otp: connected by light

why is kyoukai no kanata so easily forgotten im so sad

literally i have never connected with a story so much as i have with that one, and i’ve never connected with a character so much as i have akihito kanbara, and the theme of LOVE throughout the whole damn thing is so good. the theme of aloneness and finding belonging and being yourself and JSUT LOVE. FAMILIAL LOVE. ROMANTIC LOVE, SELF LOVE.


klaroline as hel and dyggvi

Dygve the Brave, the mighty king,
It is no hidden secret thing,
Has gone to meet a royal mate,
Riding upon the horse of Fate.
For Loke’s daughter in her house
Of Yngve’s race would have a spouse;
Therefore the fell-one snatched away
Brave Dygve from the light of day.


a study of the soul - salem AU

Niklaus Mikaelson is a liability , he’s been floating around Caroline like a lost pup for quite some time, and even more so since he came back from his trip to the motherland.

But she recognizes a darkness in him he’s not even trying to hide, and Caroline is intrigued. More than that, she can feel her cheeks blossom with red and warmth when she sees him, like a little girl. This infatuation is enough for her to smile back, inviting him to take the few steps separating them. She dismisses Damon with a jerk of her hand, and for once, he agrees, leaving her with a nod.

“Lady Saltzman.” Klaus greets, as Caroline flinches at the words.

“Please, call me Caroline.”

His eyes widen before he looks at the floor, licking his lips. “That would be improper,” he adds, teasing.

crawling underneath her skin

So, this is what happens when I should be studying and when I am listening to movies soundtracks, and also when @howeverlongs​ challenges me.

It’s the first time I write something like this, and I would love to hear some feedback. It’s quite short, and un-beta’ed!

and it’s painful.

hope you’ll like it! 

Their love story is quite simple, really. However, it takes place under terrible circumstances.

He’s holding her hand, so tightly he could crush her.

But her fingers are already cold, he has nothing to crush anymore, and the most broken of them is surely him.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Klaroline 20. Things she said he wasn't meant to hear

So, like our favorite philosopher say, is it too late now to say sorry? 

Because it’s been in my inbox for aaaaages now and I feel really bad for taking all this time. I hope you’ll like it anyway anon! and thanks a lot for leaving this little prompt for me :)

des bisous!

Dear Diary,

Klaus knows he should close the page and not read the words (I think I’m in love), it’s too personal. But love?

It’s a word that would tickle anyone. Who doesn’t love to know this kind of thing?

And it had to be her, Caroline Forbes.

Caroline Forbes thinks she is in love.

That’s even more tantalizing.

Caroline Forbes is 17 and also the ban of his existence. Always cheerful and laughing (a bright but greasy giggle, like a girl who knows how to laugh), a cluster of yellow, pink and blue lights, impossible to recreate with his black charcoal. It’s frustrating.

She’s also his sister’s best friend. His house is her second home.

He remembers the water drops on the floor which, as Hop-o’-My-Thumb, following the pebbles in the forest, had led him to the kitchen where Caroline Forbes, wearing only a swimsuit (round breasts under two pink triangles, endless legs and wet hair, drops sliding down her back), was licking a red popsicle.

It was last August, the sun was beating so hard that she lost her porcelain skin to let some freckles appear here and there. Small dots he registered in his mind as to not to forget them in his drawings.

It smelled of summer; the burnt grass, pool chlorine and sunscreen. Her lips were glossy, small reddish droplets ran down the corners of her mouth –

“Hey Klaus.”

Klaus is an expert in disguise, he hides himself and pretends. He mastered a straight and unbothered face when he replied only with a “Hello.”

No, I was not following the water drops on the floor. No, I did not watch you lick the popsicle for minutes. No, I did not notice all the freckles on your back and your nose.

He masters ignorance, because he couldn’t possibly say how (and most importantly why) he was obsessed with the curves of her chest, her legs and her hair soaked in the sun (he heard her complain about her too dry ends whilst she smeared olive oil on her hair).

