Years down the line, Will Byers will pick up a book from his local library's 'Up and Coming Featured Authors' section. He's not quite sure why, but something draws him in. After checking it out and taking it home, he briefly skims the pages before settling down to read for the night.
The writing style feels so familiar. Not only that, but the story, too. Something fuzzy and soft, memories bitten at the corners and left for scraps. It regales the tale of two boys, nerdy and geeky and together in their little isolated bubble of a town.
Will knows this story. Of course he does. It's his. It's his, and it's Mikes.
But why, why would Mike write this? Not even under his own name, nonetheless. The pen name reads M. Hart. Hardly something he'd ever glance twice at.
Page by page, Will sees his childhood unfold on paper from the perspective of the boy he once loved. Cold, frost bitten fingers clenching tight onto swing set handles. The knot in Mike's heart that never quite left after he saw Will's body, sopping wet and lifeless by the quarry. A boy, haloed in light as he hands over a painting, a silent confession. More, more, more. Every second of everything Will has tried to forget since he left so long ago.
Eyes bleary, Will finally reaches the last few pages. His heart aches as the desolate, grey radio tower is described.
"Friends?"
His brain freezes. Will he go through this again? Will he go through the pain and solitude Mikes words left him feeling one more time?
Will breathes shakily, and flips the page.
"You know we've never been just friends."
Will and Mike- or as the book states, William and Michael (Real classy, Mike.) gently kiss, and Will slams the book closed.
What is this? What is this?
Is this really what he thought it was?
Confused and hurt and hopeful, Will's eyes dart with rapid speed down the final pages.
Love, Mike.
He sobs, heart catching on his throat as his fingers gently brush the two words. One more chance.
Will is on a plane back to Hawkins before the sun rises.
I Met Human Teeth Guy Again, And Yes, He’s Still Mad That I Had To Call The Cops On Him.
This is 100% real and happened today, June 13th, 2025.
Long story long, I work at a printing and shipping company in a small town, and I run deliveries. I’m dropping off a box of envelopes we’ve printed and tell the guy he needs to sign the invoice. I’m jovial, he’s smiling, and he looks me dead in the eye.
“Do you recognize me?”
Uh…I’ve lived here a LONG time. I know a LOT of people.
I run down the list of people in my head he could be. Cashier? I haven’t been in a store since curbside became a thing. He looks vaguely like the guy who came to Evil Dead rehearsals drunk before the pandemic, but that’s not saying a lot. Probably a person I’ve done a project for at work.
He had a tight smile on his face and his fists were clenched as he offered the invoice back to me, so I assumed I’d had to give him bad news about a package at some point or I’d worked on a funeral poster for him.
“You look vaguely familiar,” I offered, “But I’m not super great with faces.”
“You called the cops on me.”
Holy.
Shit.
“Ah, I see.”
The two clients he was seeing when I walked in looked between the two of us as I snatched the invoice from his hand.
“Have a nice day.”
I book it to my car, because as soon as he said that, I remembered exactly who he was.
Human Teeth Guy.
Rewind to a year or so ago, this guy comes into my work with a box he wants to ship. It’s all normal, our new girl is practicing shipping and helps him out, no problems.
Until a little later when the whole office smells like weed.
PUNGENT. NAUSEATING. IMPROPERLY DISGUISED.
We have signage stating that we can look through suspicious packages. We have a shpiel we go through every time we take in a box.
“Does this contain alcohol, tobacco, firearms, illegal substances, exotic pets, small children, human remains, cash, or gift cards?”
We ask these things for a reason. Some things require special packing, some things you have to have a special license to send. Cash and gift cards aren’t insurable, so if they get stolen, there’s nothing we can do and I like to let people know.
Marijuana cannot be shipped through USPS. Some people think it’s fine because it’s legal in a lot of places now, but it’s not legal to ship through the post office.
So, I get myself in full view of the security camera and I pop the box to make sure that it’s not just a box that had weed in it at one point. There’s a bunch of random stuff, a shirt, some rolling papers, and a Sour Cream and Onion Pringles can with scotch tape on the lid.
