#maybe in some ways when was a noble and played the piano

[avampyone]

Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light And listen to the music of the night~

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [1] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 17.8k notes: — this is for all the bridgerton girlies who have been going insane just like me <3 highly inspired by francesca/john's burgeoning romance from the first half, so hope you all enjoy! — some of the dialogue has been lifted from the show—I do not claim any credit for it. — this takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun story, if you'll have me :) feel free to check that out as well! When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters.  Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.  Part 1 >> Part 2

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As the white double doors begin creaking open, only one thought rings clear in the mess of your mind. 

I cannot be the diamond. 

Cannot. Will not. Your father wishes it, as does your governess and the entire unfamiliar extended family crowding your home for the season, but you can’t. Not least because you can’t handle the attention—just the idea of being presented to the queen makes you want the earth to swallow you whole—but also because the longer you can delay finding a husband, the longer you might still find a shred of freedom lingering on your fingertips. 

It's not fair. Late at night you lie in bed, staring at the dark ceiling as angry tears prick the corners of your eyes. Why is it that men should have the freedom to do as they wish, but women must be pushed into the confines of the household, meant to marry up just to add or promote a title for the family name? All you ever wanted to do was play the piano, and even though your father only saw your life’s passion as a way to make money, at least you could do it. You were good at it, too—you’ve played for the royal houses of Europe, met queens and kings and nobles of so many courts, and while you never quite loved being the spectacle of a child prodigy that your family painted you as, at least you were allowed to play. 

But now your father, who rarely contacted you since your mother died five years ago, suddenly breaks his frosty silence to demand that you come home, because the royal checks you’ve been receiving have now begun to dwindle and the only purpose you can now fulfill for your family is to become some rich gentleman’s meek wife. And to make matters worse, you won’t see a penny of the money you made yourself. It’s going to your dowry.

It won’t even be yours. 

What is most upsetting is that he’s not even entirely wrong. Not about the dowry—you’re still smarting over your hard-earned money being turned over to some nameless, faceless gentleman of the ton—but about your musical escapades on the continent. People were eager to watch a child prodigy perform. They cooed and smiled over you like the zoo attraction you were. But as you grew older, you also noticed the invitations dwindling, the interested courts growing smaller, the payments decreasing. All because you were a woman nearing marriageable age, and to be such a prodigy was no longer suitable for your gender. 

For all your usual mild-mannered shyness, this knowledge makes you want to break dishes against the wall. 

But since you’ve returned to England, you’ve kept your mouth shut as you are wont to do. You’re not the type to scream and rage when things don’t go your way. Silence comes more naturally to your lips than shouting and you find yourself nodding quietly to your father’s demands more often than not. Still, though, you can have this. You can have the fact that you will not be the diamond. 

You were worried about it at first. Your name is not unknown by the people of the ton and judging by what little you’ve heard of Lady Whistledown’s papers, your return has stirred some gossip around town. Enough gossip that people speculated the queen might crown you her diamond on the sole basis of your celebrity—and as self-centered as it is, you were anxious about that. But it turned out you actually didn’t have to worry, because as it turned out, you are terrible at being a debutante.

Everything about it hurts. The feathers on your head, the slim, constricting dress, the jewelry choking your neck and wrists and the pale, slippery gloves that slide against your fingers—you certainly don’t wear gloves when you play the piano. The headdress only accentuates your terrible balance and when your governess had you practice your walk for the first time, you’d tripped every other time you went down the hallway.

Which was not ideal, not for you or for your family. Because even though you don’t want to be the queen’s diamond, you also don’t want to be the one girl to trip on her face in front of dozens of people and the queen herself. Only instead of motivating you to be better, the thought of tripping kept making you more and more anxious to the point that you felt like you’d throw up each time you saw your debutante gown.

“Why don’t you treat it like a performance?” your governess had finally suggested, wringing her hands at your latest miserable attempt to walk down the hallway with those godawful feathers on your head. “As though you were to play for the queen.”

The thing is, you have performed for the queen. Not recently, given that you’ve been on the continent for a good many years and only returned a few months ago, but you did perform for her when you were much younger. But that’s—different. Somehow. Your governess and certainly your father might see both situations as the same, but for some reason the idea of parading down an aisle amid dozens of prying eyes, all the while wearing a tuft of white feathers on your head, is terrifying to you in a way that playing the piano for hundreds or more isn’t. 

It doesn’t make sense. Which is why you didn’t bother trying to explain to your governess why exactly her well-meaning advice wouldn’t work, just gave her half a smile and an empty nod as you prepared to try once more. And it had gotten better the more you practiced. Over time you got used to the swaying of the feathers above you, the tiny steps you must take to avoid the headpiece falling to the floor, and all the other millions of tiny things you never thought you’d have to pay attention to. Now, though, as the doors swing fully open, revealing the queen and her entourage at the end of the aisle, framed by every single eye in the room trained on you—

You freeze.

Time stretches and dilates all at once. Opulent ornaments blend with the walls, gold almost seeming to drip onto the white in a way that, to your spiraling mind, looks like blood. The sea of faces before you blurs into a mass and your heart is pounding, your breath coming out in shallow gasps that can’t be doing anything flattering for you in this stupidly tight gown. 

“Y/N.”

Your aunt hisses your name with her unfamiliar voice and suddenly the room comes back into focus. Too much focus. Now everything is too bright and too defined and the gold of the decorations seems to be blinding your eyes. You accidentally lock eyes with the queen at the end of the aisle and all you can feel is the need to throw up. 

But you can’t. 

Slowly, slowly, you take the first step. Then the next. Feathers sway and your head is starting to spin uncomfortably, but you keep your eyes trained on the end of the aisle, something akin to a smile (or at least a grimace) pasted upon your lips. 

You halt after what you think is the right number of steps, just a short distance in front of the queen. The same muscle memory that lets your fingers fly over piano keys helps you into your low curtsy, head dipping just enough to be respectful, not so much that the awful headdress tips over. Wait a moment, your governess’s voice echoes through your muddled mind. Count five seconds, then rise. 

Slowly, you stand, meeting the queen’s appraising eyes once more. Her expression doesn’t change. Relief prickles your chest—maybe she doesn’t recognize you, which means she won’t crown you the diamond for the sole purpose of your fame, or maybe she’s just disappointed and unimpressed—and that relief continues to spread as you stumble out of the room, dimly aware of your aunt following just behind you. 

“Well, you weren’t the diamond,” your aunt sighs. “But at least you didn’t fall. “

Yes, you think fervently as you accept a glass of water from a footman. And thank the heavens on both accounts. 

. . . . .

It’s only the second ball, and Taehyun is already not enjoying the season. 

Ugh. He slips into a darkened corridor and finally allows himself to take a deep breath, the sounds of the party muffled behind the walls. “How did you do this so easily?” he mutters to the phantom of his brother in his mind. 

Taemin’s casual grin smiles back at him from behind his mind’s eye and despite himself, Taehyun almost laughs. He knows the answer already. Taemin enjoys this—the socializing, the talking, all of it. His brother’s easy grace and pleasant manners are easily employed in the ballroom, where he can spread charm at will and revel in the attention he receives in reciprocation. It’s not that Taehyun can’t find his way around a conversation or take an easy turn around the dance floor. He can. It’s just that he doesn’t enjoy it the way Taemin does.

But even then, Taehyun still doesn’t understand how Taemin navigated the marriage mart so seamlessly. Surely he must have at some point grown fed up with the shiny veneer of the debutante season, the incessant pestering of the mamas when they found out the heir to one of London’s earldoms was newly seeking a wife. None of that seemed to bother Taemin that much, though. Two months he went through it with only the barest complaints, and by the third month he was happily married to a woman of a similar temperament. While they might not have been a love match at first, they were certainly an amicable and good one. 

Meanwhile, it’s been barely two weeks since the season started and Taehyun already wants it to be over.

He’s pushed it off enough, though. For three years he’s been allowed the excuse of first finishing his studies, then having to put the estate’s affairs in order—the news of the inheritance was rather abrupt, after all, and completely unexpected. He’s only related to the Addiston line distantly through his mother, not even his father—which is why he was able to inherit even as a second son—and they’d had no idea of the connection until the solicitor had shown up to their door with the news. But it’s been three years. With the weight of an estate on his unexperienced shoulders, the next logical step, to society, would be to find a capable wife to share the burden. His parents agree. So does his brother. 

And so does Taehyun. He just wishes the process of doing so wasn’t so…performative. So obviously meant for matches of rank instead of people. Taehyun knows that if he hadn’t gotten that chance inheritance, hardly anyone would look twice at him. He might be the son of an earl, but he’s only a second son, and the son of a second wife at that. While he’s certainly not at the bottom of the barrel of potential husbands, without his inheritance, he’d be garnering far fewer glances than he does now. 

Far fewer. 

In another better world, maybe it would be easier to find someone with whom he has a genuine connection without having to wade through all the social climbers in this one. Because that’s what he wants. A connection. Not someone who will simply look at his title and inheritance and pursue those instead of him.

But in this world, that might just be an elusive dream.

Taehyun sighs. It’s worse now that he lives alone and has grown used to his solitude. Sure, he has friends who come to barge in on him at different times of day—Kai and Beomgyu maintain little sense of decorum around him, in contrast to the Duke and Duchess of Hastings who, though good friends of his by now, do not come outside of calling hour without prior notice. They keep away the lonely spells in an estate that still doesn’t quite feel like his. But the silence isn’t unwelcome for a quieter person like he, and it remains a sharp contrast to the gaiety of the ton during the season. 

Which brings him back to here. Now. In some empty corridor of his host’s home, away from the staged smiles and bright lights of the ballroom. Somewhere he certainly shouldn’t be, but as long as he doesn’t get caught, Taehyun has little intention of returning to the fray until he can get his thoughts back in order. The muffled chatter of the party is still too loud here so he continues down the hallway, following the echoes of silence and…

Music?

He halts. Sure enough, now that he’s far enough from the noise of the ballroom, he can hear a soft, sweet melody coming from somewhere ahead of him. It’s haunting, lovely, and as he leans toward the sound he begins to recognize the notes of one of Beethoven’s sonatas. Part of the Tempest sonata, actually. One of the most difficult, and one of Taehyun’s personal favorites. 

Taehyun’s feet begin to move, the spell of the sonata carrying him to the end of the hallway. One of the doors has been opened just a crack and it’s easy to tell that’s where the secret pianist must be playing from, the melodies spinning into the air beyond the sliver of an open door.

Common sense tells him he should walk away. The musician seems to be alone—perhaps tired of the party, just like he—but nonetheless, that can’t spell good fortune for him, especially if they are a woman. Being caught alone with an unmarried debutante would only spell trouble for both of them, more her than he, and for her sake, at least, he can’t ruin her prospects just because he couldn’t turn away from her music. 

But something deeper keeps him rooted in place, breaths quiet and shallow, eyes half shut as he leans toward the door as much as he can without tripping over his feet. He enjoys fairy tales, though he is wont to admit it, loves stories of fantasy and magic, and he can’t help but compare these melodies to the spells he used to read about. For surely the pianist must be weaving a spell into the air, into every accent and crescendo, every passage of the sonata effortlessly magical to his ears. 

Taehyun loves music. He loves it almost as much as he loves literature. He took lessons and can play the piano as well as, if not better than many of his peers, but even he is nothing compared to the musician in that room. Nothing compared to the spell of their fingers dancing across the piano keys. 

Too soon, the music ends. And with its conclusion comes the realization that Taehyun needs to return to the party soon, or his absence will be noted—he’s already spent too much time away, if the two movements of the sonata he’s listened to are anything to go by. 

Taehyun forces himself to step away from the open door, from the lovely melodies and mysterious musician within. He doesn’t turn back even when a new piece begins, though soft notes follow him down the hall, all the way back to the party.

. . . . .

“Lady Taylor. Miss L/N.” The smile in front of you is sparkling in a way that leaves you dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the bright lights overhead. Either way, it is doing nothing to soothe the ache beginning to pulse between your temples. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced.”

No, you haven’t. You don’t recognize this face or its too-bright smile. “I don’t believe we have,” you return, curving your lips as much as you can. “To what do I owe the pleasure…?”

“Mr. Haynesworth,” he says, angular eyes narrowing into what could be a pleasant expression if you weren’t so tired. “I noticed you were quite a fine dancer, and wanted to ask if you had a spot on your dance card that I could perhaps take.”

Without really meaning to, you glance at your aunt. She looks back, mostly impassive, but gives you a small nod. Yes, allow him. 

Your tongue tastes bitter even as you smile at Mr. Haynesworth. “Yes, I do. In fact, my next dance is free, should you like to dance the quadrille.” 

“An excellent choice,” he replies, and you have to try hard not to roll your eyes as he begins to sign his name on the card. What wouldn’t you give to be at home, in bed, purposely thinking about everything and anything but the season and your daughterly duty to find a husband? Lady Arina Park isn’t here to subtly nudge you in the direction of a music room and as far as you know, none of the Tillings play an instrument, so you can’t even snatch a quarter of an hour alone with your thoughts and music like you did at the last ball. Besides, your aunt would certainly scold you if she noticed you were gone, just like last time. 

It's not like it matters, though, because the orchestra music is fading, which means the next dance is about to begin, and you won’t be getting a chance to take a break. Mr. Haynesworth looks up from your card with a little smile and offers a hand. “Just in time,” he says genially. You do your best to feign enthusiasm as you take it. 

I hate this, you can’t help thinking, watching other couples take to the floor. You like to dance—honestly, you enjoy almost anything that has to do with music—but right here, right now, with all the eyes trying to discern who will win Her Majesty’s seasonal title of diamond of the first water (because of all the girls presented this season she still hasn’t picked one, and you harbor a nasty hope that she never will), it’s too much. The bright lights of the ballroom. The slippery silk of your gloves against your hands. Mr. Haynesworth’s pleasant smile as he asks you questions against the background of the orchestra’s new tune, each of them polite, noncommittal, and as meaningless as the last. 

“How are you finding the party tonight?”

I think the candles are trying to burn right through my eyes into my brain. “Quite lovely indeed.”

“How are you finding London in general? It must be a change from abroad, no?”

Boring. Stifling. Rainy. “It is very different, Mr. Haynesworth, though not unpleasant. I imagine that with time, I will grow used to it too.”

“So you do intend to find a husband this season, if you say you will be here for some time?”

If my father didn’t want me husband hunting, I wouldn’t be here. “Yes, that would be my intention.”

“I hope you will come to enjoy London then, Miss L/N. It is an old city, and it certainly has its charms.”

Of course. “Of course.”

He spins you under his arm and you come to face to face, his nice smile suddenly very close to your eyes. You almost stumble—muscle memory had been leading this dance as you tried to answer his questions through your growing headache, and in the midst of that you’d forgotten this part. “I read Whistledown,” he says, completely oblivious to the brief spike in your heart rate. 

Inwardly, you sigh. Ah, so you’re either going to ask me about piano, or ask me about the fact that the queen still has not chosen her diamond of the season.

“She says you are quite the pianist, Miss L/N.”

…You would have preferred questions about piano over the nonexistent diamond, it’s true, but what exactly are you supposed to say to that? “I have been playing since I was young.”

“A true prodigy, then. I wonder why the queen has not yet chosen a diamond, though there is clearly one right here.” Despite the compliment, his thin eyes suddenly seem too narrow, the planes of his face too sharp as he leans in ever so slightly. “I hear you spent quite some time with other royal courts during your…little tour. How were your travels?”

You nearly pause. Your head still hurts and between the dancing and conversation, your mind is being split onto two different tracks, so it takes you a moment to realize why Mr. Haynesworth’s words offended you.

Little tour.

You do not like how he said the words little tour.

It sounds like how your father talks about your performances abroad. It sounds like when your aunt tells you to stop practicing, it’s time for your French lesson. It sounds like when your cousin sticks her head into the music room and asks you to play more softly since it’s distracting from the conversation downstairs. 

Dismissal. Accidental or intentional, it doesn’t matter. It’s dismissal of you, your talent, your work, your passion.

Maybe you would have preferred questions about the nonexistent diamond instead.

“I enjoyed traveling and meeting new people during my tour, though it would have meant little without the music,” you reply, unable to rein in some of the bite to your words. “Music is my passion, Mr. Haynesworth, and the piano my medium. I’m afraid without either, my life would retain little meaning.” And for the first time that evening, it seems that the higher powers are on your side, because the tune of the quadrille is fading, which means the dance is ending. Keeping your current smile plastered firmly to your face, you sweep into a brief curtsy. “I must see to my aunt, Mr. Haynesworth, and so I take my leave. It was good to meet you.”

Lies, all lies, but it gets you off the dance floor without another word from him. Weaving blindly through the crowd, you follow the paths of fewest people until the chatter of the ballroom is just a faint buzz in your ears and blissful silence fills the air instead. 

A rush of air leaves your lips all at once and you put a hand to your chest, where your heart is beating just a little too uncomfortably fast. You’re outside the house, in the gardens, but in almost full view of the front of the home where carriages are lined up, their footmen at the ready. It would be lovely to just be alone, but in public that cannot be for fear of compromise, so you take solace in what little solitude you have now under the moon and stars.

You close your eyes for a long moment. You hadn’t realized earlier how hot the ballroom felt, but you certainly know it now as cool night air breezes across your face turned up to the sky. The stars twinkle overhead, comforting pinpricks of light so unlike the burning intensity of the candles and chandeliers within, and all at once you’re hit with the overwhelming thought that you absolutely do not want to go back inside. 

“I’m not going to survive this season,” you mutter, then quickly glance around—no one should have heard that, it sounds so whiney and childish. But in the moment it feels so true. And for two terrible seconds, you feel an overwhelming lump in your throat, a tightening in your chest—

No. You will not cry. Not here, not now. You bite back the tears, suddenly feeling so alone even in the solitude you sought. No one is on your side. Not your father, your own flesh and blood. Not the aunt who accompanied you here. Not even your governess, who is sweet and kind but ultimately bows to the whims of your father. Only your mother ever understood your calling to music and she’s dead, five years buried underground, and for all you have healed since that dark time, you still miss her. 

You miss her so, so much. 

One deep, shaky breath. Then another. Slowly, your heart rate calms into something that feels more normal, and you tilt your head back up to the sky, letting the midnight blue wash across your vision like a soft blanket. It comforts you enough that you almost don’t hear the footsteps against the stone path until they’re just a few feet away from you.

“Good evening,” a quiet, unfamiliar voice says. 

Conversation. Exactly what you wanted to avoid in the ballroom. Somehow, though, it doesn’t seem so daunting out here. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the sky. Maybe it’s the gentle quality of this man’s quiet voice that makes it seem like he seeks the same solace from the night that you do, and nothing more.

“Good evening,” you reply, not quite looking at him as you dip a small curtsy. “Forgive me. I was only—”

“In need of some quiet?” He turns around and between the dark hair and half smile and large eyes, your breath lodges in your throat. But any nervousness at this man’s handsome face fades away when you see the softness hidden in his expression, the gentle uncertainty caught between his broad shoulders. “I have been in search of it all night.”

For all your previous mood, this man’s small smile makes you want to smile too. And so you let your lips curve slightly, more than you thought you could without forcing it, and as you do they begin to curve more. “It seems we are of the same spirit,” you say, and the night seems to laugh quietly with you both. “Miss Y/N L/N, good sir.”

“Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston.” He bows slightly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

. . . . .

A comfortable silence has fallen, and Taehyun has little desire to disturb it, but your name keeps rolling around his head, a little too familiar for someone he’s only met today. There’s something about your face, too. He’s certain the two of you have never been introduced—he’s fairly sure he would have remembered your smile, which seems to complement the night sky perfectly—but at the same time…

Someone opens the door to the mansion and a few orchestral notes follow them outside. Orchestra. Music. 

Oh. 

“Might I ask…” he begins slowly. He almost wishes he could take back his words when you turn to him, but he’s already started, so he continues. “You are Miss Y/N L/N, the celebrated pianist?”

You lips part, like you didn’t expect the question. Embarrassment starts to crawl up his cheeks—it would be mortifying if you said no, even more so if you had no idea who he was talking about—but then you nod, surprise still coating your features. “Yes, my lord. I am.”

Oh. Oh. This is—maybe worse than if you’d said no. Because this means Taehyun is in the presence of someone famous, someone with celebrity, someone he admires and respects even though they’ve never met face to face before—

Calm down. “I saw one of your performances a few years ago,” he says, forcing his voice to remain level. You open your mouth to say something but Taehyun barrels on because if he doesn’t say it now he’ll never say it again. “I was in Germany to visit a friend. We went together. I, um—” and this is when he stutters, because of course it is—“I found your performance most impressive. Particularly Beethoven’s Appassionata. Your interpretation…it was perfect to me. There was a delicacy to it that made it uniquely beautiful.” He coughs and prays the night hides the warmth that has crept into his cheeks. “I suppose I just wanted to say that you are a very talented musician, and you must have worked very hard to come so far.” 

You look away, and in that moment Taehyun does fear that he said too much. He might have presumed a level of familiarity you weren’t comfortable with, or maybe you don’t appreciate being complimented in public, or maybe he just said the wrong thing—but then you look back at him, and even with only the moon and stars to light your face, it’s plain to see the smile curving across your lips, pleased and proud and limited only by the shyness and humility of your nature, evident as you give him a small curtsy again. “Thank you very much, my lord,” you say, and if your smile was complemented by the night before, now it sparkles at brightly as any of the stars. “It means…so much to me that you would say such a thing. Truly.”

