#london beauty parlour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartthrobin · 11 months

Text

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

taglist:

@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

1K notes · View notes

fantasyescapes17 · 4 days

Text

Spinsters do not Need Chaperones (Part 1)

Chaperones are for beautiful young girls. A plain older woman like you, with neither fortune nor youth to recommend her, is hardly in danger of losing her virtue. You've long resigned yourself to always being the supporting role in someone else’s romance.

But could it be that love and marriage have not disappeared entirely beyond your reach? This spinster may capture the heart of an eligible bachelor yet, if only she makes the right choices…

Genre: Seventeen hiphop unit x female! reader (alternate plots and endings for each member) Regency!AU (Sort of Bridgerton-esque but we keep it PG).

Word Count: 6.3k+

Series Masterlist here

Part 2 coming soon!

The carriage rumbled down the cobblestone streets, past fancy tea parlours and luxurious shops that only the most elite of London society could afford to frequent. You barely had time to glance at the names of the shops before they whizzed past you. The carriage was going at break-neck speed.

You seized the armrest and looked over at your travel companion and aunt, Lady Beaumont.

“Perhaps, my dear aunt,” you said shakily as the carriage hit a particularly painful bump on the road, “we might ask the driver to slow down?”

Lady Beaumont turned to you sharply. Her crinkled eyes and face resembled that of a vulture’s- curved and without compassion. You almost flinched when she glowered at you.

“Don't be silly! We are already running very, very late!” Lady Beaumont scolded.

“Yes, but would it not increase our tardiness if we were to have an accident on the way?” you pointed out.

Your hand was squeezed tightly by the young woman seated beside you. Julia Beaumont was Lady Beaumont’s only daughter and an innocent and sweet young girl of nineteen. Her big eyes were wide and she looked worried. This was your cousin’s first time in London among elite society. Julia had been kept sheltered and protected by her mother all her life and, as a result, was both naive and full of wonder.

The carriage rolled up at the large Beaumont house in the middle of London. It had barely come to a full halt before Lady Beaumont leapt out at a speed surprising for her advanced age, and started barking orders at the servants.

“Come take the trunks inside-quickly now!” she yelled at the porter. “Send the dresses up to the bed chambers urgently, we have barely an hour to prepare ourselves for dinner with the Chois- did you not hear me? I said send the dresses up first!”

You left the poor servants to handle Lady Beaumont’s wrath. Instead, you pushed past and went up the front stairs, smiling brightly at the head housekeeper who was waiting in the foyer.

“Mrs. Milly!” you greeted the older woman happily. You had known the housekeeper for years, having lived in London and this very house during your formative years. She had always been kind to you.

Mrs. Milly smiled at you brightly. “It is wonderful to see you again, Miss Beaumont. Have you been well?”

You sighed and glanced back to make sure your aunt was out of earshot. “Suffice it to say that I am happy to be back in London. But I have no time to tell you everything- we are about to be quite late to dinner with the Choi family and I fear my aunt will explode in flames if she discovers us chatting. I promise to speak to you properly tomorrow, Mrs. Milly.”

Mrs. Milly nodded and handed an envelope to you. “Of course, Miss Beaumont. I only wanted to give you a letter that arrived for you this morning.”

You took the letter with surprise. “A letter? But I had not informed anyone I was coming to London, except for…”

“Miss Kim. She delivered it personally and insisted that I give it to you as soon as you arrive, without a moment's delay,” Mrs. Milly replied.

You grinned. “Of course, who else would write to me but my dear Miss Kim? I shall read it immediately.”

“Don't let Lady Beaumont see you.”

You hurried up the winding staircase towards your usual bedchambers. The large London Beaumont house had been your grandfather’s while he was alive, and had been passed down in your extended family for generations. You spent many of your innocent childhood years playing in these vast halls, ignorant of strange adult concepts like inheritance and the entailment of ancestral estates which meant that the Beaumont house would never be fully yours. You were, and would always be, merely a guest here.

But heavens, it felt like home.

You hurried to dress for dinner. Your aunt would come upstairs any moment and scream at you if you did not seem ready. But as the handmaids helped tie up the laces of your gown, you couldn't resist the urge to rip open the envelope from Miss Kim and scan its contents.

My dear Miss Beaumont,

I was so delighted to learn that you would be in London today, that I simply could not resist the urge to write to you with my most recent news- my dearest friend, I am engaged to be married!

Mr. Park has asked for my hand and I have accepted him. We are to be married by September, here in London. I know that Lady Beaumont is unlikely to remain here beyond August, but I must beg you not to return to the countryside with her and instead stay with me in London to help me prepare for my wedding. I insist upon it most fervently- I shall not be married unless my dearest friend is in attendance!

I know you must be confused. You would have expected my engagement to be with a certain Mr. J. In that regard I can only say that I have put Mr. J behind me and I will tell you the details of what has occured when we meet in person.

Come to mine for breakfast tomorrow. Mingyu and Mama are eager to see you as well.

Yours,

Miss Kim.

You stared at the letter in shock. Miss Kim, despite being two years younger than you, was your closest friend in the world. You had both attended the same private seminary for girls in London during your teenage years and bonded strongly through a shared hatred for etiquette lessons and delight in tormenting your governesses. There was really nobody alive that you trusted and adored more than Miss Kim.

You had never doubted that she would marry, and marry well. Miss Kim was blessed with the excellent genes that ran in the Kim family. She also had a charming personality and a bountiful dowry of thirty thousand pounds. She would have almost any man she set her heart upon.

It had been your understanding that she had set her heart upon Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. Miss Kim had been waxing eloquent about her admiration for the handsome and mysterious gentleman that she was courting over the summer, so her sudden engagement to someone else- a Mr. Park whom you had never even heard of before- was very surprising to you and you couldn't understand it.

You had to respond to her letter immediately. You had just turned over the paper and were searching for some ink when the door to your bedchambers opened and Lady Beaumont entered.

“Are you ready for dinner yet?” your aunt demanded. You quickly stashed your friend’s letter between the folds of your dress and nodded.

“Yes, of course, Aunt.”

“Come outside. I wish to speak to you alone.”

Lady Beaumont disappeared down the corridor and you sighed, forced to follow her downstairs where the carriage was waiting to take your family to dinner at the Choi manor. Your aunt turned to you suddenly with an anxious expression.

“I expect you to be very thoughtful about your behaviour tonight,” Lady Beaumont said in a low voice.

You blinked at her.

“I’m afraid I don't understand,” you replied. Your aunt held no particular fondness for you, you knew that. She had been forced into the role of your guardian by the unexpected death of your parents. But you had still been brought up in a noble family, attended one of the most prestigious girls’ seminaries in London and been out in polite society for many years. Surely there was no reason to suspect you could not behave yourself at a dinner?

Your aunt sighed. “Don't be intentionally obtuse. You are old enough to understand- you are practically a spinster now. You know perfectly well why it is so important that our dinner with the Choi family be a successful one.”

You did know, but you couldn't pass up the opportunity to force your Aunt to explain herself to you. Perhaps in saying it aloud she would recognise how manipulative she sounded.

“Remind me, dear Aunt,” you said lightly.

“The moment your uncle, Lord Beaumont- passes away, the Beaumont estate will be lost to us. It is entailed, you know, and there are no near male relations to inherit it according to the terms of the entailment. Oh! How unfair that the home which you and Julia have grown up in must be taken away from you due to some ancient rules about inheritance by male primogeniture!”

You simply blinked. You had heard your Aunt complain about this before. Hearing about the terms of the estate's entailment did not bring you any joy, but it was hardly news. The latest generation of the Beaumont family consisted only of daughters- you and your cousin Julia. Neither your late father nor your uncle had borne sons.

“Yes, I know,” you replied.

“Once your uncle passes, the estate shall be inherited by his distant relations- the Chois, and in particular their eldest son Mr. Choi Seungcheol. You, I and poor Julia shall be put out on the streets quite immediately! You understand that the only way to protect ourselves from the terrible consequences of this entail is for Mr. Choi to marry our dear Julia. At least then, the Beaumont estate will remain in our family.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead. You had known what she planned even before Lady Beaumont explained it to you. It was her grand scheme for Julia to marry Mr. Choi Seungcheol so that the Beaumont estate was not lost to some distant relations. You could sympathise. It was not easy to accept that the estate your family had possessed for generations would so easily be handed to a complete stranger.

“I am conscious of your intentions, dear aunt,” you told her patiently. “I cannot think what my behaviour has to do with it.”

“Julia is young and beautiful and has many charms to recommend her to Mr. Choi, but we must do our best to encourage the match. I shall contrive ways for them to spend more time together, but they must be chaperoned. I shall expect your support in this regard.”

You blinked at her. “You want me to chaperone Julia? I thought your presence would be sufficient, aunt, why does Julia require another chaperone?”

Lady Beaumont frowned. “I may be old but I am not ignorant to the ways of youth. Mr. Choi will hardly be able to court Julia properly if her mother is always hanging about. The presence of parents puts a damper on romance. No, it must be you who chaperones them and you must encourage him to pay attention to her. Julia is too young and foolish to handle Mr. Choi with delicacy- and there is simply too much at stake.”

You raised an eyebrow. You didn’t look forward to chaperoning your young cousin about her courtships, but it was a small sacrifice to make. At least Lady Beaumont was conscious that her own presence would not be conducive to the proposed romance. You had to give your aunt some credit for her self-awareness.

“Yes, aunt, if that is what you wish. I will be happy to chaperone Julia and encourage Mr. Choi to court her in whatever way I can,” you replied.

“Yes. We can only hope that in contrast to you, Julia will look young and pretty and lively and manage to capture Mr. Choi’s attention,” your Aunt added bluntly.

The underlying insult did not go unheard. You were clearly too old and dull and plain to pose a threat to Julia. You tried not to be offended. Being in your late twenties and possessing only a paltry dowry meant that spinsterhood was bearing heavily upon you. You would not be attractive to rich, well-bred bachelors like Mr. Choi. Lady Beaumont was correct to think that Julia was the better bet.

“I shall try my best to bring Julia’s charms into contrast,” you replied tiredly.

“I also hear Mr. Choi has a younger brother named Vernon. He is not due to inherit anything at all, so we must ensure he does not set his sights upon Julia. That would be quite disastrous. You must keep him safely at a distance,” your Aunt pressed.

You raised an eyebrow. “You have many expectations, dear aunt.”

Lady Beaumont bristled. “This is your obligation to our family. You failed to secure a rich husband while you were young and somewhat pretty, despite your uncle spending so much money to have you educated at a private seminary in London. Now you must at least do your best for your cousin.”

“I will always have Julia’s best interests at heart,” you promised.

“Good. Let us hurry- Julia! Julia, are you ready to leave? The carriage is waiting for us outside, we haven't a moment to delay!”

—--------------------------------------------------

The letter from your friend Miss Kim was still tucked into the folds of your dress and you had a few moments of leisure to think about it as the Beaumont carriage rumbled down to the Choi manor.

What could have possessed Miss Kim to abandon her courtship with the mysterious Mr. Jeon and become engaged to somebody entirely new? You were flooded with a mixture of curiosity and concern over what had changed your friend’s heart in a matter of weeks. You were also worried about this new character Mr. Park and his intentions- although Miss Kim had a very protective older brother to guide her in such matters. Mingyu would never have permitted her engagement to someone who was unworthy of her. If this Mr. Park had managed to obtain Mingyu's approval, he must certainly be a good man.

“What do you think Mr. Choi is like?” Julia asked you anxiously, as the carriage approached the Choi residence.

You looked down at your younger cousin and thought for a moment about her question. “Oh- erm… I am afraid I haven't had the pleasure of his acquaintance, Julia. I am told the Chois do not spend much time in London since they are mainly in the shipping trade in Portsmouth. But I have heard Mr. Choi described as an intelligent and capable gentleman.”

“Do you think he will like me?”

You smiled at her reassuringly. “Of course, Julia; you are quite the pretty picture. Only be a little careful with your manners and I am sure Mr. Choi will be blinded by your charms.”

Julia blushed, pleased, and turned to look out of the window with a little smile on her face. Your cousin was the perfect picture of youth and innocence- just the sort of thing men liked. It was difficult to imagine that Mr. Choi Seungcheol (whatever his personality and preferences) could not be persuaded to fall in love with her.

The carriage rolled to a halt outside the Choi manor.

Your family was greeted at the entrance of a sizeable mansion by the elderly Mrs. Choi. She was, as per your information, the widowed mother of Mr. Choi Seungcheol and Mr. Choi Vernon. She was a tall, statutely lady with greying hair and a naturally graceful manner that you couldn't help but admire.

“Lady Beaumont, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last,” Mrs. Choi welcomed your aunt with great warmth. She then turned to smile at you and Julia. “And these must be your lovely daughters.”

“My daughter, Julia- and this is my niece,” your aunt replied quickly. “It is wonderful to meet you as well, Mrs. Choi. We were most gratified by your invitation to dinner.”

“My sons and I have been wanting to make your formal acquaintance for so long, but it was not possible since we are very rarely in London. My eldest son is quite busy in the shipping business in Portsmouth, as I have told you before. But now that we are here, I simply could not allow the opportunity to pass.”

Your aunt smiled brightly as your family was guided into the manor’s foyer. The Chois had a lovely manor, but it was not quite as splendid as the Beaumont house.

“It is a pity indeed that Mr. Choi Seungcheol cannot find time with his shipping business to attend the social season in London,” your aunt said, with a sly undertone, “for surely it cannot be easy to find a wife of good breeding in Portsmouth!”

You tried not to cringe. Did your aunt have to be quite so obvious about her intentions and talk of marriage even before sitting down? But Lady Beaumont would feel no shame, and surprisingly, Mrs. Choi took the comment in good humour.

“I agree- I have been encouraging Seungcheol to spend more time among the ton, and it is time he thought about marriage and settling down. But men will rarely allow themselves to be rushed into such things,” Mrs. Choi added as she led you all into the large dining parlour. Two gentlemen were seated at the table and they both rose quickly and quietly to greet your family.

“Lady Beaumont, please allow me to introduce my sons- the elder, Seungcheol and the younger, Vernon.”

You had to drop into a polite curtsy and keep your eyes low as Lady Beaumont introduced you to the Choi brothers. When they invited you all to sit at the table, you were able to get a good look at the two brothers who sat across from you at the dining table.

