❤️~I don't often see alot of the amazing digital circus characters x reader, so I figured I'd give it a go haha!
❤️~When they catch a glitch in your clothing~❤️
(GN reader! Angst/fluff!)
(With Pomni, Jax, Ragatha, and Caine)
Pomni:
"Heyyy"
"Hi Pomni." You sighed, watching as she inched into your room, slowly, carefully, like she was worried you would disintegrate if she breathed the wrong way.
"Hiii, sorry if this is like, invading your space. I can leave if you want, no hard feelings..." You met her gaze and found her eyes filled with worry, watching you so closely.
"No you can stay. Is everything okay Pomni? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She chuckled it off like it was no big deal, but she still seemed tense as she stepped closer, "I'm fine. I was wondering if you wanted to talk? Or we could just sit here in silence. Whatever you want. I just want you to know I'm here."
"You're here?"
"Yeah. We are stuck here together aren't we? I mean its not great and I want to leave, but it would be so much worse without you..."
"Without me?"
"I just mean, I like you alot. I'm bad at saying it haha.."
"I like you too Pomni...and I don't plan on going anywhere.."
"Thank goodness." She finally seemed to breath, making you feel slightly bad. Had you made her worry? Why?
Jax:
"HELLOOOOO SUNSHINE!!!" Jax bursted into your room, yelling at the top of his lungs and simultaneously scaring the ever loving shit out of you.
"F**k Jax! You scared me! What are you doing here?"
"I'm taking you to shoot at random stuff, maybe burn down Kingers room. Oh or we could pilfer some of Zoobles parts and try to make fallick shapes out of them?" He wiggled his eyebrows at you, trying to entice you to join him like he always did...but something seemed different about him...
"I dunno. I think I just want to stay here today. Enjoy a day off from adventures."
His smile faded slowly, replaced with this eerie blank stare, like he was looking through you, at something or someone else. Remembering something he'd tried to forget. It made you feel uneasy.
"Jax?"
He focused back on you, smiling once again like nothing happened, "You're coming with me wether you like it or not! Come on!" He wrapped his thin arms around you, pulling you towards the door of your room while you tried to get away...but his grip was so tight it almost hurt. What was going on?
Ragatha:
"Hiya! I was wondering if you'd like to talk today?" Ragatha appeared beside you, sitting on your bed with this anxious air around her that did not help your downcast mood.
"If it's okay, I think I'd rather just lie here."
She sighed like she was disappointed in your answer, but didn't leave. "You know, I like everyone here. Jax gets on my nerves sometimes, but I think they all have good things about them too. You...you are different to me, because I like you differently. I don't understand why, but it scares me ya know? And yesterday...I just, I saw something that scared me more."
You locked eyes with her, wondering what she was talking about. "What was it?"
"I don't want to talk about but, just. I dunno, stay with me okay? Let's hug. Let's walk. Till you're sick of me...just don't be alone."
Caine:
"CAINE!" You screeched, jumping back from the spot he appeared right in front of you a half second ago. "What the f**k! Give some warning first?!"
"Warning? Warning for what? There's no dangers here! Except abstracting! Actually, I wanted to talk about that with you!"
"Why...did someone-"
"No! Or well, yes, multiple people have, but none of the ones you're familiar with!" He waved off your question...then grew suspiciously quiet, those big mismatched eyes staring deeply into yours, like he somehow knew everything and yet nothing at all.
"Caine...?"
"Let's have dinner at a place that looks like no one can afford it and then catch butterflies made of blocks!" He switched so fast you had whiplash. He took your hand and zip, you were in this fake restaurant that really did look too expensive...this was weird.
"Caine, is everything-"
"BUBBBLE! I WANT COURSES THAT LOOK TOO SMALL! STAT!"
yandere! soldier who can't help but miss you every time he heads to work. what? it's a normal thing for him. if it was up to him he wouldn't be working in the first place. what better place to spend than with you?
yandere! soldier who comes home as soon as he can, holding flowers and gifts as he daydreams about you, his lovely spouse. bro is this emoji '😍' and he is NOT ashamed of it. like??? he's finally allowed to go home to his beautiful amazing absolutely gorgeous spouse??? how do you expect him to be normal.
"i love my darling."
"alright, we get it."
this is probably the third time he's said it. his poor friend doesn't know whether he can take another word out of your husband's mouth. it's not even halfway through the day and his ass is already talking about going home to his spouse.
"my darling is the best, y'know? they're so pretty... and ah... I can't wait to go home."
"we get it."
what else is he supposed to say? shut the fuck up you don't have to rub your marriage in my face? if he tries to scold him... god knows what would happen.
"i love my darling❤️"
"we get it dude. you love your spouse."
man, i think your husband is is going to be the death of this poor lad. fuck being the single friend dawg, imagine having to hear your bestie yap about their bf or gf everyday💀
yandere! soldier who's the type of guy to wear a heart shaped locket with a picture of you inside. yeah, romantic huh? wait until you realise he kisses it and holds it tenderly between his fingers on the nights when he gets dispatched on long missions and cannot see your face.
it's been two fateful weeks since he last saw your face. two long gruelling weeks without the touch and presence of his beautiful loving spouse.
"i think I'm going insane."
a curt chuckle leaves his throat. hah. he doesn't remember the last time he had gone so long without... without you. it's actually pure torture, he thinks.
he's existed so long, refuelling himself with your loving touches, and slightly shaky reassurances... yes, he knows you're still wary of him but you're loosening uo now and that's all that matters.
"i miss you, my love."
the locket rests gently between his fingers, his lips cold from the lingering touch of the gold jewelry. inside is a picture of you. beautiful you. it's something he never takes off. too precious to risk anything, after all.
"I'll be home soon."
yandere! solder who would lowkey actually stab someone with his knife if they dared to approach you 😂🤣 haha... that's funny... they thought you, his beautiful amazing gorgeous silly spouse, were single? haha well, not so funny now that they're on the floor huh?
yandere! soldier who is FINE SHYT😍 and loves looking handsome for you. look man, he knows you're scared shitless of him but he had to do it! he had to kidnap you from your fiancé, okay? he had no choice! why would you willingly spend your entire life on that mid ass man who doesn't even treat you right??? clearly you were forced into that relationship 🤬 meanwhile HE on the other hand... he knows how to treat you right, in fact, he'll treat you MORE than just right. this man LOVES you, okay? and he isn't afraid to show it at all. plus he looks handsome as hell in his uniform so if he's crazy at least he's crazy hot😍
premise. belle thinks her brother is the most oblivious person in sixth street. the reason? one: because his (super obvious) crush on you is practically the worst kept secret in new eridu, and two: because he can't even see that said crush is reciprocated! good thing he has one (1) amazing, wonderful, nosy sister to help him out, yeah?
or, belle thinks the two of you are a prime example of an s tier romance movie; and she really wants to skip to the final arc already.
pairing. wise x gn!reader.
warnings: kinda ooc wise (i just started the game), wise is a loser (lovingly), belle is an instigator (proudly), comedy, facepalm moments.
a/n: for @vxnuslogy and @milksnake-tea bc yes wise kissers yes
MY (rlly cool btw 🥺) MASTERLIST || INBOX !
“you're in love with [name], aren't you?”
like all siblings in the world—or what's left of it, belle schemes.
(against wise, of course. obviously.)
her brother bursts into a mess immediately, nearly spilling his cup ramen all over his new shirt, chopsticks sticking out. laughing nervously. general chop would not be proud. “who told you that? i mean— haha, who said that, belle?”
his sister rolls her eyes. “me, myself. i.” she emphasizes, leaning her elbows against the table and putting her palms together; the grin she wears right now is so serene, but not in the angelic, nice way. belle smiles and wise finally thinks, oh. my sister may need to book herself to the closest self-help guru in new eridu.
“i have reason to believe that you, my dearest brother, are in love with [name].”
her voice goes up an octave at the last bit, leading wise to stuff her mouth with potato chips. already, heads have turned. “mff.”
“keep your voice down! and stop broadcasting it to everyone here-”
“what, i am right, aren't i? they clearly like you back, so why haven't you confessed yet?”
“keep. your. voice. down.” wise says, and belle's shit eating grin only widens as she sees her brother's ears tinged with pink. “and... how did you even know that?” he asks, mortified.
“well, one: because it's obvious—like, have you seen how obvious you are?” belle huffs, taking a bite of the potato chip with force (personal grudges are involved). “and two, because they like you back, dummy!”
because when belle sees the two of you together, it's like wise focuses on no one else. you are the center of his world—and he is just being pulled to bask in your light. his eyes soften like they melt only for you, and wise looks like all he is is, all he wants to be, is to belong with you.
(and, wise likes to stare at you for ungodly amounts of time. belle even caught him staring when you were petting a cat by the street and decided to name the stray ‘wise’; courtesy of him, apparently. the cat literally just had grey fur.
“wise.”
“hm?”
“you're practically spawning heart eyes now.”)
it's sickening. (in a oh my god my brother is in love kind of way, mind you.)
“so!” belle says, a devilish sparkle in her eyes. “allow your dearest sister to help you out, 'kay?”
wise nearly coughs up blood.
“what?!”
so at present, belle compiles her (hastily written) list of romantic moments you and wise have shared. she's not surprised—the number can be counted on one hand. diabolical, disappointing, world-ending! she resists the urge to cough up blood.
first, a coff cafe date with tin man's help: a fail. tin man's wingman capabilities were very superb, but she never heard the end of it when wise was lecturing her about how tin man kept sending over heart shaped desserts and little fortune cookies. the fortune cookies in question which said ‘you can do it!’ and a latte with art of caricature tin man making a heart. (you were very confused). belle thought it was motivating. wise thought it was mortifying.
next, even instilling help from fairy to calculate statistics about what event would you two be likely to be together. fairy said, and belle quotes: “probably never. that kind of pining's for the long run, with the other master's current experience. give it a year or six, master.”
so, she's currently face-palming.
did her brother really have zero game? why were the two of you just dancing around each other?! she's tried everything—from letting you two spend more time with each other in commissions, her inviting you over more to leave you to chat with her brother, and even the entirety of sixth street has lent their aid! how were you two not dating yet?!
“didn't they go on an arcade date at random play yesterday?” belle mutters. “that should've increased your progress by a long mile, bro! even general chop said you two were really, really close in the noodle shop....”
just what was she going to do now? at this rate, her brother would be relationshipless in no time! in fairy's words again, it would be phaethetic. and that would be a phaethal blow on her pride.
“...master, i said no such thing.”
“well, now you did.”
“The Ethereal Reckoning,” there's a pep in your step, the boxes full of movie DVDs in your arms as you walk back to the movie store. it was heavy, but at least you got to walk with the grey-haired proxy beside you. “That movie was great! Thanks for recommending it to me.”
Sporting a dopey, lovesick grin in response, wise nods at that, content to listen to your voice. it was actually belle's idea to let you lend movies you like over so the two of you could talk about it back and forth. wise would need to (begrudgingly) treat her to a bowl of ramen later on.... she saved him—he probably wouldn't even be talking to you for this long at this point, let alone hang out with you without her. for someone so nosy, he guesses his sister was a pretty good wingwoman.
“the main character was pretty similar to billy, you know?” you ramble on as wise listens. “i mean, because they were an android too, and...”
he finds that he's content to listen to anything you say, really. (right now he doesn't really know what you're saying, something about a horror ethereal movie, but you could just tell him anything and he would listen).
“i feel like the heroine's death was unnecessary, though.” you sigh, “too much tension just for it to end like that? how anticlimactic.”
your voice was so nice, so warm and easy to listen to, and wise can't even say anything to retort, simply staring with a growing (lovesick) smile on his face. talking to people was hard work, and talking to you? it might just make him combust.
“...ise? wise?”
“ah, huh?” he snaps out of his trance, only to find you mere inches away from his face, the only thing keeping you apart the boxes full of movies he's carrying. “...!”
“are you listening?” you furrow, and someone really might be out to get him right now because in that moment, wise flinches from the proximity, bumping into you.
then, because the universe thinks his life couldn't get more dramatic than it already was—you stagger, about to fall forward.
he moves before he thinks. “watch out!”
and wise.... practically astral-projects to another plane when he feels you fall into his arms, his hands on your waist. he can feel the warmth of your skin on his, the flustered look on your face. (he feels like he's going to die).
the two of you lock eyes for a moment, and wise feels like he's about to so something very stupid and his hands are still on your waist—
“....”
“.....”
someone save him.
“ah...”
“sorry!” you recover first, hurriedly letting yourself pull away from him (much to his disappointment). “i wasn't looking, and i- are you okay, wise?”
“no, no, it's fine.... i-i'm fine....” he hopes his voice isn't as small as it is, he couldn't be smooth to save his life; and wise helps you gather your bearings, his hands brushing against yours, blood rushing to his ears. sheepishly rubbing at his nape. “sorry, i was distracted.”
perhaps in the mood to lift the atmosphere, you sputter out, “no worries! it's fine! besides, you listened to me all this time.... i really enjoyed the movie, really.”
“of course i'll listen.” and before wise can think to stop his traitor of a mouth, the words spill out of his lips like it always wanted to be.
