#look i can make tswift for anything

[separatist-apologist]

A Crisis Of Faith

Memories feel like weapons

Summary: Dathomir has unmade you. And my misplaced loyalty has allowed you to lead the Nightbrothers astray. Unlike the Jedi - The Nightsisters of Dathomir do not turn on their kind. Our bond is eternal.

Merrin has spent years living on Dathomir with only Malicos for company, dedicated to fulfilling her end of the bargain they made. All she wants is vengeance.

She never expected Cal Kestis

Chapter 1: Give Me Back My Girlhood

Read on AO3

TW: canon-typical violence, emotional manipulation/abuse

She heard him before she saw him. 

Merrin pressed herself further into the cavern, back against the stone. Boots scuffed the steps, climbing ever upwards towards her. She didn’t want to see him—or anyone.

“Send him away,” she whispered to the sky. To her sisters.

Only silence responded. Somewhere just outside the flap of her dwelling, a rock clattered down the cliffside. 

“Merrin?”

A horned red and black head peered into the gloom. Viscus stepped in fully, walking towards her with his half-naked body. Merrin resisted the urge to count the scars in favor of staring at the dust-covered floor. Someone had once cleaned it meticulously. 

He crouched before her, a bowl of stew in his broad hands. The nightbrothers didn’t know what to make of her–or what to do with her. Merrin didn’t, either. Mother had kept her from them while her sisters had spoken of their inherent inferiority. Viscus didn’t seem inferior. He was kind, he kept her fed.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

And neither was she.

Merrin took the earthen bowl from him, still cowering against the wall, swallowing the warm concoction without tasting. She knew what they thought about her. Weak, foolish, young. She’d heard them talking once, had crept out to listen. In hushed whispers they’d wondered how she had managed to survive when everyone else had perished. She knew even Viscus wondered if she hadn’t chosen to protect herself over everyone else.

They didn’t know her mother had hidden her in a wall. 

“I saw what you did today,” Viscus murmured, lowering himself beside her. Merrin didn’t move, though she was afraid. Every day he came closer, coaxing her to speak as if she were one of his pets. It was starting to work, too. She wanted to trust him.

Merrin was miserably lonely. 

“That must have been hard,” he added. Her spoon clattered loudly into the half eaten bowl. Merrin didn’t dare look at him. They weren’t supposed to watch her. 

“Let us help you,” he tried, scooting close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was all wrong. She swallowed, her heart pounding frantically in her throat. Viscus was safe, he wasn’t like the others. She could trust him, she could be near him—

She skittered across the room, knocking the contents of the bowl on the dirty floor. Viscus sighed, the only sign he was losing patience. 

“You’re a little girl, Merrin. The brothers are starting to feel insulted that you won’t let us help you.”

“This is my burden,” she said. Her first words in a year. Viscus blinked and she wondered if he’d thought her incapable of it. “I have to do it alone.”

“Says who?” he challenged. She saw the glint of teeth, the flex of corded muscle. The nightbrothers were unchanged, even after the massacre. They’d fought back, had lost people, too. Merrin felt no resentment that they hadn’t been singled out for slaughter. 

Ignoring the mess she’d made, he tried again. Hands outstretched, Viscus came towards her again. Merrin trembled when he reached for her calloused hands, rubbing the pads over her skin soothingly. It wasn’t his nature and they both knew it. He looked uncertain, his touch icy. Affection was not in the nightbrothers repertoire. 

He valued strength, and watching a little girl bury the preserved bodies of her fallen sisters made him feel weak. He didn’t understand the task at hand. None of them did. They’d burned their dead long ago before moving on, but to honor her sister required Merrin to construct a burial pod. Only she knew the prayers, the songs. And only she possessed the magic to hang them for their loved ones to collect. 

The nightbrothers would get through one before they lost patience and demanded she do things their way. Let them feel weak. Better than shaming her fallen sisters. 

Merrin lifted her chin.

“Says me.”

A savage grin lit up the dim space between them. The nightbrothers were restless and looking for a leader. And since Viscus knew she’d speak, Merrin decided to ask a question of her own. “What of the outsider?”

It had been Viscus who’d told her about him months ago. He’d crashed in the swamp and from what Merrin had seen at night, seemed to be going insane. She heard him talking to himself, mumbling about order and he’s looking for me. She pitied him.

“He is not strong enough to withstand Dathomir,” Viscus told her, dropping her hands as he looked over his shoulder. “We cannot execute him without your permission.”

“Execute him?” she asked as visions of laser swords swam in her vision. “I–”

“It is a kindness to end him now,” Viscus tried, though there was no compassion in his voice. She knew better to expect it and still Merrin’s chest ached with its absence. 

“I will consider it,” she murmured, well aware her answer did not satisfy him. Still, Viscus did not challenge her. Briefly, Merrin wondered if Viscus wasn’t offering her pity, just as she did the outsider. If he knew he could strike her down and she wouldn’t try and stop him.

He was their leader. Brother Viscus respected the old ways. Even if it made no sense, letting a child make decisions no one had ever prepared her for. Merrin felt small, sitting in his shadow. Their eyes met for only a beat before Viscus lowered them, inclining his head as a show of respect. 

“Your exile is self-imposed, Merrin,” he reminded her. 

She only nodded, drawing her knees to her chin. 

And waited. 

The blotting red of the sun gave way to near violet dark. A heavy moon hung ominous in the sky. Merrin knew enough to know it was a warning. That didn’t stop her from creeping from her room so she could drink in the cool air of Dathomir. The world itself seemed to perk up at her presence. A playful, warm wind ruffled the strands of her silver hair before caressing her cheek lovingly. It made her heart clench painfully, reopening the bleeding wound in her chest. No one saw the way blood puddled around her feet, but Merrin felt it. Sometimes so acutely she couldn’t understand how no one else did. The world was different, so fundamentally changed and Merrin found it jarring that the others could not sense it. Could not feel what she did.

See what she saw. 

Sometimes Merrin thought the planet could feel her pain, if only because she felt its pain, too. Even with boots covering her feet, Merin could feel the dark churning of the magicks that had long governed her home. Like a root system anchoring her to the physical—a beating heart just as real as the one in her chest. 

She couldn’t cut herself off from it, though Merrin had considered it more than once. She simply did not know how. Instead, she embraced it, letting the magick fill her chest until she was all but drowning in it. If she couldn’t numb herself to the pain, let her feel all of it. Her sisters were given no relief, after all.

Why should she? 

Why should anyone?

It was what drew her out, her curiosity burning a wildfire through her. The wanderer, trapped in the swamp as he slowly went mad. How could she make a decision regarding his fate if she didn’t even know him? That was what Merrin told herself, at any rate. Truthfully, she couldn’t stand the thought of one more body in need of burning or burying. 

Merrin liked the swamp, though she hardly went anymore. It was teeming with writhing, uncontrollable life. The planet practically pulsated in the humidity, covering the landscape in a thick, red-tinged fog that held all manner of secrets. Hardly the place for anyone that valued their sanity to spend all their time. 

The whispering silence could have driven even her to madness. Merrin made her way down, down, down, boots silent over the ground as she stepped to the twisting, thorn-covered branches below. 

He was easy to find. Dressed in odd, tattered robes, he was older than Viscus by at least a decade, maybe more. Still young, though gray had begun to pepper through golden brown hair. His face was scratched from his crash, blood dried over his clean shaven jaw. She was careful as she crept closer, inspecting him warily. 

He spun, blue eyes piercing her even through the magick shrouding her. “I know you’re here,” he whispered, betraying his own fear. “I can sense you.”Merrin sat on the branch she was crouched on, letting her legs dangle over his head. She couldn’t reach her from her perch. It was safe to reveal herself, she reasoned. She exhaled a breath, blowing away the magick that shrouded her. 

“Who are you?”

Despair flooded through his vacant eyes. “No one. Nothing,” he added. “Alone.”

“Me too,” she whispered, feet swinging around her. The metallic tang of fear burned her nostrils, all but paralyzing her. He tilted his head, studying her just as carefully as she studied him.

“You’re a little girl,” he commented, awe coloring his voice. “How does a child come to be alone?”

She looked down at her hands. She had no intention of answering that. She didn’t have to. He knew. Stepping forward until his face was almost beneath her swinging shoes, he offered her a smile. Merrin blinked, hating the way hope bounced through her chest lightning hot. He was an outsider.

He’d smiled. 

“Go on, then,” he murmured, nodding towards the inky sky. “You don’t need to worry about an old fool.”

“Will you be okay?” she asked, unsure why she even cared. He turned again, looking at the swamp with the same glazed eyes. “What’s your name?”

“You’re a nightsister, right?” he asked, asking a question for a question. Merrin nodded her head before she could think better of it. 

“A rare thing,” he added, more to himself than to her. It made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t pin. 

“You should leave this place,” Merrin told him, clambering to her feet carefully. He didn’t turn to look. She’d seen that look in his eye before—Viscus often wore the same. Still, it meant he hadn’t gone insane. If he were smart, he’d fix the ruined ship he’d abandoned at the far end of the swamp and go back to wherever he came from. 

“Malicos,” he called. “Taron Malicos.”

Merrin swore she heard a chuffing laugh trail after her as she left him down there.

Alone in the dark.

-

[one year]

“Merrin!” Devron’s voice echoed through the basin. “Merrin, you come down here right now!”

She didn’t move from her place on the temple floor. She’d just lit her bundle of dried mushlings and had no intention of leaving until she finished her prayer. Smoke curled towards the steepled ceiling, drawing patterns in the air for her to read.

Merrin closed her eyes, stretching out with her senses. The roaring darkness rushed in, greeting her with a near playful wash of power. She arched her neck, letting the familiar thrum of Dathomir hum through her blood. She was getting better at letting it in, filtering out the cold until the settling warmth kept her steady.

She seemed to recall that was the way of things. Letting too much in, letting the dark steep through one's body, led to ruination. She couldn’t be certain, of course. She had the texts, though they were written in the ancient language and Merrin only knew bits and pieces. She was trying to teach herself, but she was not particularly patient, which meant she often became too frustrated and quit. 

“Merrin!” Devron’s voice roared. He was going to wake one of the chirodactyls and then they’d all be in trouble. She shut him out, focusing on her feelings. On centering her anger against her desperate need for peace. Balance…or something like it. These brief moments offered her a reprieve.

Of course one of the brothers wanted to ruin it.

“Merrin, you come down right now or I’ll drag you down!”

“Ha!” she laughed, breaking her concentration. The smoke scattered from her face, seeking refuge in calmer shadows. Huffing a sigh, Merrin brushed the dirt from the spider silk tunic wrapped around her body and marched to the yawning mouth of the cliffside temple.

“What is so important?” she demanded, hands on her hips. She could see him on an adjacent mesa, arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. Scars marked his skin, proof he was worthy of the position he held among the ranks of the nightbrothers. 

He was annoying, just like Viscus was. Always trying to force her to lead them like the old days, in the old ways. Merrin was not their leader. 

“Get down here,” he ordered, his voice bouncing off the endless cavern around them. She took a step into nothing, a thrill racing up her spine. Her next step was just behind him. It was childish, maybe, to delight in his irritated spin.

And Merrin, as everyone liked to remind her, was still a child. “You called?”

A near purple scowl darkened his face. “We’ve come to a decision regarding Malicos.”

Malicos. She’d spoken to him a few times in the year since he’d arrived. The Nightbrothers grew restless with each passing day he was allowed to remain. They hungered for blood—that was plain enough. Merrin did not. She’d been putting off her decision regarding his fate indefinitely.

Who cared? 

“Have you come to brag?”

“I’ve come to–” he gritted his teeth, turning his head with a grimace. “To ask for your help.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Where is Brother Viscus?”

“Tracking the prisoner. We had him in the dungeon, but—”

“But what?” she demanded. Malicos was, at best, a doddering fool more prone to talking to himself than causing true harm. Stupid, for staying on Dathomir, but no threat to Viscus’s power.

“He killed several brothers and escaped,” Devron mumbled, his anger apparent. Merrin blinked. In her whole life, even before the people with the laser swords came, the nightbrothers were the strongest warriors she knew.

“How?” she asked, some of her bravo slipping to fear. 

