#that boy has a speech impediment for sure

[sheepkebby]

I just think he's neat :P

#left 4 dead fandom i apologize for the avalanche of art but you WILL look at my smoker oc #funny tongue man go pbbtttbt #my art #my blorbos #carter #l4d smoker #l4d2 #left 4 dead 2 #l4d #zombies #body horror #blood #that boy has a speech impediment for sure

[pocketsizedq]

Back To Kindergarten

Summary: Jamie with a Teacher

Word count:725

Author's Note; This is a request but this is future me coming and fixing the story so i do not have the request on me

The sounds of playing five-year-olds filled your first-year classroom. Their recess had to be moved inside because it was too stormy outside.

While you were sitting at your desk glancing over the artwork the kids had just completed before recess. There was a soft knock that could be heard on the door to your classroom that was shut.

You set the papers down that were in your hand wondering who could be at the door to your class that was also when the kids that were on the rug playing with the different things you had set out for them to keep their little brains distracted.

As you finally got the kids to calm down from them asking many questions of "who is it" and just down right wooten and hollering because, most of the students in your class were wild little boys who think duty means poop.

Once you finally got to the door you saw a very familiar set of eyes when looking through the window on the door.

As you got the door unlocked, your husband of a couple of months comes in holding your bag of forgot lunch that you had left on the counter at home.

Jamie took this as a chance to leave the house as he started to get bored in your guys shared home.

"you forgot your lunch on the counter honey so i wanted to bring it to you" Jamie spoke as he stood in the doorway into your classroom holding the plain colored lunch bag in his hand.

Jamie has always made sure you were always fed, because of your past relationships with food and everything.

you take the plain colored lunch bag from his hands taking into yours as you gesture to come into the class as he has been there many times before as you needed his help setting up a few things in the class.

As Jamie makes his way inside the class room a little girl whose name was lily walks over to him gently tug on his pants which made him look down at the little girl that he had a few interaction with since visiting your classroom

Jamie kneels down to the little girl height so he could be face to face with the piggy tailed five year old.

"are you staying jammers" Lily spoke which didn't come out clear as she is five what do you expect.

The little girl had started to call him jammers because she had a hard time pronouncing Jamie due to her having a speech impediment. He wanted the kids to be comfortable with him so that's why they call him by his first name not his last name like they do to you.

Jamie looked over at you waiting for you to answer as he didn't want to overstep in your classroom.

you nodded your head "yes" at your bright eyed husband as it was only an hour or two of class left but the real reason why you let him stay is because, you love seeing the way he is around kids.

Jamie turns his attention back to the little girl says "i sure am now."

Lily eyes light up in joy knowing that he was staying as she starts to drag him over to where the other kids were.

"I will be over there in a minute let me speak to Mrs. Drysdale real quick." he spoke softly to the girl who was about to pull over to the rest of the kids.

Lily nods her head going back over to the other five year olds while Jamie keep his attention on you.

He wraps his arms around pulling you into a big hug giving you a kiss not before making sure the kids weren't watching.

"maybe we should start making our little family" Jamie spoke into your ear which made you softly giggling knowing he has had baby fever for the past few weeks.

You looked up at him finally giving in as you knew would be an amazing dad one day.

Jamie grinning big knowing what may happen after you both get home but for now he walked over to the little kids starting a game of duck duck goose.

you sat back at your desk watching him imagining him playing different games with your guys future kids.

#Jamie Drysdale #Jamie Drysdale x Reader #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x you #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl x you #jamie drysdale x y/n #kay’s works #JD06

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Note: I was going to add this to the bookstore au but realised Bucky is a side character in Steve’s and not old so….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You leave the cafe with your lukewarm cup. You were so anxious you'd almost forgot about the pepperminty goodness. You sip, slightly disappointed in the temperature. Still, it's yummy and you have your bag of books in hand. The day has been a mild success.

You walk along the icy pavement, the season nipping at your cheeks. Most people complain about the snow but it's your favorite. You don't drive so you don't worry for a slippery commute, you have your heavy-treaded doc martens and a downy coat.

You head down Ironwood hoping to catch a streetcar car only to find it skimming past. You sigh and drop your shoulders. You could use the exercise and it would be so bad as long as the path behind Jerry's Submarines isn't snowed over.

You cut through to the next street along a short alley and hop over the bank between the sidewalk and the road. As you do, you slip and stumble, a pair of headlights turning just as you fall into the street. I long fearsome honk blows in your ears.

You whip around to face the driver, raising your hand in an apologetic wave. Not the smartest move but the street isn't usually that busy. You brows pop up as you recognize behind the wheel. Oh boy. Not again.

You skitter away hoping he didn't recognise you too. That very same man who invaded your personal bubble and insulted your taste. Lisa doesn't believe it when you say you're cursed but it's hard to deny from your vantage point.

You get to the other side and keep your head straight, marching away without looking back. He drives by slowly past your peripheral and you dip onto the path, letting out a breath. Alright, no way you'll see that jerk again.

There's a blanket if snow over the path but not enough to deter you. You kick through the powder as you bob to the music in your earbud. You know, Mariah Carey's non-Christmas tunes aren't too shabby either.

You come out on Orchard, sipping your mellowed candy cane cocoa and swing the paper bag carelessly. You could start your podcast. You have more than enough resources now and the new books will be the cherry on top.

As you stride along Orchard towards Cornish, a car door opens and shuts. You don't see the figure before you until they step over the curve and nearly take you off your feet. You drop your cup, spilling what's left of the cold hot chocolate.

“Oh, oof, d-dude–” you sputter out as the liquid drips down your lilac docs.

“Dude?” The man grips the bag in his left hand, his other opening and closing in a tight fist. No way.

“Ew,” you let out the syllable without filter.

“Ew?” He eyes you head to toe.

“Y-yeah, y-y-you're following me.”

“Following?” He growls, “you girls sure do have quite the imagination these days.”

“B-b-but… you saw me….g-go down the path.”

“I wasn't even looking at you, doll,” he scoffs.

“D-d-doll?” You scowl.

“Oh, don't even--I could call you worse.”

“L-leave me a-alone,” you back up, gripping the wire handle of the shopping bag tightly.

“Happily,” he sneers, “I have a job so get out of my way.”

He shoulders past you, harshly. Your trads slip on the salted walk as you grunt and turn to eatch him strut towards the house just a few feet down. You rub the sore spot left by his gruff impact.

You shake your head a leave, thinking better of shouting ‘old man’ at his back. You probably shouldn't antagonize him. So you spin and tuck your hands into your pockets and carry on.

Your street is only a few blocks away. By then, you've almost forgotten about the strange encounters. The closer you get to the haven of your bedroom, the more excited you are to crack open your new books.

Your parents house is trimmed in bright coloured lights and the lawn decorated with plastic candy canes and full entourage of fake reindeer. The familiarity of your childhood home is both comforting and stagnating. You can't believe you're still here.

You go inside, leaving your wet boots on the mat as your mother calls your stepdads name from the kitchen. You unzip your coat and hang it on the rack mounted against the wall. You reclaim your bag of books and make your way to the front room.

“Dean,” your mom calls again as she appears in the hall, peering in after you, “oh it's you.”

“Just me,” you drone and continue towards the stairs. You stop at the bottom, “mom,” she keeps from retreating and looks back at you, “need help?”

“Oh, no honey, I almost got it figured out. So, how's the job hunt?”

You try to smile. Oh, that. You can't live off severance forever and the settlement is never going to happen.

“Good,” you lie, shifting the bag behind your hands.

Maybe you should be a bit more prudent. It's an investment, for your podcast. You just need to figure out how to record. And how not to stutter every other word.

You're only thirty. You have time to smooth out details. Don't you?

You turn and plod up the stairs and into your bedroom. The clutter greets you along with the nest of blankets tangled in your bed. What are you even thinking? You can hardly keep your room tidy.

It's not your fault. Your mom says so. Lisa too. But it has to be. You had it all, a good job, a nice apartment, independence. You blew it all. If you'd just kept your mouth shut.

But wasn't that the problem? Isn't that why you're getting therapy? So you can speak up next time. So there won't be a next time.

You sniff and sit at the desk, adding the bag to the mess. You hang your head in the darkness as the snow reflects the sheen of street lights through the window. It takes time, Lisa says, but you feel it running out.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #series #au #silver lining #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier

[theresthesnitch]

wolfstar raising harry au where harry goes to muggle pre-k and keeps trying to correct the other kids/teacher when they say “mommy/mama” and “daddy” because doesn’t everyone have a “moony/moomoo” and “paddy”

“Hello, you must be Harry’s father. I’m Katie McCoy, his teacher. Won’t you have a seat?” Ms. McCoy smiles kindly at them, so Sirius doesn’t bother to correct her that he’s not Harry’s father. They’ll have to eventually, but he lets it pass, for now.

“Thank you, Ms. McCoy.” Sirius sits next to her. “Harry adores your class. He tells us all about circle time and—what is it, foam paint?.”

She laughs. “Yes. it's just shaving cream and food dye, but the kids love it.” She crosses her hands over her knees. “Are we waiting for--?”

“My partner will be a few minutes late.” Sirius glanced at the clock on the wall, knowing Remus was hurrying from work to be here on time. “We can start now.”

“Alright, though I don’t mind waiting.” Sirius waives her on, and she begins. “Harry is really a wonderful boy. So inquisitive and funny. You’ve done a great job with him.”

Sirius smiles, trying not think of the fact that Harry is inquisitive like his mother and funny like his father. Their loss still hurts. Instead, he says, “We think so too. He’s a great kid.”

“He is.” Her face clouds for a moment, and Sirius wonders what could possibly be coming next. “I do have some concerns though.”

Any number of things rush through Sirius’s head as to what could bring on that comment. Harry is still mourning the loss of his parents, not really understanding why he can see his mum and dad the way other kids could. It’s possible he said something a bit darker than expected for a child.

Or, perhaps he’s had some accidental magic that the school hadn’t reported to them. They’d so far managed to keep Harry’s peculiar abilities under control, but it was possible that things were slipping by. Merlin, he didn’t want to call the Ministry tonight.

“Concerns? What is wrong?” Sirius tries to keep his voice light.

“Well, we’re concerned he may have a bit of a speech impediment.”

That makes Sirius pull back. In the entire world of problems he has, the talkative, exuberant little boy having a speech impediment was not one of them. His diction was impeccable, and Remus was always saying he’d be a natural at Transfiguration because of it. Just like James.

“I don’t think we’ve noticed that.” He says slowly, not sure what else to say.

“Well, it’s a very subtle difference, and I don’t think that we’d have noticed so much, except he keeps correcting the other kids to his pronunciations as well.” Her brows crease, and she gives her head a small shake. “On correction, he insists that he is correct.”

“What words is he getting wrong?” Sirius asks.

“Daddy and Mummy. He says it like—”

Before she can finish, the door opens and Remus sweeps in, a kind smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare getting here.” Sirius nearly snorts, knowing Remus apparated directly there. “What have I missed?”

Sirius looked at him as he sat down in the seat next to him. “Apparently, Harry might have a speech impediment.”

Remus looked surprised. “I certainly haven’t noticed anything like that.”

Ms. McCoy looked between them. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Sirius bristles at the question. “This is Remus. We’re Harry’s guardians.”

“His guardians?” She looks more confused. “But he talks about going home with Mummy and Daddy?”

Sirius tilts his head as she asks the question. “I thought you said he was saying Mummy and Daddy wrong?”

“Yes, well.” She squares her shoulders, clearly thrown off. “Well, he’s been saying it something like Paddy and—”

“And Moony?” Remus finishes with a smile. “Yes, that’s what he calls us. Not Mummy and Daddy, but Moony and Paddy.”

Her face rounds out into an O. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Bit of unusual names for his—did you say guardians?”

Sirius nods, unable to speak, and Remus squeezes his hand. “Yes. Harry’s parents are—” he clears his throat “—were James and Lily. They were our friends, and now we are Harry’s guardians.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, and for Harry’s. I had no idea.” She begins flipping through pages in front of her making notes. “His file didn’t mention anything about it.”

“We didn’t mention it when we enrolled him,” Remus says, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “We didn’t want him to have to answer a lot of questions on it, and we still don’t.”

“Of course,” she looks up from her notes, meeting both of their eyes. “I’ll keep it quiet.”

“Thank you.” Remus smiles, with a raised eyebrow. “So no speech impediment then?”

“No, no I think that clears that up.” She looks at her notes again. “Let’s see what else I have on Harry.”

***

When they arrive home, Remus handles seeing Mary out while Sirius heads back to the kitchen where Harry is coloring. Sirius pulls up a chair next to him, grabbing his own piece of paper and a purple crayon. “Heya, Haz.”

“Hi, Paddy.” Harry doesn’t look up from his coloring. “Did you see my teacher?”

“I did, buddy.” Sirius draws the outline of an elephant, which he starts coloring in. “Do you know that not every kid in your class has a Paddy and a Moony?”

Harry looks up and beams brightly at him. “I know. I think I’m the luckiest boy in the world.”

Sirius chokes out a laugh, and mostly manages to hold back a tear. Harry looks down at his page, coloring again, and Sirius catches Remus’s eye as he walks in the room again, leaning against the door frame. “You know, I think you just might be.”