“you're worth paying attention to.”
it's automatic—your face heats up, warming like the sun on a hot day in new eridu, and god, he is such an idiot-
“you think so?” wise gulps. you looked bashful, and were way too adorable right now, and his face felt like it was on fire.... wait, that's not the point! he has to answer you, at least. this is a chance to make progress!
“y-yeah. definitely. i enjoyed... watching the movie with you.” he says. did his voice just crack just now? “we can hang out more often too, even without belle.”
he feels bad for throwing his sister under the bus like that, but—wait, did he just ask you out on a date? (accidentally)
well, it didn't matter because wise feels like he won the lottery right now, because you brighten up immediately. “really?”
then you cough and compose yourself. “i mean, sure! i'm sure it'll be fun, haha...”
awkward silence ensues. uh oh, did he say something wrong? was he too forward? he wants to say something, but something is lodged in his throat, and wise can't bring up a response. (his heart was beating like crazy right now, though).
“uh...”
“....”
then, something soft brushes against the side of his cheek. as fast as it was felt, wise felt the sensation leave just as easily. did you just-?
you just kissed him. on the cheek.
“thanks for hanging out with me, wise.”
“you're welcome- wha- huh?!” he nearly drops the stack of dvd's he was holding. you pull away, an enigmatic smile on your face. face flushed.
before he can even respond, the two of you finally arrive at the movie store. damn it, gods of the world. why did his luck run out now?
“i guess this is your stop.” he blinks, your voice coming back to him. “and, wise?”
“ah, uh, yeah?”
“it's a date, then?” your eyes sparkle and shine a light through his heart. super effective!
is this really happening? is he really going on a date with you—oh, he's so thrilled he could actually burst into song and kick his feet, but belle would tease him ruthlessly after. nosy sisters were so much work....
“yes!” he almost yells it out, but because he didn't want to look uncool in front of you, wise composes himself. play it cool, play it cool. don't mess up this chance! “yes, definitely. it's... it's a date.”
you put down the other stack of dvd's down the table, flashing him a dizzying, lovely smile smile. wise swears he falls even harder for you.
“then it's a date.”
BONUS.
“seriously?! you're going on a date with them?!” belle shouts, so unceremoniously that wise slaps a hand on her mouth.
“not so loud! but, yeah.” he says, face heating up. “your plan worked, sis.”
“yes! yes! finally!” his sister practically cheers, “i can finally be free of your sickening heart eyes... and finally, our street's most anticipated couple is here!”
wise can't help but sigh in fond exasperation. he guesses he'll let her have this one today.
“also, belle?”
“what?”
“you didn't tell anyone about this, did you?”
...
“uhh....”
(on the day of the date, wise receives an abnormal amount of good luck posters. he also gets a disturbing amount of thumbs up from the neighbors.
the last straw? tin man, giving him a baked cake with the words ‘rooting for you!’ covered in pink heart sprinkles.
he facepalms. belle...!)
a/n: d d do you guys get it..... phaethetically...... phaethon..... wise is phaethon and he's awkward in love lol hahahahaha (💀)
@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.
making this while drunk after reading a reallyyyy good byler fic in bed at midnight just chilling like a blade of grass i love it
u can probably tell my taste in fics after seeing this lol
he likes it scalding by CastleByersAfterDark - domestic, slice of life fic where will has a bath after a cold miserable day and its written so well like i feel the love theres so much loveee
Say It With Your Hands by Pseudologia - the only time you'll ever catch me reading a different first meeting fic. just so cute, byler meet at a movie theater (working) and mike's obsessed with him
a bed in your shape by passerine_in_jade - omg the angst was angsting but it was so realistic as well i loved it, the payoff ended up being so good.
A Blue Christmas by kwritessometimes - the most carefully and beautifully written fic about mikes coming out to his family. it perfectly shows the connection between him and will's family too, and ughhhhhhh i cried
but if i'm all dressed up (worth it for once) by castlebyer (loverslakes) - regency era england fic. i rarely ever read byler fics in an alternate timeline but omg this was so good and just as i imagined it.
nothing else i could do by astrobi - mike and will live together and they get a dog and then they kiss or smth idk i havent read it in a while but its astrobi so its good
if you kissed me now by astrobi - cute lil secret relationship fic and byler are just so soft and are actually realistic teens in this ugh
i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this) by burgandyshirts - oh this is the funniest ever, there is a miscommunication where mike thinks he's dating will but will has no idea <3
said that i was fine, said it from my coffin by ruetistic - really sad about byler being gay in the 80s where mike gets hurt by people but its hurt/comfort so dw
feeling like the opposite by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) - such a good and memorable love confession on mike's part, also college byler teehee
i have everything i wanted by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) - series of one shots of byler that all follow an amazing format basically catered to my fave tags on ao3 HAHA
(give me a second to) forget i ever really meant it by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) - one of the better practice kissing fics i've read
autumn air, jacket 'round my shoulders is yours by gaysforbyler - will's feeling the anniversary effect and it just shows how much care mike has for will and how much understanding they have for each other
all this time (how could you not know?) by astrobi - for me, this is a long fic. yeah that tells you everything abt me lmao but this is so amazing it has a great pay off (byler at prom!!!!)
i might be hoping about this by astrobi - this right here will always be my favourite fic. it is perfection. it was one of the first byler fics i ever read and the pure domestic bliss paired with it being a SICKFIC HELL YEAH makes it just soooo perfect
and i might as welllllll um
what you really want by ME - yes this is big headed of me but im so proud of this fic i worked so hard on it and sacrificed some of my grades for it but it was worth it
okay im so eepy im going to eep and then have a hangover and i have a raging headache now ive done this on a whim bye
SYNOPSIS. ── .ᐟ In 1920s New York, a failed medical experiment turns the city into something they’ve only seen in fiction — the infected not quite dead, not quite alive. Fleeing the ruins, Joshua Hong, heir to one of the city’s most influential tailoring and fashion dynasties, and a woman who once lived under his family’s roof, they rely on each other to survive.
Forced to pretend they’re something they’re not, they soon learn that safety comes at the cost of truth.
CHAPTER 1
heir/childhood friend!joshua hong × fem!reader ⋅ 16,945 words
🩸 GENRE/S.. non-idol au, 1920s new york au, zombie apocalypse, romance
🩸 CONTENTS. 1920s high society, arranged marriage, class disparity (heir vs. servant/ward), childhood friends-to-something undefined, slowburn, forbidden feelings
⚠️ WARNINGS. blood and injuries, domestic abuse (verbal, emotional, and physical. not described to the extreme), physical violence (hair pulling, shoving), head injury (hitting head against a shelf), misogyny and sexism, gaslighting from in laws
✦ in fiction we trust. love, celeste ˶ᵔ⤙ᵔ˶ happy carats day! haha!! i hope you guys will enjoy this. yes, ik ik, another series, but this year we will be completing all of my unfinished series, okie? this one is going to be big, but hopefully doable. i really hope you enjoy it. i also still want to tell you guys a fun fact: it’s very much inspired by a dream i had XD. i think it was a horrible dream, because… um, okay, i won’t get into the details but i hated experiencing it lol. the dream part didn’t happen in this chapter btw but it will appear in the next one. once again, thanks to chee @nothoughtsjustfic for letting me yap and untangle this idea and he'll me understand it better, and for having the patience to reply to my longass paragraphs, ily. and thanks to ro @shinysobi for beta-ing this, i hope you didn’t throw up more than once bc then i’d feel bad for putting you through this. ily for letting me feature you. forever grateful to trixie @joshujin for making this amazing banner, ily! and thanks to @studiosvt for giving me the opportunity to join this amazing collab heheh.
▸ PART OF @studiosvt : Puttin' on the Ritz, COLLABORATION
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this collab!
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Safety requires lying
Protection demands deception
Survival forces to hide the truth
—
“Know your place,” he hisses as you feel the sting of the words dictating the very marrow of your being. Pressing your hands to your lap, you try your best to hold back the tears even though the ache in your chest threatens to undo every effort of composure you have left.
He is a man of size and temper, and in a second, he takes a handful of your hair and tugs you roughly to his eye level.
“You think you have opinions, do you?” you do not cry out; instead, you bend a little beneath his grip, enduring, because endurance is the armor you were born to wear and you have worn it every day of your life. “You think the likes of you should ever speak in this house as if your thoughts have values? A woman’s tongue is for obedience, not instruction!”
Your mind flits across a hundred thoughts, racing in a runaway carriage through the streets of New York. This is what being a woman is meant to feel like, is it? Woman empowerment, my foot, you think bitterly, and yet you cannot entirely lament your station, for you know that in comparison to other wives who are scared of just their husbands’ frowns, you have the courage to answer with a hum. Your life has been shaped by gratitude and by the harsh calculus of survival; you remind yourself of this with every breath that you do not waste on tears.
At length, Simon releases your hair and steps back with a heavy sigh. He moves to the sideboard, pouring water into a crystal glass with a hand that still trembles from the pulse of his anger just now and then he returns to you with the cup, setting it carefully on the table before you. “Drink, and go to your bed,” he commands even though a bit of his anger has dulled into an almost perfunctory formality. “I am to meet my dear brother Joshua shortly to discuss the expansion of the European contracts, and other situations in Milan. The Hong House cannot falter, and my duties call.”
You nod and hum again but now in acknowledgement, and reach for the glass, letting your fingers be on its cool surface as you lift it to your lips.
You sip the water, tasting its sweetness and in the silence that follows, you allow your thoughts to wander to the life you might have had, to the child who sleeps safely in your room, to the forbidden feelings, to the enduring truth you have always carried: to survive, you must endure, and to endure is to remain unseen, unheard, yet unbroken.
—
You are roused abruptly from your sleep by the sound of shouts and the clatter of something breaking somewhere in the house. Heart races as your eyes open into the dim cold light of the early morning. But immediately after, your instinct drives you to look at the small sleeping body beside you, and relief floods you to see her chest rising and falling so peacefully.
Simon stands red in the center of your room now, and you realize that it is four o’clock and he has chosen this hour to vent his anger.
“Do you understand what it means to lose to a nobody?? An underground boy who barely knows his craft?” he barks, his fists hitting the edge of the side table, sending a crystal vase shattering to the floor. “Sit up,” and you understand it is going to be one of those long nights where you pray his fury dulls as soon as possible.
“And all the work, all the practice, and yet they take it from me! They take it, and I cannot… ARE YOU LISTENING?!”
You swallow and meet his glare. “Please, I—what is it that troubles you so deeply? Must you wake the house for such anger?”
“Troubles me? My dear girl, do you think this is merely trouble? Do you think it is nothing to be bested by some ignorant boy who cannot hold a candle to my skill? I have trained and for what? To have it all snatched from me under the most foolish of circumstances!”
“I understand,” you say while trying to keep him cool though your heart pounds, “but breaking everything about the room will do nothing to mend it. Perhaps it would serve better to speak calmly, even for a moment.”
He stops abruptly and glares at you. “Calmly? Calmly, you say? Do you imagine that a man’s pride can be coaxed with soft words while the world mocks his failures? No, it will not do. I will simply not sit idly while incompetence tramples m-my efforts!” His voice cracks, and for a short instant, you see something on his beard. A dark red smear that glints in the faint moonlight. Your heart stutters at the sight and without thinking, you lean closer to reach out to touch it.
He recoils violently, shoving your hand away. “How dare you interrupt me?” he snaps.
“My apologies, but… is that b-blood?” You speak shakily but confused and concerned at the same time.
“You are mistaken, there is nothing. That is from the hit, nothing more.” He wipes at his mouth and the side of his face frantically with the back of his hand. But with this interruption, he turns and stalks from the room muttering, “I shall go to the library for a while and sleep later. Do not trouble yourself further.”
You remain seated in the middle of the bed with your hands trembling slightly while staring after him as the door clicks shut, and a sense of unease stops in your chest. You cannot entirely dismiss the sight of the blood, nor the frantic way he left the room. And yet the exhaustion of the hour tugs at you, and after a long breath, you lie back down with your baby girl sleeping peacefully beside you, pulling the covers close and convincing yourself that it was nothing. Sleep is all that matters even as the worry lingers in the back of your mind.
—
Morning rises through the lace curtains, and you cradle Leah in your arms while settling her against your breast as she nurses. You glance toward the empty side of the bed, realizing that it has been hours since you last saw Simon, and the avoidance has become almost complete, unlike anything you have known of him before.
Last couple years, you had grown accustomed to his temper and his insistence, and even though you had done everything in your power to evade him (pretending to be faint with exhaustion, feigning the worst of illnesses, curling into the blankets until he left the room, or pretending that Leah required your constant attention), he now vanishes from the house entirely and even your in-laws seem not to notice nor question it.
Your mind flits between anger and suspicion, wondering if he wanders elsewhere to seek another to satisfy his whims, and yet you feel no fear for yourself, for no woman could be so foolish as to allow him to take more than what she chooses while you still hold Leah, the living testament to your endurance.
