#otp: caroline i’m not you’re british muffin

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OTP ⇨ KLAUS X CAROLINE

Thank you for your honesty.

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@highgaarden   @bellemorte180  @eliliyah  @thetourguidebarbie @sunshineandfangs @cbk1000  @cupcakemolotov  @livingdeadblondequeen @idiot--wind @itsnotacrimetoloveyou @lynyrdwrites @honestgrins @deathsweetqueen @lalainajanes @supremeuppityone​ @3tinkgemini​ @willowaus @klarolineagainnaturally

AN APPRECIATION POST IF YOU WILL. AUTHORS FOR WHOM I’VE SACRIFICED DOZENS OF HOURS OF SLEEP BECAUSE IT WAS SO IRREFUTABLY WORTH IT. NEVER HAVE REGRETTED IT.

When you find a fanfic writer you like:

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HOLLOWED SUN

Tags: Serial Killer AU, Major Character death(s) (offscreen), Tragedy, Angst without a happy ending, Heavy Angst, Drugs and substance abuse, mental health issues, blood and gore, some serious dark shit, like turn on a fucking lamp if you choose to read this

Summary: 

He thought he could keep her, He laughs a sound Caroline would not have found beautiful,

But this, this blonde, she did come the closest after all, but alas, they all leave.

They leave, Every fucking time.

Not once, not bloody once, have they stayed, Not bloody once have they with honesty clear as day, touched his cheek, braced his breast, held his wrist and told him, we’ll remain, we’ll stay.

Not once have they told him, Here, this hand, this hand right here, it will never unclasp yours.

Or 

Klaus gets lonely and has a tea party, but it's a shame he's the only guest able to hold a conversation

[certifiedceraunophile]

DISCLAIMER :

SMUT SMUT SMUT and FLUFF. (NSFW)

It’s basically a 5k porn smut-shot about dimples and dick. Mostly dimples but there’s gratuitous dicking too, because of course my brain saw a gif set of Mr. Klaus Forbes flashing his dimples and thought PORN.

ALSO,

Nominated for Best Smut Oneshot in the 2020 KC awards

(I mean I have been called an excellent homoerotic muse so I shoulda seen this coming)

Tags:

D/s undertones,

Dominant Caroline

somewhat bregrudgingly submissive Klaus.

——————————————————————————

TREAT AT MY BEHEST

The conversation was flowing smoothly, a little too smoothly, it truly was a sight to behold,

She doesn't find awkward bumps that the participants uncomfortably had to step over stilling the flow, no problematic cracks people either ignored or tried to tear open with their teeth, no blunt blows to the back off the head, or venom tipped words sharper than the fangs the Mikaelson family sported, Hell, even Kol kept his sexual innuendos count to an all time low of two per sentence, and it wasn’t tedious either, it was sunny honest conversation one that flowed and ebbed in tranquil warmth enveloping all those who took part in it.

But of course, the insufferable bastard she’s been calling her husband for the last handful of decades, and her last love for two centuries now, decides he’ll singlehandedly throw all progress out the backdoor.

Her husband, and his freaking audacity to flash those dimples, in that exact way, throw all progress out the backdoor if she’s being more accurate.

God he’ll be the end of her.

It’s no grand truth, that she’s very very closely acquainted with his dimples, and she means, ‘lick a sweet path from dimple to lip as per her wish’ closely acquainted, those perfect indents on his cheeks, make no mistake, they are hers for the taking,

But she admits, she has her preferences, she’s a bit finicky with her interests,

She’s not too fond of his shit eating ‘Yet again I’ve bested you, my love.’ dimples, or any other variant of that he flashes in the rare case he has the upper hand between the two of them.

She’s quite partial to the one sided dimpling the evil villain smirk has to offer, one she’s privy to during their hunts, or the ‘Ive got one word for you: run.’ smirk he displays before transforming into a walking talking guillotine, those are quite entertaining to watch bloom, and the customary thorough debauching of her body that follows any such murder work out is nothing dismissible.

Now the almost bashful and youthfully eager ones he shows her when he talks about his place in the world as an artist, when for once his hand can create instead of destroy, those are entirely just for her, that sit there pretty on his cheeks in the privacy of his studio, where they continue to relive a thousand different times in a thousand different places including Rome, Paris and Tokyo, that one day, when he thanked her for the first of many things he feels gratitude for, her honesty,

He still remembers it as the day he allowed the truth to be something he didn't particularly like for the first time in a long time, she however still remembers the day by the absolute fishing he did, standing there in his studio as he introduced his passions to her, patiently waiting in silent humility for her to notice these paintings were his and compliment him.

He still doesn't allow this truth to remain, she of course always knows better.

Then again she also loves the shy soft little ones he offers her and only her, the ones he gently picks from the buried bounded depths of his heart and places in her hand with such care, as he sweetly leans into her palm, moist plump lips pressed against her pulse. When he is so beautifully hers that the hybrid gold of his eyes is the sun and when directed at her is as warm and sweet as golden honey. Or when he nuzzles his nose into the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast, half laying on top of her, when he gathers her close pauses and then closer, as if he finds the flesh separating them offending, as though his very existence is meant to directly infect her soul unimpeded by skin and bone, as if he means to exist in her and through her, and live only within her.

He’s a bit pretentious with his love.

But she’s told him

‘Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.’

His simple response was to pull her to him and offer his neck,

“Drink.”

She’s never brought it up again,

His devotion for her, his raw thirst for her, it unnerved her at first when she finally decided after

The numerous ‘Sweetheart, they were not bloody staged’ run-ins in every continent she dared to set foot on,

The two times she needed his blood in the century she spent on her own,

The one night she needed his arms and scent to engulf her and his dead heartbeat to soothe her when Elizabeth Forbes passed at age ninety four,

The one time when she realised somewhere along the way between the sporadic meets and witch hunts, the werewolf venom and death counts, the art and music and culture their souls burgeoned to connect, the great cities they carved into their own stars, the languid conversation as they winded through both cobblestones and pink sands, underneath both fluttering snow of and steady stars, the silent moments of equal awe they both shared between the most downtrodden godforsaken places of hunger and poverty and the most lavish heavens, between all the beauty and filth in the world when they only had eyes for each other, amongst the scent of both death and life when they only inhaled a shared breath so sacred they locked it in and never let it out, when seas and continents and words couldn’t keep them apart, when neither his ego nor her stubbornness could count for any importance in the face of each other, when the one time she realised immortality for her wasn't the ungodly number of years she’s left behind still apple cheeked and smooth as milk, but was the ungodly amount of years still ahead of her that somehow always evinced his hand in hers,

When she finally, one balmy faultless Sunday afternoon, in the thick of Thanjavur’s humidity in India, sitting barefoot as per the town’s religious customs on the ground, sprawled carefully in the warm green grass that precedes the entrance of the glorious Brihadeeswarar Temple, that is almost as old as the man occupying her thoughts,

She finally finds her deviously elusive,

Oh.  

moment, proceeded by the

Oh fuck.

Moment,

Realisation hits her with the weight of immortality and her acceptance that there was no other possibility but this, that this has been inevitable for the better half of the last century, carries the weight forward into her heart and fills it with such indisputable finality, that Klaus’s place is by her side and hers alone.

And after that, well, what else was there to do?

After all of that, it’s one knock on his door, and,

“Alright, apparently However long it takes only lasted a total of 113 years, 6 months and 25 days. I thought I’d last longer, but I’m not as stubborn as I wished I was.”

That night was the first time she realised it wasn’t the first time they’ve made love, slow and sweet and beautiful, But it was the first time Klaus with all the vulnerability of a little boy back in Mygradrir who wore a sterling around his neck tight as a noose because his mother loved him so much, asked, mouth against her skin, face hidden in her neck, a whisper that shook in the middle and dissipated at the edges,

“You’ll stay, not just tomorrow, but after?”

