ahmuseme

[ahmuseme]

“I never meant to marry anyone,” he said quietly. “Not after the injury. The best I’d imagined for myself was the occasional role of… confidant—someone’s discreet paramour and nothing binding.” He spared her the details; that past entanglement belonged to another life. “So, yes, you’re right: I didn’t ask for this.” He shifted, turning to face her fully, their joined hands resting on his knee. “But I accept it, Octavia—without regret and without hesitation.”

A faint spark of amusement flickered in his eyes. “You read my discomfort correctly, but not its cause. I wasn’t reluctant to kiss you. I was reluctant to perform for them.” He nodded back toward the ballroom, where distant laughter drifted across the lawn. “That tension you felt… it was for them, not for you.” He brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering against her cheek. “You say you read faces and bodies. Then tell me—now, when it’s only us—what do you see?”

"I meant the proposal, mostly. I suppose we have been working toward this for quite a while and now it's happened. Walking through a crowd and greeting everyone before that was a walk in the park," she explained, "Besides, a lady always needs to act like she knows everyone's secrets at the risk of them knowing yours. Just knowing things about people also makes you remembered by them too."

Octavia didn't look at Anders. She was scared to. What if she saw pity on his face? She didn't want his pity just as he hadn't wanted hers when they first met. She wondered if he would return the favour and not give it to her. His fingers lay flat as hers wrapped around his, still holding on for instinct. Octavia almost let go but then she saw his fingers react, curling around hers. This is when she looked up.

Anders' voice surprised her. It was so soft, as were his eyes. She sighed, "I uh, I know this isn't what you asked for. To marry someone to protect her from a scandal," she paused, "You kissed me because of that, because Hastings said something to try and show the cracks," she smiled, wondering if she truly was so foolish, "I am very good at reading faces and body language. Yours told me that's not what you wanted," she hesitated, now deciding to ask, "Is it true?"

[ahmuseme]

Anders glanced over at her, mildly surprised. “You could have fooled me, you carried on in there like you knew everyone’s secrets." He followed his fiancée to the bench without hesitation, lowering himself beside her with practiced care. His braced leg stretched out stiffly, the faint squeak of metal betraying the strain. He ignored it, as he always did, and kept his expression neutral even as she spoke.

Her apology caught him off guard. As if all of this had been something forced on him rather than something he had chosen to step into with her. If Hastings hadn’t spoken up, the crowd likely would have anyway. Some display of affection was expected, especially after the public spectacle of a proposal. The kiss had been inevitable. His gaze dropped to where she clutched his hand and then came the whisper—“You didn’t want to kiss me.”

He heard it, just barely. His ears still rang sometimes—echoes of cannonfire that never fully left—but he caught the shape of the words, the weight behind them. His fingers hadn’t moved at first. He hadn’t reacted, hadn’t reassured. But now, slowly, deliberately, they curled around hers. “What makes you think I didn’t want to kiss you?” he asked softly, not in defense but in honest curiosity. There was no sharpness to it. Only the space he gave her to tell him what she saw or felt.

They circulated the room naturally. They seemed to suit each other. Neither of them overpowered any conversation or small talk; in fact, that was Octavia's forte. Anders thanked and bowed his head in thanks and expressed his gratitude on other ways. In that regard, they were a good match. They balanced each other out. Perhaps Anders did not see that? Or maybe this was just a marriage of image and convenience for him and nothing more.

In their short courting period, Octavia had learned how to care for him in small ways. She wasn't a doctor, she couldn't give him his shots but she could ensure his comfort in other ways. She had taken over small things that Edmure would normally do, simply because she was there. She offered an arm, something to steady himself on and keep him upright when the cane wasn't enough. Octavia was caring by nature, though it was not always the trait that stood out most, and itw as easy to fall into that rhythm.

"I'm not sure I've ever felt so uncomfortable to be the centre of attention," Octavia admitted, "Normally, I'm quite good with it. Perhaps there were just too many wrong eyes," she continued, knowing that Anders would understand what she meant. She shook her head, stopping at a bench by some of her favourite flowers and sitting down with him. She knew Edmure was nearby and even if he wasn't out of earshot, she knew he would mind his business with their conversation, "No, Your Grace, I must apologise. You would not have been forced into a situation where you must kiss me if it were not for my decision to be involved with him in the first place."

For a moment, Octavia let those words hang in the air. She realised, as they sat, that she had reached for his hand instead of holding onto his arm. She was clinging to it like a lifeline, looking down at it like it was one, "You did not want to kiss me," she stated it in a whisper, rather than asking. His body language had made it obvious.