(it’s almost ridiculous how he notes those kind of things about her).

Then he sees the book, abandoned on Rebekah’s bed, upside down, open; and fueling a curiosity that consumes him.

The cover is black, simple, not Caroline-y, but he knows that it’s hers, having seen her scribbled her thoughts in it. Now, his fingers are so closed to open this door left ajar – just waiting to be opened.

Curiosity killed the cat, he hears, accentuated by an old professor’s voice from the past. But Klaus has never listened to anyone but himself, and he’s dying to know what’s inside that blond skull of hers that deserves discussions on blank pages.

So curiosity gnaws his logic and control his fingers, which turns the book; he reads the first words: I think I’m in love.

Then the following ones; as someone falls into an exciting and passionate story.

He’s older and he ignores me. He seems inaccessible. I mean, that’s what I think. I just know that he looks at me sometimes. I am afraid of being delusional, and imagining more than what is actually happening.

I remember this one time, I was watching TV with Rebekah (another reality show that she loves so much), and I’m pretty sure he looked up to me to draw me. He always has a pencil in his hand and a notebook with him. Many times I wanted to take a peek to know –

Klaus swallows. Maybe he feels guilty at that moment, turning the pages of the diary of her mind, especially now that he realizes he is the subject of her words. His breath gets stuck in his throat, and he can’t help but turn the page to learn more.

Dimples –

Stains of paint on his fingers, indelible  –

Blue eyes –

He’s grinning like an idiot. Alone, sitting on his little sister’s bed, with in his hands, his obsession, his oblivious muse’s thoughts translated into words, sentences and paragraphs.

He smiles.

He must look like an idiot, surely.

“What are you doing?” The book is ripped from his hands by a tornado of pink and yellow – and just a tinge of red on the cheeks. “It’s mine, you can’t read it, it’s personal,” she yells, the words flowing out without a breath.

He knows it’s private, and he has no excuse, “sorry, sweetheart,” his voice too high-pitched, the corners of his mouth dimple his face.

“You’re so not sorry”, she closes the book and presses it against her chest, “would you like it if I looked at your notebook?”

Klaus opens his mouth, ready to be defensive, but retracts and looks at her. She’s wearing a yellow dress, her skin is tanned and she still smells of sunscreen and olive oil. It’s silly too, but he realizes that he would need only three or four colors to paint her right now. He also remembers that she likes him.

She likes him. (He keeps smiling like an idiot).

Well, he hopes that she wasn’t writing about someone else. She never used his name, but she described someone, with paints under his nails, blue eyes and dimples. She’s very good at hiding her feelings, he thinks, because he hadn’t seen it coming.

He felt a twinge in his heart when he read her words, he wanted to know who could catch this girl’s heart, the girl who invaded his summer and his head. He had imagined his wandering hands on her back, tweaking the string of her swimsuit, massaging her back with sunscreen, leaving her a small kiss on her shoulder. And when he read her words –  I think I’m in love – he saw the hands of another (he hates those hands). It leaves an bitter lump in his throat, imagining his muse in the arms of another, even if he only draws her shadow – he never tried to do more, afraid of doing so, maybe?

But she likes him.

“You can if you want,” he says. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It’s only fair, and if he can avoid using words to show her how he feels, if he has to share dozens of sketches of her, her eyes, her feet, her hands, then so be it. Klaus is not good with words, only when he has to use them for decoration. But with a pencil, when he has to fill a blank page, then he can express himself fully.

Caroline frowns, expecting an arrogant tirade from him, surely. He should have had a burst of insolence knowing she likes him; that’s how Caroline sees him – the big brother, always looking too blasé, too cool for everything, reading big books and drawing all the time – but it’s with humility and a hint of embarrassment (he’s not smiling anymore, he’s rather serious) that he puts his notebook on the bed, “go ahead.”