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late-to-the-fandom · 2 years

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Renathal is neither a prisoner in the Maw, nor entirely himself again, but a secret, third thing only the Maw Walker notices (traumatised). Rated T for Trauma and romantic Tension (but no actual sexy times). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

Immediately follows "Keys for All Occasions: Rebellion"

Of all the many new and unpleasant experiences Renathal had accumulated recently, this had to be one of the most embarrassing.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he struggled to hold the end of the long bandage in place with his elbow. Even that slight pressure against his side made him wince, but it freed both hands to wind the rest of the unwieldy cloth around his abdomen. The process still seemed to demand one additional hand at least, but Renathal was loathe to ask for help. Those he considered friends, such as Draven and Theotar, would worry at the extent of his wounds, and with anyone else there was the risk of rumours. It would be a serious blow to the rebellion's image if the other venthyr knew just how badly their leader was injured.

Though, as the carefully positioned bandage began to slip yet again, Renathal was forced to admit there might be no other choice. He tugged frantically at the uncooperative cloth, but... too late. The whole painstaking arrangement collapsed in a whisper of silk, pooling innocently at his feet. Renathal groaned out loud at the prospect of picking it all back up and starting again. Bending was its own agony, but it paled against the ignominy of being unable to do something as simple as tend his own wounds.

Squeezing his eyes shut against yet another failure, he sank onto the table behind him, allowing the enormous wooden structure to take some of his weight. Like the high-backed chair accompanying it and the dark velvet chaise lounge pushed against the wall on its other side, the table was scaled for Denathrius; as was the room itself most likely, with its high ceiling and widespread walls. Not for the first time, Renathal wondered what the Master had used this room for.

He had few memories of Sinfall before the Sire had dragged him here, intending to end his firstborn where he began. Whatever the original purpose of its many huge chambers and hidden passageways, Sinfall was now an abandoned, crumbling ruin. Much how Renathal himself currently felt as he pressed a hand firmly to his side, attempting to ease some of the relentless ache.

"Would you like some help?"

Renathal recognised the voice, but did not open his eyes. Of course, he thought glumly. It would be the Maw Walker who caught him like this; wounded and weak, unable to succeed at even this menial task.

“I appreciate the offer,” Renathal said, as casually as he could through clenched teeth, "but I will manage sufficiently.”

There was no answer, and Renathal hoped, for the first time since meeting the Maw Walker, that she would give up and go away. But the sound of soft shoes across stone was coming closer instead of fading back into the hall, and when Renathal opened his eyes, she was kneeling at his feet, gathering up the unruly length of colourless cloth.

“You know,” the Maw Walker said mildly, rolling the bandages into a tight, orderly ball, "it was ignoring my advice about assistance that led to this injury in the first place, your Highness.”

Her tone held no reproach, but being reminded of his plan's utter failure still smarted. There was a jagged edge to Renathal's voice when he replied:

"Surely, you are above saying I told you so."

“I’m not above implying it.”

The Maw Walker met his eyes and smiled. Not her small, inscrutable smile either, but a wide expression full of short, white teeth and gentle mischief; effective in disarming Renathal's rising shame and frustration.

“But,” she continued, drawing the word out as she rose to her feet, “if you let me help you, I'll not say another word about it.”

Renathal considered this. For reasons he could not quite fathom, it bothered him for the Maw Walker to see him in such a sad state: propped up by the table, shirt hanging off his arms, unable to bandage his own wound or even reach the bandages at all. Yet, as pathetic as he must look, it was nothing compared to their first meeting. And anyway, the pain in his left side was making his eyes water.

“If ... you would be so kind,” Renathal said with a gracious nod, as if it were he granting her a special favour.

Immediately, the Maw Walker's attention turned to Renathal's torso, her shining eyes roving over the sharp planes of bare skin. Renathal shifted uncomfortably. He had been reticent to take too close a look at the damage done by Remornia, but now he followed the Maw Walker’s gaze reflexively. From his ribcage where his superfluous heart beat an odd, quick pace, all the way to his jutting left hipbone stretched a patchwork of vicious purple and red. Motes of tainted anima drifted thickly from the angry latticework of open slicing.

Renathal flinched, less from the grim reality of his injuries than from the sudden sensation of the Maw Walker's fingers pressed gently to his chest.

"This ... really ought to be healed," she said quietly, as if noise might further inflame the wound.

"The anima cannot be spared."

The Maw Walker looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Even for the prince?'

"Especially for the prince."

This harsh pronouncement made the Maw Walker blink. Renathal was now confident this was how her expressionless face indicated surprise. He tried to draw himself up into a more regal stance, but, at the insistent searing in his side, settled for a dignified glower.

"I am not Sire Denathrius, and I will not take from the rebellion's scant coffers for my own personal use."

The Maw Walker's face did not change, but she cocked her head very slightly. Renathal had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"Very well," was all she said, which elucidated nothing, and returned her attention to Renathal's naked chest. She unwound an arm's length of bandage in one swift movement and rested the end carefully at the top of his ribcage. "Lift your arms."

Renathal obeyed, somewhat bemused at the careless order, but the Maw Walker’s arms were wrapped around him before he could consider an appropriate response. She wound the bandage about his torso with an efficiency indicative of long practice. She was shorter than Renathal, and the top of her head brushed his goatee as she worked, her dark hair swinging against his collarbones with each sure movement. Her hands were exquisitely soft where they met his bare skin, inspiring that same tingle of anima Renathal had felt when she had touched him in the Maw.

It was pleasant. More than pleasant. And, without thinking, Renathal closed his eyes. When was the last time anyone had touched him like this .... so gently, so considerately? He had stopped counting the years.

And a stern voice in Renathal's head was quick to remind him why. The lesson Denathrius had tried so very hard to teach, and that Renathal had consistently failed to learn. So, he had learned to avoid it, instead. It was for the best. The Master thought so, too. Except...

A sudden, unsettling idea made Renathal's eyes snap open. What if the Master had lied about other things, as well? What if -

"Did that hurt?"

The Maw Walker froze, one hand on his ribs, chin tilted up at him. Renathal swallowed and shook his head.

"No, it's .... it is nothing. Do carry on," he said, when she continued to stare.

After a few more silent seconds, the Maw Walker's hands took up their work again, though Renathal thought she was more careful to avoid direct contact with his skin. Disappointment trickled down the back of his throat.

"So," said the Maw Walker conversationally, "is it out of your system now? Your Highness?" She added his title as an afterthought.

"I beg your pardon?" Renathal asked warily.

"Your all-consuming rage against Denathrius.” She pronounced the words matter-of-factly. "Are you still bent on revenge at all costs, or are you ready for the long game now?"

Once more, her voice lacked obvious reproof, but Renathal had the feeling it was a test. He knew the Maw Walker had not approved of his plan of attack on the Master in the first place. Apparently, she had known, even when Renathal had refused to acknowledge it, that revenge was the driving force behind his assault. It was why he had been so surprised when the Maw Walker chose Revendreth to assist over the other realms of the Shadowlands. He was sure he had disappointed her, as he had everyone else. He was resolved not to do so again.

"Yes. I am," said Renathal firmly. Then added, "Are you?"

The Maw Walker, bent slightly at the knees to reach around his waist, glanced up. Renathal interpreted her blank face as a question.

"Denathrius knows steps are being taken against him. This is no longer an assault, it is a siege. And there is really no way to determine how long it will take, assuming such a venture can be successful at all. Then, there is still the mystery of the Arbiter to be solved, the drought to be ended, and the threat of the Jailer to neutralise. Are you prepared to see all of it through … to whatever end?"

"I've bound myself to your covenant, haven't I?" answered the Maw Walker. "You have me for the duration, your Highness."

Something about her choice of words sent a shiver through Renathal. Not one of pain or discomfort.

The Maw Walker tossed dark hair over her shoulder as she fastened the end of the bandage. She was very pleasant to look at, Renathal noted. She maintained the same basic structure as the venthyr, but where all the denizens of Revendreth were cold and sharply angled, the Maw Walker seemed to be made of equal parts softness and warmth, with a light that radiated from under her dusky skin and an excessive amount of interesting curves.

Her fingers brushed Renathal's hipbone, sending anima to parts of him he was very glad were still covered by armor. He cleared his throat roughly and searched the room for a distraction.

"Why did you choose Revendreth?' he asked, hoping the Maw Walker could not hear the raw quality to his voice. When she looked up at him, head tilted this time in more obvious query, he explained, "Every realm of the Shadowlands is in need of aid, their plights equally as dire. Even your commander did not wish to send any here. Why did you come?"

The Maw Walker was silent. She straightened, eyes roving across Renathal's chest as if inspecting her work.

"I have some... personal experience with corrupt rulers," she finally answered. "And the work involved in deposing them. And rebellions that seem hopeless."

"I see."

Renathal's tone held an open invitation to elaborate, but, as she had on the ramparts before the assault, the Maw Walker declined to explain.

"That should do it," she said. "Move around a bit, make sure they stay."

Renathal lowered his arms and twisted experimentally. His left side still ached - bending would continue to be a struggle - but the bandages stayed firmly in place and the compression helped ease some of the sharpness of the pain.

"That makes a great difference. Please accept my gratitude, Maw Walker. I mean - "

Renathal tried out the Nightborne's name, which he had recently learned. She blinked, and twin spots of dark violet appeared on her high cheekbones. Renathal worried he might have mispronounced the strange syllables, but if he had, the Maw Walker did not correct him.

"Do you need anything more, your Highness?" was all she said. Her use of his title was almost pointed, and Renathal frowned.

"That depends. Was there a reason you came looking for me?"

"To let you know I'm leaving. I have to answer Fordragon's summons. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but I will return as soon as I can."

"Ah."

Renathal's gaze drifted toward the ceiling as he tried to think of some errand more time sensitive than whatever the mortals needed her for, some way of keeping the Maw Walker in Revendreth. As much as he had wanted her to leave when she first arrived in his rooms, he was now reluctant to see her go. But she was watching him expectantly, and he admitted, "I have no more to ask of you at the moment."

"Then, may I ask something of you?"

Instantly, Renathal's curiousity was aroused.

"I suppose it would depend on the nature of the favour, but ... it would be difficult to say no to the being who saved me from the Maw."

The Maw Walker smiled, but it was her usual, carefully bland one. She stuck a hand into a hidden pocket of her robe.

"Take this," she said, and held out a small, red vial. The merest glance was sufficient for Renathal to recognize what it contained. "I doubt it's enough for a full healing, but it might help you bend, and get up and down all the stairs."

Renathal regarded the little morsel of anima with ill-repressed longing.

"No," he said, after a very brief hesitation. "It may not be much, but even the smallest amount of anima should be saved for the rebellion."

"You are the rebellion, your Highness."

An ominous chill crept across Renathal’s bare skin, and he stared. It sounded altogether too much like something the Master often said.

"Your friends, your people, everyone in this rebellion, " she continued, oblivious to Renathal's discomfort, "they are not here because they think they can stop Denathrius. Or save the Shadowlands. They are here because they believe you can. They are following you. And they will be watching you the entire time. If you lose hope, so will they. If you lose the strength to carry on, you will lose them."

There was something strange lurking behind the Maw Walker's words. They rolled too easily off her tongue, reminding Renathal of a practiced speech, but her mouth twisted slightly as she said them as if their sentiment left a bitter taste.

"You are speaking from your personal experience with rebellions?" asked Renathal shrewdly.

The Maw Walker's free hand clenched once in her robes, but her answer was oblique.

"My personal experience has taught me that rebellions take a great deal of work. Work you won’t be able to accomplish if you can barely stand. And your people are counting on you.” She held out the little cell of anima for Renathal to take. "Do not disappoint them."

There was a clear challenge in her eyes. Renathal met it steadily, and after a beat, accepted the vial.

"I will endeavour not to," he assured the Maw Walker, sincerity in every syllable.

Without pausing to allow himself further thought, Renathal uncorked the little bottle with his thumb and inhaled deeply. The anima within was spent before he had drawn a full breath, but the improvement was instantaneous. The pain in his side shrank from searing fire to dull discomfort, and Renathal was abruptly aware of how hunched he had been since the Maw Walker entered. He relaxed his shoulders, pushing off the table and, for the first time since his failed assault, straightening to his full height.

Satisfaction glowed briefly in the Maw Walker's white-blue eyes.

"Better?"

"Considerably."

The Maw Walker’s standard smile now held hints of genuine pleasure, but she turned without further comment. Renathal, still adjusting to the sudden surcease of pain, watched her walk swiftly towards the door. He opened his mouth, fully intending to thank her, but curiousity got to his tongue first.

"Your rebellion," he called after her. "Did it succeed?"

The Maw Walker paused in the doorway. She rested a hand on the wooden frame set into the dark stone, and Renathal thought it might be shaking. But none of her face was visible at this angle, even if there had been something on it to see.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of success."

Renathal doubted she would deign to follow up this cryptic remark. But then...

“We defeated our Denathrius. Mostly. But by the time we had... there was almost nothing left to save."

It was her fingers clenched so tightly on the doorframe they might break that ultimately convinced Renathal; the Maw Walker’s dispassionate demeanor was as much affectation as his own breathing. Underneath it ran a deep well of some unbearable emotion, the same he had caught glimpses of in Torghast at her discovery of each lost soul.

But before he could press her further, the Maw Walker was gone, leaving Renathal to do up his shirt thoughtfully. She might be unwilling to talk about it, but she was not the only mortal in the Shadowlands. Renathal was considering if he might spare Draven to search for more of her kind in Oribos, when his hand reached his high collar. He had run out of buttons; and, he realised belatedly, he had fastened them all left-handed, without the slightest twinge from his wounded side.

It was far from the last time the Maw Walker's anima came in useful. The following days were spent setting Sinfall on its feet, and Renathal was exceptionally glad to be able to assist with the very literal heavy lifting required in establishing the rebellion's base of operations.

In order to accommodate the growing number of venthyr and stoneborn flocking to Sinfall, its many ruined chambers had to be explored and mapped; the copious mounds of rubble shifted to allow more usable space; the scant furniture collected and re-appropriated to the common areas. Renathal, while practiced in the art of running a large estate, was much less accustomed to manual labour, and he had many occasions to be grateful for the Maw Walker's little vial of anima as he set himself to work alongside the others, clearing pile after pile of fallen brick and stone.

Such base chores would usually be assigned to dredgers, but those useful creatures were in scant supply; a change of fortune for Renathal as dramatic and unpleasant as his fall from power. All of his existence, there were dredgers waiting in his shadow, ready to assist however needed, as dependable as the stone on which Revendreth was built. Denathrius considered the muckborn disposable, but Renathal had always treated them with the same respect as any other beings and had expected most of them to side with his rebellion. But the total number of dredgers in Sinfall currently stood at two.

"Oi, watch it, you're on me toes!"

"Your toes is made a' stone, Rendle, they don't break!"

"So's is yours, Cudgelface, an' I don't want 'em cracked!"

"Allow me, my friends."

The Dark Prince bent his knees with only the barest hint of a wince and added his recovering strength to the two dredgers' efforts. Together, the three beings managed to shift the large stone table through the doorway and into the next chamber. Renathal's hunched back was to the room's occupants as he shuffled inside, but he recognised the surprised, "Oh!" as belonging to the Curator, the exasperated tongue click as the Accuser’s, and the soft footsteps hurrying in his direction as the newly returned Maw Walker.

"You had only to ask," said her voice from over his shoulder, but there was a note of humour in it.

Renathal cast her the most dignified look he could while crouched.

"You do know numerous tasks have managed to be accomplished in your absence?"

The Maw Walker said something else, a word in a language Renathal did not recognise. For a moment, he thought it might be some sort of oath, until the stone table he supported suddenly wobbled in exactly the way stone should not. Next to his hand, one of the table’s squat legs gave a hearty kick, and by the dredgers' squeals of shock, he assumed the other legs were behaving similarly. Gingerly, lest he injure the now apparently sentient table, Renathal lowered it to the floor and watched it trot promptly away.

The Maw Walker turned with it, hands directing the table-beast where to go. It neatly side-stepped the silent Draven hulking in its path, and positioned itself in front of the hazy-eyed Curator and customarily grim Accuser. A final flick of her gloved hand, and the table froze, unyielding stone once more.

"You should have left it like that," Renathal said, repositioning loose strands of his long, light hair. "It might have had useful information on the Master to share with the war council."

He had intended to make the Maw Walker laugh, but her lavender face was surprisingly dour.

"The first rule of enchanting objects,” she chided Renathal. “You never leave the enchantment on longer than absolutely necessary. They start developing personalities.”

She pronounced the word like an epithet, and something clicked into place in Renathal's brain.

"So that explains it.”

"Explains what?"

"You and Vorpalia."

"Mm."

The Maw Walker pursed her lips at the mention of Renathal's enchanted sword, her antagonism towards whom had intrigued him since their first meeting. She followed the two dredgers, now dragging stone chairs toward the table, muttering under her breath, "Imagine allowing a sword to achieve sentience, I ask you..."

Renathal, behind her and close enough to hear, had several choice retorts to this, but the dredgers were at his feet, blocking his way.

"If that's all you was wanting, your Tallness," said Cudgelface, bending clumsily at the waist.

Renathal swallowed his bemusement and accepted the dredger's gesture of respect with a courteous nod.

"Of course. My thanks to you both for all your assistance with the rebellion. I do hope you will inform the other dredgers they always have a place here in Sinfall?"

"Oh yeah, we put the word out an' all, didn' we, Cudgelface? said Rendle, nudging his best friend's elbow. "I 'spect we'll be seein' ‘em roll up in droves afor' long."

"Yeah, they know on wot side the muck's mired," Cudgelface said. Beside him, Rendle nodded eagerly. "You ever need anythin', your 'Ighness, you just let us know. You got friends in low places, an' tha's a fact."

