U always ask for opinions and I must say my interest went way down from the first. It was always lazy to make both OG bros in love with the first dopple. Another stupid triangle. Lazy. And I’m sorry to see you adapted it to your wonderful story.
Hi and thanks for leaving feedback <3
I get your criticism.
I always felt like Katherine knows about her previous Doppelgänger's involvement with the Mikaelsons but she probably doesn't know how close they were (and if Katherine were to find out, she'd probably freak).
Surprisingly though, Klaus', Elijah's & Rebekah's involvement with Tatia was already brought up in season 3 of TVD where they made remarks about her and hinted at their connection to her.
Nonetheless, Elijah's and Klaus' involvement with Tatia never bothered me personally, because it's a) something clearly left in the past, there were no romantic feelings towards Tatia in the present (unlike Damon for example who mourned Katherine until she re-appeared), and b) it didn't matter in 1492 when they first met Katherine because their interest in her was solely because of her blood (unlike Stefan & Damon who firstly only were interested in Elena because she looked like Katherine).
My intention behind bringing up that flashback scene of Klaus/Elijah talking about Tatia was to show that Klaus played a game with Elijah even back in the 1490s. Tatia never returned Klaus' feelings or attention and instead clearly and without a doubt chose Elijah (unlike Katherine/Stefan/Damon and Elena/Stefan/Damon). In Klaus's eyes, Elijah took Tatia away from him although there were clearly no feelings or hints at Tatia's side. In Klaus's eyes, Tatia was probably 'his' (in a romantic kind of aspect). I feel like it wouldn't even have mattered if Tatia & Katherine hadn't looked alike because, in Klaus' eyes, Katherine has been his (his Doppelgänger to break his curse, etc. but no romantic aspect). So when he started to see that Elijah developed a liking to Katherine (and believe me Klaus did, hence why he accused Elijah of letting Katherine escape) he loved to possess Katherine. To him, she was a means to an end anyway but he enjoyed having control over her and he loved it to rub it in Elijah's face that she's 'his' and that he can't have her. One could say he loved to taunt Elijah with it.
Power is something that Klaus loves, no matter what kind of power over what. Power over the supernatural world, power over a city, power over his siblings, etc. Klaus has his personal reasons why he hates Katherine (although I think he admires her wit) but he also indulges in knowing he has power over Elijah as long as he has power over Katherine and I wanted to show that Klaus knew exactly what he did when Klaus denied Elijah a future with Katherine.
Sorry for the long rambling on my part.
What I can promise is that neither of the Mikaelson brothers still harbors feelings for Tatia.
(I thought I wanted this scene to be with Cami or Hayley, but I couldn’t find a place where it might fit during the episodes where it would have been appropriate. It’s better this way, I think, with Klaus -- it only ever should have been with Klaus. Set during the interim between “I Love You, Goodbye” (the wedding) and “They All Asked for You”)
Elijah thought he had been careful. Niklaus’ ears really were that much more keen, just keen enough to hear the rustle of leather and paper and shoes on a library carpet.
His brother was framed in the light of the hallway, suddenly, and just as quickly as his feet had carried him, his brow quirked at a supernatural speed to see him standing there, parchment in hand.
Klaus made to speak, but something stopped his mouth. Elijah could not move, could not breathe, in the scramble to find some excuse that would not require an ounce of the truth.
“I wanted to show Marcel a -- the -- that text, about...”
Klaus took several steps forward as Elijah spoke, slowly, somewhere between stalking and soothing in his gait. “About...?”
His brother’s eyes scanned the table, the animal skins near to dust in age and the careful archival binding he himself had compelled an expert to perform. These were not texts. These were not for Marcel. Elijah watched the confusion bloom in Klaus’ face and felt as though the weakness he felt, heavy and ugly and tight, was filling the room and choking his vestigial breath.
“What could Marcel possibly want with...” Klaus reached and brushed his fingers over the air atop a drawing of Rebekah, young and smiling and small and human. “With any of this?”
Klaus looked back up to Elijah, and realized there was anguish in his eyes. “Elijah?”
Elijah smoothed his hair and smoothed his slacks. Smoothed his hair again. “I know -- I know you drew her. Often. And I wanted... I didn’t want to ask. I couldn’t. Ask you.”
Klaus saw faces of his family on the table, and knew that the pages beneath would hold sketches of brooks and livestock and neighbors and not a single one would depict a woman with wild brown hair, and fire-brown eyes, and a mouth that cut and kissed like no other. He nearly fell into the chair beside him, staring over Elijah’s shoulder at memories he had not wanted to archive.
