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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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thecaffeinebookwarrior · 5 years

Text

A Writer’s Guide to Viewpoints

Most of us know that there are three major viewpoints from which stories are told:

First Person -- “I tell my own story with the pronoun ‘I’ because I’m just so damn awesome.”

Second Person -- “You are a character in this story, and you can’t do anything about it. If it makes you uncomfortable, tough shit.”

Third Person -- “He muttered himself and pulled the blankets over his head, wishing this asshole would stop narrating his life.”

Those are the three viewpoints, and that’s all there is to it. Just pick your favorite, and you’re ready to go. Right?

Well. Not exactly.

You see, my fellow scribblers, there are actually multiple sub categories of each viewpoint -- beyond even the “Third Person Omniscient” or “Third Person Subjective.”

To be specific:

First Person:

First Person Informant

First Person Reminiscent

Unreliable

Second Person:

Reader as Character

I Substitute

Third Person:

Objective

Limited

Multiple Selective Omniscience

Omniscient

This might seem overwhelming, but fear not! Each perspective is fairly easy to break down, and ultimately, apply to your own work and understanding of literature. This post will elucidate each.

So let’s take charge of our narratives and delve in, like the active protagonists we are.

What is the First Person?

I’m sure we all know this, but a First Person narrator tells their story from the pronoun I (or sometimes we, though this is quite rare.)

The different factions of First Person narration are somewhat under-discussed -- certainly not as widely known as the Third Person Omniscient versus Objective viewpoints -- but, as these examples prove, they do exist.

As you read, you’ll likely think back to your favorite narrators, and realize that not all First Person viewpoints were created equal.

The First Person Informant:

“I’m telling it like it is. As it’s happening. I’m living in the moment, and watching it unfold with you. Look at us, charging blindly into the future together. Isn’t it exciting?”

This dude conveys the events as they transpire, or appear to transpire, in the present. There’s no “once upon a time” for him. Merely the unfurling now.

Examples:

“Vampires in the Lemon Grove,” by Karen Russel

“In every season you can find me sitting at my bench, watching them fall. Only one or two lemons tumble from the branches each hour, but I’ve been sitting here so long their falls seem continuous, close as raindrops. My wife has no patience for this sort of meditation. “Jesus Christ, Clyde,” she says, “You need a hobby.”

Russel’s narrator – a world-weary vamp navigating the tribulations of eternal love and insatiable bloodlust in an Italian lemon grove – is an excellent example of a first-person informant. He isn’t telling us about the lemon grove as it was, but as it is. The lemons fall before his eyes as they fall before ours. We are in this lemon grove together.

“Natural Selection,” by Jacob M. Appel

“The stolen baboon. On the evening news, she’s an irrelevancy -- a simian mug shot tucked between National Hairball Awareness Day and an interview with the Boston Strangler’s Children. Six hours later, she’s lounger on the sofa in our living room, smacking together her protruded lips, scratching her back on the damask. Suburban Tampa is apparently far more fun than a lab cage in Atlanta.”

Here, we are transported directly into a father’s dilemma after his well-meaning yet painfully naive and somewhat spoiled daughter “liberates” a mistreated lab baboon -- a decision that could effectively ruin both of their lives. The informant perspective amplifies the reader’s suspense, as we are in the moment with him and can only discover the outcome by watching events unfold (or skipping pages.)

“What I Do All Day,” by Hellen Ellis

“Inspired by Beyonce, I stallion-walk to the toaster. I show my husband where a burnt spot looks like the island where we honeymooned, kiss him good-bye, and tell him what time to be home for our party.”

This one is just great. We are transported into the perspective of a seemingly chipper, affluent housewife as she quietly goes insane from suffocating domesticity and the horror of a meaningless life. And, emphasized by the informant perspective, we feel all of this with her! It is characteristically brilliant and hilarious satire from Ellis’s brilliant and hilarious collection, American Housewife.

The First Person Reminiscent:

“It was on a dark and rainy night when I decided to tell this story. I tell it as I remember it, after these events have transpired. Let’s look back on them together.”

In this perspective, the narrator is looking back on events after they have happened. He isn’t describing these events as they unfold; he is telling a story.

Examples:

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel

There are actually two reminiscent narrators here. The titular Pi, and the author who has elected to tell his story.

“This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain. In the spring of 1996, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada. It didn’t fair well. Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise. Then readers ignored it. Despite my best efforts at plating the clown or the trapeze artist, the media circus made no difference. The book did not move. Books lined the shelves of bookstores like kids standing in a row to play baseball or soccer, and mine was the gangly, unathletic kid that no one wanted on their team. It vanished quickly or quietly.”

So opens this immensely clever novel, which, in all regards, blurs the lines between allegory and reality. However, most of it is narrated by the eponymous Pi, who becomes this author’s muse.

“I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.”

Here we have Pi, reflecting on his spiritual and allegorical companion, Richard Parker (an oddly named tiger whom we come to love as much as Pi does.) Pi’s retrospective narration allows for the clear-sighted view of his complex feelings that can only come with time and distance. Thus, this reminiscent narration enhances the power of the narrative.

