#I have this vivid imagery of him kissing each of her knuckles and that's what I'm gonna *season* in

[vinjaryou]

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for most if not all of your OG FFVII story material? Explain your choices if you want! (Also, I'm personally curious as to how your music choice may differ between AUs, if it does. See if the characters may have different "theme music" depending on the AU and how it plays - all pun intended - into who they are.) 💕

Questions for Fic Writers Meme

Oh good lord, this might be a lengthy, link-filled ramble, please settle in and don't mind the abundance of '80s music *cracks knuckles* Once again, putting under a cut to save everyone's dashes!!

I have certain songs for scenarios I have planned/written, if that makes sense. For the general more canon goings-on, I tend to harken to the game's soundtracks - for example, if I'm writing Aerith and Reilena walking home from the Sector 5 train station, I'll have Hollow Skies playing to get me in the mindset, with it flowing into a soft variation of Aerith's Theme, or if it's a scene set in the 7th Heaven, then it's a mix of Tifa's Theme melding into general bar ambience.

And then there's times in which the song and the scenario just. make. sense. to me. Like... this specific version of The Nightmare Begins is what I'm using for when I write his and Reilena's confessions to each other, before they sleep together for the first time. Does that make sense? In general, probably not!, because it's sad as hell and this song legit made me sob the first time I heard it on its own and not in the background of a Machinabridged episode. It still does at times, because it's so gorgeous and tragic (and I am biased, for this is Vincent we're talking about, lol).

BUT. Listening to it again, I can see them both sitting together quietly in the flowers at Sector 5, Meteor still overhead, with her softly telling her life's story to him, and the first swell is when she confesses; when the song restarts in a sense, I see him trying to gather his thoughts while responding to her as best he can, because he knows how he feels, but he still can't SAY it, and when the music swells again, that's when he murmurs her name, and when she looks over, he leans in and kisses her, letting that speak for him; she returns the kiss, they deepen it, with them leaning into each other, holding each other, and the song ends as they part and she asks him in a whisper if he'll stay the night with her.

SO THERE'S THAT, TOO. It's very vivid in my mind, and it fits for me.

Another song for them - well, for Vincent in particular, when he's trying to figure out his feelings for Reilena - is Whitesnake's Is This Love. I even used it as a title for one of the pieces I wrote... dealing with this very thing, lol.

(Still of the Night is another Whitesnake song that makes me think of them, but this is when they're having a spicier, more Chaotic time~)

You might have seen my mini-ramble on the bird app about a feral Aerith telling a summon to tear a monster to shreds for hurting her friends? In This Moment's Big Bad Wolf is what gave me that imagery, and it's also a song I'm using as the backdrop for a miniseries I'd like to write of each member of the VII family going absolutely feral at some point during battle (if you click the link, there's a lot of flickering in the music video, so just listen to the song if that's better for you).

And then there's another miniseries I'd like to write titled "Good Night," and it would be about five (maybe six; five for certain) parts, each involving Vincent with someone, with the arc words in each piece being "good night," and just how good of a night it is... varies a lot (I'm sorry Vincent, I love you, I promise the final part is Very Good to you). Each piece has its own soundtrack, and fingers crossed I can get it started soon, as I have it outlined already, with each piece and song decided:

Part 1 is Come Undone, by Duran Duran. Part 2 is I Can't Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt. Part 3 is both MONSTERS by Shinedown, and Mein Teil by Rammstein. Part 4 is Close My Eyes Forever by Lita Ford & Ozzy Osbourne. Part 5 is both Is This Love, and Listen to Your Heart by Roxette.

...I don't think I answered this correctly, as I kinda just went on a ramble about music and writing and hi. Let me know if there's specifics you'd like, and I'll answer them as best as I can... and try not to ramble too much! ♥

(I really need to sit and make an ACTUAL playlist for my writings and the AUs, yeesh)

[meandmyechoes]

Okay I finish-finished Dark Disciple.

I have such… emotions about this book.

