#brainworms are winning tonight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lorna-d-m · 15 days ago

Text

Chapter One: Puck Bunny

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!oc (Eleanor Roy)

Summary: Eleanor Roy is the coach's daughter and totally off limits to Miguel O'Hara. As a defensive player, he's known for being gruff and harsh. But when he wants to change his image, there's only one person he can think of to help him.

Word Count: 3,873

W: language, drinking, mentions of a creep but nothing too bad

Ao3 link here

A/N: Anything that is italicized within the quotation marks is said in Spanish.

The Hockey brainworms got to me, so here we are. He's just the perfect beefy player and I want to bite him. Enjoy muah 😘

“Whiskers or no?”

Eleanor stood in front of the cluttered bathroom counter with an eyeliner pencil in hand. Chocolate curls framed her face, and she pulled the sides back with a few bobby pins. She was close to finishing her look, or as close as she would get with a last-minute costume.

“No!” Gwen chimed in from the other room, “you want your gorgeous face to shine!”

Jess, perfecting her eyelashes beside her, spoke without looking over. “True, and you have the bunny ears and the tail, so whiskers would be overkill.”

“You want to find a boyfriend tonight, not scare him off. What if he doesn’t want to kiss you and get whiskers on his face?” Gwen stepped into the crowded bathroom to finish her hair.

Eleanor sighed, putting the pencil away and reaching for the fluffy bunny ears. “I think I’m ready.”

"For a boyfriend?” Jess teased, her eyebrows wiggling.

Gwen giggled. “For a hookup?”

“...to call the Uber,” Eleanor deadpanned.

At 24, Eleanor never had a boyfriend, had never been in a situationship, and had never been kissed. It was easy to blame her younger years on the all-girls school she attended, limiting her contact with any boys. Then, in college, she was too focused on her studies and her art to try dating. And now, two years later, she had yet to step out of her shell, as everyone told her. It would happen when she least expected it.

She did not, however, think tonight was the night she would make out with a random guy or find “the one”. Especially not when she was dressed like a knockoff Playboy bunny. Eleanor hoped to God her father would be asleep when she came home so he wouldn’t see her Halloween costume.

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing out with the team. Maybe he was sick of sitting at home alone or maybe it was the high from their recent win, but he said yes when his fellow defenseman asked him. The pulsing music and flashing lights reminded him of the skate out before a game, but he didn’t feel the same excitement or adrenaline.

Miguel was grateful some of the boys had enough of a connection to get a spot in the VIP section where the music was muffled and the lights less severe. He took a beer, not wanting to get too drunk too soon, and hung out at the table. His single teammates, in matching neon costumes, quickly dispersed, looking for someone to dance and share a drink with.

He didn’t get the memo, or the group text since he silenced them, to dress like the 80s threw up on them. Instead, he wore one of his own jerseys and claimed to be a hockey player, as if it was just a costume and not his career.

Miguel planned to stay for a while, having enough conversations for them to remember he was there, before making a swift exit. Ben slid into the seat across from him, and they gave each other the acknowledging head tip-up before taking sips of beer.

“Not gonna go out and bust a move?” Ben shrugged, gesturing to the dance floor.

“And do what? Bust my ass?” No thanks.

Ben laughed, his head tipped back, “Nah man, and get a piece of ass.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. Sure, in his rookie season or so he was out there, buying drinks and asking women to dance. He lived the wild and sex-crazed years, too much money, fame, and independence at a young age. But Miguel mellowed out; now the only pussy he wanted at the end of the night was his cat, Marilyn. She was a diva and far too spoiled, and the only one he let cuddle him at night. He thought about the pink fuzzy blanket she needed, meowing at him until he found it and gave it to her.

“Speaking of ass,” Ben did not take Miguel’s silence as a hint, “did you see Coach Roy’s daughter over there by the bar?”

Miguel scoffed. First, he doubted she would even go to the club, second, there was no way she was showing off her ass, and third, Ben had to be stupid to be making comments about the coach’s daughter. Everyone knew she was gorgeous, and while it was not against any official rules, no one wanted to piss their coach off. “No way, dude. You’re checking I’m paying attention.”

“Serious as a hat trick. See for yourself.”

Miguel turned, and he instantly regretted it. He could never go back to before this moment in time before he saw Eleanor Roy in a skintight low cut black dress rather than a frumpy sweater or baggy jersey. Miguel could never unsee her with her hair carefully styled rather than haphazardly pulled back, or with her bold red lipstick. Miguel could never unthink the dirty, raunchy thoughts he had about her bouncing like the bunny she dressed as.

“Holy fuck,” Miguel could barely string two words together. His eyes stayed trained on her as she carried three fruity drinks through the crowd. Who was she with? It couldn’t be anyone from the team, he would know if she was. He watched her wiggle her cottontail through the crowd and stop at a high-top table with two other women. One dressed in 70s retro and the other 2010s punk. An odd group, but they seemed happy as they cheers’d before taking a sip of their drinks.

“Hey, hey,” Ben snapped in front of Miguel’s face. He grimaced, debating throwing his beer in Ben’s face in retaliation, but that would be a waste of overly expensive beer.

Miguel practically growled, using his best defense voice, “Fuck off.”

“Happily,” Ben flourished, “You’ve made for stunning conversation tonight, and I’d love to go off and fuck.”

