#season 3 is ranked third in my season ranking

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [1] | k.th

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

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

I cannot be the diamond. 

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

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

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

It won’t even be yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

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

“Y/N.”

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

But you can’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far fewer. 

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

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

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

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

Music?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you finding the party tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little tour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You miss her so, so much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You…heard that?”

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “You must jest, my lord.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

He nods once. “I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bows. “I wish the same to you.”

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, Lilly. “Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that the first option is even a choice. 

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

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

“Miss L/N?”

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

“…Lord Kang?”

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

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

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

Lord have mercy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And to be with your family?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes widen. “The pianist?” 

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

“And I bet she laughed,” Beomgyu adds. 

“She did.”

Kai just screams into his hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beomgyu just glares at both of them. 

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

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

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

Today, however, is not that day. 

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

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

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

It’s like a reward.

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

“Taehyun!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With expensive alcohol,” Soobin deadpans. 

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

This, apparently, is not the case. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is obvious already. 

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[th30sstuff]

Since you guys(2 people) liked that and I'm a validation seeker

OBEY ME TICKLISH RANKING FROM MOST TO LEAST

#1 Luke

He's a child, I feel like if you try you can tickle even his shoulders, he's extremely ticklish and is the kind of kid that falls on the floor and starts rolling around trying to escape.

#2 Satan

Just like Luke but not so extreme, grown ass man would start kicking giggling, he would try to threat whoever is doing this at first but if you don't feel intimidated and keeps going is not going to take long before he's either begging for mercy or in his demon form depending on how much he cares for your health

#3 Asmodeus

Fucking look at him.

#4 Mammon

Probably just ticklish at very specific spots but once you find them he melts completely, probably lasts the least before he's yelling between giggles for you to stop and run to the bathroom immediately before he pisses himself

#5 Simeon

He's canonically ticklish because season 4 but I think if he was actually THAT ticklish he wouldn't wear THOSE OUTFITS?!?!? COME ON THOSE ARE MADE FOR TICKLING!!! Also, I think he's good controlling his laughter in this situation.

#6 Levi

He's hard to tickle specially because he stops it quickly when you see it coming, the thing is, you have to do it when he least expects it l8ke when he's playing a game because HE WON'T TRY TO STOP YOU!!! HE JUST STOPS WORKING AND HAS NO IDEA WHAT TO DO

#7 Beel and Belphie

They are the same amount of ticklish, it's not THAT BAD but they are still ticklish.

Beel probably thinks it's nice when people do it because I feel like because both are the youngests they are constantly tickled by their brothers so Beel sees it as affectionate.

Belphie on the other hand probably would be "haha ok" in a second and suddenly he flips a switch and is pushing you away from him with a pout.(WAKE HIM UP WITH TICKLES!!!!)

#8 Lucifer

I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO BE THE LEAST OF THE BROTHERS BUT😭

Still ticklish but just like Levi he would stop by grabbing the wrist of whoever is trying's wrist and glaring with a stern "Don't."

BUT JUST LIKE LEVI, get him when he least expects it, when he's refusing to leave his office for the third meal in a row, when you're cuddling, WAKE HIM UP WITH TICKLES!! I need this tired grown as man ruined trying to save his pride while he obviously can't.

He'd probably scold you with empty words because he's too embarrassed to think but just give him a few kisses or ego strokes and he's sighing exasperated because what else is he going to do anyways, it's not like he can stay mad forever about something like this.

#9 Solomon

Bro is not ticklish, like he feels something if you try but he's not giggling and pissing his pants, he'd probably chuckle a little at the attempt anyways.

#10 Diavolo

Ok so hear me out,

In my head, the royal family has genetically terrible instincts.

But Diavolo is so fucking playful affection deprived that he'd be EUPHORIC that you'd try to tickle him like "OMG ARE WE THAT CLOSE OF FRIENDS??? THAT'S SO SWEET" and would start laughing specially because of it. (Do it right after a meeting and watch the entire council, I mean the brothers, stare at you with terror because WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU)

#11 Barbatos

Don't try, it's just going to be awkward, he'll stare at your soul while not changing his expression at all.

He'd be confused at first, then notice what's happening and around after ten seconds he'd just politely "Could you please stop? I'm quite busy."

PS: I HAD NO IDEA WHERE TO PUT THE UNDATABLES I AM SO SORRY, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE YOUR HCS ABOUT THEM

[genericpuff]

I've been seeing you say/speculate Rachel Smythe has been cut loose from webtoon, could you elaborate what you mean by that?

It's only a tinfoil hat theory that people should take with MOUNTAINS of salt (seriously, I'm more likely to believe that Rachel really is just done with LO), but there's a general suspicion that LO wasn't meant to end here and that Webtoons decided to cut the cord. I've made a post about it before but some new stuff has surfaced since then.

1.) The announcement the series was ending was made quietly at NYCC and not shared to either Webtoons' socials or Rachel's socials.

The only way fans initially knew about the series ending was through a screencap from the Discord where someone else who had been attending NYCC passed on the info from a Q&A that LO would be entering its final arc.

For a good while the only other way to know the series was ending was through the Discord, a Cosmopolitan article, and my own post.

Though it sounds odd for a series to get cancelled halfway through its third season, it's not uncommon for Webtoons to suddenly axe series while they're on their midseason hiatuses, it's happened before. So there's a general suspicion that Rachel may have found out during NYCC that LO would only be given one more arc.

2.) The actual finale announcement was made in a text post on Instagram that suddenly announced it would be ending on May 11th, despite the fact that there was still lots to wrap up in the story.

What this implies is that Rachel was given one more arc, with no concrete end date... until Webtoons told her to wrap it up in a limited number of episodes, hence why despite us knowing it was in its final arc, the end date still felt too soon. This is also supported by the fact that her initial announcement was vaguely "early/mid 2024" - she couldn't give a more accurate end date because she didn't plan for the actual ending.

3.) Things that Rachel has said implies that she was either hoping for the final arc to go on longer, or that she didn't think LO was going to be ending now.

(that "nothing is set in stone" quote further supports the theory that she may have been hoping to get renewed in spite of the lukewarm ending announcement - that the only reason the announcement was so quiet was because WT hadn't fully committed to it yet and wanted to see how the series would do upon its return; now that they see it falling behind to other series, it might mean WT became more sure in their decision to cut it and gave her an actual deadline to wrap it up by.)

4.) Webtoons has stopped promoting Lore Olympus despite it ending.

Any promotional spots that it has gotten have been stuffed into the dead zone of the banner reels (seriously, anything past the 3rd spot is practically useless because it takes actual committed scrolling to get there vs. the first 1-3 banner spots which can be seen as soon as you open the app/site) and the banner art itself does not in any way advertise the series being in its final arc. These banners also only seem to be appearing for a day at most, compared to the days upwards of weeks they used to get.

Webtoons also hasn't been doing any sort of promoting on their socials for it. Considering The Mafia Nanny has been consistently beating out LO in the top rankings for weeks now, and that LO's rating and view count is still dropping, it appears that Webtoons has finally given up on shoving it down people's throats and put their focus elsewhere.

