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abovetherainandroses · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Storm here! 🌩 Tysm for the tag @27-royal-teas! <3 I haven't done a tumblr meme thing in forever! And I don't really have any friends on this blog so I don't have anyone to tag, but if you're a writer who follows me, consider yourself tagged! (And also come be my friend)

This got long! I talk too much! Answers are below the cut!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

So I have two accounts lol, because for some reason I decided to make a separate RPF account even though I have other embarrassing things on main account anyway?? Anyway, I currently have 100 fics on my main and 5 on my RPF account.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Across both accounts, 379,693 words for an average of 3.6k per fic. Longfic? I don't know her.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I usually write for one fandom at a time, but I will revisit/cycle through fandoms. Currently it's Fall Out Boy. Previously, I was writing some MCU stuff (mostly Spider-Man). Also wrote a handful of Good Omens stuff back when S1 came out. I have the most fics posted for Haikyuu (volleyball manga/anime) lol.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Oops I only have 5 fics so far on my RPF account and I'm still debating whether I want this account directly linked to my main.

But I will take this opportunity to tell anyone who needs it not to put too much stock into kudos!! Kudos count relies on a lot of factors, but a big two are fandom/ship size and when you post the fic relative to the height of the fandom's activity. (Getting in early with a fic right after a new movie/season/etc. comes out so you're one of the first fics for the New Thing can be huge too.)

External validation is obviously very nice but if you rely too much on it, you're not gonna have a good time.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Comments make my entire life and I always want to respond to them, but I inevitably fall off because the brain energy isn't there, and I keep putting it off, and putting it off, and putting it off, and then it feels too late. But seeing as I only have 5 fics on my RPF account, I recently went and responded to everything, even if it was years late. In the past few weeks I've actually gotten responses to some comments I left on fics like 3 years ago so it inspired me, haha.

I myself am not always good at leaving comments (continuous goal to get better at it), so I really appreciate the people who take the time to leave kind comments for me and I want to express that appreciation.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't usually write angsty fic... I'm too softhearted. That said, I have made a few forays into angst, but Your Mileage May Vary on which one is the angstiest. Is it the major character death? Is it the one where they're soulmates with the last words they'll say to each other written on their skin, and in the end it's not death that separates them, but their own inability to have a functional relationship with each other?

Or is it the one I didn't even think was super angsty and tagged "bittersweet ending" but then it made a bunch of people cry? I'm still like "...my bad" about that one lmao.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Fluff is my lifeblood and almost all of my fics have a happy ending. I couldn't tell you which was the happiest, haha. Again, I'm incredibly softhearted, and also a big sap. I cannot deny this!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thinking very hard... I have been posting fic for............. several years so it is possible I am forgetting something but nothing comes to mind! I have always felt too relatively unknown for haters, which is just fine by me.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

"What kind" lol. What does that even mean. Listen, my kink is holding hands during sex and being ❤️ in love ❤️ (I mentioned I'm a softhearted sap, right??)

Sometimes I might explore some light kink but nothing too hardcore imo.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Again, I've been writing/posting fic for several years, so I could be forgetting something, but I don't remember ever writing a true crossover. Though in my personal definition of fandom terms, crossover = characters from fandom A meet characters from fandom B. I have written a few fusion AUs in my time (characters from fandom A existing in the world of fandom B), which you could say falls under the crossover umbrella. For example, I've written Kingdom Hearts characters in a Pacific Rim AU and Haikyuu characters in Dragon Age AU.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Though I did once see (this was a SUPER long time ago) someone repost my fic on tumblr the same day I posted it on FFN, even though I also posted the full text of the fic on tumblr myself. They credited my FFN account, at least, but like. Hey. Don't do that.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I've had some fics translated into various languages! It's definitely an honor that people want to share some of my stuff in other languages and take the time to do that translation work. I try to ask people keep translations on AO3 but it hasn't always succeeded so there are some translations of my works floating around on foreign language fic sites... Ah well.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I successfully co-wrote one (1) fic with one of my friends years ago. I've tried a few other times to co-write fics (including with the same person) but none of them ever finished... Co-writing fic is hard! Idk how to do it effectively. I've done a handful of fic/art collabs with my wife though!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't know that I have a single all-time favorite ship, but Peterick is definitely the current fave. I........ adore them. So much.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Listen, I am a hoarder of WIPs and a clinger to delusions that they will one day be finished. But okay, one of my peterick WIPs from 2016-2017 that I really liked but highly doubt I'll ever finish is a no-band, dating show AU where Pete is the eligible bachelor on a queer offshoot of the Bachelor/Bachelorette and Patrick (through machinations by Joe) ends up as a contestant on the show. Patrick is camera shy and does not want to be there, but he made a deal with Joe to stay til he was eliminated. Pete, who just went through a public and messy divorce with Ashlee, does not want to be there, but he was guilt-tripped into using his moderate fame to help bring viewership to the underfunded little queer show.

Pete finds out Patrick never wanted to be there in the first place and offers to eliminate Patrick. I will copy/paste the next bit from my gdoc:

"[...] pete’s like what if…i didn’t eliminate you and we just stayed friends and hung out and stuff and patrick finds himself agreeing bc pete’s a really nice dude and they have a lot of interests in common

But then Patrick keeps sticking around through the weeks and Patrick and Pete fall in love and both end up having separate private crises because they agreed to be friends. Patrick sees Pete spending time with other candidates and clearly being attracted to them and it sucks because now Patrick is in love with Pete and Pete isn’t considering him at all. Meanwhile Pete is having a good time with the other candidates and sure there’s lust there and even some like but he can’t stop thinking about how perfect Patrick is for him except for oh wait Patrick doesn’t even want to BE here and Pete was the one who convinced him to stay and now he’s fucking in love with him."

Blah blah blah, stuff happens, Pete eliminates Patrick in the last few weeks then when he has to make the choice between the final two candidates, calls Patrick and confesses to him instead, blah blah blah, happy ending.

Anyway. I wrote 11k of that fic and I was about 1/3 of the way through. It will never be finished. But now I've told you all about it and that's good enough, right?

16. What are your writing strengths?

Internal narration and emotions. Tightly focused fics that span 1-3 scenes. Spelling and grammar.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Longfic or fic with several scenes that take place over an extended stretch of time. Related to that, coming up with external plot events rather than just internal conflict HAHA. Describing the setting/environment so the characters don't just exist in a nebulous empty space.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

As with most of my preferences re: fic, it depends on the execution. It can feel clunky and maybe even cringey, or it can feel natural and realistic. Just be intentional about how you're using it. Also, it always helps if you know a fluent speaker who can review it for you but understandably you may not always have someone like that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior... cats...

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

This is impossible to answer hahahaha. Certainly if we look at my main AO3. But if we're looking at my grand total of 5 (as of yet) RPF fics, I can say that I'm still quite fond of get us right (quitters never win), a fob AU fic where everything is the same but they all have minor superpowers, featuring empath!Patrick and telepath!Pete.

Aaaaand we are done! If you got this far, I am giving you cookies.

#why do i talk so much #storm talks #genuinely feel like i owe anyone who reads all my rambling something #come talk to me about peterick and give me fic prompts or something

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crossedsabers10s · 2 months

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I saw something about Damon being a shapeshifter and going gender is stupid. Any more hcs or scenarios on that?

alkfdjalkfjdsf okay okay so!!! In S1 he was very much playing a role. He was the Bad Guy. Except that was to mask his real mission. He was there to save Katherine. Tormenting Stefan and causing trouble in Mystic falls are also goals, but secondary to the first, more amusements than anything. He also probably spent literal decades planning out exactly how everything was going to go. Some of his decisions were absolutely for the Drama. Like. Taking a Founding Family Daughter to a Ball in the Lockwood Manor to Retrieve the Amulet-Key??? Dramaaaa. He didn't need to do that. (I mean part of it was def Bothering Stefan, but he really could have just gotten an invitation into the house discreetly at any point prior. There was time between the comet 'charging' Emily's Amulet and the night of the party.) It really just strikes me as 'This is The Plan.' one he's spent who knows how long thinking of. So he has a Role to Play. That role is romantic hero/vengeful lover. He's very set on that, plus I imagine he wanted to present himself as similar, but not quite the same as the man Katherine has once known. Being in Mystic Falls, he's deliberately portraying a version of himself.

This being a very rambling way to say that after he realizes his entire life was based off a lie, Damon goes back to--like yeah sure I'm generally guy-shaped--(insert someone repeating 'generally?' with confusion here)--but who cares about that??? This vampire has spent decades hanging out in every dive bar imaginable and a lot of them had been drag clubs and gay bars and sex clubs and every shade of what society demanded be kept away from the rest of them. Gender isn't even like. some unimportant human concept to him, it's also one humans Made Up that doesn't apply to Other Humans and some of them just enforce the idea of it. It starts off small, in the 'when did you paint your nails?' sense, then he just starts going, yeah this IS a woman's top, but I'm rocking it and I Can Kill You, i think that's more important than how good I look in this sweater. Boots with more of a heel to them, occasional makeup, just whatever he feels like at the time. Sometimes he keeps his original body but wears a skirt, sometimes it's ambiguously androgynous in the 'excuse me, ma'am--sir? sorry, uh, here's your coffee.' And sometimes it's oh those are very much breasts, but that is a men's shirt and his face has stubble. Very nice clothes, like he had tailored shirts in canon, it's the same here. Really nice tops and skirts and shoes. Makeup On Point, expensive stuff, subtle jewelry, Caroline is lowkey annoyed he has such good taste. and also keeps wanting to look through his closet. Throw in some shapeshifting and its 'Are you a man or a woman?' 'I'm a vampire. Sometimes I'm a crow.' 'But what's in your pants?' 'fangs.' Given how very small town 2009 Mystic Falls is, this does not endear him to some people and probably sets him further apart than he was in canon. Though, I do like to imagine that the Originals don't even blink at this and just take it in stride before going back to their Murder Plots. Elijah is particularly gentlemanly, and does all those automatic 'holding out his arm' or 'holding the door, or a jacket' gestures with no reserve.