#wolfstar #wolfstar raising harry #sirius black #remus lupin #dadfoot

[dirtytransmasc]

This might turn out like rambling but I've been thinking something around the mama Neytiri AU.

In humans there is a vocabulary "coincidence" in which many of the words for mother and father in various languages sound around the same by using the same syllables (ma, pa, da, ba, etc) because this are the first things a baby can pronounce and we started to use these sounds as a way to refer to a child's caretaker, it doesn't happen in every language but it's still enough to maybe think that the same might be true for the Na'vi.

The words Sa'nok and Sempul might be an indication that Na'vi children might be able to pronounce the sound "S" really early in life, maybe even when babbling (also there's an insane amount of words in Na'vi starting with s), so when her children grow up they have almost no trouble calling her Sa'nu.

All except for Spider.

Because humans are only able to pronounce "S" at around four or five years old.

Neytiri and Jake notice and they go and ask Mo'at for help (because speech delay is something that also happens to the Na'vi so she should know what to do), and when she can't find anything wrong, they check with Norm and Max, who tell them there's nothing wrong, it just will take more time for him to speak like his siblings.

They are both glad that there's nothing wrong with Spider but Neytiri still feels something is missing, she comes to love being referred to as Spider's "mama" by Jake and cries the when he calls her that for the first time like she would have done if he had spoken in Na'vi, but she still hopes that he is able to call her Sa'nu soon, which she will never confess to anyone.

And when it happens there's nothing anyone can do to separate her and her boy for the rest of the day.

so, I've answered this once, but I'm actually kinda excited to add onto this, cause the first time around was when I first started writing this AU, and I'm much more confident in my characterization of neytiri now. so for my long time regulars, this is gonna mostly be a repeat post.

I think neytiri has a super unique take on this, cause like any variation of the word 'mom' means the same general thing; someone who cares for you, who protects and loves you, teaches you and guides you through life. on some level, you are a part of her, physically or emotionally, even spiritually, a mother and child are bound by the bond between them at their cores. so while, yes, she would love to hear "sa'nu" would fill her heart with the upmost joy, it doesn't hinder the joy she feels hearing spider call her mama, knowing what he saw in her, what he felt about her. spider was her son and she was his mama and for a long while that was all that mattered to her. he saw her as his mama, he was one with her spirit, he looked at her with his big round eyes and saw a protector, a guide, a caretaker, someone to love him with no limit and no conditions. so she could wait as long as it took, because this was enough for her.

it does raise concerns though. would spider fall behind? should they prioritize english, would his "speech impediment" hold him back too much, how much would he struggle? neytiri still worries the most, norm and max assure her that it will all be fine, jake does as well, even mo'at, but she still worries for her littlest child. but even upon her worrying, her fauning, her mothering, spider excels; sure, he makes an odd noise when he attempts to speak words with S's in them or leaves them out all together, he takes up both na'vi and english in leaps and bounds, not even acknowledging his setbacks.

he attempts it many times before he actually gets it, adjusts to calling her that even before he gets his S's when he was 3 or so, when he realized he called her something different then his siblings, ignoring any and all coaching from jake or norm or max to call her mama (not that they don't want him to call her sa'nu, they just worry that if he's unable to pronouns it he'll either form bad habits or his frustration will stunt his willingness to learn, but like with many peoples opinions and judgements of him, spider doesn't give a single fuck). but the day he gets it right, she damn near cries all over again, like she had the first time she knew what he meant when he called her mama, when he starts calling her -a'nu. this time though, the tiny gap in her chest that had always irked her, small enough that she could pretend she didn't notice, was finally filled. she held her boy, the boy she had waited to hear call her sa'nu for the last 5 years, finally looking up at her with his sweet chocolate brown eyes and his whispy blonde hair dangling in his face, the word falling out of his mouth with a yawn as she went about her day with him bound to her chest (tell me she wouldn't baby wear that boy well into his early childhood, first off, speed demon, spider child. second off, clingy mama with an excuse to hold her baby constantly; "he's fragile jake") she immediately rushes to jake so they can both hear it, spider very proud with his new word.

I think the kids would have coached spider day in and day out till he got his S's down just for their mum. jake knew and didn't say a word, just so he could see the look on neytiri's face when she heard it.

speaking of jake, he is much less affected by spiders hinderence to say sem'pu, as when spider was still little, he was still very human in nature, so he had no qualms with being called "dad" and "dada", but he will admit, the more he hears spider attempt to say sem'pu, the more he begins to fall in love with the title. between him and the other kids, jake embraces every title they're willing to give him. he cries a little for the first couple months spder calls him dad, then -em'pu, then sem'pu (jake is the emotional parent in the, he's a blubbering idiot at all the simple things type of way, which is super sweet don't get me wrong, I just like making fun of him, cause I can. norm and max too, they totally make fun of him, but its all in good fun).

#spider te suli tsyeyk'itan #spider socorro #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #neytiri #jake sully #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water

[mizzymii]

Vanitas Headcanons

General Headcanons that have no relevancy at all but I brainrot these on a daily basis.

If you see typos— no you didn't

TW: mentions of death and some Lightly-angsty Headcanons!

EDIT: I spelt so many things wrong WHOOPS I swear I know how to english

✎... VANITAS

⌛ Vanitas has itty bitty freckles all over his face, they weren't very noticeable but they're there

⌛ He is very good at knife juggling and lives for the thrill of it

⌛ Because I live for the Trans!Vanitas Headcanons and fancy ass scars; his scars oddly look like little wonky hour glasses

⌛ if Vanitas were to be in a relationship I feel like he isn't much of a PDA person; so he gets all funny when he's genuinely being shown affection in front of people.

⌛ for the Vanoè shippers and piggyback from the PDA Headcanons; I feel like Vanitas loves to just sit on the roof; he won't go out if his way to cuddle Noè or anything, but enjoys his company

⌛ for the VaniJeanne shippers; listen. Vanitas will let Jeanne do his makeup.

⌛ In a Modern-Day setting, in terms of music, I feel like Vanitas would like MCR; but also REALLY likes The Oozes

⌛ Vanitas is a musical guy because he just- radiates theatre kid. He likes the Falsettos :D

✎... NOÈ

🐱 I like to think Noè used to have a speech impediment when he was younger

🐱 Boi stims and likely has ADHD.

🐱 When he stims; he usually waves his hands around, shakes Vanitas or stomp in place

🐱 He can repeat "uhm uhm uhm uhm" for a minute straight until he remembers what he is thinking; and it pisses everyone (But Domi) off

🐱 for the Vanoè shippers, but I'm throwing in some angst. While Noè crushes on Vanitas (before a relationship), I feel like Noè tends to stare at Vanitas while on the rooftop and internally recites thousands of poems, but never speaks them.

🐱 When Noè gets Into a relationship with Vanitas, He leaves small pieces of the poems he's written around their room for Vanitas to find

🐱 For the DomiNoè shippers, I feel like Noè gives her the BEST hugs and cuddles you've EVER seen and is like her backpack

🐱 When Noè is in a relationship bc why tf not; you bet your ass he traces over ALL of his partners scars

🐱 Did I say I'm a Vanoè shipper? Well— more angst. In the end when Noè marks Vanitas, they come to a mutual understanding; but they embrace eachother for the last memory :) I can't think of anything sadder than that so that's for the softies (aka me)

🐱 Noè is a book dragon; he reads when he suddenly gets the motivation but he loves to hoard books because he thinks hell read them but never does

✎... JEANNE

🌹 She loves roses; she feels like a rose girl

🌹 In modern times; She's also a theatre kid- but she loves all the niche musicals.

🌹 her favorite singer is Aurora :) and she LOVES Tomm Moore movies

🌹for the VaniJeanne shippers, She loves to braid his hair and get him all pampered up

🌹 She gets sunburned very easily

🌹She's very sensitive to STRONG aroumas so she likes the subtlety

🌹Jeanne daydreams a lot when she has absolutely nothing to do

🌹(VaniJeanne) When Jeanne is in a relationship with Vanitas; she definitely makes sure to take care of him and is constantly checking up on him and giving him constant reminders that she does indeed love him

🌹Her love language is probably Words of Admiration and Physical touch

🌹She stims as well but they're usually little whistles and fiddling with sensory objects; these only happen when she's anxious and flustered

🌹For the DomiJeanne shippers; Jeanne loves to do Domi's first date was at a greenhouse then a Cafe.

🌹 Again for the DomiJeanne Shippers; Jeanne is the big spoon.

🌹 Jeanne would play DnD and always plays either the little and chaotic menaces or the big and gentle cutie patooties

✎... DOMINIQUE

I had a bunch of things for Domi but I had a blank while writing these

🗡 Bc I am; Domi is near sighted. It isn't TOO bad but it certainly is annoying

🗡 Domi is a secret bookworm and finds it so relaxing to read with a nice cup of tea

🗡 Domi used to take fencing classes and was really good? Listen girlie wields a sick rapier she DEFINITELY had practice ((this isn't even a Headcanon tbh))

🗡 Domi used to use Noè for practice

🗡 Domi doesn't like putting her hair up but is okay with doing braids or other types of hairstyles

🗡 Domi has a birthmark that looks to have matched Louis's :)

🗡 Domi, in Modern, would ALSO play DnD but dm's for Jeanne

🗡 Domi loves PDA :) romantic or platonic

🗡 I like to think Noè is her soulmate, both in a romantic and platonic sense

#the case study of vanitas #vanitas #noe archiviste #jeanne #dominique de sade #vnc #vnc vanitas #vanitas no carte #headcanon #theyre so silly #vanoe #vanijeanne #domijeanne #what is the ship name for domi and noe? do they even have one? #sobs

[rando-mouse]

LLOYD HEADCANONS CAUSE UH IM BIAS AND IM PROJECTING KINDA

kid lloyd

It took months for Lloyd to be comfortable with sleeping soundly arnd the ninja. This is because in darkley's, if you sleep too soundly, you have a higher chance to be pranked or smt

He also had a stash of food in his room cause he was afraid that one day the ninja wouldn't feed him anymore/won't have enough to feed him

Literally does not like taking showers

Is picky cause of how certain foods feel/smell/look. He doesn't even puts it in his mouth. He just looks at the food and decides that he doesn't want to try it.

TRIPS LIKE 25/8 LIKE BOY CAN NOT GO THROUGH A DAY WITHOUT FALLING LIKE 3 TIMES

only has like 3 diff types clothing. His hoodie, his darkley's uni and sleeping clothes

he bites the ppl he likes/cares abt

did not understand video games at all until Jay taught him

dragon's rising

although he trains Arin and Sora to be ninja, he still makes sure that they both get to be kids

at first was terrified of Riyu, no explanation

Arin's pies reminded him alot like Zane's just a little different

always gets worried abt the kids and checks up on them at night

absolutely spoils the two rascals

he's like those teachers who give candies as a reward

absolute hypocrite cause he makes the kids eat their vegetables while he barely does so himself

"do as I say, not as I do"

has to write down the kids' names + riyu's on his hand or smt cause he has trouble remembering names

Lloyd in general

is literally snow white 2.0

hates birds with a passion tho

either a peaceful sleeper to the point u think he's dead or is fighting demons in his sleep. No in-between

will sit on the sofa in the most weirdest positions possible

dislikes sweet ice cream (like chocolate or cookies and cream for exp) he likes flavours like mint chocolate, matcha, and coffee

a master at baking, a disaster at cooking

laufey, mitski and conan gray enjoyer

Hates public transport

the most accurate gaydar in existence

super observant, but for the wrong/weird things

will do the most absolute ridiculous and reckless shit

fear of open water -> no participating in sea/ocean missions

has a speech impediment

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago headcanons #projecting #im biases so sue me #ninjago lloyd #i still dont know how to tag #ninjago

[mosneakers]

Hi! It's me again, haha!

Question/Request regarding Sawyer and Brick's kids - (if you've already done this please just ignore me lol) but can we get a little bio on each of them? They are all so cute and I'd love to know more like their likes/dislikes, fave parent, fave foods, what they like to play/do in their free time - and any other lil' details you'd like to share. I know they're young, but I'd love to know more of them .. They are ALL so cute and man, Brick's genes run strong! LOL

Anyways, I love you.

Hi lovely 👋 I love this question so much, thank you!! Those genes really DO run strong, don't they?! 😆

A little info on each of Brick and Sawyer's kiddos:

Gerbit Darling

For those who don't know, Gerbit seems to mean "llama" in simlish. He's pretty much named after this cheer, which is incredibly near and dear to my heart 🥺 I wanted all of Brick and Sawyer's kids to have very classic sims names!

