#LIKE DID SHE EASTER EGG HERSELF
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the last song on midnights is “Dear Reader”
the first song we inow the name of on The Tortured Poets Department is “The Manuscript”
do with that what you will
#HELLO#LIKE DID SHE EASTER EGG HERSELF#swiftie#taylor swift#taylorswift#taylor#ts#taylor swift eras#taylornation#ttpd#the tortured poets department
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cosy night with yourself
#the part 2 of cozy daytime (morning was with johnny)#yeah let's forget the previous post okay#tho the shots are different!!!#i like to think she's bullied the people and took the whole table to herself#DID SOMEONE NOTICED THE V RELATED EASTER EGG#i loooove this look omggggg#this hairmod (by wingdeer) saved my life#cyberpunk 2077#fem v#fem v friday#val garcia#kleff vp
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Mother, im sitting here at 4am, eating mini easter eggs and ive had tge most brilliant idea!! (Inspired by @inkdrinkerworld 's fic)
Okay so, poly!moonwater and readers been having trouble sleeping due to tensions/problems with her pureblood family. As a result shes been taking more naps, but they arent restful. So reader were napping in Rems bed (the dungeons were too cold) but after a fitful 30 minutes she gets up groggy, sleep deprived and beyond frustrated. She stumbles her way down to the common room, pin point Sirius lounging across the couch and promptly throws herself down to cuddle with him and continue her nap. Everyone (minus Siri) is shook. Jamie even asks if she got the wrong person because Reggie was sitting over there (in which he got a one eyed death glare before she burrowed into Siris chest and passed out).
Now, what everybody else didnt know was that Siri had more or less adopted reader as his own (she remined him so much of Reggie, being her big brother was 2nd nature). And while Barty was her person, he was a little too crazy to be comforting in this situation ("y/n, i'll get rid of them for you. Its not hard to do so" "Barty, no."). And of course Siri nows how bad their kind of familys are so he'd been taking care of reader on the down low as an older brother would.
Bonus if Reggie then decides that looks warm and fuzzy and wants Siri cuddles too so he joins ( it took him so long to get to a point where he could let himself be vunerable enough to openly allow Siri to take care of him 😭)
aweeee poor reader. this ended up being way more serious than I thought it would be? like it's not funny at all, there's no humour (which feels odd to me, usually I can throw some jokes or banter in there) but plenty of hurt comfort???.......idk, I can't tell if this is any good, it feels very different from my usual pieces
poly!moonwater x fem!reader whose family sucks (but it's very Sirius-centric)
CW: mentions of insomnia, mentions of abusive families, making fun of only children (sorry), hurt/comfort
You were miserable to say the least; you couldn’t remember when the last time you had a restful sleep was, and nothing you did seemed to help.
The closer it got to the Winter Holidays, the more your mind seemed to spiral. Every time you began to relax, your heart pounded as if you’d accidentally leaned too far back in your chair, reminding you of your upcoming visit home. Every time you closed your eyes, you were bombarded with images of angry faces and violent curses being shot at you.
The Slytherin dungeons were too cold, and every time you found your way into Regulus’ dorm, Barty insisted on butting in, and though you appreciated his support, you couldn’t handle his threats promises to burn down your home with your parents in it.
Remus and Regulus both suggested you perhaps talk to Madame Pomfrey about getting some dreamless sleep or sleeping draught, but you were too embarrassed to admit to your two overprotective boyfriends that you’ve used them so frequently during your life for this very reason that they had lost all efficacy.
It had gotten to the point that you managed to get the most sleep in the library bent over the table with your face on your book whilst Remus and Regulus did their work (and sometimes yours), and that honestly left you feeling more painfully tired than you had been before your nap.
So, you were nearly falling asleep at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall over your chicken and roast potatoes when Remus gently nudged you and suggested you go lie down for a bit and you wanted to weep into your potatoes which was only slightly less embarrassing than sleeping in them, causing him and Regulus to bring you up to Gryffindor tower.
You’d kicked them both out of the Marauders’ dorm room after some time – Remus for snoring and Regulus because the sound of him turning the pages of his book was distracting you. He promised to stop reading, but then he breathed too loudly and you started crying.
You were overtired, emotional, and running on fumes.
You’d counted puffskeins, you’d had a warm glass of milk, you’d taken off articles of clothing and reconfigured your outfit numerous times (which was currently Remus’ jumper and no pants), and you’d tried every position imaginable to no avail.
You think you might have perhaps gotten five minutes of sleep before you woke up with a start, a barely repressed scream grating through your teeth.
Feeling disturbingly weepy and no less groggy from your horrid sleep, you pulled on a pair of your sweatpants and grabbed the throw blanket from the end Remus’ bed before trudging down the stairs to the common room.
“You should have seen the look on Filch’s face- oh! Hi Y/N!” James called as you made your way over to the three-seater and stood over the black-haired boy currently occupying it.
“Oh, Trouble.” He cooed sympathetically at you before kicking his feet out, laying back, and opening his arms for you to join him. You quickly climbed on top of him, and he tucked you in between the back of the sofa and his side, bending your knee so that your thigh rested on top of his, and pulled the blanket over the two of you.
You let out a shaky sigh and felt the first few tears fall from your eyes and onto Sirius’ chest.
“Uhm...” James said loudly, looking over to both Regulus and Remus cuddled in a large plush chair from his place on the loveseat with Lily like ‘are you seeing this right now?’. “I think you’ve got the wrong wizard there, L/N.” He said with a nervous laugh.
“No, she’s quite alright.” Sirius gritted back at him, looking far more severe than James thought the situation called for as he rubbed his hand consolingly up and down your arm.
James looked to your boyfriends, his face clearly asking all the questions that his mouth wasn’t.
“He helps, sometimes.” Regulus admitted, not looking particularly happy that you chose his brother over him, but not nearly as murderous as James figured he might look if he’d found Lily snuggled up like that with some other bloke. And it appeared as though the look of heartbreak on Remus’ face was caused more by your current sorry state and less about your current cuddle partner.
“But...your brother?” James asked, still befuddled over this development. “Doesn’t she usually go to Junior for things like this?”
Sirius scoffed. “Junior’s solution to almost anything is fire or murder.”
“Or both.” You whimpered quietly, causing Sirius to tighten his arm around you and bring his other hand up to continue stroking your arm.
“Besides, Barty’s an only child.” Regulus said flippantly.
“What’s that got to do with it?” James asked, slightly offended at the insinuation that anything may be wrong with him on account of his only child-ness.
Regulus’ irritable demeanor over Sirius usurping you was quickly replaced by a cocky smirk at getting under James’ skin.
“Let me ask you this, Potter: last summer when Lily returned your letters unopened and called you an arrogant toerag after saying she’d rather date the giant squid, whose arms did you cry into?”
“He didn’t cry.” Lily laughed at the same time as James answered “Sirius’” without any hesitation.
“What?” Lily asked, looking slightly horrified that she may have actually hurt James’ feelings.
“Oh, all the time, every time, actually.” James said readily.
“He got snot on so many of my favourite band-tee’s, Red. As a matter of fact, I expect retribution.” Sirius commented.
“And why do you think you cried into Sirius’ arms?” Regulus continued.
“Well...because he’s my best mate.” James said simply.
“You may think that’s the reason, but you’re wrong. It’s because Sirius is an older brother.”
James scoffed at that. “Please, that has nothing to do with it!”
“Have you ever cried in Remus’ arms?”
“No, but-”
“Pettigrew’s?”
James grimaced but answered honestly. “No.”
“No. Because they’re not older brothers.” Regulus said definitively.
“That actually makes sense...” Lily mused aloud.
“You say that like you’re surprised, Evans. I know you’re not used to good idea’s coming out of men’s mouths, but I do assure you it happens more frequently than you might imagine.” Regulus taunted, earning him a pillow being hurled at his head.
Much to James’ chagrin, his seeker reflexes caught the pillow before it made impact with his face.
“Tosser.” James grumbled.
“Would you guys shut up.” Sirius whispered, causing everyone to look over at you.
Regulus couldn’t even find it in him to be miffed when he saw you sleeping what looked to be quite peacefully in Sirius’ arms. Your eyes were slightly swollen from your tears, and he could see the tracks they had left on your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose, but you looked so content.
“So... all big brothers know how to do that?” James asked incredulously.
“I doubt it.” Sirius commented quietly.
“Only ones who know what it’s like to live in a Pureblood hellscape and needed to share his bed with his younger brother who was too scared to sleep on his own for years.” Regulus added quietly, staring unseeingly towards you and Sirius. Remus pulled Regulus tighter into his side and began rubbing his arm consolingly.
Suddenly, things started to make a little more sense to James.
“I’ll write to mum.” James stated, causing both brothers, Lily, and Remus to look at him bemusedly.
“About what?” Remus asked finally.
“Y/N staying with us.” James said simply.
Regulus opened his mouth ready to argue; to argue that James didn’t have to and that he already took in both Sirius and Regulus. James didn’t owe Regulus anything.
But Sirius spoke first.
“She should be with her big brother, Reggie.” Sirius said, shooting him an encouraging smile and wink.
And seeing how your breathing had fallen even with your mouth slightly ajar as you clutched to the fabric of Sirius’ jumper like it was a lifeline, who was Regulus to argue?
#ask elle#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#sirius black#regulus black#sirius and regulus#regulus deserved better#poly!moonwater#poly!moonwater x reader#poly!moonwater x you#poly!moonseeker#poly!moonseeker x reader#poly!moonseeker x you#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#regulus black x reader#regulus black x you#remus lupin x regulus black#Sirius Black being everyone's big brother#ellecdc fics
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Easter Bunnies - Part 3
Melony woke up from her nap feeling strange. Her first thought was of chocolate. Daddy had said she could have some of her Easter eggs after her nap, and she could feel a rumbling in her tummy. But her second thought was about why she was taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t a baby, after all. Only dumb babies needed naps. She lifted her head off her pillow and looked around blearily. She was sharing a crib with Jackie. Her friend was still fast asleep, sucking her thumb peacefully, and she was giving off a strong smell of urine. But then, Melony thought, as she lifted the covers and looked down at the sodden adult diaper around her own waist, that could just as easily be her…
She blinked. Her head felt funny. Or had it been feeling funny before? She put a hand to the top of her head, but there was nothing there. No bunny ears. Where had they gone? A slight frown creased her brow. Why did she want them so badly anyway? They were just a pair of stupid bunny ears. They were for little girls. Or were they for big girls too? Her frown became more pronounced. She was pretty sure she’d seen grown-ups wearing bunny ears. Girls in sexy outfits. So they couldn’t be that immature.
Melony got up on her knees, and her mouth twisted into a grimace as her nappy sagged heavily. It was so full of wee-wee that it almost touched the plastic sheet of Jackie’s crib. Her outfit definitely wasn’t mature. Adults didn’t wear yucky wet diapers. She put her hands to her chest, and her felt her breasts through the fabric of the yellow t-shirt Daddy had dressed her in for her nap. But little girls didn’t have these.
Then it all came flooding back to her in a rush, all her memories, all her awareness. “Oh my God…” she whispered. She started shaking Jackie awake. “Jackie,” she hissed urgently, panic rising inside her. Their boyfriends were trying to turn them into overgrown toddler freaks! “Jackie, wake up!”
Jackie’s eyes fluttered open and she pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop. “Dada?” she murmured sleepily.
“No, Jackie, it’s me! It’s Melony! Wake up! You’ve got to remember who you are!”
Jackie rubbed her eyes with her fists and blinked up at her. “Mewwie?” She clambered awkwardly up onto her knees too, then she grinned. “Mewwie!” she squealed, and wrapped Melony in a tight hug. “I wuv you!”
Melony cringed. She could feel her friend’s braless breasts squishing against her. “I love you too, Jackie,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but right now we need to get out of here.” She extracted herself from the cuddle. “You’re not a baby, Jackie. You’re a grown woman, remember? You’re twenty-four years old. You’re training to be a doctor!”
Jackie cocked her head, still grinning. She let out a gurgling giggle that suggested to Melony she hadn’t understood a word of what she’d just said, or perhaps she just thought they were playing.
Hazel stirred beneath the sheets of her mattress on the floor. She yawned and stretched and got to her feet; as the Hello Kitty covers fell from her body, she was revealed wearing nothing but a soaking wet pair of training pants. It was no wonder the room smelled like pee – all three women had wet themselves in their sleep.
“Hazel!” Melony said urgently, turning her attention to her other friend.
Hazel blushed and covered her padded crotch with her hands. “Acc-see-dents doesn’t count when it’s naptime,” she mumbled shamefully. “Daddy says.”
“Hazel please! You’re not a toddler! You’re an adult!”
Hazel beamed. “I a big girl!” she declared proudly, putting her hands on her hips and standing with her legs wide, making the droop of her pull-ups obvious. “Not a baby wike you and Jackie!”
“No!” Melony pleaded. “Hazel, we’re all adults! Our boyfriends have done something to us! You’ve got to wake up!”
Hazel shook her head in a superior way. “Am awake, Mewwie,” she said. “Siwwy baby!”
At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened and Peter came in.
“You!” Melony snarled, getting to her feet and gripping the side of the crib, glaring at her boyfriend. “What the hell have you done to us?!”
Peter raised his eyebrow. “That’s no way to talk to your Daddy, little one,” he said, sternly. “Keep that up and I’ll have no choice but to put you over my knee.”
“You’re not my Daddy!” Melony shouted furiously. “And you can’t talk to me that way! I don’t know if you drugged us or hypnotized us or what, but when I get out of here you’re going straight into a fucking prison cell!”
His expression quite calm, Peter walked up to the crib and lowered the bars. Then he took Jackie by the hand and helped her down onto the carpet. “Hazel,” he said, turning to the nearly nude young woman, “be a good girl, take Jackie and go and find your Daddies, okay? I think they’ll give you some of your Easter chocolate! But Mellie’s being a naughty little girl, so I’m going to have to give her a spanking before she can come downstairs.”
Jackie’s eyes widened and Hazel giggled. “Yes, Mewwie’s Daddy!” she chirped, and she took Jackie by the hand and skipped out of the room in nothing but her pissy pull-up, dragging her infantilized friend along beside her.
Once they were gone, Peter turned back to her. He pointed his finger at the floor. “Come here, Mellie. Out of the crib. You’ve earned yourself a sore, red bottom, young lady.”
“You’re crazy!” Melony shouted. “I’m not gonna let you spank me, you monster!”
“In a minute or two, you’re not going to have the will to resist, darling. Not when Daddy gives you a stern look. Your mind will be regressing back to babyhood any moment now.”
“W-what do you mean?” Melony stammered, as a chill ran through her body at his words.
“There we no drugs, sweetie,” said Peter. “No hypnosis. Just your special bunny ears. They made all those wonderful changes inside your head, just like they did with your two little friends, and the effects are totally permanent, baby girl. This is just a little bounce-back, that’s all. Jackie had hers yesterday, and Hazel had hers just before we arrived today. One final little burst of adulthood before it’s back to diapers forever.”
“No…” Melony whispered. But she could already feel it happening in her mind. Her head was getting fuzzy again. Soft and fuzzy. Like it was full of cotton candy. She shook her head fiercely. “No!” she shouted. Her face was burning with humiliation at the thought of being stuck as an adult-sized toddler for the rest of her life, being gawped at and cooed over by strangers, by her friends and family, by her lunatic of a boyfriend. “I’m not gonna be wike… like that forever!”
“I’m afraid there’s no going back now, baby,” Peter said gently. “If you had any last things you wanted to say as a grown-up, now’s the time, because in a few moments you’ll have the behaviours and intellectual level of a three-year-old.” He grinned. “But I’m going to treat you like you’re two.” He looked her over thoughtfully. “Oliver wanted a happy toddler girl who’s proud as a peach to sit on an oversized child’s potty and pee in it in front of a crowd,” he said. “Hazel was always so shy before, but now she’s quite the little exhibitionist, as I’m sure you’ve noticed! George just wanted to see Jackie transformed into a dim-witted baby, barely out of infancy, without a thought in her pretty little head. She was so smart before; I think George finds it funny that she’s now too dumb to even tell when she’s pooped her pants.”
Melony could only stare at her boyfriend in horror. It was getting harder and harder to hold her thoughts together, and there was another problem too – the rumbling in her tummy from earlier had changed into a different feeling, a fullness in her bottom. She clenched her rear tightly.
“But I wanted something a little different from both of them,” Daddy went on. Peter. His name was Peter, not Daddy. “I wanted the sweet spot; a girl who’s just mature enough to want to be out of diapers, but who has to wear them anyway. I think that would be perfect for you, Mellie.”
Mellie shook her head again, her lips forming a pout. “No!” she whined. Her head felt so empty. So light and fluffy. Fluffy like a bunny. “Don’t wanna… Don’t wike…” The pressure in her bottom was building, becoming impossible to control almost as quickly as it had first appeared.
“Go on, baby,” her boyfriend cooed. “Any last thoughts before it’s back to baby-land for good for big girl Melony?”
Mellie looked up into his eyes. A mixture of fear and anger and confusion burned in hers. “Gotta go poopy!” she blurted, and then bent her knees, screwed up her face, and started to poop her pants.
Above her, Daddy laughed. “That’s my little Mellie,” he cooed, patting her on the head. She let out a loud grunt and pushed a load into her nappy, quickly followed by a long gush of pee-pee. “That’s Daddy’s little stinker! Melony the big girl is all gone now, isn’t she? It’s just silly baby Mellie left, ready to spend the rest of Easter toddling around in a dirty diaper. Ready for a lifetime of loving cuddles and strict discipline from her Daddy. Finish up making your whoopsie, baby, then move that messy bum of yours out of the crib. Your big girl brains might have leaked out into your nappy, but Daddy hasn’t forgotten that you need a spanking!”
The End
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If you want to read more evil stories about women being transformed into overgrown babies, I also post on SubscribeStar.
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bunny hiding eggs everywhere for carmen to find. in his couch, under his bed, in the bathroom, the fridge even his car.
“bunny,” carmen finally has to laugh as he picks up the five eggs that fell when he opens the cabinet because what the fuck? “what the fuck?”
it takes everything inside bunny to keep a smirk from seeping into the innocent smile that upturns her lips.
“yeah, bear?”
it’s only when carmen chucks a half of one of the plastic eggs her way that the weak facade breaks with a short cackle.
“how many of these did you fuckin’ buy?” carmen grins, trying to keep in his laugh. he fails, nose huffing with uncontrollable amusement. “i’ve found at least fifty of these, and it isn’t even sunday yet. you could at least leave some for easter.”
bunny shrugs as carmen walks her way, his hand on the back of her neck as he pulls her in for a peck.
“they were on sale, baby, i had to.”
carmen hums, unwrapping a piece of candy and holding it for bunny to take. she eats it from his fingers just as carmen mumbles “here. a chocolate for my chocolate.”
bunny’s eyes widen, and she has to cover her mouth to stop herself from spitting out the candy. she nearly chokes on her thick laugh, carmen grimacing through his own wide smile.
“you did not just say that.”
carmen dodges a light tap she tries to give his chest, chuckling harder, and even wheezing a little.
“thought i’d try something new.” it’s carmen’s turn to shrug. “you like it?”
bunny laughs even louder.
“is that a no?”
she laughs again.
#happy easter guys#a short one for ya#since i haven’t checked in on them in a while#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x black reader#carmy berzatto x reader#au: the bunny and the bear
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⚠️SPOILERS FOR TNMN NIGHTMARE MODE⚠️
I saw people saying maybe the nightmare residents represent something about them so I'm going to give my two coins of what they could mean if this is the case outside of being easter eggs characters
TW: Brief mentions of eating disorder, fear of blood, fear of pregnancy, Childhood trauma (Not really super detail), misogynistic and other fears, PSTD (not detail), insomnia, self esteem
Again these are few of the residents not everyone is going to be mentioned!
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Mia: Her nightmare counterpart is the princess of death, so it could be that she might be pregnant and scared of dying in childbirth or scared her unborn baby dies in some way
Nacha: Pests are known to be bugs or animals that could cause problems for crops, livestock, food, etc. Maybe she has a fear of animals and bugs because she is a chef and food in kitchens in a café or restaurant normally attracts mice, rats, ants, flies, etc OR the place she works at has very unhealthy kitchen or someone really hates her guts and makes her scared with bugs and animals that cause pest when she is working
Anastacha: Her nightmare counterpart causes misfortune since Anastacha might not know her father (Francis), she might feel like she caused her mother (Nacha) to suffer by being a single mum and living in apartments even compared herself to her classmates who has houses and parents (mum and dad since this was 1950s.) While she has a single mum with no knowledge of her father. But another guess based on theories by this fandom that Nacha was married and cheated on her husband with Francis (playing on the milkman child thing) causing Anastacha being an "Affair baby". So if this is the case, Maybe Anastacha knows she is an "Affair baby" and thinks she caused misfortune on her mother and her mum's husband by being born from an affair.
