#stabby son

[southpark-and-incorrect]

Kenny and the goth kids

Kenny: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do? Micheal: Have everyone stand. Henrietta: Bring three more chairs. Pete: The best seven of the lot can sit down. Firkle: Kill three. Kenny: Firkle, we talked about this.

[humanityinahandbag]

Trollhunters AU: therapy

The simplest of AUs

In which Strickler, whilst helping Jim through the beginnings of a plan against the notorious Gunmar, notices that the boy is an absolute wreck.

So much of my Strickler banks of the fact that he still holds feelings for Barbara. And that he still has the urge of a paternal calling for Jim. That he regrets and loves, and still clutches fast to the hope that his strange but wonderful family can happen.

Strickler: who still very much cares about Jim and his mother and what they could have been.

It all starts after a particularly brutal training session, in which Strickler had to hold back from throttling the boy who’s anger and absolute build up frustration had been taken out in the form of a few good whacks to Stricklers body. And his pride. And so, on their way back from the weekend abandoned Arcadia Oaks gymnasium, he pulls the car over on the road, turns off the engine, and says: “therapy.”

“I’m sorry-?”

“I know a changeling in town who works as a therapist. He’s excellent. And he owes me a favor.” His fingers drum the wheel. “I think you should consider it.” He tastes his own words and then tries again. “If we are to continue; myself and Nomura and you: you’ll need therapy, James. Someone to talk to.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine is a poor mans term for absolutely bungled. You’re going to therapy.” He turns the car on again. “If you want my help you’re going. I’ll call him. Today.”

“I’m not going to a changeling for therapy.”

“He’s good. He’ll understand you when you speak of trolls and the suppernatural. It’s better than a human could do.”

“He might kill me.”

“He’s only killed two people and that was in the 1970s.”

“That makes it so much better.” Jim swallows. His hands shake, and he shoves them into his pockets.

“I’ll pick you up and drop you off personally.” Strickler squeezes Jim’s shoulder. “It’s alright to require assistance, young Atlas. From myself to conquer the dark forces of Arcadia, and from a professional. To help you conquer the dark forces of the all too assaulted mind of a Mr. James Lake Jr.”

Jim huffs and turns away but doesn’t say anything. His fists curl up in his pockets.

Strickler reaches over to ruffle Jim’s hair, chuff fondly at the face Jim pulled at that, and drove on.

And that’s how, every Wednesday at 3:30 after school, Jim wound up in Stricklers car being driven to therapy.

[thepeppermama]

Me watching son of batman again: you stupid little shit Me, still watching: my son