Gerbit is the first Gen 5 Darling, Brick and Sawyer's oldest child, and was born pretty early into Brick and Sawyer's relationship, when the two were very young and hadn't been dating long. Sawyer just left university early, and Brick just got out of jail and cancelled on the internet, losing his celebrity status as an influencer. Despite life being up in the air for the couple, Brick and Sawyer were hopeful when Gerbit was born, he was their little beacon of light ❤

Just like Brick, Gerbit isn't very gifted intellectually. However, he makes up for this with his heart of gold. He's a very sweet boy and enjoys visiting his grandparents more than anywhere else. His relatives think he'll become a family sim for sure. He's not great at making friends quite yet, but his closest friends are his cousin Minnow, and distant cousin Budgie Sparrow. (Birdie's youngest)

When it comes to Gerbit's interests, he enjoys watching heavy machinery, such as planes, trains, cranes, bulldozers, and excavators. He looooves to eat and has the glutton trait. His favorite thing to eat is Taco Casserole, but only if it's made by Grandma Donna! Like his other siblings, he loves his dad but doesn't see him much so he's a lot closer to Mom.

Belo Darling

Belo, the middle child, is named after the Belomisia Jungle in Selvadorada, to honor Sawyer's heritage.

Out of the three kids, Belo takes the most after his mom in personality, although he seems to have inherited his father's lack of intelligence, similar Gerbit. He has the angelic trait but does seem to have a short temper like Dad. However, he displays his attitude in mannerisms similar to Sawyer, with sassy eyerolls and pursing his lips in disapproval.

Belo looks up to his big brother and usually tries to emulate his behavior. If Gerbit misbehaves, Belo will too. But if Gerbit is a good boy, which is usually the case, Belo follows his lead. Belo didn't grow his first tooth or say his first word until after 18 months old. He still isn't very advanced at speaking, and the speech he does use has an impediment, he's unable to pronounce his "R"s.

He loves singing, most sports, especially baseball and football (both Simerican and real), and experimenting with Mom's makeup, which can usually be found scattered on the bathroom, livingroom, or bedroom floor. He often consumes and prefers processed foods such as microwaved chicken nuggets, microwaved breakfast burritos, and animal crackers.

Rosebud Darling

Baby Rosie, or Rosebud, is Brick and Sawyer's youngest and only daughter. She is biologically Brick's, conceived from Zoe Flores's and Brick's scandalous and juiced session that they shared in a hot tub at a party in Del Sol Valley. Most of us know the dramatic story, but basically, Zoe and her boyfriend Drew's relationship could not withstand the burden of raising another man's child, and Zoe forfeited her rights to Brick's side, and Sawyer ended up adopting her for full custody.

Despite being thrown into quite the chaotic storyline, she's always been such a happy and social baby, who just goes with the flow. She also has the angelic trait, and loves to cuddle and be carried. Being a Darling and being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of Evergreen Harbor, she's constantly surrounded by loud sounds, which she has fully embraced, and always can be kept content by playing sound for her. Like Belo, she also loves singing! When she was a baby, Sawyer's Dad and Stepmom brought fresh avocado and papaya grown from their property in Selvadorada for her to try, and she's been hooked ever since.

#ts4 #simblr love #💌 #essential Belo information #essential Rosebud information #essential Gerbit information #Gerbit Darling #Rosebud Darling #Belo Darling #MD4 #simsstuph #ask

[corrodedcoffinkid]

Can I request Eddie getting frustrated because of his speech impediment?

Eddie hates school projects. Doing the project itself isn’t bad- especially if it’s something he’s interested in- but presenting it? Presenting his work to a class full of people who hated him terrifies him to his inner core.

“Eddie? Would you like to present for us?”

Hands gripping his poster board, Eddie shakes his head. The look the teacher gives him tells him he doesn’t have a choice. He makes his way to the front of the room, legs shaking. He takes a deep breath, trying to remember what Uncle Wayne had told him.

“You’re alright, son. Don’t let them win.”

Eddie anxiously points at the title of his poster board. “H-Hi. My name i’th Eddie and thi’th i’th my pre’thentation on the histh’ory of mu’thic.” Goddammit. When he’s nervous, all his work in speech therapy with Uncle Wayne goes out the window. “I-I mean-”

One of his bullies begins to snicker, which gives the rest of the class the go ahead to laugh too. “Looks like ‘Eddie Mun’thon’ is back.”

Eddie’s face goes bright red.

“Class, please let Eddie finish.”

Eddie looks down ashamedly at his feet. A picture of Ozzy Osbourne that he’d clipped out of a magazine stares at him from it’s spot on the poster board. “Mu’thic ha’th always been important to people-”

The laughs grow louder. Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut to keep in his tears. He’d practiced this presentation so much with Uncle Wayne and Steve. “M-Mu’thic i’th-”

“E-E-Ed-Eddie M-M-Mun’thon has a st-st-stutter t-t-too!”

Throwing his poster board on the ground, Eddie runs.

He runs out of the school, to the parking lot, and to his van. He wants to drive, tries to put his keys in the ignition, but he can’t. His eyes are too teary eyed to see.

Uncle Wayne.

Uncle Wayne can help.

He grabs his phone, and presses one on speed dial. It only rings twice before he hears a familiar voice on the other end.

“Eddie? Son? Is everything okay?” All Wayne can make out on the other end of the line is loud sobs. “Eddie, breathe. I can’t understand you.”

“Th-They laughed at me! I-I didn’t even get to ta-alk about Bl-Black Th’abbath! I ran, I ran until I go-ot to my car! I don’t wanna go back to cla’th!”

Wayne’s not sure if he’s more heartbroken than he is angry. Why can’t those damn kids leave his boy alone? “I’m on my way. Stay where you are.”

By the time Wayne is at the school, Eddie is rocking himself in the driver’s seat of his van. Wayne knocks on the window. “Son?”

Eddie flings open the door, and immediately wraps his arms around his uncle. “I-I tried to not let it get t-to me but it did!”

Wayne rubs Eddie’s back, then presses his head into his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says softly, “You know that damn speech impediment is getting better, it just acts up sometimes.”

He helps Eddie buckle into the passenger seat of his car. His nephew glances over at his van worriedly. Wayne gently pats his head. “Hey, don’t worry, Steve will get her and bring her home.”

Eddie stares blankly out the window on the ride home.

He knows he’s failed the presentation.

He knows he probably isn’t going to graduate… again.

And yet, Uncle Wayne is still driving him home and comforting him. What did he do to deserve this?

Wayne gets Eddie settled on the couch. Then, he pops open a beer and hands it to the boy. “Here.”

“No thank you,” Eddie says quietly, pushing it away. “I’m not hungry or thir’thy.”

Unusual, but Wayne isn’t going to push it. “You know, Eddie,” he begins, “You’re pretty damn brave for trying.”

Eddie shrugs.

“Whether you can say those damn ‘s’ sounds or not, I’m always going to be here for you, boy.” Wayne notices Eddie perk up- just a little. “I’m so damn proud of you. If that teacher even tries to fail you, I’m going down to that goddamn schoolhouse and handling it. I love you, Eddie, and not a goddamn thing will ever change that.”

Tears in his eyes, Eddie smiles. “I love you too, no matter what.”

“No matter what.”

#unclewayneandeddie #eddie munson #stranger things #autistic eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson autism #angst #fluff #wayne munson #adamwrites

[marypsue]

@amethystunarmed asked: 2) any bits you want of "look for something left in the world" (I could not narrow it down)

[from this meme]

look for something left in this world

The title of this fic comes from Billy Idol's 'White Wedding', which has always made me think of The Lost Boys. You may think this is because of Billy Idol being the blueprint for all the bleach-blond punk vampires (two) who would come after him, or because of the repeated 'little sister' in the lyric. And you would not be entirely wrong.

But you would also be missing the crucial piece that when I was seventeen-ish years old I watched the video for Lou Gramm's 'Lost in the Shadows', imprinted hard on the background dancer in the white dress, and then when I first encountered 'White Wedding' (through a karaoke video game where the music video played while you sang along and had to hit notes for points), drew not only the first two associations but also linked up the white wedding dress to the white dress from the 'Lost in the Shadows' video. I've never been able to hear 'White Wedding' without thinking about TLB since.

(I did also hunt down and obtain a full-length white tiered circle skirt because of those videos and also misremembering what Star's outfits looked like, a quest which took me most of a summer. Yes, I have always been Like This.)

Chapter One

One of my favourite things about writing inhuman characters is imagining what it must be like to experience the world from inside their physical reality. What it must feel like to be inside their skin. Also, thinking about what details to include in a description of a sensory experience, whichever sense that ends up being, is a really good way to flesh out a setting and also make sure that you're not relying on clichés or leaving your characters as talking heads in space. And also can help build atmosphere!

I wanted it to be a little unclear, at the beginning, whether Sam's at the comic book shop to see Edgar and Alan, or to kill them. The way I saw his stringing them along at the beginning was as him trying to test them out, to see how much they actually knew about vampires. See whether they'd actually be any help to him and his family. After all, telling the wrong people that you're a vampire can be hazardous to your health.

“Would you ftop fhat?”

I think it's hilarious when fangs give vampires a speech impediment, and does not happen nearly often enough.

“The fearless vampire killers,” he mutters, to their passed-out probably-parents, under his breath.

I still haven't seen The Fearless Vampire Killers, or: Pardon Me, But Your Teeth Are In My Neck, but it continues to have the best title of any vampire movie I've ever heard of.

... Sam’s gonna get grief for not having made his first kill yet and what does he get up to all day while everyone else is sleeping and how disappointed his mother is that he hasn’t tried to help make Max and his boys feel like part of their family.

I tried very hard to capture the sitcom energy of Max and Lucy and the way it's juxtaposed against the (can I call it Gothic? I think it's borderline Gothic) horror of the vampire plot. What if your boring, annoying stepdad was an evil master vampire but it didn't make him any less boring or annoying.

Like they’re the bloodsucking Brady Bunch or something. Cheaper By The – wait, no, no. Creepier By The Dozen. Married…With Hellhounds. Fang-ily Ties. All In The –

It was so much fun coming up with these puns and I would have kept going except that I ran out of good ideas.

Michael. With that stupid earring that doesn’t suit him glinting in the glittering lights. A feather and a couple beads in his hair, tucked behind his ear. Somebody’s painted something new on the sleeve of his no longer quite so dorkily pristine leather jacket, covering up the skid mark from the night he still won’t tell Sam where he and the boys had gone.

There's a lot going on in this bit and I am absolutely salivating to unpack it.

Firstly, I've talked at some length about the costuming in this movie and the heavy lifting it's doing for character and theme. The boys are unified, visually, by a DIY-punk magpie sensibility - they're all glittering with patches and pins and bits of mismatched jewellery and junk, even though each of their individual looks are quite distinctive. In contrast, Michael's canon looks are all quite simple and plain, with the earring serving as the main real visual link between him and the boys. I gave his costume a little redesign, a few embellishments, trying to imagine how he might pick up more of the boys' magpie style while developing his own distinctive look that builds naturally on what we already see him wearing, to signal visually that he's truly become part of their group now. And because it was fun and I like costume design.

Second, there's the way Mike's interacting - or not - with Sam. He's not just giving Sam the cold shoulder, he doesn't seem to be aware of Sam at all. In canon, the relationship between the two brothers ends up leading to defeating the vampires and salvaging Mike's humanity. Here, it's too late for that, and that relationship seems to be completely severed. The ultimate nail in that coffin (hah) seems to be the fact that Mike was responsible for Sam getting turned, an inversion on how in canon Sam was at least partially responsible for Mike getting turned back. Is that cause, or effect? Yes.

(And also, third, that relationship seems to be completely severed. But if you're paying close attention, there's also that bit about the night he still won’t tell Sam where he and the boys had gone. This could probably be read in a few ways, but the one I had in mind was that there were still things Mike wanted to protect Sam from or didn't want Sam knowing he'd done, that he still cares about what Sam thinks of him even if he doesn't care enough to actually not eat people about it. Which also then calls into question: does he actually not notice Sam at all, or is he deliberately not calling attention to Sam? Just how much of the brother Sam's been mourning is actually still left?)

I had a lot of fun with metaphorical language trickery with describing the beach and the ocean in this last scene. Star, the girl who caught Michael's eye on the boardwalk and lured him to the vampires, setting all of this off and ultimately getting Sam half-turned, is "marching [Sam] towards" the "flat, infinite darkness" of the ocean. Sam's "having trouble keeping his footing in the shifting sand, already starting to lean toward Star" as he argues his case that they should just give up and kill already, what's the point trying to resist.

But then, once Star pushes him into the water, shocking him out of his misery spiral, "[a]ll Sam has to do to get his head back above water is sit up". Star's "got her feet just in the edge of the surf where it laps relentlessly and eternally against the sand, eroding the shoreline away little by little". Sam "can keep sitting here, cold and wet, with the surf slapping into him over and over and over again, and keep on hating Star for getting them into this mess until the sun comes up" - he can keep hating and blaming Star, and let the darkness that keeps battering at him erode them both away little by little. Or he can make a small effort, which is not actually as hard as it feels in the moment, and save himself.

And Star goes to help Sam up out of the water that she pushed him into in the first place, "the glittering hem of her skirt dragging in the lapping water as she reaches out a hand to Sam." Star's responsible for Sam ending up in the water, and for Sam ending up half a vampire. But she's in the same position, and she's also trying to help him back out, even willing to risk her own humanity (and her own dry clothes) to do so.

And if they don't work together, they're both going to be lost. It's a metaphor, Hazel Grace. (Do the Kids These Days still get that joke. Better question, do I care.)