Look, I hate this kind of thing. If you’re going to ship drugs, don’t ship them in something obvious. Peanut butter was classic for a reason.
I pull the tape off, because I have to lay eyes on it, and out plops into my hand a plastic bag filled with nugs…
And a bunch of human teeth.
At first, I thought they were just some weird rocks, I’ve shipped weirder stuff, but the bloodstained roots quickly corrected me.
So, look, I didn’t know what the legality was for shipping teeth at the time. All I knew what that I had a Pringles can FILLED with weed, pillow stuffing, and HUMAN TEETH.
I stopped my search at that point. I wasn’t going to mess with that. We have a pretty robust drug trade in our town, the boss’s rule is that if you find something that you’re not allowed to handle, you call the police to facilitate.
I’m not a fan of getting cops involved, when people try to ship things they’re not allowed to, I typically call them and have them come get their stuff. They’re not usually happy, but they’re happier than if I call the police.
Well, guess who gave us a fake number?
So, I call. I report the human teeth, the drugs, and the other paraphernalia, and I ask if they can deal with it because I certainly don’t want to. They say they’ll send an officer over to pick up the package.
A week passes. No cops. I’ve called twice since then. The place stinks and I have nowhere to put it that won’t spread.
I call again, I say I’ve had it a week, I’m unhappy, send someone to get the box.
“Okay, we have someone on the way.”
Great. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Minutes later, who comes in, scratching himself raw and baring his teeth at my poor girl at the counter, but human teeth guy?
God hates me.
He’s livid. His box was supposed to be there already. Why hasn’t it gotten there? Did we steal it? Did we steal his drugs?
She’s in tears, he sees his box on the holding shelf and starts having a fit.
Why do we still have it?! What the fuck is wrong with us?!
So, since I get to be the one who throws their weight around here, I send her to go calm down and explain.
No, we didn’t send it because it reeked and it was illegal to ship. No, we can’t give you back the package, the police have already been called, no I can’t let you behind the counter to just take it.
The girl who went to the back has called the non-emergency line again to tell them that Human Teeth Guy is here and he’s angry.
The cop is there in two minutes.
Human Teeth Guy is escorted out of the building, snarling and screaming that we have to give him back his stuff.
Cop talks to him outside.
Cop comes back inside.
“You called us about drugs?”
“I called because we can’t legally dispose of his drugs and I couldn’t get ahold of him, but also because there are teeth in the Pringles can.”
“Teeth?”
Cop looks at the teeth.
“Yep, those are human teeth alright.”
Human Teeth Guy didn’t look like he was missing any teeth and these didn’t look or feel fake.
“So…what do you want to do here?”
“I don’t want to cause problems, he didn’t do anything to make me want to press charges of any kind, but he made my employee feel unsafe.”
“Got it. I’ll tell him he’s not allowed back and if he does come back, charges will be pressed.”
I hand the box with all of its contents to the officer.
“Good luck to you.”
Cop leaves. We watch Human Teeth Guy walk away from the building. Cop comes back inside, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
“He doesn’t know where he got the teeth from.”
“What?”
“He says he doesn’t know where the teeth are from.”
Cop looks at me.
I look at him.
“If you see him around here, call us, okay?”
And that was the end, or so I thought.
It would hardly be worth commenting on this at all, we have seen a lot of WILD shit come through here, if it weren’t for where I saw him today.
Friends, tumblrs, countryfolks.
HE WORKS AT THE LOCAL FUNERAL HOME.
I guess I know where the teeth came from now.
But I have SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS.
And yeah, he’s still mad at me, which is exciting.
Friends, I cannot emphasize enough to you that the ability to accept criticism without flying off the handle is *critical* to your ability to be a published author.
[plain text: Friends, I cannot emphasize enough to you that the ability to accept criticism without flying off the handle is *critical* to your ability to be a published author. End plain text.]
If you cannot accept constructive criticism on your drafts, you are not ready to be published.
If you cannot accept negative reviews, you are not ready to be published.
