#Spider handprint books

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77 Creative Spider Handprint Craft: Fun Art Ideas with Paint, Paper, and Decorations

If you’re looking to spin A web of fun with your kids this Halloween, hold onto your glue sticks And googly eyes—because I’ve got A craft that’s going to stick around in your memory long after The candy corn has disappeared. Enter The Spider Handprint Craft: An adorable And eerily easy project that’s perfect for little hands (and not-so-little hands, if we’re being honest). But don’t just take my…

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Daredevil by Chip Zdarsky Pt.1

It's not easy to sum up a run like this. Nah, it's actually pretty impossible. It's a long road with so much going on with so many faces, you have to record every single one of your thoughts. So I’m gonna go character by character, taking every arc and dissecting it. 

I have, in fact done it a while ago, right after I finished the run, but it took me some time to post it. And I wanted to make it feel more like a review but that didn't quite work out, so here it is, my essay or analysis of some of the character arcs in this run. Spoilers ahead too!

Zdarsky’s run finds Matt right after the short rehab series. And I have to talk about that a little: the truck that kicked Daredevil out of the game, poetically replaying his childhood accident, left him dealing with all the old injuries. In DD’s line of work, those tend to pile up. So the few issues were a short detour into Matt’s identity crisis as he was about to give up and had to seek help from his fellow Defenders. It was a very recovery-focused story with flashbacks and the fears that haunted him. For a man without fear, he sure has plenty of nightmare scenarios so questioning and reevaluating this status is a constant process for him. This idea circles philosophy but to me, it just reminds again and again of how much Matt Murdock depends on the way people see him. 

When Zdarsky’s run starts, Matt is already going out at night and throwing his clubs around. But he’s not exactly living his previous life anymore. Here, the status quo is fully restored after Waid’s detour and the brooding hero on the roofs in the rain is back. Well, almost back. He can’t fully heal his body or his mind so he ends up accidentally killing a man. And then Zdarsky finally pushes Daredevil into the trap that's been sprung for him ever since he killed Bullseye. At the time, I was a bit disappointed that Waid allowed Matt to walk away into a new life, never having to deal with emotional repercussions. It felt to me like he was repressing that event so hard, his entire personality had changed. While the run was good, it felt like a bizarrely loud cry for help. I felt like that was not Matt, at least not the ever-guilty martyr we all know. 

But now, here, he gets a chance to live through this hell. The beautiful part, in terms of narrative, is that Daredevil right away becomes erratic and paranoid: he goes digging through his enemy list, convinced that someone had set him up. And he fools you easily. Despite him being off his game I truly thought there was a Fisk handprint or just The Hand behind it. But you know what? No. It was just an accident. Probably caused by Matt's lack of trust in Daredevil or his not being at 100%. 

DD gets so bad, he actually ends up getting a talking to from none other than Spider-Man. Aside from the usual suspects that is. Which, think about it, all heroes have gone through trauma at one point. But compared to a spiraling Daredevil they still seem very together. Granted it's his book so the main drama has to come from him.

There’s a moment when he’s in a room with Jessica, Luke, and Danny, and he calls them all murderers, quickly correcting the ‘you’ to ‘we’. It’s like a new light in which he sees the whole superhero game: like he thought they were truly above the law because they made no mistakes. So yeah, after all these years he saw for the first time how flawed each one of them truly is. 

What he refuses to see is that they are all working through that, not dividing the world into the good and bad. Meanwhile, Matt has Daredevil on a pedestal as someone who must never allow the line to become blurry.  

Matt's disturbing as hell. And yeah, have to admit I like him more when everything is awful, simply because he always knows how to make things worse.

For a brief time, Matt hides the costume in his closet and works as a parole officer. But it turns out he is actually terrible at compartmentalizing and he's even worse at self-inflicted penance. 

I believe the culmination of his incompetence in life is an affair with a married woman. Married to a mob boss’s son. It's truly classic Matt Murdock at this point - got no one to cheat on, well, at least she does. He is Exupery’s drunkard and he's brilliant at that. He wakes up next to Mindy thinking about the terrible sin he’s committing. Gotta give her credit though, she gave him a piece of hell for making it about himself. 

And then his circle of violence as he calls it (courtesy of late Vanessa Fisk), pulls him back in again. 

He has doubts and fears about putting on the costume again and we'll, it's hard to blame him. But he still lives in Fisk’s city and the city is getting worse every day. 

When Matt came face to face with The Purple Man, he said that the thing he fears the most is hearing all the tragedy and doing nothing. Zdarsky just puts him in this reality and Matt's got no other choice than to put on the mask. Before he fully embraces it, he trains with Elektra. Did he break up with Mindy? No, of course not. He just ghosted her until she needed help. The good ol' Matt. 

But with Elektra, this time it's different (not really - she has her own plan as she always does.)  I have to admit, the more they get together the more I realize one thing - Matt really can't break up with women. They have to die, otherwise he’ll be hung up on them for years. Elektra is the love of his life no less than Karen was. She just came back from the dead, unlike Karen, and I’m pretty sure deep inside Matt thinks it's for him. Plus, she knows his identity which makes it so much easier. And she's deadly which makes her so less killable. 

But most importantly Matt’s obsessed with Elektra because she's from his past and he’s notoriously bad at moving on from his past (see Exupery's drunkard again). Here’s why I kind of root for them: I do like the adversary/lover connection they have and they exist in the same world. Can they make it work? I doubt it. 

Before I get too deep into more of Matt's disastrous relationships (and believe me you, there is more) I should refocus on the arc.

We got Matt running from the law while making adjustments so he could represent that same law. And he has an interesting new addition to the cast in the form of detective Cole North. I’m gonna talk about him later since he's one of the narrators in the run. But North is hell-bent on holding vigilantes accountable and Daredevil is his idée fixe just as he is for Fisk. 

Daredevil manages to sway North by saving his life as corrupted cops attempt to kill him and that leads to three interesting events.

One - his parolee learns that he is Daredevil. And his parolee is none other than the brother of the man he accidentally killed. 

Two - North starts seeing him as a protector rather than a criminal. But he still wants to hold him accountable. 

Three - it sets the tone for the rest of the run, showing the cracks and imperfections of the US criminal justice system.

Either way, that day Matt goes free. And when he puts on a costume again, he is convinced that now he's gonna act smart (because Elektra told him to gather information before leaping into action, duh. All that education and you couldn't figure it out on your own…) It's also a different costume and Matt even convinces everyone who’d listen and a couple people who won't, that he is now a new and improved hero who is not Daredevil at all. Yes, he actually believes it and I think it's still his desire to wash his hands off of everything connected to the accident. He thinks he sees things clearly now but it feels like he's never been more blind. Yet somehow, he will be. 

This repetitiveness becomes very noticeable when you read through run after run. It’s a very clear pattern that Matt goes through: every time something changes he makes the decision. This time… this time… this time… and it always comes back to the same conclusion. 

He immediately gets duped by Elektra into stealing money from the bad guys, of which she pocketed some. And then the bad guys rain Inferno upon Hell’s Kitchen. 

That's a fun little event during which another one of Matt's exes, Typhoid Mary, reappears: prior to that she's been therapied into a nice nun who's been helping Matt whenever he ended up in church. The first time I saw her I thought “Oh no, he's not gonna sleep with a nun…” but then, he already had. Uhm, anyway, the nice uplifting moment was the people of the neighborhood dressing up as Daredevil, turning him into a symbol. They'd been doing it for a while and some had been moderately successful too. But when the battle was won, one of them died in Matt's arms, so he turned himself in as Daredevil. 

Now that's the thing, that's where the main idea of this run starts really growing. And not because Daredevil goes to prison or refuses to fight for his freedom, but because of what's awaiting him there. It's not the superpowered villains, it's all the people he’s been sending there for years. It's such a simple thing - to take these “street level” bad guys, put them face to face with Daredevil, and tell their stories. 

Daredevil in jail is a stupid idea. Smart from the narrative point of view yet stupid for him as a person on many levels. First of all, he is doing it out of misguided loyalty to the law. He's still a lawyer after all. He's also religious but he kind of sorted that out for himself already. He says he wants to show everyone how even superheroes have to be held accountable if they step out of line. 

He wants to feel good about himself and again, a part of me thinks he wants to feel like he's better than the others: he loves that moral high ground, and whenever it shakes underneath his feet, everything around him falls apart. Mostly because he destroys it, but he doesn't focus on that. 

Cole, Kirsten (yeah, she's back too), and Foggy, they all tell him he's wrong. And they are absolutely correct too. He wants to be an example, sure, but he really needs people to see him the way they did before. It's not about his guilt, he's been forgiven in fact. 

The one big regret I have is that this run and this prison time didn't give him more therapy. Because the therapist calling him out on his usual BS was incredible. And she, along with another inmate reminded him that he's fooling himself and trying to fool others. All that makes more sense considering he still hides his identity, so whenever he chooses to leave, his crime and his time won't affect anything. None of that will ruin his life. 

The way the story leads to this social or rather political issue, it's very organic. It's something he’s been dealing with for years as both his personas: the revolving door between a police station and the streets, the poverty and desire for a better life that lead to crime, the mean streets. He's the perfect hero for this story and his flaws are most vivid here. He had both put people in jail and kept them out of it, he'd been a mayor, and he’d been accused and stood trial. But all of that he had been doing from his high horse.  

The truth in that story is grim and realistic - prison isn't helping reform anyone and only serves billionaires in their quest for more wealth. 

As Daredevil discovers that and makes a deal with the FBI, he gets released. And once again, he wants to go for that one big win. He always falls into that same trap, he always attempts to stand alone or with friends and win everything, save everyone at once. He’ll keep trying to, all the way to The Fist saga. 

But to get there, he needs to step over one considerable obstacle.

Wilson Fisk

Like I said, Daredevil and the rest live in Fisk’s city. He is still the mayor and he is going after all vigilantes and I mean all, including the Avengers. But that’s just a part of it. Fisk has an interesting story as he decides to move from the underworld politics to the real thing. He makes a decision, he retires the title of Kingpin of crime, but he forgets the one crucial part – he can’t retire his persona. He will go on to the next level with his hands still soaked in blood. And that’s something he shares with Matt: where Matt needs to be absolved, all Fisk needs is to just turn around and pretend he’s done nothing wrong.

The ironic detail is, he’s so used to doing his dirty work himself, he finds it impossible to fit in with polished high-class criminals. Politics seems like a natural next step for him but somehow the shadow games turn out to be more than he can chew. Thus the Big Bads of this run are Stromwyns - the richest people in New York. They pull the strings and even Fisk struggles with that idea. 

In all this, he has a few defining moments:

He wages war on superheroes, including mutants, which leads to X-Men Devil’s Reign

He goes to fight on the ground during Inferno (which was organized as you might have guessed or known already, by the Stromyns).

He kills Mike Murdock thinking he’s Matt Murdock. 

Oh, right I forgot to mention that Mike’s back. And he is seemingly real now, has his own arc, although still can’t escape the title of a spare Matt Murdock. 

Anyway, back to Fisk. Of course, when the time comes for reelection, Fisk wants not just to run but to guarantee his victory, which is not surprising at all. I mean take a criminal who gets a fraction of power, would they ever let go of it? In this regard, Fisk is your classic villain. And just like every other villain, he decides to cheat and use The Purple Man’s power to sway the voters. All of that leads to his ruin and retirement.

But not before he marries Typhoid Mary. Can’t call the ceremony lovely really because they both creep me out and I’d like them or at least Fisk to pay for his crimes. It’s not just the fact that he never does or it never sticks, it’s that later he’s received diplomatic immunity from Krakoa, and sure, he helped them during Fall of X and the drama with Orchis. But it’s still the same damn Kingpin. That hasn’t changed and he will return to make everybody’s life hell again. 

Why? He’s absolutely evil and we see that in a panel during Devil’s Reign. There’s no non-evil or non self-serving for him. 

Yeah, Fisk and Mary rowed off into the sunset but not before Fisk killed Mike. And really, that’s another opportunity missed by Matt. Could’ve played around scaring him in both his personas instead of going after him right away and revealing his existence. But I get it, he had other engagements including his actual engagement to a woman we all know all too well. 

I ran out of the images limit, so there is a Part Two.

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Phasmophilia

A/N: Here we go Day 6!!! There's only one day left of Survive the Night!!! So here I decided to do something a little different, this is actually a crossover of Avatar and Phasmophobia, I hope you all enjoy it 💓

Warnings: 18+, Aged Up Characters, Kidnapping, Hunting, Phasmophillia, NonCon, Major Character Death, Humiliation

Jake sat around one of the large communal fires, the new generation sitting around with him. They had all become adults years ago. Many of them had mates and their own children who were sitting on their laps. Neteyam had his own five children running around. Tuk’s youngest daughter was sitting on her Grandfather’s lap, enjoying the small bits of food Jake would cut up for her.

Spider sat with them. He had always enjoyed the old ghost stories that Jake had told. Hearing the scary stories told by humans back on Earth was one of the few things that Spider enjoyed about human culture.

