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jaeminlore · 4 years

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Landslide | Mark Lee

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

words: 7.1k+

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

warnings: talk of absent fathers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

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

“Yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“You mean that?”

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

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

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

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

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

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

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

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

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

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

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

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

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The flash is on.

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

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

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

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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honklore · 4 years

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

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

“Yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“You mean that?”

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

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

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

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

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

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

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

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

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

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

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The flash is on.

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

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

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

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

Text

Do you sit on the couch or the floor? I’d definitely choose the couch over the floor.

How many different colleges have you gone to? Two-- a community college and a UC. How much stress can you handle? It doesn’t take much at all before I get overwhelmed.

What is something you have to do before you go to sleep every night? I like to listen to ASMR.

How confident are you in achieving your dreams? Sigh. I’m a mess. I don’t even really have any dreams I want to achieve right now. I don’t have the motivation or the energy. I don’t have any confidence in myself. I really need to get my shit together.

What is one thing you thought you’d never do but have done or are doing? I didn’t think I’d end up like this. I didn’t have a definite plan with what I wanted to do after college, but I can assure you this wasn’t it.

Have you ever disowned a friend or family member for their beliefs? No.

At what point in your life do you think you will be truly happy? I don’t know. :(

Do you ever make pictures or shapes out of the markings in the ceiling? I did that as a kid sometimes.

Do you ever feel like your life is too boring or predictable? It most definitely is.

Do you really think money will buy your, or anyone else’s, happiness? It can certainly help. I think it could bring some happiness, like happy moments and things that bring joy, but it wouldn’t cure my depression and the other stuff I’m dealing with. It wouldn’t just go away. At the end of the day, I’d still be left with those things. The thoughts and feelings would still be there. Those feelings and thoughts hit me in the middle of doing something I like or if I’m having a good time now and I don’t see that changing if I became financially better off.

Is shopping a form of therapy for you? No.

Do you have to take medication for any mental illness? I’m not currently taking anything for it.

Do you believe it is possible for someone to change? Yes, of course.

What is your favorite food to snack on when watching t.v.? I’m not a big snacker, but lately I have been into sourdough bread and spinach and artichoke dip.

Do you like looking at pictures? Yeah.

Have you ever set 2 people up and it actually worked out? It did for a little while.

Are you good at persuading? Uhh. Depends.

How do you feel about tattoos and piercings? I’m not super into them for myself, but I think they can be cool.

Do you care what people think? Yes and no. Not as much as I used to. I wish it was because I’m now this happy and confident person, but no.

How many dirty looks have you received today? None.

If a loved one who’d died showed up at your door, what would you do? Uh, I’d be scared and freaked out to say the least and extremely confused. I honestly don’t know what I would do or say. I think it’d be a roller coaster of emotions. If it really were them then I’d be overwhelmed and cry and want to hug them and talk to them and omg I’d be a mess. It would feel so surreal. I’d also have a lot of questions.

Do you believe the dead can have connections with the living? I like to believe they give us little signs.

How many times have you looked at a picture and wished you were there? Many times.

And your name is? Stephanie.

How do you like your coffee? With flavored creamer or cream and sugar.

Do you have a job? If so, what do you do? No.

If unemployed, what do you do to keep yourself busy? My days consist of rest, social media, TV, YouTube, Tumblr, reading, playing Animal Crossing, surveys, and spending time with family.

Top 3 favorite foods, go: Wingstop’s garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings, ramen, and breakfast sandwiches.

What does the person who texted you last mean to you? My mom means everything to me.

How do you feel about polyamory? Not something I would be okay with.

When did you last have sex? Was it good? Never.

Which apps on your phone do you use the most? YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, TikTok, and Kindle.

Do you go through phases when it comes to music genres, or are you pretty consistent in what you listen to? I’m consistent.

Does death scare you? Yes.

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be? I’d have good health, mentally and physically.

Which family member do you get along with the most? My mom and brother..

Do you like horror movies? Why or why not? Yesss.

Do you play video games? If so, what are some of your favorites? I’ve been playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons for the past year.

How often do you eat fast food? Quite often.

Do you like sushi? Nooo.

Would you ever be able to become a vegan? No.

How often do you drink alcohol? I don’t. I haven’t drank going on 8 years now.

What was your favorite toy as a child? I was obsessed with Barbies.

Who was your first best friend? What is your favorite memory of/with them? Are you two still friends? These two girls, Crystal and Starr, in preschool. I remember they came to my birthday party at Chuck E Cheese; that was fun. No, we lost touch after preschool.

If you could see anyone in concert, living or dead, who would it be? I wish I could have seen Linkin Park with Chester. :(

If you were to get married, would you rather have a big extravagant wedding or a small private affair? Explain your answer. I don’t plan on getting married. I really just don’t see it in the cards for me.

Do you want kids? Why or why not? No.

How did you meet your newest friend? I don’t have any friends.

Have you ever watched the show Teen Mom? What did you think about it? Yeah, I watch Teen Mom OG and Teen Mom 2.

Are you old enough to remember MySpace? Yeah, of course. I’m old.

Where is the boy you want most? There isn’t one.

Where will you be 2 hours from now? Right here.

How old is the last person you kissed? He just turned 30.

Who was the last person of the opposite sex to text you? My brother.

Can you make yourself sneeze? No. Tilting my head back and looking at a bright light doesn’t seem to work for me.

What is your current mood? Blah.

What are you doing tomorrow? Same stuff, different day.

Who was the last person to sleep in your bed besides yourself? I’m the only one.

Do you think you would make a good boyfriend/girlfriend? Not at this time, no.

Where were you at 9am this morning? I was in bed, asleep.

Whose bedroom were you in last? I’m in mine. Do you think you’ll be a good mother/father? I don’t want to have kids.

Do you talk to the person you like everyday? I’m not interested in anyone right now.

Do you have trouble deleting your text messages? I’ve never had a reason to delete them.

Is there something that you haven’t told anyone that you actually would like to tell someone? Ehhhh.

Would you rather rent or buy movies? I like watching them through a streaming service.

What is the best part of your own body? Nothing.

