#Smart Smart Smart Smart Baby

[pangur-and-grim]

it's so nice to see Pangur getting over her fear and returning to normal. after months of nothing bad happening, she's finally had the brilliant thought of "huh.....perhaps nothing bad will happen???"

yes, pangur, you are living a life of decadence like none other. nothing bad will happen to you.

[obsesssedblerd]

little megumi is so smart for his age. of course he's going to be slick and try to get you and toji back together after you've broken up. he'll do little things, like "accidentally" get off at the wrong bus stop after school and go to the cafe you're at every single afternoon so you can walk him home, where you'll find toji outside working on a car since he had the day off. or "forget" his favorite dog plushie at your house, so toji has to go and get it. of course he'll stay for a little bit to catch up. or his favorite, looking up at you with puppy eyes and sweetly asking for just one more movie, which eventually leads you sleeping over for the night and spending the morning with the fushiguro family. megumi will smile to himself as he watches you and toji make his and tsumiki's favorite breakfast, quietly laughing together over old memories and stupid jokes. you'll get back together and move back in any day now.

[icedteaandoldlace]

So obviously most of the songs in Up Here aren't "real songs" within the universe of the show, because it's a musical, so they only exist in the characters' heads. The one definite exception is I Feel Like I've Always Known You, because that one was sung at the rehearsal dinner, before Lindsay and Miguel put their own musical-world spin on it in the woods. That said, I headcanon that Smart Smart Smart Smart Baby was something Rosie actually did sing to Miguel when he was little, and a much less polished version of You Don't Belong (and with slightly different lyrics) was something Renee and her friends would sing-song at him in passing at school.

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[triona-tribblescore]

Ouch! don't attack me with Donnie and baby Mikey😫

OH NO- MY HAND SLIPPED-!!

[aloneinthedark-eagle]

Do you need help at home? 🙉🐒

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Introvert adoption

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[tarot-world]

Stealth mode: activated! 🐶🍖 More like this

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[mediumgayitalian]

“Did you wash your face?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your hair?”

“…Yes.”

As soon as he says it, he coughs. A freckled hand moves to itch at his throat, rub at slowly puffing eyes.

“You, William Andrew,” Lee says, grinning, “are a liar.”

Will scowls. “Am not!”

The effect of his glare is significantly undermined by the redness of his eyes and the cough that interrupts him mid-sentence. Shaking his head, Lee leans into his bunk and scoops his brother up, heading to the Big House. He slides his hand in tangled, curly hair as Will rests his head on his shoulder, still breathing heavily.

“I can feel the knots in your hair, doofus.”

Will curls up tighter in his hold, muffling another cough in his elbow. “Nuh-uh.” He sniffles. “Hey, Lee, am I dying?”

Lee snorts. “No, you’re not dying.” He ducks into the back entrance of the infirmary, flicking on the lights and setting Will on the counter of the nurse’s station.

Will’s brow furrows. “Then what?”

With his swollen tongue, it sounds more like ‘den wah’. Lee picks up the pace — he’s pretty sure, based on what he knows, that the reaction will go away on its own, but a little Benadryl can’t hurt.

“You’re having an allergic reaction.”

He finally finds the stash of Benadryl — who sorted the mortal meds cupboard by colour again — and grabs one of the little measuring cups. Will sees the medicine and immediately starts whining, trying to climb off the counter.

After a minute of wrangling, he manages to keep Will put with one leg over both of his, chin hooked around his shoulder to hinder any escape attempts so he can pour the medicine with both hands. (He pours one teaspoon, even though Will is eight and should be having two. He’s too small for two. It worries him, a little bit — but there is nothing in his vitals to indicate anything’s wrong, so he must just be a late bloomer. Or maybe he and Michael are just destined to remain under five feet for eternity.)

“I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it ew ew ew ew ew —”

“Yes you are —”

“No! Gross! It’s disgusting!”

“You’ve never even had it before!”

Will looks at the tiny little cup like there are worms writhing in it. (He would probably be more willing to eat it if it was worms. Last summer he ate an ant before Lee could stop him. No one told him demigod life would involve wrangling dangerously impulsive children, and he would like a refund, please, thanks.) “I can tell.” He clamps his mouth shut, turning away. “I am not drinking it.”

“It will help you,” Lee says exasperatedly. Was he this difficult as a child? He needs to call his mother. “I can literally see you scratching your throat, you little snot.”

He shoves his hands under his thighs. “No.”

“…It’s bubblegum flavoured.”

Will turns slowly to look at him, evaluating the little cup with suspicion.

“Bubblegum?”

