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vermilionsun · 5 months ago

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This post translates directly to @musas-sideblog's about how Touchstarved ties with Victorian horror and implicit/metaphorical sex, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so here is a lengthy theory. Enjoy :)

Note 1: Victorian era authors used an unholy amount of ways to imply sexual feelings/acts etc, so I here I will include only the ones that are of interest. Note 2: I've highlighted the "most important" parts. Note 3: I'm not an expert at this, so please bear with me and feel free to correct me. Note 4: Do I need to add a TW? I think it's obvious-

Overview: What is Victorian Horror?

Victorian horror refers to the genre of horror literature, art, and culture that flourished during the Victorian era, roughly from the mid-19th century to the early 20th century, coinciding with Queen Victoria's reign from 1837 to 1901. This period was marked by a fascination with the macabre, the supernatural, and the dark aspects of human nature, reflecting the anxieties and societal changes of the time.

Key Themes and Characteristics

Supernatural Elements:

Ghosts and Spirits: Tales of haunted houses and spectral apparitions were central to Victorian horror. Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" (1843) and Henry James's "The Turn of the Screw" (1898) are notable examples.

Monsters and the Gothic: The era's literature is filled with monstrous creations and gothic settings, such as in Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (1818), Bram Stoker's "Dracula" (1897), and Robert Louis Stevenson's "Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" (1886).

Science and the Unknown:

The Victorian period was a time of great scientific advancement, but also of fear about the implications of these discoveries. This is evident in works that explore the dangers of unchecked scientific experimentation, like "Frankenstein" and H.G. Wells's "The Island of Doctor Moreau" (1896).

Exploration of the Human Psyche:

Victorian horror often delved into the darker aspects of the human mind, including themes of duality, madness, and the hidden, sinister side of human nature. This is seen in "Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" and Edgar Allan Poe’s works, such as "The Tell-Tale Heart" (1843).

Social and Moral Anxieties:

The literature frequently reflected Victorian society's fears and anxieties, including issues related to sexuality, class, and the role of women. Gothic novels often contained subtexts about societal norms and the consequences of transgressing them.

Urban Fear and Isolation:

The rapid urbanisation of the Victorian era contributed to themes of isolation, alienation, and fear of the crowded yet lonely cityscape. This is evident in the settings of many horror stories, such as Arthur Machen's "The Great God Pan" (1894).

Sexual Content: Victorian literature is renowned for its strict moral codes and conservative views on sexuality. Explicit depictions of sexual activity were considered taboo and were subject to censorship. Consequently, authors developed subtle and nuanced methods to imply sexual scenes or themes.

Literary Techniques for Implying Sexual Scenes

✧ Symbolism and Imagery:

Sexuality was often conveyed through symbolic imagery. Objects, actions, or natural phenomena could serve as metaphors for sexual activity or desire. For example, in "Dracula" by Bram Stoker, blood and biting symbolise sexual penetration and the exchange of bodily fluids, infusing the act with a sense of forbidden desire and eroticism.

Clothing and Undress:

Gloves: In Victorian culture, gloves were highly symbolic. The act of a woman removing her gloves in the presence of a man, or a man assisting her in this act, could signify a moment of intimacy or vulnerability. Similarly, a man giving a woman his gloves could be a sign of affection or a deeper connection.

Hats and Bonnets:

Corsets

Objects and Personal Items:

Locks of Hair

Jewellery

Books and Letters

Touch and Physical Contact:

Kissing Hands

Hand-Holding

Food and Drink:

Wine: Sharing wine or a meal in an intimate setting often suggested a prelude to deeper connection. Descriptions of characters drinking wine together in private could imply a romantic or sexual undertone.

Fruit: Certain fruits, like apples, grapes, or peaches, were laden with sexual symbolism. Eating or sharing fruit could represent temptation or indulgence. For instance, in Christina Rossetti’s poem "Goblin Market", the act of eating the goblin fruit is rich with sexual symbolism.

Flora and Fauna

Flowers and Gardens:

Roses: Roses were often used to symbolise love and passion. A red rose might suggest romantic or sexual attraction, while a wilted rose could imply lost innocence or sexual ruin.

Lilies: Lilies, especially white ones, represented purity but could also suggest a contrasting theme when associated with a fallen or tarnished character.

Garden Settings: Scenes set in secluded gardens or amongst lush, overgrown vegetation often hinted at secret or forbidden encounters. Descriptions of characters wandering through or tending to gardens could imply sexual exploration or awakening.

Flowers Blooming or Opening: The blooming of flowers often represented sexual awakening or the act of losing one's virginity.

Nature Imagery:

Rivers and Water: Flowing water and rivers often symbolised sexual desire and the act of lovemaking. For instance, in "Tess of the d'Urbervilles" by Thomas Hardy, Tess's encounter with Alec d'Urberville is often described with metaphors of nature and fluidity.

Storms and Weather: Storms, with their intense energy and sudden outbursts, were frequently used to symbolise sexual passion or climactic moments.

Birds and Beasts:

Animals, especially those that are wild or predatory, often symbolised primal sexual instincts and desires. The taming or interaction with these animals could imply a character’s grappling with their own sexuality.

Fire and Heat

✧ Phrases and Sayings

Euphemistic Language

Descriptive Phrasing

Dialogue and Confessions

Private Spaces:

Secluded or Dimly Lit Rooms: Scenes set in private, darkened rooms often suggested clandestine sexual encounters. The privacy of the setting allows authors to imply what could not be explicitly stated. In Wilkie Collins’s "The Woman in White", many key interactions happen in secluded spaces, hinting at secrets and hidden desires.

Dreams and Fantasies:

Dream Sequences:

Dreams and fantasies were used to explore a character’s subconscious desires and fears, often revealing their suppressed sexual longings. These sequences provided a socially acceptable way to delve into erotic themes.

Hallucinations and Madness:

Moments of madness or hallucination could serve as a metaphor for overwhelming passion or uncontrollable sexual desire. These states allowed characters to express forbidden feelings in a way that was metaphorically safe.

Physical Interactions and Horror

Touch and Proximity as Menace:

Unwanted or Forced Touch: In horror, touch that is typically a sign of affection or intimacy becomes a source of fear.

Physical Closeness in Horror Settings: Close proximity in dark, secluded places amplifies the sense of claustrophobia and vulnerability, turning what could be an intimate setting into one fraught with terror.

Undress and Exposure in Horror:

Loosening Corsets and Vulnerability: The act of undressing or loosening clothing, which can be a prelude to intimacy, in horror often leaves characters vulnerable to attack or exposure of their deepest fears.

Food and Consumption in Horror

Cannibalism and Vampirism:

Blood as Sexual and Vital Fluid: The act of consuming blood, as in vampirism, blends the themes of sustenance and sexual exchange. The vampire's bite becomes a metaphor for both sexual penetration and the transfer of life force.

Example: "Dracula" is a prime example where blood consumption is deeply eroticized, with Dracula’s victims often portrayed in a state of ecstatic submission as he drains their blood.

Food as a Lure: Food and feasting, typically symbols of pleasure and indulgence, in horror contexts can be used to lure victims into dangerous situations.

Example: In "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti, the goblins’ fruit is both irresistibly tempting and dangerous, representing a forbidden and potentially fatal indulgence.

Plot and Character Dynamics in Horror

Power and Domination:

Common Dynamics with a Dark Twist

Predators and Victims: Characters who prey on others are often literal monsters in horror, representing the loss of control or innocence.

Secrecy and Concealment:

Hidden Desires and Monstrous Revelations: Characters who conceal their true identities or desires often find these hidden aspects manifesting as monstrous or terrifying in horror narratives, suggesting that repression can lead to dire consequences.

Clandestine Meetings and Forbidden Encounters: Secret meetings and forbidden relationships, often tinged with sexual implications, add an element of danger and fear, suggesting that transgressing social norms leads to horror.

Common Themes in Victorian Horror

Duality and the Doppelgänger:

Theme: The concept of duality, where a character has a hidden, darker side, or encounters a double (doppelgänger), often symbolises the internal conflict between good and evil within individuals.

Connection: This theme reflects Victorian anxieties about identity, morality, and the consequences of repressing one’s darker impulses.

Gothic and Supernatural Elements:

Theme: Victorian horror is rich with Gothic elements such as haunted houses, dark landscapes, and supernatural beings. These elements create a sense of dread and evoke the mysteries of the unknown.

Connection: The Gothic setting often serves as a backdrop for exploring human fears, isolation, and the impact of the supernatural on everyday life.

Decay and Degeneration:

Theme: The fear of decay and degeneration, both physical and moral, is a recurring motif. This theme often examines the decline of individuals, families, or societies and the consequences of corruption and vice.

Connection: This theme mirrors Victorian concerns about the erosion of social and moral values amidst rapid industrial and social changes.

Madness and Psychological Horror:

Theme: The exploration of madness and psychological horror delves into the fragility of the human mind and the terror of losing one's sanity. This often includes hallucinations, obsessions, and the thin line between reality and delusion.

Connection: This theme resonates with Victorian fears of mental illness, the limitations of medical knowledge, and the impact of societal pressures on mental health.

Forbidden Knowledge and the Faustian Bargain:

Theme: The pursuit of forbidden knowledge and the resulting consequences is a central theme. Characters who seek power, immortality, or forbidden truths often pay a heavy price, reminiscent of the Faustian bargain.

Connection: This theme highlights Victorian anxieties about scientific progress, moral boundaries, and the potential hubris of human ambition.

The Uncanny and the Unknown:

Theme: The uncanny involves the strange and unfamiliar becoming eerily familiar, often unsettling the reader and characters. It blurs the lines between reality and the supernatural, invoking fear and discomfort.

Connection: This theme taps into Victorian fears of the unknown, the foreign, and the otherworldly, reflecting broader anxieties about social and cultural boundaries.

Death and the Afterlife:

Theme: Victorian horror frequently grapples with themes of death and the afterlife, exploring the fear of mortality, the possibility of an afterlife, and encounters with the dead or undead.

Connection: These themes reflect Victorian preoccupations with death, the spiritual realm, and the possibility of life beyond death, often intensified by the era's high mortality rates and interest in spiritualism.

Isolation and Alienation:

Theme: Isolation and alienation are prevalent themes, often highlighting characters who are physically or emotionally detached from society, leading to their vulnerability and descent into despair or madness.

Connection: This theme resonates with the Victorian experience of industrialization and urbanization, which often led to feelings of disconnection and loneliness.

Class and Social Anxiety:

Theme: Victorian horror often explores themes of class and social anxiety, including the fear of losing social status, the consequences of poverty, and the tension between different social classes.

Connection: This theme reflects the rigid class structures of Victorian society and the fears and tensions that arose from social mobility and economic disparity.

Moral Corruption and Hypocrisy:

Theme: Victorian horror frequently critiques the era’s moral standards and exposes the hypocrisy of societal norms. Characters who appear virtuous often harbor dark secrets or engage in morally dubious activities.

Connection: This theme mirrors the Victorian concern with appearances and the underlying tension between public propriety and private desires.

The Five Pillars of Victorian Horror & The Five Love Interests

The Supernatural and the Gothic (Ais)

Essence: Victorian horror often revolves around the supernatural, blending Gothic elements to evoke a sense of dread and otherworldly terror. This includes ghosts, vampires, haunted houses, and curses, which create an atmosphere where the boundaries between the natural and the supernatural blur.

Impact: The use of Gothic settings and supernatural phenomena provides a backdrop for exploring deeper themes of fear, mortality, and the unknown.

Psychological Depth and Madness (Vere)

Essence: Victorian horror delves into the complexities of the human mind, exploring themes of madness, obsession, and the psychological effects of fear and trauma. Characters often grapple with their sanity, facing inner demons as terrifying as any external threat.

Impact: This focus on psychological horror allows for a deeper exploration of character motivations and the impact of societal pressures.

Moral Corruption and the Double Life (Leander)

Essence: Themes of moral corruption and the duality of human nature are central to Victorian horror. Characters often lead double lives, presenting a veneer of respectability while concealing dark, sinful secrets. This tension between outward appearances and hidden truths reflects the era’s social hypocrisy and fear of scandal.

Impact: These themes critique Victorian society’s emphasis on propriety and the dangerous consequences of repressing one’s true nature. The idea of a double life or hidden self adds to the horror by suggesting that evil can reside within anyone, masked by a facade of normalcy.

Decay, Degeneration, and Disease (Kuras)

Essence: The themes of physical and moral decay, societal degeneration, and disease permeate Victorian horror. These motifs symbolise the fragility of human life and the inevitability of decline, reflecting the anxieties of a society grappling with rapid change and uncertain futures.

Impact: By focusing on decay and degeneration, Victorian horror underscores the transient nature of life and the ever-present threat of corruption and decline, whether through ageing, moral compromise, or societal breakdown.

Isolation and Alienation (Mhin)

Essence: Isolation and alienation are pervasive themes in Victorian horror, often depicted through characters who are physically or emotionally cut off from society. This separation heightens their vulnerability to external threats and internal fears.

Impact: Isolation serves to intensify the psychological tension and sense of dread, as characters confront their fears alone. It also reflects the era’s social and existential anxieties, including the fear of being disconnected or outcast from society.

Generally, I believe each LI connects with a pillair (as seen above). Perhaps by looking at the archetypes we could deduce propable endings and route elements.

Forgive me, for the following part is MESSY;

Ais

Vere

Leander

Kuras

Mhin

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bloodmoonmuses · 6 months ago

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mediocre party crashers | mark lee

genre: mark x reader, fluff, strangers to... more! yk. the usual. lol

a/n: unedited, just trying to get out of my writer's block with some summer vibesssss hehe

wc: 2.1k

warnings: crude language, extensive mentions of alcohol and being intoxicated, making fun of the upper class mwahahaha...

summary: with your best friend, ningning, you crash a birthday party... that also happens to be on yacht. when you lose her in the crowd of upper class partygoers, you cross paths with a guy named mark.

In your youth, you would’ve never imagined yourself crashing a party, but being friends with Ningning has brought its own adventures over the years. You think back to the more mundane variations of such; late night grocery store runs, impromptu road trips, scratching your toxic ex’s car with your car keys… Okay, maybe mundane wasn’t the right word. However, the scale of Ning Ning’s spontaneity seemed to grow in scope- the smaller adventures of the past no longer satiating her wanderlust and adrenaline seeking tendencies.

So here you were, standing on the deck at the edge of the water, staring at a literal yacht.

Some friend of a friend of a cousin of the second wife of Ningning’s brother had told her about the “little'' get together that was currently underway. Apparently, as suggested by the gaudy banner shoddily attached to the side of the boat, it’s a birthday party.

The scene before you is almost a tableau; unable to be registered as real to your working-class eyes. Everyone in your line of vision is richer than rich- dripping in the kind of luxury that one can only experience when backed by multiple bloodlines of generational wealth. Some say wealth whispers, but the money these people have is shrieking at you.

To be honest, you were surprised when Ningning said she wanted to crash this party in particular. She’s a socialite, sure, but preppies weren’t really her crowd. Apparently, this was purely a social experiment from her point of view. Ningning had even gone as far as insisting the two of you dress the part. You were clad in a pleated skirt and striped tank top, whereas Ningning was in a collared Polo dress. It kinda felt like you were at a costume party- and when you think of it that way, the whole ordeal becomes way more fun. That is, until the anxiety kicks in.