Devron only shook his head helplessly. “I–” 

Silence settled between them. He didn’t know. Merrin tilted her head to the red-tinted sky, letting the sun warm her skin. “What do you want me to do?”

“Use your magick–”

“What magick?” she demanded angrily, letting power bubble in her veins. She hated that they all knew she had it, that they expected her to fix all their problems with a wave of her hands. She could barely fix her own. 

“You’re a coward, Merrin,” he snapped. Brother Devron lacked all Viscus’s tact. She surged forward, shoving at his chest with her hands. It caught him off guard, causing him to stumble, but not fall.

“You’re a child,” he hissed. Everyone’s favorite insult.

“Fix your own mess!” she snapped, turning haughtily. 

“You’ll abandon us, then?” he called after her.

“Like you did to me?” she replied without thinking. It was the cruelest thing she could think to say. The nightbrothers had their staves and Merrin, her words. She whipped her head around, unbound strands of her silver hair catching across her eyes. It didn’t stop her from seeing the flash of hurt in his yellow eyes. 

Some of those scars had come from trying to stop the massacre. He wore them as a badge of shame like all the survivors did. 

“Brother, I—” Merrin extended a hand, but Devron waved her off angrily.

“I hope you take half as much care with my body as you did with everyone else,” he hissed. Her heart squeezed, that familiar, lonely ache washing through her. She could have gone after him and apologized if she’d wanted. 

But she didn’t. Merrin could not imagine Malicos escaping. She couldn’t imagine him killing anyone. Viscus would handle it. 

Play it safe. Go back to the temple, continue your prayer.

She turned her head towards the cliffside, ignoring the towering temple overhead for the carved-out archway that would take her to nightbrothers settlement. The dungeon was there—and Malicos, too, perhaps. Merrin hesitated. 

She had no right to interfere and at the same time, every right. Going to see them might make them think she was ready to be their leader. In a million years, Merrin never would be. Maybe it made her a coward, shrouding herself in that layer of shimmering warmth until she might as well have been nothing and no one. She’d just go and see–she didn’t have to do anything. 

Merrin ran, pushed by a sense of urgency. It was as if some invisible hand shoved, telling her to go faster, until her lungs burned from the need of air and her legs ached. Merrin half-tripped down the stairs, sending a deluge of loose stones to the bottom of the hidden settlement. The nightbrothers had moved further inward after the attack, seeking better defense. Sharpened wooden spikes served as an outer wall while the thick, sandstone cliffs kept casual interlopers from recognizing what lurked within.

By the time someone came looking for a fight, the nighbrothers would already know. Could flood out in whatever direction they chose thanks to carefully carved tunnels. Merrin slid her way down a rather narrow channel, her slim shoulders brushing against the rock on either side. The nightbrothers would have to shimmy, holding their breath to keep from being trapped.

Merrin stepped into the settlement with dread. The stench of death permeated the already musty air. Merrin nearly stumbled over the sprawling body of one of the nightbrothers. The death he’d been offered looked painful, even to her overtrained eyes. Deep gouges on his face made it seem as if an animal had ripped into him. 

The pooling blood beneath his head made her think his insides had been melted. Eyeless sockets dripped the congealing substance down his open face, obscuring who he’d once been. Most disturbing, at least to her, was the horn on his head that seemed to have been broken off so forcibly, part of his skull was also missing. 

She couldn’t reconcile the sort of creature capable of such brutality. Merrin turned away, looking from the carved settlements to the center square. A thick ring of Nighbrothers were formed around Malicos. Merrin crept closer, her heart pounding so loud she couldn’t hear the jeering. 

They offered Malicos respect. It scared her, watching them pound their chests.

More, when she realized it was a bleeding Viscus in that center ring. He was on his knees, blood dripping from a wound in his stomach she was sure was fatal. She could see his every slow heartbeat. 

Malicos took the knife scattered at Viscus' knees—a Dathomirian blade, likely made by Viscus’s own hands when he completed his trials into manhood. Merrin pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her scream as Malicos carved into his own chest some strange, arcing symbol of power. It must have been painful, given the roar that slipped past Malicos’s clenched teeth. 

The sound only excited the nightbrothers watching, their eyes alight with unmistakable bloodlust. Merrin was rooted in place, pinned by the glazed look on Viscus’s face. He shouldn’t have been able to see her—no one else could.

But she knew, as he died, that he was aware of her presence.

“I warned you,” Malicos warned Viscus, striding towards him with powerful steps. Blood stained his teeth, dripping from chapped lips onto the tangled mass of silver hair growing from his face.

“You will bow before me.”

“The nightbrothers will never kneel before you,” Viscus spat, blood hitting Malicos in the face. Chin jutted in the air, he was prepared for a warrior's death. She wanted to reach out with her magick and take his pain and knew to do so was to dishonor him. She held his gaze, instead. Viscus offered her the barest incline of his head, a sign of respect. 

She accepted with a nod of her own. Merrin did not flinch when Viscus' own knife slashed over his neck, or when his right horn was broken from his head while he gasped uselessly at Malicos’s stained boots. She stayed, creeping closer and closer, until she’d slipped through the crowd unnoticed. 

Malicos had turned to the nightbrothers, offering a grand speech of a new dawn. Merrin had no capacity to hear it. Not as she took Viscus’s hand in her own, lacing her small fingers through his powerful palm. How often had he extended that very calloused hand? And how often had she rebuffed him? She didn’t dare speak, lest Malicos figure out she lurked in the ever-present shadows of Dathomir. 

Viscus opened his mouth, trying desperately to take a breath of air that wasn’t coming. With her other hand, Merrin cupped his cheek like she’d seen the other sisters do to the sick and dying. Hoping she did it right and that it comforted him. A wet groan escaped him, and then his spirit faded. She didn’t trust the nightbrothers to honor his sacrifice. Those that had witnessed what happened were too busy kneeling at Malicos’s bloodstained feet.

And the rest would follow suit, out of blind obedience or fear. Merrin stood, gathering her magick to take Viscus with her. It glimmered green, drawing attention to her presence.

“Merrin—!” Malicos roared, but it was too late. He couldn’t follow her up to the sacred temples. There was no fire lichee to climb, no stairs. Only those who commanded the magick of Dathomir were allowed entrance. 

She would light the pyre herself.

One last burial.

-

“You’re avoiding me,” Malicos accused, catching Merrin by surprise. He was good at that. Her eyes glanced at the healed scars carved into his bare chest. A long necklace of hanging, broken horns grazed beneath his ribs. Proof of his power, of his status. He might have the nightbrothers, she thought bitterly.

He didn’t have her.

Malicos ran a hand through his wild, graying hair. A year and a half on Dathomir had done him no favors. The planet exacted a price on all those who tried to conquer and claim it. Malicos was no exception. He crept to the edge of the dizzying drop, resting a hand on the spiraling grave thorn Merrin sat on. She let her legs dangle into the mist, wondering just how far into the planet that drop fell. 

She could find out, if she liked. She didn’t have to stay. 

“You’re killing nightbrothers again,” she replied, turning to look at the setting sun. 

“Ah, so I have,” he agreed softly, his voice almost remorseful. “You’ve stopped burying them.”

Merrin didn’t know what to say to that. Guilt might crush her if she ever admitted why. Ash seemed to have settled permanently in the back of her throat, choking her as she slept. Death was all around her, the only consistent companion she could count on. 

Merrin sighed. 

“Will you talk with me?” he asked her in his coaxing way. “I am growing concerned about your melancholia.”

She shrugged. “What do you want to talk about?”

When it became clear she wasn’t going to move and ordering her might send her scattering high into the clouds where he couldn’t reach, Malicos chose to make his displeasure known in a different way. 

“You disappoint me, Merrin,” he told her. Fear seized her, threatening to wash her away. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Merrin was taken back to the day Viscus died. If someone as powerful as him could be cut down, she could be, too. 

“Why?”

“You spurn my every overture of friendship. Of care. No one is looking after you and I worry about you, Merrin. Alone with the dead…that’s no life for a young woman.”Young woman.

Not child. She turned to face him, some of her fear ebbing into hope. 

“You want to be my friend?” she asked, some skepticism coloring her words. He offered her one of his disarming smiles.

“Of course. I want to help you.”

“Help me with what?”

“I know who killed your family,” he said, his words ringing through her. Merrin couldn’t stop the strangled scream that erupted through her. He knew. He’d spoken, then, with the nightbrothers and pieced it together? Merrin pushed off the grave thorn to land heavily at his feet. 

“Who?” she asked, too breathless for her liking. “Tell me, so I might have revenge.”He reached for her face, his calloused fingers grazing her cheek. She let him tilt her chin until the sun glanced off her skin. Beneath her feet, the world rumbled a warning. 

She ignored it. 

“They were called Jedi,” he said somberly. “I suspected, but then I found these.”

He gestured towards the wide belt on his hips. Twin silver hilts hung on either side, a match for the weapons Merrin had seen as a girl. He unhooked one, igniting it quickly with his thumb. She skittered backward, falling to the cracked earth beneath her so hard her bones rattled. The humming red blade was so close to her face she could feel the heat. 

“This is the weapon of a Jedi,” he told her, watching her from where he stood.

“Put it away,” she pleaded, trembling in fear. He hesitated, and for a moment Merrin thought that was how it ended. Just like her sisters before her, cut down by that terrible blade. 

He took a breath, his thumb sliding back over the toggle. Merrin stayed where she was until he clipped it back to his belt. 

Jedi. 

“Let me have it,” she whispered, clambering slowly to her feet. “I want to see it.”

“You don’t touch it,” he replied, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Ever.”

“Are you keeping it?” she asked him. Would he learn to use it? Something about the energy it emitted made her think it was connected to the planet, though she might have just imagined that.

Might have been channeling that old fear so deeply that anything connected to the event felt alive. 

He crouched beside her, forcing her attention back to his face. “I want to help you get revenge, Merrin.”

Revenge.

“How?”

He helped her to her feet, squeezing her hand gently. Cold shocked through her at the touch, drawing her from his grasp. She didn’t want him to touch her. 

“Give me some time,” he told her, acutely aware of how badly she wanted it. Merrin’s desperation must have been written all over her face. “You are so talented and still could use some help.”All the air rushed out of her. “I don’t need help,” she told him, catching the pity that snagged over his features. 

“Even I need help, Merrin,” he insisted. 

“With what?” she demanded, refusing to think of what he’d done to Viscus. “What could you possibly need help with.”

He gestured around them, turning in a half circle. “The magick of Dathomir.”

Guilt slicked through her veins, slimy and cold. “Magick?”

He flexed his long fingers, lifting a nearby boulder with ease. Merrin stared unblinkingly. “How?”

“How, indeed,” he murmured, releasing his grip. Merrin almost felt betrayed.

Half relieved. 

She wasn’t alone. 

“You’ll teach me, and in exchange, I will orchestrate the downfall of the Jedi. You will have your vengeance.”

“You swear?” she asked, hedging closer.

“Sweet Merin. I swear on my life.”

He extended that callused hand. The very same that had cut Viscus’s throat, that had removed the horns he now wore around his neck. Merrin ignored every instinct screaming she walk away and took it.

His fingers curled around her wrist, holding her again. She hated it. 

She craved his approval.

“You’re wise, you know. For your age. Wiser than most, I’d say,” he murmured, brushing a strand of wild hair off her face. Merrin nodded, breathless from the praise. Furious with herself for being so easily swayed.

Desperate for more. 

“Get some rest,” he told her, releasing her entirely. “Tomorrow, we start.”

Merrin bit her bottom lip so hard blood flooded through her mouth. She waited for him to turn his back, to walk towards the carved entrance that would take him into the cliffs.

Only when she was back in the temple, high above the world and everyone in it, did Merrin let herself admit that she might have made a deal with a devil. Her magick—that of the nightsisters—was sacred.

Merrin pulled out an earthen bowl, lit a bundle of carefully dried mushlings, and waited for the familiar smoke.

She offered her sisters an apology. 

“Forgive me. We must ally with Malicos.”