Would you rather watch a full season of American Idol, or So You Think You Can Dance? American Idol, I guess.

Do you like to take walks? No.

Have you ever gone anywhere for spring break? Yeah, my former best friend and I took a few small trips.

Do you worry a lot? Yeppp.

Would you rather have big or small dogs? Medium dog.

Do you mind being cold? I much prefer it to being hot. I like wrapping up in a blanket or lounging around in a sweatshirt or drinking a warm drink.

What is your favorite sports drink? I don’t drink any sports drinks.

Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? This is it.

What is your favorite candy? White chocolate.

Do you document everything in pictures? Not everything, but I do like taking pictures of things I want to remember and having those memories.

Have you ever waited for something for so long and then had it snatched from right underneath you when it seemed so close to grasp? Yes.

Choose one: being able to teleport yourself anywhere in the world at any given time or being able to fly? Teleport, hands down.

Do you feel more comfortable in public wearing jeans or sweatpants? I’m a leggings gal.

What is something that most people wouldn’t know about you from simply looking at you? I take surveys. <<< Ha, true.

Do you fear growing older? Yes.

Have you ever been called a tease? Yes and I was like wtf? I wasn’t the one leading them on or playing with their emotions like they were.

Is there something that reminds you of someone every time you see or hear it? Yeah, many things like that with different people.

Do you trust all of your friends? I don’t have any friends.

Does The X-Files theme song give you the goosebumps? It did when I was a kid.

Have you ever taken the batteries out of a Ferbie only to have it come alive in the middle of the night? Omg, that did happen once! Those things were freaky.

Don't you find those black cat clocks with the moving eyes and tail just a little creepy? lol yeah they kinda are.

When things get bad, are you more likely to blame yourself or somebody else? Myself.

Are most of your friends' biological parents married or divorced? Do you remember those commercials that scared kids into not playing around railroad tracks? No?

Do you ever wish your life was a sitcom, just so all your problems could be solved in thirty minutes? That would be nice.

Have you ever noticed how different everybody's 1st, 2nd, and 3rd bases are? I feel like it’s the same general idea.

Do you tend to set yourself up for disappointment? I’m always expecting the worst case scenarios, so.

Would you ever call a guy back and say, "Oh, sorry. I was taking a hot shower"? No.

Who do you get most of relationship advice from: guys or girls? I used to get it from both. Although, oddly, I was the one people came to for relationship more often and I had none.

Have you ever put your all into someone and got nothing back? Yes.

Do you think that you, personally, have been more shaped by experiences or by people? Experiences.

Do people ever make fun of your religion or lack thereof? Not to me, personally, but yes people do make fun of Christianity.

Have you ever put the television on mute and tried dubbing in new dialogue? No.

Do you say/do things a lot for shock effect? No.

If you were in an iPod commercial, what would you want your background color to be? They don’t make those commercials anymore, but rose gold.

What was the last compliment you gave a guy? I don't know.

Do you usually follow your head, instincts, or heart more? They all play a role, it just depends. I suppose my emotions do probably play a bigger role.

Where do you spend most of your waking time at home? In my room.

Does your jaw ever crack, pop, or lock? It pops sometimes.

With just your life, are you more optimistic, realistic, or pessimistic? Definitely pessimistic.

Is it hard for you to ask for help? Yes.

Have you ever thought of how you would give your kids "the talk"? No. I don’t want to have kids.

Do you ever feel like you're missing out on something? Yeah, life.

Is your high school ANYTHING like the ones in the movies? My high school experience was nothing like that, but I feared it would be going in. Movies never paint high school in a good light.

Are you going to be totally screwed if pigs start flying tomorrow? I don’t recall ever really saying I’d do something if pigs fly or anything like that. I don’t think...

Have you ever finished taking a shower and realize that there are no dry towels? I always grab a towel beforehand.

Do you love listening to sad piano solos? Sometimes.

Was one of your grandpas in a war? My paternal grandpa was.

Did you ever actually try to find the end of a rainbow? As a kid, I’m sure.

Are you afraid of jinxing things? Sometimes.

Do you ever write/draw on windows that are fogged up? I did that as a kid.

If you were married, and your spouse's parents became ill, would you let them move into your home? I’m very close with my family so I would certainly understand and would want to do what we could to help.

Have you screamed in a pillow before? For sure.

If a guy put his jacket on a puddle for you, would you actually walk on it or just look at him like he was crazy? lol aww I would be like you really didn’t have to do that now your jacket is all wet and dirty. We can just go around. I’m in a wheelchair, so that wouldn’t do much good anyway lol.

Would any of your friends dress up like a cow for a free chicken sandwich from Chikfila?

What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Acoustic.

Have you ever ordered something off a commercial on television? Nope.

What do you notice more, somebody's eyes or smile? Smile.

Did you actually have a cookie jar? We did when I was little.

Have you ever put on a shirt that came straight out of the dryer? Yessss. I love that.

Sometimes, does it feel like your life isn't going anywhere? That’s exactly how I’ve felt these past few years.

You've reach a fork in the road, do you go left or right? Hm. Right.

Do you ignore people when you're mad/upset with them? Not flat out ignore, but I become distant and short. I don’t initiate conversation with them.

What's worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed, definitely.

Have you ever gotten up early the next morning to do homework or study? Yes, but I usually just stayed up late and finished instead. I didn’t want to risk waking up late or running out of time and stressing about it.

Do you still consider Pluto a planet? I always still include it.

Right now, are you at a high, leveled, or low point? “And I’m at an all time low low low low low low low....”

When things go from bad to worse, have you ever been afraid of what kind of person you would be when it was all over? These past few years have made be become someone I absolutely do not want to be. :/

Do you honestly believe that good things come to those who wait? It can for some. Sometimes it seems like people are really just handed stuff with minimal to no effort, but generally speaking you have to work at it. I don’t think you can just sit around waiting, you have to get up and do it. And that’s something I need to do. I go on about how each year nothing changes and I’m worried about wasting away and doing nothing with my life, but I am doing anything to try and change that? Am I taking any steps?

