#the way he throws himself into each project is insane

[sic-vita]

Jonathan Bailey + Fellow Travelers vs Bridgerton S3

(behind the scenes interviews)

[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 :)

[hobisstar]

3 D | college student! jungkook x plus size College Professor! Reader

Summary: Yn caught Jungkooks eye since freshman year in college, The only problem is Yn is his professor but he needs her bad.

Warning: SMUT WITHOUT PLOT BASICALLY!

I was inspired by THE SONG 3D DO STREAM!!! and also inspired by @lavenjoon <3 chubby reader fics! As a plus size girly myself I loved it and needed to do something inspired by it!

“Fuck right there”

The empty class room was filled with the sound of Their skin slapping harshly against one another. Jungkook was mesmerized, seeing his favorite teacher, Yn, bent over the desk basically throwing her ass in a circle on his cock. He slapped and gripped her ass cheeks each time their skin touched one another.

He was so in love and he knew it. If he could get this view everyday, oh he would risk it all just be with yn.

“You know how I like it,” jungkook grabs her body bringing her closer. “ I love you so much baby,” he mumbles into her ear as he thrust his hips into her creaming hole.

“ I love you more Jungkook” Yn was going insane.

Besides being out of breath, his his sharply smacking into her ass, or the way his tattooed arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, she was in bliss.

Yes, this would be considered wrong, but they are adults. They couldn’t care less what people had to say about their love.

Jungkook pounded into Yns pussy harshly with a fast pace feeling himself getting close with each thrust.

Oh he was definitely going to drawn her fucked out body in 3D for an art project in her class.

“Let me cum inside you baby. Let me breed that pussy. Fill you with my seed, you want my seed baby? Tell me you fucking want it.” He demanded as he looked at her face from the corner of his eyes.

He was fucking her so good she could only moan and nod as a response which made Jungkook chuckle.

“Then you’ll get it baby. You won’t regret me.”

Picking her up and laying her on the desk, he started thrusting freely into her aiming to cum so deep into her. He wanted more after this. They needed more.

“Jungkook… I’m cumming! Don’t fucking stop mm,” yn gasped and let her eyes roll in the back of her head as she felt her body tense up and shake. Chasing her climax Jungkook followed suit and started release rope after rope after rope of cum into her.

Crashing onto her body, Jungkook kissed all over her sweaty body, feeling like one.

“Is this better than me doing that assignment?” Letting out an airy laugh, Yn shook her head.

“Mm, it was good baby. But you still need to turn that assignment in, it’s a big project Jungkook.” Yn kissed his nose and he pouted “ let me persuade you to just give me the passing grade..”



I absolutely had to do a least something for 3D since I missed seven!

[rey-jake-therapist]

Actually, Sauron (in his Annatar form) and Galadriel did meet in the books. They also lived in the same place (Ost-in-Edhil, capital of Eregion) for almost 300 years. In RoP, Galadriel lives in Lindon, but in the books she and Celeborn were guests of Celebrimbor in Eregion for a very long time. In the books, she doesn’t trust Annatar/Sauron and sees right through his disguise, even thought he is very charming and flattering towards her and Celeborn, for them to leave the smiths alone while they work on the rings of power project. Sauron is very seductive in the books, too. You see, Celebrimbor was also in love with Galadriel, and even wanted to marry her (but she chose flavorless Celeborn instead). Pretty much everyone was in love with Galadriel in the lore, so it’s not so insane to throw Sauron himself into the midst, nevermind if the lore purists hate it or if Tolkien didn’t outright write it.

I think the appeal of Galadriel x Sauron first came to be because of the angst and “forbidden fruit” trope; she was so petty towards Annatar, and her marriage to Celeborn so dull and passionless, older fans believed Sauron to be a more interesting pair for her (not to mention they are actual foils to each other, lore wise). Tolkien also created their mind connection; Galadriel could see into Sauron’s mind and perceive his plans, and he would have been able to look into her mind as well, had she not block him. But he never stopped trying to get into her mind, until the One Ring was destroyed. Her taking Nenya with her back to Valinor (even though it has lost it’s power) at the end, is also strange; as well as Celeborn staying in Middle-earth. All of this, is book canon. And fans can interpret it however they want. There is tragic romantic potential there for sure, and that’s the direction the showrunners seem to be taking, even if they leave it ambiguous.

Bless you book readers for all the hindsight you bring in your asks and posts ! 🙏🏼💜

Regarding Nenya, wasn't it said in the books that Sauron/Annatar wasn't around when Nenya and the other rings made for the Elves were built? That they were built without his influence?

I like your thoughts, very much, but another reading could be that Galadriel could have brought Nenya with her because of all the good things she did with it.

Of course, if we want to consider ROP as "canon", it recontextualizes this detail and Galadriel's longing for the sea in a very interesting way....

[ventismacchiato]

˗ˏˋ balladeer & friends ´ˎ˗

scaramouche x g!n reader

scaramouche — film major, childe got him into streaming and everyone thirsted over his hands when his camera accidentally pointed towards them, gained popularity from being in childe’s videos first, uses the name kunikuzushi irl so nobody figures out his online persona, goes by scara online, horror game fanatic, loves story games and gets rlly invested in them, ppl love his voice and snarky attitude.

childe — business major, kinda like mr beast and throws a lot of money away in streams for entertainment. just lookin for a good time and has scara in the back of his videos but always slaps a giant eggplant emoji on his face to not expose him. already had a following because of the insanity of his videos as time went on and gave scara a jumpstart, closest friend of scara #chiscara4lyfe

heizou — criminology major, started streaming as a side project for class and then never stopped, known for his conspiracy videos like those game theory ones and loves mystery games but always figures out the ending, also does those buzzfeed unsolved/watcher kinda videos, SUPER flirty to his chat omfg so many edits of him saying the most outlandish shit, joins kazuha’s streams and attempts to flirt via donations

tighnari — botanic science major, has a bunch of compilations like “tighnari roasting his friends for 10 mins straight” very blunt with his chat and will judge them. does those judging my viewers confessions videos a lot, will play story based games solely to judge the writing, does garden tours during streams and his fans like to send him rose petals through his p.o. box, has a long geoguesser streak

albedo — art major, art streams and youtuber, does a lot of drawing tutorials and known for his unique art style and talent. lots of edits since he’s rlly attractive and has a sexy voice, has a segment where he lets his fans send in their hw and he does it for them when he’s bored, he and tighnari get shipped a lot for their compatible personalities, his sister klee streams with him when she visits and he lets her win in all the games and tells his chat to keep quiet about it

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

teyvat university, junior year of college, age 20-21

everyone lives off campus together

scara doesn’t have a face icon for now cus he’s a faceless streamer he’s so sexy and mysterious

both groups tend to collab but usually stick to their own, kinda like content houses but less douchey lmfao

tighnari is so sexy but pretend he isn’t a furry in this modern setting ☠️

synopsis - , better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

author’s notes - planned out the au for the most part will start it when i feel like it 🤗

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @heehooyeslol @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @lynnforever @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @camiluvsreading @cloudxemoji @thenightsflower @p1utto @caesars-bubbles @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @remiikoe @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @just-here-reading @amoguz @ainlaw @ovaliz @depressedwhore @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @bunny-x-sakura @scarasaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @vinskypuff @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko [1/3]

name in bold means i can’t tag you

[hmshermitcraft]

Vault Hunters was not just Iskall's passion project: no, it was the only way they could stay alive.

