[norholyarchived]

sweeties, find me at the same url @norholy ! i'll be back online a little later to get things going and follow you all. all drafts will be moved over there.

[norholyarchived]

sweeties, find me at the same url @norholy ! i'll be back online a little later to get things going and follow you all. all drafts will be moved over there.

[daylighterarchived]

she radiates her unease, a number four reactor disaster he could feel the rays of from where he was settled. fiddling with his tools, he does nothing to confront its unwavering presence at first, simply leaves it be to absorb the space. eventually it would fatigue itself long enough to slow, to allow her a moment to think beyond the worries that had plagued her every step today. one way or another, despite the spectacular pace of her rippling anxieties, she had felt comfortable approaching him knowing there was no anticipating what he might have to say about it. pinned there as if it were a second stage, he momentarily looks up and watches her settle a few ways away from him. even footing, similar that way on the cool wooden floorings of where he inhibited his work.

wren doesn't get a word out of him until she braves the rift herself first. the room is a radio of soft silence intermingled with the low hum of him working the screw-driver here, or matching up a note on the keyboard there to tune it. she thaws at last, and elaborates the precise nature of what had inflamed her nerves.

and yet— she still doesn't see it, doesn't get his point. with a low huff, he tucks his arm above the head of a disconnected computer screen [those old ones, almost retro in their over-funded glory] and lifts his head, catching her eyes. ‘‘   let me tell you something,   ’’ he said with his hand out, characteristic gestures; it would have been easier to dish his venom in his native tongue, but he settled for the confines of english. ‘‘   it gets easy for them to think that, probably 'cause they've convinced some part of you that it's maybe true.   ’’ he put the wrench tool down and switched it for a wire cutter; the metaphor was elaborate, cutting out the ones that sparked like bullshit. ‘‘   that's all it takes. bit of doubt.   ’’

but she wanted something else, and this he knew. the longer he looked back at her, the more he wondered what she would do at this crossroad. did soft have to mean frail? he had known of tender hands that could hold a gun, sparrows that could pick eyes. maybe it depends. ‘‘   well?.   ’’ framed with her straw-blonde hair, her eyes seemed almost darker than the one of his own, but more earnest, more than he would ever be in life. here, in his space, there is nothing of dellecher to front, and nothing of dellecher to force its mould on her. a last minute spectacle to throw at her, that what his opinion would become was now in her hands. ‘‘   are you weak, wren?   ’’

[norholyarchived]

he articulates and her breath catches in her throat,  she deflates in on herself,  inwardly evidently,  but her shoulders do gradually release tension the longer the timbre of his voice envelopes her in their shared space.    she wants to stay in it forever,  in the sound of his voice,  even in their silence when it embraces them comfortably,  but its a rarity that he speaks to her where she gets a picture of his inner world  —  of his positions and thoughts,  not all which mirror his actions.    there’s only so much she gets from action alone,  from his presence that’s become more steady in her life with every passing month.    though wren seeks him out fairly often,  imposes on his time with tenderness and sweet gestures,  she presumes that she’s become welcomed,  or at the very least tolerable,  with how he’s yet to cast her aside.

he’s right,  part of her can comprehend how they see her as such.    weak,  soft,  the ingenue or girl next door.    it’s been postulated,  acted out on more than one occasion on the theater stage,  but it’s indicative through the treatment of others as well.    soft and sensitive wren,  starry-eyed and blissfully unaware wren.    it’s never much bothered her to hear it nor to believe it,  not until she found herself desiring for kenneth to see the other sides of her.    being soft and dreamy doesn’t make her weak.    she’s too sensitive for such a competitive artistic environment—  it’s cutthroat and brutal,  but she hasn’t yet doubted that she’d be unable to survive it…    because she can be sensitive and resilient. right?

with a determined exhale,  her mouth settles into a serious line while her eyes remain somewhere rather distant.    her thoughts are lost in the connectivity of synapses,  and they’re mirroring the wire cutter snipping away at the cables now sparking and inessential.    she comes back to him,  her eyes,  that is,  and they soften a fraction.    she likes what he’s doing,  rather than answering her question directly,  no matter how much she may desire it,  he’s granting her the space to show him who she knows herself to be,  and his opinion would follow.    he doesn’t seem to form one based off of others established perceptions.      “  i’ve never indicated that i wasn’t,  ”      she recommences,  finding her voice with every syllable.      “  then again,  i’ve never indicated that i was.    just because i’m soft or smaller than many,  doesn’t mean i’m weak.    it’ll take a lot to break me to bits.  ”      she regards him closely then,  gaze steady.    a heat that’d normally rise to her cheeks the longer she’d hold a gaze,  now not present.    his questions forged a determination in her,  it trickles a small smile to the corners of her lips.      “  now what do you say?  ” @daylighter

[francescca]

              music is what eased all turmoil .      it flowed through her body , down to fingertips and manifested itself as notes upon the familiar keys . even now when she halted doing so , it still hummed in the back of her brain . ❝ of course it is . ❞ she agreed . smiling into the gentle caress upon her head while in unison scooting over to allow her father more room . ❝ i am . how could i not be with my debut tomorrow ? ❞ her father could see right through her , he always did , and as much as she told herself that tomorrow was just another day , deep down it felt as if the trajectory of everything after would change .

