#my excuse to make these men play the piano

[gammachao]

•• Hehe wrote a cute?/comedy/getting to know each other fanfic of Cid and Vincent 😚😚

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry Over Spilled Lemonade

Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None that I can think of, this is kinda angsty tho

A/N: Surprise post IG I wrote this in my notes app because I couldn't sleep so if there are spelling or grammar issues I'm sorry. let me know if you want a part two because I wouldn't mind continuing this.

Anthony adored how close you were to his siblings. You had become a close family friend ever since you defended Daphne against some creep at her first-ever ball out in society, it was your second season and you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on the diamond, looking out for her quietly in the background.

You weren’t going to intervene at all, just offer her some advice woman to woman if the need arose but when you saw Baron Taylor grab the redhead by the wrist you couldn’t hold back.

Anthony himself was only seconds away from coming to his sister's aid when you ‘accidently’ tripped into the man spilling your glass of lemonade down the front of his vest. 

“Perhaps my Lord if we kept our hands to ourselves certain… interventions might’ve not had to happen. Don’t you think?” When Anthony had seen your raised eyebrow and defensive posture all aimed at the scumbag who dared lay a hand on his baby sister he couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love right then and there. Not that he’d ever admit it to himself or anyone else for that matter.

A day later Daphne had invited you to tea at their family house in order to thank you for the rescue and potentially make a new friend and ally within the marriage mart.

Ever since that day, you’d been a regular in his home, but you were never there for him as much as he’d have liked you to be. No, you were always there for one of his siblings. You were there to talk with Daphne, first about her counting of the duke and then slowly transitioning into how she felt about being a married woman and then a mother. He could also find you sketching in silence next to Benedict, the two of you after attending to draw the same scene and then critiquing each other's work when you were done. You would trade books and ideas with Eloise, listen to Fran play the piano while working on your embroidery, and the scenes which would warm his heart the most, you’d come around to chase after Greg and Hyancith playing with them in the gardens and keeping a watchful eye to make sure they stayed safe. 

Anthony adored how close you were to his siblings, and he loathed how much of a distance there seemed to be between the two of you. 

You were cold to the Viscount, you had been since the evening you came to Daphne’s rescue, he had attempted to give you his thanks and you had simply excused yourself, “My apologies my Lord but I seem to be down a glass of lemonade presently and I find myself to be quite parched, excuse me.” Your tone was cold and Anthony spent the rest of that night and the next two years trying to figure out what he possibly couldn’t done to make you so icy towards him.

“I do not understand it Ben, she is so kind and lovely to the rest of you but is like a stone wall when it comes to me, what could I be missing?”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you brother have you ever thought of that?” Benedict was too preoccupied with this still life to deal with his older brothers pining at the moment. 

“That is not possible, I’ve done nothing but be the perfect gentleman to her.” 

“Anthony I have no idea why dear Y/N does not like you but what exactly will you whining in my studio do about that?” 

“I resent that. I am not whining I am simply asking my dearest brother for his advice on a matter I care very much about. I thought that was what brothers were for.”

“You want my advice, Anthony? Think. Think long and hard about what you want and how you’ll get it because Y/N has no patience for wishy-washy men.”

“That is horrible advice, Ben.”

“When then perhaps you can find better advice from your other brothers. Which will it be Anthony, the one who has been blindly in love with his best friend for years, or the ten-year-old?” 

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know. Now leave, that storm cloud above your head is casting shadows on my fruit.” Ben pointed his paintbrush at the bowl of fruit balanced atop a stool. Anthony huffed and knowing that it would bother his brother, he grabbed the apple off the top of the pile and took a bite of it as he strode out of the room

Ben had told him to think, but Anthony didn’t know what to think about. He knew that he craved your attention. He knew that he enjoyed seeing you around his house, interacting with the people whom he loves. He enjoyed hearing your witty comebacks and the way that even if you were not doing anything in particular you still fill the space you’re in.

He wanted her in his life, and if he was being completely honest with himself he wanted more than that. 

It’s during his musing that he runs into her in the hallway, you have a book clutched within your hand, and your head is held high. You don’t stop your stride even though he knows that you saw him. He bites his lip and tampers down a smirk. Add another thing to that list of things he likes about you, you have fire, he just wished that it wasn’t always aimed at him.

“Lady, L/N which one of my dear siblings are you spending your day with today?” He attempts to match his pace with yours catching up to you so that the two of you walk shoulder and shoulder.

“Actually, Lord Bridgerton, I was having tea with your mother this afternoon she invited me over so we could discuss what to do about Frannie’s debut next season.”

This was not something that normal family friends do, you know that and he knows that. His sibling’s entrances into society are a matter which the viscountess must handle, something his mother has had to continue to do because of his lack of a wife. 

“That was very kind of you to help her with.”

“Well, she doesn’t have anyone else to help her.” Your words cut him down, not for the first time. 

“Lady L/N may I be frank?”

“It is your home, you may do as you please.” You turn to face him, your face a mask of indifference. 

“What have I done to cross you, for the longest time I have known you you have been cold to me and I do not understand why?” 

“I had figured that you did not remember, either that or you had purposely forgone trying to speak with me about it.”

“About what?” 

“Our first meeting My Lord.” 

“I remember our first meeting very clearly, it is one of my fondest memories seeing you stand up for Daphne and ruin Lord Taylor’s vest.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles at the memory.

“That was not the first time we met My Lord, the first time we met you snubbed me in front of the entire ton and sparked rumors that did not leave me until two seasons later.” She was harsh in her words and the tightness in her shoulder’s belayed her desire to flee.

Anthony was speechless, surely he had not? He would’ve remembered her, would’ve remembered turning down one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, intentionally or otherwise. 

“I- I beg your deepest forgiveness Y/N I do not remember and if I had I would’ve tried to make it up to you tenfold by now.”

Your eyes began to gloss over and you looked at the wall beside his head, “It was my first season out, Lady Danbury’s ball, and I had seen you standing there surrounded by other gentleman. I had thought you a very fine figure and despite the rumor mill telling me you were nothing but a rake I had tried to begin a conversation. All you did was turn to me and laugh. I wasn’t asked to dance for the entire rest of that season and it was only until my Mother forced the son of one of her garden party friends to dance with me was that streak broken. You were the first and only man I had ever attempted to pursue and you laughed in my face. Were it not for my deep need to help those I see in need I would never have talked to you or any member of the Bridgerton family for the rest of my life.”

“You must know that I regret that, I regret everything I have ever done to hurt you and I will spend the rest of my days working for your forgiveness.” If Anthony was a weaker man he would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for your forgiveness until his last breath, right there in the hallways of his family’s home.

“I appreciate your words Anthony, but that’s all they are… words. I am unmarried, one year from becoming a spinster in the eyes of the entire ton, and you, you are the only one I can blame.” You don’t wait for his reply, just stalking off and wiping the tears from your eyes.

Anthony resolved himself in that moment. He would do whatever it took to make it up to you, to bring a smile to your face, and to cast away the hurt he had caused.

Part 2

[aureatchi]

⚕ ᡣ𐭩 . ° . AND IF THERE WAS A PLACE I HAD TO CHOOSE…IT’D BE IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT. (bedroom session) ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, akutagawa, sigma

— how the bsd men treat you when you’re sick. (& more)

a/n. started writing when i was sick djsjsja. tagging my moots who were under the weather anytime this month <3 to them & anyone else unwell, feel better soon !!

info. fem!reader. fluff. established relationships. light angst & hospital in akutagawa’s. chuuya plays the guitar. you play the piano in fyodor’s. sigma’s a chef. some inspo from RED for dazai & fyodor’s (our hcs!)

DAZAI will cuddle with you anyway, even when you are buried under bundles of blankets. he still thinks you need a little more warmth…and you look just too cute wrapped up in what resembles an igloo to not nuzzle with you! however, don’t be surprised when he blames you for making him sick once you recover, as if it wasn’t his fault.

“A-choo!” Your eyes were watery, you felt too cold for your liking, and it was harder than usual to breathe through your nose. Your sneeze made you sit up in discomfort, and you hastily pulled the covers toward you.

“‘Bella? Are you alright?” Dazai sat up next, meeting your eyes as you turned your face toward him.

He noticed how flushed your cheeks were and how watery your eyes were as you frowned—no, the first thought Dazai had wasn’t Oh no! You’re sick!

“Aw, love! You look so cute!” And he tackled you back down.

“Osamu!” you shouted as he lay practically atop you, squeezing you like a teddy bear.

“‘Samu!” you repeated once more. “You’re going to suffocate me!”

“You feel so cold, though, darling!” His reply was muffled as he buried his face into your neck.

“It’s like you’re trying to get yourself sick!”

He sat the both of you back up.

“H-huh? What’d you mean? Why would anyone willingly get sick?”

“Oh, I’m not sure either!” you exclaimed. “Maybe so you can use it as an excuse to skip wor-“

You sneezed again, interrupting your statement, seeing through Dazai’s plan.

“Bless you ‘bella!” he replied, a bit too excited. “What were you saying?”

“I. Was-” you sneezed again. And then twice. And then thrice.

“Aw, my poor baby!” Dazai spoke in his infantile voice. “Looks like you’re super sick…don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I have a solution.”

“Yes, please,” you responded—as best as you could with him pinching your cheeks—thinking Dazai would finally get up and bring you medicine so you didn’t have to do it yourself. That was, in fact, a terrible assumption.

“You trust me so well you didn’t even wait for me to tell you!”

“Uh-”

He then proceeded to pepper your entire face with kisses.

“Get-well kisses! They work better than medicine, trust me. Because these ones are made from lo-ove~.”

“Osamu!” you shouted. “You’re really going to get sick!”

“Do you really think I care, pretty?” He moved his face so his nose was touching yours. “I’ll tell you a secret. I know why I’d get willingly sick. So that I’ll be taken care of by my favorite girl in the world-“

“You’re so stupid!” you facepalmed. “You see being ill as a reward?”

“Yeah, I’ll make you believe so by the end of the day,” he winked. “I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Thankfully, Dazai did give you medicine to clear your stuffy nose. And then he told you to stay in bed while he would prepare you…breakfast.

“Oh no,” you said, knowing well that you mostly cooked the meals for a reason. Dazai was good at many things, but there were exceptions. He wasn’t the worst cook, but he certainly wasn’t the best.

“Wait, please trust me on this one!” he pleaded before you could get up. “I promise you I won’t burn the house down.”

The brunette was staring at you with dramatic puppy-dog eyes, and you were too tired to object any further.

“You have to make sure it’s edible, too,” you glumly replied.

…

It felt like almost an hour passed. You started to get worried—was he really struggling with cooking you something? You imagined the kitchen would be a chaotic nightmare by now, and it was enough to make you want to check on him.

But the moment you decided to get up, the door opened with Dazai bringing in a bowl of hot soup. Surprisingly, you could smell the aroma—and it was good.

“You really underestimated me, ‘bella?” Dazai smirked as he placed the bowl on a portable bed tray. “Bon appétit!”

“I haven’t even tried it yet,” you smiled back. “It might be the worst soup I’ve ever had.”

It wasn’t bad. You hated to admit it, but it tasted delicious.

“The virus must’ve affected my taste buds, too,” you chuckled. “Because for someone whose forte isn’t cooking, this tastes really good.”

Dazai wiped his head with a phew! “I actually…put in a lot of effort. I wanted to make sure I did it all right for you. Sorry it took so long.”

You wanted to hug him. You found it so adorable that he had really taken his time to make you something.

“Awe, thanks, Osamu,” you responded. “This was really sweet.”

“So…do I get a few kisses and back rubs as a thank you?” he asked.

“Sorry, back rubs? I’m the one sick; you should be the one giving me them!”

��

Dazai ended up giving you the massages in exchange for continuing to cling to you without complaint. You accepted and were defeated at this point—the man really wasn’t going anywhere.

He continued to stay with you until you felt better, and very unsurprisingly he spoiled your recovery celebration by becoming sick himself.

“Heh…” he mumbled as you looked at the thermometer with a frown. Contradicting was Dazai with a large smile, despite just finding out he had a fever.

“Your turn, ‘bella!” he exclaimed. “I already called Kunikida saying I’m going to be out for another week! This almost beats a vacation.”

“Osamu!”

“What? Any time spent with you feels just as amazing. And this is just a result of how well I’ve taken care of you.”

CHUUYA wants to make your recovery as comfortable and entertaining as possible—he doesn’t want his darling feeling mopey the entire time. after all, enjoying something distracts one from the botherations of being sick, right?

You hadn’t done as much as you would’ve liked today. Unfortunately, you were sick, but not to the point where you had to visit a doctor or were stuck in bed. It was an inconvenient gray area, where you were still able to do things but accompanied by the mild symptoms of a cold.

“Nah, doll, you’re just a workaholic.”

Chuuya laughed as you pouted while trying to do your laundry. Just because you were sick didn’t mean you should skip your chores. You would probably still go to work the next day, too—as long as you weren’t dying, you’d be alright.

You sort of felt like you were, though. You were overcome by a haze of debilitation, whether you wanted to admit it or not. But you couldn’t just sit around all day.

“I’m fine though, Chuu,” you replied, but a contradicting sneeze immediately followed.

“Your nose is saying something different,” he replied, handing you a tissue. “If you’re so bored, how ‘bout we do something actually fun? And won’t exhaust the life out of you?”

“Well, what are you thinking?” you asked, curious as you wiped your nose.

…

Chuuya had you sat by the table with a bowl and a box of cornstarch.

“Out of all people, it was Q who showed me this.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, baby, it’s not dangerous. It’s weird, but I can’t deny this entrances me.”

Chuuya poured some cornstarch into the container and added a cup of water. “It gets a little messy, but…” he started combining the contents until it became a gooey mixture.

You started giggling. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t the sort of crafts experiment you did as a kid.

“Chuu, this is quicksand. You’ve never made it before?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Quicksand? Nope. But look—if you play around with it, it becomes solid—isn’t that amazing? But if you let it go-“

“It turns back into liquid, yes,” you replied before you sneezed again.

“It’s so weird! What kinda manipulation is this?

You couldn’t help but laugh at how the Port Mafia executive was captivated by such a simple science project. You watched as he played around with the oobleck.

You realized you could live this day simply as well. You proceeded to make your own cool mixture as well.

“You got some on your face,” Chuuya said a little after you were finished with your venture and were washing your hands.

“Where?” you asked, about to touch your head.

“Right here,” you felt his thumb gently rub your cheek and then move around your neck to tug you closer.

“Just kidding.” He stole a kiss in its place.

…

Chuuya sat down on the edge of the bed with his guitar. It was late afternoon, and you decided for once a very needed nap. But not before your lover entertained you with one more thing.

“I’m gonna give ya a little performance.”

He strung his guitar several times and ensured everything was correctly tuned.

Your widened eyes in curiosity made his heart warm. You were so enamored with everything he did—just as he was utterly obsessed with you.

He started playing a familiar tune. Your favorite song. You immediately smiled despite your oncoming headache.

“One day, I think I’ll write my own song for you,” Chuuya said. “You work so hard, how couldn’t you be the inspiration of a ballad?”

You cherished times like these. Even though you were sick, you had the company of the soft, sweetheart side of the Mafia Executive.

FYODOR is full of surprises, and you falling ill is no exception. unexpectedly, he decides to let go of his schemes and responsibilities for the day, to make sure you’re feeling better.

He could already tell by your unusual exhaustion yesterday evening. You didn’t do anything that required more exertion than usual, and it was too frigid in the year for you to feel so hot.

Fyodor already knew you wouldn’t feel so good when you woke up the following day. Your cheeks were flushed, and your head was pounding. It even ached to sit up. It was the worst combination.

Feverishly, you sneezed. A tissue was immediately placed over your nose.

“Blow, milaya.”

You looked up at Fyodor, who was standing by the bed. His amethyst gaze fell upon you—his usual amalgam of tranquility and complacency looked a bit different today…was there a hint of concern shining through his eyes?

You took the tissue from his hands and blew your nose.

“You’re supposed to be at work, no?”

You tried your hardest not to get sick because of this reason. You would be another hassle on Fyodor’s list of endeavors. You hated the thought of contributing, especially when he was already stressed and occasionally neglected his own needs with what he already had to do.

“You would really expect me to when I had to carry you to bed last night?”

The previous evening was a blur. Sometime after dinner, the weather immediately flew over you, and all your energy just drained out.

“Ah.” You sneezed again into the tissue. “Well, I think I’ll be fine on my own. I know you have a lot on your hands. I can take care of myse-“

“Please believe me. You’re not being a burden,” Fyodor cut you off and directly addressed the point you had been dancing around. His hand found yours and started to massage your fingers. He felt ice cold against you—or perhaps, you were on fire.

“Is your throat sore? I’ll make you some tea.”

…

He didn’t leave you alone for too long. Fyodor returned with a cup of hot ginger tea that you immediately took, desperate for some relief for your throat. Your nose was quickly soothed by the warm, sharp aroma of the ginger as you held the mug close to your mouth.

If there was one thing you learned, there was a type of tea for every occasion. Fyodor had an entire cabinet dedicated to those beverages—all precisely arranged.

“Is it alright?” Fyodor asked as you sipped, the liquid alleviating the soreness in your throat.

“Yes, of course,” you replied. “Maybe after I can try to get up…” your voice trailed off as you struggled even to shift your position.

“What’s wrong?” Fyodor moved beside you again as you frowned.

“I feel really sore. Like I ran a marathon without stretching at all yesterday,” you dryly chuckled, even though that had not been the case at all. Your whole body ached; it felt uncomfortable to move anything, and you felt awfully weak.

Fyodor didn’t respond for a moment, thinking.

“You can still entertain yourself without moving. Do you want to read? I’ll bring you to the living room.”

You curtly nodded your head and picked out one of the many books on the large shelf before Fyodor carried you to the sofa in the next room.

“Stay on my lap,” he said, holding you by your waist when you tried to move away.

“I don’t want you to get sick too,” you replied, confused.

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I’m doing a favor for you.”

He motioned for you to enjoy your book and not pay attention to him. So you did as he said—you flipped to the page you left off on and tried to immerse yourself in the plot.

It got easy to do so and lose track of reality because Fyodor started to massage you—hands moving in circular motions on your shoulders to ease and relax the pain on your joints.

You felt both too hot and cold alone on your bed earlier. But here, in the embrace of your lover, you could see the end of your little tunnel of fever.

“Thank you, Fedya,” you whispered sometime after.

…

He got up to do something on his own a little later, but not before tucking you into the softest blankets you owned on the couch. He admired you for a moment right after—a touch of amusement in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” you asked with a pout. You felt like you were made into a burrito.

Fyodor had thought the same.

“Milashka,” he simply smiled.

You thought he went away to attend to the business he was able to at home—Fyodor was infamous for being a workaholic after all, but you were surprised once again when amidst your reading, you heard a melody coming from the other room. Rich and resonant, you realized he was practicing his cello.

You placed your book down and freed yourself from the warm blankets before making your way over to the next room, disregarding the dull pain that still accompanied you.

Fyodor didn’t pause as you entered and sat down on the piano’s stool. You opened the cover and placed your fingers on the keys before smoothly joining in with the composition you had secretly been learning while he was away so you could play with him.

He probably suspected it anyway, but you still smiled and felt a little pride as you harmonized with him without error—and while sick.

♬♩♫♪

There was a moment of silence after the final note. You felt at peace. The tune made you sleepy.

Fyodor stepped towards you, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“You played it perfectly, lyubov,” he said before kissing your forehead. “How about a nap now as a reward?”

…

After a glass of water and an adjustment of the heater, Fyodor tucked you back under the covers. He checked your temperature with the back of his palm, and he was appeased to find that your fever had noticeably gone down.

You suddenly giggled, catching Fyodor off guard.

