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margaritastation141 · 11 days ago

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"Rekindled" - John Price x Divorcee mom of teens

Chapter 7 summary: The kitchen's the heart of the home, they say. TW ⚠️ mentions of grief Masterlist ✖︎ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (chapter 8 out now/priority uploads) Playlist Previously

(9k long chapter btw)

A smile crept over Vivienne’s lips, stealing Logan’s attention before her laugh did. It was a sweet sound, tinkling like the windchimes outside his grandmother’s place. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing—your mom’s so nice,” she said, nodding at the screen. In the corner, a notification had slid forward.

Mom, just now

] Hi sweetheart, hope you’re having a nice last day of semester!

] Just a reminder to help your brothers get the tree out of the attic tonight, you know how Toby hates it up there.

Heat blistered across Logan’s face as he reached out to close his laptop, leaving Kat Stratford and Patrick Verona forever frozen on the field.

Vivienne laughed a little more, turning that dazzling smile of hers on him in full force, a whisker-like dimple pressing into the top of her cheek, her skin an ever-soft umber. “Oh come on, I think it’s sweet!”

“You’re still laughing,” he pointed out, grumbling, clicking the button of his pen, spinning it in his fingers. The library was always quiet last period; so when they could, they’d extend their lunchtime study sessions through till home time. “S’not that funny.”

“So…” she said after a stretch of silence, her nail—painted with delicate stars in red and gold for the festive season—drew absentminded circles on the cover of her notebook, “tree decorating,” she teased again, “is Christmas a big thing in your family?”

Logan’s nose wrinkled, “not usually.”

She raised a brow above the thin maroon frame of her glasses, they made her eyes look so big when she looked up at him, the overhead lights turning into stars in her eyes. He tightened his grip around his pen. “Not usually? Are you changing it up this year?”

He shrugged, “going to my neighbours for dinner,” he shook his head, “it’s so dumb—he’s got this thing for my mom,” his face warmed even further and he tore his gaze away from the V pendant laying in the hollow of her throat. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, you don’t like him?” A veil of sympathy cloaked her words, her lips quirking down slightly in the corners.

“No—I didn’t mean—it’s just,” he sighed, his brows furrowing for a second, stomach churning slightly, “he’s alright, I guess. I don’t know.”

Vivienne hummed, chewing the inside of her plush bottom lip as she slid her book off the table and into her satchel, “is she happy?”

He huffed a laugh before he could stop himself, earning a confused look from the girl beside him, their knees only just brushing, “sorry, s’just a good fucking question.” It was hard not to feel guilt clawing up his throat like bile at the admission, “I think she’s been happy lately, yeah.”

She smiled at that, and he was struck by how easy it was to just…say these things to her. She always managed to pry all this useless information from him without really trying. He wasn’t sure how much he was really learning in these study session—if anything. Not that she was a bad tutor, she was one of the top students in their year, he just didn’t expect her to be a talker. She was usually so quiet. “That’s good Logan.”

And there she went, saying his name again like that, a smile softening the syllables.

“Is um,” he stumbled to keep the conversation going as they assembled their things in the back of the library, suddenly noticing the big wall clock ticking closer to the end of the day, “is Christmas a big thing at your place?”

She made a face, her nose scrunching, “not really. I mean—we all stay up till midnight and swap presents. We have lunch together, but I usually spend the night at a friends.” A long sigh left her lips even while a fond smile lifted them, “but she was in the year above us, and she’s staying on campus for Christmas this year, so it looks like I’m stuck watching home alone with my cat this year.”

For a moment, all Logan’s mind said was, oh, that’s a shame, before realising the opportunity he was just presented with. Not to mention the fact that she was still looking up at him, that small smile lingering just a second too long. He’d be pissed in a minute’s time if he was reading too much into it. “Would you want to…you could join us. For dinner, if you want.”

Now that was a smile that sparkled. Pretty like the diamonds on her necklace.

❀❀❀

Unknown number, just now

] is this felicity parker?

] it’s orla, john’s friend, he gave me your number so we could arrange a time to meet?

Me, just now

] Hi Orla, yes, thank you, I’d love that! John has said such nice things!

Orla, just now

] oh, he’s a real sweet talker that one, i don’t know how you do it 😉

] if you’re free this saturday, i was going to take myself and the babies out to shop! i reckon it’s time I get out of the house, my fiancé has me cooped up like I’m on house arrest lol

Me, just now

] Aw, how cute! I know how you feel and I don’t blame you, I’d love to join.

] How about we make it a coffee date?

Orla, just now

] oh i like you already 😁

“No, no, she’s a dream,” Felicity murmured, struggling to look away from Maisie who’s blinks were slowing more and more. “My first born was the only one who fell asleep this easy.” Something about the tiny fingers holding tightly on one of her own caused Felicity’s heart to stir.

The guilt wasn’t far away when she thought about her old desire to have a little girl of her own—now it seemed like everyone was living out that old dream. She loved her boys, that was undeniable. Sometimes adolescent wishes get stuck in time, that’s just how it went.

“You look great for seven weeks post-partum by the way, I mean seriously, amazing.”

Orla grinned, waving her off, “ye’re too sweet, Simon seems to agree, cannae keep him off me.”

“Yeah, they’re like that. Oh, she’s gorgeous,” she whispered, hearing the baby’s little sigh as she finally fell asleep.

“Three boys of yer own, aye?” Orla’s voice went all soft as she leaned an elbow on the table top, carving into her brownie slice. The café whirred and clinked softly around them, the air warm with the smell of pastry, but the both of them had opted for a little chocolate to liven their afternoon, a brownie for Orla and a lighter mousse for Felicity. “Must be a busy household.”

Felicity hummed, “not so much anymore—but when they were younger? Definitely. But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world,” she added quickly, looking up at her new acquaintance, “it just gave me a new appreciation for a good night’s sleep.”

At that they both laughed, sparing a sip for their coffees, “ach—” Orla looked at Benjamin in the stroller, bundled up and sleeping, “cannae wait to see who these two grow up to be.”

The underlying warmth in her voice—in her eyes—nurtured a deep appreciation for the woman Felicity sat across from, “truly, you’re glowing Orla.”

“Ye ken who’s really glowin’ these days?” the woman in question said suddenly, her face lighting up as the thought struck her, “our man in common.”

Immediately Felicity narrowed her eyes, her face falling, that flame of excitement at the prospect of expanding her circle once more flickering, “did John put you up to this? I thought—I thought you wanted to—”

“No—no—” Orla spluttered, eyes widening, “I just…I havnae seen ‘im so happy before and we’ve been friends for a few years now. He’s been single as far as I can remember. But—ach, ye ken the man—he’s such a family oriented person. Christ,” she sighed, “he hardly talks abou’ his own, but I can tell he wants people to come home to. Makes my heart hurt. I just…I dinnae ken, I got excited when Si said he was seein’ someone, an’ then Price said ye kissed an’ I just—sorry, I get so—”

“He talks about me?” There was so much to unpack from her rambling, but that’s what stuck. Not John’s perpetual singleness (that Felicity had silently noted as well), which was easily linked to his need for deeper, more lasting company than quick flings which were readily available to him (that PTA group chat was turning into a social club a little more every day). Not his family oriented nature that severely contrasted his lack of mentioning his own. But the fact that he talked about her to his friends. He talked about her.

The brightness returned to Orla’s face, “aye, Si says he’s started goin’ home early—figures it’s to talk to ye.”

Oh.

The conversation took different paths of course but as they slowly went through their shopping, they didn’t stray too far from the heart of their conversation—the glue of their blossoming friendship—when they strolled to a stop outside a lingerie store. Well, it was underwear and night clothes, but Orla made it clear what they were there for the moment the stepped in doors.

Felicity had forgotten the…variety of cuts underwear came in, but was now swiftly reminded when she got an eyeful of the festive collection.

Orla giggled, “check me out,” she was holding up a red balconette bra to her chest, lined with white fur, a black button between the two cups, “Christ. I should’ve came here before they rolled this out,” she sighed, plucking up an antler headband, “usually they’ve got better deals on the good stuff—oh! They’ve got this blue colour that I think ye’ll really like—”

Before she knew it, a hand was on her wrist and Felicity was being hauled to an aisle further back, where the wall had be stacked with the prettiest range of floral themed bra’s that she’d ever seen. Jesus, that price tag—“put yer eyes back in yer head. C’mon, when’s the last time ye splurged on yerself?”

Blushing, Felicity felt the material of the closest bra between her fingers—Orla, miraculously for how little a time they’ve known each other, was right about the colour—it was beautiful, with sheer cups, flowers embroidered in swirls, and oxford blue piping. But she hadn’t…dressed up like this in a long time.

Of course she had nice underwear—but that was where the sentence ended. She had nice underwear, lace over the same colour cups, a tiny bow on the front of her least bleach-treated undies. When she thought about it, it was perhaps entirely unsexy.

She had no reason to purchase such things anymore. She was divorced. She was single.

“It doesnae have t’be for him—for anyone. It could just be for ye, if tha’ helps,” Orla suddenly said, breaking up the rambling monologue of her mind. “Just buy somethin’ pretty,” she smiled, leaning in like it was some big secret, “ye’re allowed to buy stuff ye like just cause ye like it,” before she headed off to another aisle to let Felicity make up her mind by herself.

It would spend the last of her Christmas budget, but, she’d already bought all the presents she intended to give, already bought everything she needed for the kitchen. She had money to spare, technically, and this would fill that gap—the matching set might even—

“Aw, isn’t this great!”

Immediately, Felicity closed her eyes to take a deep breath, steeling herself before she turned.

“Seriously, it’s so great to see you getting back out there Effie—” Felicity grimaced as Kim used her nickname, “but, you know, this might not be the aisle you’re looking for. The more full coverage pieces are on the other side of the store.”

“Kim! Great to see you as always,” Felicity said, hardly repressing the groan longing to escape her. She put down the bra, a need to shield herself quickly outweighing the fun she was just beginning to have, “I was just browsing—”

She laughed, “I know, I know. I mean, come on, a middle-aged mother of three isn’t going to be looking at crotchless panties unless she’s desperate and, well, I’ve always thought you respected yourself too much to be so—”

“Like you?”

“Excuse me?”

It was small, the heat prickling in her chest, but the more she breathed, the more air she gave it, the more the spark grew into a flame. “This will be you one day Kimberly. A middle aged mother of however many looking at lingerie—except it won’t be to get back out there it’ll be to impress your sixty year old husband. Yeah, doesn’t that just make your eyes pop? When you’re my age, he’ll be sixty years old—you don’t even know what you’re getting into with him! You don’t—”

“He’s my fiancé! Of course I know him, we’ve been together for three years!”

“Three and a half, don’t forget the time you were fucking him before the divorce finalised and you could make it sound better. Oh, and you know—that proposal of yours?”

Kim groaned, rolling her eyes, “you know, you couldn’t be any more desperate if you tried Effie.”

“The beach house where he proposed to you, was where I told him I was pregnant with his first child. Eighteen years ago. If that doesn’t tell you what kind of man he is, I have nothing left to say to you.”

Kim knocked shoulders with a stony-faced Orla when she turned, leaving in a huff.

Orla raised a brow after the moment of silence passed, the rush of blood ebbing away from Felicity’s ears to let back in the soft pop music of the store and the general chatter. “Glad to see ye’re makin’ friends.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Oh, don’ ye dare. I think ye both needed to hear tha’.” Parking her twin stroller beside them, they turned in sync back to the wall, “did she say these were crotchless?”

Felicity’s attention had caught on the bag already in the crook of Orla’s elbow, “did you—” she laughed, “did you buy the from the Christmas table? I thought you didn’t like them.”

She winked, “hubby-to-be’s go’ a dashin’ sense of humour. Reckon he’d get a crack out of ‘em…so, crotchless?”

“I’m never coming back here.”

“So long as ye buy somethin’.”

Crotchless. Jesus, there was a first time for everything, she supposed. It’s not like they’d ever see the light of day.

• • •

The snow had been light at first, but now it was a heavy blanket over John’s lawn, tree branches boughed under the weight of it. His driveway was in no shape to use—let alone for the Christmas party he was hosting tonight. If that still went through, staring out at the neighbourhood—at the sky—the grey and white haze left an uneasy feeling in his chest. The winds had been strong yesterday, carrying mutters of a storm along with it. He worried about the roads.

He wouldn’t make people come if it wasn’t safe, and this was leaning towards dangerous.

“You know,” Jackson’s voice cut through the downpour of his thoughts, his attention snapping to the porch in line with his own across the fence, “when I said we should do something fun on Christmas, this is not what I meant. It’s freezing, and I was supposed to call—"

“Oh? Call who? Marcel?” Felicity asked, her voice honeyed and teasing.

Jackson shoved her lightly, “I don’t know why I ever told you his name.”

They marched down the steps and began shovelling their driveway, unearthing the pebbled concrete one scoop at a time. John took that as his cue to get a move on.

“Merry Christmas Mr. Price,” Jackson said, his head lifting at the sound of crunching footfall.

“Merry Christmas Jackson,” he returned, “Effie,” he turned, catching the woman’s smile. He was struck by her beauty yet again, with her nose and cheeks all frost nipped and rosy.

That flickering smile grew into a grin, affected by the day he was sure, “Merry Christmas John. Smells like preparations are well under way in your kitchen—it's been smelling like food since we were opening presents,” she said.

“Mm,” he hummed, not lingering on the thought of his rather lacklustre morning. “Hoping it doesn’t storm tonight.”

“Didn’t realise I was living next to Mr. Optimistic,” she teased, though her grin softened, “it’ll work out.”

He nodded, not saying anything more on the topic lest his poor mood seep into his tone. “Get your anything good?” He asked Jackson, catching his attention with a nod.

“Some clothes,” he said, “new shoes for track,” he said with a glance to his mom.

“Is that it?” she asked, wiggling her brows at him. Jackson waved her off, but his cheeks flushing let on there was more to the story. She turned back to John, her grin still alight with mirth, “he got a present from—"

“Mom!” he groaned, as if this were a much-exhausted conversation, face burning with embarrassment, “it was just a camera.” Felicity started giggling and Jackson gave up, tossing a handful of snow at his mom before trudging inside, leaving his shovel by the door, calling out over his shoulder, “I’m returning your perfume!”

If he could, John would’ve sealed the smile Felicity turned on him in a photograph to hang above his mantle. He cleared his throat, “when we’re finished up, d’you want to come in for some hot chocolate? See if my skills are up to par before the kids get here tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to take the kids to my moms’ in an hour for lunch, but a little hot chocolate sounds nice.”

