#and since when is a cauldron-made seer boring

[duskcowboy]

It’s just so funny to me that they accuse us of being toxic when our arguments compare like this:

Elriel: “I think they’re endgame because there’s books of foreshadowing, and I don’t like gw*nriel because there’s no build up and it feels like a mentee/mentor relationship.”

Gw*nriel: “I think they’re endgame because they both have trauma and should be mates, and I hate elriel because Elain is stupid, unworthy, and boring.”

Do they seriously not see the difference? Jfc

#elriel #pro elriel #anti gw*nriel #I’m being a bit hyperbolic but I seriously just saw this type of argument on tiktok and I was speechless #literally just on tiktok someone was ranting about how Elain is boring and isn’t deserving of Az #and that Gwyn’s trauma is way more than Elain’a and that Elain’s trauma is nothing in comparison #like I didn’t realize this was the trauma Olympics?? #and since when is a cauldron-made seer boring #how is a king slayer boring? #ugh I truly dislike people sometimes

[mardereads19]

Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 31: Free Choice

Continuation of Day 25: “Azriel”

Elain twisted towards the death god, heartbeat speeding at the sight of him. Azriel’s shadows moved behind her, some peaking over her shoulders as if readying to strike, others caressing her lower back, tapping her fingers until she unfurled them.

Koschei tutted. “Enough of that.” He glanced to the shadowsinger as he said, “Come over here.”

Elain stilled, waiting for Azriel to start moving, but he remained chained and immobile. Cassian, who had blades on both of his hands and whose Siphons flared bright, also frowned in confusion when nothing happened, however his eyes remained full of hate.

Koschei blinked and raised an eyebrow. His gaze shifted between the shadows gathering behind Elain’s back, Azriel, and Elain. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Cassian challenged, voice quaking in fury.

Koschei tilted his head, examining her. “You’re a shadowsinger.”

Elain said nothing, revealed nothing with her face, putting on the mask Azriel usually donned. But her mind spun at the realization.

Could it be? She’d become a shadowsinger? That would explain why she could suddenly understand Azriel’s shadows.

A shadowsinger.

Koschei glanced between Azriel and her. “What an interesting turn of events.”

“You already said that,” Cassian spat.

Koschei smiled. “You’ll learn, Lord of Bastards, that the person with the most power can do and say whatever they want.”

And Elain watched Cassian go as still as a statue. As still as Azriel was beside her. Cassian’s arms lowered beside his body, still gripping those blades.

Attack! Attack! Attack! the shadows whispered in her ear.

Not yet, she ordered.

Koschei’s attention came back to her, his eyes glancing at the shadows, as if he had heard her exchange with them. Elain held his gaze when he focused on her.

“I had not planned on taking you, too.” Koschei shifted on his feet, as if preparing to leave. “But fate works in ways that even I can’t understand.” He laughed, a raspy sound that Elain hated. “And if it works in my favor, then who am I to question it?”

He turned around.

“You will let us go,” Elain called. “The three of us.”

Koschei’s back went ramrod straight. In the dim lighting, she could have sworn his skin went a little bit paler. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and the anger gleaming in his dark eyes made her take a step back. He marked that step with his eyes.

“How are you moving, trembling fawn?”

How am I moving? It took Elain a second to understand. When he had frozen Cassian, he had also tried to control Elain. She was supposed to be as still as the two Illyrian warriors, yet here she was still acting of her own will.

“Perhaps I’m a god, too.”

Koschei turned back to her. His eyes roamed her body, her face. They shifted towards the shadows that took up movement once more.

“What’s your business with me?”

“You know why I’m here. I already told you.” Elain forced herself to keep her chin up. Act as arrogant as he did. Like she was the person with the most power in this tent.

The noises from around the camp kept their normal rhythm. No one had been notified of their presence. Only Koschei. Elain guessed he could see through Azriel’s eyes —hear through his ears. Now was the perfect time to escape. It was now or never. Once the rest of the death god’s males found out of their presence... There were too many to fight at once. Especially with Cassian and Azriel unavailable.

But she couldn’t leave with them under Koschei’s grasp like that.

Koschei glanced at Azriel and Cassian. “If you must go, then I can let the general go with you. I have no need of him, though it would have been fun. The other I—”

“I said the three of us leave.” Elain tilted her head in bored contemplation. “Should I also point out who I mean by the three of us? Since you’re too dense to understand me.”

Koschei bared his teeth. “Do you think you can come to my dwelling and demand things of me?” He raised his hand towards Cassian. “You should have taken the general and left when I was feeling generous. Now I don’t so much.” He twisted his hand.

