#Gentlemen Dispute

[linuxgamenews]

Experience the Chaos: A Gentlemen’s Dispute Game Preview

A Gentlemen’s Dispute slapstick party brawler is due to release on Linux and Steam Deck with Windows PC, plus a Demo. Thanks to the creativity of Blast Furnace Games. Due to ignite and make its way onto Steam with its mayhem. Ready to prove who’s the classiest brawler in the room? A Gentlemen’s Dispute is an old-school, slapstick party brawler where you and your friends battle it out to see who’s the last gentleman standing. You’ll get to wield some seriously ridiculous items and stack wild perks to cause total chaos. Whether you’re trashing private islands, gardens, or fancy ballrooms. Since the goal is to show off just how “gentlemanly” you are—by absolutely wrecking everything in sight. Oh, and native support is coming too.

We can absolutely release a Linux build. The game already runs great on Steam Deck, so it shouldn't be a problem at all. I'll let you know when it's live. Our game is made with Unity.

Thanks to Blast Furnace Games’ email reply, it’s clear they fully intend to bring A Gentlemen’s Dispute to Linux. Even better, Steam Deck support is already in place, which is a great reason to jump into their current demo with Proton.

Bring Your A-Game to the Fight

Time to throw down! Whether you’re playing online or relaxing on the couch, A Gentlemen’s Dispute lets you go head-to-head with up to 8 players online or up to 4 locally. The real fun starts when you grab all sorts of over the top items scattered around the map. Want to smack someone with a baseball bat? Sure. Blow them up with a bomb? Absolutely. Lay traps, drop explosive mines, or even celebrate your win with a bottle of champagne (you can also toss it at a friend’s face).

What you can do in A Gentlemen’s Dispute

Perks That Make You Laugh—And Win

Between rounds, you get to pick perks that stack up, making your character even more ridiculous. Imagine spilling oil slicks for your friends to slip on, supersizing your traps, or launching yourself from cannons to surprise everyone! The A Gentlemen’s Dispute craziness keeps building with every round, so the game just gets more and more out of control.

Smash, Crash, and Win

The battle takes place in gardens, ballrooms, and private islands — all of which are fully destructible. Who needs luxury when you can’t even keep it standing? You’ll shatter chandeliers, wreck gardens, and even avoid a pet shark named Rufus as you brawl. Oh, and don’t forget about those hazards — like artillery cannons just waiting to launch you or someone else.

Key Features to Watch For in A Gentlemen’s Dispute

Up to 8 players can duke it out online, or 4 players locally, in some seriously ridiculous PvP action.

You’ve got 13 wild items to wield—get creative!

Choose from 19 unique perks as you build your perfect brawler with each round.

Trash luxurious, destructible environments to really put your stamp on the match.

Use hazards like cannons, chandeliers, and sharks to your advantage.

Customize your look with colorful coats and super fashionable hats.

Enjoy the glory of ragdoll physics as characters go flying through the air!

So, grab your hat and get ready to brawl in A Gentlemen’s Dispute — it’s time to show your friends who the real gentleman is! It's also a good time to jump into the Demo on Steam, when you Wishlist the slapstick party brawler. Which you can play on Linux and Steam Deck now via Proton, with the Windows PC build.

[knoepfl]

Shadows That Linger

Characters:

-Melon

-Reader (You)

-Lions

Trigger Warnings:

Power imbalance

Psychological manipulation

Implied violence

Masterlist

Words: 723

--- The dimly lit room hummed with tension. Melon sat casually at the head of the table, his mismatched eyes glinting as he listened to the lions argue amongst themselves. They were bickering over territory disputes—boring, predictable, and ultimately beneath him.

His sharp smile flickered as he leaned back, fingers drumming against the polished surface of the table. He was the picture of calm, but his mind was elsewhere, as it often was these days.

The lions’ voices quieted when a soft knock echoed against the heavy oak door.

It was hesitant, barely audible. Melon’s ears twitched.

“Enter,” he said coolly, his eyes narrowing.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, timidly clutching the edges of your sweater. You barely raised your eyes, scanning the intimidating figures of the lions before settling on Melon.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “This is… unexpected.”

You hesitated in the doorway, shrinking under the weight of so many stares. For a moment, you almost turned back. But then Melon’s gaze caught yours—sharp, curious, but not unkind. It was enough to give you courage.

“I-I…” you started, your voice soft as a whisper. “I’m sorry. I… I wanted to see you.”

The lions exchanged incredulous glances, a few growling under their breath.

Melon’s smile widened, sharp and amused. “Gentlemen, it seems I have a visitor. Don’t let me stop you—continue.”

He waved a hand dismissively, but his gaze remained fixed on you.

As the lions returned to their discussion, you quietly padded across the room, your steps barely audible. When you reached Melon’s side, you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting nervously.

Without looking up, you whispered, “I… I’ll wait by the door if it’s better…”

Melon chuckled, the sound low and oddly warm. “And have you eavesdropping on sensitive matters? No, little one. If you insist on being here, then stay.” He gestured to the empty chair beside him. “Sit.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you obeyed, slipping into the chair and folding your hands in your lap. The lions cast you wary glances, but you kept your head down, avoiding their scrutiny.

Melon, however, kept stealing glances your way. There was something endearing about the way you sat so quietly, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

The meeting dragged on, and though you didn’t say a word, Melon could feel your presence like a warm shadow. When the lions finally filed out, grumbling among themselves, you let out a small breath of relief.

Melon rose from his chair and stretched lazily, his sharp grin firmly in place. “You’ve got a knack for showing up at inconvenient times,” he teased.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “I… I didn’t want to bother you. I just… missed you.”

He tilted his head, his mismatched eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Missed me, did you? And what do you call this, then?” He gestured to the chair you’d been glued to for the entire meeting.

You looked away, your voice barely audible. “I just… feel safe when you’re around.”

For a moment, Melon said nothing. His expression softened, his usual sharpness dulling ever so slightly.

“You’re a peculiar creature,” he murmured, crouching in front of you so his face was level with yours. “Soft-spoken, timid… and yet, you refuse to leave my side. Why?”

You fidgeted, your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater. “Because you saved me,” you admitted quietly. “And… you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like I’m more than just a predator. I don’t want to be alone again.”

Melon studied you in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, with a wry smile, he reached out and flicked your forehead lightly.

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for clingy little things like you,” he said, his tone playful but not unkind. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Your eyes widened, and a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. “O-Okay.”

He straightened and offered you his hand, which you took hesitantly. As the two of you left the meeting room, Melon’s grin widened.

For all his sharp edges and fractured morals, he didn’t mind having you around. You were quiet, unassuming, and utterly devoted—an odd contrast to his chaotic life.

And deep down, though he’d never admit it, he liked the way your presence felt. Like a shadow that lingered, warm and unyielding. ---

[sprnklersplashes]

another reason the wrtiers need to bring back theo and make theolise endgame is can you imagine the hilarity of theo meeting the rest of the bridgertons? every other bridgerton suitor was raised in high society, has genteel manners and understands the importance of honour. even the bridgertons themselves, despite them being the most messy chaotic bitches in the entire ton, at least pretend to be civil. then enter theo, who was very much not raised that way, whose every other comeback is sarcasm, who has 0 respect for tradition or honour and probably walks past three fights on his way to work (he may or may not have started one of them).

anthony mentions settling disputes like gentlemen and theo straight up challenges him to an arm wrestle. which he wins. he's now benedict's favourite. he offers to help mama bridgerton with everything, from running the house to whichever of her offspring have started shit this time, and she has no idea how to handle it because this scruffy little townboy with a mouth like a sailor is also the most polite young man she has ever come across. hyacinth complains that a man made a rude comment to her and he immediately offers self defense lessons. gregory keeps on saying "mother fucker" because theo let it slip when he dropped something. he teaches francesca how to play the dirtiest drinking songs on the piano. yes the bridgertons are A Mess but now they have a son in law who is a mess and more importantly, does not care who knows it.

[trekmupf]

Spock's speech defending Kirk in Court Martial (S1 E20)

Spock: "The computer is inaccurate, nevertheless" Shaw: "Why do you say that?" Spock: "It reports that the jettison button was pressed before the red alert" Shaw: "In other words it reports that the captain reacted to an extreme emergency that did not then exist" Spock: "And that is impossible" Shaw: "Is it? Where you watching him the exact moment he pressed the jettison button?" Spock: "No, I was occupied, the ship was already on yellow alert" Shaw: "Then how can you dispute the finding of the log?" Spock: "I do not dispute it. I merely state that it is wrong" Shaw: Oh? on what do you base that statement?" Spock: "I know the captain. He is-" Shaw: "Please instruct the witness not to speculate" Spock: Leutenant, I am half Vulcanian. Vulcanians do not speculate. I speak from pure logic. If i let go of a hammer on a planet that has positive gravity i need not see it fall to know that it has, in fact, fallen" Shaw: "I do not see what-" Spock: "Gentlemen, Human beings have characteristics just as inanimate objects do. It is impossible for captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice. It is not his nature" Shaw: "In your opinion" Spock: "Yes, in my opinion"

[hongjoongspoetry]

A Love Written in Gold

Part 2 — The Garden

🦢 Summary: Dearest reader, as the fateful meeting by the willow looms ever nearer, our dear Miss Lee finds herself under the weighty gaze of familial expectations. With whispers swirling around her, she is compelled to distance herself from her cherished companion Mister Song, all whilst dazzling noble Duke Park. Yet, Miss Lee's heart dances to a different tune, seeking not the ties of love, but the sweet symphony of musical strings. It appears the piano prodigy, Mister Kim, has pledged that his interactions with the exquisite Miss Lee shall remain purely of a professional nature. Lo and behold, as he is caught in the throes of temptation at a most exhilarating horse race, casting furtive glances at the enchanting Miss Lee and her gallant companion, Duke Park. Alas, the bitter taste of lemons lingers cruelly upon his tongue, a most tantalizing reminder of his struggle! But pray, dear reader, while Miss Lee and Mister Kim each harbor their secrets, what hidden shadows might lie behind the confident smiles of other esteemed gentlemen, be they Dukes or Viscounts?

🦢 Pairing(s): Proletarian!Hongjoong x Noble!Reader, Duke!Seonghwa x Noble!Reader

🦢 Genres/Tropes: Bridgerton AU, Regency era, forbidden love, fluff, angst

🦢 Warnings/Tags: no use of (Y/N), female reader, sexism, explicit language, family disputes, familial pressure, emotional manipulation and repression, verbal mockery, sibling feud, invalidation of one's feelings, mild classism/elitist attitudes, jealousy, pressure to conform, subtle coercion, romantic tension, light angst, skinship (not sexual), fear of being caught, wholesome!mingi, but also sad!mingi, petnames (flea, my dear, my diamond, darling, sweetie, little lady, little one)

🦢 Wordcount: 15.4K

🦢 Author's Note: Well, well, well. If it isn't my first real post after my hiatus. The last time I wrote on this part was in October/November of 2024. So it's been in the works for a while... I've really missed writing fanfics, you guys, and I'm so freaking happy to be back! Anyways, in this part we get to know the characters a bit more and their dynamics. For starters, you'll get a better image of the Jeong/Lees and I assume most of you will be disappointed with how the Jeongs act... Let me assure you, it will only go downhill from here ;-; On another note, we get more scenes of our lovely three musketeers!! And for all my yeodongies, Yeosang finally makes his first appearance heheheh... There's so much more I want to say, but I fear that would spoil too much of the chapter... Per usual, I haven't beta read this chapter so except errors and enjoy!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Permanent taglist

The Jeong household was certainly not devoid of company the following two days. Every eligible gentleman in the whole land trekked across hills and sea to vy for your attention. It was a rather exhausting morning with no room for faults to slip past your act of the most demure lady of the century. The long hallway was teeming with handsome men carrying extravagant bouquets and chocolate delicates waiting for their turn to socialize with Miss Lee. The gentleman you were currently conversing with under the watchful eyes of your family was an earl, but over what territory you could not remember for the well-being of your loved ones. 

“Perchance we have spoken enough of my vineyard. Pray, do enlighten me regarding your own endeavors.” 

The brittle bubble wrapped around you burst as the earl’s curiosity pricked its surface. The background crashed into you like a cold wave of sea water and made you overly aware of your surroundings. The burning sensation of Yunho’s eyes on your skin, the loud slurping noise of the caller drinking his tea and the commotion outside that Wooyoung was seemingly having trouble settling. The foul smell of his breath stung your nose and you fought the urge to crinkle your face in sheer disgust. It was a miracle you had not spilled your guts out on the fairly new Axminster carpet. Your pinky was also hurting from its awkward position and your lips longed to be released from their curved confines, but the earl was waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, yes… My pursuits… Well, I find great pleasure in the art of instrumental play, particularly the piano–” The loud and dare you say forced cough of Ireum made you halt and change the course of your response. “That was in my younger days. Now, I have discovered a most profound affection for hand sewing… and reading.”

His spirits lightened at the mention of passing time by reading and put down the teacup, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and leaned back with a hum of intrigue.

“Do tell, which work of literature do you prefer? I find myself rather well-versed in pieces of strategy and martial exploits.”

It was foolish of you to suppose there existed one topic you shared interest in. The novels you read were written by women such as Jane Austen and Anne Radcliff who spread tales of love. Helpless and stranded, you cast a quick glance in Yunho’s direction and wordlessly urged him to come to your rescue. As the shining man in armor he was not, he smoothly swooped into the conversation in three long strides with both of his hands resting respectfully behind his back.

“Excuse me for interrupting the discourse, Lord Gremlin, but I believe Miss Lee has other activities to attend and has to be prepared in due time. Are you not, Sister?”