Again, this is all tinfoil hat speculation, so take it with massive doses of salt. Considering this is Webtoons, I wouldn't be surprised if they finally decided to put LO out of its misery, but this is also Rachel and I wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she finally wanted to be done with it after the past two years of people clowning on it. And I say that knowing I, myself, am a clown LOL

Either way, I feel like either outcome is plausible in its own ways, but whatever is the true reason, it doesn't change the fact that LO is ending and has 3 episodes left to wrap itself up. And whatever comes after will likely involve the launch of Inklore which was estimated for the spring.

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Crystal Palace Surname-Von Hoverkraft

Overview:

115 curses total, 12 different words said in 8 episodes.

Episode 1: 2 Fuck, 2 Shit, 1 Ass, 4 God, 3 Jesus, 2 Screw

Episode 2: 6 Shit, 6 God, 1 Jesus

Episode 3: 4 Fuck, 6 Shit, 1 Bitch, 1 Ass, 2 Damn, 2 Hell, 3 God, 1 Jesus

Episode 4: 2 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 Ass, 2 Hell, 1 God, 1 Jesus

Episode 5: 1 Fuck, 4 Shit, 4 God, 1 Pussy, 1 Dick, 2 Screw

Episode 6: 4 Fuck, 2 Shit, 1 Ass, 2 Hell, 3 God

Episode 7: 2 Fuck, 6 Shit, 1 Ass, 4 God, 1 Jesus, 1 Screw

Episode 8: 5 Fuck, 5 Shit, 2 Bitch, 7 God, 1 Jesus, 1 Prick

Curses Per Episode:

Episode 1: 14

Episode 2: 13

Episode 3: 20

Episode 4: 8

Episode 5: 13

Episode 6: 12

Episode 7: 15

Episode 8: 21

Uses Per Word:

Crystal’s favorite curse words are Shit and God, which she says 32 times each! In third place is Fuck, which she says 20 times.

Shit: 32

God: 32

Fuck: 20

Jesus: 8

Hell: 6

Ass: 5

Screw: 5

Bitch: 3

Damn: 2

Pussy: 1

Dick: 1

Prick: 1

Unique words:

Crystal and the Cat King are the only characters who say Pussy.

Crystal and Charles are the only characters who say Prick.

Crystal, Jenny, and Esther are the only characters who say Screw.

Crystal, the Cat King, and Twitchy Richie are the only characters who say Dick.

Percent of Total:

Crystal swears 115 times throughout the season, which is 35.9% of all cursing in the show.

Rankings:

Who Swears the Most: Crystal is in 1st place, with 116 times.

Most Curses in an Episode: Crystal holds 7 spots on the top 10 ‘Curses per Character per Episode’ list:

Curse Word Variety: Crystal comes in 2nd for swearing variety, with 12 different words used throughout the show.

Individual Words: She holds the top spots for usages of seven different words: Fuck (20), Shit (32), God (32), Jesus (8), Hell (6), Ass (4) and Screw (5). She is also tied for first for her unique word usages of Pussy (with the Cat King), Dick (with the Cat King and Twitchy Richie), and Prick (with Charles) one use of each.

Lines:

Episode 1: Oh my god, why can't I remember?

Episode 1: It's just a stupid fucking name.

Episode 1: Jesus, where did he go?

Episode 1: Oh, Jesus. I'm gonna wait in the bathroom until they leave.

Episode 1: Holy shit, did you take some of my memories? I don't have some screwed-up amnesia, you took them.

Episode 1: God! I just need a second, okay?

Episode 1: So maybe he's our fucking demon now!

Episode 1: God, I just want to take their heads and just crush them together, I am so mad!

Episode 1: Jesus, I am such an idiot.

Episode 1: Oh my god, I never even thought about the fact that they could still be alive.

Episode 1: Which was totally my bad and very screwed up and I should have told you everything.

Episode 1: Holy shit. (Edwin tells her about girl turned into small piece of plastic)

Episode 1: He's still a stalker, still an asshole. But I am going to get my memories back.

Episode 2: Ok, props for the like, Herculean-level effort, but vandalizing my shit isn't getting us anywhere.

Episode 2: Oh, shit. Sorry. (Almost runs into Niko)

Episode 2: Oh my god, holy shit! (Niko collapses)

Episode 2: God, I feel lonely too.

Episode 2: Jesus, you guys are like a dead married couple on acid.

Episode 2: Oh my God! Holy shit, how does today keep getting more disgusting?

Episode 2: God (After Edwin asks 'And were there any graves or decaying bodies near her in the woods?')

Episode 2: Oh my god, Charles back me up.

Episode 2: Oh, shit, uh... (Sees sprite-controlled Niko in butcher shop)

Episode 2: Oh my god, Niko! (Niko starts seizing)

Episode 2: Niko? Holy shit, your hair!

Episode 3: Holy shit, who knew this town was such a Mecca for troubled ghosts?

Episode 3: I just heard some people talking about it in the um, God, it was the… malt shop and it sounded super crazy.

Episode 3: What the actual fuck?

Episode 3: Jesus, I can't watch this again.

Episode 3: Just what the fuck is it?

Episode 3: So ok, if we figure out what sent that piece of shit dad over the edge, we can what? Free the family?

Episode 3: Good luck finding it now, asshole.

Episode 3: Where the hell did he go?

Episode 3: Thank god, there he is.

Episode 3: His dad was bad, Edwin. Royally fucked-up bad.

Episode 3: And if I have to hear that goddamn song one more time, I am gonna lose my shit.

Episode 3: Oh shit, yes.

Episode 3: Oh my god. Son of a bitch owned an electronics store.

Episode 3: Damn it, I know you choose the worst times to show up on purpose.

Episode 3: Go to hell.

Episode 3: I am done wasting my energy on your fuck-boy bullshit.

Episode 3: (Crystal we did it) Holy shit, we actually did.

Episode 4: Sorry, I've just been dealing with some shitty stuff with my ex.

Episode 4: God, it's driving me crazy.

Episode 4: What in the hell was that?

Episode 4: Jesus, she thought about it too, like she definitely knew something and then it was just riddle.

Episode 4: You fucked with my head, I'm gonna fuck with yours.

Episode 4: Niko- thanks for like, saving my ass today.

Episode 4: And I am tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not being any closer to finding out who the hell I am.

Episode 5: Holy shit! (Waking up from nightmare)

Episode 5: Oh god. Cash and condoms. Thanks.

Episode 5: Oh, no it's porn, it's all just porn. Oh my god.

Episode 5: Deep down, guys that make gay jokes are always the biggest pussies.

Episode 5: Because all nice guys give their girlfriends date rape drugs to screw with their future.

Episode 5: You walk around acting like the sun always shines, and then you lost your shit while beating the Night Nurse. Edwin and I are walking on eggshells around you instead of just saying 'what the actual fuck?'

Episode 5: I am really not sorry the world is short two toxic dickheads.

Episode 5: It's a really shitty thing to have in common.

Episode 5: Hey Jenny? Hey, what's with the fl- Holy shit.

Episode 5: No boy is screwing my life up.

Episode 5: I can't keep him out of my head. God, he just keeps coming, I don't… I don't know how to stop him. God, what if I can't?

Episode 6: What the hell? I have to pay my rent. I can't be a homeless person with a heart-shaped gem.

Episode 6: I want to keep this demon the fuck out.

Episode 6: God, I just want to be normal.

Episode 6: God, I feel totally useless.