“Why are you giggling?”

“I had an observation,” you chirped. You wanted to tell him it was evident he had been stealing physical affection from you throughout the day and that he wasn’t sly, but alas, exhaustion had overcome you again.

You took his own hand in yours. “Wash your hands after,” you whispered before placing a kiss on his fingertips. “This was nice. I feel better because of you staying.”

AKUTAGAWA feels that the roles have been reversed because it is usually him who is sick, and you helping him get better. however, this time it’s you, and so he wants to repay all the care and love you showed him. for once, not to prove something, but to show proof of your adoration towards him.

You didn’t want Akutagawa to visit you that day. You had sent him a text earlier that you were sick—your pneumonia was so severe that you were admitted to the hospital. He immediately rushed over right after.

You told him he didn’t have to—truthfully, half of your heart didn’t want him to because of his already weakened immune system and his tendency to get sick easily.

Yet he still showed up at your bedside with a “get-better” box and pink tulips, a mask covering half his face.

“Ryu, I appreciate this so much,” you told him, a cough accompanying your statement. “But I promise you don’t need to stay—I don’t want you to get sick too.”

He didn’t respond before striding over to the sink as if he were in his own house, grabbing a vase and filling it with water. You watched him trim your flowers, place them in the container, and then putting it on the counter.

“Ryu…”

“You’re in the hospital. Do you think I could just go about my day like my girlfriend isn’t sick?”

Even though his tone was straightforward, his hand gently brushed away the hair covering your eyes.

He was visibly bothered. He hated seeing you in the hospital gown, lying on the bed. He hated the IV line attached to you and the distant beeps! of your vitals. Akutagawa went through this experience more often than not, and if not painful, it was always irritating and unpleasant.

He would never want you going through this, even once.

“Are you comfortable? Should I move you to one of the VIP rooms?”

“That’s not necessary, thank you though,” you replied. You noticed the exhaustive distress in his argentine eyes.

“I’m going to be okay, Ryu,” you reassured him. “I promise. Just don’t touch me for now.”

Akutagawa nodded. “Are you hungry? Is there anything you’re craving?”

“I want…something sweet,” you bashfully replied. “All the hospital food was savory…they missed a dessert.”

You could see the corners of his mouth slightly lift up—an unlikely smile, especially in a place like this. “No explanations are needed. I’ll be back.”

…

He returned with one of the sweets you always picked up whenever you went grocery shopping and a couple of figs for himself. Akutagawa didn’t like sugary things that much, but this fruit he could eat for days. He indeed ate one a day—you were able to observe how long he would be gone on a mission based on how many figs he brought with him.

Akutagawa had brought two today. Was he planning to stay with you overnight? You knew he hated the hospitals—he would never willingly go to one.

Yet here he was, pulling up a chair by your bedside.

“I brought a book,” he said. “Can I read to you?”

“Of course,” you replied. “I didn’t feel like using the TV here anyway, so nothing’s been entertaining.”

The onyx-haired pulled out a book from his coat.

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest,” he started.

When Akutagawa was sick, you often read him children’s stories to combat his restlessness. He was calmed by your voice and fell asleep faster than any over-the-counter medication ever worked.

The first time you had found him in the hospital before you were even in a relationship with him, you introduced him to The Little Prince. At first, he scoffed and turned his back the other way, pretending not to listen. But his furrowed brows relaxed, and his frown lifted as you continued with the story—the theme of the openmindedness of children compared to adults, loneliness, love, and loss all gave him something to think about.

Eventually, the book became a source of comfort and light to Akutagawa, and now he had his own copy.

"‘And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.’” By the time Akutagawa had gotten to that part, you had dozed off into a nap.

…

When you finally awoke, the curtains were closed, and the only source of light came from an ambient lamp on the nightstand. And in this night, you also felt a soft pressure on your legs—Akutagawa’s head. He had fallen asleep too, with the book still flipped to a page.

You felt both adoration and woe in your heart. He was sacrificing comfort and possibly his health for you. You desperately felt the need to stroke through his white-tipped raven hair, but you didn’t want to heighten any more chances.

You fell asleep again after minutes of watching your lover’s chest delicately rise and fall, just as he carried his true self without his violent front.

…

Akutagawa stayed until you woke up the following day. He went out to do some errands and then returned with a small gift for you he picked up during the day. That was the routine he followed for the next three days, always content to find you better than the previous day until you were all better.

A nurse came in with a final evaluation and discharged you. You changed into new clothes Akutagawa had brought you before running up and embracing him.

He hugged you back tightly, relieved that you were finally out. He turned to the vase of the pink tulips, which were starting to wither.

“Just in time,” he said.

“The get-well-soon flowers,” you giggled, taking your first good look at them. You loved how he knew of flower symbolism.

“Let’s get out of here,” Akutagawa said, holding out his hand for yours to take. “I despise dwelling in this place any longer.”

SIGMA is worried sick, even though you’re the one sick. how could he not, especially when he isn’t with you? are you feeling alright? drinking enough water? eating well?

“You’re sick?” Sigma asked over the phone.

“Is it my fault? I mean, I was feeling unwell last week, but I got better in a day, so I didn’t think it was that serious…”

“No, it wasn’t; please don’t worry,” you replied. You hated when your lover blamed your problems on himself. “But yeah, it sucks. I even lost my smell! I can’t smell anything.”

“Really?” You sensed his worry through the call.

“Do you need to go to a doctor? I can pick you up and take you there—or I can call the doctor to your house if you’d prefer that-“

“No, it’s okay! It’s not that serious; I’ll be fine in a few days,” you said. “I just wanted to let you know because I won’t be able to see you for a week. But don’t worry about me. I’ll update you.”

“Oh, I see,” Sigma responded. “Alright then.”

Firstly, Sigma was most definitely worried. Secondly, you couldn’t smell? He knew how much you loved the dulcet scents of the desserts he created and the delicate fragrances of your favorite flowers. You must’ve been even a little upset when you realized that sense was gone.

Of course, he wasn’t going to leave you to battle the viruses alone, despite you having just said you didn’t plan to see him until you got better. So, the part lilac, part pearly-haired immediately set out to plan a sweet surprise for you.

…

The next day, Sigma showed up at your front door with a homemade bento box and a few bags of groceries.

“What are you doing here?”

“I at least have to check if you’re eating well.”

One thing that hadn’t changed since meeting Sigma was the butterflies in your stomach feeling. He always showed nothing but ultimate consideration and compassion towards you, treating you like royalty.

“I’m trying,” you replied honestly. “Everything tastes the same. I can’t smell any of it.”

“Maybe it’ll be more appealing if the food looks nice.” With that, he walked to the dining table.

“You haven’t had lunch yet?” You nodded, expectably to him.

“Sit down, love.” He pulled out one of the chairs. You followed him, taking a seat as he prepared your meal—putting a placemat on the table and setting the bento box on top.

You opened the container, and you were revealed with an assortment of the prettiest foods. For the first time this week, you were hungry.

The ones that caught your eye the most were the rice balls decorated to look like chibi versions of you and Sigma. A part of you didn’t want to ruin something so cute.

“What—this is so cute, Sigma! You’re so creative,” you complimented him. “It’s like you cook with magic.”

You noticed Sigma’s cheeks tint a rosy pink. “T-thank you. Go ahead and eat while I prepare your dessert.”

“Dessert?” you asked as you eyed the remaining grocery bags he was holding.

“You’re going to bake here?” You weren’t complaining, but you wondered why he didn’t decide to do it at his place.

“Yeah. That way, it’ll taste the best. Everything tastes the best when it’s freshly baked.”

…

You ended up eating everything. Sigma’s cooking never failed to impress you, even for a previously sated stomach.

“I finished!” you exclaimed, earning a smile from Sigma in the kitchen.

You hadn’t paid attention to what he was making in the meantime. He had put the tray of mystery into the oven a few minutes ago, so you were unable to see what it was.

“It’ll be done in twenty minutes,” Sigma said, walking over to you and taking your hand. “Was it good?”

“Very tasty; I’m full now,” you replied, looking up at him. His ashen eyes shone a gleam of fondness once he made eye contact with you, causing him to fluster again. He was so cute—at times, Sigma still acted like a schoolboy with a crush on you.

“You know your body makes room for dessert,” he noted coyly.

He guided you to stand up, and as you did, a familiar scent softly breezed past you.

The smell of your favorite muffin—and the smell of Sigma’s kitchen. It was faint, but it was there. Your eyes widened in wonder.

“Wait, Sigma—I can smell this!”

Even though it was a bit dramatic, you were cheerful to finally be able to smell any thing after a couple of days. You spun with Sigma around the room in delight. Surrounded by the aroma that made you feel truly at home and the sunrays through the windows, you started to dance together.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, a bit concerned you were spinning around while feeling unwell.

“Yes,” you reassured him, drawing Sigma into an embrace. “I’m just thrilled right now. I think you’re cooking does have magic.”

…

The muffins were out and looked mouthwatering. Sigma took the first one from the tray and peeled down the wrapper.

“First taste is yours,” he said, taking your palm and placing the pastry in your hand.

“Today, I’ll be Sigma’s food critic,” you joked among the two of you. “He’s baked my favorite muffin—I’m rea-ally picky about this dessert, for your information. So I’m going to be really harsh on this review…”

Catching him off guard, you ate the entire sweet in one bite. You started laughing when Sigma abruptly gasped.

“Mm! That was delicious!” you declared, trying to sound like you were trying this for the first time. However, it contradicted the way you were reaching for a second one. Sigma had made this for you hundreds of times before—there was never one time you refused a muffin from him.

“Eleven out of ten!”

“And so are you,” Sigma added, bopping you on the nose. “If my cuisine does involve magic, then I hope that the food works better than medicine.”

bea’s acoustic songs are always so calming & pretty; in my mind, this is what chuuya plays for me. <3

i saw you said you were sick on the dash this month, i’m glad you’re feeling better by now/feel better soon, this is for you <3 @lovedazai @cheriiyaya @chuuyrr @osaemu @atlasnessie

i heard if you rb, your fav will give you get-well kisses until you feel better !! reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most <3

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. dividers by cafekitsune.

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [2] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 14.4k 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

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

When morning comes and you open your eyes, everything looks so normal that you decide last night wasn’t real. The sun is shining through the windows. The sky outside is blue. The queen did not happen upon you playing the piano last night, and she did not name you her diamond. 

Upon entering the drawing room, however, you begin to realize that the nightmare is in fact reality. 

Your aunt presides over a small army of servants arranging enormous bouquets of flowers, blooms of every color arraying the room. Your cousins hover over several piles of boxes, each tied with bright ribbon. Your father stands in the middle of it all, looking strangely pleased, and when he turns to you, one of his rare smiles is set against his face. 

You swallow. “What is going on?”

“You have done well for our family, my daughter,” he says, coming closer. For all the warmth in his voice you still almost shrink away—you’re not used to his kindness, and from the stilted edge to his words, he isn’t either. “The queen named you her diamond, and these are the gifts bestowed upon you for it.”

Against your will, last night comes rushing back. The Harlowe’s ball. All the noise, all the chatter. Lady Park striking up a conversation with you just when your head had started to hurt, and winking when she mentioned the Harlowe’s music room. Dark corridors and blessed silence and Mozart sonatas dancing beneath your fingers—

Then the queen herself appearing in the room, and with a smile on her face that only struck dread in your chest, naming you her diamond. 

She had accompanied you out of the room with her entourage following, Lady Park at her side. You couldn’t think of an excuse to get away. And so, when you entered the ballroom once more, you had no defense when the queen looked at you with a broad smile, and kissed your forehead in full view of everyone there. 

The diamond, you could practically hear everyone whisper. She’s been named the diamond. 

Head spinning, you swallow. “The queen does not give gifts to her diamonds,” you say dumbly. 

“These are not from the queen, silly girl,” your aunt says. “These are from your suitors, who hope to court your hand.” She smiles, oblivious to the dread pooling through your chest. “Come, my girl. See what gifts they have brought you.”

You let yourself be dragged to the center of the room where most of the gifts lie. Your cousins are definitely more eager to see them than you, so you let them open the boxes of jewelry and wow over the flowers, nodding and smiling perfunctorily as needed. You don’t really notice much of it, though, because you’re still trying to believe this isn’t happening. 

It is, though. And even though calling hour isn’t for a while yet, you have a sinking feeling that it’s going to be more crowded than it ever has been. If last night was anything to go by…

After the queen had kissed your forehead in full view of the room, there was a sort of pause. The orchestra kept playing, but even those on the dance floor stopped moving for a moment. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on you and you couldn’t even move, you were so frozen in place. Even when the room started shifting again, you couldn’t seem to unstick your feet from the floor until an outstretched hand had made its way into your line of vision, and you had to finally look up to see who it was. 

It was Lord Kang. And the relief you felt was—overwhelming. So overwhelming you almost started crying. In that moment, however cliché it sounds, you thought you could understand those scenes in fairy tales when the princess was saved by her prince, and while you may resent yourself for the fact that you needed saving, you’re endlessly thankful that he was there for it. 

“My lady,” he’d said like nothing just happened, kissing your hand. “I haven’t seen you all night. Congratulations on your new title.”

“Thank you, my lord.” If he noticed your voice shaking a little, he said nothing of it. “I apologize. I hid myself away for a while, for…some quiet.”

His eyes crinkled into one of his gentle smiles. “I heard,” he’d said, skillfully guiding you around the room. “The Mozart was wonderful. I would have said something earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you and then the queen arrived. I did not think either of us would want to be compromised, or stir rumors.”

“I should think not,” you had said, smiling a little. “I appreciate it.”

“Is your next dance taken?” he had asked, an abrupt change of subject. The music was dying away, the couples on the dance floor saying their goodbyes. You shook your head, and his eyes sparkled. “If not, would you mind if I stole it, then?”

This time, a real smile—your last of the evening—spread over your lips. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Lord Kang was a very good dancer—light on his feet with a good sense of rhythm, and a strong frame that guided you into each next step without you having to improperly initiate it yourself. A lovely respite from several of your earlier partners who seemed to have two left feet. In Lord Kang’s arms, you almost forgot the events of just some minutes ago, losing yourself in the easiness of his footsteps and conversation. Beyond his initial congratulations, he didn’t mention the queen’s designation once. Until the end of time you’ll be grateful for it.

But then the music ended, and reality came rushing back. 

Almost immediately after you’d made your curtsies and Lord Kang had taken his bow, you noticed several figures walking up to you. By the time you fully turned around, a small group had crowded in front of the dance floor, right where you would have stepped off. Men, all of them—all looking at you with varying degrees of interest, interest they never would have had if the queen had not made her declaration. 

For the second time that night, you froze. People were talking but you couldn’t hear what they were saying, the noise of the room a roaring buzz in your ears. Half of you had a mind to run out the nearest exit but your legs just wouldn’t move. 

You don’t know how long you stood there before Lord Kang’s voice finally cut through the din. “It seems your newfound title has caused some stir, my lady,” he had said quietly. You looked at him and he looked at you and there was a little smile on his face that helped ease your heart rate just slightly. Then his expression turned serious. “You need not do anything you do not like,” he said lowly. “If you would prefer, I can help you make some excuse.”

You would have taken him up on it. You’re not sure what he had in mind—fake a dizzy spell or headache, or just a need for some fresh air—but you would have done it. But then your aunt appeared in all her ill-timed glory and started filling the rest of your dance card with terrible efficiency, and all you could do was give Taehyun a small, sad little smile and whisper a thanks before some new gentleman ushered you onto the dance floor. 

Last night turned your mind into mush. Too many people, too many questions, too much dancing for your introverted self to handle. Gazing at the flowers and presents littered about the room now, you have the sinking feeling that calling hour is about to be even worse. 

Which it is. There are apparently men queueing in a line down the hall, waiting for a chance to speak with you. More flowers fill the drawing room, and your smile becomes increasingly fixed to your face with each new gentleman who enters the room. Most of them are pleasant enough and able to keep the conversation going even as your head begins to hurt more and more, but some of them are truly unpleasant people, and even your aunt’s face looks more pinched than usual when she ushers Mr. Yang-Tran out of the room. 

You don’t even get a respite at dinner. It’s all anyone can seem to talk about, and even your taciturn father puts forth several opinions on those who managed to call today. Those who didn’t make it during the designated hour left a plethora of flowers and gifts, and there’s a small mountain of calling cards sitting on one of the drawing room tables that you can’t really bring yourself to look through. Only one of them matters, anyway, and you stole that one away.

When the meal is over, you all return to the drawing room to continue the dinner chatter. They all seem to be so full of laughter and cheer that it makes you feel somewhat alien for not feeling the same, but it gives you more opportunity to sink into the corner of a couch fade into the background. With everyone’s attention diverted, you pull out Lord Kang’s card. It’s lovely, very elegant, but you don’t really care about how it looks. You flip the card around to see the words written on the back. 

My lady—

I hope you will not find it too forward of me to write, but I wanted to express my congratulations again on your well-earned title last night. I hope you will find some pleasure in it for I can think of no one more deserving of it this season than you. I apologize that I could not see you before calling hour ended, but I pray I will have better luck next time. 

You certainly hope so too. 

Swallowing hard, you look at the table, where an array of the most pleasing flowers and gifts have been laid out. Jewelry glitters in the candlelight, making the flowers almost seem to glow. But you only have eyes for the few books that lie beside them, their nondescript leather covers dark in the night. 

No one really notices when you stand. They don’t notice you picking up the books, then heading out of the room. No one follows you into the music room, where you shut the door firmly after lighting several candles to give the space a little light. 

For several hours you alternate between practicing and reading. The crease of paper beneath your fingers comforts you as you immerse yourself in sheet music and music history, and when a servant eventually comes to call you to bed, you feel well enough to go without complaint. 

On your nightstand rests a small bouquet of fresh flowers. Lord Kang left them with his card, and when you learned this you asked a servant to bring them to your room. You place the calling card next to the vase before blowing out the candle, crawling into bed, and falling into a dreamless sleep. 

. . . . .

The title of diamond is a coveted one, Taehyun knows, and it is an honor to receive it from the queen. So many debutantes each season have been vying for the designation and he can hardly fault them for it, not when it brings so much prestige. 

You are not undeserving of the name. Far from it. With your fame, quiet grace, and incomparable talent at the piano, Taehyun wonders why the queen didn’t choose you earlier. All of this talk about Her Majesty being bored, surrounded by ladies tripping over themselves to impress her in ways she’s already seen before, doesn’t quite make sense to him. Your honesty and genuine nature were obvious to him from the start. How could it not be to the queen?

Yet, for all Taehyun knows it is an honor, he still somewhat wishes the queen had given the title to someone else. 

For—well, selfish reasons. Taehyun privately resents the fact that all the men of the ton are now queueing at your door to shower you in empty compliments and vague flowers. He treasured the time the you spent together, the precious minutes he spent in your drawing room speaking with you or listening to you play the piano, and now all that time has been snatched away by the callers crowding your doorstep. Even at balls, between your aunt and the queen herself, he can only manage to catch you for moments at a time. A single dance. A snippet of conversation. Then your aunt has moved you on to someone else, or the queen would like to introduce you to another titled gentleman, and he has to bid you good night before they haplessly rush you off. 

Again, all very selfish reasons. Taehyun feels guilty every time he even thinks them. But in his defense—and Taehyun doesn’t like to presume—you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself nearly as much as someone named the incomparable of the season should. You haven’t said it to him directly, but Taehyun feels that you also would have preferred someone else to be the season’s incomparable instead of you. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because one does not refute the queen. She leads society and the season, and in this court of gossip and schemes, she reigns supreme. Which is the only reason why Taehyun hasn’t pretended not to notice her more than could be presumed polite, each time she comes around with a new marquess to introduce to you. He is not wealthy or important enough to save himself from her possible wrath. 