Cassian’s brow began to furrow and relax, furrow and relax, furrow and relax. A noise full of pain came out of him. He dropped his blades. Elain’s breath caught as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. Blood began to pour out of his nose. Her heartbeat was a drum beating out of her chest when Cassian began to cough blood.

Her mind went to Nesta. How her sister would break down if Elain had to tell her Cassian was killed. Her sister would never forgive her for allowing this to happen, for provoking the death lord to do this. Her sister would go back to her self-destruction.

Elain startled at Cassian’s full gasps of air.

Azriel’s body began to tremble beside her, like he was fighting Koschei’s control on him. To help his brother.

Azriel and Rhys? They would hate Elain, too, for this. Feyre and Morrigan and Amren. They would all hate her.

Elain would hate herself.

Cassian with his easy smiles and winking and bating and teasing. Cassian with his playful arrogance and kindness and bravery.

Sister. He’d called her a sister.

And this was how she would pay him?

No.

Elain did not cry as she lifted her fist that she had kept hidden in the shadows and said, “Stop.”

Koschei looked at her, at the female who had commanded him with so much authority. “You will learn, Lord of Death, that the person with the most power can make others do as they please.”

Koschei’s face blanched at what she held in her hand.

His soul. That’s what Elain held in her hand. That’s why he couldn’t control her.

Elain had seen that onyx box in her vision. She had gone after it to that tent, the shadows distracting the males guarding it enough time to let her slip inside on silent feet. She had followed her instinct, some voice in her head whispering the way. The box had been locked by wards, but her magic had nudged here and there and it had opened for her. There were a couple of items inside the box, but the one that called to her was a golden egg.

What’s with this guy and birds? she had thought, recalling how he imprisoned women and females in bird forms. But it made sense, she supposed, that he placed his soul in the prettiest and sturdiest egg one of his prisoners laid. A cruel joke.

She had wanted to keep it a secret, that she had his soul. If she could have saved Azriel and left without Koschei knowing, Rhys and Feyre would have come up with a plan to beat him without Koschei preparing in whatever way he could.

She could have brought them Koschei’s weakness without the Lord being the wiser.

But she had to use this card. To save Cassian. To save Azriel.

She’d show her hand.

Koschei fixed his expression to one of triumph again, but it had been too late. She had seen his fear. “That won’t do anything.”

Cassian began to double over.

“Then nothing will happen if I drop this?” Elain extended her arm and made to throw the egg at her feet.

“No!” His arm lowered and Cassian clutched at his chest, breathing deeply, face contorted in pain and full of blood.

Elain held the egg tighter and lifted it again.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly when Cassian glared at the death god and spat blood at his feet. He reached for his fallen blades. His Siphons flared red once more and his wings twitched as the warrior stood on shaking knees. His breath remained labored, and there was a small glimmer of fear in his eyes, but the fury had all but diminish from his gaze.

Elain glanced to her side to find tears in Azriel’s cheeks. His heart was thundering. She placed her other hand on his back.

I’m here. We’re getting out.

Koschei did not avert his hateful eyes from Elain.

“Here’s what I want you to do, Koschei,” she began. “You’re going to let Azriel go, both from his shackles and from the grasp you have on his mind. You’re going to let us winnow out of this place, so undo your wards.” She threw him a pointed glance. “Silently. No one needs to know.”

“I can kill your shadowsinger within seconds,” he seethed.

“Granted, but then I’ll kill you.” She smiled, squeezing the egg until Koschei trembled. “And something tells me you value your life more than you do anyone else’s.”

A silence extended for a moment. Or at least, silence inside the tent. Outside she heard the snores and pacing of the others.

“I want that egg back,” he added.

Now Elain tutted. “You’re in no position to demand anything, Koschei. Remember who holds the power here. I’m being generous enough in letting you live.”

Koschei bared his teeth again. “Who are you?”

Elain smirked. “I am Elain Archeron. Cauldron blessed. Seer. Kingslayer,” she tilted her head. “And if you keep talking instead of doing what I told you to, soon I’ll add Godslayer to that list.”

Koschei lifted his chin. “If you kill me now, all the people I’ve imprisoned will stay cursed. He,” he nudged his chin towards Azriel, “will stay locked up for eternity.”

Azriel locked up again? Not an option.

Elain nodded. “Then we’ll meet again.”

Azriel fell forward, his shackles magically undone, and Cassian reached for him as Koschei answered, “We’ll meet again, brave fawn. And then,” he stood straighter, “I’ll make you pay.”

Elain glanced into Azriel’s eyes, no longer glassy but clear, his arm circled her waist. She held back the need to kiss him and touch him and cry in the crook of his neck, where she could take in his scent and reassure herself that he was alive and well.

