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unforth · 6 months

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I had a day off yesterday.

And I can already practically hear the assumptions that such a statement is prompting the reader to make. Those assumptions are wrong. I don't mean I didn't work. I did, for about 8 hours. That's not at all what I mean.

I mean my wife took the kids out at 9:30, spent the night with her mom, isn't back yet the next morning.

There are things I NEED people on this website to understand about parenting. And I've talked about it before, and I'll talk about it again, because honestly the way that Tumblr as a cohort talks about parents makes me sick. Multiple polls have shown that only about 2% of people on here are parents. We're a huge minority, and we're constantly talked over, ignored, or accused of being bad parents (like, personally, I have had people reply to my comments or come on to my posts and tell me I shouldn't have my kids). In my case, being a parent means I'm almost 41, I'm married to @ramblingandpie, and our children are inching up on being 8 and 6 years old.

My entire day, and therefore my entire life, revolves around them. I'm up most mornings at 5 AM, because that's the earliest they're "allowed" to wake up, and so my brain just defaults to being awake around then - better to wake up before them, at least then I get a few minutes in the morning. Between 5 and 7, I sit with them, do my social media, work on side blogs, study Chinese. Then it's helping them get ready for school, then my wife or I or both get them on the bus, and then I work until the last possible minute, which is either when I need to go pick them up for an after school activity or when I need to go down and meet them off the bus. My afternoons are after school activities, chores such as washing the dishes and cleaning up toys, talking with them, working with them, playing with them. Their bedtime starts at 7:40, and my son gets scared if I leave before he falls asleep so I sit with him until about 8:15. As soon as he's asleep, I go fall on my face, sleep as best I can, then wake up and do it again. Overnight, it's hard to sleep deeply, because about once a week someone will wake up in the middle of the night and need help. That could be as minimal as a hug or as complex as having to completely change the bedding on a bunk bed at 2 AM while also comforting a child who is afraid they'll be in trouble, or afraid they're sick, or afraid of their nightmare, or, or, or. Further, if a child is awake, there is always noise. I usually study Chinese with two or more competing sources of noise. I read the same way. My life is loud, and active, and consists of constant interruptions.

I adore my family, and I love my children, but this is terrible for me.

I do all of this as an neurodivergent introvert. My clinical depression is at least medicated, mostly because post-partum depression after I gave birth the first time nearly drove me to suicidal in under a week (we were expecting this and were prepared, fortunately, getting help was as simple as a phone call). The constant noise and interruptions and forced socialibility are about the worst combination of home-life I could be subjected to. I spend far too many early mornings just breathing deeply and gearing myself up to be subjected to the wall of Loud, Boisterous, Needing-My-Attention that is every minute when anyone else in the house is awake.

So what did my day off look like?

I helped get the kids ready to go and did some morning chores. I'd been up at 4:30 AM so I also had already social media'd and studied. Then, while my wife finished the preparations, I started work, and I worked from about 8 am to about 4 pm, straight. I didn't get hungry so didn't bother stopping for lunch. No one interrupted me, no one asked me to look at anything they'd built, no one broke my concentration, no sounds could be heard except those I'd chosen myself.

I'd been out the day before at a local shopping street and listened closely to the things the kids said they wanted, so at 4 I grabbed a couple orders I needed to ship for work and drove to our local downtown, dropped the orders in a post box, then went back to the shops and did some Christmas shopping in the 45 minutes or so before everything closed. I think I'm basically done with what we'll get them - other bigger things will be left to grand parents - so that's a load off, I literally had a stress dream earlier this week about it being 12/24 and having forgotten to do the shopping and having to go to (oh horrors) the mall on the day before Christmas. (Reminder: I'm a Jewish atheist. It's just virtually impossible not to Holiday in the Culturally Christian Hellscape that is the US. Also, my wife is Christian. So.) Found something cute for my wife, too, even tho I already know the main thing I'm getting her. Then, I realized - one of my favorite restaurants is on that block. So. I went there. I sat by myself at a table, only the indistinct restaurant hubbub around me. I read four or five chapters of my book, and ate a savory crepe, and drank lovely fruit tea, and got a scone to-go that I'll eat for lunch today. It was more than I probably should have spent on myself - about $25, including tip - but fuck it. I only get maybe a handful of days off all year, and I'm allowed to indulge a little.