Elenois: since she is a model, she most likely dealt with very misogynistic men, maybe the misogynistic men demonised her.
Selenne: she has low self esteem and thinks she causing problems for everyone.
Francis: Fear of blood
Izaack: Eating disorder
Roman: He probably has put people in deep debt
Lois: insomnia since her nightmare counterpart creates nightmares and I did look up if nightmares are related to insomnia and found out it can cause a high risk of nightmares (Correct me if I'm wrong!)
Gloria: Fear of death
Angus: He is probably doing shady business
Steven: PSTD from his time in the military
Mclooy: Fear of going insane (probably due to doppels)
Robetsky: Maybe he got trauma from hunting, probably when he was young boy
Albertsky: Childhood trauma (Maybe whenever he was born and years he was teenager and child the punishments he got were very cruel)
#that's not my neighbor#thats not my neighbor#tnmn#francis mosses#Nacha Mikaelys#anastacha mikaelys#selenne sverchzt#elenois sverchtz#albertsky peachman#robertsky peachman#steven rudboys#angus ciprianni#mclooy rudboys#izaack gauss#roman stilnsky#lois stilnsky#gloria schmicht
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Could we please have dad mick feel like I haven’t seen him for ages, you can pick but oh I love dad mick 🥹
"Mama", Aurora whispered loudly as she pushed open your and Mick's dedroom door and giggled as she noticed you both still sleeping, letting her siblings walk inside before she did the same. Harriet smiled cheekily and walked towards the bed first, seeing you twitch your nose and snuggled into the mattress. Suddenly, something jumped on the bed and the room filled with little giggles as you opened your eyes slowly and smiled at the three kids.
"Mama, papa", Sebastian squealed excitedly, "the Easter bunny came. He left lots and lots of eggs!", he announced.
"Happy Easter, my loves", you said, rolling onto your back and shaking your husband awake, Mick groaning as he slowly woke up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Aurora was the last to join everyone on the bed, finding a spot between you and Mick at your knee level.
"Papa and Mama also have a present for you", Mick said as he sat up straighter, the kids' eyes wideninh as they watched their father lean over the bed and pull a bag out.
"Happy Easter, little Schumachers", Mick said, placing it on the bed so they could open it together.
"Look, it's bunny ears!", Harriet shrieked as she out them on her head, prompting Sebastian and Aurora to do the same.
"Oh, they have their fluffy tails, too!", Sebastian said as he got up, putting the little clip on white fluff on his pyjamas pants, "I'm a little bunny!", he smiled.
After helping the girls do the same, the three of them hopped around the room, pretending to be bunnies, "Oh, we should get Angie and Hazel!", Aurora suggested, "can I get them, mama, please?", she pouted.
"Sure, just be careful on the stairs, darling", you said, sitting up straighter and cuddling up to Mick, "they look so funny, I'm not sure what's best: Harriet's ears or Seb's white fluffy tail on his butt", you mumbled into his chest.
"Look, mama! I gave Hazel my tail!", Aurora said as both dogs walked inside the bedroom, Angie seemingly running away from the kids and shielding herself in your protection while Hazel walked slowly, her own tail wagging with the new accessory.
"Are you afraid they'll get to you too, Angie? Mama can protect you, don't worry. Papa got those, by the way", you snitched Mick as the Australian Shepherd looked at him sideways.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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So if Amy isn’t in the film, who would give the humanity speech to shadow?
Hi Hon❤️✨
I’ve shared this thought before, but I’m more than happy to talk about it again. I definitely think—and strongly feel—that moment needs to go to Sonic. Not Amy Rose. Please understand that this is not a hate post towards the character. This post is meant to be a reflection of the characters that we know and how they would respond the best to an emotional situation.
The conversation that Amy Rose had with Shadow worked because we got to grow up with her. Through a progression of years, we’ve watched Amy Rose go from cheerleader to becoming her own hero. We’ve had the pleasure of seeing her love the world around her over time. We’ve seen her form relationships with people, we’ve seen her create a life for herself everywhere she goes, we’ve seen her tag along on adventures and prove her worth, and we’ve seen her experience the good and bad that come with life as both a heroine and a civilian. That’s why the moment worked so well in Sonic Adventure 2; we got to grow up with her throughout the games and experience life through her perspective. And because we got that perspective of her “growing up,” her conversation felt much more meaningful in order to trigger a locked memory in Shadow.
This moment wouldn’t work in the films. We wouldn’t have the same relationship that we’ve formed with Amy Rose in a 2hr+ movie as we did in a span of 30-odd years. It wouldn’t feel natural and heartfelt either. The moment would feel like a forced interaction that pays homage to the games. However, this interaction would work best with Sonic Wachowski because we are watching him grow up. We’ve seen how Sonic Wachowski handles the bad and the good in SCU through a progression of years.
This moment needs to come from Sonic. He will have the a level of compassion that Shadow would need in order to snap back into reality. Believe it or not, Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to be compared to as something dangerous. The whole point of Sonic remaining hidden for years (from both humans and other species) is because of his abilities. His power is controlled by emotion; when unchecked, it can be dangerous. But when controlled, he can master it. That needs to be a conversation with Shadow, considering he’s viewed as both a weapon and hope for humanity.
Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to lose someone that he loves because of him existing. It’s a guilt that resides in both of them where it feels like it’s their fault for the loss of a life. Granted, their experiences are different in how they both loss their loved ones. No one will understand that better, and relate to Shadow better, other than Sonic.
Sonic will have a better understanding of how humans function in the modern world. We’ve seen a healthy balance in how humans respond to extraterrestrials coming to earth. The humans have either welcomed them with open arms, acknowledge their existence and move on, or try and steal their power. Sonic knows the wide range of response; he can vouch on the behalf of those that are kindhearted.
As much as I love Amy Rose, I don’t believe that this moment should come from her. This moment needs to come from Sonic. And that’s okay. Don’t include her into the film to act as an Easter egg. Include her for the right reason. Give her a proper moment that outshines that one. I guarantee you that she is so much more than that. I hope that this answers your question, my dear.
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enchanted
genre: regency!au (with some tweaks ofc), (not so)enemies-to-lovers!au, viscount!Jaehyun (kind of slowburn, hurt/comfort elements?, angst? mutual pining, reader is an oldest daughter guys)
pairing/s: Jaehyun / Reader (ft Yuta, Johnny & other ocs)
word count: 23k+ (guys. be fr its me we’re talking abt here)
tw: reader and jh both have a tense rs w their parents? brief mentions of a parent’s death (not reader/jh’s), reader doesn’t exactly look after herself very well, lmk if I missed out on anything!
summary: in a world where marriage is nothing more than an economic proposition, and where a person is no more than what they can offer, you and Jaehyun rediscover what it means to be with each other, in the very essence of the word
a/n: this is really funny cause... so far the fics i have for my ‘tswift for the neos’ discourse are all johnjae.... life is like that, i guess. anyway. 3rd installment! this was a LONG time coming and i rly hope u guys enjoy it! took me a while to get back into the rhythm of writing so thank u all for bearing w my radio silence HAHHA this is based off of enchanted and gold rush (and any other easter eggs you find hehe- i’d love to hear if it reminds u of other tswift songs), reblogs are VERY appreciated!! happy reading loveys~
read this on ao3
You ached for rest. Not the kind that sleep guaranteed, no. This rest you ached for felt much deeper, much further from reach. Much like a stranger you wished to know.
“Do you remember what we discussed?”
Each inhale of yours didn’t seem to satisfy the ache in your chest, feeling as though your ribs were caving in, unsure if it was anxiety or the carriage or your clothing that was making you taste your last meal, and even that seemed like it was ages ago.
“Your posture,” the whisper of your mother brought some of your awareness back to the question she’d asked.
What did you discuss?
You tried to dismiss the impending feeling of doom that grew stronger as you noticed your surroundings, the carriage all of a sudden seeming to be moving too quickly, your grip on your gloves tightening as you tried to recall what your mother was trying to remind you of.
Right.
Be obedient. The carriage rounded the corner, jolting you from the familiar bump in the road. Don’t immediately launch into literary discourses out of panic. Your mother took your gloves out of your weak grip, slipping them onto your hands with an assertiveness that shoved you further into your seat, resisting the urge to shiver at the feeling of her cold hands on your skin. Have good manners. You could now recognise the music echoing from the building, a piece you were sure you’d heard your sister play before. Mind your facial expression. Along with the sound of music, the chatter and giggles intensified. Don’t scribble funny names onto your dance card. You thought about your little sister at home, probably sitting by the window reading a book from your father’s library as she waited for you to return home. You thought about your father who was in his study doing God knows what. As if like a trigger, a wave of clarity washed over you; you’d suddenly felt unfortunately sober.
Find a marriage partner.
“There will be many eligible suitors present. After all, it’s the first ball of the season,” she spoke, more for herself than for you.
You were treating this like a game of sorts, anything to make the process feel more distant from you. You needed to go in, find someone who had status, money and could offer protection to your family, and play your part to see it through for the rest of your life. Sure, it could be seen as a game. A very long, tedious game.
“Right,” you swallowed, still feeling as though you could hurl at any given moment, though your mother would’ve never sensed your inner turmoil. You’d become somewhat of an expert at masking it. Perhaps it was all the times you heard your parents telling you to ‘use your words’; you’d become all-too-familiar with manipulating them as you pleased.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, your mother already preparing to alight as you followed behind her. Taking in a deep breath of (rather fresh smelling) air, you wondered momentarily if that was all you needed, feeling much better than you did in the carriage as you followed your mother up to the entrance of the ball.
You’d barely paid attention to your name and your mother’s being announced to the room upon your entrance, hyper aware of the attendees and trying your best to suppress your discomfort, hoping you could somehow mentally dissuade them from approaching you for a dance, though you knew you would never let yourself allow that. You had more pressing issues at hand.
Your relief from the fresh air was short lived. A stocky middle aged man who, according to your mother, owned an extravagant amount of land and had just gotten out of his second marriage, actively looking for a third.
Masking your discomfort, once again, you’d complied when the man had asked for a dance (though it wasn’t like you had a choice, your dance card bare as ever). Though you didn’t remember what you talked about as you danced, you were too focused on counting your steps to distract from his lack of teeth and the damp warmth that sank into your clothes where his hand was placed.
“Do you do much sewing?”
“A fair amount,” you grunted, feeling out of breath from supporting his weight with how much he was leaning into you while dancing. Sewing surely didn’t give you enough strength for this.
“That is good. It would help to dedicate yourself to such productive activities. You could contribute much more to the household with that, compared to all the folly of reading or academic learning. Unnecessary, in my opinion, when I am more than sufficiently equipped in that area.”
You couldn’t help your blank stare, hoping your tired sigh wasn’t obvious as you nodded with a hum.
“Is that so?”
The man let out a grunt, seeming to think you were speaking sarcastically, “A woman like you should use your beauty to your advantage. It is your crowning glory.”
You forced out a smile, telling yourself to take his words as flattery even though you were desperate for this dance to end.
The truth of the matter was this: you were made to do all sorts of things at the start of your day, things that were considered ‘productive’ and would aid in attracting a husband. Needlework, dancing, singing, drawing… but when the afternoon came around you were free to do your other ‘less productive’ activities.
You chose reading, naps and the occasional letter writing. These pastimes were the only form of rest you were accustomed to, though you would always end up somewhat unsatisfied, feeling as though these forms of resting didn’t satisfy the desire for rest. Perhaps it was like a writer trying to find the right word for a situation and ending up settling for one with the most similarity—it still wasn’t the right word, but there was always a thought that perhaps you were looking for one with an entirely different meaning.
Sewing? You found it all too troublesome and required all the patience that you didn’t have, leaving it for those few hours in the morning that were dedicated to building up your ‘accomplishments’. But were you proficient at it? To answer simply, you were proficient to the extent that you felt it was necessary to attract a marriage partner.
Your promise to your mother not to write random names on your dance card was growing less and less serious with each forced smile you let out to acknowledge the man’s strong beliefs.
It was by your (you weren’t sure, actually, it seemed as though you’d danced more this night than in your entire lifetime) dance that you were starting to feel lightheaded, stepping aside to find your mother for a drink. It was as your dance partner led you back to your mother that your eyes couldn’t seem to help themselves, constantly glancing at the dance card hanging from your wrist, the empty spaces and the little pencil dangling from it simply calling out to you to put them to good use.
You only had about four spaces left on your card— thank goodness for that, you didn’t think you’d be able to last any longer. Your fingers fiddled with the little pencil as you walked, careful to keep your fidgeting out of sight, overhearing giggles and murmurs about a certain viscount that was rumoured to be attending tonight’s ball.
Viscount Jung? You almost scoffed at the way they seemed as if they were talking about the Queen. Whoever he was, it was absolutely tempting you, the offer of his name that was as easily tossed around as it could be written down on your silly card.
“He’s gorgeous , you’ll have to take my word for it. Beautiful features and physique. I saw him once when he came to my estate for a meeting with my husband. He’s an architect, and a very skilled one at that.”
You purse your lips, already concocting various images in your head of what he looked like. Tall? Amicable? Perhaps he had a nice smile, you always found that to be rather charming. Perhaps his movements were slow yet precise, his moves carrying the same kind of regal elegance of the buildings he designed.
“Well, I would think he has potential marriage partners lining up for him if that’s the case, hmm?” you heard, almost nodding in agreement.
As you scanned the room, you pursed your lips at the mental image you got of how any of these girls would behave if the tall, handsome architect you pictured in your brain were to show any attempt of courting them. Maybe not even to the extent of courting… perhaps just a passing glance, a brush of his hand against yours, to feel his imposing presence just like a Midas touch as he walked past.
You let yourself wonder, just for a moment, if he would ask to be introduced to you, if you would find his personality charming while you danced, if he would take a liking to you and engage in more than just superficial conversation on your accomplishments, how you would feel to be at the receiving end of attention that was not unwanted for once.
Though it was short lived, your mind had taken the liberty of playing the rest of the sequence of events—your mother’s meddling, heightened tension between you and her because of said meddling—you cut the daydream-turned-nightmare off before you made yourself bitter for no good reason.
You were already getting too invested in this conversation, the image and elaborate backstory you’d created for him in your head. But it wasn’t exactly your fault, there was hardly any real entertainment to be found here. You held your dance card open as much as you could without going noticed, beginning to write the usual names you fell-back on when you grew tired of dancing.
“It’s near impossible to catch his attention, though,” you tuned-in to the conversation between the two mothers from before, “he wouldn’t even spare a glance at anything other than his sketches when he was visiting my home. I’d assume one would have to be nothing short of perfect to even get noticed by someone of his calibre. I can’t imagine he would settle for anything less.”
“Do you think he's coming tonight?”
“I heard he responded with his attendance, but Lord, have mercy on our daughters… I doubt he’d even cast a passing sigh their way,” you heard one of the chaperones sigh, shaking her head.
“What’s his name again?”
You tapped your pencil against the inside of your fingers absently, frustrated at the way your mind was blanking as you tried to recall another name you could use to fill the last empty space in your dance card.
“Viscount Jung Jaehyun.”
You hummed. Jung Jaehyun . You figured it was a safe bet, it wasn’t as if he’d actually ask you to dance.
You worked quickly in scribbling his name, along with many others you usually fell back on, onto the paper. The feeling of pencil against paper had never been as satisfying as it did now as your feet ached, clothes felt uncomfortable against your skin and throat feeling dry as sand.
Unfortunately for you, that victory didn’t seem to last very long.
“My dear, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” your mother cooed once you’d reached her, her tone making you feel as though you’d just been cued to say your next line.
You shot her a look, putting on a friendly smile as you greeted the people she was with, a few women you definitely did not recognise and a man with a very charming smile, clothes and jewellery that looked like he definitely lived… comfortably .
You were introduced to this man, addressed as Mr Nakamoto, a young-looking man who was supposedly from a reputable family from overseas, back from his travels around Europe. All of which was unimportant to your mother, of course, who simply hinted that he had money and was looking for a wife, the only things she claimed you should be caring about.
Perhaps that was true. Contrary to how it seemed, you were a lot more targeted in your search for a marriage partner. If you sifted through your mental list of men you’d danced with thus far into the night, your best potential marriage partner was either Mr Nakamoto (from what you were hearing), or the widower Baron who told you your silence was pleasing to him.
“Would you do me the honour of a dance?” He smiled, already extending a hand to reach for your dance card. In your panic, you withdrew your hand just slightly, only having it snatched away again by your mother, whose eyes zeroed in on the newly-added names.
You didn’t have time to react before the woman standing next to her had peered over as well, practically exclaiming with delight, “Oh! The viscount has asked you to dance? How fortunate! You must not dawdle, then.”
Your eyes widened, about to protest with some reason you hadn’t quite thought up yet, using that split second to contemplate the repercussions and how willing you were to deal with them if you were to confess that it was a fake name. That is, until your gaze landed on the man currently being led (or pushed) towards you.
Barely being able to protest before the both of you had been abandoned on the dance floor, the man looking nothing but irritable as he glared at you. You were assuming this was the man who was the centre of all the hushed giggles and gossip of tonight.
The image you had in your head of the mysterious Viscount Jung was almost instantly shattered and made new again, as if the previous image had never existed and this was the only one that could ever exist. How, for some reason, it made sense .
“This would all make sense if you let me explain,” you blurted out, seeing him quirk an eyebrow at you. Even his eyebrows were pretty.
He let out a huff at your expression, wondering how you could still seem so unremorseful after causing him such inconvenience . The last thing Jaehyun wanted here was for people to assume he was actually interested in somebody.
“You owe me an explanation, regardless,” the man’s voice had shocked you.
Deep and smooth, capable of lulling you into a trance if you weren’t already so on edge, even if his tone was curt and dripping with annoyance, “You’ve somehow managed to get the whole room staring at us.”
He let his gaze flicker briefly over the necklace you were wearing, back to your mother who was standing at the side looking on with evident disdain. Delicate looking Amethysts decorating your neck made Jaehyun wonder where you’d gotten them from. He only recalled Rubies to be quite popular among the girls in the other towns, according to his closest friend Johnny.
As if reminded of where you were, you tried to ignore the stares as you reached a hand up to his shoulder, swallowing the gasp that almost escaped at the feeling of his hand going to your back, tensing up visibly as your brain processed the music playing.
He let out a sigh as the both of you began to dance. It would’ve been an amusing sight if you were someone else looking on, both of you clearly not wishing to dance yet being whisked along to the upbeat tempo of the music, executing the dizzying choreography with what could only be described as trained movements.
A hint of a smile graced his features, though it definitely wasn’t directed at you.
“Anytime before my death, please,” he spoke, seeming to find his little joke amusing from the little huff of laughter he struggled to contain.
You scoffed, for some reason not feeling as inclined to offer him the same grace you would your other dance partners. Rolling your shoulders back, you kept your stare steady and refused to look down, lest he think he succeeded in making you feel small.
“That’s not a lot of time,” you quipped back, “Besides, your sour attitude is what will earn you an early death, if anything,” you muttered, audible enough for him to hear.
“Yours isn’t any better, in case you haven’t realised,” he huffed, eyebrows furrowing slightly in disdain.
“You don’t know me,” you huffed.
“And neither do you,” he was quick to reply, earning a sigh from you.
“Look, I wouldn’t be dancing with you if I had a choice,” you scoffed, figuring he was at least mildly offended from the way his eyes seemed to widen just momentarily.
“Oh, but you had a choice in writing my name on your dance card, didn’t you?” He bit back with a sarcastic smile, making you suck in a breath. That was definitely caused by your annoyance, not the dimples on his cheeks that you noticed with his smile.
“Just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t be dancing with someone as ill-mannered and arrogant as you either. Or dancing at all, for that matter. You’ve somehow seemed to spoil both of those outcomes,” he drawled, a wistful sigh that he masked with a soft smile.
Almost like a child, you’d wanted to mutter something about how you weren’t ill-mannered, but you figured what you’d shown him thus far wouldn’t exactly help your case in proving that.
You could hear girls swooning as you passed them.
“And you had the choice to show up to the ball, did you not? What did you think was going to happen here if not dancing? Did you think we’d have a canvas laid out for you to do some drawing?”
You struggled to maintain your gently pleased expression, finding your words to be quite amusing. Judging from the genuine huff of laughter you’d let out, to anyone else you two would’ve seemed to be really hitting it off.
“We could spend the entire night airing out our… grievances ,” he sighed, “but you still haven’t explained how we have ended up like this.”
You closed your eyes just briefly enough to roll them, opening them to see his jaw clenched as he glared at you.