What do you bite on more, your tongue, lip, or nails? I’m always biting my lips. I pick at my nails constantly, but I don’t bite them.

Have you ever wanted to fast forward your life so you could see if it was worth it? Sometimes, but I’d be afraid to actually do that if given the chance.

Do you think that knowing when and how you're going to die would ruin your life? I really don’t want to know.

Did you ever feel bad for Tom and Sylvester? Jerry and Tweety did often tease and provoke. You can’t help but feel kinda bad for Tom and Sylvester sometimes.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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scorpcorpse · 4 years

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5/18/20 - type time 732-822pm

so yesterday i went on tinder just like i always do when im feeling extra bored and lonely. well anyway i matched with cute looking boy so he messages me.

PS im writing all of this here because i feel weird telling my friends what was all said. i told them a bit but not everything.

so we end up talking, and surprisingly it was a good conversation. it was very random though. im laughing and smiling at my phone. my conversations die fast or are about topics i dont really care for. im always into the conversation though no matter what especially because i like talking to people. moving on, you cant send picture on tinder so he sends me his number while reassuring me that he wont be sending dick pics (yay). he’s ranting on and on, flooding my phone with compliments. we’re talking this whole quarantine to him thanking the universe he’s glad he’s talking to a person who is pretty and cool. we talk about all the weird interactions we’ve had on this app and how everyone is soooo horny. he goes to tell me he loves my hair, he says i look like the type of girl, in a show, if i had just gone through hell, and i were to run my fingers through my hair it would just fall back into over my face so perfectly. i was like wtf. i didnt know what to say because that is very very very far from the truth. i would just look like hell. we go on to talk about our personalities and whether we are more introverted or extroverted. he’s more introvert while im more extrovert. i told him though it kind of changes depending on the situation like if i was on a date or getting serious with a person. we talk about how we hate it when people are mean to others by telling others to be quiet when theyre being too loud when it isn’t bothering anyone (does that make sense) like if youre having a good time by yourself and someone tells you to shut up or be quiet because it’s annoying them. he said he would never ever tell me to be quiet. he’s only really loud when he’s excited or passionate about something. we talk more of our dating life, he has a bigger dating pool than me though. he asks me again for the fifth time later; how am i doing, are you bangin, are you sewing sweaters? he wants to know everything. this all has me confused and intrigued. is it weird that i feel like he is very interested in actually talking to me. he asks me if i would be willingly to break quarantine to hang out. i tell him quarantine is okay eh.. im holding up okay, i do need to worry about my big head that only has two brain cells left. i also tell him im the biggest broke bitch he’ll ever meet. he says i wont ask you to pay for anything so dont worry your big head. he understands i dont want to go out. he says we can just talk and hangout over facetime. he proceeds to ask if he can ft me right now. its 2am and i look like a fucking mess. i say im a catfish he says fuck it, im half awake and im not looking for looks. next thing i know he’s calling. we talk for three hours.

what happens in those next three hours is weird. i dont even know what happened. well immediately i ask him about his tattoos so he gives me the whole run down of his tattoos on his arms. there super cool i like them. my favorite word is yuck and apparently that’s his too because he has that tattooed on his wrist. the meaning is sad kind of he said thats how he felt about himself when he was younger so that drove him to doing that tattoo to himself. he has another arm tattoo where he throws a small detail of him having it to remind him of his friend, his old life of being on the streets and being addicted to drugs. this threw me off because he brushed over it like it was nothing. i didn’t know what else to say. i said uh okay. i wanted to scream are you okay? are you sober now? how are you? but nothing came out. he talks of his other tattoos. conversation changes to him complimenting me again. he wants to see my while face instead just my eyes and nose. i tell him about piercings. he talks about his band. he talks about the punk community. he’s rambling but it doesn’t bother me because i like how soft and soothing his voice is. he continues telling me how pretty i am, like he doesn’t stop for like two minutes. at this point i tell him im not going to respond to you anymore, im not going to take it. he tells me to take it. i take it. i dont believe him though. he can’t see my body, he can barely see my face. i have ance and my face is fat. i know i look disgusting. as he continues to say nice things about me i feel like he’s lying because no one does that. i feel like he’s saying to just make fun of me. im hating all of this. i try not to blush. im smiling. i always change the subject when he makes me feel weird and uncomfortable by saying okay or alrighty anyway. he asks me where are you from, whats make me, me? i try to think of things to say. i tell him about my being in california with no family. i tell him that the one thing that matters the most to me if my relationship with my little sister and all my friends. he agrees because same. he goes on to relate and tells me he’s all alone too. he tells me his dad is gone, his mom is too. he’s an alcoholic. he’s sober now he’s been sober for a year now. he’s okay. i tell him im sorry. im proud of you and how far you have come. im always here if you want to talk. he says no no no no dont say any of that stuff. i tell him again and that i mean it. i really do mean it too. (IF NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE AND YOURE STILLING READING THANK YOU AND ILY, IF YOU KNOW ANYONE WITH OBSESSIVE OR ADDICTIONS please be there for them, it gets super hard to be there but try and help them push through another day) we go on to more random talking. before i finally get sleepy and he says he’s gonna let me go and sleep. he asks if we can see each other. he tells me when he first saw me he wanted to fuck me but he knew that wouldn’t make him feel any better. he’d still be alone. he then decided to message me because he actually felt like putting in the effort to get to know me. not just for sake of fucking me but to know me like he seems to do a little now. he doesn’t much know about me though. he asks if we can talk tomorrow. he says i hope we can actually meet up and im totally cool with just hanging out with you and just vibing. we dont have to do anything. i just want to chill with you. i tell him thanks for telling me all of this. i appreciate it because many guys dont say any of this. i say yes we can talk tomorrow, i’ll text you. we can be friends and once this all settles down maybe we can meet in person. he then tells me, im only going to say this once and im never going to remind you again. im cool with friends with you but that’s not my intention. i want to be more than friends, i want to your person, your boyfriend. but until youre ready after a while of us talking and when it crosses your mind where you like me and think of me differently then we can move on to being more. i was just sitting starring at my phone in shock. i didnt know what to do or say. i was confused. in my mind i wss like okay yes we have a 2 hour text convo and a 3 hour phone call but what. you cant say of this after that can you. i agreed because it was the only that could come out of my mouth at the time. he says okay, my name, i’ll you go and sleep. goodnight. i tell him goodnight. we hang up the phone. now i turn my body around to my back on the bed starring at the ceiling saying what the hell just happened. i fall asleep.