Taehyun smiles. A little more shyly than he’d like, but no matter. “It is not a difficult thing to say these things,” he replies. “Your performance then was impeccable, as I’m sure it is now.” And now that the connection has been made, a memory from the second ball of the season suddenly returns, of a dark corridor and a beautiful sonata. Were you—? “If I may ask, were you the one playing the piano at the Kims’ ball just a week ago?” 

You blink. “You…heard that?”

All of a sudden Taehyun realizes the implications of his words—that he was at the ball, that he decided to leave to wander the dark corridors, that he heard you playing and not only didn’t hasten away at once but stayed to listen for long enough to make this connection. None of them paint him in the best light, and one of them is far worse than the others, if taken the wrong way. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and if his face wasn’t warm before, it certainly is now. “I happened upon it by accident. I was only trying to find some quiet away from the ball—” 

“Much as you were just now,” you interrupt, and Taehyun almost flushes even more before he sees the small, amused smile on your lips. 

“Yes,” he agrees sheepishly. “I heard music coming from one of the rooms and it was…beautiful. The Tempest is one of my favorite of Beethoven’s works. You played it wonderfully, and I couldn’t help but stay and listen for some time.” He bows his head. “I hope I have not been too forward or made you uncomfortable. If I have, I do apologize.”

“Do not apologize,” you say, a bashful hint returning to your own voice that Taehyun finds very endearing, especially when you duck your head slightly. “Please, my lord. I am only…deeply honored that you hold me in such high regard.”

Taehyun relaxes, his own smile growing wider. “Earning that regard was not difficult,” he says. “Even my friend, who has much less knowledge of music than I do, was fairly blown away, and almost inspired to take piano lessons because of you.”

You laugh. “You must jest, my lord.” 

“I do not,” he replies, laughing as well. “He is not here tonight, but perhaps someday you two will meet, and his praise will be even more effusive than mine.” 

“In that case, I eagerly await that day.” You look at him, a question in your eyes. “Might I ask, my lord—you mentioned that you have some knowledge of music? Are you a musician yourself?”

“Oh, I…dabble.” Taehyun laughs a little. “With the piano. I quite enjoy it, but I am nowhere near as good as you.”

“But you have a musician’s ear and heart,” you say, conviction in your tone, and Taehyun finds himself rooted under the strength of your gaze, under the stars, under the night sky. “You appreciate the art and the work that goes into it, which is more than I can say for most.”

Taehyun opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I suppose you are right.”

You duck your head a bit, shoulders suddenly hunching. “I apologize, if I was too forward—”

“Not at all!” he says quickly. “No, not at all. Forgive me, it has simply been a long night and my conversing skills are somewhat frayed at the moment. I appreciate your words, Miss L/N. Very much.”

For a moment, you seem to search his face, like you’re looking for something. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, and when you do, your shoulders thankfully relax. “I was only speaking what I felt to be the truth, my lord. And, for what it is worth…” You pause, your expression somewhat strange before it settles into a genuine smile. “This conversation is one of only a few that I have truly enjoyed tonight.”

He laughs, your quip unexpected but welcome. “It must have been a long night for you too, then?”

“You have no idea.” This time, you two laugh together. “Actually, I’m sure you do. There are only so many times you can be asked the same questions and give the same answers, or hear the same topics and remain sane.” You shake your head. “If the queen plans to choose a diamond this season, I wish she would just hurry up and do so. It seems to be all anyone can talk about nowadays.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “She has not yet chosen one?”

“Apparently not.” You shrug. “My cousins say Lady Whistledown writes about it in every issue. I suppose it is a source of gossip, but…to be quite frank, I do not understand why the queen’s opinion on one woman reigns so supreme in the marriage mart. Should not the couple choose each other based on their own perceived merits, and not solely because the queen approves of one but not the other?” A short pause, and then your shoulders slump. “Though perhaps I only do not understand because I have been away for so long.”

“Well, I quite agree with you,” Taehyun says frankly. “I do agree that the queen’s approval would be a feather in anyone’s cap, but anyone who only sees the title of diamond and nothing else, I believe, would not make a happy marriage, even if the diamond agreed to the match. I don’t believe a title alone is any sort of solid foundation upon which to make a partnership.” 

You look up, meeting his eyes, and a moment of understanding seems to pass between the two of you. A smile that looks much like relief curves your lips. “I agree, my lord,” you say softly. “It is a relief to know that I am not the only one of these opinions.”

Taehyun came outside for fresh air, for a respite from the chaotic buzz of the party inside. He came outside for solitude. But though he found conversation instead, he finds himself feeling better than he perhaps would have, had he immediately gained the silence he sought. Your quiet, frank honesty is as refreshing to Taehyun as the night air itself and he realizes he would love to continue your conversation, if not for—

“Y/N!”

Both of you start at the sudden shout of your name from the mansion doors. An older woman comes striding out, a stranger to Taehyun but evidently more familiar to you. Not altogether welcome, though, it seems—your shoulders tense and immediately your gaze shutters somewhat as the woman draws closer. “Lady Taylor,” you say quietly, turning back to Taehyun with a smile significantly more strained than before. “My aunt, and my chaperone tonight.”

He nods once. “I see.”

“Y/N, I’ve been looking for you for half the night,” Lady Taylor scolds as soon as she is near enough, which does little to endear her to Taehyun after she interrupted his time with you. “Why do you insist on disappearing so?”

“My apologies, Aunt Taylor,” you say. Taehyun doesn’t miss the brief clench of your fingers at your sides. “I went to find some fresh air, and then found myself caught up in conversation with Lord Kang.” You gesture to him. “Lord Kang, please meet my aunt, Lady Taylor, Viscountess of Wentworth.”

Taehyun bows politely as your aunt curtsies. “A pleasure, my lady. I am Lord Kang, Earl of Addiston.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of his title, and he bites back a sigh. So she knows of his estate and inheritance, too. “Charmed, my lord,” is all she says, though, before turning back to you. “Please forgive my interruption. Y/N, you must come back inside. The ball is not yet over, and several gentlemen are still waiting to dance with you.”

You glance down at your dance card, then back up at him, your face twisted in apology. “I must do as my aunt says,” you say quietly. “Though it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

“And the same to you.” He smiles as easily as he can, and maybe he’s just hoping, but your smile seems to become a little less forced too. “It is getting late and I’m sure your dance card must be full, so I will not keep you further. However…” He inclines his head slightly, respectfully. “Perhaps if we meet again, I hope you will indulge me if I ask you to save a dance for me, so that we might continue our conversation where it left off?”

This time, he’s sure he’s not imagining the softening of your face and the return of some sparkle to your eyes. “I would be honored to, my lord,” you say, curtsying. “Have a good night.”

He bows. “I wish the same to you.”

. . . . .

The last few days since the Tillings’ ball have been dreary and wet, full of gray clouds and rain. Today, though, when you wake, the clouds have cleared to reveal the bright sun set against a shimmering blue sky. When your cousins come bursting into the music room to take you on a walk, you don’t even argue—the afternoon looks beautiful, and even you are itching to go outside. 

“You spend so much time cooped up in that little room,” your oldest cousin scolds when you meet everyone in the entryway, though there’s a smile on her face so you try not to take her words the wrong way. “You need some fresh air.”

You smile back as best as you can. “I appreciate the concern, Lilly, but worry not. I’m as eager to see the sun as you are.”

It is pleasant, feeling the sun on your skin after days of grey skies and intermittent rainfall pattering on your windows as you tried to practice. Truth be told, by yesterday you were feeling restless, too, so you can’t even blame the children of your family for wanting to run around as they do now, leaping happily under the blue sky. 

You stick to the back of the group, quietly watching Lilly and your other cousins try to corral their children under the watchful eye of Aunt Taylor. Jieun looks particularly frazzled as she tries to chase down her youngest and you take pity on her, scooping up the child the next time she runs past and giving her little forehead a small tap that makes her giggle. “Be careful,” you warn gently, handing her to a grateful Jieun. “Don’t get hurt, or your mother will worry, yes?”

It's not just your family. It seems as though the entirety of London has come out to enjoy the wonderful weather. The park is green and bright and almost seems to shimmer under the sun, and laughter and chatter fill the air with faint birdsong. You may enjoy spending your time cooped up in that little room, as your cousin says, but you are glad you came out today for the sun on your skin and the joy in the air.

“You are good with the children,” Lilly says beside your ear. You start—you hadn’t realized she was so close until she spoke. “Won’t it be wonderful when you have children of your own, and they can all play together?”

Please, Lilly. “Maybe.” 

“Sound more excited, will you?” she laughs. “You can’t mean to not have children. Or are you already married to your music?”

Your smile is wavering, but you heave it back up with the teeth-gritting reminder that she doesn’t mean it badly, she doesn’t mean it badly, she doesn’t mean it badly. “I’m not married to my music, insofar as I cannot marry an intangible thing,” you respond as dryly as you can. “I’m not sure even the priests at Gretna Green would agree to perform such a ceremony.”

“You know what I mean,” Lilly says, scooping up one of her children. Both of them seem to eye you in a way that makes you feel defensive. “When will you emerge from your music room, Y/N, to see the rest of the world around you?”

That’s not fair, you want to say. I have emerged from my music room. I just find that I don’t necessarily enjoy what—or who—awaits me outside.

Like the incessant demand that you marry and produce children for an unnamed man who will control you for the rest of your life. 

“I see the world as much as I like to,” is all you say instead, but Lilly has already been distracted by her toddler trying to wiggle out of her arms. You leave her to it, and drift behind everyone once more. 

It’s not that you don’t want to have children. It’s not even that you don’t want to get married. It’s just that you resent the fact that it is your only option. You don’t even think you’d mind marriage and children if you could still live with your music, but the way everyone else talks about it, it’s always one or the other. Give up marriage for the piano. Give up the piano for marriage.

Not that the first option is even a choice. 

You take a deep breath. Breathe in the fresh air, the scent of flowers and grass. The sky doesn’t seem as blue as before, nor does the sunshine feel as welcoming, but it’s still there, and it’s still pleasant enough. Lilly means well, and she doesn’t mean to be dismissive. You’re still unmarried and still not the diamond. The world isn’t ending.

Jieun’s youngest finds her way behind your skirts once more, giggling when you turn around to chase her down. A smile finds its way to your face that isn’t forced because she really is adorable, and her little laughs soften your expression when you swing her up and warn her again not to hurt herself.

“Miss L/N?”

You whirl around. As does the rest of your family. 

“…Lord Kang?”

There he is standing just a few feet away, looking as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “Miss L/N,” he says again, a smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you, though I suppose you and your family are here to enjoy the weather as well?”

“Yes, we are.” You smile back, trying not to cringe when the toddler still in your arms tries to grab at your hair. Thankfully, Jieun appears to relieve you of her child in that moment, whispering hurried apologies into your ear as she whisks past. “My family thought it would be good for the children to see the sun.”

“And for you!” Lilly whirls into the conversation with a beatific smile and the outward countenance of nothing but an angel. You grit your teeth as she continues. “My cousin spends far too much time indoors at that piano of hers, she hardly sees the sunlight.”

Lord have mercy. 

“Well, I have heard she is quite accomplished at it,” Lord Kang replies easily, that smile never wavering on his face. “Something has clearly come of all those hours she has dedicated to practicing.” He turns to you with that lovely smile and those dark eyes, and while he was handsome under the night sky, it can’t compare to what he looks like now, under the sun. “It seems good fortune has brought us together before the next ball of the season, Miss L/N. Would you mind if I joined your walk, so that we might continue our conversation from the other night?”

Well. You blink once or twice, casting a glance at your aunt, who seems about as confused as you are. In the absence of her input, you choose to assent. “Of course, my lord. We would be honored.”

And so the walk continues, though Lilly and Jieun continue to shoot you confused and excited glances every so often. You ignore them as you best you can, which isn’t hard when Lord Kang is beside you. 

“It’s good to see you, my lord,” you say. “How have you been since the Tillings’ ball?”

“Well enough, though the rain has been somewhat dragging on my mood over the past few days.” He shrugs. “Such is London, though.”

“It is a bit dreadful to think of, if this is what it’s always like,” you say, only half joking. “More time for me to practice, I suppose, though I must admit I am very happy to see the sun.”

“And to be with your family?”

“…Of course,” you respond quickly, though you’re sure he can see exactly how you feel about the group you’re walking with, judging by his half smile. 

“I understand,” he says quietly. “It is not always easy when one’s kin doesn’t quite appreciate the depths of one’s interests.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You have experience with it too, my lord?”

“With music, somewhat,” he admits. “But more so reading. My family is well-read, of course, but many of them cannot fathom that I would usually rather be in my library than socializing with the ton.”

“I would agree with your sentiment.” The two of you laugh. “What do you like to read?”

It takes a little prodding, but your question eventually launches Lord Kang into a spiel about classics, about authors old and new, novels and philosophy and literature of times so far in the past that you almost can’t fathom it. Truth be told, you don’t know much about what he speaks of—you enjoy reading, but your books of choice tend to be the popular novels of today, and while you recognize some of the classic titles he mentions you can’t say you particularly enjoyed them. But listening to him talk about them, hearing the passion behind his every word, is captivating in a way that you’d never have thought possible when speaking of Plato and Aristotle. And in the midst of this, he never makes you feel out of place or stupid. He answers each of your questions with enthusiastic verve no matter how basic they are, and by the time his friends are calling for him from the end of the park, you’re both so wrapped in your conversation that you almost don’t hear them. 

“I’m afraid I must go,” Lord Kang apologizes when you finally point out the two men making their way towards you. “I promised I would meet them later.” He suddenly looks a little shy, which is a more endearing expression than you’d have expected on his handsome face. “I hope I did not bore you with my talk. I know this subject is not the most interesting to everyone and I can get…carried away with it.”

“Not at all,” you respond immediately. “Truly, not at all. I love hearing about the interests that others have, and clearly this is a deep one of yours. I enjoyed our conversation immensely.” You draw a short breath. “In truth, it was…very good to speak with someone other than my family today.” Your smile, though not forced, feels considerably smaller than it was before. “I do not have many friends in the ton, as I was abroad for so long. Thank you for taking pity on a poor soul such as I, and speaking to me as one.”

Lord Kang steps forward and takes your hand gently, so gently. When he looks into your eyes it is as though he sees all of your soul and your breath catches at the warmth of his palm against yours. “It was never pity,” he says sincerely. “You are a wonderful person with whom to speak, and if I may presume, the beginnings of a very good friend. I look forward to the next time I may see you.” 

You fight to keep your voice steady against the rush of heat in your cheeks. “And I you, my lord. Have a wonderful evening.”

The setting sun perfectly frames his lovely smile. “Until next time, then.” 

The pressure of his lips against your skin lingers long after he has disappeared, long after you have returned home, and long after you have retired for the night.

. . . . .

Beomgyu pounces the moment they’re all seated at the club. “So who was that?”

Taehyun really should have expected this. Even with that knowledge, though, he still has to roll his eyes. “Who are you talking about?” he can’t resist asking. Beomgyu is annoying. He has to be annoying back, sometimes. 

“The girl you were with. The debutante.” Beomgyu grins, undeterred. “Who is she?”

Taehyun gives up. He’ll never win against Beomgyu. “Miss Y/N L/N,” he says, conceding defeat. “We met at the Tillings’ ball a few days ago.”

Kai’s eyes widen. “The pianist?” 

“That’s the one.” Taehyun grins. “I told her you were almost inspired to take lessons because of her.” Kai groans, and Taehyun’s smile only widens. “She was flattered.”

“And I bet she laughed,” Beomgyu adds. 

“She did.”

Kai just screams into his hands. 

“I don’t believe that you didn’t make a fool out of yourself either,” Beomgyu accuses amidst Kai’s muffled screaming. “You admired her at least as much as he did, probably more for your love of music. How much of an idiot did you look when you realized it was her?”

Taehyun is an honest man, but only to a point. “Not much at all.”

Beomgyu snorts, but that’s when their drinks arrive, so Taehyun thanks the higher powers for intervening before he was forced into revealing the truth of warm cheeks and night air. “And how goes you and your lady friend?” Taehyun asks before Beomgyu can pick up his line of questioning again. “Last I remember, she was threatening to slit your throat with your own letter opener. Have there been any recent developments?”

It’s Kai’s turn to laugh while Beomgyu scowls. “Oh, are there,” Kai snickers. “It’s only the most interesting thing in Whistledown right now, second only to the continued absence of a diamond in the field of this season’s debutantes.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “It’s made it into Whistledown?”

“An entire paragraph on the row they had at the last party in the country, right before the season started.” Kai grins. “I know you aren’t a fan of the gossip papers, Taehyun, but you have to read this one. I’ll send you a copy tomorrow. I can only wonder why Whistledown decided to wait until this issue to write about it, though perhaps such a sensational story needed several weeks to perfect.” 

Beomgyu scowls even harder as Taehyun laughs. “I don’t know why that woman Whistledown can’t mind her own business,” he complains. “It was a private argument.”

“A private argument in the gardens outside the host’s home, loud enough that we heard it from inside,” Taehyun says dryly.

“Yes, well, she’s irritating,” Beomgyu snaps, taking a gulp of his drink like he needs it to clear his memory. “Why do you keep asking me about her? I don’t want to talk about it, she’s infuriating.”

“You sure talk about her a lot for someone who says he doesn’t want to talk about her,” Taehyun smirks. “Also, you’re the one who tried to embarrass me first.”

Beomgyu growls. “It’s just ridiculous that she’s still angry over something from when we were children!”

“I don’t know, Beomgyu.” Taehyun shakes his head, hiding a smile. “I was there, and that was a lot of cake. And it washer birthday.”

“Yes, well, she threw dirt at me after that!”

“It sounds to me like you’re still pretty hung up over something from when you were children, too.” Kai sips at his drink, eyes glittering amusedly over the glass. 

Beomgyu just glares at both of them. 

“Alright, we’ll stop.” Taehyun snickers. “At least until I read the copy that Kai’s going to give me.”

“Read all you want.” Beomgyu rolls your eyes. “It’s one paragraph. And from the look you were giving the L/N girl earlier, that’s not even going to be the most interesting part of the paper to you.”

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

“She’s been in the papers,” Kai says. “She’s famous, remember? Whistledown gave her a whole half paragraph when she returned to town and her father announced her debut.”

Taehyun resists the urge to hit himself over the head. If he’d been in the habit of reading the gossip papers, maybe he wouldn’t have been so damn blindsided when he spoke to you at the Tillings’ ball the first time. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I always make sense,” Kai sniffs, pointedly ignoring both Taehyun and Beomgyu’s snorts. “But how is she, as a person and as a debutante? I’m quite curious as to the persona behind the world-famous pianist.”

Taehyun opens his mouth, then closes it. Takes a sip of his drink. How exactly should he describe you to people you haven’t even met? You’ve only spoken twice—does he even have the right to say anything? “She’s very sweet,” he eventually says. “A bit shy, I think. It’s interesting—she doesn’t seem to enjoy being in the spotlight, though she clearly enjoys piano and performance. But she’s very humble, and I think she’s a very bright young lady.”

“Not without her own sort of wit and charm, then?” 

Beomgyu’s looking at Taehyun in a way he isn’t quite sure what to make of, but he answers anyway. “Very much so. You would probably enjoy a conversation with her.” He smirks at Beomgyu over his glass. “She’d probably like you, against her better judgment.”

Beomgyu cackles. “Of course she would, I’m a joy to be around.”

“You’re certainly something to be around, though I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘joy,’” Kai intones, taking a sip of his drink. “Is she adjusting to London well? She was abroad for a good many years.”

A snippet of your conversation from earlier comes to Taehyun’s mind. Your admission that after spending so much time away from London, you don’t have many people with whom to have a simple conversation with, just as simple friends. “She seems to be fine,” Taehyun replies slowly. “Though she mentioned it was a bit difficult to make friends after so long abroad.” He can’t imagine how hard the season must be for you, with a family who doesn’t respect your passion and no one to really confide in. For all he teases Kai and Beomgyu, he can’t imagine navigating life without them.

“The Duchess of Hastings was in a similar situation before she married Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, and he’s giving Taehyun that strange, discerning look that he couldn’t decipher before. “Why don’t you introduce the two? Her Grace also quite enjoys music, I think they would get along quite well.”

“Invite her to the Hastings’ gathering next week,” Kai adds. “Of course ask the duchess first, but I���m sure she’d be happy to extend the invite.”

That’s actually brilliant, and Taehyun is privately put out that he didn’t think of the idea first. The more he thinks of it, the more he’s certain that you and his cousin could be good friends. “Yes, I’ll do that,” he says, half-rising out of his chair. “I’ll write to the duchess as soon as I can.”

“Surely not now?” Kai raises an eyebrow at Taehyun’s half-standing position. “You still have the whole night, there’s no reason to leave your drink unfinished.”

Taehyun flushes and sits back down. Kai’s comment makes complete sense—why was he standing up so urgently, anyway? “Of course,” he says, taking a sip to hide his embarrassment even though it’s definitely not fooling anyone. “By the way, Kai, how are your family affairs going? Surely your uncle still isn’t trying to lay claim to any part of your inheritance.”

It’s an obvious ploy to distract from his own embarrassment but Kai thankfully takes the bait, immediately putting forth an impassioned spiel about his arguments with his uncle’s idiotic solicitor that would put any of Shakespeare’s soliloquies to shame. It’s easy enough to laugh along and commiserate with Kai’s troubles that Taehyun allows his mind to wander a little, to the thought of you and the duchess meeting, to the beautiful music that is sure to follow, to the smile that will hopefully adorn your lips when you meet another woman who appreciates music as much as you. 

