Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. In 1492, a stranger came to her tiny Bulgarian village, and Caroline was suspicious even before he asked after those troublesome Petrovas.
A Most Improper Gentleman
The lye burned her knuckles, but Caroline stubbornly continued the day’s wash, careful not to slosh the water over the rough-hewn edge of the wooden tub. She still needed to trek to the village’s center to purchase another spindle, and had no desire to do so with a soaked apron and tunic. She eyed the village gossips trampling over a perfectly good herb garden in their haste to trade scandalous whispers about the grandiose Lord Mikaelson who’d suddenly graced their tiny hamlet. “A proper gentleman”, they’d crowed, dazzled by all the finery their village had been stripped of since before the memories of the elders.
He’d arrived by gilded coach, magnificent steeds pulling his carriage, but surprisingly not under the Ottoman yoke. While others in the village saw this as a sign the rebellion had spilled out of the mountains and soon their people would be liberated. But Caroline knew better. Serving one master was the same as serving another. While the maidens of her village fluttered their eyelashes at his dimpled smile, Caroline narrowed her gaze and flicked her braids back with supreme indifference.
He’d quietly inquired about the Petrova family, his subtle words carrying a hint of danger. A once-proud bloodline, the Petrovas had embodied the Bulgarian aristocracy before the Ottomans had seized control of every scrap of land and disbanded her country’s leadership and nobility. She quietly scoffed, scrubbing the bedsheet against the bit of rough rock she’d pounded into a board. The Petrovas may no longer be as they once were, but they still behaved as though they were set above.
It was astonishing the number of times Caroline glimpsed Katerina rebuff the advances of an honorable farmer or baker or blacksmith with utter disdain and the cruelest of taunts, just to take them back to the woods and show them all manner of favors. While Caroline didn’t decry it as unseemly, she did want to choke on Katerina’s hypocrisy. It was hardly surprising when she smelled that Katerina was with child. And even less surprising when the Petrova patriarch shuffled her off to England after the wee babe was born.
When a pair of well-tooled boots came into Caroline’s view as she stooped to collect the broken bit of lye, she wrinkled her nose at the copper scent of blood. “More’s the pity you’ve been sampling Mistress Greta’s lukanka; she uses beef blood the butcher throws out rather than fresh.”
“Good maiden, you can smell the blood,” Lord Mikaelson asked in surprise.
Could she smell the blood? The gentleman was fortunate to be blessed with comely features for he was naught but a half-wit. “The soured blood rolls off those fine vestments in waves — wouldn’t need a keen nose to smell the truth of it,” Caroline replied with the swiftness of a blade her father had tried to silence many a time.
He appraised her with a touch more interest than she cared for, a prickling about her skin as though her sturdy wool skirts had snagged the bramble bushes. “A curious nose blessed twice over and a bit of a temper on you — I’d be most interested to learn of your lineage, good maiden.”
What an odd request. Nobles cared not for the good people who tilled these lands and made their villages whole. Peasantry lineage was further beneath them than that of the haystack rats. “Mistress Forbes, daughter of William and Elizabeth, swineherds of the Haemus Valley.” She returned to soaping the linens, assuming she’d satisfied his peculiar curiosity. Let Lord Mikaelson move onto clucking at the empty-headed maids that twirled their embroidered skirts so prettily as he walked by.
With a sweeping bow that bespoke of courtly manners far beyond these humble lands, he introduced himself, “Lord Mikaelson, but Klaus to you, good maiden.”
She gave up all pretense of scrubbing linens at his bold familiarity. His gray eyes danced merrily at her obvious consternation. Why was he staring in such a slack-jawed manner? It was most improper. With a careless wave of her lye-chapped hands, she all but growled, “Fine. Caroline to you then.” Why was he regarding her with that impudent gaze, so amused but also so very sharp? Such a powerful bearing would’ve caused her bába to warn her to mind her tongue. Of course, her bába also liked to whisper of moon sickness and all manner of dark spirits. “You wish to know of the Petrovas,” Caroline declared, fascinated by the disdainful curl of his lip at that family’s name.
“Tell me everything.”
Cutting such a fine figure in his resplendent garments had made Klaus absurdly presumptuous. “What could be said? The Petrovas set themselves above us all even after they shamed Katerina’s free-spiritedness.” Feeling that familiar burning anger once more, she all but snarled, “Dreadful people, sending the baby away.”