Though your body remembers the evenings when he had desired you after the so-called recovery, and even though your mind recalls each evasive trick you employed to guard yourself and your child, you do not regret Leah, nor would you. For you would endure the world itself if it meant she might grow strong, safe, and loved. You move a bit in the bed as you settle her more comfortably with the sound of her small suckling in your ears, you tell yourself that you will face whatever comes, endure whatever absences, and bear whatever slights, because there is only one thing in your life worth all the struggle, and that is your daughter’s life.
After feeding Leah and settling her to rest, you move through the kitchen to share the morning chores with the maid because anything less would be counted against you as a wife, even as you keep the dignity expected of a woman married into wealth.
It is while wiping the counter after preparing a casserole for yourself that a sound of clear throat comes from the kitchen door. You turn to find Ro stepping inside in her cloche hat tilted just so, in her signature bobbed hair shining, her drop waist dress cut straight and finished with fine gloves and heels. You drop the rag at once, crossing the room to pull her into an embrace before holding her at arm’s length and laughing, “Good heavens, Ro, look at you, all New York shine and silk, when did you grow so grand?”
She lifts her chin with unserious pride and answers, “I refuse to apologize for keeping pace with the times. I was always grand,” and when you roll your eyes she scoffs, “Oh do not look at me that way,”
Which prompts you to tap her shoulder and say, smiling, “I am only teasing, you know that,”
“Yes, yes, spare me your innocence,” she replies airily.
You ask her, “Yeah of course. But anyway, why did you appear so suddenly after a year’s silence?”
But for some reason, she brightens at once and begins, “Ah, about that,” only to trail off with a mischievous grin.
This makes you frown and scold, “You might at least have told me you were coming to New York at all.”
This only makes her laugh to say, “I wanted the pleasure of your surprise.”
“Well, I am surprised indeed,” you reply dry and bored.
But Ro tuts as the reality strikes her, and she puts her hands together in excitement, “Enough of this, where is my godchild?” as she strides toward your bedroom without waiting and leaving you to follow her with a shake of your head.
Glad she’s back.
She bends eagerly over the crib, lifting Leah with kissing her soft cheeks while also cooing shamelessly until you sit on the edge of the bed watching with so much adoration.
“She is exquisite,” Ro beams, “and she looks entirely like you.”
This makes you lower your gaze and murmur, “That is kind of you to say.”
Ro scoffs and adds with satisfaction, “It is a blessing she favors you and not your miserable excuse for a husband.”
“Ro, you cannot say that!” you gasp even as you already know what answer is coming.
Everyone who has ever been close with you, has spoken against Simon that you never could, and Ro, who left Manhattan for Brooklyn to bury herself in postwar studies and research you chose not to ask about, has always returned bolder and never learned to soften her words. So she replies at once, “I mean it entirely, and I have meant it since the day they bound you to him,”
“It is what it is,” is the only thing you can say to that.
“Do not pretend that settles anything, you know I never approved of your marriage.”
“Approval mattered little when your whole family wanted it.”
“You might have refused, and I would have fought for you,” she counters.
The whole family is the same, prompting you to sigh and reply, “I could not bear the ruin it would have caused.”
“You should have told them once that you would not marry him. No one wanted that man.”
“It was decided before I learned I might have a say.”
She exhales, “You speak nonsense, Y/N. Joshua stood with you too, and he would have stopped it had you spoken.”
You can only whisper as you look at the innocent face of your daughter Leah in her arms, “what is done is done.”
“You cannot claim happiness where cohabitation is impossible.”
You sigh again while now drawing circles on the bedsheets, looking down, “I do what I must.”
Ro looks down on you as you avoid eye contact. There is a minute of silence before she breaks it with, “you forget that I am wealthy too, and so is Joshua, and neither of us ever demanded your obedience,” and as you begin to speak she presses a finger to your lips and says, “No no, I will not hear it, I was shocked to learn you were with child at all, and more shocked to think you let him so close to you—well, I scarce know what to make of it. And yet…” she adds while you still don’t dare to speak, “I will say this much that I am glad you were cautious where it mattered and that you held yourself apart as long as you did. That was never something you owed, least of all to a man you found… distasteful. Still, you ought never to have been forced into silence over it. A refusal need not be wrapped in nice words to be valid. I suppose what troubles me most is that I look at your life now and cannot, for the life of me, understand how you arrived here.”
But you say nothing because loving Leah has already cost you every argument you might have made.
Ro looks at your face for a moment and then asks carefully but without apology, “Are you offended by what I said, because I only spoke like I did since I cannot believe he is a good man for you, and from the beginning nothing about it ever sat right with me.”
You answer, “I am not offended at all,” as you straighten and get up to reach the drawer beside the bed.
“In any case, I know it is not my place, but I hate him all the same and I love you and Leah more than anything, and she is far too dear for her own good. I can literally spend the whole day amusing her.”
You glance at her with a smirky smile and say, “I thought you never cared for children.”
To which she shakes her head and replies, “Leah is different and I want to be the most formidable aunt imaginable.”
“You already are.”
She smiles in low-key triumph and says, “Well, then you understand,” just as you return to the bed with a beige cloth pouch in hand.
You beckon her closer, “come here,” asking her to sit.
She lifts Leah onto the pillows between you before leaning in with curiosity, “now, what are you hiding?”
But you answer only by placing a leather notebook and a small blue velvet box in her hands out of the pouch, Leah now content beside your hip as Ro looks from you to the gifts and back again before opening the notebook to find the first page marked with something written in it. For Ro, my truest friend, to capture every dream you dare to chase in every season and every city. May this always remind you that someone believes in you.
“Is this truly for me,” she traces the monogram with shaky fingers until you tell her not to cry so soon and urge her to open the box, which reveals a fountain pen.
She looks up at you in alarm. “Good heavens, are you unwell, or is this some sort of farewell? What is all this meant to be?”
“It is nothing so dramatic,” you reply. “I meant to give it to you before you left for Brooklyn, but the house was full of family, and it would have been improper to do so then.”
“Improper?” she scoffs. “Since when has impropriety ever frightened me?”
You laugh at her being her. “I wished to give it to you in private, that is all, and the moment simply never came.”
You wanted to give this to Ro as a small token of good luck because you knew she had chosen to give herself to her work and research for the betterment of others, even though she had been born into a family of honor and comfort where she could have easily lived a life of ease. Mostly tending to her family business and society gatherings without ever getting into the wider world. You have no ideas about the details of her projects, yet you remember her speaking enthusiastically about her visions for freedom, peace, technological progress, and the possibilities that literature and art could bring to the minds of those who dared to dream, and you love her for it. She is someone so capable and intelligent. The notebook and fountain pen are meant for her to write whenever she wants to, and you hope that each time she looks at them she will feel a reminder that someone believes in her, supports her, and is rooting for her success.
You have been careful to choose the best pen you could find and seeked advice from a mutual friend, and have kept it hidden until now, waiting for a time when she would be in Manhattan and you could hand them to her personally even though your household duties and the care of your newborn kept you preoccupied, and the opportunity had not come until today, the first time you had seen her in years since before your pregnancy.
Ro looks at you as she puts the pen on top of the notebook, her eyes softening, “I won’t argue, but thank you from the bottom of my heart… you really did not have to do this, you know.”
You shrug and brush a strand of hair that fell in front of your eyes, behind your ear. “I know, but I wanted to. You are doing so much good, and I wanted to give you something to keep you company even if I cannot be there myself.”
Her fingers close around the leather cover, and she smiles, “I love you for this and everything else, and I swear I’ll keep them with me always. I’ll use them every day if I can, and they’ll remind me that someone believes in me.”
You nod, “that’s all I could hope for. You are clever and capable, Ro, and the world needs women like you to keep dreaming and doing. I only want to give you a small piece of encouragement.”
The moment is shattered suddenly as Simon’s voice thunders from the doorway. “Bring me something to eat, and quickly!” he demands, striding into the room and snatching Leah off the bed as she stirs awake.
Leah wails instantly as her tiny body starts to twist against him, your heart jumps. “Simon, she’s just waking, don’t frighten her!” you say, reaching toward her.
Ro steps forward while her brow is clearly furrowed with barely contained anger. “Put her down, you fool! She’s not a toy for your temper!”
Simon glares at you instead of acknowledging Ro. “Do as I say, and hold your tongue, woman. I am not asking!”
You gently take Leah from him and hold her close against your chest as she sobs into your shoulder. Ro’s eyes flash at Simon, who finally tosses a frustrated glare at both of you and stomps toward the staircase. “And do not forget, you are to visit my parents this weekend to help them pack for England. No excuses.”
Ro scoffs, crosses her arms and steps closer to you after he leaves. She wished he was here to listen. “There is literally no need for you to go. You have no business meddling in his family affairs, and yet he treats you as if you are nothing but a servant.”
You sigh, rocking Leah lightly to calm her, her small fingers curl around your blouse. “I know, but I have no choice. It is expected of me, and I cannot stir more trouble than there already is.”
“Expected? Expected is a fancy word for being walked over, and you deserve better than that, you hear me?”
You smile. “I hear you, Ro. I do. But it is what it is, and I cannot abandon my duties to her—or to the life I have now.”
Her glare softens as she kneels beside you and places a hand on your arm. “Well, you must remember, I am with you always, even when that miserable oaf is grunting around, acting like the world owes him everything.”
You chuckle, brushing Leah’s hair back from her eyes. “I know, and I am grateful for you. It makes all the difference.”
Leah gurgles and tries to reach a tiny hand of hers toward Ro, who grins and lifts her up to cradle her on her lap, cooing as she presses her cheek to the baby’s. “You are the cutest little devil, aren’t you? And you have your mother’s cleverness in those bright eyes.” You watch as Ro hums and rocks Leah, tracing her tiny fingers along her blanket and then letting her nibble on her own thumb. “She is perfect,” Ro says, “and so much like you, thank the heavens for that.”
You feel your cheeks warm, “you are too kind. I only hope she grows up to be as daring and brilliant as you.”
Ro smirks as she was brushing a stray lock of hair from Leah’s forehead. “Well, I suppose there is hope for her then. I do not know how that pathetic man is even related to me.” You reach out and give her a push on the shoulder, laughing as she wobbles before sitting upright, “so, you are really going to uncle’s this weekend?”
“Yes,” you reply with a sigh, “him and his parents insisted I be there to help with their packing and arrangements, so I must go.”
“Um… I shall see you there then,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss to Leah’s cheeks before she steps back toward the door.
Alone now, you move to the kitchen to arrange Simon’s lunch on the silver tray and wipe your hands on your apron.
Carrying the tray, you make your way to the bath, knock, “your lunch is ready,” and when no reply comes, you continue toward the library and push the door open to find him hunched over the reading table.
“Lunch is ready,” you say again as you set the tray down on the empty table on the side. “I have made everything just as you like it.”
He does not turn immediately, but eventually he rises to take the plate.
You frown as Simon takes the tray from your hands. “Leave,” he says harshly, but you hesitate, confused. It is not like him to step out from behind the desk and take the plate himself—you are always the one who brings it to him.
You nod saying nothing whilst feeling a prickle of unease as you begin to turn toward the door, thinking it best to obey before you provoke whatever mood has overtaken him.
But then a loud metallic clang of the tray hitting the floor freezes you mid-step. You whirl around with your heart leaping to your throat, and see the lunch scattered across the parquet floor; the silver tray overturned and the puddle of thick sauce creeping across the wood, vegetables rolling beneath the legs of the chairs, and the glass of his mug shattered into jagged pieces. Steam still rises from the spilled bisque, carrying the scent of lobster that now stings your nose with shock and fear.
Your instincts take over and you rush forward, knees bending, wanting to see if he has been hurt. “Are you all right?” you cry as hands hover near his shoulders, willing him to answer.
He jerks by swinging an arm at you and you stumble back automatically. The force is enough that your own weight tips against the nearest shelf, and your head hits the hard corner with a sickening crack.
Stars explode behind your eyes and you taste copper instantly as you feel a sticky iron of blood running down your temple, you gasp clutching your head. “I—I am fine,” you murmur weakly out to yourself, but the truth is, you are not fine, and your pulse is hammering so loud it feels as if the whole house could hear it.
Simon stands there for a moment, rigid, his fist still clutched in his hand. His eyes flick briefly to yours, and though for a short second you see what could be remorse, or perhaps just calculation, he jerks his head and snaps, “Get away! Leave!”
Your hand pressed to the pain throbbing in the bleeding cut on your forehead, and you look at the ruined tray, the scattered food, and then back to him. “Please, are you hurt?” you whisper again, trying to balance concern with fear, wishing somehow to reach him through the storm of his anger.
“Just leave.”
—
You lay Leah in her crib, tucking the blanket around her tiny shoulders. As she finally closes her eyes, you exhale feeling a sliver of peace after what happened in the library. Just as you move back on your heels, the door creaks open, and your eyes move up to find Simon standing there in the low light catching the angle of his jaw, and something obscured behind his back. You tense slightly, but you force your focus back to Leah and smooth the blanket once more and press a kiss to her cheek.
He clears his throat, pulling your attention back to him. “Here,” he steps forward, revealing an ice pack clutched awkwardly in his hands. His voice is still indifferent but you hear there is a shadow of remorse inside of it. “You will need this… for your head.” but you remain silent, focused on Leah. “And… how are you feeling?”