“You’re smiling an awful lot, Taehyun,” Beomgyu says, bringing Taehyun’s attention back to the present. He’s smirking a little and so is Kai, but Taehyun for the life of him cannot understand why. “Did you find Kai’s story really that funny?”

“No, I’m sorry.” He sips his drink, gesturing for Kai to continue. “I just got a little lost in thought.”

Kai keeps talking, and Taehyun goes back to listening. In the back of his mind, though, he’s hearing soft melodies in the darkened corridor of a mansion, and seeing the night sky twinkling above. 

. . . . .

Maybe someday receiving callers will no longer make you feel like flying to pieces. 

Today, however, is not that day. 

Four gentlemen callers—one of them Mr. Haynesworth, with whom you almost couldn’t hide your displeasure at seeing. The other three were pleasant enough and mostly inoffensive, but by the time the fourth caller came, you were running out of ways to begin small talk and based on your aunt’s subtle glare in your direction, it had probably started to show. 

It’s somewhat amusing, if not also somewhat depressing, how bad you are at speaking with strangers. You’ve performed for royal courts and houses of nobility for years, but when it comes to carrying a conversation, you can only bumble your way through inane small talk for so long before you run out of the headspace for it. Though privately, you think that’s a little unfair—it seems only right that it would be the caller’s job to ensure the conversation kept going, since they were the one who made the call, so you shouldn’t have to put in all the effort. But based on every glare or sniff or cough your aunt sent in your direction whenever the conversation faltered, that apparently is not the case.

It’s over, though. At least you think it is—it’s nearly five and no one has showed up since the last caller left. And if it isover, that means you have no one to entertain for the rest of the day. Your governess has already promised to bring your dinner to your room, and you plan on locking yourself in your music room for the rest of the night after that.

It’s like a reward.

“The biscuits are almost gone,” Aunt Taylor says, standing up from the settee. “I will have a servant bring more.” She fixes you with a stern stare. “Don’t slouch. It is not quite five, and you may still receive another caller yet.” She then sweeps out of the room, and once she’s gone, you slump into the cushions a little more, ignoring your governess’s fretful eyes. 

As if anyone would come calling now, really. Ten minutes to five, which means hardly enough time to begin a conversation once the initial pleasantries were dished out even if someone arrived right at this second. You sink a little further into the couch. Aunt Taylor won’t be back for another couple of minutes at least. You can take at least that long to be comfortable. 

Sooner than you’d like, footsteps sound in the hall outside. You quickly pull yourself up, smoothing out your dress, and await the renewed presence of your aunt. 

Only it isn’t your aunt. You blink when a footman enters instead, a card held in his hand. “A caller, my lady,” he says, squinting at the card. “Lord Kang, Earl of Addiston.”

What?

Of course, it is then that your aunt decides to sweep back into the room. “Another caller?” she asks sharply as a trailing servant places a refilled plate of biscuits on the table. “Who?”

Thankfully, your governess has recovered from the surprise more quickly than you have. “A Lord Kang, my lady,” she says. “Earl of Addiston.”

Your aunt throws you a sharp glance. Inwardly, you wilt a little—she’ll be sure to interrogate you after this, asking you to recount every last detail of your and the earl’s conversation yesterday in the park even though you already told her everything you could remember last night during dinner—but for now she says nothing as she nods to the footman. “Bring him in, please.”

For some reason, when you stand, your heart begins to race. You force yourself to take slow, deep breaths. It may be Lord Kang, but he called with only five minutes—now less—left on the clock. Surely he can’t have much to say. 

Though, a little voice in the back of your mind says, you’d much rather talk to him than any of the four who came earlier today.

Footsteps sound lightly in the hall, thankfully keeping you from pursuing that train of thought down unsavory paths. But then Lord Kang appears in the doorway, looking as handsome and gentle and polite as he has every time you’ve spoken to him, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady as you welcome him to your home. 

“Lord Kang.” You curtsy, your smile widening in a way that comes more easily now than it has all day. “Welcome. I hope you have been well since we last spoke.”

“I have been, and it is a pleasure to see you all again,” he replies, bowing politely. His eyes meet yours and, in the sunlight streaming softly through the window, they almost seem to sparkle. “I apologize for calling so late in the hour, but I had some business I had to attend to before I delivered this to you.” He produces a small envelope from a pocket and extends it to you.

You look at your aunt, who seems equally bemused as you. “If I may ask, my lord, what is this?” you ask, feeling the smooth paper between your fingers. 

“My cousin, the Duchess of Hastings, is hosting a small party next weekend,” he says, either ignoring or not hearing the collective half-gasp in the room at the mention of the duchess. “She and the duke have just come in from the country for the season, and she is holding a gathering for some friends and family. I mentioned that I had met you, and she was quite excited to extend you an invite—she is also an avid enjoyer of music and wonderful pianist, so I am sure you two will get along very well.”

You feel a little lightheaded. Sure, you’ve performed for royalty, but you’ve never been on close terms with any of them. You were very clearly the entertainer and they the entertained, with very little chance to cross that line even if you were of a mind to. But now Lord Kang is offering you the chance to become acquainted to a duchess, just a step below royalty, and who loves music and is a pianist at that—

One corner of the envelope digs into your finger. Just a slight pain, but enough to remind you that this is real and not a dream.

A quick glance at your aunt earns you a subtle but very emphatic nod, so you look back to Lord Kang with a smile wider than it has been all day. “Please tell the duchess that I would be delighted to come,” you say. “Thank you for the invite, my lord. I do look forward to this event.”

“It is my pleasure.” Lord Kang smiles, and you don’t think it’s your imagination when you muse that it might be a little brighter than it was before. It’s certainly not your imagination when you briefly think you might like to look at that smile for a lot longer. But then the clock chimes and the smile falls, replaced by a sheepish expression. “Apologies again for calling so late, my lady.”

You shake your head. “It was no inconvenience at all.”

“Be that as it may, I will not keep you longer than the calling hour lasts,” he says, sweeping a bow. “Good day, Miss L/N, Lady Taylor. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

. . . . .

“Taehyun!”

Taehyun turns to the sound of his name, not bothering to hide the wide smile spreading across his face when he sees who called for him. “Your Grace,” he greets as his cousin comes closer, her eyes sparkling. “It’s good to see you.”

She waves a hand. “Dispense with the formalities,” she sniffs, and then they both laugh. “How have you been? Oh—remind me before you leave, but my footman will help bring some of the books I need to return to your carriage.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” he says sincerely. “I also brought some of my own books to recommend, as well as the ones you asked for. And I’ve been well, though I’ve learned that the season is rather more…daunting, than I would have expected.”

The duchess nods sympathetically. “I don’t honestly believe it’s fun for anyone,” she admits. “Except maybe the dancing. But there are plenty of young ladies this season who would be a good match for anyone, if Whistledown is to be believed. Speaking of.” Her gaze wanders to the entrance. “Is that her? The debutante you asked to invite?”

Taehyun turns around, catching sight of a familiar face, and smiles. “Yes, that is.”

You step into the room with a sort of trepidation that Taehyun sorely understands. In the moments before you see him, you look somewhat lost, your own eyes wide as you take in the whole room. Your expression seems a bit overwhelmed so Taehyun wastes no time in catching your eye, and when you recognize him something like relief seems to pass over your face. Somehow, you two meet in the middle of the fray and for one strange moment Taehyun finds himself almost breathless. “Lady Taylor. Miss L/N,” he greets, pressing a soft kiss to your gloved hand. “I’m so glad you were able to come. Please allow me to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Hastings.”

Lady Taylor curtsies, as do you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she says, her strong voice carrying just a hint of awe. “I am Lady Taylor, Viscountess of Wentworth, and this is my niece, Y/N L/N, daughter of the Viscount L/N.”

“It is wonderful to meet you both,” his cousin says, beaming widely. “And especially an honor to have met you, Miss L/N. You’ve caused quite a stir in town with your own fame here and abroad.”

Surprise flutters across your expression, replaced with a sort of embarrassed pride that Taehyun finds very endearing. “Your words do honor me, Your Grace,” you say, voice soft and shy, something of a far cry from the animation you displayed during the Tillings’ ball, or during your brief promenade in the park. You don’t look frightened, though, just somewhat in awe, so Taehyun brushes off his initial concern. “Particularly since the earl has mentioned that you are a lover of music, too. You give me high praise.”

Taehyun watches his cousin laugh and blush a little, and happiness bursts in a small bubble in his chest. She’s settled beautifully into her role as duchess and into her life with Yeonjun, but she’s still looking to widen her own circle of friends after spending so long abroad. The two of you begin to converse, your own shy face animating the more you speak, and with a smile and quick excuse, Taehyun ducks out of the conversation, heading toward the other end of the room. 

Yeonjun catches his eye first. “Taehyun!” he calls, beaming wide. 

“Your Grace,” Taehyun replies, settling into the circle that includes the duke, Beomgyu, Soobin, and Kai. “How have you all been?” 

Yeonjun pulls an exaggerated frown. “Hasn’t my wife told you to dispense with the pleasantries when we are among friends?” he asks, and Taehyun laughs because yes, she did exactly that. “Come, have a drink.”

Taehyun accepts the proffered glass and takes a sip. “You really pulled out all the stops for this,” he says approvingly, swirling the amber liquid inside. 

“What can I say?” Yeonjun shrugs airily. “My wife organized this. The least I could do is help make the event a success.”

“With expensive alcohol,” Soobin deadpans. 

“Exactly.”

Next to Taehyun, Beomgyu coughs very strangely. It almost sounds like he’s saying something like head over heels, actually. Then he yelps and Taehyun looks down just quickly enough to see Soobin’s foot pressing hard onto Beomgyu’s. 

Kai and Taehyun exchange glances. Taehyun has to look away to avoid bursting into laughter. 

“Don’t worry, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun beams beatifically over his own glass of expensive alcohol, sharp eyes glinting at his cousin. “Someday you’ll find a lady who will send you into fits of apoplexy with her beauty and wit, and on that day you’ll understand. Or maybe you’ve already found her.” He adopts a thinking expression. “Who was it that Whistledown mentioned? The lady from your childhood, Miss—”

Beomgyu lets out an incomprehensible noise somewhere between a screech and a snarl, and if they weren’t in Yeonjun’s own home, Taehyun thinks Beomgyu might have jumped the duke. As it stands, though, they begin bickering, which leaves Kai, Soobin, and himself to look at each other with raised eyebrows and exasperated smiles. 

“Let’s step away from the rabble,” Soobin suggests, and the three of them drift a short distance away. “I don’t understand how I’m related to them, sometimes.”

“Well, every family has its own set of strange relations,” Kai mutters. 

“You would know,” Taehyun says, and they all snort. 

“Do the inheritance squabbles still show no sign of ending?” Soobin asks curiously. “I would have thought by now that it’s become abundantly clear your uncle has no real claim to anything your grandfather left.”

Kai rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately not. But let us not speak of it now, please. Not in polite company,” he says, indicating the rest of the room. “Join me at the club sometime, and I will update you on all of it.”

“Of course,” Soobin says, dipping his head in apology. “How about you, Taehyun? How goes the season? I know you intended to find a wife by the end of it.”

Without really meaning to, Taehyun’s gaze wanders to the other end of the room, where you are still engaged in lively conversation with the duchess. “It is tiring in a way I did not really expect,” he replies. “Taemin didn’t complain much when he went through it, at least. But…” He pauses, wondering how much to tell. “I have met some very interesting young ladies.”

Kai snorts. Taehyun flashes him a short glare. “What?”

His friend doesn’t back down, just raises one mischievous eyebrow over his drink. “Well, I just think that I would say there’s one young lady that you find more interesting than all of the others.” 

Taehyun’s ears burn. He very purposely avoids looking in your direction again. 

“Well, do tell.” Soobin cocks his head, his own eyes glinting. “And don’t spare details.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Taehyun snaps, ignoring Kai’s snicker. “I’ve been speaking to Miss L/N, is all. The pianist,” he clarifies, and Soobin’s eyes widen in recognition. “She’s a very lovely young woman. Accomplished, not just with the piano, and very kind.”

“So lovely, actually, that he asked Her Grace to invite her today,” Kai adds. 

“Which one is she?” Soobin asks, ignoring Taehyun’s hiss of you suggested inviting her first! “Is she the lady speaking to the duchess now, with the rather dour-faced woman behind her?”

Taehyun sighs in defeat and nods. “Yes, she is.”

They all turn together, and almost at the same moment, the duchess turns in his direction as well. She catches his eye and immediately starts to head his way, bringing a small group with her. Kai glances at him with an eyebrow raised, but all Taehyun can do is shrug with similar confusion.

“Lord Kang,” she says as soon as they’re near enough to speak. “Mr. Huening. I understand that the two of you have seen Miss L/N perform before in Germany?”

They nod. “It was a most impressive performance,” Taehyun says earnestly. “A lovely program, played beautifully and wonderfully well.”

“Incredibly so,” Kai chimes in. “In fact, I was almost inspired to take music lessons because of it.”

You look supremely embarrassed, but the smile on your lips is still sparkling in your eyes in a way Taehyun hasn’t seen yet. “So you are the friend Lord Kang mentioned when we first met,” you say, and Taehyun has to laugh even as Kai flushes in embarrassment. “Oh—please do not be embarrassed, Mr. Huening. Your words do me a great honor, truly.”

“You are far too modest, my lady,” Taehyun replies, and while everyone’s attention turns to him, he keeps his eyes fixed on yours. “The praise is well earned, I hope you know that.”

“Which only means that the lady should honor our humble request,” Lord Jung says, a twinkle in his eye. “We were just asking that she take a turn on the pianoforte for us. A private performance, if you will, from one of the most accomplished musicians in our society. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for many of us, after all.”

A chorus of agreement sounds from your little group and begins to ripple outwards to the rest of the room as well. People begin to turn, expectation and excitement bright in their faces, but Taehyun glances at you only to find your expression somewhat frozen. 

All at once he remembers the dark night at the Tillings’ ball, the exhaustion clear in your face and your voice when you admitted you were searching for quiet, too. Are you tired now in the same way? He subtly inches a little closer to you and whispers lowly, “You do not have to if you do not wish to.”

You look up at him and your expression clears, eyes turning soft as you smile at him. “Worry not, my lord,” you reply. “I would love to perform. I was just momentarily overwhelmed—I wasn’t expecting quite so much enthusiasm. I do thank you for your concern, though.”

Taehyun smiles, shaking his head. “You are too modest,” he repeats. “The enthusiasm is only to be expected with a name such as yours. I am excited to hear what you play for us, too.”

You don’t have the chance to refute his praise because his cousin is taking your arm and leading you to the empty piano, the rest of the room excitedly whispering behind you. Taehyun watches you sit down at the keys, running your fingers over them with an almost reverent touch, your head bowed slightly over the sea of black and white as though in prayer.

And maybe it is a prayer, Taehyun thinks. Reverence paid to your love, music—like one paying thanks to their god. The thought is beautiful, and as you straighten slightly, positioning your hands at the instrument, he can’t help but admire you more. 

He doesn’t recognize the piece you play. It’s a lovely work, the quiet melody evocative of the night and dark while short, bright stanzas bring to mind the stars, and as your fingers waltz softly across the keys, Taehyun loses himself in the beauty of the music and the beauty of you. It is not that you weren’t beautiful before—far from it, actually—but seeing you in your element, with people who clearly appreciate your work and talent, is a spectacle Taehyun knows he will never tire of watching. It isn’t just the music. It’s the way you play it, the way you move with the melody—it’s the way you embody the music with your whole being that adds to the beauty of the moment, and the loveliness that is you. 

You finish the piece to silence, everyone’s collective breath hushed as you coax the last note from the piano strings. For a long moment, even after the final echoes of music have faded away, you remain bowed over the keys, eyes closed, hands suspended in the air before they drop softly to your lap. 

The first clap hardly breaks you from your reverie. Even as the applause grows, even as you curtsy to the shouts of Brava filling the room, you still seem like you are being pulled from the loveliest dream. Briefly, Taehyun wonders what it would be like to be in that dream with you—would it be like floating among the stars, letting their soft light wash over his body, or would it be like lying on a field of green grass at night, staring up at the moonlit sky?

You meet Taehyun’s eyes and in a moment you seem to jerk awake—your smile widens, your expression brightens, and he can’t help but do the same as you curtsy again and again. All the time his eyes never leave your face, his mind never leaving the beauty of your performance. 

Kai sidles up to his ear and snorts when Taehyun barely notices him. “You are going to court her, aren’t you?” he asks without preamble. 

“Yes.” Taehyun doesn’t even turn his eyes away from you to reply. “Yes, I am.”

. . . . .

At the start of the season, you’d hoped that the daily parade of balls, gatherings, promenades, and callers would die down a bit as the weeks went on. The season itself is six months, already half a year—you really thought there would be no way that the steady stream of events could continue for so long. 

This, apparently, is not the case. 

It’s been a month and there is no sign of the flow ebbing even slightly. Even when there aren’t massive balls that the entire ton is invited to, there are still the smaller gatherings—small parties, invites to dinner, promenades in the park—and even during the events where only the women are present, the talk always seems to turn to the season, to the debutantes, to engagements and marriage, and most of all, the fact that the queen has still not chosen a diamond. 

You’ve heard all manner of stupidity about this last topic of gossip, and it honestly annoys you more than anything else you’ve seen during the season. If the queen hasn’t chosen a diamond by now, you’d like to say, perhaps that means she simply does not plan to. But apparently the idea of a diamond being absent for the entire season is simply unthinkable to the mamas of the ton, and so after the separation of the sexes at every dinner party you attend, you’re forced to listen to them run the topic into the ground. 

The duchess’s gathering last weekend was a lovely respite from such talk. It was a much smaller gathering, mostly friends and family of the duchy who no longer have much of a stake in the season or who have lived long enough for them not to care. You were very lucky to have gotten an invitation to it at all. It was the first event you attended that you truly enjoyed from start to finish and you walked away from it with both a lingering happiness, a possible good friend in the duchess, and a promise of a call from the lord who invited you to the gathering in the first place. 

Even now, you can’t stop the rush of heat to your face when you remember his sincere compliments after your performance at the duchess’s. The way his large eyes sparkled so earnestly, his words sweet but respectful—it is true that you have only known him for a few weeks, but in that moment, you remember thinking that with every meeting your estimation of his character only seems to improve. And it isn’t just because he is effusive in paying you compliments for your performances. Lord Kang…he sees the person behind the performer, the hard work behind the talent. Of course it helps that he is somewhat of a musician himself—you’d love to hear him play sometime—but he clearly respects the work anyone puts into their own craft, from what you gathered in the conversations you shared with others at the party. 

Before you left, he had found you again and asked, somewhat shyly, if you enjoyed reading about music history or theory. When you responded yes to both, he told you he had several volumes on the subjects in his library, and would be happy to lend them to you if you wished. 

Aunt Taylor was not pleased by your stammering reply. Neither were you. But it was such a kind gesture that it took you aback for a good few moments, and by the time you had finally managed to convey that you would love that, you felt a true mess. Lord Kang didn’t seem perturbed by it at all, though. His smile only widened, and he said that then he would have to call sometime the next week, to see you and bring them to you. 

Your governess is certain he means to court you. So do your cousins, though Aunt Taylor has forbidden them from gossiping about it as it isn’t a sure thing yet. You aren’t quite as certain as they are, but deep inside, battling with the part of you that fears marriage and its shackles of responsibility, another part of you hopes that she is right.

The prospect of Lord Kang’s call is really what keeps you going through the seemingly endless nights of dinner parties and mindless chatter, small talk made with family friends you hardly remember and debutantes who either talk about topics you don’t know or care little about, or who look like they want to be there about as much as you do. You find a few kindred spirits among those who are bold enough to whisper their disdain aloud, though, and they make the time more worth it. 

Still, when the morning of Lord Kang’s call comes, you can’t help but feel as though a new light shines on the day. Cousin Lilly slyly remarks that you look more excited than usual as she removes her toddlers from the drawing room in anticipation of calling hour, and even Aunt Taylor’s hissed instructions to sit straight or you’ll turn a perfectly good suitor away doesn’t dampen your mood much as you settle into the couch, watching servants flit about with last minute preparations. 

Just a few minutes after the clock strikes three, a footman enters the room. “Lord Kang has come to call, my lady,” he says. 

You force yourself to breathe properly as your aunt tells him to bring Lord Kang in. For once, you thank the heavens for your aunt’s beady-eyed attention to detail. While her sharp critiques may sting more than they help when directed at you, it means that the room is clean and bright. Lord Kang should find himself most comfortable when he comes in. Or so you hope. 

Lord Kang enters the room with little fanfare, but with an abundance of quiet grace that, for all your earlier nervousness, immediately calms your nerves. After the initial greetings, he remarks on the careful décor of the room and pays compliment to your aunt, who actually looks briefly stunned before she accepts his praise. You’re smiling widely by the time he turns to you—maybe too widely for your aunt’s liking, but you can’t help it—and dare you say it? His eyes seem to sparkle a little more when he looks at you. 

“My lady,” he says, kissing your hand. “I trust you have been well since we last saw each other.”

“Quite so, and I hope I might say the same for you,” you reply. Honestly, you’re quite proud of yourself for keeping your voice so steady when your heart leapt so wildly the moment his lips touched your knuckles. 

