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blossom-hwa · 2 days

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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. 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 :)

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an-annyeoing-writer · 8 months

Text

yandere!Kai x Reader: petty theft. [+18]

Word count: 3 371

Tags: yandere!AU, smut, obedience training, bratty behavior, extreme degradation, sadom*sochism, in case you feel like Reader is high don't worry it's just subspace.

Warnings: s*xual content, potentially triggering themes such as toxic relationship traits, friendly reminder it's a fiction and not what we expect our IRL Nini to be.

Author's note: It's been a while since I wrote anything like that. Took quite a bit of effort as for such a small piece, but I hope to be releasing more content in the future~ Probably a Baekhyun fic will come around Halloween, so stay tunned!

His word was an order and you were addicted to giving up the sense of control. It was a perfect kind of deal between the two of you: him who would take everything without asking, and you who’d follow him without a moment of doubt.

Your relationship was anything but reasonable, anything but right, and anything but prosperous. But it was giving you some sense of fulfillment that no other had ever given, and it was a form of self-destruction that you could take with masochistic pleasure.

It would be a lie to say that it was the only unhinged thing that you enjoyed. Some things you liked more, some you liked less. Maybe it was your toxic trait to allow his obsession to get this far without objection, so you could drink up from all the pain and torment that he could offer.

“You have done it again.” His voice rumbled through the apartment. “Give it back.”

Recently, you felt lonelier than usual. When he would work and do other business stuff, or meet his friends even, you’d be locked up in his apartment with close to no source of entertainment. You were over with attempts to get out or to contact someone from the outside – these never brought anything good.

But you still felt the need to itch him in some way that would make him come to you and take it out on you. He had taken note of the pattern, you noticed – you’d be surprised if he didn’t. When someone steals your wallet three times in a row, it cannot be an accident.

The wallet was stored neatly under your pillow and the moment he entered your room, hand extended in expectation of receiving back the stolen item, you didn’t even pretend not to know what’s it all about.

Without hurry but neither taking too much time, you pushed yourself off the mattress and retrieved the wallet, then walked over to Jongin and placed it in his hand. The man’s eyes were fixated at you, although you couldn’t yet tell what he was thinking.

“Why do you always do that?”

You shrugged, a bit too embarrassed to state aloud your silly reasoning.

“You just wanted attention, didn’t you?”

He could read you like a book, couldn’t he? You hesitantly nodded your head.

The man shook his own with a sigh.

“What do I do with you. If I punish you as you want so badly, you’ll keep doing it whenever you feel like it.” You pouted. “I need to correct you in a way that discourages you from doing it again, right?”

There was a sense of fear mixed with excitement starting to grow within your stomach.

He stared at you with his face unreadable, and you felt like that stare had no other purpose but to make you start doubting in yourself, with nervousness arising that you were not sure you enjoyed anymore.

There was some sense of negative emotion on his side. As long as it was only irritation, you could handle it. But what if he was actually upset? What if you acting up had ruined something within his daily schedule? What if he wasted too much time trying to look for it or picking up stuff he then couldn’t pay for? Hopefully he didn’t get a fine on his way for not having his documents on.

“[F/n].”

You straightened up as if on command. Sensing the fear finally settle in and uneasiness become tangible on your face, Jongin’s demeanor started to shift. From cold and emotionless, a smug smirk appeared in the corner of his lip, and he crossed his arms with the wallet still held between his fingers.

Suddenly, his grip on the wallet loosened, and the item fell out of his hand and dropped to the floor with a thud. The noise was objectively quiet but in the silence surrounding you, it made your heart thump. Jongin didn’t flinch.

“Pick it up.”

You didn’t hesitate, crouching down and picking up the item, carefully putting it in his hand again.

However, the man didn’t move, and neither did he put any effort in holding it, and so the wallet fell back down. You stared at him in confusion.

“Pick it up.”

You gulped. The task was confusing, but refusing it was out of question. You picked the wallet up again and put it in his hand, this time holding it in there until you felt his fingers wrap around it securely. You breathed a soft sigh of relief when they did.

And then he dropped it again. The noise of the item falling down echoed with a nervous pang in your chest, as if it was not just a sound of a wallet falling, but a thunder at least.

You didn’t hesitate before crouching down yet another time, picking it up and extending your hand, although ready for the item to be denied again.

Jongin tilted his head to the side.

“I didn’t tell you to pick it up.”

He stepped forward, making sure that the step made noise on the wooden panels, and that noise was yet another sound that made you flinch, as if any motion coming from him could be a threat right now.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” he spat. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I don’t tell you to, you don’t. If I tell you not to breathe, you fucking don’t.”

His hand shot forward, wrapping around your throat, and you thoughtlessly released the wallet, hands reaching to hold his wrist instead. You knew that fighting him would be futile, and to be frank, you wouldn’t even dare to do so. His hold wasn’t too strong, fingers pressing against the veins but not depriving you from air just yet. But a single attempt of taking a bigger breath made you choke on your own saliva and you gasped, trying to loosen his hold at least a little.

“Hands down.” The command was simple, and you felt tears gather in your eyes when you forced yourself to ignore the discomfort and take your hands off his own. The tips of your toes and fingers started to tingle.

Without any warning, the hold on your throat finally disappeared, and you coughed, bending in half because your legs almost gave up underneath you. You had just a few moments of rest before the next words came.

“Pick it up. With your teeth.”

You didn’t have to courage to look up at him.

Besides, from your position it was closer to the ground anyway.

You crouched down shakily, letting your knees and palms hit the floor. You repositioned yourself slightly so that the wallet would be in a convenient proximity and lowered your head, briefly thinking of how dirty the item must have been, being one of those never-washed items that are constantly in use outdoors. But that was not important. Your task was.

Your mouth was merely centimeters from the leather surface when you felt something touch the top of your head. From a brief sensation, it gradually strengthened into a pressure that pressed your face down into the floor. You peeked to the side, confirming the suspicion that it was nothing else but Jongin’s shoe weighing down on top of your head.

Your body quivered. It was a natural reflex to try and fight against the force, but you knew better than that – the only way was to give in, even when your cheek started to hurt from the pressure. It would hurt just a bit longer, and then you’d feel the bliss of submission overcome any and all pain. You breathed heavily, trying to at least position yourself a bit more comfortably.

Wordlessly, Jongin took his foot off your head, allowing you to finish the task. The wallet’s texture felt gross on your tongue, and you did your best to touch it only with your teeth. You lifted yourself until you were kneeling, and then tiled your head upwards, praying so that he would just take the wallet back without playing any more games.

You breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers pulled the item gently from between your teeth.

Noticing your saliva gathered on the surface, Jongin brought the item to your face, and you flinched, muscle memory awaiting a slap to your cheek.

But the slap didn’t come, and instead, he wiped the wallet on your face, and you pressed your lips together, doing your best to stay still during the humiliating treatment.

Upon finishing the act, he smoothly tucked the wallet in his back pocket, the item quickly forgotten and nothing left to stand in between you and Jongin’s mercy – or lack thereof. His attention, now focused on you solely, felt intimidating.

“Up.”

Although the order was rather vague, you didn’t hesitate rising onto your feet.

“Down.”

Your mind was already hazy, and so it didn’t feel so weird anymore to fulfill the Sisyphean task.

“Up.”

In fact, there were no thoughts left in your mind to even think about whatever the point of the requests was. There was only full obedience, and as long as he told you what to do, you had a goal to live for.

“Down.”

The floor already managed to warm up underneath your body, although your legs were growing tired. But all of these were just secondary sensations, your eyes, half-lidded in your masochistic high, were fixated on his own.

“You like it?”

You nodded, your tongue like a jelly making it hard to speak a word, but Jongin didn’t seem to mind.

“See? It’s so much better when you listen. You feel so good and I’m happy. Why change that?” You sensed a threat lingering in his voice and felt an urge to soothe it, so you leaned forward and pressed your face into his thigh, like a pet asking for that little bit of intimacy from its owner. The comparison seemed very accurate in your situation. “Are you tired, yet?” You nodded with a lazy smile. “I don’t think so.”

The next motion came completely unexpected, the man’s fingers grabbing your hair at the roots, pulling you off his thigh and pressing your face into his crotch instead.

“You’re not tired, sweetheart. I haven’t told you to be tired yet.”

The persuasion took your breath away. You dreamed of nothing more than of succumbing to the drugged-like state of your mind, but Jongin was merciless as he unzipped his pants with one hand, the other wrapped around your hair tightly when he pushed his length into your mouth before you could even take a good glance.

You gagged, your throat completely unprepared for the rough treatment. Jongin only pushed in harder until your nose touched his abdomen, and then held you in this position for a few seconds despite you gagging and choking. He pulled out, letting you take a short breath, and then pushed back in – your reactions much weaker this time.

It took some moments, a few pushes like that, until you finally started giving up again, and Jongin picked up his face, aligning it with his own pleasure. Your throat started to accommodate around him, but every rougher motion teared your eyes up. His movements were frantic, almost wild, and nothing but selfish.

There was no regard for your comfort, and it made you thrive. Your mind – covered in a fog. Nothing felt real. You diverted your attention from the sloppy noises of your own mouth being used, because somewhere not so far away, Jongin’s beautiful, although sparse moans filled the air like a heavenly music that you could just not get enough of.

Your jaw was starting to ache. It was hardly possible to breathe. You were lightheaded and too dazed to even acknowledge your own arousal starting to pool between your legs. Your skin was tingling all over, your scalp – burning, and you could swear you saw stars for a moment.

But Jongin’s pace was relentless, and something about that cruel, degrading demeanor was turning you on even more. He was making such good use of you, his obedient little doll.

It didn’t even matter that your hands were too weak to try and help him feel even better, because all Jongin seemed to care about was that your mouth felt so warm and nice.

It was just mere minutes that your mind barely registered before you felt him harden even more. You heard no warning, but his heavy pants and gasps – the ones you already learned to recognize – told you enough.

He suddenly pushed into your mouth with full force, his fingers holding your head in place as he came hard and fast, not even a taste present on your tongue with how his semen ran straight down your throat.

You gagged, a cough fruitlessly trying to tear through, everything inside of you screaming for relief that for those few seconds was completely unreachable. You only fought for his cum not to get into your lungs or leave through your nose, a desperate attempt on remaining at least remotely human in this absolutely dehumanizing experience.

Jongin finally pulled out of your mouth, and you frantically choked and coughed, catching desperate breaths, careless of his semen and your saliva running now down your chin and dropping onto your shirt and the floor below.

Your hands were still too weak to try and wipe it, your legs felt like cotton candy that absolutely wouldn’t hold you up, and you only bent down, leaning into his leg for comfort again, which this time brought even more peace and relief when you felt him reach down and place his hand on top of your head, stroking your hair gently, giving you all the time to catch your breath and recover. You felt so dizzy and so tired, so lowly but also so at ease.

“Up.”

Your body moved on its own before you consciously registered his voice. With legs feeling like a jelly, you forced yourself up. He must have composed yourself while you were down on the floor, and there was a stark contrast between him – looking as neat as ever – and you, completely whored out, not even remotely decent in appearance.

“That’s my girl.”

The praise tasted like champagne, sedating you further.

“Come here.”

He circled you and put his hands underneath your elbows. With mellow motions, he led you towards your bed and then pushed you onto the mattress. You landed softly and helplessly among cloud-like pillows and blankets.

The strong urge to melt and fall asleep has been abruptly interrupted by the man’s hands tugging at your pants and pulling them down to your knees. You hazily thought that it would be nice to get used once again, although your muscles wouldn’t really support you much and you’d be just a limp doll trapped underneath him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Wake up, princess” he mocked, tapping your face – too gently to call it a slap in your dictionary, but not particularly affectionately either. You must have not noticed when your eyes slipped closed, and so you forced them back open.

You sensed Jongin’s hand hovering your womanhood, its warmth spreading all over your skin in a pleasant manner.

You could swear you could fall back asleep, but his two fingers suddenly intruded your entrance, making sure to cause a little bit of prickling pain even despite all that wetness that would make it so easy to accommodate to him. You let out a small whimper of discomfort.

“Wake up, love. There’s one more lesson you need to learn.” The pet names persuaded you to muster last bits of strengths – his words tasted so delicious, sweet proofs of Jongin’s own devotion for you, and what more could you possibly want? You reached with your arms to wrap them around the man’s neck in a loving, albeit somewhat pleading embrace.

“Could I be tired…?” you asked a bit jokingly, but also knowing that he’d appreciate that you kept his words in mind.