The sigh he breathed out in annoyance succeeded in drawing your attention to your proximity. Only then noticing how differently you felt dancing with him than you did with your previous dance partners who felt as though they would collapse on you at any given moment. Somehow, the viscount felt steadier, making you unconsciously lean into him as you danced. Almost like your body recognised its ability to be dependent in this moment, no matter how minuscule the moment was. Like muscle memory.
Lifting your gaze up to his face, you tried not to let it linger for too long on his lips, their colour reminding you of a rose and hinted at the softness of a rose petal. Feeling the tap of his fingers against your back was what nudged your gaze to his eyes, understanding a little better why the gossip about him usually involved the word ‘beautiful’.
“I might be able to die and resurrect before you start explaining—”
“If I must explain,” you cut him off, earning a huff from him, “I usually write fake names on my dance card because eighteen dances are simply eighteen-too-many bouts of dancing with strange old men. Your name just happened to grace my ears when I was doing so.”
Jaehyun huffed, “And what did you think was going to happen here if not dancing?” He repeated your words back to you with an all-too-smug tone.
You let out a deep sigh, funnily enough, almost stumbling but feeling his hand on your back keep you standing upright.
He did have a point (as annoying as his execution was) but you weren’t going to admit it, of course. It was much more than just ‘dancing’. What happened in these balls could very well determine the future of yourself, your family and your unborn children, as you’ve been so generously reminded time and time again.
It was as if your mother was in your head, telepathically communicating these reminders to you whenever you were on the brink of letting yourself enjoy what you were doing. You had a responsibility to fulfil as the oldest daughter of your family. Him, however? To be able to waltz in here and expect to leave without dancing and know no one would bat an eye?
You huffed, fixing your gaze on the space between his eyebrows just so you could look as though you were deeply attentive.
“Must be nice not having to worry about your future,” you rolled your eyes.
That seemed to have struck a nerve with the Viscount, who frowned slightly at your words, an uncomfortable silence falling between the both of you.
“Was that the real reason you wrote my name down?” he finally spoke. His gaze seemed to truly hold offence now, feeling even more distant from him even though you were standing so close to him. The realisation that he truly was a stranger sinking in deeply, filling you with discomfort.
You didn’t seem to catch on to his implication at first, only realising after you’d recalled what you said to warrant such a reaction from him.
“I’m not after your money,” you told him plainly, seeing his frown grow deeper.
“You expect me to believe you?”
You glared at him, frowning slightly, his expression only mirroring yours.
“It seems I would be better off not expecting anything from you,” you huffed, “but you cannot expect anyone in this room not to be after you for your money. You’re surely smart enough to know that when you step into this room...”
You shook your head, each word seeming more for yourself than for the Viscount, a reminder that even now you were still meant to be playing your long, tedious game.
“... you are no longer viewed as yourself, only your eligibility, how well you’re able to act out your role. And if we were to go by that, I would be dancing with Mr Nakamoto there instead.”
The viscount followed the direction you had gestured in with your head, spotting the man standing next to your mother and chaperone.
“That’s Mr Nakamoto?” The viscount murmured, something almost akin to recognition in the man’s eyes as they met his own. The name seemed to ring a bell with him, though there was still a sense of unfamiliarity in his thoughtful expression. He didn’t think it was the kind of familiarity he would feel from a recent memory. Perhaps he would ask Johnny.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
There was no reply. A part of you was curious, wondering why his silence irked you so much.
At the viscount’s silence, you had only then realised the song was coming to an end. He let go of you as quickly as the song allowed, bowing out of courtesy and leading you to where your mother and Mr Nakamoto were, a certain discomfort in his expression that you could not seem to place, “By all means.”
And just as you said, he’d left the ball right after, no one batting an eye (but almost everyone running their mouths).
Still recovering from your exchange, you fixed your gloves, huffing at no one in particular, seeing Mr Nakamoto direct a rather amused smile towards you.
“Are you feeling alright? I hope dancing with the viscount wasn’t as dizzying as it looked.”
Your eyebrows raised, mustering a polite smile as you shook your head, determined to leave thoughts of the Viscount behind.
“Oh, no. Not at all. Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” Or you hoped to be in a while, at least.
Mr Nakamoto, you discovered over the rest of the evening, was nothing short of a perfect gentleman (going by your sister’s manuals). You struggled to find a flaw (and trust me, you were searching hard for it).
Beneath his extravagant clothes, confident demeanour, good dancing and how well-read he was about topics you could definitely see your father being eager to discuss over meals, you found that he was everything your mother was looking for. But other than the boxes he ticked off of her ‘Ideal son-in-law checklist’, there was nothing that compelled you to grow more acquainted with him. There wasn’t that… spark of attraction you would imagine was a non-negotiable aspect of the romance novels you read and plays you watched. The closest you’d gotten to feeling that tonight was in your sheer annoyance towards the viscount.
Unfortunately for you, there was much longer left for you to endure before you would be able to return home, but Mr Nakamoto’s company proved to be… sufficient.
Mr Nakamoto (whose first name you later heard from your mother was Yuta), kept you busy for the rest of the ball, occupied and mildly entertained with many stories about his travels (most of which you couldn’t differentiate between truth or lie). You would’ve even considered it a plus with how much he was talking, you were free to eat your supper in peace, undisturbed by other men due to Yuta’s riveting tales.
“I haven’t travelled much myself, but whatever you described does sound very lovely,” you would comment once in a while, feeling as though you were talking to the little children you would see at the market. You would smile, nod and coo at their stories without much care if they were reality or fiction. It was almost like an escape from reality, one you welcomed with open arms tonight.
“Do you have any siblings?” he asked suddenly, making you straighten up after a while of quietly enjoying your supper.
“Yes, a younger sister,” you murmured, “she’s not out yet, though.”
Yuta hummed over a mouthful of food, swallowing it with a wince before continuing, “Are you two close?”
You smiled, a small huff leaving you as you shrugged, “Well, yes, I suppose that is one way you could describe it.”
Yuta huffed, smiling as if recalling something (a story you assumed).
“Did I say something amusing?”
Yuta smiled, shaking his head, “No, it just reminded me of these siblings I met while I was in America…” setting off into yet another story about his travels.
Though you really didn’t mind, he was just giving you more stories to tell your sister once you got home.
You were at your wits end when it was time for the ball to be over, feeling as though you’d used up all your energy for the season from just dancing and listening to Yuta’s stories. You’d wanted nothing more than to simply curl into bed and sleep the rest of the week away.
Exchanging greetings as you parted ways, you tried hard to ignore the way your mother was looking at you as you returned to your carriage, head feeling heavy yet still feeling tension in your limbs, unable to fully relax with your mother in the carriage with you.
“He’s a very pleasant man,” she murmured, gaze trained outside the window as if she could see anything other than trees and empty road.
“Who?” you frowned.
“Who else? Mr Nakamoto.”
You let out a deep sigh, the breath you took in not satisfying the breathlessness you felt, nodding.
“He is,” your reply was curt, leaving no room for elaboration, though that didn’t seem to stop your mother.
“I heard from one of the ladies that he’s planning on staying here for a while. Planning to buy the estate near the park. You know, the one with the balcony that overlooks the lake. It’s an expensive property.”
You hummed.
You wanted to be interested, you really did. But the movement of the carriage was starting to make your head pound and you didn’t think you had any energy left in you to pretend to be bothered about whether Yuta’s potential estate overlooked anything .
Deeming your fatigue as a sort of defiance, your mother’s tongue clicked sharply as she shook her head at you.
“How can you be so… “ she scoffed, shaking her head, “need I remind you that you are doing this for the family? You need to start taking ownership of your responsibility in this whole affair.”
You sighed, shifting in your seat and directing your gaze towards her, “I know.”
Though you tried your best to remain respectful with your tone, your irritation got the better of you, “I am taking ownership. Am I not allowed to be tired after a whole night of dancing and socialising?”
“This is not just ‘ dancing and socialising ’. You need to realise the gravity of what just one dance could affect, for your family’s sake.”
Of course you knew that, but it wasn’t as if you could get her to see things from your perspective. She was your mother, and the last time she’d seen from any perspective other than that was before you were born.
You huffed, suppressing the many words you’d wished to have her hear, trying to remind yourself that words were unlikely to get you anywhere near an understanding with her. That would suffice for the night until you slept off your anger.
Nodding in hopes that it would appease her, you focused on your breathing, hoping it would somehow ease your headache that was coming on stronger than you’d wished. Unfortunately for you, you’ve come to learn that your mothers worries were only ever vented through such exchanges with you, though they weren't much of an exchange to begin with.
“Think of your father,” you couldn’t help the wave of discomfort that washed over you at the mention of him, as if you could feel his presence in the carriage at the mere mention of him, domineering and tense.
“He slaved away for his whole life to ensure his daughters could be viewed as respectable ladies in society. It is a privilege to even attend a ball like you just did. And yet you act as if we’re putting you through torture!”
Torture was one label for it; your long, tedious game.
“You are the oldest, you are to set an example for your sister. I do not wish for you to taint her innocence with your… your insolence .”
You nodded, almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. With how much they fed her those manuals on what a respectable man and woman should be, how they kept her in the house as much as possible, allowed not even for her to paint because of how it would dirty her clothing, it was a wonder how they thought anything could possibly ‘ taint’ her at all.
Though at the same time, you would be lying if you said you didn’t wish to live as quiet and simple a life as she did, out of the loop of all the burdens and worries that seemed to follow your family for generations, growing more complex with each cycle it made.
“I know,” you stifled your sigh lest she use that as another example of your ‘insolence’, “I’m sorry,” you murmured, a foolproof way of appeasing her you’d come to learn after a lifetime of experience. Whether you meant it was an entirely separate matter.
Your words seemed to have their intended effect, allowing you to sit in the quiet tension of the carriage ride until you felt it come to a stop, hearing the rustling of the footman moving to open the carriage door, exiting with haste that only came with the feeling of a successful escape.
Your sister was quick to meet you in your bedroom as you reached your bedroom, timed with a precision you both knew came with too much time spent at home.
“I didn’t expect you to be awake,” you huffed, earning a shrug from her, a book you recognised to be from your father’s library in her hands, her finger tucked between the pages she stopped at.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes that you supposed held all sorts of hope to hear stories of love and romance, “I suppose I was too excited for you.”
You sighed.
“I hope that was a good sigh,” she inched closer, dog-earing the page she was on and tossing it aside, the book thumping softly on your stool.
She shifted on your bed, making herself comfortable as you changed out of your clothes leaving just your nightgown, glancing at her through her reflection in your standing mirror.
“I hope it was too,” you huffed, allowing yourself to be amused at your own joke, even though you didn’t very well feel like making light of your horrible night.
“How was it? Did anybody catch your eye?”
Your thoughts ran first to the Viscount (and his rosy lips—this wasn’t your fault, really.) It upset you, how he of all people had left a lasting impression on you even though you’d spent hours and hours talking to Mr Nakamoto. It upset you how you just knew that even if you did tell others about his lousy manners or his condescending demeanour, no one would have wanted to believe you, everyone already believed he was what they wanted him to be; a gentleman straight out of one of your sister’s manuals.
“There were… some , I suppose,” you spoke as vaguely as you could, hoping that would be enough to satisfy her (even though you knew it wouldn’t).
“Handsome?” The lilt in her tone was awfully hopeful.
You sighed, turning to her with a knowing look, “Handsomely rich .”
Her mouth fell open, features pulling into a frown, “You know for a fact I didn’t mean money. Were they charming? Attractive?”
“I suppose one of them was… not ugly,” you felt embarrassed saying it, for some reason, as if you could anticipate the viscount’s reaction if he’d heard your words. The way the corner of his lips would curl up in a smirk, tilting his chin up at you with all the arrogance and cockiness in his being.
For some reason, you were afraid to voice out your thoughts on him. Perhaps it was the fault of the little nagging voice that persisted in your head, telling you that it truly didn’t matter if you thought he was physically attractive, because you didn’t stand a chance to begin with. Voicing it out almost seemed like a jinx, a nail in the coffin that forced you to face this reality instead of living in the hope that he could have harboured good feelings towards you too; simply for the pleasure that came with being perceived by someone like him.
You figured now wasn’t the time for you to start getting comfortable with hoping.
Turning to your sister with a shrug, you spoke, “But he had the worst demeanour.”
“I heard a Viscount asked you to dance. It couldn’t have been him, could it?”
Perhaps it was those very manuals that led her to this assumption.
Though it was for her own good, you found yourself not wanting to burst her bubble. She needed to know that it wasn’t about whether they were a Viscount or not, but that the men she would encounter in the marriage market in general weren’t as fairytale-like as they were written out to be. The likelihood of marrying someone you found even mildly attractive was rare. Yet the hope she held was important, precious almost.
Although the growing desire to find a love match was gaining popularity these days, you didn’t consider yourself to have that luxury. It seemed all too indulgent, saved for people who could afford to worry about things like love. Not a lady like you, the eldest daughter of her family carrying her parents’ burden on her weary shoulders.
“Do you think all viscounts are handsome and kind?” you laughed, beginning to undo your hair.
“Don’t know. Never met one before,” she sighed, “which is precisely why I’m asking you. ”
You hummed, “Well, the other man I spent most of the night with wasn’t exactly better. He spent most of the time talking about himself, but I suppose it was good entertainment.”
“So he wasn’t the handsome one?”
“The viscount?” you frowned.
Your sister’s eyes lit up, her smile growing, “So, you think the viscount’s handsome?”
Realising your mistake, you narrowed your eyes at her, “I think it’s best you forget about him.”
Somehow, the words left a bitter taste on your tongue, your sister’s expression of confusion making you feel almost frustrated, “I’m only saying this because I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of him after tonight.”
You made your way over to your bed, getting into bed and shifting to find a comfortable position, your sister still sitting next to you and looking at you with that same thoughtful expression.
“Are you that upset about it?” you huffed, trying to read into her emotions, “It’s nothing to worry about, really. Mother seems to have found a man that’s to her liking, you know, finances, property, intelligence and manners all included.”
She shook her head, mustering a small smile, “No, It’s not that. I was just wondering… how difficult it’s probably going to be for me to find a husband.”
You frowned.
“You have loads of accomplishments. You’re going to be fine,” you assured her, choosing gentle words that paved a way for a peaceful conclusion as always, though your words seemed to have weighed heavier on her, a small sigh leaving her as she toyed with your bedsheet under her hand. You would be lying if you said it didn’t spark some sort of competitive urge to prove that you could find better words to dissipate her worry.
She sighed, briefly glancing at you before looking away, mumbling in a way that was almost reluctant to be heard, “Love is important too, you know.”
You fell silent at her words, the ache in you growing obvious again. That ache for the kind of rest that went beyond physical things. One that seemed natural for you to forego, for everyone’s sake but yours.
You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. You sifted through your archive of neutral, concluding words, words that you didn’t necessarily believe for yourself, but words that would suffice for now.
“I’m sure it will find you,” you murmured.
There was nothing but silence in the room afterwards. feeling yourself starting to get drowsy as your sister got up, walking over to your bedside stool to retrieve her book.
“What’s his name?” she murmured.
At your silence, she continued, “you know, maybe I can keep my ears open for any gossip when I go to the flower market,” she insisted, eager to have a little bit of adventure in her otherwise mundane days, clearly.
You thought about it just for a moment, wondering if your pride overpowered your curiosity on what kind of gossip she would hear. You figured that in this moment, you couldn’t deny your curiosity.
“Jung Jaehyun.”
Only after she left, you realised she hadn’t specified who she was referring to.
===
The ache did not disappear when you woke up near the afternoon, as much as you wished it did. Frankly, you didn’t manage to get much sleep at all, the sound of your door bursting open being what jolted you awake.
No words were exchanged, simply your mother rummaging through your drawers she used for storage for something she couldn’t seem to find, returning empty-handed to wherever she came from.
Figuring you could have something to eat before returning to bed, you got dressed, heading to the dining room. You saw your sister and your mother there eating breakfast, the staff clearing what you assumed to be your father’s used plates and utensils. It was almost strange how you felt yourself relax at the knowledge of not having to sit through a meal with him.
“Good morning,” your sister’s grin was on full display as you sat next to her, “there’s a surprise for you in the drawing room.”
“Surprise?” you frowned, taking a bite of your food even though you weren’t all that hungry, knowing it would set your mother off if you weren’t eating.
As if it were orchestrated by some divine power, you heard the low vibrations of what could only be a man’s voice in your otherwise female-occupied household.
Men, as in, plural?
You stared at the doorway of the dining room, a strange feeling in your gut as you heard the voices grow louder, your sister seeming to catch on as she grabbed your hand, forcing you to abandon your breakfast as she led you to the drawing room.
“A fresh one,” she smiled, her clues not giving you any idea of what awaited you in the drawing room.
“Living and breathing?” You weren’t sure why you were breathless, but you became sure when you saw the man standing next to your father, whose gaze had met yours with a certain finality and hadn’t bothered tearing itself away.
Living and breathing, right in front of your eyes.
“Roses!” your sister chipped in, “pink ones. And white clovers too.”
Viscount Jung Jaehyun, standing just a few paces away from you and your sister in your drawing room as your father talked his ear off about the renovations he wanted to make to the estate.
It irked you how your thoughts had almost instantly shifted to the rosy lips of the viscount, allowing yourself to wonder just for a moment if the flowers were from him. It gave you whiplash to think of him gifting you such romantic flowers after the exchange you both shared just hours before.
Perhaps they were meant as some sort of an apology? Perhaps the viscount had dug deep within himself to find that his behaviour was far from pleasant. Yes , if that was the case, maybe you were right to think he wasn’t as horrible as he seemed, maybe the viscount had some decency in him after all.
“The name on the card didn’t sound familiar, but I figured you would know once you see it!”
That seemed to have caught Jaehyun’s attention (as much as he tried to hide it), though he masked his curiosity well as he pretended to be fascinated with the interior of your drawing room.
Rolling your shoulders back, you fixed your posture, reaching a hand out to the little card that was perched delicately in the midst of the flowers, a simple handwritten card that read:
- To thank you for the pleasure of your company -
Nakamoto Yuta
“Are they from the viscount?” your sister asked loudly, earning a sharp nudge from you that sent her stumbling, your gaze darting to the viscount and missing the smirk that had graced his lips.
You shook your head, murmuring, “The other man.”
Your sister wasn’t doing a very good job in saving your face in front of the viscount, making no move to hide her dismay as her lips parted with a sigh of disappointment, “The boring one?”
Grabbing her hand quickly, you led her back to the dining room, making sure your voice was more than audible as you walked past the viscount.
“The only man from the evening who was worth remembering,” you commented, suppressing your satisfaction when you heard the viscount clear his throat, suggesting to move to your father’s office for a more conducive discussion.
Just as you’d settled back into your seat at the dining table, feeling more of an appetite to eat now after your little success in irking the viscount, your mother spoke from where she stood by the doorway, glancing out of the window briefly as she fixed her gloves.
“Get dressed, we should be ready to entertain callers soon.”
“Callers?” you couldn’t help but frown, hearing your sister grunt from where she was beside you.
“I’ve invited Mr Nakamoto for some tea, perhaps the two of you could go for a stroll in the late afternoon.”
You inhaled deeply, something about the proposal not seeming to entice you as much as your curiosity as to what was going on in your father’s office with the viscount. It was a shame even boring estate talk could seem more appealing to you than conversation and a stroll with an attractive, eligible suitor.
“Well that’s my cue to leave, then. Wouldn’t want to be caught in the crossfire of mindless talk,” amusement left your sister in hushed giggles, her chair screeching against the wooden floor loudly as she got up, making you cringe at the sound she was otherwise unaffected by.
Your mother hadn’t bothered acknowledging her departure, though you heard your sister’s footsteps bounding up the stairs, the sound of her bidding your father goodbye before the same thumping down the stairs echoed till the front door was shut.
You sighed, looking out of the window at the cloud cover that kept the sun from gracing anything beneath it, choosing once again to push your feelings behind you for the sake of your mother who wanted to ensure security for your future. For the sake of your father who longed to retire. For the sake of your sister who was still trusting that there was love and hope in her world.
You would receive Mr Nakamoto and you would do so gracefully. Another step towards the end goal in your long, tedious game.
===
The afternoon went perfectly. A little too perfectly, if you were being honest.
It was almost frustrating, how there was barely anything to complain about when it came to Yuta. He was on his best behaviour today, even managing to start and sustain a very well-developed conversation with your father when he had come down with the viscount briefly while they made their way to the other part of your estate.
And there you sat, like a jilted lover during the whole exchange, frustrated at the fact that Yuta had somehow managed to have everybody smitten for him, except yourself. A little nagging in your gut had tried to convince you that perhaps that was how Yuta wanted to go about this; winning over your family so he wouldn’t have to try so hard to win you over, as if this was his strategy in his own long, tedious game.