“You may,” he says, eyes crinkling with a little mischief. “And as promised, I have brought you the books I mentioned when we spoke last time. I do hope you enjoy them.”

“I’m sure I will,” you say, taking the small stack of books with delight. Their worn covers speak of frequent and fond use, you note, scanning the titles embossed on their spines. “Oh!” you exclaim, sliding one of them out of the stack. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to read this for quite some time.” You beam up at Lord Kang. “Thank you so much, my lord.”

“It is my pleasure,” he replies, a lovely soft smile on his lips. “And, please, take your time reading them. Do not endeavor to return them sooner than you’d like—I’ve read them all, so you need not rush.”

“You are most kind,” you reply sincerely. “Oh, which reminds me.” Placing the books on a nearby table, you pick up a few sheets of music from the drawing room piano. “You mentioned last time that you had not heard the piece I played, and that you found it quite beautiful,” you say, extending the music to him. “I thought…I thought you might like to have the music. If you wanted to learn it yourself.”

Lord Kang takes a moment before he accepts the music from your hand, which makes you a little nervous—what if he doesn’t care for your gift? There’s no way it really compares to the volumes he’s lent you, you think miserably, but it’s all you could think of to give in return. But then he looks up from the black notes inked on the page, and that lovely smile of his has widened along with his bright eyes. “Thank you so much,” he breathes. “This is…the most perfect gift, my lady. I hope you will not mind me borrowing it for a time.”

“Oh, do not worry about returning it,” you say, smiling. “This is a new copy—I have my own for myself. This one is for you.”

“Well, in that case, I know what I will be doing when I return home,” Lord Kang replies, and the two of you laugh. “I can only hope to learn this piece half as well as you have.”

You laugh again, hiding a shy smile behind your hand. “Again, my lord, you flatter me too much.”

“No, I fear the world does not flatter you enough.” His words are so sincere, so earnest that you momentarily find yourself at a loss for words. And it’s then, of course, that you notice you’re both still standing. You haven’t even offered him a seat yet. 

“You really are too kind,” you reply, internally screaming. “Please my lord, do sit. We have some refreshments if you should like any, and our cook can prepare others if you are feeling particular.”

Lord Kang truly does have perfect manners, you note as you sit down together. He compliments the chef, your aunt, your governess, all so quickly and smoothly you barely have a moment to bat an eye. And then, when you’re floundering a little for a way to begin a conversation, he again takes the lead and engages you easily with a question about the composer of the music you gave him. 

It’s so easy to talk to him. Not just because he’s a wonderful conversationalist, which he is, but you feel comfortable around him in a way that you haven’t felt with any of the other suitors you’ve entertained over the past couple of weeks. Part of it is your shared interests, of course, but he listens to you with an attentive and respectful air that makes talking to him so much easier. It doesn’t feel fake, the way it does with some of the other men. It feels as though he really cares about you, your interests, and what makes you happy. 

And because of this, it’s not difficult to reciprocate in kind. As he mentioned during your promenade, Lord Kang clearly loves literature. When you ask about his library, his enthusiasm about the subject is infectious. At some point you land on the topic of an author that you both have read, one that he enjoyed and you didn’t, and it sparks a lively back-and-forth that has both of you laughing in the end. You’re nowhere near as well-read as he is, and in this conversation it unfortunately shows—his opinions on the author are deep and nuanced while you struggle to articulate what it is about the writing that made you dislike it so—but he remains patient and respectful, and despite your lack of knowledge, just like when you spoke during your promenade, you never feel out of place or embarrassed. 

“You are so well-read, my lord,” you say at the end of your little debate. Your throat rasps a little from speaking so much but you hardly notice, you’re smiling so hard. “How did you come into possession of so many books, and how do you have the time to read them all?”

“Well, both my mother and father enjoy collecting books, so I grew up surrounded by them,” he replies. Of course, you think—such a love for literature must have been cultivated from a young age, just as your love for music. “I took it upon myself to read as many as I could when I was a child, and so when I went to school I quite enjoyed my classics lessons. Upon inheriting the earldom, I was pleased to learn that the estate came with a very large library that the previous lord had left.” At that, Lord Kang’s smile softens. “I’ve been spending all the free time that I can reading as much as possible. The late lord must have been collecting books for a very long time, though—sometimes I wonder if I will be able to finish them all before I pass on.”

You nod in sympathy. “I feel the same about all the sheet music I have collected over the years. I always want to add more to my repertoire, but there’s just so much in the world. I could certainly never hope to finish it all, though perhaps that is the beauty in it. The beauty in creation, I mean.” You glance at the music you gifted him, lying on the table beside you two. “I believe art is a tribute to humanity, to human emotion and empathy. People will be composing and writing throughout my life and long after my death, and to know that this beauty continues on even though I will not be there to share it…I think that is beautiful. It is a wonderful tradition, passed on through the ages, and I will always be honored to have been a part of it.”

A short silence falls after your declaration. Suddenly self-conscious, you look up to find Lord Kang’s eyes riveted to yours. “That is a lovely way of seeing things,” he says softly. “I had never thought about art before in such a manner.”

You duck your head, heat crawling up your cheeks. “Many perspectives exist when it comes to the philosophy of the arts, my lord. This is only mine.”

He cocks his head, meeting your eyes again. “And a lovely philosophy it is, my lady.”

Thankfully—or unthankfully, really—you’re saved from having to come up with a response by the entrance of your footman. “Another caller has arrived,” he says, glancing at you, then Lord Kang, then at your aunt. “Shall I send him in?”

You glance up at the clock. Already half an hour has passed, though to your mind it feels like only seconds have slipped away—certainly not thirty minutes, already ten minutes over what a normal call would be. Inwardly you curse the next caller for having come too soon—actually, for having come at all—because while you may not know him well, you’re quite certain Lord Kang’s impeccable manners will have him clearing out before the next caller comes in. 

To your chagrin, you’re right. Lord Kang quickly stands and you follow suit, still cursing the clock and the caller. “I will not intrude upon your next call, my lady,” he says, and maybe it is delusion but you fancy he sounds somewhat put out when he says this. “I have already taken too much of your time.”

“Not too much at all, my lord.” You curtsy to his short bow. “I did not realize so much time had passed, but I quite enjoyed our conversation. And thank you kindly for lending me your books. I will be sure to enjoy them.”

“Of course.” He inclines his head with an enchanting smile. “And I must thank you again for your kind gift, my lady. Perhaps by the next time we meet, I will have learned to play it.”

You grin. “I do hope so. It would be so lovely to hear you perform sometime.”

With that, Lord Kang makes his goodbyes, and you’re left to welcome the next caller. He is thankfully not Mr. Haynesworth, as you had privately been dreading, but really, you feel that any caller would have paled in comparison to Lord Kang. Lord Kim, whom you met at the last ball you attended, isn’t rude or vile or even awkward. He’s a gentleman, all things considered. But after the requisite greetings, he begins the call with an outright statement about his plans for the future, which leaves you half-floundering for a response after your previous lively conversation with Lord Kang. 

Lord Kim doesn’t share any of your interests. He barely feigns interest in your music, and though he doesn’t say it outright, you’re almost certain he would want you to give up the piano if you were to marry. Though that’s not even what bothers you the most, you realize only when he’s about to leave—it’s the fact that he didn’t even ask you about it. It’s the expectation that he seems to have that you would do what he says without question, without the respect of even considering your passions and interests when planning out the rest of your possible life together. 

Later that night you lie awake in your bed, staring at the dark ceiling as you run through the events of the day. In an ideal world, you ask yourself, if you were to be married, what would make it a perfect marriage?

No conflict. Perfect understanding of one another, and perfect respect. But really, those are impossible demands. You’re not sure any marriage would be perfect without conflict, anyway—such a relationship sounds awfully like a domineering husband and submissive wife, which you hope to fully steer clear of. 

But understanding and respect, even if not perfect, doesn’t seem like it should be so unattainable. Marriage, you think, should be a partnership. And a partnership implies a mutual respect for one another, no? And maybe the definition of respect varies from one person to another, but for you, it involves a consideration of your interests and how deeply they play a role in your life. Because for you, before now, almost your entire life was music. You can’t—won’t—give it up just to play a role in society. So is there anyone who might give you that respect?

The answer is obvious already. 

You sigh, rubbing a thumb over where Lord Kang kissed your hand earlier in greeting. He certainly seems to be the ideal, at least for you. Your mind returns to your avid conversation, and his complete attentiveness to you. 

Few people have listened to you like he did today. Your mother did before she died, and sometimes your governess does, but not many others. You need that, you realize. You need someone, or something, to hear you—it’s partly why you poured so much of yourself into the piano when your mother passed, because it felt like only the instrument could hear you and understand your pain, your grief. That is what you need in marriage. In partnership. 

And, you think, remembering large eyes and a soft, wide smile, there’s only one person you know who seems to fit this ideal. 

. . . . .

“You look like you’re having quite a lot of fun.”

Taehyun turns from where he’s been staring at the drink table for probably a little too long. “Yeonjun? I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

The duke picks up two glasses and hands one to him. “We weren’t certain if we were going to come either. The duchess decided last night that she wanted to get out of the house for some time, so here we are. ”

Taehyun nods. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the two of you out much since you returned to town.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks since we returned,” Yeonjun defends. “There was and still is much to sort out, and unfortunately I have to return to the country next weekend to supervise the removal and fixing of some of the farmers’ equipment.” He sighs. “I hate responsibility.”

“It will all be fine, I’m sure,” Taehyun comforts. Yeonjun and his wife are two of the most capable people he knows; he’s certain they will be alright no matter what challenges they face. “Join us at the club tomorrow afternoon,” he offers. “Kai, Beomgyu, and Soobin will be there too.”

Yeonjun brightens immediately. “I will be there.” Then he squints his eyes into a mock frown. “Are you all now meeting without me? Is it because I’m old, and married, and jaded now?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Taehyun snickers into his drink as Yeonjun’s pout deepens exaggeratedly. “No, we just met up a few times when you were still in the country. You’ll be included in every invite now, I promise.” He pauses. “Though of course if you are busy, you are under no obligation to come.”

“Thank you very much.” Yeonjun grins, that eye smile that drove so many debutantes insane appearing on his face. “But enough about me. Now about you.” He fixes Taehyun with a stern eye. “I thought you were looking for a wife? You won’t have much luck with that, staring at this array of drinks.”

Taehyun makes a face. “I think many of these mamas want to find their daughters husbands more than I want to find myself a wife,” he mutters. 

Yeonjun nearly chokes into his drink. “That’s certainly one way to put the issue,” he coughs out, recovering. “Though I heard from Beomgyu that there is already a lady you have decided to court?”

“…Yes.” Taehyun narrows his eyes. “How did you know that? I only told Kai.”

“He says he heard it from Kai, so I think we know what happened there.” Yeonjun shrugs as Taehyun sighs. “Apparently you didn’t say it was a secret.”

He didn’t. But all the same… “He’ll be the death of me, someday,” Taehyun mutters. “But yes, I have someone in mind. Miss L/N. You met her a couple of weeks ago, at the gathering.” He pauses, then decides he may as well just be out with it. “I’ve been calling on her since.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Yeonjun replies sincerely. “Is she here tonight?”

“She said she would be.” Taehyun glances around the room. “I specifically asked, because we keep seeming to miss each other at all the other balls. If I’m there, she isn’t, and if I’m not, she is.” They share a little laugh. “I haven’t been able to find her here since I arrived, though.” He gestures helplessly at the drink table. “Hence…”

Yeonjun makes a little ‘o’ of understanding. “I see. And you do not want to dance with any of the other debutantes?”

“I already have,” Taehyun says, glancing at the bustling dance floor. “I’m just…tired, I suppose.” He tries to smile. “You know how it is.”

He doesn’t, not really. In the year since Taehyun gotten to know the duke, he’s come to the conclusion that Yeonjun is like Taemin when it comes to things like this—ever social, ever happy to entertain and be entertained. But also like Taemin, he understands that Taehyun is different, and tires of these things much more easily than he does. “I understand,” Yeonjun replies sympathetically. A little glint enters his eye when he sees something just behind Taehyun. “If you’d like, I can cover you for a bit. So you can find some quiet.”

Taehyun casts a glance back. Sure enough, a small group of mamas and their daughters seem to be eyeing him and the duke. “That would be most appreciated,” he says gratefully. 

Within moments, Yeonjun has skillfully engaged the group of ladies in conversation and has also managed to snag a hapless Wooyoung into joining him, leaving Taehyun to slip past the throng. As the rooms grow less crowded and the corridors quieter, he takes a deep breath, reveling in the silence. 

Only it isn’t completely silent, even in this empty room. If Taehyun listens carefully, he can catch a hint of a melody that isn’t just the remnants of the orchestra fading in from a nearby corridor. 

Within moments, he’s heading down the corridor, a smile curving his lips as he searches for the source of the music. 

He finds the room with a little difficulty, following the sound of your performance down corridor after corridor. When he finally stumbles upon the slightly cracked open door, Taehyun is reminded of the second ball of the season, where he heard you that first time. He didn’t know it was you then, but he certainly knows it is you now. It helps that this is a piece he’s heard you play before—it’s a lovely Mozart sonata you performed when he called on you a few days ago—but your style is also so distinctive that even though Taehyun has only heard you play a handful of times, even not knowing the piece, he’s almost certain he would still know it was you. 

Taehyun smiles just beyond the room, leaning closer towards the open door. He won’t disturb you—even though he aims to court you, he would never trap you into a proposal by having someone catch the two of you alone together. He just wants to listen. And perhaps, when you’re finished, he’ll be able to catch you when you return back to the party, and you two can share a dance. 

It’s strange that in all the times you’ve met, the two of you have not yet danced together once. Taehyun aims to rectify that as soon as he can, if you will allow it. 

And allow it you will, he thinks. He’s certain he’s not the only one who has noticed how well you two get along. You must have felt it too, just as you must also have seen by now that he is quite interested in you.  And he’s almost sure that you are interested in him too, if your shy smiles and sweet words are anything to go by. 

Closing his eyes, he leans closer to the music. A brilliant sparkle of notes swirl under your fingers, the melody leaping with a joy that lingers in his ears and widens his smile. Cheerful and sweet, though there’s a noise that doesn’t sound right entering the piece. It’s strange—it sounds something like—

Footsteps?

Taehyun quickly ducks into a nearby empty room, praying no one saw him. The low conversation of the small group continues without interruption and he breathes a sigh of relief. They keep coming closer, though, and he thinks he can hear the voice of Lady Arina Park telling Her Majesty—she brought the queen?—that she must see the Gérard painting in this room, it’s quite famous and apparently not a fake—

Holding his breath, Taehyun watches them enter the room where you’re playing. But the music doesn’t stop, not just yet. He almost smiles—it’s not hard to believe you would be so lost in the melody that you wouldn’t notice a small group of people entering the room—but that smile freezes in place when the queen makes an exclamation and the music ends abruptly. 

Taehyun swallows. This might not be good. The queen can’t be pleased that you would avoid a ball to play the pianoforte—maybe he can help, just enter the room and act surprised to see everyone. He could easily claim he was curious about the music. 

He edges into the hallway just in time to hear you apologizing profusely. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was only taking a small pause from the ball—”

“Because you delight in your endeavors.” Taehyun stops short when he hears the smile in Her Majesty’s voice. He should leave—from her tone, you are probably not in trouble, which means it’s better for him not to be here. He wouldn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping on Her Majesty. Still, though he can’t help but hear the queen’s words as he takes soundless steps down the hallway. “Someone who performs not for me, but for themselves. Brava.”

That, Taehyun can agree with. Yet while part of his heart leaps in happiness for you—it is, after all, no small feat to impress the queen—another part of him remembers your desire for quiet at the Tillings’ ball and wonders what the queen’s attention might mean for an introverted woman like you. 

You mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch. And as Taehyun steps down the corridor, he hears the queen speak again, pleasure clear in her tone. 

“A performance that sparkles,” she declares. “Just like a diamond.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :) Note: part 2 will be posted in three days, on June 17 at 8pm EST :)

[rallamajoop]

Did Ethan play the piano?

There are a bunch of little hints scattered through these games about Ethan's character. He seems to have a love for the retro ‒ at least, his drawer is full of jazz CDs and he drives a 1971 Dodge Challenger. As Rose notes, he's clearly a wine drinker. And he may have played he piano.

I don't want to overstate the hints RE7&8 give us on that last part. Resident Evil is, after all, a universe where apparently being able to bang out a full sonata at a moment's notice is just a basic life skill for anyone who might want to infiltrate a suspicious facility (though just jamming a few bars of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star may also do in a pinch).

There's a piano in the Winters' home, but then, maybe Mia's the one who plays, or maybe the BSAA set them up in an already-furnished house ‒ who knows? You can't actually interact with it as Ethan, nor does Rose comment on it. But Rose does wonder out loud if her Dad played any instruments (after he jokes about whether baby Rose banging her spoon to the Miss D. record suggests she's going to grow up to be a musician) ‒ and that at least primes you to notice that piano, if you hadn't already.

There are also two different pianos you can interact with in the Baker property ‒ one in the guest room, which will slam shut if Ethan reaches for the keys, and a second in Lucas' room that merely prompts the message 'it's broken'.

It's not until Dimitrescu's castle that Ethan himself finally gets to make like all those other Resi heros, and bash out a quick solo to open a mini door in the piano, in which you'll find a key that will open another door... look, you've heard this one before.

There's an argument to be had whether any of the puzzle solutions in a video game like RE should be taken as truly diegetic. But if nothing else, this does at least suggest Ethan can read sheet music. Here's the asset for the sheet, by the way (and again with the bit you actually play highlighted). You can hear someone play the full song ("Sogno" ‒ which means 'Dream' in Italian ‒ by Francesco Paolo Tosti) here.

There's even a version with lyrics, though I doubt they necessarily meant much to whoever picked this piece for the game: more likely it was chosen for being a song with a very simple treble clef (so the player doesn't have to do too much work to solve the 'puzzle') but a much more complicated bass (so it still sounds sophisticated when played). Regardless, you can hear it sung here.

There's also one other little clue that might suggest that someone in the Winters' household has some real musical leanings: one of the CDs you can find in that drawer is titled 'Jazz Standard Theory'. Which sounds a lot more like an instructional CD than easy listening (though they're certainly not winning any prizes for those other titles).

Actually, while we're talking Ethan's CD collection, here's the asset for that Miss D & the Pallboys CD too! Surprisingly, it has a back as well, suggesting that at some point you might have been able to pick it up and examine it. The text is all pretty illegible, however.

(I've talked before about the theory that 'Miss D' is actually Lady Dimitrescu, but if you want the short version ‒ given that she's not from the village and is 'descended from a fallen noble', this one's surprisingly plausible!)

Hilariously, a love for jazz might just be one thing Ethan has in common with the Bakers, given you can find some records lying around the rec room upstairs.

Mind you, even RE2R managed to work a jazz festival flyer into this one puzzle solution...

Does someone in the team at Capcom have a thing for Jazz? Evidence is starting to stack up...

But getting back to our original topic, does Ethan play the piano? You can make a case either way, as the game never tells us explicitly. But there's enough here to point that way that I'd like to think he does, anyhow.

Which only makes the implications of this so much more tragic.