[ahmuseme]

Anders was still forcing the right kind of smile—the dignified, gracious, future-groom smile—as they made their slow procession through the crowd. The congratulations came in waves: so happy for you both, she’ll make a beautiful duchess, can’t wait for the ceremony, each voice tinged with polite enthusiasm, curiosity, or veiled speculation. The Duke nodded politely, shook hands when expected, and offered measured thanks, while Octavia carried the weight of the small talk for him with practiced ease.

He saw Hastings circling at the edge of the crowd, watching and trying to approach them but the crowd between them served as a sufficient buffer. Anders didn’t need to guess the young Viscount's intent—any falter, any hint of insincerity, and he would use it to confirm the engagement was nothing more than a salvaged reputation wrapped in a ring box. He hated this. Not the engagement, not really. Not Octavia. Just the performance. He wasn’t meant for ballrooms and applause. He never had been. The limp, the cane—those had just become convenient excuses for his absence. The truth was simpler: he preferred his world small, private, within his control.

So when Octavia leaned in with that practiced laugh and said, “Perhaps we could take some air?”—he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes. Of course.” He turned slightly, angling his body protectively between her and Hastings. Then, in German, he offered quick farewells to the delegates nearest them, adding a nod to Edmure across the hall. The manservant caught the signal instantly, excusing himself from the redheaded French girl and quietly falling in behind them as Anders guided Octavia toward the garden—his preferred refuge from any pageantry.

They made for the terrace, Anders setting a careful pace. At the steps, he hesitated out of habit, waiting for Edmure, but when Octavia offered her arm with quiet confidence, he took it without protest. Not like their first meeting—there was no pride to prove, only the silent understanding of necessity. She steadied him, and Edmure remained close enough to catch him if needed, but gave them their space.

Once they reached the gravel path, the garden enveloped them in shadows and soft rustling wind. Anders exhaled, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders. “How are you feeling now, my lady?” His voice was low, more sincere than it had been all evening. “It was rather stifling in there.” He glanced sideways at her—not for the benefit of an audience this time, but for her. The woman who had stood beside him on that stage. The woman who deserved more than a staged kiss and a crowd’s approval. He wasn't ready to offer all of himself—but he could offer this: “I must apologize. That moment, the kiss... I saw Hastings. I knew exactly what he was trying to prove. So I gave them what they wanted.” He hesitated. “Not what you deserved.”

Octavia was smiling, happy and calm. Things would be okay now. Things would be good. Her heart was still racing from the proposal, realising that perhaps it meant more than just a political alliance and a scandal cover up. She squeezed his hand back, feeling that this would become their gesture. A small token of assurance, comfort, gratitude: whatever it needed to be in that moment. She was ready to enjoy the rest of the night in celebration until the voice cut through the applause.

It took everything in Octavia not to react in any kind of adverse way. She didn't look at Hastings. She didn't need to. She could see the look on his face, practically hear it in his voice, but she would not give him the satisfaction. Instead, she looked at Anders, finding something steadfast in him even if he also looked nervous. She leaned in to meet his lips. It was not like any kiss Octavia had ever experienced. She was used to heat and passion and... Hastings. Her stomach lurched at the thought of him. Anders' kiss was warm and soft and comforting. It was... unexpected. His body language, however, told a different story.

Octavia smiled as he pulled away but this time it did not reach her eyes. Of course, he was only doing it for appearances. This was all for appearances. Octavia suddenly felt foolish, like a little girl with a crush. She took his arm and looked out to their audience, suddenly feeling vulnerable once more and not at all comforted. She looked for familiar faces. Her parents were in the audience. She recognised ladies from court. Edmure was there. They brought some comfort but not a lot. After a few minutes of circulating and congratulations. Octavia kept up the act of happiness, trying to hide the tension and avoid a glance at Hastings, "Your Grace, the celebrations suddenly having me feeling quite flustered," she admitted, laughing softly, which was echoed politely by people around them, "Perhaps we could take some air?" Octavia looked up at him, hoping she might see some pleading in her gaze. Truthfully, there was only one set of eyes she wanted to get away from. She knew the moment she was left alone, Hastings would be on her. She hoped to at least talk to her betrothed alone before that could happen if it could not be avoided entirely.