At some point Damon replaces all the (he usually goes by he because he doesn't especially equate pronouns with gender and does switch it up occasionally but sticks with he/him and his original name bc that's what he introduced himself as and bc Stefan would Make It a Thing--more about Damon throwing away every connection to his human life than him being a jackass, i think, but) but he replaces the pictures of the original Salvatore Siblings in the town archives and basically invents a sister solely for the purposes of gaslighting people into thinking he's the Original Damon Salvatore's Vampire Twin Sister Who Assumed Her Brother's Identity. Elena has to actually ask Stefan if he has a sister, which he denies, except it was a confusing conversation which left her unsure if they actually had a sister at some point or not and Damon somehow convinces her that Stefan doesn't know the actual truth and that he's his own twin. (He was very bored between the post-Tomb Opening binge drinking and depressed episodes.)

Katherine, watching this go down through binoculars: I think I'm proud? Shame he's going to try to kill me, I want to know where he gets his shoes.

i imagine if he wanted to keep up the Masquerade, but walk around town in a different form, he has an ID and backstory all set for a distant cousin on his mother's side. Her name is Desdemona, yeah they do look a lot alike, they both take after their mother's family. Stefan, stuck escorting his 'cousin' around town: please stop inventing Family Drama to talk about, you literally killed off any real family we have.

Damon, who has made a fake family tree and charts and has files on personalities complete with Thanksgiving Dinner Level Gossip: Not on your life. Don't you want to know how cousin Georgina gets back at Evil Aunt Charlotte?

Stefan: ...you need a hobby. A different hobby.

Damon: listen, it's this or murder. you pick.

Stefan: *sighs* Did Cousin Georgina elope?

Damon: She Eloped!! This, of course, enraged Evil Aunt Charlotte so much she had a heart attack and died!! Right there in the dining room!!

Stefan: we told people we were orphans with no close family, Damo--..Desdemona.

Damon, mentally plotting out how Evil Aunt Charlotte's funeral is going to have suspicious man in all black attend, who, when he turns to leave, reveals a gun under his jacket: We were estranged, problem solved. They didn't like Father. honestly, who did?

okay that took a very cracky turn but!! Vampires using their powers and immortality for Ridiculous Shit is my favorite thing

Gradually practicing until he can hold a full shift for as long as he wants and just disappears for a week to be a bird bc god knows the murders hanging around town are more fun than the people. Blood red lipstick and winged eyeliner and feathers nearly blending in with black hair. Eyes a touch too wide or irises oddly sized, dark blue nearly corner to corner. Spends a month breaking limbs oddly often bc he fucked up his bones and now theyre hollow even when he’s human-shaped. Maybe in this verse vampires are a bit wilder, a bit more connected to dark powers, and Damon especially so. Some others get stuck or can only partially adopt animal form, giving them a bestial appearance—and play their part in the myth of vampirism, the origin of some of the world’s stories.

Stefan can’t shift, doesn’t really have that talent and has none on animal blood, but when he isn’t maybe he can float a bit. Some murderous parody of Peter Pan—forever young and forever luring people away never to be seen again. (He could fly in the books, once he’s had more than animal blood. So could Damon.)

#reply #tvd #hc

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capn-queer · 6 months

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Actually did some art for once, so. Woo! It's been a while, kinda been just idling trying to figure out how to make good 3d models, but I decided that like. Yeah I should just try making some 2d stuff because it's been a while. And I did. And I enjoyed it.

There's two, a Warframe character and a D&D character, don't know if I should be splitting this up into two posts but like. There's not really a tutorial or anything for using Tumblr as far as I'm aware and it seems unlikely many people will see this anyway so even if it's a bit bothersome, it shouldn't be Too bothersome.

Anyways, first one, this is Damhnait, named after the singer for Sleeping in the Cold Below. They're my Tenno OC because Warframe has been taking up my time in Destiny's stead now that the sunk cost fallacy's not holding me down. They're a bit of a bigger kid compared to a lot of the others on the Zariman, and because of that they felt responsible when everything went to shit, and tried to keep at least their little group together, which they managed pretty well, eventually ending up starting a clan and building a dojo with their friends.

Fast forwards a bit after first waking up, they're... not doing so hot as a faceless super soldier still, but they're not doing terribly, more just strangely empty as they go about their life up until the point the Second Dream happens.

They aren't the one who makes the discovery but to be fair it doesn't matter that much when you find out everything you thought you knew about yourself was built up on a lie, that lie being the idea that you and the people you are ordering to fight are adults and not a bunch of literal child soldiers.

Obviously, they are not exactly Okay after that little revelation and have not Transferred back into any of their Warframes even Once after recovering their real body, instead being carried around like in the Second Dream most of the time, also not being the most physically healthy just in general and due to that being pretty much wheelchair bound. I mean. If that wheelchair was a humanoid-killing machine capable of magnetizing people's bones.

Anyways, I tried to base them off their look in game a decent amount but obviously it's not perfect, their scars especially bother me but I haven't figured out texture for any of my other drawings and I'm certainly not stopping now.

And now onto something relatively more lighthearted, Cosgrove, named after Matt Cosgrove who plays on the TTRPG channel the Third Wheel and also made a bunch of character songs for the PCs and NPCs. He's one of my current player characters, a Wild Magic Sorcerer who had a very normal homelife with parents who love him and a dog and went to Magic Highschool and Magic College just like anyone else, eventually graduating with an ethics degree and becoming a workplace health and safety inspector for the Nine Shrines Merchant's Guild with a serious disposition and a desire to help others.

Only... well, this is a D&D character, so obviously there's problems. Not from what you might think though, this man's as straight-laced and surprisingly average as they come, with a loving family, a decent social life, a stable job, a home to come back to, etc. The only real issue is something he's dealt with his entire life, his magic, something wild and uncontrollable that he's grown to resent over the years, which is what even lead to most of his decisions, to his need for control over himself and deeply unhealthy level of responsibility for others even when reasonably he should be looking out for himself.

He joined the party, not because of his own goals or motivations, but because his best friend, my previous character Indrina Morea, ended up getting seriously messed up in the first fight she was in, not enough to kill her but enough for her to realize that she was not enough for the party as it stood then and there, and for her to make the decision to ask for help, going to the most capable person she knew, who she also knew was a strong magic user even if he actively avoided using any magic.

He's got a deeply unhealthy mindset for an adventurer obviously, adventurers are so deeply varied but they almost all Want things, have their own wants and desires, don't hesitate in dangerous situations and act on their instincts. Cosgrove though... he freezes up, he refuses to use magic unless given proper authorization by either the leader of the party or the highest rank ally available. He uses a gun in most of his fights and doesn't even Have a damaging spell.

He's the weakest link in the party, and the rest of the party doesn't Know it yet, even to him, while it's obvious he isn't exactly suited he doesn't know the extent of it, and it's going to be made Very Clear through various fights, getting singled out and having his weaknesses taken advantage of, and through it all he'll either sink on his own or the other party members will recognize what's going on and push him to start swimming. It's all a matter of whether they'll see the dangers and flaws of his current mindset before it's too late.

As you can tell by... well, all of that, I have a lot more to say about Cosgrove than I do about Damhnait, which makes sense because he's a character that's actively doing stuff and not just in my head while leveling up random items. As for his design, it's pretty simple and formal. I wanted to really hammer home how out of his depth he is here by making him... well, an office worker.

He doesn't look like some hero or even particularly fantastical, he's just a guy, he Wants to be just a guy, he's rejecting himself to be that and he's covered it up so well that if the rest of the party hadn't actively seen him using magic in combat they wouldn't even know. I also largely took inspiration from, well, two Jujutsu Kaisen characters, Nanami and a guy from the manga who I'm not gonna spoil in case any of my friends who wants to watch/read the series read this.

Anyways, that's the two of them. Who knows, maybe I'll post more within a semi-reasonable time-frame if I finish up more pics soon. I have been thinking about drawing my other active and soon to be active D&D characters, and maybe when I get more comfortable with art again I can start doing more complex things than just headshots, all just kinda depends.

At least I'm not working with MS Paint now.

#art #digital art #warframe #tenno #d&d art #d&d character #d&d oc #tenno oc

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tinfairies · 7 months

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I love seeing people talk about their One Piece OCs because I recently got into Live-Action. Naturally, I've joined in on this fun wholeheartedly. They're a family of three that are Dysfunction Junction, Hot Mess Perfection. Mostly, I use the little bit of live-action stuff with whatever I magpie from canon, the games, etc.

Mama Shelley D. Thalassa is purple fish-men, mostly based on a betta, that's a pirate captain on The Grand Line. She's a 45+ MILF with a muscles and a mermaid sleeve who loves subby people, especially guys, that she can (consensually) bully. She wants those Baby Girls. She spent virtually all of her daughter's life being the badass pirate. When she sees Koby, and to an extent Helmeppo, it's like, "I wanna break him."

Papa Graves Bysshe is a human from Louguetown with a total Gothic Horror look and he's mid-30s. His job/family business is doing body and cargo recovery for sunken ships of any sort. The man is very sharp cheekbones, dark colors, top hat, etc. He loves a fantastic theatrical look and frankly wants to have Dracule Mihawk's babies. But, he's also into Thalassa to a degree. There's a game-exclusive devil fruit that turns someone into a vampire and he ends up with it. Percy, his daughter, decided to off him at sea (they aren't close lmafo) and in a way I haven't sorted out he survives enough to eat the fruit. As a test he was supposed to raise Percy into an excellent business person while the tutors Thalassa sent from TGL trained her to become a worthy lieutenant. The unofficial goal was for her to takedown Arlong as "proof" she was ready for the big leagues.