"That is most excellent news!" said Renathal, clapping his hands together with such enthusiasm the two dredgers' dirty faces spread into wide grins, and they shuffled from the room with many a punch on the others' arm. It was only slightly for show. The idea of more dredgers joining the rebellion was highly encouraging to Renathal. Enough for him to let the Maw Walker's strange prejudice against his sword pass, for the moment.

"If you are quite ready, perhaps we could begin?" said the Accuser drily from the other side of the table where she and the Curator had taken seats, her claw-like fingernails clicking impatiently against the stone.

"Of course."

Renathal acquiesced with good grace. He chose the seat between the Maw Walker and Draven, who preferred to stand, and cleared his throat.

"My friends." He gestured respectfully to the table at large. "It is time to begin the next phase in our plan against Denathrius. I believe our greatest chance of defeating him lies in the collective power of the medallions. It is my opinion, therefore, that we must convene the Court of the Harvesters!"

Apart from the handful of books stacked carelessly against the surrounding walls, there was nothing in the vast chamber to absorb sound, and Renathal’s declaration reverberated harshly off the stone.

"We cannot invite them here," said the Accuser, when the echoes had died away. "It would be suicide for everyone."

"No, indeed," Renathal agreed. He was prepared for this argument. "Which is why I propose convening the court at Darkwall Tower. There are wards I can place there to ensure the Master will not be able to interfere with the meeting. For a time," he amended, at the Accuser's sceptical glare.

"And why would they be any more willing to join us now than they were before?" she persisted.

"The situation has changed,” explained Renathal patiently. “We are no longer plotting a secret revolution. We are fighting an open war. Denathrius has revealed to the entire realm the depths of his corruption. The other Harvesters will, understandably, be afraid to act alone, but if we can persuade them to stand together, I believe the power of the medallions combined could be enough to unseat him."

The Accuser's silence was her only indication of agreement.

"It certainly has potential," the Curator chimed in, offering Renathal an encouraging smile. He tried to return it, but the vacant cloud still lingering in the Curator's eyes hurt him to look at.

"As there are three harvesters remaining,” Renathal continued, “and the invitations to each must be delivered with the utmost care to avoid interception by the Stone Legion, I propose the Maw Walker deliver one." Renathal nodded at the Nightborne. "I will deliver another, and Draven the th-"

"No."

It was not the Accuser whose dissent rang through the chamber this time, but Draven's. Renathal turned to his loyal stoneborn friend in surprise.

"My Prince," the General said, an unusual plea in his gravelly voice, "this task can be accomplished by another. You are too - " His dark eyes flicked across the table's other occupants, “… valuable to the rebellion. Your presence is needed here. We cannot afford to lose you again. The setback to our cause would be detrimental."

Renathal blinked in the wake of this pronouncement. Draven was not one to insert personal opinions into a discussion on tactics, and he could not deny the General had a point. But the Prince had his own reasons for wanting to carry out this mission himself, reasons he had no plans to share with the rest of the room.

"While I appreciate the perspective," said Renathal, "in this instance, there is no one else qualified to send. I am perfectly-"

"Draven is correct." The Accuser spoke over Renathal, whose nostrils flared at the interruption. "And you are far more likely to draw Denathrius' attention to this mission if it is you gallivanting across the realm. The Maw Walker has proven herself quite capable. There is no reason she cannot simply deliver all three invitations."

Renathal picked an invisible thread from his shirtsleeve.

"It would take too long for one person to deliver all three letters to different corners of Revendreth.”

"It is worth the wait if it keeps you from being captured or destroyed."

Renathal looked up at the Accuser in undisguised suspicion. It was very unlike this particular Harvester, whose disapproval of the Dark Prince had never been secret, to express concern for his safety. In fact, apart from her responsibilities as the Harvester of Pride, there was only one thing Renathal had ever known her to care about. He eyed the Accuser's hand where it rested on the table, perilously close to the Curator's, and wondered if she might not have more personal reasons for dragging out the fight against Denathrius.

"What is the Maw Walker's opinion?"

Draven's low rumble broke the tense silence, and the other faces all turned as one to stare at the room's only mortal.

The Maw Walker's blank gaze drifted from the General to the Accuser, then, after a long moment, to the Prince himself, who was familiar enough with the Nightborne not to be fooled. He knew she was carefully deliberating, and, as her expressionless eyes wandered over Renathal’s left side, he had a sinking feeling he knew what she would say.

"This is your rebellion, your Highness," said the Maw Walker cautiously. "But, I think undertaking this mission yourself would be... ill-advised."

She laid a gentle stress on the final word; the same she had used to describe his plan to assault Denathrius. Renathal winced minutely. He was sure every being in the room was remembering that particular catastrophe.

"With your permission, I am happy to deliver all three letters, and secure the tower. I will make it my top priority. And I doubt it will take as long as you think. Unless..." The Maw Walker cocked her head very slightly, "there is some other reason this must be done by you personally?"

Renathal shifted uncomfortably in his seat, careful to avoid direct eye contact, determined to give nothing away. If it would have been bad for morale had anyone learned the extent of his physical wounds, how much worse would it be if the rebellion discovered their leader's turbulent state of mind?

As much as he fought to escape its influence, the taint of the Maw still lurked on the outskirts of Renathal's thoughts. It was biding its time, waiting for the smallest pause, the most minute lowering of his guard, when it would wrap its dark tendrils back around him and choke all his carefully cultivated determination. It was the reason he set himself the most laborious tasks; a desperate effort to keep his hands and mind occupied and despondency at bay. But Sinfall had achieved some semblance of stability, and Renathal was rapidly running out of things to do. He needed some new way to outdistance the growing dread, and he was sure a dangerous mission across the realm avoiding the Stone Legion would do nicely.

Only... here was Draven, shuffling his wings nervously; and the Curator's eyes on him, out of focus, a reminder of his past poor decisions; and the Maw Walker, whose advice had not yet been wrong, watching him implacably. Was she waiting for him to disappoint her again? And was that not the very reason he had insisted on this council in the first place? To stop himself making another rash mistake?

Renathal looked down and adjusted his cuffs, doing his utmost to disguise his disappointment.

"There is… no reason," he conceded, dipping his head low in resignation. "If the Maw Walker is willing, she may deliver the letters herself and secure Darkwall. At which point, the Court will convene."

Renathal glanced at the Accuser, as if daring her to argue further. But she was nodding, her hand now openly grasping the Curator's.

Well, he thought bitterly, at least the rebellion was benefiting someone.

It was a long time before Renathal permitted the council to finally disperse. The Maw Walker he had excused to immediately begin her mission, but Draven and the other Harvesters he kept at the table for hours; reviewing duty rosters, resource requisition reports, anything he could think of. He imagined they considered it a petty revenge for their hindrance of his plan, but truthfully, Renathal only meant to prolong the time before he had to return to his own rooms.

The meeting wore on, the Curator's head drooping steadily closer to the table, and once it hit the stone with a startling thud, the Accuser declared the hour too late to continue. Keeping track of time in such short increments was a quirk usually maintained only by the younger venthyr, but it had been instituted during the drought to allow its anima-starved denizens adequate rest. Renathal ensured the quiet hours were respected, but had yet to take personal advantage of them, no matter how exhausted he felt. He knew as soon as he closed his eyes, the Maw would be there waiting for him.

As he made his reluctant way to his silent, empty chambers, the Dark Prince thought he now understood what souls must suffer in the catacombs. Sinfall might be roomier than those cramped tombs, but, trapped within, it served the same purpose. Perhaps that was the reason the Master allowed him to remain here...

This sepulchral train of thought came to an abrupt halt when Renathal reached his door. It was ajar. From the narrow space between door and jamb, a flickering light issued. Renathal recognised the colour, and his gloom lifted a fraction.

The Maw Walker turned as he entered, allowing her sparkling shield to dissipate, though something of its purple glow lingered in the air around her. She was still wearing her hood and gloves, and there was dirt on the hem of her robes. She had clearly just returned from whatever task she had set to first.

"I thought you might like a progress report," she said without preamble as Renathal shut the door.

"I would like that very much, yes.”

Renathal's voice was over-eager, but his relief at the distraction too visceral to care. He strode to the high-backed chair behind the table, and gestured for the Maw Walker to take the nearby chaise.

"Tell me everything," he insisted.

And she did.

That night, and each night after, the Maw Walker made a point of relating her activities of the day to Renathal. Instead of the sparse, military-style reporting he was used to from the stoneborn, the Maw Walker turned her missions into stories; full of wandering paths and superfluous details, and marginally related anecdotes. Though she mentioned little of her personal life, and nothing of her mysterious rebellion, she told many tales of other worlds she had assisted before arriving in the Shadowlands.

Renathal listened raptly, but he was just as fond of inserting stories of his own - of Revendreth's glory before Denathrius’ betrayal - and was delighted by the Maw Walker's avid interest. She asked questions, pressed him for details, always encouraging him to tell her more, no matter how late the hour.

The days stretched into a week, and Renathal marveled to look back and find the nights were his favourite part. Though the dark threat of the Maw still lingered at the fringes of his mind, he found it much easier to ignore when anticipating the Maw Walker's visits. She even managed to draw a brief chuckle from him while recounting the lengths she had gone to in acquiring the Countess' invitation.

"So, who was it in the end?" Renathal asked from across the table, still smiling wryly at the image of the Maw Walker disguised as a dredger.

"Can't you guess?"

"To be honest, they all sound like equally likely candidates. How did you discover it?"

"I didn't."

Renathal raised his eyebrows.

"I took a wild guess on Sourwine. Apparently, I was right."

At this, Renathal laughed; truly laughed, a sound he had not made since before he had first conceived of rebellion. His hand hit the table in unsuppressed mirth, nearly upending an ink bottle and cracking the Maw Walker’s own self-control. Her shoulders shook with quiet giggles, and she clapped her hands to her mouth to stifle the noise.

"And... you are sure that was the traitorous house?" Renathal asked as soon as he could get the words out.

"Not at all," the Maw Walker said from behind her hands, and the two of them dissolved once more into undignified laughter.

"Well,” said Renathal, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “I'm sure Sourwine deserved it for something."

"And the Countess' invitation is secured, that's the important bit. Which means ..." The Maw Walker took a deep, steadying breath, her face slipping back into insouciance. "The Court of Harvesters can be called at your convenience, your Highness."

Renathal's mirth mutated into prickling excitement. He had been so engrossed in the Maw Walker's story that the purpose of her visit, to report her success in delivering all three invitations, had entirely slipped his mind.

"I suppose tonight would be too short of a notice?"

"Probably," the Maw Walker agreed. “The Accuser and the Curator will still be resting. And it will take a few hours for Temel to confirm the times with the other Harvesters.”

"Tomorrow then," decided Renathal. His fingers drummed the tabletop in anticipation as his mind raced through the necessary details. "In the meantime, Darkwall Tower is still secured? You have placed the banners?"

"I have, and… it is.”

Something apprehensive in the Maw Walker’s confirmation made Renathal look up sharply.

"I did the best I could, but…” The Maw Walker hesitated, wetting her lips. “The tower is not …. pleasant. I mean ... it is in worse shape than even this place.”

"Oh, is that all?" Renathal sat back, running a hand through his hair in relief. "Yes, I was there when Denathrius vented his rage upon it. I am well aware of its condition."

“And you are sure that is where you want the Court to meet?”

“Well, it is a bit late to change the terms of the invitation now.”

The Maw Walker was silent, apparently unable to find an argument to this. But there was still an odd clench to her jaw, and a wariness in her eyes, almost as if she sensed a danger Renathal did not.

It was only when the Prince dismounted the Sinrunner at the foot of Darkwall Tower the next day that he understood what it had been.

Strangely, as his eyes struggled to accept the vast desolation, Renathal's first thought was to wonder petulantly how old the Maw Walker was. Some mortal races boasted centuries or more of life, he knew, but even if the Maw Walker was one of them, he had certainly existed for longer. He predated her entire world's accounting of time. So why should she know, when he did not, how heartsick it would make him to stand in the shadow of his ruined home? How had she foreseen the repugnant helplessness now welling up within him, turning his resolve to liquid and nearly forcing him to his knees?

Vrednic’s beloved house, blasted… his handsomely carved front door, in pieces … the furnishings he had chosen over millennia with such care, from the wallpaper to the winged armchairs, destroyed beyond hope of repair. All the little pieces that put together Renathal’s picture of home and safety: broken... burned... pillaged. It took the last ounce of strength left in him to hold back the sob distending his chest.

Because they were watching him; the other Harvesters and Draven from above on the terrace, and the Maw Walker behind, waiting silently to follow him into his shattered domain. He remembered her warning from what seemed an age ago … if you lose hope, so will they...

So Renathal swallowed hard, composed his face into an unflinching mask, and swept up the wreckage of his once elegant spiral staircase. He refused to look to either side, at the damage to his bedroom, his ballroom, his library. He ignored every memory clamouring for his attention. Instead, he repeated his speech in his head, and let grief swell into purposeful rage.

They would have to listen to him now. No venthyr could look upon the ruins of the Dark Prince's estate - which could so easily be any of theirs - and still turn a blind eye to Denathrius' treachery. As he clambered over the rubble heap that had been the wall of his home, Renathal allowed himself a backward glance at the remnants of his old existence, now irrevocably ended. If this could not convince them, what could?

Renathal was still brooding over that question hours later, trapped again in the belly of Sinfall.

The other Harvesters would not help him.

In spite of the Master's open crimes against the realms; in spite of Renathal's best efforts to forge a rebellion they could not ignore, to be the leader they could trust to guide them through these tumultuous times .... he had failed. Again. And without the Harvester’s medallions, Renathal could see no way of deposing Denathrius.

He dropped his head into his hands, nails digging into his scalp. He was out of ideas, out of plans, out of hope, and he hid himself here where his friends and followers could not see and allowed the long-awaited despair to finally envelope him.

The room around him was cavernous, the velvet chaise underneath him inarguably comfortable, but Renathal felt as horrifically caged as he had in the Maw. Only this time, there was not even the dream of freedom. There was no home to return to. This place would be his prison, until his Sire saw fit to end him.

The delicate clearing of a throat registered dimly in Renathal’s brain, but it was the purple light on the outside of his eyelids that made him lift his head instinctively.

The Maw Walker stood in the doorway, watching him. She was not sporting her purple shield, but the glow of her skin in the dim candlelight conjured a ghost of the same sparkling colour. And for one wild moment Renathal wondered if the Maw Walker was an illusion after all, something created by his subconscious whenever he was in distress. It would explain her unfortunate habit of stumbling across him in his worst moments.

"Ah, my friend." Renathal's voice was almost as rough and cracked as it had been when she had first found him. "I ... did not hear you knock."

"I didn't knock. The door was open."

"Ah," said Renathal again, unable to think of anything more articulate.

Was she here for her next assignment, or to chastise him for yet another failure? Although, he had followed her advice, this time. Perhaps the Maw Walker was not infallible after all.

"Is everything alright?" she asked mildly.

It was such a ridiculous question under the circumstances, Renathal was not sure he understood it.

"Well, nothing is really alright, is it? But... nothing new has gone wrong, if that is what you mean."

His eyes wandered the dark room aimlessly, looking anywhere but at the silent figure in the doorway. With a stab of furious misery, Renathal wished she would either say what she wanted or leave him alone. He did not have the energy to interpret her blankness tonight. Beyond caring what the Maw Walker thought of him, he threw himself back against the chaise.

"I’m afraid it’s all rather hopeless," he said darkly. "This whole endeavour... wresting Revendreth from the Master, defeating the Jailer. It is impossible. Defeat, inevitable."

"Does that mean you're giving up?"

Surprise knocked Renathal's despair askew. The Maw Walker's face might have been carved from lavender stone. Her lips were pursed, the way he associated with displeasure, her arms tightly crossed; the idea that he was abandoning his rebellion apparently enough to wring real emotion from her. It made Renathal sit up a little straighter.

It was true, he had no idea what his next move was. But he did know what it was not.

"Of course not," he said, though his voice remained listless. "One cannot give in to corruption merely because there is no hope in defeating it. And... there is a simplicity to inevitability, is there not? Really, there is no need to worry if the outcome is secure. We are doomed, but... not without a fight."

With a deep sigh, Renathal closed his eyes, misery giving way to soul-deep exhaustion. He knew he meant every word. He knew he would fight. But just now, he had no idea how to rouse himself from his torpor.

The door clicked shut. For a moment, Renathal thought the Maw Walker had left him. Then the padding of her soft-soled boots echoed across the chamber. The chaise dipped slightly, and he realised she had sat down. He could hear her faint, quiet breathing, the expelled air near enough to flutter loose strands of his hair. It was the closest he had been to her warm, living body since she had bandaged his wounds weeks ago.

A tingle of anima lit up the nerves of his arm, and Renathal's eyes snapped open. He had to see it to be convinced the Maw Walker had indeed put her hand on top of his.

"Nothing is impossible," she said. "Nothing is inevitable."

Her accompanying smile was small, but kindly; a soft expression that matched her eyes, as though explaining something very difficult to a soul too young to understand.

"I have seen far too many impossibilities manifest in reality to believe in the concept anymore,” said the Maw Walker around that same, knowing smile. “And I have watched fates change in front of me too many times to believe in the existence of the inevitable."

Renathal shifted to face her more fully, careful not to dislodge her hand from its place on his.

"What do you believe in, then?".

"Honestly? Very little. I do not believe in fate or destiny or the Purpose - no offense." She grimaced apologetically. Renathal waved her heresy aside with his free hand. "What I mean is, I think it's useless to rely on some outside force to pave a way for you. I believe if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Which means, I also believe, sometimes, you can do everything right and still fail.”

"That is quite the dismal belief system," said Renathal darkly.

The Maw Walker shrugged.

"Well, life is quite dismal sometimes. And apparently, death is too."

