folkooc | July TFLN Time

Entry tags:

*tfln

July TFLN Time

Texts From Last Night

Welcome to Folkmore's Texts From Last Night meme! This meme can be used as a branch off from our Test Drive Memes and be used as game canon or just for casual fun in the setting! You do not need to be in our game or be invited to play on our TFLN. This can be a great way to meet current players for future invites, get a feel for the setting, or just have some fun.

This can be used for samples on our applications and used as spoons for players accepted into the game!

TEXTS FROM LAST NIGHT GENERATOR

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This conversation has been a long time coming and though she's always dreaded it, dreaded the feelings and memories it would exhume and his possible reaction to them, she finds that his response to it, his gentle understanding, that love in him that remains steadfast but pointedly not blind, has lifted some weight off of her shoulders. Her heart feels lighter.

Her breath shudders at the acknowledgments he lays out before her. There's no washing away all that's been but in so many ways he's a salve for her burns. His presence can pull her focus out from whatever dark pits she often finds herself wallowing in. In turn, she hopes she is a buoy, a life raft when he's fallen into his own. As much as she can be, at least.

She reaches for him and frames his face between her hands, fingers splayed, pinkies tucked beneath his jaw. Her gaze is still damp, wet lashes clumped together, but her lips twitch and curve upward at the edges, "And I love you, my sad, sweet vampire," her voice is thick with that love. She leans up to press her dry lips to his, chastely, and whispers as she pulls back, "Thank you."

He makes her want to be proud of herself, too, and not the bitter, spiteful kind of pride she's spent so long relishing. It's something sweeter. Brighter. One hand trails to find the beads in his hair to spin them carefully between her fingers as she continues to gaze up at him, "As long as we're together, I will do my best to make sure you don't drown in either sorrow or bloodlust, Johan, and I'd like to form a bond with you," she pauses and tilts her head at him, "if you're willing."

Acknowledging the heavy sadness that weighs him down, that will likely remain no matter what future they form because of the long history of pain, loss, and suffering that trails him the rest of his days, and having it be accepted as ever present—though not something to face and to suffer from alone—relieves something in his heart, something Mayerling cannot yet untangle. It is enough, at this moment, to accept it is true. They shall both have further time to reflect on themselves and on each other. Mayerling accepts the feeling in the moment and lets it be.

"You are welcome," he intones deeply and means it with all his heart.

His heart speeds up from there, as he anticipates the words Sharon builds to. It feels like water rushing past his ears, and within that his name, his given name, feels like a moment of calm among the rest. His heart beats wildly in his chest as Sharon says the words and looks to him for his answer. Mayerling considers how this all started—Mayerling wondering where Sharon was and wishing to help her with the anger she felt—and know he always wants to be able to help her with that. He trusts Sharon to let him help, to trust him to do as she needs to help her, and to let him see whatever gnarly bramble of emotions boils up within her heart.

It is something he has never done before. "As long as we're together," Johan echoes her words back to her, "I will do my best to make sure you don't burn yourself empty in either hatred or rage, Sharon, and I—" He cannot help but feel as though his heart skips a beat. Is this really all it takes? "—would like to form a bond with you, as you are willing."

The echo of her own words, adjusted as they are for her own unique struggles, causes her smile to break open wide, every tooth showing, a far cry from the pained, worried expressions from earlier, and her heart picks up speed. It flutters and pounds, the sound joyous in her own ears. The moment he finishes, she smiles even wider, the widest she can. It feels like her face might split.

"You think it worked?" She asks, a giddiness lining her voice. Her hands drop to his shoulders. "Is there a test we can do?"

Sharon knows this kind of bond, this dedication, is all about intention but it feels like there should be more to it. The bonds in Trench required blood and roses and pieces of themselves to form. There was a certainty to them, a physicalness they didn't have here.

Oh, what mountains Mayerling would move to make Sharon smile like that, the pure joy that suffuses through her—and through him, he must admit—that makes it feel as though everything that matters will be all right, no matter the trials and tribulations, no matter anything. His heart stretches and beats. Mayerling wraps his arms around Sharon, not wanting to let her go.