[ahmuseme]

Jamie stared at the paperwork spread across the coffee table—shipping manifests, falsified invoices, names he couldn’t ignore. It was all there, clear as day. And it all pointed to Samuel. “You know blood trafficking is illegal, right?” he said, voice low but steady. He didn’t look up right away. He needed a second to keep his thoughts from spiraling. This wasn’t just a case file or a name on a report. This was Samuel. “I’m supposed to report this.” The words felt heavier than they should. His hand hovered over the documents, but he didn’t touch them. “I need to understand.” He finally looked across the room, his expression tight with something between frustration and concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Is this about money?”

"What?" Samuel knew he had heard the other correctly, but it was the only response that seemed appropriate right then. It downplayed his own involvement off the bat. At least he hoped. It could have also been taken as a sign of guilt. Samuel had always been meticulous about covering his tracks and only letting a very select few know exactly what was happening. "I think you need to not believe every rumor that floats your way." He remained relaxed on the couch, appearing not bothered by the words at all.

Muse: Samuel Alvarez, dhampir, blood bank owner, involved in the blood trade

Open: all

Plot: Your muse has figured out that Sam is part of the underground blood trade. They confront him about it. Up to you whether they want in or want him out. Could be any sort of relationship: employee, significant other, siblings significant other than he has a fling with, other supernatural creature that he's been having issues with

[ahmuseme]

Applause and cheers rose throughout the hall as Anders slid the ring onto Octavia’s. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, meaning to guide her down from the platform when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the celebration like a blade.

“Let’s see a kiss, Your Grace!”

Anders’s head turned before he meant it to. Viscount Nicolas Hastings stood near the front, lips curled in something too polite to be called a smirk, eyes sharp and watchful. The challenge in his voice wasn’t for romance. It was bait. A public test. Anders saw it at once. Hastings wanted to prove the engagement was nothing more than a well-timed performance—damage control in the wake of scandal he caused. A kiss would either confirm the illusion… or betray its cracks. The viscount was clever, the Duke would give him that. Vindictive in a way only a man who’d once had a claim could be.

The crowd picked up the call: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Anders's pulse ticked sharply in his neck. He wasn’t a man afraid of attention, but this wasn’t his battlefield. His instinct was to shield, not to perform. Still, he knew what was expected, knew that to refuse would only feed the gossip further. He turned to Octavia and took both her hands, lifting them gently. His movements were practiced, smooth, even affectionate to the untrained eye. He leaned in—not too quickly, not too stiffly—and kissed her. It wasn’t passionate, but it was real enough. His lips pressed to hers with care, steady and warm, the kind of kiss a couple might share in the early days of affection. The crowd let out a collective sound of approval, satisfied. But Anders knew she would feel it.

He didn’t linger. There was no tension in his grip, no pull to draw her closer. His shoulders never relaxed. The timing was perfect, the delivery precise—but Octavia would know. Anders hadn’t wanted to kiss her, not here, not like this. He straightened and offered a slight bow to the room, expression composed, as if the kiss had cost him nothing. Without a word, he offered his arm to Octavia and led her from the platform, the tap of his cane measured and calm. Behind them, applause swelled once more, but somewhere in the crowd, Hastings watched, still smiling, while he was quietly fuming.

Octavia followed, letting him take the lead as she was meant to. She had always been one to thrive in the centre of attention but as a hush fell over the crowd, she suddenly felt too seen, too vulnerable. Perhaps it was recent events and the almost very public scandal. Even if the whole truth didn't come out, people still whispered. She tried to focus on Anders. Despite his own obvious nerves, seeing him gave her some confidence to stand in front of everyone.

As he made his short speech, Octavia thought about all their interactions since they had met. They had somehow found a sort of routine as they staged being spotted courting together in public and also in private. She remembered all he had said after her last interaction with Nicolas. In so few words, he had reassured her and, in the weeks since, Anders had helped her find her fire again. She felt like she could be herself around him, he would keep her safe and comfortable. This was a marriage of convenience to start with, to carry on his family line and protect her family from scandal. Now, she could see it being a true and genuine marriage with a bright future for them both together. Not that she had ever voiced this out loud.

Octavia found herself smiling. She noticed how his did not quite reach his eyes but her own did. His words were in character for him. He was not a man of many words but nonetheless romantic enough to quash rumours and make the ladies in the crowd 'ooh' and 'aah'. The ring caught her by surprise. She was known to be vain and adore big, shiny things. She had no idea what she had pictured her dream ring to look like until she laid eyes on this one. It was not elaborate or flashy but it was beautiful. She looked up at him as he asked her the question, now happy that he could not go on one knee. This felt like starting their engagement at equal standing.

"Yes, Duke Anders Trevelyan. Of course, I will marry you."

It was the answer she had to give but somehow she knew, even if their relationship had only just started, that it was also the answer she wanted to give.