“Yes, yes I will.”

That was about two centuries ago, and apparently after did not mean the day after tomorrow.

But she hasn't had too many complaints, she admits the novelty of him has worn off, he’s a bit grating on the edges, the sides and the middle, he’s entirely too insufferable to put up with for an extended period of time, definitely is only enjoyable in moderation and bite sized doses,

But she did let him put a ring on her finger, and also stood there holding his hand as they were bound by a witch in supernatural matrimony, so she can’t really tell it’s wholly his fault, but she apparently likes him too, in addition to loving him, so she’ll stay.

But she digressed a whole lot,

Where was she again?

Yes, his dimples.

Correction, her dimples

Their appearances are continual and each unique situation had one kind assigned to it, but that does not mean they are repetitive, Klaus is many things but least of all predictable, So he presents her with new ones every now and then, dimples she’d like to kiss till they imprint on her lips,

She knows that even if she goes on to live twice the millennium Her husband experienced, and even if every glittering rarity becomes a hackneyed iteration, and every resounding wave of novelty is a mere echo she’s experienced a thousand times, even if there is nothing new as she leads time through this carousel world as the closest thing to omniscient, then she’ll at least know her husband’s smile will always catch her a tiny bit off guard. That she will always take a second to touch it and see it widen even further when she does.

But there was this one single type of smile he flashed from time to time, a rarity in its own right, that one smile basically threw all progress out the backdoor,

The smile is always characterised by the fact that it’s not for her, or for his siblings, or his enemies, it’s for the world, it’s a smile that he never intended to give but slipped out of his hand anyway, and somehow ends up smiling with his entire body, but he’s done that countless times for her, smile with his whole being, she’d say at least twice everyday, usually more, but when he does it for the world, she’s a bit unprepared,

She knows his hostility against the way of the world all too well, it’s why he’s so adamant on dictating it, she knows the millennium of undead life under Mikael’s hatred left him with a tight grip on the world but only because he was hanging on to the edge of it with both hands, his legs dangling, but he doesn’t show it that way, instead phrases it as ‘I had the world at my finger tips, Now I have it beneath my feet.’

He’s a bit flashy with his pretty words, that total honesty to this man is as difficult as love will never surprise her, but the fact that this same honesty sometimes slips out so easily, unfettered and ensconced in peace and content, that does surprise her, like for instance, right now, He’s sitting there ankle over knee, occupying an entire settee with the way he’s sprawled because of course he has to be the biggest being in the room, he needs to know his ego easily accomplishes that for him, holding in his hand one of the thousand sketchpads he’s still kept after paper was no more the norm nor necessity but became a relic of bygone ages for centuries now, and as he sits there sketching god knows what, in the same room as his siblings, their chatter as perfectly idle as a family’s,

He’s smiling, not at her, not to his siblings, hell not even at his drawing, she knows he’s not listening to the conversation, so it’s not something Kol said or Rebekah whined, he’s perfectly uninterrupted in his smile that just bloomed on his face with no given reason, and there as he bows his head a little closer to the page, not because he wants to hide the smile but because he simply wants to see the sketch closer, she knows he doesn't even know he’s smiling, but he is.

So wide and beautiful and honest, and just because, a smile directed at the world, and to think he doesn’t even notice, to know that it’s so whole and full, that there isn’t a place left in his heart or mind to remind him to restrain it.

She knows she’s smiling just as wide too.

God, the things this man does to her heart,

And not just her heart, apparently her body too if the heady arousal that rushed straight to her clit as if a phantom hand rubbed it is anything to go by, because of course, she’s never so aroused by him as she is when he dimples.

TO CONTINUE READING

AO3

ff.net

If you find this plotless 5k smutshot of my infernal sub Klaus fantasies doing things to you that are best not done in a church parking lot, please feel free to vote for it in the upcoming KCAWARDS under the BEST SMUT ONESHOT category.

Much love and peace

XX

Srishti🤍

[certifiedceraunophile]

Cruelty of the Chiaroscuro

By @supremeuppityone

Caroline my love,

I don’t expect your forgiveness, but my apology is yours all the same.

And I will go to my grave with your name burned to my breast.

With a love that endlessly yearns,

Klaus, son of Ansel.

[certifiedceraunophile]

A VERY VERY VERY self-indulgent fic with themes of

OP+BAMF!Caroline

A floundering Gaping “Bloody Hell Caroline” Klaus

Time travel future AU

Wish fulfilment Fic I shall indulge and submerge myself in COMING SOON.

As a treat to myself on account of my birthday on the 5th of December, I shall post a fic with the following themes/tropes:

Future!Caroline Forbes as the actual EMPRESS of the Utopian world she built.

Future!Bonnie Bennett as the actual EMPRESS of the Utopian world she built.

Because Yes we can have both of these Marvellous freaking Queens ruling the world side by side.

Klaus is a pretentious trophy wife.

Kol is a pain in the ass pretentious trophy wife.

Hope Mikaelson takes a DNA test and.... surprise, surprise.

Klaus Mikaelson has been Klaus Forbes for seven centuries now, and he still dimples thinking of it.

Caroline goes seven centuries back in time when Klaroline is still at the tree-knocking stage of their relationship and calls Klaus her husband by mistake and now the mongrel can’t stop blushing and slipping down his chair into a hybrid puddle.

Caroline Forbes, the QUEEN of Earth as people know it 700 years from now, is not impressed by the sucky incompetent leadership displayed by the King of New Orleans. Like seriously, Excuse her but she actually freaking LITERALLY conquered the entire world in 86 years and it takes this man she is going to call husband in a few centuries, 10 years and two more to control a city that is half the size of her Aerial Sakura Gardens. Sorry My love, but your NOLA days has been a running joke in this family for the last 700 years.

Caroline is the Grand Empress of the seven realms and Klaus is the King Consort on the best days and the Royal Bedfellow on the good days.

And now this is prolly too much information But who tf cares. It’s a self indulgent, wish fulfilment, self serving fic, mainly for my entertainment, but if you find any of the above themes even mildly enjoyable, then please feel free to tune in to my fuckery when I do post it.

THE END.

[certifiedceraunophile]

AESTHETIC / MANIP MASTERPOST

It’s a Touch Regrettable (SAMHAIN)

The Treat at my Behest (D/S smut fic)

Hollowed Sun (Serial Killer AU)

Gilded Mire

(Norse Archeologist-Goddess AU)

Roma Invicta (Roman Gladiator AU)

Masquerade (Cinema-Celebrity AU)

Gloria Sanguis (Utopian Future AU)

(If anybody wants to check out the respective fics for each aesthetic/Manip, click the title for Fic links)

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE FALL BINGO PREVIEW.

@eliliyah @klarolinefallbingo

Prompt: Dias De Muertos

Honestly the relevancy of the prompt comes far to late in the story but it’s there, kinda. But hey it’s there.

MASQUERADES

(CinemaAU)

Sometimes all she needed was to take a breather. A single moment. One pause.

Breathe in.

To collect her thoughts and emotions. To steady her bearings.

To state in a repetitive loop all the reasons why punching one Niklaus Mikaelson in the balls would be a marginally bad idea.

And breathe out.

Forgive her, but The man was infuriating. Okay?

And unashamedly so. Not a whit of genuine compunction behind that facade of ‘Inescapable Charisma and Unadulterated Allure.’

Definitely not her words.

Nope. No sir.

These were the words of a certain Greta Martin, editor-in-chief for the first October issue of People Magazine.

With one Mega-frustrating arrogant blonde blue-eyed dimpled asshat demon going by the name Klaus slapped to the front of said issue.