By the time they were finished, Felicity had worked up a cold sweat beneath her jacket and pants and gloves and scarf, her boots heavy on her feet as she trudged around the fence to clunk, clunk, clunk her way up to John’s front door where he waited for her. “I was wondering—”

She didn’t get a chance to speak before he tugged her beanie down over her eyes, making her jump in surprise, quickly reaching up to fix it. When she could see again, glaring up at him, he was grinning wide, “it’s a nice colour,” he murmured, “suits you.”

“And you had to resort to childish tactics to tell me that?” she grunted, setting a hand against the doorframe as she bent down to take off her shoes, leaving them beside his outside.

“You know,” he said, padding down the hallway to his kitchen. It already smelled so good with preparation for dinner already underway—suddenly Felicity felt a little self-conscious of the pie she was planning to bring, it was one thing to accept John’s invitation, it was one thing to meet Orla…but now she was meeting everyone…oh god— “people say that when boys tease girls, it means they like them.”

The absurdity of his statement brought Felicity out of her momentary spiral, “what? You know that is the most stupid assumption—”

“I know sweetheart,” he cut her off, “I know…just figured I couldn’t kiss you out of the blue.”

“You…” John had a knack for rendering Felicity speechless it seemed. Her train of thought ran right into the ground when he shed his jacket, draping it over a kitchen stool and he was left in a thermal—a tight, navy thermal that clung to his bulk like a second skin, the warm overhead lighting catching on the thick breadth of his shoulders and biceps, highlighting the muscle in his chest diffused under a layer of fat that did little to hide his strength. “You have got to stop saying things like that,” she said finally, crossing her arms and looking firmly away from his stomach.

It made her palms clammy when she looked at him for too long, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to dwell on what that meant just yet.

“Things like what?” he asked, the picture of innocence as he turned to the fridge. The smile she caught peeking out when he turned a little had few warm intentions, reminding Felicity of just why she’d been limiting the length of their conversations the last couple weeks. The couch. They were yet to talk about it—and she wasn’t sure if Christmas morning was really when she wanted to unpack that.

Especially not with the sudden unfurling heat blossoming just below her skin. “Things like that! Like—like, all...”

“Honest?” he asked, his back turned to her.

“Ugh, you know what I’m trying to say--”

“Do I Effie?”

“You’re doing it on purpose!”

He raised a brow, putting something in the microwave before he turned. “What, exactly, are you trying to blame me for?”

There was something in his voice, an edge perhaps, that made her lower her voice. Suddenly it was too warm for her coat, and she fiddled with the Velcro covering the buttons of it. “You’re just—ugh, you’re making me all flustered!”

The second the words left her lips she knew she’d just damned herself. “Oh I’m sorry love,” he didn’t look it, “didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just holdin’ conversation.”

She scoffed, mortified by her own admission, crossing her arms over her chest, and mumbling, “yeah right.”

“What was that?” his raised brow made fear curl between her vertebrae, pinning her where she stood, “don’t think I heard you right.”

“Nothing,” she said, lifting her chin, making fleeting eye contact. Again, she was suddenly reminded of the man she stood before; the broad expanse of him, the millennia carried in the denim of his eyes, the structure—the stability she’d long lacked was woven between those threads.

Thankfully something beeped behind him and he was thrown back into making her hot chocolate.

Felicity tried her best to ignore the thrum of heat between her legs when he turned away.

The drink wafted a cozy warm fragrance throughout the room when the boiling milk was added, making saliva pool on her tongue. Whipped cream, marshmallows, and chocolate flakes were all the eye could see when he slid the mug in front of her, “give that a try for me, would you?”

It felt like a cardinal sin to lick whipped cream off the rim of the mug in front of John Price, with his gaze unrelentingly tracking the curl of her tongue. When she pressed her lip to the edge, she could’ve sworn his pupils dilated.

She knew he didn’t miss her squeezing her thighs together then. But the burst of flavour in her mouth distracted her from the lingering embarrassment, “oh my god, John—what the fuck did you put in this?!”

A smile broke the stubborn frown lines that had wedged between his brows as he’d watched her, “it’s good?”

“I don’t think I can go back to regular hot chocolate after this,” she laughed, taking another long sip, licking more cream off her top lip when she came up for air. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

❀❀❀

“What’s happening?” Toby whispered, leaning a little closer to Felicity as they stood in the kitchen. She was wrapping up the pie with some tinfoil, and he was staring wide eyed down the hallway.

She peered over his head and found herself equally slack-jawed, “Logan? What...are you okay?”

“I’m going to pick up Viv, I’ll be back in twenty--”

“Viv? Who’s Viv?” Felicity frowned, still staring at her remarkably piercing-less son.

“His study buddy!” Jackson answered, thundering downstairs after his brother. “That’s where—"

“Shut up Jackson, oh my god,” Logan groaned, hand dropping away from the front door as he turned back around. “She’s just a—"

A plaster rested across his brow—and from what Felicity could recall, in the hour since she last saw the boy, there had been no screams of pain, so she figured it must be covering the silver piercing there—his septum hidden from view, only the smallest studs in his ears where there used to be a circus of hoops.

“OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!” Felicity shrieked, squeezing the closest thing in reach, which, unfortunately, was Toby who let out a startled yelp. “When did this happen? Where—what’s happened to your piercings?”

“She’s just a friend, alright?” He sighed as his mother tried to cover her grin with her hand, but it shone from beneath, cheeks pressing giddy creases intro he corners of her eyes. “I’m taking her to the party tonight. Please don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re being weird about it already,” he grumbled, finally slipping out the door.

The silence left in his wake was short lived, quickly disrupted by felicity’s giggles—which of course triggered the other two boys’ laughter in turn.

• • •

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” Orla beamed as the new family of four shook the snow from their coats and hurried inside from the cold, setting the big diaper bag and trays of food down to hug Price who let them in at the incessant ringing of the door. He returned her smile tenfold, squeezing her just as tight.

Simon was right on her heels, carrying two baby car seats in with him. Cargo in hand, he offered John one of his quiet smiles, nose tinged pink, “Merry Christmas. Oh, Johnny an’ them aren’t far behind, passed ‘em on the way here.”

He clapped Simon on the shoulder and stood aside to let him pass, entering the living room.

Before he could follow them he heard Orla again, “Effie! Ye made it!”

“I live next door,” Felicity laughed, caught in a hug when John rounded the corner.

“Are these yer boys?” She asked, spotting Jackson and Toby standing awkwardly by the snack table, Jackson quickly chewing something and nudging Toby forward. Toby elbowed him right back, making a face as he looked up at his older brother. “Hi, I’m Orla,” she took Simon’s arm and brought him forward, leaving the babies on the couch in their car seats for just a moment as she stuck out her hand, “an’ this is Simon, an’—”

John caught an elbow to his side and looked to his left at a smiling Felicity, “I think she might be a Christmas person.”

“Oh, she’s a bit of an everything person,” he laughed, watching the boys get out their own introductions, shaking hands like it was some business meeting.

“Are you waiting on many more?”

“Hmm, Logan and his friend, Johnny, Mara, and Dom, and Kyle and Mae.”

Her eyebrows rose, “full house.”

John shrugged, “I like it.”

Before they could speak another word on the topic the doorbell was ringing again and people were spilling inside with a gust of wind that made John frown. Already the weather wasn’t playing in his favour, he’d have to call the night early at— “John?” It was Orla, this time, who snapped him out of his thoughts, pushing the door closed for him and looping their arms together, “ye okay?

He pulled his arm free and draped it over her shoulders, pulling her close in a warm hug, kissing her temple, “I’m good sweetheart. Don’t you worry ‘bout it.”

“John—” she frowned, looking up at him, but he shook his head, looking out at the room full of people instead.

At her.

Felicity was blushing, her half drained mug of hot chocolate clutched in her hands as she introduced herself and her slowly-thawing boys to Johnny and Mara, Dom already slung over Simon’s shoulder and giggling in his reindeer sweater.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Aye, fiery tha’ one,” Orla hummed, sighing in defeat as she followed his gaze. “She’s lovely John. Honest…healing.”

There was a warning in her words that John acknowledged with a nod, “I know.” And he did, he knew a lot from the outside—they’d lived next door to each other since her first born. He knew exactly how long that asshole had been wearing her down. He knew how many times he extended an olive branch, hoping she’d take it just long enough for them to talk, for him to have a chance to open her eyes—make her realise how much she’s worth. “I know.”

⨯ ⨯ ⨯

Vivienne didn’t live far away from Logan’s home. In fact, it was nearly comedic how they were just a few blocks apart.

All this time and he’d never paid her any attention until now. He felt bad, it felt cheap to only notice her now when he had to ask her for help. But, god, he couldn’t stop thinking about her now. About her smile, her perfume, her voice—he could listen to her analyse a hundred movies and never get bored.

Logan’s knuckles wrapped on the navy paint of her front door before he ran that same clammy hand through his hair and pressed the edges of the Band-Aid covering his eyebrow piercing. He felt his face warm—was he making a fool of himself? Probably. The chocolates were so dumb—the flowers looked so obviously last minute, “oh shit—” he frantically scratched at the price tag on the plastic wrapped around the bouquet when the door swung open.

He looked up and knew exactly who Vivienne took after in her features, her mother the source of her delicate features and wide smile. “You must be Logan, then?”

“Yes ma’am,” he straightened up, clearing his throat, “um—I was hoping to bring Vivienne—’

She snorted a laugh, “I know, I know. She’s been getting ready all—”

“MOM!” Vivienne yelped, coming into view, “I haven’t been—Logan! Merry…” she frowned when she turned her attention to him, her eyes hardly dipping to the flowers or the chocolate in his hands and just lingering on his face. “What…happened?”

Logan could feel his face growing more and more red with every second he stood on the stoop, snow gently fell around him, but it wasn’t from the cold. He cleared his throat again, extending the gifts he held out to Vivienne’s mom, “these are for you Mrs. Tyler—and your husband.” Her eyebrows rose—as did Vivienne’s. “If you want them. For Christmas. Merry Christmas by the way.”

Jesus fuck, his heart was about to rocket out of his chest. Embarrassment curled around his ankles as he stood there, digging his own grave with every rambled word.

And finally, after what felt like the world’s longest silence, Vivienne’s mom began to smile again, amusement warming the faint lines in her face, “oh, just call me Leslie, sweetie—come in, come in, its freezing out there.”

She offered, but he was tugged through the doorframe before he could remember how to get his feet unstuck from the welcome mat, stumbling slightly before righting himself just as the door closed behind him. A cozy heat enveloped him, Tony Bennett crooning about a winter wonderland in another room, the smell of baking in the air.

“I’ll go put these in water,” Leslie said, squeezing Logan’s shoulder before heading off down the hallway.

Vivienne offered him a flustered little smile, a small laugh escaping her, “merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Viv,” his voice cracked and he thought he might die then and there. She pursed her lips shut tightly, forcibly keeping her laugh in, bringing her hand up to her mouth. He hung his head, dropping his forehead into his hand with a floundering sigh.

“What happened to your eyebrow Logan?” she asked, leaning back against the wall, a picture of herself much younger—perhaps from her first day of school—next to her head. In just the span of three minutes he’d seen her past, present, and future selves. “And your nose…and your ears?”

Good fucking question. “Took them out.”

“Why?”

She looked so pretty, a black velvet pinafore over her cream coloured long sleeve, her signature necklace glinting under the overhead light, dark tights on her legs, feet waiting for shoes. Her hair was out with tight curls, a dark halo with a soft Christmas print cloth headband bringing all the attention to her eyes.

He shrugged dumbly. Her smile turned lopsided, amused, “you don’t know? You look like your about to sell me something,” she giggled, eyes falling to the collar of his old shirt, tight around his shoulders if he moved the wrong way. He’d pulled on dark jeans and shoved his feet in his cleanest white sneakers before he left, but now he felt absolutely stupid. “If you…if you took them out for my parents,” she said, “you didn’t have to; my dad’s a tattoo artist. Oh! Do you know—” and then she was off, talking about her family, her first few days of winter break. Rambling, if you looked too closely, fiddling with her hands behind her back, feet shifting on the floor. He was much the same.

“Are you gonna talk the boy’s ear off before you introduce him or what Nene?” Logan jumped, too focused on Vivienne to realise her father had entered the hallway.

Logan stuck his clammy hand out again, “nice to meet you Mr. Tyler. I’m—”

“Logan, I know,” the man grinned, apparently amused at a joke he shared with his wife at Logan’s expense, “it is nice to put a face to the name,” and that he aimed teasingly at his daughter even as he shook Logan’s hand. “Something wrong with your eyebrow?”

Vivienne began to laugh again, even louder this time, and Logan wished the floor would swallow him whole.

❀❀❀

Felicity was trying her hardest to stay calm, but her composure was overwhelmed.

On one side of the room her eldest child had been rendered an awkward idiot, his piercings back in place, talking to a man named Kyle and his girlfriend Mae, with his girlfriend-not-girlfriend(?) asking more questions than either of them could keep up with, his complete opposite. And on the other side of the room John price was trying to give her heart palpitations, cradling Benjamin to his chest and pointing to the shiny multicoloured ornaments on his ginormous Christmas tree. A tiny fist wrapped around a knuckles, adorned with faded ink, his smile warm and deep on his face, a limitless love there every time he looked down at the infant’s face.

“Earth to Effie,” Orla snorted a laugh, nudging Felicity’s side with her elbow, Maisie laying in her lap staring up at her mom with big, dark eyes, the size of saucers like her brother’s, dark as space itself. Felicity whipped her head around, not realising just how much she’d tuned out of the conversation, an apologetic smile tipping the corners of her lips. “Welcome back!”

“I wasn’t—” her words broke off on a sigh when Orla gave her a look, and she slumped back against the couch, a rosy flush over her cheeks. “Okay, okay, I’ve got a crush on him. Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Ach—just go talk to him!”

Felicity made a face, tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth, “about what?”

Orla rolled her eyes, “anythin’ but the weather. Hurry up,” she urged, giving her an encouraging push and Felicity reluctantly got to her feet. She shot her a look over her shoulder as she made her way to John by the tree.

He wore a thick, cream sweater that hugged tight to his arms and chest, making him look unbearably cozy—huggable—speaking softly to Ben in his arms. He spotted Felicity as she was walking over and smiled, lifting the baby’s clenched fist in a mock wave, “hey sweetheart. Everything alright?”

“Mhmm,” she smiled, nodding, her mind fumbling for something to say until she blurted, “you have a lovely home.”

He smiled, “yeah? I’m glad you like it, ought to come over more often yeah? For dinner?”

It was the worst moment for her brain to disconnect, her mouth left agape, “dinner?”