The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

My feelings towards J.D. Salinger are somewhat negative (I recommend you watch the documentary Salinger to figure out why) but this book is timeless for a reason. This opening line offers up countless questions that leave you thinking long after you turn the final page. Moreover, it impeccably establishes the voice that will carry us throughout its meandering narrative. Catcher in the Rye would not be the same without its reminiscent narration, and this line establishes that.

Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

This opening line makes me somewhat sick to read, because, of course, it is the floral soliloquy a frothing, rabid pedophile, about a “four feet ten” twelve-year-old girl. But, as a piece of art, it is still remarkably done -- the perspective of a monster, putting himself on trial before an imaginary jury, and telling a story that is invariably partial towards his warped perspective. Once again, the retrospective is integral to this grotesquely fascinating narrative.

The Unreliable Narrator:

“I am the King of the Lizard People, and no one will acknowledge it but me. Don’t believe me? Too bad. I’m the one telling this story, and you have no choice but to believe my dubious rendition of these events.”

It’s widely debated as to whether this should be its own category. Why? Because all first person narrators are inherently unreliable. We just have little choice but to take their information as it’s denoted to us. Oftentimes, they win our trust; but other times, it is their unabashed unreliability that makes the narrative memorable.

Don’t believe me? All of the past three examples were unreliable narrators. And I examine several more in my post on types of unreliable narrators here.

In the meantime, let’s move on to the oft-underrated Second Person.

What is the Second Person?

This highly controversial viewpoint uses the pronoun “you.” Most people associate this perspective with amateur fanfiction or pretentious purple prose, but let me tell you: when this perspective works, it is stellar. And I’ll explain why.

The Reader as a Character

“You’re walking down the street, and you realize the narrator is talking about you. Maybe you like this. Maybe you don’t. The narrator doesn’t care. The narrator is a cruel and indifferent god. You put in your headphones to tune the narrator out. The narrator finds this incredibly rude. You can’t escape me, motherfucker.”

This is what most people think about when they picture a Second Person Narrative. Okay, not this specifically -- being frank, most people probably think about reader-insert fanfiction (which can be amazing as well.) This viewpoint asks the reader to imagine themselves as a character -- usually the main character -- in the narrative.

Examples:

“This is a Story About You,” from Welcome to Night Vale, by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craner

“‘This is a story about you,’ said the man on the radio. And you were pleased, because you always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio.”

Even if you’re unfamiliar to this podcast, I highly recommend you listen to this episode (or read the transcript) immediately. It shows you virtually everything reader-insert can be, and what a remarkable effect it can have. It virtually envelops you in this perspective, this town, and this surrealistic reality.

“The Young Immortal,” by Brooksie C. Fontaine (me!)

“When it started, it was the February fourteenth of 1945. An American plane was hit in the engine by Japanese fire, fell from the slate gray sky like a shooting star. Its blazing red reflection ignited the swell of colorless water. And then it was gone, taking with it all the color in the world.

In that plane was my fellow air force pilot. The love of my life.

You.

I know what you’re thinking: you weren’t alive in ‘45, and you weren’t a man. Well, I’m gonna tell you you’re wrong on both counts. You’ve been a man before. You’ll be one again. It doesn’t matter to me, so long as it’s you.”

This one is unique, because it includes both the First Person Reminiscent (the eponymous immortal narrator) and the Second Person Reader as Character. The reader is in the perspective of the narrator’s oft-reincarnated love interest, and so I decided to include it as an example.

The “I” Substitute

“You were fifteen when you realized you could only get hard if you were thinking about carnivorous dinosaurs. Not me. You. This has absolutely nothing to do with me, and I resent the insinuation that it does. This is your problem, dino-fucker. This is your story. This is about you.”

This one’s interesting. The narrator is in denial, and using the second-person to distance themselves from the events of the story. It is a substitute for the First Person, and a thinly-veiled one at that.

Examples:

“Freaks,” by Alden Jones

“From the cluster of mourners, Kristen’s mother had emerged; she strode towards you. Her straight brown hair was limp and flyaway. She wore the expression of an animal who wanted to devour you. Her eyes were cushioned by the bluish puffed skin beneath them, but they flashed hot with fury.

‘You,’ she said. She pointed her finger. She began to gallop. ‘You think you see something no one else sees?’ she called. Mourners turned to watch her progress towards you. Heather took a step away.

You dangled the camera by your side. You froze. You did nothing but watch the thing happen.

‘YOU,’ the mother said, charging. ‘YOU. YOU.’”

These are actually the concluding lines of this haunting story from Jones’s collection, Unaccompanied Minors. I had the pleasure of hearing her read this story for my graduate program; in the Q&A afterwards, she explained how the narrative, and the characters’ mentality throughout the story, depended on the Second Person. “It was a different story without it,” she said.

“The Other Person,” by Nathan Leslie

“You write the story in the second person. It’s your go-to point of view now. You like it’s edge, its resonance of irony, even if your story lacks said irony (it adds irony). You makes anything possible. You is the new me.”

This one is simultaneously hilarious, sad, and strangely invigorating. It encapsulates the deep trenches of insecurity that come with being an author, and whittles them into sharp, sly satire. The “I” Substitute doesn’t just emphasize the story; it is the story. This story would not exist without it.

