KILLJOY / 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

✶

PROLOGUE: A TRAGEDY IN THREE PARTS.

𝐼. RECKONING
𝐼𝐼. BARGAINING
𝐼𝐼𝐼. BEGINNING

1821, NEW ORLEANS.

𝐼.

Kol Mikaelson knew better.

He knew better.

He'd swore it.

He'd learnt it in a meadow a thousand years ago: the weight of a heart in his hands, the slick of blood on the palm of his hand. It wasn't the kind of thing you could forget.

It had been his first kill.

A heart. A clump of muscle and vein. Messy and too delicate. He'd watched it die and dry and sunbleach, drain itself from the desperation to stay alive.

How pitiful.

He'd strained and pulled and ripped it in half and tossed it aside.

That was weakness.

Kol knew it and he knew it well. All it took was a slip behind the ribs and you had someone's whole existence in between your fingers–– he'd held people there just to see the flash of fear in between their eyes, to feel it speed up as the prey realised they were taking their last breaths. He'd enjoyed it and he'd savoured it.

And he'd asked the question too––

How stupid you'd have to be?

How stupid you'd have to be to give up something like that?

To show your weakness.

To allow someone in your rib cage and put their fury on your heart. To crack open your own chest and give up, not fight and sneer and howl until you had nothing left.

But––

Oh.

She'd smiled at him like that, and he'd realised that fury wasn't the only thing that could slip through.

(And he knew that his heart, eventually, would kill him too.)

It'd happened, like most things in his life, in the dark. Her face had appeared to him for the first time. Flushed and bruised, round dark eyes that flashed playfully before she'd even asked his name. He'd known hers before she'd known his––

Lila, She'd said while extending her hand as if expecting him to kiss her knuckles.

He'd inclined his head gently and said, Kol.

And that's where it had begun.

If she'd gotten under his skin, it had been fast. Too fast.

He'd barely even noticed it–– that was the funny thing about weakness, you didn't realise it was there until you felt it.

Maybe it'd been like a fish hook; she'd cast out a line onto the New Orleans streets and she'd caught him. A bit of blood, a sudden honey trap and there he was, suddenly, smiling right back with muscles that hadn't moved this way in years.

She'd chuckled,  pressed a thumb against his dimples and told him that was why he didn't have wrinkles in his grand old age––

It'd happened in a room full of strangers, all sharply watching them from out of the corner of their eye, holding their breath as a woman dared to cross lines others wouldn't. They'd waited for the anger, for the brutality and cruelness that came with his family name––

But Kol had stared at her, his jaw in her finger tips and he'd realised, for the first time, how happy he'd have been to die there. Right there. Just so she could hold him as he decomposed.

(And, across the room, with a furrow in his brow and a drink in his hand, his brother Klaus, had realised this would be a problem.)

The love affair that had started on a back street had set out to destroy everything in it's path; but, at the same time, Kol was learning something tender. Lila was not afraid of blood but he'd been afraid of the feeling that had crawled inside from the moment she'd said hello. He'd first kissed her with blood on his teeth and she'd smiled before kissing him back––

So it turned out, murder could be romantic under the right conditions.

Of course they'd killed together. It also turned out they each shared a lot of rage. It'd been the kind of anger that had almost turned him blind–– he'd been surprised when he'd realised she was human.

She had a heart that was far more vulnerable than his and she'd never acted like it. She'd known her weakness and she'd used it for her own advantage.

It'd been the kind of chemistry that had threatened to burn the city down and take them with it, hand in unlovable hand, and he'd enjoyed every second of it. New Orleans had seen a golden age and Kol had never wanted it to end.

It'd been almost funny, really. He'd planned just to kill her too at some point, to end a flash in the pan like every tragedy was supposed to go: With her blood on his tongue and her beautiful, pale face just as a blissful memorial on the inside of his eyelids.

But then she had his heart and he... he was the one that was dying.

He'd known better.

He'd known better––

And that's what Klaus had told him before he'd died.

──────

𝐼𝐼.