[ahmuseme]

He hadn’t listened to Adrian’s music in years. When the other man abandoned the coven—abandoned him—Grayson purged every trace of the other man from his life. Records, notes, recordings—all gone. In their place, he imposed a quiet kind of exile, not just from Adrian, but from music itself. "Send them to a priest," he replied before he turned and began walking, leading Adrian through narrow lanes until they reached a small, tucked-away pub—one Grayson occasionally escaped to when the weight of coven politics grew too much. He stepped inside and chose a booth in the corner, half-shielded by old paneling and shadow.

The leather groaned softly beneath Grayson as he settled into the booth, ordering a brandy with little thought. He drew a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it, the flicker of the flame briefly casting light across the worn lines beneath his eyes before fading back into shadow. Smoke curled upward as he took a long drag—letting it sit heavy in his lungs before exhaling with something close to relief. “Tell me—what really brings you back here? Twenty years is a long time, Adrian.”

Adrian grins." Yes, to add to the others that I've written already about you. You should listen to one of my albums sometime Grayson, hear my confessions." The witch fights the urge to roll his eyes at the mention of the coven, a life that he had left behind him for twenty years now not looking back once, had it not been for Grayson he would have probably never came back. but truth was that the singer had missed him." Well I was never really one to sit down and take orders." He shrugs." Wearing a tight leash never suited me."

At the mention of the drink Adrians smile grows wider." One drink." A hearty laugh escapes him." What about in private, what then? Will you still hex me?"

[ahmuseme]

David let out a quiet chuckle, eyes dropping briefly to the ring on his finger. “Careful,” he said, voice low and wry. “Keep talking like that and I might forget I know better. You’re a dangerous flirt, Tate—and I’ve already got enough trouble without adding another the list. Besides, if you’re aiming to charm your way through the bank, you might have better luck with Megan. She’s closer to your age and actually works at the bank.”

He swirled the champagne in his glass as he studied the younger man. “So this is just a stepping stone, huh? What exactly are you aiming for? Because for someone so unconcerned about fraternization, you speak like someone who’s been through it before which might mean you’re the one lighting the match and watching careers burn. Should I be worried?"

The way David was acting, ever the devoted husband even if his wife couldn’t be bothered to do the same . . . it was an admirable quality Tate seldom saw. Yet he was starting to see some cracks as he glanced towards his mark’s way, noticing what Tate had. That she wasn’t being shy in her affection with the man who wasn’t her husband. It should give him a leg up, especially when he waved that accusatory finger at him. A cheeky grin tugged at his lips as he laughed. “I pride myself on it, actually. But my charm really only works when I’m around the right person. At least I know I haven’t lost my touch.” He hummed in amusement, keeping his gaze locked onto David’s face as he took a sip from his glass. Has he brought the glass down from his lips, he leaned in just a touch as he lowered his voice. “If you ever find yourself without that ring? You come find me.” He hummed, stepping back again.

He watched David’s movements, actually wanting to help this man out. Listening and nodding, he took a long sip of his second glass of champagne before setting it onto counter. “I appreciate the advice, David, really. Right now this job in and of itself is a stepping stone for me so . . . I’m not too concerned about a fraternization scandal coming for me. I’ve yet to get caught in one, I’ve been known to be discreet.” He chuckled with a casual shrug. Glancing up mischievously at the follow up, he hummed softly. “It most certainly is. I suppose you just have to consider whether or not the temptation is worth it.”

[ahmuseme]

Anders drew in a breath, his fingers still wrapped around hers as he cast a brief glance toward the raised platform at the center of the hall. The music had softened into a lull, the musicians between sets, and the timing—imperfect though it felt—offered him a sliver of opportunity. “Come with me,” he said gently, giving her hand a small tug. With measured steps, he guided her toward the platform, their path gradually drawing the attention of guests nearby. Conversations faded into murmurs, then into silence, as one by one the crowd began to notice the Duke leading his intended to the center of the room. A hush fell over the hall.

He turned to face Octavia fully, still holding her hand. For a heartbeat, he froze. His mind went blank. There were things he wanted to say. Things he’d rehearsed in quiet moments. Words that had stayed with him in the stillness of night: how she steadied him when the world shifted beneath his feet, how her presence soothed a part of him no one else noticed, how he caught himself imagining a future before he'd even dared to speak it. But those weren’t for public ears. He couldn’t say those things. Not here. Not in front of them. It would have to wait for another time so instead, he offered the version they could witness.

