#children's tylenol which i don't think we used for this

[dredshirtroberts]

fucking... ow.

[goldenavenger02]

Kid lloyd gets sick and the ninja take care of him??

Or- Jay and lloyd doing silly antics and the ninja being so done with their crap??

(P.s. get well soon!❤️)

Thank you for the well wishes! I went with the first idea since I immediately had inspiration for it (thank you, Darkness Shall Rise, AKA one of my top three episodes of the show) and I hope you enjoy!

Buzz. Buzz.

Cole knew he couldn't get on his phone as he stood outside of the front steps of the bank.

His boss was already upset with him for stopping that elderly woman, no matter how many times he explained that she was acting suspicious, so answering his phone was only gonna get him in more trouble if not straight up fired.

And he couldn't afford to lose this job, not when the only one making more money than him was Zane, even if it was only by two dollars.

Buzz. Buzz.

'Maybe it'll go voicemail, or they'll just give up and text me. I can check it on my lunch break.' Cole hoped as he observed the sidewalk.

Buzz. Buzz.

"Oh, screw it," Cole muttered, taking a look around to make sure his boss wasn't anywhere to be seen before pulling his phone out and answering it, not even bothering to look at the number, "Hello? I'm at work-"

"Do we have Tylenol?" Lloyd's congested voice cut him off and stopped annoyance from continuing to build in his chest.

"We don't have any children's, I don't think. Zane's going grocery shopping after his shift though, I can ask him to pick some up on my break," Cole explained quickly, "are you okay? You sound snotty."

"My head hurts, but I'm-" Cole winced at the sound of Lloyd's coughing fit coming through the phone and was greeted by a much more hoarse voice finishing his sentence, "I'm okay."

"No, you're sick is what you are," He retorted while trying to calculate who would be off work the soonest in his head and simultaneously trying his best to not think about her since that was the last thing he needed right now, "look, I can ask to clock out early-"

"No! We need the money!"

Cole sighed because Lloyd was right; if they didn't save up the money for rent, they'd be homeless which would be another obstacle that stood in the way of them stopping Lord Garmadon and the Serpentine.

"Okay, okay, I'll stay," Cole agreed even though every congested sniffle made him want to leave and get back to the penthouse so the ten year old wasn't alone, "but I'll ask the others, see if one of them is almost done with work."

"I really don't need-"

"Yes, you do. You're sick and can't even reach the medicine cabinet," Cole argued and when he only got a huff in response, he continued, "I gotta go now, squirt. Can you go lay down until one of us gets home?"

"Yeah."

"Alrighty. Be good." Cole insisted before hanging up, only to be met with the scowling face of his boss. 'Shit.'

"So now you're taking personal phone calls on company time?"

"It was an emergency, my little brother's sick-"

"This is your second strike, Brookstone," his boss cut him off with a hand held up, "do not get a third."

Cole waited until the man was out of earshot to say what he was really thinking, "I need to get a better job", before he pulled out his phone and opened the group chat to type a quick message.

"Lloyd's sick. Needs meds and someone to watch him."

And with that, he put his phone on silent and pocketed it; after all, he had done everything he could, he just had to hope that one of the others had access to their phone.

…

"How do we even take care of him? He's Garmadon's son, what if he has a completely different recovery process?"

"Jay, what the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"What did the thermometer say again?"

"100.4, but I would not be surprised if it has risen since we returned."

Lloyd's eyes burned as he tried to open them; after calling Cole, he figured that the best thing to do was lay down on the couch until one of the others got back with Tylenol but after taking a nap, his clothes were stuck to his body with uncomfortable sweat despite just how cold he was.

Even though he felt it building in his throat, the deep cough that made his head pound and his chest burn caught him off guard, as well as effectively silencing the bickering that had started in the other room before bringing what sounded like two sets of footsteps right to him.

"Lloyd? Are you awake?" A hand pressed against his forehead and gently brushed his hair away from his eyes, one that was warm and calloused against his soft skin, "he's burning up."

Lloyd finally managed to open his eyes, craning his neck to look up at Cole's face looking down at him before looking right at Kai who still had his hand against his forehead and turned his tight frown into a smile that anyone could have seen right through.

"Hey, buddy. We got you some medicine and Zane's making dinner."

"Not hungry."

"You gotta take some medicine regardless," Cole cut in as Kai pulled his hand away from his face and walked towards the kitchen, "plus, chicken noodle soup, especially Zane's recipe, is a surefire way to clear out that sinus system of yours even if you just drink the broth."

"Hey, what are we making Lloyd take right now?!" Jay called from the kitchen which made Cole sigh while smacking his hand gently onto his forehead in annoyance.

Lloyd had to fight back against the cough that built up in his chest from giggling at the action.

"I'll be right back. Stay awake, okay?"

The nod only made his head pound harder behind his eyes, but he kept it to himself until the last of the ninja made their way into the kitchen when he draped a hand over his eyes.

"You wanna sit up for a sec and take this?"

Cole's voice was gentle, almost in a parental way but Lloyd did not want to sit up; not when his head felt like a bowling ball,his limbs felt like jelly and he could barely keep his eyes open with how much the light burned them.

"Not really."

"Lloyd-"

"Everything hurts."

"I know. I know you feel like shit and I'm sorry that I wasn't here sooner, but the medicine will help you feel better and we're working to get shifts arranged so someone can keep an eye on you-"

"Is that gonna mean less money?"

Cole pulled in a sigh as he rubbed a hand over his face before his dark brown eyes pierced into Lloyd's green ones.

"Lloyd, this whole job and house and money thing, you don't have to worry about it. We'll figure it out, all you need to worry about is getting better, okay?"

Despite how much he wanted to protest, about how the only reason they had to work this hard was because they wanted to make sure he got the best training possible, his head hurt too much to push back against Cole's statement, "okay."

"Alright, then let's get you medicated and in bed. Sleeping on the couch cannot be good for your back."

…

It hadn't taken long to get Lloyd in bed.

Kai remembered when the kid used to fight, punch, scream and even bite on a few occasions when they had first brought him aboard The Bounty every time they tried to get him to bed.

Sensei and Zane were the only ones who ever had any luck getting him to lay down and go to sleep at a reasonable time, even though he was still convinced that Jay had let Lloyd stay up past his bedtime multiple times.

He knew that most of it was because he was sick and barely able to sit up to take the medication that he had called Cole to get, let alone bicker with the others about how he should be allowed to stay awake past eight thirty p.m.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder if some of it was the boy grappling with how serious his destiny was.

It had been different when Kai thought it would be him to defeat Lord Garmadon, that it was just like any other ordinary battle despite the heavy weight of it, but now that they knew that one day it would be his very own son that would stand in front of him and strike him down.

Kai just hoped that Lloyd's gi would no longer have to be cuffed around his ankles and wrists before that happened.

He was relieved when his phone alarm went off, announcing that it was time for him to free Cole from beside duty, even if it was just so he could escape his thought process.

When he walked into Lloyd's bedroom, he wasn't surprised to see Cole's head resting against his neck in the armchair that sat in the corner of the room; seeing the youngest of their team sick was stressful on all of them, but knowing just how close it was to home for Cole added another layer of worry to Kai's already frayed nerves.

Despite how peaceful he looked and how tired he had been from standing for nearly twelve hours straight for the last couple of days with the exception of a half-hour lunch break, Kai knew that if he didn't send him to lay down in his real bed until he left again at five that his neck would regret it in the morning.

"Cole?" He whispered, only getting a response in the form of an aggressive jerk when he rested his hand on his shoulder, "sorry."

"No, no, you're good," Cole shook his head, standing up and twisting his head to the right until his neck let out a small 'crack', "be careful with that chair, it'll do a number on your neck."

"Noted."

"Jay set his alarm?"

"Yeah, I watched him do it," Kai nodded, leaving out the part where he hovered over Jay's shoulder as he set multiple alarms due to the fact that he was notorious for hitting the snooze button and ending up being late, "go get some sleep."

Cole nodded with a mumbled "night" as he left the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving him alone in the dark room with Lloyd who was still asleep despite their hushed whispers.

Kai couldn't stop himself from brushing the hair out of the boy's eyes before resting his hand on his flushed cheek and letting the feverish warmth seep into his skin for a moment before sitting down in the armchair.

Maybe he couldn't stop Lloyd's destiny from hitting him way too soon and way too fast, maybe he didn't have his elemental powers anymore thanks to the lack of a fire sword, and maybe he couldn't get enough money being a party entertainer, despite doing the human pinata, that wouldn't pale in comparison to the others salaries.

But, he was able to sit in the darkness on the off chance that Lloyd woke up and needed someone there to comfort him, give him more Tylenol or even just let him know that he wasn't alone; for Kai, given everything else going on, that was enough.

[ayeforscotland]

Sorry my last ask was so broad. May I ask for your thoughts on the things happening in US politics at the moment? Like the Texas Judge ruling that the abortion pill is “unsafe” even though the data which shows it to be less dangerous than Tylenol/Acetaminophen and banning it nationally. and abortion rights in general for many Americans.

Or the legislation being proposed that affect to LGBT community, which is a broad topic on its own.

Or the 148 mass shootings the US has had in the first 100 days of 2023 (just today there have been 2 more)

I'm sorry these are some heavy topics. I don't expect you to respond to all of these. Thank you for reading this. Hope you have a lovely day :)

Sorry my last ask was so broad. May I ask for your thoughts on the things happening in US politics at the moment?

Like the Texas Judge ruling that the abortion pill is “unsafe” even though the data which shows it to be less dangerous than Tylenol/Acetaminophen and banning it nationally or abortion rights in general for many Americans.

Or the legislation being proposed that affect to LGBT community, which is a broad topic on its own.