Mr. Choi Seungcheol was a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and was as classically handsome as one could possibly expect from a man in his thirties. Yet there was something mysterious about him. He had a strong aura- one that radiated a sense of charismatic authority.

“Do you spend much time in London, Miss Julia?” Seungcheol asked conversationally once the initial introductions were completed, and everyone had taken their seats at the table.

You glanced at Julia. Your cousin was staring at Seungcheol like a deer caught in the headlights and her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. You quickly picked up on her distress and jumped in to save the conversation.

“My cousin Julia has not yet had the advantage of a full social season in London- she has only just made her debut,” you replied quickly.

Seungcheol’s dark eyes turned to you.

“I see. And yourself, Miss Beaumont?”

You blinked- Mr. Choi certainly had excellent manners to enquire after you and not focus on his potential bride. “I have spent plenty of time in London, Mr. Choi. I was educated at a private seminary here, and have attended many social seasons.”

Mr. Choi nodded. “And do you like London very much?”

“London has many things to recommend it, and I have been fortunate to make some good friends here. Is my understanding correct, Mr. Choi, have you not had the liberty to spend much time here?” you enquired politely.

“I am afraid business keeps me mostly in Portsmouth during the social season,” Seungcheol replied simply. “My brother Vernon is in London often for his studies- although I doubt you would have found him at social events organised by the ton.”

You finally had an opportunity to turn and look at the younger Choi brother. Vernon was seated to your left, and although there was a slight resemblance, he looked quite different from Seungcheol. Vernon’s hair was a lighter brown and his eyes were much softer and kinder. He didn't have the same force of personality as his brother- indeed, you had almost forgotten that he was there. Vernon radiated a sense of calm and quiet self-assuredness that you found quite pleasing.

“May I ask what you are studying, Mr. Vernon?” you enquired politely.

Vernon nodded, his brown eyes meeting your gaze easily. “Of course, Miss Beaumont. I am currently pursuing the study of law at Oxford.”

“Oh! It must be very difficult,” you commented. “I imagine the study of a serious profession like that requires much hard work and intelligence.”

Vernon only gave you a humble smile in return.

“Oh-yes, Vernon is very intelligent,” his mother chimed in. Mrs. Choi seemed to enjoy talking about her sons. “We are indeed very proud of Vernon and hope that he will become a very successful barrister- but he has many years of study left for that.”

You nodded. “I wish you the very best for your studies, Mr. Choi.”

“Thank you,” he replied pleasantly.

Lady Beaumont spoke up- she had enough of you dominating the conversation and was now determined to turn it towards her daughter Julia- poor Julia, who still looked terrified and had barely touched her dinner.

“Julia has been studying music lately,” Lady Beaumont interrupted in a rather obvious attempt at a segue. “She has become quite the accomplished pianist for her age.”

Mrs. Choi smiled. “Is that so? We have a small pianoforte in the drawing room. You must play a little for us after dinner, Miss Julia. My sons and I are all quite fond of some good music.”

Julia swallowed.

“Say yes,” you mumbled to your cousin, reaching under the table to squeeze her hand.

“Y-yes,” Julia squeaked out. “I-I shall be delighted to…”

The dinner went on pleasantly enough. Other than a few pointed remarks from your aunt about how Mr. Choi would surely not find a bride in Portsmouth (which, to Seungcheol’s credit, he handled quite graciously) and another incident in which Julia dropped her glass from nerves (Vernon was kind enough to immediately pick it up for her and gesture for a servant to tidy up the mess) the dinner passed among pleasant small talk about London, the shipping business in Portsmouth, and a little light gossip about the ton.

The group retired to the drawing room after dinner and Julia was persuaded to sit down at the pianoforte to play some music for the Chois. You volunteered to stand next to your cousin on the pretext of turning the pages of her music, and leaned down to whisper to her.

“Are you all right?” you whispered to Julia as she played. “You have been very quiet and anxious.”

Julia blinked up at you. Her fingers tripped momentarily and she hit the wrong key but she recovered quickly. “Oh cousin, isn't he quite scary? I find him rather intimidating!”

You blinked down at her. “Mr. Choi Seungcheol? He seems very well-spoken. I found him quite mature and reasonable.”

“But the way he glares…”

“He has a somewhat serious appearance,” you admitted. “But he is the head of his family and from what I have heard, has expanded his shipping business quite single-handedly. Men who carry a lot of responsibility are sometimes a little solemn in their manners, you know, but it is not so bad.”

“I hope you are right,” Julia muttered. “But I am quite scared to talk to him. You must not ever let me be alone with him.”

“You will always be chaperoned,” you promised her.

“His brother Mr. Vernon seems very nice. He was kind enough to help me when I dropped the glass. Alas, he is a law student and I am sure mother would never approve.”

“She certainly wouldn't,” you muttered. “Mr. Choi Vernon is a second son and he will have to marry a woman that comes with either a handsome dowry or an inheritance- so I would not put any hopes there, dear Julia.”

Julia sighed. “Yes, all right. I did not find him particularly charming either, only that he seemed less scary than his brother.”

“You will be fine,” you promised her. “Only try not to worry and be true to yourself. Do you need me to continue turning pages?”

“No, you may sit down.”

You left your cousin to handle the piano and joined your aunt and Mrs. Choi in their conversation. Lady Beaumont looked quite elated, and you were almost afraid to take your seat and find out had excited your aunt quite so much.

“Oh my dear niece; but, you must hear this! Mrs. Choi has been very gracious to invite you, me and Julia to spend the autumn at their estate in Portsmouth!” Lady Beaumont cried. Her eyes were bright with delight. “Is that not incredibly generous of her?”

Your stomach clenched. “Oh- yes, Mrs. Choi, that is very generous and kind.”

Mrs. Choi smiled. “Not at all! I shall be very glad of the company. Portsmouth is certainly nothing compared to London, but it is a lively enough place to spend the off-season,” Mrs. Choi replied graciously.

Lady Beaumont beamed. “Indeed, and we shall be very happy to accept-”

“Aunt,” you interrupted her quickly. The letter from your close friend Miss Kim was still tucked inside the folds of your dress. “I am sure it will be a wonderful visit for you and Julia, but you may have to excuse me for I have other engagements in London.”

Your aunt turned to you sharply. “What nonsense! What engagements can you possibly have?”

“My dear friend Miss Kim is to be married-”

“And? What do you have to do with her marriage?” your Aunt demanded.

“She is my dearest friend-”

Mrs. Choi interrupted the scolding that you were about to receive from Lady Beaumont with a kind and patient smile. “Forgive me, Miss Beaumont, I was not aware that you were closely acquainted with the Kim family.”

“Miss Kim and I attended school together,” you replied with a grateful smile to the older woman. “Her family was kind enough to host me at their London home during the social seasons and to sponsor my debut among the ton after my parents passed. I have attended the last few social seasons as Miss Kim’s companion and I am greatly indebted to her family for their kindness to me.”

There was a hint of sympathy in the look Mrs. Choi gave you. Perhaps she had just been reminded of the fact that you were an orphan. She also gave a surprised look to Lady Beaumont.

“Indeed! I was not aware that Miss Beaumont had to rely on the Kims to debut in society and attend the social season in London,” Mrs. Choi replied.

Lady Beaumont looked flustered at the implication that she had not done enough for you as a guardian. “Well yes, naturally- Julia was still a young child and I could not leave her behind to chaperone my niece, so we permitted her to debut while under the temporary guardianship of the Kims. Not that it helped her any, she still never managed to secure a husband.”

Mrs. Choi’s eyes widened. “Surely Miss Beaumont can still-”

“Nonsense, she is quite the spinster now and I see no further use in her staying in London,” Lady Beaumont replied while glaring at you. “London is hardly going to produce any new husbands for you at this point. You had better come with us to Portsmouth.”

You clenched your fists. “Aunt-”

Mrs. Choi interrupted softly. “I would not wish for you to break any engagements you may have with the Kims, Miss Beaumont. But if you are able to join us, you will be most warmly welcomed in Portsmouth.”

You felt a sudden wave of gratitude and respect for Mrs. Choi, and you nodded at her. “Thank you very much, madam.”

“The song Julia is playing is most delightful. Your daughter is a very accomplished pianist, Lady Beaumont!” Mrs. Choi said.

Your aunt smiled, a little placated. “Yes…”

—-----------------------------------------------------

You awoke early- earlier than your aunt or Julia- and dressed quickly for breakfast with Miss Kim to demand answers about your dear friend's sudden engagement. It would have alerted Lady Beaumont if you had called for the carriage, so you decided to walk instead. The weather was pleasant enough, and the Kims’ home was not too far away.

You were just strolling past a shop window and admiring a pretty pair of shoes (that you certainly couldn't afford yourself, but perhaps you could persuade your Aunt that they would look nice on Julia), when you found yourself face-to-face with a tall gentleman.

“Oh!” you cried, quickly taking a few steps back to avoid bumping into the man.

“My apologies,” he said, looking down at you. The voice was familiar, as was the face that looked up at you. “Are you all-”

“Mr. Jeon!” you recognised him.

He paused and his dark eyes scanned your face quickly. Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was quite unmistakable, even from a distance. He had piercing dark eyes and was always impeccably dressed in dark coats that hinted at the musculature underneath. It was difficult to decide whether Mr. Jeon was handsome or terrifying- perhaps it was a mixture of both, really.

“Miss Beaumont,” Mr. Jeon greeted you in his usual slow, deep voice. There was no smile on his face. “I am surprised to see you here. I was not aware that you were in London.”

You cleared your throat and nodded politely. “Ah- yes, I arrived only yesterday evening.”

“Are you staying with the Kims’, as always?”

You were surprised that he could mention the Kims so casually after what you had learned about Miss Kim’s engagement. You tried to gauge his expression- but Mr. Jeon Wonwoo’s expression was akin to a brick wall.

“No, I am staying at the Beaumont manor, as I have come with my aunt and cousin,” you replied patiently. Could it be possible that Mr. Jeon had not even heard the news of the engagement himself? You decided to test the waters. “But I am on my way to the Kims’ for breakfast now. Perhaps you would care to join me?”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lip twitched- ah. He did know of the engagement, he was only putting on a careless front. You felt almost triumphant in managing to extract some emotion from this famously mysterious man.

“I am afraid I am otherwise engaged this morning,” Mr. Jeon replied stiffly, “but thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course.”

“Good day, Miss Beaumont.”

“Good day, Mr. Jeon.”

He walked away and you paused in the street for a moment to glance after his disappearing figure. You did not know Mr. Jeon very well- naturally, your acquaintance with him was only as the gentleman that was courting your friend. Yet you couldn't help but find Mr. Jeon almost amusing. The man regularly went to a great amount of care and effort to hide his emotions, and it seemed almost a shame.

You continued on to the Kims’ manor. The butler greeted you at the entrance, clearly expecting your arrival. You were guided into the breakfast parlour, where you were promptly attacked by Miss Kim.

“My friend!”

Miss Kim had engulfed you in a warm hug before you even had an opportunity to look around the room. You stumbled backwards and laughed, delighted to see her after many weeks apart.

“Miss Kim,” you replied, returning her friendly embrace. “I am very delighted to see you but indeed, you must allow me to breathe.”

She released you and beamed. “I am so happy to see you! Did you get my letter?”

“I did indeed, I was quite shocked to hear-”

You were interrupted by the voice of Mr. Kim Mingyu, who was seated at the dining table a short distance away and flipping through the morning paper. He was dressed in a very fashionable blue coat and looked up at you with twinkling eyes and his usual boyish, charming smile.

“Sister, surely you can allow Miss Beaumont to sit down and have a bit of breakfast before you begin haranguing her. Good morning, Miss Beaumont,” he added with a smile in your direction.

You smiled back at him, as Miss Kim took your arm and led you to the breakfast table.

“Good morning, Mingyu. I hope you are doing well?” you asked.

“I expect I will be a great deal better now that you are here. My sister has been driving us all quite mad since some time now, and we shall be more than happy to hand her over to your generous care,” he replied cheekily.

You laughed. “I shall be glad to take her from you, Mingyu.”

“And I insist that you do not leave again for such a long period, for she has become quite unbearable in your absence. My mother and I insist you share responsibility for the monster you have helped create.”

You laughed. You knew Mr. Kim Mingyu all too well- from his rather awkward and gangly teenage years until he became the present handsome and charming bachelor. You would not pretend that you had not had your fair share of attraction towards Mingyu in the past- but you had long matured out of those childish attractions and had instead come to respect his good character and regard him as a valuable friend.

“I am here now, Mr. Kim, so you may return to your paper,” you told him with a smile.

Mr. Kim nodded. “Much obliged.”

Miss Kim ushered you to sit down and generously piled your plate full of food from the breakfast table as she spoke in a rapid, eager tone.

“You must meet Mr. Park at once, you will adore him. He is such a wonderful and handsome gentleman and he is so charming, he says the loveliest things and I am quite smitten with him. I know you do not believe in silly things such as love at first sight and perhaps it was not quite that, but I must tell you that I was very sure soon after meeting him that this was the man for me.”

“Slow down,” you told her with a laugh. “Who is this Mr. Park? What do we know of him?”

“He has a large estate in Derbyshire that he has only just inherited from his late uncle. He enjoys horse riding, and hunting, and is excellent at cards-” Miss Kim went on eagerly.

You nodded. “Yes, but what do we-”

“Let me pour you some tea- oh no, the pot is empty. Marie! Marie! Can you bring us some more tea, please- oh, where has this maid got to…”

You watched in surprise as your overly excited friend rushed out of the room to procure more tea. She was certainly very enthusiastic- far more enthusiastic than she had ever been when she was courting Mr. Jeon. You turned to Mingyu and gave him a meaningful look.

“Mingyu…”

He looked up from his paper. “Yes?”

“What do we really know of this man?” you asked pointedly.

Mingyu smiled softly and folded the newspaper closed. “You are thoughtful to be concerned, Miss Beaumont, but there is no need. I have had Mr. Park thoroughly investigated. He is who he claims to be. I have watched them and as strange as it is, he really does seem to be quite the perfect match for my sister. He is able to match her high energy and passionate feelings in a way I have not seen any other gentleman achieve.”

You winced. “I suppose you mean Mr. Jeon.”

