no offense guys but think about this for a second:
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who is bright and energetic and loves children and taking care of “his kids”.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who calls his kids “Mr Bittle’s Bumblebees” and has a sign on his door that says “Welcome to the honey comb! We are busy bees but please come in!”
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who has his friends volunteering in his classroom on a rotating weekly basis.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle whose classroom is painted yellow and has red gingham curtains with pies on the borders.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who celebrates the 100th day of school by taking his bumblebees to meet the Falcs and learn to skate.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who talks about hockey a lot and who gives out “penalties” at the table next to his desk when someone needs a moment to cool down. “Joey you look upset. Here bud, do you need two minutes?” “Layla we have to share crayons with our friends! Come take two to remember that!” “Ben no throwing cars, kiddo! How about you take two?”
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle whose classroom always smells like fresh baked bread and who celebrates Friday with pie.
Kindergarten teacher Mr Bittle who sings and dances with his students and who joins in when his kids greet Jack with a rousing rendition of “The Hockey Song” when he come into for show and tell. Mr Bittle who brings Jack in after they watch inside out because he offers to talk about feelings to the little ones. Mr Bittle who is so touched by this that he brings in tiny maple apple pie bites for the class and for Jack because his husband is swawesome.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who teaches skating lessons for his kids in return for parents volunteering with classroom activities.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who takes his kids on a field trip to the high school home ec class so his kids can bake cupcakes and the high schoolers get some experience with the small ones.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who uses kindness to teach those early life lessons, who bakes cupcakes for birthdays and class parties and drags his hubby to chaperone field trips to the zoo and the beach and the aquarium.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who gets with the Falcs every year to get the kids and their families to a home game and give them “homework” of writing down as many jersey numbers as they can. Who spends the next Monday making each kid a paper jersey to hang up on the walls for art time.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who wears fun patterned bow ties on Wednesdays and can throw a football and play street hockey and fix the rip on one of the dress up clothes and teaches the little ones “the best mud pie recipe you’ll ever know. My moo maw taught me this y'all.” And then proceeds to get into the dirt to teach about bugs and worms and plants.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who cries on the last day of school during Kindergarten graduation because he loves his kids.
Kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who cries and then smiles because year after year that he teaches, the back of the room at graduation is a mix of former Samwell hockey players and current Falcs who wear their game day best and hand out diplomas and fix tiny hats and curls and wipe away tears.
Just kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who loves getting to build these foundations for his little ones and enjoys taking care of two dozen tiny people during their first year of school. Who loves seeing his kids when they come back to visit. Who encourages them to volunteer their time in his classroom when they get to high school.
Just kindergarten teacher Eric Bittle who has so much love to give the world, so he gives it by teaching tiny ones.
Eric got beat up. A lot. He was 5'8, with a mean grin and a mouth that got him into a lot of trouble. But Dylan, Dylan was sweet and sober, and smiled at his neighbors when he drove by. Dylan deserved diamond rings and sunshine filled picnics, not bruised knuckles and crying over coffee at 3 am.
When Dylan came to Eric’s house while his parents were out, limping, with a black eye and a cut lip, Eric wasn’t sure what to think. They didn’t talk, Dylan just sat at his worn down wooden kitchen table, while Eric pulled out the antiseptic and gauze that was used far too often. He sat down next to Dylan, gently wiping a cotton swab with the alcohol on it against his lip.
“Who was it?” Eric asked softly. “Because I’ll fucking kill them.” He got no reply, just a shrug.
“Why?” Another shrug. Eric kept at cleaning Dylan’s face, pressing an ice pack to his purple eye.
“It was those jock assholes, it was nothing. I got beat up, the norm. No big deal.” Dylan had finally become less stonelike, and spilled.
“Oh man, I’m gonna make sure those sick fucks are really damn sorry. They’ve never done it before, V. Why now?” Dylan looked at the ground, mumbling an incoherent response.
“What? I can’t fuckin hear you.” Eric was beyond frustrated by this point.
“I fucking said that they were talking shit about you. It’s fine, don’t make a big deal out of it or whatever.” Dylan talked politely, but with an agitated tone underneath it. Eric didn’t know what to think at this point, Dylan and him were best friends, so it made since, but it was a little extreme. Dylan got the shit beaten out of him because of Eric, and that put a sick feeling in the out of his stomach.
Dylan and him had grown up together, from playing with G.I. Joe’s and planning sleepovers, to playing with sawed-off shotguns and planning mass destruction. Dylan was his best friend, the sun to his moon, the shitty horror movies to his booze filled flasks, the disgusting chemical butter to his burnt popcorn. Dylan balanced him out, brought him down. But Dylan, God, he never thought Dylan would try to turn the tables.
“I’m sick of people treating you like shit, Reb. They don’t even fucking know you.”
And Eric couldn’t tell him he was wrong. They didn’t know him, at fuckin all, and it was absolute shit that everyone gave them so much to deal with. It was even worse that Dylan had to deal with it.
“Don’t…” Eric trailed off. “Don’t do that. I’m not worth the hassle. People are gonna talk shit anyways.” Dylan ran a hand through his golden hair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Eric shook his head, because he really didn’t fucking get it.
“Eric, you are my world. You’re a god, man, a fucking legend. You’re amazing, and the fact that those meathead idiots can’t fucking see it makes me sick enough to bash their skulls in.” Dylan blurt the words all out at once, like he was spitting out something bitter.
Eric stared, Dylan and him still sitting at the table.
“You know I feel the same, right? You know-you know I care.” Eric was looking down at the table while he confessed it, suddenly pushing himself out of his chair and getting up to make a pot of coffee for them both. Dylan grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down.