Now that I’ve successfully changed your mind about the Second Person (and if you still don’t agree with me, you’re wrong), let’s move on to the ever-popular yet difficult-to-master Third Person.

What is the Third Person?

You know what the third person is, but I’ll suspend my disbelief and pretend you don’t. It uses the pronouns he, she, or they, but the perspective can be virtually anywhere. Which makes the Third Person such an interesting thing to explore.

Third Person Objective

“She slaps him. He touches the red mark her ring left behind, and stares at her with wide eyes.”

This one is also known as The Dramatic, The Camera Lens, or The Fly on the Wall perspective. It describes the events as we would view them, with no inside information into the thoughts or motivations of the characters. What we see is what we get, and we have to discern the characters’ feelings based on what they say and do.

Example:

“Meanwhile. A Conversation,” from American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“‘Miz Crow?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are Samantha Black Crow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, ma’am?’

‘Are you cops? What are you?’

‘My name is Town. My colleague here is Mister Road. We’re investigating the disappearance of two of our associates.’

‘What were their names?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Tell me their names. I want to know what they were called. Your associates. Tell me their names and maybe I’ll help you.’

‘...Okay. Their names were Mister Stone, and Mister Wood. Now, can we ask you some questions?’

‘Do you guys just see things and pick names? “Oh, you be Mister Sidewalk, he’s Mister Carpet, say hello to Mister Airplane?”’”

In this unique and hilarious chapter, we witness an exchange between (bisexual icon) Samantha Black Crow and a minor villain who has been assigned to track down the protagonist. We aren’t privy to either of the characters’ emotions or thoughts, or even their actions, yet we can discern all of it from dialogue alone.

Third Person Limited

“She’s had enough of his bullshit. Something in her snaps, and her open palm collides -- hard -- with the side of his stupid, stupid face. He touches the red mark she left behind, staring at her like he can’t believe she actually did that. Good. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop being such an pugnacious fuckwad.”

This one is tethered to a specific character, whose thoughts and feelings we are aware of. However, we are not inside the mind of the character in the same manner as a First Person narrator.

Examples:

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough, and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.”

Though American Gods features an impressive diversity of perspectives, we spend most of the book tethered to the lovable ex-con Shadow Moon. We are never trapped inside his head, as we would be if the story were First Person, but we know what he is thinking and feeling. He is our viewpoint character.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry

“It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen. Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice. He had seen it both times. Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and then a second later heard the blast of sound that followed. Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane.”

Lois Lowry’s timeless, haunting dystopia is introduced through the guileless eyes of twelve-year-old Jonas. We are aloud to see the world from his perspective, but the distance of Third Person Limited allows us to feel the horror of each situation with more clarity. Lowry demonstrates how to utilize POV to one’s advantage, similar to how Neil Gaiman uses Third Person Limited to enhance the horror of his masterful modern fairy tale Coraline.

Multiple Selective Omniscience

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and slaps him. Hard. Hard enough that her ring leaves a red welt on his cheek.

He feels his eyes go wide, and he touches the side of his face. He keeps waiting for her to apologize, but her eyes are narrowed and her lips are pursed. She doesn’t look sorry.”

The viewpoint shifts between characters. It can be extremely effective, as long as we are aware of when the proverbial camera changes angles.

Examples:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith

First of all: if you haven’t read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, do it. Do it right now. It is the piece of classic literature I recommend to everyone who hates classic literature, because it’s devoid of all of the traits that make people hate classic literature to begin with. It has oodles of complex, idiosyncratic, autonomous, and tough-as-hell female characters, bad language, and frank discussions of sexuality, poverty, and classism. Read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Anyway. Though its protagonist is Francie Nolan, who, like the eponymous tree, perseveres and thrives against insurmountable odds, the viewpoint bounces around an immense deal, between Francie’s family and neighbors to the most minor side-characters. Because of this, many people believe that the true protagonist is Brooklyn itself, and the people in it.

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, by Ayana Mathis

This is a captivating, gut-wrenching book, similar to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in its highly effective depiction of poverty. The book follows the children of Hattie Shepherd, a formerly young and optimistic mother, who lost her firstborn twins to an easily preventable disease in the aftermath of the Great Migration. The viewpoint changes with each chapter, showing the perspectives of each of her children and how they are haunted by this loss.

The Vacationers, by Emma Straub

A far cry from its poverty-focused predecessors, this book focuses on the problems of the affluent and privileged. It is, however, a deeply interesting read, as it swerves between the perspectives of the titular vacationers after a patriarch’s fore into adultery threatens his family and marriage.

Omniscient

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and to his surprise, she slaps him. Hard enough that he feels her ring leave a red welt on his flesh.

He touches his cheek in shock, and stares at her, awaiting an apology. But she isn’t sorry. All she feels is satisfaction.”

Just what it sounds like. The character is an all-knowing entity. Or Lemony Snicket. Perhaps both.

Examples:

Everything I Never Told You, by Celeste Ng

“Lydia is dead. But they don’t know this yet.”

Celeste Ng’s beautiful and haunting novel begins with the wordless affirmation of the narration’s omniscience. The narrative knows things the characters don’t, though it doesn’t always choose to relay its secrets. In this case, it doesn’t answer the mystery of Lydia’s death until the very end -- an answer that the characters themselves will never discover.

