#you don't have to focus on one particular person in the crowd
Note
hey babe, i love ur writing its acc soo amazing. can you write about like chris or matt seeing you at one of their hockey games and while you were talking to some other guy, they score and do a celebration for you and obvi you don't see so they get pissed and then after the game they see you talking to the guy again and then they come up to you and grab your arm, pulling you into the locker room and then they yk fuck you for like three rounds and them they pocket your underwear and make you walk up to the guy you were talking to before and talk to them, but you're yk walking or limping and the guy notices and the you can do whatever you want
also this could be for either matt or chris or even nate
attention
chris sturniolo x reader
warnings: smuttt (don’t read if you don’t like), p in v, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), cursing, semi- public sex
a/n: i did chris cause i feel like i’ve seen so many hockey matt fics
ummm yeah hope you like :)
———————
i watched as chris skated on the ice, my eyes never leaving him. the game was pretty close, but chris was playing really well tonight.
i felt someone tap my shoulder, making me turn towards them, and breaking my gaze on chris.
“hey” i was greeted by a guy that looked to be around the same age as me. he was a tall brunette, with green eyes.
“um, hi” i said, confused.
“sorry, um i just- do you recognize me?” i narrowed my eyes at him, now even more confused.
i’ve never seen this kid a day in my life before.
“um, should I?”
“ i’ll take that as a no. i sit a few rows back from you in history”
well this is awkward as hell.
“ohhh shit, sorry! yeah, yeah you’re…” i trailed off, waiting for him to say his name.
“blake” he finished.
“blake! yes, yeah! sorry, i’m a little out of it today” i said awkwardly.
this is why i don’t talk to people.
“yeah, no worries. i get it, you pay attention to the teacher, why would you even be facing the back?” he said, trying to justify me not knowing him.
i really really don’t like talking to people.
“exactly” i said, before starting to turn back to the game. before i could, he starting talking again.
“yeah! very studious of you. i’m normally just staring at the back of your head” he said, chuckling a little.
i really want to side-eye the shit out of this kid.
“hmm, normally i’m paying more attention to my boyfriend. you know, the kid who sits next to me?”
hopefully this kid takes the god damn hint.
“oh, chris, right?” i nodded my head.
“isn’t he like, a player, or something? you sure he’s the right guy for you? ”
i just side-eyed him.
this kid isn’t real, there is no way he just said that shit.
“it was a joke! sorry, i just wanted to get you to laugh. don’t take it too seriously” he nudged me with his elbow.
i should’ve sat next to nick, he would have a comeback that would scare this kid off.
suddenly, the crowd went crazy. as i went to turn towards the game to see what happened, blake grabbed my shoulder making me turn towards him.
“listen, i’m sorry that wasn’t funny! i’m kinda just trying to impress you” he admitted.
“jokes are usually funny, that was not” his smile dropped. “not that it’s any of your business, but chris treats me well. i’m not interested in anyone else”
he didn’t say anthing else, so i turned back to the game. which is now over.
fuck. this dumbass made me miss the rest of the game.
i looked closer, realizing chris’s entire team was slapping chris on the back and giving him high fives.
i looked at the score, his team won by one point.
fuck. chris scored the winning point, and i missed it.
chris happened to look over at me, locking eyes as his jaw clenched.
oh, he’s pissed.
CHRIS’S POV
i scanned the crowd, looking for a particular person.
when i finally found her, someone was standing next to her.
who is this kid?
whatever, it doesn’t matter. i have to focus.
the game is so close, all we need is a score and we can win.
when i saw an opportunity to score the point, i took the shot and made it.
i just scored the winning point.
“YEAHHHHHH” i yelled, starting to celebrate.
i looked in her direction, wanting to see her reaction.
what the fuck.
she was facing towards that random kid, his hand on her shoulder.
she didn’t even see.
was she ever even watching the game?
i saw matt and nate, along with the rest of my teammates skate towards me.
i was graced with multiple “congrats, dude” and pats on the back. i didn’t even care, all i could focus on was her.
when i looked back at her, we locked eyes. her face dropped as she realized how angry i was.
i just rolled my eyes and turned away.
READER’S POV
i waited right next to the locker rooms, where we usually meet after chris’s games were finished.
suddenly, i heard blake’s voice again.
he just won’t stop.
“hey, you waiting for chris?” he asked.
“yup.” i kept my response short, looking for chris.
“yeah, that was some game-winning goal, huh?” he asked.
i turned towards him, “how would you know? you were never even focused on the game, you were too busy trying to get my attention”
“i-“ before he could even finish, my arm was grabbed and i was pulled into the locker room.
i didn’t even have to look to know it was chris.
he pushed me up against a set of lockers, “ i scored the winning point” he said as he looked into my eyes. “but you didn’t see that, huh? too busy talking to that kid”
i didn’t say anything, too shocked to speak.
“hmm, lost your voice, baby? or are you just having trouble paying attention to me?”
“no.” i answered.
“no? no, what?”
“i’m sorry chris, he just wouldn’t leave me alone. i told him i had a boyfriend”
“yeah? is that why he had his hand on your shoulder?”
“chris, i’m sorry” he pulled my hoodie over my head, sucking on my neck until it left marks.
“chris, what if someone walks in?” i asked, worried someone would see us.
we were in the very back of the locker room, but we were still out in the open.
“nobody has a locker back here, so as long as you’re quiet, there’s nothing to worry about.”
he unclasped my bra, taking one nipple in his mouth, while squeezing the other in his hand.
“shit, chris” i moaned. he lightly bit my nipple. “fuck!”
“didn’t i just say you have to be quiet? i swear to god if someone comes back here i’m not stopping.” he said as he continued to lick and suck.
my head fell back into the locker, as one of his hands snuck past the waistband of my sweatpants and into my underwear.
i gasped as i covered my mouth with my hand.
he rubbed circles on my clit, as he continued his work on my tits.
“think he could make you feel this good?” he whispered into my ear.
i didn’t open my mouth, scared a moan would spill out.
he inserted two fingers into me. “answer me.”
“fuck, no no no. no one can, just you chris” i whispered.
suddenly, he pulled away and pulled my underwear and sweatpants down.
he brought me over to a bench and laid me over his lap. the bench was wide enough that i could position myself on my hands and knees without falling off.
he slapped my ass, making me whine, and rubbed it after.
he spit into his hand before rubbing my clit with his thumb.
“shit, chris”
“remind me, whose pussy is this?” he asked. i couldn’t see his face, but i’m sure he wore a smug grin on it.
“yours, chris” he slapped my clit, making me jolt forward.
“fuck” i whispered.
he continued to rub my clit with one hand while inserting his middle and index fingers into my pussy.
“FUCK CHRIS” i yelled out, not even caring about being loud.
his fingers moved in me at an abnormally fast pace. i didn’t even know anyone could move their fingers that fast.
i approached my orgasm quickly. “chris! CHRIS! i’m gonna-“
“go ahead cum, on my fingers ma”
my legs started to shake uncontrollably, and i clutched the bench under me for dear life.
“ oh FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUCK, CHRISSS” my voice shook as my entire body twitched.
he continued to assault my pussy with his fingers. “oh my god, chris” i moaned as i reached behind me to pull his hand away.
he slapped my clit, making me cry out and move my hand away “you know your safeword”
he maneuvered my legs so that he was in between them and without another word, he gripped my thighs and began to run his tongue through my folds.
i couldn’t contain the loud moans coming out of my mouth as he shook his head from side to side, completely suffocating himself.
my legs instinctively closed around his face, as i squirmed and whimpered.
his nose rubbed against my clit as he moaned into my pussy, sending me over the edge.
“CHRIS- CHRIS I’M CUMMING” i yelled as i finished on his face.
when he pulled away his face was covered in my cum, his eyeblack smudged all over his face.
that is hot as fuck.
he quickly took off his gear and underclothes, leaving him naked.
he placed me on my back at the end of the bench and stood between my legs.
he pumped himself a few times and lined himself up with me and pushed himself in.
“hmmmmm” i whined as he groaned out, “so fucking tight. look at how perfectly i fit in you, this pussy was fucking made for me” he mumbled.
he didn’t even give me a chance to adjust, pounding into me mercilessly.
this side of chris was driving me absolutely insane. he looked too good snapping his hips into mine, lust-clouded eyes, his face red and sweaty.
my head fell back, and my eyes squeezed shut.
“open those pretty eyes, you’re gonna pay attention to me this time” he growled.
he growled.
i’m losing my fucking mind.
suddenly, he increased his speed and thrusted into me with all his force.
“ my GOD, CHRIS” my eyes rolled into the back of my head.
he reached down and started to rub my clit.
“what did i tell you about those eyes”
“sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry” i repeated it like it was a mantra.
he started to squeeze my boob with his other hand.
i started to twitch again, clenching around him over and over again.
“fuck ma” he groaned before painting my walls with his cum, launching me into my orgasm.
i moaned his name over and over again before cumming all over his cock.
he then picked me up, and held me up against a locker fucking me against it.
“chris! chris! sensitive, i- FUCK” he groaned into my ear as he continued to slide in and out of me.
he lifted up my leg, letting him directly hit my g-spot.
suddenly, the locker room door opened. footsteps could be heard, but they were nowhere near us.
chris covered my mouth with his hand, his nose pressed against mine as he stared into my eyes, almost daring me to make noise.
he continued to fuck me into the lockers, his speed increasing.
there was rustling, before a locker door closed. and the footsteps retreated.
i silently gasped into his hand, and he rubbed my clit, making me grip onto his biceps.
as soon as i heard the locker room door close, signifying that the person left, i let out a scream.
“CHRIS I’M GONNA CUM, GONNA CUMMM”
“fuck, give it to me baby” he said as my front half shot up, and i wrapped my arms around chris’s shoulders.
my juices shot out onto chris’s cock, and he released his load into me.
he fucked me through my high, giving a few more thrusts.
when he pulled out, our cum dripped out of me and down my leg.
“here, i’ll help you get dressed” he handed me all of my clothes, except my underwear.
“chris, you didn’t give me my underwear” i said, my voice hoarse from all of the screaming i did.
“i know, i’ll be holding onto that” he said as he put them in his pocket.
“now c’mon, we gotta get you dressed so we can go talk to our friend”
oh. that’s not good.
i didn’t argue, knowing it would make things worse.
once we finished getting dressed, chris grabbed his stuff.
as we started to walk towards the door, my legs started to shake slightly.
fuck. i can barely walk.
“you ok, ma?” chris asked with a slight smirk on his face.
i just narrowed my eyes at him, making him chuckle.
when we left the locker room, there blake stood. directly across from the locker rooms.
i know this kid did not sit here and wait for me.
i glanced over at chris, and he motioned for me to go up to him.
i slowly limped over to him, chris not too far behind me.
“hey” i said to him.
his eyes widened, noticing the limp, as he took in our features. the hickeys all over my neck, my shaky legs, the sweat all over chris’s face, and our messy hair.
“um…hey” blake said.
i nodded, slowly and awkwardly.
chris then stepped in.
“hey, i’m chris. her boyfriend. what’d ya think of the game?” chris asked with a head tilt and a smirk on his face.
“uh, yeah! n-no, great, awesome game! you’re a great hockey player”
this kid is fucking shaking in his boots.
“really? that’s crazy! i didn’t realize you were able to watch the game by staring at my girlfriend!” he said sarcastically.
blake’s eyes widened.
“i didn’t know, sorry”
“you didn’t know she was my girlfriend? alright well, now you do” he got closer to him. “and if you ever forget, i swear to god you’ll end up with a lot more than a black eye, got it ?”
blake just nodded.
“great, walk away” he waisted no time in doing exactly that, getting away as quickly as he could.
i turned to chris.
“hey, i’m really sorry i didn’t see your big moment. i genuinely was trying to pay attention, he just wouldn’t leave me alone”
he gave me a kiss to my cheek, “it’s ok baby, i don’t think we have to worry about him doing it again” we laughed together.
“he looked like he was gonna piss himself” he grinned at me while he wrapped his arm around my waist.
“ok, c’mon ma. gotta find my family” just as he said that, they came into view.
chris helped me walk over, as i was still limping.
nick and matt just looked at us and shook their heads.
“you two are fucking disgusting”
“whatever, let’s go”
matt stopped us, “ hold up, i gotta get my stuff from the locker room”
chris and i glanced at each other.
“yeah, you dirty fuckers i saw you two go in there, which is why i waited” he said as he walked in the direction of the locker rooms.
we looked at each other and busted out laughing, trying to catch our breath.
——————————
…hope you like <333
masterlist
lmk what y’all want
tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @frankeelovesthesturnio @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x you#chris x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#smut
787 notes
·
View notes
Text
Types of Protagonists
Merry Christmas, everyone! For this special day, I decided to release a hopefully more interesting and helpful post! As always, I made up MOST of the names to get the general idea across. (The internet is only so helpful and only so specific.) But having said that, here are some different types of main characters!The Hero - We all grew up with this one, this character's whole goal is just to be able to make a positive impact on the world. They're often caring, sometimes unnecessarily so, kind, and determined!
>>> The Antihero - An antihero is a character whose actions are morally wrong, as they seem like they'd be villains in any other story. However, they do everything with a positive purpose and motive in mind! Lastly, this character is usually more ruthless and apathetic towards others than the common person.
>>> The Villain - Were you surprised? Yes, a villain can absolutely be the main character of the story! They're simply the antagonist, but with the story based on their point of view. Despite that, don't get this mixed up with an antihero! A stereotypical villain really doesn't have much good behind their motives.
>>> The Average One - This character is meant to connect with the readers. They aren't anything special and don't stick out in any particular way, as their emotions and responses are meant to be relatable to the majority of the audience. They may have a couple of exceptional traits, but those are typically supernatural and don't interfere with their personality!
>>> The Cold Calculator - This is one of the more specific types that I couldn't research explicitly about online. The Cold Calculator is a character type that is, well, cold and calculating! They have an impressively high amount of intelligence, which they use to achieve their objectives. Additionally, they are able to manipulate people, yet there's a lack of empathy for them. They are self-centered and focus only on their goals, disregarding those around them. Normally, this character isn't meant to stick out too much from the crowd, but naturally, there can be exceptions!
>>> The Hidden Genius - To be honest, I don't see much of this character type in American novels, but I think that they could really use some! The Hidden Genius is usually found in fantasy-oriented stories, where they have an extraordinary ability, but hide it for private reasons. This could be because it's dangerous, they lack control over it, it's peculiar, it requires specific settings, they're unaware of their ability, or that they simply don't want anyone realizing the power they have!
>>> The Changed One - This is a protagonist who's actively trying to change themselves from who they previously were! They're trying to escape their previous life and connections because they realize that what they were doing was, well, wrong. (Example: a thief abandoning his job to simply become a normal citizen, or a socially awkward student trying to overcome their anxiousness.) Still, their history does have an impact on them and affects them as a person! Honestly, it doesn't have to be a major change either, the point is that a character is just trying to alter themselves for the better!
>>> The Second Best - This character is incredibly impressive at something--very well above average--but there's another character who's simply better and tops them. The second character is normally some kind of rival for the protagonist to overcome. The two's relationship is typically rather complex, as it's often composed of learning, growth, competitiveness, and acceptance! This character is usually found in a school setting, revolving around academics or sports, but it's definitely not limited to that!
>>> The Almost Perfect Character - When introduced, this protagonist is seemingly perfect in all aspects of their life (at least in the eyes of others). However, as the story continues, little flaws are revealed and the readers are now aware of the underlying depth of this protagonist's life. Throughout the character's journey, they overcome their doubts, accept themselves for who they are, and learn to appreciate their imperfections!
>>> The Not-So-Gifted One - This character is pretty much summed up by the name: they're not very talented and lacking in several different, important skills. They are below average compared to other people their age, and struggle to meet expectations. Their story is typically about self-improvement, change, and acceptance!
Whew! That's ten different types of protagonists that can definitely be used in your works! I hope that these serve as inspiration and some kind of guide to those struggling to come up with an original main character! Thank you so much for those who bothered to read this unnecessarily long post, and happy holidays!
Happy writing~
3hks <3
#writing#writeblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#writing advice#writing inspo#creative writing#protagonists#types of protagonists#types of main characters
151 notes
·
View notes
Text
are you sure?
you just can’t seem to believe that your boyfriend likes you as much as you like him.
pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader
feat. yeonjun, and chaewon and yunjin of le sserafim!
genre: fluff, slight angst(?)
warnings: mentions of alcohol, cursing (like one word lol)
w/c: 1.3k
a/n: uhhh it’s been a while since i've posted anything. this one has made it out of my (many) drafts. i hope you like it!!
something's missing.
beomgyu may be a little drunk right now, but he knew that something was not right - something fundamentally important was missing.
just what was it? he did his best to think, though the alcohol in his system made it difficult to focus; the booming bass of the music coming from the nearby speakers was definitely not making it any easier.
beomgyu's eyes wandered through the sea of people hazily, before coming to a sudden halt at the sight of a particular person. a feeling of relief washed over him, a smile involuntatrily forming on his face.
you. that's what was missing.
albeit the dim lighting, and his slightly blurred vision, beomgyu was certain of one thing: you were breath taking.
“damn, who’s that gorgeous girl over there?”
“beomgyu. that’s literally your girlfriend.”
"my girlfriend?" beomgyu gasped dramatically, placing his hands over his mouth in so-called shock.
yeonjun sighed, rolling his eyes. "here we go again" he muttered, watching as beomgyu's gaze followed you as you manoeuvred through crowds of people before joining your friends.
"how much have you drank already? i swear just an hour ago you were moping around because of some fight you had with y/n"
"i fought with her? i would never!" beomgyu slurred, his brows furrowing, trying to recall when he would've ever done such a thing with you.
"yeah, yeah. no more alcohol for you."
the last place you wanted to be at right now was yeonjun's party. you and beomgyu had been bickering more often lately; that boy was driving you crazy. the disagreements were never that serious, but you felt frustrated at how easily you'd give in to beomgyu. this time, you decided that you weren't going to let him win like always. in attempt to to do this, you had decided to avoid beomgyu for a while - not seeing his face would make things so much easier. your plan was going so well this week - until you were dragged to his bestfriend's party by your own friends.
"come on, y/n! stop looking all stressed out!" chaewon giggled, clearly tipsy, as she placed a cup in your hand.
you peered inside the cup, deciding against drinking the questionable murky liquid. "how can i not be stressed? i told you i don't want to see beomgyu right now" you sighed, placing the cup back down on the kitchen counter.
"i don't get why. you said you don't even remember what you argued about" yunjin mused.
"yeah, well..." you mumbled in response.
"you need to stop pushing beomgyu away, y/n. that boy is literally head over heels for you!" yunjin huffed exasperatedly as chaewon nodded in agreement.
as much as you didn't want to admit it, yunjin was right. in all honesty, you just wanted to take a break from your feelings for beomgyu; they were almost overwhelming these days. you couldn't help but doubt if he really liked you as much as your friends say; if he actually felt the same way about you as you did about him.
like, c'mon, the choi beomgyu was your boyfriend. practically everyone at college knew who he was. it was inevitable, really - with his good looks and charming personality, he was bound to be popular.
being his friend, you would've never of guessed that beomgyu felt anything for you. you could hardly believe when he clumsily asked you to be his girlfriend, blushing and stumbling on his own words. it was still hard to believe a month into the relationship, seeds of doubt planted in your mind by your own self: so many people like him. he could have anyone; someone prettier, someone smarter than me. in all truth, this was why you were avoiding him; taking silly little squabbles as a chance to run away from your insecurities.
"speak of the devil" chaewon whispered loudly, pulling at your arm. "he's coming this way right now!"
"and that's my cue to go find the bathroom-"
"what? c'mon, just talk to him-"
"you better not tell him where i'm going!'"
and with that, you started pushing through swarms of people, hoping that you were going towards the general direction of the bathroom, or any room you could hide for a bit in, really.
"y/n!"
shit. judging by the fact that you could actually hear him over the loud music and people's chatter, he had already caught up to you. screw him and his long legs.
this didn't deter you though; you kept pushing through people, opening the first door you came across-
-which just happened to be the door to the back garden.
"y/n-" beomgyu burst through the door just seconds after you, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath.
"i don't want to talk beomgyu" you stated as firmly as you could, not turning to look at him "come any closer and i will scale one of these fences."
you could almost hear him stifle a laugh before proceeding to clear his throat. "look, i'll admit that i'm a little drunk right now. but i'm sorry, for whatever it is i did to make you mad the other day"
"...i'm not even mad about that. i don't even remember what you did" you laughed bitterly - even you thought you sounded ridiculous.
"then tell me what's wrong?" beomgyu grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you so you were facing him. you looked up at him reluctantly, knowing the sight of him was going to melt away all your resolve.
and you were right. as soon as your eyes met his, you felt your breath catch in your throat. the way the moonlight cast a silver halo on his dark hair, the way it illuminated his features - you couldn't help but think he looked angelic. his furrowed brows, his soft pout as he looks at you with concern - he's so pretty it hurts.
"are...are you sure you like me?" you blurted out, regretting the words before they even left your mouth.
beomgyu blinked in confusion for a few seconds, before throwing his head back, laughter erupting from his throat.
"i'm being serious! out of all people, why me-"
"what do you mean, why me?" he stated, his tone indicating how incredulous he found your question to be.
"i mean, have you seen yourself?"
beomgyu's smile faltered. "i should be the one asking that" he mumbled, his eyes never leaving yours.
"i don't get it" you whispered back, feeling yourself recoil under his gaze.
"you can be so stupid sometimes, y/n" beomgyu murmured as he took a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you. he bent his head lower, until his forhead was resting on yours, his hand placing yours on his chest.
"do you feel that?" he whispered, his warm breath fanning your face, increasing the blood flow to your aleady-blushing cheeks. silence enveloped the both of you as you stood there feeling his hammering heartbeat, your own increasing by the second.
"only you do this to me. you make me feel like my heart's literally going to jump out of my chest"
"...that could just be the alcohol" you whispered back, laughing weakly.
"no way. chasing after you and now standing out here in the freezing cold has been very sobering" he said, a grin forming on his face again.
"i-i'm gonna ask you about this tomorrow"
"sure" beomgyu chuckled, moving his forehead away from yours and cupping your face with his hands, gently tucking some loose strands of your hair behind your ears.
"and when you forget tomorrow, i'm gonna-" you were interrupted by beomgyu's soft lips briefly on yours, the shock of the kiss making your words dissipate in your mouth.
"sorry. you just looked so pretty" he whispered, moving his hands from your face and to your waist. "and ask me tomorrow, the day after, in a 100 years. my answer will be the same."
you threw your arms around his neck in response, melting into his embrace. “you win again, gyu” you mumbled, smiling into his neck as he wrapped his arms around you tighter.
#txt#beomgyu x reader#txt imagines#beomgyu#taehyun#soobin#choi yeonjun#hueningkai#tomorrow x together#choi beomgyu#beomgyu x you#txt x y/n#txt beomgyu#txt taehyun#txt soobin#txt yeonjun#txt x reader#txt x you#beomgyu ff#kpop imagines#kpop#kpop ff#beomgyu imagines#choi beomgyu imagines#beomgyu scenarios#yeonjun#txt fluff#beomgyu fluff#beomgyu oneshot
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Not-very-spoilery thoughts on the movie release of Pillar Training (+SSV conclusion)
Behind a cut anyway just in case!
--Very nice to hear familiar background music brought back--Yuukaku themes when Uzui & his wives appear, Mitsuri's "Koi Kogare" BGM when she has a good batch of lines, Giyuu's BGM as he's like, "bye"
--I am very happy with the new OP, both sound and imagery-wise.
--One very short clip in particular made me, a fanfic writer, very very happy, but then there was more gratuitous focus that reminded me of another one of my best fanfics. The rewards of writing fic as closely based on canon as I could get them gives me the satisfaction of feel liking like canon-based imagery honors my fics by extension.
--Speaking of imagery in general, Ufotable is finding lots of ways to try to harp on the idea that everyone's wishes to destroy demons find their accumulation in Tanjiro, the Sun Breath user and first person in centuries to unlock the Mark. It is perhaps a little clumsy at times, but hey, that's a theme I like in this series.
--I was sad that Suma sounded so different, and had to look up afterward if she still had the same seiyuu. She does, but I think they might have given her totally different vocal direction so that she wouldn't sound too similar to Mitsuri
--Japanese crowds tend to be very quiet at movie theaters, but people could not contain their giggles at many of Mitsuri's lines
--I had the honor of sitting next to a huuuuuuuge fangirl who before the moving was saying stuff to her friends like, "(Hanae) Natsuki-san was at USJ the other day, and since it's a VR ride, you know, you have to wear the goggles, and I think, what if I wear the pair that he wore??? You know?? Our faces??? Would be so close?????" and then at the review of previous seasons at the beginning of the show, she started crying the instant the Mugen Ressha part started. Not loud crying, but crying.
--You can tell everyone was waiting for the "welcome back" scene, and although I thought Zenitsu would steal the show in that scene, it was indeed Nezuko. In the seiyuu greeting that was broadcast across all Japanese theaters on the opening day, Shimono-san noted that he thinks the audio was turned down on his performance of that scene. I think it was probably was too.
--So much happy daily life in this episode. If you have any friends who complained about last year's theater showing being a let-down because it was just regular anime episodes instead of a Mugen Train style movie, please tell them to just sit this one out and spare us their complaints. Most of this showing was just Tanjiro having a nice time after having a panic attack over Nezuko (oh, and like, killing Upper Moon Four, that too).
--Shinobu's hair seems distinctly longer. Giyuu's hair seems distinctly fluffier.
--Ufotable has put a lot of touches into humanizing Amane
--I wish Ufotable would stop trying to drive the "Zenitsu thinks Aoi is happy to see him (just because Aoi is a girl)" point. First off, yes, Zenitsu being a creep to girls is played up a bit in the anime. Second, the first fanbook states that the only kind of girl who is not so much his type is the Aoi-type.
--Also, on the promo art, I like the design they gave Shinobu's sword, but that's ignoring the fact that the four engraved kanji characters are on either side. Go ahead, Ufotable, hire me as your canon double-checker. EDIT: Oh wait, that is its sheath. Lovely, carry on.
--That said, the original filler they gave us? Gold star. Excellent. So happy with it. One... well, two tiny nitpicks that don't bother me much but stating it here would spoil it.
--One more non-spoilery thing to say about that filler: the people at Ufotable were probably like, "our fans are nerds. We already give them this, this, this, and that to nerd over. You know what else they are probably nerds for? Yeah. Let's give them that." Thank you, Ufotable. This nerd accepts and loved it.
--Tiny Nezuko filler as they set the stage talking about Muzan is probably looking for her? LOVE THAT TOUCH, at every level.
--Shinobu does have multiple goldfish, but they look a bit different?
--Genya's makes the best face in this whole episode
--Speaking of Genya, in the seiyuu greeting they had actors in big chibi costumes of the Kamaboko gang come out... PLUS GENYA. Giant chibi grumpy Genya was so, so, so, so freaking cute. Also, his seiyuu Okamoto got to join the stage with everybody and was talking about how he always used to scroll through his social media seeing the other seiyuu at KnY events and he was like, "sigh... sure looks like everyone is having fun..."
--Hanae Natsuki and his wife are big Genya fans, though, it seems
--Okamoto had a lot of trouble performing young Genya in the flashback, especially the emotional screaming. The desperation Genya always displays as he fights? That was Okamoto.
--Meanwhile, Matsuoka always looks very overwhelmed at these things. I think having to embody the spirit of Inosuke terrifies him.
--IT WAS SO GOOD TO HEAR INOSUKE AGAIN
--Those actors in chibi costumes? The Zenitsu and Inosuke ones embodied them SO WELL. I don't usually care for those giant mascot character costumes, but these were legit so much fun to watch, like with Inosuke going right up into the cameras and Zenitsu trying to pull him back and then the two of them pushing and shoving. Zenitsu acting like he is being bullied and Inosuke showing off his muscles. I loved them. I am very sad that I will not be in town when they travel across Japan and come to my area.
--Also, the baritone voice of Oyakata-sama's personal crow? LOVED IT.
--Himejima at the the Pillar Meeting is such a statement. The new promotional material has a tag line that prominently uses one of the kanji in his name ("cry out"), and I feel like this is set-up for him to have a lot of impact later on in this season. Here's hoping!
--I am probably gonna go watch it again in a couple weeks, ufufufu
--Which is worth it for that KIZUNA NO KISEKI REMIX WHICH SOUNDED SO COOL IN SURROUND SOUND, OH MY GOSH
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
famous dc! au (bruce's version)
PART ONE - untitled_script.docx / raw_sketch.jpeg
When you felt the warm sun on your eyes you didn't quite know where you were yet. Last night was intense and for almost all of it you were sober. At beginning of the party you weren't.