                   her posture slacked ,      hands dropping away from the pianoforte to rest in her lap . she's always been sure of things , always gone about life in inevitable logic and therefore that had been quite helpful . yet stepping out into society with all eyes and expectations wore on her shoulders like flour bags . francesca thus began to ramble , and the more she did , the more she let the cat out of the bag .        ❝         it is just another day , right ?         ❞ eyes flicked to her father's , searching his features for answers she thought he'd know , because of course all father's knew everything . even in matters of the opposite gender . ❝         i am unsure if i can garner the queen's favor , but perhaps it'll go well enough that i will find a kind suitor ..         ❞

[norholyarchived]

he reads her quite easily,  as if he could read the thoughts flickering through her mind across her very countenance.    it is not because she is someone who is easy to read,  rather because she is his daughter.    he likes to believe that he knows his children rather well,  all eight of them and their vivacious dissimilarities.    but he and francesca,  unalike in several ways,  carry similitudes as well.     his fifth has a rather momentous day on the horizon,  far sooner than he’d hoped it’d be,  if he’s being honest.    but entering society during the tons social season is the most foolproof way to secure a worthwhile match.    which ultimately results in a life of security,  and in the case of his family,  hopefully love.    certainly not every single one of them will have a love match or a story repleting in the same mutual affection that he and violets carry,  but he definitely wishes that they do.    this life,  alongside the woman he loves,  who fills his days with incomparable merriment,  has blessed him with a life most fulfilling.    he hopes the same for all of his children.

“  it is just another day,  dearest,  ”      he reassures her with a slight,  all-knowing raise of chestnut brows,  shoulder touching hers gently as he comes to settle himself into the bench alongside her.    hand raises,  fingers brushing the pianoforte keys until it halts on one in particular,  d major,  before pressing it with languor and the resultant note echoes in the morning room enveloping them.    he remembers the season when his father passed,  he’d inescapably been appointed viscount,  but pressure to marry was minimal.    it typically is for a man of the ton because though it is to be predicted,  perhaps a duty to some,  they do not require matrimony for survival.    his girls have it rather challenging with the pressures and heavy expectations that seem to cling to their dresses and coiffure’s,  so he will provide for them for however long he can to avoid such pressures making them crack like boiling liquid in a sealed tight container.

“  however,  it is a day where eyes will be on you,  though just for a moment,  ”      head turns toward her then,  eyes watching her closely.    he imagines that she can very well see through him and his means of protection,  as well.      “  the day will be fleeting and you will be out from beneath the hawk’s eye in due time.  ”      he provides words of comfort,  but he knows she is fully aware that that is fairly untrue.    the queen’s sights will remain,  especially following the success of his children in the two seasons past.    now he responds in earnest,  with utmost honesty.      “  it will go well,  francesca.    my hope for you is that you,  too,  find someone kind.    someone who you can be your most genuine with.    if it were up to your mother and i,  we would keep you children beneath our wings forever.  ”      well,  if it were up to him.    for violet has a way of grounding him to reality when he drifted too close to a daydream.

[warsarchive]

THIS STRANGER CARRIES HERSELF WITH FAR MORE ASSURANCE THAN GUILLAUME BELIEVES HE COULD POSSIBLY FEEL. while lacking his half sister's natural grace when it comes to courtly manners, he manages to navigate the social politics of the palais rather effectively, all things considered. here in london, however, his playacting has become more clumsy by the moment, uncertain as he is about how to balance the season and the expectations of his father. he knows he is here to find a wife and he does not necessarily reject the idea. fortunately, he has no need to seek a political alliance, but his father's instructions regarding any choice had otherwise been steadfast. do not heed your foolish heart, my son, he'd told him firmly, and choose a wife suited to bear the responsibilities of your station.

his choice of wife, apparently, should be beautiful, educated, intelligent, with all the expected talents of a noblewoman, well versed in social decor, confident, with the presence and command to assume a queenship in the future when it becomes necessary for gui to ascend the throne. and when gui dared to ask ( somewhat sarcastically ) where he should endeavor to find this paragon of perfection, to which no individual should likely be held, his father icily informed him that he would be employing the assistance of the queen of england herself to secure a match. and now he finds himself here, the unwilling center of attention of the entirety of the ton, the most eligible of the bachelors in attendance against his own desire.