[princeblack]

regulus black has been dead for one hundred and twenty-one years and the only voice he knows now is hers. it’s warm, wrapping around his soul and making him feel less alone; less of a memory and more of a person again. he’s still there, lingering, even a century after his death, having his life ripped away from him because of consumption.

what she didn’t know is he wasn’t your average dead man in any dead grave. or maybe she did know that, somewhere deep down. why else would he become her favorite? he felt her favoritism every time she leaned against his tombstone, talking about her days as if he were her friend and not the ghost of someone she would never know. his name is etched on the tombstone, but nothing more remains aside from the bust his mother had sculpted to commemorate her lost son. she had come to his grave to weep at it until consumption took her life as well, dwindling the numbers in the black family to almost nothing.

regulus had a life once, born as the son of a wealthy noble and raised strictly by way of his mother, given better education than most and learning complex science and math others didn’t have access to at a young age. he was familiar with the arts as well, writing and playing piano better than anyone in their town. he even proved to be adept at what was usually saved for the lower class, like caring for animals and livestock. not that his mother was a fan of him being friendly with the local farmers, saying it was beneath his father’s family and they had a reputation to uphold. besides that, there was danger to associating with the common folk because of what they were.

orion black was a successful businessman who amassed wealth through investments and commercial ventures, known even outside of their hometown for his fortune and contributions to various enterprises. orion wanted regulus to manage his estate and investments when he was old enough, although his mother was more worried about teaching him her own family’s ways, including inducting him into the family coven.

many still believed in witches, especially in such a rural area, and regulus’s family wasn’t safe from the persecution they’d face if anyone found out. it was a cult in a sense, regulus being brought up in the ways of the religion; worshiping and sacrificing to the the Horned One in order for their family to keep their powers. the old god was displeased when andromeda left the coven, withholding some of their powers for a time.

unluckily for regulus, this was when he fell ill, soon to meet an untimely fate. stricken with grief, walburga had done what magic she could, not enough to heal him but at least enough to resurrect him if all magical requirements were met.

she harnessed the power of a comet overhead, using its magic to reverse his death once it were to pass over again.

at least, this is how it was explained to regulus just before he died. he waited over a century after, sure that the spell had failed (and even if it didn’t, his loved ones were surely dead anyway).

that is, until he meets her.

she cares for his grave, scrubbing it clean and leaving flowers for him every week. she even gazes at his statue, talking to him as if he could talk back. regulus isn’t man anymore; only spirit, but even so he can see how beautiful she is and he knows she’s the most perfect human being to ever walk the earth. who else would care for someone they don’t know and keep his memory alive more than his family ever did?

one night she gifts him her aunt’s necklace, leaving it on his bust as an offering. he remembers her sweet words, explaining why she wanted him to have it and even murmuring that she wishes she could be with him. it’s then that he’s sure she can feel it, too– his spirit, and the way the two of them are drawn together, even with death and life separating them still.

his soul longs for her, wondering if the comet will pass by sometime before her life is over.

luckily, the night finally comes, and he can feel his awareness shift, being sucked below. once he was apart of the cemetery; apart of the breeze, just another spirit among many. but now he can feel his awareness being siphoned down, pulled into blackness, and then he’s there.

everything is dark, but he can feel his body. he’s almost not sure if this is real, but the weight of the ground is pressing down on him and it’s only because of magic that animates his body that he has the strength to claw his way from the dirt without suffocating. it takes some difficulty, struggling to reach the surface, but he eventually pushes through the ground, emerging from the soil and dragging himself out.

he can breathe, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest, almost as if he doesn’t have to because he’s dead. dirt falls off of him as he stands on unsteady legs, almost overwhelmed by his surroundings in the overgrown graveyard. the breeze is something he hasn’t felt on his face in over a century, along with the way air rests in his lungs. the moon is shining down on him, round and full, illuminating his tombstone and the bust his mother had made of him just above it.

he sees her necklace there, glinting in the dark, and shaky fingers reach out to take it, pulling it off for him to hold. it’s significantly nicer than anything on him, his old vest covered in chunks of soil and torn and faded. even the sleeves of his shirt are ripped, even though they were once elegant and of the highest quality white fabric.

he can feel salem through the necklace, as if a pulse of her soul is within it, her beating heart in his hand as he struggles out of the graveyard. her home isn’t far, through the forest and on the edge of a rural neighborhood. he knows because he can sense her, almost as if they’re connected. his mother always said he was the most psychic of the witches in their coven, but now it feels even more true, because his mind leads him directly to the woman he loves.

he crosses her yard, reaching the front door. he looks like a phantom on her porch, his skin even paler than it was when he was alive, smeared in dirt and grime. his black hair is caked with it too, to the point he’s almost unrecognizable. whatever state he was resurrected to, he knows he isn’t fully human. everything feels muffled and his body is cold; not like he remembered having flesh to be.

he’s sure he would be burned at the stake if anyone were to see him, a warning his family had given him time and time again about their magic. but he opens salem’s door anyway, using supernatural strength to break the lock and open the front door. he can sense her in the living space, just a few feet away, but he isn’t prepared to meet her beautiful blue eyes when he does. if regulus had breath it would’ve been taken from him, his cold fingers tightening on the necklace as he holds it out. / @ghstdoll

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Piano Lessons

"!Businessman Sabo x !Noble!fem Reader. Sabo has to work from empty hands to his rich status. When he was still poor, he worked as a music teacher for the nobles. Sabo always hated the nobles who spend their lives wasting moneys. That is until he was hired to teach reader, who is a noble's daughter, to play the piano. Reader likes him a lots. Sabo learns from reader that not all nobles are rotten, and starts to fall for her. However, he denied his feelings since he hated nobles and ended up part way with her after she mastered the piano. Then, about two years later, Sabo earns the status of a wealthy businessman that can level with a nobleman. He usually thinks of reader and fantasize about their love. One time, at a ball, reader found him and talked to him about her crush on him two years ago. Sabo got worked up but also found out she doesn't like him anymore and regret not confessing two years ago. Sabo then starts his journey to flirt with reader until she falls for him again. Ending is for you to decide. To sum up this is a tsundere/mean Sabo that gradually turns into a lovesick Sabo."

Okay, part 1, lol

Part 2, Part 3

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1620

     Walking into the bright, opulent entryway, Sabo couldn’t help but think that this was one of, many, reasons as to why he hated these people. Large open rooms that served no purpose but to show off how much money they had. Sparkling white marble floors, elegant wooden walls, and the biggest chandelier he’d seen since he was a child. Completely empty save for a few end tables, vases filled with flowers, and statuettes. Pointless. Hearing the telltale clack of expensive heels on the staircase, Sabo held back his exasperated sigh as he looked up. Unsurprisingly, an older woman dressed in luxurious silk stood at the landing at the top of the second flight of stairs, looking down on him as if he were mere dirt beneath her heel. After a moment, she finished descending the stairs, once more looking him over appraisingly.

     “So you’re the boy my husband hired as a piano teacher? Come, I want you to play for me before I entrust my daughter’s lessons to you.” With just those two sentences, Sabo already hated this woman. Judging him on his clothing or what she’d heard from her husband. Skeptical about his skills simply because he wasn’t a rich piano instructor. Maybe he could fool them into thinking he was just ‘so talented that he chose his own students’. It wouldn’t be hard to get a bit more money from them. 

     Following the woman, he wasn’t surprised to see one of the most beautiful grand pianos sitting in the next room. Undoubtedly worth more than all of his and his brother’s possessions combined and multiplied by 10. Looking over the piano, he had to hold back another sigh. A piano made by the world renowned crafter who made all the expensive grand pianos. Rosewood made up all the wooden parts with wood, fine leather on the piano chair, keys that almost certainly contained ivory and ebony, strings made of some high quality steel that he could probably use as a garotte wire to kill these rich bastards. The list of expensive materials went on and to be honest, it annoyed the hell out of him. Even still, he had a job to do and it was paying a lot more than his usual jobs. 

     Sitting in front of the piano, he grabbed one of the hardest songs he had sheet music for, thankful that he’d brought it despite his earlier thoughts about not bringing it. Thankfully he didn’t have to finish playing it before the woman interrupted him, having heard enough.

     “Fine, fine, you can teach our daughter, but I swear, you’d better not even look at her! She’s my precious daughter and I don’t want someone like you getting the idea that you’re even so much as equal to her.” With that, the woman turned on her heel and left, leaving Sabo to seethe. He might have to cut a wire from the piano once he was finished just to annoy the hell out of them. They might not care about the money it would take to replace it, but it would be nice to inconvenience them in any way possible. It was a few minutes before a young woman walked in. Dressed in nice clothing, though it didn’t look like the silk her mother wore, and hair carefully styled by, probably, a maid whose skills could probably rival that of a stylist. 

     Taking a deep breath, he prepared for whatever snotty, entitled attitude she’d give him. Reaching him, she stood beside the bench for a moment.

     “My mother told me you’re my piano instructor. So where should we start?” your voice was more melodious than he’d expected, not tainted with the arrogant privilege of most nobles. It was… startling. Sabo stood up and offered her the seat.

     “We’ll start with the basics, just learning the keys and notes, just the easy things.” he said, pulling out another sheet. It was a ‘my first piano’ book, the first page showing a picture of the keys on the piano and what notes they were as well as a basic line of easy notes. You nodded and looked at the book, listening to the boy closely. Sure enough, he was teaching you some pretty simple things, keeping you to one side of the piano so he wouldn’t overwhelm you while helping you memorize the keys.

     It wasn’t long until he was packing his things up. He hadn’t expected this lesson to take long, not wanting to do too much while you were still working on the keys. Closing this bag, he looked up to see you offering the book you’d been using to him.

     “Keep it for now. I want you to continue practicing the keys between our lessons. You should have a butler or someone who knows the keys and can help make sure you’re doing it right.” Sabo said, watching as you nodded and put the book back.

     “Alright, when is our next lesson?” you asked, giving him a smile. Sabo took a moment to think. Should he wait a while to memorize the keys and practice or should he visit sooner? Would it take you a long time to memorize the right keys and the notes? Maybe you’d barely take any time at all.

     “I’ll come back next week to see how you’re doing. We’ll go from there.” Sabo said after a moment as he stood up from backing his bag. Finally, Sabo looked up at you. He’d mostly been focusing on your hands and the piano keys until now. Not because of what your mother said, but so he could make sure you were doing things right. Now that he had gotten a look at you, he couldn’t help but think about how beautiful you were. You were dressed nicely, but the clothes suited you rather than making you look pompous. Your hair that he’d previously thought was carefully styled was tied back and topped with a simple headband so your hair wouldn’t get in your eyes while you learned how to play. It was all clearly nice and worth quite a bit, but it was simple and more understated than your mother’s clothing. Business casual and simplistic, suitable for a stroll through the nearby park but far too nice for the dark alleyways and ramshackle apartments of where he and his brothers lived. Beautiful eyes looked at him with a gentle, kind, cheerfulness and a light smile graced your lips. Simple and elegantly beautiful. It was enough to make his breath catch in his throat for a moment before remembering that you were a noble just like your parents, just like them. 

     “Then I’ll be sure to practice everyday.” you said, taking the words right out of his mouth.

     Sure enough, he was back the following week, surprised by how quickly you’d memorized many of the keys. It was slow and you made frequent mistakes, but it was more than he’d expected. He’d spent the rest of that day’s lesson teaching you more keys and correcting your mistakes before leaving once more. He had to admit, he found your dedication admirable, he doubted most nobles worked this hard, finding their lessons ‘boring’. Another thing he’d been surprised about was how different you were. You weren’t at all like your parents. dedicated instead of lazy, humble rather than arrogant, accepting instead of judgemental, and so very, very kind. You’d even begun to strike up conversations with him. Nothing involving your lessons, just talking about life or his work. You learned that he was going to college and about his brothers. Likewise, he learned about you. How you enjoyed reading over sitting around gossiping, your dedication to anything that you were interested in or tried, and your desire to do more to help others. You’d even begun to show him that there were a couple of nobles that weren’t too bad. Afterall, you existed.

     Looking up at Sabo, you waited for him to say something. The lessons had been going on for months now, your skills improving rather quickly. To be honest, part of the reason you’d been improving so quickly was because you wanted to impress him. He was handsome, smart, and caring, how could you not develop a crush on the blond? Likewise, he was starting to fall for you and fast. He didn’t want to admit it, but with each lesson, he found you more and more enchanting until he found himself fully dreaming about you. Not just a simple daydream, but invading his unconscious mind and filling his every moment. The kind of people he claimed to hate, the kind of people who pissed him off and one of them had caught his eye. Not that he would ever admit to caring about you. You were only in his dreams because he was impressed by how quickly you were learning. He was only thinking about you because he was wondering how much money he could squeeze out of your parents for teaching you so much. 

     Finally, standing outside your front door, he looked at the lavish house that loomed over him. He’d just finished your final lesson, you’d performed a lovely piece for your parents and they’d been rather pleased with his work, receiving a rather large sum of money for his work. It would be the last time he would see you, after this there would be no reason for you to cross paths again, no reason for you to continue seeing each other. A pang ran through his chest. The two of you wouldn’t see each other again, this was it. Part of him wanted to hurry back in, to say something, but he couldn’t, there was no reason to… right?

[lemonhemlock]

The thing about Otto and Alicent having boundaries overstepped by Otto teaching Alicent how to ensnare Viserys - I think people don't grasp the historical and cultural nuances here. Women over history have been coached on how to be attractive to men to get rich husbands or fathers pay for their daughters to go to deportment lessons etc. I think the book Gone With The Wind is a great example of how Scarlett is brainwashed into acting like a sexually attractive vacant vapid child woman by being taught by her mother and Mammy how to get a man. This includes what clothes to wear, how to flatter a man, use a fan etc and Scarlett adds on her own variations as well. It's like an inheritance.

Through a modern lens, ofc this is all wrong, parents shouldn't be teaching their children how to be sexually appealing. But historically there is a huge percentage where this was the norm from the ground up with the working class or lower middle class aping their richer counterparts to ascend the social ladder through marrying their kids off. Not everyone did this but it happened. If we look at The Buccaneers and Bridgerton it's all there. Mothers and fathers and guardians and brothers etc were all imparting to their kids, wards etc how to conduct and present themselves to the best advantage for the families benefit.

I think Otto is doing that here rather than abusing Alicent sexually. As a female and she is young and beautiful, Otto thinks he has a full hand. He sees Alicent as a pawn in his quest for power and when he sees an opening after Aemma dies, he immediately takes the opportunity because who are we kidding there would be other parents who would see a chance to put their daughter on the throne. When we get Aegon and Aemond maybe we romanticise it because they're young adult princes but the girls around them are being groomed to catch their eye whilst the princes are single. It all comes down to power and dynasty and I feel it we interpret by modern standards we lose the nuance.

Tbh I see it evolving into a different level with our influencer culture where TikTik tells us to be that girl etc, it's the parent grooming us to be as sexually appealing to the Internet gaze for advantage. And I see literal parents capitalize on their children by turning them into a product and it's becoming disgusting as they're ambiguously sexualising their toddlers to sate the abhorrent audiences they're attracting in the comments requesting to see the child eat cucumbers and fuck all is being done about it. That makes me so mad. Then we have parents teaching their little girls to be influencers and brainwashing them into doing that tapping their fingernails etc for asmr and to always have cute sound bites or manic smiles at the ready as soon as a camera is on them. We still have our Ottos today.

I do agree on the historical practices of coaching the daughters of the family, so that they become as appealing as possible to potential suitors. I would be wary, though, to ascribe definite time periods or geographical regions to these customs, since I am not an expert in this. I also believe these tended to be more prevalent in upper class / noble circles or in money-making spheres like merchants, bankers and other types of early capitalists, than they would be in working class scenarios.

Certainly, we are all aware, from our 19th century novels at least, of how the education of young ladies was focused on people-pleasing skills and other elements meant to appeal to men: piano-playing, sewing and embroidery (clothes-making might sound frivolous at first, but it was an important practical and economic skill to have in a household), drawing/painting, dancing etc. And the related concept of etiquette classes has certainly permeated through popular culture. So, yes, in a way, these are all related practices to how Otto advances Alicent as a potential wife.

But, I would argue that (and, again, because this is HotD, there is bound to be some focus on the dysfunctional) what Otto does is more of an overstep of boundaries, because he is deliberately shown to instruct Alicent in wearing a dress that is more revealing that what she usually wears and he is actively placing her into scenarios in which she is alone with Viserys. Whereas, "in the past" (broadly speaking), there definitely was a focus on maintaining a maiden's honour and girls would not be paraded in sexy dresses in front of their suitors, nor would they even be allowed to be alone in a room with any man that is not related to them. Otto's tactics here can be construed as rather scandalous. So the sexual aspect here is brought to the surface more than in other, more innocent "tutelage" scenarios.

[amitieos]

jumpscare ♡

Albertus von Crimea Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way

(just kidding, ends up taking his mother's name because Valter's is top secret even to his family + the whole royalty thing. refuses to give his full name in most situations however, just to cultivate an air of mystery!)

class: pegasus knight -> wyvern knight -> malig knight (lance/sword + dark magic)

whilst a ruthless warrior, he lacks some of valter's more unhinged and bloodthirsty personality traits. he also lacks elincia's warmth and frankly thinks both of his parents are weirdos

cold and aloof to most people, with maybe the exception of his younger siblings (tbd!). my boy just is not a people person, even when he tries.

is actually very warm and gentle and sweet with animals though! especially ones that other people consider scary or ugly

kiddo definitely has brought home a few medieval fantasy king cobras before...

has no interest in being a prince or inheriting the throne and intends to run off and join a band of mercs once he's of age and finds one good enough for him

ends up not having to run off after all! elincia is uh... concerned about the whole merc thing but ultimately his family appreciate him as he is. in their own way.

is absolutely terrible at healing magic. tried to learn it from his mother because it's useful but will probably cause you to lose health if he heals you

as a result he always carries a first aid kick. slap a bandaid on it and walk it off.

took piano lessons as part of his noble upbringing and whilst he stopped lessons he never stopped playing in secret. don't mention it though or he may have to kill you

terrified of kittens because why are they so SMALL (what if he hurts them!)

[katsvkiii]

beloved. t.shoto x femreader

ʚ tags ; angst, slowburn, royal au

ʚ summary ; as a noble's daughter, you'd do anything in your power to satisfy your father. even if it meant taking away your own freedom.

ʚ word count ; 3.1k

ʚ author's note ; it's my first time writing a royal au fanfic, and this is also writing and posting a fanfic in this blog. I have watched my hero before but I haven't read the manga yet T-T dont spoil me please <3 anyways, enjoy. do tell me if you would like a part 2 ;)

𝐌arriage wasn’t really part of your bucket list. At least not yet. You’d first want to learn about politics, governing and ruling, and maybe even find the love of your life along the way. But you knew that was too far fetched and being a daughter of a Barron is hard if you were to be asked. Your father had always wanted a son, but your beautiful mother gave birth to you instead and she was told she could never bear children anymore. Sure, your father always cherished you like your mother does, but you could see that glint in his eyes whenever a son of his subordinates came to see him for a meeting.

Your mother’s job was to be with your father till the end of their time, to love and be there for him at all costs, through sickness and health like they vowed. She doesn’t have a say in anything when it comes to decision making. She just… Loves him regardless. She knew how to read, how to paint and how to play the piano but she never got to work like your father’s job, because every woman is taught to be just on the stand by behind the men. Taught to just be there for support but never to rule.

And as a lady and a daughter. You also don’t have a say in the decision making. You always wanted to make your father proud, for he had such high expectations from you even though all you’re taught is to read, understand, paint, and to love. And he is going to put it to good use. Your mother tried to convince him it wasn’t a good idea, it’s still too early for that. But your father didn’t listen to her, he isn’t going to let this opportunity to rise slip through his fingers when the king Todoroki himself asked if he would like for his daughter, you, to be King Todoroki's son’s betrothed.

It is the first time you wanted to deny your father his wish. But he looked so hopeful, as if for the first time he wanted to depend on you. And so you agreed.

–

You have met the Prince once in a ball held by his majesty, but you never spoke to him. And now you’re inside the quarters of his castle. Sitting on the comfy bed alone as you tried your hardest not to cry. No mother to comfort you, just the empty silence engulfed you with the unfamiliar surroundings. Covering your mouth so that no one could hear you despite the halls being silent. The King showed kindness despite the rumors circulating about him. It makes you feel a little at ease that you’re welcomed somehow. But the tension at the dining hall was too much. King Todoroki had to do all the talking because it was only you, the prince and the King himself.

You huffed, wiping the tears off your cheeks, before opening the big curtains letting the moonlight seep in the big bedroom before jumping into bed, closing your eyes and hoping for a good start of tomorrow.

And that tomorrow came like years. You couldn’t sleep at all! So you just read all night long, crying, giggling, and chuckling all night. And the palace women were shocked to see your slightly red eyes, messy hair and a stack of books on your bed. “Oh, Princess! Have you gotten any sleep at all?!” Says the brunette girl, quickly rushing over to you with the other women holding your change of clothes and some towels, a bowl, and a pitcher of water fragranced with some kind of flower in it. “I am fine, please don’t worry! I hadn’t realized it’s morning already.” You chuckled embarrassingly before getting off your bed to take the bowl from one of the ladies.

“Oh no, please let us. His majesty ordered us to take care of you. Please, let us get ready for breakfast. Princess Fuyumi has been waiting to meet you.” The lady holding the bowl smiles. The Princess Fuyumi? At least now you’ll have company and you won’t feel lonely. You took your nightgown off, helping the women get you cleaned and dressed. You aren’t that shy since you also have women to help you dress back at your home.

They dressed you up in a light but elegant looking gown just enough for you to not get tired walking around on. “You look beautiful, princess. Please, let us go to the dining hall, the royal siblings are already waiting.” The brunette then leads you to the dining hall, which is oddly silent. There is Princess Fuyumi, and then your betrothed Prince Shoto. “She must be the lady?” Fuyumi points with a smile, standing up to greet you with a warm hug. “I am very much honored to meet you , Princess.” You bowed right after the hug out of respect.

You have heard of the good deeds she has done for the neighboring kingdom, and to the Iida clan. She is a very respectable Princess according to your readings. “Oh, you are so lovely! Come on, sit and let’s eat and talk.” She quickly pulls you to the seat next to her, and Prince Shoto silently watches you and his sister talk. “I heard of how my father made the deal. It must be hard for you.” She rubs your shoulders carefully and reassuringly. “I, uhm. It kinda is because I am still not used to my surroundings yet but I’ll make sure to manage day by day. It is an honor to be picked as the Prince’s betrothed.” You smiled shyly and she gave you a chuckle. “Oh, do not worry you’ll have me around until the two of you get married. That’s what me and my husband came here for.” She then takes your fork, and proceeds to take plenty of your pancakes to feed you.

Shoto watched amused but his stoic expression remained. A faint blush painted your cheeks, opening your mouth to eat it. “Aw, such a cute kid. Shoto, don’t just sit there and watch. You’ll be marrying her so at least talk once in a while. I heard from father that you hadn’t spoken to her once.” Fuyumi scolds, making you just want to run away from embarrassment. It’s not like she was embarrassing you, she was just trying to help lift up the moo a bit.

You didn’t dare look at the prince’s face, scared that he might be glaring at you right now. “We won’t force each other to talk if we aren’t comfortable. I’ll be going now. I have to prepare.” Shoto says before standing up to leave the both of you there. You sighed covering your face, Fuyumi slightly panicked at your discomfort. “Oh no, please don’t think he hates you. He’s just a little shy around new people and is probably mad about the marriage thing but he’ll come around somehow.” she then pulls you into a hug. And for the whole morning, she accompanied you. But unfortunately, she needed to go somewhere for business with her husband. And you are once again left to be on your own, but at least you got a beautiful garden to sit in right.

