relationship. You would probably shoulder all of this again, like you did with your separation from Satoru.

Toji isn’t all clean here but he doesn’t know how to get that to you. You can be very stubborn when it comes to these things especially when it concerns your past. It’s an unhealed part of you and Toji can’t help but feel like your previous arguments, his words to 

you and how he made you feel contributed to it rather than alleviate it.

“Toji, this isn't good for me. For us,” You’re not talking about your relationship with him but it’s about him contacting you. “I know that we’re still good, we broke up to save each other,” you laughed half-heartedly, “Our kids are friends, of course, we can’t just throw that away, but for now…” You took a deep breath.

“For now, let’s give each other space. I’m not mad at you, I could never hate you but, Toji, this isn’t helping me at all.” The crack in your voice sent a blow to Toji’s heart, “I…I want to be able to talk to you, see you and visit Megumi with Yui without feeling the guilt of letting something so good slip away so, please...” You took a deep, painful breath.

“Let’s just give each other some space. Just until I have picked myself up again.” You covered your mouth, desperate to turn away from your child who’s been starting to glance at you. Toji’s silence felt like it could squeeze you, like a soundless bubble getting smaller and smaller around you. 

“I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have called.” Of course, you’re not fine, Is he out of his mind? The voices in Toji’s head knocked sense into him as he realized what he did. How could he be so insensitive? Is it because he knows of his crimes, the source of his guilt and how he didn’t think it would affect him as much as it does now?

Now, even this breakup feels selfish. How could he just decide to leave when you’ve been trying so hard? He’s not different from your baby daddy—running away when they couldn’t handle the pressure, leaving you to clean up after the mess. Toji closed his eyes tight, clearing his head, begging himself to say the right words and make the correct decisions.

“I—I’m still here for you always, alright? Take care, Y/N. Kiss Yui good night for me.” He spoke slowly, fighting the loss in the empty space he’s staring at, absorbing your soft hums and apology as he continued, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry, baby. It took every fiber in his baby not to say it like that. For your sake. And for him. 

If you never talk to him again, he will miss you forever.

You put the phone down, feeling your daughter’s head on your chest as she stared up at you. Your mother once said that children do not understand these things yet but they feel their parents’ pain when it happens. And just like that, it’s almost as if your baby girl can read you. Her eyes says that she wants to help but doesn’t know how because she doesn’t eve understand it.

“Mama sad?” Her voice was small, it’s amazing that even at her age she knows how to try and soothe you. She knows that this is not the time to be playful without even knowing the situation. All she knows is that her mother is sad and crying. “No, mama’s just tired.” You smiled at her and for the first time she seems hesitant to reciprocate it.

“Mama sleep.” She got suddenly, bouncing her way to the spot next to you as she gets into a curled sleeping position. She’s a smart child. You laid down next to her, cuddling her small frame for as long as she can sit still but it wasn’t long before she was playing again, forgetting about it all. She’s still a baby after all. But this kid right here is the one who will always pull you out of the waters.

You wished that you could forget and get over this as quickly as this baby does, You wished it would all just fly out of your mind, that you could just throw up all of the pain out of your heart. You wished that you could just dust off the broken pieces of your relationship from your clothes, that you could scrub away the pain in the shower and watch it flow down the drain.

—————————-

“Look, I know Yui’s always been our priority but if you need a bit of time for yourself, you know you can leave Yui with me.” Satoru came earlier than expected. You can tell that he’s trying to stay inside the ‘boundaries’ as he struggled to find the right words to say about your breakup with Toji.

“You should take a break from work, if you think that’s what you need, I will-“ You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. Satoru doesn’t want to seem like he’s taking advantage of the situation, that’s the last thing he wants to do. As painful as it is to admit it, he knows that you love Toji. 

“Thanks. But it’s alright. We’re good, we’re just…not dating anymore.” You forced out a laugh, trying to make it better than how it really is. It’s clear to Satoru that you’re having a hard time. He could see it in your face, your eyes. Satoru remembered those times when he would do anything just to avoid looking at you and seeing how badly he broke you.

He was heartless for letting himself make you feel like that. He was stupid for letting you feel like that. 

“Thanks. But it’s alright. We’re good, we’re just…not dating anymore.” You let out a laugh, retracting your hand away as you reached for the towel to wipe your daughter’s food-stained cheek. “Megumi and Yui still play together, I mean they’re besties now, right?” Yui giggled at the mention of her friend.

As much as Satoru wants to have another chance with you, he just doesn’t think he would deserve it just like that. Also, he doesn’t think he can see you like this everyday. Now he wants to talk to Toji. If it’s because of his interactions with you then Satoru himself would volunteer to give the big guy the assurance he wants. 

It would be painful for Satoru but to see you so dull makes him want to give up his fight. If he even has some. His friends, mostly Shoko, already told him that he already lost all his chances. “You’re not a cat. You don’t get nine lives in this Satoru.” She would say and Suguru would quickly add “You used to have nine lives, actually. But you’re a dead man to her now.” It was playful but depressing talk but valid but…sad.

It was everything but playful to Satoru, no matter how much his friends tried to lighten up the delivery, it still felt like playing darts with his heart. Because he knows how much truth those words hold. He would smile and shake his head. His friends are never the ones to sugarcoat shit. 

After saying goodbye to  Y/N with his baby girl, Satoru can’t help but feel curious about your breakup. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that it’s Toji’s decision because of how you are right now. He doubts that you’d be the one to break it off. You’re a fighter, he knows that. He hates that you have to deal with these cowards of men who only know how to break.

But of course, Toji’s more deserving than him. That’s the bitter truth. Toji left for your good, while Satoru…just gave up on you back then. He will regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get you back. 

Get you back. He felt like a villain, hoping that you were the first to initiate the split. That would give Satoru so much hope. Thinking about why you did it (if you did), taunts him into assuming that maybe you still have something with him. But this isn’t right. No. Satoru should be better than this. Your happiness comes first. Even if it’s not with him.

Satoru swallowed the rushing mix of emotions that fogged his mind as he drives. It felt like swallowing needles, allowing them to go straight to his cracking heart. It’s almost impossible now, huh, to get you back? Even when you’re single again, it still feels impossible. Why is he even imagining it?

Shaking his head, he successfully parked his car, clapping his hands as he looked at Yui through the rearview mirror. “Let’s go now, my heart~” He sing-songed and the toddler eagerly reached up to him. “Tomorrow we go back to Mama, alright? She’s kinda sad, isn’t she? We gotta rescue that!” Yui cheered with him, despite not understanding what her father was saying.

Satoru knows that he can’t meddle with your relationship with Toji, no matter how much it bothers him. The least he can do is try to brighten your mood. Without any ulterior motives, of course. This is a vulnerable time for you. He doesn’t think he can stomach trying to get in through those cracks in your heart because of your failed relationship. 

It’s not the right thing to do and that’s not what a good person who truly cares would do. He can only support you, but he doesn’t plan on taking advantage of this situation. 

—-------------------------------------------------

3 months later

It’s a blessing to be a mother. It’s hard too. Especially, when your daughter won’t allow you to have a break from your ex for more than three months. “Mama!” She screamed at the top of her lungs for the hundredth time that morning. “I just took your bag, let’s go.” You wished you could’ve taken a picture of her, standing as she held the door of her room open.

“You’re so big now, baby.” Her birthday’s in a few months and you feel like crying because it felt like you just gave birth to her yesterday and now she’s turning three. Time is a thief. You wonder if so much has changed with Toji’s life too. You wouldn’t be shocked if he’s got a new girlfriend. After all, Satoru only took a few weeks to find someone new when you broke up.

That fucking stings. You told yourself and if you weren’t holding your daughter’s hand and her bag you would physically clutch your chest. The thought of being so replaceable has been a constant in your mind since Satoru and Naomi. 

And if it happens with Toji again, you’d probably just close the table for love.  You drove to the park, a meeting place you chose for the kids. You don’t want to be in Toji’s house. You don’t think you can handle that yet. 

You wondered if you’d be greeted by some new lady with him, like how Satoru received you with Naomi’s head on his chest. What if they play with the kids instead and leave you out of place during the whole play date? Or what if they leave you to watch the kids while they get some snacks, taking their time to play couple while you wait?

What if— A knock on your window broke off your train of thoughts as you took in your surroundings. That’s right. You’ve been driving and now you’re at the part. And now Toji’s shading his eyes, his hand arched over his brows as he tried to see through your windows. “Gumi!” Yui squealed, kicking in her car seat as Megumi waved from the outside. 

Toji was holding him in one hand as his bag hang loosely on Toji’s shoulder. You rolled the windows down, gulping your anxiety as you thanked the heavens that none of the scenarios in your head came true. 

“You spaced out.” He chuckled a bit awkwardly as he smiled at you. There’s something new about him. Did he really glow up after leaving you? You almost frowned but you gave him a laugh, trying to think of an excuse as to why you’re sitting absentmindedly in your car a few minutes before meeting with your ex and his child.

