a sacred song written in blood

"The hybrids?" It's a guess, a humorless laugh escaping as Jessie turns around to continue picking up the kitchen behind her. There was flour spread across the counter, cooking sheets stacked up from her chilling macarons that are waiting to be frosted. While Klaus has his own missions to attend to, so does Jessie, but she still calls. "How many more times are you gonna use that until you can see it's grown tired? Not t'mention them hybrids you did leave here gave me a headache with the no privacy thing, an' I was pretty much talkin' t'myself on your voicemail for months?" She's met some of his hybrids, mostly the ones that were left on her doorstep. Might as well have them join the ridiculousness of the list of people Jessie herself deals with daily. Man eating, free range killers that masquerade as normal people. Two sides of the same coin.

A defeated sigh slipped out of him as she turned away, and really, he should have known it was coming. Jessie was stubborn. Klaus realized that during the very first conversation the two of them ever had, and it only made him want her more.

He was guilty, after all. Guilty of not returning her calls, guilty of leaving hybrids behind to watch her every move, all because of some fear he could never shake. Jessie could handle herself. He knew that better than most. She was a perfect killer when she needed to be, but she was still his, and Klaus would never be comfortable knowing she was out in the world without some form of his protection near her.

“Yes, my love.” Klaus stepped up beside her at the counter and grabbed a cloth, starting to wipe away the flour scattered across it. It wasn’t exactly the reunion he imagined for himself, but he could play along for now.

“I’m sure your work is every bit as important as my mission with the hybrids.” There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice, not enough to fully dismiss her. Jessie always found some way to keep herself busy while he was gone, and judging by the state of the kitchen, today was no different.

        elijah inclined his head slightly as niklaus clarified the purpose, a faint, thoughtful hum leaving him at the explanation given by his brother. "i will freely admit, that my familiarity with painting begins and ends at observing finished works." brushes, pigments, canvases; the distinctions between quality and mediocrity are largely lost on elijah. "i am, in this regard, entirely reliant on your expertise."

       he listened as klaus elaborated on the subtleties of color and materia. "the netherlands does seem an appropriate source," he remarked, and although he was no expert when it comes to painting or drawing, he does know that the netherlands are the home of remarkable painters: rembrandt van rijn, johannes vermeer, vincent van gogh, piet mondrian, hieronymus bosch, frans hals, and so on. "there is a long tradition of mastery there." his tone suggested genuine interest, even if the practical knowledge escaped him.

It felt strangely normal.

But Klaus didn’t trust normal, of course. He never has. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted.

“You may be entirely useless with a brush,” he continued, giving his brother a teasing look, “but you do have a decent eye. Better than most, at least. You understand balance. Detail. Restraint.” The last word came with a slight lift of his brow.

She turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his as he spoke into her ear. He was too close. Too warm. Too aware. He's making her head swim. She's trying to keep her head above water. She should hate this. She doesn't.

"Fire burns things, Klaus…" She whispered, her breath catching between them. "It doesn't build anything. It just leaves ashes behind."

When his hand gripped her hip, pinning her firmly against his body, the touch sent a jolt of electricity straight through her. She finally looked at him, her dark eyes wide and shimmering with a mixture of defiance and a vulnerability she hated. She felt his body press against her own, between her and the brick wall. She looked into his eyes, and for just a second, just a moment, she stopped seeing the villain of her story and saw the man who had been lonely for a thousand years.

"Is that what you want?" She asked, her voice gaining a bit of courage despite her body trembling. "To see if you can make me burn like the others. You say I'm different… But you're still holding me like something you've captured. Something you own."

She lets out a soft and shaky breath, her chest rising and falling against his. "You corner anyone like this, pin them like this…" Her eyes flicked to his mouth before she dragged them away again. "Their pulse would do the same."

"You're right. Anyone's heart would race in fear." Klaus smiled, almost smug in the way he continued to look down at her. He could feel every beat of her heart under his thumb, but he knew fear and what terror felt like when it rushed through the veins.. And this wasn't that, not entirely.

"But yours isn't racing from fear, now is it, Elena?" He questioned her on it, but he believed he already knew her answer. Maybe that was arrogance on his part, but the way her eyes dropped to his mouth told him more than any denial she could give him.

"You like the excitement. The adventure. The thrill of it all." His hand left her hip, giving her the freedom she demanded but not the space she thinks she wants. He lifted that hand to brush the hair from her shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck to him as his eyes following along the path of it before returning to her face. The same face he has stared at throughout the centuries, hers was warm still and not frozen by the curse of time.

"Most people," the hybrid whispered, "would be looking for an exit. Waiting for an opportunity to run or for someone to save them. But you…"

Klaus's thumb stroked over the vein in her neck and his thumb shook slightly against her skin, showing the adrenaline that was rushing through him. Elena always managed to make him feel too much at once, and Klaus wasn't certain whether he wanted to punish her for it or pull her closer until she finally understood she was already his.

"You look at me. At my lips." His eyes searched hers, possessiveness leaking through his expression. "That makes me believe you won't burn like the rest. You'll rise from the ashes, and together we'll create a new order."

From the beginning, Klaus was obsessed with the little doppelganger. She was his to sacrifice, the final piece needed to break his curse. Even then, he felt something possessive toward her. She always has belonged to his plans, to his future. Over time, he grew fond of her, protective even, but with Klaus every bit of his affection was twisted with his need to possess and own her. In his eyes, she was his.

Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.

Independent, multi-verse/fandom and Selective - Daenerys and Rhaenyra Targaryen (book and show influences)

@bloodpsalm said: “You knew I was dangerous when you touched me.”

Klaus whipped around at Billy’s yelling, his eyes burning with anger, but there was hurt there too. Hurt over the decision he made and the fact Billy couldn’t seem to understand why he did it.

“I left to protect you!” Kaus snapped back as he closed the distance between them in a few predator like strides, one hand striking Billy's chest to shove him backwards into the wall and pinning him there.

“You think you’re tough shit, boy?” Klaus’ voice dropped a few octaves as he leaned closer, giving a tiny shake of his head. “You’re not. You’re a fragile little human whose light could be snuffed out with a single blow.”

The words came out cruel, but Klaus was far too angry to take them back. Billy spoke as if Klaus left because he didn’t want him, when wanting him was the entire problem. Klaus wanted him enough that the thought of finding Billy dead because of him made something disgusting twist inside his guts.

kate's 365 days of male characters