Once a renowned god of the Vaults, endless power of realm creation. However, they fell victim to a curse, resulting in all their ensuing vaults to become infested with monsters, loot locked up for only the bravest of souls. This wrecked their reputation, leaving them with a select few followers and a fading body.

However, upon hearing that other dying gods had begun to regain their powers from creating things called "modpacks" based on their domains, Iskall decided to try one last thing: make their own. With each Vault opened, each chest looted, each monster slain, their power increased ever so slightly. And at least after a while, they had enough people using this modpack, and in turn believing in them, that they were no longer at risk of fading away.

But what is a god without their devout followers? Of course Iskall had the original testing group by their side but they still felt like they were missing something... no someone.

Cue both Season 8 and Hermitcraft Vault Hunters a few years later, and Iskall's finally found what was missing. They hadn't realised it at first, shrugging it off as enjoying sponsoring Etho's insane shopping trips just like how they enjoyed blessing the brave Vault Hunters. But venturing into their own vaults alongside Etho was what changed everything.

This bond between them was like no other, and Iskall was not going to let this opportunity slide.

It's hard for Iskall sometimes, feeling so alive again. He got so used to conserving every last scrap of energy, just in case but now... Not only is there victory in followers, but also victory that he's created something people enjoy.

And something that Etho enjoys. Etho, who Iskall himself looks up to, who throws himself at challenges with laser sharp dedication, who remains grounded despite it all. He likes Iskall's vaults.

Iskall isn't sure he's ever been happier.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

I saw you said to feel free to throw Halsin smut into your inbox and one I keep NONSTOP thinking about is that like touchstarved “you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this” desperate type shit 😭

I know he even says how he’s had to contain himself but I mean I need Tav to fight with him, getting mad about something dumb and blurting out that she has feelings for him and his chest is just heaving, eyes staring at her, before he stomps up and grabs her face and kisses her like he’s starved. Like I need them both gasping for air, him bending down to her level just to grunt in her ear about how words cannot describe how badly he’s been wishing for and dreaming of this moment that he thought would never come.

LIKE I **NEED** them to be frantically taking off clothes without breaking contact, him ripping things off of her, sweaty, panting, just carnal. But I so so so badly want that sexual tension to tear me apart first.

He’s ruining my liiiiiife 😭

Do I have a story for you 👀

If I may SHAMELESSLY plug my 22-chapter story about them essentially being too stupid to act on how bad they want eachother (but actually he’s just too fucking noble for his own relief). So far, the whole thing is them pining for each other and finding small ways to show that they care and falling deeper with no escape ladder in sight or wanted.

*coughSpecificallyChapters9.5And12cough*

FULL Feral behavior hasnt happened yet, BUT they def have a fight scene where Tav kinda kicks his ass and then, um, things are said and stuff against a tree

I haven’t found much “I want to fuck you so bad it makes me look stupid” on my Ao3 travels, unfortunately, bc that’s one of my favorite tropes.

THIS however is a good one shot from someone else where he’s like a sweet Dom and it’s hot af where they celebrate the solstice *insert dirty French laugh here*

But YES the tension that drives them both insane should be in more smutty fanfics imo

like they’re under an intense amount of stress, and he’s trying his damnedest to not lose focus, and you’re just fucking strssded

ESPECIALLY IF THIS FAMED HEALER KEEPS HEALING AND BANDAGING AND FIXING YOY LIKE OMG WHY IS THAT NOT IN THE GAME FFS

I have a lot of strong opinions on several things 😅

BUT YES

ALL THE ANON SMUTTY HALSIN OPINIONS

THE MAN IS IN NEED OF SOME AFFECTION FFS

HES BEEN RUNNING ON FUMES FOR DECADES

[legendary-guest]

Thinking about how Monkey Fist and DNAmy got to where they got to in the show. Special thanks to @danglovely's post about the subject for helping connect the dots and turning the gears in my head. More than a professional relationship, as stated. Here's my take. It's long!

The step to alter Monty Fiske's hands and feet was years in the making. Searching for someone who would do something so experimental and insane took a lot of time, all the while hiding his growing obsession and madness from the public and academic colleagues alike. When he finally found Amy, it was a huge relief, and he was overcome with so much joy, with genuine appreciation.

Amy, recently exiled from the scientific community, was greatly flattered by Monty's sheer enthusiasm and willingness to be altered. He knew exactly what he wanted and was so knowledgeable about primates. In fact, he knew a lot about her and her research. Really, it was more of a collaboration. No one at the scientific institutes ever wanted to collaborate with Amy, on her projects and fields of expertise. O, Lord Fiske….

Amy calls the procedure radical genetic mutation in the episode Partners. Aspects of fanon think it's surgery. Just wanted to address this here before continuing. The infamous hobbling scene from the movie Misery (spoilers + grievous, non-bloody violence, if that matters) is how I imagine the preparation for this 'procedure' went. Monty is conscious, he wants to be awake for every step of the transformation, to really feel it, experience it, to remember it. He fairly yells Amy's praises as she does this. (Yes, I would love to think she says, "God, I love you." just as Annie does in the movie. Unaware that she has even said it, perhaps. He doesn't hear it over his screaming).

You know what, Monty might even be the one yelling "I love you!" - that's way funnier. Yes, let's keep that. Yes, you are right to think this is analogous to another activity, dear reader.

Surgery, genetic mutation, whatever happens, he's lucid for it and endures it very well. Amy takes care of him, dotes on him. He's such a good patient, so polite. Always saying please and thank you. He never swears, not even when he's in immense pain. A real, proper gentleman. O, and the way he looks at her with his striking blue eyes and his heavy, British (simian?) brow giving him this air of mystery. Smiling at her all the time, talking about how grateful and happy he is, how she is fulfilling his lifelong dream. The poor woman is about to faint herself! His British accent and eloquence don't help either!

They continue to get to know each other during his recovery. Amy has him do basic physical tests and exercises to get used to his new appendages. She continues to be impressed by his knowledge of primate anatomy. They practically finish each other's sentences on the matter. A lot of bashful turning away and tender smiles between them.

Amy feels comfortable enough to share her Cuddle Buddy collection with him. She's somewhere between shy and enthusiastic when introducing him to it. He's said all these nice things, to her, about her, and he's so educated and goes on so many grand adventures. Her collecting hobby, her passion, seems silly in comparison.

Let's throw this in here - I reckon he holds her hand with his monkey hand. That's sweet. He smiles at her.

Monty calls one of her Cuddle Buddies cute. Amy knows she's in-love with him now. She also knows the way he looks at her isn't just politeness for politeness' sake…

Lord Fiske is utterly elated, on Cloud Nine the entire time he's staying with Amy. Her cooking is good, her abode is well-kept, she is hospitable, she's intelligent and interested in what he has to say and knows so much herself. It's…comfortable, here. Though, he knows, this is all just the icing on the cake. The first step to his ultimate goal has been made. He allows himself to enjoy it wholly, savour it.

Finally, they part, exchanging good-byes. It's a little sad, they've both enjoyed their time together (for different, or perhaps, not all that different, reasons).

Ever the gentleman, Lord Fiske takes one of Amy's hands in his (simian) one, and kisses it gently. A proper good-bye. Amy is stunned. He takes his leave with a smile and a nod.

Amy cannot stop thinking about him. At all. Even when that really handsome teacher came around, with that gangly teen and his pet naked mole rat. And then Kimmie! Ugh, her lab…well. At least she has Monty to think about.