Episode 6: So no, I didn't read the stupid tree! … Shit.

Episode 6: It's like he's fucking haunting me.

Episode 6: What the hell just happened?

Episode 6: I gave up my powers, OK? I got you out of my fucking head.

Episode 6: You can't get in anymore, asshole.

Episode 6: I am nothing special, So why don't you just leave me the fuck alone?

Episode 6: OK, enough uh, emotional bullshit.

Episode 6: Oh my God, are you guys OK?

Episode 7: Holy shit, you're still alive?

Episode 7: What kind of bullshit is that?

Episode 7: Jesus. You have never been to hell, stop acting like an expert. Look, when I got possessed, when I nearly ran off a cliff, when I screwed up and lost my powers, you both helped me.

Episode 7: God, Edwin is my friend too, whether he likes it or not.

Episode 7: God, if you really won't let me go, then I'll find my own way to Hell.

Episode 7: Fucking bullshit, like I can't help.

Episode 7: God, that's fucking insane.

Episode 7: Holy shit, Jenny. You shouldn't be here!

Episode 7: Just cut this shit!

Episode 7: These are mine, asshole.

Episode 7: Oh, bullshit. A good detective does what he has to in order to close the case.

Episode 7: God, I gotta figure out what I'm going to tell her.

Episode 8: Am I ever wrong about this shit?

Episode 8: My parents won't say shit, they don't even--

Episode 8: Jesus Christ! You guys scared me!

Episode 8: God, it's like being punched in the face and the stomach.

Episode 8: Yeah, well blame my parents. Holy shit!

Episode 8: Mom? Oh my God. Mom is that--

Episode 8: Maybe karma is just a bitch.

Episode 8: Oh, my God. Oh, I'm a fucking awful person. Oh, God, I'm the worst.

Episode 8: God, I was a bad person before him.

Episode 8: Because if you did, God, you'd hate me.

Episode 8: Oh my God, Jenny are you OK?

Episode 8: Shit! (digging Niko out of rubble)

Episode 8: Fuck! (Esther has the boys)

Episode 8: Because whatever fucked-up little thing you have going on with Edwin, you must care about him a little.

Episode 8: She probably put a, like, kill-you-instantly spell or some witchy shit on the door.

Episode 8: I am so sorry he was a colossal prick.

Episode 8: Hubris is a bitch, am I right?

Episode 8: I don't have to give up my new fucked-up life while I'm trying to sort out my old fucked-up life.

Notes:

Not Included:

Crystal flips Edwin off in the malt shop in episode 1.

Updated:

Added in top spots for usages of a couple words I missed.

Added in Twitchy Richie for unique usages of the word dick.

Added in a god I missed in episode 2.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress

[mattypattypinky]

Hi, I saw that you do tons of Vector Headcanons and thats awesome but do you do any other DM villains of characters, If so could you do Romantic Bratt headcanons 👉👈🥺 Also what is ur rankings of the movies? I personally like dm 3 the best I know that's a unpopular opinion though

UMM?!? HELL! YEAH...!! An excuse to write for Bratt? I'm gonna go crazy, he's my third favourite!!!

I think my favorite is the first, then the first minions movie, then dm3, then dm 2,,, i haven't watched dm 4 yet I want too, BUT i have to find a piracy site that has it 💀... I've never been a fan of the second film tho the villain isnt my fave imo no offense to fans of him, anyways yes I can this will b super fun imo.

Evil / Balthazar Bratt Romantic Headcannons <3

First off, Bratt is obsessed with himself and his old show, he's obsessed with the 80s, and he kind of has a hard time disassociating himself from his glory days and the persona he once played.

He peaked when he was a child star, and hasn't been able to let it go. He probably doesn't know the first thing about romance. And, if he did, it would be 80's TV SHOW script romance. He seems like the type to kind of think things will play out like a rom-com episode of a TV show, or a movie.

When it doesn't he'd be shocked he actually has to work to keep a relationship going.

His room is littered left and right, up and down with merchandise and theming based off his child-star show. I do think he would force you to watch every episode of his show with him, multiple times over, and he would laugh and proudly present it, or compliment his own script written jokes.

He would want you to be proud of him and his little show success. And he would actively talk to you a lot about about how his show was THE #1 SHOW ON TV...

I think his ideal romantic date would be cuddling and watching his old show... Roller skating at a skating rink, or dancing to old 80's music with you. Or going to a amusement park or theme park. He'd love the bright and colorful lights.

I also think he'd shit-talk Hollywood to you, a lot. He has an intense distaste for it and it's people since he got shut down and sent out. And, he'd ask you if you think he should have been a long lasting star.

(Say yes, please. It would mean the world to him if you thought he was talented enough to still be a film-star. It'll make him happy! He's extremely insecure.)

If he had a crush on you, he'd tell Clive all about it, and he'd watch random episodes of his show in hopes he'd find some sort of inspiration on how to impress or woo you. If there was ever a episode about a romantic interest, he would have it memorized by season and episode title and number, and he'd go to it in a heartbeat to find inspiration on you.

I think he'd be extremely awkward when flirting, actually. He would use corny quips he heard from 80's romance shows, (or his own show), and it would sound really cringe, but it would be cute. Or, embarrassing. "Are you a peacock, because I want to dance for you."

He, likes to... Sing. He'd probably try to sing to you.

It would be really bad, and probably not the original lyrics to whatever tune he's singing.

Oh, I bet his hair is really soft. It looks silky, I bet it's nice to run a hand through. He seems like he uses so much conditioner??? I don't know why I just get that vibe.

I feel like he's a hs drop out he just seems like one (as one myself)

I think he'd be extremely extravagant when asking someone to date him. He'd find a way to make it way more than it needs to be??? And I think because he's such a 'star' he wouldn't expect rejection, so he's not afraid of doing it in public where anyone can see. He imagines this groundbreakingly large gesture in the middle of a city, asking someone to be his diamond to his ring, and he nowhere expects rejection. If you DID reject him, which I doubt you would, but if you did, he'd be taken aback, and he would just stand there in awe and shock that you would say no to him being your partner.

Why? He's a star. You wouldn't reject a famous actor and famous villain. He's got it in the bag.

He is confident, and he is attractive. He'd lean on a table and talk to you in this low voice, and I bet he's a teaser too. Making light quips and playful remarks to fluster you.

I bet he'd give you merch of himself as a gift 💀

He hugs the diamond when he sleeps, and wears a sleep mask, so I think he'd be a rather cuddly person to sleepover with. As for the sleep mask, I feel like he may have trouble sleeping without it.

He kicks in his sleep, and talks in his sleep, so although you would be cuddling with him, you might get kneed occasionally, or woken up to his mumbling ...

Also, though I HC he may be a HS dropout, he has a fantasy about going to prom with someone... And I feel as though he would want to create a fake prom with you, where you and him win prom queen/king.

He has, so many DVD players and DVD's littered everywhere... Under his bed, at his dresser, under his TV, ETC. I bet most of them are his show, maybe different versions of the three seasons, or perhaps other 80's shows he liked and wished he was apart of. He was cancelled when he hit puberty, I am sure there are shows he wishes he was apart of. I bet he would complain about it to you.