  "Didn't we raise you to know better, brother?"

His brother's head had tilted to the side, eyes narrowed slightly as they stood at the back of a party. Klaus was always throwing parties just as he was throwing his toys–– now, Kol and Klaus stood face to face and their other brother, Elijah, leant against a pillar behind.

A scoff had caused Kol to shake his head.

  "Oh c'mon, Nik," He'd said, chuckling as his eyes flickered between the two of them, "Don't tell me you're getting boring––?"

For all of this flaws, Kol would consider his inability to read the room his most deadly.

If they wanted to talk weakness, why not start there?

His chuckle had died in a silence that hung onto the grimace that passed over Elijah's face. The eldest surviving Mikaelson had seemed uncomfortable and, as he realised what was happening, Kol's jaw had slackened.

Beyond this corridor, there had been a party happening.

The heart of New Orleans had thrummed with music and spectacle and Klaus had stood at the centre of it. Kol had come to say his hellos, to nod and exchange pleasantries and then hide away when people's backs were turned–– one hand in a poor man's chest and the other on his girl's waist––

But from the moment Elijah had asked him to step out of the room, Kol had known that his evening was not going to go to plan.

  "Oh," Kol had repeated, and this time it was dry. His smile had mocked them before he'd even had a chance to speak: "Is this party for me?"

If only he'd taken longer to study Klaus' body language–– to watch that muscle tense and trip in his jaw. Kol had been too far caught up in the grandiose of a golden age to notice danger when it presented itself to him, all in the shape of a bastard child.

But he'd known the look on Elijah's face. He'd known the way his older brother had sighed, and he'd known it well. It'd made amusement choke up at the back of Kol's throat as another chuckle fell past his lips, hard and rough like a silent death wish.

  "Is this what this all is?" He'd continued, nose scrunching as he'd gestured back to the party beyond the curtains, "I'm flattered, really, but it doesn't really make sense... all of this effort for some intervention and you pull me behind the scenes? Do you not know better about aesthetics––?"

  "Kol."

Elijah had warned him.

He'd said his name, low and tired, and glanced to the back of Klaus' head. He'd always been so much more intuitive than the others, but it didn't take intuition to tell what mood Klaus was in––

Ironically, the deadliest brother had always been incapable of hiding his emotions.

If looks could kill, Kol would have been, already, six feet under.

  "Whether you realise it or not," Klaus continued, as if neither of them had spoken in the first place, "We taught you better."

Kol would have been lying if he'd said this was his first time standing there, staring at his brothers as they tried to instil some broken virtue. Each time, he'd just been amused. He'd never understood this... the elitism that seemed to appear when most convenient.

When he blinked and suddenly the sinners were saints and looking at him as if they didn't have the same blood on their hands.

(They killed. He killed. It was just their nature.)

   "Right," Kol had laughed, nodding his head, "Of course–– filth teaches filth, how could I forget––?"

And then in a flash of a moment, Klaus had dislocated his arm.

It'd happened faster than he could blink. A lapse in time and his shoulder had been torn, left hand, the same arm he'd wanted to wrap around his lover, ripped from its socket. Klaus had pulled it down until Kol had keeled, very slightly, his laugh choking at the back of his throat with a rush of pain––

Once again, from the sidelines, Elijah had sighed.

  "Niklaus––"

But Klaus hadn't taken any mind. Just as Kol had been barely fazed by his family's unique displays of affection, Klaus paid no attention to their only bystander.

  "You would do good to show some respect," He'd said, standing over a hunched Kol with mirth twisting his face, "I allow you to live here out of the kindness and all you do is make a mockery of me... of us... in this city... in my city––"

   "Right," Kol had sneered back, "Go on. tell us about how hard you've worked, brother. Haven't heard that one before––

   "All you do is kill," Klaus had kept going, words fast and angry as if Kol didn't find them deeply hypocritical. He would've laughed if it wasn't for the fact he was holding his arm together as the bones groaned their way back together, "You kill and you hold no thought for the consequences of your own actions––"

  "I'm going to take a guess and say the consequences are this."