“Of course, we all try and share dinner once or twice a month,” he said, watching every waning muscle in her face, the tops of her cheeks maintaining a steady shade of pink. He grinned, slyly, “or it could just be us.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her and she wished she had the courage to be comfortable around him, to relax and be equally as flirty, uncaring about all these people about. But she was wired tight like a spring trap, flinching at every move he made, not sure when to strike. What had happened to her in the time between this morning and now? All their easy banter had apparently shrunken away and hidden itself behind the tree in the face of all these people.

His smile softened, “breathe Effie, m’not tryin’ to pressure you into anything. C’mere, d’you wanna hold him?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for his answer before he was shifting Benny into her arms, a warm bundle against her chest, “now that’s a sight for sore eyes,” he cooed, smoothing the baby’s beanie atop his head. Felicity just about felt her knees weaken at that tone in his voice, a low rumble only she would be able to pick up on. The lingering once over he gave her didn’t escape her attention either, but Benjamin’s wriggling thankfully gave her somewhere else to place her attention than John’s hovering hand lightly grazing her waist. “Steady on, y’got him?”

“He’s not the first baby I’ve held John,” she said, shifting the infant until he was comfortable against her chest, those soft little breaths audible in her ear, pudgy hand reaching for her necklace before she slipped it under the front of her dress for safe keeping. “I’ve got him.”

There was an “I know,” in the hum he responded with. She certainly couldn’t meet his eyes after that. “How was lunch? Your mum doing well?”

The genuine care in his voice stumped her, making her spare him a glance, a soft frown flickering between her brows, “y-yeah, she is. Thank you.”

His smile bloomed wider, his hand coming to squeeze her hip, her breath hitching at the warmth seeping into her bones from the simple touch. “I know how difficult it can be to be alone this time of year—you know, she’s welcome to join us here if she ever wants to get out of the city in the holidays.”

“I’m sure she’d love that, John,” she smiled, talking around the lump in her throat. “Thank you.” Her mom had developed her own little routine for the holidays without her dad; he passed away a long time ago now, back when Felicity was still in elementary, and she didn’t often break it for anything. But something about John had always made her mother start talking.

More than Sam ever had at least.

“Anytime love,” he murmured, his thumb drawing circles on her hip providing a good distraction for the tears welling up in her eyes. She blinked them back quickly, turning her face toward John’s chest to give herself a moment. She could smell his cologne, pooling in the hollow of his throat, his body heat drawing her in like a moth. “How ‘bout we pass Benny on to his mum, and I set you up with a good mug of eggnog, yeah?” He asked, nudging her chin up with his knuckle.

She turned, realising Orla was at her side, she gave Felicity a warm smile, “ought to get thing one an’ two fed before dinner, hopefully get ‘em fed so I can stuff my gob in peace, aye?”

Felicity manged a soft laugh at that, nodding and passing the woman back her child, before John swiftly steered her toward the kitchen, that lingering hand of his slipping up to her waist and squeezing there. “I get it sweetheart. Still hurts even after a long time,” he sighed, parking her by the cabinets as he went about getting her some eggnog, and a glass for himself. There was hardly any counter space with all the food that had been brought in.

“You lost your dad too?” she sniffled, snatching a nearby napkin to dab under her eyes, reigning herself in.

He shook his head, “never knew ‘im. Mum an’ her parents raised me,” he slid the drink to her, then patted over his chest and shoulder, to the tattoos, she realised, “still got ‘em with me every day though, you know, they’re not really gone s’long as you remember them.”

A profound silence breathed between them until she broke it, unable to arrange her expression into something worthy of his attention, “you’ve got a real heart of gold, John. You know that, right?”

He let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as a sheepish blush rose to the apples of his cheeks, “I try.”

“You’re giving the neighbour food? He’s not homeless you know.”

Felicity rolled her eyes with a scoffed laugh, “I know John’s not homeless. But it’s Christmas. No one deserves to be alone on Christmas.”

He gave her a look, “your mom literally asks to be left alone on Christmas.”

“That’s different Sam,” she bristled, “you know that.”

“Whatever. Just don’t give him the last of the pudding.”

She didn’t have the time to sigh before Jackson was barrelling into kitchen, Toby hot on his heels (as much as could be possible for a one year old). He asked his favourite phrase of the week, “mommy, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to bring some food to the neighbour and wish him a Merry Christmas,” she explained while he grabbed at her sweater, pulling himself onto his tiptoes to get a peek at the counter—he still wasn’t tall enough and huffed when he realised it. “Do you want to come with me? Say merry Christmas to Mr. Price?”

“It’s freezing outside, Effie,” Sam called from the living room.

“It’s snowing Sam, they’ll be okay—you can come with if you’re so worried.”

She didn’t get a reply and instead sent Jackson off to find his shoes, crouching to lift Toby up onto her hip. He was her squeaky baby it seemed; peals of giggles escaping him whenever she picked him up, burying his face in the crook of her neck if she asked him something. Where the first two had been quiet, Toby was shy but lively at the same time.

Within minutes, Felicity had the plate of food wrapped up and her boys bundled up against the gentle cold. Logan had emerged from the living room where he’d been playing with his new Hot Wheels cars and tracks, tugging on his own jacket and boots to brave the small layer of snow outside. He took Jackson’s hand while Felicity carried Jackson and the plate of food and they all navigated the crunching snow, giggling along the way, her eldest boys jumping down the driveway and up John’s. They’d be out like lights when it was bedtime tonight, that was for sure.

They all trudged up to John’s doorstep, Felicity and Logan helping Jackson up the steps when the snow started to bog him down. He knocked on the door with Logan before promptly going to hug his mother’s leg, waiting.

John looked like he’d just risen from a nap when he pulled open the door, a warm smile creasing his eyes, cheeks flushed and hair mussed as he ran his fingers through it, “Effie—boys, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” Jackson and Logan cheered, Toby nearly knocked his head on Felicity’s chin as he buried his face back into the crook of her neck.

She smiled at the man in the doorway, extending the plate of food, “Merry Christmas Price, had some dinner to spare if you want it. Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable of getting yourself food but I just—I meant that—”

His entire expression softened as he looked down at the plate now in his hands, “thanks Effie, that’s really—I appreciate it a lot.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. It was Toby’s idea actually,” she grinned as the boy giggled into her sweater, hugging around her neck.

John laughed. “Well, thank you Toby.”

“And me!” Jackson yelled, poking his head out from around Felicity’s leg.

“And thank you too Jackson.”

“And me too!” Logan said, perking up from where he’d been drawing faces in the snow on the steps of John’s porch.

John’s grin grew wider, “thanks Logan. I ought to let you guys get back home before you turn to icicles out here,” he locked eyes with Felicity again, “thanks for dinner, Effie. Merry Christmas to Sam too, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She reached out for Jackson’s hand, “c’mon Logan, want to lead the way back home, baby?” Finally given the cue, her boy raced down the stairs and began meticulously trying to step back in her footsteps.

Two glasses of wine down and Orla was dangling a faux mistletoe over Logan and Vivienne’s head where they were sat at the dining table, still chatting over their desserts. Logan turned bright red when he realised, swatting her away, the rest of the room falling into giggles before the power cut out.

“You have got to be shitting me,” John grumbled and it was all anyone heard over the wind whistling through a window somewhere.

Fumbling was heard and then a few phone torchlights were put on, “ach—ye little nasties!” Orla squawked, illuminating two shiny-lipped teens at the dinner table leaning promptly away from each other under the spotlight. “I was just kiddin’!”

“Alright, everyone stay where you are, I’m going to get some candles and we’ll go from there,” John instructed, waving his phone torchlight about to march off down the hallway. Bloody snowstorm. Bloody Christmas. Why couldn’t he just have a nice night with his family, was that so fucking difficult to ask for?! Jesus fucking—

“I can help, otherwise it might take a while to bring down enough candles,” Felicity said from beside him, a soft hand making contact through his sleeve, making the muscle seize as if he’d been shocked. “I’ll follow you, okay?”

And just like that his temper was reigned back in the tight clutch of her fist on his sleeve. “Okay, they’re down the hallway.” It didn’t take long to get candles set up around the living and dining room, some in the kitchen too, before they were trying to figure out some plan of action for what the rest of the night would look like. “—no. No one is driving in this weather—the roads will be shit and if the lights aren’t on down this street, then they won’t be on in town. I’m not risking it.”

“So, what, John, the fourteen—no, fifteen of us are all gonna crash here?” Kyle scoffed, “I don’t think that’s very practical.”

“I’m sure we can make it work,” Mae said beside him, a hand coming to rest on his denim clad knee, “there’s couches, beds, maybe a blow up mattress too?”

“Yeah,” John nodded.

“See? There’s more than enough room if we arrange ourselves accordingly.” Kyle turned to whisper something in her ear, her eyes widened before she snorted a laugh, smacking his chest, her grin illuminated by the candles on the coffee table.

“Right,” John cleared his throat, glancing around the room, “Orla, Simon, and the babies can take one of the guest rooms—”

“Johnny, Dom, and I can take a blow up mattress if its big enough,” Mara chimed in from across the table.

John frowned, “are you sure?”

“Fell asleep in the lounge last night anyhow,” her Scottish counterpart chimed in, Dominic leaning over his back, arms around his neck like a monkey, “just call it campin’.”

“That leaves the couches and the guest bedroom—”

“The boys and I can take the couches, right guys?” Felicity asked, looking at her boys all lined up next to her on the couch already, Logan and Vivienne at the end. “Are you alright with that Vivienne? Have you managed to get through to your parents yet?”

“Mhmm,” the girl nodded, picking at her cuticles, “my dad says the power’s out by them too. Roads are closed—” she sniffled and Logan nudged her, a soft frown tugging at his brows that John had never witnessed before. She leaned into him a little more, wiping at her face when the whistling window got louder again, shutting her eyes against the noise, her hand clamping around his wrist.

“Alright, Kyle and Mae, you’ll take the last guest bedroom then.” John nodded to himself, getting to his feet, “I’ll get blankets and pillows sorted now, that way we aren’t all tripping over each other when we’re tired.”

From there, the house became somewhat of a working bee, pillows being tossed one way, blankets getting handed down the other. Dominic managed to get a hold of one of Toby’s Nintendo switch controllers and the two of them played quietly in the corner—most of the time John heard Toby telling the little boy how to get ahead, letting him win a few times. Soft giggles radiated from their area by the Christmas tree while Johnny and Mara set up the air mattress and Kyle helped Jackson set up the couch.

❀❀❀

Felicity found Vivienne in the kitchen, spinning on her heel and frowning up at the cupboards, eyes still shiny, “looking for something sweetheart? Can I help?”

“Um, I just wanted a cloth to wipe my glasses, I can’t find my bag, L-Logan’s looking for it,” she said, words thick in her throat.

“I’m sure we’ll find it in no time,” she said, marching over to the drawers, pulling them open till the last one where tea towels were folded up, “will these do? They’re clean.”

Vivienne nodded, taking one and giving her glasses a good wipe down, “I must’ve gotten grease or something on them, one of the lenses was all smudged,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before putting the glasses back on. “Thank you for the cloth,” she managed a smile, needlessly wringing the fabric in her hands.

“Not a fan of storms?”

The girl shook her head, flinching at another gust of wind that made the house creak, “I’m not so bad when it’s still day time. But—it’s just the dark, and the noise—”

“It’s okay, I get it. It can be pretty scary,” Felicity agreed, “but John’s trying to get his back-up generator working, then we’ll have some more light. We could even get a movie going on the TV. I reckon that sounds like a good distraction, yeah?”

Vivienne nodded, a little brightness returning to her expression and they went back to help everyone in the living room.

The lights turning back on was received with some cheers when John re-emerged from his basement to wash his hands in the bathroom. Everyone settled in for the night in their designated areas.

Those down in the living room, the Parkers, Vivienne, and Johnny’s half of the MacTavish’s, decided to watch Elf as their movie, mostly because John’s DVD selection wasn’t incredibly extensive and the Wi-Fi was out so that took away the option of any streaming services.

Halfway through, both Dominic and Vivienne had fallen asleep, the latter of which resting her head on Logan’s shoulder. Logan was failing to appear as unbothered as he’d have liked to, glancing down at her every other minute. And by the end of the movie Felicity was the only one left awake, watching the credits roll.

Sighing, she turned off the television, and got up to get some water before she’d turn the main light off, rubbing her hip.

“I can take the couch if you want,” John’s voice behind her made her jump and he laughed, steadying her with a hand on her waist. “You can take the bed.”

Felicity turned, blinking up at him, cast into relief from the hallway light pouring into the kitchen. “You mean your bedroom.”

Slowly, he nodded, “apparently so.”

She scoffed, keeping her voice low, “I don’t think…I don’t have a problem with sleeping on the couch, John.”

“I have a problem with you sleeping on the couch. I’ve got a perfectly good bed upstairs—"

“That you should be sleeping on,” Felicity finished for him, taking his hand off her waist, clenching her hand tight when she let him go again—as if to savour the feeling of his wrist. “I’m not taking your bed from you, it’s your house John.”

“Then we can share it.”

She blinked up at him, her frown slowly lowering over her eyes, “now that is the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day. We can not share a bed.”

“Why not?” He crossed his arms over his chest, muscular forearms bulging right into her space, “you don’t trust me to keep my hands to myself? Is that it?”

“Of course not! This is a terrible idea,” she hissed.

“Well it’s happening. Drink your water.”

“What?”

“Drink your water, then you’ll come join me—get a proper nights rest. I know for a fact that couch is terrible to sleep on. C’mon, don’t fight me on this love.”

She scoffed a laugh, taking a large gulp of water, “that right there is exactly why we should not share a bed. All these little pet names you keep—”

“I give everyone pet names—”

“You call Simon sweetheart?”

An amused smile broke across his face, hands raising in defeat. “Alright, you got me. But,” he sighed, reaching to take her hands, tugging her a little closer to him, “c’mon Effie. I’ll be hands off—”

“You’re not even being hands off right now,” she grumbled.

“It’s just sleeping.”

“Just. Sleeping. I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he smiled, pulling her closer again until she could smell the minty toothpaste on his breath, “just sleeping,” he murmured, his nose brushing hers, causing butterflies to stir in her stomach as she lifted her head ever so slightly to keep her eyes trained on his instead of falling to his lips.

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch when pressed against his own, he pulled her arms around him, clasping them together behind his back, his head dipping down. “How much eggnog did you drink? Because I’m starting to think we have different ideas of just sleeping,” she asked, voice breathy against his lips.

“Mm, same as you,” he grinned, his words falling into her mouth as her breath caught. “Kiss me Felicity, please?”

“If I do, will you let me sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“I suppose it’s worth the risk then,” she whispered, closing the distance.

