𝕃𝕆ℕ𝔼╱𝕎𝕆𝕃𝔽

sent at 6:33am. 🗨️ where is my prize?

sent at 9:56pm. 🗨️ if you’re selling something, soliciting or simply bored, i suggest you delete this thread and forget my number exists. the alternative ends with your head on a spike. 🗨️ otherwise, hello.

sent at 9:56pm. 🗨️ i’ve considered killing you permanently. 🗨️ i will never forget when i asked you to leave our village the first time together and you refused. said we couldn’t abandon our siblings but you abandoned me that night. 🗨️ that very man has spent centuries lecturing me about loyalty, as if you invented the very word. yet, your first true test of it ended with your walking away from the boy who still believed you’d choose to protect him over everything. 🗨️ oh, right. family above all unless it’s me. the common enemy. 🗨️ guess i should be just grateful for all the scraps of conditional brotherhood you’ve thrown at my feet, right?

HE WENT VERY STILL. that’s the best she could do? how tragically small. he stepped forward without breaking eye contact before she could take another breath. it was close enough that she had to decide whether to move. but he didn’t touch her. that would end it.

one thing about klaus is that he’d never been interested in endings when the middle can be instructive. he could paint the wall with her and call it a day. he was profoundly bored, after all. or, he could show character growth and let her go. he did hate redecorating on impulse. decisions, decisions. wait, who was he kidding?

“tell me, love. how do you think this ends for you?”

“YOU COLLECT GOSSIP THE WAY LESSER MEN COLLECT WEAPONS.” oh, how tragically like his maker. the more weapons, the safer they felt. just like the right whisper would topple kingdoms without ever drawing blood. elijah lived for such. all those meetings and compromises. “they did rebel and do you know why?” he tilted his head like a wolf lifting its head at a distant sound.  “i wanted predators.”

the thing about predators is that they test the hand that feeds them. they dream foolish little dreams of overthrowing their maker, he wants to say. he flashed a humourless smile, letting out a laugh. “every single one of them still learned the same lesson: they were mine.” no matter what they did, his name defined them. it followed them like a brand pressed into their flesh. they were what he created them to be.

“i did not want trembling sycophants or disciples kneeling at my feet.” he never wanted to be a saviour. he didn’t need worship. after all, worship faded when a god stopped ‘performing’ miracles. while loyalty was important to him, fear? fear was eternal. “you speak as though loyalty should be imperturbable, that the mere mechanics of a sire bond should guarantee devotion! how terribly pedestrian. even for you.” boring. he shrugged, taking a more casual approach. “i mean, look at you. even with elijah as your maker, you’ve spent centuries measuring yourself against me.” was that a compliment? hm.

he stepped back finally, granting tristan air as though it were a gift. one that he could just as quickly take away. again. “please forgive me if i do not find your assessment of my ‘capacity’ particularly wounding.” he paused as if he was genuinely disappointed: “i’m still more insulted you didn’t bring me flowers and chocolates.”

i’m going through my followers list and breaking mutuals anyone past 4+ wks. i want to stress it’s nothing personal and if you come back and are active; i’ll add you right back. my list is getting out of hand and i want to pare it down to something manageable to where i have people on my dash who actually want to write and interact regularly. 🫶🏽

BLOOD AND SUGAR. he’d had to acquire the taste for one of them. when he was growing up sugar didn’t exist the way people romanticize it now. not in the damp cold of a viking winter where sweetness was honey stolen or traded and guarded like treasure. sweetness was rare. blood was a taste he didn’t have to convince himself to like it; his body decided for him.

he looked at what she made: handcrafted with intention. intention to give it to him. that mattered to him more than she probably realized. he then looked at her the same way he tasted something sweeter than honey: cautious of the poison that often followed sweetness. he had learned early that the rarer something was, the easier it was to lose.

all to say, he was unwilling to admit how much he appreciated it. “thank you.” once he took them, his free hand reached into his coat pocket. “sixteenth century.” he held out the worn locket it to her. like it didn’t matter, that he didn’t sit for hours carving it by hand. “they said these brought luck and protection.” it was far from perfect, uneven and a bit clunky. he showed her the clasp and let her press it.

inside there was a viking rune carved deep for protection. beneath it, his initials. definitely more of a mark of a bastard with a knife and blind hope than luxury. there was a thin pane set into the other side, dark stain sealed behind it: this blood. “i made it myself and despite great odds, it indeed kept me safe.” while it wasn’t luck nor do to this trinket that he had lived as long as he did, it still had survived alongside him. that counted for something. “i want it to keep you safe and when it doesn’t: i will.”

𝗧𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗨𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗥 𝗠𝗘 ᝰ.ᐟ  𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

klaus has spent a thousand years breaking witch circles and dismantling covens like it’s a hobby. so naturally, this valentine’s day, i decided to write about why he actually respects witches.

ONCE HE ARRIVED, THEY’RE ALL THERE. of course they are. the mystic falls morality squad! naturally, they’ve chosen to handle this together. as if that’s historically worked out for them. his eyes sweep the room once, briefly settling on caroline. there’s definitely a look there that said i see you and don’t make this harder than it has to be.

the room’s a mess of nerves and anger and that familiar, delicious dread. they’re upset and panicking. he drank it in. “so, let me guess. the great bonnie bennett is missing?” he hums to himself as if he’s thinking it over. as if he hasn’t counted every breath she had taken in the last twelve hours. she was… safe. mildly irritated, but safe. for now as she cooperated.

“maybe she finally got tired of saving you lot and ran off to find a life expectancy longer than a mayfly.” he tilted his head with feigned concern. “did i miss the part where you all decided who gets to make the big selfless sacrifice or did you already draw straws?” tough crowd. he’d only come to visit caroline, but this was turning into something far much more fun than he expected. that’d have to wait, though. “caroline, could i speak to to you privately? important matters that go beyond the unfortunate bennett witch problem.”