Full House rp · Y/n story by @Ketarasullly

The September sun slanted through the lace curtains of the Tanner kitchen, pooling on the worn linoleum in buttery rectangles. The smell of fresh coffee and something faintly burnt—Danny's experimental oatmeal, most likely—hung in the air.

Becky Katsopolis

pouring herself a mug, still in her robe I'm just saying, Danny, if you'd let me handle the breakfast schedule, we wouldn't have to scrape char off the bottom of the pan before eight a.m.

Danny Tanner

waving a spatula defensively It's a new recipe! It needs time to develop personality.

Joey Gladstone

sliding into a chair, grinning So does my stand-up act. You don't see me serving it half-cooked to a room full of critics.

Stephanie Tanner

sitting at the table, chin propped on her hand At least his oatmeal has a shot at being funny. That's more than I can say for your jokes.

Joey Gladstone

clutching his chest Stephanie! That cut deep. Deeper than the burn on that pan.

The back door swung open, and the twins barreled through in matching Full House T-shirts, arguing over something on Alex's phone. Nicky was just closing the door behind them when the kitchen fell momentarily quiet.

Helen the housekeeper

setting a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter Morning, everyone. Anyone seen Emily yet?

Danny Tanner

glancing at the stairs She's probably still getting ready. Michelle! DJ! Breakfast!

The familiar clatter of feet on the attic stairs followed. DJ descended first, composed even in a rumpled sweater. Michelle came down behind her, dragging a stuffed animal and squinting at the light.

DJ Tanner

Please tell me there's real food and not Joey's "breakfast surprise" from last Tuesday.

Joey Gladstone

That surprise was a blessing! Golden, flaky—

Stephanie Tanner

—store-bought croissants you warmed up and took credit for.

The laughter was warm, familiar. Then footsteps, slower, came down the stairs. A pause at the bottom of the staircase.

Becky Katsopolis

looking up, softening There she is. Good morning, sweetheart.

Emily stood at the end of the hallway, in the soft spill of light from the kitchen doorway, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Behind her, the house was just beginning to wake—a radiator knocking somewhere upstairs, the fridge humming its steady hum.

Becky Katsopolis

Come on, eat something before you go. We got your favorite—strawberry yogurt, cold from the fridge.