Hi Ive been reading your LWD posts. I was wonsering what your thoughts were on George and Nora as parents ( if youre up to sharing them) >>
Greetings! Welcome to my blog! Would you like a cup of tea? A blanket? A lot of conversation? I noticed you reblogged one of my posts with a note that Derek Venturi is YOUR blorbo too!!!! What a shithead. Gosh I love him.
So. You want to know my thoughts about George and Nora as parents. I have a lot of thoughts, actually. Some of them are conflicting.
This is gonna get long, so I'll put it under a Read More.
I guess my first question is: Have you read any of my fics? This isn't me plugging my work; I ask mostly because I think you get a decent idea of a lot of my thoughts via my kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight series, which is basically my idea of what happens after LWD and Vacation with Derek (but NOT Life with Luca).
But basically: I think that George and Nora are good people with good intentions and a lot of heart who aren't actually very good parents (that may make some people upset. oops). I think they love their children very very much. I also think they're very human. And I think their parenting skills are lacking in different ways.
So, as you may have noticed — or maybe you didn't; it's cool either way — I am doing a re-watch of LWD (very slowly because I am very busy and prefer to write and hate watching things by myself) and I'm about halfway done Season 2. And I think they're both lacking in different ways, which in part affects their children but also their lack may be because of their children's personalities.
George: I genuinely think George likes his kids. I think he loves them. I also think he has pretty much given up on raising Derek, and it's only Nora's guidance that is keeping Marti from being a total brat. I think we can assume that the advice and discipline that he gives Marti is the same kind he have Derek and Edwin — I mean, that only makes sense, right? You usually IMPROVE your skills on the younger children, actually, as you get more practice and see the results of the older kids, so he may have actually been even MORE lax with Derek and Edwin. When George DOES discipline Derek, he tends to overcompensate, and it's clear to me from Derek's body language, his reactions, and his lack of respect, that George picks and chooses when he disciplines Derek. It's very inconsistent, and it seems to be based more on when Derek inconveniences GEORGE or costs him money. Inconsistent discipline is, like, the worst kind you can raise a children with: you have to choose a strictness level and then try to stick to it, even if it's super relaxed. It's the inconsistency that's problematic!!! George's parenting style has raised three brats — and I love the Venturis. I really do. But my GOSH are they bratty!!!
I think George mostly enjoys being a dad, but likes the fun parts a lot more than the rotten parts. I think George really likes how grown up and easy Casey and Lizzie are compared to his children. I think he's gonna be an AMAZING grandpa. I have a LOT of HCs about Derek's childhood that get incorporated into my fics, including this idea that Abby got pregnant with Derek before she and George were married, and George felt the need to grow up FAST to be a dad, and just... Didn't really finish the job. I think he sees a lot of himself in Derek, and a lot of the the things he sees are the parts of himself he doesn't like.
Nora: I think Nora loves her daughters and her new stepchildren. I think, however, that her divorce to Dennis was BRUTAL. Unlike Abby and George's, which I've always imagined as more mutual, there's something about the way Nora panics with Dennis comes to visit and how Casey and Lizzie act around him that gives the impression that it was a NASTY divorce. I think Nora probably leaned a lot on her two girls (understandably so), and I think the three of them saw each other as a team. I think Nora started to see Casey as a combination of her best friend, right-hand man, and almost redemption for the mistakes of her marriage. I think, by accident, Nora puts a lot of pressure on Casey (and Lizzie), and the two of them react accordingly (I also think Casey tries to shelter Lizzie from this when she can. Casey is VERY much an example of parentification).
What does this mean? Something I've noticed is that Nora cares a LOT about how their family is viewed. When Lizzie makes them take the quiz about the children and they fail, Nora is upset -- but doesn't actually do anything to solve the problem? When Lizzie points out about their carbon use, Nora is worried what it will look like to the OTHER moms. I think Nora loves her girls and is doing her best to raise them... I just also think she's tired. Sometimes the way she reacts to Casey is like, 'Oh my, she's just being a dramatic teenager' which, while true, does not invalidate Casey's feelings and problems!! I think Nora does a lot more parenting that George, but doesn't always hit the finish line. Sometimes, she just sees it and calls it good enough.