“Ning, my love,” you begin, “How are we supposed to get into this party?”

Ningning pouts slightly, in that cute way she does, and shrugs.

“Just walk in?” she says as if it’s the most obvious answer ever. “There’s no bouncer, silly. It’s a yacht party.”

With that, she swings her hips and begins strutting towards the boat. Effortlessly, she walks into the party, not even batting an eye. You waddle behind her (albeit less gracefully) and instantly lose her in a crowd of gyrating bodies. Music floods your ears, and you call out for your friend- much to no avail. When you finally accept that it’ll be impossible to pin down Ningning for the night, you decide to explore the party by yourself.

As the night progresses, the party becomes livelier. Actually, it’s like a bunch of little parties happening in various sections of the boat. At some point, you find yourself below deck, where it’s darker, grimier.. The flashing party lights make you feel alive. People start throwing back shots, and the music gets sluttier- recession-pop EDM that’s so shrill it’s painful. However, the feeling of the bass permeating your chest gets your heart pumping and your body moving. Also, considering Ningning is still nowhere to be found, your options for socializing are limited. A part of you loves it; being surrounded by warm bodies covered in a layer of sheen- shimmering as they move in sync and the waves jostle you about. You melt away from your form, feeling entirely free. There’s a reason you like crashing parties: you get to be someone else for the night.

When you’ve danced enough, you take a seat on a sofa to catch your breath, closing your eyes as you take winded breaths. While your eyes are still closed, you feel the sofa dip beneath you. Finally, Ningning’s back, you think.

“Ning, can we go? I’m kinda over this ‘Members Of The 1%’ circle jerk…” you joke in an exasperated sigh.

“I think the circle jerk is happening downstairs, if that’s what you’re looking for…” The deepness of the voice that responds startles you, making you sit up and open your eyes. Then, the body attached to the voice silences you.

You’re enraptured by this man’s beauty- that sweet face of his boring into you with an air of amusement that makes your stomach flip. You vaguely remember seeing him on the makeshift dance floor earlier in the night, but the memory is fuzzy around the edges. You’ve been tipsy (bordering on drunk) for a while now.

Your face immediately warms up. “Shit… I meant-”

“Here for the birthday party, and not the circle jerk then?” the stranger says, cutting off your stammering. There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his already massive eyes are dilated, indicating that he’s had a drink or two himself.

“Uh. Yeah,” you lie (not very convincingly).

The man nods, and you mirror him. “Johnny’s the best, isn’t he?” he says.

“Mhm. So happy we’re able to celebrate him today…”

“Yeah…” he trails, looking at you inquisitively. “-but Johnny’s birthday is in February.”

It’s currently June. Fuck.

You begin to stammer again, wishing you’d sink into the couch beneath you. “Right! I just meant-”

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“To be honest with you… I don’t know,” you concede.

“Well, for future reference, it’s Taeil’s birthday. Isn’t it, like, Party Crasher 101 to know who the birthday boy is?”

“I’m not really crashing. At least, not in the traditional sense. I’ve been on my best behavior, all things considered.” You’re tipsy, sure, but haven’t caused much harm. Ningning, on the other hand… Lord knows what she’s been up to. She probably has a whole list of new friends at this point. (And has probably swiped a few goodies to sell on Ebay.)

“Well, I am,” the man says.

Oh? you think.

The stranger stretches his hand towards you, gesturing for you to shake it. As you do so, he introduces himself. “Mark. Habitual party crasher.”

“_______. Mediocre, but also habitual, party crasher.”

“Nice to meet you, ______.” You drop your hand from his. After an awkward pause, you stand to leave. “Uh, Where are you going?” Mark asks, panic flooding his features. What’s his deal?

“Off to tell my handler that the jig is up,” you say. When you start to leave again, Mark says, “Wait!” He grasps your hand tightly, shockwaves shooting up your arm from the contact. For a brief moment, you’re enamored. The remnants of the sunset give the room an orange glow and Mark looks golden. His eyes are twinkling.

However, you snap out of your reverie quickly. When you give Mark a look, one that says “Who the fuck do you think you are?”, he quickly drops your hand from his hold. You snatch your hand away. Now, it’s Mark’s turn to stammer through a blunder.

“So I was wondering…do you want a tour of the boat?” he asks lamely.

You give him the up-down. He’s in bright orange pants and rugby stripes. A bit dorky, but cute. His brown hair falls into his eyes delicately, making his entire demeanor more… boyish. Even the redness across his cheeks (that’s also spreading to his neck) just makes him seem so inviting. You’re drawn to him like fire- warm, bright and hypnotizing.

You’re overtaken with the urge to see just how profusely you can make him blush- to see him in his skittish glory at the hands of your teasing. Before you get a chance to act on this, however, Ningning bounds into the room. She’s been swimming, as suggested by her wet hair and swimsuit cover. You notice a new bracelet as well.

“Babe, they’re about to sing Happy Birthday. Free cake!” Ningning squeals. As she pulls you out of the room, you flash Mark an apologetic look.

The partygoers gather on the deck, the setting sun shining indigo against deep water. It’s breathtaking. You could absolutely get used to this. A crowd forms around a table with a birthday cake at the center, and you attempt to scan the area for Mark.

As people begin to sing (to Taeil, not Johnny), you feel someone sidle up next to you. When you turn to see that it’s Mark, you smile.

“Hey,” he says.

You lock eyes with him, heart thumping similarly to when the dance music was coursing through your veins. “Hi.”

Mark rubs his neck with his hand, sheepishly trying to pick up where the two of you left off. “So I was gonna ask-”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU…” the crowd breaks out into song enthusiastically, drowning out Mark’s voice.

“What?!” you yell, leaning in to listen.

Mark tries to project over the (horrible) singing. “I was saying we should-”

“Huh!?”

Before you realize it, the birthday song has come to a close.

“Do you still want a tour of the boat!?” Mark practically screams. His voice cuts through the sudden silence like a knife. It’s incredibly embarrassing and Mark’s entire face turns bright red.

Taeil looks at the two of you, quirking a brow confusedly. “Um… who are you?” he asks, looking back and forth between you and Mark.

“Uh… Ningning’s friend.”

“Mark. Just… Mark.” He’s beet red.

“Oh. Nice to meet you both,” Taeil says. Everyone resumes the party, firing off confetti and popping some (very expensive) champagne. The music resumes as well, starting back up the party, and you look around to see that Mark has disappeared. Again.

“Gonna try to sneak some cake, then we can head out. Meet back here in 10?” Ningning says. You nod, and make your way to the cabins below deck. You can’t let Mark go.

The first door you open, the room is empty. At the second door you reach, you hear moans, so you immediately run in the opposite direction. The third door you wander to swings open just as you reach for the knob, and out walks the man of the hour, Mark.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you say.

“Do you still wanna-”

“Let’s just chat on the deck. Fuck the tour,” you conclude with a giggle.

“Sounds good to me. I don’t know my way around anyway.”

At this, you chuckle, and the two of you walk to a pair of lounge chairs. The moon is out, little fairy lights strewn on the railing making the air feel magical. The breeze is just a little too cool. Mark must notice this, because he takes off his dress shirt and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Do you crash parties often, or is it more of an occasional thing?” Mark asks.

“Relatively often. It’s fun to be someone else for a night sometimes.”

“So the get-up is for fun?”

“Do I look like I wear Polo in my day-to-day life?” you ask.

Mark chuckles. “I don’t know, dude. You could pass as a preppie.”

You deadpan. “That’s the meanest thing you could’ve ever said to me.”

“I’m kidding. Seriously though, you’re, like, way cooler than anyone else here. I saw you dancing and-”

“You saw that?!” you squeal.

Before responding, Mark stands from his lounge chair to sit next to you. He adjusts the shirt that is still draped over your shoulders, his touch warming you up more than the garment has in the last few minutes. You’re a goner.

For a moment, the two of you bask in each other’s energy, the slight rocking of the boat and sound of crashing waves lulling you into effortless serenity.

“You’re so free.” Mark bores into you again and it’s suffocating. You know nothing about him, yet you’re privy to the lifetimes behind his eyes. Perhaps you’ve been a part of one of them- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. You believe in the existence of fate, but only for the night.

“That’s all I’m saying,” Mark continues.

You shake off the feeling of being so seen, breaking his hypnotizing eye contact. Untangling yourself from his quiet multitudes.

“What about you? Do you crash parties often?”

“Weddings, usually. Mostly for the cake. Bought a tux for it and everything.”

“A professional. I’m impressed,” you say.

You look out to the water, feeling its breeze envelope you, and a shiver runs through your body.

Mark is bashful again, head dipping slightly as he suggests, “We should crash a party together sometime.”

Your eyes return to him as you say, “For sure.”

“Does that mean I can get your number?” You take Mark’s phone wordlessly, and enter your number, after which Mark says, “Apparently that Johnny guy is having a rodeo themed party next week… Wanna go?”

“And be mediocre party crashers together? Definitely.”

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #mark lee fic #nct 127 fluff #mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct mark #nct fanfic #my fic #WE'RE SO BACK LMAO

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odesofmeddea · 5 months ago

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house of the dragon viewers who, mostly, are avid shippers of canonical incestuous uncle-niece marriage being so collectively repelled by the mother-son intercourse on-screen they cry and throw up begging for the harrenhal arc to end is so incredibly stupid, i'm not even sorry. daemon's arc this season is the best thing that could've happened to his individual narrative... he's the character who is not very vocal about, or easy with exteriorizing, his inner turmoils and anxieties. what harrenhal haunting does is forcefully dehisces those very intimate things out. although there's an obvious preternatural compulsion toward daemon's more malevolent impulses - as in the horrid compulsion issuing either from the place or the place and alys-entity's converged powers that might as expose and explore as pervert his resentment for rhaenyra and viserys and the simultaneous yearning to be unconditionally loved by them and by his mother into its extreme violent manifestations, - we still get to see way more human aspects of him becoming bare. things unuttered like guilt and sorrow, and regret no one believes him capable of - rhaenyra, laena, and little jaehaerys; fears, vulnerabilities, and the deep sense of emotional disorientation, trauma, and loss that the fandom's manichaean reading aggressively denies him. viserys' favoritism culminates in the decollation of rhaenyra that he himself is perturbed with not because he maniacally harbors harmful deadly intentions on her behalf but because there's an ugly wound that viserys, the family and patriarchal society as inevitability caused him and that alys' (or harrenhal's) influence is exacerbating through manipulation of his tattered psyche.

daemon dreaming his mother - whom he lost at too young age of three to actually establish any substantial proved relationships with - in this sexual role and womb-oriented denouement, in which he is only temporarily full of filial bliss before the ghast at consummation comes over him, is not some sui generis daemon-perversion but a part of his social and psychic character constitution and its study. alyssa's words might as well have been a self-consolatory projection he kept nurturing throughout his life: at least for his dead mother (whom he couldn't really know; dead being void, void being fillable) he was the most beloved, superior, and irreproachable one - the way that he wasn't for viserys and isn't always for rhaenyra, but wishes he was. viserys himself admitting to alyssa favoring toddler daemon most likely fortified this believe and necessity of that believe for daemon.

still, he is genuinely uncomfortable with every single apparition he's been subjected to face so far, and is not deriving a near sexual rapture (as does aemond at having aegon personally maimed) from seeing little rhaenyra accusing him of leaving her and stitching the head of the child he ordered to decapitate, nor rejoicing in the throne room after having her killed. he is not pouncing aroused (albeit he was, at first) on the figment of his bleeding mother to repeat the coitus - even if most of it is psychosexual, daemon is very obviously suffering from the horrors that are self, in situ, but are reflected through the doubles (rhaenyra, aemond) and the other (alys, alyssa).

it's breathtaking what they're doing with daemon this season. his line with alys is on par to the said. it's the best current new pairing in the show, with its own indefinite charm, albeit the pairing potentially being a sinister one. daemon is quite intimately drawn to alys despite the suppressed sense of something eerie in her omniscience. and i find it so interesting and captivating i almost wish it would never end... may daemon targaryen be haunted by his witch-fiend-friend forever!

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #alys rivers

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interstellarsystem · 4 months ago

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Disorder Differences in Systemmates

Systemmates share the same brain, which often leads to the assumption that they're all affected the same by the brain itself. Its wiring, its abilities, and its disabilities. But symptom holders or those with intra-disorders are fairly common--at least in circles we run in--and they're not often talked about for fear of fakeclaiming or appearing ableist. We have headmates who are affected in all sorts of different ways by our disabilities. Some find things harder than others, while others actually find some tasks or symptoms easier to manage. It absolutely varies from headmate to headmate, which makes certain headmates better suited for fronting during certain times than others.

Merlin is more affected by our psychosis, particularly hallucinations, and xe tends to be more susceptible to paranoia. Mystery is a psychosis holder too, and has more positive symptoms like hallucinations than the rest of us, but is less affected negatively by it. It often hallucinates and falls into delusional thinking, but it's not really too bothered by it. So Mystery is a good choice for someone to front when we're having a psychotic episode. Sometimes, having Merlin cofront with Mystery makes it easier for Merlin to not be so susceptible to xyr symptoms.

I (Martin) have more obvious anxiety than the rest of us, and struggle much more in social situations. I'm much better at hyperfocusing on tasks, though. So I'm better suited for staying home and working on whatever the current project we have at the time, or keeping our to-do lists in check. Vince on the other hand is calm in most social situations that are more professional--so he's good for business meetings and such. In more casual conversation though, Vena and Merlin are much better at it and better suited to non-professional social groups.

Vince is an intra-NPD holder and also holds stronger symptoms of our BPD. He struggles immensely with percieved rejection, much more than the rest of us. But he also almost completely lacks empathy, which makes it much easier for him to be calm and logical in stressful situations. He finds it easier to help friends and those he cares about during stressful times because he's not weighed down by feeling their emotions--whereas the rest of us might break down from stress.

We talk a bit about mental disability differences in headmates more than those who differ physically. Somehow it seems more controvertial to mention that we have headmates that differ with physical symptoms while even in safe system spaces. It seems like most people (us somewhat included) mainly think of symptom holders as a mental disorder thing--a line of thinking we're trying to dispel. Headmates can have different disabilities and symptoms of all kinds, and it's not ableist or "harmful" to know that and speak about it. Headmates with different conditions to the body need to be recognised more.

Mike needed a cane in his memories and he absolutely needs our cane when he fronts more than the rest of us. He feels more at home and like himself having a cane by his side here, though, so it's good we already had one. I (Martin) need it more too--my joints are just more prone to pain. But our cane folds up nicely into our bag, so if we switch out in public, it's always with us just in case. Even if it's silly, we feel safer having a cane too--I mean, it's a metal pole. We're out as trans and clearly not your Regular Society Member, so it provides some feeling of safety to have.

Jayfeather was blind before, and since coming here he sure can see now, but he's much more light sensitive than the rest of us. The feeling of being able to see was nice at first, even if it was foreign, but sometimes he feels it's not worth the hassle. He needs to wear sunglasses when fronting because his eyes just end up hurting from even small amounts of light. Crowley is the same, except he wasn't blind in his memories--he just got used to always wearing sunglasses in his life to hide how his eyes looked, and needs them here now. They're both more prone to migraines due to this.