#ao3 #tf 141 #writing #fluff #john price x oc #captain john price #john price #captain price #family dynamics #cod #cod headcanons #price cod #task force 141 #call of duty fanfic

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satcnus · 3 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐘

𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐘 - n. balanced proportions. also: beauty of form arising from balanced proportions.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. ex-military widower ✖ runaway stray

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. older protective male x vulnerable teen fem. widower x runaway. paternal elements within romance. male saviorism. size differences. opposites attract. ride or die. hurt, comfort, healing. v-rginity loss. dead dove do not eat.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! The following original fiction contains potentially triggering content, including: extreme age gap, homicide, child and spousal death, kidnapping, s-xual as-sault (background only), r-pe recovery, child abuse (background only), post-traumatic stress disorder and disabling mental illness, and mild ddlg themes (clothing, nicknames). Read at your own discretion.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐎𝟑 — EARLY RELEASE. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈��𝐄𝐑.

Ninety-eight degrees. A Walmart fan rumbling loudly, gyrating its wind back and forth like a pendulum over the entirety of the classroom. When it struck her, her test lifted up into its breeze, trying to be carried off. The girl snatched it back down, as though she would be finishing it at all anyway.

Her hair, too, billowed up, catching in the fan’s grace of cooled air. The large, fluffy curls she’d worked meticulously to form her dark mane into were now frizzed and returning back to their usual, tighter shape at the very ends. A scent of warm vanilla emanated from her form. An essence of timid, anxious reticence, too. The steel wrapped around the far end of her number two pencil was chewed slightly, out of stress. The minutes in the hour were pushing by without her consent. She wasn’t able to keep up with them, even though everyone else was.

As the bell rang in the overhead speakers, a stampede erupted. Forty chairs scraping on linoleum. Animals set free. Now they barreled down the previously empty hallway in some chaotic display of primitivity. Nara still sat at her desk, chewing on her lip, trying to understand the twenty-third question in that seemingly endless book of them. Her leg bounced, ruffling her pale white skirt against her skin. Below, her converse squeaked against the linoleum.

“Ms. Chae?” a gentle, soothing voice called. “Ms. Chae, unfortunately, you’ll have to put your pencil down now.”

Nara felt tightness in her chest as graphite met desk. A swallow brought reality rushing in. Last night, her father had hit her so hard it’d made her dizzy. Today she’d had to use several layers of makeup to cover the bruise he left. Today she had to pretend her face wasn’t throbbing, as she sat down to take her first attempt at the SATs. Today, she had only made it through twenty-three questions of the first section in her SATs. She had failed. Despite trying to prepare, she had failed.

A whirlwind of potential futures whipped through her mind as she stepped out of the classroom, numb. If she didn’t get a good score on her SATs then she wouldn’t get into a good college. And if she didn’t get into a good college, then she wouldn’t get a good job. And if she didn’t get a good job, then she would wind up like her mother—slapping rubber bands around her arm and shoving needles into her veins just to feel some semblance of life again. Begging on the street corner with some sign claiming she was a disabled veteran.

The girl’s eyes were glossing with stifled back tears as the weight of her inadequacy nestled down, densely, into her chest.

As she turned the corner to head down the B wing towards for her gym period, she caught sight of him.

Constantino.

Even though she tried to look pretty, he never noticed her. No one ever did. Not like Erica Mahone. No amounts of pearly white bows pinned up in the darkness of her hair, or soft strappy pinks, or flowy, airy whites could match up to Erica Mahone.

It was like some fucked up, real life rendition of all those stupid high school nineties movies.

Erica was the head cheerleader, who, of course, turned everyone’s heads everywhere she went. Her parents were probably the richest in the entirety of Arcadia High’s school district. She had everything she could ever want, and it was completely unfair. She even had a car. She just got her license and already had a car. Meanwhile, Ha-neul refused to teach Nara how to drive at all, let alone get her a car, despite literally being a mechanic (albeit a shitty, scamming one).

In a sea of melanin tanned by the Arizonian sun, Erica Mahone was pale and blonde and Elnara would never be her. She had the looks they airbrushed on magazines—sixteen and platinum blonde with hair fallen all the way down the length of her back and had double-Ds. The only reason Nara knew that was because Erica had made sure everyone knew that. Meanwhile, Nara was going to be sixteen soon and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Sometimes she would get up early and study herself in the mirror and try to push her breasts together to imagine what it would be like to have cleavage. To feel pretty and feminine. To be wanted by boys. To not blend into the background.

It was so unbelievably, goddamn unfair that she had to be walking towards B wing at the same exact time as Nara, and had slapped the soda Nara was sipping at from her hands. Erica and her band of lackeys, all dolled up to… go learn Science, erupted in laughter as the amber liquid went skating across the tile. Students walking the opposite way shuffled out of the way. Nara stopped in her tracks, sighing, violently angry but not enough to let anyone see her cry.

Fuck gym class. Fuck this school. Fuck fucking Erica Mahone. And fuck Constantino, too, for fucking existing and never even fucking looking at her. As she turned, she watched him walk in Erica’s direction, all swagger and devastating beauty. Everybody wanted Constantino because he was Greek and looked like some teenage version of Henry Cavill. Everybody, including Nara, because she was stupid enough to still be afflicted with hopes of being like one of those girls from those stupid nineties movies. The jock suddenly realizing the nerdy, worthless girl when she took her glasses off and put on some makeup.

Well, Nara didn’t wear glasses and apparently her makeup did something different from Erica’s, because Constantino walked right past her and wrapped his arms around Erica, giving her the comfort that she probably didn’t even need. Giving her the attention she definitely didn’t even need.

It was so fucking, fucking, fucking unfair.

Nara was seething, trying her hardest to grit her teeth and huff back her impending tears when she walked back into the lunch room. The last lunch period was beginning, and she guessed she would be eating lunch again instead of going to gym class because she was—what? A fucking fat ass? Apparently. There she was, with her newly gained thirty pounds, all pudgy in all the places that Erica wasn’t, asking the lunch lady if she could get another root beer because she dropped hers. The lunch lady recognized her, took pity on her most days, and gave her another serving of everything, along with her root beer.

Nara swung her bookbag off her shoulder and sat down, dejectedly, at the end of a table in the back of the cafeteria. Alone. Always alone.

She could feel the fat in her lovehandles as she pulled out her phone to message her online friend back on Discord. The only reason she’d been eating so much lately, and intentionally packing on more weight, was because she had decided it for good this time, and she wanted to make sure she had some sort of fail-safe if things didn’t work out and she struggled to feed herself for whatever reason.

24 days. She was counting down to it. She’d chosen early June for a reason. It was so she could disappear quietly, never having to torture herself with the thought that no one at school even noticed she was gone. This way, no one was even at school to not notice her non-presence.

> hows school??? you ready to leave that dump yet? :mockingsponge: > ugh TOTALLY ready > erica’s barbie ass just smacked my soda out of my hand…… > awwww, i’m sorry kitty!! :sadbunny: did you punch her in the face??? cause u should have punched her in the face <3333333

Nara looked up from her phone, scrunching one corner of her lips into her cheek. She sighed, typing back.

> no, i’m not violent you know that > I just cant wait to leave tbh > That’s okay, kitty <3 u’ll be rocking it in las vegas soon!! we are gonna party hardyyy A small smile graced her lips. All of that anger towards Erica was beginning to dissipate. > i can’t wait!! alright i gotta go! I’ll ttyl <3 love u J > love u girly pop!

She set her phone down after the small fib. The truth was that she was just… tired. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. She’d already hit her social quota for the day. For her life, really. Despite being an extrovert, naturally, her true personality had been stifled down and stomped out by the never-ending loop of abuse and trauma and bullying.

This plan was her ticket out.

Even if she had to take the SATs in Nevada, she’d do it, because she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t take living here in this hell with Ha-neul and Erica and fucking Constantino anymore. She needed to get out. She needed to get the entire fuck out.

And Jaime was going to help her.

Jaime was going to be her savior.

Jaime had an apartment, and a car, and a job.

Jaime was her ticket out.

Just twenty-four more days. Three weekends and some change. She could do this. She could make it.

Elnara picked up her fork and ate her second serving of spaghetti for the day, knowing that soon she would never have to eat this shitty cafeteria food ever again.

---

Tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning, everything would change.

Tomorrow morning, Elnara would no longer be the beaten girl that nobody liked or even looked at.

Tomorrow morning, Elnara wold be free. Finally free. She would never step foot back in this god forsaken state ever again in her life.

She just had to make it a few more hours. She could do that. Though, today, her usual routine felt like each step took eons to complete. Getting the kids ready for school—Aras for preschool and Ji-eun for elementary. Walking them up to the bus stop and giving them kisses goodbye and waving at them as their respective buses departed down the pothole-ridden road. Then she’d headed back to their 5th floor three bedroom apartment, past all the stinky, moldy carpet in the hallways and staircases, shoved her key in the door lock and jiggled it until it let up.

After spending her time doing her makeup—all drugstore brand because apparently only the Ericas of the world were worth Sephora—and choosing her nicest thrifted outfit, she left for school an hour after the morning bell had already rung. What measly money she’d scrounged up in the couch cushions would serve her well enough to get a seat on the city bus, and ride it down to the stop one block up from the high school. Then came the most torturous part of it all. She’d almost chosen to skip it entirely today, but in some weird way, Nara wanted to savor her last day at school. She wanted to make peace with it, and enjoy the things she so often abhorred only because they were now contrasted with fast-approaching freedom.

For once in her life, her school day was not terrible, but it did drag out much too long. Long enough that her final period teacher, Mrs. Pritchard, had claimed the bell didn’t dismiss them and made them wait an extra two minutes before giving her permission for everyone to go home. For no reason at all except to exercise her power over them. The one point of contention in her day, because the city bus did not operate within the same parameters as the school district buses. The time school ended was already cutting it perilously close to when the city bus left. With two minutes eaten up, she’d have to jog that block back up to the bus stop, and hope the bus driver today was Mr. Carlos. Mr. Carlos knew her and knew why she took the city bus, because he knew her dad, and he knew her Noona, before she got sick and couldn’t ride the bus to Walmart on Saturday mornings anymore.

Noona had always liked to pick up some orange juice, Tropicana brand—nothing else otherwise she wouldn’t drink it, and a big container of pickling salt so she could complete all her pickling for the week. That was the best part about going over to Noona’s, aside from the old woman always passing Nara a secret five or ten dollar bill. She always had some kind of vegetable fermenting, and her house always smelled amazing because of it. In that sour, pungent, stinky delicious way that spoke of how big of a party your gut bacteria would have after munching on those homemade pickled cucumbers or beets or napa cabbage. Whatever Noona could get her hands on, it would go in a mason jar and be filled with a variety of seasonings, water, and pickling salt.

It was a damned shame that it was the dementia that got her. She had a near perfect clean bill of health otherwise. Nara remembered how sobering it was to learn that you could do everything right, eat right, exercise, pray… and it could all still mean nothing in the end.

Now Noona’s pickles sat in unopened, sealed jars in her shared nursing home bedroom.

The worst that Medicare could buy.

Lord knows Ha-neul couldn’t give a damn whether nobody changed her diaper or gave her her meds on time.

Now, as the city bus descended with a rushing of air and a quick-succession beeping, Nara felt the remorse of an action not yet taken slither down her spine. The double doors of Serene meadows shut softly behind her. As she stepped in, past the vestibule, the smack of putrid, mingling body odors hit her nose. She scrunched her expression against it, quickly diving for her usual wear of an N95 mask smeared with Vick’s vapor rub, left out by the receptionist, Tyla, solely for Nara’s using.

She would miss these people, strangely enough. Mr. Carlos. Tyla. She would miss them more than she missed her father. Or Noona.

God, she was going to miss Noona.

As she stepped into Hana’s room, her roommate was snoring softly, inclined in his hospital bed. Noona had the bed by the window, which had been championed by the nursing home as some special treatment. A great view… out at a parking lot.

It was okay. Hana didn’t spend much time looking out the window. She spent most of her time looking at the pictures in her gardening magazine from several years ago.

“Hey, Noona,” Nara chimed as she swiped past the curtain. Hana was at that gardening magazine again. She hadn’t realized Nara was there yet. Nara dropped her bookbag in the least roach-infested corner.

“Noona?” she chimed again, this time a bit louder. It looked like her hearing aids weren’t in. Of course they weren’t. Why would Noona need to hear anything? Hearing was for the rich.

She suddenly looked up, startled with a soft sigh of ah, and then she softened, giving Nara a gentle, loving smile. Nara could see, in her eyes, she didn’t recognize her. She still smiled at Nara with the same love, though. That was the thing about Noona. She loved everyone, whether she knew them or not.

“Oh, hello!” Noona said, her voice in a soft falsetto. Her hands trembled as she went to hold Nara’s between them. “Hello, um…” she hummed, thinking, as she patted Nara’s hand over and over. “Um…”

“Nara, Noona. It’s me, Nara,” she tried, but as the words came out she felt the gravity of what she was doing. The last time she would ever greet Noona. The last time she would ever remind her that she had a family. That she had someone who loved her.

The girl sniffled as she forced a smile, flushed from the lips to the cheekbones. “It’s me. Your granddaughter!”

“Ohhhh,” Noona sighed, giving Nara a wider smile. Behind her eyes, she could still see that the old woman didn’t recognize her.

Still, she freed one of her hands from Noona’s, careful not to scratch her paper thin skin in the process, and pulled up a chair. One leg hung over the other as she crossed them, and leaned in a bit closer, still speaking loudly.

“Noona, how was your day?” she asked, trying to push back the wavering in her voice. As she leaned in, she noticed a smell, pushing forward through all of the other smells that the vick’s barely concealed. A quick dart of her vision told her that Noona had been sitting in her own feces. Again. All day. Again.

Her jaw tightened.

Noona hadn’t answered her. She was still looking at Nara with those dreamy, clueless eyes. “Oh, such a pretty girl,” she remarked in Korean, patting her hand again.

“Thank you, Noona,” Nara responded, giving another forced but brief smile as she tried to search around for the comically large remote attached to the bed, so she could press the call button.

The bed began to beep in these long dings as they waited for someone, anyone, to come to her attention.

“Noona, I… I took a test today,” she offered, trying her damn hardest not to try. Her face was flushing more. Her eyes glossing. “I think I did really good!” she whispered, emotionally. She caught her heavying breaths with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m gonna go to college. So I won’t be coming back, for awhile,” she tried, her words gasping out slightly.

Noona still had no idea who she was.

Nara’s eyes squeezed shut for a long moment, as a single tear darted down from both eyes.

