hearts beat loud.

an independent multimuse featuring men from assorted period media, including poldark, bridgerton, and shakespeare!!

mutuals - only

written by stella     ( also at  @eternlle​  and  @ravnswood​! )

RULES  /  MUSES

          ❛ hello! you’re tall! ❜ a rather abrupt introduction, but she hasn’t time to be polite! ❛ i can’t see above the crowd. quick, tell me if there’s an older red-haired lady with a searching look coming this way! she’s my aunt and I’M HIDING from her. ❜

 the muse for jack is literally never not  sky - high,                           so who’s up for a   jack dawson starter call???

𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐   from continent to continent, leaving the likes of england along with future dukedom and heirship behind. he returned upon the duke   —   his father   —    falling gravely ill, and was to soon bear the weight of his duties atop broad, unwilling shoulders as a result. the more he dwelled on the matter, the more displeasure it brought him. for he was fully aware that there was no objectionable cousin willing to take his place in society, he was   painfully aware   that his duties would catch up to him. thus he acquired passage aboard the titanic minutes prior to departure from southampton, and the voyage was one he knew he’d be recounting for the years to come. 

presently, the reformed rake’s forearm rests atop the urbane table between them, a gaze that was priorly contemplative now all but bemused.    ❝    ….   i won’t pretend to infer half of what you’ve just said,    ❞    he almost regrets speaking at all,   almost,   for the brief twitch at the corner of his lips proves that this exchange was one he was unanticipatedly appreciating.      ❝    —   now i do suppose you’re right, but here i am   —   running from a future that awaits me.    ❞

❝    it is one that   won’t   change.    ❞

he considers this for a minute,     just weighing simon’s current crisis.   fair enough, it sounds like a disaster   ---   probably is, from where the poor fella stands, and those are some expensive shoes jack is very glad not to try on.   charcoal - stained fingers drum against the tabletop, restless   ;   jack chews it over before looking back up at him again, brows raised.

she listens closely to every word. ❝  i hadn’t thought about it that way. as a memory. ——i don’t think my stories work like that. one day i’d like to compile a book on all my adventures, but i haven’t had that many yet, so with most of my stories i’m creating something rather than preserving it. ❞ wendy usually didn’t even write them down. it didn’t feel the same way when she tried to commit her imagination to paper. she could do it, but there were ways it fell short. her storytelling was as much acting as writing, her voice lilting or sorrowful or fierce by turn ; it was the freedom to allow the story to take her down a course she had not foreseen ; it was the shared space of storyteller and audience where both were transported to another world entirely.  ❝  I LIKE the idea of being able to capture a moment. and of pictures having stories. ❞

         ❝  your  future  wife  will  have  a  headache  no  matter   how  refined  of  a  lady  she  is  because  of  your  whining.   i  think  we  should  all  begin  praying  for  her  now,  whoever  she  may  be.  ❞   the  mischievous  look  on  her  face  only  spreads,  and  eloise  is  a  great  deal  more  amused  than  she  is  annoyed  at  this  point.   not  that  she’s  forgotten  why  she  confronted  him  in  the  first  place,  though.   ❝  if  you  supposedly  do  not  have  any  money,  then  you  cannot  think  that  i  would  have  any  more  than  you  do,  colin.  ❞   not  entirely  true,  but  she  found  it  hard  to  imagine  that  any  of  her  older  brothers  could  have  lighter  pockets  than  she.

amy gave a single nod of her head in acknowledgement,           her expression a bit melancholy for just a brief moment. even in their worst moments, which amy could often be objectively responsible for, the march sisters had always been a tightly bonded bunch. when her eldest sister had married and left the house, it had been quite the goodbye, sweet in their congratulatory sentiments and well wishes for her future but bitter in that it meant all of them had more or less lost a whole piece of themselves. meg didn’t even live terribly far from them, and she’d remained entirely a permanent fixture in their lives, but adjusting to time apart had been difficult for the girls who had always been one another’s best friends. her happiness here and her wide-eyed amazement at the world she now found herself even a brief part of was genuine, and certainly not ruined by her longing for her family, but existed alongside it all the same. 

his question was a bit personal,           she recognized that much. however, she knew better than to ignore it, nor to express much offense outright. even if she’d felt any, which she hadn’t, surely it would have been quite impolite. amy actually felt sort of flattered that he’d ask; surely she must have thus proved interesting enough to warrant such a probing question and what seemed to be some level of interest in herself as a person. she gave her head a gentle shake, confidence in her response evident in her small smile and brightened expression. “no, i am glad to be here,” she answered. “i know how fortunate i am to be in my current position and to have the opportunity that i do to meet people and see things that are much bigger than where i come from.” the corners of her lips lifted just a bit more as she added, with a bit more levity, “besides, no one in my family quite enjoys getting dressed up and dancing all night the way i do. perhaps my oldest sister, but she is married with children of her own and not in a position for such a trip away.”