“Can you just, like, stay? For a second or something, I don’t know.” Eric sat back down per Dylan’s request, his hand still holding Eric’s bony and narrow wrist for dear life. It was quiet, the hum of Eric’s refrigerator the background noise for this fucked up movie scene playing before both of their eyes.
Dylan wished this was a movie. He wished there were the conveniently placed paintings on the walls to hide the cracks, he wanted the perfectly picked t-shirts so he wouldn’t feel so fucking out of place in Eric’s tidy house. He wanted everything to be perfect- and it wasn’t.
“My parents are gonna be home soon, are you good to go up to my room?” Eric pulled his arm out of Dylan’s grip, and helped him up. They both headed down the stairs, and Eric left Dylan sitting on his desk chair.
“Coffee, yeah? We’re gonna talk.” He said, before slipping out the door. Dylan laid his head down on the table, his head was pounding and his lip stung every time his tongue shot out to lick his lips.
Eric arrived with two yellowing mugs, placed them on his desk and wiping his hands on his jeans. He grinned at Dylan, putting a cd into his player and pulling a chair up beside him.
They sat in the computer glow for a solid hour, Eric playing while Dylan silently watched, taking gulps of the burning brown liquid. They glanced at each other every now and then, turning a pink color when they caught each other’s gaze.
Eric got tired, and suggested they get ready to sleep. He let Dylan borrow some of his dad’s sweats and a t-shirt of his, which stretched tight across his chest and torso.
They headed to sleep, Eric facing Dylan’s back and Dylan facing the wall. After around 5 minutes of them sitting there, Eric heard Dylan start to cry. He got up and flipped on the lights, sitting at the foot of his bed.
His boy looked like a kid again, clutching the dark comforter of his bed and sobbing until his face turned red. Dylan sat up, and Eric pulled him into his chest. He didn’t stop crying, the tears soaking Eric’s shirt and Dylan’s bony head poking into the crook of his neck.
Eric stroked the back of his head, not knowing what he was really supposed to do. Dylan was letting out heartbreaking choking noises, and Eric patted his back.
The pair broke apart, Dylan wiping his nose and pressing his palms against his eyes.
“It’s fucking fine, I’m fucking fine,” and Eric shut him up with a swift kiss on the lips. It was awkward, and quick, and he turned bright red afterwards. There wasn’t really a lot of time passed before Eric leaned in for another one, this time not detaching their lips.
Eric tasted angry, like black coffee and cinnamon gum, and he bit down on Dylan’s lip. Blood filled their mouths, but they kept together, and their mouths collided viciously. There wasn’t music, and Dylan found himself having the same movie wish. He pulled Eric closer, resting a hand on his shoulder and one on his chest.
More fun with the Counselors exploring Tommy’s house! XD
Eric seems to have been actively dismantling Tommy’s microwave (and apparently Tommy’s all out of cereal too XD), and Tiffany’s off to go snooping through Tommy’s room for secrets or possibly blackmail. It’s probably no use to try and restrain her, Jenny, Tiffany will find these things out sooner or later.
And Tommy would like to remind everyone that this is A: not a party and B: he didn’t invite any of these people.
Knets are literally such trash sometimes. so right now “racism” is trending in Korea because tom Holland was IN KOREA doing an English interview with Eric Nam. Tom told Eric his English was really good and Eric just kind of laughed and was like “I’m American” and they both laughed it off. Like???? If a Korean was in America and met a non-Korean who spoke Korean fluently that would be one of the first questions they asked like??? They are completely blowing this out of proportion. Knets do not get the right to have their feathers ruffled about stuff like this when they literally completely dismiss and actually encourage racist and semi racist sentiments in their own country.
“me is a god, a god of sadness exiled to this eternal hell the people I helped, abandon me I am denied what I want, To love & to be happy Being made a human Without the possibility of BEING human The cruelest of all punishments To some I am crazy It is so clear, yet so foggy Everything’s connected, separated I am the only interpreter of this Id rather have nothing than be nothing Some say godliness isn’t nothing Humanity is the something I long for I just want something I can never have The story of my existence.”
“If people would give me more compliments all of this might still be avoidable but probably not. Whatever I do people make fun of me, and sometimes directly to my face. I’ll get revenge soon enough.”
“It’s human nature to do what you did
so I guess I am also attacking the human race. I can’t take it, it’s not
It’s almost midnight and I can’t stop thinking about Bitty, tipsy and frustrated with how tall Holster is
There’s a Haus party
Bitty is taking a break from the dance floor when he and Holster bump into each other in the crowded living room.
Holster puts his arm around Bitty’s shoulder and leads them to an open space against the wall. “Better?”
“Thanks,” Bitty laughs. They’re out of the way of most the party goers but it’s still crowded and Bitty has to lean back to look up at Holster and, lord, he just goes up and up.
“Good lord,” Bitty mutters.
“What?” Holster shouts over the music, leaning down.
“You’re so,” Bitty knows how tall Holster is, obviously he knows, but now they’re so close and Holster is leaning down to talk to him and honestly that’s ridiculous, and hot, and also a little infuriating.
Bitty leans up on his toes, just a little, it’s definitely not on purpose, and tries not to sound too accusatory when he says, “You’re so TALL.”
“Well, yeah,” Holster laughs. And loud, Bitty thinks.
“You’re almost, ALMOST, an entire foot taller than me. Nine AND A HALF inches! Holster, that’s unacceptable. Adam,” Bitty reaches up to grab Holsters face to look at him properly. “Adam Birkholtz. How dare you.”