“Ohhh,” Noona sighed, beginning to rub at Nara’s knuckles. Empathizing without knowing why.

Nara sniffed hard, trying to compose herself, as she wiped at her tears.

“Did you hear me, Noona?” she asked, voice high. “It’s me, Nara. I’m your granddaughter… I’m going to—college—and I’m not going to be around for awhile.”

Her lips, the same rounded, supple shape as Noona’s became damp with her tears. Noona’s eyebrows etched inward in her confusion. Nara squeezed her eyes shut again, this time out of frustration, as more tears darted down. She might have leaned back and sobbed into her hands if not for the CNA finally showing up.

“What?” he asked, his tone inconvenienced; bored and irritated. As though he was being held at gunpoint to work here and hated the elderly with a passion.

It sent Nara over the edge. Her own lilted voice left her in a vicious retort, sharpened with an edge of pent up anger. “Can you please change my grandmother’s diaper? Please.” Then she huffed, tucking her hair behind her ears before crossing her arms over her chest, avoiding the man’s eyes. Her first act of indignation. Perhaps freedom would bring out the worst in her. Or… was it the best? To finally have her voice? To demand something of a man, and not the other way around?

The CNA—a portly, redheaded man with more freckles than empathy—sneered at her before delivering a curt, “I’ll get to it.”

Nara’s jaw tightened. Her breaths heaved through her chest deeper. Her cheeks—crimson beneath the sterile white of her N95.

She knew, she knew that this piece of shit didn’t treat the other residents like this. She knew he neglected Noona for a specific, sinister reason, because she had visited a few hours early one day and caught him cleaning up Noona and snickering with another CNA while he mocked her in a sing-song voice with a remark lined with hard consonants and racism.

Chickity-china-the-chinese-chicken… Chickity-china-the—

He’d stopped only when he’d realized Nara was standing in the corner, staring at him, boring a hole into his back with a stare that could’ve killed.

She’s Korean, she wanted to defend, spit it out in his face. Let him feel the stupidity of his own racism. She hadn’t been so brave back then as she was now.

“Do it now!” it exploded from her dampened lips. A second later, she sunk back in. As though her mind remembered that she wasn’t allowed to speak to men like that. “Please,” she added, softened around its edges by fear and fear only.

He rolled his eyes before giving her a very tight, faux smile and speaking in a sickening, repulsive sweet voice. “I’ll get right on that, Mrs. Chae.”

Then he left, and Nara ignored the automatic tag of a husband’s surname attributed to her own; ignored the microaggression of misogyny. Like she needed to be reminded that she was a woman and women marry men and men don’t take their wives’ names. She didn’t need to be betrothed to a man to use her voice. She had discovered it through grueling, unending condescension. Being talked down to day in and day out by her father. Being told, very explicitly, how worthless of a daughter she was.

She’d like to see how worthless she was tomorrow when Ha-neul had nobody to cook him dinner. She was almost frothing at the mouth to see his karma in action. To watch him fumble, like an idiot, with trying to make dough or even boil a fucking egg. She had turned into a five star Michelin chef for him, only to constantly be met with sneers of how it wasn’t very good, it was too lacking in flavor, or too strong in flavor, or it “just doesn’t taste like Noona’s”, as if he ever gave a single shit about Noona. Who was sitting there beside her bed right now, making sure she got cleaned up so she could sleep tonight without her paper skin growing sore and rancid and the delicacy of her vaginal flora getting thrown into an infection? Was it him? No. It was never him. It was always her. It was always her, and Nara was done. She was done with her father, and she was done with this asshole CNA, and she was done with this entire city.

The girl watched the CNA clean up her grandmother and dress her in a new, clean adult diaper and then chewed him out for being so heartless. “How would you like sitting in your shit all day?!” she accused, her high, lilted voice somehow viper sharp. It felt good. Powerful.

She stayed with Noona until she fell asleep, and then quietly slipped one of those mason jars of pickled cauliflower and peppers into her bag, and left to go get the kids from school. Ji-eun intentionally joined an afterschool program so Nara would have more time to get to the school bus stop and pick her up while Ha-neul stayed home and drank after work. The pre-school was next to a daycare that one of Aras’ teachers helped him to every day. That closed at six, so she had plenty of time.

Another mind numbing ride on the bus. She picked apart her unfinished homework and threw the pieces on the bus’ steel floor like she was picking petals from a flower.

“Hey, bunny!” she exclaimed as Aras came bouncing up to her, throwing his arms around his older sister. A barrage of quickly-blurted, excited ramblings about his day at school was immediately recited. He kept on going all the way until they were stepping off the bus and walking towards Ji’s bus stop. While they were still on the fancy school bus as Aras put it, he showed her his finger paintings he did that day, complete with glued on macaroni and sparkles. Nara naturally congratulated him and told him it was beautiful and he was so talented. She tried not to let her emotions overtake her.

She knew this would be hard, but she hadn’t gambled on it being this hard. A few weeks ago, when it was all just this distant, far away concept that would be coming to fruition, the teenager hadn’t been able to feel the full extent of her grief over leaving them. Somehow, it felt like mourning their deaths, but even worse than that. It felt like sentencing them to a life in prison with no prison guard to stop the evil that went on behind the bars. It felt like smiling in his face and pulling a trigger. It felt like giving him a kiss on his chubby, giggly cheek and stabbing him right through the abdomen.

Nara gave Aras her phone to play a game on and distract him as she stared, very intentionally, out the window at the city passing by. In her reflection, she could see her tears glistening off her cheeks, her throat silent and untelling of them.

After picking up Ji from the after school bus, Nara walked them both back to their apartment, her siblings both happily holding either of her hands. She was clutching theirs so tight that Ji whined at her. “Naraaa! Stop!” she fussed, and Nara sniffled, quietly apologizing. Ji didn’t notice she was crying. Nara thanked herself for having saved up to get Ji a phone. She was too buried in TikTok to realize that something very, very terrible would be happening to her life come tomorrow afternoon.

---

The door thudded shut behind them and Ji-eun and Aras immediately took a beeline towards their room, as they always did. His presence was already pushing up against the corners of the apartment. Seeping through the house like a stench that out-weighed the mold in the vents.

Nara felt herself tense, so automatically, and shut up down to her footsteps.

She walked, unconsciously, on the tips of her toes after leaving her converse by the door beside her siblings’, and filled up the mop to get started on her chores.

While the mop bucket was filling, she washed her hands and began preparing Ha-neul’s dinner, which would be different from what the rest of them ate. He wanted steak. The kids weren’t allowed to eat steak. Only he was allowed to eat steak.

She listened, over her own breaths, for any changes in his movements. He was on the couch, snorting and spitting in that stupid, disgusting old coffee can. She could smell his intoxication from here.

“Nara!” he called, suddenly, his baritone voice slurred.

“Yes?” she called back, her voice small, careful around its tone.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘yes’? Is that how you talk to your father?” he snarled. She could hear his boots hit the ground.

She swallowed. Tensed up. Prepared herself. He was coming to hit her. It happened every night now. She counted.

“No,” she whispered, lilted, small.

“What? Speak up.” His demand came as he stepped into the kitchen, shirt off, sweating and flushed from all the drinking. He stood over her. Tall. Brooding. Powerful. Terrifying.

She dipped her gaze, finding root at the permanently stained tile beneath their feet that he so often cited as “still dirty” even after she’d gone over it thrice with boiling water and bleach.

“No, I’m sorry, Abeonim,” she tried again, this time louder. He never allowed her to call him Appa. Not anymore. He’d made sure that she understood her place, even as she grew into womanhood. Forcing her to call him by the formal honorific of his title as her father. When he wasn’t around, she referred to him as his first name with nothing attached. The ultimate disrespect.

Nara could see his shoulders lifting as his chest heaved, a gowling growing in his throat. She shut her eyes quickly, trying to level her breath, as she waited. Waited for the dizzying slap. Waited for the violence without reason. This would be the last time he ever beat her. This would be the last time.

“Heomuhada,” he spit. The harshest version of useless he could speak. His knuckles came swift and damning. Her cheekbone made a sickening sound against its thrat.

She could feel the bruise of it already accumulating, throbbing because it was the same place he’d hit her last night. Her teeth and jaw throbbed too, left in the imprint of his malice.

Somehow, still, his insult stung harder than his hand.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” he seethed, accent thick. “I have been waiting all day. I’m starving.”

“It’ll be finished soon, Abeonim,” she whispered, abdomen tense. Like walking on eggshells.

“Hurry up,” he sneered. The condiments in the fridge clattered as he ripped its door open and took out another beer, placing his empty one on the counter, just feet from the trash bin. As he went back into the living room, belching before taking a swig, Nara timidly placed the empty beer in the trash, careful to not make noise. If it did, Ha-neul would take offense, and be right back in the kitchen, accusing her of believing he was an alcoholic—which he was.

Dinner was finished as quickly as she could muster. Steak, asparagus and buttery mashed potatoes at his text demand. Kimchi soup for herself and her siblings. She brought their bowls of soup to their bedroom, gave them each hugs, and closed the door behind her with as soft of a thud as she could manage.

Then, she joined Ha-neul on the couch, sitting on the other end with her legs curled in under her. Postured tensely. This was another rule of his. He had taken offense to her not wanting to be around him as well. She was now forced to eat dinner beside him, as he got drunker and drunker, yelled at the athletes on the television, and berated her for her “terrible” cooking.

Only after he was already halfway through his steak did he suddenly slap his knife and fork down on the plate, forcefully toss it onto the living room table, and inhale this deep, angry sigh through his nostrils. He was glaring over at her. She kept her eyes forward and down, trying to take small sips of her soup, but she couldn’t stop the way her hand trembled.

“You overcooked it.”

“I’m sorry,—”

“Don’t fucking talk back to me, Elnara!” he spit. Seething. Livid. He had five more empty beer bottles sitting on the floor beside the sofa.

She hugged around herself with one arm, holding her soup with the other.

“I-I’m sorry,” she breathed, voice hitching as she began to tremble.

Without warning, he stood up, snatched a fistful of her hair and launched her body down, into the floor. On the way, she struck her head. Her hot soup spilled everywhere, burning into her skin. When she hissed, automatically, at it, Ha-neul’s boot came ramming into her side. Defeated, submitting, the girl curled into herself, cowering, lifting her arms up to block her face.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, sobbing, unable to stop sobbing.

Ha-neul went quiet, and then he scoffed.

“Clean this shit up. I can’t believe how dirty you let it get in here.”

“Okay—” she whispered, scrambling to scoop up as much of the solids of her soup into the now empty bowl.

While Ha-neul went to his room, with his plate of food, Nara was left cleaning the last serving of soup off the carpet. She spent another hour spraying it down, scrubbing at the red stain, and then steam cleaning it when she couldn’t get it out. It wasn’t until she was bent over, scrubbing the brush furiously into the carpet that she realized something.

Tomorrow… she would be gone.

If the stain remained, she wouldn’t be here for him to hit her over it.

Her heart soared.

The guilt for her siblings mixed in with that excitement, and made her both sick and thrilled as she shoved the steam cleaner’s handle back in its holder, wheeled it back to the bathroom, and dumped its dirtied water in the toilet.

The rest of her chores were completed not for Ha-neul, but for her siblings. She wanted them to have a clean place, at least for a little bit, after she left. Everything was scrubbed shiny by the time Ha-neul’s snores carried to her. She hoped he would do everyone a favor and die in his sleep. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d choke on his own vomit. That would be something, wouldn’t it?

Nara’s fingernails scratched pink lines into her tanned, deep olive complexion as she turned on the shower. The combination of dryness and irritation from all the chemicals always made her so itchy. Now, that combined with dried up kimchi soup was just a recipe for disaster.

She took her time in the bathroom, relaxed now that her father was asleep, and let herself hum against the steam; be renewed by it. Tomorrow, she’d never have to step foot in this house ever again. Just ten more hours. She gently opened up the kids’ bedroom door once she was clean and dressed, to pick up Aras, and climb into Ji-eun’s tiny mattress, and cuddle them both.

Her fingers trailed soothing scratches up and down Aras’ back as he picked at the fuzzies on her shirt, and eventually snored softly against her bosom. Ji was curled up into her side, not quite asleep yet but not quite awake still.

As the night drifted on, Nara’s heart finally released its anxiety, and allowed her to fall to rest, if even just for a few hours. The position she was in wasn’t optimal, but it was preferred, because she wanted to spend her last night in this apartment with her siblings.

When she awoke, Aras was already playing with his toys on the floor. Ji-eun was still knocked out against her side, and Nara gave her a big squeeze and a kiss in her hair before she climbed out of the too-small bed, her body aching, but her heart less so.

Today was the day.

Today, she became free.

Today, she didn’t look back.

Today, she lived like they did in the movies.

---

It had taken her hours.

The minutes zipping by her, ticking down, dwindling the amount of time she had to make her move.

But she just couldn’t do it.

After she’d dropped the kids off at their bus stop, and continued her routine with them as normal, with only a very sternly, teary spoken, “You know I love you guys, right? I love you so much,” to offer any clue into what was happening, Nara had gathered up that bookbag she’d packed away. In its reservoir was an assortment of random necessities: five pairs of clothes, socks, underwear, a few packets of ramen noodles, her dad’s pocket knife, Noona’s cauliflower pickles, a pink, strapped journal, a photo of her baby siblings, a Greyhound bus ticket, and exactly one hundred and twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents.

She was ready.

But only physically.

The entire morning was spent sobbing.

She cried so hard she threw up. Then she cried some more, thinking about what abandoning her siblings would set in motion. She wasn’t stupid, much to the contrast of what Ha-neul insisted. She knew what happened next here. When she was gone, he would need a new target, and it would be Ji-eun. And Ji-eun… She wasn’t strong like Nara had grown to be. She couldn’t just put up her walls and grit her teeth through it. When daddy was mad, it broke her heart, every time, every day. It broke her heart only if she saw it. So Nara made sure she didn’t see it, at least as much as she could. But after today… she wouldn’t only just be witnessing his anger, Ji-eun would be on the other end of it, unprotected.

Nara sat on the couch, her palms gripping her thighs and sighed out her tears in heavy gasps. She knew what had to be done. She couldn’t live like this anymore.

But what about Aras? What about that sweet, happy, baby boy?

What would happen to his happiness?

She sobbed, trembling, her gasps hitching, her face snotty and red and damp.

She didn’t have much time anymore. Ha-neul would be back for lunch, and he would see that she was still here, and he would beat her for skipping school. So, she couldn’t win, you see. She knew that. She knew that.

By the time she had finally found her bravery, it was half past noon. Ha-neul would be home by one. She had to leave now. It was now, or never. Because if he caught her… if he had even so much as an inkling of what she planned to do… she’d never get the opportunity again.

