#I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME FIND THE MELODY THAT HE PLAYS WHILE HE'S ASLEEP.

[ntls-24722]

another weird and stupid thought, very biased, but there is somethin in my heart that says that DJMM is in one way or another, full of life, and i wanna watch my words bc djmm is not humanlike or lifelike. he is stiff in the face and he is not expressive nor lively even though his actions are smooth for his size.

But it's the way he sleeps - even though his eyes are wide open and so is his mouth, what weirds me out is that he doesn't snore, instead you hear him breathing, the floorboards creaking around him and the quiet droning melody emanating from him.

If the fog were any closer I swear on my life you'd see his breath cut through it.

also, some yearning for the yearning website. as a treat.

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [1] | k.th

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

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

I cannot be the diamond. 

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

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

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

It won’t even be yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

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

“Y/N.”

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

But you can’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far fewer. 

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

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

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

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

Music?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you finding the party tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little tour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You miss her so, so much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You…heard that?”

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “You must jest, my lord.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

He nods once. “I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bows. “I wish the same to you.”

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, Lilly. “Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that the first option is even a choice. 

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

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

“Miss L/N?”

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

“…Lord Kang?”

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

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

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

Lord have mercy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And to be with your family?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes widen. “The pianist?” 

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

“And I bet she laughed,” Beomgyu adds. 

“She did.”

Kai just screams into his hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beomgyu just glares at both of them. 

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

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

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

Today, however, is not that day. 

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

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

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

It’s like a reward.

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

“Taehyun!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With expensive alcohol,” Soobin deadpans. 

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

This, apparently, is not the case. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is obvious already. 

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[helloaugustmoon]

the girl (me) is (most certainly) [his]

warning: mildly suggestive but nothing too explicit

Michael Jackson x she/her!reader

·˚ ◌༘͙[The Girl Is Mine] ! ˊ

It isn’t unusual for Michael to wake up to the sound of his own music playing; he’d find it frustrating if it didn’t stem from your sincere adoration for him that simply cannot be contained. How could you be the love of his life without being his biggest fan, by default? Hearing the familiar tune playing all the way from the radio in the main kitchen, Michael can’t help chuckling softly, turning to press his face into your pillow, taking a moment to breathe you in before he can bring himself to rise from the bed you share. Your absence from said bed will most definitely warrant at least one pout that you will have to kiss off of his face at some point today, by the way.

Stepping into a loose fitting pair of silk pajamas, Michael uses one hand to begin buttoning up the shirt as he leaves the bedroom and follows the sound of his own song through the mansion the two of you call home, until he finds you in the kitchen. It seems you’ve once again sent the kitchen staff to the pool for the morning, in favor of preparing breakfast yourself. Michael leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest with a fond smile that quickly turns to one of flirtation, watching the way your hips sway in time with the song. Standing at the stove with your back to him, you are blissfully unaware of his presence, and his gaze on you as you dance around, but this is his most treasured view of you; one of his shirts draped over your seductive frame, dancing around without a care in the world, lost to your love for him while not even realizing he’s right here with you.

Very slowly, Michael walks up behind you, his large hands finding your hips through the fabric of his shirt against your skin, causing you to gasp in surprise. His hips fall into an effortless rhythm with yours, swaying side to side, and he hums the melody into the side of your neck.

“That she’s my girl, forever and ever…” Michael sings softly into your ear, harmonizing with himself on the record.

You can’t help giggling like a schoolgirl, his voice always melting you beyond belief.

“Good morning, baby.” He smiles, leaving the lightest kiss on the side of your neck as he continues to sway his hips with yours.

“Morning, angel face. Did you sleep well?” You ask gently, smiling over your shoulder at him.

“Mm, dreamt of you, like always. Never comes close to the real thing.” Michael murmurs into your shoulder, large hands squeezing your hips. “How did you sleep, pretty girl?”

You sigh with an unmistakable swoon, leaning your back against his chest as you continue cooking. “I slept well, yeah; I’d have stayed in your arms if I hadn’t been close to starving to death.”

That has Michael laughing.

“Oh? Wasting away beside me, were you? My poor love!” He teases.

“The situation was dire.” You answer in a feigned serious tone, oozing dramatics that he knows all too well.

“Hmm, I can think of a situation that’s far more dire.” Michael’s lips trail the side of your neck, his hips pressing against yours just a touch more from where he stands behind you, still swaying to the music.

Your eyes widen. Before you know it, you’re breaking into a fit of giggles.

“Here I am, preparing a lovely breakfast for you-“ It’s a far from serious sentiment, but you are cut off regardless.

“That I am ever so grateful for.” Michael interjects playfully.

You scoff at him. “Then how can you suggest we waste it?” You ask him with a raised eyebrow, peering up at him from where your back is pressed to his chest.

“Never waste it, baby, just…postpone it. We can eat this later, and it’ll be just as delicious, I’ll bet. Right now, I’m hungry for something very different.” Michael teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“And what’s that?” You ask with a deliberate tone of innocence, but the breathlessness in your voice gives way to your true feelings on the matter, causing him to smirk against your skin.

“A girl who happens to be mine.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and no sooner are the words uttered than he’s swung you up and into his arms bridal style, carrying you back up to your bedroom. Which, much to your shared relief, is an entire floor, lest there be enough noise to travel through a wall or two.

At the pool, the kitchen staff begin exchanging petty cash and rolls of their eyes, overhearing your squeals of delight and Michael’s laughter, and heading inside to continue cooking the breakfast they had bet you wouldn’t be able to finish before you were whisked away by your man.

[aarafox]

I've been playing the last 5 min of the ep on loop for more than an hour and holy shit. I have so much to talk about.

At first Blitz’s attitude towards Stolas reclaiming the book is understandable, from a business POV: he needs the book to perform his job! It makes sense he gets a little desperate, tries to keep up the bargain, begs for Stolas to rethink.

But then. Then Stolas gives him the crystal, in one of the sweetest ways possible.

Like a marriage proposal.

The crystal is supposed to be everything Blitz wants, because, supposedly, fucking Stolas is just part of the deal… in any other situation, with any other person, he would’ve been like sure! Cool, thanks :)

But not for a single second he looks happy with this. We all know it’s because deep down he feels the same way… But he gets upset, worried, afraid. From the get-go.

And Stolas is telling him the loveliest things. He’s pouring his absolute heart out. I don’t think I expected him to tell Blitz exactly how he feels but he does. Just like in his texts, he’s completely honest with him:

“Blitz, I’m giving you this because… I care... VERY deeply for you. And I have for some time.”

How he places the crystal on his wrist like a ring on a fiancée’s finger. This is Stolas’ absolute biggest gesture of love. He’s setting Blitz free! From this transactional thing… That’s what Blitz wants… right?

“I want you to continue to… be who you are. Your business!” This was such a kind thing to say. In his eyes, Blitz is perfect as he is and I wonder how often - perhaps if ever - Blitz has heard something like this. The music reflects Stolas’ honesty and affection, the soft and beautiful melody that we know so well… This is Stolas’ big moment, his declaration of love.

“You don’t have to stay here with me... But... I want you to. I want you to stay here with me. Because you want to. Only if you want to.”

And honestly… the shock on Blitz’ face when Stolas says that first line (the "you don't have to stay" one):

Like seriously?? Biggest shock so far? Blitz doesn’t want to separate from Stolas! He wants to stay with him! But when Stolas reveals his truth… that he wants Blitz to stay because Blitz himself wants to and not for any deal or arrangement…

And Blitz, who still can’t believe someone could genuinely love him, responds in the only way he thinks he should: in their “business language”, the language of sex. Because he cannot let the truth sink into his heart.

Of course this hurts Stolas, for whom this reaction is only proof that his feelings are unrequited. If Blitz can’t respond to him in any other way than this, there’s little chance he feels the same…

And still, he is so so kind:

“Thank you Blitz. For… awakening me. For making me… so happy… if only for a little while.”

He was trapped in an unhappy, abusive marriage for so long and Blitz saved him from that. Thanks to Blitz, Stolas had a chance to find out who he was, change his life for the better, and experience true happiness. But if Blitz can’t give Stolas what he needs emotionally, then this is where it has to end.

And Blitz retaliates in the only way he knows how: self-protection. He doesn’t want this to end, but he also never expected Stolas to feel genuine love for him. He HAS no time to think about this, in his eyes Stolas is ending this on his own terms. But he doesn’t have the full words; he hasn’t faced his own feelings and, if he can’t even be genuine with himself, how can he be genuine with Stolas?

But his words, that he’s saying partly because he truly believes them but likely also because he wants to protect himself from the pain, cut Stolas like knives. Stolas flinches when Blitz calls him "asshole" and "bitch":

Blitz's words... shatter his heart.

Stolas has been on the receiving end of hate for a long time. But to hear this from the one he loves so much... It's simply too much to handle. So he sends Blitz away.

As Blitz’s apology still echoes through the air.

[thefanbasewhore]

Late nights 💤

paring: Bangchan x reader

summary: chan has been too busy for your liking lately, you decide to interrupt his late night recording session where you finally get what you want, or so you think anyway.

content: slight s!mut, unprotective p in v, c!ockwarming, etc. 18+ only, MDNI.

The last person Chan expected to see as he opened the door was you. An oversized hoodie, no doubt his own peaks through the crack on the door with a smile. "Surprise babe!"

Three bags are held up shyly, two are what he guesses to be takeout and the other, from what he could see, filled to the brim with snacks. He can't help but smile seeing you like this. All cute and shy, on your tippy toes to kiss the corner of his lips. There's not a word from him at first, a few minutes of silence and you think something is wrong but the reality is that he's holding himself back from pushing you against the wall and kissing you until you can't breathe.

"I haven't seen you in a week. I know you're busy and that you haven't had time but I also know that you don't eat like you should when you're like this." You pause but then continue to ramble on, "But I can leave if you need to finish, I just really really miss you. "

He can't help but pout, his fingers find your cheek and punch them affectionately, "You are so cute, baby. Of course I want you here, I just don't want you to be bored is all. I still have a lot to finish."

"I don't care about that. I can play on my phone I just wanna be with you. " You could hear the 'aww' behind his smile as his arms wrap around you, not only pulling you into the recording room but also to his chest where he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can eat and I'll finish up."

***

It's much, much later. So much so that your eye lids are growing heavy. Chan is still at the recording desk and piecing together the melodies leaving you behind him, nearly drooling to sleep on the couch.

After dozing off a few times, three hours have passed and it looks to be he has not moved a muscle. Even though you promised and were given clear instructions of his deadline and that you cannot interrupt, you find your legs moving towards him. Chan is so wrapped up in his own world he doesn't't notice until your head rests against his thigh. The rough material of his jeans chaffing the skin of your cheek but you don't seem to care.

"Get off the floor baby, go sit on the couch." The words are ignored but he doesn't bother to try again, instead continues his work. It's not until a few moments later when he feels the soft hands against his inner thighs, his body reacts almost instantly.

"Sweetheart, knock it off." It's funny watching him squirm, clearly unable to focus as his eyes meet you own.

"I'm sorry baby." Crawling between his legs, pouting softly as a hand rests on each one of Chan's thighs, "Am I distracting you?"

All it takes is the curl of your lip to form a small pout and those pretty eyes to look up from his lap. Trying to hide the sly smirk as his cock twitched to life.

"You are such a brat, you did this on purpose." He swats your hand away which makes you frown deeper. "Later."

"But baby," Cooing softly and once again patting those pretty eyes, "You have been so busy lately, you're not making any time for me."