He may be nervous to give you gifts outright when he has a crush on you, so he might send Clive over to do it for him. Imagine you're hanging out with him, and then all of a sudden Clive strolls over and hands you a small bouquet of flowers. And he has to explain that it is not from him, but from Bratt.

I bet he'd also like the barbie movie... But, for the outfits in the film and the aesthetic.

He'd have a playlist smack full of 80's songs, and on a date he'd play some of the corny 80's romance songs with you.

[traegorn]

hi! so i just saw ur post abt the election and this is my first year voting and i was just wondering if it would do any good to vote for the kennedy guy?

i’m genuinely asking- ive not seen much of him and i’m not too sure where to find reliable and accurate information on him

thank you by the way!

*you dont need to go out of your way for me, although i do appreciate it. whether or not you choose to answer this ask i hope you have a safe election season and a wonderful day<3

The answer is no, it won't do any good.

Assuming RFK Jr. even gets on the ballot in all fifty states, mathematically it is impossible for a third party to win in the current US electoral system.

Personally, I wouldn't want to elect someone who opposes vaccines during a national health crisis, so I wouldn't want to even see Kennedy elected as dogcatcher, but that's beside the point.

Without ranked choice voting, third parties don't have a chance in American politics as being anything other than spoiler candidates.

[ciaomarie]

Part 2: What Then?

I promise I have a life, but I couldn't help writing part 2 today! This takes place the same day as the "Development Day" when Syd and Carmy are thrown off by each other's answers during an ice breaker activity. Post-season 2. Feel-good fluff.

Photo Credit @drrav3nb /  drrav3nb.tumblr.com

"So those are the menu changes for Chicago Restaurant Week. If you have questions, feel free to ask me or Chef Sydney. You should also have an email from Natalie by later today. Okay, let's prep for night service!"

Carmy closed the meeting, grateful that it was finally over. He was no longer afraid of public speaking after rising in the ranks of various kitchens, but his mind was not in this ever since the ice breaker. He, Carmen Berzatto, had made Sydney's favorite meal ever? The last time he prepared the pork confit and the Milk and Honey dishes she mentioned was several years ago. Back then he was at Eleven Madison Park, a rising star on the culinary scene, who chain-smoked, slept 3 hours a night, and was berated by the EC daily. It was a nightmare peppered with flashes of genius. He was dying to ask her about it, but before he could get her attention Sydney had slipped into the kitchen.

He stared disappointed at the window that separated the dining area and kitchen.

"Hey Bear, what's up with you?" Richie said sidling up to him trying to follow his gaze.

"Nothing cousin."

"Yeah, right. I missed when it happened, but it seems like you crashed and had to reboot during the meeting. Then you were lost in Sydney-land. Want to talk about it?"

Carmy rubbed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. When he used both hands, Richie knew without a doubt he had hit on something.

"First, cool it about Syd. That handout you gave us was really cute. And yes, there's something on my mind, but it's not for me to say."

Richie grinned and rubbed Carmy's shoulder.

"Fine, just get your head together because tonight is going to be loaded and it includes three anniversaries and a birthday. And second, you need to cool it about her or do something. It's like I'm living in The Wonder Years with Kevin and Winnie."

"What?"

"Oh, right. That's probably before your time. Kids!"

With that Richie sauntered over to the host stands to strategize with the wait staff and hosts.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sydney who had a thousand things to do, was adding at least a hundred more onto her plate. She didn't want to appear like she had a moment to spare. She and Carmy could talk at the end of the night as usual, without any eavesdropping. This would also give her time to think of an explanation as to why she never mentioned eating at Eleven Madison Park and that she wasn't a stalker who followed him to The Beef. To top off this awkward sundae, Carmy casually admitted his favorite part of the day was closing, the only time they are alone every day. She hoped no one else had connected the dots on that last part.

The afternoon and the night never went quicker to her chagrin. Even when one of the line cooks was sent home due to illness and a large group put in an order for 7 Fishes two minutes before tickets closed, she thought the night couldn't last long enough. Fortunately, Carmy seemed resigned to waiting and didn't look at her more than usual. In a flash service was over and no one was in the mood to hang around. By 11:00pm Sydney had cleaned her station for the third time and forced herself to go to Carm's office. He sat there pretending to do busy work, patiently waiting like a child who consoled himself that his parents wouldn't make him wait too long to open his Christmas presents.

"Hey Syd...it was a good night," he said softly not wanting to scare her away.

Sydney nodded and took a seat. Might as well get it over with it.

"Okay, yes. You made the best meal I've ever had. During a break at the CIA, I went to NYC and ate everywhere on my list, including Eleven Madison Park. It was a Wednesday night and I ordered several things including pork confit and Milk and Honey."

Sydney couldn't help closing her eyes and smiling at the memory. Her guard began to slip.

"Carm, it was like tasting my future and the best part of my past at the same time. I asked the waiter who made those dishes and he said Carmen Berzatto."

Carmen leaned forward on the desk. Whenever Sydney praised him, he felt like a cactus in an unexpected downpour. He wouldn't waste a single word. Her sunny existence and her belief in him sustained him during his dry seasons. He reached for her whenever he looked at the debt they still owed Uncle Cicero, when his mother finally visited The Bear and cried saying that he had erased Mikey, and even when their success seemed too good to be true. 

Sydney opened her eyes to find him looking at her in the way he had. It was terrifying because she had a very specific plan for her career. It also thrilled her, knowing the power she had over him. Five months ago, she had been begging for his focus and now she knew every her mood, glance, and word she spoke impacted him. Once for the fun of it during a slow night she stared at him until she drew his attention and smiled. He blushed, smiled back, came towards her without saying "corner", and crashed into one of the servers, sending three Michael cannoli to the floor. That was three months ago when she first realized something was going on with him. She'd refused to abuse her power since, going so far as to convince herself that she was overestimating his feelings. Then he said the best part of his day was closing. She hoped, well sort of hoped, that they could maintain this close, but not too close partnership and friendship without complications.

After a long pause Carmen sighed and sat back in his chair.

"So, how did you find me?"

"Well, like I said when we met, it was the job posting. I recognized your name and also The Beef from my dad taking me here."

She shrugged thoughtfully.

"It felt like it was meant to be. It gave me hope for the first time since Sheridan went under."

He nodded.

"It's really strange. You came here because I inspired you and the only reason, I felt capable of attempting something this big was because of you" he said gesturing to the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Sydney whispered.

"Yeah."

He stood up and walked around to sit on the desk facing her. Now, Sydney felt vulnerable looking up at him. It was so easy for him to unnerve her when he spoke this way, like under the table.

Carmy took one her hands and after a moment brought it to his lips.

"Thank you for telling me, Syd. It means a lot."

Sydney was unable to speak. Her throat had closed.

"Soon, is your one year work anniversary and I think we should celebrate."

She nodded.

Carmy set her hand down.

"It's late. I'll drive you home."

With that they left the office, gathered their stuff, and walked to his car in silence.

As they drove, Sydney attempted to talk herself down. Was that hand kiss, an Italian thing? Possibly. It also seemed like Carmy decided to do...something, but what? Worse, she was feeling like they had traded positions in mere seconds. She'd enjoyed having the upper hand. Oh, well. With a goodnight's rest she'd be back in form tomorrow. Maybe "accidentally" brush past him, or ask him to lift something heavy for her and comment on his strength. Then it would be game over for poor Carmy bear. For now, she wouldn't worry about the work anniversary. It was probably just going to be a cake Carm commissioned Marcus to bake.