" then the evening has provided at least one miracle, " he breathes in relief, his smile melting into something more genuine, a little more relaxed. of course, he supposes it's possible that she considers the encounter lucky, a rare opportunity to catch the prince alone – yet something about her demeanor convinces him that this isn't the case at all, especially absent nervousness as she seems to be. perhaps he should be more concerned that they are alone, but given their proximity to the party and the distance between them, he does not expect anybody would suspect anything uncouth. " I suppose I have interrupted your own attempt to escape the jaws of the season, then, however briefly, and for that, I must thoroughly beg your pardon. "

gui allows himself to study his accidental companion for another few moments, politely, just out of the corner of his eye. she appears poised, calm, in such control of herself in a way that he admires and very nearly makes him envious. as independently as she moves, as assured as she seems, he predicts it is not her first season, although it would surprise him, were she unwed, between her bearing and her unquestionably striking beauty. " I invite you to pretend I am nobody's highness for just a few moments, if you would prefer. we are already co-conspirators after all. but since you know my title already, I am pleased to provide only my given name, at the risk of sounding too familiar. guillaume de la tour. " the corner of his mouth twitches as he turns halfway toward her. " which I suppose is my rather clumsy way of prompting an introduction, miss ... ? "

[norholyarchived]

he appears pleasant enough,  air of insolence undetectable at a glance.    so she cools a mere fraction,  enough to respond amicably and devoid of defiance,  her glove-sheathed hands releasing the loose fists at her sides until she stands at ease.    they ascend only to deliberately find purchase against the stone balustrading,  loosely settling atop the adorned curvature as a means of support,  of steadying.    kate would not typically impose on another’s moment of abatement,  for she knows full well that she would not take kindly to hers being disturbed,  but this one seemed engaging  —  for reasons she couldn’t yet identify  —  this moment encouraged her.

in said moment,  tranquility pleaded with her to wedge a notable distance from the suitors of the ton discussing women as though they were chattel and breeding stock and nothing else.    a woman is far more than what’s expected of her  —  it repulses her that in this society,  they are confined to what matrimony can offer them or else they never marry and live as old maids or governesses.    if she is to be studied in the manner that so many speak of women,  she would much rather not marry at all.    she would rather live out a life of solitude where occasional visitations to edwina and lady mary are done.    she does not have much time to even consider marriage,  let alone love for herself,  for her focus is laser-like and trained on solely her sister.    edwina shall wed,  she shall secure a future of comfortability and what kate desperately aspires for her…    love.    there is no room for that in this woman of six and twenty now.

“  oh,  you have done no such thing,  your highness,  ”      if she could have shrugged off his remorse,  she would’ve,  lips twitching in brewing humor.      “  if anyone should be imploring for pardon it is most certainly i,  for i’ve come to intrude on your respite from the vipers den.    if you desire my departure,  i trust you will employ honesty and do tell me if that is what you wish.  ”      in her sincerity,  she privately hopes that he does not send her away.    she observes him fleetingly,  from the peripheral of her vision,  and she only assumes he does the same.    kate notes hints of clumsiness in him,  possibly from the way he carries himself with a refresher in hand,  or from the charged attention from which he now separates himself from,  one could say it’s rather charming  —  if the observation were being made,  evidently.

“  sharma,  ”    she finishes his sentence,  mirroring his movements only slightly,  head turning to face him in more formal of a greeting.      “  kate sharma.    lovely to make your acquaintance,  my co-conspirator guillaume.  ”      the smirk that had formerly graced her countenance makes a resurgence,  any lingering tension now dissipated from her shoulders.    kate’s back remains upright,  she stands tall as she’d trained herself to do for the hypercritical eyes of high society.      “  is it long now that you have been in mayfair?  ”

[satellitewar-archived]

shawky likes this part of archaeology... save for the getting trapped in total darkness part, of course. thank god for flashlights and a friend to hold the light steady. lucas has become rather invaluable in their current exploration, and despite their stuck state (their only exit has vanished, leaving both shawky and lucas at the mercy of their ability to find a new way out), they're having quite a bit of fun. lucas even listens to him, obeying his sense of direction, abiding by shawky's requests. it's a relief. this is life or death — this is certainly not a time for feuding egos.

"thanks for trusting me." shawky guides them deeper, hand ghosting over the walls as he searches for a means of escape. "the builders wouldn't make one exit and leave it at that — if there's a cave-in, they need an alternate way out. and now we need that same alternate way out. i'm sure it'll be around here somewhere." shawky blinks through the darkness, through the cobwebs and musty air, and constantly double-checks that @norholy is still following close behind. "for someone who's just been trapped inside a dark tomb, lucas, you're handling this remarkably well. i'm glad you came with me. buzzy would be screaming by now."

he manages a small laugh as they press onward, and a few steps later, shawky freezes in place. his hand shoves in front of lucas, barring him from stepping further. "wait. don't move." shawky waves the flashlight over the floor, his eyes squinting. "i think those are pressure plates. we'll have to be careful."

[norholyarchived]

they slink through the shadows together,  one in front and one two paces behind but ultimately seeking the right path forward.    what ever that path may be,  he trusts that shawky will find it.    entrusting in his friendship does help support his faith,  but it is the passion and mastery in archaeology that reinforces it.    in that trust,  lucas finds it beyond facile to allow shawky the lead,  after all,  this is his terrain,  his area of expertise,  his place to dictate their best and ensuing moves.    this is lucas’ first time in the deep recesses of a dusty,  rather dank cave,  and it’d be nothing short of a lie if he ever formerly confessed to ever desiring to frequent one.    it’s one of those activities that you don’t typically feel urged to do unless presented within valuable reason,  and this was certainly valuable.    it appeals to his unremitting curiosities,  it could lead to worldwide renovation.    well,  perhaps not worldwide,  but certainly for various pockets of society that may find life-changing discoveries something to be revered.    whatever the outcome,  whatever comes from this discovery,  shawky will be accredited for his mastery.