Lee shakes it enticingly. “Bubblegum.”

After a long, tense moment, Will nods once.

“Fine.” He accepts the little cup, bringing it up close to his face to inspect with one squinting eye. “But if it’s disgusting I’m spitting it out.”

He brings the little cup to his lips for the most delicate, most minuscule of sips, more of a dip of the tongue than anything. Lee rolls his eyes. A second later, a pleased look slots on his face, and he downs the rest of the medicine in one large gulp.

Immediately, some of the swelling reduces, and he stops breathing so laboriously.

“There you go,” Lee murmurs, smoothing back his hair. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn.”

He’s smiling as he says it, leaning down to press a kiss to Will’s freckled forehead. He slumps into it, sighing, arms winding their way around Lee’s neck almost shyly. Understanding the gesture for the plea that it is, Lee scoops him up again, wincing as he elbows his ribs in an effort to get comfortable, and starts putting the medicine away one-handed (by alphabet, the correct way to sort.)

“You sleepy?” he asks softly, feeling Will grow heavier against him. He crosses his fingers — Apollo kids don’t often suffer side effects of medication, but he’s hoping the drowsiness’ll kick in. It’ll be nice if Will actually, like, sleeps through the night. For once.

“Mhm.”

Smiling wider, he flicks off the lights and steps out into the late evening. Cicada song swells in the mid-spring mugginess, owls hooting somewhere in the darkness. The curfew harpies’ chittering grows nearer and nearer. Lee waves to some of his friends as he sees them puttering outside their cabins, running through the last of their nightly routines, and finally ducks into Cabin Seven.

“He out?” Diana asks, hushed, setting aside her guitar to walk over.

Lee hums. “Almost. Had to give him some Benadryl, so he’s sleepy.” His smile turns sly. “He lied to me about brushing his hair and broke out in hives.”

“Of course he’s allergic.” She leans forward, shaking her head, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. He doesn’t stir. “Goodnight, sweetpea.”

The rest of his siblings call out their own soft goodnights as Lee walks over to Will’s bunk, covered in stickers and bracketed by Michael and Leanna, and sets him on the mattress. It takes him several minutes to pry himself out of his grip.

“Love you,” he whispers. He brushes his knuckle across his cheek. “Night, kiddo.”

———

The next morning, Will sleeps in for hours. The rest of them rise as usual with the sun, but he’s snoring, drooling onto his Star Wars pillowcase. The cabin is filled with muffled snickers and snapping cameras.

“I am going to have so much ammo on him by the time he’s thirteen and embarrassed by everything,” Michael says gleefully. “So, so much ammo.”

Lee grins at him. “Make sure I get a copy.”

The walk to breakfast is almost strange — the twelve of them again, no baby brother. Melody, complaining about the Hermes girl who is not picking up on any of her hints, pauses mid-sentence to ask if she can swear. Cass laughs out loud and allows it. Quickly, breakfast becomes a competition of who can swear the most or the most colourfully, free now that there are no little ears (as if Michael hasn’t supplied Will with a vast vocabulary already).

By the time Will stumbles into the pavilion, rubbing sleepy eyes, breakfast is almost over.

“Well, hello, lazy bones,” Lee teases, getting up to grab him a plate. Will trails slightly behind him, fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt.

“‘M not lazy,” he grouches, accepting the heaping plate Lee hands to him, “you drugged me.”

They walk to the brazier near the Apollo table, taking in the sweet smell as Will scrapes off a hefty chunk of olive bread. Lee waits for him to close his eyes and finish mouthing a quick prayer before guiding him, still sleepy, to the bench.

“I didn’t drug you. You took the medicine yourself.”

“Um, no way! Unless a patient is educated about the risks, benefits, and alternatives about a treatment, they do not have informed consent.” He nods resolutely, evidently proud of himself for remembering the spiel. “Ergo, you drugged me.”

Lee has the sudden, overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Will is — he’s just so bright, and so little. Eight years old and chattering off about informed consent, intently watching Michael in the infirmary, taking notes in his little blue notebook and wrapping bandages on burns with his tongue poking out between lost teeth. When Lee was eight years old, he was chasing his friends around at recess, chattering to anyone who would listen about Pokémon.

He had felt it, when the glowing gold lyre appeared above Will’s head: this child will do great things. They’d all felt it. Cass had gone stiff, eyes flashing green and face creasing in horror, before remembering herself and the big blue eyes watching her, scared, and plastering a smile on her face. ‘Great things’ is never a good thing for a demigod to do. A demigod destined for great things is a demigod doomed.