Probably.    

[salisburyliam]

My WORST to BEST ranking for Heaven's Secret 2 LIs

Oh boy I finally did it!!!! never want to read this book ever again, lmao

NOTE 1: We all know that HS2 has its flaws —S1 feels like a fever dream— but personally one that really irks me is not being able to choose whether or NOT you want to marry your LI. I mention this because many LIs routes are (negatively) affected by this sudden marriage imo

NOTE 2: Winchesto you deserve so much better than Rebecca.

7. Dino - He's never been a character I've been particularly fond of, but at least in HS1 he had some narrative importance (the dynamic with Lucifer was a lot of fun too). His relevance in HS2 is, well, zero & I personally don't feel the chemistry between Vicky and him at all. That being said. Of all the LIs, the only one with whom the wedding makes absolute sense is with Dino - he's 100% husband material.

Being good should not be equivalent to being boring… but in Dino's case, it is. 4/10

6. War - His dynamic with Vicky is… okay-ish? I guess??? They are a hot couple (I personally love his design & his laugh is sexy af) but the connection is lacking & there is no emotional intimacy whatsoever. They keep saying they're in love but are theeey? You don't know each other. Also, if you decide not to k*ll him and don't romance him later in s2 he's literally just a background character. 

I don't think this man is ready to be a husband - he should get therapy first. 5/10

5. Hunger - If it were a matter of rating characters, Hunger would be in the top three. His first appearance is one of my favorite scenes in the book along with the board game moment, lmao. But if it comes to rating him as a LI… The relationship feels rushed, to say the least. Marrying a character who appears halfway through the second season makes no sense at all - their wedding scene is just weird.

You guys met like five episodes ago. How about we start by dating first? 6/10

his smile is unsettling lol 4. Malbonte - Replaying this book so many times has made me really appreciate Malbonte. A soldier who will do whatever it takes to win. I love how everyone assumes that he always, always, has a plan (he usually does). But as a LI? His main emotion is rage and pure indifference. As a husband for life, I don't understand how that could work: I can imagine Vicky asking him how his day was and Malbonte's only response being '….' 😐🙄 Go boy give us nothing!

Seriously though. I really love him as a character, but he needs to join War in that therapy thing. 7/10

3. Astaroth - The first interactions are awful & personally his sprite doesn't help either (he's literally a male M*ley Cyrus) but he has so much chemistry with Vicky, it surprised me. Their relationship feels organic as you progress, but just like the rest of the characters that appear in the second book, it all feels rushed. The wedding option should ONLY have been available for characters that appeared in the previous book - with new ones it just feels unearned.

Still, it had potential. 8/10

2. Mimi - The only female LI (how's that legal) and one of my favorites. tbh I think she's TOO good for Vicky??? lmao. A character who is impossible not to adore (even judgy Rebecca gives her approval), in-laws anyone would love to have, and a route that is equal parts endearing and passionate. I confess I kinda miss her sprite from the first book tho

The only reason she's not at the top of the list is the motherf*cker below. 9/10 

1. Lucifer - Simply put, they feel like soulmates - especially if you choose Angel's path (he was my LI in the first book so that also plays into it). I haaate his behavior in S1, but even with that rocky start the dynamic between Vicky and Lucifer is, and will always be, one of my favorites. They have everything: chemistry, banter, passion, vulnerability moments... I love the contrast of the Lucifer from HS1 with the Lucifer in the final episode. That's growth.

I sincerely hope the third book focuses on their married life and, hopefully, Lucifer being a girl dad 😍😍 10/10

CREDIT

[bkatlips]

Ranking and explaining my rankings of Mike Flanagan’s shows and how they make me feel in honor of spooky season and just finishing Usher!! Why not!! Everyone else is doing it!! I’m also going to give it a gay score based on how gay they are (which also includes how big of a role gay characters played).

Disclaimer: Every one of these shows is well-made in one way or another and deserves to be watched based on whether someone else finds the premise interesting and not whether I liked the show. Too often I see “that show was bad to me therefore you shouldn’t watch it” and I disagree with that line of thinking.

1. The Haunting of Bly Manor-I can already hear people screaming “Hill House is better!” In some ways, yes! In some very important ways, however, I disagree. The biggest being Bly Manor emotionally resonated with me a lot more. The themes, the found family (as someone who is an only child), and of course, the lesbianism. Dani’s story of compulsory heterosexuality may be one of if not the best in media and her love story with Jamie ended up being one of the best media has to offer, too. And really using a horror story and turning it into a love story is kind of brilliant (and annoying for the people who were just there for the jumpscares I guess). Don’t get me wrong the show has flaws (why the FUCK do Peter and Rebecca have so much screentime? was that eight episode really the best placement?) but the stuff that lands, really really lands. I’m still thinking about Dani and Jamie 3 years later. Hannah’s episode was very well done. The kid actors little Amelie and Ben were phenomenal. Upon rewatch you notice most decisions and dialogue in the show were made with some purpose and it usually relates to something thematic. Some people may say it doesn’t really have one defining central thesis therefore making it messy, but to me the fact it has many themes actually makes it more fun to think about. Gay score: 100000/10

2. The Haunting of Hill House-A horror classic that got me into Flanagan! This is Flanagan’s best series as far as making you pee your pants. That hat man is just scary! The character work is nice. Those first 6 episodes are incredible. Perfect. The thing that brings it under Bly Manor for me is honestly the ending. It left something to be desired for me. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but it just did not conclude in such an emotionally resonant way as Bly Manor to me. Shout out to the Newton Bros because the music on this damn show (and Bly too but that’s basically Hill House music continued) is so so good. Also the character work is masterful because Shirley Crain is kind of a bitch but you do come to love her. In fact, there wasn’t a Crain I didn’t feel for. They’re deeply fucked up, sympathetic people. It’s a great show with some great thematic work but it just doesn’t speak to me quite as much as Bly, that’s it. I know that’s unpopular but it is what it is. A great good show nonetheless. Gay score: 8/10

3. The Fall of the House of Usher-This show is wild and honestly I couldn’t decide between ranking this one or Midnight Club third. I went with this one because the acting and technical stuff was so phenomenal. I’m not really into gore horror so this wasn’t like my thing on the surface but I do appreciate what a homage to Poe it is in the very limited knowledge of Poe’s work that I have. It was fun to see all the cast from previous shows back again especially T’nia. One of the downsides to this show is it doesn’t really make you feel a lot and so compared to the Haunting shows for me that makes it inferior for sure. But it’s a fun watch and honestly I need to rewatch the final episode because I had a hard time paying attention for that one. Gay score: really fucking queer/10

4. The Midnight Club-Ah Flanagan’s little dud. This one is really not very loved compared to the others, seems to be just about nobody’s favorite, however personally I liked it. I think people are a little unfair to it and while it may not be Flanagan’s best, I don’t think it’s awful. It doesn’t really tackle anything new when it comes to themes. There’s some death, grief, stages of acceptance, and cult stuff. I think the way it has these kids telling stories to deal with their reality was really brilliant in a way. There was one episode (six I think) that dealt with depression and suicide that made me sob and I thought was super well done. That one stuck with me.I think it would have benefited from a more likeable main character and also from the second season that was planned! Gay score: 6/10

5. Midnight Mass-To be honest, I probably could have gone without watching this show. It just didn’t really resonate with me and didn’t really entertain me save like the very last two episodes. It’s technically well-made and I appreciate what Flanagan was trying to do and convey with the danger of cults and religion. It was obviously a very personal project and was him working through his own experiences but it wasn’t for me. It had a few too many monologues and I don’t think monologues make an interesting character piece. However, it’s a critically acclaimed work so I recommend anyone who wants to check out Flanagan’s work still check it out! Especially if you like weird vampire stuff I guess. Also the acting especially from the priest was phenomenal. So there’s definitely pros to this show, but it didn’t add anything to my life for me! Gay score: 3/10 :/

Also, shout out to Mike because every single one of these shows is queer to one degree or another. He loves the gays! Ally! Bisexual wife probably helps too!