She glanced back at Koschei as she willed the shadows to winnow the three of them outside this camp, back to the Night Court —where her family had agreed to return.

“If you ever go after one of my friends or family again, I won’t hesitate to end you.” She threw Koschei a last smirk before being swept away.

No one would harm those she loved without facing her might ever again.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #elain #elain archeron #azriel #elriel #elriel endgame #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel oneshot #my writing

[onceupona-chaos]

BERON AND ELAIN/ BLOOD DUEL?

This is just a scratch, but it's been on my mind.

You all know how ACOSF determined Beron as one of the next villains (dude wants a war more than I want the next book) and, in my opinion, Feyre's bonus chapter determined Elain as next MC (and even if you don't agree, it is a fact that she will have her own book in the future, SJM already said that more than once in interviews).

So we have Beron and Elain set up for future books. Then I came across this line from ACOWAR:

Rhys’s eyes shuttered, even as he gave me a half smile. I’m not sure even Beron knew until today. Suspected, maybe, but … He’ll now be wishing he’d found a way to kill me in the cradle.

A shiver skittered down my spine. He knows about Elain being Lucien’s mate. He makes a move to harm or take her, and he’s dead.

This worries Feyre enough to the point she wouldn't let Elain dance with Eris: because the males of the Autumn Court had already shown a certain interest for the middle Archeron. They at least discussed about Elain being Lucien's mate and what would that mean and we need to keep in mind how Beron treats females: Mor, Jesminda and Lady of Autumn are good examples.

So I am thinking... is it possible that Beron will try to used Elain to his own plans (and by that I mean start a war between the Fae people, use her against the Night Court, or find the fourth trove)?

Considering that Elain is a mated female to the son of the High Lord of Autumn Court, can Beron have a "claim" on her?

In his chapter Azriel wanted to invoke the BD against Eris and Beron when everything happened with Mor. This always came to my attention, because that means you don't necessarily need to have a romantic relationship to invoke the BD and apparently you don't necessarily have to defy just the one other male involved, since he wanted to defy Beron, too.

So is it possible that Beron would want to invoke the BD claiming he has some kind of right towards Elain? To use her - a Cauldron-Made Seer, who can track the Fourth Trove and see Koschei's box - as a weapon?

Note: this is a long shot, but i am bored and started thinking about it, so......

#elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #acotar theory #sarah j maas #Autumn Court #acotar

[archeronsisters]

elriel happening is as obvious as nessian since acomaf and more since acowar, fans and non fans alike admitted it. But then come az pov and suddenly this new ship emerges and everyone who's been silently hating elain come forward with their two cents how elain this and that, and how they said she don't deserve az, as if a woman should have a certain criteria to be deserving of a man and not the other way around.

And you want to say to me you supporting gwynriel because gwyn is this and that, and not because you just simply hate elain? I don't believe it. Gwyn is lovely, I haven't read more of her but I know she deserves all the love she got from the fandom. But using gwyn to talk shit about elain, literally pitting two women against each other? that's fucked up.

The funny thing about all of this is saying elain boring when we never got to see her thoughts while at the same time calling az interesting when all we've been seeing of him is doing errand and go into his shadow. If az past makes him interesting enough for a story, then elain, a cauldron-made, a seer, a kingslayer, is literally crucial for the whole plot.

I'm sorry but I just got it enough with all the comments saying az deserves more than elain, because sorry to break it to you. We can see more of azriel ONLY if he ends up with elain. He will be important enough for the plot in acotarverse if he's in a relationship with archeron sister.

(Ps. I'm not azriel hater, I just have seen a lot of so called azriel stans calling my baby names she doesn't deserve. I'll always defend woman at all cost, love every woman in acotarverse (but amarantha and ianthe can go to hell)

#elain archeron #azriel #elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain acotar

[helion-ism]

I wanted to write about something that is very important to me: the way people perceive nesta and elain in this fandom (I know that a lot of people have valid reasons to criticise them and I’m not doing this to say they are perfect because how boring would that be.) and an important part of that is nesta‘s trauma vs elain‘s trauma

I think it’s self-explanatory when I say that obviously everybody deals with trauma differently, in fiction and in real life, but I got intrigued by how different elain and nesta seem to be dealing with that, so I looked it up and found something very interesting so this is kinda a long post

nesta

there is something called emotional dysregulation, where trauma survivors have difficulty regulation emotions like anger, anxiety, sadness and shame (even more so when the trauma occured at a young age). one of the methods these trauma survivors use to attempt to regain emotional control is “self-medication” or rather substance abuse, even though it is more likely to further emotional dysregulation. others are disordered eating, compulsive behaviour (like overworking), denial of emotions, and so on. (though there are more positive behaviours to regain emotional control such as physical activity) 

traumatic stress leads to two extremes: you either feel too much or too little. I think with nesta it is pretty much clear that nesta has always been the kind of person who feels too much, it’s why feyre painted those flames on her drawer, because she was always burning. what did feyre say about her in acomaf?

