niche AUs enjoyer, race car watcher, and music liker.
writer on a kinda hiatus, often being haunted by the horrors, and insane half the time.
i write for jschlatt and ted nivison. inbox is open for requests, thoughts, and asks. yap to me about headcanons, imagines, drabbles, or literally anything else !! :3
i encourage interaction and would love to hear what yall have to say !! i love to yap and i promise i see every request, some just take me longer to get to than others !! i also reserve the right to not complete requests that i do not want to write.
i'm sorry if they're a bit ooc, i'm trying my best !!
I KNOW THIS LOVE OF MINE WILL NEVER DIE (AND I LOVE HER) !!
description: schlatt never thought he'd be the type to live in suburbia.
a/n: tell a friend to tell a friend, she's (not) back !! this is very short compared to my other fics sigh. this is also dedicated to my friend castor <3
Schlatt never thought of himself as someone who’d settled down.
He never thought of himself as someone who’d own a white picket fence house in the suburbs, the kind of place where the ice cream truck would barrel down the streets in the middle of the day. He never thought of himself as someone who’d wave to the mailman or make small talk with the neighbors while watering the grass out in the front yard, politely nodding along while they talked about the weather or how fast the kids seemed to be growing up. And he certainly never thought of himself as someone who’d go bowling with a group of dads, nursing a light beer, and talking about bake sales like it was some kind of competitive sport.
Those things had never crossed his mind in all his years of screaming into the microphone and breaking cheap keyboards for views on the internet.
But here he was: waking up before the sun had even risen to pack lunches with small doodles on post-it notes and sticking them to the lids of plastic lunchboxes with quiet satisfaction. Grocery shopping on Saturdays with a folded-up list pulled from his pocket, squinting at the hurried scrawl of his messy handwriting while parked in the middle of the aisle, completely blocking anyone who might need to get through. Running into someone who lived a few houses down and talking with them for ten minutes about nothing in particular, the same way his mom used to stop in the store aisles to chat with old friends when he was a kid.
Now he throws his back out when he’s chasing his daughters around the house, their high-pitched squeals and laughs bouncing off the walls, almost shaking the hung up pictures. He perches patiently on the small princess chair while his daughters take turns painting his nails with clumpy polish, messily applying lipstick that somehow found its way on his cheek, clipping mismatched bows in his hair, and holding up a mirror to show off their masterpiece. He grins until his cheeks ache and pulls them into tight hugs, thanking them for making him feel pretty. He yells in excitement and sweeps his wife into giant bear hugs whenever she walks past, lifting her off the ground as she kicks her legs and laughs, telling him to put her down but making no real effort to escape.
After dinner, he stands beside his wife, drying the dishes that she hands him with the dish towel. He makes small talk about how he volunteered to be a chaperone for the school field trip, how Bob from a few houses down invited them to his potluck next week, and how Ted promised to visit for the holidays. After bedtime stories and the thorough search for monsters inside the closet, under the bed, and behind the door, he tucks the girls in with a kiss on their foreheads, and leaves the door slightly open in case they need him before heading back downstairs.
There’s always a moment—just a breath—where the house feels still and warm, full in a way that’s hard to put into words. He finds some random old song on, something scratchy and familiar, and holds out his hand to her. She rolls her eyes playfully, putting whatever it is that she had in her hands down, and takes his hand, sliding close as he wraps an arm around her waist. They sway slowly in the quiet hum of their home.
And while Schlatt never pictured himself as someone who’d settle down in the suburbs and drive carpool, this was peaceful. This was the calm he didn’t know he needed in his younger years.
In some quiet way that sticks itself in the back of his mind, he was glad this was his life now. And if his younger self could himself now, he’d be confused but he’d be happy.
dude my brain is so detached from my body rn that i legit thought i gave a twenty to the cashier at subway today, only to be confused when he handed change back to me; i deadass gave him a fifty
mental illness so bad im sitting on the curb in the parking lot behind my apartment building, smoking cigarettes while contemplating whether to drown myself in the pool or not
okay gang i have my break SOON and i wanna get back into writing before i start my second sem of college, so send in reqs of anything yall want and i'll try and write them !!
we hug now by sydney rose but its about how you and schlatt were childhood friends, growing up and ended up becoming distant after the two of you got into different colleges. eventually losing contact altogether though both of your parents still mention the other person whenever they can because why not
you see him blow up on social media and the small voice in your head tells you to get in contact with him again, but you never do and he's the same