What does this mean? I think it means they tried. I think it means they're human. I think they have full time jobs and five dramatic children and past-marriages that have left scars on them. I in NO WAY think the five/six children are abused whatsoever. I just think that sometimes Lizzie is so good that she slips through the cracks; I think Derek has done a lot more raising of BOTH Edwin and Marti than anyone is willing to admit. I think Casey has anxiety because of the parentification. I think Derek's distaste for authority and his faux-casualness is his reaction to George (and Abby)'s inconsistent parenting style.
So, tldr: I don't think they're good parents. I also don't think they're BAD. I just think they could've been a lot better.
Okay, so for Anya, her class has GOT to be aberrant mind sorcerer, no question about it. Her race is just basic human, and I pulled some stats for a child character rather than rolling for them because, well, she's 5 or 6 years old. She smol. For her background, I actually ended up making a custom background, "experiment", because nothing else really fit her especially since she's just so Young and most official backgrounds are tooled for adult characters. The custom background gives her proficiency in Insight and Perception (cause of her mind reading), and she gets a trinket, which I made her hair ties and her stuffed animal. Also, because she's a child, she's considered Small rather than Medium, unlike most humans.
Twilight was pretty easy to pin down but took me some time to build the sheet lol. He's a Mastermind Rogue, which gives him those excellent disguise and deception skills, and I gave him the Actor feat to give him advantage at passing himself off as other people. With Expertise to double his deception rolls and give him a +14 to his Deception rolls plus advantage, no one is ever seeing through him lol. There is actually a Spy background in D&D, but it's a variant on criminal and it sucks, so I gave him the Faceless background so that he could get that early disguise kit proficiency and some other good skills in deception.
And for completion's sake, I made Yor as well! Obviously, she's got to be an Assassin Rogue, and I went in hard on her strength and dex, but she has a negative to intelligence lol. I gave her the mercenary background because that seemed to fit her situation as an assassin for hire the most.
Thanks for the ask!
As an aside, these sheets are taking a really long time and i'm gonna be sleeping soon so if i get anymore i probably won't make the full sheets, i'll just share what race, class, and background i think they would have.
Hey OC community! Show them some love! :) Perhaps a follow too! Has known OCs for Gilmore Girls, Glee, Supernatural, Harry Potter, and Marvel!
If you’re a fanfiction OC writer and would like a little more exposure, just send me an ask saying “Hey ✍” and I’ll post the ask to introduce you to my followers. :)
"We have chicken and tarragon vol-au-vent," Sabine suggested, gesturing at the warming display full of food they would much rather sell at a discount now than throw out soon, and collected from the printer the sign saying exactly that.
—from three square meals for three-squared lives (or: the saddest hungriest cat in all Paris)
Okayokayokay so I have Piper Martin first off. She and her family move to Albuquerque because of a job opportunity her dad gets. And Piper isnt really super bothered by the move even though it’s her senior year. They move across the street from the Bolton family. Piper is a pretty quiet girl, she likes true crime podcasts and she loves reading. But of course, Quiet Piper Martin finds herself in a lot of drama when she falls for Troy Bolton
Then after Piper comes her sister Cassidy. Cassidy is a lot more bothered by the move. She was perfectly happy at their old home where she was popular and had a lot going on. She is a violinist prodigy and she does not get along with Jimmy Zara AT ALL.
But then THEN we have my Bisexual Ryan In New York story. Here we have Ryan moving into a shared apartment with like 4 other people because it’s new york and they’re all broke and turns out Julliard isn’t for him.
In the apartment we have Ileana, a model and the most put together put together of the group. She has a significant other who she’s very happy with, her modelling career is actually going places and she has the ability to make good choices.
There is also Kyler, he’s an actor and super full of himself. He is a hoe who sleeps with just about anyone who will give him a chance, including most of the people that live in the apartment.
Next we have Ryan’s two love interests (I’m not sure who he ends up with yet maybe both? idk) First is Jamie, Jamie is a musician and a generally nice guy. He just wants to make music and make people happy.
