niklaus-no-mans-son-blog - Tumblr blog

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

bigmikaelsonsister:

Freya felt a sharp pain piercing her heart and she bit her lip to prevent herself from flaming the brother she was holding pressed against the wall completely. She wouldn’t have wanted anything but getting to know her brothers and sister, but that chance was taken from her. “I am not to blame for that. Esther is the one who sent me away when I was too young to understand what that meant.”

She dropped her hands and the flames and gave Klaus some room to move again, but she had the right mind to protect herself in such a way that he couldn’t come too close, not close enough to touch her, or kill her. “Do I want to know what happened between the two of you that causes you to almost lose your temper over the fact that I am even asking about him?” In a strange way watching Klaus lose his temper over each small thing didn’t make him seem like a monster. It made him seem like her and it reminded her of all the villages she burned because of her own tantrums and anger. 

“Easy, brother.” Freya spoke calmly, watching the pain on his face because he had appeared a little too close. “I was actually on the brink of starting a friendship with Camille.” She cocked her head and a smile spread across her lips, even though she was afraid it would madden her brother even more. “I am not here to hurt anyone and I am for sure not here to hurt innocent people who bring a little good into this way too dark world.”

“Deductive reasoning, sweet sister,” he hisses. "You shouldn’t be so surprised. He loves us about as much as our dear mother apparently loved you.” It’s a calculated shot, aimed straight for the heart, but he’s not interested in pulling his punches, never has been. Certainly, this scheming trollop doesn’t warrant his restraint. “He was always Mummy’s favorite, you know. Her little lap dog. You say she sold you like a slave, well, Dear Finn swooped into whatever void you think you left. Neither one of them apparently spared you much thought. She said you died of plague,” Klaus says, callously. Their mother has never brought her children anything but pain, and if she’s really so eager to be a child of Esther, well then, she must reap what she has sown. 

“Stay away from her,” he spits. She’s gone, Camille is gone, and still, he can’t think beyond the red bleeding into his vision. Even if Freya says she means no harm, bringing up Camille is a strategic move. She wants him to know she’s found his weakness. It’s what he would do. Perhaps she speaks the truth, after all. “You’ll do no such thing. You do not touch her. She has no place in our world of torture and pain and betrayal.” The words are honorable maybe, the intention behind them, but the poison in them is unmistakable. 

Unbelievers || Klaus&Freya

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

marcelxthexking:

“Don’t…” Marcel stopped himself from continuing after Klaus said his name. He didn’t want his pity or anyone else’s for that matter. Marcel wanted justice, revenge for what he was forced to witness, for what those witches did to his Davina. His sweet little girl, his ray of sunshine in this cold, dark abyss of a world. She was mistreated, hurt by her own and then murdered for their benefit. Pity wouldn’t take that away, and he wasn’t sure the man in front of him wasn’t just using this as an opportunity to sneak in for power while he was weak. Klaus rarely cared about anyone that wasn’t himself or his family.

But the hybrid didn’t stop. Of course, he didn’t. He never was one to listen or walk away. Marcel had a similar trait, as in he rarely backed down or walked away from anything. This wasn’t a fight or flight situation, yet Marcel held onto the anger like it was. Getting mad was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I DON’T CARE, about the vampires.” Marcel retorted loudly, his chest heaving with his words and emotion. The use of ‘we’ and ‘our’ didn’t escape him, but he didn’t care. At that point Klaus and his family could have it all if they wanted, all he wanted was Davina back. Without her, without Cami… he had no will for the city anymore. Without them, he had nothing, and he didn’t care what vampire heard.

“SHE IS DEAD!” Marcel shouted at him. “Do you hear me?” He was on the verge of attacking blindly or crumbling to the ground. Very little was holding him up to begin with. She was gone, and he was alone. Nothing, that was all he had now, all he had to look forward to, and a lonely king was all he was.

In that moment, he can see all of his own pain reflected back at him, tenfold. All of his failures, all of the times he disappointed this man, every poor decision he had made... It’s all there, laid bare in the agony Marcellus feels. Niklaus should never have harbored the desire to raise a child. He must’ve done it wrong if he could not protect his own son from this pain. In but a moment, he is there. He couldn’t protect him from this pain, but he can help to carry him through it, even if that is all he can offer. 

As he pulls Marcellus into his arms, he feels his son break, shatter into a million, jagged, cutting pieces, and knows exactly how long it takes to recover from such a wound. He had not felt whole himself until he had laid eyes on his son once again. “I’m sorry.” Klaus would’ve leveled this entire city to spare him this pain.