He sucks his teeth, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips, "Does my bunny feel neglected, is that it?"

"Hmmm." You agree.

"Get up here, pull that cute little skirt up." Chan pulls at his sweat pants and underwear, leaving just enough room to expose his hard cock.

Just like that you're hovering over his lap, pulling the lace panties to the side. The head of his cock nudges your entrance, before his hands hold your hips and slowly lower you into his cock.

It's a pleasurable burn, the slow stretch not only makes you mewl but Chan groans against the back of your neck, resting his forehead against your hair. "Fuck, it has been a while, bunny."

With that you're lifting your hips but two iron grip hands hold at your hips - stopping any motion. "No, sweetheart. Since you are so needy, you sit here until I'm finished."

"But -,"

"No buts," Chan cuts you off, rolling his eyes at your bratty behavior which is followed by pressing his hips harder; hitting the spot deep inside your tummy." You'll wait until Daddy is done, since you wanna be a little slut and not listen."

**

Hi guys, I'm new to writing for skz but I also am about a year out of the writing game. I'm accepting asks for anything (smut, fluff) and ang member of skz to get my creative juices flowing again!

[actualbird]

do you think the nxx ever cries or just… don’t deal with their emotions in a healthy way? they must be so emotionally repressed!

im so sorry but this is worded in a way i find absolutely hilarious omfg. do they cry or do they suck it up til the end of time? KJAHVSJFHAVSLFSFKJA

i like to think they Do cry, but my god it takes a Lot. this goes for All of them. like, we've seen in canon when the nxx boys and rosa cries, and it's usually during/after very high stakes or very emotional situations. some examples off the top of my head are

marius cries in SSR Unconcealable, the card where mc gets KIDNAPPED and then both of them get TRAPPED IN A FREEZER FOR A HOT SEC

mc cries in SSR Peaceful Place because she thought luke got shot and DIED,

luke cries in his Blossom Chapter Personal Story 4 because he thought mc DROWNED AND DIED

artem cries in SSR Two Hearts as one because he got so emotional acting like he was choking mc

vyn cries in...well, several cards like SR False Tears and SSR Neon Melody but those were 1) not exactly a "healthy" way of dealing with emotions or 2) caused by pepper spray KJHVSKJDF. im behind on vyn's cards, idk in which ones he cries honestly due to genuine in distress

so like, they DO cry. but it seems to take rather a lot to get them there. the flipside is that they also cry when overcome with immensely positive emotion (like, mc was on the verge of tears when luke finally proposed in SSR Orange Scent) so at least theres that!!!! but it's not much, chief....

all members of the nxx team all are IMMENSELY repressed. i think the most emotionally healthy of the team is DAVIS, which isnt a good sign, given that hes not even human

anyhoo this ask inspired me so

here are some misc headcanons on the nxx team and crying

i hc that luke as a kid was Such a crybaby. he'd cry over everything: when he saw a sad movie, when he saw a happy movie, when he saw a dog being walked but the dog was so dang small, when mc cries and his high empathy kicks in to make it Our Cry Session, just...he cried over IT ALL. he was just a very emotionally sensitive child, even to emotions from others. he eventually got emotionally steadier as he grew up but i think there are innocuous movies that, due to him crying over them as a kid, still make luke cry as an adult

[nxx movie night]

marius: man i love this movie, absolute classi---WHY ARE YOU CRYING??

luke: because ANYBODY can COOK!! EVEN A RAT!!!!!

mc, silently glaring at marius over luke's shoulder as if to say "Don't You Say A Mean Word To Him Right Now": O_O

(yes, they were watching ratatouille)

-

vyn has mastered crying on cue and can do it at the drop of a hat, but when he REALLY TRULY ACTUALLY is hit by the genuine need to cry for any reason, be it positive or negative, he cannot stop it at all until its run its natural course.

which is just AGONIZING for him, surely, but this is the price he has to pay for the power of being able to cry on command: not be able to stop when it's for realsies

marius: HAHA, CRYBABY

vyn: //throws a book at him because just cuz he cant stop crying, doesnt mean he cant attack

-

it slightly pisses everyone off a teensy bit that artem can cry artfully.

like, the single tear. the lines of silent tears streaming down his face. even the more desperate sobs. doesnt matter whether theyre stage tears for another play or if theyre during high stakes situations, artem seems to naturally cry in a cinematic manner

artem: //shedding a few tears because of the stress of an nxx operation or something

luke: hey it's okay, everyone's alright

luke internal thoughts: why is he so pretty while crying?????? .....wait what

-

and lastly, marius can hold back tears like nobodys business. like luke, he was a huge crybaby as a kid. but unlike luke, he held it back so much that when he DID cry as a child, it was REALLY CRYING. like wailing, like sobbing. it's heartbreaking to watch

so via his Entire Life Of Repressing Weakness And Related Emotions, he became rlly powerful at holding back the need to cry. it only happens during VERY EMOTIONALLY INTENSE scenarios ORRRR

during horror movies

because hes such a horror weakling and he gets so spooked that tears literally come out

mc: how did that jumpscare make you tear up but not the intro scene to Up

marius, hiding behind a pillow to avoid any more jumpscares: im a man of endless mystery, miss

thank you for the ask :D

[rinskazuu]

genshin men as songs in my playlist

aether, albebo, al-haitham, itto, cyno, diluc, kazuha, kaeya, ayato, heizou, childe, thoma, tighnari, scaramouche, xiao, and zhongli

these are written romantically, but if you want to view them as platonic, you can try.

cw: angst w no comfort, fluff, varies depending on character and song i chose. some of these are written in first person, some in x reader form, you can view them however you like!

a/n: initially, i was going for songs fitting their personality, but i accidentally made kaeya and childe's angsty, so i remade them. also, this took so long, for absolutely no reason.

AETHER- hold on by flor

throughout the journey aether's been on in teyvat, all he does is help nations, people, archons, you name it. but i want to be his escape, someone he can hold and be comfortable with. for a moment, i want him to worry less about what's going on outside, and just close his eyes. he's so selfless, and i believe he deserves the same treatment in return.

♡

ALBEDO- something about you by eyedress

you’re just so mesmerizing and beautiful to albedo, that he can’t help but feel subjected to paint you. you’re always catching his breath, from the way your eyes glint when you’re talking about your interests, to the way your body sways when he accidentally catches you dancing in your room, while he’d been busy with his experiments. he just cannot keep his eyes off you.

♡

AL-HAITHAM- out of time by the weeknd

al-haitham would most definitely let his pride get in the way of your relationship. he’d also prioritize his dying love for knowledge over you. the moment you leave him, and he finds his closet half empty, he’s drowning in guilt. he’s reaching for you, but you’ve moved on, and now it’s too late for him to hold you again.

♡

ARATAKI ITTO- always forever by cults

itto is the type of man to boast about you to everyone, having never said anything negative about you. he’s the type of man to snuggle you, and tell you every night how grateful he is, and how happy you make him. he’s going to tell you, that from here on out, you’re stuck with him, and that you’re two peas in a pod.

♡

CYNO- the one that got away by katy perry

cyno isn’t as much of a tsundere as the fandom writes him out to be, so this doesn’t sound fitting. but i feel like his role as the general mahamatra would definitely play a bad part in your relationship. he’d be too busy to take you on a date, or too tired to accompany you to an event. it’s not until you’ve left, that he’s realized he’s neglected you for too long.

♡

DILUC- be kind by halsey

with diluc, i imagine wanting to take his burdens off his shoulders, and comfort him, reassure him. i want him to rely on me, and be comfortable enough to come to me to talk. it makes me sad, how isolated he is, or rather, how he felt the need to isolate himself.

♡

KAEDAHARA KAZUHA- old love by yuji & putri dahlia

not only does the melody suit kazuha, but so do the lyrics. there's not a lot that kazuha holds dear, simply because he wanders a lot. he moves from place to place, and you're one of the only stable aspects of his life. he will always return home, to see you.

♡

KAEYA- midnight rain by taylor swift

i feel like kaeya would suit taylor’s perspective in the song. you wanting to settle down, but kaeya can’t love you for too long, because he's holding a major secret that is threatening yours and potentially teyvat's safety. you’re the sunshine, and he’s the midnight rain. he’ll have to leave you soon, but for now, he’ll let you hold him.

♡

KAMISATO AYATO- still with you by jungkook

ayato is not only head of the kamisato clan, but he’s a commissioner too. he’s used to running things mostly by himself, because he had to take care of his little sister alone, and rebuild the kamisato clan from the floor. he’s often isolated, completing work, but at the end of each day, i want to remind him, that we are in fact together, and any challenges he faces, are mine to struggle with too.

♡

SHIKANOIN HEIZOU- enchanted by taylor swift

heizou is a man who can easily sweep you off your feet, with his charm, pretty smile, and his skills as a detective. he can read your feelings and the type of person you are. he knows exactly what to do to reel you in. your love is enchanting, so unique, and will last for an entire lifetime, if not more.

♡

TARTAGLIA- save your tears by the weeknd & ariana grande

i know we kind of ignore how unhinged childe is, but i want to acknowledge it. he doesn’t know how to love or be loved, which leads to him not knowing how to comfort you. he’s going to hurt you, mentally/verbally, often. he’s going to tell you to stop crying, instead of holding you, or call you dramatic, instead of snuggling you in bed and encouraging you.

♡

THOMA- i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

thoma is often busy, since he works for a commissioner, and one of the most well known and respected clans in inazuma. he sees you a lot, whether it's running errands, or accompanying one of the kamisatos somewhere. he's in love with you, and he'd do anything for you. but for now, he needs to focus on his duties.

♡

TIGHNARI- sweet by cigarettes after sex

even though he's a busy man, tighnari still makes plenty of time for you. he's sweet and smooth with his swords, easily swaying you. he makes it known, to not just you, that he loves you to the ends of the world. he knows how to make you swoon, from taking days off to pick flowers for you, to having deep talks with you in the shower. he's always thinking about you, even picturing your smile while he's off gathering gifts for you.

♡

WANDERER- space song by beach house

after regaining his memories, and even after his redemption arc, scara will still have major trust issues. wanting to there for him isn't a crime. but because of his trauma, he's going to keep pulling away from you, and pushing you farther from him. no matter, you're not going to give up, and you want him to feel loved and comforted.

♡

XIAO- be there for you by nct dream

xiao is one of the most obvious characters with a traumatic backstory, and i believe i want to be there for him the most. it's not going to be easy, since he's lived 1000+ years. he's used to being on his own, and all he knows is how to protect, and kill. but for once, i want him to rely on me, and for him to breathe a sigh of relief.

♡

ZHONGLI- wildest dreams by taylor swift

as an archon, zhongli has been alive for over 6000 years. even though he's given up the title, and is now living a normal life, he will always remain an immortal. eventually, you will pass on, and zhongli will be alone again. regardless, he's going to spend every waking moment with you, until your very last breath. he will cherish your love for the rest of eternity, even if you're not physically there.

i do want to add, i have so many taylor swift, the weeknd & chase atlantic songs, but didn’t think the last 2 would be as fitting as taylor’s. i have 150 songs & this does not define my entire playlist, there are so many genres. i just happened to make them romantic/angsty..

[mxtantrights]

famous dc!au (dick's version)

TRACK ELEVEN: UNDERSTAND

It's grueling work. The first video was easy but this director has an extravagant and almost larger than life. It's not common for you to star opposite a famous guy who now, on top of that, will play a greek god.

Dick makes it easy. He shows up on set and jokes around with you. And he always eats with you on lunch break, he tries to pay each time but you try to make it even.

