#day 3: masquerade/party/dance

[naminethewriter]

I Still Recognize You

I'm trying to catch up! Here's day three of @roceit2023, hope you enjoy 🥰

Here on Ao3

Masterpost | Roceit Week 2023 Masterpost

Summary: Roman is waiting for his partner at a Masquerade Ball. Then he spots the most gorgeous person he's ever seen.

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Roman excused himself from the conversation he’d been having with two acquaintances to get himself a drink. He’d arrived at the party about an hour ago and despite the masks, he had already found a few old friends in the crowd. There was one person he knew would be coming and was looking forward to seeing the most that he had yet to spot: his partner Janus.

He had wanted to come together of course but for some reason Janus had insisted on meeting him at the party. Why, they didn’t explain but after noticing Roman’s disappointment they had assured him that it was a surprise that Roman was going to enjoy greatly, so he had agreed. But finding Janus had proven difficult so far (though they might have just not arrived yet), so after grabbing a drink, Roman searched for a spot that would give him a good overview of the room.

Thankfully he found a quiet corner where he could take a few moments to just observe the crowd. As he was taller than most other guests it was unnecessary to find a higher place. He stood there and sipped his drink for a few minutes before he spotted a person in the most gorgeous outfit he had ever seen.

The person wore an elegant yellow and black dress that fit their figure perfectly. Their long blonde hair flowed along their back like a river of gold with a few decorations weaved between the strands that sparkled from afar. The mask the person wore fit the color scheme of the dress and formed a butterfly that hid their face from the nose up. The figure moved through the crowd with effortless elegance that seemed so familiar to Roman and before he even realized it, he was making his way towards the person.

He caught up with them at the bar and cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Good evening,” he greeted politely when they turned around. “Would you give me the honor of a dance with you?”

The person chuckled before taking a sip out of a glass they had just received from the bartender.

“My, aren’t you forward?” they teased and Roman, who had already been very sure of their identity, instantly recognized the voice.

Janus.

“I apologize, but you looked so gorgeous, I simply couldn’t help myself,” he said with a slight bow, causing his partner to chuckle again.

“You are such a flatterer. Very well, let’s dance.” They emptied their glass quickly and grabbed the hand Roman was offering. With a grin, Roman pulled them on the dancefloor and they began to waltz.

“You really do look absolutely beautiful, my dear,” Roman commented when he was sure that he could keep the rhythm without much thought. Janus laughed quietly.

“Thank you, you look quite handsome yourself. I must say, I didn’t think you would recognize me this fast. I’ve only been here for five minutes.”

“As if I wouldn’t recognize you just because you wear a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress, darling. You’ve hardly seen me with my hair down and I’m wearing a mask. Plus, I have heels that make me at least a few inches taller.”

“Maybe, but there was just something about the way you moved that felt so familiar.”

“They way I move?” Janus asked and even though they were hidden behind the mask, Roman know they raised their eyebrows.

“Yes. So elegant and confident. Drew me towards you immediately.”

“I see. Again, I’m flattered.”

“I should be the one flattered, having you as my partner.”

“I don’t mind you calling me your girlfriend tonight.” Roman could see Janus flush and smiled fondly.

“So I finally get to meet you on a feminine day, huh? I’m honored.”

“Shut up.” Janus flushed deeper and Roman kissed her cheek.

“I mean it. I am so thankful that you feel comfortable enough around me to be who you are. I know that’s not easy for you.”

“Thank you. I’m really glad I bought the dress; it makes me feel great. Even if I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to come without the mask.”

“And that’s fine,” Roman hummed, pulling Janus closer and slowing their movements. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I love you,” Janus said and there was so much relieve in her voice that Roman couldn’t help but press a kiss to her lips.

“I love you, too.”

[bylerween]

Announcing the daily themes for BYLERWEEN 2024! 🎃🦇👻

Each day has three themes: a Halloween theme, a show theme, and a one-word theme. Feel free to use inspiration from just one, two, or all three themes for each day!

Day 1: Sunday, October 27:

Horror AU

Demo Creatures

Summon

Day 2: Monday, October 28:

Masquerade

Turn it Upside Down

Spell

Day 3: Tuesday, October 29:

Graveyard & Zombies

Young Byler & Old Byler

Haunt

Day 4: Wednesday, October 30:

Pumpkins & Skeletons

The Party

Transform

Day 5: Thursday, October 31:

Costume Contest

Trick or Treat, Freak (2x02)

Sweet

Day 6: Friday, November 1:

Movie Night

Hawkins Lab

Fire

Day 7: Saturday, November 2:

Fortune Telling

Season 5 Era

Shiver

🎃🦇👻

Extra prompts and ideas for these themes are under the Read More cut!

amazing art by @magentamee!!!

Here are some additional ideas that you can use as inspiration for each day's themes! You don't need to follow these prompts at all, but feel free to jump off of these ideas.

Day 1: Sunday, October 27:

Horror AU: Make an AU of your favorite horror movie, show, video game, or book. Feature Mike and Will as the villains, or as the final ones standing.

Demo Creatures: Demogorgans, Demodogs, and Demobats, oh my! Revisit our favorite creatures from the Upside Down. Will Dustin’s beloved D’Artagnan make a reappearance? Or create a brand new kind of Demo Creature!

Summon: Will the Wise and the brave paladin Michael are summoned to complete a quest! Or maybe at a spooky sleepover, Mike and Will accidentally summon a demon.

Day 2: Monday, October 28:

Masquerade: Will kisses someone handsome at the masquerade ball, but they had a mask on - was it Mike or someone else? The party shows up to the ball to have a good time, but are surrounded by enemies in masks. Hidden identities, lots of dancing, and a raucous good time!

Turn it Upside Down: Explore the Upside Down, whatever that means to you! Will and Mike go through a gate into the Upside Down, or flip the whole ship on its head: Willow and Michelle around Halloween, underexplored AU’s, flipped ship dynamics. Go crazy with it.

Spell: Enchantments, curses, and magic. Has Hawkins been placed under a spell this Halloween? Will the Wise casts a spell, or has to undo one.

Day 3: Tuesday, October 29:

Graveyard & Zombies: Buried bodies, graveyard shifts, and ghosts. Will and Mike work at the graveyard and have to stop an undead army from rising, or maybe that’s just where they share their first kiss. The “Zombie Boy” nickname still stings Will when it’s thrown around at school, or maybe not so much after Mike fights their bullies.

Young Byler & Old Byler: What did Mike and Will get up to on their first, second, third Halloween together? How do Mike and Will celebrate Halloween once in college, or in their 20s, 30s, 40s, or 50s? How are they spending Halloween in 2024?

Haunt: What still haunts Mike and Will all these years later? Mike searches for Will who is haunting him while still stuck in the Upside Down. Mike and Will bravely face the Hawkins Haunted House, or move into an actual haunted house as adults.

Day 4: Wednesday, October 30:

Pumpkins & Skeletons: Will and Mike carve pumpkins together, make a pumpkin pie, or investigate the mystery of the rotten pumpkin fields in Hawkins. The party fights against skeletons come to life, or a mystery in Hawkins begins when an unlikely skeleton is found.

The Party: Any and all Party Halloween shenanigans! Explore party dynamics during the spooky season, from pranks to trick or treating. What was the party’s first Halloween together like? The party attends or hosts a Halloween party.

Transform: Transformations of any kind! Werewolves, vampires, Frankenstein, or just the kind of transformation that happens when you are stuck in the Upside Down for a week.

Day 5: Thursday, October 31:

Costume Contest: The party is going all out for costumes this year! Or is it just an AU? Dress Mike and Will up in historical clothes, clothes from your other favorite fandom, or anything else! No matter what, Mike and Will are dressed to impress this year.

Trick or Treat, Freak: A perfect day to appreciate our beloved season 2 Halloween episode. Ghostbusters, Max Mayfield has joined the party, Will sees a shadow in the sky. Crazy together.

Sweet: What’s Halloween without candy? Mike and Will share their favorite candies, or maybe they’re just being extra sweet to each other this Halloween.

Day 6: Friday, November 1:

Movie Night: Whether it’s the whole party or just Will and Mike, at the movie theater or just hanging out in the basement: Byler is cozied up and watching their favorite Halloween movie. Or, what if the party is making an amateur horror flick?

Hawkins Lab: What goes on there, and how are Will and Mike involved? Mad scientists, dangerous experiments, and kids with powers.

Fire: Bonfires to keep our boys warm on a chilly October night, the fire under a wizard’s cauldron, Will the Wise casts Fireball, or a dark night lit only by candlelight.

Day 7: Saturday, November 2:

Fortune Telling: Look into the crystal ball and tell me what you see! Will or Mike get their fortune read and things go awry! Horoscopes, tarot reading, palm reading, tea leaves: does knowing the future make things easier, or so much worse?

Season 5 Era: Time to daydream about our season 5 era! Speculate about what spooky things will happen based on the behind the scenes pictures. What does the next Halloween after season 4 look like for Mike and Will? Is there still time to trick or treat when the world is ending?

Shiver: “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” What has Mike and Will shivering with fright: a supernatural creature, something ancient and mysterious, or a strange deadly virus that has the whole town shivering? Mike and Will get trapped somewhere cold. Will insists that “he likes it cold.” Or maybe there’s just a chill in the air - it is autumn after all.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

If your not busy, I've been thinking that Fontaine announces a masquerade party, the Fontaine girls (Furina, Navia, Lynette, Clorinde) goes to the party. After enjoying the party, a random person with a mask (reader) invites them to the ballroom dance (can be a private or public area) and whilst dancing they engage on a small talk, it makes the girls wanting to know more about the person behind the mask. However, the reader has to bid them goodbye and kisses their hand leaving them alone. Maybe for part 2 the girls knows the reader's identity and maybe a hint of romance, who knows? ;)

Furina recognizing reader after a masked ball

characters: Furina x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I am sorry for only writing Furina’s part, but it turned out relatively long (for my standards), so if I attempted to write 3 more parts I might actually take until the heatdeath of the universe. So I hope you forgive me. As to why I chose Furina?

...I hope that one is self-explanatory.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Furina

No matter how much one were to look around the room, it would have been near impossible to find anyone more excited about the ball than Furina herself. Even during the days when she had to play the role of Archon she had found herself genuinely enjoying the atmosphere they offered and getting to socialize while wearing a literal mask was an interesting change of pace .

That being said however, as Furina looked at the faces around her, some better obscured than others, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment welling up inside of her. Sure, while there were some people she had difficulties identifying, most of them felt at least familiar enough that she was certain she’d be able to recognize them if given more time to put the pieces together.

And then there was you, packing a voice she had never heard before and a face she had no idea where to start with. Were you new here? Or were you simply one of those souls that didn’t think too much of parties? Whatever the case, you caught her interest.

Before long, the two of you were using the justification of dancing to talk to each other, simple small-talk at first, only for the former Archon to start asking questions that would discreetly lure more information out of you before you even knew it. And yet with every question you answered, the puzzle pieces inside of her head seemed to fit together less and less. You didn’t own a bakery, but your brother did. You could seamlessly stitch up a hole on any piece of clothing in a matter of seconds. Your favorite color was red. You didn’t have any siblings. You get lightheaded when seeing blood. Where did that cut on your thumb come from? You were cutting an apple only for your knife to slip.

By all means, Furina was starting to think you were dodging her questions or simply amusing yourself by answering with random nonsense. And yet, whenever you weren’t, talking with you was surprisingly fun and your soothing voice made her feel at ease. 

Each new hint causing her to throw out her last theory and begin from scratch and before Furina realized it, this had become a matter of pride and honor. The idea of letting you leave when she still had no idea who you were irking her more with each sentence the two of you exchanged, especially considering how much fun she had talking with you.

“What is that even supposed to mean? Give me one more hint, that last one didn’t count”, Furina once again spoke up in the middle of your dance, demanding another hint that would make solving your case at least a little bit easier. The two you agreed to give her until now, opening up more questions than they answered, only for the former Archon to receive an amused grin in response, almost making her speak up again, only for you to go first.

“If you’re this interested in figuring out my identity I could just hand you my business card, but don’t you think not knowing who you’re dancing with makes the whole thing just so much more exciting?”, you asked, your smile never leaving your face once as Furina responded with silence, your point carrying far more truth than she liked to admit., only for her to be pulled out of her thoughts when she felt a cut on your left thumb, only for your hand to flinch away ever so slightly. And before she knew it, her mind was once again running wild, trying to come up with new theories.

“You’re an underworld criminal right? That’s why you don’t want to reveal your identity, because you’re scared of me”, she spitballed, hoping to at least throw you for a loop.

“So you’re someone criminals should be scared of?”, you asked in a joking manner, once again failing to even refute her accusation before eventually changing the subject to something more light-hearted.

And then, before Furina had even the chance to find out your name, the ball was over and you bid her farewell, kissing the back of her hand before vanishing into the crowd of people, never to be seen again.

Since that encounter, barely a day passed where she didn’t at least briefly think back to your conversation. Was it because she liked talking to you or simply because leaving the case unsolved left a bad taste in her mouth. And yet, there wasn’t much she could do, as even if she wanted to gather more clues there was simply nowhere for her to start.

Eventually, she gave up. Simply going on about her days as she slowly but surely left the incident behind.

…However many times she liked to tell herself that however, there were still times she got lost in thoughts thinking about it. Sometimes in private, other times, when she wasn’t as fortunate, in broad daylight. And while spacing out for a moment was nothing life-threatening in most cases, not paying attention to where one was going made bumping into something or someone almost inevitable.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Furina heard a voice ring out as she fell onto the floor, having been ripped out of her daydream when she walked into someone only to be sent flying downwards, letting out a small yelp when once she made contact with the sidewalk.

“N-no, It was my fault”, the former Archon quickly responded, her usual charade nowhere to be seen as her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. 

Almost instinctively, she started looking around herself, only to find herself in front of a shop selling baked goods. There weren’t many people on the street, which made the fact that she managed to bump into one even more shameful, and when she finally did take a look at the person in front of her, she was met with a worried expression as they extended their left hand towards her, a broom with which they swept the street in front of the building occupying their other.

“Let me help you up”, they eventually stated, signaling towards their hand in a voice that left Furina wondering where she knew it from.

Without further hesitation, she took it.

“Tha-”

That scar on their thumb felt awfully familiar.

“AHA!” Furina screamed out, yanking herself up before striking an excited pose as her eyes widened, causing you to startle in the process.

“Is something wrong, Miss-”

“So you do own a bakery after all!”

[sugairsstuff]

Hii,

I have a request I love protective Rhys so can you do a Rhys x reader where someone insults her and Rhys gets all overprotective and angry, like how dare they insult my mate🤭

I hope you have a great day and thank u for writing it

Bye❤️

i’m sorry for taking so long to write this! i hope you enjoy my spin on the prompt <3

i’m flattered

rhysand x fem/reader

warnings: none

description: a noble has quite a lot to say regarding your appointment to high lady. as much as you’d like to do it yourself, your loving mate swoops in to put them in their place.

Coming to the Court of Nightmares to play pretend in these political dances veiled in the disguise of a party was never something you were excited about through all your immortal years of knowing Rhysand. So, naturally, you were feeling an extra weight of anxiety now that you would be attending as the High Lady of the Night Court—therefore a major piece in what was originally just Rhysand and the Court of Nightmare’s game of chess. You understood your mate morphed himself into an entirely different person as he believed that the one way to keep this imbalanced section of the Night Court under order was to keep them intimidated with the illusion of a cruel leader—for who would challenge someone who held no moral bounds?

While your mate had years—if not centuries—of practice in carefully carving this mask to wear at a ball that wasn’t even a masquerade, you had only been High Lady for two years. Before that, you kept your head low or simply did not attend the events held in this part of the court. It goes without saying that you were extremely prone to criticism, which was especially worrying in a place that was kept under control through the guise that they were not allowed to question their authority.

Alas, your lover insisted that it would be better for you to attend with him. Rhysand promised that you were safe there in his company (and that the food and drinks would be to your liking), while urging that it was better to show your face and prove that these Fae did not make you afraid than stay behind and let them mumble amongst themselves. Because, of course, this court was no longer run by only the High Lord, so now you needed to demand respect as well.

Standing in the mirror, you decide that at least it was somehow easing to be wearing such an elegant gown to the ball. With long sleeves and a deep plunge, your black dress hugs your curves and falls over your hips to the floor. You thought it was a nice touch that the ends of the long skirt are flecked in white that gave the illusion you had just waded through a pool of stars. Your hair is done up nicely as well to flaunt your neck and the silver jewels decorating it, the light piece of jewelry falling deep on your chest.

“I’m wondering if bringing you may be a mistake after all,” a familiar voice hums lovingly behind you. You whirl around from the mirror, brows furrowed as you watch your mate expectantly for an explanation.

Rhysand chuckles, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture as he pushes himself off of the doorframe he was leaning against, “You are one beautiful distraction, darling. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay focused on politics when I have the brightest star in Prythian right at my side. That’s all.”

You roll your eyes regardless of the fact you’re now sure you didn’t need to put blush on when doing your make up earlier. “Oh, yeah, cover it up, Mr. High Lord,” you huff in faux annoyance, though perhaps some real insecurity.

Rhysand was quick to notice that, and even quicker to invade your personal space by wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you to his chest. “Don’t forget Mr. High Lord needs his Mrs. High Lady there,” he coos, grinning when his cheesy words evoke a sweet laugh from your lips.

You decide to change the topic rather than continue to brood over the inevitable reality of the ball you are about to be an unwanted spotlight in. “Is everyone else ready?” you ask, thinking of your friends who also are expected to be attending due to political reasons. Azriel, Cassian, and even Mor were always expected to at least show their faces.

Rhysand nods idly, clearly too distracted by you to shift his mind to be thinking about them. “They’re waiting, but I’m sure they won’t mind it if we’re a little late,” he says, grinning like a feline as he leans down over you to try and capture your lips with his. You evade Rhysand’s flirtatious attempts to seduce you by leaning back and resting your palm against his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No way am I being late to this thing,” though you pause and return his playful grin, “though if it goes well, maybe we can celebrate later. The zipper on this dress is pretty difficult to undo,” you hum.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.” he winks, smiling like a fool as his boyish attitude earns yet another laugh from you.

Rhysand was a tempting sight to be seen, though. It appears as though he wanted to make you two look like dynastic royalty with the way you both are dressed, perhaps to look utterly untouchable to the rebellious crowd you are about to endure. His suit was pitch black, tailored perfectly to hug his V-shaped waist and embroidered with deep purple lacing at its hems. His sleek black hair is pushed back with what you assume is gel, though either by Rhysand’s doing or its own failure some of raven strands had fallen down over his forehead. You couldn’t help but make the allusion of you being the stars and him being the milky way.