And Nope if anyone asks,

No, she did not literally just shred -In a shredding machine no less, because efficiency, thank you very much- the first copy of the magazine she bought, after reading the beginning eight lines on his exclusive, recounting what a ‘delightfully satisfying and marvellous experience the entire three months of shooting turned out to be.’

Ok one Black-hole sized pause right there please.

Thank you.

A single beat.

And....

The Absolute Fuck?!

She’s sorry. Marvellous experience?

Excuse her, but say what?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Beg pardon but What?

Excuse her.

But Marvellous experience, as in, aggressive quotation marks scratching the air “Marvellous experience” is NOT how she remembers it.

The slap in the face obvious discrepancy to both their stories is definitely not blind to her.

He called 84 re-takes that lasted four whole hours for one eight minute long single-shot single-angle scene, Marvellous.

He called having ice-cold Whiteclaw thrown square on his face by a Absolutely-done-with-wild-gust-of-agitated-Blonde-Fury on the eighth day of set, Marvellous.

He called having two separate make-up artists downright quit after being unable to touch up her makeup every thirteen seconds because she ran her hand down her face in unbridled aggravation every time her eyes landed on him, Marvellous.

He called the same experience where, she had to literally rush out of a set, under the ruse of a bathroom break, Twice in the course of three months, so that she can peacefully go through the motions of a rage-fueled emotional meltdown, complete with angry frustrated tears and a relentlessly colourful diatribe, cursing every man in her life who bore even a sliver of resemblance to the stormy-blue-eyed spawn of satan that was her co-actor, Marvellous.

God. How the hell did he possibly think he could get away with this,

How did he think he was going to smooth over the transparent inconsistencies between her interviews and his, without raising at least a few confused questions from bloodthirsty intuitive fans and the Press in general.

Given how her talk-show interviews and magazine exclusives gave the steady image, that

1. Klaus Mikaelson is a dick and a half, with an overgrown ego so ginormous that even the entirety of Tinseltown is ‘plainly restricting of his nonpareil talent in histrionic execution.’

2. Klaus Mikaelson is an arrogant narcissistic asshole that Hast pronounc'd upon his brethren yond this day f'rth that gent shalt with ev'ry smidgen of purpose in his life striveth to be the Unrivalled Bane of Caroline Forbes’ Existence.

3. The process of Creating the undeniable tour de force Masterpiece that was ‘100 years of solitude.’ The newest Christopher Nolan Direction and Production in theatres right now, that already has definite Academy Awards Nomination in the talks, was anything but Marvellous. She admits, It was so so gratifying and made her heart full with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, that left her giddy with such lighthearted contentment for days, after the phenomenal response it garnered post-premiering, Yes. But that does not capsulate how frustratingly tiresome and emotionally debilitating the entire creation process was. Hell it was downright painful at times.

4. Would she voluntarily take another movie with Klaus Mikaelson as a Co-star alongside her? You can get back to her when the sun starts to rise from the west and the answer would still be a definitive NO.

Now of course she wasn’t this brazen with her claims she knows how to be cute and classy and concise.

But she definitely did not mitigate the truth of her statement, she’s had enough training with her PR department to know what to say and how to say it but she’s sure that nobody had been able to overlook her less than companionable remarks about Klaus.

For example

The Stephen Colbert Show:

Stephen: “So Caroline tell us about the process, the Making of it, how everything fell into place like tiny puzzle pieces to reveal at last this grand, Grand Picture.”

“The process? Well the process was certainly not...pretty...but after every time we finished a scene, however small or inconsequential it may have seemed to the plot, there was this immense sense of ‘there-Done it. And done it well.’ ”

Jimmy Kimmel Live:

“Klaus Mikaelson, well my Co-star is um....eccentric at best.....”

Jimmy: “and at worst?”

“Well..... I guess” -hellish, heinously intolerable, a cruel mean bastard- “....Unyielding...?”

The Ellen Show:

“Well Klaus was a..... demanding partner and it took Herculean efforts to meet his exacting standards, but I can understand how that paid off so well on screen. The end result when I saw it for the first time, it damn well paid off.”

Ellen: “so he is absolved of his admittedly ‘uphill’ personality then?”

She laughs awkwardly,

“Ye-ah....No.”

followed by more laughter dissolving the painstaking grimace she’s trying to tamper down.

Oh and the worst.

The Late Late show with James Cordon:

During the ‘Fill Your Guts or Spill Your Guts’ segment

James: “So....I’m going to give you, let’s see, Ah there, the Bird Saliva.”

Caroline: “James!.... Damn it, you are so not making it into my good books, and....God. That’s just disconcerting I mean, How do they even, I don’t know... collect it?”

James: “Well there’s a whole process of harvesting it from the salivary glands and—“

Caroline: “Never mind! Nope. No need for the details, please, James, a lady’s delicate sensibilities are at stake. And unless the question is ‘what is your social security number?’ I’m not drinking this poison.”

James: “Now Caroline you wound me, I can assure you everything on this table is edible albeit being marginally unpalatable—“

Caroline: “Marginally?!”

James: “You should try the Cow’s tongue. It’s delectable.” Followed by a sagely nod.

Caroline: “Now I’m just intensely bothered. You’ve definitely lost all claim for a spot in my good books.”

James: “Ah well, speaking of staying in your good graces, here’s a question that will have you downing that Saliva in seconds.”

Caroline: “Hit me.”

James: “Well then, ‘Name Any one CO-star with whom you have worked with in the past that you would never volunteer to work with again.’”

Pause.

And the audience descended.

“Like I said, speaking about staying in your good books.”

Amidst the raucous screams, whistles and laughter, it didn’t even bother Caroline, the clarity and speed with which the name

‘Klaus Mikaelson’ flashed in the front of her mind, like a large Neon LED sign from a typical Vegas Nightlife scene.

It took her a total of three seconds to know that she was going to answer with his name because, well just look at that drink in front of her,

Sure if you bend over real low and squint in the right light it may look like a harmless Daiquiri, but a Daiquiri it was not.

No. This was Bird Freaking Saliva,

Come on, you can’t possibly ask her to put that in her goddamn mouth.

Like NO.

Just no.

So sue her for protecting her taste buds that are yet to experience many more exotic flavours and textures of food from all around the world.

But then again she can’t possibly outright just say “Oh that’s easy, Klaus Mikaelson.”

That’s exactly the kinda PR trouble she wants to stay above and definitely didn’t need to be wrung out dry by her Spitfire Mistress-of-Hell Publicist Katherine Pierce for.

(Who also alternates as her BFF, occasionally, mind you.)

So she puts on a good show, dropped her head in her hands, gave a healthy long groan, looked up and gave James her best wounded Puppy Dog eyes, to which he was clearly not immune to, judging by how he looked a touch chagrined, but the game was just as much as beyond his hands as it were hers,

She looked to the audience “You guys are so mean, it’s not even funny.”

And grumbled a bit more till everyone was laughing and pitching forward and back on their seat amused by the poor Blonde’s Dilemma.

So she looked up to the heavens as if to ask for some unknown deity for deliverance and guidance, and poised herself to drink,

Only to put the glass back down in the last second in a begrudgingly weak show of caving in, and blurted out reluctantly,

(She’s a glorious actor, she’s aware.)

“You know what, Nope. He’s just gotta deal with it, okay?.”

Deep breath

Or was it the audience taking a deep breath and holding it in,

“ItsKlausMikaelson,PleaseDontKillMe.”

Pause again.

And the auditorium transcended.

Well,

she handled that, pretty well, if she does say so herself you know.

Apparently Kat Disagrees.

Apparently She Blew It.

She blew it so hard she could’ve knocked down the third little pig’s brick house.

Ironic since she always envisioned Klaus as the Big Bad Wolf who huffs and puffs and just generally blows.

Apparently her little admission was a PR disaster.

And Kat was furious.