The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

Tolkien’s book shows us how useful omniscience is for worldbuilding. He doesn’t need to cleverly sneak this exposition into Bilbo’s dialogue; he can tell it to us outright, and immediately draw us into this world while doing so.

Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

“Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it was created at all and didn’t just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being between ten and twenty thousand years ago. By that same token the earth itself is generally supposed to be about four and a half thousand million years old.

These dates are incorrect.”

This delightfully Pratchett-esque opening immediately puts us into a -- literally -- godlike perspective, in which we are given insider information about the start of the universe. It immediately establishes the tone of this amazing novel: one in which life and creation are too important to be taken seriously. And for this purpose, this uniquely omniscient perspective is the only way to go.

That’s all I’ve got for now, my fellow scribblers! As you contemplate perspective, just think about how different the same events would look from a two disparate viewpoints. Even if two people are sharing a moment, that moment is different for both of them.

The perspective isn’t something you tack on to your story. Oftentimes, it defines your story. So choose carefully, and don’t be afraid to explore!

Happy writing, everybody! <3

#writing #writing tips #caff's writing tips #the author speaks #authors #writing resources #perspectives #writing perspectives #first person #second person #third person #pov #fiction

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chincilla-on-the-moon · 4 years

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Birthday Wishes-Connor Murphy X Reader

Word Count: 1,962

A/N: Hey everyone! It was my birthday a while ago so thats where i got this inspiration for this lol. I just want to say I am in no way trying to take attention away from the Black Lives Matter movement I just thought this would be a nice way for people to take a break and unwind with everything going on in the world right now, but there’s a post on my blog with a link that has information on how you can help so please visit it! Thanks you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! :)

You and Connor Murphy had celebrated many birthdays together since your parents were best friends in high school and you and Connor were also best friends. You had been at each other's birthday parties since you were born. You had always given one another thoughtful gifts and wonderful cards with handwritten messages full of love. You would never tell Connor but, you kept all the cards he gave you in a box in the back of your closet.

But this year was different as it was your first birthday when you and Connor were dating. He hadn’t said anything about it so you just assumed that it was going to be a low-key night as usual where the two of you just hung out and watched movies at someones house or something like that, what you didn’t know was that Connor was planning a romantic night for the two of you. Before you even started dating you always talked about wanting to go stargazing with your significant other when they finally came along, so he figured why not do it for your birthday. A couple of days before your birthday when you were busy staying after for some kind of club he went to the store and got fairy lights to hang on the back of his beat up truck and a bunch of your favorite snacks. That night he also made a playlist full of all your favorite songs and found the extra mattress his parents kept in the attic to put in the bed of his truck. As the day got closer and closer he took almost every single blanket and pillow from the Murphy household to make the perfect stargazing fort.

Then the day finally arrived, you were on the phone when the clock struck midnight so he could be the first person to wish you a happy birthday, a few minutes after you hung up and went to bed as you were tired and wanted to be well rested because unfortunately you had to go to school, but luckily it was Friday. After you went to sleep Connor wrote you a long birthday message for you to read once you woke up and then went to sleep himself. Connor got up extra early in order to get you your favorite drink from the local coffee shop before he picked you up, you were over the moon and thought that this would be the extent of the birthday celebration, but boy were you wrong. While you were walking in the halls a few people wished you a happy birthday and you said thank you quietly while blushing.

For lunch Connor took you off campus to your favorite fast food restaurant and gave you the first of many presents, this one was a stuffed animal from Build-A-Bear Workshop which he drenched in his cologne which you loved so much. He told you to press the paw and when you did a recording of Connor saying “I love you Y/N” played and you just about died. Connor swears he saw you start to cry but you fiercely denied it. Much to both your dismays your lunch period was almost over and you had to head back to school. The rest of the day went by fairly fast and you got a few more birthday wishes from your peers and even some teachers. At the end of the day Connor dropped you off home so you could have dinner and celebrate with your family. You wanted him to stay for the festivities but he insisted Cynthia needed him home, but he would see you later.

Your family celebration finished at about 6:45 and Connor came and picked you up at 7:15. You went over to the Murphy residence, when you arrived Cynthia, Larry and Zoe were all sitting at the dinner table talking, they stopped their conversation and wished you a happy birthday. You said thank you while blushing madly, you then practically ran up to Connor’s room to get away from all the attention. Once you got into Connor’s room you plopped down on his bed and threw your arm over your eyes. You heard Connor shuffling around the room but then he stopped suddenly, you removed your arm from your eyes and saw Connor standing at the foot of his bed with a picture frame full of pictures of the two of you. “Oh my gosh Con,” you say while getting up and going over to him. “I love it, so much.” You gave him a gigantic hug and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. The two of you stood like that for a moment, just enjoying one another’s presence. After you broke apart you took the frame into your hands and looked at all the pictures, there were some form when the two of you first met in middle school, then some from various dances which you dragged Connor to throughout the years, some from dates, and then some candid ones your friends snuck of you when everyone was hanging out together. Those were your favorites cause you could see how much you and Connor adored each other. After staring at the pictures for a few minutes you and Connor decided to just cuddle, what you didn’t know was that he was just waiting for it to get a bit darker before he took you out for the night's final activity.