Even as you went out to promenade by the lake, you struggled to be present to the man next to you.
“Did you like the flowers?” he asked, earning a blank stare from you till you managed to register his question.
“Oh, yes I did. They’re lovely flowers.”
“Do you happen to have a liking for them? I saw many arrangements in your house when your mother was showing me around.”
You shook your head, the sudden recollection of your sister’s words about mindless small talk coming to mind as you dismissed them with a huff, “Not particularly. I mean, I do like them, but I wouldn’t go as far as making arrangements and whatnot. That is more of my sister’s hobby.”
Yuta hummed, “Do you have a favourite?”
Glancing up at Yuta, the way his smile was relaxed, his attention seemed to be solely focused on you. Something about it threw you off guard, wondering why he’d taken a liking to you when you were sure his smile and his charm would have any girl in your neighbourhood begging for his attention (perhaps just not yourself included).
“Lilacs.”
Yuta’s smile grew, looking somewhat pleased with your answer.
“Is first love something you hold dear to yourself?”
You let out a huff at that, impressed that he was familiar with the language of flowers, the thought of his pink roses from the morning making you feel somewhat uncomfortable at his pursuit.
You shook your head, “I’ve never actually… experienced it before.”
Yuta’s next words had stilled your fingers over your umbrella, wondering if he’d taken the words straight out of one of the romance novels in your bookshelf.
“I’d like to think it feels like this,” he sighed, a serene expression on his face as you walked together, “being able to share this with you.”
You were holding your breath, you were sure of it. But why wasn’t this feeling as heart-fluttering as you were expecting? Sure, his words were nice to hear, but was it because you were too distracted at the moment?
Now, you were frustrated. It wasn’t as if you could go back in time to ask him to repeat himself in the hope that you would feel something. Perhaps you were just tired, you told yourself (even if you knew that really wasn’t the reason behind your apathy).
“Shall we head back?”
Even as you were walking back, Yuta didn’t seem to let up as easily. His demeanour was vastly different from how it was at the ball. This time, he was asking you more questions about yourself, as if he were specifically orchestrating dialogue sequences that would allow him to insert romantic one-liners like the one before. Though they were flowery, and by the nature of the word you figured flowery would mean they were pleasant, but you were at a loss with the way they left you feeling well… not exactly pleased . You were hearing him, definitely, but you were stuck feeling like he wasn’t really hearing you.
As you were walking back, you reached your house just as the viscount’s carriage was leaving, tensing up as you saw your father standing next to the little flower garden behind the gates of your house as he saw the viscount off.
You avoided his gaze, hoping you would be able to walk past him without being stopped, but it seemed that wasn’t the case with how Yuta greeted your father with much more enthusiasm than you’d seen him bear all day.
You’d taken that as your queue to enter the house first, the sound of the piano echoing from the walls indicating your sister was home and that made you all the more eager to be in the company of someone you actually wanted to see today. Your father and Yuta followed behind you, not seeming to be affected by your absence as you drew closer to your sister, finally feeling as though you could relax slightly more in her presence.
“How was it?” she whispered, glancing not-so-subtly at Yuta, earning a small mustered smile from yourself.
“He was lovely,” you told her, (which in fact, wasn’t a lie).
She grinned.
“He’s handsome too, I must say. But even so, he can’t be compared to the man father was talking to this morning. They each have a different… air,” her shoulders lifted as she spoke, arms moving in the way your old piano tutor called ‘with emotion’ as she played, “you know, in the way they carry themselves.”
You let out a deep sigh, nodding slowly, “You do know that man is the viscount I mentioned the night before, don’t you?”
Her playing faltered abruptly (though your father and Yuta were too distracted to notice), slowly picking up where she’d left off, “ The viscount? The one named Jung Jaehyun? He was the man father was talking to?”
Her amazement was obvious, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t understand why she was so shocked.
You nodded, “The ill-mannered one.”
She frowned, “That’s unfortunate, then. He really did live up to what the townspeople were saying about him. Beauty and grace and elegance… a man that looks like everything he touches turns to gold.”
You rolled your eyes, amusement hinted in your smile, “Not everything gold is worth wanting.”
“Would you say Mr Nakamoto is the exception, then? More worth wanting than the Midas-touch-viscount himself?” She scoffed.
You didn’t have an answer for that, maybe because you weren’t convinced of the one you were going to offer her.
“We’ll see. He just might have to be.”
She giggled, seemingly satisfied with your answer as she resumed playing the piano, the lilting melody carrying you elsewhere for the moment until Yuta was done with the conversation he was having with your father, bidding you goodbye as he left.
As your father made his way over to you, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, resisting the urge to look away and fidget in your discomfort.
“I’m going to be away in the afternoons for business over the next few days, so you’ll be handling the meetings with the viscount on the estate. I trust that you’re already well versed on what needs to be taken care of.”
“Will mother be joining—”
“What good will that do?” he huffed, “Do not waste your time with these silly questions. There is no need to get her or your sister involved and cause them unnecessary stress. You are capable enough of handling it on your own.”
You sighed, watching him leave in the direction of his office, leaving you to slump onto the sofa next to where your sister was, curling into a comfortable position for a nap as the gentle melody worked on lulling you to a place where your worries were far away and rest seemed within reach.
===
If Jaehyun was surprised to see you the next day, he didn’t show it, simply glancing at you as he entered the house, nodding his head as if he’d expected you to be there (even if he really didn’t).
“I trust my father has briefed you that I'll be handling the estate matters while he’s away?” you were first to break the silence, watching as one of his hands moved to touch the pads of his fingertips, looking somewhat preoccupied. Or perhaps, he was recalling his exchange with your father, looking at you curiously. Though that curiosity had left as soon as it came, replaced with a playful glint in his eyes.
“My apologies,” his tone was anything but remorseful, punctuated by the little smirk that was playing at his lips, “I figure you’d much rather be… well, handling Mr Nakamoto.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, “D’you fancy yourself a comedian, my lord?”
Jaehyun had simply shrugged, showing some modesty in the small shake of his head.
“Good. Because you’d be a very poor one.”
You began to lead him to your father’s office, Jaehyun noticing the way your steps had slowed as you grew nearer to the door, the deep breath you’d taken in before your hands had met the doorknob, turning it and pushing only to be met with a smell that was unmistakably like your father.
Hints of a pipe smoked hours ago, the smell of his library books, ink on his desk, the musk and citrus and alcohol that blended together to form the imposing presence of your father even when he wasn’t here. Your posture had straightened and your steps became quiet and wary almost instinctively.
You stayed far from his desk, as you had always done, surprising Jaehyun with the way you’d simply taken the documents you needed and sat yourself on one of the chairs in the office, legs crossing uncomfortably as you gripped the papers in your hands.
Eyeing you carefully, Jaehyun made his way to the chair nearest to you, pulling out his own blueprints that he and your father had discussed the day before.
“Did my…” you began, throat feeling dry all of a sudden at the sight of the documents before you, “did my father tell you what I had to go over on his behalf?”
Jaehyun simply tilted his head at you.
“We’ve gone over it actually, he… just told me to ask you for the stamp and to clear the financial documents. He mentioned that you took care of the family’s accounts.”
You figured you shouldn’t have been surprised that your father didn’t actually want your opinion on his decisions. You’d just let yourself get carried away thinking he wanted to know what you thought about the things he made you responsible for.
“Oh, so my business here is simply for the seal, am I correct to say that—?”
“No, actually, I would appreciate it if I could go over these plans with you once before you approve them. It’s only sensible if—”
You shook your head firmly, Jaehyun stopping himself at your gesture, eyebrows furrowing as if the situation was upsetting to him.
“That won’t be necessary. I would rather not impose on his… plans,” you sighed, averting your gaze from his as you stood up, making your way over to your father’s desk for his seal.
“Impose?” he quirked an eyebrow, wondering why it was that you seemed to withdraw so easily when it came to your father, “You had no problem imposing on my plans at the ball.”
Rolling your eyes, you struggled to keep your hands steady as they sifted past the papers on your father’s desk.
“I would be sorry if your initial plans were any good to begin with,” you murmured distractedly.
It was strange, how you felt as if you were doing something you weren’t supposed to. As if you were secretly rummaging around in his desk while your heart was thrumming wildly at the thought of him walking in and catching you red-handed, feeling the disappointment that would meet you in his gaze, rendering you a little child again who had more familiarity with these belongings than she did her father.
“If you’re not sorry about that, you could be sorry about the fact that people seem to think I’m courting you now.”
You debated ignoring his statement, glancing at him only briefly as you arranged the papers in your hand.
Humming, it seemed your urge to cover up your nerves had shown up in snappy retorts aimed towards Jaehyun, strangely unfiltered with him even though you figured you should’ve been.
“Of course, because a man like you should be able to show up to a ball simply for the music and drink.”
Clenching and unclenching your fists, you went about the process as calmly as you could, Jaehyun’s watchful, curious eyes unnerving you even as you made the seal.
“Are you alright?” he spoke suddenly, earning a sharp inhale and a glare from you in return, your grip tightening around the seal. Whether it was because the question felt out of place, or whether it was the fact that he had caught on to your discomfort, you would rather not admit.
You shut your father’s desk drawer with a quiet click, habitual movements from many instances of sneaking in here as a child for writing materials.
“What does it matter to you?”
“No, just… does my presence here make you uncomfortable?” his eyebrows furrowed, what seemed like genuine curiosity taking over his features once again.
Trust you to be defensive, though.
A scoff left you, the thud of the beaten book that you used to keep track of your family’s accounts dropping against your father’s desk echoing through the room as if that were your form of exerting your dominance over the room and everything it represented.
“Has the thought only crossed your mind now? Besides, don’t flatter yourself,” you scoffed, “your presence doesn't have that much of an effect on me.”
That would’ve done it , you figured. You could imagine the way his lips would curl into a sarcastic smile, or how he would simply scoff and announce that it was about time for him to leave. Anything but what followed next.
“Maybe not mine, but your father’s seems to.”
Somehow, you almost wished your sister was here to defuse the tension in the room, or to crack a joke to save you from having to face such an observation. But she wasn’t, and the truth of the matter was that you were sitting here facing a stranger who seemed confident that they could read you like an open book.
And maybe, his confidence wasn’t completely unfounded.
A silence fell between the both of you, tense and ridden with an understanding both of you were aware of but neither were willing to put down their pride first to admit.
You scoffed, waving him off in dismissal as naturally as you could, “You’ve never seen us interact.”
“I don’t have to,” he huffed, speaking matter-of-factly, “you’ve been… tense ever since I suggested having our meeting in his office.”
“I just don’t like being in stuffy offices,” you shrugged again, pretending to be busy with your notebook.
Jaehyun rolled his eyes, confidence in his stare as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs, “ Or the person the stuffy office belongs to.”
Your sharp gaze met his almost instantly, letting out a small huff of air through your nose. You were at a loss of a witty retort, though somehow that didn’t feel as damning as you thought it would; the viscount didn’t seem to be attacking today in the same way he was before at the ball.
“It’s not a crime, you know,” he murmured, cutting you some slack from the way he averted his gaze to fiddle with his sleeve, “you’re not expected to be amiable with him all the time. At least not in my book.”
You attempted to swallow in the hopes that it would make the lump in your throat feel less suffocating, to no avail.
“Amiable,” you echoed, huffing at his choice of words. Even on good days, you don’t think you could use a word like that to describe your interactions with your father.
Jaehyun searched your expression, reading into your silence, shaking his head dismissively, “Sorry if I overstepped, I don’t usually have the habit of voicing out my observations so… carelessly.”
You didn’t believe him, strangely. Everything about what had just transpired between the both of you seemed anything but careless. Instead, it came with all the intentionality of trying to understand someone. Somehow, that knowledge made you less inclined to hold back in front of him.
When you finally felt like your voice wouldn’t give, you spoke, “Are you speaking from experience?”
His eyebrows raised in question, “My father?”
You nodded, earning a huff from him. Now it was your turn to watch him shift in his discomfort, averting his gaze and swallowing thickly.
“Never really had much of a relationship with him or my mother… I uh… I lived with my aunt and uncle since I was a child.”
“Did you have much of a relationship with them, then?”
Jaehyun shrugged.
“Not as much as I did with my tutors,” he huffed, perhaps in some attempt to lighten the mood, “they were the ones I spent most of my time with.”
You hummed, hands stilling around the papers you had yet to hand over to him.
At your lack of an immediate response, he looked up, continuing, “It’s nothing to pity me for. They raised me as best as they could.”
“I don’t pity you,” you spoke.
Sure, it wasn’t exactly pity that you felt, but you weren’t sure what exactly the feeling that stirred in your chest even was. Perhaps it was a desire to be as grateful for your parents as he was? Perhaps it was an understanding of the little insistence that he didn’t want to be pitied. Perhaps it was the breathlessness that came with the way he was looking at you now, expectant for your reply.
Whatever it was, you found yourself recalling your conversation with your sister, feeling almost embarrassed at how even now, you still thought he was capable of turning things to gold.
“You don’t?” he questioned, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, unlike anything you’ve heard before.
“Do you want me to?” you weren’t sure why you were asking, simply curious how he would reply.
Jaehyun let out a huff through his nose, shaking his head. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to elicit from you. Although it was definitely something , he could say certainly that pity definitely wasn’t what it was.
“No, I don’t.”
You held his gaze, nodding. “Good, I don’t want you to pity me either.”
Before he could reply, you straightened up, handing the documents back to him with your father’s seal already in its rightful place. Taking in a deep breath, he stood up, taking you back almost immediately to what it felt like to dance with him at the ball, your proximity to him now allowing you to feel him towering over you, though strangely without the condescension that was present before.
“A lady like you shouldn’t care for my pity,” he murmured, the faintest of smiles playing at his lips.
And just like that, it was as if the exchange never happened, as if you both didn’t just bare a part of your souls to each other. Jaehyun straightened out his clothes, averting his gaze to the floor as you both allowed the façade of banter to mask the windedness that came from suddenly feeling all-too exposed.
“You won’t need to tell me twice.”
===
“You wouldn’t believe what I heard at the flower market,” your sister barged into your room as you were getting ready to attend a soiree that evening.
Your eyebrows raised, smoothing down your dress before sitting on your bed, giving her an expectant look.
“It appears Lord Jung is an anti-social man,” she began, “a few of the ladies at the flower market were talking about him, they said he’s rarely seen with people other than those he does business with. I interpreted that as the man having no friends, but that’s quite sad, isn’t it?”
You shrugged, “I figure something like that is subjective.”
Your sister didn’t seem convinced, “I think it’s lonely. Not having anyone to talk to about your life, about your struggles, about your joys… only being able to talk about your business wherever you go. I find that an awfully lonely way to live.”
Huffing, you got up from your bed, “He doesn’t seem keen on finding a marriage partner either so perhaps he’s more comfortable in this loneliness than you think.”
“I don’t believe it,” she grunted, “but it does make some sense. Maybe that’s why his manners aren’t the best, because he’s used to talking to cunning old businessmen.”
You let out a huff of laughter, “You sound like you’re defending him.”
Giving you a shrug, she hummed, “Maybe if you see him at the soirée later you can find out for yourself if he’s worth defending,” she smiled.
You could only sigh at that, glancing out the door when you heard your mother calling for you.
“That is, if Mr Nakamoto doesn’t talk my ears off before that.”
One thing about soirées, or these public events during the season in general, was that they didn’t allow for much privacy at all. It wasn’t like you were in the confines of your father’s study with the viscount’s full attention on you, no. You were in someone else’s house, with many many different eyes on you, at the receiving end of everybody’s attention except the very person who wouldn’t seem to leave your mind.
It was as if you were being shadowed by Yuta, your mother looking on with delight as your chaperone while the both of you conversed and you nursed your glass of whatever drink he’d handed to you. In such a setting, you couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of your posture, your manners, your tone of voice, the way you held your fan, even the way you would time your glances towards Yuta. All part of your tedious game, you supposed— to win the affections of a man you felt no real desire towards.
What did you desire, then? You wondered. His attention? His approval? You continued with the knowledge that even if you didn’t desire him, you wanted to feel worthy of his desire. It was messy, and it felt manipulative. But you figured those were things you’d signed up for the moment you started playing this game (however unwillingly).
You could see Jaehyun standing at the corner of the room next to the grand piano, looking intently at the multitude of sheet music next to the piano. The sight was almost amusing when you recalled your sister’s words, because indeed as you looked at him now, the sheer intent of his glare on the sheet music would be enough to intimidate anyone from initiating a conversation with him.
“Do you know how to play?” Yuta’s words had caught your attention, and you’d almost grimaced at the realisation that you’d been walking towards the piano. Stopping just a few paces away from the piano, you cast a brief glance at Jaehyun who was still glaring at the sheet music in his hands.
“No, no. I don’t, actually.”
Yuta smiled, “I would offer to play something for you, but it seems viscount Jung has beat me to it,” he murmured as you heard the melody start to sound from the piano. You knew this piece, it was the one your sister was playing when Jaehyun had visited your house the other day.
For some reason, the piece held much more melancholy than you realised, or maybe it was the way he was playing it, holding you (and all the other women in the room, you guessed) captive, unable to look elsewhere.
You weren’t even paying attention to what you were talking to Yuta about, feeling the words come out of your mouth but paying no attention to what you were actually saying. Little did you know that as focused as Jaehyun seemed on his playing, every word of yours was flitting into his mind and refusing to leave.
“I was always envious of people who could play the piano,” you sighed almost wistfully, earning a hum from Yuta.
“Were you not tutored for it?”
You shook your head, “It wasn’t something I was interested in when I was younger, but I suppose as I grew older, the music started to feel comforting to an extent. Only I was simply a listener, not the one who conveyed such comfort,” you huffed, attempting to make light of your feelings.
Yuta, as always, replied with his flowery lines, not being able to pick up on how you were really feeling and taking your words at surface level with a smile.
“Well, you certainly are an excellent conversationalist, so I would still consider myself accomplished if I were you.”
You hummed, brushing off your discomfort and mustering a smile, “Thank you.”
Jaehyun had to withhold his amusement, wondering again why it was that you were so willing to withdraw to men like Yuta, men who were all-too-familiar with manipulating their words to their advantage. If you’d simply bit back with half the amount of snark that you generously gave him, he was sure Yuta would be at a loss for words.
How frustrating. Surely, you could tell that Yuta was not a good match for you, couldn’t you?
Coming to the end of his piano piece, Jaehyun stood up, simply picking up his glass of wine that he had set on top of the piano, acting as if he wasn’t the one at the receiving end of the room’s applause.
Perhaps it was a stroke of divine timing, but one of the servants had approached Yuta, murmuring into his ear something you couldn’t quite catch. Yuta straightened up in response, casting an apologetic glance your way.
“Forgive me, I need to excuse myself for a moment,” he muttered, rushing off to somewhere you couldn’t truly be bothered to wonder about.
Jaehyun did not waste the opportunity presented to him, taking just the tiniest of steps closer to you and murmuring behind his glass, “Evening… are you alright?”
He noticed the way your shoulders were tense, your fidgety gaze around the room, the way you’d kept bringing your glass to your lips but the level of liquid in your glass was barely going down.
“Please, spare me. I am in no mood for needless bickering tonight,” you huffed, bringing your glass to your lips again to take a small sip.
Truthfully enough, the ache was back again as you stood in the room filled with chatter and music. The ache of longing for the ability to rid yourself of the façade of the perfect marriage partner that was growing more tiring to uphold. The ache that grew stronger when you conversed with Yuta, feeling as though if you were to enter a marriage with this man, the ache would only intensify. It was dangerous to entertain him in a place like this, because Jaehyun’s presence always seemed to draw you out of this façade.
“Bickering?” he scoffed, a faint smirk appearing on his lips.
“Was that not what you approached me for?” you turned to him with a frown, “I suppose the soirée was getting boring for you if you felt the need to take such a drastic measure as to approach me of all people.”
There you were , he mused.
Jaehyun shifted another step closer to you, something about his proximity making the conversation between the both of you more obvious, and you could tell from the way your mother was looking at you that it was indeed obvious that you had his attention.
“Oh, not at all. I was hoping I could be reminded what an excellent conversationalist you were,” he drawled, clearly proud of himself judging from the smile playing on his lips.
You rolled your eyes. “And you suppose you’re any better?”
“Of course, I am. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”
“You asked me a question? Must not have been worth remembering,” you sighed.
As much as you felt he annoyed you, you had to admit that it was somewhat relieving not having to be on your ‘best behaviour’ around him. You were sure any chance of marriage would be tossed out of the window if you were to speak in such a manner to Yuta (or any other suitor).