Still you can't help but to feel saddened that your friendship is basically over. Along with end of your friendship and the possibility of it being more than that is less than zero. There was no way Dick would have time for you after this video is done. He's too important and busy. And too not over his ex, possibly.

You try your best to smile while on set today.

-

Dick is freaking out. Like actually nervous and almost throwing up, that type of freaking out. The song he wrote-the one about you but doesn't actually call you out by name, but are about the moments he shared with you-it comes out tonight.

He can't pull the plug on it, he hasn't tried but he knows it won't go over well. His manager talked this single up so well to the studio heads that they wanna renegotiate his contract for one more year.

He doesn't wanna creep you out. But he also can't keep going on like this. It feels like a viscous circle of torture. He's close to telling you and relieving himself of this heavy secret. But then he thinks about how you might not feel the same, and how his confession might chase you out of his life completely. He doesn't want that.

He tries his best to not fall in love with you today.

-

"Okay and that looks great guys I think we've got it for today. We'll send word if we need to do reshoots." the director says.

Someone is pulling a robe over your body. You're not really paying attention because you're watching Dick walk away from set. You had just finished the dance sequence and you were out of breath and sweating.

But all that was on your mind was Dick. It was crazy.

You can't let this go on for forever. You know that. But you honestly don't know what to do that won't hurt your feelings in the process.

With a sigh you head back to your trailer. When you get in you see a fruit basket on top of the couch. You walk over to it, there's a bright blue note sticking out the top. You take the note out.

Your fingers rip the envelope open.

'Thanks for everything. I wanted to get your opinion on this.-Dick" the note reads.

You look at the bottom of the note to see a QR code. You take your phone out from the safe in your trailer and scan it. The link takes you to a blank site with only a media player on it. The time stamp is two minutes fifty seconds.

You hit play, intrigued. When you put your volume up you can barely hear what is playing but it sounds like a song, it sounds like Dick's voice. You hit pause and look around your trailer for your headphones. You find them in your back.

Quickly you connect them to the bluetooth on your phone and hit play again. The intro plays and your brain gets this fuzzy feeling, like you've heard these sounds before. You rewind once, twice trying to understand why its so familiar.

But you decide to leave it alone as you want to hear the rest of the song. The melody plays out and honestly Dick's voice puts you in a bit of a trance. You don't really notice the words he's saying at first but when he gets to the chorus your focus is brought in.

Maybe we could try if you let me

Take you by the hand

You're the only one who understands

It hits you then. Where you heard the beginning from. It's from the first music video shoot. When you and Dick were throwing jokes at each other. It was your laugh. Dick put your laugh in a song?

You can't believe it. Well, you-not you really cannot. But why did he leave this for you to listen to if...

Was this a confession? You hit pause on the song. Then your feet are moving before you can even fully think out the repercussions of your actions. You walk right out of your trailer and onto the lot, all the way over to Dick's trailer which is on the other side.

When you get to the door that's when you feel how hard your heart is pumping. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Maybe you had gotten ahead of yourself. Maybe it wasn't a confession but just him letting you know he's using a personal moment between the two of you in his new music.

Just as you're about to walk up the steps to knock on his door, the door opens. Out comes the stunning and beautiful Zantana. You can feel it in real time how your confidence deflates like a balloon. You try to keep your smile on though.

Her lips start moving but you can't hear her, that's when you realize you still have your headphone on. You pull them off your ears.

"Sorry. What did you just say?" you ask.

She smiles, "Oh, I just said that he's not in here. He might've slipped out a while ago."

"Oh." you say.

"I'm Zantana by the way." she says, holding out her hand.

You take it into your own and shake hands, introducing yourself to her as politely as you can. Your brain is working on overdrive. He's not here? How would she know that if she wasn't here with him?

"I can let him know that you were looking for him." she says.

You shake your head wildly, "No it was nothing. I can just text him."

"Okay. See you around maybe? Are you coming to the party?" she asks.

You feel horrible. You feel like absolute shit. Like here she is being so sweet yo you meanwhile you don't know if these two are a thing or not and you've maybe been harboring feeling for her significant other.

"Party?" you ask now.

Zantana nods, "Yeah the release party for his new single."

Your eyes widen. The song you were listening to a few seconds ago? That song? He was planning on releasing it into the world? What? Your mind is jumping through multiple hoops at the same time.

"I didn't know anything about that." you say, lying.

"Hey, I can put you down as my plus one and get you in. Don't worry about it." she offers.

"I'm just not sure if I can make it." you try to wiggle your way out of going.

"It's a really good song! I know your support would mean a lot to him." she explains.

You think to yourself, maybe she thinks the song is about her. or maybe it is about her and you've gone delusional and the laugh at the beginning isn't yours, because maybe some laughs sound the same. Maybe.

You can't decline an invitation like this. If you want to end this on a good note, if you want to end this at all you have to go.

"Okay, I'll be there." you say.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Things heat up in Astarion's tent after Tav offers to let him drink her blood.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 6: Ribbon*

Ao3

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Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, CPTSD, Vaginal Fingering, Breast Play, Act 1 Spoilers

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For she is slowly being pulled by strands of the spinneret. A spider that sews his web with such intricacies, they are mistaken for complex pieces of his soul. The predator lures a victim into silken promises,

And when finally ensnared, there will be no mercy for the fangs that drain them alive.

— Gale of Waterdeep, poetry from 'The Wilderness'

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“I agreed to let him continue journeying with us—at your convincing behest—after we found out he was a vampire and we learned he had already bitten you. I will not retract my decision on the matter, but you cannot expect me to fall back and watch as he takes advantage of our—your—good tidings. Tav, you are one step away from being spun into his web, if you’re not there already!” Gale argued loudly.

Astarion sat on the edge of his ratty stool outside his tent, polishing his daggers. He would, at times, tilt the point of his ear in the direction of the bitter heart-to-heart between the wizard and their humble bard, attempting to decipher each sentence his victim held firm to in her rebuttal. But, her pitch was that usual quiet sultry measure, like honey dripping onto berries, she carried and he couldn’t hear a damned word from her mouth.

Mouth. Her mouth. Their lips.

Ah, yes, he had tasted her the previous evening. Inside Tav’s tent, testing the pliancy of their lips against each other, she yielded to him. He had swiped his tongue across her bottom lip after a few preludes of longer, more downy, kisses until she mewled for him.

So delicately did her pecks tap, using her lips as a confessional upon each pore of his pallored shade. At one point, when she had felt bolder, she licked his upper lip with the tip of her moistened tongue. Astarion rewarded her with a groan, coercing her to glue herself to his chest with her own while he guided her hands to hold onto his broad shoulders.

And her eyes: those very wide orbs of storms. They searched. They searched. They searched. A risky assessment of his features as an oracle knocking on the undeath pane of his soul. He couldn’t stand it. Not a single one of his pillaged targets had ever sought him out in this manner, too enthralled with their own lusts. The meddlesome witch with the tempting gaze made his throat twist with sour spittle.

Lo, with a crown of stars fastened in her hair, she’s the queen of swords. To pierce the hearts of men and drain them of their festering cancers. Her eyes: the ocean. You’ll drown, you’ll drown, you’ll drown.

Oh, but the tides shortly fell from Tav's court right back into the shadows of his hands. Because her lips were swollen for him, so luscious towards the end of their interlude, that he pricked the spike of his fang into the dewy tissue in her lower vermillion. The tiniest blood beads formed and he nursed upon them with sensitive suckles.

Astarion could hear the irregularity in her flitting heart, like the melody of a black-capped chickadee, and his soul mate mark began to pulse in tandem with her frolics. She quivered in his arms over and over again, with gasps and goose flesh along her arms, until their kisses slowed and he wished her a fair rest of the night.

This was the exact leverage he needed and the bard so readily provided it to him. The song she sang by the river—the longing in her voice—for a connection she so desperately wanted to believe was still alive in the world, was for him. And by the immoral scriptures hidden from saintly eyes, he would perform to her. He would take up the mantle, murmuring corruption in between her thighs until she was screaming his name. He would play the part of her lover and she would gladly be his defender.

Because she was touch-starved. Because she wanted tenderness. Because she would protect him from his former master.

With this, he would have some form of sanctuary. And if all of the stars aligned, Tav and the rest of their questionable gang, would help him pursue true freedom from Cazador clutches.

But, her wavering request of ”please, don’t hurt me” kept reappearing in his thoughts, as if it had been drawn in the fog of a tarry marsh.

“You’re protecting him?! For Mystra’s sake, why?!” Gale’s continued goading grounded Astarion back to reality.

What? He could only hear the soft whispers of Tav’s voice, but judging by how Gale looked over her shoulder with a heavily creased brow in the vampire’s direction, her answer was unanticipated.

As Tav stalked off, boots creating clouds of dust leading out of the camp, Astarion stared at the back of her form long after she left, with the opinion that his tadpole must have consumed more of his brain matter than he originally thought.

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The pangs of hunger were unbearable.

Daggers in hands—freshly sharpened—Astarion stationed himself on the side of the dilapidated house, the overcast shadows from one of its walls providing the perfect hiding spot. Shadowheart crouched behind him, preparing a warding spell, trying to ghost the incantation with bitty utterings.

“Shh. I’m trying to concentrate,” he chastised under his breath.

In front of the building, he eyed Tav like a hawk as she sang to the oversized lard of an ogre. Her flexible fingers strumming the lute, she had been trying to distract the monster with an on-the-spot folk song called: It’s Never Ogre. The vampire mocked her for the painfully moronic pun, while not registering the slight upturned cordiality near the corner of his mouth.

Before they decided to confront the last beast of the Blighted Village, Tav told them her plan with her typical bashful confidence. She’d play her notes with a garish tale of gluttonous delights, then, when she gave the signal, Astarion would sneak up behind the ogre with a devastating attack into his spinal cord—rendering it immobile. It was an attack the spawn had conducted enough times to the point of it becoming second nature.

His stomach churned again causing him to keel over at his waist in pain, one of his weapons almost slipping out from his cold grip. Why the hells did he continue to condemn himself to this fate?! He was free damnit!

“Astarion, when was the last time you fed? I can hear your guts and dare I say you look deader than usual,” Shadowheart dismally questioned. She peeked around his shoulder, glimpsing at the concert their leader was desperately trying to continue with a phony smile plastered on her expression. “Just don’t get any ideas about my neck, fanger.”

He baited the Sharran cleric with an impudent fleer. “You’re assuming I’d even think about sinking my teeth into that darkness thickening your blood. You’ve forgotten: I was already there for two centuries.”

“Hush or we’ll miss the gesture.”

Astarion shuddered exhaustively with each turn of his joints. He felt weak. Too weak for combat. During the last couple of evenings, he prowled the night, creeping upon deer and boars in the area. But, as he got close to his potential hunts, he would taste the chilled blood of decomposing rats and bugs on his palate.

”Would you like an appetizer with dinner tonight? How about a plate of roaches? Eat up, my beloved spawn.”

He recoiled—like the obedient slave he was for his master—instead, seeking out the familiarity of smaller woodland creatures in the vein of squirrels and rodents until they became too weary to descend their hiding places, knowing a strange predator was on the loose.

Had tasting the bard's ichor made Astarion too greedy? No. More so, that he was undeserving of the warmth that flowed throughout his body as he drank from a thinking creature. It was like being wrapped in a blanket on a crisp winter’s eve from the inside out and the only comfort of his sanguine life he was entitled to, were the corroded bits Cazador approved.