(The queen may be a kind woman, but the entire ton knows that she is a force to be reckoned with.)

With all this, the thought occurs to him to just propose sooner rather than later. It is becoming increasingly obvious that no other woman has and will capture his attentions quite the way you have, and you’re the only one to whom Taehyun would feel comfortable giving a betrothal ring. He doesn’t think you would say no. But at the same time, you’re a shy creature, and even he would prefer a little more time to court you. Couples have gotten married in far less time than the two of you have known each other, of course, but you deserve a proper courtship. And he would like for you to know one another better before he decides on a ring. 

All of which would be much more easily done if he could speak to you for more than a few short minutes at a time. 

And, perhaps, lady luck has decided to shine on him the night of the queen’s ball, only the most important event of the season. Taehyun counts himself lucky to have received an invitation, but more importantly, as the season’s diamond, he knows that you must be there too. He hops out of his carriage in front of the palace just in time to see you stepping out of yours a short distance away, moonlight glittering on your figure. 

For a moment, Taehyun forgets how to breathe. 

You look…beautiful. Not that you hadn’t been beautiful before, of course—you’ve been lovely since the moment Taehyun saw you that first night at the Tillings’ ball. But as Taehyun watches you settle on the ground, starlight sparkling over your dress, your headpiece, the elegant jewels around your neck and hands, he can see the delicate care you and your lady’s maids have certainly put into your appearance for tonight. 

And it was well worth it. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s walking in your direction. You don’t notice him immediately but when you meet his eyes, a smile seems to brighten your eyes as he bows. “My lady,” he greets, kissing your hand. “You look especially beautiful tonight.”

You duck your head shyly, but when you finally tip up your chin again, the smile has only grown. “Thank you, Lord Kang. I suppose the hours spent on my appearance were worth the time.”

“They certainly were.” He extends his arm. “May I walk you into the ballroom? I should appreciate this opportunity, having arrived so soon after one another, to speak with you. It seems we are always being interrupted, or that there simply isn’t enough time.”

“I would love that,” you reply sincerely. Inwardly, Taehyun preens a little when you don’t even look at your aunt before taking his arm. 

“I must apologize for all the interruptions,” you say as the two of you begin walking up to the palace. Your smile seems to drop a bit. “I…do not believe I was properly prepared to understand all that goes into being a diamond. I do not mean that I am not honored by the queen’s attentions,” you add quickly. “But I suppose I had not expected that so many would now ask for a piece of my time.”

“Your time was valuable even before you were made the diamond,” Taehyun replies. “I’m only honored that you shared it with me. But do know that you are deserving of this title.” He smiles, a little teasingly. “Though I must admit, it is nice to be able to see you now without the other gentlemen vying for your affections as well.”

You pause for a moment, as though picking your next words carefully. “If you must know, my lord,” you finally say, “they never posed much competition to you.”

Taehyun looks at you quickly. You look back at him, holding his gaze for a moment before you turn away, shoulders lifting shyly as though to shield you from…something. Anything. 

He lifts a hand to your chin and turns you gently his way again. “Thank you, my lady,” he says softly when you meet his eyes again. “Your words do me the greatest honor.”

“I only speak the truth,” you reply steadily, though Taehyun hears the tremor carefully hidden behind your words. It only endears you to him more. 

The two of you enter the ballroom together. Lights burst in Taehyun’s vision, crystal and glass glittering everywhere. Next to him, your breath seems to catch, and he feels much the same as he steps into the large, sparkling room. The fanciest place he’s ever been was the duke and duchess’s own ballroom. It was lovely, but this is something else altogether. 

Immediately upon your entrance, Taehyun already sees heads turning your way. Jealousy flares in his chest, but pride stamps it out—he’s the one who walked you into the room, after all, and you’re the one who said no one else was much competition compared to him. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let down his guard, though. 

He turns to you and your glittering ensemble, candlelight almost glowing around your figure. “Before we are surely interrupted again,” he says, smiling wryly, “may I have your first dance, my lady?”

You place your hand in his with a grin. “Of course, my lord.”

Taehyun loves dancing with you. You’re easily one of the best dancers in the ton, not even just among the season’s debutantes. For obvious reasons, you have a wonderful sense of rhythm and melody, and you clearly lean into that sort of sixth sense as you play with the timing of the choreographed steps and the unique twists of the music. You twirl under his hand, returning to his arms with a bright smile, and Taehyun is suddenly reminded of a flower opening its petals under the sun. 

Too soon, the music ends, and with it ends the magic of the dance you shared. Glancing at those who have gathered at the edge of the ballroom, Taehyun feels the jealousy flare again. How free he would feel if he could dance with you all night without worry of what the ton would think! But Taehyun has had the rules of society drummed into his head since he was old enough to comprehend language, and he knows he cannot share more than one dance with you in a row without stirring rumors of impropriety. So when you curtsy, he only bows, kissing your hand once more. 

“You are a wonderful dancer, my lady,” he compliments. The orchestra is in a lull now, waiting for dancers to find new partners, and everything he says will be clear to those who stand around him, so he chooses his next words carefully. Dancing with the same person twice means announcing a serious intention to court them to the entire ton, carrying more weight than even repeated weekly calls, but… “If you would be so inclined, I would be deeply honored if I could take one of your dances later this evening, as well.”

Your mouth parts. A strange, but not unwelcome expression passes over your face. He’d given his request quietly in case you refused, but a smile grows on your lips as you nod once, slowly, then again with more conviction. “I should like that very much,” you say, extending your dance card to him. 

Taehyun smiles broadly as he takes the small card. “Would it be all right if we danced the quadrille?” he asks. 

Your eyes sparkle. “Did someone tell you that was my favorite dance?”

He shakes his head in surprise. “A lucky guess.”

“Truly.” You smile, though it drops a little when you glance behind him at the crowd that has surely only grown larger since the last dance ended. “I will wait patiently for our quadrille, then, my lord.”

Taehyun gives you what he hopes is a comforting smile. “I will be counting the dances until then.”

. . . 

Unfortunately, Taehyun somewhat loses track of the dances somewhere along the way, mostly because he is also dealing with a consistently large group of people who insist on corralling him every time he so much as steps away from the dance floor. 

By a group of people, he really just means a group of debutantes and their mothers. They just…follow him. It’s a bit creepy. And when one disappears, another appears to take her place, so the group just never seems to fade away. Yeonjun was here earlier to help divert some of the attention but at some point he left to spend some time with his wife, which Taehyun can hardly fault him for. 

Taehyun is at his wit’s end by the time he finds himself near the table of drinks. He adopts a very concentrated look on his face—far more than is necessary when examining an array of lemonade and alcohol—but it seems to discourage some of the shyer girls, who start to hang back a little. 

He feels a little bad. It’s not like this is their fault, and if he wasn’t so damn tired, he wouldn’t mind engaging them in conversation either. But Taehyun has been dancing half the night and talking for the other half, and about topics he genuinely does not care about, so he takes his time selecting a whiskey before turning around, internally bracing himself for the onslaught. 

The onslaught comes in the form of a Mrs. Lim, here to present her first daughter, and a Mrs. Jung, with her second daughter. Taehyun smiles as best he can through brittle teeth and tries not to be too curt with his replies, but then other women start showing up to introduce and re-introduce their daughters and even when Taehyun says that he has already promised most of his dances away, they still won’t leave. He’s at his wits’ end, the glass in his hand now empty, when the group before him parts for a familiar face that fills him with relief. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, edging politely past Mrs. Jung to stand in front of him. Instantly Taehyun feels himself begin to relax—he hadn’t realized he was so tense until you showed up. “My lord, the quadrille is next.” You look at him steadily even as the group breaks into whispers—Did he not take her first dance? Will they dance twice? What does this mean?“I believe I promised this dance to you, if you would still like to take it.”

Taehyun nearly sags with relief. “I should like nothing more,” he says, extending a hand. “Apologies, ladies, I must go.” He bows slightly, then heads off to the dance floor without a second glance back. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” you say lowly, turning to face him. 

“Not at all,” Taehyun replies, leading you into frame. “In fact, your interruption was…most welcome.”

A wry twinkle appears in your eye. “It seemed so, though I didn’t want to presume.”

Taehyun laughs. “I thank you, then, for your opportune timing.”

“There is no need for thanks.” You smile. “You saved me at the Bridgertons’ ball after the queen crowned me her diamond.” Your smile grows smaller, though no less sincere. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for that.”

The orchestra picks up, signaling the end of the dance’s introduction, but Taehyun only looks at you carefully. “Forgive me for assuming,” he says quietly, “but my lady, you don’t seem to want the title much at all.”

You bite your lip even as you begin to move, instinctively stepping to the music. “It is an honor,” you reply lowly. “I will never be ungrateful for the queen’s approval. But I must confess…I wish she had chosen someone else instead.” You try to smile, but even Taehyun can see that it’s forced. “I am a quiet person, my lord. I never really wanted the attention that would come with being the season’s diamond. I believe others are far more suited to the role than I.”

Sympathy wells in Taehyun’s heart. No matter how tense he felt around the mamas and their daughters, he can’t imagine how this has all been for you. Granted, you have your aunt to field some of the gentlemen who come to you, but she seems more preoccupied with attracting more of them than shielding you from the onslaught. “I’m sorry,” he says simply, because he doesn’t know quite what else to say other than I understand, which would probably seem disingenuous. 

You seem to hear the words left unsaid, though, because you give him a little smile when you find your way back into his arms. “It is what it is,” you state bravely. “And, at the very least, I can look forward to dancing with you.”

Taehyun’s heart stutters a beat, though you don’t seem to notice it. “Believe me, Miss L/N, I look forward to it at least as much as you,” he says when he finds his voice again. 

In the last measures of the quadrille, you smile at each other softly. You curtsy, and Taehyun bows, and in a last stroke of desperation to keep you with him a little longer, he extends his arm again. “Would you like some refreshment?” he offers. “You have been dancing all night. Surely you must be parched.”

You open your mouth, about to respond. But then your eye catches on something behind him and your face grows still, a smile curving your lips that doesn’t reach your eyes. Taehyun turns to see the queen approaching the two of you, an elegantly dressed gentleman following closely behind her. 

“Your Majesty,” the two of you murmur at the same time. The queen gives Taehyun a perfunctory little smile before directing her attention to you. “Miss L/N,” she says warmly, gesturing for the other man to come forward. “My diamond. Allow me to introduce to you Marquess Yang. Marquess Yang, meet my incomparable of the season.”

Objectively, there’s nothing wrong with the marquess. He’s handsome and seems pleasant enough as he introduces himself and kisses your hand. Still, Taehyun’s heart flares with jealous dislike for the man, but there’s nothing he can do about it. At least, nothing that wouldn’t be improper. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you say, giving the marquess a quick curtsy. You turn to Taehyun, then, and there’s only resignation in your unsmiling eyes. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies quickly, returning a short bow. “Perhaps we will catch each other later tonight, my lady.” He kisses your hand, holding your fingers for a touch longer than is strictly necessary. “Have a good evening.” 

With a bow to the queen and a parting smile to the marquess that he doesn’t mean at all, Taehyun heads back into the crowd, knowing that despite his words, he probably won’t get another moment with you all night.

. . . . .

When calling hour ends, you turn to your governess and say in a very quiet voice, “I will be ill tomorrow.”

She blinks once. Twice. “But, my lady—”

“I don’t care what my aunt says,” you state very, very calmly. “Or what my father says. I will be ill. Too ill to get out of bed.”

She glances at your aunt at the other side of the room, ordering rearrangements of some certain bouquets of flowers on the mantel. Then she nods. “As you wish, my lady.”

You breathe a long sigh of relief and stand up. “Thank you.”

No one says anything or tries to stop you when you leave the drawing room and make your way to your bedroom. You sit heavily on your bed and fall onto your back, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. Your head hurts from calling hour and you can’t really process anything between the pounding of your temples. 

Another steady stream of callers came today, all with their colorful flowers and pretty words. Lord Kang wasn’t among them, not even those who were unable to see you before they had to leave and left their cards for you to peruse instead. You can’t blame him—no one calls every day, and you would never expect him to even if you perceive there is interest on his end—but the irrational part of you mumbles that you still would have liked to see him anyway. The flowers he left last week have dried so the servants removed them from your bedside, but you’ve kept his card hidden in one of the drawers of your nightstand. It might sound pathetic, but you’ve taken to tracing his careful handwriting on the creamy paper. It soothes you. Somewhat. 

You’re just so—tired. Of everything. Of the charade of being a debutante, of the title of diamond, of having to sit and be pretty and nod along to all of the men who suddenly see worth in you not for yourself but for the queen’s belated approval. They talk about their plans for the future like you are a guarantee in their lives, a guaranteed little mannequin who will stand there and agree with every decision they make, and worst of all, they’re not even good conversationalists. You’re the first to admit that you aren’t very good at conversing with near strangers, but one of them asked you what makes you tick today. 

What does that even mean?

The Marquess of Schannon, whom the queen introduced to you at the last ball, paid you a call today too. He is not a bad person. In fact, of all those you spoke to, he was the most pleasant. If you hadn’t met Lord Kang, you might have been interested in him—he was very polite, respectful, and seemed genuinely interested in your passion for music. Your conversation with him was pleasant and he didn’t further your headache, and the flowers he brought were very pretty.

But all the while you were speaking with him, you couldn’t help but compare him to Lord Kang. 

Which isn’t fair. You know you should shape your opinion on the marquess independently from anyone else. It’s just—every good thing you thought about the marquess, Lord Kang was either equal, or did it better. 

Speaking with Marquess Yang was pleasant. Speaking with Lord Kang brings you excitement. 

Marquess Yang respects your devotion to the piano. Lord Kang respects your devotion, and engages you in conversation about the topic. 

The marquess is a fine dancer. The quadrille you danced with Lord Kang was the best one you have ever danced yet. 

You breathe out a sigh. The queen means to matchmake you with the marquess, you’re sure. Lady Arina Park said about as much when she caught you at the queen’s ball, though she also cast a very knowing glance at Lord Kang, who was dancing with Mrs. Jung’s daughter. At the end of the conversation, as she turned away, you could have sworn she muttered something along the lines of not meddling in affairs of the heart, but over the low din of the party, you couldn’t be sure. 

On paper, the marquess might be a better match than Lord Kang. A higher title. More land. More riches. But even knowing this, even knowing that the queen approves, you can’t quite bring yourself to see him the way you see Lord Kang.

Affairs of the heart, indeed. You stare at a knot of wood in the ceiling without really seeing it. You’re not sure you love Lord Kang. You’re not sure he loves you either. But you certainly like him, and you don’t think you’re wallowing in delusion when you fancy he likes you as well. You’ve only known each other for a couple of months—you don’t think anyone could truly fall in love so soon, no matter what people say about love matches. But with Lord Kang, at least you can envision the love further along in the future. 

There isn’t even a chance of that with some of your other suitors. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. For all you love piano, you wish you hadn’t been playing the night the queen walked in on your performance. You would still have to sit through calling hour, would still have to make small talk in the ballroom, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much as it is now. Your aunt and father’s approval doesn’t make up for how much your head hurts after you return from social engagements every night. 

And you’d probably get to see Lord Kang more. 

You remember the queen’s ball, when Lord Kang asked if you’d like to get refreshment with him just before the queen introduced you to the marquess. If he’d asked a moment earlier, you wonder if you’d have managed to escape the queen’s notice and been able to spend just a few minutes more with him. Probably not—the queen has eyes like a hawk and would have caught you anyway. Still, though, you wonder. And a treacherous part of you likes to imagine what would have happened if the queen wasn’t there. If you and Lord Kang could have found yourselves by the tables of refreshments, laughing and talking with no one to take either of you away. 

Unlikely. But you wish for it all the same. 

A knock sounds at your door. You bolt upright and wince when your temples twinge in protest. It’s only one of the servants, though. 

“My lady.” She curtsies slightly. “Your aunt bids that the two of you leave soon for your appointment at the modiste.”

Ugh. You’d almost forgotten about that. You give her a tired nod. “Tell her I will be ready shortly.”

. . .

Dresses are nice. Clothes are nice. You don’t mind the modiste, not with its arrays of silks and satins and ribbons that dazzle the eye, not with how nice and how accommodating Madame Delacroix is to everyone in her shop. But today you’re tired and just want to be lying down at home, and you could very much do without your aunt hovering around your fittings and inserting her opinion every time Madame Delacroix so much as moves a pin. 

There are a number of other ladies and their mothers in the shop so you let your mind fade into their buzz of chatter and laughter. A few of the voices you recognize—Mrs. Jung and her shy second daughter looking for new ribbons, the soon-to-be Lady Julia Kingsley shopping for the fabric for her wedding gown—but even though the girls are nice you hope they don’t notice you’re there as you slip out of your nearly-finished gowns as quietly as you can. On any other day you would be happy to chat with them. Right now you just want to go home. 

But someone calls your name as you’re exiting the modiste. You have just enough sense not to curse out loud because your aunt is right next to you and you’re in public, but you’re not sure you manage to wipe the entire grimace off your face before you turn around. You pray that surprise replaced your previous expression before your caller saw it, and it seems it did, because the Duchess of Hastings only gives you a bright smile before walking quickly over to catch up with you. 

“Miss L/N!” she exclaims once she’s close enough. “Lady Taylor,” she then greets your aunt, with much more solemnity. “It is lovely to see the two of you in town today.”

“And you too,” you reply, and you’re only half lying. You’ve seen the duchess a few times since that first gathering, and each time you speak you leave the conversation smiling. If you were to have to speak to anyone at the tail end of this very exhausting day, you’re glad it was her. “Did you have business here? We just left the modiste.”

“Oh, His Grace and I came into town to meet with his solicitor for a few things,” she says. “I didn’t feel I was needed for the last few meetings, so I thought I would walk the streets for some time before meeting him at home.” You reach Gunter’s dessert shop and the duchess stops. “Shall we stop for some ices? They can be most refreshing after a long day.”

As the duchess leads you into the shop, you think wryly that you probably weren’t hiding your exhaustion as well as you thought. 

She’s right. Sitting in the shop with a small cup of dessert, flavored ice cooling your tongue, you feel a bit of the pressure easing away from your temples. If the duchess notices you relaxing, she doesn’t say anything of it—at least until she asks about your season, and if anyone has caught your eye just yet. She has a strange, somewhat knowing expression on her face, but you try to pay it no mind as you answer. 

“The dancing is nice,” you say truthfully, but meaningfully. 

The duchess snickers in a way that is distinctly unladylike but even though you can see your aunt’s face scrunching up in the corner, that snicker allows you to smile. “Is anything else about it nice?” she asks.

You pause before answering with a question. “You were the diamond of your season, were you not?” She nods. “How did you find it, may I ask?”

“I enjoyed it,” she replies, and your heart sinks. “I quite like meeting new people, and it is a great honor to be chosen by the queen. Though it perhaps made a difference that there wasn’t anybody…meddling, I suppose, in my options for marriage.” 

You blink. “The queen did not seek to introduce you to anybody?”

She shakes her head. “I was already being courted by one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton, not even the season. I don’t suppose Her Majesty found it her prerogative to try and find me someone else.”

Annoyance and anger, not at the duchess, but at the queen herself, rises in your throat so quickly it surprises you. Where did this come from? You stare into the melting remains of your ice, its syrup suddenly cloyingly sweet on your tongue. The duchess said the queen didn’t find it her prerogative to interfere in her courtship. So why does she find it necessary for you?

Because she doesn’t think Lord Kang is good enough. 

Ah. There it is. The anger—the annoyance that the queen would deem Lord Kang, one of the best men you’ve met this entire season, unworthy of you. That she would not trust you to make the decision on your own, and must prod you in different directions like a doll in her playhouse. Quite like your father and aunt. Quite like the other men who have been calling on you these past few weeks. 