It's a book you have to hold in your hand. I love, love the reading experience. It's not just a good Star Wars book, not just a good book, but the book that brought me out of six years of alienation from reading. It is a page-turner. And I was filled with such… emotions every crisp chapter. I'm in love, both of them. I was giggling like a seventeenth-century milkmaid. I was blushing and having goosebumps. I was scared, in awe, gasping. I love this novel and I'd love to see how it plays out visually. The voice acting, the music, the duels! I love the character insights and the prose. I think that might be allowed to turn the language up a notch (violence, nah nothing's changed). I can't say it's better as a novel anymore because this is a story worth telling in both media.

Since I wrote a mid-way roundup prior, I'm gonna stick to the ending.

And the ending… The contented death. Yeah, it's pretty dumb now that I've cooled a little. I knew she was going to die, actually, her dying is the only way the plot could resolve. But even though I was spoiled of the outcome, I didn't know the process. I was expecting Christophisis to be some grand 1 vs 4 duel with Dooku—and she just kept sustaining injuries.

I mean, the story did frame it to be her choice. It was rationalized enough for me. And it's more bitter than sweet for me. As a quintress shipper I'm totally eating up the angst, and as a Ventress fan I'm like awwww :( whyyyyy

But there's also this part I'm like, she has to pay for what she did to the clones! >:( Which again, plot killing.

Oh god the Quinlan plot.

I just, I can't guess what's happening after Ch. 32. I can't tell who's lying and who's telling the truth. And that kept. Me. At. The. Edge. Of. My. Seat. I just. I trust Ventress of course, I thought it'd be a disservice to her character if her judgment was wrong. And of course she's right, proven in the end with her sacrifice. That's… a huge price to pay :(

I really wanted to trust Quinlan because he wasn't telling a whole lie. That's why it's hard to guess who was right. His vow to Ventress was true. And it's chilling—I had to pause—sensing that Vaderkin vibe in his proclamation a few chapters later.

This book has more Obi-wan perspective than I expected and I welcomed that. It's interesting to witness his continued struggle with attachment and faith in the Order. Anakin's involvement though few, is highly enjoyable. But I can't help thinking if Ahsoka stayed, she'd've died at Vos's hand…

I like the little bits of Mahran worldbuilding and I think they'd be a cool alien if there were visuals of them.

It got me teeth rottin' good. Can't wait to translate it till August. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

A Moment Apart | Caspian x Reader

Warnings: Nothing

Time/Era: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: After Y/N gets swept to Narnia with her cousins, she meets a certain someone who piques her interest. Goodbyes are hard, but this one seems more like a “see you later.”

Request: Hi ! I just got back home and read your first Caspian one shot, and let me tell you : i LOVE your writing so much!! So im just going to request another caspian os because i love him so much ahah. Can you write something where the reader first meets him during VOTD and she has to go back on Earth then some times after he ends up in our world and meet the reader again? Take care 💕💕

A/N: Thank you so much for such a sweet compliment! If you love Caspian, saddle up because I have 4 more requests for him coming after this one. Thanks for requesting and enjoy! Please give me feedback. I was thinking of doing a part 2 for this, so tell me whatcha think about that idea! :) Also, I was listening to A Moment Apart by ODESZA when writing, so that’s sort of the vibe of this imagine~

Part 2 | masterlist | read on ao3

Being Y/N Scrubb was about as fun as it sounded. Her parents very obviously favored her little brother, Eustace, and didn’t have a care about what she did. Y/N was much older than Eustace anyway, so they weren’t exactly friends either. The only thing that was getting her through the long, boring days was the fact that two of her cousins had come to stay with them. 

Y/N’s cousins, Lucy and Edmund, were closer to Y/N’s age and much more tolerable. Instead of acting as if they were superior due to having an “immense vocabulary,” they were kind and funny. They would actually listen to Y/N and treat her like an equal. Y/N hated being treated as an inferior by an eleven-year-old. 

“How are you even related to that?” Edmund asked one afternoon. He had been the victim of Eustace’s “intellectual insults” a mere five minutes before. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

~

“Is the water...moving?” Y/N asked, gazing at the painting next to her cousins. Eustace comes in and sits on the bed. 