Sam tries to wring the water out of his heavy, sodden vest as they crunch back up the beach toward the boardwalk. When he tries to extract the soggy remains of Vampires Everywhere!, though, the pages come apart in clumps in his hands.

Which, then, makes this foreshadowing.

(Which is pretty damn impressive, given that, at the time I wrote this, I genuinely thought this first chapter was going to be a standalone oneshot. This may be a pattern.)

Star interrupts him by slinging an arm across his shoulders, the same motion Sam had seen David do to Michael earlier ...

Also, there's this little parallel. I'm not sure I can explain what I was going for here, or why I went back and added that second clause (because I did go back and add it after the sentence was written). She just needed to be in there.

And then I bookended it with describing the scents of the beach and the Boardwalk! Yeah that was on purpose. I don't remember if that was on purpose so it was totally on purpose.

Chapter Two

This is another great example of the precept that 'the story starts later than you think' and also 'you can just write the bits you're interested in writing'. There is so much leadup to the moment when this chapter starts and I had zero interest in writing any of it and so none of it's there. You all saw the movie. You read the first chapter. You knew where this was going. The fun part is the part where things start happening that you, the reader, don't expect, so that's where we're starting.

...I may have to try applying this precept in the middles of some other projects when I start getting bored and they start feeling like a slog. Especially original ones.

I love how deeply, deeply boring and normal Max is. I love his whole spiel in the movie about how Sam's just upset that someone's trying to replace his dad. I especially love applying that to contexts where it's absolutely inappropriate. Max is the only person in the world who would send his stepson to bed without dinner or ground him from the TV for the weekend because he didn't kill some random stranger and drink their blood, and it's fantastic. I love it when the horrors are uncomfortably normal. There is something about this juxtaposition that I cannot accurately explain, I just gotta write it and show you.

Sam meets Edgar’s eye, the one that isn’t pressed against the hardwood floor, wide and frightened under a flop of sweat-drenched hair, and does his best not to breathe.

Come with me, we're about to go on a bit of a journey.

In general, I think Takes that are like 'it's unrealistic that the Boys all got killed, they should have wiped the floor with the human characters!' are disingenuous and really more about the person writing them having a power fantasy of being unafraid and unashamed and also able to murder and eat anybody who tries to get in their way, and get away with it. Which I can't actually fault anybody for. But I do get annoyed when people don't seem to recognise that, and insist that they're just speaking from an objective standpoint and objectively the vampires should have won. It just feels mean-spirited to me, and I have reasons:

a) Even though there is a lot of very heavy symbolism and metaphor and coding taking place here, at the end of the day, the things that act as symbols are, as that one post about Dracula said, themselves first and symbols of other things second. And the Boys very much are vampires who kill and eat people pretty indiscriminately and will continue to do so. I'm not pressed about them getting made dead by people who do not want their friends and family (and even total strangers) to be food. There are arguments to be made about the whole X-Men 'oppressed class with superpowers allegory bad' thing, but in this case they're not even trying to argue that the vampires are oppressed. I think it is okay to kill vampires who are trying to kill you, no matter how many layers of metaphor and symbolism they are also operating on.

b) The movie's pretty good about establishing its own rules and then playing by them. 'why couldn't David hang onto Sam in the caves' listen, if you were dead asleep in your own warm little bed in your own cozy little house and then at 3am out of nowhere you were abruptly woken up from that dead sleep by your little brother screaming bloody murder right in your ear because he's being stabbed to death by some random fucking stranger you've never seen before in your life who just barged on into your house like he lives there and you have to take in this whole situation and react appropriately in a handful of seconds despite it being 3am and also you literally just woke up, and oh, also, by the way, if you go outside you're going to spontaneously combust? Would you be at your best?

'the Boys hunt in a pack why would they split up to get picked off one by one at the Emerson house' the Boys hunt in a pack, they're good at this, the humans only managed to take one of their number out when they were all together, they extremely efficiently split the humans up at the Emerson house and are clearly trying to pick them off one by one! It doesn't work, of course, but it's a reasonably intelligent strategy! Also the Boys are ambush predators as we see from every attack in the movie, and each of them starts their attack at the house by popping up out of an unexpected place! It's once they're in the open and engaging directly that things start going south! I don't feel my suspension of disbelief was ever broken by the vampires' competency level varying wildly for plot reasons.

c) I don't feel like it's any fun at all if you operate on the precept that there's simply no way for a 'weaker' opponent to ever win over a 'stronger' one. There are different kinds of strengths and different kinds of weaknesses, and the movie was pretty good about showing how the humans exploited the latter. And what a miserable little world it would be if people who aren't special or superhuman never even have a chance of succeeding - or even surviving.

And finally d) it's never going to be realistic, because vampires aren't real. (Well, human-shaped ones, anyway.)

Anyway. All this to say that, in general, it kind of annoys me when fics are like 'and then the vampires effortlessly demolished any and all resistance the humans put up'. But. Listen. It was important here.

“Let him go, David,” Max says, like he’s talking to Thorn.

There are a couple times throughout this chapter that I describe the way Max interacts with David as comparable to the way he interacts with Thorn. I hope this helps lend some credibility to the bit at the end of the chapter where David turns on Max. If all you've ever been to someone is an attack dog...

“You’re going to feed him his friends?” Mike’s voice, of all people, pipes up out of nowhere. 

It was a lot of fun trying to work out where the new lines would be for Full Vampire Michael Emerson, what it would take to make him take Sam's side. I always figured there'd be a version of his loyalty to and love for his brother still in him, but what form it would take and what he'd see as beyond the pale in terms of Max's behaviour toward Sam, when he doesn't see anything wrong anymore with being a vampire or eating people, was a fun knot to untangle.

He can’t actually tell whether Max is impressed or disappointed when he says, “Sam?”

A little of both, I figured - Max's whole Deal says to me, loudly, that he's the kind of man who'd be deeply disappointed in sons who didn't stand up for themselves and stand by their principles and show that they've got good, strong backbones - but also doesn't think that should mean they should stand up to him.

“David,” Max says, looking over Sam’s shoulder, and Sam braces himself to get his nose rubbed in Edgar’s bleeding body again, like a puppy who’s messed on the carpet. But Michael, behind Max, is staring over Sam’s shoulder, too. And instead of a leather-gloved grip on the back of his neck, Sam just hears a voice from behind him. David’s hateful sarcastic drawl. “No, I think I’d like to see him face these ‘consequences’, too. Max.”

The way I pictured the development of this chapter was that nobody was willing to openly rebel against Max (with good reason, the dog comparisons and 'grounding' weren't just for show) until Michael attacked him, nobody was willing to be the one to risk their neck openly defying him, but also? Nobody was willing to stick their neck out for him, either. And also that it kind of had to be one of the new kids on the block who made the first move, because they hadn't tried it and been harshly put in their place yet, and because David would cheerfully murder anyone who so much as suggested it but he would do things for Michael that he wouldn't do for anyone else, and Michael has that loyalty driving him to protect his family. Sam's the spark in the powder keg and him resisting here sets the whole thing off.

And the foot-long, sharpened piece of lumber jammed right through him that made the hole.

I think this is the second time I've non-fatally staked a vampiric main character for Plot and also Drama. Maybe the third. What can I say? It's just fun to impale (imaginary) people.

“Of course I’m not going to kill you, Sam,” Max says, like he’s hurt that Sam would even think it. “I did promise your mother.”

Yes that is actually the only reason why not.

“No, no – with an, a penetrating wound, it’s best to leave the object inside, so they don’t bleed out,” Sam’s mom babbles at Star, who nods her head once. “If the wounded person’s human, yes.”

I try not to say anything too dangerously misleading/suspension-of-disbelief-breaking in my fic. That said. I am not a medical professional. Also I hope none of you are taking medical advice from fanfiction.

Sam wonders, vaguely, where David and Dwayne went. Whether they’re up there somewhere, joining in the vampire fight, and if so, on whose side. Or if maybe they’ve just found a quiet spot out of the way to hole up and wait to see who comes out on top.

(Fun fact: it's that last thing.)

When he can think straight again, his mouth is full of somebody else’s blood.

I really hope I faked at least one of you out for a second thinking that Sam had actually bitten Edgar.

...the night Sam and his mom and even his dog were forced to drink vampire blood...

This is my theory of what a hellhound is in TLB-verse. Nobody correct me if any of the supplemental materials say otherwise.

Like, for example, the vampire who used to be Sam’s brother. Mike’s gripping the doorframe above his head with both hands. 

...

The thing clinging to that doorframe for his unlife isn’t Sam’s brother anymore. 

...

...Mike’s committing suicide by head vampire just because Max literally tore Sam a new one. And this is the worst possible timing for Sam to discover that there might be more of his brother left in the monster wearing Michael’s face than he’d realised.

We're watching in real time as Sam reconsiders everything he thought he knew about vampires (at least, vampire!Michael), and the way he refers to Michael in his head, the back-and-forth between calling him 'Mike' and 'that thing that looks like Michael but isn't' is supposed to draw attention to that.

“I think you could use some time to cool off. Have a good hard think about your choices,” he says. “Shall we say a week in the coffin?”

I was idly considering ways that you could effectively, non-lethally, physically discipline immortal vampires, and this struck me like a lightning bolt. I'm still particularly proud of it.

Between one blink and the next, Max’s face is back to his human mask, an expression of mild surprise crossing it. Sam will never make the mistake again of thinking this makes him any less dangerous. 

C:

Okay, so I also compare the way Max treats Mike and Sam to the way dogs get treated. That's just a running thread.

“I’m not gonna just leave Mike like this! He’s my brother!” Star’s quiet voice is grim. “Not any more.”

Sam's starting to see more of Michael left in the vampire, but Star isn't. She's been living with vampires longer, and probably has more experience of how human they can be towards the people they like - and then, how inhuman they can still be, at the same time. I'm not making an ultimate call on whether one or the other of them are right. But if Sam had listened to Star here, if they'd stayed on the same page and in each other's corners, it'd all have ended very differently.

“Lucy, darling,” he says, sounding disappointed, and turns to face – Sam’s mom, standing behind him, breathing hard, tears glistening on her cheeks along with the weirdly glittery blood that had clearly sprayed her when the stake went in. “And here I thought you really knew the way to a man’s heart.” Sam’s mom just stares back, her jaw set, her eyes ferocious. “It’s a little more to the left,” Max says, giving the stake in his hand a toss before raising it –

I think Lucy Emerson deserves the chance to stab Max, at least once. Is it in-character? Well, I think the reveal in the next chapter justifies it in this case. Also I thought of this stupid joke and was so pleased with myself that I absolutely had to put it in.

His heart is hammering, Sam realises, with a terrifying lurch of hope. Not crawling. Not sluggishly pulsing along like it’d rather he just gave up so it could quit. He can feel the blood rushing into his face when he tries and fails to cough up the dust that’s coating the inside of his lungs with every breath. Can hear his own heartbeat thudding in his eardrums.

I love imagining and then describing sensory experiences that no one is ever going to have. Turning human again after having been partially a vampire for long enough to start to get used to it deserved a little loving dwelling-upon.

When Mike glances over toward Star, she breaks her stillness and his gaze, turning and hurrying up the staircase.

[Katy Perry voice] In another life/I would be your girl...

“Everybody alive in here?” Grandpa calls out, scanning the living room. Mike snorts a half-laugh as he heaves a fencepost off their mom’s legs.

:3 :3 :3

I can never remember if the line is "I never could stand" or "I never could stomach". (Spoiler alert: it's the second one.)

Chapter Three

I had this one planned from about halfway through Chapter Two. I considered going back and sprinkling more foreshadowing for what would be the big twist in Chapter Three, and then I decided against it because I thought it would pull focus from the important bit of Chapter Two, which was Sam's idea of His Family versus Vampires getting troubled and those lines blurring, and also I didn't know where or how to put it in.

Their cover story does mean the Frogs end up having to take a full course of rabies vaccine. Which uses some big, big needles. Sam’s not entirely sure what the tiny twist of smile that flickers across his mom’s face when she finds out is all about. And she doesn’t tell him.

Rabies vaccine isn't fun, but then, neither is getting impaled by a comic book geek with a Rambo headband and a bad attitude. Somebody could've really gotten hurt.

Thankfully he doesn’t still have a huge, gaping hole punched right through his middle, but it definitely didn’t heal enough while he still had supernaturally fast healing for him to just pretend like nothing happened.

I'll be honest, I was just going to heal Sam up like nothing happened, and pretend it was fine because he was still half-vampire when it happened. But then somebody in the comments mentioned being excited to see how it would affect him, and I remembered how much I appreciate it when a serious injury lingers to affect a character throughout the narrative, and went for it.

Also, there's not enough love in fiction for people who have fucked-up lower guts and the associated agonies thereof. And sometimes misery just loves company.

...Nanook, who Sam’s hoping is as back to ordinary now as he is...

Look. I know I never specify in this fic. But dogs have a lot fewer qualms about killing things than humans. Nanook is definitely hellhounded for unlife. Sorry, Sam. At least now your dog's immortal?

Something about the way Mike looks at the curtain leading back toward the waiting room makes Sam add, “Mike? Don’t eat our grandpa. Mom’ll kill you.” “Wasn’t gonna,” Mike says, but just a little too lightly. “Liar.”