You were just about to fall asleep to the sound of Connor’s heartbeat when he pressed a kiss in your head and softly said, “Hey sleepyhead, time to get up.”

“Huh?” you said sitting up, head fogged with fatigue.

“Get up. We’re going somewhere,” he gently cooed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, very confused. You figured the two of you were just going to spend the rest of the night cuddling or something like that.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” he said booping your nose while getting out of bed. “Come on you slowpoke,” he said already halfway out his bedroom door. You had finally woken up all the way and were following Connor out the door. By the time you made it down stairs he was already waiting at the door with his shoes on. You hurried to put your shoes on because you didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer than you already had, because of this you lost your balance. “Woah slow down babe!”, Connor said while grabbing your arm to make sure you didn’t fall.

“Sorry I just didn’t want to keep you waiting,” you said, cheeks turning bright red while you finished putting in your second shoe.

“You ready to go, Lovely?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to grab.

“Yes,” you said, happily accepting his hand.

Once you got out to his truck he opened your door and you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. Once you both got settled in Connor handed you the AUX cord and you put on the playlist the two of you made together for car rides, it was filled with your guys favorite songs and songs that reminded one of you of the other person. There wasn’t much talking during the ride as you were trying to figure out where the heck Connor was taking you but the two of you did hold hands over the center console and he was rubbing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. After about 15 minutes of driving you finally arrived at your destination, the old abandoned orchard on the edge of town.

You were very confused as to why Connor took you here. “What are we doing here Murphy?”

“Well you always mentioned how you wanted to go stargazing with your special someone, so I figured I would do it for you on your birthday, I just hope I'm special enough for ya,” he says looking down and blushing when he says that last part. He points to the back of the truck that's all decked out with blankets, pillows and even fairy lights, still not meeting your eyes.

“Connor, honey, look at me,” you say, grabbing his hands in yours to make him look at you. At some point you started to tear up because you're amazed he remembered when you said you wanted to go stargazing and amazed that he cared this much about you to set this all up. “I love this very much just like I love you very much. You are more than special to me Connor Murphy.” Once you were done talking you gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose and then hugged him. He rested his head on top of yours and the two of you just stood there for a little while.

Once you finally pulled apart you went and hopped into the back of his truck and snuggled into all of the blankets. Connor pulled his phone out and took a photo of you, “Oh yeah this is definitely my new lockscreen,” he said with a smirk.

“Hey you asshole! It's still my birthday you can't be mean to me!” You said with a pout like a small child.

“Its cute i swear babe,” he said, still with that stupid smirk on his face.

“Come get in here with me you dummy,” you said reaching out for him with your hands.

“Give me two seconds you big baby,” he said while over dramatically rolling his eyes and scoffing. He went into the front of his truck and plugged his phone into the aux and started playing the playlist he made for the night and getting your final gift of the night.

After what seemed like an eternity Connor came and settled into the truck with you. You laid your head on top of his chest and tangled his legs with yours, two of you just stayed like that for a while and enjoyed the stars along with each other's presence. After a while the two of you sat up and started eating the snacks Connor brought and were just talking. He eventually said “I actually have one more present for you.” He dug around in his pocket for a minute before pulling out a small jewelry box. He handed it over to you and when you opened it up there was a small heart shaped necklace with his initials engraved onto it. “It's a locket so open it, there's something inside,” he said watching your face intently while you looked at the necklace. WIth some struggle you opened the necklace and inside was your favorite picture of Connor and another engraving that said “My love forever and always” and your anniversary date. You fully started to bawl now because this was the best gift someone could ever get you.

“Hey, hey, hey what's wrong lovely?” he asked voice full of genuine concern and internally freaking out because he thought he did something wrong.

“Nothing, it's just… this night is so perfect no ones ever done anything like this for me ever. And I love this necklace so much Con,” you said while wiping at your face.

“Come here baby,” Connor said, opening his arms for you to go in between them. You just cried for a little bit because you felt so loved and whispered thank yous into Connors chest.

Once you calmed down Connor helped you put your locket on and once he finished you settled into his chest and looked back up at the sky and saw a shooting star. “Hey look,” Connor gently whispered, “Make a wish”. You didn’t make a wish though because you already had everything you needed right there

#Connor Murphy X Reader #connor murphy x reader #connor murphy fanfic #connor murphy x you #connor murphy #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen x you #dear evan hansen fanfic #cynthia murphy #zoe murphy #larry murphy

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agirlhasnonamehotd · 7 years

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Defining Moments In Life and Love

This one is Mark x MC from Mark’s point of view. Enjoy!

“OOF!”

The sound of my ringtone, set to full volume, scares me out of a deep sleep. I hit the ground shoulder first, and swear as the sheets tangle around me like a straight jacket. The phone still screams out the sound of light sabers crossing. Damn Start Wars. I’m changing that crap.

I fumble around the nightstand until I feel my phone and pull it towards me. If this is Amy and I’ve missed more than one call and two texts, I’m toast. I might as well answer with an apology. I take a breath and look at the screen. Ten missed texts. Two calls. All from Dani.

Shit.