The Star is Graves D. Persephone "Percy", age 18 and allergic to considering her gender (she/her is just easier to use), who joins The Straw Hats against her family's wishes; perhaps she doesn't want to lead pirates mother. She's half fish-men and can pass for fully human with enough makeup and the right clothing to hide the purple freckles, fangs, and pointy ears. Her special interest is Den Den Mushi, she loves to eavesdrop and spy, and she rocks the Hot Goth Aesthetic. Basically, she's the communications officer for the crew. Another task is she's the the official "Fuck the Captain can't swim" Buddy who saves him if he goes overboard. Because she grew up lonely and isolated she's so excited at how friendly and touchy Luffy is so she often holds his hand in a mostly friends nature; also Zoro's when they're on land because he's directionally stupid to impressive degrees. But, also she's into like the entire crew because They're Nice and Also Hot and Her Friends. One of her goals is to make the Den Den Mushi form of an air tag or google tile to keep track of the dumbasses on shore. Mihawk and Koby are also her types but the Mihawk is specifically to spite her father. She's like that Special Addition Teammate (she joins before the Louguetown Arc starts) that's super strong but not invested in using her skills to their fullest potential...like at all. She wants to spy on conversations and protect (to feral levels) her crew/best friends.

Basically they're all hot messes who kind of reunite on The Grand Line and aren't outright antagonists but aren't aren't outright antagonists for each other i.e. Thalassa pisses off Percy but she's not gonna actually move to take her out unless she fucks with the Straw Hats. Bysshe isn't bothered by Thalassa but (understandably) doesn't like that Percy tried to kill him. Thalassa maintains Bysshe needs punished because he fucked up their child but is tolerant of Percy having her little "rebellion".

This is 100% Made for Me Cake because I love Mess, Gothic Aesthetics, and this show.

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS OMFG

I lovvvve Gothic aesthetics and Percy sounds cool af and so does her family

#tin talks

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linktheacehero · 1 year

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The Sky and the Light???

Sky and the Light is a original work comic that I’m working on! It’s about a human who wants to become a mage and a demon that wants to prove he’s better than what others think of him. It’s full of found family, gay pining, magic, lore. It’s all heavily inspired by Zelda, Dragon Prince, AtLA, and other hyperfixations

Here are some concept designs and ideas I have written down for it!

I've got this world that is like Xadia with all the magic stuff but I still dont have a name for. There's 4 sources of Primal Magic- Sky, Fire, Earth and Water and they came from the Goddess of magic Akura. There's some backstory that she fell in love with a mortal man (major Hylink vibes) and they had 4 kids which sprouted a new species that are named after her- the Akurans, and they're connected to Primal.

There's a evil spirit that wants Akura's power, they fight and she dies but its not all lost because she gives the last piece of her magic to her lover and he manages to seal away the evil spirit. The seal won't hold forever and there's a prophecy that "The Light Briger will appear when the seal has broken and Darkness overruns. With the aid of Sky, Fire, Earth and Water, they will defeat evil ad bless the land." (The lover also gains like immortality from the magic and waits for the Light Bringer so they can train them [like Hero Shade])

Itss been like a long time and the world is like Xadia modern. The four kids are legends because they taught humans how to connect to the Primals and another species is born: elves and they're basically a hybrid of Akurans and Human. Akurans have pointed ears, horns and wings that they can retract and elves have mixed features (some have horns others have wings)but always have pointed ears.

the current main characters are Nexor, Haru (they're love interests), Rhys, Zale and Sten. (Zale and Sten are dating : ) ) The story mostly revolves around Nexor and Haru.

Nexor(they/he) is a demon but like a unique one because demons are created from Dark Magic and have no souls or conscience but Nexor does and has been living like a Sky Akuran for years. He was made to hunt down the Light Bringer but the Dark mages exiled him because he was a "failed project" due to him being basically a baby when he was created and took out his right eye as a symbol of his exile. His adopted father Raiden found him stranded in the forest near the home of Ravizum, the Lord of Sky and took him in as his own. Now Nex is a powerful Sky Mage who wants to learn more of what he is and if there's a chance to become a true Akuran (he knows he's a demon but doesnt know why he's so different than the other demons)

Zale(they/them) and Sten(he/him) are both elves and are dating. Zale is connected to the Water Primal and is also a mute while Sten is connected to the Earth one. Zale wants to be an artifier like their idol Nico Adler (who is actually Nexor's adoptive aunt because she's bffs with Raiden and built his prosthetic arm. She's also latina, hella gay and helped raise Nexor) and Sten just wants to graduate, he's not entirely too sure what he wants to do with his life but is interested in magic so he decided to give it a try.

Haru(any pronouns) is a human who wants to learn how to peform primal magic but struggles to do so. They're the prophesized Light Bringer but doesnt know it yet obvs. She's currently a student at the best magic school in the city of Sayro and is living with her aunts Chloe and Esther who run a magical bakery (gay witches baby). She's also bffs with Rhys, Sten and Zale

Rhys(she/her) is a fire akuran who's pretty shy but can fuck your shit if you mess with her friends. Very skilled with fire magic and a spear because it's her goal to be a warrior that fights dark mages.

Bonus mini comic

#WIP ask game #asks #thanks for the ask Zelmo!#I have more stuff but I don’t want to overwhelm lol

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martianbugsbunny · 2 years

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OUAT Thoughts Pt. 17--Episodes 14-15

I have watched through S2E14; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

Ended up saving Andor for the weekend, so I had time to watch OUAT. Enjoy!

—Okay no. I’ve had it up to here with villains winning because they hold one person hostage to get an object the hero possesses. This hostage is usually a person who would die for good, if given the choice—actually, these people often say something along the lines of “don’t do it, you’ll be letting the villain win.” Good is not saving one person’s life by screwing over everyone else. Cora having that dagger is always going to be a worse option than one person dying. It’s literally not even a debate. Perhaps the idea of such a conundrum is to point out that the hero’s weakness is being too good—but then it also tacks on stupidity and shortsightedness, free of charge. If a villain threatens to kill a hostage if they don’t get their magical world-destroying object, the hero is not the badguy for choosing to keep the object and let a single person die.

—Aaaaay, Mrs. Patmore! It’s a shame she had to die so soon, but she was gonna die either way.

—Also, heroes are pretty dumb for ever believing the villain won’t just kill the hostage anyway. Like, I wouldn’t gamble the fate of the world or the fate of hundreds/thousands of others for the possibility of saving one person.

—Y’all, I been so steamed about the cliches of Good v. Evil that I forgot Mr. Gold is dying!…And now my emotional pain returns.

—The only possible bright side is that there is the world’s tiniest possibility of Mr. Gold and Baelfire being un-estranged eventually.

—The other very dark side (you know, besides death) is that Mr. Gold will probably end up under Cora’s control. Or she’ll kill him. Man death is persistent.

—Rumplestiltskin’s soldier uniform was pretty.

—His wife is an arse. She told him that she would rather he died. I have no love for him pulling a Thomas Barrow, but I would rather have my spouse home with an injury, self-inflicted or otherwise, than dead.

—Young Snow White’s dresses are gorgeous. A little stiff, perhaps, but so well decorated.

—The Good Queen’s red dress was stunning, also. Once again, well decorated.

—That Seer girl was creepy as heck. It’s not bad enough that she has eyes on her hands, she also has to have stitches all over her face?

—Then she grows up and Rump gives her the High Five of Destiny and she dies. GG.

—I understand Bae not wanting to talk to Mr. Gold. He’s got a load of trauma. On the other hand, Mr. Gold has been searching for him and manipulating the entire world to find him for centuries. On another hand, a lot of Bae’s trauma is heavily associated with magic. It’s complicated and messy, but my end goal is to see Mr. Gold apologize properly, start reforming, and to have a friendly relationship with his son again.

—Snow White having a brat moment as a kid is a good move. My number one love for Snow White is that she is deeply and fundamentally good, but a child does not start that way. That’s simply not how human beings work. Her becoming a better person wasn’t an especially complicated, but that’s fine, because she passed a hard test for a good reason.

—After Queen Elizabeth’s funeral, Snow curtseying to her mother’s body made me a lil weepy. (My mom, too. She loves royal stuff from all over the world. She watched all of the important moments from Her Majesty’s funeral proceedings live.)

—Rump’s story now has a bit of a cliche in it, but this one I don’t mind much. He’s become like the parental person he always swore he would never be like, and that is such a real and possible thing that I like seeing it. It’s easier than we like to think that we might turn out like people who have disappointed, which is ironic because we spend so much of our time worrying about it. But it is possible to do better, even if you do fail yourself in such a manner, which I hope is portrayed for Rump in the following episodes.

—I don’t want Snow White to be a bad person. Emma is our morally dubious hero for the series; Snow’s appeal, as mentioned above, is that she is good. She turns the other cheek, she pulls for the other person, she believes in good itself. Of all the people to turn dark, she’s the one I wouldn’t want—but I suppose that’s why she was picked. Also, that might put her into direct confrontation with Charming, which I’m not relishing the idea of.

—Bae’s a Lost Boy. That’s fun. Are we gonna find out that he’s actual fricking Peter Pan at some point, too?

—If we can have stuff from story sources that aren’t Grimm/Anderson, we should get some Nightmare Before Christmas characters. Not as mains, but as a side adventure into another world for a limited time.

—Bae’s fiancee can’t possibly be a regular person. He’s known about Storybrooke for a while, and he requested to be notified when the curse was broken, so obviously he expected to come into contact with those people again. I don’t think he’d really drag a regular woman into that disaster.

—I also don’t think that A) Rump would draw a map to his dagger, or that B) Belle would be stupid enough to leave that notecard in her purse. Which leads to the possibility that the map was a fake, which is frankly the most plausible idea.

—Hiding the dagger in the clock hand was brilliant.

—It’s fun that future sight is being depicted as a burden. It’s easier to have a Seer be just an omnipotent person who gives advice, but in a vague or cryptic form, and who really doesn’t seem to suffer for it. The idea that the future is simply too much for one person to see is an interesting take.

—Henry eating his way across the eastern seaboard has been just about the only part of that journey that isn’t entirely tragic. Cinnabon, hot dog, pizza…what next?

—Probably some weird-ass pirate food. Whatever Hook has on board his ship.