She still can't stop thinking about him when that cute (and charming) Dr. Drakken (though, not a doctor, he is very intelligent, he's definitely been to college, at least) comes along and asks to collaborate. O, he's so sweet. He thinks she can't see him smile when she's not looking directly at him. He should smile more often! Though, that green lady, his not girlfriend, seems to enjoy hovering around him a lot…. When he gets down on one knee and looks the most vulnerable and smitten she's seen him in their short time together, she knows what she must do. He handled it better than she thought he would, even when he screamed his sidekick's name (not girlfriend) as if he were in mortal danger.

Monkey Fist finds his thoughts straying from his destiny, every now and again. Back to Amy Hall. Back to her home. Back to the dinners they shared. Holding her hand, so small in his now…. It wouldn't hurt to incorporate her into some of his ritual praying. No, not at all. And why not? After all, she'd helped him in such a big way! He could have never become Monkey Fist without her. What a curious thing to think about. He finds himself burning a lot of incense and reverently holding her picture (which he printed off of the official Cuddle Buddy Fan Club website; professionally, of course) over the months.

Unable to bear being apart from the one she loves, and who she knows loves her, too, Amy makes contact with him. Probably whilst Monkey Fist is in the middle of some plan, so she is sure to catch him at a terrible time. She didn't call, she didn't send a letter, or even an e-mail, she just showed up.

Monkey Fist doesn't know what to think when she starts blathering on about how much she has missed him (well, it's not like he didn't also - NO, NO HE DIDN'T MISS HER!), and about monkeys, and the surgery, and Cuddle Buddies, and true love - true love? She can't be serious….

"O, Monty!" she cries, before flinging herself into his arms, holding him tight (was she always this strong? She did help him about, but this was ridiculous!), causing him to stumble back. Heck, maybe they even fall to the ground, her on top of him. (Thank you, romance tropes. Hope someone enjoys this).

He doesn't have time for this! He shoves her off, maybe a little more harshly than he intended, but she doesn't seem to be put off by it. In fact, she just keeps smiling at him, and batting her eyelashes! What's gotten into her? She didn't act anything like this when he was staying with her!

More of this nonsense occurs, I reckon. She's even found him in weird places, like in the middle of Cambodia. She's just…there. How did she KNOW? How did she FIND HIM?

She finally tells him, maybe the third time she 'meets' him, that she was sure that he loved her. Why, he even screamed at the top of his lungs that he loved her! Monkey Fist is stunned. No. That didn't happen.

He gets all uppity, maybe even red in the face (blushing. Amy is delighted, she's never seen this side of him before!). That wasn't what he was really thinking, or feeling, for that matter! It was just a side effect of whatever she drugged him up with!

She just continues to smile at him. He starts feeling unease, real unease. She tells him, knowingly, a little coyly, that she didn't give him any medicine for the procedure. He specifically requested no pain killers, or drugs, of any kind. She repeats to him, verbatim, what he'd told her about wanting to experience the entirety of the operation, even its ugliest moments.

Well, Montgomery, you've really done it now, haven't you? Told an incredibly intelligent, persistent, obsessive, and frankly, insane woman you loved her as she was shattering your joints. You wonder how you got yourself into this mess. O, right. Ultimate Monkey Master. Maybe Bates had a point. Or your mother. Okay, not her, but maybe Bates.

And that's that! That's how we get to Gorilla Fist!

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

can please you do comforting pavitr x stressed out f!reader 🥹

Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice

🎃MASTERLIST🎃

And for rinnnswrlddd on AO3: “I need a cuddle oneshot with Pavitr and GN!reader !! (^_<)〜☆”

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Gn!Reader Summary: Pavitr sees you stressed out and feels bad. But not to worry; he knows the perfect remedy. Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Flufftober

Also Read on AO3

Pavitr enters your shared apartment holding a Starbucks in each hand, closing the door behind him with his foot when he hears a groan.

“ARGGHH!”

Concerned, he comes to check on you and sighs at what he sees: You on the couch glaring at your laptop, hands in your hair and stressed the f out. You’ve emptied three cups of chamomile tea and your headache still refuses to leave. You groan in pain and irritation.

He leaves the beverages on the coffee table and comes to sit beside you, massaging your head. “You okay, pumpkin?”

It’s that time of the year when your S/O calls you thematic cringe nicknames.

“Noooo”, you whine, throwing your head back on the couch and shutting your eyes. Looking into the LCD screen for a long time irritates your eye and you rub it in vain. “We haven’t even gotten near to finishing the project! The client emails haven’t been sent, the quotation is wrong so we had to redo everything -and, to top it off, a substantial investor pulled out last minute and now we have to finish this in half the budget! And the deadline is Monday! I frickin hate Mondays!!!!”

“What about your team?”, he asks, moving to massage your shoulder. You sigh, tired. “Stu is on paternity leave -I didn’t know we had those-, Jenny’s got a family emergency so she’s out and Raj is just unwilling! He won’t return our calls or contribute, I can’t-“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby”, he coos, circling his arm around you. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, meri jaan. Relax.”

You let him take your laptop away in exchange for the Pumpkin Spice latte he bought you. You take a sip and instantly go lax. Ah, so soothing!

Before you know it, the grey device is webbed to the ceiling.

“Pavitr Prabhakar, are you insane?! Give me that-“

He sits you on the couch, not letting you get up. “Nu-uh, babe. You haven’t slept in three days. Three! I can’t let you go on like this. At least take a nap, please. For me?”

You pout and cross your arms but your resolve isn’t strong. What he says is true, you’ve been working day and night for the past week barely having a proper meal. Perhaps, you should take a break.

“Okay”, you finally agree. You deserve it. 👏

“Great! It’s time for PUMPKIN CUDDLES!”, he announces and maneuvers a cackling you onto the couch in a spooning position.

Your boyfriend can be silly at times but that’s why you love him.

Pavitr circles his arm around your waist and pulls you against him, tangling your legs together before draping a throw blanket over you. His fingers rub soothing circles on your tummy as he leaves soft little kisses on your face and you can feel yourself melt into his arms. Mmmmm… so cozy…

“Yeah, it is”, he whispers, making you realize you’ve said it loud. You giggle and snuggle closer to him. His warmth is inviting, his body heat welcoming as he gently rocks you, intertwining your fingers.

The fairy lights put up In your room magically light up as if on cue, making the room appear more cozy.

Your shuffle around till your head lays on his heart, listening to the steady thumping beat, bringing his fingers to tangle in your hair. Pavitr gives the best head massages.

“Sing me a song, pumpkin”, you ask sweetly and he giggles, obliging.

His tone is melodic and within seconds, your stress -physical and mental- have disappeared in his lullaby.

“More pumpkin spice, meri j-“ Oh.

You’ve fallen asleep.

Pavitr watches you with a smile on his face, taking in your features. How soft you look and how calm! Laughing quietly at your soft snores and the way you clutch onto his shirt, he kisses your forehead.

Removing himself quietly, he retrieves your laptop and shuts it down, keeping it in your room safely. He switches off all the bulbs except the fairly lights on your window, watching mesmerized as the dim light makes you glow. He takes the breakfast and latte to the counter and does a quick work of the dishes. Neat!

Pavitr sets breakfast for you when you wake up searching for him. “Pav? Pavi baby?”, you mumble, sleepily. 

Aww, you missed him!

“I’m here, meri jaan.”

He comes to the couch as you pull him in for more cuddles, using his arm as a pillow while the other runs down your back. You release a contended sigh once you’re comfortable, putting a dreamy smile on Pavitr’s face.