Submit to him. Draped in master’s arms while he feeds dribbles of red decay on your lips. His unholy communion. Body and blood of Cazador. Amen.

“Astarion! ASTARION! NOW! SHIT!!” Shadowheart cried out, shaking him violently.

The shrill of Tav’s screams echoed throughout the rest of the vacant village as the ogre tightened its ginormous hand around her torso.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Astarion panicked aloud as he regained his senses.

He ran forward with no time to sneakily assassinate the giant. Lunging on its back, the vamp grabbed onto rolls of fatty tissue to climb upwards. With the point of his blade raised, he carved through the air and stabbed it in the middle of its back, slicing through vertebrae. The ogre, thrown off balance, stumbled to the ground.

Astarion pulled out the dagger and lunged it a final time into the back of its head, a smell of foul blackness spewing from the wound, killing it immediately. Tav scrambled away from the slumped fiend’s body, coughing, gasping for breath.

Shadowheart ran to her side with a healing potion. “Hold still—let me at least check you for injuries.”

“I guess he hated the song after all,” Tav joked. “I think I’m fine. Maybe a few bruises. Are the two of you okay?”

Astarion trotted over to them, flicking inky blood and greasy fat off his blades before sheathing them onto his back. “Nasty creatures those. I'm all for murdering our enemies, but maybe we could avoid the ones failing to practice good hygiene in the future.”

Tav smiled up at him with a breath of relief. “I’ll be sure to ask them ahead of time to bathe before we decide to play slaughter roulette.”

"Lady of Loss guide me." The cleric stood quickly, pointing her finger inches from his chest with circles of scorn spiraling in her eyes. “Astarion, you were in a total state of haze! She almost died out there!”

Shadowheart wasn’t incorrect by placing her ill contempt on him. It was his fault. Being around the others with his newfound freedom had been nothing short of exhilarating thus far, but it proved to come with complications—including these episodes he couldn’t seem to gain control over.

He scrunched his face dramatically. “I—well, it’s in its grave now, isn’t it? And here our bard stands: alive and breathing with that golden voice still intact.”

“Ugh. I’m not going to argue with you if you’re going to gloss over what just happened. Just know, that if you don’t feed soon, you’re about as good of use to us as a corpse is—pun intended." Shadowheart trudged over mounds of rubble, leading towards more ruinous homes. "By the way, Tav," she announced over her shoulder before leaving her two companions alone to collect themselves, "I trust you'll keep his bites in line."

Astarion reached down, offering his arm out for Tav to grab onto. She wrapped her hand near the crook of his inner elbow and he easily pulled her body weight up in one heave, still keeping her in close proximity to him.

“You’re truly alright? I would offer to kill the piece of shit that harmed you, but it seems I’ve already done my good deed for the week,” Astarion sarcastically grinned.

“Must’ve been the line I inserted about a dwarf mocking their loincloths that riled him up,” she giggled.

“Serves you right then for singing such awful lyrics.”

She playfully punched his bicep. “But, aside from that, you could have told me last night that you needed blood.”

His eyebrows rose. There was a languid swallow to bite back another spasm rumbling from within. And one more to cower behind the rascal he summoned forth. “I seem to remember our focus being on other delights.”

Tav’s ears flushed. She folded her arms against her bust in what appeared to be mild indignation. “Astarion, I’m being serious. Please consider the danger you could be putting us or yourself in next time if your hunger is present to this extent. I would almost consider being heartbroken if you were harmed.”

Astarion was grateful she didn’t inquire further about his mishaps. He didn't want to confront the diseased irreverent reflections, let alone pretending someone cared about him enough to confide in them about the personal affairs of his unbeating heart.

He moved his hand to lightly touch Tav's cheek with the back of his fingers, offering her a pulpy grin. “Almost consider? I think you may have given away who your favorite companion might be! I’m just glad you didn’t wind up a mangled piece of meat, you daring minx. I don’t want you to go anywhere—just yet.”

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Tav couldn’t stop touching her lips.

They felt raw, full of blood rushing from the memento of forbidden kisses shared, now the haunting sensation of a ripened plum being pushed against her.

The heat pooled between her thighs as she imagined how Astarion’s tongue might taste in her mouth. Several times she invited him to break through her barrier by licking smooth circles on his lips, but he would only pull back to settle germane brushes of his maw in the delicate reaches of her neck and cheeks. He intentionally held back.

Astarion was a complicated person, easily slipping his debonair mask back on when he needed it most. Living as a slave must have nearly stripped his entire identity away. But, those unbreakable shards that embedded themselves in the lemure silhouettes of his tarnished soul, were the ones Tav wished to know. Because now he walked a path of barbed shells and rubbery bones and she was hesitant to cross his boundaries—leaving her questions at rest, patiently waiting for what he wanted.

As she approached his tent, reciting to herself that she was only offering her blood to him as a means to an end for his hunger, she could see Astarion reclining on the rug in front, witnessing the disappearing sun giving way to night’s oil slick puddles stretching across the canvassed sky. Her breath caught in her throat, much like when she observed him in the sun. With a pillow tucked under his elbows, he resembled a handsome tunic wearing emperor lounging in deep thought over his conversations with the planets.

“Good evening, my almost favorite rogue. Am I interrupting?” Tav sing-songed, batting her lashes demurely.

Did I just flirt with him? Gods! she thought.

Astarion flashed a teasing smirk. “And a pleasant evening to you, my almost favorite songbird. It’s quite a sight isn’t it? The night sky. I could take or leave that fashion sense of yours.”

Tav snorted. She looked down at her camp clothes, a blue ankle length skirt and light beige chemise she traded with pilfered scrolls. “My fashion? Well, I could take or leave your hunger for blood, but here we are!”

He lifted the side of his mouth to show off his canine to her. “Speaking of which,” he stood, rearranging his camp clothes, casting a coy impression. “...you were my first.”

Her eyes became wide as moons. “Beg pardon?”

“Not that! I’ve feasted putrid animals for two centuries, but you—you were the first thinking creature I’ve drank from. I can’t stop thinking about how delectable you tasted. Which brought me to ponder how the others might taste.”

“You’ve been looking at other necks? I actually think I’m a bit sad, Astarion.” Tav delicately placed a hand on her chest in feigned hurt.

“Now, now, I’m a man of tremendous appetites! Take Shadowheart for instance, she has Calishite Absinthe written all over her, but what do you think about our local Blade of Frontiers?”

She scratched her cheek. ”Wyll? How about a simple sweet cider? Since, he’s such a man of the people.”

“Oh, that sounds very refreshing!” he chortled like a schoolboy.

“Though, you have stroked my curiosity. What did I taste like?” she asked innocently.

Astarion moved in closer to her, catching a strand of her dark ashen locks to play with in between his fingers. “Hmm. I think I may need a fresh sip of your blood to accurately describe the details to you.”

Biting her lower lip kittenishly, she peered into his garnet jeweled eyes with confidence upon her lungs and a drumming behind her rib cage. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Don’t you still need blood? Take mine.”

He lowered his hand to touch her previously bitten wrist, prudently feeling the healed wounds. “I—yes, I do. But, to make sure you invite me back to dine with you in the future, drops from a wrist isn’t going to suffice this time, my sweet.”

“Then, my neck. Would that be enough?” she posed assertively.

She noticed him modifying his stance to subtly adjust a certain part of himself in his pants. “Ahem, yes. It would or at least fill me enough so I can hunt. We can—my tent?”

Tav nodded, giving his arm a flimsy squeeze.

Instead of waiting for him to invite her inside his tent with whatever welcome mat of words he could conjure, she took it upon herself to enter. She noted a few plain rotted velveteen pillows in different shapes he had thrown into a pile and a small candelabra lit off to the side with his recent reading material. Jars of congealed blood and soiled rags were strewn about without a care. His bedding was made of a single flat board, covered with a torn blanket and scattered hay. All of this hidden away behind the linens of his red tent. Tav blinked away the burning sensation in her eyes, imagining that he must be so used to living in meager conditions, that he may almost feel uncomfortable to live in any other way.

But then, something caught her eye: a nondescript espresso colored keepsake box that sat under a neatly placed sewing kit.

She couldn’t help but smile warmly wondering what type of trinkets he bundled into the container. Was Astarion a sentimental man? Maybe he was a collector and kept defective coins inside? She swelled with elated tenderness at the remarkable novelty of it.

In the den of blood and evocation of chased pleasures of a thousand faces, a holy box of unknown covenants to a man stood untethered. To keep out the crusades of devils and evil tyrants, how far would the soul be sold?

“Looking for something?” the vampire blocked the entrance to his tent. Tav couldn’t read him, but she did notice his shift in vision fall in line with the box before turning back to her.

“N-no. Only admiring your decor. And here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly have more pillows to add to your repertoire," she commented, ignoring the poor state of his living space.

He closed the flap behind him, moving to sink on top of the plush pile. They both tossed their boots over towards a separate corner. “I’m a maximalist when it comes to the luxuriant, including whose blood I choose to drink within my tent.”

The pale spawn’s posture straightened as he patted the space between his open legs with a come-hither tone. “Forgive my eagerness, but shall we?”

The bard’s heart started to flutter thinking about the vicinity they were about to be in with each other, even if it was only to help out a friend. 

Friend. Is that what they were?

“How should I sit?”

Astarion beckoned her to come closer with a repetitive motion of his index finger and a seductive grin. Tav crawled over towards him. He drew a circle in the air with the same finger, gesturing for her to turn around. There was a nervous excitement dancing along the fine hairs of her skin when she obediently turned all the way around and sat on the ground in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, silently scooting her against him, the rustling of her skirt dragging with her. She melted as soon as her back clamped against the coolness of his chest. Unsure of how to position her legs, she bent them upwards, letting the flats of her feet rest on one of the ornate cushions.

Tav could feel him gather the fountain of her wavy hair from her back, placing it over one of his shoulders to give him full allowance to nip at her neck. A waft of her lavender and vanilla scent burst out into a cloud from her wispy strands. Astarion inhaled deeply, gliding his hands from her waist up to sit on either side of her shoulders. She shivered when he leaned in to nuzzle his lips against the balm of her jugular vein.

“You know, I have a rather invasive curiosity you may be able to sate. A minor detail from your morning.”

The songstress tilted her head slightly away from him with inquisition on her mind. “And what would that be,” she breathed out.

“Gale of Waterdeep. What was it that you said that caused such outrage from him? Your conversation seemed rather—heated.” The vampire’s voice was a needling whisper against her skin as he pecked the area he currently favored.

Tav puffed out a heady sigh. His fingers modestly skittered down her pale arms as if they were tendrils of vines seeking the charity of the sun. “Why would you like to know? Are you jealous of him, Astarion?”

He smirked, the upturned edges of his mouth tickling her neck. “Why ever would I be jealous? It is not him that’s leaving marks upon your body, Tavelle.”

He mildly bit down on her, unaccompanied by the piercing of his fangs. She cried out when he sucked leisurely on the spot, worrying the velvet of her tender neck in his mouth. Tav murmured a prayer in his name as he spread the thinnest layer of his spit around the sensitive spot. The sound of her name on his beautiful lips caused the fluid of her arousal to settle in between the inner folds of her cunt.

Tav felt so ashamed with her thoughts, succumbing to this man so wantonly that she had only met recently. Of the betrayal of wetness and the desperation to know what came next. If he requested her to suck on prayer beads being fed to her one by one by his long fingers to exhibit how lewd of a woman she had become, she would submit.

He removed his gaping mouth away from her long enough to speak. “You’re trembling again, much like the first time I had you in my mouth. Did you come here for a reward—for all you’ve done for me?”