“Alright, let’s go before you get too carried away,” you insist. And with that, Rhysand pulls you closer to him and winnows you to where your friends wait—some more impatiently, as Azriel stands with his arms crossed and an accusing expression at the two of you for being late.

By the time you arrive in the Court of Nightmares, you realize the party wasn’t starting without Rhysand and you. The throne room was done up extravagantly to meet the expectations of the High Fae citizens of Hewn City, the pure silver decorations a stark contrast to the deep, shiny ebony that the room was etched from.

Beautiful faces all around the room turn to watch you and your mate enter, their drinks idle in their hands and their conversations paused so that they can get a good look at the new High Lady. You swallow, keeping your chin up and moving on to the main floor alongside your mate. The back of Rhysand’s hand brushes yours, and when you turn to look up at him you see that he’s offering you his arm. You link your elbow with his, allowing him to lead you the rest of the way into the parted crowds.

When the pair of you begin to near the dais, you see only one throne sits at the centre of it. Rhysand seems to have this planned, though, as he gently guides you away and lets go of your elbow once you reach a small cluster of nobles. Of course, it all came down to symbolism and perception, because rulers who are supposed to be equals should have their own thrones to sit, and holding on to you when not walking would be seen as more controlling than chivalrous.

“High Lord, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited,” one of the Fae spoke. Her features were sharp and dark, brought out by her even darker makeup. To your surprise, she turns to look at you, “And you’re not alone. You must be our new High Lady, I’ve never seen you at any of the parties here.” the nameless female hums, her gaze dragging down along you. You can see in her brown eyes she finds nothing to criticize as she releases a small ‘hmph’ of both disappointment and approval.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to visit Hewn City properly.” you respond, offering a small, neutral smile. You decided that maybe if you treat these people politely, and not allow any snide remarks to outwardly anger you, they would see you as immune to their judgment and would back down.

The female raises her brow. Rhysand later would tell you her name is Emelia, daughter of a family known for trades. But when you glance to your side, you realize your mate has been pulled aside with Mor in what looks like an unpleasant conversation with Keir, the steward of Hewn City.

Emelia decides to strike while you’re alone, having no respect for someone who, technically, wasn’t her direct authority, “Well, that makes it sounds like you weren’t allowed to visit the Court. Why, does your High Lord keep you at arm’s length?” she drawls, sipping her golden-flaked wine in a weak attempt to hide her triumphant smirk.

Your back straightens, stunned for only a moment at her implication. “Well, it’s just a little difficult finding free time to revel so often when there are duties I must see to for the Night Court as a whole. I’m not sure if you will understand, however, considering how many of these occasions you’ve mentioned you spend your time going to.” you quip, quickly realizing that being nice and courteous to people wouldn’t work, and that Rhysand was unfortunately right to maintain equilibrium in Hewn City through intimidation.

You leave Emelia fuming in your wake, not bidding her a farewell as you head to Rhysand who now converses with Keir alone. Your mate looks relieved when he sees you coming, moving like a wisp in your black dress across the ebony throne room. The male to his left, however, looks less than pleased to see you coming in contrast.

“Keir,” you greet as Rhysand bends to kiss your cheek in loving greeting.

Keir only says your name in return before looking to Rhysand. “Well, that’s all from me, enjoy your fun, Rhysand.” he says, sending a scrutinizing look your way before departing.

Your mate lets him go without the satisfaction of a response. Rhysand sighs, turning to face you and reaching a hand to adjust the positioning of your necklace. His hand brushes against your collarbone as you meet his eyes. “Was she giving you trouble?” he says, recalling that he had to leave you with Emelia, “I felt some tension on your end of the bond,” he murmurs, careful of the level of his voice due to the room being full of prying, pointy ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assure him, taking your turn to do some adjusting by straightening the sculpted fabric of his overcoat. You thought you had managed yourself well with Emelia, who you assume was somewhere between a jealous young female to another rebellious citizen spewing the opinions fed to her by others, and your confidence began to return until you and Rhysand were silent enough for a conversation to reach your ears.

“Look at her. Dressed like a queen and yet she does nothing for the Night Court,” a male voice scoffed. You hear female and male voices laughing almost forcefully in adoration. The male continues, his voice only slightly muffled from the crowd and the distant music, “All I’m saying is, I don’t even work in politics and I could probably do a better job than her.”

After some more irritating cackling, a female voice pipes in, “The dress is tacky, anyway.”

With your heart in your stomach, you don’t even have the chance to look around and locate the owners of these voices as you notice your mate has already walked the few feet over to the small group near the edge of the throne room.

You worry that following after your mate and standing there as he, you assume, chides the yapping male, you make your way to the nearby refreshment table. Azriel thankfully stands there, who seems to be avidly trying to blend into the wall in order to avoid conversing with the unpleasant guests.

“Pretend we’re having a conversation. I’m eavesdropping.” you tell him once you arrive, and Azriel responds with a joking ‘yes, ma’am’ as you become another one of the pointy-eared eavesdroppers.

“Cielo,” you hear Rhysand drawl, a wicked grin on his face as he inserts himself into their conversation. Satisfaction begins to lift your heart back into place as the group’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

“Are you implying you think you’d be a better High Lady for me?” Rhysand hums, brow raising at Cielo, who now looks stiff with embarrassment. “Really, I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, I’m truly flattered.” Rhysand continues just enough so that Cielo’s friends have turned their amusement to their rather humiliated looking pal.

Rhysand takes a step forward, a few inches taller than the glaring male. “I’d hate to break your heart, but if you ever speak about your High Lady and my mate in such a disgusting manner again, I will make an example out of you as to exactly what the punishment is for disrespecting your authority.” and just as his friends began to snicker, Rhysand’s sharp violet gaze turns to them. “And that goes for all of you,” he snaps. Rhysand stalks away, leaving the small crowd of Fae in silence as he finds you next to Azriel.

“You know,” you say cheekily, “I could’ve handled that, too.”

Rhysand sighs as he takes a glass of wine from the table, likely wanting some alcohol to stroke away the flames of his temper. “I know, darling. Sorry for beating you to it, I just couldn’t stand by and listen to them spit bullshit like that.” he scoffs. You can’t be bothered to be mad—too busy gleaming in triumph and pride over your love’s protectiveness.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson,” you giggle, glancing to the group who now watch you and Rhysand in weariness rather than entitlement.

“Good. If they can’t appreciate what you do for them, they could at least keep their mouths shut.” he hisses. You rest your hand on Rhysand’s elbow to bring his attention back to you.

“Why don’t we dance? That way, no one can judge us for not speaking to anyone.” you suggest.

Rhysand takes your hand and kisses the back of it, “I like the sound of that.” he agrees.

After a night full of dancing and more inevitable political conversations, you and Rhysand winnow back to the House of Wind as you call it a night. You find yourself standing in front of your long mirror, trying to reach back to undo the finicky zipper of your dress. You see Rhysand take a step closer to you in the mirror and feel as his hands snake into place on each side of your waist.

“So, how about that celebrating?” he grins to your reflection.

[thedorkurge]

A prompt for you: Gortash forced Durge to attend some ball/masquerade/fancy event as his plus one with him.

Here you go! I got a bit carried away with it, as I tend to do... I hope you enjoy<3

You can read it under the cut or on ao3

Life of the party (2k)

Going to a party with the Gate’s nobility was the last thing Durge wanted to do. But unfortunately, he owed the banite a favor.

Gortash had insisted that it would be a good look to show up with a plus one. He wasn’t just a young politician charming his way up the ranks anymore, after all. He was on the cusp of becoming a lord. Bringing his own date projected an image of stability befitting his status. Of course he had also listed several other reasons that Durge hadn’t bothered to pay attention to. When he manipulated people, it happened from the outside. Observing until he knew who to kill and how to do it. 

The art of conversation wasn’t one he practiced very often.

The dragonborn pulled at the robes uncomfortably. They weren’t completely awful, they were dark enough to conceal any blood spatter, and made from expensive fabrics, but he already missed his own robes. It was almost impressive how robes with such little fabric could still get in the way.

“These clothes are ridiculous.”

“They’re not meant to be practical, my dear, they’re meant to be pleasing to the eye.” Enver had already spent a full minute adding golden touches to his outfit. Durge had refused any for himself- he wasn’t keen on the idea of adding more uncomfortable touches to the clothes he had been forced to wear.

“Is being unable to move considered attractive these days?”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’re perfectly capable of movement. The robes were made with dancing in mind, after all.” The dragonborn sneered at Enver’s satisfied grin. He was enjoying this a bit too much.

“If you expect me to dance, then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“And here I was so looking forward to seeing the great Dark Urge struggle for once.”

“I know how to dance. I simply prefer not to.”

Enver’s eyebrow shot up at that, as his movements stilled briefly. When they resumed, it was with a forced casualness that betrayed his interest. “Is that so? I didn’t think being Bhaal’s chosen left time for such frivolous activities.”

“I am my father’s blood, but I was raised by mortals. Do not think me ignorant in the ways of the world.”

He could practically feel the gears turning in Enver’s head as he filed away that piece of information.

“I would never, darling. I have the utmost faith that we will make a wonderful impression tonight.” He ignored the sneer on Durge’s face as he reached out to fix his collar. “But you will need a name, of course.”

“I have a name.”

“The Dark Urge isn’t exactly a name that flows well in conversation, my dear.” He said it like Durge was supposed to care about that sort of thing.

“Excellent, I shall enjoy watching the pampered nobles choke on their tongues.” A petty response, certainly, but worth it to see the exasperated look on the banite’s face.

“You said you were raised by mortals. Surely you had a different name then?” Of course Enver wouldn’t let that go. He could never resist pulling a thread once he got hold of it.

“A name that no longer matters. I am the Dark Urge. If you refer to me by any other name, I will fashion your leg bones into blades with which I can carve your voice from your throat.” Enver got away with more than most, but when it came to Durge’s god-given name and status, even he was on thin ice.

Enver rolled his eyes. “If nothing else, it certainly matches your flair for dramatics.”

“If you think this is dramatic, then please, do keep pushing me. We’ll see what words you will have left to describe a ballroom full of corpses.”

Recognizing the threat for the warning it was, Enver lifted his hands slightly in surrender. He was already pushing his luck by making Durge attend this party, he was willing to be a bit more diplomatic in turn.

When he finally turned to leave, he was stopped by the bhaalspawn.

Durge held a dagger out to him, hilt first.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do with this?”

“Hide it. These robes have entirely too few places to stash daggers, so if you insist on me wearing them, I will have to insist that you carry these for me.”

The dragonborn knelt down as he spoke, reaching under the long coat Enver had donned. In spite of himself the human was almost flustered by the brazen move, until he felt a holster tighten around his thigh, as another, smaller, dagger was strapped to his leg.

“Is this really necessary? You have never needed a weapon to kill someone.”

“I prefer to have the option.”

With a sigh Enver decided to entertain him for now, as he tucked the first dagger into the back of his belt. Durge did have a point, after all. The robes Enver had picked out for him had cutouts that left precious little to the imagination. He was frankly impressed that the dragonborn had managed to conceal any daggers under the soft fabric.

It wasn’t just for his own benefit, though he certainly appreciated the view. Bringing Durge along served a very specific purpose, and these robes were part of that.

The Dark Urge was attractive, that much was hard to deny. Tall, angular, piercing eyes and a strong build. He typically did his damndest to hide it under layers of blood, but now there was no denying it. The robes fit like a glove, his scales shone without their usual coating of viscera, and despite being far out of his comfort zone, he still radiated a steadfast confidence. Likely because he wasn’t above killing everyone in the room if he had to.

In short, he possessed a quiet magnetism that he never put to use. 

Luckily, Enver wasn’t above putting it to use for him. 

Together they drew plenty of eyes to them upon their arrival. Enver had become a common sight at these functions, rarely considered novel enough to be a topic of conversation. He had set out to change that, and it seemed to work.

The abnormally tall bhaalspawn towered over most of the guests at the party, the sunlight shining through stained glass windows to color the white scales that were visible on his arms, sides and back. He stood tall and proud, with a look on his face that bordered on complete disinterest.

In short, he, and by extension Gortash, presented a fascinating new enigma for the nobles to gossip about. 

Only Enver recognized the barely-concealed murderous urges boiling under his skin. Likely because they were on the cusp of being aimed at Enver himself, as he placed a hand on Durge’s back to steer them towards various conversations.

Introducing the bhaalspawn as a business partner who had aided him in building the steel watch immediately endeared the patriars, setting Durge up for a night of conversation.

His plan worked perfectly, opening the door to many conversations as nobles made their way over to make introductions to his “friend”.

In fact, his plan worked a little too well. He found himself getting distracted by his partner, unable to maintain the flawless focus he usually possessed in these settings. The Dark Urge had proven himself to be a true social chameleon, effortlessly joining conversations and keeping up with the gossip- or at the very least doing a very good job of making it seem that way.

He was a hit among the nobles. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to bring a new date, but they were usually from the same circles. True fresh meat was rare. 

And Enver didn’t like it.

It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. After all, he knew no one else here would have any hope of surviving even a moment alone with the dragonborn. It was more like indignation. The way they looked at him, only caring for his appearance, as if he was a prize they could win. They didn’t know how brilliant he was. How brilliant they both were. 

Enver was used to being underestimated, he had used it to his advantage many times, but it felt wrong for the two of them, together, to be seen as anything less than the rightful rulers of the city. 

The Dark Urge was something special. A secret lurking beneath the polished appearance of the Gate, only known by a select few.

He was quickly regretting sharing him with the world. A world of people who couldn’t appreciate more than his looks and half-hearted imitation of polite behavior. A world of lesser people who felt entitled to his time, his company. Nobles who disregarded the bond that had developed between the two chosen, thinking they had a right to even try to separate them. People who believed themselves above the bhaalspawn, entitled to his attention, never knowing that it was the other way around.

Like the man who was currently running his fingers down Durge’s bicep. Honestly, flirting so blatantly with another man’s date, it was just gauche. The man was so caught up in questioning the bhaalspawn about his relationship status that he didn’t notice Durge’s hand moving closer and closer to a concealed dagger.

Enver noticed. But then again, Enver had noticed every part of the conversation. His own little group had been tuned out in favor of tracking the flirtatious movements of Irchan Pulver. 

Lady Menzel was the first to notice his split focus, as she leaned in conspiratorially. “It seems that Irchan has taken a shine to your date.”

“Indeed.” Enver’s smile was as fake as the jewels around Menzel’s neck. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Usually he wouldn’t rise to such obvious bait, but this time was different. Enver should probably step in. Just to make sure Durge didn’t kill anyone in broad daylight, that’s all.

“There you are, darling!” He pointedly wrapped his hand around the arm that was inching towards the dagger, before he turned to greet the man. “Irchan, always a pleasure, I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow my date for a moment? The dancing is about to begin, and I would so hate to miss out.”

Irchan, who had clearly been angling for a dance himself, looked slightly irked by the interruption. Fortunately there was nothing he could say or do without being terribly impolite. After all, the dragonborn was Enver’s date.

“Of course, Enver. I was simply introducing myself to your friend. It’s always nice to see fresh faces.”

Their smiles were equally forced. 

When Enver finally pulled him onto the dance floor, Durge was too busy being upset about his interrupted murder plans to complain about being forced to dance.

“Why did you stop me?” Durge’s hands were painfully tight around his hand and waist, but Enver held firm.

“Because you were about to kill him.”

“And he would have deserved it.”

Enver didn’t technically disagree. “Discretion, dear. I thought you assassins were supposed to value that sort of thing.”

Durge’s voice was practically a growl in his ear. “I could have killed him right there, and made sure no one knew for hours.” Enver’s grip tightened as the dragonborn tipped him backwards, one large hand moving to support the human’s thigh.

It rested directly on the concealed dagger he had strapped there earlier.

Enver felt his breath hitch slightly. “I don’t doubt it. But I’d much prefer you didn’t.”

When he was finally standing up once more, he could practically feel the urges roiling under Durge’s skin. They didn’t like being told no.

Oh, what the hell. Irchan wasn’t that important anyway.

“Not in public at least. I’m never one to turn down a private demonstration.”

For the first time that night, a genuine smile appeared on Durge’s face. It was wonderfully cruel, rows of needle-like teeth gleaming in the light. 

As the dragonborn pulled him close once more, Enver wondered just how many people Durge would convince him to let him kill before the night was done.

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 6

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* brief mentions of medical procedures/accidents, protective Max, imaginary friend nostalgia, telephone anxiety, secrets revealed. Summary: An important conversation with Max takes more sharp and unexpected turns that a labyrinth and is followed by even more revelations from another source. Notes:  Again, deep apologies for the erratic posting this week. I swear we're back on track now!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The developing rhythm of the days is overtaken with masquerade planning, and it occurs to you somewhere in the first few days of going through decorations and flyer wording with Allison, Tracy, and Candance, that what you're doing here isn't that far off from the life of one of the Gilded Age hostesses that you're imitating with your party theme. Tonight is for relaxing, however, as Dancing with the Stars night has come around again. There was a lot of debating back and forth with yourself but here you are standing outside of Max's room at ten minutes before eight and shaking in your stylish yet affordable boots while you knock – unsure if you're hoping that he's been looking forward to tonight or if you'll be surprised if he even gave it any thought.

There is no answer after the first knock, and his door is closed, so you're left with a dilemma: try again and be disappointed when it seems as though you're being ignored...or just give up after one try and go watch your show alone like you would have done otherwise. Like you would have done before Max watched with you last week and shared a part of himself with you on that couch. Before he insisted on being your escort to the masquerade. Before he danced with you in the ballroom. Before you think he was about to kiss you. It's the culmination of everything that gives you the smallest semblance of hope, and you knock again – a little louder – only to receive no answer all over again.

With your head hanging a little lower, you take yourself to the sitting room alone and turn on the tv.

******

"Cutting it close Max." Mrs. Taylor tuts at him as Max rushes around the kitchen.

"I know, I know." He hisses as he tries to make sure the hot chocolate has the perfect ratio of cream to chocolate. Nearly burning his blood that is warming up in the process. Burnt blood stinks and he can't waste the few minutes that he has before the show starts trying to air out the kitchen. "I couldn't watch it with her without snacks, though."

"She liked the tray you brought up last week that much?" The housekeeper makes no effort to hide her smile as she cleans up the kitchen from prepping tomorrow morning's breakfast. She found a new baked French toast recipe that soaks overnight that she thinks you will love.

“She ate it.” That is a high praise in his mind because all this food tastes like shit to him. The point for him is to make you feel good.

