#brokencanbefixed

@brokencanbefixed Asked:

"But every day you can start again and face your demons." - Klaus to Caroline

Caroline   glared   through   him,   past   him--   at   first   it   seemed   she   was   watching   the   sunlight   yank   itself   behind   the   clouds,   but   she   didn’t   even   register   them.   Klaus   was   a   well   of   poetic   platitudes.   She   wondered   if   he   actually   believed   what   rattled   from   that   perfectly   shaped   mouth.   If,   like   her,   he   woke   at   four   in   the   morning   with   the   stench   of   old   guilt   souring   his   mouth.   ❝   That’s   rich   from   you,   ❞   she   said,   voice   nearly   sweet.   ❝   You   start   again   every   century,   at   best.   ❞   Caroline   braced   her   hands   on   the   balustrade,   wrists   skinny   and   angular   in   even   the   most   flattering   light.   ❝   You   make   it   sound   so   easy.   ❞

A   wind   disturbed   the   wild   ivy   that   crawled   over   the   balcony   rail,   shifting   Klaus’s   scent   closer:   spice,   leather,   and   the   faintest   hint   of   metal,   like   blood   poorly   scrubbed   from   fine   silver.

Caroline   waited,   refusing   to   meet   his   gaze,   ignoring   the   puppy-dog   patience   he   wore   so   convincingly   when   he   wanted   something.   She   imagined   shoving   him   off   the   balcony,   just   one   sharp   shove,   but   even   in   fantasy   he   would   only   laugh   and   land   on   his   feet,   the   dark   prince   twirled   by   gravity’s   cruel   grace.   He   always   landed   upright.   Caroline   snorted.   ❝   I   think   you   love   trying   and   failing.   It   gives   you   a   reason   to   keep   punishing   yourself.   Or   everyone   else.   Martyrdom   by   massacre.   ❞

She   looked   at   his   hand,   the   ache   of   what   might   have   been.   ❝   I'm sure you   have   quotas   to   fill.   Cities   to   slaughter.   That   priority   out   ranks   wasting   your   time   here   with   me,   Klaus.   ❞

@brokencanbefixed asked:

A package is left with a letter enclosed for one Little Wolf. The package contains the complete Red Riding Hood attire necessary for what he had in mind. The letter reads as follows:

Little Wolf,

I've taken the liberty to arrange another masquerade not unlike the one we found ourselves in some years ago. Join me, would you? As father and mother to our pride and devious joy...and for old time's sake.

Don't make me Huff and Puff,

The Big Bad Wolf

Hayley paused to peruse the letter and examine the attire. Initially, her eyes rolled in disbelief as to why Klaus would insist on her donning the very same outfit that had inflicted immense suffering upon them all. However, upon reflection, she realized that although that fateful night had momentarily shattered their family, it had ultimately forged an unbreakable bond, making them all stronger than ever. As Hayley continued to reflect on the past, she couldn't help but acknowledge the growth and resilience they had all gained from that painful experience. The scars may still linger, but they were a constant reminder of their shared strength and determination. Hayley decided to embrace the outfit, seeing it as a symbol of their triumph over adversity. Besides, Klaus always was the one to be sentimental about such things. 

Klaus had already arranged everything downstairs when she came down after getting dressed, though she was unsure where this event was going to take place. Talk about taking a trip down memory lane she thought as she made her way over to him. " So now that you've gotten me all dressed up like this, how about you tell me what this is all about, and why the special occasion? " With her arms folded across her chest, she tried to appear unpleased, but the genuine smile on her face betrayed her true feelings. " You know Elijah and Buffy might have flashbacks if they witness this and kick both our asses. "

Hope pursed her lips, not really satisfied by Hayley's response but not really knowing what else to say. On one hand, she understood, sort of. It was strange. In all of Rebekah's stories, her father had been the stalwart, charismatic king who always knew what to say and do to bring his enemies to his knees. He exuded confidence and power in a way that no one dared to cross him, but those were just stories. The real Klaus still held all of the complexities that any person had, the ones that couldn't really be distilled into a simple bedtime story told to little tribrids.

So she took a bite of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the comforting taste hitting her tongue as she trailed after Hayley down the hall, and she devoured the sandwich in four bites once her stomach got the clue. Her feet slowed as they reached a cracked door, and Hope couldn't help but poke her head around her mother to peer into the room. She couldn't stop the soft gasp that came out, and her eyes grew round as she took in his studio.

Hope smiled shyly at the offer, a hint of pink blooming in her cheeks as she slowly stepped into the room, tentative like a curious puppy. But instead of turning his back like he'd done before, her father beckoned her closer and Hope finally closed the gap between them. She looked up at him, and for a moment just stared at his face, still like he might disappear in front of her. Now that she finally knew what it was like to be near her parents, she wasn't sure she would be able to let go of them again.