Tav turned her head towards him as far as she was able, trying not to writhe in his arms. “No. I did those things because I wanted to help you.”

Astarion tilted his head in towards the lobe of her ear, his breath a luring sweet chill of undeath. “Then, what exactly did you come here for? Surely, the reason wasn’t to only let me drink from you.”

Her head spun with lust for the want of him. Not only to quell the fervor her body organically felt for him, but also the unbridled tenebrae of his forgotten beating heart that she kept dipping her toes into. Wading in his twilight.

And she wanted more.

“I came here for a distraction,” she panted, referencing back to a previous conversation they exchanged. Uncertainty bit at her worried lips about him, what he may be thinking or feeling. “But, if you don’t want—"

“Shhh. Let me take care of you, darling.” He traced cool brushes across the protruding bone of her clavicle from one side to the other. Then, Astarion’s voice was a lyrical cadence caressing her ear, “Let me speak to you of wandering.”

Gilded fingers swooped down her ribs, feeling each ridge until they momentarily grabbed onto her hip. With the vacancy of his other hand, he guided his knuckles to the side of her swollen breast, caressing its rounded shape. Tav felt the walls of her slit clench onto nothing. Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation like that of a small animal.

Closer and closer he drew to the front of her bosom, pulling out gasp after gasp from her until she felt faint. Tav seized his hand, rotating it so his digits could feel her perked teat through her clothes. She implored him to rub it with a “please.”

"So very impatient," he teasingly chuckled behind her. “So very impatient. Though, I have a confession: the first time I bit you, I could see your breasts peeking through your shirt and I wanted to outline the letters of my name on your nipples."

He pulled down her chemise, letting her bountiful chest spill free. A pale index finger circled around the spun sugary pink of an areola, eliciting a carefree vibrato from the bard. He tested her sensitivity by giving her nipple a soft pinch. Tav squirmed as he held her, holding onto the wrist delivering his ministrations for dear life.

Astarion kissed the back of her shoulder, his gratifying hum, a low roll on her skin. “Mm. You react so exquisitely to my touch. Should I start with the letter ‘A’?”

Gods, Tav wanted to scream! She would remove the crown of regal flowers from her head, to smear his want in each crevice of her mouth. He could order her onto her knees, pushing the tip of his cock past her sumptuous lips with promises to anoint her with his cum, allowing him to claim her for his own.

“Answer me,” he said roughly, squeezing her whole breast in his hand.

“Please trace your name on me,” she whimpered with an embarrassed huff.

The scrape of the vamp’s fangs were at her neck and she imagined what it would feel like for his sanguine fascination to nip at her tits. The stitch of his razored cuspids mixed with bloody desire. Tav hadn’t confided in him about how aroused biting in general made her or the fact that she had sunk her fingers several times over into her wet hole, remembering how the initial pain of him biting her wrist felt.

“A. S. T. A. R. I. O. N." He rubbed the tip of her pertness with his thumb in strokes and swooshes, spelling out his name possessively on her flesh. "Look at you being such a good girl for me. Let me see where else I can wander.”

Astarion startled her when he shifted and the grip on her hip went slack. His hand appeared near her foot where the hem of her skirts dangled. He toyed with material of her silken stockings, dangerously lifting up her skirts enough to sift his fingers up and down her clothed shin. The icy touch halted near her inner ankle before he tantalizingly dragged the fabrics upwards, where his limber fingers left a trail of glacial tingles along her leg.

Her eyes clenched shut when the compass of his touch made it to her knee. “Astarion, keep going. Don’t stop,” Tav rasped.

Further up his descent he drifted, reaching the halfway point of her inner thigh. He forced the rest of her skirts up to rest by her hips in one swift motion.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion skimmed his touch along the ribbon tied around her thigh, holding up the hidden lace trimmed silk of her hosiery. “Such forbidden raptures concealed from the world. Did you wear these in hopes I would see them?”

Tav gulped. She answered him with a suggestive moan. Her body tensed as he stroked his fingers between the stocking and the creaminess of her skin. The folds of her slit were bathed in fluids; her smalls were soaked from her neediness.

There was a sharp intake of his breath, a certain gluttonous deprivation she could detect. He urgently pressed her ass back into his pelvis and she could feel everything. The salivating length of his cock—the perfect girth of it—but most of all, how devastatingly hard he could get.

Sensually, he gnawed at her ear lobe. “Gods. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Aloud, she whined for him, twitching in his arms. He continued to pinch and pull at her nipple with one hand, while the other tumbled closer, closer, closer to her heaven. He slithered his fingers to frisk the hem of her smalls, drafting the threads delicately stitched along the outer edges.

Astarion kneaded his hand into the space between her thigh and her dripping filth, encouraging her legs to widen. “Reach down and spread yourself for me.”

The smoldering flush overtaking her body was nearly unbearable. But, he was commanding her with a carnally low voice and she wanted, no, needed to surrender to him. And so, she reached down betwixt her pale thighs to push her smalls to the side, timidly spreading the outer lips of her labia.

Clit throbbing to the exposed air, Astarion wasted no time in drawing foreign symbols around it. He circled her nub with his index finger, spreading her gathered slick as if he were savoring the sweetest of desserts before allowing himself to swallow it down.

“Oh my gods…” Tav managed to stutter out while his fingers slowly pulled her to nirvana with his golden chilled scald.

For the last several nights, she had thought about his hands on her, guiding her to a blinding light of pleasure. She had never been embraced in such a hedonistic, yet tenderly amatory way, in her lifetime. He was practiced in his persuasive dynamics, but he treated her like she was the only woman alive that could bring rhapsody to his aching frenzy. That she was his to keep and place inside that little curio box he kept tucked away for his own bliss.

Two of his fingers dipped down into her gaping hole and a lilt of an impassioned wail came undone from her throat. She had tears in her eyes from all the sensations she felt. Tav thought for years that a man would never caress her again, that she couldn’t bear to let another physically have admission to the spectrums of her ecstasy. But, Astarion roused a blistering zeal she had been petrified was completely emptied out of her from her last relationship.

He easily entered her, rocking her back and forth on his digits. “I can’t believe how your cunt drips for me, lover.”

He gave her no breadth of room to steady her breathing as his long fingers firmly thrusted into her canal. The vamp crooked them into that spongy spot within her and she perilously concentrated to keep her lips open wide for him. The songstress’s pitch, once mere murmurs of dew drops falling from leaves into the soft earth, became lewd church bells of lamenting convictions sobbing his name.

“As-Astarion! Astarion. Ahhhhh. Oooo.”

Deftly does he move his hand from her breast to her mouth. He placed his index and middle fingers in front of her crying lips, coaxing it to open. A long exerted sigh of warmed air left her lungs as she readily—so hastily—accepted his agile instruments into her wet orifice. Tav greedily slid her tongue between his fingers, offering the loveliest of sucklings to them as a succubus’s groan filled her mouth. The holy water of her saliva could not keep him out.

Her body turned pliable when he nibbled near the point of her ear, flicking her earring with his tongue. She sighed around the intrusions in between her lips, finding herself grinding her backside along his hard cock. He stilled her with a thumb pressing along her aroused clit.

Astarion alternated between gentle languorous pumps into her drenched slit and rubbing her sensitive bundle of nerves. He softly stroked from the middle of her vagina up to her unhooded clit, applying slow thrums of taps when she whimpered for him to keep going. Then, he slid his fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ down her inner labia lips slowly until he reached the entrance of her sex, encircling it gently.

The further he prepped her for climax, the more her spit coated his fingers and dribbled down her chin in an immodest show of her starved paradise. The woman within his arms begged for release with her body the more she sacrificed herself to him.

There was a howling wind knocking at his tent and cicadas drowning out their debauched acts. Astarion was washing her ashore with his fingers moving like honey exploring her insides. Her pearl was his to enrapture and he was massaging it so sweet.

“I’m close,” the songbird whispered into the dimly lit space of their sins.

“Sing for me,” he keened.

Then, his fangs were biting into the ripe juncture of her neck and he was drinking her like a carafe of water. The blood was flowing in a deluge of puddles into his mouth, ribbons of merlot streaming from the wound. And the noises he made as if she belonged to only him, sent a twinge of secretions to her nether regions she didn’t realize she could still create.

He lifted up from his supper long enough to tell her to cum for him and she did. She begged and screamed around his fingers in muffled phrases of “I want you inside me” and “ oh my gods, Astarion.” Waves washed over her body in a rite of passage ceremony, contracting around his willowy fingers as they slowed their propels.

As the quakes started to subside, Tav removed saliva soaked fingers from her mouth and tugged on his silvery curls, ripping his face towards her from his drink. Her half-lidded pools of blue bore into the crimson of his eyes. The smells of her vitality and sexual energy were heavy in the air, a luring mixture of creeds continually inviting him in. She stared at the bloody nectar flowing down his chin—the smears stained across his mouth—and crushed her lips against his.

The vampire spawn moaned into her mouth, then pulled back from the kiss. He pulled out his fingers from her quivering heat and cupped her cheek, her musky elixir permeating her skin. His eyes foraged hers, moving back and forth, as if he were seeking spiritual redemption. And she waited. She waited for him to discover one of the unspoken truths she could not explain.

Finally, he kissed her back with salty musk and rich caramel taste thick on his tongue as he stuck part of it in her mouth. Then, there was a frantic impulse where they were placing open-mouthed kisses on each other's hands, necks, and faces. Tav turned around, her breasts still unsheltered and her juices leaking down her thighs, as Astarion wrapped his arms around her back pulling her into him. She threw her arms around his neck, insatiably needing to cover herself with the scent from his body.

Struggling to breathe, she reached down to tear his billowy shirt from his pants. “I want to make you feel good too.”

But, he grabbed her calloused hands and pressed the back of them to his blood-stained lips with soothing pecks. “Not tonight, my dear. You have done more than enough.”

Tav retreated from him with a concerned smile, sitting back on her knees. The spell is now broken and self-consciousness festered within the small space. Something felt—off.

He reached for a few of the clean rags he kept and aided her in after care. With composure, he wiped her wetness away, then grinned impishly as he cleaned her lips and mouth of her red nectar. Delicately, he pulled her chemise back up over her chest, giving a final rub to her exposed shoulders.

There was a mournful dance behind his eyes and she wanted to lead him from his demons to lay his head in the cathedral of her lap. What’s wrong? she wanted to sing, stepping on airy tiptoes. Her thoughts were oscillating as her heart panged in an act of guilt and a bloom of feelings she wanted to extinguish. What they just did, meant something to her, but she wasn’t sure it did to him.

By the hells, she wanted to tell him that he made her feel wanted. That she never thought touch could feel like deliverance. That he was wanted too. And she would follow him through his odyssey of entrails because she cared about him with the passing second. But, it’s a conversation she didn’t know how to have.

“I should probably head back to my tent before anyone becomes too nosey,” Tav laughed anxiously.

Astarion simpered silently, opening the tent flap.

She smoothed down her locks, heading for the exit, forbidding herself to look back at him.

”Tav?”

Briefly, she glanced over her shoulder, afraid she had been used and was now being rejected. "Hmm?"

“To answer your question earlier about how your blood tastes—” he moved awkwardly, a fleeting expression of contemplation present.

“Yes?”

“You taste like ambrosial blackberries and…a ballad of home.”

[xerith-42]

vylad headcanonssss?