“  you’re a fantastic mate shawky,  but you are quite honestly the only person who can get us out of here before the holiday.    not to mention alive  —  i trust you with my life.  ”      it’s evident that that may be a lot to put on another person,  undue pressure when there’s already such stress being felt from every which way.    but,  he’s merely being honest with the other.    instance such as these tend to uncover the most earnest tiers in lucas.    he comes to a halt against shawky’s outstretched hand,  abdomen arching around said hand as he peers past the man’s shoulder in courageous wonder.      “  pressure plates?  ”      if those are what he believes they are,  then he’s equally parts marveled and horrified.      “  as in a plate that if stepped on,  will activate who knows what into this cave?    what could it do?    oh gods,  are we to be poisoned,  shawky?    with toxic gas!?—  please,  tell me that i’m absolutely incorrect in my assumption.  ” @satellitewar

[norholyarchived]

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[stormlit]

she should leave. aoife knows that she should take her leave and return to her room, resume any conversation or gratitude by light of day, when she is fully dressed and it would not be so improper for them to be alone together. to talk, even, though heaven knows their worlds are so far apart that no bridge will ever be able to pull them closer together. and yet...what reputation has she left to lose? if the master himself has seen the truth of what she's kept hidden — secret daughter, runaway wife, fleeing for her life — then nobody else can force her from this house.

there is safety, here. not just in having confirmation that this little life she has scraped together from ashes isn't going to be swept away from her, but in him, specifically. she wants to stay in the warmth of his presence, when neither of them has any front left to put up, just a little while longer.

can she not be selfish, for once? and if she lets her gaze selfishly watch simon's face as he fumbles with the stove, can she not be a little weak, too?

that small smile returns; any other day, and perhaps he would have drawn laughter from her, but the shadows of this night still linger close. this smile may as well be the sun. ❝ i'm sure you've all kinds of talents i couldnae do if you paid me, ❞ aoife says. he is, after all, an educated man, in the lords, living a life she only sees from the outside. but this she can do; this grounded sort of ability is natural for aoife. and it's a strange feeling to know she is good at something, however little, while standing next to someone so accomplished. (after all, she's not had the opportunity to gain such accomplishments.)

❝ there's a secret, ❞ aoife crouches down in front of the stove, drawing out a poker and bellows, ❝ it's already lit. it's kept banked so we can use its coals to light the rest of the fires of a morning. ❞ has she ever said so many words to him? has it ever felt so natural—even if she is talking about fires. this one she fans back into life. ❝ i didnae know what to make of stoves like this when i first saw them. i'd only ever used an open fire. ❞ her hand itches to touch him, some kind of reassurance that not being able to do this does not make him stupid, but her hand starts to move and then she aborts it, all at once. she can't. she can't. he's a duke, however much he is just simon, right now.

instead aoife pulls her shawl tighter around herself, and nods at the impossible contraption. ❝ the milk could go in a saucepan, if ye dinnae mind. ❞

[norholyarchived]

perhaps he feared she would retire to her bedchambers,  perhaps he found himself fretting,  even if distantly and implacably,  that this moment between them would cease to exist and he would awaken from a nightmare turned dream.

albeit they now reside in the wake of tragic ponderosity,  this evening between them still has room to be reclaimed.    he is most certain of it.    selfless,  simon has the ability to be,  there have been instances in life that have undoubtedly legitimized the trait.    however the taciturn presence and rather aloof demeanor in recent days usually rescues him from such necessities.    the maids,  grooms,  and butlers at clyvedon house have essentially all had a hand at raising him on their lonesome.    they’ve witnessed him grow into the man he is present day,  and notwithstanding simon’s explosive temper and vindictive behavior as a result of said temper,  they were the only one’s that had seemed to willingly remain.

“  why indeed,  there are many a talent i have yet to demonstrate for you…   perhaps in due time i will reveal that which brings me joy.  ”      aoife’s ephemeral delight flitted about her face,  and even if small and slight in the moment,  it is still so enrapturing that it puts a cease to simon’s thoughts altogether.    it is bewitching  —  a smile that simultaneously ignites a flame but seizes breath  —  and yet,  he is unable to identify whether the flame was in the general air between them or within him.    well,  there is no warmed milk as of yet,  so within him,  that is where the fire burns.

he regards her closely,  two jars of milk in hand and a sight for rather comical eyes.    unable to suppress the incredulity fluttering across his expression as he trails her movements,  he swiftly recovers and steps close to the stove.    simon pours the milk into the awaiting saucepan,  depositing the emptied jars on the nearest counter before twisting toward her welcomed company.      “  my word,  that is remarkable,  ”      he’s rather impressed,  that much is most evident,  and he is soaking up this newly learned knowledge.    something so removed from title and societal expectation,  something welcomingly normal.      “  you are remarkable,  aoife.  perhaps,  following today,  i may know more of your talents.  ”  