Jaehyun’s expression grew more serious, eyebrows lifting slightly in concern, “I asked if you were alright.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, suddenly feeling as exposed as you did that day in the study. It was strange how easily he managed to read into your feelings. You figured you’d been doing a good job at masking it.
“What does it matter? It’s not like you to be so concerned,” you huffed.
“So, you’re not alright?” he prompted, earning a shrug from you, looking into your glass as though it held the answer you were both looking for.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m feeling alright or not, the soirée is not going to end anytime soon,” you danced around his question, hoping the mention of the soirée would redirect his line of questioning.
He noticed the Rubies that were draped around your neck, something about it feeling off. He much preferred the look of the Amethysts you were wearing before, the first time he’d met you.
“New necklace?” he quirked an eyebrow at you, earning a grunt in response.
“A gift,” you muttered, “from Mr Nakamoto.”
“I see. You still haven’t answered my question,” his tone remained firm, eyebrows furrowed and gaze intent on you.
You clenched and unclenched your fist, turning to him with your eyebrows furrowed, throat feeling dry as you tried to wrangle your voice awake when you met his gaze, uncomfortable at the way his attentiveness tempted you to pour out your feelings to him.
“Is this really the reason you approached me? Look, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. What does it matter? ”
Jaehyun was undeterred, meeting you with the same amount of stubbornness and challenge, “It matters because you’re… different. You behaved… differently when you were talking to Mr Nakamoto.”
“Compared to what? When I’m talking to you?” the words left you quicker than you could process them.
“Do you not think so?” he retorted just as quickly, tilting his head at you with the confidence that came from knowing the answer without you having to verbalise it.
You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.
“Well… there’s no reason for me to act as though I’m trying to impress you.”
Jaehyun simply huffed in amusement, tilting his glass slightly as he contemplated uttering the thought that came to mind, going for it anyway.
“Somehow, that impresses me enough.”
Unsure what to make of his words, you shifted your gaze elsewhere, adjusting your grip on your glass because your palms had started to feel clammy. You remembered wondering what it would’ve been like at the receiving end of his attention, and now that you had it you were finding that even his words seemed capable of sprinkling gold dust on your heart.
“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” you changed the subject, your body starting to feel warm under your clothes, burning under the intensity of his gaze, wondering if this was how the sheet music must have felt under his gaze.
“I picked it up when I was younger. Out of all the instruments I've touched, I would say the piano is the one I tend to return to more.”
“It’s your favourite?”
He shook his head.
“What is your favourite, then?” You found yourself asking, genuinely curious this time instead of just a small-talk formality that you usually followed at such events.
You wouldn’t have known it, but Jaehyun was feeling the same unfamiliarity as you, feeling as though his body was moving before he could process it. He wasn’t used to holding a conversation like this with someone he barely knew, especially when it wasn’t about business or architecture. And for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the stares he was receiving as a result of such conversation.
“The violin,” he admitted almost sheepishly, as if he was embarrassed that he could play an instrument you could only dream of playing.
Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, gaze wandering to the violin that was perched nearby the piano, after being played by one of the guests when you’d first arrived.
“Why is it your favourite?”
He hummed, and by now you’d forgotten that Yuta had even promised to return, something in you not being able to find it in yourself to pretend that you were annoyed at Jaehyun’s attention, you truthfully weren’t. For someone as ‘antisocial’ as he was deemed, you found it was comfortable feeling like you didn’t have to present ‘textbook perfect wife’ answers for him. If only your sister could see you now.
“It was the first instrument I learned as a child… but I moved on to different instruments when I was older because my aunt insisted on me learning other instruments. You know, the more skills, the better. Somehow it’s…” he huffed, amused at his own willingness to share with you, the only person aside from his best friend Johnny that wasn’t keeling over begging to polish the ground he walks on.
It was refreshing, he was realising, to not be treated like he was perfect.
“It makes me very nostalgic. For that time in my life when there were no worries, you know? When all I had on my mind was the next piece I was eager to ask my tutor to teach me, waiting each day for her to retrieve the sheet music so I could play it until I knew it by heart.”
Jaehyun continued, “It’s strange, sometimes when I find myself picking up the violin again, it’s like the music just flows out naturally… and I realise I really did know it by heart.”
You hummed, nodding.
“Like muscle memory,” you offered, earning a soft smile from him unlike anything you’ve seen before. This one made you feel as though you were catching glimpses of Jaehyun as a child, the little boy whose only worry was for the day the calluses on his fingers would start to disappear.
“Can you play something now?” you weren’t sure what compelled you to ask, but the answer you were met with had surprised you even more.
“Oh, no no. It’s not… like that,” he huffed, still a hint of sheepishness in the smile that lingered on his features, “I don’t play it that often… rarely. Only when I'm really stressed, if there's too much on my mind.”
Nodding, you took a fuller sip of your drink, slightly more liberated now that your stomach wasn’t churning like how it was before.
“Your aunt must’ve really invested a lot of her fortune in your tuition, considering you were tutored for multiple instruments,” you hummed, earning a grunt from him.
“I suppose she had to, they received too much from my parents each month to not do anything with it,” he sighed, leaning against the bookshelf behind him, turning his head to look at you with tired eyes, “I still remember the way I would look forward to the letters they would send every now and then just to praise me for whatever competition I had won, or whatever certificate I'd achieved.”
“Do you think it was worth it? All the effort you put in?” you murmured, curious to how he would answer even though you knew you’d be at a loss if the same question was asked to you. Somehow, you felt like his answer would tell you more about him than small talk at balls or promenades would.
Jaehyun hummed thoughtfully, lips pursing slightly, “That was what love felt like to me back then, the love I felt for music and… their letters, so… do I think it was worth it?” he shrugged, a smile that bordered on bitterness had graced his features, “Do you?”
Perhaps it was the way you felt like you couldn’t hide under his gaze, or maybe it was the way you felt like he wouldn’t hold your grievances against you. Whatever it was, you found yourself wanting to share with him. And strangely enough, the idea of it had started to scare you less as time went by.
“My parents were like that too. You know, as the oldest daughter… no news was good news. My duty was to… to not cause worry, to be strong for the family, to take care of my sister, to perform well in all that I did for the family’s sake. For me, it was… like an instruction manual,” you huffed, finding yourself looking to him for affirmation that he understood what you meant, and the knowing smile and nod you received in return made your heart jump in your chest.
“Do all of this well and you’ll receive your parents’ love. Don’t do it and…” you trailed off, earning a hum from him.
“Tire yourself out trying and trying again,” he murmured, earning a deep sigh from you.
Did you think it was worth it? You weren’t sure, but you still found yourself trying nonetheless.
Jaehyun had succeeded in unlocking a part of you you’d never spoken to anyone about before, and like you said, something about it felt liberating, the solution to your ache starting to feel a little more within reach even if you still weren’t sure what it was.
“One of my friends, Johnny, has a pretty strong view about this… he says that people are fickle… that we can change based on the slightest of factors…”
“Your friend sounds a little bitter.”
The viscount laughed, “Quite the contrary, actually, I think he’s quite the romantic… just overly managing his expectations.”
“Is that so? What made him have such views, then?”
The viscount hummed, pressing his lips in a firm line before parting them to speak, “Money, I suppose. How people react to money, how he’s seen it change the way people treat a person. Sometimes, it’s difficult to tell whether a person is enamoured with you or the security your wealth provides. Though, with the way things are, it leaves a woman with no choice but to seek out security first, love being secondary to everything else.”
You hummed, nodding slowly as you processed his words.
“Sorry, I interrupted. You were saying?”
Jaehyun wasn’t sure why that made him smile, choosing to dismiss it and continue anyway, “anyway, his view is that when we’re constantly trying and trying to follow these instruction manuals on ‘How to earn love’... at the end of the day they can hold it over our heads and decide that there are more instructions, more requirements we haven’t met yet… he thinks it isn’t possible.”
You frowned, “What? To find love?”
Jaehyun nodded, “Genuine love, I suppose. I guess I understand what he means. Even though more people have been talking about a love match these days, it feels out of reach somehow. People still end up looking at you like a list of instructions, a list of qualifications, weighing who has a list that is easier to meet and going with that.”
“Do you think yours is difficult to meet?” you found yourself asking, earning a blank look from the viscount.
“That’s the thing,” he huffed, “People like us… who try and try and are tired of trying… we wish we didn’t have one.”
Somehow, you felt a certain conviction in your heart, shaking your head at him.
“Maybe we don’t, and we just haven’t realised that yet.”
===
You hadn’t seen Jaehyun at the next ball, or the next, and he didn’t return to your house for meetings with your father. You figured he was busy, so you tried not to wait. Though the ache persisted, coming and going like waves. With how often you felt it, you assumed you would have grown familiar with it. But in cases like these, the familiarity was unsettling, as if your body was crying out for help that you weren’t able to provide.
Yuta kept you relatively occupied, sending you flowers regularly, light and bright coloured blooms attached to meanings of affection and purity and fondness, accompanied with letters containing equally flowery words. Though it didn’t keep you occupied enough.
Time seemed to pass without much of your awareness, the only thing you were aware of being the way the flowers Yuta sent would slowly wither and your sister would replace them with the new bouquets he sent over. You were growing frustrated at Yuta’s perfection, because that demanded perfection from you as well. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the liberation that came with your conversations with the viscount. Those were different, demanding honesty instead of perfection, and perhaps, perfection was found in that honesty.
“I think we can start thinking about discussing marriage with Mr Nakamoto,” your mother turned to murmur as you were having tea with Yuta in the drawing room, the man busy talking to your father about whatever literary piece they found they both enjoyed.
“Marriage?” you weren’t sure why the prospect seemed so daunting now that your mother had mentioned it, something about her words making you realise that her plans were solidifying and you couldn’t simply continue to play ‘tea party’ with Yuta much longer.
Your attention was diverted when your sister had entered with a stack of letters in her hand (presumably taken from the staff), her excited gaze meeting yours as she waved a single letter in your direction.
“Are those my letters?” your mother asked, earning a grunt from your sister.
“They’re father’s letters,” she informed tersely, making her way over to you and dropping a single letter into your lap, shoving the rest towards your mother in an attempt to distract her.
The dismayed expression on your mother showed it was somewhat successful, “You know, you really have to fix your manners when it’s your turn to debut,” she began, seeming ready to launch into a tirade of nit-picking towards your sister but you knew nothing could very well escape her watchful eyes when it came to you, eyeing the letter in your hands curiously.
“What’s that?”
“Sister’s letter.”
Your mother’s hand reached out quickly, grasping the letter in your hand and peering over your shoulder to look at it, seeing no indication of a sender other than an elaborate letter ‘J’ imprinted on the seal.
“J? Do we know anyone with that initial?”
Your thoughts ran first to Jaehyun, and the look you exchanged with your sister only proved your suspicions correct, though she was quick to cover for you.
“Johnson, remember? Betty Johnson? Sister’s old friend that moved overseas,” it almost surprised you how smoothly she lied through her teeth when she was never a good liar. You never had a friend with the surname Johnson.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t have remembered her. I used to play with her and sister outside the church grounds when we were younger,” you added, pleased with how your mother had bought your lie, shrugging as she turned her attention back to her cup of tea.
“If you’re going to start exchanging letters, don’t expect the money to come from your father and I. We’re already putting more than we can into your dowry,” she muttered, earning a sigh from you as Yuta and your father returned from his study.
“Shall we promenade?” he offered, and you glanced at your sister before looking back at him, rolled your shoulders back and gave him your sweetest smile.
Your sister leaned over, pretending to fix your hair so she could lean in to murmur softly, “I’ll put the letter in your notebook.”
And so you left to promenade with Yuta.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” he smiled, squinting his eyes as he looked up at the sky, with you holding your parasol above your head, simply giving him a small hum.
“Have any other suitors declared their pursuit of you?” Yuta spoke abruptly, earning a frown from you.
Shaking your head, you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak, something about your anxiousness swallowing your words. You could almost hear your mother’s voice in your head now, telling you once again to ‘ use your words ’.
“No, they haven’t,” you managed to force out, earning a solemn nod from Yuta.
“Really? Not even viscount Jung?”
Your frown deepened, “What makes you say that?”
“Nothing in particular… just figured he was the only other person that could have caught your attention this season.”
You huffed, even Yuta thought of Jaehyun highly. You, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to get the image of the little boy playing the violin out of your mind when you thought of him, something about it was endearing.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but… do you know the viscount personally by any chance?”
Somehow your words seemed to have struck a chord with Yuta, his expression turning stoic and his gaze shifting elsewhere. He shook his head, “No, I don’t.”
“Are you sure? He seemed to find you familiar at the ball—”
“He must be mistaking me for someone else,” Yuta turned to you with a smile, though the firmness of his tone contrasted the gentleness of his smile. It was enough to deter you from asking any further. With Yuta, you needed to be careful, knowing something as simple as behaving in an ill-mannered way would be enough to make your family’s plans for security and stability fall through. It wasn’t as simple as it seemed with Jaehyun, who was always game for whatever you threw his way.
The mood had turned sour afterwards, the both of you remaining in relative silence (well, other than Yuta’s occasional utterances of praise for your parents) until you were both back at your house, the servant who chaperoned behind the both of you helping to take the parasol from your hands as Yuta got ready to bid you goodbye.
After he left, it was like your body moved faster than you could process. It was embarrassing , the way you felt like an excited child running up to your room and grabbing the book sitting on your desk, flipping it open and letting Jaehyun’s letter drop out onto your bed.
Tearing the little envelope open with your finger, you unfolded the letter, catching a whiff of something so unmistakably like Jaehyun that it almost felt like he was in the same room.
‘Ms Y/N Y/L/N,
My apologies for disappearing without a word. I needed to leave urgently because of my friend, the one we talked about the other day. His father passed and I’m aiding him with the handover of his father’s business and some of the family property to him, since I was previously closely working with his father for their family’s winery. Perhaps I should be more apologetic for the fact that now social events are sure to be dreadful for you without my presence.’
You scoffed, you could almost picture the smirk on his face as he wrote that.
‘I am unsure when I am to return, but I am sure it will be before the season ends. I suppose now that my friend’s father has passed, he is to be looking for a wife as well, though I doubt it would be easy to convince him to come back with me. With his status now as a Marquess, I suppose many would be eager to coerce him into marrying their daughters if he were to arrive in town. Something he seems very opposed to.
Again, I hope I have not needlessly worried you with my sudden absence. Though, I suppose my absence would be something that gains rejoicing from you rather than disappointment. Nonetheless, things are rather hectic here. I hoped that in writing to you I could gain some form of entertainment hearing about the progress in the marriage mart that I am unfortunately missing out on. You can write to me, but it will be addressed to my friend’s estate as I am staying here until I leave. I look forward to hearing from you. Do keep safe and in good health.
-J’
“I’d keep that locked up, if I were you,” you jumped at the sound of your sister’s voice behind you, a mischievous smile on her face as she shut the door behind her, crawling onto your bed and making herself comfortable there.
“So is it official? That he’s courting you seriously?” she asked, and you could see the way her smile fell as you pursed your lips, shaking your head at her.
Now that you heard her words for yourself, it made you wonder. You expected Jaehyun to be someone meticulous, someone careful, someone who knew exactly what the implications of sending a lady a letter was in this day and age. It made you wonder about the intimacy hidden behind his otherwise mundane updates, and for some reason, it made you long for more.
“I’m going to write back,” you spoke, more for yourself than for her.
Her smile grew, “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, sister. I suppose you found he’s worth defending after all?”
You hummed absently, already pulling out your writing materials to begin writing your response to him.
“Not quite yet, but something tells me this will be worth it.”
‘Dear J,
My condolences for your friend’s father, I can only imagine how overwhelming it is to have all sorts of responsibility thrown at you before you can even process your own grief. Truthfully, I hadn’t noticed your absence’ (you were lying, obviously)
‘Perhaps because things have been hectic here as well. Each day seems to be filled with entertaining Mr Nakamoto and going for promenades. I’m quite tired of all the walking, to be very honest.
The mention of your friend made me think of what you said that day at the soirée, about finding genuine love in a world where marriage is an economic proposition. I find myself searching sometimes, even though I know my efforts are probably in vain. I know the reason I have been entertaining Mr Nakamoto is not because I’m attracted to him. It is like what you said, I find myself seeing him more as his list of instructions, and what that demands of mine. Then, I find myself drawn back to my duty as the first daughter of my family, drawn back to the need to secure some sort of relief or security for my family. By then, there is no thought of finding love in a marriage partner, only the transaction of it all. Still, there is a part of me that wonders how different the whole process would be if I truly loved my partner, how much less it would feel like a game and more like life.
I am only asking because I have not seen you dance with anyone at the events so far. I suppose you are either picky or disinterested. But just out of curiosity, do you think it’s possible? For you, I mean, to find genuine love this season?
I hope this proves as entertaining as you wished for it to be, I won’t apologise even if it ends up disappointing you.
From, me’
===
‘Ms Y/N Y/L/N,
Thank you for your concern. My friend is doing much better now, and I hope this means the chances of him returning with me have increased. I would like for you to meet him, something tells me he would get along well with your sister, they both seem to have a penchant for the arts.
To answer your question, I believe it is possible. Whether it is wise of me to think so, or whether it is wishful thinking… that remains undecided. But I cannot be sure. Personally, I have not come across such love where you are seen for all that you are and still loved, but I would like to believe it exists. Whether I am able to find it this season or not, believing it exists makes it feel more like life, like you said.
With that being said, I do wish the same for you, as much as you may not believe me. More than just promenades, answers from manuals, accomplishments and duties, but life. Sure, duties are important, family is important. But in my honest opinion, I don’t think fulfilling your duties should mean sacrificing your happiness, especially when it isn’t very well your duty at all, but that of others projected onto you. Perhaps I would get stoned by your mother if I said so, but I mean it.
I have to be going now, but I can guarantee that I will be back soon. Perhaps in less than a month’s time you will find yourself bickering with me at the corner of a rich woman’s house again. Do keep safe and in good health.
-J’
You should’ve trusted the nauseous feeling in your gut when you saw Yuta arrive at your house that morning, having arranged a private meeting with your parents and leaving promptly after. There could have only been one reason behind it, and it worried you. Again, the ache intensified, feeling as though it would only solidify if your suspicions were proved correct.
It was during teatime when your mother finally addressed the elephant in the room.
“Your father and I are keen on you proceeding with Mr Nakamoto,” she spoke plainly, your hand halting around the handle of your teacup.
“Huh?” as pathetic as it was, was all you could muster.
“Weighing your potential suitors, Mr Nakamoto brings the most stability. He has property, he is of a suitable age, he has wealth, he is personable. He seems prudent,” she lifted her gaze from her teacup to glance at you, just the slightest of frowns as she met your wide-eyed expression.
You knew this, yet you weren’t sure why it shocked you to hear it verbalised so forwardly.
“I’m sure you have no complaints,” it came more as a warning instead of an assumption, enough to make your throat feel dry and your voice start to retreat, “you can expect him to propose soon, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour. The family’s reputation depends on your response.”
You thought back to Jaehyun’s words. If you were to reject Yuta’s proposal, would that make you wise or foolish? You knew what was riding on this decision. If you were to reject him, you would retain a little bit of your freedom, but you would damage your reputation. It wasn’t exactly ideal to be regarded as a jilt, much less to a man like Mr Nakamoto, who had many women in your town lining up for him. Weighing your other potential suitors, you weren’t sure if being married to a man older than your father was a better option.
Almost unconsciously, your thoughts wandered to Jaehyun, the feelings you associated with him— or more accurately, how different these feelings were from the ones you associated with Yuta.
It was starting to make you anxious, you realised that as you exchanged letters with him for a while now, he had grown on you more than you realised. The way you felt at the receiving end of his attentiveness. The way he seemed to read into your signals and cues and meet you where you were without expecting you to be perfect. The way he made you hopeful that you could find love… and perhaps wishful that you could find it in him.
You were anxious, because when you thought of Jaehyun, what was coming to mind wasn’t his credentials, his wealth, his family, or his status. But rather, it was him , the blunt yet gentle, aloof yet attentive, hardened yet tender-hearted person that he was.
You were anxious, because even as you were being told about your perfect prospect of marriage, you found that you only ached for him ; the man who was maybe a stranger to your textbook gentleman, but not a stranger to you.
You took in a deep breath, setting your teacup down with shaky hands, standing up and letting out the breath you were holding.
Use your words.
“I’m not feeling too well,” you murmured softly enough that you knew your voice wouldn’t give way, “please, excuse me.”
You struggled up the stairs, finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the way your heart was pounding and your head was starting to spin. Eventually, you found yourself at your desk, writing materials ready and already finding yourself addressing the only person you could think of at this moment.