Mingyu sighed. “Yes, that courtship is quite at its natural end. Thank goodness they never got quite so far as for him to propose.”

“Is Mr. Jeon all right?”

“He certainly wouldn't tell me if he wasn't,” Mingyu replied with a sigh. “I cannot pretend to know whether or not the man is heartbroken, but I do believe that it was for the best. I am afraid Wonwoo was not a very good fit for my sister. Time will heal his wounds eventually.”

You nodded. There was some wisdom in Mingyu’s words. “Yes- and if you say Mr. Park really is such a perfect fit for Miss Kim-”

“He is.”

Miss Kim returned along with a maid carrying a pot of tea and sat down beside you with a huge smile. “Shall I invite Mr. Park for tea tomorrow? Will you meet him then?” she asked eagerly.

You bit your lip. “I would love to, but… I am afraid my aunt wants me to go to Portsmouth for the autumn with her and Julia.”

Miss Kim’s face fell. “No! Surely you cannot, you must stay in London!”

“I am afraid Julia needs me, my aunt is trying to encourage a match between her and Mr. Choi Seungcheol. Julia will be in need of a chaperone-”

Your friend scoffed. “A chaperone? It is quite outrageous for Lady Beaumont to demand your time and attention now, when she never even bothered to come to London for you when you were in need of a chaperone. Miss Beaumont! You cannot mean to tell me that you will miss my engagement ball and wedding to go to Portsmouth of all places?”

You sighed and sipped your tea. “Believe me, friend, I have no great interest in going to Portsmouth. But there is an obligation to my family… I will try to persuade my aunt to let me stay in London for a while longer.”

Miss Kim pressed your hand desperately. “You must. And if you are in Portsmouth at the time of my wedding then I shall hire someone to kidnap you and bring you to London.”

You laughed. “I shall come quite willingly.”

You leaned back in your seat and listened patiently to Miss Kim gush about her first meeting with Mr. Park- how she had met him at the Michaels’ grand ball at the start of season and he had captivated her attention from their first dance.

It appeared that you had a very difficult decision ahead of you. Should you follow your family to Portsmouth or stay in London? Either way, you would surely have a very interesting few months ahead of you.

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

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seungcheol x reader #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #vernon x reader #seventeen angst #regency!au

271 notes · View notes

freeuselandonorris · 4 months

Text

10 photos of the year!

rules: pick ten pictures from your year that you absolutely love and tag ten people to do the same :)

tagged by @eyes-likepilotlights thank you!! 🫰

1. statue from the walker art gallery, liverpool from my birthday! i go to liverpool on/around my birthday with my mum every year

2. one of my few high femme looks this year! wearing my borderline-obscene four chambers orgy skirt and crop top set to the poledance/cabaret showcase pussy parlour

3. view from the top of stoodley pike in the pennines, having just hiked to the top of it with my friends r and c in a hideous rainstorm

4. berlin tempelhof for the formula e with @lost-decade and @zeraparker !! always have the best time in berlin and this year was no different (despite the miserable weather on the sunday and the 12-hour journey from hell home where i had to go via fucking copenhagen)

5. pole pic!! this was my third year of doing pole and the year i started learning really cool trick combos

6. the london vagabond zine launch at village books. one of the few photos from that night that might not get instantly deleted. met miss gold of TLV fame and vex ashley (founder of four chambers, most beautiful woman in the world) smiled at me and m had to bodily drag me out of the room (which turned out to be a mistake because if we’d have stayed half an hour longer we’d have seen the live piss show 😪)

7. view from the northern quarter in manchester after my friend j’s book launch — not an especially exciting photo (although the sunset is pretty) but it reminds me of a night where i felt very full of love for my friends and queer community, and this photo reminds me of how happy i was

8. the jaguar garage passes we gained through accidental deception at london formula e, one of the funniest and most surreal moments of my motorsports life. trying to look james barclay in the eye while he chatted to us about jaguar’s chances that weekend while i tried not to think about that time i wrote fisting porn about him was an experience 🫠

9. peaches at homobloc!!! i was rolling and this was just such an incredible moment of collective queer joy and resistance. there’s a photo of me and m with insane moon eyes that i would have posted here but idk if he’ll want me to out him on fandom tumblr so have this one instead 🥲

10. yes i’ve included two selfies, come at me. embraced my inner leather daddy a lot more this year and i love it

tagging @lost-decade and @zeraparker if you haven’t already done it 💕

24 notes · View notes

lascitasdelashoras · 3 months

Text

The Prince of Wales Theatre, Leicester Square, London, with the Moorvale Canine Beauty Parlour to its left. (Photo by General Photographic AgencyGetty Images)

#londres

9 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

A Demon's Work is Never Done

Lady Johanna Constantine x f!demon!reader

Summary: In the Year of Our Lord 1787 you wander the world in search of something new, something undiscovered. You find more than you bargained for when you meet the lovely Johanna Constantine. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, bisexual reader, toxic relationship, sexual themes WC: 4.1k

This is the third instalment of works in The Anthology of Asmodeus’ Heir. Part One: The Devil is in the Details Part Two: Lightbringer’s Champion Part Three: A Demon's Work is Never Done Part Four: Rise of the Fallen Part Five: Queen of the Damned

A/N: Reblogs are super appreciated 💜

The Year of Our Lord 1785 - London, England Another half decent poet had died, William Whitehead, one of the few that you could listen to without wanting to throw yourself into Lucifer’s central hearth. 70 years of life seemed like such a waste, you couldn’t understand why mortals weren’t jumping at the chance for getting an extra 10 years. They didn’t need their souls anyway, not the way they fucked and fought their way across the continent. There was no heaven for them.

“Ay! Hot as hell innit,” a tramp that was well past her used by date called out. “Mind you, just another day to the demon-folk.”

“Mad old bat,” you hissed, blowing a theatrical tendril of smoke from your mouth. “Be gone with you, Hettie.”

She cackled loudly, swaying her filthy, heavy skirts as she danced out of the dank alley and off towards the pub. Poor man that gave her coin for a shag, he might well sell his soul when he catches syphilis from her.

Chuckling to yourself, you continued on your way along the river as a gorgeous ship docked. It was only by fate's ministrations that the Dockmaster stepped out of his office and called for the captain. A rare name you had heard a handful of times over the centuries. Hob Gadling.

You followed the Dockmaster’s attention and found an impeccably dressed male standing proud as the ramp waited to be connected. The dock smelled terrible with the livestock waiting to be boarded to other ships and the fish from the smaller boats along the Thames but you could still mark his scent. Human but not mortal.

Curious.

You didn’t see the point in lingering around the area any longer, since an immortal would have no reason to sell their soul, so you followed your nose to the nicer side of the city and into Buckingham House.

“Is Charlie in residence?” you asked a startled footman, his eyes darting to the gates still sealed shut behind you.

“Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte,” he corrected as he reached for the sword on his hip, “is not taking callings this evening.”

“Perfect.” You smiled and brushed past, dodging the swipe of his sword before it could bury in your belly. You were up the steps and crossing the threshold before he could shout his alarm, a laugh taunting him in your wake. “Honey, I’m home.”

The faces in the parlour all turned to you and while most shied away from your intense stare the Queen and one other did not. No one had the gall to reproach you for your unusual dress, forgoing the heavy layers of skirting over a hoop and a restricting corset for the comfort of a free flowing peplos. It had been a favourite of your fashion for aeons and if any of the riff-raff thought the lack of modesty was an invitation for their touch then they would lose their hand at the very least.

“What do we have here?” you asked as you glided across the ornate flooring and met the young woman’s gaze as she remained seated, not an ounce of fear in those sapphire eyes. “You do so gather the most beautiful of things, Charlie.”

“Indeed,” the Queen smirked over her tea cup. “The lovely Johanna Constantine. My dear husband has commissioned her assistance in retrieving a lost item, Pandora’s Box.”

“Is that so?” You dropped into an overstuffed chair and crossed your legs, earning a grumble of complaints from the Ladies-In-Waiting. “Echidna won’t be happy, which means I am yours to assist on this adventure. I love Norway at this time of year.”

Johanna remained passive, if not mildly bored, as she sipped her tea and tried to glean any information she could from you with those intelligent eyes. She was a hawk, noticing each small movement, your body language, what weapons were hidden on your body and where. “This property is warded.”

You bit your lip and took delight as her pupils dilated at the sight, a hint of jasmine emanating from her. The rest of the party were delightfully unaware of what Johanna had discovered. “It is, though now that I recall it, they felt different. That wouldn’t be your doing would it, love?”

“Johanna has proven herself a worthy occultist,” Charlotte said smugly. “If the laws were different I would have her ordained high priestess.”

“That would be a tragedy. Drab cloth, abstinence.” You shivered dramatically at the thought and a small smile teased her pressed lips. “You deserve blissful orgasms, mistress.”

“That is quite enough.” The Queen whispered, her eyes flickering to the doors opening to reveal her husband, King George the Third. “Look who has returned to London.”

The King took one look at you and left the room again. “Is he still upset he lost the game?”

She gave a discrete shrug and reached for a scone. “Those were his favourite horses, and it cost a fortune to breed them right.”

“Thou shalt not play dice with a demon.”

Charlotte grinned and tapped her nose.

Johanna choked on a laugh, her cheeks turning pink as she hid her face behind an embroidered fan. “You knowingly let a demon into your home?”

“Och, such a crude word, demon,” you huffed, swiping a pastry from the silver tray. “We aren’t all the same, you know. I could teach you a great deal about them. I suppose we will have plenty of time for that on our journey north.”

Her teeth flashed as she darted closer and stole half of your pastry with a wicked smile. “I look forward to it.”

Of course in those pleasure filled nights spent on the ship, you had given her too much information about demons. She was sharp witted and skilled with wards before, now she could exorcise lesser demons who stole bodies to roam earth and also summon them. You swore you would stop but she was an opportunist through and through, knowing how to detach your mind with a few flicks of that wicked tongue.

“Can you make me immortal?” she asked as she lay in your arms, the ocean lapping at your ship.

“That’s not within my power,” you admitted quietly, your fingers mapping the constellation of light freckles across her back. “But the few times I have witnessed humans receive the gift of immortality it has only ended in tragedy. The three-faced goddess does not take lightly someone circumventing their fate. There would also be the matter of your daughter, it would be more than a mother could take to watch their child grow old and die.”

Her eyes blazed in defiance as she did not get the answer she was hoping for and pulled away. “You do not want to spend eternity with me.”

“That is not-”

“When I return to the King with Pandora’s Box he will return what is rightfully mine, the land and manor my parents owned. A future.” She drew the sheet around her as she rose from the bed. “For us.”

You sighed as the cool air kissed your skin, the warmth stolen with the linen Johanna was wrapped in. “Pandora’s box may give you the answers you seek, but I implore you to reconsider before you open it. The risk is always greater than the reward.”

“Thank you,” she squealed as she dove back onto the bed and into your arms.

The sea began to churn as a sudden storm blew in and eclipsed the sun, and you whispered the truth under your breath, “I’m going to regret this.”

“You pussy-drunk demon,” you hissed to yourself. “Should have kept your damn mouth shut.”

Your fists banged against the church doors but it was consecrated ground that had been strongly warded and Johanna had stolen your dagger. The unholy relic was currently stabbed through the lock so even you couldn’t break it.

You felt the heatwave erupt as the box was open and knew it had undoubtedly woken up beings that were better off asleep.

“Johanna, open this door now!” Your order went unanswered but the scream of her daughter echoed through the church, Mouse was screaming for help. “Open the fucking door!”

The stained glass windows exploded and shards sliced at your skin. The pain was second to the fear of what was happening inside. You could hear voices but they were speaking too quietly to hear or the shield around the church was strong enough to dampen your senses.

There was only one person who had the power to break through the holy shield and you really wished there was another option. But there wasn’t. So back home you went.

“Lucifer, Asmodeus’ heir wishes to speak with you. She says it’s urgent,” Mazikeen said, using your title to help increase your chances of being granted entry.

The iron door swung open and you crossed the stone floor quickly, not even taking the time to survey the room for threats lurking in the shadows.

“200 years since you last visited,” Lucifer murmured as she lazily traced the curves of the bones that made her throne, “and now you come to ask for my help.”

“200 years?” you asked, licking your lips as you skirted behind the throne and pricked your finger on the claw at the arch of her leathery wings. “You haven’t aged a bit.”

“Ugh, lust demons,” Mazikeen spat before turning her back to stare out over the city.

“Don’t act like you haven’t sought my bed, Maz.” You smirked before giving your attention back to Lucifer. “I wouldn’t be so foolish to ask for your help, your Majesty. I offer an exchange. You haven’t chosen your new Champion since Forrasis was killed.”

Her sharp nails tapped a beat on the skull beneath it. “Remind me again who killed him.”

“There is only one demon brave and sexy enough to have achieved such a feat - in a fair fight I might add.” You teased as you brushed her hand aside and took a seat on the arm of the throne. “He was hardly a Champion worthy of the name if I could kill him with one strike. I can be your Champion.”

“You are right, he wasn’t worthy. But that does not mean that you are.” Lucifer said as she slapped you off her chair with a bat of her wings and you laughed as you slid across the floor. You laugh even as your bones feel close to breaking, because she doesn’t tolerate weakness, cowering or fear. “You shall have the power you need and in return you will vie against ten demons of my choosing to be named my Champion. But, if you lose then I will take every last drop of your power.”

You bowed your head so she didn’t see you swallow the lump in your throat. When you looked up again she was no longer seated in her throne but in front of you, her hand wrapped around your throat as she lifted your feet off the ground. There was no passion to her kiss, her power so formidable that she was completely unaffected by yours, as she sealed her lips over yours and breathed a morsel of her power into you.

The rush was unlike anything you had or would ever feel again. A healthy dose of fear crept in as you realised just how powerful she was, no wonder she was so calm and collected - she was the apex predator with nothing to fear.

The ground surged up to meet you as she flung you away but where you should have crashed into stone you landed in soft grass outside the church. Mouse’s screams had gone silent, replaced by Johanna’s, so you gathered the power Lucifer had given you and threw it all at the church doors, splintering them wide open.

It only took a fraction of a second to understand what had happened as the box sealed shut and the power was once again contained. Johanna was screaming at the box, begging it to give her back. Mouse, she was nowhere to be seen.