"We are both so happy, so similar in emotion, that I know not that we can distinguish your joy from mine," Mayerling admits, amused by that layer of difficulty in determining the veracity of the bond.

Despite that overwhelming happiness, Mayerling can feel yet the bloodlust, the eternal instinct and psychological need for blood. Only because he trusts himself can he hold his arms around her, an embrace that could easily become a vice were he to lose control of himself. Such instincts and urges are not the way Mayerling wishes to test the bond, yet it is a part of him Sharon lacks, something intrinsic, something not even rage and hatred can be mistaken for.

One hand comes up to stroke Sharon's face. His expression is serious. "Search within yourself, within what feelings may originate from me, and see should you find the urge for human blood," Johan says softly. "Even in moments as wondrous as these, it is there." It is always there. A constant.

Sharon leans into his hand, a pleased hum rumbling in the back of her throat as her eyelids flutter shut. She's never been one to spend much time sorting through her feelings—if she bothers with it at all—but it feels less daunting to search for something specific, for a feeling not her own. In his presence, in his arms, it's easier.

Her tongue peaks out from between her lips, brows furrowed, as she concentrates. It's like sorting through a hundred threads, many of them worn and familiar, but it doesn't take long to find the piece that sticks out. A need unlike any she's felt before, similar enough to hunger but one that felt impossible to satisfy. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his cape. A lifetime of it would drive her mad, she thinks.

"And you feel this all the time?" In that way, and perhaps only that way, it's like her rage. She opens her eyes, an empathetic shine to them, "Can it ever be satisfied?"

Mayerling watches Sharon as her attention turns inward, the world falling away from her. It is beautiful and intimate and entirely enchanting. Oh how long he could watch her do this and need nothing more to sustain himself and his interest. For reasons both good and bad, Mayerling cannot be surprised at how little time Sharon needs to identify the sensations, the driving need, the ever churning presence of the impulse for human blood. Even standing together, she offers temptation with every heart beat, with the way her blood pulses and flows through her body. His vision slips, for only a moment, to see her circulatory system alight beneath her skin, so warm and attractive and inviting—

He turns his gaze back to her eyes, and her capillaries fade away from her face. That's good, yes, yes, he remains under control, even with her emotions piling on top of his, the fire burning from within.

"Yes," Mayerling answers. "Sometimes it is worse." She trusts him every moment they spend together, though he knows that Sharon would hold her own if he lost control of himself.

He clears his throat, uncomfortable but honest. "Only temporarily," Mayerling says, "It would be far worse without the synthetic blood I drink, yet that hardly cures it, only maintains the feelings at a tolerable level, something that can be resisted. When a vampire drinks human blood, it is... pleasure and satisfaction like nothing else, yet those feelings don't last. Nor do they justify the harm done to people."

And oh what harm it is. That can be mitigated. Blood not directly from the source (though that too is less... satisfying). Restraint. Always restraint. "Biting a human is often described as better than sex." Mayerling quirks his lips, amused.

Mayerling's emotions exist in between her own, these brilliant little bursts of him. Even the familiar ones, the ones that blend almost seamlessly with her own, feel new. Fresh. Pops of temptation (bloodlust, an echo of hunger) and then the satisfaction of control. This will take time to adjust to but... Fuck, she likes it. A connection she never knew she wanted until it was in front of her.

Her own lips twitch upward—better than sex, he says—and she can't help the dramatic way she responds, breathless with longing, "Oh, what temptation." The words are punctuated with a cheeky grin before she exhales, grin softening. She's always been curious about the bite, it's hard not to be when it's been described to her in such ways, but she knows the consequences of it. D made sure of that and reiterated it when she begged him to bite Falco.

"I'll never ask it of you," she tells him as she reaches to cover the hand upon her cheek, holding it there. "Even if there comes a time where I want it." Her curiosity doesn't count.

"But I do wish there was something more I could do to lessen your struggle."

