[archivedsouls]

alright friends, moving blogs. primary blog will now be @enwilds. while my multi will be @ensouls as a sideblog, so follow backs will come from ria. <3

[archivedsouls]

it’s the subtlety with which her hand falls into his,   the gentle glide of digits against his palm,   the way his own then take to curling around hers as they launch an intimate waltz.    she is a novelty to him,   partially because it’s most infrequent he initiate a dance at a ball held for the ton,   but there was something about this woman,   both utterly foreign and eerily   soothing   when waltzing in synchronicity with his own steps.    his gaze has been long trained on her own,   her remarkable,   radiant eyes shrouded by an ebony mask intricately detailed in ornate emerald.

it’s aberrant the way time seems to be at a standstill as they caper across the ballroom,   solely them amongst the bustling debutantes batting their lashes and sweeping fans across their bosoms. but enzo hardly minds them,   for his sights are on @fullrigor   —   his eyes solely desiring to remain upon her.    “    far too often i find myself frequenting these….   flagrantly glorified balls.    ”    he commences,   a peculiar softness in his gaze as he watches her,   unremittingly.    “    — and certainly i would have remarked your presence even in absence of your appearance. so tell me….   who are you?    ”

[archivedsouls]

the lingering knot had been compressing his chest with every passing week, it was as if he was hungry for air and simply couldn't get his head up high enough to breathe.      the board of directors were hellbent on condemning his every approval,   his every authorization that’s only looking out for the best interest of new amsterdam,   of new amsterdam's patients.     whatever his doctors needed signed,   you bet his name will be scrawled legible and bold across the dotted line.     resolutely contending with a system that’s tirelessly proven to be broken.     it was a vicious cycle. wherever his patients need him,   you bet he’ll bend over backwards to get it done.     he knows the hospital can’t economically endure the way it has been    —   but he doesn’t care,   not if it means every patient surviving.     now the knot in his chest loosens as the pressurized haze seems to clear   (   temporarily at least   ),   fist dropping from where it supported a stubbled jaw as his vacant hand curls around a glass of watered down bourbon.     azure hues flicker up as the rim meets his lips,   thoughts intercepted as he catches the reflection of an exceptionally familiar face seated alongside.     “     mr.   garcia,     ”     head twists from the reflective surface toward @enfate,   warmth in the gracious upturn of max’s lips.     “     sorry— matty. how’s that knee holding up?   are you still going to pt?     ”

[archivedsouls]

“    viscount st. john.    ”    the title and family name roll off her tongue as if he’s been a recurrent topic of discourse,   eloquently but with a touch of intrigue and mirth.    “    —   sociable but uninvolved, charming and unmarried but   respectful.    ”    an all too knowing grin is spared toward @fullrigor alongside,   dark hues scanning the capering bodies before returning toward the man in question.    “    viscount bridgerton recounts word that circles the ton but goes unmentioned in lady whistledown’s society papers.    the two viscounts are well acquainted,   i hear.    ”    the viscountess had not failed to note how the man had been meeting bonnie’s eye from across the ballroom for the better part of an hour now.     typically,   she’d spend these ornate festivities mingling,   at times even consorting with one of the bridgerton brood or her very husband,   but given her hostess duties at aubrey hall that eve,   kate conscientiously ensured their guests were finding everything to their preference   —    after all,   it wasn’t the   shortest   journey from mayfair.    “    miss. bennett, yes?   he’s been unable to keep his eyes off of you all evening.    ”

[archivedsouls]

word had reached him of the man's time on the moon.     a place so unparalleled to the astronomer,   possibly meant something entirely dissimilar to the sibling of many.     alonzo never grew up alongside others,   never experienced the innate disillusionment of not fitting in,   of being insufficient amongst a sea of other’s striving for validation,   for recognition.     his inadequacy lied within himself,   for so long he viewed his existence as it was   —   an atom in the abysmal mass of the cosmos,   so easily swallowed whole by mortality.     his time in space made him call existence into question,   what it meant to be just another living being walking the tumultuous terrain of the universe,   what it meant to have consciousness.     he hadn’t divulged to @moonexile about the time he remained confined to zero gravity,   perhaps he will now. curiously enough, he’d never felt more grounded than when securely rooted to land,   gravity’s pull tethering him to the earth.