With every straining molecule, he wants to turn to the heavens and scream, no! You will not have him! You will not use him! He is not yours to toy with, to use until you’re bored! I will not allow it! By my dying breath I will not allow it!

Instead, he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “What kind of dork says the word ‘ergo’,” and laughs when Will sticks out his tongue. He reminds his baby brother to chew with his mouth closed and keep his elbows off the table, lest his mama kick his ass, and forces himself to focus on the way he leans into Lee’s side as he eats; to memorize the wideness of his unburdened smile.

———

“I’m allergic to lying?!”

“Seems like it,” Lee confirms, closing one eye to line up a shot. He breathes in, holds, then exhales, letting the arrow loose. It hits the bullseye, but not quite as centred as he’d like it to be. Shoot. He sets down his bow, and Will runs off, scooping up the volley and running back with them.

(Gods, Lee loves having a little brother.)

“That’s not a real allergy,” he huffs, placing an arrow in Lee’s waiting hand. “The ten most common allergy types are foods, animals, pollen, mold, dust mites, medications, latex, insect stings, cockroaches, and perfumes or household chemicals. Other allergens are rare but not impossible, but all are a result of physical stimuli. An allergy to a concept or person is a figure of speech.”

Lee squints at him. “Do you know what ‘stimuli’ means?”

“No.”

“It means a thing that evokes a specific reaction. Where’d you read that?”

“‘The Flu, The Plague, and the Common Cold — How We Are Shaped By Reacting’ by Phyllis Ledger.”

“Huh.”

He lines up another arrow — closer to the centre, this time. Good enough.

They don’t learn a lot about paediatric care at camp, or really anything outside of first aid and emergency services, but he’s pretty sure that normal eight-year-olds don’t read and memorize medical textbooks in their spare time. Is he supposed to nurture that? He has no idea how to nurture that.

It’s kinda funny, though. Cute.

“How can I be allergic to lying if that’s impossible?”

“Is sewing a severed arm back on a person using magical nectar and singing songs possible?”

Will pauses, considering. “Okay. I guess so.” He waits, letting Lee focus to make another shot. “I still think it’s stupid. Are you allergic to lying?”

“Nope.”

“Is Cass?”

“Negative.”

“Michael?”

Lee scoffs. “If Michael was allergic to lying, he would be dead.”

“Is anyone else allergic to lying?”

“Nope.” This time, the arrow lands in the dead centre — finally. “Just you, kiddo.”

He’s heard, of course, of children of Apollo afflicted with such an inconvenience before. Their dad is the god of truth, after all. It’s bound to happen.

Will frowns. “What are the parameters?”

Lee glances curiously at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what is lying? Am I allergic to lying, or not telling the truth? They’re different, you know.” He fidgets with the last arrow of the volley, picking at the tail. “Am I gonna get hives if I say something that’s not true, even if I think it’s true? What if I say something that’s a lie but everyone believes it’s true, like when people believed smoking was good for you?” He gasps, looking at Lee with wide, worried eyes. “Oh my gods, am I allowed to be sarcastic?”

Lee tries his very best to hold back his laughter. He is obviously unsuccessful, because Will scowls, shoving him as hard as he can and throwing off his last shot.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Lee snickers, jogging down the range to gather his arrows. He slides them into the quiver, tossing it and his bow onto the equipment deck. “You’re very adorable when you’re mad. You get all —” he pokes Will’s dimpled cheeks, grinning when it makes him smile — “pouty and red. Like Tinkerbell.”

“You’re mean. You’re a horrible mean big brother and I want Beckendorf to adopt me instead.”

“I’ll let him know,” Lee says drily. “C’mon, kid. There’re cabin inspections tonight; I know you got Lego everywhere. Time to clean up. I swear, if we get Castor again I’m gonna —”

“Oh, I didn’t see you guys! I hope I’m not interrupting your practice.”

Lee stumbles. “— lose it.” He trails off weakly “Hey, Carter.”

The son of Athena smiles widely, dark eyes twinkling. His front tooth is just slightly crooked, and Lee finds himself staring at it.

“Hi, Lee.”

Lee wonders, briefly, if he has suddenly developed tachycardia. It certainly feels like it. He remembers something Will had rattled off during lunch yesterday — hummingbirds don’t actually hum, they just beat their wings thousands of times per minute, often in sync with their heart. Lee feels a strange kinship with the little birds right about now.

Will clears his throat loudly.

Carter startles. “Oh! Oh, hi, Will, I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Will squints suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”

“I was just hoping to use the archery range, if you’re done with it.” He tucks a lock behind his ear. “Or, um. We can share, if you want.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Lee rushes to assure, “I actually just finished, so I’m all — it! It’s all yours!” He clears his throat, sure his face is flaming. “Uh, take it away! Shoot straight!”