“What rubbish! That’s what happens when you read-”

“Can you shut your mouth for just five seconds, please?” Y/N turns around and glares at her brother before turning back to the painting. She continues to stare, taking in every detail of the painting. The magnificent blues and greens swirled together to depict a wonderful ocean scene. The boat was just as breathtaking; it had a huge mast adorning a brightly colored sail and what looked like a dragon carved into the bow. It didn’t take long before Edmund and Eustace started fighting. 

There was something about the painting that screams adventure. Whether that be the vivid imagery or the bright colors, Y/N didn’t know, but she wished that she could be on the boat. Maybe then she could get away from Eustace and his constant chatter. 

As if by magic, water started to drip from the corner of the painting. 

“Lu? Do you see that?” Y/N asked as the trickle turned into a constant stream. The water was getting all over the carpet; Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what her mother would say. 

“Edmund! Look!” Lucy screeched, grabbing the attention of her older brother. The painting now had water streaming from every edge of its frame and the water was starting to pool. The bedroom flooded in record time and the four were pushed under. Furniture began to float around them and they had to dodge chairs in order to not get impaled. Y/N had never been the quickest swimmer, resulting in the leg of a chair clipping her arm. 

The need for air overpowered the pain of my arm so she fought to reach the top of the water. When all four of their heads surfaced, they were no longer in the small room, but in the middle of the ocean. 

“What’s happening?!” Y/N screamed at her companions. 

“Swim!!” Was Lucy’s only response. That was when Y/N noticed the huge boat coming straight for them. “Hurry!” Y/N kicked her legs as hard as she could, but the current was strong. 

“Stop!” A hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. “You’re safe now! Stop swimming!’

“Edmund, it’s Caspian!” She recognized that voice to be Lucy’s. “We’re in Narnia!”

Another voice answered her. “You’re in Narnia!”

The voice was deep and strong, laced with a thick accent. It was also slightly scratchy but in the best way. Y/N had the fleeting thought that she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. 

~

Y/N was covered in a plush towel as soon as she was brought on board. The boat deck was riddled with things and creatures, most of which couldn’t care less about her presence. She scanned the deck for any sign of her cousins; Edmund and Lucy were talking animatedly with a tall gentleman. He was wet, probably one of their rescuers, and his white shirt was clinging to his torso. The stranger’s hair was also sopping wet, pushed to the side and dripping into his eyes. 

“Edmund!” She called out desperately. He looked over and the three walk over. 

“And who might this be?” The handsome stranger asks, looking down at Y/N. He was quite a bit taller than her. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to speak; his hair had fallen to either side of his face and it created a perfect frame around his eyes. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were wrinkled at the corners due to his grin. 

“This is our other cousin, Y/N,” Edmund spoke for Y/N, an amused look on his face. 

The man takes a hold of Y/N’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my beautiful Y/N. My name is Caspian.” He kissed her knuckles and released his grip. His eyes followed the line of her arm and landed on her injury. 

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” His eyes burned into Y/N’s skin. 

She squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, uh, yeah. A chair hit me.”

“A chair? Hit you?” He crossed his arms and put his weight on one leg. This made his hip jut out slightly and his coat flair. 

The conversation Y/N and Caspian were having seemed to really amuse Lucy and Edmund. They kept sharing knowing glances at each other. Y/N wished she knew what they were thinking. 

“No matter, come with me. I’ll patch you up. We can’t have you bleeding all over my deck, now can we?” He turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the flight of stairs behind him. Y/N looks to Lucy for help. 

“Follow him,” She mouths, a grin taking up her entire face. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and follows. 

Caspian led the Y/N into a large bedroom that was lit by a wall of windows. There were various different paintings on the walls, a full-sized wardrobe, a desk, and a door leading to a balcony. Y/N came to the conclusion that this was Caspian’s living quarters. Caspian pulled the wooden chair from the desk out and twisted it around. 

“Here, sit,” He motioned his hand towards it. Y/N laid her towel down on the seat and sat down. Her wound had left a large trail of blood down her arm and she fought the urge to wipe it with her hand. Caspian opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out disinfectant and a bandage. 