“     i feel so out of touch with it all from here,     ”     frame is slanted forth in the bench beneath him,   forearms supporting him against denim-clad thighs.     his head tilts skyward,   hazel hues reflecting the gleam of the stars above as his gaze settles upon them.     he knows all constellations littered across the night sky,   it is his livelihood now after all,   but he continues at odds with what lies beyond the skies and what keeps him moored to the earth.     he's unable to agree that one is better than the other, to him they are both home,   they both store the very essence of him.     “     the stars,   the planets….   all of it.     mars is where i spent most of my time while i was up there,   i loved it more than anything,   and i would still be there today if i could.     ”     until that nettlesome mortality came knocking on his door,   until death came a little too close for comfort.     “     why did you go to the moon,   luther?     ”

[archivedsouls]

before either of them can blink she has him rammed up against a wall,   forearm braced against his trachea,   weight tipping forth with tortuous leisure as she applies pressure to @fullrigor's throat.     “     you’ve been following me,     ”     this isn’t like her,   she isn’t like this.     with all of her dauntless training,   one would presume dasia the picture of reactivity with a soldier-like complex.     but she’s not,   she’s reflective,   she strays from thinking in extremes and absolutes.     understanding and contemplation had become one with her long before the faction system’s dissolution.     though encouraged to value one trait over others,   she was unable to yield to such ideology.   the world,   the people of the world,   are not so simple to dismiss by mere fact or opinion alone.     not unless those people were following her.     icy glare remains pinned on the russet eyes before her,   tip of her dagger purposefully angled aloft.     “     what could you possibly want with me?     ”     

[archivedsouls]

“     something tells me you know a little bit about running away,     ”     he’s something else,   something other than unremarkably human.     she knows enough about pockets of the world going unperceived by the public eye to believe that this was any different.     beacon hills itself is an enigma,   filled with people far too involved in the lives of others.     if she could smell chaos and terror themselves,   this town would reek of it.     it’s different from chicago,   the faction system entirely dissimilar than anything she’s now come across if truth be told.     after restoring the east,   she couldn’t remain still.     she had to move,   she had to keep going,   continue unearthing that which was utterly foreign to her.     until something about this town in california slowed her in her tracks.     something had her idle, or someone. someone like @lahiey.     “     am i wrong about that?     ”

[archivedsouls]

they live in wreckage and the world has been reduced to chaos.     destruction wreaked havoc on all livable terrain making it a daily crusade to endure.     day by day the thought of ending it crosses her mind,     she’s aware of it not being the solution,   but what if there's no solution in sight?     where is life beyond this?     living is no longer an option,     there is purely survival.     pulse roars behind her ears,   it’s all she can hear beyond the gnawing jaws and macabre shrieks of whatever beings had risen from the dead now shuffling towards her for a taste.     people were no longer people,   self-preservation was all that remained.     “     —no!     ”     she manages to gasp out between narrowing vocal chords,     body flinging itself backwards into a supply closet until her back collides violently against a wall.     it’s warm and musty in there,   but enclosed.     far too enclosed.     despite her ragged breaths becoming shallow with every passing second,   despite the crippling fear now awash in her breast,   a leg flies out from beneath her,   booted foot slamming the door shut and forcefully sustaining it in place.     she can’t breathe,   she can’t catch her breath,   there’s no escape.     eyes squeeze shut just to feel warmth waft against her shoulder,   a brush of what could only be presumed to be another body against her upper arm.     jade hues fly open only to locate a pair gleaming in the dark beside her. there’s a bloodcurdling scream on the horizon, only to be smothered by the lack of oxygen entering her lungs. @ofmalice

[griefwrote]

@dignitaes, ❛  let  me  help  you.  ❜

telling jackson about her past wasn't something elena was purposely avoiding. when a person experienced as much daily grief as she did, it becomes easier to keep to yourself. unless you were laying in bed with someone else, having nightmares that caused you to wake in a fit of crying. his voice helps to calm her, his careful hands like a tether to reality. elena comes to sit up fully, bringing herself to the edge of the bed in order to feel more in control. breathe. in and out. you're not drowning, you're not dying. "jackson…" she manages, voice still shaking. they look at each other in the dark, with elena knowing she has to be the one to speak, to put them back on course. "there's more to help than you think. i don't- i don't even know where to start."