Mortified, he clamps his hands on Will’s shoulders and practically shoves him forward, rushing away as fast as is socially acceptable.

“Okay,” Carter calls out behind him, audibly confused. “See you around, Lee.”

Lee makes some sort of horrible, crackling chucking sound. “Right-o!”

Just bury him. Really.

“Smooth,” Will mutters, the second they’re out of earshot. Then he pauses, delighted. “Hey! I can still be sarcastic!”

Lee flicks him on the forehead, scowling. “Shut up.”

———

“— it just seems so vague, right? I mean, say I look at the sky and say, the sky is green. That’s obviously not true. But what if I think it’s true? Or what if I think blue is green, and green is blue? Am I being truthful? Is truth defined by my belief, or by whoever I’m speaking to? Or some arbitrary, so-called objective standard? And what if —”

“Will,” Lee begs, hands pressed to his rapidly-pulsating temples, “for the love of Zeus, please settle down.”

“I can’t,” he says dramatically. He gets another couple jumps on his (FRESHLY MADE) bed before Lee gets fed up an wallops him with a pillow, sending him tumbling with a shriek. “Child abuse! I’m telling Chiron!” He makes a pleased noise. “Hey, I can still exaggerate! I wonder if acting is considered lying —”

“I am going to lose my mind.”

“— and what about, like, withholding the truth? Like, for example, if you asked me, hey, Will, did I make a big embarrassing fool out of myself in front of Carter this morning, and I do not say yeah, totally, I was embarrassed for you —”

“That’s it.”

Lee pounces on him, murderous, digging his fingers into his brother’s sides as he shrieks with laughter, pinning down his arms so he can’t writhe away.

“Mercy! Mercy! I’m sorry, I’m —”

“You’re literally lying right now!” Lee says in disbelief. “I can see your eyes reddening!”

Luckily, the reaction isn’t so severe this time. Maybe it’s a smaller lie, leaning more into teasing than anything, or maybe even the universe can’t be so cruel when faced with Will’s giggles. Either way, Lee tickles him until he’s begging for mercy for real, gasping as he darts away.

“You’re such a brat,” Lee says fondly, catching his breath.

Will sticks out his tongue. “Nuh uh.”

“Get over here, doofus. It’s nine o’clock. You were supposed to be in bed a half-hour ago, I’ll tell you a story.”

Predictably, that gets him quiet, clambering over the mussed sheets and shoving himself into Lee’s side, leg sprawled over his knees and chin digging into his chest. Big blue eyes turn to him with attention, wider than the sea and skies, sparkling, clear with open trust. The lump surfaces in Lee’s throat again, and he brings his hands up to smooth down Will’s hair, distracting himself by untangling the many knots.

“One day,” he begins, voice a little wobbly, “there was a boy.”

“In a galaxy far far away?”

“No. Shut up.”

Will pouts. Lee kisses him on the forehead.

“There was a regular boy on regular Earth. And he was small and clumsy, because his brain was too big for his body and threw him off balance.”

“That’s called a Chiari malformation.”

“William Andrew.”

“Sorry.”

“Gods. Anyways. The boy.” He clears his throat. “The boy was the most curious boy to ever exist. He would observe things, with his big eyes, for hours, trying to figure out how everything in the whole world worked. He’d memorized how every creature in the pond worked together when he was four years old. By the time he was five he could speak frog, and dance with the fireflies.”

Will giggles. “A boy can’t speak frog, that’s ridiculous. Can the frog speak back?”

“Shhh. Listening ears. One day, when the boy was eight, he got very bored by his house, even with the pretty pond. The frogs were too busy to play with him and the fireflies had flown off to work, so he decided to go on an adventure.”

“A quest?”

“Yes, exactly. A quest for knowledge. He decided he would learn every piece of information possible so that one day he could bring it back to his village and share it with everybody. Do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“He was successful. He spent many years travelling and observing and running from monsters to get all the information he could. And when he came back to the village, the people saw that he was kind and intelligent but very naive, so they sucked out all the knowledge from his head to use for themselves and he died. The end.”

“What? No!” Will pushes himself upright, unfortunately putting his entire weight on Lee’s spleen, jaw dropped in outrage. “That’s a horrible story! You can’t end the story like that!”

“My story,” Lee wheezes. “I can end it however I want.”

“Tell it better!”

“Fine, fine. Get off my organs.”

When Will is settled again, curled in the crook of Lee’s arm and glaring at him suspiciously, Lee continues.