Jongin laughed softly.

But then his smile suddenly fell and his face darkened.

“Not. Yet” he spat out, fingers pushing deep into your core. Sensation wouldn’t be so pleasant normally, and it was clear that he also did not mean to please you, but you were growing deprived and just as the humiliation earlier, mere touch of him on your private parts made you squeal in arousal.

He joined one more finger, stretching you out easily with a sprinkle of pain. Small brushes of his thumb against your clit made you overflow with thirst, but he just wouldn’t do enough to quench it for you.

“Please…” You tried pressing yourself against his palm for any more of the sweet friction, but the other hand was quick to wrap around your neck and push you down into the mattress, rendering you absolutely helpless. The position yet again sent warmth down to your core, and you felt as though if he was to slap you in the face at that exact moment, you could simply cum just from that.

But Jongin couldn’t care less. He turned from stretching you to fucking you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot so sparsely despite the fast pace that you felt like you could lose your mind. You were pathetically mewling for any sort of actual relief.

And that was when he just stopped.

You moved your hips as if it would provide the friction instead, but both of his hands were suddenly gone. You pressed your thighs together, reaching with your own hand to finish yourself off, but it was slapped away before you could even get close, and so you sobbed in frustration, wriggling on the damn mattress as if it would soothe your need.

It took you a few painfully long moments to come back to your senses. Breath slowing down, the buzzing feeling in your head subsiding, sensation coming back into your limbs.

Your eyes eventually registered Jongin – he was resting his cheek on top of your bent knee, arms wrapped loosely around your leg in an intimate, loving position, so different from his cruel demeanor mere moments before.

He sat there in silence, watching your desperate and chaotic state with a small, content smile on his face, as if he took pride in nothing more than making you this pathetic, this hopeless, in drowning you in your own despair.

Your heart was slowing down, but it would be a lie to say that you felt any better. Your thighs were all wet from your arousal, and everything down there ached with how the pleasure was ruthlessly drawn away.

“Please” you mumbled with remains of strength, although you weren’t sure if your body could take any more of mistreatment.

“You can be tired now, love.”

Your eyes widened in realization.

“B-but…”

“Hm?”

Jongin’s head tilted innocently, although the look on his face held a threat behind, one that you wouldn’t dare to try and challenge. Your face must have displayed absolute defeat, all while Jongin’s was nothing but pleased.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart.” His hand reached and patted your cheek lovingly, although there was something objectifying in it, as if he was patting a pet, or a favorite car, and not his lover’s face. You accepted your defeat.

Jongin sat next to you as you succumbed into the embrace of sleep, watching over you. Like a guardian angel – although a demon would be more appropriate in regards to his persona. You smiled at the thought.

With a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispered a goodnight, covering you with a blanket cozily and placing the fluffiest pillow right by your head, so you could wrap your arms around it if you’d like. Eventually, when he was certain you were almost asleep, he carefully got up from his place on your mattress and walked to the door, shutting it quietly to let you finally rest in the peace of your own space.

And in the last moments before falling asleep, you only wondered how long you will be allowed to rest before he notices that you pickpocketed his wallet again.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this piece. Please reblog if you're able to, feedback will also be appreciated!!

#exo kai #yandere exo #yandere jongin #kai x reader #kim jongin fanfiction #jongin x reader #exo x reader #yandere x reader #vg: exo #vg: kai #vg: fanfiction

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splynter · 5 months

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A Letter for The First Lost

A drabble about Wings Unflown. Iterator oc

Flooding, flooding with data. A dam barely restraining the overflow of code, information, and music. There is no room for thought or diverted focus, and that is how Wings wants it.

Music blasts in her chamber like a siren and fills her thoughts with intense guitar and orchestral ensembles. Neuron flies dance around her body in time with the rhythm, swarming in and out of her chamber in waves of powerful information. They fly through screens that surround her in words and footage and pearls. Perhaps this could be considered overstimulating, especially to one with lesser capacity than she. Yet here she is. Working. Thriving

Distracting herself...

No matter how hard she tries to bury, archive, and file away the data, she still cannot get all reminders out of her head. Ending's schematics, their core purpose, chatlogs upon chatlogs upon *mems* of them that she stripped and saved and buried. Their music playlist, once at the top of the SOLA playlist files, is now buried beneath every other playlist she has made. Not one song is allowed to be played. They've been erradicated from every other location. She just cannot risk accidentally happening upon a song on her radio that they loved. It hurts.. It reminds her that they can’t listen anymore..

...

Of course!! She's not thinking about that!! She is thinking so so very much, but it's about everything except what she actually needs to think about!! She gets a lifetime of work finished in mere minutes, she floods her feed with layers upon layers of content, she has three entire brains overflowing with information, and none of them are focusing on the issue at hand. Imagine that! Because she isn't!!

Or... maybe she is. Maybe.. maybe there is a simulation deep in her processes. One that is constantly being adjusted for accuracy. One that will forever be outdated because she never knew how they acted outside of their can.

Still.. still it plays. Over and over again. It is a simulation of a hypothetical visit. Wings in her chamber, hovering close to the floor, and right across from her is Ending. It's not real. It never will be. But she couldn't help herself. Every word she makes them say cuts a wound in her chest.

“I missed you, Wings.” They say every time. But it's not real

“{I'm so sorry I couldn't reach you.}” She replies in turn. ”[My towers reach everyone but I couldn't reach you.] |I'm so, so sorry..|“

”It's okay, it's not your fault.“ Every single time they say that, it doesn't feel right

”Of course it is!!” She wails. “{You were GONE!!} [I could've tried harder to find you, to search for you, to connect somehow but ] |But I didn't!! I never did!!|”

She never understands why they don't reply. In every simulation of this same scenario, even after so many adjustments for accuracy, they would never reply. They would only stand and stare at her with quiet, sad eyes. Perhaps it's because she's right. Perhaps it's because it truly is her fault.

She can't... handle it anymore. Simulation 3,440,509 of this same conversation, and it finally breaks her. She crumples to her knees on the floor of her chamber. She buries her face in her hands and every mind wails. It bleeds through the simulation and stains her towers. Each structure groans and cries for the sibling she failed to find. Electricity boils into the sky and consumes the air and the ground. In mere seconds, it is all she can think about. And it hurts

...

Something shifts in the simulation, startling her into silence. This is something new. Her focus returns to it just as Ending's face appears in front of her. They're suddenly so close. She flinches back, expecting him to strike her. To yell at her. Something.

But instead, all they do is extend their hand to her. Red fingers.. She stares at them. It's only a simulation, but still the idea of contact keeps her frozen in place. She doesn't... like being touched. It makes her chest tighten and her hands shake and her minds scramble like frightened moths. It's not something she wishes would happen to her without warning and careful coaxing.

Ending wouldn't know, so neither does this Ending. Wouldn't that mean they would touch her outright? But they don't. They're only holding out their hand

...

Slowly, she breaches the gap and takes their hand. It's a delicate touch. It's barely even there. Yet it's enough comfort. It's a silent “I forgive you.”

And despite knowing this will never be real, it still... feels right.

When she opens her eyes in her chamber, there is no one there but her.

#Splynter writes #rain world #Iterator oc #rw iterator #drabble #WU #SOLA #this was written as a five part set because of a rp event in the Global Server #but this fits as its own thing as well #and it’s pretty much canon now for how she reacted to Ending being gone #it’s slightly adjusted to fit with the canon timeline #LMAO I love Wings

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enigmatist17 · 2 years

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His Friend (Jake Lockley)

Just Jake with a cat :)

This is before my fic on A03 There you are!

------------------------------------

He’d never really seen a cat up close before.

It’s three am, and some human trafficker is garbling something as he slumps to the ground. Jake doesn’t really care, sighing as he realized that his gloves were ruined.

Again.

The clink of a bottle further down the alley garnered his attention in an instant, bloodstained knife at the ready as he crept forward. Jake was almost sure he had gotten everyone, but one last death wouldn’t really matter. The bottle is jutting just past the edge of the dumpster he approached, and it moves with no resistance when he pulls.

It’s not a person cowering behind the cold metal, no, it’s a cat.

“Eh?” The knife is holstered, and Jake leans down with a whistle. It’s not much more than a ball of mangy fur and extended claws, but the avatar isn’t scared by it. The two just stare at each other for a few minutes, and it’s in this standoff he notices its hind legs are kind of limp on the ground. The cat hisses when his armor fades, and Jake shrugs off his coat with another whistle. “Nice kitty.”

The cat doesn’t fight back as it’s scooped up in the warm fabric, practically asleep by the time Jake makes it to his cab.

This one is injured

“No shit,” Jake grumbled, pulling out the phone he hid for these excursions from the glovebox, googling the nearest vet open this late. The receptionist is a bit startled at his appearance but gratefully misses the blood staining his shirt in favor of rushing the cat back to be looked over. Khonshu probably pulled some of his magic stuff, if Jake had to hazard a guess.

You know you cannot keep it, the others will question

“I know.” Jake sighed, still trying hard to conceal the fact he and Khonshu were still in business together.

You should tell them eventually, things have changed

“Soon, soon,” Jake mumbled, and scrolled through his phone until the receptionist returned. The cat had lame back legs, and they weren’t optimistic about the cat's future in the adoption circuit.

“I’m taking it.”

“Him, he’ll need to stay for a few days, but you won’t have to pay. Just give us some contact information, and we’ll let you know when he’s good to go.”

“Gracias.” Jake filled out a few forms before handling the adoption fees. It’s now almost five by the time Jake makes it back to the taxi, wondering if he had enough time for a short nap.

I will guide you back to Steven’s home, if you wish

“No no, I’ll go now.” Jake sighed, running a hand over his face before starting the journey home.

Jake returns a few days later to pick up the cat, sitting with one of the doctors and listening attentively about how to care for him. The cat doesn’t hiss this time, Jake pulls him out of the carrier and places the cat in his coat once they had arrived at the car.

“Your name is Diego.” Jake smiled proudly, having thought very hard about a name over the last few days. “You are like my first friend, a very grumpy person, but sweet too.” The cat, having opened one eye at his declaration, gave a sleepy meow before burrowing further into his jacket.

Diego the cat, his cat.

It is a fitting name

Jake smiled, just ever so carefully petting his cat as he drove him to one of Jake’s contacts.

Yes, he’ll make contact with his boys soon, they’ll like Diego.

#moon knight #jake lockley #khonshu #I just love Jake okay #someone in the server helped me decide on a fic to do

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lulupen2023 · 1 year

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Muse/Thor/Avengers crossover BellDom&Thoki Chapter II/?

Their crazy adventures go on...

Chapter II: Guiding Light (?)

"Well, if you're done with your pathetic whining, I would say that we can go away from here.” Loki said, opening the briefcase he was carrying and pulling out the precious contents.

“Hey, brainwasher, before you take us all to WeirdLand, at least wait a minute!” Tom raised his hand, with unusually authoritative attitude, so much that it amazed even Loki.

"You fucked my brain up; you had your fun, thank you very much!” The media-manager continued, in a mixture of cynical and sarcastic. “The point is that now you've caused a big trouble on the agenda and we will not move from here until I undo the damage you've done to me!” He concluded his tirade, impatiently, drawing his inseparable iPhone out, ready to deal with the proper people.

“Glen, it’s me, for the charity night a big mess has happened, I can’t give you the details, but you have to help me...” He began, and then moved away from his small audience, to be able to speak more easily while walking nervously back and forth.

Loki continued to watch him dazed, but in silence. Matt and Dom had decided to reach their friend while he was talking on the phone, so Chris, left alone, walked over to Loki, deciding whether or not it was a wise move to give him a pat on the back.

“You think you're so Bossy, but you don’t know our Tom!” the bass player chuckled.

"Maybe I shouldn’t have ever set him free from my mind control!” the God of Lies muttered, making the bassist laugh.

Once the telephone conversation ended, the three returned.

"Now we can go there!” the photographer asserted.

“We're leaving because I say that we can go there!” Loki snapped.

"You, Bossy with the stupid name that I also seem to have for strange reasons, hold this thing and, you all, hold your hands until you create a circle. You, with beautiful hair, will give your hand to me,” Loki instructed them, extending the handle of the Tesseract to Tom.

“Hey, I've already told you, my name is not stupid!” Tom muttered, holding hands with Chris who in turn gave his to Dom

"At least he knows your name. He has not even bothered to ask our names!" The blond groaned, before holding Matt’s hand.