Even with his brothers' fury glaring down at him, Kol had held a steady jaw.

He'd heard this speech a hundred times, more or less. He'd almost learnt it by heart–– he'd felt this coming for weeks, recognised the way they'd turned away from him as he killed and killed, let bodies stack beyond, apparently, what the family considered acceptable. And now, he'd mumbled Klaus' familiar tone back to him as the man who had forced himself the role of the patriarch, curled his lip.

   "You are immature," Klaus had spat, "And you are never going to learn––"

   "Maybe if you talked some sense, I'd actually listen."

That had been Kol's reply.

His head had lifted to give Klaus a smile.

   "Are you sure you're not the one that needs a reality check, brother?" He'd added, almost as an afterthought, "As you play citymaker, I've just been playing the role we were given a thousand years ago––"

Klaus had scowled down at him, danger dancing across his eyes with calculated precision.

   "––we're vampires, the vampires... not politicians––"

  "And yet," Klaus had said, "You are nothing but weak."

Ooh.

Weak had been his brother's favourite word.

   "Yes," Kol had said back with a bite of something that would be labelled as sarcasm hundreds of years later, "I'm sure all these people I've killed would agree with you."

And he'd pushed his arm back into it's socket.

Klaus had stepped back, turning to Elijah to shoot him a secret look that, Kol supposed, had toppled kingdoms in the past. But this hadn't been a summit, it'd been a family meeting that had it's strategic absences; Rebekah, his sister, was notably not to be seen. If he'd have been as full of hate and malice as Klaus, he would've assumed it was a conspiracy.

But Kol had known it was more likely that Rebekah had just not been invited.

   "You've been awfully quiet, Elijah," He'd said while Klaus' back was still turned and he was still getting to his feet. He'd flexed his fingers and bit back the pain that came with Klaus' anger. He'd shot his second favourite sibling a boyish grin, "Go on... say something...you're usually pretty eloquent at the whole morality thing––"

  "He's right, Kol," had been all Elijah was able to manage, "You're getting bad again––"

  "You flatter me."

  "––you know how you get," Elijah had been tender but firm, so different to the other Mikaelson that gathered his composure over a thinning temper, "You know how quickly this all spirals out of control––"

  "Of course," Kol had chuckled, "Go on... break another bone and get this over with––"

  "This is long overdue," Elijah had said, gravely, "We can't suffer through what you caused in Spain again, brother. You know I don't agree with this but it's come to that point again... you know we have no other choice––"

  "Oh, save me your apologies for the next time, noble Elijah––"

  "You must listen to us," Elijah had tried again, "You continue to make a spectacle of us and jeopardise our safety here. You will attract the wrong kind of attention––"

   "So I've heard," Kol had said, wistful and light, "But really, I think they should all be thanking me... this city... with their new journals and their pamphlets... documenting life as it happens. Their boring mundane human lives... Without me they'd have nothing to write about, would they?"

  "But it's not just about you, is it?"

And there, a muscle had tensed in Kol's chest.

It had been Klaus that had spoken.

He'd spoken with his eyes heavy on Kol's face. He'd spoken with a suffocating stare and a light and nonchalant tone. For a split moment, Kol's bones jumped with an inexplicable terror; not only at the topic, but at an unexpected turn of events–– at the mention of Kol's companion, Klaus Mikaelson was impossible to read.

And then he'd said her name:

  "Lila, is it?"

What a feeling it was to hear that name spoken and be fixed, suddenly, with the gnawing rage that it wasn't theirs to speak.

Kol hadn't realised he'd faltered until Klaus had smiled. It'd only been a small smile, a gentle flicker of the lips as Kol, very slowly, realised that he hadn't been as secretive as he'd thought he was.

If he'd had blood in him, it would have drained from him, all in that moment.

Lila.