IM sORRY for my ramble. i was in shock and im confused and scared like what if turns out to be bad for me. but all the compliments, the soothing voice, the small hints well actually big hints of his battle with addiction. ps he also tells me about his anger issues and therapy. i feel weird. i slowly started to be seduced by him, like he started to seduce me. iykyk lmao.

#rant #ramblings #scared shitles #addiction #new guy #ana #bulimja #skiny girl #i'm sad #loneliest #quarantine

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collecting-stories · 6 years

Text

PT 2 | Modern!Ivar

1 | 2 | 3

Once home from the date Ivar had to wonder what proper etiquette called for in this situation. He really wanted to talk to you again, in fact he really hadn’t wanted to call it a night at all. If he had it his way, and aside from right now he usually did, he wouldn’t have ended the night outside your apartment building. But after dinner he’d asked to walk you home and you let him and you didn’t say anything about him getting to his dorm unaccompanied.

So he fidgeted around his dorm, trying to decide what to do and thankful that his mother had insisted he not have a roommate. They would have been complaining about the noise for sure if they existed. Instead it was just him, anxiously rolling back and forth in his room, too hyped to go to bed.

He had texted both of his brothers to ask their advice. Was it too soon to call you? Ubbe said just wait till morning cause you might be sleeping. But that only served to plant seeds of doubt in Ivar’s stomach. What if you were sleeping? What if you had just gone home and gone right to bed and weren’t up like he was, excited about the evening and unable to think of anything else. Hvitserk suggested waiting the standard three days. “Make her wait for your call.” He claimed. As if Ivar was not the one who was desperate.

No, neither of these suggestions would work. He would focus first on the task of getting to bed, then he would decide what to do. Ivar transferred himself into a stationary chair and began changing for bed. With pants and shirt folded on the desk for his daytime aide to put away in the morning he used his crutches to get from the chair to the bed. Once he’d gotten comfortable in the lumpy college provided bed, he checked his phone.

He didn’t have to decide after all because sitting there on his phone was a text from you. It said that you had fun and you were glad he had asked you on a date. He considered messaging his brothers again, telling them you had texted back and what should he do next but he decided against it. Ivar gave himself a pep talk, reminding himself that he had asked you out and gone on the date without anyone else’s help.

Ivar wrote me too than deleted it and wrote I had fun too would you want to get coffee tomorrow and then deleted that to settle on me too once again. Which he immediately followed up with do you want to get coffee tomorrow which he followed up with if you’re free.

-I have lunch for an hour at one. I can meet you outside the children’s hospital? I’ll be there tomorrow.-

Ivar was both thankful that tomorrow was Saturday and he had no classes and terrified that you had actually said yes. This meant having to go out with you again. Something he wanted to do but also something that pulled him out of his comfort zone.

Despite the agreed coffee meet-up not happening until one Ivar was still up early, jittery from nervousness. He texted his aide and told them not to bother coming by, most of his dressing he could manage himself with assistance straps and an old shoehorn he had rigged with velcro. It wasn’t the most ideal thing in the world but sometimes it was nice to not have to rely on someone else for something.

He didn’t dress up, not that he really had last night either. He’d managed jeans at least yesterday, which were impossible to get on himself and hell to get off at the end of the night. So today he wore track pants and a hoodie. He clipped his bag to his wheelchair and collapsed his crutches so he could hang them from the clips as well.

Ivar met you at the entrance of the main building, having timed the commute from his dorm to the children’s hospital correctly. It was right beside the regular hospital that he’d seen you at yesterday. He was relieved when you came outside, casually dressed in clothes that were appropriate for work but allowed you to do therapy in them.

“Hey!” You smiled and waved, walking over to him. “So there’s a Starbucks across the street or we can go further up, there’s like food trucks and stuff since this is so close to campus too.”

“We can do that, I’ll be honest I’m not exactly the eating on the go type.”

“You should get one of those trays,” You joked, miming the shape of a food tray in front of you as you started walking beside him.

“I have a cup holder, that’s about as fancy as it gets.” He replied, nodding to the cup holder attached beside his right leg.

“Oh perfect.” You jokingly set the coffee tumbler you’d been carrying into the cup holder and Ivar laughed.

“Using me for my cup holder.”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “seriously though that’s my third yeti. The other two got swiped, I can’t leave them anywhere.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not!” You replied, “people steal them.”

“When this one disappears you’ll know it was me.” Ivar said. When you made a reach to grab it he swerved away making you laugh. “So, how’s work today?”

“Good, I’m doing pool therapy this afternoon so you’ve got me pre-chlorine.” You replied.

“Thank goodness. I have a strict policy against dating anyone the smells like chlorine.”

“Bummer,” you laughed. “I was actually going to ask if you’d wanna try the pool sometime?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really swim.”

“Well think about it, whatever you’re comfortable with. Anyway, we’ll worry about it when you aren’t taking me out for lunch.”

You and Ivar both agreed on a food truck that did fries and different types of grilled cheese, which you promised was way better than it sounded. There was a bench close by and you sat down, Ivar rolling his chair in facing you.

“Alright, take your coffee back so I can put my drink down.” He instructed, waving his hand at you.

“Okay jeez.” You laughed, swapping out your yeti for his soda. “So do you usually go home for the weekends or do you stay here?”

“I try to stay here, my mom is...well you met my mom.” He grimaced.

“She seemed nice.”

“She’s overbearing. She wants me to move out and be independent cause she’s worried I’m not getting as much social interaction as my brothers but then I do exactly what she wants and she calls me fifty times a day asking if I'm alright.” He replied. “Oh Ivar, how’s your aide? Are they helping you? Are the books too heavy for you? Is everything accessible? Do you want me to talk to your teachers about you taking breaks or not doing all the homework? Make sure your drinking enough water. It’s everyday.”