“I think Nesta feels everything— sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

a big part of nesta’s personality is who she was as a teenager and young woman, before she got made. she blamed her father for what happened to their family, she was furious with him and wanted to make him suffer. she got consumed by it, which is why in the end it was feyre who had to provide for the family. (I’m gonna be real honest here, how were so many of you guys reading the books and blaming nesta and elain for making feyre go out and hunt when her father was literally right there lol. like ... why blame the parent when the sisters are right there, huh?) being thrown into poverty, when she lived a comfortable life and was always made to believe she’d marry a prince or lord some day, it must not have been easy for her as she was the oldest but still a child. you guys, she was a kid. how can that not leave a lasting impression on her? and how can anyone blame her for that?

what do we see in acofas after the war ended? nesta fucks strangers and drinks a lot, maybe too much, doesn’t eat enough, to cope with what happened to her. so why does she do it? do distract herself from her memories, from her nightmares, from every sound that reminds her of what happened when she was thrown into the cauldron and what happened during the war. she spins out of control with her body to stop feeling too much and start numbing the pain (which I assume is why she drinks so much, it’s a great way of making you forget your problems and sleeping with strangers is a way of numbing any emotions too). 

in acosf, we see her choose a family, we see her find gwyn and emerie and we see her accept cassian as a friend (and more), but we also see her start training with him, we see her challenge herself to go down those stairs and eventually, she does not only get physically stronger, gains weight, but she also becomes more confident internally. I feel like a big part of nesta was always to come off as cold and unapproachable, but this is not at all how we see her with gwyn and emerie, and cassian notices too:

With Gwyn … he wondered whether Nesta liked the girl because with her, she was simply Nesta. Perhaps she felt that way around Emerie, too.

obviously, I feel like this is not something that one can overcome within just one book and there’s more for nesta to learn. do I think she’s completely healed? no, but when is one ever? she has started to heal and that’s good enough for me. but I’m just so annoyed when I see people call nesta abusive and other things when they’re not even trying to understand her. 

elain

in acosf nesta says elain just needed time to adjust to the world and person she’s become, but is that it? I don’t think so, not when it is so clear to me that she has not in fact adjusted to this new life.

initially, in acowar, elain is the complete opposite to nesta. which makes me believe she’s dealing with her trauma by numbing, a biological process where emotions are detached from thoughts and behaviours. elain is basically described to be this shell, doing nothing but sitting in her room and craving sunshine. I think she was mainly in a state of shock until things started changing a little bit. (and she was also probably overwhelmed because of her seer abilities)

elain has been sheltered her entire life, first by her family, especially father & nesta and feyre who never once blamed elain for anything but rather focused on nesta, then she met graysen & got engaged and their relationship was apparently very strong (she seems to have loved him and also she gave her virginity to him), and then she went to the night court where she‘s basically been underestimated and coddled the entire time AND she lets them do it most of the time 

“But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elainis sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all.” 

that’s what rhys says about her, like he knows there is more to her when even feyre and nesta don’t seem to see it, but this has changed in acosf, not only from rhys’ pov, but also during chapter 58 when nesta tells elain to fuck off

Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her. And then Elain burst out laughing. Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. “I— I’m so sorry—” Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?“

look at her reaction when somebody is finally saying something to her but not sugar-coating it. she laughs. there’s no way of knowing what elain really feels all the time, but you have to admit, this reaction hints that that’s something elain has wanted for a long time. like she’s surprised that nesta is so bold and harsh with her, she says that nesta has never spoken to her in such a way and she’s not actually offended by it. to me it seems like she’s tired of everyone treating her like a child and maybe that scene was somewhat of a revelation to her. 

she’s been so passive for a majority of the series that fans have started calling her useless and plain, but man, I just disgree. as I said, there is valid criticism to be found everywhere (like the way she treats nesta in acosf, but in the end, I don’t really blame her for it when I think she’s still dealing with her own problems). but elain has started to make use of her agency when she helped kill the king of hybern or decided to give azriel back that necklace (for whatever reason, we don’t know yet) even though it seems like she’s still primarily passive most of the time.

so this leads me to hope that things will improve greatly for elain in the following books, especially in her own book. 

basically we have two opposites here in how people deal with trauma. elain is passive and quiet, I believe she still suffers a lot, there might be more to her abilities and that might be a part of why she’s changed her behaviour so drastically to lucien since acowar and all that. but a huge factor is also the way people treat her and implicitly force her to just continue with this coping mechanism. she’s a people pleaser and if that’s what people expect her to do ... then that’s what she’ll do until something eventually happens.

nesta is very wild and bold in her behaviour. we’ve seen her regain control over her emotions in acosf and we’ve seen her accept her new body, her new self. when cassian told her that there is nothing broken to be fixed and that she has to start forgiving herself too, I think that was a gamechanger for her. because when nesta started to forgive herself and deal with her own guilt and shame, that’s when she could truly begin healing. and I love that for her. 