‘Dear J,
My parents have been talking to me about pursuing a marriage with Mr Nakamoto, and in the position that I am, I am inclined to accept.’
===
This time, you didn’t receive a reply from Jaehyun. Previous times, you could always be sure that his reply would not take longer than a week. But this time was different, as the flowers Yuta continued to send withered and were replaced, there was no news of any mail for you. Even your sister was starting to grow concerned at the way things were going, starting to display Yuta’s flowers in places you wouldn’t pass as often when you were going about your daily routine. But you noticed, the flowers Yuta gave you were always light, bright colours in delicate blooms; nothing like the bigger blooms your sister tended to get.
The waiting was the worst this time, and you knew why. It was different this time, knowing you were anticipating his reply for different reasons. You couldn’t hide behind boredom, or curiosity as to how he would respond to your questions and words. This time your anticipation lay in hope, in your ache, and that was the worst kind of anticipation for you. Girls like you couldn’t hope, you had far too many responsibilities. You needed to be pragmatic, realistic, practical. There was no room for hope in your heart, yet you found that it was all you were doing these days.
Hoping that wherever he was, he was safe. Hoping that wherever he was, there wasn’t a perfect girl who was discovering if his touch could turn her worries into gold. Hoping that wherever he was, he was thinking of you.
You hoped it wasn’t too late.
The longer you waited, the more foolish you felt. Pouring your heart out to him in your letters like that when there was no real guarantee that he would feel the same way, when there was no real guarantee that he would take Yuta’s place.
As conversations about responsibilities, about being a good wife to Yuta had started to intensify, you gave yourself no choice but to bottle up the anxiety you felt, directing it inwards till you felt it start to take a toll on your mind.
There was a knock at your door before the door opened with a soft click, seeing your sister walk in carrying a vase containing new flowers, white lilies that filled your room with a scent that comforted you just slightly in your fatigue.
Setting the vase down carefully, your sister turned, stopping in her tracks when she realised you were awake, the slightest of frowns on her features, “Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
You shook your head, a sigh leaving you as you stretched your arms over your head, “I was already awake a long time ago, don’t worry.”
Padding over to your bed to take a seat next to your legs, her body angled towards you and her hand smoothing over the blanket that covered you, her gaze scanned your appearance.
“Still nothing?” You asked, earning a small sigh from her.
“Nothing,” she shook her head. Pausing, she shook her head, “maybe the letters just got lost in the mail?”
You let out a sigh through your nose, shifting your gaze to the Lilies perched next to your window, the light seeping through the glass making you almost dread the day that was to come. Another day spent waiting.
“I would like to believe that, but I've sent far too many letters to him to believe that,” you murmured, “perhaps it was foolish of me, you know?”
Her frown deepened, “What was?”
“Thinking that I could actually find a love match. Thinking that I could develop an affection for the viscount and remain unscathed,” you huffed, bitterness laced in your words that left an unpleasant aftertaste in your mouth.
Your sister hummed, “Do you think it is the affection you feel for him that is what is hurting you? Or the absence of this affection for Mr Nakamoto?”
There it was again, the wave that washed over you and forced you into sobriety, the ache for the rest that went beyond physical things that you were starting to give up trying to satisfy. You supposed when push comes to shove, you would find something to love in Yuta, you would simply have to.
“It’s been more than a month, sister. I cannot… I cannot afford to wait for him much longer. I cannot afford to keep avoiding Mr Nakamoto.”
She sighed, “I know. Father has been meeting him to discuss your marriage arrangement for a while now.”
Somehow, that was enough to solidify your decision for you, as reluctant as you were. Saying yes to Yuta’s proposal… perhaps it would be a wise decision in your trying and trying to earn the affections of your father. It would be wise for you to do what is pleasing to your family. It would be wise for you to be obedient, to continue to be dependable for them.
You heard the click of the lock, the door opening to reveal your mother, “Mr Nakamoto is here, dear. He has requested a private audience with you.”
Exchanging a knowing look with your sister, you nodded.
“Give me a moment to make myself presentable. I shall be down shortly,” you murmured, seeing your sister still wearing that same look of concern as you got out of bed, your mother leaving and shutting the door.
Getting ready, you stared yourself down in the mirror, glancing between yourself and the sight of your sister behind you on your bed, a now unreadable expression on her face.
“I’m not going to refuse when he asks,” you murmured, more for yourself than for her.
Perhaps she knew this, because the nod she gave you was all you needed to give you the little bit of conviction that you would go through with this, for your family’s sake.
===
Perfection was subjective, you knew this now. You knew it for a fact as you lay in bed, your head spinning and your heart feeling heavy, a week since Yuta had left town for business after your engagement.
The stress of it all was getting to you, the ache in your heart for rest, the ache to not have to be ‘on’ and be present to all the people and things that demanded your attention, the pressure you were putting on yourself to be the person your parents expected you to be, or maybe who you expected yourself to be, the ache to be able to depend on someone other than yourself.
You couldn’t even shake the fact that you were still wondering about Jaehyun, the last bit of desperation in you used to hope that he would return soon. It was amusing, considering that his return would probably be worse because you were already betrothed to another man. Somehow, you were still eager to write to him, asking your sister to help to pen down your messages because you were too weak to get out of bed. At least when you did this, you could say you still tried at the end of the day, because trying was what you were familiar with.
You could barely get yourself out of bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep away your days as you waited for Yuta to return, for him to seal your fate with your marriage. Each day, your sister would come in and attempt to get you to eat, but you couldn’t find it in you to have an appetite, simply eating a few bites to appease her before you were allowed to sleep the time away before your next meal.
Little did you know that your waiting for Yuta was in vain.
Jaehyun almost thought he was hallucinating when he heard the sound of a familiar laughter echoing a few tables away from him at the bar he was at with Johnny.
“Do you recognise him?” Johnny asked, evident disdain in his tone and the pointedness of his glare, earning a confused look from Jaehyun.
“Who?”
“That man over there, the conman, Nakamoto Yuta? was his name if i recall correctly,” Johnny gestured with his head to the source of the laughter, Jaehyun’s eyes narrowing when he realised that the man sitting at that table was very much familiar, and very much Yuta.
“Conman?” Jaehyun murmured, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he observed the woman next to him, the Rubies she adorned on her neck identical to the ones he saw you wearing at the soirée.
Johnny nodded, using his finger to trace the mouth of his glass, “I recognise him from my time in Paris. You see the woman next to him? Remember how I told you Rubies were popular among the women there?” Johnny gestured to his neck, “It took me a while, but I realised it was only because that was his trademark. Like a branding for the women he was set on cheating for their money in exchange for his affection.”
Jaehyun frowned. Did that make you one of Yuta’s targets, then?
“Are you familiar with his methods?”
“Too familiar, I wish I wasn’t,” Johnny sighed, “He tried the same thing on my cousin. You know, all these young girls looking for the perfect husband. He paints himself out to be little less than a saint, and they eat it up. The prince charming that came to sweep them off their feet when in actual fact his occupation is never revealed, his life is a series of carefully constructed lies that differ depending on who he’s talking to… he strung my cousin along for ages, doing ‘business dealings’ with my uncle that landed him in debt that my father had to pay off.”
“And your cousin?”
Johnny knocked back the rest of the alcohol in his glass, “Heartbroken, obviously. Once he had his fill of her and her family’s money he left without a single warning.”
“Couldn’t you file a suit against him for that?” Jaehyun’s mind was racing with questions, with a growing worry for you, especially since the last letter he’d received from you was talking about your likely marriage to Yuta.
“And what about the women? Wouldn’t they have warned each other by now? Isn’t it obvious when everyone’s receiving the same thing—the Rubies and flowers and all—from him?” Jaehyun continued, earning a deep sigh from Johnny.
“That’s the thing. She was too in love with him by then, she insisted that we couldn’t go after him. Plus, by the time he was done with them, they didn’t have enough money to file a suit even if they wanted to.”
“I mean, who wouldn’t want to be the centre of attention of a doting, romantic, young , attractive young man?” Johnny let out a bitter laugh, “You of all people should know it’s all business. When someone like Yuta comes along, he brings the fantasy of a desirable love match with him. It was never about what they were receiving, but who they were receiving it from. The perfect prince charming he made himself out to be.”
Johnny glanced over at Yuta with a sigh before raising his hand to catch the server’s attention to order another drink.
At Jaehyun’s lack of a response, Johnny noticed his friend’s face paling, his gaze fixed on the table looking deep in thought, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
“The girl,” Jaehyun rasped, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes harshly, “the one I sent the letter to…”
“Yeah? Didn’t you say she was getting engaged?” Johnny hummed, earning a grim nod from Jaehyun.
“It was supposed to be to him .”
Johnny’s lips parted, exchanging a knowing look with Jaehyun. He wasn’t daft, he knew Jaehyun’s affections for this girl ran deep, deeper than he let on.
“I… I need to go back,” he said finally, “I hope you can understand.”
At this, Johnny let out a laugh, an incredulous look on his face.
“Finally! I was wondering when you’d come to your senses.”
“Huh?” Jaehyun’s stare was blank, confusion written all over his face.
“ I’m not the one keeping you here… I think we both know that,” Johnny spoke slowly, nodding at Jaehyun, the latter who was already trying to form a mental estimate of how long it would take him to get to you.
“God, I feel so…”
“Foolish?” Johnny offered with a smile, earning a glare from Jaehyun.
“I can’t believe I was going to sit here and do nothing while she gets cheated by that man,” Jaehyun brought a hand up to wipe his face harshly.
Taking a sip of his drink, Johnny huffed, “Want me to hit him for you?”
Jaehyun scoffed, “Not if I get to him first.”
“I’ll tell them to prepare your carriage for tomorrow morning, you’ll be back in three days at most,” Johnny spoke calmly, amusement still lingering in his smile as he observed Jaehyun’s lost expression, the viscount seeming too blinded by the rage he felt towards Yuta to think clearly.
Johnny grunted, waving his hands in dismissal, “Don’t waste your time with him, go to your girl first.”
Jaehyun wasn’t sure what he was picturing when he imagined returning to you. He got your letters, every single one of them. He read every word to the point where he was sure he knew them by heart. Your letters told him about the town, about who had gotten engaged, gossip from the flower market, about the weather, the balls you attended. From the letters alone, he would have figured you were doing perfectly fine.
What he hadn’t expected was to have your sister answer the door and look at him as though he’d grown a second head.
“My parents aren’t here,” you informed before he could greet you, earning a huff from him.
“Sorry for uh… for paying such an unexpected visit, but… I was wondering if I could see your sister?”
Your sister thought to you, lying in bed grieving the loss of a future she dreamed of, wondering if the viscount’s presence here would put an end to that grief.
“She’s… sick.”
Jaehyun’s eyebrows furrowed, “Sick? With what?”
“Heartbreak, I suppose,” your sister replied tersely, giving him a pointed stare, unsure what to make of Jaehyun’s intentions.
Jaehyun’s eyebrows lifted, his thoughts immediately going to Yuta and feeling himself start to bubble with the same rage and concern that brought him here. Most of all, love.
“You can stay here, I’ll check if she’s willing to see you,” she spoke, still eyeing him cautiously as she led Jaehyun into the house, stopping him at the stairwell as she made her way to your room.
“Sister,” she knocked on the door, opening it and peeping her head in, whispering harshly with wild eyes, “The viscount is here!”
Your head snapped up from your pillow abruptly, only to fall back onto your pillow in immediate regret as it throbbed and pounded. Your headache was torturing you, but for Jaehyun, you supposed you were willing to brave through it.
“Okay. He can come up, but you have to stay in the room with us,” you said as firmly as you could.
Your sister hummed, turning to leave the room.
“Not unless he requests a private audience…” she murmured lowly, earning a glare from you (futile as it was, since she’d already left the room).
Jaehyun was more than impatient to see you, but the sight of you tucked under the covers of your bed, a cloth and small basin next to your bedside and the cold sweat on your face made his heart ache.
He wasn’t sure how to place himself as he entered the room, choosing to stand in front of the side of your bed you were facing, his lips curling ever so slightly in amusement when you had turned your body to face away from him.
“What happened to you?” his voice came out almost breathless, with traces of exasperation.
You didn’t want to open your eyes and look at him, you didn’t think your resolve would last if you could see the look of concern and frustration on his face he held now.
“Nothing,” you murmured. So much for ‘using your words’.
“Stress,” your sister cut in, earning a sigh from Jaehyun.
“I came because… I wanted to warn you,” Jaehyun almost winced, his words not coming out how he’d planned.
“ To warn me? ” your tone was strong even in your weakness, “not because you promised you would come back?”
Jaehyun shook his head, “I… look, you can’t go ahead with the engagement with Mr Nakamoto.”
You frowned.
“And what makes you think you can tell me what to do about my future?”
Jaehyun was growing frustrated now, “I’m not, but even if I was, I wouldn’t be the first one telling you what to do with your future,” he said pointedly.
“Why are you meddling? I never asked you to get involved,” you felt like a stubborn child, but you were more upset at the fact that it was him of all people, advising you not to marry Yuta.
You supposed that was what you wanted when you’d sent him that letter, but a very belated form of it, showing up in front of you now.
“My apologies, I did not ask for your permission,” he scoffed, “that isn’t the issue here, Ms Y/L/N, you cannot proceed with this engagement.”
“Perhaps your warning would be of more use if you’d sent it sooner in a letter,” you huffed.
You knew this was the sulky side of you speaking now, but it was the truth. Did he think he could simply waltz into your bedroom after months of silence, tell you not to marry the man you were engaged to and expect you to comply graciously?
“I don’t need your help with my marriage.”
“Marriage?”
Your sister wanted to avert her gaze, the tension in the room growing thicker by the minute, but it was impossible to look away, with the viscount looking unlike she could ever imagine seeing him. Desperate, frustrated, emotional . Nothing like anyone knew him to be.
“We’re already engaged,” you murmured, as if reluctant to solidify the truth by speaking it into existence.
“Besides, like I said. If I needed your… interference—”
“Help,” he corrected, earning an eye roll from you (not that he could see it, your eyes still being closed).
“Fine, help. If I needed it, I would have asked.”
“Is help only given when it is needed?”
You huffed, the bubbling of frustration within your chest growing stronger as you called to mind your emotions for the past few months.
“It definitely seems to be otherwise when it’s coming from you. Needed or not, I’d rather not have your help at all,” you forced your eyes open, immediately regretting it when you turned your head to meet his gaze.
Desperate, frustrated, emotional.
“You don’t mean that, I’m trying to warn you. You don’t know what kind of man he truly is.”
"Consider me warned,” your gaze was as firm as you could muster, not finding any reason to withdraw when it came to Jaehyun. This was yourself, in all that you were feeling.
“Don't patronise me. You don’t know what he’s capable of.” You almost faltered, almost . A small nagging fear started to creep up on you, telling you that you’ve made a grave mistake with Yuta.
“And you do?” you asked, slowly shifting yourself so you could see him better, unsure if you were being spiteful or curious now, maybe both.
“Better than you, it seems,” he huffed, taking a step closer to your bed, your sister pressing herself against the wall as if that would help the tension in the room, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she watched the dynamic between you and Jaehyun unfold.
It was nothing compared to how she saw you and Yuta interact, but something about this was interesting. It was like the both of you were simply hiding behind your true feelings, masking it with frustration and beating around the bush, focusing on unimportant details because you were both too afraid to be the first one to reveal your heart.
“And where is this understanding coming from?"
Jaehyun visibly hesitated, sighing before he told you the truth, "Johnny and I saw him when we were travelling."
“Johnny?” you frowned, “Oh, you mean the marquess that dares not show his face in this town?”
Again, the focus on unnecessary details to prolong the time before you had to finally face up to what you really wanted to hear and say.
“His title is not who he is,” was all Jaehyun could muster, feeling the tension in the room as he continued to hold your gaze.
“And by that same logic, I can say you don’t know my partner any better than I do,” you shrugged, the words sounding unfamiliar even as you said it.
That seemed to strike a nerve with Jaehyun, his tone rising slightly in his urgency and frustration.
“Would you stop calling him that? He’s not going to come back! You know why—?”
“What would you rather me call him then? My husband-to-be ?”
“—he’s too busy conning and cheating people like your parents in other towns for money now. Your family is going to be left in debt because of that man.” Though Jaehyun wasn’t shouting, his tone was filled with such urgency, such firmness, that he might as well have been. The implication of his words echoed louder than anything, louder than the sound of your heart picking up speed.
Your silence spoke for you, feeling as though a large wave had just washed over you and pulled you under. Your heart continued to thump quickly as you struggled to regain your bearings, as you struggled to gain control over yourself. Only one thought rang in your head, your mother had already given Yuta your dowry before he disappeared.
You glanced at your sister, her debut would need to be delayed now. Your family couldn’t afford to muster up another dowry so soon, not when you hadn’t gotten married yet.
“Now do you understand why I needed to come and warn you?” his tone softened, and without realising he began to make his way closer to you, daring himself to look closely at you in your shock, processing what he was feeling at the sight of it. Which, at the moment, could only be described as wanting to pull you out from under the waves, to dive in and look for you so he could bring you to the surface.
“I cannot—” he stopped himself, shaking his head, “I will not watch you let yourself be humiliated, waiting for that… that liar ."
Something in your gaze was hurt, vulnerable as you looked at him, wondering how he could say such words with such confidence when he was the one you were waiting for this whole time.
“I am not a stranger to waiting, you of all people should know that very well,” you said.
Jaehyun’s expression softened, still brushing aside what he wanted to say to you, his thoughts focused on how you must be feeling to find out you’ve just been conned by your fiancé.
“Why do you think I came here?” he asked, and the reminder that his purpose here was to warn you and not for other reasons was a bitter pill to swallow, so this bitterness showed in your response.
“In hopes to annoy me to death, perhaps.”
At his lack of a response, you frowned, “…. Why aren’t you saying anything? I expected a witty remark by now.”
What you didn’t expect was for Jaehyun to sigh, something in his expression akin to tenderness, which didn’t make sense to you at the moment. But it was a very tenderness that you always wondered about, what he reserved it for, how it would show, how it would feel. It seems all of those questions were answered now as you looked at him.
“Where do you think that man is? Right now, while you’re in this condition. Where do you think this man that you’re set on marrying will be after hearing of your sickness?” His tongue peeked out to wet his lips, though even if your attention was momentarily diverted, nothing could tear it away from his gaze. As though he had a million things to say to you, hidden inside of him, and you were only catching glimpses of it through his eyes. Yet they still managed to be gleaming, twinkling, pulling you out from under the waves.
“Yet here you are… destroying yourself for somebody who is incapable of loving you in the way you deserve,” he spoke almost bitterly, and the (not so) little hope within you had begun to surface again. Courage to make your feelings known, and hope that they would be received.
Jaehyun let his gaze shift to the way your hand lay on top of your covers, holding the fabric close to yourself for some sense of comfort. It surprised him, the way he wished he could hold you, to embrace you in his own comfort. The thought came naturally to him, as if that was his body’s natural response, to want you to be able to receive that from him and for him to give his love and affection freely to you.
“I’m sorry, I know it must be a lot to process. He had me believing his act too, I… should’ve asked Johnny sooner, if I did then you would not have to face such grief now—”
“It’s not about him,” you spoke, hoping your voice wasn’t quivering with how you were on the brink of tears, frustrated that you couldn’t tell what he felt for you even now, but filled with hope that you were sure you couldn’t hold your feelings within you much longer, “it was never about waiting for him, or… grieving for the loss of him .”
Jaehyun fell silent, lips parted slightly in shock as he held your gaze, your pleading eyes meeting his.
“Do you really think all these months have been for that man?”
“I wrote to you endlessly ,” your frown deepened, the ache in your heart worsening when you saw the way Jaehyun’s gaze softened, moving closer to you but stopping himself with evident restraint before he could get too close, “even when I could barely move myself out of my room the only thought on my mind was that I needed my words to reach you somehow, I needed some part of me to reach you… somehow.”
Your vision blurred, making you blink harshly. The fact that you couldn’t see him clearly behind your tears disconcerted you, “What else was I supposed to think when I didn’t hear back? What other choice did I have?”
Jaehyun paused, remembering your sister’s presence in the room, deciding that now would be the time where he stops dancing around the reason why he truly came back to see you.
“May I…” he turned to face your sister, “have the honour of a private audience with your sister?”
Her eyes widened, fighting the smile that threatened to show on her face as she gave you a knowing look, averting her gaze as her hand came up to cover her mouth, nodding. Gesturing a hand to you, she already began leaving the room, “Of course, of course. By all means.”