“I’ve given speeches on battlefields,” The Duke began, voice low but sure, “negotiated trade disputes, even lectured our King once when I was far too young to know better.” He gave a small, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I find myself now without a grand speech for you. No poetry. Yet, I’ve never been more certain of my words than I am now." He reached into his coat and pulled out a velvet box, its edges worn smooth from handling. He opened it to reveal a ring—In the velvet box rested a ring of warm rose gold, its slim band cradling a marquise-cut moss agate, soft green with silvery veins like mist through forest leaves. Tiny diamonds flanked the stone, scattered like distant stars, and delicate vinework traced along the band. It was elegant, natural, and quietly unforgettable—meant not to dazzle, but to belong.

"Lady Octavia Thatcher, will you marry me?"

Octavia noticed the smile and returned it, glad she could be of some comfort even with just a small gesture. As the walked, she curtsied and smiled and asked after people. How is your daughter doing, Countess? Did your dog have her pups yet, Lady Escot? Congratulations on your horse race win, My Lord. Octavia learned a long time ago to remember small details about people, even just temporarily. It impressed them, made them feel seen and known. Not to mention, when she was on the Princess' ear, she was able to pass on the details to her so she could appear impressive.

Nodding in agreement, Octavia couldn't help but laugh softly, "You're right and the gardeners have been working so hard on the roses too. They deserve to be shown off," she paused, glancing out the window to try and catch sight of them. She smiled up at him, "It's okay. I should have known it myself. I will write to her tomorrow. I can arrange my own social calls, I will be running a household soon, you know," she teased lightly.

Octavia was surprised. Perhaps it was her own fear of not doing what her future mother-in-law said that made her feel that way but she supposed he didn't have to do what she said. He was a Duke after all. She accepted his hand and reached out for the other resting on top of the cane to help him readjust it properly. She smiled, suddenly feeling her own nerves arise, "Ready," she replied, squeezing the fingers of his cane-holding hand gently before pulling away so she was just holding the one.

[ahmuseme]

David’s gaze drifted back to the dance floor, landing on his wife. She was laughing a little too easily, her hand resting just a moment too long on her partner’s shoulder. His chest tightened, and the champagne turned sour on his tongue. “Healthy jealousy,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Right.” He glanced back at Tate, who was still watching him with that mischievous spark in his eyes. Charming. Confident. Shaking his head, he took another sip of his drink, “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said, waving an accusing finger teasingly. “You wrap compliments in charm and serve them like a second round of champagne—easy to enjoy, hard to refuse. And if things were different…” He shook his head, the rest left unsaid. “But I’m still wearing this ring for a reason,” he added quietly, tapping the gold band on his finger. “Even if right now… I’m not sure she is.”

A faint, tired smile played at the corners of his mouth as he turned more towards the younger man, leaning against the counter with his hip. “Unsolicited word of advice, Tate? You should be careful who you try to kiss up to here. The bank’s a shark tank dressed in business casual. Everyone’s looking for leverage—half the people there would sell their own mother for a promotion. A fraternization scandal might feel like a good time… until it becomes someone else's stepping stone. Trust me, I’ve seen careers eaten alive for less.” Then, after a pause, softer: “Still. Temptation’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

"Jealousy can be healthy, but I get where you're coming from." He chuckled, waving in his hand in the air as if to close the subject for the other. One brow arched in playful question at David's remark, a shrug lifting his shoulders. "Now I wouldn't say that. Some would probably find the dad shuffle hot, just have to find the right person, yea?" He laughed, taking another sip of his champagne. The other man was attractive, older sure but still had plenty going for him even if he didn't think so. A perfect distraction in Tate's book. Especially if his mark wasn't paying him enough attention.

A cheeky grin tugged at his lips as he shrugged again. "What can I say? You're a handsome man, David. I'd be stupid not to give you the kind attention someone like you deserves." He playfully winked, before finishing off his glass and swapping it for a new one. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, those his eyes still shone deviously. "Completely understand. Would never want to step on any toes, I just like to offer a distraction when I see someone in need of one." He chuckled, head tilting slightly. "Now I've never found fraternizing to be a particularly bad thing . . . unless ya get caught that is." He laughed.