[hedghost]

Hedge’s Official Ranking of the 24/25 WSL Kits That Literally Nobody Asked For - Home Edition

please please tell me your thoughts in the reblogs or tags!!! i love hearing other people’s critiques. this is the one time the woso community can all come together and complain about the same thing!

1.Liverpool

potentially a controversial opinion but this is Nice As Hell! i know a lot of people said the collars are ugly but like idk it’s kinda giving if you ask me. it’s bold, it’s a statement. i love retro. this is just a good kit. it’s doing bits without doing too much. simple, tasteful, plus a little subtle pizzazz with those jaunty ass stripes - werk it ladies!

plus this kit is made from recycled plastic bottles, nice job! save those turtles liverpool!

apparently the pattern spells out ynwa, which i’m totally Not seeing (maybe i misunderstood this). i’m getting a Y, and then like an H in there maybe? and then i’m just lost, so not sure you hit the mark with that one, but love you for trying! it’s a cool pattern regardless, so i’d maybe just ditch the whole symbolism jargon and stick with that. overall nice job guys - 9/10

bonus points for that prematch shirt, love the detailing on it very sexy top marks

2. Arsenal

sorry arsenal fans, this shit is ugly as fuckkkkk - i’m not even being biased or trying to start fights (for once) it’s just like so hideous. i didn’t really like last season’s but compared to this that was a masterpiece. it’s so PLAIN! the weird red splodge is like not flattering at all and the blue? what’s that all about? also i fucking hate the back it looks like a used period pad, so hopefully the numbers fix that.

praying for your sakes you get a nice third kit or something bc this is ass.

also i’m a HATER for minimalist badge designs. this cannon logo makes the shirt look like a uniform for a museum volunteer. don’t get me wrong - arsenal is not the only culprit. what has a good old crest ever done to you? why do we hate maximalism? why do we hate fun? - 4/10

3. Manchester City

now this is fine. it’s just fine. it’s objectively nice, but it’s also objectively boring! as! fuck! the solid blue is clean but a little too flat. something looks off. it’s missing something. idk it’s nice ig, but it also seems identical to last season? if i saw these pics with no context i’d literally think it was from this year, but that’s the case with most top tier clubs it seems. have some fun guys! push the boat out! where’s the whimsy? but yeah anyway it’s alright.

at least they tried with the sleeves. allegedly they have the manchester dialling code 0161 on them but i mean - do they? do they really? because it looks like a bus seat to me. city fans decide for yourself i guess, because i for one won’t be getting close enough to a city shirt to look

it’s also made from recycled waste textiles so yay again! probably made from all the city shirts people threw out after they all but fucked the title 🤭 - 7/10

4. Tottenham Hotspur

wow spurs this is nice. it’s just so clean, so crisp. my normal issue with spurs kits is their absolute undying commitment to being plain as fuck. they picked one colour, white - arguably the most boring colour of all, arguably even the total absence of colour - and stuck to it. this however? it’s simplicity done well. it’s still plain and simple, but in a gorgeous sexy way. those navy retro colourblock sleeves? stunning! the crispest white you’ve ever seen? stunning! the tiniest of sleeve embellishments? stunning! simplicity done well. it’s just so crispy. pleases my eye.

also huge respect to them for not jumping of the band wagon with the whole ‘every shirt must have ugly details with symbolic meaning we grasped at straws to come up with in order to do something new and edgy’. spurs said no! they said ‘oh this? yeah this is a football shirt. what does it mean? it means football shirt.’ thanks spurs, good job - 9.5/10

5. Crystal Palace

ummmm. now. hmm. uhh. what? this is, um, what? give me a second to get my thoughts in order. i don’t know what is happening here and i’m at a loss for words.

right. crystal palace. inaugural season in the wsl. making a statement. making a splash. right. here’s the thing. i’m always saying wsl kits are too boring. i’m always saying we want fun patterns and whimsy. i’m looking at this in genuine confusion because i actually do not know what is going on here. do i like it? not sure? do i hate it? also not sure?

i think i kind of like it? but i also kind of hate it? it’s insanely busy, it’s probably the most garish kit i’ve ever seen in my life. i think part of the problem is that the club doesn’t have a great colour palette to work from. it’s very bright. i do love the pattern of the eagle crest in the blue, that’s a huge win from me. it’s just those spray paint red splatters that’s throwing me off. it looks like they spent ages making a lovely blue eagle pattern and then remembered they needed red in there so just used the funky spray tools on microsoft paint to draw over the top. it’s giving shit cgi blood splatter in a low budget zombie film. it’s like the barcelona shirts if they were designed by a gcse art student on an acid trip.

the more i’m looking at it however, i’m kind of loving it? kinda camp i guess. this one could be a grower. i’m still confused. at least they’ll make a splash in the wsl - 6/10

6. Manchester United

you’d think by now that i would have learnt to not get my hopes up with this club. remember the long long list of disappointments from yanited this season that i never shut up about? yeah, add this kit to that list.

listen it’s not awful. it’s not ugly, it’s not an eyesore. at the very least, it’s classic united. but it’s just so! bloody! dull! i’m literally falling asleep looking at it. it’s a t-shirt. its literally just a t-shirt. the problem is they set the bar too high last year, with that beautiful pattern and beautiful shade of red. and now, in proper united style, we’re straight back to mediocrity.

let’s talk details. oh wait, they aren’t ANY. there is nothing to say about this kit because there is nothing going ON with this kit. i like the white stripes. that’s it. theres the ombré red at the bottom, which is like- it’s okay. problem is - there’s like four too many shades of red on this shirt, and none of them are that nice. it needs a pattern or something! a pop! a little pizzazz! not a fan of the curved back panel, but it does look a whole lot better than arsenal’s at least.

this is absolutely nothing groundbreaking but it’s fine. it’s just so fucking plain. i know my girls will still serve in it, but i hoped for more. of course, in true united fashion: it’s the hope that kills you - 6/10

7. Chelsea

the tagline for this release is 'we burn blue', because 'the hottest part of the flame burns blue'. congrats on passing year seven chemistry guys. anyway, with that in mind, this kit is, naturally of course, patterned with a mystery blue LIQUID. im not seeing flames in any part of this kit. literally how is this meant to look like fire. this tagline is pure bollocks. it literally could not look more like water if it tried. aka, the opposite of fire.