Perhaps, breakfast can wait.

He takes a cute pic of you before pecking your forehead and snuggling closer. “Sleep tight, pumpkin.”

___

Thank you for reading <3 hope you liked it <333

[cookie-nom-nom]

oh nooo ep 35 utterly rekindled my Emberose flame. Anyway it works so well as a messy polycule, just really adds this extra layer to the dynamic. These boys have no communication! Half their mental health tips to each other is suppression! Such a fantastic ‘it’s Complicated’ ship. Emerich is so clearly desperate for approval. He wants to be appreciated and shows how much he cares by his inventions. But that often means he withdraws from them to work on a project. It’s a gift, he’s doing it for them, but he also just gets sucked in. And then there’s the periods where nobody sees him for days, locked in his workroom. And eventually Beef busts down the door and finds a sleep deprived mess ignoring hunger and injuries and exhaustion because he wants to get this project right for them. Because that is how he shows he cares. Fumbling, awkward words of affection too of course, he’s blunt on it albeit often coming off strange. He seems pretty free with hugs, occasionally a kiss if he remembers, though obviously he’s some type of ace. But for the most part Emerich goes for dragging his special interest to them and excitedly showing it off. He’ll ramble about other things that catch his interest too, old sports movies, SciFi tiktoks of water skiing feats, but mostly it’s the inventions he designs specifically with his partners in mind. It’s his way of showing love, and hoping to be given gratitude and acknowledgment in return. Emerich calls them partners in that vague way where nobody can tell if he means in the romantic or professional sense. Montrose calls them associates though. Not even friends. He’ll retain his air of smug separation no matter what, refusing to ever close the emotional distance, like he doesn’t quite give weight to the other’s feelings. He flirts, sure, often even. But it’s almost in that way bards do, pure dripping charisma, where you can’t tell how genuine it is. Emerich doesn’t clock it half the time, but when he does turns pink and tries to flirt back disastrously. Which is why Montrose does it; because it’s amusing. Beef tends to reciprocate in a more grounded, genuine way, but sometimes he’s just irked by how insincere it comes off. Random bursts of short arguments aren’t uncommon given the different ways they define their relationship. Because the mask never comes off even when they’re literally making out. Maybe it can’t. Montrose is eight layers of act so deep not he even knows his true self. But he does care, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. He tells himself his worry is pure pragmatism since they’re his associates. Frankly none of us know what’s going on in his head, but at the very least he doesn’t seem to treat reality as anything more than a game or a roleplay. Montrose maintains that suave detachment, acting like it’s a one night stand even though they’ve been living together for years.

Beef doesn’t. He makes his affections clear, upfront. Not that he’s the only one who’s willing to be emotionally vulnerable; Beef clearly has trust issues and suppresses his trauma. But simultaneously, he’s upfront with the fact he thinks they’re in a relationship. He cares openly and deeply. They’re both so reckless in a way that drives Beef insane with worry. Montrose just throws himself into risky situations, and Emerich never takes care of himself. And Beef wants to take that hit for them, his first instinct is to protect, and so often he feels guilty. Which he suppresses. And frankly he’s irritated by it, that they’re putting themselves and him through that pain. He’s tired of having to carry Emerich to their bed just to wake in the middle of the night and find him gone, the glow of the workstation seeping beneath the door. He’s tired of Montrose never dropping his literal or metaphorical mask, never admitting if he really cares or not, catching his hand whenever Beef tries to gently peel away the mask and force them to be truly face to face. Beef is the emotional glue that holds it all together and it’s exhausting sometimes. He wants to be clear in his affections and intentions, but Montrose refuses to admit anything and Emerich keeps withdrawing. He wants to call them his significant others but feels like he can’t because of how the other two treat the relationship. 

It’s just…complicated

[jahayla-parker]

The Master Part 4

2.1k wc

Series Navigation

Daring Acts

Y/n nervously bit down on her lip as she watched Tom be lifted into the air by the harness he was strapped into. She’d just finished helping adjust some of the props on set for the upcoming stunt scene and was now standing beside Harry as they waited to watch Tom’s performance. At this point in filming, y/n had watched some of Tom’s earlier stunts. But, this was a much more intensive stunt scene than the earlier ones. Even so, y/n had flinched when Tom was thrown into the back of some desk chairs when his character had to fight off one of the villain’s goons in an early scene. And yet, this upcoming scene was going to be even more physically demanding.

Tom winked at y/n as he watched her join Harry just off to the side of the set. He was giddy with excited anticipation as he replayed his upcoming stunts in his mind. He loved doing his own stunts whenever feasible! That was one of the reasons he was so eager to start this project. And today, he was getting to film a fight scene in which his character would call out of the plane in midair and climb back up into the cargo bay only to be hit by a car his costar was intending to drive out of the plane for an escape. It was surely going to be physically exhausting but also a lot of fun along the way!

Harry glanced to his left to see how y/n reacted to Tom’s winking. Only, he found himself disappointed when he noticed she didn’t have any sort of reaction. However, when he noticed she appeared to be anxious about Tom’s upcoming scene, he had to suppress a chuckle. “He’s got this y/n,” Harry promised.

Y/n simply nodded in response to Harry’s reassurance, her eyes still scanning the rigging that was holding Tom in midair above the set. She tried to offer up a smile as if she were fine, but evidently it wasn’t convincing. She heard Harry release a muffled laugh that he soon tried to turn into a fake cough. She looked at him from the side, prompting him to place his arm around her shoulder supportively. “He’s a hundred feet in the air, held up by thin wires that are supposed to hold him while he grips onto a fake cargo box that will be spinning via a machine until it throws him off,” she explained, shaking her head lightly, “it’s insane”.

“Awe,” Harry cooed teasingly. “It’s cute you’re so worried about him,” he hummed with a smirk. He laughed as y/n’s facial expressions shifted in a bashful manner. “But truly, darling, you need not worry, he’s done plenty of stunts due to Marvel”.

Y/n hummed and nodded in agreement, Tom had done plenty of stunts before. Plus, she and Tom had talked about stunts previously and she knew how much he enjoyed doing them. Ironically, it was that eagerness that made her worry he might injure himself in order to make it more believable or intense. But, she didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. So, she decided to take Harry at his word and trust that Tom would be perfectly fine. Although, that was easier said than done. Especially as Tom began jumping between the moving prop cargo containers. As bad as that was, she swore she felt her heart drop as she watched Tom be “hit” by the prop car, his body pulled back by the wired strings attached to him from above. Meanwhile, she knew she felt Harry’s hand on her shoulder squeeze her reassuringly despite him choking back more laughter. Y/n clapped with the others as the director yelled cut and Tom was lowered back to the ground. However, her pride and excitement over how well he’d done and the fact that it was now over was lessened by the director explaining some changes he wanted and mentioned they’d be redoing it a few times. She swallowed thickly, her throat feeling tight. Tom had done great! But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried each time he was jumping over large gaps of nothing but air. Nor did it change the fact that she held her breath until she knew he was okay whenever his body was slammed into the props.

Tom nodded his head along to the director’s instructions. As he got back into place, he looked over at y/n and noticed the way she was seemingly anxious. His heart seized at the sight of Harry’s arm around her until he reminded himself it was just friendly as Harry would never try to make a move on someone he’d earlier just been teasing Tom about. He turned his focus back to y/n’s worried expression. He smiled confidently and gave her a thumbs up.