So it had to be now.

The girl squared her shoulders.

She sniffed all the chagrin back in.

She slipped on her converse.

And she set off on foot. Towards her freedom. Towards her new life.

Walking nowhere, walking fast.

The farther she got, the easier it was to breathe, and the more motivated and determined she felt. As she walked, she daydreamed of all the things she would do. Like meeting new people, partying on the beach, maybe she would even get a boyfriend like all the other girls had. A prince charming, just like in the movies. He would love her and he would save her and they would have babies and a family and, one day, she would find her siblings again, and adopt them so they never had to be near Ha-neul ever again.

She imagined living in her own apartment and having an office job and getting a degree.

Everything finally possible.

Everything finally here.

---

She’d gone north by foot and bus, and then west by stolen bike.

By the time she wound up in a McDonald’s off of route 400, she was exhausted, having barely managed any sleep over the past few days, since she hadn’t accounted for how bumpy the bus ride would be, and that she couldn’t sleep on her belly. Now, as she sat in a booth near the restrooms of the fast food restaurant, the sound of its overdue orders beeping behind the front counter kept her awake.

She was feeling sniffly, just like she used to when she was a kid. Eyes gritty. Head pounding.

Her cheek fell into her palm, propped up by the elbow on the empty table.

In her hand, she was texting Jaime. Again.

> where are you?? I’m here… pls answer soon?

She’d just tried to voice call her again. No answer.

Some horrible feeling in the pit of her belly told her that she’d been fucked here.

That Jaime wasn’t coming. And that she’d been left to rot with the wolves.

She rubbed her hand over her tired face, and then leaned back in the booth, casting an absentminded look out the window. A rumbling truck. A band of children climbing out of a sedan with their mother and father quickly in tow. A black van. A group of teenagers on skateboards.

Nara sighed. One of the employees was meandering towards her in slow figure-eights, swiping dirt around with a dirty mop and dirty mop water. The girl frowned, and checked her phone again.

Nothing.

Her jaw tightened.

She tried to call Jaime again.

It failed immediately.

What the fuck?

> hey?

She tried to press send.

> Your message could not be delivered. This is usually because you don't share a server with the recipient or the recipient is only accepting direct messages from friends.

No.

What the fuck.

Her jaw dropped.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

“Oh, my god,” she whispered, the shock quite literally dropping her jaw. Palms drew over her now flushing features, as her heart pounded with anxiety, and her mind struggled to comprehend what just happened.

Jaime. Jaime her best online friend for over two years now, Jaime who she had told everything to, Jaime who had been her rock—invited her out here, waited until she was already waiting for her, and then just ghosted?

No. No… this… this had to be some sort of mistake.

She scratched in through her hair, her features etching into concern as she skipped through Jaime’s profile, trying to see if maybe they had somehow been kicked from the same server, and had never actually friended one another.

But it was impossible to tell.

She quickly pressed the friend request button.

A minute later, it disappeared from her Pending.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she whispered, her voice now trembling, caught in an edge of realization and despair.

It all suddenly hit her. It all suddenly crashed down. The fear was tense in her belly, and she drew her hands back over her face only to cover the torrential downpour from witnesses as best as she could. Her bookbag hung slack around her elbow, laid across the booth’s seat. Before her was that opened jar of Noona’s pickles, half-eaten, a plastic fork stabbed within its basin.

Breaths drew into her lungs in harsh gasps as they were quickly devolving into hyperventilation between her cries. A full breakdown. Off the side of route 400.

Suddenly, a voice was cutting through it all. A man’s voice. ”Whoaaa… Are you okay?” Nara quickly mopped the tears from her face with her hands, embarrassed, as her witness slid in the seat opposite of her. A pair of icy blue eyes. Dirty blonde hair. A set of shiny, pearly white teeth. A voice—gentle, kind. “Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing crying in a fuckin’ McDonalds?” he joked. She didn’t smile. She could hardly breathe.

He had a coffee in his hands. Beside his wrist sat a brown paper bag with a signature yellow M on it, rolled down from the top. The smell of fries and burgers lifted through its pores.

“Oh, come on. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad?”

Nara scoffed, incredulous, unsmiling, as another tear darted down. She shook her head, her lips still parted and jaw still slack, just so utterly, completely shocked.

When the man realized she was seriously surprised, a look of concern pulled into his features. He leaned forward on his elbows. Convincing. “W-What is it? Me and my friends, right here… we got a van? Could take you to the hospital if you want? Got plenty of room.”

Nara shook her head again, not out of rejection, but out of pure, unbridled bafflement. “I-I…” she gasped, blinking fast and hard.

“Hey, hey… It’s alright. Why don’t you… uh… Why don’t you let us drop you off somewhere? We’re headed to San Fran, personally. I don’t know if you wanna—tag along?”

The ice blue of his eyes fell into her’s, melted into it, offered a life raft. Her lower lip trembled as she stammered, trembling as her lithe shoulders lifted in a pitiful shrug. “I-I don’t–”

“We’ll take you to the hospital. You wanna go to the hospital?” His voice was more forceful now. Nara responded immediately to it, like a trained dog. She shut up. She nodded.

“Alright, then. Let’s go!” he grinned, sliding out of the booth. His tone so drastically different from just a moment ago. She followed suit, numb, unsure of what just happened, and whether she was making a terrible decision or not. “I’m Hunter, by the way,” he continued, jovial, sipping at his coffee. She held her bag in front of her belly as they left through the front doors, curling around it for protection, her posture tight. In her chest, her heart was beating a mile a minute.

She must have looked utterly terrified, because as they neared that black van she’d noticed earlier, a woman with equally blonde hair and blue eyes pushed off from her lean against its frame, and gave Nara a look of awe. “Oh my god, are you okay?! You look like you saw a ghost!” she exclaimed. Her voice, buttery and feminine, felt significantly more soothing than Hunter’s. Something about Hunter, and his magazine-worthy features made her feel uneasy. She stood several feet away from them. Hunter seemed… impatient.

“Oh, oh my goodness,” the woman sighed, canting her head a bit. “You poor thing. Did something happen?” In her hand was a cellphone. In its notification line, unseen to Nara, was a little purple icon.

“I… I don’t know,” Nara huffed, eyebrows lifted, still in shock.

The woman smiled softly at her. Sweet. Almost… too sweet.

“Well, listen… A McDonald’s is no place to cry your heart out, baby,” she passed a knowing look Nara’s way that the girl couldn’t quite dissect. To her lips, the woman brought the unlit end of a joint and took a long draw. Smoke billowed from her thin, pink lips. “You know, I once lost my shit inside a Love’s. So…” she shrugged, sighing, and making light of it all.

Nara fidgeted. “Um… I… I think I’m actually just gonna… call my dad,” she whispered, feeling small, feeling defeated. Was this how it ended? All of that freedom? All of that movie theater life? She’d barely made it into the next state. Pitiful. Useless.

Her eyes glossed as fresh tears began to well up.

“Awww… Honey. Well, where is your dad? Maybe we can take you to him?” she offered. Her voice was so motherly it took Nara by surprise. “If there’s one thing that I know about dads, it’s that they are p-i-s-s-e-d when you ask them for anything.” The woman chuckled. The driver’s side door slammed behind her, a flash of blonde hair disappearing behind its hold.

“Yeah,” Nara huffed, sniffling, wiping at her tears. She was starting to calm down a bit. Able to think more. Her eyebrows pulled in towards one another. “I… um… I don’t think he’ll be happy.” That was underselling it by a vast margin. He would be angry enough to beat the shit out of her. That she was sure of.

Her feet shuffled beneath her. Her throat swallowed at her own saliva.

“Well, shit. Do you have to call him? We could just drop you off?” Another long drag of a joint. Another cloud of smoke, blown Nara’s way. “I bet you’re a really good conversationalist. You just… have that look.”

The compliment, unexpected but… nice, washed away some of her worry. Some of her unease. Elnara swallowed again, contemplating. If she went home, she would have hell to pay. Was it even an option anymore? And what would she do if she didn’t have the guts to go in? Wander the streets, homeless, until she did?

Fuck. Why did Jaime have to fuck everything up?

Nara shook her head, sighing, her eyes falling closed momentarily as she tried to cope with this change of events. “No… He’s all the way back in Arizona. It’s too far,” she explained, pursing her lips dejectedly as her eyes found Poppy’s, which returned a very sympathetic, nurturing countenance.

“Well, hey—that’s okay! You can still ride with us! You like California? We’re going to San Franciscoooo!” she chimed, shaking her shoulders in playful excitement. It made Nara crack a smile. “Ope! There it is!” she exclaimed, pointing at Nara with her joint.

This time, Nara’s lips curled up, displaying her teeth, sheepishly pushing into the apples of her cheeks. She sniffled again, huffing out some light laughter.

“Wow, you have… such a pretty smile.”

Nara’s lips pursed together, trying to hide the way her smile wanted to widen. Instead, she responded with an innocent quip in return. A signing of her soul to eternal damnation. She just didn’t know it yet.

“You do, too,” she sighed, her gaze growing brightened as it lingered upon the woman. “Um, I’m Nara, by the way…”

“Poppy!” a hand laden with an overgrown but pretty manicure reached out towards her. Nara took it in a gentle shake. “So what’d’you say? San Fran or nahhhh?”

Nara giggled, huffing, hugging her backpack closer. “San Fran,” she breathed, still timid, but racing with newfound excitement. She’d never been to California before. Maybe this whole thing with Jaime actually worked out for the better. Maybe… Maybe her true freedom was waiting for her in the Golden State. Maybe she was destined to become a valley girl. Living near the beach, getting tan under the Californian sun… making new friends. Poppy and Hunter. New friends.

Stupid. Foolish. Naïve.

“Okay! Let’s goooo!” Poppy exclaimed before taking Nara’s hand and tugging her around to the van’s side, where the door rolled open heavily. Behind it, it revealed two things: a third person. A tapestry.

“Hey, what’s up? I’m Tyler,” the man greeted, valley-stricken accent, shaggy brown hair. His visage was pinned up against the backdrop of a million, neon green, wide open eyes.

From the back of the truck, the scent of marijuana flooded forth.

“Hey, come sit up front, Nora!” Hunter called from the front seat. Nara glanced over, as Poppy climbed in the back, and sunk into a lounge against the cushions lain over every square inch.

Nara huffed, smiling politely as she peeled open the passenger side door. “Okay!” she answered. Innocent. Naive. She slipped into the front seat and set her bag down between her feet. “It’s, um… Nara, actually,” she tried, softly.

Hunter acted like he didn’t hear her.

“This is gonna be an awesome trip, Nora, just you wait,” he promised, his adam’s apple bobbing with a chuckle as he reversed the truck. Something about his laughter was… satisfied. Nara couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

It was only ten minutes.

Ten minutes down route 400.

Nirvana was on the radio. Heart-shaped box.

Cold air was blasting from the vents onto her face, her exposed neckline, her arms, her legs. It picked up her hair around her shoulders. It dried the sheen of sweat upon her brow.

Ten minutes of freedom.

She was staring out the window, watching the umber landscape smear past them when there was pressure against her skin. Her goosebump skin. Her smooth, blemish free skin.

Oh.

A large hand. Veiny. All knuckles and grip strength, wrapped firmly around the doughy flesh of her slender thigh.

She stared down at it with wide eyes. Her breath stopped. Her lips parted in shock. Her posture froze. Nothing, nothing went through her head.

Everything surged through her body.

She felt the heat drain from her sides, from her legs, from up past her shoulders in her back. Plummeting into ice. At her core, her torso trembled with adrenaline. Her pupils dilated against their chocolate brown reservoirs. In her chest, her heart palpitated.

A face with sharp angles. A sinister, content smile. A nodding chin in tune with a beat.

She stared, picking her eyes up, only to stare forward, in the same shock.

“Um—Poppy?” she called, her voice trembling, high, scared, violated.

“Yahhh?” the blonde came meandering up through the partition, sucking on an oversized lollipop. “What’s up, pretty baby?”

Hunter’s grip left warmth imprinted in her skin.

Now it was back on the steering wheel. He was still nodding to that song. Nara’s heart was pounding a mile a minute.

Dizzy. Dizzy, she panted out, barely a whisper: “Nothing.”

“Okeyy dokeyyyy.” Sing song voice. Billowing smoke.

Her soul, handed to the Devil. The Devil—clutching her thigh. Again.

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tokidokitokyo · 3 months ago

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Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash

2025年2月28日

Is it just me, or is the intermediate plateau interminable? I keep waiting to be done with the dreaded intermediate plateau, and sometimes I even get a feeling like I might finally be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but then I try to watch something in Japanese or I am in the middle of a conversation with Japanese people and feel like I have no idea what is going on, and then I feel like I know nothing.

Despite my repeated failures, I am trying to improve my vocabulary and memorize grammar, and I hope to someday escape this purgatory of being not-quite-good-enough at Japanese. I wish there was a magical class I could take called Everything About Advanced Japanese. I think I just miss taking Japanese classes, as those were always my most fun classes.

日本語を勉強している人の中で、日本語の中級レベルのプラトーというのは一番大変なところですね。中級レベルのプラトーに入ったら、永遠に続いていると気がする。いつ終わるのか？いつまで日本語のレベルは中途半端に進んでいないって感じをするのか？たまに、「あ、そろそろ上達して上級レベルに着くのかな」、と思った瞬間、いきなり、「このドラマやニュースやバラエティ番組や会話の内容を全く理解してない」って気づいて、やはり何も分からない。という事を考えます。

何回失敗しても、語彙力を増やそうとしたり、文法を覚えようとしたり、いつかこのプラトーの地獄を越えようと努力します。なんか上級レベルに上がるために授業が有ればいいねと思っています。そういうのはないってわかってるけど、日本語の授業は自分の一番好きな授業だったので、また授業受けたいなと思っています。

February Progress

February seemed like it flew by, but I have been working on getting my daily and weekly goals solidified. I did not get much time to work on the goals I set at the end of January, but I am slowly making progress in working the goals into my daily routine.

I read somewhere that the thing with making new resolutions/goals is not just about doing something new, but about finding the time to do something new. What are you going to give up in order to add the extra tasks to your daily life?

I think that's very poignant because I (as a working mom) have very little time to myself already, so when I do have time I have to be particular about what I do. So I can't just wipe the slate clean and start over because I can't just shirk my responsibilities. So I have to be purposeful in finding where these goals fit in my schedule.

Study 総まとめ N2 (Sou-matome N2) workbooks at least once a week ✖ (I didn't get the time to work this in! Maybe in March?)