Merlin is more shaky on his feet than others who front often. His legs are digitigrade and in headspace he has his wings and tail to balance him there--but in the body, he doesn't have any of that. His legs are the wrong shape and he has no counterweight to his posture. Even with our cane, he's more prone to tripping than most.

Mystery was a godlike being that didn't need to eat human food, or any physical food at all. It often forgets that eating, sleeping and going to the bathroom are things the body needs to do, because it doesn't often feel the need to do them. That can be good if we're running low on food, or if we can't eat for a while such as before a medical procedure though, so it's useful in its own way. Mystery is also not used to using its hands for intricate things like tying shoelaces, as it's hands before we're longer, bigger, and mainly nonphysical. It didn't need to be intricate, so it's hard for it to do things others in here can.

There's so many more examples in our system. The thing is, there can be positives and negatives to any disorder, really--and headmates are no different with that. We don't necessarily assign headmates "roles" or "jobs" based on their symptoms or lack thereof, but for us to function better as a collective, people tend to gravitate toward doing certain things they know others can't. It's important for us to know how we differ with our disabilities, and work around them together as best we can.

Systemmates with different symptoms aren't uncommon, and they're not mocking disabled people, or lying for some benefit. I'd argue that for some systems with symptom holders or intra-disorder holders, it's increcibly important to know about how you differ and how to work together to be functional--whatever functional means for you.

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Note

Hey, sorry to bother you, but I had a request 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 (if those are accepted rn)

Can you do a Charles x asexual!Reader (x Max) who are in a established relationship, but since everyone makes comments about how good their sexlife must be/keeps thirsting about you, y/n eventually comes out to the public.

I'd be okay with either written or one of these social media fics.

Sincerely, an asexual person, who loves y/n fanfics, but has to navigate around way too many smut fics 🙈🙈🙈

Stop Thirsting

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: Fluff

Summary: pretty much what the prompt says, and I'm too lazy to come up with something else 😂

Warnings: minor toxic media, protective boyfriends

Notes: I hope I did your request justice!! I'm not asexual so I went to a few people who are, and they said things like affection are still fine, so I wrote this along those lines. I hope this gives you something comforting!

Also, the people who make the smau's have talent I do not. Idk how they do it and I don't even know where to begin.

Masterlist

When you entered into a relationship with Max and Charles, you didn't realize the main question you'd be asked is about how you three navigate intimacy.

Its hard enough being called names from the public, but this just makes things worse.

especially since you opt not to join them in their bedroom activities. You can only go so far before the mere idea of getting more intimate makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Something both boys understand and have made it a point to respect your boundaries.

The media, however, has not.

You’ve not come out to the world. The questions about everything just make you uncomfortable. But now you’re not sure what’s worse, everyone thirsting over you and the media being invasive, or the questions that come about your asexuality.

You throw your phone off to the side. The boys shoot looks of concern at each other and you. You’re heavy sighs alerting them that something is wrong.

“Chéri? Something the matter?” Charles moves from his spread out place on the floor next to you. You lean into him when he sits and curl up onto yourself.

“Just tired of everyone talking about our supposed sex life.” You huff. “Can’t help but feel I’m doing something wrong sometimes.”

Max leans forward in the chair. His hands find his face as he ponders the situation. “I could make them stop if you wanted. I have that power.”

“Maybe I should just come out. But I’m admittedly scared to do so.”

“Whatever you choose to do Chéri, we’ll support you.”

An instagram post.

One from all three of you.

You posted it and haven’t looked at your phone since. Terrified about what the people would say. They already talk about your intimacy so much that this might make it worse. Your worst fears made true.

The boys spent the day making sure you were as far away from the anxiety as they could get you. Comfort food and movies have become essential.

You stayed away from the internet until the next race. Then, the media and fans became unavoidable. And you were right that they'd be all over it.

You walked into the paddock, hands intertwined as the boys tried to keep the cameras away from you.

They keep steady conversation going, attempting to distract your mind from the obvious questions the reporters are trying to ask.

It's the fans that shock you the most. Many of those there to support your boyfriends have also come supporting you.

They understand. They respect. And woth the support of Charles and Max, you feel loved.

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afreakingdork · 3 months ago

Text

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 10

RotTMNT x Reader

Donnie and juice, just the perfect sort of parallel for this week's chapter art by @birdsnout

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis: You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

Donnie liked things in order.

Which was to say it didn’t have to be a specific one.

In his lab, his brother’s would often complain of the mess.

It made sense to him.

He knew exactly where his next blueprints were and that he had yet to put that lone 17/64 in. drill bit that had rolled under the cabinet beside his desk back in its pack.

That was the nature of the universe.

It was both a state of chaos, but also one of order.

It was a scientific debate.

Physics was orderly and seemed to be the same everywhere one looked.

Thermodynamics, alternatively, always snuck in a bit of entropy.

There was measure in that too.

The measure of uncertainty.

As Donnie stared at the chilled set of juice boxes he had removed from the fridge, he wished his life was as cleanly packaged.

What was he doing?

Well for one, he was hunched.

His back pinched and his hands were on the counter with his digits spread out wide.

He was currently staring at a set of unopened beverages and very much wanted to drink one.

It was his whole reason for finally reentering the house after a dreadful night of attempting to sleep outside before going to bunk in the tank.

He’d bought a cabin for the family.

If his father continued to insist on a nature reprieve then they could at least rough it in a consistent manner.

They never cared.

They hadn’t even thanked him.

They made jokes.

He was ridiculed for drinking delicious apple concentrate.

So what if he was almost 30?

These came in a convenient form factor, had an adequate amount, and were tasty.

Simple, they were so simple.

You were simple too once.

You made sense as a villain, and then you made sense as a scaredy cat.

The second part didn’t make as much sense to him personally, but it still stood as a sort of fact.

He chocked that up to entropy.

Whatever your reason was for putting up your fearful front was yours and not his.

What was his was Michelangelo.

His dearest baby brother.

Everyone’s favorite brother.

Minus, Mikey, of course.

They knew their rankings. It was obvious who the clear winner was. Despite his failings, Mikey was infectious. He was the heart of their group of Planeteers. As asinine as the show was and with how very little sense it made, in this case it fit. Reaching out, Donnie picked at the outer plastic that kept the many juice boxes together. A malformed plastic corner marked where the factory had mistakenly melted that outer layer a little too thickly. Their failure would be his gain as it was the perfect flap in which to tear the wrapping off.

He needed to do that.

He needed to shed this damn outer layer.

That’s what it was.

He had on a happenstance coating that kept him away from sweet nectar.

His developing crush on you.

No, he refused to call it that.

This was why he deemed it a development.

What grounds did he have?

First, he sent you to a veritable breakdown.

He had yet to mention that part to anyone else in the family and that alone was tearing him apart.

At the same time, he had no idea how to explain that he had been unusually attentive and had held a stranger close as they sobbed.

More than once.

A little shiver ran up his spine at the thought. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t so cool or aloof. He’d pretended to be when he was younger; when he thought those sorts of attitudes were appealing. It had all been so silly. Having only punctured the tightly packed rectangle, Donnie left the juice to make a fist on the counter.

He’d offered himself to you as the second best option.

Had that been his first failing?

Since when did he think so little of himself?

He held his own high praises in reality. He’d accepted things that others thought he shouldn’t and acknowledged others that were mutually agreed upon that he should. That was the sway of consciousness. Being aware meant having choice. Having choice meant choosing. Not choosing was a choice and he preferred to make them. There was science in that.

Reactions, equal or opposite, were those to be studied.

Was that why he watched you?

He’d long labeled the activity as his usual wariness of strangers in the lair, but he also had a propensity for deciding things without giving them enough thought.

That was his third law’s failing.

He rushed and would be forced to change his mind.

He disliked that much more than disorder.

It ranked somewhere just below pineapple on pizza.

Not that his list was exact.

Those rankings changed by nearly the second.

A jockeying scoreboard based solely on his preference.

You ranked too highly on that one.

No.

He gave his fist a soundless bang.

You weren’t allowed on the scoreboard of things he liked.

It no longer made sense for you to be on the one he disliked.

You had to go into the neutral category.

That one was a no man’s land where he didn’t bother ranking and shoved everything he felt ambivalently about.

He didn’t care about your doe eyes.

He didn’t care about the sharp tongue that you tried to hide.

He didn’t care that he had the privilege more often than not of being the one that you didn’t stutter in front of.

He wasn’t counting.

What was there to tally?

How he’d saved you twice since?

What was that for interactions?

If anything you were some damsel in a story and happily ever after was something cowardly writers never bothered to write.

Because they couldn’t.

Because it was obvious that one only liked the other for surface level reasons.

There was no basis.

They had no real relationships.

There was trauma bonding at best.

Love stories were made by quick decisions, to see quick outcomes.

Thoughtless.

That was what he was in this regard.

That was what he’d grown to understand about emotions.

He couldn’t avoid them.

Frustratingly, he felt them too strongly for that.

They took too much time.

His low empathy regarded his tolerance for other’s feelings.

Sudden emotions were baseless.

Snap decisions were made without reason.

People needed time and awareness to make good judgment.

The heart was to emotion as the brain was to logic.

Reason was required.

If society ran on impulse desire alone then it would have been left in ruin.

The fact that many civilizations’ collapses could be traced back to inane emotional drivel proved his point.

You were some quick hit of dopamine.

You were something new and interesting for his brain to work out as you’d inadvertently tricked him.

You’d snuck your way onto his radar.

He rarely even noticed his other brothers’ fancies before you.

This time he banged both his fists.

Each turtle was different.

Not just in species, but in the sense that they were different people.

All four of them had grown up the same, but perfectly different.

Not once in their entire lives had any of their romantic interests overlapped.

They fought over more coveted items.

They squabbled for seats to their favorite movies or who actually had the rights to the video game consoles.

Those were solved with contracts.

Bargains.

They were inanimate objects to be traded.

Not people.

There had never been secret heartbreak.

No one had a crush on their brother’s crush.

It wasn’t a crush.

It was a spike in Donnie’s heart rate based on stupid chemicals that didn’t know the reality.

He refused to be the one to break a good streak.

Especially when you were Mikey’s first.

In a swipe, Donnie tore the plastic straight down the middle of the packaging. Cleanly separating eight juice boxes into two rows of four, he quieted his mind by plucking cartons out one by one. Setting them back into their tight formation, he tossed the excess trash. He then took the rapidly warming containers and placed them back in their tidy line in the fridge minus a single soldier. That one he stabbed mercilessly but cleanly with its accompanying straw.

He needed to pick back up that eco-friendly packaging design he’d been toying with for these.

Less nonsensical plastic.

Lifting the box up, he got the straw between his lips and sucked.

There it was.

That familiar feeling.

That rush of good chemicals.

It was the same as drinking juice.

Yes, that was what it was.

Nothing but a little treat that some would say was a crutch.

He could quit it if he wanted.

He could pick and choose his vices.

That was his.

His mind a sort of clear in a cluttered way, he released the box and held it up with the straw between his lips. It freed his hands up to check the closest drawers for paper. He wanted to get that package design down before the next genius idea flittered through his head.

You chose just then to appear on the other side of the counter.

Maybe he could go back to classifying you as evil.

You made eye contact and your shoulders came up for a tentative greeting.

Donnie didn’t appear to be a morning person.

You had heard the crinkling of plastic from the top of the stairs and thought it would be alright to come down even if the option terrified you. Though last night you had a clear preference, right now you weren’t sure which brother you wanted to run into. It felt like years had gone by since you chased a man made of sunshine. In your quest to live your life, defeat your fear, and finally be a person, you had somehow regressed on all fronts in a single night.

You had run away.

You had kicked your best friend in the face.

You had been reduced to nothing.

All because you couldn’t handle the change in a status quo that only you decided existed.

Because you were so obsessively focused on getting through any single day.

Because you couldn’t look outside of yourself for one minute to see how you were impacting others.

Because everything you did was through the most frustrating self-absorbed lens imaginable.

You needed to talk to Mikey.

You needed to figure out what happened and not what you assume occurred.

After your little dream which you now deemed a nightmare, you had avoided sleep.

You had spent hours pouring over the events at the lake.

You’d come to realize a few things.

The first being that Mikey had no way of knowing how insecure you had felt.

You had given over to one split second reaction after another.

You had fumbled everything, but even knowing that and having all the time in the world to prepare, you still dreaded the conversation.

You knew the steps all too well. You would start with the awkward titter and dance where neither of you knew who should lead. You would talk over each other by mistake and then flounce with apologies until you were stuck in misery. It’d be followed by one of you, Mikey obviously, going first. He would try and take all blame to make everything better when in reality you were the one at fault. He had said he wanted to test the waters. He had said this was new to him. He told you to tell him if he made you uncomfortable.

That he’d stop.

Immediately.

Instead you kicked him in the face and threw a tantrum the likes of which caused you to desecrate someone else’s home while making its tenants sleep outside. That was three scoops of your shit sundae which you topped off with whipped cream in the form of you sobbing pathetically into your friend’s older brother. A toss of sprinkles came as you’d then forced that same man to clean up after you. You then dotted your creation with the most infuriating cherry of all: you were clearly developing a crush on Donatello.

Why Donnie?

Why the one who didn’t like you?

Why the one who had been so cruel to you from the get go?

The most perfect man in the world already liked you and you turned to his closest, least interested companion and said ‘this one.’

You damned masochist.

You tainted everything you touched.

You hated it.

You despised yourself.

You also felt immense joy at the sight of Donnie’s face.

Even while he looked at you like you had walked in and disturbed his meticulous work.

You were the worst.

You had to beat these feelings back.

It couldn’t be more.

Even if you were to somehow set aside Mikey’s feelings, it seemed patently absurd to have a crush on a friend’s sibling. So many movies touched on it and every time the person in question had been some creeper.

You were the creeper.

It was only a dream.

Dreams didn’t depict what you really wanted.

Dreams were random.

Donnie was a source of comfort because he’d saved you.

You were vulnerable and your mind had filled a void.

Donnie looked adorable with that juice box dangling from his lips.

Adorable?

You wanted to sob.

By all accounts, he was a groggy mess.

The dark circles under his eyes punctured straight through his mask and his posture read a certain menace. Head tipped down, his eyes turned up against stooped lids where he was just a shy step beyond glaring. One tweak of his eyebrows and he’d hold fury, but it was all contrasted by a pop of purple color with bright red apples on it. Smearing any semblance of intimidation coming off him, the casual nature of the juice box made him seem like a guy who just wanted a little treat after a hard toil.

He straightened and looked down his beak at you. “Tell me it was worth it.”

Your expression withered.

He was understandably upset with you.

“What… happened?”

“What didn’t?” He sneered openly and plucked the juice from his mouth. “Let’s begin: There were only porch chairs to sleep on! Mikey tossed and turned in an emergency blanket because, for some reason, he thought he might freeze even though the temperature is nowhere near uncomfortable! There were bugs! I was then banished to the tank only to find my secret cot there in ruins! I suspect Leo, but the reinforced interior meant I couldn’t access the cabin’s Wi-Fi to review my security footage!”

You imagined the only good left in these woods was you could bury your own body and no one would presumably find you. “Donnie… I’m s-so sorry… this is all-!”

“Tell me.”

You blinked out of your misery for shock.

“It was worth it!�� He outright bellowed with a twitching eye.

“It…”

Lie.

You needed to lie.

Lie and not tell him you were up all night because you were afraid to dream about him a second time.

“It was…”

He gave an impatient hum.