“As much as you may think I hate you, or… am here to meddle in your life or annoy you… I don’t like seeing you like this. I do not wish to see you in pain,” he let out a sigh through his nose, taking another step closer to your bed, daring himself to take a seat next to your legs, his body moving naturally as though this was what it meant to simply allow himself to be. Like muscle memory.
You huffed, “I’ve always been good at masking it, I suppose.”
He shook his head, displeased, “Or nobody has bothered asking if you needed to be relieved.”
“I’m sorry I did not write back to you. I just… in retrospect now I realise it was foolish of me but… from all your letters I just assumed,” he brought a hand up to run through his hair in frustration, “I assumed you were perfectly fine with Yuta. I had no right coming back and disrupting that, as much as I wanted to.”
“Believe me, I wanted to,” he huffed, “and it surprised me because, well, it was strange. It felt like you were seeing me for who I was… as if I was known for more than my wealth, my appearance, for everything in myself that was not perfect. But with you, it wasn't a matter of having to try to earn love, but to re-learn what love is, what it feels like.”
Your throat felt dry, something about his honesty making the ache in your heart grow, feeling as though what you sought to satisfy this ache was within reach, yet still at a loss for what it was that you desired.
"I did not know how to convey that in my letters. No words were enough, nothing... nothing was quite satisfying enough in expressing what I wanted to say to you. The thought of hiding what I felt beneath enquiries about the weather or about Mr Nakamoto made me sick to my stomach. That kind of intimacy that I felt when I was with you... It scared me because it only made me wish for more. I didn't think it was what you wanted."
“I thought that I could just separate myself from the situation, to resolve it that way before it could hurt me, but it was only when I saw that man when I was with Johnny that I realised,” his gaze flickered between your eyes and his hands, returning to your eyes and meeting you with that same hope.
Hope that gleamed, twinkled, that was not rooted in fear but in love.
“You deserved more than him, the love that you allowed me to discover was very much possible… the love you deserve. It would hurt me more if I had to watch you forgo that for the sake of others.”
Use your words.
“What do you suppose is this love that I deserve?” you dared to ask, somehow the use of your words did not feel as manipulative as it always did, it did not feel like you were trying to hide behind them this time, but to let your heart be known through them.
Jaehyun remained firm, and this conviction was enough to make you feel like you were slowly being lifted up to the surface of the water, the light seeping through the water making your surroundings feel brighter.
“... a love that remains forever.”
You weren’t sure if you were breathing, feeling the water get lighter as you followed the light from his eyes.
“And you suppose that is within reach for me?” your voice was barely above a murmur.
Jaehyun nodded, the hint of desperation lingering in his tone, “I promise you, it is within reach.”
“You cannot promise me a forever and not give it to me.”
There was a hint of amusement in Jaehyun’s gaze, the slightest of smiles on his face at your response. He wished you would remain this way, unafraid to use your voice with him, unafraid to assert yourself, to allow him to see, know and love you for who you are.
“I would not have mentioned it if I were not ready to give it to you at this very moment.”
Your lips parted slightly, “How do you suppose you will do that?”
Jaehyun wore the tell-tale expression that let you know he thought of something that either pleased or amused him, as if waiting for the right timing to say his smart line with a smug tone.
“By… asking you to marry me.”
If you thought his eyes gleamed and twinkled before, the smile that he wore when he saw the sheer relief grace your features. The feeling of being pulled above the surface of the water.
“It’s not too much to ask, just… be with me. Depend on someone other than yourself for a change.”
“My Lord, you know—” you began, turning your head abruptly and immediately regretting your sudden movements, your head beginning to throb even more. Jaehyun shocked you with the way he adjusted your pillow, helping you to lower your head back down onto the pillow carefully, smoothing your hair away from where it stuck to your face from your cold sweat.
“I want you to,” he nodded.
It was strange, being told that someone wanted you to depend on them when you were always used to being the one who was depended on. Instead of promising you gold, he was promising you the warmth of it, the value of it. Not the ‘Midas touch’ that took life away from things, but one that brought light and hope.
You wanted this . Not your long, tedious game, but the life he was offering you, a life of love, love even in imperfection, love that brought with it rest, love that was a state and not something to earn.
You nodded, “I want to…” your body felt warm under his touch, your gaze following his movements as he picked up the cloth draped over the small basin next to your bedside, wringing the cloth after wetting it and using it to dab the sweat from your face and neck.
You felt as though you weren’t breathing, a wave of emotion rushing through you at the feeling of being under his care. It was as though he was removing the little bandage you used to cover the ache that you felt, replacing it with a bandage that fit, one that wrapped around the ache instead of just trying to suppress it.
“I want to marry you,” was all you could muster, Jaehyun letting out a huff of amusement as he set the cloth aside, his left hand moving to your face, letting the pads of his fingertips trace the side of your face before letting his thumb smooth over your cheek gently. It was unmistakable, the feel of the calluses on his fingertips from what you assumed was his recent playing of the violin.
“Does my presence have that much of an effect on you?” he drawled, smugness laced in his tone as he brought you back to your exchange in your father’s study. His gaze flickering to your lips just briefly, making your heart skip in a way you’d never experienced before.
You rolled your eyes with affection, this time not feeling the need to ‘use your words’ to hide once again.
“Perhaps it does.”
===
‘My forever only,
Time and time again, I am reminded that I was foolish to think I could live the rest of my life without you when a day that passes by when I am not with you is filled with a longing I cannot imagine I could ever grow comfortable with, much less befriend.
Back then, I was used to being all alone. I found this solitude to be a companion, though loneliness is never a good lover. The sky gets ethereal for the things no longer living in chains. You allowed me to come to know what that truly meant, what it truly felt like. Love given freely is all I have to offer you, so I hope you’ll have me.
My love, I have not stopped thinking of the way you look at me, and each time I awake I find myself waiting for when I may be under your gaze again. The thought lingers before I am with you, filling me with an inexplicable feeling of love that refuses to leave even when we part. Forever sounds daunting but when I envision a forever of this love that you meet me with in your eyes, your smile, your presence, it becomes a boundless sea I wish to swim in for as long as my spirit exists.
All I ask of you, all I want is having you in my day. To keep you in safety, health, and love.
- J, your forever only.’
“Do you remember what was discussed?”
You were drawn from your thoughts, your sister handing you the bouquet of dark red roses as you started walking.
What did you discuss?
Right.
Be yourself. You felt the crunch of cobblestone beneath your feet as you made your way with your sister to the church. You are allowed to launch into unrelated discourses out of panic. You fixed your gloves so they fit comfortably around your hands and arms. Have good manners, unless provoked. You could hear your sister humming to the piano piece she’d been practising that morning. You are safe to express yourself. With the sound of her humming, the rustling of the big trees overhead and the wind caressing your face gently comforted you.
Reaching the doors of the chapel, you spotted your father who awaited you, though you couldn’t focus on anything else once the doors opened, your gaze immediately finding the man who stood at the altar, a smile adorning his face once he met your gaze. A wave of clarity washed over you; you felt peaceful.
There he was, not a marriage partner, not an economic proposer .
Jaehyun, your love match.
#jung jaehyun#jaehyun#nct jaehyun#nct#nct 127#nct u#nct aus#nct au#nct scenarios#jaehyun au#jaehyun scenarios#jaehyun x reader#enemies-to-lovers au#regency au#jaehyun fanfic#jaehyun x you#jaehyun imagines#jaehyun x y/n#jung yoonoh#nct fluff#nct angst#tswift songs for the neos
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ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol
so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia
i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭
if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨
Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm
EMPTY CHAIRS
Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow)
WC: 4.2k :)))
Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time.
Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times)
Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.
A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.
It knows no law, no pity.
It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.
Their family may be cursed.
For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass.
The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move.
She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest.
In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him.
But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will.
Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.
“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”
The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery.
With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend.
Naturally, it didn’t last.
The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.
“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.
“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response.
“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.”
___________________________________
The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell.
When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions.
“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg.
“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia.
But the empty seat felt an ill omen.
___________________________________
The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.
The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well.
When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose.
Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had.
Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all.
___________________________________
The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.
But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.
For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development.
Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again.
There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself.
First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something.
Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands.
Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.
And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more.
___________________________________
Grandchildren are the best reminders
of the beauty and innocence of childhood.
When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling.
“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white.
A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach.
The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body.
“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”
Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope.
She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her.
But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will.
Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far.
___________________________________
In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind.
She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more.
When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?”
Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands.
“And this is mother?”
Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble.
Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?”
A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.”
Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.
When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.
She should visit them more often now.
___________________________________
She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers.
Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.
She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe.
The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this.
She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book.
“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress.
They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.
“The gardens look atrocious.”
Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”
“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”
“Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included.
Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection.
She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?”
“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.”
She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees.
Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.”
Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.
“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”
“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.”
Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”
“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”
A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.”
Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away.
“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.
#twst#twst fanfiction#maleficia draconia#malleus draconia#lilia vanrouge#meleanor draconia#levan draconia#40 min spent on deciding a header alone#'hey amy she hasnt even been in the game yet' and?#listen maleficia may be 0% in-game but she is 100% in my brain thank u#obviously some flexibility with the facts here idk who malleus' grandpa is or what maleficias thoughts were during malleus' upbringing#but AAAAAAA listen... her.#lian i hope i did u proud i even made it a happy ending LMAO
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Parallels between Lord Jim and Good Omens (2)
I have rewatched GO2 at least 10 times now (still counting, obvsly), and every time I notice new easter eggs that emerge from the massive web of intertextuality that Neil Gaiman created for us here.
So today, I wanted to focus on the way Aziraphale came up with the “undercover” name “Jim” for Gabriel. He read it on the spine of a book: Lord Jim.
That book was written by Joseph Conrad (a Polish-British writer with dubious ideas about colonialism) and published in 1900. The plot basically follows the life of a young idealistic seaman called Jim who has to defend himself in a trial that concerns a sinking ship which he and other members of the crew abandoned in a storm, leaving it and the helpless passengers to their fate. The ship did not sink in the end, and he was the only member of the crew who was held accountable for his deeds by stripping him off his naval certificate. The trial is where he meets the narrator of the story, Marlow, who is strangely intrigued by the young man, who seems to be engulfed by guilt and shame over his morally wrong decision to leave the boat. The narrator tries to help Jim to his feet and lands him a job as a post manager at some remote colonial outpost. There he becomes a hero by capturing a local bandit. Later he falls victim to a scheme against him, and a pirate raids a neighbouring community and kills the son of their chief, Jim’s close friend. Jim then goes there, and the chief shoots him as a revenge for his son.
I mean, the most obvious parallel is that Gabriel gets named after Jim. He, too, abandoned his ship (Heaven; and the question here is, did he know it might be a sinking ship as well?) and was put on trial and lost his position as archangel before he came to Aziraphale for help. But that’s not all there is to it.
Let us start with the formal (concerning style and structure) aspects:
narrative structure:
“Marlow has complete control over the story … and he exercises his power in increasingly complicated ways. Time is broken up: in a single paragraph of narration, Marlow will reference the past, the present, and the future. By manipulating the flow of the narrative, Marlow is able to create juxtapositions and contrasts that highlight particular aspects of the story. He is a master at withholding information …” (Source: Sparknotes)
As I have already discussed in another post, this is more or less how narrative structure works in GO, too (S2 maybe more than S1, but this still applies to both). We get minisodes from the past that directly reference and juxtapose situations in the story that takes place in the present. Take, for example, the Job minisode, which gives us information about the development of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, but we also see how devastating and hard it was for Aziraphale to realise that sometimes he had to lie (or do something considered wrong in heaven) to do the morally right thing. This sequence is juxtaposed with the relative ease he exhibits in the present day when he has to lie to heaven on a regular basis (in this case, about the miracle and hiding Gabriel, which is kind of a big lie, too). The show also plays with our understanding and expectations of how time works, as S2 starts with a scene that takes place “before the beginning,” which undermines dramatic structure as it has been known and accepted since Aristotle. It is also interesting to note that in S1, we have a strong sense of an almighty narrator, since god herself is narrating the whole time and she sure lets us know that she is playing her own ineffable game here. In S2, however, we don’t have a clear narrative voice. This might make it seem like the narration is more neutral or less meddled with, but in reality, it just makes things even less reliable and situations more ambiguous, as we have no single voice to interpret them for us. Someone is definitely “withholding information” here, and I guess we’ll have to wait for S3 to get the full picture.
language/style:
“Marlow constantly ponders the "message"--the meaning of Jim's story. His language is dense with terms like "inscrutable" and "inexplicable," words that denote imprecision and indecipherability, but which also possess a certain quality of uncertainty in themselves, as words. He struggles to name things, and is often reduced to wondering if there even is a meaning to Jim's story and his fascination with it. Sometimes he concludes that the meaning is an "enigma"; sometimes he decides there is no meaning to be found at all. Words are constantly being contested in this novel; at least three major episodes center around the misinterpretation of a single spoken word.” (Source: Sparknotes)
I mean, “inscrutable” and “inexplicable”? Why not just call it “ineffable”? I also love how Crowley seems to wonder about the meaning of things (especially the distinction between “good” and “bad”), as one of the first things we here him say in S2 is something like: “Do you ever ask yourself what’s the point. I mean angels, demons, heaven, hell … it all seems a bit … point … less.” And obviously, the whole show is full of misinterpretations of words (e.g., “what does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like my exactly and your exactly are different exactlies”), or, as we are all painfully aware, a whole way of communicating with one another (“aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear”).
Now for some similarities concerning informal (aka content) aspects:
moral balance and “naïve heroism”:
“Even more tortured is the analysis of idealism and heroism that lies at the center of Lord Jim. Jim is a young man who enters the world motivated primarily by fantasies of daring and noble deeds lifted from cheap novels. His ideals break down, however, in the face of real danger; they are, in fact, untenable when applied to any form of reality.” (Source: Sparnotes)
That sounds like both Crowley and Aziraphale in a way. They both set out as naïve idealists, and both of them learn (Crowley earlier and faster that Aziraphale) that their (heavenly) ideals do not hold in the complex reality of life. A lot of what we see in S2 is Aziraphale coming to terms with accepting that doing the “right thing” on earth often involves breaking his heavenly rules and allowing for “shades of grey.”
struggling to comprehend own identity and moral consequences of own actions:
Both the narrator, Marlow, and the protagonist of his tale, Jim, are trying to figure out their identity. Marlow seems to tell the story mainly to kind of make sense of identity itself but also of him personally, while Jim tries to make amends for his morally wrong behaviour and tries to manifest his identity (as a hero) through action.
In GO2, we have a lot of identity struggles and questions of “who am I?”: Jim the amnesiac angel is the most blatantly obvious case, but we also have Aziraphale negotiating his identity constantly, e.g., in the Job episode when he asks “Then what am I?” after having lied to heaven for the first time . And I mean Crowley is just on another level of liminal identity entirely, isn’t he?
As a bonus (and I am probably going overboard here, but well), this is the description of Jim’s death:
“Then with his hand over his lips he fell forward, dead.”
The imagery reminds me of something…ahhh yes:
Feel free to add your thoughts in the tags or comments!
#good omens#good omens s2#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#crowley#go2#good omens 2#good omens meta#neil gaiman#crowley x aziraphale#meta#lord jim#go2 meta#jimmmm short for gabriel#thank you neil gaiman
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its the little things 🤍
PART 8!! Woo
catch up HERE
There’s a very small easter egg in this story and if you catch it, you can have a cookie 🍪
Warnings: VIOLENCE, VERY GORY VIOLENCE , cursing, you get hit/attacked by a man, lots of angst, lots of hurt
PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. THIS CHAPTER IS A FUCKED UP AND I CANNOT STRESS THE WARNINGS ENOUGH!!! MDNI!! PLEASE ADHERE TO THE WARNINGS!!!
Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl @under-the-dirt @clear-your-mind-and-dream @darkangel4121 @vreselia @llemes @stargaliz @rockcollector3000 @nottrosaxx @azu21 @kaoyamamegami @vicktorfan @ghost-is-my-bbg
IM SO SORRY IF I FORGOT YOU PLZ FORGIVE ME
i’m so sorry but omg i’m in love with this chapter although it’s VERY SHORT
The way you looked down at the note, you could feel your heart breaking. He had left you alone without any warning or notice, and 3 days early.
My dearest Y/N,
I know this is going to hurt you, and I know I’m in for it when I call you next. Please answer that call so I can explain everything. Just know this was not my choice, and it was all so out of my hands. I promise to you that I will make it up to you the moment your feet step onto the tarmac of base. I miss you already and I am so sorry baby.
I have arranged for you to stay in my tent versus your small one. This way you have access to a shower, bathroom and a real bed with A/C. If anyone gives you problems, drop Laswell’s name, she’ll cover for you.
I love you so much and I hope you will hear me out.
Your John
You felt hot tears stain the collar of his hoodie on your body. You felt so betrayed, yet so conflicted. Everytime you think you knew him or understood him, something like this would come up and you’d question everything.
You slammed the note back down onto the desk and went to go look at your phone, but there was nothing from him. Your phone hit the ground with a clatter as you threw it across the tent.
The anger boiled inside you, wanting any reason to boil over and explode.
“Lieutenant!!”
There was your reason.
Snyder came into your tent to find you in nothing but a hoodie, your hair a pulled up mess and your face red hot with tears. “What.” Your voice was scarily low.
“You need to be out in the field!” Snyder snapped back at you with a barking tone.
“Who the hell do you think you are to speak to me like that?” You stood up, facing him.
“I am your superior. Your guard dog won’t be able to do much when he’s gone. Get dressed.” He left the tent abruptly, leaving you alone with the silence again.
You reluctantly got dressed, leaving your tent and catching a ride to the embassy to assume your position.
While standing on guard, you realize Snyder had said ‘when he leaves’. He doesn’t know Price had left. You were still safe under the guise that Snyder was clueless. You took a deep breath and decided you had to keep up the act that Price was still here, at least for as long as you can.
And you did, for about a week. People started to whisper, wondering why they hadn’t seen Price with you in awhile. They hadn’t seen him at all in awhile.
“Lieutenant? Can I ask you a question?” One of your soldier, Private Sanchez, came up to you while at the embassy.
“Yeah what’s up Sanchez?” You turned in your chair to look at her.
“Why hasn’t anybody seen the Captain in awhile? Is everything ok? Everyone’s making up rumors but I just wanted to outright ask.” She shot you a smile. “People think he went home.”
You sigh, looking around. “He did. But I don’t go around flashing that to people because otherwise I won’t have it to easy.” You trusted Sanchez, she’s really proven herself on this mission and was easily up for promotion when you got back to base.
“With Snyder?”
You nod. “Yeah. You having problems too?”
She nods. “You could say that. He’s an asshole.” You both laugh.
“I hear ya.”
You both sat in the security office and kept each other company while on duty.
You and Sanchez found yourself doing that a lot. You’d sit and monitor the cameras together. It helped the days go by quicker. You soon forgot about Price and his note.
It was your final week on deployment in a blink. You’d never recieved any phone calls from home, not even from Shephard or Laswell. Something was going on and you were being kept from knowing.
You were headed to the mess hall when a hand wrapped around your mouth, dragging you into a dark tent, away from everyone else. “What the fuck?!”
“Shut the hell up!” A hand comes across your cheek, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. Fear riddled your body as you’re met face to face with Snyder.
“Did you just hit me?” You said, ready to square up to him.
“And I’ll do it again. Your little protector isn’t here, which means I can finally give you what you deserve.” You grabs you by the collar as you begin to yell for help, but he slams you down onto the ground, hands wrapped tightly around your throat. “You little visicious bitch. You’re going to ruin my career with that fucking attitude. Making me embarrass myself in front of the General.”
You could feel your consciousness slipping when his hands released and you sucked in oxygen like it was limited, and it was.
He quickly began to land blow after blow to your face, bloodying his knuckles with your blood. You began to do numb as your ability to fight back dwindled from the relentless attack. You felt pain everywhere, but soon, your vision blurred and all that was left was black.
(last warning before it gets fucked up)
….Lights
…Sounds
………A woman talking
…..A man yelling
….A helicopter
Your eyes barely opened due to the bright lights of the runway as you were rushed to a helipad.
You were accompanied by a nurse and one of your soldiers, Sargeant Russ. He was barking orders at everyone. You were hardly there, only hearing and seeing flashes of everything happening.
All you knew was whatever happened was bad.
You felt the gurney moving down a hallway in the way too bright hospital. You remember the beeping monitors, the masks, the masked doctors.
But not what happened to you after you knocked out.
You woke up a few days after the surgery, which you also don’t remember.
Opening your eyes, you look around to see Laswell in the corner, huddled over something. She turns when she sees you sitting up in the bed, rushing over to help you and calm you down. “You’re okay. You’re home, just in the hospital.” You look her over, wondering why she’s the one that’s here.
“What happened?” You ask. Your voice feels unrecognizable.