“Give me your arm,” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he kneeled in front of the chair. He delicately cradled her arm in her hands and examined her cut. The skin of his hand was soft and gentle as it handled Y/N’s forearm. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he tenderly cleaned the blood from her wound. 

“You are very pretty,” He almost purred. Y/N’s stomach burst into butterflies. 

“O-oh, thank you.” She stuttered in response, making him chuckle under his breath. 

He sprayed the disinfectant and Y/N’s body reacted naturally. 

“Ow! That hurt,” Y/N shrieked, pulling her arm back and almost out of his grip. 

“I know, I apologize. But it is necessary, you don’t want an infection.” Caspian pulled Y/N’s arm closer towards him and covered it in a bandage. 

“There you go, as good as new.” His hands trailed down her arm and grasped hers, bringing it to his mouth again. He kissed her knuckles twice then stood up. 

~

In the following months, Y/N and Caspian got very close. He taught her everything about Narnia and all about her cousin’s accomplishments. It was hard to believe at first, but once she saw Caspian and Edmund spar, she believed it. She loved watching Caspian spar; his face always scrunched as he focused and some of the sounds he makes. Mercy, the sounds he makes. 

“I guess this is it, then.” Y/N says, looking up into the eyes of the man she had become to love. 

“I will find you again, my love.” He said, taking a step closer to Y/N. 

“How? Cas, I probably won’t be able to come to Narnia again,” She sniffled. 

“I’ll find a way, I promise.”

Caspian leaned down and pressed a lasting kiss on Y/N’s lips. 

“Goodbye, Y/N. Until I see you again.”

~

Life was boring outside of Narnia. About a month passed since the crew had arrived back home, and none of them have really left the house. Y/N spent most of her time people watching from the window. 

“I wonder what Caspian is doing right now,” Y/N thinks out loud, talking to no one in particular. 

“Probably fighting someone or eating or something. That’s pretty much all he does,” Edmund responds. 

“That is not all he does!” 

“Oh right, he kisses you too. But you’re not there so that isn’t really an option for him.” Edmund grins wickedly and turns back to his book. 

“Ed! That’s not funny!” Y/N frowned. She hated thinking about her favorite boy being sad. Especially because of her.

“I thought it was funny,” He responded. Asshole. 

“Luce, can I go to the store with you? I can’t stand being in this house a moment longer.” Y/N stood up and looked down at the street. It was full of people going about their business. An old man sat upon a bench eating a banana. 

“I’m not sure you would really want to. You might see that boy.” That was another thing Y/N hated about being at home. The last time she went to the market with Lucy, this boy wouldn’t stop hitting on her. He was tall, blonde, and had bright blue glasses. He was conventionally attractive, but there was only one boy on Y/N’s mind. 

“Ack, you’re right. Never mind.” Looking back down at the city below, she saw a strange figure walking down the road. He was wearing a long poofy shirt and black trousers. He looked sort of like a pirate. The fact that he had long hair only added to the pirate look, as did his long boots. He reminded her of Caspian. She sighed and turned her head towards Edmund. 

“Eddie, come look at this guy. He looks exactly like Caspian.”

Edmund groaned and stood up, his only intention was to entertain his cousin. He knew that she was just trying to get over the guy, no matter how annoying it was. He looked down at the stranger and had to do a double-take. 

“Um, Y/N, don’t freak out, but I think that is Caspian.”

[austennerdita2533]

Day 6: Canon-ish

A/N: This is the first part of an intended 4-shot. Basically, my idea is to craft some kind of Klaroline kiss/moment for each season of the year while also showing the two of them at various points (and emotional states) in their relationship. I started thinking about how Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall all have a different look or feel about them, and I thought it would be fun to play with that thematically/symbolically. Plus, it’d give me an excuse to play with seasonal imagery.

Anyway, this part is Winter. It’s canon until Liz’s death and Caroline’s grappling with the loss. I’ve also ignored all things Stefan and Caroline. (Loss. Angst. Hurt and Comfort.) 