If you cannot accept negative reviews without claiming that anyone who critiques your book is doing the equivalent of actively trying to suicide-bait you...
You are not ready to be published.
[Plain text: you are not ready to be published. End plain text]
If you cannot handle constructive criticism or negative reviews, and you still want to go ahead with publishing, you need to, at minimum:
* Use a penname completely unattatched to your person
* blacklist every. single. variation, acronym, character name, world setting name, author penname etc assosciated with your work on every single browser extension possible so you cannot come across critique of your work unless it is the most vaugely-worded post in the world.
* Completely get rid of / stay off of all social media for at least a few months after you publish your work
* do not look at reviews or discussions about your work
* if you want to get feedback but can't handle it directly, get a trusted friend, or hire someone to aggregate common compliments or complaints about the work that they can present to you in a calm, friendly setting, while you have something on hand to help you regulate your emotions.
* Legitimately: seek therapy to help you regulate your emotions, especially if you have (or suspect you have) autism, ADHD, BPD, NPD, etc that can make it harder to regulate your emotions, as our nervous systems tends to overreact *drastically* to negative feedback, and can make it feel like the whole world is crashing and burning down around your ears simply because someone left a review that *doesn't* view your work as some variation of god's gift to mankind perfection.
* If your first instinct to seeing critique of your published work is to immediately and publicly proclaim that anyone who thinks poorly of your work is
"Just [racist, queerphobic, ableist, xenophobic, etc] Because I, the author, am [insert minority here], and I included [ insert minority here] characters in my work!!!!! And also they want me to *dieeeeeee!* "
... you are not ready to be published.
TL;DR: if you are incapable of receiving constructive or negative criticism of your written works, you are not ready to be published. If you go ahead with publishing despite knowing you cannot handle criticism, it is your responsibility to blacklist all relevant terms regarding your work, and not seek out or interact with reviews of *any kind* until you can regulate your emotions in a responsible, professional manner.
telt el azóta hogy a nagynénémet először zárt osztályra utalta egy főorvos és mondta ki, hogy ez demencia, középsúlyos stádium, nem élhet egyedül, az állapot visszafordíthatatlan és folyamatosan romolni fog.
4 év, 2 hónap és 6 nap telt el azóta és kicsit hosszú lesz, de végigviszlek a stációkon:
2022 március: 2x kórház, számtalan megalázás részemre, mert sajnos olyan dolgokat nem tudok amivel együtt kell születni, hogy pl. wc papír nélkül akkor sem mehetsz kórházba ha a zebrán csaptak el.
2022 május: hónapos melóval találok egy 0-24es gondozóházat, ráadásul állami, csak húszezret kell a nyugdíja mellé becsengetni, ez olyan lottófőnyeremény szinten van. beadom mindenhová az idősotthonos elhelyezési kérelmet, nem sok jóval bíztatnak a várólisták állapotát látva. lakástakarítás, selejtezés, ügyek elrendezése, számlák átírányítása, hiénákkal való elbánás, szép hónap.
2023 március: Lévai Anikó kedvenc egyháza megkapja az állami gondozóházat, akik küldenek nekem egy levelet, hogy mindenük a betegek ápolása, nyugodjak meg. két hét múlva újabb levél, a havi térítési díjat 330 (!) százalékkal megemelik. itt akkor ledobja az agyam ékszíjat, az összeg majdnem akkora mintha egy jobb 4 csillagosban all inclusive veretné vki és mellé fizetek egy 6 órás ápolót. elkezdek új helyet keresni.
2023 április: megütöm az eurojackpotot, az egyik idősotthonba bejutott a nagynéném, a covid sok listát rövidített ugye. gyertyát gyújtok szent antalnak és levezénylem az összes vizsgálatot ami kell az áthelyezéshez. a hónapom olyan hogy ülök az autóban az út mellett, a combomon a laptop és a telefonba magyarázom anyámnak hogy a lakásba ha belép ott melyik dossziét nyissa ki és mit diktáljon be, mert a másik telóban várnak egy listára. nem tudom hogy nem kapok idegösszeroppanást.