betraying unease is akin to betraying something else,    too, and colin would really rather not.    instead he smiles, lowering his head at miss march’s reply.   at least she can tolerate impertinence with grace.          ❝  so you’re the lucky one, then. ❞         he doesn’t mean it like that, and only realizes the moment it’s left his mouth.     perhaps colin is fortunate to have been able to travel more, but he’s never thought of it that way.    every sibling is different.     ( anthony is a bloody viscount, for god’s sake   ---    but he would not like to see the world, and it wouldn’t suit him at all. )         ❝  lucky enough to be here, and enjoying yourself in ways you alone are suited to.    to . . .   have the chance to shine, in your own way.  ❞

        𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐘 that London society was not so different from Paris. Neither time nor location seemed to change the fact that mothers were in a fever to marry off their daughters. Corinne’s own mother would have likely been no exception to this, had she accompanied her daughter to London. As it was, Corinne was staying with extended family for the season.

        ❛  Paris is where I was born,  ❜ she had been saying, a pleasant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she made idle conversation. Her English, though near perfect, couldn’t quite mask the accent. Corinne took a small sip from the flute of champagne in her gloved hand, letting her eyes wander for a moment around the room before settling once more on whom she was speaking to. ❛  I do miss it sometimes, but I’m quite enjoying London. Have you ever been to Paris?  ❜

quick to recognize the accent,   colin finds himself smiling at the flash of something familiar.    warm croissants   ---   oh, those he remembers well   ---   and the sweet pastries, and the spring breezes, and the way sunlight glittered on the seine.   even if it has been some years now, paris still holds a host of fond memories for him.   

             “   Are you quite sure?   ”    The girl couldn’t help but tease the male a bit longer, yet all in good humour. Still she would have to insist on her judgement, her oldest brother and head of the house was skilled at both song and poetry after all, an artistic soul indeed tantalised with the small mercies of young love. Alas, Daenerys must have been the only lady present that was not actually searching for a husband, whether it be a bridgerton or not, thus it made the banter between the two all the more light-hearted and amusing. At his question her lilac hues were raised to glance out of the window, willing herself to decide between nature’s marvellous creations.    “   I believe the moon is most suited— there is a sense of kinship,   ”   and indeed it was if her hair were moonglow itself. Yet there was another reason as well.   “ I am quite fond of the goddess Artemis as well, thus I feel all the more compelled. Would my lord choose the sun instead?  ”

At the mere mention of their elder brother, an amused grin streams slowly upon her rosy lips. Her eyes look down at her fingers as she takes a tender moment of reminiscent humour; the wide look in his eyes when taken a fall due to a small slippery slope which was easily followed by a vexed expression due to the laughter she and her siblings would dare to share. “My, I do hope the weather is fairing well to him,” she sighs benevolently as her gaze returns upon her brother. “I simply…” she paused as a smirk tugs softly at her lips. “–would hate to see him suffer a fall again.” The remark was a container full of sarcasm. She couldn’t help but let a quiet laugh slip. With a gentle hand covered over her lips as if dear Anthony was close by, she composes herself.

With a roll in her eyes. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. Mama would find it most difficult parting ways with this beautiful sofa.” With a teasing grin, Daphne gestures toward the warmly lit fire place. “Come. The tea should be ready soon as I’ve requested before your–entrance of grandeur.”

“You can tell me of your snowy adventures,” she adds as she heeds closer for the grand fire place and seats herself before a tea table.

he and daphne are the closest of the siblings in age,     and that has always lent them a certain bond.   ever since they were children, they’ve shared most things  ---   the schoolroom, senses of humor, secrets and mischiefs.     colin likes to think he knows his sister as well as he knows himself . . .   so, of course, she doesn’t fool him for a moment with her teasing.          ❝  if i perished, you would mourn me forever, ❞       he declares, allowing his head to fall back against the sofa.    the dramatics last for a minute, only.

Her mouth had been opened to respond to his compliment, more than likely to deny it out of habit. She did not consider herself beautiful or lovely or any word to that effect, but she paused remembering her fiance’s words two days previous. Her cheeks reddened even further and her heart sped up when confronted with that and the kiss to her hand. Lord, she had thought it was hard enough during the years she had pined for him from afar, but this presented it’s own set of challenges.

