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that-sarcastic-optimist · 6 months

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something with klaroline being teenagers like in a old time teen movie esque kind of thing, where they have to sneak around a lot cause they can't be together (reasons known or unknown)

It's been 84 years since this ask, and I sorely apologize. Hopefully, me writing this makes up! They're not in a movie, but I did the best I could, I hope this is good enough!

XXX

Caroline moaned against Klaus’s mouth as he pressed her harder into the mattress of the bed, pinning her wrists on top of her head. “Oh, God, right—”

“Just Klaus is fine, love, no need to—”

“Get out. Get out right now.”

Klaus laughed quietly, instead shifting off her and moving downwards, pressing kisses to her inner thighs.

“Klaus—fuck, right there—I—”

“Caroline?” her mother’s voice came in through the door, and Caroline and Klaus froze. “Honey, can I come in?”

“Just a minute, Mom,” Caroline called back, her voice slightly shaking, then turned back to Klaus. “What is she doing here?”

“How should I know?” Klaus hissed. “You were the one who said she was going to be out all day.”

“I didn’t know she was coming back! Oh, fuck, hide.”

“Yes, because your bedroom is the sort of room that I hide in all the time.”

“Klaus, you’ve hidden in my room five times by now, and besides, now is not the time for your sarcasm. Just—”

“I am not hiding in your cupboard. It’s dark and I don’t like—”

“Small spaces, I know. Just—get under my bed.”

“Caroline, I don’t—”

“Klaus, if you don’t get under my bed, I swear I'll kick you out through the window.”

With a mutinous expression, Klaus rolled under the bed, and Caroline sighed with relief, before remembering her mother. “Come in, Mom!”

Her mother stepped inside, a concerned look on her face. “Are you alright, Caroline?”

“Yes, of course I am! Why would you think I wasn’t?”

“You took a long time to open the door, so I got worried.”

“No, I'm okay, Mom. Why’re you here?”

“It’s time for dinner,” said Liz, her face perplexed. “I called you three times.”

“Did you?” said Caroline nervously, pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm sorry, I didn’t hear you, I was…busy.”

Klaus snorted, and Caroline luckily managed to cover the noise up with a cough. “Um, Mom, weren't you supposed to be out today?”

“My meeting got cancelled, a few people have the flu that’s been getting around.” Liz looked at her, concerned. “You don’t look too well, sweetie.”

“I'm fine, Mom, really.”

“You look like you have a fever,” she said, leaning down to feel her forehead. “You're all red and flushed, and warm—”

Klaus let out a strangled laugh, and Caroline coughed loudly. “You know, maybe you're right, Mom, I do feel a little under the weather. Maybe I'll skip dinner right now and have it later.”

“Alright, if you're sure. Go to sleep, sweetie. Tell me when you're feeling better.”

“I will, Mom,” said Caroline, a forced smile on her face. Her mother smiled at her and closed the door.

Klaus snorted. Caroline banged the bed. “Shut up!”

Klaus came out from under the bed, still laughing. “Under the weather, eh?”

“Shut up, Klaus!”

“What's the matter, sweetie? Too sick to—”

“Shut up, Klaus!”

Klaus cackled, falling on her bed, still laughing. “Oh, go back to sleep, honey—”

“Don’t make fun of me, Klaus!” Caroline screeched. “I had to say that so Mom could leave!”

Klaus suddenly pushed her against the pillows so that he was on top of her. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, I'll take care of you when you're sick.”

“For fuck’s sake, Klaus—”

“—help you take your medicines and everything—”

“Oh, fuck you, Klaus.”

“Well, that is the plan, love.”

“I hate you.”

XXX

Hope you liked it!

#caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaus mikaelson x caroline forbes #liz forbes

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the-tharns-speak · 3 years

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4th of Frostfall, 4E 210 (211?)

Most esteemed High Chancellor,

Yes, that is quite sad to hear. I would have liked to do business with them. I have met some descendants of House Hlaalu while traveling past their farmsteads in Skyrim, and traded a little with them, but there is only so much money one can make selling them freshly picked or looted potatoes before one feels they are taking advantage of them. As an almost completely landless descendant of House Tiberius of Cheydinhal (have you heard of us? My earliest traceable ancestor, according to surviving family records dating back to the late Second Era, was a general around the time of the Tiber Wars, which history tells us finally ended the Interregnum), whose lands were mostly seized by racist High Elves during the Great War, I can certainly relate to their plight somewhat. At least I am in a position to not have to farm for a living, though being a traveling merchant isn't much better.

(I don't know why I'd share that when it's something I rarely think about. Maybe it's because this letter is going to the past, where I can forget about it.)

As to the chaos happening in your time, I can only assume that food is being grown in magical, fortified greenhouses. With the ravages of war and the unstoppable Knahaten flu pandemic laying waste to traditional farms, that's the only method I can think of. It pains me to even imagine the suffering that our beloved Tamriel is undergoing; it sounds magnitudes worse than the humanitarian crisis of the Great War which happened just a few decades ago, when I was a child.

I am sending a case of Ashfire Mead, the last few bottles of Surilie and spiced wine I have in stock, as well as assorted bottles of fine shein, sujamma and mazte (which are Dunmer alcoholic drinks - one of them is like a Cyrodiilic wine). If they haven't shattered by the time they reach you, I hope they will help your Elder Council get through however many days they last.

Ah, I must cut this letter short as one of my friends has found what could be one of those "Web devices" you described in the basement of a temple to the "Good Daedra" here in Blacklight - they had permission to take it, so we will inspect it shortly.

Hopefully my neighbors will be amused when I show them your letters upon returning home. Or not. Still, at least I'm not writing to your infamous descendant.

Sincerely,

Marcus Tiberius Quintus of Cheydinhal, traveling merchant

aka

Marcus Tiberius, Count of Farragut (⬅️which no longer actually exists)

Marcus Tiberius Quintus,

I’ve heard of many Tibers in my life: it is a fairly common name. Is any of them your ancestor? I shall probably never know unless I stick around long enough to see it. Which, given the nature of our correspondence, is not very likely.

The Elder council appreciates your gifts of good will. The current Imperial Ambassador to Morrowind has sent a brief commentary, that apparently as far as alcohol goes, Morrowind remains unchanging in the timespan between us, for better or worse. We are now, once again, having a heated debate about “those wet Psijic fellows and their time-smuggling abilities” as a result of that. Given that we are dealing with a small group of Akatosh zealots, it would have happened anyway, though.

Which reminds me I should stop typing from under the table and return the attention to our actual problem before someone starts flailing the smoked salmon around.

Ah. Late. Oh well.

#abnur tharn #the mystery answered #Marcus Tiberius Quintus of Cheydinhal #good luck marcus #you are going to need it most likely #future certainly seems bleaker than the present #quite a feat come to think of it

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