  "Beautiful girl," Klaus had said and Kol had felt his world spin a little slower than it had before. "They call her a femme fatale... a deadly paramour–– a little trigger happy too, from what I've read––"

  "I'm having some fun," Kol had cut him short, speaking a little sharper than he had before. "If I wasn't, you'd be saying the opposite––"

  "You've both made quite a name for yourselves," The man with his hand in his pocket had drawled, amusement hiding an affliction for obscene violence, "What is it that they call you––?"

  "I'd be a bore, just like you––"

  "Ah yes," Klaus had chuckled, "Our very own Murderous Lovers of New Orleans."

  "––you'd be saying something was wrong with me..." Kol, however, couldn't stop talking. Adrenalin had built into an acidic taste, one that he wanted to spit at their faces just to make them burn, "You'd pass me into one of those sanatoriums and wonder what on earth it was that was making me so boring––"

"Oh, we know what it is, little brother," Klaus had interjected with another bloodless smile. A spite that Kol had been unable to digest shone in the darkest parts of his eyes, "And she's a common whore."

Kol's anger at that statement had not been easy to swallow.

The gold rush that had flickered through his veins, from the very moment he'd met her, ground to a very unceremonious halt.

  "But, I don't think we've had the delight of meeting her," Klaus had continued. His head turned back to Elijah, eyebrows raising. "Do you remember meeting a Lila? Tell me, Elijah, do you recall being introduced to the woman that's taking up so much of our brother's time––?"

Elijah hadn't spoken.

He'd just stared, impassively, back, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

(His eyes, as they had had the foresight that Kol hadn't, flickered to the dagger in Klaus' pocket.)

  "They're writing fiction," Kol had scoffed, shaking it off, "Desperately lying as humans do... padding their stories for money... you know I always work alone."

  "But you haven't been working alone, have you?" Klaus had replied, "You've been making fast work of the underworld... killing the scum we wouldn't give a second of our time... let alone hunt."

It had been true.

Even predators that killed mindlessly had standards.

  "In fact," Klaus had added, "I'd wage a bet that she's standing in the very party behind us, waiting for you in the centre of the courtyard..."

Kol's jaw had slackened.

She was. He'd promised her a dance.

And that's where Klaus' smile had dropped and given them all a glimpse into the maniacal monster that worked underneath.

Forever the opportunist, Elijah had cleared his throat:

  "You can stop this here," He'd spoken to Kol directly, face shining with hope as if he was extending an olive branch. "We can end this misery here. This does not need to go any further––"

Kol's eyes had swung to him, jaw heavy and teeth locked as his mind raced.

  "And pray tell, brother," The accused murderer had chipped it out between his aching gums, "How would I do that––?"

Klaus had been the one to answer:

   "Kill the girl."

   "What?"

   "Lila," Klaus had said, impassive and dry, "Get rid of her."

In return, all Kol had been able to do was stare at him.

(It was needless to say, this had not been what Kol had expected for his evening.)

And then, before he'd even registered what he was doing, Kol had burst into erratic laughter: "You were wrong! This... this is the part where it's getting further than it needs to––"

To his surprise, it had been Elijah that had doubled down on it.

  "She needs to be dealt with," He'd said as Klaus stayed quiet, watching every inflection of Kol's reaction with dark, bottomless eyes, "Even if you stop your reckless killing, there is no guarantee she will too––"

  "Dealt with?" Kol had repeated almost incredulously, "Just like you're dealing with me––?"

A light grimace had flickered across Elijah's face for the second time.

  "Just like we're trying to avoid, yes."

But Kol hadn't caught onto Elijah's very faint attempt to smooth things over. (In reality, this really was a mercy and no one, no one, could've fathomed the amount of time Elijah had spent vouching for Kol on his behalf.)

  "Kill the girl," Elijah had almost begged, (as if it really was just that simple), "Kill the girl and kill the story. Only then, we can know that we won't attract any unwanted visitors––"

  "Do you hear yourselves?" Kol had asked, still incredulously but almost hysteric too. His voice raised and he raised an accusing hand towards them, "All of this... all over just a girl–– just a human girl–– Our family... vampires... Mikaelsons... terrified about a human girl––!"