"Then you had better get going." The clock on the wall reads three minutes until the hour and she smiles privately as Max hurries to finish when he realizes the time.

"I know, I know." As soon as the hot chocolate is on the tray, along with his own cup of blood, Max is out of sight. Using that speed to make it from the kitchen in the basement to the floor where you are in less than a few seconds. Having to take extra time to keep the hot chocolate from spilling or the snacks from rattling around too much. "Good, I made it." He huffs like he’s out of breath when he comes into the sitting room to find you already curled up on the sofa like before.

“Max?” Even though you practically jump three feet in the air when he appears — you didn’t hear him coming — the smile on your face is a complete betrayal of how glad you are to see him. With his tray of snacks in hand Once more, you immediately scoot over on the sofa to make room for him. “I…went to knock on your door to see if you wanted to watch with me again. When you didn’t answer…” you shrug instead of finishing your thought, mostly just relieved to have been wrong.

“Sorry.” Max shoots you a small grin. “I was down in the kitchen. I realized about ten minutes before that I hadn’t figured out the snack situation.”

“I wasn’t sure if after…the other night…” It was two days ago that you’d danced in the ballroom together and somehow you could still swear that you feel his hand on your back. But that’s not to be dwelled on, and you shake your head to pitch the thought away. “Never mind. Come and sit down?”

“Gladly.” Max sets the tray down and picks up the hot chocolate to hand to you. “Who’s your money on tonight?”

“Jason Mraz did really well last week, but the Marvel actress might be a ringer. It’s hard to tell if it’s that, or just that she’s young and picking it up quickly.” The smell of the cocoa is already a sense memory locked away in your mind, and you inhale happily before telling yourself it’s far too hot to take a sip right away. Mrs. Taylor had made you cocoa one afternoon this past week but — you hate to admit — it didn’t hold a candle to Max’s. “Latin Night is always fun, though. Somebody’s Cha Cha is bound to go wildly wrong.”

“Cha Cha is so hard to do when you don’t have natural rhythm.” Max snorts and waggles his brows at you playfully. “Not everyone has it like me and you.”

It feels like he’s flirting with you — if you can even remember what flirting feels like anymore — and before you can even blink your cheeks are flushed hot in response. “It’s not fair, ya know,” you mumble sheepishly. “My competitions were filmed. But…after you said it…I looked for yours. They weren’t.”

“No, they wouldn’t have been.” Max smirks slightly, pleased that you had been searching for his own videos. “Romanian Ballroom Dancing competitions aren’t filmed.” He snorts. “Kind of like Russian Ballet practices I guess.”

“Is that in case Dracula shows up?” You snort slightly at your own joke and take a first sip of the cocoa he’s brought you. It’s just as amazing as you remember and you hum happily at the rich, creamy taste.

He chuckles and shrugs. “Maybe, you never know. Or maybe it’s not filmed since vampires couldn’t show up on old film? Since it was processed with silver back in the day? Tradition, I guess.”

“Ballroom dancing vampires.” Another soft laugh escapes you and you reach for a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl he brought. “That would be a sight to see. Imagine a vampire doing a Viennese waltz? That sounds like it would be the most elegant thing in the world.”

There’s a moment where Max considers telling you. Like this is the segue into the ‘I’m a vampire’ conversation that he wants him to have with you. “Very elegant.” He hums. “As if they are gliding.” Call him a coward, but he’s gotten used to your warmth and he doesn’t want to have you terrified of him just yet.

“Maybe you should be a vampire for the masquerade, then.” It’s bold, at least for you. To joke and tease and flirt like this. For so many years this kind of behavior simply wasn’t allowable in your life. But with Max — and even with Eddie and Renee and everyone else in this house — it’s like the old parts of your personality are starting to come back to life.

“That will be easy.” Max grins. “Does that mean you’ll be the Vampire Bride?” He asks. “Big, blood red gown with a veil?”

“I bet I can find an old wedding gown at a thrift store and get some red fabric dye at the craft shop in town.” It sounds silly and light, and like the kind of thing that would have made you laugh a long time ago. What you won’t do is let yourself have any illusions about it meaning anything to Max. Eventually you’ll have to admit to yourself that you have a crush on him, but not just yet.

“You should ask Mrs. Taylor to take you to the dress room.” Max snorts. “Use one of Ms. Brown’s dresses.”

“There is a dress room?” Suddenly this knowledge is far more important than the fact that the show is starting, and your eyes widen at Max. “Is that where the dresses we wore last week came from?”

“I assume so.” Max shrugs. “One of the storage rooms in the attic is where Mrs. Taylor has everything.”

“This house is insane.” You huff, shaking your head and turning to the tv for a moment before looking back at Max. “Everybody seems to be very into vampires around here. I think it sounds fun for costumes. A—as long as you do.”

“No reason not to be into vampires.” Max snorts with a small smirk.

“I guess I’ll have to see what’s in the dress room.” Returning his smile seems so much easier than you had thought it could be, even just a few days ago.

He chuckles and nods towards the tv. “Op, here’s our first contestants on ‘Who’s Gonna Twist An Ankle’.” He adopts a smarmy TV persona voice just to see if you will laugh. It earns a snort and a giggle from you, and you pull your sweater around your shoulders and shift unconsciously closer to him. He isn’t a warmth so much as he feels safe, which is a welcome change from the brash teasing of the first few days of knowing him. “Christ, look at those heels.” Max winces when he sees the clunky shoes on the female performer. “She’s gonna break an ankle, not twist one.”

"I always liked the sequined and bedazzled sneakers on the swing dancers at my studio in high school." You muse, comfortable enough to get lost in a memory while you sip your cocoa beside him. "I swore up and down that I was going to start competing in swing, too. Just to get some."

“Those are cool looking.” He nods as he watches the screen, hyper aware of you beside him and he’s happy your pulse is nice and slow. You’re relaxed. “You know, you could always start up again. You have the perfect practice area.”

"I have nothing but time, I guess." Right now you spend all your time reading, with the girls from the coven, or planning the masquerade. You really have become like an upper-class Gilded Age lady in no time flat. "But..." Glancing over at him, you find his attention on the tv and not on you, which makes you bury your face behind the mug again. "Lessons are always...they're awkward unless you have a good partner."

“So you find yourself a good partner.” He makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world and it honestly is. It just requires you to ask him.

The moment of quiet that stretches between you is where you struggle with yourself. Personal inner strength hasn't exactly been a strong suit of yours in the last few years – or more – and you don't really know if he'll accept if you ask him anyway. Being so afraid of the question means that you start to shift nervously beside him until finally the show's first commercial break blasts across the screen and you scrub both of your eyes with the meat of your palms. It doesn't have to be romantic. You don't even know if it should be romantic at all. But you know you won't enjoy dancing with anybody else nearly as much. Not if the other night was any indication. "If you're too busy or you don't want to find a studio with me, I would totally understand..." you manage, not quite able to look him in the eyes. "But dancing with you was...it was really natural."

“It was, wasn’t it?” Max grins and turns to face you. “Like it was meant to be.”

“You…don’t mind?” That surprises you more than it probably should. Especially because he actually sounds happy about it.

"Dancing with you?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Why would I mind?" He asks seriously. "It was the most fun I've had in years."

“I’m just…” When you blow out a breath it feels a lot more self-deprecating than you mean it to be. You were only trying to state a fact. “Not usually people’s first choice.”

"Not people's first choice or not your ex's first choice?" Max asks, wanting to know why you think so lowly of yourself. To see how badly this asshole damaged your self-esteem.

“I already told you.” Curling in on yourself again is instinct, and your eyes drop to the pillow you’ve been holding in your lap. “The night I met him I had gotten stood up at a bar. So it’s clearly not just him.”

"Do you know who stood you up?" You had said it was a blind date, so maybe it’s one of those issues like 'fuck the dude got into a car accident' or something.

“It was a friend of a friend. Some guy that my roommate was taking her art history elective with that she said was so cute and so my type.” You shrug again, burying deeper on yourself. “She said he agreed to it and then dropped off the face of the planet. Stopped coming to class and everything. But…at the time I didn’t care as much. I’d met Derek instead.” Now though…for years now…you’ve wondered time and time again what that guy would have been like and how your life would have been different if he had showed up. “Probably took one look at me through the windows and decided he’d rather drop out than have to have a drink with me.”

Max frowns and shifts in his seat. The memory almost completely obscure and faded through time. There had been other pressing matters, other things that had consumed him that he had completely forgotten about it. He hadn't meant to, but the idea that he was supposed to meet you the day that he had been expelled shakes him to his core.

“What?” The frown on his face makes you frown even more deeply, and the impulse to smooth away the furrow between his eyebrows with your thumbs has to be squelched immediately.

"It's— it's nothing." He shrugs casually, or in a way that is supposed to appear casually. "It's not like your roommate was Shandra Taylor or something."

Now it’s your brow that furrows, the deep ridges marked with confusion. “You knew my roommate?” It’s not impossible, of course. You went to the same college during overlapping years. He could have known Shandra. She was exceptionally outgoing and kind, lots of people knew her.

Max blows out a breath, completely fabricated but he enjoys the little nuances that remind him of human life. “I knew her.” He shakes his head. “You were supposed to meet the blind date at that shitty little bar down from the dorms, right? The ones with the great wings and darts?”

“Bowen’s…” It’s not like it’s a difficult guess, considering that particular bar was a frequent haunt of Vanderbilt students. They notoriously ‘forgot’ to ID so undergrads loved it there.

Max closes his eyes and drops his head into his hand. “In October, that Friday the 13th?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer but he gives a small chuckle. “I promise you I didn’t take one look at you and run away.” He huffs. “That’s the day I was expelled.”

“Oh gods…” The way that idea twists in your gut is haunting, making you feel instantly sick as you shrink back in your seat — a move that accidentally spills cocoa on your sweater and you curse and apologize for the mess as though you’d gotten it on him and not yourself. “Fuck— sorry. I’m so sorry, I—shit—” Your breathing picks up as you start to panic, pulling off your sweater in the process and curling in on yourself on the couch beside him while your mind spirals. It was him. It was Max. He was supposed to meet you. It was Max—

“Hey, hey.” Max doesn’t know how to interpret the fact that you are about to have a panic attack, but he doesn’t like it. He takes you by the shoulders, turning you towards him and ignoring the way you flinch. Looking into your horrified eyes and trying to ignore the way his dead heart clenches, he starts to speak. “Calm down.” He tells you slowly, using his powers of suggestion. “Breathe slowly. In.” He pretends to inhale. “And out.” He slowly exhales even though air does nothing for him. “Everything is fine…”

The calm that washes over you is instant and consuming, even if being told to calm down doesn’t usually help at all. This time it seems to be the magic charm of the whole situation, and you feel yourself relaxing easily in his grip. “I’m sorry…” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut tight and slumping softly against him with your sweater balled up in your hands. “I just—I’ve spent years wondering what happened…and thinking of it as something awful that happened to me. And that’s so fucking selfish when I finally know what a terrible thing happened to you that day…”

“You didn’t know.” He reminds you quietly. His hand on your arm and stroking the back of it lightly. “You couldn’t have known. Shandra didn’t know what happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” Not a single second of your own unhappiness stands up to the way his life was basically ruined in one fell swoop, and you wish you were brave enough to push past self-consciousness and hug him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Max promises, giving you a vulnerable half smile. “You didn’t do it. I just wish I hadn’t stood you up that night. I just— I completely blanked out on it.” He admits.

"You had much more important things on your mind." Life changing things. Although now you can't imagine all the ways your life would have been different if you had met that night.

“I still shouldn’t have stood you up.” If he had known then what he knows now, there’s no way he would have missed that date. His thumb rubs over your birthmark gently.

"Sorry." The instinct is immediate once again, and you move to put your sweater back on to cover the birthmark that Derek had hated so much.

“What are you sorry for this time?” Max huffs, smirking at you slightly and not letting you move out of his embrace.

“The—my—I mean—” Letting out an exaggerated sigh at your own very clear trauma responses (you know what they are, you’re self-aware enough to realize), you shake your head when Max doesn’t let go of you. “Derek hated my birth mark,” you explain quietly. “He was completely anti-soulmate. So I got used to covering it. You just…you touched it a second ago. That’s all.”

“Probably because the motherfucker didn’t have one.” Max sneers, his opinion of your ex falling even lower than it had been, and it was in the dirt. It sounds like this asshole wouldn’t even be a man Max would eat. He would just rip his throat out. “Can I see it?” He asks quietly. This is the moment. If you say no, he won’t press. If you say yes, you’ll learn that he’s your soulmate.

“Um…sure, I guess…” It’s just an oddly shaped set of marks in your skin that your mother insisted looked like a clover, but you just always thought it was a little muddled. Maybe roughly diamond shaped if you squint. Not sure why he would care, you turn in your seat to let him see the back of your right shoulder where the marks have sat your whole life.

“There it is.” Max swallows, his mouth suddenly dry when he sees your mark as a human. “Do you think it’s more diamond or clover shaped?” He asks you, tracing it with his finger. “I always thought diamonds because they are expensive.”

“I’ve kind of thought it was more of a diamond but my—” His comment registers just a moment too late and you pause. “Always?”

His eyes watch you carefully as he nods. “Always.” He confirms softly.

“What do you…?” Straightening up again, your head tilts uncertainly.

Max bites his lip and stands up. He knows he will have to show you. Already out of his suit jacket, he starts to unbutton his vest. “Always wondered what they looked like on someone else.” He admits as he shrugs out of it and starts to undo his cufflinks.

“Max…” Watching him undo himself is a level of arousing that you hadn’t expected, but it’s far more confusing because you’re trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying to you.

“If you are disappointed, I’ll understand.” He tells you, wanting you to know that despite the marks that he shares with you, he doesn’t expect you to do anything. Not when you just got away from a monster. Ironic, coming from him.

When his shirt is finally moved aside, your gasp fills the room loudly enough to drown out even the applause on television. “Oh gods…” It’s right there — the relatively small marks look bigger on his skin but they’re unmistakable. Max is wearing your mark. “I—but—how?” You manage, holding your breath and trying to contain yourself so you don’t reach out and touch him without permission. “I lost my soulmate’s marks four years ago. How do you still have mine?”

Here comes the part that you aren’t going to believe. “There’s an explanation for it, but, you’re going to think I’m nuts.” You frown slightly, but you don’t say anything so he continues. “I—uh, I died four years ago. I mean, I was destroyed. And when I was brought back…all my tattoos and shit, scars, they were gone.”

“You…died and were brought back?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you can’t quite fathom what the hell he might mean by that but all that comes to mind is those fast-paced scenes from medical dramas. “Were you…in an accident or something?” It wouldn’t explain how his scars and tattoos are all gone unless…you suppose skin grafts would explain it. But that’s a lot of skin grafts.

“Not exactly.” He gives a wry grin, looking down at you with a small shrug. “I got staked.” It still irritates him how Evan won, but he could admit he got cocky. Made mistakes. At least he was brought back for a second chance.

“Sure. Sure. Of course.” Once it finally registers with you what he’s said, and that he’s decided to make up a story instead of telling you the truth, your heart sinks. The evidence that Max is your soulmate is right there on his skin, but as he buttons his shirt back up you frown that he clearly isn’t taking this seriously. “You were staked but somehow came back. How did I not think of that?”

He can hear the sarcasm in your voice, seeing the way your eyes clearly display your disbelief. “Well, how else do you kill a vampire?”

The way your heart clenches and then deflates is nearly instant. It’s broken without even realizing he had the power to break it. Finally seeing your birthmark on someone else’s skin has been your literal dream — and to be teased about it makes you feel like you should have just stayed in Tennessee with Derek. “Sure.” You murmur, shaking your head in disbelief and aching sadness. “You’re a vampire. Of course.”

“I am a vampire, Queenie.” Max had never flashed his fangs casually since he’s been brought back, and it feels foreign to let them slide down. Exposing the razor-sharp incisors to you.

“Fuck!” Surprised and more than a little scared, the way you jump backward on the couch would easily be called recoiling by anyone else. But it’s more about utter confusion on your part, if you’re honest. Witches exist, yes. And ghosts. And folk magic. But vampires? They were supposed to be one of those things that was fabricated by humans.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Max’s fangs disappear the second you recoil in horror. Stepping back from you to give you more space. “I just— didn’t want you thinking I was lying.” He sighs, looking down at his shiny loafers and then glancing back up at you. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Not my soulmate.”

“How…how long?” While your mind works to keep up with the information you’ve just been given, your heart aches at the way Max has reacted to your understandable shock. It’s a lot all at once and you’re reeling from overload. But evidence is evidence, and you can’t get much more concrete evidence of vampires being real than having your soulmate be one. “I— want to understand.”

Max keeps his distance, making sure that he doesn’t move. He knows that he can move quicker than you can see, or react to, but this is about making you feel safe. You haven’t run away in terror, so he’s taking that as a good sign. “When I was kicked out of Vanderbilt…the only college that would accept me was in Romania.” He tells you, snorting slightly. “You would think they wouldn’t lean into the legends, but you’d be wrong. The MBA program was run by vampires and I was— well, to graduate, you have to become one.”

“That sounds…simple.” Unexpectedly simple. In all honesty you had expected a long tale about illness or an accident and being offered the chance to pull through. Maybe it’s because of its simplicity that you’re inclined to believe it. It has none of the theatrics of good storytelling which makes it all the more likely to come from real life.

“I guess it does.” Max snorts. “My sire turned me and when I was…staked, he brought me back.” He’s surprised that you are still talking, but maybe it’s not that you don’t completely disbelieve him.

“That…seems less simple?” If you’re going to choose to believe him — which it seems like you are because you aren’t running and something in the back of your head is warming subtly but you can’t explain it for anything in the world. “Staking is supposed to be…it? That’s…in the stories, anyway?” Blowing out a breath, you sigh and trying to resettle yourself. “There are going to be a lot of questions.”

“As far as I knew, it was.” Max admits. “But he could and did bring me back. He’s a powerful vampire.”

“So…you’re…” Breathe. Remember to breathe. “You’re…not alive?” It’s almost an afterthought, the way your mind is starting to connect dots. “I guess…that explains why your hands are always kind of cold. I just figured you had bad circulation.”

“Technically.” He huffs, grinning slightly. “My heart hasn’t beat since I was changed. It won’t…until.”

“Until?” You prompt. That isn’t exactly something you just trail off on.

“There’s something that makes a vampire’s heart beat for a moment.” Max nods, as if that reinforces the statement. “A vampire’s soulmate can make their heart beat for a split second.”

To say you are incredulous would be generous, but the entire situation has you incredulous. Not just him. “I would say that I’ve never heard that before, but I’ve also only ever heard of vampires having soulmates in romance novels.”