This whole passage - and especially this quoted bit - just worked. I could see and hear this bit as though it were the actors doing it on film so clearly in my mind's eye. I'm particularly proud of it.

The idea of Head Vampire Lucy Emerson lives in my mind rent-free. I love it so much. Especially the idea of her as this mild-mannered, sweet, friendly lady, willing to extend a helping hand, a few dollars or a hot meal or a room for the night, to anyone who needs it - and when somebody drifts into Santa Carla, lured by the warm nights, transient population, and the rumours that it's run by two little old ladies, and starts making trouble, here she turns up to give them a Very Disapproving Look and a Good Talking-To - with five grinning teenage toughs stepping out of the shadows at her back.

Lucy abhors violence. She's grateful to have plenty of people who're more than happy to do it for her.

Anyway. Tangent.

Sam can’t quite tell what his grandpa’s thinking, whether that hard stare is supposed to be a warning – or an encouragement. “That’s what you’d do if you wanted everything with fangs to know you plan on taking his place.”

Grandpa knows how to play vampire politics. He's been doing it for years.

Okay, so the rest of his family are vampires. But they’re still his family. 

This is very much not the tune Sam was singing at the beginning of this fic, and very much the central problem of this fic. It feels like a happy ending! It's an extraordinarily sinister and melancholy one! It's awful and I love it. Am I making sense anymore? Oh, who cares.

She gathers Laddie up in one last long big hug, before they leave. And doesn’t turn back when he calls after her, sounding lost.

I understand why people tend to write Laddie out of post-canon fic. I also am going to deliberately make use of this expectation. Eventually. Someday.

Lucy Emerson, Head Vampire is just such a compelling concept to me, and the idea of her actually trying to mom the Boys is an endless font of potential hilarity. One of these days I'm going to cave and write some Bloodsucking Brady Bunch slice-of-life indulgence. Just as soon as I figure out a scaffolding of scenes to hang it on.

Star volunteers to haul loads of garbage to the dump, apparently just to avoid the vampires. David volunteers to go with her, apparently just to see her squirm.

This is 100% a big part of why Star left Santa Carla.

"... Grandpa’s an old man. He’s not going to live forever.”

I do hope everybody kept this exchange in mind post-timeskip, when Sam and the Frogs are talking about how a sudden death with no cause given in Santa Carla means vampire attack.

“Do you have family waiting for you?” Sam’s mom asks, and Star’s face twists. “Somewhere.” She doesn’t elaborate. And she doesn’t actually say she’s going back to them. But Sam’s mom still stops trying to persuade her to stay.

Not sure how clear it is that I've tried to shift Lucy' overriding motivation, in absence of human morality, to family, and that she considers Star a part of hers. She's letting Star go here because she thinks Star is going back to a mother who misses her. There's a reason that, after the timeskip, Sam's reluctant to tell his mom and Michael that he knows approximately where Star is and that she'll likely be visiting him soon.

“Sam…listen. Just because someone’s family, doesn’t mean they’re good. Or good for you. Even if they love you. Sometimes especially if they love you.”

I love that the movie never tells you anything about where the vampire characters come from, what their history is, what their stories are. I love that it leaves that all so open-ended. I love that it lets you draw your own conclusions. I don't want to know too much about Star (or Laddie, or David, or Dwayne, or Paul, or Marko, or Max...) and I don't want to tell you too much that'll close off possibilities for them, either.

But also. I'm always most interested in families that are complicated and manage to fuck you up completely without malice, with genuine love, and with the best of intentions.

...she looks every bit as strangely young-old as she did that night on the beach when she pushed Sam into the surf. 

Calling back to Star trying to save Sam from what he wants while she's warning him about his mom and brother? Hmm, I wonder what that could possibly be about.

Mike’s jeans are blown out at the knees. He’s added a threadbare flannel under the leather jacket, which is now sporting an elaborate painting of the Arizona desert taking up the entire centre back panel. His hair curls just an inch or two longer under his jaw. But otherwise, he hasn’t changed.

cough cough

Also, as mentioned above: the embellishments signify that Michael's actually one of the Boys now. Increasing the number and elaborateness of his embellishments post-timeskip was very much on purpose.

The morbid thought crosses Sam’s mind to wonder whether it’s what they would have buried Michael in, if he’d ever gotten a funeral.

Sam's having real trouble reconciling 'everybody in my family is vampires which means they're still around and okay and we won and we got a happy ending' and 'everybody in my family is vampires which means we lost and I lost them'.

I love that we have collectively decided, to the point of it becoming secondary canon (from what I've heard, twice?) that the Widow Johnson is a vampire. I just think that this should not preclude her from also being an eccentric old lady. (Her first name here is an anagram of 'Carmilla', a rather weak alias that I believe the titular vampire uses in le Fanu's novel. I still haven't read it. I really need to.)

Sam’s mom looks at him like he’s just asked her why it’s okay to throw used paper towels in the garbage, but not priceless jewels. “My boys don’t live in Luna Bay or Sunnydale or Woodsboro.”

A little more evidence for 'Lucy's primary motivation in the absence of human morality is family', a little more conflict for Sam, and also, I had fun namedropping fictional California cities of horror.

“There’s no age where you become magically immune to vampire attacks,” Edgar says.

I love writing dialogue for the Frog brothers.

“There are at least four bloodsuckers in that room there right now,” Edgar says, flatly, as an answer.

I haven't decided who the fourth vampire at the post-funeral reception is (or if Edgar and Alan are just wrong, which also happens frequently). I'd love to hear any theories or ideas if you've got them, though.

Also, I do think it makes a lot of sense if it was somehow Grandpa who clued the Frogs in about the undead underworld in Santa Carla. But mostly that's here because I realised I hadn't explained at all how Grandpa would have known to show up at exactly the right moment with a truckful of stakes.

“Yeah. We did. And he told us it was his last wish to be staked before he got tucked in for his dirt nap. Didn’t want to wake back up with a set of fang dentures.”

I love writing dialogue for the Frog brothers.

I had a lot of fun combining hippie chic with 90s Laura Ashley country-home trends for Lucy's extreme home makeover. Was I just basing this off of what I remember from a very fashionable friend's parents' house from my youth? Mmmmmaybe. Also, I think if she did get fully vampired, she might get over killing people, but Lucy would still seriously miss the sun.

“I’m nearly finished with school,” Sam reminds them both. The weight of the liquid in the glass he’s holding shifts unpredictably in his grasp. He doesn’t look at it. “One more semester.”

I loooooooove writing scenes where there's an unspoken thing that nobody is going to acknowledge, including the narration. And in this case, I didn't want it to be clear whether that unspoken thing was Sam's fears about what his mom and his brother might be capable of, or whether that unspoken thing was what they all knew was in Sam's wineglass.

Sam also definitely keeps reminding them of how little time he's got left in school in place of reminding them that he doesn't want to be a vampire, even though he's deliberately trying not to sound like he's accusing them of something he doesn't want to believe they're capable of. And even if he does understand that trying to tell his mom he wants to let himself get old and die as a human is never going to go over well, for him to say 'not yet, wait a little longer' and for her to respect that means that she still cares about him more than what she wants, which in turn means that she's still somebody he can recognise as his mother. Same way as Mike attacking Max for Sam proved that he still cared. This is a test for Lucy as much as it is a leap of faith for Sam, and if she doesn't pass it, he might just find himself capable of what it takes to become human again.

“You’re the one who literally had a boyfriend last year.” “Yeah, and that was way less weird than whatever’s going on between you two.”

Listen, I just think that you cannot meaningfully collapse the tension between Michael and David down into a conventional, exclusively-monogamous romantic relationship, and that you lose something important and interesting if you try. Not least because there are three other guys and a girl involved in their whole situationship.

I've talked about this in a couple of comments, and I think I finally figured out how to put it into words without having to tell a whole story to do so: the ultimate question of this story is whether Sam can trust his family, or himself. He can't have both.

In the end, Sam chooses his family, which I think he would have done from the moment he opened the window for Michael in canon. I didn't want to make an ultimate call on whether that was the 'right' choice. And I also didn't want to have to make a final call on whether Lucy would pass the test and prove she was still enough the mother Sam loved and trusted. So this story ends where it does, with a lot of questions and possibilities up in the air.

Just like the movie. :D

#chatter #this is mary's fic tag #the lost boys #all of my references are at least a decade old and only getting older

[norbiegrafton]

114 ac - norbert grafton is born

norbert grafton was the second-born son of house grafton, a quiet, serious baby who hit all his mental milestones way before most of his peers, but was slow to learn to sit and to walk. as a child, he had a mild speech impediment he grew out of- but not before he acquired the nickname most people, friends and enemies alike, know him as. he struggled with pronounced his own name, and thus, became simply norbie. as a child he was bullied and laughed at when in the company of other boys, and still feels more comfortable in the company of women to this day.

pre-dance

before the dance broke out, norbie was fostered with the swann family in the stormlands.

129 ac - the dance begins

the dance broke out when norbie was just shy of his 16th birthday. it was a difficult predicament to find himself in, as at the time, he was still in the stormlands, who supported the greens, whilst his family and homeland supported the blacks. for a while, nobody knew what to do with norbie. eventually, it was decided he would go to the citadel to become a maester, which he did after he turned 16. however, he hated it, and after a few weeks left to return to gulltown. norbie makes a single attempt to fight with the men of the vale. it does not go well, and he breaks both knees. he is never again asked to lift a sword, but does make a name for himself when it comes to his skills as a steward, businessman, inventor and architect over the course of the dance. in my mind, i like to think he contributed by inventing some powerful siege equipment and making sure gold kept coming into gulltown to fund their troops, predominantly by travelling around and offering his services to places and keeps who needed help rebuilding after the destruction of the dance.

140 ac - the dance ends, the vale becomes independent

norbie is relieved when the dance ends. he has spent the last few years either focusing on business matters in gulltown, supporting his brother, or travelling around the continent working on architectural commissions when offered. notably, he has completed a lot of building work in gulltown. when the realms gather, norbie is usually in attendance. however, he was not in the north when the nobles gathered there. norbie was present at: - the peace talks in dorne - king cedric's wedding in the reach - the coronation of king jaehaerys ii - the celebrations following the birth of prince arthur he follows the political situation in the vale from a distance, but with care. since the fracturing of the kingdoms, norbie has been happy to support house arryn, regardless of which arryn sits the throne. that's for them to decide.

#▫️ task ╱ hold the vision ; trust the process #▫️ character building ╱ old ways don't open new doors #optoo2charriehistory

[fostercare-expat]

The Cutie Sibling mom told me she went to a neighbouring city to fix her motorcycle and she won’t be home until 3 hours after we had arranged for the kids to be sent home. I’m also guessing she is really visiting someone because her motorcycle obviously drove her there so it’s not having significant problems. Annoying but thankfully we didn’t have anything planned and the kids are beyond thrilled for another swim in the pool. And the twins just left so it’s all more manageable.

When the Cuties came over, the older brother immediately asked if we could call his old foster mom. (He also lived with her for a time.) I had forgotten to even give her a heads up, but she was thrilled to see him on camera, and she showed up with her 2 boys this morning. She’s great, and calls me her Sister Wife, which is just the best nickname. We all need a few sister wives in this world. She’s the one who has been caring for the baby with no citizenship who arrived out of the blue. She has no plans to take a newborn but the agency was desperate and she said yes. So she definitely deserves an award.

Younger brother’s speech impediment has gotten better with age but it’s still hard to understand him at times. But that’s probably something that’s still a wait and see. Oldest sister needs glasses since she lost hers, but the prescription is only in one eye and her mom assures me she will get them next week because she has a voucher so I’ll check in with the Older Sister in a few weeks to make sure. It’s so nice when they have their own phone!

Mom isn’t renting a room in their house to any jerks anymore. Makes me so much safer for the kids. The last renter (or might have been boyfriend but mom wouldn’t admit it) used to discipline the kids physically (which led to their removal by CPS) and I worried it was just a matter of time before the other type of abuse started happening. CPS made sure that no renters were allowed as part of the reintegration of the family, and even though the case is closed, mom has kept her promise. I just want to protect these kiddos, in a way that mom likely wasn’t protected as a young girl herself. Mom goes out of her way on social media to show a bit of a gangster image / sugar baby image, but also highlights her nurturing mom side. It’s interesting mix. She is who she is. As long as the kids are safe, that’s all that matters.

[silvcrignis]

Also I’ve already noticed Alger has a sort of bizarre speaking pattern, a LOT of unnecessary pauses in his speech & I’m not sure if it’s because he’s constantly pausing because he’s constantly thinking about if he can/should screw over the person he’s speaking to or if he just talks that way to play up his murder boy persona because I guarantee it’s not a speech impediment he absolutely KNOWS how to talk without doing that.

#x: Creature Feature (Headcanon) #c: Alger #v: Hunt A Killer (Dead By Daylight)

[lefthandersruletheworld]

The Bathroom Break (Bill Denbrough IT fanfic)

Like always, it started with a stutter.

“Cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh,” William Denbrough, or more accurately; Bill, stuttered violently. “Cahhhan I-I go to the buh-bah-bathroom?”