Lord Gremlin, what a fitting name for his short nature, you thought and sipped on your tea to mask the taunting smirk begging to stretch across your lips. The lord was but a few inches shorter than Wooyoung with a face jarring enough to scare the habitats of a pet cemetery. 

“Yes, indeed. I am to accompany Mister Song to the park, an engagement decided days prior. Forgive my lack of clarity, my Lord.”

The look of utmost disbelief crossed Lord Gremlin’s features and you were certain if not for Yunho’s presence, vile words of distreatment and not being granted the equal amount of time as the prior callers would leave his bitter tongue. 

“Indeed, Miss Lee, it is quite acceptable. Although I do hope for a more prolonged discourse at our next meeting.”

The lord pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your hand and bid farewell to the remaining members of your family. Before the doors could close, Wooyoung slipped in and marched across the room, sparing no one second glances. He snatched all of three biscuits from the almost empty tray and slumped in the warm seat beside you. It was silent in the common room, aside from Wooyoung’s loud chewing, and you knew neither Ireum nor Yunho were overly joyous with the available gentlemen taking it upon themselves to visit the estate, but perhaps it was not the men prancing on Ireum’s toes.

The Dowager Viscountess sighed and set down her teacup, her hands falling over each other on her lap as she turned to you. “Did you feel compelled to mention Mister Song? It does not look good for you, my dear.”

“But Mother, I cannot lie to our guests. It would be truly horrendous if I implied to visit the garden alone and then be seen accompanying Mingi. I believe it better to be honest. Besides, I would not wish to marry a man who is not comfortable with the friendship between Mingi and I.”

“Perhaps it is something we shall discuss then…” Ireum patted the plush padding on her right and you could do nothing, but oblige. 

She cast Yunho and Wooyoung a simple glance telling them to grant you some privacy, that it was not a conversation for their ears. Simple minded men as they were, they could only think of the courses, a natural process of changes a woman went through each month, and scattered as a heap of flies. 

“You see, my diamond.” Ireum gently clasped your hand between hears and caressed the line of your knuckles. “A friendship between a male and a woman is heavily frowned upon. It is unruly and not proper, especially without a chaperone too. It taints you, my dear, and wards off the eligible gentlemen eager to seek you out.”

“But… Mingi is my friend?” 

“I am aware of it, but the rest of the Ton is not, darling and mayhaps you should take into account how your… outings will look amongst outsiders.”

Your brows scrunched together and you slipped your hand out of her hold. “So what am I to do? I am not going to halt our friendship. Mingi is my best friend!”

Word spread around the Ton of the new diamond in the span of a few hours and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on you. Everything from your behavior to interactions was under the watchful gazes of high society, eagerly waiting for you to hand them new material of gossip. It was a drastic change, to say the least, and you could not understand why a simple outing with Mingi would stir up drama. It was not as if your friendship was a secret prior to your debut and it would certainly not lead to a romance either. Nonetheless, if your future partner had an issue with your social circle, perhaps he was not the suitable man for you.

“I am not asking that of you, sweetie, but perhaps do not mention him amongst the suitors. It makes you… undesirable and you, my dear, are a diamond. The diamond. We cannot have a diamond be ruined by whispers and gossip stemming from jealousy…”

As much as you wished to throw a tantrum, cross your arms and assault the floor with the rapid stomping of your feet, you could not. The childish days of whining until your wishes were granted and the object of your desires was in the palms of your hands were over. There was also a certain truth to Ireum’s words. A lady who spoke of man in front of another was not a lady anyone was eager to wed, even if the man posed no threat at all. It did not change the fact that the fear of losing Mingi was perhaps greater than the fear of never finding a husband. In the end, only one resulted in loneliness and to be frank, you were willing to give up the magical moment of falling in love for a lifelong friendship. Mingi would always give you love and that was enough.

“Believe me. I am saying this from my heart because I do not wish to see you face the hatred I did when I married your father.”

The anger sinking its claws into your skin chipped away and you could but harbor sadness and grief for how the Ton treated Ireum. It was unfair and unjust, and you would not wish it upon anyone, certainly not a woman who did not amount to the harsh words society forced upon her. 

Sighing, you leaned into the camel backed sofa and accepted defeat. “I know, Mother. I will not mention Mingi in future discussions if possible.”

Ireum’s satisfied smile shone brighter than the spring seeping through the three paned wide windows, but you could not muster up a smile of your own.

“You are a smart girl, darling. I knew you would listen to me. Your brothers and I are only doing what we deem most fit for you. Most fit to find you a perfect husband.”

The majority of the talks exchanged between ladies of your kind circulated around finding a perfect husband, but you were yet to hear what a perfect husband entailed. Money? Goods? Estates? Perhaps a kind nature and dotting personality? To fill you with babies? It was a question you would save for your maid, considering none of your remaining family members were reliable sources. Despite being men, your brothers had yet to find the women of their dreams and would prove to be quite futile for your wonders. Ireum, on the other hand, had quite the knowledge, but she was someone you would rather not discuss such a topic with. You had an inkling feeling she would push her beliefs upon you in the disguise of spreading wisdom.

“I shall leave now. It would be most improper to keep my company waiting.”

The common room was suddenly void of the many people previously there, safe from Ireum who was left to entertain herself and one could wonder whether it had anything to do with the controlling side of the Dowager Viscountess. It never crossed your mind that Ireum of all people would view Mingi as an obstacle to your future. Sweet and kind Mingi with nothing but love coursing through his veins. You wonder what she would think of him if she were to know of his proposal, you were certain a wedding would already be in the plans.

Turning the corner leading to the entrance of the estate, you masked the groan threatening to escape. Standing by the doors was no other than Wooyoung, your chaperone for the evening. 

“You seem vexed, dear Sister. Did the talk with Mama not go to your liking?” 

“I do not wish to speak of it.”

Wooyoung raised his hands in mock surrender as you continued straight past him. “Your wish is my command, little lady.”

The second-born Jeong held onto his words, but it did not save you from a journey engrossed in conversation. Your brother had quite the mouth on him and it would be foolish to think the ride would be anything but silent in his presence. 

“What do you and Mister Song have planned then? A promenade by the river? Tea and biscuits by Ambrosia?”

“Just a mere promenade, Brother. To indulge in the happenings of our respective lives. Mingi is quite interested in my new life as a débutante and I am simply missing his presence.”

“‘To indulge in the happenings of our respective lives’– As if you do not exchange letters with updates of every little occurrence or mishap in your days!”

“You are merely jealous that I have a pen pal and you do not.” You crossed your arms and tauntingly stuck your tongue out. 

With neither the Dowager Viscountess or the head of the family there to keep order amongst the younger members, you and Wooyoung were free to quarrel as much as your hearts desired to, and it often ended in childish bickering or a brawl of hair-pulling and skin-clawing. The carriage came to a halt and the coachman opened the door, respectfully stepping aside and waiting for either of you to emerge. Being older than you, it was Wooyoung’s duty to step out first, but he lingered longer than necessary. He crossed his legs, rested his interlocked hands on his knee and tauntingly leaned closer to you. 

“Very mature of you, Sister, and pray tell, what man do you believe to gain with such hideous behavior?”

Deep within, you were aware he was just unleashing his frustration because Ireum forced him to be your chaperone for the evening, but you could not deny his words pierced your heart sharper than a dagger and stung greater than a paper cut. Perhaps Yunho would take out his frustration on you too after your return to the estate, it seemed everyone had the urge to mention your absurd immaturity and lack of consequential thinking. Sourness crawled up your throat and spread on the soft surface of your velvet tongue. There was nothing interesting in Wooyoung’s history you could bring up that would scrape off the bitter taste of invalidation and replace it with pride. 

Heeding Ireum’s past words and Wooyoung’s statement, you decided to for once act your age and be the bigger person. Inflicting pain upon your brother would only lower you to his standard. Keeping the tears at bay and far away from Wooyoung’s intense stare, you grabbed the waiting hand of the coachman and exited the carriage. You did not bother waiting for your brother and took off in the direction you and Mingi agreed to meet as if a fire was lit beneath your feet. At least Mingi would not be the one to start a conversation circulating your carefree behavior and what gentleman was unlucky enough to put a ring on your finger. 

As promised in his letter, Mingi patiently stood by the fountain molded to replicate an angel reaching for the sky as water sprinkled out of its hands. The cement sculpture was surrounded by pretty flowers, but nothing could compare to the beauty of your best friend standing with his arms crossed behind his back, posture straight and eyes dancing among the crowd of passersby searching for your familiar face. As they fell upon you, his stoic expression changed and challenged the sun of which shone brighter. Mingi raised his hand high up in the sky and took all of three steps to reach you. A hug would be too inappropriate for the setting and not to mention all the prying eyes. You would not hear the end of it if any of the Jeongs got a whiff of you hugging another man in front of possible suitors, especially not if said man was Mingi after Ireum chastised you for his very presence.

“Good evening, Miss Lee.” 

“I wish the same to you, Mister Song. The weather is rather splendid, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, my Lady…” 

You noticed Mingi shift attention to something behind you and before you could ask him about it, the sound of stepping on gravel grew louder and louder until it completely vanished and the voice of Mingi filled the chirping silence once again.

“Mister Jeong, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, Mister Song. It seems we missed each other at His Grace’s ball.”

“Ah, yes. I managed to steal the attention of Lord Jeong and Miss Lee here, but I did not see you.”

Wooyoung chuckled and stepped closer to you, even slung his arm around your shoulders and brought you into his side, much to your dismay. “Yes, she has told me all about your encounter. It is truly a blessing she has a friend the likes of you, Mister Song.”

The words were a double edged sword Wooyoung wielded to strike a chord within the gentle giant before him, yet Mingi did not falter. His smile appeared as if frozen and still displaying the white pearls usually hiding behind his thick lips, and you nearly grinned as his eyes did not break the unspoken contest between him and your brother. Mingi did not participate in quarrels, but he was not afraid to halt Wooyoung’s attacks.

“Perhaps it is I who am blessed to have a friendship with Miss Lee.”

Noticing Mingi did not fall for the bait, Wooyoung hummed and retracted his sword in the scabbard. In return, Mingi faced you again. 

“Would you be so kind as to join me for a gentle promenade?” He brought forth his arm and cheekily smiled, already well aware of your response. There was not a world in which you would decline his propositions. 

Gingerly, you looped your arm through his and allowed him to steer the way. Wooyoung, your chaperone for the evening, settled on a bench with a clear view of the whole park, giving him the possibility to spot you at any given moment and interfere if needed. He ordered Mingi to return you within three quarters of time, leaving no room for arguing. You would just have to fill Mingi in on your daring adventure and hold your end of the promise. It could not be harder than balancing a stack of books on your head through a tea party without letting them topple over, you thought and ignored all the heads turning at your presence or perhaps it was the candy on your left that stole everyone’s attention.

“You appeared rather…” Lowering his voice just for your ears, Mingi dove into another topic. “Perturbed. Is everything alright, little one?”

Bless Mingi and his golden heart. 

“It is just Wooyoung and his annoying antics. Nothing to fret over, I promise.”

From a young age, Mingi struggled with reading books as he could not get immersed in its story, but to him, you were by far the easiest literature to read. He found himself returning to you over and over again. It got to the point where your content was edged into his mind. The hasty averting of your eyes, the slight twitch of your nose and the telltale sign of how you rocked on your feet answered all his questions. It was a plausible lie. As a shadow could not be without light, Wooyoung could not exist without being annoying and Mingi knew better than to let you fence with your own thoughts. Tracing the delicate details on your beautiful face, he smiled widely enough to show his uneven front teeth.

“That is impossible, you will forever be the object of my concern. Do not be shy… It is just I, just Mingi. Speak freely of that which weighs upon your heart.” 

“Do you believe…” You started with a confidence that died quicker than a bee losing its stinger.

Mingi was a man after all and displaying your feelings for him to see was further proof Wooyoung was right in his statement. Only children cried over silly things and you were not a child anymore. It did not help that Ireum’s warning buzzed in your head as a swarm of agitated wasps. Perhaps you should not indulge Mingi with every occurrence in your life. Friends did not need to disclose everything about each other and maybe it would give you space from him, to show the eligible suitors you were not that close to hi– 

“Do I believe what?” Mingi’s prying question broke you out of your thoughts. 

You could compare the shame with the branding of an iron, lighting your skin on fire and feeling the need to hide from Mingi’s round, concerned eyes. How selfish of you to even imagine such a horrid take. Losing Mingi would not magically transport you to the majestic church, where most aristocrats were proclaimed married, dressed in a white wedding gown while staring into the loving eyes of your soon-to-be-husband. The guilt was burning you alive, if the shame did not suffocate you before. Swallowing the bundle of complex emotions, you pushed Ireum and Wooyoung out of your head, and flung your concern into the universe.

“Do you believe I am… difficult?”

Had it not been for the many people listening in on each other’s conversations in disguise of enjoying the sunny weather, Mingi would have stopped your leisure promenade and gently dragged more information out of you. He settled on a glance out the corner of his eyes, worry painted across all of his features. Long seconds filled the time from when you asked him the question and Mingi still kept his thoughts a secret. You did not pressure him though. Mingi was a thinker and would sometimes take two quarters of the time before he was content with the answer concluded in the safety of his mind. That was what many years of friendship and discussions taught you. As you reached the opposite side of the pond and stood straight across from where your brother was resting on the bench, Mingi cleared his throat and slowed the brisk walk to a leisure stroll. He was satisfied with his thinking and was ready to share it with you. 

“I do not know what the certain topic revolves around, alas it does not matter. You are not difficult, little one. It is the contrary, in fact. The people around you are the ones who are difficult. Your nature is one of kindness, patience, and respect, particularly amidst social gatherings. You seldom articulate your true sentiments, fearing it may bring pain upon others, even if they have wronged you first. Yet, when you do unveil the profound thoughts that you keep concealed from the world, you lay bare your remarkable intellect. In my regard, such an individual is not challenging, but rather one of great thoughtfulness and charm.”