“Well to be fair she sounds like a normal mom, but I mean, I see it a lot. Moms don’t want to feel like their kid is missing out and most of the time the kid doesn’t really feel like they are. I think...it’s hard to think about your kid always being the odd one out, so to speak.” You shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s not my place to speak on it.”

“You’re right though, I get where she’s coming from. Part of me kind of hopes this will shake her out of it and she’ll start treating me like she treats my brothers.”

“Are you the youngest?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh no...then you’re the baby forever. Chair or no chair you’re screwed.” You teased, moving your leg so that your foot was on his footrest and pulling him a little closer to you.

“What about you though? Any siblings?” He asked.

“Younger siblings.”

“So you’re stuck being the oldest? Then you’re screwed too.”

“Too true.”

“See I’ve got cripple privilege though. My mom lets me get away with way more shit than my brother’s ever did cause I’m in a chair and she feels guilty. So I’ve got you beat.”

“It appears you do.” You laughed. “Well I am trapped into going back to work while you get to enjoy this lovely day.”

“I’ll probably just go back to my room and watch netflix.” Ivar shrugged, rolling back so you could stand up and throw out the trash.

“Even that sounds better.”

“Come over after work. We can do takeout?” He offered, hoping he wasn’t being too forward, what was he supposed to do in these situations. When was hanging out too much hanging out?

“Yeah alright. I’ll probably be like, eight or something cause I’ll have to shower first, get the chlorine out of my hair.” You replied.

“Oh please do, I don’t want your chlorine hair stinking up my dorm room.” He joked. You laughed and playfully gave him the finger.

Once you were back to the hospital you turned to Ivar again to say goodbye. “Thanks for lunch, I’ll text you when I’m finished, maybe I can get out early.” You said, already trying to decide if it would be wrong to pass off your last patient to someone else.

“Okay.”

You leaned down and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling the way his lips pulled back in a smile at the action. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah, see you tonight.” Ivar nodded, watching you walk back into the hospital, a slightly dazed look on his face.

I’m honestly just making Ivar a more able-bodied version of my sister at this point lol. Except we have a normal mom.

taglist: @thinkingsofamadwoman @flowers-in-your-hayr @alwaysadreamingoptimist @mixedwiththemoon @demonhunter1616 @silverbloodmoon @filthyshieldmaiden @mblaqgi @glopsifum @ilvebeenabad

If you want to be tagged let me know.

You can find my other Ivar stories here. And Vikings stories here.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok imagine #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless modern #modern!ivar #modern!vikings #vikings imagine #pt series #collecting stories imagine

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thisismylifedotnet · 6 years

Text

My life right now

26.9.2018

Sometimes I just wish that I was dead or didn’t have to go through this. Sometimes I want to sit pack and sleep to the point everything starts so go to the right direction.

This is what my life holds “up” to, or at least what made me to this point:

I grew up with an almost perfect family until I was 11 and my father died. My mother was always the one giving me rules and restrict my movements. I liked my dad, not her. As a single child after my dad died I got literally all mothers attenion she gave to my father fist.. When he died it was the same as my childhood was over and welcome “adulthood” at 11 years.

At summer I was restricted to be home at 9pm, that was almost okay with me until I turned 15. But I live in a country that has really dark winters, so mother had to have me at home already at 6pm. She said it was normal. None of my friends had a time like I had in the winter! She was so overprotective I couldn’t go outside without letting her know I went out with trusted friends. Already at secondary school I was so pissed to her overwhelming I often I said I’d go out with friends but what I truly did was that I went to a park that had a hill with a rock wall. I went there to walk at the edge and think if I should do it or not... I thought that I didn’t have to suffer to live. But thinking my friends I couldn’t do it. Thinking my mother who never understood me (and still doesn’t) I always wanted to make the jump.

I never were good enough to my mother. “You should study harder!”, “What have you done in your room if your grade is that bad!”, “Have you been listening to music when you are supposed to study? You must understand that you have the exam tomorrow! You can’t pass it by just listening to music and sitting here doing really nothing!”, etc. "admiring” (read: reproaching) words and sentences almost every week of my life going school. I have a reading difficulty which makes it harder to read and learn as fast as the others. I was always behind schedule BAD when it came to reading. Truth is, I studied as hard as I could most of the time AND my grades were average all the time. I mean, not good, but not bad. Average.

Choosing my education route whether I’d go to high school or vocational school (is that really the right word? Vocational school?) was an easy pick. My mother of course wanted me to high school. Thank god we agree for once! But which high school... I wanted to go the path makes me happy, lets me learn from myself for the future and the occupation I want to spend my life to. My mother... Can I kill her? She wanted me to go to school, which admission requires a higher grade than the average. I didn’t have it but I promised her that I’d put it as primary school I’d “want in” just to end the fight. At this time there were already signs of her having trust issue with me. I’d still put the one I wanted to and got in.

My time at high school was great, I enjoyed it and I really felt like I was where I belonged to. Only that my mother crushed my dreams one by one every time I’d talk about my current interest. The same problem always followed her arguments. Money. “They don’t get payed well”, “That is something I don’t see you doing. They really do nothing to get payed. And those people are nothing to our community.”, That would be the same as driving a garbage truck” etc. again...

At some point my mother saw that something is wrong. She thought it was my fathers death. I tried to tell her that it was not but because I couldn’t tell her what is wrong she forced me to go to youngsters therapy. What I talked there was purely my anger, fear and problems with my mother. Even the therapists have reacted to what they have heard about my mother like I am a victim. Or at least I feel like a victim.

Then came the day when my mother made my graduating day a nightmare instead of a great day to remember. Literally, at my graduation party. I remember putting my graduation certificate into view so guests can look at it. At one moment my lovely cousin comes to me asking for it. Then I noticed it was gone. I had studied hard on those grades and even when they weren’t good I was proud of the grades because I thought I got the worst possible past on most of them. And I didn’t! Anyway I went to ask my mom who takes me then to her bedroom and gives them to me. I asked why he took them there to hide it from people? She answered “Well, we can’t show it to the guests, I am ashamed of those grades!” I only rolled eyes to her and walked out of the room with my graduation certificate and a big, half fake smile for the quests..