Finally we have Demaris. Demaris is a train wreck. She is a dancer and she is really good at making all the worst choices.
Jamie, Kyler and Demaris work at a jukebox diner (Like the diner they work at in Glee) And get Ryan on there. and it’s all of them living their lives, plus Ryan lying to his family about what he’s doing and how he’s doing and just a bunch of dumb late teenagers/early twenty somethings trying to make it through lives in their creative fields.
Wow this took a lot longer than I thought, I apologize! Work has been blegh lately and my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I thank you for the prompt and hope you enjoy!
It’s a sort of sequel to my fic “Placebo” that isn’t necessary to read before this but would definitely help. All you really need to know is that it takes place in a universe where Eddie is Carrie White’s cousin and has the same telekinetic powers.
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"I'm not afraid."
For once, it’s the truth. Eddie has never felt more powerful than he does here, among the ruins of It’s hiding place, where It lurked for centuries, millennia, gnawing on the bones of children, biding its time for the day It would feed again. The memory of this place terrified him for years-- even when he couldn’t remember, the fear was embedded in his mind.
Now it’s shattering under the strength of Eddie’s will, destroyed by the sheer force of his mind, and the feeling is-- he can’t describe--
The weak, shriveled form of the clown tries to rally. Eddie squares his jaw, focuses on pinning It down, harder, merciless, refusing to give an inch. "I’m not afraid,” he repeats, the taste of blood in his mouth, hot as it slips down his face. “Not of you."
The clown laughs-- it’s a raspy, death rattle. Still, Eddie tenses, a sense of doubt creeping past the smolder of anger, the self-righteous flaring through his whole body.
"Even now I can feel it, that delicious reek of fear,” It smirks, a lopsided grimace turned smug. “Not of me, no. I already know what you are.”
Gulping, Eddie falters. Only for a moment, the flare dousing to a mere spark.
"I’ve always known,” It croaks, hoarse and almost unheard above the sound of the cavern as it crumbles. “But do they know, Eddie?”
Carrie, her hair a tangled mass of flames, her dress a flowing wave of red. Her eyes are nearly electric, a frenzied flash of light that-- and, suddenly, Eddie’s staring at a reflection of himself, manic and panting, bathed in the blood of his tormentor.
“Do they know what you are?”
Eddie springs up, dislodging the sheets curled around his body, gasping for the air caught in his throat. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage, trying to claw out from under the heavy weight atop his chest.
Beside of him in bed, Richie stirs with a low, drowsy groan. Ridiculously long legs disentangle under the blanket. He’s amazed they manage to fit together most nights, what with how much of Richie there is to fit, and how Eddie tends to sprawl if not contained by his boyfriend's octopus-like embrace.
His boyfriend. Now there’s a word he never thought he’d be able to use sincerely. However, there’s no mistaking the realness of Richie as he shifts closer in search of Eddie, even in his half-asleep state.
"Eds?" he calls in that scratchy voice reserved for the early hours of the morning. Frankly, a freshly-woken Richie is a sight to behold. Even as kids waking up in the Denbroughs’ den, Eddie’s guilty pleasure was waking before his best friend so as to catch a glimpse of Richie as he roused.
With his glasses askew, his tousled hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted in the memory of a snore. As an adult, the sight’s no less appealing -- if anything, that half-lidded gaze staggers him more, now that he’s aware of the soft, unguarded affection that lingers behind it.
"You okay?" Richie persists, squinting without his glasses.
"Mhm," Eddie replies, muffled by his fingers as they scrub at his face, clearing the remnants of the nightmare.
Unconvinced, Richie struggles into a sitting position. Propped against the headboard, he sizes up Eddie far too easily for someone who can barely see. "Bad dream?"
Too exhausted to form an answer, Eddie slumps backwards, colliding with Richie’s chest. Flush against each other, he can hear Richie’s breath stutter over the shell of his ear. Six months since Eddie moved in to Richie’s sunny LA apartment, the Derry hospital discharge band still around his wrist and Bev’s divorce lawyer saved to his phone, and sometimes they forget that this is allowed -- this closeness. This idea they can finally have what they want and not be hurt by it, by anyone.