Dog Days Are Over, Vitamin String Quartet, 0:40-1:40

The basic socializing knowledge you possessed was reduced to dust with Mingi’s response. A heavy pressure burned the back of your eyes and it would only be a matter of seconds until the tears kissed your smooth cheeks, and your voice would be nothing but the shiver of a sound. Regardless, you were never one for speeches and words, that was Mingi’s speciality, evidently enough. Therefore you settled on a gentle, barely-even-there brush of your fingers along his bicep. The touch conveyed a gratitude you could not muster up with words and Mingi knew so as he met your gaze, harshly shut his eyes as if to say, ‘You’re welcome’.

“Let us move along, little one. I take it there is something else you tend to share with me, preferably in the absence of these numerous listeners and watchful gazes…”

As the viscount-in-waiting advanced forward, you did not move from your spot on the gravely path. Mingi faced you with the expression of a question mark, wondering what the hold up was.

“My brother… He is my chaperone, so we cannot venture out of his sight.”

For it is well understood that Wooyoung would seize upon the slightest of opportunity to create an excuse to return to the estate, where a plethora of fun events awaited him. 

Mingi grinned that boyish-smile of his you had come to learn only meant there was a grave detail you missed. He nodded slightly behind you and as you turned, you came to witness Wooyoung accompanied by an unknown man, you guessed him to be a lord or viscount of some sort, and a young lady hiding her cheeks the color of ripe apples behind a flimsy fan. You could not find it in you to feel sorry for him. 

“Shall we, before he takes notice of our absence?”

“Let us,” you replied with a pearly smile and slid your arm out of his, trailing it down the path of his vein and interlocked your fingers in a sturdy grip. 

Mingi gave it a tentative squeeze and hastened his steps. You barely managed to bunch up your dress before you took off into a sprint. The pedestrians jumped out of the way, whether it be from Mingi’s loud hollers of ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Coming through’s accompanied by your giggling or the loud stomping of your feet.

Nonetheless, they hastily stepped to the side as if a second away from being chugged over by a steam locomotive. The dove trapped in your chest soared at Mingi’s laughter and you forgot all about the crude words spoken by your own family

The sun cast a burning glow over the earth and every lady held tightly onto their flowery umbrellas, wary of attaining a sunburn. It gave you the perfect excuse to hide in the shade of the big willow tree. To be frank, it was not your fault the branches of the tree toppled over itself as a waterfall and separated you from the outside world. The grass was not anyone’s property and whoever wished to seek what was, or rather what was not, happening, would be free to do so. 

A table, big enough for a board of chess, occupied the space between you. The two sets of chairs positioned on each side of the table were carved out of the same tree and if it were not for your tiredness, you would be reclusive to sit on moldy chairs.

“Are you most assured that this supposed piano prodigy shall grace us with his presence?”

“Very much indeed so, Mings. I explicitly told him to meet me by the big willow tree and is this not the biggest tree in London?” 

You leaned back against the wooden chair, hands falling over your lap and mouth curved into a lip-tight smile. Hongjoong was in fact running late. As you were not in possession of a watch, you could not say with how much, but your and Mingi’s conversation should not have been longer than three discussions.

“Is the prodigy at least a handsome gentleman?” Mingi suddenly cut in.

It suddenly dawned on you that Mingi had no idea of how Mister Kim looked. A dreamy smile climbed up your face.

“His hair is the color of a beautiful sunset and his eyes are warmer than coffee in the morning. They melt you from within and have you craving for more.” You started while counting the most subtle details of Hongjoong’s face from memory. “What else…? He has a pointy nose and thin rosy lips, and his smile! Oh, Mingi, his smile makes even the stars envious of its brightness.”

In all his eighteen years of being your friend, not once had Mingi witnessed such a love-sick look on your face whilst a man was the center of your conversation. It was a delightful sight. Seeing you happy. It was something Mingi missed dearly and albeit, he could bring out a smile from you, it was not one born from the depths of your very soul. 

“I do not wish to be insensitive, flea, yet might it be inappropriate of me to presume you are quite… enamoured with Mister Kim?”

He truly did not intend to be the gloomy cloud standing between you and the rays of sunshine. Mingi only wanted what was best for you and, dear Lord, if you would get a nickel every time people reasoned with that logic, you would be the wealthiest person of the Ton. 

“I… I solely admire his talents, Mings. Do not fret over me. I am very well aware of my duty as a debutante. Mother and my brothers are pestering me with it every day, so, please, do not join them!” 

That, he did not. Mingi would rather marry and have five children the following day before he ever sided with your family. He hastily apologized, his hand taking yours in a comforting embrace, which you accepted with a squeeze.

 You were inching closer to your fifth change of topic. Although you held tightly onto the hope of Hongjoong sliding through the feather-veined leaves, Mingi was not. If you were the epitome of calm, then Mingi was the polar opposite. His leg would not stop bouncing and his thumb always seemed to find its way back between his teeth leaving the skin around his nail raw and bruised. It was a bad habit he carried from his days as a little boy and no matter what, he could not get rid of it.

The impatience prickled Mingi in the rear as he shot up from his seat and paced back and forth. His right hand ran over the soft surface of his chin, the stubble lightly pricking his fingers, but it did nothing to bring him out of the suffocating bubble. It was just a matter of time before Mingi had to bring you back to Wooyoung, the rehearsed line of ‘We lost track of time following a hoard of butterflies’ waiting to be launched into existence. Mingi could not lie and say he was not interested in meeting the mystery man, considering you had nothing to offer but a name and vague, but quite captivating description of his features. However, the fear of Wooyoung’s scrutinizing gaze was bigger than Mingi’s curiosity. Not to mention his relation to Yunho. If Mingi stepped on the feet of the younger Jeong, it would broaden his already big distance with the viscount.

Mingi abruptly stopped as he passed the table and the change in pace startled you out of your thoughts. He pressed his hands on the top rail of his chair and leaned over it. Your view was obscured by his broad figure and the beautiful, green scenery behind him turned into a blur.

 “It is best if we return–”

The ruffling of leaves rippled down the middle of his sentence and stole the breath from both of you. Slowly, as the seasons changed from summer to autumn, Mingi turned around and locked eyes with a man giving even Wooyoung, the shortest man Mingi knew of, a run for his wealth. The longer he stared at the unknown man, the more familiar his features became and not because he had seen him walk the streets of London. 

“...His hair is the color of a beautiful sunset and his eyes are warmer than coffee in the morning. They melt you from within and have you craving for more. What else…? He has a pointy nose and thin rosy lips, and his smile! Mingi, his smile makes even the stars envious of its brightness.”

A hatch in the far back of his mind came undone and opened a door leading to his memories that left Mingi gaping like a fish fresh out of a pond. If it were not for your rambling moment earlier, Mingi would never have guessed the man standing before him was the Hongjoong.

The thought of being caught (doing absolutely nothing) bubbled to a panic forcing you to stand up. The fact that Mingi was rooted to his spot, back straight and nails digging into the palms of his hands, was alarming. Your friend was rarely rendered speechless and it could not have been Wooyoung emerging through the wall of leaves, otherwise the script of losing track of time would come into play. The gentle summer breeze whisked through the air and the leaves stirred yet again. You could not stay there frozen for the rest of the evening, you concluded. The minutes were counting down until Wooyoung would start patrolling the park, searching for his little sister and her giant of a friend. 

“I beg your pardon, Mister. It appears I have mistakenly ventured to the incorrect destination.”

An explosion of fireworks set off in your abdomen and the familiar voice was the match lighting each and every one. Your presence was known as you stepped out from behind Mingi. A timid smile graced your face and the warmth kissing your cheeks was not from the scorching sun. 

“Mister Kim,” you greeted, your eyes barely meeting his.

“Miss Lee! I apologize if I am intruding on your… moment.”

Mingi, finally breaking out of his frozen posture, hastily dismissed Hongjoog’s claim. “Not at all! In fact, we have been waiting on you.”

“We?”

“Very much so. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mingi Song, first son and heir of the seventh Viscount Song. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kim.”

Mingi’s hand hovered in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time until Hongjoong accepted it. The pianist glanced in your direction for a flicker of a second. He was quite unsure of your relationship with Mingi, but it had to be close considering he was aware of Hongjoong’s existence. He would not mention it, although it was a tiny rock in his shoe, wanting to know of your exact correlation to the gentleman.

“I see you are already well versed with my existence… Regardless, it is my pleasure, Mister Song.”

Inhaling a breath for confidence, you stepped forward and successfully attained the attention of the both men. “Take a seat, please. We do not have much time until I shall return.”

“I deeply apologize for my tardiness.”

“Pray, do not fret. All shall be well as long as we make haste… Mister Song, if you would?”

Said man playfully saluted and disappeared through the wall of hanging branches. The intent was for him to stand guard a few paces from the willow tree and signal if anyone was walking toward you. The green sanctuary was beautiful, even more so with the many rays of sunshine peeking through its long and thin leaves, but you could not stop admiring the man before you. The man who was staring up at the tree with the edges of his lips curled as if observing the root of everything cute. The light breeze shattered his focus and as you locked gazes, you darted your eyes down to his trousers. Hongjoong looked far more charming dressed in a casual black attire, than in the sparkly suit the other night. The sight of his hair haphazardly falling over his forehead and the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms played double Dutch with your emotions. 

Silently, he walked up to the seat previously occupied by Mingi and rested both of his hands on it. You waited for his next move, but when Hongjoong did not budge, you glanced up only to find him already looking at you. The breath hitched in your throat at the sudden attention and you thanked the nature of humans for not having the ability to make out the thumping of one's heart.

“May I sit down?”

You blinked once, twice, and then realized why Hongjoong was staring when your lashes fluttered against your cheek a third time. He waited for you to step back, to give him space and allow him to sit down as you previously asked. 

“Of course,” you squeaked out and hastily retracted, nearly tripping over your own feet. It certainly would not be the first time.

A heavy silence settled over the table. The soft notes of the piano were not there to sing the tension away and you had to make due with the light chatter of people and the gentle wind swishing through the leaves. Perhaps it was the magic of the ball making you easy to talk with or the adrenaline of being separated from your brothers, the ones keeping their eyes on you, failing arguably, no matter the circumstance, that gave you a surge of bravery to confront the pianist. It would certainly explain why neither jumped into a conversation. The lack of noise on the other side of the table could be inferred as Hongjoong disagreeing with the proposal. Another part of your brain tugged to a more wishful thinking, believing Hongjoong came because he was rather keen on your idea.

The sound of his voice sliced through your thoughts and allowed the water suffocating you from inside to spill out, giving you a moment to breathe.  

“You wanted to discuss the arrangement for our lessons, Miss Lee?”

“Yes! I mean… yes.”

“What did you envision?”

Like a stick untangling from the bundle of branches and mud, the dam broke loose and you explained the plan you struck together over the course of two restless nights. Hongjoong did not interrupt you once. He simply granted you the time to speak and lay out everything you had in mind. 

"Twice a week,” you said. "Ming– Mister Song and I have three weekly outings, yet we could transform two of such occasions into piano lessons at the esteemed Song estate. No one would suspect a thing.”

“But… Mister Song is an unwed man and... so are you, I mean, an unwed woman. Would that not cast light to the situation?”

In your long rambling you forgot to mention the key to the plan, your and Mingi’s friendship.

“Ah, uh, you see… Mister Song and I are, uh… rather close.”

Hongjoong arched his brow and propped his elbows on the table, resting his lips on the side of his clasped fingers. “Close?” 

“A most platonic bond! We have been dear friends since our tender youth and hold no romantic inclinations towards one another, therefore it would not raise suspicion of my visit at the Song manors.”

It was the first time you mentioned the friendship frowned upon by all of London. The fear of finding disgust in the cracks and crevices of Hongjoong’s face was haunted by the threatening words of Ireum you so thoughtlessly ignored. The callous reaction you expected did not breach the surface and you could only hope his mind was clear of malicious thoughts too. 

“And how shall I explain my presence on their grounds?” Hongjoong asked and put barely any emphasis on the new discovery of your and Mingi’s friendship.

“Lord and Lady Song are rarely home. Lord Song is beset with numerous meetings throughout the day, while Lady Song frequently engages in social pursuits with the other ladies of the Ton. The Song estate is empty, safe for the maids and butlers, and Mingi, of course.”

Satisfied with the answer, Hongjoong put pressure on other points regarding your arrangement. He wished to not be so curt, but he could not think of another way to properly articulate his thoughts. 

“You mentioned it would not be without expense… Does that still stand?”

“Of course,” you replied without missing a beat. 

“How much do you intend to offer?”

Business transactions and discussing paychecks was certainly not ladylike, yet you could not ignore the crackling of pride exploding along your spine. It felt good being in charge and actually listened to. No wonder your brothers acted high and mighty, they were never forced to hush and sit there all dolled up. 

“I was thinking a hundred pounds an hour.”

You could not hinder the giggle from bubbling out at Hongjoong’s gaping mouth and wide eyes. A pink dust settled over his usually pale cheeks and he coughed away the embarrassment.

“Excuse my… boldness, but may I inquire as to where you think to receive such a considerable sum? You are rather young and a…”

Your chuckles died as he did not finish his sentence. It was not that you took offense to Hongjoong’s question as he was not wrong in his statement. Everyone was aware women did not have their own income, unless they opened their own businesses like a modiste shop,  worked in a factory or as a nurse, and Hongjoong had all the right to wonder where his pay would come from. Did it still sting knowing you would be reduced to nothing but a mere lady with nothing to her name that would follow her to the grave? Very much indeed so.