You guys are really pushing me to make more of these (this is not a problem)

If it wasn't obvious I've been letting some ideas for my new rewrite to leak out into some of my posts here, but this is where I switch things up and make this distinctly mcd Vylad headcanons for one simple reason:

Vylad Ro'maeve of Ru'aun is Aromantic Asexual. You cannot change my mind on this.

Also Vylad uses he/they pronouns (I feel like we as a fandom can agree on this)

Vylad's favorite animal is a hawk or a mouse

While he doesn't know for sure, Vylad is fairly confident he knows who killed them. He learns to come to terms with the fact that vengeance simply isn't possible and therefore not worth going after. And by the time it is possible, he's spent so long not thinking of it that it really just isn't an interest anymore.

Canonically Vylad can play the ocarina and I will never not be upset that we weren't given more of this. Aaron forces everyone to take a day off from building the settlement, and yet we don't see Vylad sitting in a tree playing his ocarina.

He got it and theoretically learned to play it from his mother, so why don't we ever see the two of them playing it together, or just Vylad playing a song for their mother? (this is a whole thing I could go into abt mcd characters and instruments)

Needless to say Vylad isn't particularly fond of verbal forms of expression, but I can totally see him playing different songs or melodies based on different moods or feelings. Aph asks him what song he's playing and Vylad will very honestly answer her or anyone who asks. "It was a lullaby my mother taught me. I worry about her sometimes, but this song always reminds me of when she looked happiest."

Vylad is a mama's boy.

Vylad doesn't really like talking much, he tends to prefer lingering in the background and not really saying much when he's in the foreground. The only exception to this is Garroth after he comes back from the Irene Dimension. Vylad has missed his brother so much, they have spent so much time worrying about him and trying to find a way to bring him back, that once he actually has Garroth around, it's honestly like he's been brought back to life a bit.

It's slow and steady, but Garroth manages to get his brother out of their shell. Vylad doesn't talk to many people, but he talks to Garroth a LOT, like constantly. People don't believe it until they hear/see it because Vylad can literally go back and forth with Garroth about literally whatever until the end of time. Like if you asked Vylad what his ideal life would be, it would just be to grab like five people and get to spend the rest of his life having long conversations with them.

Vylad really likes talking to the right people. He's just gotten so good at closing people off it's hard to show the kind of vulnerability he's capable of in said talks. I said five people but it would probably just be Garroth, Aph, and Laurance. Probably his mother, maybe Hyria, but that's it. Vylad keeps most people at arms length or further, but he's willing to open up to them because they understand him on some level most people can't.

Irene help me I just want to write scenes of Vylad talking to people now. Vylad has been around for so long, seen so much, and has some very fascinating perspective on life and the fratility of the human spirit. I know he's not one of Vylad's people, but I would love to just listen to him and Vincent talk. Throw Laurance in there and you have a podcast I will literally not stop listening to.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Dancing through the night

@incorrectly-quoting-mxtx here is the ficlet that resulted from your prompt marinating in my brain for the past two days. Thank you for the wait and the sweet words, I hope you like this!

If any of you have any ideas you'd like me to write, feel free to mention me in a post and I may write it if the inspiration gods bless me!

---

"Is there anything you can't do to perfection?" Wei Wuxian begins, a fond look in his eyes and a teasing smile on his lips as he and his husband walk into their inn suite. "I don't think there's anything you don't excel at!"

Lan Wangji's eyes color a light pink at that as he sits at the table, a pot of wine awaiting, courtesy of the innkeeper.

Though he is used to hearing such words left and right, praise an appanage of his reputation, his heart always stutters whenever Wei Wuxian sets on a tirade about how great his Hanguang-Jun is. The words flow so easily out of him, like he's laying out obvious facts that anybody would see, poorly pretending to be unaware of the effect he has on Lan Wangji. It hasn't been a rare occurence for the man to have to shut Wei Wuxian up with kisses - otherwise he would have gone on for hours, waxing poetic about his husband's everything.

However, tonight is going to go different.

"There is something." Lan Wangji responds, pouring a cup of wine for Wei Wuxian, who gratefully downs it before taking his seat on Lan Wangji's lap, arms coming to circle his neck loosely. The closeness is both comforting and electric, eyes locked lovingly.

"What could there be that the great, unparalleled Hanguang-Jun hasn't mastered yet?" Wei Wuxian asks, letting one of his hands cup Lan Wangji's face, thumb stroking his cheek.

"Dancing."

"Oh?" Wei Wuxian feigns shock, "We cannot let such a simple skill evade someone as amazing as you, can we?"

Lan Wangji lets his hands caress over Wei Ying's thighs, parting robes. "Hm? What do you suggest?"

"Fortunately for you, I am an amazing dancer, and I can teach you!"

Before Lan Wangji can protest, Wei Wuxian pulls him up to his feet, and he has to catch himself out of the saccharine sweetness of having been held and holding his beloved before he falls flat on his face.

"We need music." Lan Wangji attempts a protest, though his hands come to rest around Wei Wuxian's slim waist nevertheless.

Wei Wuxian smiles, winding his arms around Lan Wangji again and begins humming a familiar tune, his voice melodious around the unspoken lyrics. He urges Lan Wangji to move, steps slow and close together, a simple sequence of moving together into an imaginary circle.

Lan Wangji's brows furrow in concentration, and Wei Wuxian finds the sight adorable enough to let a small giggle escape him before he leans to leave a butterfly kiss on the tip of his husband's nose. He stops humming to do it, and Lan Wangji stills, embarrassed.

"Wei Ying. The music."

"You know it too."

Lan Wangji wraps an arm around Wei Wuxian's waist, firmer, and fills up the tiny space between them. He picks up the song where Wei Ying left off, and tries to mirror the movements Wei Wuxian just showed him.

He thinks of the way he composed that song, how easily it had come to him and how difficult it had been for him to understand what he was feeling for this annoying, rule-breaking, intelligent, beautiful man that's now his companion for life.

He thinks of how he hummed this song thinking of him, when he was missing, when he wasn't himself, when he died.

He thinks of how he'd sang it as lullaby for A-Yuan.

He thinks of how it had been the first song Wei Ying played when he returned.

They move in tandem to their song, little circles around the wide room, and some time between gazing at his beloved like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky, and delighting in how easily he picked up those simple movements, Wei Wuxian joins in the duet.

They hum and dance like that for a while, unhurried, enjoying one another and the memories they had with their song, adding yet another one to cherish with Wangxian as a background melody.

One day, perhaps, they'd write a sequel.

[moulinblanc0800]

why wandering clown is wataru singing to eichi

or, wataru's second solo from the fine trip album lyric analysis as seen through a wataei lens (honestly though this song is so incredibly specific to his and Eichi's story 😭)

Thank you to lucidstars on youtube, whose translation I based this off. Let's begin!

Verse 1: A wandering clown crosses the sea of stars while taking light steps, as if kicking beads

'Sea of stars' makes me think of outer space, how Wataru views himself as an alien or monster, something otherworldly.

A few other things come to mind: stars are very Eichi symbolism, like in his first solo Shining Star; and Jingle Bells, when the Angel flies through the sky with Eichi. The beads are immediately reminiscent of Eichi's solo Crystal Pleasure. (There's actually an insane number of parallels between the two solos as we'll see.)

The applause is for you, my whole soul that goes into a whirlpool of emotion And to be able to lock eyes with you in the garden of joy would be such a wonderful thing (showtime)

This is a stretch but walk with me. The first line is daydream. "A resounding applause (kassai ga hibiki wataru)" is the first line. The applause was for Eichi alone, while Wataru was enmeshed by all his conflicting feelings at the time.

In Wataru's words to Eichi in Blackbird, which directly follows daydream: "It’s as though something I cannot quite comprehend is stirring inside me", "as though he were a child who had just tripped for the very first time in his life."

I tried looking up garden of joy (歓喜の園 kanki no sono) to see if it was a reference but couldn't find anything. But I did think of the garden of Eden and the idea of exfine being holy angels, divination...idk.

Chorus: Let’s sew countless sparkles into this dream Sing as the wings of love flap Tonight at the end of the world, the clown you invited Will deliver a surprising song you’ve never heard before

This part screams Blackbird, where Eichi and Wataru write the next part of their story. In fact this is pretty much blatantly repeated by Eichi in Crystal Pleasure: "I want to connect all the sparkling moments" and "let me give you happy dreams". (I really have to do a separate analysis for Crystal).

Wings of love --> can be Wataru's bird imagery, callback to Jingle Bells' Angel, or the continued bird imagery in Blackbird

"At the end of the world"- In Neo Sanctuary, fine sings "And that is the Neo Sanctuary, the blooming new world I offer this victory to". In the same sense, they were at the end of the old world, about to embark on a new one, with the clown that Eichi invited... to fine :) [Oh this is ALSO mentioned in Crystal Pleasure's second chorus: "I’ll invite you into the brilliance, towards the tomorrow that you wish for"] This is one of the most blatant Wataei parts of the two solos.

Verse 2: Tied together with mischief, the melody of the constellations echo so close to each other every time you resonate your wish I want to speak to those eyes of yours, on this stage coloured by enthusiasm

The star imagery continues... Suspiciously in alignment with Crystal Pleasure. I will note that the same word for wish 望む is used here as in Crystal's second chorus. Both Wandering and Crystal sing about eyes countless times, I'll let you play with that yourselves.

But maybe I’m the only one who wants that When the curtain rises, the boundaries fade away I can almost feel your breath, you beautiful person

This part. Ough. Again, walk with me, this is like a reverse, or parallel of daydream. "Maybe I'm the only one who wants that"--when Wataru, unlike the other Eccentrics, was always fascinated by Eichi and even went to join fine, to the befuddlement of the rest.

In daydream, Wataru catches Eichi as the curtain falls, telling him that the audience is still watching, and commenting that it's unsightly (jury's out on whether he was talking about Eichi or himself, but anyway). Meanwhile, Eichi thinks Wataru "beautiful". They are so close that Eichi coughs up blood on Wataru's face.

These last lines of the second verse aren't daydream, but they're the present. Instead of a falling curtain, it's a rising curtain. And they're close as ever, so close he can feel his breath. And in this implied performance, they're standing on the same stage. In Wataru's words in Diner Live: "I wanted to stand on the same stage as you, Tenshouin Eichi [...] Unlike the confrontation of the past, a “what-if” that shows a past where we are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, or maybe even in the present. That’s the kind of dream I wanted to see."

Yeah. I'm. I'm normal

The second chorus ends with two different lines:

Tonight at the end of the world, the clown you're dancing with Will deliver an incredible dream just as you wish for

At this point

they're just not hiding anything are they.

Now that I'm done destroying myself here, I have to do Crystal Pleasure god i have to do crystal pleasure. I hope u enjoyed this post! Thank you for listening to me bend my back over for them. Feel free to add on if you noticed anything else.

[paramounticebound]

~ Character Info Sheet

name: Sibahl Khan Noonien Singh

name meaning: 'Khan', often a surname, is derived from the historic title khan, referring to a military chief or royalty. Ruler, leader, king. / 'Noonien' is of Chinese origin and means "gifted one". The story goes that Gene Roddenberry, in the midst of the Cold War, was attempting to find a friend with this name and hoped seeing it on the big screen would enable them to connect again. / 'Singh' is a Punjabi/Sikh surname, derived from the Sanskrit word सिंह (IAST: siṃha) meaning "lion", and is used in the sense of "hero" or "eminent person". ['Sibahl' is rooted from two different sanskrit words: 'singh' which means lion and 'bal' which means strength.]

tl;dr his name is an amalgamation of different cultural roots, while the general meanings remain consistent.

alias/es: The Augmented Prince, The Augmented Tyrant, John Harrison, Captain, Popsicle, KHAAAAN

ethnicity: indian british now ig thanks section 31 ┐('～`；)┌

one picture you like best of your chara:

and his alternate fc b/c i have no chill:

three h/cs you've never told anyone:

His name, I suppose. Learning that 'Khan Noonien Singh' was not the original name for the character sort of set me off, along with the moment in the comic where he took on a new moniker. Sibahl is the name that Sarina gave him, and sometimes he still tastes it in the back of his throat; yet when he'd realized what he must become to lead his people, he shed it in favor of KHAN.