“-and there I was at Sunny Medows, an abandoned mental institution. The foyer was dark; the power hadn’t been turned on. Which wasn’t unusual; many ghosts hated the light, thriving in the darkness,” Jake paused momentarily when the toddler in his lap whined for more food.

Biting off another piece of meat, Jake used his fingers to feed it to his youngest grandchild before continuing, “It was a small team, only myself and one other; going there with only a team of two was idiocy, but we were young 19-year-olds and eager to prove ourselves. We received the map and saw that the breaker was near the entrance. The lights made it a bit easier to navigate, but that didn’t make it any safer for us.” 

Jake looked off to the side as if checking his 6; the first thing we noticed while walking around was the temperature. Even without the power, the building was pretty warm; none of the rooms had even the slightest temperature decrease on the upper levels. There was nothing on EMF, and we were surprised; even as we checked around the alter someone had made, covered in blood, the candles already lit despite no one being there, but we found nothing. Cursing at our luck, we headed back to the van; I noticed that my partner was looking around; he turned to me and asked if I heard that. I was confused. I hadn’t heard anything; we both shrugged it off and made our way to the van, changing out our gear.”

Ao’nung and his pregnant mate joined us, curious about the story.

“The basement was treacherous, with little escape rooms, so we went in prepared; I had a writing book, a camera situation on a tripod, and a D.O.T. S. Projector; my partner went in with a UV light, a Spirit Box, and an EMF reader just in case,” Jake looked deep into the fire seemingly mourning.

Tonowari and Ronal joined the group, their third child now on the brink of adulthood and another little one with them.

Jake nodded in greeting before continuing, “Maybe if I had checked our sanity, maybe if I had grabbed the parabolic microphone, maybe if I had listened to his concerns, he’d still be here, but I-we didn’t. We went back into the building, cocky that we’d find the bastard and get out. We were arrogant and stupid and charged into the basement, not caring that the halls were narrow, leaving scarce room for escape.”

Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Spider all tensed; spatial awareness is something that Jake drilled into them harshly; even the mentions of this place were making them overly aware of their surroundings.

“My partner brought out the Spirit Box and started to ask it questions, for it to open the door, to flip a light switch, what their name was, how they died, and he kept repeating those questions over and over again. Until finally, a door slammed nearby.”

They may not have been used to or even seen the standard doors from Earth, but they imagined that they could hear the bang as the door hit the wall.

Jake shook his head, “It didn’t take us long to find the door. My partner quickly brought out the UV light, and there it was, a bright glowing handprint. We were so excited, our first piece of evidence right in our faces. It was right then that we found some EMF, only level 2, but it was something.” Jake released a long sigh.

“Confidant we had found the room, I opened the door and looked around; it was nothing more than an overturned room like all the others. So I placed the D.O.T.S., making sure it overlooked the whole room and set up the camera on the tripod. I was so fucking giddy, I tossed the writing book into the ground in the middle of the room,” Jake huffed out a bitter laugh, “And that’s when it went to hell.”

Neytiri’s ears folded back as she placed a hand on her mate's shoulder.

Spider looks at them oddly; this was just a ghost story, right? Jake’s just using himself to help sell the story… there’s no such thing as human ghosts.

“That’s when I heard it, it was soft and gentle, women singing. The lights weren’t flickering, but we knew the ghost was close. There were a couple of tables that had been turned over, so we hid behind them. I remember cursing myself for not having the camera in my hand, wanting to see if I could get a decent sighting. I didn’t even notice my partner's face. The humming got louder, but I didn’t see anything. Finally, it stopped; I laughed, thinking we had duped it. Until I turned to my partner, only to see his face as white as the walls once were. His eyes filled with fear as he pointed to the spot right in front of us. It was right there, and I was laughing, thinking we were fine. I rolled my eyes, thinking he was being over dramatic; I slapped him on the shoulder before standing up and heading back to the room. It wasn’t cold enough to even warrant bringing in a thermometer, and the book had been chucked to the other side of the room.” 

The group leaned closer, intrigued with the new information.

“I was ecstatic with the information; I took out my journal and crossed off ghostwriting and freezing temps. With the previous information, I knew there were only four types of ghosts left. I looked at my partner, telling him to leave the EMF reader on the floor and to try again with the spirit box, so he did; no matter how much he talked, it wouldn’t respond. Frustrated, we decided to return to the bus; the moment we left the room, the lights shut off, leaving us in darkness, and the singing returned. And this time, it was hunting us.” Jake’s eyes glazed over as he spoke the next part.

“The halls were so narrow we could barely run side by side, and with the debris all over the floor, it was a mess, I couldn’t see shit. It didn’t take long for me to trip over something. I landed flat on my face; some of the broken glass embedded itself into my face and arm, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I could feel my blood dripping out of my wounds and onto the floor, but I could see it; I could see her. Blinking as it came towards me, her singing became louder and louder until she was right in front of me. She chilled the air around her, and I waited; I waited for death, but it never came. She moved right past me; I wasn’t her target. I felt a moment of relief before,” Jake choked, “Before he started screaming.”

Gasps and soft curses filled the area as they understood what happened.

“My partner begged me to help him, but I couldn’t find him; it was too dark. I shakily crawled, trying to get to my feet, the glass entering my skin as I pushed myself up. And that’s when I heard it, a choked-off rasp, and then nothing. I was too late; I knew he was dead. There was nothing else I could do but haul my ass out of there. I stumbled out, bleeding, as I made my way to the bus. Honestly, I don’t know if I was crying or not, just that my partner was dead and that I was next. And to make things worse, I found out what it was that killed my partner on the bus. I watched the cameras; I was first greeted by his face, stark and pale, fear etched into his face… The floating orb was easy to spot in the dark room. That left two ghost types, and I had a feeling I knew which one. Then there it was, her silhouette in the D.O.T.S., a banshee, a fucking banshee.” Jake's sudden anger surprised the group.

All along, the bitch had been following us, scaring my partner, dwindling his sanity down to nothing; she targeted him the whole time. But I didn’t fucking listen, and now he’s dead. I logged the ghost type in and left.”

Jake slowly looked everyone in the eye, ensuring he had their attention, “Human ghosts have not yet been spotted on Pandora, but that doesn’t mean they won't be here. Too many humans have died painful deaths; we will see them sooner or later.” 

The Metkayina looked horrified, wondering how the vrrtep could still cause such damage even in death. 

That was until Lo’ak busted out laughing, “Good try; I have to say these ghost stories get better every time,” Lo’ak said, standing up, his mates and kids following him. 

Neteyam chuckled as he followed his brother, and soon, the group dispersed. Looking back, Neytiri was still there comforting Jake as he stared deep into the fire. But no one noticed, not even Spider.

They all made their way to their respective marui, besides Spider, who lives further out in one of the metal husks that allows oxygen to flow. He hates the damn thing, but hey, he can breathe.

Spider continued into the small forestry area on the island where his shack rests, his shoulders tense after hearing Jake’s ghost story and just how seriously he took it. He also didn’t laugh at the end like he usually does.

Spider was knocked out of his thoughts by the sound of singing softly and filled with mourning; he spun around, looking every which way, trying to find the source. 

“Come on, guys, this isn’t funny,” He laughed slightly.

But the humming only got louder.

Spider looked around, bedding over, trying to see them through the thicket, “Kiri? Is that you? Come on, this is ridiculous,” He laughed, shaking his head, “Lo’ak, I swear if you put your kids up to this, your ass is mine the next time we spar.”

He shook his head as he turned around, and his scream broke off when he was face to face with a transparent human woman.

The next thing Spider knew, he was in a dark shack; the wood had crumbled long ago, and the glass windows had shattered. He stood shakily to his feet, wondering where he was; this shack didn’t look like anything he had seen on the island. 

A thump sounded nearby, “Hello? Is someone there?” Spider asked concernedly before his self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he was behind a table. 

“Yes,” A soft voice whispered. 

Spider looked around, seeing nothing; he was alone in the room. He stood up, walking around the room, the old floorboards creaking underneath him, “Are you in the room?” He asked again, fear clouding his vision; something wasn’t right.

“Here,” The same voice whispered. 

Spider hopped over some of the broken furniture, still seeing nothing, not even a speaker for the voice to have come from.

He huffed out irritably but not daring to do anything more to antagonize his captor; he had learned something since the last time he was kidnapped all those years ago.

Crouching down for better leverage, he asks calmly, “Well then, where are you?”

Something was behind him, and he couldn’t get away “Behind,” Spider turned around to see the same transparent woman from before.

The shock of seeing her knocked him off balance; he landed on his ass as he tried to back away because Jake was right! Jake tried to tell them the truth, and they had all laughed it off! And now Spider would pay the price. 

Tears pricked at Spider’s eyes; it was already too close, there was no escape. Yet it didn’t seem to be aggressive, simply returning to its humming while following him; her grotesque smile sent a wave of nausea through him as he continued to back away. 

The shack was small; it didn’t take long for Spider to be backed into a corner. She seemed pleased by this, now that she was able to close in on her target.

“Please stop! Why are you doing this?” Spider begs as her hands wrap around his face.

She gently wipes the tears off his face, “Alone,” her soft voice says before crashing their lips together.

Her hums were soft and happy as she kissed Spider. The same could not be said for him; Spider screwed his eyes shut as her cold lips met his; they were chapped and tasted like blood; slowly, her hands traveled downward, feeling his muscular shoulders and biceps. She smiled appreciatively as she felt Spider’s body before pulling away.

Spider opened his eyes hesitantly, trying to look away from where her hands rested on his chest. She giggled slightly before forcing him to stand. 

“Hey! What’s that for?” He blurted out, unable to hold back his mouth.

Thankfully for him, she didn’t take offense, “Fun,” She responded, letting her hands travel even lower. 

Spider’s eyes widened as he backed away, hitting the wall, “No, no, no, we’re not doing this.”

She narrowed her eyes before making a wailing like sound. She charged at him, her body pinning him there as she ripped off his tewng, making sure there were no salvageable pieces. 

“NO!” Spider screamed, pushing her off.

His chest felt tight as the tears returned, using one of his hands to cover himself. 

She wailed again before stalking off, “Mine!” Was the last thing she said before disappearing. 

With her gone, Spider ran, not caring about his nudity; he just needed to get out. Jake was right humans were becoming ghosts on Pandora, and they were fucking insane!

The trees and brush moved past Spider with ease as he continued to run. He didn’t stop, never tiring as he ran for hours, the adrenaline keeping him going. 

The sun had begun to rise when he finally heard it: Kiri’s voice!

“Kiri! Are you there? Where are you?” He yelled, trying to pinpoint her location. 

Kiri’s voice mixed with others, along with the sounds of sniffles.

“Guys, what’s wrong? I need your help! Jake was right! The ghost grabbed me, and I think it’s going to come back!” Spider shouted as he made his way towards the noise, yet no one answered him.

Lo’ak’s head finally came into view.

Spider began to get angry, forgetting that he was nude. He stormed up to Lo’ak, “What the fuck, bro! I need your help, and you can’t even-” He stopped himself as he saw Lo’ak’s face; it was swollen and covered in tears.

Looking around, everyone had a similar expression.

Spider deflated as he realized what happened, his heart pounding out of his chest, “Who did it kill? I know it must have taken someone.”

But again, there was no answer.

Hesitantly, Spider walked forward to the circle of people, trying to peek in and see the body.

Spider’s voice caught in his throat as he looked down.

Tonowari spoke up, “I have never seen a death like this, Sully; what could have caused this?”

Jake looked heartbroken as he looked down at the body; its face had the same look as his partner who died long ago, “I’ve seen this before; I’ll grab the tools from my marui. It won't attack again until eclipse.” He muttered blandly, his voice void of emotion.

“No, no, no, it’s not true, I’m- I’m, I’m not,” Spider choked out, only to feel two arms wrapped around his waist.

She smiled against his bare back, “Mine,” She cooed happily.

Spider couldn’t respond as he stared at his own body. Limp on the ground, his expression filled with nothing but fear.

Because Jake Sully was right. Human ghosts came to Pandora, and Spider was the first victim.

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[mari-lair]

Could you do an analysis on what Hanako’s life was like when he was human? And his relationship with the “fake” Tsukasa

As in the time gap between Tsukasa jumping in the hole and until he killed Tsukasa because in the 4pm book stacks, when spider face was cleaning up his wounds I see handprints on his wrists which kind of imply Tsukasa (or someone else) did…things

Also do you feel that the manga implies that sort of thing between Amane and Tsukasa too?

I am not very interested in Hanako’s relationship with Tsukasa, so I can't do a 'proper' analysis. But I’ll share some thoughts.

I personally don’t believe there is a ‘fake’ Tsukasa, he has always been weird, he never told anyone that the ‘god’ under the house copied his speech and he didn't show any hesitation or remorse about sacrificing animals to get his wishes.

Which was all to grant Amane's wishes, a brother he decided he would die for since four. He has been obsessed with Amane since way before learning Amane would kill him.