[sonknuxadow]

i dont think its a crime to make music (or art in general) that might be considered bad but if im going to have to hear about taylor swift all the time because people keep hyping her up as the most talented lyricist of our generation when the lyrics in question are Like This i AM going to be a little hater. because what the hell is this

[lecsainz]

BEEN MINE

request: that one where you and charles have been friends since childhood and end up together

pairings: charles leclerc x friend!f1driver!reader

authors note: It was a request from a while ago, and it was in my drafts, so I decided to finish it, but I couldn't find the request box 😭

✩. . . masterlist !

liked by charles_leclerc , redbullracing , and 1.783.809 others

yourinstagram week of tests and a bit of my veryyyy boring holidays for you guys.

view all 10.527 comments

ynismylife can't wait to see you racing this season

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tswift the best of the grid

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mcslaren her in the RBR uniform is gonna be the death of me.

⤷ monzaaaaa she must look smoking hot

charles_leclerc see you on the track, Y/N/N

⤷ yourinstagram ready to eat dust, leclerc?

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redbullracing check out our new driver! we're thrilled to have you on the team, Y/N!

f1girly SHE IS SO MY WIFE

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maxverstappen1 can't wait to go for a run together, mate!

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yourinstagram - 4hrs ago

seen by charles_leclerc, oliviarodrigo and 12.681.879 others

charles_leclerc — 5hrs ago

seen by carlossainz55 , maxverstappen1 and 6.827.971 others

liked by charles_leclerc , kendalljenner , and 2.683.729 others

yourinstagram definitely wasn't my best race, but hey, I made it to the podium! yeah, I'm gonna copy my grid mates, a.k.a. lando and daniel, and post more random pics. nah, I'm never making an insta for this; I always forget the password I set.

tag: danielricciardo , charles_leclerc , maxverstappen1, landonorris

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charles_leclerc y/n, you gotta be kidding me with this pic!

⤷ yourinstagram but it's your bestie's best shot!

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vsttapen RBR on 🔝!

landonorris since when do you remember anything?

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foryn I'm just loving Y/N's era in red bull

yourbestie miss you 😢

⤷ yourinstagram me too sweetheart 😭

charles_leclerc since when do you root for the lakers, muffin?

⤷ yourinstagram always have.

⤷ charles_leclerc not gonna comment

⤷ yourinstagram boring 😑

danielricciardo when? where? and why did you take this pic of me?

⤷ yourinstagram I've got way more where that came from, danny.

⤷ danielricciardo y/n, you're scaring me

ferrariclub Y/N dropping a bunch of memes for us was just what I needed

lewishamilton we gotta set up a playdate for roscoe and [your dog name]

⤷ yourinstagram OMG! we need that, lew.

sebastianvettel you had an awesome race, kiddo!

⤷ yourinstagram thanks, seb ❤️

lecciardo we need posts like this every week!

maxverstappen1 should've posted a pic of us on the podium, mate.

⤷ yourinstagram couldn't find any good ones 😭

⤷ maxverstappen1 what do you mean?

⤷ yourinstagram charles_leclerc was photobombing like crazy.

⤷ charles_leclerc why am I still your friend?

⤷ yourinstagram cause you love me.

⤷ landonorris friend?

⤷ yourinstagram yeah, just a friend, lando!

ynandcharles I'm dying from this comment thread.

liked by carlossainz55, taylorswift , and 18.362.071 others

charles_leclerc you are the best thing that's ever been mine

tag: youristagram

view all 23.681 comments

yourinstagram and every time I look at you, it's like the first time

ynfirst the caption 😭😭😭

landonorris finally, you guys spilled the beans, I couldn't hold onto this anymore.

⤷ yourinstagram the first time you kept a secret!

⤷ danielricciardo HOW DID LANDO KNOW AND I DIDN'T

⤷ landonorris DON'T WANNA KNOW, DANIEL (I accidentally caught them both in the act, traumatized to this day 🤮)

f1gossip I TOLD YOU!!!!

carlossainz55 can I be the wedding godfather, lovebirds?

⤷ yourinstagram of course!

⤷ charles_leclerc yes!

⤷ landonorris can I be too?

⤷ yourinstagram NO

sainzmyluv my folks

arthur_leclerc congrats! and officially welcome to the leclerc family, yourinstagram

⤷ yourinstagram thanks arth ❤️

⤷ charles_leclerc you seemed more hyped when we told you

⤷ arthur_leclerc oh cmon I am the fan number 1 of yncharles!

hrryswif them being a swiftie couple >>>>>

maxverstappen1 I couldn't stand Y/N talking about charles all day, and now it's going to be even worse.

⤷ yourinstagram MAX! I don't talk about him all the time

⤷ maxverstappen1 YES, YOU DO.

lorenzotl Y/N dating the rival, christian won't like that very much...

⤷ yourinstagram I'm going to steal ferrari's strategies 😎

⤷ charles_leclerc I knew there was something behind it

⤷ yourinstagram LOVE, WAIT, I CAN EXPLAIN!

yourmom pascal and I always knew you two would end up together

⤷ pascal_leclerc we'll have to rethink our plans for their wedding.

⤷ yourinstagram oh no

⤷ charles_leclerc MOM, WE HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED DATING PROPERLY YET.

⤷ pascal_leclerc it's never too early to have everything planned, dear

yourbestie yourinstagram, you sneaky! why didn't you tell me, but you make a HOT couple

⤷ yourinstagram calling you now, bitch

[wheelsup30]

Illicit Affairs (Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader)

[note: MORE ANGST UPON YE. also can u tell im on a tswift kick?]

cw: angst with a happy(?) ending, gn!reader, reader's gender isn't specified.

word count: 1k

Inspo: Illicit affairs - taylor swift & peace - taylor swift

“I have to go.” 

It was like clockwork. You'd meet, spend a few hours together, then he'd go and the next morning you'd have to look him in the eye at work like this wasn't breaking your heart.

This time, you decided to push things.

“Why? Who's waiting?” You ask, obviously pointing out the fact he wasn't married anymore and hadn't been for quite some time. The divorce had happened months before the first time the two of you did this routine, so why exactly was it he had to leave so soon?

He’s silent for a moment, then deeply exhales. “No one. But I don't have my go-bag if we get called.” 

A spark of irritation fizzles through you, so you push harder. “What, you can't go get it on the way?”. It's clear by his face he doesn't want to have this talk, and another sigh rolls out of his nose. It was typical really, he only ever wanted to have the good stuff with you, no discussions that might require actual use of his brain cells. To him, you were supposed to be easy, just a way to relax after work that he didn't have to stress over.

Of course, he was more than aware of how unfair that was- you were a human being with very real feelings, reciprocated ones, even. But after Haley he just wasn't ready to focus on anything but Jack and work…which was made difficult by the fact you were work. You were there every day, giving him that hurt puppy dog look that broke his heart a little every time he saw it. Those eyes only made him push you further away, though, so you'd resigned to only allowing them when you thought he wasn't looking (He could never take his eyes off you, though you had no idea that was the case.).

“Can we not do this tonight?” Aaron asks, and you’re startled by the weakness in his voice, by the tightness that was building to a crack. Looking up at him, you can see his eyes glisten in the lamp light, an even more startling reaction to your nagging questions.

“Are you-...are you crying?” You ask in a whisper, worry knitting your brow and bringing a frown to your lips. “Aaron, hey-” 

He tries to shy away, but you don’t let him for once. You pull him close and wipe his cheeks, still concerned about how out of nowhere this reaction is from him. “I just want you to stay, what’s going on?” 

It’s silent for a long while, you assume he’s collecting his thoughts and calming down, so you just keep one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm to ground him. Five minutes pass before he can look you in the eye, and when he does your heart shatters. The tears just won’t stop. As he falls into your arms, you rub his back and try to push through the confusion at how fast things changed emotionally. “What is it, Aaron…? Honey?” You ask softly, moving so he can sit next to you on the bed.

“I wanna stay-” It’s a little difficult to make out with the tears and the fact he has his face pressed against your shoulder, but you hear it. “I wanna stay,” He repeats “But that makes it real.” 

Time slows, and the cogs start to turn in your head. Losing Haley twice over must’ve been the worst heartbreak he’d ever experienced, and she wasn’t in the field. You are. Sure, that means you’ve got each other’s backs, but it also meant your lives were on the line daily. Sure enough, he finishes your train of thought for you.

“I can’t lose you.” 

You don’t even try to say he won’t, because you know he might. Every time you step out of the bullpen and into the field there’s a target on your back, and you’d be a fool if you tried to ignore that. But was that really a reason to break each other's hearts?

“You might.” You say stiffly, running your fingers through the longest parts of his hair. “But if you keep this up, you’ll lose me too.”

It was something you wanted to let hang, so you did. One hand still running through his hair as you watched him process it…he was tired, you both were, the case you were on right now was one of the worst and was only devolving more. What would usually have been an irritating question with snide comments had become the final straw. Unwittingly, you’d broken him. Eventually, he looked up at you from where he was leaning, and your heart broke. He didn’t have to speak for you to know how he felt. 

“I know…I know it’s scary. I’m terrified.” His bottom lip trembles slightly, and you think about how you’d fight people tooth and nail to never have to see him so upset again, about how it gripped at your chest and stung your eyes every time you took in a breath. “But we can be scared together.”

There was no way to fix this, not alone, but therapy wasn’t something to bring up right now. Right now, the man in your arms clearly needed comfort and support, and that’s what you gave him. Hours pass with him half-cradled in your arms like a child, and eventually you wake up next to him, the pink light of a sunrise flushing his cheeks just like his own heartbreak had the night before. It was odd, seeing a man you knew to be so strong completely relying on you for stability, but at the same time it felt right. If Aaron needed a rock, that’s exactly what you’d be, there was no question he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. This wasn’t going to be easy, you’d have a lot of explaining to do to the team and your families, but you’d do it together.

Afraid, but in love without denial.

[mesperyiandevotee]

🦄unihorns4salenotscam follow

can the nation-people rpf shippers STOP posting their headcanons and fic in the main tag????? People use the main tag for REAL information and news about the reps!

🚬fruityfag follow

says the person wiht a link to their scotnor fics in their pinned

🦄unihorns4salenotscam follow

did I say anything about NOT writing nation-people rpf AT ALL?? No?? I said to keep it out of the 👏MAIN👏 TAG. piss on the poor ass website I swear.

🌋hallgrimskirkjafucksnotredame follow

Yo guys? I think one of the nation-people found this post. Mr France literally posted this an hour ago:

🥑anavocadothaaaaaaaanks follow

NOT EVEN A THOUSAND NOTES??? I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS EVERYWHERE

9123 Notes

🧭lostwanderer69

Hey uh........... did anyone tell the US rep that those panera bred lemonades are hella caffeinated??

🧟zombie--davie

how. how many did he drink?

🐗40to50wildhogs follow

He's literally immortal he's fine.

🦬alfredfjoneshater follow

FUCKING 12????????????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

👻givemeblueflowers follow

He was in the middle of drinking lemonade 13 when he kicked the bucket. Some tiktoker was recording him on a Live

👑lotrmonarchist

apparently he was with m. Denmark. who. kept drinking more lemonades until the manager cut him off...

🥀valentinorose follow

P sure dude said once he ate hellebore like salad. Not surprised.

👑lotrmonarchist

i thought he only said that to make historians leave him alone

🧭lostwanderer69

No no, I believe it

869 Notes

🪆theinn3rm3

OK. Let's settle this.

3 Notes

🎪thenightcircusstolemylunchmoney follow

🏴stopdraininmeswamp-deactivated

Anyone else notice he does this when some senator or w/e pisses him off?

🏒ruscanhockeyrpf follow

the fbi got him

#war thunder #nation people bs

10.8K Notes

❄️snowmiserbottomsurgery follow

not the swifties acting racist af after mr. korea called taylor "that one a-pop artist" 💀💀💀

❄️snowmiserbottomsurgery follow

me looking at the notes ONE FUCKING HOUR after i hit post:

🧟‍♀️realzombiedavie

I'm convinced tswifts has mind control powers like how england sees fairies or miss belarus sees ghosts

🥐iaminlepain follow

Everyone needs to stop spreading around that the nation people have magic powers it's been proven again and again that it's fake.

☕blackcoffeegayweexist follow

realzombiedavie why'd you use an honorific for Miss Belarus but not Mr. England?