The question hung heavy between you, but before you could answer, a sharp whistle whizzed through the air and put a pause on the conversation. 

“Someone is coming,” you breathed out, but were unable to move.

“What?”

Another whistle, more frantic than the first one, reached your ears and sliced the ropes tied around your limbs keeping you in place. You stood up and urged Hongjoong to follow. He did not prod further, but you could see the questions hovering around his head begging to be answered.

“You have to leave. Now.”

You grabbed his forearm and dragged him toward the opposite end of the willow tree, all and every warning of society buried six feet below as your skin touched his. 

Your heart dropped in your stomach as Wooyoung’s raised voice sounded on the other side followed by Mingi’s calmer and softer tone. Without thinking, you pushed Hongjoong behind the slender trunk of the tree and prayed he would not fall in Wooyoung’s line of sight. 

“Mister Jeong, I was merely fetching lemonade as requested by Miss Lee. The day is exceedingly warm, and I did not desire for her to wander about in a state of thirst.”

“Sister!”

You just about jumped from beside Hongjoong’s hiding form and plopped down on the chair closest to you as Wooyoung emerged from the branches. Although Wooyoung was a menace, he was first and foremost your brother and it was evident by the way he grabbed your wrists and eyed you from head to toe, ensuring you had not come to harm. Moments such as these where his protective side shone the brightest were few and always caught you off guard.

“I searched the whole park for you! We agreed you would be back before the clock turned three, do you know what time it is? It is currently half past three!”

You all but managed to take half a breath before he answered on your behalf. Wooyoung’s concern was dipped in a pint of anger and you knew he was just worried about losing sight of his one responsibility and over what Ireum would put him through if word spread of the incident. Wooyoung snapped his head in Mingi’s direction, reminding the giant of a startled owl, and leveled him with furious eyes. 

“You are lucky she takes great liking to you, otherwise you would be facing grave consequences. If one suggests a promenade, Mister Song, they are to be with the lady at all times and not wander around like a headless chicken in search of lemonade!”

You gently pulled at Wooyoung’s hands and whispered for him to stop. “Mingi is not at fault for our tardiness. If you are to blame someone then it shall be me, Brother. I was feeling quite parched and requested for something to soothe my thirst. Ming– Huh– Um, Mister Song went out of his way to accommodate me, is that not admirable of him, Brother?”

Mister Jeong’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed firmly together, refusing to acknowledge the taller man’s good deed. When he could not find further reason to diminish Mingi’s presence, he cleared his throat and stepped away. 

“We shall take our leave. We have exceeded the time given by Mama.” 

To avoid standing there awkwardly, Wooyoung pushed his hair back, completely ignoring your praise and intertwining your arms together. As he dragged you from beneath the willow, he could not help but complain about potential bugs falling into your hair. Another subtle nag at Mingi’s carelessness that the young man had no vote in the choice of setting. Mingi followed your moving forms until you disappeared behind the wall of leaves. As you left, Hongjoong emerged from behind the tree with his hands in the pockets of his pants and whistled a low note. He took a stance beside Mingi, both yet to utter a word of what ensued seconds ago. 

Mingi handed Hongjoong a lemonade and drank from his own.

“Come by the Song Estate on Wednesday around noon and inform the maidservants of your arranged meeting with the heir-in-waiting, Mister Song. No further details should be disclosed.”

The modiste was a rather busy shop that Tuesday afternoon and Hongjoong regretted heeding Jongho’s word of stopping by. The trio, Hongjoong, San and Jongho, had been in the shop for a good amount of time and were yet to find a suit for your and Hongjoong’s lessons. Had the choice been left to the man in question, he would not buy new attire. Why would he when the one from the ball was in perfect condition to be used again?

Jongho did not share the same sentiment and vowed to tear all of Hongjoong’s old clothes, expensive as well as cheap, if he did not agree to visit the Blue Bird, which was how they got there in the first place.

The shop had a peculiar layout and unlike the other businesses in town, the boutique was divided into two parts. On the left side of the singular entrance door was a bay window displaying mannequins wearing elegant suits and dresses with black font reading The Blue Bird across the glass. The floor was elevated and decorated with a leather armchair and floor lamp that were crammed in the corner by the window. A finishing touch was the emerald green rug, not bigger than a coffee table, which was vertically placed on the dark oak floor in front of the furniture. The walls, a white tapestry, were a contrast to the floor, but appeared far more luxurious than some of the big estates owned by wealthy men and women. Three steps reaching from one wall to the other led to the remaining part of the room. The shop would have been bare of color if it were not for the various textiles hanging on a long rack occupying the majority of the left wall of the boutique. 

The first area was tiny and barely big enough to house five people at once, yet the owner managed to fit a generous amount of furniture despite its size. Hongjoong was certain the room had reached its limit, but he was proved wrong as he laid eyes on the counter where the seamster presumably kept his orders and other important paperworks. Between the wall full of color and counter was an opening leading to the remaining part of the shop, but was divided by a black cardigan looking fabric. Although the trio had no reason to explore further, Hongjoong was still curious about what was hiding behind the curtain. 

“What about the sapphire velvet one?” Jongho grabbed barely an inch of a random fabric hanging off the rack between his index finger and thumb. “I believe it suits your complexion.”

Hongjoong was lazily seated on the leather armchair whose main purpose was for decoration. The armrest held the weight of his elbow as the tip of his fingers pressed against his forehead, keeping it upright. 

“You have claimed that for the past five colors too. Just decide for me and let us leave.”

“I cannot help but worry, Hongjoong. Do you really truly consider this to be a smart idea?” San, always the voice of reason, whispered. 

While his friend and cousin argued whether a new suit was necessary, the boxer could not stop thinking about why he would need it. The whole ordeal sounded too good to be true and a complete disaster waiting to happen. There was so much that could go wrong and ruin not only Hongjoong and your life, but everyone involved including Jongho, San and Mingi’s.

San did not understand how neither you nor Hongjoong seemed to take a minute of your day to actually think about what was on the line. If word got out about this arrangement, all hell would break loose. Your reputation as the Diamond of the season would go up in smoke and you would either be a spinster for the rest of your life or forced to marry the first best man that comes along the way. Considering what Hongjoong’s first impression of your older brother was, it would not surprise San if Mister Jeong alone was the reason behind Hongjoong’s demise, whether it be through a duel or a more diplomatic approach.

“Of course. I do not see how it could be anything but smart.”

“Hongjoong, it is a rather grave situation you have found yourself in. Should you not… I do not know, maybe weigh out the good and bad of the whole predicament?”

“I already have and I appreciate you looking out for me, San, but there is no reason to grow early white hairs. She promised to pay well and what better way to earn money than to teach a measly girl a few melodies on the pianoforte?”

“There are more important things than money. Think about it. This could look really bad for you if your little agreement reaches the ton. I mean, you saw how furious her brother was for being late. What do you think will happen when he sees his beloved little sister alone in a proximate position with a no-name lad?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen,” Hongjoong bit back. “San, the offer is too good to pass up. Imagine what we could do with that money. No more living on a handful of pennies each month and worrying if the roof of Crescent will collapse or eating scraps for supper. We can start living as true gentlemen and pursue our every ambition. You want to give Crescent a new appearance? Let us. You want to expand it further? I say, why not?”

The ambitious tone possessed by a leader steering his men to a stone cold death dwindled and took on a much softer turn, almost as if Hongjoong was begging to be heard.

“San… I could truly devote myself to music… Yet for such a dream to flourish, I must embrace the chance, even if it means losing the little baggage I have left.”

The boxer had nothing to offer and thus remained silent. It was clear Hongjoong’s ears were stuffed with too much wax to really hear where San was coming from. He exhaled a breath of defeat and crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscle flexing beneath his clothes. 

LION, JIAREN, 0:10-0:30

The loud clicking of boots drowned out the shuffling and boisterous laughter of the gentlemen interested in placing orders for new suits. A man wielding the beauty of a swan emerged from the sea of men with long hats and tailcoats brushing their shins. The beauty he was blessed with belonged in an art museum and his face was the kind people proclaimed their love for in songs.

It was Hongjoong's second encounter with the modiste responsible for most, if not all, of the Ton's appearance and he was once again astonished by the seamster’s natural beauty. Hongjoong was a lot of things, but he was not jealous of other’s physical appearance. That was until he met the man with chestnut colored hair, ocean blue eyes and a nose sculpted by Antonio Canova himself. The most captivating feature of his were not his vibrant lips or razor sharp eyes, but the raspberry smudge situated right next to his left eye, a kiss from Aphrodite.

“I apologize for the hold up, gentlemen.”

“Ah, Yeosang,” Jongho chimed and suddenly appeared alongside Hongjoong. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

San and Hongjoong raised a brow each at the outgoing behaviour of their withdrawn companion. Yeosang did not seem to find the sudden friendliness out of the ordinary and put the shining pieces of fabric on his work bench.

“It is difficult not to stray with everyone placing orders for the same day, Mister Choi. But I take it you, an esteemed business man, should be very well aware of the stress in the industry.”

“Quite a bit.” Jongho smiled, the gums of his mouth showing for all the guests of Blue Bird. 

Yeosang, or Mister Kang as every patron called him beside Jongho, brushed past the subtle flirting of the pub owner and jumped straight into the reason for their appearance. 

“How can I be of assistance this fine evening? I take it my suits were to your liking and you have returned for more?”

“Something along those lines,” Hongjoong replied and stood up. He hid his hands in the pockets of his slacks, a pair borrowed by San who claimed he could not venture into town dressed in color stained and ripped pants. “It is only I who is in need of another suit… But perhaps something less… outstanding, nothing meeting the standard of the white pattern, please. I need something suitable for a gathering between friends.”

“It is quite a peculiar order you are placing, Mister. Many patrons travel days for my extravagant work and pay a good penny to make them the center of attention, but you? You wish to do the exact opposite.” 

Yeosang crossed to the wall portraying various patterns and lazily swept his hand through the different garments. He stopped on a bland-looking, at least in his eyes, maroon fabric and pinched it between his thumb and index finger. The material was pulled out for the buyer to see and unlike others, Hongjoong gave a nod of approval within five seconds of examining the selected cloth. 

Yeosang sighed as he gathered the garment. “I cannot make any promises, but I guess I will do my best to make you… blend in with the background.” 

“There is no doubt in my mind. Your hands are made out of gold, afterall.” Jongho reached for the material in Yeosang’s hands with the wish to ease his burden, but was halted as a bell jingled and alerted the entrance of yet another customer. 

Whispers broke out in the shop barely bigger than the locker rooms of Crescent and caught the attention of everyone in the room.

“Your Grace,” Yeosang greeted as his lips slightly curved up, a detail hard to notice, but the difference was there for the three gentlemen previously engaged in a conversation with the modiste.

The Duke simply walked past the remaining men and disregarded their presence as if they were not worth the time of his day, despite having met them at his ball. Hongjoong jumped to the conclusion that they were not that important for the bird brain of his to remember.

“Mister Choi,” he greeted with a nod, which Jongho returned, and then faced the modiste. “Mister Kang, I see you are quite busy this afternoon.”

“You of all people, Your Grace, should know I am busy more days than I am not.”

His Grace chuckled and Hongjoong could not calm the boiling anger threatening to spill over and burn everyone in his vicinity. Perhaps it was the boisterous nonchalance of the Duke or how everything was put on hold the moment he stepped foot inside the shop. There was truly nothing more Hongjoong despised than the upper class and their privileges. 

“Then it would be rude of me to request a new suit?”

Yeosang rounded the cashier register and placed Hongjoong’s chosen garment on the counter. He took out a lithe book from beneath the desk and flipped through the pages until he found a clean sheet.

“I am fully-booked for the upcoming three weeks… But allow me to guess, you need the attire before that?”

Seonghwa leaned against the counter yet still managed to tower over Yeosang and produced a sealed envelope from inside his jackpocket. He slid the white paper across the tabletop, bearing no mind to the witnesses around them, and winked.

“You do know me so well. I am to accompany Miss Lee to the horse race in two weeks time and I would wish to look presentable in her wake. Well, I have also noticed that I have not acquired a new suit in quite some time.”

The mental connection between the Chois was so strong that both cousins found Hongjoong’s face as a moth would spot a torch. The latter did his best to ignore their prying eyes and cast his own to the pristine clothes of the duke. What you and the duke planned had nothing to do with him. He was just your unofficial teacher. The story ended there and the rope that bound you together was as simple as a bow knot, and would eventually be undone with no further effort. You would return to your life of wealth and privilege with the newfound talent for piano playing, and Hongjoong would already be set to sail across the sea, with an amount of gold coins his family line had never heard of, let alone witnessed. 

Yeosang held Seonghwa’s gaze and without breaking contact, he accepted the envelope and closed his calendar. “You are lucky I am effective, Your Grace. Let us take a round and decide what it is you wish for.”

Seonehwa appeared over the moon as Yeosang accepted his order, as if the duke did not plan for that to happen. No more words were exchanged and the trio watched the seamster and duke part from the counter and inspected the different fabrics. The three musketeers did not make a peep while Seonghwa did his rounds. He certainly took his time and apparently the various textiles displayed in the first room were not enough. It was first when they disappeared into the other room, that the Choi cousins turned to Hongjoong with sparkles in their eyes. San reminded him more of a puppy begging for a treat, but Jongho on the other hand was rather mischievous, evil-looking if you will. The pianist raised a brow, his way of asking what they had in mind. 

San, ever the optimistic one, fell right into Hongjoong’s trap. “Shall we attend the horse rac–”

“For what reason exactly should the three of us attend the horse race? Must I remind you what kind of people events such as that cater to?”

The rejection was sharp and quick, crushing any and all hope San harbored in that broad chest of his. 