Or the 148 mass shootings the US has had in the first 100 days of 2023 (just today there have been 2 more)

I'm sorry these are some heavy topics. I don't expect you to respond to all of these. The situations here scare me, as a queer woman. Thank you for reading this, and taking the time to respond to it. It means a lot. Hope you have a lovely day :)

Oops think your ask doubled up for some weird reason. To get it out of the way, I have never been to America. My thoughts on each of those topics are pretty much the same whether I'm talking about America or not. Guns are quite an American issue which I'll jot down some thoughts. I'm pro-choice, pro-equality and pro-gun control. In my opinion, unsafe abortion only happens when people don't have access to safe and legal abortions. Banning abortions or banning morning-after pills does nothing but increase unsafe abortions. To anyone who doesn't support abortion, that is absolutely fine, just don't have one. But don't dictate what someone else can do. Any anti-LGBT legislation is inherently evil. No excuses. Mass shootings are incredibly frustrating from a outsider's perspective. We only really get 'the big ones' reported in our news, and this has a number of issues. For some backstory, my nursery teacher was the mother of one of the children killed in the Dunblane massacre - the deadliest mass shooting in British history where a gunman killed 16 kids and a teacher before he killed himself. I learned about it super young and was always amazed she spent all her time teaching children who were roughly the same age her daughter was. And I hate that I have to write that, because after every single mass shooting, there's a viral twitter post from some UK liberal twat who just want clicks who rhymes off the Dunblane massacre as some sort of gotcha. I remember when Sandy Hook happened, and was young and ignorant enough at the time that I expected that was *the one* - that was America's Dunblane massacre and that would really change things. Now I'm just sad and tired, and a little bit ashamed that whenever I hear about a mass shooting on the news that my reaction is just "Oh, that's a tragedy" and then carry on with my day. They are so frequent, and the reaction after each one is so poor that I can't mentally invest in each one. I'm a bit more pragmatic than the non-Americans who comment saying that America should just confiscate all guns. I know that that won't happen, but I do think there should be stricter regulation for owning one.

Super heavy topics - super heavy answers. Hope that's what you were looking for.

[dollywheeler]

September 7th, 1996

Dear diary,

I still can't do the stupid cheer routine. We spent all afternoon - hours on end - practicing and I still miss that stupid step after the fifth turn. I don't know if it's the music that's throwing me off or that I just suck. No one else seemed to be having problems with it and it was just so humiliating. Even the new recruits were getting it! No one commented on it, but I know they must have noticed - it a was too obvious for them not to.

After I drove Whitney home I even circled back to the school and continued practicing. I couldn't get back into the gymnasium of course because Sandy has to lock it back up, but I just used the field. It's better than doing it in the back yard where everyone can see and we don't have the space upstairs.

Now that I think about it... maybe I could clear out the basement. It would definitely be easier to practice at home. I doubt the ceiling is high enough for tumbling but the extra space for choreo would definitely come in handy.

I just have to find the time to do it I guess. I'm adding it as the highest priority to my to-do list because I need to get this routine before practice on Tuesday. Might have to go back to the field for now as I still have to finish that stupid book for English.

I would do it tonight but I'm still waiting for the Tylenol to kick in. Which leads me to the cherry on today's shitcake. After I got done practicing I had to go grab more tampons but of course everything but Melvalds was already closed. I've successfully avoided it for months but of course I end up breaking my streak this week.

And of course, Mrs. Byers was working, because that's just my luck. I plastered on a smile and opened the door ready to mumble a greeting the second Mrs. Byers would notice me. Of course she did as soon as the bell above the door rang. I hate that I feel the need to avoid her - especially when she always smiles so brightly and is so kind to me, when for a second upon seeing her it feels like everything is going to be okay - but it's always just another person looking at me like I'm still six years old. Another person who knows my brother better than I do. Knows both my siblings better than I do.

And I barely know anything about her. I know of her of course. Knows who her husband is and who her children are, where she works - obviously. But other than that, she's just another adult to judge me against their expectations of who they think I am.

I don't know, maybe I'm being dramatic. Answering her questions about school and my life wasn't too hard, only had to swerve a few questions about having Mike and Will at school.

Still, I could swear I saw something in her eyes, something sad and knowing that I just... I hate that look. That look that all of them seem to have that says I'm disappointing them. That I don't belong.

And I still have a fucking headache.

- Holly

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

M has been sick on and off since she started daycare in July. She came down with another respiratory virus and has had a fever since Wednesday night (controlled by Tylenol). I posted a picture of us on my BeReal today and mentioned she was sick again. I promptly received a text from one of my best friends and the conversation went like this:

Friend: How is little M doing?

Me: Poor thing is sick again! Peds ruled out all the major things (RSV/Flu/COVID) but she has a fever so we kept her home for the second day in a row. I feel so bad for her.

Friend: She is building up an immune system at a rapid rate, I'm sorry! Do you need any help? Dinner? A break for a nap?

Me (hesitates before answering honestly knowing I could use some help and adult time): I don't want you to get sick, but if you wanted to bring dinner and have a fire and hang around tonight I definitely wouldn't say no.

Friend: That's a lovely invite but we have tickets to a show tonight so we wouldn't be able to stop by.

How I wanted to respond: 😑

How I actually responded: That sounds like so much fun, enjoy!

Now look, I don't ever expect anyone to help me and Hubs in our parenting journey. We chose this knowing it would come with challenges. My friends don't have children yet and I love that they are taking their time and living their lives before they settle down.

Here's where I get irritated. So many people, including my friends who do things exactly like this, are always telling me how much help we have with M. We have literally no help aside from my inlaws who live 1.5 hours away and can only come help on an occasional weekend. My friends offer to help and when I try to actually take them up on it (which I never used to but I'm actually trying to let myself be vulnerable in that way because I need help) they never follow through. It's an empty offer. I would rather they not offer to help at all instead of extending an olive branch and then acting like I invited them over unprompted when I try to take them up on it.

The worst part is I have been consumed by this all day. I feel humiliated for even trying to accept the help. I should have just said I was fine. I keep thinking that maybe I misunderstood her but what else could she have meant. She probably expected me to just say we don't need anything. I just don't understand why even offer it if you know you can't fit it in your schedule. Sometimes being the only one with a kid is isolating.

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

this is an extended transcription of poetry I wrote in a psychiatric day program about my problems and my parents and my abusive ex-boyfriend and while I was intermittently suicidal still. so, like, every trigger warning? I don't expect anyone to read this, it's for my archives.

I can't necessarily tell which order I wrote these in, or which poems go together, written together. so I'm just going to transcribe. I can present an edited version with any parts that are good later.

"you get proud by praciticng. you get loud by practicing. you use words, you learn words by practicing. they burn less with practice, with gauzee and antiseptic, gentleness and debridement. words heal. why are you afraid of brave? you fled once when you thought that nobody would love you. you found love. you decided that alone was better than bleeding. you kept your blood under your skin."

"don't call it that. call things what they are. left behind. let the soft animal of your body scream. love is an action. I am confident. call it that. don't call it that. that is a flashback. all my own hands on the knife, the broken glass. did I do this to myself? the long answer is fuck, no. mushrooms grow. the neglect made it worse. apply pressure. there is bleeding to stop. babies need monitors and girls need scout leagues and suicidal children should not be left alone. there is a vast green snarling space in me. fault for faults. they made choices. I was sick and they made choices."

"you do not have to be good. let the soft animal of your body bite back. get angry, get safe. you are every self at once and you do no favors to the sick, neglected children by following them onto elevators, demanding smiles. you do them no favors by calling things what they aren't. love is irrelevant sometimes to the hurt. bodies are skin, bones, muscle, meat. you are several children and various adults. you are a real person."

"you can have flashbacks from hurricanes. I am not having flashbacks to hurricanes. I am having flashbacks to broken glass and child neglect, yellow pills and red liquid medicine and sheets that could have been any color. call things what they are. call it that. I didn't make it true. you didn't make me sick, but you didn't make me safe, either. good love takes care."

(I'm going to skip transcribing this page because there's no lines I like in it, but it's me yelling about how when I was sixteen and eighteen I was left alone to be suicidal a lot and when I was thirty, people came and hugged me and let ms sleep on their sofa and pet their dogs and took care of me. thank you, people.)

"let the soft animal of your body be wrapped in a blanket, nestled on a sofa, fed, loved. let the soft creatures inside your body defuse the old mines, make space for gentleness."

(this page is just a list of things I am proud to have typed-- "novels and novellas and novelettes and short stories and twine games and chat logs and conlangs." this page is an extended metaphor about writing and tabletop games that I can't entirely read but I think is me being proud of myself for making good things).

"I was not a child made of broken glass. I was a sick child. I'm telling this story in second person. almost, almost. cough syrup red, broken glass clear, knives whatever color. later, sheets that might have been yellow. open question, direct line? do girls nobody loves reach for boys who won't love them? except he loved me, mostly like a dog, all slobber and teeth. except dogs love you gentle and he loved me teeth."

"am I twelve or twenty-two? thirty girls and women. Crowded, loud. Except quiet girls sit still, don't yell. babble in turns. no crosstalk. thirty girls taking turns to sit by the door, sprawl on the couch.

are we taking care of each other? breaking up fights between thirteen and twnety-three. I can't get the ten-year-old a doctor but I can get her Tylenol and a blanket. We can take it in turns to pass out tissues., We can take turns. Ten is not responsible for twenty-three's knees and twenty-three is not responsible for twenty-five''s nightmares.

by consensus, we loved him. this room full of seventeen scrabbling children, underloved, who loved this boy like a forest fire. love like a dragon. we thought we'd be warm. we thought we'd be warm forever, and our joints hurt in the cold and that's not new the fault of the ten year old or the squalling peanut baby, jaundiced.

maybe the shaky twenty-three-year-old holds the baby and steadies. maybe the eighteen-year-old can make the ten-year-old laugh. maybe the twenty-year-old can wrap the ten-year-old in a blanket. maybe the eighteen-year-old can hold the baby and go still. maybe it's nice to hold the baby, sit on the sofa with her in our arms. maybe the eighteen year old could read for the four-year-old and do the voices. maybe the fifteen-year-old can write stories half for children. maybe when the twenty-seven year old reads, everyone sits and listens, even twelve and sixteen and twenty-three, who lets twenty read and doesn't tell her the future yet. it says NO Future Talk on a big sign, sometimes vandalized.

mabe thirty gently nags sixteen to eat, twenty-nine gently nudges me to eat. the kids know that we love them. we take turns loviung them. not everybody can all the time. girls resisting porcelain, girls encasing their limbs in clay. thirty girls in different colors, soft fabrics. one in eye makeup.

how do you give parenting to these children who live in your head? this twelve-year old who flirted with kitchen knives, who would have hurt herself with more dexterity. can you make her safe? you open your shaky hands, reach back eighteen years, reach for her shaky hands with your shaky hands.

future talk. you say that's a panic attack, we have a tuxedo cat, disability pride, friends who love us and don't whisper. it's better than you think. we're not dead yet."