   "We can't risk leading him to us, Kol––"

   "Oh," Kol had chipped back, "I think we should invite him..." And he'd set his dark, erratic eyes on Klaus, "I'm sure Mikael would be delighted by the tyrant you've become––"

"Kol––" Elijah had tried to warn him, once again.

"Or better yet, let Marcellus witness what you're about to do––"

But, forever, silent, Klaus' head had tilted, very slowly to the side.

In his silence, he really had studied Kol from head to toe.

He'd watched the slight flush grow from beneath his brother's collar, spreading as his voice pitched and his body grew loose and restless–– the realisation was delayed, but when it settled, it settled swift.

Klaus' eyebrows had raised in realisation and there, in that moment, both Lila and Kol's death sentences had been signed.

   "Oh."

He'd whispered it out and it had caused the hairs to raise on the back of Kol's neck. Struggling with composure, so it seemed, had been genetic and Kol had found himself wiping clammy palms on his pants and he met Klaus' eye––

Whatever he saw there made his whole body go cold.

That time, Klaus' grin had been dead:

   "Elijah, don't you see?"

For a few moments, Klaus had toyed with the idea of ruining everything Kol had built for himself. The Mikaelson families' greatest adversary, a call that came from inside the house and a perfect image of their father–– he'd flirted with Kol's ruination, just as Kol had flirted with the beautiful blonde woman in the dark.

Kol had watched the dark shadow pass over Klaus' face, just as those words touched his tongue:

   "He cares for her."

Kol hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he choked.

Kill the girl. Kill the story.

  "Nik..."

Kill the girl.

Another shadow found a home in a corner of his face.

Just kill the girl––

   "No."

Klaus had said it.

And he'd sighed as if he was disappointed.

It had been so paternal of him, as if Mikael, their father, had materialised in between the sound of Elijah's soft interjection and the air leaving Klaus' lungs. When Kol had blinked, he'd been a child again, jaw in Mikael's hands as the man forced him to look up at him and listen to the strict teachings of a man that would go on to hunt them like stray cattle––

A look of disgust flickered across Klaus' face and Kol, for the last time in 200 years, had wanted nothing more than to run. But he'd been locked into standing there to the spot, just like he'd been locked into his genetics for a thousand years––

"He doesn't just care for her," Klaus had said just before they'd killed him.

He'd said it as if that, in itself was a death wish of inconceivable measure, and he'd barely even been able to say the word:

"He loves her."

──────

𝐼𝐼𝐼.

Love was weakness.

Kol Mikaelson hadn't known better.

If this city wanted a story, Klaus would give it to them.

He'd always been a sucker for a tragedy play, always enticed by a deeply macabre twist of death and romance–– star-crossed lovers destined to kiss once and then die side by side. And that had been the fate for The Murderous Lovers of New Orleans... that was how Klaus had planned to end this story.

If Kol wanted to make a spectacle, Klaus, like a true artist, would make this love affair Art.

And what a better ending than two lovers dying, side by side?

He'd walked into the heart of a social event that had put New Orleans on the map, smiled wide and with no betrayal that just moments ago, had to dispose of one of his siblings. He'd smiled away the look Elijah had shot him over Kol's body, the dirty look of a man who hadn't approved but had known that this was the way it had to be––

Love was weakness.

Kol Mikaelson should have known better.

Humans were temporary and, inevitably, humans did exactly what they always did: They died.

Klaus had taken a drink to meet the woman that had carried his brother's affections.

He'd taken two, despite knowing that her blood was the only delicacy he'd indulge in tonight. He'd clapped his fair share of companions on the back and made his way, slowly,  towards her––

All while Elijah dealt with their brother's body in the hallway.

All it had taken was a dagger, passed through time as the only friend that Klaus had truly ever been able to count on. All it had taken was a slip of the hand and now, this love story was over and Klaus had smiled, graciously, as he'd stepped through the crowd––

   "Lila, is it?"

It hadn't taken much to find her.