The two minute edited clip that encompassed the question, the reluctant grumbling and finally the confession was apparently now a viral video on all social networking platforms.

They were trending on twitter under the hashtag

#KlarolineUnrequitedLoveIsABitch.

But her admission to being generally averted on taking up Klaus as a colleague again was apparently only one half of the video,

The other half....

Well the other other half was Klaus with his personal confession.

God, it wasn’t even a confession,

it was a—a Mockery, yes that’s it, a Mockery,

Of Her, no less

Basically Here’s the run down of the second insidious half of the video,

Klaus sitting in front of Graham Norton, in all their British glory, going live on The Graham Norton Show,

when asked about Caroline Forbes, his “partner” on scene has the audacity to let out this evil little amused huff and say:

“Caroline?” Another amused huff. “Well Caroline, Christ, where do I start? She’s an absolutely glorious presence on set. Her energy....it’s infectious, She hits you like a blonde hurricane of sunshine and snark and you’re just left staring up at the sun thinking, ‘you need to catch up mate, if you want to be half as bright and burning as her.’”

And Caroline thinks maybe this is the feeling of your brain imploding within the confines of the skull.

TBC

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE DRABBLE

DISCLAIMER: MAJOR ANGST WARNING! ANGST WITH TRAGEDY WARNING!

Don't tell me I didn't tell you so. I mean it, there is no happy ending at all. Now go snivel and sob and wail.

The Hollowed Sun

“Now folks, we’ll be switching to on-site live news coverage from the crime scene itself, brought to you by Logan Fell—now Hello Logan do you copy?”

“Hello yes, Yes Andi I copy. I’ll take it from here—

Good evening viewers of Mystic Falls, first and foremost before I begin today’s coverage, I’d like to take a moment to express my heartfelt condolences to the victim’s family and friends…..”

Allowing this jackass news coverage of such a sensitive story is just all kinds of wrong, I mean who the hell says ‘heartfelt condolences’ with a smile that could be on a Colgate Ad stuck to their face. I mean God, but more than that, this is seriously heartbreaking, I mean how many more until the Feds up and do something, this situation is getting so out of hand I mean—

“See now that’s not something Caroline would say, she’s not so inconsiderate to start of with that buffoon twattling on the telly and end with the victim, she’d address the victim first, and she’d do it while taking out the pasta dough for the sympathy casserole she’s already planning in her head. Now I’d expect the same from you, but your hands are indisposed of, so is your feet and well, so is the rest of your body. All bound up and nowhere to go, so I’d suggest we take it from the top, and this time use the word asshat, she prefers it.”

The blonde, the ninth one so far, held her silence,

A welcome relief from her nattering, respite he was rarely indulged,

This one, he admits, had lasted the longest, didn't cower and leak her bowels like the rest, well if she retched her insides out, he’d hoped it was out of disgust than fear, the closest simulacrum to Caroline’s ire,

Very mouthy this one and equally indulgent of his whims, and very pliant to his ‘soul’ so to speak, but endearing she was not, the bloody harridan was grating on the skin let alone nerves, the women prattled off such incredulity, he firmly believed that half the things she said she didn't even hear it come out of her own mouth, lips mouthing ceaselessly about his redemption, healing, salvation.

That he wasn’t too far gone, that he wasn’t heartless, merely has misplaced it.  

Bloody told him she knew his heart, that she could help him if he’d just let her,

She entreated, implored with such a beautiful beckoning smile on her face wide and sparkling,

Told him she could feel the choking breath of contrition in his evil, see the light in his anger,

Well he expected a more—visceral reaction from within himself to her demented drivel, but he just settled to draw,

He drew a curve exactly the width of her smile,

On her neck,

With his blade,

He remembers her blood sparkled too.

“…..her identity will not be revealed until the forensics department gives us the green. I’m here standing in the woods behind the infamous Salvatore Boarding House which hasn’t seen human activity anywhere close to the area since well, the Founder’s founding days, and MFPD has found the body of the sixth girl that has turned victim to this town’s first and only serial killer, Officer Donovan just unofficially informed me that the body of the latest victim, does in fact, display all trends of bodily mutilation, chemical poisoning and sedation, the last five victims have shown, but above all, the one common feature the body of all these victim’s share even before coming face to face with their murderer remains to be the fact that the victim was once again another blonde woman. It seems that this towns most prolific killer, which is a title I use very loosely since he is indeed the only killer Mystic Falls has ever seen, is fixated on blonde woman between the age of 22 to 50, the oldest victim so far being 46 years old….”

TO CONTINUE READING

[certifiedceraunophile]

COMING SOON

It’s an Ancient Rome-meets-Roman Gladiator-meets-Enemies to Lovers-meets-Mikael you son of a bitch I require your head on this platter, so please do the needful-meets-Caroline giving sponge baths to a dirty bruised yet victorious gladiator!klaus-meets-SMUT.

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE FALL BINGO PREVIEW

@eliliyah @klarolinefallbingo

Prompt: Samhain.

Samhain is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November,

Ok, disclaimer: I’m taking major, major liberties with the basic supernatural structure of the universe JP has created, I’ve bent a few rules, broken many of em and made many more, now none of these new rules or ‘revised framework’ of the world I’ve created are far too unrealistic or improbable (Like, IDK, a certain magical unicorn zombiefied-sperm baby out of an Australian werewolf joke-of-a-trope, or the redemption story arc of a thousand year old temperamental psychopathic man-child with daddy issues, but apparently c’est la vie.) these rules are perfectly consistent with each other, just somewhat inconsistent with the TVD-verse but hey that’s the entirety of TO so who’s counting anyway?

It’s a Touch Regrettable.

She's been watching him for a while now, and she's sure, he's the ripest fruit for the picking. Close enough to the ‘King’s’ second in command, far away from the ‘King’ himself.

The King of this oppressively sultry Kingdom,

Even in autumn the humidity is doing nothing for her hair.

‘Kingdom.’

She scoffs.

Honestly,

it’s a freaking city, hell it’s not even the whole city, its one half of a quarter of the city, called the French Quarter and the inhabited parts of a seemingly uninhabited Bayou, and he's pretentious enough to call himself King.

King Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid

And the Royal Family; The Mikaelson Clan.

Honestly its intrepid,

Fealty sworn by the former de-throned King Marcel Gerard

Protege of one Klaus Mikaelson,

ostentatious, short-sighted, over-confident, resident tyrannical asshole, all words she will freely use to describe said former protege

Of course that does not mean, this Klaus character is any better or fairer, but for now he's having fun playing king, but he’ll get bored, soon enough, she's certain of it,

There are no kingdoms that last centuries under one man, even if said man is allegedly invincible, Its amusing, how he mixes up immortal with invincible.

Its not the same and its definitely not interchangeable with the other.

She should know after all.

She can show him a thing or two about being truly invincible, but the price she paid for it, she doesn't think he’ll dive for it,

At least not immediately.

Absolute Infinite Power, untouchable Strength, Fortress of Protection, Inpenetrable defence, Unrelenting Offence and True Invincibility, she has it all, you know, but the price she paid....

She wonders if he’ll be willing, she certainly wasn’t.

And if he is willing, he’s an even bigger fool than she thought.

But this playing at King business, it’s fairly new to him, he's doing acceptably well so far, judging by how many whisper against him in the dark, how little proclaim in the light.

Its when the whispers die down you have to be careful, its then that they are truly discontented, because these whispers don't diminish in reciprocation of their dimished plight, no men are never satisfied, she should know.

It only hushes when they don't want the whispers to be heard, when its no longer whispers of unrest and complaint, its the whispers of planning and strike, formulated and dispersed amongst the masses, in the most still darkness and steady shadows.

where else do you think the phrase ‘calm before the storm’ came from.