“Sure, go,” his teacher said, her fingers finding her temple in annoyance. She was well aware that Bill couldn’t control that wicked speech impediment, but that didn’t make it any less maddening. Within a breath, Bill had jumped out from his seat and onto his feet. He launched up so aggressively that he slammed his upper legs and hip bones into the edge of his desk. The desk seemed to flinch in return. The resulting squawk the desk's feet made against the floor turned the surrounding giggles and chuckles in the room into all around laughter. Bill looked around the laughing classroom in agonized embarrassment. His classmates were laughing so sporadically and loudly, that one would assume some poor child just let out the most atrocious and fantastical fart known to man in a classroom of thirteen year olds. Bill only wished it was that simple, then he could dispel any mean spirited questions with his own simple answers like, “I couldn’t hold it in anymore” or “my mom made beans, it’s not my fault”, but Bill wasn’t so lucky. Now on his feet with his eyes to the floor, face blotchy and red like a rainier cherry, he sped walked -just shy of a jog- towards the classroom door. As soon as he lifted his hand for the handle, Moose Sadler; the reason for Bill's humiliation, spoke out, “buh-buh-buh-bye b-b-b-b-b-Billy,” in a mock of his stutter.

With that, another wave of laughter came roaring through the classroom. Bill swung the door open and didn’t look back. He could only barely hear the teacher trying to quiet the class down and get them back to their studies, but that didn’t matter now. Bill’s fast pace slowed dramatically once he was in the safety of the hall. He purposely slowed his walk to nearly a crawl, just to extend the time of his little “bathroom” break. His heart was still beating heavy in his chest, and his flushed face marked him like a sticker of shame placed onto his cheeks, but in the hall he was safe. He was unsure if the shame he felt would ever leave. He hated his stupid, stupid stutter. His mind was consumed by self loathing types of thoughts as he fled into the boys restroom. He didn’t actually have to go, he figured his teacher knew, but he walked in there like it would save his life. Despite his teachers' open distaste for his stutter, she likely understood that he loathed it more than anyone else. He is the one who has to live with the damn thing after all. Nevertheless, she likely agreed to let him use the bathroom just to get his pink face and blabbering mouth out of her once calm and quiet classroom.

When the bathroom door clicked shut and the cold air of the bathroom hit Bill's nostrils, he felt like he could finally breathe. He took a moment to just look at that plain tile half-wall before rounding the corner and being met with the full bathroom. The layout of the bathroom was rather simple. Upon walking in there is a short tile wall to act like a privacy curtain. A person would have to take a right turn to really see the bathroom. On the right hand side of the bathroom there was a wall dedicated to hygiene. There were six sinks set at an even distance between each other; with a small mirror for each. Between each sink there was a soap dispenser and a paper towel dispenser for the sinks and boys to share. It was worth mentioning most boys skipped the whole handwashing process altogether, but Bill’s mother drilled it into his head that polite boys must always was their hands after using the restroom. The left side of the room was for doing your “business” so to speak. The left side of said wall was made up of three urinals, all of varying heights to accommodate the young boys in the elementary wing, the growing boys in the middle wing, and the older boys in the high school wing. Then to the right were three toilet stalls for pooping and privacy. Finally the very back wall, right where the wall meets the ceiling, were some thin and blurry windows to allow natural light through the room. There was also a trash bin on the other side of the half wall, right when you walk in. Bill had been in this bathroom what felt like a million times, so he just made for the stalls without hesitation.

The middle stall was occupied, so he slipped inside the third and final stall at the very end. It was the largest stall and arguably the best because it allowed for that natural light from the windows. It was also without the threat of being peeped on due to the frosted glass, but Bill didn’t know that’s what it was called. Most boys just call the windows “blurry” and that seemed good enough. He latched the stall door shut and - with a motion that Richie, the Trashmouth Tozier, would describe as a “majestic twirl” - pivoted on his heel with a spin and made for the toilet. Unlike what you’re supposed to do while sitting on a toilet, Bill kept his shorts on and securely fastened around his hips. No point in dropping them down when he didn’t have to go. He sat his clothed rear onto the toilet seat and put his head in his hands. His palms felt cold by comparison to his flaming cheekbones. For a moment he just moved his hands and fingers around his face to cool it off. He glanced briefly at the brown leather boots in the other stall. Bill didn’t mind that there was another kid in the bathroom with him, but he sure as hell would rather be alone right now though, but beggars can’t be choosers as his father would say.

Back with his head tucked thoughtfully in his palms, his brain replayed that damn scene in the classroom over and over like a broken record.

His teacher had been trying to gather some class engagement for their reading lesson. She spent what must’ve been about five minutes asking for volunteers to raise their hands so they may take a turn to read out loud, but the classroom was completely void of sound except for breathing and the occasional cough. Normally any teacher would be praising the lord for such a relaxed set of thirteen year olds -mixed with some older kids that didn’t quite make the marks- but that quiet and dead classroom wasn’t what she needed at that moment. It always seemed that when she needed kids to be quiet, there they were laughing, talking and being disruptive, but the moment she needed them to chat, there they were, dead silent and disengaged. She cautioned, ’I’ll start calling on people if nobody raises their hands’ but nobody did. With a heavy sigh she began to point to random children in the class, asking them to read a paragraph or two, before calling on another child to do the same with the next set down.

Everything was all fine and well until she pointed off to the back center row of the class, right on Bill Denbrough. The way her face went from a pleasant look of boredom to instant regret washing over her expression haunted him. The way she realized ’oh no. Oh me oh my what have I done? I just called on the stutterer. Oh God here we go. Now I’ve got to sit through this.’ The look was not shocking nor uncommon for Denbrough, but the fact it was so transparent, and on a teacher no less, threw him completely off his rhythm and left him horrified. Why did people have to look at him like that? He doesn’t like the stutter any more than anyone else does, but it’s not like he can control it. While Bill’s stutter in the classroom was normally long and tedious, her visible regret would’ve had him fumbling for his words even if he didn't stutter. He kept telling himself ’just read through this as fast as you can so she can call on someone else’ but it seemed the faster he wanted to speak, the slower he became. He was choking on his words, only made worse by how some kids snickered or groaned at his lengthy stuttering read, but it all went from bad to worse when he got caught on the word “knapsack”.

That damn word had him by the throat and once he got past the “knap” part of the word, he was completely stuck on the “sack” part of it. The kids really began to giggle there, but Bill was so focused on trying to get the word out, he had no idea why they were laughing. It wasn’t until Moose Sadler; one of the older boys and an on and off again member of the Bowers gang, quickly and quietly shouted, “ball sack,” that the chuckles turned into a roar of laughter. The teacher reacted almost instantly, hushing and shushing the class, but it was too late. The damage was done and the kids were hysterical. Poor Bill was left with the icey realization he was blabbering on and on about “sah-sah-sack-”. If that thought was ice, then the next realization that hit him was like a snowy avalanche; ‘Moose is gonna tell Henry about this’. His mind reeled when the thought grew. ’Moose is gonna twist the story; call me a queer, a gay-lord talking about ball sacks in class’. That was the final straw, the one that left Bill clutching his desk til his knuckles were white and his face was that of a furnace. His only fallback was the good ol bathroom trick.

Which brought him here, red faced and hiding away in a bathroom stall.

Bill groaned into his palms and hid his face even more. His brain just wouldn’t shut up with how Moose was gonna run his mouth. What was Henry going to do to him once he heard? It’s not that Bill had any malicious opinions about gay people, quite the contrary really. He was probably one of the most open minded people in their school about gay people, but it wasn’t a label he wanted others to be throwing around about him when Henry - the Psychopath - Bowers was around. He could practically hear it now, in bold letters like a radio announcer for a big talk show trumpeting, “LOOKIE HERE LADIES AND GENTS, HERE WE HAVE STUTTERING BILL, DERRY MANES FAVORITE GOOD OLD FAGOLA. WHO WILL HE DO NEXT? STAY TOONED THIS WEEK FOR THE NEXT EPISODE OF FAGS IN BODY BAGS”. Bill would be considered the luckiest boy alive if Henry only made him bleed a little bit. He could live with the rest of the school thinking of him as a gay, blubbering fool, but with Henry Bowers around, that rumor might as well be written on his obituary. He almost wanted to cry, but he didn’t dare. Crying with another boy in the room? That would be a fast way to get upgraded from ‘Blubbering Gay Fool’ to “The Stuttering Gay Crybaby”. Although that didn’t make him want to cry any less. Quite the contrary, it only fueled it. His unshed tears bit at him hard, but he denied himself the right to cry. After all he hasn’t genuinely cried since-

Since Georgie died.

Since the funeral.

Since his baby brother was buried in a small casket with only one arm, because they couldn’t find the other one.

Bill looked up to the ceiling, rolling his eyes up to force the tears back in. They bit and clawed, trying to crawl out from their prison and his lower lip fluttered with pre-cry breaths. His breathing was louder than he meant for it to be, but not as loud as he believed it was. He fluttered his eyes, trying to banish the salty tears. They fought him, nearly won but soon retreated. They left a burning sensation throughout his face, but he felt pride in his repression. It wasn’t until he was absolutely confident that he wasn’t going to cry that he allowed himself to look down at the tile floor. They rested there for a moment before flicking back to the boots inside the other stall.

It was odd that the other boy hadn’t left yet, and his boots seemed oddly- nearly painfully- familiar but he couldn’t quite place who they belonged to. The boots were quite large, meaning they belonged to an older boy. It was then where Billy finally noticed a scratching sound that came from the other stall. It took Bill only three seconds, one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, to understand the boy must’ve had a knife or something similar and was carving something into the wall. Given the type of graffiti in Bill's own stall walls, it was likely a fowl spirited message or phallic drawing. That’s just how the bigger boys were, and some of them were really good at drawing dicks. It was almost concerning how well they could carve dicks into the stalls. Bill could do without seeing all the cruel messages written along the walls, but he didn’t mind randomly finding a funny looking penis shape in unexpected places. It was always a good laugh when he found one. He pondered briefly if drawing dicks was a boy exclusive trait. He wondered if girls drew dicks in their bathroom too. Although, they probably wouldn’t because how would they know what one looks like? He supposed they probably draw… whatever it is girls have in their pants, but he couldn’t be certain.

As immature and boyish as it was, the thought of all the funny dick carvings he’s seen made his spirits lift a bit. He’d seen all sorts of drawings. Big ones, little ones, ones with tiny little balls and bulbous tips and others with sharp small tips and huge balls like golf balls. Then there were the hairy ones, veiny ones, floppy ones, super straight ones that seemed to be peeing due to the tear drop shapes coming out of it. Hell, he had even seen one once with angel wings with text underneath that read ‘RIP Boogers Balls’, which was a reference to a time where Vincent “Boogers” Taliendo got hit in the balls with a kickball in gym class. The thought of all those funny penis drawings and the memory of Boogers wailing in pain when he was struck in his nether regions suddenly made Bill feel a lot better. His face was no longer red and despite being embarrassed about the whole classroom endeavor and anxious about his fate with Henry, for now he felt stable. He may cry later that evening if the thought of Georgie returned to him, but he’d likely forbid himself once again. That’s just how he was.

Ignoring his thoughts, Bill decided he should probably return to class. After all, he had been gone for quite some time by this point. He rose to his feet and thought about his bladder for a moment. After a few seconds of mental debating, he decided he should urinate before returning to class, after all, he was right there. Might as well go now he figured. With a turn, unzip and let-her-rip, Bill did his business and within a flash he was finished and zipping himself back up. He flushed the toilet and exited the bathroom stall. In a trained and orderly manner, he walked straight for the sink ahead and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He cleared his throat while squirting some hand soap into his palm. His eyes met with that of his reflections. His eyes were a bit pink around the edges and lower lids, but other than that, there was no evidence he nearly cried. ’Thank God,’ he thought. In the reflection, he glanced at the other stall, a bit weirded out now since the other boy was still in the bathroom stall. No sounds emitted from the stall now. The carving sound had ended once Bill opened his stall door. Other than the carving, the other boy hadn’t made a sound. No typical bathroom noises or anything. Just silence. Bill mentally shrugged, deciding it was just some kid skipping class. He turned the water on and began to clean his hands in the pleasantly warm water. The water was nice, grounding in a way; comforting. He watched the way the clear fluid ran off his skin like a mini waterfall.

His trance was broken when he heard the clunk of the middle stall door lock being unlatched. Reflexively, Bill looked up into the mirror to see who the other kid was. The other boy must’ve been in the bathroom for well over ten minutes. He curiously watched the stall through the mirror, but the door didn’t open right away. Several long seconds ticked on with no movement from the door. It was much too long to be considered normal. Bill’s hands slowly stopped moving as he watched. He was just holding his hands under the water, fingers intertwined. He held still, just waiting and watching. As soon as the thought, ‘who’s in there’ surfaced in his head, it was as if the other boy could read his mind. The stall door began to creak open, but at a deliberately low speed. Bill was transfixed by this point, unable to tear his eyes from the stall door. The boy who was finally revealed by the door was someone that took the breath from Bill's lungs.