“I was trying to remember if I locked our door.” You laughed, gathering your things as you stepped out. “Can I hold that for you?” Toji offered as you opened Yui’s door. You thanked him softly, trying your best to seem relaxed. You don’t know if you should be glad or worried that he’s being so cool.

It could be because he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or because he doesn’t really give two shits about your relationship with him that he doesn’t even feel uneasy meeting for the first time after you broke up. 

Or maybe because he’s already moved on to someone else, he just didn’t bring her with him because he’s a respectful man. You swore you heard a voice say it and it almost convinced you that it’s your brain that wants you dead. “Yui.” Megumi’s neck stretched as he looked over your shoulder for his best friend.

“Chill, man. Your long lost bestie will be free in a minute.” He still doesn’t fail to make you laugh. You put Yui down and watched the two kids adorably and messily hug. Now you’re glad that you taught them the importance of hugs. 

“It’s cute that they’re still comfortable with each other.” You commented, pulling at your clothes as you tried to distract yourself from checking your ex out. You’re thinking hard to figure out what changed with his look. Aside from his forehead showing as the wind played with his dark hair, 

“Let’s sit there, near the seesaw. They love that.” The kids were talking in a language only they understand, pointing at stuff before laughing as if it was the funniest thing they saw while to you, it looked like nothing. You would give everything to be a kid again. Just carefree and happy. But seeing your daughter makes you realize you wouldn’t have this any other way.

“How have you been?” He started as you sat down, hugging yourself as you looked ahead at the children. To be honest, you don’t know how to answer that. Do you tell him first that you miss him? Or do you tell him first that you got a clearer understanding of the holes in your relationship with him?

“I won’t deny that I missed you.” He chuckled leaning back. “But I did some reflecting.” He paused, glancing over to you, eyes traveling across your face. “A lot of reflecting actually.” He nodded, licking his lips. Right. That’s right, you thought, referring to his looks. Aside from his hair being longer, he looked…softer. You blinked away your thoughts, clearing your vision.

“I…I’m okay.” You don’t know how to tell him it could’ve been better if he was still with you. You wondered if your relationship problems would’ve been gone now if you didn’t break up. Would it have been better by now if you kept going? “I missed you, of course. But,” You laughed airily, “I’m getting better.”

You didn’t let your breakup with Toji affect you as a mother to Yui. But if you’re talking about yourself. You’re still trying. You have lived without Toji, of course, you can still keep going now. But your split felt like a crash from cloud nine. You’ve been so soaked with your happiness with him that when he left it felt like you were slowly getting drained and dry.

He walked you into a field of roses and when you returned to your old garden you realized how dull it was. Yui was your sunshine in those days under the dark clouds. She was a sunlight that went out of its way to bring a smile on your face. “It’ll get better.” You sighed, glancing at Toji and seeing the solemn look on his face. Does he feel sorry for you? Does he feel guilty for leaving so abruptly as your baby daddy did? Does he feel—

“It doesn’t feel any better for me at all.” Toji’s not one to hide the reality of his feelings from people he feels comfortable with. It melts your heart when you think about how he loosens up with you. It makes you feel special. Though, not special enough to fight for.

“It will. Soon.” You looked down. You know that it wasn’t his intention to make you feel as if you’re making him feel guilty for choosing his peace. But it still feels like it and you don’t know what to say anymore. I’m sorry? I’m sorry that you feel sorry for me? He nodded, smiling so softly. Charming, you thought. You feel sad for the people who don't get to see this. Yes, his smirk can make one feel things but this smile…

The day went by fast, Toji invited you to dinner since a restaurant was nearby but you politely declined. It’s not that you want to. It’s just that you have to. One thing that you learned from your heartbreak with Satoru is that the more that you see them, the deeper the shards cut. 

“My mom’s coming over for dinner. Maybe next time.” Your genuine smile contradicted the lie flowing out of your lips. It was so tempting when he looked like this, but you have to stand your ground. Next time. The two words reverberated inside Toji’s head and that was enough to push aside the disappointment he felt when you declined. 

“That’s alright. There’s always a next time.” It sounded as if he was reassuring himself, emphasizing that you’re fine with meeting him and Megumi again next time. This is enough for now. After all, he still has to reflect on a couple of things regarding your breakup. But everything always seems to be pointing him back to you. 

—————————

“Just call me when you’re ready to go, and I’ll pick you up.” Satoru’s words before he left you and Yui earlier started to get twisted inside Toji’s head. Now that Toji has let you go, Satoru’s just waiting for your go signal so he can pick you up again. He swallowed dryly, faking a smile when you looked back at him, laughing at whatever the kids did that he didn’t see.

Time flew by fast but that image of you leaning towards Satoru so that he could give his daughter a kiss as he said that to you has been stuck in Toji’s head all day. The kids were drinking juice with small towels around their shoulders. “I can, uh, I can just drive you home, you know? I mean, so that Satoru wouldn’t have to drive all the way here again.” He suggested, wiping off some of the water droplets in his son’s body.

“It’s alright, he’s already on his way anyway and he owes Yui a kitty cake that they didn’t get to buy last time.” You smiled at him, before asking to leave to give Yui a quick warm shower. Toji would’ve wanted to chat a bit more with you. Just spend more time with you. He couldn’t ask for so much of it now. It felt like it would be too much of an imposition for him to do so. 

After a couple of minutes, the doorbell rang and he placed Megumi on one of the rugs, reminding him to stay there so he won’t slip. He sighed, running to his gate, knowing that it would be Satoru and of course, since you’re still getting Yui ready, the polite thing to do is to let him sit and maybe, entertain your baby daddy a bit.

“Oh, come on in. She’s just getting Yui ready.” His voice was almost monotonous, the nod of his head was another way to be a bit more ‘friendly’ to the guy. “You a fan of iced tea?” Toji cleared his throat with Satoru following behind him. Megumi was still on the rug, staring off into space. Toji can’t help but laugh when Satoru waved a hand at his face.

“Yui Dad.” He looked up, waving his small hand despite the blank look on his face. “He really looks like you.” Satoru commented, “Except his hair.” Toji placed a pitcher on the counter, pouring a glass for the man, something he didn’t think he would ever do. “I’m glad you and Y/N are doing better,” Toji spoke after a couple of minutes of silence. 

“Yeah,” Satoru nodded, holding Megumi’s hand as he tried to walk towards Toji. “We’re getting more used to this co-parenting thing. Figured out it was healthier for all of us when we’re not constantly arguing about something.” Toji doesn’t know if it’s right to say it but it already came out of his mouth before he realized it.

“The both of you single made it better, eh?” He didn’t mean it to start something with Satoru again, it’s just that that is the first thing that popped up in his head when he heard him. “Yes and No.” Satoru answered before he could even back it up with something lighthearted. “Me being single, yes. Because Naomi was basically a wedge, one cause of the problems that used to arise between us. And no, because no problem arises directly from you regarding those arguments.” He shrugged, taking a sip before continuing. 

“Actually, I don’t even know why you broke up with her, if I’m going to be frank I trusted you with my family already, why did you even left her?” He’s saying a lot more now than before. Definitely a healthier man. And he seems like he’s back to his real self now. Toji might even assume he’s drunk if only you didn’t mention that he doesn’t handle liquor well.

“I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, alright? I want you to love her because you truly love her, but come on, man, there’s no threat.” Yui definitely takes after her father. Very talkative, Toji thought. Inhaling, he gathered his thoughts and which aspect of what Satoru has said he should focus on, “I don’t know.” Was his short answer. 

“I mean… I was worried. I don’t know if she’s really over you. I don’t want her to keep hurting by my side.” It was quiet. Satoru didn’t speak, allowing Toji to continue. “Plus, I fear that she will forever feel like she just comes second to my wife. To be honest, I feel that with her too. With you being her first.” Toji felt surprised at his honesty. He just hopes that you won’t overhear this.

“You’re the present. I’m her past.” It felt bitter for Satoru to say, “I’m starting to accept that now. I’m just contented that I can be with my daughter and that I take care of them even from the sidelines.” 

But Satoru would forever wish it didn't have to be like that. 

“I’m not playing matchmaker. I just want what’s best for her. Even if it’s not me, Toji.” He stood up, sighing as he heard footsteps coming closer. You came in struggling to carry a barefoot, laughing little girl, a towel and her bag. “Dada!” She screamed with a smile as she tries to get away from you. “You’ll slip!” You warned her and Satoru quickly went closer to take her in his arms. 

Toji sat there for a minute more, processing the man’s words. The best for you. If he’s going to ask Satoru about it, he’d say that if he has to pick someone for Y/N, Toji will be a top candidate. Aside from the fact that he’s a good man who truly cares for her, he also easily understands your situation because he has a child of his own too.