Last night was more of a launch for you. Your name had been whispered in these circles for months now. A couple of articles written up about you and your art. It was time to fully immerse yourself into this world.
Of course you showed up as an emerging artist with no art. What's an artist's struggle without art? Exactly. If you came with someone to hang on one of the walls you think you would have fainted from all the attention. Being there and people knowing your name was enough to tilt your world.
That's how you ended up spilling some of your drink on an unsuspecting victim. You sobered yourself up after that. Trying to get through your nerves with liquid courage wasn't going to help. You had to find other tactics.
As the night went on though you kind of forgot about your nerves. With the help of one person in particular. Now that you think about it you can't believe you're about to say his name in connection with yours. But it's the truth.
Bruce Wayne helped you last night.
And then a couple of hours after that. And a little more into the wee hours of the morning. But it was more than that-something is missing. You reach over to the other side of the bed and find it empty.
You open your eyes and the sun fully blinds you. So you turn around in bed. You're naked. That seems about right. Your eyes take focus on the other figure in bed with you. He's got his back turned to you, so all you can see are the scratches that go from his shoulders to his lower back.
A bit startled you sit up on your forearm.
The movement must be felt because all at once he's turning around and your brain doesn't have to work overtime to recognize Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne in bed with you. Bruce Wayne with nail marks down his back.
You sit there for a while. Just watching him. Your chest heaving up and down. You try to steady your breathing but you can't quite seem to catch it in the first place.
"It's impolite to stare." he says.
Your eyes widen, "You're awake?"
He opens his eyes. Bright blue staring right back at you. A shadow of a smile lines his lips. It was a stupid question but he doesn't make you feel as such for asking.
"Good morning." he says.
You pull the covers over your chest a bit more.
"Good morning." you say and clear your throat.
"Had a nice night?" he asks.
You can't help to laugh a bit, "I don't know. Jury's still out."
Bruce hummed, then he wrapped his arms around your middle, bringing you closer to his body. You instinctually wrapped your legs around his.
"Law really isn't my strong suit." he says.
"It's more of mine." a voice by the door says.
You and Bruce both look over quickly. That's right. Harvey! Now that you think about it Harvey was the one that walked you into this room last night. Somewhere after Bruce was telling joked and before the tenth person came up to introduce themselves to you, Harvey made an appearance.
With all the slyness of a fox he whisked you away from the donors eager to commission something from you. He took you far away from the crowd for about an hour. Then Bruce had joined the two of you.
You're looking at him and he's smiling right at you too. He has a tray of food in his hands. A glorious spread of breakfast foods.
"I thought you'd be off, chasing a script somewhere." Bruce says.
There's an edge to his voice now. One that wasn't there a few moments ago. You start to think it's like jealousy or something. Was Bruce jealous of Harvey?
Then your mind rattles with the fact of last night. Harvey may have dragged you off someplace, but at no point did either one of you invite Bruce. He knew just where to be and when too.
You look at Bruce and then back at Harvey. You do this a few times until the words seem to fall off your lips.
"You were looking for a third?" you ask.
Harvey lets out a guffaw from by the door. Bruce's arms which are still around you seem to go slack a bit. You don't know how that makes you fell at this very moment.
"Not in the sense that you're thinking." Harvey answers.
He walks over and sets the tray down. The orange juice and the waters shake as they settle on the side table. Harvey then climbs over you and Bruce both. His arms caging you in, but you didn't feel cage. You felt probably the most free you've felt in a while.
"we've been talking a while now about how we're missing something-someone." Bruce says.
You can feel his hand come up to brush against your cheek. You may look fine on the outside but on the inside you aren't sure any of this is real. Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent are in bed with you. Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent don't want this to be a one time thing with you.
"and you think that's me?" you whisper
"Bruce knew the moment he laid eyes on you." Harvey explained.
You don't miss how vague that is. He could have laid eyes on you at the party. Or at some earlier time, where you weren't noticing. And you don't miss how he only answered for Bruce.
You look Harvey in the eye now, "and you?"
"I knew before him." he offers.
Vague. Vague. Vague. The logical part of you is begging for more answers and more words. But the other side, the side that spent hours tangled between the sheets and these men is telling you that you don't need anything else at this moment.
You smile at him, then at Bruce. Harvey leans down and places a peck on your nose. Bruce's arms tighten around you once more.
#dc x reader#bruce wayne x reader#Bruce Wayne imagine#Bruce Wayne fic#dc fic#dc imagine#Harvey dent x reader#Harvey dent imagine#Harvey dent fic#famous dc! au (bruce's version)
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
incoming sandray fight analysis 3 days late, but ray and his attachment issues will never leave my mind
i think i missed a big part of the subtext of this scene initially that seeing some other meta analysis helped me see. ray and sand supposedly don’t speak after sands birthday (it seems like ray tried multiple times to reach out but was ignored), and when sand finally does ask to talk to him again it’s not what ray thinks. ray thought they would talk about eachother, who they are to eachother, what they want, etc. or at the very least go back to their old friendly ways, but instead sand is bringing up mew, bringing up ray being in love with mew, how close ray and mew are, and the duty ray has to mew as his friend (this is already a loaded concept for ray seeing as he finds the need to pay mew back for saving him, and i don’t think that will ever go away even with time).
after receiving the thatcar.mp3 file ray confronts boston, because boston can be cruel to ray to his face all he wants but he won't let boston be a bad friend to mew, except boston says ray would be just as bad as him if he tells mew the truth, but according to sand he'd be fulfilling his duty as ray's friend by revealing the truth, so he is conflicted and confused about his own feelings .
then at mew's birthday party he spends the night as an outsider to his own friend group. when he reveals the audio clip to mew he's probably expecting mew to be thankful, like sand said he would be, or hate him, like boston said, but from what we see mew doesn't have much of a reaction at all. ray couldn't predict how his friend would react to the information, and now he can't understand the reaction, but he still thinks he did the right thing and doesn't understand why no one else around him can see that. he is still confused, and he is still emotionally isolated.
he fully self implodes. he has spent this whole episode as an emotional outsider, and other people have been using his emotions and impulsive emotional responses for their benefit before he himself has the oppurtunity to try to understand how he is feeling. he is filled with rage and self loathing and world shattering loneliness (feeling alone in a crowd, especially the one that is supposed to offer you love and support, is enough to make anyone lose their mind) and he lashes out at everyone and all of things they do that he doesn't understand and that he finds shitty. he even does the thing that has conflicting morality because he feels that regardless of whether it makes him a good friend or a villain he at least owes it to mew for saving him, and mew not only rejects this act, but the person who has offered him the most care and kindness punches him in the face.
ray and his self fulfilling prophecy man, he is a burden, he is bad luck, nobody loves him, and so he is taking everyone down so their weight will make his own fall be that much more painful. and then he storms off.
now to this part of the fight in particular because i also can't stop thinking about it
"stop thinking about mew and focus on me for once"
i interperet this as sand saying "stop focusing on all the love you haven't/can't receive and focus on what i'm willing to give you in the present". except ray wanted to focus on sand, and sand only spoke to him about mew, the unrequited love ray has, and the emotional debt ray owes. sand turned away from him and then pushed him away.
"can't you really see that i care about you?"
now i'm not good at reading faces so i don't know what this facial expression means but it isn't happy/relieved. even if ray had the ability to accept sand cares about him, in this moment he feels entirely alone. in fact, this only makes him more confused, he wanted sand who pushed him to mew who has also rejected him once again. he definitely thought sand cared about him before this, but i think ray believes no one could possibly care about him right now (i also think that he is tired of wanting someone to care for him, of hoping someday someone will love him, and so he pushes everyone away so at least he can have some certainty)
"why would you poke your nose in my buisness?"
why would you come into my life just to push me away? why would you involve me in someone else's problems only for me to fuck it up the way i fuck everything up? why would you reopen the wound that is my attachment to mew? why would you keep following me if all i'll ever be is a burden? why would you say you care about me when i am unable to feel cared for? why did you have to ruin the good thing we had going before you turned away from me that night?
"what are we to eachother?"
i think ray asked this question partly out of anger and partly out of being desperate for a genuine answer. but sand says they are nothing to eachother. ray probably thought sand thought this of him, but was hoping for a different answer, now he has his certainty (also its the self fulfilling prophecy again, ray physically pushes sand away while demanding sand to define their emotional connection)
now lets look at when they start getting physical
[side note, ray starts to turn to get in the car when sand says "you can risk your own life all you want" in case you weren't destroyed by that fact yet]
ray has spent the whole night feeling alone and then ruining his relationships with others, he doesn't believe anyone can or should care for him, so he makes it true (how many times can you say self fulfilling prophecy in a ray analysis post anyway?!?!?) sand is trying to stop ray from himself but the urge to destroy has been ignited and it can't be turned off, so he has to stop sand in return.
i have been kept up at night thinking about how desperate ray sounds while trying to breathe, how desperate he is for space, to be free to destroy himself, for it to be over. he call sand a whore, which everyone and their mother knows isn't true, and at first i thought it was because he needed a reason for sand to despise him but i think it's just as likely ray was just lashing out and wanted something to hurt sand with. after he pushes sand to the ground, he doesn't look proud by what he's done, but he can't stop himself now. and so he drives off alone
i've seen many different thoughts as to where he was going. but whether he was just going home, or drove off knowing it wouldn't end well, he needed to put a stop to this.
ray enthusiasts how we feeling 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃
i don't even remember what the point of this anaylisis was anymore at somepoint i lost the plot... anway excited (also tormented by impending sandray scenes) to see what next week brings
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
What bothers me in particular after seeing the millionth post saying something to the tune of, "yes, Ursa was abused, but that doesn't excuse her mistreatment of Azula," when the supposed "mistreatment" doesn't actually occur in the show - the post I saw said that the show itself was "biased" - what bothers me in particular is not only the victim blaming of Ursa, but also the insistence that our focus should actually be on abuse that happened offscreen. When you are saying that the show itself is biased, then you're saying that you're willing to discard actual evidence of abuse in favor of another narrative that can be invented out of thin air. Because Azula is not, in fact, a real person. What is presented on the show is Azula as she is. There can be no "biased" portrayal because Azula is a product of fiction and does and thinks and feels only what she is written to do and think and feel, for the purpose of fulfilling a particular narrative function. Ditto for Ursa and Zuko and Iroh. So when you say you don't believe the text as it is presented, and you'd rather come up with another narrative, what you are saying is your first instinct, when presented with an abuse narrative, is to not believe it. That you'd rather believe that Azula's abusive behavior is the fault of other people, many of whom were either her victims or the victims of her abuser, because of her age or gender or whatever.
Azula is an abuse victim who became an abuser and instead of accepting that, y'all want to create excuses for her and blame other victims instead.
We're talking about fiction, but if the only abuse narrative you can accept is the one that only exists in your head, if the abuse survivor for whom you have the most sympathy is one whose narrative you can change to suit your ideas of what abuse looks like, what does that say about your ability to empathize with real people? People whose narratives you can't reimagine into comfortable headcanons because you think the narrative is biased.
That's what bothers me whenever I see people praising Ursa for being "a flawed character." Ursa is, in fact, barely a character at all and mostly defined by being a mother, but there's enough room in the narrative for people to imagine their own headcanons and so what the fandom comes up with is "she must have been a bad mother because her daughter is a bad person." Even though we KNOW why Azula became the way she is. Even though Azula (and Ozai, who Azula imitates) is directly juxtaposed with the goodness her mother represents in the narrative.
It's just so tiringly misogynistic. Like, the fact that Ursa mostly exists to be fridged is itself a product of sexism. Sometimes you need to ask yourself "is this a wonderful, detailed portrayal of a flawed female character, or am I just being a misogynist?"
Another good thing to ask yourself is "am I really listening to abuse narratives, or am I just changing them in my head to fit what I think they should be to make them more palatable to consume?" (i.e. the "but Azula is 14!!!" crowd. Particularly when y'all say Zuko can't be abused by his younger sister.)
Being a survivor of abuse doesn't excuse abusing others, but the character who exemplifies that message is Azula, not Ursa. Ursa's role in that narrative is to be juxtaposed against Azula, to represent that this is a truth Azula knows deep down but won't accept. To argue that Ursa mistreated Azula or is the reason why Azula is the way she is is to miss that point completely.
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
I absolutely get some readers not liking the potential of Az and Gwyn or even not wanting it to happen because they root for another couple which is absolutely valid. We let off a lot of steam in the past two years but I think we're at a stage where each side should mind their own business.
But this is also a post for the pro-Gwynriel crowd so if that's not your cup of tea, ignore this post. I'm not responsible for you getting upset over reading something you know you won't be happy with.
Disclaimer: I wrote this post based on my own interpretation of the text and the opinion I formed.
Like I said, I absolutely get why some don't see it or won't like it but I do get puzzled as to why when people explain why they see it's potential, it's immediately shot down.
My number one question would be: from a narrative perspective, why would SJM introduce a new female character and place her within Az's circle when there is that whole Elain and Mor thing going on? She absolutely did not need to do that. She did anyways. Whether you think it's platonic or romantic, the book does shift a little focus on Gwyn and Az in some scenes where they are present.
First, let's talk about their history. So it's pointed out that Az is the first person to reach Sangravah and he was the one to save Gwyn. I'm not saying a romance sparked there and it has nothing to do with romance at that stage but it is part of their history. Sarah could've said it's Rhys, it's Cassian, it's Mor, but it's mentioned multiple times that it's Az who saved Gwyn.
We also have the Valkyrie subplot, it's not only Cassian, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie that are involved in it but Az is part of it too. Az is brought in to train other group of priestesses since Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie are under Cassian's charge—but what does eventually happen? we start to notice in some of the scenes that there are subtle or not so subtle attention to how Az or Gwyn observe or react to each other. He even trains her personally and I assume on their own at one point.
“Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high.”
One example is this, was this something necessary for the reader to make note of? did we need to know that Az, who was occupied with the other priestesses, turned at the sound of Gwyn squealing from the other side of the ring with an amused expression? this is one of the examples of how the narrative makes sure the reader makes note of this. The argument is not whether it's romantic or not, but these reactions are pointed out to the reader in particular.
So back to the Valkyrie subplot, Az is part of that but not only that, he actively had a part in training Gwyn. Not Nesta, not Emerie, but Gwyn. Why establish that between them? Why make him play a part in her becoming a Valkyrie? That to me is also another connection SJM established between them.
We could have gone the entire book without Az being involved in any of this. But SJM chose to have him involved with the Valkyries' training and Gwyn's in particular, especially knowing that the ending of ACOSF tells us not only Cassian but also Az will continue to train them. He will still be in close proximity with Gwyn and co.
No matter how many times I reread the book it's clear to me that there is a set up. It made me think they're compatible for each other in the way they both are lightly bantering and challenging each other. It did create a potential future for both of them where they develop romantic feelings for each other and I definitely would rather see that happen on page—given that the two females Az have feelings for were abrupt in a way (especially for Elain) and to me there is no organic development to it. He fixated on certain things that seems might make him feel worthy of someone, but they also feed into his self-loath. I think the idea of 3 sisters and 3 brothers reinforced that because like I have said before, it would've been more romantic for me to see him accept Elain with or without her bond to Lucien rather than resent and question it. Because him accepting it makes me think he wants her for her and a bond to another male won't stop him from being with her, but he does make a big deal out of it even though neither Elain or Lucien acted on it so there isn't someone in his way stopping him from being with her (pre-Rhys pulling rank) because he knows Elain has no interest in Lucien (to him).
SJM could have absolutely make Az form no connection or have any sort of interaction with Gwyn the same way he was indifferent and never spoke to Emerie. But that's not what we got so let's talk about the elephant in the room: his bonus chapter.
This is something I've always said, why add Gwyn? the chapter personally confirmed to me the crumbs I picked up on while reading ACOSF and noticing how the narrative shifts my attention sometimes towards Az and Gwyn. Not that there aren't any for Elain and Az, but as I said the bonus chapter confirmed to me what likely Az's storyline is going to involve and focus on.
Theories aside, reading the bonus chapter for what it is and moving past that sad but also miserable first part and finding Gwyn there with her part, it was a breath of fresh air. The wording and Az's emotions during her part made them much more appealing to me because their interaction started out awkward, and then sweet and more light-hearted. She gives him an out he does not take, she smiles at his shadows, his shadows feel calm and content to watch her, the mating bond language (which parallels other mated couples), him going from being frustrated and pissed to him laughing and feeling settled down at the end of his scene with her.
One major thing we got was: he sings. Why does that matter? because she also sings. Theories aside, there is a similarity there that was not needed to be made. But the author made it.
Also, out of all the characters we get after her scene, it's Clotho who shows up. And who is Clotho? Gwyn's guardian in a way. We all agree the necklace move was not a great one but that ending to me had a light romantic coding (theories aside).
Clotho's pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.
Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it.
But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.
A thing of secret, lovely beauty.
What started as a depressing and hopeless chapter for Az ended with a beautiful hopeful ending. It ended with him thinking about Gwyn's joy and burying that image deep in his chest where it glows quietly.
To add, Gwyn is the only character in the entire series from what I've read where Az's shadows reactions to her specifically are totally unique. Interpretations of this will differ, but it's there. Why go as far as to make them unique to her?
I will say this again that I'm okay with people not seeing the hints or not liking it, but I do wonder sometimes even when readers highlight all of this (which, everything I mentioned here is from the books) it's met with so much resistance to the point people's reading comprehension is questioned. There is always room for different interpretations, not liking one does not invalidate it and this is something I also try to personally remind myself of.
But my question will always be: why did Sarah have to place Gwyn within Az's circle? even if your answer is they'll probably be platonic it means I'm correct in saying that the narrative did truly establish a connection between Az and Gwyn in ACOSF and his chapter whether they'll be a romantic pairing or platonic friends. There is something there.
#acotar#acosf#gwynriel#gwyneth berdara#notice how I didn't have to name call or make fun of any shippers?#a civil conversation is possible
210 notes
·
View notes
Text
Treasure
Summary: Pirate Kol. What more do you need to know? I will say this is kind of heavily POTC based but in what world is that a bad thing? Oh... I also tossed a nice helping of yandere in here too. This one's for you Tumblr. || Kol Mikaelson x Siren!reader || Here lies my Masterlist ||
Word Count: Uh... Nevermind.
Warnings: ALL OF THEM! Yandere content, blood, blood drinking, use of the w*nch word, torture, kidnapping, non-consensual touching, I don't know if steamy is the right word but I'll use it. Seriously, this is in no way a healthy relationship.
⛈️ STORY BEGINS BELOW 🌊
The tavern was, by no means, the proper place for a lady of your position. You should have been tucked safely in your bed, away from the riotous clamor of thieves, beggars, and assorted drunken knaves. Alas, you had chosen to spend your night among them nonetheless. For there was no better place in all the town to hear stories of magic and macabre than from the mouths of the sailors what gathered there.
Voices bellowed, violins fiddled, and tavern-goers danced while ale flowed endlessly on tap. Ducking through the crowded door, you searched the crowd for a candidate likely to entertain you this evening. Off to your right was gathered a throng of bar-maids, wenches, and commoner women, seemingly engrossed in the tale of a visiting sailor. Your little town was nothing impressive - a mere stop along the way to greater places - yet nary a sailor would easily avoid making port here once in a while. Strapping young men were always coming and going and to say that you didn't welcome them would be a falsehood indeed.
With a hint of a smile teasing your lips, you strode delicately through the teeming pub with practiced ease before selecting a seat a little ways off from the mass of women huddled around the jolly sailor. You had always possessed a rather odd talent for discerning voices from crowded rooms, no matter how many bodies were packed between the walls. You singled out the storyteller's tones soon enough.
His voice was velvety and pleasant, serene and crisp like a winter's breeze. The words he spoke were carefully arranged on a wicked sharp tongue and the vibrant tonality of them held his audience's rapt attention. From the glimpses you caught of him through the shifting bodies, it was plain to see that he basked in it, grinning broadly with wild gestures and boisterous laughter. He was young, certainly not much older than yourself and the way he carried himself bespoke a charming arrogance most women would swoon for. The boy's thick hair was as dark as elm and hung in lazy, wind-tossed ringlets. His eyes seemed black as coal in the meager candlelight but they flickered with a spark of licentiousness. Doubtless, he was beautiful, with clean, sharp features and that exuberant air. Questions arose from his audience and he met them with a dazzling and clever wit. Listening was like watching verbal sword-play - a duel in which one side had the absolute advantage.
His gaze flicked from person to person with the proper variance to keep his listeners interested, yet never lingering in any meaningful way. You watched him with an amused quirk of the lips as he spoke a tale of cannibals, sirens, and a monstrous sea serpent he'd dubbed Bartholomew. As was so often your ploy, you sat close enough to catch his words yet distanced yourself enough to remain outside his realm of attention. Handsome though he was, you didn't much fancy becoming the focus of his charm.
Men seemed to have a rather untoward tendency to latch onto you and the longer they spent in your presence the more they seemed to lose all sense of propriety or decorum. Ever since one particular instance where the brute of a man had gone so far as to attack you, your father had assigned you multiple chaperones for any public appearance. It was bothersome, to say the least - suffocating certainly, and recently you had resorted to sneaking out just to have a chance to breathe.
So when the boy's eyes chanced to meet yours through the throng, you felt a spark of panic. There was something breathtakingly vast in those obsidian irises, looking into them felt like staring up at the night sky stretching onward into infinite blackness. The world in its entirety seemed to shift as his boundless attention, like a telescoping lens, narrowed its focus solely on you. His voice broke off mid-sentence and he seemed to lose his breath.
Other men had displayed similar reactions to you before, but never had one conveyed such devastating yet beauteous intensity. A flattered blush painted your cheeks, yet you couldn't find it in you to glance away. For a split second, you thought you saw a shadow of something sinfully animalistic flit across his face, but it was gone before you could register it. You felt aberrantly… ravished by his gaze. Though it startled you to find it was not a wholly unwelcome sensation.
He smiled, not a lecherous smirk but an earnest grin as though you were the safe harbor amidst a storm-tossed sea. You smiled - modest and demure- in return before the shifting crowd cut off your connection.
It was time to leave
Finishing what little food you had ordered, you gathered your skirts and stood only to trip over a stray foot. You stumbled forward into the arms of a stranger who steadied you with ease.
"Thank y- Oh!" You blinked. Before you stood that handsome sailor, holding you gently. His hands felt like flames licking at your upper arms.
"Good evening," He said, bowing his head to you. Your thoughts froze in place.
“Y-yes,” You stammered. “It is.”
He smiled gently and smoothed his hands down your arms, spreading those flames over your skin. You blushed fiercely as he lifted your hands to his lips and conferred a kiss on the backs of both. Those amaranthine eyes never left yours.
“Do my eyes deceive me or might I be standing in the presence of the divine, empyrean, angel sent to abide my recreant and wretched soul?” He said, brushing a lock of hair from your face. Your breath caught in your throat.
You had received compliments from men before - been showered with them - but never before had you heard something so astonishingly genuine part from the lips of a complete stranger. The compliments tossed at you were nearly always the scandalous sort.
“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” You breathed, nearly trembling with nerves.
“That’s certainly possible, blinded as I am by your beauty.” He smiled, twisting that lock of your hair around and around his finger. There was something in that smile that vaguely reminded you of the way a parched man might look at a drawing of water - you might almost describe it as delirious, if not tamer than that. “Might you do me the honor of hearing your name?”
“My name is Y/N,” You replied. “Y/N Y/L/N.”
“Well then, Miss. L/N-” The way his tongue rolled around your name made your heart skip a beat. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he’d noticed as a satisfied gleam flashed through his eyes. “-I would have you know, that I’d need not so much as glimpse another woman for the rest of my days if you would grace me with just one dance.”
Your stomach fluttered and you wished this could be so, but you knew better by now. Just one dance was never enough. Just one kiss was never enough. They always wanted more.
You bowed your head, avoiding his immeasurably heavy gaze. “My apologies, sir,” You said, breathless. “But I must be getting home. I’ve lingered here far too long already.”
Disappointment tugged at the corners of his lips. “I see. Perhaps I could accompany you?”
You offered a dry smile. “Only if you would wish to be intimately acquainted with my father’s sword.”
“I would prefer to avoid that, I think.” He laughed but it was sad. “Might I see you here again?”
“I should think not.”
He wasn’t the first boy you had rejected, but that didn’t make it any easier. You’d never felt worthy of the attention you received. It had never felt real before now. Smiling regretfully, you risked granting him a pat on the chest before stepping around him. You felt his eyes hover on your back as you weaved your way through the tavern and out the door. That sensation did not cease until you arrived home and closed the front door.
In your attempts to make your way unheard through the blackness of your father’s estate, you unwittingly walked directly into the map table which took up a significant portion of the entryway for the time being. Your hip bashed against the corner and you winced as several of the small wooden figures, representing ships under your father’s charge, toppled over. Thankfully, all the household maids were abed at this hour and your father was away on business so no one was likely to have heard. Taking your time to carefully study the map, you replaced the figures in their proper order and scampered off to bed.
You awoke to cannon fire.
The echoing blasts shook you from your dreams and you shot upright, whipping your gaze to the window which peered out over the bay. There, in the water, was anchored a ship you had never seen. Its cannons flashed in the night as it fired upon the shoreline, parts of the village had already caught fire. Such a sight could only mean one thing.
Pirates.
A sudden crash and a shout tore your eyes from the window. The sound of heavy boots pounding up the stairs flooded your heart with dread. Torchlight flared beneath your door and you had not time enough to move before it burst from its hinges.
You screamed.
A pair of men dragged you from your bed by your arms. You writhed and fought like a wild dog as they dragged you down the stairs. Grinning in vicious satisfaction, you managed to drive your foot solidly into the stomach of one of the brigands. After that, they resolved to hold you down as one of them coiled a length of rope around your feet and shoved a rag in your mouth before hauling you off again. They dragged you to the beach and tossed you into a longboat. You would have attempted to tip the miserable thing if not for the knife one of the dirty pirates held to your throat.
“Quite the beauty our captain’s found for himself, eh?” The one with the knife inquired of his companion. Tattoos covered his body and his right eye was scarred beyond recognition.
“Don’t matter much, methinks.” The other shrugged. A sandy-haired man with hardened eyes and a crooked nose. “Doubt this one will last much longer than the rest.”
“Sure seems a shame, lettin’ a body like this go to waste,” The first agreed. He brushed a finger over your cheek and you snarled.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sandy-hair warned. “I doubt he would take lightly to his orders being disregarded.”
Tattoos scoffed. “That captain’s hardly more than a boy, he doesn’t give me orders. Besides, if he wanted this wench so bad, why’d he not take her ‘imself?”
“You know why.” The sandy-haired one quit rowing as the logboat approached the side of the vessel still docked in the bay. “Now unless you want to lose your hands, I suggest you keep ‘em to yourself.”
“I’m not scared of that kid,” Tattoos grumbled.
“You should be,” The other said.
More men gathered up above, tossed down a few ropes, and hoisted the boat from the water. As your kidnappers dismounted, they made the mistake of letting go of you for a moment. Seeing your opportunity, you spat the rag from your mouth and made a mad attempt to fling yourself over the side.
“Oh, no ye’ don’t, Miss.”
You screeched as one of the pirates caught you by the hair and tossed you onto the deck. Dazed, you caught a glimpse of Sandy-hair glaring at his companion, shaking his head. Filthy pirates stood around you in a loose circle. Some seemed almost scared to approach though you couldn’t fathom why. Tattoos leaned down and yanked you up by your hair again. He shoved you back and you stumbled over the hem of your skirt, collapsing onto the set of stairs leading to the helm. Your head smacked against the banister, splitting the skin at your hairline. Snatching your arms, Tattoos flipped you over, pinning your wrists over your head. You cried out in terror and he brandished the knife in his hand at your throat, shrugging.
“I get my turn, an’ he can have his,” The horrid man said with a cruel sneer. He moved the knife to slice open your dress. A sob escaped your lips and you squeezed your eyes shut.
To your surprise, there came a strangled gasp and that man’s terrible weight was lifted off you.
There was no tearing of fabric, no slicing of your skin, and your breasts weren’t suddenly exposed to the elements. Yet, you didn’t dare open your eyes.
Something crunched.
It was an awful, sickening, wet sound and morbid curiosity demanded you identify the cause. Timidly, you looked up.