“Thank you. I suppose it helps that my mother was too busy spreading the word about us to care about what I chose to wear tonight,” she quipped back, raising an amused eyebrow as she gazed back into his green eyes. “You’re looking very handsome as well, I must say. Ready to shock them all?”

a part of him is surprised    lady featherington has not seized the opportunity of her daughter’s long - awaited engagement to dominate her wardrobe . . .   but the harsher half of colin wonders if the woman in question cares enough to.      ( god himself could not convict him for his low opinion of penelope’s mother, though he’d never voice it to her out loud.    the way the woman looked over her, straight through her . . .   it made his blood boil.   anyone who does not see how remarkable penelope is, frankly, shouldn’t get to look on her at all. )

         She gives her son a scolding look, but there is not much malice behind it. It is hard to stay mad at him, at all her children really. She does not have much energy for it these days. “Mad? Oh no my dear I am not mad at you. Simply disappointed.” Perhaps that is worse, though disappointment also does not last very long with her. She simply shakes her head at his attempt to charm her. It works about half the time, and she’s not willing to admit that it is mostly having the desired affect. “Oh very well, this time you will have my forgiveness, but be careful, next time I will not be so easy.” Yet there’s a soft smile tugging her lips saying otherwise.

            ❝     ah ––– did she indeed  ?     ❞    Esmeralda places a soft kiss on her daughter’s sticky cheek, smiling at the taste of blackberry on her lips.    Oh,  that every morning might be as this one !  she does feel so wonderfully spoiled:  what she could have done to deserve this in a lifetime of pilfering & vice, she’s no idea.   It seems impossible now that she had once been so very frightened by the notion of bringing Maristela into the world,  of living as a  –––  well,  yes,  she supposes they ARE a family.     ❝    none so pleasant that they could possibly compare to my waking hours.   ❞     in truth,  they’d been rotten nightmares of old fears that she’d been only too glad to wake from –––  sleeping in a still bed does odd things to a mind so accustomed to a slumber rocked by the waves. But she can hardly take it upon herself to SPOIL the moment, certainly not in front of their giggling child who is even now cunningly sneaking more jam from the tray with all the accomplished thievery of her mother. So Esmeralda only leans gently into his touch, seeking more as pirates do.  Her voice is low, still sleep kissed:    ❝     and you,  my darling ?  how did you sleep ?     ❞ 

he has been thoroughly disarmed by them both   ---   his daughter and his wife, and the very notion still leaves his head reeling.    to think . . .   where they began, compared to where they have ended.   from tentative cooperation, through prison, to the ghost of a lover haunting cornwall’s shores . . .   esmeralda has become very, very real, and made true dreams he never even realized he was harboring.      has there ever been a more fortunate man . . .    or a more beautiful woman and daughter?           ❝  with you by my side, i had only sweet dreams, ❞       he confesses.      ( no need to mention maristela prodding him awake at sometime close to dawn, overeager to begin the day, but knowing better than to disturb mama’s rest. )     a soft smile plays on his lips     ;    hand straying to her hair, he allows himself to caress silky strands of bedhead, brushing the curtain back from her face.            i love you, he thinks, but does not speak aloud.   

“      ‘  she  greeted  him  in  a  faltering  voice ,    and  he  spoke  to  her  without  knowing  what  he  was  saying …  ’      drake .      ”        a  gentle  nudge  in  her  voice ,    merely  meaning  to  check  on  him ,    for  he  seems  more  than  a  little  distracted .      the  book  closes  in  her  lap ,    finger  just  saving  the  page .      it  nearly  misses .      her  attention  may  also  be  absorbed  elsewhere .

morwenna’s  gaze  lingers  even  as  he  insists   —   perhaps  her  instinct  is  to  chide ,    at  least  in  a  teasing  manner ,    but  the  girl  just  cannot  suppress  her  smile .        “      no .      not  at  all .      ”        she  holds  his  eye  a  moment  longer   —   or  perhaps  he  holds  hers .      she  swallows ,    dipping  her  head  before  her  cheeks  can  flush .        “      would  you  like  to  continue ?      ”

it is his own fault for allowing his attention to wander . . .     but who could help it, sitting ‘aside a creature so beautiful?    as heat rises to his cheeks, he finds himself glad his complexion is too ruddy to betray him.    morwenna does not need to think him sheepish, on top of distracted.      ( he is a fine listener, under other circumstances  ---   the proof of learning still mars his skin, beltings and bruises where he could not sit still for hours on end through his father’s preachings.    drake was only a slip of a lad, then   ;   he learned from each scar, and grew into them just as well. )