It’s safe to say that right now, you’re the only man that Satoru feels is safe to leave his daughter and baby momma with. His past mistakes and horrible decisions put him in this place and the least that he could do to make it all up to you is support you and whatever makes you happy as long as it’s good for you and his child.

“We’ll be going now, thank you, Toji.” Only then has Toji realize that he’s been staring at the three of you now and his baby boy who’s trying to hug Yui as her father puts on her shoes. “Uh, yeah. Let me walk you guys out.” He licked his lips, blinking fast as he tried to snap himself back to reality. “Come on, Megs. After this, you take a bath, alright?” He picked him up, wrapping a towel around his body.

“Come again. Please.” Satoru laughed as the little boy waved, probably worried that it would take months for his little friend to come over again. “She’ll be back soon, bro. Chill.” That’s wild, Toji thought, He just called my son ‘bro’. Before you could even get on the other side of the car, Toji has made up his mind. “Uhm, Y/N.” You looked up at him, for some reason, eyes shining with what seemed to be…hope.

“Can we come over sometime?” Megumi’s little cheer made your smile wider, nodding at them, “Of course..” You felt like a teen, worried that you answered too quickly, “Anything for that ‘gumi smile.” You played it off cool but kept your eyes on Toji the whole time. 

You didn’t hear anything about what he and Satoru talked about. But it was nice to know that they’re starting to get along. Inside, Satoru was fixing his daughter’s things, somehow glad that he couldn’t hear whatever the of two of you were talking about because no matter how happy he is for you, he’d always break into smaller pieces each time he saw you smile and look at Toji like that.

He knows. Because you used to look at him like that. 

Albeit, crossed with pain and longing, you used to look at him with so much love. Overflowing. And then, along with the tears he caused. It felt like acid in his stomach, threatening to spill out of his mouth whenever he thought of what you went through because of him. But now you’re happy. 

He didn’t know that love would show him that some people are worth being pulverized for.  

The car door opened just as he pretended to find something inside the glove compartment and he swallowed the pang in his chest at the glow on your face. “Gumi, babye! Gumi, babye!” His child screams behind him, waving her hands back at her playmate. “You ready to go?” He asked you and you hummed, glee evident even in the small sound. 

With that, the two of you waved at Toji and Megumi, pulling out of their driveway. You smiled at the shared nods between Toji and Satoru before speeding down the road to the bakery where Satoru usually buy Yui’s cakes. Your mind kept going back to Toji. Maybe you’re being delusional but you can’t help but feel like he had to gather the courage to ask you that very last-minute question. 

He feels like a…high school crush. 

And maybe he’s being a high school crush because a week later, he shows up at your doorstep dressed like a heartthrob with a kid in oversized sunglasses and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

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[mixingandmelting]

Hello! I was wondering if you'd quite something based on the bat boys (or just Jason) reaction to realizing they liked having a normal life?

Like they go to visit the readers' family for Xmas, but their family left without letting them know, so they had the whole house to themselves, so they got to play house. It was in a whole other state, so no needing to be vigilantes. Just them with their s/o getting ready for Christmas, being shown around and just living a normal life for a few weeks.

A/N: Hope you don't mind me not writing about Duke and Damian since they're both minors so legally speaking they can't really travel out-of-state alone. Plus to be real, I highly doubt Batman would want to leave Damian unsupervised considering what happens when he's alone 😔

Dick:

His whole life he was anything but normal, being raised in a circus and now, fighting crimes 24/7. Excitement, action, danger, and adventures are what defines him and how he had always dreamt of how his life would go on. But here he is, tasting “normal” for the first time in his life by spending the holiday with you in the house you were raised in. Snowball fights and building snowmen delays the process of clearing the snow. Not to forget the snow angels that are made once he playfully tackles you down into the snow after you manage to get more on him than yourself. Putting up the lights and decoration both inside and outside of the house was more fun than the times he helped out at the Wayne manor, while finding out shopping for anything during the holiday season is a battle of its own. Adding that to the daily routine that’s usually gone through on his days off every day,  it’s… quiet and peaceful. He doesn’t wake up to sirens or violence. He’s not worried about another mission, instead figuring out how he’ll get your present under the tree without getting caught. You greeting him at the door, placing a kiss on his cheeks that are slightly bitten from frost when it’s decided he’s moving the snow on his own makes him so fuzzy, he starts calling you honey over babe. The most mind boggling about this? He doesn't mind it. It’s hard to accept that he actually likes “normal”. He’s confused over liking a concept that’s completely foreign to him and with his personality, he won’t last long with living with “normal” forever. The happy couple/marriage vibe though? He’s on board and digs it, one-hundred percent. Especially in a house filled with childhood memories, it’s giving him ideas and changing what he perhaps would want in the future in ways he wouldn’t think of back then.

Jason:

Considering his childhood and how he went through the whole reincarnation cycle of dying and then reviving, it’s a desire he had as a kid but gave up right away. He didn’t even fathom that a day would come where he would experience what it would be like to be normal. Walking around and staying in the typical home most average people live in made him tense the first three days, even more so knowing this was where you lived since a child. Moving snow with you becomes his favorite pastime, where you’d distract from getting the job done and have him chase after you from the snowball that hits his back. Or bringing out steaming hot chocolate so his nose and hands would stop feeling as if they’re ready to fall off from the cold after cleaning up and helping you build a snow fort of all things. His hands are frequently on your waist from holding you up to string the lights and hang the decorations after you frown from his “aesthetic” way of placing them, pushing him to move aside so you could show how a real pro does it. It’s also his first time struggling to find time to get a present behind your back from being with you all the time. Eating meals together, taking walks together around the neighborhood and city, acting as bodyguard during grocery and Christmas shopping, spending time together as a couple in general in a house that’s warm, cozy, and peaceful as Jason Todd is a first. Not as Robin once dead and revived or Red Hood, the violent outlaw.  It’s a wish once buried in his heart on top of another where he’s spending time with you that comes true before the holiday. He’s emotional from being so happy, he doesn’t think of anything else other than wanting to live like this for the rest of his life.

Tim:

Contrary to the stereotypes depicted by the media, rich kids don’t spend time with their family; it's usually spent with their nanny as their parents leave them for long periods of time in a house too large for two people. Sure over the years he has healed with his friends and a new family. But it feels like a dream come true with you. He’s laughing and enjoying the soft fluffiness of white that gets all over him, freezing his nose and hands when he tries to clear the snow. He gets into it with you over how the lights and decorations should be placed inside and outside the house when you mentioned you want to outdo your neighbors, a set of blueprints and sketches drawn while debating that rainbow lights were better than the flickering, white ones. To much of his chagrin, he’s fumbling with all the things you toss at him when he helps you shop, him being in charge of the shopping cart as he stays in-line as you grab and bring back what’s needed in the store. Not that he’s complaining, his face suddenly tinted in red when you come back and slip your hand between his hand and the handle during the wait for the next opened cashier. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t struggle with getting you a Christmas present and placing it under the tree. He had been keeping tabs since the day after Valentine’s Day on the things you’ve been looking at while relying on your habits he memorized to time things perfectly. Similar to Jason, he, too, wanted to live normally like any other person. Him getting to do that by prepping for the holiday with you heals the child in him, making him content and wishing the time the two of you currently have lasts forever.

[beneathsilverstars]

A lot of people headcanon that Siffrin was something around 12-14 when the island disappeared, which does make sense. But it’s common enough fanon that I wanted to go back and figure out what’s actually canon!

Lots of evidence and math under the cut, including various things to consider when creating your own hc timeline, but tl;dr:

If we stick to only textual canon, then Siffrin only needs to have been old enough to row a boat, which I would guess to be 6-8. If we take into account the ranges id5 gave for everyone’s ages during canon, he theoretically could’ve been anywhere from 6-25 when the island disappeared. Or if we adhere to everything id5 has said, then he was a “teen” when it happened, so, 13-19.

Siffrin: I ran away from home once! I just didn't want to eat my veggies. And so I took our boat! Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit. I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit! I started to row back towards the shore... And then, I...

People often assumes this means Siffrin was fairly young when they left. However, that relies on two assumptions, which are fairly reasonable, sure, but assumptions nonetheless: that they were young when this happened, and that this is when the island disappeared.

While throwing tantrums over vegetables is a stereotypically childish activity, chafing at strict or even well-meaning rules doesn’t belong exclusively to children. There are parents who continue treating their kids the same way even as they grow into teens and even full adults, before they move out or even just while they visit. Which is very frustrating for the kid! So imo it would make perfect sense for a teenager or even a young adult to go, “I can’t believe my parent is still trying to control what I eat like I’m a blinding 10 year old. If they won’t treat me like an adult at home, maybe I’ll prove my independence by leaving for a bit!”

It’s also possible that the event this dialogue refers to ended with Siffrin returning safely home! It’s fun to say that his story trailed off at the moment that the island was forgotten, but it’s possible he only stopped the retelling there because the curse kicked in, just like it would for any childhood memory. Maybe he didn’t get cut off from the island till he ran away for a second time. Maybe he was just on a regular, fully-sanctioned outing when it happened. Maybe he was even with other people. Who knows! Siffrin sure doesn’t!