“Johanna ,she’s gone,” you snapped as she wept over the box and ignored the shake you gave her. “We need to go before something worse comes to release Echidna.”

“She took her.” Johanna hissed before her fists curled and she lashed out at you. “This is your fault!”

You caught her fists but she struck you with her knee and you grunted as the air was knocked from you. “I warned you.”

“If you had made me immortal then this wouldn’t have happened.”

You snatched the box up with one hand and gripped her wrist with the other before using the last of Lucifer’s power to move through the shadows and arrive at Blackwood Manor, or as the newly titled Lady Johanna Constantine had already renamed Fawney Rig. She had been certain she would return with the box.

“We spent weeks on that horrid ship and you could have just done that!” Her irritated scream disrupted the birds in the trees and sent them flocking to another property.

“I made a deal with - you know what? I’m done telling you anything.”

“I got the answers I needed. I just need to find the Devil and the wandering Jew.”

You had seen that look of hunger on many mortal’s faces. The hunger for power and you realised with a bitter laugh that she cared for no one but herself.

“And what about your daughter?”

Johanna ripped the box from your hands and looked at you with empty eyes you had once thought were full of love. “At least I won't have to watch her grow old and die.”

You didn’t dare tell her that necromancy ran in her veins, a scent you had picked up on the moment you laid eyes on her. It was what made her occultism skills unparalleled by mortals. If she ever learnt of her power she could become the harbinger of death.

“I may be a demon, but you are the real monster.” You turned your back to leave but slammed into a shield, crude runes drawn into the gravel as she stood beside you. “I can’t believe I thought this was love.”

Her laugh had you placing bricks one by one around your heart, building a wall to protect it knowing that it was already too late. “You are a lust demon, you cannot feel love.”

You sent a blast of power at the shield but she had taken every piece of the information you had given her and created a custom made prison to contain you.

“You may still be of use to me so I won’t kill you just yet,” she said as she used your dagger to prick her finger and draw the marks to bind a contract to her skin. “That doesn’t mean I won’t take precautions. You will not harm me, or try to escape Fawney Rig.”

You had no room in the containment circle to avoid the point of the dagger as it slashed down your palm and your blood dripped onto hers. The contract burnt into your skin and Johanna swiped her slipper through the runes to release you from the tiny prison, only to give you a larger one.

“Welcome home.”

The Year of our Lord 1787

The ache in your belly never ended, the need never sated. Johanna, intelligent, heartless Johanna, kept you on the verge of starvation. Small intimacies to keep you from longing for Death but not enough to clear the haze that clouded your mind. Whenever she felt her own needs rising she would disappear from Fawney Rig and return with rosy cheeks and the scent of a man or another woman on her.

Everytime she returned you felt a shard of ice pierce your chest.

“Who are these men?”

You were pulled from your sluggish stupor as Johanna slapped a piece of paper on the table in front of you. You blinked thrice before you could focus clearly enough to see the page and frowned at the drawing.

“Not the foggiest.” You pushed the paper away from you. “Look at the date, whoever they are, they are long dead. Not a half decent caricature, if I do say so.”

The letters of the contract burned into your skin flared and Johanna darted back as she drew your blade. “You are forbidden to harm me or try to escape.”

“If you had shared my bed you would have seen that yours is not the only contract I currently hold.” You chuckled as a trickle of fear bled into her eyes and you rolled up your sleeves. “I am forbidden to escape but you never stipulated if I were summoned.”

“You demon-bitch.”

A bitter smile curled your lips as her venomous curse shattered what remained of your heart. “When you need me, know I'll come for you.”

“I never want to see you, speak to you or touch you so long as I live.”

There was no hint of the woman you had fallen in love with, nothing but icy promises on a forked tongue. Bowing your head as the warmth of Hell called to you, you granted her wish. “Then so it shall be, my Lady.”

The flames licked your feet and you were pulled into the smoke, crashing to your knees at Lucifer’s feet.

“Rise, the tournament is about to begin,” Lucifer stated over the thunderous screams of the crowd far below. “My new Champion awaits.”

“I have had a really hard couple of years, Lucy.” You tried to stand but your legs buckled. “Maybe the tournament can start tomorrow? Dinner and nap, sounds fair?”

“Fair is not a concept that exists in my realm, there are no breaks or holidays” Lucifer mentioned with a hint of amusement twitching her pursed lips. “A demon’s work is never done.”

Nails as sharp as claws broke your skin as Mazikeen grabbed your nape and pulled you to your feet, her breath hot in your ear. “Afraid you aren’t worthy of being Morningstar’s Champion?”

You bared your teeth as the fire in your belly raged. You were a fool for making this deal in an attempt to save Johanna. You were a fool to have loved a mortal. But you weren’t foolish enough to back out of the deal and you did not want to die. “Why would I want to be Morningstar’s Champion when I could be Lightbringer’s Champion?”

“Our Majesty is no longer the Lightbringer.” Blood ran in rivulets down your back as Mazikeen dug her nails in deeper.

You looked to Lucifer, tearing your own skin as you turned in Mazikeen’s grasp. Her hands were threatening to crush the skulls on her throne despite the calm facade on her bored face. You smiled, a dark, wicked smile that turned her knuckles white as bowed your head. “Indeed. Still, it would bring me endless entertainment to know those puritans in the Silver City would be shitting kittens when a demon is crowned Lightbringer’s Champion.”

Mazikeen chuckled as she released her talons but you remained standing, just. “That would certainly ruffle those feathers of theirs.”

A quiet, resigned sigh was hidden by the crinkle of Lucifer's vinyl dress as she rose from the throne. “No other demon would pride themselves on carrying a Lightbringer title.”

“I’m not just some other demon, sweet Lucifer.” You purred at her approach.

“I see that now.” Lucifer nodded before she narrowed her eyes on Mazikeen. “I also see that she is merely distracting us while she feeds.”

Your laugh echoed back up the cliff face that Lucifer threw you from. Mazikeen would certainly be pissed at you if you survived, not because you fed from her but because you did it in front of Lucifer. Ever the professional.

Those few minutes spent syphoning undoubtedly saved your life.

The Year of our Lord 1789 You had tried not to think of Johanna much over the last two years, opting instead to bury yourself in lovers and duel all those who thought to take your title as Lightbringer’s Champion. It had been fun. Messy and brutal, but fun.

It was only by happenstance that you left the warm bosom of Hell to wander your favourite city and saw the date on the front page of The London Gazette - 7th June 1789.

Cloaked and hidden in the shadows, you watched Johanna step inside the White Horse Tavern. Fawney Rig had been too heavily warded for you to enter but the public house had no such shields so you had followed her carriage to the East End.

“What are you doing here?” you asked yourself as she disappeared into the building.

The brick exterior was cool as you rested your head against it, waging an internal battle with the part of you that wanted to follow her and the other part that told you to stop being stupid, find a lover and chase her thoughts from your mind.

It was her whimpers that stopped the internal argument. The pitiful sounds were so unlike her to make that it pulled you back to reality and had you hurrying into the stuffy pub in search of her.

“No, no, not you,” she whispered.

Your eyes failed to find her as they darted around the room, lingering in the darker corners where bodies were tangled with the passing of coins. None of those women could come close to the beauty Johanna possessed so you moved deeper into the room and spied a door where her scent drifted from.

Another whimper, a quiet plea for mercy, slipped out from under the door that you approached - the sounds lost to the din of the revellers, but not to you. You grasped the door handle and melted the lock as you shoved the door open to find a private dining area.

The hair on your nape rose at the mix of scents filling the space. One was a scent you had encountered before briefly in passing. It was the captain at the docks, human but not, once mortal but no longer.

The other scent was old. That was the only way to describe it. It held the same undertones you had smelt once before when you discovered an ancient cave in the sacred glass sands, full of scrolls that had almost disintegrated with time. Whoever Johanna had encountered was powerful and old.

“What have you done?” you growled as you scooped Johanna from the floor, her heavy skirts tangling around her legs.

“No, not you��you’re gone,” she shuddered as she tried to pull away. “You’re not here, this isn’t real.”

You held tighter, easily stopping her feeble attempts to roll away. “Let me help you.”

“No!” She growled, her fear draining away as anger replaced it. The clarity in her eyes returned from whatever those men had done to her mind and she reached for the amulet that had been nestled between her breasts.

Power radiated from her touch and you stumbled into the wall, letting her fall as gently as possible as she sapped your strength.

“You’ve learnt a new trick,” you rasped as she began to recite a Latin scripture.

“A few really.” She smiled as she pulled a cross from the folds of her dress. “Now, fuck off back to Hell.”

Blood dripped from your nose as you fought against the pull of the hellhole she opened. Your ears were ringing and a pressure was building behind your eyes as if your brain would explode if you stayed any longer.

“I was only trying to help.”

“Demons don’t help,” she spat as she stepped forward with her cross held high, “and demons don’t love.”

“That is a lie you tell yourself so you don’t have to admit the truth.” You laughed bitterly as you surrendered yourself to the suction of the hellhole. “The truth is, a demon loves you and you love a demon and if you can love a monster like me then what does that make you?”

“I hate you, and all of your kind.” She picked up the dagger she stole from you, holding the blade as she raised it and threw it with deadly accuracy. She knew so much but still knew so very little as you caught the handle, the knife that had been forged with your own blood and power. The dagger could not kill you but the intent which she threw it with felt like it would.

Slicing your palm, you swore an oath even she would recognise as binding. “For as long as you live, you shall not see, hear or feel my presence. Farewell, my Lady.”

The candles flared, blinding her until she had to shield her eyes and you wondered if you would ever have the strength to return to earth. You wondered if you would ever be able to fix what she broke in you.

Click here to read the next instalment in The Anthology of Asmodeus' Heir: Rise of the Fallen

#johanna constantine x reader #johanna constantine #sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanfic #netflix the sandman #lady johanna constantine #featuring #hob gadling

147 notes · View notes

amainternational99 · 7 months

Text

Certificate Course in Airbrush Makeup

In the Airbrush Makeup Course students will learn the technique of mastering their airbrush makeup skills. This course will cover the fundamentals of airbrush makeup, types and benefits. Students will professionally understand the know-how of airbrush makeup and learn to create different looks such as airbrush bridal makeup.

#beauty academy in noida #beauty academy #academy beauty #beauty academy london #london beauty academy #beauty academy near me #academy makeup #london beauty parlour #international makeup artist course

0 notes

londonbeautyacademy99 · 6 months

Text

LONDON BEAUTY ACADEMY BY AMA CERTIFIED, APPROVED & ENDORSED BY QUALIFI & HABIA A LEADING INTERNATIONAL AWARDING & STANDARDS SETTING BODY OF UNITED KINGDOM ENGLAND & BEAUTY PROFESSIONALS ASSOCIATION (BPRO) FOR QUALITY INTERNATIONAL STANDARDS & EXCELLENCE IN BEAUTY INDUSTRY EDUCATION

International Diploma Program In Fashion And Creative Makeup

Pushing the artistic boundaries

Diploma Program In Fashion And Creative Makeup course is ideal for anyone who is considering working in more commercial sector of the fashion and film industry. The students will learn the basic fundamentals of makeup and then move on to create different one-of-a-kind looks. This course pushes an artist's boundaries to experiment with different creative makeup looks suitable for fashion runways, editorials and films. The Diploma Program In Fashion And Creative Makeup course will provide an in-depth knowledge of different makeup techniques/tools/products, where to find inspiration, and how to apply it to makeup artistry. Students will be awarded international certification after successful completion of the course.

#beauty academy #academy beauty #beauty academy london #london beauty academy #beauty academy near me #beautician class near me #academy makeup #london beauty parlour #makeup academy near me #INTERNATIONAL LONDON MAKEUP ARTISTRY ACADEMY #best salon academy in india #international makeup artist course #nail art certificate

0 notes

opera-ghosts · 2 days

Text

Clara Butt (contralto) - The Lost Chord (Procter & Sullivan) (1909)

In January, 1877 Sir Arthur Sullivan composed this famous ballad whilst keeping vigil at the bedside of his elder brother Frederic, who lay dying, aged only 39. It is set to words by Adelaide Procter (1825-1864), an author well-known in her own day for her output of sentimental verse. In spite of the circumstances of its composition, The Lost Chord became a great favourite, played and sung in parlours and ballad concerts, the epitome of popular Victorian song. It was dedicated to the memory of Frederic.

One of the first singers to perform it regularly was the beautiful American socialite Mrs Fanny Ronalds (1839-1916), pictured right, who was for many years Sullivan’s close companion. The composer often accompanied her on the piano when she sang the song at fashionable society soirées and her recording of it was one of the earliest phonograph cylinders ever made. King Edward VII remarked on one occasion that he would travel the length of his kingdom to hear her sing The Lost Chord.

He died of heart failure in London on 22 November 1900. In his will, Sullivan left the manuscript of The Lost Chord to Mrs Ronalds. It has been alleged that on her own death the score was buried with her, but the present evidence surely indicates that, if so, that must have been another copy as she, in turn, gave this one to the English contralto Dame Clara Butt (1872-1936) who had received the Musicians’ Company’s Silver Medal while a student at the Royal College of Music in 1894. Miss Butt's nomination for the award (by Sir George Grove, no less), as "...the most distinguished pupil in the College"

Sullivan himself heard Butt singing The Lost Chord early in her career and is quoted as telling her “That is how I always meant it to be sung”. Butt included the song in many recitals and it often featured in her concert performances for Queen Victoria and other European royalty.

She recorded it several times, perhaps most famously on 7 August 1930 in Westminster Central Hall, and for years her richly individual interpretation was the favourite version of her many admirers.

Clara Butt made her first recording - with husband Kennerley Rumford - on 26 January 1899. Ten years were to pass before she recorded again. A session for The Gramophone Company at City Road on 9 July 1909 produced no issued recordings, but her next session a week later (ie on 16 July) resulted in four published discs.

4 notes · View notes

getawayfox · 2 years

Text

The second and final part of this reclist features some more artsy works! Find part 1 here and check out our poetry themed reclists here: part 1, part 2, part 3. All recs marked 🌈 are by @crazybutgood and those marked 🎨 are recced by me.

🎨 to do beautiful things by @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (G, 1,5k, Harry/Draco)

a few years ago, draco decided to do beautiful things. a late night conversation.