From that day on it has gone only worse, especially when I moved out when I turned 19 years old. I have been shout at for not having any proper plan for finding my future occupation, not doing anything to find any ‘good’ schools that pleases her mind, not doing anything for my life etc.. Because every option I throw at her isn’t nearly as good as those she wants me in and I don’t. It is like she have planned my whole life beforehand and it includes a lot of money and a good job where I can have more money. Everyone starts at the bottom and it seems my mother can’t accept that I, “the perfect daughter who is not so perfect as she should be”, am there any moment of my life. She wants me straight to he top when I want to stay low because I don’t care about having too much money.

Also one thing that bothers me too... She thinks all gay or lesbian people has a mental illness, which is why they date people same sex. Now, I am bi-sexual, and I haven’t told it to her for a reason.

Long ending short:

I got a mental illness from my (women's volunteer) time at the military. I was there a year and this mental illness in its worst affects my physical health and that way to school. Last year I studied something I found interesting and my mother would’ve accept as an occupation for me. For nothing. It only made my illness worse for me. So now I am studying adults courses at vocational school to be a clothing maker as a hobby while I try to find my true occupation. It has always been a dream for me to be able to make clothes for myself, by myself. And I’ll save money by doing that. But... Again, my mother doesn’t like it. Oh, it gets even better this time she doesn’t accept me as I am so she tried to use every option to literally get my dreams off from the sky. (I read a straight referring to that “dream dropping” from my mothers text message to my boyfriend.) When I last spoke to her it was the first time since she stopped talking to me and either of us didn’t want to talk about my school. I felt relieved but scared. Is this the calm before the storm again?

My boyfriend have tried to speak some sense to her brain but she doesn’t believe anything he says about me or how things are done somewhere else outside of the capital.

People who have helped me besides my boyfriend:

@markiplier

@therealjacksepticeye

You two have reminded me about the good in fighting towards my dreams. I have no other option to go now but through the brick walls around me to see the light at the end of the tunnel... It is really dark now tough. And I am going through some mentally painful stuff..

Thank you and excuse me.

Edit 27.9.2018:

I think the worst part is whhat my mother says all the time “I love you as you are” and “I know your father would be at my side of this school thing.” All those sentences that hurt me to try and make me surrender and go where ever she is pointing. How inappropriate even is to say a dead person is on her side? Father was better than her. She tries to use it against me. I’m 23 years now. I can say where I want or need to go. not you and your imagination based on your knowledge that are not even true, mother.

#I had to burst my feelings to something #every reader means to me one more person who cares of me #I know this is long-ass text but really #1 reader means 1 more good heart #sorry #markiplier #jacksepticeye #my life #my life problems

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whenthelaughingstops · 6 years

Text

The Good, The Bad and The Funny.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything and I think it’s fair that I take some time to update my status.

I’ve been feeling pretty good lately, things are starting to come to a head and my emotional state is starting to finally recover. This isn’t to say that I don’t have my moments of doubts, anger, sadness or existential crisis. However they are starting to become fewer and far between.

I am still going strong with comedy. In fact, I had a major breakthrough in terms of networking and the ability to perform outside of my city. I recently met up and hung out with a major headliner comedian who happened to be in town. I have been a fan of this comedian for quite some time and we’ve kept in touch on Facebook since before I ever even performed myself. He’s since escalated his career and is a paid regular at the Comedy Store in LA. Has performed on This Is Not Happening on Comedy Central multiple times and is good friends with many of my favourite comedians and podcasters. Anyhow, he is a genuinely nice guy and meeting up with him was an amazing experience. He, a few other comics and myself all hung out as comic peers (doing my best not to fanboy the hell out) and in the whole exchange has given me his number, promised to meet up with me when I visit LA next month. Further to that he told me he would give me a tour of the Comedy Store and invite me to the back bar (comics only bar) and introduce me to the other comics there. He also told me he’d put a word in to get me a spot on the Kill Tony and Potluck show. So it looks like I’ll be going to LA next month!

I knew the month of April was going to be a slow comedy month in terms of performance but I have a few key shows coming up which are forcing me to write new material. I am taking this to task and in my evenings where I have the kids I’ve been taking the time to write.. however I am also procrastinating like hell.

In terms of my ex, as always, interactions are limited. It’s the same old story every time however. On the weeks I have the kids, I get no contact, no messages, on the weeks she has them, I get all the emails with all the passive-aggressive demands. Every time I get an email or text from her I get a rush of anxiety. The immediate thought is “What now?”. Sometimes it’s something simple like paperwork for daycare, other times information like how one of the kids is sick (as if to remind me that her time with the kids is more difficult as a result and I should be thankful that I don’t have them).

This week however it seems she’s escalating the separation process. This is mostly due to the fact that the mortgage renewal is coming up and we need to settle how that is going to be divided. We have a one on one meeting tomorrow where we will discuss how we proceed. In her texts she seems indicate that we might be on the same page in terms of how we’re going to handle it, however her followup emails tell the other tale. I won’t say details however I’m pretty sure her idea is massively favourable to her and mine is the fair and simpler option, however requires her to see reason and I’m not sure her sense of entitlement and ego will allow it.

The meeting was arranged in the hopes of trying to settle it, she initially wanted to do it at the house, however I suggested somewhere public. I’m not comfortable having her there and as well, if I need to walk away, I should have that option rather than be the bad guy and ask her to leave.

The idea that at some point all this will be settled and we can move on seems so far from now. I just know that it will be nothing short of an uphill battle with her. I am preparing myself for the onslaught of bullying, manipulation, gaslighting, shaming, and delusional entitlement that she will bring to the whole process.

While my contact with her has been limited, I am getting some feedback from others about her. She has the habit of bad mouthing me in public forums. Doing her best to gather up whatever pity she can, associating herself with other recently divorced single moms and as well telling all her currently married mom friends that they should leave their husbands like she did, as they are all “horrible partners”.