Loving Richie is muscle memory, so natural it may as well be encoded in his DNA. Knowing that he has Richie, and can love Richie freely without hiding who he is, well-- that’s still a wonder, no matter how often Richie whispers the words against his skin.
Eddie knows this, not only in his mind but in his heart, and yet... He’s perplexed. Besides the Losers, he’s never known a love without conditions. A love that wasn’t dependent on his willingness, his obedience. It’s easy with Richie and harder for the same reason.
Once it registers that he’s got an lapful of a boyfriend, Richie winds an arm around Eddie and crushes him to the broad expanse of his chest. Hooks his chin over his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek like an over-excited dog.
“Baby, you’re kind of warm,” he murmurs, two-days worth of stubble scraping fondly over Eddie’s cheek.
The attention sends a shiver down his spine, but it ends in a shudder as Eddie remembers the heat of the flames as they licked his face, smoke curling into his lungs. Was it his face -- or hers? -- the fire a distant heat compared to the warm blood soaking her dress, her clothes, eyes listless as they carnage rages around her, the destruction she -- or he, was it him? -- the cavern collapsing around him as It huffed out its last, dismal breath--
His lungs expand, vainly searching for space to breathe. Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s hold, trying to hide the desperate beat of his pulse. “Fucking California heat,” he mumbles, evasively. “Has me all.. Sweaty.”
New York contains many, many years worth of bad memories, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s the cold nights. Though if he had to choose between the lonely dark of the guestroom where he slept instead of aside his wife or the comfort of Richie’s bed -- well, that’s hardly even a question.
“Did you wanna, ah..." Flummoxed, Richie wavers over his next words. "Talk?"
It's a song and dance they've done before. A sliver of guilt pierces Eddie through the shields he’s barricaded around this particular issue. How many times has he startled awake and dragged Richie out of sleep -- and then, to add insult to injury, decline the invitation to talk?
After Richie barred his soul and revealed the initials he carved into the Kissing Bridge, despite the threat of bullies and rejection, it seems hypocritical to keeps his darkest secrets under lock and key.
Not for the first time, Eddie aches for his pills. He’s kicked the habit, endured the worst of the withdrawal, bears the occasional migraine with no complaint. But in moments like these the urge is almost too much to ignore.
You’ll feel better, Dr. Silas cajoles, a venomous promise in his ear. Don’t you want to be normal?
It triggers a memory-- the pills in his palm, his mouth parted to swallow, but the desperation of Richie’s screams, the horror in the eyes of his friends. No, Eddie snaps. Of course he wants to be normal. Wants to have a normal life with his boyfriend.
But he wants it to be real. No more placebos.
"Oh-kay. If you’re sure," Richie sounds uncertain, but he’s unwilling to cross the boundaries Eddie has firmly set. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him for that. "Then it’s back to bed with you, guvnah!”
Usually the British voice anywhere near the vicinity of their bed drew a protest from Eddie -- it catches in his throat when Richie him swings him flat on his back, the bulk of his body sprawled between Eddie’s legs. He blushes to the roots of his hair, clutching at the wide expanse of Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin and the tendons of muscle underneath.
If he scowls, it’s a dismal attempt to hide how hopelessly turned on he is by every aspect of this ridiculous man.
"Otherwise, you'll be bitchy as fuck for the flight tomorrow.” His sigh blows against Eddie's hair. "And you know how much that turns me on."
Eddie sputters.
"God, you ever travel for upwards of six hours with a boner? Would not recommend, 0/10."
"Rich!" he scolds, which is hard to do when you're spasming with laughter.
"Unless," Richie continues, slyly, "Eds, you minx. You want to join the Mile-High club with me?"
"Richie," Eddie coughs, truly on his way to a ruptured lung. Hopelessly fond as he orders, "Shut up and go to sleep."
He waits until the chuckles peter out, eventually replaced by soft, even breaths. Carefully, Eddie twists out of Richie’s embrace. The soles of his slippers drag along the carpet as he shuffles to the kitchen.