“Thank you for the hot water in the shower this morning, and for the weather. Thank you that my new batch of ornaments came out even. Forgive me for dripping glaze on the ground under the peonies today. Please help them grow despite that. I’m sorry if I got any bugs, too, please give them better luck in their next life.”

🎨 Surface Texture by @the-starryknight, with art by @bluebutter-art (E, 5,3k, Teddy/Harry, implied Draco/Harry/Teddy)

I've drawn a hundred portraits, but none quite like Harry's. In the early hours of the morning, I lay him bare in charcoal and paper.

He was supposed to be home six hours ago. I’d set up the parlour with my lights and the big chair and two glasses of wine. And then I waited. And waited. It’s not the first time he’s missed plans, and I doubt it’ll be the last, but I’m not letting him get away with it this time.

“You did,” I say. I slip my hand over the bannister and move onto the first step. He’s so fucking beautiful, lit from the back and haunting above me. I want to pull him down the stairs to me, I want so much more than I’m allowed to take. “I think you should make it up to me.”

🎨 In Bed, The Kiss by @spielzeugkeiser (Not Rated, Artwork, Harry/Draco)

🎨 An Improbable Bout of Summer Madness by @ghaniblue (E, 16,5k, Harry/Draco)

Draco had planned a quiet, peaceful summer holiday with his son. The last thing he expected was to find Potter here, in Draco's little Cornish retreat. Making fudge in a shop? The idea was too ludicrous for words.

(In which alarming amounts of sweets are consumed, Cornwall is thoroughly explored, Scorpius is a darling boy, and Harry Potter is a horrid assault on Draco's sanity.)

Watching his son with Harry made Draco feel all squirmy and twisty inside. He couldn't quite decide if he enjoyed the sensation. Scorpius had clearly caught a case of hero worship. Draco shouldn't let him get too attached. Summer will be over soon. They would return to London and their regular life, and Harry would stay here in his, with his shop and his boat and offensively-named pub. It was just a little interlude, an improbable bout of summer madness where Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had become something almost resembling friends.

🎨 the way you make me glow by @softlystarstruck (M, 11k, Harry/Draco)

In a cottage next to the sea, love blossoms. Or perhaps it’s been there all along.

“It feels like the sun on the sea,” Harry says, pushing his glasses up his nose as he squints at the canvas. “No. At a carnival. But a movie-type of carnival.”

Draco rubs a hand over his mouth, then stands up from his chair with a hiss of breath. He walks around the canvas, peering at it from different angles, moving as though Harry isn’t even there. Eventually, he drops his hand and looks at Harry as though he’s a little bit lost.

“Do you like it?”

Harry looks at the strokes of paint made by a brush that touched Draco’s hand. “I love it.”

🎨 Golden by @jennandblitz (M, 774, Sirius/Remus)

Sirius is enthralled by the golden man at the opening night of his exhibition and he has no choice but to go over and start a conversation...

“Some really beautiful pieces of work here.” The way he says it, his gaze not leaving Sirius’ face, makes Sirius think, somehow, that he isn’t talking about the art. The way his eyes flicker down to the open collar of Sirius’ shirt, where his bowtie lays unfastened around his neck, makes him sure of it.

🌈 All the Earnest Young Men by Tepre (E, 29k, Harry/Draco)

All over London portraits are disappearing from their canvases.

Auror Harry! Expert-in-Magical-Art-Theory Draco! There's running, dancing, falling through ice, what’s this paper giraffe doing here? A great time was had by all.

"Sometimes, Harry,” was Hermione’s answer, spoken slowly and with a smile. “Sometimes people aren’t riddles. Sometimes when they tell us what they want, they’re just telling us what they want.”

🌈 All Angels by @isamijoo (T, 897, Harry/Draco)

Harry was commissioned to draw a painting, but he had trouble deciding what to draw. To combat his block, he started sketching Draco doing mundane things around the house.

Draco stood up and kissed his forehead. "On top of being an artist, you're also a brilliant wizard. The size of your canvas doesn't limit you."

🌈 And They Call It… You Know by Sw33tCh377yPi3 (T, 5k, Harry/Draco)

Harry and Draco are at the crossroads of what should be and what never was, and all that stands in the way is someone making an overture. Enter their friends, who devise a meet cute involving a pair of horny dogs.

“Thank you,” Draco said politely. “I was rather proud of that series, though it is quite dark. Most of my pieces are brighter now.

🌈 p.28 by @seekercass (T, 315, Harry/Draco)

“I’ll remember the first time I wanted to kiss you,” Draco said just before Harry left.

Harry can still remember the way his paint-covered hands contrasted beautifully as he held Draco’s hips. Or how he left charcoal marks over Draco’s jaw when he gently pulled him in for a kiss.

🌈 The Great Muster of Wiltshire by spookywoods (T, 6k, Harry/Draco)

Draco Malfoy takes up painting as a way to turn the tables on Harry Potter. What he doesn't expect is the therapeutic relief it brings him, the career it gives him, and the road it paves for him to win the heart of the person he loves most.

As love stories go, this one isn’t too extraordinary.

If I Had Only Known was the first show of paintings Draco did publicly.

🌈 sinopia (an underpainting) by @babooshkart (G, Artwork, Harry/Draco)

In the sanctuary's high light he stood, with plaster-smudged fingers and brush in hand, and glazed the wall gold. And I watched him painting from between the pews, his lips parted in concentration, and his arms corded in muscle. And I wondered if he touched me, this young god before me, what would happen?

🌈 Painter Draco by @sator-the-wanderer (T, Artwork, Harry/Draco)

Just an headcanon of mine + some shitposting

🌈 The Art of the Impossible by @getawayfox (M, 11k, Remus/Sirius)

Sirius is already defying his family's expectations in more than one way, but he hasn't burned all the bridges yet. Not until he meets Remus, a young artist with a unique talent.

The man seemed amused. “You're worried that once the effects of this expensive champagne are gone, I will forget all about your paintings.” Remus chuckled. “Honestly, I'm more worried you won't remember me. My paintings are unforgettable.”

#reclist #drarry #wolfstar #teddy/harry #fic recs!#artsy list #collab #cbg

66 notes · View notes

fantasyescapes17 · 1 year

Text

Scandal (Part 1)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your last name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics. Note: Certain main characters may initially seem unlikeable in this story. Redemption arcs will come.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The sheer cacophony being produced from Miss Brooke’s fingers prodding at your pianoforte was unbearable.

You suffered silently through the onset of a headache as Miss Brooke continued to perform (the piece was not even recognizable to your ears although she was using your sheet music). The remaining occupants of the parlour conversed awkwardly over her uninspiring performance.

Your mother- the Dowager Viscountess Hong- derived great enjoyment from hosting other elite families for tea. Her tea parties were renowned not only for the wide array of cakes, biscuits and other delicacies served, but also her remarkable skills as a hostess.

Presently, the evening's guests consisted of two of the ton's most elite families: the Brookes and the Jeons. Both families had eligible young women of marriageable age which factored into your mother's decision to host them. She was hoping your brother would marry by the end of the season.

Your brother- the Viscount Joshua Hong- was seated near Miss Jeon. They chatted politely about something. The specifics of their conversation were prevented from reaching your ears by the ruckus Miss Brooke was creating on the piano. Miss Jeon was the season's promising young debutante, but it was evident that she had no particular attraction to Joshua. And Joshua's heart was already engaged elsewhere.

That left only one other marriageable bachelor in the room.

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo.

He was a strange one, you decided. Mr Jeon was exceedingly handsome and always had a calm, peaceful demeanour. He spoke very little. Even now, he sat across from you and sipped his tea quietly without making any attempt at conversation. Your initial subtle attempts at flirtation had fallen quite flat.

You had to admit that you found him rather mysterious.

Still, you had never met a man that was completely immune to your charms. Mr. Jeon was simply a bit of a challenge. You enjoyed a challenge.

Miss Brooke's piece at the piano finally drew to an excruciatingly slow end. Seizing the opportunity, you rose from your seat and clapped politely with a smile on your face as you approached her.

"Thank you so much, Miss Brooke. We are so grateful to have been able to experience your playing this evening. Truly a remarkable performance," you told her graciously.

Miss Brooke blushed. "Thank you, Miss Hong. I was considering what to play next-"

"Oh! No, I won't hear of it! You must be very tired already. I insist that you sit down and try these lemon cakes. I would be happy to continue the music in your stead," you offered.

Miss Brooke looked put out but you firmly and politely ushered her away from the piano. You sat at your beloved instrument and let your fingers lovingly stroke the keys that Miss Brooke had abused mere moments ago.

You never tired of showing off your performances. Your musical talents were undisputed among the members of the ton, and you were confident that there was no young woman in London who could ever rival your skill at the piano.

Surely, you thought, a display of my exquisite musical talent will be enough to gain a little attention from Mr. Jeon Wonwoo?

You chose to perform an incredibly difficult piece that you had recently mastered. The entire room immediately ceased conversation to turn their attention to your performance. You could tell from the corner of your eye that even Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's sharp gaze was fixed on you. He was watching you intensely.

When you finished, you were treated to an enthusiastic round of applause from the entire room. Your mother spoke up to praise you.

"Wonderful, dear. That was beautifully done," the Dowager Viscountess told you proudly.

"That was quite delightful!" Miss Jeon was equally quick to praise your performance once you returned to your seat. "I have heard so much about your musical talents, Miss Hong, but to hear you perform in person is quite something else entirely. How much time and effort you must have put in to reach that level of skill! Was it not lovely, Wonwoo?"

You smiled to yourself, awaiting the praise that was surely to come from Mr. Jeon. You were accustomed to general admiration of your music. The young gentlemen of the ton were among your most ardent admirers.

You batted your eyelashes at him and spoke in a sweet tone. "Yes, Mr. Jeon. I am very eager to hear what you thought of my performance."

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo sipped his tea calmly. His dark eyes flickered to you and he gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile.

"You possess great potential, Miss Hong," he replied simply.

You could not have been more shocked if Mr. Jeon Wonwoo had chosen to throw his unfinished tea in your face.

Potential? What on earth did he mean by that? You had been learning to play the piano since you were a small child of seven. That was a decade and a half of uninterrupted learning, of your parents hiring the best tutors and dedicating all your free time to the practice and perfection of the art. Your late father had bought you the priceless pianoforte for your twelfth birthday, and it was your most prized possession. You were undisputably the most skilled young lady in all of London and this rude, conceited, tasteless man had the audacity to tell you that you had potential?

As though you were a child?

You had never been so affronted.

"I have dedicated myself to learning how to play the pianoforte for over fifteen years now, Mr. Jeon," you informed him coldly. "I am certain that I have already realised my full potential. Perhaps you may wish to reserve your critical judgement in the future."

Mr. Jeon's handsome face did not flinch.

"You asked me for my thoughts, Miss Hong," he replied in his calm, deep voice. His eyebrow was raised. "Am I to understand, then, that my criticism holds no value while my praise does? One might call that vanity."

Your cheeks turned hot in anger. How dare this tasteless man not only insult you publicly, but also accuse you of being vain and fishing for compliments?

How dare he?

"One hardly needs to be a music aficionado to pay basic respect to the quality of a performance, Mr. Jeon. I believe even my dog knows good music when he hears it-"

Viscount Hong interrupted the rapidly escalating conversation with a laugh and made a tangential comment about a hunting expedition that he planned to undertake with some other gentlemen. You leaned back in your seat and fumed silently for the rest of the evening until the Jeons and Brookes finally took their leave.

"Joshua," you told your elder brother once the guests had departed. "I hope you have not developed any affection towards Miss Jeon because I forbid that family from being invited to our home again. I have never been so insulted in my life!"

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Your performance was lovely, sister. You should not let the opinion of others affect you."

You turned to your mother.

"Mother! Was Mr. Jeon not excessively rude to me earlier?" you demanded validation. "Have you ever known someone to openly insult my performance- as a guest in our home, no less?"

Your mother gave you a sympathetic smile. "It does not appear that Mr. Jeon has a discerning ear for music, my darling. But do not fret. If you do not wish to see him again then we need not host the Jeons any more this season. There are plenty of other young gentlemen among the ton who would suit you much better."

You smiled and embraced your mother.

"You are so good to me, mother. Shall I play you another piece before dinner?"

"I would love that, my dear."

—-------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, your mother did not attempt to host the Jeons again. Any formal invitations to tea were restricted to the female members of the Jeon family- among whom Miss Jeon, you discovered, was a polite and friendly young woman.

You were fortunate to see very little of Mr. Jeon Wonwoo over the next few weeks. While his sister made a splash upon her entrance in society with her pretty manners and success at balls, Mr. Jeon himself was not easy to spot at social events. He would indulge in one or two dances at most and not be seen for the rest of the evening.

It was for the best, since the passage of time had not diminished your anger towards him in the slightest.

"Your post has arrived, Miss Hong," the maid told you as she came in with a tray of letters while you were at breakfast with your mother and brother.

The Dowager Viscountess raised an eyebrow.

"That is a lot of correspondence, my dear," your mother commented as you carelessly opened the letters one-by-one and glanced at them briefly before tossing them aside. "Who are you writing to?"

"I am not writing to anyone. These are from some gentlemen I danced with at the Hessington's ball last week. Mr. Carter writes to me regularly and of late I've received correspondence from Baron Wright, the Park brothers, and a few others…."

"So many admirers!"

You rolled your eyes. It was not surprising. These men were only interested in your status and fortune, though one would not think so from the romantic prose and lavish gifts they sent you on a regular basis. One of the envelopes contained a gift of expensive silk ribbon. Another contained an exquisitely carved handheld mirror.

You gestured to your maid to take the gifts away before continuing to open the envelopes.

"Oh, look- Mr. Carter has written a lovely little poem. You should use that, Joshua. It might help you woo Miss Lee."

Joshua did not look at the letter you passed him.

"I am capable of drafting my own correspondence with Miss Lee, sister, thank you," he told you firmly.

You were not convinced. "If you had written her a few poems like this before you raced off to her home to ask for her hand in marriage…"

Joshua sighed."Yes, yes, all right. That is enough."

"Oh dear," you mumbled as you opened the last letter. "Baron Wright says he intends to call upon me today. He is quite unbearable. I must not be at home- Minnie! It is lovely weather for a walk in the park. Will you help me find that pretty blue summer dress? And we shall take Snowball with us."

