Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
With the same account, complete eight different threads where your character interacts with eight different usergroups. At least one must be a non-human, and one a student.
Did You Know?
Braces, or suspenders, were almost universally worn due to the high cut of men's trousers. Belts did not become common until the 1920s. — MJ
Monty and his gang had procured invitations to this masque and Monty had figured out a way to get them all there. He had made sure everyone looked the part complete with costumes and masks to hide their identity. Fittingly enough, Monty had a peacock mask covering his own face. Ishmael looked ravishing and Monty was aware that he personally looked devastatingly dashing in his own costume. The other two had lumbered off who knew where and eventually Ishmael had also disappeared into one of the other rooms.
Monty had not even noticed at first since he was fascinated with things (not that this was the first time he had snuck into a high society shindig... nor would it be the last). This had been the life he had been born for. It showed in how seamlessly he blended in with everyone else. He had taken a potion at the entrance like everyone else but he didn't think it had effected him. (Plot twist: it had.)
He was enjoying a glass of wine when he re-found his lovers familiar form in one of the other rooms. "There you are. Where are the other two?" Monty asked, knowing already that they might not blend as well into high society as he or Ishmael could. He glanced around as, not for the first time that night, he internally lamented how he had been born poor when he was clearly fit for such luxuries.
Once they were at the party, they had all dispersed to enjoy themselves – even Galina was here to make the most of an anonymous night – but, even off alone, Ishmael had caught sight of a flash of peacock turquoise from time to time, and had spotted Monty almost the moment he’d entered this room again. It was easy. He’d have recognised him in any clothes, in any mask.
He touched Monty’s elbow in greeting, let his hand skate briefly past his arm – a casual touch didn’t matter, no one knew them here – and swallowed a laugh at the question. “No idea,” Ishmael admitted frankly. “Thrown out, maybe. If they haven’t been yet, I’d call that a miracle.” They could take care of themselves, obviously, so he wasn’t worried; but in the past, of the other three, the person most likely to play-act his way through a high society event for any gain had always been Monty.
(Monty had always been at ease with the world, wherever he landed in it. It was because he did not wait to be recognised as something, Ishmael supposed; he did not wait to be told who he could be or what he was worth. He took the world with both hands and created himself, moved like molten gold with gleaming confidence. Filled every space he was in.)
Monty hid a smile as Ishmael's hand skated briefly past his arm. He didn't know what it was but he was feeling the urge to be closer to Ishmael even more than usual. Not an unusual thing but it was not generally something he went for in so public a setting. He buried the feeling down for now or at least thought he had as he smiled at the vampire.
"Greatly," he answered before leaning in so that his words could be for Ishmael alone. "I only wish we could share a dance, the music is delightful." There were nights when they indulged themselves but it was always hidden away or only when the other two of their gang were present.
Monty had to be enjoying himself, if that was how he was smiling – Ishmael suppressed his own smile in answer but he felt the fondness blossom internally, all the same.
Maybe he was drunk tonight, judging by that next suggestion. Ishmael felt clear-headed, even surrounded by so many intoxicated pulses in a few warm rooms, even with all his interactions with humans – but on the whole he was trying to make up for his recent lapse, careful not to make another grand mistake too soon. But, mostly sensible as he was committed to being, he couldn’t resist indulging Monty, even at the risk of causing a stir.
“No reason why we can’t,” Ishmael returned, partly playful but wholly surprised that Monty was thinking about them right now, instead of other schemes. Pleasantly surprised, of course. And it was a little bold a statement to make in the middle of society, masked or not, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. He laced his fingers discreetly between Monty’s. “Come through to the next room.” It had been emptier than this one, a conservatory with open doors onto the gardens – and they would still be able to hear the music well enough.
Monty gazed at his lover in interest when the other responded to his comment. He smiled as the other discreetly laced his fingers through his own and he nodded in agreement. He moved into the next room alongside the other and looked around it, taking in his surroundings.
"I had not come into this room yet. This would make a fine entry point," he commented, keeping it in the back of his mind for later. Best thing about this room right now was that it was empty. He could not fathom this urge to simply exist with the other that he was experiencing. It was one he had always harboured but knew he must not indulge too much. Ishmael knew he loved him but too make too much of a display of it would be to give Ishmael power over him had always been an underlying thought for the wizard. Tonight, he did not care about any of that. He loved this vampire, he wanted Ishmael to know it down to the morrow of his bones.
“Montgomery Morales, can’t walk into a country manor without wondering how best to rob it,” Ishmael said, tone low, as he curved an arm around Monty’s back in a better position to dance with him. He was smiling, though, because that was precisely why he and Monty had always gotten along so well. They saw opportunities; they weren’t afraid of taking them.