Sophia, Tom, Mark, Tati, and the others had shot the stunt/fight scene countless times this morning. Each time Tom found himself back at his starting mark, he’d be sure to look over at y/n and offer either a thumbs up or make an ‘ok’ sign with his thumb and pointer finger. There was one time where y/n had to come onto the set to make some adjustments to the prop cargo containers and the hood of the car. During that time, Tom laid back against the wired cables until he was seated as if on a hammock and he grinned at y/n as he watched her work. When she was done and was smiling sweetly at him while passing by him on her way off the set, he took hold of her hand as it swung at her side and squeezed it briefly. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until the director yelled cut and stated that they were finally done with the scene and the stunts that y/n felt true relief.

Y/n had been clapping at the end of the take, as she had with the countless others before; beyond proud of Tom for each attempt/performance. But she couldn’t stop herself from running up to him as he was lowered and unhooked himself from the wired harness he’d been in for hours now. She grinned at Tom as he beamed proudly at her and opened his arms up for her to run into. Y/n launched herself into his embrace as she hugged him tightly. “You did so good!”

Tom chuckled shyly, his cheeks reddened more, this increase coming from his bashful reaction instead of the physical exertion of the stunts. He tightened his arms around y/n as he squeezed her appreciatively. “I told you I’d be fine,” he said proudly, leaning back to look into her eyes. “You’ve gotta have more faith in me, y/n,” he smirked with a wink. He chuckled as y/n looked away timidly and buried her flushed face into his chest.

Olivia grit her teeth as she watched Tom and y/n openly flirt with each other. How had y/n managed to get so close to Tom? In her opinion, y/n was shy and awkward. Did Tom not see this?! She’d have to find a way to remedy this inconvenience.

Y/n wiped the sweat from her clammy forehead and leaned against the corner of the wall beside her. Today had been grueling. It was as if the props had all developed the sudden ability to misbehave. Something had gone wrong with nearly every prop and needed to be remedied, one after another, all day. It didn’t help that Tom was also having a tiresome day, one in which he found himself unable to find time for him and y/n to rest or reset even if briefly between takes like they normally would. Neither one had been able to truly catch a break today, metaphorically nor literally. It had surely been the longest hardest day on set so far. And she couldn’t wait to be done with the day, even if all she had planned was going back to her temporary apartment and laying down as she watched tv or played on her phone for the rest of the night.

Tom grinned coyly as he held up a cold plastic bottle of water, moving to stand beside y/n. He couldn’t help but laugh as she placed her hands on his shoulders and dramatically thanked him. Tom rested his back on the empty portion of the wall beside her and yawned, earning a giggle from y/n. “So, what do you say, after an hour or two in order shower and rest, you come out with some of the cast, Harrison, and of course Harry?”

“Are you saying I need a shower?” Y/n cocked her brow.

Tom’s face paled as he quickly shook his head no. “No, no, no, I uhh, that’s not… uhh, I just meant-“.

“Tom, I’m kidding!” Y/n laughed. She pointed to her frizzy hair and likely shiny forehead as she added, “I clearly need to”.

“Huh? Oh, no, you’re fine,” Tom corrected softly. When he noticed the apprehensive look on her face, he rolled his eyes playfully. “Y/n, you look beautiful, don’t pretend otherwise,” he jokingly scolded.

Y/n’s next breath shook from pleasant surprise over Tom’s compliment. She bit her bottom lip and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you T,” she whispered, moving closer so their arms were touching. “But I still stand by the fact that I do need a shower, I’ve been sweating from just walking around all day,” she giggled with a shake of her head.

“‘ey, whoa love, you’ve been doing far more than that! The props were really working against you it seemed today,” he commented.

“They were, huh! I think they are possessed. By what, I don’t know. But still”.

Tom laughed and nodded his head in agreement with her analysis. “Nevertheless, you did an excellent job fixing all of it”.

“And it looked like you did fantastic today as well,” she smiled. “I was able to watch, maybe three minutes, today,” she giggled with a sigh, “but still”.

Tom thanked y/n before trying to hide his blush by covering his mouth and acting as though he had to yawn.

“But it was a nice three minutes,” she commented with a wink, trying not to laugh pridefully as Tom’s blush worsened.

“Oh? What scene?” He questioned, intrigued by her wink.

Her eyes shot down to the ground shyly, not having expected him to ask for clarification as to which scene in particular she was referencing. However, after remembering how she’d been able to make him blush at the simple compliment, she found her confidence return and decided to keep up the flirtation and see just how red she could make him. “Well, it was a reshoot,” she explained. “Although, I truly don’t know why they felt one was needed, but I’m not complaining,” she smirked, winking before she dropped her gaze to his chest before meeting his now wide eyes.

Tom slowly licked and then bit his bottom lip. “You watched that scene, hmm?” He questioned as he tried to keep his eyes off of her lips. He knew she was referring to the scene where he was doing push ups and other physical exercises with his shirt off.

When y/n simply nodded with a sly smirk, Tom opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of y/n’s ringtone.

“Sorry,” she sighed, pulling the device out of her pocket in order to mute it. “Oh, it’s Olivia,” she observed. “I’ll call her back later,” she proposed. She didn’t want to be rude and answer a call while talking to Tom, but she also didn’t want to simply reject her friend’s phone call. So, she opted to send Olivia a quick text letting her know she’s with Tom right now but would call her back soon.

As he watched her side her phone can into the pocket of her trousers, Tom hummed. “Well, speaking of later, what do you say?”

“Hmmm, could be fun,” she commented. “Depends though,” she audibly contemplated.

“On?”

“You said the cast, and Harry, and your friend Harrison were going.”

Tom nodded.

“But are you going?” She teased with a grin.

He chucked. “I did leave myself off that list, huh?”

When she nodded along playfully, Tom grinned. “I am going.”

“Alright, then I’ll come”.

“Just for me?” He teased.

“Mhmm,” she agreed with a wink. “See you later Holland”. She slowly began walking away, making her way to the studio exit. She paused momentarily and looked back at Tom over her shoulder, “text me where to meet?”

Tom laughed happily but shook his head, “I’ll pick you up at your apartment door”.

“It’s a date,” she said with a smirk before turning back around and resuming her departure.

Date? Tom silently questioned with glee. She didn’t mean a date-date. He knew she was simply playing around with the turn of phrase. Yet, it still made him giddier than he had been upon her saying she’d go tonight.

The Master Series Navigation

Tom Holland Masterlist

Peter Parker / Spider-Man Masterlist

All My Works / My Main Masterlist Navigation

[astriiformes]

Throwing meta thoughts at the wall here because I was musing on the fact that a lot of my favorite stories these days (TOH, Pentiment, the Locked Tomb series) are all at least a little bit about grief. But one interesting thing The Owl House specifically did with Luz and Belos was make both their stories about grief and mourning, but in the opposite directions.

I love stories where the protagonist and the antagonist are both grappling with the same question or difficult experience but differ drastically from each other in their answers to it. And in both Luz and Philip's/Belos' cases, that experience is the loss of a family member, and their relationship to the Boiling Isles is defined by that grief.

Belos sees the Boiling Isles as a corrupting force that needs to be eliminated because in his eyes, they're the thing that lead his brother astray. He probably would have had a problem with them regardless, since his fervently held religious beliefs are the other source of his antagonism towards witches -- and of course, the real source of the rift between him and Caleb. But they clearly became a scapegoat for his brother's running away and abandoning their world, as well as the reason he decided the Isles had to be destroyed at any cost.