She waited for Renathal to smile, but his face could not manage it.

“Listen," the Maw Walker said, serious once more, "I do not make promises as a rule. They always seem to end up broken. So, I cannot promise you it will all come right, but ... this is hardly the end of the fight. It's a minor setback, at most. And, for what it's worth, I think you did everything you could." She squeezed Renathal's hand gently. "I know it's hard to be the one everyone else is relying on, but... you don't have to do it alone."

The Maw Walker wet her lips as she finished speaking, and Renathal was close enough to see each lingering bead of moisture. There was a warmth in her words he wanted to bask in, and it drew him nearer without conscious thought.

He should thank her, he knew; say something to indicate he was listening. But his mind was busy contemplating what those dark, full lips would taste like. It was the stress of despair, Renathal supposed, bending his thoughts in that dangerous direction. Anima surged through him as her thumb brushed across his hand, and he was suddenly desperate to feel that same sensation on the rest of his skin.

Commotion from the hall, loud enough to be heard through the closed door, startled both beings on the chaise. Renathal had not realised how close their faces had come to touching until the Maw Walker's hair whipped his cheek as she turned. It sounded like an avalanche of rock was falling in the passage outside. And there was another noise underneath it, a rough, gravelly whine, Renathal almost thought he recognised...

"Oh!" The Maw Walker jumped up. “I nearly forgot!”

Instead of releasing Renathal's hand, she tightened her grip, tugging him hastily off the chaise and towards the door.

"Come!"

Her wide eyes shone with excitement, which was unusual enough in itself. Renathal could not remember seeing the Maw Walker so enthusiastic about anything, and his heart picked up its superfluous pace.

The passage outside was crowded with stoneborn and venthyr; another strange anomaly. There had not been this many beings in his deep corner of Sinfall since Renathal chose this room to tend his wounds. They formed a disorderly scrum around a large and noisy grey-black blur, fighting a losing battle to force the thing back down the hall. Even hidden as it was by the mass of bodies, Renathal would have recognised the boisterous creature anywhere.

"Vrednic?"

The sound of his master's voice inspired the gargon to redouble his efforts, and those blocking his way were knocked to the ground as Vrednic surged forward. The cacophony of stone paws hitting stone floor made the other venthyr cover their ears, but Renathal hardly noticed the racket. He caught his faithful friend as the gargon collided with his legs, and sank to his knees. He ran his hands eagerly across the smoothly-rubbed stone head, receiving a handful of sticky tongue in return.

"How did you - how was he not - I was certain Denathrius would -"

Renathal's stammering faltered around the lump that rose in his throat. He buried his face in Vrednic's rough hide to conceal his upswell of emotion.

"I've no idea," said the Maw Walker from above him. "I found him in the wreckage, gave him a bit of anima, and he came right to. He's a handful though." There was amusement in her voice. "I could never have got him back here without Chelra."

The implication of these words hit Renathal at the same time the measured stone march reached his ears, and he looked up, hardly daring to believe his senses. A tall, imperious stoneborn, whose grave features Renathal could have drawn from memory, was cutting her way through the milling crowd to reach her lifelong charge.

"Chelra," Renathal breathed, pushing off from the ground, one hand still clenched in Vrednic's gravelly fur. The tears Renathal had refused to shed at Darkwall threatened the corners of his eyes. "This... this is more than I dared to hope. I was sure the Master had -"

He could not finish the thought. Chelra, studiously ignoring Renathal's glistening eyes, executed a deep bow.

"I am not so easily destroyed, My Liege," she said, rising with a haughty shake of her head.

Seeing the little gesture he knew by heart was as much a tangible comfort to Renathal as if the stoneborn had embraced him. And at first, when Chelra held out her arm, he thought that was her intention. Then he saw what was draped across it.

Renathal's mouth dropped open as he stared at the long coat the stoneborn offered. A fine layer of dust and debris tinted the deep black almost grey, but as far as he could tell it was entirely free of holes or tears.

"It was in the wreckage so I assumed it was yours," said the Maw Walker behind him. "I can't imagine why it was left when most everything else was looted, but..."

Renathal accepted the proffered coat tentatively, as if the fine material and the stoneborn who offered it might really be a mirage.

"It... might not seem like much," the Maw Walker continued, "compared to what you lost, and how much you have to deal with, but... I think you deserve a few creature comforts."

Slowly - the onslaught of unexpected happiness making him dizzy - Renathal turned to marvel at the Nightborne. She was watching him carefully, waiting for his response. He opened his mouth to thank her, but no sound emerged. A thousand elaborate expressions of gratitude raced through Renathal's mind, but not one of them managed to convey the full range of his current feelings toward her.

Whatever confirmation of approval she sought, however, the Maw Walker found in his dumbstruck face. She allowed herself a brief smile of satisfaction, and Renathal very much hoped gratitude was the only thing she read in him.

"Well," she said, stooping to stroke Vrednic's smooth head, "it looks like I'm leaving you in good hands."

Renathal's anima froze, long fingers clenching in the fur of his coat.

"You are not leaving, surely?"

"Just to the Ember Ward. I've a long-postponed invitation for tea. Although, I can put it off if you need me for something?"

The Maw Walker looked up, eyes openly eager, as if hoping for an excuse not to go, and a warmth suffused Renathal's chest. It swept through his veins, strengthening his limbs, evaporating the cold dregs of despondency. He knew it was not permanent. The Maw's influence still prowled the back of his mind like a spectral beast. But Renathal was convinced the Maw Walker's presence had the power to keep it at bay. Whether or not she was the key to defeating Denathrius, she was the key to his hope.

Renathal watched her scratching the happily panting gargon's haunches, and a smile found its way back to his own face.

"I believe l will need you for a great many things."

The Maw Walker blinked. Her hands fell still. Something in Renathal's earnestness made her swallow any wry reply. She straightened, in spite of Vrednic's displeased whine, and nodded deeply, asserting formality.

"Then, I'll stay close by, your Highness."

"Please do," said Renathal, nodding reluctantly in return. There were a number of ways he would have preferred to convey his appreciation, but he was painfully aware of the other beings lingering nearby. He added quietly, where only she and Vrednic could hear, "And ... do call me Renathal."

Little violet spots appeared on the Maw Walker's high cheekbones. She dipped her head again, her long hair swinging across her face, and turned quickly away from the Dark Prince into the milling crowd.

Renathal watched her go, stroking Vrednic's muzzle absently, a dark glow flickering in his amber eyes. He might not read the Maw Walker as easily as she read him, but he was fairly certain he had discovered how to make her blush.

Epilogue

"Well? Do you think you can manage it?" Renathal asked the two dredgers anxiously.

Rendle exchanged glances with Cudgelface, the nuance of their muddy expressions beyond Renathal's ability to interpret.

"Well ... I don' know as just the two of us could do it."

"Yeah, you need maybe for'y to move summit that big outta the tower."

Renathal sank delicately back in his chair, allowing himself a brief pang of mourning for his failed plan. Hardly a plan. Really, just a minor lark, an off-hand wish. But still...

"Wiv a couple a bigguns, though..."

"Yeah, that'd do."

Renathal perked up.

"Would you know any who might be willing?"

"Oh yeah, Boot owes us a favour," said Rendle confidently. Cudgelface nodded eagerly.

"We'll get it fer ya, your Tallness, no problem."

Better sense warned him not to get his hopes up. Renathal ignored it.

“Your assistance in this matter is immensely appreciated,” he said, standing and nodding deeply enough to almost count as a bow. It made the two dredgers scuff their feet bashfully, before shuffling out of his rooms.

The door shut behind them, and Renathal's lips curled past his fangs, excitement coursing through him in spite of himself.

It was a ridiculous luxury, he knew. It would take a tremendous amount of work to get it into Sinfall, not to mention down to his chambers. And really, he ought not to be expending so much of the rebellion’s limited resources on something so decadent. But if he stood any chance of resting while holed up in Sinfall, it would be on his own four-poster bed. And the Maw Walker herself had prescribed him creature comforts, had she not?

The memory of her lavender face inches from his on the velvet chaise offered itself up for greater inspection - and Renathal enjoyed an echo of that tingling anima. Who knew? Now that he no longer answered to the Master, he might have an opportunity to use his bed to its full potential again.

Read Part 13: Interrupted, Again | Visit the Masterpost

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izekoi · 2 years

Text

General dating hcs

Feat. Switch & Knights

a/n: First of all, despite being in the fandom for over a year now, this is my first time writing for enstars please excuse any errors. I also didn’t intend for this to turn out as long as it did, it started with Natsume and then I thought about how fun dates with Arashi would be and then here we are. Lastly, I apologize for putting out something that has probably been written over a hundred times in this site, I do hope people enjoy it nonetheless 😂 (also not a knightsP but hopefully this is sufficient lol)

(myanee if you see this, hi)

Natsume definitely has a nickname —a term of endearment— for you. As odd as the nicknames get it’s truly just his way of showing his love.

He might not say but Natsume has thought about the possibility of you putting him under a love spell at least once. He didn’t expect himself to be the type to fall in love so deeply after all.

He tends to show you off in front of Tsumugi. As if he can’t make it anymore obvious that you’re HIS beloved

Sometimes he takes you along to watch his experiments, he doesn’t want to bore you, but he’d be very excited if you were to show interest in something he loves.

He goes out of his way for you. He won’t settle for a usual candlelight dinner for your anniversary. How mundane would that be? Instead, he spends sleepless nights creating potions and effects you’d love. He expresses his love in a work of art and he’ll create a stage where the two of you can stand on.

Tsumugi is shown to have low self-esteem. Sometimes you’ll hear him outwardly question why you had decided to date him in the first place. It’s even more odd hearing it with his usual smile plastered on his face as if his question was common sense. This is something you might have to work on in your relationship.

Despite his seemingly dense and air-headed nature, Tsumugi is a natural and very good caretaker. You can count on him to get your necessities and take care of you when you’re sick.

Dating Tsumugi would mean that he’d leave the choices to you most of the time. Whether it’s your date spot or food, he’ll give recommendations here and there but the final verdict is usually yours to make. He’s usually happy as long as you are.

He’s doesn’t necessarily show you off, just that his inability to read situations might suggest that he does. For instance, putting a comment about how cute you looked while you were asleep during an unrelated conversation or how he’s always bringing up the things you said in front of his group mates.

He’d give you good luck charms and his knowledge with flower language certainly helps him pick gifts for your dates. If you’re not allergic to pollen then you’ll often find him bringing them for you on dates.

Sora is very sensitive to your mood. His ability to see your color makes it impossible for you to hide anything from him.

He’s naturally optimistic and upbeat, eager to help when you’re struggling. You can count him to cheer you up during gloomy days.

He’s rather clingy and touchy, often suddenly hugging you from behind when you’re working. He doesn’t like to be away from you much, resulting in you spend most of your time with switch or in the game room.

His favorite date is whatever as long as he gets to hold your hand. He mostly prefers it being indoors simply because he can see your color without much disturbance. He thinks it’s the prettiest.

Tsukasa is very much a gentleman and could be rather nervous when it comes to romance. Since he has never been in an actual relationship.

He does grand gestures, whether it’s bringing you to have anniversary dinner on the best restraurant in town or bringing you out on a romantic boat ride. He wants to make sure he’s treating you right.

He prefers to stick to the traditionals, candlelight dinners and flowers are more of his thing but if you prefer dates in amusement parks, he’d be happy to comply.

It’s actually the little things with him, the way he wraps his jacket around you when you’re cold or the way he holds your hand in crowded places to keep you from getting lost, he seems to always know what you need

Has learned to play your favorite song on the piano to impress you.

The relationship will be a slow-paced one as he is hesitant to do anything that might make you comfortable. He’s the type to ask for permission before initiating anything

Oh boy, this one’s clingy. Ritsu seems like he always has to be touching you. Whether it’s sleeping on you lap or clinging to you in attempt to use you as a pillow.

He’s a tease, he naturally likes poking fun at you. Even more when he gets to see you flustered.

He loves to be spoiled, he loves the feeling of your fingers running through his dark strands or when you give him pats and pull him to rest against your chest.

Doesn’t hesitate to say ‘I love you’ at all in fact you might hear it several times a day. Sometimes he says it out of nowhere as he nuzzles against the crook of your neck, cuddling you to sleep.

Ritsu is not the type to take much interest in his surroundings and despite his annoying (lovingly) tendencies he cares very much about you and is often the first to notice when something is wrong.

Dates are.. how to say, mostly it’s just you doing something and him laying on your back, or side, or lap or anywhere else possible while he’s asleep. Though his favorite spot is where he can cuddle you to sleep be it in the couch, bed, or a coffin lol

You are Leo’s muse. As much of a musical genius he is, sometimes even he is surprised by how you always seem to be able to bring out his best.

Has definitely made several songs about you. He feels much more comfortable expressing his feelings using music even more when it’s you. Words just aren’t enough to describe how much he adores you.

He can’t be away from you for too long, clinging yo you every chance he gets. When he’s working, he’ll always be able to find you during his break time. When he’s away overseas, you’re the first person he seeks as soon as he gets home.

Drags you along during meetings, also has tried to drag you along in his trips.

You’ll eventually learn to read his thoughts beacuse this man is anything but predictable. One minute you were planning to take a small walk in the garden and the next he was dragging you through the amusement park’s entrance

Very… PDA, doesn’t hestitate to hug you in public or say I love you at all. At this point practically everyone in the agency knows you’re dating.

Izumi has a naturally sharp tongue, and it didn’t become any less since you started dating. In fact, you feel like his nagging has become much worse.

He comments on every little thing, whether it’s a loose strand on your hair or crinkled clothes. But you know that’s just his own way of showing you he cares.

At times you feel like you have a personal alarm clock, often getting calls or messages from him asking if you’ve eaten or not or to see if you’re asleep.

It’s always such a treat to have him take care of you when you’re sick. Watching him ramble about how careless and stupid you are for not taking care of yourself better, all the while he’s feeding you and diligently changing the cloth on your forehead every other hour.

The type that goes ‘no one can insult this person except me’. He sure loves nagging you, but the moment someone else does it he’s quick to come to your defense.

Arashi loves to dress you up. You’re going on a date? She’s beyond excited to pick your clothes together, do your make up, and of course, do your hair. Most of the time it’s more about the dressing up rather than the actual date.

She loves taking trips to salons together or simply shopping down the street, dropping by her favorite cake shop on the way back.

Arashi is very good at taking care of people. She loves to pamper you, often going out of her way to make sure your needs are properly met. What you need, however, is to remind her to take care of her own self at times.

Although seemingly calm and mature, Arashi does get jealous. She has no doubts about your feelings for her but she can’t help but grow competitive whenever you praise and spend more attention on other people.

She loves you very much, and she makes it clear to you and everyone. She’s not necessarily nosy but she makes sure to show how much she loves you. You are her one and only.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moments of physical contact can occasionally forge long-term telepathic bonds between cultivators. These bonds are usually based on positive emotions like familial or romantic love, or deep feelings of friendship, but the emotions don’t necessarily have to be positive to forge a bond. Wei Wuxian is very upset to find out that punching Jin Zixuan in the face apparently counts as a sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moment of physical contact.

on ao3

Wei Wuxian had been obsessed with the idea of a resonant bond ever since he first learned about it.

Sure, it was a rarity. It was easier for a cultivator to find a friend, a lover, or even a soulmate than it was for them to create a resonant bond, which required not merely liking or understanding or even love but rather a single moment in time in which two cultivators were on exactly the same wavelength.

Their cultivation strength, their frame of mind, the state of their bodies, the exact way in which they touched – in that one moment, everything would be exactly the same, and the Heavens would forget for that brief moment to see the two as separate, like two separate raindrops merging into one before the moment passed, some difference introduced, and they were broken apart into separate beings again. Yet even after they separated, they would irrevocably retain some aspects of the other, a connection that generally manifested, it was said, as a mental bond that could not be broken, a tie that would keep them bound together no matter the distance.

Such a thing could not be worked towards, only hoped for; it was a matter of luck.

Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything more in his life.

The thought of never being alone again – it enticed him, it excited him. Jiang Cheng could wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea that he might not be alone in his mind anymore, that someone would see all the stupid or terrible things he sometimes thought, but to Wei Wuxian that was the best part: that someone would see you and know you and you would see and know them, too. To have someone to accompany you through the best and worst moments of your life, always at your side…

To never fear abandonment, to never need to worry about someone going out only for a little and then never coming back.

It would be amazing.

That was what Wei Wuxian thought.

Well, that was what he thought right up until he punched Jin Zixuan in the face for insulting his shijie, his whole heart burning at the unfairness of adults who didn’t understand, at other boys who didn’t appreciate what they had, at everything all around them and at his own weakness in not being able to do more, and something just –

Clicked.

“Hey, wake up! Wake up! Are you all right?”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, only to be assaulted with what felt like double vision. Above him were Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, hovering and looking anxious, and from the corner of his eye he could see Lan Wangji, who he so enjoyed teasing, was sweeping over to them with a grim expression – and yet at the same time he thought he could perceive different faces above him as well.

Three young men and two women, all looking down at him with smiles like sharks, ready to devour. Each one of them draped in the gold they lusted to take from his hands –

What the fuck? Wei Wuxian thought groggily. How did I end up on the ground?

Good question. I didn’t think I got punched that hard.

Wait, Wei Wuxian thought. Hold up, I got punched? I didn’t even see the peacock lift his fists!

…Wei Wuxian? Is that – you?

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide when he realized he hadn’t said any of that out loud, that to judge from Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s chatter they hadn’t heard either him nor the other voice. Which meant that the voice had to be...in his head. Is this – this is a resonant bond. We formed a resonant bond!

Shit, Jin Zixuan thought, because it was Jin Zixuan, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone!

What? Why?

Please!

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even known that the peacock knew that word.