🧟‍♀️realzombiedavie

Cuz I actually respect Miss Belarus lmao

#RIP to OPs notes #turning off my asks in case england stans come after me again

14.2K Notes

📰nationrep-rpf-confessions follow

Dear god wtf is up with all the colonizer/colony (or ex-colony) ships lately??! I know RPF is already a gray area morally, but can we at least not be gross about it?!

✂️ausprutoxicyuriscissoring

This is some of the most low effort bait I've ever seen.

12 Notes

📎cl1ppyrev1val follow

Thanks for using my correct pronouns tho ig?

📍geoguessr-lowscore follow

the "schrodinger's country person" is sending me

🗡️teutonicsword follow

#negative tag #nation people mention #doesn't op write liechtenstein x reader? why's anon salty about the pruliech?

if anon's the person i'm thinking of, they selfship with Miss Liechtenstein and harrass anyone else that selfships with her or ships her with another cuntry-person

#oh god i'm p sure i know who anon is #hasn't staff termed them like 6 times? #how many accounts have they made?

593 Notes

🐻‍❄️hibernatingkumaku follow

🐻‍❄️hibernatingkumaku follow

@ everyone asking me for the link here it is enjoy.

[haknom]

Hi Kayla!

Can i please request a hurt comfort one shot where best friend!reader (idk if you do male reader probably not so is gn okay?) has a fight w their parents and they run away a crying mess and they go to hybe building and the receptionist calls sunghoon’s manager to tell them that yn is there although sunghoon is in dance practice when his manager tells him yn is crying and very much not okay he still sprints down to comfort yn and they realise they have feelings for each other…i hope this is okay<3

And i hope youre doing okay<33

LABYRINTH — PARK SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS: disrupting sunghoon’s dance practice with tears streaming from your eyes was not what you expected to be your last moment as just ‘best friends’.

PAIRING: idol!sunghoon x gn!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, crack, crying, they kiss (i know…), mentions of a heart condition, lmk if i missed anything!

NOTE: hi anon!! ty for the request i actually managed to finish it this time 🙏🙏 pls enjoy and i hope it suits your expectations 🤍 || short playlist of tswift songs that made this oneshot happen: here!

WORDCOUNT: 1239 words

In all honesty, you had no clue where you were going. Your vision was blurry due to the stream of tears that piled along your lashline, and the dark sky was not helping one bit.

The only memory that played constantly in your mind was from a few moments ago: you rushing out of your house as tears threatened to fall from your eyes and your angered parents behind you.

Your shaky hands wiped away the nonstop flowing tears as sobs escaped your lips. You didn’t know what to do, where to go, or who to talk to, yet you still ended up in front of the steps of HYBE.

Many staff members knew about your relationship with one of their idols, Park Sunghoon. It was obvious how close you two were; he never stopped talking about you.

“Oh, (Name),” the receptionist said, brows furrowing at the sight. “Are you okay?” She asked, but you remained silent. Even if you tried responding, your voice would give out almost immediately.

Your lips trembled as she quickly tapped away on her phone. It began ringing as she waited for an answer.

“Your phone’s ringing!” Heeseung exclaimed while grabbing their manager’s phone in the dance room. “Oh, thank you.” He smiled and took it from Heeseung’s hold. He picked up the phone, placing it at his ear. 

“Hello?” He said while Heeseung walked back towards his groupmates. “Sunghoon? Ah, okay…” He mumbled, worried. He walked over to the group of boys, calling for Sunghoon individually. 

“Hoon, apparently (Name) is downstairs.” He said, a smile making its way onto Sunghoon’s face. "But they’re crying.” The smile on Sunghoon’s face vanished in haste as nervousness filled his system. 

Immediately, he ran out of the practice room, rushing towards the elevators. Hearing the words ‘they’re crying’ was enough to make him worry.

What were you crying about? Hell, who made you cry?

He pressed the button, cursing under his breath as he waited for the elevator. They were on the 20th floor; there was no way they’d hurry anytime soon. Sunghoon made his way towards the stairs with no other thought but you in his head.

No way he was about to run down 20 flights of stairs. Even if he would be exhausted afterwards, he didn’t care. 

What if something bad happened to you? He had to hurry.

Once he made it to the main floor, he was panting. His head spun at the many quick turns he took, and his forehead was damped with a light sheet of sweat.

He looked around the main floor; however, you were nowhere to be found. “They’re outside,” said the receptionist, catching Sunghoon’s attention immediately. He rushed over to the entrance, the cold air hitting him once he opened the doors.

You looked up at the sudden commotion, making eye contact with Sunghoon. Your lips trembled once again as he made his way to your side.

“(Name),” he called out, his voice softer than ever. “What’s wrong?” He asked as he cupped your cold face with his warm hands. Out of nowhere, tears trickled down your cheeks. Your eyes were a light shade of red, causing Sunghoon’s heart to ache. He hated seeing you at your lowest. It was a gut-wrenching sight. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He whispered while wiping your tears away with his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, but you shook your head, leaning into his chest instead. His eyes widened slightly, and his heart raced at the sudden action.

He was 100% sure that you could hear the sudden change in the tempo of his heartbeat. He waved it off, only focusing on calming your cries, and proceeded to lightly tap a rhythm on your back while rubbing your head reassuringly.

A few minutes passed, and your sobs finally calmed down. You both silently remained in the same position, with his hands continuing the same movements.

“Hey,” you began as he hummed in response. “Do you have a heart condition or something?” You asked, looking up at him. “What?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“Your heart has been racing the whole time I was laying on your chest.”

“No, it hasn’t.” He said in an attempt to refuse your accusation. “The light sheet of blush on your cheeks says otherwise.” You teased with a slight smile. “It’s cold. That’s the only reason why my cheeks are pink.” He lied, hoping you bought it.

You removed the hand that was patting your back and brought it to his chest. “Explain that then.” You said, causing him to hesitate. 

“I… I had dance practice and then ran down 20 flights of stairs to get to you.” He exclaimed, removing his hand from his chest as you raised a brow at his words. “20 flights of stairs?” You said, placing your hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“You’re such a tryhard.” You teased him, laughing at his sudden confession. Your laugh made his heart flutter as he looked away, the pink on his cheeks darkening. “Hey! It happened again.” You exclaimed, your eyes widening at the sudden increase in his heartbeat.

“Are you sure you don’t have a heart condition? I don’t think this is a good  thing. You said, concerned. “If I got it checked, what would I tell them?” He began, removing your hand from his chest to hold it instead. 

“My heartbeat rises extremely high when I’m near my best friend, and I can’t even hold eye contact with them at some point?” He asked as you stared at him, confused. “You and I both know what they’ll diagnose me with,” he said.

“Love.” He continued. “They’ll say, 'Maybe you see them more than just a best friend.' Who am I kidding? They might not be wrong.” He explained as you remained silent. “What are you saying?” You asked, unsure if what you thought he was hinting at was correct.

“I like you. I might even love you, but I’m not sure if you feel the same way.” He said, staring into your eyes. Your eyes searched his for any lies, only to realise he was being sincere. 

“So—” 

Suddenly, your lips were placed on top of his, shutting him up immediately. You backed away, looking at his flustered expression that you mirrored, and stared into his wide eyes.

“I’m guessing your answer is the same as mine." He said, hoping he was right. “Please stop,” you said in embarrassment. He smiled, looking back at your lips to go in for another kiss, but you dodged him.

He frowned while looking at you. “So, it’s only okay if you do it?” He asked as you shook your head. “You never know who might be taking a picture of us. I’m not trying to be in an article with the headlines, ‘ENHYPEN’s Sunghoon seen with his significant other on a park bench.’” You said and he laughed. 

“At least they’ll know I have a significant other.” He said, causing you to stare back in confusion. “Is this your way of asking me out?” You asked as he hesitated. “Kinda? I thought we already established something was going on after that headline thing…” He mumbled as you smiled. 

“Of course, we can date. Let’s just try not to be in an article with that headline.” You said and he nodded. “Promised.” He said and smiled as you did the same.

© haknom 2023 — do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work on other platforms!

PERM TAGLIST: @soov @redm4ri @ox1-lovesick @urszn @hanniluvi @dakkisz @dimplewonie @ddeonudepressions @xiaoderrrr @ja4hyvn @mmaplepastries @essmarye @w3bqrl @jennaissantes @yenqa @yeokii @yyunari @wvnkoi @isoobie @strwberrydinosaur @gibbysupremeacyisreal @rikizm @teddywonss @simp4jongseong @whoschr @forjungwons @yizhoutv @yuviqik @itsactuallylina @hermitanatta

[taelme]

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. 

[scarletwinterxx]

i would never fall, unless it's you I fall into -- mark lee imagine

hellooooo😊 hope you're not sick of me being in my mark lee feels😅 here's another fluff moment with minhyung, hope you like it!

Songs mentioned here:

call it what you want, double take,paris,until i found you,little things

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2023 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

You know how they say you shouldn't associate a guy with a Taylor Swift song. Well they never said anything about dedicating a whole playlist for him, which you did. In your defense it's not filled with only Tswift songs, most of them are, but the gist of it is basically all the tunes that remind you of him.

How can you not think of him whenever you hear the line "Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" or your current favorite song "In the midst of the crowds In the shapes in the clouds I don't see nobody but you" and immediately you have this stupid smile on your face.

"You're smiling" Mark tells you, breaking you out of your thoughts

"Mhm?"

"You were smiling just then, what were you thinking about?" He asks, eyes looking back at yours with curiosity. And there your brain goes, humming the tune and lines that goes 'I wanna brainwash you into loving me forever'

But instead of saying that, you just shook your head "Nothing, just something funny"

He just smiles back at you before going back to tuning his guitar, he asked you to come and have a lazy day with him. You ended up at the beach, a quick getaway.

So now you're here sitting by the beach waiting for the sun to set as Mark hums to random songs while plucking on his guitar, taking the camera to snap a few shots of the beach and more shots of him. He can hear the shutter of the camera, not really noticing he was the focus of the lens instead of the view in front the two of you.

You look through the pictures, smiling at the ones you took of him.

"What's your favorite song?" he suddenly asks you catching your attention. Setting the camera gently on the blanket before hugging your knees to your chest,

"You know with the amount of time I spent thinking about that question, I was so sure I would have an answer by now. But whenever I get asked, my mind goes blank" your explanation made him laugh, making you smile too

"Yo same, but like is there anything you want to hear right now?

"Any song?"

"I mean... any song yea sure. I'll just look up the chords if I don't know it"

"Then just play something you know" you insisted, you wouldn't care if he sings the random words in the dictionary. You'd still listen with all your heart and cheer for him

"Yeah but what do you want you hear? I wanna play something you like" he mumbles, looking down at his guitar string. Avoiding your gaze, hoping you don't notice how his fingers trembled a bit when he said that

"Okay then how about Until I found you" you tell him, another song on your secret playlist for him

"Oh yeah I know that one"

For a moment he strum the strings, humming to himself then you hear his voice. First it was quiet then as the song goes to the chorus part you can hear him more clearly.

And nothing really prepared you for it.

"I would never fall in love again until I found her" I said, "I would never fall, unless it's you I fall into" I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her I found you

The sunset was so pretty, painting the skies with hues beyond your imagination but your attention is on this guy sitting across you. Suddenly the center of the Universe wasn't the sun, your universe rather. Like something shifted fully and how he's the center of it all. There's no way to stop the gravity of his pull on you. Not that you're really doing anything to stop the fall.

You bask in that moment, wishing for the seconds to slow down. For the song to be longer just so you could hear his voice some more. You didn't even notice finished until he was looking at you again,

"How was that? Did I do it justice?" he asks, a boyish grin on his face. When he looked up at you, you were just staring at him too lost in your thoughts

"That was... how am I suppose to listen to it now? I like your version better" you joked but it was half meant. Your comment was enough to make the boy blush, it was the best compliment he heard especially since it came from you.

After a few more minutes, you finally decided to call it a day. The sun no longer up in the sky, the sea breeze getting colder as the sky gets darker.

"Want to go here again next weekend, if you're free" Mark says, shoving one hand in his jacket pocket while the other holds his guitar case.

"Sure, sounds like a plan to me"

"How about you tell me what songs you want to hear, I'll learn them in advance"

"Really?" you ask, looking at him. "Yeah, whatever you like. Send me your playlist"

"Okay" fighting the smile, trying to look not too excited but the blush on your cheeks were a dead giveaway. Mark didn't comment on it though, keeping his thoughts to himself and enjoying it.