Then I came home. There were no lights on. There was no noise. I had considered doing some more merch work while watching TV on the actual television (my kids are too young for subtitled shows, so usually if I want to watch My Shows I either have to do it on my computer when they're not around, or put them on and read all the subtitles aloud while trying to keep up and process the actual meaning of what I'm reading). But when I got back, the quiet and dark was so goddamn NICE that instead I curled up on the couch and read more of my book. I did that until bedtime - still about 8:15, because I'm exhausted. Then...I went to bed. And I slept long and deep, knowing that there was no chance I'd be interrupted and woken up, I didn't have to be, even in sleep, alert to every noise and possibility that I'd be needed.

I'm still exhausted and burned out, but even one night to myself felt really, really nice.

Saying "Tumblr does X" as a universal statement is doomed to failure, but generally speaking, the parenting posts I see on Tumblr, the ones with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes, speak what's apparently widely seen as a truism on here: that unless someone wants to spend 24/7 with their kids, to be 100% emotionally available at all times, is always kind and patient and perfect, they are a bad parent, maybe even abusive. I remember when covid started, there were multiple posts actively mocking the "oh god, my kids are now home all the time, how am I supposed to do this?" attitude that a lot of parents posted in despair. WhY dId YoU hAvE kIdS iF yOu DoN't WaNt To SpEnD tImE wItH tHeM?

Look at what my usual day looks like.

Look at what my day off looked like.

Do you really think I don't want to spend time with my kids? Do you really think I don't love my kids?

But I'm not a fucking MACHINE. I'm a PERSON. That's what people on Tumblr seem to forget. PARENTS ARE PEOPLE. The same tumblrinas who post ~uwu be kind to yourself rest if you need to, you should forgive yourself for that mistake you made~ will turn around, with zero sense of irony, and post "you're a bad parent if you ever raise your voice around a child."

Expecting parents to be perfect means expecting parents to be inhuman. It also means that a parent can't be poor (can't spend all your time being the perfect parent if you have to work multiple jobs or weird hours!), can't be introverted (can't be a perfect parent if you're not completely emotional available, god forbid socializing is exhausting for you), can't be on the ADHD or autism spectrum (what do you mean you forgot to get your kid to a doctor's appointment once? what do you mean over-stimulation can make you angry? how dare you get angry at a kid!), can't be depressed (gotta get out of bed every single day, gotta always be upbeat, patient, happy, or else that's Evil), can't be (like my wife) physically disabled (what do you mean your hands hurt too much to hold a child's hand? are you denying them touch?? CRUEL). And when the only answer you can offer to that is, "if you can't be that perfect you shouldn't be a parent," then you're saying people who aren't middle class to wealthy, people who aren't neurotypical, people who aren't physically able, shouldn't have children.

And honestly...what the fuck is your problem?

I'm not perfect. I tell my kids to just leave me alone sometimes. I raise my voice, especially when one of my kids starts punching the other, but also sometimes just cause I'm exhausted and Can't Anymore. I've forgotten an appointment by accident and felt like a total fucking idiot, and I've skipped an after school activity because I just wasn't up for taking them. I've served them more unbalanced, unhealthy meals than I can count. I've made many, many mistakes, but I've also done my best, and I love my kids, and I hope that when they grow up, they'll still love me even as they recognize that I wasn't perfect, just as I've come to accept my own parents' short-comings while still loving them very much. They're people, too, and the older I get, the more I understand where they were coming from.

When I fuck up, I apologize.

When they tell me they're unhappy with something I've done, I apologize, and I try to do better. Sometimes I even succeed.

This shit is hard, yo. And it's getting harder every year.

I'm BEGGING Tumblr: you need to start seeing parents as people. The way y'all talk about parenting on here is toxic, and genuinely harmful, and frankly exhausting. You have no idea what the reality of raising kids is like, and you need to shut the entire fuck up.

I had a day off yesterday.

I might get one more before the end of 2023.

I already can't wait. I am so, so, so tired. sigh

(if you actually read this whole rant and even a single word of it resonated for you, please reblog it. I'm tired of never seeing positive posts about parenting while I see negative ones with a bajillion notes.)