You brought your head down. “I f-felt secure, but I couldn’t sleep. Too much happened…”

The tense moment of silence seemed to build until your gaze bottomed out on the floor.

Donnie then gave a heady sigh.

“Well…”

“Thank… I mean, thank you…”

“For what?”

You heard a sound and snuck a glance to find he’d folded his arms on the counter. “For… protecting me… for… ugh… I cried on you again…I….” You whipped your head back and forth, frustrated with yourself. “No! I’m… I’m… tired of this! This is the third time. I keep… I hate it. I hate that I keep doing this to you. You said not to make you a third wheel and a-all I wanted was to make sure that was true. Then I went and made you something worse! You had to deal with both me and Mikey and… it’s me. I hate that I can’t keep it in. Even now…” You rubbed at your cheek hoping to shut down your scorched sinuses. “It’s… I don’t know… It feels easy to dump my bad emotions on you because I feel like you understand?”

You could feel him staring.

“Why would you…?” You gestured down yourself with a bitter hand. “… understand this? Why? We’re nothing alike and it’s unfair of me to think we are. I can’t seem to stop taking advantage of your kindness...”

“Your thought processes are boring.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

His lids were lulled.

You could only pop an incensed plosive.

The corner of his lip quirked. “How do you feel now?”

“A-annoyed?!”

He blossomed into a smirk. “This is why I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what?”

“That you’re actually scared.” He rounded the counter.

“I am! You have no idea-!”

“I don’t.” He approached and used his juice box to point at you. “You just said that. You don’t know me and I don’t know you well enough at all, but I know when to throw out a grounding technique so it will be successful.”

“Grounding…?” You trailed off.

“It’s as if your mind gets stuck.” He pointed one digit and curled the others like a gun to his temple. “Spiraling. Catastrophizing. Doomsaying. What have you. However, if something unexpected is said, it interrupts the feedback loop.”

You shirked the information and looked off to the side.

“Maybe your baseline is shy. Maybe you’ve been rightfully wounded. Maybe you have a minute social battery. Maybe you have anxiety disorder. On and on, but from what I’ve seen…” He slid an arm along the counter to tip his body and try to catch a glimpse of your face.

You shared a small portion.

“I’ve seen you fight back. I’ve seen you furious when you’ve been wronged. I’ve heard you blurt out raw thought. It’s hard not to imagine that’s you.” His face then contorted with disgust and he rose up with you chasing after. “This is where Leo would say something overt like ‘you’re a fighter, champ.’”

“I doubt he’d call me ‘champ.’”

“True, it will be something equally old man worthy. Count your days.” Donnie rolled his eyes.

“Why… do you keep helping me? Aren’t I… a-annoying?”

“Incredibly. You’re disruptive and you’ve upturned my peaceful life!” Donnie threw a hand up in Shakespearean dismay.

You watched on with wide eyes.

He held the pose for several seconds before a smarmy smile turned on you.

“Was that another grounding!?”

“No.” He chuckled.

“Wha-?! Hey!”

“Sometimes a sentence needs a little pizazz. I appreciate theatrics.” With a slow blink, he tipped his head as if it couldn’t be helped. “If I must be serious then I will clarify that I don’t mind. So is the life of a hero!”

You made a noise that was sadder than you hoped. “Because heroes help anyone…”

He cracked one eye open in your periphery before shifting to fully gawk. “That’s not-”

You turned to look, hoping you masked the hurt.

That was the truth.

You weren’t special.

You were nothing to Donnie but another soul to be saved.

He did what he did because he had to.

It was good to hear.

It was grounding.

“That’s not exactly…” Donnie looked at his juice, but said nothing more.

You filled the space so he wouldn’t have to feel bad. “Where’s Mikey?”

Donnie gave a full body twitch.

You held firm in your question.

His gaze shifted through a few things before he neutralized them all and gestured to the right of the door. “Around the side.”

“Think he’s ready for me?”

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah… I’m… I’m ready to apologize.”

“You!?” His head shot high.

You nodded.

“Don’t.” His teeth flashed with severity.

“Why?” You felt confident in this. “I overreacted.”

“He should pay better attention to his friends!”

You thought with a purse of your lips. “Does he do this to you? Miss things? With his family… I mean.”

Donnie made a disgruntled sound at having to switch thoughts so rapidly. “It… depends. He is oft for distraction, but when he is focused; it’s impenetrable. Not even pest control can save you. He’s in the walls!”

You gave a puff of amusement. “That sounds about right.”

There was another moment of silence, but this time it had a standoff quality.

You needed to do this.

Donnie hadn’t tried to dissuade that.

He was focused on who was to blame.

Your gaze didn’t falter this time so he was the one to relent. “Go then, if you’re so sure. Patch things up, but at least let him have it a little? For me? Consider it your pittance and because I’m tired of being the only one that seems to think he can do wrong!”

You pouted your displeasure, but considered the thought aloud. “A little…”

One of his brows rose, proud.

You turned away from it with warmed cheeks. “Maybe! No promises…!”

You heard him chuff.

“Thanks, Donnie.”

He shooed you from the kitchen and as you were headed for the door you ruminated on one last thing:

You had ruined a lumberjack’s breakfast.

If that was on Mikey’s mind he may have cared.

Instead, he’d been stewing for hours and only stopped when heard the door open and shut.

He could tell it was you.

It was in the little pause between hinge swings where you tried to catch the door before it slammed shut. You tried to minimize that presence of yours. He never understood why. That and Donnie always let the thing bang loudly since he vowed not to fix it after Raph broke the stopping mechanism three times in a row. The oldest brother had called it a penchant for closing doors with purpose. It had cracked Mikey up, but that wasn’t what he was supposed to focus on now.

Now was time for apologies.

Not that you should let him.

How did he even begin to explain the weird rush he’d felt?

He had to.

He knew that much.

He had seen you take it the wrong way.

That didn’t matter though because he deserved the night outside for what he’d done.

If the roles had somehow been reversed, he would have totally freaked out the same way as you had.

Spasming and kicking were classic escape techniques.

A bad guy can’t hold you down if you’re all over the place.

That was also the reason for zigzagging.

Wait, was that right?

Focus.

He turned his head in time to find you had arrived.

He’d been thinking about this for hours and he knew exactly how he was going to start.

“You ever try to zag on ‘em?!” While the words exited his mouth, his brain screamed at the folly.

Thankfully, you’d frozen on contact with the strange question.

“That was not what I meant to say!” Mikey stared with painfully wide eyes that begged you to understand.

You folded slightly and a hand came up.

He messed up.

He messed up so bad.

Crushes were dumb.

They made you infinitely more stupid.

That raised hand of yours became a fist.

It met your lips.

You used it as cover to giggle behind.

Literal song birds could have flown out of the nest of Mikey’s hair.

That was what it felt like.

“W-what does that e-even mean?” You tittered and moved to his side.

Mikey could feel his face go ooey gooey and he tried to cover it by making a chopping motion with his arms. “Zag like zigzag. They think you go one way-!”.

You gave a weak mime the other direction. “And you go a-another?”

Mikey’s smile split his face. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“Morning… Is this…?” You gestured to the chair next to his where Donnie had tried to sleep the night prior.

Where had Donnie gone?

Mikey had woken up alone.

“Please.” Mikey reclined, cross legged.

You took your seat politely on the edge. “I heard sleeping out here was tough… I’m… I’m sorry…”

“No!” Mikey yelled a little too loud and pushed down on his knees to keep himself in place. “I slept like a baby! I was worried I’d be cold, but I conked out. I’ve always been like that. Just hit the pillow and poof! Light’s out!”

You nodded, sort of intrigued.

Sighing with the knowledge that he couldn’t pursue this light hearted conversation, he collapsed into his seat. “Yesterday.”

You bobbed to attention, ready to speak.

“Can I go first?” He tilted his head at your adorable eagerness.

Something passed over your features that looked like surprise, but also relief.

He liked the way you mixed seemingly unrelated emotions. “Yesterday.” He repeated and added a haunt to his expression. “So that must have been… confusing.”

You shuffled as if ready to flee.

A little rabbit.

He shook his head clear of that prey drive of his. “I told myself I’d start by saying you did nothing wrong.”

“That’s n-not-!”

“It’s true.” He turned openly and knew he would have to interrupt. “You didn’t. Your instinct was good and that’s good! Protect yourself! I want you to! That’s what we agreed on! I totally deserve a swift kick now and again.” He unfolded his legs just to demonstrate.

“But after… That… wasn’t…?”

“Wasn’t… how you should react? How should you?”

Taken aback, you thought it over by tracing the wooden armrest of your chair.

He wondered if you could tell he carved them.

“This is uncharted territory for both of us, I think.” He continued on, hoping to embellish your thoughts. “Like what are we even doing? We’re probably doing something no one has ever done before!”

“I don’t know about that…” You returned with a soft expression.

That fit you best.

That kind warmth to your eyes.

It was something he wanted to dip a paintbrush in and that gave him the perfect metaphor. “I had to think long and hard about what actually happened…”

“Don… Um, Donnie told me you weren’t ready to talk… last night…”

“Oh, you got my message. Yeah…” Mikey tipped and his chair creaked. “I was a mess, but not like you. Don complained and complained about the water you trailed inside and how it was going to seep and puff up the hardwood or something, but it’s sealed so like, what’s his problem!?”

Predictably, you went rigid with fear.

You very much disliked damaging places that weren’t your own.

He liked the way you floundered when you did.

Stupid predator thoughts.

If only he had time to tease you.

“I came at it from all the angles like you’re supposed to with a sculpture.” Mikey mimed a looking glass. “See what’s in the stone or clay or whatever.”

“Inside…?”

“Yeah!” Mikey spun in his seat. “You can try to force the art, but it won’t art. Let it reveal itself and that’s when it gets good.”

“Oh…”

“That’s you.”

Your lips parted with a question, but you closed them as you tried to parse out which part.

He waited to see what you’d come up with.

“A… a… lump of… something t-to be molded?” You earnestly looked to him.

You were the cutest. “You’re the art.”

“I’m…?” Your head reared back in confusion.

“That’s not exactly what I thought in the moment because my thoughts are… you know… but it’s what I meant to think.” Mikey turned and searched the woods for that intangible feeling. “Looking at you, where the water dripped down your skin, the way your spine curved, and the weight of your limbs. Your skin stretched. The fabric bunched.” He rounded his hands around some invincible piece. “You were stunning… A work of art. The golden rule personified. The most beautiful landscape a painter can never in a million strokes ever dream to capture!”

Your arms blocked off your torso in a layer of protection.

That made a sad sense.

“Y-you… you… you… well… you b-blushed…?” You looked at him, nervous flush darkening your cheeks.

“I’m gonna own how corny this is because it’s super accurate: it was cupid’s arrow.”

You exploded with new shades that he wished he could wick off your skin with a swipe of bristles.

“Seriously.” He swept a hand against his knotted locks. “I think I’ve only felt something close to that like one time! It was the first time I got into Frick! Or… was it the Guggenheim…? Whatever, the first time I got to see a real painting up close. To see the brush strokes. The artistry. The masters! It felt like my face was on fire! It was pure unadulterated excitement!” His eyes raised with towering canvases. “It wasn’t life changing; it was life affirming.”

“B-but… m-me…?”

“Just like you.” He tipped his head to watch you comfortably.

You stewed with the weight of his statement.

“I’m sorry if it seemed like something else. I totally get how. I mean even I kind of thought that was the case, but when I examined what happened, it was all kneejerk. Also I’m… I’m kind of sad it wasn’t? Well not sad…” He blew a bit of a raspberry. “I don’t want to feel that way and I don’t, which is good, but it’s also…?”

“It’s o-one of those… t-things you wished… you could?”

“Yeah, but it’s a dumb one like when they give you a piece of furniture to build and add those extra pieces that aren’t listed in the instructions.”

You gave an unsure smile at his comparison.

“Your body wasn’t provocative to me in the way most people think. For me, you were provocative to the mind! Stimulating my artistic senses and making all my brain juice’s explode!” Mikey pointed at his head from different angles and crossed his eyes.

You giggled.

“There, how’s that? I think that’s all me. If it makes sense! Wanna go?” Mikey offered a hand to pass the conversation.

You folded your legs together and tapped your knees. “You took my blame away…”

“Huh?”

“I was going to take full blame. I r-ruined everything like I… always…” You slowed, a heavy sorrow on your eyes.

His chest sank with it.

“I couldn’t face you. I hid. I made Donnie do all that work…”

“Dee woulda done that anyway. I was definitely gonna track water all over the place.”

You gave him a smile despite everything else swirling on your face.

“A shower sounds real good though…” Mikey felt his eyes drift.

You bobbed. “I-I’ll l-let y-you go-!”

He waved his hands. “I’m just saying to remind myself! Shower then breakfast because I also want to hit that griddle so hard. Now that’s provocative! Pancakes!!”

“A-art!” You tried to join his enthusiasm.

“Hey-o!” He raised the roof. “Sorry, you were feeling bad. Wanna talk about that?”

“Uh… s-sure… I was… I wasn’t until I was… That swimsuit…” You squirmed with what was almost a shiver. “I was really uncomfortable in it. H-hearing you like it… I… It doesn’t c-change my mind, but… I’m glad… in a way that i-it wasn’t what I thought… It should be nice that you think of me that w-way, but also it’s… I… It d-doesn’t make me feel better a-about it…”

“Did it not fit?”

“No… It did…”

“Was the cut weird?”

“No, that’s not…”

“I had a pair of trunks once that would ride up which is like, hello! There’s a shell there! How’s it getting past that?!”

“Mikey…”

“Yeah, huh?”

“W-wearing it made me feel uncomfortable.”

He stared back.

That felt important.

He should put a pin in that.

A stressor on top of repetition was an obvious cry for his attention. “You… It made you feel bad?”

You gave a single tight nod.

He had to hold himself back from a protesting rant.

That was absurd and he’d heard and seen pretty much every crazy thing there was to see.

Nothing surprised him anymore.

Then say, surprise parties, but that was because his brother’s always topped themselves.

“I…”

His mind cleared as he snapped to you and your quiet voice.

“I… felt… provocative… the bad one… The one... t-that you think is… unnecessary…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“Then you saw me see you and you thought…” Mikey crossed his fingers while drawing lines. “Eugh… That’s bad.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You shouldn’t have to say that. I’m the one that’s sorry…”

You shook your head, eyes down. “L-like I said… It should be nice… I just can’t…”

“Accept.” He spoke. “Not how I feel about the swimsuit.”

You gave another sharp nod as if it hurt you.

He wished he could take that away.

“Well…” Mikey sighed, the air feeling a little too heavy. “I mean that’s not… new. You already don’t accept me.”

“Mikey!”

“Right, right. You don’t accept my feelings! I gotta specify!” He chirped.

You wound with dismay.

“It’s true!” He rolled in his seat and it rocked with his weight. “Which is still fine, by the way! I feel the same and I think I unlocked a new piece even if I’m still not totally sure how it goes into the puzzle.”

You made an unsure sound.

“I’m just spitballing. You can have those without understanding ‘em. They’ll make sense eventually.” He eyed you hoping it didn’t apply much pressure. “Are we… still good?”

“You… you still want to…?” You looked around for an out, but there was none among the wilds. You returned with what he liked to imagine was a wiggle of your nose. “... b-be friends with m-me… d-do this…?”

