they, survivors.

[burymoved]

do not surrender.   heavily headcanon based and crossover friendly   multi-fandom multi-muse.   featuring original characters and muses from various media including but not limited to bridgerton, divergent, dc comics, underworld, and grey’s anatomy.   ©

[theymoved]

you can now find this blog over at  @theyburied  ♡  

same url, all drafts have been moved over, and all follow backs / likes / messages will be coming from @valorcries !

[theymoved]

          the incomprehensible ferocity of time had arrived to infringe on her peace.     it’d crept within the minutest particles of the sea,   treaded   toward atlantis until it consumed her into a whirlwind of nescience   ;   an oblivion that transported her to the unknown.     if what she had wished was to be   ferried,   to be teleported to another time,    land   ⎯⎯⎯   dimension even   ⎯⎯⎯   the maelstrom would have   sufficed.   however,   things seemingly didn’t always pan out the way they’re presumed to,   the twists and turns that impeded one's trajectory in life not regularly proclaimed for prior regrouping and   provisions. 

    ksenia      ,     why is it whenever we see each other,   you’re covered in blood   ?

          despite her proficiency to   adapt   to both land and sea,   a barrage of water hurls up her throat,   choking out between a fitful of unforeseen coughs.     ❛     i’m   . . . .   alright.     ❜     an ephemeral intermission,   hiccups soon subsiding as the marveling sights before her zeroed into immediate focus.     colors always brighter for atlantean eyes,     more distinct,   sounds always   sharper.   but,   her words   . . . .   were not the most fitting,   for her response did not address the question posed.     widened eyes then flicker toward the visibly resilient and   familiar   frame crouched alongside,   and albeit   patently   strong,   her shoulders are still squared with a   particular grace.     

          ❛     ksenia.     ❜     she greets warmly.     with her throat cleared,   atlanna’s voice holds nothing but geniality and compassion for   @acipaer​,   comfort easing its way to her reclined frame.     ❛     i remember being caught in a storm.     one that i couldn’t seem to tame,   one i couldn’t control.     where is it that i’ve come to land   ?   and please,   do not worry,   i’ll heal.     ❜

[theymoved]

stormlit​          ,          bea beaumont

        child, are you there? is that not the question; bea doesn’t feel like herself, anymore. she doesn’t feel like a person at all. there’s too much noise in her head, too much fear gripping her heart, and it’s all she can do to stay alive. maybe she’ll remember how to be herself again, someday, but she doesn’t know where she’s running to, she doesn’t have a path for the rest of her life — or even the rest of the week. it’s just one foot after the other. how far has she come, now? far enough that she is exhausted, not so far that the pain inside her has faded. 

        bea does not, of course, answer his question. in fact, even her breathing sounds too loud to her ears—and anyway, where else would she be? this side of the wall is open fields; he’d have seen if she ran off, bea’s sure. but though his tone seems genial, she’s too frightened to trust it. instead, she looks around desperately, trying to work out what to do. if she stays here, he’ll climb the wall; run, and he’ll jump it on his horse. she can’t see any cowsheds she could hide in, but there are trees…he could get her there, too, but at least she’d have height on her side, at least she wouldn’t be cowering behind a wall, clutching her satchel. 

        decision made, bea wills her feet into action, dashing for the nearest tree and pulling herself up onto the lower branches.

          he concludes she’s been alarmed or frightened,   with the way he elicits not a single response upon his jest.   he awaits a few minutes more,   and a few more,   when not the minimalist of sounds echoes throughout the trees.   it’s not frequent that simon is around children,   even less so one’s roaming about the fields of clyvedon house without a single guardian in sight.   when he was still made of youth and naivety,   a time that felt as if lived in a different life,   he,   too,   was seldom in company of an adult.   with mother’s passing and his father’s neglect,   simon’s care fell into the hands of maids,   butlers,  and lady danbury.   all who surpassed essential efforts to ensure his rightful preparation to inherent the title of duke once his father were to inevitably die.   his time outside in the fields and gardens were mostly attended.     before uttering another word,   he steps away from the wall that separates them,   aiming for a clearer view in the fields about.   no one,   not a soul but theirs.   this solely serves to unsettle him   (   even if it is a mere fraction   ),   for it it could be quite precarious to be out in areas so unpopulated. 