Before you, Tattoos hung, suspended in the air by the throat. His spine bent backward in an unnatural way and his eyes, wide and unfocused, stared into the void, his jaw gaped limply, frozen in a silent scream. Your eyes flicked to the man standing behind him - a far too familiar brunette with a far too familiar voice.
“If you want to play the game, mate,” That silken voice advised. “You have to abide by the rules.”
You didn’t see him draw a blade as he dropped your assailant to the ground, but you caught a white flash of something that must have been a handle as he drove the weapon into the other man’s chest, plunging it straight through his heart. You stared at the corpse in front of you, far too utterly overwhelmed to be sure what you should be feeling at the sight of it.
“I hope the rest of you take that as a bloody warning,” Your savior said casually, kicking the body aside with a sneer. He cast his eyes to you. “Hello again.”
Your eyes flitted from him to the corpse, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. You were far too terrified to respond. The pirate smirked.
“Gefðu frúnni herbergið mitt,” He said in a tone like honey and thorns. Then he turned and two men parted from the crowd, stalking toward you. You shrieked again but couldn’t escape as they dragged you around the stairs and tossed you through a doorway. You pushed yourself up on your hands as the door slammed shut.
Taking stalk of your surroundings, the terror in your gut only crept up your throat like bile. Pieces of furniture were scattered around. An armchair, a bookshelf, a desk, and a bed. They’d locked you in the captain's quarters. Now, you may have been frightened out of your bloody mind but if these filthy pirates thought you were going to be a good little captive then they had another thing coming.
You needed a weapon.
Dashing over to the desk, you tossed aside an empty bottle of rum and rummaged through a pile of maps. You found nothing, so you moved on to the drawers. You had no idea what to make of the obscene quantity of random odds and ends contained therein but you didn’t particularly care to form an opinion. It wasn’t until you reached the back of the very last drawer that you found a silver letter opener. The decorative piece was by no means ideal, but the tip was relatively pointy so you considered that a victory.
Now all you could do was wait and see what fate had in store.
***
"What a pretty thing, you are." You spoke softly to the brilliant red creature as you gently stroked its breathtakingly vibrant coat. The fur was soft between your fingers and the animal didn't seem to mind your touch. "Are you a prisoner here too?"
The fox, of course, did not answer. Hours had gone by since your captors had locked you in there and you had come across the captain’s pet rather quickly. Skittish at first, it had grown used to you by now. A faint smile tempted your lips as you moved your hand, scratching behind the animal's ears. It seemed to like that, judging by the purr of contentment it made.
"Do you like him?"
The voice from behind startled you, and subsequently the poor fox in your arms. It sprung from your hands and growled but the man behind you whistled sharply and it quieted before skulking over to where he stood in the doorway. He watched you expectantly and you supposed it best you indulge him.
"He is a very handsome beast," You replied, straightening your spine in an effort to appear strong. Your legs were shaking. "Remarkably tame."
The boy smiled. It was a kind, disarming smile, but you knew better. The devil lurked behind those beautiful brown eyes.
"Yes, I'm rather fond of him as well," He said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room. "I found Draugr injured in a field, having been nearly torn apart by wild dogs." He pushed the door shut and you stiffened. You tried to conceal your horror but failed, taking a step back instinctively. The pirate noticed but didn't comment, instead gesturing toward the fox that now playfully nipped at his heels. "He must like you though. He won't permit anyone else on this ship to touch him."
"Likely because you're all filthy brigands," You snipped. Only a moment later did you think better of it. Perhaps insulting him wasn't the wisest course of action.
To your surprise, the boy laughed, shaking his head. "I can see how you might think that," He said. He crossed to the far wall and sat down in an armchair, gesturing for you to take a seat on the magnificent four-poster bed. His bed. You froze.
Should you obey him? It was a risk either way. He was strong - a sailor - he could so easily overpower you. Had you not witnessed him cut down one of his own men, not hours before?
He sighed, eyes seeming strangely soft. "Calm yourself, darling. Fair though you may be, I've no vile intentions towards you," He assured, tone gentle and understanding. You decided it might be safe to sit on the bed.
"Then why have you taken me?" You demanded curling your knees into your chest. "My father is a merchant, but that's no great ransom. I am of no significant value to you. Why can you not bring me home?"
He watched you for a moment. There was something… regrettable in his eyes. The smile he offered was kind, if not forced.
"Not all treasure is silver and gold, love." His gaze flicked subtly to the gash torn across your hairline. The boy's lips pressed together and he shifted uncomfortably, forcing his eyes away. "You are of… other value to me," He admitted quietly.
Your eyes narrowed.
"And what value would that be, precisely?" You hissed, pushing yourself further away from him.
Oddly enough, the pirate seemed to wince. His hand reached for you in a fleeting gesture, but he thought better of it. Instead, he spread them appeasingly - as if to show you he was no threat. At his feet, Draugr yipped and sprung onto his lap.
"I assure you, it's not what you're thinking," He said. Again, those soft brown eyes sought out your wound. "However, I would not deceive you…" He wet his lips and stared, transfixed at the last transient drops of scarlet that seeped from the cut. There was a distinct want in his gaze - a tormented and voracious hunger - like an animal on the brink of starvation. "I'm afraid what I desire of you is not a particularly pleasant affair."
The manner in which he eyed you drove your heart to increasing concern. Its rapid beating pounded in your ears as you curled tighter around yourself.
"If you are attempting to console me, then your effort is considerably lacking," You huffed. The air in the cabin, hot and stiff, only served to magnify your dire situation.
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly as though something pained him. "You needn't be afraid of me, darling." He offered the words almost pleadingly. "I'm not going to hurt you, yet. Please understand, this isn't something I want to do and I wish I could offer you a choice, but I can't. I-I need you and I'll explain everything. You're frightened, and rightfully so, but I promise you can trust me."
You laughed, though it was rather hysterical. "What reason have I to trust you? I don't even know your name! How can I trust someone who refuses to explain what they want from me?"
He chuckled slightly and smiled. Then he stood, prompting Draugr to bound off his lap.
The pirate's gait was graceful as he crossed the room, as graceful as any nobleman though you knew better than to be disarmed by such things. The predator he kept as a pet served as an apt reminder - a fox is as handsome and as graceful as it is deadly.
You didn't scramble away as he drew closer, though you certainly remained ready to, watching with leery eyes as he stopped and offered you his hand. You eyed it and scowled.
"Come now," He implored. "I'm not going to hurt you yet."
He said that as though it should be comforting. You took his hand anyway and he smiled - a rakish thing - as he lifted it to his lips. His kiss was gentle; it made your stomach turn and your skin crawl.
"My name is Kol," He said. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Your lips curled with disgust. "Don't pretend as though you care for me," You spat.
He tilted his head. "But I do care for you, darling. You intrigue me, and for that, I can only apologize. Tell me, what can I do to put you at ease?"
"You can start by explaining yourself," You growled, wrenching your hand from his grip. He let go willingly. His smile shouldn't have been so endearing.
He nodded. "Very well." He turned and walked to one of the cabin's stained glass windows, silent for a moment. "Do you believe in magic, Miss L/N?" Kol asked, gazing out over the ocean.
You raised a brow, unimpressed. "What?"
"Magic," He repeated, still watching the rolling waves through the window. The sun was going down, casting the world in hues of gold. "You know… spells, witchcraft, curses and the like. Do you believe in them?" His tone wasn't patronizing but you knew he must have been mocking you. Just because you had been sheltered and raised in comfort didn't mean you were childish. At any rate, he couldn't have been much older than you were.
Difficult as it was, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I don't make a habit of dwelling on ghost stories," You replied, dryly. "Especially those spoken of by pirates."
Kol turned back to you, a quirk of amusement alight on his lips. "Is that so?" He wondered. "Pardon me for assuming, but that's not how things seemed last night."
So he did remember.
You frowned and crossed your arms, choosing to watch Draugr instead of his owner. You wanted to squirm under that heavy, ravenous gaze.
"Sailor's tales entertain me." You shrugged. "Nothing more."
"That's very practical of you, darling," He commended. You didn't like that smirk dancing in his eyes. "Might I be allowed to entertain you then?"
"I would prefer a straight answer," You muttered. He just flashed you a grin and hopped up to sit on a table.
"Long ago," He began, voice filled with a pleasant wistful nostalgia. "There was a boy blessed with magic. He spent his days in near constant mischief, indulging in every impulse and always pushing the boundaries in search of the next thrill. He reveled in his existence - in the rush and the power in his veins and the connection to the earth, sea, sky." The light in his eyes faded, melting into something bitter. Something cold and dead. "Then, one night, his little brother was mauled by a wolf."
"Oh." That was not where you'd thought this story was headed. Kol's eyes flicked to yours and you could see pain in them. Pain and anger.
"Fearing the loss of her other children, the boy's mother - a powerful witch herself - offered him and his siblings wine laced with blood and in so doing, she cast upon them a terrible curse. This magic, dark and powerful, dictated that her children might become immortal - they would be stronger, faster, unaging, and able to influence the thoughts and actions of others. But first-" Reaching for a cup of wine left on the table, he paused to take a sip. His eyes never left your own. You watched them grow dark as the sun outside sank beneath the window's view, casting his face in shadow. He sat the goblet down again and when he spoke, his tone was hollow and empty.
"-First they would have to die."
Now, you didn't necessarily want to encourage him, but you couldn't help being curious. His story reeled you in and held you captivated, much as before in the tavern.
"And did they?" You prompted when he failed to continue. "Die, I mean?"
Kol smiled but there was nothing in it.
"Yes." He nodded. "Their own father slaughtered them one by one that very night."
His eyes reminded you of a storm.
"And the boy?" You asked hesitantly.
Kol took a deep breath and tilted his head, watching you with consideration.
"When the boy awoke, he discovered himself changed. He was just as fast and strong as I described; however, to his horror, he realized he had been cut off from his magic - from the only thing that had ever made him happy. He felt helpless, terrified, empty, and alone." He paused and his eyes drifted down to his hands. "But above all, he felt hungry. See, his mother's curse had come with an unintended side effect - an insatiable hunger and an unquenchable thirst, unlike anything this boy or his siblings had ever known. Yet, the more they tried to appease this hunger, the more they came to realize something far more ominous.
"No drink could seem to satisfy, and any food put past their lips was to them naught but ash. They craved something else…"
He seemed to wait for you to inquire further, but your lips remained sealed. You didn't want to know. Kol tilted his head and raised a brow, smirking challengingly.
"What? Not curious to know more?"
You swallowed thickly and shook your head. That smirk of his stretched unnaturally wide - almost painfully.
He got up from his perch on the table and strolled back toward you, looking down at you for a moment before taking a seat by your side. You flinched away from him as he faced you. He was too close. Hidden within the folds of your skirt, you clutched the silver letter opener tight.
"Magic is a fickle thing," Kol continued. Draugr circled his feet affectionately and he smiled down at his pet. "Created by human blood they were... Now they would forever consume it. Unable to live for they could not die, neither yet were they dead; they were truly cursed."
"This boy had never before denied himself any fleeting impulse nor desire of his heart and that terrible hunger clawed at him like nothing else. He could not control it. Thus instead of seeking to help or understand him, his siblings thought it best to subdue their brother using a magical dagger that could put him to sleep for decades. Again and again, they betrayed him, until one day, he could bear it no more. He fled.
"In hopes of remaining hidden from his siblings, the boy joined the crew of a pirate ship. On one of his rare trips ashore to quench what little thirst he could, he met by chance a beautiful maiden with the most enticing blood he'd ever come across. After having spent so long on the brink of starvation, he simply couldn't resist."
Kol met your eyes. Something in them begged for understanding but you were far too unsettled to offer anything more than suspicion.
"That's an excellent tale, Kol." You drew yourself further away from him. "But I fail to see what it has to do with me."
The pirate bit his lip and looked away. "I know not what it is, but something within you is different," He whispered. "And I want to taste it."
Your heart nearly stopped. His story - this tale of magic - couldn't be real. He was just toying with you. He had to be.
"I'm not one to believe in curses, pirate," You reiterated, glaring coolly. "Only selfish, cruel men."
The boy chuckled darkly. "I am cruel, usually," He hummed, running a hand through his thick, silk-like curls. "I'm as selfish as they come - a hedonist, truly. Yet, for whatever reason, I don't want to hurt you." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's baffling…"
"Empty words." You pressed your lips together and shook your head, fighting back tears. "You're going to hurt me anyway," You accused venomously.
Kol sighed and shifted closer as though you sought his comfort, but you didn't. Your back was pressed against the headboard - you simply couldn't shy away any further.
"No, love. I don't want to hurt you… just-just taste you." Reaching out, he moved one hand to cup your cheek, and the other he settled on your knee. Your eyes flicked down briefly and your heart skipped. When you lifted your eyes again, you found he was already studying your reaction. An innocent, almost shy smile spread across his lips.
"Forgive me if I'm not comforted." Your eyes drifted down to his hand again and you swallowed thickly as fear rose within your throat, threatening to choke you. No man had ever touched you so intimately. Was your skin crawling, or were those sparks beneath his fingertips?
Kol tilted his head knowingly, yet his eyes were soft. He moved in closer, drawing far nearer to you than could be considered proper. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his hand higher, resting it on your upper thigh. Your breath hitched in your throat, and each intake of air shuddered through you as the fear in your stomach mixed with something else. The boy tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.
"See? You don't have to despise me," He claimed. "One often has to pick a flower to admire its beauty, and like a flower, I can care for you - treasure you. Anything your heart desires, you may have just as long as I may keep you."
There was something distinctly sweet about the way Kol carefully began to dig his fingers into your soft flesh. The strength of his grip increased gradually, blooming into something not painful but exquisite. Had you not known better, you would have thought his hand was burning you for all the heat that seemed to seep through your skirts. A shiver ran down your spine and you simply couldn't hold back a tiny whimper as it escaped your lips. The boy grinned, stroking your cheek.
You shook your head, tightening your grip on your makeshift weapon. "You're sick!" You hissed.
He smiled mournfully. "I'm cursed."
You clenched your teeth. "I don't believe you." Withdrawing the letter opener from the folds of your dress, you cried out and flung yourself forward plunging its dull silver into his chest with all your might. The blade sank in up to its handle.
Kol flinched.
That was it. Nothing more than a flinch.
Raising a brow, the monster glanced down at the silver metal protruding from his midsection and frowned.
"I was wondering where that went," He commented idly. Then, he grabbed the handle and pulled it out. The blade glistened with red and your heart sank as you watched the hole in his chest stitch itself back together. His eyes flicked between you and the bloodied, useless trinket in his hand. "Now I must admit - I'm curious, love. After killing me, what exactly did you plan on doing next?"
You fell back in shock. Tumbling in a heap onto the floor, you pushed yourself back up onto your hands, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"That's…" You shook your head, trembling. "That's not possible."
The monster smirked, seemingly relishing in your dread. "You had best start believing in ghost stories, darling," He said. "I'm afraid you're in one."
All thoughts of escape were ripped from your mind and you watched in horror as your captor's angelic countenance transformed into a devil's. Kol's eyes filled with an unholy blackness that seemed to draw the last remaining beams of sunlight from the chamber, plunging you into candle-lit gloom. Demonic veins spread across his cheeks like the creeping vines of a poisonous tree and his lips peeled back, revealing wicked razor-sharp fangs.
All you could do was shriek in sheer uncomprehending terror. Scrambling to get away from that thing, you stumbled to your feet and made a mad dash for the door. It wasn't that you thought you could make it. You knew you couldn't. You just needed to try.
A pair of arms wound around your waist and you screamed again. Not in surprise but simply with dread.
"Shhhh… Come now, sweetheart, it's alright," Kol's soft voice assured you. With a rush of air, you found yourself straddling his lap. You cried out and tried to throw yourself off of him but his arms felt as firm as prison bars.
"No." You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, no, no. Please. Please let me go. Don't hurt me. Please?"
You felt him wince but it did you no good. He just pulled you closer, weaving a hand into your hair.
"No, no. Shhh… I'm sorry, love." He held you as though you were something precious, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt to somehow comfort you. "I know you're frightened and I'm so sorry I'm scaring you, but you're going to be alright. It's all going to be alright."
"No! NO! You're gonna hurt me!" You sobbed. "Please don't hurt me! Please?"
"I have to, I'm sorry." Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek and his lips were soft and warm, but that couldn't make up for what he was about to do. He pulled away just enough to brush your hair off your neck. "I promise I'll be gentle with you, darling."
Hopelessness overtook you, ripping open a dark empty pit in your heart. It seemed as though the only choice you had left was to accept your fate.
"A-alright," You whimpered, releasing your tears to stream down your cheeks. Kol froze.
"Darling, are you-" He pulled back, searching your face with confusion. "Are you not angry with me?"
No. You were too scared to be angry.
You shook your head, eyes screwed shut. "I'm scared," You choked out. "I'm just scared."
That monster of a boy - you weren't sure what he was - cursed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I know," He said. "I know you are and I'm sorry. But we're too far from shore now and I need you."
You pressed your face into his well-worn jacket, inhaling deeply. He smelled like black powder and ocean waves. "You said you would give me anything?" You sniffed.
His hand wove itself deeper into your hair, tugging on the roots as his arm around your waist constricted ever tighter, pressing you almost painfully against him. "Yes," He promised. "Yes, anything. What do you need?"
You couldn't believe what you were going to ask, but you didn't want to die feeling so empty.
"Could you hold me for a moment?" You whispered, voice crumbling to dust. The least you could ask for was a moment of peace before you died. Kol wasn't exactly your first choice for comfort but he was one of a finite number available. Though for whatever reason, be it obsession or madness, Kol at the very least seemed to care for your feelings somewhat.
He hesitated. "You want me to hold you?"
Not particularly. However, you would rather his arms around you over anyone else's on this accursed vessel. So you nodded.
"Alright," He breathed. You could feel him smiling. "Come here, darling."
Kol laid back, settling down among the pillows as he carried you with him. You were quite astonished at how gently he handled you - almost as though you were made of glass. Urging you to lay on top of him, he wrapped his arms firmly around your back and nuzzled his cheek against your hair affectionately.
You fisted his jacket and cried, pretending for a moment that the arms which held you didn't belong to the monster about to end your life. You pretended this was just a dream. You pretended you would see your father again. It was almost pleasant. Kol was warm. Every now and then, he would kiss your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in a language you didn't understand. Your tears ran dry eventually. Kol took to nosing along your jaw and throat while you sobbed quietly. It wasn't long before his lips began making the same rounds. Kol's butterfly kisses stopped on your pulse, lingering there and morphing into something a little less chaste. You'd never been kissed in such a way before. Maybe you liked it, maybe you didn't. What did it matter? You figured your time was up.
"Are you ready, sweet thing?" He murmured into your skin.
You shook your head. "No." You weren't ready to die. "But that doesn't matter."
He kissed your cheek as though that could replace an apology. "Just relax," He muttered soothingly. "Try to go to sleep." His hand rubbed circles into your back and it wasn't comforting but it was better than nothing at all.
"Will I wake up?" You wondered. After all, you'd always hoped to die in your sleep. There were worse ways to go.
"You will," He said. It didn't really matter if he was lying or not, you wouldn't believe him anyway.
"Kol?"
"Hmm?"
"I may not know what breed of devil you are but you're a horrid, filthy pirate and I hate you."
Kol brushed a strand of hair from your face with a thin smile, before leaning down to kiss your neck again.
"I know."
You closed your eyes and felt yourself drifting. The sea as your cradle rocked you to sleep and Kol spent the next little while combing his fingers through your hair. You weren't quite asleep, but you were close to it when you felt his teeth scrape your throat.
He bit down slowly, gently, pulling you closer as he sank his teeth deeper and deeper into your flesh. Horrid, burning pain engulfed your senses and you whimpered feebly. He stroked your side soothingly in response. A content purr-like noise rumbled in his chest as he drank down mouthful after mouthful of your blood. Kol moaned a little at the taste and bit down harder, seeming as though he couldn't get enough. It hurt and you discovered you had a few more tears to cry.
It wasn't too long before the groaning of the ship's timbers began to dull and you could no longer hear the spray of the sea. Your heart began to slow down more than it should. Despite being surrounded by Kol's pleasant warmth, you felt cold. You were dying.
So it surprised you when Kol's fangs retracted, tugging painfully on the broken skin. He was breathing heavily, though you couldn't see his face - too weak to open your eyes.
"Bloody hell, darling. What are you?" His voice was muffled and far away. Your thoughts were too muted with pain to do you much good so you just hummed and stretched in response.
Shaking his head, he leaned down again and began lapping sweetly at the still weeping marks, cleaning away any excess blood. Finally, he licked the wounds closed and sat up, drawing you into his lap where he held you as though you meant the world to him.
Wiping away the stray tear that had slipped down your cheek from his assault, the boy sighed and pressed the faintest kiss to your forehead.
"See, love?" He said. There was an awful lot of hope in his voice. His tone was thin - pleading almost, as his arms around you tightened. He drew a hand across your stomach, petting you slow and soft. "See? I-I didn't hurt you." You would disagree with that statement wholeheartedly if only you hadn't been so thoroughly drained. "I didn't hurt you. I can control it." Oddly enough, his words seemed to be aimed more toward convincing himself. "I didn't hurt you. I didn't hurt you."
***
It was a problem, you thought, that you could no longer discern how you felt about your situation. The days weren’t bad. As a matter of fact, they were rather pleasant. Though you had been warned away from the water so strictly your entire life, it didn’t take you long to fall in love with the sea and its ever-changing beauty. You spent your days perched on the prow of the ship, watching the waves in their intricate dance. No crew member ever dared bother you again; however, you did come into friendly acquaintance with a sailor who was both deaf and mute. You learned that his name was Bora’Dain and he spoke using a system of hand gestures that apparently only Kol could understand. The two of them were rather close and seemed to enjoy insulting one another any time one of them turned their back. Although you quickly learned that attempting to play cards with either of them was an ill-fated maneuver, Bora’Dain readily made up for his frustrating winning streak by teaching you the art of knife-throwing. Your days were something to look forward to.
The nights were not quite so pleasant. Whatever unknown factor it was that made your blood so appealing, wasn’t something Kol could resist for long. While he was bright and full of laughter during the day, come eventide that wicked appetite of his curse returned. His gaze would linger and his hands begin to tremble the longer he tried to fight it. By nightfall, you always seemed to find yourself in his arms and he could never bring himself to let go. Thus, each night ended quite similarly - with his fangs buried in your neck, greedily consuming your very essence and a promise that he wasn’t going to do it again the next day. It was a promise he couldn’t keep.
The mornings, however, were the worst. You would awake at dawn only to find yourself in excruciating, feverish agony. Turns out, the human body isn’t meant to undergo extreme blood loss. You were so terribly ill each and every morning. It would be hours before you regained strength enough to stand. You weren’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that you weren’t alone. Every morning, you would wake cradled in Kol’s arms and he would hold you as you cried.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” You wept into his shirt one morning. Your entire body ached, your veins felt dry, your limbs were weak and useless, and your pulse and breathing were labored. “It hurts.”
Kol sighed and pulled you in closer, taking care not to aggravate your damaged flesh. “I took too much again, didn’t I?” You just tugged weakly on his shirt in response. He groaned and pressed a kiss to your hair. “I wish I could heal you.”
It was somewhat comforting to know that he was sincere in that statement at least. He had tried to feed you his blood before with disastrous results. For whatever reason, your body had rejected it. You’d nearly died. It was odd, according to Kol, aside from outrageously tempting blood, you were by all intents and purposes, entirely human. Yet, though meager, your body did seem to have its own form of increased healing - approximately a third the rate of any other human. Your body wouldn’t allow itself to be healed by any outside force, and that brought its own set of problems.
Namely, the scars.
Kol had decorated you with them. Dozens of pale raised marks stippled your neck, shoulders, back, wrists, and - lately - your thighs. All of the bites hurt, though some places were more sensitive than others. Kol just couldn’t seem to differentiate lust from bloodlust at times and it seemed he’d found a new favorite spot when you’d allowed him to start biting your inner thighs. He'd spent weeks begging for your permission and you thought that if you appeased him then perhaps he might mutilate you less often. He didn't. If anything, he'd continuously grown more eager, biting into your sensitive thighs with increasing vigor. Those wounds stung horribly, but the boy had become even more affectionate toward you once he’d had his fill. It was a trade-off you could stand.
“You must tire of hearing this, but I am striving to do better," He said.
"It feels as though you're getting worse," You whimpered. Kol's hand, stroking your thigh, brushed over one of his bites from the night before and you winced. He murmured an apology and pulled his hand away. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to yours.
"I can't help it. You taste better the more I take," He admitted. "I don't know what you are, but it's beginning to concern me."
"Kol?" You opened your eyes, letting as much of your pain bleed into your voice as possible. "If you care about me, please just take me home?"
He closed his eyes. "Please don't ask me to do that, love."
"If you care about me, you'll take me home," You repeated firmly.
"I can't." The boy shook his head. "I can't let you go."
That was it, then.
"I don't want to die." You shuddered and coughed.
He sat up, lifting you into his lap to rest against his chest. "You're not going to die."
"You're going to kill me."
"No!" He buried his face in your neck. "No, I won't."
"Then let me go home," You pressed.
"If I take you back, I will slaughter your entire town," Kol growled. "My siblings will find and dagger me once more. Is that what you want?"
"No." You coughed again, groaning. "But you're killing me."
"No!" He ground out. "I'm not killing you. You're alright. I wouldn't do something like that to you. I know when to stop. I'm not killing you." Perhaps he could convince himself, but not so you.
"Then can you please just give me one day to rest?" You begged. "I'll feed you tomorrow, but please - I just need one day."
He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "If there were anything else to eat out here, I would take it. In a heartbeat. But there isn't," He stressed. "So, unless you're keeping a map to several fully manned vessels in that corset of yours - I rather doubt it - then the best we can do is find out what the bloody hell you are."
You blinked.
As though someone had lit a candle in your mind, a plan began to form. A horrid, disgusting, desperate plan. The sort of scheme one comes up with after spending too much time around pirates.
"Well, it's not in my corset but I think I may have what you're looking for."
Kol looked up, raising a brow. "I beg your pardon?"
With the weight of his gaze now settled entirely on you, the words seemed to tangle together in your mouth. You glanced away, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
"M-my father," You stammered.
"What about him?" Kol demanded, resting his hand on your hip.
"He's a-a merchant - a prominent one. Recently, he was given charge over a fleet of ships," You told him.
Kol's eyes narrowed and a smirk tugged at his lips. "You know where they are."
You nodded. "I know where they are."
For a moment, you feared he wouldn't believe you - that he would think you were bluffing. Then that smirk broadened into a grin and he squeezed your hip gently.
"Very well, darling. What sort of cargo are these ships carrying?"
Your heart stuttered. You didn't know. "What?"
"Alas, I have to pay my men with something." He shrugged.
If he was looking for anything in particular then you were screwed, but you would say just about anything he wanted to hear if it would save your life. "Erm, anything, I suppose. Gold, silver, fine cloth, even slaves on occasion."
His eyes darkened. "People aren't cargo, love."
You swallowed thickly. "Then do something about that."
"Very well." He grinned and you yelped in surprise as he swept you into his arms and stood. "Shall we?"
Kol was a rather whimsical being, thus his moods could change on a dime. When this kind, playful side of him came out, it almost made you forget about the monster that bit you every night. You had learned to enjoy his better moods when possible, so you allowed yourself to giggle as he kissed your cheek and brought you out on deck.
"Gents! We have a heading!"
"Headin'?" A sandy haired sailor shouted, shielding his face from the sun. "Whot headin'?"
"Excellent query." Kol glanced down at you. "What's the heading, my love?"
You didn't yet have the strength to shout over the din. "North by Northeast," You replied.
"North by Northeast!" He declared, turning to ascend the steps leading up to the helm. "We sail toward fame, fortune, and a bloody five course meal!"
Within a few hours, whatever healing your body possessed seemed to work its magic. You were up and feeling much better - excited even. If you were lucky and found one of your father's ships within the day, then Kol wouldn't need to feed on you that night. That thought alone brought you much-needed relief and surprisingly enough, you didn't feel the least amount of guilt pertaining to what you'd done to obtain said relief.
"You know what would be bloody useful?" You called over your shoulder. Kol, Bora'Dain, and a few other crew mates sat behind you, playing cards on a makeshift table they'd brought out. Draugr was out and about on deck today, having caught several rats, he was quite content to curl up in your lap and present his ears for scratching. You happily obliged your favorite crew member.
The day was by no means bright nor cloudless. Morning mists had lingered over the water and the sun remained hidden behind layers of cloud. You were greatful for a respite from the heat; however, the choppy waves which agitated the sea hadn't made for a pleasant recovery from your usual sickness. Even through the fog, you were still hunting your father's ships but there was a lot of ocean to cross in the meantime.
"A way to prevent 'Dain from being such an insufferable cheat?" Kol guessed, scowling at the cards in his hand.
"Dis from you's, eh? Belligerent cad, you are." Ho-Jon scoffed. At hardly fourteen years of age, the black-haired boy was the youngest soul on board - a street urchin Kol had picked up in Singapore.
The entire crew, you had noticed, was a rather unorthodox bunch. It would seem Kol had collected for himself an assemblage of outcasts. Every brand of pariah, vagabond, or persona non grata was welcomed aboard, so long as they adhered to Kol's rules - from what you had observed, the pirate abided by a strict moral code which might have been useful to you, if only you could puzzle out what it was. However, for pirates, you had to admit, Kol's crew wasn't bad. For the most part, they treated you with more respect than plenty of the noblemen your father had encouraged you to meet.
"I'm the captain here -" Kol smirked. Despite his rank, he never treated his crew as lesser than himself, save in jest. "-cheating's my right."
Ho-Jon rolled his eyes.
"Actually, I was going to say a compass," You continued. "One that points directly toward whatever you want most."
"That would be convenient," Kol agreed.
Bora'Dain snorted and Kol glanced at him. The deaf man made a few gestures and he scoffed, leaning back in his chair.
"And how exactly do you figure that?"
Bora'Dain smirked but apparently felt no need to explain himself.
"He say compass useless?" Ho-Jon guessed. His accent was odd - like a dozen dialects rolled into one and though his grammar was somewhat lacking, the boy's knowledge of curses and profanity was quite extensive. Then again, he had no impairments in understanding Kol's impressive vernacular, so perhaps he just enjoyed his near-unintelligible slang.
"That he did." Kol nodded, crossing his arms. "Specifically in my hands." The black haired kid tossed his head back, laughing. Kol raised a brow. "Care to elaborate?"
"Well in'a you's hands, compass would on'a poin' du one t'ing." Ho-Jon shrugged and pointed in your direction. "Her!"
Kol's eyes flicked to yours and your cheeks flushed with heat. He didn't like you that way, you were sure. He just liked your blood. He turned his eyes back to their game, gesturing for Ho-Jon to take his turn.
"Mate, I think you best keep in mind the notion that it is within my power to keel-haul you at any time," He mused casually.
"Eh." The fourteen year old waved a hand. "Don'a think you do it."
"You need to broaden your imagination," Kol hummed.
The kid grinned. "There's is always broads in me imagination," He announced proudly.
You snorted. "And here I was sure you'd never even met a lass," You teased.
"Met you!" He countered.
"Yes, however, seeing as I was kidnapped, I don't count," You pointed out.
"Commandeered," Kol corrected, grinning wryly. "Kidnapped makes it sound rather fiendish."
"Stealing a lady from her bed is, by definition, rather fiendish," You said. "Not to mention you lot are, after all, pirates?"
Kol smirked. "Alas, the lady has a point."
"Of course I do," You quipped. "That comes naturally from being the only civilized person aboard this ship."
Ho-Jon gasped, playfully affronted. "You's a callin' me a heathen?"
"How uneducated of you, love," Kol said, shaking his head. "I'm the heathen, he's naught but your common knave."
"So it's true what Bora'Dain told me?" You asked. "In your mortal life, you were a Viking?"
Kol shot the African man a reproachful look. "I told you that in confidence, mate."
Bora'Dain shrugged and made a few gestures, one of which appeared rather rude.
"I don't believe that's any of your business," Kol said, voice clipped. Whatever was said must have upset him somewhat. The deaf man pointed at you, made another series of hand signs and scowled. You supposed that meant it was a negative statement. "Well if that be the case, you can resign your opinions to yourself." He snapped. A capricious smirk spread across his lips. "Oh, that's right, you do that anyway."
Bora'Dain didn't seem very amused by his retort, but the vampire paid him no further heed.
"Is it true?" You asked, swinging your legs back and forth. "Are you five hundred years old, or not?"
You could see Kol's jaw working. "Its true," He ground out. Then, trying to make light of it - "I've been sailing these seas since old 'Dain here was but a wee lad."
"So I suppose you've seen your fair share of Krakens then?" You asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from whatever had put him in such a foul mood.
"Krakens, love," He said, correcting your pronunciation. "And I'd like to think so, along with other manifestations of terrors from the deep." He blinked. "Speaking of which…" The easygoing smirk slipped from his face and he paused, tilting his head as if listening to something. A moment later, Kol stiffened.
"Please tell me I'm the only one who hears that."
"What?" Ho-Jon laughed, tossing his cards down on the table. "Tha' Imma winnin'?"
Kol ignored him. Standing, he crossed the deck to lean out over the railing, squinting into the watery goom. You noticed then that the lingering fog had thickened considerably through the last twenty minutes or so and the waves felt increasingly tumultuous.
"Ho-Jon, cover your ears," Kol mumbled, turning away from the railing with a weary expression.
The boy frowned. "You wha'?"
"Do as I say. Now!" Kol ordered. "Go wake your brother, and lock yourselves in my cabin. Do not come out until I come to get you, understand?"
Ho-Jon nodded sharply and scarpered off, disappearing below deck.
"Kol?" You caught his arm. "What's going on?"
"Sirens," He answered grimly. He turned back to the remaining pirates, shouting. "SIRENS!"
Moments later, you heard them.
A song crested over the lapping of waves, an ethereal chorus in harmony with the winds. Dozens of voices layered over each other, their dulcet tones rich and enchanting, enticing you to listen. The words ones you knew well - sweet as a lullaby. Casting your eyes down to the water, you were surprised to meet the gaze of a beautiful young woman with vibrant red hair and eyes the color of the icebergs to the north.
"Come, little one," She entreated. "Sing with us."
You couldn't quite say what made you do so.
Early one summer’s morning, I carelessly did stray
Down by the Walls of Whapping, where I met a sailor gay
“Draw them to the edge, little one,” The woman in the water said. “We can free thee from these fiends.” Her sultry voice was somehow friendly.
“You misunderstand,” You answered, frowning. “These are my friends.”
A pitying, almost motherly expression dawned across the woman’s face. “The dark one hurts thee, child,” She said. “We’ve heard thou cryest in the night and have come to avenge thy pain. Draw him hither, young one. Draw him to the edge.”
Was this ethereal creature right? Could you be free of him?
Conversing with a young lass, who would seem to be in pain
Saying: 'William, when you go, I fear, you'll nare be seen again.'
“How?” You breathed.
The siren tilted her head, petal-like lips pinching in a frown. “Knowest not thy power? Thy mother didst thou nary seek?”
You shook your head. “I never knew my mother. All my life, my father kept me sequestered from the sea.”
In the water, the woman smiled. Her teeth were rather sharp. “Thou holdest in thy hands the winds and the waves and the hearts of men. All shall obey thy will, daughter of the deep, for thou art as one of us.”
“I don’t want to be,” You worried. “I merely wish to go home.”
“Be free of the monster,” She said in lieu of an answer. “The blood he’s consumed will endear him to thee. Come now, draw him to the edge. Give him to us.”
“What will you do to him?” You wondered.
“We would drown him!” A chorus of voices trilled in delight. “Drag him to the depths and lay his corpse on the seafloor to rest!”
You blinked, brows furrowing. Was that what you truly wanted? Did you genuinely desire that Kol should spend eternity drowning for what he’d done to you?
All doubts were ripped from your mind as your eyes, seemingly of their own accord, sought Kol from among the chaos. He tossed a keg of black powder into the waves and looked up. When his gaze met yours, a power within you quivered with excitement. The singing grew louder, empressing on something in your very soul, compelling you to join in. You reached for him.
His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as coal.
My happiness attend him, wherever he may go.
Kol’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head, as if trying to clear away an unpleasant thought. He began backing away. You reached for him again.
“Wait,” You whispered. He stopped, seeming unable to tear his eyes away.
“What is this?” He demanded. You shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the singing and the chaos, but it was as though your minds were connected. “What are you doing?”
“Come here.” You smiled as he obeyed. The boy took a few steps toward you and his expression crumpled, contorting in agony.
“Stop it!”
You feigned a hurt expression. “I thought you favored me.” Your tone seemed to twist, managing to sound profoundly broken, though you hardly had to try. ”Please hold me?” You were, in a way, a predator offering herself up as bait. “I want you,” You lied.
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, yet drew closer all the same. “You hate me.”
“No,” You said. “It’s not your fault.” He craved so desperately to hear those words.
“You’re lying,” The boy hissed. You could see the conflict in his soft brown eyes.
“Kol, please?”
From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I will wander, weep, and moan
All for my jolly sailor until he sails home.
He was in your arms within a heartbeat, curling around you and holding you tight.
Humming along with the spirits in the water you could almost feel what your voice was doing to them - to him. The song washed over him in waves, preying upon every weakness, harnessing every vulnerability in order to better weave itself into a cruel illusion, perfectly tailored to the boy in your arms.
Kiss him… A soft yet demanding voice whispered in your mind. It was less of a voice and more of a craving - a dark, twisted, salacious desire that welled up within you as soon as he was close enough. You weren’t sure where it came from or how you knew what to do. All you knew was that you wanted to pull that boy under and watch as his own lust starved him of air. You needed to pull Kol in close and tease him with his most desperate desire until it burned so fierce as to consume him completely, driving him to madness. This was what you were, you realized.
A siren.
So you kissed him and he took to it like a man possessed. His arms circled your waist and he pressed into you, devouring your lips with frantic desperation, as though he knew this was a mere fabrication and yet was determined to bask in its warmth as much as he could. A starving animal that boy was, gluttonous for affection even if it were naught but a mirage. Kol begged you for entrance but you denied him, refusing to gratify his desire. Clutching onto his shirt, you leaned back…
And toppled into the ocean.
Kol hardly seemed to notice. It was pathetic, really. He was drowning - or going to - and he would rather kiss you than save himself. Because in this beautifully perverse fantasy, you loved him in spite of all he’d done and Kol wanted that, he wanted it more than anything. He was willing to die in pursuit of a delusion. Pathetic.
Kol moaned into your mouth and you swallowed each one like candy, drawing in water as well but that didn't matter. His heart rate began to slow and that terrible power inside you fluttered, squealing in delight. He was dying and it was ecstasy.
A bright orange flash struck your closed eyes moments before a massive, echoing blast shot through your body. The sirens in the water surrounding you shrieked and scattered in the wake of the explosion. You cried out in pain, lungs filling with water, and watched as Kol’s eyes fluttered open. Without a second thought, Kol grabbed your arm and towed you toward sunlight. You shot past the surface, gasping and coughing. Pain pulsed white-hot in your gut and you were vaguely aware of rope being tossed toward you before you slipped into blackness.
When you awoke, you were met with the sight of Ho-Jon’s face mere inches away from your own. You startled awake and punched him.
He stumbled back, holding a hand to his cheek. “Oh, I be’a seen how it is!” The kid huffed. “You’s just a’tryin’ to kill everybody now, eh?!”
You gasped. “Bloody hell, Ho-Jon! I’m so sorry!”
“S’okay, your high-demoness…ness.” He waved you off. “Don’t eat me and we’ll call it a draw!”
Your brows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
The black-haired boy shrugged. “Not my pardon you’s be neeedin’ to beg.” The door opened behind him and Ho-Jon sent you an almost sympathetic look before turning to leave, muttering something about the cost of watching pretty women sleep.
Kol moved to stand at the foot of the bed and you pushed yourself upright, though you were sure no posture could conceal just how terrified of him you were. His eyes were freezing obsidian pits and to stare into them was to surely bear witness to the very depths of hell. You'd tried to kill him. He folded his arms and you could see his jaw working as he studied every inch of you.
"Now, now, darling," He muttered almost to himself. "What am I going to do with you?"
Swallowing thickly, you scrambled as far away from him as you could as he rounded to sit on the bed. He didn't look at you, instead opting to tug on a loose string unraveling from the once pristine silken sheets, now irreparably stained with your blood.
"Are you aware," He began casually. "just how unfathomably lucky you are that I can't truly drown? Another minute or two and you would have been just as dead as whatever poor bastard you were attempting to suffocate." The pirate chuckled but there was no humor in it. "See, the unexpected siren attack is precisely why I prefer to keep a deaf man aboard. If not for Bora'Dain, I think both of us would be rather uncomfortable right about now."
You bit your lip and averted your gaze, electing to remain silent. Kol watched you expectantly for a moment, then sighed. Within the blink of an eye, his hand shot out and caught your ankle in an iron grip, wrenching you back toward him. Your breath hitched as he lowered himself to hover domineeringly over you, resting his weight on one arm. You could taste hints of rum on his breath - he'd been drinking.
"So, my love…" Kol mused, cold eyes flicking over your face. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
You shook your head. "I-I don't know," You whispered.
He raised a brow. "You don't know?" Kol slipped his hand beneath your skirts and slowly began crawling it up your leg. A shiver raced down your spine and you swallowed thickly.
"No," You replied, breathless. Some long-dormant part of your brain told you that he was very dangerous at this moment. He was a predator and you were nothing.
"Really?" Kol's hand reached your thigh and he brushed his thumb over the freshest of the bite marks. You hissed in pain and he smirked. "So you didn't knowingly employ a hereditary seduction charm in an ill-conceived attempt to send me to the depths?" He questioned. You opened your mouth to reply but he cut you off, stroking his bite warningly. It had only just healed over - still so sore. "Don't lie to me, darling. Otherwise, I may be forced to do something unpleasant."
You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears. "Please don't get mad."
"I won't," He hummed, smiling in a way that was almost kind. "So long as you tell me the truth." His fingers probed around your sensitive spot where his teeth had left bruises, kneading the flesh a little until he found the site that made you whine. "Ah there it is," He breathed, sickly satisfied. "Go ahead, pet."
"I wasn't trying to drag you down," You told him. "I swear, I didn't know I could do that to you."
Kol sighed. "Oh, sweetheart." He shook his head. "I thought I told you not to lie."
"N-no! I didn't-"
His fingers dug into your thigh, clenching painfully around the wound, pulling the skin tight. You cried out, straining to get away but his grip on your leg was stronger than a vice.
"I'm not lying!" You begged, tears streaming down your face. "I didn't realize what was happening! I give you my word!"
"I see." He muttered, maintaining that excruciating pressure. "When you pulled us into the ocean, did you wish for me to die?" You whimpered, shaking your head as you braced for pain. "Darling…" Your torturer practically sang. "The truth, if you please."
"Wait, don't-" Kol tightened his grip, bruising your flesh and the taught, freshly healed skin split apart. You shrieked as hot, crisp agony rent through you with savage talons. Kol released your thigh but didn't remove his hand, allowing your slick, crimson blood to seep from the reopened wounds anew. All the while his face remained impassive - emotionless - as he swept his thumb back and forth over the riven flesh, painting your skin red.
"It was for but one moment," You wept softly. "I didn't know what was happening, I swear to you. I-I couldn't stop."
Kol inhaled sharply and you flinched, yet no pain came. "You did this on instinct?" He asked in hardly a whisper.
You nodded, still sobbing. "Yes."
"You couldn't control it?"
"No," You rasped. "It made me want to. I couldn't stop."
"And that's the truth?"
"Yes." Finally, you dared to open your eyes. Kol's expression was no longer cold, his eyes held regret. He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours.
"You have my sincerest apologies, love. Forgive me for leaping to conclusions." Then he sat up and removed his hand from your skirts. Blood coated his fingers. The boy stared at it for a moment before lapping it up ravenously.
"I should have known you were a bloody siren," He laughed, sucking the last drops from his fingers. "Though, I suppose that not knowing is precisely the point."
Thoroughly exhausted, you sighed, allowing yourself to relax though only slightly. "I understand not what this means," You mumbled rather weakly. "What am I?"
He shrugged and laid back, facing you with a playful smile teasing his lips and you wished it could last. You liked the gentle, attentive, flirtatious side of him - the way he treated you as though your smile were the most valuable thing in all the world. Yet when he grew angry, that boy disappeared and a wildly possessive, bloodthirsty beast took control before you had time to react.
The rapid change was nothing new. Kol's moods reminded you of the sea itself, every bit as whimsical, changing, and untamable as the roiling currents. He could torture you one moment and dry your tears the next. In fact, that was exactly what he did. Kol reached out and swept his thumb over your cheek, tenderly wiping away your pain with the same hand that had mutilated your thigh.
"If I had to guess," He hummed consideringly. "I'd wager you were a hybrid - a human with siren blood - presumably from your mother's side seeing as you never knew her. Your father is human, yes?" You nodded hesitantly and Kol frowned. "And he kept this from you all your life?"
"I suppose he did." You nodded, feeling empty. Timidly, you met his gaze. "Might you explain to me what it all means?"
"Of course." He smiled and took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back. "What would you like to know?"
You bit your lip, cheeks reddening as you watched Kol tenderly kiss each of your fingertips before nuzzling into your palm. It was as though he were two different people.
Innumerable questions danced in your mind, but you settled on only a few.
"Are there others like me?"
Kol shrugged, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "All factors considered, I'm inclined to answer no. It's quite possible you may be the only of your kind in the world."
"How come?" You frowned. "Why do I alone exist?"
"I think that's rather simple, actually. " He smirked. "Full sirens may survive on land for naught but a few hours; thus, I believe your answer would be fornication." He chuckled as your blush deepened. "Although, I must admit that I am extremely curious as to how your father managed it."
You raised a brow, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I may not possess any personal experience in the matter, but…" He trailed off as if deep in thought. "You know, I do believe it would be rather difficult to properly bed a woman when she would rather drag you to the bottom of the ocean to pick your bones clean of flesh…" Kol flashed you a raffish grin.
Your cheeks burned and you gaped at him, floundering for something to say. "Wh- Excuse me?"
"Basic attributes of a siren, love," Kol reasoned, casually. "Shall I make a list? Uncontrollable desire to drag a man to the depths? Yes. Body and voice crafted by the gods? Absolutely. Baleful hunger for flesh of man?" He shot you a look.
"Of course not!" You exclaimed reproachfully.
Kol rolled his eyes. "Obviously you don't openly display all of them, fringing on your hybrid status, but I'd bet they're in there somewhere…"
"No!"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," He teased, grinning. "If you're ever feeling the persuasion, I know a few places that serve the best-"
"Kol!" You laughed and elbowed him in the side. You weren't sure what possessed you to do it when he'd been so cruel mere minutes before but it felt natural. "I am not a cannibal!"
"How unfortunate. That could have been fun."
You giggled for a moment and sighed. "All that said, what is a siren… truly?" You inquired. That wasn't the question you really wanted to ask but it was the one you spoke. Kol drew in a breath and pressed his lips together. His soft brown eyes drifted to your hand, studying every detail as he took his time mulling over his answer.
"Sirens are, first and foremost, shape-shifters, darling." He began. "Their appearance depends entirely upon those who behold them as they take on whatever form an individual finds supremely enticing. A siren's powers of seduction are ambient, contained not only in one's voice but in their entire essense - down to the tiniest detail."
"Do you think me beautiful?" You found yourself wondering.
"Yes." The boy flung his other arm around your waist, drawing you in closer. "Effortlessly you enchant me, darling. Your eyes, your skin, your hair… your blood." His eyes closed and he smiled. Not a smirk, or a threatening flash of teeth, but a real boyish grin. "Yes. Yes, the scent of it, the taste of it, the timbre of your heartbeat. All of it. So perfectly delectable." His nose nudged the heel of your palm and Kol groaned longingly. Then he tugged on your hand a little more and planted his lips over the throbbing pulse inside your wrist. He hummed contentedly and your breath hitched as Kol took a special interest in tracing the veins in your wrist with his tongue as though they formed the most interesting treasure map in the world.
"O-Oh." You couldn't understand why you liked it so much when he was affectionate with you.
Now thoroughly distracted, you didn't want to disturb him and instead silently watched that boy lick your skin sweetly, so sweetly. For once, the action was absent of the constant hunger that seemed to control him. With eyes closed and expression docile, he reminded you of an affectionate pup. You tried to pretend as though you didn't like it.
"Is this magic the reason you relish hurting me so much?" You wondered, tone soft and intentionally idle. Kol froze and opened his eyes, looking at you as if you had run him through on a cutlass.
"You think I enjoy hurting you?" He asked softly.
"Why else would you be so eager to torture me each night?"
"No, love." He sighed and offered you a rueful smile. "That's not me," Kol promised. "Euphoria from pain will always be my curse and I can no more control it than you can control your desire to lure a man beneath the waves."
You nodded. Oddly enough, you understood. The need to draw Kol to the water was still there, even now. It wasn't something you actively thought about and it didn't matter if it made sense or not. You just wanted it.
"I don't want to hurt you," Kol continued, fixing you with those fathomless eyes. You fought the urge to shrink from beneath them. "In fact, I would do just the opposite if only you would let me. I don't know if it's strictly your nature or mine, but please understand, love, that it is my deepest and most fervent desire to pleasure you until the only word you can manage to pass between those perfect lips is my name."
"O-oh…" Well, his words certainly left little room for debate. You flushed and tried to move further away from him, but Kol reached out and took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.
"Alas, I will wait until that is what you want," He promised. "For now, I'll settle for ransacking your father's ships." He got up and held out his hand to help you. "Come along, darling. We can't be far behind."
As it turned out, you weren't very far behind your father's ships at all. A morbid sense of relief washed over you as you caught sight of white sails on the horizon. In spite of Kol’s reassurances, you knew you couldn’t trust him. You would have to look out for yourself.
Upon beginning your approach, you realized the only flaw in your plan. Your father’s merchant vessel was spectacularly well-armed - prepared to fight off any attempt at piracy. The Maria-Luna, as it was called, had easily twice the cannons of the ship you stood on - fondly named The Hanged Man’s Deceit. Furthermore and to wit, Kol was currently running a skeleton crew as honor among thieves is evidently a hard thing to come by - a rather untoward situation from where you stood, taking count of the veritable army of hired soldiers you could see roaming on deck. 12 on 50 didn’t strike you as the best of the odds.
“I think we might need more guns,” You commented, lowering the spyglass you’d borrowed from Bora’Dain. Beside you, Ho-Jon threw his head back and laughed. “What?” You demanded. He turned to you with a lazy grin.
“Oh, we’a got some tin’ betta’ den guns,” He said. You opened your mouth to ask but a voice from behind you stole your attention.
“Gentlemen!” Kol stood on the railing of the ship’s prow, grinning like a hungry fox. “Empty your pockets and take stock of the rum, I expect you ready to board on my signal!” His eyes found yours and he winked, stripping off his jacket before tossing it to you. “Hold this for me, would you?” Then he lept from the ship and dove beneath the waves.
“What the bloody hell’s he think he’s doing?” You exclaimed, shrugging the well-worn coat over your shoulders.
“Just’a wait, M’lady,” The black-haired boy smirked. Your eyes narrowed as you caught a glimpse of a dark silhouette darting through the water. Moments later, you raised Bora’Dain’s spyglass just in time to watch him climb out of the ocean and onto the Maria-Luna’s rear balcony. Shaking the water from his hair, he looked almost directly at you and proffered a mock salute before slipping inside. It was about two minutes later that the Hanged Man’s Deceit drew close enough for you to hear the screaming. Your face grew pale.
“H-he’s killing them,” You stammered. “He’s killing them all!”
Ho-Jon snorted. “Whaddid’ya think he was gonna do?”
You shook your head. “I-I don’t-” You hadn’t thought this plan through before proposing it. These ships belonged to your father. It was entirely possible for someone you knew to be aboard!
The kid shot you an odd look. “Sorry to say, M’lady but you’s should’a be happy, no? You survive dis’ long ‘cuz him hold back. Others dead way faster den you’s,” He said solemnly.
You spun to face him. “That bastard’s kidnapped other women like me?”
“Nah!” He waved a hand. “They’s all done asked to come. Only lasted two, maybe three days though.” The kid made a face. “Annoyin’ strumpets, they was.”
“I see,” You said, pursing your lips.
“Not you’s though!” He added cheerfully. “You’s, uh… kind, no? You’s say: ‘G’mornin, Ho-Jon!’ And ‘G’night, Ho-Jon!’ And ‘Perhaps don’a stick yer foot in da cannon, Ho-Jon!’" He grinned, displaying gapped teeth. "You’s nice.”
You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “That’s called being decent. You should try it sometime.”
Ho-Jon shrugged. “Nev’a learned. No’a nice du me budd’a rats.” You could hear the scars in his voice. “Kol done pull’a me outta’ da gutters in Singapore - owe him me life. Sometimes it hard though.”
“Why?” You asked.
The kid offered you a wry smile. “Don’ much like a hearin’ ya’ cry, M’lady.”
Touched, you wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead even though he was nearly as tall as you. “Ho-Jon?” You said, smiling. “Let it never be said that you are anything less than a gentleman.”
The fourteen-year-old blushed. “Danka’, M’lady,” He mumbled. You ruffled his hair and he quickly shuffled off.
Evidently, Kol’s interpretation of giving a signal was to fire a chain shot from one of the Maria-Luna’s own cannons into the ship’s mast. Bora’Dain, who was a the helm, then skillfully provided to maneuver the Hanged Mans Deceit into position alongside the Maria-Luna. Corpses of soldiers and sailors alike - dozens of them - littered the deck and Kol stood, cavalier as ever, among them. He was soaked with blood and you couldn’t be sure how much was from others and how much was his own, seeing as his once white shirt now bore several vibrantly red holes.
“Greetings, rat bastards!” He spread his hands, grinning boyishly as the crew boarded. “May my spoils be yours!”
Whoops and hollers sounded from the crew as they went about looting the ship while you remained where you were. Guilt rendered your stomach uneasy and you didn’t feel much like rooting through the pockets of cadavers for loose change. More disturbing was just how little blood remained around them all.
Kol’s eyes lit up as he turned and caught sight of you. Before you could blink, he was standing in front of you, hands seizing your hips as he lifted you into the air, twirling you around. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or scream and you were still trying to process that decision by the time he set you back on your feet. He pulled you into another embrace immediately, tangling his fingers in your hair.
You raised a brow, frowning. “Kol? Are you ill?”
He shook his head. “Not at all, darling,” He said, burying his face in your hair. “No, I feel good. I-I’m full. Yes, I am completely full.” His arms around you tightened. “I haven’t felt this good in ages.”
A breath of relief that you’d been holding for weeks finally passed your lips and you relaxed, allowing yourself to melt into him. “How wonderful,” You breathed.
Kol kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You don’t have to hate me anymore,” He whispered.
“Maybe not.”
For a while things were good. You were, honestly, happy. Your days were spent among friends, learning to swash-buckle and sail. Your nights were spent in comfort, cradled in the arms of a man who adored you. Your mornings were spent in bliss, filled with soft words, loving touches, and warm kisses that made your heart melt. All you had to do was provide the locations of your father's ships. As long as you did that - as long as Kol was fed - he didn't have to hurt you.
All was well until you directed him to the wrong ship. All was well until you spotted a familiar countenance among the bodies.
"Father?" You whispered, peering past the morning mist.
He wasn't supposed to be there.
"FATHER!"
He hated sailing. The motion of the sea made him sick. He owned the boats but he never accompanied them.
"No! No, no, no!"
His glassy eyes stared off into the distance, dead and unfeeling. His jacket was torn and stained with blood. You knelt by his side and clasped his cold, limp hands, screaming for him to wake up.
He didn't.
You couldn't be responsible for this - he wasn't supposed to be there.
No.
No, you weren't the one responsible.
A bloody pirate stood behind you. He was the one to blame. He was the one who had kidnapped you from your home. He was the one who tortured you - drove you to desperation. He was the one who had torn your father's throat apart. He was the one at fault.
Closing your father's dead eyes, slowly you stood.
"You. Did. This."
"Darling, I-"
"Darling?" You hissed. "Darling?" You spun around, seething with cold, violent hatred. "You cruel, capricious, selfish bastard! You break in to my home, steal me from my bed, feed on my blood for days, torture me, threaten me, kill my father - and you have the audacity to call me 'darling'?" You didn't care if you upset him - didn't care if he killed you. What more could you possibly lose? "Pretty words can't heal a knife's wretched work."
"I didn't know it was him."
You laughed, loud and bitter like waves crashing against razor-sharp rocks. "Do you genuinely think that earns you clemency?"
He didn't even have the decency to feign regret.
"I never intended for this to happen," He said.
"I CARE NOT FOR YOUR INTENTIONS!"
The wind picked up, swirling in a cyclone around you, driven by your rage and grief. Sea and wind would obey your will - they belonged to you. That was something he could not steal.
Tearing your way to the prow of the ship, you peered down into the water and screamed. Tears dripped from your cheeks, diffusing in the infinite ocean.
"Where are you?" You seethed, grip crushing the wooden railing until it splintered. "Damn it all, where are you?! I know you're there! I feel you watching! You said you would avenge me, now where are you?!"
Voices filtered up from the deep, bringing comfort and power.
"We art here for thee, little one. Fear not, for thine sisters surround thee."
"You said you would help me."
"Thy pain is strong, child. What desirest thou?"
"A rhythm of destruction," You answered. "And a watery grave."
"Be it as thou sayest, but such power demands a price. Thy sisters hunger, child. Wilt thou deny us their meat?"
"No."
You could feel the excitement of your sisters in the water. Their voices trilled with glee. As their melody began to rise over the waves, you offered it your soul.
My sailor hath betrayed me
His lapse I must abhor
Kol had hurt you for the last time. Now he would feel your pain. They would all feel your pain.
He did bite that hand which fed him
I'll suffer here no more
The clouds overhead swirled and blackened like a man with a rotten wound. The sea began to churn and toss, reaching - reaching upward to gently smother the sailors in your grasp and drag you all down to twilight depths. The winds howled and bellowed, proclaiming your hatred with the lungs of gods.
If the sea could know my anguish
A foul tempest wouldst be born.
Fear filled that monster's eyes but your own had twisted into a mirror. He would find no mercy there.
For hell, a fury hath no
Quite like a woman's scorn.
"Y/N, stop this."
The stinging scent of ozone saturated the air and you inhaled it deeply. "I'm afraid I don't want to, Kol."
A crack of lightning split the sky and the heavens opened. Slicing, driving rain poured down from above.
"You know you do. You're angry and you've got plenty of reason to be but you need to stop," He said. "You need to control this."
"No." You smiled, teeth sharper than they'd been before. "I shan't need to do anything for you, ever again."
"You'll damn us all!"
"Yes," You laughed, hair flowing in the wind as though you might flood the whole world. "Yes, damn you, Kol. I would damn you all to Davy Jones locker!"
"You can't kill me," Kol claimed. "Not like this."
"You're right." Your voice became as the wind - as the very storm itself. "But my pain will end and you will be lost to my sisters - forever drowning in the ocean's deepest pit until the end of time. Your suffering will dwarf my own."
"Stop this, Y/N, now!" He commanded. "Or I will!"
You spread your hands. "You can't."
Kol snarled and rushed at you.
"Don't touch me!"
The wind as your hand swept him aside, sending the monster careening into the rigging. A battle cry arose from your sisters in the ocean and whips of braided kelp and pearl lashed him down, coiling around his wrists, neck, and ankles.
A mighty gale heaved against the timbers of the ship, causing them to creak and groan. Waves assaulted the deck from every side, sending water pouring through the cracks.
This world could cease its turning dance
I'd not see, nor hear, nor know
Somewhere, a terrified voice shouted- "MAELSTROM!"
Yet, all was to you but numb satisfaction. A stroke of lightning lit the sky and rent the mast in twain. Walls of water crashed over the sides and the sheer force of the winds sent cast iron guns toppling, shredding the deck as though it were parchment.
For my heart hath been fragmented
By that jolly sailor bold
With one last flash of light, the Hanged Man's Deceit was swallowed up by the sea.
Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln@r13mar@rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow@apolloroid@thatweirdoleigh@misswe03@eat-cake@felinegrate@trikigirl271@cute-freak27@fayeatheart@archangelslollipop @aonungs-tsahik @sleepneverheardofher @space-princess-charming@heartbreakgrill@whatsupb18@enchantedlandcoffee@trikigirl271@kleinegamerin @slutforkol
#kol x reader#kol mikaelson fanfiction#kol mikaelson x reader#the originals#fanfic#my name is cas and i write stuff#the vampire diaries#elijah mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#angst#angst and fluff#klaus mikaelson x reader#elijah mikaelson x reader#the originals fanfiction#the originals fan fiction#the vampire diaries fan fic#tvdu#mikaelson fam#reader insert#female reader#sorry boys#kol being soft#kol mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#pirate au#yandere#yandere kol mikaelson#pirate kol#because pirates thats why#siren reader
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wasted Potential
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stripper!Reader
Word Count: ~1.1k
Warnings: dirty men eyes, being embarrassed by stripping
Request by anon: Could I request bucky barnes x reader who's like angel Salvador (the girl with bug wings from xmen) just fluff maybe she's insecure about her power? :3 <3
Summary: You work as a stripper who can do so much more if you want to. You have powers that you'd love to show off but can't because you were always told to conceal them. One day, Bucky comes into your club and you don't handle it well.
Squares Filled: kink: legs (2020) for @buckybarnesbingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
x
You stare at yourself in the mirror debating whether or not you want to continue this job. It pays very well and gets you out of debt but you hate the way it makes you feel about not only yourself but about the other people you work with. There is a whole side to yourself that you have to keep hidden, and this job forces that part of yourself deep down inside of you.
You turn to examine the outfit they forced you into and notice the wings on your back. They are tattooed on for the time being but they are beautiful. Oh, how you wish to bring them out. Customers seem to love the look of them which is why you wear stuff that shows off your back. Your entire body is on display for people to look at but they always gravitate toward the wings.
“Angel, are you ready?” your manager asks.
“I guess,” you say and fix your lipstick.
“We got a large crowd today. Make me proud,” he grins.
You choose not to comment on that. You’d love nothing more than to punch him in his face and give him a taste of his medicine but you force that side of you down. You walk out of the dressing room and onto the main room where there are hundreds of hungry eyes devouring you. Thankfully, the manager of the place doesn't let the men touch you or the other girls.
The music starts playing so you begin your planned dance. You’ve got this beat down like the back of your hand at this point, but it still gets the same praise from the first time you performed it. You hook your leg over the pole in the middle of the stage and swing around it before dipping down. Whistles sound from all over the room but you focus on the bright lights to distract yourself.
You don’t like to look in the crowd because the men who watch you are predators. They think all women are beneath them and you can usually tell who has bad intentions with the way they’re looking at you. However, this time, you scan the crowd. Most of the men are wearing fake suits to look expensive while some of them are silent partners. They’re the ones who sit in the corner, drink their bottom-shelf whiskey, and just enjoy the show.
There is one person in particular that catches your eye. Someone you know and work with. That’s been your fear while working in the entertainment industry. You’ll be doing a dance seductively and end up seeing someone you know in the crowd. However, this person isn’t just a person you know… he’s your crush.
Bucky Barnes. What the hell is he doing here? You’re going to be sick. You have to remain professional and finish your dance without letting Bucky mess you up. He knew you worked as a stripper and a dancer but he never really saw you in action. He respected your privacy too much to watch you while you’re at work. However, there is a mission and he was sent to come grab you.
Even if you weren't a stripper, he still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. He loves the way your body is shaped and the kind of personality you have. The best part of your body is your legs. He has a weakness for women’s legs, and yours is no exception. He tries not to let his mind wander to what could happen if he allows himself to enjoy this so he quickly looks away from you to give you some sort of privacy.
As soon as your dance is done, you quickly leave the stage and go back to the dressing room. You bypass the vanity and straight to the trash can. You grab it and immediately throw up into it from nerves and shock. Your spit dissolves the bottom of the trash can so that the contents spill out of it and onto the floor.
“Shit,” you gasp and look around the room for something to clean it up.
Not only do you have magical wings you can sear onto your back like a tattoo, but you have acid saliva. Most days you can control the acidity of it but when you’re highly nervous and in a panic, you can’t control it. You can still do other things like kissing and such since you can control your acid to make it so that it’s not lethal or dangerous to humans at all.
Bucky follows you backstage and notices you in the corner trying to clean your mess. He sees the wings on your back and wishes they were out. He loves the sight of your wings. They look like an insect’s wings but you make it work. He sees your robe hanging on the coat hanger next to the door and grabs it to cover you up.
You get up and turn but jump when you see Bucky standing in the doorway. You use your hands to try and cover yourself but it’s not working.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” you stutter.
“Here,” he offers and wraps the robe around your body.
“Thanks,” you whisper and pull it tight against your body. “What are you doing here?”
“Steve asked me to bring you in.”
“Oh. He could have called,” you say and tuck your hair behind your ear.
“Not where he is, no. I’m sorry for barging in on you but I wouldn’t have unless it was important.”
“Right. Um, what’s the mission?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Let me get dressed.”
Bucky turns to leave the dressing room to give you some privacy but stops at the door.
“When are you going to quit your job? You didn’t look happy up there.”
“What else am I gonna do? My powers get me in trouble. Men seem to love my tattoo and my manager says I wouldn't fit in anywhere else.”
“I know this isn’t my place, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but what he says is complete bullshit. Tony has a facility. He’ll help you control your powers. I, for one, think that your wings are better out than hidden. We’ll take care of you. I’d hate to see you waste your life away here. You’ve got a beautiful one and this place isn’t helping you.”
With that, he leaves. Your cheeks heat up and a smile works its way onto your face. Your tattoo magically comes to life and your wings manifest as real ones attached to your back. They flutter happily and you chuckle at their enthusiasm.
“Okay, calm down. Maybe he does have a point.”
Maybe Bucky has a point. You’re miserable here whether you make good money or not. It’s time to let your wings free and soar to your highest potential.
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#marvel#marvel fan fic#marvel fanfic#marvel fan fiction#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#mcu#mcu fanficiton
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
I want to talk about Crimson Flower and 3H as a narrative
So... after FE3H discourse makes the round every other week, I end up thinking about it for a bit until I realize, hey maybe its better to not focus on a 4 year old game at this point and occupy your time with something else. Everything has basically been said about it at this point and you know where you land.
But this time my thoughts were just getting too strong for me to ignore, so that's why I'm writing this both get it out of my system and maybe just be another voice in the crowd that some people might want to listen to on the divisive topic that is Crimson Flower route.
Now I really hate that I have to put this disclaimer up front, but I feel like the well of this discussion has become so poisoned that I have to before I make my piece. I want to say that if you enjoy Crimson Flower, if you love Edelgard and believe she did nothing wrong and this is the right route, if you are a Black Eagles stan and you genuinely do not have any issues with Crimson Flower route as a whole-that is perfectly fine.
This will be a somewhat critical examination of the narrative choices about the execution of CF, which I feel like whenever 3H, specifically Edelgard is discussed, there is often very disingenuous arguments people make. Which I believe can create more defensive fans of a particular aspect of a story that we should be able to criticize freely. Which perpetuates this never ending cycle of discourse of legit criticism and defense against that criticism becomes drowned out by trying to decouple these very disingenuous claims from legitimate flaws. So I at least want to make it known that I am going to try my best to be in good faith with this post about this tricky subject.
I also want to just say, this is also going to be mostly an examination of narrative. The thing that I personally enjoy the most in an FE game, but we need to genuinely acknowledge that narrative isn't the only reason why people may like Fire Emblem. The ability to form parasocial relationships with fictional characters and being able to experience something the genuinely brings you emotional fulfillment is not invalid. Being able to enjoy fighting against establishments or ideologies you in the real world disagree with through the experience of a video game is not invalid. The same way someone who plays this game for the experience of gameplay isn't invalid when their primary enjoyment stems from the actual mechanics rather than the "logistics" of the story. The point I'm trying to make is that everyone will engage in media in different ways and will enjoy it other ways and that you don't want to invalidate those feelings someone had with their personal experience. So this is going to be about me and my experience as someone who primarily enjoys narrative.
I am just one guy with opinions who is going to layout what I had an issue with and how I think for me that could've been improved upon. You don't have to agree with me on that, and I'm not saying my way is legitimately better. This is all opinionated.
Buckle this is a long one
First things first Im gonna say Im not going to be using any information given in Three Hopes that may contradict what Im about to say. As in my opinion Three Houses came first and does not include the content from Three Hopes so I should think that Three Houses can stand on its own merits and the content that was provided.
Next thing is I want to catch people up on what in my opinion are the points I think CF did for me that ultimately left me unsatisfied
The post time skip Fodlan was too different and felt contradictory to Byleth's role
Edelgard's Characterization in CF in comparison to the other lord's in their respected routes
The role of Rhea
The role of Those who Slither in the Dark
SO the first thing is probably the thing I'm mostly going to have to defend if I haven't lost you already, but Fire Emblem Three Houses as a narrative provides us with a five year time skip in the game that depending on the route will change who is control of the monastery at this point in the war, with each route providing a lord the chance the forge their campaign. However, something I don't think is brought up enough is talking about the liberties that CF takes with their time skip vs the other three routes. Azure Moon, Verdant Wind, and Silver snow all paint a post five years Fodlan as one where the monastery territory has been abandoned, Rhea has been captured, the Alliance territory is split between an imperialist faction and an anti imperialism faction, and the Kingdom has been split with Cornelia making an alliance with the Empire to create the Dukedom of Faerghus as the houses of Gautier and Faldarius hold up the Kingdom.
There are obviously minor changes like Dimitri camping out in the monastery in Azure Moon rather than in the care of Kingdom Allies, but for the most part there is a consistently defined world between the three routes. However, Crimson Flower's post Fodlan is much different. With a grid locked Fodlan after five years with just the church territory falling under the control of Adrestia, Rhea wasn't captured and instead made it to Faerghus, The Alliance is still feuding amongst itself, but most importantly than all, Faerghus is a complete kingdom with Dimitri as King and no Cornelia's Dukedom.
So there are two main reasons why this bothers me.
The first is that Three Houses as a game wants to present you with three options at first, with the idea that your choices will effect the outcome of the war when Byleth returns, however there's enough consistency to imply that this is what Fodlan would be like regardless of whose House you would join, with the primary effect being your class making it to the church for the festival which in turn will make the monastery your new territory for which route. However, Crimson Flower decides to do away with the consistency, implying that the effect Byleth had on the situation is far greater than that of any other route resulting in a drastically shifted Fodlan. So this is more of a problem with FE3H as a whole with the consistency of choice. Fire Emblem has never really had a BioWare style choose your own adventure type of game. There's only one real choice you're given in the case of 3H and that's which house you side with, which you are essentially locked into. Black Eagles is really the only route that offers a choice beyond that with choosing to side with Edelgard or Rhea which will effect who the class sides with in the time skip. The reason I bring this up is that it essentially means that you the player are for the most part on rails for a predetermined plot where all the choices for the series have already been made. So the Fodlan post five years being consistent makes some sense as essentially mostly everything that happened in White Clouds was the same with the acceptation of the class. However, the Crimson Flower one not being consistent and being so radically different based on a game with so minimal choice feels more like an act of narrative convenience. That this is what happened because of a writer fully independent from me the player had decided that this is how Fodlan shall be for this story because it fits what they want to tell.
Somewhere I had once read that FE3H shouldn't be treated as one story, but since its a bunch of routes they're all a different universe. Everything might look the same but everything is fundamentally altered that you should accept it as an independent universe. And I can't necessarily say that's wrong as the concept of multiverses is to create a world/scenario that allows to explore familiar characters in unfamiliar settings and you could say that Byleth effect on Edelgard in picking this universe was just so much greater that it would result in such a different universe.
I personally disagree with that which brings me to my second point as I believe this one is going to be a more philosophical point on game design. But I feel like the effort to make three routes so consistent with each other with one so different seems to deliberately undercut the core themes of the game. Offering you a choice that this is who you get to spend your happy schools days with and it is what is going to result in them returning to the monastery one the day of your return. That is the true effect of Byleth on the characters. But as you play through white clouds you can't change what happens to other characters which will result in a brand new scenario. Byleth's presence can never stop Dimitri from going blood mad, Byleth's presence can't stop Claude from discovering the Immaculate One research, and Byleths presence can't stop Edelgard from declaring war. And that is a good thing for this type of on rails route story. Byleth while a player insert who can help their lord in the future, right now everyone is on a path that Byleth can only lightly change. With the characters acting independently of what Byleth and the player desire. And the post time skip Fodlan is a sign of that. Its Five Years without Byleth. This is what these characters would do, that they were always capable of doing and that is why Byleth's return and effect on them is important. This also gives us the ability to observe what a lord is like now after the war, and Byleth's effect on them but also see what a character could be like without that Byleth effect on them. Without Byleth Dimitri stays mad, without Byleth Claude always flees Fodlan, without Byeth Edelgard... well lets put a pin in that.
The only other true choice the player can make beyond the initial one is the side with Edelgard or Rhea which radically alters her. Which honestly feels kinda defeating in a game that has locked Byleth so much on a path and the one time it can deviate actively alters everything. It just feels very hollow as there are parts that make you realize how great the effect Byleth could have on people's lives could be if the game actively wanted to integrate choice with the plot. But it didn't. It wants to make one early choice then lock you in that route for several chapters then remove Byleth and then have their return effect real change on the future of Fodlan. Except for this one route. Its why Crimson Flower feels so much like an asterisk compared to the other route. And I don't just mean the lack of chapters, but this feels like a route that can only exist because it was the one that the developers bothered to create something overly deviating from everything else.
Which brings us to Edelgard's role in Crimson Flower as a whole. Now lets just get this out of the way. Im not going to be talking at all on the morality/realistic implications of what Edelgard is doing. I feel like the "Is she a fascist/authoritarian" conversation is not really helpful to talking about FE3H as a work of narrative and mostly exists to create a bunch of petty beef. This is also not going to be a deconstruction of ever minute detail of Edelgard as a character. This is an examination of her as a character in the narrative that we are presented. This will also involve comparison's to Edelgard and other series lords and I want it to be known that this is not a talking down to the only female lord in the game as being something "lesser" than her male contemporaries. I believe there is genuinely sexism when discussing Edelgard as a character, so I want to say that I am approaching Crimson Flower and Three Houses as a whole in a good conscious that there is not a "right route." That this is a game that where all choices have their pros and their cons. Because that's why we like this entry, right? That 3H would provide us some genuinely complex lords who were all capable of doing great and terrible things regardless of gender?
That's why I had such a long winded discussion about why the change in the post time skip Fodlan is so important both for narrative consistency, but also just generally keeping with the tone, but also it reinforced that Fodlan and its lords while all righteous in their own way can be dangers in their own way. Well that's when I return to the pin about Edelgard. So first I want to go through how the lords are characterized in non devoted routes.
Dimitri in non AZ routes is portrayed as someone so damaged by loss that his who response is to avenge and fight. To never stop making those pay for the damage it has brought on his kingdom as well as any lives lost during the tragedies in places like Duscar and Remire.
Claude in non VW routes is portrayed as a brilliant individual with a lot of charm but seems to be hiding something from everyone. He's a lot smarter than one could assume and that he has some mysterious tie to the kingdom of Almyra that he departs after leaving his land to the stronger kingdom that has come so far, be it Dimitri or Edelgard or the Church.
Edelgard in non CF routes is portrayed as a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.
Now I want to talk about what happens to those lords as you play them in their routes.
Dimitri in AZ is portrayed as someone burdened by loss and his quest for vengeance has led to a neglect for his own health and his own actions. That his kill everyone attitude will perpetuate more loss of those he loves and that he needs to learn to rely upon others. That is his true responsibility as king.
Claude in VW is portrayed as an individual who is outside of Fodlan's system who has observed it more as a third party and believes it can be a great place if people work through diplomatically. He too is not a fan of inequality and racism and wishes to make a Fodlan that is more accepting and able to work through negotiation. While he still leaves Fodlan at the end, this time he has been able to implement real systemic change and make one that is sustainable beyond that of a ruler.
In CF we find out that Edelgard is a traumatized girl who was experimented on for the purposes of Crest Research. This makes her a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.
Hey wait a minute, that's the same?
So this is where I get to the most glaring flaw for me in this case of narrative and why I think altering the post time skip so much did a lot of damage. Edelgard is a good character and a fascinating one, but in the practice of her narrative, her character journey in her own route isn't like the other lords. Rather she is "right" from the start of the time skip and with the world altering in ways to justify why she is that way.
Now look, I know right now someone could be saying I can't read, that its clearly stated in the text that Edelgard says without Byleth she may have turned into a complete monster to see her goals through to the end. This is referring to how in non CF routes she is on the backfoot getting beaten back and forced to take more drastic measures as whoever Byleth comes closer to ending her ideals. Unlike Dimitri or Claude there's not really a psychological arc she is working through with her sociological arc. Dimitri's arc is almost entirely hinged on him as a character changing in his route. And while Claude the character is also mostly the same, you get an understanding of how his continued participation in Fodlan's politics is so important as he effects sociological change. Claude also does the less stuff that could be considered questionable in Fodlan. He neither initiates the war nor does he intimate greater conflict that is tied into a character arc like Dimitri. Claude action's through the war are mostly to keep the Alliance fighting against each other with avoids giving one side a greater advantage. The truth is Claude real "flaw" is that by being an Almyra he is from a race outside of Fodlan that is inherently untrustworthy in society so his continued prescience in his expanded campaign is done with changing that mentality.
Now one could look at everything I said about Claude and say "well isn't that Edelgard though? She's not the one who needs to change but rather society needs to and this is you making it a fruition?" And I would agree however, then why did post time skip need to change and not Edelgard? So going back to the altered Fodlan, the Fodlan post time skip we see in non CF routes has what can be argued Edelgard's biggest moment of political conquest, making an alliance with Cornelia inside of Faerghus using her authority and influence to expand and bring over a chunk of the kingdom underneath Edelgard's wing. And this makes sense with what has been proposed before us-Edelgard had released a manifesto to lords that would side with her and become her allies in the war to come. This act of subversion is something that benefits her goals for conquering all of Fodlan. However, this is one of the key alterations in CF's time skip. Faerghus is not broken in half, with Edelgard having not empowered Cornelia over the five years. In fact, you do battle with Cornelia with her as a kingdom general.
So if Edelgard isn't a character who is subject to change, why did the world change? Well there is speculation in universe that perhaps Rhea fleeing to Faerghus didn't give her the ability. But I do believe the most likely reason is that narratively the writers of 3H wanted to avoid a scenario where while Byleth was gone Edlegard may have empowered and individual like Cornelia. One of the most objectively evil characters in the game. Now I won't go into to detail if I believe Edelgard knew Cornelia was a TWSITD or not, but as it is presented to us, she seems unaware. Instead I'll focus on the primary point is where they don't want to discuss that while in her route Edelgard was capable of doing something that would potentially cast her in such a negative light. After all, the point of her campaign is the while the bloodshed is worth it to make a new Fodlan free of crests, she's willing to show lenency to those who bend the knee. Again, an action not unreasonable for her character. However, I feel like this not happening in CF genuinely robs us from exploring the flaws of Edelgard's path/showing us what Byleth's effect on her truly is.
This is compounded by my issues with how CF is the only route in which you have an active choice beyond class. That by choosing to side with Edelgard when given the option in the tomb would result in this much radical history alteration. But also all of Byleth's effect on her not being as much conqueror over the last 5 years was all done pre time skip. That all that change was done at that moment rather than being something that prompted her to return to Garreg Mach where they'd remeet Byleth and then that would get them to claim it as a base of oppositions in their future war. In CF, Garreg Mach is already claimed rather than the formation of the Dukedom with no real progress. So it makes it seem as though Byleth's real effect on altering this lord's path was always possible in the short time they knew them before disappearing over five years. Of course this is again a bit miffling given that CF is the only route this is a possibility. We can't Change how Dimitri will act in the pre time skip. That he will make choices without Byleth even if they feel urged to remeet at Garreg Mach. But in the case of CF, Edelgard has apparently been changed despite the only real difference in white clouds fighting beside her in the tomb and against the church pre timeskip. But that has sociologically altered so much of Fodlan.
And maybe you genuinely believe that one extra change is enough. Perhaps that one extra choice is enough justification for such a radically new scenario. For me personally, I find that unsatisfying and feels more like the writers traded in a level of consistency for this new scenario that greater justified being on the side of someone who is portrayed as a more active antagonistic force in other routes (Reminder this not me saying the Empire route is an antagonist route. All routes are antagonistic relative to which side you are on).
This is where we get my first what I would've done to make it more narratively satisfying for me. Keep the same post time skip Fodlan as the other routes. Keep Edelgard having brokered a deal with Cornelia to establish the Dukedom and have Byleth find out about it. Be some that either Byleth or another character close to Edelgard questions the extremity of. Then have Cornelia do something evil like she's experimenting on people for TWSITD or maybe she's just abusing the power. Then have Edelgard clean it up. Have Edelgard realize that while she still wants to make her dream of a crestless Fodlan a reality she can't just back lords or nobles that are willing to go along with her for more power. She can still keep the Dukedom territory, but instead she'd be now more understanding what it means for there to be a ruler with a noble soul. So she continues her campaign of conquest but has realized that if she's going to be emperor, she can't just empower people arbitrarily.
In my opinion this not only would tie together some more TWSITD plot while also paralleling it to Edelgard's past and how there was no authority figure to step in and help her all those years ago. But now she is that authority figure. And while it doesn't call her method in question and like Dimitri and Claude she can continue her expanded influence over Fodlan, but now we actively see that Byleth has helped show her that her allies aren't just those pledging loyalty, she actually needs to empower those who are good. She gets to have her fight with Cornelia level and this won't stop her from killing Dimitri in the future.
Like I said, this is what I'd do. And in my opinion it would give Byleth's presence in CF more purpose beyond the bond with Edelgard is nice and fun. But also stay consistent with each route. Showing that there are flaws in Edelgard's sociological plan, but not undercutting what her actual goal is. You can still believe her quest is just and the only right one with her taking an active role in not making the mistakes she perceives Rhea as doing.
And if you are still with me up to my third point, lets talk about Rhea.
So Rhea as a character can best be described as a neutral evil throughout White Clouds. She doesn't really do anything but there is a lot of ominous foreshowing and presentation that Rhea may be up to something or at the very least complicit with many of her policies and tendencies. And when I say "evil" I don't mean she's bad (please don't skewer me Rhea fans). I mean that if the crest system is flawed and the church is emblematic of the systems maintenance of that flawed system. Then Rhea as the face/founder/head of that church bares some responsibility even if all she does is passive.
In all other routes, Rhea is captured by the Empire. Imprisoned in their capital. Anytime she is seen after she is characterized as somewhat docile or defeated, having been imprisoned for so long. VW goes a step farther to reveal what she did as Seiros and all of her actions leading to this point presumably all thanks to be imprisoned and rethinking her life over. CF is the only one Rhea is allowed to be an active player, she is now portrayed a ranting self righteous warrior priest who swears vengeance upon Byleth for being the reincarnation of her mother but not being a proper vessel as she intended and fighting against her. Naturally, if Byleth being the potential for the reincarnation of Sothis siding against her is what her drives her mad, that is believable, however much like the altered Fodlan Rhea in this version is not captured. This is now for Rhea to serve as Edelgard's true climatic opponent. With her symbolically killing the representation of the church and the power of crests being slain by Byleth and Edelgard. Its very poetic. But once again we reach my issue of the time skip altering so much in CF.
As stated before, Rhea was presented as a neutral evil, in doing so she's not really a direct antagonist in any route. Except of course Silver Snow. Where she is deployed as a weapon against Byleth. In this case killing the immaculate one symbolically is cleansing the church of Rhea and allowing it to pass into the hands of the new archbishop. However, Rhea in that fight is under control. Rather than be conscious as an opponent, they make her more of a beast without choice. Thus making this less a flawed character meeting their end and rather a forced confrontation by the evil cult of evil. Now Rhea I think being kept a neutral party was ultimately a good choice. We are given enough about her to understand she has done things questionable and should possibly not hold the authority she has. But she also has not instigated any open any hostility. As such Rhea is more a symbolic player. By making her an active player, CF has to make Rhea more domino and more a threat. She can't portray constant neutrality in a war. But by making her the active antagonist, it makes her less of a symbol and more if just a rotten character who Edelgard is justified in wanting dead. And much like Cornelia and the Dukedom, this alteration comes off as an attempt by the writers to never truly challenge Edelgard's plans for Fodlan. That Edelgard has no flaws in her plan and the bloodshed is beyond justified more than just philosophically. Had Edelgard captured Rhea in CF this would lead to some genuinely uncomfortable questions of keeping her a prisoner. And to 3H's credit they were actually willing to make the player uncomfortable already in Dimitri's route showing him as a mass murderer. Once again, I want to express this isn't me saying Edelgard's quest or goals are wrong and the plot should undermine it. This is me saying that for a game that wants to genuinely have nuanced and uncomfortable political choices made by their character, this is the route where they opt to alter the scenario so that Edelgard is the most justified and does less things that one could find objectionable. Flattening a lot of interesting implications this would raise and what Byleth as a force in this route could possibly able to influence.