The only thing the “God” inside Tsukasa seems to have truly done is stunt his growth (he still acts like a child) and give him knowledge a normal human shouldn’t know.

Still, the horror child framing of this change is in the mom's point of view: Amane seems happy.

And Amane’s joy remains for years.

When Nene travels to the past and meets Amane, who appears to be at the very least eight years old, it is heavily implied he didn’t come with his parents, just Tsukasa.

At this point in the story, I don’t think he was being abused, physically or emotionally: He is eager to trust and help Nene, who is a stranger, and he displays a lot of confidence, honesty, and joy. Not being scared even when Nene try to steal his wishing paper.

He doesn’t seem particularly troubled with his family either. He ever implies a member of his family is crazy, or shows intentions of wanting to use his slip to ‘heal’ them, as a kid as sweet as him would likely be inclined to do. He seems a bit lonely cause his bro was focusing on something else that he can't interrupt instead of keeping him company, but that's about it.

And in Shijima's world they are buddies, which would be... weird... if Tsukasa had hurt him.

But I’ll be honest, considering how old this plot point is, Amane’s injuries are extremely vague. It could be anyone.

Maybe something happened, and Tsukasa got violent, and clingy to the point of being hurtful, maybe his parents snapped and Amane couldn't blame family, maybe is a third party, maybe is a curse, I don’t know, I don't plan to re-read the entire manga to get a better feel on it, but since you asked for my opinion, I personally think this turn for the worst in his life is partially the red house fault, and partially Amane’s own actions.

Let’s rewind a bit.

Tsuchigamori, or spider face, said the only person to alter their own fate was Amane. Not Tsukasa, who was influenced by future Kou, or Nene, who is always seeing the past: Just Amane.

Changing the future is such a big deal it became Tsuchi’s yorishiro, the spider can’t get over it. So I would say it is important to consider Amane's ‘normal’ future.

What changed Amane’s wish? What made him give up?

It wasn’t Tsukasa’s disappearance or reappearance. It was his meeting with Nene.

These slips are a big deal.

We are told they are rumored to make your wish come true in a land of supernaturals where every rumor so far was true. And that it is so hard to get all the five colors, that Yako was never able to, and she is an old spirit.

And the wording Amane used is... Concerning.

As the astronomy teacher he was fated to be, Amane would have never met Nene again, and even in the case he was still teaching by the time she was a student, she would have not been an ‘onee-san’ anymore: He needed to die before 14 for her to stay an onee-san when they met again all those decades later.

I do think the red house and Tsukasa and so on plays a big part in Amane’s fucked up life, but it is strange he only got injured and “gave up going anywhere” after meeting Nene and putting his wish on the Tanabata tree.

We have no info on this part of his life though so it’s anyone’s guess.

[somecreativecc]

SIMBLREEN DOWNLOAD

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Simblreen 2023

[team-au]

Chapter 1 — Shady Brook Elementary

The Shady Brook Elementary School gymnasium is well-preserved and under-utilized and that’s where Vernon goes to blow off steam. Shooting hoops reminds him of the good ol’ days, reminds him of what life was like before the world ended and every waking second became about survival.

Dribble, dribble, jump, shoot. Dribble, dribble, jump, shoot.

His sneakers squeak on once-shiny hardwood, bringing him back to his childhood. In 5th grade, he’d played basketball for his own elementary school – the St. Mary’s Bulldogs. Vernon tries not to think about the original Broncos, the kids of Shady Brook Elementary who would have played floor hockey and freeze tag and kickball in this gym two years earlier.

It’s best not to think about kids in the apocalypse. It’s hard enough to wrap your mind around a massive loss of adult life, let alone kids, but living inside a grade school doesn’t make it easy. There’s still artwork hanging in the classrooms, kids’ names written on bulletin boards in the hallways, pink jackets and Spider-Man lunchboxes in the lost-and-found. It’s a tough reality, one the new Broncos face every single day, but that’s the price of living indoors.

Dribble, dribble, jump, shoot.

The swish of the net is simple, satisfying. Vernon doubles back, sprinting to the other end of the gym as fast as he can because he likes the feeling of his heart pounding in chest. He runs back to center court, feet planted on a faded vinyl decal of a red horse head, and throws the ball as hard as he can. Against all odds, and with an ugly bounce against the back of the rim, the ball goes in.

He’s so surprised by own his athleticism that he doesn’t hear the gym door open and shut.

“Nice shot,” says Seungkwan. He’s standing near the bleachers, apron tied around his waist. When Vernon sees him, Seungkwan smiles. “Jihyo’s looking for you.”

“Uh-oh,” Vernon says. He jogs after the rebound, then tosses the ball back into plastic crate that houses four more basketballs, two soccer balls and a wiffle ball bat. “Am I in trouble?”

Seungkwan shrugs. “Fuck if I know. I don’t ask questions. I just–”

��–do her bidding?” Vernon teases. Still smiling, Seungkwan gives him the finger. “Is Jihyo in her office?” Seungkwan nods once. Vernon passes him on his way out the door but before he steps into the hallway, he stops and asks, “Hey, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Thanks to a hefty box of tomatoes from the Slums,” he says, “we’re having black bean salsa on slightly stale saltines. And if you’re really nice to me, I’ll sneak you a not-that-expired fruit cup for dessert.”

Vernon laughs out loud and reaches out to slap Seungkwan on the shoulder.

“Good man.”

It’s a short walk from the gym to the principal’s office. The Broncos have long since cleared superfluous materials from most of the main rooms – they burned a lot of books and papers for bonfires, traded the instruments and art supplies to the Slums in exchange for vegetables, looted cubbies for backpacks and non-perishable snacks – but some decorative clutter remains.

Vernon ignores the small, red and black handprints painted on the wall outside the principal’s office and turns the corner, stopping in his tracks when he hears an argument.

“I know that, Sana, but what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to actually look at this map and give me a real reason not to go for it.”

Vernon shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, more inclined to eat literal rocks than interrupt a marital dispute between Jihyo and Sana.

“Do you trust me?” he hears Jihyo say. “Do you trust that I’m trying to do right by this group?”

“Of course I do! But what is the point of Dahyun going out and scouting new locations if you refuse to explore any of them? Why do we even have runners if they’re not allowed to go out on runs?”

Jihyo makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“Jesus, Sana. When it comes to runs, you really value quantity over quality and that kind of overwork is exactly why Junhui is laid up right now.”

“Are you really blaming me for Junhui getting sick?”

Wildly uncomfortable and beginning to feel a bit too much like a voyeur, Vernon awkwardly clears his throat. Jihyo and Sana stop fighting and Vernon bravely pokes his head inside the principal’s office.

“Very sorry to interrupt,” he says, eyes glued to the floor. “Seungkwan said you wanted to see me?”

Jihyo laughs a little, humorless. She’s standing behind her desk, hands gripping the top of her chair. Sana’s a few feet away having a much harder time hiding her emotions.

“Vernon,” Jihyo says. She forces a smile and looks back and forth between her wife and the man hovering in her doorway. “Isn’t it awkward when Mom and Mom fight?”

Sana blinks, annoyed, and says, “We’ll finish this later.” She turns to leave and Vernon all but dives away from the door, giving her more than enough room to pass.

Once she’s disappeared down the hallway, Vernon says, “Sorry. I never did have great timing.”

Jihyo smiles and waves him off. “Forget about it,” she says. “Take a seat.”

There’s two chairs in front of her desk and Vernon takes the one closest to him. The principal’s office looks a little bit more like a bunker than it does an educational place of business. Gone are the motivational posters, filing cabinets and potted plants – Jihyo’s office is fit with maps of the city, inventory lists, boxes of miscellaneous ammunition and cases of bottled water. On a low table against the far wall, Vernon sees two handguns and a few half-full bottles of liquor.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Now sitting, Jihyo sighs heavily and says, “Everything is okay.” Her eyes fall to the doorway and Vernon can tell that Sana is still on her mind. “My wife and I aren’t currently seeing eye-to-eye on a few things but it’ll pass. Storms always do.” She spends another few seconds staring and then, appearing to remember what she’s doing, Jihyo clears her throat and sits up straighter in her chair. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“We’re down a runner,” Jihyo explains, but Vernon knows all about it.

“Junhui’s still sick?”

Nodding, Jihyo continues: “Jeongyeon says he should be fine in a few more days. She thinks it’s just the flu. He’s young and otherwise healthy so it shouldn’t be too big a deal in the long run but fever and dehydration can be dangerous when you’re…” She trails off, unsure of where her sentence should end. “Anyway, I know you don’t usually go on runs but Minghao and Nayeon are still away and I don’t want to send Momo out her own. We could really use some extra medical supplies, especially if this flu starts making its way around the school. You won’t have to go far. Dahyun scouted out a middle school twelve miles west of here. Somehow, we’ve missed it until now. They should have some first-aid kits, maybe some ibuprofen, maybe some disinfectant. It’ll go a long way.”

Vernon listens attentively, patiently, and when Jihyo’s done selling, he says, “Whatever you need.”

Another smile, smaller this time, but genuine.

“Thank you,” she says. There’s relief in her voice – maybe she hadn’t expected him to say yes so easily. “We’re still doing fine on food and water but medical supplies…” She shakes her head. Vernon has never been able to get a read on Jihyo or guess what she’s thinking but he has noticed that her air of authority seems to thin whenever she’s speaking to someone one-on-one.

“Medical supplies dwindle quickly,” he says. He’s neither a runner nor an inventory manager but Vernon is observant. He’s quiet, stoic, basically unassuming and people tend to spill their guts whenever he’s around. He knows they’re running low on medication, bandages and certain types of ammo. He knows that their food supply is fairly strong, especially since Seungkwan can take just about anything he’s given and turn it into breakfast, lunch and dinner. And he knows that Jihyo and Sana have been having trouble getting on the same page.

“Yes,” Jihyo says quietly. “They really do.”

“I’m happy to help however I can. Going on a run will be a nice change of pace.”

“You’re a team player,” Jihyo says, “and I appreciate it. Momo will come find you after dinner tonight and give you the details. You guys will leave tomorrow morning. Seungkwan will have breakfast for you an hour before everyone else eats. For the rest of the night, though, take it easy, okay? I want you well-rested for tomorrow.”

Vernon nods once, stands, then pushes in his chair. He’s about to leave but hesitates, standing in the middle of the office, looking around. He’s lost in thought, a side effect from apocalyptic living, and Jihyo gives him another thirty seconds before prompting, “Vernon?”

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just trying to remember if I’d ever gotten sent to the principal’s office as a kid.”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, equal parts surprised and charmed by his frankness, and says, “I doubt it. Something tells me you were a really good kid.”

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Vernon bows his head, exits the office and closes the door behind him. There’s no one else in the hallway, most of the Broncos tending to their respective duties for the day, and Vernon relishes in the quiet.

Now that he’s got explicit orders from the boss to kick back and rest, his schedule is clear. Briefly, he weighs his options; he could go back to the gym and play a little more basketball, he could go to the cafeteria and see if Seungkwan needs help prepping dinner, he could go back to his room (classroom 108) and read until it’s time to eat or he could check on Seungcheol and the hunting dogs.

Before he goes anywhere, though, he finds himself staring at the wall of handprints again. He knows better than to think about Shady Brook’s former students. He knows better than to worry about what became of the kids and their families when the world ended. He knows better than to let his mind drift back to his nephews, to his sister, to the fate of his family. But still, he reaches out his hand and covers one of the small, red handprints anyway.

Vernon stays there for just a minute, feeling all the feelings that he works so hard to avoid on a normal day and imagining the school alive with music and laughter and homework. He remembers school plays and art class and tater tots and recess and hopes against all hope that his nephews are someplace safe. Then he breathes deeply, slowly, and walks away, leaving all of his emotion and worry right there in the hallway.

He may not be able to help the former Broncos but he sure as hell can make a difference now.

[lunarscaled]

-> There's a fine line on what a body can and can't register past a certain threshold of pain or suffering in one period. It is an instinctive reaction to defend oneself from unnecessary additional suffering, certainly, but more importantly it is in the favor of survival. Why does a mouse have the wherewithal to chew off its own leg in a glue trap? Where does an insect find the gall to tear its wings and limbs from the spider's web even if it will fall to the floor to be crushed? All for that fleeting glimpse of freedom that tempted it; the naive hope it could still live if it tried hard enough. Lyric wondered if they had that hope in them. They don't even register that their leg is gone until they collapse to the floor on the one he didn't take. The marble of the tile is cool beneath their fingertips as their short claws bare down on its hard surface, leaving scratches as their chest expands and contracts, puffing air into the burning housefire that was their chest. They were in pain and yet not—they were in so much pain they could not comprehend it. There was ringing in their ears where the music of the ballroom should be, but they couldn't raise their head to look at the faces of the brides that had taken the space of the band members. Instead they must watch the steady spread of blood across the floor as it begins to seep into their trousers and the sleeve of their shirt. They tremble. They see their reflection dyed red.