But here judging by steady thrum of fairly discernible restless whispers and lack of open proclamation she can estimate a good half-century or so of relative stability, but thats only till this generation of witches and werewolves pass, the next,

Well they’ll have their own qualms and quandaries to be answered, and the Hybrid lacks the certain flexibility, she believes.

But she digresses.

She’ll get back to this Ripe fruit she's been stalking —

Ugh. Don't start. She understands she doesn't need to be told, it’s devolving of her, something as pedestrian as stalking, but its a plan, one they've created and she’ll stick to it, its after all been in the making for the last four years.

And No, she doesn't spare two circulatory cycles of air to care what that awful quote about how planning rats and planning men both fail or some similar fatalistic crap, Nope.

you Plan, Perform and Prosper. Thank you very much.

but she digresses again.

Oh yes, the thousand year old vampire she's been stalking.

His place in the Kingdom as his elder brother, the ‘King’ declares— god, she can't even begin to assert how kitschy the titles are— is that of the Royal Court Jester.

Kol Mikaelson, doesn't think its funny, but he’ll laugh and say, At least he’ll get paid for being a fool, you do it for free Nik.

Klaus is not amused, a few more barbs traded, few venom-tipped to the heart some blunt blows to the back of the head, then Elijah floats in and goes, “Children, Please.”

And then they band up together against the suit-laden gentleman, and it always somehow ends up with the conversation revolving around the ten-feet stick lodged up Elijah’s arse.

Its a soap opera and a half, if she's being honest.

and she's got a front row seat for it.

She’s been lurking you know, its not as insidious as it sounds, she drops in every once in a while, a day or two each month, unbeknownst to them of course, scouts the area, notes the changes and then leaves as she came, invisible.

She’s just invisible, like literally invisible, and she’s not detectable by magical ‘sleeping-beauty’ long lost sisters of old, Or a thousand years of acutely honed sense of instinct and awareness, alike.

Its her cloaking spell, really, its her speciality, barriers.

But the point is she's been following Kol Mikaelson, undetected, for a while now, and he's finally come to a stop, in a nondescript back alley, one of many lining the infamous Bourbon Street.

A brunette meal being drained, and there,

when his senses, even after a thousand years, are slightly hazed by the incoming pleasure, the sinful wrap of silk and honey around his tongue, the warmth of blood as it coats his throat, when his head is floating an inch above his neck in delectation.

She strikes.

A blur, a thump, and pinned,

Of course, all he sees, is well, nothing.

Once he is pressed against the wall, and starts to struggle against her, she uses her magic to hold him still, and drops the cloaking spell.

She has always relished that face, the slightly bulging eyes, parted lips and eyebrows crinkled somewhere between disoriented confusion and just startled surprise.

The astonishment in their face, she revels in it, swiping out their feet from underneath and holding the upper hand when they least expect it.

Kol doesn't stray far from that face, she holds his gaze lets him get acquainted with her cornflower blue eyes, and he snarls.

Someone’s in a tetchy mood.

She removes her forearm that was seemingly lodged across his throat, good thing he didn't notice what was actually happening there, and lets the magic keep him captive, takes a step back, and the immobilisation spell functions smoothly.

He's struggles to overcome it, usually the Originals can at least move their head around or wriggle their fingers, but she's no ordinary witch and thats no ordinary spell, it has him standing stone-still motionless, Helpless.

“Kol Mikaelson, I’m told, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” she raises her chin and regards him.

There’s that Mikaelson Calculation in his eyes, he wont underestimate her, she's sure.

He himself is underestimated far too often to be hypocritical enough to repeat the same mistake. He's drawn his conclusion she can see,

‘A marginally powerful witch with a death sentence as of this moment.’

Or some variation of that,

Good, she needs him to believe her a witch, she after all has kept her second face neatly tucked in concealed. A shadow within a shadow.

Either way she allows him enough movement to control his mouth and eyes, he promptly takes use of it.

“Believe me darling, the pleasure will be all mine, momentarily.” He says with a genial smile, the posture would've been nonchalant if only he had control over his own body. His eyes though sing an entirely different song,

He makes a show of looking around as if expecting someone to swoop in and incapacitate her, as if he's waiting for the right moment to strike.

All an act really, she's thorough he should know that, she knows he left the ‘Abattoir’ (like she said, pretentious) alone.

A spat with his brother the ‘King’, something about his maiden witch love, Davina not being the King’s personal magician, and to treat her with the same respect he extends to his family, which if you ask her, is like two steps away from nonexistent so she honestly has no idea why the younger Mikaelson even tries, but she resists judgement and gets to the point, she knows no one was following him and he had stormed out in need for more pliant outlets of frustration AKA the barely breathing slumped body on the side of the alley he was just draining.

So she tells him exactly that,

“Now, we wont be interrupted here, I'm sure, you can drop the ‘I’ve got backup arriving any moment now’ act. I'm here to talk business.”

He regards her now, calculation still evident.

“Assertive little thing aren’t you? But surely as a business partner of yours I can be spared your name also I never thought I’d say this but I don’t particularly care for this impromptu bondage situation we’ve got going on, so if you could let me down, gently darling, it’ll be much appreciated, and we can proceed right along to our businessy particulars.”

And cue nasty once-over of her person,

he’s appreciative, she knows.

“Who said anything about being partners, you're role in this business, is well simple, you will deliver a message to your brother, the self-crowned King of New Orleans.”

Oh he's pissed now, she can see.

Not even getting assaulted in a back alley can stray from doing something with almighty Nik.

“Now darling you're mistaken, I’m not the beloved King’s messenger—“

“No you're his court Jester, or so he declared, but I was hoping you'd grasp at an opportunity for a sizeable promotion, as a messenger, now at least people will pay heed to what you actually have to say, instead of searching for a punchline in every sentence.”

Ah there’s that face of surprise again, she really really likes that one, but of course the Original truly barely even reacts, its a faint raising of the left eyebrow, he's still nonchalant enough everywhere else, but his surprise is not lost on her.

That particular conversation where Kol was dubbed the Royal Fool of His Majesty’s court was an especially private one, both brothers were having a moment of bonding, deep within the recesses of the Compound,

with sage burning.

He's even more vigilant now, but she wont reveal anymore of her cards.

“Now as I was saying, a message to your brother, if you will, tell him;

On the day of Samhain when the full moon is at its apex, we will arrive at the abattoir, tell him to gather his men close and his family closer, we will arrive bearing a lost token of centuries past belonging to the Mikaelson Name. One of grave importance, Should he choose to neglect my message, tell him regret will eat away at the very marrow of his bones, of that I am sure. After all a chance like this appears only once in a millennium.”

He looked amused, and probably relishing in the idea of a joint slaughter with his siblings, once she arrives at the family compound.

but he's intrigued nonetheless.

He's impressed by her strength but she hasn't left an impression yet.

Well then she's just going to have to impress upon him.

Not giving him a chance to acquiesce on her request, which he's just going to have to do, whether he likes it or not.

“And as for my name, you’ll carry it back in my stead.”

She takes a step forward places her hand an inch away from the skin of his forearm that was held away from his body to her behest, and lets her magic flow,

Her name is carved into his arm, just Caroline,

she doesn't have a family name.

Slowly and steadily, every dip and every loop in curving perfection of cursive calligraphy.

He barely winces in reaction, but there, there’s her impression,

Yes she's aware its horribly unimaginative, but she's pragmatic not poetic.

A drop of blood trickles down his arm and lands on the rough concrete,

now that drop of blood, she can touch, and discreetly places her feet on top of it, she's barefoot and if he noticed he didn't think much of it, contact with that one drop of blood from his arm is enough for her to drain his ability to heal over her carved name, and there it remains engraved on his forearm the blood ceaselessly flowing, its obvious he's waiting for the wound to close,

Too bad for him, it wont until she says so.