The elation on Klaus’ face was puzzling. And that beauteous, cunning smile was most vexing.
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Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. Afternoon tea at Lady Lockwood’s should have been the usual dull affair. Except two in attendance shared a secret and only one of them minded if it got out...
Afternoon Tea and a Side of Scandal
It strained credulity that after that most disagreeable display at Kensington Gardens yesterday suddenly Lord Niklaus just happened to attend Lady Lockwood’s afternoon tea despite never having attended before and was whispered to be in a troublesome quarrel with the high-spirited Lord Lockwood. Lady Caroline set down her teacup, the lovely gilt-edged porcelain making nary a whisper of sound in its heavy saucer despite the agitation she felt at seeing his knowing grin.
How dare he look at her in such a manner! If any of the empty-headed dolts about this grand table were to cast more than a casual eye around, they’d derive all sorts of scandalous nonsense from that damnable look. Lord Niklaus slowly stirred his tea, playfully adding an excessive number of sugar cubes as though to signal to those gathered the secret they shared. Wretched scoundrel.
Kensington Gardens was supposed to just a bit of fun; occasionally she donned the kit of one of her father’s stable hands and would take a turn or two about the muddy track that curved near the woods. It was far from the promenading couples with ever-watchful chaperones whose pathological need to be “seen” during the season always turned her stomach.
Lady Caroline longed for the curious freedom a galloping horse could provide and if she had fanciful whims of pretending she was one of those vulgarly exciting American outlaws as she was astride her mount, well, that was no one’s business but her own. She rounded the corner atop a fine roan sprinter she’d managed to secure from the family stables while her father was off inspecting his newest ship in the harbor, and the whistle signaling her victory had never been so sweet.
Lady Caroline had flown from her mount with a victorious shout, the thoroughbred already nosing her shoulder for his lumps of sugar. As the last cube left her palm, a familiar, droll voice startled her as he revealed, “I’ve suffered a disagreeable loss in my wager, and yet I’ve never been more content. Tell me, Lady Caroline, do you often race in the disguise of a chimney sweep to cause a scandal among the Ton?”
The pompous rake wouldn’t know a chimney sweep from a teacup. Heart racing in her chest, Lady Caroline had considered her options carefully. She’d never been recognized before during a race; mostly the working class frequented this racecourse and they were far more interested in placing wagers than looking for a noblewoman who enjoyed a bit of whimsical pretend.
“Lord Niklaus,” she acknowledged with a terse jerk of her head, quickly determining how best to reach an agreeable accord. She shook the small satchel of coins, making them jingle merrily as she wryly asked, “I don’t suppose if I return your winnings and that of every gullible fool here you’d see your way to forgetting my face?”
His cutting laugh had her seething throughout the rest of the day.
And now there Lord Niklaus sat at afternoon tea, being fawned over by the Ton’s most eligible, vainglorious chits, while he said nary a word — but stared at Lady Caroline with that knowing smirk that wouldn’t escape the notice of sharp-eyed nobles or the servants for much longer.
It was of no import — Lady Caroline was confident she could sway him to hold his tongue. At least a notorious rake such as Lord Niklaus grew bored easily and soon would move on to the next curiosity that caught his interest.
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. In 1492, a stranger came to her tiny Bulgarian village, and Caroline was suspicious even before he asked after those troublesome Petrovas.
A Most Improper Gentleman
The lye burned her knuckles, but Caroline stubbornly continued the day’s wash, careful not to slosh the water over the rough-hewn edge of the wooden tub. She still needed to trek to the village’s center to purchase another spindle, and had no desire to do so with a soaked apron and tunic. She eyed the village gossips trampling over a perfectly good herb garden in their haste to trade scandalous whispers about the grandiose Lord Mikaelson who’d suddenly graced their tiny hamlet. “A proper gentleman”, they’d crowed, dazzled by all the finery their village had been stripped of since before the memories of the elders.
He’d arrived by gilded coach, magnificent steeds pulling his carriage, but surprisingly not under the Ottoman yoke. While others in the village saw this as a sign the rebellion had spilled out of the mountains and soon their people would be liberated. But Caroline knew better. Serving one master was the same as serving another. While the maidens of her village fluttered their eyelashes at his dimpled smile, Caroline narrowed her gaze and flicked her braids back with supreme indifference.