“Well…now you have.” He wonders what you are thinking but for once, your eyes aren’t giving away what you are thinking.

“So…what is it?” You ask, shifting on the sofa a little to face him. The show and everything else have been forgotten. The only thing that matters tonight is this conversation.

“What makes our heart beat?” He asks, wondering what you would say to the answer. “A kiss.”

“As simple as that?” Years ago, you might have considered it a cheesy pickup line. Or at least cute, seasonally-themed one. But the story that Allison told you at the bonfire and the fact that Max has fangs are tied together in your mind.

“Simple as that.” He shrugs. “Or so I’ve been told. I don’t know if it’s true or not.” He bites his lip and sighs. “There’s also something else you need to know.”

“More than that you have my mark, you’re apparently a vampire, and you got revived after being staked?” More seems impossible. But considering you’re the daughter of witches living in the mansion of a mystery relative you never met who simply left you everything in her will? Sure. Let’s go for more. “What is it?”

“You know the bat that’s been visiting you?” Max shoves his hands in his pants pockets and shrugs his shoulders slightly, giving you a sheepish look.

“How do you know about that?” You know the girls from the coven haven’t mentioned it, and you haven’t told a soul. It had felt a little too silly to admit to anyone.

“Because…” he shrugs again. “It’s me.”

“It’s a bat.” Somehow this is truly the thing that you can’t wrap your head around, only associating bats with vampires because of the Dracula story — a novel. It isn’t real just like novels about witches aren’t real. The truth is always a bit different than those pages portray.

"Yeah." He nods, "a really cute bat that you call Cutie."

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open, and an instant later you’re sinking deeper into the couch in embarrassment. “That’s…how I’ve ended up in bed…” you murmur, disbelief evident in your voice. “The nights that I could swear I fall asleep on the chaise and then next morning I wake up in bed?”

"Yes." Max can see that you are curling in on yourself and he hates that. "I just— I didn't want you to be uncomfortable." He explains lamely. "I didn't – it wasn't anything, uh, touchy or anything."

It’s almost too much information, the facts at least how they have been presented to you, are working in your mind and clouding a deeply buried instinct of trust. As if the mark on your shoulder that binds the two of you together has reached into your consciousness and turned your mind on to all many of extra possibilities. Composing yourself enough to pick up the remote and turn off the tv, you blow out a puff of air like you’re somehow knocking the dust out of your mind. “I’ve…been reading to you almost every night. The bonfire at Mabon…the night last week when I just made up stories?” Every time you wake up in bed instead of in your chair. Every time he’s snuggled up to you in bat form and trilled happily, he understood every word you said to him. “That means…you saw my birthmark two days ago.”

He nods slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he tries to figure out what the fuck you are thinking. How you are coping with this. "I did." He snorts. "Damn near fell out of the air."

“This is…kind of insane.” Yet, somehow, you don’t actually think he’s lying. That is the strangest part of all.

He decides that the best way to prove this is to prove it. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and winks at you. There's no poof of smoke, no sound. One minute Max the human is standing there, and the next, Max the bat is flapping his wings in the air in front of you.

“Oh my god!” It happens so fast that you barely have time to react, but you cover your mouth with both hands and nearly shriek when your little bat friend is hovering in front of you as clear as day where Max was just standing. “Ohhh gods…it’s…it’s been you this whole time?” You manage to sound insistent and authoritative but only just.

He squeaks and then finds that he would rather talk to you as a human, so in the blink of an eye, Max is standing in front of you again. Rolling his shoulders slightly to work out the feeling of wings as he hums. "It's been me."

“Does anyone else know?” This time when you shift on the couch it’s to make room for him. If witches are real, and folk magic is real, and apparently vampires are too? Then you have questions.

"That I'm a bat? Or that I'm your soulmate?" He asks, unsure of which conversation you want to have.

“Both?” He seems to want to talk about them one at a time, though, so you swallow down your nerves and try to go about this in a rational way. “Vampire first. Soulmate second.”

"Um...." he shrugs, "Everyone?" He tells you. "I've not exactly hidden what I am. As far as the soulmate thing? No one but my sire."

“Everyone knows?” You just can’t believe that, along with everything else. It’s too out there. “Eddie knows? Mrs. Taylor knows?”

Max doesn't know if he had wanted him to tell you everything, but he's not going to lie. "They do." He nods. "Of course they know."

Suddenly the raw beef appetizers and blue rare steaks come back into your mind and you could just slap yourself for not seeing clues earlier. Although, technically? No one could blame you for not assuming your roommate is a vampire. “So you can eat regular food, then? You don’t only…drink blood?”

"I can eat regular food, but I prefer blood." Max grimaces. "Most food, like that orange cake thing the other week, tastes almost rancid. But it’s more palatable if its raw. Or has blood in it."

“Okay…” you nod slightly and are slightly mollified when he sits down beside you on the couch again. “I’m sorry if I’m asking a lot of questions, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

"You can ask me anything." He promises, settling out amongst the cushions and looking at you expectantly. "Hit me with your best shots."

“So…” Of all the three thousand questions in your mind, you try to pick just one to start with and end up floundering until you can pull in the thread of a thought. “You don’t speak to your family anymore but Eddie said you were adopted brothers. Does that…mean he’s a vampire, too?”

"Bingo." Max knew you were smart, that you are so much smarter than you think that you are. "We are 'brothers' because we were turned by the same vampire. But actually, Eddie is older than I am. He was turned in the nineties."

“So it’s just…non-biological family? Like your sire is your new father?” There’s something instinctively human about that, but you won’t say so. Not when you’re trying to get your facts straight.

"Kind of." He nods. "Eddie was, is more human than vampire at times. He was here before I arrived. And our sire thought he could teach me a few things. Like how to be a better human I guess."

“He eats more than you.” It was something that you had noticed and just filled away under likely useless knowledge, but Max never eats much at dinner unless it’s on the raw side and never shares the snacks he brings you. At most he’ll have a drink. A drink. You glance at his mug now and then back at him. “Is that blood?” You ask, extremely tentatively, looking back at the mug again. It’s a black mug with a lid and dark liquid inside so it’s impossible to tell what’s in it.

"Yes." He admits quickly. "Normally we would have ‘wine’ with dinner," he even uses air quotes. "So I would just be a person who preferred a dark cab. But I have to admit that I like those double walled tumblers. Keeps it warmer longer."

“That…” You groan, annoyed with yourself for having gotten in the way of things you didn’t understand. “That’s why you got upset that Mrs. Taylor hasn’t been serving wine with dinner. Not because you wanted alcohol. I’m so sorry.”

"Don't worry about that." Max shrugs slightly. "I understand why you don't like alcohol." He clenches his fist at the thought of someone hurting you in a drunken rage. Even if it was to make you cry. "It's not like you knew that the wine was non-alcoholic."

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” you promise him immediately, wanting to set things right. “It’s not fair that I get to eat whenever or wherever I want to and you can’t.”

"Don't." Max shakes his head, almost reaching out to touch you, but he's afraid you will recoil. "It's been okay with just having it in mugs or tumblers." He doesn't want you uncomfortable. It's a strange thing for him, considering his past, but Max wants to make sure that your comfort is the primary priority. "I won't die eating a rare steak."

“Max…” When he takes his hand back you instinctively feel yourself reaching forward, trying to close that gap for the two of you. Who knows if it’s more for him or more for you. “I may not…really understand this, but I do understand that even if you never want to be more than platonic soulmates, we’re still connected. And we live together. So some adjustments are going to have to get made if we’re both going to be comfortable.”

"I'm not—" He shakes his head. "I want you to be comfortable." He murmurs quietly. "I'm not a 'platonic' kind of man, right? But you— you've obviously been through a lot and despite some thinking I'm a douchebag, I'm not the type to fucking push myself on someone. Especially a woman I'm supposed to love and protect." He almost feels like he's trying to convince his parents that he didn't cheat, begging them to believe him. Instead, this time he's begging you to believe that he's not the type of man, vampire to ever push you for more than you wanted to give him.

“I want you to be comfortable.” Which puts you at an odd sort of stand still, if you’re honest, but that’s okay. At least, it’s a hell of a lot better than what you’ve had before. “I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you. Hell, I don’t even know what I’d do if you said you wanted a relationship. It’s— I don’t expect you to say that, obviously, and I— I don’t know. Considering what I just got out of, I’m probably a terrible person to even think of like that.”

"Why?" Max frowns and shakes his head. "This asshole you were with obviously mistreated you. Abused you. You were probably emotionally detached from the relationship for months, maybe years before it ended." He had listened during the psychology classes he had to take. He had just pretended that it was just to get inside clients and competitors’ heads, to get an edge in business, but he had always been curious about the human condition. There were plenty of 'self help' books he had read during those sleepless hours. Theres only so many hours you can surf porn. "You are—" he huffs. "You're beautiful and kind. Caring. You deserve to be happy."

“Emotionally detached doesn’t mean I wasn’t still there every day. Dealing with the anger and the threats and whatever else he feels like dishing out that day. It’s just…” You want so badly to take his hand, but fear is a very real thing for you in this moment. Being unsure and afraid means your fingertips barely bump his before you’re worried about overstepping. “You shouldn’t have to deal with a partner who could crack or break down at any time. And at this point my list of triggers is a mile long. I’m broken.” And that fact has you near tears just from the simple fact of it, but you have to do your best to blink them away. “You deserve so much better than that.”

"You aren't broken." Max hisses, trying very hard to control his anger. It wouldn’t be directed at you, but at the bastard that had convinced you that you were somehow lacking because he had been. "No one broken would have the strength to travel to a new place and start their life over." He growls. "No one broken would accept the strange circumstances they are faced with. You damn sure wouldn't be as kind and giving as you are. If you're broken, you can't possibly dance the way that you do. You couldn't."

“I feel broken, then.” Sniffling quietly, you wipe away an escaped tear with the hand that isn’t near his. “And I have no idea how long it will take me to not feel that way.”

Max can't help but reach in, hating how you are crying because of him. His fingers brushing yours and he's happy that you don't pull away in fear as he wipes the tear away. "I'm a vampire, sweetheart." He reminds you with a quiet chuckle. "I've got eternity if that's what it takes."

It’s cheesy and sweet, and you crack a smile when his cold hand touches your warm skin. “Would you really do that?”

“What else do I have to do?” Max asks softly, grinning back at you. “I don’t—I was always wondering about my soulmate. I have been drawn to you.”

"I kind of...brushed it off in the beginning," you admit with a note of guilt in your voice. "Tried to tell myself if it's just that you're my type and I shouldn't think that you're cute because you're my roommate. But...this sort of changes things."

“Don’t worry about what you did or what you might do.” Max protests. “I’m not going to yell at you. Mrs. Taylor would tear me apart.”

"She might have a little trouble with that." A small chuckle escapes you, unable to believe the reality of the situation. But Max's cool hand in yours is very real proof. "With you being a vampire and all."

"Not as much trouble as you might think." After all, the housekeeper is a much older vampire than he is. He doesn't even know how long she had been working for him and Cookie.

“No!” The implication of that and the amused smile on his face has you sitting up in surprise. “Mrs. Taylor, too? Is everyone here a vampire and I was just completely oblivious?”

“We try very hard to not make it obvious.” Max excuses your oversight easily. “But you are the only person with a pulse on this estate.”

“I—” Somehow this time it’s amusing that you didn’t know instead of concerning, and you huff out a laugh. “Cookie knew, right? She had to have known.”

“Of course she knew.” Max snorts. “Hard to not know when her soulmate was also a vampire.”

You have never been so acutely aware of your breath as you are when you’re blowing out a sigh in front of a man you now know to be a vampire and you shake your head in that age-old signal of disbelief. “The story Alli told me was true, then? About the witch and her vampire soulmate and all that…gods I feel like such an idiot.”

“It’s true.” He nods, smiling slightly. “Cookie was a powerful witch. And her soulmate is my sire.” It seems like an important piece of information for you to have.

“This just gives me so many more questions.” You admit, laughing quietly. “But I guess…having a vampire for a soulmate runs in the family.”

“I guess.” He doesn’t know why he had wanted you to have a vampire soulmate, but that is a question you can ask him. “I know it’s a lot.”

"It is." And you won't pretend otherwise. That would be worse than disingenuous, given that this is your soulmate and these are the people around you. This is your entire life now. And honestly? You don't want to change it. Which is a whole other issue you will grapple with privately – the fact that some of the nicest people you've ever met are vampires seems to go against every story about the creatures that has ever been told. "But I have my baggage and you have yours. It's...it's honestly not nearly as bad as how some other people have it. Or even anywhere near as bad as my last relationship."

“Do you want me to kill him?” Max asks. “I normally don’t waste food, but it seems like he would taste disgusting.”

The question is startling but not necessarily out of bounds, but you shake your head without even giving it consideration. “I’ll be happier if I can just forget he ever existed,” you tell Max honestly.

“Okay, but you let me know if you change your mind.” He insists.

“I’m not going to ask you to kill someone.” The idea is too much to even fathom and you shake your head again. “Is that…do I want to ask how you all get your blood?”

“Blood bank.” Max smirks. “Or donors. Willing donors.” He adds. “We don’t really have to skulk in shadows and trick people into giving us their blood in today’s society.

“That’s reassuring.” It’s downright relieving, actually, because with your hand in his you don’t really want to think about how he’s had to survive.

He doesn’t mention that he used to play with his food before. The new lease on life or immortality he had been given had come with a ‘sanctity of life’ outlook. He didn’t think you would be okay with him as your soulmate if he kept eating people anyway. “Absolutely.” He gives you an innocent grin.

"This has been an...enlightening night. To say the least." All of the information weighs on you and on your mind, making you feel heavy but in a very different way than the heaviness would feel when someone like Derek used to be upset with you. It's different. Like you know this time it will all settle.

“I’m sorry that your show has been ruined.” Max glances at the clock and realizes that the entire show has ended.

"You're more important than a tv show." There isn't a single note of hesitation in your voice and you give his hand a small squeeze. "And that will always be true. I always said that if I ever met my soulmate that they would be my first priority in everything. I'm standing by that."

It’s been a long time, maybe even never, when someone put Max above anything else. It’s oddly sweet and he looks down at your hand in his. “I—okay.” He nods quietly. “What else do you want to know?”

"Is there anything you want me to know? Or anything you want to know about me?" He looks so surprised that you would make him a priority that you have to wonder if his parents weren't the first people to not have faith in him. Which is pretty heartbreaking, and unfortunately you know exactly how it feels.

He frowns, hating the next part, so he huffs slightly. “Being that I’m—well, dead technically, if we ever got to the point of…intimacy…” He breaks off and looks down at your hands again. “I can’t give you kids.”

That...is a very good point. And one you hadn't thought of. But since it seems to upset him you're not going to harp on it. Not even a little bit. "Well, I think you know I like pets a whole lot," you joke, laughing softly. No one knows that better about you right now than he does. "When we get to that point, it will all be fine."

He gauges your eyes, wanting to see if you are just telling him what he wants to hear and when he finds that you are serious, he chuckles. “Okay.” He nods. “I’ll get you a real pet bat then.”

"I looked it up," you can't help but grin, a slightly guilty laugh coming out of you. "They're kind of illegal to have, and you can get rabies from petting them. You were just...too cute to resist."

“Well, I don’t have rabies.” He snorts and pretends to look offended. “So I’ll change into a bat when you’re missing Cutie.”

"Is it cheesy to say you're cuter like this?" It feels cheesy, and it definitely feels presumptuous to say, but it's out of your mouth now and there's nothing you can do about it.

“Yeah?” Max preens, smugly grinning like he’s just struck the winning lottery ticket. “It’s not cheesy at all, sweetheart.”

"The suits are nice, too," you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks at both the admittance and his obvious glee hearing it.

“They are nice.” He admits, scooting a bare inch closer to you. “Tailored is the way to go. Better quality than off the rack stuff.”

"I'll have to trust you on that." From warm to burning, your cheeks get hotter instantly, and you duck your eyes away for a second to bite back an unaccustomed smile. "You have much better fashion sense than me."

“Doubtful.” He tuts, shaking his head. “I saw your competition outfits and you can’t tell me you didn’t design them.”

“I learned a little bit from my mother,” you admit with a shrug. It won’t do any good to tell him that Derek had you on strict allowance after always making you use your paycheck for bills and groceries and his beer. The few new things you’ve bought in Newport are the first clothes you’ve had not from a church basement in years. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten it all now.”

"Then it will be fun remembering it all." Max reasons, making it sound simple. He has a good idea from your reaction why you are insisting that you don't have fashion sense, but you also need to remember that you have more money that you could possibly spend in one shopping spree.

“I trust you to pick.” The submission is so easy, so ingrained, that you don’t even think about it. Which speaks volumes about the kind of dictation you’ve been living under. “Whatever you want me to wear is fine.”

"What if we picked together?" He's sure that you have natural style, but you've been so stifled, it's almost natural to repress it. He wants you to start realizing that you can do whatever you want.

“Is that something you would want to do?” You would never go so far as to consider it a date, but spending more time with him after this newfound revelation has an undeniable appeal. You’ve liked Max almost since the beginning. This is an extraordinary next step to take.

"It's not like I would hate it." Max doesn't want you to feel obligated, but he gives a small shrug. "I know the coven has been showing you around, but maybe they haven't taken you everywhere."

"We certainly haven't been clothes shopping." Somehow you can't imagine Max even in a regular mall, but shopping with him sounds like it might be all the more fun for it. A unique experience. "I..." you chuckle softly. "I have nothing but free time these days."

He smirks slightly, finding it ironic that you have the life of leisure while he had work. He was the one that was immortal. "That's not a bad thing, Queenie."

"I'm still getting used to it." Though you highly doubt that you ever truly will, if it will make him less embarrassed to be seen with him you will definitely work harder on your wardrobe.

"Nothing wrong with that." He chuckles. "I can imagine it's hard to go from worrying about your hours, your pay, to not having to anymore."

"I'm honestly kind of surprised to hear that you still work as hard as you do," you admit. "In the stories, vampires are always fabulously wealthy."

"I'm still a baby vamp." Max snorts, shrugging slightly. "Those vampires are also hundreds of years old. So I've still got to create that wealth."

"Ah." Nodding in understanding, you can't help but smile that he's still holding your hand. "Starting from the ground up. Got it."

He snorts and nods. "Exactly. But don't worry, I'm pretty damn good in a board room. Making deals and money."

"I fully believe that you could sell ice to a Norwegian." From what you've seen, he has the confidence and swagger to do just about whatever he wants.