Dani’s good about respecting my sleep. When I text her goodnight I never hear from her until soccer practice is over the next morning - usually that is because I initiate discussion. If she’s trying to reach me at 2 a.m… something’s wrong. I answer the phone.

“What’s going on?” I ask in alarm.

I hear sniffling on the line, and very faint voice.

“I’m in the hallway Mark, please let me in.”

I hang up without another word and fight my way out of the sheets. I look, bleary eyed, in the mirror. Just boxers. Not a good idea. I throw on a soccer shirt and proceed to the door. As soon as I see her… I feel an overwhelming sense of concern. And also… attraction.

She’s in my doorway in a short, slinky dress. It is so tight it hugs every curve in a way that makes my brain feel like mush. She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. And sad. Her body shakes as a sob breaks free. Oh God…

“Come in,” I whisper.

“Dani…what happened?”

“It’s Aidan… we…we…” her voice trails off.

Dani collapses against my chest; grabs a fistful of my shirt in one hand and wraps her other arm around my back. All at once I am both thankful and frustrated she’s not touching bare skin. I know what I want to do, but it’s not an option. Instead I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer.

Maybe too close.

“Is it bad?” I ask.

“On a scale of 1 to 10,” she warbles, “an 11.”

This will not be an easy fix. No words of wisdom will solve this. She needs consoling. I have practice in four hours and it doesn’t matter to me at this moment. I need to take care of her. I want to.

“C’mere,” I tell her gently.

I walk her over to the futon in the den and help her sit. From the desk I pull a box of tissues and hand it to her. She looks up at and gives the faintest hint of a smile. It hits me straight in the heart. I never knew someone could be simultaneously breathtaking and heartbreaking when they cry.

Don’t think that.

“Mark I’m so sorry I called,” she exclaims, “you have practice soon! You need rest! I’m sorry, I know Amy won’t want me he-“

“Nope,” I interrupt her, “forget Amy. I only care about you right now”.

Did I really just say that? Forget my own girlfriend?

Who was I kidding…I love Amy. When the two of us are together it’s pretty good…but…but..

That is a horrible road you’re travelling down, asshole. I go down it anyway. She’s no Dani.

With a sigh I take one of her hands in mine and look at her. I look into those shining eyes and I wish like hell they were bright with the reflection of her smile. My heart aches to see her laughing, even if, like most days, it’s at my expense.

“Tell me.” Is all I say.“I…I was supposed to go with Aidan to a party, but I had to write a paper. I told him I probably woudn’t make it. He seemed okay with it,” she starts, “ Ends up the paper wasn’t as complicated as I thought. I finished it, got dressed, and dragged my roommate to the Sig Ep House to surprise him… yeah, what a lovely surprise.”

She stops and reaches for a tissue to wipe her face.

“I guess in my absence he found someone else to occupy his time,” she mutters, “and his dick. I told him to go fuck himself and ran out.”

A triumphant feeling washes over me. One of Dani’s many amazing qualities is her strength. I wish I had it. Maybe then things with Amy wouldn’t be so…

Dani. Focus on Dani.

“Did he come out?” I inquire.

“Yep, but I still walked away. He looked like an idiot holding a pillow over himself, “she laughs bitterly, “he could’ve used a post it note instead. The pillow was a generous covering.”

I laugh. Really loud. So hard in fact that a little snort escapes. Now, even though a tear still drips its way down her face, Dani is laughing, too. Seeing her full lips curve up in a smile and hearing her happiness, however brief, renders me breathless. Without any logical thought process I cup her face in my hands; rub her cheek with my thumb. She smiles up at me and for the moment…for one damn moment I see it. She and I together, this look on her face when I tell her that since my birthday party last year she’s been a constant thought in my head. That being around her makes me feel electrified, and bright, and ready to accomplish anything. I want to tell her she’d never be unhappy again. Not with…

“Mark…”

When I come back to reality I realized I’ve stopped caressing her cheeks and am touching her lips. My heart drops to my stomach…but…I don’t see confusion or anger in her gaze. Instead I think see… no…that can’t be… her expression mirroring my own?

“Does he need a soccer cleat to the balls?” I joke, moving my hands back to my own lap.

“Make sure to wear a ski mask when you do it,” she warns, “can’t have you kicked off the team for garbage like him.”

That’s my girl. Well, not my girl. Her strength continues to inspire me. I look at my phone. An hour has gone by. Beside me, Dani yawns.

“I don’t want you walking across campus by yourself,” I tell her. The thought of some drunk frat boy or Aidan approaching her makes me anxious.

“Mark, I have that mace keychain you got me, I’ll be fine-“

“You’re staying here.”

I take her hand and pull her off the couch. She needs at least a couple hours of sleep to ease her mind. My bed still looks a tornado hit it. I fix the sheets and comforter from my trip to the floor and then pull them down on one side. Dani climbs in.

She’s in my bed. What would it be like to see her there on a regular basis? To come back from the kitchenette while the coffee brews and see her sound asleep. What would it be like to…

“Stay?”

The thoughts in my head fall like teetering Jenga pieces. I blink once, twice, three times. Did she just ask me to stay?

“You sure?” I ask her

“Please.”