He’d quietly inquired about the Petrova family, his subtle words carrying a hint of danger. A once-proud bloodline, the Petrovas had embodied the Bulgarian aristocracy before the Ottomans had seized control of every scrap of land and disbanded her country’s leadership and nobility. She quietly scoffed, scrubbing the bedsheet against the bit of rough rock she’d pounded into a board. The Petrovas may no longer be as they once were, but they still behaved as though they were set above.
It was astonishing the number of times Caroline glimpsed Katerina rebuff the advances of an honorable farmer or baker or blacksmith with utter disdain and the cruelest of taunts, just to take them back to the woods and show them all manner of favors. While Caroline didn’t decry it as unseemly, she did want to choke on Katerina’s hypocrisy. It was hardly surprising when she smelled that Katerina was with child. And even less surprising when the Petrova patriarch shuffled her off to England after the wee babe was born.
When a pair of well-tooled boots came into Caroline’s view as she stooped to collect the broken bit of lye, she wrinkled her nose at the copper scent of blood. “More’s the pity you’ve been sampling Mistress Greta’s lukanka; she uses beef blood the butcher throws out rather than fresh.”
“Good maiden, you can smell the blood,” Lord Mikaelson asked in surprise.
Could she smell the blood? The gentleman was fortunate to be blessed with comely features for he was naught but a half-wit. “The soured blood rolls off those fine vestments in waves — wouldn’t need a keen nose to smell the truth of it,” Caroline replied with the swiftness of a blade her father had tried to silence many a time.
He appraised her with a touch more interest than she cared for, a prickling about her skin as though her sturdy wool skirts had snagged the bramble bushes. “A curious nose blessed twice over and a bit of a temper on you — I’d be most interested to learn of your lineage, good maiden.”
What an odd request. Nobles cared not for the good people who tilled these lands and made their villages whole. Peasantry lineage was further beneath them than that of the haystack rats. “Mistress Forbes, daughter of William and Elizabeth, swineherds of the Haemus Valley.” She returned to soaping the linens, assuming she’d satisfied his peculiar curiosity. Let Lord Mikaelson move onto clucking at the empty-headed maids that twirled their embroidered skirts so prettily as he walked by.
With a sweeping bow that bespoke of courtly manners far beyond these humble lands, he introduced himself, “Lord Mikaelson, but Klaus to you, good maiden.”
She gave up all pretense of scrubbing linens at his bold familiarity. His gray eyes danced merrily at her obvious consternation. Why was he staring in such a slack-jawed manner? It was most improper. With a careless wave of her lye-chapped hands, she all but growled, “Fine. Caroline to you then.” Why was he regarding her with that impudent gaze, so amused but also so very sharp? Such a powerful bearing would’ve caused her bába to warn her to mind her tongue. Of course, her bába also liked to whisper of moon sickness and all manner of dark spirits. “You wish to know of the Petrovas,” Caroline declared, fascinated by the disdainful curl of his lip at that family’s name.
“Tell me everything.”
Cutting such a fine figure in his resplendent garments had made Klaus absurdly presumptuous. “What could be said? The Petrovas set themselves above us all even after they shamed Katerina’s free-spiritedness.” Feeling that familiar burning anger once more, she all but snarled, “Dreadful people, sending the baby away.”
The elation on Klaus’ face was puzzling. And that beauteous, cunning smile was most vexing.
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. When the Norse invaders slaughtered her people, Caroline fled to the safety of the borderlands where she bargained with her gods to be made strong. Her enemies made a bargain of their own...
Something Old, Something New
The hunt had yielded a fine stag to carry her through the next bitter winter moon. Caroline cared not for the biting winds, but she’d always been fond of snow. Must be her skrælingi heritage. It meant barbarian, a cruel taunt the Norse invaders of these lands had called her people when they themselves made war as easily as one would breathe.
Her people had fled to the far-off mountains, or had fallen by the Norsemen’s blades. The mountains weren’t the same as their ancestral lands, but over the years, Caroline and others had heartily embraced them, banding together to form a new, stronger clan from the remnants of their village. And appealed to their gods to ensure they’d never be caught unawares by the blade again.
The soles of her turnshoes slid among the snowdrifts, but her strength now blessed by the gods ensured she did not need a walking stick to guide her back to the well-worn path. The caves were up ahead, and she could smell the rich stew wafting on the breeze. Blessings of the gods — Nadia and Nora must’ve caught rabbits.