“The villagers didn’t kill the boy. You’re right. But they weren’t very careful with them, either. The boy wanted very much to help, so much that it was sometimes all he could think about. And the villagers didn’t mean to, but they treated the boy like he was a knowledge machine — taking and taking and taking, forgetting to give back, to check on him. One day, the boy was so drained of knowledge that he collapsed.”

“Of stress-induced exhaustion?” Will asks softly. His eyes, finally, have begun to droop.

Lee smiles. “Something like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“The villagers panicked, because the boy wasn’t awake to tell them how to fix him. They didn’t know what to do. Some of them, even, didn’t know why he collapsed at all, they thought he might be cursed and didn’t like him anymore.”

“But he wasn’t cursed, he was sick!”

“That’s right. He was sick, because he didn’t stop to take care of himself. He let people take too much without making sure he had enough to stay whole.”

For a long time, long enough that Lee thinks he’s asleep, Will doesn’t say anything. And then he says, in a very small voice, “Does the boy still die?”

“No,” Lee whispers, tightening his hold. “His big brother comes back from a long trip and heals him. And then he yells are the villagers for making him sick, and makes them promise to be more careful. The end. For real this time.”

“I like the second story better,” Will says. “It’s good that he had his big brother there.”

“Always.” Lee swallows, shifting once Will’s eyes flutter shut, sliding him under the covers. “Always, kiddo.”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 198

Now Bruce was not expecting to reincarnate upon his death. At least he thinks he died, he’s pretty sure he did. There wasn’t any other reason for him to be a well, literal baby. Around two he thinks, which fits well with the fact that it’s around that time that babies start forming memory recall, if he, well, remembered correctly. 

But while he knew about reincarnation thanks to Shayera and Carter, he’d never exactly given it much thought towards himself. Because seriously, what were the chances of such a thing as him being given another chance? 

So he was quite surprised at his situation, experimentally opening and closing pudgy hands that looked well, just a tiny bit off. He’d never been that pale before, he thinks, even back when he never went outside like, ever. 

He turned his gaze towards the mobile above him with a sort of idle curiosity- a mixture of bats (ha) and other trinkets he wasn’t familiar with. It also caused him to get his first good look at his parent, asleep on a rocking chair right next to the crib. 

Huh. They had the same pale skin he did, albeit in the light it looked like it was slightly tinted blue, and while their hair was white they didn’t exactly look old. They looked surprisingly well rested for raising a toddler too, unless they had a nanny or something similar… He rolled over, managing to very shakily push himself to his feet with the help of the crib. 

Why was standing so hard as a toddler? And why did he have his memories of everything except how he had died anyway? 

His head whipped up from where they were staring at his feet when he heard a snort, finding his parent awake and standing. Somehow silently enough that he hadn’t noticed- or he was that easily distracted by the unfamiliar giddiness bursting in his chest. 

“Morning little bat,” his parent easily picked him up and held him while he inwardly sighed at the nickname. Of course his bat motif would follow him into this life. A low rumbling almost caused him to jump, his body relaxing before he could fully register the sound. The… purring? 

Oh. 

He wasn’t human this time around. 

[cometshift]

it's me and my extremely specific 'subspace saw zuka almost like a parental figure before zuka left blackrock' headcanon against the world

[lilislegacy]

*set in the future*

camper: hey jackson, how did you figure out how to get past those monsters ealier? leslie said there were hundreds of them in the cavern guarding the staff

percabeth son: *shrugs*

percabeth son: well from a combination of my memory of greek myths and the use of deductive reasoning, i was able to figure out their weaknesses. it wasn’t about being the strongest. i just had to make them think i wanted the same things as them. as my mom always says, even strength must bow down to wisdom sometimes

camper: alright wise guy. but once you got past them and got the staff, how did you get back out? they must have known you tricked them by then

percabeth son: the cavern was below the ocean, i just collapsed it on all of them. it took a few minutes, but i got it

camper: how though? the cavern was thousands of feet below sea level

percabeth son: like my dad always says, given time, water can overcome any barrier

camper: still, that’s a lot of freaking power coming from a legacy. even a big 3 legacy. realistically, you should have been trapped down there

percabeth son: dude, the sea does not like to be restrained

[icedteaandoldlace]

Y'all, I just noticed the ominous reprise of Smart Smart Smart Smart Baby playing in the background when Miguel's boss asks him if he took down the firewall, and I'm dying. 😂

[b4kuch1n]

same teacher, different lessons

transcript

[pactw]

ramon is a little cutie, you know, we need more acknowledgement of that. he uses ;-; and loves flowers and kitties, i love him