Finish 小説ミラーさん (Miller-san Novel) 〇 (DONE!)

Read at least half of ペンギン・ハイウェイ (Penguin Highway) △ (I finished about a quarter of the novel)

Finish SPY×FAMILY manga vol 1 △ (I finished about half of the manga, but I am enjoying it rather than rushing to read)

Study 漢字検定ステップ6 (Kanji Kentei level 6) book at least once a week ✖ (Again, no time! Maybe March?)

Write a sentence once a day 〇 (Yes!)

Daily Goals ✅Study Japanese for at least 10 minutes a day ✅Read something in Japanese every day ✅Speak Japanese daily ✅Listen to/watch something in Japanese every day ✅Learn 1 vocabulary word daily 🔺Learn 1 kanji daily ✅Write one sentence daily

Weekly Goals 🔺Study one N3/N2 grammar point weekly ✅Listen to one podcast weekly ✅Watch one TV show episode/movie/YouTube video weekly 🔺Write on HelloTalk once a week

March Goals

March's goals look quite similar to February's, as I didn't meet all the goals yet still wish to pursue them. Hopefully I can find some time to incorporate these goals!

Study 総まとめ N2 (Sou-matome N2) workbooks at least once a week.

Finish ペンギン・ハイウェイ (Penguin Highway).

Finish SPY×FAMILY manga vol 1.

Study the 漢字検定ステップ6 (Kanji Kentei level 6) book at least once a week.

Memorize one grammar point weekly.

How do you feel about your Japanese level? Do you feel like you are stuck on the intermediate plateau? Or maybe the beginner plateau? Let me know if you have any tips or tricks to get off the intermediate plateau! I need them!

皆さんの日本語のレベルはどう思いますか。中級レベルのプラトーやスランプを感じていますか？それとも初心者のスランプを感じていますか？もしプラトーを越える方法が分かったら、ぜひ教えてください。ヒントが欲しいな。

#日本語 #japanese #japanese language #japanese langblr #japanese studyblr #langblr #studyblr #japanese language goals #japanese language learning goals #language learning goals #japanese goals 2025 #日本語の日記 #japanese diary #japanese studyspo #tokidokitokyo #tdtphoto #my photo #japanese goals february 2025

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leejenowrld · 2 months ago

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what’s jeno and jaemin’s boundaries with each other? what they don’t do, say or allow? and how do they both handle stress, conflict, grief or wins?

unspoken boundaries — what jeno and jaemin don’t do, say, or allow

✖ they don’t push when the other shuts down when jeno shuts off, goes cold, unreadable, locked behind silence jaemin doesn’t force the conversation. he waits, distracts, cracks a joke or throws a ball at his head, but never asks, “what’s wrong?” and jeno respects that. likewise, when jaemin gets overwhelmed and self-isolates under the guise of being “too busy,” jeno shows up physically, not emotionally. presence, not pressure — that’s the rule.

✖ they don’t ask about each other’s families unless invited jeno’s history with taeyong is known, but not dissected. jaemin knows the pattern, knows what certain silences mean, but he’ll never prod. same goes for jaemin’s parents — jeno’s heard the fights through phone calls, has seen what it does to jaemin when he pretends it doesn’t affect him, but he never brings it up. family is sacred ground. they only talk about it when the other starts the conversation.

✖ they don’t compare pain jeno doesn’t say, “you think you’re tired?” when jaemin’s falling apart. jaemin doesn’t throw “at least your dad stuck around” in jeno’s face. they both have trauma. they both have ego. but they never use suffering as a weapon — not even when they’re angry.

✖ they don’t flirt or joke about sleeping with each other’s partners even though they’re both used to being provocative and physical in other friendships, they’ve always drawn a hard line here. jaemin would never joke about y/n. jeno never made comments about karina, even when it was messy and public. even though he has his opinions about that. it’s not just respect — it’s an unspoken code. you don’t touch the people who matter.

✖ they don’t fix each other — they witness neither of them tries to “save” the other. when jaemin spirals, jeno doesn’t hand out lectures or life advice — he shows up. when jeno collapses under the weight of pressure, jaemin doesn’t tell him to relax — he makes space, takes the hit, says “you want to burn it down? fine. i’ll hand you the match.”

✖ they don’t ask for thanks, and they don’t say sorry unless it really matters when they hurt each other, they make up through action — a ride home, a water bottle, a shoulder check in the hallway. when either of them does say “i’m sorry,” it means it broke something. it means the bond cracked deep enough to need words.

🐺 side-by-side comparison: how they each handle stress, conflict, grief, and wins

stress jeno gets quieter. sharper. he channels every ounce of stress into action — running drills he doesn’t need, rewatching footage he’s already memorised, pushing his body past exhaustion just to keep the pressure from crushing him. he doesn’t talk about it. doesn’t admit it. he just gets more efficient, more impossible to reach, like if he stops moving for even a second, it’ll all fall apart. his texts get shorter. his eyes stay flat. he doesn’t sleep. and when people try to help, he stiffens. like care is a threat. like softness will undo the edge he’s gripping.

jaemin’s the opposite. he pretends everything’s fine until his body can’t fake it anymore. he jokes more, flirts harder, fills the room with noise so no one notices he’s spiralling underneath. he’ll overschedule himself, say yes to too much, then disappear halfway through the week with no explanation. he procrastinates, overcompensates, crashes. and when he finally hits the wall, it’s always alone — unbrushed teeth, half-read emails, crying into his sleeve on the floor of his bathroom. stress doesn’t make him move. it makes him stall — until he can’t anymore.

conflict jeno holds it in for as long as humanly possible. he’ll bite his tongue, nod, breathe through it — until someone crosses the line. then it hits all at once. no warm-up. just white-hot intensity. he doesn’t fight with words. he fights with presence — with the way his jaw sets, the way his voice drops, the way the room shifts when he locks eyes and finally responds. and after that? he shuts down completely. no follow-up. no closure. just gone.

jaemin’s fire hits instantly. he raises his voice fast. fights with too many words. he gets personal, raw, immediate — because he wants to be heard now. he needs to express it, even if it comes out wrong. and when it does, he regrets it, usually before the fight’s even over. he apologises with his eyes before his mouth catches up. because jaemin isn’t cruel — just too reactive, too passionate, too scared of silence. jeno’s conflict is delayed detonation. jaemin’s is wildfire.

grief jeno handles grief the way he handles everything — with control. he keeps his posture straight, his voice calm, his routine clean. he doesn’t let people see him break, not because he wants to seem strong, but because he’s terrified of what happens if he lets go. he falls apart privately — in gyms late at night, in the back of his car with the music off, in locker rooms with his hands braced on cold tiles. he doesn’t cry often. but when he does, it’s silent. full-body. the kind that empties you. and when he’s done, he acts like it never happened.

jaemin? grief hits him sideways. it shows up in jokes that don’t land, in nights out that get too messy, in silence that stretches days longer than it should. he’ll laugh inappropriately, deflect, drink too much, sleep too little. he cries in elevators, in hospital stairwells, in jeno’s car without turning the engine on. he disappears when it hurts — not because he wants to be alone, but because he doesn’t know how to ask for comfort. when grief touches jaemin, it scrapes every surface of him — and he lets it. he just never admits it.

wins jeno doesn’t celebrate. he nods, thanks the team, shakes the right hands, then moves on. the most you’ll get is a soft smile, a deep exhale, maybe a drink if the night’s quiet. he doesn’t like attention. he doesn't know how to sit in pride. if he wins, it’s because he had to. not because he wanted to be praised. and when the camera turns off, he’s already thinking about the next thing.

jaemin does the opposite. he celebrates for both of them. he’ll post about it, yell about it, drag jeno into a hug so fast he knocks the breath out of him. he tells the story five times to five different people, always louder than the last. because for jaemin, a win is survival. it’s proof that he’s still good enough. still valuable. still here. and he wants to mark it — loud, bright, remembered — because if he doesn’t, it might feel like it never happened.

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angelic-dew · 2 years ago

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Can I get some yan tanjiro pls?

# yandere tanjiro headcannons !

▸🥢・yuri's thoughts :: this request is so old, i am so sorry.

▸🍂・pairing :: Tanjiro K. x g/n reader — {you/your pronouns}

▸✖ ・trigger warnings :: yandere. isolation. possessive behaviour. occ? obsessions. delusions. jealousy. manipulation. grammatical errors. || proofread.

⚝Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere which is stricken to the core with pure 'love'; well that's what he tends to call it. All his love and dedication is solely devoted towards his angelic darling, nothing could compare to how you make him feel - it's as if you're a simple treasure, that he must keep safe and hidden away from the greediness of the world.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that doesn't show his yandere tendencies often, to be frank, they never show unless it's a life-or-death situation. However, he tends to always reassure you more often than not, even when you don't need it. Kamado is always professing his undying lust for you in the simplest of ways: either soft praises of his own sentimental value towards you or a gentle gaze accompanied by a slight smile is always enough.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that cannot bare to see you in pain, furthermore, to see your beloved eyes beginning to weep and sob; he truly can't bare to behold a sight such as that, so more often than not, he would do almost anything in his power to keep you happy. Your smile is what he cherishes most. In fact, that's what attracted him to you in the first place, your captivating smile, it was just so alluring and he craves to see that sight more and more.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that spoils you from time to time; that being small gifts or maybe a thing or two you were eyeing at the market the other day. He does tend to pay his utmost attention to your every want and need, he's always listening to you - the slayer is just too wrapped around your finger, my dear, he will listen to your every beck and call, despite how ridiculous they may be. Anything to keep you happy after all.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that never shuts his trap about you. Singing your praises to the top of his lungs as if you're some God when he's away from you on a mission of some sort. He has constant reminders from Zenitsu to kindly shut up but those words tend to fall on deaf ears, for his beloved angel calls his name, every hour of each day, despite their presence being absent.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that manipulates you right from the start. It was his best attempt at a pacifist way of claiming you as his own for good. He spends his time with you when he's not on missions, whether that's enjoying your presence near him or Kamado savouring the conversation you both share together.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that with every individual word that comes out of that mouth of his, it is inclined to store such overbearing emotion behind them. Especially when he locked his eyes on you with such sweet eyes and a tender smile always plastering itself along his face. His voice was inevitably solemn and gentle; as the passion he felt for you was evident within his pupils.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that will make himself familiar with your hobbies/interests. Either trying them out himself or gaining more knowledge about said thing. It always fills him with pure joy to hear you talk about what makes you happiest in the world, and now that he's familiarized with them - he can understand that passion of yours to a greater degree.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that loathes in your loves. He wants it all for himself, he doesn't mind that he's selfish; all he really needs is you, his angel and your love is the purest thing he can get in life.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that doesn't take kindly to rivals, of course, he won't do anything drastic, however, jealousy still radiates off him by the boatload, it's always clear in his demeanour when he feels this type of way. Whether this person may be close to him or not, the only one he truly trusts you around is Nezuko - everyone else is out of the question.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that due to his jealousy, has to find a way to make the 'problem' go away, that is when he finds himself approaching you while the person is with you. Offering you some food or asking you to help him out with some matters. If all fails he pulls you in by the waist and pecks your cheek.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that needs you, to be with you desperately. He loves to savour your beauty your everything; his words are gentle but his intentions are darker and growing more calculated and precise every day he spends with you, that 'love' of his is also growing, like a flame, rapidly burning more as the warmth takes over. He's hooked on you like a drug, a drug he can't get enough of.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that is fully aware of what his actions may cause. The loss of friends and such, he's fully aware and it barely stings him as he does realize the mess he is making. After all, you're his, and he's pulling you closer to him every day; to the point, you feel like he's your world. You're so dependent on him. It's almost pathetic. But don't worry my dear, that's what he wants - he is more than capable of suiting your every demand.

ʚ🥢ɞ. tanjiro is a yandere that is an addict for you, and he surely knows that. He's waiting for the day he can claim you as his forever soulmate, for even death cannot draw him apart from you.

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anunkindncss · 3 months ago

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✖ PERMANENT STARTER CALL ✖ For V / Vincent (Tom Hardy / Mercenary / Cyberpunk Soul on Borrowed Time)

By liking or commenting on this post, you’re giving me permission to do the following:

➤ Tag you in random threads — dusty alleyway deals, barstool conversations, explosive shootouts, rooftop regrets ➤ Drop ask memes, headcanons, or existential brainrot your way at 3AM when the chrome feels too heavy ➤ Plot dynamics that feel like gasoline and cigarette sparks — dangerous, desperate, real ➤ Tag you in things that remind me of him: blood-slick neon, broken promises, synthetic salvation ➤ Float AUs, timelines, and what-if scenarios across the feed like broken radio signals looking for a home ➤ Build connections that range from gun-to-your-head rivals, glitch-in-the-code lovers, partners in the fire, or something weird and unclassifiable ➤ Let our characters orbit, collide, or quietly pass each other by in a city that never sleeps and never forgives

V’s a walking deadline, but he still makes time for the people who matter. If your muse finds him — in the smoke, in the static, in the split-second before a job goes south — maybe they’re meant to burn a little together, too.

Hit the button. I’ll meet you in the afterglow.