-> He takes an arm next and perhaps that is just the price they pay—the wrapped book he had given them thuds against the floor, its paper sucking up Lyric's blood like fresh red dye, and Lyric's only remaining arm does little to prevent their face from cracking off the floor and sinking into their own ichor. Their mouth tastes like pennies, their body shakes so violently they aren't sure they could stand even if they had the legs to do so, and when every synapse is scorched into dust as they retch from pain in a heap, they feel his gloved fingers curl into their long-coiled hair. It's grown longer and denser over their time here: if they knew how to better care for it, perhaps it would even be the beautiful envy of others when they traveled. But right now, it is just a handle. A grappling point as they gasp and choke around agony for air, only good hand daring to claw at his sleeve and leave their bloodied handprint on it. They're sure he'd take that out on them to, like everything else, because no matter how much he went on and on about spouting love it was simply not true. ( he goes on and out that they are his, only his, have only ever been his. as if their life from the start was meant to be handed to him when their worlds didn't even exist together. when he had no idea who they were until they were pulled through by some unknown magic. until they rejected him. )

-> He says he'll never let them die. Very briefly, though, Lyric does. The hard cut to no consciousness, like a TV to commercial, is the most relief they have ever found in his presence. Death is a mercy here, and that is exactly why he won't give it to them. Because he does not know mercy. It does not live in him. —they're on the ground. The blood splatter beneath them must be their own, they surmise; and for the long moment they hardly listen to a word he says, instead focused on their breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Their chest feels unusual and unfamiliar as if their body were not their own, and Lyric hates that. Hates this. They hate him.

"—this isn't love."

-> It leaves them in a quiet, blood-tacky croak. Their voice sounds ragged though they have not been screaming, or at least not that they heard. That they were aware of. ( they probably had been screaming, the moment their leg came off; a sound of such an uproar it could have cracked glass and scared away dogs. there was no good reason to silence themselves, after all. ) Lyric thinks death is preferable in every way. Lyric knows he will not grant it to them. They don't move from the ground. There's no point. They stare at the peek of the horizon between bushes in the garden level with their eyesight on the ground and think about fleeing off into it again. ( they needed to bargain with him. they needed to deceive him somehow. fool him to escape. )

"How can you love something just because someone told you to. Have you made a single choice that wasn't told to you by your book? Do you have any autonomy in your life?"

-> Their voice is so sandpaper raw, shaking with malice, but they can't raise it. If they yell at him they know they will just shriek themselves hoarse with pain, until talking back wasn't even an option.

"... ... how can I believe you love me when you are surrounded by those you told the same story to. Did the book choose them too? Did you pick a single one yourself? If you didn't, how can I trust anything you say to me."

A pause.

"... you don't even know anything about me. Keep me as a dragon if you must, but do not lie to me. You do us both a disservice, pretending to care about more than your own means."

A violation.

They have done everything for them, they have done every single thing that one was meant to do to the other, that one was meant to do for the person you love more than anyone else within the entire world.

You make sacrifices.

How much has he had to sacrifice for them to make them happy, he allowed them to leave, he gave them the freedom that they hungered for as well as power as well the likes of which they could never gain, it mattered little for how far one would run, where they would go, what they would do, his authority, was complete and utter perfection, once he loved someone, once he cared for someone, once he felt something for them, that was it, there heart was claimed, taken, a dark and twisted shadow going around it, removing the heart and placing another there to keep them alive, and how each and every single beat, would be one that would keep them alive, giving them more power, making them faster, stronger, so much so, that a witch, a dragon, a saint, none of them could even touch him, they could not even stand before him without being broken by the weight of his power.

“You are so unhappy, despite what I have done for you.”

He remained there for the moment, letting them go and stepping back from them as his eyes would widen, and all around the room, how everything just stopped, as his wives would remain still and no even make a single sound out of fear that they would be caught up within this as well, as the sin would remain where he was, his mind racing a mile a minute, but unable to even begin to process a single thing that was being said to him, because, he was perfect, in each and every single way that there was and ever would be, he was completely and utterly without a shred of fault at all, there was no one else like him, mistakes where made by others, never by himself.

“You don’t care about what I want, despite the fact that I have given you everything that you could have ever wanted.” As he paused. “Home?” He could not understand, why would anyone want to leave this place, he had built this castle himself, formed the kingdom to be perfect in every single way, he was a grand king, the best, there was no one else like him and this person was daring to speak to him like that.

“Why did you have to say that, why did you have to speak about my power in such a harsh and cruel manner.”

He watched them step back and then it happened, there leg was gone, blasted away instantly, the mush, burned flesh and bone splashing across the ground, all over the white floor as he watched them drop down onto the ground with a thud, his eyes looking at them as the arm would be next, gone, the splash of endless red across the ground around them to ensure they had no means to escape and no means to fight as he would walk over to them, stand over them, grab them by the cuff and pull them up and not even using his hands, how it felt like they where striking them, harder and harder.

“You are mine, you always have been and you always will be, you are mine and mine alone, there is nowhere else for you to go, I’ll find your home, I’ll destroy it, your family, I’ll murder them, your friends as well, I will kill them right before your very eyes, there is nothing out there for you, the only place for you, is here, with me, together, forever until death parts us and I have no intentions of letting you die.” As he picked them up and grabbed them by the hair and dragged them across the stone floor. “You want to escape, then fly little dragon.” As he merely tossed them up and out, sending them through the window and causing them fall downwards, the endless plunge to the ground below to smash and smudge themselves into the ground.

As for the sin he merely moved, the shattered glass moving upwards around him and landing down, stretching and changing to create steps for him, as he walked down the side of the castle and down to the grass below within the gardens to see the smudge that was there, the crimson stain that had been Lyric as he had murdered him, killed him, crushed him like an insect as he would walk towards them, and watch as instantly, how there flow of time would shift and turn, as he changed it, taking it back, moving it backwards, undoing everything he had done to them and bringing them right back to the point in time before they had blasted there leg clean off them to leave them laying there as he leaned down and looked at them.

“Look at what you have done, look at the mess you have caused, you are so greedy and so horrid, so downright nasty to me in every single possible way, how could you .. hurt me so much .. and all I do, is keep on loving you.”

[underoosweb]

Hi!! I have a tasm! Peter Parker request!! So… Peter’s best friend/roommate (who shocker he is in love with! Lol) is a teacher. She has a really wild class maybe kindergarten age. She has had a terrible time with these kids and has had it. One day she come home from work a complete mess. Paint everywhere, hair messed up , broken shoe and or glasses the whole nine yards. Peter at home on the couch when she comes in. He starts to laugh at the sight of her maybe teases her. And she breaks down . Tells him everything that happens . “And the worst part of the whole thing is they said they were being Spider-Man! 20 five years cornered me and used paint “webs” and then Peter makes a big mistake “well that kinda funny don’t you think.” She storms out. … idk where to go from here! I feel think there is some more drama … but a cute fluffy ending wear Spider-Man comes into her class and set them straight . She says “that’s why I love you” under her breath. He hears her and after the kids leave he kisses her….. idk I’m not a writer!!!!🤷‍♀️ Thank you!!❤️

Today just started badly. First, you overslept, then someone spilled their coffee on you while you were rushing to catch a cab, the cab driver flirted with you when you told him you had a boyfriend he scoffed and murmured under his breath which made you roll your eyes. Then when you go to school the kids were out of control. Teaching 20 5 to 6-year-olds can be chaotic but never like this. Ben decided the walls needed some lime green paint, Lucy decided your jeans needed more color as well, squeezing the purple and yellow tube all over your jeans. Your eyes widened and the kids giggled. Christian wanted a toy that Alex was playing with and he ended up hitting and causing a small little fight between the two of them, you pulled them off each other and it ended with their tiny fists in your hair. You wanted to go home, take everything off, shower and crawl into your bed and cry your eyes out. You were exhausted between planning class lectures, grading their work, keeping the kids calm and at bay, trying to have a social life, and having to take care of Peter after he came home from a night of patrolling. You met Peter at the library in school about 1 year after he lost Gwen. You both reached for the last copy of the required book for an English Lit class, he wanted you to have it and you wanted him to have it. It ended up leading to the two of you sitting at a table and trying to share the book between you. The next thing you knew the two of you were together constantly, you became best friends and you harbored a huge crush on the brown-eyed, crazy brown-haired, photographer, skater boy. You knew it would stay one-sided he was still grieving and in love with Gwen and you were okay with it. You think? The end of the day came, you had paint all over your pants, handprints on your shirt, your hair was a mess. You slowly made your way into your shared apartment with Peter. You hoped Peter was there, you have never needed a hug more than you did now. Sighing you opened the door, you were greeted by the smell of pizza. You looked over towards Peter and felt the tears well up in your eyes.

“What happened to you?”

“The kids thought I needed more color apparently, today was absolute shit.” You froze when you heard Peter laugh. He was laughing. He was laughing at you.

“They did a great job, I mean I always did think you would look good with bright pink hair. They even gave you a little hairstyle as well.”

“The worst part of the whole thing is they said they were being Spider-Man! 20 five years cornered me and used paint “webs”

“I mean it is kind of funny, isn’t it?”

Your hands clenched into fists, he was making fun of you. After all the consulting, taking care of him when he was hurt, hugging him, and comforting him when he couldn’t help everyone… he was making fun of you. You finally broke. Tears streamed down your face. Peter’s grin fell from his face, you whipped away your tears but they kept falling.

“Hey…” You looked at Peter and glared

“You are the worst.” Peter’s breath hitched

“I have done everything for you, I have stayed up worrying over you, helping you, patching you up, hugging you through every breakdown, and crying myself to sleep over worrying for you because I’m so scared something bad is truly going to happen to you. All I wanted was for you to listen and hug me… but instead, I get made fun of not only by my kids but by my best friend.”

“Y/N… I’m sor-”

“I don’t care, Peter. Goodnight.” You made your way to your room and slammed the door. Peter flinched at the sound.

“Fuck…”

You woke up the next morning with a headache and for once you were glad a bathroom was in your room. You stood under the hot water for a long time. Sighing, you exited and got changed. When you made it to the school, all the kids were waiting in line and you let them in. You turned to help Jennifer with her R’s when you heard collective little gasps. You looked over to see Peter standing there, well Spider-man standing there.

“Hi, kids.”

“IT’S SPIDER-MAN!” the kids squealed all together. They jumped from their chairs and ran towards Peter. You stood there eyes wide, mouth agape. You made your way towards him and whispered in his ear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Setting things right.”

“What?”

“Alright, kids. Miss Y/N here told me what happened yesterday and how naughty everyone was.”

The kid's eyes widened, a pout forming on their lips

“I know you guys want to play and be a superhero but you know what you guys did yesterday wasn’t very nice right?”

“Yes, Mr. Spiderman.” The kids murmured

“I think we owe Miss Y/N an apology.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“We’re sorry, Miss Y/N”

“It’s… it’s okay kids. Now, why don’t we go to recess now.” The kids ran towards Peter.

“Come play with us!” Peter laughed

“I’ll join you guys in a minute,” The kids ran outside with the aid.

You were surprised by how calm everyone was, they were listening and getting along. You looked back at Peter, you love him.

“That’s why I love you…” You said under your breath. You forgot about Peter’s heightened hearing. You jumped when you felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, I wasn’t thinking about your feelings and how I hurt you.”

“It’s okay Peter.”

“But it’s not, I messed up really bad,” He turned you to face him. You reach towards the hem of his mask and lift it up, you felt your heart skip a beat when you met his eyes.

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Best friends fight and make up all the time Pete.”

“I heard what you said.”

“What?”

“That you love me.” You froze, his hand caressed your cheek.

“I was kinda hoping to say it first, but you always managed to beat me to the finish line.”

“Wait, what?” Peter smiled, leaning down his lips lightly brushed yours

“I’m in love with you,” He pressed his lips onto your and you smiled against his lips.

“I am so in love with you, bug boy.”

[jaeminlore]

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.

[honklore]

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.

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 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.”

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 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.

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 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.

“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 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.

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,” 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.

“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.”

Karl 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.”

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.

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.

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 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?” 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?”

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?”

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?”

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,” 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.

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. 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?”

“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,” 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.”

“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.” 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.

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 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.”

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, Karl.”

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.

[little-box-of-autism]

"You remember now, don't you?"

Her voice is raw, so different from the gentle tone she spoke to Spider in, or the cold, detached one he had heard her use. This voice belonged to the little girl he'd seen that day, who stared blankly at the bullet holes with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and whose handprint still stained the walls of the abandoned schoolhouse.

Miles looks at Reyzì - really looks at her - and he could see the shadow of the little girl he caught a glance at that day. Her eyes were still big, a particularly unique shade of amber that she shared with her brothers, and just like that day, they were puffy from tears.

"It shouldn't have happened, not here and not to kids."

Miles remembers saying something similar to that to Grace, the one time they had actually agreed on something, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"No, but it did."

They dip into silence, Miles doesn't quite know what to say to Reyzì now. He can't recall what happened to those men - just another blank spot in his memories - and he doubts that anything less than their brutal deaths would be of any comfort to her.

