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The Vampire Diaries / The Originals canon based Klaus Mikaelson ( TV series only )

This account is mutuals only.

Mature themes ( more so graphic violence, less so smut ) will be present.

I’m much more active on theivashkinator. I’m also on dimitrbelikov.

Message me for my Discord.

» Chronicled by JT / 25+ / PST

Far too many ghosts have wandered these halls for her to ever really be surprised by their presence. Even when they’re not there, they’re there. But the sound of his voice brings a painful tug and she finds herself closing her eyes for a moment, counting a few breaths before she speaks.  ❝ You’re not real. ❞  But when she looks up, the tug becomes a tear.  ❝ And that line would have been lame, even for you. ❞

                ❝ Well, well–– - ❞

Blue eyes sweep over the new plaque that sits on the headmistress’s desk.

❝ I can only assume that the quotient of young boys suddenly needing to stay after school has gone up. Were I a student here, I’d certainly be first in detention every day. ❞

         She shouldn’t have followed. He was giving her an out. Conversation over. She could just slip away and go in with her life, content to hate him for the rest of her days. Or at least…hate him as much as she was able. Which hadn’t been a lot lately. Which only made her want to hate him more. Instead though, the thought didn’t really even cross her mind as she stalked after him.  ❝ Oh please, don’t give me that crap, okay? You left. You were gone. Just…poof! No more Klaus! Do you have any idea what you left us all to deal with? ❞  He turned, quickly enough that she found herself nearly tripping with the effort to took to stop herself before she collided into him.  ❝ Yes. Obviously. ❞  The answer came quickly. Maybe too quickly.  ❝ You’re not exactly invincible, you know. ❞

        An eyebrow arched perfectly as Klaus had to tilt his head to look Caroline in the eye. She’d ended up physically close to him and he wasn’t about to introduce distance into the equation now.  ❝ Aren’t I ? ❞  Though, the joviality of his teasing faltered as her words sank in. She was pissed at him, but such emotion, Klaus was sure, was used to hide another. 

‘–– - left us to deal with’

        Her feet carried her a step backwards before she thought otherwise. Eyes narrowing into a glare, Caroline met him step-for-step,  hand lifting as her finger jabbed against his sternum.   ❝ No. ❞  They weren’t doing this again. She wasn’t about to fall victim to pretty words and seductive accents and those stupid half-smiles and twinkling gazes he gave her. Because she was…well maybe not smarter now, but…smarter. Maybe. She hoped.  ❝ No, we’re not doing this again, okay? You’re not doing this again. You don’t get to just waltz into town with no warning and then try and woo me and then disappear again. So — no. ❞

     ❝ Don’t give me that look — ❞  That boyish, puppy-dog-eyed, faux-innocence look that made her both irritated and weirdly soft all at once. Really, he was insufferable.  ❝ The Caroline you know? Please, ❞  Caroline rolled her eyes, head canting to the side as she gave him a look. Eyebrows raised, head shaking only slightly.  ❝ A couple months flirting and a little will-they-won’t-they tension and you think you’re an expert? ❞

Many think it to be the antithesis of strength, but in all my years, I’ve found that the two go hand in hand. You truly learn your real weakness only when you’re at your strongest. It’s not an easy lesson to learn, and sure, I can admit that my own pride hindered such vision most of my life, but the biggest irony of all is that one can only truly see once they close their eyes.

Mine eyes have been closed for some time now  –– - and yet I see all. Let them put ashes to rest, but a spirit is always enduring. Nothing could kill the original hybrid, after all. Such is true, even in death.

And it is in this death that I find my greatest lament. Hope –– - the namesake of all I wanted to forsake, to purge from myself of everything all believed me to be and give the world the one thing no one could see. My legacy of a new beginning. It was this precious child that could surely harken a new era for the name Mikaelson. 

Yet the tribrid has chosen weakness.

Once a being fueled only by rage, I find that my anger is now behind me. All I feel now is great sorrow that I could not be there to guide her –– to show her a better way. The vampires that shirk their humanity are no better than rats –– giving in to baser instincts, letting go of their most powerful asset in a cowardice move to hide from a passion that would ignite their true strength. Hope has chosen such a path.

Yet I have –– - hope. I shall always have her. Part vampire, part wolf, part witch –– yet grounded in a humanity that I never had. She is everything and I know that through this weakness, she shall find a strength that will rival the gods themselves.

The worst of us, the best of us –– Hope will inherit the earth. She may have her time of weakness now, but mark my words. The heir of the Great Evil shall give brith to something that the world has never before seen. She shall overcome herself. She shall relish. 

She just stared at him for a moment, not quite trusting herself to move one way or another. On one hand, things were different now. They’d crossed a line into uncharted territory and she had no idea how they were supposed to navigate it. The distance between them, the time he’d allowed for, it was supposed to make it all easier to process. She was supposed to have a year — a century — to figure out how to act around him now that they’d…happened. But he was here now. And then came the debate of whether or not she resorted to their previous games or stepped into whatever unpaved terrain lay before them.

Ultimately, it wasn’t all that much of a decision. Sighing again, Caroline allowed her posture to relax as she took a step forward, hand moving to curl into the crook of his arm before she started towards the terrace. Later, she’d blame it on how boring the party was. Elena was in no state to dress up or do anything but mope about Damon. Damon and Bonnie were gone. Stefan had disappeared. The most entertainment she had tonight was watching Alaric try not to stare at Jo. 