[ourcharade-archive]

he would have screamed if the air hadn't been knocked right out of his lungs and sheer shock weren't paralysing him. nolan stares at @norholy in all his glory ( would it be vain to call it so? ) and for once has no mere notion of what to say. all he can do is blink. and again. and again. something forms, tentative and weak as his hand slowly reaches up. " how ... " dear, could he touch the man's cheek? his own cheek? is this how lindsay lohan felt like in parent trap? " you are ... what. "

[norholyarchived]

he regards the other in absolute and unmitigated wonder,  his own mouth rather agape,  hazel eyes blown wide in stagger.    he had a sibling growing up,  one who had a run-in with death far too early in life,  but he was never informed of an identical twin.    for this must be what’s transpiring  —  the man before him is his long lost twin,  or better yet for science’s sake  —  his experimentally generated clone.    what other explanation could there be for such a one in a lifetime encounter?      “  fascinating!  ”      the word swinging across his mind on a vine blurts out unabridged,  for though as stupefying as it is,  it is also absolutely remarkable to meet another so physically alike.      “  down to the slightly enlarged ears…  ”      he scrutinizes the other like a scientist would a lab rat,  narrow nose rather upturned,  eyes peering past the bifocals perched on the bridge of said nose.    he’s utterly certain that this encounter would appear comical to another.      as if desperate to engage in conversation with a mirror image of himself,  the ensuing words tumble past his lips at accelerated speeds.      “  tell me!    what is your name?    i’m lucas—  sullivan,  lucas sullivan.    and you?  ”      

[daylighterarchived]

‘‘   hospitium,   ’’ he answered mildly, blocking the other from diving in further. it was a collection of things that made him rigid & unforgiving, and among them were the acute irritation he felt at the disregard on the other end of this extremely delicate line. ‘‘   by oath to jupiter's will, to give food and clothes to a guest. that respect is to be returned, and you're more an intruder.   ’’ with a tilt of his hand, he gestured between them: this wasn't a threat, but a state-ment and fact. ‘‘   the only thing intruders are owed on our land is a spear through the skull.   ’’

wilfull and unrelenting, his quiet bristling doesn't cease even as his other threat is processed. the silence outlasts the fury. the sun doesn't buck first or away from the clouds. the kitchen, ordinarily pleasant in its lush warmth & scarce company, now heats to a more noticeable simmer before he reels back his contempt. the narrow attentiveness he possessed could make a study out of the scene itself: matías where his brows arch up, surprise or intrigue, a hand hovering just past his waist before he needles his way past. it takes more restraint than he credits himself with to not react with abject punishment. rather than chase, he steps away entirely towards the door frame and abandons his attachment to the kitchen in a snap.

                ‘‘   and why would i want to break you?   ’’ a low scoff sits in his throat, without commitment. he ignores the jab and drags his eyes dully to the man occupying the island, forgoing any attempt to reiterate the weight behind his threats, if the angel was content to underestimate it. ‘‘   you would have to be interesting enough to warrant the exercise.   ’’ he dusts down his sleeves idly, locks the movement in his periphery of everywhere those eyes study him & the weight of them. matías intentions remained elusive but it didn't matter, he would find out eventually what he hoped to achieve from being here ( an incompatible territory ) in the first place. ‘‘   if you're done goading me for the thrill you won't get, leave my things alone. i'm not your shot of adrenaline.   ’’

[norholyarchived]

kenneth’s not his shot of adrenaline,  but he can’t deny that it hasn’t been refreshing.    the reciprocated opposition,  the ire though introspectively undeserving  (  his divine heart says otherwise  ).    this isn’t their point of contention,  naturally they’ve had an abundance,  but matías is unfailingly brought back to the villa where life channels the floorboards.    heavy emotions aside,  it’s comfortable there,  and it's not entirely a result of the home itself.    it’s who resides in it,  it’s who stands in what he presumes is the comfort of its solitude,  in that very kitchen probably,  making himself food.    imagining kenneth in a position so mundane,  so inoffensive,  stirs something unidentifiable in his chest.    it had been one too many years since another soul has given him the time of day,  even if it is mostly in impatience due to his teasing prodding,  but it’s enough to lure him in for more.    now that he’s a taste of what it feels like.    but he’s not his shot of adrenaline.    he doesn’t return again and again merely for what it placates behind his breastbone,  but for the purpose it reawakens in his mind,  for the inability to stray too far for too long.    

it’s as if his gaze knew where the demigod was to reposition himself before his awareness did,  for his eyes drift almost naturally before his body takes flight.    rather than fulfilling his prior taunting and descending a hand upon that which does not belong to him,  he goes to lower it to his side again, but intercepts his own action and raises it back in the same movement,  both arms folding across his chest.    wish a sigh,  matías’ brows settle above a dark and painfully open gaze,  the tilt of his mouth losing its taunts.      “  so teach me,  ”      the sincerity in his statement is jarring in comparison to the words that had previously left him during their dance.      “  what would it take to no longer be considered an intruder in your home?  ”      his head hangs for a fraction of a second,  gaze disconnecting from kenneth beneath the door frame,  and his chin brushes the gold cross dangling from his neck.    a lifeless chuckle erupts from his throat rather softly,  he couldn’t help it.    he’s questioning another on how to be invited in,  how to be a respectful visitor.    wouldn’t be us if i were welcomed though,  would it.