He did not want to speak. He did not want to give this ancient grief a voice. But Klaus knew it was not so ancient now, for either of them. “I burnt them.”
Elijah’s jaw fought not to tremble. “Why?”
“Every time I looked at them, all I could see was the fear in her eyes on that last day, when she saw... And you...” Klaus swallowed the rest, revising the well-trod events with what must have really happened.
The room filled with a breathy sob. “I thought after the binding ritual, she would see that I was still myself. It was --” a bitter smile cracked between his words -- “it was the first thing I was going to do when it was over.”
Elijah slid to the floor, and neither of them could see the other’s face, and neither wanted to. “I’m so sorry, Niklaus.”
“I know.”
Paper rustled on the table, and Elijah kept his eyes on the space beneath the table for what could have been minutes or hours watching Klaus’ foot as it tapped restlessly against the floor. Rebekah had gotten him those pajamas for Christmas. Elijah had helped chain Klaus’ hands and feet to that cross and watched while he was cursed using the blood of the girl they both loved. Would Esther have been able to do it without killing Tatia? If Elijah hadn’t brought her to his mother, would Klaus have never been shackled? Would he have been able to keep them both safe --
“Brother -- Elijah, Elijah!” Klaus was before him, blurry and unformed against the lens of tears that would not, could not stop now for the world. “Brother...” Klaus’ hand was trembling beside his face, half-clawed, and Elijah sensed it more than saw it and in the same instinctual way he gripped his brother’s wrist so that he could feel that Klaus was still alive, in a way, and with him, in a way, and free.
Klaus’ other hand fell to his shoulder, gripped it tight and pulled Elijah forward as he leaned in to not so much offer as demand his shoulder be used as a pillow. Only then did a tear or two escape from him as well.
“I’m a coward,” Elijah whispered into Klaus’ shirt. “You cannot possibly forgive this.”
Klaus sighed and swallowed against his sadness and his total, yawning helplessness in the so-foreign situation where Elijah needed comforting that only he could provide. “But I do. You do. I mean -- I might not be able to forgive it, except.”
“Family?” Elijah scoffed. “You have begrudged me far more for far less, brother.”
“You’ve forgiven far more from me when I was far further from any kind of deserving, brother. And you are. Deserving.” He squeezed the shoulder he still gripped, rough and real and he hoped it would do something to ground him. “Coward or no.”
Elijah pulled back from their embrace, eyes red and cheeks wet and totally disbelieving. “I’m so sorry.”
“Christ, Elijah, I know it. I can’t say,” his voice fell to a whisper, “that I would not have done the same.”
Both of them knew the omitted confession there, the acknowledgement that Klaus had nearly done the same, after killing their mother. But Elijah felt more rage now in the fact that she had not stayed dead, and could not muster that familiar judgement for Niklaus now.
Klaus leaned back on his heels and stood, holding out a hand to help his brother up. Elijah sniffled. He wiped his face with a kerchief quickly (vampirically quickly) before taking the offered hand.
A baby wailed three stories above their heads, but both were attuned to the sound by now and no brick or mortar in this home could stop them noticing. “’S my turn,” Klaus said awkwardly, proudly, and Elijah relaxed into the wonder at his brother being a father to such a precious, tiny, new, beautiful girl. This feeling was True North to him now.
Klaus licked his lips, scanned the floor and the ceiling.
“Don’t keep my niece waiting,” Elijah found himself smiling with another unavoidable sniffle. “I’ll clean up the mess I’ve made.”
Klaus nodded, and there was something to it that was strange and knowing, but he was gone as quickly as he came. Elijah turned to the mausoleum of humanity on display before him.
On the desk, a yellow legal pad laid amongst the art from a millennium ago. A woman’s face was sketched in blue pen, smiling over her shoulder. Flower petals in her unruly hair. Eyes that were too enchanting, even in a portrait, to be believed as real. Elijah had seen that same face several times since, but it was never the same. The women who later wore that magic-steeped smile had never wielded it quite the way that Tatia had; the doppelgänger descendants that had been born from her ornery, observant babe. Klaus’s pen knew the difference.
Elijah traced his fingers over the lines, stopping when he realized that the deeper shadows had not yet dried. Hope’s crying had calmed now, and Elijah longed to kiss her goodnight, but he knew when he had decided to leave the compound that he would miss these precious moments with his niece. And he did not know how to thank Niklaus for this.