#I know I said people have valid reasons to criticise them #but if you hate nesta we can't be friends #also if you call her abuse ... then gtfo #this is too long but I hope you get what I mean #in conclusion I love them #elain archeron #nesta archeron #acotar #acosf #mp

[nyadversary]

asking since your harry potter post was really interesting and made me wonder - are there any magic systems you really like or think are well-constructed and consistent? what are the traits of a good magic system?

oh i definitely don’t feel qualified to make any broad statements about what makes a magic system Good, it depends so heavily on what kind of story you’re trying to tell. i do want to say more about why i think the magic system in HP is ultimately bad though, and i have at least one example of a system i like to compare it with. under cut

very very early on in the HP series — i’m talking about the first few chapters of book 1 — we get the impression that magical ability does symbolize something? like think about how the series opens. the first chapter of the first book follows vernon dursley, a man who lives an extremely mundane life, likes it that way, and is highly perturbed by anything unusual happening or by anyone who seems out of the ordinary. he’s, what, CEO of a drill company or something? some comically boring but well-paying job. petunia is a housewife who passes the time spying on the neighbors. their infant son is already being spoiled and treated more like a prized possession than a human being. and these people hate anything they think is weird, which of course includes anything to do with magic. the dursleys know for a fact magic is real and it pisses them off and they hate it. 

when harry is left at their doorstep, mcgonagall protests and says the dursleys could not possibly have less in common with magical people like them. either she or hagrid says something to the effect that the dursleys are the biggest muggles around, which stuck with me because it implies that magical ability lies on a spectrum and the dursleys, who are outright opposed to anything the slightest bit unusual, are the furthest from magical anybody can be. this implies all sorts of things about what magic could represent for the series going forward — creativity, rejection of social norms, etc. — and, since these people are harry’s only living blood relatives but he winds up finding community for the first time once meeting other witches and wizards, it appears to be setting up a found family theme. which all sounds perfectly good, and people will still cite this as being a theme of the books. the main problem with that is it isn’t the intended theme going forward at all. 

JKR’s weird obsession with blood lineage honestly needs to be unpacked in a whole other post and i don’t think i’m the guy to do it but... obviously as the series goes on, the importance of blood family gets underlined again and again. it turns out harry is being protected by some sort of sacred maternal blood magic (which is never explained) and this is why he has to live with the dursleys, people he hates and has nothing in common with. the fact that they’re his blood relatives trumps anything else. magical ability generally is passed down within families, and in the later books much time is spent going over various magical lineages (voldemort’s family, dumbledore’s family, sirius’ family, the malfoy family, the hogwarts founders and their descendants, etc...). any notions of magic symbolizing creativity is undermined by the lack of actual creativity in how the magic is presented going forward (like i said in the other post, it winds up serving mainly utilitarian functions in the story) and as for rejecting the status quo, the series embraces the status quo. the happy ending the characters work 7 books to achieve just has everything “returning to normal” — voldemort is killed and the remaining death eaters dealt with, the ministry gets a new PM, hogwarts gets a new headmaster, and things continue on as they were before. issues of systemic injustice are left unaddressed, the subplots about magical beings fighting for full personhood status (centaurs, merpeople, house elves, etc) are left unresolved, slytherin house is allowed to continue on as an institution and presumably many wizards are still just as bigoted towards muggle-borns as they always were, and — oh yeah — the idea that muggles are innately inferior somehow? never explained or addressed. the takeway is just that if you can’t do magic, you suck. it’s so disappointing. all the pieces are there for a way better story (hey guys i think there might be some systemic problems with your magic school and your magic government do you wanna try fixing that maybe?) but JKR was never gonna write that story because it’s one she doesn’t believe in.