"I don’t mind, actually I like to be called Beautiful Hair!” the frontman chuckled, taking Loki’s outstretched hand.

As soon as the last contact was established, the device shone with an intense blue light that enveloped them all, making them vanish.

They reappeared in the glow of that previous blue light, but this time the scenario in front of their eyes was totally different. The first thing that could not escape their gaze was a huge, majestic Golden Gate that marked the boundary of that wonderful kingdom.

Placed to guard the border there was an imposing figure, who scrutinized them with wary eyes, eyes that blended red with gold. His innate suspicion was directed primarily to the one who, in a way or another, was part of that kingdom, indeed.

“Loki,” said the keeper, with a solemn tone.

"It's heartening to know that you still remember my name, my dear old Heimdall!” Replied the younger god. “After all, I imagine that you cannot easily forget who almost froze you to death, huh?” He chuckled, digging the past up.

Heimdall did not even bother to reply, addressing to the visitors. “Who are these intruders?” He asked.

“Do you think they look like Frost Giants, perhaps? Believe me, I have lost that bad habit!” the God of Lies replied with arrogance, while the four Midgardians watched speechless and motionless that frantic question and answer session.

“Who are they?” Heimdall reiterated, impassively.

"They are no allies from a hostile kingdom, if that's what you fear. They are part of the necessary equipment that I need to prepare the feast.” Loki revealed, snorting.

“Hey, no one has ever defined us 'the necessary equipment'. For your information, you have seized a band that on Earth enjoys a worldwide success and--” Matthew pointed out, offended in his immense ego.

“Silence!” Loki and Heimdall snapped in unison, with the same annoyed tone.

In response, the proud frontman gasped and hid behind Chris, who he always considered his rock, his fortress and a refuge in which to seek shelter from unpleasant things. And annoying two powerful gods went up right in the top three in his personal ranking of unpleasant things to defend himself from.

Dominic walked cautiously to the millenary guardian.

“Hey, man, you know, I have a drum-kit that has some golden parts. According to you, would I look as good as you with a golden outfit like yours? I have to tell you that it makes you seem even taller, not to mention how it sets those eyes off...” He said with all the aplomb that only a proper Englishman can have.

Heimdall merely glared at him so icily that even Dom ran right behind Chris, who at that time, more than the bassist of the band and their best friend was feeling more like the mother hen of those undisciplined troublemaker chickens.

Heimdall turned back to the young god.

“I do not like them!” He roared with his baritone voice.

“Oh, I do not like them, either, you can be sure of that. But I need them. It's rather different.” Loki pointed scornfully.

"It's nice to feel so well liked when you are tourists in foreign lands!” Tom muttered sarcastically, as he already planned in his mind all the footage and photos that he would take at that place.

Chris wasn’t even giving too much attention to what they were all saying. He was making other important considerations in his mind.

- I haven’t ended up splinched! Nobody has ended up splinched! Thank God! Well, thanks to my God, but a little thanks to this god, too, basically. – He pondered, patting his shoulders, arms and muscles, conscious of two petite presences huddled behind him, still in a state of semi-shock.

“What about my stupid, fake brother?” the God of Chaos resumed the conversation with the guardian, pretending disinterest.

"He's still around the Realms in order to find you. He has already patrolled two Realms.” Heimdall replied.

"What a fool!” The brunet grinned. “Great. This gives me the right time for everything. Now, if you do not mind, I’ll settle my necessary stuff here.” He added, taking away his guests, or perhaps his hostages, under the gaze of the angry millennial god.

"Are all people so hospitable here?” Matthew asked Loki ironically, recovering from the shock and gaining more confidence in his actions.

“If you met mother, she would drag you to a feast of welcome that would be set up in your honor, and she’d fill you with all the delicacies possible, and would not accept any rejection!” Loki said with a smile.

"Well, then where is this gentle lady?” Chris wondered, since he felt a little hungry after all.

“It will not happen. Not tonight at least. Now I’m going to settle you in your rooms and I will make sure that you cannot get out from there to cause damage around!” the grumpy god of Chaos stated.

"You're kidding, right? I want to do a tour of the kingdom. There is so much to see here!” Tom protested.

“No, I'm not kidding. You shall stay here, good and quiet. I do not have time for you now and you need some rest. And most of all I need it!” Loki insisted. "I mean, we travelled through the Realms, aren’t you tired by the trip?"

“Are you kidding me?” Dominic burst out laughing. “Do you have any idea of how many hours of plane or tour bus we have to face when we're on tour or have to release some interview? This has been a real godsend in comparison. I wish we could always travel so well!” he showed an electrified grin.

“I can’t believe this!” Loki muttered to himself, while he crossed a path appropriately isolated, leading them to a complex of four rooms which obviously he must have had installed for the occasion.

"We only need one room!” Matt smirked, holding Dom’s hip romantically.

The blond smiled sweetly at him and the two began to stare at each other like they always used to do, i.e. excluding the rest of the universe.

“Uh!” Loki winced, understanding... and also subtly envying them a bit. “Okay, just do what you please.” He shrugged. “I forgot: if you try to go out you won’t manage to do that, because I have limited your rooms into a magical boundary that you cannot cross, if not on my license.” the clever god sneered, with deep disappointment from his four interlocutors, going to the exit.

“Loki?” Tom called him out.

“What else do you want?” The god turned again, rather annoyed.

“Don’t you find it a bit strange? You told me that you left your Realm, you went to Stark Tower to recover your scepter.” The photographer began to sum up, drawing the Asgardian’s attention. “So in that place Tony Stark really existed, like the rest of the Avengers, I suppose.”

“What is the damn point?” The beautiful god narrowed his emerald eyes so much to reduce them to two splits.

"When you arrived to the studios, looking for me, you ended up in a place where the things that happened to you are nothing but movies played by actors...” Tom went on.

“Actors who, for some inexplicable reason, look exactly like you, Thor, all the Avengers...” Chris remarked.

“It's true.” Loki muttered.

“What can it mean?” Dom asked, intrigued.

All of a sudden, Matt was seized with a great lighting.

"Maybe the government wants to hide inconvenient truths from us. I mean, what happened has happened for real, but they generally brainwashed us, making us believe that it was only in movies! And the actors are not true actors, but... they’re the real superheroes or super-villains." He paused, turning to Loki, who seemed to appreciate the gesture. “They only pretend to be actors. It’s a genial cover, it’s the perfect alibi. It's the queen of all conspiracies!” The frontman declared, gesticulating like a madman.

“I understand that these are the effects of a very tiring journey that you had to face and now you're delirious!” Loki figured out, looking at him with something very similar to compassion.

“No, Loki, no post-trip effect. He's always like that!” Tom rolled his eyes.

“If not worse!” Chris said, chuckling.

“Why don’t you want to believe me? It’s the purest truth, you should only open your eyes a little more and...” The frontman muttered, disappointed.

“Matteh, darling, you can’t always find a logical explanation for everything.” Dominic patted his lover’s shoulder. "Sometimes logic does not exist, things just happen. Even in the most unlikely way.” He continued.

“It’s not true. There is always logic. In everything.” Loki objected, becoming more thoughtful. “And now that I think about it better, the Tesseract had not the usual blue light when I landed in your town. It was a red light.” He revealed, running a frustrated hand through his jet-black hair of medium length.

"Do you think that a simple change of light is so important?” Matthew sighed, annoyed at seeing so brutally mistreated what he considered the most brilliant of his theories.

“Yes. And it’s very important. And I know who can help me understand something more. Assuming that the Tesseract could take me there again.” Loki muttered. “Now, stay here and have your rest. I'll see you tomorrow and you will have to work hard.” The fascinating, imperious god added, leaving.

"I think I will follow Loki’s advice. As a matter of fact, I'm exhausted!” Chris yawned, waving his bye to his friends and heading to his room.

"I'm going in my room too, but more than sleep, I want to figure out if there is a way to connect to the web here!” Tom grumbled, drawing out his trusty iPhone and leaving as well.

Dom went into his room, which was the one that the two lovers had decided to share.

"Well, what can we do?” Matt asked allusive, reaching the soft bed with a jump, and then took off his jacket and shoes.

“We’re going to sleep. What else would you want to do?” The drummer replied, following his example.

"What? Does it mean that you don’t want to have planetarium sex?” The frontman insisted, rubbing himself against Dom, eager.

“Not tonight. And then I forgot my faff bag at home! I can only resort to a long beauty sleep and you won’t prevent me!” The drummer imposed, resolutely.

"Listen, you can’t stop the aging process forever.” The brunet chuckled.

“Bells!” Dominic snapped.

"Relax. Look, if you get too angry you could get a wrinkle on your pretty face!” Matthew giggled again, as spiteful as a cat.

“I've had enough. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Get out of here!” The blond growled, knocking him off the bed and pushing him until he reached the back door.

“No, come on, Dommie, I'll be good, I promise!” Matt repented, reluctant to the idea of spending the night alone.

Whether it was a hotel room or a planet that until the day before he thought that it could only exist in the people’s collective imagination, to Matt made no difference: he just wanted Dominic by his side. To feel his warmth warming his hands and feet that were always so cold, to feel the blond pushing against him in his movements during his sleep, to hear that oh so light snoring that was something tenderly childish, but mostly to watch him while he slept or to meet his smiling face a few inches from his, as soon as he opened his eyes the morning after.

Matthew longed to still have all this, but Dominic did not seem willing to give him that.

"Oh yes, you'll be good. I do not doubt about it. But you’ll do it in your room, not here.” Dom pointed out, pushing him over the threshold. “And for the record, Mattie, it’s sex when I am with one of my occasional lovers or you are with your Hollywood diva. You and I only make love!” He pointed out, with wounded pride, before slamming the door in Matt’s face and leaving his partner as puzzled as he was unsatisfied.

**************************************

“No, Steve, it is useless to insist, I won’t pay you a visit while you're on a mission.” Tony muttered at the phone. "Yes, you're very brave, nope, you're not a hero only thanks to a laboratory test tube... and yes... I miss you too. And these statements you are extorting to me have a price you’re gonna pay soon, especially the last one!” He murmured, sounding more persuasive.

"Sir, I'm afraid we have visitors.” Jarvis interrupted them.

“I'll call you back.” Tony whispered, hanging up. "Visits at this time of the day? Or rather late night? They must be of the unfriendly kind, am I right?” The billionaire figured out.

“Well, Sir, the last time he was here, you fell from the window, descending of a considerable number of meters.” Replied the ingenious electronic device.

“Oh, him?! Really?” Its creator chuckled, surprised.

"Should I let him in? Also because he seems very determined to do it anyway.” Jarvis warned him.

“Yes, go ahead. After all, I felt alone tonight!” The brilliant inventor shrugged.

A few minutes later, Loki made his triumphant entrance, with long and catlike steps, dressed as Tony had seen him in Stuttgart.

“Reindeer Games!” Tony greeted him cheerfully, making the God rolling his eyes, already irritated. “I hope you noticed right away that I did repair the window, so I'm not going to see the glass crashed again!” He added.

“It will not happen this time. It’s hard to believe, but I have no hostile intentions.” Loki smirked.

"You're right. It’s hard to believe!” Tony stated, going to the bar. “Fancy a drink? The last time you were here you have not accepted it.”

“And I will not accept it even this time.” Loki replied to him, and then watched him a bit confused. "But... why do not you have any abrupt reaction? After all, it’s four o’ clock in the morning!" He muttered, puzzled.

Tony shrugged.

“What do you want me to say? I haven’t slept properly for a long time.” The Midgardian admitted, through clenched teeth.

“Nightmares related to Chitauri, huh?” The insightful god of Chaos figured out.

This time it was Tony looking at him bewildered.

"But you... how?"

“I've been there. To tell the truth, I'm still through it. I know how it feels.” The Asgardian revealed

The two stared at each other empathically. It was strange to find something that both of them had in common. This made them feel somehow.... tied.

So there wasn’t need for further words on the subject.

"So, tell me why you're here?” Tony changed topic.

“First of all, to return this. I’ve told you that I would...” Loki said, handing Tony his scepter.

“Uh, very well. It seems that your mother taught you to keep your word!” Tony said sardonically, taking delivery of the fearsome weapon. “I'm beginning to seriously believe that this time you do not have hostile intentions. So, what’s the other reason why you're here? And why did your Super Daddy let you free to hang around?” He questioned the god.

“He's not my father!” Loki growled. “About the other question...”

-------------------------------------------------- -

“… So now you want to know if your toy that travels in space is broken!” Tony summed up at the end of the god’s report.