“Do you not find it the least intriguing that His Grace and Miss Lee are attending the race together?” Jongho asked, chin tilted to the ceiling and hands clasped behind his back, avoiding Hongjoong’s hard eyes.

A line of confusion appeared between Hongjoong’s furrowed brows and his lips ached from their downturned position. “No, Jongho. There is not much that interests me nowadays, let alone an arranged encounter between diamonds and gold.”

“I have never been to a horse race before.”

Jongho threw an arm around San’s shoulders, forcefully bringing the slightly taller man down to his level. 

“See, if you will not do it for yourself then do it for poor Sannie here. It has been his lifelong dream to watch a dozen five hundred kilogram beasts gallop in a circle. My cousin would do anything to be squished in a crowd of greedy men and women betting an insane amount of money that could feed the whole population of starving children living on the streets of London. Pretty please?”

“No,” he replied and it was final.

Hongjoong abhorred the rich with a fire challenging his passion for music and he was not paying a good sum to sit amongst the people he despised.

The crinkling of burning wood and utensils clattering against porcelain filled the spacious room. The Jeong family was not keen on making small talk during dinner time and everyone usually relied on Wooyoung to bring life to the socialisation. The younger brother seemed to not be in a talkative mood as he kept his mouth occupied with bites of steak and sips of his favorite champagne.

That's why everyone was taken aback when Yunho opened his mouth one evening while you were all gathered around the enormous dining table big enough to seat twenty people rather than a family of four.

“I met His Grace the other day.  He was quite happy to see me.”

Ireum hummed from her end of the table and hastily patted her red lips with a napkin. “That sounds wonderful, Yunho dear. His Grace is certainly a great companion to have by one's side.” 

You pushed around the peas on your plate, not nearly as interested in the new conversation as your remaining family members. The only man to cloud your mind was none other than the pianist the world had yet to hear of.

“His Grace asked about you, Sister.”

A rattling sound sliced everyone’s ears as the pea squeezed between your fork and plate catapulted across the dining table, landing in Wooyoung’s champagne. The maids and butlers on standby did not flinch, but the same could not be said for your family. Wooyoung was already halfway through complaining about his champagne, now contaminated by your germs, and a piece of Yunho’s steak slipped off his fork and landed on his lap, leaving a fat grease spot impossible to get out. A hushed ‘oh, dear’ escaped Ireum as she rubbed the growing ache blooming across her forehead.

“Apologies,” you sheepishly whispered and put your fork to rest on the clothed table. The flare of your cheeks was bringing a sweat to your already warm figure. “You were saying, Brother?”

“His Grace, Duke of Beaumonte, told me he wished to escort you to the races in two weeks' time.”

The possibility of the sun rising in the west was greater than witnessing Yunho smile and confess the act of a man asking about his little sister, yet there you were and the sun was still bound to rise in the east and set in the west, like any other day. Where the scary Yunho with eyes the epitome of death had disappeared to was a question burning in the back of your mind. This was not the reaction you expected to get out of your brother. Wooyoung? Perhaps, he was quite unpredictable. One day he could be bouncing with joy and the next, everyone and everything in his way was going to encounter his wrath. 

However, Yunho? 

There was nothing to smile about in his life and certainly not over the fact that another man was more or less showing interest in his sister.

But it was not just another man. It was the Duke of Beaumonte, the handsome man with piercing eyes and cherry red lips that every lady wished to stand by the side of. The lit fireplace was not the sole reason for the sudden change in temperature. The mere thought of His Grace seeking Yunho out with you in his interest sent sparks to the tips of your fingers and toes. A proper lady could not be without good manners and what was good about a lady  who jumped around, a wide grin on her face unable to contain her squeals?

Absolutely nothing.

“Oh.”

Your anti-climatic response yearned for everyone’s attention as a shimmering doxy in a room full of men with jewelry adorning their ring finger. It even caught Wooyoung’s eyes who was mourning his pea infused champagne. The feast was abandoned and left to freeze at the amount of cold shoulders received.

“Oh? I am sorry, is something the matter?” 

You shoved a piece of steak in your mouth to spare yourself a few moments to think.

Swallowing, you gently replied, “No, Brother. I was simply not expecting to attract the eye of someone with such importance as His Grace.”

The glances shared by the eldest pair seated on each end of the table went over your head and the piano prodigy was quickly forgotten as the light was angled on another man, maybe not equally gifted, but carrying a good, to be precise, the best, reputation in the Ton. 

“You are the diamond, dear. Your concern should be of who you have not intrigued rather than who is. Gentlemen from wide and far come for an inch of your time. It is certainly no surprise His Grace is amongst that category.”

“...Yes, Mother,” you replied with a tight-lipped smile to cover the traces of defeat, but even the tiniest of paw prints were impossible to hide in a snow-befallen field.

Ireum took a calculated sip of the wine imported from the Portuguese islands of Madeira, her favorite kind. The fermented liquid tasted better now that she could drink it in the confines of her own house instead of sneaking into a pub around the corner, seduce the first man that was most likely to give into her red lips and cunning eyes, and order her a glass of Madeira. Ireum allowed a silence to stretch across the room, giving you a chance to come through with your thoughts. As the silence continued, she put down the almost empty wine glass and patted her sweetened lips dry with a napkin.

“Yunho, dear? Accept the proposal. Tell His Grace that Miss Lee will with honor accompany him to the races.”

The youth of the Dowager Viscountess was anything but kind to her. She was not born into a wealthy family, rather to two hard-working parents who were rarely home. School was not an option either as someone had to stay and take care of the home and younglings. Being the oldest out of the litter made the pressure fall on Ireum’s tiny shoulders. There was more to her than just red lipstick and monochromic dresses. Behind the facade of a powerful and cunning woman stood a child yearning for a life free of labour and poverty. She found solace in the fact that her three children were born with golden spoons in their little fists. 

The universe was driving a hard bargain, but Ireum was willing to ignore the bad memories for as long as her children had everything they wished for. What she was not reluctant to do, however, was shape them into responsible adults willing to stand their ground. Perhaps it could explain why she was not coaxing you into spilling the many concerns swirling in your mind. She believed you were mature enough to voice your thoughts and feelings without anyone prodding from the outside. It was a slow process, but you were going to learn. Ireum was determined to see it through. No one asked eight-year-old Ireum of her feelings or concerns, she was her own shield and sword, fighting for her yearnings. Possessing a golden spoon or not, you were not going to fall into the tragic fate of being pushed around, let alone by your future partner.

“That does sound lovely, Mother. I am quite tired, is it alright if I tune in for the night?”

Ireum was not oblivious to your feigned fatigue, but out of the two, she was the better actress and reciprocated a smile warm enough to melt combs of honey.

“Yes, darling, you go right ahead.”

You did not hate the possibility of His Gracce being one of the many suitors asking for your hand in marriage. It would be outright foolish of you. Seonghwa was everything a lady searched for in a man. Handsome, compassionate, rich…

If the tales were true, of course. You had not exchanged more than a handful of words on the night of his ball to make that conclusion on your own, but even with all those alluring characteristics and good attributes, the Duke of Beaumonte was not calling to you as a midnight craving of strawberries and sugarcubes you needed or would succumb to death in your sleep. He was in the bowl along with the remaining fruit sold on the market of London, squashed between the apples and bananas everyone could reach, but did not look nearly as sweet or enticing as the passionfruit buried beneath. However, it did not matter as you would take the bite of the bland fruit, whether it be against your wishes or not, and return to the passionfruit another day. Perhaps, if you tasted the dull fruit enough times, it would suit your taste buds far better than the sweet one, and eventually bury any and all cravings of it.

The unexpected noise of knuckles knocking against your bedroom door jolted you back to the presence despite not being louder than the patting feet of a baby duck. The door opened gently as your voice reached the other side granting them entry. 

“You are still awake.”

You found Yunho’s eyes through your vanity mirror. “Yes. I am getting ready for bed.”

“Ah,” he replied in understanding and leaned against one of the posters on your bed, the tree sturdy enough to take his whole weight.

A silence lay over the room as a coverlet was spread over your bed and was interrupted every now and then by you adjusting beauty trinkets on your desk. You could sense the question lurking in the dark corners of your poorly lit room, the lantern to your right doing little to illuminate the space. Yunho watched you remove makeup with a cold cream gifted by Ireum, then continue with your night routine of removing bobby pins from your hair and neatly braiding it. You could only hold off on the conversation for so long until you ran out of things to do.

“If I ask, will you answer honestly?”

“I do not quite understand what you mean, Brother.”

“I am not Mother to pretend your sullen face was caused by the corn on your platter.”

You set the hairbrush down a tad bit harsher than intended and pushed away from the table, walked past Yunho with featherlight steps and slipped beneath your covers. “It is true I am not fond of corn…”

“Do you truly suppose I shall take your words to heart?” He asked and turned around with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“There is nothing wrong, Brother. I was simply tired from a long day of entertaining callers. You shall see, tomorrow I will return to my ordinary self again.”

The Jeong siblings were quite different from one another, sharing genetics or not. Wooyoung knew of no fear speaking his mind. Everyone in a close vicinity of him would be aware of his demeanor whether it was happiness, anger or sadness. The boy did little to hide it too. The crinkle of his eyes or the frown on his face was a quick giveaway of what the next rant of feelings would be about.

On the other side of the coin was Yunho. His many years of being a viscount shaped him into full control of his body. The facial expressions he made at balls and events could not be trusted, but nonetheless fooled all the right people. Unless Yunho wanted you to know about his inner turmoil, you would not get a glimpse of it. 

The youngest of the bunch was nowhere in between. You mastered the art of bottling up. Reflecting other’s emotions was an easier way to hide your own, besides it was worth it to see the smile on their faces. Turning with the wind and following the path of others spared you lectures and time of pointless arguing. Sacrificing your own thoughts and feelings for the sake of others’ felt rewarding in a way as you did not bring a cloud of disappointment over your family. Smiling and nodding like the perfect lady did its magic, and who were you to complain?

Yunho held back from sighing at your passiveness. It did irk him that you still kept your feelings beneath lock and key. He was your brother for heaven’s sake! If he was not the one you turned to with all your troubles and concerns, who was? 

The cloak of responsibility befell him the day Wooyoung was delivered in the bed of his parents' master bedroom. Six-year-old Yunho could feel the shift as an additional member was brought to their family of three. The Jeongs were already struggling to make ends meet and Yunho could not understand how a second child would make their life easier. Another mouth to feed, another body to keep warm. It took him weeks to grow accustomed to the baby wrapped in linen with demands of being cradled by Ireum day and night. Yunho hated Wooyoung for several reasons. For making their lives harder, having their parents stay up late at night while twelve hour shifts waited on them the day after, being fussy over the selected food they were ratioed and for always crying. 

A late night when the wind released its anger on London and the sun was afraid to appear, little Wooyoung had gotten sick with fever which refused to go down. Ireum and late Jongsu were helpless, desperately placing a wet rag over his tiny forehead and singing every lullaby passed down from generations to calm the crying babe, but it did nothing. Wooyoung split the heaven into two and would not stop his wailing until he was fever free. It was a shame to lose their second born not even a year into his life and Yunho, not having a job nor enough pennies to buy medicine, marched out of the door, hat and trenchcoat a miss while on a hunt for the stupid cure.

It was the same protective spark he felt at the age of fourteen, when Ireum and the Late Viscount Lee introduced their respective offsprings to each other. When your tiny head peeked from around your father’s leg, curious eyes stared up at Yunho who was even taller than your best friend.

Seven years later and Yunho vowed to keep you safe from harm as he did with Wooyoung all those years ago and still counting. It was a difficult promise to keep as you were going against everything he worked for. Yunho did not wish for you to please him by playing along to his supposed wants and needs. He would first feel a sense of accomplishment when you could give up half of the strain by opening up what was truly gnawing at the back of your head. It was eating him from the inside, but nothing would change by forcing you to open up.

So, Yunho yielded for the time being and returned to his chamber. 

The piano occupying the center of the drawing room was bought by Viscount and Viscountess Song, as every other instrument, in hopes of their son taking the path of music. It was yet another point added to their long list of disappointments. Mingi had in fact not touched the piano, let alone pursued music. The instruments were as new and clean as the day they were carried into the building and left to decay in their stands. It could not be compared to the grandeur of His Grace’s estate, but it was still impressive, especially to someone who did not have a music room or any instruments to begin with. 

“What did you tell Lady Lee?” Mingi asked as he watched you pace back and forth from his seat on the piano stool. 

You arrived at the Song estate a good hour earlier than you originally planned, just to prepare for your first lesson with Hongjoong. The maids under the Songs’ care set up marvellous biscuits and fruits on a silver platter accompanied by a pitcher full of water. Everything from the smallest of details had to be in perfect condition. You wanted Hongjoong to be aware of how important these lessons were for you and if that was by stuffing him full of dessert, then so be it.

Sweets and drinks were not the only thing you put a lot of thought behind. A variety of dresses filled your wardrobe, yet you spent more time nitpicking than choosing which one would suit you the best. Your maids were of no help at all as they deemed every dress perfect, which was true considering they were made for your very figure and appearance. In the end, you settled on a light pink gown. Its high waistline stopping just under the bust and flowing down in a long skirt. The sleeves were made of an almost translucent pink fabric with an exquisite embroidery pattern of a wildflower. The silk garment reached to your ankles with an added layer of the translucent fabric. It was beyond beautiful.

“I simply told her I had an appointment in town and would bring Franscesca.”

“Who is Franscesca?” Mingi reached for a powdery biscuit, but you gently slapped his hand away. 

“My lady’s maid.”

Feigning hurt, he pouted and cradled his hand to his chest. Noticing you were not indulging in his childish behaviour, he threw another question at you.