Miguel didn’t bother saying goodbye. His eyes stayed on her, on Eleanor Roy, of all fucking people. She seemed to be having a fun night out with her friends, even doing a few rounds of shots, while Miguel nursed his beer. His teammates tried to pull him away, but he stayed put.

Some guy, who didn’t even bother wearing a costume, tried chatting her up. Miguel could see the little pinch in her brows and her polite but uninterested smile as she turned him down. The guy walked back to his friends, downed his beer, and ordered another. Good, Miguel thought, he wasn’t good enough for her anyway.

Jess was the first to leave, citing her work the following morning as a reason to call a cab. She was an assistant at a law firm while she studied for the bar, and Eleanor knew she would kick ass once she passed. Gwen stayed a bit longer, dancing with some guy named Mike or Miles a few times, before calling it a night.

Eleanor waited by the club door for her Uber. It would be ridiculously expensive, but it was also her best bet to get home. Every time the door slammed open and shut, people on smoke breaks strumbled by, it felt like an Arctic breeze. She regretted leaving her coat at home, and she wrapped her arms tight around her.

“Need someone to warm you up?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes, sick of hearing that voice tonight. Apparently, politely rejecting him at the table, near the bar, and outside the restroom was not enough to get the message. She hoped her ride would arrive soon and she could say bye, not goodbye, for the last time.

“No thank you,” although there was not much grace or civility in her voice, “I’m fine.”

She could smell the liquor on his breath already. “I know you’re fine, baby,” he stepped closer and she stepped back, “why do you think I’ve been trying to take you home with me so bad?” Eleanor’s back was to the door, and she reached for the handle. She’d rather brave the frigid air than Chad or Tad or whatever his name was. “Don’t run away from me…”

Her heart raced, her fight or flight kicking in. The liquor dampened her senses, but she recognized a flit of danger. Eleanor’s palms sweat and her knees shook as she reached for the door handle.

“She said she’s fine.”

Eleanor looked up, trying to place the familiar rumbling voice. She squinted in the dark light. A tall broad man, so big he blocked out almost all the light, shouldered forward.

“O’Hara?” She questioned. She saw him at practices and games, she always sat near the bench, and she was sure they were introduced at some point or another.

“You can call me anything you want,” Chad or Tad or whatever his name was reached for her bunny tail, but O’Hara was faster. He grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him away from her.

“Try it again and see what happens,” Miguel hissed in his ear. He shoved him away, not caring that he stumbled and cursed. Miguel’s attention and his piercing brown eyes never wavered from hers. “Are you alright?”

Eleanor stuttered, her face flushed and not just from the alcohol. “I’m fine, thank you.” She brushed away a piece of hair and tightened her grip on her purse. “My ride should be here soon, so…”

He rolled his eyes. “So you’re not waiting any longer with that creep lurking nearby.” Miguel gestured to the door with his chin. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?” Eleanor’s brows pinched between her eyes, not quite processing what was happening. He moved too fast for her sluggish state.

He chuckled, a low rumbling sound from his chest, but she didn’t feel he was laughing at her. “You did have fun tonight, didn’t you?” She nodded sheepishly, her bunny ears flopping. “I’m taking you home. You’re not waiting for an Uber.”

Eleanor shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “You don’t have to do that.” She lived out on Long Island with her parents. It would be an hour for them to get there, and then another hour for Miguel to get back in the city. She didn’t want to ruin his night like that, not when he was out with the team.

“You’re right, I don’t have to.” She breathed a sigh of relief, too soon. “But I want to know you got home safe.” Miguel shrugged off his black peacoat and draped it over her shoulders. “Just like I don’t have to give you my coat, but I don’t want to see you shiver on the way to the car either.”

Eleanor relented, realizing there were worse ways to go home, and if insisted on driving her, there was no sense in refusing. Not when Chad or Tad could still come back and bother her. She was glad for Miguel’s coat, covering some of her immodest costume.

Cameras flashed and photographers shouted at them as soon as they left the club. Miguel pulled her close with one arm and blocked the cameras from her face with the other.

“Miguel, who are you with?”

“O’Hara, did you find yourself a puck bunny?”

“Miguel, what’s her name?”

He moved them quickly past the barrage of press and into the side parking lot. They trailed after them, shouting his name, but he never gave them any attention. He opened the door to a luxury black SUV and covered her until she got in. It smelled like his cologne, deep and woodsy, and she assumed it came from his jacket and their close proximity.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said as he cranked the heat, “they must’ve heard the team was here and looking for a cheap story.”

“It’s okay,” Eleanor said, picking at her nails. She felt stupid with her bunny ears hitting the top of the car, so she ripped them off, undoing some of her hair. Hot tears pricked in her eyes, but she realized he turned on the seat warmer for her, and it made her blink them away.

He fiddled with his phone, but he looked into her eyes through the rearview mirror. “Are you alright? Not too shaken from everything? Warm enough?” Miguel sounded more concerned than she thought he would be. Eleanor wanted to reassure him.

“I’m okay, I promise. A little shaken, a little cold, and hungry, but I’m alright.”

He nodded, his confidence back, and he handed her his phone open on the maps app. “Put in your address so we can get out of here.”

She typed it in while he pulled out of the parking lot. The photographers left them alone once they got in the car, retreating to the door hoping to catch another player.

“Do you live with your parents?” he asked, glancing at the address.

“Yeah,” the moving lights made Eleanor dizzy, so she closed her eyes and leaned back. “It makes drunk ordering food a little embarassing, but I can’t help it.”