She reached out to pick up a slender brush, the wood feeling solid and worn under her hands, and turned her gaze to the blank canvas. A million images flashed through her mind of what she could paint. As always, there wasn't one conscious thought that drove her as she began to draw the beginnings of a small clearing, with a few stumps that were perfect for sitting on, and a swing that hung from a sturdy branch. The front yard of the home where she'd lived with Rebekah. There were many more details that needed to be filled in, and Hope felt a pang of sadness as she slowed her brush strokes, looking at the depiction of the house she'd never get to go back to.

Standing on the front steps of the compound, Rebekah exhaled audibly. The last time she stood at these doors, the Original swore she was leaving New Orleans for good. At the time, Hayley had a bun in the oven, Niklaus had found enough sense to set her free without a fight, and Elijah remained hopelessly devoted to staying at their side.

Since then, she returned only once to the edge of town, where she first held Hope in her arms and made a new oath: to keep her safe and happy and hidden as long as Dahlia walked the earth. Rebekah recalled that drive away from the Quarter with nothing but a fussy baby, a car seat, and a small bag of her belongings. She had driven away that night with so much care (following the speed limit at that) and compelled a cashier at the nearest department store to give up half the baby section.

"Nothing to be nervous over," she told the teenager, clasping Hope's hand in her own. "Your parents are dying to see you. Get to know you. I know with the wolf business this feels ill-timed, but try and enjoy it." Another audible exhale. The Original rapped at the door.

"Klaus?" Hayley's eyes shot up toward the ceiling, beckoning the hybrid upstairs. The morning had been so pre-occupied with Vincent surrounding the place with protective spells that Hayley miraculously managed to keep her nerves in check... up until now. Now that Hope stood outside the door, flesh and blood, rather than an update from Rebekah, her insides churned. The kid would hate her; visiting parents who were absent all because she'd accidentally activated a curse inherited from them...

"Klaus! Get down here. They're here!" Not like he couldn't hear her. Nerves were probably getting him too. As soon as Hayley opened the door, she willed away the desire to be sick all over Rebekah’s fancy schmancy shoes. Hope was unbearably beautiful (whose genes did she carry exactly?) and so much older than the image that lived in Hayley's mind, even with photos.

There weren’t many friends in Chloe’s arsenal. She was a particular type of person, and the ones she had she grew up with. They knew her quirks and she could lean on the familiarity of pushing boundaries she didn’t have to worry about. It was natural. But things were changing. The impending end to this high school experience was rearing its ugly little head. It was easy to dive into ‘ The Torch’  blackhole. Too easy in fact that Chloe was soon realizing her high school experience was pretty empty. It surrounded itself with stories and mysteries and internships but enjoying it? There was much to be desired. Being at odds with your best friend and also doing something you weren’t proud of well. That was taking the cake. 

Chloe wasn’t sure how much more she could handle before her head would explode. It felt silly to worry about such trivial things and have some kind of existential crisis when they still had two years to graduate anyway. But here she was in the thick of it. Questioning it all and wondering just how much she’s already sacrificed and if there was any kind of reset switch she could hit. It was while she was deep in her thoughts and the format for the late edition of the Torch laid in her screen when she heard Clark come in. Instinctively she opened up another window. She wasn’t sure why she did it since there was absolutely nothing in the cover or anything incriminating, but maybe it was partly shame that she was allowing it to affect her work at The Torch. Either way, she gave Clark the same brightly wide tooth smile she always gave him when he came through. “Heh- Hey. Look what the cat dragged in. Does this mean you’re upgrading from recurring staff contributor to main staff contributor, or is this actually a rare Clark Kent social visit?” Deflecting was never a problem with Chloe Sullivan. 

"Ah, now I understand," said Daenerys with a faint smile. Daario's jest returned them to familiar banter, easing tension. "You fear that silver hair might turn gray far too quickly for your liking. You've come to Westeros only to ensure this does not happen." By the healthy release of stress, no doubt. There was some truth to it. Dany felt the weight of iron on her back; the pile of swords on which she sat digging deeper into her skin each passing month as queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

How often she could not sleep, wishing to be loved like Rhaegar singing in the streets. Daario watched the little queen grow somber and sad, two dragons less than when they'd found the other in Meereen some years ago. "I will take care not to disappoint. To reign long, as you've said, without so quickly becoming an old mad woman." Playfully, she allowed lust to fill her gaze. Her appetite could not be sated by the food on her plate. "I regret to say you would look handsome even in old age. You are pitifully cursed with good looks. I can’t take you seriously."

@brokencanbefixed​

New Orleans was gorgeous. It was beautiful and lively and fun. It was also a lot. A lot of people, a lot of noise, and after a while it was starting to get to her. Finding a secluded little alleyway, Riley sat against the wall a little ways down, trying to breathe through the pounding in her skull. After debating for a few moments, she took out her hearing aids, keeping them held close in her hand, and shut her eyes. 

Just for a moment, for a minute, she blocked out the world and just breathed.

It wasn’t until she felt a strange rush of wind that she opened her eyes again to see a man standing before her, a body on the ground behind him. Her gaze remained locked on the body for a long moment---it didn’t look like the person was breathing, were they okay?---before going back to the man and...oh. He was talking. He also looked far from happy.