You murmur, “fine,” moving away as you hold the ice pack with both hands. You don’t say much knowing anything you might say can go south.
He stammers before stepping back toward the door. His lips press into a thin line, and he gives a nod. “You’ll have the family doctor come later. He will see to your wound,” his voice still not sure as if duty is the only reason he is speaking at all. “Try not to make a habit of such clumsiness. You’ll only inconvenience me further,” and with that, he turns, leaving the door swinging behind him.
You sit there for a moment, holding the ice pack, staring at the door. You glance down at Leah, and you press a kiss to her forehead.
You take a deep breath as the last of the luggage is stacked neatly in the corner.
You turn toward your in-laws. “Mother, Father… may I speak with you for a moment?” you ask, trying to gauge their mood.
Your mother in law glances at you over her glasses. “Are you going to complain about my son again?” a note of exasperation in her voice.
You hesitate, smoothing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and shake your head. “It is… not about his usual behavior, if you can believe that. It is more important than that,” you try to phrase correctly. “It is… how he’s changed.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she lets out a light sigh. “Changed, how?” she sits down on the armchair, folding her hands on her lap.
You press the heel of your hand against the wall as you try to form your words. “He’s… more aggressive. He’s always been rude, impatient even, but now it is different. He uses… force. He breaks things, and he smells… like something foul. Like the barn when the cattle are sick,” you confess, shivering slightly at the memory. Your eyes avoid theirs as you feel the discomfort coil in your stomach.
Your mother in law frowns, but her expression is dismissive rather than concerned. “That’s life with a husband. You are young, you’ll learn. A woman’s lot is not to question these things,” her voice clip as if what you said are unnecessary.
You swallow and step closer with your hands pressed together in front of you, trying to make her see. “Mother, I wouldn’t complain if it were only the words. But as you know, I fell and hit my forehead the other day…” you pause, glancing at your father in law who looks uncomfortably in his chair, “…and that was because of him. He told me to lie. I would lie if it weren’t a risk to my life. Leah needs a mother!”
Your father in love stands up to adjust his jacket as a silent motion to leave, but you hold out your hand. “Please, Father… just stay. I need you to hear me,” you pleaded.
A frown on her face. “You exaggerate. He’s never done you real harm. That’s just the way of men. They’re… tough but they are decisive. As a wife, you should be grateful he provides and protects.”
You bite your lip. “No. It is not just tough, it is… violent. He breaks things. He… he smells like something rotten all the time, like… like a sick animal,” your hands clenching at your sides.
Your father in law whispers, “do you… do you know about him taking the shot?” he leans forward.
Your brow furrows as confusion washes over your features. “Taking what shot? I’m sorry… I don’t understand,” you step back slightly.
He scratches the back of his neck, “ah, never mind. Forget I asked,” he turns and walks out of the room before you could stop him again this time.
Your mother in law sighs, smoothing her skirts as she watches you with the same detached concern. “You must learn to endure. This is the life of a wife and a sacrifice for your husband, not the antics of… those women running around with no regard for their duties. You must accept it,” she leans back in her chair, hands folded neatly once more.
You press your lips together staring at her while a whirlwind of helplessness curls in your chest. You want to argue to make her understand and see the danger lurking in the man who calls himself your husband, but it is just not possible.
Ro’s knock comes through the door just then. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I think Leah’s diaper needs to be checked.”
And you rise up and smooth your skirt as you turn back to your mother in law. “I’ll only be a moment,” you say, moving for the door as Ro steps beside you as you head down the corridor toward the guest room.
“What kept you so long for a handful of outfits.”
You busy your hands at the crib before answering. “I am simply slow today, that is all,” you say, focusing on Leah’s buttons.
While Ro watches you with narrowed eyes before huffing. “They are insufferable, really,” she leans against the wardrobe. “All this fuss when they are only crossing the ocean for a few days. One would think they were emigrating forever.”
“It is quite all right.”
Ro makes a sound of disbelief before her expression changes, a smirk brightening her face. “Well then,” she tilts her head, “are you excited to see Joshua tonight, or are you determined to act indifferent until the very end.” You roll your eyes, closing the crib with more care than necessary and she immediately claps a hand to her chest. “Oh do not deny me this,” Ro laughs. “A reunion at last. I have waited ages to witness it.”
“Have you nothing better to occupy your mind,” you deadpan, turning toward her.
She sighs and it dims some of the brightness. “I wish it was like that,” she says. “It is meant to be a day of rest, yet all I can think of is work.”
“You never tell me what it is you are working on,” you look at her face with empathy.
She hesitates for sometime until you nudge her again after she has zoned out. “It is difficult to speak of it without saying too much, or frightening you altogether,” she replies, and you stiffen.
“Why should it frighten me,” you ask, “and what exactly are you doing that you think would frighten me.”
Ro takes your hands in both of hers, her expression uncharacteristically softened. “I love you,” she says simply, “and you must promise me you will always take care of yourself.”
That does it, and you pull back. “You are alarming me now!! What on earth are you talking about.”
Ro smiles but it is distant all at once. “I am trying to understand how wars…” she says calmly. “How soldiers might be spared the trenches, how we need to find a cure for something as soon as possible.”
“Cure? That sounds large,” you murmur, and she nods.
“It is,” she agrees. “It touches technology, medicine, politics, all the things men insist on misusing.”
“And you… intend to fix them.”
“Someone must try,” she squeezes your fingers. “Joshua understands that even if I have not seen him for a while, buried as he is in negotiations for HFH, forever managing the demands of people who never lift a needle themselves.”
You look at her with pride and worry mixing in together in your chest.
But before you can go on even more with your worry, Simon enters without waiting for an answer, shrugging into his coat as he says, “I am heading home now, there is nothing further for me to do here,” his stares down at you as he adjusts his cuffs and barely spares Ro a glance.
“Home already,” Ro cuts in and turns toward him with raised brows, “and pray tell why, when you were the one insisting everyone gather in the first place,” while you step back, ready to take Leah out of the crib as Simon exhales through his nose.
“There is no reason for me to stay while women gossip themselves hoarse,” eyes flicking toward you before going back on Ro. “You have your own concerns, and I have matters that need a better mind than idle fretting.”
Ro laughs unimpressed with him as always. “How fortunate for the world that your patience ends exactly where other people’s lives begin,” she replies, “one would hate to confuse authority with inconvenience.”
Simon rolls his eyes, reaching for the door handle. “Spare me the lecture,” he waves a hand. “I have no appetite for foolish arguments.”
“Anyway,” Ro adds while turning back to you with a frown as Simon stops, “was not Joshua meant to arrive this evening, or did I imagine him being summoned only for you to leave before he even sets foot through the door,” and Simon just mutters something under his breath that you couldn’t hear before leaving without paying anymore attention.
TWO YEARS AGO, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED.
“Yes, so, do you want me to bring back something for you?” he asks, sunlight catching in his hair just so.
“It is alright, really,” you reply, brushing flour from your apron and giving him a forced smile, “it wouldn’t be proper for you to trouble yourself over me.”
He laughed as he decided to step closer, unconcerned by your protests, “what are you saying? I don’t care a whit about propriety. I want to bring something back for you, so that’s that.”
You pinch a grape from the salad bowl between your fingers and pop it into his mouth, waving him off with a not so strong shove, “You better not. Go back to your room and leave me to my work, honestly.”
He leans a bit to catch your gaze, chuckling, “I’ll go then, but I’ll make sure it is something you’ll like and worth the wait.”
You pray that the sudden heat rising to your cheeks is invisible and force yourself to look elsewhere, and chuckle as well, “Alright, fine, just… go away now,” he smiles at you before leaving.
The rich aroma of roasting meat and simmering vegetables filling the kitchen, and glance at the clock. Joshua will be leaving for yet another business trip today. He is probably going to see some of the city’s most influential men, and oversee fabric orders for an important political gathering, perhaps for the president and other high officials but you do not know the details, only that it is serious business and requires him to be present and do things only he is responsible for.
Your mother enters quietly from the behind, brushing back a stray curl and places her hand on your shoulder as she lifts the steaming dishes from your station. “Go to your room and rest, my dear. You’ve been working since morning,” eyes warm with care. “There’s no need for you to wear yourself out.”
You glance up at her and protest, “But mother, I will help. I want to see it done properly, I don’t mind.”
A smile tugging at her lips. “No, you mustn’t. You’ve been at this since dawn, and I cannot have you exhausted before their family lunch. I insist you rest now.”
You pout, “but you’ve been working too!” Your hands clench briefly as you murmur, “cleaning the entire house by yourself all morning.”
She chuckles as she places both hands on your shoulders and guides you out toward the hallway. “Child, that is nothing compared to what you’ve done here. Come now, go rest. I will see that everything is ready.”
You sull, the small protest dying on your lips, and allow her to lead you away.
You glance back at the kitchen. The Hongs had been generous to you and your mother from the beginning, and allowed you to study while doing chores, never scolding you if your attention wandered from work and their household. Even though their household was strict about rules, it was far more gracious than any other home you had ever heard of. You had grown up with the understanding that privilege had its own responsibility, that even in kindness, a respectful silence and obedience were expected and that to speak too freely could be understood as ingratitude, however small or unintentional. It was a lesson in learning to be happy with all you were given while still nurturing your own mind and skills.
After the Hong family finished lunch together, Joshua for his trip left as he always did now. Business trips have become routine in the years following the war. It was a natural consequence of him being fully grown and getting involved in the family’s affairs.
You remember when you were children and played together without any consequences. His being four years older meant nothing then, and the household’s admiration for you and your mother allowed some freedom that few elite families ever gave. No one ever objected as long as the Hongs approved, and when they accepted something, everyone else followed without question. It was a strange rule of wealthy society that you did not understand as a child but one you now understand clearly that money and power decided what was permitted. You learned while living under their roof, spending everyday in the same house all your life.
Joshua was the sweetest boy you had ever known. Not that you met many others, but even among his friends (who were kind but far more mischievous) he stood apart. You still remembered how he once took the blame for you eating ice cream in winter even when your mother had strictly forbidden it to you. He told her it had been his idea and apologised earnestly while she questioned you; he was determined to save you from being scolded. At the time, he probably really thought it was his fault, that he should not have eaten it with you or should have stopped you altogether. He was such a gentle soul that you did not notice him growing into a gentleman, nor did you realise how naturally your fondness for him had turned into something more as time passed.
But as you both left your childhood and teenage years behind and stepped into adulthood, class boundaries and social expectations slowly began to separate you. Still, you remained close enough to share jokes in private… your friendship reshaped by a distance that grew as you became more aware of his family’s wealth and your own and the rigid gender roles of the time.
Since both Mr. and Mrs. Hong were home today, their family received a visit from Mr. Hong’s older brother and his wife for a discussion about their fashion house. As you were about to go upstairs to call your mother to check the sugar, Mr. Hong entered the hallway with his guests.
You greeted him with a polite smile and a slight bow, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr. Hong,” keeping your tone respectful as you tried to look composed despite the running activities in your mind to complete. You then turned to his brother and his wife, bowing your head again, “Good afternoon to you as well, Sir and Ma’am,” careful not to glance too long at anyone but still smile.
Mr. Hong’s brother nodded and passed by you, following Mr. Hong into the room, leaving you to climb the stairs and fetch your mother to prepare their appetizers.
Returning downstairs, you arranged the tray with small savory pastries and sweet finger foods, and carried it carefully into the room where the discussion was underway.
You knocked lightly at the door and heard Mr. Hong call, Come in, so you entered and stood at the threshold. The family was seated while deep in conversation, so you did not look directly at them, instead setting down the tray with and announcing, “I have brought your appetizers, Sir, Ma’am,” while ensuring everything was arranged neatly before retreating to the corner.
Mr. Hong’s sister in law spoke up before you could leave with a smile bright on her face as she reached for a canapé. “Oh, I missed your canapés!” she said, biting into it with delight.
You smiled and curtseyed, “thank you, Ma’am, I’m glad you like them.”
From the side, Mr. Hong leaned back and told her, “I knew you both love her canapés so I told her to prepare them for today.”
His older brother chuckled, “Well then, perhaps we should come in every day,” and you felt a faint blush as the comment made the room fill with laughter.
“Truly, you do have a way with your hands; any household would be lucky to have you in it,” she turned to you.
You curtsied again and said, “thank you kindly, Ma’am.” Not wanting to overstay, you asked, “May I take my leave now, Mr. Hong?”
He gestured with his hand to signal that you could leave, and you gave a final bow before stepping out of the room.
“It is for your own good, see what comes of it,” your mother set her hands on your shoulders.
You wanted to protest, but you had argued enough for the morning and you could see she deserved a rest, so you simply nodded, murmuring, “I still don’t think it is a good idea, Mother.”
She lifted your chin with her fingers, tilting your face toward hers and pressed her palm against your cheek. “Oh, my sweet pie, you worry too much. One day you’ll understand I only mean what’s best for you.”
You nod and straighten and step away from the bed, and make your way to the living room. There, Ro, your closest friend within the Hong family aside from Joshua, was waiting—seated with an impatient posture, a book in her lap that she barely glanced at now that you had arrived. Actually, she had always been your closest friend even beyond the family since you never really made other friends growing up.