2023 május: itt kapom az idegösszeroppanást. nagynénémet kicsekkoltatom a vallásossá vált gondozóházból és átviszem az idősotthonba. a gondozóházban nem adják be neki a reggeli bogyóit, így mire átérünk vele a városon szó szerint megbokrosodik. felimádkozom az új szobájába, a felvételt vezető nővér azt mondja minden oké lesz. ja, amúgy gondok vagyok? nem. kicsit néz, de hát az kellett volna, a demens osztályon ez elvárt, folyamatban van? nem. senki nem mondta, sem a gyámhatóságon, sem a bíróságon, sem a gondozóházban, sem ti a 15 oldalas leveletekben. hát nem is tudja, jó, oké, menjek haza, meglesznek. hazahúzok, ebédelek és nem szokásom de egy komplett pohár bort lehúzok, ezt megérdemelted Anna. hátradőlök, pörgetem a netet erre 1 óra múlva telefon, robban a bomba, az idősek otthona az, menjek vissza de azonnal. félrészegen visszabékávézom, az út alatt megiszok másfél liter vizet hogy józanodjak és a hír ami fogad elintézi hogy abszolút elszálljon minden bormámor: nagynéném nem ír alá, én meg nem írhatok alá mert nem vagyok gondnok. a lelkére beszélek, semmi. 4 óra elmúlt, a felsővezetőt hívják, mi ilyenkor a teendő? rakják ki, jön a határozat, aláírt szerződés nélkül senki nem lehet az épületben mint lakó, és ha nem költözik ma, a megadott napon be akkor ugrott is a férőhely, várnak elegen. én ott elfogyok, akkor tényleg rajtam van a most én elmegyek Bécsig csomag és elköszönés nélkül, ott bassza meg magát a családom meg az ország is, soha nem jövök ide vissza. és akkor a 2 ottani ápoló, meg a 3 folyamatot vezénylő irodista átlényegül mentőangyallá és másfél órát puhítják a teljes tébolyban tomboló nagynénémet (lejárt munkaidőben vannak bőven) és elérik hogy alászignózza az elhelyezési kérelmét. azóta a főápolót ölelgetem ha meglátom és minden ünnepre úgy megyek hogy ikea szatyorban viszem a Lindl csokikat nekik, és az egyik falon az én levelem van kinyomtatva hogy mennyire hálás vagyok (kurvára az vagyok, örökké tartozom nekik).
2023 május második fele: ajtóstul megyek a gyámhatóságra és lebazdmegolom a kirendelt ügyintézőt. jaj, hát lehet hogy el kellett volna indítani a gondnoksági folyamatot, jó hogy mondom. de akkor most sos elindítja. ne indítsam én? nem, gyorsabb ha ezt ő csinálja.
2023 június-augusztus: heti 3x hívom a gyámhatóságot. folyamatban van a gondnoksági. van erről vmi irat? bemutatnám az idősek otthonában. válasz: erről nem kell irat. kafkai lelkem érzi a csapdát.
2023 szeptember: értesítenek, mivel a nagynéném be lett jelentve az idősek otthonába a Z. kerületi gyámhatóság már nem járhat el az ügyében, átrakták a dolgait az Y. kerületi gyámhatósághoz.
2023 október: Y. kerület beránt meghallgatásra. mondom gondnoksági, rámnéz a dr. Gyámhivatali Ügyintéző: de hát ennek nyoma sincsen. tessék? Z. kerület nem indított gondnokságit. de most ő elindítja. közlöm itt megvárom amíg kapok róla papírt. átküldi az ügyfélkapura. és valóban lesz erről irat.
2023 november: ideiglenes gondnok leszek, a nagynéném elhelyezéséről dönthetek, így már nem kell attól rettegnem hogy haza óhajt menni és felrobbantja egy budapesti ház mind a 4 emeletét (mert már nem érti miért kell elzárni a gázt). amúgy egy pillanatig nem érzi magát rosszul az új helyén, az összes nővérrel meg lakóval öribari viszonyba kerül, ha akarnám se menne sehová. persze olyanokra nem kapok engedélyt hogy rendelkezzem általa megkötött szerződésekről, így olyan lakásban van tévé, net meg biztosítás aminek semmi értelme. mindegy, ez is pörgeti a dzsídipít.