“And where is this Franscesca now?”

“She is running errands, of course.”

“...Have you ever been told you are one sly lady?”

A devious smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. You exaggeratedly pinched the silky fabric of your dress between your thumbs and pointer fingers, giving Mingi a slow bow. 

“Why, thank you kind sir.”

Deja-vu, Vitamin String Quartet, 0:00-0:40

He barked out a laugh, crumbs and chocolate bits falling onto his pristine black suit as his mouth gaped wide. You launched yourself onto the vacant seat beside him on the plush sofa as your belly laughter filled the spacious drawing room. Minutes later you lay limp on the furniture, heads thrown back against the headrests and arms close to the side of your bodies.

“Oh, I am going to miss this dearly,” you admitted as the gleeful sounds subdued to a silence cast in a yellow hue. Light puffs of air slipped through your lips as you recovered from the tummy aches as a result of your laughing session.

“What do you mean?” 

“This,” you beckoned to your disheveled states with a wave of your hand, “will all disappear when we both marry.” 

Your gaze was set on the spotless ceiling, but you could still feel the burn of Mingi staring holes in the side of your head. His dark brown eyes traveled down the slope of your nose and up your cheek, admiring the somber look of defeat and acceptance. He averted his attention to the same blank canvas and heaved a sigh as his fingers weaved together across his abdomen.

“I believe the Song bloodline will reach no farther than my grave.”

You glanced in his direction and pressed your lips in a thin line. No words could bring Mingi to hope for a marriage built on love. Instead, you brushed your pinky against his clad elbow. A brief, but powerful gesture to ground him in his lonely thoughts. To be the light slipping through the cracks of the dark tunnel he, more often than not, found himself in. 

“Then I dare argue it will be put to rest in the softest grave of all the Songs.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, yet the look on Mingi’s face as your eyes met in a gentle clash was louder than the heavens on a thunderous day. One corner of his mouth was tightly pulled at by an invisible force, creating something akin to a loop-sided smile that did not quite reach his eyes. If only you were not you, he thought and exhaled a puff of defeat. Mingi would never bring himself to say the words out in the open, for even the walls had ears.

“It is truly unfair I do not…”

The sentence ended abruptly like a burning candle being deprived of oxygen and your brows knit in worry. As you moved to sit upright and cast more attention to Mingi’s mind marred with deep thoughts, the grand doors of the drawing room flew up and a member of the staff stepped through, not batting an eye at the lack of proper space between you.

“A visitor for Mister Song.”

Loud footsteps echoed from the long hall outside and Mingi, with little to no urgency in his bones, stood up as you followed suit. The image of witnessing your best friend in distress refused to leave your mind, yet you were forced to push it further back, vowing to yourself to resume the conversation from where you left off after the awaited guest had taken his leave.

An orange hue only making its presence known during the golden hour of a day illuminated the room as Hongjoong gracefully emerged through the open doors. It did not matter that his hair was rather rowdy and unkept, carelessly combed through with his fingers, Mister Kim appeared as handsome as ever. In fact, you were far too occupied with admiring his face to even notice the new suit tailored to his precise measurements. The color, a shade only found in the most respected vineyard of the country, suited his honey complexion and you could barely keep your lips from curving obnoxiously. To ground yourself, you intertwined your fingers behind your back and nearly stumbled over your own feet from shifting too much.

“Mister Song,” Hongjoong acknowledged with a curt nod and then averted his gaze to you, his voice dropping in a softer octave. “Miss Lee.”

“Mister Kim, we are delighted by your presence. Please, I insist, take a seat.” You gestured toward the sofa opposite of you and the guest complied.

It was questionable to witness your relaxed posture in the property of another family, to whom you had no romantic pursuits with, but Hongjoong was in no position to ask questions. He was merely there for business, not to pry his nose in other people's.

“It is a very welcoming home you have.” 

The compliment was directed at Mingi, who barely acknowledged the man. A simple grunt vibrated from the depths of his throat as a stary, almost forlorn look, dimmed his usually bright eyes. 

“If you will excuse me, Miss Lee, Mister Kim, I have some important business to attend to. Do not let my absence trouble you. I shall be in the study above should you require my presence.”

Mingi did not wait a second too long before taking his leave, not sparing either of his guests a fleeting glance. The worry pulled at you from within and your fingers itched to latch onto his suit, to give it a little nudge and gently pry answers out of him. Yet you were well versed with how Mingi functioned. The gentle giant did not work well under pressure and would sooner or later come to you with the weights pushed onto his shoulders. He always did, and you welcomed him with open arms and soothing words every single time.

The soft clear of someone’s throat burst the bubble of worry wrapped around you. Hongjoong sheepishly smiled and quickly threw glances between you and the piano waiting to be used.

“Shall we?”

A weak smile took over your gloomy features. “Of course.”

A sense of deja-vu washed over you from your first encounter dating back to the first ball of the season. Elbows brushing and thighs touching with the sweet melody produced from Hongjoong’s talented fingers whisking you to a far away land. It was a magical evening and it had nothing to do with the Duke’s grand investments in hosting the perfect ball of the season. The scene was similar to then except for the bright sky and sun casting a boiling glow over London. 

Hongjoong suddenly pressed down on the piano keys, filling the room with a light note that eventually simmered to silence, but did not last long.

“Considering you wish to become familiar with the pianoforte again, Miss Lee, I have composed a selection of melodies that I trust shall be simple to master.”

It should have been the first indication that these lessons would be far from simple and you were truly foolish to believe a talented young man the kinds of Hongjoong could differentiate between ‘simple’ and ‘elementary tier’. You released a nervous breath and feigned a smile. A pinching feel of embarrassment clung to your cheeks at the thought of admitting it was a too perplexing melody for you to learn. Hongjoong, being overly observant, noticed your sudden unease and lifted his hands off the keyboard, shifting his torso to get a better view of your face.

“Perhaps I was a bit eager to begin our lessons to even reconsider the difference between my perception of simple and yours.”

Your already bruised confidence shriveled even more and you lowered your head further, like a child scolded for stealing a meringue first thing in the morning. Being subdued to an aloof and silly girl, whether people expressed it to your face or made alluding remarks, was not a strange occurrence. It burned your heart and choked up your windpipe, but you learned to ignore it. To push their harmful words beneath boiling water and just appreciate the bubbling sounds of nothing. However, you could not unhear the malicious intent slipping through Hongjoong’s statement and forming into jaded insults. 

Foolish. Naive. Tease. Emotional. Ditzy. Prude. Immature. Eager–

“It would be for the best that we revive your memory. To gain a clearer understanding of what you do remember and what you have… forgotten so to say.”

Useless. Bad. Silly. Easy. Obtuse. Absurd. Ineligible–

The voice dwindled out at the featherly touch of three fingers nudging your shoulder and you startled in your seat making the hand withdraw at instance. Vibrations of static pierced your shoulder and coursed down your spine. You wondered if he felt the heat venture through his fingertips and spread to the rest of his body. 

Facing the man who occupied your mind for the last couple of nights, your heart squeezed at the worry etched into his features. Brows drawn together and eyes darting across your face while his perfectly shaped lips were pressed in a tight line. Hongjoong appeared ethereal in every light, you realized, and perhaps this agreement was more than you could handle. Men from far away traveled to catch a glimpse of you, if the odds were in their favour maybe even exchange a couple of words. Men with big businesses to their names and bathtubs filled with gold did not spark your interest in the least, yet a man you were certain was of no such fortune made your heart jump and twirl by a mere glance.

“Are you… well?”

“My apologies, Mister Kim! Oh, how– how rude of me. I assure you, all is well. I have not been graced with a restful slumber.”

“Magnolia,” coughed Hongjoong and looked away, randomly pressing down on the piano. “Magnolia tea serves as a fine remedy for those who suffer from sleeping troubles.”

“I am afraid I have never heard of such tea before.”

“Then… Then I shall fetch you some on my next visit.” 

You paused and Hongjoong cast his attention back on you at the lack of response. His eyes widened and tongue ran dry as he realized how presumptuous it sounded. A pink dust sprinkled across his cheeks and ears burned from embarrassment, a feeling he rarely experienced, but before Hongjoong could explain himself and apologize, your mellow voice cut through the silence.

“That would be lovely and highly appreciated, Mister Kim.”

The blush did not die down. On the contrary, it increased in hue and burned hotter at the sight of the polite smile gracing your glowing face. Hongjoong understood why His Grace was invested in you. Not only were you beautiful, but warm hearted and kind. A trait most of the  members of high society lacked and something Hongjoong could attest for.

The hour you set off for piano lessons passed on a whim as the grandfather clock chimed four in the afternoon, putting an end to your secret gathering. Hongjoong scooted further up the piano stool and kissed the top of his teeth. 

Dancing Queen, Spark, 0:15-1:30

“I must admit, Miss Lee. You are an extraordinary pupil.”

The inside of your bottom lip caught between your teeth to keep them from curling at the praise. You managed to express your gratefulness in a timid, yet clear tone. However, your face and neck were not safe from the blistering heat attacking your exposed skin. 

“It is merely due to the presence of my gifted instructor.”

“Even the most gifted pianist alive could not teach the pure talent you possess, Miss Lee.” 

This time you could not hide your smile. Contagious as the plague, Hongjoong’s own mouth curved upwards and his eyes creased as if being blinded by the sun. The skin on his nose scrunched in glee and you desperately wished for the most famous artist in all of London to capture the beautiful sight in a painting that would be nothing short of mesmerizing. To hear another person, another man, acknowledge your artistry, mended the tarnished part of your soul which had only felt stinging slaps and pinches of your closest folks. Yet Hongjoong, like Mingi, entered your life with a caress and amidst all the hurt, you could pinpoint a touch of warmth. 

It tingled your chest in the form of a hand gently cupping your heart and you found yourself imagining Hongjoong standing in the place of your many suitors. A rather incredulous thought that you could not shake away and did not wish to dispose of. The next sentence you spoke into existence could be the very reason Yunho decides to ship you off to the closest mainland with the intent to keep you in solitude for all of eternity.

“Will you attend… the horse race set to take place in a few weeks’ time?”

He was not. He swore on his first born child that he would not attend the godforsaken horse race. It was simple, Hongjoong thought. Stare both Choi cousins in the face and outright refuse to come. They could not force him no matter the amount of muscles formed to perfection on their hunk of bodies. Little did he know that a brief look in your enchanting eyes, glassy with hope, would be enough for him to bend his morals. 

“It is the most sought out event of the month, correct?”

“Indeed, it is! Although, I am convinced everyone is attending in hopes of catching a glimpse of His Grace.” 

You did not intend for your tone to fall into a thin line, deprived of its usual excitement, and Hongjoong did not intend for the sour taste of lemons to scrape the insides of his mouth. 

“Might I anticipate… the pleasure of seeking out your presence there? Or shall your undivided attention be entirely devoted to His Grace?”

“No! Oh, I–Uh, I mean,” you smacked your lips together. “It would be quite rude of me to solely enjoy the company of His Grace…”

Hongjoong hastily rose from his seat. “Then it is settled. I shall take my leave now, Miss Lee, but until then…” He slowly retrieved a neatly tied scroll from the inside of his suit and held it out for you to take. 

Confused, yet intrigued, you accepted the paper. 

“Pray tell, what is this?”

Before you could untie the red string, Hongjoong wrapped his hand around yours. His fingers, nimble but determined, enclosed over yours and kept them in place. The touch was intoxicating, making the blood beneath your skin sizzle. All thoughts evaporated into air and the sole thing occupying your every being was the gentle caress of Hongjoong’s thumb against yours. The action was so innocent and yet pulled your mind into a haze of desire.

“Mister Kim–”

The words got caught in your throat as Hongjoong slid his fingers further down your hand, capturing your own fingers in his hold. His thumb resting on the space between your middle- and ring finger. The unbroken art of eye contact settled over your chest and did not let up, and you did not wish for it either. Staring into the windows of Hongjoong’s soul was like enjoying freshly picked strawberries alongside a cup of the richest brewed cocoa you could find in all of London. The real sweet treat, however, was feeling Hongjoong’s plush lips gently press against the bone of your knuckles, yet not once straying from your wide eyed look.

“Practice til your heart's content, Miss Lee. I eagerly anticipate our next coming lesson and expect you to master that composition.”

That marked the end of your first meeting and Hongjoong took his leave, politely nodding to the butler and maids seeing him on his way out. What would be viewed as rude by any other people of High Society, leaving a debutante in a state of clear frenzy, you deemed respectful of him. You would rather not be in the eye of a handsome gentleman whilst your tongue looped in on itself and your lungs vacant of air make out a single coherent sentence. Hongjoong did not leave to keep your dignity intact. The man ran his hand through his hair and, in that gentle and respectful voice of his, asked the carriage driver to make a quick stop by the Choi estate.

It seemed that the trio would need new suits for the horse race after all.

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[inesbaby21]

can u do a fic on cheerleader!r getting hurt mid game and azzi dropping everything to go help her even if it’s in the middle of a game

1st Person P.O.V

Me and a few of the girls on the cheer team were practicing, and getting ready for halftime. It was o our last halftime performance before nationals and tension was high to say the least.

Girls having open disputes about things as simple as lipstick, some crying because of hair- and bases with sweaty hands failing to catch their flyers. The entire day had been a hot mess, but the only thing that gave me a slim chance of home was that Azzi (and the girls) were aloud to watch us perform today!

It was something that was rare, but always extremely special to the both of us- as she always wanted to watch me do what I love and on her favorite spot in the world, the court.

I sit myself down on the floor beginning to tie my shoes as it's almost half time. Most of the other girls are doing stretches- or doing some last minute touch up's on that god awful red lipstick.