(that was like three pages but it was clearly all one thing so I transcribed it in one lump)

(skipping around on this page a bit) ".... every soul and every demon deservees what it needs to live safe and sweet. I am tired of pulling out my feathers like an over-stressed bird... let me gleam, let me shine, let me richness.... do I apologize to fill in the hollow places where good love would go?... sinking my teeth into kindness...."

"knives are tools. keep your skin on....nobody has ever heard you say an unkind word. if you said neglect, they'd call you cruel. you can practice, though, in your head, in your hands, in your mouth."

(I think we had a colors assignment for this one) "the jungle is green. the jungle is a metaphor. I am not interested in green. I am captivated by trauma yellow. I like purple because it doesn't remind me of anything. Green and yellow, obscene, diseased. Don't call it that. Don't be obscene, diseased. the assignment was not ro remember. we remember your childhood well. the assignemnt was jungle, warm rain pattering on leaves. torrents. maybe don't demqnd flowers. maybe sit with the rain. don't contain yourself. tiger teeth. that's not the assignment. don't call it that. you'll get over it. when will it be over? home is where them fuckers ain't. home is where they are. there's some purple in the jungle, flowers in the rain, not mandatory but still present. grow some sharpness or don't. grow something, though."

"there was blereding to stop. sometimes you can't be your own paramedic. twelve year olds do not have paramedic training. if you don't nurse bites, if you don't bandage and disinfect, they fester. bandages don't make the wounds."

(skipped another page I didn't like any lines in, about being made of porcelain and wire).

"the little girl was spoon-fed shame. knife shame. at the risk of melodrama, they might have liked a porcleain daughter, clear skin. at the risk of melodrama, it frightens people when I scream. Typically, anyway. I do not owe nuance to people who let me scream, who fed me gravy shame. who's going to love you? we don't approve. yes, this forest we won't let you leave. yes, this jungle, yes, these mushrooms that grow in you."

(extended and confusing metaphor about tigers trying to parent a zebra).

"you were a sick kid, we took you to doctors. you weren't as sick as you thought, as you said. we never said fake. we never said malingering,.we bever said liar. we let you be independent. we left you alone. we never applied preessure. there was no bleeding. we never said that. we got you yellow pills, a blue dress, surgery, dermatology. we saved the pills in case of emergency. you opted for your own emergency. the things that grew in your head grew like mushrooms. we would not plant mushrooms in your head. we fed you. we fed you right. we loved you. we wanted boys to love you. we wanted you to be your best. we wanted you to have good words. we remember your childhood well. it is your parents job to clay-mold and paint. you chose your own colors, purple and blue. we bought you a dress. you chose your own emergency. we loved you, he loved you. he said he loved you. he shouldn't have done that. don't call it that. the words that burn you will make you sicker. that's how it works. common snese and sunlight. "

"I am not a goat people hurt when they feel like hurting something. I am not a trained elephant. goats and elephants are good creatures, I am not saying that carnivores are bad creatures, just that I am a zebra who doesn't want to be eatne up. it is not my obligation to be prey. creatures want to survive. I want to survive. every time I forget, I remember."

[peregrineggsandham]

Hollow Knight Playthrough Update:

Passed the 110 hour mark, completion at 110%.

2. Ooohoohoo Pure Vessel I have so many feelings

This is very, very disjointed, I'm sorry, I got a combined flu and omicron booster shoot (or as I like to call it, the flooster) and am. feeling. thoughts. in all of the nerve endings. head is large warm cotton ball that soaked up some coffee.

Anyhow. Pure Vessel. The chains in the dream arena just like in the Black Egg, the fact that their dream of themself is everything they are not and could never be, the SILENT SCREAM I am REELING, walking in on them standing tall (is that the same armor they wore in the statue? I need to go and check) in all white, them casting it off, hunching over, but in their dreams they are pure and perfect and it hurts.

They are clearly aware and alive, since the infection got out - we, too, must be, given the siblings' "lingering will" and our own ability to perform altruistic actions. The king almost definitely knew, based on the Path of Pain ending. I wonder, how aware was he of how many vessels were in the abyss? I did some counting, and it looks like there are 10 vessel bodies in Nosk's den, all of which probably hatched from the giant void-soaked egg in its back room (you know, the place where we find pale ore, which is in some way associated with the Pale King). How that got there, no idea, but it looks like the one from the birthplace. Ergo, probably where the vessels came from. That suggests at least 10 vessels can hatch from one egg.

And that suggests that the king may have thought he was condemning a tenth of the number of children to be hollowed by the void. To be clear! The correct number of children to sacrifice to the abyss is 0! Zero children! Zilch! But I wonder, how much did he know? How much did he regret, when thousands upon thousands upon thousands of things that he couldn't, couldn't believe were actually his children, began climbing the platforms and... dying? I've seen fan theories suggest he killed the impure ones who made it to the top, but I don't think that's the case (they fall en masse and all around us, meaning he'd have to be throwing the bodies pretty far off that platform, and also that seems pointlessly cruel - and I don't think the king was cruel so much as callous and willfully blind, bury my father with his eyes shut tight) - we don't take fall damage, but we also land consistently on our feet and the falling vessels do not, and our heads may very well be our most fragile part. And can you imagine making that climb newly-born and stumbling about, without cloak or claw or wings? '

Point is... uh... no real point, I'm just rambling, I have a lot of thoughts and almost enough tylenol.

Maybe he thought he was sacrificing a thousand eggs - or a hundred - or a hundred thousand - and that they would never have a chance to develop, only yolk and potential, only a shell within which the void could take form, and don't bugs often lay hundreds upon hundreds of eggs with the expectation that most will die? That, I can understand. I can even see how he might think it a necessary sacrifice. The White Lady spoke of them like seeds, of which plants have thousands on thousands, and the failure of most to take root is not a tragedy. And maybe the king expected that out of that thousand, or hundred thousand, the void in one might coagulate and shape itself into some mockery of a child, and emerge, and follow the light, and climb, and exist as an empty automaton. They were never children, he might have thought, and those that hatched certainly were not. They couldn't be. They couldn't be. Please.

Maybe that is how he lived with himself. First safe in the knowledge that most would never hatch - as is the way of bugs and plants and most things eaten from the inside out, and when not only did they, but at least ten emerged from a single egg, he was instead safe in the knowledge that, well, they aren't really children, are they?

By the time he starts to doubt, it is too late.

Imagine that moment. The horror of what have I done, and the immediate locking away of that thought, because the lives of thousands depend on a plan that you now know will fail, that you left thousands upon thousands of children to die for (rather than perhaps merely preventing a select few hundred from being born, if we're being very very generous to the Pale King re: egg numbers).

(Of course the Collector throws an entire other wrench into that, holy shit??? They are 100% some kind of kingsmould-gone-wrong, four arms, right height, and that is horrifying. Terrible implications. The king must have known they existed, they laugh, they have a voice and convictions and some kind of relationship with that noble in the Queen's Gardens, they are purely and undeniably a person, and if that happened before the vessels were created, how did the king not see, how did he not take that as a clear sign that void could carry just as much personhood as flesh, how did he not realize. or did he. did he, and did he decide not to think about it, just as he stowed that one tender moment with the Hollow Knight away behind a painful path of buzzsaws.)

Maybe that is why the door to the Tower of Love is locked.

i'm not writing a song about this idea what are you talking about

And why did he bring the White Palace into a dream? Was it to run, to hide? By going into the Radiance's domain? That dream was uninfected, the essence was white, and yet... I wonder if he was hiding, or if he was giving up. Either way, he left his people to die in the city. None shall enter, none shall leave.

Oh, and isn't it interesting, that the Pure Vessel shoots a ray of nails? That they summon spikes from the floor? The former I could believe they got from the Radiance's influence, but this is them untainted by her. This is how they see themself in dream, how they wish they were. Different theory: a love for sharp objects is genetic. Not going to deny I half expected their final phase to involve buzzsaws.

the silent boss scream oh my god

Also it's such a good fight, it is exactly the kind of pattern-finding, learn-the-cues-and-respond-correctly, see-what-I-have-to-do-and-just-need-to-do-it fight that I love, a la Mantis Lords and Grimm. The polar opposite would be the fights where you need to respond to a random pattern in an attack, a la Radiance and Zote. Pure Vessel is pure fun and I'm loving it.

I beat them in the Hall of Gods tonight and then did it twice in a row twenty minutes later, but I'm going for three times in a row before I'm comfortable trying the fourth pantheon again (also need to practice Lost Kin a little, though I got the hang of them eventually - also do they. is it just me or do they dash slash. like, the nail art? I mean a lot of enemies do great- and dash-slash-esque things, but also I looked at my old video for the Lost Kin fight to see how I'd beat them then and they bowed at the end, which on the one hand is almost definitely just a response to meeting a sibling and thanking me for setting them to rest [and a little visual cue of "see!! see, they weren't hollow either!!!"], but also.... secret fourth nailmaster conspiracy theory starting now, let's go, this pairs horribly very well with the sly-is-secretly-hegemol thoughts that spiraled in my head out of speculation about the original inhabitant of false knight's armor, that very large nail, and how maggots work THEY ARE FLY LARVAE, did the City of Tears discriminate against all flies and have them do menial labor, or just maggots, we know larval stages are a thing because grubs and grubfather and Marmu, they aren't a separate species, they are flies, so were flies an underclass? is it because they aren't beetles and most Hallownesters seem to be beetles? "weakest members of the kingdom of Hallownest" said the Hunter's journal, what fantastic motivation for one to become a knight and prove them wrong, to train with the nail, and while the False Knight has that mace NONE of the statues or silhouettes of Hegemol have a weapon so we don't know what he used and then I googled out of curiosity and I am not the first person to have had these thoughts what the fuck Hollow Knight fans the wait for Silksong is doing things to y'all's minds except then somehow NONE of the other versions of this theory I've found have talked at much length about the maggot thing so the thoughts just kept coming i cannot get over this please help).

Anyway, the fight is going well! The telegraph for that void tentacles thing they do, I keep getting it confused with the one for shooting nails everywhere, so I end up dashing straight into their void stomach. (If I get a void heart, they get a void stomach.)

Also! Hollow Knight sweater obtained! Felt weird to have paid so little on Steam for a game I'm getting so much out of, so this supports Team Cherry and also is cozy and has charms on the sleeves, 10/10.

It is a little frightening how quickly I feel utterly in love with this game. Might take a break from pantheons to tackle the speedrun achievements. Or steel soul. Ha. Ha ha. Heh. mm. maybe not.