2024 január: ülök reptéren, beszállás van fél óra múlva Isztambulba, hogy 6 hétre lelépjek a kontinensről. telefon, dr. Gyámhatósági Ügyintéző, megkaptam a bírósági idézést? nem. hát akkor holnap kapom, tárgyalás, nagynéném gondnokságijához, mondom remek de éppen elhagytam az országot, kiléptettek, én ezt nem mondhatom le. oké, adjak be egy halasztási kérvényt és eltolják február végére. a beszállás közepette nyomkodom a telefonon a kurva epapírt.
2024 május: meg is kapom a bírósági idézést, becsattogok, családjogon vagyok, mellettem egy pár gyerekelhelyezésen vitázna de velem pont egy időpontra hívták be őket. a bíró előrevesz engem, ez simább ügy, egy kérdése van, szerintem kell gondnok a nagynénémnek? igen, kell. rendben, ősszel találkozunk a szakértői vélemény után, viszlát. újabb felesleges kör de legalább páternoszter volt a bíróságon, azért megérte a cirkusz.
2024 június: levélben értesítenek hogy orvosi vizsgálat, jövedelemigazolás, újabb 3 féle nyilatkozat kell majd hogy gondnok legyek. időpont semmi.
2026 április: dr. Gyámhatósági Ügyintéző hív hogy szeretné ha bemennék nyilatkozni, de ha tudok az epapírral bánni azon is beadhatom. tudok vele bánni, lenyilatkozom megint hogy nem állok közügyektől eltiltás alatt, nincs mentális betegségem és nem származik hasznom a nagynénémből.
2026 május: ma teljes jogú gondnok lettem csak úgy, minden értesítés nélkül landol a végzés az ügyfélkapumon.
The situation with the wedding and Discord is soooooo good bc like, yeah if I was the main six and I found out my shy friend who is known to be a bit of a push over was getting married to someone who had been hiding their true identity and was actually a chaos god who tried to take over the world and put me and my friends through Hell, I’d not be happy either and probably think they did smth to my friend! And if they didn’t? I’d feel betrayed bc what do you MEAN you’re just gonna get with this guy who caused us all Hell and (since Twi doesn’t have wings here) was never pardoned of his crimes or apologized?! Girl he is an active danger! Did you KNOW that was him?! If not then why are you getting with someone who lied to you, if so bro again that’s a dangerous criminal god who mentally tormented all of us!
But all Fluttershy sees is her friends not being happy that she’s happy, so doesn’t see how BAD it looks from an outside view or how just because SHE forgave Discord doesn’t mean any of her friends have. She technically got off easy, Discord had to force her to be discorded, everyone else got manipulated into it and Twilight, who hung on the longest, had what were her first and closest friends ripped away from her and twisted into jackasses while the world was ending, and would’ve gone the same way if not for those letters.
If I were Twilight and I knew Fluttershy knew it was Discord and didn’t tell me, especially after the events of Canterlot Wedding if that happened in this canon, I’d be pissed and probably be having flashbacks to the time my brother almost married an evil bug queen impersonating my old foal sitter and no one believed me and I got trapped in a cave.
The anti social horse girls need to communicate damnit!
Perspectives are a funny thing, they change your entire worldview when you look at things through someone else's eyes.
Thalia grew up with soldiers, guards, gods as caretakers and is known to be quite stern, aware of all the dangers in the world, so became incredibly clever. A leader must be strong and do everything that she must for her followers even if it meant someone would hate you in the end. Seeing your own brother, being eaten alive by treacherous shifting locusts from a world unknown from your own, changes your worldview on things and makes you constantly on guard. She deals with her own curse, of being unable to fully express her feelings, never quite being...punctual, mayhap the queen ate it as punishment for her suspicions. Of course she'd feel weary over seeing the shifting waves of a man...? woman...? winged? horned? both? that never quite stays the same, woo your softest soldier.