Not really, though the view of the town square is beautiful from here. You still felt lonely. In a big castle but no friends at all. You wish you could’ve asked your father to take your personal butler Shinsou with you so you wouldn’t feel lonely. “U-uhm! Princess?” A timid sounding voice called, you turned to see a green haired boy with freckles. He looked so scared so you gave him a smile as a gesture that you mean no harm. “Prince Shoto asks for your presence. P-please, follow me.” ‘So suddenly?’ you thought. He shyly turns around and you silently follow him. “I’m [name], I assume we’re gonna see each other often. Please don’t be scared.” You chuckled when he suddenly shrieked a little when you touched his shoulder.

“I’m Izuku Midoriya, the prince’s personal butler. It is an honor to serve you, Princess.” He stops to bow with a smile. Suddenly a bit of his shyness is washed. “Are you always with the prince?” You asked, catching up beside him. “Only around the castle or when he isn’t attending official matters. His highness forbids me to go with the prince.” You nod, he seemed nice and so you wanted to be his friend. “Will you come accompany me when he’s off to official meetings then? It gets lonely whenever I’m alone and… I don't really like that.``

“Oh, it'll be my honor, princess. But the prince is waiting inside, please go in.” He smiles, opening the big oak doors for you. There prince Shoto sits, looking over at the mannequins with different attires but all have partners and are complementary to each other. The maids and tailors have left the room, leaving you only with him. His gaze is enough to make you feel small on your feet, you wanted to go. “Do I scare you?” He asks so suddenly, Not daring to come close, the last thing he wants is overwhelming you. You’re already burdened enough with this arranged marriage, and he knows it must be hard.

And you couldn’t answer that at all. It’s not that you are scared of him, it’s just- “Is it the scar? Or do you just despise me?” He asks once again. You couldn’t bear how straight forward he is! You didn’t know what to answer. “I-it’s not like that, your highness! I just… Like I’ve said earlier I’m not quite used to this… I apologize, I’ll try to be as calm as possible with y-” “I don’t need you to force it. I want you to be comfortable.” He says with a stoic face. You’re flattered, and didn’t know what to say to that at all. Getting comfortable may take a while to happen, and the royal ball is the day after tomorrow. The king is holding a ball to celebrate the announcement of your marriage with him.

You aren’t even sure if you could make a public appearance with the prince. Everyone will be talking and congratulating the both of you thinking you’re in love. You thought it’s plain wrong to trick people but it’s for your and his family’s image. “I’ll tell my father to cancel the ball, just say the word.” He sits back down waiting for you to respond patiently. “Please no, let’s not make him mad. I’ll oblige to whatever he wants to, the last thing I want is my father’s wrath.” You ran up to him going on your knees to beg out of impulse.

“And I’m not scared of you or your scar. I also don’t despise you. It’s just that… You give off a really cold aura that it kinda scares me. But I promise, I’ll be good.” You held your hands together. Shoto was taken aback at your actions, he is shocked at the fact that you’re leaning on his thigh. And also being the first big reaction he got out of you. “Please, there’s no need for you to beg.” He helps you stand up and dust your dress. “Just pick the attire of your taste, we’ll go with it.” He gestures to you to look through the mannequins presented. And there are like 50 pairs in there.

—

The day went longer than you had thought, and it was also tiring and kind of overwhelming. Choosing the theme of the ball and all, but at least you had two gentlemen to accompany you throughout the day. But your feet sure are sore. “Princess, the king sent me to tell you that you’ll be having dance classes with the prince tomorrow. Please sleep early this time, his highness is going to be watching so it’s a must be on time. Have a good night's rest.” says the maid of honor before closing the door.

“What?” You whispered to yourself. Tomorrow is the only day you’ll be practicing, can you even manage to remember the steps?

It’s not that you didn’t know how to dance. You do but it’s the simplest once for the common balls. But this one? It’ll be special, not only to the king but also to the kingdom, for you and the prince are the next ruler. That simple thought is enough to get you overwhelmed . Again. What if you can’t even be a good Queen? What if the people don't accept you? You’re not even a princess in the first place, you’re just a noble from a small title.

How did you even end up in this place? Many questions are on your mind, you feel like you're getting choked up from the silent crying. You wished your mother was there to hug and comfort you. And then reality hits you once again. You’re put in this position on your will. But it’s not like you wanted it either.

You felt like you had no choice but to do so, for the sake of the name of your family. But what if you declined? Would your father hate you? Would he understand? Would he tell you that it’s alright to not do it? If you were a son, would he have loved you more than he does? Is he even proud of you?

You didn’t know it but, your cries are now louder, that it could be heard from the outside. And unbeknownst to you. A certain green haired boy is just outside, sadly staring at your door with a handkerchief in hand, for you had left it.

—

“Princess, please! The king is already waiting at the ball room! Please wake up!” The brunette, named Ochako, shook you awake. To your surprise, you’re already dressed and there’s breakfast beside you. “Please eat up quickly, I apologize for the rush but they have been waiting for 30 minutes now.” She apologizes with a bow. Your eyes widen before grabbing her hand out of the room. You’re still not quite familiar with the palace so you’ll need her to lead you there. Your feet hurt but still, you ran as fast as you could. “I’m sorry! I must’ve slept pretty late!”

“You’ve been reading again!?” She asks as the two of you ran, you just responded with a quick nod before. Nervousness filled your veins hearing muffled music from the inside. You slowly opened the door to see Princess Fuyumi with her husband, prince Tensei from the Iida family. They both danced to the music while Prince Shoto and the King stood there looking irritated while Shoto still had the same stoic expression. “The princess has arrived.”

The butler standing beside the door announces. The king was about to speak but then got interrupted by Shoto. “She was tired, she did the most yesterday. Let her off will you.” He glares at his father who couldn’t say anything but just clear his throat. “Please, let us proceed to the lesson.” And so it started. It started off slow and easy. But the gown is said to be pretty heavy and all the gowns were big so you needed to practice with a big gown too, to at least get used to it.

Your feet hurt, you badly wanted to take your shoes off but that would be inappropriate and unladylike. And then the twirling parts started, to the carrying and stuff. It had to be elegant for people's amusement. And now you’re dancing the steps all together without instruction. “You look pale, you haven’t eaten have you?” he asked as the two of you swayed and his hands were on your waist. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to oversleep. My body just felt really sore and I had a really goodnight sleep.” You lied, biting the inside of your cheeks and looking elsewhere but to him. “Hm, let’s get this over with and you can have your leisure time. I’ll let you borrow Izuku. Take your maid with you.” He says stoically like always before lifting you up and back down to twirl you around.

The King looked satisfied as ever, you didn’t make any mistakes at all. So he dismissed the practice early. The Prince also had to leave for a meeting with his father and other governors and other politicians. Leaving you with Izuku at the garden again with Ochako preparing tea for the both of you. “You did really great, no mistakes at all. I can tell the King already favor’s you as the Prince’s bride now.” You blushed at his statement.

You rarely get praised by men, because they see your talents as a bare minimum and every woman should be able to know and do that. “It’s really cool, I got to take a peek. But princess, you walked a little limp. Is your leg alright?” She asks. You actually didn’t know what your leg looks like by now. But it does hurt more than it did earlier. “It’s probably just sore. I danced a lot after all.” You smiled, taking a bite out of the egg pie, happily.

“If you don’t mind, Princess. May I check?” Izuku bends down in front of you. You lifted the skirt of your dress up revealing your shoes. He took it as a ‘yes’ and carefully took your shoes off before your sock. And hell was he horrified. “Y-your leg it’s. It’s got a bruise in it! My majesty, are you not used to walking around in shoes like these?” He asks worriedly. “Let me go get some ointment! please take care of her for a moment, Deku.” She then runs inside.

“I don’t usually wear such formal clothes so I usually wear flat shoes back home. Don’t worry too much, that’s part of getting used to it.” You smiled. But after hearing you last night, he left pity towards you. Being thrown into a life you didn’t ask for must be hard. “I could request comfortable shoes for yo-“ “Then I won’t get used to it if I go the easy way. My mother told me that hurting one’s self unintentionally is part of the learning process. I’ll get used to it so stop worrying.”

He sighs in defeat, nodding while still looking at you. Your feet resting on his thigh while waiting for Ochako. “You guys join me. It feels weird eating alone.” You turned to the butler in waiting and asked for two more tea cups and out of nowhere took two out of his vest pocket.

[roraruu]

YOTO: February

Leorenz. Established relationship/“if I kiss you, will you shut up?”

Without reluctance, Leonie follows the rest of the Deer into the town below Garreg Mach for a pint. When Claude suggests the night cap, she practically leaps at the chance, eager for the wash of barley and hops over her tongue. The perfect end to a hard day.

The day had begun with her usual early morning training, then tiresome war council that dragged and dragged until the sun dipped below the mountains and the moon took to the sky. A tense discussion on the future of Fodlan turned the discussion of how to get resources across the Empire-held Great Bridge of Myrddin to what would happen to the five great lords after the war.

The situation didn’t really effect Leonie, at least not much on the surface. Her plans had been set in stone since Jeralt visited her village all those years ago: she was going to be a mercenary and nothing would stop her. Sure, a war is a minor inconvenience, but a blessing in disguise. Fighting hard would get her noticed and get her name out there. Politics didn’t concern her, not when people were hiring her and her schedule was clear.

True, it would be a good idea to settle the future of the nobility and leadership. From the way Claude talked, he was bound to skip out again, breezing out of Fodlan just as quickly as he breezed in.

“Whatever happens, happens.” He’d said in the council room. “We can’t predict or change it. At least not right now.”

Lorenz had been quick to object. “But can we not plan?”

“What’s the use to planning?” Asked Hilda. “It’s a problem for another day.”

Marianne intoned her quiet agreement.

Lysithea had added, “Maybe not even our problem.”

Despite the dour mood left by the last Ordelia, Lorenz had persisted. “Once this war ends, we must be ready to lead or fight again. There is no way to tell which way the wind blows.” He had said. “And Goddess-forbid we lose, we must know what we face.”

Bernadetta von Varley, an Adrestian stow-away, had spoken up. “E-Edelgard plans on dis-dismantling the nobility!” She cried out. “Sh-She stripped Ferdinand’s father of his title… a-and o-o-other lords.”

“I’ve also heard that the Kingdom has no plans of doing so… At least, the nobles that rally against Dimitri do not. Very little comes from the ravaged king these days, so I hear.”

“How’d you hear that Linhardt?” Leonie found herself asking.

“I keep my ears to the sky and my eyes to the ground, Leonie.” He smiled. “People aren’t as quiet as they should be during my nap time.”

The argument had persisted through dinner, despite Claude insisting that Lorenz give it up. He had for a while, reminded that it was improper to talk politics over a meal.

But Leonie knows the fierceness in his eyes. The future Count Gloucester, ambitious, determined, resolute in his convictions.

(And she kicks herself because she’s agreed to marry him some day.)

It was early on in the war, when she had been called to Gloucester by his request to protect a village and dispatch of some monsters. He had insisted to treat her to dinner, then called upon her again and again, despite her wandering nature, despite the distance between them, despite the imminent danger.

It was there, in the quiet halls of Gloucester Hall, when the Count went to Derdriu to convene with the other great lords, that Leonie learnt how to shut him up.

Like most other young men, Lorenz was—is—accomplished academically and in hobbies. He makes the piano forte sing beautifully, and after a meal, he asked Leonie if she could play.

“No, ‘fraid not.” She stretched her arms skyward, satisfied from the meal. “My hands were more inclined stringin’ to a bow than a harp.”

Lorenz had looked down at the piano. “A pity. Music is a great pleasure of mine.”

“Sorry I can’t help you there.”

His eyes flickered to his. “And I assume you don’t sing.”

“I mean, I know a great ditty about the ways to a woman’s heart—”

He sighed exasperatedly, to Leonie’s enjoyment. “I regret asking.” He mumbled, sliding the cover over the keys.

“Oh, I’m just having fun with you Lorenz.” She’d said. “But no, I’m not a singer.”

“There goes our chances for a duet.” His hand lingered over the cover, the wood gleaming in the lantern-light.

“Well, maybe you could teach me a few keys?”

“I am afraid I lack the necessary patience to teach.”

“Good thing I’m a fast learner.” Leonie said, sitting down on the bench. She pulled up the cover, the wood banging as she turned to him, patting the seat beside her. “C’mon.”

They spent the next half hour going over keys, which Leonie—sadly born without a sense of rhythm—had struggled with.

“No, no, watch my hands.” Lorenz insisted, his evening gloves shucked away. His lacquered nails danced across the keys in the scale. “Look at how they move. Observe again.”

“You’re moving too quickly, Lorenz.” She murmured. “Slow down.”

He refused to, reminding her that she insisted she was a quick learner.

“Come now Leonie, you insisted you are a fast learner.”

Leonie had grimaced then got up.

“Just watch, once more, I’m certain you’ll get it this time.” Lorenz looked behind her, certain she was about to storm off. Leonie instead pressed her front flush against his back, her arms over his. Her rough, calloused hands rested on top of his.

She remembers thinking how soft his were. Prettily painted and moisturized. It reminded her of what girls were called back in her village—breadbasket brides. Some families were so determined to marry one of their too many daughters off to a nice noble family that they forbade them from doing hard labour in the fields or in the woods; instead they’d be pushed towards feminine accomplishments in sewing and painting. Their names would be common, but their beauty and marriage noble.

“Go on.” Leonie prompted.

Lorenz remained silent, his hands cold beneath hers.

“Lorenz? Hello?”

It took a moment, as if to process he was being touched, but he came back. And she finally got the scale, at least some sort of basic grasp of it. She also realized that if she ever needed Lorenz to stop talking, all she had to do was touch him.

(And yes, she’d gotten better at the piano during her time in Gloucester. The drawing room and it’s beautiful forte had always been made available to her. Surprisingly, practicing on the piano’s keys kept her fingers nice and nimble, perfect before sparring matches.)

The tavern owner and servers recognize them as former students and current soldiers. A few tables are pushed together in the corner of the tavern to accommodate for privacy, as requested by the more reserved members of the party.

“Oh good, the hearth is close. It makes for nice sleeping.” Linhardt says, flopping gracelessly into a chair.

Leonie’s had to sleep in some uncomfortable places and fancies herself a decent sleeper. She makes hard ground below her bedroll and stars above work, but Linhardt is either a marvel or an oddity. Leonie has caught him sleeping standing up on the battlefield a few times, prodded awake by a nervous Marianne.

He slumps against her shoulder, flopping against Raphael’s big, cuddly, built-like-a-brick-house bicep every so often.

The Deer divide. The most nobles to one side, closest to the hearth, and the commoners towards the cool window in against the wall. Bernadetta shoves herself in the corner, blocked from people’s view by Raphael. Leonie joins them, Ignatz and sleepy Linhardt and Marianne.

Lysithea, Cyril and Hilda seem bored of the conversation by now, like beating a dead horse, the point is moot. But Lorenz, ever-enthused, keeps going on. The server comes by with the first order, then another, including some pub fare for the table—okay, for Raphael—and Leonie asks for a shot of Faerghan vodka to deal with eavesdropping on her sorta-boyfriend’s conversation.

(It’s not really eavesdropping when he’s been talking about the same topic for the last five hours with little pause. And when his indoor voice is actually not indoor, just less enunciated. Damn nobles and their vocal coaches and speech lessons.)

“—There is a point, Claude.” His voice drops in volume. “If we lose this war, the Alliance will be shattered, we must have a plan if that comes to pass!

“And what’s the point. Whatever happens happens.”

“That is quite the laissez-faire attitude for a future Duke.” Lorenz admonishes. “If you ask me, we are best to remain united in the face of our enemies. You did that much during the five years of standstill. If we maintain the facade of looking united, our enemies may not trifle with us. Furthermore, if we present as if we are ready to negotiate with the victors, we stand a better chance of maintaining our borders and protecting the common folk who depend upon us.”

Leonie rolls her eyes at that one.

“—Oh you like acrylic?”

“Mhm! I-It’s what the best artists use in Adrestia.” Bernadetta says. “What do you like, Ignatz?”

“I’m more inclined to using gouache paints. It was the first type I was introduced to. There was a seller from Almyra who used to mix theirs with honey.”

“Wow, that’s very traditional.”

“—Claude, this is no laughing matter!” Lorenz admonishes sharply, calling Leonie’s attention from the great painting debate. “The Alliance hangs in—”

“The balance? Geez Lorenz, calm down, we don’t have to have everything figured out today! Here, I’ll order you another glass of wine, you obviously need it.”

“I’ll have you do no such thing! Be serious, Claude, what shall we do?”

Leonie glances back to Bernadetta and Ignatz. “Maybe you could should me your acrylics sometime? Raphael’s told me you’re an amazing artist!”

Bernadetta shoots a glare up at a blushing Raphael. He holds his hands up. “Sorry Bernie…” He murmurs as she practically stumbles into an excuse and shuts down.

An idea comes to Leonie’s mind as she takes a swill from her third pint.

“Why are you even thinking this far ahead, Lorenz?” Claude asks as the server comes back with the requested drink. “Why not come up with a plan about how to get that grain outta Bergeliez…”

“Because, Duke Riegan, if we do not know where we are heading, how are we to overcome the obstacles?” Lorenz sighs. “Lysithea? Have you a notebook handy? Claude would do well to jot these points down and construct a plan, the supposed master tactician…”

With the mention of Lysithea’s name—and Cyril who is dutifully pulling a notebook from his pocket to seriously offer to Claude—the rest of the Deer begin to pay attention.

Leonie heaves a sigh, throws back the rest of her drink. “Give me a sec guys.” Leonie says to her party mates. She drags her chair over between Lorenz and Claude, seated before the hearth.

She sits on it backwards, her arms crossed on the chair’s back. “Hey Lor?”

“Beg your pardon, Leonie.”

“Lor.” She says sharper this time.

“Leonie, I am quite busy, can it not wait?”

He tastes like sweet berry wine, the type that only comes in around her birthday in Ordelia. She got a bottle once, as a birthday gift, and it was damn good but much too sweet and expensive for her rustic tastes.

His body goes rigid in surprise as Leonie cups his chin, her rough fingertips grazing the spot where the collar of his suit jacket ends. Leonie hears a knowing giggle from Hilda, a little eep! from Marianne… Or was that Bernadetta?

The kiss is brief, and if Leonie’s being frank with herself, not one of her better ones. The angle was awkward, their teeth clacked. Lorenz was drawing a deep breath to remind Claude about the nobility’s duties towards the commonfolk, and a common woman shut him up. But what matters is that it was enough to silence him.

The table mostly silent except for a few giggles. She glances to Claude, giving him a quick wink as he laughs under his breath, shaking his head and tipping back his tankard.

The wind returns to Leonie’s lungs and she gets up. Without a second thought, she drags her chair back to her spot by Ignatz and nods to him and Bernadetta, both bug-eyed. “So, what’s the difference between acrylics, watercolours and… what was the one you use, Ig?”

“Gouache.” The two answer in unison.

“Yeah,” Leonie says, as if nothing happened. She takes a sip of her ale, washing away the taste of the wine and Lorenz. “so what’s the difference?”

—

Lorenz admonishes Leonie the entire way home. She buys him another glass of wine as an apology, but it is simply no use. She made a fool of him. He doesn’t know what transgression is worse: kissing her in public before all their friends, the fact that it was in a tavern, or the fact that he was about to deliver the final blow to make Claude finally pay attention to this crisis of planning.

“—honestly Leonie, it was quite rude and unbecoming.” He sighs

“Look Lor, I get it, but it’s hard to have a discussion with others when you won’t shut up about leadership.”

“I take offence to that statement.”

“The sentiment or the words?”

“All of it!” Lorenz stops before her door. Despite being annoyed with her, he wouldn’t deny her the proper behaviour of a noble, let alone a… companion.

(He’s yet to over analyze their situation yet. Though, he assumes and subsumes, that he will spend many sleepless nights worrying if he is in love with Leonie Pinelli.)

“Oh c’mon…” Leonie rolls her eyes tiredly. “Both you and Claude have a point. Why make plans now when we don’t know the outcome? But why fly blind? I’m sure you two can find a compromise.”

Lorenz sighs through his nose. “It would be helpful if Marianne, Hilda and Lysithea gave their input. They will be part of the roundtable someday soon.”

“I know you’re worried, but focus on putting one foot in front of the other.” Leonie advises. “Assemble the little pieces and pull it together.”

(He hates that she’s right.)

He opens his mouth to speak again. She catches his hand and the words fall from his mind, his mouth. Being touch-starved does things to a person, especially a nobleman in love with a village girl.

“You’ve got the biggest trap in the army.” She stands on her tip toes. Her voice lowers. Her fingers curl around his ascot. Heat floods his face. “But it’s the only one I’d kiss.”

She tastes bitter and sharp and watery. Mead, or ale. He saw her order again and again, as if trying to out drink a shadow. And he recalls her throwing down a heady tip and quipping to the server, “for your constant runs”, implying that she’d been around a lot.

(Which she had.)

Her smile is intoxicating, similar to wine. It’s oddly sweet for such a rough-and-tumble soul, the kind of girl who could unknowingly stomp on his heart and shatter it. It’s oddly innocent for a mercenary, the same girl who had arrived at Gloucester Hall with the eyes of a killer two years ago. It makes it all the more special; and given that she often doesn’t have a reason to smile, it makes it all the more special.

“You must stop that, please.” Lorenz pleads with her quietly.