Your outrageous comment makes him laugh, completely charmed by the faith that you have in him when you haven't even seen him close a deal. "I should use that." He admits, rubbing your warm skin with his thumb.

"If anybody ever remarks that you have cold skin after a handshake, you just tell them it's how your soulmate teases you about it." Gods you just ache when he laughs, and you feel like you might explode with smiling.

Max smirks slightly and reaches into his pocket with his free hand. Pulling out a warmer packet. "I try to make sure that I warm my hands up right before I need to shake hands." He admits bashfully.

"Clever." It's something you never would have thought of in a million years and the fact that he's utilizing it so effectively proves your point that he must be extremely good at what he does.

"A good handshake can make or break a deal." Max admits, having learned that when a pharmaceutical exec had told him that he couldn't trust a man with poor circulation. It had cost him a fifteen-million-dollar contract. "I really like warm places." He hums. "Like right there." He reaches up and touches your clavicle where he had snuggled in as Cutie. "And I can hear your heartbeat."

"Is it loud?" You blurt out the question before you can stop yourself, but it's one of those things that when you read fantasy books you had always wondered.

"When I'm close by, it seems like that's all I can hear. But it's gentle." His fingers brush your skin gently, caressing you. "I like when you sleep. It slows down, like your breathing. You are a very peaceful sleeper."

"I very rarely have vivid dreams." The fact that he's listened to you sleeping seems so utterly romantic that it steals your breath for a long moment. "They only started up again maybe a week ago. But they're not bad. Just kind of...nostalgic."

"What do you dream about?" He asks curiously. Wanting to know what you think about when you are lost in your dreams. He hopes they are sweet, kind. A reassurance that you deserve only the good things in life.

"Um..." Suddenly terrified that you shouldn't have said anything, you try to swallow that impulsive fear and be open with him. Since he's been so open with you tonight, he deserves that. "I had an imaginary friend...when I was a kid. And I've started dreaming about him again. But...also...sometimes...you."

His brow raises, surprised that you dream about him. But he's intrigued by your admission of an imaginary friend. "What was your friend like?" He asks, smiling slightly at the thought of a little girl with her friend, playing by herself in the room.

"He's very kind. And encouraging. And gave oddly good advice for being the figment of a child's imagination." Which makes you smile in turn, and you lean in to Max's side slightly. He feels safer than almost anywhere else in the world right now. "With curly black hair and a big smile and I always imagined that he gave the best hugs in the world."

Curly black hair. Max stares at you in shock. He had been visiting you when you were a little girl. That had to be what it was. He had convinced you that it was dreams. Probably coming at night so it would be more plausible. "You didn't hug him?"

"Invisible friend, Max." You laugh softly. "I imagined that I did a hundred thousand times. But it's not like he ever existed anywhere other than my mind."

"What would this friend. talk to you about?" He asks.

"Everything I guess." Sinking a little closer in to Max's side, you tilt your head slightly like you're trying to let a memory drip out. "School. Dance classes. My parents and my friends. I guess I must have used it like a sounding board. Working out all my little kid problems by talking to Yayo and then playing tea party with him afterward once everything was better."

"Yayo?" Max tilts his head. "Did you name him that or did he tell you to call him that?"

"Who knows," you shrug slightly. The memory is nostalgic enough that you don't notice how he reacts to hearing the name. "I was a little kid the first time I remember him, so I must have made it up somehow."

"Cute." He smirks slightly, imagining him coming into your dreams and spending time with you. He needs to find out why you are so important.

“Everybody has imaginary friends, right?” It had always just seemed like such a natural thing to you. Sure it was unusual that your made up friend was a grown ass man, but it’s not like it was a manifestation of abuse or anything. Yayo had always been your biggest fan and biggest supporter. Whether it was soothing your childhood fears, getting excited with you to start dance classes, or just listening to you babble about your day as kid are want to do. “Mine just wore fancy clothes and had a Spanish accent. Who knows? I must have seen an Antonio Banderas movie as a little kid and made up a character with the voice or something.”

“I am sure that your Yayo was a good thing for you.” Max frowns slightly, wondering why he had skulked in shadow and come to you in the night. “It sounds like he was.”

“Imaginary friends fill a gap.” You shrug your shoulders a little, leaning against him. “I’m sure you had one, too. Most kids do.”

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “But that’s because I was normally trying to surround myself with people. To pretend I was better than I was.”

“Better than you are?” Brows furrowing immediately, you tilt your head back to look at him and frown. “But you’re fantastic.”

“Not really.” Max snorts. “If I were better, my parents wouldn’t have abandoned me. I wouldn’t have needed my sire to bring me back.”

“The person you’ve been with me…the person I’ve gotten to know?” You shrug your shoulders again, wondering if a compliment from you is worth anything at all. “I think he’s pretty fantastic. Maybe you were just finding yourself.”

Your words are probably some of the most soothing he’s ever heard and he bites his lip. “I really want to be a bat right now so you will scratch my head.” He admits with a huffing laugh.

“C’mere.” You can’t help but grin, and you cradle his head against your shoulder with one hand before starting to scratch, gently and soothingly, over his short-cropped hair and scalp. “Does it feel as good when you’re like this?”

“Oh shit.” Max’s eyes close and he leans into your touch. “How— it’s so good. This is why dogs love people. It has to be.”

Your blunted fingernails take over his scalp and you shift so he can cuddle closer if he wants to. “But they don’t love vampires?” Somewhere in your memory you remember him remarking that dogs were not terribly big fans of him.

“Nah.” He grumbles slightly. “Knows we are a more dangerous predator.”

Humming in understanding as your nails find a rhythm gently running along his hairline, you revel in the closeness without expectation. Without demand. Without rules. Just simple intimacy without conditions.

How he ended up with his head in your lap, he couldn’t tell you, but it’s the most relaxed he’s ever been. “This is nice.”

“You don’t have to be a bat to get scritches and cuddles,” you promise him with a quiet giggle.

“Yeah?” He grins up at you. “Might have been my favorite part of the day. Your reading voice is really nice.”

“I can still read to you.” The idea that he actually enjoys it makes your cheeks heat up again, and you rub his shoulder with your other hand. “And you don’t have to carry me to bed anymore. Though it was very sweet of you.”

“I liked doing it.” He pouts slightly. “I’m either a wicked vampire carrying you off, or a valiant hero saving a damsel in distress.” He grins. “You pick which one I imagine.”

“I guess it will depend on my mood.” It’s intimidating, and a little embarrassing, realizing that he’s heard every time your heart has skipped a beat around him. But at least this time when it happens, he’s smiling right at you. “You can…keep doing it if you really want to.” It’s utterly romantic, as far as you’re concerned, but you didn’t want him to feel that he had to.

“You sleep, you should be comfortable.” He doesn’t mention that he had wished he could lay down beside you. That would be too far, at least as a human.

“Well, we’ll have to find a new way to curl up.” The way you are now is so nice. So calm. And deeply domestic, which you would never point out. “You won’t exactly fit on my shoulder for me to read to you like this, and that chaise is not built for two.”

Max smirks, resisting the urge to tell you that it could be, as long as you are laying on him. Instead, he hums, surprised you want to give up your furry little friend.

“If you want.” It will always be up to him. You’ll never push or impose. But you want him to know that — as small as your steps forward might be — you’re willing to take them.

“I want.” He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your lap more. “I think I’d scare you with what I want, Queenie.”

“I’m used to being scared,” you admit, fingers still raking through his short hair. “I’d rather be intimidated by something good than afraid of darkness.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid at all.” Max nearly growls, but he doesn’t want to make you nervous. “I’d rather be staked again than hurt you. Or let someone else hurt you. Just think of me as your own, personal guard bat.”

“Life is scary.” Looking down into his face, there is something there that you can’t identify, but it’s less so than in the beginning. There are fewer secrets now. Fewer. Not none. But you would never ask anyone to change for you, and especially not in the course of just a few hours. “And I guess…so is the afterlife. But it’s less scary with an actual partner, I think. At least, I have to think that it is. Hope that it is.”

"I can be rude, downright inconsiderate. Selfish. Maybe too much of a flirt, but I've never, ever wanted to make my soulmate cry." He admits quietly. "Always said that whoever she was would get the best of me."

“Nobody’s perfect.” Your hand stills, leaving only your thumb stroking along the shortest of the hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m certainly not. I would never expect you to be. All that matters is that we try to be the best we can for each other.”

"Why are you so sweet?" He's slightly confused by it. It's obvious you've not had an easy time, and yet you are so willing to accept this when you had just sworn off relationships. "So accepting?"

It’s confusion in his eyes, not criticism, and you frown slightly at the question. It seems fairly obvious to you, but there is more than one answer. “Part of it is just…me. And I haven’t been able to be myself in so long that I thought I had forgotten her. But I guess that’s not the case after all. But also…you’re my soulmate. If I was ever going to accept anyone, wouldn’t it be you?”

"I never thought my soulmate would accept me." It's a hard thing to admit, a sobering one. After he had been turned, he had been certain that he wouldn't be accepted. When he had refused to let him put any marks back, it had just be a silent confirmation of those deeply internal views.

“Surprise.” Sniffling back a laugh, your fingers trace his cheek and jaw in a move far bolder than you thought you could feel. That deep thread that connects soulmates truly is stronger than you ever thought. “I thought I’d lost you when all of your marks disappeared. So surprise for me, too.”

Max sighs, closing his eyes in regret. "My sire— he didn't want me to put the marks back." He explains. "Said it would cause confusion. Ordered me not to. And since I'm dead, I can't really scar anymore."

“If I got a tattoo do you think it would show up?” It’s not really something you had ever considered before, but he’s right. Wounds probably don’t affect him the same way anymore. But ink? Ink might.

"I don't know." He admits quietly. "Your birthmark is the only thing I have."

“The next time you speak to your sire, you could always ask him.” Whoever Max’s sire is, he sounds a bit like a strict father. But there’s probably a reason for that even if you don’t know what it is.

He chuckles. "If he decided to answer me, it would be in a riddle."

“Maybe I should ask him, then.” You offer him a valiant smile, like you’re offering to go into battle. “If you wanted, I mean.”

"You would do that?" His amazement is astounding, nearly making the blood in his system rise to the surface again.

"If you want me to." He seems so genuinely shocked that anyone would do something nice for him that it breaks your heart a little. After all, you know that feeling all too well. "We could pick out a design together, too."

“I- I honestly don’t know what to say.” He confesses softly. “I really don’t.”

“If you don’t like the idea, it’s okay to say so.” But from the expression on his face says otherwise, and it softens your own smile into something akin to dreamy. “But I think it would be nice.”

“No, I like it— it’s just— it’s surprising.” He tells you. “In a good way.”

"I...liked having your tattoos. Having that part of you." He lights up when he smiles and it makes your heart skip again. "Now that we know each other a little, it would be nice to have that to share."

“You never wanted tattoos?” He asks curiously, wondering why you never put a mark on him besides the odd scars that were now gone. “Or did the asshole not want any on you?”

He has hit the nail on the head, of course, and you bite your lip. "Big tattoos aren't great for competition. But...Let's just say he wasn't sad when they disappeared one day."

Max blows out a raspberry. “He sounds like a dick.” He would say more, but he doesn’t want to upset you. “I’m glad you’re here and not still around that prick.”

"I'm glad I'm here, too." Especially now. Now that you know what he is to you.

Max is quiet for a moment. Letting the seriousness of this settle and he doesn’t have a quip, or a joke about it. No snide remark comes to mind. He just feels…peaceful around you. “Do you want to dance with me tomorrow?” He asks finally.

"Yes." You don't even have to think about it. Or consult a schedule. Or second-guess. "Definitely."

“Yeah?” He grins, twisting his head to look up at you. “We do dance together really well, don’t we?”

"Not bad for a few turns around the ballroom." Dragging your fingers through his hair again, you can't help but smile, feeling warmed all the way through. Ironic considering Max is so cool to the touch. "We'll have to go for something a little more complex this time."

"Oh...are you thinking of something special for the opening dance of the ball?" He asks with a smirk. "It's supposedly tradition for the hostess to start the dancing."

"You just want to show off." Still, it sounds sweet. Like he wants to show you off, which seems entirely foreign but utterly romantic. "It might be sweet, though. We'd have to pick a good song, of course. And make up the choreography."

"Tempo should be lively, celebratory." He tells you. "Starting things off with a bang, as it were."

"An upbeat Viennese Waltz?" It seems like the thing to do, traditional but good for an ice breaker. "I don't want to do something that feels staged and showy...even if that's exactly what it is. A salsa or something like that would feel out of place."

"Especially at a Gilded Age party." Max agrees. "Plus it will almost convince people they could do it with a little practice."

"Maybe we can put flyers for the tickets up at some dance studios around town?" Not that you know of any, but there is a decent chance that he might.

"Perhaps we should invite the teachers to the ball." He offers after a moment.

"It would certain be beautiful for the dancing." You hum dreamily, imagining all of those whirling dresses in the ballroom that is now so familiar to you. "Maybe we could go to a free dancing night at each studio to give the invitation and talk it up a little? Since it's for charity and all."

"There are several dance studios in the area." He knows you will be all dreamy about it. "I'll email you the list and you can call them tomorrow. Set something up."

Alright. Looks like overcoming phone anxiety is on the schedule for tomorrow. You nod and give his shoulder a squeeze. "I guess we'll be dancing together a lot."

He sees the way you freeze for a split second before you try to push it aside. "What is it?" He asks softly, wondering if you will pretend everything is fine or if you will confide in him.

"Nothing," you insist immediately, knowing that previous to the last few weeks you would have been expected to shut away every ounce of your anxiety in order to make sure everything got done precisely the way Derek wanted. The fact that Max gives a damn how you feel about things is so strange to process. "It's—" Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes briefly but force a smile. "I'm not always very good on the phone. You know...anxiety. But I'll manage."

"How about I take a portion of the calls?" Max offers. "And if you find that you can't do it, I'll take them all."

"No, it's okay." The fear of being a burden is instant. It seizes like ice water through your veins, and even though you know logically that Max isn't the same kind of man that Derek is, you still shake your head tightly. "I can take care of it. There's no reason for you to do extra work."

“It’s not like I would mind.”

“You work all day. I don’t. I can manage it.” There is no way on earth you’re going to let this slide backward and you shake your head. You’ll make those damn phone calls yourself just so he doesn’t start to think you’re untrustworthy or — like you said you were before and he didn’t believe you — broken.

“If you’re sure.” Max doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed. “You’ve got a lot on your plate with planning this event. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“If I get overwhelmed, I’ll split the calls into two days.” You promise him, not really knowing if that will help at all but willing to give the — as they say — old college try.

“It’s okay.” Max promises you. He doesn’t want to call attention to it, but he captures your hand and brings it to his mouth. He kisses it softly. “You will be settling into your nickname of ‘Queenie’ before you know it.”

******

Sitting in the teahouse with your cell phone, a notebook, and a list of dance studios had seemed like a good plan for the afternoon. You’ve called three of the four studios on the island but the fourth seems always to be too busy to pick up their line and it has you frustrated and anxious that you can’t finish your task. At this point you feel like you’ve been twiddling your thumbs waiting for Max to get home, and you finally decide to pack up and go inside, intending to catch Mrs. Taylor before she starts making dinner for the night. She should know that you know — and that you have no intention of keeping her or Max or Eddie or anyone else from having the blood they need.

Renee had told you before about the reason for the call buttons in every room of the house. How they shouldn’t be looked at like ringing a cow bell to demand service, but as a polite way of requesting to speak with a staff member when you need something. Rather than the old-fashioned families a hundred years ago or more barging into their servants’ areas, you press the button as a polite request. Trying to keep that in mind, you choose the library as a place to sit once you reach the house, and press the button hidden in the wainscoting before settling down at the desk. Whether Mrs. Taylor or Renee answers will be up to them.

“Ms. Dolly?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice immediately comes over the intercom, like she had been hovering next to it. You don’t know that she was across the kitchen, but that’s the beauty of being able to move so fast. It’s why her and Renee can handle the housework and keep the place spotless.

“Do you have time to speak for a moment before starting dinner, Mrs. Taylor?” The little speaker box on the desk is reminiscent of the 1950s and makes you smile. It’s odd. But it works.

“Of course, Ms. Dolly, I will be right up.” In the time it would take a normal human to come upstairs, she will put together a light tray for you with the fresh apple cider that she had thought you would enjoy. You seem to like the fall theme.

It takes the housekeeper only five minutes to appear in the library doorway with a tray of assorted snacks and a large drink, and this time instead of feeling like a burden that she is serving you, you find yourself amused that she had so much time to fix the tray. Max had demonstrated his vampiric speed for you last night by zipping across the second-floor hallway so now you have a better idea of how fast your housemates can move. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I know your time is precious.”

“It was nothing, ma’am.” She nods her head and sits down across from you when you motion her to sit. “Did you wish to discuss the menu for the party? I’ve already made several varied menus for you to choose from.” She pulls cards out of her sweater to hand to you.

“Well…yes. But I wanted to speak to you about the…general dinner menus as well.” Just because you had been trying to hype yourself up for this doesn’t mean that you had figured out how to go about it gracefully. Grace is only something you have when you dance — not really in conversation.

“Is there something you don’t like?” She looks positively horrified by the prospect and curses herself. She had been treating you like Cookie, and there’s a very real chance your palette is completely different. “If you give me an idea of what you wish to have, I will make sure to adjust accordingly.” She assures you.

"It's not that. Your cooking is wonderful. In all honesty it's high above what I'm used to and I couldn't possibly ask you to change a thing. Not for me." You shake your head profusely to dispel any worries, practically reaching out to take her hand, but you have a feeling that she would find that improper. "It's just that...I have been made aware that...Max and Eddie and...well, everyone else in the house...you all have rather a different diet than I do. And that there have been a few things hidden from me until now, which I presume was done so as not to stun or panic me."

Surprised would be a mild way to put her reaction. Mrs. Taylor’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plate and her stomach drops. “Who told you that?” She had been assured by the coven on the first visit to the manor since you have befriended them that the witches would not tell you.

"Max did, but please understand that he did it for the most noble reason possible." After talking it out with him last night, the two of you had decided that your soulmate status would be impossible to keep quiet in the house so it was probably best just to let people know. If it had taken the two of you only a few weeks, it was sure to come out quickly to everyone else. "We had a long discussion last night about some very important things. And I...I appreciate that you all did your best to make me feel comfortable here. I do feel comfortable here. But I don't want any of you to have to hide your blood anymore. That would be incredibly rude of me to ask when I am the only human in the house."

"It is not a problem." She insists, leaning in slightly. "We are used to being...more formal about things than the average vampire. Cookie had been pleased with it as well as her soulmate. He was the one that had set that formality in place. However, this is your home and what you wish will be."