He notices the anomaly and tries to look down at it but he's immobilised,

looking at her name one last time still gaping and open,

“Be sure to relay my message for me, Thank you.”

She presents him a sunny smile,

He clearly wants to regale her with the gory gruesome tales of every witch, vampire, werewolf and unicorn that has wronged the Mikaelson Family and have endured centuries of regret and retribution, but she's taken his ability speak away, so his eyes bulge in protest and just like that,

she's gone,

Invisible, untouchable again

——————————————————————————-

Its awfully fanciful he thinks, this Caroline women,

Laughable really,

Struts into his kingdom, attacks his brother and proceeds to demand his attendance in his residence.

How delightfully ambitious,

Veritably on The Night of Samhain, the hailing of the darker quarter of the year, a winter’s plea for survival, the auspicious night the souls of dead loved ones revisit their homes seeking hospitality, such thespian antics, she's surely amused him.

However a lost token belonging to the Mikaelson Family, now he's sure its one banal talisman or another, belonging to Esther or Dahlia or even Freya, that the witch happened upon and believes is of great import to the family,

A hopeful barter perhaps is her motivation, a page of the original grimoire, or mayhap Freya’s assistance in a spell, tedious witchy interference, not his forte if he’s being honest, and emphatically not of his interest either.

But the fact that she held Kol immobile for a slightly extended amount of time is yet to be properly examined, the harvest witches of New Orleans were able to do so, he has a first hand experience of it after all, the woman who dared, died of a thousand cuts, not that anybody would care.

but this latest parvenue loitering about his territory, well she was, at the end of the day, a lone witch with plausibly, a flair for the arts of the theatrical sorts, a drama major, he's sure of it.

but what truly demands his attention is her valiant effort to dictate and predict his emotion, its— pardon him but—its adorable.

The intensity with which she predicts his regret, it tickles him, love.

Regret,

such an alienated emotion, second only to love of the non-familial kind.

But nevertheless witch, its his emotions. After all, its his albatross on his neck.

He hasn't felt true regret that “eats away at the very marrow of his bones”, since that fateful night one thousand years ago, the impetus happenstance, the true tragedy of the Mikaelson name.

“The wolves, Nik, I want to see them turn big brother,”

He silences his mind and his bickering family with a derisive snort,

“Well fanciful isn't she, no matter, this newest upstart couldn't have arrived at a better time, I had half a mind to turn come next full moon, the recent bout of monotony is dreadfully stifling.”

He pauses for his family’s concurrence on the last statement,

He doesn't get it, He continues unaffected,

“Well then Kol, you are absolved of your duties as the Court’s Licensed Fool on the eve of Samhain, it looks like our night’s entertainment has already been booked.”

He swipes at the name still carved on his little brother’s arm, profusely bleeding still, now this— this was somewhat disconcerting, but he wouldn't worry his head about it, he’ll have this arriviste witch sort it out soon enough if Freya fails in her intervention.

He looks at the name one last time, picks up his sketch pad and walks out the room.

“Little miss Caroline should hope she delivers, after all she’ll be hosting a full house and a tough crowd.”

——————————————————————————-

Its the day before the Night of Samhain, and she looks at the only person she will ever touch with joy and comfort in her heart, she looks at the only person she's in contact with who she hasn't wrecked so thoroughly their soul isn’t vanquished.

His dark hair is neatly cut and styled in the way young men of his age prefer, and he's wearing a full sleeves maroon knit sweater in accordance to the fall climate and black jeans covers his long lanky legs, she remembers distinctly, this is one of the first sweaters he ever bought, on one of the many shopping sprees they both embarked on for the last year or so, he bought it last winter and the shoulders are already too tight,

She feels this bone deep sense of sorrow spread from her toes up her legs all the way till the tip of her nose, stopping just below her eyes,

Because how on earth can she possibly have eyes filled with anything other than this overwhelming feeling of belonging, let alone sorrow, when she’s gazing at her little pumpkin playing the guitar, sitting there strumming idly.

God she’s so sad, it’s insulting.

When was the last time she gave herself the impression that her life was anything but a garden of milk-sweet Mongolias, honey soaked lilies, chrysanthemums and hesistant smatterings of poppies, a cobblestoned path lining the borders and meandering away in between the sweet scents of orange blossoms and jasmine oil that permeates the air, and maybe the only weeping part of the whole scenery would've been a weeping willow bending its head down, in atlas’s humility, to lightly caress the crystal blue lake sprawling in the centre of it all.

She’s not delusional, she knows her...condition of existence is—gutting for the soul.

but this, this impending departure of her campanion, is making her miserable, she’s experiencing the pain with a bird’s eye view, its so hard, its making her stateless.

And it’s not even the perpetual state of detached lonely, slightly agitated, melancholy she’s accustomed to in the deepest darkest receded pits of her heart, no,

This one stands out, like a beacon of hurt. Like a sudden splash of crimson blood, clawing its way to the surface from the bottom, spreading and swirling in her pristine azure lake.

Her heart, it doesn't constrict in her chest, like all the novels tell her it should when great dialogues of unfettered grief is narrated,

No, instead she actually can feel it expand, expand and knock against the inside of her sternum with every beat, she can feel it trying to expand past her chest and just swell, bigger and bigger in hopes that someway, just somehow it will widen enough to just engulf this human in front of her and keep him there and never, ever let go. to make enough space for him and give him everything he wants and protect and cherish him like the brother she never had, or maybe she did, she cant really remember.

But she wants it to just expand and take, but all it does is blow up, burst and bleed.

Her little human of course can see her plight viscerally play out in her eyes, he’s even learnt her tells, god when was the last time someone knew the difference between her

‘I’m lost in the memories of my past I don’t have’ face

And her

‘I’m lost in glimpses of the future I can’t have’ face.

Oh yes, never,

but her perceptive little pumpkin knows,

And God it hurts.

She knows she’s going to loose him, she’s not naive enough to think she’ll be able to have any claim over him or his affection in just 24 hours.

And she wants to be selfish you know, some godforsaken part of her wants to remove his memories and keep him with her, as his only family and protector, but she won’t.

She knows,

she can’t, she will never put him through the pain she felt 400 years ago when she finally woke up from her sleep. Disoriented, confused, scared and so, so alone.

But after 400 years of a wide blanket of solitude,

nope that’s not the word

400 hundred years of unceasing loneliness, yes.

—She’s dramatic, she gets it, no need to point that out—

She finally, finally found someone she could be close with, in every sense of the word, someone who stayed, someone who didn’t die on her or someone she didn't kill unwittingly, someone who looked at her condition and didn't think, ‘No, you're too risky for me.’

God, she’d give her life for this floundering guitarist in front of her, a thousand times over, she’d do it with a smile on her face, and he knows, and he accepts her devotion, her loyalty, her companionship, and he offers his own,

When was the last time this happened,

She supposes it was with Bonnaventura Benettini during her Italian escapades in the 1820’s. She was with her for 50 years, watched her grow and age, wrinkle and stutter, watched her bones hollow and creak against one another, watched her spine get softer and the steel in it only strengthen, her Bonnie.

But she too left,

Yet this little human, she can make him immortal, she knows she can, he can spend eternity with her, and he'd choose to too, he told her himself, but,

He’ll be gone tomorrow, sacrificed to the Mikaelsons.

“Caro, if you frown any harder, you’ll be stuck with a face like that Grinch guy, maybe not as green, but you do look a bit pale,”

He rises from his perch near the french windows the soft light of a nearly full moon flooding the loft, and saunters towards her,

Yes, saunter, because how else will a budding young man his age move.

He sits down right next to her, thighs touching and now her heart constricts, he intertwines their hands and locks their fingers together, her heart stutters,

God, such a trite commonplace act, and for her, a fist in her soul, the sun shines only a bit brighter, and the moon only a tiny bit bigger, how long and by how many she was denied this... Privilege, to just hold, to just connect.