—I want to know more about whatever beef Cora had with the Good Queen. Were they sisters? Were they friends? Is that even going to be explored later? So many questions! —I feel very smart having figured out that Bae was Henry’s father.

—Thanksgiving would be awkward for these people. I kind of want to see that.

—Pinocchio threatening Bae with a typewriter was hilarious. I mean, it was supposed to be serious, and it kinda was, but come on!

—Still wondering where Pinocchio has wandered off to. But at this point I don’t expect to ever find out.

#once upon a time #ouat #mr. gold #rumplestiltskin #Emma swan #Henry #Snow White #prince David charming #bae #baelfire #Cora #the good queen #lost boy #pinocchio #martianbugsbunny reviews

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baglove · 1 year

Photo

(via cat lovers Mask by mohammed elhachimi)

funny, cute, fear federal feel feeling few field fight figure fill film final finally financial find fine finger finish fire firm first fish five floor fly focus follow food foot for force foreign forget form former forward four free friend from front full fund future, game garden gas general generation get girl give glass go goal good government great green ground group grow growth guess gun guy hair half hand hang happen happy hard have he head health hear heart heat heavy help her here herself high him himself his, a ability able about above accept according account across act action activity actually add address administration admit adult affect after again against age agency agent ago agree agreement ahead air all allow almost alone along already also although, always american among amount analysis and animal another answer any anyone anything appear apply approach area argue arm around arrive art article artist as ask assume at attack attention attorney audience author authority 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tree trial trip trouble true truth try turn tv two type, difficult dinner direction director discover discuss discussion disease do doctor dog door down draw dream drive drop drug during each early east easy eat economic economy edge education effect effort eight either election else employee end energy enjoy, onto open operation opportunity option or order organization other others our out outside over own owner page pain painting paper parent part participant particular particularly partner party pass past patient pattern pay peace people per perform, cat, love, success successful such suddenly suffer suggest summer support sure surface system table take talk task tax teach teacher team technology television tell ten tend term test than thank that the their them themselves then theory there these they thing think, animal, tie dye hippie hipster rainbow tumblr cool peace trendy colorful cute shaka trending trippy beach blue pastel hippy dye funny hang loose indie jeep ocean tie aesthetic boho fashion girly good vibes love popular positive surf vibes weed adventure bohemian, dope feminism girl green groovy grunge hand happy hawaii kawaii life loose mandala meme music nice pale peaceful pink purple space summer tiedye trend tye die tye dye vintage 70s 90s artsy be happy black california car colors drugs festival florida food, fun good goth hang hearts hippies instagram la logo lsd marijuana meditate new york peace sign pineapple psychedelic pun quote retro script shoes sign stay woke tie die top selling travel traveling tropical typography vibe water waves white woke yellow zen, 1960 1970 2019 3 420 60s aestethic alex morgan alien aloha anatomy apples atlanta atlantis avocado avocados awesome backgrounds ball basic beautiful bernie birkenstocks black and white bloodshot bob bob weir bones bong brandy melville bright bright side, bro bud buddha buddhas bumper ca cali calligraphy calm cartoon case chaco chacos chakra chakras chance the rapper chic chicago chill chill out city claire andrews claireandrewss classic clout clout goggles college colour colourful country cowabunga dancing, skeleton dark blue dead head death designs disco dolphin donut doodle dorm down drake dude edm elephant elephants emoji eno equal pay eyes fall fat buddha fist floral flower flowers font four stars fries fruit fry funds fye gd50 girl gang girl girl girls

#findyourthing #redbubble

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starryhyuck · 3 years

Text

thin ice. (m)

pairing: icehockeyplayer!mark x figureskater!reader

words: 2.6k+

summary: mark lee is the only thing standing in the way of your team’s victory. therefore, fucking him dumb is the best way to defeat him.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: dom!mark, sub!reader, overstimulation, constant fucking, bathroom sex, talks of car blowjobs, sex on the floor, (slight) breeding kink, creampie, hair pulling

disclaimer: i have no idea how figure skating or ice hockey works, i literally fell on my ass when i tried to step on the ice

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds left and the money is all yours. You can see it now — the lavish outfits, brand new skates, and even silk hair ties for when you want to play dress up. Mark Lee just has to miss this shot.

“He’s going to fucking make it,” Doyeon hisses in your ear, chewing on her nails in anticipation.

“Shut up!” You push her away and tell her to stop damaging her fingers.

You watch as Mark glides across the ice, almost knocking into Doyoung twice. “Slam him, slam him!” You screech, ignoring the stares of people around you. You simply want to see Mark get wiped out so glory can be within your reach.

You feel your world collapse when the puck hits the net, time stopping in slow motion as the crowd jumps up in pure bliss. Doyeon’s already crying in your shoulder, and you hear the angry shouts of Chaeyoung on your other side.

Mark Lee, you fucking asshole.

—

Since you were five years old, the ice became your home. And no, you didn’t have an awakening and gain powers like Elsa from Frozen. Your mother discovered how much you loved figure skating, even though your brother, Johnny, was a tall, bumbling mess once he stepped in the rink.

Once your talent was discovered, you were enrolled in figure skating classes and spent most of your afternoons gliding around the ice. You were excited to learn that you could possibly do the sport professionally if you practiced hard enough, but nobody told you how difficult the athletics administration could be.

You were scouted for your college because of your talents in figure skating, many believing you would be a great candidate for the Winter Olympics. However, when you arrived to campus, you learned that you would never be the first priority in the athletics budget.

It was a constant battle between figure skating and ice hockey for the money. Most of the funds went to football and basketball anyways, so you didn’t have much to fight for in the first place. The deal made by the athletics department was simple — if the ice hockey team could not carry themselves to a national championship, the rest of their budget would be distributed to your team.

The victory was within reach until Mark Lee scored the winning goal Friday night, making the ice hockey team one step closer to the national title.

You’re currently waiting for them to finish practice, tapping your foot impatiently as you stand besides the opening to the rink. You finally hear the boys finish up, laughing with one another as they exit. Their eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Ten asks.

You smile. “Nope. Sicheng, we need to talk.”

The captain sighs and follows you until you’re out of earshot. “What is it now?”

You scoff. “You know damn well my team deserves the money more than you do. Worlds is just around the corner and we need the money in order to get there.”

Sicheng laughs at you, still holding his helmet from practice in one hand. “Please. Don’t act like you’re doing this for your team, we both know you’re just wanting to advance for yourself.”

If you could punch Sicheng without facing a lawsuit, your life would be so much easier. You take a step closer to him, ignoring the immediate flush in his cheeks at the proximity.

“I hope your team fails at the next game. I’ll be watching when you do.”

“Stop harassing him.” Mark approaches the scene, pulling his captain’s shoulder and pushing him away from you. “Just face that your team won’t make it. Can’t blame us for your failure.”

You smile sweetly at Mark. He’s been haunted ever since Donghyuck leaked his secret that he used to like you during your freshman year. Mark used to follow you around like a lost puppy, but now, he has no hesitation putting you in place. You know you still have the advantage over him because after all, he can’t deny the way his heart beats when he sees you.

Sicheng observes as you grip onto the fabric of Mark’s uniform, pulling him close until his nose is inches away from yours. Mark gulps at the proximity, not feeling so confident anymore.

“Don’t act like if I dropped to my knees right now, you wouldn’t jump at the chance to stuff my mouth full-”

“Okay!” Sicheng exclaims, pulling the blushing boy to his side. Mark’s cheeks are almost as bright as his uniform. Sicheng glares at you. “We’re going to win on Friday. Then, I’m taking your entire team’s budget.”

You smirk. “Good luck with that.”

—

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Yeji remarks, watching as Doyeon pulls a tight black dress over your head. You roll your eyes at her comment while Chaeyoung helps you adjust the spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Don’t be so negative,” Seojeong flicks Yeji’s forehead, causing the younger girl to glare at her.

You’re all gathered in Doyeon’s living room, trying to hatch out a plan that Yeji believes is doomed to fail. Tonight was the celebratory party before the game, a dumb idea concocted by Donghyuck on every Thursday night. It goes to show how irresponsible the ice hockey team really is, getting wasted the night before their biggest game. However, tonight works in your favor, because as demonstrated just a few days ago, you still have Mark Lee in your waiting palm. All he needs is a little push away from his teammates and you’ve fully got him. Once the plan is in place, you highly doubt Mark will be able to perform well tomorrow. Considering he’s the team’s best player, taking him down secures a win for the figure skating team.

“Does everyone know their roles?” You check again, eyeing Yeji from her spot on Doyeon’s couch.

She scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Good,” Chaeyoung nods. “Remember that this isn’t just for us but the future figure skaters for years to come.”

None of you have time to comment on Chaeyoung’s dramatics, already seeing how stressed she is by the way she tugs at her hair frantically trying to apply lip gloss on you. The girls finish getting you all dolled up when Seojeong gets a text.

“Yuta says Mark’s ready,” she announces. You thank the heavens that Yuta was able to get in the ice hockey’s team good graces, none of them expecting the figure skater to be a double agent.

“Let’s get him then,” you grin.

You’re quickly shoved into Yeji’s tiny car and the five of you are off to Donghyuck’s apartment. There’s commotion when you arrive — Sungchan standing on the couch and declaring Sicheng the cutest man alive, Ten giggling with Yangyang by the kitchen counter, Donghyuck’s tongue shoved down a random girl’s throat and Jeno trying to save Mark from choking in the bathroom. Your eyes meet Yuta’s and he winks at you, making sure no one else has seen your arrival. You lean on the doorframe of Donghyuck’s bathroom, smiling at the two of them. Jeno sees you first, urgently patting Mark’s back to save him.

“What’s wrong? Did he see a naked girl or something?”

Mark’s eyes shoot up at the sound of your voice and he gets even more flustered, coughing and choking even more now.

“Why are you here?” Jeno frowns.

You smile and shrug. “To enjoy the show. I can handle Mark from here, Jeno.”

Jeno laughs. “As if I would leave him with you.”