Sharon's emotions have long been plain, the twitching of her lips accompanied by the change in her breathing, the temperature of her skin, the way her heart beats in her chest, and all the other myriad physical signs that others may not be sensitive enough to pick up yet are plain to him and to his senses. Yet that knowledge differs greatly from feeling her emotions within his own, no longer separate but intertwined. Like quantum physics, the one cannot be separated from the other, not entirely, not even as Mayerling knows his feelings as he has known them for thousands of years (even when he cannot entirely control them), not even when he can observe hers and identify the way she burns brightly within him. No, there's something else, something more now. Some might even say it's better than sex, he muses and jokes to himself.

"Thank you," Mayerling says seriously. Being bitten can itself be tempting and enjoyable when the vampire wishes to make it so. There are all sorts of reasons to find it an irresistible temptation, and Mayerling does not blame those he's loved who wanted it for wanting it. They have, to a one, not been afraid of him, not had that visceral fear of vampires and the bite that most humans on the Frontier have. That gone, they had their reasons. Sharon, too, could want it one day, could have her reasons, yet no matter what they could be, Mayerling appreciates her promise not to ask. Temptation grows stronger when the one he loves and wants so adamantly asks or even begs him for it. It is so much harder to find reason to resist.

"It shall always be a part of who I am, Sharon. As much as I remember the time Johan spent in Trench, the food he ate, all the activities you did with him," the memories make him smile, "they are someone else's memories, not mine. What you can do may be little, yet should you notice the bloodlust get stronger, helping me politely disentangle myself from any social engagements and get away from people will help." There's a reason he does not live in Epiphany.

"It's not nearly so bad here as in Trench, surrounded by blood and blood pollution."

Sharon can't help the flash of disappointment that rises up within her at how little she can genuinely do to help him but the feeling is quick to fade, replaced with a quiet, albeit frustrated, acceptance. The bloodlust may always be there but she vows to do the little she can whenever she can to help him through it—even if he's entirely capable on his own.

"I will rescue you," she starts, her blue eyes fixed on his deep red (gods, he's pretty), "any time I notice you may need it and I will do it as politely as I am capable." It sounds lighthearted and gently teasing but she means it genuinely. Whatever he may need of her, he will have it, even if all she provides is a moment of distraction or distance.

"But I'll have you know I am as confident as ever in your self-control." She leans forward to press her lips to his and then whispers against them, "You are really very impressive and I admire you."

"Thank you," Mayerling says and means it wholeheartedly, though it's surely not what she wanted. It's not her inclination to do things politely and with the mere exchange of a few words when a more direct avenue can lead to what she wants. Oh she was the queen of deception and leaning on his feelings when the time called for it and her own desires were turned against her by the unfathomable interests of that month's Pthumerian, Dorothea. Yet that was only because the direct approach failed.

"I appreciate your efforts not to draw attention to it, should I need rescuing," Mayerling murmurs against her lips, "At best it is an embarrassment to have others realize, and I greatly hope no one will come to fear being in my presence, however much or little I can do about those who already distrust vampires." Rhys came around in time. Rhys pulls on his heartstrings in a very different way since April.

He kisses her again, softly. "I admire you too, Sharon," Mayerling says, "At the moment, I should like to admire you at length and perhaps whilst we make the argument certain activities are not in fact better than sex. What do you say, love?" Because he knows how she feels, but Sharon's choices remain, as ever, her own.

"Then I will make certain it is the most inconspicuous rescue ever," she promises him, "No one will think twice of it." She smooths out a fold on his chest as if to do the same to his future worries. The lengths she would go to protect his peace of mind. The messes she would make. And yet she's just as willing to soften her approach for him. It's how he feels that matters the most.

Love is wild.

The lead-up to the question has her raising a brow. Her smile curls up as her heart climbs its way up her throat and a heat settles into her belly. There's no hiding her interest, though she playfully tries and makes a show of consideration. Steps back. Looks him over, smile coy.

And then she abruptly turns to exit the dining area, already hiking her shirt over her head as she sing-songs, "Come on!"

What an eager beaver.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

July TFLN Time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject