why is kyoukai no kanata so easily forgotten im so sad
literally i have never connected with a story so much as i have with that one, and i’ve never connected with a character so much as i have akihito kanbara, and the theme of LOVE throughout the whole damn thing is so good. the theme of aloneness and finding belonging and being yourself and JSUT LOVE. FAMILIAL LOVE. ROMANTIC LOVE, SELF LOVE.
Dygve the Brave, the mighty king,
It is no hidden secret thing,
Has gone to meet a royal mate,
Riding upon the horse of Fate.
For Loke’s daughter in her house
Of Yngve’s race would have a spouse;
Therefore the fell-one snatched away
Brave Dygve from the light of day.
Niklaus Mikaelson is a liability , he’s been floating around Caroline like a lost pup for quite some time, and even more so since he came back from his trip to the motherland.
But she recognizes a darkness in him he’s not even trying to hide, and Caroline is intrigued. More than that, she can feel her cheeks blossom with red and warmth when she sees him, like a little girl. This infatuation is enough for her to smile back, inviting him to take the few steps separating them. She dismisses Damon with a jerk of her hand, and for once, he agrees, leaving her with a nod.
“Lady Saltzman.” Klaus greets, as Caroline flinches at the words.
“Please, call me Caroline.”
His eyes widen before he looks at the floor, licking his lips. “That would be improper,” he adds, teasing.
Klaroline 20. Things she said he wasn't meant to hear
So, like our favorite philosopher say, is it too late now to say sorry?
Because it’s been in my inbox for aaaaages now and I feel really bad for taking all this time. I hope you’ll like it anyway anon! and thanks a lot for leaving this little prompt for me :)
he should close the page and not read the words (I think I’m in love), it’s too personal. But love?
It’s a word
that would tickle anyone. Who doesn’t love to know this kind of thing?
And it had
to be her, Caroline Forbes.
Forbes thinks she is in love.
Forbes is 17 and also the ban of his existence. Always cheerful and laughing (a
bright but greasy giggle, like a girl who knows how to laugh), a cluster of
yellow, pink and blue lights, impossible to recreate with his black charcoal.
She’s also his
sister’s best friend. His house is her second home.
remembers the water drops on the floor which, as Hop-o’-My-Thumb, following the
pebbles in the forest, had led him to the kitchen where Caroline Forbes,
wearing only a swimsuit (round breasts under two pink triangles, endless legs
and wet hair, drops sliding down her back), was licking a red popsicle.
It was last
August, the sun was beating so hard that she lost her porcelain skin to let some
freckles appear here and there. Small dots he registered in his mind as to not
to forget them in his drawings.
of summer; the burnt grass, pool chlorine and sunscreen. Her lips were glossy,
small reddish droplets ran down the corners of her mouth –
Klaus is an
expert in disguise, he hides himself and pretends. He mastered a straight and
unbothered face when he replied only with a “Hello.”
No, I was not following the water drops on the
floor. No, I did not watch you lick the popsicle for minutes. No, I did not
notice all the freckles on your back and your nose.
ignorance, because he couldn’t possibly say how (and most importantly why) he
was obsessed with the curves of her chest, her legs and her hair soaked in the
sun (he heard her complain about her too dry ends whilst she smeared olive oil
on her hair).
almost ridiculous how he notes those kind of things about her).
sees the book, abandoned on Rebekah’s bed, upside down, open; and fueling a curiosity
that consumes him.
is black, simple, not Caroline-y, but he knows that it’s hers, having seen her scribbled
her thoughts in it. Now, his fingers are so closed to open this door left ajar
– just waiting to be opened.
Curiosity killed the cat, he hears, accentuated by an old
professor’s voice from the past. But Klaus has never listened to anyone but
himself, and he’s dying to know what’s inside that blond skull of hers that deserves
discussions on blank pages.
gnaws his logic and control his fingers, which turns the book; he reads the
first words: I think I’m in love.
following ones; as someone falls into an exciting and passionate story.
He’s older and he ignores me. He seems
inaccessible. I mean, that’s what I think. I just know that he looks at me
sometimes. I am afraid of being delusional, and imagining more than what is actually
I remember this one time, I was watching TV
with Rebekah (another reality show that she loves so much), and I’m pretty sure
he looked up to me to draw me. He always has a pencil in his hand and a
notebook with him. Many times I wanted to take a peek to know –
swallows. Maybe he feels guilty at that moment, turning the pages of the diary
of her mind, especially now that he realizes he is the subject of her words.
His breath gets stuck in his throat, and he can’t help but turn the page to
Stains of paint on his fingers, indelible –
Blue eyes –
grinning like an idiot. Alone, sitting on his little sister’s bed, with in his
hands, his obsession, his oblivious muse’s thoughts translated into words,
sentences and paragraphs.
look like an idiot, surely.
you doing?” The book is ripped from his hands by a tornado of pink and yellow –
and just a tinge of red on the cheeks. “It’s mine, you can’t read it, it’s
personal,” she yells, the words flowing out without a breath.
it’s private, and he has no excuse, “sorry, sweetheart,” his voice too
high-pitched, the corners of his mouth dimple his face.
not sorry”, she closes the book and presses it against her chest, “would you
like it if I looked at your notebook?”
his mouth, ready to be defensive, but retracts and looks at her. She’s wearing a
yellow dress, her skin is tanned and she still smells of sunscreen and olive
oil. It’s silly too, but he realizes that he would need only three or four colors
to paint her right now. He also remembers that she likes him.
him. (He keeps smiling like an idiot).
hopes that she wasn’t writing about someone else. She never used his name, but
she described someone, with paints under his nails, blue eyes and dimples.
She’s very good at hiding her feelings, he thinks, because he hadn’t seen it
He felt a
twinge in his heart when he read her words, he wanted to know who could catch this
girl’s heart, the girl who invaded his summer and his head. He had imagined his
wandering hands on her back, tweaking the string of her swimsuit, massaging her
back with sunscreen, leaving her a small kiss on her shoulder. And when he read
her words – I think I’m in love – he saw the hands of another (he hates those
hands). It leaves an bitter lump in his throat, imagining his muse in the arms
of another, even if he only draws her shadow – he never tried to do more, afraid of doing so, maybe?
“You can if
you want,” he says. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It’s only fair, and
if he can avoid using words to show her how he feels, if he has to share dozens
of sketches of her, her eyes, her feet, her hands, then so be it. Klaus is not
good with words, only when he has to use them for decoration. But with a
pencil, when he has to fill a blank page, then he can express himself fully.
frowns, expecting an arrogant tirade from him, surely. He should have had a
burst of insolence knowing she likes him; that’s how Caroline sees him – the big brother, always looking too blasé, too cool for everything, reading big books and drawing all the time –
but it’s with humility and a hint of embarrassment (he’s not smiling anymore,
he’s rather serious) that he puts his notebook on the bed, “go ahead.”