You’re so damn tired of people thinking they know best for you. 

“I don’t think I should have been the diamond,” you say quietly, so that only the duchess hears you. “Not for my talent or hard work. The thing is, I’m a quiet person, Your Grace. I am not really a sociable person. I am not very good at conversing. I just don’t…enjoy the social season the way other people do.” You look up from your ice to see the duchess gazing back at you thoughtfully. “Many of the other ladies of the season are as talented and hardworking as I, only in other spheres, and would likely be far more receptive than I to the…maneuverings, if you will, of our queen.”

The duchess remains silent. 

You start to panic. “I do not mean that I am ungrateful for Her Majesty’s approval. It is an honor. I only—”

“Miss L/N. Y/N.” The duchess takes your hands across the table. “May I call you that?”

Dumbly, you nod. 

“Excellent. You must call me by my name, then.” She smiles and your heart, which had been beating a little too fast, starts to slow down. “As friends.”

Slowly you nod again. 

“The season is not enjoyable for everyone,” she states. “You are none the worse for feeling that way. I had moments in my season that I did not like. And I can fully understand how, for someone of a more introverted nature, it might be more of a chore than is usually expected.” She leans a little over the table, still holding your hands. “But I will say this to you. You are the diamond, Y/N. And while this means people are watching you, it also means that you have some measure of freedom to act as you like. Refuse dances from those with whom you don’t wish to dance. Only accept as many dances as you need. And if you can, try to ignore those who would meddle in your affairs for their own gain. You are the diamond. You can afford to do these things more than others can.” The duchess squeezes your hands. “You know yourself better than anyone, your wants and desires. You should be in control of those. No one else.”

Stupidly, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them away as much as you can. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Oh, come now.” The duchess laughs. “Call me by my name. We are friends, are we not?”

You give her a watery smile in return. “Yes, we are.” Taking a shaky breath, you brush away a tear as discreetly as you can. “Thank you. I’m not the most upfront person, even with myself. I…I needed that.”

“You’re most welcome,” she replies warmly. “If I may I ask…”

You blink. “Yes?”

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot. “…Yes.”

“Is it Lord Kang?”

Now you think you understand the knowing look the duchess had in her eye earlier. “How long have you known?”

“Known? Only since now.” Her eyes crinkle with teasing mischief. “But I suspected as much at my gathering. You two were so engrossed in conversation, I couldn’t help but notice.” Oblivious to your embarrassment, she continues. “And if I remember correctly, he danced with you twice at the queen’s ball, no?”

“He did.” And a wonderful two dances those were.

The duchess eyes you like she can hear your thoughts. Honestly, she very well might—she’s incredibly perceptive. “He’s a good man, Y/N. A very good one.” She pauses a moment, as though weighing her next words. “I was not the most receptive to him, not at first.” Her smile turns a little painful as she looks into cup. “My father died very suddenly and without an heir. When I found out the estate was to pass to Lord Kang—someone I had never known, inheriting the only home I had ever known—to be frank, I was very angry.” She shakes her head. “My whole life was in that estate. My best memories were there, in my father’s library.” 

You listen, rapt. 

“But Lord Kang is a kind man. He was a kind man even when I was angry with him, unjustifiably. After all, he was as confused and bewildered by the entire situation as I was. But when he learned of my love for literature, and my sorrow at having lost my father’s library to the estate he now owns, he offered me free use of the library. We send books back and forth now, and he takes my recommendations just as I take his.” The duchess raises her head, and the smile on her lips seems to bring joy to the entire shop. “He is a very good friend, and I think he would be very good with you.”

Your throat feels too tight to speak. “Thank you,” is all you manage to say in reply. 

“Of course.” She motions to your empty cups. “Shall we have these taken away?”

A worker whisks away your empty cups, and after you pay for your treats, the duchess walks you outside. Once on the street, she takes your hands again and smiles. “Be brave, Y/N,” she says, looking at you with such sincerity you almost want to cry again. “You deserve good things. But you must come to take them for yourself.”

. . . . .

Yeonjun has just poured everyone a drink when the duchess comes sweeping in with the wind, full of apologies for being late. “I deeply apologize,” she says again, kissing Yeonjun lightly on the cheek before sitting next to him. “I hope Yeonjun hasn’t already bored you all to death.”

Everyone except Yeonjun laughs, Beomgyu’s cackle the loudest of all. Taehyun smiles over his drink as the duke pouts deeply, regaining his smile only when his wife whispers something in his ear. “Is everything all right?” he asks as the laughter subsides. “You didn’t have any trouble in town, did you?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I just ran into someone and we spent a little too long catching up, I suppose.” The duchess looks at Taehyun meaningfully, and he only has a second to wonder why before she continues. “Miss L/N was just leaving the modiste, and we went to Gunter’s for ices after. I lost track of time.”

Miss L/N?

“You look remarkably unruffled for one who is so late,” Beomgyu points out, and Taehyun forces all thoughts of you out of his brain to focus on the conversation. 

“Perhaps because I knew you would be here,” she shoots back, which sends everyone into laughter again. “Anyhow, I’m sure you all are curious as to why Yeonjun and I invited you here today.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Kai mutters.

Yeonjun laughs, though there’s a strange edge to it. Taehyun can’t quite tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Well…” he starts, then turns to his wife. “Do you want to say it?” he murmurs. 

“I can.” She takes a deep breath before a glowing smile spreads across her lips. “I am with child.”

For a moment, the room remains dead silent. Taehyun himself can hardly believe his ears. Then he’s grinning, and so is everyone else, and the silence explodes into cheers and cries of congratulations and he’s hugging first the duke, then the duchess, and in this moment, the whole world feels perfect. Nothing could be better right now—nothing could beat the happiness he feels right now for his two good friends. 

“Congratulations,” Taehyun says again when the celebration has died down. His voice feels thick—he can hardly speak through the emotion filling his throat. “How long have you two known?”

“The doctor confirmed last week,” Yeonjun says, smiling down at his wife with so much love in his eyes it almost hurts. “We told our mothers the day after.”

“Well, now I know why you only invited us tonight,” Lady Choi says, her eyes sparkling. Next to her, her husband, Soobin, can’t seem to keep his own grin off his face. “You don’t want the entire ton knowing too soon, do you?”

“Not just yet.” The duchess shakes her head. “We plan to keep it out of Whistledown for some time.”

Several more rounds of congratulations follow, and by then they’ve all finished their drinks and are heading into the dining room. It’s a small group—just him, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai, Soobin, and their wives—so they don’t observe the usual formalities, just sit down around the table laughing and chatting as one. The meal is filled with so much gaiety that he nearly forgets the duchess’s strange look earlier just before she mentioned your name. But as the dinner winds to a close, he remembers, and he can’t help but wonder what you and the duchess talked about. He won’t ask, of course, and he doesn’t even know if you talked about him, but the irrational part of him wants to know anyway.

Finally, after the meal, they all retire to the drawing room, where Lady Choi starts telling a story about Soobin that has his face turning red and the rest of them laughing. Partway through, Taehyun goes to pour himself a drink, only to look up and see the duchess standing next to him. 

He motions to the bottle. “Would you like a drink?” Then he remembers. “Oh, I don’t suppose you would.”

She smiles. “Not alcohol, though I would not say no to the lemonade. Thank you.” While a chorus of laughter sounds in the background, she and Taehyun raise their glasses with a smile. She takes a sip, then looks at him directly. “I saw Miss L/N earlier, you know.”

His heart, cliché as it sounds, skips a beat. “You mentioned, yes.”

For a moment, the duchess remains silent, her lips pursed as though contemplating her next words carefully. “Can we be honest, Taehyun?” she finally asks. 

He blinks. “Of course.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t proposed to her yet?”

Taehyun almost chokes on his drink. “What—” 

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” the duchess says wryly. “Don’t look so frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.” Taehyun clears his throat, praying he doesn’t look too embarrassed. “But…why do you ask?”

“The season is almost halfway over,” she states matter-of-factly. “She is the diamond, and she clearly likes you. You danced with her twice at the queen’s ball, which is tantamount to declaring your intentions to the entire ton. What, now, is stopping you from asking for her hand?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. He can already feel an excuse on the tip of his tongue—it has still only been three months, I’m not sure how she feels, I don’t know if she even wants me—but those would all be lies. Distractions, at least, from the full truth. The duchess bade him to be honest, and he won’t disrespect her by acting otherwise. 

“She is a quiet woman,” he says slowly. “And I do not want to come onto her too strongly. I know that people have married in less time than we’ve known each other, but while we get along very well, I suppose I wanted to…make certain that she would do well with me, and that I would do well with her, should we be married.”

The duchess nods slowly. “I understand this,” she says, “but you are a man who knows what he wants, and when you want something, you seek it out.” She pauses. “Why do you wait so long to seek her?”

His first response is I do. But even though that is true, over the past weeks… “The queen does not approve of me.” He says this with certainty, a bitter taste filling his mouth. “You must know this. She believes her diamond to be fit for a marquess, not an earl like I. And, truth be told…” Taehyun sighs. “I would like to at least allow her to make the decision. The Marquess of Schannon has a higher title, owns more land and has much greater wealth than I. He could provide for her much better than I.”

“But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.”

Taehyun gapes at the duchess’s sharp tone. Her eyes soften, but her voice remains as steady as before. “My marriage to Yeonjun did not thrive only because he could provide for me,” she says quietly. “It became what it is now because we got along, because we could laugh with and at one another, because we can be free with each other. I do not think that Miss L/N is the type of woman to value wealth and security over her own freedom, and I implore you not to dishonor her by thinking otherwise.”

“Of course not!” Taehyun snaps. “I just…” He swallows, and his entire throat tastes bitter. “I want to be enough for her.”

“I understand.” The duchess smiles. “You want to be the best man to her that you can be. But trust me when I say that your worth in her life—or in anyone’s life—is not defined by the gold you bring to the table. You and your character are what she will fall in love with. Not your money.”

Taehyun’s cheeks burn.

From the twinkle in the duchess’s eye, she definitely notices, but thankfully she says nothing of it. “Talk to her, Taehyun,” she says softly. “I think you will find she likes you far more than even you expect.”

. . . . .

When you wake up the next morning, you don’t bother to stifle a groan when you remember you’re to be entertaining callers again today. Then you remember that your governess is supposed to tell your aunt that you are horrifically ill, and your earlier dread quickly turns into relief as you pull your covers over your head again, rumpling your sheets and pillows. Your aunt will probably poke into your room to check if you’re actually ill, and you need to look the part. 

The servants come to dress you for the day. When they can’t get you to roll out of bed, they send for your governess, who gives you a rather anxious look before calling for your aunt, as you expected. You hear them coming back to your room together, just as you expected, but perhaps the prospect of speaking to near-strangers for an entire afternoon has you looking grimmer than you thought because she backs out of the room rather quickly without much need for explanation. 

Under your covers, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yesterday, the duchess said to be brave, and not force yourself to endure or take anything you don’t want. You plan to take her up on her advice, but not now. Being brave can wait another day. 

You spend the morning in a blissful haze, drifting in and out of sleep without anyone coming to bother you. Your governess comes in for a moment to tell you all your engagements for the day have been cancelled, which puts you in an even better mood. The day is marred somewhat by the arrival of a truly vile-looking tonic from the cook along with your lunch that she swears will have you feeling better in no time, but you manage to dump it out of your window before the servants return to take your tray away. You settle back into bed with one of the books Taehyun lent you and happily resign yourself to a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon. 

A few hours later, rapid footsteps sound in the hall just outside your room and you quickly put the book away, sliding under your covers and shutting your eyes. Several frantic knocks sound at your door. You wait a moment before groaning, “Come in.”

Maybe you should’ve taken up a career in acting instead of music. 

To your relief, it’s only your governess, who looks oddly excited. You push yourself up in bed with a questioning frown. “What is it?” Then you see she’s holding something, too. “What is that?”

She hands you a card, then places a lovely bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. “Read it,” she says, but your eyes have already latched onto the name etched elegantly into the center of the calling card, and the familiar handwriting on the back. 

Miss L/N—

I apologize for having to write this simple card instead of calling on you in person—I have had sudden business to take care of that kept me busy all of calling hour, or I would have come earlier. In the absence of being able to speak today, I wonder if you would promenade with me in Hyde Park tomorrow? I should like to see you again, and I have some things I would like to ask you, if I may. 

And then, an addendum in a script considerably messier than the rest, indicating some haste with which it was written—

Your governess has just informed me that you are ill. If you are still feeling ill tomorrow, please do not feel obligated to join me—we will simply find another time and place, should you be willing. Do feel better soon, my lady. I pray for your rapid recovery.

You look at your governess. “I will be recovered tomorrow,” you say, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. “In the morning, please send a note to Lord Kang informing him of my intention to join him at the park.”

Your governess smiles back, just as brightly. “As you wish, my lady.”

. . . . .

The afternoon is lovely, the sun golden and warm and only a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky, but everything seems to become a little brighter when Taehyun catches your eye across the park. He speeds up his steps, trying to rein in his own smile as he walks up to you over the green. “Miss L/N,” he greets, holding out his arm. “How are you? I hope you are not still feeling ill.”

“Not at all, thankfully.” You smile with all the warmth of the sun. “I can’t imagine what overtook me yesterday, but I am feeling much better today. In any case, it is good to see you too.” 

The two of you make small chatter as you start on the winding path around the park. Many people are out today, and between you, the sunlight, and their infectious cheer, Taehyun stops trying to rein in his smile and just lets it spread wide across his lips. When you reach a small grove of trees, though, you turn to him with a somewhat more serious expression upon your face. “In your note, you mentioned you had some things about which you wanted to discuss with me, my lord,” you say. “Might I ask what you wanted to say?”

“And if I just wanted to speak to you again after not having seen you for a good number of days?” he teases, heart melting with fondness when you turn away, clearly shy. “I jest, though it is true that I very much wanted to see you,” he continues more seriously. “I suppose I wanted to...” He swallows, then just decides to say it before he gets too scared to. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

For a long moment, you don’t reply. For all Taehyun tries not to show his anxiety he’s not too certain he’s succeeding, especially when you look back at him. “To anyone?” you finally ask. 

The forthrightness of your question stuns him for a moment. In the time he’s known you, you’ve always been quiet, somewhat shy—he would not have expected such a question from you. But then he remembers you are also honest and very much in control of your own mind, and suddenly the question is not so surprising. 

You are honest with him. Taehyun will not disrespect you with a dishonest response. “To anyone,” he says truthfully, heart pounding. “But I would not mind a response specific to me.”

Your little laugh settles some of the anxiety threatening to burst from his chest. “To you, I would view marriage quite favorably.” You smile, and between your words and the light dappling through the trees onto your face and figure, Taehyun has to catch his breath. “Though to anyone else, the answer would be the opposite.”

Relief threatens to choke up his throat before he can reply. He truly hadn’t realized he was so nervous until you answered him favorably. “Might I ask why?” he asks quietly. 

You look up at the trees, at the sunlight peeking through the leaves. “When I returned to London, I didn’t know if I wanted to marry. I spent so long abroad, alone with only the piano as any real constant in my life, and the way everyone spoke of marriage, it seemed like it was a given that I should give up my passion for music in exchange for the hand of someone I didn’t even know yet.” Your lips turn up in a wry little smile. “I considered just trying to reach the age of a spinster, you know. In that case my father might send me back to the continent, and without the pressure of being a young lady of marriageable age, I might earn some money performing again, and at least I might see my dowry then.”

Taehyun frowns. “Your dowry?”

Your expression twists somewhat bitterly. “My father took my performance earnings for my dowry.”

“That…” Taehyun shakes his head, at a loss for words. “You earned that income yourself, so it should be yours, no?”

“That is what I thought as well,” you reply, your dry tone hardly managing to disguise the annoyance of your words. “So you see, then, why I did not quite view marriage through a favorable lens at first.”

Taehyun swallows. “What made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath. “Not much, at first,” you say lowly. “I wanted respect in marriage. It does not seem like it should be such a difficult thing for which to ask. But as I went through the season, I realized…apparently it is quite a task.” You shake your head. “There were so many with whom I spoke—so many who had already planned a future out for them and their unknown wives. It was so strange. They would just talk at me, saying all these things, and never even asked what I wanted.” 

Inwardly, Taehyun feels a little sick. He knows many of the young men in the ton, and likely some of them are included in those who spoke to you this way. The season is difficult for debutantes—that’s no secret—but even though he knows that…he didn’t really. Not until you just said it out loud. To be dehumanized in this way, and spoken to like an object. “I’m sorry,” he says lamely. 

“Don’t apologize.” You wave his words away. “You are one of the few who never condescended to me in such a fashion, you have nothing to apologize for.” You look up at him with a small smile. It eases some of his guilt. “I also do not doubt I wasn’t a stunning conversationalist, given that I do not quite enjoy speaking with strangers, though I will not take all the blame for that. I mean, I was once asked what makes me tick.” You laugh helplessly. “I don’t even know what that means.” 

Taehyun makes a face. Tick? “I don’t either.” 

“The season is what it is.” You’ve reached the edge of the trees, stepping back into the full sunshine. “I gather that all the men and women are used to this sort of thing. And, well—perhaps if I had been raised to believe I would one day command an entire estate and everyone in it, I might think the same way as many of those who wished to ask for my suit. Most of them weren’t unkind, after all.” You cast your eyes downward, fidgeting with your dress. “Just…”

“You give them too much credit,” Taehyun says quietly. “None of the things you’ve mentioned would give anyone the privilege not to extend respect to others.”

You nod slightly, still looking down. “I think,” you finally say, “from the beginning, I decided that if I was to marry anyone, I would need my own freedom to play the piano, and in general to have my own passions. I will not give up music for anything, my lord. It has kept me sane all these years. My cousins will tease that I am married to the piano and while it is an overwrought joke, there is some truth to it.” You look up again, meeting his eyes directly. “Very few people have truly respected my passions for what they are to me. In marriage, I will not bring yet another person into my life to clip my wings.”

Taehyun considers his next words carefully. “If you were guaranteed your freedom, then, would you still marry someone?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. “Because if that person would guarantee my freedom, I would know that they cared for me enough that they wouldn’t clip my wings in a way that would hurt me.”

For a few moments the two of you walk in silence. You’ve been at the park for some time, now—the sun is beginning to sink a little lower, the edges of the sky fading from blue to a pale pink. Taehyun looks at you and, against his will, doubt wells in his chest. He respects you, respects you so much—as a musician, as a woman, as a person who has come into his life and for whom he’s grown to care very much. But will that be enough? You deserve only the best of the things in the world. While well-off, Taehyun isn’t the wealthiest in town. Others, materially, could provide for you better. Could give you all the lovely things you deserve. 

But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.

The voice of the duchess rings through Taehyun’s mind and he swallows hard. Right. He will not cut his own suit short for fear that he may not be enough. If you have seen something in him to love, all he can do is strive every day to provide you with happiness. 

It is the least you deserve.

“I plan to call on your father in the next few days,” he says quietly. “To ask for his permission to propose to you.” Out of the corner of his eye you turn to look at him, and even though his heart is beating faster than it ever has before, he forces himself to meet your gaze. “Would you be amenable—”

“Yes!” The word bursts from your lips, cutting off his question. You look supremely embarrassed for a moment and Taehyun can’t hide his own smile at your adorable expression, but you don’t back down. “Yes, Lord Kang,” you repeat, considerably more calmly. “I would be.”

Taehyun takes a deep breath and tries not to show all the butterflies fluttering about in his own stomach. “Thank goodness,” he says, praying his voice isn’t trembling. He laughs a little. “You don’t know how nervous I was to ask that.”