Suddenly, the wind was plagued with an unseemly imbalance; the threat raised a fire in her blood. A man appeared that made the air spark with worry. His scent and countenance bore the truth of him — he was of the Norse invaders. The enemy.
“I hunger,” came the nearly feral growl of this well-formed man with a crown of curls. The sinister curve of his lips was tipped with fangs and his eyes darkened with an old rage that Caroline understood. He had been remade.
“Hunger is no small matter,” Caroline replied, observing him closely but without fear. Her enemy was begrudgingly handsome despite his posturing. “You came here to feed because you are not as you once were.”
That seemed to startle him out of his single-minded desire to feed. He asked suspiciously, “How do you know of my mother’s ritual? Do you know what’s been done to me?”
It was the Norsemen’s way to meddle in that which they did not know, Caroline thought disdainfully. “Your mother must be a foolish witch to spite nature by creating something so new. Your hunger is a mark of nature breaking as it tries to understand what you are.”
He cocked his head to the side, considering her words for the briefest of moments before lunging at her with a great, brutish force of fangs and flesh scored with dark lines.
It pleased Caroline’s own monster immensely when she easily stepped out of his clumsy attack, flipping him into the snowdrift and planting one clawed foot upon his chest. She looked down at him with a fiery red gaze that left him ill-at-ease. “You’re something new; my gods formed me into something old.”
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. After Katerina ruined the ritual, Klaus and Caroline retreated to 16th century Rome to enjoy the Italian Renaissance. Unfortunately, a hunter from the Five found them.
A Greater Loyalty
There was so much blood. Caroline hadn’t dined so messily since the village when they were remade. Rebekah, with her false airs put on for the benefit of her precious French royals would haughtily lift her chin at Caroline’s bloodstained velvet bodice and say, “It simply wasn’t done.” A giggle erupted from her throat, thoroughly undignified in its high, reedy pitch that all but rattled the heavy beams of the villa’s coffered ceiling. “Dare to tell me what isn’t done now, you wilting half-wit,” Caroline shouted at Rebekah’s glaring, overly rouged visage at the threshold.
She startled when Klaus’ sister faded away. Ah. Right. Rebekah likely was still simpering away in King Francis I’s court. With no loyalty to speak of, she’d fled even before Katerina had ruined Klaus’ ritual.
“Oh, my love,” Klaus crooned in her ear, his hand a cooling balm against her fevered cheek. “Would that I’d stayed your hand when the hunter came for you,” he snarled in frustration, lashing out with his fist until the heavy signet ring sparked against the stone wall.
She tried to say something comforting, for it was her nature to ease his hurts even after all these centuries between them. But the dark shadow had returned, sweeping through the tower and bringing with it a heavy sense of foreboding. It wanted to punish her for her dark deeds — killing a member of the Five was the least of her crimes.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hey guys! We’re doing a Klaroline fanfic event for July 2026! Each week in July will be a different theme and you can create as many Klaroline works as you’d like (fics, one-shots, drabbles, a few paragraphs, entire WIP chapters, aesthetics/mood boards, art, etc.) for each theme.
Week 1 [July 1-July 5, 2026] – Canonish: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works that operate within canon — sort of. Have you always wanted to fix the irritating things that canon got wrong? Or, maybe show that conversation or scene that canon selfishly denied us? Here’s your chance!
Week 2 [July 6-July 12, 2026] – Historical: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works set in a historical time period. Human, supernatural or something in between — just put Klaroline in any time period you find fascinating!
Week 3 [July 13-July 19, 2026] – Crime: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works that feature criminal and/or law enforcement elements like mafia, spies, courtroom, murder mystery, grifters, prison, etc.
Week 4 [July 20-July 26, 2026] – Science fiction: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works with science fiction elements. Time travel, aliens, space travel, insidious AI or other diabolical technology, futuristic, dystopian, genetic experiments, etc. — pick any kind of sci-fi you like and put a Klaroline twist on it!
Week 5 [July 27-July 31, 2026] – Soulmates: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works about soulmates. Do they have soul marks, share thoughts or injuries? Were they fated to be soul mates, or did nature force the issue? Pick whatever soul mate elements you can come up with and feature Klaroline.
To participate in the event:
For each designated week, post your works on tumblr and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Be sure to like and reblog everyone’s works so we can enjoy everyone’s creativity!