Now one could again say, well the reason Rhea wasn't captured because Edelgard didn't use crest beasts this time. Edelgard not using crest beasts is a sign Byleth is changing her and thus that greatly alters the future. Once again, I can see that as understandable justification, but again, my issue off only ever being able to effect this lord pre time skip comes in again. If it was possible to get Edelgard to not use crest beasts, then how come it wasn't possible for me to get Claude to have Almyra support? How come I couldn't stop Dimitri before the war? The answer is again as a game the only other narrative choice that could possibly alter the story happens in CF which is the side with Edelgard in tombs choice. And while I'm not against the idea of angry pope Rhea, but I feel making her CF's full on antagonist was almost making a straw man antagonist for your opposition.
As an aside we also know Arundel is still on Edelgard's side and he is Thales so while she might not know his entire deal, I hesitate to imagine he'd stop using crest beasts in the war over the two years Byleth was gone.
If I was going to once again alter CF to be something I would personally find more satisfying. Have Rhea captured and then have Arundel use the same rage stuff he uses on her Silver Snow. This way you can facilitate an Edelgard vs TWSITD conflict AND you still get your symbolic victory of Edelgard and Byleth killing the symbol of the crests and church. Again, Edelgard is able to do what she wanted to originally, but now we are also confronted with the role TWSITD did play in her life and allowing her to rectify it as well as truly killing the old world by getting rid of Rhea and Thales.
And final point TWSITD. TWSITD are bad. They've always been bad. And they genuinely damage the overall story of CF because this is beyond just a narrative choice, its very clear CF as a story wasn't complete. I feel confident in saying that given the numerous chapters missing compared to the other routes, but also the epilogue needs to say "Oh yeah there was totally a bunch of war against them. Totally." I know this point is probably the least controversial when talking about CF, but I still think its a glaring flaw.
So what's the tl;dr?
This is not an "I hate Crimson Flower or Edelgard post" I genuinely have no interest in debating people about characters that like or enjoy. Nor did I want to turn this into a moral argument about the implication CF. I feel like these topics do real damage to any real criticisms one can have for CF as a narrative.
Which for me, CF as a route fails to really mesh with the rest of 3H as a whole. It feels like it takes a lot of narrative ways out to avoid potentially making their lord seem objectionable, despite much of this game wanting to be about how tragically flawed everyone is. Im not saying Edelgard needed a come to Jesus moment of "Are we the bad guys?" No absolutely not. In my opinion we just lack seeing Edelgard change the same way post time skip as others have due to creating an entirely brand new setting that keeping her as a mostly the same character is not questionable. Nor does she have to do anything that could truly be seen as flawed. Things that Byleth's influence may overcome.
Edelgard is a good character and her goals are understandable. I just personally find the narrative bending to accommodate her in ways so different from the other time skips genuinely make it a weaker narrative for me.
If you enjoy CF as it it. More power to you. Please keep loving CF. This isn't supposed to be a dissuading post. This is merely me as one guy who likes a lot of FE because of the stories it can tell sharing why he personally didn't enjoy this one. Maybe I helped put it words for some who might feel similar. But this is just my opinion
If you have something you'd like to add or reply in the replies or tags please flee free, but for the love god, please be cordial about it. There is so much toxicity and disingenuous takes around Fire Emblem Crimson Flower and Edelgard and Rhea in general, that I would like for us to please be able to talk about this in good faith.
#fire emblem#fire emblem three houses#fe3h#black eagles#edelgard von hresvelg#crimson flower#rhea#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#claude von riegan#rhapsode rambles
38 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm typically a silent reader, but I wanted to hop on here and leave a comment about Coanda Effect: I genuinely think you've written a masterpiece. You have an exceptional way of maintaining the essence of the source material while expanding on the characters that feel entirely canon yet grounded in the worldbuilding of your unique narrative. If you ever plan to write an original story, I'd be one of your first readers in a heartbeat.
With that being said, I have lots of thoughts, questions, interpretations, and predictions. So many that I've compiled them and collectively named them the Coanda Files (this story has taken over my life, I can proudly admit that); I may plan to share them one day if anyone is interested in reading. However, for this particular ask, I'll just focus on my thoughts, predictions, and a couple of questions I had about the recent chapters (17 - 20) and the story in its entirety. This is a long post, so strap in (and sorry T-T I didn't realize I had so much to write)!
Chapter 20 is, by far, the most unsettling read I've experienced since picking up this story (and I loved every bit of the feeling). It's probably an unconventional opinion, considering that the first real conversation about the past happens here, and there's an actual breakthrough in Satoru and Suguru's opening up about their traumas to each other. However, this feels cautionary. Shoko's dialogue about, and I'm paraphrasing here, "rebuilding relationships isn't happening in just one conversation," screams, "don't jump the gun too soon." Though she's referring to herself and Suguru in that context, it also felt like a warning to Satoru. One conversation about the past isn't going to immediately close the gap between them. So, when Satoru and Suguru sorta made up at the end of the chapter, it felt somewhat abrupt and unearned as if they didn't just disclose two very painful traumas minutes earlier, which I think is a cautionary warning for the reader and their expectations for the relationship's development (am I reading too much into this? If not, I just have to say that I adore the realistic approach).
Moreover, when they talked about their traumas, I noticed that Satoru seemed to be the only one to outwardly benefit. During the conversation, Suguru was extremely caring and attentive towards Satoru, especially when he mentioned his drug/alcohol addiction, but it didn't feel like Satoru completely processed the extent of Suguru's eating disorder nor offered any sense of reassuring comfort. He focused a lot on himself, his feelings, and the revelation that he wasn't the reason Suguru left, which Suguru tried to explain at the end of chapter 17; though, I'm not completely convinced that's true.
I want to note that this has been a recurring theme in their present-day intimacy. Suguru is always initiating affection, being attentive to Satoru's needs, and providing genuine care; however, it doesn't fully seem reciprocal on Satoru's part. Partially because Suguru genuinely cannot be fully vulnerable about his traumas, and Satoru needs that. He's not the observant type; if he isn't directly told or can see visible signs of distress, he won't act.
A great example of how Satoru shows this is in chapter 17 during the 2013 podium win where Suguru was sobbing. Satoru became extremely protective of Suguru, sensitive to his emotions, and only him. The moment he sees his most precious person hurting, he completely disregards everyone and everything else to focus on him (the cameras were still flashing, the crowd very much present, but Satoru didn't care; that's starkly different from how Suguru comforted Satoru during his first world championship win by taking him away from prying eyes and faces).
Though I have to double down on this point, Suguru genuinely cannot be fully vulnerable about his trauma (yet). When I was in university, I analyzed a lot of stories focused on trauma, and I must say, you're very spot on with your depictions of traumas and how they manifest in people; it's a whole-body and mind experience, often leading people to truncate or split themselves (a detail expressed in chapter 17 with Suguru splitting Satoru into separate identities) and anything associated with the trauma to function (hence why I'm not convinced that Satoru had absolutely nothing to do with why Suguru left; I think he does just not in the way Satoru thought).
Satoru does this, too, through his drug addiction, copious amounts of sex, and throwing all his feelings into racing when he's on the track (these are split selves to handle his intense emotions toward Suguru, and the traumatic experience of having his life chosen for him while being highly scrutinized by the public. Sadly, Satoru never got the chance to grow up normally (that in and of itself is a trauma) because he was destined for a life he never wanted. Much like Ash from Banana Fish, it isn't until a highly empathetic brown-eyed, black-haired boy enters his life that his innocence is saved.)
Yet, the chasm of trauma still seems too wide for them to be back in this kind-of-a-couple-but-not-really space. Especially since they just opened a small can of worms about their traumas, which definitely seems like it's going to come back to bite them. I'm not sure if I interpreted these last few chapters correctly, but the present-day fallout hasn't happened yet, right? I genuinely can't shake the feeling that Satoru and Suguru haven't even breached the surface of their in-canon suffering.
Speaking of in-canon, the line about Suguru and Satoru's careers was hard to swallow, "his is just beginning and mine is ending." My initial interpretation of this line was bittersweet in the literal sense since Satoru's racing career as a driver is indeed coming to an end, and Suguru's is blooming as team principal. Yet, since chapter 17, I've realized this story is extremely close to the beats of the canon narrative. In canon, Suguru only appears back in Satoru's life for a very brief moment before the tragic fight with Yuta (I'm interpreting the present timeline as Satoru's brief interaction with Suguru before his demise).
When I looked at the line metaphorically, it felt like this chapter was the calm before the storm. Something seems off-putting, and I can't help but think it's the underpinning of Suguru's trauma and its effect on his intimacy (and transparency), but more importantly, tragedy isn't yet finished with these two. It's not really Satoru's career that's ending but potentially Suguru's. When Suguru's plan as a cult leader bloomed (in this case, his career as a team principal), death was not too far (Satoru), which got me thinking: Is an accident coming and will Suguru lose an arm/be heavily injured or impaired?
I couldn't help but think that after the emphasis on Suguru's arm in Chapter 19 when he was taking a picture with a fan; also the focus on his bracelets just seems too overt to overlook. Furthermore, it was a chapter that focused heavily on death. Shoko revealed that she thought Suguru had died (not just dropped off the face of the planet like Satoru did), which is extremely startling to think about. It suggests some very telling things about their relationship (Suguru must've said some hurtful things to Shoko) and how seriously bad of a state Suguru was in when he left (honestly, I think Shoko and Suguru's conversation in the present won't be super pleasant and could trigger something harrowing within him, but that's just speculation).
The bracelets just seem ominous. It feels as though Suguru was hurting himself during those seven years, and there are little deep scars all across his body that might signify that. He hides (or rather we don't really see a lot about his body, mostly because the present timeline is in Satoru's POV, and he isn't attentive to the fine details) them with jewelry; I don't think this is the first time jewelry had been emphasized as a detail on Suguru, and it's just a hunch, but it feels really significant. So, I have to ask: Did Suguru try to kill himself in those seven years (potentially on multiple occasions)? It's sad, yet doesn't seem far-fetched. He's experienced a lot during and beyond childhood and much like Satoru, I wouldn't be surprised if he found a physical coping mechanism like cutting.
Honestly, I feel like this is setting up for a more bittersweet ending than a happy one because I realistically can't see these two clearing up their traumas in four chapters to then live happily ever after (If there's a sequel, then perhaps the focus could be on talking, building a healthy relationship with each other, and healing their traumas together, maybe?). Though, the angst seems strong till the very end; I have this feeling that Suguru will walk away from Satoru and racing in general by the end of the story, and this will have a massive effect on Satoru's future.
No matter how I look at it, Satoru isn't returning to racing as a driver whether he wins or not. I'm assuming he won't because canonically, Sukuna killed Satoru, so he might not beat his legacy as a racer. It'll also set the stakes for Yuji and Megumi in building their legacies as drivers and how they'll contend with their budding relationship and the comparisons to a once-in-a-millennium talent. Satoru and Suguru's story influenced so much of the current predicaments of the characters, and I think that'll stick in this narrative. Yuji and Megumi have big shoes to fill and a heart-wrenching realization of what their predecessors/mentors had to go through; the sacrifices don't get easier.
However, Satoru seems to still want to be a part of F1 as a coach or mentor, but how he comes to a definitive decision to end his driving career is fascinating to think about. The most obvious guess is Suguru. The off-putting feeling throughout chapter 20 ultimately comes down to how little Satoru actually understands or acknowledges Suguru's trauma. We got a taste of this in chapter 17 through a small detail that's rarely mentioned: Yuki and the protein bar. The protein bar was one of the few things that Suguru could stomach without feeling sick, and Yuki's the only one who knew that. This is directly paralleled with Suguru knowing Satoru's favorite sweet and remembering it; he brings it for him when they first get together (sorta) in the present, but Satoru doesn't return the gesture. My take was that perhaps he doesn't know what he likes.
He's never really asked about things beyond their careers in F1. I'm skeptical of Satoru and what he really knows about Suguru (I won't deny that he knows Suguru's soul, he could pick Suguru out in every universe, in a room with a billion people, he knows his favorite being; but he doesn't know the body that inhabits the soul--the person). There's so much about Suguru that I don't think Satoru can answer (which fits the canon because so much of his backstory is unknown): Where does he go when he needs to be alone? What's his favorite TV show (or book/literature if he isn't a fan of television), food, or drink? Is he a cat or dog person; maybe he likes fish? What does he love most in this world? (I bet he hopes it's him). If he could do anything other than racing, what would that be? Oceans or mountains, which would he pick? What puts him at ease? What brings him comfort? What music does he listen to? What's a little habit of his that he can't break? How does he want and need to be loved?
It never feels like Satoru can adequately be there in the ways Suguru needs him most, which I take is emotional (yet, Suguru is always there in the ways Satoru needs him, but never as he wants him). My speculation is that Suguru will have a breakdown; he'll show his inner despair, sobbing and laughing, in a way that Satoru has never seen him (but it'll be the vulnerability he's wanted for so long). He'll see for the first time how beautiful and broken Suguru is, and the confessions of his deepest wounds will break his soul knowing that he wasn't there despite being so close. I'm not sure what the trigger will be, but the full reveal of Suguru's trauma will force him to walk away from F1, Satoru, and his legacy for good. It seems like the most plausible response because Suguru becomes entirely too rational when he's hurting. If he can no longer deceive himself that Satoru is not a core aspect of his trauma, then he'll have to try and let the love go lest he finds himself trapped in his body unable to break free of the pain. So, lay it on me, author, how bad is this ending going to wreck us?
It reminds me of the ending line in chapter 18 where Satoru kept saying this would hurt, and god, it's really going to hurt him. I originally thought the "hurt" was about the trauma, but I find it's more about seeing Suguru in pain and being unable to do anything about it (did anyone peep that Satoru was scared when Suguru was throwing up before they had to race again in Chapter 19?). Satoru's greatest fear is being incapable of reaching Suguru. If there's ever a weakness of Satoru's it's definitely going to be Suguru crying.
See, one of my favorite characterizations in this narrative is how deeply Satoru loves. I'm not sure many readers notice it, but Satoru's love is pure. He's so very innocent in the sense that all he wants is connection. He wants to understand another human in all the ways that are humanly possible and be understood just as equally. To love and be loved; it's one of the most grounding aspects about him, and it's adorable and heart-wrenching that it's Suguru whom he wants to build that connection with. He was the first person in his entire world who made him feel human, but Suguru is also extremely complicated and very different from Satoru.
I'll call it now that Satoru fell deeply in love (in an innocent way) with Suguru when they first met; he's the boy who saved his youth and Suguru is just so comforting to be around. He's patient, kind, and attentive but also childish and allows people to be themselves with little judgment. It seemed like Satoru's feelings just kept growing as they grew closer, it's why he ended up cursing Suguru to build his legacy as a driver despite being better suited as an engineer (imagine Suguru as Satoru's engineer, they'd pull off some legendary maneuvers). But it's solely out of Satoru just wanting to be close to Suguru. I think Satoru's been writing a love letter to Suguru, and the language was racing this entire time (he's mentioned frequently that he throws all his feelings onto the track), and the person he wanted to be seen by most when he raced was Suguru since they were kids. He's been saying, "I love you" to him for forever and a day. Yet, that language (racing) is so cryptic for Suguru because it's silenced him in ways I don't think he can even process.
Thus, coming to terms with the thought that Suguru is and has been hurting for a long time is what I think seals the deal for him to give up on racing (as a driver). He won't care about anything after that; his mind would be so fixated on whatever he has to or needs to do for Suguru (I could write about Satoru's extremely protective nature all day). If anything, all I think Satoru wants after retiring is Suguru (can Satoru please propose to this man?). He yearns for his vulnerability, and truly, I think Satoru is the only person who could mend and piece together Suguru's fragmented heart, appreciate his deep-seated scars, kiss his tears, and hold him tenderly as if he's the most precious jewel in existence. If you couldn't already gauge, I just want Suguru to cry and Satoru to be there when he does.
Well, that concludes this very long post, but wait, I have more details I just wanted to point out:
Suguru's letter from his dad in chapter 18. Is the American friend a Banana Fish reference? Like Eiji being Suguru's dad just fits and I officially declare this canon, Gege can fight me (but more importantly, *coughs,* Banana Fish F1 prequel, maybe?)
The letter and text messages from Riko. Can I just say these being extensions of Suguru (formal, stylized, heavily analog, and dated as an activity of the past) and Satoru (forward-looking, short, sweet, and casual writing) are brilliant characterizations of them as people and how they view each other.
Suguru accidentally almost blames Satoru for his dad's death. That hurt for the both of them, but Satoru did force a choice on Suguru that wasn't fair. Did Satoru condemn Suguru to his own suffering of not being able to make his own choices?
Satoru wanted to become a world champion because of Suguru, right? I went back to the days of little Satoru and Suguru in karting, and boy, Satoru getting jealous over Suguru being a fan of Yaga just hits differently. Honestly, I think that's the moment he decides he'll stick with the sport despite it being forced on him because he wanted Suguru's gentle and lovely eyes on him and him only.
Suguru's eating disorder. Is he cured? Does he love his body now? I feel like he might have body dysmorphia, and that might be affecting his intimacy with Satoru, maybe? Also, can he eat anything now, or do textures still bother him just not as much?
Shoko and Suguru just hurt my spirit. Shoko and Satoru are so bittersweet. I noticed Satoru only acknowledges Shoko treating and caring for him like a human being, yet he had almost two decades of care from Suguru? Does he really not remember anything before Suguru left? Please tell me Satoru will actually remember and appreciate that someday?
Suguru's intimacy is so jarring. There's so much to unpack, but he feels really distant and entirely too perfect (like he does everything Satoru likes) but he doesn't allow himself to be seen or loved (it comes off almost robotic). It honestly feels like he's reliving all the years he only saw but never engaged with Satoru intimately. Why is he hiding away from Satoru this way? I can't help but feel like he's been hurt intimately and just doesn't talk about it (like everything else)? Is the 2014 kiss the only thing Satoru and Suguru did, or did something happen during those seven years, or is it just a combination of his other traumas?
Speaking of intimacy, seriously when did he learn or engage in gay sex? I'm looking back at earlier chapters, but the only man Suguru has ever shown interest in is Satoru? He didn't seem to engage in sex too much (or at all really, he's kissed girls but that's about it), and sure, there's the internet, but it just feels like the way he's responding to intimacy in the present is partially trauma response like he's bracing from harm?
Did Satoru ever get therapy for his traumas, or was Shoko just that good of a support system?
I know Toji's about to murk these men, and I'm really curious about Satoru. Canonically, we never see him look sad or horrified by the deaths of his fellow sorcerers. Obviously, he's not okay and just has a different way of grieving but in this story, the idea of losing Suguru is fleshed out and honestly seems like his worst nightmare. How does he actually handle seeing Suguru almost die? Does he panic, space out, or just grow quiet? Please tell me he also beats the shit out of Toji before he gets kicked out of the sport for good (he needs a satisfying, certified ass-whooping)?
Satoru's trauma is so sad; he suffers so much externally. It feels like he's coded as someone with high-functioning depression (he can get up and do what he needs to do but he's not happy). He kind of seems irritable and a little frustrated. The only time he seems at peace and happy is with Suguru and Shoko, but especially Suguru.
Did I tell you that this story is a masterpiece? It's a masterpiece; I'll keep calling it a masterpiece, don't stop me. ^_^
I could write about your work for days, what I amazing story you've made.
P.S. I have to put this in here even though it holds no profound connection to your AU, but may provide more characterizations of the characters. So for any JJK theorists out there, I must say: Geto Suguru was the ultimate trump card that was lost too soon. Disclaimer: I only watched the anime, so if any information in this theory is incorrect or already disproven in canon, then feel free to correct me. It's not mentioned enough, but Suguru's greatest strength, perhaps an asset far stronger than Satoru himself, was his empathy. He had a natural understanding of people and a caring nature that manifested into a curse energy that absorbed other's negativity unlimitedly.
There were no indications in the canon that the amount of curses Suguru consumed at any given point was capped. Essentially, he could have had all of Japan's curses if he could stomach the process. His stats were also heavily determined by the curses he used (the more powerful the curse, the more damage he could exert, technically making him just as powerful and limitless as Satoru) and his physical prowess (which he was extremely gifted in and had mastered early on). He, indeed, was one of the strongest sorcerers, but the lack of recognition of his ability contributed to his downfall (objectively speaking, Suguru has the more practical strengths but he was often compared to Satoru in ways that failed to highlight how massively effective and significant his technique was for Jujutsu society).
Mind you, we have no canon record of Suguru's backstory outside of Satoru's memory of their high school days. We have no idea if he's from a distant line of jujutsu sorcerers like Yuta (which makes his power incredibly rare and one-of-a-kind), but we do know that he's the child of non-sorcerer parents. Most of his childhood is unknown which leads to some interesting interpretations (that I won't get into here) about his choices when he becomes a curse user, most notably when he kills his parents in the process.
What this tells us is that he's potentially the "true" anomaly, the miraculous birth that should not have been, and that often gets overshadowed in the canon narrative much to its advantage. We'll never know the full depth of Suguru's character and that makes for some fascinating characterizations and interpretations which are as limitless as Satoru's signature techniques. He's an ingrained character that we'll never forget (Satoru's punishment since love is the most twisted curse of all) simply because of his sheer potential.
I want to note that the focus on Yuta and Suguru in JJK0 might give us implied hints of Suguru's backstory. Much like Yuta, I think Suguru's curse energy awoke early but unlike Yuta who was traumatized and accidentally created a curse, Suguru saw his power of consuming curses as a way to alleviate people's sufferings (notice how Yuta and Suguru's powers are lowkey opposing, too). Perhaps his fixations on "protecting the weak," came from this early experience of absorbing curse energy. More importantly, "weak" may have more meaning than categorizing non-sorcerers as inferior to jujutsu sorcerers but about having sensitive minds (which is ironic because this is what ultimately afflicts Suguru in the worst of ways). When he says "protect the weak," I think he means their well-being in all aspects (this actually applies to everyone, especially the jujutsu sorcerers), which makes him even more interesting.
Surprisingly enough, Suguru's birth potentially was the balancer between the curses and Satoru (the recognized anomaly), who single-handily caused the imbalance the current generation is facing but also the only one who could handle the influx of curses (I find that's another layer as to why Suguru's presence is so soothing to Satoru and why he's his guide. It's what he was born to do. I think anytime a limitless/six-eyes user is born there's another less-recognized birth of a rare sorcerer who acts as a guide for said user)
It's unfortunate to think about Suguru's conversation with Yuki and the two choices she offered: kill all non-sorcerers or evolve all of humanity to wield curse energy because that was just a false dichotomy. Suguru was the third and best option; if he could absorb all (or most of) the curses then that would have undoubtedly eased the suffering of Jujutsu sorcerers and given them a chance to re-establish a functional balance (my belief is that curses will always exist; they are a byproduct of negative human emotions after all).
Honestly, this heavily indicates that Jujutsu society had very little understanding of powers beyond the known clans. I'd wager with this perspective, Suguru was everyone's salvation (especially Satoru's), and all he needed was a support system that unfortunately came too late (Jujutsu sorcerers working together for everyone's survival only happened after his defection).
I believe that's what makes the battle between Yuta and Suguru in JJK0 all the more significant. I haven't seen many interpretations of this but there seems to be an implied parallelism between Suguru and Yuta. Yuta is what Suguru could've been if a true support system had been established during his prime. His slight breakdown when he cried during the battle signifies that Yuta achieved what Suguru wanted: sorcerers coming to each other's aid and fighting to protect each other (not just serving to die for a cause that never ended).
Yuta is also very similar to Suguru, he does everything in the name of friendship (and love). He wanted to protect his friends so much that he was willing to commit murder (he was determined to kill Suguru even though he didn't fatally injure anyone and vice versa with Suguru becoming a genocidal maniac so no other sorcerers had to die). Thus, the things we do for love are in fact what makes it so twisted. I truly believe Suguru became a curse user less to achieve one of Yuki's perceived plans and more to revolutionize Jujutsu society (he noted himself that Jujutsu sorcerers just live to die, thus he's already accepted his fate as a dead man walking, but he needed to do something irreversible (like killing his parents) to never go back on his word).
Strength alone is not enough, that was his whole spiel to Satoru. Alone, that one aspect wouldn't save the next generation of sorcerers or the current ones condemned to a life of suffering. Satoru had to evolve to become the ultimate strength the Jujutsu world needed, a being with advanced techniques and empathy to care for the people around him, and by god, I do think Suguru succeeded in sharing that with Satoru.
omg anon,, so this response is gonna be veryyy long lmao
yeah i think the general read is meant to be a bit unsettling. there's a lot of stuff thrown in meant to be "oh" moments that don't necessarily get elaborated on and are just part of the worldbuilding/ the sport casually. (mostly the ed stuff mentioned by yuki and some of the stuff choso says about turning a blind eye to gojo's habits during the early years of his career). but they're not meant to be resolved because the world isnt perfect and theres some shady stuff going on all the time. it makes the world feel more private, if that makes sense. like drawing back the curtains.
in the present timeline, they're not fully vulnerable with each other yet, on purpose. they probably won't even be fully, fully vulnerable with each other at the end of this fic to be honest. as a writer i dont tend to like tying up all my loose ends neatly because it makes the ending feel a bit too storybook, and im not going for that style of narrative.
i think gojo as a character isn't massively sympathetic or coddling, and i dont think getou wanted nor needed the comfort from him. the conversation they have had hav centered satoru because suguru left with no explanation, and complete radio silence to both shoko and satoru. regardless of how sick he was, he needs to answer for those actions and that's (sort of) what's happening here. satoru did notice some stuff back in 2013/2014, but he didn't communicate it because Suguru i feel doesn't want sympathy, especially in the past. theres sort of a "i signed up for this" mentality with both of them that is a barrier to them both being vulnerable, but its coming down. slowly.
(in the past, as we'll see soon a lot more clearly, suguru actively shuts down anyone questioning his health. its not satoru's fault because whilst he's slightly oblivious, he's trying his best. if someone doesnt want to talk/be saved, he cant do much.)
the moment on the 2013 podium in japan is very much a moment that is a testament to how much satoru does notice. he wedges himself as a barrier between the cameras and suguru, protecting him from the public having access to something incredibly private: grief. satoru does similar for yuuji/yuuta/megumi/nobara in the present if you squint.
i think my narrative style has limited me slightly, because satoru and suguru know each other and these things very well in the past (up until 2013/2014, at least). there's an offhand comment in 2013 about satoru not liking horror. but i have to pick my scenes very carefully and the casual way they know everything about each other is sidelined slightly. also there's a level of the fact that racing is their entire lives, pretty much, especially for satoru.
the emphasis on the bracelets/suguru's arm is more about the fans and how much he is (still) loved in japan. Gojo drives for Italy, and despite growing up in Japan (partially) and speaking the language, and his closest friends being Japanese and not really feeling at home in europe, japan is not his home race, and he isn't embraced by the fans in the same way as getou is. its a touch of jealousy, even though gojo is well-loved everywhere he goes, that he never got the same welcome as his best friend did. the bracelets are fan-made gifts, if that wasn't clear.
theres a lot of implications about suicidal ideation particularly in recent chapters, but more pertaining to how his closest friends thought he had attempted/succeeded, not necessarily that he has. i think it would be hard to define a suicide attempt for suguru. he definitely wasn't actively trying to stay alive, but its hard to say whether he would actively try to kill himself, either.