While he fears failure and loss, Khan does not fear death. Truthfully, he finds the concept comforting in a way that words can barely describe. To return to the earth, to stardust, is so unfathomably beautiful-- to continue the cycle of life until it dissipates in entirety. His body will feed the soil, bacteria and carrion consuming all that he has to offer, and so he will live on and on in a way that the soul cannot. He's absolutely written poetry about it, and you'll never get to read it.

When he was a child, he was gifted a khanda by a close friend of Sarina's-- a historian and antique dealer. While it was originally ornamental in design, Khan sharpened and modified it to become a functional weapon.

While I generally consider him unable to scar, a wound from a previous rp partner yet transcends many of his verses. It's a scar just under his rib cage on the left side, vaguely in the shape of a sunburst.

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Calligraphy-- he misses paper and ink, how his hands long to create instead of destroy.

Playing chess-- a way to destress while keeping the mind sharp.

Whittling-- he has occasionally been known to gift woodwork he's created. Not as often in his current timeline.

eight people your character likes / loves:

Marla McGivers (@sweetbitterbitten): A mad widower does not a worth leader make. Without her, insanity is the best comfort that can be had. With her-- oh, with her, Persephone to his Hades, he is fit to rule in hell. He is fit to drag it wherever he needs it to be.

Fox Alkaev (@vuulpecula): After writing him for so long, Fox has become interwoven into his story, in some way or another. In every verse, he is somehow connected to her.

Sarina Kaur: Mother is God in the eyes of a child.

Joachim: What is a king without an advisor? This is his right hand man and greatest confidant.

Kati: Much like Joachim, he relies on her wisdom, either as a dampener to his righteous fury, or a kindling when blood must be shed.

Liesel Ivanov (@noblehcart ): Who else can dance only to melody of humming stars and thrumming hearts?

His unnamed child from Wrath of Khan/Ender (@middaysandmidnights): His child, his legacy, his lifeblood. The one whom he hopes will endure despite him.

The rest of his crew: without them, he is nothing, a dead end king, a freedom fighter without a cause.

Multiple muses that have melted his icy heart over the years. I'd make a giant post if you'd let me.

two things your character regrets:

Terran exile, and how long it has taken to regain a rightful throne. He wishes that he hadn't relied on the unknown to save them.

Letting any of his people die. Those that have still haunt him, ghosts ever present, continually chanting, "Our captain has left us behind."

two phobias your character has:

Claustrommetaphobia - fear of suffocation in an enclosed space.

Atychiphobia - an extreme fear of failure.

Tagged by : @ssolessurvivor <333

Tagging: @gcldenratio @asteritm @jundlcndwastes (juni!) @hcxcd @noblehcart (liesel!) @lastsurvivor @sweetbitterbitten (whomever you're feeling the most; or marla!) @vulku / @greatprotector @admiralchristopherpike @godresembled (rey!) @whydotheykeeptakingmine @learnedlucidity @hiislegacy @weavefcrged @primitiveside @dethqveen and YOU!

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 11: Asgardian Lullaby for Saoirse

Summary: Loki recounts a tender moment between him and baby Saoirse.

Word Count: 2,437 words.

Chapter Warnings: Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty.

Soundtrack Link

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Please don't hate me for taking a chapter to grow Saoirse's angst a bit rather than going on about what is going on with Melara. Just a little liberty with the storytelling.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

The ethereal quietude draped the end of time as Saoirse perched upon the armchair conjured by her father, her eyes reflecting the ancient light of distant galaxies. Loki had quieted once he recalled the weakness Melara had displayed, his gaze reaching across the expanse of existence. Their surroundings pulsed with the echoes of cosmic symphonies like a living museum of time that flowed around them.

“I never knew that she struggled so deeply and so early on,” Saoirse’s voice broke the celestial silence, her words hanging like a mist. “Her songs…they always seemed so full of life. So full of strength. She always seemed…okay…at least for a while.”

Loki, with the faintest of smiles, turned towards the strands of timelines hanging behind him, seemingly looking up at his throne as if it had the words he sought. “Your mother’s resilience is the melody of her soul, one that even the stars have whispered about. Her music…it was more than sound and silence. It was her essence…her vitality.”

With a puzzled look, Saoirse leaned towards Loki, “What does that even mean?”

Loki regarded Saoirse with an expression of reminiscence and sorrow. “To understand your mother, you must look beyond what is heard. Each note she sang was infused with her spirit; her songs were like the air her lungs craved. In her music, she found a sanctuary, a place where her strength could flourish, even when the shadows crept into her life.”

He paused, his fingers brushing against the fabric of reality as if to coax forth a melody from the very ether. “When you know Melara as I have, you will see that her struggles never dampened her…fire…Instead, they fueled it, giving rise to the powerful music that enchanted the hearts of those who listened.”

Saoirse’s brow furrowed. “But…,” she trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

Loki leaned closer, his form casting a sudden green glow. “The Melara you knew – the star that shined brightly on every stage – was the truest part of her. The weakness, the trials…they were but fleeting shadows. Her music? That is what endures. That is what defines her.”

He reached out, placing a hand on Saoirse’s shoulder, “And you…carry that same light within you. Her strength, her resilience – they live on in the very core of your being.”

Saoirse sat back, shrugging off her father’s touch yet absorbing his words, a mix of emotions playing across her face. “Then why does it feel like I’m only now discovering who she truly was?” Her voice was a whisper, yet it carried the uncertainty and her longing to connect with the mother she thought she knew.

Loki’s smile returned, tinged with the wisdom of ages. “You came here seeking the truth and I gave it to you. Understanding the essence of a person is like unraveling an infinite melody. You must come prepared to hear the lighter keys and the darker ones if you seek the truth. And sometimes, it is in the quietest and the darkest of notes that we find the greatest truths.”

Saoirse’s eyes hardened, the celestial reflection in them flickering like the flames of a star about to supernova. “Cryptic words and riddles, Loki,” she snapped, her father’s name laced with a biting edge. “I’ve traveled here for answers, not to be shrouded in more mystery. You speak of truth, but cloak it in enigma!”

Loki’s gaze did not falter; it held the calm of the cosmos and the storm of knowledge yet to be shared. “It is not my intention to vex you, daughter. The truths of the heart and the soul are complex. They cannot always be delivered simply.”

“Enough,” Saoirse cut in sharply, standing up so swiftly that the armchair dissolved into stardust behind her. “I am tired of chasing shadows. You say her music is her resilience, her vitality. But where was that vitality when she lay weak, when her light dimmed? You speak as if you were there but I don’t remember your voice in the night, only hers. I remember the songs she sang to me, the strength she wrapped me in. Not yours!”

Loki’s countenance, usually a mask of composure, faltered slightly. “My absence is my regret,” he admitted, “but know this – every note Melara ever sang, I felt as if it was I who breathed them to her. I was absent in form, but never in spirit. Your mother and I…we are bound by a song that transcends realms, a duet that even I cannot fully comprehend.”

Saoirse’s stance was defiant, her voice rising as she clenched her fists standing over Loki. “You speak of duets, yet I’ve only ever known the solo. Her solo. If you were there in any form, why does it feel like a piece of my history is missing?”

A flicker of green light danced across Loki’s eyes, betraying a hint of his own frustration. “Because, Saoirse, there are melodies amongst the strands of time that are meant to be felt, not heard. I am the god of mischief, of stories, but also of unspoken truths. I was there in the whisper of the wind, in the protective circle that music cast around you, in every lullaby.”

For a brief moment, Saoirse’s anger seemed to wane, replaced by an aching confusion that echoed a longing for her mother’s comfort. “If you were there, then why-“

“Because some truths,” Loki interjected, the green in his eyes now a soft glow, “are too heavy for young shoulders. I could only watch and hope that one day you would understand. The sacrifices…”

In the silence that followed, the distance between them was palpable. Saoirse, a daughter caught between realms, between the love for her mother and the rage against her father, stood at the precipice of understanding. Loki, the god shrouded in immortality and enigma, sought a bridge across the chasm of years apart and silence.

“You claim to be a god,” Saoirse’s voice had softened, but the sternness remained. “Yet you hide behind the veil of your duty to the multiverse. If you were there, show me. Show me the truth of all that time.”

Blinking with an eerie sense of calm Loki answered with a question. “Do you recall, daughter, the lullaby I used to sing to you?” Loki’s voice, a soft murmur, was delicate as it played against the cosmic orchestra behind him.

Saoirse’s eyes, hardened once more, like forged steel, she did not waver. “I remember a lullaby, yes,” she retorted sharply. “She sang to me every night when I was little, but what does that have to do with anything?”

Loki, unfazed, continued, “It was an olden tune, steeped in Asgard’s heritage, long lost by the time you were born. It was a charm of protection I bestowed upon you.”

Saoirse bristled, her voice rising like a tempest. “Stop. I know the songs of my mother, not the fairytales of a father who claims moments he never lived.”

With an arched eyebrow and a sly grin, Loki looked up at Saoirse. “So, you do acknowledge that I am your father?”

Before Saoirse could respond, Loki extended his arm, and with a flick of the wrist replaced the chair that had been disintegrated in her anger. With another wave of his hand, Loki used his magic to push Saoirse back into the chair, eliciting an angry huff. Undeterred by her frustration, Loki hummed the melody of a compellingly beautiful tune, piercing the silence between them.

“That song,��� Saoirse breathed, a storm of emotions clouding her face. “That’s what she sang to me.”

Loki’s smile was a saddened crescent in the starlight. “No, it was I who first sang it to you, here on the throne. Your mother kept the memory alive.”

The echoes of his voice tapered off, leaving a palpable tension. “Lies,” Saoirse hissed, gripping the armrests of her chair. “I was there, in the very fabric of your absence. You were never the figure in the story, the shadow by my bed. You were never the one to brush away the nightmares.”

Loki’s expression grew somber, the galaxies in his eyes flickering with regret. “I was there, more than you know, more than I could ever show.”

“There you go again,” the air between them crackled, charged with Saoirse’s indignation and the raw power of the magic inherited from the god seated before her. “You are the god of many things, Loki, but a father? Ha!”

Loki’s gaze drifted into the void, a solitary figure before the vastness of time. “Amidst all my tales and trickery, you, Saoirse, remain the one truth I cannot disguise.” Thinking for a moment, Loki extended his hand, and the fabric of time seemed to pause, awaiting the will of its master.

“Then see, daughter,” he spoke once more, this time with a resonance that vibrated through the very stars. “Witness the past as I lived it.”

The cosmos around them shifted, stars and galaxies blurring as if caught in a celestial storm. Images began to coalesce – Loki himself, cradling a baby Saoirse on the throne, his voice soothing and hushed as the baby’s cries echoed off the swirling onyx marble. Shushing her gently, Loki rocked her gently, “I know, love. Your poor mother needed a break from her duties. But fear not, you are under the watchful eye of Loki, the grand architect of stories and weaver of fates. Your cries, they are but the opening notes of the grandest tale yet told.”