#permanent starter call;#muse: V;#adieu to the queue;

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pyropsychiccollector · 11 months ago

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Sayaka: Makoto's ahoge's just so cute~ nwn So soft. Stands at attention when I pet it. (人◕ω◕) Chiaki:(๑`н´๑) Sayaka: ... You disagree? (人◕ω◕) Chiaki: Hajime-kun has the superior ahoge. (๑`н´๑) Sayaka: ......... (❋•‿•❋) You do realize... (❋•‿•❋) No. No, you don't really mean that. I will give you the chance to retract your problematic statement... Chiaki: Hajime's ahoge twitches at the sound of my voice~ No. It can sense whenever I'm near. So precious. (๑`н´๑) Sayaka: ... War it is, then. (❋•‿•❋)*** I can't speak on Hajime's ahoge... But Makoto's is on a completely other plane of softness. You speak blasphemy. Chiaki: Hajime's ahoge is plenty soft. It's like a member of the family. (๑`н´๑) Hajime's ahoge was the first, Makoto-kun's is a pretty copy, but a copy nonetheless. (๑`н´๑) Sayaka: (❋•‿•❋)*** Just because he's ONE year older than us...! Chiaki: FIRST! (๑`н´๑) Sayaka: Well, TECHNICALLY speaking~... (❋•‿•❋)*** *can't finish that argument without breaking the fourth wall* Chiaki: First. (๑`н´๑) Kirumi: My apologies, but you are both fundamentally incorrect. (ᴗ_ᴗ) Chiaki: Ne? ಠಿ_ಠ Sayaka: Kirumi-chan? ಠಿ_ಠ Kirumi: Most regrettably for you, Shuichi's ahoge is superior in every facet. Softness. Sophistication. Resplendence. Grandeur. Its refined movements. (ᴗ_ᴗ) Sayaka: That ratty looking thing?! Chiaki: Heretical nonsense. (๑`н´๑) Kirumi: (╬≖_≖) I will overlook your indiscretions this once. Know that further petty assaults will be brought to court. Sayaka: I was about to say the same to you!!! (╬≖_≖) Chiaki: For the honor of Hajime-kun's ahoge, I won't lose. (╬≖_≖) Kurane: U-Um... Er... Ah... >_< Waruna: Tell them, Kurane!!! Yoshiko: (✿◠‿◠)*** What Kurane was trying to say is that Yuma-kun has all those boys beat. His ahoge changes with his emotions~ Kirumi: ... Sayaka: ... Chiaki: ... Co-op is totes unfair in a 1v1 tournament. (๑`н´๑) Sayaka: Y-Yeah!!! You didn't see us bringing pals along!! Yoshiko: That falls on you chumps. (✿◠‿◠) Kirumi: ... I will have to bring in reinforcements to put down this insurrection. (╬≖_≖) Kurane: J-Just you try it... >.< Kirumi: (╬≖_≖) *glares at Kurane especially* You will be sued for copyright infringement. This was MY look first. *referring to hair* Kurane: Wh-What?! Our hair isn't that similar...! (╬≖_≖) Kirumi: Tell that to the judge. (╬≖_≖) Waruna: Just you try it, Super Nanny. (❋•益•❋) Akari/Kaede: Nagisa doesn't have an ahoge, but I turned his hair into cat ears like mine~ (✿◠‿◠) Everyone: (⊙▂⊙✖ ) Sayaka: Why didn't we think of that?! Σ('◉⌓◉’) Chiaki: Mmm... But if I play with Hajime-kun's hair, the ahoge would disappear. >_< Kirumi: ... I must confess I feel conflicted. Although as Shuichi's maid, I do have the right to fashion his look in the manner I deem most professional and appealing... Yoshiko: ... I'm not comfortable tempting fate again. Waruna: Why? He dressed as a chick once already. (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) Kurane: No. Never again. >_< Akari/Kaede: (人◕_◕) C-Crossdressing? *thinks about how Rio would react to some other guy crossdressing* F-Forget I said anything. This conversation never happened. Everyone: (人◕_◕) *nodding sagely*

#Danganronpa #Assassination Classroom #master detective archives: rain code #Sayaka Maizono #Chiaki Nanami #Kirumi Tojo #Kaede Kayano #Akari Yukimura #Waruna #Kurane #Yoshiko #Makoto harem #Hajime harem #Shuichi harem #Yuma harem #Nagisa harem

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vuulpecula · 3 months ago

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✖ @tapalslegacy inquired: 013. a great ballroom during an elegant party ( for cal’s grand inquisitor verse? ♡ )

setting prompts | accepting ↳ 013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .

For an event that was sold as strictly recreational, Fox had expected to see more color. Instead she was met with a sea of varying shades of black, white, and grey. She shouldn't have been surprised--even recreational activities in the Empire were political. It had her second-guessing her choice of red, though at least her dress was relatively modest. A piece inspired by that of her homeworld, though with far less layers. If the color brought stares, she could handle that, unlike the beautiful creature hanging off one of the grey-clad generals. Fox could barely look away from her bare, exposed spine--the fabric of her black dress practically dripping down her skin. She made a note to talk to the other woman ( at least someone else here understood what fun could be had under the term recreational ).

With a sigh and a few smiles for the faces she recognized, Fox made her way to the proverbial punch bowl, hoping they had something much stronger than punch to get through this evening. The beads woven into her hair, hanging near to her temple--another nod to Ruushyan culture--clinked softly with each subtle turn of her head as she, ever so casually, scanned the room. Wondering if the Grand Inquisitor was there. A few others had been lingering near the door, still in their typical uniform. She wondered if they were working security. There had been whispers about other key figures in attendance. In truth, it was one of the only reasons she was there. Maybe the red dress would help with that.

Spirit-laced punch in hand, Fox exchanged pleasantries with an acquaintance near the table. Listening with interest as she was told about who had already arrived ( and what gossip had already started ). "And the Grand Inquisitor?" She asked when the moment opened itself. It was the "...He's right behind you." That had their conversation cutting off abruptly as her acquaintance quickly found someone else to be, leaving Fox with red ears and a pounding heart. It took an exorbitant amount of will power to turn around slowly. Offering a tight smile and a slight bow in the direction of man who practically made the whole room hush with his presence.

"Grand Inquisitor," she smiled as if she had never called him anything else. If it wasn't so apparent others were watching, she would have called him Cal. Yet, that was something private she wanted to hold on to, there was a lot of power in a name. "I wondered if the rumors were true and I am sure there are many here that are delighted that they are." Fox held his gaze as she sipped her punch, enjoying this game as much now as every other time it was played. "May I get you something to drink? Surely you aren't on duty?"

#tapalslegacy #x | burning the letters ( ANSWERED. )#[ i didn't know if he'd still wear his helmet to an event like this? so i can fix that one line ]#[ also sorry for the length! i wanted to set something up lol i'm getting ~constantly flirting on the DL employees~ vibes ]#[ also i stg i gotta get back to you on discord but THANK U FOR SENDING THIS IN! ]#alcohol tw #x | v. undetermined.#x | i'm not living i'm just killing time ( QUEUE. )#[ also i can fix anything u need :D ]

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ioniansunsets · 2 years ago

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may i please have some heartsteel yone/f!reader? i haven't seen much of my beloved producer 🥺

✖ Heartsteel!Yone x Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 2k

✖ Tags: Long Term Established R/S

✖ A/N: You get together with Yone 10 years ago in Japan. HC Yone as someone who started out DJ-ing at clubs before outgrowing the scene and fading to obscurity online before Heartsteel picked him up.

---- Meeting Him ----

- You met him back in Japan, back when you visited clubs and actually managed to catch his DJ-ing before he quit. It was underground but it was unique. Experimental stuff that just somehow still sounded so damn good to you. You found yourself drawn to him and eventually going up to talk to him during a break between sets. He fell in love with you shortly after, he had a small but loyal fanbase and having someone like you appear at every single one of his performances really weakened the walls around his heart.

- You spent college dropping by any of Yone's appearances throughout your fall quarter and as school went on and as winter break came over, you finally found the time and energy to hang around and visit his other appearances too. Some fun mall gigs, cute online streams in the day, even managing to land a dj-ing gig at a local dance competition. You could tell it was hard, he had a distinctive style that was as much a pro as it was a con and eventually he faded away from performing at all in person.

- It was his 'Final Performance' so the speak. That late night in the club, a drink in hand, bright smiles as you had fun with you friends while watching the elusive masked dj on his little stage. It was his final performance. Now or never to confess your love for both him and his music, your nerves straight ice as the night slowly drew to a close. Unbeknown to you, he too, felt exactly the same as he watched you from the stand. The passing comments and small conversations the two of you shared over the months left him yearning for something more with you.

- And it was sweet when it finally happened. Uncharacteristically gentlemanly coming from a DJ. You stayed as the club begun to close, Yone walking up to talk to you just like any other time a friendly conversation before he offers you a small giftbag, softly telling you its a personal Christmas gift for his most loyal supporter, telling you to open it when you're home. You thank him, pushing yourself to exchange numbers with him so you can give him feedback when you're home safe. You curse as you miss your chance to confess in the heat of the moment.

- As you return home, you pull a thin package beautifully wrapped in the little bag. You unwrap it to find a homemade mixtape, all of your favorite songs from him paired with special unreleased works that he think you would like. How he even managed to know which were your favorites shocked you honestly. As you look into the bag further a sweet handwritten note confessing his budding love for you neatly written in decorative paper falls out. Poetic words with the neatest handwriting, you could swear the paper itself was scented too. Your heart races as you listen to the CD while reading the pages of his feelings. The first thing you ever messaged him was a cute " Yone, I love you too." Which Yone has graciously screenshotted and looked back on often over the years.

---- Heartsteel / Dating ----

- You two are the loving parents of Heartsteel, the comforting consistency, the caring confidants of the group. There was just something nice about seeing Yone and his partner of almost ten years still going strong in such a stable relationship that causes all the boys to look at you with such respect. You have fun with them all, you work hard late nights supporting Yone and his work, you look out for him as he looked out for you. You were as much part of the gang as he was.

- Surprisingly Yasuo loves you just as much (platonically), he's happy to see Yone just genuinely be so at ease around you, to have someone be there for his brother that can actually make the man relax? You have his approval. After moving on and joining True Damage, Yasuo would worry seeing Yone so alone, so having you appear and provide his brother with such companionship made him happy. Though, Yasuo does tease Yone a lot, every time you meet him he always asks you if Yone has proposed. He can't understand how you two have been together so long yet not gotten married.

- Dates with Yone were always so calming. Bringing you out to hot spring inns during stressful times, inviting you to cute hidden cafes to work together, comforting jamming sessions late night at his place if money was tight. Nothing embarrassingly over to top yet not so casual that you felt like the two of you weren't doing anything special. There was just something about the way he just knows what you need. As the years went by you realized it was just how Yone was, he was an attentive guy and especially so when it came to you.

- Also it was no secret that Yone looked at self care as a priority and slowly you picked up on his little habits too. Simple yet small adjustments to your own habits. The way you two would go through the motions of burning incense and making tea early in the mornings for a quick meditation and mindfulness session. The loving way he would cook healthier meals for you, how he would be the one buying bath and beauty products, how he would motivate you to follow him to Kendo lessons to exercise, how he would leave books filled with comments on post-its around the house for you to read when you had time. The softest part was how he never seemed disappointed even if you said no to any of this, he was caring and patient after all, he'll win you over into self help eventually.

- The biggest change with the new popularity of Heartsteel was seeing the sheer number of fans Yone started to get. You almost forgot what it was like being his fangirl honestly, so used to your life with him after his semi-retirement, it was weird suddenly being thrown back to your college days of being in love with that DJ at the club. Sure things were different, you came home to him, you slept by his side every night, you heard all his music before it was released, but still... There was something about the way your heart thrums as you stand in the audience watching Yone lift his mask to throw you a charming smile. There was something about the way you knew when he laughed softly on stage, when he waves to the fans, when the crowd cheers, that the cool DJ standing up there was all yours. Oh it made you smile just as bright.

---- During Touring Season ----

- Being together for so long had its perks and its downfalls, for one, you two had a really nice house together, a place you truly called home. Little bits of Yone all around you all the time in the way the bed smelt like him, the way you see his drinks in the fridge and his things around the room. As much as it all comforts you when he is away, it all also oh so depressingly reminds you how lonely you are without him. At the least, Yone was a man of conviction and strict schedules, without fail every day at midnight where he is, when the concerts over he would always contact you somehow. Be it a call, a message, and photo. He would always make sure to send you at the very least, something, once a day. Lovingly checking in on you to make sure you were ok.

- Sure you had your own life outside of being his loving girlfriend but yet, being by Yone's side was such a commonplace that the emptiness of the house felt foreign after all these years. Yone did his best to make sure you weren't alone though, leaving little notes hidden around the house for you to find and read, leaving you a playlist to fill his study with music so you could feel like someone was still there. Of course he still called you when he could but there were other things too, like how he kept ordering meals for you, secretly asking your neighbors to keep an eye out to make sure you were safe at night, how he actually sent you postcards so you could have a physical reminder that he was thinking of you. It was all so sweet.

- If you could make it to a concert? You had the VIP treatment, he was very secretive, not really having social media, no one really knew he was in a long term relationship with you. But for Heartsteel? Everyone close to Yone knew who you were. No questions asked, a VIP pass thrust into your hands courtesy of Alune who excitedly dragged you backstage to say hi to your partner before and after the performance.

- During the actual show it was crazy, for someone whose style was so underground it was exciting and certainly different to see how wild the crowd was compared to your hazy memories of small secluded rooms in the fringes of Tokyo all those years back. Heartsteel was good for him you had to admit, seeing him on the international stage, seeing him having so much fun with the other boys, seeing the way he was just glowing with joy when people actually hollered and cheered at his beat drops. A warm bubbling feeling rises up in your chest as you see him smile the way he does around you, only this time it was on the big stage. You knew he was happy with his own small fanbase of loyal stans but you two knew better, a tiny fanbase wouldn't pay the bills, being so wildly loved, being able to make music, his passion, for work. Having so many new people hear the same style of mixing that caught your attention years back and actually love it? Heartsteel was a blessing to you both.

- When you run backstage after the performance to congratulate all the boys on the successful performance Yone stands further back. A warm smile on his face as he pulls off his mask to watch you hug and high five everyone else, a mix of feelings as he watches you talk to his bandmate. As the initial greetings pass, you finally walk up to him, everyone leaving to settle their own post performance maintenance. For Yone, that was a little habit of searching for you and reaching out to pull you into a hug. A habit that he once had all those years back, the nostalgia after every performance always hitting him so hard his usually calm and cool demeanor would crack. The lightest tinge of a blush could be seen rising up to his ears as he finally makes eye contact with you. Slowly he walks over, a hand reaching out to beckon you to come over and hold him.

" You were amazing up on stage, I almost forgot how charming you always looked in the DJ booth."

" And I almost forgot how exciting it was to search for you cheering for me in the crowd. Especially when the crowd is that big."

Yone laughs softly. A deep melodic noise that sends shivers down your spine. Oh the way the corners of his lips curl up, his sparkling emerald eyes gaze down at you. His right hand reaching up, the back of his fingers lightly brushing over your cheeks, pushing your hair back behind your ears.

" Just like old times my love?"

" Just like old times Yone."

Carefully, doing his best to make sure his hair doesn't tickle you, the same hand that pushed your hair back now rises to hold his own messy fringe up as he leans down. Gently, just like always. His lips press against yours. Nothing too affectionate, you two were still in public after all, but still you could feel it, the way the softest kiss from your lover fills your chest with such overwhelming love. As you pull back you look up to see a smile so bright that it causes his eyes to close. Ah, you were truly loved.

#THIS WAS EXCITING i cried a little writing it cos a man this perfect doesnt exist #Yone #Yone x Reader #Heartsteel!Yone #HEADCANONS #SCENARIOS #Half half?#anon answer #YONE IS SO....UGH. he would take care of you oh so well.....................my heart..............it flutters............#Yone League of Legends #Yone LoL #Yone Heartsteel #man would bring you to pottery class and then actively use whatever you make #I hope you love this cos I SURE LOVED WRITING IT...........

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