“But Yeji’s waiting in the living room. Are you really going to keep her waiting?”

You smirk at Jeno’s confliction before he finally gives in, leaving Mark and you in the bathroom. You shut the door while Mark recovers, downing a glass of water to help the food go down. “Why are you really here?” He asks once he’s calmed down. He tries not to linger on what you’re wearing, the swell of your breasts tempting him in this close proximity. His gaze flies to the ceiling when your hand wraps around his shoulder, pulling him in closer and letting his fingers rest on your hip.

“What’s wrong, Mark? Scared of a little action?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses. “We’re going to win tomorrow. You can’t stop me.”

You pout. “Is the win really worth it, Mark? Do you want it more than my pussy around your cock?” He grunts lowly, fingers tightening around your waist. You smile. “Or what about your cock shoved down my throat until I can’t breathe? You could easily bend me over the sink and take me any way you want. Doesn’t that sound so much better?”

“Don’t,” he warns you, cord about to snap. “You’re being such a brat.”

He needs one more push. You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Please, Mark? I want your cum inside me. Need it dripping down my thighs so everyone can see who I belong to.”

He breaks, growling as he pushes you against the sink. You giggle when his lips crash into yours, his hands quickly moving to push up the fabric of your dress. He delivers one slap to your clothed clit and you moan at the sensation.

“Fucking annoying whore,” he scoffs at you. “Look at you. So fucking desperate for money that you would drive all the way here just to take my cock like a good girl. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fuck you until you cry?”

You nod frantically, whimpering. “Please please please. I want it so badly.”

He shoves two fingers in your dripping hole and you cry, back arching against the mirror. Mark’s fingers grip your cheeks and he turns you so that you’re looking right at him. You hold his stare when his thumb rubs frantically at your clit, fingers curling inside of you.

“S-So good, so good,” you blubber, eyes rolling back at the pleasure filling your veins.

You whine when he retracts his fingers but he’s quick to drop to his knees, ripping your underwear and flinging it to the side so he has no obstacles in his way. He immediately dives into your pussy, licking and sucking at your folds. You internally curse. You had no idea Mark was this good at eating pussy or you would’ve prepared yourself more. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips attach to your clit, abusing the nub by sucking harshly.

The pain throws you into your first orgasm, whimpering loudly as you fall apart around Mark’s tongue. He quickly cleans you up, not missing any of your juices as he licks your pussy clean.

His eyes darken when he stands, taking in the sight of you looking so fucked out on top of the bathroom sink. He’s about to unbuckle his belt before you stop him.

“I want to fuck at your place. Please?”

He nods at your request, helping you get down and adjusting your dress. It’s a little harder to walk since Mark ripped your panties, but you make do. You two exit the bathroom and you’re about to leave before you hear Donghyuck’s voice.

“Where the fuck are you two going?”

You glance at Mark, who’s a little irritated by his teammate’s appearance.

“Mind your own fucking business, Donghyuck.”

You smirk at the blonde boy’s shocked expression as you two leave his apartment. Mark walks fast, fumbling with the keys to his car.

“I didn’t know you could drive.”

“Trust me, I can’t.”

The drive to his apartment involves two pit stops, the first one happening because you desperately want to give Mark a blowjob and the second one happening because Mark desperately wants to taste you again.

When you finally get to his apartment, the both of you are already a mess. You don’t even make it to the bedroom — Mark shoving you down on his living room rug and pushing his cock deep inside you. You moan at the intrusion and Mark wastes no time, setting up a fast pace and ramming his cock into your sweet spot over and over again. You’re a drooling mess, letting him abuse your pussy. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls you upwards. He balances you so that your back is against his chest.

“Such a perfect little slut for me. What would the panel of judges at Worlds say when they see you? The future Olympic gold medalist begging for cock?”

“I would let them see,” you whisper back at him. “Let them know what lengths I would go to just to win that fucking competition.”

You fall apart around his cock again, your orgasms coming faster after the first two. You whine when you hear Mark’s constant grunts filling your ears.

“Cum inside, Mark. Want all of your cum.”

“Yeah? Little whore wants it all? Wants to be bred like a good little bitch?”

You cry. “Yes, yes, yes! I want it so badly.”

That’s all it takes for Mark to shoot ribbons of white inside of you, coating your insides. You both collapse on the floor, exhausted.

A few minutes pass in silence before Mark speaks up. “I’m ready to go again after I eat some ramen.”

You laugh. “Make it two servings and I’ll be ready.”

He eagerly gets up and shuffles to his kitchen. You smirk, searching for your phone and shooting a text to the group chat.

I’ve got him. The money’s all ours.

After eating ramen and chatting for a little bit, Mark takes you again on the barstool of his kitchen. Then, he fucks you up against the wall, on his couch and in his bed.

He’s thoroughly fucked out when you two finish and you smile, leaning over to kiss him.

“Good luck with your game tomorrow.”

You leave him laying in his bed, wondering if he just jeopardized the future of his team.

—

There’s one minute left in the game.

The team is down by one point and they’re all looking at Mark as they huddle together. Donghyuck hisses at him.

“Did she fuck you stupid? We’re going to lose everything because of you!”

Mark shakes his head, trying to compose himself. It’s hard to do so when he spots you in the crowd, smiling at him as if you want him to win. You’ve thoroughly fucked with his head, his thoughts constantly traveling to the image of you beneath him, sobbing as he shoves his thick cock into you mercilessly.

“This is your fault, Jeno!” Ten growls. “You should’ve never left Mark alone with her!”

“Everyone, shut up!” Sicheng bellows, annoyed by his teammates. “We’re going to lose if we don’t focus. What’s wrong with you, Mark?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “I think I do.”

Sicheng glares at the younger male to be quiet. “I don’t care what it is anymore. There’s one minute left and I need you to get it together.”

“I will, I will,” Mark insists, even though he’s not so sure about it himself. They break the huddle and get back into the game, Mark trying to focus as the referee blows the whistle. Jung Jaehyun comes charging at him and Mark tries to dodge.

“Come on, Mark!”

As soon as he hears your voice overpower the audience, he loses his balance and Jaehyun slams him up against the wall. Mark groans when he tumbles to the ground and it isn’t long before he hears the final buzzer echo in the rink. The competing team jumps for joy, laughing with one another as they meet in the middle of the ice. Mark stays on the ground, watching pitifully as his teammates slump in defeat.

His eyes look for yours again in the stands, but you’re already long gone.

#nct smut #mark lee smut #mark #mark smut

2K notes · View notes

jaeminlore · 3 years

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

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stillness-in-green · 3 years

Text

Why Deku's ultimatum to Overhaul is bad and he should feel bad

This is a bit outside my normal character wheelhouse, but I really need to get a rant about it off my chest, so here goes:

The Deku and Overhaul scene in Chapter 316 is terrible. It is fucking terrible.

I took a whirl around Overhaul's tag up through when the leaks first started dropping, but didn't immediately see anyone talking about why it's so fucking terrible, only concerns about letting Overhaul see Eri (understandable, but baseless, I think), some empathy towards Overhaul's current state (totally warranted!), some snark about Deku being So Done with Overhaul (haha because who cares about Deku's stated goal of trying to understand villains, right?), and, worst of all, some cooing about how Deku was being so compassionate and noble by offering Overhaul that olive branch.

Deku was not being compassionate and noble there. Deku was being arrogant, small-minded, and so shockingly cruel that it leaves me speechless that anyone could think his stunted and hard-hearted "offer" reflects well on him.

Deku's entire motivation in this arc has been wrestling with the realization that he might have been able to avoid some of the desperate battles of his past if he'd understood more about the villains he fought. He thought of three very specific people--Stain, Muscular, and Overhaul--as he reflected, "Maybe it wouldn't have had to go that way if I'd understood them better." He then thought of Gentle Criminal and La Brava, people who he’d come to some understanding of, who he’d been able to soften the conclusion of his battle with by going along with Gentle's fiction downplaying what had happened between them. The whole line of thought was intended to contextualize his newfound desire to save Shigaraki.

It soon became apparent that Stain, Muscular and Overhaul were, in fact, encounters that he would be revisiting, as a chance to see how he'd grown since he faced them, and as a dry-run on reaching out to villains that would give him a chance to practice ways he might reach out to Shigaraki when the time comes.

Well, based on his performance so far, the idea that Deku might be able to reach Shigaraki is laughable.

Firstly, his tentative questions to Muscular were ill-timed, all wrong for the middle of a battle. Muscular laughed him off, and I don’t think there’s any version of that scenario in which he would have done otherwise. Muscular was a huge threat, gleefully violent, disinterested in conversation about his history. Obviously, right in the middle of a fight was no kind of time to try to figure out what made the man tick! But Deku didn’t get the luxury of choosing the circumstances of that encounter, so yes, that battle probably was unavoidable, certainly if Deku wanted to stop him from doing further damage. But the idea that because Deku couldn't reach him right then and there, it's impossible for Deku--or, indeed, for anyone--to reach him at all is fallacious. Not every person has to be able to like or understand every other person. If Deku couldn't reach Muscular, so what? That doesn't mean it's impossible that someone might. And that means an obligation to treat Muscular like a human being, to afford him human rights, to not stop trying to find a way to rehabilitate him, even as you safeguard other people against him.

Deku's battle with Muscular being unavoidable was not some great triumph, for all that the narrative used it as an opportunity to let him show off how far he’d come in mastering One For All. In the way that matters, the way that Deku himself is currently trying to better, he hasn't advanced at all. Imasuji Goto represented his first test in the lead-up to saving Shigaraki, and Deku failed it.

His next trial was Overhaul.* Here, again, was someone who Deku was explicitly trying to understand. So what was the one thing that was most key to understanding Overhaul's current motivation? What was the one thing that Overhaul was ranting about out loud, incessantly? And what did Deku conspicuously fail to ask about? Overhaul's relationship with Pops.