This gave me loads of trouble, so if it’s terrible I apologize but I couldn’t bear to edit it any longer haha. Enjoy. :)

(FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

A Kiss For All Seasons

Part 1: Fold Into Me, Shivering

Winter’s kiss wisps across her forehead at a time of shivering delirium and despair.

She’s gone.

It’s not a dream because each breath in tastes metallic and rough, because each breath out rattles and hisses like a dented whiffle ball which has sunk beneath sediment and drowned in the shallowest of streams. It’s real life. It’s real loss, too. And real loss throbs.

It breaks—tearing, cracking, pulling, shattering, rupturing, wrenching a person into angles so painful or contradictory, that life itself feels distorted. It plunges emotions into a vise that’s so unbearable and inescapable at times, it almost feels impossible to still be alive let alone be expected to stand.

Or talk.

Or move.

Or think.

Or cry without wiping at eyes and waiting to find blood puddled on fingertips instead of tears.

At times, grief even makes it difficult to exist.

After someone dies, especially if you loved that person, the world begins to clutter in a way it never did before: it pinches in at the sides so all the noise can spill in unheard, unseen, clouding your mind and chest with smog that refuses to lift so you can breathe easy again. Everything becomes drenched in the blacks and purples and blues of a bruise, too, until there’s nothing left for us to do but crash to our knees. Until all we can do is shrink inside our gloomy new reality and burn our lung’s raw with missing.

In Caroline’s case, icicles splinter across her chest whenever she blinks against the harsh whites of morning to relive the tragedy all over again.

Mommy.

Mommy.

Mommy.

Instead of Liz’s death providing her with comfort or relief now that she’s no longer suffering, the unfair and untimely permanence of loss hollows her out until she’s raw—numb—freezing. The air around her tastes as toxic and as gritty lead. The din of life, which was once so variable and mellifluous and exhilarating to her ears, rings like television static in her head now. Blurring one minute of monotonous agony into the next without end. More than that, the rising sun in the distance (the same one that used to stream vivid, happy yellows through her window every morning), is far too weak or indirect to do anything besides snake across her moistened cheeks with it pale rays before it leaves her cold and dejected again.

Caroline’s parentless now. Alone. She’s still loved by a few friends, of course, but she feels so incredibly, unbelievably, disconnected from them all.

She’s more or less invisible. A ghost.

None of them see me. None of them know what I need.

She’s a ghost girl stuck in this endless life on her own: more hollow than haunted, more sorry and solitary than surviving. She’s an undead warrior on the outside, perhaps, but she’s all but a living, feeling woman shriveling into pieces of nothing within.

“Please don’t leave me,” her body trembles, the words scraping and shrieking inside her own mind as pain paralyzes them in place so they can’t slip down, so they can’t vault out from her throat. “I need you, Mommy, I still need you…”

But Liz is no longer there to answer. She has taken her last breath, has spoken her last goodbye.

There’s no one here who cares for Caroline unconditionally now…no one else who listens. There’s no one around to hold her hand, to kiss away her nightmares, to kill her insecurities so she can fulfill her dreams. There’s no one left who loves her in ‘alls’ instead of ‘somes’—no one.

How could leave me like this, Mommy? How?

Eyes dark-circled with sorrow and exhaustion, Caroline lies curled on one side of her mother’s bed with her knees hugged to her middle. She never stirs; she never sleeps. She stares out the paned window at a February sunrise obscured by indigo snowflakes that drip from the clouds like sleeted tears that the winter needs to cry. Fresh powder bleaches the ground and builds mounds so high they touch the trees, bending branches until they snap like broken rubber bands, burying all sounds of life beneath it except for the squawk of a nearby crow.

In places where the sky meets the horizon, bleak plums, grays, navies, and ivories scratch the edges of Caroline’s vision and almost make her long for blindness. The world outside as stark and as bone-chilling as the nightmare gnawing her apart on the inside:

Mom died, Mom’s DEAD.

But she can’t be gone, she…no! Mom? Mommy, where are you?

Mommy I—please stay. I need you to stay, okay? I’m not ready to live in a world without you. I—not yet.

It’s too soon, it’s too soon!

Mom?

MOMMY!!!?