swaying on the spot,  he straightens his head yet again,  a spot of jest gleaming in brown eyes.      “  well,  you threatened to break my pipes,  rubio,  doesn’t exactly indicate passivity.  ”      the expression that replaces the current is one that hasn’t traversed his features in quite the years,  one would’ve thought the muscles in his face had long forgotten how to form them.    he watches the other closely,  attraction could be confused with incitement and general intrigue,  but that’s something that doesn’t require utterance,  now does it?    it’s something he doesn’t bother to conceal.      “  i told you,  ”      the volume of his voice quiets,  softens,  but never abandons its pleasure.      “  i’m not looking for a shot of adrenaline.    i need a sink,  i was making dinner.    if you let me use yours,  as angrily as it may be,  it's possible que tu tambien will get something out of it.    i only assume you’re not very accustomed to others cooking for you,  are you?  ” @daylighter

[archivedlegacey]

the ton believed they were courting, and sometimes, (only sometimes!) daphne's heart believed it too. or well, more so that it tended to forget that they were faking it for a purpose whenever the two of them would have time on their own. something that her own mama wasn't ashamed to give them. anything for a good match, but especially for a love match. was that what violet saw when she looked at daphne and her duke? a love match? the thought grips at her heart and gives a small squeeze, making it a little hard to breathe. pressing her lips together, eyes flick up at him. trying to hide her sheer panic. did he run from the significance... because he felt something too? was she dreaming this all up and making a story that was only to be found in a silly book of entertainment? did the duke care for her?

of course he did not bite her bait about leaving unescorted to the gardens at night. it could ruin her reputation, and he did not intend on marrying her. she needed her reputation... if she ever wanted to get married. albeit, as of this moment, the thing daphne bridgerton wanted the most was to be stubborn and unlady like and stomp her foot and demand he tell her everything his heart thinks about her. does it beat faster when you see me? does it burn for me? i burn for you.

"i am in dire need of fresh air, the room... it is quite suffocating tonight, do you not agree?" tilting her head at him, careful not to undo the updo on her head. see me, simon. her eyes plea with him. just see me for once. a sigh escapes her lips, she hadn't ever realized that men would not know the song of a woman's heart simply from looking into her eyes. "i shall seek the gardens on my own then." curtseying before turning on her heel and walking towards the exit in a hasted pace.

[norholyarchived]

he could feel every flicker of her eyes turning up to him as he spoke.    doubting and examining his comments,  mentally jotting things she desires to commit to memory of his utterance.    she is ever curious about him it seems,  and that is treacherous terrain to tread upon.    dedicating time to he and daphne’s unique purposes has come fairly effortless in the time they’ve come to know one another.    being in the company of others at all is something he rarely permits himself to do,  for it is infrequent that simon experiences such comfort within the smothering confines of the ton.

he has never been a man who much enjoyed flirting,  or engaging in chatty exchanges and discourse,  and yet with daphne conversation has unfailingly come easy,   even those he so desperately wishes to avoid.    daphne’s eyes are most expressive,  though not enough where simon can fully read.    not yet at least.    in removing romance they found something far greater in their ruse-comprised relations,  they had found friendship between the lines of deceit.    he’s not quite certain when their friendship and joy in one another’s company replaced fooling the ton,  but it had,  and there’s nothing he could in fact do about it.    he will never marry,  he will never sire an heir,  that is the most certain.    that has been,  and will always be,  a non-negotiable that he will take to the grave as did his father.

“  these rooms are always suffocating,  ”      careful to avoid her gaze in that instance,  for he can hear the expectation in her voice  —  the hope that skirts like an undercurrent beneath her expectant query.    “  it is a quarter past eight.    rather late for a stroll in the gardens,  do you not agree?  ”      he presumes his response did little to quell her urges or satiate her desires,  for she’s suddenly slipping through the nearest egress.    swallowing down the discomfort amassing in his throat,  the duke plasters on a most unreadable expression and pivots slowly,  evading eye contact with those nearest to him before ever discreetly following after the young woman.    he finds her just along the perimeters of the gardens,  certainly no place for a lady at this hour,  and unchaperoned.      “  you are quite tenacious tonight,  ”      he calls out to her when he is aware she can heed his comment,  approaching her with a steady pace.      “  still suffocated,  miss.    bridgerton?  ”

[francescca]

                                       the sweet slither of a breeze ,      and it's caressing her cheeks and the little wisps of hairs that have fallen . tall grass tickled at her ankles , and the sun set in the most perfect position to where all shades of color kissed the sky during its descent . witnessing such a beauty alone was grand in itself , but having another to feel the particular sensation of that happiness felt all the better .        ❝         usually my family and i are back at our home in mayfair during the season .         ❞ spending one year away from the chaos that was the ton had been a nice reprieve . hyacinth wasn't of age to be apart of society yet , colin had recently married and both eloise and she were still people without matrimony in sight ──── so it worked out perfectly to be in their country home for one singular season .