This seems completely in line with her, she’s the type of person who adopts a persona and becomes the most self-righteous of that type of person. I guess she’s now moulded herself into being the “scorned divorced single mom” category. I don’t think it’ll take long before people start to see her for what she is or start getting sick of her. I have no patience or care to warn anyone about her anymore, she’ll do the job herself.

As far as myself, I’m more resolved to focusing on myself and my needs. To continue my path to self improvement, growth and fulfillment. I have been finding myself very busy. It seems any time I have free time, it’s filled with comedy, friends and family. This is a good thing for me.

Little things lately have been keeping my spirits up, like for example I had my last session with my therapist. At the end of it she flat out told me that I no longer need therapy. While I probably have some unresolved childhood trauma I should focus on in the future, that for the most part, she is confident that I am on the right path to moving on and thriving. If I ever needed her in the future, that she’d be available.

As well, I was going around the house recently and looking at all the home improvement projects I would love to take on once this divorce in finalized and my finances are in order. I realized that I will no longer have to ask for permission or budget in order to just get them done. I won’t have to be second guessed about whether or not I had the skills to complete the task, I won’t be controlled by having the money needed to complete the project withheld, I won’t be coerced into spending more money than needed on something that is frivolous and unnecessary, and I certainly won’t be judged for my choice of colours, style or materials.

I have been buying myself new clothes recently, I tracked down my favourite jeans and bought 2 pairs of them on Amazon but a waist size smaller (the weight loss is showing). I bought myself a sweet pair of Vans Slip-ons with the dark grey and black checked pattern on them, I bought myself a black Dickies jacket since the weather is changing and this seems like a good all around Spring and Fall jacket. I no longer feel stupid for wanting to wear what she would consider bland or childish. I feel comfortable in my clothing choices. I realize how much influence she had on my appearance. She did it because to her, how I dressed and appeared in public reflected on how she was perceived.

She often would point to men who were more “stylish” at parties and public events and then tell me I should be more like them. She would then secretly fawn over any of the guys who had a sense of style she liked. It would play out when she would talk to them, I would immediately see her disposition change and I knew it. At first I would find it cute and endearing, however as time went on, she would later make a point of letting me now that I was lucky that she puts up with me. “You’re a dope with no sense of style, but I guess I put with ya”. Didn’t realize until now how belittling that is.

I know that every time we meet up to exchange anything with the kids, she is judging my appearance. Judging my clothes and my relatively simple punk, dark style. Yes I wear dark jeans, yes I wear skate shoes, yes I wear mostly black t-shirts with metal and punk bands that I like. I feel comfortable in these clothes they are me and how I dress should make be feel that way. I no longer compromise nor do I need to feel like I have to fight to choose my clothing.

Finally, I’m also realizing that I’m single. While I may not be perfect and still dealing with all the emotions and whirlwind of divorce, I no longer feel guilty for wanting to seek relationships outside of what was my failed marriage. I’m also no longer feeling hurt by knowing that my ex is most likely sleeping with other people. I no longer feel rejected and discarded, I feel free and emancipated. I am free to pursue any relationships in whatever capacity and in however way I feel comfortable. This is a victory and I will take it as that.

The idea of “dating” scares the crap out of me and in this age of online dating and swipe-type apps, I know for sure I am not ready for any of that. I know I will eventually encounter some of the single women that my ex has befriended and shit talked about me to, or worse yet stumble upon my ex’s profile. Also the idea of meeting some random off the internet for a date and doing what is essentially a concentrated personality test is completely unappealing to me. It’s peacocking at it finest and I am just not the type.

I have good people in my life whom I value and who are looking out for me. I know when the time will be right.

#emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #divorce #comedy

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cosmosogler · 7 years

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the other day on the phone mom told me that dad’s feelings were hurt because i didn’t say goodbye to him enough when i left.

ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

i woke up this morning. i wish i could remember my dreams a little better. it feels like there’s something that keeps happening over and over and i can’t ever remember what it is no matter how many times it happens.

maybe it’s just that feeling of deja vu more than actually experiencing the same... “thing” in my dreams night after night. the ones i’ve written down only had a common thread of feeling, like, resigned. tired. quiet.

i’m not sure how to say what i’m thinking right now. i’ll try to work up to it i guess.

the internet was out all morning so i didn’t get to bum around on tumblr or check my emails. i filled up my water bottles and put them in the fridge. i’ve got seven water bottles stored for the ~2 projected days of the hurricane. that should be enough. i don’t think the power or water would be out for that long. and if it is out for that long, the storm will have passed by the time i’d need to leave the apartment.

my sister isn’t willing to send over ANY gamecube games for the console here. so that plan is a bust i guess. i keep forgetting i can’t really... well, i can always expect for her to do what she wants.

oh. the governor just closed every school in florida. tomorrow. through monday. current projections put the hurricane directly over my town. as a category 3.

welp! i am SUPER glad i decided to bring all my textbooks home today *just in case*. i’ll have something to do for the next four days.

haha my comments in the grad chat won the honor of being the first-ever liked text message in our channel.

guess i don’t have to worry about going to bed exactly on time tonight then. i’ll keep writing.

i taught for four hours straight today. i’m upset at how many dumb, careless mistakes i’ve been making. i tell myself i’m doing the best i can and then i just... forget things. they don’t even occur to me until it’s too late. the absolute worst though was when the student from my third section who doesn’t speak a lot of english came in. i called him by the wrong name. there were two names on the roster i recognized as chinese and i... picked the one i remembered calling him last week. so not only was i wrong this time, i had been wrong last week when i’d been talking to him. jesus christ. i examined some of my priorities and tendencies to rush into things after that for a while.

i apologized twice and also tried to call him by the right name a couple times while talking to him about the lab afterward. he did pretty good this week though.

after that i don’t really know what i did. i guess i must have had a snack. i’m kind of drawing a blank on what happened between 2 and 4 though. maybe i just watched youtube videos in my office... i’d meant to read but i never really got to it. i did eventually buckle down and find and call a dentist, and get all my other medical paperwork sorted. i did Actual Work until near 6 even though none of it was schoolwork. i waited a half hour for the bus and then when i got home i made cauli tots.

cauli tots are like tater tots, but with cauliflower instead of taters.