          with reigns still in his grasp,   hands perch atop his hips,   no feasible solution in sight as she’s suddenly sprinting to the nearest tree and climbing with unanticipated agility.     for a moment,   all he can find himself doing is gaping in wonder,   however,   that is surely and all too quickly followed by perplexity.     simon approaches cautiously then,   arriving at the wall once more and   hooking   the mare’s reigns to the nearest branch.     perhaps showing he does not intend harm would be most advantageous here,   and thus arms proceed to ascend until they idle just on either side of broad shoulders,   expression gentle.     

          ❛     i presume you are afraid.     ❜     hands lower unhurriedly,   one of them settling against the concrete wall and the other returning to his side,   eyes   remaining   softened.     ❛     as you have scaled up an   entire tree   to create distance from me.     rest assured,   you need not feel your evident concern.   i mean you no harm.     ❜

[theymoved]

emeraldshe​          ,          eloise bridgerton

    a starter for kate sharma at @theyburied​!

    “if i must be here, then i am glad you are here too.” these events were hardly the type of thing eloise wished to attend. she’d much rather be at home, reading, writing in her journal…but there was scarcely any chance of that, when the whole family were in attendance. “am i correct in my assumption that you do not enjoy such events either? you do not strike me as the type to want to be here.”

she rather delights in eloise’s company,   even when they are amongst those most disagreeable.     balls and soiree’s were not the very first proceedings she would so choose to engage in amidst a sea of others,   but certainly they do not fall last on the list.     especially upon being titled viscountess.     when she is in good company,   they can be tolerable to some extent.     yet,   in having a penchant for the charm surrounding her,   she simply wishes she could dress in a frock that does not cling so unpleasantly to her frame,   that does not serve to smother her so.     ❛     it is not that i do not enjoy them,   per-se,   eloise,   i would simply much prefer to be elsewhere.     ❜     she teases,   a nudge to the bridgerton’s elbow with her own.     ❛    join me on the terrace   ?   i could very well use some air,   and something tells me   you   are not far off from such a wish.    ❜

[theymoved]

stormlit​          ,          aoife lindsay

        he takes her hand, and instantly the world feels less frightening. aoife has been ensuring her own safety for a long time, now — or, at least, running far enough from the dangers that they cannot catch up with her, which is probably not the same thing — but does it not feel easier with someone at her side, with someone holding her hand? she can’t remember a time she didn’t feel alone, when loneliness was not her closest companion, more so even than her best friend, but aoife feels a little less that way, now. and no doubt she will be utterly humiliated in the morning by simon — simon, who she wants to like her, who is slumming it by spending time with her — seeing her this vulnerable, but for now, aoife’s glad for his company. she’s glad for his hand.

        ❝ i— ❞ she wants to. she wants to share so they burden her less, but also so simon knows the truth of what she has been keeping from him, because he deserves that. she wants to tell him, and for a moment, she almost does. but then aoife remembers that she has lied, and she bites her lip hard, free hand twisting in the fabric of her bed shift.  ❝ i cannot. ❞ he does not know. if he did, she doubts simon would still be holding her hand. if knowing who she is running from does not anger him, then her secrets and lies will, aoife feels certain, even if they were necessary ones.  ❝ you–you would hate me. and i can bear a lot of things, but i–i cannae bear that. ❞

he is not unfamiliar with irresolution,   or with distrust in others and a reluctance to disclose the profound,   most unguarded parts of himself.     he very well knows what it looks like,   surely he’d seen it in himself more times than he can count.     somewhere deep within simon resides an aspirant,   hopeful child,   one not plagued by the hardships of abandonment,   by the sting of rejection.     but regrettably that had not been his future,   and he carried such affliction throughout every year,   every month,   and everyday.     that alone has boarded up his heart behind what he deemed was an impenetrable wall,   barricading the parts of him that could still   ache   if he cares.     he’s lived in such a way for a long time,   since the very day he’d come to realize that he truly meant nothing to the late duke of hastings,   a father like no other,   a father that was not a father at all.     spiting the man solely magnified his frigidity and antipathy toward affection.      yet,   here he sits,   with aoife’s hand in his and his heart wide open.     her distress stirs something most unpleasant in his chest   —   a flame.     but it is not a flame of impassioned desires,   no,   it is a vengeful blaze.     a silent vow to embrace her in security.