"The formality is...it's sort of nice, if I'm honest. It's comforting to have an order to how things are supposed to work. But it's really fine with me if Eddie and Max just want to have blood at dinner instead of...well...food. I understand that it used to be served in wine glasses and that my dislike for drinking sort of threw a monkey wrench into that habit."

She smiles softly and tilts her head, a motherly sort of affection for you making her squeeze your hand gently. "It was not vexing to anyone save for Max and well, he likes to make a nuisance of himself at times." She confides. "I think it was that 'only child' syndrome he had."

"He likes to feel special." There's something soft and affectionate in your tone that you just can't help, but you swallow down any sort of guilt that bubbles to the surface from it. Max is your soulmate after all. And it's been weeks since you left Derek's house. There doesn't need to be any guilt whatsoever.

Her brow raises at the change in tone, pursing her lips in amusement. "I gather that the snack trays he has been putting together for you during your show has changed your mind about Max?"

"It's not—" Your cheeks burn hot and you suddenly wish you were a turtle so you could just bury yourself in your shell at the first mere hint of embarrassment. "It's more than that," you tell her quietly, acknowledging that this is surely the opportune time to tell your vampiric housekeeper the truth about what you and Max are to each other. You're just not sure how she will react. "We...discovered...last night..." You take a deep breath, suddenly very aware of that action around so many people who don't need to do it at all. "That Max and I are soulmates."

It's like the key to the riddle of why Max was brought here suddenly slides into place. Her eyes light up and even if she is surprised, she is charmed by soulmates. Her own dear Mr. Taylor is her own, so very fortunate to have found each other so many years ago and to continue to be deeply in love. "That is...spectacular." She hums, sure that he was always aware of the connection, even if he had not confided in her.

"It's very unexpected." And it has you smiling like a lunatic, but you clear your throat and try to compose yourself. "But it really has shown me that I would prefer to have fewer secrets around me from now on. I used to be utterly surrounded by them, and I don't want this next chapter of my life to be that way again."

"Understood." While there is still one secret that she must keep, Mrs. Taylor is determined to make sure you are aware of most of what happens here. She is bound by her sire to keep his secrets, and that unfortunately predates your wishes.

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Taylor." There is some reticence in her – years of having to read Derek's moods at the drop of a pin have made you sensitive to things like that – but you won't push. Just because you've asked for openness doesn't mean it is an easy thing to give, and it means nothing if it is demanded. "I have nothing but respect for you and I'm so grateful to you for helping me to feel at home here so quickly."

"This is your home." She promises. "It was always meant to be your home."

"I'm sure there must have been other relatives along the way that the house could have gone to." You can't imagine that there were no other options for an heir, but you would be lying if you said you weren't grateful for Cookie's choice.

"No." Mrs. Taylor looks down at your joined hands and smiles sadly. "Unfortunately, due to a...family issue, you were the only choice in Cookie's mind for a recipient."

"I wish I could thank her." Your mysterious and enigmatic great-aunt has changed your life entirely and you only wish you could tell her how much it has meant to you. Because of Cookie, you know your soulmate.

"I know she would have loved you." Mrs. Taylor looks a bit misty-eyed, even though vampires don't cry often. She smiles again. "But I know that she knows. Wherever she is now."

"She was very important to you." That much is obvious, and it gives you an equally unexpected reason to smile. Knowing that your great-aunt was loved so dearly is reassuring.

"She was a wonderful lady, in every sense of the word." She nods and looks down again and clears her throat. "Please look over the menu cards I've created and let me know what you are thinking?"

"Of course. I'll look them over now. Thank you, Mrs. Taylor." It's obvious that she doesn't want to continue the conversation and you respect her too much to push, so you simply nod and pick up the cards that she laid out in front of you. "Everything you make is wonderful so I'm sure the only difficulty will be choosing between delicious options."

She smiles proudly and nods. "The apple cider is fresh." She tells you. "I thought it would pair nicely with the pumpkin scones that I had experimented with."

"You very quickly nailed down my weakness for fall flavours." There are crunchy sugar crystals on top of the scones and something that smells suspiciously like honey butter in the ramekin sitting alongside the small plate and full mug.

“It seemed like the cozy comforts would be to your liking.” Mrs. Taylor admits with a smile. “I enjoy having a human in the house.” She admits. “Vampires can eat, but normal food does not taste as appetizing to us as it does to humans, and I enjoy cooking.”

“I am very grateful for that, and for you.” A small smile cracks your face, as uncharacteristic as that may seem for you sometimes. “And I am more than happy to eat anything you feel like cooking. I’m pretty abysmal at it myself.”

“That is no concern.” She waves off your comment about yourself. “I am here to make sure you eat well.”

“Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?” Still working through all the questions you have about the circumstances and about your distant relative, there is really only one more you wanted to ask for now.

“Anything.” Mrs. Taylor was halfway out of her seat, but she sits back down and looks at you expectantly.

“I was wondering…how long you had worked for Cookie? The real answer. Allison told me the story about her soulmate prolonging her life and I didn’t believe her then. But I do now…so I wondered. That’s all.”

Mrs. Taylor smiles, the twist of her lips slightly melancholic. “Two hundred and eighty-seven years.” She admits. “Her soulmate brought me to care for her right after they found each other.”

A split second of quick math has your jaw on the ground, and you press one hand to your heart instinctively. “That…she…1736? And they met right here where the house is built?”

“Back when it was the colonies.” She nods, chuckling quietly.

“Gods…” Exhaling a shaky breath, you nod, trying to wrap your head around this extraordinary piece of information. “She must have had a remarkable life.”

“When I tell you we have an extensive collection of Cookie’s things, her clothes, I mean extensive.” She’s proud of that, because it had been her idea to preserve it. It had been meant for someone else, but now, it’s yours.

The endless possibilities flow out in front of you in every direction but you wrap your hands around the large mug of cider and smile, nostalgic already for a past you can’t possibly remember. “I hope one day you might feel open to sharing some of her stories with me. And yours, as well.”

“Since you are aware of our nature and feel no concern, I have no issue sharing.” She pauses for a moment and then decides to share a vital piece of information. “We did not start the formality with the blood until Cookie had decided to no longer prolong her life.” She admits, folding her hands in her lap. “Then it was a measure of respect to make it seem like we were drinking wine.”

“That seems very respectful.” This household is nothing if not respectful. You know that. “It doesn’t need to be hidden anymore. I know you were…being respectful of me in different ways. But besides the initial shock? It seems…well, I feel a bit silly for knowing that magic is real my whole life and not even entertaining the ideas that vampires could be, too.”

“Some things are viewed as too fantastical. Like werewolves.” She hums as she stands. “I will have dinner ready at seven.” She promises before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

The immortal housekeeper is gone before you can open your mouth again, and you slump backward in your chair with her menus in front of you and a furrow between your eyebrows. Now you can’t help but wonder if werewolves are real, too…

______

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[ahummingbirdwitch]

can i get a very horny and desperate cypher x fem!reader at a party setting in val HQ with him jealous and stuff, veryyyy nsfw please! 🙏🙏🙏🙏 thank you ❣️

Hell yes. I LOVE me some jealous Cypher 😈

SURPRISE SURPRISE, this one is super long because I got, um... a little carried away...

Jealous Jealous Jealous (Cypher x F!Reader)

Summary: There's a party at Valorant HQ and Cypher isn't as attentive a boyfriend as he should be. If he wants to make it up to you, he's gonna have to work for it...

Pairing: Cypher x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,775

Warnings: p in v sex, vaginal fingering, unsafe sex, creampie

Notes: THIS ENDED UP BEING SO MUCH LONGER THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AND I AM POSTING THIS AT 3:36AM

Cypher didn’t do parties, and neither did Valorant. Not really, anyway.

There were little soirees here and there, small team events and even the occasional birthday celebration in the common room, but never full-out parties. Typically, if agents wanted a party, they’d have one outside of HQ. It wasn’t exactly a prime location for having fun.

Tonight, though, there was a party, and it had explicitly been called such. You’d approached him about it the other day, explaining that it had something to do with the newest agent, Clove; apparently the young Scot had decided to throw one as a way of getting to know the other agents, and Brim, oddly enough, had agreed to let them use one of the spare rooms for the event. Perhaps he’d become desperate to boost morale lately.

You’d spoken eagerly of attending the party, but Cypher had been less enthusiastic. He’d already gathered enough information about Clove—having done his research long before they’d even arrived at HQ—and he was far too busy working on his latest device. Besides, he figured practically no one would show up. With so many agents occupied and scattered across the globe, Clove would be lucky to have even a quarter of the protocol in attendance.

“You have fun, my dear,” he’d told you earlier that evening. “Do tell me how it goes.”

“Guess I will,” you’d responded, letting out a soft sigh just before leaving the room. He’d returned to his gadgets shortly after, content to spend the rest of the night working away. He’d keep an eye on you, of course. He always did. He had never really enjoyed parties much anyway; he would only hold you back.

Cypher had expected to have an uneventful evening, watching his cameras in between tinkering, but instead, he found himself lurking in the corner of the event room, eyeing you from a distance with a fiery sharpness in his chest.

The party had turned out to be busy after all—shockingly so, with nearly half the protocol present—and he’d watched you flit around all night from his room, happy as a clam as you mingled with the other agents. His interest had grown over the last several hours, seeing you laugh and dance and twirl around in the pretty little dress you’d decided to wear, and finally, it had become too much for him to handle. He’d been an absolute idiot. He needed to come down there now and spend time with you.

And so he had come to see you, entering silently and keeping to the darker corners of the room to not draw too much attention to himself, but when he’d caught sight of you, his stomach had twisted. You were off to one side of the room, talking to Chamber, and that smug bastard was looking at you like the latest designer watch.

Cypher was frozen in place for a good minute, steaming like a tea kettle at boiling point. Of course you weren’t flirting with him—you wouldn’t. But Chamber was a dog masquerading as a gentleman, and he would flirt with you.

He didn’t get to look at you like that. No one got to look at you like that.

It took him a moment to rein himself in—ensuring he wouldn’t wring the Frenchman’s neck as soon as he got over there—but Cypher was quick to start moving, marching across the room towards the two of you. He was in such a rush, he barely noticed Killjoy shooting him a friendly greeting as he passed.

You spotted him as he approached, turning to look at him with round, surprised eyes. “Am—Cypher!” you said, cutting off Chamber, who had been talking. “You’re—here. I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Cypher came to a halt right in front of you, not hesitating to take your hands in his and pull you closer to him. “Of course,” he said, pointedly ignoring Chamber’s presence. “I wouldn’t miss it, my love.”

You blinked at him, looking almost pleasantly stunned, color creeping into your cheeks. He almost never called you any pet names around others—let alone that one—but he was feeling rather different tonight. Bolder. Territorial.

Chamber cleared his throat. “Ah, Cypher,” he drawled. “So nice of you to join us, monsieur. We were just having a little chat.”

Cypher tightened his grasp on your hands ever so slightly, working to keep his anger in check. “Is that so?” he asked coldly. “What kind of chat?”

Chamber chuckled. “Why, we were just talking about you, actually,” he said. “I was wondering why you had decided not to come. I had believed the two of you were an item, so I was quite surprised to find my friend alone this evening.”

Cypher gritted his teeth. She is my girlfriend, and you are not her friend. She’s your coworker and nothing more! “We are together,” he growled. “And I had— tasks to attend to. But I am here now. That is all that matters.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Chamber responded with a smirk. “Take good care of your petite amie, my friend. It’s quite rude to leave a lady unattended.”

Cypher bristled, wanting nothing more than to punch the other agent right in his stupid glasses, but Chamber was already turning and heading away. Your voice broke him out of his trance. “Amir. You’re hurting me.”

Cypher came to his senses, letting go of your hands. “Shit. I’m—I’m sorry, dear,” he said hurriedly.

“What was that all about?” you asked, concerned. “You seem—agitated.”

Cypher hesitated, suddenly feeling very awkward. He’d only just gotten to the party, and he’d already worked himself up. He needed to focus. He was here to be with you, and have fun. “It’s—nothing,” he replied. “I just—wanted to see you, dear. Right away.”

You weren’t convinced. “Were you… jealous, just now?” you pressed, furrowing your brows. “Of Chamber?”

Cypher did not answer right away, knowing that if he answered “yes,” he would sound like even more of an imbecile than he already felt. “Well, he—he was clearly hitting on you,” he protested.

“Yeah, I got that,” you said flatly. “I’ve been here long enough, Cypher. I know he’s a jackass. I was just about to get rid of him before you showed up.”

Cypher’s heart sank. Perhaps you hadn’t meant it, but you’d called him Cypher instead of his real name. He looked away slightly, shame clawing at him, but his fury from before had not fully dissipated. He knew he’d acted rashly by barging in, but how could he not have? “If you were uncomfortable, then I’m glad I intervened,” he asserted. “I will not stand for that. I will not let him prey on you.”

“Like I’m a piece of meat?” you said, unimpressed. “I can handle a conversation on my own, thank you. Like I can handle most things. You were certainly fine letting me go to the party by myself tonight.”

Burning guilt rose inside him. He should have been able to tell how disappointed you were when he’d told you he wasn’t going. Of course you’d wanted him to go with you. “I’m—I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for your hands again. “Please, can we—can we go talk? Somewhere private?”

You pursed your lip, still looking thoroughly annoyed. “I don’t know,” you said, sarcasm in your voice. “I don’t really feel like talking anymore. I think I’d rather dance.”

You started to move towards the dance floor, and he stopped you, extending his hand. “No, wait—dance with me, then,” he insisted. He’d never seen you so irritated; frankly, it was worrying him. He was more than ready to make up for all of this—even if he hadn’t danced in years.

You frowned. “Lots of people here without dance partners,” you said dryly, looking past him. “I’m sure I can find one.”

Cypher stared at you, abashed. You weren’t being serious, were you? You wouldn’t actually dance with someone else—not like that. He looked you up and down, taking in the whole sight of you: your flushed, indignant expression, your pouting mouth, your dress that hugged your body in all the right places—and all at once, his dismay turned to something else—something harder, angrier . Clearly, you were hurt, but surely this—giving him the cold shoulder, threatening to let someone else dance with you, have you to themself—was unnecessary. Cruel, even. He’d already spent most of the night without you, and now that he was here, you were threatening to spend it with someone else?

He was at fault, here, yes, but didn’t he get at least a second to talk to you?

Before he could change his mind, he grabbed you by the wrist, keeping you from getting away. “Come with me,” he ordered. “ Now. ”

You glared at him, fire in your eyes. “What are you doing?” you demanded.

He didn’t answer you, already pulling you towards the exit by the wrist. He dragged you past several agents—many of whom cast baffled glances your way—leading you out of the room and into the hall as you made indignant sounds of protest. At the end of the hall, he pushed you into a secluded corner, pinning you up against the wall.

Cypher held you back by your wrists, making you squeak when he shoved his leg between your thighs. “Give me a minute,” he hissed, “to make it up to you.”

Your eyes were wide, your lips parted in shock and your face vibrant red—from anger, or something else, or both, he couldn’t be sure yet. “What are you doing? ” you asked him again, sounding more confused than upset.

Cypher released your wrists for a moment, just long enough to remove his mask and pull up his undercovering above his mouth. Once he’d set his mask aside, he was upon you again, pressing wet kisses up the length of your neck, his hands keeping you in place. He felt like he was on fire, his body too hot, all his emotions rising to the surface like flames. “I was a fool,” he breathed, kissing your ear before taking it gently between his teeth. “Forgive me, sokar. Please.”

He sucked on your ear, and the hushed moan he drew out of you sent a delighted shiver through him. You bit your lip, as if trying to stifle yourself, but you weren’t fighting him—not even a little. “You’re just—just jealous,” you mumbled.

He felt a sharp pang of shame again. “It’s true I got jealous,” he confessed softly, kissing the underside of your jaw. “I—I wanted to burn him just for looking at you. But—can you blame me, my love?” He let go of one of your wrists, using his free hand to feel the curve of your hip. “You’re so beautiful. How could I not want you all to myself?”

You shuddered slightly, still not resisting him. “Y-You—” you started to say, only to break off into a half-moan when he licked a stripe up your neck. “You didn’t—even notice that I was upset. Earlier…”

Cypher kissed your cheek, his hand moving down to grip your thigh. “I know,” he murmured, every inch of him aching with need—need for you, a need to make you feel good again. “I know, sweetheart. I should have listened. I should have come with you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Please forgive me, zouina. I’ll do anything for you.”

His hand wandered under the hem of your dress, making its way between your legs, and you let him. He found your panties easily, using two fingers to trace the outside of the fabric, and he nearly cursed aloud at how wet he found it. You let out the softest of whimpers when he made contact, and his cock hardened in his pants. You might not have forgiven him yet, not with words, but you wanted him. And he meant it when he’d said he’d do anything for you.

He caressed you through your panties, making sure to swipe over the sensitive bud at the top. “Let me touch you, kitten,” he coaxed into your ear. “You have my attention now—all of it. Let me take care of you.”

You said nothing for a heartbeat, soundless except for the short little breaths coming out through your mouth, but then, without speaking, you gave him your answer. You closed your eyes and moved your body ever so slightly forward, pressing yourself harder against his fingers. You’d relaxed completely against the wall, still and pliant with your arms up of your own accord.

That was all the permission he needed. Cypher swiftly removed his glove, then slipped one finger under your panties, easily finding your soaked entrance and plunging in. You whined at the penetration, and he took advantage of your open mouth, capturing your lips with his. You moaned into the kiss, bucking your hips as you chased the movement of his finger, and he sucked on your tongue, painfully aware of how much harder he was getting by the second.

“So lovely,” he whispered in between kisses, pumping his finger in and out of you. You were so wet, he could hear you. “My gorgeous girl. I’m yours tonight—all yours.”

You whimpered in response, clawing at the back of his head, losing yourself to the pleasure. He teased your clit with his thumb, and you jerked against him, nipping fiercely at his lower lip. You’d given in to him by now, but that didn’t mean all of your fire from before was gone completely. “Fuck me,” you gasped, breathing harshly. “Right now.”

Your wish was his command. Cypher wrenched his finger from you, then ripped your panties clean off, too desperate for once to care about manners; judging by your lack of reaction to the act, you felt the same. He wasted no time yanking his pants down and freeing his cock, already at full hardness, and used both hands to lift your dress up above your thighs. When he brought his cock to your entrance, testing your opening with his swollen head, he found you more than ready for him, slick and pulsing. He claimed your mouth again as he pushed inside of you, gripping your hips and driving himself in as deep as he could go.