❝ Who would you be? ❞  She finally asked once most of the noise of the party was quieted by the sliding of the patio door behind them. Turning, Caroline looked up at him, taking a moment to study his face. He looked…tired .Or maybe that was just the shadows. The bits covered by the mask made it hard to tell. And she’d ignore the small lurch of concern in her gut for her own sanity’s sake.  ❝ If you could be someone different. ❞

     Klaus didn’t want to admit that he was actually surprised when Caroline accepted his offer and wove her delicate hand through his elbow. He’d been half expecting her to shoot him some snappy quip and march off in the opposite direction. After all, he had broken his word to her –– which was something he had never done before. Despite all the wrongs that the indomitable original hybrid had committed against the woman he claimed to love, lying to her wasn’t one of them. It was something he prided himself on. While it was true, that breaking the vow was out of his control, that notion didn’t put him any further at ease.

The corners of his lips quirked into a not-so-subtle smirk as he led the way onto the opulent terrace. Lights had been strung up and candles were lit along the stone wall. It was akin to a stage from a fairytale and Klaus thanked his luck for the romantic setting. The question that Caroline posed once again caught him off guard. Reaching a quiet area near the low wall, the hybrid turned to set his full gaze upon the blonde. Just as gorgeous as ever. His priorities in life had shifted greatly with recent events, but he’d be lying if he said his heart stopped beating for her.

       Breath. Such a strange thing. Seemingly inconsequential to our every day lives. Air that fills the lungs and leaves the body, imbuing ourselves with the very thing that keeps our mind awake and our soul alive. Yet as pertinent as it may be, we never even think of the meager action, never stop to take stock in that nurturing element that every single living thing on this earth requires. Yet when the thing which we take for granted, is denied to us, this thing we forget to even factor into our daily ritual, what happens then ? We turn into a writhing, wretched being that will claw and clasp for any shred of it. No longer a higher functioning animal with logical thought, but rather a piteous creature whose last precious moments are spent in desperation and weakness.

It was that breath that he registered first.

A loud gasp as his lungs filled with air, so potent that he was propelled into a sitting position, mouth open and eyes bulging as life was returned to the body long since dead. Blinking, Klaus Mikaelson looked around, feeling fully alert and thoroughly confused. Where was he ? How did he get there ? More perplexing was the question : where was he before ? Memories were gone, wiped clean from his blank slate of a mind. All that he could understand was that he felt reinvigorated as though he could conquer kingdoms in that very moment. And that he was hungry.

Standing up slowly, Klaus took in his surroundings. The forest, at night. The sounds of every insect, every nocturnal creature were amplified with his wolf senses. Unbeknownst to him, he was in the spot where it had all started over a thousand years ago. His birth place, now known as Mystic Falls. The other fact that he had yet to understand was that he returned just as he had come into the world so long ago : as a man and a wolf –– and nothing more.

⚜  For reasons ➥ AU, post TO Finale ✥ Trigger Warnings: none

       There was nothing quite like New Orleans in October. The warm air still held the sticky heat of humidity born from the swamps, but a merciful breeze rustled the leaves of the great oak trees and the Spanish moss that clung to their branches. As a city that revered its dead and was known for its penchant towards the macabre, everything culminated to a crescendo of such unearthly ambiance this time of year. With the nearing of the Samhain festival and Halloween, people looked for ways to honor the dead. Was such reverence born from a want to pay homage to passed souls, or was there a more selfish need ? Was it possible that the denizens of the delta city sought comfort in the ideas of an afterlife and keeping such memories alive so that their own histories wouldn’t be forgotten once they departed their flesh that tied to the mortal realm ?

Such naivety spelled a fool’s tale, for the answers they sought, the comfort they craved, could be found all around them. From the blooms of the magnolias to the cicadas that inhabit them. Autumn is a time of death, of withering away into that deep, eternal sleep promised to us all at the end of the journey. Yet if people truly opened their eyes and learned from the world that surrounded them, they’d see that such death always leads to a return. Spring will come and with it, new life. Nature always held its loopholes in that way. Nothing dead ever stayed gone forever.

It was these thoughts of cycles and repetition that danced through his mind as he made his way through the familiar streets of the city. Footsteps echoed off the bricked buildings, the sounds heavy with the expensive leather shoes hitting the wet cobblestones. The sun had long since set, the perfect metaphor for the figure’s current disposition, because even without it, there was no shortage of life. A surfeit of jubilance rang through the New Orleans bars, spilling out into the streets. A revelry to herald the coming, the figure thought to himself. Moonlight casted its ethereal glow on the scene below. Not a single person took notice of him as he continued his stride in a straight line, easily parting the drunken crowd with his mere presence. 

There was a destination, after all. One didn’t make the harrowing journey through death and rebirth to simply while away hours with libations and company. This was something that he was already too familiar with. This wasn’t his first rodeo after all. The fact that they thought such demise held any semblance of permanence made him scoff with amused derision. Nothing is ever set in stone, least not for him. He was the walking embodiment of continuation, of impermeability. Of immortality.

Standing the test of time just as he did, stood the old building that had weathered centuries in the French Quarter. His accomplishment, his fortress, his kingdom, his home. The Abattoir, endearingly named for its reputation of red stained walls and the perpetual smell of blood that clung to the stone ramparts. There was life within these walls, no longer abandoned to the whims of time to crumble and fall as it would. No, the compound still played home to his family, but his return would certainly shake things up. Were they expecting him ? Were they the cause of such unholy resurrection ? He would find out soon enough.

Standing in the courtyard, blue eyes gazing upon his surroundings, Klaus Miklaeson’s smirk dimpled his cheeks with a sinister glee.