dark hues take the briefest moment to glance down at their joint hands,   layered atop the other in unexpected comfort.     he simply wishes to soothe her mind and abate her fears,   however that may come to be.   it’s not out of mere curiosity that he asks for her truths,   but out of genuine desire to know her.   to know what plagues her as a way to better understand,   to understand and do everything in his ability to ensure her felicity for as long as she’s to remain at clyvedon house.    

❛    miss.   lindsay,    ❜    throat clears upon her surname traversing across his tongue,   that didn’t feel right,   not when he’s grown so accustomed to addressing her by given name.    ❛    aoife.     ❜     he corrects himself,   voice remarkably soft to his own ears.     ❛     i could not hate you.    ❜    eyes flicker up to return to her own,   their frames further concealed in shadow with every passing second sat together.     something about her intolerance to his prospective hatred coaxes a held breath past his lips,   head offering a small shake.     ❛     i simply wish to know you.     ❜

[theymoved]

splitqueen​          ,          regina mills

                  Regina   has   been   introduced   under   her   mother’s   careful   eye.   Curtsies,   dance   cards,   and   smiling   until   her   cheeks   ACHE.   The   things   she   does   to   appease   Mother’s   WRATH;   but   Cora’s   scornful   looks   whenever   Regina   leans   against   a   pillar   to   catch   her   breath   still   sears   through.   A   DISAPPOINTMENT.      But   as   much   as   the   ball   is   TIRESOME   and   extravagant   in   ways   Regina   doesn’t   quite   appreciate   (   she’d   prefer   livelier   music,   spicier   food,   the   rambunctious   laughter   of   her   cousins   ),   Mother   is   still   pleased   enough   that   Regina   is   not   the   only   ‘OLD   MAID’   here.

         KATE   SHARMA   is   supposedly   not   in   a   hurry   to   find   a   husband.   Her   attentions   are   focused   solely   on   Miss   Edwina,   on   making   the   diamond   of   the   season   shine   as   brightly   as   Queen   believes   her   to   be.   Had   Regina   not   introduced   herself   as   Reh-ghe-na———   rolling   her   Rs   and   sounding   her   Gs   from   the   epiglottis,   perhaps   she   might   have   been   chosen.   Perhaps   she   would   have   no   time   to   spare   in   the   early   mornings,   watching   a   woman   ride   a   horse   LIKE   A   MAN.

            After   an   especially   energetic   dance,   Regina   excuses   herself   with   the   need   for   a   drink   and   some   air.   The   poor   fellow   scampers   off   to   fetch   her   a   lemonade,   but   Regina   finds   SOLACE   in   a   shadowy   corner   next   to   Kate.   ❝   I   envy   you,   Miss   Sharma.   ❞   she   finds   herself   saying.   They   are   not   friends,   they   are   barely   acquaintances,   but   being   the   oldest   unmarried   women   in   the   room   affords   them   a   sense   of   companionship   that   Regina   takes   advantage   of.      ❝   You   could   refuse   a   dance   and   it   would   perfectly   acceptable.   ❞   She   smiles   to   show   she   means   no   ill-will.      ❝   I   think   it’s   rather   IMPRESSIVE.   ❞

edwina glides about the ballroom with suitor after suitor,     a diamond in its true and glorious form.     she certainly   is   radiant,   a polite smile,   kind and charming eloquence to her diction,   not to mention the grace which envelops her each and every step.     kate is quite convinced she would never know what that feels like   —   for although she embodies such similar attributes,   they take on a rather unique form,   a form which high society does not take kindly to.     let alone   lightly.     at the blossomed age of six and twenty,   it should be deemed too late for her to modify or even adapt her way of being.     she couldn’t feel right doing so,   she would feel ill at ease in her own skin,   as if doing herself the cruelest injustice.     kate has her ways,   and she isn’t to begin adjusting them now.     not for anyone,   and certainly not for the juvenile,   seemingly   nescient   men that circled the ton.