[archivedsouls]

he trails her like a shadow. frame finds itself seated at the edge of the mattress, longing to make contact with her as he had when she awoke, but remaining distant at the biting prospect that she'd shatter beneath his hands. but he doesn't have naive or unremarkable hands, he makes a living off of their meticulous dexterity, off of their utmost precision and care. it's like her body's the most complex one to have ever settled beneath his hands. his mind urges him to proceed with caution, yet his heart compels him to soothe her. to ground her with his touch for deep down he can recognize that it'll ease some of the ache, even if only slightly, to touch her because he knows she won't fracture by his hand. his heart won. “ hey. elena, ” he echoes into the darkness, half of her illuminated by moonlight. he isn't certain when one of his hands found her again, but it had, and it settles upon the back of her head, gliding down her hair and residing. “ try me. ”

[griefwrote]

@dignitaes, ❛  i  have  ideas! most  of  them  are  illegal.  ❜

"i feel like i should be concerned." laughter falls from elena's lips as the pair sits in mystic grill. "but i guess i have to ask," she leans in closer, face hovering so that jo won't have to speak loudly if she actually wants to tell elena her ideas. "what are they?"

[archivedsouls]

❛ well.... for starters, it doesn't involve the guys, ❜ she takes to mirroring elena's position, back lengthening from what could best be described as a slouch in order to better lean across the table toward her friend. ❛ specifically, it doesn't involve jackson. or mark. or tyler. ❜ she's undeterred by just how charming tyler can be, but this isn't exactly the time to be admitting such a thought aloud, right? of course not. alright, wilson, it's now or never. hand dips into the pocket of her jeans, far too rakishly extracting a dime sized bag of something that shouldn't be in her possession just to dangle it before elena's face. she flashes her most winning smile, roguish hues trained on the bag. ❛ — i snagged this off a kid at the hospital the other day. bake some brownies with me? ❜

[petrosa-deactivated20230718]

@dignitaes + continued from here.

every part of her has wanted nothing more than this: to be in matías' arms, to feel the heat of him, to know that it was all real. every moment they spent together, every sentence exchanged and lesson learned was more than just a lifeline to each other. it wasn't made up in her centuries of loneliness and insanity. their connection spanned worlds, spanned lifetimes. "i can't believe i found you. time… i don't know how long it's been since she released me, how long i've been looking." amara's grip doesn't relent. even as she aches to take in each detail of him. she's known matías in a million different ways, but never his face. never the deep richness of his eyes, the swell of his lips, the texture of his hair against the grasp of her fingers. he surpasses her wildest dreams. any fantasy has paled in comparison to seeing his smile, to hearing her name spoken by him. her imagination couldn't possibly bring him justice.

he was unforgettable. she wandered the world until she heard him; never stopping, always moving. in the hopes that one day they would find each other. amara would have driven herself to madness all over again. each faint inkling drew them closer. it took years they would never get back. she wouldn't know what she was looking for and then his voice would call to her, a flash of a memory. stories of the heart never truly leave you. when amara does finally pull away, fingers graze his cheeks, feel the taut line of his jaw. never letting go for fear of their tether snapping again. she wouldn't survive it. there are no words to accompany this feeling other than, "i love you, matías. it's all i know." it is all that matters.