If we overlooked your works in our reblogs and recaps, please send us the links!
And feel free to post sneak peeks of your works for the event whenever you like and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. After Katerina ruined the ritual, Klaus and Caroline retreated to 16th century Rome to enjoy the Italian Renaissance. Unfortunately, a hunter from the Five found them.
A Greater Loyalty
There was so much blood. Caroline hadn’t dined so messily since the village when they were remade. Rebekah, with her false airs put on for the benefit of her precious French royals would haughtily lift her chin at Caroline’s bloodstained velvet bodice and say, “It simply wasn’t done.” A giggle erupted from her throat, thoroughly undignified in its high, reedy pitch that all but rattled the heavy beams of the villa’s coffered ceiling. “Dare to tell me what isn’t done now, you wilting half-wit,” Caroline shouted at Rebekah’s glaring, overly rouged visage at the threshold.
She startled when Klaus’ sister faded away. Ah. Right. Rebekah likely was still simpering away in King Francis I’s court. With no loyalty to speak of, she’d fled even before Katerina had ruined Klaus’ ritual.
“Oh, my love,” Klaus crooned in her ear, his hand a cooling balm against her fevered cheek. “Would that I’d stayed your hand when the hunter came for you,” he snarled in frustration, lashing out with his fist until the heavy signet ring sparked against the stone wall.
She tried to say something comforting, for it was her nature to ease his hurts even after all these centuries between them. But the dark shadow had returned, sweeping through the tower and bringing with it a heavy sense of foreboding. It wanted to punish her for her dark deeds — killing a member of the Five was the least of her crimes.
Hey guys! We’re doing a Klaroline fanfic event for July 2026! Each week in July will be a different theme and you can create as many Klaroline works as you’d like (fics, one-shots, drabbles, a few paragraphs, entire WIP chapters, aesthetics/mood boards, art, etc.) for each theme.
Week 1 [July 1-July 5, 2026] – Canonish: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works that operate within canon — sort of. Have you always wanted to fix the irritating things that canon got wrong? Or, maybe show that conversation or scene that canon selfishly denied us? Here’s your chance!
Week 2 [July 6-July 12, 2026] – Historical: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works set in a historical time period. Human, supernatural or something in between — just put Klaroline in any time period you find fascinating!
Week 3 [July 13-July 19, 2026] – Crime: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works that feature criminal and/or law enforcement elements like mafia, spies, courtroom, murder mystery, grifters, prison, etc.
Week 4 [July 20-July 26, 2026] – Science fiction: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works with science fiction elements. Time travel, aliens, space travel, insidious AI or other diabolical technology, futuristic, dystopian, genetic experiments, etc. — pick any kind of sci-fi you like and put a Klaroline twist on it!
Week 5 [July 27-July 31, 2026] – Soulmates: We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works about soulmates. Do they have soul marks, share thoughts or injuries? Were they fated to be soul mates, or did nature force the issue? Pick whatever soul mate elements you can come up with and feature Klaroline.
To participate in the event:
For each designated week, post your works on tumblr and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Be sure to like and reblog everyone’s works so we can enjoy everyone’s creativity!
If we overlooked your works in our reblogs and recaps, please send us the links!
And feel free to post sneak peeks of your works for the event whenever you like and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hey guys! It’s Week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week [July 6-July 12, 2026] and the theme is historical.
We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works set in a historical time period. Human, supernatural or something in between — just put Klaroline in a time period you find fascinating!
Create as many Klaroline works as you like (fics, one-shots, drabbles, a few paragraphs, entire WIP chapters, aesthetics/mood boards, art, etc.).
To participate in the event:
For each designated week, post your works on tumblr and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Be sure to like and reblog everyone’s works so we can enjoy everyone’s creativity!
If we overlooked your works in our reblogs and recaps, please send us the links!
And feel free to post sneak peeks of your works for the event whenever you like and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. When the Norse invaders slaughtered her people, Caroline fled to the safety of the borderlands where she bargained with her gods to be made strong. Her enemies made a bargain of their own...
Something Old, Something New
The hunt had yielded a fine stag to carry her through the next bitter winter moon. Caroline cared not for the biting winds, but she’d always been fond of snow. Must be her skrælingi heritage. It meant barbarian, a cruel taunt the Norse invaders of these lands had called her people when they themselves made war as easily as one would breathe.