the kit itself, i'm honestly struggling to form an opinion. i dont think i hate it, but i dont love it either. it may have been easier to figure out if i could actually SEE the kit in any of the release photos, instead of some stupid fucking slow motion blur effect. this pic makes mayra look like she's undergoing mitosis. poor girl's been through enough. it says a lot that in your official kit release you're actively preventing me from looking at the kit.

its not awful? i'm not a fan of these kind of realistic graphics on kits, just makes it look fake and cheap, but like, idk its kinda cool ig. the more i look the more i'm down with it. the colours are nice. its shiny. i'm glad we've gone for originality at least. patterns are fun. - 7.5/10

8. Brighton

i missed this release bc i saw the pictures and genuinely did not realise it was a different kit oops. i do feel bad for clubs who have committed to a striped kit because honestly there’s not really many ways you can play with that. but also that’s kind of their own fault. there’s really not much you can say about this. the sleeves are white this time… okay… there’s a faint pinstripe down each stripe… okayyy… yep that’s kind of it really.

it’s clean, it’s classic brighton, it’s a decent kit. there’s just genuinely nothing new about this. it’s fine. they just clearly couldn’t be bothered and i respect that. - 6/10

9. West Ham

okay we’re doing turtlenecks now apparently!! interesting choice!! i think it kinda looks fuckass silly but also i kind of like it actually. bit of fun innit. good stripes.

the rest of the kit is pretty mid. plainer than a toast sandwich. except for the sleeves! because this year, not only are they bringing in turtlenecks, west ham have decided to also bring in milkmaid sleeves! why is it like that? like is it just a weird bad fit or have they put a fucking elasticated band on? who’s idea was that? what is going on! also am i having a stroke or has the badge changed colour. because it looks fucking hideous. what did they do that for.

i do love the fact they did this shoot in a pub though. very funny. and the kit isn’t too bad. i like the stripes - 6/10

10. Leicester

this is the plainest most boring kit i have ever seen with my own two eyes. that is literally all i can say about this. boring. much like the city of leicester itself.

however - the women have a different kit sponsor to the men and i respect that so you can have one bonus point - 4/10

11. Everton

i’ll be totally honest - i wasn’t expecting everton to give me like the best kit of the bunch. this is the kit for me. i like this one a lot. castore may be mega shit quality but at least they don’t just copy paste all their kits.

i fucking love the pattern here. it’s subtle but it’s nice! and it’s different! we’re not doing any mad shit like chelsea, we’re not doing absolutely nothing at all like leicester. the perfect middle ground of the blue kits. the sponsor is hideous but i’m ignoring that. this is just lovely to look at. stylish, sleek. it’s giving high quality bus seats. this is no stagecoach, this is private hire only. i just love it. and then to top it all off, just the perfect amount of collar detailing. i would be a happy toffee if i was wearing this. gorgeous. loses half a point because the badge fell off during the game which is hysterical.- 9.5/10

12. Aston Villa

this is just the west ham kit if west ham were normal. it’s nothing to write home about, but i do like it. i like the block sleeves and the stripe colour. i like the subtle stripes down the side. i like the simplicity. i like the collar stripes. i even like the flat badge. also i’m assuming this is a betting sponsor which sucks but i do have to say that the sponsor looks great with this kit. it blends in, which is rare. this is a clean, classic kit, and i’m glad that at least one team could be normal. i don’t like that there’s pretty much nothing i can make fun of here. unfortunate for me, good for villa. good job - 8/10

note - all this was written as soon as each club released their kit, so some of my opinions have changed, and a lot have grown on me (looking at you united), but i’ve left the review untouched so you can get purely my honest first impression.

away, third and goalkeeper ratings are currently in progress so expect them once they've all been released! these posts literally never get any notes but i absolutely love doing them so i'm doing it anyway, but if you did wanna encourage me with some nice comments that wouldn't go amiss ;) xx

[clonerightsagenda]

Just finished my InCo relisten! Again, highly recommend. A great entry in the ranks of podcasts all voiced by one person, with the impressive achievement of the third season featuring a huge cast of characters with unique voices but all with the same fantasy accent.

InCo is about a crotchety information courier who fishes a bratty prince out of space and ends up in the middle of galactic politics even though she hasn't healed from a personal tragedy. It pulls off an impressive transition from two seasons of space hijinks to a final season of palace politics (and it's palace intrigue starring a gaggle of hyperactive children and teens, it's great). The characters are multifaceted with slow, earned reveals, the antagonists are complex, and the reveal of a key antagonist's crimes and why they committed them is truly chilling. Also it's extremely funny, well-acted, and more well-written than this post full of modifiers. The one snag is that the short episode lengths make it a bit harder to binge while doing chores, but the first two seasons are on Youtube as compiled videos, so that problem's solved! Episode 69 of season 3 is even called "Nice".

Listen to InCo. I am no longer asking.

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [2] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 14.4k notes:  — this is for all the bridgerton girlies who have been going insane just like me <3 highly inspired by francesca/john's burgeoning romance from the first half, so hope you all enjoy! — some of the dialogue has been lifted from the show—I do not claim any credit for it. — this takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun story, if you'll have me :) feel free to check that out as well! When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters.  Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.  Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

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

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

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

You swallow. “What is going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My lady—

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

You certainly hope so too. 

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, Taehyun forgets how to breathe. 

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

And it was well worth it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does that even mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlikely. But you wish for it all the same. 

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The duchess remains silent. 

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

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

Dumbly, you nod. 

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

Slowly you nod again. 

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Yes?”

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

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot. “…Yes.”

“Is it Lord Kang?”

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

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

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

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

You listen, rapt. 

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

Miss L/N?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Of course.”

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

Taehyun almost chokes on his drink. “What—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyun’s cheeks burn.

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miss L/N—

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyun frowns. “Your dowry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is the least you deserve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if he already said no? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod slowly, your heart full to bursting already. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nalyra-dreaming]

I don't anticipate the show to grow too much more past where it is already.

I mean, the show grew significantly from season 1 to season 2 and over the course of season 2...there are a lot of different ways for shows to grow audiences and attention (look at what's happening with Industry in, what, it's third of fourth season) and it's not just an immediate rise to the top of the rankings on day 1 or bust. Sam said that it feels like AMC gave them a lot of money to make a fairly niche show, and they seem happy with the passionate fanbase they have as part of the overall immortal universe they're building...a lot of people are discovering the on netflix and we'll see OVER TIME and with word of mouth and everything where that leads.

I really do think it's just that everyone is on edge because the media landscape nowadays feels so precarious. Everyone wants guarantees that their show will be fine, even though that doesn't exist longterm. But the third season is in development, AMC seems very happy, Rolin seems very happy, and the show has time and space to keep doing what it's doing, which is attracting fans.

I anticipate the show to grow significantly from season 2 to 3 again.

The thing about the doomposting about Netflix is, that there are a LOT of factors coming in there. Not the least the following, which I tried to point out earlier as well (minus the fandom comment):

IWTV is not a show that can be easily categorized. It requires a lot of attention to detail, and it touches on some very mature themes.

Of course that will not be for everybody.

I have no doubt however that the show will have the audience it needs. Again, it is on AMC who have experience with building big shows slowly. While I have my problems with their marketing they do have experience on their side - and obviously the willingness to do so.

As such, it really is not really relevant when and where IWTV will be in any top spots.