“I know you may think I know nothing of your grief but you are wrong.” And these, these— 

These are the words that have been festering between them since he stepped foot back in New Orleans. The infection poisoning the relationship they had once shared. “In the days after I fled this city—” Unearthing them is an agony he isn’t prepared for, the way the words seem entrenched in his very soul. Like he’s ripping out scar tissue along with the wound itself. 

“I thought you were dead. It was years before I could speak your name, so keenly did I feel that loss.” You are my family, you are loved, you were grieved. All the words Klaus has never known how to say, and is saying only now, because he can see them reflected in Marcellus’ grief-torn soul. 

“I’m sorry.”

my empire of dirt | Klaus & Marcel

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

thexstubbornxhale:

“Don’t throw my age at me when you know perfectly well you go throwing your weight around with temper tantrums all the time!…only mine ends in a broken item or two…whilst yours ends with someone dying no doubt…I never saw you as a fucking hypocrite until now!”

Cora was angry and that anger fuelled every word which left her lips and was also responsible for the internal filter she could turn on sometimes….but in failure mode at the moment. 

“Well, he looked far from fine the last time I saw him….”

Her brow furrowed and she started to lower her voice a little, but as she was just about to let her visual slip back to him again, Cora was caught off-guard when she was slammed against the wall before she had any time to react. It took her breath for a moment and she had to concentrate on forcing some air back into her lungs, but almost immediately her wolf pushed forwards and the young Hale started to lash out, a fist balled and swung around to his right set of ribs.

“Contrary to what you believe…I really don’t give a shit!”

She wasn’t lying either, simply because she never actually assumed he ever thought about her. What she wasn’t saying though was that his words hurt, especially when she’d looked on herself as insignificant lately and contemplated joining her family. 

–yet weird as it sounded, those words he spoke so easily at her, were enough to spark the stubborn side and again she looked him defiantly in the eyes.

“ My own importance?..I have never seen myself as that….but whatever helps you sleep at night, Klaus…and yours seems to be lying about others when it’s you who is all of these things.”

Not for one minute did Cora think that he couldn’t kill her, she knew she was pushing her luck.

“I’m not scared of your temper, Klaus…or how lethal it can be.”

Her lips pressed together to form a thin line, mental pain and hurt pressured at the back of her eyes and it made her blink.

“..it would only bother me if I had something to lose….and I don’t….not anymore…so do your worst….”

He was just like the others, the ones who gave false promises–or fake friendship–letting her believe what she sought, some company in those who wouldn’t judge her–yet all the while, finding some sick amusement in her and the way she could be played.

“….or get the fuck off me and let me leave.”

TW: suicide mentions

He’d say it was an impertinent indication of youth, her incessant and infuriating drive to have the last word, if he didn’t feel that same juvenile urge. The difference was, while he could back up his ire with cruelty and viciousness, she was all talk. It would get her head separated from her shoulders if she wasn’t careful. 

He didn’t respond to any of her various barbs, simply held her against the wall, making no efforts to soften his force. She could handle a little pain. Perhaps she’d learn from it. The obvious suicidal rhetoric stemming from her, however, did rankle, and he felt his lips hardening into a scowl. 

“So, I’m to be your judge, jury, and executioner, is that it? I don’t appreciate being manipulated, Little Hale. If you want death so bad, at least have the courage to do it yourself. I’m not your smoking gun,” this time he pressed harder because how dare she. 

As abruptly as he had pinned her, he let her go, watching passionlessly as as stumbled to the floor. “Take your self-resentment somewhere else,” he spat. He had enough of his own to deal with. Hers was not welcome. “Try this again, little wolf, and and I won’t be so forgiving.” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of death, not when that was what she wanted, but he was well-versed in less lethal methods of punishment, and even prior fondness would not protect her. “Go.”

Out of the frying pan||Cora & Klaus

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

todayitwillbedifferent:

savior-salvatore:

She’s not as stupidly naive as she makes herself out to be. 

Stefan didn’t know what about her hesitance stirred a hungering p r i d e in her. Elena, the queen of self depreciation, finally decided to distrust the monster who had once laid beside her. Was it an inconvenience? Sure. Did it make all the running around more enticing? Hell y e s. If she didn’t want to comply willingly, he’d just have to t a k e what he wanted. Stefan wasn’t ready to abandon the goodie good act just yet. She’d crack and he knew it.

“–you wanted me there with you. I should have rose above my own needs to be there for you.” Jesus–I want to gag. Stefan feigned a pitifully remorseful expression at her obvious grief. While she cried over the meat sack, he was finally realizing his purpose in the world. They were all apart of the greater food chain. She was sadly on the end that was eaten; and he was hunger. “Let me make it up to you…please. Do you not trust me anymore?” He watered down his confidence in exchange for the uncertain self hating version of himself that she was obsessed with saving.