Her people had fled to the far-off mountains, or had fallen by the Norsemen’s blades. The mountains weren’t the same as their ancestral lands, but over the years, Caroline and others had heartily embraced them, banding together to form a new, stronger clan from the remnants of their village. And appealed to their gods to ensure they’d never be caught unawares by the blade again.
The soles of her turnshoes slid among the snowdrifts, but her strength now blessed by the gods ensured she did not need a walking stick to guide her back to the well-worn path. The caves were up ahead, and she could smell the rich stew wafting on the breeze. Blessings of the gods — Nadia and Nora must’ve caught rabbits.
Suddenly, the wind was plagued with an unseemly imbalance; the threat raised a fire in her blood. A man appeared that made the air spark with worry. His scent and countenance bore the truth of him — he was of the Norse invaders. The enemy.
“I hunger,” came the nearly feral growl of this well-formed man with a crown of curls. The sinister curve of his lips was tipped with fangs and his eyes darkened with an old rage that Caroline understood. He had been remade.
“Hunger is no small matter,” Caroline replied, observing him closely but without fear. Her enemy was begrudgingly handsome despite his posturing. “You came here to feed because you are not as you once were.”
That seemed to startle him out of his single-minded desire to feed. He asked suspiciously, “How do you know of my mother’s ritual? Do you know what’s been done to me?”
It was the Norsemen’s way to meddle in that which they did not know, Caroline thought disdainfully. “Your mother must be a foolish witch to spite nature by creating something so new. Your hunger is a mark of nature breaking as it tries to understand what you are.”
He cocked his head to the side, considering her words for the briefest of moments before lunging at her with a great, brutish force of fangs and flesh scored with dark lines.
It pleased Caroline’s own monster immensely when she easily stepped out of his clumsy attack, flipping him into the snowdrift and planting one clawed foot upon his chest. She looked down at him with a fiery red gaze that left him ill-at-ease. “You’re something new; my gods formed me into something old.”
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. When the Norse invaders slaughtered her people, Caroline fled to the safety of the borderlands where she bargained with her gods to be made strong. Her enemies made a bargain of their own...
Something Old, Something New
The hunt had yielded a fine stag to carry her through the next bitter winter moon. Caroline cared not for the biting winds, but she’d always been fond of snow. Must be her skrælingi heritage. It meant barbarian, a cruel taunt the Norse invaders of these lands had called her people when they themselves made war as easily as one would breathe.
Her people had fled to the far-off mountains, or had fallen by the Norsemen’s blades. The mountains weren’t the same as their ancestral lands, but over the years, Caroline and others had heartily embraced them, banding together to form a new, stronger clan from the remnants of their village. And appealed to their gods to ensure they’d never be caught unawares by the blade again.
The soles of her turnshoes slid among the snowdrifts, but her strength now blessed by the gods ensured she did not need a walking stick to guide her back to the well-worn path. The caves were up ahead, and she could smell the rich stew wafting on the breeze. Blessings of the gods — Nadia and Nora must’ve caught rabbits.
Suddenly, the wind was plagued with an unseemly imbalance; the threat raised a fire in her blood. A man appeared that made the air spark with worry. His scent and countenance bore the truth of him — he was of the Norse invaders. The enemy.
“I hunger,” came the nearly feral growl of this well-formed man with a crown of curls. The sinister curve of his lips was tipped with fangs and his eyes darkened with an old rage that Caroline understood. He had been remade.
“Hunger is no small matter,” Caroline replied, observing him closely but without fear. Her enemy was begrudgingly handsome despite his posturing. “You came here to feed because you are not as you once were.”
That seemed to startle him out of his single-minded desire to feed. He asked suspiciously, “How do you know of my mother’s ritual? Do you know what’s been done to me?”
It was the Norsemen’s way to meddle in that which they did not know, Caroline thought disdainfully. “Your mother must be a foolish witch to spite nature by creating something so new. Your hunger is a mark of nature breaking as it tries to understand what you are.”
He cocked his head to the side, considering her words for the briefest of moments before lunging at her with a great, brutish force of fangs and flesh scored with dark lines.
It pleased Caroline’s own monster immensely when she easily stepped out of his clumsy attack, flipping him into the snowdrift and planting one clawed foot upon his chest. She looked down at him with a fiery red gaze that left him ill-at-ease. “You’re something new; my gods formed me into something old.”