“Exactly.” Loki said, handing him the Tesseract with confidence, for Tony to examine it.

“Well, I think that for this thing I'll need a consultation!” The Midgardian mused, pulling out his cell phone technology to open up a video conference with a particular person. "Before you ask me, he's in London right now, so no sharp reaction from a Midgardian who’s awakened in the middle of the night!” Tony chuckled.

“Also because he's the last person from whom I would like to get angry reactions!” Loki muttered, restless.

“It still burns, huh?” Tony chuckled, waiting for the video-conference to begin.

"Hello?"

“Hey, Bruce, my dear Science Bro! It’s me. You'll never guess who's here with me and what he needs.” The brilliant inventor commenced, before giving him all the necessary information.

The two began a discussion with many of those strictly technical terms and language so scientific/physicist that Loki could not grasp even a tenth of what they were saying. And yes he had a thirst for knowledge.

However, he realized that they were talking about his Tesseract and it was enough.

“Yes, Bruce, that's what I thought too, but I still wanted your opinion. Thank you.” Tony made the videoconference end.

“My dear interspatial traveller, I'll explain briefly what happened. When you took the scepter, you moved from your kingdom to this one, as you have done now... so everything is okay.” He said and Loki nodded.

“But when you went in search of that band, to find them you ended up not only in their kingdom, but even in their dimension, which is parallel to ours. It's just there that you would have found them. You made a journey within the journey.” He explained.

“Oh. I knew that the Tesseract was very powerful and had infinite potential, but... to cross dimensions!” The beautiful god commented in awe.

"Yeah. It seems that your toy already knew what you needed, even better than you.” Tony winked at him.

"I don’t usually do this, but... thank you... abnormal heart!” Loki muttered, pointing to the blue light coming from the middle of the human’s chest, making him laugh.

“Not so fast, Reindeer!” Tony stopped him before he could return to his kingdom.

“What?” The Asgardian frowned.

“What’s this issue that you have landed in a dimension where all our duplicates are actors?"

TBC

Notes:

3 notes · View notes

ladylamrian · 3 months

Text

Female MainCharacter: Alexis Clarissa Fontaine

Pairing: F!MC×NikRyder (Fairytale AU) 🦚👑

Summary: The Story of the Peacock Princess.

Word Count: 4.2K words

Rating: General (Fairytale, Fantasy, Royalty)

Warnings: none

-> My complete Nightbound Masterlist <-

Taglist: @infactnoimmasitinthemiddle ; @peonierose ; @secretaryunpaid ; @jdstar88 ; @blackcatkita ; @lilyoffandoms ; @liviusofpella ; @mxdanni ; @mariemarieohcontrary ; @tessa-liam ; @choicesficwriterscreations ; @hopelessromantic1352 ; @rosepetals1 ; @stars-are-within-me ; @dutifullynuttywitch ; @artbyalz ; @choicesmonthlychallenge [March prompts: Nature ; Spring ; Animals ; ...] & @choicesaprilchallenge24 [Prompts: Birds ; Butterfly ; Ladybugs ; “Well, would you look at that? You’re not entirely stupid after all.” ]

Comments via Reblog wholeheartedly welcome

Author's note: inspired by Barbie: Princess of the Swanlake & Barbie: Mystery of the Pegasus. Nik Ryder transparent made by @garrusknight . The banner above was created with Picsart. The peacock divider by @saradika-graphics

Once upon a time, on a land far away... Lamrian. There lived a King and his Queen who ruled happily together over their gigantic fae kingdom.

One day a total stranger who wasn't even a fae, visited the royal couple and asked for the hand of their daughter and only child, Crown Princess Alexis from Lamrian.

The princess was silently dancing ballet in her royal chambers upstairs and wasn't aware of what was happening downstairs in the throne room.

She raised her arms above her head, extending her hands like wings as if she were a bird in flight. She brought her arms down to chest level and bent her elbows. Extending one leg in front of her into a kick, and then the other one in a kick behind. The kicks were executed in sync. The result of her ballet dance movement was the impression of a soaring bird as if the bird's wings were flapping to allow it to fly. She made delicate dance movements that were pleasant to watch and with a refined and elegant presence. The movements of the feet were graceful, the movements of the arms and the fingers were very fluid, and the whole body got synchronized. The whole dance was a wonderful spectacle of harmony until she heard loud voices coming from downstairs.

"Father?", she got worried, stopped dancing and immediately rushed the stairs down towards the throne room where the voices got even louder. As she finally entered, she discovered Elric, her father having a heated discussion with an unknown stranger.

"I already declined your proposal, now leave!!! My daughter is too young for you.", Elric shouted at the man. Never in her life has Princess Alexis seen her father so angry. He was always such a calm and patient man, but that stranger kept pushing.

"But your Highness..."

"No, I don't want to hear anything. Now leave!!", Elric commanded and pointed towards the exit.

"But..."

"Heyyy!!! Haven't you heard what my father said??!", the young princess intervened and stood up for her beloved father.

For a moment the stranger's eyes met hers. Both stared at each other for a moment without avoiding any eye contact. Then he began to grin like a madman.

"So that's our precious crown princess. My future wife.", he smirked.

The young girl was shocked by his words and wasn't aware of the situation, but her father quickly stepped in front of her to cover his child.

"Child, go back upstairs. We will handle this."

"I demand your daughter's hand, Your Majesty. I hate being declined. Make me the new king of Lamrian."

"Never!! And now leave before I call my guards."

"Fine, I'll leave. But if I cannot have the princess, then nobody will.", he promised while he took a closer look at the young girl. She was wearing a beautiful, sparkly peacock dress with matching ballet slippers. A creepy grin appeared on his face again as he just got an idea.

"I command you to leave!!"

"Yes, your Majesty I will leave, but I'm very sure that you will seek me later.", he took a few steps backward, revealing his magical scepter. Without losing any second, he pointed it towards the princess and a blast of light appeared which hit the young lady. She got frightened and panicked.

"If I cannot have the princess, then nobody will because I hereby curse her. She will no longer perform ballet, no longer show herself in public and nobody would want to marry her, because... I'll turn her into a peacock!! The Peacock Princess. Forever."

And with that, the young princess was turned into a peacock, a majestic bird. Even though female birds were gray-colored, weren't bright colored and attractive like the male ones, she still got turned into one. A brightly, blue-green colored bird like the gown she was wearing. The evil man wasn't very educated, so he had only seen the blue-green colored ones which were male. When he saw that his dark magic worked and the girl had turned into a bird, he used his magic again to vanish in thin air. Only dark clouds were left behind which slowly dissolved by themselves.

"No, I'm a bird now. It can't be...", Alexis realized and began to cry. Her father and stepmother were supporting her and embraced their child.

"Hush, do not let your precious tears fall. We're here for you.", the loving stepmother encouraged.

"That man was no ordinary human and neither a fae, but a wizard who used dark magic and cursed my beloved daughter."

"Do not worry, dear Elric. I will try to lift the curse. After all, I'm a powerful magic wielder.", Thalissa spoke with determination. She cannot allow anyone to hurt her family. She loved her husband, Elric and Alexis whom she didn't give birth to, but she's still like her own. Family wasn't always bound by blood. Bound by Love.

She could no longer see her innocent child in pain, who was now struggling to stand on her new bird feet and tried to maintain balance. Thalissa closed her eyes, concentrated and chanted a spell while spreading her palms towards the child. After a moment, the princess was surrounded by light which could break the curse of the evil wizard. But the light was soon gone, faded away immediately. Queen Thalissa failed. She failed which broke her own heart that she couldn't save her stepchild. The wizard was stronger. But she tried again. Again and again, together with her husband. But they sadly couldn't break the curse together, so Thalissa changed her plan. Instead of breaking a spell, she tried to weaken it. Instead of staying a peacock forever, the princess shall be back in her true form at night. Peacock at Day and Half-Fae at Night.

They wanted to do more, but the curse was sadly too strong. Now the poor princess was sadly gazing at her parents, hoping to be back herself again. Somehow. Someday. Back again in her own body.

Till the late afternoon, Alexis was resting in her royal chambers upstairs in her peacock form and sad about today's happenings. She couldn't show herself like this to the public, the royal staff and locked herself up in her room. She was a peacock who could barely walk like one, who couldn't dance ballet, who couldn't play her violin, who couldn't take her black horse out for a ride and who couldn't hug her parents. She couldn't do the things she loved to do. She needed an escape.

Without letting anyone notice, she slipped out from the palace. Even the royal fae guards didn't stop her because they thought that it was just an innocent peacock that strolled around or got lost. She left her home because she didn't want to sadden her parents even more. She felt like a burden to them and went into the woods. The girl rarely went somewhere alone, because she wasn't allowed to go somewhere on her own without any security like the royal guards. After all, she was the crown princess and future queen of the kingdom.

As she arrived in a secluded part of the woods, she was surrounded by Mother Nature. Beautiful wildflowers were blooming. Little ladybugs, colorful butterflies and tiny birds filled the air with their singing and other animals were living peacefully.

Night has fallen and the princess wasn't in the palace. She was missing. The young Alexis who was strolling in her bird form now turned into her old self again which made her extremely happy. She finally was back in her body, but sadly knew that it would only be for a short time. By sunrise, she'll be a peacock princess again. But for now, she was just delighted to have her body back and began dancing. A ballet dance that expressed her happiness. After all, she couldn't dance properly when she was in her bird form.

The young royal performed a smooth ballet dance. She was a skilled dancer who could master difficult choreography with ease due to her years of training. Her footwork was delicate, yet strong, as her body moved through elaborate dance steps with grace and control.

"Keep on dancing. Keep on dancing.", she motivated herself, but immediately stopped at the sudden audience in front of her. A few seconds later, they clapped... Like humans?

"Such a beautiful dance.", a black cat meowed.

"Fae-tastic, darling.", a white dove praised.

"Wohooo Hooo Hoooo...", an owl hooted.

Even a gigantic grizzly bear appeared and clapped his paws which made the princess panic and took a few steps backwards.

"A bear??!! And did these animals just talk and act like human beings? Please let me go.", she begged mercy without knowing what was going on.

"Please, don't be afraid. Many are afraid of me because I look big and dangerous, but I am not. I'm Krom, a stone-troll.", the bear assured in a gentle voice.

"A stone-troll?? But you're a bear? And you can talk real words??!"

"Krom darling is telling the truth, lovely fae princess. And I'm no dove either, I'm one of your kind, your Highness."

"We were cursed by an evil wizard. He turns everyone who doesn't obey him or even disgusts him into animals with his magical scepter. Someone needs to stop him by destroying his wand, his scepter.", the owl spoke and then introduced herself as Ivy, a zombie girl who loves books.

"And I'm Luc, dear princess. Please kiss me so I'll get back to my handsome form again.", a green toad hopped towards the girl. He leaped on her shoulder and tried to meet her lips.

"Luc, behave. She's our guest.", the black cat hissed which frightened Luc, so he decided not to kiss her and just rested on her shoulder.

"You're right, mademoiselle Vera. C'est vrai. I apologize."

"Apology accepted, Luc. And like Ivy said, the curse can only be broken when the scepter gets destroyed. Not like in the Frog Princess story since we all got cursed and not only you."

"Wait, let me understand. You're all not animals?", she tried to understand and the five animals nodded to confirm.

"Yes, we all got cursed except for Cal."

"Cal?", the princess asked and then discovered a gigantic wolf who was silently leaning against the tree. He was so silent that she barely noticed him. The princess got more afraid, but they all tried to calm her down.

"Hey relax, I won't harm you. I'm not the Big Bad Wolf.", he calmly spoke and shifted from his wolf form back to his human form. He was a werewolf. Half human and half wolf, so there was no way the wizard could have turned him into an animal when he was partly already one.

"But princess, we saw you in a peacock form a while ago, before you began to dance. How did you turn back into your regular form?"

"Oh, I would have stayed in my peacock form forever if Thalissa, my stepmother wouldn't have tried to weaken the curse. I am still cursed like all of you, but I will turn into a bird until sunrise. Peacock at Day and Half-Fae at Night. But how will we ever find the evil wizard to break the spell? He just disappeared. He's gone and I have no idea where he is.", she began to cry. Tears welled up in her chocolate-brown eyes and couldn't stop falling. The girl got frustrated and had no idea what to do next. She was alone with the cursed beings.

Suddenly, the sound of horse tracks appeared which made the cursed ones panic, so they hid themselves. Even the werewolf decided to hide. Only the young girl remained who was still shedding her tears without knowing what was happening.

A young man arrived in the woods on his majestic, white stallion. His cloak flowed in the air. He noticed a crystalline castle in the distance. And then he heard someone crying, so he headed there to see where it came from.

There he discovered a lovely lady standing alone in the dark. He got off the horse and walked towards her.

"Greetings milady, what are you doing so late at night alone in the dark woods? It's not safe. And why are you crying?"

"I am... I was the princess of Lamrian. Princess Alexis Clarissa Fontaine from Lamrian. Now I am the victim of a curse that turned me into a peacock."

He was taken aback by her words, but quickly regained his composure and bowed.

"Oh, you're the princess?! Your Majesty, tell me how it happened. I will help you break the curse. It doesn't matter at all to me, you are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She was touched by his words and began to cry, this time more happy tears.

"You are quite kind... An evil wizard cursed me and other innocent beings into animals. By sunrise, I will be a peacock again. To break the curse, his magical scepter must be destroyed."

"Princess, it could be dangerous. I cannot let you go alone and find him all by yourself. Let me help you. Where will we find him?"

"Deep, deep, deeper in the woods. In a small hut is where he lives.", the owl hooted from another tree.

"That voice?? What was...?"

"It's one of the talking animals. These are the cursed ones."

"Fine, that's where we will go then, my lovely princess.", he extended his hand forward to support her. The girl took it and carefully climbed on the white horse to sit behind him. Then they started their journey together. But could the innocent princess just blindly trust him? Meanwhile, in a small hut at the edge of the lake, the evil wizard who cast the spell on the princess was waiting for them. He knew they would be coming and watched them as the lake reflected what the couple was currently doing, like a magical mirror.

"Curses, how did the princess get back into her form? She should be a peacock. I don't understand, did that commoner do that? It must be the work of a hero. Well, whatever his case is, I won't let him leave alive."

Back on the journey, the princess is curious about the young man, Nik.

"My hero, aren't you afraid of the evil wizard? Why do you want to help me?"

Nik is touched by the princess's questions.

"I have had many adventures, my princess... I'm a Nighthunter... A professional that hunts all creatures of evil origins and defends the good and innocent."

She was indeed impressed by his answer. In a clearing in the woods, they came across a band of dark creatures that just appeared, the wizard's henchmen.

Nik realized the sudden danger, hopped off the horse, and drew his weapons.

"Damn it... We've encountered the wizard's henchmen but no worries, my princess. I will protect you."

He turned to the creatures then.

"Stop right there villains, by the power of light, I order you to leave this place immediately. Leave us alone or else... you'll have to face my Holy Light arrows!!"

The henchmen snarled at him, but Nik was determined to get rid of the creatures once and for all. He grabbed his crossbow and began shooting holy light arrows at them one by one.

They got afraid by Nik's determination and some of them even got killed by the light arrows. The ones left behind disappeared back into the shadows.

The princess was amazed by Nik's courage and strength.

"I was so worried... How did you know they would leave? You are a hero, Nik... I am happy that I am in your protection, thank you very much."

Nik looked into her eyes and was moved by her kindness and sincerity.

"You are quite a kind and beautiful princess by the way. Your face is even more precious than the most precious jewels in the world."

She blushed a little, touched by his words. After he got on his horse, sitting behind her, the princess leaned her head on his chest. He took her arm and placed it around to keep her stable on the horse.

Meanwhile, the villain, furious to see Nik so dedicated to the princess, decided to cast another wicked spell... He began his spell, while the couple were still on their journey, completely unaware of what was about to happen. The jealous wizard chanted a spell of pure hatred and malice, then shot it at them, aiming directly at the princess.

The couple didn't realize what just happened yet. Meanwhile, Nik felt something disturbing in the air, a spell that disturbed his soul. He immediately scanned the surroundings, seeking the dark magic that had been created. He felt the dark spell. It's coming from the Princess. His instincts told him to be careful because there was something wrong, so he stopped his white horse and gently guided it toward a place where there was more light.

"Princess, are you okay? You seem strange all of a sudden. What's going on?", he asked the princess who remained silent and Nik noticed that. Even her face had changed. She showed a strange coldness and a strange look as if she had been brainwashed. Then she looked at him with a deadly look, as if she had forgotten everything they'd gone through together.

"What the...?", Nik got shocked and didn't understand the sudden change from this beautiful girl to a coldhearted woman. He looked around desperately and realized that they were now in a dark place, with fog and shadows everywhere. Also, his weapons were gone. The evil wizard played his game!

The young hero watched the mysterious figure who suddenly appeared in front of them. The wizard himself.

"Well, well, well... Nik Ryder is the name, am I right?"

"No dirty tricks now, wizard guy. Hand me over my weapons and return the princess to her normal self. Otherwise, I swear I will rip you apart!", his voice filled with anger. The villain laughed mockingly and cruelly back.

"My dear, you should try to think logically. Can a simple human fight against the will of a powerful wizard? If I wanted, I could turn you into an animal. Perhaps a bird too just like the princess. A falcon!! And then I'll lock you lovebirds up together in a bird cage. But I won't, I will let you live. Just one condition... Bring me the precious princess. She's mine and not yours.", he commanded while glaring at Nik with a cruel grin.

Nik was shocked by the words, he looked at the princess and saw her beautiful but cold look. He didn't want to admit it but he realized that the wizard guy had done something to her. She was brainwashed and in some kind of trance. In a last attempt to save the princess, Nik drew a secret dagger from under the saddle without letting anyone notice, hid it behind his back, hopped off the horse, and turned towards the evil man.

"I will never let you touch this lovely girl, don't you dare come closer. I don't have my weapons but I'm not afraid of you. Even without them, I'm powerful enough to protect my princess."

He stood determined in front of the guy, the dagger ready to strike the wizard his chest. The evil guy smirked at his brave attitude, knowing very well that he had the upper hand and that he controlled the princess.

"You silly little human, can't you realize the sad truth? Your princess is now my puppet. So there are only two options. You can give up and save her from a great deal of suffering or you can take me down and watch her die in your arms."

The Princess's eyes looked like there was a struggle inside her. She's looking at Nik, hoping that he could save her and Nik Ryder himself was determined to free her.

"No... I will never let you have her! If I defeat you I will also break your spell and I bring her back!", he yelled at the man who laughed cruelly.

"Oh, Nik, Nik, Nik... you can't fathom the power of a might like me... not many beings could break my magical power, that's why I rule over the most terrifying and dark beings."

He glanced at the Princess of Lamrian and then turned back to Nik.

"But if you think you can save her... I'll just laugh at your boldness and watch you fail. So come here and try me, if you dare", he spoke in a teasing tone.

Nik didn't hesitate and charged towards the man, taking him by surprise. The hero managed to slash him with his secret dagger within seconds, and the man screamed in pain. However, the wizard quickly took the opportunity to recover, grabbed him, and shot dark powers all over him. Nik managed to counterattack and they both got to the ground, each one looking for the advantage to be able to put an end to the battle. After a few minutes of struggle, the wizard managed to get the upper hand and pointed his scepter at Nik.

As he got ready to shoot his final and strongest spell of pure hatred and malice to finish Nik, the princess suddenly regained control of her senses and jumped between the two with Nik's secret dagger in her hands which was lying on the ground. She stabbed the wicked wizard in the chest while catching some unwanted blood stains. But it didn't matter to her as long as her hero was safe. Then she was able to destroy the scepter easily now with her fae powers after the villain was defeated. Destroy the owner of the scepter first, then the scepter.

The wizard collapsed, died in pain. Nik gazed at the princess with a new level of admiration.

"Well, would you look at that? You're not entirely stupid after all. Damn, look at you. How amazing you are, my princess! That was a brave action you just did!"

"Did you just called me stupid??!!"

"Forgive me, I was teasing you. Just joking. You did great, my love.", he chuckled.

He stood up from the ground, turned towards the princess who seemed a bit tired and confused now. He embraced her into his arms, looking at the evil wizard's corpse lying on the ground. The princess seemed exhausted and shocked as she realized what she had just done. Alexis still had a lot to process but the most important thing was that she was safe now. He placed the young lady gently on his white horse, then he also got on it, sitting behind her, and led the horse back. She seemed to be silent but Nik knew that she needed some time to recover and he respected that. When she was ready, he was sure that she would tell him everything about her experience with the evil guy. A few minutes later, the princess suddenly remembered everything that happened and started to shake. She looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. Nik watched her with worry and tried to calm her down.

"Hey, my princess, please do not be scared. The bad guy is no longer able to hurt you. You did a great job of defeating him with one of my hidden daggers. That was a clever move.", he whispered, hugging her as she started to cry in his arms. He comforted her by gently stroking her silvery-black hair and they continued the journey. When she calmed down and started to feel more herself, she faced him. Very sweet and loving again.

"I... I... Did I just kill someone? I feel so ashamed. Nik, I'm so sorry that I was cold and cruel to you before. I didn't know what was happening. Thank you for believing in me and rescuing me. You're my prince charming, my hero.", she praised before tenderly kissing him on his soft lips.

"Don't worry my dear, I knew it wasn't your fault."

The young couple exchanged a sweet look. They were in love.

Back in the palace, the king and the queen were relieved to see that the princess returned safe and sound. The whole kingdom was happy about the good news and the princess's parents decided to throw a grand celebration. To celebrate the return of the crown princess and the defeat of an enemy.

The next night, the whole kingdom was in a festive atmosphere, even Nik Ryder and the new friends from the woods came. The curse was broken. They weren't animals anymore and were back in their real form. Almost everyone noticed how the princess and Nik passionately and specially glanced at each other. They started to dance together. At first, it was a waltz, but then the young girl decided to dance ballet on her own while everyone ended up just admiring her including her lover, Nik Ryder, Hero of Lamrian. They were officially a couple.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End

#choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #fairytale #fantasy romance #fluff #fmc x nik ryder #nik ryder x fmc #fae #nightbound #playchoices #choices #choices nightbound #nik ryder #fantasy #fairytale au #cfwc fics of the week #cfwc

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ironworksjessie · 1 year

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Extended Bio with Lore Book citation

Full Name:

Jessie Jaye, previously Jessica jen Tiberius

Age: 37

Race: Hyur Midlander (Garlean-born)

Alignment: Neutral Good

Jobs:

Deputy Chief of Garlond Ironworks (Business Manager, Accountant, Magitek engineer, Blacksmith, Armorer, Goldsmith, Alchemist, and Chief Cid Wrangler), Activist/Volunteer

Appearance:

Thin and unassuming in build, one would rightly deduce that she spends more time with a quill in her hand than a hammer. She thinks of it as a sign of authority, though her protective headgear signals a certain tendency to overbear and get hands-on if the situation calls for it, or if whomever assigned to the task is working too slowly for her liking.

Nine out of ten times anyone sees her, it’s in the same old worn Ironworks engineer’s uniform. Her face is tired, her hair messily tied, and her expression probably sour, but her eyes show no weakness or weariness, and are as unrelentingly scrutinous no matter how few hours of sleep that she has or hasn’t slept.

Personality:

Jessie is so willing to take charge in difficult situations, one might be led to believe that she actually enjoys it. One would be a fool to believe it, sure, but that’s not her problem (Unless the fool in question is a Garlond Ironworks employee.) Though she tries to keep her work centered on management, where it is most sorely needed, when she does work with the machines, one might call her engineering work “genius.” She would call it a bothersome distraction from the many more important tasks that require her limited attention.

A more astute eye might see a driven yet embittered workaholic who puts more on her plate than she can handle as a matter of course. Then again, there’s simply no one she trusts enough to whom she can reliably delegate. But as it stands, she is something like a support pillar in the tower of the Ironworks: silently bearing the enormous burdens of management and refugee rescue while remaining in the background, almost entirely uncredited, and even at times vilified. This woman is the most overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated woman in Eorzea. Now… why was it that she wanted to leave the Empire? For a “better life”? Hah. How amusing in retrospect.

I imagine you’ll want to know who she is outside of work. That’s a good question that many employees wonder, and that she herself cannot satisfactorily answer. Jessie’s gut reaction would quickly brush it off by saying, “I am no one outside of this place. I am my work.” But hints of a real person can still be found in the few places she chooses to put her passions. It is because of her efforts than Garlond Ironworks is such a well-known brand, both for its technological work and its charitable efforts.

The closest thing she has to a hobby is a very secret interest in fashion and glamour — she is the little-known designer of the Ironworks gear set, after all. Though she herself would simply consider it another form of armor craft and deny making any visits to the Weavers Guild or parcels from one Redolent Rose are anything but work-related. She is just so unused to not just having a hobby, but practicing any manner of self-care, or self-love for that matter.

Biography:

“A Hyur born in the imperial capital Garlemald, Jessie always disliked her parents’ patriotism, and eventually rebelled. She joined a group dedicated to resisting the Empire, where she met Biggs and Wedge and aided in their defection. After making contact with Cid and establishing an arrangement whereby those fleeing Garlemald could find a safe haven in Eorzea, she herself left her homeland for the succor of the south. She has worked for Garlond Ironworks since, and acted as its leader during Cid’s absences. Jessie pays great attention to the company’s bottom line so as to ensure that the Ironworks survives as a sanctuary for others fleeing the Empire’s tyrannical grip. The tricenarian contributes to the Ironworks’ operations by acting as a peddler of their many and myriad wares, including those small-scale models which Biggs crafts in his free time.” - Encyclopaedia Eorzea Vol 1

In summary, a desire for freedom, along with a headstrong resistance to any and all stifling of that freedom, has driven her life choices and life course so far.

Jessie was born (with the name Jessica, though those that value their lives should never address her as such) to two parents that she genuinely loved, and way, way deep down, will always love. Seeing them in poverty, seeing life be so unfair to them and never give them the boons they rightfully deserve, yet so blithely contented and obsequiously devoted to the Empire, was the most painful experience of her life thus far. She believes that by living a better life outside of the Empire, she is doing the best and only kindness she possibly can do. If she can help others live a better life too as well, all the better way to thank them for their hard work and sacrifice, even if such thanks can never be stated, and neither will ever know what ever became of the missing portion of their family and their heart. Even if, as good Garleans, she has undoubtedly been erased entirely from their lives, and they undoubtedly curse any mention of her traitor name with brimstone and bile. It’s what they know, what they were taught. If they could speak from the heart, they would still speak of a beloved red-haired daughter. At least that’s what she tells herself.

“Jessica” did not attend the Magitek Academy, due to her family’s lowered status from not being ethnic Garleans. “Jen” is the highest attainable title in Garlean society for engineers who are not part of the military. That word alone could serve as a name, for how much it defines the entire life — nay, the entire destiny — of a Garlean citizen.

All her hard work, and all their slavish patriotism, for a life of paltry scraps and leftovers from their betters? As the Eorzeans might say, “Fuck that shit.” She got out of the Empire by methods she has yet to divulge, for fear the spread of such knowledge could endanger current or future refugees.

In fact, probably the main reason she perpetually has so much work on her plate is because of the work she assigns herself: liaison, social worker, and sole support network for countless Garlean-Eorzean refugees who are referred her way, or who seek her out. Some of whom will go on to become Ironworks employees, some of whom have never seen the inside of a cerulean engine and never will, but will remember and benefit from her kindness for ever and always. A pro bono endeavor, as the Garleans would say, if they didn’t believe such endeavors futile and foolish. But her secretly kind heart just cannot help but help.

What are some personal goals your character has?:

Jessie would say that the Ironworks’ goals are her goals and vice versa; yet, many of the ideas the company currently espouses and propagates, including working extensively with Garlean refugees, came from the Deputy Chief herself. She is not doing herself or the world any favors by burying her own wants, needs, and individuality. Meeting new people like adventurers who live such unburdened lives should help open her up.

Now that the Garlean Empire as we know it has fallen, one would think the refugee leader in her would have more to say about the issue. But aside from matters regarding the unprecedented influx of new hires, she has been outwardly surprisingly quiet, at times even acting like business as usual, as if the biggest historical event in history didn’t just happen right in front of their faces. Inwardly, she prefers it that way, and has not yet made the effort to sort through her emotions about post-imperial Garlemald, or even the possibility of a reunion with her family. Very nice people who mean we’ll have told her she can’t do this forever. She has now accepted this as a challenge.

Are there any specific plots you would like to happen with this character?:

(( Workplace shenanigans, office humor, is what I want the most. As for serious stuff, there is a lot of possibility in the unpacking of the post-imperial Garlean world. ))

Extra headcanons (At least three please!):

Jessie makes a somewhat annoyingly large effort to not forget to read, write and speak her native Garlean language (analogous to real world Latin, using the Latin alphabet rather than the Eorzean script). Famously, all her own personal notes, tomes, and parchments are written in Garlean, making it difficult for conniving employees to mess with said notes, whether for selfish, prankish, or malicious reasons. This also has the advantage of subtly putting more pressure on The Chief to address her memos rather than delegate them to a junior engineer - what boss would be so rude as to remind another hire of their mutual homeland (if they can read it at all). Or at least, that’s how he took it, nice guy that he is. In any case, Cid has also chosen to follow Jessie’s lead when it comes time to have another one of their heated arguments — what better way to spare others even a small portion of the bad vibes coming from the other side of that conference chamber door than to argue in a language they won’t understand?

As if she didn’t have enough to nag people about, a personal peeve of Jessie’s is poor grammar, and won’t hesitate to correct others on their sentence structure, verb tense, dangling prepositions, you name it. But not if she’s in a good mood at work. Which isn’t often.

Jessie is shockingly close friends with Rowena. Yes, the Rowena. Shocking because a woman of her caliber in the business and adventuring communities shouldn’t have any friends that are not also enemies. But Jessie accidentally made it on to her good side over a business deal and many drinks in Revenant’s Toll. They didn’t mean to connect, really, but perhaps their similarities as lonely women with all-consuming jobs and painfully unforgettable pasts made it inevitable. The mogul might be a good friend and enjoyable companion, but she is also a bad influence, luring Jessie into such vices as drinking, smoking, and :gasp: capitalism.

As for current events regarding the Final Days: During the time of the latest apocalypse scare, Jessie has her nose to the grindstone trying to support the endeavors of Chief Cid supporting the Sharlayans supporting the Scions supporting the Warrior of Light. But she’s used to being an unsung hero. When the situation seemed especially grim after the appearance of the blasphemies, her stone cold countenance did not melt, and her slave-driving work schedule did not relent, prompting much resentment among some engineers, and respect for her steadfast strength in others. Really, she was scared shitless like everyone else, but like every other time, she just hid it better with a wrench in hand and a stiff upper lip. A job well done was the best chance they could give the world at survival, and they all knew that, so the atmosphere of anything has benefitted from her strong leadership at HQ, whilst the Chief got to build a godsdamned spacecraft. Lucky bastard. You should have seen her eyes sparkle when she looked upon that spacecraft, though.

Jessie’s humorously exaggerated workaholic lifestyle is humorously based on the culture of the modern tech bro / brogrammer ((sorry, men, but they deserve it lololol)), especially the Silicon Valley area. Think “I sleep it my office for four hours a night, I drink Soylent for three meals a day, and I’m damn proud of it.” Like the brogrammer, she believes she is doing what in her world is a very important mission to change the world. Also like the brogrammer, she too lives in a fictional world.

As for living space, Jessie lives alone in various side rooms of the Garlond Ironworks workshops in Mor Dhona, Rhalgr’s Reach, and most recently, a small outpost in Labyrinthos, which allows access to the city of Old Sharlayan. She drives her own personal Manacutter dubbed the Lady Liberty.

#ffxiv rp #garlond ironworks #character development #character bio

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ekirkpatrick2023 · 1 year

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7 Questions to Ask a Property Manager Before Hiring Them

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roscgcld · 3 years

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HEADCANON + NANAMI KENTO || turning into a child

request: Your Nanami headcanons were so so good!! I love how detailed they were! Do you have any headcanons on how Nanami would react to being turned into a young kid/toddler and his reaction to the jjk cast/reader??

note: nga, thank you for saying that love! i am always happy whenever you guys tell me you enjoy my headcanons - they make me feel all warm and happy inside! and tbh, i had to think long and hard because i can’t see nanami as a baby???? like mans is so prim and proper that it was just so hard lmao! but - i think this would be most like what will happen if he was the one to turn into the child lmao

pronouns: them/they

honestly, i think we can all say this - people who are all prim and proper now were such absolute monsters when they were kids

feel like this might happen after a normal morning - having breakfast together whilst he reads the newspaper, helping him with his tie after going through your morning checklist of things he should bring to work together, and sending him off with a parting kiss

so you can imagine your shock when, not even 2 hours into the morning, you got a call from his senior and co-worker, gojo - who got your contact for emergencies

“Y/N, i know you think I make a lot of useless jokes, but we have a serious problem right now.”

at first you were pretty miffed by it - you were pretty sure your boyfriend left the house a whole ass man; but you didn’t comment on it and drove to the college like you were told to

so when you entered the office, only to see what looked like a child who looks exactly like your boyfriend, sitting on the ground playing with his tie; his bright eyes blinking at you curiously

“gojo - what on earth is going on?” you’d ask in concern as you entered the room, picking nanami up when he dropped his tie and reached up to you for you to pick him up wordlessly

after getting an explanation about how he got hit by a Cursed Technique of some sort, ieiri will just reassure you that it’s just a temporary change and that it’ll wear off later in the day

you were dragged away from her talking when you felt someone tugging on your ear hard, to which you winced and gave the smiling child in your arm an unamused glance

he just tugged your ear once more, to which you grabbed his small hands in his and warned him not to do it again

whilst adult nanami cannot stand gojo, child nanami follows him like a lost puppy - more than willing to learn the ways of the mischievous man child that is gojo

the students were definitely having a lot of fun playing around with nanami - espeically yuij, since it felt like he can finally relate to the usually stonic and most times straight forward shaman

“maybe we should keep him like this.” yuji said with a grin as he bounces a giggling nanami on his knees, fushiguro and you sharing a look as he continues to cuddle nanami. “he’s easier to handle.”

definitely going about messing everyone’s days up with mischief and small pranks that really, people shouldn’t be encouraging - but who can really say no to him?

he yells a lot, and uses a lot of sound effects when describing things. and can talk fast too - most times you just sit there smiling and nodding without a clue on what he’s saying

child nanami hates bugs with a passion - the college is filled with wildlife. you remember how there was a beetle that was walking on the wooden banister he was seated on, and when he realised it was there he was crying and screaming for someone to pick him up

gojo got that on his phone by the way - and was laughing the entire time you were trying to console the traumatised nanami

still feels like he respects the elders to a certain extend - he will still listen to you when you tell him not to do something. but that only applies to you, if anyone else tries to tell him something he doesn’t like he just huffs and sticks his tongue out at them

it such a picky eater; you got him curry and rice, which he likes to eat whilst being an adult. but child him refuses to even open his mouth; shaking his head adamantly at your spoon

“come on now, kento.” you cooed as you held out a spoonful or rice and curry for him to eat, trying to ignore the sniggers coming from nobara and yuji who sat opposite from you and the pouting child. “just one more bite, please? or not you can’t go and play with yuji-nii and nobara-nee.”

so much energy - he’s running all over the campus, leaving to all of you having to chase after him. even gojo was struggling to keep up with the child half way through the day

doesn’t even take naps, and doesn’t like sweets - this kid runs on pure energy. think the only person who can handle him is yuji, who was surprisingly good with kids and was like a child whisperer

seriously, yuji seemed to know what he was trying to say everything, entertaining nanami and giving you a few moments to catch your breath while he tells him some outlandish story about his most recent mission

by the time the end of the day arrived, you were ready to just drop. luckily the entire day seems to catch up with nanami, who was nodding off on the drive home

the next day nanami didn’t have the guts to look at you; hiding his face in your neck whilst you laugh and held him close, your fingers combing through his hair gently. “it’s alright, nanami. you were cute.”

“i was a brat.” he grumbled softly, to which you just smile before leaning over to kiss his cheek, enjoying the feeling of his warm arms wrapped around your waist. “i apologise that you have to deal with brat me for so long.”

you just smile and nuzzle him closer, finding it amusing how embarrassed he was about the entire thing. “you’re just being dramatic.”

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

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Can I request how Lisa and Sucrose would react to there long time female friend confessing romantic feelings for them? and maybe like first date ideas?

i’ve always loved you

Warning -> SFW, fluff (kissing)

Character X FM Reader | Anthology

Includes: Sucrose, Lisa

Sucrose

She’s so shocked! She honestly wonders if she really understood you? What you just said to her cannot be accurate, right?

“Sucrose … I like you.” You state, your eyes moving from her and down to the thumb you’ve been clenching in your fist for a while now.

“ ...w-what? Oh, you mean l-like as a friend? Well, I am quite fond of you too.” She’s clearly flustered and since she either didn’t seem to get your first confession, or was playing it off as a joke, you try again.

“Not like that, I have feelings for you.” Reaching out to her arm you hope the connection will make the confession more clear. The color of her cheeks turn bright pink as she comes to realize what you meant, and the reaction that follows is so adorable you think you’ll die.

The bottle in her hands slips from her grasp as she exclaims and pulls her hands to cover her mouth. The crashing bottle splatters around your feet while she takes a second to register all of these things happening at once.

“Ah! I’m s-so sorry … let me g-get something to clean it up … with …” She turns around and grabs a nearby towel but you’ve already started on the mess by the time she returns. “N-no let me get that, it was m-my mess.” Her hand extends toward the glass but you capture her fingers before they can reach. Elegantly, you pull them to your lips and give them a quick peck before letting her take control of them again.

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

She’s so flustered, how is it that someone like you can like someone as unprepared for love as her - she just cannot understand

Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest, her mind is going a mile a minute and all she can think about how incredible you look in front of her

She wants to reach out and touch you, but her hand is still so hot from where you kissed

You finish cleaning up the rest of the glass before dumping it into the garbage bin. Looking down, Sucrose hasn’t moved from her crouched position and you hope your confession didn’t totally ruin the relationship you had with her.

“Listen, I know that was sudden. I just … I don’t know,” You rub the back of your arm and squeeze the skin there. “I have liked you for so long and I really wanted to tell you … anyway if you don’t feel the same or whatever you …” “NO!” She shoots up and catches you off-guard.

“Oh … okay…”

“Oh no, I mean … I’m sorry, I like you ... “ Clasping her fingers together and pressing them against to her legs, she avoids your gaze but bravely continues, “more than a f-friend. I like you, too.”

Archons, she’s so cute? You can’t hold back anymore and with emboldened confidence you lean forward and press your lips against her hot cheek. She practically explodes, a huge gust of wind erupts from her and knocks several more things off the counter, papers scatter, containers shift, and unconfined specimens are lost on the wind.

“Ah … I’m sorry.” She covers her face and you respond with giddy laughter.

“Cute.”

You love to watch her get excited and to know she likes you back? Well, you are just over the moon

Your first date idea is something you know she will enjoy. You want to make sure she is comfortable and so the first thing that comes to your mind is taking her on a little adventure - somewhere she can explore, someplace to study or conduct research - if she smiles that’s all that matters to you

“Look at this!! I’ve only ever seen this species in books. I wonder if the season and weather have an impact on it’s growth cycle.” She bent close to the plant, her fingers cupping ever so gently underneath it as not to disturb its existence. She was always so generous, be it people, animals, or plants she was the kindest person you had ever met.

“You look like you were meant to be here.” You express, taking up space at her side.

“Really? I just really love to unearth secrets. When I finally get the answer to a question that’s been on my mind, I feel exhilarated by the accomplishment. Perhaps, I should ... adjust my excitement?”

“I will never hold you back in your love for research, that’s why I choose this location for our date.”

“Ah! Yes, this is a d-date. You’re right, what should … what do we do on dates?”

“We are doing it right now.”

“Are we …?”

“Yes, are you having fun?” You asked, tracking her gaze with the movement of your head, your question light but important.

“Yes!”

“Then perfect, the date is going well.” Her face shifts hues and for the thousandth time today, the word cute runs through your mind.

Lisa

She already knows - she’s known for such a long time and is honestly impressed that you had the guts to finally tell her your true feelings

Lisa is wildly observant, she has to be in order to stop people from slipping one too many books into their bags without following the rules of the library. So, she’s clearly picked up the different ways you act between her and some of the other people you commonly interact with

She especially can spot the discrepancies between her, Kaeya, and Jean. When you talk to Kaeya, his flirtatious, forward jokes fall to the ground without any reaction - you might play back, if you’re feeling cheeky, but your face never shifts

When you talk to Jean and she leans in close to you, you act as if it’s anyone on the planet, a twig will make you react more than she does - but when you are around her? You become a stuttery, fidgety mess, and if she ever makes a more pointed joke - ;) - you practically shut down

You find her standing in front of row after row of books, her arm extended above her as she reaches to place a returned book back onto the shelf. She’s so elegant, and when she is in her element she’s the most stunning thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You didn’t know that someone could have such an impact on you.

“Lisa?” You call out to her, respectful of the rules of the library. She turns and already your heart is racing. “Do you have a second?”

“For you my dear, I have all the time in the world.” She holds the remaining books against her chest, and, even though she’s wearing her hat, you are still transfixed by the face that’s partially hidden.

“I wanted to tell you this for a long time … is it okay if we talk here or…?” She chuckles, placing the books on one of the tables and walking toward you. The smell of dark roses pressing against your nose as she enters your space.

“Here is perfect, cutie. What do you want to share with me, hmm?” She’s a bit taller than you so when you find yourself looking at her face it’s almost always drawn to her lips.

“I’m sure … well, no .. I mean I know that you’re … ah how do I …”

“Take your time.” She reaches for your hair and the closeness of her wrist to your face breaks you.

“I like you!” You practically shout, covering your mouth in your hands at the realization of your outburst. Slipping your head further behind your fingers you hide your embarrassment from her.

Instead of scolding you, or reminding you to be quiet, she laughs and the sound is so lovely it pulls you from your hiding place.

“I was wondering when you were finally going to tell me your little secret.”

“You mean, you knew?”

“Of course I knew, I’m very observant and I can’t keep my eyes off of something so adorable, now can I?” She laughs again, her fingers sliding along your jaw and toward your chin. There she lifts your head and moves in for the kill. Her lips connect with yours and it’s electric, you wonder if she somehow sent a shock of her vision through the contact. As she pulls away, her smile is so grand you close your eyes again.

She is honored to have your affection, and she will absolutely lord that over everyone - she has the most prized book in all the collection, if you let her explain her admiration for you - hopefully, you can handle her

Now that she has chosen you, you want to show her experiences that will always remind her that she made the best choice. You’ve taken her to libraries and bookstores that are hidden from most people's eyes. You’ve gone on adventures to explore ancient domains and ruins in search for historic knowledge, you even traveled to Liyue to meet the ever knowledgeable consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. You were greeted with warm tea and unending information.

Now, you’ve brought her to the vast fields which surround Mondstadt, the two of you nestled under the stars each keeping the other warm. She feels so good resting against you, her back pressing firmly into your chest as she relaxes under the night sky. You can push your face into her hair and tighten your grip around her as you relish the notion that she is yours and you are hers.

She’s shared with you her knowledge of the stars, the things she’s read in books and how impactful they are. Lisa has pointed out all the constellations to you and you’re sure that no matter how many times she shares this information you’ll never tire of hearing her voice.

“Oh look, a shooting star. It’s customary to make a wish, so I’m told.” She presses further against you and practically squeezes out your words.

“I don’t know what I could possibly wish for other than you.” She turns and looks into your eyes and you kiss her passionately as if hers are the only lips you will ever taste again.

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact musings #lisa #genshin impact lisa #genshin lisa #lisa x reader #sucrose #sucrose x reader #genshin sucrose #genshin impact sucrose

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skiitter · 3 years

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Also in my roundabout way I would like to request a Lann ficlet, start with angst but make it happy? or just happy. Or just anything because you are a great writer!!

okay so uh this got away from me but here's 3.8k words of lann pining after the commander and being an idiot in love.

He is not staring. He is restringing his longbow after their latest run in with the remaining demons still lingering in the area, that's it. He is absolutely not staring at his two companions huddled together across the fire. He is not watching with rapt, singular focus at their every interaction, seeking answers in her soft words, his sardonic remarks. The Aasimar gestures rudely with his hands, and she laughs loud, the chorus of it echoing through the empty ramparts. When Daeran dips his head low to whisper in her ear, the skin of her neck flushes and Lann forces himself to look away.

He's pretty sure they're sleeping together. It's hard to know for sure, thanks to his complete lack of experience in interpersonal relationships, not to mention his one and only lover having been someone he'd known since birth. Wenduag was a blunt edge of expectation, and Lann always knew exactly what was happening between them. When it comes to the Commander and Daeran, however, he isn't totally sure.

That unknowing, that gray area of wretched hope, is killing him. Falling for her was not on the agenda, seeing as she'll live for hundreds of years and he's lucky if he's got a decade left. Not to mention that she's (probably) gonna save the world and he's just some Mongrel who's legacy won't extend beyond the small role he's played in the crusade. He's never been a glutton for punishment, what with life underground being horrid enough already, but there is a sweet sting in accepting his unrequited love for her that he can't shake. It drives him, despite it's doomed end, to do whatever he can for her fight. If he cannot give her his heart, he will give her his life.

"You're staring," Seelah whispers, her hulking form crouched next to him as she sharpens her longsword.

"Can you blame me? Looking forlornly into the campfire is just one of my many talents."

Seelah chuckles and jerks her head slightly towards the Commander and Daeran. "Oh you're looking forlornly alright, but it's not at the flames. You should talk to her."

"I do talk to her. I talk to her everyday. Are you saying you don't? Honestly Seelah, she's your commander, you--"

"Fine fine, play coy. I'm just saying Lann, we could die at any minute. Do you really not want her to know how you feel?"

Lann swallows, the ugly reminder of mortality and how the sword strung above him dangles far lower than the Commander's tightening the sinew around his heart. "Sh--she doesn't need any more burdens. The Commander's got enough going on, what with that pesky Worldwound thing." He spares one last glance before turning his body away, enduring the biting cold as the heat of the fire leaves his scaled skin. "She doesn't want to deal with a lovesick Mongrel and really, who could blame her?"

"How could you possibly know what she wants if you don't talk to her?"

"Because it's not her wants I'm concerned with, it's her needs. And she needs me to be good ol' reliable Lann. She needs me to shoot my arrows and kill the baddies. She needs--she needs something she can count on and that something is me."

The Abyss happens all at once and it's a miserable experience for them all. Their time in Drezen made him soft, he thinks, because the camp at the Nexus is horrifically uncomfortable. The ground is somehow colder and harder than any other he's slept on and no amount of fire really chases away the shadows.

They spend a significant amount of time in Alushinyrra, and a significant amount of money staying at the Bad Luck Tavern just to avoid the discomforts of the Nexus. It's on one such expensive stay that a group of frankly moronic thugs try and rob the Commander while she sleeps. Her ever-present and ruthlessly protective Velociraptor dispenses them in quick measure, ripping the throat out of the final victim before Lann even has his bow drawn.

Up until that point they'd opted for three rooms, in groups of two, but they downsize to one after the attack. The Commander's life was hardly in danger but playing with fate isn't something she likes to do, chaotic nature be damned. The tavern owner grumbles but, with a golden incentive, allows them to drag one of the other beds into the room so the sleeping arrangements aren't quite so cramped.

Ember curls up into the Commander's side, her sisterly affection having transformed them from companions to near family. Woljif takes the other bed, offering half of it to Regill. The severe gnome answers him with a severe look and Woljif extends the offer to Lann instead. He glances at Daeran but the Aasimar is already tucking himself into the space between the Commander and the wall. With not a small amount of jealousy, Lann resigns himself to his fate and joins Woljif.

A soft rustling pulls him from a restless slumber some time later and Lann wakes just in time to see the Commander whisper something to Regill, who is stationed at the door, before slipping into the hallway with Daeran in tow. He watches them until they vanish and, as he looks away, makes uncomfortable eye-contact with the gnome. Regill's face is as impassive as always, but Lann feels guilty for some reason, like a kid caught with his hand in the rat cage.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Regill asks him as they head out the next morning. Well, not morning since there is no sun or sky or joy in Alushinyrra.

"Hard to say, this city does tend to be a bit on the rough side," Lann responds.

"The Commander has assured me any physical relationships she has with the party aren't going to be a problem." It's not a question but it's not not a question and Lann looks around to make sure the others aren't paying attention.

"We uh, we aren't in a physical relationship?"

"I know."

"Riiiiiight."

"But you want to be, which is arguably worse. So I'll ask you again, is this going to be a problem?"

It occurs to Lann that he should probably do a slightly better job of keeping his apparently obvious feelings on the Commander to himself. "Uh, no. No, it's not." Regill doesn't seem satisfied but then again, when does he ever? "Is uh, I mean, are the Commander and Daeran--"

"I do not gossip," Regill snarls. "Bother the thief with nonsense like that."

Lann does not, in fact, bother the thief with nonsense like that. Instead, he pushes down the swelling of affection he feels at every interaction with the Commander and focuses on the mission. It goes well enough, all things considered, until Savamelekh shows up and nearly kills him.

The demon's revelations are a bit too much for his overtaxed heart to bear and the subsequent bender doesn't help at all. When the Commander finds him, though, he just babbles on about wanting to prove to her he can be what she wants, what she needs, and that she can trust him. "I want to be somebody you can count on. I don't have anything to offer apart from my bow and my dumb jokes....and my life. And they're all yours, if you want them." He glances away, shame and discomfort crushing him from the inside out. "But I doubt you do, not now that I've let you down."

"....I could never turn my back on someone I care about just like that." She's been talking this whole time but it's these words that register hard and fast. Lann stares at her, and she stares back, and the weight of things unsaid on her face is a blessed curse. He forces a smile, bashful but steady, and pulls away from the conversation. It's too much to think about, especially because hope is not his friend, despite its insistence on hanging around.

Later, back at camp, away from everyone but her sharp-eyed Velociraptor, the Commander comes for him. He's not avoiding her, not that he really could thanks to the nature of their new normal in the Abyss, but he's not not avoiding her either. He's sitting at the edge of the cliff, staring out over the sea of fire and the city of demons. She sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and they are quiet for a long time.

"Next time I get drunk and come to pour my heart out to you, I'll jot down notes first," he says lightly, glancing at her. Her face is hard to read, not the open expression she'd given him back at the tavern, but he knows her well enough to know she's bothered by something. "I'm kidding of course. I'd never do that -- I don't do notes, I improvise."

"Why do you do that?"

"Improvisation is just one of my many skills, honed from my illustrious life as a Mongrel hunter. Sometimes, you got out to hunt for some rats and end up fighting a--"

"Lann, stop." He does, if only because her tone is firm. "Why do you always demean what you say with humor?"

"I'm....funny like that?"

She scowls at him and her raptor lets out a soft hiss. He's pretty sure they're connected, somehow, because otherwise that would be just plain freaky. "I love that you're funny, Desna knows we need something lighthearted with Regill around, but sometimes I--" She falters, his rocksteady monument of a Commander, and it scares him. "Sometimes I just want you to tell me how you feel."

His heart races, and hope is such a dangerous, cruel thing. "I did tell you how I felt...I meant what I said, back at the tavern. I...I'd do anything for you." The confession settles between them, demanding to be addressed.

"For me, or for the crusade, for the cause?" She's asking him a different question, he thinks.

"I--"

"Because Lann, I--you are--"

"What about Daeran?" He says it in a rush, because he can't handle whatever it is she's trying to confess.

"What about Daeran?"

"Aren't you--ya know--"

"Lann, would you do anything for me or for the crusade? To whom are you pledging your life too? Is it me? I need to know because I cannot carry on like this."

More shame, some more guilt, all for Lann. Of course his unwanted affections made her uncomfortable, of course he took her caring treatment of him to mean more than it was supposed to. He wants to leave, because he also kind of wants to cry. "Commander..."

"Not commander. Lann, please for this moment can I just be a person to you?"

She's crying, for some reason, and he doesn't know what to do. "You're always a person to me. I--you know that."

"To whom do you pledge your life?"

In the end, he knows what's more important. "The--the crusade." Lann knows that she needs to be able to rely on him without thinking he's reading into her every action, her every word. His wants are second to her needs, just as it should be.

Her face crumples, though, and the twist of her mouth breaks his heart. "Right. Okay. Of course." She stands, dusting her robes off and refuses to look him in the eye. Lann realizes immediately that he's said the wrong thing, despite his efforts to do the exact opposite.

"Commander--"

"Have a good night, Lann. Thank you for….thank you for clearing that up."

Her raptor snarls at him when he stands up to stop her and she is gone.

The next day, she announces they are heading deep into the heart of the Abyss. And, for the first time since he followed her out of the dark and into the sun, she leaves him behind.

Six months. Six long, bloody, dangerous months. He runs point with Greybor, struggling to keep the Commander's hoard of refugees safe, and spends each watch with Solsiel, pointedly not talking about their missing leader.

Several times the idea of her death comes up and he stops fighting against it. He's pretty sure they'd leave but there is no where to go. Groups of demons hunt them for sport and it's a miracle he's able to keep himself in one piece. Nenio is insufferable. Seelah is too positive. He misses Ember, and Wolfji. He misses Regill and his cold practicality. He misses the Commander and the smile she used to shoot him when he'd struck down an enemy in their path.

Eventually, it's just the five of them left. Every other life she'd saved has been systematically eradicated by the horrors of the Abyss. Still, they wait because what else are they supposed to do?

She returns, of course, because she's more myth than woman these days. What was six horrific months in hell for those left behind, was less than two weeks for them. Two weeks. The Commander doesn't cry when she sees the devastation that's been wrought in the wake of her absence. Her left hand trembles, but she stays strong. Just as quickly as they'd come, she shows them the way home.

Drezen is in shambles and it takes another week just to kill the demon forces that have taken their city. In that week, she treats him as warmly as she does Greybor. That is to say, her polite indifference is breaking him.

As things return to normal, and he contends with the loss of his tribe, Lann considers what to do. He's messed up, somehow, and he's spent six months worrying over it. He's pretty sure she wanted him to admit that it was to her he swore his life. He's pretty sure he knows why. A (admittedly short) life spent hunting for things unseen and he completely missed the things she'd tried to say.

He misses her feverishly. She's busy, daily, managing the shambles left of her crusade armies after the Queen had her way with them. The party has yet to leave Drezen since returning and Daeran has yet to leave the Commander's side. Lann feels replaced, usurped, and he cannot take it anymore.

Her door is shut, but there is candlelight spilling out underneath. Before the courage leaves him, he knocks and calls out her name.

"Lann?" She opens the door and he's half expecting to see Daeran, arrogant and naked, sprawled across her bed. Instead it's just her, exhausted and anxious, looking at him with a guarded expression. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, ya know, just everything." He tries for humorous but it comes out pathetic and they both frown. "Can I--can I come in?"

She steps aside, allowing him entrance. He's never been here, in all his time in Drezen, and while he's not totally sure what he expected, it's still a surprise. Her quarters are small, smaller than the house she'd given him upon their initial taking of the city. The desk is covered in maps and missives, and her gear is in a pile by the door. The raptor has a bed, set up beside her own, and Lann is pretty sure it looks far more comfortable than the Commander's. There is nowhere to sit so they both just stand there, awkward and uncomfortable, as she closes the door.

"What's going on? Have you heard from the clan?"

That particular sting of worry rolls over him and Lann shakes his head to push it away. "No, not yet. All quiet on the Mongrel front."

"I'm sorry, Lann." She reaches out for a moment, as if to comfort him, but stops herself short. "We'll find them, I promise."

"I didn't come here to talk about the clan."

"Okay."

"Boy, is this awkward. Uhm," he clears his throat to buy time. "Do you remember that last conversation we had?"

Her expression becomes an echo of the one she wore that night. "I do."

"I uh, I would like to do it over again."

The Commander narrows her eyes. "Why?"

Lann runs a hand through his hair, and stares at the wall beside her because if he looks at her, he'll fall apart. "I think I messed it up."

"Lann, you don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I kinda do."

She shakes her head. "It's okay I know that--what you said it's--we're fine."

"You were gone for six months, ya know. Six shitty, ugly months. You've never left me behind before." It's not an accusation but she flinches anyway. "I had a lot of time to think. Not a lot else to do, really. Well, aside from entertaining Nenio and rejecting Camellia's frankly terrifying propositions."

"She asked to sleep with you?" The Commander is suddenly furious and Lann is shameless in how warm her indignation makes him feel.

"Well, not in so many words and really, I'm kind of dense, but sneaking into my bed at night was--"

"Did she hurt you?"

"I--what?"

"Did she hurt you?"

"I--I don't know what you think sex with a Mongrel is like--"

"You slept together?" Her fury simmers down and turns her face cold.

"No! This isn't about that. I don't want to talk about Camellia. It was only once and--no. She didn't--we--nothing happened."

"You could--"

"Commander, excuse the insubordination here, but please shut up. This isn't easy and I'm losing my nerve." She frowns, but stays silent. "I want to change my answer."

"To what question?"

"To the one you asked me that night. I lied."

"What?" The inflection is too hopeful and Lann forces himself to look at her.

"It's not for the crusade or the cause or the world. It's--it's for you. My life, I mean. I'm pledging it to you. I misread things, I didn't understand what you meant. I--my life, my bow, my dumb jokes, it's yours." He struggles not to fidget, or downplay what he's saying with humor. She's staring at him, and she's crying but this time he knows why. "And my heart. If--if you want it. It's yours."

"Lann," she whispers and closes the gap between them. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his face, and they are trembling. It's a perfect match to his own shaking nerves. "Are you sure?"

He laughs, and it's watery. "It's hardly something precious to me. It's just all I have to give you and--and well really, it's already yours."

"How long?"

"Ugh no, the last thing you need to know is how long I've been pining over you."

"It was the Gargoyle attack for me, the one at the camp." She confesses it so easily, and he's rendered speechless. "When it was you that came to find me and tell me everyone was taken, my very first thought was relief; relief because they didn't take you." She presses her forehead to his own, their noses brushing. "From the moment we left for Colyphyr, I regretted leaving you behind. I could barely focus for the first few days because I was so worried about you. Every day I woke up, expecting to see you, to talk to you, and you weren't there and it was my fault. I was so mad at myself for letting my stupid feelings get in the way but the thought of having you near and knowing you'd never want me that way it--" her voice breaks and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have realized what you were asking, I--"

"No, I'm sorry," She pulls back to look at him. "I'm so sorry I didn't just come right out and ask you how you felt. I was just scared, scared of rejection and what I would do if you said no."

"I would never--I love you." He reddens from ear to tail and he immediately wants to take it back.

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

"Well, I didn't really want to just come out and say it. I was hoping for a little more romance. Some candles, maybe a rat shaped pastry or two. We could probably get someone to play--"

"I love you, too." She captures his mouth with her own before he can stumble over anymore words and Lann relents happily to her efforts. She kisses him like he's always wanted to kiss her, all passion and tenderness, and disgustingly sincere affection. Their arms wind around one another and she pulls him to her bed.

Lann stops her. "We don't have too, really. I know I'm not exactly easy to look at--"

"Lann. I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention.” She sets him down beside her and once more takes his face in her hands. “Don’t you ever, ever talk about yourself that way again, okay? I love you, all of you, every bit and I want you, in any and every way you’ll let me.” She kissed him again, softly. “We don’t have to rush into anything, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just--just please know that, regardless of what you’ve been told, you’re beautiful and--and I will happily take you to bed every night.”

“Just to bed?” He aims for suggestive and, every bit the archer, he strikes true. “But there are so many other places I wish to be taken.”

“We’ll have a veritable world tour of it, but for now, can I have you here? Because this is all I’ve thought about for months and if I don’t fulfill that fantasy, I may die.”

“Regill would have my head for that.”

“He is possibly the least sexy person you could bring up at this point in time.”

Lann crowds into her, forcing her backwards until he has her pinned beneath him. “Imagine the report I’d have to write: Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade dies because local Mongrel fails to fulfill her sexual fantasies.” He kisses her once before moving his attention down the breadth of her jawline, and onto her neck. Her breath hitches, pressing her body up into his. “Good thing that’ll never happen because I’m a terrible writer.”

“Lann,” it’s nearly a whine, only just, but it’s enough to make him shudder, “please.” He’s always been excellent at following orders and there is no reason to stop now. Whatever she needs, he thinks, whatever she asks, he’ll give. It’s a scary thought, but it’s the only one he’s had for it feels like his whole life. Her hands snake across the skin of his chest, pulling at his armor with frantic hands. “Let me see you. Let me touch you.”

He relents, and soon they are but a tangled mess of limbs. It’s nothing like he’s known, but he’s ruined forever now. He’s hers, like he has been since that serendipitous moment beneath the ruins of Kenabres, and to his unbelievable shock and surprise, she is his.

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #wrath of the righteous #lann #lmao holy fuck this got away from me #its p good tho #we love a good angsty pine #thank u anon #sorry this took me a few days!#skitterfics #Edit: Some of Lann's dialog is taken straight from the game #i don't wanna try and pass that off as my own obv

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