He laughed again, and she thought it sounded warm and rich. Eleanor couldn’t help but crack an eye open at him to see his smile. Crooked, and a little toothy, but genuine. “Gotta get those cravings somehow.”

She spent a long time thinking about her cravings, trying to decide what she wanted most. “I think I want ice cream, no wait, a milkshake. And fries, nice salty fries.”

He hummed appreciatively. “What kind of ice cream?”

“Milkshake,” she insisted, “I want a vanilla milkshake, not ice cream. There’s a difference.”

He apologized, “Right, right. Do you dip the fries in the milkshake?”

“Duh, of course. You have to balance the salty with the sweet.”

They fell quiet for a little bit. He put on soft music, and she couldn’t recognize the lyrics. She thought she heard him humming to the music, but when she peeked open her eyes, he fell quiet. Eleanor liked listening to his soft voice, so she kept her eyes closed.

She didn’t realize she fell asleep until he gently nudged her awake. Eleanor blinked slowly, adjusting to being in the car again, and squinted when she looked at Miguel. He held out a fast food bag and cup, waiting expectantly for her.

“Did you get this just for me?” She was an emotional drunk, and tears brimmed in her eyes.

“It was on the way,” he shrugged, “and I wanted a coffee.”

Eleanor blinked rapidly, trying not to make a big deal of it. She ate carefully, not wanting to make a mess in his nice car, but she needed to dip her fries in the milkshake. She offered one to Miguel, vanilla dripping, and she fed it to him. He nodded in approval.

Miguel took steady sips of his coffee, and he reached out every so often for another fry. She happily gave them to him, pleased he enjoyed it. Eleanor typically didn’t like sharing, but she didn’t mind sharing with him.

They neared her parents’ house, the ETA only five minutes away, and she felt pretty sobered up. Tired, but not drunk anymore. Her parents should be asleep, and she had both the key code and a physical key. Hopefully, Edward wasn’t prowling the kitchen for a midnight snack… as long as she made it upstairs without making any noise, they would never know.

Miguel cleared his throat and glanced over at her. “Put my number in your phone. If you ever need a ride, I can be your Uber.”

She giggled, reaching for his phone to add her contact, too. “Five-star review, for sure. Singing and snacks.” Eleanor debated, wondering if she should put her own name or some sort of nickname for herself. She settled on “Eleanor 🐰”

He dimmed the headlights and parked by the gate. Eleanor reached for the door handle, but before she could do anything Miguel was around the car and opening the door for her.

“Thanks for uh, everything,” she said, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to him. “I really appreciate it. Seriously.”

She swore she thought his face flushed in the dark night. His hands were warm as he brushed against hers for the jacket. “You’re welcome. And I’m serious, you know? If you need a ride, if you need help, just call.”

Eleanor tilted her head up, not normally having to do so since she was tall herself, but Miguel was taller still. She wanted to look in his deep brown eyes, the same ones that froze her on the spot earlier that night.

“You know, you’re not as mean as everyone says you are.”

Miguel smiled, sheepishly and nervously. “You must still be drunk. Goodnight, and I hope you don’t feel horrible in the morning.”

With that, she punched in the gate code and started walking. It was freezing out, and without Miguel’s jacket, it felt much colder. Eleanor wanted a nice, warm shower and to crawl into bed.

Miguel did his best to push all thoughts of Eleanor from his head as he threw on his headphones and hopped on the treadmill. She was an adorable drunk, and a cute little bunny, but completely off-limits. No one messed with the Coach’s daughter unless they wanted to get their ass and a transfer notice handed to them. He blamed his dry spell for his thoughts and feelings.

His music paused, and the automated voice told Miguel he had an incoming call from his agent. He cursed, paused his run, and hopped off the treadmill. “Yeah?” he panted, still catching his breath.

This snippy and sassy voice of Lyla, his agent, greeted him. “Fun night last night? Couple beers with the team?”

He didn’t feel like playing any games. “Yeah, why? You gonna tell me or are you gonna drag it out?” He wiped the sweat off his face with his baggy gray t-shirt.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I wonder why…” Miguel cursed under his breath, and Lyla had the audacity to laugh at him. “There’s pictures of you with a girl last night, dressed as a bunny, so naturally, the pundits and the press have started calling her your-”

“-puck bunny.” Miguel cursed again. A girl more interested in the players than the game, and usually looking to hook up. Eleanor Roy fit no part of the definition, yet due to her costume and her proximity to him, it became an easy hit piece. His stomach clenched with guilt.

Lyla carried on as if Miguel wasn’t calculating exactly how much shit he was in. “I thought you should know before you showed up to practice today. Realistically, it should blow over in a few days, as soon as someone else gets caught doing something more stupid…”

Miguel growled, his hands scrubbing his face. “Do they know who she is yet?”

“Not yet,” Lyla ignored his attitude, “so far they only have the tabloid pics where you do a pretty good job covering her face, but give it some time for people’s own pictures and videos and detective skills to go to work, and they’ll have a name for her.” She paused, “Why? Should I know the name? Is it going to cause more trouble for us?”

Miguel chewed his bottom lip. Lyla would find out eventually. “Eleanor Roy,” he admitted.

He could practically see the gears of her brain turning. “King? Hmm let me think… wait King, like your Coach Roy?”

“One and the same.”