"There are some old books in there; kid books. I can grab them for you."

Reyzì stares at him and despite the lack of glare, a shiver still runs up his spine.

"I would like that, Rutxi liked the stories, and she had wanted to read them to Ro' when he got big enough."

.

.

.

"I liked Clifford the Big Red Dog."

"Me too, kid."

Omg the Spellman sibling ask with the school house and your bit between Quaritch and Grace, her still being covered in blood means he was talking to her while she was still in her avatar.

I can't help but think it happened at the schoolhouse and the possibility that Human!Quaritch might have briefly met the twins.

Maybe they snuck away and went back to the schoolhouse (poor bbys) because they heard that they wouldn't be able to see Grace again, and they wanted to say goodbye or something.

(It's also funny to think that they would have been close in height to Quaritch since he's like 5'10 and they'd likely be like 5'2 despite being 4)

he had been quick to get to the school, especially considering grace refused to leave. he was full of sick rage, he left earth hoping he wouldn't have to hear about kids slaughtered in the one place they should be safe, ever again.

he had made it out to the schoolhouse within an hour, finding grace on the steps, holding beads in her hand, and behind her, two 'little' figures; compared to her they were tiny, they couldn't be more then a few years old, but compared to him they were almost his size.

one of them, the boy, was pressed into grace, petting her hair, crying. the girl though, she was standing half a pace back from grace's avatar, staring coldly at that bullet holes in the doorway. something about her made his skin tingle with goosebumps, an uncomfortable cold filling his chest.

when grace saw him, she took both kids close, hugging them into her back as to keep him away from them. she signals for him not to talk, before kissing both kids on the head and ushering them off into the woods.

"oe ngaytxoa, nìtxankeltrrtrr ngaytxoa, ma'parultsyìp" she spoke gently as she watched them run off, hand in hand. (rough translation 'I'm sorry, extraordinarily sorry, my children (affectionate)" I couldn't find a word for 'very' or 'so')

for a moment the kids stopped look at him, and something in his chest hurt, no doubt one of their siblings had died there that day.

the first time he saw the twins, all those years later, he recognized that glare, that pain and fear, that cold anger from the girl. it took some time to remember, but he knew them. he saw those kids the day they lost their sister.

he'd never forgive himself for letting that day happen, even if he couldn't have done anything to stop it without hindsight.

[turtle-go-brrrr]

General bayverse headcanons

Leonardo

Not a morning person

He has his routine and doesn't like to break it, except when he can sleep in

First thing he does when he wakes up is take at least 20 minutes to actually wake up before even considering getting up

He likes setting up breakfast for everyone though

He'd get the cereals, prepare some coffee, tea or hot chocolate, cut some fruits etc

Doesn't like when someone prepare his

Except if its Mikey

Leo's a book nerd

He likes mysteries and thrillers the most, but won't turn up his nose at some romance

Not a super big fan of fantasy, but there are some exceptions

Really doesn't like science fiction

Once got scared of a pidgeon

He was on patrol with his brothers and was looking out in the distance when the bird flew right next to his face

Only Donnie saw him and he won't let him live it down

Despite being the voice of reason of the group, he won't turn down pranks if they're directed either at Vern or Casey

They're so easy to mess with, and he has the luxury of hiding behind his reputation

April once told him "you could stand above a still warm body with a fuming gun in your hands and I would ask you to put it down to avoid putting your handprints on it"

Translation: he can do whatever he wants, no one will ever suspect him

He's not the best listener but he has the patience of a god

And he's trying his best to be better at listening when his brothers try to tell him about their problems (personal or mission related) tho he has some work to do still

Good singer, but terrible dancer (which is a surprise to everyone because he's really graceful on the battlefield)

His favorite animal is the Guinea pig

Donatello

Contrary to popular beliefs, this boy does sleep

Not that much, like 5 hours per night at most, but still

Better than nothing

And no, he doesn't feed exclusively on coffee, pop tarts and pizza, that would kill him (even tho it took him a while to understand that)

He's trying to get healthier eating habits

When he can't bother to cook himself some veggies, he tries to drink fruit juices to get those vitamins

Makes himself some homebrew omelettes where he just puts a little bit of every leftover in it so he can "get a little bit of every nutrients he needs"

It's kind of gross sometimes, but it works

Speaking of which, he makes the worst food combos

Like, he has no dignity

"I swear Dr Pepper and milk isnt as bad as it sounds", he says, trying to justify his favorite abomination.

Adds a bit of olive juice to it sometimes

Even Mikey is grossed out

Infodumps on his brothers at the most random time about stupid stuff

Like he'll see a random neon sign and give a 1 minute short lighting lesson and then never mention it again

His favorite animal is the Bearded Vulture

Raphael

Loves being the first to get up in the morning because the calmness of the lair soothes him

He talks in his sleep tho

Either says the wildest shit or talk normally, enough to make other people think he's awake and genuinely conversing

(He's not, and when they realize it's kinda awkward)

He also giggles in his sleep, and its terrifying

Loves animated movies

He loves that because they're supposed to be for kids, writers have to works hard and be creative to avoid censorship if they wanna tackle heavy themes

Which is often way more compelling to him than "adult" shows, where heavy violence and random sex scenes are everywhere

He also loves indie animation studios like E.S.M.A. and such

His favorite music genre is Epic rock and he likes listening to it before going on patrol (makes him feel badass)

He used to be the most physically affectionate of the bunch when they were kids, and could spend hours in Splinter's arms

He still does sometimes

While it takes him a while to trust someone, once he does he's gonna be the most annoying little shit you've ever met

If you're family to him, he's gonna annoy you to death

Mikey teases, Raph annoys

His favorite animal is the cat

Michelangelo

A heavy sleeper, but it takes him at least an hour of complete stillness before being able to fall asleep

And we all know he can have a lot of trouble standing still

While Leo's the one putting food on the table in the morning, Mikey is the one cooking it (if it needs to)

He has a playlist of soft musics from various games and movies, or ambient sounds like rain, fireplace, thunder etc

Sneeze like a kitten

But blow his nose like a dad (you know, shakes the whole lair and whatnot?)

He's the one who points out every stray cat they see when they're on the surface with an "aaannww!! It looked at me!!!"

Talks to animals as if they understand him and treats them like people

He's also the one getting spiders out of the lair

Except if they're too big. Then they ask Splinter to call April (they're all too embarrassed to do it themselves)

Huge history nerd

He tends to infodump on Donnie the most and then they'll just infodump back and forth about their special interest

The others just watch it unfold like a tennis match, wondering which one of them will run out of things to say first

(It was Donnie)

He has tons of WIPs of short stories he's written, or plots he finds interesting or that kind of stuff

His favorite animal is the whaleshark

[gothamstodd]

Red

Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 1k+

Summary: "I want to kiss you. Not on your mouth, but on your most secret scars," Danez Smith, "king the color of space/tower of molasses & marrow"

Warnings: l o t s of blood, scars, angst

Author’s Note- This was a request from @batwngs a while ago, go follow!! and I’m happy to take more. This poem is actually really good and not really about this at all and I would definitely recommend checking it out. I sort of imagined a guy!reader but it’s really not in there at all. Also all my Jason fics have the same plot rip. Anyways, thanks so much for reading, let me know what you think!

Masterlist | Ask Box 

-

Jason returns red. Everything red. 

He’s soaked, covered, in vermillion. He stumbles through the apartment, swaying, vision blurred. The rising sun behind thin curtains pierces scarlet. The furniture, the walls, the stacks of books piled at the perimeters of every room; flooded with red sunlight. His hand falls on a carmine wall to steady himself, matching red in his fingernails, red that stains the lines of his knuckles, and red that runs the texture of his skin, flowing along tiny rivers on the back of his hand. As if he’d pressed the tip of a pen to himself and watched the ink spider outward.

It’s in his throat, catching every breath, holding onto every sound. Thick and slick and tasting of iron and salt. In his clothes, wet fabric clinging to him, peeled back to reveal skin stained just as cranberry. In his hair, impermanently dying it, tacky and congealed, binding strands together in half dried crimson glue.

He wants to cry, his face flushing red, his eyes shot through with it, stinging at the corners. But he’s afraid the tears will run down his cheeks red. Leaving in their wake lines of ruby, sparkling in the matching light, worthless and still priceless.

He feels a hand at his side, and one on his shoulder, an attempt to ground him, he knows. He pushes you away, gently, he can’t get any on you. You should leave this place, it’ll soak your skin and crawl into you.

You step back, and he can see his red handprints on your chest, your own palms now crimson to match his.

“No.” He whimpers, hands still hovering in the air as if to keep you back.

“It’s okay.” He hears your voice, distant, as if he’s drowning under magma and you’re above the surface, calling to him.

There’s a blanket draped around your bare shoulders, brown in the light, but he knows it’s a deep, muted green. Your eyes are puffy and half shut, pulled from sleep, your voice gravelly and stiff. Satiny blue pajama pants graze the floor as you shuffle toward him, keeping enough distance just so he won’t step back. 

“Let’s get you washed up.” You try, holding a hand toward him. There’s the red again, against the cool tones of you. He won’t take your hand, he won’t risk spreading the hot scarlet up your wrist. He just nods, you let your hand drop.

- 

Jason stares down at the drain, watches the red flow down into it. Reluctantly, it flows off his skin, running down his legs, pooling at his feet, dragged to the drain. He scrubs at his skin and nails, running shampoo again through his tired hair until he can’t convince himself there’s any tinge of pink in the water. He kneels and collects it in his palms, examining, letting it flow over his fingers, only to take more. He stares at it while it seeps through the cracks between his fingers. He’s sure it’s clear.

He shuts off the water and towels himself off. When he returns to find you in the bedroom, back under the blankets, the sun is higher in the sky. The light easing through the curtains is blueish.

He joins you in bed, your eyes are shut, but he knows you’re not asleep, the breaths that make your back rise and fall are too quick, anxious. His hand falls on the side of your face. But he pulls back, as though your skin had burned him. But that wasn’t it, he was afraid he’d burn you.

Your eyes open, and you reach for him. He lets you touch him, your hand on his. You pull it to your lips, kissing his ring finger gently, his trigger finger, each of his knuckles. You lean over him, a hand at either side of his head and kiss his lips, the blankets falling from your shoulders. Your hands fall down his sides, sliding over his hoodie, stopping to finger the hem. You begin to lift it but he stops you, a hand over one of your own.

“I’m not in the mood.” He manages to mutter.

“No, that’s not what I’m doing.” You crack a tiny smile, “Trust me?”

He stares for a moment, reluctant, but nods, and lets his hands fall to his sides.

You lift his hoodie, pulling it gently off of him, setting it next to you in a heap. Instinctively, he moves his arms to cover the jagged scars that spatter his chest. 

You push his hands away gingerly, and your fingers begin to trace his scars, avoiding fresh bandages as you skate over his skin. 

Your lips fall on a round memory of a bullet at his hip. You kiss a splattering forgotten burn on his forearm. The y-shaped, clean, surgical, lines that reach for his shoulders and crawl down the center of his chest to the hem of his sweatpants. You follow it like a road with soft kisses.

His fingers intertwine with yours as your lips find tiny pale lines and spots that paint his skin. He watches as you move over him, each kiss is chaste, barely there, only a reminder you’re there, as if every time you lift away, he’d forget. He stares down at his own skin, mangled, ugly, cracked and damaged. Yet you blanket your love over it, your hand gripping his own.

He doesn’t notice it, but a few tears slip down his cheeks. Just as they do, you’re there, your thumb slipping over his cheekbone, catching each drop.

“I love you.” You hardly whisper. Your body overlaps his just perfectly, halfway through eclipse.

He wants to say it back, he thinks. Every place you touch him, his body sings, it cools him and electrifies him at once. He lifts your hand, still tied to his, and presses his lips to each of your fingers, kisses each knuckle.

He can’t seem to find the words. His eyes linger on each detail of your face, his free hand tracing abstract shapes over the skin of your arm as the sun inches higher in the sky outside.

It’s stuck on his tongue, reaching out, stretching, straining for you, but still tethered.

“It’s okay.” You assure him, joining his lips with yours in a gentle kiss, “You’ve already let me know.”

-

Thanks again for reading! Let me know what you thought!

[sweetchup]

Three isn’t a Crowd

Request by @al-shayfield: could you please do a killua x gon x reader little picnic date? if not that’s okay :)

Type: Gon x reader x Killua

Au?: Poly Au. Normal.

Word Count: 3500+

Warnings: Polyamory, The boys are still kids but this is a kid type of date so it’s ok, Hisoka being Hisoka, bullying, cursing

“Ok! So let’s go through the list before we leave.” You mumble, putting the last of the utensils into the basket. The light from the morning sun shined through the windows and onto the backs of the two boys across the table from you. “Ok, so Sandwiches and chips?”

“Yes!!” Gon chirps in, “On the left.”

You checked that off and moved to the next Item. “Soda and cups?”

“Yeah.” Killua says, bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.

“Chocolate cake?”

“Ye—“ “Definitely!!”