snoopy was a little more receptive to playing today. i was so proud of her when she batted at the toy i was waving in front of her.

then i watched youtube videos all evening!!! like a punk!!!!!!!!!!!

suicidal thoughts are weird. to experience, i guess. like i am continually bombarded by the realization that i am currently sitting in some kind of mysterious box with light coming out of the top. and i am looking at a couple pieces of metal with a glowing thing. and then i think, “wow, i am really good for nothing, i am really unhappy, i am really not a good person to know, i am really just going to be a sad irredeemable lump for the next 20 years just like the last 20 years.”

i just. i guess when i realized i was going to die someday (at ~5 or 6) there was a kind of relief? in knowing i could do it myself, maybe? maybe i am misremembering my years before christian school. i know i was experiencing symptoms of depression before christian school. but i didn’t have those words so i wasn’t really... looking for those symptoms or recognizing that they weren’t the same as what other people were experiencing throughout childhood.

there’s a certain sort of resignation you get when at an early age you think, “something’s really wrong with me.” and then you’re proven right over and over and over. heart defects. depression. being Pretty Gay.

i know none of those things are “wrong” but as a kid different is always wrong.

taking the physics prelim. “no, you don’t understand, i felt REALLY bad about how i did on this test.” “you’re fine! everyone was nervous!” “no, you really don’t UNDERSTAND.”

i was right.

i keep telling myself i’m not stupid like someday i’ll believe it but i keep getting reminded over and over again how stupid i really am, how many stupid careless mistakes i make, how little energy i can commit toward being not stupid and dumb and bad.

like, “kill yourself” is such an easy thing to think. it’s so disorienting to actually think it though. to get from

“i complain about everything even though that never fixed anything” ->

“i needed help and no one came, why can’t i recognize and react to these patterns, complaining is useless but i do it anyway” ->

“complaining is annoying AND i can’t trust people, i’ll never have close friends” ->

“i want to die.”

dying is fine! they’ll just write me off as selfish anyway!! i’m turning into one of those CRAZY crazies who can’t/just WON’T get better!!!

i don’t like the way the world kind of warps when i get those thoughts. words stop meaning anything. feelings stop meaning anything. the way the scab on my finger knuckle hurts when i bump it doesn’t mean anything.

writing all these journal entries, spending 40 minutes spewing all my thoughts everywhere on a blog every day... it looks like i am doing a lot of hard work examining myself! but it’s not hard work. it’s fake work. it’s fake. i can’t get better because i’m not working hard enough to change. i can’t do better at physics or therapy or whatever the hell until i start putting in real work instead of fake work.

and i’m stupid because i can’t tell what the difference is.

i’m... seeing the new psychiatrist in 11 days. they will probably want to change up my meds. but i’m tired of wanting to just sleep all the time. well, i mean, i want to sleep all the time anyway, but with meds this ineffective i can push away that feeling and keep going! “keep going,” i say, as i talk about how i very specifically do not want to keep going.

i was trying to figure out how to explain my depression to taylor and luis in the office today when luis asked what i had, that i was getting accommodations. i wanted to say “it used to be worse but now it’s kind of settled into a casual nihilism that i think is funny and charming but it mostly just makes everyone worried.”

i say it used to be “worse” but i’m not sure what worse means here. like the feeling was a lot sharper five years ago, sure. it was a lot more painful when it got bad. my grades were somehow even worse than they are now. i didn’t want to talk to anyone.

i guess it was worse then. now it’s just like, oh, this again. guess i gotta get up and Face The Day; nothing better to do.

that’s the worst, i think. my group therapist at the hospital pointed it out. “why are you here?” she would ask. “eh, nothing better to do i guess,” i’d answer and kind of half-smile. she’d express concern at my lack of commitment. maybe that’s what really killed my ability to get better using that therapy in the end.

everyone else participates and sometimes doesn’t come if they don’t wanna. i come every single time but don’t really participate. i fake participate. i mostly only share things i know don’t matter that much. i put my foot in and hope that’s good enough, that maybe the pool will swim for me if i show up wearing a swim suit.

isn’t that what i’m really doing? i’m having trouble breaking down what’s going on there. i can’t tell. i can’t tell what “real” effort is and what “fake” effort is. i guess fake effort is, like, playing it safe? only changing things i feel comfortable changing?

but like... how am i supposed to make changes i’m not comfortable with? i think about this stuff all the time. i feel that i should be able to adopt healthier coping/boundary strategies without fundamentally changing the way i approach interactions with other people. that feels like something i shouldn’t change, not just something i don’t want to change. how am i supposed to become the person i want to be if i don’t like the way i am changing?

i mean i don’t like the way i am changing either way but going for it deliberately feels like a betrayal.

i’m so stupid. i keep asking mom for advice or comfort even though i know 100% that i am not going to get it from her. she has maybe said one useful thing to me in my life and i don’t think it’s something she also thought was actually useful. maybe i still want someone to just tell me what to do and mom was such an effective all-consuming eldritch helicopter parent that i just look to her EVEN WHEN I DON’T WANT TO. i mean, i don’t even like other people’s parents! i don’t like other people’s parents BECAUSE of my parents!! and i still keep going to them???

i don’t know what to do. i want someone to tell me what to do so i don’t have to figure it out myself. i’m so tired all the time it feels like i’m never going to figure it out. i can’t tell if i’m an effective problem-solver for little problems that require improvisation or if i’m just really good at googling stuff and following those directions, written by someone else. every problem i solve i feel like i should attribute to someone else even when i never actually asked for help or looked anything up. i can’t even remember any examples off the top of my head. i don’t think about them. i just do them.

i said “i” a lot today. i always talk about myself. even though this is my journal and is specifically meant for me to talk about myself? i feel like i’m doing something wrong. even using “i” statements when being honest and direct with people feels like... i’m being selfish by talking about myself. even though that’s what you’re supposed to do, that’s what therapists teach you to do to communicate effectively.

i promise i was this miserable this afternoon. i didn’t “ruin a good mood” i had tonight by focusing on just the negatives. i just plain feel bad!

#tw suicide

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