This was so easy. So obvious. And Deku didn’t even try. All he could think about in the moment he was faced with that broken man was the little girl that man hurt--all thoughts of trying to understand where the man himself was coming from went right out the window, flown away in an instant. Instead of asking about why Overhaul feels the way he does, he demanded that Overhaul feel the way Deku wanted. He was essentially holding the only person Overhaul cared about hostage for the remorse he wanted Overhaul to feel.

I'm not going to try to armchair diagnose Overhaul with mental conditions. I don't have the educational background, and I'm positive Horikoshi doesn't. But it seems pretty clear that asking Overhaul to feel guilt about Eri was asking for something that he might not be capable of feeling, at least not without years of therapy that he was plainly not getting in Tartarus. And if Overhaul is not capable of feeling that guilt, then what does denying Overhaul his meeting actually solve? Who does it help? It doesn’t help Eri. Doesn’t help the old man. It certainly doesn’t help Overhaul himself. The only person who gets any satisfaction out of demanding remorse from Overhaul is Deku. And even Deku didn’t look like he found it very satisfying!

Another failure. A meaninglessly cruel, petty failure. A failure that served only to hurt a man who was already a live wire of agony, to sentence an old man to a coma he might never wake from without Overhaul's expertise, and to deprive Eri of the only actual family she had left.

And look, Pops might very well not be the ideal guardian for Eri, and I'm not saying he should get to "keep" her just because of the blood connection, but it's not like he cheerfully handed her over to Overhaul and walked out the door! He turned to Overhaul because he trusted Overhaul, because he wanted someone to help Eri and thought that maybe Overhaul could. And when Overhaul's thoughts about Eri took a very dark turn, Pops first denied his request about using her to further his research and then, when Overhaul kept pushing it, chose Eri over the kid he personally took in from the streets by telling Overhaul that he needed to leave the Shie Hassaikai if he couldn't muster any more respect for human life than that.

But, you know, Eri is so cute with Aizawa and stuff. And Pops was a criminal. Probably. Maybe? I mean, he was yakuza, anyway, so he obviously must have been a criminal even if the police never actually arrested him. Apparently, this means it's okay to just leave him in a coma forever! Even though Overhaul absolutely has enough medical expertise that letting him talk to a neurologist about what he did to Pops might enable them to figure out how to wake Pops up even without Overhaul being able to use his quirk to undo the damage. Hell, Overhaul is also the person alive who has the best handle on how Eri's quirk works. He might even know what her accumulation condition is. Maybe a better thing to ransom his access to Pops with would be Overhaul telling Aizawa everything he knows about Eri's quirk so Aizawa can use the knowledge to help her get a better handle on it.

But no. Obviously undoing some small part of the concrete harm Overhaul did was less important than how Deku felt about that harm.

And there's more! Oh, is there ever. I called Deku arrogant before; let me circle back to that.

Deku said that if Chisaki would feel the way Deku wanted him to feel, then Deku would uphold the promise to let Overhaul see Pops. But where in hell did Deku get off making that claim? Deku is a student. He's not a pro. He has no authority, medical, legal, carceral or otherwise. He has no say in where Overhaul goes or who he's allowed to see.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? What kind of strings did Deku think he could pull that he could just casually make that claim without so much as going into a huddle with Hawks and Endeavor about it first? How inflated has this kid's sense of importance gotten that he made Overhaul that promise without even stopping to think about whether it was something he was in any position to ensure? It was such a bullshit ultimatum, not only because of how needlessly obstructive it was, but because it was so formless.

"If only you would feel a wish to apologize to Eri…" Okay, so what if Overhaul goes back to prison and, three days later, calls out to say, "Okay, I thought about it and I really feel like I want to apologize, now can I see Pops already?" Who gets to make that judgment call? Deku? Is he going to drop his faux-vigilante act and come visit Overhaul in prison just so he can squint at the man really hard to see if he's lying? Is Deku going to delegate the call to someone else? All Might? Hawks? A prison warden? A psychologist? Who? Who gets to be the one to say, "Okay, I think his remorse is genuine."

Then, once that call has been made, how many people have to arrange for Overhaul to be escorted out of prison and to whatever hospital Pops is in? Will Deku get to oversee that visit? Does he think he can overturn a warden declaring, "The scum doesn't deserve a visit, and the old man probably doesn't either," or a doctor protesting, "I'm not letting that man anywhere near my patient!"

The hell of it is, I think Deku could do all of that. He's got a close personal connection to All Might, who was basically a demi-god to this society for decades; he has the ear of the current top three heroes. Everyone is apparently convinced that the power to save this society rests solely in Deku's hands; I'm sure he could ask for anything he wanted. But the fact that that is the case suggests that this society is not even slightly turning away from its dependence on heroes dictating its morality. A hero having the sole right to dictate, out of hand, based on his personal feelings, the fate of people designated "villains" while the rest of society turns away is exactly what Shigaraki is angry about.

The only thing worse than Deku perpetuating the worst problems of hero society in an arc that's supposed to be about him finding a better way is that he didn’t even stop to think about it. It never even occurred to him that that was what he was doing. He thought that what he was asking of Chisaki was just and fair, and thus, he didn’t need to ask for any second opinions or permissions; he didn’t need to think about what would actually be feasible, about what was best for the people involved. He'd made his judgment call about a villain, and that's all there was to it. The villain could fall in line or--nothing. There isn't actually another choice. Hero's way or nothing

I hate it. I hate it. I don't care about whether Overhaul "deserves" to suffer; heroes making the cold decision that they will make him suffer is antithetical to everything a carceral system intended to rehabilitate prisoners stands for. And yes, Japan does at least claim on paper that the goal of incarceration in state hands is rehabilitation.

Restorative justice is superior to retributive justice. It's better for society and it's better for individuals. It is kinder, it is more compassionate. Retributive justice poisons people. It perpetuates suffering for no reason but moral grandstanding. Individuals are allowed to forgive or not forgive anyone they want, but a society should conduct itself with an eye to the long-term welfare of all of its people. That means that even the worst kinds of criminals still have human rights. It means not inflicting pain that serves no purpose.

I've gotten off-track here. Yes, I think that if Overhaul could feel regret about Eri, that would obviously be a positive development for his character. It'd hurt like hell, but it would be a hurt that indicated he was becoming a better person, a person who wanted to do more good, less ill, with his life and efforts. But you can't mandate that someone become a better person. No ultimatum handed down from on high is going to change Overhaul's heart. Telling someone, "I'll help you, but only if you only feel the way I want you to feel. Otherwise, you can just stay there and suffer," is not reaching out to help people who are suffering in the dark, which is, again, what Deku claimed he wanted to do, what he begged for Nagant's help in doing, the way he insisted to the vestiges that OFA should be used.

Deku writing people off because they don't conform to his expectations, because they can't be "good" the way he wants them to be, nor even "bad" in ways he can understand, is him failing to live up to his own expressed ideals. "I wish you'd feel bad about hurting people," wasn't enough to reach Muscular or Overhaul, and it damn well shouldn't be enough to reach Shigaraki.

Cruelty does not beget kindness. You cannot treat people with only callousness and severity, then condemn them for not taking the opportunity to grow. You have to give them opportunities to better themselves. For Overhaul, giving him an opportunity would be letting him help the man he wronged and then moving forward from there. Telling him to feel regret about Eri or else? That's doing nothing but sweeping his pain back under the rug.

---

*I have more or less exhausted my outrage over Lady Nagant in chats with friends, so I'll spare the rant on how disjointed, contradictory and ludicrous her turn was; the gist is "very, on all counts."

---

P.S. Anyone who says that Overhaul "has nothing left to live for" is being a level of ableist that defies description. Prosthetics exist. Assistive devices exist. Speech-to-text software exists. Overhaul is intelligent, driven and highly educated. Even if he never got prosthetics at all, there would still be things he could contribute to the world if he were motivated to do so. The better thing to do, though, would be to get the man some damn prosthetics, hook him up with the neurologist consulting on Pops' case, and let the two of them get on with the matter of waking up the old man.

P.P.S. Overhaul spent six months in solitary confinement. The United Nations considers solitary confinement exceeding 15 days to be a form of torture. Solitary confinement creates severe mental health issues and exacerbates existing ones. It frequently leads to a deadening of empathy, something Overhaul has in little enough amounts as it is. It is absurd to ask a man who's just come out of these conditions to "feel sorry for what you did to Eri," especially if you're planning to turn around and send him right back to solitary. Tartarus is inhuman, and the only reason more of the escapees aren't total wrecks like Overhaul is because Horikoshi clearly didn't bother to do the reading on the wide array of problems that those characters should be experiencing physically, mentally and socially.

#bnha #bnha critical #deku critical #bnha overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha muscular #my writing?#stillness has salt #bnha spoilers #one last salty post before I go back to working on things for characters and plots I actually like in this series #taking my life into my hands and posting this in the tags #but seriously #please please let Horikoshi realize #that Deku saying he wants to use OFA to save villains and then doing nothing but using OFA to beat them down again #is not Deku WINNING #it is Deku LOSING #saving someone takes more than rescuing them from a bullet that wasn't going to hit them anyway #if you don't have follow-through then you're just condemning people to fall through the cracks

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honklore · 3 years

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

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sparksflamesembersashes · 2 years

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Another thing about the Caryl situ.... What if, in fact, Melissa just got fed up with Caryl? What if Carol Peletier is Melissa McBride's "Misery"? Maybe the character she'd created had become the only thing she was judged by, and she just got tired of it. Not to mention, Melissa seems like a kind hearted and gentle soul IRL, and all the abuse, vitriol, and anger on the Twitter hellscape and elsewhere may have taken a psychological toll on her. Maybe the viciousness (mostly from antis, but not all) had been ripping her up inside for years and she just wanted to walk away from it. Maybe to her, Caryl is the monster they created and she just wanted it dead. You can't blame her. It's no wonder she all but left the social media platform years ago. She obviously hasn't cared to engage with fans on that level for a long time, and having read some of the hateful things people say to or about her or her character, I get it. She's only human, after all. And people get SO emotional about their ships! The pressure must have been insurmountable at times. Maybe she had to walk just to preserve her own sanity. We don't know, and we'll probably never know, because Melissa's personal life and her personal decisions are none of our business, and she is an intensely private person. Can you imagine how she feels if, in fact, this was entirely HER decision and HER choice, and we're all making it sound like she got screwed over by the network and her co-star? How absolutely mortifying would that be? I'm just saying what if... I am inclined to think she got shoved aside, but we just don't know. And if we're wrong, we're not helping her in rising up and protesting the cancellation of the spin-off... we're just prolonging her agony. No one wants to let people down, and the pain and sorrow from the fandom could be crushing her.