The piles of dishes Richie convinced him to leave for later in favor of more amorous activities -- and to be perfectly honest, Eddie was easy to convince -- sits in the sink. Picking up the dish soap, Eddie figures he may as well be proactive in his insomnia.
Aunt Margaret used to say, Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. It was maybe the single coherent, non-hateful advice she ever gave.
He’s halfway through the mess and elbow deep in sudsy water when Richie wanders in, stretching. “I thought we had an agreement,” he yawns. “Whoever isn’t accosted by trauma-fueled nightmares gets to make breakfast.”
Ducking his head around a smile, Eddie shrugs. “Too restless to sleep. The thought of you forgetting to pack underwear on this trip haunted my dreams.”
"Ooh, say that again," Richie moans, slotting their hips together from behind. Despite his playful tone, Eddie feels the half-stir of morning wood. "Slower this time."
Eddie shoves playfully at his chin. "Seriously," he huffs. "Our flight's only in a couple of hours and I know you haven't finished packing!"
"Our flight's in eight hours," Richie points out, which is met by a dubious eyebrow raise. "That is plenty of--"
"How many pairs of underwear do you currently have in your suitcase?"
There’s a long, unconscionable pause.
"Fuck!" Richie snaps his fingers. "Knew there was something I forgot."
One of those rare instances where he isn't joking.
"You're pushing me toward an asthma attack," Eddie deadpans. "Please go pack."
Richie leaves a wet, slobbering kiss on his cheek that Eddie only half-pretends to hate. “Anything you say, darling."
Once he’s gone, Eddie can focus at the task at hand. He glances sidelong at a coffee mug that’s slightly out of reach. Retrieving it isn’t a hassle so much as an inconvenience, since his hands are damp with dishwater and the closest rag is across the room.
You could do it another way, reminds the quiet voice in back of his head that Eddie’s spent the last twenty-years trying to suppress. Long before that, really. Since the day his mother told him what his cousin-- what Eddie was.
Do you know what you are?
Eddie bristles. Fuck that clown. Fuck the idea that It has any lingering sway over his life. His mother, too. And those doctors, all those doctors and their tests, their experiments, their pills. Nobody can choose for him anymore. He’s in control of his life.
Despite this conviction, Eddie dawdles. Strains his ears. He can hear Richie clunking around in their bedroom, a safe distance away. I’m alone, he thinks bracingly. I’m alone, so there’s no harm in...
He shuts his eyes, concentrating. The mug rattles, as though gently prodded by an unseen force. Slowly, carefully, Eddie relinquishes the vice-like grip of the leash wrapped tight around his mind, bit by bit.
The mug slides along the counter, until it hovers over the edge. It does not fall. Eddie feels a prick of satisfaction tingle at the base of his neck.
I’m not afraid, Eddie thinks with a rush of spite. Remembering his dream, the clown’s laughter a fresh in his memory, he pushes the mug faster. I am not--
"Hey, Eds, did you-?"
The mug smashes against the ground, shattering. Pieces fly out, scattering across the floor. All sharp edges.
"Shit!" Eddie panics. "Don't step over here, the shards–"
Hastily, he reaches for a handful of glass, as if cleaning up the evidence will hide what he’s done.
What were you thinking, you freak? You could've hurt him or--
"Eddie.” That’s Richie's voice calling to him, soft and urgent.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll--” He’s babbling, the words choked, constricted, while sweat pools at the base of his neck and his hands shake with the effort to shove it all down, deep, deep down where nobody can see--
"Eddie!" Richie shouts. His face comes into focus near inches from his, eyes, wild with worry. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, see? Just a stupid mess.”
A mess you made, Eddie thinks viciously. Now he's seen, he's seen and he'll run, he'll leave, because you're a–
"C'mon, Eds,” Richie murmurs, both a plea and a demand. Trembling fingers tangle with his own, the bite of Richie’s knuckles as he presses their palms against his ribcage steadying Eddie in the present. “You've got to breathe for me.”