"Y/N/NNNN" I heard a voice drag out as i look up my eyes meet with Azzi's

"What's wrong?" Azzi says concerned- eyebrows furrowed as she tried to read my face. "S' nothing much baby, i'm just really stressed out about this routine" I say viability upset.

Usually I love flying, and doing stunts, or even tumbling but something about today just felt wrong- like I couldn't shake the feeling no matter how hard I tried.

"You're gonna do great my love, and I'll be there cheering you on- and supporting you the whole way through just like you're always doing for me" Azzi says leaning down to kiss me ultimately getting the bright red lipstick on her lips and giggling as she walks back to the bench with the disgusting color still visible on them.

"Places ladies places" I yelled looking at the clock- My coach looked at me nodding at she played a split second of the music to make sure all sound checks were cleared. Just standing in place, knowing that essentially if anything were to go wrong I was in charge was not a good feeling to have.

As the music played everyone ran to their spots, doing the elaborate dance/routine until the hard part came- I looked over to my three bases and jogged lightly to my spot.

The three girls silently counted off and very quickly got my into the air. I was in my natural habitat- this is where I never fail to deliver. I did all kinds of stunts, and kept myself upright until my bases began to walk with me. As they walked, It was choreographed that i continued to stunt.

I felt it, I heard my stunt group arguing quietly beneath the music- having had problems all week I was almost sure they were going to be at each others throats tonight.

"Ella move your fucking hand off of her right leg" Kamryn quietly yelled to the tan girl as they stopped mid step to get back to the almost muscle memory argument that had occurred since the 4 girls were placed with one another. I listened to them bicker as I continued to stunt, I couldn't stop mid leap. Unbeknownst to the arguing girls, they had lost their once strong grip on me- and almost immediately I came falling down to the ground.

As I came down, I heard Kamryn and Ella mutter a "shit"- as they heard my harsh impact with the ground and the stomach churning scream I let out as I heard something snap that Honestly wasn't supposed to.

"Oh my god" I heard my mom (and coach) yell as my vision and hearing began to fade in and out ever so slightly.

"Fuck" I heard Azzi yell as she ran over to me and my mom- watching as my body began to shake, my head almost immediately colliding with the floor as my body began to convulse. And with that ladies and gentlemen, I began to seize. Almost immediately medics came to assist the situation, and no sooner I was taken to the Hospital. I vaguely remember Ella, and Kamryn getting yelled at by my backspot, mom, and then a sobbing Azzi as they stood there still in shock.

"How could you two be so irresponsible?" My mother shouted "You had one job ladies and that was to support her- You two are done for the week ladies go home and figure out your mess come back when your ready to actually work and not waste my time." she shouted dismissing the two girls as she and Azzi followed the medics to the ambulance.

"I love you Az" I weakly said about to drift off into a meditation induced sleep. Leaning in to kiss her lips one last time for the night.

"I love you too Y/N/N- get some rest baby" she said noticing me drifting and I did just that.

this was actually kinda butt yall and i have like 5 more requests to do omg.

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward. 

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour. 

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement. 

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment. 

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table. 

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake. 

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when— 

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke. 

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did. 

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment. 

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects. 

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head. 

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.  

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with. 

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled. 

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card. 

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor. 

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer. 

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore. 

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you. 

Harrington. 

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son. 

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest. 

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’ 

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page. 

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head. 

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge. 

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door. 

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses. 

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out. 

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity. 

Sincerest greetings, 

S.H. 

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom. 

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude? 

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

 Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce. 

‘Miss Byrnwick,’  Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten. 

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit. 

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’ 

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance. 

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress. 

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill. 

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself. 

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle. 

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building. 

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way. 

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’ 

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’ 

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’ 

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’ 

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile. 

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture. 

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more. 

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ 

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear. 

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’ 

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’ 

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’ 

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment.  ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’  

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying. 

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer. 

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not. 

 ‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it. 

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’ 

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet. 

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’ 

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you. 

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings. 

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’ 

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’ 

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words. 

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning. 

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise. 

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said. 

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work. 

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance. 

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world. 

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay. 

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination. 

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away. 

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message. And don't forget to join the taglist if you want to be kept up to date on the chapters [yes, I promise, more will be coming]

[giulliadella]

Speculative Biology of Euclydeans (and Bill Cipher) part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, UPDATE, Part 5

Euclydean society and Bill Cipher's disability

Reading the first part is highly recommended before reading this one, since in that part I explained how Euclydia functions as a dimension.

This part is going to talk about disability, discrimination and eugenics of geometric shapes, so tw if you're sensitive to that.

Society

Euclydeans were intelligent, sapient organisms that lived in a complex society. From Bill directly, we find out that they had schools, jobs, families, social structure and developed medicine. This makes them seem very much like humans here on Earth.

We know that Bill had a family, his mother and father, however, we don't know whether those two were married. So I can't tell you whether the institution of marriage even existed in Euclydia. Bill never talks about marriage, so I'm inclined to believe that they didn't really have wedding vows, but rather, a pair would stay together because they loved each other and for their children.

However, Bill does talk about divorce. He sees his falling out with Stanford as divorcing, so it's pretty clear that Euclydean "marriage" consisted of a pair being together and deciding to spend their life together, but if they wanted to break up, that was called a divorce and they probably had disputes over who gets house and kids.

And when we're speaking of love, Bill claims that he can't see the difference between love and fear in humans. This is kind of true: both intense feelings of love and fear activate the sympathetic nervous system which causes the heart to beat faster, deepens and quickens the breathing and makes us all sweaty and flushed. Love in humans causes the same things to happen as fight or flight response and Bill is too dense to accept that there is a difference.

This, however, tells us that in Euclydeans, feelings of love do not activate their equivalent of fight or flight. Bill is a person very prone to angry outbursts at slightest provocation. But Ford can do a lot more to him than any other person before he gets angry. This means that love in Euclydeans is a soothing feeling. Love makes them feel calmer and safer. Hell, Stanford's mindscape was Bill's safe space. Now, of course, love in Euclydeans isn't all about calm - they also get excited. Excitement upon seeing the one you love, but expressed as happiness, with most likely slower heartbeat. Again, loved ones in Euclydeans are seen as a safe space, a little lighthouse in a stormy sea to hang onto.

Euclydeans also express love in a similar way to mammals: they bring gifts (Bill catching rats and arranging them to form Ford's name), they want attention from the other person and their affection, they share food and drinks and overall want to spend time and have fun with their companion.

But when it comes to anger, fear and joy I don't see any significant differences between humans and Euclydeans. Sadness is a tough one, because Bill expresses it by not expressing it. This man is in so much denial that he could flood the Nile. However, distress in Bill is more or less the same as in humans. He also gets drunk after break up and acts as a drunk person would. This tells me that sadness is expressed somewhat similarly in Euclydeans as in humans with maybe some tweaks here and there.

Bill is obsessed with The Great Gatsby, so much so that he dedicated a chunk of his book to literally citing the second chapter of it. This is a very concerning behavior (but, to be fair, most of his behaviors are). However, I believe that his obsession comes from a feeling of nostalgia and familiarity. When I look at Bill's attire I see a guy wearing a fancy hat and a bow tie which were a staple for evening dress of 1920s gentlemen. He also sports a cane, which they also wore. I can't remember much from The Great Gatsby and I'm too lazy to read it again, but it does take place in 1920s America. So, maybe the society Bill was born into resembled that time period.

If that was the case, the societal structures and certain expectations would have been rigid. Euclydia is very much based on Abbott's Flatland and, while that world is a critique of 1800s Britain, it depicts a very sad and bleak society where everyone has to fit in a role that was determined by their shape. In Flatland, Triangles were the lowest class, with isosceles being the lowest of the low and used as slaves and soldiers, while equilateral Triangles (like Bill) could rise in the society and perform the roles of merchants. Scalene Triangles were considered abominations and were killed as kids.

I don't think that Euclydia was exactly as Flatland. However, some Gravity Falls material point towards triangles being lower class citizens. I sadly don't have Journal 3, but I know about the page where Stanford goes to a second dimension and he talks about how Triangle people are low class citizens and Circle people are high class citizens. This is very similar to Flatland, but what about Bill?

Well, Bill was probably from a lower middle class family. Him wearing oversized shoes that were probably bought on sale or given by someone whose child had grown out of them, speaks about them being kinda poor. Bill was also bullied by his peers at school, but notably by rhombuses and trapezoids. These shapes were one class above him, because they had four sides. Better off kids bullying a poorer, disabled kid is a tale as old as time.

The eugenics policies in Euclydia were probably much less strict than in Flatland. However, if they were anything like laws controlling disabled people in 1920s USA, then Bill and his mother were probably forcibly sterilized because of his mutation.

2. Bill Cipher's disability

Bill was born with a disability - well, to be fair it was more akin to superpower - of being able to see into the "third dimension". Bill could see outside of Euclydean borders because he had his eye placed on the front of his face and not on the side, like other Euclydeans. This allowed him to see the stars of the surrounding universes. (please check part 1 of this analysis where you have detailed sketch of Euclydia in relation to other universes).

However, because of his mutation, even though he had much broader view of the universe, Bill was considered legally blind by his peers. Because his eye was on the front and he could move only sideways, Bill was seeing his home dimension only with his peripheral vision. He could make out basic shapes and colors, but not the details. He probably draws his parents as blue and red triangles because that's how he saw them. He could never see the details of their faces. He could, of course, recognize them by touch, smell and voice, but he could never see them as they could see him.

Bill also behaves a lot like a person with ADHD. Now, I have ADHD and I got that diagnosis when I was SEVENTEEN. My early school years were hell. If Bill does have ADHD, he was probably a problematic child at school and that just added more fuel for his bullies. The lack of control over his emotions and his special interest in stars were definitely a reason for him to get bullied, maybe even more than his disability. There were no schools for special needs children in 1920s USA, which doesn't mean that they didn't exist in Euclydia. But, since little Bill was from a poor family, he didn't get to go those schools if they existed.

Another quirk of his mutation in Euclydia meant that Bill had problems feeding himself. Since Euclydeans use their eye as a mouth, Bill had to eat sideways. Imagine if your mouth was on your back and you had to reach behind to feed. Bill was lucky that his eye was much bigger than other Euclydeans which made his mouth bigger as well. His parents also accommodated his needs - his mom was removing crust from his bread and he was also given his medicine in liquid form.

I made art to explain this more easily:

So, with Bill being bullied and rejected by his society because of his disability (and likely neurodivergency), there was no wonder he wanted to somehow prove himself. Talking about stars and the existence of something outside of Euclydia was considered illegal, but why? Well... stick around for part 5, where I will explain how I believe Bill Cipher accidentally destroyed his entire dimension. It will be fun ;P

Well, Part 5 is not about that anymore, because yeah.

@ok1237 and @unoriginal-starwalker I hope you'll enjoy this =D

PS: I hid Dipper and Mabel in the art! Can you find them?

[toescapetherealityoflife]

Vision board of My new Mafia a/b/o Enhypen fic

Lee Heeseung

I'm not your typical suit-and-tie, Wall Street wolf.

I deal in a different kind of currency, one that's measured in respect, fear, and the unwavering loyalty of the men around me. See, my power isn't just about the money, though believe me, there's plenty of that flowing. It's about control, about being the silent puppeteer pulling strings you can't even see.

I make deals that bypass legalities, settle disputes with a nod or a whisper, and ensure things get done, efficiently and decisively. The city, it's a chessboard, and I know where every single piece is. The legitimate businesses I own? They're just the facade, the polished veneer hiding the intricate network that truly gives me influence. Someone needs a problem solved? They come to me.

Someone tries to cross me? Well, they quickly learn the consequences. My power isn't handed to me; it's carved, earned, and maintained through a delicate balance of calculated risks and carefully nurtured alliances.

It's a world where trust is rare, where every conversation is a potential negotiation, and where the only certainty is the authority I wield. And I wield it with precision

Park Jay

"They call me the 'Fixer,' but that's just a fancy label for a guy who knows how to make problems disappear.

See, the strength I wield isn't in the muscle or the guns, though those are certainly available if needed. My real power lies in understanding. I understand people's fears, their wants, and their deepest vulnerabilities. I can read a room like a book, and predict their next move before they even think it.

And that knowledge? That's leverage. I can weave deals, twist words, and paint pictures that make even the most stubborn bull see things my way. I can make offers they can't refuse, not with threats, but with the promise of something they desperately crave – be it protection, opportunity, or simply the relief of not having a headache anymore.

So, when I sit at the table, it's not just me; it's the weight of all the possibilities I can conjure, all the 'what ifs' they suddenly have to consider. And that, my friend, is a power far more potent than any bullet."

Sim Jake

"They call me 'The Ghost' in the circles I move in, and it's not just a fancy nickname.

I don't break kneecaps; I break firewalls. My power isn't brute force, it's silence and precision. I can slip into any network like a whisper in the wind, extract information that's locked tighter than Fort Knox, and leave no trace but a few rearranged bits of code.

Need to reroute a shipment? I can manipulate the logistics. Want to make someone's money vanish? Bank accounts are as transparent to me as glass. The old guard uses muscle; they send guys with guns.

I’m the new era – I use data, and in this world, data is the most dangerous weapon of all. They might think they’re in control, but really, they're just playing by my rules. I'm the puppet master behind the screen, and nobody ever sees my strings."

Park Sunghoon

"Power isn't about screaming the loudest or brandishing the biggest gun. Those are the tools of a novice, a child playing at being a king. True power is about influence. It's about the whisper that travels further than any shout, the connection that runs deeper than any blood oath.

My power isn't just in the men you see standing here, loyal and ready. It's in the judge who owes me a favour, the cop who'll look the other way, and the banker who knows where to discreetly deposit those 'problematic' funds. It’s in the businesses I control, the news I can shape, and the favours I can call in from all corners of this city.