Little did you know, he learned countless songs all reminding him of you. Like that one time you played Little Things in the car and you were singing along to it, for the next days following that he couldn't take the sound of your voice singing 'I'm in love with you' in his head.

Maybe, just maybe one day he'd hear you saying that again this time to him. He can hope for the best, he can pray and dream about it. Which is why for you he'd stay up late at night to learn how to play any song your heart desires.

You're his muse and he's your favorite tune.

[taizi]

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter one: keep on keeping your eyes on me

rise of the tmnt  pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 1k title borrowed from sparks fly by tswift  post-movie

(next)

read on ao3

x

Usagi Yuichi doesn’t have a crush on that striped turtle guy who used to come into Run of the Mill all the time, because that would be stupid.

Because that turtle guy, Hamato Leonardo, is such a joke—he’s loud and obnoxious, all swagger and big talk and dad jokes that don’t even land half the time. He’s annoying, and it’s annoying that he acts like he can do whatever he wants just because Señor Hueso treats him like an unruly nephew, and it’s super annoying that he has the audacity to stop showing his face around here now that everyone has come to expect it.

It’s not because Yuichi misses him or anything! He just—noticed that Leonardo hasn’t been around lately, because Yuichi is very observant. That’s all.

The restaurant has felt weird and off-kilter in the turtle siblings’ absence the last couple of weeks. Yuichi brings it up once, a casual “I haven’t seen those Hamatos around here lately, have you?” that makes his coworker Qiao lower their glasses to stare at him over the rims so pointedly that Yuichi blushes to the tips of his ears and resolves to never bring it up again.  

Okay, so maybe he’s always been a tiny bit preoccupied with Leonardo—it’s not Yuichi’s fault the guy is so distracting.

Always propping his hip against counters and door jambs while he waits for a table, long and lean and dangerous, striped arms tight with muscle when they cross over his armored chest. Ugh.

And his stupid picture-perfect smile—the way it warms into something crooked and affectionate when his siblings are being particularly crazy, like those same ridiculous antics that send normal people running in the opposite direction are the absolute highlight of his day—ugh.

He’s so nice to look at. When he’s not fronting like he’s got something to prove, he’s really funny. He helps out a lot around the restaurant just because he can and he portals Yuichi’s coworkers home when it gets too late and they don’t have a ride and he’s. It’s. Ugh!!!!!

And he’s a fellow swordsman. He loves kenjutsu the same way Yuichi does, in a way that lights him up from the inside.

The first time they ever talked, months ago now, Yuichi struggled to sound cool and collected under the spotlight of Leonardo’s sharp golden eyes, trying to channel the samurai spirit of Miyamoto himself to possess Yuichi and keep him from stammering like an idiot.

Somehow he managed to maintain a flat, level tone as he casually mentioned that he trained with a sword, too. Leonardo’s face brightened in a way that Yuichi was woefully unprepared for. Mentally, he had to take a knee.

Their first conversation went on for most of an hour. Yuichi forgot he was supposed to be bussing tables and got dragged off by Qiao eventually, and Leonardo got an earful over the phone from the brothers whose dinner was getting cold in the takeout boxes in front of him, but until then—it was fun.

They compared their respective training, despaired over the same horrible, awful, whose-idea-even-was-it-and-why-did-it-stick katas, and at some point Leonardo reached over his shoulder and withdrew one of his beautiful katana, flipping it deftly in his hand and offering it hilt-first to Yuichi.

It was such an off-handed gesture, as if it wasn’t precious and important and an extension of his own self, as if it made perfect sense to let a complete stranger take it. Even Leonardo’s sister, sitting on the other side of the booth with Sunita while Sunita was taking a lunch break, looked wide-eyed at the move.

And when Yuichi gave it back, a piece of himself went with it. It’s a very inconvenient thing that happened and Yuichi is holding a grudge.

The only thing that tempers his extremely righteous and not-at-all-unreasonable ire is the fact that, since then, Leonardo has taken to seeking Yuichi out on his own whenever he’s making a nuisance of himself around Run of the Mill, spending Yuichi’s breaks rolling silverware with him and arguing hotly about TV shows and comic book characters.

Yuichi has gotten used to him. To the dizzy, twisty way his stomach acts around him. And now he’s just not around anymore, with zero explanation.

How dare Leonardo disappear. What’s his problem. Clearly this is an attention-seeking ploy. Well, Yuichi isn’t playing his game. He officially doesn’t care what Leonardo’s doing with his time, and that’s that on that.

Then one evening, as Yuichi is waiting at the bar for his drink orders, he sees Señor Hueso come rushing from the back of house. He’s always running around putting out fires, since their regular clientele can be an eclectic, eccentric crowd, but there’s a bit more frantic energy in his step than sits comfortably in Yuichi’s brain.

It’s a hold-over from his most ancient ancestors, that prey-animal intuition, keeping him fine-tuned to his surroundings even when he doesn’t mean to be. He always notices when something’s off, and something is definitely off.

So Yuichi turns, instinct nudging his eyes to follow his boss’s progress through the dining room, and then his elbow slips from where it’s propped on the bar and he almost eats it on the polished tile floor.

There’s a huge, hulking figure by the hostess stand, with a spikey shell and red mask that Yuichi recognizes instantly. This is Leonardo’s biggest brother, the eldest sibling Raphael, though from all the snippets of conversation Yuichi has overheard over the last year, he might as well be the mom.

Raphael turns as Señor Hueso approaches and something cold slinks into Yuichi’s stomach the second he does, because now Yuichi can see his face. Raphael’s left eye is milky white, the skin around it pale with scars. His shoulder is bandaged, and there’s a crater in his shell above the wound.

Ice slides through Yuichi’s gut. Suddenly he’s remembering a tense evening at home about a month and a half ago, the way his aunt yanked him into a hug the second he got home from work, holding him against her like she’d almost lost him. Then she expressly forbade him and all of his cousins from going into the human world for any reason. She even called Run of the Mill and spoke to Señor Hueso (which was humiliating, because Usagi is sixteen, not six) who in turn had assured her that the restaurant wasn’t currently connected to that door, and wouldn’t be until the invasion was long over.

“Invasion?” Yuichi had asked from around the corner of the hallway where he’d been eavesdropping.

“Nothing for you to worry about, baby,” Auntie said firmly. “You just stay put and let the humans sort themselves out. That’s what we always do.”

Yuichi had been curious, but not so much so that he was willing to get himself grounded. And he really didn’t go into New York City very much anyway. All of his friends were down here.

Most of his friends were down here.

It never occurred to him to worry about the Hamatos. He knew they lived in the mortal world, but they’re so much larger than life—they’re so quick and clever and stubborn and strong—that worrying about them feels about as useful as worrying about whether or not the sun is going to rise.

Now he feels sick. Now he thinks he should have been worried.

Señor Hueso is talking in a terse undertone, shoulders set and stiff. He’s transparently worried about something. Raphael shuffles anxiously, wringing his hands while they speak, the apprehensive mannerism incongruent with his imposing size.

A tap on the counter drags Yuichi’s eyes back to the bartender. They’ve finished his drinks and they’re watching him with sympathy in their eyes.

“Should’ve got Little Blue’s number when I told you to, huh, Usagi?” they say wryly.

“Shut up, Qiao,” Yuichi mutters, lifting his tray.

By the time he’s finished dropping the drinks off and taking everyone’s food order—a painful process, since no one can agree on an appetizer, and they have questions about every other thing on the menu, and Yuichi desperately wants to not be dealing with any of them right at this second—Raphael is already halfway out the door. He’s holding a bunch of to-go boxes, ducking his head and stumbling through his gratitude, and Señor Hueso is waving him off briskly.

The rest of Yuichi’s shift is agonizing. He comes up with a dozen half-formed intel-gathering schemes and discards all of them because they each essentially boil down to begging Hueso for information, and that’s his boss. He’s not quite that level of desperate, thank you very much.

…Not yet, anyway.

This is all your fault, Leonardo, Yuichi thinks darkly during closing that night, stuffing paper napkins into their receptacles with maybe six times the necessary aggression. All of his coworkers give him a wide berth, except for Qiao, who mops around him where he’s viciously restocking tables and very loudly says nothing at all.  

Fuck. Yuichi really should have gotten his number.

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 3: All I know, Is this could either break my heart (Part 1)

Heyyyy besties. Sorry this has been a minute. My future is crashing in on my very fast and i'm falling apart. Originally this was a much longer chapter, but I realized this could stand alone and gave me time to really dig in on part two which features Cashmere and Enobaria and Gloss and others I don't use as much so I want time to be sure I do them justice and this is to tie you over until then :)

Title from tswift Electric Heart bc of course it is.

AO3

Masterpost

Shoutout to the usual besties but especially @kentwells who actually inspired this whole arc and @bodyelectric77 who said yes split it and is also my go to enobaria/cashmere source who I will heavily be consulting on part two.

Love you all thank you as usual, see you soon for pt 2!

They should be used to it by now. Expect it, even. 

They should be used to the fact that their home is the place of refuge, of meal times, of assembly for their small group of friends for an impromptu gathering. For two adults who were once children whose only real friend was the other, it should remind them of how far they have come. The fact they even have people who want  to barge in to their kitchen unannounced should make them feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

And you know, maybe that would be the case if absolutely anyone ever asked if it was a good time.

Cato and Clove are probably not people who you should show up on unannounced, considering Clove sleeps with a knife in arms reach and Cato sleeps with Clove. 

They absolutely should not be shocked, when Glimmer absolutely flies through their front door for the second time in a week, just as distressed and disheveled as the first. 

Maybe, actually, even more so. 

“This is all your fault.” Glimmer actually screams, wasting no time on pleasantries as she stomps her way up the stairs and to their bedroom, throwing her shoes off unceremoniously as she confronts the couple in their own bed.

“Good morning to you too, Glimmer. Sure you can come over, Glimmer. Sure, we absolutely weren’t in the middle of anything, Glimmer. Yes Glimmer, we are absolutely awake and ready to hangout with you.” Clove greets, not even lifting her head to glance at her friend who so casually entered her home apparently only to lose her mind at them. She wraps her arms tighter around Cato’s neck and stifles a yawn into his shoulder, having been so cruelly pulled out of her sleep by Glimmer’s intrusion and following tantrum.

“We really need to change those locks..” Cato mumbles into her hair, before he lifts his head to rest his chin atop Clove’s head. He brings up a hand to rub his finger tips over his eyes, willing himself to be more alert in light of whatever accusation Glimmer had come to throw their way. ‘Nice to see you too, Glimmer.”

“What exactly is our fault,” Clove mumbles, stretching one arm out above her head, before stretching it down to grab the comforter and bring it to snuggle her face into. “And what is so important that you decided to break into our bedroom over it.”

There is a hesitation, a heavy and shaking breath that escapes her before she loses all semblance of composure (of which there was not much) before she truly and fully bursts into hysterical sobs. “Everything was going so well, so so well, and now it’s ruined. I’ve gone and ruined everything good and ruined my life and..and.. and–” She sits on the edge of their bed without an invitation, fiddling with the hem at her shirt with a desperate attempt to find anything to focus her nervous hands and attention on. “I’ve ruined everything.”

“Glimmer. Use your words. Actual sentences, preferably.” Cato groans, glancing over at the bedside clock. “Did you come here at…ten in the morning to wail at us like a banshee? Come on Glim at least wait until afternoon to do that–”

“I’m pregnant,” comes out in a clipped voice, Glimmer unable to look anywhere but her own hands that itch to dig into the skin of her arms, that yearn to break the skin and watch rivulets of red wash away some of her anxieties with them. “And it’s your fault.”

Clove’s blood runs absolutely cold, and as she feels Cato’s chest tense underneath her, she knows he is just as taken back. Eyes that were once fighting sleep go wide, and Clove finds herself pushed to a seated position before she even realizes she has control of her body. She feels her heart catch in her chest, as if her own heart were trying to catch it’s breath and calm down. “What do…when..who…are you absolutely sure?”

At the same time Cato slowly rises himself, narrowing his eyes as he focuses in on the woman– barely more than a girl, really, and looking even younger as she curls herself up– at the foot of his bed. “How is that our fault.”