Ro was the daughter of Mr. Hong’s younger brother, making her Joshua’s cousin. She used to visit often during vacations when you were both children. Now, she still came by when she could but her studies and work kept her busy, and you could not help feeling pride and admiration for all that she had accomplished. You could never stop feeling amazed and proud of her. Always happy about her visits, except today, and you don't think she's particularly happy with it either.
She sees you and sighs, brushing her hair back as she says, “Well, let’s be off then.”
You follow her in silence to the car and slide into the back seat beside her. There is nothing to say; everything has already been almost set. The Hongs intend for you to marry their older brother’s son.
Ro is now clearly frustrated with the silence, leans forward and states, “you mustn’t agree to this, you hear me?”
You exhale and reply, “I thought you were clever enough to understand, Ro.”
“Huh?”
You meet her gaze for a moment and explain, “how can I refuse when they have the final say in this?”
“Then you speak up. Say no. I will see that they hear reason.”
You nod your head as a no, “This is the world I live in, Ro.”
“You reject it, and I will speak to everyone myself.”
You gape at her, bewildered, “How in the world can you even think of rejecting them? They are not mine to refuse. I am only a maid’s daughter.”
Ro gives you a look, “And yet, you still have a voice. You must use it if you will not suffer the rest of your life, Y/N.”
You lower your eyes and murmur quietly to yourself, “Perhaps it is fate.”
She scoffs hearing it, “Fate be damned. Even if you do nothing, I will not allow this to happen. To be wed to a man more than a decade older than you is disgusting.”
You sit up straighter hearing it and press your hands into your lap, “It is all right, Ro. Please, I beg you.”
She stares at you and whispers, “Do you really agree to marry that idiot?”
You glance down at your fingers twisting together, “I cannot afford such luxury. Mother would be devastated if a scene were made.” You hold her hand in between both of yours and plead, “I do not wish for this, Ro. Please, do not speak or act on my behalf. You cannot understand how it would affect me and my mother’s relationship with the family.”
Ro frowns, her voice sounds hard but still so sincere, “you think me lowly for caring about you as my friend?”
You shrink into yourself, muttering apologies under your breath, sorry, picking at your fingers.
She exhales, “I understand you. You and your mother have no standing, that is correct. But I care for you, and I don’t want to sit still while you are coerced into misery. I should still try… I am really sorry, Y/N… I don’t know what I can do for you.”
You know she is desperate to save you from the marriage and wants you to speak up even though she knows you can’t. Her heart is filled with worry, and even if she were to intervene and tell them it is wrong, you both know there would still only be a fifty-fifty chance of making a difference.
You squeeze her hand, “It is quite all right, and I’m sorry for fretting so much over it. I did not want to act this way.”
She ruefully sighs and replies, “Don’t you fret either. I’m sorry for carrying on and getting so riled up when I knew full well what could and could not be done.”
You smile and stay mostly quiet throughout the ride. Mr. and Mrs. Hong had sent you and Ro to go shopping together for some dresses for the occasion when Mr. Hong’s older brother, his wife, and their son would be coming over for dinner to see you, or rather, to observe you as part of the arrangements.
At some point in the middle of the shopping, you ask why this was necessary, even though you already probably know the answer. Ro stops, looks at you and finally says, “Don’t you know already?” You shrug, so she adds, “Okay yeah, I get it. It is to set the stone better as hearing it from someone else will make it the truth for you, even if you already guessed it.”
You nod even if your heart sinks a little at the confirmation and that she knows your unfortunate intention.
Simon Hong, the eldest son of the family, has already been married four times. Two of those marriages were public and widely discussed, though the last two were kept low-key. Ordinary people in society might not even be aware of them except for those who follow the fashion and business world actively. The last two unions were private to protect the family’s reputation of having alleged problematic character issues.
This marriage is the family’s last desperate attempt to get him to start a family so he can rightfully inherit, Ro shares her family’s thought process and plan.
The pieces fall into place as you expected, and since you wanted to hear from her anyway. You understand now why Mr. and Mrs. Hong would want you, the maid’s daughter, for such a plan. They respect the family hierarchy above all else, even their own and their children, which further proved Ro’s words, Without children, the business will pass to the next eldest who has a family and can prove himself a proper family man.
They really want to try their everything before no options are left and they choose a different heir.
Mr. Hong has always been loyal to his family and especially to his brothers, and he would not think twice about placing his maid’s daughter into this arrangement. They probably do not even fully understand what they are doing, but to them, it is convenient. You are reliable, and within reach.
You and Ro finish shopping and return to the house together. She stays for dinner with you and your mother. Both of her uncles are there, along with her parents who arrived while you were out, and cousin Simon,
Tonight was always meant to end in a decision that had already been made. Ro looked bothered and conflicted through the entire meal.
You come down in the dress Ro helped you choose. Your mother stops in her tracks when she sees you, before she smooths the fabric at your shoulder and smiles. She does not want this arrangement to happen, but she has no say. She avoids the subject completely and keeps a polite smile on her face from start to finish.
Simon laughs as you approach with the platter. “You know,” he says to Ro’s father, “I was just telling Second Uncle that the city council is full of men who talk big and do nothing.”
Mr Hong chuckles. “That is politics for you.”
Simon agrees with a nod. “A man needs a strong hand. Too much softness ruins a country.”
Ro keeps chewing her carrot. “Funny,” she says flatly. “People say the same about spoiled sons.”
They don’t say anything, but then laughter steps over it. Simon smiles like it was funny to him. “You are always so smart, Ro.”
She hums. “And you were always stupid.”
Mrs Hong clears her throat gently. “Eat while it is warm.”
You set the platter down after you are done with this one, and pick up another. Simon looks up at you. “Still so quiet, Y/N,” he says. “You are the same girl always following your mother about. I remember that.” He’s being conversational.
You bow your head. “Yes, sir.” You were never close to him growing up. You probably saw him once or twice with his ex-wives when you were a teenager, usually while you were playing with Ro and Joshua in this Hong household.
“A good child,” his mother adds while smiling at you like you are a thing she remembers fondly. “Obedient girls grow into proper women.”
“Or very tired ones,” Ro speaks.
Her mother gives her a look. “Ro.”
“I’m eating,” Ro replies calmly, lifting her fork in her hand with a bored look.
And the conversation rolls on without you. Mr Hong speaks of trade routes. “The Americans are pushing harder this year.”
Ro’s father agrees. “A man must protect what is his.”
“And what he will pass on. An empire without heirs is just borrowed time.” Simon adds.
His father smiles as if his son said something prideful. “That is correct.”
Mrs Hong glances at you briefly, but it wasn’t unkind. He is usually never unkind, too busy to be so. Simon continues. “A man builds, and a woman keeps the house stable so he may build.”
Ro looks at him and tilts her head with a scoff. “It must be nice to only do one thing.”
“You’d make a terrible wife.” Simon mocks.
“How devastating,” Ro makes a face at him. “I imagine I shall manage.”
The wives exchange smiles as if indulging her. When Simon finds his voice, he speaks again. “Stability is what matters. A home needs order and a woman who understands her place.”
Ro sets her fork down. “And a man who understands his limit.”
Mr Hong chuckles to ease and make the dinner a little less awkward. “Young people always argue like this.”
Simon looks at you again as you pass behind his chair. “She was always so sweet, never giving trouble. Don’t understand why she accompanied that not so civil girl.”
Ro chooses to ignore it when your mother answers quickly before she throws a knife at him. “She has always known her duties.”
It took a great deal of convincing, but Ro agrees not to interfere. She almost wanted to speak up after seeing Simon’s face in the house, but did not for your sake. Now she swallows her frustration and sits through the dinner in silence. Even so, she understands your position as she always has.
The families had already spoken in private and agreed in principle. This dinner is only a formal and social acknowledgment of what has been decided. They follow proper form because it is expected of them. The expectation placed on you is simple. You are expected to comply, and you will.
The soup has already been cleared when Mrs. Hong’s sister-in-law sits back in her chair “Mrs. Lee, you raised an admirable daughter,” she says. “You did a great job.”
Your mother’s hands stop before she folds them together. “That is kind of you to say, Mrs. Hong,” she replies.
As if the matter is settled, she nods, “a girl like this does not come from chance. She is dutiful and well brought up here.”
You keep your eyes on the table. The edge of your plate feels cool beneath your fingers as you keep touching it not knowing how to feel. You know better than to speak. Simon’s mother clears her throat. “Simon has always required a certain… patience,” she says, smiling. “He has lived a full life.”
“Mother, you can drop it,” Simon says.
His mother chuckles. “No, why? There is nothing to be embarrassed of. A man must grow before he settles. Experience makes him.”
The hypocrisy here, Nothing to be embarrassed of, as if this were not their final attempt to find him a wife. As if no one had ever refused him. They would never say it aloud, but everyone knows why they chose you. They are desperate enough now to offer a maid’s daughter, someone who would stay.
“Precisely,” Mrs. Hong says. “Those years were not wasted. They taught him what he needs now.”
Ro just gulps her rice and forces herself to not pay attention to what is being said.
Simon’s mother reaches for her teacup and turns back to your mother. “We wanted to ask you something, Mrs. Lee. As a courtesy.”
“Yes?” Your mother looks up from the table.
The woman’s tone remains gentle. “Does your daughter have any objections to this arrangement?”
The room is now silent for one answer. Your mother glances at you for half a minute, then looks back down at her hands. You can see she’s stifling before they can be noticed by others.
You don’t know what you want her to do. Part of you hopes she will stand up for you and herself, say something reckless, ruin everything. Another part of you wants her to stay safe. “No,” she says. “She does not.”... You would rather keep the relationship with the Hong family intact.
You know why she says it. You know why it has to be said this way. They raised you in their own way as you lived under their roof for years. You were fed at their table and clothed by their money. To object now would be seen as ungrateful, disrespectful, a betrayal. Neither you nor your mother can afford that.
So you sit there and say nothing as you have accepted what has already been decided. You do not say no even though every part of you wants to.
Because you cannot.
Simon’s mother smiles, satisfied and Mr. Hong says, “good, Harmony is important.”
Simon decides to comment after that short silence, “I look forward to a calmer household this time.”
Ro scoffs, almost laughing. “How fortunate for you.”
“I always am.”
Your mother clears her throat and rubs her hands together on her lap. You can tell she’s uncomfortable. “If it is agreeable to the family,” she says, “then it is agreeable to us.”
Mrs. Hong inclines her head. “Then we are all in understanding.”
Simon’s father looks at your mom with a sure of himself look. “It would be best not to delay,” he says. “A brief engagement serves no purpose. We propose that the wedding take place next week.”
“Next week?” Mrs. Hong repeats him. “That would be suitable.”
“Yes, we decided on this week for some time for preparations,” Mr. Hong adds. “The necessary arrangements will be handled at once.”
So for them a week is enough time, and not a short time…
Simon’s father says. “Efficiency is admirable.”
Ro’s fingers tighten around her fork and snaps her eyes at her uncle before swallowing down her food when you touch her hand under the table.
Simon’s mother turns toward you at last. “Y/N, you will be well provided for. The ceremony shall be modest yet proper with a small gathering of family.”
You incline your head, “yes, ma’am.” Your voice sounds stable but you are not sure how when you feel like your throat is breaking.
You sit still now that the conversation finally fully turned toward you. Your chest feels tight and beats very fast at the same time but you keep your face neutral with a slight smile so it is not offensive to anyone. This was never a question but a confirmation.
CARATS UNION TELEGRAM
NO. 137-B | 10 FEB 1921 | NEW YORK, NY | 05:08 PM
CLASS OF SERVICE: IMMEDIATE | CHECK: 46 WORDS
TO: MR. JOSHUA HONG
ADDRESS: THE GRAND CENTRAL HOTEL, CHICAGO, IL
MESSAGE:
YOU ARE TO RETURN HOME AT ONCE STOP SIMON HONG MARRIAGE ARRANGED WITH LEE Y/N STOP FAMILY WILL PROCEED SHORTLY MAKE YOUR ARRANGEMENTS AND COME WITHOUT DELAY STOP MATTERS HERE REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE AND THE BUSINESS FOR WHICH YOU WERE SENT WILL BE HANDLED STOP
[END OF TRANSMISSION]
-
You sit on the floor beside your bed with your back pressed against your bed with your knees drawn close and fingers twisted in the fabric of your skirt.
You are not sure when you began crying.
The tears are just falling without you making a sound out of your mouth. They slip down without permission and you wipe them away with the corner of your sleeve, irritated at yourself. Pressing your lips together, you try to breathe through your nose but it chokes you anyway. You reach for the small handkerchief on your bedside table and press it to your face, dabbing carefully to not irritate your skin and give away your state.
I should be happy, you repeat this to yourself as a mantra. You are to marry into a powerful, respected family. A household that rules half the fashion industry. It is the Hong family. What is wrong with becoming a Hong and marrying one of their sons? Nothing.
Nothing at all… except it is not the son you wanted. Your breath stops at that thought and you squeeze your eyes shut. It is foolish to think of him even now. It was always foolish.