#unforth rambles #parenting #momblr #nothing prompted this #i just think about writing posts like this all the time #because the low-level background buzz of how much tumblr hates parents is a constant stressor tbh #and every once and a while i tip over the line end up Writing the Thing #and so here we are again #god i have so much to do today and instead i procrastinate with this #oops

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python333 · 8 months

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task force 141 reacting to [reader] telling them corny jokes during a mission — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 reacts to you telling them some corny dad jokes during a mission!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], bad jokes.

note ME AND MY 23 FOLLOWERS ARE STRAIGHT CHILLING RN. i love all of u. anyway gaz is in this one!! yippee!! i thought about ghost and his jokes in that one part of one of the cod games idk ive never played them i watch other people play it but you guys know what im talking about. i also just figured out that i should probably specify gender neutral reader for my fics?? so i'll start doing that! ANYWAY enjoy!! this is all fluff and has some classic tired parent & hyper toddler energy in the first part :}

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ insert exasperated sigh here.

➥ he will let you keep telling him jokes, however he will only respond to them with a simple, tired, “Uh huh. Good one. Very funny. Nice one.”

➥ tired dad energy.

➥ the first one you told was okay. he laughed at that one. the tenth one? please, god, just stop talking and put him out of his misery.

➥ he wonders how you know so many jokes, and then wonders if you got them all from ghost.

➥ if you did get them from ghost, trust that he will be telling the man himself all about how you constantly told him bad jokes over comms.

➥ if you just happen to know all of these, he won’t be surprised.

➥ he’ll put up with all of the jokes, for your sake, of course.

➥ the first time this happens, you’re both on a pretty insignificant mission compared to other ones you’ve done.

➥ you’re both talking over comms, just making sure you’re both okay.

➥ that’s when you started your attack.

—

“Captain?” You’d asked, listening as Price hummed in acknowledgment of you talking, “Wanna hear a joke?”

You could practically hear his hesitation, before he responded with a tentative, almost scared, “... Sure, [c/n].”

A delighted grin split across your face as you asked him, “How does dry skin affect you at work?”

He thought for a moment before asking, “How?”

“You don’t have any elbow grease to put into it.” You heard Price give a small chuckle, and decided to ask, “Wanna hear another one?”

Price’s second mistake of the evening, “Sure.”

“Where do boats go when they’re sick?” You asked, still keeping a lookout on your surroundings on your end while focusing on telling your Captain shitty jokes.

“Where?” Price asked.

“To the boat doc.” It took Price a moment, before he huffed out a small laugh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

Without warning, you tell him another one. He asks why, when, how, or what, whichever was appropriate for the joke you told, and slowly but surely his questioning tone became tired and exasperated. You don’t know why, but somehow his miserable tone made you even more motivated to tell him corny jokes.

“Do you just… memorize all of these?” Price asked in the middle of you telling a new joke, sounding almost astonished.

“Yes I do. Just for these missions, I do,” You answered confidently, smiling when Price sighed. You continued on with your joke, and even though Price didn’t respond verbally, you still told the punch line. You had repeated this for at least ten minutes, all of those minutes appallingly slow to Price, the poor man having to endure your bullshit for such a short yet such a long time. At the tenth minute, the only thing that stopped you from continuing was Gaz’s voice coming on over comms and interrupting you, telling everyone else on the mission that they could head back to the rendezvous point. Price, relieved at the interruption, gave a thankful sigh and you could hear him getting up from his spot before he muted himself.

You sighed as well, yours a direct opposite of Prices, full of disappointment, but you let it go. Besides, you’ll always have more opportunities to terrorize Price with your jokes on the ride back to base!

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he has the same reaction he had with ghost telling him corny jokes.

➥ he’ll call your jokes terrible, but will still laugh at them somehow.

➥ will 100% put up with your jokes, will laugh every time, even if his laughter slowly becomes more and more strained, he’ll laugh.

➥ tells you some jokes back, but after your 4th joke, he gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ he will suffer for your entertainment, guaranteed.

➥ he will be sure to remind you of how terrible your jokes are though!!

➥ he’s honestly impressed by how many jokes you’ve memorized.

➥ he’ll happily support you doing this to other people, no matter how much it damages his soul when you do it to him.

➥ the first time you do it to him, he starts getting deja vu from when ghost did it to him.

➥ “Oh, God, no’ ye too,” he’d groan playfully the moment you start telling him jokes, getting flashbacks.