Leonie laughs. His heart flies. “It’s my only weapon. I’ll use it as much as I have to.”

“What impropriety. I should be appalled at such actions.” He begins to ramble on as Leonie twists his ascot between her fingers.

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?” She asks.

He closes the space between the two of them. His hand cups her neck, his fingers in her hair. It’s deeper, softer and slower than the awkward clack that shut him up for a solid minute at the tavern, and gentler than the earnest kiss that she just gave him a moment ago.

“Come inside?” She asks breathlessly when he moves away from her.

His fingers tangle in between hers, callouses against satin. Words jumble in his throat. He follows Leonie into the darkness of her room, blindly following her quiet, delighted giggle that whispers into the night.

[love-strikes-thrice]

can you imagine the male millennial learning about the French Revolution

like

Imagine this kid walks into his high school "global" (aka European) history class one day in 1999 and the history teacher/wrestling coach (because this is America, and every history teacher is either a wrestling coach, a basketball coach, or something of the like) flips open a slideshow that just says "The French Revolution" with the date "1787-1799" underneath it.

Kyle is suddenly very interested. He'd never really cared all that much about history. Maybe that was a dumb stance to take, seeing as every other day he was parading about as a French noble - and a girl! - but . . . he'd just assumed that since the future was so great, then nothing that bad could have happened in France. But . . .

Yesterday, in 1779, Collette looked out of the window of her manor bedroom and made eye contact with a peasant. The peasant snarled at her. He looked thin. Dirty. Angry. She had closed the curtain.

Today, Kyle listens with growing horror as the teacher explains the poverty, the resentment, the growing desperation among the poor. The teacher talks about Rene Descartes, Benedict de Spinoza, and John Locke, and how their philosophies were adapted with those of Montesquieu, Voltaire, and John-Jacques Rousseau and lead to the building urge for revolution among the "educated classes."

Collette had heard of those names in passing, to some degree or another, but she hadn't paid any attention to them . . . she'd been much too busy with trying to master her latest violin lesson or keep up with the court gossip that she was expected to know. She hadn't thought that they would lead to revolution, of all things!

Kyle had never paid so much attention to a history lesson in his life. He listened, enraptured, as Mr. Wilson talked about the "Pre-Revolution French Aristocracy" from an American, 20th century perspective. He listened with growing unease as Mr. Wilson talked about the division and unease that grew between the aristocrats and the king, how the "divine right of kings" had come into question, the taxes.

Collette's father had long grumbled about the funds that the aristocracy had sunk into fighting that foolish war on "American" soil. He had grumbled and griped about how a war across an entire ocean had driven the French government nearly to the point of bankruptcy. And, oh, that taxes! Had he ever had so much to say about the taxes! Collette hadn't been listening. She hadn't cared about taxes - she wouldn't have to worry about that, not like Kyle would, eventually. She had other things to worry about.

His stomach turned as Mr. Wilson continues with his lecture, droning on about the deaths of people Collette knows (some personally, others just through the grapevine or the newspaper) as if they were just . . . characters. Names and numbers that told a story. As if they didn't have mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and friends. When Mr. Wilson got to the Reign of Terror, Kyle had to excuse himself to the bathroom.

Collette only had ten years before . . . before she was at risk of-

No. No, Kyle could figure out a way to escape this. He couldn't change history (he'd figured that out the hard way by trying to play "Never Gonna Give You Up" on the piano as Collette last summer), but . . . there had been no mention of Collette or her family in the list of- of beheaded nobles. He would have to do more research- he'd have to learn everything that he could about the French Revolution to make sure that Collette's family wouldn't be caught up in anything.

Collette would be twenty-four by the time the first "official" point in the historical timeline of the revolution happened. Surely, between Kyle and Collette, they could figure out some way to get her friends as family far, far away from France. America existed by then - maybe Collette could convince her parents to immigrate . . .

Yes. Kyle could fix this. He had to.

(Because if he didn't . . . well. Kyle had no idea what would happen to him if Collette was killed not around anymore.)

You are subject to a quite unusual curse. You see, you were born twice, one day after the other, in two separate times and places. As such, you live half of your days as a noblewoman in pre-revolutionary 18th century France, and live every other day as a male millennial in the US.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Hey there, long time fan but I’ve got kind of a sad request... can I request something along the lines of a Prince Soma x Noble!Reader? Reader’s basically been kept sheltered her whole life due to “poor health”, but really she gets left behind often because her older sisters are favored more than her. Maybe something sweet where Soma cheers her up because he hears she was left home yet again while her parents and sisters are away at a party. (I’m getting left behind while my family goes on vacation this summer. I just need something nice to cheer me up...)

aaaaaah I’m really sorry things were/are not going so well for you :(

and I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this, but, I really hope it cheers you up at least a little bit!

and hopefully things are better for you now. lots of love, sweetheart!!! <3

Really, it’s not like you’d care about always being the center of attention.

But it would be nice to not be just forgotten about, locked away like you’re too fragile to do anything at all.

Surely you can’t be that fragile, or you would have fallen to pieces in the hands of Prince SOMA every time he’s kissed you while your family wasn’t home. You can handle his eager touch, the overexcited force of his kiss; that means you could certainly handle a simple party, couldn’t you?

Here you are again, inside the house without any company other than your servants, while your elder sisters are out with your parents. Drinking, dancing, flirting, you’re sure.

Not for the first time, you think you would rather die because you were allowed to do something strenuous than out of boredom.

Of course, Soma arrives at his usual time, aided in being ‘sneaky’ by the staff, (another reason you doubt that your health is as poor as everyone claims; they wouldn’t risk going against orders if they thought it would harm you) and he comes along with a basket of curry buns. It’s adorable that he’s already eating one when he shows up to offer you one.

The unfortunate thing is that tonight you’re far too depressed to have your spirits lifted by a little good food. Even when you take a bite, the look on your face barely changes, and Soma notices. Practically as soon as you confess what’s on your mind, Soma pouts at the idea that you’re so miserable… for about half a second.

Then his face lights up, he says, “Wait right here; I have an idea!”, and races out of the room.

You’re not quite sure how long he’s gone, although you stay put anyway, not having a lot of desire to move at the moment. Finally, however, he returns, and takes your hands in his. That smile of his rivals the sun; there’s no possible way you can’t smile along with him, even if just a little bit.

“Come with me, okay? You’re going to like this!”

You almost curse yourself for not being able to deny him. Almost, because part of what you love about him is that he just wants the best for you and is willing to do anything to make you happy. The simple fact that he cares so much about you that he wants to do whatever he can to make you smile is practically enough to do the job by itself.

He makes you close your eyes, and when you open them, you’re in the ballroom. Although it’s not nearly as extravagant as the party your family is at, probably, things have been set up in a similar way. Some small refreshments (including the rest of the curry buns) on a table along with glasses of champagne. The maid playing (slightly off-key) piano in the corner.

… And Soma, beaming in pride as he gestures to everything before holding his hand out toward you again. “Look, isn’t it wonderful? I know it’s not the same as being with a big crowd or something… but it’s like we have our own private ball!”

The idea strikes some kind of chord in you. It’s true that this isn’t quite like a big event would be. However… Soma put a lot of thought into this. He threw it together quickly, doing his best to make it something which might put a smile on your face.

He listened to you complain that you didn’t get to go to the ball your family went off to, and he thought, I’ll make a ball for just the two of us!

God, he’s so sweet. He actually exists, right? At this point you’re starting to think you may have dreamed him up.

“Come on!” He’s grinning at you, wiggling his fingers. “How do people say it, aaah… Lady (Name), may I have this dance? Ah?”

You take his hand and sweep yourself into his arms. Part of you thinks you don’t ever want to let him go. He holds you tightly, dancing to the music for a moment, then the two of you come together in a passionate embrace, complete with a kiss.

He only comes up for air, laughing the whole time. Your arms circled round his neck, you pull him in close enough to press your forehead against his. “How do you always know what to do? Are you even real?”

He can’t bite back a giggle. “Yes, I’m real! My priya deserves someone who will make her happy even when she’s not so happy. So the universe sent me. Maybe someday we’ll get to go to a real ball together, huh?” A hum leaves him, followed by a softer, more insecure inquiry. “I know it isn’t the same… but… is it enough for now, maybe?”

“Soma…” You think you’ve both sufficiently caught your breath, so you come in for another kiss. “It’s more than enough. Thank you so much, darling.”

You hope the maid is fine with playing a lot of songs, because you could dance with this man until the sun burns out.

[l-r-christian]

Can I request where Elijah is with Succubus reader and it during the time he took his memories away? And the family is trying to bring him home when the Hallow some how was removed. Thank you for the idea of Elijah with a succubus 🥰

Your welcome 😉 and yes because I hated how season 5 was written.

Title: 'Forgotten family and forgotten memories'

Warnings: Fluff, A bit smutty, A bit angsty, Protective Elijah

Summary: Elijah had ran off after having Marcel compelled him with the help of Vincent and now the family is looking for him surprised to find him engaged.

The Latin: Mi cervus pulcher, ego te semper amabo - My handsome stag, I will always love you

French: Et je t'aimerai toujours, ma douce - And I will always love you, my sweet

Manosque, France was where Klaus and Hayley found Elijah as to find out just how did the piece of the Hallow was suddenly gone as Vincent and Freya told them it was removed not just from Elijah but from all of them. They stepped into a bar seeing Elijah sitting at a piano smiling with a woman sitting next to him and just as the witches said Klaus didn't sense the dark magic from Elijah.

Klaus and Hayley sat at the bar listening to Elijah seeing him so carefree and without a suit was weird to them. Elijah looked like he had no problems as he and the woman played the piano.

"Maybe we should get a cat, my love." The woman said as there was something captivating about the woman while both Klaus and Hayley noticed that there was nothing happening. It was as if the Hallow was never placed in Elijah or Klaus and both snapped out of their thoughts hearing Elijah speak.

"A cat? Maybe we should, a trial run before our marriage and children." Elijah says as Klaus looked to Hayley seeing the hurt on her face before deciding to head back to the hotel and call everyone.

Elijah walked with Y/N both laughing as they headed home feeling the cool night air since Elijah refused to use his daylight ring unless he needed to and when Y/N asked him why. Elijah just told her he enjoyed the pure things about being a vampire some times.

Elijah met Y/N after his falling out with Antoinette in New York when he was trying to track down Marcel and instead found the succubus feeding off of a vampire and since then the two had been together.

"Elijah!" They both heard someone shout his name and quickly Elijah pushed Y/N behind him seeing two people not far from them as to Elijah they seemed familiar but nothing came to mind. Klaus stopped Hayley from walking up to Elijah as he stared at the woman behind Elijah as he caught her scent.

"It seems my brother as fell prey to a succubus." Klaus said smirking as Elijah frown keeping Y/N close to protect her whoever these people are. Hayley looked at Y/N catching her scent as it smelt sweet, alluring and caught Elijah's scent over lapping the succubus's.

"How do you know what she is? What do you want? Who are you?" Elijah questioned as Klaus noticed how Elijah kept Y/N hidden from the view of hybrids and Elijah felt her small delicate hand gripping the back his Henley. Klaus noticed that Y/N was much more smaller than other succubus and seemly shyer than other succubui so it made Klaus wonder just how she he came across Elijah.

"We know many things brother. And we are here to take you home seeing how the Hallow is no longer in each of us."

"I have told you, I am not your brother! I have no idea who you are." Elijah said as Hayley stepped forward hand over her heart as an ache filled her seeing that his eyes had no warmth for her like before.

"Elijah, it's me Hayley. Remember? We were....."

"Stop. I don't know who are nor am I going with you! Me and fiancee will be leaving." Elijah said as this made both hybrids freeze. Klaus glared at Y/N believing she put some spell on Elijah and the hybrid moved to kill her only for Elijah to act quickly snapping both their necks. Elijah turned grabbing Y/N whisking her off to safety.

"Y/N be honest with me. You knew what that dark magic was in me....didn't you?" Elijah asked looking at the box that now held the Hallow. Y/N looked at Elijah stepping between his legs cupping his face, she was a smaller weaker succubus and Elijah could easily kill her but she trusted the Original.

"Yes.....which was why I removed it from you."

"And those people? What about them?"

"Niklaus Mikaelson, the Original hybrid the most feared of the Original family and Hayley Marshall Alpha of the Crescent wolf pack mother of Klaus's child. Then you, Elijah Mikaelson Klaus's loving brother by his side and to whom I fell in love with."

"I hope you know I will never leave you." Elijah whispered pulling her into a kiss pulling a mewl from her then moved picking her up by her thighs. Y/N moaned arching under her fiancee's touch when he moved her to the bed making her shift to her demon form, her skin a light red tone with small horns appearing on top of her head and her devil tail. Elijah placing a kiss on her lower abdomen where her tattoo was of a swirling heart and leaving marks on her abdomen pulling squeaky moans from her.

"So beautiful. Still shy little one?" Elijah asked kissing under her breast listening to her suck in breath. Elijah growled lowly feeling her tug on his hair pulling him into a kiss and he moved to her neck.

"Elijah....you know you are my second lover." Y/N said flushing as Elijah chuckled before tearing off the lace that was in his way burying his face between her thighs making her cry out. Elijah made Y/N come four times by his tongue alone that night as they forgot their troubles for the night.

"Humm goodmorning Eli."

"Goodmorning beautiful. So today we a cake tasting and you have a dress fitting."

"One step closer to being married." Y/N said giggling when Elijah nuzzled her neck as his hand trailed down between her legs. Y/N moaned against Elijah's mouth when he slipped two fingers in her as he drowned in her scent. Y/N whimpered and writhed under him wrapping her arms around his neck as Elijah's fingers moved in her.

"For a demon without a high sexual need. You are sure ready for me always."

"Only for you." Y/N said kissing him as she cummed with a soft moan and Elijah smiled gently pressed kisses on her skin then got ready for the day. Once again they were cornered by Klaus as Hayley went back to New Orleans as when Kol and Rebekah had returned learning the Hallow was gone.

"So you are just going to forget your family for some woman?"

"I don't know who you all are! Give up, Elijah Mikaelson is dead." Elijah said staring Klaus down breaking the hybrid's heart as he left leaving Elijah and Y/N alone. For a month they tried to understand where Elijah was when the family learned the noble vampire was in New Orleans. So with Hayley hurting and missing his brother, Klaus took matters into his own hands.

"Baby?" Elijah croaked out sitting up seeing Y/N holding her arm and he moved next to her the bite on her forearm.

"What is this?"

"A hybrid bite......I won't survive if I don't get a cure." Y/N tells Elijah making him frowned as the idea of losing her left an ache in his chest before standing up seeing Marcel and Vincent.

"Please help her." Elijah said looking at them then glared seeing Klaus walked in seemly proud of what he done. Y/N coughed moving to lay down feeling light headed getting Elijah's attention and he rushed to her side.

"I must say, it is a shame I bit her."

"Why are you doing this?! I told you, Elijah Mikaelson is dead."

"Only because you took him away. Now bring back your memories and I might cure her." Klaus said walking out and Elijah swallowed looking at Y/N cupping her cheek frowning feeling a fever.

"Alright.....I'll do it."

Both Elijah and Y/N was moved to the Abattoir since he agreed to bring back his memories. Elijah sat on the bed having placed a cool clothe on Y/N's forehead as Hayley stood by the doorway seeing the adoration and devotion Elijah has for the succubus.

"No matter what happens. I love you Elijah.....mi cervus pulcher, ego te semper amabo."

"Et je t'aimerai toujours, ma douce."

Klaus was angry that it didn't work to bring back Elijah's memories and was about to blame the vampire until they all felt over the woke up in what looked like the Abattoir.

"Great a Chambre De Chasse."

"What is that?" Elijah asked as they all looked at him noticing nothing was happening and that they could be near one another again. Freya explained to Elijah and everyone why they were there as Freya helped Hope because the girl wanted her family back together and to work it all out.

"That doesn't explain how we don't have the Hallow." Rebekah said crossing her arms as Elijah stepped forward looking unsure as they all looked at him. The siblings were surprised to see Elijah showing more emotion than he did before.

"Uhm....Y/N had took this dark magic from me. She called it the Hallow and sealed it in a box only she could open."

"Your so call fiancee removed the Hallow from us, trapping it away?"

"Yeah? Now can we get out of here, the woman I love is dying."

"She is a succubus. She'll be fine." Klaus said rather coldly as Elijah frowned stepping as Hayley saw how hurt Elijah look, the same hurt she felt when Jackson died.

"No she won't. Y/N isn't that strong of a succubus. If she dies I will never forgive you memories or not." Elijah said walking away angry as the siblings looked at one another. After working out many....many problems and Elijah got his memories back. Klaus gave Elijah the cure and Hayley followed Elijah wondering what he'll do as Hayley wanted nothing more than for Elijah to be happy.

"Here, love." Elijah said softly giving Y/N the cure and she got better as Elijah sat on the bed gently grabbing her hand looking at the ring on her hand. Y/N sat up looking at him knowing he had his memories back.

"It is okay, I understand Elijah....I was always going to be sec....." Elijah cut her off by kissing her and moved her under him caging her there. Elijah pulled away placing small kisses on her face feeling her grip his shirt looking at him with unshed tears."

"I love you, you will never be second choice. I may have my memories but how I feel for you is real." Elijah tells her watching her let a small sob hugging him as Hayley smiled walking off. Klaus was looking for Elijah swearing if he ran off with succubus the hybrid was going to dagger his brother then kill the demon. Klaus headed for Elijah's bedroom only to be stopped by Hayley.

"Shhh Elijah is asleep so is Y/N." Hayley whispering frowning when Klaus grhowled hearing that the demon was still around.

"I thought you wanted Elijah back?'

"Of course, but I wanted my best back and now he is happy. Elijah deserves this aren't you always saying Elijah is the best of you? Let he be happy." Hayley tells Klaus walking away to check up on Hope as Klaus looked to Elijah's bedroom.

Elijah smiled softly watching Y/N sleep next to him holding his hand to her chest as he enjoyed the quiet before having his siblings meet Y/N. Y/N woke smiling seeing Elijah watching her and leaned in kissing him.

"I love you Always and Forever."

"I love you too Always and Forever." Elijah said kissing her again relaxing as they enjoyed the quiet before the questions and Rebekah wanting to plan a wedding.

[anne-i-write]

moriarty the patriot headcannons

| requested by anon: “uhhh kinda weird lmao but how would the moriarty bros react to an s/o from the future? (Headcanons) thanks! OwO” |

william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader

word count: 1355

tw: a few swears, if i’m missing any please let me know!

a/n: i’m so sorry that these are coming out so slow please enjoy!

william: 317 words

please

as soon as you wake up he’ll be staring at you intently

“where am i?”

“durham, england, 1880… and in my room”

it takes you like ten minutes to process everything that’s going on because: “i’m dreaming right??? or did i actually shift???

after finally accepting the fact you indeed did not shift and are not dreaming, you finally looked at the man who had stayed silent during your incoherent ramblings

“you seem more awake now, is it alright if i ask a few questions?”

hhh he’s such a gentleman

you both honestly take this whole time shift thing really well

louis definitely walks in on you two and he’s like,,

“who tf are you and how did you get in”

sdjkfhd pls its so funny when you guys converse

his speaking manner is so refined and yours is just,, yours

but he loves it

he thinks its cute

he comes up with a story for you because there were people who were no doubt going to question how you came into his life

and from there you two hit it off really well

accidentally said you two were to be wed during a conversation and the nobles went insane

when you are on the carriage ride back from the party he apologizes for saying something so out of line

“i wouldn’t mind being married to you, william.”

this man always has something to say but THIS

YOU

he wanted to respond with something witty but you just,, existed and made him melt

“let’s go buy a ring tomorrow then.”

asks you questions about the future

only trivial things, never if his plan works in the long term

but judging by the way you talk about your previous life he can tell that everyone is somewhat equal, except for “the dumbass politicians” you speak about

oh did i mention he picks up your swears too LMAO

louis: 459 words

 he’s heading back to his room when you come OUT of his room

“who tf are you, how did you get into this house, and why are you here”

instant kill mode

you think you’re dreaming so you’re like,, ok cool and you tell him most of your life story and he’s like

??????

has never been more dumbfounded in his life

who is this person and what are they wearing and why are they telling me their life story

eventually the rest of the moriarty team gets involved and matters are settled lmao

you all agree that staying in the manor is the best course of action at the moment

louis thinks you’re taking this a little too well so he’s still a little sus of you

like seriously,, the future?? cmon now

the people you’re working for probably made those weird clothes for you

but anyways

you’re helping him clean the house and cook

“this is fun,,, but honestly?? if i have to do this by myself everyday i would cry”

you keep saying this and you know it’s getting annoying for louis but he ISNT TALKING

if you can’t beat em, annoy em

finally gives in

“how did you used to wash clothes in the future?”

and you get this big smile on your face and you start TALKING

you’re so excited that he finally spoke to you

even tho you know you lowkey annoyed him

but you’re talking and louis is like,, huh

you’re talkative, but not annoying at all

you have little stories that make him laugh sometimes

needless to say you both get closer

but it isn’t until one night louis is making rounds around the manor that he passes by your room and hears crying

so he’s worried and he goes into your room

bruh you try pulling that shit where you wipe away your tears and be like “oh i’m okay!”

like,, no u aren’t

louis makes you spill what’s bothering you

“my friends, my family… are they okay? are they looking for me?? they must be so worried”

note that you’ve already been at the moriarty estate for about two months without any word that you can return to your own time

and louis holds you

he teaches you more about the year that you’re currently stuck in and he tries to take your mind off of the bad things

asks william to buy more books to indulge you bc you have some book withdrawals bc “WHAT DO YOU MEAN A TALE FOR THE TIME BEING HASNT BEEN PRINTED YET” followed by a short crying session

he’s a really good boyfriend

you taught him what a boyfriend was and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much society’s view on relationships changed

albert: 579 words

is walking down the streets at night when he sees you barreling down the road in your clothes

you look pretty scathed when you run right into him

“are you alright?”

you’re scared and out of breath but he’s wearing what you can only assume is a uniform of england

he takes you to his place and tries to calm you down

he asks you questions and you tell him everything straight out

you know you look crazy but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

you were just walking back from a friend’s place IN BROAD DAYLIGHT and you felt dizzy and you woke up alone in a dark alleyway

“where are you from?”

you obviously give him your city but he corrects himself

“what year are you from?”