...

alright new theory, grubfather is hegemol. soft spoken. small, maggot-shaped, could fit in armor. squishy, good reason to cover in metal plates. general "retired dad" vibes. yes. yes, I am adopting this idea into my official understanding of the lore. team cherry please take note.

[hownottobeajerk]

So...I'm thinking about putting a bug in my boss' ear that next year I'd like to be literally anywhere but where I'm at right now. I probably should've spoken up wayyyy sooner, but didn't wanna cause trouble, and now it's getting to where I just can't take it. There's been a major lack of communication, team work, and general respect.

1. A couple years ago, a co-worker broke something of mine and didn't have the decency to tell me, just left it there for me to find.

2. Last year, a co-worker straight up told me she was going to take some of my Tylenol since she had a headache and knew where I kept it. Knowing I only had one dose left, I told her I was out. She went through my stuff and found it anyway.

3. We had a pumpkin decorating contest last week. I was taking a planned vacation day the day the pumpkins were due, so I brought it in a day early. I left it where my "team" would see it, and texted my boss where it was. My boss forgot (she had a million things on her plate, so I wasn't upset about that at all), but honestly any of my team could've taken it where it needed to go when I was absent, but they didn't. When I went to get it the day of the event, I found it right where I left it, which was in reach of children, and the glasses I had stuck on with gorilla glue had been broken off. And nobody had bothered to tell me or attempt to fix it.

4. On the day I was out, my "team" made a decision that involved us having to stay late every day this week and didn't bother to tell me.

5. My one co-worker (who took a shit ton of time off last year) complained to my sub about me being out (even though I planned it 2 months in advance.

6. My "supervisor" never communicates when she's going to be out, just disappears for a few days, and doesn't reply when we check on her. But gets upset if we don't communicate.

7. At the beginning of the year, we had to rotate some overtime and only 2 of the 5 of us were willing to do it.

8. My one co-worker has bitched about every little change or suggestion our boss has made. And bitched when she asked for some time off too late (we have to give advance notice and she didn't ask in the required time frame) and our boss denied it.

9. Whenever I get pulled to help somewhere else, my co-worker whines and bitches about it.

10. The little daily stuff we're all supposed to be responsible for doesn't get done if I'm not there. And sometimes I get blamed for it not being done, even if I wasn't there.

11. My co-worker told someone during a conference about something she had to correct me on. It wasn't anything major, or really something she had actually needed to correct, but I did not appreciate her making me look bad.

12. We had a whole ass meeting about a lot of this kind of shit last year, and it didn't really help much. Like, one co-worker called another co-worker out for being kinda snippy and rude when she talks to us, and our supervisors response was "well, we're both moms, and it's hard to switch out of mom mode sometimes, so we talk like we're talking to our kids." And when I called my co-worker out for stealing my Tylenol her response was, "well you said you didn't have any so I had to go find some."

This isn't even all of it, but I'm too tired to write more.

[txemrn]

Happy (belated) Mother's Day! Book: TNA Warning: THIS IS PURE SELF-INDULGENCE! I decided to take some time and a) make Sam Dalton lovely and b) not kill off a certain handsome king; but fair warning, this is filled with fluffity-fluff-fluff with smidges of angst; discussion of infertility and maternal loss Song Inspiration: "We Thought You'd Be Here" by Wes King A/N: This is part of the Schuyler-Dalton Chronicles (Check out "Once... Always..." the mini-series that started it all); the characters belong to Pixelberry; I stole a quote from one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time 🎄; I am not perfect: I take full responsibility for all of my spelling and grammatical mistakes; I'm hoping you can ignore them and enjoy the story! 💗

Before the brilliant rays of the Sunday morning sun could greet the New York City skyline, Brynn stares aimlessly at the vaulted ceiling of the master suite. Although she physically craves rest, the clattering commotion of her congested thoughts keep her restless and exhausted.

Frustrated with her inability to calm her nerves, she quietly crawls out of bed, being careful not to disturb her peacefully sleeping husband. She retrieves his discarded pinstripe button-up shirt from the floor, and wraps it around her exposed body. After snatching her phone from the nightstand, she tip-toes cautiously across the wooden floor to the ensuite bathroom.

Staring at her abdomen in the mirror, the all-too-familiar excitement laced with sheer dread latches heavily onto her heart. Her breathing labors, loudly thundering in her ears; a sour uneasiness pours through her nerves, settling on her queasy stomach. She tenderly cradles her belly. Her fingers brush across the flattened contours of her healthy physique until they rest curiously on two tiny, flesh-colored scars: the remnants of a pregnancy that simply wasn't meant to be.

"Are you there, little one?" She whispers hopefully. She endearingly hugs her tummy once more fighting back tears from the painful emptiness she has felt many times before.

But, maybe this time was different.

Brynn turns to her digital calendar to ensure that this wasn't in vain, that there was a reason she was doing this today of all days.

She clicks her tongue on the side of her mouth. "The first day… that was the third," she mumbles to herself, "which makes today... one, two, three, ah! Four days late."

She fills a crystal tumbler with water before locking herself into their opulent water closet. Taking one last massive swallow of the room temperature fluid, she tears into the bright pink box. Without giving it another thought, she tosses the printed directions and plastic wrappers into the wastebasket as she places the apparatus between her legs. She knows the routine; this is far from her first pregnancy test.

Before Sam and Brynn married four years ago, the discussion of having more children created much discord between the couple. Entering his forties, Sam was satisfied with having just his twin boys, Mickey and Mason. They were growing older with flourishing social and academic schedules; keeping up with them alone was challenging. Sam's line of work wasn't slowing down anytime soon, especially with the couple's meditated decision to buy out their shares from Dalton Enterprises to start their own company projected during their first year of marriage.

Brynn was still youthful, ending her twenties by becoming a Dalton with her childhood dreams still intact: getting married and starting a family. She adored Sam's boys, quickly and naturally claiming them as her own; but, a large part of her desire was to become a mom biologically, to carry a child created by her and her beloved.

After experiencing a tragic ectopic pregnancy early in their relationship that almost cost Brynn's life, Sam's heart softened to the idea of having another child. He saw the depth of Brynn's broken heart; he felt the depth of his own humanity, facing the possibility of losing the love of his life. Again.

Somehow having the last word about the size of their family didn't matter to Sam anymore. Conceiving would be difficult, but they agreed to cherish the journey together, whether the family expanded or not.

The shattering of crystal startles Sam awake. With one eye peeking open, he inspects the empty disheveled sheets on Brynn's side of the bed.

"Brynn?" he gruffly calls out as he reaches for his eyeglasses on his nightstand. Listening fervently into the silence, he hears a muffled whimper. Throwing on a pair of heather-gray sweatpants, he investigates the tinkering of something sharp being scraped on the floor from the bathroom.

"Babe?"

'"I'm fine--" her voice is dampened by the door. And her tears.

"Brynn baby," he softly knocks. Opening the door to the small area, he reveals his kneeling wife with shards of glass splayed all over the floor. On closer inspection, she's attempting to clean up the mess with her bare hands. "Oh my God--"

"I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz. I-I-I know it was your favorite--" she stutters through her sniffles.

"Baby!" he grabs her wrists, forcing her to drop the broken pieces. "Stop-stop-stop. You're bleeding."

"I'm fine--"

"Come here." Sam grips his wife's arm snuggly, pulling her into a stand before tucking her petite body into an embrace. Pressing his lips against her hairline, he reaches down with his arm, lifting her body into a cradle-hold against his chest.

Sitting her on the sink, he quickly inspects her feet, ensuring no glass had blindly infiltrated her skin.

"I'm sorry--" she silently offers, wiping away the wetness in her eyes.

'Stop," he brushes a wisp of her hair behind her ear. He leans closely towards her, desperately wanting to dive into her stormy blues; but, her eyes stay trained on her hands.

Sam takes her injured hands in his palms, and gingerly rinses them in the sink. After allowing the water to run clear, he finally breaks the pained silenced.

"Was it negative?"

"I-I just needed a sip of water to take some Tylenol, and-and--"

"Baby," he coddles her face, making her look at him. "Did you--did you think that you--? That we were--?"

Brynn drops her head as rivers from her eyes roll down her cheeks. Sam delicately wraps her in a tight hold, peppering her sweetly with kisses.

"I thought for certain," she sniffles. "I was so shocked when nothing popped up on the test that I dropped the tumbler." She sarcastically chuckles through the sadness to herself. "And I thought it would be so sweet to find out today--today of all days. It sounded like a fairy tale, but it's now turning out more like a nightmare." She buries her face into Sam's shoulder as he tightens his arms around her body.

"I think it’s time that we--” Sam lets out a sigh, “--make an appointment--"

"No." She breaks from his hold, turning to leave the room.

"Brynn."

She angrily twirls around to face her husband. "And what, Sam? We've made appointments. What could they possibly tell me that we don't already know?"

"Okay-okay-okay--" Sam stifles the budding fire. “Forget that I mentioned it.” He reaches for his wife, pulling her back assuredly against his chest. "Please don’t cry,” he whispers into her ear, his hands rubbing her back intimately. “I am your husband, your confident. I am in your corner. Always will be." He looks down, lifting her chin attentively to his eyes, a subtle smirk growing across his face. "You want the moon?"

Brynn chuckles through her sobs resting her hands on his bare chest.

Sam presses his lips to her forehead. "Just say the word," he quietly teases. He nibbles across her cheek, his voice becoming lower, huskier, "and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down--"

Brynn meets Sam's lips in a tender kiss. She slips her arms around his neck, tugging him in closely as their mouths entwine as one.

Pulling back to dance in his sultry chocolate eyes, Brynn casually twirls the wavy locks in the back of Sam's head.

"You are my moon, Samuel."

Sam presses his forehead to hers. "I love you. We'll work through this." Looking back into each other's eyes, he begins to trace small circles on her back.

"We always do," Brynn playfully kisses his nose. "I love you, too."

"Let's head back to bed," he suggests, holding Brynn tightly, escorting her backwards to the bed. "I have a feeling that two eleven-year-old stars in our galaxy have a special surprise for you later this morning."

*****

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom!"

Brynn pops one eye open to a brightly sunlit room, only to be met with two pairs of doting brown eyes crowding her weary face. She lets out a guttural yawn.

"Mmm… thank you, boys." Brynn turns over, pulling the down comforter over her head.

"The subject is still sleeping, but moving, Dr. Dalton!" Mason playfully speaks into his watch. "I think we have a heartbeat!"