(Edit: It’s word of god canon that the veggie event was the island’s disappearance, but it doesn’t necessarily affect our timeline anyway.)

I think the only thing this story proves is that Siffrin didn’t leave the island until after they were old enough to row the family boat. Unfortunately I don’t know for sure how old that would be. I did some research and found a couple posts about 6-7 year olds learning how to row, but one of them was using an inflatable raft, and the other was on a rowing team, so I don’t know how the difficulty compares. Young children really are quite good at picking up their parents’ hobbies, so I think even a 4-5 year old could learn how, but they may not be physically capable of handling an adult-size boat. It really comes down to a question of core strength / endurance. Found some posts saying the weight of the boat doesn’t matter as much as the weight of the oars, though, so maybe old fashioned boat vs modern inflatable raft doesn’t matter that much…? So maybe it would be possible for a child to row a small wooden skiff at around age 6-8. Probably not for long, but that just makes it all the more realistic for them to drift farther than they meant to and then struggle to return to shore.

So: Siffrin was at least 6-8 when they left!

Bonnie: I think my village was really close to it!!! My sister said it was all everyone could talk about for weeks!!!

If we assume “my village” means Bambouche, the island disappearance would have to be after Nille ran away with Bonnie, but still long enough ago that Bonnie doesn’t remember it directly. If we define “preteen” as age 10-12, then the longest ago this could possibly be would be 12 years. On the other side, I think it’s reasonable for a 10 year old to not remember a major (but personally irrelevant) event that happened when they were 6, meaning the closest it could be is 4 years ago.

If we follow WoG (word of god) age ranges, then Siffrin is in their “mid to late 20s”, which I’ll define as 24-29. Subtracting our 4-12 years ago range for the island’s disappearance, Siffrin could’ve been at youngest 12-17 and at oldest 20-25. If we stick to only TC (textual canon), I think one could interpret Siffrin as anywhere from 18-35, which would mean they were at youngest 6-23 and at oldest 14-31.

Of course, “my village” could also mean wherever Bonnie and Nille lived before running away. I think the youngest age at which it’s likely for an adult to remember a personally-irrelevant event from their childhood is maybe 5. Nille’s WoG age range is “late teens to early 20s”, which I would define as 16-23, which means the disappearance could be 11-18 years ago. Combining this with our 4-12 range gives us 4-18, meaning WoG Siffrin could have been at youngest 6-11 and at oldest 20-25.

But if we’re only going off of TC, we can say Nille’s as old as we want, so the disappearance just has to be at least 4 years ago for Bonnie to not directly remember.

Isabeau: This article says there's no record of him anywhere... Up until he appeared out of thin air sometime in his adulthood. Looks like he lived in the city of Corbeaux for a few years before he became the King...

According to the change god statue exposition cutscene, the King started his rampage “almost a year ago now”. The way Isabeau says the bit about Corbeaux kind of implies that the King lived other places before that, but not to the point that it’s unreasonable to say he didn’t. So if we define “a few” as 2-4, then the soonest the king could’ve appeared is 3-5 years ago, meaning the island disappeared at least 3 years ago. We already said it has to be at least 4 years ago, so this doesn’t change our math.

How old were Nille and Bonnie when they ran away? How old was Sif when their home got zapped?

id5: Both were teens.

Womp womp, there it is. WoG says 13-19!

But while we’re here, here’s a summary of everything you might want to consider while creating your timeline:

Siffrin must have been at least old enough to row a boat. I’m not an expert in boats but I think it’s reasonable for a kid to be capable of rowing at age 6+, but a 6-8 year old may struggle to maneuver the oars of an adult-sized boat, and wouldn’t be able to row very hard or for very long. Doesn’t necessarily take much effort to get far enough for waves and currents to take you farther, though.

It’s WoG that the veggie event is the island’s disappearance, but if you’re going off of TC, the disappearance could have happened later instead. And a dramatic disagreement over veggies could theoretically happen at any age! Its causes could also range from rather practical (Siffrin is extremely picky and his parents are worried about his health) to pure power struggle (Siffrin just wants more choice in what he eats but his parents just want him to follow the rules they’ve set).

Since the King lived in Corbeaux for “a few” years before his nearly-a-year-long rampage, the island must have disappeared at least 3 years ago.

Since Bonnie remembers Nille telling them about the gossip surrounding the island’s disappearance, I doubt they would’ve forgotten the gossip itself if it had happened somewhat recently. (I think it must have been at least 4 years ago.)

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means Bambouche, the disappearance must have occurred after Nille ran away with them.

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means wherever they lived with Nille before running away, then the disappearance could be before Bonnie was born. But it would still have to be when Nille was old enough to pay attention to the gossip and remember it for a while. (I think she must have been at least 5 years old when it happened.)

According to id5, Siffrin is in their mid-to-late twenties during the game, and Nille is in their late teens to early twenties.

According to id5, Siffrin was a teen when the island disappeared, and Nille was a teen when she ran away from home.

You can do whatever you want forever, including contradicting textual canon. ^^

[senipsenipsenip]

The Pines family sat at the table, quietly eating their breakfast, when Mabel slammed her hands on the table and shouted “KERMIT THE FROG”.

Dipper leapt forward to right his orange juice glass, gathering nearby napkins to sop up the puddle. “What?”

“Kermit the frog! He plays the banjo!”

“Yyyyes?”

Ford raised his hand. “Who’s Kermit the Frog?”

Stan snapped his head up from his plate. “Who’s Kermit the Frog? The Muppets, Pointdexter, you were around for The Muppet Show. They had a movie and everything.”

Ford frowned. “Muppets.”

“Yeah, they’re a riot! There’s this bear whose got some great puns and this pig who really know how to throw a punch. You’d love it, they’ve even got a scientist!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of children’s television.”

“Children?!”

Dipper stirred his cereal. “I’m just impressed you remember all that. Yesterday you forgot you were married.”

“That’s because The Muppets are forever!” Mabel exclaimed.

“Wait, Stanley you were married?”

“Yep. Twice. Actually, unless I’m forgetting a divorce, I might still be married.”

“You didn’t,” Mabel chirped. “I’d have it on my Romance Chart if you did. You’ve missed a lot of anniversaries.”

“So has he!” Stan argued. “I’m not the only bad husband here!”

Ford spluttered. “Husband?”

Dipper frowned. “I think we’re getting a little too far away from why Mabel screamed Kermit the Frog and knocked my orange juice over.”

Mabel nodded. “Right, so, I was thinking of Mr. McGucket -

“Stanley you have a husband?“

“I was thinking of Mr. McGucket,” Mabel interrupted. “And how he could maybe help around the Shack. And he plays banjo! He could play banjo and people could put money in his lil banjo case like a real musician.”

At the mention of money, Stan leaned forward.

“But like, no one knows banjo music,” Mabel continued. “So I was like, maybe pop hits banjo? But then BOOM! Kermit the Frog! People love that frog. He could play the rainbow song. He’d be a hit!”

“Interesting,” Stan muttered. “Preying on people’s nostalgia to milk them for cash. I love it!”

Ford hummed. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, Mabel. Activities like playing musical instruments have been proven to help patients with Alzheimers and dementia. Not that Fiddleford’s condition has the same root cause, but it may prove beneficial to memory recovery.”

“Eugh, don’t ruin this for me.”

“If playing an instrument helps with memory loss, maybe Grunkle Stan should learn an instrument,” Dipper suggested.

“Ooo!” Mabel squealed. “What about guitar? Or the piano? OH!” She clutched Stan’s arm with a fervor. “The triangle!”

Ford grimaced. “Maybe not that one.”

“Sorry, kid. I’m not exactly a music guy,” Stan shrugged out of Mabel’s grasp. “Let’s leave that to the professionals.”

Mabel frowned, but let the topic go.

Ford stood from the table. “Well, I happen to be visiting Fiddleford this afternoon. I can broach the topic and see what he thinks.”

Fiddleford, as it turns out, loved the idea. To the surprise of everyone, Fiddleford admitted that he had always wanted to play in a jugband when he was younger, but could never get over his stage fright enough to audition for the local band. Then he went off to college and then…everything else.

“Maybe I zapped away that scared bit enough to play!” he had cackled, knocking at the side of his head with his knuckles.

It was settled. “Fiddlin’ Fridays at the Mystery Shack with Fiddleford McGucket”. Dipper tried to point out the title didn’t make sense since it was a banjo, not a fiddle. Stan argued that “customers are suckers for alliteration”. The set up was just Fiddleford dragging an old rocking chair onto the porch and opening up his banjo case. Mabel had made a large glittery banner, but it was quickly absconded by Fiddleford’s raccoon.