[archivedsouls]

a coarse cheek melts into a touch so ached for,   years apart and his sanity on the brink of dissolution now rightfully intact,   mended,   whole.     instinct urges a hand skyward,   grasping one of her own before it descends from his jaw only to sustain it in place.     but he is far from done. his lips drop a sound kiss to her palm,   the scent of her powerful,   and he holds it there against his cheek,   smooth and agonizingly unfamiliar.     he never imagined his most recent violent and reactive behavior to be put on trial by his own simmering contrition,   but seeing her poised before him,   brimming with vitality and freed from the shackles of her once indefinite loneliness,   matías is found guilty of his every offense.     he’s unable to imagine continuing in such a way now with her by his side,     she’s lived such a harrowing existence,   he refuses to add to that.     he’ll bring her peace if it’s the very last thing he does.

being so cosmically bound to her surpasses the natural world.     if they could be so connected,   beyond planes and realms,   he wonders just how powerful their tether truly is.     how far can they go now alongside one another?     there’s a blaze deep in his chest,   it’s localized yet sedately disseminating the longer her touch remains upon him.     like electricity conducting its way through conduits of galvanized steel,   invigorating,   voltage mounting with the current.     those are curiosities for another time however,   for this is his first time seeing her with his own infallible sight and not his minds eye,   this is his first time grazing his hands against her flesh when all he’s ever had formerly was his ingenuity.     he’s fire incarnate beneath her touch,   and he yearns to feel it across every inch of him.     ❛ i’ve felt lost without you,   without knowing it was you that i’d been searching for.     not until recently… ❜     head shakes in deep thought,   breath sucker-punched from his lungs.     ❛ —when i could feel you,   again. ❜     professions tumble past his lips,   vacant hand resting against the column of her neck.     ❛ y yo te amo como la luna ama al sol. ❜

[whisperswar-deactivated20230131]

told  himself  the  last  visit  would  be  his  last.  (  he's  a  liar.  )  woulda  handled  the  gash  on  his  own;  he's  no  stranger  to  having  to  stitch  himself  up.  only  this  time  it'd  been  in  an  unreachable  location  to  him.  and  now  he  finds  himself  standing  at  her  doorway  at  an  ungodly  hour;  hood  over  his  head  and  leaning  with  his  arm  against  the  doorframe  to  keep  himself  standing  upright.  truth  is,  he's  seen  better  days.  he's  also  been  battered  worse  than  now.  but  he  still  looks  roughed  up  and  in  need  of  some  medical  help.

the  moment  the  door  opens,  he  cracks  a  half  smile  and  murmurs,  ❝  ma'am...  ❞

@dignitaes , liked.

[archivedsouls]

working for a level one advanced trauma center and teaching hospital as an attending trauma surgeon amongst a remarkably limited pool of trauma attendings implied that she had arduously long and rigorous hours.     if memory serves,   she’d been on her feet for forty-nine hours,   and in forty-nine of those hours she’d slept in an on call room for less than two.     she wanted sleep,   no actually,   her body desperately demanded it.     so being awoken to a painfully familiar succession of raps against her front door just about had april seething towards it.     he wouldn’t be there unless he truly needed it,   she knows that,   but god,   tonight of all nights?     ❛ you couldn’t have picked any other night to— ❜     and just like that the second half of her gripe vaporizes within the steam of her ire. she manages a single glance at his battered,   but appreciatively hooded self and the depletion all but jolts from her nervous system.     funny thing that adrenaline.    

❛ oh my god,   get in here.     frank,   i have neighbors! ❜     april swiftly steps aside,   emerald irises flickering down @fullrigor's frame to the maroon droplets inconsistently descending towards the ground. ❛ —do not get any of that on my carpet. ❜     where is it even coming from!

[archivedsouls]

continued, featuring theo sharpe.

a charming disclosure,   one that settles warmly in the pit of her stomach,   one that brings her both a thrilling wave of incertitude and ease alike.     it’s rather curious when two antithetical emotions coalesce so seamlessly,   she doesn’t fret them however,   kate merely embraces them so.     ❛     something i have regrettably come to note as well,   i am afraid.     ❜     gloved hand slips most willingly into the arm extended,   a tip of the head motioning for edwina’s lady’s maid to follow suit as she falls into step with @maimedaffair.     if it hadn’t been for both edwina and mary’s relentless insistence,   kate would’ve very well journeyed on her lonesome    —   as she always had,   in a manner most expected for an old maid at the age of six and twenty.     ❛     it seems you are familiar with flavor yourself,   mr. sharpe?   do you favor good spices?     ❜