"Can't be too sure, Mr. President," Mickey dramatically grabs Mason's arm, keeping in character. "I'm afraid we're going to have to shock her. Or amputate."

Brynn squeezes her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep as she hides her snickers. She loves listening to the boys play, using their vivid and clever imaginations. Even though they were getting older and 'too cool' for some things, she's pleased to see their dreaming hasn't stopped.

"Charge to fourteen zillion. And-- clear!"

All of a sudden, the boys ambush Brynn, tickling her feet and pinching at her sides.

"No-no-no! Ah!" She yelps, her words caught up into her laughter. "You turkeys!" She breathes heavily as she inadvertently kicks her feet wildly.

"Stop--ohmygod--Sam! Please!" she beckons between snickers, "I can't breathe--"

"Very fine work, doctor!" Mason cackles.

"Thank you, Mr. President!" Mickey mimics his brother, continuing to jovially attack their stepmother with tickles.

"ENOUGH!" Brynn screams. She grabs Mickey by the arm, pulling him into her lap, and starts plastering sloppy kisses all over his face.

"Gross! Mom! No!" he screams in agony, all the while Brynn giggles with each goofy kiss.

"Eww!" sputters Mason as he starts to crawl off the bed.

"Oh, no you don't, mister!" Brynn grabs him by the ankle, gathering him in an embrace as she plants tender kisses on his cheeks.

After a few more minutes of laughter and slathering of kisses, Brynn feels the struggle dissipate in her arms, the boys now cuddling tightly to her body. She rests her cheeks on the tops of their heads, eliciting a gentle, satisfactory moan. Soaking in the moment, Brynn realizes the truth: she is a mom. She already has everything she has ever wanted wrapped up in two beautiful bouncing balls of energy.

As the boys share the plot of the game they were playing, she secretly savors the scent of their warm brandy curls, cherishing the soft texture of their waves against her skin.

My boys. The thought of a life without them terrifies her; though her heart longs to create and deliver a baby with Sam, she would never trade this unexpected, ready-made motherhood she inherited by becoming a Dalton. In her eyes, her family is already perfectly whole. She hopes that with time, her desire for a baby will be silenced.

"Boys?" Sam calls from the kitchen. "Where are my sous chefs? This fruit isn't going cut itself."

"Uh-oh," Mason lowers his voice, "we better go, Dr. Dalton."

"Roger that, Mr. President!" salutes Mickey before turning his attention to Brynn. "Stay right here, Mom. Mother's day is just getting started!"

"I hope it's fluffy with maple syrup on top!" Brynn singsongs as the boys bounce off of the bed. She gleefully tucks herself back under the weighted comforter, glowing from the beautiful moment she shared with her sons.

Moments later, the boys barrel around the corner, this time with Sam in tow, balancing a lap desk with an immaculate breakfast spread; but keeping with tradition, the spread is for everyone. Brynn refuses to eat in bed alone.

The delightful aroma of the feast teases their stepmom's senses, and she quickly steals a strawberry slice. She instantly starts dividing up the pancakes, the grilled sausage and scrambled eggs as all the Daltons climb into bed.

"Mickey, do you want some of this--" she stops mid-sentence, her attention being stolen. Her eyes focus on a white satin jewelry box, tied with a pale pink bow.

"What is this?" She curiously lifts up the box while Mickey and Mason beam with excitement.

"It's a new kind of tradition," Mason coyly answers.

Brynn, clearly touched by the gesture, turns to her husband who's relaxing on his elbow. "Did you know about this?" she whispers. "No gifts--"

Sam raises his hands in defense. "They really wanted to do this. They did this all on their own. Saved up their allowances--"

"Uncle Robin took us to the mall and helped us pick everything out," explains a humbled Mickey. "Can she open it now, Dad?"

"She's the mama," he chuckles, swiping a kiss against the back of her hand.

Brynn meticulously unties the bow and unfastens the delicate pieces of wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She takes a moment to soak up her sons' excitement, who are intently watching her.

Biting her bottom lip, she opens the lid, revealing a stunning, white gold charm bracelet, already hosting several ornate charms. Brynn's mouth falls open in shock while her eyes well with tears. Taking it as their cue, the boys crawl into her lap.

"You said you always wanted one growing up--"

"Yeah," interrupts Mickey, "so we thought we could make you a mom charm bracelet."

Taking a few breaths to find the right words, Brynn distraughtly looks to a grinning, elated Sam. She looks back to the boys before fixing her eyes back onto the thoughtful piece of jewelry.

"Here, Mom," Mason takes the chain, and loops it around her wrists to clasp it. "We've been practicing,'' he smiles.

"You're doing it wrong, Mase," whispers a slightly irritated Mickey.

"I am not," Mason huskily rebuttals.

"You are, too."

"Am not!"

Brynn pulls her wrist away as the twins begin to stick their tongues out at each other.

"Guys! C'mon--" chastises Sam as he takes over,, clasping the bracelet to his wife’s arm. "Don't ruin the moment."

"Sorry, Mom," the boys simultaneously apologize, giving Brynn heartfelt looks of remorse.

After squeezing them tightly and thanking them for the very thoughtful gift, Brynn continues to admire the charms they picked. Two identical charms in the shape of a boy silhouette and a tourmaline birthstone catch her attention first.

"'Michael Aaron' and 'Mason Alexander'." A large smile plants securely on her mouth as her fingers trace over the etching of their names.

She tinkers through a few more charms, including a soccer ball, a microscope and a stand mixer. She stops at a simple silver heart with the inscription 'November 18.'

"I thought this was a mom charm bracelet," Brynn jests. "Why is our wedding anniversary on here?"

"Because that's when you officially became our mom."

Unable to control her tears, Brynn pulls them onto her lap, rubbing their backs before caressing their heads in her hands. Sam leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips again and again.

This is all she ever wanted; this was her childhood dream. This is her family.

The four Daltons quickly ate breakfast in bed, laughing at the irregular shapes of the pancakes and the random eggshell in the midst of their scramble.

"Well," Brynn finishes first, "in the spirit of new traditions, I'd like to start a new one now, too. But we have to clean up and get dressed."

"Really?" squeals Mickey.

"Cool! What is it?" inquires Mason.

Brynn shakes her head. "It's a surprise." She hands the boys their empty plates, giving them a knowing wink. They both eagerly grab the dishes, and hurry to clean up the kitchen.

"Should I be worried?" Brynn flashes a sweet smile to an inquisitive Sam.

"Trust me, baby."

***

"Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Brynn--"

"Oh, Mr. Carter!" Brynn collects a stunning bouquet of lavender tulips from Dalton's longtime driver. She takes a quick sniff of their sweet fragrance, wrapping an arm around endearingly around the older man's neck. "These are lovely! Thank you so much!"

He graciously nods, adjusting his hat with a sweet smile.

"So, the farmer's market?"

"Yes sir--"

"And I have the second address pulled up and ready to go."

"Perfect. Thank you for doing this."

***

Brynn and Sam walk hand-in-hand through the aisles of vendors, the boys remaining close. She has a destination in mind, but Brynn refuses to rush such a lovely sunny Spring day with her special guys.

They make a pit stop to try a few samples of freshly cut mango and dragon fruit. The twins sweetly plead a case for a smore with homemade marshmallows and tempered chocolate.

They finally stumble upon a florist with a delectable selection of gorgeous bulbs and gathered creations.

"We're here, boys," Brynn announces with a big smile.

"You wanted flowers?" Mickey wrinkled up his nose, sharing a confused look with his brother.

"Well," Brynn squats next to her sons, "sorta. I want you two to pick out the biggest, most beautiful bouquet."

"'Biggest'?" echoes Mason. "And 'most beautiful'?"

"Yes," Brynn giggles, "I want the biggest and the most beautiful. When you're finished," she holds up her crossbody purse, "my treat."

Sam gingerly grabs hold of Brynn's elbow, holding her back from the flower search.

"You're up to something," his eyes darken, staring into her stormy grays. A corner of his mouth curls waiting for an answer.

Brynn captures his bottom lip in a tender tug. "Trust me," she whispers, pulling his lips back into hers. His hands naturally find the curves of her rear, massaging her lovingly. "C'mon," Brynn grabs Sam's hand, her fingers intimately lacing with his.

The twins did not disappoint. With the help of the florist, Mickey, true to form, picked out a beautiful bouquet of red, white and blue wildflowers, homage to his favorite football team. Mason was charmed by the long-stemmed sunflowers. He has a stunning arrangement of orange and yellow flowers amongst a cloud of babies' breath.

"Guys, these are absolutely perfect!" A glimmer and sparkle grow in Brynn's eyes as she investigates the colors and smells. "You two did wonderful!"

"Happy Mother's Day!" Proud of their work, Mickey and Mason offer their bouquets to Brynn, but she quickly waves them away.

"Hold them for me, please. We have one more stop to make."

***

Carter picks up the Daltons, and quickly takes a detour, leaving the city. The car remains silent from conversation; the gallop of the wheels plodding against the rubber road lull the boys into a nap. Brynn rests her head against Sam's broad chest. His strong arm wraps tightly around her shoulders, his cheek basking amongst her vibrant almond waves.

"Excuse me? Mr. And Mrs. Dalton? We're here."

Carter kindly opens the door for the family to exit to their new endeavor in the country. There is a brisk chill in the air, but nothing the bold sunshine couldn't cure. Instead of the familiar sounds of people shouting and horns honking, they were surrounded by birds chirping, grass whistling, and leaves gently clapping.

"Where are we, Mom?" whispers a nervous Mickey, the first to file out of the car.

Brynn bends over, kissing his head. "You'll see, baby. You'll see. Did you grab your flowers?"

Mickey nods, handing the other bouquet to Mason.

Sam climbs out of the car, instantly aware of his surroundings. "Um, sweetie," he motions with his finger for her to come closer. "You think they're ready for this?"

"They've been ready for this. Trust me." She touches her hand to his downcast face, offering a tender smile. "How about the boys and I go on ahead?"

Sam soaks in the nature around him as a sweet breeze lingers on his face. Grabbing Brynn's hand, he kisses it delicately before letting go with a squeeze. "Okay."

"C'mon, boys," she reaches out, taking the boys by the hand, "we've got someone to talk to."

They enter the iron gates, walking respectfully on the stony pavement. They wind around on the path, trees gracefully blooming above their heads. They finally come to a fork in their venture.

"Okay, you two," Brynn walks in front of them only to kneel down to stop them. "Do you know where we are?"