[ahmuseme]

“You always did have a flair for the melodrama,” Grayson scoffed, mildly amused. “Lonesome nights, hotel rooms, longing glances into the void—are those the lyrics for a song about me on your next album?” His gaze lingered on the other witch, taking in the subtle lines and wear time had etched into his face. Grayson couldn’t tell if Adrian had truly allowed himself to age—or if this was just the result of a half-hearted glamour to camouflage with the world he chose to be part of. “I’m still under the coven’s jurisdiction, Adrian. You might have vanished with your pretty songs and stage lights, but I'm still in their spotlight. I can’t afford to be seen cavorting with a deserter—excommunication isn’t just a slap on the wrist for me.” A beat passed, and he looked away briefly, jaw tight as he searched the surroundings for any unwanted eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but he had missed the other man. Finally, he looked back. “One drink,” he relented. “And if you start serenading me in public, I’m hexing your vocal cords.”

" Yes." Adrian replies, a shrug to his shoulders as he hears Grayson laugh." Do you want me to be cheesy and tell you that I've missed you all those 7300 days? That I thought of you during all those lonesome nights, while I was on stage singing or alone in my hotel room." The witch offers him a smile." Oh you still going on about that? Who cares about the coven, anyway, this is just you and me and if they want to make a fit about it than let them Grayson."

Adrian tilts his head to the side." I wouldn't mind you kissing it all better but for now all I'm asking is if you'll have a drink with me. Haven't you missed me too Gray?"

[ahmuseme]

“Twenty years, and now you miss me?” Grayson barked a laugh. He shook his head, eyes raking over the other man. “So, let me get this straight: I’m risking the coven’s ire to meet you, a deserter… because of a dream? And what do you want me to do about it? Brew you a sleeping draught and kiss it better?”

open to: muses 40+ or older (everyone) muse: Adrian Andersen (58. witch.  lead singer of the band ‘MIDNIGHT SPELL’. he/him)

Adrian shrugs his shoulders." Maybe I'm here because I've missed you, would that be so bad?" The singer grins, his usual care free attitude present as always." I had a dream and you were there, took it as a sign."

[ahmuseme]

David cringed inwardly as Tate latched onto his comment, clearly catching more truth than he'd meant to reveal. He offered a quick, dismissive laugh and waved a hand. “No, no—it’s not like that. I just meant… after twenty years of marriage, I didn’t think I still had it in me to get jealous.” Hopefully that would be enough to shut down any budding rumors before they reached his wife's office. He managed a more genuine chuckle at the compliment and, in self-deprecation, rotated his arms stiffly in a circle. “Though, trust me, no one’s fighting to dance with this. I’ve been stuck doing the dad shuffle long before I even became one.”

He shook Tate’s hand firmly, drained the last of his champagne, and gratefully swapped it for a fresh glass from a passing tray. But Tate’s next comment made him nearly spit it out. David coughed once, then blinked at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Wait—are you flirting with me?” He let out a baffled laugh. “Damn, it’s been a while. I’m flattered, but—married. Happily, for twenty years.” He gestured vaguely between them, still grinning. “And I’m pretty sure that would count as fraternization. Bad form all around.”

CONTINUED FROM HERE ( @ahmuseme )

David’s unexpected words struck Tate for a split second, having to physically restrain himself from being surprisingly delighted by the turn of events. So his mark was cheating, that was new information. And information he was positive he could use to his advantage now. His face flashed with sympathy as his gaze stayed trained on the other. “That’s a sucker punch to the gut if I’ve ever heard one, man, I’m sorry.” He lifted his champagne flute in a mock toast. “But if she isn’t dancing with you, forgive my boldness, she’s dancing with the wrong man.”

He extended his hand out to the other. “Pleasure to meet you David. You’re right, yea. I just started at the bank last week. I’ve been training in your wife’s department.” He downed half of his champagne as his eyes scanned the crowd, catching his mark completely absorbed in whoever she was dancing with. Perfect, he thought, it gave him ample time to talk up David. “I’ve heard that distracting that jealous bone can prove helpful . . . I’d be happy to help with that.”

[ahmuseme]

Terror had seized the princess the moment she saw her guards and servants cut down, their bodies collapsing around her as she was forcibly dragged away from her homeland into enemy territory. Clara supposed she was fortunate, in a grim sense—that they hadn’t made it to the capital where her father’s rival reigned, nor thrown her into some dungeon beneath a fortified stronghold. Instead, she’d been gagged and shoved into a storage cabinet in what seemed to be a temporary outpost.

The door of the cabinet swung open, flooding the tiny space with blinding light. Clara flinched, unable to see who had come. Her heart pounded as footsteps approached until strong arms caught her, steadying her while careful fingers sawed through the cords that had turned her hands deathly pale. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud, knees buckling slightly. She leaned into the stranger awkwardly as sensation came rushing back in sharp, stinging waves. With trembling fingers, she pulled the gag from her mouth and blinked up at her savior. “I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, still disoriented. “Forgive me… I don’t know who you are. Thank you, sir knight.”