Even though you knew it was wishful thinking, you always knew one day you would marry someone else; a man chosen for you. It isn’t right to think about him now—it is just a fantasy, an impossible thing—but the more you think, the more it hurts. You grew under the same roof and spent years walking beside him, spent nearly every waking moment together for years except the past couple of years for norms. He was the closest thing to comfort outside of your mother and Ro. After marriage, that will change, and the bitterness comes before you can swallow it. Just because one man could not keep a wife… just because one man failed four times. And now you must live where others would not. You are not even allowed to feel anything else—you have to be happy.
You press the cloth to your nose and sigh. You will not look pitiful for something that you do not have control over… and the door opens, making you stiffen.
Your mother stands there for a moment and takes in the sight of you on the floor. She sees the damp handkerchief in your hands and the red around your eyes that you tried so hard to calm.
She closes the door behind her, “oh, my sweet p—,” her voice breaks before she could talk properly.
You quickly straighten your back and force your mouth into a faint smile. “I am quite all right, Mother.” Your voice sounds foreign to you after not making a sound for a while.
She does not believe you of course. She crosses the room without hurry and lowers herself to the floor beside you despite the stiffness in her knees and she reaches for your face, “look at you,” she murmurs, “trying to be brave for me.” Her hands cup your cheeks.
Her thumbs brush the wetness beneath your eyes, and something inside you just… gives up.
You lean forward suddenly and wrap your arms around her. The sob tears out of you loudly and broken and humiliating. You bury your face in her shoulder and cling to her as if you are a child again.
She holds you with her one arm wrapped around your back. The other cradles the back of your head. Her fingers slip into your hair and scratch at your scalp the way she used to when you could not sleep. “Let it out,” she whispers. “Let it out, my heart.”
You cry even harder. It is just so hard to keep it all in after all that’s happening in such a short time. Your cries fill the room as your shoulders shake in her hold. You gasp for air between sobs and the more you try to breathe the worse it becomes. You feel foolish and ungrateful and weak, yet you cannot stop.
“I do not know why I am like this,” you somehow manage to let the choke out. “I should be glad. I should be grateful.”
“Hush,” she cradles you. “Do not scold yourself for this.”
You hold her tighter, “it hurts… e—everything feels… like the end.”
Her hand presses at the back of your head. “I know,” she hums. “I know, my darling.”
You cry until the tears turn into hiccups. Your throat hurts and your face feels swollen and hot. Your sobs start to quiet but they do not stop at once. She lets you weep against her as long as you need.
When you finally pull back from her arms, she wipes your cheeks with her own handkerchief. “My daughter,” she says while you see her gathering herself mentally. “Listen to me.” You nod looking at her with blurry eyes. “If I could give you a world where you may choose freely, I would… If I could offer you ten paths and say walk where you please, I would do so without hesitation.” Her eyes glisten even more and a drop of tear falls.
“Mother…” you feel like a child again.
“Yes, sweet pie… I am sorry that this is the world we have. It pains me that it must be so,” she continues. “But you know that you are not being sent into hardship, right? You are entering a house of standing. You will be protected and will never want for comforts.”
You lower your gaze, fingers twisting in your skirt, “I don’t know…”
“He is established,” she says. “He is provided for, so you will have security, servants of your own, a name that opens doors. Many girls would pray for such a fortune.”
You know what she means, but you also know what she cannot see. “He has experience,” she adds. “A man who has lived learns what he requires. Perhaps this time he will value someone.”
You let out a faint laugh that is basically another sob. “Mother,” you whisper. “It is difficult for me to accept.”
She eyes your face. “You wished for another reality,” she looks now sad.
You nod. “I did. I thought… I hoped… though I knew it was wishful. I wished…”
She sighs and smooths your hair back from your forehead. “My dear… we are not in a position to choose. We must be wise with what is placed before us.” You close your eyes trying not to let more tears fall as you take in her implications. “Beggars cannot choose their portion,” she’s not continuing cruelly but with the logic of the society. “We must see the good and hold to it with dignity.”
You lift your head. “But must a woman always barter her heart for comfort? Is there no room in this world for wanting something… wanting something we want?”
The question hangs between you before she cups your cheek. “Wanting is a luxury afforded to very few,” she replies with sadness in her eyes. “Security is not a small gift… you should know that respectability is not a small thing as well. A woman’s happiness is often from what she makes of her circumstances, not from the circumstances themselves. You have to understand these, sweet pie.”
“I—I fear I shall fail at that. I fear I shall stand in that-t house and fe—feel nothing but absence,” your lips tremble.
Her thumb brushes beneath your eye. “You will not fail… you have grace and patience in you. A household may be attended by the woman who keeps it. You may bring peace where there has been none. They will appreciate you.”
“And if he does not?”
“Then you shall still have your duty fulfilled and your place secured,” she answers but not unkind. “Affection may grow where it is watered. Many marriages begin in arrangement and end in companionship. Maybe it is the case for you.”
Maybe, it is always uncertain. You look at her wounded. “But mother… I do not wish to be with him. I do not wish to fix what other women could not.”
“You may not have to,” she replies. “Sometimes presence alone is enough.”
Hopelessly, you say, “really?”
She draws you back into her arms, holding you close once more. “Yes, really. You are strong,” she whispers against your hair. “Stronger than you believe. And although the world may not bend to your wishes, you may yet stand within it with your head held high.”
You do not answer and simply sit there in her embrace, listening to the beat of her heart and wondering how something can feel so inevitable and so unbearable at the same time.
After some time passes, you whisper, “I do not want to lose everything.”
“You will not lose me,” she says immediately to at least reassure you.
“And him?” The word accidentally slips free and her hand pauses in your hair but she does not rebuke you. You try to cover it and change the topic, “I mean her…”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Ro… What if we are not as close? What if this marriage changes that too?” You lie. You very well know you won't lose her unless you're completely disconnected from the outside world and basically held hostage. You know it might not be the case but it still can be. Nothing can yet be said about how they'll treat you after marriage, considering he doesn't have a really good reputation.
Your mom chuckles and says, “Dummy, of course not! How will she leave you out? Ro would storm that household herself before she let anyone cut you off entirely. I promise that she would be the first to tug a gentleman by the ear if he dared keep you from her company.”
Despite yourself, you still smile. “I fear it all feels so… fragile,” you admit. “As if… as if, once I step across that threshold, the door shall close behind me.”
She holds your hands when you avoid her eyes. “My sweet pie, friendships that are true do not vanish at the signing of a register. Nor do… affections simply go away because they are inconvenient.” Your breath falters as she smooths your sleeve to comfort you. “Some attachments are not meant to be kept in the open air, but that,” she looks straight into your eyes, “does not mean they were foolish.”
You are now unsure if she’s speaking of Ro at all or just being general. So you defend and clear yourself in case. “I would never be so improper, Mother. I know my duty as a friend.”
She gives you a gentle look that feels far too perceptive. “Of course you do. You have always known more than you let on.”
You lower your gaze when you feel your cheeks warm for reasons that have nothing to do with crying. “I only wish to remain… myself,” you say after a moment. “Not to disappear into someone else’s household as if I were only furniture newly delivered.”
“You shall never be furniture,” she replies. “You are far too spirited for that. A new name does not erase the girl who bore the first one.” Her fingers brush your cheek. “You will write, you will visit, you will keep those you love close in the ways that are permitted by your husband. Life alters its shape but it does not steal every sweetness from us, darling.”
You nod even though your heart hurts again. Lips start to tremble and just as you were able to break down again, she tilts your chin upward.
“You must not only act happy,” she brushes your cheek. “You must learn to find your peace within it. That is how we survive.”
“I will try.”
“I know.” She presses her forehead for a second to yours. “Cry tonight,” she murmurs. “Tomorrow you will stand tall.”
You lean into her again while no longer sobbing but still shaking for hiccups. You decide to let her hold you until you feel strong enough to stand tall. You accept your fate; I cannot let my mother down.
The wedding preparations were already halfway through, and today their trusted tailor had come in for the last fitting. The creamy ivory dress hung on you like it had been made just for you... which it was. It is your first time wearing something so perfect. Most of the design had been chosen by your future mother in law, but you could at least say you liked it. You had learned long ago that every choice the family made was final, and every nod you gave was expected. Saying no was not expected.
There would be no engagement announcement or drawn-out ceremonies—only the wedding itself. The Hong family had decided to host a small estate gathering before the main event. From what you had pieced together (mostly from Ro), it was a way to rebrand Simon and you. After four failed marriages, they wanted him to appear as a man who had finally settled down and chose a humble and virtuous bride, and to weave you smoothly into his life while making sure their inner circle would approve.
Your background, even if not remarkable in their eyes, could raise questions, and the gathering would make sure there were enough witnesses to smooth over any whispers after the wedding. It was all very planned with careful choreography to keep the public from blinking twice when the news reached them.
Everything was to be lowkey because the Hong family had drilled you on your part in the script. They had taught you how to greet the guests, how to pour drinks, how to keep conversation light yet poised, and how to nod at most of their discussions without giving yourself away. You knew the lines to say if someone commented on Simon’s previous marriages, how to smile when a distant cousin scrutinized your posture, and how to keep your eyes polite so no one would suspect your own discomfort.
Even though the gathering was meant to show you in the best light, the thought of it wasn’t really sitting right with you. You were playing a part and performing for people who would soon judge not just Simon but you too. Yet you had no choice but to memorize every posture, every smile, every line, and execute them as if you had been born into this world of power and scrutiny.
Joshua wasn’t home yet and it seemed the wedding would go ahead without him. Only two days had passed since that dinner where the arrangement had been formally confirmed, and you assumed they had already informed him. But the thought of seeing him filled you with both fear and longing. You don’t know how you would act when he will return, or if he would even come for the wedding. He had never cared much about Simon’s previous marriages and always joked about it with you and Ro, and perhaps it would be the same now. The business trip sounded important.
As the managing director, his responsibilities were a lot, and you weren’t sure how he would leave everything behind in his trip to come here. Yet some part of you hope he might. Mostly because you know Mr. Hong places importance on Joshua being present for almost everything for him to witness and participate in family matters. And yet, here he was absent right now and not back home
Still, you wanted to believe he would return before the wedding. You clung to the hope that you might see him one last time and will be able to make some peace with your feelings before leaving the only home you had known under his father’s roof. The possibility alone made your heart both race and sink, because you did not know whether seeing him would soothe the hurt or magnify it.
The estate was brighter than you had ever seen it. Every window was lit and the chandeliers glowed so pretty. Music came from the corner where a pianist sat, playing.
Your hand rested lightly on Simon’s arm as he escorted you inside. His sleeve was crisp beneath your fingers, but you made sure your grip was not clinging and just enough to appear natural and proper.
“Stand a little closer,” he murmured coldly without looking at you, but you obeyed.
Mr. and Mrs. Hong waited near the entrance of the main hall. Mrs. Hong’s eyes swept over you, checking the fall of your dress and if you were carrying yourself like taught. She gave the smallest nod.
“Everyone,” Mr. Hong’s voice carried without effort, “this is the young woman who will soon join our family.”
You lowered your head slightly in greeting as you had been taught. Mrs. Hong smiled at the guests and you. “She has always been a devoted presence.” Devoted, that was the word they had chosen. You know at least Mr. and Mrs. Hong mean no harm, this is how they have always been.
A couple approached you and Simon. A man with silver on his wrist and a woman draped in emerald silk. “And this is Mr. and Mrs. Davenport,” Simon said, placing his hand at the small of your back. “Old friends of the family.”
“How lovely,” Mrs. Davenport eyes on your face. “You must be very happy.”
“Yes, miss,” you replied. “I am grateful for the kindness the Hong family has shown me.” Script, line three. But yes, you are grateful for the kindness Mr. and Mrs. Hong have always shown you.
Simon smiled at the couple and began speaking about business. You listened without listening as the words washed past you like distant rain.
More introductions followed, all while names blurred together. You just remembered to keep your chin lifted and your shoulders relaxed. You remembered not to speak unless spoken to.
Eventually Simon’s attention moved fully to a cluster of men near the fireplace. “Stay close,” he ordered.
Then he did not check whether you followed. You stood beside him for a few moments as he spoke about overseas investments and shipment routes. The men laughed loudly at something you did not catch. Their bodies formed a half circle that did not include you.
After a while Simon excused himself to greet someone across the room. You were not invited along…
Your arm felt strangely light without his. It is not like you are attached to him now; you barely know this man. You are going to be wedded but you do not know him outside of scandals.
You moved toward the long table set with food. Silver trays held pastries and carved meats, crystal bowls glistened with sugared fruit. You folded your hands in front of you and pretended to examine the arrangement.
You did not personally know anyone here.
Ro had chosen not to attend as she had work to finish and perhaps she understood you would not want her watching this. Or perhaps she simply did not want to witness it without speaking her mind and thrashing everyone present.
A server approached with a tray. “Champagne, miss?”
You hesitated, then you remembered the instruction. Accept what is offered. Refusing draws attention from just about anywhere without you even knowing, “yes, thank you.”