His jaw tensed at the way she’d closed herself off to him. Stefan’s succession fringed on her death. He would be released from his own personal hell with a new lease on the afterlife. 

“I’m done playing this game,” he huffed before rushing towards her. His hands encircled her arms with force, bringing her into him with haste. “You can tell Aunt Jenny Klaus said hello.”

@niklaus-no-mans-son​

“What?”

Elena’s mind is spinning, and she can’t figure out what Stefan means. Her gut twists, and his words feel more like an insult than anything meant to comfort her. Is that what he thought she meant? That he should have given up anything he was going through to rush to her side because her ‘needs’ are greater than his?

She feels sick, her stomach churning uncomfortably as her eyes begin to scan his features for anything that will help her decipher this. What had he gone through in the time they had been apart? Had she missed something?

Has she given him some reason to think that all she wants is for him to take care of her problems, and not share what he’s going through with her?

“Stefan, I never said that. I just don’t understand.” The miscommunication doesn’t make any sense, this isn’t them. “Of course, I trust you.” The words are immediate, and without hesitation, even if a part of her wants to point out that this doesn’t sound like him. “What’s going on- did something happen?”

Elena barely has the chance to ask the question before there’s a quick shift in his expression, so quick she barely notices it and can’t hear him before she’s pulled with a force she knows she can’t fight.

Tell her Aunt Klaus said hello.

Klaus said hello.

“Stefan, no- don’t!” There’s an edge of panic in her voice as her arms press against the vampire’s chest as if to put some kind of space, any kind of space between them. Desperate to buy more time- to break through to him, she has to try. “You don’t-you can fight the bloodlust.” It’s more than bloodlust, she knows that, if he’s delivering Klaus’ messages. Her phone is in her back pocket, if she can just hit a button, if she can stop him carrying out whatever he’s been set out to do…If. “I can help you- Stefan.” His arms are unyielding, and her heart is hammering in her chest.

It’s a rare and unique situation, almost unheard of, but Klaus actually can admit when he’s made a egregious error. Not technically his fault. Bloody humans can be shockingly unpredictable. Jenna wasn’t supposed to die. Honestly, he was still offended at her presumption. 

The he could worry about that later, because he’d just sent a rabid bloodhound after the only living doppelgänger. Not his finest bit of foresight, honestly. Still, he’d take Stefan’s head off if he’d laid a finger on her, order or no. 

The guards at his door are a mere inconvenience. He’d almost feel sorry for how frequently they have their necks snapped, but honestly, Marcellus should’ve learned by now. Ripper Stefan is indubitably locatable by his preference for high alcohol content and bimbos, so it’s Rousseau’s he checks first. He hasn’t been in the bar since, well, a while now, and he definitely would’ve preferred to extent that particular streak, but he has the part of the hero to play. 

And it seems he’s arrived just in the nick of time. 

“Yes, hello, Elena. I’m afraid Stefan is operating with outdated information. Can’t be bothered to read, that one. All brawn, no brains, such a travesty, honestly,” he says with a beleaguered sigh, and then he’s thrown Stefan across the bar. “Sorry about that, love. Shan’t happen again. EVERYONE OUT!” he shouts, and waits with a pleasant grin on his face as the sheep scramble to make for the exits. He brushes a bit of lint off Elena’s shoulders, and smiles at her, as if he hasn’t spent the past three years terrorizing her and everyone she loves. Time to let bygones be bygones, no?

you’re so good when you’re bad || stelena

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

bigmikaelsonsister:

Freya swallowed while she furrowed her eyebrows. She wondered what had happened to her siblings to end up in boxes, but she swallowed her question away. She had more important things to worry about. She had to make sure that her siblings believed that she was who she claimed to be, who she truly was. “It sounds like none of us had a life that could compete with a picnic in the park then.” She lifted her chin and decided not to show the emotions that rushed through her veins.

“Finn is the only one who has lived with me, who knows me. He can confirm that I am who I am, but we need to find him for that.” She understood that a lot had happened between her siblings during the last millennium and most of it she would never know or understand, but she had known Finn and she was not giving up on him just like that. “I am not asking you to forget whatever happened between you. I am asking you to let him confirm that I am who I am. Your sister." 

She saw the expression of pain on his face. She could do a whole lot worse and she would be capable of even more if she would study and learn from the best. She supposed it was better not to tell Klaus that. "Why does Finn want you all dead?" 