She falls back on the arm of the settee and he follows suit placing his head just below her chin, their interlocked fingers laid on her stomach, she drops a kiss on the top of his head and she swears she hears the sound of ripping, she's trying to figure out if it was her heart or her soul that made it when,

“You know I wont leave you, yes? No matter what happens tomorrow, I swear it Caro,”

“Sleep pumpkin, it’s getting late, we’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

And she thinks, thats all they're going to get, a whole day.

TBC

[certifiedceraunophile]

THE KLAROLINE FANDOM AS A WHOLE WILL CONSIDER IT SACRILEGIOUS BLASPHEMY IF YOU DO NOT FCKING DROP EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING YOU WERE DOING RIGHT THIS INSTANT AND DIVE INTO THIS precious BEAUTY.

The Ballad of the Sea

The Ballad of the Sea

Across the ocean she ran, chased by a pirate who pursued her in a never ending waltz. Back and forth. Push and pull. Caroline never thought that the chase would end with her being dragged back to England. She should have known it would end that way, for Klaus was stubborn. When he found a bounty worth taking, he was ruthless until he obtained what he desired.

This time, what he desired was Caroline.

DISCLAIMER: There are graphic discussions of sexual assault and the trauma a survivor feels because of said assault. If this is a trigger for you or something that bothers you, you are forward that this story deals with it. There is also graphic depictions of violence and murder.

Port Royal: 1712

The moment the pirates demolished the inside of Bonnie’s brothel, Caroline knew that she needed to run. It was only so long that she would have been able to hide out in her friend’s establishment, pretending to be someone’s whore. It was one thing to hear the cannon firing off in the distance, but it was something else completely for pirates to be raiding her temporary home. She felt a slight pang of guilt for the trouble it would cause Bonnie, but her friend knew the risks when letting her stay, and Bonnie knew the risks of servicing pirates.

It was foolish of Caroline to come to Port Royal, a place known for frequent pirate activity, but she found that she had nowhere else to go. One would find it romantic to have a man chase her, not only across continents but across the entire ocean but at this point, Caroline found it rather obnoxious. While she was not one to stay in one place for long, Caroline did like to be able to live comfortably from time to time. Being hunted across the Atlantic was not living comfortably.

READ HERE

@carolineforbae​ made this beautiful mood-board 

@galvanizedfriend​ I really hope you like it! 

[certifiedceraunophile]

It’s a Touch Regrettable

Chapter 3 :

GALLOWS HUMOUR

Doesn't he stand, tall and handsome, a proud bastard.

So glorious, so immense this creature who stands before her,

She thinks about something he would say, a little true, a lot pretentious,

“I am a monument to all your sins.”

Yes, that’s something he would definitely say,

Her mind propounds to her artist, an image, a painting really, of this mighty man, She can’t help but see him all alone in the canvas, he does takes up too much space there’s very little for others, so alone on the canvas he remains.

She sees horns, a bit cliched, she’s aware, but she sees them bloodied but never broken, she sees chest forever puffed in pride and bared to the world for there is no soft palpating organ within it he need protect, the sole of his feet torn from the countless steps he mapped hurried and panted, anticipated and in fear, sometimes away from his tormentor, sometimes towards the unchaining of his beast, the hunt he endured as both prey and predator in the millennium he remained only half. She sees ears perked, and hands drawn back, shoulders always ready but never tense, she sees the crevasse of his pupil that let's bleed a momentary gleam so blinding the sun is oddly subdued.

He’s a very pretty picture, she admits, and she somehow always notices dimple first then fang, and her attention is always drawn back to dimple, the fangs are of little intrigue, hers are sharper.

But that Hybrid gold, those are a different entity all together, it pierces her deeper than her own fangs have her palms on nights she couldn't control her inner magic, those are vividly obscure patches in her memories she doesn't appreciate revisiting, so she is sufficiently perturbed every time she stares into his eyes.

She thinks about getting lost in his eyes, and she huffs an amused breath, she’d be far too aware of his danger to be so reckless as to get lost.

And she knows he senses her defences, her alertness, mistakes it for a prey’s instinct to survive, the Wolf looks forward to the hunt and the hybrid gold is smoothed to a cherub's smile, dimples poking. But she is no prey she’s neither predator, she’s nothing so feral, so primordial as him.

She’s a lone executioner.

CONTINUE READING HERE

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE FALL BINGO POST

In honour of today being Samhain. Here’s an update.

@eliliyah @klarolinefallbingo

It’s a Touch Regrettable

Chapter 2: Dear Departed.

Prompt : Vampires do NOT sparkle.

Ok, disclaimer: I’m taking major, major liberties with the basic supernatural structure of the universe JP has created, I’ve bent a few rules, broken many of em and made many more, now none of these new rules or ‘revised framework’ of the world I’ve created are far too unrealistic or improbable (Like, IDK, a certain magical unicorn zombiefied-sperm baby out of an Australian werewolf joke-of-a-trope, or the redemption story arc of a thousand year old temperamental psychopathic man-child with daddy issues, but apparently c’est la vie.) these rules are perfectly consistent with each other, just somewhat inconsistent with the TVD-verse but hey that’s the entirety of TO so who’s counting anyway?

Summary:

“Now as I was saying, a message to your brother, if you will, tell him;

On the day of Samhain when the full moon is at its apex, we will arrive at the Abattoir, tell him to gather his men close and his family closer, we will arrive bearing a lost token of centuries past belonging to the Mikaelson Name. One of grave importance, Should he choose to neglect my message, tell him regret will eat away at the very marrow of his bones, of that I am sure. After all a chance like this appears only once in a millennium.”

It tickles him, This Caroline women and her missive,

How delightfully ambitious,

It seems the evening's entertainment has been arranged for, do indulge him sweetheart, he's looking forward to it.

After all such Intrepid souls, such audaciously dauntless minds are far and few in between, It's about time he fell in step with another one of your kind.

To read on AO3:

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE DRABBLE

GLORIA SANGUIS

Sneak Peek

Again FAIR DISCLAIMER

This is a completely self-indulgent wish fulfilment fic, the writing style here just picks a tangent and runs with it, switches when it wishes to and takes a u-turn when it feels like it, I’ve allowed myself a lot of leeway and decided to forgo my usual pretentious way of writing and basically this is just one big “Ah fuck it who the hell cares I’m just here for the Klaro-love” kind of fic. So proceed on your own volition

And as for the plot, to quote my previous post your stepping into a

*deep breath*

Fanatsy AU meets Alien AU meets Royalty AU meets Future AU meets Time Travel AU meets Inapropriate dirty talk in front of family members AU meets World War 3 AU meets Colonized Mars AU meets Family Sitcom AU meets SMUT 

*releases breath*

*Catches lost fucking breath*

And Honestly at this point I’m basically the author version of that one John Mulaney meme where he goes

“No one knows what the horse is going to do next, least of all the HORSE”

So yeah,

Proceed with Caution

You have been Warned

——————————————————————————

Earth, New Orleans, 2014

Let it be on record, in her own voice, for all of her subjects to know, that she loathes this, she loathes this with a passion.

An if that’s too ambiguous of a statement, she loathes it with a passion she may or may not employ debating the merits of her skin’s fluorescence in water colours as opposed to oil paints in her husband’s studio, a studio that is as vast as the ‘fiefdom’—which is putting it generously—she walks the streets of at this very moment.

Let it also be known that the anarchy of this city, which is basically an inter-faction wrestling ring for the supernatural, that her husband tried to rule will forever be a staining moment of his past.