(sorry this response is jumbled, by the way)
i do have the ending planned. i think its a bittersweet / happy ending, definitely. in terms of the sequel, it would be itfs focused so suguru and satoru would be background characters (with loud presences, if that makes sense)
in terms of what satoru did for suguru in the pat i.e. finding funding for his team,, its complicated, and im going to elaborate on it in the present timeline, but suguru wanted to drive. look at how ecstatic he was when he got the drive in GREC/G3. he WANTED to drive, and back then, if satoru had offered help, he probably would have taken it. in 2014, he's mourning what he's lost because of racing and forgotten about the enjoyment he's taken in it over the years and the fond memories he has. he would be a decent engineer, but he's definitely not as gifted as shoko (he probably would've ended up as pitcrew) and the issue isn't that he didn't want to race, it was that satoru didn't think to mention it to him because he's an idiot. the unreliable narration comes into play a bit here because suguru is INCREDIBLY bitter at this point and if he'd found out about it even two years earlier he would've been pissed, but grateful all the same. the point in time he found out is incredibly important. right up until riko's death, and even arguably up until haibara's accident, he still enjoys racing, despite the sacrifics he makes to his health etc.
satoru loves in a really big, whole way. he throws himself into it. if you look at the relationships he has with yuuji/megs/shoko this is so so obvious. shoko starts being a little tired of the circus, showing concern and vulnerability, and satoru doesnt hesitate to say that he'll quit, for her. there's other factors at play, of course, but he's intensely empathetic. he talked big about suguru all through his junior career to anyone who would listen, to any sponsor, to any team. he just wanted his friend by his side, and he'd do anything to get it. is he a little selfish at times? yes, but suguru was also actively pursuing his career, and satoru was in a position to help him out, and did.
i think scenes in the earliest chapters are overlooked a little, too: there's always this thread connecting them, even if its near on impossible to see.
okay, bullet points:
no, not a banana fish reference. this is not a crossover fic, unfortunately. might write a short BF F1 au, though!!
thank you!! :3
no, satoru didn't condemn suguru to anything. keicho only asked for a character reference (they'd already pretty much made up their mind to sign suguru as part of their junior team) and after suguru got the g4 seat, he actively pursued his own sponsors to drive in GREC. satoru's decisions were not responsible for suguru's career path, and at the point of the argument in the 2014 narrative, suguru is MASSIVELY unjustified in saying what he says to satoru.
iv mentioned this in other asks, but satoru never wanted to be world champion: it was expected from him. From his very early days karting, he was watched, followed as the nxt big thing. suguru wanting to be a WDC to be equal to satoru is worth mentioning though.
not cured, ARFID is a difficult beast. but definitely a lot better, now that the issue of weight isn't present.
all three of them just missed each other, to be honest. they were young ans silly and didnt quite know how to give or recieve care. they're getting better, though!!
they didn't see each other properly for seven years! it's mentioned offhandedly that suguru was a team principal for a junior team (G2/G3) in those years, but they wouldn't have been in the same paddock and getou didnt TP for any of the teams Yuuji/Megs/Nobara drove for.
answring this would sort of be a spoiler. suguru's sexuality is meant to be vague / up in the air, but i would argue he doesn't show any meaningful interest in women, either.
teams do have therapists and psychologists, but those are very focused on performance and satoru is aware of that: health, but only so he can perform at his best, not for any real care. shoko is a good support system, but satoru is-- yeah. he's got a bit of a complex to undo
no spoilers! theres hints in the narrative as to how satoru reacts to suguru's accident (japan 2011) through the broadcasters taking down footage of his reactions, and yuki's. implied also that suguru was looking for those reactions to watch back, because he doesn't see them in real time.
satoru is definitely very high functioning. it takes a village.
stooop feeding my ego!!
(thanks for the analysis on canon, anon! i understand yuuta p well but i still dislike writing him lol, he feels pretty shallow overall)
thank you for the super long message, hope this response suffices!!!!!!!!! :3
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
easy on the eyes (three fateful midnights) - midnight one
Corinthian x f!Reader
Story Masterlist
a mini prequel to 'easy on the eyes', chronicling the start of the romance between Corinthian and the Reader, across three fateful midnights.
Warnings: smut (18+), cursing, brief mention of violence
Word count: 5.3k
midnight one - "you look like you might need me"
midnight two - "this can be as real as we want it to be"
midnight three - "darling, i'm not ready to let you go"
midnight one
I don't want to be here. Here in a loud, sweaty club, surrounded by inebriated and probably horny 20-somethings.
This is not my perfect Friday night. At all.
But one of my best friends had plucked me out of the safety of my bedroom, using the excuse "It's my birthday in a week, so the celebration starts now!"
I didn't want to let him down, and I thought, maybe he's right. I haven't gone out in a long time, so perhaps I need a change of scenery.
Boy, was I wrong. It's not that I don't enjoy music or drinking or dancing, and I quite like spending nights out with my friend, too. But, I just don't enjoy this particular kind of club - covered in sticky floors, rancid bathrooms, and packed with people of looser morals, even just for a night.
We stand in front of a poseur table, our second drinks propped atop, and I try not to get too irritated at those who hurriedly brush up behind me, causing my side to hit the cold metal.
"Don't look so sour, y/n!" he nearly shouts at me to be heard above the noise, "It's fun! You like this music, right?"
My ear catches a remix of Blue Monday and I yell back, "Yeah, I do!" I sway my body a little, in time with the music, and down the rest of my gin and tonic.
I'll need a whole lot more of that to last through tonight.
He scans the crowd, potentially looking for a catch, and I lean over, "Not a lot of choices tonight, huh."
"Nah," he sips his drink with a shrug, "for now at least."
If either one of us is going to have that kind of fun tonight, it won't be me. My friend is more of the carefree, happy-go-lucky, dating app regular, whereas I tend to be wary of attraction that tends to be rushed or fleeting.
Being the good friend that I am, I want him to truly enjoy tonight if he so wishes. After that last fling of his that ended quite messily, I'd like to help him choose a guy that won't recklessly string him along this time. That was also another reason why he wanted to go out so badly – finding a good distraction.
I know his type - tall, blonde and impeccably dressed. But nobody here seems up to the standard.
Another, more bass-heavy track starts to play. "I'll go get another drink! Do you want one?" I tell him, and he’s obviously liking this song a lot more, his head bouncing up and down to the beat.
He shakes his head, and gestures to his still halfway empty glass. I start to move away, but then he suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Woah there,” I try to get my bearings. Was I about to collide with someone? Then again, that’s pretty much inevitable given our current environment, “what is it?”
“Look,” he whispers in my ear, excitement lacing his voice, “There, at the bar.”
“There’s about a hundred people at the bar.” I respond dryly.
“You’ll know when you see him,” he seems electrified, nearly giddy, and I look harder for his mystery man.
Of course. There he stands.
Tall, blonde, and impeccably dressed. Eyes obscured by dark eyeglasses in an already dark club, but that only added to his allure. The perfect package, and I know that my friend’s search for a rebound has determinedly ended. He’s got a small flock of admirers around him, and it’s not hard to see that he’s full of confidence. A kind of magnetism. Standing tall and smiling freely, he seems like the type of person who would be the focus of every room, as he seems to be now.
“You headed to the bar, right?” he asks, smirking coyly, and I already know what he wants me to do.
“I’m on it.” I salute him jokingly, which he does in return, “One hot blonde’s number coming right up.”
I have to push through several warm bodies to get to my destination, and I’m so relieved when I reach it that I slam my hand loudly on the counter.
The blonde Casanova and his little group are to my right, and I steal a glance at him. I probably look too long, because he seems to realize and slowly turns his head, dark eyeglasses boring directly into me.
I tear my eyes away hurriedly. Normally, I wouldn't get nervous if I have no stake in the situation, like right now, because this is all for my friend.
But there's an air about him that feels so intimidating. In an attempt to calm my nerves, I raise my voice, and ask, "Another gin and tonic, please!"
The bartender barely glances my way, occupied with a gaggle of younger girls in the corner.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I see him inch closer until he's leaning on the space right next to me.
He slants himself in a way that I can feel his breath in my ear, but not too close, and whispers, “You look like you might need me.” I wonder how I can hear his words all too clearly, with the bass thumping in the background. His words settle, and all I can think is, the audacity.
“Need you?” I ask incredulously, my words having a distinct edge now. I put on a sarcastic smile, and add, “well, you must think of yourself a great deal.”
“I do, actually.” Of course he does. He smiles sweetly, “That’s why I’m letting myself have all this,” he gestures around, “all this freedom, all this fun.”
“I think you might be too old to consider simply going to the club, freedom. Besides, I have to ask again, why would I need you?”
“This is not all that I meant,” he hovers close to me, and I have to remind myself to avoid becoming intoxicated with his presence, with the attention he gives me. He's a disarming kind of attractive, but men like him are the dangerous kind - they know how exactly to reel you in. “You need me because… you need something more than all this. You look sullen, yet you're surrounded by all these people. I'd say that all this is not your thing, darling."
“You’re here, and you look like you belong, I have to say. So that means you’re not my thing as well, doesn’t it?” I counter, internally patting myself on the back. Does flirting come as easy to him as breathing? That’s what it looks like.
He beams widely, as if pleased with my retort, “Well, why are you here if you’re not having any fun?”
Oh, right. “My friend, actually, who also might be the reason why I headed over here… is interested in you, to say the least.”
“Really? Which one?”
“Well, he… “ I start to say, gauging his reaction.
He senses my hesitance, and assuredly drawls, “Oh, I like all kinds.”
“…is standing over there. The lone guy by the poseur table in the corner.” I wave at my friend, who immediately waves back, a smile growing on his face.
They make eye contact, and blondie here sizes him up. "Handsome."
"Yeah, he's a catch. And you better be nice, or else..."
"Or else what?" He responds right away, amusement lacing his voice.
"He's my good friend, so I'm rightfully protective. If you mess up, I'll come for you."
He holds my gaze, mischievous expression growing. He must be thinking, Really? I know I don't look like much of a threat, but I don't look away. I realize I haven't asked his name. He looks like a Dean? Boyd? Steve?
Our staredown continues, until an arm shoots in between us to land on the counter, connected to a very drunk frat boy looking type. "Can y'all get a room or som'ing? ... need to get a drink."
Blondie maneuvers me a few feet away, smirking, "Truthfully, I don't think he needs another drink."
A giggle bubbles out of my throat. I can't help it, and another one follows. This whole thing seems ridiculous, but the expression on his face makes me giggle even harder, as if he's trying to determine whether I've lost my mind. I still feel his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and I have to ask, "What's your name?"
"What's yours?"
"Oh, c'mon." The effects of the gin are setting in. Maybe I should complete my task before I say anything too forward. "Anyway, I won't pry. Would you please be a doll and give my friend your number?"
"What about you?" he asks.
"What about me?"
"You're not interested?" His curiosity seems genuine, but I'm not biting.
"This isn't about me, so stop trying." A pair of girls linger close to us, in an attempt to get his attention, but his focus is on me.
"Humor me," he takes my hand, and before I can protest, we walk over to a relatively quieter area near the coat check. He smiles again, "So?"
I cave in, "If you were a romantic prospect, and I'm not saying that you are," I add hurriedly, when he raised his eyebrows, "we wouldn't be meeting at a nightclub, of all places. It's just not the perfect image I have in my head, as weird as that may sound."
"So you're a romantic," he drawls, and I still can't place his accent, but there's a pleasant Southern lilt to it. Which is growing on me, as much as I'd hate to admit.
I shrug, not wanting to divulge anything more about myself.
"If I was your type of person, and if this were the perfect setup, where would we be? A museum? A park? By the ocean maybe?" I sense amusement in his voice.
"Are you mocking me?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling. I just really am interested."
I study him, and as hard as he may be to read, I can see that he's being sincere. Or maybe he's just that charming.
"Look, I know it's about the person that you meet, not so much the place, but... I don't know. I love quaint bookstores, libraries. Hidden, quiet places, or maybe even crowded ones that all the more emphasize how the other person simply stands out for you. A light among all else. An unexpected brush with another. When you're not really looking to find someone, but you do, and it catches you off guard. But in a good way." The words rush out of me, and I have to stop myself. What happened to not divulging anything more? I would blame the gin, but heaven forbid, what if I am attracted to him?
"Hmm," is all he responds with. He takes a deep breath, and I feel the urge to find his eyes behind his dark glasses. What color might they be?
"Take your glasses off," I say, bravery kicking in. Or stupidity. Either one.
"Why?" he leans even closer, tilting his head.
"I want to," I pause, my throat constricting, "see your eyes."
He says nothing. Does nothing. We stand face to face in this dark corner, and I suddenly remember my friend waiting for me. Not wanting to waste any more time, I reach up tentatively, my hand inching towards his round, black-out glasses.
Just when my fingers graze the rim, his hand shoots up, effectively halting my attempt.
A long pause follows, with my hand enveloped in his, until he says, "You're dangerous, darling," I feel his words reverberate within me, warming the pit of my stomach.
I tentatively smile back, challenging him, finally settling into our shared rhythm.
But in a split second, he breaks the spell, dropping my hand, "Weren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Oh," my stomach sinks, and I don't like how disappointed I feel, since I'm not here for me after all, "Right."
I take one final look at him, before the haze subsides. Before he sets his eyes on someone else, and I lose him entirely. He was not at all what I expected, but that doesn't matter now.
"Follow me," I gesture with one hand, and I feel him close behind me, as we find our way through the bustling crowd. He places one hand on my waist, while the other shields me from any flailing, dancing limbs. Someone drunkenly sways a bit too close, and I feel myself being pulled back against his chest.
"Easy," I hear his voice low in my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.
I regain composure, "I'm okay," and I walk on with more determination. He is not for me, I think to myself, this is not what I think it is. It's just another drunken midnight, and he's just another brazen flirt at a nightclub.
Then again, I don't really want to believe that. But anyway.
When we reach my friend, he gives a relieved grin, "There you are! I thought you two ran off with each other already."
I immediately feel guilty. I must be breaking some cardinal friendship rule by even thinking of stepping in with this charming stranger.
They fall into conversation right away, and the stranger might have given his name in introduction, but I've already forced myself to turn my attention to something else. Luckily, given where we are, the music blares, deafening and persistent. My friend winks at me, and I take it as a sign that they're really hitting it off. I give him a subtle thumbs up, and face the other way, as if to give them privacy. But also to fend off the jealousy creeping in my chest.
Perhaps it's best if I just head home.
"Hey," I intervene half-heartedly, "I'm really tired, so I'll just head back."
"Aww, really?" my friend says, then turns to blondie adding, "Poor thing. She's not that into places like these."
"Yeah, I'm really not," I smile, "I'm just about ready to change into pajamas and jump into bed."
The handsome stranger smiles crookedly, "I'll accompany you out, and make sure you get a ride safely."
"Oh, that's-," I start to protest, but my friend says, "Good idea! That's nice of you to offer. Make sure my girl here doesn't get bothered outside."
My friend then drags a hand flirtatiously down blondie's arm, "I'll be waiting here for you."
"Alright," blondie makes a gesture for me, to which I say, "One second."
He steps away from us, leaning casually by a wall. He looks too perfect to be here, too refined. As if he shines too brightly among all the others, standing out like a sore thumb.
"So, what do we think of him?" I question.
"Quite the charmer," my friend says, "Very polite, very well-mannered, too."
"Yeah, he is," I echoed, "but there's an edge to him. I can't pinpoint it exactly."
"You two disappeared for a while there. Is there something-"
"No," I blurt out, perhaps too hurriedly, "I mean, he seems nice and everything, but I'm not looking for that right now."
"Are you sure? Because it's completely fine if you like him. I won't get in the way of this connection." he says assuringly, and I slightly feel bad again for all that I've been thinking. He's always been considerate, and this was supposed to be his night. Blondie's supposed to be his guy.
"I am," I smile weakly, and I can tell he's not convinced, "Look, just message me later whenever you can, okay? Let me know how it goes. He may be charming as all hell, but most serial killers often are." I wag my eyebrows at him, half in jest, and he laughs.
"Okay," he draws me in for a hug, "Get home safe."
I walk over to blondie, and we make our way out of the nightclub. I feel the cool, brisk air and immediately feel relieved. With my hands on my waist, I turn my face to the night sky with eyes closed, and just focus on breathing.
Then, I remember just who is standing next to me. When I open my eyes, he is staring at me, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.
"I just really needed the fresh air."
"Hmm," is all he says again. Maybe he's irked at having to wait with me, and just wants to get back to my friend.
"You know," he starts to say, but nothing could have prepared me for what comes after, "You're quite beautiful."
"What?" I manage to spit out. I've dealt with men like this before, those who tend to dole out compliments so easily, that it becomes hard to find truth in them. But I can't fight the blush that I feel spreading across my face.
"You are somethin' else." he drawls in his own way.
Is he just messing with me? Maybe he's naturally this forward, with a voice like honey, dripping saccharine, "You've only known me for around half an hour. I doubt you're making a worthy assumption."
"I know, but I mean them."
I turn away, looking out onto the street. If he does mean what he said, then I need to get out of here before I do or say something I'll probably regret, and he needs to get back to my friend. He's not for me.
"Best get you home then, darling." he raises an arm, and hails a cab that lingers on the street corner.
I have to know, so I ask, "Tell me your name? I've been calling you blondie in my head all this time, and it doesn't do you justice."
"You'll know soon enough," the cab appears before us, and he holds the door open for me. Damn gentleman. "Sweet dreams, y/n."
I am halfway in the cab, when I realize that I never actually told him my name. I turn around to confront him, but he's gone.
So he knows my name but I don't know his? I decide to let it go when the cab driver calls out, "Where are we headed?"
I give him my address, and shut the cab door. Feeling a strange mix of disappointment and guilt and longing, I am determined to completely push blondie out of my head.
This is just another midnight, and he's just another guy.
How I wish I believed that.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
The knife hovers above the slumbering form, moonlight glinting off its smooth surface. This young man, while very appealing in his own right, did nothing to keep Corinthian's thoughts from straying back to you.
After you had left, they had engaged in every degree of flirtation one can think of, before the young man whispered the predictable invitation in his ear. He obliged. Wasn't his plan simply falling into place?
Nightclubs were not among Corinthian's favored haunts, but now and again, he deigns to visit them. To see people engaged in various delights, influenced by substances and coercions. Raw and wild, and yet most were hiding behind masks, behind pretenses. An added benefit, they provided him with an easy selection for his... hobby.
He found that people tend to already be naturally drawn to him, so places like this only provided an additional thrill.
He had actually found you before you found him. He saw your fatigued expression in the crowd, in contrast to your friend who seemed to be thriving in that atmosphere. And when the both of you eventually drew your attention to him, he felt a sort of smugness.
Of course, as always.
You walked over, and he approached you, but you acted like you'd rather be anywhere else. Corinthian was used to people either wanting to be him or be with him. They may be intimidated, or provocative, or simply curious. He was aware of the effect that he had, and it didn't seem to be evident with you.
You were prepared to rebuke his advances, and you were setting him up for your friend instead. Your friend, who is now sleeping here half-nude, while Corinthian deliberates his next move.
They hadn't gone all the way, although that was the intention. Corinthian and your friend were lost in a flurry of kisses upon entering your friend's apartment. Most of their clothes quickly discarded, until Corinthian motioned for them to pause, as if to catch his breath.
"Got a drink?" he asked, sitting down on the bed.
"Sure thing, handsome," your friend smiled, making his way to the kitchen.
Corinthian sat there, deep in thought, as he is now. He had a vision of how this night would turn out to be. Venture to that nightclub, find his prey, indulge in the usual humanly pleasures, and then indulge in pleasure of another kind.
When your friend returned with his drink, Corinthian thanked him and sipped it slowly. Your friend started to pepper his back with soft kisses, muttering affectionate phrases, and the occasional racy remark. They kissed again, bodies colliding on the bed. Until a while later, when your friend stopped to say, "You're not into this, are you?"
Corinthian replied nonchalantly, "Just got something on my mind."
"Does that something happen to be y/n?" Your friend was the one who slipped Corinthian your name earlier, and he didn't even have to ask.
Corinthian huffed, not confirming your friend's thought, but not denying it either.
"You know, it's okay. You were a good distraction for a while, pretty boy. That's all I needed. We can just go to sleep, if you'd like to stay?"
"Alright," Corinthian agreed, "This was a real pleasure, doll."
"Sure," your friend smiled, "and by the way, don't waste any time. She's amazing. If you want y/n, tell her. I can give you her number? But tomorrow, I'm kinda exhausted now."
Corinthian doesn't respond, but your friend took that as an agreement. They spoke for a short while, until your friend rolled over to his side of the bed, mumbled good night, and quickly fell asleep thanks to several daiquiris and a long, tiring night.
Corinthian sits on the bed, feeling something he hasn't felt in a long time. He feels lost. It's as if he's not where he's supposed to be, not doing what he's supposed to. Ever since Dream got captured, he was free to roam the Waking World as he pleased. He knew just what he wanted, and he took it. People became his thing. Their emotions, their habits, their fears.
He relished all of it. Their pleasures and pains gave him a rush. Every eye devoured unleashed a cascade of memories within him. A collection of moments, and sentiments. Not his, of course, but it feels that way nonetheless. It feels human.
And Corinthian knew, this was the closest that he would get. To being human. To having a soul. He knew exactly just what he was and what he was made to do, and he didn't fight it.
A nightmare he shall be. Nightmares he shall unleash.
He stands, prepared to take this young man's eyes. Although asleep, there will be resistance upon the initial strike, but no matter. His end will swiftly follow.
But why wasn't he sure? This is what he does, this is who he is.
His mind travels back to you, "If you mess up, I'll come for you." Adorable.
He could easily disappear after tonight, no one would ever find him. Only you would suspect him, but that wouldn't matter. This would just be another nightmare under his roster.
But you would be in pain. You would carry the guilt, having been the one to introduce your friend to a serial killer. Standing there, Corinthian couldn't, for the life of him, understand why he cared.
You're nobody.
But he still hears your giggle from his memory, sees you smiling up at him.
It eats at him, and makes him feel something else entirely. Something unfamiliar.
He puts his knife back in its sheath.
Maybe this was just a passing fancy, and he plans to just let it run its course. He'll forget about you soon enough. But this could be fun, and if you're here for the taking, then take he shall.
As Corinthian leaves the apartment, a twisted sense of regret passes through him. If he had devoured your friend's eyes, he would have seen you in an infinite array of moments, in the perspective of someone close to you. He would have seen your laugh again and again, heard your sweet voice whispering things in confidence, felt you walking right beside him. So close.
He turns resolute - why not have all that in actuality. Maybe it's time to slip back into the Dreaming, just for tonight.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
My fingers graze the titles on the shelf. I want to read nearly all of them. It's strange how they consist of books that I have yet to read, but have written down on my list.
I am surrounded by wooden bookshelves, designed as if they were molded out of the woods themselves, smooth brown roots running up the sides, golden and green leaves sticking out in a faint pattern. I remember wanting to decorate the bookshelves in my bedroom in the same way. But where am I now?
It seems to be a quaint bookshop, beautiful, with a tall stained glass window in an alcove on one side of the room. I seem to be the only one here, free to read to my heart's delight.
I pull out one of the volumes from the shelf, but I must have miscalculated its weight, because it started to fall out of my hands.
I wait to hear the thud, but instead I hear a voice.
"Oh," he says, "careful there."
He stands next to me with the book in one hand, outstretched in offering. Where did he come from?
"Thanks," I reply shyly, not knowing what to say next.
"You have good taste," he points to the book, "I've read this one myself, and let me tell you, the plot is certainly gripping. The characters were well-written, especially the villain, but you might not like him, of course."
"I quite like villains," I explain, "I've always been drawn to them in books, films, anywhere really. Just any darkly delightful, complex villain, with their own share of inner conflict and turmoil. Fascinating."
"Really?" A slow smile spreads across his face.
"Yeah," I smile in return, "Mind you, most villains wouldn't even consider themselves as such. They're just doing what they think is right."
"But what if," he implores, "the villain is just purely wretched? Downright evil, with nothing to redeem them?"
I think carefully before responding, "Maybe there are some who are like that. But," I pause, and he seems keen to hear my next words, "I like to think there's hope for everyone. Even those with the darkest of hearts."
A comfortable silence follows, and I let my eyes wander on the titles, until he says in a familiar drawl, "You really are somethin' else, darling."
Where did I hear that before?
"I'm y/n," I finally say, holding out my hand.
"The pleasure is all mine, y/n," he takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles, "I'm Corinthian."
When I feel him, a memory rushes through my mind. Loud music, cramped bodies, neon lights dancing on his skin. The same dark glasses shielding his eyes.
"You," I mumble, "I know you."
"Do you now?" he laughs, amused by my confusion, turning away to skim another bookshelf.
"Yes," I follow him, "You don't remember?"
"Well, I don't know, but I'll just take your word for it," he turns a book in his hands, "Besides, where do you think we are?"
I look around, and everything appears so polished. Almost too perfect. I realize that it resembles a library, more than a bookshop, with everything arranged and decorated to my liking, as if all of this was a product of my subconscious. One side of the room was completely open, facing a garden, lush and inviting. A warm sheen can be seen all around, as if everything is covered in a layer of fairy dust. I don't hear the usual siren song of the big city, which is replaced by the calming sounds of nature.
The stuff of dreams.
"I'm dreaming?" I breathe out, unsure.
"Do you like it?" I hear him, feeling his warm body behind me.
I hum in confirmation. A shiver rushes through me when I feel his lips on the nape on my neck. I feel him inhale deeply, as if savouring my scent.
"Beautiful," he says in that voice.
I turn around slowly. He looks beautiful, ethereal almost, in this light. This is my dream, so what do I want to happen next?
Kiss me, Corinthian, I think.
He caresses my face and asks, "Can I kiss you, darling?" as if he was privy to my thoughts.
"Yes," I manage to say. I vaguely remember wanting to kiss him in real life, as I do now.
Our lips touch, softly at first, dancing sensually with one another. Then he wraps an arm firmly around me, body flush against mine, and I can feel all of him.
My back arches in pleasure, and I feel him groan into my mouth. Suddenly, he bites down on my lip hard.
I pull away, and I run my tongue over my lip, a faint tanginess lingering in my mouth. I kiss him again, and he sucks my bottom lip, caressing the love bite.
He lifts me up and wraps my legs around his waist, then pushes me back onto a bookshelf. My face hovers inches higher above his, and he looks up at me, dazed and eager.
"Corinthian," I whisper his name for the first time, and it feels like a prayer on my lips. How could I have come up with this name in my dream? It's unusual, and yet fits him perfectly.
We gaze at each other for a while, lost in the moment. He curses softly, "Fuck."
"What?"
"I want you," he purrs.
I want him too. I want all of this to be real. "Then take me."
He drags his lips across my collarbone, my chest. Keeping me propped up against the shelf, he takes my shirt off. He takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue, and I feel a wetness start to pool below. He positions a finger in my entrance, and he looks up at me for permission.
I bite my lip, running my fingers over his chiseled face, and nod urgently.
He pushes my underwear to one side, and thrusts a finger in. I feel his middle finger move in and out, while his thumb strokes my clit rapidly. He slides another finger in, picking up the pace.
A series of moans escape my lips, and he's leaning back, as if admiring the view. Suddenly, I don't feel his fingers anymore, and I open my eyes.
He's smirking at me, and he almost looks dangerous. Carnal.
"I want to make you scream."
He gingerly lowers me back on my feet, slides my underwear down my ankles, and I lift each one to take it off.
Then he lifts me up even higher, until my thighs settle on his shoulders, straddling him. He breathes out, and I feel it directly in front of my throbbing opening. He blows into it, teasing me, then without warning, slides his tongue inside.
My arms fly to the side, feeling the hardness of this exquisite bookshelf, in an attempt to keep myself steady. But I can't help but tremble, and writhe in ecstasy, as his lips move frenzied against me.
Moments later, his prediction rings true, and I scream.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
My eyes fly open. I feel warm all over, a sheen of sweat nearly everywhere. What the-
One name rests on my lips, resounding clear, "Corinthian."
And another word bubbles out, when my dream comes rushing back.
"Fuck."
end of midnight one.
(ahhhh) help, I just love writing about Corinthian, that little shit.
This was late yet again, but I had to change up several parts. Apologies if there are any errors, I'll be checking this through later.
And I did mean to write all three midnights in one chapter, but it got too long, so keep a lookout for midnight two and midnight three - they'll be out eventually 😉
Let me know what you think about Corinthian and the Reader here!
P.S. midnights? Is it obvious that I love Taylor Swift?
#corinthian x reader#the corinthian#the corinthian x reader#the corinthian imagine#corinthian imagine#the sandman#corinthian x y/n#the corinthian x y/n#boyd holbrook imagine#boyd holbrook#boyd holbrook x reader#eote x cor#corinthian#sandman netflix#netflix the sandman
281 notes
·
View notes
Text
the line between us
⭒ suna rintarou x fem!reader
⭒ tags: fbw to lovers (?) | angst | love triangle | emotionally constipated suna | ARAN APPEARS HERE and he's the only person with actual braincells, we love him for that
⭒ nsfw tags: face fucking | oral sex | nipple pinching (punishment) | booty calls | mentions of penetration | let me know if i miss anything
⭒ wc: 5.1k
ㅡafter the stunt pulled at the party, you find yourself with an answer you seeked for but wished never had to know.
a/n: a repost (tho i took down the first one hours after its release) bc i finally, for the love of god, proofread this. it's not perfect but it's the best it can get. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this. sympathize with me, cry with me. goodluck ;)
the drabble i based this off | part 1
the morning has been dragging you out as though you could sense every student's wasted energy from last weekend's party. even you have not recovered from the events that unraveled that nightㅡalbeit, a particular blonde made it almost unforgettable. he made it clear to leave a receipt, a topic to gossip about on a sober monday morning.