“It’s your fault because it was your stupid wedding and your stupid champagne and your stupid cake and your stupid speeches and that stupid stupid suit and that look on his face and–” Glimmer blubbers out, shaking her head rapidly as if she can will this all to be no more than a terrible dream. “You two did this to me.”

“I don’t know how drunk you were, Glimmer, but I can assure you we did not participate in ANY activities that could lead to this with you present.” Cato put his hands up in defense, glancing more intently over at his wife to gauge her response, because such wild accusations could go one of two ways when it came to Clove. 

“I obviously did not have sex with you two, genius.” Glimmer snaps back at him, finally looking up to see them. Dark circles under puffy red eyes betray exhaustion and quite substantial crying– definitely the entire train ride to two if not longer. She’s got crinkly hair falling in her eyes, and when they look long enough they can see that the sweatshirt she wears as a dress is most certainly not hers at all.  Paired with the obscured black running shorts underneath, it is somehow the most exhausted either of them have ever seen her, which is quite the feat when considering her and Cato’s time together in hell- okay, District 13. 

Clove is still frozen, unblinking, unmoving as the gravity of Glimmer’s words settle in her chest. It aches in a way she cannot understand. Deep down she wonders if it is because of her own mother. Was this how that poor, unsuspecting teenage girl had felt? For a moment Clove can picture her own young mother, crying that her life was ruined by Clove’s unintentional existence, and she has to bring herself back to the hard reality infront of her before she thinks too deeply on that front. 

“Are you sure?” Clove almost moves closer, but hesitation keeps her firmly planted beside Cato, just in case an unsuspected touch would send Glimmer spiraling further and further into her despair. “Is Marvel…”

“Of course I’m sure. Trust me I checked over and over and over and- seven times.  I couldn’t make this up if I tried.” Glimmer digs the heel of her hands into her eyes, pressing in with just enough pressure to make the world dark. “Of course he is, Clove. And now everything is ruined, things were so good.. We were getting back together and now- now it’s all ruined.”

“Was he mad? What did he say to you Glimmer, I swear-” Cato raised a blonde eyebrow, pushing the sheets off his legs as he swings his feet to the ground. “I can go beat the hell out of him right now Glimmer, he has no right to be pissed–”

“No! No. I…he doesn’t know. He can’t know. I can’t tell him.” Her eyes go somehow even wider, welling with even more tears as she shakes her head rapidly back and forth, and she reaches forward to grab Clove’s hands as if she were going to up and run to One on her own. 

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t tell him. You have to tell him.” Cato nearly snaps at her, the signature Cato Hadley aggression a hard 180 from the way he was willing to literally kill for her just moments prior. He still pushes himself to his feet to begin grabbing scraps of clothing off the floor and pulling them together in a make shift outfit. “It’s his right to know, it’s his kid. If you aren’t going to tell him I sure as fuck will–”

“Cato…” Clove pleads, reaching out and grabbing him by the hand as he shuffles around their bedroom. She stills him, calms him with just the grasp of her hand, with her fingers threaded through his. She’s the only person in the world who will grab him in the middle of his rage, and she is the only person in the world who can pull him out of it. Despite her choosing to stop the impending rampage, she does vocalize her agreement. “He is right, Glimmer. He needs to know.”

“No! He’ll hate me again–”

“No he won’t, Glimmer. He absolutely will not hate you, not over anything, but especially not over this.” Clove tries, but Glimmer has already curled on her side, rolled into a ball at the foot of the bed like a dog. “What did your sister say?”

“She doesn’t know, either. I went to see her yesterday when I found out but she wasn’t home and I didn’t want to just let myself into Enobaria’s house because she kind of scares me still and so I just stayed home but I can’t stop crying and I cried all night and–” Glimmer throws herself face first into the mattress, but even still the thick layer of mattress barely muffles her cries. If they didn’t know any better they’d think she was being tortured– and maybe emotionally she was. “Everything was starting to be good again.”

“Cato is going to go get your sister.” Clove instructs, and the glare he shoots in her direction tells her he may be going to get a lot more than just Cashmere. “Don’t.” She mouths, as if she can read his mind and his plan to go all the way to One. “She’s right across the street, he will be right back with Cashmere and she’ll tell you the same thing! He isn’t afraid of Enobaria.”

“Depends on the day.” Cato glances between Glimmer and Clove, and the look of disapproval written all across his sharp features tells Clove this fight is far, far from over. “Fine. I’ll go get Enobaria and her sweater–”

“Cato!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” 

“And don’t you dare tell them whats going on, Cato.”

When Cato slips out the bedroom door, Clove waits until she hears the front door both opening and closing to signal he’s left. She reaches down and pulls some of Glimmer’s blonde hair that is stuck to her tear slicked cheek and pushes it out of her face and behind her ear so she could actually see her as they speak. 

“Now, Glimmer.” Clove starts, her voice somewhere between her normal volume and a whisper, almost soothing in nature. “Your life isn’t ruined. I thought you wanted this..”

“I was just so stupid, Clove. I thought, after all the things they gave me and all the times– I didn’t think I could get pregnant. I didn’t think I had to worry.” Glimmer lifts her head weakly, resting her forehead on Clove’s knee, grateful when she does not push her off. “I used to want to when I was little! When I didn’t know the world was horrible and the things men do. I don’t..I can’t put someone through this! And things were going so so good the last few weeks! And now..he’s going to think I trapped him or something.”

“He will absolutely not think that, Glimmer. He’s good. He’s kind. He absolutely adores you. I’d go as far as to say he is absolutely in love with you. You have to tell him.” Clove reiterates, gently pushing her hair back off her face and behind her ear as they spoke. “I…know it’s very scary Glimmer. After everything. But the world is different. There's no more victors, no more games..it would never have to go through what you did. If that’s what this is about…wasn’t that the whole point of everything we went through? You know, a better life for the future, and all that?”

“You can’t know that, Clove! I’d never forgive myself for having a baby only to let her go through this-“

“But it won’t go through what happened to you and Gloss and Cashmere and Finnick. Or what happened to me and Marvel. They’re going to be safe, Glimmer. Your kid will be safe.” Clove promises, and though she can’t guarantee it, wasn’t that the literal point of all the shit they went through? The point of that entire war? “You thought you couldn’t have them, and here you are. He’s a good guy, and you live in a world where you won’t have to send it to be a Victor. All in all Glimmer…I’d say it’s not a life ruiner at all.”

Another round of sobs rack Glimmer’s body, as if another wave of immense grief has racked through her thin frame. “What if it’s a boy, I can’t have a boy.”

Clove sighs, and leans back to support her body on her hands. “You can’t change that, Glimmer, you don’t get to decide–”

“I have had to share my body with so so so many boys and men, Clove, almost never my choice. I can’t have to do this–”

“You don’t get to decide. That’s a risk you have to take, if you want to have a kid. Thats a risk you’d have to take no matter when, I guess if, you got pregnant again. It’s a risk you take and you can’t choose–”

“I didn’t ask for this! I can’t have to share my body with a boy again, I just can’t.” Glimmer sounds as if she is begging, begging a girl who can not help her nor change the fate that is already decided.

Clove brings her hand down to Glimmer’s cheek, turning her face up so that she had no choice but to meet her eyes. There was an ache she herself couldn’t place, and her voice betrayed it with the slightest waver as she spoke.  “It wouldn’t be a random boy, Glim. He’d be yours. He’d be your baby, You would get to be his mom. And you could make absolute sure that he turns out good and kind and loving– and he has a really good dad. There are good men in the world, too. Who would never do what was done to you. Cato, and Marvel, and your brother…You can’t just…You can’t not love him because of the crime of being a boy. He didn’t choose it. It isn’t your kid’s fault that they exist, you have to love them. If you have a baby you have to love it, please, Glimmer, you have to. ” 

It feels like something in her own mind snaps, the metaphorical levee breaking, and Clove finds herself silent and looking away to avoid Glimmer’s green eyes piercing into her from below. 

Glimmer rolls from her side to her back, tears now streaming back towards her ears instead of down her cheeks towards her lips. “Clove? Are you okay?”

“I can’t help but wonder if my mom said I ruined her life, too.” Clove admits quietly, looking off into anywhere but Glimmer on her thigh. “Because I did. I definitely did. And everyone always told me she wanted me and she loved me but, no fifteen year old wanted to give up a year of training for a kid. My grandmother always told me I ruined my mom’s life and I just wonder if she thought I did, too.”

“Oh…no, Clove, there’s no way she didn’t want you, we’ve all heard about her...”

“Even if she did…she died. She died and then noone wanted me, Glimmer. So I know what it is like to be unwanted and unloved and know it and thats why I am just begging that if you decide to have this kid, Glimmer, that you love it. And you want it. And you never let her or him feel otherwise because it is really really really hard to be a kid that is unwanted. Don’t tell your kid they ruined your life. Please don’t have a baby you do not want.”  Clove actually pleads, glancing up at the ceiling and not daring to look at Glimmer, even when she feels a hand slipping into her own. 

“I’m sorry, Clove. I didn’t…I didn’t mean that it ruined my life. I am the one who ruined everything. I do want it Clove. Of course I do. And of course I will love it because it’s mine. I didn’t..I do want it. I promise, I didn’t mean it like that.” Glimmer blinks away a round of tears, rubbing them away with the back of her hand. “I’m just scared and i’m alone and I don’t know how to do this alone and i’m tired and can’t eat and can’t stop crying and keep throwing up and i’m just …I’m scared, Clove. I’m really scared. I don’t have a mom anymore. I don’t know how to be one and noone can teach me and I really want to be a good mom.”

Clove nods swiftly, bringing her own breathing back to a normal pace. She would argue, later, that she wasn’t alone. That if she would just tell Marvel– who she has to tell– this would all be resolved. That she had all of them, really, that in this post war world none of them would ever really be alone.

“For what it’s worth, Glimmer, I think you’ll be a really good mother.” Clove says as a peace offering, letting out a steady sigh through her nose.

After Glimmer lets out a soft  “thank you,” in response a comfortable silence falls between them for a few minutes as they await the return of Cato with her sister, before the whole conversation will begin again. 

“....do you want something to eat? I know you said you haven’t eaten in a few days. You’ve been sick, but I can make something simple...”

“Oh. No. I’m not hungry, Clove, but thank you.”

Clove does not accept her denial as an answer, and instead gently removes Glimmer’s head from her legs and standing instead. “No, you have to have something, especially if you’ve been sick too.”

“I’m really not hungry, I swear. Thank you, though, really.” Glimmer insists, curling her knees up closer to her chest once she is alone in Clove’s bed. 

“You may not be hungry, Glimmer but your little–” Clove struggles for the word to use next, as Parasite seems too cruel for Glimmer right now, but baby felt far too formal for the thing that it was at this point. “...your little… stowaway needs something too so. Whether you want me to or not, i’m making you breakfast. So.  What do you want?”

Glimmer hesitates, but gives the slightest hint of a nod, rolling on her side to face the doorframe. “....can I have a grilled cheese?”

And despite the fact it is not even 10:30 in the morning yet, Clove says yes.

[quinloki]

Omg Quin the Marco brainrot is heavy rn

This whole weekend!! I listened to the new tswift album and every love ish song I thought of him even if it didn’t quite fit

I’m so down bad lmao

Omgggg but also it’s a lot of heartbreak/breakup songs and it got me thinking of like one piece dudes reactions to you listening to that kinda stuff. Heartbreak OR love songs

Marco I feel would be super unbothered if it’s like a new something coming out or just something catchy that’s on the radio. More concern if you’re listening after a tiff >>

Meanwhile the love songs if you’re coming up and singing it to him he would love and maybe twirl you in a dance. or if he catches you singing along to it he’d just listen and watch as quietly as possible. Maybe a lil smug

Poor puppy dog ace would be super concerned I feel like and it’d be like aww baby dw it’s not about YOU

Gotta counter it with singing cheesy love songs at him he’d def also grab you to dance but be a lot more clumsy about it but it’s really too cute

Sabo and Law I think would be somewhat similar for both in that they have a lot of trust issues deep down so you singing some heartbreak/breakup songs would make them a little sus. I think Sabo would let it roll off and ask about it maybe and law would sulk 💀💀

But the love songs! Law would def roll his eyes but enjoy it internally and Sabo would smile at you and pull you close

There’s a song rn called stupid in love stuck in my head and I just think of singing it to Marco and the amused look he’d have on his face and just

💀💀🫠🫠

Send help

Marco forcibly booted Law out of my top spot

Sorry for the rambley 2am thoughts. I didn’t have time to reread birds of a feather but I hit some chapters up >> I was searching for some new stuff of the bird and came up empty 🫠🫠

You left 41 new comments XD I had a feeling I was going to come onto tumblr and see just how wild your brainrot had gotten. You tore through a lot of my short stories on here too <3 None of this is a complaint by the way, it made for a great morning when I got up =3

I like the songs idea that's so sweet. Marco would definitely dance with you, regardless of his opinion on the song, knowing it's something you're enjoying. If you're listening to the breakup songs after a little spat, he'd check in, communication isn't an issue for him, but barring any other signs he'd probably assume it was just a way to release any lingering pressure. Cathartic more than concerning.