At first he almost didn’t even recognise who the other boy was. His brain seemed scrambled by the position of the other boy's body when he opened the door. The boy's open hand was placed on the door, but with his thumb pointed down towards the ground and his elbow crooked upwards, rather than the casual other way around. The position of his head was just- bizarre. His shoulders were askew, one pointed closer to the floor than the other and his head was cocked to the side, exposing a large portion of his neck. It’s not that his head was tilted like someone would do if they were in deep thought, his head was more so vertically pushed to the side, like someone peeking through a crack in a wall. Bill’s heart practically stopped when he saw it. It was so viscerally wrong. His eyes widened and lips sealed tightly. His shoulders tensed and nerves lit up like a flame to a match. The boy behind him was staring right into Bill's eyes through the mirror and his lips curled at the corners when they locked eyes. The worst part about it was that Bill knew this boy.

The boy that was both behind and in front of him, was none other than Patrick Hockstetter.

Neither boy moved. Bill couldn’t. His legs just seemed to freeze up. He was in a state of denial. It couldn’t possibly be Hockstetter. There was no way that out of their entire school, out of the entire male student body, that Patrick Hockstetter was the boy who just so happened to be in the bathroom at this very moment. Bill’s eyes must’ve been playing tricks on him, but as time ticked on, that hope vanished. The fact that Patrick was both in front and behind Bill sent a shudder through his scrawny frame. His instincts told him to run, but he didn’t dare turn around. He feared that if he turned around, it would activate some sort of primal instinct in Patricks brain and cause him to do something dangerous. Bill waited, hoping to God Patrick would just move already. He couldn't stand looking at that expression anymore; that sinister smile with eyes void of any true emotion. There was excitement and emptiness in his face and it had Bill frozen stiff. When Patrick finally did move, it didn’t make Bill feel any better. In a strange way, Bill had gotten used to that stand off of sorts but when Patrick moved, it was a horrible reminder that Patrick was real. A real, breathing and sentient member of the Bowers gang.

Patrick moved like a predator. Low and slow. Like if he stilled his movement and took care to breathe silently, Bill wouldn't see him coming. He approached the sink, but his eyes never left Denbroughs. It wasn’t until he was finally beside the bathroom sink that his head turned to directly look at Bill's face, not just the reflection of it. Bill refused to look. He shot his eyes downcast back to the water; still running in his palms. Standing beside Patrick, he never felt so small. Bill was only around five feet tall, give or take an inch or so. Patrick was just an inch shy of being six feet tall, despite still being around sixteen years old. Bill hardly breathed, he didn’t acknowledge the fact Patrick was watching him, leaning leftwards towards him. It was almost like Bill was a homeowner and Patrick was a ghost haunting the house. Just so long as Bill ignored the presence, it couldn’t hurt him; right?

Patrick observed the unsteady rise and fall of Bill’s thin chest. His eyes scanned along Bill’s scrawny frame. The way his fingers were trembling, despite the assumedly warm water sent a heat through Patrick. He licked his lips at the sight of Bill's fingerprints beginning to prune. Then, what happened next was just about as abnormal as the way Patrick opened the stall door. Patrick reached up for the soap dispenser and squirted a dime sized dollop into his palm. He spread the soap along his hands until they were frothy and then turned the faucet on. Patrick Hockstetter, the boy who so often collects dead bugs, spits in other kids' faces, and spends most of his time with Henry Bowers or in the local junkyard, was washing his hands. Maybe to someone who had the pleasure of not knowing Patrick wouldn’t understand the abnormality of this action, but it was almost as wildly strange as someone sprouting an arm from their forehead. Patrick mimicked the way Bill's hands moved, almost matching the exact movements like the very mirrors they stood in front of. Patrick was really washing his hands. It was a concept so outside of Bill’s perception of reality, he was nearly tempted to turn his head and watch, but he schooled that curiosity back and kept his eyes trained forward. He could see in his peripheral vision that Patricks head was still turned to look at him.

'Just finish washing your hands and go,' Bill told himself. 'Just finish and go, fucking go.'

That was enough for Bill. He hurriedly gave a final rinse to his hands. Although he already knew them to be clean. He considered them clean enough when the stall door opened, but his curiosity and fear were his undoing. Bill twisted the sink knobs, making the water cease its pour. The absence of the water hitting him felt like a spell had been broken. Bill took just one step back, his hands moving down to dry themselves on his denim shorts when Patrick sprung into action. Patrick moved so violently, the water from his hands splattered to the floor and a few droplets landed on the wall. Bill gasped and flinched at the sudden action and his right eye clamped shut expecting a fist to collide with his cheek, but instead of being struck, he heard the paper towel dispenser get tugged, and a rip sound followed behind. Bill opened both eyes and looked at the other boy. He found Patrick with his arm outstretched towards him, with a half wet paper towel in his hand, held up for Bill to take.

The way he handed the towel to Bill made the hair on the smaller boy's neck prickle. Patrick held up the brown paper between his middle and index finger, almost as if he was offering Bill a cigarette instead of something to dry his hands with. The wetness of Patrick's hands soaked about half the towel and the rest of the water fled down to his elbow in a stream and dripped to the floor. Bill felt like ice when his subconscious reminded him, 'he was carving something in the stall. He has a knife.' That knowledge of the knife, the strange way Patrick, Patrick Hockstetter, moved, and that ever present smile - yet not a smile - on his face set Bill's mind ablaze. Every bone and blood drop in his body said for him to run. To forget the towel and high tail it out of there like an abused dog with his tail tucked between his legs in fear of being kicked.

Yet he still took the paper towel.

His hand moved on its own. He wasn't sure why it did. God, he had no idea why his body would betray him like that. It didn't occur to thirteen year old Billy, but social expectation was one hell of a thing, a demanding thing, and the expectation of being polite overpowered the fear he felt. He took the towel gently, not wanting to make even too fast of a movement. A janky motion would certainly provoke something from Hockstetter. That something was a mystery. It could be as simple as a punch in the chest, a hawked loogie in the face, or a push to the floor, but Hockstetter didn't have that kind of reputation. That was more of a Belch Huggins type of thing, or even a Victor Criss thing, but not a Hockstetter type of thing. Patrick was never that easy. He was precise and cold. Patient.

So with trembling fingers Bill took the paper towel, it still partially soaked from Patrick's own wet hands. When Bill tugged it towards himself, Patrick gave it easily. Patrick's hand lowered to his side, and Bill was so incredibly aware of it. He thought for sure at any moment a knife would come for him. Maybe not to actually stab Bill, but definitely to rile him up. Hell, Patrick would probably say "hey mush-mouth, how about a haircut? Free of charge". However, as Bill did his best to dry his hands with the half damp towel, Patrick did no such thing. His hand remained by his side. It was oddly flexed, kind of like how a gunslinger would hold his hand to his holster in an old western movie, but he made no additional movement. His other hand was out of sight, perhaps in his back pocket, and its lack of visibility twisted Bill’s stomach. 'Say something,' Billy thought. 'Oh dear God just say something. Call me mush-mouth, call me a fag, call me queer, call me a maggot brained idiot or something. Just say something.' He begged internally. The silence felt worse than being punched. It felt like a million tiny needles were poking into his flesh, all throughout his small and thin body. Like the world's most excessive acupuncture session. The silence was so painful, and the social etiquette was so punishing, that it was Bill Denbrough who spoke first, or at least tried.

"Th-th-th-th-th," he tried. He was trying to keep it short, simple and fast; just an easy 'thanks' so he could be on his way. Patrick's eyes sparked to life, his mouth flashing white with a smile that was all teeth. There was no kindness in that smile, but his eyes were worse. They glimmered in the same way a monster’s would through the darkness of a child's closet. Bill couldn't escape them. His cheeks began to flush as he struggled through that singular word. "Thuh-thuh-tha-ae-ah-anks."

He had no idea how long it took for him to finish the word, it was certainly no less than seven seconds, that much he knew, but he also knew he had somehow awakened something within Patrick. It was either Bill's stutter or his politeness, or maybe an unpleasant mixture of both, but something awakened a part inside Patrick. A part of him that Bill did not want to be awoken. His eyes were alive now. Predatory and full of youthful spirit. Bill took a tense step back, and noticed how Patrick tracted his movement. Now it was time to go. For real. Any amount of time longer in this bathroom, and Bill might be crawling out with his teeth in hand. He snapped his head to the floor and started for the door, but audibly gasped when, like a lightning strike, Patrick sidestepped and blocked his path. Bill was so astonished by this sudden speed that he stumbled back, dropping the paper towel he had in his hand. Patrick's sink was still on, the water running and draining all at the same time. It was just about the only sound in the room other than footsteps and heavy breathing. Patrick towered above Billy, and he used this extra foot of height to corral Bill around, with his back facing the mirror. He silently led Bill backwards, until his back bumped against the tile wall, with his narrow hips wedged between the two sinks. Patrick swiftly closed the difference between the two of them. They were at most a foot apart, if that. Bill was pressed entirely against the wall, save for his arms which had to be lifted up, his hands placed on the sides of either sink. He gripped them hard, his skin making an audible squeak against the ceramic.

Now Bill was trapped.

Oh yes he was.

Patrick didn’t even have to speak to bring Bill to his mercy. Not one word had left Hockstetters lips and somehow Bill was pinned against the wall. There was nowhere to go now that he was cornered. He supposed he could try to throw himself into Hockstetter, but Patrick was bigger than him, a lot bigger in fact. Bill was only thirteen while Patrick was around sixteen or seventeen. Bill couldn’t quite remember, nor did he care. If they were older, like thirty and thirty three or four respectively, the gap wouldn't be so dramatic, but a sixteen or seventeen year old vs a thirteen year old was like going to a knife fight and the other guy brought a gun. Not to mention only one of them really did have a knife on their person. Ignoring their obvious height difference, there was also a huge weight difference between them as well. Patrick was around fifty to sixty pounds heavier than Billy. If Bill were to throw himself into Patrick's chest, the most likely outcome is that he’d ricochet back into the wall, or at best temporarily throw Patricks balance off. Best case scenario, Bill would throw himself into Patrick, and the complete lack of anything happening would make Patrick laugh so hard that he’d just let Bill go. Worst case would be pissing Patrick off. Although it was worth mentioning that Bill had never seen Patrick angry before. He was sure it was possible. He had seen Henry angry more times than anything else. Victor, Belch and Moose were prone to anger as well, but Patrick? Bill couldn’t recall ever seeing a scowl cross his face. He had seen- what he assumed was- a mask of anger on Patrick's face, but it lacked a certain fire that true anger had. The idea of somehow successfully pissing off Patrick made Bill's blood run cold.

Even with all of that out on the table, there was still one thing left unmentioned. Patrick was one freaky kid. He kept dead insects in his pencil case, something he was always keen on showing off to select kids for some unknown and bizarre reason. He often had a deathly odor wafting from him. One boy, just a grade above Bill, compared the odor to roadkill. However, the worst and most uncanny part about Patrick was his reputation. He had a long and seemingly never ending history of violence among other boys. He had knocked the teeth out of several boys' mouths, broken several fingers and arms, and even bit kids so hard he drew blood from the teeth marks. He even had a reputation among the girls in the Derry school system, one that was so vague and mysterious to Bill, that it sent chills through him just thinking about it. There was just something so wrong about Patrick. An unspeakable and frightening wrong about him. So trying to shove past him with his back against the wall was not an option for Stuttering Bill.

Bill was ripped away from his thoughts when Patrick abruptly lunged forward. Bill's face snapped to the left. There was a brief second that flashed where Bill thought Patrick was- it sounded foolish to even consider- about to kiss Bill. He was close enough to, that's for sure. In an instant Patricks breath was hot on Bill's right cheek. Bill pondered briefly; would Patrick kiss him? He certainly didn't want him to, but Patrick cared very little for what others wanted. Bill's own voice internally cut in, assuring him that what he thought was nonsense. They're both boys after all and sure, queer people exist but Bill was absolutely positive Patrick was not queer… Or was he? He supposed it was possible, but Patrick liked girls. The previously mentioned reputation he had confirmed it. The way he behaved with girls was something that just about every child knew about but very seldom discussed. Patrick did things to the girls in their school. The things he did were vague at best to Bill. He truly knew very little about the matter. He had no idea what Patrick had done to make the girls so frightened of him. Bill could recall once where Richie Tozier asked two girls what they found to be so scary about Patrick. Bill wasn’t a part of this conversation, but he was sitting comfortably within earshot, and he was curious as to why as well, so he elected to eavesdrop.

Richie had said something like, “I don’t get why you ladies are so scared of him. He doesn’t rough you up like he does us boys. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to re-glue my glasses thanks to him”. The more talkative of the girls answered in the most perplexing and eerie way she could’ve. Her answer left Bill scratching his head. She had said, “there are worse things than being hit, Richie.Patrick does things. You’re lucky you’re a boy”. Even though it was not said to Billy directly, that answer haunted him. What on Earth could that have meant? “Patrick does things,” yes he had heard, but what were those things? What could possibly be worse than being hit, being pinned to the ground with dirt and rocks shoved into your mouth? Being forced to your hands and knees and being sat on? Being stripped of your shirt and whipped with the branches of fir trees across the chest and back? Boy’s will scream, cry and run with terror when the Bowers gang show their faces, but only girls cower and freeze up when Patrick walks by. There was something Patrick did exclusively to girls that left them terrified of him. Bill believed them that it was bad- real bad-, but his brain couldn’t fathom what could possibly be worse than what he does to boys. Yet, in this very moment; being pressed against the wall with Patricks breath against his cheek, there was a small voice inside Bill. A voice that he wasn’t even sure if it was his own and it spoke softly; “are you sure he stops at girls Billy? Or are the girls just the ones that talk about it?”