Shadows scuttle along the walls. The floors. The furniture. Speckling her room like pox of rotting melancholy, they seem to grow larger and more formidable with each tick of the clock on the wall, their black edges curving into sharp spindly fingers that slice at entering streaks of light like a sword; their trunks expanding to root into corners as if they refuse to timber away.

Caroline, however, makes neither a move to halt their proliferation in her room nor to purge them from the space. Instead, she watches with blinking apathy as one detaches from the doorjamb at the far end of the room like a silky talon and crawls closer. It almost glides across the floor.  

How will the shadow consume her, she wonders? With a bite? With a few nibbles? Or will it gulp her down whole and damn her to its full belly of despair, plummeting her into a pit of darkness with no end?

She watches as the shadow drifts forward with a slow yet assured grace. Its movements are cautious. Soundless except for the stray floorboard which creaks when it edges along the foot of the bed and crosses into streaks of daylight, exchanging shadow for skin, swapping an  ‘it’ for a ‘him,’ as a man stoops to kneel beside her head.  

This isn’t just any man, though.

Oh, no.

But one with eyes that are rimmed in lightning yellow. One who smells of cedar and cognac and cologne. Tastes of oranges dipped in rust. Touches with hands made of calloused buttercups. And snaps necks for sport.

He’s someone who charms a crowd with dimples and drawled threats before he strikes swiftly, and completely. He’s a wolf who’s determined to paint away his personal miseries with other’s blood. This is a man who often stars in Caroline’s dreams, and his face is one she not only recognizes, but knows—

Intimately.

“Kl-Klaus? Is that…is that really you?” she croaks uncertainly.

“It is.”

Dizzy, disbelieving, greens and blonds and brown leathers all swirl together in front of her, so she rubs at her puffy eyes then squints harder at the blurred shape of him. Her next words come out more froggy and weak than questioning.

“You came back. You’re—here,” Caroline says with a puff of breath. “You’re back in…back in Mystic Falls?”

“I am.”

“But I didn’t call or—no…no texts were sent?” He nods in confirmation of this, which puzzles her further. “You couldn’t have known that she—and the funeral? No way could you have been there because I, because I never…”

“Wait a minute,” her brows pinch, heavy lids lifting slowly to his face, “did you…did you break into the house?”

Klaus compresses his lips together, shrugs at her sheepishly. Caroline responds to this by smashing her face into her pillow with a groan and an agitated ‘un-freaking-believable.’ Then, in one swift movement, she throws the blankets over top of her and rolls over flat. Onto her back.

“Don’t be angry with me, love.”

She snorts. Pulls the covers higher.

“I realize my relationship with my family is dysfunctional at best,” he tries cautiously, his voice dipping low, “but I do have experience in parental loss. I know what it’s like. How it feels. The way it cuts you and—” she crosses her arms, holds her breath “—burns.”

Caroline cringes and squeezes her arms tight like she’s holding herself together.

“I only worried on your behalf because I know how deeply you cared for the sheriff, so I trailed you home…lingering outside in case you bolted with no reference to your humanity because I didn’t want you to do anything rash you’d regret later. I just, I wanted to keep you safe and protected. To…help you avoid any extra pain.”

"It wasn’t until you screamed that I couldn’t—it didn’t seem right to—not when you sounded so—how could I not look in?”

He pauses for a moment. Clears his throat, cracks his knuckles.

“Anyway, I thought you might be in want a friend,” he offers placatingly, pressing his palms flat against the sheets so he can lean forward a bit and hover above her. “Someone to be a shoulder. A punching bag. A hand for you to squeeze. Whatever…” his voice wobbles uncomfortably, “whatever it is you need.”

“And what if what I need is for you to, you know,” she swallows hard, “get the hell out?”

“Then I’ll go, Caroline.”

She tuts but it lacks bite. “Go where? Back outside to hide behind more snow until I snap?”

Resigned, almost as if he’d expected this kind of reaction, he draws back with a small hiss like he’s been stung, “No,” he answers cooly, his words heavy and flat, “I’ll do as you bid and head home. To Louisiana.”