“2019”

doesn’t want to believe you bc you’re all frantic and maybe insane

but your clothes just seem to different for him to brush off the possibility

tells you to sleep it off and gives you his bed

he’s already writing a letter to his brothers that he’s possibly coming back with someone

“ohoho brother albert has a suitor now?”

anyways, albert asks you more questions about your other life as you’re both on the train to durham

albert went out to buy you more fitting clothes before leaving and you couldn’t even repay him

but he tries to get you in a comfortable position so you don’t spiral again

but he’s genuinely nice about it when he finally accepts the fact that you are in fact from the future

funny enough, you both don’t get each others names until you get onto the train

“oh, my name is albert james moriarty”

and you’re briefly like “oh like sherlock’s nemesis” but then you remember that this is only the victorian era

sherlock holmes doesn’t exist, it’s just a coincidence

so you both get to the manor and he introduces you to the moriarty team and this is where you’re like,,

oh my God

this is real and i know the ending

you suddenly want to travel back further in time and never meet them bc they’re all really sweet towards you

and you got attached to them more than you should have

albert notices you’re a little tense so he makes small conversation to get your mind off of things

“i do like to play the piano”

bro

they have a piano delivered to the house to make you feel more comfortable and hopefully keep you occupied

itching and nostalgic (ironic), you play songs from rachmaninoff and joe hisaishi, despite it being from the future

everyone knows chopin so shhh

“that’s beautiful, did you compose that?”

“no, but another composer did, i don’t even think he exists yet”

you’re very adamant on keeping things the same

like,, no i’m not going to tell you how to create a washing machine because i don’t want to mess up the timeline if i do go back to the future

you do get very sad occasionally because you are homesick and being placed in a world where you have only heard stories of is very disorienting

but albert and the boys make up for it

albert always tries to be by your side and if he can get his hands on a piano sheet he’ll buy one for you and see if you already know it

it’s always nice to have them around, but you know the troubles you’ll eventually have to face

moriarty the patriot taglist: @zoehanji

[haitanirindo]

zukka fics that live in my head rent free! 

1. what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth (what were you digging) by draco_sollicitus status: complete (18k words) rating: mature pairing(s): sokka/zuko  summary: Sokka is immortal; it's been tested, he knows that he can't die. He's immortal, but he's not quite a god like his sister, Katara. He's immortal, but he's not quite powerful like his friends Aang and Toph. He's just sort of Sokka: good at fixing things, good at playing pranks, good at helping people. When a bet against Toph goes horribly wrong, and an attempt to save him goes even worse, Sokka finds himself the unwilling guest of the Lord of the Underworld. And, strangely enough, every story Sokka's heard about Lord Zuko seems to be ... completely wrong. (Also, he's really handsome. Why does he have to be handsome?)

mythology nerds come get y’all juice. a very good fic. 10/10

2. Where I Want to Be by through-the-stars-to-the-pavement status: WIP (83k words) rating: explicit pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "'The fog was where I wanted to be.'" Everything is different. The pitch of his voice, his posture. The auditorium goes silent. No one can take their eyes off of him.… He's amazing.  Zuko had to perfect the art of acting as a child to survive the horrors of his homelife. When he got older, it was only natural to take his talent to the stage for entertainment and escape. Enter Sokka, a craftsman and set designer with a giant heart who is haunted by plenty of ghosts of his own. A tale of trauma, disability, family, creativity, and love. 

this is one of my all time favorite fics. it’s seriously so good and i think about it often

3. Teaching a Heart by @i-write-shakespeare-not-disney status: WIP (114k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka is asked to go to the Fire Nation to teach the crown prince how to sword fight. When he arrives, he's surprised to learn he has to pose as a companion before he can teach the stubborn prince because he rejects every teacher. Far from home and among new customs, Sokka struggles to gain the prince's trust and friendship despite the uncertainties of the customs and dynamics he sees. As he slowly finds answers to his questions, his bond with the prince grows until it becomes something far more ardent than friendship. Doomed as it may be with the prince's approaching wedding ceremony and coronation, Sokka and Zuko find themselves consumed by what they find in each other.

i have no words, i just love this fic and it makes me weep.

4. The Road Between Action and Inaction by @donvex status: complete (17k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka does a shitty k turn in the parking lot across from the bus station, pulls up to the curb where the boy is looking determinedly at his phone, and rolls down the passenger window. “Hey! Which way were you going?” He may die, but at least his conscience will be clear. The guy blinks at him. “Don’t.” Oh, he’s prickly. Or: the hitchhiker au, featuring Sokka and Zuko falling in love without even realizing it.

a classic. roadtrip fics own my ass. 

5. purrfect for eachother by lesmiserablol status: complete (3k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: “Let me teach you how to be a cat person,” Zuko says. “Learning from the master himself,” Sokka grins. “Alright, this can’t be too hard. Show me what you got.” (because sometimes, it takes going to a cat café four times to realize you're in love with your best friend)

this whole series is adorable, reading it is self care

6. Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by @muncaster status: complete (47k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, mai/ty lee summary: Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes? (AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

i think this is the longest one-shot i’ve ever read and it’s so worth it

7. a study in matchmaking by @verdanthoney status: complete (12k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, bato/hakoda summary: Zuko and Sokka try to play matchmaker, but things don't go exactly as planned.

this fic makes me want to scream, in the best way. it’s so cute

8. A Predictable Story by mindbending status: complete (7k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!” That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows. Zuko.

again, i have no words. this fic is cute as hell

9. that’s murder, buddy by @bisexual-atla status: WIP (14k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Throughout the streets, on quiet nights, it was rumored the screams of those missing could be heard. Some say the sounds were coming from underground. Where were the young girls? And what was happening to them? Was an evil spirit haunting Gaoling, or something more human? More sinister? My name is Zuko, and you’re tuning into another episode of ‘That’s Murder, Buddy’. Or: Sokka has no idea that his crush is the host of his favorite podcast. (But everyone else knows.)

i love the entire concept of this one, we love oblivious sokka

10. We’ll play hide and seek (to turn this around) by @crosspin status: complete (5k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, bato/hakoda summary: Sokka gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s…well, you see, there’s this boy…” Hakoda sighed and set down the sports section. This was going to take a while. “He works at Barnes & Noble. At the big information desk in the middle. Every Saturday. And I really want to ask him for his number, but it’s super awkward because there’s always this other guy working the information desk at the same time. He’s old, like you. But I have a plan." Sokka’s eyes lit up deviously. “You come with me to Barnes & Noble today when they’re working and distract the old man. And while you have him distracted, I’ll swoop in and get the goods!” Sokka has a plan to ask out the cute boy at the bookstore. Hakoda is a begrudging participant until he meets the boy's beautiful older coworker.

this fic!! this fic! adorable, incredible, magnificent

11. feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe status: WIP (88k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: [Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock. “Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles. What the fuck? “Sokka, I—” Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good. “What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”] Or: An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends. Yeah, nah.

if you’ve been following me for a while you know this fic fucks me up beyond belief

12. breakable heaven by @fruitysokka status: WIP (43k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

this just in: sokka and zuko being oblivious makes me want to yell

this turned out a bit longer than i expected but it also doesn’t even cover all my favorites. i had to stop somewhere, or i’d be here forever. maybe i’ll make a part two someday.

anyway, enjoy!

[putnamcapital]

Part 2 of ? [if you know authors' Tumblr handles please add!)

Freja from The road not taken (E, 12/12) by stretchoutandwait (@stretchoutfics) - Oh, Freja, how i love you. What? Can a lowly footman not look upon a queen? And what a queen. Wise, caring, a loyal friend to Wille, level-headed mother, ruthlessly matter-of-fact, knows exactly what she wants, noble even in heartbreak. (‘I’m sorry.  I can’t defend having watched it, other than to say that I was a nosy teenager.’ / ‘I won’t hold it against you.’ / She had kissed him after that.  Another first, just about)

Anita from Fuck the Monarchy (E, 10/10) by itsme_hi_imtheproblem (@iwouldnevergetintofanfic) - Anita, who may never approach the photocopier room with unalloyed confidence in the future and/or who may just have the door removed. Anita, who doesn’t even know how bad her coffee is. Anita, who wields stationery like the greatest matchmakers of fairy tale lore. There’s always one person in the office who knows everything and, word to the wise, you should figure out who they are early!

Elsa from You Don’t Have to Hurt Anymore (G, 20/20) by wilmonxoxo (not on Tumblr?) - We all secretly wish that Simon had a woman like Elsa in his life. Caring, professional, right there when she needed him, absolutely devoted to respecting his boundaries but also making sure he is safe. And she’s there for Linda, too, helping the family find a way out of an impossible and dangerous situation. Bonus points for being the love of Erik’s life, even if he was wearing that awful shirt on their first date. ("You're gonna be a phenomenal nurse, Elsa. Some people were just meant to. I think you're one of them.”) p.s, hug your healthcare workers but more importantly, pay them properly. end of announcement.

Nora from Bet you’ll go far (T, 8/8) by septici (@gh0sthugs)- Nora, one of the stand-outs from the wilmon kidfic universe. Simon is nursing a broken heart in Uppsala. Nora is the 6-birthdays-so-far driver of this epic meetcute (“I’m Eleonora Andersson, my friends call me Nora but we’re not friends yet so you can’t call me that. But maybe we’ll be friends. We live next door! This is my Pappa, his name is Wilhelm, he’s kind of shy. Have you got any friends living with you? Pappa said the last people who lived in this flat had lots of friends in here all the time. It was very loud. We could hear them making noise through the wall. Even at eleven o’clock at night! Can you believe that? What’s your name?”) Has been known to pelt Simon with bears and other stuffed animals. She is quite the Cupid, but the rest, well, you’ll have to read!

Mr. Angeli in Viskade (E, 34/34) by despassurlaneige (not on Tumblr, but on TWT at @LittleFox_Snow) - So much queer joy in this fic set in 1918. Mr. Angeli is a quiet cheerleader of a lot of it. Sees all the way through Simon’s tendency to coast on his natural musical talent. We all need a teacher who makes us reach just beyond the comfort zone. Takes on Wille as a student as well, who plays the piano masterfully even though, in this pic, he is deaf. And he shoulders them faithfully through the heartbreaks that befall Wille and Simon. (You’re not without talent but you’re entirely without skill. One of these days you will wish you had the skill to make your talent known. That is my job, to try and teach you those skills. Instead of practicing Debussy though, you’re at home crafting love songs dedicated to the day you met your prince.”)

Some love for the YR writers, and their OCs

As a small gesture of thanks to the incredible creativity and generosity of fanfic writers, during this time of holiday excess and the AO3 YR tag being just lit!, I thought i’d pull together some favorites to share. Hopefully if you’ve haven’t read these fics yet, they might entice you. I know we all know and love the endless iterations of Wille and Simon, and Sara, August, and Felice, but did you know there are some truly incredible original characters in the YR fanfic library? Here are just a few of the characters that have stayed with me. Made an effort not to spoil in the descriptions! I’ve tried to spread the love across lots of writers and have tagged you if i know you're on Tumblr. And i mostly read AUs. If you’ve got other OCs you just love, please add to this!

So, in no particular order … Part 1 of ?.

Chetna from Tis the Damn Season by littelbluefish, (M, 15/15) - “in a near-constant state of dancing readiness” (i love her for that alone), also witty meddler, dispatches unwanted men with savage accuracy, pitch perfect level of snark, loves Simon to pieces.

MJ and Mario from And that’s how you make history baby by waybeforeyourtime (T, 16/?) - it’s difficult for me to choose between the two, but i think maybe the author would agree they are inseparable. MJ and Mario run Benders, a bar where Simon ends up performing. They literally jump off at the page at you. MJ, appearing as Mary Jane, gets one of the best entrances i’ve seen in a while. (“Mary Jane sat in front of the door of Benders in a crudely made replica of the Iron Throne from Game of Thrones, except it was dildos that adorned it, not swords. She wore a pale pink strapless dress, white fishnet stockings, and black patent-leather Mary Jane platforms.”) His partner, Mario’s, first words to Simon: “"I don't have time for games. Violet, kill the light.”, but it was a match made in heaven. The dialogue between these two!!! Read this fic! Run! Don’t walk!

Melvin from Simon Eriksson: Just some guy from biology (G, 1/1) by fandom_commitment_Issues (@zee-has-commitment-issues) - good student, considerate partner and father. On this list because he does deadpan so well. He kept a straight face when W huffed “I’m getting married to an idiot”.

Alba from Taking me Back (M, 6/?) by wilmonlibrarian - for being one of those too smart for your own damn good teenagers who sees straight through her own father, Simon. (Alba isn’t buying it. “So, you’re saying nothing I experience in the next few years will matter to me in the future?”) and yeah karma really is playing a terrible joke on poor W & S in this.

Luis from All the Places we’ve been (M, 10/10) by This_time_its_just_me (@in-amor-veritas) - Simon’s roommate in New York, Simon who has his own life and successful career as a singer. Gives Simon essential advice on what to wear to meet his ex (yes, you know the ex). (“Oh please, none of your clothes fit you correctly, Simón”) He works at one of NYC’s biggest fashion magazines. Think Devil Wears Prada, friends. Just the absolute funniest and most loving wingman, takes absolutely none of Simon’s bullshit or his polyester. Has entirely the correct reaction when he finds W in his bathroom.

Lotta from Heart and Homeland (M, 33/ ) by @bluedalahorse and @heliza24 - An intrepid, loyal, and revolutionary woman with a heart of gold, who holds the key to a major plot twist in this masterful AU set in the early 1800s, where Wilhelm is at the center of a fight for Sweden’s future, and everyone writes each other a lot of beautiful letters. (“Lotta sighs and giggles like we are best friends and says we should tell one another romances or fairy tales and I want to tell her that princes are not the same in real life as they are in stories.”) Don't miss this fic!

[yuyupowers]

aristocrat!hongjoong

aristocrat!hoongjong x fem!reader headcanon

genre: fluff, angst

trigger warning(s): swearing, brief violence, mentions of unwanted sexual remarks. let me know if there’s anything else!

author’s note: this is the first time in years that i’ve written something omg 😅 😅 lemme know what you guys think!!  💕 💕

none of the pictures are mine!!

for reference, i’m using british peerage (hierarchy). there are five ranks: baron, viscount, earl (count), marquess, and duke - the highest being duke, and the lowest, baron.

second son of an earl

despite being born into wealth and nobility, i think he’d be pretty grounded and level-headed

has to do with the fact that he’s naturally empathetic and curious

leads to a bit of a rebellious streak

more or less acts according to his parents expectations before them

but often does things that would scandalize them behind their backs

one of his favourite things to do is to sneak out during the manor at night dressed in commoner’s clothes

(which are carefully hidden in the music room)

his older brother takes the brunt of parental and societal pressure to act a certain way, but that doesn’t mean joong is off the hook

aristocracy just has so many god-forsake rules and mannerisms that everyone has to follow

unless they want to disgrace their entire family and lineage

yeaaah,,,

the only places he genuinely feels free are: a) in the music room, and b) exploring the city with you

during the third or fourth time he snuck out, he visited a local tavern.

cue you working as a tavern maiden

after serving him one (1) drink, you could tell that joong wasn’t actually a “commoner”

his clothes might have been worn and cheaply made, but his mannerisms,,,just didn’t match up

he was a little too polite; held himself a little too well

not to mention the hungry gleam of curiosity in his eyes

like everything was new and he was trying to absorb as much as he could

unfortunately for him, you weren’t the only one that noticed

after one too many drinks, some brutish fellows swaggered up to him

“‘ey there pal, ya werldn’t mind ‘anding sum coins over, would ya? ‘elp a brotha out”

joong, who had become a little too brazen thanks to the alcohol, told them to fuck off and stumbled to his feet, ready for a fight

except he couldn’t stand straight

and he didn’t have his sword

not good

luckily for joong, these fellows had been pestering you for the longest time

they were unusually rowdy and loud - which was saying something cause this was a tavern for fuck’s sake

and they constantly threw lewd remarks your way

but they didn’t actually do anything or break any of the tavern’s rules, so you had to serve their drinks with your best forced smile

they didn’t even tip well

assholes

anyways, back to the situation at hand

seeing a fight about to break out - which most definitely was against the rules - you hollered for the owner

“OI, A FIGHT’S ‘BOUT TO BREAK OUT!”

cue an angry-looking, burly man (with quite the ginger beard) and a very angry bar maiden (yes, you) tossing their sorry asses out the back door

joong, who by now had stumbled back into his seat, watched the scene with his mouth agape

to be frank, he’d never seen a woman act the way you did

all the women in his life were meek and docile

like a china doll that would break with one wrong move

they needed to be shielded, protected

clearly, you didn’t need protection

not when you hauled a man twice your size out the door, getting a good sucker punch for all the times they talked about your tits and ass

Right. In. Front. Of. Your. Face.

from that day on, joong became a regular at the tavern

he was careful not to drink as much as he did on the first time, at most getting tipsy

always polite and respectful

a bit on the quieter side, but made pleasant small talk whenever you took his order or served him his drinks

several months passed like this, and you’d become quite fond of him.

definitely helped that he was easy on the eyes

then one night, when he felt a little braver than usual, he invited you on a midnight adventure after your shift

you were pretty tired ngl, but you couldn’t turn him down after seeing the hopeful glimmer in his eyes

and boy, were you glad you didn’t

you don’t think you’ve ever felt so carefree in your life

or had so much fun

racing across bridges, exploring the hidden nooks and crannies of the city

much to your chagrin, joong would buy you (expensive) snacks that you just had to try because “he wasn’t gonna let his favourite girl miss out”

you ignored the fluttery feeling in your tummy

quickly, these “midnight adventures” became a frequent thing

he’d have a drink at the tavern, wait for you to finish your shift, and then the two of you would set off

you learned a lot about joong

of course he would have his spoiled rich boy™ moments-

“what do you MEAN you’ve never tried cane sugar?!” 

“joong, not everyone gets it imported to their house”

but he genuinely just has such a good heart

always listens when you need to rant or vent

(and offers surprisingly practical advice)

never once thought of you as lesser than him for being poor or a commoner

quickly learned that you felt uncomfortable when (in your eyes) he spent too much money on you, so he made sure to be more conscientious

(also gave him a reality check. it forced him to acknowledge the things he didn’t even realize he took for granted)

tells you about all the dumb gossip he hears through the noble grapevine

“who CARES if the color of the fabric is slightly off?! i swear park has a rod up his ass-”

especially loves to tell you about the music he’s composed

even if he gets a little shy at times

cute

he just looks so happy when he talks about music. the way his gums would show when he smiles, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, the way he’d grab a stick and draw different musical notations in the dirt to show you what he meant

happiness looked good on hongjoong

he even went as far to sneak you into his music room, playing the songs he wrote

and god did he look beautiful

the way the moonlight pooled on his fingers and spilled onto the bone-white piano keys

the way he looked so at ease

the way the music breathed, lived,  jumping off the scraggly parchment paper to dance under starlight

(you think that’s the moment you started falling for him)

fast forward and the two of you have been friends for a few years now

you know everything about him, and he knows everything about you

unfortunately, the older he gets, the more responsibilities his parents hand him

meaning he can’t sneak out as often as he’d like

but he still makes sure to see you at least once a week

on one particular night, you notice that hongjoong’s been especially quiet

been particularly insistent on treating you to your favourite snacks

you mention this to him, but he brushes it off by saying he feels bad for not being able to be there for you as much as he’d like

hongjoong was a good liar (even if he didn’t like it), but you knew that he wasn’t telling you the truth

not the whole truth, at least

but you didn’t press it; he’d tell in his own time

so the two of you raced across bridges, laughter bouncing off the walled shops

exploring every nook and cranny of the city even if the two of you knew it like the back of your hands

and eventually, the two of you would lay in your favourite field on the outskirts of the city, staring at the stars in peaceful silence

well, peaceful for you

joong felt hollow

or maybe like someone filled his stomach and chest with stones

hongjoong wasn’t an idiot; he knew you liked him

and he knew he was in love with you

you and your calloused hands

your dress permanently stained with ale

your knot of hair messily pulled back to keep it out of your face as you worked

your boisterous laugh

your bright eyes and smile

how you weren’t afraid to call him out on his rich boy shit™

the way you’d take off your shoes and dance in the field under the night sky

how you were a strong willed and free-spirited woman, but you let him take care of you from time to time

the way his eyes would linger on you when he thought you weren’t looking

the way your eyes would linger on him when you thought he wasn’t looking

“accidental” brushes of the arm, of hands

no, he wasn’t stupid

so how was he supposed to tell you he was getting married?