[archivedsouls]

continued, featuring evan buckley.

the sight of raging fires on television screens dislodges something indefinable, something elusive within her.     an image of paul comes to mind,   the way he’d flick on a lighter after laying a few blows to her abdomen,   a solid kick to the back of her head.     it was a long time ago,   a time she’s trying with every ounce of her being to leavge in her rearview mirror.     some things are better left in the past,   she tends to believe,   things    —   or people   —   like paul stadler.     it's kinda laughable,   it’s as if the entirety of his life had been lived in its prime.     no red meat,   cardio every morning,   no cigarette's….   so she wonders, why had he always carried that lighter around?     a scare tactic probably. if she ever decided to take a stand against him,   to strike back in the way she knew her survivalist body could, he'd threaten to sweep that little flame along her skin.     or maybe he wouldn't, she didn't remain put long enough to find out. she escaped, it was the only option if she ever desired to live, again.

what she runs from is why this career is of such value to her, one of many motives anyway.     she yearns to help others,   to save lives,   to be there for them in ways others weren’t for her.     she once thought she’d be destined for a life of detachment unless she settled for indignity.     but she knows now,   jo knows that her core beliefs have all been false,   are false,   and she’ll fight every day to prove that they are.     the flames roar miles away from the hospital,   and though they're entirely inaudible she still feels like she needs to strain to hear the firefighter's response.     ❛     you need to sit down on this gurney so i can debride this burn on your arm. ❜ she glances up at @destage then, ramming through the invasion of thoughts to offer the sternest expression she could achieve. ❛ sit.     ❜

[archivedsouls]

continued, featuring enjolras.

he is a man of many things,   but he is mostly a man of dreams.     there’s self-determination,  love,   and infinite prospects even when dreams appear comically and unreasonably out of reach.     people may suspect he’s a man that is out of touch with reality,   his father being one of them.   but his aspirations,   christian choosing to pursue his dreams and in all respects reject the simpler path most taken is what places him above those who brand him unrealistic.     he followed his dreams,   and now he lives them.     ❛     no!   no,   not apathy,   but magnanimity!     my friend,   you are so consumed by this hatred—   by the rage in your heart.     ❜     christian can all but feel the imprisoned tension boiling from @fraegiles,   releasing in governed quantities,   a pressure cooker awaiting eruption.     arms unhesitatingly soar skyward,   hands halting at the tops of enjolras’ shoulders and squeezing.      this is enjolras’ reality,   the writer presumes,   and he trusts that he can choose a more freeing path.     ❛     they refuse your words,    but what of action?     violence only begets violence.   won’t they simply fight back?     until all that is left is more destruction,   a war with no end.     ❜

[archivedsouls]

continued, featuring evan buckley.

she's minutes shy of striding past those automatic hospital doors and never returning. okay, that may be downright unfounded, maybe a little misguided, because she'd never soberly do that. not when she's gone against every odd to make it, to have this life, to be triumphant and make something of herself. but, the week's been harsh. with her new obstetrics residency as demanding as ever, and then picking up some of meredith's slack at the request of a near groveling chief bailey, jo feels the depletion in her pores. leave her to another week of this grueling schedule and she'll swear that even her hair hurts. which it has! it's the very reason that an enervated, yet equally indebted smile, prods its way across her formerly scowling lips at her best friend's proposition. ❛ evan buckley and eggnog? ❜ there's an air of jest to her query, final chart of the day deposited at the nurses station closest to the lobby, where @destage awaits. ❛ good thing i have tons of sorrows to drown, my hero. ❜

[archivedsouls]

continued, featuring bonnie bennett.

sms, silly witch. i wouldn't call it stalking when i'd merely prepared for this failed attempt, can't we both agree that this wasn't a surprise and move on? sms, silly witch. inappropriate? now you've caught my attention. sms, silly witch. for the record, love, i've always been your hero.