to summarize how magic works in harry potter just so i can really make it clear how boring it is:

magic ability is innate and the vast majority of people lack it. with relatively few exceptions, the ability runs in families — it’s rare for someone without magical ancestry to have the ability and it’s also rare for someone with magical ancestry to not have the ability

with only a few exceptions, all wizards are able to learn all spells. some wizards are stated to be unusually powerful but how much of this is due to raw magical potential and how much comes down to other factors like education, general intelligence and ability/willingness to learn, desire to cause harm in the case of the unforgivables, etc is unclear. some magical abilities, like being able to speak parseltongue or being a metamorphmagus (or whatever the fuck shapeshifters are called in this series) or being a seer, are innate and can’t be learned by most wizards. like magic itself, whether or not you have any extra ability seems to be genetic (these are all traits we know run in families)

in order to perform magic, devices like wands, cauldrons, etc are used as instruments or vessels to direct the user’s innate powers. there is no summoning, channeling, or ritual use involved and spells typically only go wrong if the wizard in question is inexperienced or something is wrong with their wand. with very few exceptions (the main one i can think of is divination, which is handled very ambiguously and most of what trelawney teaches is implied to be complete crap), magic works in very predictable and straightforward ways

so it all boils down to “you’re either a wizard or you aren’t, and you almost certainly aren’t unless you come from a magic family, but if you are — good news! you have basically the same abilities as any other wizard. don’t worry there’s nothing even vaguely pagan involved.”

which, like. how utterly dull. there are so many other ways one can approach these issues and nearly all of them that i can think of / have seen done are more interesting than this:

you could have a magic system where magical ability is much more specialized. instead of all magic users being all capable of more or less the same stuff, let’s say person A, B, and C are all magic users but each has a unique magical ability (say A can fly, B can talk to animals, C can become invisible) and, while they might be able to develop their individual talents and become stronger, they can’t learn each other’s skills. charlie bone, which is a crap series overall but which i do think has a more interesting magic system, falls into this category, as does a lot of superhero stuff although it’s generally not called “magic” in those stories.

another, similar, approach would be to have more specialized branches of magic that characters train under — say pyromancy, necromancy, etc. — and so, while it might be possible for a water mage to learn a fire spell or two, characters have much more individualized skillsets. RPG magic tends to be this, obviously. harry potter kind of vaguely gestures in the direction of this trope in that the professors obviously specialize in their particular subjects, but it’s not as if snape doesn’t know charms or whatever — it doesn’t amount to much of anything in practice as all the adult characters are capable of performing a diverse range of spells.

how does one wind up with the ability to do magic in the first place? is it innate, and, if so, is it random or does it run in families? is it associated with any other traits? are there drawbacks to being a magic user? can non-magical people acquire the ability to do magic through some other means, and, if so, does this represent an irreversible change? are magic users really “human” or are they something more? are non-magic users lesser? is there any loss of humanity associated with magical ability? do magic users channel their own innate power or are they channeling something else — if so, is it a godlike entity, demonic, or does it defy moral classification? is there “good” magic and “bad” magic, and, if so, is the delineation clear? if these are different branches of magic, are they wholly distinct in how they work or is there overlap? etc, etc, etc.

ultimately i don’t think anyone should be worried about finding the most unique combination of these tropes, because they’ve literally all been done 10 billion times — if i started off listing popular examples of how these tropes are handled in other media pandemic will have ended before i’m done. what’s important is how writers choose to handle these questions when telling their story. like, what does magic mean to the characters? what does their use of magic say about them? what does magic symbolize? etc... these are opportunities for the story to have Themes and Meaning and impart something to its audience! tbh i think it really says something that the magic in harry potter is so ultimately unimportant to the story that people didn’t bother asking the usual questions about what magic itself / the magic system might symbolize... if you look at what rowling might actually be trying to say with any of that, well, it’s not good.

i guess to end off with an example i like. in the bartimaeus trilogy, which is an extremely good YA series and i highly recommend, magic ability isn’t innate at all. magic in this universe is all done via summoning “demons” (energy beings from another plane of existence basically) and binding them to one’s will, which as you might expect is very dangerous if you fuck it up and summoning is on such extreme levels of academic bullshit that you basically have to study your entire life to do it safely (learning dead languages, being able to draw elaborate pentacles with perfect accuracy, etc etc). in practice, this means magic is something only the ruling class does / can afford to do. anyone in any significant position of power is a wizard, while everyone else — the “commoners” — is a second-class citizen under the thumb of what are essentially superpowered politicians. while the fact that magic exists isn’t a secret, the majority of commoners have no idea how it actually works, that it’s really just summoning and anyone can learn it. they’re being encouraged to think of wizards as innately superior/gifted and to defer to them as their betters. yknow, Or Else. there’s much more i could say about this but it’d wind up being its own post and i’d probably have to just break down the entire plot of the trilogy, but i think from what i’ve said you get a sense of the themes / commentary here. 

this has run long but point being, magic systems Can be used to say something about the story and the characters and to make some sort of thematic point or provide social commentary perhaps, and i think it’s cool when they do. harry potter tries its best to avoid having the magic mean anything and when you do try and analyze what it means, you just get a story about how some people are just way better and cooler than others because of. uh. their blood. so rather than further unpacking that suitcase i say you could just throw it away and, as they say, read another book

#LONG poast under cut. sorry except i'm not #anon #inbox #many thoughts on the subject as it turns out i do apologize that it's messy #i have english major disease

[tanaquilpriscilla]

Elain? In contrast to lucien

Thank you for the ask!