“Tell your wife to give me back my banner!” Mabel had yelled, chasing the raccoon into the bushes.

“Ex-wife,” Fiddleford sighed sadly. “Apparently I was too emotionally available.”

Ford pulled at his hair. “Did everyone get married without telling me?”

“Excuse me?” A voice piped up. Fiddleford and Ford turned to see a little boy standing at the bottom of the porch. He was dressed in hiking clothes that were obviously new. In the distance, a young woman was unstrapping a baby from its seat in an SUV. Obviously city folk coming to the “wilderness” for the first time.

“Are you a real hillbilly?” The boy asked. Suddenly the door slammed open, Mr. Mystery striding through, eyepatch in place.

“Sure is!” Stan grinned. “Our very own genuine hillbilly just waiting to play you a tune! All you gotta do is put some of your mom’s money in his case there.”

The little boy’s eyes widened, turning around to race towards his mother.

“Stanley,” Ford admonished. “Fiddleford isn’t some show monkey to throw money at.”

“During work hours he is.” Stan turned to Fiddleford. “So, did Mabel teach you that song she was so excited about?”

Fiddleford sat frozen, watching the little boy yank at his mothers pants to try and get her attention, the baby beginning to fuss.

“Well…” Fiddleford cleared his throat. “Some good news and bad news fellas.”

Ford furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“Good news is, my mind ain’t all broken.” Fiddleford hugged his banjo and turned to look up at Ford. “Bad news is I knows it ‘cause I still got stage fright.”

Stan scoffed. “Stage fright? C’mon it’s one kid and a couple o’ city slickers who would probably think you playing three wrong notes and spitting is ‘authentic’.”

“Stanley, be supportive.”

“I am! Look I’ve been at this job forever. All you gotta do is smile and if something goes wrong, you blame a ghost or something. They eat that up.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “But this is music. If’n I mess up music, ‘specially somethin’ they know. Music is real special to people, I can’t spoil it.”

Ford knelt down next to Fiddleford’s chair. “You don’t have to play that song Fiddleford. You don’t have to play at all.”

Fiddleford looked anxiously between Ford and the family. It seemed the little boy had finally gotten his mother’s attention and was excitedly pointing toward the porch.

“I…” Fiddleford shook his head. “I can’t let the little ‘uns down. ‘Specially not those ones.” As he said this, he gestured with his chin towards the other end of the porch where Dipper and Mabel sat bickering in lawn chairs. Mabel had returned from her raccoon chase covered in twigs and holding a surprisingly docile raccoon. Dipper was leaning away from the pair while trying to convince Mabel to stop feeding it gummy worms before it developed a taste for human food and tried breaking into the Shack.

Ford's gaze drifted to the twins. "Alright," he relented. "But you still don't have to play Mabel's song."

Fiddleford bowed his head.

"Yet!" Ford offered. "Not yet. She'll understand I'm sure."

Fiddleford frowned, looking unconvinced.

"Of course not yet!" Stan interjected. "You can't go playing the grand finale right out of the gate! You gotta warm 'em up first, keep 'em wanting more." Stan slapped his hand on Fiddleford's back. "If you give 'em what they want right away, they won't come back! Hold that one off until tomorrow or...uh...next week. Tease it or something."

Stan had started rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand as he spoke, a tell Ford was quick to recognize. It was the same one he did when he would "begrudgingly" let Mabel choose the movie for movie night or let Dipper rope him into another game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Covering the most vulnerable part of his body while he let his emotions go soft.

Fiddleford seemed to perk up at Stan's words.

"Well," Fiddleford offered. "I do know some proper jugband music. Only, it don't have the same ring to it without a jug."

"We've got a jug!" Mabel cheered from the other side of the porch. It seemed the raccoon argument had reached enough of a truce that the twins were once again paying attention to the concert. "I used to keep pond water in it, it's in the kitchen!" She hopped off of her chair, lugging the racoon along with her like it was a rather expensive lap cat.

Dipper followed her. "Why did you have a jug of pond water?"

"Because, dummy, if I met a frog prince he would need something in the shack to remind him of home."

"Aren't you supposed to turn him into a person though?"

Whatever Mabel's retort was to be was cut off by the door swinging shut.

"There ya go," Stan grumbled. "You're getting your jug. Just in time too." He gestured toward the SUV. The mother was walking toward the Shack, one hand holding the baby, the other gripping tightly to the little boy's hand. The little boy gripped a few dollars in his fist, eyes alight with excitement.

Fiddleford looked frantic. "I can't sing and play the jug at the same time!" He gripped at his hat, pulling it down over his ears.

Ford sighed. "Then don't play the jug."

"It won't be the same!" Fiddleford shook his head. "A jugband without a jug that's...that's like a body with no heartbeat!"

The door swung open and Mabel emerged with an old ceramic jug.

"Here it is!" she exclaimed. "And it only sort of smells like pond scum."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Ford smiled gently. "It seems Fiddleford can't play both simultaneously."

Mabel frowned. "But it's a jugband. It's in the name!"

"How about we wait another day," Ford offered, patting Fiddleford awkwardly on the back. "Maybe someone in town will join you."

"Oh for Pete's sake, give it to me." Stan snatched the jug out Mabel's hand, sniffing at the top and giving a grimace.

Fiddleford stopped pulling at his hat, peeking out from under the brim. "You'll play?"

Stan grunted. "I'm not missing out on good money just because you have a case of the heebie jeebies. Besides, how hard can it be? It's like blowing on the top of a beer...er...I mean soda bottle."

Dipper crossed his arms. "Grunkle Stan, we know what beer is."

"Not from me you don't."

Mabel squealed. "It's happening! Grunkle Stan is learning an instrument!"

"It's not an instrument, Pumpkin. It's dishware."

"It's a scrapbookortunity!"

Mabel dashed into the house once more, leaving Dipper to grin at their Grunkle Stan.

The family was only a few yards away now. Fiddleford looked between Stan, Ford, and Dipper, and straightened up in his seat.

"Alright. Alright!" He clapped his hands together. "Stanley, you get down here with me, otherwise your feet are gonna get mighty sore from standing." He yanked at Stanley's hand until he sat beside the rocking chair with a grumble.

"Now when I tap my foot," Fiddleford instructed. "You blow on the jug. One short note at a time." Fiddleford tapped his foot in demonstration. "You got that?"

Stanley rolled his eyes. "Gee, I don't know. Seems pretty complicated for the guy without a PhD."

Mabel burst through the door, camera clutched in her hands. "Got it!"

"Excuse me?"

The little boy stood on the porch, approaching the banjo case with far more trepidation than before. Eyes darting between the assembly, he dropped a few dollars in the case.

"Is this enough to play a song?"

Fiddleford didn't bother looking at the money. He turned his gaze to Stanley, who shrugged and raised the jug to his lips.

Fiddleford grinned. "You know ‘Boodle Am Shake’?"

The little boy shook his head.

"Well you're about to!" And with that he was off.

By Fiddleford's standards, it wasn't a horribly complicated tune. Ford had heard him pluck out more complex riffs while waiting for the coffee pot in their dorm room to brew. But Fiddleford was smiling. His shoulders had dropped from around his ears, and he was nodding at the little boy to tap his feet along with him. Ford hid his smile behind his hands as he watched Stanley, eyes focused on Fiddleford's bare foot with as much attention as one would give to diffusing a bomb. Next to him, Mabel was snapping pictures of the pair. Dipper stood on his other side, wearing the small smile he tended to get when feeling introspective. Ford laid his hand on Dipper's shoulder, and Dipper leaned into the touch.

The mother was smiling at her little boy, her baby having finally stopped fussing. Maybe it wasn't the grand attraction Mabel had planned, but Ford thought it was worth far more than those few dollars anyway. Nothing could be worth more than his family standing around him, his closest friend singing again.

I know this song, it don't mean a doggone thing. Just do that good old Charleston swing. When you sing...

