#parent shit

[larkral]

Oh, hi. Good news: I am not dead. Bad news: my spirit is perhaps just a little bit dead. Thanks @shrekgogurt and @hushed-chorus for the tags! And to everyone else who's been tagging me over the past while.

I've been too busy dealing with school's bullshit about my daughter's behavior for the past (checks watch) six weeks to have any energy to write. But! Last night I wrote 230 words for the epilogue of my Check Please fic!

Anyway, I've been feeling very much like the amalgamation of Natalie and Zadie in Finally, (already, always) that I'll be honest, I've always known I was writing them as. For a snippet of my life, please read the two following snippets from that WIP:

Natalie:

Simon's teachers call us up to say he's a nuisance in class, but they can never say what he's done. Is he loud? (No.) Does he throw things? (No.) Has he hit anyone? (No.) Does he speak out of turn? (No.) No, no, no. He's just a nuisance, Mrs. Stephenson-Shaw. (Ms. Shaw, actually.) He's disruptive. He has to go to the office. He's risking expulsion. He's seven. Just a boy. Thin shoulders, long back, freckles, blue eyes and a smile. A tumble of energy and adoration and enthusiasm. He's my Simon. He's stories by the window, and sitting on the floor next to his bed stroking his back as he falls asleep. He's chasing after ducks in the park, climbing trees, and an overwhelming enthusiasm for knights and dragons.  I love him every way I can find. Every day I find more. I'm spilling over with love for him and aside from Zadie, no one seems to be able to see it: the things we love. The ways he's loveable.

Zadie:

I wonder if he might have seemed trustworthy. If he'd been subtle, if he'd been politic, would I have seen the monster as readily?  "We will talk with Simon about it. And we can tour the school. And if he's interested, then we'll consider it." He purses his lips. "A tour will be difficult," he says. "It is impossible for a non-magical person to enter the gates of Watford." Of course. Well, it's as good a demand as any to finish the conversation with. "Well then, I suggest that you find a way to let prospective and current students' parents visit the school, or the answer will definitely be no." I stand up and start towards the door. Nat stands and starts down the stairs. We fall in together, present a united front as I usher to David Cadwallader out of our home.  "I'll be in touch ," he says.

<3 to everyone and tags under the cut

@stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @that-disabled-princess @shrekgogurt @forabeatofadrum  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @mooncello @monbons @run-for-chamo-miles

[redashtreeeez]

This is the relationship I want with my own children some day.

[apoetstragedy]

I hope she's my mother in every universe. But i hope that i am not her daughter.

[lily-on-the-fence]

I was chatting with my dad yesterday and it turns out that my dad and stepmum watched a bbc documentary about Elon Musk and now they fucking love the dude. Like my dad was saying he's a genius and that humanity needs more people like him "who'll break rules and make stuff happen" in the same sentence as complaining about Twitter's name change. Like what the fuck who are you??

Also talked with stepmum who had a great little speech about how actually capitalism is good and talking about getting a job turned into "well there are bussinesses now who treat their employees and suppliers really well" and "when we were young we just wanted monney but now young people have the privilege of choosing where they want to work."

Like yeah sure people in my country are living with their parents almost until their 30's cause rents are impossible but sure we're so privileged. Fucking had it with their Guardian-centrist boomer takes.

[bigfrogsounds]

having a parent be comically evil is horrible yet oddly satisfying in a fucked up way because you can point to the thing they did like 'YA. yep they did that to me. yes just like that scene in the little mermaid. when i get out of here i am never gonna talk to them again and thats justified!!'

[happyherringbonkpickle]

[foxlungz]

I will always be so fucking angry for what they turned me into

[fishofthewoods]

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

[kettlefire]

Justice League & The Observants

The first time The Observants appeared before the Justice League, they were met with resistance. The JL was more than apprehensive when it came to working with the beings.

A new side of their world was exposed to them. Since the day those things showed up at the watchtower, everywhere the JL turned, there was a new spooky thing to learn about.