Freya cocked her head and stared at her brother. She kept the flames close to his skin, commanding them to interfere as soon as Klaus tried to escape of move. "And what happened to him since none of you seems to know where he is?” Maybe she would have to give her locator spell one more try. If anyone would be able to find Finn, it would be her, especially with all the powers she had been given by the Gods. “You know, Klaus.” Freya took a deep breath. “I want this family because I truly believed that all the stories Dahlia told me weren’t true.” She paused for a moment. “I believed you weren’t the monster she claimed you to be.” She swallowed. “I see that I might have mistaken your fondness of Cami O'Connell for something it was not.”

“If you need to ask that question, I’m afraid you don’t know our dear brother as well as you think,” Klaus hissed, straining against her magic. Every time he struggled brought him closer to the flames, but if the wench thought a little pain was enough to slow him down, she vastly underestimated how he had spent the past thousand years. 

“Since you already know I don’t know where he is, you’ll realize your question is a fool’s errand, witch. I don’t know who took our brother, and frankly, if I never have to see him again I don’t care.” It wasn’t an untruth, not exactly. He would have his brother back. But he would not let him free of his cage, would not grant him the right to walk unhindered upon Klaus’ earth. Oh no. But that didn’t mean someone else got to keep him prisoner, either. Always and forever, he had promised, and he’d see it through, in his way. 

Klaus opened his mouth to retort that she was a naive little girl eating up fairy tales, that is, until she mentioned Camille. 

“What have you done with her?” He roared, throwing himself against her fiery barrier, heedless of the pain of his sizzling skin. “Touch her, and this Dahlia won’t hold a candle to the torment I will rain down on you.”

“I will rip your fingers off one by one and feed them to you for the crime of touching her, do you understand, witch?!”

Unbelievers || Klaus&Freya

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

thexstubbornxhale:

“Perhaps so.” 

Cora presses her lips together to form a pensive thin line and continues to keep her gaze on him. 

“Then again, there was a time they used to burn witches at the stake too…pity that didn’t apply now to some around here.”

She needs to focus, keep her thoughts on what has happened to her family but at the same time, try and move on. Cora tries every single minute of every day to form some kind of detachment from the feelings and emotions which hound her and she is succeeding to a certain extent–it just comes at a cost though, usually, some sort of death wish way of thinking. 

“You’re just the same as all the others aren’t you…like Jennifer Blake….using friendship as a way in and then showing who you really are like now.”

It’s as though she is talking to a completely different person. What happened to the vampire who bought her lunch?–offered her advice and did some training with her?–laughed?–even for the briefest of time, apparently cared? It seems everyone played her for a fool and even though Jennifer Blake killed her brother, Cora still hurts with the facade he portrayed before today.

“Wouldn’t have been able to not obey you?..Oh….that’s changed hasn’t it…what did you say to me about the hybrid thing?…that’s right…it’s the height of what could be offered in a friendship…..LIAR!!”

She swings her arm sharply to the left and knocks some vase onto the floor. He knows perfectly well she isn’t fourteen or fifteen and the young Hale sees this as another attempt to belittle her, so completely ignores it because she knows she is a child in the eyes of some–even if she doesn’t like to acknowledge it herself.

“I’m not here to advise you. What could a young wolf say to advise such a self-serving ancient son of a bitch like yourself?…and you ask what did you lie about?”

She scoffs, but underneath it all, she isn’t finding any humour in this at all. So she closes the space between them, figuring with the speed of a vampire, it makes no difference as to where she is positioned in the room. 

“You claimed you were always honest with me and now you state it ceased to be a philosophical query centuries ago?…..You said the hybrid thing wouldn’t be attempted again unless you were sure it would be successful….so you have done such extensive research that you can now?..or did you just take a gamble on Scott’s life?….because he sure as hell didn’t agree to it.”

There’s a pang of betrayal which lingers in the air and yet she isn’t that certain it’s coming from him. Cora doesn’t really know what to feel anymore apart from she doesn’t want to be in New Orleans. The young wolf wants to be far away from the damn city and everyone in it. There’s even a piece of her, one which she is petrified to give any time to, that yearns to be with her family.

Maybe that’s why she is tailspinning into a toxic, self-destructive oblivion which could see her live or die.

“No. I wasn’t leaving.” 

Furrowing her brow she lets her visual meet his. 

“Was it all just bullshit?–everything you ever did or said to me…was it all to just have me agree to what you offered?…” She thinks about the way she has been played lately by others–some unknown witch….then Jennifer Blake and raw anger rips through her and clouds any self-preservational thought. “Was I just another fucking pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing??!!” Brown hues that once were, are replaced by a yellowy-gold as her wolf shows through. 