"A cemetary?"

"That's right, Mase--"

"So, there are dead people buried underneath us?" Mickey cautiously asks. “Cool.”

"They are buried here," explains Brynn, "but we aren't walking on top of them. Their bodies are marked by those big rocks with writings on them--"

"Headstones!"

"That's right, Mase. They're called headstones."

"Why did you want to bring us to a cemetery for Mother's day?" questions Mickey. "That seems weird."

Brynn chuckles pulling him into a tight embrace. "Cemeteries are a beautiful place to communicate with those who have already passed. Sometimes on special days, like birthdays or anniversaries--”

“Or Christmas!” interjects Mickey.

“‘Or Christmas,’ that’s right.” Brynn stands. “Those days can be sad and lonely for those of us still alive on earth because we miss them so much.” She begins to draw closer to a plot with a large white granite headstone. “Spending time with them where they are buried is a way to remember them and to show them that we still love them.”

“Do they, um, talk back?” nervously asks Mason.

Brynn smiles sweetly at her stepson, hugging him tighter as they continue their saunter. “I’d like to think so, but not in the way we expect them to. Like sometimes, it might be a familiar fragrance, or a familiar song. Something to remind us that they are looking down, watching us, loving us.” Brynn nods in the direction of the breathtaking, large stone. “Go ahead.”

The boys cautiously step towards the monument, laying their flowers on top of the glistening stone.

“Caroline Austin Dalton--” Mason reads out loud, tracing the etching carefully with his fingers.

“That’s mama, right, Mase?”

“I think so, Mick.” The brothers endearingly hold each other’s hands as their eyes focus on her name. Mason’s eyes begin to well with tears first. “I can barely remember her--”

“Me, too.” Mickey quickly turns to Brynn, motioning for her to come closer. “What do we say to her? You’re our Mom--”

“--and she is your mom, just in a different way.”

“How do we talk to her?” shrugs Mickey.

“How do you talk to me?” Brynn smiles warmly, pushing a curl out of Mickey’s face. “Just talk. Talk about your day. Your favorite food. Your soccer game on Thursday.”

The boys raise their eyebrows at each other before returning their gaze back to Brynn.

“Here. Let me show you.” Brynn crawls onto her knees, facing the memorial. She clears her throat. “Caroline? Your boys picked out the most beautiful flowers for you.” Brynn grabs Mason’s hand. “You’d be so proud of them. Mason here is a straight-A student. Loves science, and is quite the little baker.” Brynn wraps an arm around Mickey. “And your first born here loves to play sports, and has a very vivid imagination.”

Brynn clears her throat. “It’s now your turn,” she gently rubs their backs. “Don’t worry; if she is anything like me, she’s dying to have you talk to her. Go ahead.”

Mason steps forward, placing a sincere hand on the headstone. “That’s Brynn, Mama--”

“And she’s a really great Mom,” chimes in Mickey, “she was originally our nanny--”

Brynn slowly backs away, allowing the twins to talk. She casually glances to the side, and notices a man out of the corner of her eye, taking swig from a flask: her husband.

Brynn casually walks up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses the exposed skin of his chest, her lips crawling up his neck to his stiff chin.

“Please don’t be mad at me for this.”

Sam chuckles, avoiding eye-contact. “Some warning would’ve been nice--”

“So you could stop me?”

“Touché.” Sam takes another sip of bourbon, drifting back into a silent watch over the boys.

Brynn tightens her embrace around her husband. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, she listens to the sweet bursts of giggles amongst the conversation being held by the twins in the distance.

Sam grips tightly to Brynn’s body, his mouth attempting to form words. “They haven’t been here since--” he swallows thickly, “since that day. I always wanted to keep her memory alive and bring them here, I just...” his voice begins to wander.

“Sam?”

“Hrmm?” he glances back down into Brynn’s sparkly blue eyes.

“You’re allowed to miss her, too--”

“Brynn... I--”

“It’s okay, baby--”

Sam caresses Brynn’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you--”

“That’s not what this is about,” she kisses his hand away from her face.

Sam clings tightly to his wife, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Painful tears that he had been holding back for over nine years spill down his cheeks as the floodgates of emotions wash over his body. “You truly are the best thing that has happened to this family,” he purrs in between sniffles.

After a few minutes of holding each other tenderly, Sam joins the boys at the graveside. Sharing sweet memories amongst each other, Mickey and Mason find solace in their father’s lap.

Brynn discovers a nearby bench to watch and wait. Humbled and satisfied by the day that had started so terribly, she smiles brightly as her beautiful family spends time, savoring the precious stories of the past.

A sudden gust of wind barrels across Brynn's face. Drying the rushing rivers from her cheeks, her hair dances carefree in the tumbling breeze. Her eyes flutter close as she lays her hands on her abdomen.

"It's okay, little one," she sweetly hums, "but if you like laughing, and if you like living... and if you like dancing and dreaming," Brynn cradles her abdomen tightly, "we'll be waiting."

The afternoon sun seeks refuge into darkness; the street begins to illuminate with the buzzing of lamps and lightning bugs. The laughter dies down and the conversation quietly stops. Sam slowly rounds up the boys, guiding them back to Brynn.

“I think we’re ready to head back,” Sam suggests, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Anymore surprises?” he chuckles, pecking his lips to hers.

The corners of her mouth curve. “You three go on ahead,” she playfully pats Sam’s rear. “I’ll be right behind you guys.”

Sam raises an eyebrow before nodding his head. Placing his hands on each boy's shoulder, they walk towards the car where Carter is dutifully waiting for them.

Brynn approaches Caroline’s tombstone, graciously sitting next to it. She casually traces over her name, imagining how excited she must’ve been the first time she signed her name 'Mrs. Dalton'--just like her. Brynn finally rests her hand on the cold stone, tears of joy recollecting in her eyes.

”You gave me everything I could’ve possibly wanted,” a sob hitches in her throat. “Thank you for making me a mom. It was never supposed to be like this,” she chuckles to herself. She looks over her shoulder, watching Sam load up their sons into the car. “God, it’s so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. I promise I'll take care of them--"

“Brynn?” Sam calls out from the distance. “Ready, baby?”

“--all three of them.”

***

"Goodnight, boys. We love you," Sam whispers to the boys as he closes their bedroom door.

Brynn's eyes twinkle at her handsome husband, his gaze falling deeply on hers. She effortlessly takes his hand, draping it around her shoulders, pressing her tired cheek against his chest. Kissing the top of her head, he escorts her to their room, switching off lamps along the way.

"I've got one more surprise for you," Sam growls as he shuts their door.

"Mmm…" Brynn begins to tug at his waistband. "I love these kind of surprises," her mouth gently presses into the side of his neck, her teeth gingerly nipping at his pulse point.

"Baby," Sam chuckles, his wandering fingers combing through her golden waves. "I, um--" he clears his throat, "I actually do have something I want to talk with you about."

"Oh?" Brynn suddenly cups her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she sighs, "I know, I know. I probably should've at least told you about my plan of going out to Caroline's grave--"

"Baby, I--"

"It just made sense in my mind at the time," she interrupts. "I don't want our boys forgetting they have two mothers that love them very much--"

Sam raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin growing.

"What? Is it about the tumbler? I swear, I'll replace--"

"Brynn baby?" Sam takes ahold of both of her hands. "I love you," he places a sweet peck on her lips, "but shut up--" they start laughing at his words before he continues. "--now, come with me."

She follows him into the bathroom where he hands her a bottle of water.

"Wh--what's this about?" she furrows her brow.

"I was taking out the trash this morning after breakfast, and noticed your test--"

"Sam--"

"Your test, baby," he steps closer to her, holding it in his hands. "The box says it expired two years ago. I know you stockpile these things and keep them hidden." Brynn crosses her arms as her neck flushed with embarrassment. "Isn't there supposed to be some kind of line on it to show that the test is still okay to take?"

"A control line, yes. What's your point?"

"Brynn," his eyes pierce into hers, "yours doesn't have one." A playful grin crawls across his face. "And-and-and according to Google, you need one for the test to be even considered valid."

Brynn looks at the test, and realizes it's completely blank from any and all lines. She appreciates her husband's passion and agrees this is peculiar, but the point he is trying to make sounds way too good to be true. This isn't a movie or a fairy tale. And those lines fade after a test has been performed. Or do they?

"Brynn? Did you hear me?"

Brynn nods her head, biting her lip in deep thought. She wants to feel his excitement, but she can't be let down, not even just one more time. It had been the absolute perfect day with the absolute perfect family to where she is mom. Can she just end Mother's day feeling, well, like a mom?

"C'mon," he steals her water, popping the cap. "I bought a new test today while we were at the market--one that wasn't expired. Let's try again."

"Sam, no," she refuses to take the water back. "Besides, it's best to take it first thing in the morning--"

"So, what you're saying is that you want me to wake you up in a few hours to pee--"

"No, I'm saying let's drop it." Growing irritated, Brynn brushes past her husband and back into the bedroom.

Sam drags his fingers down his face. He follows suit, chasing after her. He reaches for her shoulder, but she dodges his touch.

"Brynn baby--"

"No--"

"Answer me this then," he bites back, "why did you take a test in the first place?"

Brynn freezes for a moment, staring at the ground. She doesn't want to argue, and she knows that her husband's questions come from a good place. They had always been open with one another; why not now?

"I thought I was." Brynn crosses her arms, blinking away tears.

Sam sits on the bed in front of her, looking tenderly at his bride. He grazes his finger tips up and down her hips until she finally looks down at him, drying her eyes.

"You might be, baby," he whispers, smiling into her gaze. "That was one test, one test that I'm pretty sure was bad."

Brynn casually combs Sam's waves back with her fingers, curling around his ear. Sam presses his nose to forearm, inhaling deeply the remnants of her floral perfume.

"For me?" Sam grazes his lips up her arm, finally resting them on her bare abdomen.

Touching his chin, Brynn tenderly nods.

***

Sam sits on the side of the garden tub, his elbows resting on his nervously bouncing knees.

After what seems like an eternity, Brynn emerges from the closet bathroom. Uncontrollable tears drench her red, blotchy face.

"Sam--?" her voice panics, her body shaking as she reaches for Sam.

Without missing a beat, he lovingly captures her in his arms. His hands intimately stroke her back as she sobs into his chest.