I don't need to flex my muscles, gentlemen. I simply need to be."They understood then, the true language of power, spoken not in threats, but in the silent, pervasive web I wove around them, and all of this city.

Kim Sunoo

"Sweet Surrender," was his sanctuary, a haven built brick by sweet brick to keep the darkness at bay.

He had tasted the bitter tang of betrayal, the metallic tang of fear, and the hollow echo of violence. He had seen things that haunted his dreams, and felt the weight of choices that still pressed down on him.

Now, surrounded by the comforting aroma of sugar and yeast, he clung fiercely to the simple joy of baking, his hands trembling slightly as he kneaded, not from fear, but from a desperate hope that his past would remain just that – the past. He would never again step foot in that world of shadows, never again trade the sweet scent of life for the acrid stench of death. This bakery, this quiet haven, was his penance, his redemption.

Yang Jungwon

The way I see it, power isn't about brute force or a loud mouth, though those have their place. My power lies in understanding the game, the board, and every player moving across it.

I'm the strategist, the one who sees five moves ahead while everyone else is still reacting to the last. It's not about pulling the trigger; it's about knowing when and who should be pulling it. I orchestrate the chaos, predict the outcomes, and ensure things align in our favour.

My influence isn't seen in blood and broken bones, but in the carefully crafted alliances, the strategically placed whispers, and the flawless execution of plans that seem inevitable in retrospect. That’s the real strength, the quiet kind that shapes the very fabric of this

Nishimura Riki

The whispers follow me, they always have. Some call it a "gift," others a curse, but I simply call it my work.

I'm a whisper in the dark, a shadow that moves unseen. My power isn't brute strength or some flashy parlour trick; it's an acute awareness, a heightened perception. I see the subtle shifts in posture, the flicker of doubt in an eye, the barely perceptible tremor of a hand reaching for a weapon. It's like the world unfolds slower for me, allowing me to anticipate the next move before it even happens.

This, coupled with a lifetime of honing my body into a lethally precise instrument, makes me more than just a man with a gun. I'm a pre-emptive strike, a silent executioner. I don’t need to be faster; I see the openings before they’re even there.

They say the mafia is a jungle, but in this jungle, I'm the apex predator, and my power is the silence that precedes the storm.

[tpwkwriter]

Tpwkwriters masterlist🌸

* = personal favourites <3

————————————fluff————————————

personal pillow- where y/n falls asleep and Harry needs a new lock screen.

Till midday- sleeping in till midday has never felt better.

‘Let me think’- *where y/n and Harry participate in the ‘touch your favourite part of me’ trend on TikTok.

I’ll be by your side- where long distance is hard but Harry always has reminders.

Don’t fret-* where Harry’s a gentlemen and y/n awakes in a bloody puddle.

My only angel-* where y/n and Harry realize just how mushy they really are.

I’ll be by your side- Harry may be across the world but his souvenirs from y/n keep him going.

You- Harry’s envy causes a dispute between a popular co-star.

Drowsy-* a sleepy y/n and a soft h.

Front row for you- where y/n is about to fulfil her and Harry wouldn’t miss it for the world.

In sickness and health-* when y/n is under the weather and Harry’s the perfect boyfriend.

Half the world away- y/n just misses her Harry but sometimes he can’t get the hint.

The morning after- where Harry takes y/n’s innocence and y/n loves him.

Annoyingly perfect- where Harry’s accent is the cherry ontop.

Astraphobia- where y/n has a fear of thunder and Harry is in love.

Head in a book- where y/n’s always nose deep in a book.

Princess treatment- first date as fiancés, and y/n gets the ultimate treatment

————————————angst———————————

*please make sure to read all warnings and TWs before reading these fics! <3*

In my remorse-* where y/n reads stuff she wished she didn’t.

Let’s not- *famous!y/n deals with rude interviewers and Harry’s always alert.

Tourbus blues- even the most biggest Popstars get nervous sometimes.

Please?- stress and exhaustion are the ingredients to an argument.

Envious- where y/n refuses to be part of Olivia’s games.

—————head-cannons and smut————————

Sleeping with H. Types of kisses y/n receives.

Things overprotective Harry def does. Petnames

Different dates they have. “Oh honey”. “Jealous H”

Intimate giggles- where y/n has the sneezes in a passionate time and h finds it adorable.

Rainy day pillowprincess- rainy day intimacy

From my eyes- where mirror sex helps y/n feel better

I’ve got you- where y/n uses a safe word, and H doesn’t mind

—————Master-lists I heavily recommend!———

This- by @watermelonlovershigh

this- by @shroombloomm

This- by @harrysfolklore

This- by @musicforastylesrestaurant

This- by @watchmegetobsessed

This- by @finelinevogue

This- by @moonchildstyles

[gwydpolls]

Shakespeare Genre Battle: Comedies 1

I'm doing all of them. Don't worry if yours isn't in this poll.

I am including some things with disputed authorship and apocrypha just because.

[dionysiaproductions]

Today at Pemberley, The 25th of May:

The morning brought a letter from Mr. Darcy which Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy read aloud at the breakfast table to Mrs. Jane Bingley and Miss Georgiana Darcy.

“This first section surely must have been written before he received my letter,” Mrs. Darcy quickly summarized the contents. “He starts by detailing the progress he and Mr. Bingley have had with resolving the dispute which brought Mr. Bingley to London. There’s a great deal written here about property lines and whether the hillside was included in the original sale. Escapes me why that is of any significance.”

Mrs. Bingley set aside her toast to explain, “The cotton weaving sheds are built into the hillside for the fibers need the moisture in the air.”

“Well that is the significance then,” Mrs. Darcy conceded. She had read nearly to the end of the letter, when she exclaimed, “Here is his response to me. It is hardly three sentences. He says that The Honorable William Fitzwilliam’s history of privacy is one known within the family, but he had never heard any such rumors about Mr. Thomas Darcy.”

“That is all he writes?” Miss Georgiana asked.

“There’s more after his signature,” Mrs. Darcy said. “Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam is with them in London and he intends to make his way to Pemberley. We should expect him within days of this letter.”

Miss Georgiana brightened at this news, “They must have some information that they did not trust to a letter.”

Mrs. Darcy’s offered the counterpoint, “Perhaps or we have given the gentlemen the impression that it was inadvisable to leave us to our own devices.”

Previous days at Pemberley here

[acideathr]

‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹ 𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝄞₊ ⊹ 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙 ● 𝖌𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗼𝗻𝗲 ● 𝗮 𝘀𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ⤿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 ● 𝘄𝗲'𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝘀𝗶𝗿!

♫ .. “ ... 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 ... “ ★ . •° . －𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳 ．．• ♡︎

trein: all right, as we've already established, you are to split into three groups for your fieldwork.

trein: do you all remember your groups?

azul: yes, group a.

idia: team star...

malleus: group 1.

rollo: the inconsistent nomenclature is most distressing.

trein: they spent a whole meeting arguing about which group should be considered most important, and none of them were willing to compromise.

rollo: ah, i see... but what will yuu be doing?

trien: yuu and grim are to accompany me.

trien: i'm not worried about those two, but the others... hrm...

trien: all right, gentlemen, i know we've been through this multiple times, but i'm going over it again.

trien: there is not to be any, and i mean any trouble in town involving the use of magic.

azul: there won't be, rest assured. we're the last people who would ever resort to violence— ah, i mean, minor disputes — on a field trip abroad.

idia: oh yeah. mild—mannered, good—hearted, sensible. that's us.

malleus: do we look like the kind of miscreants who would act rudely to strangers?

everyone: we'll be fine, sir!

trein: hmph... those smiles only increase my anxiety. i know this is one of the most peaceful cities in the shaftlands...

trein: but i still worry about letting young students travel unaccompanied. there's no telling what could happen to them...

trein: or more to the point, what could happen to the townspeople.

trein: we'll be making the rounds and meeting up as necessary. inform me immediately if you have any issues.

trein: my cell phone number is listed at the bottom of your itinerary. i expect all of you to add it to your contacts.

ruggie: yeah, sure. i'll do it later.

trein: no, you'll do it NOW!

rollo: you're quite strict, professor.

rollo: i have to meet with the other visiting schools, so i'm afraid i won't be able to keep you company the whole time.

rollo: but i'll head into town once i've got things sorted out. i'd be happy to guide you where i can.

rollo: that's reassuring. all right, gentlemen. be careful out there.

everyone: yes, sir!

⭑♪⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ⭑♪⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶����𝘁

©𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 ● @acideathr 2025 ⤿ my work is not yours to take; posting chapters requires significant time and effort. all credit is due to aniplex and yana toboso; show your support by downloading the twisted wonderland. this blog particularly caters to players who cannot access the en game because of their region or those who aren't willing to download the game

[nix-writes-mcyt]

His Reigns Downfall

Drabble Ren x reader Contains: Angst ----------------------

"Are you nervous?" Cub asks, straightening his tie the best he can in the mirror beside you.

"Of course I am, everything rides on today." You look yourself over in the mirror, the all white outfit adorned with tiny glistening diamonds not exactly what you had envisioned for a day like today.

"There is only one hope for this kingdom, and it's you." Cleo says, resting their hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah, no pressure." You grimace, Joe appearing in the doorway. "It's time." He says.

You nod, taking one last look at your hideous outfit before leaving the room.

You can hear a skulk sensor go off, music starting to play as you near the entrance to the throne room. Perfect redstone, likely from the one and only BdoubleO himself.

You take in a deep breath and force a smile onto your face as you see the room for the first time. Your nerves go through the roof, you never wanted to do this. But it's the only way.

As Joe walks you down the aisle you can feel everyone's eyes on you. It's only the whole kingdom, each one of your soon to be loyal subjects. Providing this all goes well.

You know what rides on today, what rides on this ceremony. You have to do it.

The music stops as you do, Bdubs clearing his throat. "Ladies, Gentlemen and Hermits of all kinds, we are gathered here today to witness the wedding of King Ren and Y/n."

Your throat feels dry and scratchy as Bdubs goes on, you're both too cold and too hot. "On with the vows!" Bdubs exclaims.

You pull out your piece of paper, having the honour of going first. A high honour giving that you get to go before the king does.

"King Ren, I vow to you first of my devotion, one that lies with the crown and its owner. I swear to uphold my duties and to take care of Hermitcraftia, by your side or in your absence. With this ring I pledge this to you."

Ren nods approvingly, thankfully missing your plan.

"Y/n, I swear this vow to you, to thine beauty and wisdom that I do so hold dear. I knew from the moment you joined the square table that thee would mean muchly to me, and you do. So I justly go forth and vow myself to thine and thou cause, to me and to the crown."

You're left slightly confused by his words, but it doesn't matter. The two of you exchange rings, both containing far too many diamonds.

"I hereby and henceforth pronounce you married, you may kiss." Bdubs grins. And you do, you and Ren share a short kiss.

The people clap and cheer as Ren takes your arm, walking you toward the throne room exit. Members of the Soup Group bow their heads as you walk by, Doc shooting you a wink.

Those that are against the King are well aware of your plan, some contributing to it.

Ren escorts you out into the royal gardens, the two of you having predetermined that you were going to do this. You had thought of taking advantage of the situation, but it made more sense not to. After all, Ren did have some supporters. Enough of them to pose an issue if everything wasn't perfect.

The crowd follows the two of you out, plenty of witnesses to see this all happen. No one will be able to dispute it. Not even those most loyal to the king.

You and Ren stop under a large arch, turning to the crowd and waiting for them to settle. It takes some encouragement from knights of the square table, but the hermits do settle down.

"My dear subjects I do bring thee one more event before thine party. I do not believe any ordinary title befitting of my love. Bdubs, if you will." You watch as Bdubs pulls the box out of seemingly nowhere, reaching into it and pulling out the crown.

It's more than you were expecting, large gems and small ones too. Certainly more than was necessary. The gold snakes around them, holding them in place beautifully despite how many gems there are. You can't deny Ren, although extravagant, knows how to design a crown.

Ren takes the crown from Bdubs, turning to you. "On this day I hereby and henceforth pronounce thee, Y/n, co-ruler of the realm. By my side or in my absence may you carry out your royal duties with upmost courage and serve Hermitcraftia from now onwards."

Carefully he places the crown atop your head, being met with an abundance of cheers. You smile and wave to what are now also your subjects, getting a nod of approval from Cub.

The hard part is over now, that you're relieved about. The rest won't be easy, but the worst of it is over. Now you've married him and been crowned all that remains is to overthrow him. To liberate the kingdom from the rule of the mad King Ren and bring peace to Hermitcraftia once again.

[zeravmeta]

love go rush for the sole reason that it actually gives an in-universe explanation as to why all disputes are settled via card game, said reason being twofold:

1. rush duels are actually a cosmic force akin to physics that allows one to transcend physical barriers in order to communicate with your opponent (but like its explicitly stated in canon unlike past series')

2. there is a universe wide gentlemen's agreement to use rush duels to settle disputes over nuking each other with highly advanced weaponry

[mohammedosama91]

You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there’s no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the rational side of man’s nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all the impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is life and not simply extracting square roots.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

إن العقل، أيها السادة، شيء ممتاز، ولا جدال في ذلك، ولكن العقل ليس سوى عقل ولا يرضي إلا الجانب العقلاني من طبيعة الإنسان، في حين أن الإرادة هي مظهر من مظاهر الحياة كلها، أي الحياة البشرية كلها بما في ذلك العقل وكل الدوافع. ورغم أن حياتنا، في هذا المظهر، لا قيمة لها في كثير من الأحيان، إلا أنها حياة وليست مجرد استخراج للجذور التربيعية.

فيودور دوستويفسكي، ملاحظات من تحت الأرض