                   she turned her head towards him .      acknowledging the man that walked beside her was no longer a stranger ──── michael . how lovely .         ❝         i am francesca bri ────         ❞ she bit her own tongue , giving herself a moment to reprocess her words . ❝         just francesca ... for today at least .         ❞ her last name had always been linked to the family oh so notoriously then linked to the ton , but while she was out here among the little critters and the dancing flowers she just wanted to be her . without all that extra needed baggage . perhaps the both of them could enjoy being two unattached bodies with no surnames and the field before them .

   ❝         do you usually walk this specific field ?         ❞      the closer they got to a certain hill she's climbed numerous times , the more she felt propelled to show him the delight that waited on the other side ( if he didn't already know ) .         ❝         or rather ──── have you seen what's on the other end of that hill ?         ❞ slender digit raises , pointing just beyond the peak that even the setting orange sun touched . either way , she didn't wait and took off away from the path they had been making for themselves , fisted hands into the fabric of the dress and traversed the only partially troublesome hill . perhaps if they met here in the field again another day she'd ask him a personal question , but for now they were just michael and francesca . and she was just showing him what beauty laid beyond their eyesight .

[norholyarchived]

so much divulged in words so brief.    certainly there is more to her name if what she offers is solely her given,  but he is not one to question it.    he is not one to implore for more.    if he could conceal his very identity for the rest of their encounter,  he most assuredly will do so.    here,  he merely desires to be michael.    no heir to the throne,  no head of the royal church,  not a son or brother,  or a disillusionment contrived into royal lineage,  but just michael.    a man in love with what beauty and nature have to offer.    a man seeking a life of simplicity though knowing he will never possess it.

“  ah,  mayfair,  ”      he returns swiftly before his gaze descends upon the ground they stroll upon,      “  i hear the queen leaves no mercy for those in her court.    and the ton,  i imagine,  is just as venomous.  ”      he jests,  mostly,  but he has no wish to ever be part of such a pressurized environment.    he deems his life ill-fated surely,  but there are worse.    he simply needs to turn an eye to londons social season and he is humbled,  to be grateful that his he is not to spend every evening swarmed by debutantes seeking a husband,  though reasonable and understanding as it may be.    someday,  hopefully in the far distant future,  tensions for the king to find a wife and maintain their line alive will be impelled upon him,  but he is positively grateful that he will not need to attend a ball to do so.

“  well,  just francesca…    the pleasure is certainly mine,  ”      head turns towards her once more,  as if gravitating to her,  eyes drifting along the shadows forming beneath delicately carved bone structure.    she is beautiful,  that is intensely obvious,  and it appears he finds his sights transfixed for a moment.    there’s a thrill growing along her features the further they stroll alongside one another,  and he can’t help the smile that forms along his own in response,  with warmth that’s so effortlessly settling within his chest.

to her unforeseen haste,  brows comically knit to a union beneath the beaming sun overhead as she all too promptly takes off for the hills.    “  i have…  ”      a laugh is choked in the back of his throat from its abrupt emergence,  but the ensuing laugh erupts naturally,  freely.    in ways he’d forgotten that it could sound.      “  —not.    just francesca,  what ever do you seek at the top of that hill?  ”      he calls out to her fleeing frame making a determined way up a rather steep seeming hill,  and instead of remaining five paces behind,  he trails behind her with elongated strides.    the grin stretching the corners of his lips from ear to ear gradually falls as he approaches the top of said hill,  only coming to a full cessation when he's by her side once more.    what awaits them beneath the hill is otherworldly,  a sight so charming it could bring the most proud man to tears.      “  in all my days traversing these fields,  basking in the warmth of the sun and the sweet smells of flowers,  have i ever witnessed a sight so lovely.  ”      a conscious inhale,  eyes snapping from the wondrous fields ahead only to settle on hers.      “  it is most beautiful.    ”     

[norholyarchived]

feeling terrible lately but just wanted to extend a little support for my mutuals down in florida. there's little to no control over the hurricane aside from staying indoors if instructed, or evacuating if urged to do so, though i know that may not be very accessible for everyone to do. just please stay safe and if you need anything please signal boost your needs on the dash! we will all be happy to help in whatever way we can. stock up on the necessities. this is so horrifying, how many of these devastating storms must people endure

[flueri]

@norholy  :       ❝     if only i could have been there with you.    ❞   edwina from kate!    °

                                       moving back to india had been the only correct choice .      mayfair ─── as interesting as it had been during her season , the realization of it not being a place she could truly see as her home set in during the viscount's courting . so perhaps kate and anthony finding love was more than just a blessing in disguise for the both of them . being in india meant one thing though ─── no kate . her older sister was the rock guiding her into best ( though slightly overprotective ) options , and not having that physical reassurance lead her down undetermined roads more often than not .