The kiss was rough and messy, and so was the way he fucked you. Cypher pounded into you greedily, relentlessly, needing you, needing your sweet satin walls sucking the life out of him and making him forget how much of an idiot he’d been tonight. He tasted your tongue and swallowed your moans, bruising your thighs as he gave you what you’d demanded from him. He would gladly give his all, give you everything if it meant making you happy again.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but at some point you broke free of the kiss to murmur, as if realizing something, “The—the cameras—”

“I’ll erase the footage,” he panted, stealing your lips back. None of that mattered. Nothing mattered except the two of you right now. His cock was inside you, and it was about to burst.

You seemed to sense it. “Amir,” you whined, raking your nails across his skullcap. “Please—I—”

His heart sang. Amir. Not Cypher. Fuck, he was so close. He wanted to fill your perfect cunt, pump it so full of cum you forgot everything else. He reached down between the two of you and found your clit again, determined to make you feel as good as he was about to. “I love you,” he choked out. “I love you, sokar, cum for me—”

Just a few calculated strokes and you were suddenly there, spasming around his cock and milking him for all he was worth. He moaned helplessly into your mouth as he came, your long wail of pleasure ringing in his ears.

It felt like a lifetime before he could finally think again, the blood rushing back to his brain. Cypher relaxed his grip on your hips and leaned forward, still inside of you, resting his forehead on yours. After a moment, he dared to look into your eyes. Now that you’d been satisfied, were you still angry with him? Had he made up for tonight? Or had he just made everything worse?

To his relief, you held his gaze, and a tiny, weary smile began to form on your face. “Alright,” you said with a sigh. “I forgive you.”

[pancho-pinto]

Sure, we can dance a while

Day 3 - Masquerade - @scarian-smooch-fest (Ao3 link)

“You're tense.” Grian nearly jumps out of his skin when Scar pops up behind him, sliding from his right to his left as he follows with his head. In a smooth motion, Scar appears in front of him, and he is nearly surprised to see a lack of stains though the party has been going on for a couple hours now. He pinches the neck of his glass a little tighter, looks away as he takes a sip as Scar speaks again. “Are you not having fun?” 

How can Scar ask so earnestly? Despite everything, all the hurt and headaches, how can Scar stand in front of him, look at him with those eyes, and worry for someone who has hurt him over and over again? 

Grian wishes he could understand. 

(Acts like he has no clue, but he knows. Of course he knows.)

He scoffs, takes another sip of too sweet liquor, looks around for Jimmy or Joel, “I'm having plenty fun. I don't know what you could possibly be talking about.”

“Then,” Scar says, taking a side-step into the center of his vision, overtaking the crowd as it becomes a blur behind his shoulders. How easy, effortlessly easy for Scar to take his attention, whisk this every waking thought and turn it onto himself. How easy—what a nightmare—impossible to get over. The domino mask lifts the slightest bit when he smiles, bright and wide, and it will always be for him despite the hurt—foolish, “You wouldn't mind… You'd be fine if we danced, then? Because that's what you're supposed to do at balls.”

Before all this, Grian would have scoffed with a smitten smile, weakened by his charm and completely swept off his feet with something so… insignificant. So simple, unimportant. But Scar is bowing, and a hand is offered, his eyes on it like he has never seen it before, like he has never seen him before. 

And he could pretend, could he not? For one night, dressed up to the nines, everyone hidden behind masks. If he blinks a couple times and superficially views the world, if he looks at the palm instead of tracing the lines, if he focuses on the music instead of his heart, on the nice clothes and the sparkle of the night, on the chatter and the laughs, treats tonight like a random night—one night of his life, pretending they have never met… Why not? 

“Charmer,” he says as he places his hand on his, the tips of his fingers brushing on a stranger's palm. Familiar but not quite, probably a dream or delusion during those sleepless nights. 

The almost empty glass vanishes in the nearest table. They walk hand in hand through crowds and other dancing  pairs, almost delighted to blend into the bunch. They stop eventually, a circle of space for themselves, a hand reaches up to brush strands from his eyes. He looks at new eyes, a twinkling light he has never known, a smile that will forever remain in his mind. He smiles tonight, like he will never do again. But the music seems so loud, and he almost wishes to get out of the crowd, though maybe it is better like this. Not a moment for themselves, but with everyone else. 

Hands fall into place—one on his shoulder, one on Grian's hips, the other two together—and they are off to follow the melody. Sweet and echoing, lost in the sound with everyone else. Soles and heels on wood, the slide, the steps and the spins. There is fabric that grazes the backs of their hands, clothes that meet for a moment, everything fleeting and only for a night. 

One night. 

That will be all Grian allows himself. 

“You look stunning,” he says, and Grian only smiles at him. 

“A charmer and a sweet talker, almost makes me think you will offer me a chance I just can't refuse.”

He smiles, fond; Grian smiles twice as wide. 

“Maybe, maybe, life is filled with opportunity.” They sway, footsteps that follow, that guide, together in sync as they prance around the dance floor. Around and spinning, careless of the world outside of them, free. “Don't you think so? There is nothing we can't do, everything just within reach, all ready to be taken. Are you willing?” 

“To take the risk?” 

He smiles, life seems brighter somehow. Everything sweeter and better, nice and dream-like. The thoughts leave his mind, a lightness he has never felt before, everything suddenly so simple and uncomplicated. Nice and good. In all that space, he fills it. Every inch and corner, until his mind is bursting with only him, fuller and complete—the perfect being to fill in all the space he never knew he had. An open door, an invitation, stay the night, stay forever. 

“To give yourself the chance for something different.”

He kisses the corners of Grian's lips, Grian chases for a proper kiss. Lips on lips, the sweetness of liquor, the bitterness of knowing. Hands wrap around his waist, hold him tight, pull him impossibly closer to him—to this. Grian's wrap around a neck, fingers tangle  on hair, hold him twice as tight. They  sway, a guide and a chase, together in sync, dancing to a tune that is nearing its end, lips kissing the roughness and chapness away. 

The music ends and the world sinks into silence, bows and words, eyes that stare at him in hurt. Grian stares as his hands, foreign limbs, looks up to a messed up shirt, to a red face. He holds his breath, presses his lips tight. Right. 

“You overstepped.” 

“You didn't have to push me away.”

Scar is right. Always right. Grian places a hand on his chest, too close to his heart, bows and he leaves. There is no leaving the hall, not for a while longer, but he puts space, plenty space. How is he so weak? Why is he so weak?

===

this is a little sequel to my >>> Flight, Firsts, and Fights <<< where i knocked some more prompts but it's not the main focus if anyone is interested in 'backstory' ♥

[vikkirosko]

Hello. Can I request a sequel to the umbra witch reader who have to dance with Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Stolas? Reader found the good dance to do with them, she succeed into making a demon contract with them and now can summon them as she wants and even has a fraction of their powers (like the demon masquerade in bayonetta 3). So, she has a kind of demon form when using their powers, and looks like she is their child or something (bonus point if Frizz sees her as his and Ozzie's child).

Thanks!

Platonic headcanons Demonic form

🦉 Stolas x child fem!Reader 🎩

Making a deal with Stolas was an important event for you, because now you could finally save your mom. You could summon him when the need arose and he gave you some of his power and Stolas wanted to make sure that you could handle it, so he asked you to show your new abilities. However, when you used his power, you assumed something similar to a demonic form

When Stolas saw you in this form, he froze, surprised. You were very similar to his daughter when she was the same age as you. He hadn't expected this, but it couldn't help but bring a soft smile to his lips. He understood that you were not Octavia, but it all evoked pleasant memories of those times when his daughter was younger

Several times when you called him, he mistakenly called you Octavia, but hastily corrected himself. You weren't offended by it, taking it with a soft smile. During the time that you spent in Hell, you found out that he had a daughter and assumed that it was her name that he sometimes called you

You were determined to save your mom. You had to prepare for this and for this time you stayed in Hell, because otherwise you could be found by other witches who could harm you. Stolas was ready to help you as much as he could, even though he understood that very soon you would put yourself in great danger

🐓 Asmodeus x child fem!Reader 💕

Asmodeus was delighted with your dance. You made a deal and now you had some of his power. He let you stay in his house so that you could get used to this power. He understood that you intended to go to fight with other witches, which means you had to prepare. You weren't bothered where you needed to live and weren't bothered by Fizzarolli. You were focused on training

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli often watched your training and one day during your training you took a demonic form that you could take thanks to his power. However, when they saw this form of yours, they both froze. After a few seconds, Fizzarolli couldn't hold back the squeak. The reason for that was because you looked like you were their child

Asmodeus saw a strong resemblance between you when you were in demonic form and it caused him ambiguous emotions. Sometimes he forgot that you were a witch and not his and Fizzarolli's child, but you didn't resent it. At some point, they began to seem like strange, caring uncles to you

Asmodeus understood that you would soon leave Hell and he was ready to come to your call when it was needed. He intended to fulfill the terms of the contract and provide you with help and protection. He understood that it was dangerous, but next to him you could not worry about the dangers

🐝 Beelzebub x child fem!Reader 🍯

Beelzebub was delighted with your dance. She knew that it would take you some time to learn how to use her power, and you planned to spend that time in Hell to train. She told you to come to her and she could help you a little in your training. You were grateful to her for her help and began to come to her when she was not busy

At first, you learned to summon her when it was necessary. Beelzebub patiently watched your efforts and when you started to succeed, it was time to train your new strength. However, when you used some of her power, she was surprised, because you took a demonic form. You looked like her if she was a kid and it looked really cute

Beelzebub helped you train and several times you were at her party in demonic form. It helped you not stand out so much and she looked after you to make sure that everything would be fine. Sometimes you looked like she had a younger sister, even though she remembered that wasn't the case

Beelzebub taught you how to use the force while you were in Hell. You were planning to go rescue your mom as soon as you learned how to use the power she gave you, and Beelzebub saw that you were learning fast. She was sure that very soon you will be able to carry out your plans

[potential-fool]

Im having some serious simp hours so I am requesting a request

Valorant, Yoru, Chamber, Sova, reader who is absolutely in love with their voice. Could listen to them 10/10 all day every day! And dirty talk? Would do anything they ask ngl

Bonus points for mixing english and their native tongue

P.S. pls tag me or ill never find this amazing post T_T i beg thee

@squiddaloo

A/N: Omg this literally this. I like the way you think >:) I will be using google translate for some of the other languages so uh... apologies to any native speakers. ;-; also omg I was writing this and all I could think of was the song "Maria" from West Side Story ifykyk and final note, I ended up doing this in a fade tp black style since you didn't specify whether you wanted it to be smutty or not <3

Tags: Established relationship, GN reader, dirty talk, suggestive talking, denial, hurt comfort

The Sound of Your Voice: Valorant x Reader

Yoru [Ryu Kiritani]

He's a simp, an egotistical one though he refuses to admit he's a simp

your voice though? Oh boy, that's when all bets are off

He wants to be the only one allowed to hear your voice

The two of you were out in the living area of the Valorant Protocol, you were leaned up against your boyfriend, it was a quiet day, a little blessing in disguise as most days were long and hectic. Today though, today was quiet, peaceful.

You hummed a small song, the gentle notes in your throat growing into soft lyrics that escaped your lips. You were too distracted by the lyrics to notice that Ryu had opened a gate in the direction of your shared room.

"あなたはとても美しいですね..." [You sound so beautiful]

You paused for a moment, looking up in the direction of your loved one.

"Ryuuuu you know I don't know what you're sayin'"

You huffed, making a pouty expression that melted away as he grabbed hold of you, taking you through the rift and pushing you onto the bed.

"You sound so beautiful my love~"

Yoru cooed in your ear, his voice dropping and making you feel all sorts of things.

"I bet you'd sound even better moaning my name~ 私の愛 ~" [My love]

You two had a fun night.

Chamber [Vincent Fabron]

This man. THIS MAN.

He will absolutely mess with you anywhere and everywhere

One of his favorite things about you is that small flustered sound you make whenever he teases you

That hitch in your breath? He LIVES for that shit

You and Chamber were under cover at a party, a masquerade to be specific. Entering the room shining with light you were on his arm, the place seemed to sparkle, the shining crystal chandeliers refracting the warm light onto the dance floor. You could see people eloquently swaying to the beat with their partner; the orchestra playing a tune you recognized as one you'd made the effort to learn, it is--partially--in Chamber's native language after all.

You looked up at him and god he was breathtaking, the perfectly tailored waistcoat was white with those beautiful magenta and gold accents. He Really did fit in with this high society stuff.

"Care of a dance mon cheri~?"

You extended a hand to him, bowing and flexing your knowledge of his language.

"Anything for you mon amor~"

He cooed, quietly aweing at your silky voice as he took your hand and stepped onto the dance floor, folding yourself into the others who were dancing. The singer on the mic let her voice fly through the space, catching the eye of your partner as the two of you glided across the floor.

"Hold me close and hold me fast The magic spell you cast This is la vie en rose~"

Your voice was a silky hum in his ears and god Chamber just melted, pulling you close and holding your waist gingerly as he let the song you sang ripple through him.

"My My~ mon cœur~"

He gave your hips a teasing squeeze, causing your breath to hitch just enough for Chamber to hear.

"Vince- Chamber-"

You were breathless, almost forgetting to use his call sign, you were on a mission after all

"Use your words mon amor~ You know how I love hearing you~"

Chamber teased you, though before you could react the song you danced to drew to a close and Vincent smiled, leaving you high and dry as he said:

"We're on a mission mon cheri~ We can finish this if you do a good job for me~"

Sova [Alexander (Sasha) Novikov]

Sova being the soft spoken man he is will happily let you fill any silence with your voice

While he may have grown to enjoy silence you were the exception, silence with you was like an unfinished song

Hearing you go on and on, he could listen to it for hours

You'd had a rough day, coming back from a particularly difficult mission. Difficult, though you found victory. You were exhausted, the moment you stepped off the carrier you went to go find your love; Sova.

You found success in your objective as you knocked on his bedroom door, it opened and he smiled a soft smile upon seeing you. His hair was a little frizzy and he was wearing a t-shirt and grey sweats. Reading your tired expression he pulled you close, rubbing your back and keeping you close.

"Care to shower with me милый?" (Darling)

You gave a small nod, and he guided you into the bathroom off to the side of his bedroom, you were eager to get out of your sweat and dirt covered clothes.

The two of you found yourself holding each other naked in the shower. This wasn't a lust filled event, rather one driven by love and care for the other. Sasha grabbed the soft sponge and rubbed it gently along your back, the newly formed bruises on you aching a bit, causing you to give a soft groan of pain.

"Apologies моя любовь" (my love)

You looked up at him, shaking your head softly

"It's alright Sasha... just hurts a bit.."

Sasha could tell that it wasn't just physical hurt, after all, Sage may have healed physical wounds but she couldn't heal mental wounds.

"Want to tell me about it when we get into bed?"

He asked, inviting you to speak your strife. To this you nodded, accepting his invitation, endlessly grateful one was extended to begin with. You honestly didn't know how he put up with you.

After you showered you pulled on one of Sasha's t-shirts and some panties before crawling into bed with your loved one. The moment of silence was broken by you beginning to speak to what was bothering you.

"...I just.. when does it end?... I'm so tired all the time, tired of fighting, I just want us to be normal. Is that so hard to ask?"

Your voice began to break, tears pricking your eyes and a empathetic look was in your boyfriends eyes.

"Oh my love... It's gonna get worse before it gets better.. and when this is all said and done, I swear to you we will have the life of your dreams..."

His voice trailed off, allowing room for your quiet sobs to fill the room, you cried for a good ten minutes before Sasha broke the silence.

"Rest now my dove.. I love to hear your voice, but not like this, don't waste your energy on tears. Rest, so you may be strong again tomorrow."

You sniffled, your tears beginning to dry as you nestled your head under his chin. A small 'I love you..' could be made out from the murmurs that escaped you.

[fumikomiyasaki]

Glorious Masquerade Kumo

Voice lines under the cut:

Groovy: "Don't bother with me, I am just watching the festivities... A Dance? I guess I can oblige this time."

Set Home: "I rather stare at the stars from the outside."

Home Idle 1: "They had some pretty colors in the town square I could use for some paintings... likely after this Masquerade is over."

Home Idle 2: "Jamil asked me to come with to this place... I wasn't that stoked about it but... there is some things that were reason enough to join him."

Home Idle 3: "I can't stand the stare of this white haired Noble Bell student ... I sense malice from him... If worse comes to worse... no I should not cause a commotion infront of the others."

Home Login: "I usually prefer lighter clothing... this is all a bit too uncomfortable... even if I could adjust it a little. At least I don't have to wear this the whole time."

Home Idle Groovy: "This school is far away from the Freedom I seek... I wonder what Taiyo and Tsuki would say... it seems familiar... this oppressive air."

Home Tap 1: "I had the luck to have a dance with Melanie before anyone else of the line could. I wish I could have danced longer with her. *sigh* Among this crowd I have a lot to be better than to convince her. Maybe one day I will tell her-... don't mind what I said..."

Home Tap 2: "It was... quite hard to adapt to Farahs energy during the dance but somewhat... it brought a smile to my face... I should thank her for helping me with my next inspiration."

Home Tap 3: "There was this book charm, Miriam asked me to get it when I am here... today people just dragged me around so I wasn't able to. I hope this party doesn't distract me from it."

Home Tap 4: "I noticed Silver wasn't really keeping up with everything here... I lend him my shoulder to take a nap. He really needs to watch out for himself more... if not I will."

Home Tap 5: "Jamil said under the mask you can hide your emotions better and can pretend to be someone else... but that doesn't change that I still don't like some of these crowds here..."

Home Tap Groovy: "At least the stars are beautifull no matter where I go... don't you see how bright the moon shines... why would I dance when I can take a break and see this view."

Mentions of Characters: Melanie @twsted-princess , Farah @cynthinesia , Miriam @sakuramidnight15

[mysteryshoptls]

R Ruggie Bucchi - Masquerade Voice Lines

Summon Line: Once you wear the mask, no one can tell who you are... Shishishi! This's the best kind of event to slink around at.

Groooovy!!: Ain'tchu gettin' tired of all that fancy dancin'? C'mon and dance freely with me!

Home: C'mon, we gotta hurry to the party.

Swap Looks: Gonna have a blast at the ball!

Home Idle 1: Sebek's voice is waaay too loud. My ears're ringin'. His thunderin's as loud as the bells themselves.

Home Idle 2: Noble Bell College's got a ton of diligent students. But hey, those kinds of hard-headed little rich kids are actually pretty easy to deal with, so.

Home Idle 3: Hm, Rollo Flamme, huh. He prolly has a promisin' future, but... He may not be as appetizin' a leader to follow.