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They���re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

[plomegranate]

i love palestinian and arab culture so much.

my grandma wearing thobes around the house and making us tamriyeh. my cousins wedding when we all wore thobes and keffiyehs and took photos downtown and we danced with someone playing the guitar on the street and this lady stopping us to tell us we all looked so beautiful. walking the graduation stage in a thobe. the girl who liked to guess arab peoples ethnicities telling me "you're wearing tatreez... do you want me to write 'palestinian' on your forehead?" the keffiyeh my brother keeps on the drivers seat of his car.

my dad sending me off to my last semester of college with 2 pomegranates and a jar of palestinian olive oil. my cousins wife coming up with new ways to make zaatar and cheese pastries. me and my grandma sitting on the floor and making waraq 3neb- my job was to separate the leaves so she could roll them easier. my mom sending me and my brother to school with eid cookies for my teachers and tasking us with delivering some to the neighbors. my aunt glaring at me and piling more food on my plate and then asking if i was still hungry (i wasnt). my mom always telling me to invite my friends and cousins over for dinner and asking me what they like to eat. my family getting my dad knafeh instead of cake for his birthday. the man who told me i made the "best fetteh in the western hemisphere".

the man in the shawarma shop who gave me my fries for free and baklava i didnt order because we spoke about being palestinian while he took my order. the person on tumblr who i bonded with because we are from the same palestinian city. the girl i met on campus who exclaimed "youre palestinian? me too!" because i was wearing my keffiyeh. the girl in my class that showed me the artwork about palestine her dad made and donated for fundraising. the couple in the grocery store who noticed my palestinian shirt and talked with me for 20 minutes and ended up being a family friend. the silly palestinian kids i tutored sighing in disappointment when i told them i was born in america because they were hoping that id have been born "somewhere cooler". my friends family who bought me dinner despite me being there by chance and having met me for the first time the day before.

the boys starting uncoordinated dabke lines in my high school's hallways. the songs about the longing and love for our land. the festivals and parties and gatherings where everything smells like shisha and oud. memories of waiting in the car for an hour as my parents talked at the doorway of their friends homes. my cousins and i showing up at each others homes with cake or fruit or games as if it was the first time we ever visited even though we always say "you dont have to".

kids stubbornly helping to clean and make tea after a meal while being told to go sit down because they are guests. the necklaces in the shape of our home countries. people hugging and laughing and acting as if theyve known each other for years because they come from the same city or know people with the same last name. the day i finally got to bully my friends into letting me pay the bill because i had a job and they were still students. my moms friend who calls us every time she's at the grocery store to see if we need something

palestinian people are so resilient and hardworking and charitable. they love their culture and their community and are so quick to share and welcome anyone in. everyday i am so thankful and proud to be part of such a warm and lovely culture

[mintmatcha]

i second that other ask more of that sero x reader I beg

cw: depression, mentions of unhealthy weight loss

Kirishima hasn't seen you for days. When he knocks on your door, he can hear you moving around inside, but you never answer. The meals his mother makes sit on your welcome mat until they start to rot and he's forced to bring them back inside.

He knows it's because of Sero. He just doesn't know what to do about it.

It's one night that he manages to trap you by the apartment's garbage bin. You're carrying a box that's overfilled with things, wearing sweatpants and a dreadfully oversized top.

"Hey!" He tries to keep his voice friendly, unconcerned. "I've missed you!"

The roundness of your face is puffy and ruddy from crying. You shrug, eyes cast low. Your frame is thinner, but in a way that looks gaunt and unhealthy.

"Been busy."

"My mom wants you to come over for dinner soon," he tries. "She said she'll made whatever you want-- hey, are you throwing out your anime stuff?"

The box in your arms is stuffed with plastic pieces and ripped scraps of paper, most brightly colored, some back and white. It's the unmistakable hues of anime merch, carelessly jammed into a box and purposefully ruined.

"Yeah." With no preamble, you hoist the box into the garbage and let it fall with a thud. "I don't want it anymore."

Something doesn't feel right in his chest. It's raw, like an exposed nerve, begging for attention.

"What?" he tries to laugh. "That's crazy. Your apartment's gonna be so empty."

You don't react to that. All you do is scuff your slipper against the concrete, back and forth, as if you're just waiting for this to be over. You'd never been a social person, but this feels different. It's like you're not there anymore, gone behind the eyes.

"I'm sorry. About Sero being an asshole." Kirishima blurts out. "He shouldn't have-"

"Don't, Kirishima." You've never called him by his family name before. "It's my own fault."

You dip around him and his trash bag to go back inside, no goodbye, no eye contact. Just like that, you're gone, and he's left standing there, under the fluorescent street lamp with his quaking, horrible sickness brewing inside him.

It rocks in his stomach all night, so badly that he can't eat breakfast. By lunch, he's starving, but Sero has sat himself on Momo's desk and the memory of how dad you looked makes bile bite the back of his throat.

"You okay, buddy?" Fatgum asks that night during his internship work. Tamaki watches silently, but with an equally concerned look. Kirishima thinks that you two would have gotten along-- and that thought nearly makes him throw up. "You haven't eaten anything."

For once, Kirishima is aware of how young sixteen really is, how helpless youth can leave him. He's just a kid and he's dealing with too much.

"I think there's something wrong with my friend."

The next few weeks go quickly. One day, you're there. The next, the apartment is up for rent. Both Fatgum and his mom reassure him that you're okay, just back home with your parents for the time being. He asks if he can visit, and his mom just gives him that look she always does.

"Oh, Eijiro." his mother cups his cheek. "You're a sweet boy."

The next day, Sero is talking to some girl in class B. Kirishima'a stomach still goes sour.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Grandparent x GN! Reader

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was monochrome and seamlessly endless. Waking up every day for the same routine, work, eat and sleep. Some socializing here and there and spending time with their family, but not feeling any sort of true happiness or enjoyment from it.

- Yandere Grandparent who simply followed what school, their parents and peers told them. Study, get a good job, marry and have a child or two.

- Yandere Grandparent who might not have been the best parental figure to their own kids, perhaps abusive? Negligent? Absent? What about their spouse? Perhaps leaving them all the housework, childcare or money making?

- They weren’t even that interested when their children married. Not really caring at that point of their lives either, just waiting for the inevitable death to come to them and, perhaps then, it would be more entertaining.

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was finally given color and light the moment their eyes landed on you, their first grandchild. They weren’t excited when they got the news, just curious. What a pay off it was to endure the nagging of their spouse and the annoying traffic to find little, chubby adorable you in their offspring’s arms.

- Yandere Grandparent who truly smiles for the first time when your eyes open and you smile at them! Their eyes watering a bit when they get to hold you for the first time, and refusing to let go when you hold one of their fingers in your soft baby hand.

- Yandere Grandparent who felt love for the first time ever and who promised that they’ll look after you, in this life and the many new ones to come.

- Yandere Grandparent who visits practically every day to visit their little niece and spoil them with affections. From treats to toys to cute clothes, they would happily spent all their savings to give you a smile.

- Yandere Grandparent who insists to their children to continue to go out for some dates with their partner! You two are so young after all! And don’t you worry about their little niece, for Yandere Grandparent will happily look after them! It doesn’t matter what their own spouse says, their opinion is irrelevant to them and they will have no problem ignoring them if necessary.

- Yandere Grandparent who secretly wishes their kids turn out to be abusive so they can be your legal guardian and keep you all for themselves! Oh, and their spouse too, of course. As long as they aren’t too much of a pain.

- Yandere Grandparent who is so, so, so happy that whatever higher deity out there gifted them a living proof that happiness is real and that they can actually love like a normal person. Well, their definition of normal, of course.

- Yandere Grandparent who is overbearing and it’s pretty much involved in every single thing you do. They attend every recital, show, competition and event that you might be involved in! Always bringing their special camera for their special album of memories of you and with your favorite drinks and snacks on their bag as a little treat.

- Yandere Grandparent who offers a heavy amount of financial support to your parents so that you can go to the best schools or have the best tutors available. They don’t want you to suffer in this horrible world like they did! So let Gran-Gran decide the best and easiest path of success for you! They know what they are doing.

- Yandere Grandparent who tells you so many stories about their lives and gives you the best advice they can offer, as well as 100% support in whatever thing you want to do or are interested in! That includes siding with you in every possible argument between you and your parents.

- Yandere Grandparent who knows that they will definitely die before you, but are willing to prolong that due date the most they can. And who will leave their entire inheritance to you, so you’ll have a happier life.

- Yandere Grandparent who, at their last moments, smiles at you while holding your hand and muttering a final “I love you, sweetie…” before peacefully dying.

- Yandere Grandparent whose soul will continue to protect you even in the afterlife, for even death itself will never be able to break the bond of love they always had for their adorable niece.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: Floyd, I'm going to give you your own shopping cart. Try to get back to me after five minutes, okay?

Floyd's child self: Are you telling me to fit everything from this aisle to that isle in this small, shopping cart?

MC: No. Just grab stuff you like.

Floyd's child self: Okay~. I'll get you something~.

MC: That's sweet of you. *ruffles his hair*

Floyd's child self: Hehe~. I'll be going now! Five minutes?

MC: Yes. Five minutes—

Floyd's child self: *already runs off*

MC: *sigh* I'm sure he'll be done in three minutes or less—

"Um... Excuse me?"

MC: *turns around* Yes—

Riddle's child self: I think I'm lost. Can you help my find my way back to Queendom of Roses?

Leona's child self: Do you have this habit of picking every child you see on the street? *frowning at MC*

MC: He's a friend. What do you want me to do?

Floyd's child self: And he's cute~. I want to squeeze him~.

MC: No. He's too small, Floyd.

Riddle's child self: Who are these people?

MC: Well... I think you'll understand after we visit Heartslabyul.

MC: Trey will be there.

Riddle's child self: Trey? Who's Trey?

MC: ...

MC: You don't know who Trey is?