She sighs, sitting down on the bed next to you, facing you. “Snyder attacked you, knocked you unconscious. You lost a lot of blood honey. When they found you, you were in rough shape.”
“I remember that, but I don’t remember what happened after I blacked out. He was hitting me over and over and then I woke up here. Laswell, what did he do?” You were stern.
“I really think we should talk about it another day when you’re more rested.” She turned away from you, but you grabbed her hand.
“Please, I wanna know what that bastard did. Don’t keep secrets.” Her mouth opens as you watch her contemplate what she’s going to say next.
“Once he knew you were out, he began carving something into your abdomen, then stuck the knife there, inside of your body.” You were shocked.
You slowly reached down, moving the hospital gown to reveal your scar. On your stomach was an ‘S’. You began to shake violently until you realized something. “Where’s the stab wound?”
Laswell wouldn’t make eye contact with you. “Laswell? Where’s my stab wound?!”
Her eyes were filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on your knee as she moved your legs apart to show you he had shoved the knife there.
You were stitched up to the nines, a catheter coming out of you. You were speechless, the horror of the situation hitting you like a truck. “Honey, I know. I’m so sorry. I should’ve never sent you on that mission.”
“Why is it always me?” Your voice was quiet.
“What?”
“It’s always me Laswell…every fucking mission I go on that involves other units something happens. Last time, it was being raped and beaten, and now I got knocked unconscious while a Captain shoved his knife up my vagina. What the hell have I done to deserve this?!” Your voice was raised now, tears burning your cheeks.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry…” Laswell held your hand as her other wiped tears from your cheek. “This time is a little different though. Snyder is already in holding. He goes to his hearing and they plan to sentence him to life. You’ll get justice this time, much faster than last time.
She shoots you a small smile. “You don’t deserve this. We also found out Snyder has done this to woman of rank in the past. He’s a messed up man.” She sighs. “I think I have something that might cheer you up though.”
You watch her get up from the bed. “What could possibly cheer me-“ You freeze as she bends down and picks something up, no not a something, a someone.
“Simon-“ You choke on your tears as he begins to cry and does the grabby hands.
Simon didn’t cry, in all the time of him being little, he only ever grunted or sniffled. Simon was whole on crying. “My Simon.” Laswell put him in your lap and as soon as she did, he leaned into you, grabbing onto your hospital gown. “Oh honey, I’m okay. Don’t cry.”
You ran your hand over his little head of blonde hair as he cried into your gown, soaking it a little with his tears and drool. “Simon?” His big watery eyes looked up at you. “I’m okay.”
Looking up to Laswell, you can’t help but ask. “Where are the other boys? And where’s Price?”
“I don’t know…I went to go check on him when I heard he was back from deployment and all I found in his room was a little pink bra and Simon.”
You felt a little bit of panic but then you saw Simon’s blocks on the floor. “Give me those blocks!”
Laswell was confused but did as you asked. You set Simon down in front of you as you laid his blocks out inbetween you two. “Simon honey? Think you can help me understand what happened?”
“What’re you-?”
“Shh.” You quietly quiet Laswell as Simon looks down at his blocks teary eyed. His scans around and moves the blocks until he grunts and hands you a block.
“T?” You stare at it as he grunts. “Tia?”
He grunts again and hands you a ‘J’. “And John…”
He grunts again. You feel tears well up, but take a deep breath. “What about them honey?” You hand him his blocks back as he looks through his blocks again. He hands you a ‘P’ and a block with your initial on it. “This one is me, who’s ‘P’?”
He doesn’t respond, so you know you got it wrong. “I’m sorry, I need more than this. Am I right that this is me though?” He grunts. “Who’s P?”
He lets out a fustrated growl as he digs through the different letters. You laugh a little at how cute it was and when you do, he tilts his head a little and side eyes you. “Okay, I’m sorry Simon. That was just really cute.” You say while giggling. He huffs as he hands you another block, but it’s blank. You hand it back to him and he just sits and blinks at you. “Me, blank, P. What’re you trying to tell me?” You ask yourself more than Simon, trying to wrack your brain.
Simon hands you an ‘S’. “Soap?” He grunts. “What about Soap?”
You watch deligently as he reaches out to put his little hand on your leg. “Me? Me and Soap?” He grunts. “What about us? Simon I’m confused. All I’ve got is Tia and John.”
He lets out the cutest little fustrated sigh and you have to bite your lip to not burst out laughing. He lays the blocks down in order: T, J, P, Y/I, blank, S. You sit and stare and finally shake your head.
“Laswell, do you have any idea?”
“Well, you’ve got Tia and John. I don’t know who P is but that’s you, then blank and Soap. Maybe they lost him?” Simon grunts.
“What?! They lost Soap? Did they find him?” Simon grunts again. “Thank god.”
“Why didn’t he call me about it?” He hands you a little ‘T’. “Tia?” He nods.
“Why is she still here if he’s back from deployment Simon? Is there something I need to know?”
‘L’…..
“Love?” He grunts. Your heart falls through your stomach at this. It could be interpreted a million different ways, you know that. You can’t help the crushing feeling in your chest, or the nausea twisting your stomach around.
You look at him and his little expressions as he takes the block back from you. You decided to ask the one question you’re afraid for him to answer.
“Why were you left alone?” He hands you a little ‘F’ block. “Forgotten?” He grunts.
You pick him up and hold him as you settle back to lay down. “I’m so sorry Simon.” You bear little sniffles as you held him and rubbed little circles into his back. “One day you’ll be regular sized Simon again. I promise honey.”
And you fell asleep like that, with Laswell in the recliner and Simon laying on your chest.
It was peaceful, and it made you think about this whole situation. What has changed since they turned into children, and what changed when Simon began to communicate?
Was there a common thread between it all that could be the key to bringing your boys back?
There had to be, and you’d figure it out, at any cost.
#captain price x reader#modern warefare 2 x reader#soap mactavish smut#soap mactavish x reader#tf141 x reader#simon ghost riley#cod mw2#johnny mactavish#john price#kyle gaz garrick
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My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs
Welcome back everyone! Here we are season 2 of My Adventures with Superman! What a fantastic first two episodes and as usual they're full of fun Easter eggs which I will point out and explain to those who aren't familiar so you can be in the know with the comics book readers!
My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!
My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here
Spoilers if you haven't seen the episode
Starting things off MAwS's Season 2 episode 1 title is a reference to Shakesspeare's Hamlet where Hamlet is speaking to Horatio and says this line about how you gotta see it to believe it essentially. In my opinion in terms of the show I read it as we and the MAwS cast are gonna be seeing a lot of wilder things in space and on Earth.
After the title we see Jimmy flaunting his wealth around giving the Daily Planet employees Valentines day cards after selling his social media site Flamebird to the Planet. Clark gets one and talks about his planned date with Lois and Cat Grant interrupts him saying that date is such a bore. I explained Flamebird here and talked about Cat Grant here.
After, Perry White enters the scene complaining how Vicki Vale of the Gotham Gazette is always one step ahead of the Planet reporting on huge news. I talked about Vicki Vale here.
Lois, after waking up from a nap, mentions to Perry about a weird meteorite that landed in the Antarctic. She names drops her STAR Labs friend Hank. Later when the gang meet we learn that he's married. From those clues we can conclude this is Hank Henshaw.
Hank Henshaw in the comics makes his first appearance as an astronaut in Adventures of Superman #465 (1990) [W&P: Dan Jurgens, I: Art Thibert, C: Glenn Whitmore L: Albert DeGuzman]. He and his crew meet their unfortunate fates in the next issue as each crew member is hit with radiation in space causing their bodies to change. One member is turned to stone and gravel and bits from the wreckage of the ship when it crashed back to Earth, another's body turns to radiation, Terri, Hank's wife later learns that her body is phasing into a different dimension. She's saved but Hank 's body later decays rapidly. Doesn't all this sound Fantastically Four-miliar?
Hank Henshaw would later return in the Reign of the Supermen storyline as Cyborg Superman after Clark's death at the hands of Doomsday in Adventures of Superman #500 (1993) [W&P: Dan Jurgens, I: Doug Hazelwood, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: John Costanza]. How Hank returned and got this wild mechanical Superman body I wont say but I do recommend reading Adventures of Superman #466-468, the Death of Superman, A World Without Superman, and the Reign of the Supermen story arcs to find out. Will this also happen to Hank in MAwS? Who knows? Only time will tell
Lois name drops the DC universe's most famous laboratory and research center, S.T.A.R. Labs. You may have first heard about it from the CW DC shows. S.T.A.R Labs conducts a variety of experiments from space travel to technology and they usually are the superheroes' go-to when it comes to lab analysis. The research center makes it's first appearance in Superman #246 (1971) [W: Len Wein, P: Curt Swan, I: Murphy Anderson] where Superman scoops up some plankton and algae for them in the panel.
Jimmy in the scene before they meet Hank name drops Amazo Tech. I talked more about the company and the former CEO here.
As the MawS trio go to Antartica to check out the meteorite, which turns out to be a Kryptonian spaceship, Clark has another meeting with his father who tells him "oh yeah you have a cousin that my brother Zor-El launched to space to be safe cuz of the Kryptonian bullshittery we did" (I'll explain that later). Anyways Kara!
Kara Zor-El makes her first appearance in Action Comics #252 (1959) [Cover Art by Curt Swan and Al Plastino] where like her cousin was sent to space in a rocket ship to save herself after her part of Krypton was miraculously remained intact but meteors destroyed the lead shielding that Zor-El made to protect his people from the Kryptonite that was still present on their part of Krypton. Zor-El and his wife, Alura In-Zee, (she gets named much later) also made their first appearances in the same comic as Supergirl's debut. Kara has died in Crisis on Infinite Earths, had others taken up that mantle until her reappearance in Superman/Batman #8 (2004), and since then has made a name for herself in the pop culture zeitgeist with her appearances in the DCAU, my first introduction to her, the animated movies, her CW show, and in the movies! I highly recommend checking out Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow. Its got a killer story by Tom King and BEAUTIFUL ART by Bilquis Evely and Mat Lopes!
Jor-El tells Clark about the Kryptonians getting their ass handed to them by lasers going in sharp angles you know "oh shit you do not fuck with Darkseid!"
Darkseid, created by the legendary comic artist Jack Kirby, is the ultimate evil in the DC universe and makes his first appearance in the comics in Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #134 (1970) [W&P: Jack Kirby, I: Vince Coletta]. Darkseid is everything that Jack Kirby hated about fascism rolled into one character. He's after the Anti-Life Equation, the ultimate formula that will break all of free will and force everyone to bow down to Darkseid's will. He's often seen fighting the New Gods, Justice League, or even Superman solo. The angled laser comes from Darkseid's Omega Beams where he shoots it out from his eyes and they will follow you until it hits their target bending around anything and anyone to get to you as seen here in this cover of Justice League #23.1: Darkseid (2013) by Ivan Reis, Joe Prado, and Alex Sinclair):
Based on that tiny bit of teasing in that scene I cant wait for the MAwS crew introduce him. Also shout out to the them for including the little Kirby crackles when the Kryptonian's got vaporized that was a nice bit of detail to honor Jack Kirby's most famous drawing technique!
As Jor-El and Clark have some catching up to do, Lois and Jimmy are attack by the robots in the ship and you might recognize the symbol on them as the symbol of Brainiac. I talked more about him here also that one Kryptonian from the finale of season 1 shows up again at the end of the episode. No confirmation on if its Zod or not but there is a good chance its Zod imo at least.
As our heroes encounter Task Force X (I talked more about them and Amanda Waller here), Amanda Waller is talking to one of her new super soldiers, Damage who we see can grow into a hulking size. This is a reference to...
Ethan Avery, aka Damage from the New Age of Heroes initiative from DC post-Dark Nights Metal where his first appearance was in Dark Nights Metal: The Casting #1 (2017). Ethan was a former soldier in the US Army who volunteered for the Damage program and was given the serum to turn him into the giant Hulk pastiche we see here on the textless cover of Damage #7 (2018) by Tony S. Daniel, Danny Miki, and Tomeu Morey. As Damage, Ethan was not able to control his actions for one hour and would go on a rampage against militant groups for US Army missions. Here in MAwS, we can see some of Damage's comic design be invoked in the cartoon with the giant hulking body MAwS has, the dark arms, and pants. very subtle but it works.
As the chaos from the fight subsides, we see the former spaceship transform itself and the surrounding ice into this crystalline superstructure and what famous isolated fortress looking building in the Antarctic in Superman lore does that bring to mind? THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE!
The Fortress of Solitude that pop culture knows made its first appearance in Action Comics #241 (1958) [Cover art by Curt Swan and Stan Kaye]. Superman in the Golden Age had a "Secret Sanctuary" in the outskirts of Metropolis on a mountain top in Superman #17 (1942), but it wasn't until the 1950s where the Fortress of Solitude was relocated to the Arctic which is shown here. The location gets changed again to the Antarctic post-Crisis on Infinite Earths. Superman would have other Fortresses of Solitude in other locations like the Bermuda Triangle, which is the latest or the Arctic again. Superman would usually keep things pertaining to his Kryptonian culture in the fortress like the Phantom Zone Projector or the bottled city of Kandor. Based on what we're seeing in MAwS it seems like they'll be setting this up as a new place for Clark to get in touch with his Kryptonian heritage.
What a fun first episode! Can't wait to see what the future episodes will have! So excited to return to My Adventures with Superman!
My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here
and if you missed it my Season 1 Easter eggs list is here
#my adventures with superman#maws#maws season 2#Superman#Clark Kent#Lois Lane#Jimmy Olsen#Hank Henshaw#Cyborg Superman#STAR Labs#S.T.A.R. Labs#Jor-El#Zor-El#Kara Zor-El#Kara Zor El#Zor El#Alura In-Zee#Alura In Zee#Darkseid#Jack Kirby#Kirby Crackles#Ethan Avery#Damage#Fortress of Solitude#DC#DC Comics#Easter Eggs#References#My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs#MAwS Easter Eggs
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I watched The Idea of You so you don't have to haha my friend got free tickets to a pre-screening last night. Here are my thoughts with spoilers:
The movie was funny, and Anne and Nicholas had great chemistry, but parts of it felt like a Y/N fic meets Hallmark movie. She's literally reading at Coachella and completely uninterested in the band or him. They also made an older fan look crazy for comedy, and it wasn't funny at all.
They FOR SURE took creative inspiration from Holivia to draw more attention to the film. Whether they want to admit it openly or not. They even had a pap montage, and I immediately remembered these pics (the outfits, the poses, and the narrative behind them). It's subtle if you didn't live through that hell, but it's obvious if you did.
They dressed Nicholas very similar to Harry's street style at the time. And fans will spot a character wearing a very close match to THE Harry sweater.
They had cute and sexy moments together, but nothing super spicy (for me lol). I haven't read the book, but I heard there's more emphasis on Solene finding herself and owning her choices. The vulnerable, serious moments were good, but I craved more substance.
In general, I could've done without the Harry easter eggs. That was distracting for me but not unbearable or a complete deal breaker. The ending requires a complete suspension of disbelief. I didn't like it because it felt forced and tied too neatly. BUT, I'm never truly mad about a happy ending. It was a 6/10 for me.
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Headcanon that Grace’s love language is media. She obviously has a lot of hangups about physical touch and I feel like she wouldn’t be the best at using words to comfort people (love her but she’d probably accidentally say something that made them feel even worse lol), so if one of her friends is distressed she’ll put something on (movie, show, video game, etc) that she either knows is their favorite or thinks they’ll like. She’s weirdly good at guessing, too, and she’s helped them all discover new favorites.
With Steph, whenever her dad says something that really stings (even if Steph will never admit it and will say she’s just annoyed that he won’t get off her case), they watch so much trash reality TV together. Grace insists that it’s sinful filth and she’s only tolerating it for Steph’s sake, but she gets super invested to the point of actually yelling at the TV and it never fails to get Stephanie to crack a smile. Stephanie’s actually gotten into Twitter beefs with a couple cast members from previous seasons of Love Island (they just HAD to defend that problematic dog) and Grace thinks that’s the coolest thing ever.
With Pete, it’s old school video games. He has every retro console imaginable and especially likes the older Legend of Zelda games. Whenever he’s feeling down, Grace just has to get him rambling about the lore and showing her all the hacks and Easter eggs in the games and soon he forgets whatever was bothering him.
With Richie, it’s the Danganronpa games. Whenever they figure out who did it, she has endless thoughts on why the culprit’s plan was stupid and what they should have done differently to not get caught and Richie finds it both amusing and mildly concerning. They also watch a lot of anime in general (obviously, it’s Richie after all) and he’s endlessly fascinated by Grace’s deep analysis of the religious symbolism he didn’t catch on his previous watches.
With Ruth, it’s classic movie musicals. Ruth has a lot to say about them and the influence they’ve had on musicals today and at first, whenever she catches herself rambling about it she apologizes for being annoying and gets super flustered and embarrassed, but Grace encourages her to keep going because at least Ruth isn’t crying anymore. Grace actually really enjoys the music and the pretty costumes and larger than life choreography. She also appreciated that there was no sex/vulgarity in them until Ruth ruined it by explaining that there totally is, they just had to rely on more subtle innuendo. As a wise man once said, a song is a dick in sheep’s clothing. They also watch newer musicals sometimes, although they’re limited to ones that have pro shots or movie versions available because Grace refuses to watch bootlegs. Once Ruth’s really comfortable with her, she points out all the characters that are dream roles of hers and how she’d portray them.
With Max (assuming a Max lives/gets redeemed AU), it’s cartoons. He’s reluctant to admit to liking them because he’s worried it’ll make people think he’s stupid and childish, but one day he came to her house looking like he’d been crying after his dad really went in on him for failing a test and she put on Gravity Falls at random. She doesn’t approve of the satanic magic it promotes, but he seemed to like it and she would have done anything to get that devastated look off of his face and make him stop putting himself down. They also regularly watch Veggie Tales together after they discover they both grew up watching it.
She also makes them a cup of hot water to sip on because that’s what her mom always does for her when she’s sad. They all think it’s weird, but they still drink it because they appreciate the gesture and over time it sort of grows on them.
#grace chasity#nerdy prudes must die#npmd#npmd headcanons#ruth fleming#max jagerman#richie lipschitz#stephanie lauter#peter spankoffski#I just love when they’re all friends ok
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COD Characters & Their Favorite Holidays
Gaz: Easter Holiday
He absolutely adores all the bright colored flowers that his church sets out every Easter Sunday
He may be a grown adult, but you will catch him absolutely demolishing some little kids at an Easter egg hunt
Ghost: Boxing Day
It's one of the only times where he can exchange his unwanted gifts he got from other holidays
He'll spend hours, sometimes days, going to the shops and trading out unwanted shaving creams (he can't even grow a beard ??) for things he actually needs like new socks
Price: The months of August-May
This man does not miss a single game, it doesn't matter if he's on active deployment or not he will not miss a football game
His team is always going to be Manchester United (he actually has a cousin that plays, but no one has to know that)
Soap: First Footing
Not sure if this is a real holiday but come on a holiday dedicated to being the first person in a house where the goal is to be seen as good fortune and he gets to bring a bottle of whiskey? Automatic winner
His dark locks and boisterous attitude always brings good luck for the year to his family, even baby Johnny would be forced to stand outside with his mama holding a much to large bottle of whiskey as he waits for midnight to strike
Alejandro: Benito Juárez Day
A day dedicated to a high ranking man who did so much for his country? Count him in
It's one of the few public holidays he actively participates in (even though he's usually armed and in uniform) and will take the time to honor the former president by participating in tournaments and winning each one
Rudy: Día del Niño
Rudy love's children, has always wanted a few of his own one day and 100% celebrates all the children that bring light and happiness to the country
He showers his nephews and nieces in toys, sweets, and shopping sprees and doesn't stop once they turn 18 he only stops once they're seen as a "high ranking member of society" according to him (they have to have a job and can support themselves without help)
Valeria: El Día de Muertos
It's not so much that it's a favorite holiday more so it's the only holiday she feels is worth celebrating
No matter what she is in the middle of doing, she will always stop and excuse herself for those two days and dedicate them to adding offerings to her ancestors ofrenda
Graves: INDEPENDENCE DAY RAHHHHHH 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸 (Christmas Eve/Day)
THROWING TEA INTO THE HARBOR RAHHHHHH 🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅
(He's a family man, so a holiday dedicated to seeing family and spending time with them is right up his alley)
(He spends months saving up for this holiday so he can buy exactly what everyone wants so that he can make the holiday that much more special)
banner made by cafekitsune
#call of duty#cod mw2#call of duty mw2#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#john price#john soap mactavish#alejandro vargas#rodolfo parra#valeria garza#phillip graves#operator writes
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