As for Norman, yes, he is an entitled male celebrity and he's had that status for a long time. But listen, the guy is engaged, he has a toddler with his fiancee (who is also a hot property in her own right), and who among us wouldn't throw almost everything else to the four winds to spend more time with the people we love and cherish the most? One thing the COVID pandemic has left in its aftermath is a new appreciation for the stuff that's most important in the world. Norman had mentioned in an interview that he'd been working almost constantly for 10 years, and when everybody went into lockdown, I think he discovered the meaning of true family time. Not to mention the risk of death can lead you to re-evaluate your life in general. So if he jettisoned everything to spend more time with Diane and his daughter, I can be pissed at him for doing it, but I can't really judge him over it. I don't have that kind of love in my life, but I imagine if I did, I'd do just about anything to hold onto it as long as possible. Are we really gonna gut the man over choosing his real life family over a fictitious one? I want to (you have no idea), but I won't. Because I get it.

So I'm just sad and grieving, and at first I wanted to protest and deny this new reality, and now I'm just accepting it. Because we will never know why it happened and maybe we shouldn't. And we don't truly know if anyone was cheated out of anything (except us Caryl shippers, of course). At the end of the day, Melissa and Norman are individual human beings with their own lives, and expecting them to bend to the will of a segment of their fans (no matter how large) to compromise their own life goals (and maybe their mental health) in order to maintain fictional characters we've invested way too much of our own time in is, IMO, unrealistic, and more than a little selfish. Maybe that's not the reality, but maybe it is. You know the saying, truth is stranger than fiction. We don't know all the truths here, only bits and pieces that we'll still speculate on for months to come.

I am a Caryl shipper. God help me. And if you accuse me of not shipping Carol, or not stanning Melissa, I will fight your ass to my last breath. But enough is enough. The shit I've seen on Twitter gets worse every day, and people behave so badly when they can hide behind a pseudonym on social media. There's no way to know if I'm hurting or helping by participating. Absent further factual enlightenment, I'm taking the path of least resistance and having a seat on the sidelines. The truth always eventually comes out, but I'm not going to feed any more fires until I know what the truth actually is. And that could take a while... if it happens at all.

I have given so much of my heart and my love to Caryl, and it's been more beautiful and rewarding at times than I could have imagined, but now I'm going to focus that love and my heart on real people, in the real world. Maybe that's exactly what Melissa and Norman have chosen to do. We just don't know. Caryl on, but keep it in perspective. Life is shorter than you think. Make it count.

#caryl #I'm finished now I swear just had to get this last bit off my chest

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ncssian · 3 years

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A Favor: Bonus Scene Two (Gwynriel)

Masterlist

a/n: this picks up right after nesta leaves gwyn’s apartment in Part 24. warning for discussions of sex, obviously.

***

As soon as the apartment door shuts after Nesta, Gwyn releases a breath and turns to Azriel with a wide gaze. “Do I really have to teach you guitar?” she says.

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes. It was a throwaway line meant to get Nesta off his back, and even she didn’t entirely believe it. He moves toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, still shaken from Nesta storming into Gwyn’s bedroom like that. Not that she interrupted much. Gwyn still has a long way to go before she can handle anyone touching her between her legs, Azriel thinks.

He never asked Gwyn what a twenty-seven year old woman was so afraid of sex for when she first suggested her proposal to him. She looked so scared that he would question her that he couldn’t bring himself to poke even a little bit. Not that he needs to poke. He’s not a fucking idiot, and Gwyn’s thighs had been trembling in involuntary fear under his hands earlier. She’s been hurt.

For her sake, he pretends to remain ignorant and incurious, but right now his grip on the glass in his hand is so tight it might shatter. His face remains cool as he pours himself water.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Gwyn hops up onto the kitchen counter and swings her freakishly long legs. “About what you get out of our deal?”

“I don’t expect you to teach me sex for free, obviously,” Gwyn blabbered the day after they got back from the ski lodge. “You can ask for something from me, too. Even money, if that’s your thing.”

Prostitution was not Azriel’s thing, though he wouldn’t knock it. The truth was that his brain had started turning as soon as Gwyn told him about her idea, and now it couldn’t stop. Oddly enough, this opportunity was perfect.

“Tell Nesta that I’m using you as a rebound?” Azriel nearly snorts on his water. “Did you miss the part where she almost cut my dick off and choked me with it?”

Gwyn hums noncommittally. “Being a distraction from your ex is better for me than it is for you. It’s insurance that you won’t get any funny ideas.” She narrows her teal eyes at him. “If you find yourself moving on from Nesta’s hot sister, you better tell me right away. I’ll end this whole thing quickly and cleanly.”

“Why?” He thought moving on from Elain was the goal, one he was unlikely to achieve.

“You know.” She crosses her arms in an X over her chest like she’s warding him off. “You might catch—feelings for me.”

This time Azriel really does snort on his water, hard. His laughter turns into coughing when it slips down the wrong pipe, and liquid dribbles onto his shirt. Gwyn just sits there and stares at him in vague disgust.

When he’s done choking, he wipes his mouth with the hem of his tee and gasps, “Even without Elain, you wouldn’t need to worry about that. Trust me.”

Gwyn wrinkles her freckled nose in distaste. “I would be offended if I wasn’t so relieved.”

He’s still chuckling when Gwyn says cautiously, “By the way…” She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Did you really ghost Elain?”

Azriel is no longer amused.

“When you said you broke up with her, I thought you actually broke up with her,” Gwyn continues. “I didn’t know you were one of those guys.”

Shame tinged with embarrassment floods Azriel, and he doesn’t have the slightest idea why. Why does it matter what Gwyn of all people thinks of him, especially when she doesn’t have all the details?

He thought he was making things easier for Elain by leaving without a word. He thought she would let him slip out of her mind after a couple of weeks just like he slipped out of her life, and that it would be better than having to hear him dump his insecurities on her.

He knows now that he was only making things easier for himself. Knows that if he had stayed and talked things out with Elain, she would have convinced him to stay. If he had called her at all in the past two months, he would have gone running back to Velaris like a sailor answering a siren’s song.

She’s always been a siren—which is why he can’t regret doing what would have happened eventually anyway. Even without that Vanserra bastard or some other man, Elain could never have been a permanent fixture in Azriel’s life. Little details sprinkled throughout their time together confirm that for him now.

That doesn’t mean Elain deserved it, or deserves it now. Azriel knows that.

But all he can think of to say to Gwyn is, “Yeah, maybe I am one of those guys.” He puts his glass in the sink. “You still want me as your teacher?”

Gwyn shrugs, looking away. “It’s not like I’ve got any other choice.”

Azriel would disagree. He says what he’s been thinking since they got back from Cassian’s birthday trip. “Wouldn’t you rather do this with someone you love and trust?”

“God no,” Gwyn snorts, providing no further explanation.

Azriel can understand being hesitant to admit sexual inexperience to a crush, but it doesn’t stop him from judging Gwyn’s new man. If this coworker of hers is so great, wouldn’t she be able to trust him unabashedly with her insecurities? Wouldn’t he readily accept her for all that she is?

Ugh, he’s been dipping into Nesta’s reading collection too much lately. “Alright, then.” He leans against the counter opposite Gwyn. “Let’s talk about learning. You clammed up in bed back there after ignoring my suggestions and shoving my head between your legs.”

“I clammed up because of my best friend barging into my room and catching us together,” Gwyn defends.

“Your pussy was dry as bread before that,” he retorts. Ooh, now he wants toast.

Gwyn turns a furious shade of red while Azriel starts looking around for bread. He finds it sitting by the toaster. “Can you not say that?” she hisses at him.

“What?” He looks up from dropping bread into the toaster.

“You know…” She glances around cautiously as if someone might overhear. “Pussy.”

“Pussy,” he says again, just to be annoying. Gwyn’s shoulders turn inward in embarrassment, and he has to hold back a grin. Yeah, she’s definitely not ready for oral.

He finds a butter knife and some peanut butter. “I told you to start easy and you ignored me. You tried jumping into the deep end without learning how to tread water.”

Gwyn scoffs. “And what does ‘treading water’ entail again?”

Azriel shrugs, plucking up his finished toast. “Making out, heavy petting, freshman-year-of-high-school kind of stuff.”

“I’ve done that before,” she mutters indignantly. “Maybe not in my freshman year, but I’ve done it.”

He wonders how long ago that was, or if it was before she was—hurt.

“Besides,” Gwyn goes on before he can push the matter further, “I’m not budging on kissing. I want to save that for the man I actually like.”

“You don’t like me?” Azriel raises a brow, slathering peanut butter over his toast. “You definitely don’t act the same with me as you do with other men.” Or at least that’s what he assumes. Up until a short while ago, he never would’ve been able to imagine timid Gwyn having the guts to ask anyone for sex ed. That’s got to make him special, right?

But then Gwyn waves him off and says, “That’s ‘cause you’re not a real man. I knew you before puberty.”

Azriel nearly drops his toast. “Wow, the nerve of this woman,” he mutters with wide eyes. If she keeps this up, he’s going to start regretting ever going to the same school as her. “That’s not what you said when you were going on about how attracted you are to me.”

“I said you were attractive, not that I was attracted.” Gwyn’s blush is more from irritation than shyness now. “You do the job, but you’re no Max.” She giggles at saying his name. Actually giggles. “I’ll only kiss Max.”

“What kind of stupid ass name is Max?” Azriel grumbles through a mouthful of peanut butter.