Riddle's child self: *shakes his head*

MC: ...Okay. Let's meet your older self then.

Riddle: ...

MC: Thoughts? *while holding Little Riddle*

Riddle: ...

Riddle: I didn't have the best upbringing.

MC: True. But you have improved from last time, Riddle. And you've got Trey, Cater, Ace, and Deuce on your side. I'm sure it will be a core memory for him.

Riddle: You want him to have a core memory of how chaotic Heartslabyul sometimes?

MC: *smiles* Though I want him to stay in Ramshackle, Little Floyd is there.

Riddle: Fine. Come here, Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle's child self: ...

Riddle's child self: *looks at MC*

MC: Hm?

Riddle's child self: Will he be stricter than mother?

MC and Riddle: ...

MC: No! Absolutely not! You can eat sweets and pastries here! You can play and study all you want! Right, Riddle?!

Riddle: *having flashbacks of his childhood*

MC: Riddle! Stay with us!

MC: Haa... I'm tired. *after putting all the kids to sleep*

Grim: You've really become a single parent at this point.

MC: I just don't understand... None of them seems to be going back. I wonder why.

Jade's child self: That's because we're enjoying here.

MC: Huh? Jade? I thought you were already sleeping?

Jade's child self: I woke up when I noticed you weren't sleeping with us.

MC: My bad...

Jade's child self: The others will wake up too if you do not return immediately.

MC: Alright. Come here, Jade. *carries him up*

Jade's child self: I can walk back to the room.

MC: It'll be harder for you to fall back to sleep if you do that.

Jade's child self: *smiles* Okay.

Grim: Hench-human! Carry me too!

MC: You can have my shoulder, Grim.

Azul's child self: In this household, MC always tells me I'm the cutest.

Riddle's child self: Why are you telling me?

Leona's child self: In this household, you two are the crybabies.

Floyd's child self: Let's play hide-and-seek before Shrimpy comes in~.

MC: *opens the door* No. That can wait tomorrow.

Floyd's child self: Aw... You're boring.

Azul's child self: Will you read us a story again?

Riddle's child self: I want to hear another story too.

MC: Okay, okay. If that helps everyone to sleep, including you, Floyd.

Floyd's child self: Tells us about your love life.

Leona's child self: *laughs*

MC: *frowns*

Jade's child self: *who's already sleeping cozily in their arms*

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

I’m cackling at the idea of the bayverse boys going through the “baby’s first swear” moment 

Since the kiddos live in the sewer and all the turtles don’t seem like the type to swear around their kids (maybe Raph if especially angry) they would prolly end up learning it from Vern or Casey. 

Like just imagine any of the guys chilling with their kids, and then their little toddler son/daughter knocks over their juice cup and they just go “Shit” in their lil innocent kid voice with a grumpy pout, meanwhile their dads have snapped a wide eyed stare to them cuz WHERE did you hear that word?!- 

Obvs Leo would probably be the one who hates swearing the most and would be pretty angry in the moment but how would they all handle the aftermath? Like would they implement something sorta like a swear jar system? Would they just give their kids a warning? Interrogate their family to find out who taught their kid to swear?? The chaos that would follow sounds hilarious!

Your Kids’ First Swear Word (Fluff/Crack)

Children Series

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: I am Danish, and in Denmark, cursing is an important part of our culture. No beeping out curse words here! We say the shit fucking proud and fucking loud!🗣🇩🇰 Sure, we tell children that it’s bad, but we don’t care too much. Remember, the Danish versions of TMNT 1987 and 2003 had the turtles cursing. I learned a specific word for retard, because Shredder kept using it on Bebop and Rocksteady😂 But the turtles are American, and that is different, so here you go. Hope you’ll enjoy💚

Warnings: Cursing lol.

Leonardo:

Romeo is 10, Marcello is 7, Gerardo is 4.

The children always loved when uncle Vern, uncle Casey and aunt April came to visit in the lair. Other than their mother and aunts, these were the only human connections the kids had.

Funnily enough, the children took a strong liking to Vern, always hanging around him whenever he came to visit, which was way less than Casey and April. But why did the kids like Vern so much? Maybe it was his strong reaction of confusion and slight annoyance when one of them came running, wanting some sort of attention from him. Especially Marcello, who found that if he tugged enough at Vern, the human would start muttering all sorts of strange words under his breath, almost like he was spitting them in the boy's direction.

The other kids took notice of this as well, especially Gerardo who started taking on his older brother��s habit of bugging Vern whenever he was around, just to hear the strange words that he would mumble. Words that Gerardo found absolutely hilarious, and would save in his memory for a lifetime. Because then he learned what those words meant… or sorta.

Vern, Casey and April was once again visiting the lair, coming to eat dinner with the large underground family. In these cases they all ate together in the living area, at a bunch of tables, all lined out in one liner continuation. It was here, in the middle of conversations and laughter, that Gerardo suddenly perked up out of nowhere, in a way that only made sense for a child his age.

“Uncle Vern taught me a word!”, he said proudly to you and Leo, as he suddenly remembered one of the words Vern had said last time he visited, kicking his feet under the table in excitement.

“And what is that word?”, you asked smiling, eyeing Marcello as he poured up a glass of water for Romeo, no indication in the slightest for what was about to come out of your sons mouth.

“Shitling!”, Gerardo yelled out proudly.

Silence fell over all the adults at the table, all while the children kept talking and yapping. You and Leo made wide eyed eye contact, before slowly turning your attention to Vern, who sat frozen with his fork halfway into his mouth.

Needless to say, but from that day, Vern really had to restrain his vocabulary whenever he was around the kids.

Raphael:

Joan is 11, Minerva is 7, Ragnar is 4.

With your husband’s foul mouth, one would not be blamed for believing that Raph had been living his whole life on a ship out in the big open ocean, instead of in the sewers below New York City. It had long gotten Raph into trouble with his own father, often being the reason he would find himself in the hashish. Yet he never seemed to learn from his punishments.

Even as you and Raph got together, his foul mouth would be going. Never because of you, no no, never you. You could never do anything wrong in Raph’s eyes. No, Raph would curse at pretty much anything else. His brothers annoyed him - curse. He was angry and needed to get his frustrations out with a good work out - curse. He accidentally burned himself when cooking - curse. He watched a game and either something good or something bad happened - curse. Raph was in a good mood, and he wanted to let you know just how happy he was - sweet words with curses for emphasis. In order words, cursing was just a part of Raphael’s natural vocabulary.

But when you and Raph started having children, your husband was forced to keep his colorful words for himself, only letting his curses fly when none of them was around, usually when they were in bed. But somehow, even when he kept a careful eye on who was around, your children managed to catch a few of those words.

It was just like any other day in the lair. Your children was playing in the living area, Minerva and Ragnar’s laughter ringing out loud from the couch while Joan watched them from the armchair, making sure that her little brother and little sister wouldn’t accidentally knock each other out in their little play fight. You and Raph sat just a small distance away, seeing your kids jump around, ready to intervene should something happen, when all of a sudden-.

“Asshole!”, Mini yelled out loud, causing her and Ragnar to laugh even louder.

You and Raph sat up straight, eyes wide in shock, not fully able to believe what you had just heard, when Ragnar piped up.

“Fuck face!”, he yelled, making Mini fall over on the couch, holding her stomach in laughter, almost falling off and onto the floor below. Ragnar, continuing the game he and his sister had going, stood up on the couch, his little form looking so adorable as he tried to square up. “Shit maggot!”

For a solid five minutes you and Raph sat in absolute shock, still processing what the two youngest of your angels had just blurted out. That was when Joan turned calmly towards the two of you, shrugging her shoulders.

“If you think this is bad, you should hear them when you’re not around”, she said, before turning her attention back on her siblings’ play fight.

After this you and Raph started keeping a sharp eye on your children’s vocabulary, and started cracking down harder on Raph’s own use of words.

Donatello:

Galileo is 12, Dorothy and Marie are 7.

For a long time, you and Donnie had had problems with Marie’s tendency to suddenly blurt out things. You could be sitting at the dining table with family and friends over, when Marie would all of a sudden turn towards Vern and ask; “why do you look like that?”

Vern would in turn look at Marie a little confused and ask; “look like what?”

“Like that”, Marie said, pointing at his face. “Ugly”.

Casey almost choked on his drink, and even Splinter fought not to smile. And it would have been slightly adorable, if it wasn’t for the fact that she did this quite often.

Marie didn’t say these things to be hurtful, no, she said these things because she was honest and curious. She never thought that the things that she said could be considered mean. She just wanted to know, and just like she had been taught; if you wanted to know something you would have to ask. That was something Donnie had taught her and her siblings, but never had he thought that it would lead to Marie being so blunt. So blunt that sometimes even her siblings were shocked.

But one this was being blunt, asking out of the blue questions that would take people aback, but never had Marie cursed. But that changed fast one day.