"Shh... baby. It's okay." Sam presses his lips into her hair, holding her close. "It’s going to be okay--"

"Sam--?" Brynn pulls away from Sam's chest, offering him the test as she cups her mouth.

Sam inquisitively takes the test from Brynn. And his eyes widen, shaking his head in disbelief. And he smiles.

“Happy Mother’s day, baby.”

*****

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[justferritalez]

Don't dim your light babygirl

Don't dim your light babygirl - Chloe Bailey

It's funny how the universe communicates. We are so conditioned to not pay attention. The messages are not always loud, but no less powerful. When we open ourselves to them the world begins to look like a very different place.

I have dimmed my light for more years than I would like to admit. I thought deep down I didn't deserve to be happy. I tried to fight my way through, but when I felt happiness near I would always turn away. I thought if I smiled and laughed one day it would reach the part of my heart that refused to receive love. I saw how much others hurt, I felt it in my own body. How could I allow myself to feel joy when so many people I loved are in pain?

I see so many children in my immediate and extended family in pain. I see their parents in pain. I see that horrible red thread of trauma weaving its way through each generation. Just like the elephant in the room, everyone pretends it's not there. Each generation learns to lash out in a different way, too afraid that on the other side is more pain instead of healing. We learn to dull the pain like a Tylenol with money, cars, clothes, and pretty pictures on Instagram or Facebook. Trying to convince ourselves and the world that we aren't miserable. Some of us are even so afraid that acknowledging our own thoughts is akin to torture.

At the beginning of lockdown in 2020, I thought I would thrive since I'm an introvert. By 2021 I learned that my assumptions of what it meant to thrive was arbitrary. I thought I would finally learn to play the guitar, piano, and finish a considerable amount of books waiting to be read on my bookshelves. Instead I was forced to dive deep into my relationship with religion, with societal expectations, and most importantly my own relationship with myself. The latter of which was most important.

I've always felt a call to something growing up. What it was I didn't know. I always tried to put it into words. I tried to put it into a career or something more tangible for my own human mind to digest. As I grew older, in my own mind I failed to accomplish what I had desired. I became gripped by fear with each year that passed. 30 was the year I told myself I would stop dreaming. I would buckle down. I would work towards the American Dream people always talk about. I'd get a good job, get married, buy a house, and have kids.

Before my 28th birthday came I was so excited for the upcoming year despite 30 looming near. I had a list of places I planned to go and things to do for my special day. Before I knew 28 had arrived. When I got all dressed up I couldn't shake this ominous feeling. Except for the sheer black top I wore I was dressed in all black, as if I was attending a funeral. Something wasn't right and I couldn't figure out what it was then. I may have made it to one or two places before I decided to return home. I was so sad, I couldn't stop myself from crying. I could barely look back at the pictures.

Before 30 came I did manage to accomplish the first two goals of the American Dream. I honored my self-imposed advice and hung up my silly dreams at 30. It was hard but I did what I thought was best to redirect my energy. To this day I always remember a conversation my cousin had with my mom years ago. One that broke my heart. I never forgot how it made me feel. She told my mom she was too old to dream. She was too old to accomplish the things she wanted to. She's 30 years my senior but I still believe if she wanted she could do anything she put her mind to. Yet here I was remembering that feeling and falling into the same mindset.

Since my teens I had always wanted to visit Japan. Especially after my dad passed away when I was 16. Ironically j-pop(and shortly after k-pop) was something that offered me a lifeline during my grief. I had plans to study abroad, but my grief and fear of losing my mother held me back. When 30 came after I had given up on my dreams, this dream unexpectedly came forward. My husband and I planned to celebrate our honeymoon/1st anniversary in Japan. It was amazing! I felt so free and so at home at the same time. We talked about moving there years before, but that's all it ever was. Now that we were there, we knew it really was a possibility. Unfortunately at the end of our trip tragedy struck. Just like it struck us after we got married. And once again just like the day I turned 30 another dream had to be swept away.

I tried my best to convince myself this is just the way the cookie crumbles. Maybe this isn't the life I wanted exactly. So many people would be happy to have this life. I would convince myself to keep my head down and appreciate it. In hindsight I think back and acknowledge you can appreciate something, and still acknowledge that it isn't right for you. What good is a $200 shirt if it doesn't fit?

There were two prominent questions that kept coming up during lockdown. Who are you? What do you want? So simple but terrifying for me to answer. In trying to answer them I realize I never truly asked myself this. No wait I did, but I didn't listen. I didn't listen to the one person who was driving this ship. I listened to the opinions of others. Surely those who have spent more time on earth than me knew what they were talking about. Then I realized they didn't. They were doing the same thing that I had done. They too ignored what they wanted, instead aspiring for the lives their family, friends, and acquaintances told them would make them happy.

For years I always felt these weird emotions in my body. Emotions that were not my own. I could be perfectly fine and walk into a room and feel overwhelmed. I Couldn't figure out why. The room was just filled with people. Why did I care what they thought of me? We all have our own lives to live, right? I begin to realize while acknowledging my own inauthenticity to myself, how so many other people were struggling with the same issue. They couldn't understand why they had the house, the car, the job, the children, and the spouse yet they were still so unhappy.

The truth is happiness cannot be found externally. It can only be found within you. The more you put all your balls in one basket thinking it will make you happy, the more you will be disappointed. If you can't stand the one person who will be with you every moment of your life you will never be happy.

I've always wanted to have kids. I was probably more excited to get married because I couldn't wait to be a mom. For some strange reason after I got married I became afraid to get pregnant. I originally thought it was because my Grammy was sick. After she passed I still couldn't shake that fear. I thought maybe I was just being overly cautious. People with less have had children and thrived in many cases. I was constantly being told that "You can never prepare for children." Still I couldn't shake the fear.

I had two amazing parents growing up. We weren't rich, but they provided for me the best they could. They did a great job, and I'll admit that I was spoiled. I took a look at the traumas I've experienced throughout my life. I looked at the things that triggered me the most. It was myself, it was a younger version of myself. My inner child as some call it.  Although I had great parents, outside of them I still was inflicted with trauma even they couldn't prevent. The person that hurt me, and the people who I've seen mistreat children, have a tendency to neglect themselves and their trauma and tend to be obsessed with how things look instead of how they are.  I did not want to be that type of person. Realizing that, I became passionate about trying to heal my own trauma, in hope to prevent my own children from inheriting this mindset.

Here is where my story truly begins. It began when I began to acknowledge myself. When I recognized myself, I put my happiness in moving to California, in my husband,  in the image of my life. I put my happiness in everything but myself. I still have work to do, but I believe that I am worth it. Every moment I choose myself, I grow and heal my wounded self.

I've begun to release past hurt and trauma that I've experienced. I'm learning that just because people who loved me hurt me in the past, doesn't mean everyone will hurt me. I'm learning to forgive myself for being angry for so long. I'm acknowledging I had every right to be angry, but staying angry was no benefit to me. I'm learning I deserve to say no if I don't want to do something, and I'm not obligated to make anyone happy except myself. People's feelings may be hurt, but I didn't ask them to count on me to make them happy. I'm happy to help others, but I will no longer pour every bit of what is in my cup into another's.

During lockdown my wardrobe got much darker. I wore black almost every day. Although black is an amazing and powerful color, it symbolically felt as if I was mourning myself. I was mourning the part of me that didn't know her worth. I let myself be her for a time, and now I release her. I will gladly put her to rest. I've decided that I won't dim my light for anyone anymore. I won't even dim my light for myself. I will get to a place where I am confidently and unapologetically me. I will shine like the rays of the sun on a hot summer day without a cloud in sight. Just like the world needs the sun, the world needs us all to shine just as bright.

[iggysmice]

in an effort to make more personal posts here, here's one. I currently have either covid or the flu we aren't sure yet. Here's how thats gone so far.

I'm so sorry I'm on mobile and I can't do a readmore.

So me and Aly (my fiance, the lovely alys_gay_parade no im not tagging her in this drivel) were planning to go walk around and go out to lunch at the mall food court which is home to the only panda express currently taking foot traffic. We decided she'd be dropped off at my place in the morning and from there we could get on the bus and go to the mall. I'm sure I don't have to explain why it had to be so complicated.

So that night, I felt chills, deep in my chest. I know the feeling often indicates a fever, but I am also a dramatic bitch so I went and took my temperature with the house thermometer expecting it to say about 97 because I am also a cold bitch.

It read 100.2 and the thermometer made an urgent beep at me. I took some Advil because it lowers a fever and then noticed pain and stiffness in my neck and shoulders. Feeling around I found the lymph nodes on either side of my neck swollen and tender. This has never happened to me before, but it turns out my anti-anxiety medicine can cause it to occur more often with illness and even just spontaneously on its own.

The Advil soothed the pain and chills and I slept. This went on for three days, until today (9/9/2020).

I hadn't taken medicine since about 7 in the morning and I felt alright. My lymph nodes and neck were still sore but I was sure it would heal and go away soon enough. My last temperature reading had been a low 98, even! I went about my day.

Until about 5pm. I realized in my little room I couldn't get warm no matter what. I had two space heaters in there to try and overcome my drafty window, but it just wasn't working. I went out to the living room, where my parents usually keep it very warm because they're old and become chilly easily. I parked myself in the armchair closest to the big space heater and tried to get warm.

I still couldn't get warm.

My mom assured me it was cold outside so she understood, gave me fluffy warm socks and had me put a blanket over my body which already had fleece pajama pants and a hoodie on.

I still wasn't warm. My face had become hot, but the rest of me still shivered periodically and uncontrollably.

"Er, can I have the thermometer so I can reassure myself?" I asked my mom as casually as I could, expecting it to read 97.

It beeped urgently and read 102.8.

"Oh no, that's bad." I said, fully startled by the result. I'd thought I was just being a dramatic bitch about the cold weather we had.

"It isn't bad." my mom assured me. Even so, she gave me some Tylenol to try and lower it, and urgently asked if I had any lesions from my HS currently that could be septic. I didn't, I'd checked first thing when I'd got a fever initially because I know those infections can go crazy sometimes.

I don't usually tell my parents if something is wrong unless it is very wrong. This is because I am an adult and generally handle my own problems. So, when I am in pain from an HS abscess or swollen lymph nodes, I kind of just power through it because it seems the adult thing to do. I'd been struggling to keep warm for a couple hours before I went to the warmer rooms because I did think it was my drafty window doing it.

The next two hours my mom monitored my fever and gave me more reducing medicine.

"Don't heat up and kill my brain cells," I warned, pointing at my body threateningly, "I need those to be funny."