Laying in bed is a forbidden thought so I sit beside her. She turns on her side; instead of using my pillow she puts her head in my lap and takes my hand in one of hers.

“He never deserved you,” I finally confess, “you know that right?”

“I guess,” she mumbles.

“Someday…you’ll have someone in your life who will understand how special you are,” My voice quakes when I say it, “because you really are one of a kind.”

“Mark… you’re my best friend,” she whispers through another yawn.

“And you’re mine, Dani,” is all I can manage.

Those are the last words we say to each other. I stroke her hair and watch her eyelids slowly droop until they’re completely closed. I never move and she never lets go of my hand. My whole body feels different. Like something isn’t and will never be the same. In this moment my best friend becomes something more to me. I’m not sure what and I’m not sure I should even define it. I just know somehow …when the hurt stops and her smile permanently returns… when the time is finally right for us…

She’ll be mine.

And I will NEVER make her do anything but smile.

#pixelberry #playchoices #lovehacks #lovehacks mark #mark collins #mark x mc

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paradise-vacancy-blog · 5 years

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What Does nailart Mean?

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#hairstyle

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etechwire-blog · 6 years

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Kingdom Hearts 3: release date, news and rumors

New Post has been published on https://www.etechwire.com/kingdom-hearts-3-release-date-news-and-rumors/

Kingdom Hearts 3: release date, news and rumors

It’s been almost 12 years since Kingdom Hearts 2 was released, but the demand for Kingdom Hearts 3 has not faltered. In that 12 years way may have gone through one and a half new console generations and played many spin off titles, but the mainline Kingdom Hearts story has remained in the back of our minds.

Confirmed by Square Enix in 2013 with an announcement, Kingdom Hearts 3 will continue the story of Sora, Donald and Goofy.

After the initial confirmation and announcement trailer in 201,3 we then got a teaser trailer and some tantalizing details at E3 in 2014 and even more news and a gameplay trailer at E3 2015. Since then news has been fairly thin on the ground but we’ve collected all of the latest news and rumors right here for your perusal.

[Update: With E3 2018 and Square Enix’s very own press conference being right around the corner, we’re expecting to get some big Kingdom Hearts announcements soon. Could this finally be the time for a release date reveal? TechRadar will be attending E3 and reporting live from the show floor so make sure you check back here for the latest news and announcements as they happen.]

Cut to the chase

What is it? The long-anticipated third mainline title in Square Enix’s action roleplaying crossover series, Kingdom Hearts.

When can I play it? 2018

What can I play it on? PS4 and Xbox One

Trailers

There are now six Kingdom Hearts 3 trailers you need to watch if you really want to consider yourself a Keyblade hype master.

The latest comes from Disney’s D23 Expo in Japan. At four minutes long, this new trailer gives fans a look at the brand new Monsters Inc World, starring Boo, Mike and Sully.

D23 is the place for Kingdom Hearts trailers, as prior to the Japan event we were treated to another trailer announcing a brand new Toy Story world.

Not long before this at E3 2017 we got the chance to see another gameplay trailer which showed off footage from the game’s Hercules level.

The second most recent trailer for the game was released at JumpFesta in 2016. The trailer gave an insight into how the game’s combat will work as well as a glimpse at special abilities and the impact the game’s environment will have on fighting.

Prior to this there was another and much more full trailer released at E3 in 2015. In this gameplay trailer fans got a look at what appears to be a new location – the exterior of Rapunzel’s tower from the film Tangled.

A much shorter trailer was revealed at E3 in 2014, setting the stage for the game’s main story.

And of course we can’t forget the announcement trailer from all the way back in 2013. There have been lots of trailer haven’t there?

Release date

At D23 in July 2017, it was announced in a fifth trailer that the game would be released in 2018. Though there was no more solid date than this provided it gives fans a window to look forward to.

In an interview at D23, the game’s director Tetsuya Nomura explained what had taken so long to get the game to this point (bearing in mind Kingdom Hearts 2 was released 12 years ago and 3 was announced all the way back in 2013).

Nomura said that “it hurts” to hear accusations that he’s taking too long, particularly as just after the game’s first year of development the decision to change to Unreal Engine 4 was made over his head. This change, though inevitable, caused extensive delays which weren’t helped by timing and resourcing challenges within Square Enix.

“It’s kind of out of my hands” he said.

It’s now 2018 and we don’t have any more information on the game’s release date. We’re hoping that might be cleared up at the next D23 event, taking place in Japan in February.

News and features

Story

Kingdom Hearts 3 will see players once more take up the role of Sora as he travels with his closest friends Donald and Goofy across a variety of world themed around and populated by a host of famous Disney and Final Fantasy characters.

Game director Tetsuya Nomura has confirmed that the game’s story will start straight after the ending of Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance.

This means that the game will follow our trio in their pursuit of the Seven Guardians of Light to prepare for their final showdown against Master Xehanort. All the while, King Mickey and Riku will continue their hunt for the remaining Keyblade wielders.

Does all of this sound like complete gobbledygook to you? Not to worry, if you’d like to catch up on all of the essential story you can do so on PlayStation 4 by playing Kingdom Hearts 1.5 + 2.5 Remix and Kingdom Hearts 2.8 Final Chapter Prologue.