"you're dating y/n?!" the blonde announces in an obnoxiously loud voice.
to be fair, how could not one's ear be piqued by a controversial statement? even you, the subject of the news, had your eyes goggling at osamu's twin, the infamous blonde setter who broke the news to everyone, miya atsumu.
osamu peels his head away from the fake kiss to look at his brother with a face you could imagine, embarrassed or worse horrified. his face instantly beats red, which does not help at all because it made him look guilty. in a snap, everyone's eyes were on you. a spectacle in a midst of a bleak university life.
"since when?! i thought you guys were just friends?" as atsumu pressed it became more complicated.
if osamu denies dating then the plan will collapse in a matter of seconds all because of his brother's nosiness. besides, osamu is concerned about you. he knows that putting a label on a romantic relationship is a concept hard for you to grasp. he does not want to make you feel uncomfortable by insensitively claiming that you both are dating. thus, the best response he could muster is to divert the attention.
"what's with that ugly expression on your face?" he insults him with his biggest pride (aside from being one of japan’s best setter) "and what's it with you if i am or am not dating (y/n)? it's not like you don't know her."
as atsumu theatrically gasps out loud, his drink spilling over the rim of his cup at his sudden movement your eyes gravitate toward the far corner of the room so easily as though being with him for more than a year or so made you instinctively find him in a crowded room. all faces turn blank as you spot him standing alone with a cup in hand and eyes locked with yours. he neither moved a muscle nor stray his focus from you. instead, he stares at you as if the argument between the twins and the loud music in the room vanishes into white noise. he was hard to read. he appeared as if he was the person you first met, and not the one you spent rainy days in bed, clothed with nothing but his arms around your naked waist.
in the end, osamu was forced to give a vague answer to redeem the situation. "maybe, we're dating. maybe, we're not." up until today atsumu has no idea of the truth.
no one knows the truth of your petty revenge.
today, you thought of giving back to osamu by baking him snacks during the food laboratory. it's a recipe you came up with for a project. you made it a point to make more than you are required so both you and osamu can share, like you always do. bonding over food has become a thing between the two of you.
monday is the only time of the week when you do not share a class with your friend and the only chance you get to meet him is when you cross paths at the corridor, which happened just now.
"samu!" you greet from a distance, your free hand waving at him. osamu reciprocates by flashing a smile.
"hey." he says, catching his breath as he jogs toward you. "do you have class after four?" he asks. when you utter no, his face lights up. "can you please do me a favor? my professor messed up my schedule."
"sure, as long as it's anything within my capacity," osamu lets out a relieved sigh.
"here," handing you a camera in his hand, you can already tell what it's about. "i promised tsum to record their practice game today at four but i couldn't since my professor is calling us for an unannounced consultation."
"this technically works in atsumu's favor." you arch a brow making the other pull the corner of his lips upward.
"i know my brother is a bit of an ass but i want to support him. i'm pursuing my passion and so does he, and he supports me with my cooking. i do not want to let him down today since this practice match is important to him and his team. so, technically..." he copies your wording endearingly as he suppresses a smile (how can you say no at this point??) "...it is important to me too. It’s a favor that works two ways, me and atsumu's but i'd say more of me since i do not want to get an earful from him when we get home so can you do this for me, please? pleaaase?"
you playfully roll your eyes as you say a half-hearted, "fine."
"yes! thank you! thank you!" osamu leans forward to catch you in a tight embrace. he pulls back to look at you at an arm's length. "i'll do anything to pay back the favor."
"you don't have to."
"no, i insist."
"samu, honestly, i'm in debt. i have to pay you back twice for the party last weekend."
"hm?" osamu angles his head to the side. "that's not a favor, it worked to my advantage too." you blink at him twice, confused if you heard him right.
"what?" but just as you asked, he shoves the camera in your hand as he walks past you.
"unimportant, bye!" he waves goodbye, leaving you baffled as you peer at both of your hands full of... wait... the food!
"samu, wait! the snack!" you lift a tight container in the air. "i baked these for you!"
instantly, osamu runs back to you with a grin that reaches his ears as you open the lid of the container. he takes a piece and bites large, enough to fill the sides of his cheeks. he thanks you hurriedly and wastes no time by briskly walking back down the hallway. a few steps away, he turns to look through his shoulder,
"ginger and cinnamon?! you're a mad scientist! when did you become a fan of cinnamon? it's on your every dish but it tastes good so i have zero complaints! thank you, (y/n)!" his comment makes you chuckle out loud only to be abruptly stopped by a realization that came after his innocent words. at that moment, your heart sinks gradually and silently into the depths of an open sea. it makes no noise, no signs of falling into a trap of nothingness that slowly turned into a tinge of pain. unable to grasp, your legs remained unmoved.
cinnamon.
he loves cinnamon.
on days spent with you, suna basks himself in the warmth of your apartment and fresh bakes. he told you that he loves cinnamon and you find it telling of his personality. like a cinnamon scent, his outer physique holds a hint of spice and mystery, one that reels you in. but as you devour it, rolling it at the back of your tongue and savoring every ounce of its taste, you relish sweetness. it is him, in every aspect, it is him.
osamu leaves you to your thoughts as the gray-headed misses to take a cue from your running mind. you are far more affected by suna than you thought. you were used to orbiting each other's ecliptics that losing him means losing your balance. it takes it in you to harden your knees and turn your feet into motion. when did you end up being so emotionally affected by someone?
you empty your mind as you walk to the gym, debriefing yourself on the task at hand. when you arrived, the volleyball team is already doing rounds of warm-ups as the visiting university settles their things on the other side of the court. atsumu immediately sees you as he turns a lap, face contorting into a confused look. soon, he approaches you before the practice game begins.
"i'm samu's sub." you say when he nears you.
"how kind of you. is this your way of putting your best foot forward so i can approve you as my twin's girlfriend?" you almost choke, almost. right, he didn't know. you make a mental note to tell osamu that he should let his twin know or else his mouth will cause you both a problem.
"but seriously," atsumu takes the water bottle next to you then uncaps it before taking a gulp. he takes the bottle away from his mouth and speaks. "take care of samu. he may appear unfeeling most of the time but he's a 'lil softy inside. when we were young i cry out loud in front of many making me the expressive and loud twin while he remains the calm, emotionally stable one. though i always catch him crying alone in our room."
atsumu is beginning to believe that you are officially dating his brother and something about what he said puts a weight on your shoulder. although bringing you as his date to the party to show it off to suna is his plan, you do not want to hurt him in any way possible. if your pretentious act will stir him into an issue he does not want to be involved in, you have no one else but to blame yourself. after all, he did it for you.
a man walks up to atsumu and before he could utter a word his eyes met yours. a subtle surprise makes his brow twitch as he sees you holding the miya’s camera.
"you're here." aran states the obvious.
"yep, i'll record the practice match. oh! speaking of i can send you a file too just give me your email."
"sure, it's ojiro underscore-" you cut him off, smiling to him shyly.
"no! there's no way i'll remember that. send it to me over sms. i think you have my number."
"do i?" he asks though it seemed as if he's asking himself rather than you. he shrugs, "if i don't i'll ask rintarou."
a prominent pound in your chest vibrates through your ribs as his name is spoken. You have lost grip on the situation before you as you ponder. why do you feel this way? he’s meant to be just your fuck buddy, a man that warms your bed when the night feels cold, nothing more. but why... why do you feel this way?
"your ex." atsumu fails to read the room. aran side-glances him as he damps his face with a towel.
"we were not dating." you point out with gritted teeth. atsumu is once again intrigued.
"'were'." he repeats to himself. "right, 'cause you're currently dating osamu." aran looks at you then back to atsumu then back to you again obviously eavesdropping. just when you thought his mouth will cause you and his brother a problem, he brings it to you the earliest possible. aran is suna's closest friend. if there is anyone who knows suna like the back of their hand, it is aran.
taking a swift glance at aran who is currently busy folding his towel, thus you take this chance to round your eyes at the blonde and point to the man next to him using your eyes. with a forced smile, you wish for atsumu to take a hint. "you know what tsumu, let's talk about it some other time."
he looks at aran briefly before turning to you with his brows pressed to the center. although hesitant, atsumu nods. "alright, you and samu need to explain a lot of things, and you guys might need time too. i don't mind waiting, okay? just in the meantime please be gentle with him. and don’t tell him I said that!” he points at you defensively making you laugh.
“aw, aren’t you a sweet brother?” as you tease him, the deeper the creases on his face appears making his the top of cheeks round like steamed buns.
ultimately, atsumu leaves you to your task as he jogs to the court for the practice match. aran, on the other hand, did not say anything about you dating osamu but instead said his thanks for recording the match.
by the time the practice match ended, the sun has long set. even though tonight may be the ideal time to walk back to your apartment under the shadows of moonlight, the heavy rain pour stops you. worse, it won't let you go home. you left your umbrella at your place again, a bad habit you have since. hence, you're stuck at the sports building. the only way for you to go home without getting all soaked up is through atsumu who is still in the meeting with their coach which takes hours to finish including the allotted time for a cool down and stretching and tidying up the court or you can wait for the storm to pass by which may also take hours or a day even since it shows no signs of stopping.
having left with no choice, you bounce on the balls of your feet as you stare outside. the loud splatter of rain on the roof and cement deafens your hearing which made it impossible for you to hear the footsteps coming from behind. an oversized leather jacket drops on your head, therefore, snapping you to divert your attention at the source. before you could see the person's face, his voice says it all.
"you never bring your umbrella." suna says, walking past you with a hood over his head and hands tucked inside the pocket of his pants. he spare you a look as the image of him blends in with the rain.
it was the first time he spoke to you since the event at the pumpkin patch. the day you never felt the same.
you reach home half-wet and half-not. the bottom of your legs down to your feet is soaked making the feel of your shoes and socks icky from rain but from your waist up to your face is dry thanks to suna's leather jacket.
upon entering your apartment, a dilemma keeps your feet glued next to the coat rack. you do not like seeing a piece of his clothing that line his silhouette out in the space where you can see at any point in your small apartment but you must hang it or else you will leave droplets of water on the floor. call it pathetic but you do not want to be reminded of him. remembering him brings a wave of emotions you are not accustomed to, one that you have not completely deciphered yet.
torn, you leave it on the floor. shriveled into a pile of black making it hard to recognize as a piece of clothing. that is not the best solution and you should not be doing this but it works for now. satisfied, you leave it at your doorstep as you head to your room to change.
---
what was once a daily chore for suna suddenly turn foreign to him after a prolonged time of abstinence but it does not miss the fact that his body still knows how to pleasure an expectant doe beneath him.
"fuck me in the face, suna." the girl from his class drags her lips from the column of his neck down to his collarbones. when she attempts to suck on his skin to leave a mark, suna pinches her nipples as a punishment.
"i said no to hickeys." suna glares at her and all she could do is whine and pout her lips. but when he was with you, he would let you do anything. he would let you pepper his skin with bruised kisses, marking every inch of his body and oddly suna became fond of it. he looks at himself through the mirror with traces of you after morning and mornings could not be better than it was. having realized what he is thinking and feeling pathetic to reminiscing about you in a midst of having sex, suna lowers his body to the woman. to cloud his thoughts, he hovers her completely about to shove his cock again into her sensitive pussy when she stops him mid-doing so.
"not now, it hurts. you fucked me hard i can't take another round." the edge of her manicured nails graze softly on his jawline. the other hand scratching his back down from his shoulder blades down to his inner thighs. "but if you let me..." suna groans from the touch of her hand around his length. she teases him more by moving her hand slowly up and down. she caresses his tip using her thumb which causes suna to shut his eyes. his reaction fuels the girl's confidence, therefore, sliding down beneath him and between his thighs, arms pressing his waist down to her face.
suna steadies his balance by holding onto the headboard of the bed. his body gains its motion, banging his hips against her face, cock deep down on her throat. wet moans escape from his lips as she sucks harder, lips tightening around his hardened cock, and tongue dancing at every thrust he gives. lust and pleasure build in his core which pushes suna to gain speed. choking noises and groans fill the small room as the girl begs for more and suna gives exactly what she asks.
though he is reluctant to admit it, the past few days of shared awkward glances and cold shoulders have taken a toll on him. he should not be disappointed because who you are to him should be nothing more than friends with benefits. but something about how you carried yourself to the party, hand anchored over some guy's arm as you giggle at whatever lame joke the miya told you that he couldn't easily brush off. more so when you looked at him from a distance like a stranger and not a person whom you spent more than a year with.
drooling on suna's precum and her saliva, the girl's soft cries tangles with his stuttered breathing. Her jaw tenses but when she feels suna's thigh tense and his hips jerking, a sign that he is about to cum she welcomes every thrust. she wants the infamous suna rintarou of the fine arts department to cum at her disposal.
meanwhile, he blocks any thoughts of you in his head as he focuses on cumming in her mouth. albeit, the girl encourages him as she closes her lips around his digit. soon, a rush of intensity overcomes his body. he shudders as his thighs constricts and lose strength. It is not long when he finally reaches his orgasm. it takes a few lazy pumps in her mouth for him to ejaculate. the girl swallows as she searches for his eyes. however, suna’s lids are shut as he leans his face on his forearm resting on top of the headboard. he takes his softened cock from her mouth before lying on the bed beside her. not a few minutes in, his phone rings to a call. suna curses under his breath as he is forced to push himself up. due to lack of strength, he slides from the bed to the carpeted floor to reach for his phone tucked inside the pocket of his pants scattered on the floor.
"hello?" he says in short breaths.
"so, it's true." the boy says without a context making suna pull the phone away from his ear to read the contact name. it reads 'ojiro aran'.
"about what?" the girl crawls up next to him, kissing the back of suna's ear.
"about (y/n). damn, i thought you were reading things wrong."
"what about her?" just as suna asked, the girl cooed for him to come back to bed, trailing kisses on his neck to lure him to cuddle her.
"jesus fucking-, i heard that. i heard that! you know what. nevermind." a sound of a ceramic cup hitting the wooden center table resonates from the other line along with aran's frustrated tone.
"no, no, don't hang up." suna utters hurriedly before covering the microphone of his pocket device. he turns around to mouth "i can't." to the girl. he takes his boxers tossed near his pants only to be rendered to a deflated beat on the other line.
aran did hang up.
suna was quick on redialing his friend's number and to his luck, aran answered almost immediately.
"don't leave me hanging." he gathers his clothes on the floor before heading straight to the bathroom.
"if i hear another moan from a girl i fucking swear i will not answer your call again."
"it's barely a moan but yeah, yeah, whatever. she's not here." there is a short pause at the end before aran asks, voice threading on thin ice.
"that girl... that isn't (y/n), is it?" although the answer to it is obvious, it took suna a couple of seconds to respond. last month he was enjoying a free taste of a muffin, cookie, a bun, and more all with the soft kick and aroma of cinnamon. with you time seems to slow down, watching movies, fucking until both of you are breathless, and talking about random things until sleep finds its way on your lids. but now is different. he stands inside an acquaintance's bathroom with a fresh scent of lemon and sweets, far from how he remembers you.
"no." suna utters in a low tone.
"on a scale of one to ten, how fucked are you? how can you mess this up?! i was rooting for you guys!" suna remains silent as he bites on his molars. aran begins to narrate. "she was at the practice game this afternoon and saw her talking to miya. i approached them and she asked me if i wanted the file, volleyball stuff. anyway, after that atsumu was damned serious about the topic they were talking about. you know, i can only count the times he was serious about something using one hand, volleyball included."
"were they talking about the incident at the party?" suna sits on the toilet cover as he listens intently.
"i am not sure if it was regarding that night but atsumu was asking (y/n) to take care of his brother since they're dating. i'm starting to believe something is going on between osamu and (y/n). i mean, (y/n) doesn't date, just like you, and for her to ‘date’ osumu… hah! this is a stretch for her. she even took osamu’s spot as a recorder at today’s practice match." aran waits for him to say anything but the other kept his tongue stuck to his throat. the boy asks. "have you talked to her?"
suna mumbles a weak "no."
"why not?"
"i don't know! she's not texting me!" frustrated, suna's voice increases in volume.
"well, have you tried reaching her?"
"no!"
"then, you're officially stupid! all you have to do is ask her why. is that hard to do?! for fucks sake you've slept with countless women but you still have zero ideas on how to deal with them?!" aran argues which heats the conversation even more.
"exactly! i only fuck with them but i never..." lost with words and unable to describe moments with you, suna curses out loud. "fuck this! fuck me! i fucking hate all of this!"
the boy with parted raven hair storms out of the apartment of the girl he barely remembers the name of and lets his feet take him anywhere. he never minds the heavy downpour of rain over his head. his thoughts are running fast, jumbled, and tangled into loops. aran's narrative and advice ring through his ears as doubts and feelings of betrayal resurfaces. out of all men in this world, you're dating someone whom suna kept a keen eye on. he was certain osamu had feelings for you long ago but you refuse to believe, teasing him about old foe jealousy. suna wasn't jealous. he can keep up with his lifestyle of sleeping with multiple women without feeling sheer jealousy when they turn to somebody else. it is something that never bothers him, or so he thinks.
his confidence is shaken when he finds himself knocking on a familiar door.
--
changing to comfortable oversized clothes and having a warm meal is not quite enough to change your thoughts on suna's leather jacket. you eye the innocent clothing lying on the floor begging to be picked up and hung over the hook like the others. if the jacket could speak it would have shouted at you to treat it fairly like the others on the rack.
"but your owner is a prick," you speak bitterly. great, now you're talking to a jacket. what's next? his shirt in your drawer? his phone number? his pictures on your phone? this is beginning to feel like an actual break up and it's causing you energy. you don't want to deal with these kinds of problems, mainly the reason why you never commit to a relationship.
when you were about to turn your face away from the front door, soft knocks on the door echoed.
"coming." you shout monotonously, dragging your feet to the door and freezing when the lights flicker. the thunder and lightning, heavy rain pouring, and unstable electricity power makes the scene before you like a deja vu of a horror film. after all, who the hell is visiting you at ten in the evening? and on a freaking stormy monday?
unlocking the barrel and twisting the knob open, you hesitantly pull on the door. behind it is the last person you expected. drenched and quivering in the rain and cold but he does not seem to mind or rather notice. however, his eyelids peel open when he sees you at the doorstep as though he, too, was clueless and surprised to see you.
"what are you doing here?" with a wide-eyed gaze your heart pounds in your chest. this is the first time you ever to talked to him in weeks.
"i-, a-are you," he stammers, swallowing thickly to regain his composure. he starts on the wrong foot. "why are you ignoring me?"
"rin, it's-" he cuts you off abruptly and fear comes alive when he asks.
"is it true? are you dating osamu?"
"listen, rin. i think you should-"
"tell me!" he shouts, a nerve on his forehead protruding from tension. "do you like him?! have you fallen for him?! do you imagine him as we fuck?!"
"NO! GOD, NO!" you scream. the sky rumbles and a harsh gust of wind swirls the trees into a stoic dance. the storm is with you. it unleashes wrath so you do not have to lose control. on the other hand, suna loses it.
"THEN, WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?!" at that moment, you too fell into the pit of wrath.
"AND WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KISS HER IN FRONT OF ME?!" as if the rain is not enough to fill the gutter with pools of rainwater, the clouds burst. gradually, water breaks through the edges to rush through the drainages, like your tears that had overflown your lids, forming streaks of rivers on your cheeks.
your silent cry snapped suna back to his senses, stunned that he had made you cry. he did not intend to confront you in an argument nor did he wish for the situation to worsen, but in a matter of a minute or so, he made it happen. He runs his tongue over his dried purple lips and catches you off guard when he closes the gap, hand meeting with the side of your face. his thumb catches a tear as worry replaces anger on his face.
"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make you cry. i shouldn't have raised my voice at you. i'm sorry, i'm sorry." he hushes you with a soothing voice. both of his hands on your face holding you like a fragile ornament ready to break anytime pressure is applied. the tip of his nose brushes against yours as your foreheads connect, and he dips in. a pair of cold lips touch yours in a prolonged peck before he draws back.
"kiss me back." yearning laces in his voice that almost convinces you to do just as you were told when he leans to steal another kiss. he urges you to move your mouth with his but he is left to an unmoving pair. he pulls back just enough for him to speak. "why won't you kiss me?" he pleads in question so gently that it breaks your heart.
"i can't." you lower your head down, unable to meet his gaze.
"why not?" his lids flutter open as he tilts your chin to search for your eyes.
"i can't do this with you. we have to stop."
"i don't understand." his thumb rubs circles on your cheeks and his brows pulled lower.
"it's not the same, at least for me."
it all makes sense now. everything that you felt from the day you saw him kiss a woman at the pumpkin patch to having him hold you in this manner. how thoughts of him perceiving you similarly to every other girl he slept with burn holes in your chest. how he made you feel special, how he treated you special. how he kissed no one but you, touched no one but you. in a dreamlike glimpse, you were convinced that you are more than just a body count on his list. that maybe, he felt it too. maybe, you are an exception. maybe, he can feel for you too.
"i'm greedy. i'm selfish. i'm not the same." you mutter, brows pressed gently to form a crease on your forehead. you lock eyes with him. "i want something you can never give."
in finality, the heavens wail for your broken heart. for a second you thank a friend for crying with you, holding you through your first heartbreak. and you hoped that as the storm past by, it washes off the pain that left your heart.
then, all of a sudden just before your mouth opens to speak your final words, the electricity in your apartment went off.
a temporary silence,
a temporary death.
breaths together in a still room,
you bleed your heart open.
"i want all of you."
thank you for reading! as per usual, likes and rbs are very much appreciated. i also accept screaming keyboard smash as feedbacks, thanks lol.
masterlist | hq.list
#haikyuu!!#hq imagine#hq fic#hq one shot#haikyuu#suna rintarō#suna rintaro x y/n#hq suna#suna x y/n#suna angst#angst#hq angst#suna fic#osamu miya#atsumu miya#aran ojiro#pea.writes#ㅡp.18+
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
10 Fandoms, 10 Characters, 10 Tags
Thank you for tagging me @x-authorship-x 💖💖💖
In no particular order, because I don't have the emotional capacity to pick my favorite characters and then pick a most favorite on top of that:
1. Liu Qingge (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System)
I can't not love this guy. He's competent, honorable, and protective. His capacity for love is ... insane. He's so hardworking and diligent. And Cheng Luan (his sword) is epic!
2. Kozume Kenma (Haikyu!!)
In a lot of ways, Kenma reminds me of myself. I don't like large crowds or being forced to socialize. Like him, I'd rather have some alone time and focus on my personal hobbies and interests.
3. Senju Tobirama (Naruto)
I'm sure this choice doesn't shock anyone who's read my Naruto fics. Tobirama is hyper-competent. I am fascinated by the ruthlessly practical way his mind works. I adore that he creates new jutsu to achieve the seemingly impossible.
4. Hua Cheng (Heaven Official's Blessing)
Eight. Hundred. Years. Of. Devotion. Need I say more?
He's also a total BAMF.
5. Jon Antilles (Star Wars)
This one, I blame on Kat. I've never read the books/comics he apparently appears in. But Kat's written so many brilliant fics featuring him that I love him anyway. He has the coolest Force powers! Healing, growing plants, teleporting, walking through walls, etc. My obsession is legit.
6. Lan Jingyi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation)
He's a cultivator who's terrified of ghosts. And he faces them anyway! He's an extremely loyal friend. Also, Lan Jingyi is 100000% a Chaos Gremlin ™ and I have a serious weakness for those.
7. Thorin Oakenshield (The Hobbit)
... How am I supposed to pick anyone else after he sang Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold in the first Hobbit film?!
He's also loyal, loves his family and people, perseveres when most people would give up, etc.
8. Dabi (Boku no Hero Academia)
Everyone will think I'm possessed if I don't have at least one villain on this list. 😂
Dabi's character design, Quirk, backstory, and motivations fascinate me. Like a moth to flame (pun intended), he draws me in.
9. Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)
He's just ... a flailing, intelligent, rambling, snarky, hyper-loyal, cutthroat amalgamation and I can't do anything but love him.
10. Q (James Bond)
I think this list has thoroughly established that I love competent and intelligent characters. Q's ingenuity delights me. I also adore when he engages in word play.
Anyone who wants to participate, please feel free to tag me! 💖
Tagging (only if you want to play): @spanthedistance @gopherheiyuki @englishlotusflower @sincerely-wyvern @shadowicepuma @shaddowsong @airasilver @admiringtheskies @nateneedssleep @welshbaes
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
I kinda need some advice (if you're comfortable giving), how does one keep their cool/sanity in the hellish atmosphere that is fandom nowadays? I really wanna get back to fanart and stuff as purely a hobby (and it was a huge part of my childhood) but considering how much of a warzone it is nowadays, I dunno if I can. Got anything?
Don't think I'm the right person to ask, I've not had that many entanglements with fellow fans throughout my online career. It's easy to assume that's because my overall viewership/online presence is low, but I've had the occasional semi-viral success and always enjoyed more praise than "criticism".
I'd say fandoms in general are lenient and supportive, but every and any kind of community in the world has an insufferable minority. They shout and have alot of time on their hands, making it seem like you're dealing with a crowd, but that's never the case. Even if hundreds of people jump you, billions walk the Earth; it's not even a fraction of a percent you've displeased.
But here's an actual answer to your question:
In short:
Choose your fandoms wisely.
Don't overstay your welcome by sticking with one.
Don't join any online communities or participate in ongoing discourse. You're only here to draw.
Train yourself to understand that nothing in life fucking matters anyway. :(
In ｌｏｎｇ:
I switch my focus alot. If I attract fans of a particular fandom, but the next thing I show off is less likely to tickle their interest, most will leave again, and it's kinda protecting me from growing an unsettlingly invested fanbase.
Praise and attention never motivated me to stick around with one series for long, because I know what's waiting around the corner and don't want to be known as "the <insert this one piece of media here> artist", anyway. Look at my nonsense and go away, I just want to die alone!
I'm also not active at any online forums and rarely look up and comment on other people's work. Spares you alot of "who asked you"-styled responses. I might've not when I was younger, but agree with the sentiment now. Unless you come across something criminal, why intrude on someone else's fun. Grumble about it on your account if you must, but don't take it to theirs.. even though it's valid to argue that posting something online is an automatic invitation for others to critique it, especially when you don't apply any form of visibility restrictions.
I don't really care to discuss ideas with fellow fans. Weird claim, since my Tumblr exists, but I started this account to post Deviantart stuff. People showed up one day and started asking questions about the fandoms I've been involved in (or haven't), but it's not my hobby to get deep about a fictional property. Without getting instigated, anyway. I think about a question's subject as I read the words, do my best to dissect the whole thing and not throw around one-sentence replies, but seldom have the answer ready in my head.
The3Eds was the only forum I enjoyed myself at, and the things I talked about over there barely had anything to do with Ed, Edd n Eddy.
In the end, no one will be able to offer you one foolproof strategy on this matter. There've been many artists in the past who minded their business and were slaughtered by strangers.
You need to be the kind of person who doesn't take online verbal abuse to bed. That's hard to do if you're looking for validation. You could avoid large fandoms that are known to attract the overly defensive and offensive, but if you have to tiptoe through life for others, what's even the point.
Know that the internet is a luxury you don't have to participate in. Log off for a week or so if you're feeling down, or alternatively, delete all comment notifications indiscriminately as you keep on doing your thing.. unless you insist on deleting negative comments, but I don't think you should. Why stop people from embarrassing themselves in public.
I don't think I've ever deleted comments, unless it's copy-pasted stuff/spam, because what often happens is that the poster regrets and deletes it themselves. I suppose that has value too. Allow that shit to stay alive, so the poster may one day return to it and potentially realise they're better than that.
It's easier to keep your calm when you humanize your critics, if you can. The way a person expresses themselves may be trash, but what is it they're saying, and can the reason be empathized with? Sometimes you're dealing with someone who's obviously a child. I struggle to get angry at people under the age of 20.
But really -and more importantly- no one should waste their time on fighting fellow fans when it concerns an issue that's objectively not important, you have better things to do.
Try to close your eyes for it, it's seldom personal, even if the attacks try to be. People can pretend, but they don't know you and never will.
16 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
animaanimals
ANIMA ANIMALS
spotzi
boobs & booze
kokovirtualworld-blog
my virtual world
lisa-moreno-nmls-1933835
Loan Officer NMLS 1933835
hemakesmeblush
I'm in love and it's gross