“Of course, silly.” He smiled easily. “There was never a doubt.”

He watched one layer of anxiety fall off of you only to reveal the next.

That was about your limit for these things. “You hungry?”

“W-we missed breakfast because of me…” You stuttered out.

Mikey chuffed so hard he almost wished he had a noisemaker to go with it. “Doubt it. Don mighta made something in the meantime. Oh! Maybe he baked something! He’s really good at baking, but he whines too much. I can hear him now! ‘Mikey, the humidity of the trees is affecting my rise time!’ But don’t let that fool you! He’s got nothing on this chef! If we’re eating good; it’s gonna be cause of me!” He threw a triumphant thumb into his figure.

“O-oh…” You looked confused.

You needed time. “I’ll go… shower! Yeah!!” He grinned proud for his memory. “And you chill out here or in there or wherever. I’ll cook, you clean. You do the dishes! How’s that for mutual punishment? Win-win!”

“N-no breakfast pizza…” You looked relieved enough that he could tell you were making a joke.

Mikey threw himself to his feet and tilted a smarmy smile your way. “I don’t know! I think those old axe wielders would totally crush a forest with Mike’s supreme lumberjack breakfast bake ‘za! Think of the complex carbs that’ll fuel a working man’s hard day!!”

You giggled that bird song.

“Nah, I’m making pancakes and no axe murderer will stop me!” He lifted his foot as high as it would go before taking a step.

“W-when did t-they become-!?” You pivoted to track his movement.

“Who’s to say!?” He cheered and ran in time with the rapid pace of his heart.

Listening long after the door had clattered closed, you eventually sank back into your chair. The woods were a lovely backdrop no matter how you felt. At an odd peace even though it didn’t quite feel like everything had been dealt with, you watched a bird preen itself on a nearby tree. Twitching to check its surroundings between each flick of its head, it then ruffled its feathers for a job well done and flew off to some unseen task.

You figure it was probably food which is what finally got you up and headed back inside. You quickly found a sort of pandemonium where Donnie was stone-faced catching enormous flapjacks being tossed through the air. Some sort of ancient game, Mikey threw more and more as Donnie moved on near muscle memory to catch them. Creating a stack that was unnecessarily tall and probably crushing at least the bottom twelve discs to pulp, you waited by the door until Mikey spun with his still damp hair dancing tendrils around him.

“Perfect timing!” He shined all too bright with the only crack as a gap in his teeth.

You were soon stuffing yourself to the brim which should have led to comatose except Donnie demanded a nature hike. The product of some agreement between him and Mikey, you were left staring vacantly as the brothers prepared to go. Mikey mentioned this was related to more mutual punishment so you were excused, but he also appeared to have suffered the same overeating fate that you were. Moving on camaraderie alone, you hobbled together with Mikey as Donnie, who had eaten nearly as many pancakes as his brother, seemed completely unperturbed.

On the trail, Donnie spouted fact after fact and staunchly only called things by their scientific names. The food coma lent a period where you excused the stubborn act because you were only half listening, but as more steps aided in your digestion, it became annoying since you had no idea what he was talking about. His facts sounded interesting and you began to feel like you were missing out. When you checked in with Mikey to see how he was fairing, you found a similar irritated look on his face. You both then shared a wry smile before Mikey stood taller and began loudly commenting about purposefully incorrect flora and fauna to spite his brother.

“Polemonium vanbruntiae is a perennial herb that grows erect from a horizontal rhizome.”

“Dang, Y/N. Can you believe earth worms can grow straight up from the ground like that?” Mikey gleamed at you.

“Oh, I’m hearing you want facts about Lumbricus terrestris! Very well!!” Donnie’s voice was getting bitterer by the second.

The two bickered an affectionate back and forth. All clear jest, you couldn’t help but also notice the natural flow there. Mikey said something about a B-team reunion as tours guides and from context it seemed like the pair were considered the backup team to Leo and Raph. With Mikey’s mighty mysticism alone that seemed like an impossibility. You couldn’t picture your friend waiting in the wings and Mikey caught wind of your surprise. He explained they weren’t always the mystical warriors you saw today and you had a difficult time trying to picture what they were like when they were young. Mikey moved to sharing training mishap memories and you were left wondering what kind of power Donnie had.

Donnie without mystic magic was horrifying enough.

If someone told you he was the strongest, you might believe them.

You still believed as much about Mikey.

You were sure there were all sorts of dynamics between the brothers, but these two in particular had a special relationship. Trailing behind to observe some vines that Donnie had pointed out, it only further cemented your decision: Your supposed crush was nothing more than a ridiculous dream.

You were meant to stand on your own. Mikey was your guiding light from the sun. You didn’t betray that sort of help by trying to sneak away to have a tryst with the moon. The two had a familiarity that you could never threaten. Not that you considered yourself capable of such a thing in the first place. The moon didn’t feel anything special for you.

He only sought to right.

To illuminate injustice.

You fancied him as he was.

You respected that he was an ominous source of good. You would pocket all other feelings. The only emotion you would tend to was the one that cared for Donnie’s kindness. You would let that one blossom in your heart.

The good one.

It was one based on support that you hoped to repay. You could aid him and that was a pure feeling. That one wouldn’t get in the way.

Assistance.

You could do the same for Mikey.

A decision you were sure to agonize over later, in this moment, staring at a green vine, you saw tenacity. Donnie had said this otherwise spindly plant had the strength to clutch onto tree limbs throughout the harshest winters. It formed a symbiotic relationship with the tree once it matured.

That could be you.

You could flourish one day and then in turn help the brothers that helped you. Putting a hand to the trunk, you looked up the tree. They didn’t need your help as they’d long survived on their own, but you could support them in this tiny way. You could provide the little boost of nutrients that made things just a little bit easier. They were the heroes of New York and they deserved as much for all that they had endured.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in close to the bark, pressing your promise there.

The quiet of the forest took up space before Donnie’s voice softened. “Did you want to know more about Vitis aestivalis?”

“Sure. Which one was that?” You turned to him and kept a hand to the tree.

He seemed a bit bashful as he held up some greenery. “The leaves are thought to be hepatic.”

He’d been hoping to expand on his latest find.

You wondered where Mikey had run off to now.

“That’s some sort of cleanse, right?” You smiled attentively for Donnie in Mikey’s stead and for no other reason.

“They can draw away soreness.” He nodded.

You hummed in interest and moved in close.

Mikey soon appeared on the horizon, triumphant, with a walking stick held high.

💛 NEXT 💛

I LOVE MY BETAS @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

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almondmilktargaryen · 4 months ago

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The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part Three)

*pictures not mine. layout made via canva

Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.

Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey

Category: Flangst, friends to lovers

Word count: 1.7k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

N.F.I., Me and You

There was a college Christmas party tonight. You and Michael heard about it. No one told you, of course. You just overheard it from people who didn’t know you were listening. They didn’t invite you. That was a given. When you asked Michael if he was upset about not getting an invitation, he responded (oh-so maturely) by blowing raspberries. Not in your face, though. He’s not an animal.

You quickly learned that not being invited to a college party (of any kind, because you weren’t invited to any of them) had a bright side - the library was all for you. Completely vacant. Quiet and vacant. Your go-to spots are in the back, where shelves wall you in and gawkers can’t peer in through the windows and interrupt your flow. No one does that, but it can feel that way. There was no need to look over your shoulder here. There was no open space for a person to exist. Only books and just enough room to scoot out of your chair. The air smelled faintly of dust and old paper, a comforting scent that always made you feel at ease. The yellow lights in the ceiling cast a soft, steady hum, adding to the peaceful silence.

Most people who show up to the library treat the place like it’s social hour, gathering around tables to chat shit, drown in coffee (that they weren’t supposed to have inside), and not touch a single book. Which is another reason you choose this location every time; no one finds this area entertaining for long. You wouldn’t be surprised if only a few people knew about its existence.

And speaking of only a few people, Michael emerged between the bookshelves, peeking from the side like he was going to scare you.

Well, he did scare you. Startle is a better word for it. You jerked in your seat at the sight of him in your peripheral. The look of instant regret played on his face; wide eyes and a gaped mouth. He apologized with a frantic, “Sorry, sorry!”

You laughed in spite of it. “If you wanted to kill me, then just say it, Michael.”

He snickered at you. “I knew you’d be here. And I wanted to see you.”

Then you looked down at what he was holding. Not books, as expected.

Michael’s eyes darted from the table to you. “Here, I brought you something.” He set the mugs down (a decaf Americano for him, a white macchiato for you). The thud of ceramic against lacquered wood echoed in the quiet, similar to the thud of your heart against your ribs, only on repeat. The rich aroma of coffee wafted up, mingling with the scent of the old books, creating an oddly comforting blend.

You were stunned by it. Not just because of the gesture (it was such a sweet gesture), but because of the obvious. “Michael,” you said to him, “you know the rules.”

“I do.” He smirked, then took the seat across from you, adjusting his glasses.

“Then why’d you bring open drinks from the shop?”

“Because no one stopped me.”

“If we get caught, then we’ll get in trouble.” The anxiety alone of getting into trouble was enough to make your leg bounce. Yet you tried to swallow down the fear. Your throat was already so dry from the winter weather, and you could already feel a sweat percolating under your collar.

“No. They like you too much. Because you don’t do anything.”

That was true, at least. You didn’t know if they necessarily liked you, but for someone who doesn’t leave the dorms much, you’re at least recognizable considering that they smile when you visit.

Michael pushed your macchiato toward you, and you worried it would spill. You pondered, looking at the coffee, then back up to Michael as if he were making you choose between the red or blue pill. The macchiato beckoned you in anyway, so you lifted it to your lips like there was no turning back. It soothed your throat from the winter air. “Thank you.” You pulled a napkin from your blazer pocket to wipe the froth off your mouth. Michael didn’t pick up on how deep your breaths were (because he wasn’t looking at you. He was poking around in his satchel). It was difficult to capture a good amount of air to fill your lungs and rid them of the lingering anxiety. The sip of caffeine you just took was definitely not going to help, but at least it was delicious.

“Also, I wanted to give this back to you.” He held up a collection of Kate Chopin’s short stories. He extended his arm across the table for you to take it.

You did and quickly flipped through the book before putting it in your bag. He completed reading The Awakening a week after he began and was delayed in cracking open her short stories. “So, what did you think?”

“I see why you like ‘A Story of an Hour’ so much. Very much your style of humor.”

At least this time at the end, the woman dying had a funny layer to it; seeing her husband actually not dead from a reported accident made her “die of joy” when she, once again, was happy to not be married anymore.

He picked up his Americano. “I definitely see the pattern you’re talking about. With the marriage part. But it makes sense why it would be so consistent. Given the time and all.”

“Yeah.” You nodded as you said it. Despite your hesitation, you still reached out to take another drink. You could already feel the caffeine coursing. As you tried to steady your breath, you scanned your notes again. You could feel Michael’s eyes on you, and you were afraid he was noticing. “How’s Oliver?”

Michael sighed. “Dunno. I’ve seen him staring a lot at Felix Catton and his group of fucking losers. He’s been acting differently.”

“Really? You think they’re friends?”

“Michael shrugged, his arms still flat on the table. “Not sure. I’ve never seen them together. He still doesn’t talk much, so not the same on the charisma scale.”

Maybe he has a crush on him. Has he talked about him?” You asked slowly, as you swallowed.

“Not around me. He didn’t know about the party either.”

“Hm,” you simply said. Your fingers twitched as the energy reached the ends of your feet. You swore you heard footsteps somewhere between the shelves where Michael came in. You were almost convinced that someone would catch you, clenching your teeth as you prepared for inevitable embarrassment.

Michael leaned back in his chair, looking down the aisle. “No one’s there.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I think someone was just walking by. No big deal.”

“Okay.” Your exhale was slow before picking your pen back up. You lost track of where you were in your rewrites. People like Felix and Venitia Catton and their peers may be more popular, drunk, and social than you’ll ever be, but their grades matter by the end of the semester. At least one of them always needs notes for classes they didn’t attend, especially if they need to retake the class. They’re just as vain, so aesthetically pleasing notes will sell more. You searched through, trying to find where you left off. But your leg bounced once more, the small heel of your shoe growing obnoxious.

“Still nervous?”

You nodded as you searched, finding where you left off and trying to concentrate on your handwriting; being slow and methodical to keep it as neat as a font.

“You can dare to take risks now and then, you know. It’s not always going to turn out as bad as you think.” His tone was earnest as he leaned forward slightly.

But you gripped your pen to instinct, pausing as your stare turned hard, finding Michael in your crosshairs.

He rested his head on the table. His lips disappeared into his mouth briefly as he started to put together that he may have fucked up. “What?”

Okay, maybe not.

“You know it’s not that simple for me. You, of all people, should know that it’s not that simple, Michael.”

“Phobias are irrational. They feed on an extreme lack of logic.” He said it with a mix of defense in his argument. It was as if this was something up for debate.

“I understand how phobias work, Michael. Like you, I am a student at Oxford University. I may not be a genius like you, but I understand my phobia from years of my research and experience.”

Michael picked his head back up. Perhaps the growing heat from your anger started brushing against him. “I just…” his back hit the chair and his posture sank. “I’d rather not see you miss out on four years of Oxford University.”

“My time at Oxford University is for education. Just like yours.”

“You know what I mean.” He blinks as his glasses slide down his nose.

“Do I?”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He leaned forward, reaching a hand out. He was literally trying to bridge the gap. Any other time, you would’ve taken it.

“You can’t control that.”

“But you can control cows?” The hand was gone, and his tone turned sharp as his words sliced through the library's quiet. “You deserve a break from the academic side of all this. Like everyone else.”

“You think the outside world is a break for me?”

“Well, not exactly but—”

You snapped your notebooks closed and stood to put on your overcoat. “I need to go.” You struggled to keep your voice steady, mapping out the typical path from the library to your dorm.

“Wait, don’t.” He reached out, but you gave him nothing.

You didn’t respond or even look at him. The Christmas party was likely still happening, given it was only seven in the evening. You hoped Michael wouldn’t get up. You hoped he’d let you leave. He knew you didn’t like feeling trapped, but he didn’t seem to know (or care) as much as you thought he did.

You were mindful as you walked between the shelves, conscious of the bookbag you held against your hip and making sure it didn’t knock any books to the floor. The trickle of tears lined your eyes and burned as you tried to hold them back. The library's warmth, once comforting, now felt suffocating, and you longed for the crisp air outside.

Taglist: @anukulee

#michael gavey #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fanfiction #saltburn #michael gavey saltburn #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey self insert #michael gavey fluff #michael gavey angst

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boymanmaletheshequel · 25 days ago

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Symbolism of Hermes

🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴🪽🩴

The god of messangery, communication, travel, the patron of thieves and companion of Apollon, messenger of Zeus, Apollo is one of the youngest of the olympians, a tricky, cunning, but charming and friendly god who is friendly to man and god alike. Let’s go over some of his sacred symbolism:

🌈 colors:

• Blue and White: the colors of the sky, communication, and messengery, are blue and white, as a result, these colors are the ones most often associated with Hermes. The shade doesn’t matter too much, but light blue is generally preferred to darker blues.

🌸 plants and flowers:

• Crocus: now this one is kind of confusing because the god associated with it differs on the author, but it’s said that either Apollo or Hermes accidentally killed their companion crocus in a game of discus, and that when they mourned them, their tears sprouted crocuses from the ground around their body.