shoulders are the first parts of her to ease in tension at the company joining her alongside,   the rest of her trailing soon after.     barely an acquaintance,   the other woman appears to be most comparable to kate herself   —   unwed and quite beyond the age of meeting   a worthwhile match.     she ruminates the other’s words for the briefest moment,   a hum in assent.    

❛     and is this something you are unable to do,   miss.   mills   ?   reject another’s invitation to something as trivial as a dance   ?     ❜     fully aware of how she solely considered   herself   with such a query,   sympathy eases its way onto the slope of her lips,   eyes flickering to regina’s mother glaring daggers in their direction.     ❛      do forgive me,    certainly   i have come to have it far easier as the spotlight beams elsewhere.     ❜     just then,   her younger sister coasts into view,   the perfect picture of ladylike grace as she capers across the floor.   for   there   is where the spotlight gleams.

[theymoved]

dolcesuono​          ,          hetty hughes

hetty eyed her carefully a moment, as if assuring herself the young woman was not intending to give her away. after all, many fine society misses would do precisely that. but when the stranger smirked, hetty’s concern evaporated. one brow raised pointedly, she moved to fill the woman’s glass.    “  of course you did – and what a good and dutiful sister you were for it…  ”    refilling her own glass, hetty sipped at the expensive champagne. it was one compliment she could pay the hostess, she supposed – they spared little expense… after a moment of easy silence, she glanced back at her companion.    “  i might have felt the need to explain why i’ve so unceremoniously removed myself from the festivities but… it seems you had the same idea…  ”    downing the rest of her drink, she held out a gloved hand in greeting.    “  if you had really seen me here, i’d tell you that i’m miss hughes – or hetty, as long as we have champagne left,  ”    she added with a smirk. 

                              an assemblage of frivolity and ease surges through the elder sharma,   like a tsunami wreaking havoc,   and yet she is salvaged by the comfort felt in how freely the other speaks.   unexceptional,   lighthearted discourse,   something that has been more challenging to come by with every passing day in mayfair.   with the debutante’s of the ton being in desperate quest of a   match,   it narrowly occurs to them to glance her way.   not that she’s troubled by such inattention in the slightest,   but being part of discussion unaffected by marriage, old maids, and duty has been virtually unattainable.   there is,   and will invariably be,   talk of the latest news,   the latest match,   the latest   scandal.   kate for one,   eagerly awaits the season’s imminent end.    ❛    excellent,   then we are in agreement.   we never saw one another.    ❜    slipping into the seat across the opera singer once her glass is most appreciatively filled,   kate takes to regarding her thoughtfully for a moment,   hetty’s greeting promptly returned.    ❛    and if   you   had really seen me,   i would request you call me miss.   sharma—   or kate,   now that we have effectively evaded formalities.    ❜    lips briefly retreat behind the rim of a crystal glass,   champagne cooling her tongue.    ❛    but please,   do   call me kate.    ❜

[theymoved]

maimedaffair          ,          theo sharpe

❛       SHARPE  !        ❜               theo  offers  her  a  smile  as  he  picks  up  another  stack  of  newspapers.              ❛    i  didn’t  mean  to  offend  you  ,  miss.            i  just  meant  this  side’a  town  isn’t  the  safest.      ❜

he appears kind enough,   air of insolence and vanity undetectable in the other.   thus,   she cools a mere fraction,   enough to respond amicably and   devoid   of challenge.    ❛    miss.   sharma.    ❜    a tightlipped smile graces her features,   intent hues roaming the quaint boutiques in their proximate locality.    ❛    i assure you i can very well manage on my   own   in the face of danger,   mr.   sharpe.    ❜    a pause,   hands releasing the loose fists at her sides until she stands at ease.    ❛    how   acquainted   would you say you are with the shops here   ?   i am in search of herbs,    one’s that appear to be rather   difficult   to find in mayfair.     ❜    @maimedaffair​