"Lunaruz sent you?” Her voice cracked with sudden hope. “Thank God for them.” When he commented on her ordeal, the memory of her escort—loyal men and women cut down before her eyes—rose unbidden. Her throat tightened. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back. A princess did not cry. Not here. Not now. “I was treated with what dignity they could afford… under the circumstances,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “But my entourage—what's left of them—are they… are they safe?”

@indiestarter // open to femme muses 18+ Context: Your muse was kidnapped by a rival kingdom, and Alastair has come to save them.

“Your Highness?” Alastair called as he opened up the cabinet and gasped, seeing the princess hanging from the top of the cabinet. “Let me free you. I apologize now how close I’ll have to get to you,” he was ever the gentleman, even if flirting. He pulled her close to him but not uncomfortably close, and undid the binds on her wrists that were suspending her. He kept holding her close as she dropped down, not letting her hit the floor but rather aiding her in getting her footing.

“Lunaruz was alerted to our ally being attacked and sent the army as soon as possible,” Alastair explained, helping the princess stand. “I apologize for not arriving sooner, it looks as if you went through an ordeal,” he added.

[ahmuseme]

Grayson let out a startled grunt as his back slammed into the wall, sending his instincts into overdrive. He wedged an arm between them, bracing it against Austin’s chest, while the other pressed awkwardly against the vampire’s neck—not to choke him, but to keep those fangs away. A part of him still believed Austin wouldn’t lose complete control… but the cold fingers curling around his throat made that faith waver. He had no idea when Austin had last fed—and the man had never taken rejection well.

His hand fisted Austin’s shirt, ready to yank him off-balance if it came to that. It wouldn’t be easy—supernatural strength didn’t budge easily—and the last thing the neighbors needed was two warlocks tearing up the place with magic. “I told you, Austin,” he ground out. “I don’t have centuries to waste like you do. I’m leaving. I’ve learned everything I can from you.”

Open to any gender: friends to enemies, ex-friends, enemies. Anybody that would have a love/hate relationship with Austin. Gimmie Angst. :3

"Say that one.. more... time." Austin snarled, shoving them into the wall, moving to grab their neck. "I dare you."

The vampire-warlock was less than impressed by their behaviour. He was close to showing his dangerous side. To make this situation bloody. Whatever they said made him want to draw teeth. And here he thought they were finally getting along.

[ahmuseme]

They had been drifting apart for months—though, if David was completely honest, it had been years. The distance had begun after the last of their children left home, and despite his best efforts to rekindle their connection—weekend trips, thoughtful gestures, old traditions—nothing seemed to reach her. In private, they were mostly civil; in public, they played the part of a happy couple. But the warmth was fading, and their facade was beginning to crack. They had argued just before the guests arrived, and now, surrounded by her colleagues, he made a quiet effort to show affection in front of them—to reclaim some sense of closeness to his wife, or at least the illusion of it. But every gesture—an arm around her waist, a hand extended toward hers—was met with a subtle flinch, a sidestep, or her eyes scanning the crowd for a face that wasn’t his. She didn’t have to say a word. He already knew. There was someone else.

So, David resigned to his role. He smiled; laughed when expected; and stood beside her like a prop, pretending not to hurt while the truth pressed heavier against his chest with each passing minute. Especially when a man approached her and asked her to dance—and she lit up like she hadn’t in years

David was in the middle of forcing a steady breath into his lungs when an unfamiliar face stepped up beside him and offered a glass of champagne. He took it and nearly drained it in one swallow. “Oh, yes. Lovely evening. Nothing quite like watching another man dance with your wife and realizing you’re the cuckold,” he replied drily before wincing as the words themselves cracked the porcelain image of the perfect husband. “Sorry. Didn't realize I had a jealous bone in me. I’m David Talmage—Meg’s husband. I don’t think recognize you. Are you new at the bank?”

open to: m/f/nb 35+ (trans & older muses get bonus points!)

muse: tate jansen, 39-44, professional art / jewelry thief (michiel huism*n fc)

plot idea: tate and his heist partner have been staking out a bank, with tate getting close to one of the bankers. now, he’s at a house party of said banker, who he’s supposed to be buddying up with . . . but he’s getting distracted by the neglected spouse of his mark. everything’s on the table. no inc*st / stepc*st, or nonc*n / dubc*n

Tate was already in the thick of his plan. He’d managed to befriend one of the bankers at the bank he and his partner had been casing, which substantially helped speed up the process. It seemed to be working even better than he’d hoped, because that banker even invited him to a party . . . which Tate was taking full advantage of. His eyes scanned the throng of people, drinking and dancing, before they landed on one person in particular. That has to be the spouse, he thought to himself. A glass of champagne in each hand, he walked up to them with a warm smile. “Enjoying yourself?” Tate hummed, holding one glass out to them. “I’m Tate, by the way. And you are?”