                 it all worked out in the end though .      which is why she and her now husband had made the long journey to mayfair to visit the new viscountess . frankly , letters took too long . months would go by before she would hear of her sister's honeymoon escapades , life as the viscountess or how newton was doing . [ ... ]        ❝         mama was ever the teary mess .         ❞ she reminisced about her wedding . ❝         if only i could have been there with you .         ❞ head is tilting to the side , the corner of her mouth quirking up in a sympathetic expression . ❝         didi ───         ❞ she's taking kate's hands within hers . ❝         you were there for me in all the ways it's ever counted . putting yourself above and going on your honeymoon and enjoying it is what i wanted for you .         ❞

[norholyarchived]

sometimes the sun comes out and it stays.    with her dear sister by her side once more,  even if for a short period of time,  is enough to cast away any and every monsoon-like cloud eclipsing her heart until all that remains is the suns blinding rays.    she has missed her dearly,  the evening discourses before slumber,  their gossip about the most recently read novels….   and evidently,  their handsome husbands are surely a topic of parley,  as well.    they made do with letters,  though they took an extensive amount of a time to deliver to their intended destination,  it has definitely been better than none at all.    but with edwina’s eagerly anticipated arrival to mayfair,  the viscountess was busying herself in ways she never had.    everything was prepared and double checked prior to edwina and her new husband’s arrival.    oh,  her dearest family,  how she’s missed having them near.

as edwina takes her hand in both of hers,  kate’s vacant hand ascends to settle atop theirs where they lay joint.    edwina's skin is as soft and warm as she recalls.      “  do you remember when i told you that true love is something else entirely?  ”    she recommences thoughtfully,  warmth smoothing out now delighted features.      “  that it is when the rest of the world goes quiet. when it is not eyes that meet, but souls that dance.    it seems to me that you and your husband have made room for one another.    i am so pleased to see you happy and settling Into each other.    that is all i have ever wanted for you,  bon,  ”      a gentle squeeze of the hand to assert her joy.      “  to ensure your happiness.    i know it was many moons ago,  yet there are still no words for the gratitude i feel for your forgiveness.  ”

[eueclid]

you came back for the book? lexie from robbie! :)

Yes, she came back for the book. For him too — actually, mostly for him. Ninety - nine percent for him. But she'll wait to even say that until she can gauge his reaction. Was it kind of creepy? Maybe. Maybe it was, but she wouldn't know unless she tried. So Lexie will say yes, but she'll wait. Perhaps he was hoping she'd come back to buy the book — but that would be the best case scenario, wouldn't it?

“ Yeah! I did. ” She finally says, smiling at Robbie and nodding her head. She remembers when they first spoke, she lied about not knowing where a direct quote came from and said she'd come back once she knew for certain. She's happy he remembers, at least. Hopefully it's for a positive reason.

She grips the book, holding at against her chest as she struggles against the urge to stammer and probably seem like a total idiot. She was a doctor, she was smart, she had a photographic memory that let her know exactly what the quote said and exactly what book it came from. “ Turns out, I guessed the right book the first time, but I just wanted to be sure. So, here I am! ” Lexie sets the book down and slides it across the counter. “ How much? ”

[norholyarchived]

there are scars that run through the town until they cut through each of its residents.    the war has wounded many,  not solely the soldiers who’d been drafted,  but their families left awaiting their return as well.    upon his honorable discharge,  robbie has been watching the way faces fall with every passing day,  hearts breaking,  cries echoing through the busied streets.    it incites him to remain busy,  nose buried in his medical books and unendingly traversing novel spines.    the day that briony tallis had upended his life haunted him to no end,  day after day he reimagined what his life would’ve been like without that ill-fated day transpiring.    often times he’d questioned how she,  as a novelist and a decider of his fate,  could achieve atonement when she was no god,  and there is none she could pray to or plead enough with to forgive her of such a sin,  but for him…    perhaps there is.    he believes now,  that there’s an entity or higher power that he can appeal to,  or be reconciled with,  that can forgive him for crimes not committed.    

then he met their newest customer,  she’d silenced his whirring and repetitive thoughts of briony and fate.    he doesn’t dwell on cee as often,  endlessly hurt by her abandonment,  but understanding of it nonetheless.    it hurts less this way.    this young woman with the saccharine smile and russet eyes that glow beneath the soft lights of the store has no more than frequently rendered him at a loss for words.    nervous,  thrilled,  at ease all experienced in one fell swoop.    he listens to her speed through her words as a hand settles atop the book cover slid before him,  opening the front cover to glance at the price scrawled at the bottom before his gaze returns to hers.      “ oh,  did you?  well,  i’m glad you’ve now been able to defend your claims.  ”      he’s nothing if not impressed,  having never met someone with a photographic memory leaves him curious to know what else she’s logged into the recesses of her brain.      “  €2.25.  ”      a clearing of his throat,  gaze flickering down to the novel still sitting beneath his palm before sliding it back toward her.      “  are you from town?  or passing through these days?  ”

[zhoufeis]

I adore you, sunshine boy.

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2022-present