He didn’t have time for this. An eyebrow quirks as a priceless Fourteenth Century Ming Dynasty vase flew to the floor and shattered. How charming. A temper tantrum. “And acting your age, I see,” he remarked dryly. It was a pity she was acting this way, he would rather not have to kill her, but in his current mood, he couldn’t say he’d be too aggrieved. He’d enjoyed her company once, but she’d overstepped her bounds. 

“As it happens, I am sure of the process,” following his little experiment of course, “and Scott has not been harmed.” Overly much, anyway. He wasn’t lying, either, just leaving her to infer the time line of events herself, because he didn’t have time for this.

“Oh really?” He asked, voice dangerously low. His temper has worn through, and she insisted on pushing him to the edge. Well then, she’d reaped the benefits. It seemed, after all, that she was much behind on her lessons regarding her actions and their inevitable consequences. He was all too ready to teach her. 

He slammed her against the far wall in a millisecond, his forearm across her collarbones. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, Cora, I don’t actually spend much time thinking about you at all.” His voice is even, but there is no mistaking the deadly intent in it. “You’re not a pawn in some grandiose plan, because thus far you bear no strategical importance to me, and have nothing to offer any plans I might be scheming up. Yes, your company was amusing, perhaps, but you have vastly overestimated your own importance.” His words are cruel, he knows, but he doesn’t care. A girl is dead, his city sits on the brink of warfare and his family is being held prisoner in their own home. This girl would undoubtedly benefit from a reality check. 

“I have problems which are exceedingly wider reaching than your bruised ego, Little Wolf, so I would advise you, to leave. my. h o u s e. Or you will feel the full brunt of my temper, and I’m afraid at this point, it’s rather lethal.”  

Out of the frying pan||Cora & Klaus

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

courageouscami:

One week later.

She was doing well for herself. There was a reason to get up in the mornings again; a sliver of hope, a renewed sense of purpose. She didn’t know whether she was getting anywhere, or just losing herself in a pile of research and supernatural possibilities. At the very least, it was a distraction. A distraction from the times when a song played on the radio, only to bring a fond smile to her lips. Or when she stood by an artist on the street, watching his careful brush strokes, only to feel a nostalgic tug so strong it made her want to curl into a ball. 

It wasn’t him she missed, of course. He’d just been a professional project. And she’d been determined, committed to their sessions because she wanted to help, because she was his therapist, stenographer, whatever, and wanted to get to the bottom of a neverending psychological mystery - but it wasn’t personal… Not then, and certainly not now; when her thoughts still traveled to him, wrapped around his memory like the softest tendrils. It was because of the memos she’d found, because of the 100-year old photograph… It was logical. 

Why her?… Why hadn’t he picked someone else to talk to, someone who actually had a complete degree? He’d never seemed very interested in that detail, and like a fool she’d fallen for the flattery and played into their business arrangement. She thought he was just a man with money to burn on his sprawling memoirs… But if the picture was to be believed, he was much more than that. Not a patient, but a predator. It didn’t answer the question of ‘why her’… Did she just have that naive look about her? And what was the point? Why tell her anything in therapy if he was going to take it away - how was he taking it away? Was it some kind of hypnosis? Some kind of mind-control? Why couldn’t she remember the most important parts? She wanted to think she was getting better, so why couldn’t she  r e m e m b e r ?…

He refuses to drown.

There is a painting in his studio, sitting on the easel, where it has not been moved from since it was placed there, blank and full of potential many months ago. He had stood before it, brain waterlogged and weighed down with the burdens of the future and the wounds of the past. 

He feels the weight of them now, but rather than feeling adrift with them, he feels the pull downward, the attempt to drag him beneath the surface of his sins and let him choke on them. 

The canvas is not blank anymore, but covered in splatters and streaks, sunshine yellow lays on top of the rest, and he thinks perhaps that is fitting. Sunshine can burn as easily as it soothes. But he has tried to die before, and neither water nor fire had sufficed, and he hardly sees why now should be any different. 

He will not drown. He will not let her burn him or bury him. He is Klaus Mikaelson, he is a  k i n g,  and she is nothing to him. 

She is nothing. 

He stares at the yellow streak above the rest and thinks about her smile, and the rising of the sun, and vows to return to the darkness he has always called home. He is not a creature of the light, and neither deserves nor wants it. He will not want it. 

He will not drown.

Feel like I’m Drowning || Camille&Klaus

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

marcelxthexking:

The familiar voice was not a comfort, it went straight through him and fueled his anger. Marcel turned to meet the face of his sire, his mentor, and in all sense of the word, father. He didn’t care for his solemn expression, he had watched Klaus for years as him and his family slaughtered communities without a care in the world. Why would Davina be any different? He didn’t care about her and he was damn sure he didn’t give a flaming flying fuck about him. That was apparent for nearly a century.