“It’s short for Maximillian.”

He chokes. “Jesus, that’s even worse.” He’s doing all this work for some guy named Maximillian. Maybe he should just go home and let Nesta give him the beating he deserves.

Except thinking about Nesta only reminds Azriel of what a coward he is, because he fears facing her again almost as much as he fears facing Elain. “By the way, could I…” he starts hesitantly.

Gwyn gives him a judgmental sneer. “You don’t want to go back to the cabin, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“You can’t stay here,” she responds, crushing his hopes. “I have plans tonight, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you be such a wimp.” She hops off the counter and comes over to him, surprising him by grabbing both of his shoulders. “Azriel,” she says somberly.

He swallows his toast roughly.

“You have to grow some balls,” she continues. “Not just for your sake, but for the sake of every poor woman in your life. Also, all this drama is personally a turn-off for me, which is detrimental to my sex education.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do better and all that, you know?”

Damn, okay.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, Azriel manages to say, “Fine, I’ll go.” He shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth and dusts off his hands, heading for the living room.

“Wait, you don’t have to leave right now—” Gwyn follows after him. Azriel is already on the couch, pulling a stray notepad and pen on the coffee table closer to himself.

He clicks the pen. “When’s that library guy planning to take you out?” he asks, starting to write.

Gwyn hovers near him, watching the notepad over his shoulder in confusion. “Um, this Saturday. Just a casual coffee shop thing.”

“Then I’ll see you on Friday.” He scribbles down some bullet points and labels the page LESSON PLAN. “Until then, think about a way to enjoy foreplay without kissing. Here are some suggestions so you can practice.” He tears the lined paper out of the notepad and hands it to Gwyn.

Her eyes skim over the page, brows rising with each point she reads. “Is all this really necessary?”

Azriel remembers how he barely brushed his lips against Gwyn’s core before having to pull away and kiss her quivering thigh instead. He can’t have sex with an unaroused woman, and he definitely can’t do it with a terrified woman. “Foreplay is absolutely necessary,” he says, getting up from the couch and stretching to his full height. Where Elain used to only reach his chest, Gwyn’s head almost reaches his nose. It amuses him for some reason.

“Do you like movies?” he adds. “I’ll take you to the movies on Friday.” Preferably something boring and played out, so the theater will be empty and she won’t be paying attention.

Gwyn’s eyes widen. “Is going on dates also part of foreplay?”

“It can be,” Azriel shrugs. It will be when he does it. He drops a hand onto Gwyn’s head and ruffles her hair. “I’d love to stay and help you study, but I have to go and grow some balls.” He mock-frowns at her as he heads for his shoes and keys. “See you later, Gwyneth.”

***

a/n: wait why do i wanna write the movie theater scene now… pls help me im just trying to finish this damn fic im getting too old for this

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99

#ncssianwrites #gwynriel #a favor #bonus scene

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underragingwaves · 2 years

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The Mirror Women: Freydis & Katia

Let me preface this by stating that I do not hold the writing for Vikings in very high regard. I believe that the best of the show was brought to the table by the cast and crew on the ground, with the writing and scene editing often letting that hard work down by not being up to snuff. I also believe that the good moments in the show's writing primarily come from a mix of the cast knowing their stuff and the happy little accidents that happened to Michael Hirst while he worked on some scripts. (There are plenty of Hirst-quotes to pull from interviews and commentary that highlight the issues in his writing, but that’s not the main focus here.)

Hirst’s writing is particularly problematic when it comes to writing female characters, who’re often underdeveloped in comparison to their male counterparts and fulfill a specific role in-narrative entirely in support of the motives/goals of the male characters without having any notable motives/goals of their own that could cause conflict with this. Vastly oversimplified, we see that most women in Vikings are reduced to three stereotypes: the maiden, the mother, and the whore.

Last night, I realized that one particular female character in this show hits all three of these stereotypes at different points in her narrative: Freydis. She starts out as maiden, progresses to mother, and finally ends up as whore. Freydis is romantically linked to Ivar. The only other woman romantically linked to him is Katia, who’s played by the same actress! And if we look at Katia, we see something rather funky: her arc is the absolute reverse of Freydis’s. A perfect mirror image, not just in looks but also in narrative.

Here's the breakdown of that, below the cut. 😊

Freydis’s Arc

We are introduced to Freydis in York. She is a nameless character at this time. We do not know where she comes from and which family she was born into. We are introduced to her through a scene with Ivar, in which she strips naked at his behest and perches on his lap. She’s his to command, in this, as the only thing we really learn about her is that she is a thrall who can potentially serve as human sacrifice. In this scene, Freydis tells him “I will do anything you ask me to do” and elevates his character from crippled man to someone who is very special and “destined for great things”. She is the maiden come before his throne, the unknown placed in a powerless position, the ‘innocent’ who may serve by potentially yielding her own life as sacrifice.

In that same scene, however, Ivar releases her from servitude. He elevates her to become a free woman, and when we next see her she approaches him. He allows Freydis to come close to him, fascinated by her as he is, and she in turn offers him her full devotion. We learn her name now that she becomes part of Ivar’s inner circle. More than that: she becomes his wife. And in becoming his wife, she also transitions into the role she embodies during most of the narrative: mother.

Freydis’s pregnancy is front and centre in many of her actual scenes. It is not Ivar’s child, but this is something he does not realize or acknowledge at any point in the narrative. Freydis is framed through the lens of impending motherhood, with a near-ethereal quality that visually makes her the brightest point in the room, and her giving birth is one of the rare birthing scenes we see in show. There’s something wrong with her baby, something that may very well mean her son will not be healthy enough to survive, but Freydis calls out for him and visibly loves her child all the same.

Ivar’s response to her child is the polar opposite: he observes the mirror image of himself in what he sees as his son, and therefore decides to leave the baby behind in the woods to die. And Freydis, when she finds out what happened to her beloved child, is a mother scorned: she turns on Ivar. She turns on him so utterly that she betrays Ivar to his brothers, who’ve come to wage war on him, and she does so in a way that highlights her secretiveness and her prowess at scheming. She transforms into the ‘whore’: the liberated woman taking agency in her own life, manipulating where necessary, all the while playing the perfect wife to Ivar’s face until the ruse drops.

And when the ruse drops, and Ivar realizes the depths of her betrayal, Freydis does not live. She dies beneath his hands, choked out and then positioned in their marriage bed with the bones of her dead child beside her. She dies without us ever learning more than her name.

Katia’s Arc

We meet Katia in Rus. She is immediately introduced by name and by status: she is a princess, come to marry Prince Oleg. And Ivar, well, Ivar looks at her as though he has seen a ghost: to him, she is the spitting image of Freydis. He believes her to be a part of a game that Oleg is playing with him, something that will render him utterly powerless and at Oleg’s mercy even more than he already is, and directly acknowledges that he believes her to be Freydis.

After her wedding to Oleg, Oleg reveals to Ivar that Katia has told him she reminds Ivar of someone. Ivar is forced to admit that Katia reminds him of his wife, Freydis, thus cementing the suspicion that he is being toyed with. Oleg and Katia both seem to form a united front in playing this game with him: this time, it is Ivar placed in the position of powerlessness as Oleg ropes him into undressing Katia. Ivar becomes a spectator to their sexual intercourse, then later becomes subject to Katia’s attempts to seduce him.

Katia, from the start in this, embodies that whore-archetype that is fully cognizant of her power – sexual or otherwise – and utilizes it to the fullest in the games and schemes she has devised. We know she is not to be trusted. We know that Ivar continues to see her as his dead wife, even when his brother Hvitserk indicates that Katia does not resemble Freydis at all. Katia uses Ivar’s weaknesses against him throughout the narrative and blindsides him utterly, just as Freydis blindsided him in the final days of her life.

The difference, here, is that Katia’s schemes are not directed at Ivar’s downfall. They’re directed at Oleg. And here is where Katia transitions into her next role in-narrative: that of mother. When it is revealed what her play is (and we only learn a fraction of it, of that I am convinced!), she is the one who helps orchestrate their escape from Kyiv. She is the wildcard, the pinnacle around which the narrative suddenly revolves, and here she aligns more closely with Hvitserk (who embodies this same role in his whole arc) and is seen working seamlessly alongside him. More importantly, however, we see that Katia is the one to spirit a child away from Oleg’s clutches: Igor, whom Ivar treats as his son.

In taking care of Igor, Katia fulfills the role of mother. She becomes Ivar’s counterpart in this care, at least for a brief stretch of time, and helps bring Igor to safety. And it’s in this same safety that we learn that Katia is pregnant, too. She does not visibly show it, nor is there ever a time we see her truly heavily pregnant, but there is the notion of impending motherhood all the same. Ivar again refers to this baby as his child, even when there is a chance it might not be, and this is where the narrative for Katia shifts again.

Because now, free of Oleg, she states she is reunited with her family. We do not see her family on screen at any point, nor do we learn anything else about them. When Katia acknowledges Ivar’s love is for Freydis and not her, when she outright states he confuses her with Freydis in his own mind, she also says that she will only disappoint Ivar when he realizes Katia is not Freydis. In this, then, she is rendered almost nameless: we know less about her than we ever did before, and we part from her with the idea that she may be utterly different from what we have come to know her as. She is now the maiden with an unknown position of power. She is the ‘innocent’ who has served a throne and could potentially have sacrificed her life in the process of that servitude.

Yet Katia lives. Katia lives, walking away from Ivar with a child that may or may not be his in her belly, escaping from the clutches of Ivar’s narrative without it ever being revealed what became of her. She walks away and all we have of her is her name.

#vikings #freydis #princess katia #urwmeta #if you'd told me I'd one day write meta about these two I would've laughed you outta the house #but here we are now in a desperate attempt to make Hirst's writing make cohesive sense #also I think this highlights that he can't write well-rounded women for the life of him lmao #anyway Freydis and Katia are narratively linked in every way and to understand one is to grasp at the other ty for coming to my Ted Talk

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