[theymoved]

loyalfault​          ,          phillip carlyle

❝  could  you  possibly  look  any  more  amused  to  be  here?  ❞  he’s  one  to  talk.  he  hasn’t  wanted  to  be  here  from  the  moment  he  stepped  foot  into  the  establishment.  at  least  he’s  not  the  only  one  feeling  the  way  he  does.  ❝  i’m  phillip,  my  lady.  –  what  do  you  say  we  sneak  out  for  a  stroll  by  the  fountain?  ❞      @ofsharmas​    ,     random ship !

sharp features,   curiously enough   that   is what initially grasps her attention,   with piercing blue eyes promptly following suit.   but it is the solidarity that embraces the air of apathy that seems to cling to him that truly draws her in.   for she is in a similar such state.   it is evident that his attendance is not done so with delight,   so why ever is he there   ?    ❛    i suppose i can say the same for   you,   phillip.    ❜    he greets her by first name,   something about that thrills her,   yet certainly it is not something she will   permit   be known.   let alone return.    ❛    miss.   sharma,    ❜    she counters cooly,   brow hiking above a heedful gaze.    ❛    the terrace.   it allows us to remain within sight of others.    ❜

[theymoved]

dutybcund​           ,          anthony bridgerton

ANTHONY’S EYES HAD BEEN FOLLOWING HER ALL NIGHT. just as they had done since almost the first moment they’d met. it hardly mattered that she was now his wife. his viscountess. if anything, that had made his preoccupation worse. before, he had known little more than the enticing scent of her hair and the brush of her hand in a dance. now, he knew what she looked like when the first morning sunlight drenched their bed. he knew the sounds she made in passion and the determined crease that formed between her brows when she focused. all the little intimacies that had once seemed an ocean away were now theirs – and there was nothing in this world he would trade them for. 

but… tonight it all made him a rather distracted host. 

it was her first ball as viscountess and aubrey hall glowed as brightly as it ever had. all evening, he’d felt himself swell with pride as she’d charmed their guests, gliding confidently through the crowd. not that he had ever doubted her – but the joy of simply watching her was not one he felt he could ever tire of… and so, when he saw her retreat to the refreshment table, he came up beside her quietly, a smile on his lips that was reserved for her eyes alone.    “  careful,  ”    he murmured into her ear, sliding an arm around her waist.    “  if my wife should catch us together, i shall never hear the end of it…  ”    he was closer to her than society might approve of, even between husband and wife. but what did it matter? this was his house and his kate. what could they possibly say?    “  might i tempt you to join me on the terrace, my lady?  ”

                                                  @theyburied​ –> 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻

diligent fingers curl around one of many pre-poured lemonade glasses sprucely assembled atop the refreshments table,   its rim mere millimeters from an untroubled pout   just   as an ever familiar arm snakes around her waist.   the fusion of mirth and desire that stirs within is ardent enough to will a narrowly subdued grin just as the glass’ contents meet her tongue.   she swallows with deliberate leisure,   her vacant,   sheathed hand intuitively ascending to cover her husbands as it now rests at her hip.   they are recently wed,   newlyweds,   for lack of a better term,   and if it were up to them,   residing in the throes of passion would never meet its end.   viscountess is now the title that precedes her name,   and its duty will always come   after   family for her.   after anthony.   truth be told,   kate had not known what being viscountess entailed if it hadn’t been for the one and only violet bridgerton,   and with anthony being her strongest advocate,   it came to her most naturally.   just as being a   wife   to the viscount.

what hadn’t come naturally was her ability to remain   in control   when around him.   somehow,   her absence of control intensified.   a mere glance from him across a room and she was to instantly flush,   hands would take to adjusting her skirts for the mere necessity of occupying her hands.   however,   her gaze,   now   that   would not waver.   their eyes divulge volumes   —   and that certainly did not   exclude   desire.