“This is your fault. Yours and your horrible family. I shouldn’t have let any one of you near her.” He growled, pointing his finger in blind accusation. “This city was fine before you all came waltzing back into town. We were fine, great even, she was in control and the city was thriving. If you all hadn’t gotten her worked up and put false hope in her head…” He didn’t finish his yelling, because somewhere he knew that she still wouldn’t have been alive. The process may have been different, but it would have ended the same. He couldn’t save her.  

Marcel clenched his teeth and seethed, searching for something else he could say or yell or whatever he could do next. Did he attack him? No, despite his words, Klaus was not the man he wanted to hurt. He couldn’t think he just wanted her back, wanted to hold her close and tell her it would be okay. Everything was nothing without her there.

“Marcel—” He doesn’t have the words for this. He’s never been a source of comfort for the people in his life, he is what they seek comfort from. When he is in pain, all he knows is how to spread it, to infect everyone around them so he needn’t be alone in his suffering. Clearly Marcellus took after his father in that.

It doesn’t help that he is in pain now, that Davina’s lifeless form, her last breath stealing from her lips seems to have stolen something from him as well. Some vain and foolish hope that something, anything in this accursed world could work out for the better. For once he is aware, though, that his pain is not equal or superior to Marcel’s, that he needn’t compete for first place in this. He has been there, a hundred years ago, watching his son, the very man standing before him, burn. He has no wish to go back to that. 

Still, he struggles for the right words, and knows he will not find them.

“My condolences the girl is gone, but—” Wrong, wrong. ”—don’t lose perspective. We still have our community, the vampires of this town—”

He doesn’t even know what useless platitudes he spouts, because he can see it, the haunting hollowness so familiar to him, right there in Marcellus’ eyes, and he knows it is not a hollowness that can be filled. He yearns to make promises, to tell Marcel they will find a way, but they die on his tongue as easily as Davina and Henrik had died, with but a sigh. He will not make promises, not anymore. 

my empire of dirt | Klaus & Marcel

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

bigmikaelsonsister:

tw: Fire, burning flesh, throwing

Although the not so warm welcome was not a pleasant feeling, it was not unexpected either. Actually, she had already been quite surprise that Rebekah had believed her story this easily. She had somehow thought that she would have to prove herself, would have to convince the others that she truly was who she said she was. And it seemed that at least Klaus was planning on making her work for her place in the family she had never known she had and for sure not thought she wanted.

But she wanted it. She wanted it so desperately. “I’ve spend almost half of those years in a box and the other half of those years I was being told that you were nothing but heartless monsters who I should stay as far away from as possible.” She knew that maybe this was not the right thing to say, not the story that would get her into this family, not the story that would convince Klaus of who she was and could be. It was however the truth and the only explanation for the years of absence. “If you help me find Finn, we can ask him for the truth. He was there when I was given away and we shared secrets I hope no one else knows about." 

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, but her heart stopped beating when she felt a hand at her throat pressing her firmly to the wall. "I am not treacherous brother.” She hissed between her teeth. In a way she understood his need to protect himself and his family, but she was not going to let him win this argument this easily. He was a vampire, she was a witch, one of the most powerful witches that had ever roamed the streets. “The power that created you flows through my veins.” She murmured a few latin words and little flames started dancing on her skin. The flames danced around his fingers, his hands and she let the flames grow with the willpower burning inside of her. “I didn’t want to use it against you, but I can use it to defend myself. Even against my own brother.” With one powerful movement she threw Klaus to the wall opposing her and she let the flames dance around his entire body, licking his skin just enough to make him feel the heat and the power it beheld. 

“Perhaps you should’ve listened,” Klaus advised sagely. It certainly would’ve made both their lives easier. “Might as well mention if you only spent half those years in a box, you’re already a sight better than most of our siblings. Gratitude and perspective. Invaluable, wouldn’t you say?” And if she honestly thought that would garner his sympathy, her sad story, and then pleading to Finn of all people? Ancestry.com could’ve given her a better family history than what she was currently working with. 

“I’m going to stop you right there, darling sister. If your goal is to find Finn and free him, I’m afraid you best find that box you climbed out of and hop right back in.” The words were hissed, because this had just gone from annoyance to active threat. Finn needed to be found, yes, but only to remove the threat of him from hanging over their heads. 