The stem felt thin between your fingers. The bubbles rose quickly and caught the light. You had seen champagne before; you had poured it for others but you had never truly tasted it. You lifted it to your lips and took a cautious sip.
It was lighter than you expected. To you it felt sharp at first, then soft, and then the warmth followed slowly down your throat. And you still managed to keep your expression neutral.
Do not look curious, you told yourself. Do not look inexperienced.
Across the room laughter burst again near Simon, but he did not look your way.
You wondered if Joshua had already been told about tonight. He’s probably told. You wondered if he would have stood beside you differently... even as your friend. You wondered if he would have left you alone like this. Stop! This is not about him. You took another small sip and swallowed it all down.
Now for the first time this evening you felt how alone you truly were in a room full of witnesses.
You see two familiar figures walking toward you through the crowd, both wearing the same amused smile, “Y/N!” they call out together.
Your shoulders loosen before you even realize it. Finally. You ease just a little after seeing familiar faces.
You have known them almost as long as you have known Joshua. Childhood afternoons come to mind. Their parents were family friends, so it was never strange to see them. Sometimes they came over with Joshua, sometimes you ended up at their place instead with Joshua.
Hoshi reaches you first, slightly out of breath as if he hurried. Vernon follows right behind him with his hands tucked into his coat pockets while his eyes are soft but observant.
“Look at you.” Hoshi looks you over with exaggerated disbelief. “You are actually getting married.”
Vernon’s lips curving into a small smile. “It’s been a while.”
“You two came,” you say relieved.
“Of course we did,” Hoshi says as if the idea of not coming is ridiculous. “Our parents would’ve dragged us here even if we did not. We had to come.”
You chuckle, “I am glad you two are here.”
“So you are really getting married?”
“We thought it was a joke at first,” Vernon says.
You laugh even though it now feels strange in your throat. “I wish it was.”
They both exchange a quick look. “We were just surprised,” Vernon admits, "nothing else… it happened so suddenly.”
Hoshi nods. “And to him? Really?”
There is no harsh tone in his voice, just purr confusion. It makes you feel seen without feeling humiliated. They don’t look at you like you are a victim and just talk to you like they always have.
You glance down at your hands. “It was arranged quickly.”
“Yeah,” Hoshi mutters. “We heard from Mr. Hong.”
You know what he means but neither of them says it directly in a way that would embarrass you.
Vernon moves his weight from one to another and looks around the hall. “Where is he anyway?”
You hesitate, but you do not want to sound pathetic. “He stepped out…”
Hoshi’s eyebrows lifted, “he left you alone?”
You shrug lightly as if it does not matter. But of course it does. “It is fine, there are people around.” Strangers, your mind corrects. People who smile too much and ask questions you do not want to answer.
Hoshi’s expression tightens for a second, then he straightens and presses his hands together. “Good thing we’re here then.”
Something in your chest softens at that. You did not realize how tense you were until now. Being near them feels normal as you have seen them around, growing up. You remember running in the garden as kids. Sometimes arguing with Hoshi, sometimes going quiet with Vernon.
“Have you seen Josh? We can’t find him anywhere.” Hoshi asks.
Your heart stutters but you keep your face calm. “Uh— he’s not in New York right now.”
They look at each other, “he’ll show up,” Hoshi says even though it sounds more like he is convincing himself.
“Yeah, but anyway, how’s school?” Vernon asks.
“Still overworking yourself?” Hoshi adds with a teasing smile.
You roll your eyes. “Some things never change.”
You realize you are smiling properly now and it’s not the polite smile you have been wearing all evening. You also realize something else. With them, you do not feel judged as they are not treating you like a bride on display. They are not measuring you. They are just… with you even if now you are worried how it might seem from the outside to be talking to men for such a long time.
A staff member approaches hurriedly and whispers something to Vernon. He nods to the staff, “looks like we are being summoned,” he says with a sigh.
Hoshi groans. “Duty calls.” You feel the comfort slipping away too and it must show on your face because, “We’ll be back,” he says firmly.
“Yeah,” Vernon agrees. “Don’t disappear on us.”
You manage a nod. “I won’t.”
Vernon offers you one last reassuring look before both of them walk away. As they walk away, you watch them blend into the crowd. The noise returns to full volume and the lights feel brighter again. You fold your hands together in front of you to keep them from shaking.
So meanwhile, you stroll around the hall, and stop only when someone calls your name. You bow lightly and introduce yourself again and again. You nod at congratulations that feel too much instead of warm.
Your cheeks hurt from smiling but you tell yourself this is normal and this is how these events go. You are supposed to look happy and be agreeable.
“Y/N.” You turn to find Simon is walking toward you with a group of men. Hoshi and Vernon are with him and that alone makes you feel slightly at ease. Simon places a hand lightly at your back as he reaches you. “These are my friends,” he introduces. “Sam, Eric. Mark.”
They each greet you with smiles and you bow politely. “Nice to finally meet you,” Mark forwards his hand for a shake and you return it politely.
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Eric says. You do not ask what that means.
Hoshi steps closer to your side, as Vernon stands slightly behind you.
“We’re going to play King’s Cup,” Simon says. “Just for fun. You should join.”
This does not feel appropriate right now with people you barely know, but everyone is looking at you. You are supposed to be easygoing and fit in to always say, yes, like the script said.
Just as you were about to give an answer, Hoshi spoke first. “I think Mrs. Hong was calling you.”
You blink and take the cue to escape this situation like it is a lifeline. Excusing yourself, you glide toward her, curtsying slightly as you approach.
Mrs. Hong looks up and smiles warmly. “You are well, I hope? Not tired from all this?”
You shake your head, signalling a no, “not at all, thank you.”
Her eyes go toward the grand hall where the music and chatter swell. “And where is Simon?” she tilts her head with the faintest frown.
“He went to play,” your hands feel clammy against your dress.
Mrs. Hong inclines her head, a small approving nod. “Very well, then. Stay here with us.” She gestures for you to sit beside her, and you sink into the chair. Simon’s mother joins shortly after, offering a kind looking smile.
Occasionally, your own mother comes by to exchange scripted pleasantries. She is careful, the picture of the bride’s mother, leaving you space while she maintains appearances like the Hongs told her to. Everything around you is scripted as they need to make it appear as if this marriage is arranged purely by virtue, and that Simon is a paragon of selflessness, marrying not for wealth or status but for goodness and propriety. Every smile by you, your mother and the Hongs are a rehearsed tableau meant to convince their inner circle that they are saints, above the petty concerns of worldly gain, and that you, the bride, are chosen for your modesty and grace rather than anything else.
The clink of flutes, the shuffle of silk skirts, the laughter and business talks around you—everything is something that is not yours. You feel the pull of isolation, yet strangely it is a comfort to have Hoshi and Vernon nearby. Even if Simon is elsewhere immersed in his own world with friends and acquaintances, you can lean on the thought that you at least know someone you can trust in here. Joshua is not here, and you’d be lying if you said you did not hope to see him somehow appear even if you know better.
The night goes on, and eventually, the gathering winds down. Guests begin to take leave and you rise when it is time. “Thank you for coming,” you tell Simon’s mother, bowing.
Simon appears for the first in hours and extends his hand, a polite smile on his face. “I hope the evening was good,” his tone disinterested and you nod, returning the smile even though it feels brittle.
You bow again and step away, relief curling through you now that the ordeal is over.
—
Back in your room the house feels emptier than it did all evening. Your mother is still downstairs serving Mr. and Mrs. Hong. You heard Mrs. Hong say they wished to speak with her privately, and you assume it is about the wedding.
You sit before your mirror and begin unpinning your hair. You like to think that you are calm about everything now. It is what it is. After tonight’s gathering you understand your place more clearly than ever. Beggars cannot be choosers. By the time you finish your bath and slip into your nightdress the clock is nearing midnight.
You are just reaching for the lamp when there is a knock. Before you can turn fully, the door opens. He stands there.
Joshua’s hair is disheveled as if he has run his hands through it a thousand times. His coat hangs open and tries to be careful about something. Maybe because it is midnight and he is here instead. The lamplight catches the strain in his face.
“Are you serious?” is the first thing he says.
You freeze where you stand, shocked. “You cannot be here.”
“Are you serious?” he repeats as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. His voice is shaking but not in an intimidated way. “Tell me this is a joke. Tell me I am mistaken.”
You know what he is talking about. “It is not a joke.”
He stares at you as if you have just stabbed him. “Do you want this?”
You lift your chin with no shame even though your hands tremble at your sides. Like your mother said, you are strong. You can handle this. “It is decided.”
“That is not what I asked.” He moves closer as his eyes keep searching yours desperately. You are not sure what he is looking for, but it is hurting you to see him like this. “Do you want this?”
“It makes no difference whether I desire it or not, Joshua,” you try your best you say, willing your voice not to shake.
“For God’s sake, just tell me!”
You look away from him and focus on moving things around the side table as a distraction. “Do not make a spectacle of this and ruin my life.”
“Ruin your life?” he laughs bitterly. “Marrying him will ruin your life.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know him.” He runs a hand over his face and begins pacing your small room. The space feels too tight for his height and his... you don’t know what. “I heard the news and I left that very hour. I did not even finish what I went for. I came home because of you.”
The words land somewhere deep in you and you calm yourself against the side of the vanity.
“You should not have…” You knew that he obviously will have to be present just because his father said… but not for you. But that can be plausible as well because you are one of his closest friends and you both care about each other as friends… or at least he does. You crossed that line long ago.
He stops in front of you. “Say no. At least to me say no. Tell me you do not want this and I will handle the rest.”
Your heart pounds so loudly you fear he can hear it. “You cannot handle this!”
“Watch me.” His hands find your shoulders and he grips them as if he can shake sense into you. “Look at me.” You do… and you find his eyes are bright and wild and unbearably earnest.
“Tell me you wish to marry him,” he says. “Tell me that and I will walk out that door.”
“I am content.” You force the words past your throat.
He looks so disappointed as if you have told him a reality was a lie. His hands fall away. “Content,” he repeats to himself.
“You are not from my world!” your voice rises, “you do not understand. This is security to me! Beggars cannot be choosers!”
“You are not a beggar.”
“I am,” you answer, the truth bitter on your tongue. “In this house I am! To them I am! They are doing me a favor!” you scream at him, frustrated at him for not understanding.
“Please, Y/N… I know they did not even ask you… or-or did not once think of what you might want bu—”
“That is how it is,” you snap, interrupting him. “It has always been how it is.”
He turns away and sinks onto the side of your bed, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair. The sight of him there breaks something inside you. He looks less like the confident son of a powerful family and more like a boy who has lost his way. “I thought I had time,” the fight gone from his tone. “I thought when I returned we would speak properly. I thought…” he lets the sentence die on his lips.
No one says anything for sometime and he stays there sitting. You step closer even though you do not want to be near him or you might break. “Please leave,” you whisper weakly. “If anyone sees you here at this hour…”
“I do not care.”
“I do.”
He looks up at you then, and all the fury in him folds into something raw and hurtful. “You think I am trying to shame you?”
“No.”
“Then why will you not let me fight for you?” Because no one ever wins against the elders, because your mother bowed her head and called it fortune, because you have learned to accept what is offered and be grateful for it.
You press your lips together. “You will only make it worse.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
He stands up and takes your hands in his. His hold is gentle on your hand, “if you do not want him, say it. Just once. I will take the blame. I will speak to them. I will bear it, please.”
For a moment you imagine saying it and the relief of letting the truth spill free, but you see your mother’s tired smile. You see the gratitude in her eyes and how the elders looked at you tonight as if they had bestowed a blessing. When you open your eyes you have already chosen. “You should go,” you mutter to him. “I am to be married. That is all there is to it.”
He again searches your face for something that is not there. When he finds nothing, his shoulders slump. “You are making a mistake,” he whispers, really wanting you to listen to him.
“Perhaps.”
He steps back toward the door, then stops with his hand on the handle. “If he ever harms you,” he thinks it through, “if he ever makes you regret this, I will not stand by.” He turns to go.
“Wait,” the word leaves you before pride can stop it. He faces you, “why are you behaving in this manner?” you ask, keeping your voice low even though your heart is anything but calm. “Why must you make it so difficult?”
He stares at you as if you have said something absurd. “Do you truly not know?”
“If I knew, I would not ask.”
He sighs. “So you would have me stand by and offer congratulations. You would have me smile and shake his hand.”
“You should,” you say. “You should be happy for me.”
“I am not!” The words break from him louder than he intends.
A sound carries from the corridor outside making both of you freeze. “Lower your voice,” you whisper urgently. “Do not raise it.”
He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a breath. “Forgive me.” Silence comes again before he speaks up, “I am trying… I am trying to behave as a gentleman ought. I am trying to respect your word, but you ask too much of me.”
“You cannot say such things all at once,” you murmur. “You cannot come here at midnight and speak in riddles.”
“In riddles?” He steps closer, frustration flashing in his eyes. “What would you have of me then? Am I not permitted even to speak my mind? You are free to cast your life where you please, yet I must hold my tongue?”
“You misunderstand me.”