Author’s note: This was written for week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek - Historical. Afternoon tea at Lady Lockwood’s should have been the usual dull affair. Except two in attendance shared a secret and only one of them minded if it got out...
Afternoon Tea and a Side of Scandal
It strained credulity that after that most disagreeable display at Kensington Gardens yesterday suddenly Lord Niklaus just happened to attend Lady Lockwood’s afternoon tea despite never having attended before and was whispered to be in a troublesome quarrel with the high-spirited Lord Lockwood. Lady Caroline set down her teacup, the lovely gilt-edged porcelain making nary a whisper of sound in its heavy saucer despite the agitation she felt at seeing his knowing grin.
How dare he look at her in such a manner! If any of the empty-headed dolts about this grand table were to cast more than a casual eye around, they’d derive all sorts of scandalous nonsense from that damnable look. Lord Niklaus slowly stirred his tea, playfully adding an excessive number of sugar cubes as though to signal to those gathered the secret they shared. Wretched scoundrel.
Kensington Gardens was supposed to just a bit of fun; occasionally she donned the kit of one of her father’s stable hands and would take a turn or two about the muddy track that curved near the woods. It was far from the promenading couples with ever-watchful chaperones whose pathological need to be “seen” during the season always turned her stomach.
Lady Caroline longed for the curious freedom a galloping horse could provide and if she had fanciful whims of pretending she was one of those vulgarly exciting American outlaws as she was astride her mount, well, that was no one’s business but her own. She rounded the corner atop a fine roan sprinter she’d managed to secure from the family stables while her father was off inspecting his newest ship in the harbor, and the whistle signaling her victory had never been so sweet.
Lady Caroline had flown from her mount with a victorious shout, the thoroughbred already nosing her shoulder for his lumps of sugar. As the last cube left her palm, a familiar, droll voice startled her as he revealed, “I’ve suffered a disagreeable loss in my wager, and yet I’ve never been more content. Tell me, Lady Caroline, do you often race in the disguise of a chimney sweep to cause a scandal among the Ton?”
The pompous rake wouldn’t know a chimney sweep from a teacup. Heart racing in her chest, Lady Caroline had considered her options carefully. She’d never been recognized before during a race; mostly the working class frequented this racecourse and they were far more interested in placing wagers than looking for a noblewoman who enjoyed a bit of whimsical pretend.
“Lord Niklaus,” she acknowledged with a terse jerk of her head, quickly determining how best to reach an agreeable accord. She shook the small satchel of coins, making them jingle merrily as she wryly asked, “I don’t suppose if I return your winnings and that of every gullible fool here you’d see your way to forgetting my face?”
His cutting laugh had her seething throughout the rest of the day.
And now there Lord Niklaus sat at afternoon tea, being fawned over by the Ton’s most eligible, vainglorious chits, while he said nary a word — but stared at Lady Caroline with that knowing smirk that wouldn’t escape the notice of sharp-eyed nobles or the servants for much longer.
It was of no import — Lady Caroline was confident she could sway him to hold his tongue. At least a notorious rake such as Lord Niklaus grew bored easily and soon would move on to the next curiosity that caught his interest.
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It’s been a fun Week 1 [July 1-July 5, 2026] canonish for Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek and we’ve seen some great works for this week's theme. Thank you to everyone who participated and reblogged and supported our event so far!
Here’s the Week 1 master list (and please let us know if we’ve overlooked any works!):
The Distraction by supremeuppityone
Standing Strong by supremeuppityone
Temporary Flame by supremeuppityone
Reasons Klaus Sucks by chelz95
Something Borrowed, Something Klaus by carolineforbesisawesome
Hey guys! It’s Week 2 of Klaroline Fanfic Week [July 6-July 12, 2026] and the theme is historical.
We’re looking for Klaroline-centric works set in a historical time period. Human, supernatural or something in between — just put Klaroline in a time period you find fascinating!
Create as many Klaroline works as you like (fics, one-shots, drabbles, a few paragraphs, entire WIP chapters, aesthetics/mood boards, art, etc.).
To participate in the event:
For each designated week, post your works on tumblr and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
Be sure to like and reblog everyone’s works so we can enjoy everyone’s creativity!
If we overlooked your works in our reblogs and recaps, please send us the links!
And feel free to post sneak peeks of your works for the event whenever you like and be sure to tag us within the post @klarolinefanficweek.