Though I would of course love it if they were.

But the top 10 slot on Netflix is NOT the deciding factor for this show.

Thankfully.

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: The Cat King

Overview:

14 curses total, 6 different words said in 3 episodes.

Episode 2:

Episode 4:

Episode 6: 1 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 God

Episode 7: 4 Fuck, 1 Bitch, 3 God, 1 Pussy

Episode 8: 1 Fuck, 1 Dick

Curses Per Episode:

Episode 2: 0

Episode 4: 0

Episode 6: 3

Episode 7: 9

Episode 8: 2

Uses Per Word:

The Cat King’s favorite curse word is Fuck, which he says 6 times! After that is God, which he says 4 times.

Fuck: 6

God: 4

Shit: 1

Bitch: 1

Pussy: 1

Dick: 1

Unique Words:

The Cat King and Crystal are the only characters to say Pussy.

The Cat King, Crystal, and Twitchy Richie are the only characters to say Dick.

Percent of Total:

The Cat King swears 14 times throughout the season, which is 4.3% of all cursing in the show.

Rankings:

Who Swears the Most: The Cat King is tied for 5th with Litty, with 14 curses each.

Curse Word Variety: He is tied for 4th with Esther for swearing variety, with each using 6 different words used throughout the show.

Individual Words: The Cat King is tied with Crystal for first for their unique word usages of Pussy, and with Crystal and Twitchy Richie for Dick, with just one use of each.

Lines:

Episode 6: Oh God, the handsome face, the little kiss, bullshit astrology.

Episode 6: Do you hear me? I will stop fucking playing nice!

Episode 7: Oh god, they say that I'm a pussy.

Episode 7: Why the fuck are you here?

Episode 7: Oh God.

Episode 7: God, I am such a romantic, I hate it.

Episode 7: I don't give a fuck, OK? End of audience.

Episode 7: That was my third life, you bitch. I only get nine. Would you fuck off? Fuck!

Episode 8: So was her wayward husband. A real swinging dick.

Episode 8: Fuck me. Did you even listen to my story?

Notes:

A ‘swinging dick’ is slang for a man who ‘who exhibits bravado or machismo’ or is ‘sexually very active’.

Updates:

Added in Twitchy Richie for unique usages of the word dick.

Updated Percent of Total Swearing chart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress

[lovely-number-7]

My Umbrella Academy seasons ranking.

My least favorite is season 4. I don't think it's bad necessarily, but it was underdeveloped and rushed. I had to walk away from it multiple times.

In third place is season 2. It's quirky, and I loved Lila joining the team, but it was really forgettable to me.

In second place is season 1. I loved this season. It set up the world nicely and showed the conflict believably. I thought it was the perfect mix of everything.

And in first place, to no one's surprise is season 3. I loved the Sparrows. I liked the plot of this season, and the wedding at the end of the world is still a comfort episode

[remidyal]

Game Changer Season 6 episodes, ranked by my personal enjoyment

Because I also enjoy arbitrarily ranking things! If you disagree... I mean, that's fine? I liked every episode this season, just.. I liked some episodes better than others. I'm grouping the Ratfish episodes together, so we've got eight entries. Spoilers for, um, every game changer episode this season, obviously.

#8 Pencils Down:

I'm not as into drawings and all as I am a lot of the other stuff, though this was probably the most wholesome episode of this season. I'm, naturally, opposed to wholesomeness too.

Favorite bit:

The proposed tattoos were a lot of fun.

#7 Ratfish (parts 1 and 2):

I think this one got hurt for me by a couple things - I know absolutely nothing about the show they're mimicking, unlike Survivor or the Bachelor, and I did not particularly enjoy anything directly to do with the Ratfish or understand why I should care about his opinions and arbitrary decisions. I assumed that the cast would recognize who this person was and we'd get some kind of payoff there, but nope. Everything just between the cast was great, though.

Favorite bit:

Honestly there's a ton of quick moments to choose from here, but I think my favorite is Brennan incorrectly going for the seat marked Brennan Lee Mulligan at the end.

#6 The Newlyweb Game:

This one was gentle good fun, I enjoyed everyone involved, there were just more standout moments in some of the later episodes on this list. This is fighting with Pencils Down for the most wholesome episode, or at least the one that would least fit into a saw trap. In spite of that this would be the episode all time of Game Changer I would least be willing to be on, even in the world where I'm not firmly aroace and have a partner - I think I would sooner light myself on fire than let someone I know have full access to my phone.

Favorite bit:

Revealing how many unread emails people had and the shock and judgement at totally reasonable numbers, as someone with around forty thousand unread emails in my primary gmail account dating back to 2004.

#5 Bingo

We're really into tough competition now! I loved this episode, and that it somehow turned into a tormenting Brennan episode even though he wasn't even supposed to be there. This was obviously slightly rigged so that the players in the third set of Bingo were most likely to win (and it was actually impossible for the people on stage) but honestly pulling it off was so good.

Favorite Bit:

I mean, it's the reveal to Trapp and everyone of the existence of the third group of course.

#4 Second Place

First, I know that for meta reasons this should be second, but it's not. Oh well. Sam alleges that this episode wasn't intentionally meant to torment Brennan; I do not believe Sam's lies. Everyone in the world saw the twist at the end coming and it's still funny.

Favorite bit:

Ally declaring that Brennan can ring the gong the loudest and Brennan's brain breaking harder than anything that Sam had actually planned.

#3 Sam Says 3

I can't believe this one's only third. If this is how Sam Says ends - and I have a hard time seeing how a fourth edition can escalate, even outside of the BTS claiming that they see three times as the limit for the same premise most of the time - then what an ending. I'm not sure any other game concept has managed to make the players so consistently tricked. My only critique of it is that I think I like the first couple times at this well just a little bit more, with nothing in this quite matching Ally flying to New York or the Something We'll Have To Bleep energy for me.

Favorite Bit:

It's hard to top the fake Sam body dropping from the ceiling.

#2 Beat the Buzzer

Every episode with the Seven cast is always incredible, and production-wise this seems like the craziest thing they've ever pulled off. Any episode where they break out of just the stage is always good, and I think this is the most extensive use of that they've ever done. Incredible variety, great cameos from Aabria and Persephone, complete manic energy from all three contestants. A+ episode.

Favorite Bit:

There's so much here, but I think mine as someone who worked as a pizza delivery driver was the entire exchange where Rehka just ends up getting the bag with the buzzer and a bunch of loose oreos. Was production prepared with everything that was on that menu or would they have actually ordered breadsticks somewhere to use as a prop?

#1 Deja Vu

Time loop stuff is always a favorite of mine, and pulling one off as an episode is ALREADY a great premise before you even get into all of the other cast and the editing. (Shout out to Siobhan Thompson for being in exactly two Game Changer episodes and them being this one and Escape the Green Room; guess we know what pepper rating she puts down.) Great chemistry between the cast, a truly deranged display from Sam, and of course the Wenis. Genuinely the WEIRDEST episode of the season, too, always a good sign.

It's a shame they already repeated the premise too much to do a follow up to this one...

Favorite Bit(s):

I'm doing two for this one because it's my list and I can.

"This isn't fucking Um, Actually!" with sincere righteous anger.

Everything to do with Zac as Grant, most of all how easy it would have been to just make that Zac as Zac.