“Do I?” He runs a hand through his hair and begins pacing again in the small room hardly containing him. “I meant to return home properly and not to this… mess.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you are ruining your life and I can not let that happen!!”
He ignores your question and stops before you and in two quick strides he is near enough that you feel the warmth of him off him. His hands find your shoulders once more and he gives you a small desperate shake. “Please, please, let me see to this.”
“No.”
“I can do it.” His voice is urgent now though still hushed. “I am telling you I can speak to them myself. I can end it.”
“You will not.”
“I refrain only because I will not have you feel dishonored,” he insists. “Because if by some miracle you truly wished for this, I would not shame you before them. But I know you. You do not.”
Anger flares in you then. “And what will you do when my mother is cast aside?” you demand. “When the Hongs withdraw their favor? She has given them years of loyalty. You would undo it in a night! WILL YOU TAKE US IN?!”
“I will,” he says without hesitation. The certainty in his voice steals the breath from your lungs, but it is so stupid. “I would take you both away from it,” he continues. “I would see that neither of you lacked for anything. I would bear whatever comes of it.”
You see in his face that this is no idle promise. Something inside you scares at the thought that it is everything you once wished to hear and everything you cannot afford. He will risk perhaps lose more than you dare imagine if it is what you think it is. Does he… “You speak as if it were simple,” your voice is not as calm as you would like.
“It is simple.” He steps even closer.
“You do not know what you are saying.”
“I know precisely.” His hands fall from your shoulders yet he does not retreat. “I can lose the good opinion of men who matter less to me than they think, but I cannot lose you to a mistake you believe yourself obliged to make.”
Your throat tightens, “Really no need to give up anything. It is not so serious”
“For you,” he says, and there is no hesitation once again. “I would give you the world if you asked it of me. I would set the stars at your feet if I had the power. Only say the word.”
The room feels too small for such promises, and for the hope that dares to rise in your chest. You cannot allow it or let it become real. “You must not say these things,” you tell him, forcing insistence into your tone. “They lead nowhere good.”
“They lead exactly where they ought.”
“They lead to ruin.”
“Then let it be mine.”
You close your eyes for a moment because if you look at him any longer you fear you will falter. “No,” you say at last. “You must go.”
He searches your face once more as if praying for some sign that you will give up on your stubbornness. You give him none. After a long aching pause, his hand falls from yours. He steps back looking deflated. “I would have fought them for you,” he whispers to you. “Remember that.”
You do not trust yourself to answer. At last he turns and slips out into the corridor. The door shuts with a click that sounds far louder than any shout.
You stand there listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor. Only then do you allow yourself to sink onto the bed where he sat, pressing your hands to your face so the house will not hear you breathe. Now you know that what he offered was everything you once dreamed of, and everything you have just refused.
—
In the days after that night, you and Joshua found a way to speak again. You could tell he was forcing it for you, just as Ro was. The two of them had, in a way, formed a sort of alliance and were cold and distant. But she however remained the same formidable sweetheart who would stop her sulking the moment you chose to withdraw yourself. While Joshua… did not. He stayed polite and a bit distant. In front of others he was perfectly himself, composed and charming, and friendly. From what you saw, it saddened you to witness the very thing you had feared… losing your friend in this way.
The morning of your wedding arrived soon enough, and you woke up and stared at the ceiling for a long while before anyone came to fuss over you. You got dressed and finally got married. It was as simple as that.
You saw Joshua only once that day. He attended, as he always does what is socially proper and he left early. Still, he left early. It was nice to see him all the same.
i loved ur dick hcs for the whb kings! if u can, can u pls also do hcs for eligos, foras, amon, and gamigin? tysm 🤍
Hi ! Sorry for the delay, and thank you so much for your request :(
Ilysm for picking some of my fave nobles ugh, I also tried to be more specific with this one, hope I don't get shadowbanned haha
𝗪𝗛𝗕
𝙉𝙊𝘽𝙇𝙀𝙎
𝗗𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦
GN! Pronouns
𝘾𝙒: NSFW, Mentions of Cum and Sexual Intercourse.
𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘼𝙎
19 cm / 7.4 Inches
Why do I have the HC that every Hades noble has a beautiful dick?
Not that girthy but looooong, it's that type of dick that somehow touches the right places e.v.e.r.y t.i.m.e, no curves, no particular shape, it's a mystery.
His friend is pretty normal looking, it's also kinda heavy so it kinda just hangs there, it also has a tanned-ish shade that makes a nice contrast with his skin color (15-1318 TCX)
One prominent vein begins at the base and fades at the half of it and one less prominent that goes through all its length, and yes, you can feel them.
He cums a normal amount, but it's stickyyyy so you feel like his dumping a whole liter of it, it's also kinda clear, very very pretty, and has a nice taste.
Not much of a grower, if you focus you can see it through his pants, so the surprise isn't huge.
𝙂𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉
21 cm / 8.2 Inches
Oh there it is
For the sake of this HC, one will be called D1 and the other will be D2
There's a reason why the MC was surprised when they found out he had two of them because, for some magical reason, he manages to hide them and does an amazing job at it.
They're the same size, but D2 is slightly more curved than the other, also both tips are the same shade (15-1516 TCX)
Both are extremely sensitive, D1's tip gets ultra sensitive sometimes and D2 cubs the second you grip its base.
D1 cums more than D2 and also tends to do it a few seconds quicker, individually they cum a lottt, together, well, it also tastes amazing, credits to Lucifer and his nutrition plans for it, it has a normal texture and a normal appearance.
He's a grower too, as I said before, there's a reason poor MC was surprised he could fit that in his pants.
𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙊𝙎
16 cm / 6.2 Inches
Top 5 prettiest dicks in the game, everything about it is perfect, the length, the width, the shape, it’s just like him, beautiful, you might even feel bad for putting it inside you.
His head leans on the thinner side and when he’s really aroused it gets ultra-sensitive and turns into a pretty shade of pale pink (12-1212 TCX)
Doesn’t have any prominent veins and its length turns girthier at the base, also no curve or anything, may I say again, it’s perfect.
He cums a looootttt, kinda watery and might not taste the best (because of his diet) but even this guy's cum looks pretty, a clear-ish shade of white that you can swear it’s even sparkly.
He's a grower, a HUGE grower, he might not be the biggest, but you definitely didn't expect what he had under his pants.
𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉
19 cm / 7.4 Inches
You’ve seen it, I’ve seen it, we’ve seen it.
I’m gonna be guessing that what we’ve CLEARLY seen is when it’s soft, he's not much of a grower, but its final length is considerable.
It curves upwards just a little bit, but that tiny curve feels heavenly, his base and tip are thinner than its body by some millimeters so it might hurt you a bit, but this sweet man will prep you for it ❤️
His cum also might not taste the best, but it's bearable, it's also very sticky and almost fully white, giving him a nice view when it's all over you.
Amon is shameless, he loves that you can see it through his pants, so you can get ready for what awaits you.
Oh and Tip is 16-1511 TCX.
𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉
18.5 cm / 7.2 Inches
Another one from the top 5 prettiest dicks in the game, but it’s not like Eligos’ that is simply perfect, no, Bathin’s is so pretty that it feels like someone carefully crafted it to look amazing.
The length and the girth fit perfectly with him, exactly 3 not too prominent veins adorning it and a tiny curve upwards, it always reaches the right places, only stings when he enters you the exact amount to feel good.
Tip can get really really pink when he’s too aroused, about 17-1926 TCX, and the rest of the length is about the same shade as his skin tone, maybe a tiny bit more tanned.
That one tiny curve, yeah that one, it does wonders, because his whole dick fits so perfectly inside you it’ll curve just the right way that you’ll see the stars.
His cum is as perfect as him, perfect texture, perfect color, perfect taste, doesn’t cum lots and it also kinda takes him a bit to let go, but it’ll be worth it.
He’s not a grower, you can see it through his pants, fully rigid only grows about an inch.
So... I don't know if I'm imagining it or if it is real but I was scrolling through your blog and I just had a thought... In a LOT of your drawings (especially the ones with John and Caro) has heart-shaped stuff. Like John's back pocket and hickey (that one's amazing btw)
Am I just seeing things or is it true?? Have you said anything before and I missed it?? 👀
AAHAHA I dunno, I think you might be imagining something....
JUST KIDDING yeah no, it IS deliberate! But not necessarily all the time because I love Love. Hearts are my favorite shape, they are pleasing to my eye because they are always kinda symmetrical even when they aren't if that makes sense, and I often use the shape to compose my art so it also pleases my eye. I like balance, and since a lot of what i draw is people being close, a heart shape helps me smoosh them into the same space in a nice way. I do this....a LOT as you can see haha! I like round soft shapes, so I also use hearts a lot when I'm sketching for example, Caro's Butt, characters chests, thighs and crossed legs. I'm making this sound complicated but all I really do is slap down some hearts like many people do squares or circles when drawing the figure in the sketch stage. Maybe thats why everyone I draw is so soft and rounded lmao.
Annnd yes I do also use them as a reoccurring shape because I love Love. I think the only thing people have ever really mentioned is the little hair boops I draw on the back on everyone heads and maybe the eye shines. But I do it with entire composition shape sometimes, reflective light and shadow, hickies (theres at least one other hickie art I can think of, I always make it a heart shape haha), lips cuz i don't know how to draw them lol, back pockets, rings and jewelry, etc. Even negative space cuz I love negative space.
this last one is probably my most obvious heart shape piece. Thank you for noticing that! It was really fun to go through and show you a little how I think when i draw haha! <3 <3 <3
Could you please write the part 7 cast (+Rohan) with a heavily pierced reader? (Can be romantic or platonic) I just want general headcanons and reactions especially since things like piercings weren’t common in the 1800s :3
Thanks a bunch!!! Love your blog btw (^‿^✿)
haha sure, this is lowkey perfect timing since i just got an industrial piercing the other day lol- no problem and tyyy- hope you enjoy, thank you for requesting! ^^
Gyro Zeppeli
Gyro is fascinated. Like, completely. He’s already a flashy, dramatic guy who loves to stand out, so your piercings feel like a kindred spirit thing to him.
“These little metal accessories for your face- GENIUS.”
He would touch them constantly. He just loves flicking the little studs and tugging on your hoops like a menace.
He would 100% compare them to his grillz.
If you had a lip piercing he would absolutely be like “doesn’t that hurt when you eat pasta??” and then try to “test” it by feeding you himself.
The type to want matching piercings with you just to brag.
Johnny Joestar
At first? Skeptical. He’s from a more conservative background, so seeing you with a bunch of shiny metal in your skin lowkey makes him nervous.
He’s like “did that… hurt??” and when you shrug it off, he’s even more confused.
Over time, though, he thinks it’s kinda cool. He’d never say it out loud, but he likes how unique you look.
Secretly worries about infections. Will quietly hand you clean water or bandages if you’re cleaning them.
He would get embarrassed staring at them when you’re close- like your lip or eyebrow piercings catch his eye and he forgets what he was saying.
Diego Brando
Oh, DIO??? He loves it. Immediately.
To him, it screams rebellion, power, uniqueness. He’s all about presentation and standing out, so your piercings are basically a mark of superiority in his eyes.
“You don’t care what society thinks of you. Good. That’s how it should be.”
He’s a little possessive about them, though. Like if anyone else comments on them, he’ll twist it around and be like, “Yes, of course they look amazing. They’re mine.”
Would probably encourage you to get even more. He just likes the way it unsettles “normal” people.
He finds lip/ear piercings ridiculously hot. Would pull you close just to toy with them between his teeth.
Hot Pants
She raises an eyebrow at first, but honestly? She doesn’t care that much. She’s practical and mission-driven- if your piercings don’t slow you down, then fine.
That being said, she would occasionally make sly little comments like, “Hope all that metal doesn’t weigh you down.”
If you had a nose or septum piercing, she’d tease you about being a “bull.” Deadpan. Never lets you live it down.
Secretly admires how bold you are, though. She won’t admit it out loud, but she likes that you’ve taken control of your appearance in such an unusual way.
If you’re close, she’d be the one to help you clean them without fuss- she treats it like patching up wounds.
Funny Valentine
He sees piercings as strange and indecent at first. Something that “goes against the noble image of America.”
He would definitely lecture you once or twice about “appearances” and “decorum.”
But here’s the gag: the more he sees you carry yourself confidently despite looking so unconventional, the more he begrudgingly respects it.
“...It is unusual. But perhaps it suits you.” (high praise from him lmao).
If he were romantically interested, he’d never admit how much the piercings draw his attention. Especially anything on your lips or ears. The contrast between his stiff, composed image and your rebellious one… he kinda likes it.
Rohan
Rohan??? He’s not shocked at all. Piercings are somewhat common in his world, so he barely bats an eye.
That being said- he’s extremely critical. He’ll analyze your piercings like they’re a fashion statement. “Those hoops are too big for your face shape. The studs, however, are balanced.”
Absolutely fascinated by the stories behind why you got them, though. He’d sketch you constantly and exaggerate the shine of the jewelry in his art.
Might even pressure you to get more just so he has new aesthetics to draw.
He lowkey loves the way piercings make you look distinct and “unordinary.” He finds inspiration in that, even if he acts like he’s above being impressed.