How I feel about this character:

She is different, so unlike her fighter sisters or any other YA character, which is great, since nearly everyone is portrayed as hard-headed, savage and ruthless. I like that she is opposite of these, that she is soft, kind and caring, but fierce if she needs to be. Her storyline is quite boring though, nothing exciting has happened to her except being made a Fae or becoming a seer. 

She is also one of my favourite characters.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Azriel

At this point, who doesn't ship them? They are both quiet and a peaceful company, they know how to deal with people and whenever they speak, it's something smart coming out of their mouths. And their chemistry? I love it! It's so cute to read them interact even if it's for a paragraph or a sentence or even just sitting in the garden in silence, they go well together. 

Azriel was the only person who saw Elain. He was the only one who didn't believe she was going insane and was the person to realise she was a seer. He genuinely cares for her, like the time when Elain was taken away by the cauldron, he was the only one who thought of her and the one who wanted to go after her. They are so cute together.

Tamlin

I know this sounds ridiculous and it's a bad idea since Tamlin is one of the antagonists, but hear me out. They complement each other; for example, where Tamlin is hot-headed, Elain is calm and collected. Opposites attract. Even if they don't end up as a couple I think Elain could help Tamlin change and be a better man.

Sorry if this isn't a good enough explanation, I'm not good at expressing things.

Tarquin

I have no explanation for this I just ship them. Maybe it's because Tarquin is such a sweetheart just like the lovely Seer.

 My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Tamlin

If they don't end up together as a couple- which they 100% won't- I want them to cross paths one day and become friends after time. At first, they might be uncomfortable around each other after what Tamlin did to Feyre, but maybe Elain could help him change.

Lucien

If they decide not to accept the mating bond, I want them to be friends. It could also be strange at first, but they could overcome that and support each other whenever.

Tarquin

Imagine all the fun they would have. Tarquin could teach her how to swim and surf, they could build sandcastles on the beach. Elain could teach him gardening. So adorable!

My unpopular opinion about this character:

She should either go live in the Spring Court or the Summer Court. I believe she would fit those courts more than Night. One reason being the Inner Circle, they don't really care about her and they wouldn't let her stay with them if it wasn't for Feyre. They are also very toxic so... 🤷

Seeing as Elain is generally a bright person she would fit in better in more exotic courts. She could be around flowers and gardens in the Spring Court and have the time of her life sunbathing in the Summer court.

I know these aren't good reasons but I think anywhere is better than the Night Court.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon:

Something dangerous. 

She always wanted to travel the world, see new places and meet new people. What if she was caught by Koschei on her way to the Continent, and her family or Azriel were trying to save her.

While with Koschei, she finds out more about her powers and what the Cauldron turned her into. A witch. Just imagine what she could do with those powers.

ask for more characters here

#elain archeron #elain #azriel #tamlin #lucien #feyre #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court #a court of frost and starlight #sjm #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #anti inner circle #anti night court

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 31:  Lose the Battle, Win the War

He had been waiting for this day for over a year now. He'd been watching his cauldron and casting his spell for unpaid debts over and over again in anticipation of this precise moment. The moment Cora stood before an entire court of royals, held her baby up to them, and they bowed. It had been a couple of months since she'd had the child, he knew that. Of course, it would have been a sweet moment to arrive the very day she'd given birth to the girl and kill Cora then, but he'd decided this would be sweeter.

Let her see. Let her see exactly what she had traded him for, let her have exactly what she'd wanted and feel nothing for the heart that beat in her chest was no longer present! And then let her feel him crack those bones in her neck so that he might look into her eyes as it all faded away. That was what he'd wanted. Truly and more than anything else on this planet. He wanted to make her feel all the pain that she'd caused him, all the humiliation, all the foolishness. He wanted her to die knowing that he had won, that he had her child in his grasp, and she had nothing.