Not sure you’ve got the time for playing through all of that? Then you could watch the below summary of the franchise timeline created by Game Trailers. It’s still almost an hour long but it’ll do the job.

New visuals

Kingdom Hearts 3 will adopt a slightly visual style to previous games in the franchise, aiming for more of a brush-like look than photo realism. In an interview with Famitsu (via Kotaku) Tetsuya Nomura was very open about the decision to take a new visual approach, stating that this new direction was an attempt to “Express Disney’s 2D brushwork in 3D.”

Nomura said this was a look they’d wanted since the first game but “At the time, the [PlayStation 2] didn’t have the processing power to allow us to freely adjust the lighting.”

The new PlayStation 4 hardware, however, is much more capable and Nomura said it’s possible to get “a real feeling of evolution by just making the standard graphics into HD.” Nomura admitted that it’s a fairly “drastic change” but added that he sees it as “a rich evolution of everything we’ve shown you up to now.”

Gameplay

It looks like the action RPG gameplay won’t change too much from previous titles in the franchise, most likely drawing from and improving on that of Kingdom Hearts 2 and perhaps integrating particularly successful elements from the handheld titles.

It’s been confirmed, though, that Sora will be much more mobile in combat, able to wall run, jump on enemies, and largely take greater advantage of the game’s much larger environments.

Back in 2013, Nomura said that the combat in Kingdom Hearts 3 will be “pretty frantic”, with NPCs able to join in the three-person party fights as well as “more intricate” enemy AI.

A couple of interesting new combat features that have been confirmed include Attraction Flow and Keyblade Transformations.

Attraction Flow attacks are new super moves that will apparently be triggered under certain though unconfirmed battle conditions. These powerful moves based on the Flowmotion moves from Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance are inspired by some of the biggest rides at the Disney theme parks such as the Teacups, Pirate Ship and Thunder Mountain Railroad.

Keyblade Transformations are fairly self explanatory and will allow Sora’s Keyblade weapons to transform in battle with different effects.

According to Nomura, Keyblade Transformations will only be unlocked when all missions from one of the game’s worlds are unlocked, with each individual world offering its own unique transformation.

For example, it was spotted by KH Insider that an Olympus Keyblade was able to cast Zeus’ lightning as well as transform into a Pegasus-drawn chariot.

New worlds

Disney’s been busy in the years since Kingdom Hearts 2 was first released so as you’d expect, there are going to be a few new worlds to play in.

Thus far the Kingdom of Corona from Tangled, an as yet untitled world from Big Hero 6, Mount Olympus from Hercules, Twilight Town Mysterious Tower, Toy Story and Monsters inc. worlds have been confirmed as new additions.

In a recent interview with Famitsu, Nomura lessened the excitement of a brand new Toy Story world slightly by revealing that there will be fewer Disney worlds in this game than in Kingdom Hearts 2.

Kingdom Hearts 2 had 12 worlds in total and thus far we have 7 worlds confirmed for the third game. With Nomura stating that all of the worlds that will feature in the game will be revealed before its release we can expect a few more to be revealed over the next year. How many of these will be brand new worlds and how many will be repeats from previous games is unclear.

At the very least, Nomura has promised that even though there will be fewer worlds, they’ll be much more dense. We have to admit, not every Kingdom Hearts world holds an equal place in our own hearts so we’ll happily take quality over quantity.

Though Disney has also acquired Marvel and LucasFilm, it’s unlikely their franchises will appear in Kingdom Hearts due to a variety of other license agreement barriers, with Nomura cautioning that “the other associated companies under Disney [are] not something that is as simple as us consulting with Disney Interactive. So, unfortunately, the lineup is kind of considered as different.”

Another playable character?

A report in Official PlayStation UK (scanned by KHInsider) suggests that Kingdom Hearts 3 may feature a playable Riku alongside Sora.

“The latest game in the Disney-meets-Final-Fantasy mash up series is split between two perspectives of best buds Sora and Riku. You will meet a host of new characters whose help you’ll need to stop the evil Master Xehanort from bringing about another Keyblade war. Familiar faces and places return, but there are new worlds to visit inspired by Toy Story, Fantasia and Tangled.”

These aren’t details that have been confirmed by Square Enix about the game yet, so we’re sticking them strictly in the rumor category for now. It could very well be that the information has been mixed up with the similarly named Kingdom Hearts 3D, released on PS4 in 2016. This game had a playable Riku as well as a Fantasia-themed world.

It may be, however, that the information is accurate. Game director, Nomura, did tell IGN in July 2017 that the team was considering putting another playable character into the game. He just didn’t state that it was Riku.

Regardless, we’re hoping to see some more Kingdom Hearts 3 information (perhaps even a release date) at the D23 in Japan, taking place in February 2018.

Nintendo Switch?

In a recent interview Square Enix CEO Yosuke Matsuda told Nikkei (via MyNintendo) that the company is focusing on bringing more of its current and future titles to Nintendo’s new console, the Nintendo Switch.

Though Matsuda makes no direct reference to bringing Kingdom Hearts 3 to the Switch, it does suggest that if such a move is feasible and the hardware limitations aren’t too great, Square Enix will make it happen.

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