Only then does Eddie realize how rapidly it’s rising, and how difficult it is to inhale. Buoyed by the constant stream of Richie’s assurances, Eddie begins to count his breaths, focuses on the movement of his and Richie’s hands as he breathes once twice, in and out. He judges his success by the tightness of Richie’s frown.
"Sorry," Eddie croaks once he can speak again. It feels as if the shards are lodged in his throat.
"Don't apologize," says Richie, a furrow nestling between his brows. He keeps his tone level, likely more worried than he lets on, but the lack of panic is what’s grounding Eddie and he’s appreciates it more than words will convey. "Do you need me to-- What do you need?”
Eddie shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites down on the tide of pleas that threaten to overwhelm him. You, I need you. I need you not to leave me once you figure out what I am.
"You know I don't care if you use your Matilda whammy." Richie makes a show of squinting his eyes. Eddie chokes on a stilted laugh. Richie seems to sag in relief
"It doesn’t change a thing for me,” he reminds, nudging Eddie softly. “You understand, right?"
Eddie swallows, thickly. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, the reply burrowed into Richie's chest. He kisses his clavicle once, twice in gratitude.
"What were you going to ask before?"
"Uh," Richie hedges. "Do you know where all my clean underwear is?"
Again, Eddie laughs. Helplessly. "Fucking Christ, Rich, I told you: a man needs more than seven pairs of underwear."
"I resent that. I have more," Richie sniffs. "They're just not as sexy as my gluteus maximoose pair. Which, as you know, I reserve for all special occasions."
"You're fucking ridiculous, is what you are," Eddie chuckles. "I'll fold the laundry after I clean this up."
"Let me do that,” Richie insists, shooing him toward the bedroom. “You can shower first.”
Chewing his lip, Eddie hesitates.
"Are you wearing shoes?" Richie gestures impatiently at his moccasins. "Alright... Just be careful with the glass."
“Like you were?” Catching Eddie by the wrist, Richie frowns down at his palm. A thin slice below his thumb, the blood a steady ooze.
"Oh," says Eddie, woozily. The prick of pain didn't even register. "I'll go, um. Wash this in the bathroom."
He ignores the feeling of Richie’s eyes on his back as he hustles the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He’s ignored a lot of things, lately.
The familiar yet nameless numbers on the cellphone he ultimately chucked. The decreasing amount of frantic calls from his ex-wife. The urge to tell Richie and the Losers every awful truth Eddie’s spent his entire adult life burying so deep that not even he has to confront it, ever.
At the sink, Eddie avoids his own reflection. Under the spray of water, the blood washes off effortlessly. As if it never happened. Wash your hands, Eddie. Like a good boy. His mother always repeated the order, ad nauseam. Like if he scrubbed hard enough, it would be as if the all the dirty, unclean parts of him she feared had never existed.
I actually finally watched Pacific Rim and did it with someone who's become a close friend/part of my platonic family which feels Right for this movie and aaaaah its so good. :D
Pacific Rim is SO good, I’m glad you enjoyed it! It’s one of my favorite movies of all-time, and I often list it as my absolute favorite one when someone pressures me to name one (although there are a few that fit the bill). I just... the worldbuilding! The soundtrack! The characters! The aesthetics! The messages! The stubborn hope of it all!
It truly is a great movie to watch with good friends, too. I adore it for the fact that it’s maybe the best work of fiction I can think of for putting relationships of all kinds on the same level (via the idea that they all make you good at piloting giant punching robots with the people you love, no less..... poetic cinema), and also affording the vast majority of its love and attention towards platonic ones. As someone who doesn’t really connect with the vast majority of committed-relationship terminology (even more aro terms, like queerplatonic, aren’t really the right ones for me, especially since I shy hard away from the word “partner”) and who struggles with wanting words for the long-term platonic relationships in my life as a result, I still feel like “drift compatible” is maybe the best one I’ve got for describing how I feel about the people dearest to me, and the fact that it came from the giant alien-punching-robots movie is..... great, actually. More stunningly fun sci-fi and fantasy that uplifts the importance of platonic relationships, please.