[ahmuseme]

Anders felt the gentle squeeze on his arm as Octavia received the news of his brother's delay with him. Strangely, it comforted him. It had been a long time since anyone had offered him such a simple gesture, and it warmed him. The Duke glanced at her and offered a small, grateful smile before he continued to slowly guide them around the raised platform, pausing every now and then to exchange pleasantries.

"I suppose it is nice," he agreed, gazing over the lavish decorations. "Though it feels odd having the outside brought indoor. We could have held this event out in the gardens and cut the costs. Not to mention, let the gardeners get the recognition they deserve." Anders hesitated slightly when Octavia mentioned her disappointment, realizing he might have made an error, "I'm sorry. I should have mentioned the royal family wouldn't be in attendance tonight. They did send a representative, but not the princess. I'm confident they’ll be here for the wedding, though. If you’d like, I can try to arrange a meeting then?”

Anders gave a small shrug. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure when the proposal was meant to happen. His mother had only said at the peak of the event—but unlike the peak of a battle, there was no shift in momentum here, no signal he could feel in his bones. “I suppose now is as good a time as any,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, with a breath of resolve, he stepped in front of Octavia and took her hands in his—somewhat awkwardly, as his cane slipped forward and tapped lightly against her leg. “Are you ready?”

"I suppose that makes sense, especially when she is so good at putting them together," Octavia replied. She had only been to a few of them now but the Dowager Duchess' lavish events were known throughout the kingdom, They had certainly met the hype. She had never believed one would have been put together for her and her future husband. Life works in unexpected ways she supposed. Octavia looked back at Edmure too and listened as he explained why Anders' brother was not here. She knew very little of Soren but she knew enough to sense her betrothed's disappointment at him not being here. It was her turn to squeeze his arm gently and reassuringly.

Octavia laughed softly, "I did mean more the setting than the amount of people. The music, the flowers, the food and drink..." she trailed off, hoping he understood better now, "I do not need lots of people for it but I did hope the princess would be here for it," she admitted. She understood that the royal family could not be expected to be at such a ball but the princess had been her closest friend and confidant since they were children, "She will be there for the wedding though and that is what counts," she added with a smile up at Anders before she looked around, "So when is it that your mother expects the proposal to happen," she asked curiously, not exactly sure on the itinerary, "I imagine we need to do the rounds to greet everyone beforehand?"

[ahmuseme]

A faint blush warmed Milana's cheeks as her bashful smile returned to her lips. The memory of their earlier moment in the hotel room where she had thrown caution aside and kissed him first made her heart flutter. It had been reckless, a little out of character, yet their meeting had felt less like an introduction and more like the reunion of long-lost lovers. "I want you here," she whispered, "I feel that the goal was always to close the distance between us, to be with each other. I think we're of the same mind that we wouldn't be able to sleep knowing we're just a few rooms away from each other." Closing the short distance between them, she took both of his hands in hers and leaned up to press a tender kiss to his lips — softer, sweeter, and far more patient than the urgent, desperate kiss they had shared before in the room. "Like we said about having children — they'll happen when they’re meant to so whatever happens between us will happen when the time is right." She gave him a playful wink, hinting she knew precisely what he would be struggling with when he slept beside her, before stepping away to set down her things. "Like taking a shower with me," she teased over her shoulder, "or you can save it for later."

Garrett never felt an ounce of anxiety over whether or not Milana would say yess when he presented her with the ring and asked her again, officially, to marry him. Still, hearing her 'yes' sent him straight back to cloud nine. He'd spent the short drive back to the hotel holding her hand, bringing it to his lips, and kissing her knuckle just below the ring. It wasn't until she'd bashfully asked about their sleeping arrangements that his casual smile and quiet glee melted into a fit of laughter. "I'd like to respect however you'd want to go forward with this, but I'd also be lying if I told you that I wanted to spend a single second of my time anywhere but by your side. I can be a gentleman and still be asleep next to you. I'm going to lie and say it would be easy either." Garrett's face turned a little red at that confession but he locked his eyes on hers none the less. "I made Rhett get a room with two beds just in case. He's the biggest flirt, so I figured I'd get the room to myself depending on whatever decision you made."