You, Donnie and your children were sitting in the kitchen, eating your breakfast together, talking about whatever things families would talk about in the mornings. Dorothy was telling Donnie about her big plans for the day, aka, dress up, while Galileo told you about a new video game he wanted to play soon, when suddenly Marie perked up with a question that had been playing on her mind.

“Dad?”, she asked, leaving the spoon in her cereal.

“Yes, sweetheart. What is it?”, Donnie asked, happy to see that Marie was at least asking permission to ask a question, instead of just blurting it out in the open.

“There’s a word I don’t understand. Do you know it?”

“What word is it?”

“It’s actually more than one word”, Marie said.

“Is that so?”, Donnie asked. “What are they?”

“Shut the fuck up, shit face”, Marie said, looking up to the side, as if she was trying to remember the exact words as she spoke.

You and Donnie were shocked, staring at her with wide eyes. Dorothy was confused, looking back and forth between her parents and her sister. But not Gali. Instead he gasped, looking offended.

“I told you to get out when I was playing that video game!”, he gasped. “You snuck back in?!”

“You didn’t lock the door”, Marie shrugged, continuing to eat her cereal while you and Donnie was still trying to process what just happened.

Michelangelo:

Sunny is 4, Luis is around 1.

Your dear, sweet little bundle of sunshine, Sunny, was at that period of her life, where she would push boundaries, and say all the words she heard around her, just to get a reaction out of her family members, sometimes even yelling instead of actually speaking. She had also recently had her first real temper tantrum, which, thankfully was rare for Sunny, but sadly not the last to come in the next few years.

Sunny had recently taken to asking you or Mikey for food, only to bring it to the couch, and eat and play with it, causing her to spill everywhere, which you and Mikey obviously wasn’t too happy about, causing you and your husband to put in all efforts to get rid of her habit. That even meant that Mikey could no longer bring snacks to the couch, as that would totally undermine all that the two of you had been working for.

But that didn’t stop Sunny from trying, often ending in failure, which resulted in her first temper tantrum, screaming over the fact that she wasn’t allowed to bring her dino nuggets to the couch, but would have to eat them at a table. That didn’t fly by Sunny, what so ever, causing her to scream and cry for two whole hours, making Luis just as fussy by the sound. Oh, it was exhausting.

But that still didn’t stop Sunny from trying. No, in fact it made her attempts more elaborate, sometimes even taking you and Mikey by surprise.

It soon became a matter of principle for Sunny. It was no longer about her getting to eat on the couch, but simply the act of bringing food to the couch without you and Mikey noticing it. Chips from the cupboard, a pizza slice, a handful of popcorn and one time even a frozen chicken. But soon, Sunny came up with what she considered a genius idea - a cup of juice. If she could bring that to the couch, she would have won the battle. And so, Sunny asked you for a cup of juice while sitting at the dining table, drinking half of the cup, before slowly sliding off her chair, making her way toward the living area with her small cup of juice in her hands.

Here Mikey was sitting in the armchair, bottle feeding Luis. That was perfect for Sunny. With her father’s attention grabbed by her baby brother, there was nothing that could stop her. And so, she quickly and silently made her way towards the couch, her half filled juice cup in her hands.

Once at the couch, she placed the cup on the soft couch cushion, letting it whopple when she then began to climb up on the same cushion, when the cup suddenly tumbled over, spilling juice all over the couch. The exact thing her parents didn’t want to happen. And that was when a word graced Sunny’s lips. A word she had never used before, yet she had heard it being spoken around the lair in situations like this.

“Shit”.

That was when she caught the attention of Mikey, who stood from the armchair, still with Luis in his arms, seeing the mess Sunny had made, her small curse still ringing in his ear.

After that day, Sunny was no longer allowed to bring food into the living area, with each curse word he said from that day forward, resulting in a week without dino nuggets.

[bigtreefest]

Details

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Ransom can’t help the way he pays such close attention to every detail regarding you

Word count: 1,081

Content/warnings: very sappy Ransom, no dialogue, ransom’s internal monologue?, references to intimacy, kisses, lots of timeline switching? (Flashbacks and returns to present)

A/N: Below is the song which inspired this fic. It’s been a longtime favorite and I think it definitely fits the summer vibes

I guess we can call this a part of my summer celebration! It’s a vacation at a beach house, and probs an equal partnership? Based off a song. Yeah, I make the rules.

Anyway, comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Ransom didn’t really have a name for this feeling, despite his vast vocabulary. The main reason was that he had never really felt it before, so how could he be sure? It was definitely beyond the simplicity of the lust he had felt on several occasions. Was it admiration, adoration? Whatever it was, he was sure it went both ways from the crooked smile you gave him as you stretched in the dim morning light.

After a week of your getaway, it was the last morning the two of you were waking up in his family’s coastal home. He loved the way the rays coming through the curtains graced your face, especially today, as you laid tangled in the sheets of the king-sized bed.

The past week had been filled with relaxation and enjoyment each day. Beach picnics, sunbathing, swimming, and…other…enjoyable…things. Those were his favorite. He was desperate to get to that, but not desperate in the moment, where he was worshipping you and your body, and every little thing that he could commit to memory. He never wanted to forget this time; it was simple, with no deadlines, no responsibilities besides each other, although he’d never call you a chore. You were a pleasure. One he was sure he didn’t deserve.

Ransom watched closely as you sat up, the sunshine creating a crown around your head and hair. He couldn’t help but notice you. All he saw was you.

His entire life, Ransom had always noticed the details. That was his strength: little things no one else picked up on, and they were all around him, but honestly, when he was looking at you, he couldn’t tell you anything going on in the background: what he had planned for today, or what he’d done before you woke up the day before.

When you’d gone out to eat at that one restaurant, the one that he thought probably had an ocean view, he couldn’t remember, he wouldn’t be able to recall a single song that had played during dinner.

What he does remember, though, is everything about you that night. The way the sea salt in the air from the long day had added a little extra wave to your hair- tightened the coil, how your skin glowed from the golden hour sunset shining through the glass by the table, the way you got a little tongue-tied after you shared your third glass of wine, which the waiter so rudely interrupted your story to ask if you wanted. No one deserved to stop your beautiful voice from talking, not even Ransom, and especially not the weirdly kind young man pouring the bottle. What was the waiter so nice for, anyway? That quickly left Ransom’s mind, though, attention switching to something much more important. He was completely focused, just not on the usual, external things. There were different details his brain favored these days.

Ransom had visited the coastal home since he was young, playing with the neighbor’s kids while his parents were off doing who knows what. Now, he couldn’t care enough to retain the name of the guy who lives next door. That sort of information was trivial when there was someone else who he would’ve rather had take up every corner of his mind.

That night after dinner, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in the car, stealing every glance he could without veering off the road. Hundred dollar bills could be falling from the sky and he wouldn’t even notice, which carries its weight when all that Ransom’s ever valued, all that’s ever been steady in his life, is money. That was until you and whatever feeling you were giving him for the first time. It was as if he finally hit the threshold of realization to what’s been creeping up on him this whole time.

Upon your return to the beach house, the two of you laid in bed, cuddled up close as the light from the TV playing late night talk shows danced across the bedroom. You were tucked up into his side, your head on his shoulder as one hand crossed his body and rested on his hip, his one arm doing the same to you as the other tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp. He watched as your eyelids fluttered shut, heavy with tiredness of the day and comfort in his hold. Another moment to be savored: your absolute trust in the security of his arms. He smiled to himself as you mumbled in your sleep, studying every little quirk of your lips, every barely intelligible word he could catch, not judging, but committing to memory.

In another life, Ransom would’ve tried to deny that you were any more than just another girl, but there was no use. He was too far gone. Finding ways to surprise you, shower you in gifts, and all the quality time you asked for. Whatever you could desire, really, it was yours, and he had no business withholding from you. His heart wouldn’t allow him.

Ransom was in tune with everything you were doing right now. He pushed aside the thoughts of the week’s earlier memories with you for a second, and cleared everything else nonessential from his mind. He only needed space for what was going on currently. He observed as you scooted closer to him, pushing aside the pillows that were often just so as you slept. Absorbed the way your head tilted to the side at that certain angle when you were leaning in, just about to kiss him. He surely didn’t want to miss it as he closed his eyes and let you fall into him, tongues dancing in an amatory rhythm. So in sync, so naturally that he didn’t care about anything else. Every detail was something he wanted to devote his attention to; memorize and hold onto forever.

Yeah, he should probably get up and make you your coffee. How he loved to see you stir it, just the simplest task, but this felt more pressing. The warmth in his chest from your touch, the way your kisses filled his lungs with light, with life. How your fingertips traced up and down his chest, tucking into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He shuddered at the sensation, at what even your gentlest touch could do to him. Breakfast could wait. You offered enough to feed his soul forever. This feeling? The new wholeness? It was love.

Bonus A/N: Soft!Ran. I only know him. Could you imagine a nice little rainy day in bed, looking out the window at the coast?🥺

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