[ perhaps it's poetic he'd picked up an opal smattered in various shades of deep red and a warm grey-black by the edge of the town, where he'd thought he'd seen a thick spider crawl its way up the bark of a tree and disappear into its higher branches. kol wipes his face with gentle hands then a harder touch, knowing that the wetness he finds doesn't quite belong to him. it's peter's.
the intense storm of emotions that had whipped up inside of him and almost knocked him over lingers. that's the curse of being a vampire; he feels everything much more intensely and at a heightened level than anyone else. it lingers in a way he wishes it wouldn't, like the intoxicating and acidic taste of blood. some of peter's memories reminds kol of how magic had made him feel—like he could take on the world and be the world itself. those memories of uncle ben, aunt may, and gwen inspire him to not hide this opal and what he'd seen from peter.
kol does hesitate in finding peter's little abode. when he walks, he watches his footfalls, eying how strong and wide his strides are as he wonders if they're his own. when he looks at that opal in his hand, he thinks of that man who had inspired warmth in his chest and how he would think so poorly of kol for all the cold blood he'd shed over his years.
uncle ben. otto octavius. gwen stacey. aunt may? peter parker. spider-man. kol ensures to remember those names in a bid to separate himself from peter's memories. those emotions aren't his. what happened to peter did not happen to him. he did not do anything similar to that.
after years of manipulating the memories of innocent people, he knows exactly what had been handed to him. after centuries of denying responsibility for half of his own torture, he knows that he's trying desperately to turn a blind eye to what peter's memories have innocently reprimanded him for.
he can't help but tap out a childish rhythm against peter's door. ] Spider-Man.
[ just in case peter doesn't feel like answering, that should be enough: the uncertain tone of voice, the flippancy in how he singsongs it. who the fuck is spider-man, really? ]
no subject
the intense storm of emotions that had whipped up inside of him and almost knocked him over lingers. that's the curse of being a vampire; he feels everything much more intensely and at a heightened level than anyone else. it lingers in a way he wishes it wouldn't, like the intoxicating and acidic taste of blood. some of peter's memories reminds kol of how magic had made him feel—like he could take on the world and be the world itself. those memories of uncle ben, aunt may, and gwen inspire him to not hide this opal and what he'd seen from peter.
kol does hesitate in finding peter's little abode. when he walks, he watches his footfalls, eying how strong and wide his strides are as he wonders if they're his own. when he looks at that opal in his hand, he thinks of that man who had inspired warmth in his chest and how he would think so poorly of kol for all the cold blood he'd shed over his years.
uncle ben. otto octavius. gwen stacey. aunt may? peter parker. spider-man. kol ensures to remember those names in a bid to separate himself from peter's memories. those emotions aren't his. what happened to peter did not happen to him. he did not do anything similar to that.
after years of manipulating the memories of innocent people, he knows exactly what had been handed to him. after centuries of denying responsibility for half of his own torture, he knows that he's trying desperately to turn a blind eye to what peter's memories have innocently reprimanded him for.
he can't help but tap out a childish rhythm against peter's door. ] Spider-Man.
[ just in case peter doesn't feel like answering, that should be enough: the uncertain tone of voice, the flippancy in how he singsongs it. who the fuck is spider-man, really? ]