Gon turns to glare at Killua causing the white hair boy to stop bouncing the ball. Oh here we go again. You just ignore them and continue on with your list.

“Hey why did you cut me off?” Gon whined at Killua, who scoffs.

“You were too slow.”

“W-well I think you are trying to impress (y/n).” Gon huffs, pouting a little. While they were arguing you had looked up and down the list and realized you were done and hadn’t forgotten anything. Throwing away the list, you put the red and white plaid picnic blanket on top and closed the basket.

“Hah?! Are you an idiot?” Killua mocks, poking the boy in the head, “If I wanna impress her I would do something like this.”

Killua jumps over the table and gives you a grin. Before you can even rebut, he lifts you easily up onto one of his arms, making it look practically effortless. With his other arm he grabs the basket.

“This is how you impress a girl,” Killua says, very proud of himself. Gon, stubborn, doesn’t back down.

“W-well I can do better!”

You sigh as Gon pulls you off of Killua. This could take a while but then again what did you expect accepting a date with these two idiots.

—————————

“How many times do I have to tell you two to be careful? Especially with (y/n).” Kurapika scolds the two boys in front of him. “You're glad Leorio and I stepped in before she got hurt.”

Killua tches, clearly over Kurapika’s Scolding. “Yeah, yeah whatever. Let’s go Gon, (Y/n).”

Killua holds one of your hands while Gon holds the other. They both drag you away from Leorio, who had previously been checking you for any injuries.

“Oh! Umm.. Bye Mr. Kurapika! Mr. Leorio! Thank you very much!” You shout. Your voice growing more and more faded as you're dragged away. The two men wave at the trio until the door shuts close. As soon as they do, Leorio turns to Kurapiks. A pout was on the man’s face.

“Aww come on Kurapika, it’s their first date. you shouldn’t be so hard on them.”

“Of course I do. I mean didn’t you see (y/n)?”

Leorio blinks and scrunches his eyebrows, thinking back. “Hmm… I don’t think I saw anything out of the ordinary about her?”

Kurapika sighs “Leorio you have to remember we are currently staying in the Yorbian Continent. It’s not illegal but it’s very uncommon for polyamory here. It’s not like we are in the Republic of Padokia or the Azian Continent where it is common.”

“Oh. So you mean...”

“Yes, not only is (Y/n) from York New, where it is uncommon, so she knows the amount of ridicule and abuse she could go through but we also have to think about the huge amount of Anti-poly people that are recorded here in this town.”

“Yeah and I’m guessing Gon and Killua probably don’t know about that?” Leorio says, leaning against the wall. He looks out the window and sees the three holding hands, walking in the direction of the busy center of town.

“Most likely” Kurapika sighs, looking at the three as well. “I just hope that no one gets hurt”

———————————

“Ok!!” You say excited. You were trying to hide your nervousness. Not only were you on your first date ever with two handsome boys and had also tried on a new dress but you were in the Yorbian Continent on a poly date; not the brightest decision but oh well. You aren’t going to let your worries stop you. You were going to have fun, “So on our way to the park I say we quickly stop by at some fun places!! Does that sound okay?”

The two boys could only nod their heads. It wasn’t them being rude, they just couldn’t talk. You looked so cute as you did a little spin at fun and by getting shy when asking them if it was ok.

You giggled, causing their hearts to jump. “Let’s go then!”

——⚡️—🌸—🥦——

“First stop, The diamond theater!!”

All three of you looked in awe as you looked around the building you just entered. It looked absolutely magical. With trees made out of actual gold and silver, colorful jeweled animals and diamond and glass mural walls.

“Oh wow Killua look at this!”

Killua looks over and sees you pointing at something in a book. “It says right here that this is the biggest location with some of the highest amounts of rare diamonds and fire opals. Even counting red diamonds.”

“Oh wow”

“Ack! Killua!” Gon shouts, sounding concerned and worried.

Killua turns away from you and soon freezes. Looking up from your manual you see three men next to Gon.

“There’s the other one. Me doesn’t recognize girl though” A short man with a skull neck cloth covering his face said. He gave off weird vibes when he looked at you.

“Hey boys! How are you doing?” A man with a long bun on top of his head said, “Oh? Who is this?”

“None of your business old man!!” Killua says, pulling you behind him as Gon moves to stand next to him. As they glared at the two men, you looked towards the third man. He seemed different from the other two especially since with no shirt on and a cross tattoo on his forehead.

Yet you also noticed his eyes were very blank and emotionless compared to the two. It kind of made you sad looking at him. You wished the stranger could be happy. Oh! you know what you would do!

“(Y/n)!!” Killua shouts, his stomach dropping as you walk up to Chrollo. He goes to grab you but is stopped by Nobunaga and Feitan.

You look up at the man. Kind of shy now that you realized he was much taller and probably much stronger than you.

“May I help you? Young lady?” Chrollo says, amused by the fact you just simply walked up to him. The leader of the phantom troupe.

“A-ah, yes! I was wondering what’s your favorite animal?” You say. Quickly, you looked back and saw Gon and Killua waving their hands frantically. Oh, maybe they are cheering you on.

“Hmmm… a spider” Chrollo says after a couple minutes of thinking.

What an interesting choice. Holding out your hands you take a breath before bubbles conjure up around the man. The bubbles slowly start to form cute little bubbly spiders of all sorts of colors which start bouncing on and about chrollo.

Chrollo lets out a small grin as he reaches out and pops one. The boys sigh in relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as they thought. Chrollo suddenly kneels down to your height and pulls out a handprint book.

“So how does your Nen work, little miss?” Chrollo asks, putting a hand on your shoulder as you look untreated at the book.

“OH HELL NO!!” Killua shouts.

Killua quickly rushes in and grabs you from Chrollo. You looked confused as the two raced away as fast as they could from the scene. Chrollo chuckles as he watches them for a couple of seconds in amusement before standing back up.

“Not going after them Feitan?”

“No, me is.” Feitan grins wickedly up at Chrollo. “Me just giving them a head start. It’s fun that way.”

“Ok, but keep the little girl alive. She interests me.”

——⚡️—🌸—🥦——

“Ok so the Diamond theater didn’t work out….But this should! Ok so we are at…” Your voice trails off at the end as you are stunned at the scene in front of you.

“L-let go of me!! Illumi!!”

“Now why would I do that Killua? As your big brother I’m giving you a sign of affection, a hug. Mother told me it could work to get those silly thoughts out of your head. Though I would pref—“

First off, Killua was currently being hugged, well more like crushed to death, by a man. According to the man’s sentence he was Killua’s older brother? It was weird since they looked so different. You knew Killua was a Zoldyck so maybe they are half or step siblings? Or maybe his family is polyamorous too? Did the man just mention putting a needle into Killua? You had so many questions.

“Oh~~~ Gon!!!”

Now second, … what even was this? A clown like man was moaning over Gon trying to fight him. You think that was the easiest way to explain it so enough is said there.

You look down at your manual. You thought going to the biggest toy store in the world would be fun but you didn’t expect this. Those two men seemed to be having a blast, well of course at the price of Gon and Killua sanity.

“Hmm~~ who’s this?”

Looking back up you see the clown man is right in front of you. You hadn’t realized it now but… but…

“Wow! You are tall sir! Are you a model?” You say, your eyes sparkling. Your favorite shows of all time to watch were ‘Yorbian Next Top Model’ or ‘The Victor Secret Fashion Show’ so you always question handsome or beautiful people if they were models. Hey, you never know when you might accidentally meet one.

The red-haired man laughs and leans down to your height. “Oh aren’t you a sweetheart~~ I’m not, but I’m something even better, a transmitter~. Did you know my Nen, bungee gum, has the properties of both rubber and gum?”

You giggle as you see him using his Nen on a magic trick. “No, I didn’t know that. I think you would make a nice model though! You are very thin and muscular!”

“Well I’m thick and muscular in another area~~ Do you wanna—“ Hisoka is cut off as you see he is suddenly electrocuted. You see Killua still in the arms of the man (though his now long black hair is all poofy) , furious, as he pulls back his yo-yo. Gon quickly picks you and brings you away from Hisoka.

“Go to hell pervert!” Killua shouts as he kicks out of his brother gold. You three run away, again, Gon sticks his tongue out at Illumi as they leave.

“Oh. I want to talk to kill more” Illumi mumbles. He blank faces, even more than usual, as Hisoka lets out a very loud moan.

“Oh~~ Gon! Killua!!”

.

.

.

“Hey Gon. Killua. What’s that bright light over—“

“Don’t ask!!”

——⚡️—🌸—🥦——

“Ah we are down to our final place!”

“I hope this one goes well.” Killua grumbles.

“I’m sorry Killua. I wi—“

Killua cuts you off and squeezes your hand which he was holding. “Don’t apologize idiot, it wasn’t your fault. We just, for some reason, keep on bumping into the wrong people today.”

You feel another squeeze and look at Gon. “Yeah don’t worry (y/n)!!”

“Ok! So our final stop before the picnic is Lucy’s Celestial Palace!” You shout, as you three stop right in front of a crazy looking old factory building.

You give a reassuring squeeze to the boys about to walk into the star filled building. You would try your best to make sure they wouldn’t get recognized by any more—

“Gon! Killua!”

…or not…

“Oh Zushi! Master!” Gon shouts. Master? Oh! You turn around and see a boy and a man with glasses. He must be Master Wing! The one they told you taught them Nen! This couldn’t go bad.

“Hello boys! Oh and who are you young lady?”

“Oh! Nice to meet you I’m—“

“She’s (y/n), our girlfriend!” Gon shouts, cutting you off. You blush a bright red as Killua hits him over the head.

“Don’t cut her off, idiot.”

“Miss (y/n)” You looked up at Mister Wing, a serious look on his face. “If you don’t mind I would like to speak with Gon and Killua for a moment?”

“Y-yes of course”

You watch as Wing drags the two boys a little ways away. You wonder what he needed them for. You are snapped out of your thoughts quickly as you see Zushi turn to look at you before bowing. “Nice to meet you (y/n), Girlfriend of Gon and Killua. My name is Zushi. Osh!”

Still flustered, you turn and bow as well. “N-Nice to meet you as well Zushi!”

You two stop bowing and turn as you hear a loud hush from Wing. Gon’s face was red while Killua had a mischievous grin on his face.

“I wonder what master wanted from Killua and Gon.”

“Y-yeah. I wonder too.”

You two watch as Wing continues talking. Slowly but surely both of the boys faces are soon red as a tomato. How odd.

“AHH! WE DON’T NEED ALL THAT INFO.” Killua shouts walking back over to you. He blushes even more as he looks at you. Looking to the ground he takes your hand and drags you away. Gon follows slightly behind you guys, his face bright red, with steam coming out his ears. You couldn’t exactly hear what Gon was saying, only little bits like ‘how would that work’ and ‘that doesn’t make sense’.

You wanted to ask what Wing told them but decided against it.

—————————

“Finally we are here!!” Killua and Gon shout in unison, plopping on the grass. You giggle at the boy's silliness and put the basket under a tree.

As the two exhausted boys get some quick rest, you kneel down and the open the basket. You might as well get started while they calm down. Deciding to set the blanket up first, you pull it out. Holding two of the edges you fluff it out, letting the wind carry it for a bit, and finally laying it lightly down on the slightly dewy green grass. As you are about to set up the other stuff you hear the rustle and crunching of grass.

“Let me help you (y/n)!” Gon says, sticking his hands into the basket. He grabs a whole pile of stuff and starts wobbling over to the blanket. Almost dropping the chocolate cake several times, Killua would be so mad if Gon destroyed it.

“A-ah be careful Gon!”

“Don’t worry I got it!”

After getting everything set up, and thankfully Gon didn’t drop or break anything, you all sit down and finally have lunch. You take small bites of your freshly made sandwich as you watch the boys wolf down their food. It was kind of amazing at how fast they were able to eat and you kind of wonder who would win if it was a competition. Unless they were having one and you didn’t know it.

“Ah that was good~~” Gon says, laying on his back and patting his stomach. You laugh while Killua just rolls his eyes. Grabbing your pudding you go to take a bite of your dessert when you get an idea.

“Killua~” You singsongly say; holding the spoon up to the boy’s face, “Say ahh~”

Killua stutters to say something as he goes bright red. Flustered, he turns his head and lets out a small ‘idiot’ as he tries to compose himself.

“Oh come on Killua!” You whine, slightly pouting.

“I’ll have it (y/n)!” Gon says, quickly sprinting over and sitting in front of you. He opens his mouth wide and points to it causing you to giggle. You were about to feed him when Killua headbuts Gon and eats the pudding instead.

“Hey! What was that for!!” Gon shouts, holding the bump on his head.

“She offered it to me first, idiot!”

Gon was about to stand up and start something with Killua but you pull the boy back down, placing his head on your lap. You sigh as you run your fingers through the blushing boy’s hair; being extra careful in the area of the injury.

“You two need to stop fighting. For crying out loud you two are best friends! This isn’t a competition”

“Sorry (y/n)” They squeak out; clearly embarrassed.