And he never processes that grief. He creates the grimwalkers instead, killing them when they echo that original loss and trapping himself in a cycle where he never actually mourns, just tells himself he'll get it right the next time and finally have his brother back -- all the while projecting that same loss onto the Boiling Isles and letting it fester into an even worse bitterness towards everyone there in his attempts at genocide.

Luz, meanwhile, associates the Boiling Isles with her dad, who encouraged her interest in fantasy and even left her the Azura books, which were one of the primary reasons she decided to stay and learn how to be a witch. To her the Isles represent someone she loved, and now almost has a piece of back. Her wonder at everything there -- and her finding belonging and other people who love her, which she was clearly longing for after her dad's death -- is in part a wonder at rediscovering a happiness that had shattered when Manny died. Of course she ends up wanting to do anything to protect them.

We even see Luz try to suppress her own grief, which is probably part of why she worries she's too much like Belos -- she can see echoes of her own fears in his, even if they both have different relationships with them. But ultimately his story is one about going insane and destroying himself with unprocessed grief -- and an unwillingness to admit his own part in his pain -- whereas hers is about coming to terms with it, as well as with the guilt that comes from not always being able to protect the people you love from harm. It's one reason her conversation with the Titan is so lovely, because it's her simultaneously talking to a dad who never got to have a relationship with his own child and her talking to the Isles that gave her back some of the same joy as her own dad, as well as the courage to remember him the way he would have wanted.

And of course, both their mourning narratives are accentuated by the Collector, who has no real concept of grief and ends up learning about loss as a result of Belos' attempt to destroy the Boiling Isles clashing with Luz's attempts to save it. His confusion about death ties both their narratives together at the end, which works perfectly for an antagonist-turned-protagonist -- something that's really driven home by Luz and Philip's first "chronological" interaction occurring in large part because Luz offered to help him find the Collector in the first place.

I just!!!! It's about loss it's about grief it's about spying someone in the mirror that's almost-you-but-not-quite it's about learning to tell the difference and to be better than them even if you still understand something of the shape of what made them the way they are, about how misery is easy and hope is hard, especially when the world has taken something load-bearing away from you, but one is poison and the other is ultimately healing.

It's about grief and about how it can be the end of you or the beginning of a whole new story.

[sansxfuckyou]

I am denial, guilt, and fear (and I control you)

Summary: there are good nights and bad nights in the mountains, turns out there's a similar cadence to how they show up even after he's back with his brothers

Warnings: angst, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I went insane over the idea that John wrote songs about his brothers while he was out in the mountains, said idea spawned by the fucking epic @ohposhers who draws lots of good art and you should go check it out. title from Mr. Self Destruct by Nine Inch Nails. hope ya'll enjoy and if you do please consider dropping a reblog or checking the ao3 port

He hasn't exactly written any songs since he left BroZone to go be alone in the mountains, but it's a bad night, and this pit of guilt has knotted itself into his gut once more. He feels nauseated with himself for leaving his brothers and he was sure that stopped many years ago, sometime after he found Rhonda.

Sadly, Rhonda no longer counts to fit that empty little brother shaped space because she's his van now. She didn't really fit that little brother role very good anyways, she's more like his daughter whenever he really thinks about it.

Which he doesn't do very often, think about what he's become and how he adapts. He's usually too caught up on whether or not he'll find dinner, or if he'll catch some sweet slopes after a snow fall. He's usually more focused on keeping Rhonda well fed and making sure she's pleased as punch. He likes to make sure he absolutely doesn't have any time to think about his brothers or his past.

But he can't do anything to distract himself tonight, coming out of a fight with a wild animal that was supposed to be sedated doesn't leave a lot of stuff in your head aside from adrenaline. And the small little patches of pain and scratches that he's disinfecting, those are also on his mind. Otherwise it's empty, not focusing on much of anything and he knows where his train of thought will lead him so he tries to avoid it.

He fails, he fails to avoid thinking of his brothers and tonight he can't just cry himself to sleep because the sun is just barely setting. He'll be up while it's still dark out if he succeeds in passing out which he'd like to avoid. So he pours himself a mug of tea, dried berries and mint leaves, and starts looking for his ash tray. He'll just get a little bit high, that should take his mind off things, or make it so much worse, he's not quite sure. Smoking ring pop dust like it's weed is always a fifty fifty on whether or not he'll come down from his high feeling okay or lost in the mountains unable to find his way back for a considerable while.

He does find it, but all that remains are the ashes and a couple cigarette butts he just knows aren't gonna cut it. He gives this long aggravated sound before throwing open his closet and pulling out a very important memento from the before times. From before he left, from before BroZone, from before Branch was born, the guitar his parents gave him when he wasn't even thirteen. It's scratched, it's banged up, but it still works which is really what matters right now.

"Do I still got it," It's a mutter really, strumming the cords of his guitar, still almost perfectly tuned, but just close enough. It doesn't need to be perfect anymore, it just needs to get the job done.

Before he knows it he has paper splayed out in front of him, words and musical notes written atop them, each labeled with a brothers name. He doesn't know why he's doing this, but he is. It eases the guilt in his core, it takes his mind off the animal attack he just survived, it tears away this sheet of denial. Picks away the facade that he's fine, pulls apart the notions of him being over it, holds open his chest and reminds him he still has soft insides despite the roughness the mountains have conditioned him into.

Writing songs about his brothers, some of the lyrics don't rhyme, most of them don't actually. They just match the advances the guitar brings with the tune, the intensity gathers as it crescendos. He'll have to rename them later, so he can tell himself he wrote them for fun instead of this all consuming guilt and regret. He was sure he killed off said emotions many years ago, but apparently he didn't, and they've returned to rear their ugly heads once more.

So he writes and he plays and eventually he finds himself crying, that tight twist in his in his stomach migrates to his chest until it's unraveling. He hasn't sung in a while either, but he does so regardless, words spilling out of his mouth even though he intended to just write them and never say them. Never let out what's been boiling up for the past god knows how many years, but it's nice, working his voice and just getting it out.

He plays well into the night.

-/-/-/-

It's been three months since John Dory got his brothers back, and they spend most of their time in Branch's bunker (except for Bruce, father of thirteen) and John spends most of his time in Rhonda. He can't help it, old habits die hard, but he does spend the days with his brothers at the very least. They let him stick around for board games and he gladly plays, and even though he loses he appreciates it regardless because his brothers want him around.

But, he doesn't want himself to be around.

He ruined everything twenty years, whose to say he won't do it again? On purpose or accident he doesn't want to lose his brothers again (he doesn't know that despite everything they don't want to lose him either). He'll fuck it up again, he'll do something stupid and they'll leave him unless he leaves them first. His brothers that he just got back, his brothers that he's missed and been isolated for so fucking long that it makes his chest ache just to see two of them in the same room.

He needs to leave before he breaks their harmony again, a harmony of four is still a harmony. But if he's gonna do that then he at least needs to leave them something so they know he's doing it because he loves them. He's doing it for their own good and he'll go rot alone in a mountain for another twenty years if that's the price he needs to pay so they can be happy. So they can be happy without him because he sees it a lot more clearly now, they weren't happy with him all those years ago. He just made everything worse, his need for perfection, his need for the perfect family harmony, his need for the band to work out- he fucked it all up.

He really hates himself for doing what he's doing, but he has copies, it'll be fine. He never wanted them to know about the songs he wrote for them, about them, he wrote those songs over the memory of them and they're so visceral no one should have to read them. But it's the only thing he can think of to leave in place of himself, so they'll have a memory of him in his absence.