🦌 Animals:

• Tortoise/turtle: it is said that one of the very first shenanigans Hermes got up to after his birth and escape of his cradle, was to steal and fashion a lyre out of tortoiseshell! (RIP to the tortoise but ain’t that just the way). This was the first lyre, and the first of many inventions the god would be credited with!

• Hawk: (I’m trying VERY hard not to make an ironic hawk-tuah joke but I’m afraid he would abandon me if I did, rightfully so) hawks are one of the sacred animals associated with hermes, and it is said that when he would deliver messages from the gods, he would do so in the form of a hawk!

• Ram: another sacred animal to Hermes was the ram, as he was said to ride on the back of a ram to deliver messages to and from the gods on Olympus!

💎 crystals and gemstones:

• Blue Topaz: blue topaz is often seen as a stone that helps one to overcome social anxiety and to speak and converse agaisnt their anxieties, especially in public, or during important discourse. Making it a great stone to represent Hermes.

• Celestite: the stone of messengery, Hermes’s main forte, Celestite is also a stone of spiritual and practical communication, it is also widely available and more affordable than topaz for those who may want to devote or wear a crystal for Hermes!

• Blue lace agate: a beautiful blue member of the agate group, and a stone known for its wavy and transcendent veins, it is a stone of clerical communication, fortune, and good messages both spiritual and physical! One of my favorites to dedicate to Hermes.

🪐 Planets:

• The Romans were known to have identified Hermes with Mercury, a planet of fire and mahatma closest to the sun, which makes since as Apollo, the god of the sun, in Greek mythology was one of Hermes closest Allies. He was also associated with Charon, and helped reaped souls for the underworld, Mercury is a notoriously hellish planet. It also makes the most orbits around the sun than any other planet in a year, harking to Hermes association to travel.

🌟 Astrology:

• Gemini

Probably the most obvious correspondence here, Hermes is a very social, talkative, active god who thrives on his relationships to the gods and the people he acts as a vessel for, all qualities shared with Gemini.

🪽Other iconography:

• Lyre

The lyre was the very first invention of Hermes, and it was he who first introduced it to Apollo, having crafted it out of the guts of the livestock of apollos he’d slaughtered. Apollo was so stricken with joy and appreciation for his music and his invention, that he forgave Hermes for his trespasses, and would go on to teach him his own divine knowledge.

• Traveling hat

Hermes iconic traveling hat that he would wear as he heralded his messages to the gods and mortals alike is another common asset associated with his iconography.

• Sandals

His infamous winged sandals are perhaps the most unique and renowned symbols of Hermes, having granted him the ability to fly in order to deliver his heralds and messages to and from Olympus.

Like my posts? Please consider giving me a follow to learn more about the gods of Helen, and learn about other interesting topics as well! May your day be blessed 🏛️💙

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wardenparker · 11 months ago

Text

Vampire Waltz - ch 14

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: 9.4k 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.* Cute and cocky Max, the triumphant return of Cutie the Bat, so much fluff, dancing as foreplay, discussions of sex. Summary: An unexpected invitation yields surprising revelations, and Max has some help in planning a night that neither of you will ever forget. Notes: This week enjoy a colorized photo of Cornelius Vanderbilt II and wife Alice's palatial primary residence at 5th and 57th in Manhattan. Sold in the late 1920s, the mansion was later demolished and the current Bergdorf Goodman's location built in its place. At the end of the chapter I've added in a black and white photo of the house's ballroom, which makes a special appearance in this chapter!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13

The entirety of the journey traveling from Newport to the Vanderbilt’s house on Fifth Avenue is far more tiring than you had anticipated, and when you walk in the front door of the grand mansion — with its palatial fireplace that you have only seen in photos from the Metropolitan Museum of Art — it suddenly makes a lot more sense why people talk about travel being such an undertaking in the past. You are, in point of fact, exhausted. And dirty, which is unexpected. The kicked up dust and dirt from train terminals, unpaved roads, and all manner of other frustrations has your wishing for a bath.

That will have to wait, though, as almost the moment you walk through the door Mrs. Vanderbilt is by your elbow with an envelope. “This arrived for you this morning, dear,” Alice tells you with an impressed smile. “It seems you have been summoned.” The look of confusion on your face must be particularly lustily unintelligent because Alice Vanderbilt’s smile softens into something maternal. “Mrs. William Astor has asked you to tea, I suspect. You must have made quite an impression on her at the Brown’s ball.”

“Oh!” The imposing woman in her fifties had made quite the impression on you, as well, and you carefully open the envelope that Alice has pressed into your hand. It is exactly as Alice predicted, and you look up at the grandfather clock in the hall. “Just a few hours…” you murmur, looking over at Max, Annie and Emmanuel with concern pursing your expression. “It…seems to only be addressed to me?”

“Because the invitation is just for you.” Alice hums, as if the answer is obvious. “Do not be alarmed, most often highly statured ladies like Mrs. Astor prefer their socializing in smaller circles.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Less gossip that way.”

“I will do my best not to embarrass any of you with poor manners.” It’s an honor, in this time and this place. You know that. But that doesn’t mean you’re not seriously nervous.

“After watching you charm a ballroom, I would never dream of such a thing.” Alice waves away your concern. “Come. You must be exhausted by your journey. I will have some tea and refreshments sent to your rooms.”

While Annie and Emmanuel are shown to separate rooms on opposite ends of the long second-floor hallway, you and Max are let into a green-and-white decorated guest room on the third floor that sports one slightly larger bed. The footman who showed you the way leaves you with a bow and closes the door to give you privacy, leaving you standing with Max in the middle of the luxurious room.

“Swanky.” Max hums as he looks around the room. “I have to admit, there’s something missing in modern decor. It’s just not as…elegant.”

“I like that we have the whole newlyweds thing going for us,” you admit, looking around the room while you lean into his side. “They just assume we want to be close to each other. And they’re right.”

Max smiles smugly. “Of course you want to stay close to me.” He brags, winking at you playfully. “You want my body.”

“If you’re going to be cocky about it, I’m not going to tell you what I’ve been thinking.” Raising one eyebrow at him, you dearly wish you were in comfortable jeans and a sweater so you could just plop down on the mattress and stretch out. The traveling dress you have on definitely won’t permit that.

He eyes you wickedly and bites his lip. “Yeah?” He hums. “You don’t want to tell me that you’ve imagined me under that dress of yours? Tongue at work while you pretend to be prim and proper?”

“I’ve been imagining more than that.” It seems like every step you take with him only spurs you onto the next a little faster. Knowing that his tendency toward caretaking with you isn’t just a show or just to get in your pants means more than you can really say. Max loves you, fully and without ulterior motive. And you love him the same.

“Oh yeah?” He snags your waist, pulling you close and grinning as he pulls the bow around your waist loose. He’s teasing you, but he also knows you must be desperate to get out of your dress.

“Maybe.” Flustered and dreamy-eyed, you put your arms around his neck and let him hold you as close as he wants. “Are you really gonna get me all riled up before I have to go have tea with the Mrs. Astor?”

“Why don’t I relax you before you have tea with the Mrs. Astor?” He poses. “Make you cum while you clean up.”

“A very dirty way of getting clean.” You hum, tipping your head back to silently ask for a kiss. “And maybe…a preview to tonight?”

“My wife is greedy.” Max boasts happily. “Wanting to sleep with a tongue inside her.”

“I was thinking maybe…” You can’t help it, biting your lip to keep the grin blossoming across your face from getting too big. “Of a different part of you…”

“Fingers?” Max lifts a brow at you and grins when you shake your head. “Toe? I’ve never tried that before, to be honest.”

"I'm ready." You tell him, warmth in your cheeks and in your smile. "If you are."

“Are you sure?” Max asks seriously, reaching up and brushing his fingers over your pulse. “I don’t want you to rush because you think I’m impatient.”

"I'm sure." His sweetness is part of the reason, but you know he would deflect if you said so. "I love you, and I want to celebrate that."

“It will be good.” He promises sincerely. “Like you’ve never experienced before.”

“If it’s good then it definitely will be like I’ve never experienced before,” you joke, rolling your eyes in exaggeration to make him laugh. “Honestly love, please don’t feel any pressure. I just…I want to share this with you. That’s all.”

“I’ve felt plenty of pressure.” Max jokes, smirking at his innuendo. “But if you’re ready, the perfect place to make love to my wife for the first time, would be in the bed at the Vanderbilt’s mansion.”

“Time travel bragging right.” Every time he gets so proud to call you his wife it gives you a little shiver and you grin.

“And it’s not like we are breaking into a museum to do it.” He chuckles and turns you around to start unbuttoning the back of your traveling dress. “It will be quite the ‘feather in your cap’ as your grandfather likes to say.”

“And we’re even in the time where people actually wear feathers in their caps.” His nimble fingers are quick to undo the outer layer of your dress, pulling away the top to let you stretch a little more easily in just your corset cover and corset above what seems like miles of petticoats. Without those big sleeves it’s a lot easier to move.

Max snickers. “I’m just grateful we didn’t come to a time where wearing tights was fashionable.” He jokes.

“Why not?” You smirk at him over your shoulder. “You’ve got great legs.”

“Yeah, but it would leave nothing to the imagination, package wise.” He snorts.

“Those big ‘ol pantaloons they wore over the tights would.” It reminds you of a Shakespeare show you saw once, and the idea of Max back in that time scraping out thees and thous makes you giggle. “Maybe I’ll get the hang of this time traveling stuff and we’ll be time tourists. Who knows?”

He hums, knowing that you both can be time travelers in your own time as well, watching history unfold as you both remain ageless.

Max helps you out of your skirt, letting you shed all those extra pounds of beading and embroidery for a little while before you have to put on something suitable for Mrs. Astor. You have very little idea of what Renée packed but you’ll manage, just enjoying the freedom of lighter layers for now. Petticoats and a bustle don’t weigh too much, you’ve been surprised to find.

“Better?” Max loves the sight of you in the undergarments of the time, honestly playing into the time period movies that he had watched when he was younger. Sometimes hoping to get laid, but that one – Pride and Prejudice – that was just a guilty pleasure.

“It’s so hard to move in the full dresses.” Which is why you’re wiggling happily and stretching everywhere now that you have a little freedom. “At least we didn’t come back to the age of six-foot crinolines. You wouldn’t be able to get near me at all.”

“I don’t know what that is, but a crinoline sounds horrible.” He gives you a mock look of horror. “Don’t sent us there.”

“I promise.” He gets the giggle out of you that he was hoping for, and you turn to lean against him because you still have the bustle underneath your petticoats tied in place so you can’t just back up into his arms.

“How come the history books never talk about how dirty traveling is?” Max snorts, knowing that both of you need a bath.

“Because no one wants to read about horse shit and dust everywhere.” You laugh along with him. “I wish I had time for a bath but apparently travel by horse-drawn carriage takes foreeeeever.”

“You want to get clean, baby doll?” Max smirks. “I can clean you up real quick.”

“Speed bath?” You raise one eyebrow at him.

He chuckles. “Perks of moving fast, sweetums.” He had overheard the nickname on the dining car last night and had fallen in love with it, to tease you with, of course.

When you roll your eyes it’s entirely joking, but you cross your arms appraisingly and smirk. “Alright. Go for it.”

“Done, baby doll.” He snaps his fingers as if he were a magician, drawing your eyes away from the trick before he begins to move quickly.

When he wants to be, Max is a whirlwind. Before you know it your petticoats are strewn around the room and your corset seems to disappear in a flash, along with your chemise and stockings, all while you barely feel him touch you. The tornado of movement carries you so easily to the bathroom and within minutes you’re scrubbed clean and dry again.

When he stops moving, it’s obvious that Max has also cleaned up while taking care of your quick wash. Grinning and not even breathless as he eyes you. “Believe me now?”

“Baby,” you smirk, the expression rolling over your features with glee. “I never doubted you. I just wanted to see you show off.”

“Good.” He winks at you and shrugs. “Now you are all clean and can enjoy your visit with Mrs. Astor.”

“Wish me luck?” Walking over to the set of buttons built into the carved wood detailing of the guest room, you press the one marked to connect to you maid and sigh. You are definitely going to need Renee’s help picking out a dress.

“Of course.” Max snaps his fingers again. “I could come with you.” He offers with a coy grin.

“I don’t think the Mrs. Astor would take kindly to a bat in her house.” Though you grin broadly at the idea.

“I would make a fashionable hat accessory.” He huffs, miffed that you might deny him the opportunity.

“If you think you can hold still for an entire tea visit, I’ll take you with me.” It’s sweet of him to want to come with you, though you know it’s also because he’s an incorrigible gossip.

He tuts because he knows you’ve got him there. There’s no way he wouldn’t ruffle his wings or trill at you in his bat form. “She might like bats.” He grumbles.

“She might.” When he pouts you can’t help but kiss him, and your hand on his chest feels the thrilling thud of a single heartbeat as your lips brush his. “And if she does, I’ll bring you next time. If there ever is a next time.”

“Ooookaaaaayyy.” He rolls his eyes, playing up the pouring before he shrugs. “Tea sucks anyway. Kind of like me.” He jokes, waggling his brows. “Get it?”

“Har har har.” The exaggerated laughing noise makes both of you bust out into giggles just before a knock sounds at the door and Renee enters.

“You rang, Ma’am?” She asks politely, stock still in her own immaculate uniform. No doubt she had already cleaned herself up from the trip.

“I was hoping you might have packed a nice tea dress for the trip, Renee.” Standing in your chemise and robe in the middle of the room is more than a touch unconventional, but so are you. “I’ve had an invitation from Mrs. Astor.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Her eyes widen slightly and she nods eagerly. “I have a beautiful teal tea dress that would be perfect.” She insists.

“Well,” you flash both of them a smile, with Renee zipping right past you to the closet where your and Max’s clothes have been stored. “Here goes nothing.”

******

More than an hour later, after all the fuss of redressing, restyling, saying your polite ‘good afternoon’s to the Vanderbilts, and being bundled in and out of a carriage all on your own to take you a mere twenty minute carriage ride from number 1 West 57th Street to 350 Fifth Avenue. The house is even grander than the old photo on the damn Wikipedia page you’d seen ages ago, and you swallow thickly as you walk up to the door and ring the bell. Somehow you’re just certain Mrs. Astor’s butler will be the most intimidating possible version of that career choice.

Instead of the butler answering the door, Mrs. Astor herself is the one that pulls the door open. She had been sent word that you had accepted her invitation and had been looking out for your carriage to arrive. “Mrs. Phillips!” She beams as she opens the door wider and steps back. “I am so pleased you decided to accept my invitation.”

“It was very kind of you to ask me.” Astonished to find the woman herself standing in the front hall of her house, you falter and damn near curtsy as a footman appears to whisk your gloves and reticule away. The small hat perched on your head — not adorned with a particular bat — stays firmly in place.

“When Alice Vanderbilt told me you were going to be in town, I knew I had to have you to tea.” She slides her arm through yours and notices you craning your neck around to look at the interior. “You and Mr. Phillips will be building homes, correct? Let me give you a tour? We have so many modern conveniences.”

“We haven’t decided where to build yet.” Polite conversation seems the way to go, as Mrs. Astor escorts you around the first floor of the fashionable and enormous brownstone they call home. “We may make our home in Newport year round.”