He winced but refused to release his grip at the first lick of flames, his lip curling in a grimace against the pain. “I beg to differ, w i t c h.”  But the words had no staying power, gasping as he was, teeth gritted, determined not to give in and cry out. He smacked against the wall, growling, eyes flashing. 

“The power that created me is what makes you a traitor!” He roared, not realizing as he spoke the implication of the words. For if the power that created him ran through her veins, she was indeed a Mikaelson. More the pity. Your darling brother Finn wants us all dead, and you’d have me what? Welcome him into my open and waiting arms? You are a  f o o l, Freya Mikaelson,” he spat the name like a curse. “To believe this family is something that can be wanted, or something that wants you.”

Unbelievers || Klaus&Freya

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courageouscami:

The 100 Dollar Guy…

That was all he was when she’d first met him. Just a cute guy with a British accent and a dimpled smile, who tipped well in a bar. How was it that just two years later, she’d packed up her life, lost her mind, moved states - and yet somehow, she was still sitting here, staring at an impossibly old picture of him?… Picture aside, who was Klaus, really? She’d played therapist to him for over a year on and off, and yet she hadn’t managed to solve that riddle either. All that time… And yet according to his file she’d only scratched the surface. How had they filled the time, in all those sessions she couldn’t completely remember? Why was it that between him and Lydia, she’d only found paranoid scribbles over the session notes she kept on Klaus? And why, even now, was he so difficult to put out of her mind? Was she giving him too much credit, or was he somehow  at the center of a larger picture? At the very least, an integral piece of the puzzle? What was she forgetting?… And, maybe more importantly - why?   

The more Cami thought of him, the more it felt like she was chasing the thread of a memory which was quickly unraveling. She’d printed out the Opera House picture of him to study it a little more closely. It was already crumpled from the number of times she’d picked it up; the corners rolling up just slightly. If it was more than just a resemblance, what did that make Klaus now? The 100 Year Guy?... How was it possible? How was any of this possible?…

But he wasn’t the only one in the picture. Someone who looked like a dead-ringer for Marcel was also staring back at her. @marcelxthexking​ And yet there was no black hole surrounding her memory of him; nothing odd ever seemed to happen around Marcel. Except, of course,  his violence against Chris at the Opera House… That had bothered her at the time; enough to break things off with him for a week or two. Why had she taken Marcel back so quickly despite it? They hadn’t even talked about it…  Frowning, Cami dropped the photograph and stood up. It was as though one day, she was upset with him, worried even - and the next, it didn’t even warrant a question. That was… S t r a n g e . Unlike her. Why hadn’t she thought of that before now?…  Running her fingers through her hair, she headed for the kitchen. 

Three days later

He was drowning. 

Drowning beneath sanctions and guard leeches. Suffocating against the short leash attached to his throat. Anger rolled through him in waves and he wondered if this was merely indignation, or a phase of grief. What exactly he could be grieving... perhaps that was too expansive a field to explore. 

He wanted to rant, to rave, to hurl beautiful things across the room only to feel the slightest vindication when they shattered. Beauty was a lie, an illusion, and he had no patience for it. Not today. 

It was perhaps a good thing she was out of his reach, for the most beautiful thing he could think of was fragile indeed, and he couldn’t tell whether he longed to crush her in her arms or simply crush her. Another illusion, another lie. 

How dare she leave him? To this cesspit of brown nosers and backstabbers. How dare she take everything he had offered her, the sacrifices he had made for her, and throw them in his face like so much dirt. He stalked through the halls of his prison, and snapped the neck of the first vampire to protest his exit without so much as blinking. There was nowhere to go, no destination in mind. The Quarter held nothing he desired, but the woods, the woods beckoned. 

What would she think of him like that? Would she see the raw pull of an animal unbroken by chains? The seductive gleam of power that glinted in every predator’s eye? She’d once told him she had a things for bad boys. She had found the worst of them, and yet still, found him wanting. 

With the dirt beneath his paws, the emotions were simpler. Rage. Hunger. Hunt. Love. Pain.

Perhaps this was no better. 

Feel like I’m Drowning || Camille&Klaus

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

thexstubbornxhale:

Was it a few seconds she was stood there, or nearly a minute?

Cora isn’t sure but agitation is playing a part and making time drag out until she wants to stay ‘screw it’ and leave. It might have been the wiser option too judging by the frame of mind she is in, because referring to her as a loose cannon, would be terming it lightly. 

What if it was Rebekah who decided to show her face?

The young wolf inhales deeply, thinking about their last encounter and instead of being skewered like a piece of meat for a BBQ, she will try to make damn sure it’s the other way around.

Turning though, she lets her hues fix on Klaus as she hears his voice.

“Oh…we are back to formalities now?..silly me…thinking we were past such things.”