“This evening isn’t enough for you already?” he teased, the words only for Monty while they were this close for their dance. There was an unreality to all this, a phantom evening at the masquerade – a rare turn away from their usual nights. Mostly, he was asking because he wanted Monty to make the most of it; but he wasn’t sure he expected Monty to ever be entirely satisfied.
Monty chuckled in response to the others words. This was true; he was very much an opportunist. It was really their fault that they were so carefree about who they let into the place.
"When has anything ever been enough for me?" He teased in return as he lightly grazed his fingers along the others jawline. "Oh but you. You are always more than enough." Why was he being so uncharacteristically open about his affections for the vampire? Monty was equal parts aware that he was acting off and not caring at all. Was this that potions doing? It did not seem to matter under the moonlight and in the arms of the vampire that he loved.
Ishmael felt a twinge in his chest at Monty’s fingers, light against his jaw, and a twist in his gut at those words. What was he doing, here? They were in public – well, vaguely; there was no one around them now – but Monty was rarely so forthcoming even in private. Maybe that was why he was trying it now? Because it gave Ishmael no opportunity to pause for thought, to let the sentiment sink in.
He missed a step of their slow dance all the same, not as smooth as he might have liked to be, too disconcerted, disbelieving. Ishmael forced himself to glance upwards, at the moonlight through the glass; to draw in a breath of cool night air by the open doors; to let his gaze fall on Monty again, unreadable, searching every corner of his face for some trace of sarcasm there.
Was that really true? He was more than enough for Monty? There was a sudden itch in his chest, a want, a hunger: yearning. “Always?” Ishmael breathed, trailing his hand up Monty’s back. This was what he didn’t believe, even if the sentiment was true: that it would last, that Monty would never change his mind. “This could be enough for ever?”
Monty rose an eyebrow as Ishmael missed a step. He bit his lower lip to hide a smile as Ishmael seemed to be in utter disbelief. Was he really so stingy with his words? He had to have been for his lover to look so surprised. Ishmael seemed to be searching his features for something and Monty could not read the others expression well enough to guess what he was looking for.
Monty smiled as Ishmael trailed his hand up his back. "Always. It would be enough so long as I am with you," Monty murmured, his lips lingering close to the others as he spoke.
He was a skeptic to his cold dead heart, but he couldn’t help himself – he believed Monty this time. He didn’t know what had truly felled him, whether it had been a slow decline or just this moment, this unexpected moment, but – he believed him. Because Monty apparently loved him more than Ishmael had ever presumed him capable of. Monty loved him; and maybe, just maybe, that meant Ishmael would get to keep him.
“Alright,” he whispered, swallowing in some new resolve. “Then I’ll give you forever,” he said, under his breath, close enough to kiss Monty but scarcely noticing it in the midst of so significant a conversation. “I’ll give you forever as soon as you want it.”
This was the point of no return. Ishmael’s hesitation was gone in all but one field: whether this proof that Monty loved him enough meant he would still be happy to sacrifice his life as he knew it. Never mind the dance – Ishmael paused and let his hand trace along Monty’s jawline, looking at his face: still perfect, still unlined, and still so very human. “You do still want it?”
Monty had not been expecting Ishmael to give in. As soon as he wanted it? His heartbeat accelerated as he took in the look on Ishmaels face. He had been resigned to this being something that Ishmael would just not do for him. For them.
"As soon as we can get out of here," Monty affirmed.
Then there was no question left. Monty hadn’t flinched. His pulse had quickened, yes – Merlin, Ishmael would miss that – but there had been no hesitation in his words.
“Then let’s go,” Ishmael said with a smile, feeling curiously out of body at this turn of events, like he was merely bending in the breeze and not about to alter someone’s existence. “I know a place.” He had considered this, more in theory – had remembered an old haunt in the middle of nowhere, a shut-up manor and its little crumbling outbuildings, equally far from the city and from the judging eyes at the caverns, so he might have Monty to himself for the first while – but Monty, of course, would have to magic them there. As if he were signing his own death warrant, Ishmael supposed; and maybe this was a wild mistake. But he clasped his hand again, as ready as he would ever be.
They were really going to do this. He was literally going to be putting his life into Ishmaels hands. A level of trust he would have never given anyone except the one before him. Merlin, how could one love another so much? That you would sacrifice everything for them? To have them forever?
"Tell me where," he said, apparating them away once Ishmael had done so. This likely being his last act as a wizard.