❛    and here i presumed your   avoidance   to be intentional this evening. . . .    ❜    the familiar breath at her ear does nothing to quell her urges,   rather they cause her to sink into the warmth of his side,   his scent sharpening the longer she remains in such proximity to him.   ❛    now i see it is because your wife is in attendance.    ❜    their diversion is tantalizing,   and she can’t get enough of it.    ❛    perhaps,   this one time,   she will   allow   such new ventures,   my lord,    ❜    a breathy response,   dark gaze swiftly flickering about the bodies of the ton paying them no mind.    ❛    well   ?    ❜

[theymoved]

maimedaffair​          ,          allie hamilton

ALLIE  &  NOAH  ,    @theyburied​

DEAR  NOAH    ,     

                     i  heard  mama  tell  daddy  about  your  letters.        EVERY  DAY  ?          noah  ,  i  thought  you  hadn’t  written  to  me  in  weeks.          mama  must  think  she’s  so  clever.         BUT  I’VE  FOUND  HER  OUT  !            i’m  sorry  ;  i  don’t  have  the  other  letters.          she  didn’t  say  where  she’s  been  keeping  them.         i’ll  find  them  ,  i  promise.          &&  i'll  respond  to  each  of  them  ;  you'll  be  so  sick  of  hearing  from  me  !   

                    i  feel  like  i  must  have  missed  so  much  of  your  life  already.           things  have  been  lonesome  since  we  moved  ——  I  MISS  YOU  DEARLY.         i  wish  i  could  come  [  home.  ]            we  could  just  move  into  that  pretty  house  like  old  fashioned  squatters  !           i’d  do  it  for  you.         do  you  still  plan  on  fixin’  it  up  for  us  ?            I  COULD  HELP  !        can’t  say  i’d  be  very  handy  with  a  hammer  ,  but  i  could  learn.         anything  to  get  back  to  you. 

                     my  friend  jane  is  letting  me  mail  out  my  letters  from  her  house.          SEND  THEM  TO  HER  ADDRESS  ,  &&  mama  won’t  get  her  hands  on  them.             we’ll  make  this  work  ,  noah.       I  KNOW  WE  CAN   !        we  can  do  anything  we  want  to  ,  long  as  we’re  together. 

                                                        ALL  MY  LOVE  ,   ALLIE. 

my dearest allie,

                    for a while,   i thought you’d long forgotten about me.   forgotten all the secrets we shared and the love we felt.   the   fights,   too,   since surely there were many.   your mama was right,   i wrote you one hundred and twelve of ‘em so far,   mailed one out every day for the past few months while i was away.   if i’m being honest,   writing to you was the only thing that kept me sane.   but now i know you never got a single one.   i’ve been thinkin’ about you everyday,   the way your smile lights up any room    —    and i’ve probably never told you this but it lit something up in   me,   too.   you lit me up,    allie,   and ever since then i knew i never wanted that light to go out,   again.

                    the day i saw you drive away for new york,   it was like a part of me left with you,   and i’ve been trying to get that part back ever since.   because without it,   well where does that leave me    ?    i was my best self with you,    even now as i sit here,    rereading your letter for the seventh time    —    i feel that other part of myself comin’ back.   i’m okay now,   now that i know you are.   now that i know we are.

                    i do plan on fixin’ the house for us,   i’ll do whatever you want me to do,   allie.   something about you hammering away makes me smile,    there’s something that just feels right about that.   home hasn’t been home without you around the corner,   ever since i met you i knew home would be wherever you are.    you planted a fire in my heart,   allie,   and deep down,   i knew that it couldn’t be over for us.   what we have is real,   and i wouldn’t trade our time together for anything in this world.    thank jane for me,   it won’t be long until my next letter.

                                                yours,   noah.