Your eyes crinkle into a smile brighter than the setting sun. “You did a wonderful job of hiding it.”

Taehyun doesn’t really know how he gets through the rest of your walk. He says many things and so do you, but by the time the sun has finally sunk too low to ignore and you’ve circled the park at least three times, his mind is still just a blur of she said yes she said yes she said yes. “I will leave you here tonight, my lady,” he says when it comes time to part ways. “I do hope I will see you soon.”

“You will,” you reply. And as Taehyun is parsing your bold response, in full view of the ton, you take a deep breath of your own, looking him straight in the eye with a little smile. “After all, my lord, you must still call on me so that I might return your books, no?”

Half of the ton looks at you. Half of the ton looks at him. Taehyun himself has to take a moment to grapple with the implications of your deceptively innocent question—the public declaration that you have seen each other often enough to speak like this, that you have exchanged gifts beyond the typical flowers and jewels, that you are close enough to demand that he come to see you and not the other way around. 

That he has not just chosen to court him, but that you have chosen him as your suitor, as well.

All of this has his head spinning though not necessarily in a bad way, and throughout all this your eyes have remained steadily on his, twinkling in the remnants of sunlight. Taehyun’s cheeks are warm with the attention but, he decides, two can play this game. “Taehyun,” he says, smiling when you cock your head in confusion. “If I am to see you again, you must call me by my name. Not ‘my lord.’ Not ‘Lord Kang.’” He takes your hand. “Taehyun.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at him. And in that moment, with the pink light of sunset glowing around your figure and the shy smile curving your lips as comprehension dawns on your face, Taehyun really wants to kiss you. He abstains because kissing in full view of the ton when you’re not even married is probably a step too far for both of you, but nonetheless, he still wishes. “Taehyun,” he murmurs. “None of the ‘my lord’ nonsense.”

Your laugh carries on the wind, a warm, sweet melody to his ears. “If you are Taehyun, then I am Y/N.” Your eyes sparkle, either oblivious or far too discerning as to how much he enjoyed hearing his name from your lips. “A fair trade, no?”

“Very fair, Miss—” He catches himself, smiling. “Y/N.” Lifting your hand to his lips, he kisses it softly, just as he always has before. “Take care, Y/N. I will see you soon.”

. . . . .

The next morning, you’re at your piano, squinting at a new piece of music when a knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you say absently, still eyeing the difficult passage your fingers just can’t seem to get right.

“Miss L/N.” One of the servants steps in. “Your father would like to see you.”

Your hand freezes in the air. “My father?”

The servant leads you down the halls in silence, leaving your mind to wonder about all manner of things that your father could have called you for. He rarely summons you for—well, anything. Most of the time you barely catch a glimpse of him before the day is over. The only thing you can think of is Lord Kang—Taehyun— coming to propose his suit, and he said that he would come in the next few days, not—

You come to a stop in front of your father’s office, eyes wide. Would he truly have come so soon?

The servant knocks for you. When your father’s voice bids you come in, you’re still rattled enough by the thought that it takes you a moment to step through the door. 

You curtsy, if a little lamely. “Father.”

“Y/N.” He gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Sit down.”

You sit. 

The time you sit in silence cannot have been more than a few seconds. Half a minute, at most. But with every tick of the clock you find it harder and harder not to fidget in this seat until your finger catches on a loose string of your dress and you give in to the urge to fiddle with it. Anything to keep you occupied as the silence stretches longer and longer. 

Finally, your father opens his mouth to speak. “Lord Kang came by just now. The Earl of Addiston.”

Your heart skips at least three beats and you feel a warmth emanating from your chest, spreading slowly through the rest of your body. “I see.”

“He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Giddy excitement threatens to show itself on your face. You force your expression to remain still. “Did you consent?”

Your father looks at you long and hard. “Do you wish to marry him?”

Frustration and annoyance threaten to color your features, but you’ve remained quiet and placid for so many years that you manage to stop it from showing. What exactly does he want from you? Did he say yes, or did he say no? Why does he want to know if you would accept Taehyun’s suit? What does it matter to him? Then a terrible thought occurs to you. 

What if he already said no? 

Breathe. You force yourself to inhale. Exhale. You let go of the stray thread on your dress. “Did you consent?”

Your father’s eyes grow hard. “I asked you a question.”

“As did I.” You swallow hard. “And might I remind you, I asked it first.”

Your father is looking at you like he doesn’t quite know you. Which, you suppose, is true. He never really did. Never really cared to in the first place. But to be fair, you’ve never acted this way to him—or to anyone in the household, really—until today. 

Unfortunately, you are still a quiet person, cowed in your father’s presence, so after too many seconds of silence pass you finally reply. “But if you must know, yes. If he proposed, I would marry him.” 

Tension slowly fills the air the longer you look at your father. He must have realized what you said—or what you didn’tsay, really. If he proposed, I would marry him. Not if you consented, I would marry him. 

Subtle differences. But while you don’t necessarily enjoy the social season, you’ve been around enough to pick up on just how much subtlety can convey. 

“I asked if you wanted to marry him,” your father finally says. “Not if you would.”

You grit your teeth. What exactly is he playing at? “The answer to that is yes as well.”

He folds his hands. Leans back in his chair. Looks at you unflinchingly. You try to do the same even though it’s getting harder to control your expression. “I gave my consent,” he finally says, apparently oblivious to you doing your absolute best not to slump over in relief. “But he is an earl, daughter. Your Aunt Taylor tells me you have other suitors. Would you not want a marquess?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh. To not even scoff. “Father,” you say slowly, “trust me when I say I will not be receiving a proposal from a marquess this season.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not the Marquess of Schannon?”

“Marquess Yang is a good man,” you say. “But I do not believe I am what he is looking for in a wife.”

“You are the diamond,” your father presses. “What else could he want in a wife?”

Good lord. How did your mother marry this man? “A connection, perhaps.” You try not to sound too sarcastic. “Someone he could care about and be a good partner to.”

He shakes his head. “You do not want a marquess?”

You sigh. “Father, if Lord Kang was a marquess, I would want a marquess. If he was a viscount, I would want a viscount.” Finally, you let some of your annoyance bleed through your tone. “I would marry Lord Kang, whatever title he had. I like him, Father, and if he wishes to have me, I will have him.”

Your father sighs. “Well, his estate is certainly large, and he is of good lineage.” As if those were the reasons you want to marry him. “I will approve this match, daughter, if it makes you happy.”

If it makes you happy. You almost snort, but instead you school features into neutrality. “Thank you, Father.” And as soon as you can after that, you leave the room. 

You run into your governess just down the corridor. But while you have to skid to a stop to avoid her, it looks like she’s been expecting you. “My lady,” she says breathlessly. “Lord Kang is in the drawing room, waiting for you.”

Your mind goes blank. Your governess takes the opportunity to start pushing you toward the stairs. 

Just outside the drawing room, you have to stop in order to take a few breaths. For some reason, even though you know what’s going to happen, your heart is beating like no tomorrow. Steadying yourself, you look up to the ceiling and say a quick prayer before stepping into the room. 

Lord Kang—Taehyun—turns around the moment you walk in and immediately his smile spreads wide across his face, more welcome and beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. “My lady,” he says, bowing to your curtsy. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “How are you this morning?”

“I thought I told you to call me by my name,” you say, not bothering to hide your own smile. “Oh, thank you.” You take the flowers he’s extending to you, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“Forgive me. Y/N.” His eyes grow softer, a sweet laugh escaping his lips. “I spoke to your father earlier.”

“I know.” You sit on the couch and he follows suit. Your governess makes to take the flowers, probably to put them in a vase somewhere, but you wave her off. You need something to hold or you’ll get too nervous and start fidgeting, and besides, they’re pretty. “He spoke to me just now. Though I must confess, I did not expect you to come so soon.” 

“Why wait?” Taehyun’s quips back, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I suppose, then, that you know what I came here to do.” He takes a deep breath, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your governess slipping out of the room. 

“You said you would need respect in marriage,” Taehyun says quietly. “Freedom, to pursue your own passions. I know you already said that you would view marriage favorably with me, but I wanted to make it known that I have always had, and always will have, an incredible amount of respect for you and your work, and that I would never deliberately endeavor to wrench you from it.” He tilts his head slightly. “And if I ever do so unintentionally, I beg that you tell me immediately so that I might rectify my mistake.”

You nod slowly, your heart full to bursting already. 

“In return, I only ask that you allow me the same respect. Not that you have ever given me a reason to assume you would otherwise.” His eyes crinkle with his smile. “And, if I may, Y/N…I do not know much of the love that which poets speak of, but even if I do not love you know given it has only been a few months since our meeting, I do believe that love will come very easily with you.”

Throat full of emotion, all you can do is nod. “And I, you,” you whisper, hardly able to breathe.

Taehyun pulls a small box out of his pocket. Eyes never leaving yours, he opens it, revealing a lovely ring inside. 

The breaths you couldn’t take lodges in your throat. You almost choke. Despite your ungainly behavior, the ring sparkles cheerfully in the morning sunshine, a simple band of gold set with a pearl, surrounded by tiny diamonds that throw light onto your face. “It’s beautiful,” you get out when you finally regain your voice. 

“There are several betrothal rings in my family’s collection, but I thought this one would suit you best,” Taehyun says. He looks at you so very softly, so very gently. “It’s yours if you would like to have it.”

There might be tears in your eyes, but you force them back as you nod once, twice. “I would,” you barely manage to whisper. 

You aren’t wearing gloves, so when Taehyun takes your hand this time, you almost jolt with the sensation of his warm skin against yours. He slides the ring onto your finger but doesn’t let go of your hand, even as the two of you admire it in the sunlight. “It’s lovely,” you breathe. 

Taehyun smiles. “I would say the hand,” he replies gently. 

You have the sudden realization that if you are to live the rest of your life with quiet compliments such as this, you might not survive more than few more years before you melt into a puddle on the ground. 

“I will call the banns for us,” Taehyun continues, as if he hadn’t just floored you with five simple words. “We can be married as soon as is comfortable. And as for your dowry, it’s yours to spend as you wish.” He laughs at your dumbfounded state. “I won’t touch a penny—” 

Before even you know what you’re doing, you’ve cut Taehyun off by wrapping your arms around him, pulling him to you in a warm embrace. The tears you tried to hold back have begun to fall and you’re well aware of how improper this is, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you, Taehyun.”

His own arms settle around you, warmly, gently. “Of course, Y/N,” he murmurs, his words ghosting softly past your ear. “For you, always.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

Since you were young, you’ve grown used to rising early. Reading or practicing as the sun peeks over the horizon is incredibly calming, and it always sets the tone well for what you must do the rest of the day. 

The first few days after your wedding, though, every morning you remain in bed long after your usual waking time. Not least because the night’s exertions exhaust you, but it’s so wonderful to wake up in your husband’s arms, soft rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains and falling onto his face. Taehyun has always been handsome, but you think that he looks best in the morning light, his eyes softly closed, all the worries drained away from his face in slumber. 

After a week, though, you find yourself awake at your typical time, mind itching to return to your routine. You lie in bed for a few minutes longer with your eyes closed, but when sleep doesn’t overtake you again, you give in to the restless urge and slip out of the sheets as quietly as you can. Taehyun shifts a little in his sleep and you waver in your decision, but he eventually stills, breaths evening again. After kissing his forehead softly, you pad out of the room.

In the music room, you pull out a quiet sonata with which to accompany the rising sun. And as your fingers slowly dance over the keys, grey light turning pink through the window, your mind settles and so does your heart, an unconscious smile drifting over your lips. 

The door opens after some time. You look up at the creaking sound, letting the music fade away. In the doorway stands your husband dressed somewhat haphazardly, his hair still half a mess, sleep still evident in his eyes. He looks rather adorable. 

“Good morning,” you say, not even trying to hide your smile. “Is something wrong?”

“I woke up,” he mumbles back. “You weren’t there.” His eyes open a little more, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. “You’re an early riser.”

“I have been since I was young.” You make to rise but Taehyun waves you back down, instead coming to sit next to you on the piano bench. “I tried not to wake you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets his head fall onto your shoulder and his nose pokes right into the crook of your neck, right where you remember seeing a small red bruise from last night. You make a small noise but instead of moving away he just turns his head and kisses it. 

Heat floods your body. “Taehyun,” you hiss. 

“Y/N,” he says back, and even though you can’t really see his face you know he must be smiling. “Come back to bed. We’re still on our honeymoon.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” he murmurs in reply, nipping lightly at the bruise. You hiss and swat at him but he easily dodges with a laugh. “Please, Y/N. Just a few hours more.”

You have known this man for just five months, been married to him barely a week, but already you’re completely weak to him and his large eyes. Though you try to suppress it, your smile grows wider as you finally acquiesce. “Let me finish playing through this,” you compromise, gesturing to the piano, “and then we can go.”

“Perfect.” Taehyun kisses you softly. “I love you.”

Your breath catches, just as it has every time he’s said those three words since the first night of your marriage. And as pink sunlight settles in the room, lighting on his face and yours, you give in to the melody singing in your heart and kiss him back. “I love you too.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[bellesdreamyprofile]

earth angel - 1973 elvis

summary: 1973 elvis, meeting elvis for the first time - not accurate description of graceland (the song earth angel by elvis is available on spotify, and let me tell you that it's the best thing I´ve listened this week)

You first met Elvis at one of the numerous parties he hosted at Graceland. Your friend Julie was a friend of a friend of a member of the Mafia - nevertheless, a friend who still had the honour to be invited.

Books, soft music and warm drinks made you who you were. You weren’t one for fancy things, nor did you express a desire for them. Getting ready for a Graceland party wasn’t a particularly easy task, but you still managed to find a little dark blue dress that made your hair and eyes stand out. Little heels to match and off you went with Julie.

Once you were both standing in front of the mansion, your lips parted as you looked up with big, curious eyes. Your eyes filled up with salty tears, though you blinked them away quickly. This beautiful place was not there to cause tears or sorrow - laughter, smiles and silly jokes were Graceland’s signature experiences.

“Imagine meeting Elvis.”, your head snapped towards your friend, noticing she was still admiring the structure.

You let out a little chuckle and shook your head. “I’m happy even just standing here, honestly.”

Julie hummed and moved her eyes on another pair of girls entering the mansion. “You know, they say that Elvis doesn’t even come out of his bedroom during parties like these. Or he’s around and you don’t know it. Isn’t that crazy?”

Oh, to catch a glimpse of the King.

“Yeah, it really is.”, you said almost dreamily.

Julie quickly locked her arm with yours and started moving forward. “Alright, let’s go. I don’t wanna be the last one to come in.”

As soon as you stepped in, the sweet melody of laughter hit your ears. Champagne glasses clinking and soft piano playing in the background.

You peeked at the sound of the instrument and noticed three men playing and singing. Julie tapped your arm, pointing at a couple sitting by the couch.

“Look, that’s Mary. You know, she’s friends with Elliott who’s friends with Red.”, she explained swiftly, making you hum and nod. “Let’s go say hello quickly.”

And you did go say hello, but it looked like Mary and Julie had known each other for years. There were no topics you could relate to, so you decided to stand up and excuse yourself.

“I’m gonna do some rounds. See if I recognize anybody.”, Julie waved you off with a smile, making you sigh and walk away. Also, who were you going to recognize? The local baker?

But you still got to walk around and smile at anybody who smiled at you kindly. You refused the flute of champagne and grabbed the strawberry juice on the kitchen counter instead.

“Mr Presley— Ops. My apologies, miss. I thought it was Mr Presley.”, a maid stopped your actions in a soft tone.

Heat arose to your cheeks as you set the carafe back on the counter. “I’m so sorry. I-I should’ve asked—“

“Don’t apologize, child.”, she laughed a little. “Strawberry juice is Mr Presley’s favourite. Just thought it was him sneaking around.”, another chuckle escaped her lips. “We leave ‘em around the house.”

You nodded and smiled a little at the anecdote. “That’s sweet.”, you said softly and moved your gaze down. “I, uh, I’ll get going… Sorry again.”, the kind maid let you know once more that it had been no problem at all.

A deep breath fell from your lips as you walked away from the kitchen. A set of stairs that seemed to lead to a den caught your attention. You looked around and quickly realized that the crowd had officially moved to the living room. You were all alone. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt, though, right?

With the humiliation of that strawberry juice in your hand, you quickly found out that the stairs were leading to another corridor. One massive glass separated the corridor from the actual room. The sight of the green and gold, the animal prints and various instruments, made you audibly gasp.

Another look was thrown over your shoulder as you debated whether or not to step in and take a further look around the living space.

When’s another chance gonna come?

Without thinking about it twice, your hand caught the doorhandle and pushed it open. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, but knowing that the King could’ve been the one smoking, you sighed in comfort.

In the back there was a piano, significantly smaller than the one in the living room upstairs. But you decided to roll the dice and test your luck. You set the juice on the small table to your right and sat down on the stool.

Goosebumps covered your skin at the leather against your bare skin. Your back was to the door as suddenly you were aware that anybody could’ve walked in and get you banned from the property.

The realization didn’t seem to stop your fingers from dancing on the white keys.

“Earth Angel, Earth Angel

The one I adore

Love you forever and ever”

Your voice was as soft as the beautiful song was. A tape of thoughts from the day you first listened to the song played in front of your eyes. Your eyes closed as you were thrown back to the 50’s.

“I’m just a fool

A fool in love with you”

Your eyes snapped open and your heartbeat picked up. That hadn’t been your voice.

Your fingers ceased playing and you set your hands on your lap.

“Why’d you stop playin’, honey?”

Your lips parted at the voice and your eyes squeezed shut as the realization started settling in. Your voice couldn’t be trusted for a reply. Suddenly, you felt a warm touch on your back, a hand turning the stool in the opposite direction.

Your eyes still shut, but you could feel the gaze on your face.

A laugh. Oh, how you wanted to melt in place.

“Open your eyes, honey, please.”, a warm request, almost in a teasing tone. But you shook your head, your chin almost tucked to your chest.

“Aw, honey. I ain’t that ugly I promise.”

Those were the words that triggered your eyes. A man like that to be called ugly even only as a joke felt like a crime.

“Ah, there they are! Them pretty, little eyes.”, your gaze still set low, noticing slippers covering the King’s feet. And then he did the most unexpected thing. He pulled up the material clinging to his thighs and crouched down in front of you. Your eyes immediately finding the electric blue in his.

“Wow…”, your voice was a mere whisper, making him chuckle. If you had looked at him longer, you would’ve noticed the faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’m Elvis, honey.”, he said in a light tone. “And what’s the name of the pretty little thing playing piano in the Jungle Room?”

Your eyes lifted up to meet his again. “I’m Y/N. I’m sorry Mr—“

“Elvis. Mr Presley is my daddy.”

You nodded quickly as you thought you were in trouble for invading his personal space.

“I’m sorry, Elvis. It’s just that— Julie was talking to Mary and they’ve known each other for years and I couldn’t just jump in the conversation—“

Elvis smiled at you, already knowing where your words were going to lead. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“And then I stumbled in the kitchen for the juice, because I don’t drink— And then I found the stairs and, uh, now I’m here.”, you finished, utterly flushed with embarrassment. Elvis nodded and huffed.

“Quite the journey for a little honey like you, no?”, Elvis tilted his head to get a better look at you and felt his heartbeat speed up.

“I-I guess.”, your cheeks were now a rich cherry-red colour. You couldn’t hold his piercing gaze, so your eyes found comfort on the rings adorning his fingers.

“What do you say we sing another song, honey? Just you and I?”, at his request, your lips parted as you wordlessly nodded.

That was the song that sealed you two together. And the rest is history.

A/N: cutie pie - like chapter. soft reader and sassy/loving elvis are my all time favorite. if you have any requests, don't hesitate to let me know!