“Oh Miguel! I thought we moved past all this puck bunny business and stupid hookups years ago. I thought you learned after getting burned by Xina and Dana…”

“It’s not like that-”

“-of course, she’s different, she’s special, honestly, Miguel, could you be any stupider?”

“We didn’t do anything!” he protested, resisting the urge to throw his phone. “Some creep kept hitting on her while she waited for her Uber, so I gave her a ride. That’s it, end of story. In fact, there’s no story, only the truth.”

“Oh. That’s a lot less exciting, though I suppose that’s good for you. I can work with that. It’ll spin you as a hero instead of a hound. I’ll tell your story to the journalists that tend to work with us and let people decide the rest.”

Miguel ended the call, and he saw a text he should’ve expected.

Coach Roy: My office before practice.

Fuck. Miguel might as well finish his run and get a move on with his morning. He sent a reluctant “understood” so Coach knew he saw, and hopped back on the treadmill. He’d tell him the truth, and he’d be fine. Why wouldn’t he? Roy was a reasonable man, well reasonable enough when he and the team weren’t fucking up, and he didn’t do anything.

***

Miguel made sure to arrive early, giving him enough time to talk to Coach before he needed to change. He slung his bag over his shoulder and entered the Nueva York Arañas training facility, careful not to step on the spider logo by the front entrance. Jerseys of players past decorated the hallways, as did still shots from memorable games, although the team hadn’t held the Stanley Cup since 1999. Miguel remembered watching as a very little kid, practically glued to the TV when it happened, and making it his mission to play for them.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay with the Arañas. They were booted in the opening rounds of the playoffs for the last three years, and as much as Miguel wanted to be the player to bring them back to greatness, he knew they didn’t listen to him and his hot temper either.

He knocked twice on the wooden door, a courtesy, before entering. Coach motioned for him to take a seat, but Miguel preferred to stay standing. It would hopefully keep the conversation short.

“I saw the headlines, and I talked to Eleanor…” he paused, leaning back in his plush leather seat, “and I wanted to say thank you.”

Of all the things Miguel thought Richard Roy would say, that was not on his list. He blinked twice, needing a moment to process what he said. He stumbled looking for the right words.

“It wasn’t a problem, sir. Just thought she deserved to be safe.”

“Believe me, she and I have had our own conversion about her outfit, safety, and the power of headlines, but I appreciate you taking the time to make sure she got hom safe. If any of them out there,” he pointed generally to the locker room, “gives you shit for this, send ‘em to me and I’ll put them right.”

He nodded once, not even considering what the other players might think or say. It would be easy chirping material. “Thank you, sir. Just glad she’s alright.”

Coach Roy chuckled, “Embarassed like hell, but alright.”

Miguel smiled, imagining Eleanor with flushed cheeks and avoiding his eyes. He might tip her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to look at him and smile.

Fuck. These were not the thoughts to be having in her father’s office, his coach’s office. He needed to get out and warm up, fast. Being on the ice always cleared his head.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfic

8 notes · View notes

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years ago

Text

Comte AU Event

Aight because I have Comte brainworms (is this a surprise to anybody I sure hope not), there’s something I’ve just been thinking about a lot ever since completing one of the story events a month ago:

The cover art being very sexy aside, I naturally did Comte’s story event and I have yet to move on. Namely because of one specific line. (Disclaimer: Keep in mind I don’t mean to say I’m an expert, I just translate for fun--I don’t have the same prowess as an official linguist. That being said starts the circus music let the show go on)

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

This is the line I want to dive into, but before I can really talk about it, we need proper context.

Event spoilers below:

This event is a little different since it’s an AU, so the mansion and its residents don’t exist. (Comte lives in the mansion on his own, but it’s not the same one we know.) Instead Comte, Leo, and Arthur are stand alone suitors who have turned MC into a vampire. Because MC has no clear memory of how and/or why it happened, MC is seeking vengeance against her paired hottie--and fully intends to end their life one way or another.

Aside from how sexy revenge is and how much I love the enemies to lovers trope, Comte’s entire storyline gave me more life than I can humanly convey. Here goes nothing!

So it begins with MC knocking on his door and Comte answers it and literally just stares at her silently like some kind of Furby. MC starts out by saying she’s been trying to narrow down the bastard that ruined her life and her search has finally brought her to his doorstep. She basically demands the truth from him and he just keeps. Staring owlishly (lmao). He eventually relents and tells her that a conversation is much better held inside, and invites her into his home to talk.

She's sus as hell but enters the house, and he asks if she's had blood. This stops her in her tracks, shook, and her monologue drifts to explain a few things. When she woke up years ago, a new vampire, she had instructions to approach the Rouge/Blanc dispensary for what she needed. The staff there told her that everything was paid for, and she continued to receive support from an unnamed benefactor. She asked them for the identity of this person, but they were beholden to customer confidentiality. As such, she's been searching for information to narrow down her target for years until she finally found him tonight.

Despite the years it doesn't mean she's any more comfortable with her new existence. She notes that she still tends to stick to drinking Blanc--only drinking Rouge (in other words, blood) when she has no other choice. When Comte puts the Rouge on the table, she becomes notably unsettled. She's thirsty, but she won't concede to his request that she drink it; she refuses.