➥ enjoys your jokes, even if he would do anything for you to shut up, he still enjoys them.

—

You and Soap were camping out in the same spot—atop a roof of a tall building that was just tall enough to give you a view of practically every other building in the area as well as the ground. It was cold up there, the air so cold that every time you’d exhaled, your breath turned to white condensation before fading into the clear sky.

It was fair to say that you and Soap were fairly bothered by the cold, so you really had no other option, you just had to start telling your jokes. How else could you warm the both of you up? Sure, it wouldn’t do anything physically, but mentally? It was sure to practically melt Soap’s brain.

“Soap?” Soap hummed and looked over at you, “Wanna hear a joke?”

Soap smiled, and decided to humor you, “Sure. Joke ‘way.”

“Why couldn’t the bike stand up by itself?” You asked, turning fully towards Soap. He didn’t bother to think before asking, “Why?”

“Because it was two-tired.” It took him a moment, but eventually he huffed out a small laugh and nodded.

“No’ bad,” He’d hummed, “Want me to say one?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did vikings communicate with one another?” Soap asked, turning fully towards you in turn.

“How?”

“By Norse code,” Soap had said with a grin on his face, clearly proud of the joke. You laughed quietly at it.

Without asking, you tell another joke. “Why did the bed wear a disguise?”

“Why?”

“It was undercover.”

Soap chuckled and turned back down to the ground, assuming you were done. But, oh boy, did he assume wrong. You told another one. He asked for the punchline. You delivered. You told another. He asked again. You delivered, again. Can you recall just how many jokes you told that fateful night? No. Does that make the memory any less funny to look back on? No.

Soap’s expression slowly turned to one of misery, his laughter becoming strained and slowly coming to a stop, the light in his eyes fading away as God himself seemed to appear behind you and reassure him that it would all be over soon. God, how he wished that were true.

Soon enough, you were both told over comms that you were able to safely make it back to the rendezvous point, and Soap couldn’t be happier.

He let you tell him more jokes during the walk over there, of course, and made sure to tell you how awful they were, but still endured them for your sake.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ it’s like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

➥ he’ll put up with your jokes and will tell you a joke back every single time.

➥ at some point you guys will probably use a joke on each other that the other one told you.

➥ he actively enjoys the joke-telling.

➥ he probably tells the first joke and that’s what triggers you to tell him your own.

➥ he’s annoyed soap, gaz, price, and a few others with his jokes, yet you’re the first one to go back and forth with him.

➥ every time you tell him one he’ll make a mental note of it and remember it for annoying people on future missions.

➥ probably thinks some of the jokes are genuinely funny but still knows that it annoys people.

➥ if you tell him a corny joke related to ghosts, he’ll probably laugh more.

➥ i am aware that that is pretty corny in itself but look at the title man what did you expect.

➥ he’ll probably tell some jokes about your [c/n] to you back.

➥ he’ll know when you’re reusing a joke and calls you out on it.

➥ “Does this require more creativity than you expected, [c/n]?”

➥ [in a perfect imitation of matpat’s voice] i find his jokes delightful! [in regular voice, now whispering as if scared i’m going to get caught by ghost saying this] i’m lying. he’s my fictional father figure so i am very much obligated to enjoy his jokes.

—

”[c/n], how copy?” You heard Ghost’s voice crackle through over comms, and pushed the PTT button on your small ear piece to respond.

“Copy, doing just fine,” You responded, “Little bored, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Oh really?” Ghost breathed out, sounding amused. You could hear some gunfire on his end, and the wind his his earpiece making the annoying whoosh noise you hated. Just a few moments later, Ghost spoke up again, “Y’wanna hear a joke to ease your boredom?”

“Sure,” You’d hummed, looking around to make sure you were still safe to just stay where you were and chat for a moment.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Ghost asked, his voice dry and sarcastic. You thought for a moment before shrugging—even though he couldn’t see you—and asking, “What?”

“A stick.” Ghost delivered. The stupid joke made you huff out a small laugh and mutter under your breath something about how good it was, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear Ghost’s self-satisfied smile.

“Another?” Ghost offered.

“How about I tell one?”

“Alright. Go ‘head.”

“How do ghosts stay in shape?” You asked, listening to Ghost’s amused huff on the other end of the line, like he knew where you were going with the joke but decided not to say the punch line for you.