Lila had been right where Klaus had known she was, waiting for her lover as people danced and conversed around her. Her back had been turned to him until he'd said her name–– two syllables that swept, so smoothly through with his accent.

She'd turned with a smile, clearly, anticipating someone else––

  "About time," She'd chuckled dryly, "I beginning to think you'd forgotten you'd promised me a dance––"

And then, she'd been cut short by the realisation that he was not the Englishman she'd been expecting.

A dent had buried itself in between her eyebrows and she'd blinked once and then twice–– Klaus had taken in her beauty, drank it in with his eyes, just as her mind had raced with calculation.

Wariness had risen at the sight of a stranger and it had made his smile widened.

Good girl. Smart girl.

  "I think you may have the wrong person––"

  "No, not at all," Klaus had denied, shaking his head, "I was told to find the most beautiful woman in the room." Her head had tilted to the side, suspiciously. He'd chuckled and wondered if his laugh had sounded like Kol's. "And from the look of you, I have the exact person I was looking for."

The devil, of course, was forever a gentleman.

Lila's eyes had flickered up him–– up and down, and Klaus had known, immediately, what it had been about her that lead his brother to begging, on his knees, to not do this–– to not take away the life he'd made and the affection he'd found––

Because, oh, hadn't he begged.

Don't do this...

   "You must be Klaus."

Don't do this, brother...

   "Ah, Kol has told you about me."

Don't take this from me––

   "He didn't have to," had been her reply, "This whole city got there first––"

   "Ah," Klaus had mused, "A warning?"

   "Mmm," Lila had hummed without missing a beat, "Like a folk tale."

Don't you even think of touching her––

(Or what? Klaus had asked, just before he'd put in the dagger, Correct me... But I don't think you're in a position to make threats.)

And now, Klaus had position himself right beside her.

Their fingers had brushed as she'd accepted a glass, and it'd struck him, in that moment, how perfectly balanced she was. Like a perfectly fashioned blade.

If you hurt her––

"My brother sends his apologies," He'd said, "But he's unable to make your company this evening––"

"Unable?"

It had been her turn to raise an eyebrow, delicate and elegant, but skeptical.

Klaus had tried his best to imagine blood on those ginger, slender fingers.

"He's been caught up in other affairs," He'd said, as if it hadn't been an euphemism for being six feet under, "Business, if I'm not mistaken... an important conversation..."

"Sure."

Watchful, round eyes had surveyed him, far darker than the shadows of stress and fury on his brothers face. She hadn't been convinced but she'd taken it light, head tilted and eyes ablaze. Klaus had taken the time, in return, to study her: Blonde hair, fixed and curled so tightly that Klaus had felt compelled to watch those curls fall. She'd been dressed deceivingly well for a woman of her nature, and held herself that way too.

But those eyes–– those eyes.

They'd sparkled and they'd shone far brighter than any candle or lamp in this room or in this city and Klaus had known, from a handful of seconds alone, that she'd ruin him too, if he gave the chance.

She was, by all means, a deadly woman with an even deadlier beauty, and he was going to kill her.

He'd rip out her throat with his teeth or he'd take her heart like she'd taken his brothers, whichever he hadn't quite decided–– all he'd known was that the thought of killing her, of something Kol had wanted to protect and hide from them so desperately, thrilled him.

Kol should have known better.

He should've known this was how things end.

Lila would die... but not yet.

First, if Klaus was not mistaken, she'd been promised a dance.

　　AUTHOR'S NOTE ! . . .
screw klaus, all my homies hate klaus...!!
... but also like screw screw, yk?

this is a love letter to kol and a fuck you to n*th*niel b*zz*lic for ruining a character that deserved more time and definitely not to be fouled forever by a series of anti-choice radical christian instagram story posts!
i only know freddy carter. live, laugh, love kaz brekker.

it is going to be an insane love triangle and it's going to hurt... it's going to hurt so bad.
welcome to killjoy,, it's been a long time coming! <3

WORD COUNT ! . . . 4650
WRITTEN ON THE 4TH OF MARCH 2023