(I feel like he can probably tell because he's her sire/because of his experience with vampires). Comte--naturally--refuses to let her go hungry, so he knocks it back and kisses her to get her to drink it. He lets go as soon as she's swallowed it, and doesn't resist when she shoves him off. She rails at him about how awful he is for doing that, he agrees. She asks if he was the one that killed her parents, he confirms with blasé indifference. She's fuming quietly, but she notes that he doesn't really look happy or triumphant about it. What he's saying isn't reaching his eyes; his gaze is distant and sad. And it's confusing her. Isn't he supposed to be the enemy?

She's lost in her thoughts and unresponsive until there's a loud cry from outside the house, the shriek of a nearby owl. She snaps out of her daze to see that she still has his hand in a vice grip from when she shoved him off, and his skin is blanched--she cut off his circulation from the pressure. She releases him, startled, but he says nothing.

She's trying to sort out what's going on, and doesn't have enough information to really piece anything together. She wants to hate him but things aren't making sense. Why did her parents have to die in the first place? Why does he bother keeping her alive at his own expense? Even just now, what he did felt more like an attempt to get her to eat than anything else. Why isn’t he more malicious? This MC is desperate for answers, and she says as much: "What are you hiding…?"

Comte doesn't answer her, just averts his gaze and remains silent. MC decides she won't do anything until she learns the full extent of what happened the night she was turned. Furthermore, she's well aware of Comte’s status being a problem. If she goes too far without proper motive, the aristocracy could come back to bite her in the ass. (The implication here is that she's more concerned about being wrong and living with that regret, rather than any necessity to protect herself. The state of his gaze--the melancholy there--keeps eating at her. Until she knows why, she won't move forward.)

Comte is shocked that she demands to live alongside him in the mansion, but he doesn't take any issue with it. He says the mansion is pointlessly huge for one person anyway--she's welcome to stay. Either way she wins with this arrangement: either she gets the truth or she finds an effective way to destroy him by the end. And so their little cohabitation begins!

After a timeskip, MC recounts how she's been spending her days in the mansion. She's been tidying around the house, both in the hopes of finding evidence and/or in the hopes of repaying all the years of living on his assistance. He doesn't stop her, letting her do as she pleases and keeping his distance.

One day, she's about to step out into town to grab some groceries. Comte approaches at the front door, cautioning her to be safe--there have been many reports of scuffles/dangerous encounters. MC brushes him off, unsurprised he knows what's going on in town. He's very well connected to the aristocracy, and she notes that he's often at dinner gatherings and parties when he's not home. She insists she can't let her guard down, that he can't be trusted; no matter how kind he is to her face.

Another day, he asks her to attend a ball later in the week. He tells her she's under no obligation to stay with him while they're there, just that he wants her to take some time and relax--to have fun. She tries to insist that going to something like that would be more stressful than fun but he won’t hear of any protest, walking away before she can fully reject the outing. (Comte, an idiot, speed-walking out of the room: and that is what we call finessed). She sighs, thinking she'll be nothing but a burden to him given her lack of knowledge about events like that. She doesn't really know the proper etiquette or how to dance, it’s completely out of her depth.

Surprising no one at all Comte buys MC a dress and accessories to match regardless, and when she comes down the staircase leading to the front door he's awestruck. He tells her she's beautiful and she's miffed by the raw sincerity, trying to remind herself that he is eeeeevil. He knows how to talk to women given his status, he's just smooth talking... (She's trying to convince herself, essentially.)

And so they go, and she's a bit of a wallflower. He leaves her alone--doesn't want to bother her--while she sticks close to one wall. Several men ask her to dance, but she politely declines. Her monologue explains that, given what she is and the fact that she’s only living for revenge, she sees no merit in trying to court human men. She sees it as irresponsible and inevitably disastrous, and…

[Given the nature of what I am I just can't. I can't fall in love with a human man. Besides, the only person I really want to dance with is...as much as I hate it, my line of sight keeps drifting to Comte. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze, but I hurriedly look away--my heart pounding in my chest. Why. In a room full to the brim with people, why do my eyes keep looking for him. Whatever, time to go cool off for a bit.]

She leaves the ballroom--mortified at herself--to get some fresh air. Not five minutes into trying to figure out whatever the hell is going on with her shitshow of a life, a man appears asking what she’s doing alone. And da da da d a Zelda treasure chest sound effect he whips out a knife covered in blood and tries to stab MC. Naturally, because I’m an idiot, my first thought was:

TW: knife attack

TW: homicides by serial killer

But it turns out our local serial killer remains nameless in this event, so I can point no fingers. MC is panicking about needing to run and frozen in place from the shock, but Comte appears to pull her out of range--knife sinking into his back. He doesn’t react much to the violence as the attacker runs away, yanking out the knife and focused on checking her for any wounds. She’s still reeling from how quickly he reacted, and he reassures her (probably at the sight of her bewildered/worried look) that law enforcement is on alert in the area. They’ll find him, they’ll arrest him.

She tries to ask him why. Why would he protect her like that? His first instinct was to take the hit and ensure her safety first, and it doesn’t make sense. Comte reassures her again, joking that purebloods are sturdy. See? The wound’s already healed c:

[Even though I've been spending all this time trying to get my revenge on him, my heart stopped when he was attacked. As if to reassure me, frozen and speechless, Comte smiles gently. This person.......I can't do it. I can't kill him without meaning, without being sure of the truth.]

"...Comte, I can tell you're a good person. What happened that night, so many years ago?" Because even now, he's still protecting me. "Please...tell me the truth. I want to know."

[I know this isn't the time or place, but if I don't know I can't worry about him with a clear head.]