She has tried to ignore this tiny smear of history that has turned translucent as time rubs against her memories each day eternity demurely follows behind her, she really has, but she’s found that she simply can’t let him off gently, she’s found she can’t let him forget and she has always found she has to drag him through the mud every time she’s reminded of Klaus’s less than complimentary interlude with Kingship to obscure that one disrespectfully dirty stain with camouflage, she’s never let him forget Klaus Mikaelson at amateur hour calling three streets and one marsh his ‘Kingdom.’

Oh he loathes it more when she reminds him it took him 12 years to hold said ‘Kingdom’ with the power that is a jesting parody with which she rules the entire world.

Those conversations do escalate very quickly, usually ends up with her pinned beneath him being reminded of the fact that never mind the pantomime of power he constructed and deluded himself with in New Orleans, he instead directs her attention to the fact that it may have taken him two entire centuries love, but nonetheless he is after all the one and only man in all the seven realms of Gaia who can make His Queen, His Empress beg on her knees for mercy every night, naked and needy, with tears in her eyes and a moan on her lips.

That remains his biggest accomplishment sweetheart, conquering you who has conquered all,

He silences her with a bruising kiss when she reminds him she is nothing so inert as to be conquered, and then proceeds to exalt his Empress.

She of course has told him fucking her to oblivion every time the topic comes up does not erase the decades of ignominy that was his ‘King of New Orleans’ venture, but usually at this point he just clamps a hand on her mouth and proceeds to pound into her in earnest. But if he thinks leaving her deliciously sore and sated the next morning is going to impede her in any way from bringing up his version of an embarrassing childhood memory every opportunity she gets, well he has to know by this point it’s always he who enables her.

But on a more prudent note, she concedes it’s been centuries since she’s been this under-prepared, doesn't matter that she’s in New Orleans in her husband’s—No at this point in time Future Husband’s home turf, doesn’t matter that she was sent 700 years into the past three days ahead of schedule, and most definitely does it not matter that the day the universe chose to send Grand Empress Caroline, Sovereign of the Seven Realms, Goddess of the Undead and Keeper of the Gates of Gaia was on the day of Gratia Cantantes.

The day of Gratitude, when her people flood the gates of her Aerial Gardenia chattering heartbeats on their sleeve, bated breath and craning necks, to stand in her presence. To thank their saviour, to touch their foreheads to the ground in remembrance of her favour and grace, for her devoted Vampires to celebrate the Quarter Quell’s Harvest, for Bonnie’s witches to accept the Elder’s Blessing, for the Wolves to have their venom sanctified by her Husband, and for Her World to celebrate it’s existence.

TBC

[certifiedceraunophile]

7, 15, 17 and 20 :)

SO THIS IS MY FIRST EVER ASK ANSWER,

7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?

Honestly it wasn’t a fic or anything, it was actually, this blinding beam of sunshine’s-  ( @carolineforbae ) comment on my fic ‘It’s a Touch Regrettable’

 This queen left a whole rant underneath the fic, unadulterated emotions flowing and spilling,Just the memory of it makes me wanna curl up on a warm bed of grass and weave flower garlands, that comment’s screenshot is actually my phone’s lockscreen picture. I’m not kidding.

 I’m in a healthy happy married relationship with that comment and we were actually wondering about kids just yesterday, so yeah. 

15. Post the last line you wrote without context.

‘But then she catches sight of Klaus’ face and she knows whats displayed across her eyes, it’s awe, it’s wonder, it’s reverence and most of all it’s such incriminating disbelief, and he knows just as much as she, those emotions only come from an undeserving woman. A woman with her head screwed on right enough to pass sound judgement on herself and decisively assign herself unworthy, but that doesn't stop her from greedily taking what she’s been given so freely, that she will take with thanks but would never pay it back, because how could she?

She is unfit for having it in the first place.’

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

I’ll do you one better, here’s the aesthetic for a fic that has like “I came, I saw, I conquered” my mind, (pun intended, you’ll understand in a moment).

It’s been burning out my braincells like it’s on fire. I mean the amount of story plot lines and random dialogues that are literally bursting out of my mind like confetti strings honestly it was just all over the place I needed to calm down and compartmentalise so I did this to give the ideas in my head an image, and I got a bit carried away, clearly.

It’s an Ancient Rome-meets-Roman Gladiator-meets-Enemies to Lovers-meets-Mikael you son of a bitch I require your head on this platter, so please do the needful-meets-Caroline giving sponge baths to a dirty bruised yet victorious gladiator!klaus-meets-SMUT.

20. Do you have a favourite fanfic or author? If so, tag them/post a link and share the love!

The list of authors is too long, too too long, but I can bring it down to one person for you,

FIRST AND FOREMOST, 

Like, 

Lend me your ears my fellow plebes, as we stand in the presence of divine erudition, seasoned and soft yet coarse as velvet rubbed the wrong way, A blazing gloriole burst upon her lovely visage, cut her open and you shall find sands from a thousand realms spill forth, every flutter of her eyelash a turn of a page, Kingdoms have not crumbled at the touch of her hands, but the spine of a hundred tomes of sentiment narrated with unfettered reach have, bent with atlas humility as if to say, ‘have me, all of me’ and she devours. 

Honestly I have no idea how to end this, but the ‘her’ I’m talking about is the one and only,

@cbk1000

DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE HONOUR AND PRIVILEGE I FEEL TO EVEN SAY HER NAME,

LIKE BRO, hold me for a second,

This writer is by far the one writer who has captured Caroline, Klaus, Rebekah and Kol, in the most REALEST way.

Like she knows these characters and presents them to us in their most tragically raw state of being, no dilutions, no misplaced underlining, no flower crowns on their head, they are given to you shrivelled, hurt, broken and aged and you bow your head in reverence.

In their most downtrodden days we will cherish them, in their ugliest cruelest days of such evil no love diminishes, in their most deific of moments your knees will buckle and you will submit.

She does not sugarcoat and downplay the most disgusting aspects of their character, presents it to us as they are and tells us,“Hold them, they burn your hands, but hold them still.” and we will do it, like GOD I’M NOT ARTICULATING THIS WELL, hold on, lemme collect my thoughts 

I MEAN SHE HAS KLAUS KILL A BABY, COOK yes, COOK SAID BABY AND THEN FEED THE ROASTED BABY TO ITS FATHER, ALL UNBEKNOWNST TO SAID FATHER AND I THINK ‘FINALLY, KLAUS AS KLAUS AND NOT KLAUS BUT CENSORED BLUR PLACED ON TOP OF EVERYTHING BUT HIS DICK.’

like does that make sense? I really hope that makes sense.

And OK her writing, like her WRITING itself, like remove Klaroline, remove the originals, remove vampires, werewolves, witches, etc etc, and give her a shoelace to right about and she will BLOW YOUR FCKING MIND AWAY. you will worship that piece of literary wonder, it’s poetry, it’s sacred scriptures, it’s imagery, its a fucking PAINTING.

that’s what it is,

IT’S A PAINTING and it’s A MOVING PICTURE.

She doesn’t create a world for you, no she’s nothing so boorish, she merely rules this universe of hers and she’s magnanimous enough to allow you entry, a visit, stay a few days, EXPERIENCE, LIVE, and then you leave a changed human, and this universe she rules will always have a special place in your heart and soul.

THE DEDICATION this writer shows to research, to historic accuracy, to  literally EVERYTHING that is not necessarily the plot itself, GOD, that deserves a separate spiel for itself, the way she makes everything so AUTHENTIC, her describing the fall of the Romonav dynasty as just another byproduct of Klaus’ recreational machinations, JESUS, LIKE THAT transcends storytelling and now is sitting in a place called shared reverie.

I MEAN GO AND READ,

Wherewith to Sate Its Malice

For the Pikes Must be Together

Five Times the Sinner

AND MOST OF ALL,

AU Original series

and come back and read this author review, you’ll agree to everything I’ve said. I promise.