Fine, he said, feeling generous on account of the whole bond business. I won’t tell. For now.

“Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking worriedly fretful. “Are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his head and trying to think of a lie to explain why he fell over like that. “I think the peacock must’ve had a talisman or a defensive weapon or something. Whatever it is, I’m fine now.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re all right,” Jiang Cheng said, looking deeply relieved. And then, a moment later – “Because I’m going to kill you - !”

There wasn’t too much time to talk after that. Wei Wuxian was sentenced to kneeling, and then his Uncle Jiang arrived and Sect Leader Jin arrived – oh no, oh no, oh no, I fucked up, Jin Zixuan thought hopelessly, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same – and the next thing Wei Wuxian knew, the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli was broken and he was being sent to pack up his things, to be taken home at once.

Jin Zixuan was swept away by his father, too.

“A pity about the engagement,” Sect Leader Jin remarked idly as they walked together. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have said such a thing. Your mother will be disappointed.”

Wei Wuxian could feel the way that that jabbed at Jin Zixuan’s heart like a stab with a sword.

“Still, it’s no harm,” the man continued, indifferently ignoring the impact his words had had on his son. “One could even call it a gain! You won’t be burdened down with that shrew’s daughter anymore.”

That what?!

Tune out of this conversation, please, Jin Zixuan said, his thoughts dull and sluggish and resigned. It’s going to get worse from here on out.

It did.

Sect Leader Jin commented at some great length about his views on Madame Yu’s many faults – her temper, her strength, her nosiness, her thought that she was worth anything other than a pair of legs and an inheritance – and contrasted it with some salacious comments on her positive traits – mostly the legs, with a few comments on the upper half as well – and then he started speculating about Jiang Yanli, too, in a way that made Wei Wuxian’s blood boil.

It’s not about her, Jin Zixuan told him, his voice a little desperate in a familiar way – he was used to having to defend his father, and just as obviously didn’t want to. He’s building up a defense.

What?

For my mother. She’ll be angry at him for agreeing to break the engagement, so he’ll say that it was my idea, say all this stuff, and then she’ll be angry at me for believing it, instead, even though I don’t. This isn’t what I wanted at all.

Wei Wuxian frowned. You wanted to marry my shijie? You sure didn’t show it!

No, I just didn’t want to marry anybody, Jin Zixuan said, and…okay, fine, that was a pretty respectable position. Wei Wuxian didn’t particularly want to marry anyone yet, either. I just got angry when everyone was talking about how it was a done deal, that’s all. Just one more thing that got picked for me.

Wei Wuxian had heard Jiang Cheng complain about similar enough things – how much of his life was selected in advance, how much was organized for the benefit of his sect rather than his own interests, how little choice he got. How even if he’d been as good as Wei Wuxian, or even better, he still wouldn’t have been able to go out and hunt pheasants all day the way Wei Wuxian did.

He refused to feel sympathy. Well, you shouldn’t have taken it out on my shijie!

Probably not. Jin Zixuan was silent for a moment. It probably doesn’t help, but I’m sorry for my rudeness.

Wei Wuxian hated it when people were reasonable. It made it so much harder to stay angry at them.

Are you going to tell me why I can’t tell people about this bond yet? he asked. You’d better have a good reason, I had to put up with an entire scolding from Jiang Cheng because I didn’t have a good excuse!

Later tonight. I promise.

That night, Wei Wuxian excused himself early and hid himself in his room on the boat. He knew that he was giving both Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng the impression that he was feeling deeply guilty about having broken the engagement, thereby making them feel bad about it, which he didn’t intend, but he really wanted to hear the reason. If it wasn’t good enough, he’d really break Jin Zixuan’s nose this time!

It really is a good reason!

Well, then? If it’s so good, don’t keep me in suspense!

Jin Zixuan sighed. Wei Wuxian felt it like an exhalation on his cheek, as if Jin Zixuan were right there beside him. You know how a resonant bond is supposed to be equal?

What do you mean ‘supposed to be’? Wei Wuxian asked, and felt something cold in his belly.

There are forbidden techniques, ancient ones, that are designed to manipulate a resonant bond into an unequal state. To make one side the master and the other the slave.

That’s disgusting!

If we told anyone, my father would find a way to get one, Jin Zixuan said, and he wasn’t guessing. His voice was utterly certain. There’s very little money can’t buy, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of having a spy in the very heart of the Jiang clan.

Well, then just don’t tell him!

Just like I didn’t tell him about what I said about your shijie?

Wei Wuxian got tripped up by that. It was true, Jin Zixuan hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and yet his father had already known every last detail. How..?

One of my ‘friends’ told him, of course. Probably more than one, actually – I wouldn’t be surprised if they all passed it along. It’s what he pays them for.

He pays for your friends to spy on you?!

I already told you that there’s little money can’t buy. Why not friends?

I wouldn’t be friends with people who accepted money to spy on me. Why do you?

If it’s not this set, it’ll be another, and it’s all the same. If they won’t be bought, then I can’t be friends with them…anyway, I’ve gotten used to these ones.

All of them? Wei Wuxian asked. Even Mianmian? She didn’t seem the type…

Her name is Luo Qingyang, and yes. Her parents are sick and my father’s paying for the treatment; if she doesn’t tell him everything, he’ll cut off funds…she told me about it, though. Said that if there was ever a time that I wanted her to ‘forget’ to report something, she could do that. That’s more than most would do, and probably about as much as anyone can expect –

Have you ever had a friend that wasn’t bought? Wei Wuxian asked. I mean…ever?

Jin Zixuan was silent.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Well, I guess you have me now, Wei Wuxian thought, with only a tiny amount of self-pity for the stupidity of agreeing to be friends with Jin Zixuan. Still, if he’d survived his efforts at being Lan Wangji’s friend, he could survive anything. No one’s going to buy me!

But –

Nope! No take-backs! We have a resonant bond, peacock. You think I’m going to waste a gift from the Heavens like this just because it’s with you? You’ve got another thing coming!

…can you at least stop calling me a peacock?!

Madame Yu made her displeasure clear enough when Wei Wuxian returned, ordering him to kneel all night and do every available chore and things like that, but Wei Wuxian didn’t take it to heart – he never did, really.

Like Jiang Cheng, Madame Yu’s bark was worse than her bite: for all that she hissed and spat and punished him with kneeling or holding up weights, she’d never denied him resources, kept him back from training, or even denied him the spot of head disciple to promote another less qualified in his place, which she very well might have if she were a bit pettier.

So he didn’t take it personally, even if Jin Zixuan seemed indignant on his behalf – you were defending her daughter! You’d think she’d give you some leeway for that, at least! – and at any rate it was better than Jin Zixuan’s slow meandering way home, with his father disappearing every night into a brothel or the bedroom of some innkeeper’s daughter or something like that.

It was better than Jin Zixuan’s mother’s reaction, too, which was to scream and shout and say vicious nasty things, to smash plates and vases against the walls right over his head, and then to pull him into her arms and make him promise over and over again that he would never betray her.

I think I suffered more in terms of physical exertion, but you get full points for all the emotional devastation, Wei Wuxian said after Jin Zixuan returned to hide in his bedroom. Does she do that a lot?

All the time, Jin Zixuan said. All the fucking time.

After a moment, he added, guiltily, It’s only that she loves me –

Ugh, don’t even start with that, Wei Wuxian said. Complaining about awful parent-related trauma is boring, I get enough of it from Jiang Cheng. Help me figure out what I should do tomorrow: flying kites, swimming, or hunting pheasants? Oh, or fishing!

…seriously? Do you spend any time cultivating?

Oh, come on. It’s my first day back!

That just means you have more you need to catch up on!

Your shijie is really nice.

I told you!

You didn’t! You just hit me!

Wei Wuxian loved having a resonant bond.

Sure, it wasn’t with someone useful like Jiang Cheng or even wonderful like Lan Wangji – I can hear you, you know – but it was kind of nice to have someone to complain to when it would be awkward to put it onto Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli.

The other half being Jin Zixuan was also not as bad as he had first thought it would be. Sure, he was just as spoiled, arrogant, vain, and deeply cynical about human nature as Wei Wuxian had thought – I can still hear you! – but he was also an awkward introvert with no social skills and an over-active guilt complex – fuck you too, Wei Wuxian – and, in the sum total of things, surprisingly tolerable. Thanks? I think?

It’d certainly made the indoctrination camp more tolerable, even if it did mean having two people talking in his ear about how he needed to think more about the consequences of his actions and how it might reflect on his sect, and certainly having Jin Zixuan confirming that the other disciples had made it out of the cave and were moving at full speed to try to get help made the days he was waiting with Lan Wangji a lot less stressful, and their ensuing rescue a lot easier.

But sometimes –

This is a terrible idea! You can’t do it!

You don’t get a say! Wei Wuxian snarled. This is my decision.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said. A moment later, quieter: Is this because I couldn’t make it to you in time to help?

Wei Wuxian swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. The Wen attack was a surprise to everyone, he said. Even if you were able to convince your father to let you go help with everyone you had, it wouldn’t – you wouldn’t have made it in time to do anything.

After his father had refused, Jin Zixuan had snuck out of Jinlin Tower through what he’d thought was a secret passage and tried to go anyway, only to be caught and dragged back. Wei Wuxian appreciated the effort, even if it didn’t make a difference in the end.

When they were on the run from the Wen sect, after, Jin Zixuan had encouraged Wei Wuxian to head to Lanling, swearing that he wouldn’t allow anyone to turn them over to the Wen sect, but they hadn’t gotten that far.

And now…

It’s my choice, Wei Wuxian said. You don’t get a say.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said again, but his voice was softer. Fine. But I’m here for you.

Wei Wuxian smiled, just a little bit, and told to Wen Qing to start.

I’m going to murder my father, Jin Zixuan said, conversationally. And then go to the hell reserved for patricides and be reborn as a chicken right before slaughter.

For shame, Wei Wuxian said. Not even a lamb or a goat?

No, I want to be able to bite someone and mean it, and chickens are better at that than goats.

Wei Wuxian giggled, a little hysterically. It’s fine, he said, looking around the Burial Mounds. It’s fine that he won’t let you come to my rescue immediately. Not like I’m going anywhere.

He’d thought – they’d both thought – that the resonant bond would break or maybe transfer to Jiang Cheng along with Wei Wuxian’s golden core, but it hadn’t.

Wei Wuxian had been depressingly grateful for it, for the by now familiar Lanling cadence of Jin Zixuan in his head. It made the horrible quiet empty of the Burial Mounds a little more tolerable, a little less awful.

Anyway, he said briskly, shaking off his terror at being here alone but for the voice in his head. I have an idea…

I feel like if I knew Chifeng-zun looked like that I would’ve made befriending Nie Huaisang more of a priority when I was younger.

I know, right? Wei Wuxian thought back. Just…wow.

A moment later, he added, a little irritably, I thought you were into my shijie again?

I am! I’m allowed to have eyes, okay?

Not if you’re surnamed Jin you aren’t.

Fuck you.

Nope. And Chifeng-zun isn’t going to, either.

He could feel Jin Zixuan rolling his eyes. I don’t even want him to, I was really just looking. Anyway, how’s Lan Wangji doing?

Lan Zhan? He’s – well, he’s always bothering me about going back to Gusu with him, talking about how my demonic cultivation is dangerous to me, but oh, you should have seen him when he joins us to fight..! You can forgive anything, really, just to watch him move – Wei Wuxian paused. Wait, why are you asking?

No reason.

Jin Zixuan! You tell me this instant -

Jin Zixuan was locking Wei Wuxian out of his head again.

It was a technique they’d worked on developing together – with some assistance from Wei Wuxian’s brilliance and Jin Zixuan’s ability to find and purchase extremely rare reference texts, whether on resonant bonds or just more generally, including when Wei Wuxian had needed some help figuring out some things about demonic cultivation while trapped on the Burial Mounds – as it had become moderately urgent following Jin Zixuan’s first spring dream involving Jiang Yanli, and even more so once he’d decided that he really did want to marry her, actually, if she’d be willing to have him.

There were some things Wei Wuxian did not need to know about his shijie.

Still, it was unusual for him to block him during the day. One might even call it suspicious.

I’m sorry, Jin Zixuan said abruptly. It had to be done, and you weren’t going to do it.

Huh? What are you talking about…?

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian turned, surprised. His shidi’s eyes were red as if he’d been crying, and he ran up and pulled him into his arms. “Wei Wuxian…!”

“What?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s this about…?”

“How could you?!” Jiang Cheng demanded, weeping into his neck. “You should have told me – you had no right to – to give me – Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian’s back went stiff. You didn’t!

It was the truth or you getting kicked out of your sect! He needed to know!

Fuck you! It wasn’t your choice to make!

I’m not going to stand by and let you get schemed against, Jin Zixuan said. Certainly not by my own father. I won’t!

I’m going to make you pay for this, Wei Wuxian said darkly, then looked down at Jiang Cheng in his arms. And possibly thank you for it. But I’m definitely going to make you pay!

This may sound weird, Jin Zixuan said. But I think I’m being poisoned.

Based on what I know about Lanling Jin sect and its politics, it’s not weird at all, Wei Wuxian said instinctively, then frowned. Are you serious? It’s not just baby fatigue or something?

That’s what I thought at first, too. But now I’m not so sure. He was silent for a moment. I don’t want to sound like my mother, but…

You think it’s Lianfeng-zun? I’m not saying he doesn’t have the most motive for it, but do you really think..? He seems so nice.

He is, most of the time. Jin Zixuan sighed. Maybe I really am just tired.

Wei Wuxian didn’t think so. He’d had a half-dozen years of listening to the backstabbing, vicious world of Jinlin Tower under his belt by now – had fought bitterly in the war only to fight even more bitterly for something like the right to attend his own shijie’s wedding, something that ought to have been his by right – had nearly suffered an ambush when he tried to attend Jin Ling’s first month party, with Jin Zixun attacking him and Wen Ning going unexpectedly crazy and Jin Zixuan rushing over as fast as he could to make them all stop. If he hadn’t already known about Jin Zixuan not knowing about this, if he hadn’t felt something go wrong and thrown himself in between them without thinking, Jin Zixuan might’ve died there and then on the Qiongqi path.

If Jin Zixuan thought he was being poisoned, he was probably being poisoned.

I’ll come visit you and look into it, Wei Wuxian said. We can pretend that I’m there to visit shijie.

They’d long ago confessed the truth to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, of course. For some reason, neither had looked all that surprised.

With your reputation, even if you figured something out, who’d believe you? Jin Zixuan asked. Ask Hanguang-jun if he’ll come, his reputation will bear up.

Lan Zhan? Sure! I’m always happy to work with him. But you know, he’s been ignoring me recently…I don’t know why…

Tell him about the resonant bond.

What? I thought we were still keeping it a secret.

Tell him. He doesn’t tell anyone anything.

Good point, I guess. You think that’ll help him stop ignoring me?

Yes.

Wei Wuxian generally trusted Jin Zixuan’s reading of people, now that he was mature enough not to let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. All right, I will. Can you tell me why?

You’ll find out when you tell him.

Unhelpful.

Noted and ignored.

Fuck you.

Yeah, you too. See you soon.

Jin Zixuan?

Yeah?

Thank you for my love life, but also, FUCK YOU.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #resonant bond #this one is set in the untamed but only barely #lesbianjinzixuan

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

Text

Curiosity // Luke Patterson

Summary: After filling up another journal designed his songbook Luke is left empty handed. With the offer to a shelf of blanket journals is given he’s immediately choosing. But Luke’s curiosity leads him to a discovery. In other words Luke finds Perfect Harmony in Reader’s bedroom.

Requested: Yes by @averyharrypotterlife

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.7 (including lyrics)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the 5000+ followers whether it was years ago and you didn’t unfollow or in the future. Thank you for enjoying and interacting in something I’ve always loved: writing.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Luke’s always been a curious person going as far back as his early childhood. The most consistent evidence being during the Christmas holidays. Until he was ten, yes, he’s aware that his friends stopped believing in Santa way earlier. The young lad would stay up hidden in the living room waiting to catch Santa. Without fail, Luke would wake up in his outer space planet sheets having fallen asleep in his mission.

When he was twelve years old, he was left at his aunt and uncle’s house for the weekend due to a work-related thing. His older cousin was eighteen at the time and at college, so Luke stayed in his bedroom. Luke couldn’t help but snoop through Bryan’s personal items, and in a drawer with a false bottom, he discovered magazines.

Luke had a lot of fun that weekend diligently going through the magazines his mother would skin his hide even knowing about them. He may have had to use the excuse of having a cold for the entire box of Kleenex missing. No one was the wiser on that weekend.

Now when Luke was fourteen years old, he had snuck into the Rated R film Candyman with Alex and Reggie. Luke’s parents had been strict in their rules and definitely had shot down the question of seeing the film. The three didn’t sleep with the lights out for a month after that, and the truth came out when no lie was sufficient to their concerned parents.

Luke Patterson didn’t care about boundaries. Why ask for permission when you can just ask for forgiveness? It worked with going through Julie’s dream box, but all personal items got hidden from the ghostly guitarist.

“No!” Luke exclaimed flipping through his song journal once more in hopes of a blank page. The frustration in his body snapping the pencil he had been using.

“You good?” You questioned glancing up from the essay you graded as a teacher’s assistant for an AP course. Luke’s frustrated brown met yours with a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ve filled my journal up. I hate using loose-leaf, but no money means no buying things.” Luke roughly scrubbed one hand on his face.

“You could always just forever borrow one from the- “Luke quickly shot that down with a look of absolute horror, “Okay…so stealing a no.”

“I did listen to my parents on certain aspects. I would never steal anything, other than the food when we didn’t have enough cash.” Luke’s brown hue had softened back into the hazel that caused flutters in your heart, “I have no respect for thieves.”