The air between them becomes stagnant. Oppressive all of a sudden.

“You mean you’ll leave me here?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?” she asks.

“If that’s what you wish,” he sighs, “then yes.”

“Oh.”

Time seems to slow here, silence stretching and growing like a beanstalk weed between their two bodies. Klaus plucks at a mattress spring with his thumb, its notes sharp and discordant underneath her back as he stands to pivot on his heels, readying himself to glide back into the shadows from whence he came. Leaving her alone in Mystic Falls again, setting her free like he promised two years ago.

Caroline hears him shrug his arms into his jacket with a grunt. Or maybe it’s a growl? A humph? Regardless of the noise he makes, there seems to be a sluggish dereliction to his movements. A hesitancy to proceed. And it’s probably because he’s preparing himself for the long trek through miles upon miles of snow that’ll weigh him down like ice before he reaches New Orleans. All of that slush waiting to seep in, hoping to blacken his toes…

He’s more than likely dreading the sound of orange embers crunching into snowy ashes beneath his feet as he retreats from her warm hearth and stomps out through the door again. He probably loathes the idea of submerging himself into a frigid morning all because she’s almost commanded him to go. Leave.

To go off on his own and freeze like me.

At the thought, a fresh chill kisses the back of Caroline’s neck. It momentarily anesthetizes her lungs and she cannot breathe; she cannot think. She cannot feel anything except the frostbite which pricks down low, too low, and buries itself somewhere below skin deep.

The whole world shifts inside her own head again as arctic wind gusts across a few remaining fragments of coziness: of old memories tinged pink with brandy smiles or marshmallow’d cheeks, of scarved hopes for the future knitted in bright, pretty patterns, of rich caroled dreams hummed sweetly into ears with full-bodied meaning, of soft painter’s hands which curled over top of stupid fears or desires like mittens to ease her shuddering, warming her to the bone. All of them slipping away on a sled she’s about to let crash straight through the North Pole so they may never resurface again.

Except how could she bear it? How could she survive the barrenness without them, all the cruelty? How could she find the strength to keep breathing after she lets one final sliver of warmth slip away because she’s bitter and hurting and broken? Where would her optimistic flames entomb themselves? In permafrost? In tundra? In icebergs crowding the sea?

Deep-down, Caroline knows that one biting word from her would silence Klaus for good. One more dismissive statement is all it would take to send him back to New Orleans where he belongs, thereby freeing her up to mope in this room forever. There’d be no more judgment to combat from him, no more concern. But to what end?

So her mouth can match the blue which has settled in around her heart since her mom passed away? So she can shudder harder at the falling flakes of grey and white which accumulate outside her window and aim to bury her beneath centuries of unrelenting snow? So life’s color can leak and harshen until it’s nothing more than a dead block of ice for her to kick?

As if winter isn’t teeth-chattering enough already!

Licking her lips, Caroline exhales before she slides the blanket down the bridge of nose enough to peek up at him. She rakes over his consternated expression. She watches when his body stiffens and squares in preparation of her next words. It’s as if he’s waiting for a dismissal to scythe through the air and lash him up.

“Okay, and what if—” she gulps, her voice dry and a little muffled. “What if I say I don’t want to be alone in this room right now? What then?”

Klaus’ eyes widen, hope spilling into their depths. But only for a second. A scratch of his chin followed by one, two, blinks and it sinks back into his pupils like an illusion. Like it was never there.

“I’ll make sure you aren’t. You won’t be, if that’s what you desire,” he says simply.

“And if I cry?”

He shrugs. “Then you cry.”

“I think I’m out of tissues.”

“You can use my clean sleeve then. I’m sure it’ll do just fine,” he offers drily.

She quirks an eyebrow. Shoots him a dubious look.

“What? I’m not allergic to tears, Caroline, for Christ’s sake.” He rolls his eyes. Wanders closer again. “Not immune to them either, unfortunately, if that’s what troubles you,” he adds under his breath.

Dragging a desk chair behind him, he erects it near her bedside table with a flick of his wrist. And sits.

“But you’re allergic to me, is that it?”