[theymoved]

dutybcund​          ,          anthony bridgerton

@ofregence​ liked for a starter

“  hastings, this is entirely your fault,  ”    he groaned as he rubbed his eyes. his head was still throbbing and the sunlight from the window of the club was far brighter than sunlight had any right to be. but despite his foul, hungover mood, he could not pretend the previous evening of revelry had not been thoroughly enjoyed. it was too long since he’d last seen his friend – and the duke’s sudden return to london had been cause for celebration.    “  as much as it pains me to say it, i think we may be getting too old for this sort of thing…  ”    young bucks at oxford they certainly were not.

❛    need i remind you that i did not   force   your hand to drink at such a disagreeable rate,   bridgerton.   that was all your doing.    ❜    with sun rays beaming through the nearest windowpane,   simon’s never longed to be in utter darkness more than he had that early noon.   a splitting headache wracked the entirety of his skull,   aches and enervated brawn rendering him tactless within the seat beneath him at white’s.   certainly,   he’d consumed liquor in generous quantities in the years past,   however,   his body was certainly not as gratified for the previous evening’s diversion.    ❛    though i must agree,    ❜    he grimaces,   for they may be superficially aging with grace,   their tolerance certainly is not.   despite the presumably endless affliction debilitating his frame,   an air of tease materializes across lips that formerly held   agonized gloom.    ❛    age   has not treated us kindly.    ❜    

[theymoved]

stormlit​          ,          aoife lindsay

        ❝ the past doesna have to be the future. ❞ a man can learn to open himself up, to feel things he’s buried deep inside. a woman can find her footing, and discover how to speak up for herself, to search for more than the misery she’s always thought she deserved. aoife wants to believe in change, desperately. it has to be a real, possible thing, because sometimes the past — and even the present — is too horrible to consider being a reality forever. and she wants, so badly, to believe in simon again, to believe this will never reoccur. if it does…aoife has always been too forgiving, too willing to suffer for the sake of other people, but she can’t do this again. no, more than that: she won’t. second chances are one thing — she’s no wish to lose her natured, to be hardened instead of open hearted — but third, fourth, or fifth chances are quite another.

        there will be no mirror of this whole mess. for once, she feels set on this. if only she can find the words to speak it, and make it truth. that has always been the problem; aoife’s no good at talking to people, and she’s not as comfortable with simon as she was. and doesn’t that hurt?

        a pain eased somewhat by the press of lips to her forehead, a tenderness she thought lost to her forever. perhaps it might have been. perhaps she might never have known simon’s reasoning, bloody foolish though it might have been. but this is the way the world turned, instead. a better way, for once. lord knows there haven’t been many of those twists, for her. usually, she ends up in the shit.  ❝ aye, ❞ she whispers, and hopes there’ll be no reason to regret it. is she stupid to believe things can be better, now? is she stupid?  ❝ but i-i must…learn to trust you again. and this–this cannae happen again. you really hurt me. i think, ❞ she picks at her fingernail, chews at her lip; aoife doesn’t know how to feel anything but anxious,  ❝ i think you can heal it, too, but it’s just…it just needs time. ❞

when envisioned,   the past and future had unfailingly appeared predominantly comparable to the duke.   there had never been much of an adjustment in his desires,   there had never been a deeper yearning   raging   to break the surface demanding fulfillment.   none that he’d ever come to   detect,   evidently.   simon and detachment are well acquainted,   certainly he’s far from unfamiliar with the concept,   for he’s come to live his life in such a state.   for some time as a boy,   it came with its challenges,   that it did,   but with the passing of years so much of his detachment led to solitude and silence,   it became part of his identity.   how could he not find comfort in a life that isn’t grieving him   ?   albeit a sorrowful fate,   it was one he’d come to accept.   until aoife.   with a future and family not having been in his foreseeable future,   he’d falsely alleged that she’d be better off without him at her side.   such a speculation had been his grandest mistake thus far.   simon remains before her now,   unable to fathom a time where he chooses to   not   stand by her once more,   he could not   —   would not   —   leave as he had,   ever again.