You nodded before scribbling a suggestion on the paper in dark red, “I have a shelf in my room dedicated solely to blank journals. If you want to, you can take one free of charge.”

With a quick smile, Luke disappeared from the room to your personal domain he sometimes hung out with you in. You had no misgivings on the teen finding solace in your room and gave him free rein; your prized possessions hidden very well.

Luke appeared in the soft blue and lilac bedroom with the queen white iron wrought style bed in the middle. A white desk in the corner with a multitude of bookcases and shelves in the room. The desk chair neatly pushed into the desk as well he went straight to the shelf.

Journals of all colours and styles with a label on the shelf noting them as empty. It was packed with dozens, but it was the midnight blue one that called to the boy. In his reach, he bumped an emerald green one off the edge. It opened having hit the edge of the desk.

As he leaned down, he noticed notations in the margins, now remember how Luke is a curious guy? He only hesitated a second before he was reading the pages of words in your signature script.

The guilt flared for a second before he justified it as being on the shelf you declared free game. So Luke settled sitting criss-cross against the side of your bed reading the words so eloquently written. Even notes allowed Luke to hear the melody in his mind.

Assignment: Write a piece of literature from two points of views. Genre doesn’t matter as long as it is a minimum of one page and not exceed eight.

Step into my world

Bittersweet love story ’bout a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel

I’ve never heard before

The words took his breath away, recalling a moment he gushed to Alex on how he had caught you singing. He had described your voice as being angelic, and it took him by complete surprise. He remembered Julie, and you entered the room shortly after with a nervous feeling if you had heard. Now Luke had his answer. His phantom heart pounded in anticipation for the reply to this first point of view.

Here in front of me

They’re shining so much brighter

Than I have ever seen

Life can be so mean

But when he goes, I know he doesn’t leave

The smile threatened to split his face with the elation as he continued reading with a subconscious hum. His fingers tapping the sides of the paper as his hazel irises tinged green ate up the words.

The truth is finally breaking through

Two worlds collide when I’m with you

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

The world faded as Luke distinctly heard your angelic voice singing the parts he could easily recognize as perfect for you. There was something so powerful in this incredibly personal song only intended for your eyes and your teachers.

The next handful of lines left him breathless and astonished as he visualized not sitting across from each other. But engaging in another art form that can be so incredibly intimate for people; he imagined singing this while holding you in his arms.

You set me free

You and me together is more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I’ll hold your music here inside my hands

We say we’re friends, we play pretend

You’re more to me, we’re everything

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Luke went from humming to softly singing to the heartfelt tune with a flutter of butterflies deep in his stomach. When Julie saw Unsaid Emily, he had denied it as an experiment, and it was the truth. Luke wrote rock anthems and rock-pop with his living friend. He never dabbled into romantic ones.

He’d never read something so poetically beautiful it felt him weeping at the sheer amount of feelings.

I feel your rhythm in my heart

Yeah yeah yeah

You are my brightest burning star

Whoah whoah oh

I never knew a love so real (so real)

We’re heaven on earth

Melody and words

When we’re together we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

We say we’re friends (we play pretend)

You’re more to me (we create)

Perfect harmony

His eyes found the last line of the song setting him back in a dead silence returning to the start to reread it. On his third read, he found the notes from your teacher on a separate page.

Y/N, in my years of teaching, I’ve never read something with such meaning behind it. The longing, passion, respect and love you artfully encapsulated is rare. To have written, this means you’ve felt this. No corrects needed, and I felt compelled to not mark on the piece. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, for letting me step inside your mind and please never let this emotion fade.

Your grade is A+.

Luke’s lips pulled apart at the genuine words your teacher had written because it indeed was a word of art. Carefully Luke returned the notebook back to the shelf to retrieve the blue one that caught his attention. AS he turned, he found you leaning against the door frame with a soft smile.

“I am so sor-“

“No.” You replied, walking into the room, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I told you any notebook on that shelf. I can’t get mad, and I’ve seen you can’t leave something half-read.”

“Probably why my book reports were insanely well done in school.” Luke joked as you stepped in his personal space. The tension faded from his shoulders as he took in your features, “You got a perfect grade.”

“I did.” You simply spoke, staring up into his eyes, “You helped me with it.”

“How?”

“You told Alex what you felt about my voice. You looked nervous when I walked in, so I let it go. It wasn’t the time to bring it up. It’s called Perfect Harmony.” You told the ghost gently grazing your fingertips on his hand. The feeling sends shudders down his spine.

“I guess it just wasn’t the right time. With the band and-“

“-the whole soul owning thing. Too much but now that you’ve read that…what do you feel?” You hesitantly asked because reading it and discovering how someone feels is another to if the feelings are reciprocated back.

“That I was always meant to live in 2020. That I was meant to love you with every atom in my very being.” Luke murmured before he crashed his lips onto your own in a searing kiss that had your toe-curling.

The midnight blue journal dropped to the floor as his large calloused hands cupped your face to feel the warmth. The very journal would be filled with songs all about this person, Luke adored not matter his state as a ghost. Two worlds collided just as two souls came together in perfect harmony.

So, wrapped up in each other Luke didn’t notice something magical encased in the warm love. In the bedroom, the two teens were kissing in had two distinct heartbeats with a glow emanating from Luke Patterson.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #charlie gillespie imagines #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #caitsy and ash productions

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whentheynameyoujoy · 4 years

Text

Yup, Sure Was a Finale

I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.

It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.

Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.

(+) This

Just this.

(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert

“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020

(+) The tragedy of Azula

And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…

(+) Sokka being a big bro

And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…

And now for the main course.

(-) Blink and its over

The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.

Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.

Oh well!

(-) Ursa

We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…

(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?

Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?

Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?

So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.

Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.

(-) “What does Katara want?”

Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.

This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,

Once.

And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.

The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.

And I fully intend to die mad about it.

(-) Iroh dips

OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.

(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)

Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?

(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se

Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.

The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?

Yeah, no.

Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:

orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;

gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;

establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;

sabotaging Fire Nation’s war efforts from the inside;

countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);

running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.

Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.

You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.

(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn

Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?

If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.

One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”

I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.

You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.

I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.

(-) All hail Avatar Rock

Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.

He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.

He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.

Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.

The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.

And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.

Again.

It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.

Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.

And I hate it.

Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.

#atla #atla rewatch #meta #zutara #anti bryke #anti-kataang #anti-aang #anti-maiko

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lonelyhobi · 4 years

Text

Surprise Baby

☆summary: gone is master and in his place is Taehyung who has a hell of a surprise for you

☆pairing: taehyung x reader

☆warnings: fingering, and cuteness lol this is basically fluff with an orgasm

☆word count: 2.5k

A:N: This is solely to stress out @scribblemetae I hope you all enjoy and can be seen as a part 2 to punishment since it’s the same couple but doesn’t have to be read in order to understand <3

“Baby?”

You hear Taehyung question as he steps through the door. The way his body smile lights up as he takes in your appearance has your face flushing with heat and heart racing. You had just gotten home and barely kicked your shoes off in your entryway when Tae was strutting across the living room and taking you into his arms “Hey” he mumbles into your hair as he holds you close to his chest. He inhaled deeply commuting your scent to memory, feeling at home with you in his arms. “Hi” you giggle out into his body enjoying the steady beat of his heart filling your ears.

“I miss you today” his voice booms from his chest. You lean back to face him as you roll your eyes playfully.

“I saw you this morning silly. I just stepped out for a bit” pulling you back towards him he shushes your gently “don’t care. Need to see you” he begins kissing your head repeatedly as he leads you to your couch.

He sits down before pulling you onto his lap and your back pressed against his chest. Arms wrapped around your waist he nuzzled his nose into your neck leaving light kisses there.

“I have a surprise for you” you barely make out the words but you feel giddy thinking of what it could be. Taehyung had a talent for sweeping you off your feet in any way imaginable.

“Ooooh what is it?” You question turning and placing a kiss along his jaw. He sighs gently holding you close to him.

“You’ll find out soon but right now I just want to hold you like this okay?”

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice and you would’ve pried but you also knew that Tae tended to let things out on his own. You had a better chance of waiting it out to see what was bugging him. Plus it felt ridiculously nice to be here in his arms, his warm body making you feel safe and loved. You both stayed whispering sweet nothing and retelling each other of your time apart. Kisses were stolen and cuddles given.

“Okay get up” Taes voice comes out more domineering than he intends and the way you quickly scramble out of his grasp and onto your feet obeying his command has him flinching.

“I’m sorry angel I didn’t mean that. It’s TaeTae okay?”

Your eyes soften as you stare at the man you adore nodding when you see he really is just Taehyung and not Master tonight. His smile returns as he stands and holds out his hand for you. You both walk into your shared bedroom before he turns towards you placing his hands on your eyes.

“Promise not to trip me” a giggling Tae guides you slowly and can’t help but think he’s purposely gonna ram you into the wall and not in a fun way.

“baby I wouldn’t do that” he laughs.

“Tae that’s exactly what you’d do, can I look now?” You ask as he most certainly opened the door to your restroom. When you step in your immediately hit with the sweet scent of candles you bet are lit all around. His hand drops with a “surprise” and you take in the sight.

A warm bath is drawn, with flower petals and foaming soap, two glasses of champagne sit on the counter, and a cheesy trail of red roses start from your feet to the tub. “Y-you did this?” Nodding excitedly Taehyung stares at his work. When he doesn’t hear anything else from you he steps in front of your face and his voice cracks when he asks “wait you’re crying? You don’t like it?”

Quickly you reach out for his hand “no no! I do babe! It’s so romantic. I just wasn’t expecting it.” His gaze fills with adoration hearing you and your hand trails to his cheek “I love it.”

“I love you” Tae grins as he presses his lips to yours. Your hands wrap around his neck while his circle around your waist. You find yourself swaying around the bathroom to music only the two of you can hear, lost in the feeling of the man you love.

Pulling away gently Taehyung grasps the hem of his shirt pulling it off in one tug before undoing his pants just as quickly.

“Can I baby?” He asks as his fingers dance to the hem of your dress. Nodding your consent he smiles and undresses you until you're standing bare for him.

“Everyday I thank every possible deity in existence for blessing me with you.” His hands cup your face to give you a tender kiss. “And then I also thank every sin invoking presence for making you such a perfect pet for me” whimpering out you climb closer to Taehyung searching for his lips and he just chuckles giving into your mouth.

“But today is about us. I want to do something special, I-I mean I have something special.” With a quirk of your eyebrow he’s tugging you over to the bath. He steps over the edge and settles himself before making grabby hands for you.

“So needy” you laugh stepping in with him and settling into the space he made between his legs for you.

“Shh! Only you can know'' and he leans in taking your earlobe between his lips biting before running his tongue over. “

Tae!!” Shrieking in his grasp you wiggle around in his arms. “Hey! Quit wiggling baby your gonna get all the water out and I haven’t gotten to do anything.”

You pause titling your head back against his shoulder “Oh? And what were you planning doing” you raise your brows suggestively pulling your best sultry look.

“Get that pretty head out of the gutter. Lean forward please” he asks sweetly and you do so only to let out a literal moan when his comes in contact with your back and shoulder.

His hand kneads your body that he has memorized and he basks in the whimpers of pleasure you emit. “Good baby?” Nodding lightly you moan out softly “So good Tae”

He continues his motions on your body before he’s pushing you up against him once again. His hand slips around to your front and he’s circling both of your nipples with his index fingers lightly. “Thought you said no gutter” his deep chuckle is interrupted by his fingers pinching you right nipple teasingly causing you to squeal.

“That rule applies only for you baby. Because when it comes to me I can’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you, and want you to do for me.” You moan lightly as he continues to play with your hardened buds as you arch your back offering you breasts to him.

“Good girl baby” he mumbles, pressing his lips to the skin of your exposed neck. His nimble fingers trail down your breasts to the tops of your thighs and you feel his nails scratch you gently up and down. “Taehyung” you whine out feeling yourself getting more and more aroused by the second.

“I’ll give you whatever you want just tell me” he tells you his own voice cracking as he stares at your willing body pressed up against his, the pretty noises your mouth keeps letting out having turned him into a rock hard mess ages ago.

“I want fingers, please” and without a moment to spare both hands dip between your thighs, one coming to spread your lips and the other running from your clit to the tip of your entrance.

He plays around with your needy pussy for a bit until you can't take it, every so often his finger teases at your hole and you find yourself pushing up to catch his finger. “And you said I was the needy one” he mocks you before slipping just the tip of his finger into you before pulling it out.

“Kim Taehyung” you call out in the brattiest tone you muster up and once again he can only laugh at his desperate girl aching for his fingers. ”Okay okay I’m done you’re right whatever you want.” And he’s back to slipping his skilled digit into your hole. He keeps a steady beat of thrusting his finger in and out before a second one joins in. You feel him lightly press into your back as the tight fit of your pussy has you clenching around his fingers. “God you’re tight. Such a perfect pussy baby” and you mewl against his neck burying yourself in his scent. He continues his thrust into your tight hole, his hand spreading your lips making its way to your clit rubbing in tight circles. “Tae it feels so good” and your praise has both his hands moving rapidly in and against you pushing you closer to your climax.

Crying out his name you feel your orgam sweep through your body, legs trying to squeeze shut but Taehyung's strong grip and unrelenting pace on your clit doesn’t give up despite your wails. He rides out your orgasm until you're near tears mumbling his name “That’s my girl, so good always cums for me”.

Taking his fingers from your cunt he brings them to his lips trying to savor what he can despite the water. You lay there on his chest aware of his painful erection pressing against your back as he licks all over his fingers. When he’s sufficiently sucked what he could of your essence he brings his fingers to you mouth and despite your eyes being closed you feel them prod st your mouth. Quickly and greedily opening your mouth taking in his spit covered fingers and sucking them.

Pulling them out he’s planting a kiss on your temple. “Good?” and you nod as your hand slips around to find his hard cock between your ass cheeks. “Uh uh” he says as he pulls your hand up bringing it to your lips to kiss your palm.

“Just you right now, I want to give you something.”

“But you said whatever I want and I want your cock Tae '' and once again the brat in you is showing and you don’t miss the clench of Taehyung's jaw at your behavior. If he were Master today you definitely could say goodbye to whatever he had planned for you. But as Taehyung you could basically get away with murder and you were for sure going to milk it. So you reach down and take his hard member into your group stroking him up and down until he’s once again gripping your wrist.

His voice is hushed and sends a thrill down your back “I might be Taehyung right now but don’t think for a second that Master can’t make a guest appearance and put you in your place, don’t take advantage Pet.”

Shivering at his tone you’re nodding as you let go of his cock, the frown on your face still there. Taehyung is kissing the side of your head before nudging you up. “Calm down baby, I want you to enjoy this, be good a little longer” and you're nodding your head standing up.

As you’re about to step out of the tub Taeyhung is gripping your shoulders “Wait give me a second!” and before you know you hear him step out of the tub and waddle his way out of the bathroom shivering. You don’t question him, just stand there entirely confused at what this man was doing until he returns almost slipping on the tile but holding two fluffy towels.

“I just took them out of the dryer so they would be warm!” His boxy smile makes an appearance once again and you can’t help but smile back at his thoughtfulness. Walking over he wraps you up in a towel before wrapping his towel around his waist.

He picks up the glasses of champagne handing you your before holding up the glass once again “To us baby” a smiling Tae toasts. “To us.” And you stand there sipping your champagne as he insists on drying you and applying your lotion all over you. When he’s done he plants a sweet kiss to your lips before leading you out to the bedroom.

“Okay baby can you sit down for me?” and you nod planting yourself at the foot of the bed as he once again exits the room. This time he returns with a white shopping bag that has you once again confused. He walks to where you are setting the bag down before he’s on his knees in front of you.

“Baby” he says sweetly, gripping your hands that are in your lap. “You are everything, like when people say that they want to find it. That’s what you are for me, it. Not that creepy ass clown but the solution to every problem in my life, and sometimes the cause of them too” you giggle a little at his rushed out speech but your heart still flutters. “I know you’re the one for me. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my days worshiping you.” His thumbs had started to stroke the back of your hands to calm himself down. “And I trust you, God I’m convinced you were made for me baby.” Your own hands squeeze him to encourage him to go on. “Look this isn’t sudden I’ve been thinking about it for a while and like I said I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with you s-”

“Taehyung.” you mutter out barely above a whisper

He immediately stops his rambling and looks into your eyes, his own having grown wide.

“A-are you, is this you proposing?” you barely manage to mumble out your question and his own alarm grows.

“No! God no! Wait not like that I meant like, no that's not what I’m doing.” You let out a sigh of relief as you notice his own nerves have settled.

“Okay so then what’s the surprise if not a ring?”

“Well it is a ring, just not an engagement ring” He reaches into the white bag and pulls out a black velvet box that opens to reveal the most stunning emerald you’ve ever seen. The deep green of the emerald shines even in the dimly lit room and you can’t imagine how much he must’ve spent.

“Taehyung I- it’s beautiful”

“And still it’s nothing compared to you, let me see your hand” He slips the finger onto your ring finger and you throw him another curious look. “What? It’s more of a promise ring, I mean half of the time you wear a collar with my name around your neck this is just a classier collar” he reasons, staring at the ring on your finger.

Shaking your head you lean over to pull his lips to yours. “It’s stunning, but I don’t need a ring, I just need you.” And now he’s pulling you in closer planting a sweet kiss.

“Wait why were you so nervous then if you’re not proposing?” you ask, pulling away from him.

“O-oh uh I also wanted to give you something else.”

“Which is?”

He reaches over into the bag and what he pulls out has your eyes widening even more than when you saw the ring. In Taehyung's hands he was holding a strap on and a bottle of lube.