“Now sit still so I can feed you two the rest of the pudding. Gon say ahh~~”

“Man what a little whore.”

You stop dead in your tracks as you hear that. Your hand slightly clenches around the spoon. You kind of expected something like this to happen but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. You slightly lift your head to see a group of people, one of which had made a comment earlier.

“God how gross!”

“Poor boys, that girl is selfish and can’t pick between them.”

“Wow, only a kid and already likes two at once. What a shame.”

“(Y/n).” You shoot your head to Killua, who puts a hand on your cheek. As he pulls it away you see his hand is wet, you hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Hey!” Gon shouts; standing up and going to fight them. Killua quickly grabs Gon’s arm and stops him, Gon, angrily, spins around and tries to pull his arm away. “Let me go, Killua!! They insulted (y/n)!”

“You idiot. Look around.” Killua whisper-yells. Gon looks around at the other people at the park, who were also starring and muttering. Some of which knew Nen, had weapons or looked overall strong. “Leaving her here is bad. Taking her in the fight is also bad. You know her Nen isn’t made for close combat and she’s not exactly focused right now to do long ranged”

“Well we can’t do anything!”

“I know…,” Killua mutters. The two stand in silence for a while until Killua suddenly has an idea. “Wait... Come here, I have a plan”

As soon as Killua finishes whispering the plan in Gon’s ear the boy gives him a nod. “Understand?”

“Yeah”

The two suddenly turn to you and begin to put away the stuff. Your stomach drops, you felt bad that this day got ruined, it seemed nothing had gone right. Tears start to well up in your eyes. Man what a useless crybaby you are—

“(Y/n)” You look up from the ground at the call. Suddenly, your cheeks turn crimson as you feel something on each side of your cheek. Gon and Killua had each given you a kiss on your cheek, with Killua on your left and Gon on the right.

With you being absolutely flustered and steam coming out of your ears, you accidentally activate a Nen bubble around all three of you. Killua and Gon pull away, grinning at each as your brain is practically mush.

“Ready Gon?”

“Yeah!”

Gon and Killua jumped out of your protected bubble. Since you were practically a puddle you were unaware of the Chaos about to happen. Their plan to get back at the people who made you cry. The two fist bump before going off in opposite directions.

“Jan….Ken….Rock!!”

“Lightning Palm!!”

“RUNN!” “MY LEG!” “AHHHH!”

—————————

*pop*

You finally pop your bubble as you come to. But what in the world… happened? You must have missed a lot since the Park was practically destroyed, with trees cut down, people on the ground (some of which were twitching), and the ground uneven.

“(Y/n)!!” You look towards the sunset to see Gon and Killua running towards you, both laughing. As they stop in front of you, they turn to each other, grinning widely, giving each other a high five. This even confused you more, why in the world were they high fiving? Did they do this? Why did they destroy a perfectly good park? Wait, did they do this for—

“(Y/n)...” a voice whispers right next to your ear. You quickly turn and realize Killua had sneaked up on you while you were thinking. While frozen still, Killua leans in and gives you a kiss.

Though it was a small and light kiss, it definitely didn’t feel like one. Once your lips had locked a shock went through all the nerves of your body, causing you to shiver and clutch onto Killua’s shirt. On top of that, the kiss felt like Killua was putting in every bit of love into it. Almost like he was sharing a secret. Huh. A Transmitter’s kiss. You two slowly pull away and give each other a small smile. Killua silver hair blows in the wind under the shaded tree.

“My turn!!”

You quickly turned your head and felt lips crashing onto yours. Stumbling, you can’t hold Gon up and begin to fall back. The kiss was sudden and rushed. Definitely Gon was being impatient. Yet, it was nice. It was simple and straightforward. A very sweet and lovely kiss. Definitely a kiss from an enhancer.

As you're on your back, Gon pulls away and holds himself above you. The light from the sun shines upon him as he gives you a wide grin. You smile back at him until he is suddenly pulled off.

“You idiot!!” Killua shouts, “What did Kurapika say about not hurting her?!”

“I wasn’t!! You could've hurt her too when you sneaked up on her!!”

“I wouldn’t—“

You giggle as you watch the two argue, slightly brushing your fingers across your lips. Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all!

[keanuquotes]

Entertainment

Books

Keanu Reeves, Matt Kindt, and Ron Garney talk about 'BRZRKR', the top selling debut comic in 30 years

Yes, he looks like Reeves.

By Shannon Connellan on September 29, 2021

Keanu Reeves, Matt Kindt, and Ron Garney talk about 'BRZRKR', the top selling debut comic in 30 years

Nice of you to drop by, B. Credit: Ron Garney / BOOM! STUDIOS (Cropped)

> Entertainment

In case you missed it, Keanu Reeves co-created the highest selling debut comic in 30 years.

Not content to reside in the storytelling realms of film, TV, and video games, Reeves spent years formulating an idea for a comic series about a berserker — an 80,000-year-old, half-mortal, half-god character known as "B."

Through LA-based independent comic label Boom! Studios, Reeves linked up with famed comic writer Matt Kindt (Mind MGMT, Pistolwhip, Folklords, Bang!) to craft the story and iconic Marvel artist Ron Garney (Captain America, Wolverine, Spider-Man, Daredevil) to illustrate. Add to this team colorist Bill Crabtree, letterist Clem Robins, and character and cover designer Rafael Grampá, and BRZRKR was born.

The cover and first two pages of "BRZRKR" Issue #1.

The cover and first two pages of "BRZRKR" Issue #1. Credit: Mashable Composite / Boom! Studios

The series follows B's search for answers in his very, very long past. His frenzied, violent fighting style hints at a dark mystery, one he's trading his skills to the U.S. government in order to uncover. As B is sent on one dangerous military mission after another, often painfully reduced to nothing more than his own pulverized muscles and bones, he digs into his memories with the help of a doctor, Diana, and a mysterious figure called Caldwell. But his past, 80,000 years long, holds some intensely dark and otherworldly secrets — especially to do with his parents and his purpose.

Since launching on March 3, 2021, BRZRKR's first of 12 issues sold a whopping 650,000 copies, making it the best selling debut comic launch in 30 years. The fifth issue is out now, released on Sept. 29.

Of course, with a big Hollywood name like Reeves attached, it's no surprise streaming giant Netflix secured a deal with Boom! Studios to the rights to the film adaptation, which will be followed by a spinoff anime series. It'll be the latest comic adaptation for Netflix, which has seen significant success with titles like The Umbrella Academy, based on the comics by My Chemical Romance frontman Gerard Way and artist Gabriel Bá, not to mention its fierce investment in anime.

SEE ALSO: 15 best anime series on Netflix to watch right now

Reeves will star in both the film and anime series. However, the release dates have yet to be revealed — the Matrix and John Wick star is pretty busy with fourth installments of both major franchises, after all.

EXPERIENCE SPONSORED BY MICROSOFT

What to expect from Windows 11

Keanu Reeves in a rather Neo-like pose at a handprint ceremony at the TCL Chinese Theatre IMAX forecourt in 2019.

Keanu Reeves in a rather Neo-like pose at a handprint ceremony at the TCL Chinese Theatre IMAX forecourt in 2019. Credit: Emma McIntyre / Getty Images

In an effort to find out how this team came together to create the biggest debut comic, I chatted to Reeves, Kindt, and Garney about their process, the curse of immortality, and how the hell they're going to get this violent, dark, tragic tale to the screen.

The following interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Mashable: First things first: Keanu, why did you want to create this comic with Matt and Ron? How did you come up with the concept?

Keanu Reeves: I really enjoyed comics growing up as a kid — still enjoy reading 'em...I had an idea, just this one kind of image of a character, a berserker. It was in a Viking setting, ripping off arms, punchin' through chests. This idea that he was half-man, half-God, and what would that be? And who was cursed with this idea of violence. Taking that, Boom! [Studios] started to introduce me to put the team together. I met Matt Kindt, we hit it off, and away we went. Then as the words started to come together, we needed pictures! So we got some pictures with Ron Garney. And here we are, speaking about the origin story in the first arc of BRZRKR.

That's quite the team. How do the three of you work together? Have you been using video calls, do you meet up? How do you actually write together and come up with illustrations?

Matt Kindt: Well, we met in real life for a while. But then one of us is so busy that it's hard to meet in person. It's not me. I'm at home all the time.

Ron Garney: I'm busy on one thing.

KR: Matt and I, we flesh out the story. Matt writes it. I'm new to the form, so I'm just learning it. Then we hand it over to Ron, and Ron draws it. We also have a wonderful colorist, Bill Crabtree, and legendary letterer Clem Robins. So a lot of it's, really, masters of their craft making this comic book.

This character "B" has been alive for 80,000 years and just wants to be able to die. I wanted to ask about this curse of immortality — what is it about this concept of living forever that fascinates you all in this series? Why did you want to dig into it in a comic?

KR: For me, I liked that it was a blessing. Well, not a blessing. That he was immortal but also cursed, that there was something that was out of his control, out of his will. It just seemed like a really big sandbox and playground. And because, for me, the character is looking at violence in all of its incarnations and who we are, it afforded us to be able to take that over time. Gentlemen?

MK: I'm a huge student of history. So the part that appealed to me other than the immortal character is the things that he would have seen. There's a character in there named Caldwell, who I don't know if he's a good guy or bad guy, but he's the one I probably relate to the most. Because he just wants to know what happened — what happened 80,000 years ago, tell me all about it! I love that idea of seeing all this through his eyes.

You mentioned violence, and a major part of BRZRKR is that it's extremely violent. You know, there's eyeballs on page six, which is so impressive. How do the three of you develop this level of gory violence on the page? And how are you going to bring it to the screen with the Netflix adaptation?

KR: Ron, you want to talk about that? You draw it. The pen is in your hands.

RG: I've made the point before that, for me, it's like being a conductor of an orchestra in a way. I want the violence to feel ballet-like and musical, a symphony of it...so there's always a flow and a movement throughout the page. In a way, there's more impact in that rather than it just be, 'Oh look over there, there's an eyeball,' but it's the flow that brings you through it...the choreography and things like that. So that's kind of the way I approach it. It is extraordinarily gory, I guess — you know, I could probably get in there and make it even worse, but I'd rather not, I try to keep some beauty to it. Look, no matter what, the savage nature of this planet is a beautiful thing too, the savage nature of violence is a beautiful thing, in a way...it's just a matter of interpretation, I guess. So I'm just trying to create that...A lot of guys might shy away from doing something like that, but I want to embrace it from that point of view, the beauty of it, in the art form of it.

There is a beautiful frame, which I think is in the first issue, in which B's nose gets blown off. That was both very violent and very beautiful at the same time.

RG: It's going to be interesting to see Keanu if that makes it into the movies, see his nose get blown off.

MK: Not the nose!

RG: Anything but his nose!

[Keanu Reeves is, indeed, holding onto his nose at this point]

KR: I think in terms of translating to a film, yeah, it's going to be a really interesting, fun, exploration of what does that look like? How is it achieved? How is it impressionistic? How is it balletic? How is it symphony? How does it move us, but not repulse us? We want don't want to look, but we want to look.

MK: I think the violence is another character in the book, too. I think there's a reason for it, it's not just for shock or not just for the sake of it. There's a reason that that's there and it's the way it is.

Yeah, this is a man that can singlehandedly take down an army many times.

RG: There's a tragedy in it too...That's all he's created to do. So you try to find the humanity in that, ultimately, and oddly enough you start feeling sympathy for the character. I was mentioning before that, there's a moment where he just turns and looks right at the camera, and it's like all of that comes back at him and he's accepting of it. That's a tragic thing because he has no control over it. It's not that he wants to be that so he's willing to give it back, project it back, and he looks right at us. A very poignant moment, I thought.

Definitely. I was thinking about the level of stunt work that might be involved in that opening sequence from issue one in the live action version. Keanu, are you ready for that?

KR: Well, I don't do stunts, but we'll definitely give it a try.

RG: They're gonna CGI him when he plays little B, they're going to not use an actor, they're just going to CGI Keanu down to real short and small, play little B. [laughs]

Wait a minute...that pill...

Wait a minute...that pill... Credit: BOOM! STUDIOS

So I definitely have to ask one tiny question. I noticed that the pill that B takes is red and blue (and a few fans have). Is this a deliberate Matrix reference? I have to ask.

KR: I have nothing to do with that! That was...

MK: Bill, it was Bill Crabtree!

KR: Right, the colorist! But he did what Ron did by making this pill that had a strong dividing line. And then he did make it blue and red. So I don't know if Ron had any influence on that as well.

RG: In my head... maybe? I'll give Bill the credit for that one.

KR: But there is this story of control. I think it's fun to take these icons, these props, and these symbols that we've created and ingested and that are part of us now as storytelling. There's a shorthand there. It's like awake and control at the same time. And I think we all have that.

"I think it's fun to take these icons, these props, and these symbols that we've created and ingested and that are part of us now as storytelling."

