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.   ’’

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?

“  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.

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. "

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.

"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."

I was able to donate $10 today, and I would love if people are able to do a donation match to get Ahmed to his goal today

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.

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.

‘‘   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.

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.

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.

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.

                   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 .

“  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.

@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 .

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.

I adore you, sunshine boy.