“I want to give you my ass”

#kim taehyung smut #bts smut #bts fic #v smut #taehyung smut

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ikeromantic · 3 years

Text

Hero's Welcome

A Mitsuhide Akechi story, this scene occurs toward the end of Ch. 13 in the romantic route. Spoilers! Approx. 2500 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Delicious SFW/NSFW

As the walls of Azuchi drew closer, Mitsuhide felt a wave of relief. Of course, it was followed shortly by a new tension. He wasn’t sure if Nobunaga would grant him the right to marry his little one, or if he did, what the condition of that union might be. It was practical to make your first bride a political alliance - to give the place of privilege to a powerful family’s daughter. But Mitsuhide had no stomach for that.

He wanted just her.

The chatelaine didn’t seem to notice his reticence to return. In fact, she was practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. She kept walking faster, nearly running toward the city gate.

“There’s no reason to run, little mouse. Azuchi isn’t going anywhere.”

She stopped to turn and smile at him. “I’m just so glad to finally be home.”

Mitsuhide smiled and held out his hand. “Let’s go in together.”

Ranmaru and Hideyoshi were waiting for them.

Mitsuhide watched the cheerful page and wondered if Ranmaru knew that he knew . . . He would need to watch him even more carefully now. Kennyo knew his weakness and Ranmaru was perfectly positioned to take advantage of it.

Hideyoshi interrupted his train of thought with a restrained greeting. His eyes searched first the chatelaine and then Mitsuhide, looking for injuries. For signs of their struggle. “Welcome back,” he said.

“Happy to see us?” Mitsuhide’s thin smile turned his lips up at the corners.

“I am.”

The chatelaine hugged Ranmaru and then wrapped her arms around Hideyoshi. He awkwardly patted her head. “It’s good to see you.”

To Mitsuhide’s ear, his voice sounded strained, but the chatelaine didn’t seem to notice. She grinned up at him.

“I missed you! Both of you! Where is everyone else?”

Hideyoshi extracted himself from her embrace and nodded toward the castle. “Waiting for you both there. We weren’t sure you would make it back today.”

Ranmaru gave a sly smile. “Hideyoshi has been at the gates every day since we received word that the shogun has . . . decided to go into seclusion.”

“I haven’t,” Hideyoshi sputtered.

Mitsuhide shook his head. Hideyoshi was a terrible liar. “We best not keep the others waiting. Come, little one.”

The chatelaine took his hand again. Ranmaru and Hideyoshi led them back.

As they walked through the city, Mitsuhide took note of the mood there. People seemed largely unaware of the conflict, though he noted few merchants from outer provinces. Likely the result of the false conflict with Echigo. A small price to pay, considering the alternatives.

The shadow of Azuchi’s tenshu fell across Mitsuhide’s face as they drew up to the gates. Apropo, he thought, and squeezed his beloved’s hand. She would be his light in any shadow, even this one that came of his own choice.

Surprisingly, the other members of the Oda alliance were all there in the courtyard. Seeing them, his little mouse broke into a run. He could have let go of her hand, followed her in, but he never wanted to release her. Instead, he ran with her. He could tell this amused Nobunaga by the rise of his brows.

Ieyasu actually grinned. “Mitsuhide is actually running somewhere instead of slowly sauntering. I’ve seen everything now.”

Masamune waggled his eyebrows. Never one for subtlety, he said in a loud voice, “That was one hell of a sight!”

Mitsunari nodded, his angelic face lit by a sweet smile. “I understand them completely. I am so excited they are back.”

Ieyasu rolled his eyes and sighed.

Mitsuhide seconded that. “Have things been so empty in my absence that you all have an excess of free time to stand around in the courtyard?”

Hideyoshi frowned. “Free time? Do you have any idea how much time and energy we spent worrying about you both? You sent few enough messages and what you did send - “

“Ah, it’s been so long I almost forgot what one of your lectures felt like. Please. Do continue.”

The chatelaine giggled, Masamune snorted a laugh, and even Ieyasu cracked a small smile.

“Oh, I will,” Hideyoshi’s face flushed.

Before he could get up steam to really lay into Mitsuhide, Mitsunari came to the rescue. He laid a hand on Hideyoshi’s arm. “We really should get them both inside. They look tired and in need of refreshment. Should I prepare some tea?”

This was sufficient threat to unite the two men. “No,” both said in tandem.

Masamune took the chatelaine’s arm. “I’ve prepared some welcome home treats just for you.”

Mitsuhide might have intervened if Nobunaga had not taken that moment to speak. “Mitsuhide, and my chatelaine. You’ve returned.”

The two of them bowed, and brought Masamune with them as he hadn’t released the chatelaine just yet.

“We have, my lord.” Mitsuhide held his bow. Officially, he was disgraced and this was his crawl back to service. He had to play the part, much as it grated.

“You have done well, Mitsuhide.” Nobunaga’s voice was loud enough that the passing servants and guards would hear. A signal that the wayward kitsune was welcomed back with open arms.

Mitsuhide and his little mouse straightened. It was the welcome he’d hoped for, but hadn’t expected. Nobunaga could have left him in limbo - an uncertain status with conditional forgiveness. Of course, even with this pronouncement, Mitsuhide intended to stay at the fringes of the alliance. It was necessary.

Nobunaga then beckoned the chatelaine.

She let go of Mitsuhide’s arm. The absence of her made him feel unbalanced. He made as if to follow, but Hideyoshi and Masamune intercepted him.

“So?” Masamune’s one blue eye searched Mitsuhide’s face.

Hideyoshi’s jaw tightened. “She looks bruised. What happened?”

Mitsuhide gave them both his crescent moon smile. “The little mouse is a brave one. Now, if you don’t mind . . .”

“As it happens, I do. I have many questions about how this assignment wrapped up.” Hideyoshi’s expression was guarded. There was a wealth of brotherhood held tight behind walls of distrust and betrayal. He wasn’t ready to welcome the kitsune back with open arms.

“There’s no rush to report, Hideyoshi. I don’t plan on hiding or running from you.” Mitsuhide softened his smile. “Can we not celebrate our return first? Then I can provide an answer to all your questions. All together.”

Hideyoshi’s frown relented. “That would be a change.”

Masamune laughed as Mitsuhide nodded in agreement.

Though he would never admit it aloud, it felt good to be among friends. People who had shown time and again that they valued him. It hurt too. To know that his duty required their betrayal and may yet again.

Hideyoshi gestured to Ranmaru. “Make sure he doesn’t escape. I need to prepare a war council. Right now.”

Nobunaga and the chatelaine turned to look.

Ranmaru gave her a little bow. “I’m sorry my lady. I need to borrow Lord Mitsuhide for a bit. I promise to give him back.” His laugh was mischevious, high and false.

Nobunaga took the chatelaine’s hands. “We will speak again soon. I must attend to this.”

Mitsuhide waived to her, hoping to ease her sudden, worried look. “Why don’t you go rest now? I’ll be along soon.” He exchanged a look with Ieyasu, who thankfully understood what was needed.

She nodded, though she didn’t look happy about it.

“Mitsunari and I will walk you back to your rooms.” The young warlord took her arm gently.

Mitsunari was quick to follow. “Oh yes! Let’s walk together. You can tell me about your trip.” He smiled cheerily, as if oblivious to the tension.

Masamune looked between the chatelaine and Mitsuhide. “Think I’ll walk aways with the lass as well.”

“Good.” Nobunaga nodded. “You three can explain the current situation to her.”

When they disappeared into the castle grounds, Mitsuhide allowed Ranmaru to lead him to the council chamber. Nobunaga sat down at the head and Hideyoshi followed after.

“Ranmaru, bring us tea.”

The page bowed and left, casting a side-eyed glance at Mitsuhide once he did.

When only the three of them were left, Nobunaga spoke. “Your solution to the problem is novel, but carries with it some risk. There are still those that knew Yoshiaki personally.”

“Novel?” Hideyoshi sputtered. “All he did was delay the problem! When the emperor’s court learns what he’s done they’ll -”

“They won’t. The shogun will announce an interest in Buddhism and his need for solitude. This will keep most away. For the others . . . Kyubei and I will be there to guide him. I plan to keep an assistant at his side at all times.” Mitsuhide smiled. “And if it is discovered then, what says I had anything to do with it? Yoshiaki and I parted on amicable terms . . . if his scribe murders him in secret, it has nothing to do with me.”

Nobunaga thought about this in silence.

“You’re very sure of yourself.” Hideyoshi’s brows were drawn down, his face hard. “What happens if you’re wrong?”

“Then I will deal with whatever comes. Have I not done so, as long as you have known me?”

Hideyoshi gave a reluctant nod. “And the chatelaine? Why did you drag her into it? She was supposed to stay in Kyoto.” His voice rose on this question, stained with anger.

“I did leave her in Kyoto,” Mitsuhide sighed. “Yoshiaki went after her.”

Nobunaga’s face was impassive as he waited for additional explanation.

“His ninja kidnapped her and took her to the daimyo’s estate, bypassing our siege. He injured her,” Mitsuhide admitted. “But once in the estate, Kyubei was able to-”

“You couldn’t protect her from your enemies.” Hideyoshi’s voice was heavy with held emotion. “She was hurt because of you. She still has the bruises on her face, and who knows what other injuries! You - you-”

“Enough, Hideyoshi.” Nobunaga’s voice cracked like a whip. “The chatelaine was ordered to accompany him. She was hurt doing her duty. This fault does not lie on Akechi.”

Hideyoshi clamped his mouth shut, clearly not satisfied but unwilling to speak against Nobunaga.

“Yes, that is correct,” Mitsuhide inclined his head. “Even when our plans changed and she was captured, she performed admirably. Acting as both spy and distraction. I have a written report from Kyubei detailing their efforts, as well as some notes I took afterward.”

Nobunaga smiled. “So you come back to me having accomplished an impossible task. Yet I cannot publicly embrace you. Traitor twice over, and spy . . . what plan do you have now?”

Mitsuhide knew this was where things would get difficult. He faced it as he did most struggles. By smiling widely, his golden eyes like opaque windows giving nothing away. “I plan to be banished to my lands for a time, sent away with a bride to bind me to the Oda forces.”

Nobunaga’s eyebrows rose. Hideyoshi leapt to his feet.

“You can’t think-”

Ranmaru entered with the tea tray. “My lords?” He took in Mitsuhide’s smile and Hideyoshi’s posture. “I’ll just set this here.” He put the tray on the table, bowed, and left the room.

“Did you have a bride in mind,” Nobunaga asked after they were alone again. His gaze held a knowing light.

“I do.”

“You don’t get to betray us and then waltz back in, and, and, walk out with - she already - “ Hideyoshi didn’t seem to be able to finish his train of thought.

“Nobunaga Oda, my lord. I would humbly request permission to marry a princess in your keeping. You have already given your consent to our betrothal. I would take her into my family now.” Mitsuhide bowed low and held the position, waiting.

Hideyoshi, however, wasn’t going to let this moment pass. “No! My lord, you can’t really think that betrothal was serious! She’s half afraid of him! And - and just look at the state of her. She came back hurt. Because of him, his enemies - and it’s not the first time. He would drag her down with him. She deserves . . .”

“You?” Nobunaga’s voice was gentle, the question clear.

“My lord. I would keep her safe.” Hideyoshi bowed beside Mitsuhide.

“I am of a mind to let the fireball decide,” Nobunaga replied. “If I told her who she was going to marry, she’d likely refuse out of stubbornness.” He grinned. “She may not want either one of you.”

It was not the response Mitsuhide had hoped for. Not that he thought his little mouse would choose another - but he’d hoped Nobunaga would grant him this right clearly. Still, he rose and nodded. “As you will, my lord.”

Hideyoshi shot him a triumphant look. He clearly believed he’d be able to sway the girl. Which only proved he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

Masamune, Ieyasu, and Mitsunari filed in and sat down.

“Did we miss anything,” the one-eyed dragon asked. His smile said he knew more than he was letting on.

Nobunaga shrugged. “Mitsuhide asked for leave to marry the chatelaine. I’ve told him she will pick her husband.”

Mitsunari smiled brightly. “That’s very kind of you, my lord. I’m sure she’ll choose wisely.”

“I doubt it,” Ieyasu muttered.

Masamune laughed.

“Now, there are more important things to discuss.” Nobunaga’s lips thinned line. “Echigo is still a problem. And we know the Mouri have something planned. What is more, Kennyo still seeks me for revenge. We cannot rest yet. Mitsuhide, what is the rest of your report.”

It took hours to discuss what he’d learned of the Mouri and the remnants of the Ikko Ikki. Plus Masamune and Hideyoshi both had reports on Echigo and the false conflict they’d staged. By the time the discussion ended, it was well past dark.

Crickets chirped and the trees whispered in a cool, night breeze. Overhead, the stars shone like gems. Mitsuhide found himself appreciating all of it, even as he hurried out. He went to the chatelaine’s quarters to find her, but her rooms were empty. It barely looked like she’d been there.

He knew where she would be, if not there, and he smiled. His steps were light as he approached his estate. Kyubei met him at the entrance.

“My lord. She waits for you in your room.”

“Bold little mouse, isn’t she?”

Kyubei smiled and ran a hand over his short hair. “She is. Last I checked on her, she was reading as she waited, though she looks in need of rest.”

“That sounds like her.” Mitsuhide left Kyubei and continued to his room.

He slid the door open gently and stepped inside. The room was spotless, much as it had been when he was imprisoned. And there at his desk, sat his little mouse. A book was open in front of her, though her eyes were shut tight. Her head lay on the desk, cushioned by her arm. She looked so sweet, so innocent, that for a moment, Mitsuhide’s chest hurt.

His footsteps were almost silent as he crossed the room. His fingertips brushed gently down her hair and the sweep of her neck. “No matter how many times I see your sleeping face, I find it hard to look away.”

Mitsuhide shrugged out of his haori and laid it over her shoulders to keep her warm. Then he set up the bed. He kept expecting her to wake, but she didn’t stir. When the futon was ready, he carefully lifted her up. Cradled against his chest like this, he felt reluctant to set her down. Only knowing she’d be in his arms all night made the choice easier.

When he lay down, she turned her face to her chest and curled tight against him. Mitsuhide put his arm around her and closed his eyes. This was a true welcome home, he thought. Wherever she was, would be home to him.

Next: Loyalties

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen hideyoshi #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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blackrosesociety-vampyres · 4 years

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WHAT WE ARE ABOUT – An Introductory Overview

You may have found us and equally found yourself at a loss to understand what exactly Black Rose Society is, what we are about, and where you might stand within all this. The purpose of the following texts is to give you a brief introductory overview of the central topics and avenues of exploration Black Rose Society focuses on. This way, we aim to provide you with a good idea of what you can expect to find in our community.

WHAT WE ARE

Black Rose Society is – first and foremost – a community of Vampyres, dedicated to Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture.

Black Rose Society is a place for serious exploration. We do not claim to possess all the answers, and we certainly do not speak for all vampire-identified people everywhere. Rather, we do our best to provide our membership with a conducive atmosphere to explore an extensive range of topics from within the perspective of Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture. We discuss how various groups of vampire-identified people arrive at expressing their varied experiences through self-identification with the vampire as a distinct category of person or archetype. We discuss how various groups of vampire-identified people have originated and shaped an authentic alternative subculture in the form of modern Vampyre Culture. We discuss the relationship between Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture – how one inspires the other, and how we in turn may be inspired as Vampyres.

Black Rose Society is also a social place of meeting. We provide our membership with a safe haven to gather, to mingle, to exchange news and information, to enjoy hospitality, to befriend, to learn on a basis of personal knowing. In this, Black Rose Society is explicitly open to all interested parties who might be sympathetic to us, both Vampyres and Black Swans, whether they seek closer affiliation with our sponsor in House Sauromatos or not, and indeed, whether they are familiar with the customs of Vampyre Society or still seek to learn more.

Lastly, we are about the celebration of being different, and we welcome all to have a good time in our spaces, as long as it is within the boundaries of our rules, guidelines and policies.

WHAT WE ARE NOT

Black Rose Society is decidedly not…

A roleplaying community Black Rose Society is a community of ‘Real Living Vampires’. This is not a game for us. While role players are indeed welcome to join Black Rose Society, we generally do not allow actual roleplaying in our regular community spaces. A dating community Approaching our community or any of our members with the sole intention of seeking a sexual or romantic relationship of any kind is firmly discouraged. Making another member feel unsafe or uncomfortable due to unwanted sexual advances or unwanted sexual comments may be considered harassment, and we will remove any offender from our community as soon as we become aware of any inappropriate behaviour. A provider of professional medical or legal advice Any information offered through Black Rose Society is considered to be for informational or educational purposes only, and is not intended as a substitute for, nor does it replace, professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Similarly, any information offered through Black Rose Society should not be in any way construed as professional legal advice on any subject matter. Should you decide to act or refrain from acting on the basis of any information offered through Black Rose Society, you do so at your own risk.

WHETHER WE ARE THE RIGHT COMMUNITY FOR YOU

Our community may not be the right fit for you, or it may indeed be the place you gladly call a haven.

You may have found the right place if you are at least one of the following:

– A Vampyre, someone who self-identifies as a Vampyre, or as Vampyric, or in any way identifies with the vampire as a category of person or archetype. – A Black Swan, someone who is a trusted friend to Vampyres and fully participates in the community, but does not or is not ready to identify as a Vampyre or Vampyric. – A Seeker, someone seriously questioning whether they are Vampyric, or whether they want to participate in Vampyre Culture in general. – Someone involved in consensual human blood-drinking between risk-aware adults, either as an active participant, blood drinker or blood donor, or as a close friend or family member of one, wishing to be supportive of them. – Someone engaging in advanced energy work, or Energy Vampirism, within the boundaries of Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture. – Someone pursuing Vampirism from the perspective of the Occult, open and sympathetic to Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture. – Someone with a genuine and enduring interest in all things ‘Vampire’, open and sympathetic to Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture.