Your maid nodded. "Of course, miss."

You enjoyed the fresh air. Since you spent hours every day in front of the piano, it was rare to have a chance to promenade in the park with your furry companion. Snowball- your adorable fluffy white Pomeranian- trotted alongside you cheerfully on her leash and your ladies’ maids followed you at a polite distance.

"Miss, you must walk in the shade," your maid insisted. "It is very bright outside and the direct sun may burn your skin…"

You conceded, teetering a little off the path so that you and your maids could walk in the shade of the trees lining the park. You paused suddenly when you noticed a gentleman and lady strolling in your direction.

You recognised them both.

The man was Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. The mere sight of his handsome, unsmiling face was enough to make your blood boil. Wonwoo had no business looking so deceptively charming in a dark brown riding coat that emphasised his broad shoulders- the uncultured swine.

You would have walked past him without acknowledging his presence if it had been up to you. But unfortunately, you were not afforded this option. The lady accompanying him was your cousin-Miss Ella Williams- and she smiled and waved as soon as she recognised you.

"Cousin!" Ella called out cheerfully as she hurried down the path to greet you. Mr. Jeon followed her. His long legs allowed him to cover the distance in casual, effortless strides.

"Ella," you greeted your cousin warily. You were forced to acknowledge her walking companion. "And Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, if I remember correctly? I see you are out for a stroll."

Ella smiled. "Indeed. I was on a walk with Miss Jeon but we were joined by Mr. Jeon and Mr. Yoon. The path is narrow so I am afraid that the others have fallen a little behind. Mr. Jeon- please allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Hong."

Wonwoo’s expression was emotionless as always.

“We are already acquainted,” he replied shortly.

"I see you and Snowball have come to promenade as well. Is the weather not perfectly lovely? It is a wonderful sunny day," Ella gushed.

"It was when I arrived. But there seems to be a rather ugly dark cloud crossing my path at the moment," you quipped with a sharp glance at Mr. Jeon.

The sky was clear and blue.

Mr. Jeon fixed his dark eyes upon you. He seemed annoyed. "Perhaps a dark cloud now and then is inevitable in life, Miss Hong. The sky cannot cater to your personal desires," he remarked.

You scoffed. "So long as the cloud learns its place and does not rain down upon those of us attempting to enjoy our day; I shall have no objections to the existence of the cloud."

Ella looked bewildered. "What cloud-"

She was interrupted by a sharp tug on your leash. Snowball had grown impatient while standing in one place and darted forwards to sniff at Mr. Jeon's shoes.

Mr. Jeon looked surprised. It was the closest thing to an emotion you had seen on his serious face- but he did not move away from the dog.

"Snowball, no!" you cried. Snowball was beginning to wag his tail and you could not imagine the mortification you would feel if your dog expressed any affection towards the man you were clearly attempting to snub.

You reached down and picked Snowball up quickly before he could embarrass you. He let out a small whine but relaxed in your arms.

Ella laughed. “Oh, that is all right, cousin! I am sure Mr. Jeon does not mind dogs- do you, Mr. Jeon?”

“I consider them to be excellent companions,” Mr. Jeon replied simply.

"And I think he is adorable," Ella insisted as she reached forward to pat Snowball's head. "I wish my mother would allow me to have a dog, but she insists that the fur makes her ill. Will you allow me to walk him sometime?"

"Anytime you like, dear cousin."

Ella's eyes suddenly widened as she remembered something. "Oh, but cousin, you must tell me- I have heard that the Viscount is courting Miss Lee! I was quite surprised. Can it be true? Will they be married?"

You stiffened. You were aware of Joshua's affections for Miss Lee; their courtship was the hottest gossip among the ton at the moment, largely because Miss Lee was from a humble background and did not possess either status or dowry to match your family's.

You had spoken to Miss Lee at the Hessington's ball. She was kind-hearted and a perfect choice for Joshua, but did not seem confident in her ability to become a Viscountess. You were not certain that she would accept your brother's proposal.

"It remains to be seen," you replied lightly. You did not want to confirm rumours until the success or failure of their courtship was more evident to you.

"You do not think she is a good match for Joshua?" Ella wondered.

"We shall have to see," you said vaguely. "Decisions such as these should not be made in haste. Not everyone is suited to become a Viscountess."

Mr. Jeon's dark eyes were still on you. His jaw was clenched; he looked displeased.

"Do you disagree, Mr. Jeon?" you demanded.

"I do not think it is your place to assess who is suited to become the Viscountess," he replied stiffly. "I am sure your brother is more than capable of making such decisions on his own."

You laughed. Your brother had made plenty of poor choices in Miss Lee's case- including springing a proposal on the poor girl without giving her any hint of his affections for her and failing to realise how she would be affected by the gossip.

"You overestimate my brother, Mr. Jeon. He is perfectly capable of making mistakes, like any other gentleman," you replied.

"A gentleman will deal with the consequences of his own actions- whether they be mistakes or otherwise," Mr. Jeon retorted.

You stared at him, bewildered. What was he going on about? You had no idea why Jeon Wonwoo was so invested in Joshua's courtship with Miss Lee, but you refused to let this odious man have the last word.

"It seems you have a high opinion of my brother," you snapped. "But I am sorry to inform you that the decisions made by a Viscount do not impact him alone. Forgive me if I do not want my brother to make mistakes that would cause pain to those around him."

Ella looked distressed at the turn the conversation was taking.

"Cousin, I am sure there is no question of the Viscount making any mistakes. Let us speak of something else," she pressed.

"Yes, of course. Men must never be questioned by women when they make mistakes," you replied drily while glaring at Mr. Jeon. "How foolish of me to think otherwise."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. "Miss Hong, it was never my intention to suggest that-"

"Frankly, Mr. Jeon, I have no interest in what you intended to suggest. I did not ask for your opinion; I shall certainly not make that mistake twice. You may rest knowing that your silence pleases me well enough. Please do not trouble yourself with speech."

Ella was shocked. "Cousin!"

"Snowball is quite tired and we must be returning home now. I will take your leave. Good day, Ella. Mr. Jeon."

You walked away, your cheeks hot with anger. Who did Mr. Jeon Wonwoo think he was? It is not your place to assess who is suited to be a Viscountess? As though a sister being concerned for her brother's marriage was overstepping her bounds? How dare he speak to you that way?

One thing was certain. You were not as kind and forgiving as your brother.

Jeon Wonwoo would regret making an enemy of you.

—-------------------------------------------

"Miss Hong, you have the most exquisite taste in fashion! These gowns are so striking!" Miss Brooke cried.

You were having tea with some of the other young ladies of the ton when your latest shipment from the modiste arrived- a large collection of custom-made ball gowns, hats, and shoes that you had ordered recently.

"This one is my own personal design," you boasted as Miss Brooke admired a particularly gorgeous lavender gown with a delicately embroidered skirt. "I ordered it specially for my brother's wedding and I am having a pair of shoes custom-made to match."

“It is a masterpiece!”

You sipped your tea and leaned back as Miss Brooke, Miss Hessington and Miss Jeon continued to compliment and admire your new gowns. You had spent a considerable amount of time preparing the designs and discussing them with the modiste. The admiration of the other young ladies was sufficient recompense for your efforts.

Let it never be said that Miss Hong was not the best-dressed young lady in the room.

Just as Miss Brooke pulled out an exquisite handmade silk shawl from the boxes stacked on the tea table, your brother appeared at the doorway of the tea parlour.

"Ladies," Viscount Hong greeted the other young women in the room with a handsome smile before turning to you. "I apologise for interrupting your tea. Sister- if I could have a word in the hall?"

You followed him into the hallway outside.

"Joshua? Is there a problem?"

Joshua had a small stack of papers in his hand. He showed them to you calmly. "These are the bills I have received from the modiste, the shoemaker and the jeweller," he informed you.

You blinked at him. "All right. What is the problem? Send the clerk to pay them."

"Do you not think some of these are a little extravagant, sister? This single ball-gown of yours costs as much as the Arabian horse I had shipped from overseas," Joshua pointed out.

"It is custom-made. The silk is imported from India so it has travelled the same distance. If we can afford the horse, then I fail to see the problem with the dress," you replied defensively.

Joshua shook his head and sighed. "Do not mistake me, sister. I am not angry. I only want to be sure that you are conscious of your spending habits."

"Are my gowns putting a dent in the Hong family fortune?" you asked with a laugh.

"You know they are not."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I would like you to acknowledge that regardless of our ability to pay for them, perhaps it is not necessary to spend so much money on a dress that you shall only wear on a single occasion. I ask you to exercise a little restraint.”

“Yes, yes, all right," you told him dismissively. "The season is nearing an end so this was my final order. We shall be returning to the countryside after your wedding, in any case."

"Glad to hear it."

"Have you ordered your wedding things? You know the modiste takes over a week for wedding orders- particularly the wedding gowns."

Joshua blinked. "Wedding gown?"

You gasped. "Joshua! Your wedding is in less than a fortnight, are you telling me that an order has not been placed for Miss Lee's wedding gown? What on earth is the matter with you?"

Joshua looked flustered. "I-I assumed Miss Lee would arrange her own wedding gown-"

"Miss Lee's family cannot afford a wedding gown fit for a Viscountess! And she is so humble she would never ask you for such a thing- it was your responsibility to offer! You must place a deposit with the modiste immediately and I will take Miss Lee there myself to select the design this evening. You are fortunate that I am the modiste's valued customer."

Joshua nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes-yes, I will do that…"

"And none of that restraint, please. Sell one of the Arabians if you must," you added with a giggle.

Your brother hurried away and you re-entered the parlour where the young ladies were still discussing your silk shawls.

You re-seated yourself in an armchair.

"Is everything all right, Miss Hong?" Miss Jeon asked politely.

"Yes- my brother needed some help with the arrangements for his wedding. Gentlemen are very lucky to have sisters to rely on in certain matters," you said lightly before glancing at Miss Jeon. "Would you not agree, Miss Jeon?"

Miss Jeon shook her head. "I am sure I rely on my brother far more than he relies on me."

"But of course. Mr Jeon Wonwoo is a different case altogether. I gather he does not need your help in matters of the heart, since he openly refuses to court anyone," you quipped.

Miss Jeon did not seem worried. "I am sure he will find a young lady he is interested in someday."

"I hope that the young lady is not too fond of polite conversation, then, since Mr. Jeon will surely not indulge in any," you replied. "Was it not just last week, Miss Brooke, that you told me Mr. Jeon danced with you and did not speak a single word for the entire duration of the dance?"

Miss Brooke smiled awkwardly. "Yes…"

"And Miss Hessington, did you not tell me that you attempted to converse with him at the assembly rooms and he did not even look up from the book he was reading to greet you?"

Miss Hessington nodded.

"Wonwoo does not speak much," Miss Jeon admitted with an awkward laugh.

"Perhaps that is for the best," you replied airily. "I am quite offended by what little he has spoken to me thus far. If he spoke more often, I imagine he would soon gain many enemies among the ton."

"I apologise for his actions, Miss Hong-"

You brushed her off kindly. "Not at all, Miss Jeon; you are a dear friend. I would not dream of holding you responsible for your brother's behaviour. He shall carry that burden entirely on his own."

"Are there any gentlemen among the ton that have caught your eye, Miss Hong?" Miss Brooke wondered. "I notice that Baron Wright seems to be quite set on you. You often dance with Mr. Carter as well."

"We shall see," you replied lightly. "Since the season is coming to an end and I will be returning to the countryside soon, it is a perfect time to test a man's so-called affections. Only those who maintain their correspondence with me over the winter will remain candidates for my hand next season."

Miss Jeon giggled. "Then may we expect to see another wedding in the Hong family next season?"

"... Perhaps so."

—----------------------------------------------------------

Viscount Joshua Hong's wedding was a grand success, in no small part thanks to you.

The bride's wedding gown was greatly admired by the entire ton and Miss Lee thanked you for your efforts toward ensuring they had a smooth ceremony. The happily married couple left for their honeymoon immediately after. You returned with your mother to the Hongs' countryside estate for the winter.

It was a quiet winter without your brother at home. You spent most evenings practising music by the fireplace and reading and writing your correspondence. Baron Wright and Mr. Carter were both quite serious about their affections for you, and you wondered if perhaps one of them would approach the Viscount for your hand as soon as your family was back in London for the next season.

You could not decide if you cared enough to marry either of them. But you were already in your third season, and now with your brother married too, the clock was ticking. Luckily, you had the entire ton to choose from. You doubted there was a single unattached man who would not welcome your affections if you chose to bestow them upon him.

Except perhaps Mr. Jeon Wonwoo.

But as always, he was the exception to the rule.

You were pleased to return to London after the end of winter. Your sister-in-law, the new Viscountess, was equally excited. She had fully embraced her new role as your brother’s wife, and seemed much happier and brighter by his side than she had ever appeared before.

It almost made you envious of their marital bliss.

“I hope you will find someone who makes you as happy as Joshua makes me,” the Viscountess gushed as the servants hurried to unpack your belongings and set up your London home for the new season. “Marriage really is quite wonderful and I would love for you to experience it, sister.”

“Well, I must find the right man,” you reminded her. “And more importantly, I must find the right dress for the ball that the Duchess of Graham is hosting tomorrow. It is going to be the most spectacular event of the season and I cannot afford to look anything but my best.”

“You always look beautiful.”

“Your words flatter me, sister; but it is your first public appearance as the Viscountess and you must be equally careful. Perhaps a trip to the modiste is in order?”

The Viscountess smiled. “Perhaps it is.”

—------------------------------------------------

It was not easy to be the centre of attention at the Duchess of Graham’s ball.

The beginning of a new season came with so much fresh gossip and juicy rumours that it was impossible to keep track of it all. Whispers abounded from the moment you descended your carriage and entered the Duchess’ palatial London manor.

“The youngest Miss Yoon is the most awaited debutante of the season,” your cousin Ella Williams informed you as you both took a turn about the beautiful ballroom. The dancing had not yet begun. You were taking the opportunity to admire the sheer magnificence of the Duchess’ manor.

It was beyond anything you had seen before.

“Miss Yoon?” you asked. “Mr. Yoon Jeonghan’s younger sister?”

“She is rumoured to be a great beauty. And now that the messy issue of her dowry is resolved and her fortune restored, I expect she will be receiving her fair share of offers.”