There’s no humour in her tone and below the surface, there’s a rage at his blase attitude after what he has done. 

“So cold, Klaus…why?”

She tilts her head to one side, facial expression stoic and she steps closer.

“This isn’t a social call..”

Her lips press together to form a thin pensive line as she starts to inhale deeply and discreetly through her nose. 

“It’s a good job I am not a vampire, so I don’t actually need a welcome into your home…but what happens if I was a hybrid?…how does that work then?…does the same apply?…”

Her dark hues bore into his and with everything she has, she is trying to not lose her temper, but very rapidly she is failing. 

“You know…say Scott for instance.”

Cora goes to push him hard in the chest as anger erupts through her entire body.

“You lied to me!..Being honest?? you don’t know the fucking meaning and I trusted you!”

“You know, there was a time when insolence was punishable by death,” he advised, voice dangerously even. The wolf girl had never known her place, and while once upon a time it had been endearing, it was only irritating at the moment, and pompous in that way that only the truly naive could manage. 

Oh, but this was precious, really. Was it jealousy? Avarice? He had miscalculated in indulging her temper earlier on in their acquaintance, and now she felt she was at liberty to, what, exactly? Scold him? 

“If you were a hybrid we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because you wouldn’t be able to help but obey me, and thus would’ve walked out the door when I said ‘boo.’ But oh, Ms. Hale, a man can dream.” What was with children these days? It was like they were born fresh from the womb death wish in hand, and tossed to the nearest wolf for the slaughter. Cora thought she was a wolf in her own right, but the girl knew nothing of a true predator. 

“Hm, well, quite a loaded statement there, love. Let’s unpack it, shall we?”

“You’re...what, fourteen? Fifteen years old? Can’t buy alcohol, can’t vote, can’t drive most likely. What exactly is it that qualifies you to advise me on my decisions, and, while we’re at it, who exactly appointed you to that illustrious position?” He frowned and ticked a finger. “There’s point number one, number two, I’m a thousand years old, sweetheart, honesty ceased to be  but a philosophical query centuries ago. Three, what exactly is it that I lied to you about? I can’t recall promising not to turn any wolves, nor did Scott rate any special protections. Right then. I believe you were on your way out, yes?” She had better be, because she’d be dead or undead if she tested his temper any further.

Out of the frying pan||Cora & Klaus

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

klaussgifs:

You’re Hope’s father, aren’t you? You look like her, around the eyes. 

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

#the song of the Klamille fandom

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

@courageouscami

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

Feel like I’m Drowning || Camille&Klaus

You’re holding me down and holding me down Killing me slow So slow

He was drowning. 

Drowning beneath whispers and echoes of crimes freshly committed and crimes long past, but drowning all the same. There was too much that needed to be done, too many enemies needing silencing, and yet, he found it hardly seemed to matter. Not with those words echoing in his head. 

You promised me, you’d keep me safe. You promised I had nothing to fear. You   l i e d.  Why? Why do you keep lying, Nik?

His thumb hovered over her name, Camille O’Connell, on the screen of his cell phone. Beneath her name in the area for job description, he had written ‘stenographer.’ It had amused him at the time. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but faltered and disintegrate before it could truly take root. He had made promises to her, too. Promises he had broken. 

He wanted her to hold his face and tell him that no one should ever have to go through what he had been through, to mourn the brother he had killed with him, because no one else could. He wanted to tell her about that terrible dream, and let her convince him that was all it had been. Just a bad dream. 

It was better this way, it had to be. And yet he felt the lack of her like a chasm carved out of his chest. She didn’t know him, not truly. He had taken that away from her, as he had taken so much else, but his sketch book pages were filled with that radiant smile of hers, a breath-taking sunrise smile that he simply couldn’t capture in charcoal or oil. He wanted the real thing again. 

Just don’t let go. 

He wondered if she had heard about Davina’s death, if Marcellus had called her in the dark of the night. If he had cried his pain to her so many hundreds of miles away, and she had soothed the hurt like Klaus hadn’t been able to. He wondered if he should be ashamed at how envious he was, of them both at the same time. 

He wished he had done this differently, wished he had seen the havoc he was wreaking, wished he didn’t care. Wished he had never slapped that hundred dollar bill on the bar top so many moons ago, back when he had been haunted by mere ambition, mere avarice, and little else. He wished he had someone else to fill that chasm in his chest, he wished he hadn’t dug it himself. 

There’s nothing left for you here, is there? No, there isn’t.

He couldn’t bring himself to press that button. 

@courageouscami

[niklaus-no-mans-son-blog]

Do spread the word.