There was a different kind of fear inside Bill now, one he had never felt before. Fight or flight kicked in, and he wished he could say his body picked fight. He wished he had the balls to stand on his toes, and in a stutterless scream yell, “FUCK OFF HOCKSTETTER,” but nothing left his lips. His body didn’t even have the courtesy to choose flight and force him into action, fleeing like his life depended on it. No, unfortunately Bill’s body didn’t choose fight or flight, it chose freeze. So stuck like a fly in a spider's web, Bill's eyes washed over Patricks face. In close range, he could see the hairs on Patricks upper lip, forming a soon-to-be mustache that would never come. He watched his lips, waiting for Patrick to just say something already. The silence was killing him. Patrick hasn’t spoken, touched or hurt him and Bill was shaking like a leaf. Patrick leaned in a little closer, Bill pressed the side of his head against the tile. He held his breath tight in his chest and his entire body was sent into a rigid, rock like stature.

“Sorry about your little brother,” came Patrick's voice, soft in his ear. It was almost gentle, ticklish even but yet, so incredibly uncanny. Words of empathy, compassion and understanding came out monotone with just a hint of elation. Those words were almost incriminating. Patrick apologizing for the loss of another? Patrick wasn’t known for that kind of sensitivity. Even when his own flesh and blood brother, Avery Hockstetter, died from crib death, Patrick asked for no sympathy and didn’t mourn. He went to school, just like the day before. The blankness on his face was no different than the expressions before. Everything was just… as before. Like Avery never existed and therefore, the death never occurred. Bill could still recall his mother Sharon gasping while reading the morning paper a few days later. When asked, she explained that Avery Hockstetter had died. She had to explain to him what crib death was, saying it’s when a baby accidentally suffocated themselves while sleeping. Bill remembered his eyes widening. He never would’ve guessed Patricks baby brother was dead. Patrick didn’t seem to feel anything about it. Almost as if he’s the one who caused it, but Bill figured that thought stemmed from his hate of Hockstetter, and not one of actual likelihood. While Bill couldn’t be so sure about Patricks involvement with Avery’s death, he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that Patrick did not kill George Elmer Denbrough.

At that very moment, Bill would never be able to explain just how he knew Patrick was not to blame for Georgie's death, but he just knew. Patrick didn’t kill him, and that alone sent another swirl of emotion through the eldest and now only child of Sharon and Zack Denbrough. He was relieved, knowing he wasn’t face to face with a child murderer, enraged, knowing the killer is still out there somewhere and terrified of where that killer may be. Bill’s soft eyes looked into Patricks. Tender eyes met with vacant and void pits. Emotionless pools of darkness were Patricks eyes, aside from just a touch of glee. “Sorry about your little brother,” his voice echoed in Bill's ears, just as nasally as before. Bill’s eyes were locked with the other boys, and with tightly clamped lips, he nodded slowly. His nod was an intentional action, one deliberately used to avoid speaking. However, if he would have dared to speak, he would’ve said, ’thank you Patrick, now please, please get the hell out of my way.’

Bill waited for Patrick to move, after all, the conversation seemed over, but Patrick remained in place like he didn’t notice Bill's answer. His lips contorted ever so slightly into a smile, just at the corners. His grin was almost unnoticeable, but there wasn’t much else for Bill to look at in such close proximity. He remained just as invasively close to Bill, just as he was before. This wouldn’t do. Bill didn’t know what his goal was, but Patrick wasn’t satisfied for some reason. Bill wondered, ’he can’t hear my heart, can he?’ Bill looked downwards to the floor, eyes locked somewhere between the tile ground, the corner of the sink and the edge of Patricks leather belt. The thought of pushing Patrick came back to him, but he banished the thought immediately, because only God and Patrick knew what kind of reaction that would provoke from Hockstetter. Instead, Bill, just above a whisper, tried to speak.

“Th-th-tha-ae-ae-anks-s Puh-Puh-,” he tried. Bill's eyes didn’t lift, but if they did they’d be met with a large, tooth filled grin once again.

A bang filled the room, causing both boys to snap their heads over to the left side of the bathroom. Bill jumped considerably, but even Patrick had flinched ever so slightly at the sound. In came another boy, who had entered so quickly, the metal handle for the bathroom door clacked against the tile wall. Belch Huggins stole the rubber door stopper several weeks ago to piss off the custodians. The other boy had an expression of annoyance as he walked about four feet into the bathroom before looking up and seeing the scene before him. He froze the moment he laid eyes on them. One boy pressed to the wall, eyes as wide as dinner plates and Patrick - fucking - Hockstetter pinning him there. With a rush of courage, Bill took this distraction as a blessing from the heavens. Not thinking of the punishment that will follow his actions, Bill shoved Patrick with all of his might. His hands slammed into the right side of Patricks peck and shoulder, forcing him to open up the right side of his body. Bill used this opening to sprint past him, his sneakers squeaking against the wet bathroom floor. Bill dashed past the other boy, and almost like he could see it in slow motion, he saw the boy's face contort from surprise, realization and then horror. The other boy was now to suffer the wrath of Hockstetter for making him lose his prey, but Bill didn’t regret it. Sometimes one must condemn another to a terrible fate to save themselves. Bill would come to regret it later, a sense of guilt rising up when he’d see the boy’s dual black eyes the next day, but for now, all Bill felt was an ecstasy-like rush of freedom. Bill ran down the hall like his heels were on fire. He only stopped running about halfway down the hallway, the reason being he was passing by the school's office and they’d have a bird if they saw him sprinting down the hall. As soon as he passed the office windows, he resumed his dash down the hall.

Once to his classroom door, he stopped and caught his breath. He opened the door and quietly stepped inside. He half expected the class to turn and laugh at him once again, but maybe two people looked over at him from their books. The rest of the class had their noses down and order had clearly been restored. His eyes flicked to his teacher, and she quietly held up her hand. With her fingers she flashed him the number four, before turning her hand into a fist, and flashing the number four once again. Understanding immediately, Bill nodded and walked to his desk. He sat quietly in his chair and opened up the textbook to page 44. He could feel eyes on him from behind. Bill turned his face to his right shoulder and saw Moose grinning at him. The bigger boy made a ball grab motion with his hand, but didn’t say a word. Bill just looked away, almost relieved by Moose’s presence. He’d much rather deal with Sadler than Hockstetter any day. Then again though;

Who knows what Henry’s gonna do?

#it 2017 #it bill #it bill denbrough #bill denbrough #william bill denbrough #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #creepy #patrick is freaky #anxiety #story #richie tozier

[squishmallow36]

Fedex headcanons please? (unless you’ve done so already :D)

Okay i've never done one of these before which is why it took so long. Also sleep. And school.

At this point i can't really tell the difference between something my brain cooked up itself and stuff i've simply adopted into my belief system. Also a lot of these are in kotlp

They're nerds, your honor. And yet somehow they have no clue what the other one is talking about. Dex is more chem and tech while I give Fitz more of my random geography and astronomy and history knowledge

If it can be made into a competition, it /will/ be.

They've been banned from playing kahoot because there may or may not have been fightinggg

It's their greatest joy in life to prove the other one wrong

Fitz is horrible at mario cart. Which is why they do not play anymore

One year they're tired of seeing the 'donate to wikipedia' things so they just send, like, an entire luster to the wikipedia people

Fitz stress bakes. So much. This boy is always stressed (fun times with gifted kid burnout) dex appreciates the baked goods but is constantly worried about him (i mean xe did pretty much raise xor siblings so it's not new to xem)

Xe/xem/xor dex!! My belovaed!

Fitz does /not/ understand what the xor is doing. Despite getting several explanations on why Dex did that. He just accepts it as fact and moves on in life

Okay--what if the vacker accent is like some sort of equivalent to a speech impediment and the reason fitz called dex deck is because his face just didn't want to make that sound and the reason he can say it now is because he felt bad and he repeated it over and over again instead of sleeping

Speaking of sleep--fitz gets up at like. 5. For fun. Dex has a history of staying up until 5. Usually it's more like 3 but you know hyperfixations can do that

Watching disney movies has just turned into being all gay for like prince eric (from the little mermaid) and shang (from mulan) etc. they bond over this fact.

Fitz would absolutely be reading dracula daily here in 2022. He would've decided Dex is a vampire because xe just doesn't go outside. Also the fact xe's a ginger also makes xem incredibly pale i would know i'm also a redhead

Fitz is a classical music nerd and a half. He plays name that tune with commercials. For fun. Dex on the other hand has every movie and game score burned into xor skull

Fitz occasionally forgets words and fills it with english words. Why? *shrug* words are difficult

Speaking of words being difficult, i think that's all i got. Not sure how good this is but eh it's fine

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Nice Teeth

PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG THIS

I know only like max 5 people are looking at what I write here, but I don't care. I guess the drive to write about certain things is pretty overwhelming right now, so here we go.

When I had 1000+ followers, everybody there was there because of what I wrote about our marriage. I shared a few semi-vulnerable things, but I never got super duper personal and revealing, and I admit I curated things to not include most of the biggest struggles J and I have had, and I never included any at all until they had resolution I could write about along with the problem. I like focusing on positive things and solutions and I do truly believe that what we focus on in writing and art and thought influences reality and that's just me. But today I want to write about probably the biggest, most serious disagreement J and I ever had, and you know...it never REALLY resolved. It's over now, and we don't talk or think about it much, but it was one of those few times when we couldn't come to a real agreement and we had to act anyway, and both of us still don't know what the right thing to do was/is/should have been, even after we did it.

When our son was in kindergarten, a trip to the dentist revealed his teeth weren't going to come in straight. (Shocker...I honestly don't think that any human being who hasn't already had thousands of dollars worth of orthodontia done could have a dental x-ray taken and be told they don't need some kind of cosmetic corrective action taken. And hell, I have a friend who had braces as a kid who now has them AGAIN as an adult, because a dentist told them so...I never thought they had bad teeth, myself). The dentist suggested an orthodontic appliance be placed when our son was 10. I noted this and told J about it, but it was 5 years away, so that was that until The Boy was 9 and a half, and he was about to enter 4th grade, and it came up again. I got nervous about it. Personally, I don't like medical intervention. It always scares me. And my best friend had a lot of orthodontia growing up, and it was painful and disruptive to his life. I'm a mom; I didn't want my baby to be in pain and have his life disrupted for basically purely cosmetic reasons. So I asked the dentist what the reasoning was behind the corrective change. Future headaches? Speech impediment? Harder to eat food? The dentist looked at me like I wasn't even speaking English and told me it was so my son could have nice teeth. I didn't want to do it. The appliance to me looked like a medieval torture device (it had a screw we had to turn every day and everything). No, it wouldn't be correcting future headaches or helping him speak clearly or eat more easily; in fact, while he was wearing it, it would CAUSE pain he'd have to take ibuprofen for and it would CAUSE a speech impediment, and it would CAUSE eating issues. I told J this. And J's response was, "My son gets nice teeth."

See, when J was growing up, his family did without a lot. Trips to the dentist only happened in emergencies; when pain was so bad it couldn't be ignored anymore. He didn't even have an option for orthodontics. J's smile isn't perfect. But I love it. My smile isn't either, and when I ask J what his favorite (physical) thing about me is, he always says it's my smile. But J WANTED braces. And he couldn't have them. Because of money. Now he could make sure his son had nice teeth. He didn't have to think twice about it; we can afford to give this to our son, so we will.

We spent about a month having a strained and irregular debate that was Nice Teeth vs. No Pain For Mere Cosmetics.

Nice Teeth won. Our son got the appliance. He cried regularly. "Am I gonna talk this funny at school, Mom?! :'( " "My head hurts; it hurts to chew; it hurts to eat; it hurts to swallow..." I told J I wasn't turning that screw, so J did it every day. Our son had the appliance taken out a week early because J couldn't do it anymore; couldn't watch our son cry anymore for nice teeth.

When our son moved from the pediatrician and the pediatric dentist to 'regular' ones in 2019, I told J, 'This is a new dentist, so when we get the x-rays, they are going to say he needs braces, because literally everyone needs braces, but...' And J cut me off. "The Boy gets braces if HE wants braces." Boy: I DO NOT WANT BRACES!

I know J's comment about the braces a couple years ago was conceding that maybe the appliance was a questionable decision. But I've told J a bunch of times since the appliance was removed that I know why he made the decision. We both want what's best for our son. J never wanted money to be the reason why we didn't get what's best for him. He didn't want him to be the kid who got teased in school for not having Nice Teeth if J could stop that from happening when he was 10 with some money.

A lot of parenting is like this and a lot of marriage is like this and a lot of two people who grew up working class/poor who are now financially secure is like this. I'm glad this is really the only time neither J or I has been sure what the right thing is and if we did it or not. But The Boy is doing ok right now. And he does have nice teeth.

#please don't reblog this #my writing