When he opens his mouth to respond only to slam it shut, puzzled, she gestures nonchalantly and says, “You can sit next to me on the bed, Klaus. There’s more than enough room for two, you know. It’s not like I think you have cooties or anything.”

Scooting over and up, she pats the open area with her hand. He doesn’t move.

“Well, come on then!” she tries again, less sarcastically this time. “Take off your shoes so you can climb in here. It’s drafty.”

After a few more seconds of gawking silence, Caroline, feeling both tired and fed up, rolls her eyes before she launches herself onto her knees to grab him by the hand, forcibly tugging him down onto the sheets beside her—shoes be damned!

They crash back against the pillows intertwined: Klaus’ arm braced ‘round her shoulders to cushion the fall; her nose scraping the lapels of his jacket. Her chin bangs against his clavicle and they tumble into the headboard cuddling. It’s an accident, of course, but one that feels comfortable. Oddly natural, too. And instead of shrugging him off or pushing him back so she can erect an elaborate pillow fort between them like she ordinarily would, she veers from expectation and tradition by throwing the blanket over his legs.

Next, she curls into the crook of his neck. Rests a hand in the center of his chest. Exhales. And thaws against his side as she listens to the rush of his ancient heartbeat, feeling it thrum through her own bones like this lullaby:  

‘Hold me close; hold me tight; and everything else will be alright,’  

Klaus initially tenses at the intimate contact. Afraid to move a muscle in case she changes her mind or wants to pull away, probably.

When she doesn’t, he relaxes. One hand drops atop the one of hers already on his chest while the other fingers silky tresses near her ear, plucking them strand by strand so they fall back against her sweatshirt with a sweet tap tap. His mouth also teases the crown of her head. It hovers close enough for her to feel each tickle of his breath against her skin, but remains far enough away that she misses the softness of his lips.

Sliding down lower onto the mattress, he kicks his shoes off onto the floor, lets a foot hook around her ankle, then folds her tighter into the furnace of his arms.

“I must say,” he murmurs against her hair, “a literal pillow is the last thing I expected to be for you today.”

“It’s only because I’m cold. February sucks and I miss my mom, okay? Don’t read too much into it.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

“Oh, shut up, will you? I can hear your smirk from here,” Caroline huffs into his shirt.

“Ah, sweet, sweet proximity.” Klaus sighs contentedly. “It’s half the battle, truth be told.”

“Ugh! You’re so exhausting.”

“I don’t see why,” he answers wryly, “it’s not as if I’m complaining.”

“No, but I know what you’re thinking.”

“Perhaps you do,” he hums in that assured, taunting way of his, “but you can’t fault me for being more than willing to comfort you given the chance.” His fingers draw soothing circles on her back. “So, if body heat is what you need from me right now, then fine—take every last ounce of mine and zip yourself up in it. Wrap it around you like a duvet, because it’s all yours.”

“Suuure,” Caroline drawls sleepily. She yawns. “Until I accidentally elbow you in the nose once I fall asleep, you mean.”

“No. I’m here and I won’t leave you. Not even if you make me bleed,” Klaus says, all pretense gone.

“Oh, you and your ridiculous promises. I swear!”

He responds to this with a low chuckle. It soon flattens into something more weighted and measured when he draws her in to deposit a sweet, earnest kiss across her forehead.

“Ridiculous or not, sweetheart, the promises I make to you I do and will keep. You can count on that,” he adds in a whisper. “You can count on me.”

Emotion clogs her throat at this; stings the corners of her eyes.

It’s right at that moment, with Klaus’ firm and unshakable finality, and his body spooned around her, that Caroline feels a ring of fire spring to life around her heart, thawing her all the way through with hope and waking her up to one devastatingly beautiful enormity: he’s the one person left who’s always wanted to be there for her. And he isn’t going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a hundred more lifetimes.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we?” she shivers, cuddling closer and melding into his warmth.

“Don’t worry, love. Time is on our side.” She feels Klaus’ lips tug upward in smile. They sweep across her forehead again in kiss, but this time, they deliver promise as well as comfort, “We will.”

Thanks for reading. xx