“How?”

“They exorcize,” You responded, grinning, proud of yourself for thinking of that one.

“That’s not bad,” Ghost hummed, “Not bad at all.”

Ghost stayed quiet for another moment before asking, “Where do fish keep their money?”

“Where?”

“In a river bank,” Ghost said, his smile almost audible in his words.

“Nice one, L.t,” You breathed out, laughing quietly.

“We could do this all night,” Ghost mused, oddly happy at the sound of your quiet laughter, a little rustling audible on his end.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked in response to his musings, to which Ghost responds with a simple, affirmative hum. You think for a moment, before asking, “Why can’t a leopard hide?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always spotted.”

Ghost hummed, mentally writing that one down before asking, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?”

“Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Ghost delivered. With each joke you cringed more, and yet you kept responding with the same bullshit. The two of you went back and forth with the shitty jokes, eliciting responses from each other like, “That’s a good one,” or, “God, that’s awful.” It really had no in between, it was one or the other.

Eventually, and just in time because you were beginning to run out of jokes, Price’s voice crackled through over comms, letting you both know that everything was now under control and gave you both the coordinates for the rendezvous point. Before you get up from your spot, you can hear Ghost asking Price, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and Price’s quick response of, “I’m good”, the quick interaction making you laugh quietly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” You muttered, voice full of amusement.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Ghost huffed out, chuckling quietly when Price groaned and muted himself.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he just gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ i’m actually in full belief that he’ll just let you tell jokes and won’t even respond.

➥ if y’all are in the same spot, he’ll just stare at you in astonished silence, wondering how you know all of this and also wondering if he’ll make it out of this alive.

➥ i think he’s lovely, i also think that he would just let you do whatever.

➥ it’s like an older brother participating in his younger sibling’s tea party with their stuffed animals and bright pink plastic tea cups and fake tea.

➥ he considers taking out his earpiece but then realizes that that’s a bad idea so he just suffers through it.

➥ surprisingly, it’s easy to focus on his tasks even with your voice in the background.

➥ he’s only heard of ghost’s shitty jokes, and thinks that this might be worse, somehow.

➥ i mean, it’s not like he can’t ignore it, but he feels kind of bad that he does.

➥ he hums every now and then to remind you that he’s listening but he’s too caught up in pretending to listen to actually listen.

➥ when the mission’s over and you eventually stop telling your jokes he realizes how quiet it is without your voice in the background laughing at your own jokes.

—

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” You asked, this being about your twentieth joke of that evening. Gaz hummed in response, tone questioning, and you delivered the punch line, “Because they use a honeycomb.”

Gaz didn’t pay much attention to any of your punchlines, really just letting you get all of this out of your system, figuring that if you didn’t do it now it’d happen to some poor soul later. He accepted his fate early on, the moment you told your third dad joke, he knew it wouldn’t end. Call it a sixth sense of his, knowing when you’d be persistent in your quest to annoy every member of the 141, but he just knew.

“Where do surfers learn to surf?” You asked, giggling quietly at your own joke, despite the punchline being stupid. Gaz didn’t even respond, yet you still delivered, “At boarding school.”

Gaz considers taking his earpiece out for a moment, then thinks again and decides it’s probably better not to, knowing Price’s voice could crackle through into the earpiece and let you both know to head to the rendezvous point. Sighing quietly, he continued to look around him, scanning the area as he walked around, making sure no enemies were left alive. Your voice still hummed in the background, the sound becoming more normal to him and less distracting.

“Why did the tourists feel disappointed after seeing the Liberty Bell?” No response from Gaz. “Because it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“What do rabbits need after getting caught in the rain?” A small, questioning hum. “A hare dryer.”

You continued to tell your jokes, and in the middle of one, Gaz interrupted.

“Y’know,” He started, “If you didn’t already have a call sign, we’d be calling you Jester.”

“I’d love to go by Jester,” You laughed quietly, lightly, “I feel like it’d be more fitting.”

“Probably, yeah,” Gaz chuckled quietly, about to say something else before Price’s voice came through over comms and let you both know to head over to the rendezvous point. After you stop telling your jokes and mute yourself, Gaz can’t help but notice how quiet it becomes.

He got a bit too used to your voice, it seems. He muted himself and sighed, pulling up the coordinates to the rendezvous point and heading over there.

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