I feel like Sabo would dance with you a little too, more smoothly than Ace, but less elegant than Marco. Sabo learned all the proper moves and steps, but would rather be silly with it. Ace never really learned anything "proper" but does enjoy dancing, and that's where the differences come from.

I can see him enjoying that song too /nod nod/ this one, yes?

[theycallme-thejackal]

One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

167. Message in a Bottle

"I can’t sleep.”

Midge inhales sharply in surprise. It’s the first time she’s heard from him since Carnegie Hall, and it seems they’re skipping right past that fact.

Honestly she doesn’t mind it. “No?” She asks, rolling over onto her back with the phone pressed to her ear.

“Nope,” he confirms.

She laughs softly. “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do about that.”

There’s a pause on the other end - like he’s considering whether or not to voice his next thought. “You know...that night...”

Midge bites her lower lip gently and shifts to sit upright. “I do know that night,” she confirms.

He chuckles. “Up until you got out of bed...that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“I would’ve come right back,” she replies quietly. She hugs her knees to her chest, the bed suddenly feeling very cold and empty.

“No you wouldn’t have,” he insists, and she has a flash of that bag in his bathroom. The bag they haven’t talked about yet. “It’s gone,” he promises. “I’m...I’m getting clean.”

A shaky exhale passes her lips. She doesn’t know anything about what she saw. Just that a bag full of needles and vials can’t be anything good. “Is that why you can’t sleep?” She asks quietly.

She hears him inhale, undoubtedly around a cigarette. “Partly,” he admits. “But also...”

He pauses for a long moment, and she can’t help but ask, “What?”

He sighs. “I miss you,” he whispers.

She can’t help but smile at that. “You do?” She breathes.

“Yeah.”

There’s another long silence, the familiar, heated kind that often lingers between them. “I should have found you again at Carnegie Hall,” she says.

“I didn’t expect you to after I yelled at you.”

“But you were right,” she admits. She starts fiddling with the edge of the blanket as she dips her head. “And I should have told you that sooner.”

He exhales another sigh. “You’re just so good, Midge. And I couldn’t just watch you tank your career without saying something.”

“I know,” she breathes, tugging at a loose thread in the blanket. “But...I’m working again. I’m not...” She takes a deep breath, remembering the last time she saw his face. “I’m not going to break your heart.”

She sits there, waiting for him to respond, and after a moment, he quietly replies, “Well that’s a relief.”

She grins and leans a little further into the headboard. “So...where are you? It’s a little after midnight here, so I can’t imagine you’re still in California.”

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“Always best to know which way the sneak attack is coming from.”

He laughs again. “Not too far, as it turns out,” he answers.

“No?”

“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen.” Midge raises her eyebrows in surprise. “I got a place. Putting down some more permanent roots. Trying to make it so that my kid can come stay with me.”

She smiles again. "You know, it’s funny...”

“Most things are with us.”

She giggles. “I just mean...I know what your dick looks like, but I don’t know your daughter’s name.”

It’s his turn to laugh, then. That short, staccato laugh that she would recognize anywhere. “Her name is Kitty,” he reveals. “She���s six...going on thirty-five.”

“You miss her?”

“Every fucking day,” he answers immediately. And then he adds, “She’s the only person I miss more than I miss you.”

Midge feels her cheeks flush at that. “You know...Hell’s Kitchen isn’t too far from the Upper West Side.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice when he asks, “It’s not?”

“Twenty minutes on the subway maybe?” Her legs involuntarily squeeze together. “If you’re having trouble sleeping alone...”

“Mrs. Maisel,” he drawls. “Are you propositioning me?”

Her lip is nearly raw from how many times she’s bitten it while talking with him. “I’m just saying maybe we could not sleep...together.”

He inhales sharply. “Am I going to be bombarded by your family in the morning?”

She considers telling him the truth - that her parents are in DC visiting her brother and her kids are with Joel - but instead she just asks him, challenging, “Would that stop you?”

A short pause, and she sighs in relief when he replies, “Twenty minutes, you say?”

“On the train. Half that time if you spring for a cab.”

“...ten minutes, then,” he replies.

She can’t help the broad grin that meets her lips. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, then.”

He arrives about fifteen minutes later, blaming the lack of cabs at quarter past midnight for his tardiness, but she just tugs him down by the back of his neck to kiss him tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers against his lips.

He holds her tightly around the waist and kicks the door shut.

[katiesharms]

The Lover one was amazing, but what about YOUR fav T Swift song with hangster

this has been sitting in my inbox for so long because i couldn't figure out my fave tswift song. but i've decided (it's subject to change)

the archer - taylor swift they see right through me/do you see right through me?

jake learned a long time ago that the best offense is a good defense. that high walls and an impenetrable facade will keep him safer than anything else he's tried. underneath it all, his heart is still tender; his underbelly is still soft. all it takes is one well aimed press of a boot heel, and he's bleeding over the pristine porcelain tile of his carefully constructed persona.

he tries as hard as he can to make sure no one is able to find those places on him where the skin hasn't grown back over the wound, where his heart is there for the taking.

it gets harder after the mission.

jake's hangman shield starts to slip. gradually at first, as he becomes closer to the other pilots. joking with them and letting them in on his fear of heights. but then it begins to slip further.

rooster starts playing 'cat's in the cradle' one night at the hard deck, and jake freezes, just for a moment. when he comes back to himself, phoenix is watching him carefully. fanboy throws an arm around him on the beach to ask jake something, and his breath smells so strongly of beer that jake flinches. when he looks up, bob has his brow furrowed.

it comes to a head their first time in the air after the mission.

jake flies fine. well, even. he hits his marks and executes his maneuvers, textbook perfect. then he climbs out of the jet, walks over to the edge of the carrier, and pukes his guts out into the pacific ocean. when he pulls back, the bitter acid taste coating his mouth, he makes eye contact with rooster.

jake hopes the other man forgets it. he knows that's a wild dream, but still. he and rooster aren't friends. sure, they aren't as hostile as they once were. jake's started to lower his defenses, let people in. he doesn't use combat as the default mood of interaction anymore, and their relationship is better for it.

but there's an edge of uncertainty between them. like neither of them know what to do when they're not actively hating one another. of all the people to see behind the mask of hangman, jake's the most worried about rooster.

that night, there's a knock on jake's door.

it's rooster on the other side, looking as uncertain as jake has ever seen him. more at sea than right before he got in an f-18 and flew an impossible mission. jake doesn't know if he likes what that says about bradley's perception of him.

he opens the door cautiously.

"you need something?" he asks instead of greeting the other man.

"can i, uh. can i come in?" rooster asks hesitantly, hands stuffed in his pockets.

jake doesn't answer but does swing the door open wider, stepping over to let bradley in.

"i fear i don't have much to offer you in terms of hospitality, but if you want a glass of tap water or a cider, i can get one for you."

"i noticed that," bradley says almost under his breath.

"huh?" jake can't help but ask, grabbing two ciders from the fridge.

"it's always cider, never beer. whenever you're drinking."

"oh," jake says dumbly. "i'm not a big beer guy."

it's an easier answer than explaining how the smell of it still makes his stomach churn, over a decade out of his father's house. bradley seems to understand it anyway.

"so, why are you here?" jake asks bluntly.

"i wanted to make sure you're okay," bradley says carefully, studying the way jake peels at the label of his cider.

"i'm fine," jake answers shortly, really not wanting to get into this with rooster of all people. anyone else would've been easier to stomach, but something about it being rooster, bradley, in jake's kitchen, asking him if he's okay, is too much.

"are you sure? because you lost your lunch to the ocean today," bradley pushes.

"jesus, rooster, i said i'm fine. leave it."

bradley does for a minute, sipping his cider silently. then he speaks again.

"you know, ever since the mission, my hands have been shaking. at night, when i'm reliving it. when i think about flying. it's why they haven't cleared me yet."

jake had been wondering about that. about why all of them are back in training protocols and bradley is stuck on the ground.

"so," bradley continues, "if you ever want to talk about it, i'm here."

something twists in jake's gut.

"is that what you want from me? some kind of trauma buddy?" his tone is a bit too nasty for the circumstances, but jake can't help it.

"well, no," bradley frowns. "i want-" he starts and stops, taking a deep breath. "i want a lot more than that from you. but i figured we could start small."

"we're not friends," jake practically sneers. "if you're here out of some misguided pity, just leave."

bradley's eyes widen. "that's not why i'm here, jake. i mean, how many people in the world understand what we've been through? i just thought, i dunno. we could do this together."

"there's nothing wrong with me," jake insists, feeling himself shrink.

"i never said that," bradley says firmly. "look, we understand each other in a way maybe no one else ever will. why can't we be there for each other? i want," bradley pauses, sucking in a breath. "i want to be there for you."

"you mean that? because you can't come here and say all this shit and then not follow through. i can't deal with that, not from you."

bradley gets up slowly, rounding on jake and cupping his chin gently.

"i mean it, jake. we can hold onto each other."

"what else do you want?" jake asks, voice a whisper.

bradley smiles softly. "i mean, i'd like to take you on a date. if you're interested."

jake feels like crying. he feels like flying.

"i'd be interested," he confirms, and bradley breaks out into a grin. "one condition, though."

"anything."

"kiss me."

bradley obliges.

[leiakenobi]

To You, I Can Admit [1/1]

Fandom: Star Wars Pairing: Poe Dameron/GN!Reader Rating: Teen Word Count: 1.3k words Summary: Today you killed a man for the first time. Warnings: General angst, vague discussion of death and war; I also vaguely allude to the reader vomiting, so heads up for that if it might give you the ick A/N: I really listened to "Sweet Nothing" by Ms. TSwift, said, "I should write a Poe fic based on this!" and then zeroed in on the line, "To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it" and elaborated on it in the most emo way possible. Anyway hi I know it’s been like two and a half months since my last reader fic but here's This I guess.

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

There was never a question of you joining up with the Resistance.

Of course your parents raised you hoping that you wouldn’t have to, hoping that the Rebellion had done its job and the galaxy was safe. If not forever, then at least for now. Long enough for you to live a happy life. But the first whispers of the First Order began to spread—amongst their Rebel friends, and then further, and then…

And then yeah. There was never a question that you would follow in their footsteps.

You’re damn proud of it, every time you see some new recruit’s expression change the first time they hear your name. Your parents might not be General Organa, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, but they were heroes in their own right and every day you spend on the base is a day that you’re all too aware of their legacy. And most days, there’s nothing oppressive about it.

But today…

Today.

Today you killed a man for the first time, and it’s left you feeling like they don’t deserve to have their legacy sullied by you, after all.

For hours, you can’t quite put your finger on why. Because your squad commends you for acting so fast, they question whether you all would have gotten out of there unscathed if you hadn’t been so quick and precise with the trigger, they express their gratitude over and over and over… All while you’re moving through the world with your head pounding and a ringing in your ears as you remember the look in his eyes in the moment before it happened.

No sooner have you crossed the threshold to your quarters than you see Poe peering around the kitchenette, a smile spreading across his face as you come into view. “Hey, I heard you were back! I was trying to make you something before you finished the debrief. How was the mission?”

You stare at him vacantly for a long beat before turning sharply to rush into the fresher. Your knees have barely hit the hard floor when you begin to retch.