lips instantly warm after having touched her skin,   probably a trick of the mind,   but a sentencing one just the same.    he’s only ever known how to   be   closed,   but something that had managed to slip his immediate regard is that with every day spent by her side,   sharing fond gazes,   words of most sincerity,   and soft caresses,   he’d opened up his heart to her.   he’s changed,   and in being so caught up in his own bullheadedness,   in the afflictions of the past and assumptions of the future,   he’d missed it entirely.    ❛    rest assured,   it will never happen,   again.    ❜

trust is by no means an effortless thing to gain from another,   particularly in the aftermath of such heartache and misunderstanding.   he,   himself,   had felt dreadfully unsettled,   presumed his distance from her to be the appropriate decision.   yet,   that couldn’t have been more untrue.   he knows he should take a step back,   create an unpleasant space for them to breathe without the other so   close.   but,   he’s unable to,   he finds himself rooted in place,   legs leaden.   aoife’s been genuine and   good   with simon in the past,   he’s heard her truths,   the suffering and strife the actions of others have caused.   he despises now having made the list,   but no other is to blame for this than himself.   he made his bed,   now he must lay in it.    ❛    indeed,   i will give you time.   however long you require,   aoife,   i will give it.   but i will be here with every day that passes,   proving that i am yours.     ❜    that you are my future.

[theymoved]

it was solely once they had wed that snippets of their future alongside one another came into perspective.   a vision of family,   a fantasy of sheer rapture.   prior to their nuptials,   she had not yet known of what to anticipate,   had not yet been made abreast on the duties of viscountess by violet bridgerton at the time.   in truth,   the elder sharma had  merely become certain of a single thing,   perhaps two,   upon marrying anthony bridgerton   :   number one,   that she would love him to the end of her days,   and number two   :   that he loved her.   at first,   the latter fact surely wasn’t trusted without question,   believed with ease,   albeit it was certainly one she’d been forced to accept.   they had lived wholly different lives until they’d found one another,   but they were both made of obstinacy and thick skin   (   evidently,   that couldn’t be said when in the other’s presence,   for kate had never been vexed as fiercely by any other than the viscount   ).   self-will and equal fire their hamartia. 

back is leant against a heap of fluffed pillows,   propping not just her up,   but their child to be,   as well.   the evening could have been an agreeable one,   a soothing evening for her to simply lay and read to her ever growing belly.   and yet,   mother earth roared and dispatched rain by the bucketful against their windows,   lightning crackling through the skies.    ❛    i am well.    ❜

❛    it is merely a hair louder this evening.    ❜    soft smile takes over her features then,   fright and disquietude almost a thing of the past at the moment,   her fears all the more distant,   detached from her,   with each passing storm.   in many ways,   healing has come gracelessly,   but here she sits,   facing her torment with an occasional absence of the deep,   unsettling fear that would typically emanate from her solar plexus until it could very well be felt blanketing her very skin.   with each passing storm,   @abhorlove   had been there,   to soothe her,   to   silence her fears with tortuous patience.    ❛    i    —   we,    ❜    a hand intuitively ascends to rest on her protruded belly,   her gaze uncharacteristically nonresistant as she regards her husband,   tension in her shoulders easing.    ❛    are well.   with you by our side,   i am at ease,   anthony.    ❜    mostly,   and that is certainly something.    liked for a starter.

[theymoved]

shinelite​.

❝  i’m  going  to  rip  their  fucking  head  off.  ❞

he pivots on his heel to position himself before her,   hands reflexively scaling up her arms and fastening around taut shoulders.    ❝    annie,   annie,  hey,    ❞    head ducks to meet her eye,   a league of tenacity and concern coiling in his gut.    ❝    you don’t have to do this, okay   ?   we’ll find another way.   i promise,   he   won’t   get away with this.    ❞

[theymoved]

shinelite​.

❝  i’m  going  to  rip  their  fucking  head  off.  ❞

❝    now, now, love   —   let’s not get carried away, aye   ?   time and place for such   bloodshed.    ❞    preferably when they’re not   critically   outnumbered.