MASTERLIST

[assortedvillainvault]

Idk if you having writing requests open or anything but is there a chance you could write headcanons for Captain Hook and Y/N who is royalty (Prince/princess/king/queen/monarch/etc)? tia!!

You can always see if requests are open in my blog description! And, y’know, the few times they haven’t been I’ve just turned off asks to be frank, so you’re golden don’t worry.

Captain Hook x Royal!Reader

I’m seeing this as a political runaway situation.

You have no interest in adhering to the strangling confines of your birth role – but a kidnapping gone wrong wasn’t exactly your preferred exit plan.

Captain James Hook blasts his way aboard your vessel with smoke and cannon, and while the cries of your officers make you wince, you know the only reason he was able to get within 1000 yards of your vessel is because the council had surreptitiously rendered your support ships as ‘needed elsewhere’.

Hook likely wasn't a paid assassin in the traditional sense, but he was a convenient excuse for your enemies to place a puppet on the throne faster than one could register you were missing.

You gather your courage and march towards the pirate, head held high amongst the blades of his men. You try not to look at the bodies of your crew as you step in their blood.

“Captain James Hook, I take it?”

He bows and sweeps his ridiculously large hat off with a smirk that you tried very hard not to be at least a little taken by. “Your Royal Highness~” You whip your hand away as he moves to kiss it, and you catch his eye twitch a little before he smooths his face back out. He gestures back to his ship. “Care to join us?”

Though phrased nicely, it wasn’t a suggestion.

Your hostage situation turns out to be the kind of blessing you only mildly regret. True, you can’t leave the ship. But the open sea? The chance to finally use your arms and legs for more than bland ballroom dances? The fact no-one will slap your hand down if you flip Mr. Starkey the bird?

Bliss.

Hook always uses your title, playing up his gentleman tendencies even as you roll your eyes and grow more comfortable aboard ship. He’ll take even the slightest chance to have you on his arm, and makes sure that you have ways to keep clean and eat better than the rest of the crew.

You’re almost unrecognisable. Hair loose, clothes simple, hands rough from work as you learn the ropes aboard ship just for something to do. But even as far from grace as you’ve fallen, you know the price on your head must be in the thousands, and even if your old kingdom doesn’t want you, there are plenty of others who would pay.

“Captain.”

“Hmm?” Hook idly plays his good hand over the piano keys. You’re in his cabin, the night outside dark.

You draw a deep breath in. And out. “When are you going to ransom me?” Your voice only shook a little, and you allow yourself a little bit of pride for that.

Silence. Hook spins to face you, eyes soft. “Darling...” He begins. He rises, hook glinting, and comes to cup your cheek.

“...I abandoned any thought of your ransom the moment you came aboard, love."

[justnother-user]

Matt, Mello, and Mello/Matt HCs I’ve had stuck in my head for months

Matt

• Uses 3-1 shampoo, conditioner, body wash

• Black nail polish

• Bi, no preference

• Saggy pants, belt only for looks (fashion over function <3)

• Smokes newports

• HATES VAPES

• Finger guns in pictures

• Has the crunchiest hair from the constant dying and bleaching

• Goes to sleep at 6am and wakes at like 9am (barely functioning)

• GAUGES!!! (like small ones not the huge ones)

• Burnt out from the pressure at Wammys

• Has used heroin like 3 times minimum (idk why)

• Dimples

• Canadian, brought to England

• Super dehydrated (pees out battery acid)

• Glasses (googles have his prescription on them)

• Jewish (non practicing)

• Bullies kids on Roblox

• Hates the French

• Wears boxers

• Hates Mountain Dew

• Sleeps on an air mattress (always wakes up basically on the floor)

• 80% of shirts are stripes (me too king 🫶)

• Almost better than Near when it comes to technology

• Flip phone has a little Pac-Man ghost charm on it

• Has a tamagotchi

• Can’t cook for shit

• Uses astrology as an excuse not to do stuff (“Mercurys in retrograde sorry can’t do it :P”)

Mello

• Coke head (again idk why it just suits him)

• Plays the piano (badly)

• Bi, preference towards men

• Big coffee lover (black coffee, anything with milk and sugar is “basically a milkshake”)

• Catholic (mostly for the aesthetic, but does go to mass on Sundays)

• Wears boxer briefs

• Lowkey knitter (like knits in secret)

• Constantly overheating

• Reading glasses

• Prefers dark chocolate (hates white chocolate bc “its not real chocolate”)

• Pescatarian

• Russian or Latvian (no one really knows, he doesn’t care)

• Internalized homophobia

• Cat person

• Tried to get into sewing but kept messing up

• Vision loss in his left eye from the explosion

• Left handed (tried to make himself ambidextrous)

Mello/Matt

• Mello buys Matt nice lighters and ashtrays but Matt never uses them because “they’re too nice”

• Mello paints both of their nails and gets mad when Matt accidentally smudges them

• Mello cuts Matt’s hair, if he doesn’t Matt would be walking around with a mop head

• Matt does sudoku while Mello does crossword puzzles

• Mello is a total passenger princess when in Matt’s car

• Mello knits Matt beanies

• Mello helps Matt dye his hair

• Matt has cyberstalked Mello’s exes

• They both have cheated on each other but they don’t care (yes they do)

• If it wasn’t for Mello, Matt would have no social life

• SUPER on again/off again

[jsluvtzu]

weekend gigs

kim dahyun x fem!reader

summary: the new girl makes your shift worthwhile

cw: none, men dni

wc: 1.7k

a/n: my favorite pic of dahyun ever 😞 seeing clips of her playing piano inspired me to write this. she’s so gf i love her

it was a particularly busy sunday evening. the bustling environment in the restaurant simmered down as the faint sound of a piano filled the room.

you were busy waiting on tables in the main dining area as well, constantly on the move to attend to every customer.

“i heard we got a new saturday player.. they finally let poor john rest,” your coworker said.

john was an older gentleman — he was a lounge pianist at the restaurant for about 9 years.

he genuinely loved spending his weekends there, but he was growing weaker at his age, unable to hit the right keys or play the right notes anymore.

you swiftly picked up a tray full of dishes that the cook handed you, “aw, really? i’ll actually kinda miss john.. he was a sweetheart,” you said, slightly disheartened, but glad that he was getting the rest that he deserved.

you wondered who the new player could be, but the three tables waiting for your attention cut your curiosity short.

as you made your way to a seated couple in the lounge area, you subtly glanced over to the stage to catch a glimpse of the newbie.

a.. woman?, you thought.

you couldn’t see much of this unexpected woman in the quick glance that you took — her dark, long, wavy hair draped over her shoulder.

it was a refreshing change to see a new person on the stage for once — nothing against sweet old john, but it was just time for a new set of songs.

quickly taking their order, you excused yourself and made your way back to the kitchen, purposely taking the route that would get you as close to the stage as possible.

the melody that she played grew louder as you approached her, the skill practically bouncing off her fingertips.

you held the notepad tightly in your hand as you passed by the grand piano, tracking the woman with your head locked onto observing her features.

woah, was all you could think of as you finally saw her face — her glowing skin, a faint smile on her lips, and her captivating eyes.

the woman felt you staring at her and took her eyes off of her note sheet to meet yours.

she smiled wide at you, making you nearly collide with another waiter, your head never once turning away from her.

“oh shit- sorry!” you apologized, reluctantly peeling your eyes away to plead with your coworker not to kill you.

—

a few hours passed and your shift finally ended.

you punched in your code to clock out of the system in the back, deeply sighing out as you stretched your back and waited for the computer to load.

the restaurant was fairly empty at that point, the late hours creeping up on the corporate workers that came in to relax before a long week of work.

you grabbed your backpack and headed out to leave, still hearing the entrancing sounds coming from the ambient lounge.

stopping in your tracks, you decided against leaving right away and traipsed your way over to the entrance of the lounge hall.

she was still up there playing away, her smile never fading.

you made your way over to an empty couch towards the middle and set your things down, taking a seat and immediately feeling yourself relax.

the way she swayed along slightly with the music and gracefully moved her hands on the keys made your tired lips curl into a slight smile. you could see the passion and love she had for music in the way she tenderly played every note with precision.

every once in a while, the woman would look over her shoulder at you and smile, almost like she was checking on you.

time passed by in the blink of an eye — what felt like five minutes quickly turned into thirty.

you were the only one left in the lounge now, the once busy night turning into a quiet and peaceful one.

the woman ended her last song with a drawn out riff, sitting up straight and stretching her wrists from fatigue.

you followed her action and took your chin out of the hand you had rested on your knee, sitting up slowly.

you were contemplating if you should sneak out before she thinks you’re weird for watching her that long, or if you should just stay and talk to this pretty, pretty lady.

ultimately, you decided on the former, grabbing your bag and quietly shuffling your way to the exit.

“wait! i- i just-” the woman blurted, shooting up from the bench and frantically stepping down the small stairs on the front of the stage.

you froze and snapped your head in her direction, anticipating a creeped out response.

her high heels thumped against the velvet carpet, “i just wanted to say thank you for.. staying.”

she was face to face with you now — fidgeting with the ends of her black dress and beaming at you with nothing except gratitude in her eyes.

you gripped the strap of your backpack hanging on your right shoulder as she came closer to you, praying you didn’t stink of any food or worse.

“y-yeah, it was nothing really. i enjoyed watching you or- not watching you i just really enjoyed your performance.. skills… yeah,” you stuttered, tripping over your own jumbled words under her gaze.

she let out a small laugh at your shyness, squinting and smiling with her pretty eyes, “well, i’m glad you enjoyed it,” she held out her hand, “i’m dahyun. it’s actually my first night here!”

you took her hand and introduced yourself with a firm handshake, “nice to meet you dahyun, i’m y/n,” you said with a returned smile, “how often do you plan on playing here?”

“i actually took up all the weekend spots. i think it’s more fun to play when people come with a work stress-free mind anyways,” she said, dropping her hand from your grasp and reaching it up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

how convenient — it just so happens that you worked the night shifts every weekend.

“yeah? the boss must really like you then. it’s not common for him to have an artist play consecutively like that.”

you wondered just how talented dahyun was for your boss to take her on so often.

dahyun nodded, “i guess so.. i just played a song for him one day and he signed me on for all weekends!” she said with another bright smile.

“how can you even play so well? seriously, i’m amazed at how talented you are on that piano.”

she hesitated to answer, giggling and turning her head down, “well.. how about i show you?”

you waited for her to look back up at you, “i would love that.”

dahyun excitedly turned and headed back up on the stage, sliding her way to the left side of the bench.

you soon followed behind her, dropping your backpack at the edge of the piano and scooting in next to her on the right.

at this distance, you could smell the floral perfume she used and felt the coldness of her skin when her arm grazed yours.

“so you see this key right here?” she pointed in front of you, “just press down on it like this,” she pressed the key rhythmically every couple beats, making sure you followed her tempo.

you hummed in agreement and practiced on your own, looking over at her for approval.

surprisingly, she was already looking at you — her eyes filled with adoration.

“exactly like that, you got it!” she said, positioning her hands to play a slow melody.

the impromptu duet between you two echoed against the walls of the empty lounge, mixed laughter and giggles erupting from both of you.

you helped dahyun by pressing your assigned key at the right time, watching as her fingers danced along the white tiles.

her presence was warm — calming almost. you felt comfortable being around her even though you’d just barely met her a couple hours ago.

—

after another half an hour of you two messing around together, you eventually closed up the place and offered to walk dahyun home.

“do you live near here?” you said, walking alongside dahyun on the sidewalk.

“yeah, about two blocks down. i hope it’s not too far for you.. i hate that you have to go all this way just to walk me home,” she said worriedly.

“it’s not a problem at all. gotta make sure the talent gets home safe, right?”

dahyun laughed at your corny joke, her hand covering her mouth.

you wished she knew how beautiful her smile was and how amazing she looked up on that stage.

“right, right,” she giggled, stuffing her hands in the pockets of your jacket that you insisted on her wearing.

when you arrived at dahyun’s place, it was hard to put a stop to the flowing conversation you had.

she was easy and fun to talk to, a trait that wasn’t common in the people that you usually met.

“well, this is my place. thank you again for walking with me.”

you didn’t know it at the time, but dahyun didn’t want the night to end any more than you did.

“of course, dahyun. it was really nice to meet you.”

dahyun looked down at the jacket she had on, realizing that it wasn’t hers, “oh! your jacket! here, take it please, i’m so sorry,” she said, rushing to slide it off of her shoulders and hand it back to you.

you refused to take it back and assured her that she could keep it, “no, no, it’s fine really. keep it. you can just give it back to me next saturday!”

silently high-fiving yourself, you succeeded in creating an excuse for her to talk to you the next time you met.

“are you sure?”

you nodded with a big smile on your face, “i’m sure.”

dahyun thanked you again and brought you in for a goodbye hug, clinging onto you as you awkwardly wrapped your arms around her.

saying your goodbyes, dahyun put her number in your phone and emphasized the importance of you getting home safely.

your mind was filled with thoughts of her the whole way home — hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time you’d have the opportunity to be with her like that.

little did you know,

it was only the beginning.

[beegomess]

Dark Paradise | Theodore Nott

Don't forget to read the previous chapters here

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

04. Swan Lake

They were still children when they played in the huge garden of the Malfoy Mansion, Y/N saw them from the window of one of the large halls of the house. She was jealous, her brother, Draco, seemed to have fun with his friends running through the corridors of the huge maze of bushes. While she took classes of all kinds: violin, piano, ballet, French, Italian and so many other classes. Ballet was beautiful, but it was the worst, the most demanding. She waited for the private teacher to arrive while watching them, the sneakers already well tied while she warmed up with the help of the bar and looked at them with sadness.

Now, a few years later, she was in the same place, but without the sadness, without any of those boys to feel jealous of and, of course, without her teacher too demanding for a simple child. Dancing made her calmer, and after last night's incident, Y/N used the first excuse to return home, even without her brother. She would return in a few days, of course, her classes were not over yet. However, she didn't want to risk facing Nott at that moment, much less the looks of Pansy and Mattheo.

The large room now seemed small, even though I kept a dance routine during the holidays, I felt the nostalgia of being there. Another Y/N saw herself in the mirror now, older and with less silly problems going through her head, she smiled as she remembered the various fights she had had with Draco when he insisted on not letting her play with her friends, who today were almost made men, and that now, one of them was the most recurrent in her restless mind.

Classical music plays smoothly filling the whole room. He remembers all the commands of his demanding teacher. Posture, arms in a delicate and precise movement, legs in the same way, the scapulas opened and closed like wings, the tips of the sneaker roared when peaking the floor with the movements. Accelerated breathing, but always perfectly controlled. And moving towards the end, the music slowed down and the movements became less and less agitated.

- I miss you so much at home. - Narcisa watched her majestically, as always. She had a smile and a proud look at her daughter, who smiled in response.

- How did I do? - The search for Y/N approval transpires a little while untying the sneakers on a bench.

- Perfect as always, my love. - The woman smiles - You and Draco should spend more weekends at home. This place seems so empty without you. - Narcisa approaches her daughter and watches her closely still with affection.

- We miss you too. - Narcisa realizes the lack of mention to her husband and looks at her with a disguised disapproval. - What? Our father is always at Hogwarts thanks to Draco's behavior. - They laugh

- You're not totally wrong, of course. - The older one sits next to her - Look, your father and I had plans for tonight. Let's go to a theater with some friends, you should come with us.

- I don't know, I know how dad doesn't like to have us among his business, I don't want to get in the way. - Y/N felt insecure about talking about his own father and that made Narcisa's heart squeeze.

- No way, dear. He was the one who asked me to call you. - She takes the girl's hand and smiles - Come with us. You have no idea how bored I am with Mrs. Berkshire. - Narcisa confesses and makes the girl laugh.

- All right. - She agrees. - Wow, I think I haven't seen them in years. - Y/N comments and they continue the conversation as they walk down the hallway to Y/N's room.

[...]

Y/N went down the stairs in his black scarpin, with a dress of the same color, he had a light neckline and the straps were dropped on his shoulders delicately. The dress went up to the height of his ankles, leaving his feet on display, the skirt quite round and structured, while the bust and torso were pressed in the right measure by the top of the dress. On his lap, a delicate shiny necklace decorated his skin, his hair was in the same hairstyle as the ball of the previous day, a clutch in his hands and his apparent skin was covered by a shawl of the same color and fabric as the dress.

- She is more and more like her mother. - Lúcios looked at her with pride at the foot of the stairs accompanied by his wife.

- I'm happy about that, thank you. - Y/N responds timidly, demonstrations of affection were not your father's strength.

And in a few seconds they set up in the entrance hall of the theater, Y/N observes the number of wizards present there, at all times she needed to stop and greet someone who greeted her father. Now I understood your mother for being easily bored. And in a few more steps, they stop again, Y/N hoped to greet and follow, as she had done in the last 15 minutes when she was shown by her parents as in a shop window. That wasn't a very youthful place and when she saw a boy approach his parents, just as she was slightly surprised, she didn't think she would be the only one her age, but she didn't expect to find someone so quickly. While her parents greeted each other and the other couple admired her and said how she had grown up, she notices the boy's gaze on her by her peripheral look.

- Honey, I imagine you must still remember Lorenzo. - Your mother starts. - You, Draco and Lorenzo were very stuck together as a child, remember? - Y/N looked at the boy in front of you and then his memory rescued Lorenzo from the bottom of his childhood memories.

- Oh, of course. As I could forget, I'm sorry. - Y/N said smiling and extending his hand to the boy and opened a breathtaking smile and promptly held her hand, leaving a light kiss on top of it.

- It's really been a long time, everything is fine! - He said kind.

Well, Lorenzo was certainly no longer that annoying brat who took his dolls and hid them. And even at that time Y/N already had a crush on the boy who, secretly, felt the same. However, now he was grown up and very handsome for sure. Well, actually, beautiful would be the ideal adjective for him. The 11-year-old Y/N suffered a lot when she found out that Lorenzo, affectionately nicknamed Enzo, had not been selected for Hogwarts like her and Draco, but for some other of which she did not even remember so much frustration she had felt at the time.

- I didn't know you had aged so much to come to events like this. - Y/N jokes after making sure that none of the adults there would hear.

- For your information, my mother forced me after your mother asked me to come and keep you company. - Enzo says convinced while laughing, Y/N unleashes in a shock and shame for his mother's cunning. - Can I? - The parents of both begin to move and Enzo offers his arm to Y/N and intertwines it with hers.

- I can't believe she did that. - She said still in disbelief, making the boy laugh slightly. The youngest walked behind their parents through long corridors of accents and stairs, that place seemed to have no end.

- Lucky for you that I came home a little earlier, if I wouldn't be alone in this terrible place. - He jokes approaching her, who in turn laughs again. - Although I wouldn't have been a problem having unmarked any plan I had today to see you. - He pauses and Y/N looks at him, a little amazed at his tranquility in confessing here to her. The girl gives a half smile in gratitude. - It's been a long time since we've seen each other, Y/N, and you really look very beautiful, even more than before. - Enzo said this a little more serious now, and Y/N could swear that he would have stopped walking on time if it wasn't for him taking his arm.

Before she could answer, her parents called her from the stairs that went up to the higher cabins with a privileged view of the stage. She sat next to Lorenzo, which made her slightly nervous, and she didn't know why. Her hand was supported, she hit her fingers lightly against the old wood of the arm of the chair to the rhythm of the music she used to dance to, when suddenly, Lorenzo caught her.

Y/N hook his breath for a moment and didn't look at him, both ignoring the touch of his hands. Y/N felt nervous about Lorenzo's touch and dramatic music, but for a second she closed her eyes, trying to get Theodore out of her mind. For some reason, all that turned her mind like a whirlwind of memories that suffocated her, it was as if with every breath she gave the scene of him touching her body came back with all his strength, her skin shivered just remembering Theodore's mouth on her lips and neck.