We especially want to welcome you if you are at least one of the above and also:

– Someone passionate about furthering Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture, and ready to make meaningful contributions. – Someone intrigued by the aesthetic and mystique of Vampyre Culture, who wishes to actively explore its lifestyle aspects. – Someone with good questions.

You may want to look elsewhere if you are one of the following:

– A journalist or media worker seeking interviews. – Lacking the necessary maturity to deal with our topics. – Solely interested in hooking up. – Just curious for no particular reason. – Seeking to become a vampire in the hopes of gaining supernatural powers, lasting youth, increased lifespan, or things similarly fantastic. – Unwilling or unable to respect Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture, for whatever reason. – Unwilling or unable to comply with Black Rose Society’s rules, guidelines and policies, for whatever reason. – Scared of reading.

If you are unsure, you are most welcome to talk to our members on our Discord Community Server and have your questions answered in our #support channel or have a friendly chat in our #lobby, both of which are open to non-members.

BLACK ROSE SOCIETY ON VAMPYRE IDENTITY – There are no vampires in the Vampire Community

We begin with the Vampire Mythos. Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture are inevitably tied to the Vampire Mythos. We, Vampyres, are a people of the Vampire Mythos, in that our self-identification and our cultural self-expression as Vampyres will in some capacity reference the figure of the vampire from popular culture.

A vampire in the most common understanding of the word appears as a creature which drains the life (often in the form of blood) of humans to sate their own needs, enrich or prolong their own existence.

Vampyres do not believe that they are literal vampires as they appear in popular fiction or folklore. While some Vampyres might believe there to be some hidden truth to vampire stories, namely historical ‘Living Vampires’ who have passed into myth, Vampyres generally do not make any fantastic claims of possessing qualities commonly associated with the vampires of popular fiction or folklore. Vampyres are perfectly able to distinguish fact from fiction.

Indeed, the reality of Vampyres as a modern cultural phenomenon is a fact that is beyond any doubt. Since at least the latter half of the last century there are people like us – people who name themselves Vampyres for a wide variety of reasons.

What is commonly known as the ‘Vampire Community’ is in fact not a unified community but a collection of networks, groups and individuals who are associated with each other by virtue of their shared self-identification with the vampire as a category of person or as an archetype.

For our own purposes, we define Vampyres as individuals who are part of the Vampyre Subculture, or Vampyre Culture, and who identify as ‘Real Living Vampires’ specifically.

Note that we are observing the anachronistic spelling with a ‘y’ when referring to our kind, emphasizing and affirming our belonging to Vampyre Culture, with the benefit of helping to distinguish our kind from the vampires of fiction and folklore, spelt with an ‘i’ in the conventional way. (While not all vampire-identified people participate in Vampyre Culture, many are familiar with or adopt certain cultural ideas, customs, symbols and terminologies of Vampyre Culture.)

THEORIES ON VAMPYRE IDENTITY

Both outside of as well as within the ‘Vampire Community’ one will likely encounter arguments that Vampyrism may be a health condition or disorder, a sexual fetish, an escape fantasy, or a religious belief. We believe that Vampyrism understood as the phenomenon of modern ‘Real Living Vampires’ is severely misrepresented by completely reducing the whole diversity of Vampyre Identity to any one of the aforementioned explanations or rationalizations.

Despite unfortunately sounding like one, Vampyrism – as we understand it – is NOT a medical condition or psychological syndrome in the sense that Vampyrism cannot be sufficiently represented by completely reducing it as such, although attempts have been made to link certain facets of Vampyrism to various physical or psychological conditions, suggesting that there may be an empirical condition underlying some cases of Vampyrism.

Likewise, Vampyrism – as we understand it – is NOT a sexual fetish in the sense that Vampyrism cannot be sufficiently represented by completely reducing it as such, although there can be sensual, erotic aspects to Vampyrism, and individuals may experience excitement or receive gratification from or during certain Vampyric acts or complement their practice of Vampyrism with participation in fetish, kink or BDSM activities.

Further, Vampyrism – as we understand it – is NOT an escape fantasy, in the sense that Vampyrism cannot be sufficiently represented by completely reducing it as such, although Vampyrism has been proposed to be a reaction to trauma, abuse or feelings of isolation, and some individuals who regard themselves as outsiders or outcasts might be attracted to Vampyre groups, which in some cases can take on the role of surrogate pseudo-families.

Lastly, Vampyrism – as we understand it – is NOT a cult, religion, religious belief or religious practice in the sense that Vampyrism cannot be sufficiently represented by completely reducing it as such, although Vampyrism can have religious or spiritual facets, which can be studied in the context of alternative spirituality or new religious movements.

In Black Rose Society we prefer to regard the phenomenon of modern ‘Real Living Vampires’, or Vampyrism, to be primarily a matter of identity – personal, social and cultural. Approaching Vampyrism this way – as a social phenomenon and culture – allows us to appreciate a wider range of complexity and diversity of perspectives found within the different strata and subsects of Vampyric communities without confining us to a too narrow definition of the nature of Vampyrism, or – more precisely – of Vampyre Identity.

What makes one a Vampyre is – to the best of our understanding – ultimately tied to the very individual reasoning leading one to name oneself a Vampyre, to adopt the Vampyre Identity, and to participate in Vampyre Culture. Put more simply, a Vampyre is potentially anyone who chooses to name oneself a Vampyre for one reason or another. The individual reasons for why a person might identify as, or express themselves as a Vampyre, or as being Vampyric, are many and varied.

VARIETIES OF VAMPYRE IDENTITY

In Black Rose Society, you will encounter very different and sometimes seemingly conflicting perspectives being discussed – why one Vampyre might drink human blood, why one Vampyre might feed on human life-forces or subtle energies, why one Vampyre might do both or neither, ranging the more traditionalist to the more modernist, from the more materialist to the more spiritualist – as well as be offered some insights into the cultural development of the presented ideas and perspectives.

Black Rose Society is a community dedicated to the whole complexity and diversity of Vampyre Identity, and Vampyre Culture. In principle, Black Rose Society does not discriminate against and welcomes any individual expression of Vampyre Identity, so long as it does not conflict with Black Rose Society’s rules, guidelines and policies.

‘Real Vampires’

Some Vampyres practice consensual human blood-drinking between adults. Also known as ‘Sanguine Vampires’ or ‘Sanguinarians’, they often, but not always, claim to have an affinity or need to feed on human blood and that this practice is of some benefit to their physical, emotional or spiritual well-being, or that they experience some other form of relief due to this practice. Please note: In Vampye Culture the practice of consensual human blood-drinking often, but not always, happens within the bounds of a committed intimate relationship, but always strictly consensually between risk-aware adults. Black Rose Society explicitly distances itself from any acts of blood-drinking or bloodletting that involve and/or in any way abuse unconsenting persons, minors or animals.

Some Vampyres who are better known as ‘Psychic Vampires’, ‘Energy Vampires’, ‘Psi Vampires’, or ‘Pranic Vampires’ believe they have an affinity or need to feed on subtle life-forces which they believe they are able to draw or gather from another person or a group of persons by means of their innate nature or learned abilities. Similarly, they claim that this practice is of some benefit to their physical, emotional or spiritual well-being, or that they experience some other form of relief due to this practice.

‘Sanguine Vampires’ along with ‘Psychic Vampires’ are often categorized as ‘Real Vampires’.

‘Living Vampires’

Other Vampyres embody the archetype of the vampire by expressing it through facets such as Lifestyle, Aesthetics, Philosophy or the Occult, often, but not always, complementing the practices previously mentioned.

These individuals are known by many different terms and distinctions, but are sometimes categorized as ‘Living Vampires’.

‘Real Living Vampires’ or Vampyres

Be advised that any such categories are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Vampyres who – by virtue of their individual identity – may find themselves in both categories, and would be considered ‘Real Vampires’ as well as ‘Living Vampires’, we call ‘Real Living Vampires’, or just Vampyres.

Black Rose Society Vampyres are Sanguines and ‘Real Living Vampires’ in the majority – but we welcome all vampire-identified people and all those who may be sympathetic to Vampyre Identity and Vampyre Culture, provided they comply with our rules, guidelines and policies.

BLACK ROSE SOCIETY ON VAMPYRE CULTURE – What it means to be a Vampyre

Vampyre Culture, also called the Vampyre Lifestyle or the Vampyre Subculture, is an alternative subculture, meaning it exists as an alternative to – and apart from, yet within – larger society. Vampyre Culture in its current modern form originated with and is influenced by other alternative subcultures, alternative lifestyles or alternative spiritualities, and is often more closely associated with the Gothic Subculture, as well as with elements of BDSM, Paganism or Satanism respectively.

Although not all vampire-identified groups and not all vampire-identified individuals necessarily consider themselves part of Vampyre Culture, many groups of Vampyres or individual Vampyres follow their own authentic expression of Vampyre Culture. Vampyre Culture is often that which connects the various communities of vampire-identified people.

Vampyre Culture has its own complex heritage, with its own traditions and authentic lines of transmission. Prior to the advent of the internet, communities of Vampyres and groups of the Vampyric Heritage were – compared to today’s standards – relatively isolated from each other. This resulted in several more or less distinct traditions of vampire-identified people arriving to exist side by side in the current modern ‘Vampire Community’ with the turn of the century, each possessing an authentic history, each having an equally legitimate claim to what it means to be a ‘Vampire’, sometimes complementing each other, sometimes contradicting each other. Today there are multitudes of different Vampyre Houses, Covens and Clan-Families preserving, refining and transmitting their own piece of the Vampyric Heritage. Black Rose Society itself was founded as a Protectorate-Partner and functions as an Outer Court for House Sauromatos, a traditional Vampyric Household based in Germany.

MAKINGS OF VAMPYRE CULTURE

In Black Rose Society we are dedicated to the study and the discussion of Vampyre Culture from within the perspective of active participation in Vampyre Culture. We see Vampyre Culture expressed in our own ideas of social organization, in customs, in codes of behaviour, in etiquette, in philosophy, in spirituality, in our symbols, language and terminologies, as well as – to a limited degree – in our aesthetics, style, fashion, music, art, etc.

What makes up Vampyre Culture, and what Vampyre Culture means for us as Vampyres are among the most important questions Black Rose Society is exploring. According to our patron and sponsor in House Sauromatos there are certain traditions, fundamental ideas and concepts that one might consider to be essential to Vampyre Culture – its character, its values as well as its aesthetics and mystique: Feeding, Naming, Speaking the Language, Wearing Black, Secrecy, Education and Family

Feeding

For most outsiders and indeed for many Vampyres their interest in Vampyre Society begins and ends with Feeding. Although our words for and our ideas surrounding the practice of Vampyric Feeding may certainly differ, Vampyres as a category of person are nearly universally defined by the fact that we engage in certain Vampyric acts, or Vampyric behaviour, generally understood as a Vampyric person actively feeding on another person’s life-forces, often in the form of blood. The varied practices of consensual human blood-drinking between risk-aware adults, or the arts of feeding on life by certain subtle means are the most commonly expressed forms of practised Vampyrism. This is what we call Feeding. Our ideas of what it is Vampyres feed on, how and when Vampyres feed, why Vampyres feed, if there is a need for Vampyres to feed, of which nature this need might be and what it means for us as Vampyres will differ from place to place, group to group, individual to individual. Regardless of the variety of ideas present and expressed in Vampyre Culture, the concept and practice of Vampyric Feeding is central to Vampyre Culture anywhere. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Naming

Names have power. At the beginning of one’s journey, one often chooses a dedicated name to be used for any coming interactions within Vampyre Society. Taking on a new name – a Vampyre name – can be considered an individual rite of passage in Vampyre Culture. It signifies a dedication or desire to be known and recognized by that name as a part of Vampyre Society. A Vampyre’s chosen name is often highly meaningful and should reflect one’s personal identity and journey as a Vampyre. Therefore, care should be taken when choosing a name for oneself. Under certain circumstances, a Vampyre may accept a name chosen by one’s mentor or a person of similar standing. It is commonly permissible to change one’s chosen name when one has outgrown it. For some, taking on a new name can mean the freedom of leaving the past behind to begin anew, discovering or re-inventing yourself, to seek out new experiences, to forge new bonds, to choose a new family. Indeed, when joining a traditional group of Vampyres, one might, in addition, take on the name of the House, Clan, Coven or Family in question, or a name honouring one’s mentor, signifying individual belonging and lineage. Among traditional groups, one’s naming is often accompanied by certain rites and ceremonies. While naming customs may differ from place to place, a Vampyre’s chosen name is generally an important expression of one’s Identity as a Vampyre. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Speaking the Language

Belonging to Vampyre Culture is distinctly marked by the correct usage of specialized terminologies. While a complete Vampyric language never reached widespread use in Vampyre Culture, its specialized terminologies are similar to an argot, or cant, a type of secret language which can be employed to protect a group’s spoken or written communication from outsiders, establishing a subculture existing separate but within a larger society. To learn this secret language present in Vampyre Culture one would commonly access and study word lists, or learn directly from other Vampyres within an established group. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Wearing Black

Subtle and elegant, black is the preferred colour of Vampyres according to tradition and suitable for any social occasion or function of Vampyre Society. To complement a classic black attire, silver jewellery is often preferred by Vampyres, as is the wearing of certain signets and symbols associated with Vampyre Culture. Traditional groups are known to recommend stricter dress codes depending on various factors – yet, the colour black enjoys almost universal acceptance in Vampyre Culture anywhere. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Secrecy

Secrecy and confidentiality are paramount for Vampyres. From the earliest beginnings of what would become Vampyre Culture, our communities have relied on secrecy and mutual discretion. It comes with the territory, the deviant nature of our interests and activities, which are largely – and perhaps rightfully – considered to be taboo in larger society. Originating in traditional codes of silence, the importance of secrecy is near-universally recognized in Vampyre Culture, and it often is among the first lessons to someone introduced to Vampyre Society. Vampyres must ever take care not to disclose any information that could be in any way construed to threaten other Vampyres, their families, their friends, or themselves. The same applies to our trusted Black Swans, who know of us and keep our secrets. Do not seek the attention of the mundane. Especially avoid the sensationalist media like the plague. Do not misrepresent yourself as speaking for all Vampyres, or for any Vampyre groups you are not sanctioned to represent. When possible, entrust any outside public relations to those with more experience. Protect each other’s personal information. Keep your Vampyre life and mundane life separate. Do not reveal a person’s mundane name or any other aspects of a person’s mundane identity to anyone without explicit permission. Indeed, it is good etiquette not to inquire about a person’s mundane identity at all within Vampyre Society. Always keep the secrets entrusted to you personally. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Education

With knowledge comes responsibility. In Vampyre Culture knowledge is traditionally passed on personally – from person to person, from mentor to protégé – forming traceable lines of transmission. Being of the Vampyric Heritage, it is a Vampyre’s duty and responsibility to share one’s knowledge with others and impart them with the necessary skills to feed responsibly, to instruct them in the language and traditions of Vampyre Culture, and to prepare them to serve as leaders and guides for the next generation of Vampyres, passing on the legacy so that it may endure. In a traditional mentor-protégé relationship, a mentor is called to protect, to guide and to correct any missteps of their protégé – always leading by example. For the duration of a traditional mentorship period, a mentor is – to a limited degree – responsible for the behaviour of their protégé. A good mentor will provide access as well as personal insight by introducing their protégé to relevant texts and resources, teaching them protocol and proper conduct, and inviting them to attend gatherings and social functions with them. A good protégé will demonstrate an eagerness to learn by asking questions and show respect by being attentive and valuing their mentor’s time. By tradition, it is the mentor’s responsibility to assess whether their protégé has acquired the necessary level of experience, self-control and knowledge to stand on their own and be formally recognized as a member of Vampyre Society. The successful end of a mentorship period will often be marked by certain rites and celebrations, depending on ruling customs. Vampyre Culture’s distinctly personal approach to the transmission of knowledge often stems from an appreciation of the living Vampyric Heritage and the desire to keep the flame alive by passing it on from one person to another, one generation to the one following. Our Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. This is part of Vampyre Culture.

Family

Blood is thicker than water. Vampyres traditionally organize themselves into clannish, close-knit groups of like-minded, kindred spirits. Traditional Houses, Clans, Covens, or Families of Vampyres often emphasize their familial nature as part of their self-image. Indeed, traditional groups of Vampyres can at times resemble surrogate families, providing safety, stability and support – a life among your own kind, where other support systems might have failed you. Someone’s Vampyre Family is a true family of choice, often just as important to the individual as someone’s original family – if not more so. For these reasons, belonging and loyalty to one’s Vampyre Clan-Family or Vampyre House are valued highly in Vampyre Culture. Vampyre Houses, or other equivalent traditional groups, form the backbone of Vampyre Culture, and are typically, but not necessarily, headed by one or several influential matriarchal or patriarchal figures, with a close inner circle of Family members and retainers, attracting an outer circle of prospective members and hang-arounds as well as various supporters and sympathizers. While a certain level of stratification is traditionally upheld, it mainly fulfils a need for stability and security, which is ceremonially reproduced by hierarchy and ritual. In reality, there is often a striking difference between the formal stratified structure and the informal familial nature of this type of group – even in the most traditional of Vampyre Houses. Apart from providing their members with a family-like network of support, mutual loyalty and trust, Vampyre Houses, or other equivalent traditional groups, serve Vampyre Society in various other ways. Depending on the group or organization in question, Vampyre Houses, or other equivalent traditional groups, may be actively involved in the preservation and furthering of knowledge, in structured education and teaching, as well as in organizing events and social functions for their local communities. While the vast majority of individual Vampyres does not belong to a group following a more traditional model, their ideas and values of Family are deeply embedded in Vampyre Culture in general. Without the bonds of Family, we are nothing: Loyalty to each other, to Vampyre Society, to Clan and House – honouring the Ancestors, in Life and Death. All this is part of Vampyre Culture.