However, Florence never experienced the beckoning of chaos, she simply admired the statue garden, the peaceful little butterflies and the delightful chaos that inhabited the maze. Admittedly a guilty pleasure, seeing oddities in nature made her wide eyed like a child with a new discovery. Unknowing of the prying eyes behind her, whispering untruths, doubts in her mind...that miraculously she ignored. A terrible understanding struck the god, no matter what'd they do, it would never even scratch the surface of her already clouded stormy mind, whatever they'd say, she'd already said it to herself, perhaps even in a worse way.
The sun and the moon were unaware of their escape, they laid low. Quiet. There was never a second event of unraveling madness, the sickness never started again. They didn't wish to be trapped again, so they never schemed up a plan for revenge, just made a funny labyrinth in the midst of nowhere, some come in sensible, some come out funnier. That was enough for the trickster, start an argument here, a sprinkle of shame there, a touch of greed, just enough to really make a bad day.
This...creature, intrigued them. Untouchable, unable to breach into her already loud pitiful mind. So they changed, first to a statue, then to a bush, to a harmless little butterfly, to only sit on her shadow, and rise as a woman, and speak to them, in this "Tacky little labyrinth! Filled with tacky statues! But by far, she was the tackiest thing there..."
With time passing, a mutual fascination grew...
Florencia did not pass the fact that there were now several people in her life that wanted to "chat", all different, but spoke in that same suspicious passive aggression, she thought, possibly a changeling perusing through the town she threw testing questions that only a previous stranger would know. It would only confirm that it was indeed, a little trickster that grew fond of the Winged Belle. With even more time passing discovering a more surprising truth...a god of chaos, struck with the arrow of Eros, cursed to love a mere honeysuckle in a sea of wildflowers.
The harmony guardians were unaware of such beast, Nightmares and Locusts sure, but the blood of chaos was so foreign to them. They just knew that their soft, admittedly miserable friend...was disappearing more than usual, didn't speak to them for days at a time, and came back happier...scarily wittier, and sharp-tongued. With a flush on her pale face, oh gods, she was in love. The taste of freedom, changed her to an unknown person. To her, it was everything, to them? It was eerie...admittedly suspicious.
Everyone had their good intentions, but no one spoke to each other, because...how could you? How could you possibly explain to your troupe that barely knows you, that you fell for a god.
Worse, that a god, fell for a sad little thing, like you.
It bothers me how some people still believe the colonial lie that the Aztec civilization believed Cortes was Quetzalcoatl. This is a lie. They knew he was just a colonizer. Even Cortes himself wrote about it in a letter to Charles V, Cortes recounted how Montezuma told him, “See that I am of flesh and blood like you and all other men, and I am mortal and substantial.”
They knew Quetzalcoatl was from space, which is why they depicted him in a space ship. Not like how this painting depicts the colonizers taking Tenochtitlán. Montezuma didn't just hand the keys over and think Cortes was some god. It was violent colonialism.
It is a myth and a colonial lie from the 1600's that Indigenous people of the Americas thought the conquistadors were gods. They did not. This is not true, you were lied to. There were also green eyed or blue eyed people with light hair on Turtle Island.
Kukulkan is one of the three gods that was thought to have created the Earth. He is a serpent in his natural form and was responsible for teaching the Maya about such things as how to run a civilization, agriculture, and medicine. After a brief period of being on Earth Kukulcan returned to the ocean telling the Maya that he would return at some later date. This is the basis of this colonial lie. Cortes did not even have blue or green eyes or blonde or light hair, unlike the nobility of Peru and others, who they said were descended from these "gods". Look at the ceremonial costumes. They mean Quetzalcoatl was white as in paper white, non human, not "pink european colonizer white". It's a cultural memory that these masks are so often painted unnaturally white. They are depicting a species of alien whose atmosphere was damaged and did not require melanin the way humans do. Blue eyes, green eyes, red hair, are all mutations for human beings. They can happen in any human culture or race.
