If you like Kuwei, whatever you do, just don’t think about how he probably grew up isolated from his peers because of his father’s status. How he probably took to reading because no one around him could spare a single second for him. How, when he and his father had to flee the country and were captured by the Fjerdans, he probably realized that what happened to him was a perfect backstory for a main character of some epic story. How, when he had to watch his father try to create a drug that could enslave and kill nearly all Grisha in the world, people just like the two of them, his biggest comfort came from the silly belief that at the end of his story, he too would have everything that he wanted — a family, a lover, a friend, just anyone who would finally care about him. Recognition. Joy. Love.
How, when his father died and he was left alone, a small, delusional, cruel part of him was almost sure that it was necessary for him to then be loved. How, when the Crows came for him, deep down, he fully expected them to be his new family. How, even when everyone was cold to him on the ship, he still tired to convince himself that it was because one of theirs was on the brink of death. How he dumbly tried to tell himself that they won’t actually turn him over to the merchant that wants him because they’re reasonable people. How he spent his days and nights in a cold tomb, pushing down the memories of his now dead father and his grim future, all alone, curled up in a corner.
How he had developed a crush on Jesper, bright, kind, warm Jesper, as if he could do anything else, and then had to watch helplessly as that ray of sunshine ignored him, as he got closer to the boy that had his face. How his skills and efforts were ignored just because what he might know seemed far more important to the people around him. How, not more than two days before the auction where his death would be faked, he got kissed by the man he began to adore and then was disliked for it by the only member of the team that actually tried to befriend him for a while.
How he had to stand tall in front of all the people, all those merchants, the royalty, the warriors, the guards, the farmers, the children, everyone, all the people who came to the Church of barter just to see who he’d be sold to. How he had to trust the six teens who only had qualms about killing him because he was worth a whole lot of money, with his life as different governments called out numbers that could feed the whole world for an entire lifetime. How the last thing that he could’ve seen before he died if the bullet that hit his chest missed his button even by a single hair, was the chaos ‘Brekker and his Crows’ started.
How, when he woke up, he barely had any time to calm down because one of the teens, the Drüskelle, was dead. How he now had to mourn him now, too, along with all that he lost. How, when he was laying down on the ship to pretend he’s dead, he realized that the people he saw as his saviors less than two months ago, and as the thing that he wanted more than life, didn’t care for him at all anymore. That they might even be happier if he died. How, as he neared the sea, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d let his one chance at happiness higher along the canal and that he was now destined for a life of despair.
How, when he arrived to the Little Palace, he wasn’t met with kindness or friendly faces. How he had to hide the fact that the thing he worked on day and night was the cure to a drug that his father had created, a drug that could’ve destroyed Grisha all around the world. How he was their only hope in the war against Fjerda. How he spent his nights awake dreaming of being a part of the family that the Crows clearly were. How he couldn’t seem to fit in anywhere he went.
Most importantly of all, don’t think about the fact that he’d been alone all his life.
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A klayley fic if you can! I for some reason always had this Headcanon where Hayley, after plenty of hesitation visits Klaus (in season 5) he would be absolutely happy to see her but also ashamed to his very core as she sees him succumb to who he used to be and they end up having a steamy night after one hell of an argument
it's been a million years since I got an ask, or wrote anything so I figured, why not. Let's see how rusty I am (and how little I remember of the show since I refused to watch past Hayley's death)
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"I was promised a home despite the hardships and the blood feuds and..." She started tapping on her fingers as she listed crises. "Angry grandparents, angry witch ancestors, werewolf curses, Bayou bullshit. Did I forget anything?"
Step.
"Yes." He wiped blood off his chin with urgency, as if he could not bear to look so... murderous in front of her. "You forgot the ever yapping Little Wolf Queen, Savior of the weak and the pitiful."
Yellow eyes flashed, his words lacking any of their spiteful bite as he looked her up and down, his jaw clenched, always waiting for the mandatory betrayal or disappointment that came with his life.
Step.
Hayley had known him too long, too deeply to not feel him scanning the camp, each body crumbled and drained before her interruption.
"This ain't no trick Klaus, just me. No puppeteer, no curse, no mind control. Just the mother of your daughter. I can sing Toxic if you don't believe me." Her playful smile showed her dimple, the smile she'd always seem to show Elijah before.
Step. Step.
She looked healthy, he assessed. Longer hair than he'd ever seen her wear, he'd heard her grunt in the bathroom before, grunting at the knots that she ended up with after a full moon run. "I'd rather not, actually. My ears have not quite recovered from the torturous wails of a dying sealion."
The weakened campfire lit her in dusk and sorrow, flickering oranges that left her skin grey when they withdrew.
Step.
"Are you really?"
She took a step from the tree she'd been leaning against, slick smooth movements contrasting with her clenched fists.
"Yes. I am. Of course, I would remind your inflated ego, before it grows to swallow all of New Orleans, that you were not my first visit. Never expected to find my teen daughter playing Harry Potter, or to borrow clothes from a Headmaster I tried to kill once upon a time." She pulled a too long strand of hair behind her ear and over her shoulder until it settled down to her lower back. She definitely looked the wolf part.
Step.
She is so close now, he could reach out and touch her skin, caress her cheek as he has done a hundred times over, during the good and the bad, in trust, and distrust, in love and in adoration.
"I missed you... Little Wolf." The words come out almost choked, tenderness' never come easy to him, even with those he loved. And her, oh he loved her more than even he knew as he realized for the first time in years, he could finally hear himself again, finally think beyond the permanent haze of rage and hatred that demanded he paint the world red. A permanent ringing in his ears so loud he could barely stand to see his own daughter for fear of what it could do to her. For fear of what she would see in his eyes.
Step. Step.
"Niklaus. I'm back. I don't understand how, but I'm back. So you can stop now. Take a break. Have breakfast with our daughter and shop for paint with her." She is so close now, and his hand itches to paint the golden flecks in her forest eyes, sunrays percing the canopy.
"You promised me a home, to me and to Hope. So come on." Her clean hand reaches out for his left hand, making him drop the ripped limb he had been clinging to this whole time and pulls his bloody hand to her cheek.
"We can finally give our daughter the life we dreamed of. Come home, Klaus."
Two decades flash before his eyes, of promises, of alliances, of laughter and shouts, of breakfast and dinners and bars, of blood and woods. He's never enjoyed breaking his promises. Not to her. So why stay in the shadows, bloodying them under the pretenses that it would keep Hope safe, when he could not even be by her side to ward off potential suitors.
Hayley sees something in his eyes, the reflection of a choice he does not even know he has made yet, and she beams as she teases him, "She told me Prom is soon, and you know what that means, right?"
"Well. I can't let you vet her suitors by yourself, as we both know you are too easily swayed to pity the wretched." His head tilts in a slow judgemental gaze contrasted by his blood-covered hand, captured by Hayley, caresses her cheek and taps her nose gently.
"Lead the way, my Queen."
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