“I would love to have a permanent home.” She admits easily. “Packing up everything I need from one home to another is so tiring at times.”

“But the summers are not always pleasant here, and winters can be isolating in Newport.” She leads you through the hall to a stunning sitting room and it’s really all you can do not to stare the way you did your very first day at your home in Newport. “There must be some advantages for being able to travel where the weather is nicest?”

“Of course there are. I know that I am very fortunate to be able to escape the intolerant weather.” She knows that she is privileged and is thankful for her children’s sake. “I would love a frolicking bath in the gardens. Or a pool, but William says that it’s too much effort.”

“Max doesn’t particularly care for the beach. I think he would probably love a pool instead.” Although, the thought of him indignantly turning into a bat just to be out in the sunshine to see you in a swimsuit almost makes you giggle.

“Then perhaps you will have an indoor pool?” She suggests. “You can swim no matter the weather outside.”

“Perhaps.” She seems delighted for you at the prospect so you smile. “And if we did, you would certainly be welcome to visit.”

“I would be visiting often.” She admits with a grin as she guides you back towards the parlor where the tea is being laid by one of the footmen.

If you had any intention of staying in this time, it would be an immense compliment. But as it is, you have to take the fact as what it is — if you get stuck here, then Lina Astor is a valuable ally to have. “You will be most welcome, pool or otherwise.”

“You are kind. And that is a refreshing thing to find.” She hums, smiling as she settles you both down on the sofa. “Very refreshing indeed.”

“It was an honor to receive your invitation.” It is, and you’re aware of that, but you’re still wondering why she invited you here other than the fact that you’re staying with the Browns. It’s not as though she knows you’re their granddaughter.

“Then I am happy you accepted.” The footman has disappeared, and Mrs. Astor leans forward to pick up the teapot. “It is not often I find other kindred spirits in my circle.”

“I—I’m sorry?” The comment takes you off guard, and you feel a little like a deer in headlights at the moment.

Her smile turns slightly coy and she tilts her head. “I don’t think that I’m mistaken.” She tells you conversationally. “Another time traveling witch?”

The mistake you made was reaching for the teacup that the footman had set beside you before leaving the room at exactly the moment Mrs. Astor said the words ‘time traveling’. Your hand clatters past the cup and saucer, nearly upending the small table beside you as your eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. “E—excuse—” Oh, Max is going to be so mad he isn’t here for this. “How could you possibly—?”

“Know that you aren’t from this time?” She muses and sets down the tea set to tap her brows. “You must have just waxed your brows before you travelled back.” Her eyes are flashing with intrigue. “What year had you left?”

"I—" It automatically makes you hide your hands, like she could somehow know that you had just taken off your nail polish the day before. "Um...2023..." you murmur, feeling very oddly like you've been caught by the Time Travel Police or something equally insane.

“Ohhhhhh.” She smiles excitedly and leans in. “Tell me about it, please?” There’s a plea in her voice that is barely noticeable under the excitement.

You don’t even know where to begin, swallowing hard and realizing that the conversation might not make any sense – in an insane sort of way – without context. "When...when have you, um...traveled to?" This time you manage to get the teacup firmly into your hands, but you're sure they must be shaking violently as you can't tear your eyes off the prim and proper madam of New York society.

“I think you misunderstand.” Lina shakes her head and reasons that it’s not a logical conclusion. “I was born in 1965. This is the time I travelled to.”

"What?" When you almost drop the delicate teacup all over again, you just shove it back onto the table.

“I would never have believed it myself.” She admits easily, continuing to talk. “However, how do you deny yourself in photographs from decades before you were born?” She asks. “I know some might think there a doppelgängers, historical figures that look like other people in different times, but I believe, like me, they are witches who have travelled to their proper times.”

"Does that mean...that once we travel...that we're stuck?" You ask, eyes widening impossibly yet again. "We go back to our proper time and stay there?" The possibility hadn't occurred to you, but it seems alarmingly real to hear her talk about it.

“Perhaps that it the wrong wording.” Mrs. Astor concedes. “Because I could have chosen to go back, but why would I when my soulmate was in this time?”

"I suppose that would account for the decision." The way your mind seems to be scrambled is the only thing that makes perfect sense at the moment, but shaking your head doesn't seem to set any of your thoughts straight at all – except one. "So there is a way to go back, then?"

She frowns slightly, tilting her head. “You mean you didn’t come here on purpose?” She asks softly, trying to understand why you would travel through time if not for a reason.

"It was an accident," you admit, feeling all the more amateurish for it. "I was trying to cast a protection spell and it...sort of imploded around me. Instead of banishing the person from where my soulmate and I were, it brought him here with us."

“Oh my.” Her eyes widen slightly and she knows there must be more to the story. “Hopefully, that person is no longer a bother to you and your soulmate?”

"No." A fact which has brought you no small amount of relief. "No. He certainly is not." This might be the most insane situation out of all of the insane situations you've ever found yourself in, and you lean forward in your seat unconsciously. "So..if you were born in 1965...do you mind if I ask where you were born? I'm endlessly curious now."

She grins and leans in. “California.”

"This is just...absolutely insane." The shake of your head still doesn't align your thoughts, but at least this time when you laugh in disbelief you don't feel foolish for it. "And you just...saw yourself in a history book?"

“Imagine my surprise.” She snorts and shakes her head. “But I just knew that it was me.”

"And I thought my story was crazy," you huff, exhaling like it's the biggest relief of your life.

“Believe me, there’s few who know my story.” Lina laughs, reaching over and covering your hand with your own. “How do you explain a colored rose tattoo on your pelvic bone to a man who has never even thought of a tattoo?”

“Oh my god.” Barely managing not to snort when you burst out into giggles, you cover your mouth and manage to recompose yourself. “That…that would not be easy,” you admit readily. “Although I guess at least it’s somewhere easily hidden.”

“Yes. William has accepted that I am from a different time, but my maid believes it is a strange birthmark.” She snickers.

“That is a remarkably detailed birthmark, Mrs. Astor,” you snicker softly, shaking your head. “Mine is essentially a blob.”

“Just so.” She agrees. “How are you acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Brown, really?”

“I suppose it’s a moot point, to ask you to keep my secrets when you’ve already shared yours. We’re in this together.” And what a fucking weird person to even say that to, you think with an internal huff. “They are my grandparents. But only Mr. Brown knows who I really am.”

“Grandparents…how delightful.” She hums as she picks up your cup of tea and hands it back to you. “I expect that it’s easily possible because of your vampiric bloodline, your mother waited to give birth to you?”

“I should not be surprised that you know so much, I suppose?” It’s astonishing to you, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Doesn’t everyone have friends who keep their secrets? Especially within the magical community. “Yes. She did. She waited quite a while.”

“Your grandmother is the leader of her coven in Newport.” She reminds you. “I am the leader of the coven here. William has actually talked to your grandfather about immortality.”

“Really?” Imagining the Astors in the future makes your head spin a little, but how is it any weirder than you coming back to this time? “If you ever find yourself in 2023, come and visit.”

Picking up her own tea, she adds a sugar cube and stirs it. “Your soulmate is immortal? Or just a lucky human? I wasn’t quite able to tell.”

“Max is immortal.” And you almost laugh to yourself, thinking again how much he would love to be here for this. “My grandfather was his sire…either several years ago or it will be many years in the future. Depending on how you look at it.”

“How fascinating it all is.” She wonders, blowing on her tea and taking a small sip. “What a wonderful connection. I hope that your time here is fruitful?”

“I hope so, too.” You admit, blowing out a sigh of your own. “Of course, if I can never figure out how to get us home, our time here will be permanent.”

“Yes,” at the mention of that, Lina straightens. “That is why I asked you to tea. To get to know you, but also inquire if you are well versed in the spells.” She sets her tea down and stands, moving over to the bookcase. “I have all my own spells here, including the one to bring me to my William’s time.”

“I am not particularly well versed in any spells at all.” The idea of an Astor family grimoire piques your interest as you watch her move amongst the shelves, pulling things out quickly in a very particular order until a hidden panel in the wainscoting pops open. Of fucking course Mrs. Astor has a secret compartment for her grimoire. “My magical education came late in life.”

“The perhaps I might give you a copy?” She asks, knowing that you might not have your own family grimoire. If her own could assist you in creating one, she would be delighted.

"Are you serious?" At least the more modern phrase won't sound too foreign to her as you stare at the petite figure of Lina Astor over your teacup. "I—I mean—that would be so incredibly generous of you."

“I will start writing it out immediately.” She promises as she brings the leather-bound book over to the sofa. “By the time of your grandmother’s ball, it will be in your hands.”

"Then I suppose we're here until at least Samhain." A few weeks in 1885 won't do you any harm, but it makes your smile flicker slightly at the thought of missing your own Samhain ball. It makes you wonder how Allison and Eddie are doing – what they're doing – and if Yayo has even explained what's going on.

“Delightful.” She winks at you, even as she speaks properly. “You and I will have to have tea again then. I will call on you?”

"Any time." In the back of your mind you vaguely recall that the appropriate length of a social call in this time period is something absurd like fifteen minutes, and you figure that period must be up. "We're staying with the Cornelius Vanderbilts until Friday, then returning to Newport."

Nodding, she understands your reasoning and bites her lip. “I will be attending the opera tomorrow night, will you be attending as well?”

"My grandparents were kind enough to let us use their box." An actual box at the opera sounded like a beautiful night to you and Annie had been over the moon to bring Emmanuel to the Academy of Music. "My soulmate has never been to an opera before, so we should be in for a fun night."

“Then I will see you at intermission.” Lina decides with a warm smile. “I have to admit that I am very glad you came to tea. It had been a long time since I have talked about…things.”

"I'm glad I wasn't too nervous to accept." Standing from the sofa, you have just enough time to compose yourself before a footman steps up to the drawing room door. You can see your gloves and reticule lying on the table in the foyer and you know that that's your signal. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Astor. I look forward to seeing you again."

“Call me Lina.” She demands softly, setting the book down and leaning in to give you a quick hug. “We are sisters after all.”

"I will see you tomorrow night, Lina." You squeeze her back gently before striding from the room and accepting your things from the footman with a smile. Whatever you had expected this visit to be, it was nothing like that at all, and you're all the more glad for it as you get into the carriage.

As soon as the door closes, the bat that had been sitting up on top of the curtain flutters down and lands in your lap, squawking.

"Well, hey Cutie pie. I know you." It's all you can do not to burst out into giggles, but you scoop Bat Max up in both hands and let him snuggle into your chest as the carriage lurches and starts off down the street to take you back to the Vanderbilt's house. "You're never going to believe the visit I just had," you tell him honestly, blowing out a deep sigh.

Max turns his head and practically sticks it down your bodice, thankful that the tea dress is lower cut than your traveling dress. Flapping his wings and squeaking in response to you.

"If you wanted to grope me, you could do it in human form," you snort, giggling at the little bat's antics. "So it turns out..." you cuddle your soulmate's animal form as the carriage bumps and jostles along the road, hand wrapped around his small body to keep him safe against you. "The legendary Mrs. Lina Astor? Is a witch."

Snuggled happily between your breasts, Max trills, hating that he has to pull away, but he can’t transform in your dress. “What?!?” He demands as soon as he is very much in a human form again, eyes bugged out in surprise.

“I swear on every god I can think of,” you promise, holding your hand up like it’s some kind of solemn oath. “But it gets crazier. She’s a fucking time traveler, too!”

“Bullshit.” Max huffs, not thinking you are a liar, but who can that be?

“I swear!” The way you practically double over cackling — or you would have doubled over if not for the corset — tells him how dead serious you are. “She was born in 1965. Saw herself in history books and knew she had to come back.”

“Isn’t that a mind fuck?” Max’s eyes widen. “One of the most historical female figures in America is a time traveler.”

“She’s going to make me a copy of her grimoire,” you murmur, voice full of awe as you lean into your soulmate’s side. “I can’t fucking believe I found another time traveler. And by accident!”

“It seems as if she recognizes something about you.” He worries about that slightly, but with Mrs. Astor as an ally, it would smooth a lot of issues for you should they arise.

“She noticed my eyebrows.” It’s such a stupid detail to you that it’s laughable, but it’s completely on point when you look at it. The fact that you had gone to the salon with Allison just the day before everything happened is what made your appearance stick out to a woman who actually knew what eyebrow waxing was. “She said she’d help me. So I can get us back safely. But…the copy of her grimoire won’t be ready until Samhain. So it looks like we have two more weeks in 1885.”

“I won’t mind that.” Max admits with an easy grin. “Although you might.” He snorts, lifting a brow. “You start your period in two weeks.”

“Pain killers in this time have cocaine and heroine. I am not taking a damn thing.” You’re not surprised at all that your blood drinking soulmate with a superhuman sense of smell already knows your cycle, so you just bypass that face completely. “I will be begging for hot chocolate, though.”

“All the hot chocolate you can drink.” He promises with a smirk. “I think your mother likes my hot chocolate too.”

“She does.” And of course he’s smug about that. He deserves to be. “But you can’t cave and give her the recipe. She used to make me Swiss Miss when I was a kid.”

“Oh no.” He huffs. “This is my secret recipe.” He insists. “You only get that when you’ve been married to me for a hundred years.”

"Real married or pretend married?" You tease, grinning as you snuggle deeper into his side.

“Real.” He snorts. “Have to make sure you’re with me for me and not my hot chocolate.” He teases. “Although, before I forget….do you want to dance tonight?”

"I'd love to." Your hand slips gently into his, fingers threading together, and you squeeze his hand in yours. With your head on his shoulder at the carriage bumps along the road, this is pretty damn close to bliss.

“Good.” Max’s fingers caress your palm. “I hired a little band of musicians to play for us after Alice said I could use the ballroom tonight.”

"You hired a band?" Reeling back to look him in the eye, your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline in surprise. "What's the occasion? Did I not know it was your birthday or something?"

“No.” If he was still living, his cheeks would be scorching hot, but he does look a little embarrassed. “Since it’s…since you want to…” he waggles his brows suggestively in an endearing immature way. “I wanted to make it special. A night you wouldn’t forget.” He also wants to show you that you deserve some to put in the effort for you.

"Honey..." Your gasp, you have realized since being with someone who doesn't need to breathe, is so uniquely human. He might be looking slightly embarrassed, but your jaw is on the floor of the carriage and tears have sprung up into your eyes as you stare at him. "You—really?" It's so far outside of the realm of what you could ever have expected that you don't even know what to say. "For...me?"

“Was it dumb?” He had been sure that you would love it. “It’s dumb. I should have asked, right?” He panics and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dolly, I just wanted to make it special.”

"Max." Tugging on his hand slightly makes him look at you, and you shake your head fiercely even as you reach up with your free hand to touch his cheek. "That is the sweetest, most thoughtful, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and if we weren't already engaged I'd been asking you to marry me right here in this carriage." The watery shine in your eyes is nothing less than pure happiness and pride, and you lean forward to kiss him with soft surety. "In fact, I'm prepared to say fuck it and get married right here in 1885, just so I can proudly call you my husband for real."

He stares into your eyes for a moment, the unease fading and he bites his lip. “I just wanted you to feel special.” He admits quietly. “You are special. And I want you to believe it.”