That really looked like torture. By Merlin, how she would like to be with him now.

She couldn't stand it, and asked permission to go to the toilet, there she wet a towel and positioned it on the back of her neck and then went through her neck, lap and arms. Y/N stared at herself in the mirror for a moment and began to realize that something was happening in her heart, she had never been like this for anyone before. The girl decided to ignore this at the moment, pull herself together and return to her seat. She was relieved that Lorenzo didn't try to take her hand anymore.

- I hope to see you soon, Y/N. - Enzo said goodbye in the same way he greeted her and Y/N just nodded with a light smile.

[...]

- I only stopped by to say good night. - Narcisa was passing through the half-open door of Y/N's room. The girl was already lying down just reading a book. - I'll miss you, dear, it was so little time. - And it really was, Y/N would go back to school the next day very early.

- Don't worry, mom, Draco and I will be back soon. - The girl puts the book on the bedside table and smiles at the older one.

- We didn't even have time to talk. - Narcisa sits on the edge of Y/N's bed. - I saw the way Lorenzo looked at you today. - She had a silly smile on her lips. - He seems to like you, he looks at you with so much adoration.

- Mom! By Merlin, he's almost a stranger to me now. - The girl says indignant, but laughing.

- A stranger who held his hand all the time, I saw it myself. - Y/N can't help but roll his eyes in response.

- I don't want to talk about it now, mom.

- All right. - The woman answers in surrender. - So, who took you to the dance yesterday? - Y/N stiffens with the question, and your mother notices.

- Theodore. - She answers simply, hoping that Narcisa will not prolong the subject.

- Nott? - Y/N nods - I didn't know you liked him. - she said getting out of bed.

- We're just good friends, that's all. - All right, maybe that was exaggerated.

- Oh, yes, I see. - Your mother smiles with false innocence and leans over to kiss the girl's forehead - Good night, dear.

- Good evening, mom. - The woman closes the bedroom door with a light smile, I already understand everything.

Y/N, however, seemed even more confusing...

____________________________________

xoxo, bee✨🫶🏼 next chapter>>>

[charlieischaos]

Posting my headcanons bc I’m a silly billy ‼️‼️‼️

Lute Headcanons

Christian (duh)

She/Her

Bisexual with a preference for Adam (but she hasn’t admitted she’s bisexual yet)

Badass 🗣️🗣️

Hates most people except for Adam, Emily and Sera. Emily’s like a younger sister for her, Sera like a mother and Adam a role model, best friend & partner (in crime and in romance)

Trained herself in self defence as well as fighting (though it wasn’t necessary til the events of episode 8)

Loves horror movies

Doesn’t like musicals too much but actually got pretty into school of rock cuz of Adam

Loves fighting, would willingly kill anyone who fucks with her or the people she cares about

Easily jealous, especially when Adam’s literally flirting with others or calling other people hot (which is often)

Reserved in public, clingy in private (especially post episode 8 following the theory of Adam being down in hell now ‼️)

Scared of being abandoned

Has never cried around anyone nor will she ever cry around anyone (she’d only ever cry around Adam if she absolutely had to, for example episode 8, but that’s RARE.)

Autistic.

Adam Headcanons

Christian (DUH???)

He/Him

Pansexual (took forever to admit it, a combo of “$20 is $20” and “if there is a hole there is a goal” mentality)

Alex Brightman enthusiast

Loves rock (like he’ll only listen to rock or rock-like music)

School Of Rock fan (his favourite song is stick it to the man)

Egotistical, self-centred prick (but he still loves Lute)

Pro guitar player

Will only ever cry around Lute and it’s also very rare cuz it makes him feel weak

“All women belong in the kitchen (not Lute tho she belongs in my arms 🗣️🔥💕)” Adam, probably

Clingy both out in public and in private

Not easily jealous but if anyone tries ANYTHING he WILL get defensive asf like “mf that’s my woman” type shit

Terrified to love (bc of Lilith and Eve, though it was his fault he doesn’t think it’s his fault)

Gets terrified watching horror movies and spends majority of it not actually watching it

Scared of storms 😭

Joint (Guitarspear) Headcanons

Lute and Adam defo play instruments together (Adam plays guitar and Lute plays piano or sings)

They hang out and gossip about the other Exorcists or the fuckers in hell every night while sitting on a rooftop and drinking alcohol (they probably stargaze too if they can)

They have matching bracelets that say danger tits and dickmaster for sure (Adam rarely wears it when out with Lute since he doesn’t think men should wear jewellery but he still wears it whenever he can when he’s not out in public)

They’re that one duo that judges anyone and everyone, if you’re judgable you’re being judged by them

They hype each other up constantly (examples: Lute in Hell Is Forever, Adam in You Didn’t Know)

Adam probably tries to impress Lute with his amazing guitar solos

Adam fell first Lute fell harder

They count down to the extermination like it’s New Years 😭😭

Lute could NOT handle Adam’s death (very sad 😔)

(Post Episode 8)Lute defo goes down to hell just to make sure Adam’s okay even though that’s extremely risky for her (BC WE ALL KNOW ADAMS GONNA BE DOWN THERE)

They both love drama so they just cause chaos together

They refer to themselves as partners (but use the excuse of it being partners in crime)

Adam is extremely bad at giving or handling physical affection and Lute is extremely good at both most of the time (it depends when)

Adam randomly picks up Lute to piss her off (the height difference is laughable)

Lute has selfies they both took prior to each extermination stuck up on her wall

Adam can’t handle horror movies at all so during watching horror movies Adam would be terrified (though too egotistical to actually admit it) while Lute is just being critical about killers and enjoying the movie

Adam is usually the one to incite flirting, whenever Lute flirts she’s just taking advantage of the situation

Lute only calls Adam by his name if she’s pissed and usually calls him sir

They tell inappropriate jokes 24/7 for fun (half the time the jokes lead to flirting 😭)

Lute has a horrible sleep schedule and so just falls asleep randomly during the day if she’s not gotten enough sleep (averages like 2 or so hours max if she’s lucky) and usually either falls asleep on Adam or Adam has to catch her if she collapses

Pillow fights.

Adam has to take care of Lute’s wings bc she’s reckless and usually doesn’t give a shit about her wings but Adam cares and so usually is the one to preen them and make them look better

@gothlute i wanna tag you in this cuz you’re the reason i decided to post these so enjoy!!

[he-died-lottie]

Yellowjackets Band AU Headcanon Part 1

Shauna Shipman X Jackie Taylor background Lottie Mathews x Natalie Scatorccio

summary: The girls are in a band... Jackie struggles with how to cope with Shauna branching out away from her

warnings: Jackie dates jeff, jealousy, homoerotic friendship, no crash, slightly angsty, not proofread

Natalie, Shauna, Misty, Lottie, and Van start a band called “Antler Queens” 🦌.

The idea sparks one day during a conversation about their musical tastes when they realize they all play instruments, and Natalie has an incredible voice, powerful like rock vocals but capable of hitting a killer riff or belt.

Van is, of course, the drummer. Misty surprises everyone as the lead guitarist, and she's amazing. Shauna plays keyboards, thanks to her childhood piano lessons. Lottie plays bass, and Natalie thinks she looks fantastic in her short skirts. Natalie is the lead singer but can also play guitar to add extra depth to their sound.

Their first song is an '80s cover, but they don't vibe with singing about loving men. During a practice session, they all come out to each other, embracing their identities. Wlw for the win.

Shauna asks Jackie to join the band, recalling how she played soccer for her, but Jackie scoffs, “I’m not joining some loser band.”

Shauna hides her hurt and continues with the band anyway.

They practice after soccer or on weekends to avoid neglecting their team commitments.

Despite their efforts, Jackie still complains, needing someone to drive her to the mall. Secretly, she misses Shauna.

Lottie and Nat are always first to arrive at practice, maybe for a few minutes alone together.

On stage, Natalie always seems to be looking back at a certain bassist.

Natalie and Shauna write most of the lyrics, while the rest of the band collaborates on composing the music. Their songs all have a distinctively gay spice.

Shauna is nervous before performances but eases into it once she starts her backup vocals.

Their first gig is at a bar on the outskirts of town.

Shauna invites Jackie, who says she might come if Jeff drives her.

When Shauna steps on stage, she doesn't see Jackie in the crowd, and her heart sinks.

She misses a couple of notes as self-doubt creeps in. But during their third song, she spots Jackie at the back, leaning against Jeff, swaying to the lyrics Shauna wrote about her. Shauna doesn't care that Jeff is there because Jackie showed up.

Jeff starts getting frisky with Jackie, but she swats him away.

“Stop it! Shauna’s singing; I need to hear her.” Shauna’s voice, soft and sweet, blends beautifully with Natalie’s lower tones.

Jackie wants to listen all night but notices people staring at Shauna and leaves before the last song ends.

Shauna doesn't notice until she's off stage and sees Jackie's empty spot. Jackie struggles with her feelings, feeling flustered seeing Shauna so happy, carefree, and hot on stage.

Hearing Shauna sing about a girl using she/her pronouns makes her blush.

Nat and Lottie’s situation heats up, and they sneak off to make out in a bathroom stall during a celebratory drink outing.

Misty notices Lottie's blush during practice and confides, “Someone's got a crush! Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. I have a secret girlfriend too.”

Neither realizes they both like Nat, who’s been extra kind to Misty.

Misty misinterprets Nat’s kindness as a crush, oblivious to Nat and Lottie’s mutual heart-eyes.

Shauna asks Jackie to more gigs, but Jackie always has excuses, blaming Jeff or homework.

Shauna hides her hurt, while Jackie questions, “Why does seeing my best friend on stage make me want to kiss her?”

This question swirls in Jackie's head, keeping her distant. Shauna thinks Jackie is jealous of her doing something without her.

Finally, Jackie attends another gig without Jeff, hiding in the back where Shauna can’t see her.

The crowd has grown since the last time.

A girl at the bar flirts with Shauna, who politely smiles back, unaware that Jackie is seething with jealousy.

‘How dare Shauna smile at this bimbo when she's mine!’ Jackie thinks, staring daggers at them.

After the show, Jackie is too angry to compliment Shauna.

“You finally came to see us. What did you think?” Shauna asks.

“I liked it until that stupid song about some girl you just met.”

“You think my song is stupid?” Tears form in Shauna’s eyes, but Jackie doesn't stop.

“No—I mean, yes, but—”

“Of course, you think the song I wrote about you is stupid. Typical. You love everything revolving around you, and now this isn’t good enough for you. Save me the pity,” Shauna snaps and storms past Jackie.

“You wrote it about me?” Jackie’s words go unheard as Shauna rushes out, bumping into Nat and Lottie mid-makeout.

“Shit, man! Watch where you’re going—Shauna?!” Nat exclaims.

Nat and Lottie didn’t plan to announce their relationship this way, asking Shauna to keep it secret, but she's too pissed to care.

[dre6ming]

The delicate beginning rush- imagine

Unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her

Masterlist <chapters 1->14 here>

Some things are meant to be - chapter 13 (y/n) pov

The delicate beginning rush imagines masterlist

Get added to my tag list

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Warning: age gap (10 years), fluff

Plot: (y/n) was secretly asked to be part of the Elvis Soundtrack and perform live at the Cannes premiere, this is Austin’s reaction to it.

Word count: 1900

Austin's point of view

The clapping started a while ago and it doesn't seem to stop. I have tears in my eyes, salt streams running down my cheeks as I look up, thanking my mom's spirit, Elvis's and God. In my whole two decades long career I've never felt this type of happiness and relief. The room is just filled with this beautiful energy, there's happiness flowing in the air, but there's a heaviness to it all, as everyone seems to be holding back tears. I turn to my left and hug Olivia briefly, whispering a sincere "thank you" in her ear, moving further through the crowd, hugging everyone in sight. I'm overwhelmed with people's reaction and I'm joyful to accept every compliment and hug, but there's this gaping hole in my heart, like something is missing. I can't put my finger on what it is, but in the back of my mind there's this voice telling me exactly what I'm longing for.

She couldn't be here, how could she? She's not my girlfriend publicly, she's not involved with the movie, as far the public knew, she's had no excuse to come to the premiere, even though I wanted it so bad.

As soon as my mind circles back to her, I can't help but wish this would all be over so I could go back to my hotel room and call her, hear her voice, tell how proud I am of her singing, how hearing her voice brought me to tears. I just know (y/n) and Baz must of worked really hard to keep this a secret, not only from the media, but from me as well. I smile to myself thinking about all those times I asked her about the secret project she was working on and she would simply smile, saying I'll know soon enough.

I reach my hand into my jacket, looking for my phone to see if she answered my text, more like hoping she did, but before I can, a hand touches my shoulder. "Austin, everyone back in their seats, there's one last surprise." Baz announces, directing me back to my seat next to him. The room goes completely silent and all the lights go out, leaving us in pitch black. There's some ruffling noise, then a deep breath echoes through the theater. Soft piano starts playing and a single light shines on the floor, bringing into focus a white piano, a replica of the one Elvis had in Graceland. The breath gets caught in the back of my throat as my eyes make out who's playing.

"Wise men say, only fools rush in...But I can't help falling in love with you"

(Y/n)'s enchanting voice fills the room, making my heart throb. She looks beautiful, in a dark blue gown, with silver stars on it. Her soft hair is pulled back and she has glitter all over her face, which sparkles with every movement of her head. She has her eyes closed, singing softly, her delicate fingers brushing the piano keys.

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes. Some things are...meant to be"

I can't take my eyes off of her and my feet carry me out of my chair unconsciously. New tears form in my eyes and I try to blink them away, but all that effort goes out the window when she turns her head to the audience. She opens up her beautiful eyes, searching the audience, spotting me immediately, since I'm the only one standing. (Y/n)'s eyes glimmer in the light, tears glossing them. She smiles at me, a single tear sliding down her round rosy cheek and onto the piano keys.

"Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you"

She keeps singing, looking into my eyes, smiling bright and blinking through the tears. I'm wiping away my own tears, feeling the thud of my heart against my chest. All I see is her, all I hear is her, all I want is her. It's so strange to try and explain, to try and understand, this undeniable attraction I feel for her. I watch her and I'm intrigued by her presence, by her ability to wield such power. In the months since I've met her, she's consumed my every thought, I fall asleep dreaming about her eyes and I wake up imagining I hear her voice.

I hate playing pretend, the whole fake relationship thing is really starting to piss me off. I wish I could just run up to her, lift her up in my arms and spin her around, kiss her plush lips.

"For I can't help falling in love with you..."

As she finishes the song, I'm left with this feeling, the feeling that she was somehow singing to me and I realize how much I wish that were true. As people start clapping and standing, cheering her on, I understand the weight that's sitting on my heart. I've fallen in love with her. There's no denying, that I want her to be my everything, I feel it in all my bones. She's my one.

Baz shakes me awake, hugging me, asking me what I thought of the performance. I'm speechless, I smile and say some gibberish that doesn't make much sense. My feet burn in my shoes, I want to move so bad, to go be by her side.

Before I can stop myself, I'm moving, making a bee line for her, focusing only on her. I love the way her face lights up when we lock eyes, I love the blush that comes to her cheeks, I love the way her lips stretch over her teeth in the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I come to a stop, standing a few inches away from her, looking at her, forcing my hands to stay unmoved at my sides. "I-" she opens her mouth to say, but she's interrupted by Baz, coming form behind me.

"(Y/n) oh my, I have goosebumps all over, that was so beautiful, congratulations." She looks down, fidgeting with her dress. "Thank you, Baz, it means a lot." (Y/n) says smiling, sniffing a bit. I open my mouth to give my congratulations to her as well, but I'm once more interrupted, this time by Priscilla, handing her a tissue so she could wipe away her tears. "Here you go, honey, a beautiful performance, Elvis would be happy to see his legacy carried this way." Priscilla says and I see on (y/n)'s face how proud she feels hearing this.

Before I know it a photographer comes at us. "Smile!" He says and I drag her by the waist, keeping her close to my side. My fingers absentmindedly dance over the soft fabric of her dress and I feel her tense under my touch, smirking to myself, loving that I have this effect on her. "Miss, one picture over at the piano please, Mr Butler, join her at the piano please." The photographer directs and she moves, holding the front of her dress up. I sit down next to her, helping her arrange the skirt of the dress as she whispers a soft "thank you".

I smile for the camera, but being this close to her, does things to me, I can't explain, so I find my hand fumbling around for the slit of her dress, finding it and placing the palm of my hand on her knee. I hear the way her breath gets caught in her chest and I play it cool, praying no one would dare look under the piano.

After a couple of photos, I'm unfortunately pulled away into conversation with someone and she gathers up her dress and leaves. I feel this energy pulling at my insides, like a string that ties me to her and putting distance between us, hurts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her talking to Kaia and it's now that I wish I had supernatural hearing, because I know how she feels about the whole fake relationship thing, I know she understands, but I also know she hates it.

I have to focus my attention back to my conversation and reply, mentally sighing when the person loses interest and leaves. I turn around and see her walking up to me, her closeness making my heart race. "Austin..." my name sounds so good coming out of her mouth, if I could hear only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be her saying my name over and over again. I smile at her and she bites her lip, causing a groan to bubble in my throat, but I stop it before it's too late. "You're so beautiful, can I hug you?" I need to feel her warmth against my body, it's been too long since I had the chance to. Her eyes wonder around the room, probably looking for people watching our interaction. "Thank you, I- do you think we could?" It breaks my heart that the right answer it's probably no, but I'm so hungry for her touch, I can't think logically. "I think it's just a hug.." I shrug, knowing full well it's not just a hug. "Ok" she replies.

That's all I need, to scoop her up in my arms, squeezing her tight, lifting her feet off the ground and burying my face in the crook of her neck. (Y/n) tenses in my arms and I know she's overthinking this, I know she's scared someone might see, but I can't bring myself to care. "Too much Austin, people will see!" She warns, speaking into my ear, causing shivers to travel down my spine.

"Let them, I couldn't give a fuck!" It's like I'm drunk, my head is fuzzy and I can't think straight. My senses are drowned in her floral scent, her soft hair brushing against my cheek, driving me crazy, as I'm having a hard time not lacing my fingers through her hair. I squeeze her tighter, almost wishing she could melt into me and be forever close. "Aus, baby please, not now, not like this, you just had the longest standing ovation in the festival's history, don't ruin your moment." She tries to reason with me and I can't deny her. The proud tone in her voice making me want to cry again, her opinion matters so much to me.

Slowly I loosen my arms and place her back on the ground, physically hurting when I no longer have her flush to my chest. Sighing I drop my arms to my side, like a child trying to be good after doing something they shouldn't have. I bite my lip and look her up and down, taking in her beauty. "Are you coming to the after party?" Part of me wishes she wouldn't, because I don't know how I'll be able to control myself around her, when there's alcohol involved.

"No, I'm tired, I flew here from Canada, we wrapped filming yesterday." (Y/n) explains and I simply nod, feeling a bit thankful, but now wishing that I wasn't going either. "Where are you staying?" I ask, hoping it's the same hotel as mine, but she doesn't say, she just smirks wiggling her brows at me, making me chuckle. "Have fun at the party!" She pats my arm and turns around walking away before I can get another word out.

As I watch her walk away, I realize something, I realize that I don't ever want to live in a world where she's not mine and I'm not hers, because I'm unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.