An image of Loki smiled at baby Saoirse as if seeking her approval, but her wailing only continued louder as she kicked her little legs and feet against his chest. Rocking her softly, the god of mischief and stories transformed his voice into a soothing cadence. “Princess Saoirse Freyja Runa Lokisdottir, your name commands the respect of the stars and the curiosity of the multiverse. Now shall we hush the night with a spell of slumber?” And so he began to sing:

Close your eyes, my precious one, In realms of fire and ice, you’ve spun. Dream of flames that dance so high, And frost that paints the winter sky. Stars alight in fiery hue, Ice crystals gleam just for you. In this world of contrasts bold, Your story, my dear, will unfold.

As Saoirse’s cries softened under the soothing baritone of her father’s voice, Loki’s eyes twinkled with an impish charm as he continued to rock her gently in his arms.

Fire and ice they both entwine, In a heart that’s purely thine. Sleep, my child, in realms so vast, In your dreams let these wonders last. With flames of passion, hearts aglow, And ice that tempers, soft and slow. You’re my light, my guiding spark, In this world, and realms beyond the dark.

With his final words barely above a whisper, a now-sleeping infant shivered before snuggling into her father’s embrace. Loki adjusted her in his arms, a playful smirk gracing his lips. “Now, my love, rest. One day, you’ll wield the powers that will have even the mightiest of deities looking over their shoulders. But for now, little one, let’s content ourselves with a more benign form of bedlam – like charming your father into carrying you through the stars.”

Loki kissed her forehead gently, brushing a dark curl out of her face. “If only your uncles Mobius and Thor could feast their eyes on this,” he whispered

***

Tears, unbidden, welled in Saoirse’s eyes as the memory faded around them. “I…I’ve been here? I never knew,” Saoirse breathed, the anger replaced by a dawning sorrow.

Loki subtly nodded, waiting for his daughter to process what she had seen.

“That better not have been a trick…another one of your lies, I swear, Loki. I will end you right here.”

His posture sinking, Loki spoke, “There is much we both have yet to understand. But know this – neither time nor realm can sever what we are to each other.”

Saoirse’s gaze softened, her anger giving way to a reluctant vulnerability. “I came here to confront you,” she admitted, her voice faltering. “But now…now, I’m not sure what I’m fighting for anymore.”

Loki stood and stepped forward towards his daughter, offering a hand that shimmered with the stardust of ages. He regarded his daughter with a father’s heart, one that had too often been cloaked in the shadows of his myth and legend. It was at this moment, he chose to speak of the lessons he had learned that brought him to the throne. “The fight you seek,” he said, his voice as soft as the light of a distant star, “is not with me, but within you. It is the struggle of understanding who you are and reconciling the past with the present.”

Saoirse, her defenses faltering like the walls of a long-worn fortress, exhaled a sigh that carried the burden of her journey to the end of time. She searched herself for the words to respond to her father standing before her. “All my life…I have been shadowboxing, fighting an image of you painted by absence and silence.”

Loki took another step forward, the space between them closing yet still charged with the energy of emotions unspoken. “And now you see, daughter, that image was but a single yarn of a much bigger story. I have loved you, cared for you, protected you – it was always there, just beyond the veil of your reality. And she knew.”

Saoirse’s eyes, no longer flinty with anger but seeking clarity, locked onto Loki’s. “You say I carry her light within me,” she spoke, accusation and yearning in her voice, “but what of your shadow? Is that not also a part of who I am?”

The god’s smile was wistful, and for a moment, it seemed as though the universe itself held its breath. “Yes,” he acknowledged, “you are both the dawn and the dusk. The light of your mother and the shadows of your father. You are both her fire and my ice. It is a legacy that you must wield with care, daughter.”

She nodded, the fight draining from her spirit as understanding began to dawn. “I am the balance. But…”

Loki stepped back to his seat, hovering over it as he waited for Saoirse to finish her words. “Yes?”

“You say you were there for us. So why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t save her? For her? For me?”

“You still don’t know anything. Daughter, we have only scratched the surface…” Loki said, his voice taking on a more somber tone.

Saoirse’s eyes darkened, “Then tell me everything.”

“As you wish…”

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

[alastors-morningstar]

my thoughts on the drEP,

to whoever wants to hear;

Slow Down:

Originally when we heard the snippet for it, I figured it wasn’t going to be my favorite song on the ep, but I absolutely love this song!

Favorite lyric: I lay awake at night, feeling like I’m behind.

The song itself, the melodies and lyrics are so mystical, looking into the future while reminding yourself to stay in the now while also reflecting on the past is so beautiful. Plus, the use of seasons within the song and the play on words “the summer will spring up on you again”. The writing in this song is absolutely amazing.

2. Kind of Love:

Remember when we thought KOL and “total disconnection” were different songs?

Favorite lyric: Even when you’re far away, next to me is where you’ll stay.

This song is so sweet and lovey-dovey and adorable.

The softer words and instrumentals, I can easily imagine this song in the background of a coming-of-age movie. Like those cheesy ones where the main character gets in trouble/caught in a lie in the middle of the moving and has to make amends with his friends/family and there’s musical component for the amendment montage in the last 30-40 minutes of the movie before everyone forgives him in the end.

3. Paranoid:

Gives me Olivia Rodrigo vibes during the verses/pre-chorus. Which I love! It’s so sassy and fun. It’s also more upbeat musically than the other songs for sure. Which helps to play into the “paranoia” and the “mind racing” aspects of the song.

Favorite Lyric: I can’t stop hearing you, so can you kill the noise.

I just hate how short the song is! I need more of it!

4. Spotlight:

Absolutely fuck me up! My favorite song on the ep for sure! I just can’t begin to say how much I love this song. Like I’m blushing while listening to this. I feel this song is not meant for my ears. Like when you walk in on a couple kissing. Like I’m not allowed in on this private moment between Dream and his lover. (It’s George btw)

His voice in this song is AMAZING! Also, you can totally hear him smiling while he’s singing the chorus.

Favorite Lyric: A celebrity in my head, a superstar in my bed

BTW DNF is real!

5. Everest:

Of course, I love this song, it’s the dream team song.

Also, I’ve never heard Yung Gravy rap before this, and I dig his tone.

Favorite lyric: I love what life’s been dealing.

TBH I cannot for the life of me pinpoint George’s vocals since Sapnap’s stand out to me. But everyone I see says they can hear George and I wanna find a video where they isolate the vocals.

6. Invincible (like u):

Does it make me think of my mom? Yes, it does.

Am I crying? Also, yes.

Favorite lyric: Might lose, but you never quit.

I guess Dream just has main character disease because I can picture this song in a movie too. But like a band movie where the main character sings the song after a fight with his parents. (Like Unsaid Emily from Julie and the Phantoms).

7. Until I End Up Dead:

I still cry when I hear this song.

RIP Technoblade

Favorite Lyric: I’m not staying in my mind; I’m living like you said.

Like Dream I’m agnostic, so not believing in heaven/afterlife can be scary because what’s left after this? Rotting in the ground? Dust in a vase? It makes life worth it. But life is worth it. Cause the end doesn’t matter, it’s the middle that does. So you have to make the most of it.

Final Ranking/Thoughts:

Spotlight

Slow Down

Paranoid

Kind of Love

Until I End Up Dead

Invincible

Everest

I just can’t even begin to express how much I adore Dream, how much I love this EP, and can’t wait to hear what he comes up with next. His talent in music has for sure evolved since Roadtrip and it’s so worth it. His dedication to his craft is breathtaking. He’s so inspiring and amazing. I honestly just want more already. I’m insatiable when it comes to Dream, his voice, his story telling, everything. I am also just so proud of him. He has every reason to quit, to leave the fame behind, and he still pushes forward and does the things he loves and wants to do, haters be damned. His EP is a 10/10 in my book.

[shatteredsilverwing]

Differen Stages of Life AU - First Sleepover Pt.2

aaaand here's the rest! Part 1 can be found here! Part 1.5 can be found here! Enjoy!

After putting down Angel’s luggage on the odd wooden rocking chair, Sephiroth guided her out of the guest room and then straight ahead to his own room. The sheer size of his room alone made her dizzy, but when she scanned through the room and saw all the toys he possessed, she almost fainted. So many toys and books were neatly sorted in the shelves and boxes, that she was asking herself how he finds the time to play with all of them! Stuffed animals are residing side by side on his oversized bed, arranged by their sizes. On Sephiroth’s desk she spotted two different chemistry sets. One seemed to look like it was made for children, the other looked more for adult use. She walked over to the desk and studied them with great curiosity, while Sephy smiled bashfully at her reaction and followed her. “What is all that?”, she asked him while she touched the glasses with caution. “Those are my chemistry sets. The small one belongs to me and the big one was a gift from my Mother…” “Can the big one explode?!” That sudden outburst of hers caused Sephiroth to laugh, and it was at this moment where Angel’s heartbeat increased tenfold for a change. As far as she could remember, she never heard him laughing wholeheartedly like this. And it was also at this moment where she fell in love with it. “No, Angel. It cannot explode. … Unless you put liquids together that actually can. But I don’t have any of those.” “Aw… What a pity…”, she spoke with disappointment in her voice, “but what CAN it do?” Sephiroth couldn’t help but giggle one more time, as he started to explain and to show her everything that belonged with the chemistry sets. What all those instruments do, what they’re called and he showed her a self-drawn table which depicted what liquids go together safely. And those who do not. To her own surprise, Angel managed to memorise everything he explained to her while she kept listening to his melodious voice. After listening to him for a while, she noticed the difference between how he spoke to her at the kindergarten all the time, and how he spoke to her at that moment. His voice was more firm and confident, which in return didn’t make him stutter once. Typically, at the kindergarten, he stuttered very often. The noisy surroundings distracted him tremendously, which made him feel on edge most of the time. And, as Angel originally expected him to be, he didn’t act like a smartass like he usually did. He had the patience of a saint and even answered the silliest question of hers with sincerity. If Mother Jenova didn’t enter his room, he would have gone on about it for hours. “My sweet children, the pancakes are ready~”, she chirped joyfully and when she saw her sweet son and Angel together at the desk, she couldn’t help but feel happiness, “are you showing Angel your favourite toys? You’re such a good boy~” Sephiroth turned bright red at her remark and felt the sudden urge to jump into her arms to receive his daily dose of cuddles. But since Angel was present, he was afraid of doing so as he thought that he would only embarrass himself…

“Sephy taught me a lot about chemistry, Ma’am! It was fun!” “Oh, please don’t call me Ma’am. You can call me Jenova! Or Jen, for short.” “Thank you, Jen. Now come on Sephy, I’m hungry. Are you not?” With those words, Angel gently took Sephiroth’s hand and trotted towards Mother Jenova, ready to follow her downstairs. This cuteness was too much for Mother Jenova to bear, as she had to turn away in order not to squeal out loud in front of them. Angel didn’t let go of his Sephiroth’s hand, and neither did he let go of hers until they reached the kitchen and sat down next to each other. Mother Jenova both served them their pancakes first and hers last. “Since I don’t know what kind of toppings you like on your pancakes, sweetheart, I’m going to put all the toppings on the table as well, so you can choose freely!”

Mother Jenova placed all the various kinds of toppings she managed to buy the day before on the table: strawberries, spray cream, chocolate and colourful sprinkles, maple syrup, butter… And Angel's mouth was watering at the sight of all of them.

“Thank you, Jen…”, she replied shyly, becoming aware of how much effort she put into making her feel welcomed.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask!”