TW: human trafficking and drugging unconscious

Comte concedes and goes into what happened that night so many years ago. Apparently he was acquainted with her parents long before the incident, and they fell into debt as a result of gambling. He approached their home in the hopes of paying them a visit, checking up on them, only to encounter tragedy. They intended to sell their daughter off and the man they ended up making a deal with more or less slaughtered them all in cold blood. The reason MC doesn’t remember any of this was because her parents drugged her the night it happened. No consciousness, no resistance.

"In that room suffused in the odor of blood and despair, I found you, MC." Her pained, struggling cry is what led him into that room--and seeing how desperately she was fighting to survive, he turned her against all his better judgement. Feeling certain she would hate him forever for the choice he made compounded by her terrible circumstance, he bailed, leaving her instructions and resources to survive on her own.

"Sold off by your own parents, attacked by a serial killer, seconds from death. I thought....I thought telling you about it would only bring you pain, that it would leave you numb from the shock and despair. That's why I kept it from you.”

"...After turning you, I was consumed by regret. I felt certain you would hate me for the choice I made. So I left." [When I don't know what to say, he keeps talking.] "But I was worried about you even so. I tailed you quietly, making sure you were getting along okay. I was fully aware you wanted to kill me for what I'd done. Even so, I wanted to check on you."

And that is where the line comes in.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

He admits that he fell in love with her after a point. And she’s baffled, considering she’s been looking for every reason to tear him apart--assuming he was the perpetrator when he actually saved her life. She protests immediately, asking how he could possibly feel that way after the level of vitriol and judgement she’s levied against him when he was only trying to help.

"That's not true at all. At heart, you're a very kind young lady. You haven't raised a hand against me all this time. And even when you considered me to be a repulsive presence, you were worried about me."

At this MC is conflicted--because his words are a further extension of his equanimity. He’s well aware that he brought about all the confusion by not being honest, but it’s also clear there was no ill intent involved in that decision. He was concerned; hitting her with that level of misfortune and senseless terror all at once could have been incredibly destructive to her health. (This isn’t to say he made the ‘right’ decision; I don’t think there is any right decision in the face of such a complex situation. Given he takes full responsibility for what happened and does his best to help her, I think that’s a fair response.)

This is essentially where the common rt ends. But because I’m feral for Comte and enjoy talking about him, I’ll finish up the summary and then go on to do my analysis.

After that riveting assault, MC is feeling very lost about how to move forward. Her fury at Comte’s injustice has all but evaporated, which means a complete re-evaluation of how she’s going to move forward from now on. Does she continue with her revenge anyway, still angry for the dishonesty? Or does she try something new?

If you do the premium end that means choosing to forgive Comte and climb him (as he deserves). Therefore I, being an intellectual, chose to ride him into the sunset.

The premium end begins with Comte taking her to another ball because the first one kind of went to shit and he feels bad about it (retraumatization was not in the plan...). And so MC basically does the same thing as the first time, just vibin and taking in the scenery, thinking things over. Comte’s concerned about her not having fun, so he approaches her to ask if she’s feeling okay. He makes it clear that he really doesn’t mind if she dances with someone else--even if he admitted his feelings for her. She doesn’t owe him anything, and he has no intention of imposing on her future.

"Whatever it is you choose to do, I don't mind. I just want you to be happy"

[This person is so, so gentle...His words penetrate deep and settle with warmth over my heart, my chest light.] "Comte I.......I don't want to dance with anyone but you." [I still don't know what to do about the future, but for now I think following what my heart is telling me is the best move]

"!!!....well then, if you insist..."

Comte’s just:

He’s beyond shocked, but accepts her invitation when she confirms it’s what she wants to do. Leading her in all his infinite grace, MC marvels at his ability to dance so elegantly--even with a partner who’s deadweight, like her. She also finds it astounding how easily he makes her forget what they are, how easily she just enjoys the moment; no turmoil, no lingering in the worst of her miseries. She’s just...having fun? For the first time in so very long.

[Comte murmurs in the short distance, clear remorse on his face--as though he can't help it.]

"MC, it's kind of you, honestly. That you'd give me the time of day, that you'd agree to dance with me. But I...I'm the one that turned you. There's no denying or escaping that fact. If it's you, I'm ready to accept any consequence. If you want me gone, you're free to attack me. If you just want to be as far away from me as possible--to live your life in peace and solitude--I will do everything in my power to help you."

[He said it as if he was trying to convince himself. Like he was trying to remember why he couldn't assume more of this single dance together, why he couldn't let hope emerge from this single shared moment.]

[.....I'm not that kind, Comte. I asked because it's you.....Feeling his warmth beneath my hands, I come to a decision.]

There’s a timeskip, and then MC--being the badass that she is--knocks on Comte’s door the night of the crescent moon. He lets her inside more than ready to accept her judgement, whatever it may be. MC asks about his feelings, seeks to confirm that he still loves her before she confesses herself.

"Comte. Comte you said--that you loved me right?"

"Yes that's correct...no matter how much you might hate me, these feelings won't change. I love you."

[Hearing those words again sets my chest on fire. And I decide to tell him my honest feelings.]

"I love you too. But......I've held a misguided grudge against you for so long, is it okay for me to love you now?"

[Can that misunderstanding really be forgiven? Am I allowed to love you? Comte's eyes widen, and the breathtaking gold of his eyes shimmer/waver.]