When the ink set, Elijah folded the unmarked edges back so not to crease her face. He grabbed a book from the other side of the library -- some poetry that Rebekah loved and Klaus loathed -- and pressed the drawing between the pages to keep it safe before tucking the sonnets into his suit pocket and stealing out into the bright New Orleans night.
Could you do something with Klaus thinking about the long life he has lived and the fact that his loved ones (aside from his siblings) keep dying along the way?
it seems like once again you’ve had to greet me with goodbye;
―
a/n: Klaus-centric, writing this was very painfulbut beautiful experience and I hate how TO keeps killing off so many women :’(
―
He loved Tatia like he loved the rain.
Soft, wet, humid and sometimes- a storm. She can go from tinkles of slow and cascading droplets, rivuletssinking down skin, feeding the planet, making the leaves grow and the flowersbloom. This girl was like delicate little raindrops on a summer’s day.
Although, her lips are like spring’s heaviness.Moist and deep plum - like a trembling war song.
He was human back then, sovery innocent and brave. he loved with all his heart - with all his might.
Inanother timeline, she’s alive. so unrepentantly alive. Everything tastes likeripe mangoes and freshly squeezed lemons. Klaus’ life is like a dream halved,after her, he explores cities & people. His knees tremble. His heart floatsin his mouth. There is too much fire for flesh to contain.
(The day Tatia is buried,there is thunder and lightning. And Klaus is reminded just how destructiverainstorms can be. He cries at her funeral, tears in his eyes mixing with thecruel weather wrecking havoc above him.
He vows that from now on, hewill hate the rain).
―
He loved Aurora like he loved the stars.
Scattered and sparse - asickle shaped smile when the planets pass in between them. He sees her and shemakes him paint portraits of rosy pink flowers, Apollo’s skin, damaged andbroken but with vines growing out of his spine. Klaus’ art becomes love in theform of paints and brushstrokes.
(Her fingers feel likefeathers being tickled down the line of his throat. She could break him if shewanted to - he recognizes this early on in his short time with him.
So instead, he breaks her).
Ancient April blood showers over him like speckledfire balls – he sees cold glimpses of violent winters, snow storms andfaithless worship. The girl is dead flecks of gold on his rises, dreamy Sundayson his skin, empty bedroom walls, cherry coke, throats like the bodies of thoseconquered by Zeus himself ―
Anyway, he hates the starstoo.
―
He loved Camille like he loved the sun.
Her memories vibrate likechords - like the barbed wire that wraps from ankle to wrist. He doesn’t knowmuch about love, not since he’s become a monster. But he knows, that out of allthe stars, he loved the sun best. He doesn’t forget, as it hangs above him, ashe bleeds ―
He still loved the blondehuman girl the best. And when her mouth calls for God, her fist shatter hischest.
Because, for centuries, hethought himself ruler of this world. He even built himself kingdoms and wallsso high, he swears that no one could break them. And to think, that this young,small, human girl could destroy his dead heart.
Well, that was just turmoil.
It was like waking up at 6 amand having gardens somewhere within. Where the beautiful jonquils have turnedinto weeds - where the final remnants of his humanity are just fucking smashedbecause she dies.
She fucking dies at sunset.Like a tragedy - like a train wreck.
(And even in this stillness,he still cannot bring himself to hate the sun).
―
He loved Hayley like he loved the moon.
Like he loved slow mornings.His mouth burned into a ruddy pigmentation of desire, trading his blood forinstant coffee with her - for always forgetting to kiss her goodbye. Remindinghim of the peanut shells she left scattered around the room, light tracing theback of her neck, her smile warm, her skin warmer.
Hayley is silver glitter onhis spine. The gash in his cheek. His hands digging into her grave.
He knows he always searchesfor love in broken places, but this time – he thought maybe it will last.Maybe, he had a shot at happiness.
Because you see, the mother of his daughter wasthe strongest woman he had ever known. Half vampire, half wolf, and a full-onvolcano. The moment she stepped in to his life, he knew that no one could breakher down.
Except for herself.
(When he sees her for the last time, stars collide in his ribcage, dried up roots growan audience of flowers in his chest, in the heatof the moment, he remembers herdifferently – bloody and bruised.
Portia: Tall person, if we are walking together please take into consideration my tiny legs. I can't keep up with you. Please think of my tiny legs, I don't want to be jogging to keep up with you're leisurely stroll you TITAN.
Klavika: Just get a pair of rollerskates and hang onto my sleeve, we don't have all day.