He gives brief skims of each sheet as he returns down the elevator of Branch's bunker, guitar slung over his shoulder so he can get a sense of how the chords will sound if they play said songs. They all sleep like bricks (even Clay which is a shocker considering how constant of a vigil the putt putt Trolls had going on), he can get away with a couple strums without any of them noticing and maybe even a few muttered lyrics. He needs to rework the one for Bruce more than any of the other ones, rewrite the name if it ever pops up for starters.

He finds himself sitting on a stool beside Branch's kitchen counter, scratching out words and rewriting them. He's getting too wrapped up in this. This was supposed to be a quick little in and out operation. But nope, he's stuck reworking Bruce's song so it seems sincere, he wants them to have a good memory of him. Not an oddly tainted one like they did for the last twenty years, if he's gonna end up making the same mistakes he'll at least try to avoid that one.

"John Dory, it's eleven PM,"

It's Bruce, the voice is groggy and coming from behind the teal Troll who spins on the stool to face his younger brother.

"It's when I do my best writing," A lie, a partial lie at least, enough truth to make it sound true. His nervousness comes off clear on his voice and it is very clear that Bruce is seeing directly through his bullshit.

He takes a couple steps forward and watches with John's reaction with rapt attent, the scuffle to hide something. He acts like he doesn't see it, "What's with the guitar?"

"Oh, this old thing?" He holds it up very, very carefully, "I got tired, thought I'd strum out some tunes to try and get back in a sleeping mood."

"I thought you quit making music for the last twenty years," Bruce countered with, he'll build to what's on the counter, ease his oldest brother into it. That's how it works with his kids, just calm them down from the panic and they'll tell him anything. He presumes it'll work the same for a fully grown Troll who couldn't emotionally mature past the age of seventeen out in the woods.

"Hard to forget how to play guitar, it's part of me," John said, the anxious edge slowly disappearing. Fucking Bruce, he thought only Floyd had that magical ability to calm people down, apparently not. And if he's unlucky he'll end up pliable enough and tell Bruce everything, by accident of course, not because he's been bottling it up for twenty years and needs someone to hold onto him while he cries-

Hey now, that's a pretty big jump, he cried plenty when he was out in the woods.

"And," Bruce takes a seat beside John before reaching for the papers. There isn't any recoil and he distantly wonders if this is a trap, but it isn't. As much as John Dory can be a dick, he wouldn't be a dick at this hour, "What about these?"

"Songs, wrote 'em while I was in the mountains," He half lied, although he wouldn't call it lying, just telling half of the truth. Bruce already has the papers, he'll know what's actually going on soon enough. John can feel his chest constricting again, he's not making out of this one alive.

Bruce places them back down, he's not gonna violate John's privacy any further, "How was it out there anyways?"

"I- to be honest it was kind of boring after I found Rhonda, my lovely daughter," John answered with, making sure to cut himself short. He gave just enough for Bruce to push further, to pry him open because John sure as hell isn't spilling it without incentive.

"No stories to tell me that you don't wanna subject Branch too?" Bruce teased.

There's this long sigh and the knot in his chest starts to come undone, pressure starting to build in the back of his eyes, "I really missed you guys, I thought I'd never see any of you again I kind of thought some of you might've died. And hell Floyd nearly did die, we nearly died trying to save him," He takes a shuddering breath and he just knows that he's probably crying just a little bit, "What a mess."

Bruce doesn't even know what to say, a part of him was sure John Dory was untouchable in terms of emotional hurt, a part of him knew nobody was untouchable. But he was the younger brother, he idolized John for a short period of time and turns out that he still hasn't beaten it all down. He just spreads his arms, "Do you want a hug?"

John doesn't even answer, he lurches forward, fully slumped against Bruce and just crying. He hasn't cried in the arms of literally anyone in far too long, he can barely form a sentence, it's almost pathetic. But Bruce just holds tight and doesn't let go and it grounds John into reality, into the reality he was planning on running away from.

He can't believe he'd ever do that, run away from his brothers again, go be alone in the mountains ago. It fucking wrecked him last time and now he's trying to willingly surrender himself back to a place where the only control he holds is where he goes. He's never been more glad to have a brother in his entire life, even when he pulls back he's still sniffling just a bit.

"Feel better?" Bruce asked quietly.

John laughed, "Oh absolutely not, it helped but I think a dad hug isn't gonna cut it this time around," He reaches for the papers, the one for Bruce. As much as he wants to shut up and go to sleep he keeps talking because he knows he won't reach this momentum again for a long time, "When I was in the mountains I really missed you guys right? And I was writing songs you know, busted out the old guitar and some pencil 'n paper."

Bruce is handed the paper and he's cautious to read it.

"Wrote songs about you guys, try and take the edge off," John admitted quietly, "They're kind of bad, and old, and I was going to leave so I thought I'd leave them behind 'in my memory' or whatever but then I got caught up fixing mistakes."

"You were going to leave?!" It's a lot louder than he intended and panic is quick to blossom across John's expression.

"Shut it! Or just, be quiet, I've changed my mind," John said, "But, no one else is allowed to know about this."

"They'll be flattered to hear you wrote songs about them," Bruce said.

"Yeah, and no one was supposed to learn about those songs unless I died or disappeared which backfired big time, so don't tell anyone," John practically demanded.

Bruce held out a paw, "I won't tell," he swiped it away when John went to shake it, "If you spend more time with your family."

"Fine, I'll spend more time with you guys," John agreed, Bruce placed his paw into John's they shook on it.

There's this small, comfortable beat of silence.

"Love you bro, we all do,"

John doesn't really believe Bruce, not entirely, but he says it back, "Love you too man."

[robots-n-sweet-tea]

Gotta Love Prowl (And His Kinks)

“How rough do you want me to be?” Prowl grinned.

“As rough as you want, sir~” Az purred.

Primus, that just instantly turned him on. Don’t tempt a sadist. The tables quickly turned when he moved to pin her to the soft grass. It was a familiar feeling– one that she knew very well. Az let him do his thing, tearing off what clothes she had on with his overly large servos. That just meant another shopping trip for her. Oh well. And, as soon as he thrust into her, the sweet sound of their mixed moans filled the air.

“I want to hear you beg,” he whisper-growled after a minute. “Beg, or do I need to make you?”

“Mmm, Prowl, please–” she whined, letting out another moan as he started to pull out just barely, inch by agonizing inch. 

“Please, I want you to make me cum! Fill me with your transfluid until I’m–!”

“Shut your mouth, you damn whore,” Prowl growled again, this time louder as he pulled out fully before slamming into her as roughly as he could. 

She whimpered loudly, letting out soft huffs at the feeling of being so full. This did not go unnoticed. “Hold on tight, sweetspark, because I intend to spark you up good.”

“Hnn– please! Spark me up!”

Prowl chuckled lightly to himself and finally began to fuck her for real this time. He promised himself that he wouldn’t break her…at least, not yet. His focus for the time being was the absolutely impossible task of filling Az with his sparklings. He knew this was impossible, but just the thought put him on a bit of a high. His thrusts were unapologetically rough and uneven; it was something that, even after all this time, she never quite got used to. 

In and out.

Out and in.

Maybe he should…

He slowed down momentarily, his thrusts coming to a quick halt. Az was understandably confused.

“Prowl? Is something wrong?” she asked out of concern.