You nodded. “I would like to meet this young woman. But first, Ella, tell me about the Duchess. I knew she was rich and had connections to the royal family but… the extravagance of this manor! It is at least three times the size of any other home I have seen in London, including my own.”

Ella nodded eagerly as you both admired an enormous marble statue in the entryway to the ball room.

“Of course. The Grahams have historically been very intimate with the royal family and their fortune is beyond comparison. But the Duke of Graham left no male heirs. When he died last year, the title should have died with him- but the Queen herself decreed as a special exception that the title would continue through his only daughter.”

Your eyes widened. “Fascinating. I am sure this has never happened before."

“Indeed. It was quite the controversy. Much of the nobility was displeased with a woman being able to hold a title without the support of a man. They insisted that she produce a male heir at the soonest. It is rumoured that the Duchess intends to marry soon. Perhaps this season.``

You sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t. It is quite nice to have a Duchess in her own right.”

“I agree. But she has not shown any interest in the gentlemen of the ton, so perhaps she will marry someone from the royal family instead. A Prince? Anything is possible, really,” Ella gushed excitedly. “As for the manor, it has been in the Graham family for many generations. Much of the furniture is antique and gifted by the royal family. I have heard the library has an antique pianoforte which was gifted hundreds of years ago by the King himself.”

Your eyes sparkled. “A pianoforte, you say?”

“Perhaps the oldest still in existence in London.”

Your interest was piqued.

“Ella- I must see this pianoforte,” you decided.

Ella laughed. “Unfortunately, cousin, I am not entirely sure where it is. The library is upstairs but I have never been to this manor before. I have heard that your brother is acquainted with the Duchess. Perhaps if you ask her permission…”

You shook your head. “Ask her? She is the hostess of the ball, we should never have a chance to speak to her tonight. Look at the size of this event! Nobody would notice if we slipped upstairs in between a few dances. The staircase is not even blocked.”

Ella was startled. “We?”

“I cannot go alone!” you cried.

“But-but…”

“I will grant you any wish within my power, Ella,” you promised your cousin as you seized her hand and pressed it tightly. “You may choose any dress from my wardrobe- even the ones I have not yet worn. Take your pick from my jewellery box. I simply must be able to lay my fingers on this historical piano.”

Ella laughed and removed her hand from your grasp. “All right. You are lucky that this is the first ball of the season and all the attention is focused on the Duchess and the new debutantes.”

“Show me your dance card,” you insisted, seizing the little card tied to your cousin’s wrist. “You are unoccupied for the third dance, as am I. We will meet near those stairs at the beginning of the third dance and slip upstairs. I am promised to dance with Baron Wright for the fourth- so we must find the piano and return to the ballroom by then.”

Ella giggled. “All right, cousin. But keep your promise. I intend to take the lavender dress you wore to the Viscount’s wedding.”

“It is yours.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You danced the first two dances of the evening with Mr. Carter and Mr. Hessington. Both of whom were very vocal about their admiration for you. You accepted their advances with your usual coolness and light flirtation.

You were still deciding which of your admirers to properly encourage. For now, you would keep your options open.

The moment the second dance ended, you hurried to the foot of the grand marble staircase. Ella was nowhere to be seen. You waited impatiently for your younger cousin, but the enormous grandfather clock in the foyer continued to tick and after a few minutes, you could hear the opening notes of the third dance beginning in the ballroom.

You were running out of time. Where was Ella?

You made a quick decision- surely there would be nobody upstairs except for a servant or two? The ball was in full swing here anyway. You could be up and back down in a matter of minutes.

It would be fine.

You lifted your skirts and ran up the stairs. At the top was an enormous landing and, as you expected, not a single person in sight. You walked down a hallway of enormous, studded half-open doors until you finally found the library. The high walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books rising into the air.

In the centre of the room- an enormous white pianoforte.

You walked towards the instrument and sat down before it with your heartbeat thudding. You were no stranger to expensive instruments but this was undoubtedly the most beautiful one that you had ever seen in your life. It was delicately hand-carved and the quality was evident from the moment you gently brushed your fingers over the keys.

“Beautiful,” you whispered to yourself before pressing your fingers down to play a chord. The noise was strange and jarring.

“That is disappointing,” a voice said from behind you.

You almost screamed in shock. You had not realised that there was anyone else in the room with you. You jumped up from the piano and whirled around to see Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing in the shadow of one of the bookshelves, leaning against it with a book in his hand.

“Mr. Jeon?” you demanded.

He stepped forward from the shadow. Mr. Jeon looked as handsome as ever- his dark hair fell forward barely brushing his eyes and he looked less… serious than he normally did. The corner of his lips were turned up in an almost-smile.

“Miss Hong,” he greeted.

“I-I did not see that you were already in the room,” you stammered quickly. “You should have announced your presence to me. What are you doing up here?”

Mr. Jeon held up the book in his hand. “Reading.”

“And avoiding the ball, I see, as always. I suppose you consider yourself far too superior to the young ladies here to bestow them with the gift of your presence,” you replied snidely. “Shall I thank you for deigning to speak to me today?”

He blinked. “No thanks is necessary.”

“Excellent. Then I shall ask you to please leave. It is quite improper for us to be alone together here.”

Mr. Jeon smirked lightly. “Leave? Miss Hong, I am afraid that I was here long before you. By the common rules of courtesy, if you do not wish to be in my presence then you are very welcome to leave yourself. The door is open.”

This infuriating man simply would not let you be.

You glanced at the enormous grandfather clock in the corner of the room. You could still hear the faint notes of music coming from the ballroom below, but time was running out. You had no idea when you would have another chance to experience this instrument. Mr. Jeon would not ruin this for you.

“I am sure you have been to hundreds of libraries, Mr. Jeon, but this instrument is one of the oldest antique pianofortes in London. I only wanted a few moments alone with it, if you would be so kind.”

Mr. Jeon’s eyes flickered towards the instrument.

“It looks antique but the noise it made just now was quite awful,” he remarked.

You huffed and pressed some of the keys again. The noise was still awkward. “It is simply not tuned. Evidently nobody has played it in a long time. The fact that you could not tell leads me to believe that your knowledge and appreciation for music is much lower than I originally imagined.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Why? Because I would not compliment your performance last year?” he demanded.

“It was an excellent performance,” you said defensively, anger rising. “Regardless of whether you are willing to accept it or not, Mr. Jeon. I can allow for differences in personal taste, but there is some objectivity in the field that deems me more than a mere child with potential.”

Mr. Jeon closed the book in his hands and stepped closer to you. “The problem was not your performance.”

“Oh?” you demanded.

“No. Your performance was masterful. I am afraid what you failed to realise is that your self-indulgent display of talent left your friend, Miss Brooke, almost in tears,” Mr. Jeon replied. His dark eyes narrowed and he crossed the library towards you in long, effortless strides. You felt your heart constrict in your chest.

“What?” you demanded, confused.

“You are evidently the better musician. But what I found distasteful, Miss Hong, is how you felt the need to make a spectacle of Miss Brooke by showing the entire room just how superior you were to her. That was a selfish, vain, tactless thing to do to a young lady who believes herself to be your friend.”

“Miss Brooke made a spectacle of herself,” you snapped. “She should have known better than to perform for company when she can barely produce a recognizable nursery rhyme from the piano!”

Mr. Jeon shook his head. “You could have ended it there. Perhaps even closed the instrument for the evening. But you had to outperform her by playing your most difficult piece. You used her to satisfy your vanity.”

You could not help it- you laughed. You could not believe the audacity of this man, after all this time, to defend his actions in this manner. You were becoming angrier and angrier.

Your cheeks felt hot and your fists clenched.

“Are you telling me, Mr. Jeon,” you asked as you laughed in disbelief. “That your blatant public insult of my performance while you were a guest in my home was an act of chivalry in defence of a slight you perceived against Miss Brooke? You are mad. Really, you must be quite mad to think that is even remotely an appropriate defence for your actions-”

“And you must be very proud indeed, to allow such a minor slight to make you so angry after all these months” Mr. Jeon replied with a smirk.

He was standing in front of the instrument now, mere feet away from you.

You scoffed as you stepped forward again. You would not back down from this man.

“Yes, of course. Yes, please, Mr. Jeon, I would love to hear more about my pride from the man who infamously hides in libraries during balls and snubs every young lady that crosses his path. Do you consider women beneath your notice? But of course- why should Mr. Jeon Wonwoo bother with polite conversation with stupid young ladies when he is evidently so superior in intellect and manner to our entire sex,” you hissed.

His eyes looked wild for a moment; you had never seen so much emotion in Mr. Jeon’s eyes and you could hear your own blood pumping in your ears from anger as you stared back at him. You were barely a foot apart and you could see the way his chest heaved up and down underneath his black coat.

The room was filled with a complete silence.

Silence.

The faint music from the ballroom below had stopped.

Suddenly, a number of things occurred in the flash of a single moment.

You realised that the third dance had ended and you had spent too long upstairs. There was the sound of footsteps outside the partially open library door. Jeon Wonwoo looked startled- he suddenly took a step back to put some distance between you, but his foot caught on the leg of the pianoforte and his arm came down upon the keys to steady himself.

You darted forward to steady him but it was too late. His palm had already hit the keys by the time you seized his arm and the loud, jarring piano noise was released into the silent room with no chance of concealment.

The door to the library burst open.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

You were ruined.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #regency!au #seventeen fanfiction #wonwoo imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines

760 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 27 days

Text

Fics Named After Flowers/Plants (2) Masterlist

part one

Castles and Roses (ao3) - thesassykels66

Summary: Dan and Phil take a walk through a flower garden in Edinburgh.

Cosmic Flowers (ao3) - cassidynoga

Summary: Dans owns a tattoo shop and moves his business into the building next to Phil’s flower shop. Phil speaks flower. Louise speaks flower. Dan does not.

Excerpt: Dan felt his face get hot. “It was nice of him. I guess that’s what happens when you work next to a flower shop.” He shrugged. “And yes, he was cute, but generally my type,” he said, making air quotes around the word type, “has more tattoos and less flowers.”

Don’t Feed the Plant (ao3) - MissJanjie

Summary: A ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ based Phan AU.

Phil is a poor orphan working in his adoptive aunt’s run-down flower shop in London. After buying a suspiciously strange plant with a carnivorous appetite, Phil’s life changes overnight, even bringing him closer to crush and coworker, a troubled and near destitute Dan Howell. Soon enough, though, Phil realizes that fame and romance comes with the ultimate price.

Flowers - phillestatos

Summary: Dan moves in to Manchester to study Law at University. Phil is his neighbor who happens to own a flower shop and he likes to flirt with him via flowers. The only frustrating thing is that Dan has to google the meaning of each flower and the boy can’t take a hint.

Flowers (ao3) - phanburnhamizzard

Summary: Dan and Phil are moving to a new apartment. Dan leaves to return the moving van and Phil fixes a dinner for the both of them. When Phil sets out the plates, he is surprised to find a big bouquet of flowers. Then, there is a twist :)

Fritillaria meleagris (ao3) - TsingaDark

Summary: the one where Tattoo Artist Dan moves and opens up a tattoo parlour opposite Phil’s flower shop.

I lilac you (ao3) - Grab_My_Assbutt

Summary: for the tumblr prompt that Phil’s a shy Tattoo artist who has a crush on the florist across the street.

Mottled Roses - auroraphilealis

Summary: Dan lives in a world where, when someone starts losing friendship, interest, or love for you, a rose magically appears on your bedside table, and you have one last chance to try and fix things before the last petal falls. His best friend Phil promised that Dan would never receive a rose from Phil, but one morning… Dan does.

Of Paparazzi and Succulents - botanistlester

Summary: Actor!Dan is running away from a mob of fans when he runs into a flower shop. There, he meets a quirky florist who has an absurd liking towards succulents, seeming to think they have feelings of their own.

Painted Flowers - paradisobound

Summary: Flowers come in many shapes and sizes. Colors and types. But to Dan, they mean so much. From the young age of five, flowers begin to show up on his skin, and slowly as he ages, every Valentine’s Day, another flower paints over his flesh. They continue to grow into a beautiful garden until one day he meets Phil. And like the tale tells, once you meet your soulmate, a flower will no longer bloom on your skin every Valentine’s Day.

Pastels and Wedding Plans - copyrightedsnakes

Summary: Phil Lester is a ball of sunshine wedding planner hired to coordinate Winston Howell’s wedding. It’s a big job, so Winston offers up the help of his younger brother, Dan Howell.

Rose Thorns And Needles (ao3) - galaxeephan

Summary: Dan’s grandfather passed his flower shop down to Dan, who finally meets the tattoo artist next door.

valentine’s flowers (ao3) - softnerds

Summary: Dan has an affinity for flowers, and Phil decides to try being romantic for Valentine’s Day.

Violets Are Blue (ao3) - lamphouse

Summary: There’s a boy who buys flowers from him. Dan’s a florist, so it makes sense. A lot of people buy flowers from him. But there’s not a lot who buy flowers as frequently as this boy does, and even less so that buy flowers for him.

Vodka with a side of flowers (ao3) - Raegan_Anne

Summary: “Vodka, with a side of…flowers?” He asks, looking at the bouquet in my hands.

Flower-shop-owning-punk!Phil

Coffee-shop-working-and-stripper!Dan

yellow acacias (ao3) - impicciche

Summary: The five times Dan gave Phil acacias, and the one time he didn’t have to.

Yellow Roses (ao3) - FoxyAtlas

Summary: Dan has a wife who just loves the bouquets of flowers he keeps getting for her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know about the attractive florist who sends hidden messages with each bouquet that her husband might just be falling for.

Yellow Roses (ao3) - Vermilion_Blues

Summary: There were a few times when Dan knew he was in love. However, he didn’t realize how fucked he was until the flowers came.

you had me at hydrangea (ao3) - itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)

Summary: “I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.”

― Francesca Lia Block, Dangerous Angels

Your Petals Are My Thorns (½) - theshyauthor

Summary: (tw) Dan likes flowers. That’s why he grows them on his thighs whenever he has forbidden thoughts about other men. When Phil comes into his life, Dan’s small garden grows into a field.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #flowers #flowers masterlist #fictitles

2 notes · View notes

jellymish-art · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tis WIP Wednesday over at Mi6 café! I still want to celebrate it even though i'm still on my fandom holiday in the lands of Rivers of London. So have a RoL snippet!