"My whole adult life, no one has ever believed in me or loved me the way you have." It's somehow simultaneously exhilarating and humbling, the magnitude to which Max's love is worn entirely on his sleeve. It's obvious, not just evident, and you never thought that you were worth someone's entire devotion the way Max has given every ounce of himself over to loving you. "I hope I give back even half of what you do. And I'm glad we have literally all the time in the world for me to learn to love you exactly as well as you love me. Because you're special too, sweetheart."

“Of course I am.” He flashes you a smirk that is pure bravado, and more than a little facade, but he won’t argue with you. It would be pointless when you would say you weren’t worth it to him.

"I just never want you to doubt it, that's all." Max deals with his insecurities in very different ways than you do. You know that. So instead of huffing at him or rolling your eyes or anything of that sort, you just smile and kiss the corner of his mouth again.

“I knew I should have gone with you.” Max pouts, but he knows his presence might have derailed the conversation.

"Today will hardly be the last that we hear or see of Lina Astor," you remind him with a grin. "She might even pop up to 2023 to see us sometime."

“That would be pretty fucking cool.” Max muses. “Her husband has certainly made enough money to support them.”

"I don't know if he's ever actually time traveled with her, but it would be pretty fun if they popped into the future to visit." The two of you lean back again in the carriage, resting against each other's sides as it pulls around the corner of the avenue. "Can you imagine throwing a ball in 2023 and having an Astor show up?"

“No one would know who they were.” Max points out. “They could move through the time in complete anonymity.”

"Unless we find the one person who is like...an Astor family historian or something." That person must exist, you're sure of it. But thankfully, you definitely don't know them. Although if you did? That would be an interesting introduction. "You do know that if I get my time traveling down as well as hers, we could do that, too?"

“Has she travelled to other times as well?” He asks, confused as he wonders. Could that explain why the Astors had a golden touch in business?

"Visits are so short here that I didn't really have time to ask," you admit sheepishly. "But I offered for her to come and visit us in our time and she didn't immediately shut me down or anything, so I have to think it's possible. It's magic not like...a wormhole or a tear in the space-time continuum, right? So theoretically a witch who can master it should be able to pick their destination just like Marty McFly plugging a date into the Delorian."

“Do they make it in a broom model?” Max jokes, chuckling at his own humor when you roll your eyes. “It’s funny and you know it.”

“I’m getting a bumper sticker for abuela’s fancy car when we get home,” you inform him, laughing under your breath at your own bad joke. “My Other Ride Is a Broom.”

“You would not put a sticker on that car.” Max is horrified in a decidedly male way about that, his eyes wide and anguished. “My car’s probably been towed off, or stolen.”

“I’m sure Yayo had it picked up. After all— he knows where we are.” The carriage rolls to a stop and you stretch as much as your dress allows. “Home sweet temporary home.”

“What a temporary home it is.” Max snorts, admiring the grandeur of the facade. “I could see having a gothic style architecture if we were here permanently. Play up the spooky vibes.”

“Maybe we should build a house anyway,” you joke with a grin. “Come and go as we like once I figure out how to get us back and forth.”

“Which house in history has an ambiguous past?” Max asks, lifting a brow curiously.

“There’s a lot of them.” Off the top of your head there’s things like Boldt Castle in New York and the Winchester Mystery House. “And I bet Yayo would take care of it for us.”

“Hmmmm.” Max is thoughtful a moment before he shrugs one shoulder. “Perhaps it’s one of ours.” He tells you. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe we’ll get back and Mrs. Taylor will hand us an extra set of keys.” The thought makes you grin, and the carriage jostles just as one is the Vanderbilt’s footmen comes out to open the door and lend you a hand. What seemed unnecessary and dramatic in period films now makes perfect sense. If you didn’t have help getting out of this carriage you’d never be able to find the sidewalk for all the dress you have to wear.

Max managed to turn into a bat before the footman opened the door. That way he will not cause any questions amongst the staff about how he wasn’t with you and then he was. Luckily for stealth, the dips and flounces hide your bat-ified soulmate from sight and you just climb the steps into the house neatly after saying thank you to the footman without anyone being any wiser.

Max smirks a batty little smirk and clings to the folds of your outfit, enjoying being carried into the house with no one the wiser.

******

When Mrs. Vanderbilt also falls in love with an idea, she isn’t one to sit on it. Max asking for the ballroom to dance with his bride sounded like the most thoughtful and romantic thing that she had ever heard of. She had pointed him in the direction of a small orchestra, and had personally gone to the kitchen to have the idea of a dinner for two planned out with the cook with a footman assigned to serve the quiet meal.

There were flowers everywhere. She must have sent Renee out to purchase every flower from every corner within a ten block radius. Bouquets of them set around a small garden table that has been laid out for two, a champagne bucket beside it. The candles and glass lanterns low enough to give the enormous room a romantic, intimate glow. You had been hustled through another bath, a fresh ball gown that had to come from somewhere, although you don’t remember seeing it amongst your purchases even though it is vaguely familiar, and some of Alice’s own jewels around your neck when you are escorted into the room to find Max waiting for you. His own bath done and his tailored tuxedo making him look every inch the dashing, handsome vampire that he is.

“This is a lot more than just dancing…” you gasp, one gloved hand going straight to your heart as you look around. The Vanderbilt’s expansive ballroom looks like it has been taken over by a fairy kingdom with the way it overflows with blossoms, and you look to Max in awe. “It’s stunning, love. You’re… you’ve…” There really aren’t words for the way your heart swells in your chest, and you walk over to him with sure steps to wrap your arms around him. “My soulmate is the sweetest man in the whole world,” you murmur against his chest.

“I didn’t do all this.” Max admits with a shake of his head. “I just mentioned that I wanted it to be special.”

“No?” You pull back from him, incredulous, and look around then down at yourself. “This dress?”

“Well…” he shrugs. “I asked Alice if there is a dress that was suitable for a night of dancing.”

“So I need to write Alice the world’s best thank you note for hosting us. That’s what you’re saying?” Looking at the pair of you together in the nearby mirrored wall paneling, though, your eyes widen in recognition. “I know this dress!” You realize just a second later.

“Really?” Max frowns for a moment and tilts his head. “From where?”

“From the attic.” Your eyes are wide when you look back at him and you practically giggle. “The day that we all dressed up and went to the mansion?” It seems like years and years ago that you were first getting to know the girls in the Newport coven, and the pang of missing them hits deeply. “Allison wore this.”

“How interesting.” He guides you over to the table and pulls out a chair for you to sit down.

"I guess it goes to show that this was supposed to happen?" When he sits down across from you, the two of you exchange a shared, soft smile. "Maybe we shouldn't be surprised anymore? Since life has thrown us so many curveballs already."

“It’s been nothing but adventure since you’ve arrived.” Max admits with a chuckle. “But I’ve enjoyed the ride. How about you?”

"I wouldn't change a single thing." And you really wouldn't. Even the parts filled with uncertainty or fear have brought you closer together, but more than anything he has given you strength and confidence that you never had before. Loving Max has made you a better person, inside and out. "And I'm very excited for every adventure that is still to come."

Smirking proudly, Max takes the bottle of champagne from the bucket and looks at it and then at you. “Sweetheart….do you want me to have this taken away?” He asks softly. “I don’t think Alice knew.”

"If you want to have some, it's okay." He likely won't, having insisted since the day he found out why you don't drink that he will abstain right along with you. But it's also not like this meal will hold much interest for him considering his preferred diet, so you give him the choice.

The bottle goes back in the bucket and he shakes his head. “I’m good.” He knows that you wouldn’t want any, but he always wants to continue to make sure that you know that if you want to have some again, you have that option.

The footman, confused by the turn of phrase, seems to understand that champagne will not be necessary and steps forward to remove the ice bucket and its contents. “I’ll let Alice know that we don’t drink alcohol when I thank her for tonight,” you tell Max. “It’s…all of this is absolutely beautiful.”

“Whatever you want to tell her, baby.” Max from before would offer advice, but he has learned that you just want to explain and not have your feelings or ideas overruled. “Tonight is about you and I want it to be perfect.”

"Tonight is about us." It's about growing closer and about this last, large step forward. You can't be sure if it's taken longer than you thought or far less time than you would have imagined, but having now spent enough nights actually sleeping with Max along with getting to know him, the time for euphemistic sleeping together feels exciting.

He might not feel that way, but he doesn’t argue. Knowing that it’s important for you that he also be included. His soulmate is actually very considerate and he is grateful for that. “Do you want to eat before we dance?” He asks with a grin. “Or work up an appetite?”

"I would hate to interrupt the chef's schedule." According to your abuela, meals in this time are a well-orchestrated dance all in their own right, and you look to the footman for any kind of confirmation or denial of a firm schedule existing. "Might we have time for a turn or two before the meal begins?"

The man smiles at the question, thinking briefly, and almost bows to you with his deep nod. "I will make sure of it, Mrs. Phillips. Please, enjoy yourselves," he says before excusing himself.

The tails of the tuxedo are something that Max believes should still be around in his own time, flicking them out as he stands and glides around the table. “Will you waltz with me, Mrs. Phillips?” He asks, bowing as any gentleman of the time would. Your Yayo had spent time to make sure that Max fit in and did not make any social blunders.

"Mr. Phillips, I would be delighted." You're both up and out of your chairs again, and the leader of the small band that has been hired takes Max's cue to strike up a lively but simple waltz. The man clearly took working up an appetite literally, and you have to smile as Max puts one hand around your waist and draws you in close – a perfect ballroom frame supporting both of you in place before he leads you into the dance.

Like every time Max has danced with you, he is struck by how seamless it is. It’s as if you and he become one at that moment and move in perfect coordinated unison. There’s not a split second’s hesitation, no faltering. Working easily as if you had been partners for a lifetime, which one day will be true.

The swells in the music become dips and turns, the swaying of your frame in Max's keeping you in time and making sure no feet ever get stepped on. The movement is smooth as silk and completely entrancing, although you know that some of your favourite moves are impossible in a gown this large. All that matters is that you and Max stay connected, moving together with fluidity and grace. Sometimes it feels like the happiest you've ever been are these moments dancing with Max, and you wonder if tonight might somehow equal that or make it feel even more magical than it already does.

The mood is already romantic, the music and the dance coupled with the lighting and what both of you know is to come. It’s fairy tale quality and still Max wishes for more. Wanting you to remember tonight forever, looking back at the moment that you truly became his and he became yours. For all his easy flirtations and past liaisons, he wants to continue to romance his soulmate, for everyday to be an opportunity for you to fall more in love with him.

"You're thinking awfully hard about something," you murmur when he pulls you back to his chest after a turn. His expression of concentration is so easy to pick out, and always makes you want to smooth your thumb over his forehead to soothe the creases away.

“Thinking about you.” He admits easily. “How you deserve so much more. How special you are.” He knows you will protest, but he will just have to dance with you more.

"The perfect example of why we're soulmates." Humming softly, you squeeze his shoulder with your off hand and offer him a soft smile. "We think the world of each other and nothing of ourselves." He has masked it with bravado for pretty much his entire life, but when it comes down to it, he has just as many issues with how he perceives himself as you do. "I love you, Max. Completely. You're the most special thing in the world to me, so if I'm as special as you say we're a hell of a team."

The words are the soft, sweet ones that he has craved his entire life and he savors them. Tucking you against his body and closing his eyes. “We are a hell of a team.” He insists. “Now we just need to find out what dancing between the sheets looks like for us.”

He manages to say it quietly enough that it doesn't echo across the ballroom, keeping it for your ears only, and you giggle with soft delight. You're actually excited for this, which isn't something that you were sure you would ever feel again. "I think it'll be very rhythmic," you tease.

He chuckles and nods. “A steady, continuous rhythm.” He promises. Unlike any previous lovers, Max doesn’t get tired. Any changes in the pace would be because he fumbles or he wants to change, not because he’s unable to keep it up.

"Mr. Phillips, I think that counts as scandalous," you hum, fanning yourself with your own hand dramatically and wishing that just this once you actually had one of those fancy hand fans to tease him with.

"You would faint in shock at all the scandalous things that I would do to you, Dolly." Max snorts playfully, sending you a hot look as he dips you low and presses his face into your breasts before slowly dragging you upright again.

“Maybe I would.” Considering there is an entire group of strangers in the room, you demure a little even though you’re shivering with anticipation on the inside. “Perhaps I am terribly proper and ladylike and this is where I’ve belonged all along.”

“I can see that.” He growls, flashing his fangs at you playfully for a split second. “And I am the wicked vampire ready to defile you.”

When you giggle and have to smother a snort, it’s because you’re sure that anyone overhearing this would assume you were really into sexy role playing or at least fantasy foreplay. When the fact is, it’s just who you are. A little silly, a lot romantic, and entirely devoted to making each other happy.

Around the room, your skirts swish and sway as he leads you. Speeding up and then slowing down along with the music. His eyes always on you as he twirls you around the dance floor. Aware that some of the Vanderbilt staff have peeked in, but it doesn't bother him, never minding an audience.

They're peaking in from around the corner screen and through the pocket doors at the end of the room, and you're dimly aware of their presence without ever minding it for a single second. Renee is probably with them, which makes you smile, and you hope she is enjoying the attention of fielding all sorts of questions about Miss Brown's mysterious new friends.

Max spins you again, taking this as seriously as any dance competition. He’s not expecting perfection but it seems that together, you move flawlessly. Making him proud of your abilities and he beams as he pulls you close again.

When the song draws to a close, Max holds you close to his chest instead of going for some dramatic end pose, letting the last strains of music fade away with you held fast to him as your heart beats wildly out of time. After a moment you become dimly aware of a soft clapping and glance over at the band, all of whom are politely applauding your performance. Your cheeks burn hot instantly and you laugh, but curtsy. It must not be often that they get a private show like this.

Max grins, proud of you and his movement shows it as he guides you back to the table for the first course. “My little ballroom dancer.” He coos softly. “So perfect.”

“I’m just following your lead, love,” you remind him softly. There is nothing but pure love in your eyes.

“Nothing I love more than to lead you around the dance floor, and hopefully something more tonight.” He smirks slightly and helps you sit down.

“I think we’ve moved past hope and into certainty.” As you sit down you give his hand a squeeze. You’re ready. Completely ready.

“Never want you to feel like you can’t end things immediately.” Max sits down and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I know.” And you appreciate it more than you can say. “But I don’t think that will be the case.” If you’re honest, you’ve started to crave the closeness of him, so tonight is exactly what you want.

“I guarantee it won’t.” He winks at you playfully. “But I do want my wife to tell me exactly what she expects of her husband.”

“I promise.” And you will. Just…not where an army of servants can overhear every detail. That conversation is reserved for when you’re actually alone.

He can see the way your eyes flicker to the staff and he hums. “As you wish, Queenie.”

Dinner is gorgeous. An intricate dance all its own, executed with a precision that you really have to admire. Alice’s staff is amazing and the food is to die for. The band plays several more lovely songs for you, and you and Max dance well into the night. When you finally thank them for their time and go upstairs for the evening, you feel like you’re floating on air.

Max marvels at how warm and soft your hand is in his. Waiting for you to start sweating or even get slightly clammy from nerves, but you never do. Just soft sighs of happiness and beguiling smiles as you look over at him. "Tired, sweetheart?"

"Not at all." You've said goodnight to Renee and to Emmanuel's valet already, telling them you don't need help getting ready to sleep tonight, and that leaves just you and Max alone in your room together with a fire to keep you warm. "I do want to go to bed, though."

______

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