You don’t hear Poe move – you don’t hear much of anything for about thirty seconds, given what you’re doing – but as you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, you refocus and feel his hand on your back, rubbing small circles and pressing ever so gently.

“That bad, huh?” he offers.

In spite of yourself, you let out a fractured laugh. “No, it was a great day.”

When you chance a look at Poe, he’s giving you a small, careful smile, which you do earnestly reciprocate before shifting on the floor to lean against the door of the sonic. And it’s there, with the weight of the door keeping you up, that you tilt your head back and groan. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this, babe.”

Poe’s shifted now to press his hand over yours on your thigh, and his touch is gentle again; he doesn’t even move to truly hold your hand until you interlace your fingers between his. It takes several seconds of silence before he squeezes. “We’ve all screwed up a few times, you know. Hell, the general would probably tell you that I’ve screwed up more than a few times.”

You purse your lips in amusement, though your gaze is focused more on the wall than on Poe. “That’s the thing. I didn’t screw up, not if you ask my squad. Or General Organa. They all said that I did exactly the right thing.”

“Oh.” Poe hesitates. “Then I think you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more to work off of, here.”

“I’m trying,” you tell him softly.

He holds your hand, and waits, and lets you try, until: “I took a life today, Poe. And he was about to kill Oshe, I was just…” You inhale a shaky breath. “I was doing what I had to do, but I hate myself for it anyway. All I can think about is how scared he looked, the second before… before I…”

For a moment, you feel as though you might need to vomit again, although you choke back the impulse this time with no real trouble.

“Was he First Order?” Poe’s thumb is rubbing softly over the back of your hand, and you’re not sure whether he’s doing it on purpose but it sure as hell is making it easier for you to put words to the things that are racing through your head—the things that have been racing through your head since it happened. “A smuggler?”

You nod. “First Order, yeah. An officer at a checkpoint. And all I’ve been able to think about is that maybe he actually supported the First Order, but maybe he was brainwashed or blackmailed. Maybe he had a family, Poe. And even if he didn’t, even if he was every bit the monster that the worst First Order officers are…”

Poe exhales slowly. “You still killed him.”

“I still killed him,” you confirm. “But hey, this is the Resistance, right? What are we at the end of the day, if not soldiers? And soldiers need to be prepared for things like this.”

“You don’t mean that,” he murmurs.

He’s right, of course he is—he’s lain awake with you through the night before multiple missions as you’ve fretted over how dangerous they were and the prospect of potentially having to cross some lines that you’ve had yet to cross, for the sake of protecting yourself, or the Resistance, or both. And more than once, on those late nights, you’d asked him—

Why does doing the right thing for the galaxy mean having to make decisions that no one should have to make?

“No, I don’t mean it.” You turn your head to meet Poe’s gaze, and for just a moment, your heart stops over how tenderly he’s watching you. “I still feel like maybe I’m not cut out to be here, though. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to do it again when the time comes.”

Because you know, at your core, that it is when. There is no if.

And Poe doesn’t dispute it either. In fact, all he does say, at first, is, “I don’t know whether you’ll know one way or the other until you have to. But that’s okay. If you believe in the Resistance, you’re cut out to be here. And unless I’m wrong, I think that means you’re in the right place.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Does that even mean much? After being raised like we were.”

“Oh, yeah?” An amused smile plays at his lips. “You think either of us would be able to stand by and let the First Order take over the galaxy if our parents weren’t Rebels?”

Well. When he puts it like that, it does sound a little silly.

“No, I don’t,” you concede.

Poe’s knees creak and he lets out a low groan as he slowly rises to his feet, and when he reaches out a hand to help you up, you take it. You let him pull you into a hug and your eyes fall shut as he murmurs, “I know that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Yes, that’s the thing: you know he does. You know he understands better than most, what a difficult position you’re in.

So you squeeze him tight for several long, wonderful seconds before asking, “Need any help with dinner?”

“You sure? I can finish up if you wanna watch a vid or something.”

Pulling out of his arms, you quirk an eyebrow at Poe. “Are you trying to make me take it easy, flyboy?”

“Never.”

“That’s what I thought.” You reach up to straighten the collar of his shirt where it’s folded over on itself, and it fills you with warmth to see how automatically he leans into your touch and how much his expression softens. “Maybe I’ll just sit with you and you can tell me how your day went, how does that sound?”

He hums. “Is that what you want?”

“Mhm.”

With the utmost tenderness, he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Then that sounds perfect.”

Yes—yes, you think it does.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

blanket taglist: @alexxavicry​, @amneris21​, @brandyllyn​, @iamskyereads​, @jaime1110​, @justjaclin​, @marvelousmermaid​, @mstgsmy​, @pilothusband​, @princessxkenobi​, @pumpkin-stars​, @trickstersp8​

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poe taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @chaoticevilbakugo​, @dailyreverie​, @darnitdraco​, @disabledameron​, @jettia​, @mariesackler​, @millllennia​, @pedrosbisch​, @stardust-galaxies​, @zhonglis-wine​

[jaggedwolf]

pll rewatch 1x15-1x16

my poor little meow meow is here...Paige has arrived and is causing problems (and accidentally giving the liars a clue). these couple of episodes also have a Spencer-Emily and Hanna-Aria split to them.

oh Paige...we're just gonna talk about all of her and Emily's stuff first because jaggedwolf is biased like this

even in my peak PLL fandom I didn't rewatch their S1 scenes often, so it is an interesting experience to view them again after all these years

blah blah drowning scene happened blah blah, I shall spare you the obvious statement that it was (bad and violent) intimidation and not a murder attempt

most interesting to me is that in their very first scene together, at the poolside, Paige doesn't come across as antagonistic - instead, she's almost pleased that Emily's back for the full season.

and then gives us that very painful captain-related speech (is she currently captain? are they in the process of deciding captaining?) before being super aggro to Emily

I adore Emily's response here, telling Paige to suck it up and work harder if she cares so much. No one other than the two of them witnesses it, so no one gives Emily the credit she deserves for this - she wasn't lying when she told Spencer she handled it, and it is very possible Paige would've backed down at this point

ofc spencer spencers it up, so that is not to be

also intriguing is that Paige assumes a level of plotting to Emily's choices - that Emily is gunning for captain, that Emily snitched to Coach Fulton and then didn't weirdly didn't say anything to Coach when it was the three of them

it's the first time we've seen someone assume that of Emily, and we've had 14 episodes showing us that Emily is the most direct of the Liars, so it's a jarring assumption

one that works well with some later stuff though, so I like it

Coach Fulton ILU but deciding the relay anchor the morning of your swim meet via a swim-off between your best two swimmers is an insane choice, don't you want them rested?? for the sake of my sanity and my meager investigations into high school sports seasons, I'm going to assume this meet is an early season friendly that is meaningless

also for the sake of Paige's swimming career ig bc she misses the meet, due to wiping out in the rain, due to riding off sadly in the rain away from Emily's house

even Paige's apology in the rain is ??? inducing for Poor Emily, haha, but I enjoy how pathetic she looks here. I'll note that this apology scenes comes not right after the drowning but after the swim-off decision, though there are likely doylist reasons for that

something I like about Emily's S1 stuff with Toby and Paige is that you get the sense of both of them have existed in Emily's periphery for a while now - Toby is her neighbour, Paige is on the swim team

and so Paige knows where she lives, they have each other's phone numbers, etc

forgot that Paige straight up says "how easy it would be if I just wiped out", hm.

the sudden music for the final swimming scene kills me, I had zero memory of that

Spencer's choice of DVD rental movie star is jake gyllenhaal, it is 2010, I wonder what her favored jake gyllenhaal movie is. also if Hanna followed the subsequent tswift drama.

anw, Spencer's instinctive caretaking re: the liars is sweet and sad to me.

sweet because it really does seem to happen without conscious thought, like asking if anyone wants coffee, making Emily eat pizza, uttering "I'll destroy her" about Paige, and of course, telling the coach behind Emily's back.

sad because you can see the threads of how her parents show her affection - i've taken care of this for you, it's all settled, let's go, you're going to win

anyway we get our first real Spencer-Emily fight this episode and I love it, it's so charged. Emily does not expect to be hurt this way nor does Spencer expect to hurt her

I just love that Spencer had paid attention to the Alison-Emily dynamic to realize that, despite how cold flashback!Spencer is towards the others

and Emily hates being coddled, or protected, or assumed a pushover

Spencer and Toby's nervous little french lessons! Emily is hesitant about Spencer's outreach here, but I'm curious about her own lack of reaching out to Toby - does she feel like she doesn't get to, after she didn't believe him?

really like their scene where Emily is simultaneously cheating off Spencer for homework and Spencer is wondering aloud about Toby while Emily teases her.

Spencer mentions Paige was on her field hockey team and we should all take a moment to contemplate how cursed that freshman year hockey team must've been. Ian as coach is creeping on Spencer, Paige is committing fouls so violent that they get named for her, very sorry for all the other girls on the squad. Imagining Bridget Wu as a bench-warmer taking swigs from her flask.

Hastings household apparently has a housekeeper huh

Spencer's intense argument with Ali in that flashback...excellent...I'd entirely forgotten about it, and I wonder if Ali lived if Spencer would've followed through on ditching her.

AITAH I (15F) unionized my friends (15F, 15F, 15F) against our mean friend-leader (15F) who had secrets on all of us

Every time Spencer speaks to Ian alone I am so creeped out, which means the show is doing a good job, but eughhh. Also eughhh: Melissa waving off that her husband macked on her then-15 year old sister and jumping right to the pregnancy news.

Spencer pissed off Emily so bad that she had to be alone when she visited bead lady and got told "Spencer Hastings" bought the bracelets

though we all should be grateful Spencer took 2 seconds when seeing Paige's gifts to the swim team and that she went "Paige bought these from the same place our bracelets came from" and not "Paige is A!!!!"

the only good thing about the Ezra plot these episodes is that it makes Hanna emo and it makes Spencer tell Aria "you were ready to give me tongue yesterday"

Ashley Marin makes objectively terrible decisions and the show still makes me always on her side. That is the power of Ashley Marin.

can't believe it's Caleb's fault that Ella doesn't find out about Ezra boinking her daughter. In a vacuum, I love it, this kid who doesn't have anywhere to sleep and who needs cash fast decides to kill a teacher's car just because Hanna seems really upset about the teacher getting somewhere.

but looking ahead at how many seasons of Ezra/Aria we have to slog through...you could've shown your affection some other way Caleb

list of places Caleb's bounced around: Seattle, Salt Lake City, Denver, Chicago and then finally little old Rosewood

Spencer has some great outfits these episodes.

In one of these episodes Emily is wearing one of those T-shirts where the back just doesn't exist and I got distracted pondering how it stays on.

feels unfair for Aria to jump to jealousy when Hanna tries to get her to not go to the museum with Ezra, but so it goes, and poor Hanna when she tries to explain herself at the end and doesn't get to

the rosewood shark plushies are very cute and I can't believe this is the first time I've even noticed they existed, I suspect that means they never show up again.

at some point while talking Spencer just sticks her finger in the shark plushie's mouth lmao

I've forgotten so many of these A tags...French lessons on tape while weapons from clue are laid out? Having tea with bead lady? Sure, why not

[oatmealaddiction]

*sigh* Tswift released a new album so:

You can hate Taylor Swift without making it some huge societal problem. Like a pop star being popular is not the herald of the end times, nor is it anything new or anything to be concerned about. Hating her does not uplift other artists, and in terms of the net good it puts out, you're better off putting a soda can in the recycling or helping your roommate with the dishes. I've never read a single news article about Taylor Swift in my entire life, and yet I feel like I know every controversy she's ever been involved with just from people who've screenshotted interviews and put them on tumblr to talk about how much they hate her. Like...? Maybe go take a nap and have some orange juice instead???

It's fine to not like her music—there's plenty of Taylor Swift music I don't like—and yeah there are other artists out there I wish got the kind of attention Taylor gets (Bartees Strange is a really cool musician, look him up). But crying about "how could we EVER make her popular?" makes you sound like those people who blew up disco records, or burned Brittany Spears albums. You sound elitist, prone to moral hysteria, and kinda misogynistic. There will always be pop stars, there will always be pop music, there will always be a top 40, and yes, sometimes women will be on it. So like, just go listen to some music you *do* like and stop worrying about it.