This exchange follows a scene where Nightingale paints a little moving picture of light into the air, using a complex spell that Peter tries to figure out.

“What kind of a spell was that just now?”

“What do you think?” Typical Nightingale. Always ready to turn anything into a teaching moment.

“I’m thinking it’s a variation on lux. A really complicated one though, and impello was definitely part of it too, but… not in the way I’ve ever seen it used.”

“How so?”

“Well, it was... slower? More delicate. It almost didn’t feel like impello, but I think it was.”

Nightingale nodded. “Very good, Peter. Your powers of observation have much improved of late.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And to answer your question, it’s… more of a parlour trick than anything else. Nothing you’ll find written in a book.”

“Did you come up with it?”

“Heavens, no. This spell routinely made the rounds at dinner parties. We made a game of who could come up with the best idea for a picture.” and after a small pause, he smiled. “They tended to become more and more lewd as the night went on. Hugh Oswald was the worst offender.”

“I can imagine,” I said, having seen the mischievous side the old man had.

“It became somewhat of an obsession of mine for a while," Nightingale carried on, "I wanted to see how close to the real thing you could get, simply by using lux. I mostly sculpted plants and then it seemed natural to add one or the other animal. After I’d figured that out, I wondered if you could make the pictures move.”

“So you did come up with that spell.”

“I merely modified it. And only after I’d mastered all the formae in the spell,” he said, ever-vigilant to not motivate me to experiment any more than I already did. Unsuccessfully, I might add. “It used to entertain the boys to no end, especially back in the war, during the exceptionally dull times when we were at camp, waiting for orders. I’d routinely be summoned to the medical tents to entertain the wounded. We never found much in the way of practical uses for it though, so it remained just that; A parlour trick.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “It’s like… art made from magic. It’s beautiful and it makes people smile. That’s a pretty good practical use, don’t you think?.”

He gave me a strange look then, confusion and then something else I couldn’t tell, but it made his eyes soft. “You know, I… never thought about it like that. Art made from magic…”

#rivers of london #rol books #ben aaronovitch #fanfic #wip #wip wednesday #thomas nightingale #peter grant #fluff #jellymish writes

28 notes · View notes

crockettmarcel · 2 years

Text

there are over 50 aus here (bc I'm insane) so everything's under the cut! all moodboards are linked, and those with an asterisk * next to them feature Lolly at some point. please do not talk to me about how many have the asterisk because trust me. I know. also if you've noticed how many of these involve Sarah moving to a small town and starting a new life, please keep that to yourself. can an annoying person not project their desires onto fictional characters?

4000 miles*

Unable to cope in Chicago (and later New Orleans) after Crockett's death, Sarah moves with her daughters to a small seaside town in the Netherlands, where she meets and befriends Ava

Birthright*

Sarah is just like her father. who'd have thought (serial killer!Sarah)

Black water

1930s Cornwall, England. Sarah's a lighthouse keeper, and Ava's a rich London socialite. she was only visiting the village to see her grandmother before she passed, but it was enough time for her to fall in love with Sarah

Bloodline

Sarah and Ava's daughter Piper has leukaemia

Brain freeze*

Crockett has a summer fling with Sarah, the cute girl who works at the ice cream parlour in the town he's staying in

Burnt espresso*

Crockett files for divorce. Sarah finds out she's pregnant (and Crockett wants nothing to do with it). then to top it all off, she quits her residency and takes a job at a coffee shop near her apartment while she works out what she's going to do with her life. thank god for Ava Bekker

Circus

in which teenage Sarah ran away to join the circus! set in the 1960s, when she's in her twenties

Close encounter

Sarah knows what happened to her, it's everyone else that has doubts. so what better to do than to quit your residency and move to the other side of the country to find other people who know the truth (alien/paranormal investigation)

College (chaotic academia)

Ava's a straight-A pre-med student at college on a swimming scholarship. Sarah's her roommate, another pre-med student who lives off red bull, exclusively reads books in russian, french or german, and seems to never sleep. a match made in heaven :)

Cottagecore*

Crockett and Sarah bought a farm together <3

Cult (The Farm)*

Ava's kidnapped one day after work by a religious doomsday cult. Sarah, who's been there since she was seven, takes her under her wing and teaches her the rules and how to survive. six months later, The Farm is raided and shut down by the FBI, and suddenly Sarah's the one in a society she doesn't understand

Cult (Village of Light)*

Sarah's visit was only so she could give Crockett some news, but then one night turned to two, turned to a week, and a week turned to months. and who could blame her, when someone as charming as Ava Bekker is suddenly taking an interest in her? no one else gets this level of attention from their leader (1970s)

Dallas

a look at Sarah's life after she left Chicago

Disorder

Sarah's high school eating disorder makes a comeback

Eidetic

as close to canon as physically possible, but with a "Sarah has an eidetic memory" filter. more of a headcanon tbh

Experiment*

Sarah, Ava, April, Lanik and Crockett were all born and raised in an underground lab, as part of an experiment to develop "super soldiers" with innate powers

Fading

Sarah's depressed and nothing seems to be getting better

Final girl

Sarah lived through her very own slasher movie as a teenager, and now the horrors have followed her to Chicago

Firefighter*

firefighter!sockett. need I say more? probably, but I can't think of anything else

Forest*

after Dr Charles was shot, Sarah goes back to Connecticut to try and find out the truth about her life, and why she was found wandering alone in the forest when she was five

Ghost

Ava gets a great deal on her new apartment in Chicago - perfect location, beautiful building, and cheap rent. the problem? Sarah, her ghostly roommate, who's desperate for Ava to help her solve her murder

Hideaway*

Missing beach au. a few years into Sarah's captivity, Crockett purchases a tiny beach house, and when he moves from Florida to Chicago, he leaves Sarah behind in it, with a small allowance and one rule: don't talk to people unless it's absolutely necessary

Homesick*

instead of going to Dallas, Sarah moves back to Austin after she leaves Med, where she reunites with her childhood best friend Carlos Reyes

Last light

Sarah and Crockett having simultaneous breakdowns about their respective dead daughters

Long-distance*

Sarah left Lolly and Crockett behind in New Orleans when she went to medical school, but they're still trying to do the co-parenting thing (even though they're not officially together anymore, and Sarah has a thing for someone else)

Mafia*

mafia boss Sarah and her hot wife Ava :) I'm sure there's plot somewhere

(Unnamed) Mafia*

inspired by med 7x20 - Ava ends up being recruited by Sarah Reese, a mafia boss, to treat her infant daughter's heart condition, whatever the cost may be. and if she can come back later when her older daughter gets sick, or her husband is stabbed, well surely that couldn't hurt

Melancholia

despite living in a city of almost three million, Sarah's never felt more alone (vent au lol)

Mermaid*

Ava swims up north and finds a new pod off the coast of Florida. Sarah's on the verge of leaving it

Missing*

Sarah disappears after work, and with little evidence, the case quickly goes cold. four years later, she's rescued from Crockett's basement with two children in tow

Missing/NCIS crossover*

after giving a talk at a high school on Quantico naval base, the MCRT gets a call about a child wandering around alone nearby. it's not their typical case, but they're the closest, so they head over there with the intention of sorting it all out quickly and then heading back to NCIS. however, it soon becomes obvious that this isn't just a kid who's walked away from her mom, and it's up to them to work out where this child came from and where her parents are

Model

model Sarah x designer Ava. that's all I've got bc I've decided I don't like the old idea anymore lol

Motherhood

in which Emily Prentiss is a mom :)

Nervosa*

very similar to disorder, but with sockett instead of reesker

Painless*

Nothing like finding out your daughter can't feel pain

Pediatric surgeon!Crockett

pretty self-explanatory I think

Picket fences*

Sarah's tired of being a celebrity and everything that comes with it. she wants out

Pride

Sarah refuses to accept that she's a lesbian. Ava shows her that there's nothing to be ashamed of

Punk*

Sarah, April, Connor, and Crockett are punks living together in Sarah's house. when Crockett leaves to make music (and doesn't come back or contact anyone for over a year), Ava takes his room, and a romance quickly flourishes between her and Sarah. when Crockett comes back, he's not pleased to find out that he and Sarah have a baby now, and that she's raising her with Ava

Restoration

after Sarah's marriage falls apart, she decides to finally do something with the house she inherited from her great aunt a few years back. she packs up and leaves Chicago, then moves into the house in Connecticut, far away from everything that went wrong in her old life. as she fixes up the house, she builds relationships with the people in the town, and slowly begins to heal from everything

Roommate*

Ava's neighbours are awful and she's desperate to find somewhere else to live. Sarah's landlord just upped the rent, and now she needs to find a roommate. Connor, sick of hearing them both complain, suggests that Ava move in with Sarah. what's the worst that could happen?

Rosehall Estate*

Ava starts a job as a governess for Owen Manning, which means moving into Rosehall Estate, a manor house that's been in his stepfather Crockett's family for years. it's all going well, until Ava starts noticing strange things happening - weird sounds at night, things not being where she left them, and a woman in a white dress who wanders the grounds in the dark

Royalty*

Queens Sarah and Ava and little princess Lolly :)

Seven*

after surviving a serial killer when she was seventeen, Sarah joins the FBI, working with the BAU, the very people that helped her all those years ago

Showbiz

Sarah's a child star who has even more fame now that she's an adult, and Ava's one of the light technicians working on the set of Sarah's latest movie. she doesn't even think Sarah noticed her, until the end of filming when she gets a huge bouquet of flowers and a handwritten thank-you note from the star herself. and, well, the rest is history

Single dad!Crockett*

by the time Sarah realised she didn't actually want to be a mom, it was too late to do anything about it. when Lolly was born, she gladly signed all of her parental rights over to Crockett, and she didn't object when he said he was moving the two of them back down to New Orleans. it hurt, but Crockett wanted to be there for his daughter, and he could think of worse things than being a single dad with his parents around the corner

Skating*

figure skater!Sarah x ice hockey player!Ava <3 until Sarah's injury that is, and then it's med student!Sarah x ice hockey Ava :)

Summer camp*

instead of going back to South Africa for the summer between her junior and senior years of college, Ava decides to work at a summer camp. what could be more American? it's fun, and if summer camp veteran Sarah Reese is more than a little easy on the eyes, that's not Ava's fault

Tattoo/flower shop

no idea what's happening with this one sorry (but there's a lot of gay behaviours)

Teacher*

she was a science teacher. she was an English teacher. can I make it any more obvious?

Tiny love*

um. if u don't know this then what are you doing on my blog. read this fic and maybe if you ask nicely I'll finish it

Trinity Beach

Ava's a travel journalist working on a project about the best hidden gems around the US, and her latest focus is on a small Californian town called Trinity Beach. it's a beautiful place, the type where everyone knows everyone, but it doesn't take long for her to earn people's trust. she talks to lots of people, but the one person she's interested in - Sarah, an artist who lives right by the beach - doesn't talk to anyone except for Crockett. but Ava's a journalist, and it's her job to find stories and dig for the truth, so that's exactly what she does

Trophy wife*

Sarah didn't just marry Crockett for his money - there were feelings there that she couldn't deny - but it quickly becomes obvious that he loves her more than she loves him. he spoils her with gifts and vacations and parties and anything else she could want, but she just grows to resent him and herself for not loving him back

Trust fund!Sarah*

she's always had everything she's ever wanted or needed, and there's enough money in her trust fund that with her part-time modelling job she can afford a penthouse in Chicago, but even with all that, Sarah's life since college has still been one disaster after another. she's trying her best, but then suddenly she finds herself in hospital with a heart condition and the possibility of surgery, and she's not sure how she'll be able to get out of this one

Unexpected*

watch an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant but imagine that it's Sarah. boom that's the whole au

Wild west

Ava's fleeing an abusive marriage in Chicago, so she heads west until she reaches a small town in Wyoming. Sarah's a cowboy, back in town after disappearing for months following the death of her daughter. been a long time since I've thought about this one but they fall in love I think :)

Yoga

Ava has no interest in yoga, but after being approached by an over-confident, slightly eccentric yoga instructor in a juice bar, she decides to give it a try (mostly because her therapist tells her to). it's a simple plan - go to one session, say it's not her thing, then never go back. or at least, it would be simple, if Sarah wasn't so charming and beautiful

Youth

based on my headcanon about Sarah being a teen mom :)

Unnamed #1

trying to escape her past, Sarah moves across the country to live with her friend Hannah in the Northern California town she's been residing in for the last few years. she wants things to be different now, so she does everything she can to make a change - she gets a job at one of the convenience stores, keeps track of the debt she owes Hannah, and does her best to make friends with the people in the town

Unnamed #2

follows Sarah's eating disorder recovery. after being discharged from yet another ED clinic, Sarah decides to take things into her own hands and try recovering her own way. she packs up the few belongings that mean something to her, then leaves Chicago for a small town in central Illinois. she keeps to herself for the most part, but always makes sure to head to the local bakery after her therapy sessions, even if all she does is buy a bagel and stare at it. (similar to nervosa and disorder but with a more positive twist !!)

Unnamed #3

four years after Sarah left med, Crockett's called to Goodwin's office, and finds himself face to face with a social worker from DCFS and a little girl with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. Sarah, he's told, is dead, and this is her daughter Olivia. his daughter. Sarah never told him about her, so now without any warning or chance to prepare, he's a father again

Unnamed #4

after Connor's death, Ava decides that the best thing for her and her daughter is to leave Chicago and get away from Cornelius. their road trip lands them in a small town just outside of Illinois. it's supposed to be a quick stop - find somewhere for Cora to go to the bathroom, then get back on their way - but it's getting dark and Sarah, the nice woman who runs the motel, offers to let them stay. just one night, of course. but one night turns into two, then three, then a week. Sarah's ex, Crockett, runs the diner next door, and he's just as welcoming as she is. things are looking up, until Cornelius makes an appearance, demanding to know if anyone in the town has seen his granddaughter

Unnamed #5

Sarah and Crockett (and occasionally Ava and Connor and Noah) explore abandoned buildings together. sometimes Lolly goes with them. Dr Charles is Sarah's adoptive father, and he steps in to look after Lolly whenever needed (which is more often than not)

#chicago med #masterpost #au masterpost

17 notes · View notes