IDEAL OF VAMPYRE CULTURE

In Black Rose Society we customary refer to the utopian ideal of a community envisioned by Vampyre Culture as Vampyre Society.

Vampyre Society is perhaps, above all, a community of shared values. Vampyres often believe themselves to be in some way different from other people within larger society. Many Vampyres have experienced or continue to experience alienation due to their unique experiences. Vampyre Society is a place where all are valued and embraced for who they are, and where to be different is celebrated and cherished. Vampyre Society is a place where all are largely free from judgement imposed by larger society, heeding only Vampyre-specific codes of behaviour, more appropriate to their way of living. Vampyre Society is a place of belonging, which – fostered by the personal relationships found in real community, strengthened through facing shared adversity together, and heightened by the very mystique of the vampire archetype – may engender genuine feelings of pride and awaken true solidarity with other members of Vampyre Society.

To make Vampyre Society a lived reality, whenever or wherever possible, at social gatherings, or in any interaction with other Vampyres and Black Swans – this is the meaning of Vampyre Culture.

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redqueen-hypothesis · 4 years

Text

private getaway ➳ victor li (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x victor li (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 3665

➳ GENRE: slightly suggestive, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: victor abducts you in the name of a holiday and is more nostalgic than you’d expect.

➳ REMARKS: tbh i feel like this was badly written, no smut but we all know victor li wouldn’t just let time alone together go by without doing the dirty. i hope the fluff is enough to make up for it, nonny!! i’m also sorry if you wanted a headcanon and i ended up writing a fic instead. i forgot i can’t write fluff akdjfsdk.

“Are we there yet?”

“No, but we’re almost there.”

That conversation has been repeated for hours now, ever since Victor whisked you away (more like abducted) you from the main entrance of your company building after a long working week and announced that the two of you would be going on a short holiday. Much to your shock, Anna had simply smiled politely at Victor as he bundled you into his car, wishing the two of you an enjoyable vacation and assuring you that your work would be taken care of. It was only later that you discovered that Anna had been roped into Victor’s schemes from the very beginning - the betrayal!

“You’ve said that for a while now.” You mumble, clutching onto Victor’s hand tightly as he leads you down a windy pier. You’re blindfolded with one of your silk scarves, Victor has been careful in ensuring that you haven’t been able to find out the slightest clue about where the two of you are headed. “Are you sure you’re not trying to kidnap me?”

A small snort. “How much money would I earn from doing that? Not enough to make the attempt worth it, I would say.” Victor’s voice is warm and deep, and when you strain your ears just a little, you can hear the sound of waves washing over a beach. Somewhere near the sea, perhaps?

“I’m priceless.” You answer indignantly, pulling at his hand and nearly stumbling when you trip over Victor’s feet. Wood creaks beneath your feet with each step. “I would be worth a lot of money.”

“But I’m the one who’d have to pay if you did get kidnapped.” Victor retorts, and you almost tell Victor he’s actually being romantic... almost. Before the words escape you, however, Victor is suddenly pulling the blindfold off your eyes. “We’re here now.”

When Victor had mentioned that he would be bringing you on a short holiday, you hadn’t expected this.

“Victor, this is... this is amazing!” You gasp, looking over at the view before you. The white sand of the beach runs into crystal clear water that stretches on as far as your eye can see. Connected directly to that strip of untouched beach is he open air villa that the two of you are currently standing in, watching the waves lap gently at the shore. “We’re going to be staying here?”

“No, we’re just passing through - of course we’re staying here, idiot.” Victor answers bluntly from where he’s inspecting the kitchen. It’s luxurious and fully stocked with fresh tropical ingredients, some of which are colorful fruits you’ve never seen before. You hope this means Victor is going to be the one cooking for you. “This place is a holiday beach resort.”

You can’t wait to change into some more comfortable clothes and go splashing in the sea. There’s a small jacuzzi pool carved from shining blue stone attached to the villa that you’re dying to try, but right now the blue of the ocean is much more enticing. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen the ocean for non work related reasons, you think. “This really is the perfect holiday location! And here I thought you didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘vacation’.”

“My vocabulary is sufficient, thank you very much.” Victor sounds mildly amused as he steps up next to you, one hand shading his eyes from the orange light of the sunset. “I take that you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” You laugh excitedly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight. Victor lets himself smile at your enthusiasm, if only a little. “It’s a beautiful place, really! Why isn’t it more popular? I don’t see anyone around.”

He turns to look at you with an amused expression, as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a private resort, dummy. Of course there’s no one else here.”

“Private resort?” Just how much money had Victor spent on this so called small holiday? The sounds of dollar bills flying away echo repeatedly in the back of your mind and you almost feel dizzy just trying to imagine how much this must have cost. “Victor, call an ambulance.”

“There aren’t any roads here, dummy, we’re on an island that’s untouched except for this building and the staff quarters nearby. I thought you should have been able to see that.” Victor looks at you like you’re the silly one. “The resort uses private helicopters in case of emergencies. Why, are you feeling unwell?”

“I just might faint under the weight of all this extravagance.” You mumble, but wrap your arms around Victor’s torso and stand on tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. He shivers ever so slightly in your hold. “Thanks, Victor. I appreciate it.”

“You should.” Victor mutters, but there’s no real bite behind it. “Let’s go see the sunset down by the water. I heard it’s a good view.”

>>>

You’ve missed the feeling of having sand between your toes and splashing about in the shallow water near the shore. Swimming pools have nothing on mother nature, you decide, picking up a seashell and admiring its silvery shine.

“Don’t you think it looks like a small fish?” You ask, holding it up for Victor to inspect when he stops next to you, bare feet in the water. He peers at the shell in your hand, looking like a debtor trying to discern the validity of some assets.

“It looks like a shell.”

“You have no creativity. Some things don’t need to be expensive to be pretty.” You huff, pressing the seashell into his hand anyway. His fingers wrap around it, holding it tightly in his palm. He’s about to open his mouth to reply when you tug excitedly at his hand. “Victor, look! The sun is huge!”

Your eyes are wide with wonder as the setting sun touch the horizon. Liquid orange ripples across the water’s surface, setting the sea alight with flames and washing it in a warm glow, until you can’t tell where the sea meets the sky. The corners of his mouth pull up at your tangible happiness, he’d let you see a thousand sunsets more beautiful just to see you smile like this again. “The sun is always the same size, dummy.”

“Yeah, but it looks big now.” You retort, fishing out the camera that you’re wearing on a strap around your neck. “I need to take a picture and upload it on Moments. Gosh, Lucien would definitely love to see something like this.”

The expression Victor eyes you with almost makes you laugh. “The shady scientist?” If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he’s angry, but you know he’s just sulking. You giggle, a little amused at his obvious dislike for the other man, and decide to tease him just a little.

“Hey, don’t call my friend shady! He’s a very renowned neuroscientist and an important consultant for Miracle Finder.” You correct, taking a few snapshots of the sky before you. You’re no photographer, but you know enough from your experience in filming to take a good photo. “Ahh, the pictures look great. Victor, it’s your turn!”

“My turn? What for?” Victor looks mildly confused, but you tug him to the end of the walkway by the hand. There, the sunset glow washes over his face, the soft light diffusing the sharpness in his eyes, the usual cold set of his jaw. “There, just right! Now, smile!”

“Wha-”

Click!

“God, Victor, I said to smile, not look like I handed up a late report.” You laugh, peering at the bummed out expression that you’ve captured with your camera. Victor looks just a little flustered when you raise the camera to him again. “Come on, smile for real this time!”

“I don’t just smile for pictures.”

“But you look handsome when you do.” You tease, and see Victor’s face soften in response to your words. It’s not quite a smile, but it looks warm, almost happy. “Don’t say stupid things.”

Just before you can take the picture, however, there’s a loud flapping sound and you flinch back in surprise at the flurry of wings. When your eyes blink open, you’re greeted with a totally unexpected sight.

A seagull is perched on top of Victor’s head, squawking loudly. Meanwhile, Victor looks like he’s frozen himself in time with his own Evol, lips firmly pressed together in a thin line.

The seagull peers down at him. Victor looks up to meet its eyes. It squawks again and Victor winces.

“Wow, Victor, I didn’t know you brought me here just to introduce me to your mistress.” You can barely keep the giggles out of your voice. The glare that Victor shoots you is positively deadly. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.” You say, but your voice shakes. “You know, I can see why it took such a liking to you. The two of you are very much alike.”

Victor looks bewildered. “What? How am I similar,” he gestures at the bird nesting on his head, “to this thing?”

You only pause for dramatic effect. “You’re both known for shitting on people.”

Victor groans in exasperation at your grin. “I do not shit on people.”

Unable to resist, you turn the camera to him, hands almost shaking uncontrollably with suppressed laughter. Victor’s expression goes flat when he realises what you’re intending to do. “Don’t you dare-”

Click!

“That’s it, get back here.” Victor brushes the seagull off his head and bears down on you, while you shriek with laughter and dash back down the beach as fast as you can. Try as you might, however, Victor’s strides are far wider than yours and in no time at all he’s caught up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and lifting you clean off your feet.

“Delete that.” He demands, trying to reach for your camera, but you hold it over your head with both hands, still giggling breathlessly. “No! Do you know how much the paparazzi would pay for a picture like this? I can imagine it on the front pages of the newspapers already, ‘Victor Li finds true soulmate at last’!”

“If they’re smart, they wouldn’t. The LFG has shares in majority of the news outlets in Loveland.” Victor retorts as you wave the camera about. “And so should you, since your company is funded by the LFG as well.”

“You’re too fair to drop us over something like this.” You laugh breathlessly at Victor, who simply sighs. “Don’t think that praising me now is going to get you a bonus. Hand over the camera now, before I make you.”

You arch an eyebrow, still giddy with adrenaline and excitement. You haven’t laughed this much in a long time. “Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?”

“How am I going to do that?” Victor repeats after you, voice suddenly dropping to a husky whisper. You swallow at the near predatory look that flashes in his eyes, hesitating for a moment. “Uhh, I mean you could just ask nicely, and if I were feeling generous, I might give it to-”

Before you can so much as finish your sentence, he’s pulling your head down to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. Your eyes fly wide open with shock before you melt against his mouth, camera long forgotten. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, urging his tongue into your mouth and fingers stroking at the bare skin along your ribs. Gasping at the searing heat of him, you try to break away for air, but Victor’s fingers only slide up the back of your head to press you more firmly against him, unrelenting.

All consuming.

It’s only when you beat against his chest with your fist that he releases you, your lungs heaving for air and mouth drunk on the taste of him. “Just like that,” Victor murmurs, his voice a raspy baritone as he plucks your camera out of your boneless hands. You can’t even find it in you to argue, all the fight sapped out of you. “I’ve missed doing that.”

“What are you-” You gasp as Victor lowers the two of you to the ground. Your back is pressed against the sand of the beach, waves lapping at your feet, but before you can say another word Victor’s mouth is back on yours again, hot and wet and desperate, like he can’t wait another second to taste you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing him as close as you physically can, the hard planes of his body pressed against yours through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Mmn...” You breathe against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, grinding subtly against the hardness in his shorts. Victor lets out a low sound at that, eyes filled with an emotion that you can only describe as hunger as he hovers over you. Just as he tilts his head down to press kisses down your neck, however, you’re interrupted by a strange grumbling sound.

The two of you still at the sudden noise, and your cheeks burst into flames.

“Pft...” You look up to see Victor trying to stifle his own laughter and scowl, slapping both your hands over his mouth. “Hey! Stop laughing!”

“Let’s head in for some food. I have some new recipes I want to try.” Victor is still wearing a smile and damn, because you won’t even get enough of that expression on him. It softens his face, brings out a gentle light to his eyes that is far too rarely seen, and makes your heart stumble in your chest. Still blushing, you grab his hand and pull him towards the villa so he won’t see the colour on your cheeks.

“Hurry up then, I’m hungry.”

He laughs, a clear, boyish sound that doesn’t suit his business persona at all. “I could tell.”

“Oh, shut it!”

>>>

Dinner is a lavish affair of delectable fruits and local spices that you’ve never tasted before. Victor does something along the lines of a hibachi restaurant, cooking right in front of you and serving the food fresh from the pan. It’s clear he’s been practicing in secret, there’s no hesitation to his movements even with all these foreign ingredients. Your heart warms at the knowledge but keep your mouth shut about it, knowing Victor would be embarrassed if you were to call him out on it.

Gods, you love this man so much.

As the sky falls dark, you sit at the kitchen island in the dim candlelight, washing down your dinner with a tropical fruit juice mix that Victor had blended for you while scrolling through a list of activities available to you here on your phone.

“You decide.” Victor had shrugged simply when you’d asked him about your itinerary. You couldn’t be more excited.

“We could go snorkeling tomorrow, oh, or fishing!” You tell Victor brightly as he washes the dishes at the sink. Hopefully in one of these options, he’ll just have to go shirtless, you hum to yourself contentedly. Best vacation ever. He turns around to raise an eyebrow at you, looking dubious. “I doubt you have enough patience to hold a fishing rod for a few hours.”

“I do too.” You pout, setting down your phone to watch him work. The simple white button down he’s wearing only accentuates the strong lines of his back and the broad shoulders he has. “And besides, it won’t take that long for the fish to bite unless you scare them all away with that glare of yours.”

“Maybe if we throw you in as bait we’d be more successful and catch a big white shark.” Victor flicks you on the nose and you whine, rubbing it ruefully as he keeps the pans on the shelves. “Fine... I’ll think about what to do when tomorrow comes. What do you want to do right now, though?”

Victor ponders this for a moment, leaning against the kitchen island next to you. “Hmm... you brought your bathing suit, am I right?”

“I didn’t know we were going to the beach, wait... this is why you were asking for my measurements awhile back, weren’t you?”

He shrugs, although there’s a playful glint in his eye. “You don’t have any evidence. Either way, there should be a bathing suit in your luggage. Put it on and we can go down to the jacuzzi. Or if you want,” the look in his eyes darken ever so slightly as he looks down at you, tracing your body, “you could always go naked. There’s no one to see... but me.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” You beat a hasty escape for the bathroom before your face can spontaneously combust. “You better not have bought something weird for me!”

As you disappear into the bathroom, Victor lets out a low laugh, running a hand over his face. “Ahh... that silly girl.”

There’s a fond smile on his face.

>>>

You sink into the water with a contented moan. “Ahhh, this feels good.” When you look above, head tilting back to look at the night sky above. The stars twinkle back at you, like handfuls of diamonds scattered across the heavens above. “This has been a great start to my holiday.”

“It takes very little to make you happy.” Victor observes as he steps into the water next to you. He’s dressed in nothing but a pair of black shorts, strong arms and well honed physique exposed for you to appreciate. You grin, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I think I’ve already been given plenty. Thank you for this holiday, Victor.”

“It was nothing, really.” Victor replies, his voice a low rumble in his chest next to you. When you glance up at him, he’s looking at the stars overhead, seemingly lost in thought. “I don’t really enjoy holidays much, except when I visit France, but today with you... wasn’t so bad.”

Victor must be in a nostalgic mood, you think, enjoying the warmth of his body next to yours. The holiday brings that out in him, the fact that there are no paparazzi around and there is no LFG to worry about. You like having him all to yourself.

“Just admit that you like my company.” You laugh, resting your head against his shoulder. The water is pleasantly warm and scented with rose petals, something that you’ve come to realise is his signature touch during your time together. As unromantic as Victor’s mouth is when it isn’t on your body, the rest of him is surprisingly adept and careful when it comes to setting a romantic mood, sparing no expense when it comes to bouquets, scented candles, silk sheets. It’s something that you would never have quite expected from him, and yet it’s part of what makes him so lovably humane.

“Well, I think the fact that I married you says quite enough about that.” Victor snorts. You feel him run a thumb over the wedding band on your ring finger and you grin, lifting it out of the water so that he can see it. “I’m so glad I didn’t swallow it together with your proposal souffle. I might have backed out of marrying you if I had more time to think about it.”

“You must have been in shock when you agreed.” He looks at your joined hands, and suddenly lifts it to his mouth to kiss away the water droplets clinging onto the back of yours possessively. The two of you are already married, and yet it still sends heat burning at your cheeks. “You’re stuck with me now, though. You can’t just break a marriage contract.”

“You mean a wedding vow. You were so handsome on that day I must have forgotten my plan about running away from the altar.” You giggle, and Victor’s eyes soften, scooping up a flower from the water’s surface - a peony, and tucks it behind your ear. “I would have chased after you even if you did.” His eyes sweep over you, painfully tender. “There. Beautiful.”

It’s only then that you realise how close the two of you are, his breath dancing along your cheeks and nose, his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the jacuzzi. He looks so open in that moment, his usual stoic walls down for you to enter and so you do, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss.

Victor’s a possessive lover, always has been, and the way he takes your lips for his own is no different. He doesn’t just claim them, he ruins them, tasting your mouth like you’re one of his sweetest deserts, tongue probing every corner and crevice of your mouth so that you know that you belong to him. You sink into his embrace, water swishing around you, and Victor groans, lightly nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I’m the most fortunate man in the world to have met you.” He says, hoisting you into his lap. In the pool, it takes almost no effort at all, and you’re left straddling his rock hard thighs, bracing your palms on his firm chest. His gaze lands on your bruised, swollen lips, running the pad of his thumb over it gently. “Beautiful.”

“Stop saying cheesy stuff and make love to me.” You laugh, grinding down teasingly on the hardness you can feel against your thigh and your grin widens when Victor lets out a hiss. He pinches your ass in retaliation and you squeal. “Here I was trying to set the mood and you went and ruined it. You had better be prepared for what you’re getting into.”

When he kisses you under the heavens once more, so fiercely it steals your breath away, one last thought crosses your mind before he takes even that away from you: that everything to do with him, you regret none of it at all.

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc victor #victor li #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice

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