Tags: @galaxygirl453 @rainydayz101 @samaraannhan20 @marlowmode @myradiaz @areuirish @micaelainthe60s @homebodybirkin2003 @pennyroyalcreep @purejasmine @strokesofstokes @lanasfloridakiloss @denised916 @kibumslatina @macey234 @melodixs-blog @shantellescrivener @chewiethecatus @guacala @fangirl125reader @father-of-2cats @lucid315 @melodixs-blog @ilovehobi101 @richardslady121 @jensmithin @julie181 @chrisevansgirl34 @ranaissingle @onecrazydirectioner @maria-1287 @austinbutlerssimp

[lxverrings]

HIII ik u usually make Miguel Ohara fics but can you please please please make a fic abt spidernoir?? I don't care if its smut or smth just please 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Btw love ur Miggy fics 😋

20’s lovin

A/N: DAMMIT I wanted to get other requests in, but I finished playing Genesis Noir (Point and Click Adventure game! It’s so beautifully animated!) And it just reminds me so much of Noir over here and I just GOTTA 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥 THANKS for the request N♡nnie! Finally a good excuse to get my hashtag hashtag vision out !!!!

Summary: Jazz Singer Reader x Spiderman Noir/Peter Parker, set in the 20’s, obviously!!!! Not very good at 20’s slang, PLEASE be patient 😭

Warnings: P in V. . .at some point maybe in the near future, kind of poor plot, Noir being a wee bit desperate because I ❤ pathetic men!!! Um lowkey fem!reader but if anyone wants a masc! reader fic with Noir, let me know!

Another simple Friday night, faceless people trailing around muddy streets and murky skies, the cigarette barely flickering alive, much how he felt that very night. The skyscrapers touched the smog filled clouds as the dim golden lights reached around.

The hunger filled stomach he nursed was all that kept the man walking. Peter, for god’s sake.

He should have grabbed something at HQ, and damn he should have, The Hopper’s smells filled the area, and with the small coins he had, he trudged forth, and walked inside of the area, ignoring the posters for a Jazz concert tonight.

[ . . . ]

Some... Golden Boy on the Saxophone playing and only heard idly, once on the spotlight, still he stayed, playing til the sun gave way, yet alone and ignored the music would sway. Because no one here would give him the time of day.

[ . . . ]

He watched idly as he downed some whiskey in a few sips, something to numb the soul, something. Oh just something as the saxophone stopped and a mundane applause filled the area, done only for the sake of one person clapping and the rest following like sheep. And instead, the heels of a woman clasped the stage closer and closer, behind golden, shimmering curtains. And as they raised, the club went dark, faint piano serenading the ears of every lost soul, and a sultry voice spread the area.

“Everybody needs a little lovin’ this Friday night, don’t they?” the voice asked into the microphone, smooth and sweet. Like honeyed liquor dripping from his mouth. Peter finally looked up only to find himself eye to eye with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Eyes glowing, like stars and hair that seemed nothing but glorious to watch on stage. It practically swayed with her hips as she serenaded, and the stage was for her. Not just the lights. Not just the stage. But the audience as well, the simmering lights sparked and shone on her, contouring her beautifully. The shadows only brought out the most beautiful aspects of her as she sung softly, the lyrics seeping off of her throat like a melancholic grief leaving the soul, finally freeing the internal chains of agony.

[ . . . ]

You had never seen him around before. Not at all. The man in the black trenchcoat, after your little show, you slowly trailed off stage, and made your way over.

“... Hello! I don’t recall having seen you here.” you spoke softly, but to him? Oh... To him.

It felt like an angel had smiled down at him, as he slightly choked on his drink. Not a good look, Peter. Not a good look.

He looked a little silly, you had to admit, so suddenly flushed and perhaps a bit shy. You felt quite smitten, as you politely sat down.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“... Not at all.”

By the end of the night, he walked away with a napkin. That napkin had a lipstick mark and a couple of digits. ... Given after a night of attraction.

For anyone curious, this is what Genesis Noir looks like!!!! If anyone wants to, I’m willing to entertain this and write part 2!

[cinemaocd]

My april films list

The Scar/Blizna (1976): When I was in college my roommate was in a Polish class and she had access to a library of films and we watched a lot of Krzysztof Kieślowski and they are all good, I think. This one is about a mid level manager who inherits a white elephant of a project: clear a forest to build an industrial plant. The local people and the forest itself turn against him. It's magical realism with that Slavic touch of fatalism that always feels relevant.

Sweetie (1989): I saw this in the 90s at a film festival and so it was a bit of a shock when The Piano came out and it felt like you could not have two more different films at least on the surface, but both are directed by Jane Campion. Sweetie is a frank and often dark comedy about an ungovernable woman--a cautionary tale about the infantilisation of women, seen through the eyes of her long suffering sibling.  Akira (1987): Iconic anime with a beautiful smooth style. Copied so frequently it can look a bit basic to those who've grown up with its imitators, but the heart of it is a great score and atmospheric noir setting that make the set pieces like the night motorcycle ride through Tokyo the perfect accompaniment to millennial angst. Near Dark (1987): Katherine Bigelow's shot at the sexy vampire genre features most of the cast of Aliens as a troop of vampires who follow around a Confederate soldier. Bill Paxton does an entertainingly nasty turn as one of the baddies. Feels like an Aliens/Lost Boys AU and that is a compliment, really.

Cleo from 5-7 (1962): Not to be like this already in what amounts to a two sentence blurb, but the summary for this film describes Cleo as a hypochondriac? Excuse me but she is waiting around to find out if she has cancer. It seems to me that this is a movie about the way women are dismissed and not seen, even when they are famous and actually the center of attention wherever they go. On the surface she looks like a spoiled diva, but behind the scenes we see she is frightened and lonely. Anyway fuck the patriarchy and Free Cleo! Twelve Angry Men (1957): We rewatched this because my son is on some weird reddit sub thread discord where everyone rpgs as jurors from this movie...I'm not joking. Imagining a super niche fandom for Jack Warner. It exists. THe internet is a wild place. Anyway, this holds up. Don't mix up Syndey Lumet and Sydney Pollack like I did, lol. Embarrassing!

Ashes and Diamonds (1958): Polish film master, Andrez Wadja's be bop riff on neo realism, is a chronicle of the final day of German occupation, and a Hail Mary attempt by a young resistance fighter to wrest the country back from the Soviet Army which is already there. It's a hopeless mission, born of drunken desperation in smokey back rooms, one that comes apart in daylight. It's feels like Rebel without a Cause, but like...he has a cause? There a sense of tragic waste that mirrors Nicholas Ray's vision of restless American youth. Scoop (2024): A rather weak entry in the behind the scenes journalism drama genre that I seem to be unable to resist in any form. This has Billy Piper as a booking agent who manages the coup of getting Prince Andrew to sit down for an interview with the press about the pedophilia allegations. Your average episode of The Thick of It, probably has more meat than this made for TV film.

The Two Popes (2019): For those playing along at home this was my fourth time watching this. What can I say, two of my fave old lovies flirting away in Pope costumes. It's a comfort film. You are not immune to propaganda. Bulworth (1998): Featuring just about every working black actor of the era, this movie was kind of ahead of its time. About a liberal politician who is so depressed about the state of his party being owned by powerful business interests that he decides to commit suicide by hiring a hitman to kill him so that his family will at least get the insurance. Warren Beatty at his most ridiculous, this is underrated gem.

Great Expectations (1974) After revisiting this version, I went back to David Lean, which is no surprise. This is a made for TV movie that has a lot of familiar faces from 50s British film including Robert Morley and my boi Anthony Quayle. Michael York is Pip. Heat (1995): I might become slightly obsessed with Michael Mann after watching all this moody atmosphere punctuated with bursts of violence, with long passages set to a synth score that made Chris Fleming want to crash his car. Some beautiful lighting and camera work in the final set piece which takes place on an airport runway. Iconic and yet, bloated and overlong and I just don't know why I like it so much? Maybe it's Al Pacino's reactions which are just so off the wall in some scenes, and the disconcerting normality of the other people in the same scenes, ya know? Like they are in two different movies. I shot Andy Warhol (1996): Watched this for Jared Harris (who is adorable as always and terrific as always and completely sinks into the role as always) and came away remembering why Lily Taylor was a 90s icon/IT girl and boy can she act. Like wow. Andy Warhol is the title character, but it's more about Valerie Solanas the radical feminist lesbian who shot him because she believed he stole her work. (The movie implies that he did, a little bit...). Her SCUM manifesto remains controversial to say the least, but her story is a utterly heartbreaking, told with humanity and nuance. Actually a great choice for Pride month because it talks about gay history and it's not pretty or comfortable but it's necessary to learn. Hopscotch (1980): Delightful comedy starring Walter Matthau and Judy Collins as a spy couple. Combines actually decent spy thriller with actually funny stuff and it's romantic and sweet as well.

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Hi!! I just wanted to say first off that this is such a cute idea! I don’t usually do a lot of requests/asks but i could not pass this up!

-My name is Lara Lowry, I use she/her pronouns!

-I’m short (like 5’1”) and I have dark brown curly hair. i’m half irish and half nigerian so i look kinda mixed. i have really dark brown eyes that kinda just look black unless you’re really close or in the sunlight lol. i have olive skin, im kind of pale rn cause it’s winter!

- I am an ENFP-A and my enneagram is 2 if i remember correctly. i love very hard and get attached very quickly! my love languages are quality time and physical touch i think. I am somewhat outgoing but i love to be at home a lot too. I’m a cancer so im very emotionally charged and i wear my heart on my sleeve.

-i play the flute and piano, im in the wind symphony and orchestra at my university and i love it, but i also love to draw so im an art major! i enjoy theatre and singing. i love to write as well, i just wish i could be more motivated to do so. one of my dreams is to be a mother honestly and make a beautiful/loving home for my family!

-i really love a partner that is sort of grounding for me, like someone who can be my rock. (i am very codependent which is bad ik but definitely one of my flaws.) i love someone who is classy and gentleman like! i think chivalry is very attractive! i can be a little crazy sometimes cause i have ADHD so i also like someone who can be my calm counterpart but also be fun and crazy with me sometimes! ok this is very telling but i LUV gingers, they’ve always been my type. i also love me some scrawny white men lol.

-my b.o.b faves are definitely winters, liebgott, guarnere, webster… in that order :) so i would love to be shipped with any of them but honestly i love them all so i don’t mind!

i’m so excited for this and thanks! :D



Aaaaaa thank you so much for the request love!! 😁🥰

I ship you with…

Joe Liebgott!

A song from my liked songs that reminds me of y’all - I Was Born to Love You by Queen

How y’all met

Ok so you were in Paris studying art and one day you were just vibing in an outdoor cafe doing some sketching

Liebgott was out with Luz and Webster just vibing on their weekend passes

Turns out they were at the same cafe!!

So you noticed the three of them hanging out and being Adorable so of course it’s sketchy sketchy time

You do this gorgeous picture of the three of them that just really captures the playful energy and happy vibes they were giving off

But Joe noticed you looking over and immediately is like wow she’s heckin cute

So he tries to catch your eyes every time you look up and he does a couple of times and just gives you THAT SMIRK YOU KNOW WHICH ONE and he can see you blush from his table and just thinks you’re SO CUTE

Joe decides to excuse himself for a second and saunters over to you, like, he needs to talk to you or else he’s gonna explode

“Couldn’t help but notice your pretty eyes kept looking over” he smooth talks as he takes the empty seat at your table

Before you can respond he sees your drawing and is just like

Jaw drop

Joe just drops all of his flirty smooth talking and in a sweet, honest voice, “you drew that? …that's how you saw me?”

Sweet boy just goes kinda quiet while staring at your drawing but he quickly snaps back to his senses, albeit a little frazzled

“Um, I’m Joe,” he says politely, stretching out a hand to you

Long story short he got a weekend pass to Paris any time he could and wrote to you every day

Lowkey you’d always put a little doodle on your letters back to him and he’d never admit it but all week he’d be looking forward to your letter and see what you drew this time

How he knew he loves you

So it’s one of the times when he got a weekend pass and y’all are having a picnic in the park just vibing and having a lovely time

All of a sudden a baseball comes rolling over to y’all and you notice a couple of itty bitty kids have started running over

You pick up the baseball and hand it to them and they start to apologize but you’re so sweet and they’re so stinking cute they just laugh and say thank you before running back to their game

Joe was sitting back watching the interaction and all he could see was you with a bunch of little Liebgotts

It just kind of hit him, he doesn’t want anybody else, you’re his person

As you’re coming back to sit down he takes your hand and just pulls you into his lap

Before you can protest he plants a soft, sweet kiss on your lips

“I’m in love with you, doll”

You can barely hear it but it still brings tears to your eyes

And you knew you found your person

A conflict and how y’all resolved it

So it’s after the war and you were back at home doing some sketches

It’s around the time Joe is supposed to be home but he’s still not home??

Finally you’re about to go to bed and Joe walks in the door

“Hey love! Long day at work?” you say, trying to mask your worry/relief as you give him a welcome home hug

“Yeah, something like that,” he replies half-heartedly as y’all go back and get ready for bed

This happens three more times in the week

You never get to see Joe, and when you do see him he’s too tired to talk

Not to mention the Intrusive Thoughts start happening

He can’t be seeing someone else…right?

So it’s finally the weekend and Joe has the day off

Or so you thought

You’re up and making coffee when Joe makes his way out

“Hey babydoll I’m gonna go try and get a few fares in,” he says casually, about to give you a goodbye peck on the cheek

Except all the worry and loneliness just kinda boils out of you

“Joey I haven’t seen you all week and now you’re picking up cab shifts on Saturday!?”

“Well I was just trying to make us some extra cash…”

“We’ve already paid our bills this month! Besides you could at least take today to be at home!”

The air is heavy while the two of you just stand there quietly

Joe has an anxious look in his eyes, looking everywhere but you as his hand comes up to the back of his neck

You notice and tears start welling up

“Tell me there isn’t someone else,” you’re barely able to make out without a sob accompanying your words

Suddenly Joe’s expression completely changes

His eyes immediately meet yours with shock and concern

“Baby is that why you think I’ve been out every night?”

You stay quiet and look down at the floor, unsure if you feel silly, embarrassed, frustrated, or some combination of the three

“Oh sweetheart…” Joe immediately comes over and wraps you up in a warm, tight hug

You let a few sobs escape as you melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him

“You know I’d never do that to you love, shit there’s no one out there that even begins to compare to you,” Joe tells you in a quiet, sincere voice

“Then why have you been going out so much?”

Joe pulls away from the hug and looks down at the floor, almost appearing embarrassed

“I wanted to surprise you… I’m saving up for your birthday present.”

And you just ???? “What could you be getting that could need you to work so much?”

“I just always saw how you looked at pictures of Ireland and how you always say you’d like to go somewhere on a vacation…”

“Joey, are you saving up to take me there?”

“... I was saving up so we could fly first class and get a nice fancy hotel, you deserve the best…”

Now you start sobbing again but for a whole new reason

Joe looks at you again with concern when he hears you start crying again but you just take his face in your hands and give him the biggest kiss ever

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He winds up staying home that day ❤️

Your Happily Ever After

So y’all get married after the war and you move to San Francisco with your mans

You have twin girls who you both love to the moon and back

Your family is just as you pictured it and so much more - like it's so clear to everyone how much all four of you love each other

Every weekend you, Joe, and your girls are in the park trying something new

One weekend Joe is teaching them to ride bikes and helping them up when they fall

The next weekend they’re showing you the flowers that they drew cuz they wanna be artists like you

At the end of each day after you put the girls to bed you just sit on your couch with Joe and lean your head on his shoulder and life couldn’t be more perfect

A silly headcanon about your relationship

Y’all always do family costumes for Halloween and it’s the best thing ever

One year you were superheroes

You and Joe were Superman and Wonder Woman and the twins were Batman and Robin

Another year you were Cruella and the three of them dressed as dalmatians

Nothing compares though to when the Easy Company Reunion fell on Halloween Weekend

So, unbeknownst to Joe, the three of you dressed as his friends for Halloween

Of course you dressed up as Webster

And the girls just begged to go as Uncle George and Uncle Joe

The only ones smiling bigger than Joe were Luz and Toye when they saw their mini me's

Joe keeps the picture from that Halloween in his wallet and another copy in his cab visor

aaaaaaaa this was so much fun to write!!! Thank you again for the ask Lara and for your patience 🫠 !!!!

[mysteroads]

Hungover in the City of Dust

So... here's what happened: I heard somewhere that one of Dabi's VAs had a good singing voice (still unconfirmed), then I read a fic where Kurogiri tried music therapy on Tomura before AFO stopped him, and *then* I listened to "Hungover in the City of Dust" by Autoheart, which also happened to have an animatic featuring 🔥DABI ... and immediately was attacked by vicious Plot Bunnies! <in singsong> Hawks is gonna join the League~~~

Excerpt:

Shigaraki's hands moved, as if looking for something to vent his anger on, but found nothing and instead scratched at the bandages on his neck. “It’s not fair,” he hissed. “My quirk awakened, I can use all five fingers without turning things to dust— but I can’t play.”

“Quit that,” Dabi said, flicking a blue spark at his boss to get him to stop scratching. “You know that you just got the ever living hell beat out of you just a week ago, right? And you’ve had those prosthetics for like, a whole fuckin' day.”

Shigaraki very deliberately kept his face turned away, refusing to comment. 

Dabi heaved out a huge sigh, then sat down on the bench, forcing Shigaraki to scoot over. He lifted the cover, examined the keys, cracked his knuckles, then started to play Chopsticks… badly.  

Shigaraki made a noise like a strangled cat, and Dabi just laughed at him. Muttering curses, he glared balefully, attempting to wait Dabi out, but when Dabi raised one hand to flip him the bird while still butchering the music with the other, he gave up and put his own fingers on the keys. 

Hawks hadn’t known there was another part to Chopsticks, that it could be a duet, but tonight seemed to be the night to learn strange things about villains.

It was a slow start, with Shigaraki still fumbling notes and swearing, but Dabi never stopped playing the simple round. His patience seemed to calm Shigaraki’s frustration and his side of the duet smoothed out. Abruptly, something seemed to click and they transitioned into another, slightly more complicated part. The song itself was short, less than a minute and a half, but by the end Dabi seemed smug and Shigaraki had relaxed. 

“Well, guess you don’t suck after all,” Dabi drawled, then heaved himself to his feet again and sauntered toward the bar. Hawks’s heart leapt into his throat and he tried to somehow make himself smaller, frantically trying to come up with an excuse for why he was eavesdropping on two of the most dangerous men in Japan. Without his long feathers, he was without his primary weapons, and Dabi’s fire was fast. In an enclosed space like this, he’d be charred bones before he could pull a knife.

Dabi actually leaned across the bar, practically over Hawk’s huddled form, reaching for a bottle of water sitting on the opposite counter. Taking it, he walked away, and Hawks could breathe again. It took him a few frantic heartbeats before he was calm enough to look up at the mirror again. Dabi was back beside the piano, facing Shigaraki as he sipped on the water. “And now that you’re warmed up, play my favorite.”

Shigaraki’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, before he got ahold of himself and demanded, “I just managed a children’s song, and you want me to play that?”

Dabi leaned one elbow on the piano and smirked, insolent challenge in every line of his body. “Come on, Oh Exalted Grand Commander. Don’t be a pussy.”

“Fuck you!” Shigaraki snarled, shifting so his good foot could work the pedals, fingers already positioning themselves on the keys. “I’m warmed up, but are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dabi sneered, capping the bottle and throwing it at his leader. “Start playing already, mophead.”

Shigaraki dodged it easily, told Dabi to, “Get ready then, staple face!” then launched into the music. 

It was not what Hawks expected. The opening notes were quiet, the melody gentle and somehow wistful— and then Dabi began to sing and Hawks about lost his mind.  

He was good. 

Really good. 

Not like an idol or anything, but obviously cultivated and well practiced, and all the more shocking for that. Stunned beyond rational thought, Hawks just listened, eyes locked on the mirror as if the vision reflected there might vanish if he looked away.