Home Idle - Login: A social exchange with other schools in the City of Flowers, huh... I get to feast on free food, and make some connections, this is the best!

Home Tap 1: Even the poor can be rich on this day only, huh... Doesn't matter how much they dress up on the outside, it's not gonna change what's on the inside.

Home Tap 2: Prolly was a good thing Jack-kun wasn't chosen as to come. He might've been all, "I have no interest in making friends," and refuse to interact with anyone!

Home Tap 3: Apparently, back in the day, there was a live-in job to ring that huge bell. I wonder how much they got paid?

Home Tap 4: It's really easy to lose your wallet when brushing up against people in these crowded festivals. If I find a wallet, I gotta be suuuuper nice and pick it up for them.

Home Tap 5: Lucius-kun told me that while Trein-sensei's away, he's gonna just lounge around and do whatever he wants. Does that mean normally he's just pretendin' to be well-disciplined?

Requested by Anonymous.

[sheenashifts1217]

i'm not sure if you're still doing readings but

hii! my name is Priscilla butttt my dr name is David (i wasn't sure which 1 you wanted 😭)

but i want to know about my dr s/o rozz! and if he has a message for me or anything :")

thank you for doing these, you're very kind! take all the time you need <3

Hiii

Lyrics that stand out:

“When I hear your name

Too young too dumb to realize

Take you to every party

My selfish ways

Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life

Clean up the mess I made (did I just see you all at a masquerade ball?)

Close my eyes

Now my baby’s dancing

I was wrong

I remember how much you love to dance

Do all the things I should’ve done”

It seems like you and Rozz have recently went through something in your relationship where he messed up. He wants you to know that he absolutely can’t get you out of his head, but he thinks you we’re both in the wrong. He feels horrible for what he did and he wants to make it up to you. He’s hates the thought of losing you and seeing you live life with someone else. Everything reminds him of you and he’s saying he’s truly sorry and thank you for taking him back. He says, “I’m gonna get it right this time”.

Lyrics standing out:

“It’s wrong what I’m feeling

It’s so hard to make it

I don’t know what I’m doing

1 in a million

Never gonna change my mind

A child, baby

I’m ready

Are you ready for it

Gonna get there someday”

You all have finally mended your wounds and now you have scar tissue. Scar tissue is stronger than regular skin. You’re relationship is stronger than ever. He greatly appreciates how you all talk through your problems now and work together on things. I can feel the energy of how healthy your relationship is. He’s telling you that you’re it for him. He possibly wants to start a family with you one day if that’s what you’re open to.

At first, when this shuffled I was very confused tbh, then I thought that it may be that there is some sort of generational trauma or some kind of family image he or you feel like you need to uphold. However, since I read the song before this and what he had to say, I feel again that this is him saying you are his family and he wants to have a family with you, even if it’s hard. You’re his forever and he loves you so much. He will do anything for you.

Like I said, when I first shuffled Impersiones Del Encanto, I was confused. So I asked Rozz if he could send me a confirmation song if the past song was for you and about either some kind of family thing or some kind of image to uphold. What really stood out to me about this was mainly just the line “written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain”. You and Rozz share a history that he loves and cherishes, be it the good, the bad and the ugly. He can’t explain his feelings for you, they simply just are. He feels almost like it’s fate. Maybe there was some family thing before. Maybe your families were rivals? Im not entirely sure on that, but no matter what societal thing that tried to get in between you, you all overcame it and he’s wanting to give you reassurance of that so you’re relationship can grow. You are each other’s family. I heard “we won’t be like them”.

I hope you like it, my love 🫶

Please leave a review and any other thoughts and comments you may have :)

[siriusly-sapphic]

Alright these two are my absolute darlings, my destructive sweethearts who love each other more than they can handle, and I’ve loved them for years and there’s not that much fic for them and I’m personally kinda picky about their dynamic in fic but I am also trying very hard to spread the word of this ship so I wanted to make a rec list of my fifteen favourite fics for Sirius Black/Narcissa Black Malfoy!

All of these fics center around siricissa, so there’s the obvious warning for cousin incest in every fic. Other warnings have been included, but please do read the tags and all before reading bc I just included the most obvious warnings.

They’re sorted by year they were published, starting in 2010 with the very first fic I ever read for them (I only read it in like 2016 or so, but still) and ending in 2023!

Also for one of these fics, this gorgeous piece of art was created that I’m still stunned by each time I see it, so I wanted to bring some special attention to it. It was created by @dragonanddirewolf for the fic The Black Rose.

The list:

Nothing Like the Real Thing by beren (@berenwrites) Explicit | 2900 words | Includes Lily/Narcissa Warnings: Polyjuice potion to have sex, and they're at Hogwarts so potentially underage?

Summary: This is actually the first fic I ever read for them and I still really like it! Lily and Narcissa have an arrangement where one takes polyjuice to look like someone of the other person’s choosing before they fuck. Narcissa chooses Sirius, and she gets closer to the real deal than she’d anticipated.

2. Once Upon a Dream by Elfflame (@elfflame) Explicit | 5280 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa Warnings: Infidelity

Summary: Narcissa hosts a masquerade ball at Malfoy Manor. Sirius sneaks in, in costume, and dances and flirts with her anonymously. They both have an idea of who the other is, but it’s better not to say that out loud until the night’s over.

3. Sleeping in the Devil’s Bed by A_Factorygirl_69 (2012) Explicit | 7819 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa Warnings: Infidelity

Summary: They meet during the first war in the Leaky Cauldron and Sirius is as crass as he could possibly be. Narcissa hates it, she tells him so, and then she spends 8000 words taking him up on his crude offers.

4. A thousand silhouettes by elle_blessing Teen | 3094 words | Includes a playlist

Summary: Their lives, sneaking around at Hogwarts and watching their family fall apart. Short fragments throughout the first war, in which Sirius is one year older than Narcissa instead of her being older.

5. Making darkness in the day by slashmarks (@slashmarks) Explicit | 2589 words | Sirius lives AU

Summary: During the second war, Narcissa goes into hiding in Grimmauld Place and marries Sirius for the magical protection it offers. This is their wedding night.

6. Sirius Black’s Highland Fling by MarshmallowMcGonagall (@marshmallowmcgonagall) Explicit | 6309 words | Sirius lives AU

Summary: After the second war, Sirius is set to attend a muggle party in Harry’s stead and can think of no better person to accompany him than Narcissa. He takes her shopping, then dancing, and what’s a night out without a healthy dose of semi-public sex?

7. Black and Gold by MarshmallowMcGonagall (@marshmallowmcgonagall) Explicit | 2080 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa

Summary: Sirius has been cursed with the curse of Echo, leaving him unable to speak beyond copying others’ words until the person he loves kisses him. Naturally, he heads to Narcissa for help. Naturally, she makes him wait for it.

8. Weight of Silence by hazellepotter (@wandlores) Teen | 2100 words | Canon Compliant (ends with Sirius going to the ministry in OOTP)

Summary: Sirius during OOTP tells Buckbeak about how in love with Narcissa he once was, and why it didn’t work out. Includes a few flashbacks to sweeter moments between them, before everything fell apart and it's just very bittersweet.

9. Black Bones by devianthouseofblack Explicit | 5059 words | Background wolfstar and lucissa Warning: Underage (I believe Sirius is 16, Narcissa is older)

Summary: Sirius has run away from his family, Narcissa is engaged to Lucius Malfoy. She sees her family falling apart around her, and is determined to get Sirius back to their side. When other attempts at convincing him fail, she figures out a different way of showing him that his pleasure is his to take.

10. Silver Shackles and Rose Thorns by JustaDeadDove Explicit | 2936 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa Warning: Infidelity

Summary: Narcissa is engaged, so no one pays her any attention anymore now that she’s done the right thing. At a family gathering, she steals a few private moments for herself and Sirius is quick to take advantage of them by paying her all the attention she deserves.

11. Helpless by Thistlecat (@thistlecatfics) Explicit | 1970 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa

Summary: Sirius is cursed at a party and is immobilised. Narcissa finds him and does eventually help him, but first they take this as a great opportunity to have their way with each other. Healthy dose of mocking and bratting, too.

12. They Leave Us by Doshu (@vdoshu) Explicit | 5239 words

Summary: Angst and betrayal during the first war. Sirius is caught when he goes on an undercover mission because he's figured out who the spy is and of course Narcissa catches him. Lucky for him, because some beautiful hate sex ensues.

13. Your Cigarette Smell by Lumosatnight (@lumosatnight) Explicit | 9680 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa Warning: Canon-compliant MCD

Summary: Non-linear story spanning their relationship from when it starts durings the first war up until his death during the second. Beautiful, painful, hot, everything they’re supposed to be. Their push and pull ‘not being able to stay away from each other even when they want to’ dynamic really comes through here.

14. The Black Rose by DracoIgnis (@dracoignisworld) Explicit | 36,134 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa Warning: Implied? Canon-compliant MCD? But maybe not?

Summary: This is the fic the art work linked above is for! I will never not be a sucker for canon-compliant stories for these two, and this again spans the first and second wars and is just beautiful. It starts when they’re young, and ends with Narcissa finding out he’s been killed at the ministry, with some moments during both wars and in the time between him escaping prison and the second war starting!

15. The stars don’t shine, they burn by Mymblehowl (@st-clements-steps) Explicit | 6108 words | Background Lucius/Narcissa

Summary: This is a modern AU in which Narcissa is a lawyer, married to Lucius, and Sirius is trying to get custody of Harry instead of the Dursleys. Narcissa represents the Dursleys, and also Sirius has an OnlyFans account which she insists she only watches because it might be relevant to the case. She doesn’t quite stick to just watching his videos.

These are my recs for now! Obviously there are a lot more fics in the AO3 tag, but I’m a picky bitch with a bad memory and these are my absolute favourites so for now this is it. I hope you enjoy reading them!

[azaleapaperpad]

Red Curtains and Chandeliers

Phantom of The Opera (Broadway version)(Merik) x GN! Reader (Part 2) WC: 1414

It had been a struggle at first, not seeing him or being around him for such a long time. Although, since returning home you reconnected with an old neighborhood friend you would play with in your youth. Upon catching up with this old friend, she had mentioned wanting to perform at the Opera Populaire, and every thought of The Phantom and the Chandelier falling came rushing back. You felt silent tears roll down your cheeks as your friend spoke. 

“Oh, dearest, are you okay? Did I say something to upset you? I’m so sorry!” Your friend apologized profusely as they grabbed their handkerchief to wipe away your tears. 

“Oh no, it’s just… I was at the Opera Populaire, and- such awful things happened! You know the chandelier came down, correct? It hit the audience! And-” You cut yourself off before you could mention the Phantom of the Opera. You didn’t want to out him, you still cared for him even though as of recently his actions have been intense, to say the least. So, you just sobbed for a few minutes and let your friend comfort you a bit. 

After you had finished, they tried talking. 

“Well, I did read about that. But, what are the chances that is to happen again?” You almost scoffed at them, but again, you didn’t want to directly out the Opera Ghost. 

“You know they say it’s haunted, right?” You said, trying to convince them to back out. 

“Oh, please. I’d like to see the ghost try to harm me. I grew up with 3 brothers, there’s hardly anything it can throw at me that I couldn’t handle” They said with a bright smile. What a fool, you thought.

There was clearly no convincing them to back down, but their determination somewhat inspired you. Of course, you knew you were already going back, but now you knew you would have a friend. A confidant, to help if things go haywire. That is, if they passed Madame Giry’s test first. You were confident they could do it though. 

It wasn’t until about 4 months later, you both were now at the Opera Populaire, that the same emotions you had that day came flowing back. Before you could get carried away in your emotions though, you felt a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. 

“Hey, cheer up! It’s going to be fine, just you wait. I’ll protect you from all ghosts, just like when we were children!” Your new best friend reassured you. You smiled at them, albeit it was a slightly pitiful smile. Oh, how naive, you thought. But before anything else could be said, you were yanked into the Opera House, and to your shared doom dorm. A minor feeling of unease settled itself into your stomach, but you couldn’t bother yourself with worries right now, not when you had to prepare for the Masquerade ball! 

You and your friend were very excited about the ball, prepping in advance by bringing the basics of your costumes, and even finishing the detailing just hours before the party. Your friend had chosen a floral design. They looked like a rosebush, all green with red and white and pink roses. Their mask was basically a bouquet of roses with eye holes cut out, with their hair pinned up in swirls to resemble roses. You would think they had an obsession with how much detailing went into their ensemble.

You on the other hand, had a bit more of a subtle costume. You donned a spiderweb-like mask, and silky flowing clothes with bits of tule sticking straight out in a web-like pattern. The white underlayer had web designs stitched in black and gray. You even added some fake spiders here and there for a more authentic look. Throughout the night, you two had danced around each other, trading partners and giggling about. When everyone had started singing ‘Masquerade!’ you two joined in and suddenly…

You felt it

A chill in your spine 

The trill of the organ

The looming presence that only one entity could possess

“Why so silent good Messieurs?” A chill ran up your spine and you only knew to run and hide. He had to have known you were here now, but hopefully he didn’t know where your new room was. You and your friend were in the back of the crowd, so you slipped out once The Phantom took a few steps after his grand entrance. 

But just before you left behind a door, you looked back and realized how far down he’d gone. His crotch was at eye level. You flushed red and stared at the way his crotch curved and rounded and smoothed out. Watching him walk, watching his hips (albeit exaggerated) sway in his bold garments and lavish fabrics. You snapped out of it in a second and dashed for your room. 

Once you two were safe in your room, you took a second to catch your breath and you looked over at your friend, who seemed to be just winded, and maybe a tad annoyed? 

“Why did you drag me out of there? Now what’s going to happen? What if someone gets hurt and we could have  helped!?” They asked, almost accusatory. You looked at them in shock. 

“I just saved you, and I warned you long ago of the dangers of coming here. Everyone here knows the risks and they chose to be here, like you and I.” You stated. You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose before looking up to your dresser and looking around for your suitcase. As soon as you rendered it not in immediate sight, you moved from your spot and around the room to find it. Your friend looked a you with a puzzled expression.

“What the hell are you doing?” They asked. 

“Leaving. This was clearly a mistake and I’ll not ruin our friendship over it so let’s go-”

“I’m not going anywhere, darling.” They said with a stern voice, cutting you off. 

“We can fight him. I know we can!” They said, determination clear in their tone. You were far too anxious to even think about approaching him, far too scared. Your friend could feel your unease, and stepped towards you putting a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

"I know you're scared of him, but he is just a man. I know many here believe he's a ghost, but I don't believe in such things. A ghost doesn't don red clothes and prance around making announcements to the entire opera house!" They explained. "Is there anyone here who would know more about him?" They asked, kneeling close to you to read you better. You looked up at them from your spot, kneeling next to your bed. You felt so disheartened, you really didn't want to pursue him, it felt as if the wounds were still too fresh.

"I came here to be with you, and to help you. Please let me help you..." They asked one more time. You sighed, knowing if you didn't answer them now, you'd probably have to answer them again later.

"I... think Madam Giry knows something... but she won't tell you anything." You warned. Before they could even process that last bit, they got up and headed for the door.

Dumbass was all you could think before they dragged you off towards Madam Giry, but Raoul got to her first. Your friend attempted to push through the crowd. You didn’t want to upset your friend, but you resisted moving when the crowds of people kept pushing through. Your head was turning left and right, spinning with the madness surrounding you. When suddenly, a flash of red caught your eye. Under the stairs.

You knew exactly where he was going, and unfortunately for you, your eyes gave away everything and your friend looked at you in that moment, following your line of vision and your friend caught the secret door closing, they even blinked.

“Did you see that?! We have to go there!” They exclaimed. You were about to protest, to hold your ground and tell your friend “No, I’m not going to expose the man I love-” when oops- someone tripped you and you stumbled forward. Instinct kicked in and you started letting your friend lead you, the momentum carrying you. Its almost like the author made all of this so convenient for plot reasons.

Well. You were about to face your biggest fear this century.

[theofficersacademy]

This year, in order to study Pasithee's mysterious illusion magic, the bishops of the church have set up a magical ballroom separate from the main party, where you can don a mask and dance with other masked strangers to your heart's content.

Welcome to the Masquerade!

The masquerade is an optional side-event within the Ethereal Ball. The Ethereal Ball has its own event conditions, so whether or not you participate in the masquerade will have no bearing on whether or not you can claim your prizes at the end.

Off in the corner of the ballroom is a mysterious illusory portal maintained by the bishops of the church. In order to enter, you must be wearing a mask, but once inside, you will witness an opulence you could only ever dream of. Inside is a beautiful, extravagant room of marble floors and chiseled columns, crystal chandeliers, and diamond chalices. A fine mist swirls about, lending an even more mysterious ambiance to the masquerade.

Inside, as long as you are wearing your mask, all other identifying features will be hidden from your partners via magic. Your partners can uncover who your muse is based on behavior or if you choose to reveal it yourself, but otherwise you must suspend your disbelief about how much the mask can actually conceal your identity.

How to Play

1. Everyone who submitted a mask last week can participate. If you did not submit a mask and would like to participate, DM Mod N directly for one. However, do be aware that making Mod N create new masks after we set up 10 days for you to submit earlier will detract from the amount of time Mod N can enjoy the event himself. We don't recommend this.

2. Follow the TOA Masquerade blog: @toa-masquerade

3. Submit a starter to the blog's submission box or pursue the starters that have been posted already. When you submit a starter, the mods will add your mask to the post and tag it with a unique thread number so that you can add it to your stats page later. For the sake of the game, try to remain as anonymous as you can, so we recommend not formatting your posts.

4. When you find a post that you want to respond to, submit your reply to the masquerade blog via the submission box. Be sure to include the LINK to the post that you're responding to so that the mod team can reblog the correct one. We will add your mask and the unique thread tag to the post.

5a. You may reveal your muse's identity at any time, after which you can continue reblogging the thread from your muse's own blog.

5b. Keeping in mind that the name of the game, prior to unmasking, is the idea of going incognito: you are still allowed to exchange brooch decorations while masked, but you will, until the end of event OR until said muse has revealed themselves if they should choose to do so, be unaware of exactly which decoration you have received.

6. To best keep the game flowing, the mod team highly encourages keeping posts short (ideally < 200 words)!

7. In the event that multiple people attempt to reply to the same starter, the first person to reply to it will be posted. All other parties will be DM'd by a moderator to let them know of what occurred and will be given the opportunity to repurpose their reply into an open starter instead if they so choose.

8. All posts will be tagged by the mod team with #toamasquerade2024

And that’s it! If you have any questions or concerns, please let the mods know!

- The House Leaders