"...shouldn't that be my line? I mean even despite the circumstances, I still made the choice to turn you :o Can you really forgive me?"

"...If I'm honest, I still have a hard time drinking blood and I'm a little scared of an immortal life. But......I think if I could spend that eternity at your side, I could find the means to smile again. And....the thing is....I also want to see you smile, to make sure you remember how to smile."

".................." [Le Comte stared at me, before extending his hand. And he hugged me so, so tightly.] "MC......."

[In that single word all the raw emotion of ten years can be heard. It was an indescribable sound--one that spoke of an unimaginable, impossible love. This person loves me so very dearly.]

The event ends with them biting each other as proof of their bond, essentially a vow to stay together moving forward. It felt very much like the shared act of biting was a promise of love, how vampires might get married or commit to each other romantically. The summary essentially ends here.

Here’s where the semi-meta comes in, because I literally just can’t stop thinking about the implications of this event.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

I just...I just don’t even know where to begin with how hard this line hits. Comte’s MS conveys this sentiment powerfully too, but there’s just something about them choosing to emphasize it yet again. The reason Comte falls in love every time has to do with his MC’s strength, her ability to surmount remarkable obstacles with so much poise. She’s deeply in tune with her reality, but no less relentlessly positive. She won’t burden others with her problems, and she’ll do everything in her power to move forward in constructive ways.

Even when every day was a living hell. Both Comte and Leonardo perceive eternity to be something of a curse; an endless sentence. Whether it means suffering boredom, reliving tragedy, or going nigh numb from the loneliness--being an immortal creature isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.

And that’s exactly why I think he fell in love with this MC? I don’t think his feelings would have run half as deep if it was just anyone. He doesn’t strike me as the type to get attached easily. Because if he’s going to have a life partner, he needs someone who's going to be able to roll with whatever life throws their way for conceivable lifetimes. Somebody that loses heart quickly or is easily prone to delusion would suffer eternally, and the last thing he wants is to subject a person to that. MC gives him hope certainly, but she’s also emblematic of a kind of fortitude he both needs on a personal level and she would need to be beside him. It’s interesting because it’s a responsible choice on his part, but also just very befitting of his nature. He’s somebody that staunchly believes in the ability of good to prevail, but he’s also realistic about it. He knows doing the right thing isn’t necessarily easy; he does it because he could never live with himself if he did otherwise.

(Think about Comte’s approach with Jeanne. It meant years of being on the receiving end of hatred he didn’t deserve, but he didn’t mind if it meant Jeanne could find a way to heal. It’s not the most practical or immediate solution, but it is the most restorative option. Comte doesn’t care that he spends years living alongside Jeanne’s outspoken displeasure and even violent outbursts. Why? Because it’s all a means to a greater, better end. If he has to suffer a little discomfort, he’s willing to make that sacrifice. That’s the thing with Comte; intentionality is everything. Comte’s intention is to help. Whether that’s a short or long process, a smooth or rough process, he’s going to do what he can within his means.)

That dynamic is reflected in his respect for this MC who is filled with fury on behalf of all the life that she lost unfairly, her relentless pursuit for the truth of what happened to her. Notice, she’s more interested in truth than retaliation. She refuses to lay an intentionally violent hand on Comte until she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was worthy of being on the receiving end of that retribution. Who does that sound like? If you guessed Comte himself, then you see where I’m going with this. What MC and Comte have in common is that they have a sharp emotional fortitude that they keep under tight, rational control. They will react with sizable passion or hurt or warmth--but their externalized reaction will vary depending on the situation. If it’s a minor annoyance, they have the patience to diffuse and try to alleviate the problem. If it’s on a larger scale or it’s an egregious violation of their personhood, then they up the ante accordingly.

Think about it. MC appears on Comte’s doorstep full of righteous rage and even when he confirms what he’s “done,” she hesitates. Her emotional intelligence is telling her something isn’t aligning properly; something isn’t quite right. She forgoes immediate revenge for proper answers instead. MC and Comte have this kind of balance, where they are more than happy to hear people out--but there is a limit to that propensity. Push them too far? They’ll bust your head. I guess I’m particularly interested in the way Comte seems to yearn for that kind of identification with a partner. Somebody who has similar values: not merciless, but also won’t bend when a situation requires confrontation.

All that being said, there was one more aspect of the story that I was endlessly interested in. I’m going to link the post here, in that it’s tangentially related to this meta; it really made me better able to articulate what I mean to say.

“Never let generosity hold hostages; courtesy is an essential tool, but a cruel master.”

I’m gonna let that sink in for a moment.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because it’s very rare that I read something once and I’m forced to read it several more times before I begin to understand it. My interpretation of that line is to say that benevolence can showcase your good will to others; it can be a reliable proof of good character, and a way to help someone. But the problem comes when people do conventionally/perceived generous things with the explicit intent of repayment by some measure. While it is only responsible to care for others as they care for you, you shouldn’t make impossible sacrifices with the expectation that the other person is indebted to you--especially if the other party had no ability to consent to that sacrifice.

How does this apply to Comte in this event story? Er, in almost every way humanly (vampirely?) possible, in my view. Comte turns MC into a vampire after seeing her plight, largely because he gets the impression that she was fighting for her life--had impossibly survived against all odds. The situation is complicated though. MC wasn’t fully conscious when it happened, so she doesn’t have a proper understanding of how everything went down. So what does Comte do? If he can’t bear to face her or reveal the truth of how horribly she died, he at least gives her every means to survive and makes sure she’s doing okay since she’s technically an orphan now. He doesn’t interfere with her life, or demand recognition for the life he gave her. He fully understands that she wasn’t able to properly consent to his decision in that split second moment, and even if she had he doesn’t see it as a debt she owes him now. He was able to help save her life for at least a little while longer, and so he did. It was as simple as that. He had the ability, she had the need. That’s the end.

But Comte’s emotional acuity doesn’t just end here. Even when she comes after him to kill him, he doesn’t respond with anger because he knows full well he hasn’t explained. Sure he’s sacrificing their relationship (the ability to get along on half-decent terms) but if it means she can find a reason to live, then so be it. He doesn’t lord that sacrifice over her head by any extension; he’s just sad about it because he thinks she’s a wonderful person, and he doesn’t want to be estranged from her. But in his view, her needs supercede his wants.

He doesn’t force her to do chores around the house during her stay, she does it to keep herself busy and search for the truth about his intentions. He even asks her to take breaks and look after herself first, more concerned with her well-being than the state of the mansion. At the ball, he doesn’t force her to linger around him or dance with him despite inviting her there and giving her the dress/jewelry to attend. He leaves her alone as she wishes, only glancing at her to make sure she’s doing okay. When he takes the hit from the violent stranger--a knife straight to the back--he jokes about being s t r o n k, never once blaming her for the wound he sustains no matter how brief.

He explains that he didn’t tell her the truth because it was incredibly traumatic, and it’s only in the safety of the moment--after years of having conceived of her own selfhood beyond the event--that she’s able to take the weight of what happened without falling apart. The premium end just keeps hammering this shit home. He openly tells her she doesn’t have to dance with him at all, that she doesn’t owe him anything just because he likes her. He’s aware it’s unrequited (he thinks) and he doesn’t go on and on about all the sacrifices he made for her with the expectation she’ll reciprocate. He just did what he wanted to do, nothing more. If she feels the same way by some miracle, that’s amazing! If she doesn’t, as it would be valid if not, that’s fair too; no hard feelings.

She has to be the one to invite him to dance and insist. She’s the one that smiles fondly when he’s telling her that she can choose whatever outcome she pleases, even if it means wanting to live as far as possible from him. There is no guilt trip, no expectation, and no pressure. She has the freedom to leave or stay. It is entirely dependent on her own will. For the first time in a lifetime of loss, her agency is restored to her. That’s huge.

She even admits that she feels bad about being so angry when he really was just trying to help, now that she can understand what he’s doing. And he’s openly shocked to hear it. He had no intention of expecting or asking for an apology. He understands it was his own imposition, both biting her and obscuring the truth, that led to her setting her mind on vengeance.

I’ve probably hit it home harder than necessary, but Comte just feels like the epitome of good will in the best way possible. One can argue he’s a little selfish for keeping the truth from her for so long, but honestly? Given the horrific trauma of her situation--and his personal fear of making her miserable for an eternity when all he wanted was to give her a second chance away from all that hurt--I feel like his reaction was closer to considerate and reasonable. Comte doesn’t sacrifice anything he isn’t unwilling to give, or anything that would cripple him to give. Furthermore, he doesn’t make love out to be a kind of 1:1. He recognizes that while he might know her well, she doesn’t know squat about him. And, as such, he doesn’t expect her to trust his intentions or reciprocate his feelings in any capacity. It’s just a delightful surprise when she does. When he tells her that he loves her that first time, it’s an explanation. Not a guilt trip. He knows she won’t be satisfied years of protecting her simply because “he wanted to” and he promised her the truth, so he tells her. Not only that, in the aftermath he repeatedly reminds her she isn’t bound to him. She commits to him before he relies on any kind of active bond between both of them.

I don’t know, maybe I think too hard about it, but I feel like the older I get the more I see a shortage of this kind of fine-tuned caring about the other person in a relationship. I guess I just enjoy seeing a man give a woman her health and agency without treating her wellness/happiness like it’s a burden to his life? First and foremost Comte really is concerned with her self-actualization before his feelings can have any place in their relationship. And even when he does confess his love, it isn’t a way to force her to feel indebted to him; it’s an attempt to erase any false pretenses. MC loves him, not because she has nowhere else to go, but because he’s proven himself time and again a worthy companion. Always putting her first, always worried about her feelings, paying such close attention that he sees her to the core of who she is despite her iron front--kind, beneath all that hurt. They spend so much of this event really listening to each other despite such difficult circumstances, and it leads to a deep and abiding love against all odds. And I find that incredibly moving...

Oh and, before I forget? Let me circle back for a moment:

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

The best part about this event is that--while Comte says this about MC--this is also precisely the reason MC falls in love with Comte too, even if it’s never stated outright. Because despite how lonely and tired he may be of eternity, no matter how many troubles he’s facing himself, he never stops trying to help and support others (namely MC) in any way he can.

Drops mic

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #ikevamp meta #ikevamp au event #comte propaganda #fangdad propaganda #i love him so very dearly #this event just made the feelings come rushing back #can't have five minutes without comte giving me heart palpitations huh #i feel so personally attacked #anywho i hope yall enjoy this wild ride as much as i did #minnie finna peace out and sleep for 70 hrs #**dives into bed beside comte**#rambles #not incorrect quotes

228 notes · View notes