I wanted to speak about launching BRZRKR through Boom! Studios, an independent label, which is a huge move, going up against Marvel and DC, who Ron and Matt have obviously worked for. Where does BRZRKR sit in the comic landscape from an independent perspective?

MK: Honestly, I think that we're not against Marvel and DC. I think we're bringing in new readers, if anything. Or if you're reading Marvel and DC, or reading another, branch out and read this. I think if anything, it's just positive for the industry that I love. I've been working in comics for 20 years and I love anytime there's a new reader reading comics, that's good, because it's such a great art form and I think people are just discovering it.

RG: What I love about this is that it's a completely new character that's been injected into the industry that nobody saw coming, that has a major impact, and it's a big deal for this industry. You can't take that away from it, it's forever. No matter what, this is just as cemented in the comic book lore as...[Frank] Miller's Rōnin, or any of these things. This is what it is and I'm happy and proud to have been a part of it and to help make that happen. It's been pretty great for that reason: it's forever. This has been a unique thing, and the industry needed it too.

BRZRKR Issues #1-5 are out now through selected comic shops, bookstores, Boom! Studios' website, and Apple Books.

[angelswithcigarettes]

“To find a way to cope”

Summary: Morgan finds Spencer's notebooks filled with partly disturbing drawings and poems and learns once again how much of what Spencer feels he doesn't know how to express and how much happened in his childhood he never talks about.

AU: [This is an AU in which Morgan and Reid share a house (as friends). The parts can be read independently.]

Warnings: Past Sexual Abuse

Relevant Tags: Autistic Spencer Reid, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 4626

First Chapter:

Notes: Since this series is the follow up serious to another one of mine "Green" (I will link it in the endnote) there can be some confusion if you haven't read it. But here is a short summary of it so you don't have to read it all and can still 'enjoy' this:

In the story "Green" Spencer gets together with Lola who abuses him following up this abuse he stays with Morgan who helps him recover as much as that is possible. Spencer doesn't want to go back to his apartment so Morgan decides that it is time for a change, they move in together in one of the houses Morgan renovated ones.

They each have their own privacy, their own floors including bathrooms and bedrooms and each of them has their own office but its not a secret to anyone that they also don't have much privacy because at some part after living together for so many years the embarrassment or shame for many things just faded.

However when Morgan picks up a box of books in the basement while looking for his old baseball equipment he feels bad when he looks inside of them.

They are notebooks, written in with black ink and he can tell that it's Spencer handwriting. There is a date on the corner, the note book is hardly a month old. He puts it away and grabs one from further down, revealing another date from eight years ago and he opens up a random page and starts reading.

"And if you look at me

Look at me for another moment

See me

If you really see me

Can you look at me the same again."

It's seems to be an attempt of poetry and Morgan opens another page finding a scetch of a person. Also in blank ink. Their hands scratching at their eyes, looking like they are screaming.

He reads another poem.

"Can you hear me screaming?

Did you hear me screaming for you? You hands burning my skin,you hands burning my innocence.

Can you hear me screaming?

In the latest night, can you hear me screaming?

Did you hear him burning my skin, his hands burning my innocence."

Morgan can feel an unsettling feeling spread through his body, these are too old to be from the time with Lola, judging by the date he must have been in his early twenties.

He looks into another notebook finding a lot of sketches and a few of them look similar to people Morgan had seen before, he figures they are unsubs and then he opens another scatch and it looks like a women, warning a gun holster and having a glass in her hand, her hair shoulder long and judging by the date this is Elle.

Morgan picks up another one, it is dated for approximately a year ago. The drawing shows their house but the windows are barricaded with wood and nails, only a light shining out of Morgan's room and a kitten is sitting in front of their doorstep, skinny and looking up to the doorbell handing in front of the door that is also barricaded.

The next one is a drawing from their kitchen and it shows Morgan, at least he thinks so, sitting at the table with his hand on his head the other around a coffee cup and on the kitchen counter are files stacked and the kitchen table is filled with overflowing cups.

There is a third, showing their bathroom and there is a liquid on the floor,again every drawing is held black ink but he guesses its blood and a handprint on the mirror and in front of the puddle and then there is a hand sticking out from behind the curtain from which the liquid drops down.

The fourth is what makes Morgan want take the notebook with him, it's a man standing in the door and by the tattoos he can make out that it is supposed to be him but he is wearing a mask and he is holding Spencer's stuff animal in his hand while wearing only Jean's and boots no shirt. Morgan can make out that this is supposed to be Spencer's room.

The worst he finds in that notebook is one of a women, sitting on a chair, her head leaned back and her arms sliced open, blood dripping down on the floor and by the necklace, the gun at her hip and the long slightly curly hair Morgan dares to assume that this is supposed to be JJ.

He puts the notebook aside and pulls out one from the time when he started at the BAU and the first drawing is of a little boy with glasses standing in the bullpen that is crowded with files. The second is a room filled with bees at the wall and an empty chair in the middle.

Morgan knew Spencer can draw he didn't know how well he does.

There are a few sketches of Morgan and Gideon and a lot of JJ. And many butterflies and with the ripped out pages in between he guessed that he draw them for her.

He quickly puts everything away when he hears Spencer walking down the stairs but goes back down to grab the one with the poem about the 'burning hands' the one with the sketch from Elle and the one with the drawings from the house and the women on the chair and for weeks he hides them in his office and eventually started profiling a few of them but quickly stopped that, feeling uncomfortable.

"What are you drawing?" He asks stepping into Spencer's office and the man shuts the notebook again.

"I don't draw."

"You don't?"

"No, I haven't in years."

"You haven't?"

"No, I am horrible at that." Morgan steps closer and it fits what he had found downstairs. The little pencil case open, only black pens inside and a pencil with a rubber. "What did you want?"

"Nothing just wanted to check in on you." Looking over he sees another stack of papers, and in a box next to his desk watercolours. "Its getting pretty stuffed in here."

"I like it. And I would like for you to leave now."

"I will." Apologetic Morgan takes his hands up and leaves the room.

There is a high chance that Spencer knows himself that his drawings are concerning and that that is the reason he is so defensive over people knowing he draws.

He keeps his findings a secret for a few more days until he gets to concerned and tries again talking to him about it but the moment he takes the word drawings in his mouth Spencer denies having drawn in the last years and accuses him of having sniffed around his office for things he draw as a teenager.

So he takes the notebooks and in a quiet moment walks up to Hotch's office who is similar concerned by them. For him the worst is one of Spencer himself, someone pressing a hand over his mouth and him into a pillow next to a poem about the lyrical I suffocating.

"There are more that hint at sexual abuse."

"He has a history we know that."

"Some are older than what happened with Lola."

"Did you try talking to him about these?"

"He claims he hasn't drawn in years." Hotch looks further through it finding more and more thinks he finds concerning.

"There are quite a lot of you."

"That's why I am here. I was hoping he maybe would rather talk to you about it. I can't explain why the drawings are portraying me like that." Hotch looks down on the page of a drawing of Morgan laying on the couch, the TV running but he is sleeping. On the table a ashtray with smoke coming from it on the floor next to the couch, multiple books that block his way and lianas hanging from the ceiling one close to curling itself completely around his neck.

"You have a theory?"

"My first guess was that something in the house made him feel captured, or even me but I am not sure."

"I would actually say that it's the opposite. That he feels like he captures you."

"Me?"

"This doesn't look like he is the one captured." He points at another painting showing Morgan standing in the kitchen, one half of his body having spiders all over it his other side being completely normal beside the fingers that in the end turn into bees and more bees flying away from it. "Are you okay?"

"You see this drawings and you ask if I am okay?"

"Besides that these drawing are definitely not something that leave you unaffected there are a few that a showing you in a vulnerable state he probably saw this before drawing it in his own interpretation."

"I am fine, I don't know why he draws me like that."

"Alright I will talk to him about it." Morgan initially wanted to go to JJ with this but she really doesn't need to see the drawings of herself being death by suicide. There is the one on the chair but also one hanging out of a tree with wings on her back.

For Hotch the most disturbing once are the two from a child, being beaten and in the other drawing having wings sitting on top of a clip, stars around them.

Morgan brings him the other notebooks too and in the earlier once its clear that he draws what he sees on cases and around himself. The poems not so much.

But the younger the note books the more it concerns his friends and random children.

Hotch doesn't find many of himself, but there is a notebook around the time Emily died that breaks his heart and when she came back the drawings change to something with more anger and eventually one that shows Spencer and him sitting in his office, Spencer looking at Hotch, Hotch doing the same but behind Hotch stands Emily or JJ he can't tell having a hand on his shoulder and covering his mouth while Spencer has a ghost behind him, covering his eyes.

He thinks long about if he wants to talk to him about the notebooks because Spencer seems to use this to cope and that is a good thing no matter how violent they look but on the other hand it seems like something is really bothering him so after weeks of debating he hands Morgan the box back saying that it feels wrong for him to interfere and Morgan first gets angry but then agrees that it is better if he first talks to him and then can offers Spencer to talk to Hotch if he rather wants that.

So eventually Morgan breaks the ice at a dinner picking up the box and placing it on the table. "You know what this is?"

"A box"

"You know what's in it?" He asks and Spencer nods with worry in his eyes. "I found it in the basement while cleaning it out."

"Did you-" Nervous he bites on the inside of his lip.

"I did"

"They are mine" He tells him, the fear clearly audible in his voice.

"I know, I am just a little bit worried about you, there is some pretty dark stuff in there."

"You weren't supposed to see."

"But I did and I just want to make sure that everything is alright."

"Yes they are just drawings."

"They are not just drawings."

"And poems."

"Not what I mean kid" Morgan grabs the notebook on top and sits down in front of him opening the page with the drawing of their house. "Is this our house?"

"Yes"

"Can you tell me why you draw this?" Spencer shrugs ones, tears in his eyes. "These are yours and I am not judging you or am mad I just think that some of these, because this notebook was finished a few weeks ago, need talking about. And I am just trying to help you."

"I don't know why I draw this."

"What about the cat? Is that Garfield?" Garfield is an old cat they adapted years ago and died.

"Yes"

"You still miss him?"

"Sometimes I wish he comes home again but then nothing is open here anymore."

"Garfield is dead and even if he wasn't dead when we got the call he would be by now." Morgan tells him in a gentle voice. "So this is about Garfield not coming back in,not you feeling captured in here?"

A nod.

"See that's why I think talking about this is good because I completely miss interpreted this."

"Did you see all of them?"

"Yes"

"All of them?"

"Yeah, I looked through them." He nods and then a tears rolls down his face. "Come on we go over to the couch for this, we cuddle up with your stuff lion and we talk about these, you can lean against me no need to look me in the eyes or for me to see your face." Morgan over the years found out that that is what makes him feel the most comfortable while talking. Either on car rides when Morgan can't tear his eyes from the road or while walking somewhere or placed so that Morgan isn't looking into his face.

Spencer ignores the offer to get his stuff animal from upstairs but he takes the thick blanket while Morgan pulls out the cautions from underneath making the couch bigger and then leans against him and Morgan opens the next page.

It's the drawing from Morgan in the kitchen, the files everywhere and the cups on the table. "What's with the Cubs?"

"I don't remember."

"Mr I have an eidetic memory that's very hard to believe."

"Sometimes everything gets dirty in our kitchen."

"And that bothers you?"

"I try cleaning it but it seems like it doesn't get better even when everything is properly stored."

"And the files?"

"It always happens when we have many cases after another and then it isn't fun coming home anymore."

"Because its dirty?"

"Because it's all tight" He tries to explain how the house feels to him. "We can't move in here."

"Is that the same thing you wanted to express with this?" Morgan asks opening the page of him laying on the couch with the lianas from the ceiling.

"Yes and- and that I- that I take your energy away."

"Okay one point after the other, what is it with the house being to tight? We have a lot of space and a lot of garden and everything, what makes it tight?"

"I don't know sometimes it just is." He tells him moving his head back on Morgan's arm shutting his eyes for a moment and then breathing in deeply.

"We don't have to do this all now if its to much for you" He tells him worried about how this affects Reid. "You just explain it the best way you think I will see about the rest."

"You won't get me."

"I do, it's tight in here sometimes, like you can't move."

"Yes"

"And cleaning doesn't help"

"Yes"

"See not that bad"

"It makes me feel bad." He continues and then hits his thigh ones. "Like I need to run."

"Like you need to run?"

"Yes. Like I have to move. Like my legs haven't moved enough."

"Because it's to tight in here?"

"Yes."

"What about you taking my energy away? What do you mean by that?" Spencer turns his head away not looking at the page but then eventually speaks.

"I am really not an easy friend."

"For me you are."

"No I am not."

"You are not taking my energy away."

"You could do a lot more thinks if it wasn't for me." Spencer justifies his statement.

"Like what?" But he just shakes his head still facing away from him and Morgan tries encouraging him to talk to Hotch but Spencer denies the offer so Morgan moves his hand down around his waist and pulls him closer again. "C'mon you did so good with the first drawings and we won't have to talk about this one any more we can just move on to another.”

Rest on Ao3 (I can’t post more words in here I’m sorry):