The strange beings didn't say much. Appearing in the room through a swirling portal, took a look at the heroes and gave them a mission.

A mission. Like suddenly the Justice League works for them. Something that rubbed all the heroes the wrong way.

Yet, they had to take it. They couldn't let a town get absolutely destroyed and leveled just because they disliked the creatures that told them about it.

It kept happening.

Batman pulls out all the stops to learn more about these so called "Observants". Everything he could find.

It takes him down a rabbit hole. Finding out more and more about the world those beings came from. The Zone.

No one could really complain. The visits from the Observants were always short and to the point. A new problem has arise in the time line and they needed to fix it.

That was until the first time it wasn't one of those things stepping out of the portal.

This time it was a kid. Or something that looked like a kid, and this kid looked pissed.

He demands to know everything that the Observants had asked the league to do. Demands to be filled in.

The anger isn't directed at the JL. No, no. It's directed at the Observants. It seems the league aren't the only ones that despise those all-seeing beings.

He's a king. The kid is a King.

Not what anyone had expected, and it seemed the complication only grew more. The king, Phantom, informs them not to trust the Observants.

The Justice League takes it all in surprising strides. Confirms that they have done nothing wrong, and they haven't. It was simply that the Observants cared more of their own opinions than the betterment of the world.

However, it gets a little harder to keep a straight face when they are introduced to the God of Time.

Made even worse when the God, Clockwork, is a child. If they thought Phantom was a kid, this was a baby.

Except in almost a blink of an eye, Clockwork was an old man.

Things just kept getting more complicating and intriguing.

Before the Justice League knows it. They are essentially thrusted into the Zone's own problems. An inner war was brewing, and Phantom wanted to do everything he could to stop it.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[thedevilundercover]

There’s such an easy way to wrangle all of the Batchildren. Bruce, take some notes: stickers

Especially the golden star stickers. If you pull one of those out? All of them are going fucking feral

Maybe he learnt it from some other single mom of too many kids™️ at some PTA meeting or whatever

*clears throat* here’s a demonstration of what I think would happen.

Batman: I have acquired some new knowledge and have decided to implement them into our training

Batchildren: yeah; ok; whatever; no one cares

Batman, pulls out some stickers from his bat pouches™️:

All of the fucking Batchildren: *going feral, ballistic over the stickers, actually listen for once*

[solarpunkani]

Hot 4am take but I feel like if we want to get people more interested in making their yards a more habitable space for wildlife like insects, we have to acknowledge that ‘Don’t want bugs in your house’ is still a 100% fair and valid point of view. ‘Loves nature’ and ‘doesn’t want roaches spiders and mosquitoes in the house’ aren’t opposites.

And with that in mind, when we propose to people that spraying pesticides around houses is Not A Good Idea, Actually, I feel like we need to give an alternative asides from ‘deal with it.’

[nova-rpv]

"i have a sister now! thank you, granpa! we are going to do so much stuff together!"

(trans masc newborn shado btw. tag as ship and ill kill you)

[waitineedaname]

divorce as angst: boring, depressing, overdone, I've had enough of that in my own life thanks

divorce but the characters are still friendly: good! healthy! more of this please!

divorce as comedy: unparalleled, hysterical, I want characters to divorce each other repeatedly for no reason

[lily-on-the-fence]

My mum's a teacher and sometimes tells me stories of when she gets a bit upset in meetings and stuff. They all seem to follow a format like

Someone else: says something inappropriate, rude, etc...

mum: gets unreasonably upset, raises voice, starts waving her arms about.

everyone else: discounts what was said as bullshit and don't really care, or calmly talk about the issue (basically, a healthier emotional response to hearing some BS at work)

mum (to me, later): I don't understand, it's like I'm the only one who cares, it feels like everyone else is dozing off etc etc...

also mum: is tired and depressed

[markscherz]

‘But I am very poorly today & very stupid & hate everyone & everything’

- Charles Darwin. Letter to Charles Lyell, 1 October 1861