“Mm…no, I just had an idea. Wait here.” One last moan as he pulled out, before he disappeared off to…somewhere, only to return a couple minutes later. There was something in his servos, a bag of sorts it seemed. This immediately piqued his new pet’s interest.

“What’s in the bag?”

“A surprise,” he grunted, throwing the object down at her side. One quick peek, and…

“Are these…eggs?”

“What do they look like?” he snapped. “I want us to use them.”

“Hm. Kinky. But why exactly do you want to use them?”

“Breeding purposes.”

“Excuse me?” She just got a glare in response. “Okay, okay. Don’t give me that attitude, sir.”

“It’s called Cybertronians and humans can’t breed with each other, so this is the next best option.”

“So you want to stuff me–”

“With eggs and transfluid, yes.”

“...That’s cool with me.” Score. Az pulled an egg out of the bag, sifting through it. “These aren’t real eggs, are they?”

“Frag no. They’re custom-made.” I’m sorry, but since when did he have custom-made eggs? “Ohh frag~ Yes, yes that’s it…push them in,” Prowl moaned, his servo quickly pumping his spike. His optics stayed focused on the scene in front of him as Az slowly pushed in an egg. A single egg…a single egg? He stopped pumping for a moment, watching her. “Is that really your limit?”

“Mhm…I mean, they are kinda big.”

He let out an irritated sigh, “Fine. Guess it’s just one then. Now get over here.”

 The mech lifted her up a bit so she leaned against the boulder with the two of them facing each other. “Hold it in until I say so. Got that?” 

Az nodded. And with that, he lined his spike up, pushing inside her and ultimately against the egg. “Any discomfort?” He grunts. 

“I–I mean, a tiny bit, but I’ll be just fine, okay?” she reassured him.

“As long as you’re okay.” Prowl moaned softly at the insanely warm feeling along with the pressure from the egg pushing against his spike when he pushed in. 

He stopped about a fourth of the way in, unable to go any further. His optics then landed on Az, watching for any pain or discomfort. She stared back at him before giving him a small nod. The signal to keep going.

As rough as he wanted to be, he felt the need to protect that egg inside his pet, afraid to break it as if it were a real one. He needed to be gentle for once. So, with this in mind, his thrusts were quick and gentle, with each one pushing against the egg inside. It enticed soft moans from both of them.

Az had never felt this full before. Primus, did it feel so fucking good though. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the feeling. Bliss. Cloud nine, even. Her hands held onto his frame lightly for stability in the process. Neither of them said a word for a while, just listening to each other’s pants and whimpers alike.

Prowl eventually stopped after releasing a more-than-necessary moan, letting out more grunts as he finally overloaded, pumping all the transfluid he could into her. He leaned forward a bit, capturing Az off guard with a quick kiss and groaning into her mouth. They both could feel all the transfluid flowing out of her and onto the dirt and grass beneath them.

“That’s it. Good boy~” she whispered. “Such a good boy, breeding me like that…~”

“Thank…you…” he panted, and quickly pulled out of her, letting even more transfluid escape. Along with the egg, not surprisingly. “Good girl~”

“...We absolutely have to do this again.” She murmured after catching her breath. 

Prowl smirks as his servos cool down.

“Only if you’re up for it."

[somerandomcryptid]

ok so I just need to ramble about a Dreaming of death scene that I haven't written or drawn but I'm going insane about because I am unwell about these bitches.

Tis long so it's under the cut, also since I don't want to put this at the end, dreaming of death is my au of the fic Penpal by @calamari-minecraft-corner

Basically, sometime after Cryptid moves back into the artic they are absolutely completely missing Dream because they hate him but also, they love him and also, they have no fucking idea how to feel about him. So they generally project all their anger when anyone asks because that's what's expected, they're supposed to just be angry? They talked to Sam once about their lingering attachment to him and he looked so pitying, "he really broke you didn't he?" It was a rhetorical question that he said to himself

So they're broken for still caring about Dream right? That's what Sam said, well implied, no said. And broken things should be fixed or thrown away right? And they they don't want to be throw away, and they don't know how to fix themself, so they just have to.. not show it, so no one thinks they're broken in that way.

Anyway that's a completely different tangent but whatever. Point is Cryptid has been not showing their care for Dream. They bottle all the feelings but anger up to just... Deal with later. Cue several private mental breakdowns.

But this one night. They just can't. They really fucking miss him and so they go to cuddle. They haven't done this in months but the just want their brother god damnit.

Dream accepts them with open arms, of course. He's so confused. Don't they hate him? But he barely questions it. Even when they say almost nothing.

And of course, he misses them too. It ends up with both of them crying in each others arms.

Then in the morning they try to leave, he doesn't physically stop them, but he asks them to stay. They refuse. He lets them go, reluctantly.

They of course notice this, lingering at his door a second longer to see how he curls in on himself before leaving.

The next time they speak Cryptid sits closer to him, leaning on his shoulder. He says something they don't like at some point in that conversation. They pull away. And gives him that look he always would give them. He wilts.

Maybe they learned some things they shouldn't have from him.

[keepthetension]

still thinking about grief and recovery and support on this show because oh boy did the shows airing this weekend put me in my dead parent feelings i said before i was concerned about how porjai is dealing with her own grief, and this episode we saw her easily talking about rung, and even casually yelling to rung that she misses her! maybe this is me projecting, because i can't do that, but this seems like a pretty healthy place to be, especially contrasted with mhok's relative silence, and i'm glad!

and mhok's silence doesn't come from anger or resentment (which are valid ofc, but i did wonder if imprisonment gave him time to work through this to some degree) but out of protectiveness. i fucking loved this, because it felt so realistic and lived-in. i lost a parent to intimate partner violence, and i NEVER open up about it; people sure have Opinions, and it makes me insane

but day finding out about rung offscreen wasn't on my bingo card, tbh. because we've been with mhok through everything he's found out about day

it doesn't bother me, exactly, but it feels slightly unbalanced, and i suppose what i'm thinking is: knowing what happened to someone doesn't actually tell you how they feel about it, or how it affects them, or how you can support them

mhok found out from that lady sharing personal medical info she had no business sharing about day losing his eyesight in the accident, but he put in the work to understand what it actually meant for day. and in most cases, we've seen day telling mhok about what troubles him in his own words (his crush on auggy, why he was avoiding his friends, etc)

bereavement is probably statistically more common, so i suppose it may not need to be spelled out for an audience? but i am wary, because there have been so many shows where characters are visibly — to me! — struggling with grief and everything else matryoshka-ed in it, but audience reaction simply doesn't factor this in

i'm also thinking about how often mhok tells day a story about himself with the intent of making him smile ("i bought two bracelets just because i had money to spend" "i found this rooftop when i needed to sober up" "my sister called this false rice". i'm certain there are more!). because this is what a caretaker does, or because this is what mhok does, or both?

because this always made me wonder what it would take for mhok to talk about something that wouldn't make day smile, or because he wanted to share. in the former case, it'd have to be something pretty bad!

of course, talking isn't the only way to recovery or intimacy. and mhok going from "i'm breaking up with my devoted gf because i don't want to drag her down with me" to "i'm going to ask you to be my bf" is pretty significant!

but as they navigate the journey from being caretaker and client to being boyfies, the balance has to shift around a bit to them supporting each other, consciously choosing to be there for each other

in this episode what we got was: you only want money to buy that car. and i'm not even mad about this, because this kind of comment is very in line with day's character. but wow. day, i know you're feeling big feelings, but throwing one of the few things you know about mhok's life in his face is. not it!