This was after my highest spike, 103.7.

My mom is a veteran preschool teacher. She knows that if the person in charge remains calm, everyone else will too. This is important with small children because a room full of panicking 4 year olds in an actual emergency is Bad. My mom had seemed calm and not that concerned, until that high reading. Then I saw her eyes go wide and she showed it to my dad and said in the most distressed voice "Her fever is going up." (Yes I am out as NB to my parents, I just use she/her And they/them so that's fine.)

I was thoroughly scared now and also had looped back around in temperature to feeling like I was sitting too close to a bonfire and it was making me sweat and hot on my face. The last time I'd left the house was two days before I got sick and I'd gone to the 7/11. I hadn't gone anywhere with Aly, in fact I had canceled on her twice now because I had a fever and didn't want to spread disease. I got my flu shot two weeks prior to the illness. My mom asked me about all of these and wrote them in her notebook. The store was my last chance to have caught a virus, because being a homebody in a quarantine Fucks.

In the end, my fever went down with enough medication and I was sent to bed and told to monitor it. We did discuss that if it went higher than that 103 or stayed in that range, we would have to go to the emergency room because that would be dangerous- a risky fever for an adult is 103 or higher.

In the end, it did go down and I went to bed. If it spikes again tomorrow I will probably have to get covid tested which means I will have done it Twice now while my family hasn't even done it once. I cannot wait for the saliva tests to come out. Even blood tests would be less uncomfortable than a swab rubbing the back of your sinus cavity on either side.

I will update as things happen. Currently my temp is around 98, which is a tad high but not a fever anymore. Alongside antibiotics, I now think fever reducing medicine is one of humanity's greatest medical achievements.

If you thought this was long uhhh it took place over like 3 hours for me while severely ill so I captured the feeling well if it feels like it goes forever.

[crazymecjc]

Quotes from Mary Poppins

So I was in Mary Poppins this summer and it was the best show I've ever done, it was also one of the funniest backstage experiences I've ever had so here's some quotes from rehearsals :)

I'm referring to everyone by their character names except if they're my friends yeet

My friend Miranda, staring me dead in the eyes: “Cannibalism."

Both of us simultaneously: "hmmmm”

Miranda, frantically: “Do you want some.... boNeLesS AiR”

(She then proceeded to research if boneless air was a thing for like ten minutes)

Me, angrily: “buT wE hAvEnt had our mILK”

Honestly idk who this was: “What is in your boob?”

(Context: we were all volunteering at a meat raffle, which I didn't know was a thing before then but ok)

The guy in charge of the raffle: “If you’re selling tickets, stand up”

*everyone simultaneously drops to the floor*

Guy running the raffle: “Hors d’oeuvres is not a person”

The same guy, a half hour later: “I’m not trusting you, because you said hors d’oeuvres were a country”

The radio:“I’m looking for some way to bond with my kids” Miranda, whispering: “Mr. Banks?”

My friend Anthony:“That’s like the worst way to reduce reuse recycle”

Miranda during rehearsal for Step in Time, pretending to be on Disney Channel:“Hi, I’m a low class citizen, and the only time I see the light of day is at night”

Anthony, sinisterly:“We’re all dead bodies in the end”

Anthony, in the car: “Smells like... g g g g g g g g g g ggrravy”

Miranda:“buT THEY TORE MY spinal cord.... aGAIN!?!?!”

Anthony, walking out of rehearsal:“It smells like a hot dog out here”

Me:“mE”

Anthony, incredulous:“you smell like a hotdog?!?”

Also Anthony:“My uvula is quook”

My friend Maddie, who we all call Marcy bc that was her "character" for the show and it stuck:“Why do you guys know what windex smells like??? Hello???”

Miss Andrew: “You don’t smell windex? What’s wrong with you???”

Anthony, in the car, shouting:“sTEP AWAY FROM THE GOODS”

Anthony, discussing Into the Woods:“I feel like Little Red is sort of like Smeagol”

Me: “There’s a whole family standing in the middle of the road??”

Anthony:“Are they ok?” Me:"They’re not even crossing, they’re just chilling.”

Anthony to me, while in the fake plant section at the craft store: “It’s like you’re trying to get into leaf Narnia”

Miranda to me: “You look like the Kool Aid Man”

Anthony, to me:“Go onto stage like ‘OoOh yEaH”

Anthony, to the tune of one of he songs:“Reeeedd Robin, Yum!”

Miranda, dramatically crossing her legs:“I’m a fucking queen” *mouth pops*

Miranda calling after me on my way out the door:“Wait I’ve gotta tell you a secret “ *whispers in one ear* “the snack that smiles back” * in other ear* “goldfish”

Me, singing:“Someone is returning”

Miranda:“the demons in my house when I’m coming home”

Miranda, in a whisper:“Mary and Bert look like they’re gonna fight”

Anthony, in the car: “No one is alone.. that’s kinda scary”

Anthony:“When I was young, I ate people”

Miranda:“crispy”

Miranda, in the car after a long rehearsal, exhausted:“Can we play some tunes? I don’t want some hard tunes tho, I want gentle tunes”

I honestly don't know who this was, probably Anthony:“Why are you discriminating against whales?”

Miranda, with jazz hands:“Just a spoonful of... pizazz!”

Miranda, a few minutes later:“Just a spoonful of soot helps the depression go down”

Miranda:“What’s the month after January?”

Me, sister struggling:*counts on fingers* “October, November, December, January, feBRUARY”

Anthony,:“Doesn’t it smell like cat food? Oh no that’s McDonalds”

Anthony:“You smell like Cheerios.”

Me:“Thanks????”

Mary, standing by the roof set we had:“Bert, you look like a cat”

Bert, on the roof: “meow”

Marcy, working on her character:“I’m doing research... drug research “

Marcy, trying to explain her character to me:“Marcy Tippetome is a drug addict. But she’s addicted to Tylenol”

Bert:“Bloody hell”

Michael:“sTOP THERE ARE CHILDREN “

Bert:“well you’re the one who keeps pretending to shoot people on stage”

Anthony, singing:“Someone smells like celery!!!!”

Anthony, moments later:“So I was in my room and my body collapsed”

Miss Andrew:“In 20 years I’ll be like ‘hey, you owe me a soda kid’”

Michael:“I’ll be dead in 20 years”

Mr. Banks:“All hair is dead”

Miranda:*bad Italian accent* “would you like some rigatoni???”

Anthony:“Spit the alcohol out Marcy”

Miranda, ranting:“The government can leave. I only know... I don’t know English”

Miranda, reenacting the Sound of Music:“Donde es Maria??”

Miranda and Anthony:*speaking in simmish for ten minutes*

Bert:“I’m gonna hiss. Like a cat. Meow.”

Mary:“Bert, I’m done with you. Jump off the rooftop.”

Probably Anthony??? I don't know:“My name is Margaret, and I like cheese”

Me:“Michael who? I only know mILK”

Anthony:“Remember when I asked what century it was?”

Anthony:“There’s blood on my finger”

Miranda, deadpan:“blood is the cure”

Me:“There’s something in your pocket”

Anthony, nonchalantly:“it’s just a chair”

One of the statues:“Ohmigod who’s on your phone screen Anthony?”

Anthony:“I’m gay”

Anthony, staring into the distance:“Death is my cure”

Anthony, moments later:*valley girl accent* “I’m gonna die”

Miranda, disdainfully:“I never had emo phase. I didnt want to associate with tHAT”

Me to Anthony because he had to wear this frog costs and it was skintight: “Dicks out for Mary Poppins”

Anthony, giving Mrs Banks a hug:“Hi mom!”

Mrs. Banks, deadpan:“did I give you the permission to touch me?”

Anthony, after we went to Wendy's:“Oh my gosh there’s a spoon between my legs! I just wanted my phone and I reached down and then... there’s ice cream on my crotch”

Also Anthony:“I was exhaling really intensely the other day and my tongue started flopping around”

My little brother right before tech week:“Dress rehearsal?? More like stress rehearsal”

Anthony:“Marcy put the Tylenol DOWN!”

Miranda:“Noooo, she’s doing cocane”

(I swear we're good children I'm sorry)

The lady who played Queen Victoria, approaching Miranda:“Can you blow into my eye?”

An ensemble member:“Don’t choke me”

Mr. Banks:“I don’t even know you yet”

Miss Lark, handing someone her dog puppet:“Here, hold my bitch”

Literally all of my friends: *simultaneous “it’s poppin”*

Who knows, but now we all say it:“Rest IP”

Anthony, buying frozen yogurt at the mall between shows:“Is chocolate supposed to be crispy??”

Me, dying inside because I thought it would be a good idea to leave my show tights on while we went to the mall:“Oh No tHeReS SorBeT oN mY TigHtS!?!”

Ok backstory: we had this table for Spoonful of Sugar that is supposed to break and then magically repair itself. So it's motor powered, and so far it's been working great. Fun! So the last night of the show arrives. I accidentally sweep the guy playing Robertson Ay because he's on the floor, so we're already dying. Mary goes to fix the table, and it goes as planned, only to revert back to broken a moment later with a bang. I'm breaking character, and trying to keep singing, but I lose it bc out stage manager offstage, sounding completely dead inside, goes:“Well, there goes the table.”

????:“Why is it wet??” Anthony:“Because I salivate”

Michael, on his way out the door on closing night:“Keep it poppin”

(I cried)

Other notable moments:

This girl started crying about cows in the middle of rehearsal bc she loved them so much

The guy who played Mr. Banks did origami and he made me a dragon

The lady playing Mrs Andrew would regularly balance chairs on her chin

I had to pretend to rip a dolls arm off and the second night I actually ripped its arm off oops

One night I forgot to preset said doll, so it didn't have an arm for a full scene

We'd been joking about building a fort in the dressing room for a while so on the last day, we walked in to find Mrs Banks surrounded by chairs. "It's Fort Banks." She said. Someone had blankets in their car and suddenly there was an actual blanket fort in the dressing room

The girl who played the messenger would write letters to Mr Banks to read during the shows. One of them was about robbing a bank, I think??? She gave him her address and we're still waiting for a reply for the final letter

The flying equipment got caught on the lights one rehearsal and Bert almost died

We'd sing Feed the Birds for warm ups sometimes and I'd cry. every. time.

We were in the Disney store, and the Mary Poppins trailer starts playing as we’re buying Mary Poppins shirts, with Mary Poppins shirts already on