He waited, of course, until she and Prince Henry had returned to their own estate after the presentation. He hadn't had much choice. He'd set foot in Xavier's castle only once since Cora had dismissed him, and it was to check to see if that globe he'd seen in the library was still present. Not only had he learned it was gone, but he'd also learned that after the wedding, Cora had insisted upon further guards. The castle was crawling with them and as wonderful as it would be to kill her before them, it wouldn't have been smart. He needed access to her child, and if he did something so blatant, they would hide the girl away and protect her from him. He simply couldn't have that. So he let them think they were safe, he stayed far away until they returned to their private estate. Cora thought she was clever, placing the same spell on the Estate that he himself had placed over the King's Castle to ensure no one could hear their conversations. But even she could keep every mirror and reflective surface in the castle covered to shut him out completely. He might not have been able to hear because of her spell, but he'd watched as she'd grown pregnant and given birth. After the girl had been born, he'd watched as they traveled back to the King's castle for her Coronation Ceremony, the moment she was introduced, by name, to the Kingdom.

Regina. Her name was Regina, just as his foresight had told him. True, no sound came from the cauldron because of his spell, but he'd been able to recognize the name on Cora's lips the moment she held her up to greet the people. And so, the first born of Princess Cora was living, now it was his job to ensure that she studied and stay on the path that might lead her to magic. It was also his job to ensure that her mother never had any more children beyond her for no other purpose than the fact that he wanted her to suffer as he had.

On the night that they returned to their estate, he snuck inside. The property was quiet. He'd chosen this night in anticipation that the household, Cora included, might be tired from their travel. Obviously, he'd done a fair job of reassuring them that he no longer cared for Cora; otherwise, there would have been guards everywhere. As it was, when he entered the baby's nursery that night, he found only one maid sitting with the slumbering child as she read a book. A wave of his hand froze her before she could look up at him, and then he felt, tasted really, that familiar swell of Cora's magic. It came from a crystal he saw now, sitting at the other end of the room that glowed red for a brief moment before it died. Cora had given him up it seemed, but it also appeared she'd stayed actively engaged in her magical education. The crystal was a simple spell meant to sense Dark Magic like his own and alert the holder of a smaller piece crystal to its presence. Perhaps he hadn't done as well a job of chasing them off his scent as he thought he had. It appeared Cora, at least, knew he'd come. The Miller's Daughter was nothing if not clever. Always.

Sure enough, a few seconds after he stepped into the room and took the baby in his arms, the small flare of magic he felt was nothing compared to the wave that signified Cora's arrival. Not by a door or even a window, but by magic.

"You knew I'd come," he muttered, his back to her as he stared into the face of the sleeping babe. The Seer had nothing to say about it at the moment, but then at the moment, Regina was also entirely unremarkable. She was an ordinary babe as Baelfire had once been, turning her head into his chest as she slept on, seeking out any warmth the world had to offer. As a child, she could do nothing; it was as an adult that she would do everything.

"Somehow I knew you'd come lurking when she was born…though I did think it would be sooner than this," Cora stated behind him.

The room was dark other than the fire that highlighted small tufts of Regina's hair that he knew would fall out and someday become black as her mother's. She had that delicate look about her that all babies had, the small hands the rounded mouth the tiny toes and chubby arms that made them look like they were far more breakable than he'd learned they were when Baelfire was first born. But she didn't have the feel of being delicate. She had the feel of her mother. There was magic in this child, handed down from mother to daughter just as Cora's had been. It was a shame Cora had denied him. It would have been fun to see what kind of power Regina would be capable of if she had just a bit of his Darkness.

"Regina…I've been dying to know how you chose that name for her ever since I first saw it I my mind."

In his periphery vision, something finally moved, and he saw Cora, dressed in a fine gown circle around him and, after taking a look at the frozen maid, step up to the crib opposite him. Ever so calmly, Cora reached out and smoothed some of the blankets back off her daughter's face, ensuring she was still sleeping, he assumed. He let her, even moved forward a bit so that she could see it. It wasn't Regina who was in danger here; it was Cora. The witch had to know that.

"It means 'queen,'" she explained calmly. "I'm more determined now than I ever was that one day she will be Queen. She'll accomplish what I cannot."

"Queen?!" he joked. "You once said yourself that wouldn't happen without a lot of bloodshed."

"Not for me. I've accepted that. But for her…there is always more than one path to a final destination, Rumpelstiltskin…you taught me that."

"Yes, was that before or after you tore out your own heart to ensure your plans came true?" he inquired, finally looking up at her.

"Before," she stated plainly as if they'd just discussed how she took her tea and not the awfulness that occurred before she was wed. If not for the desire he had to reach out and rip her throat from her neck, he would have taken great joy in observing this moment for future reference. She'd torn her heart out, and if the look he was giving her now was any indication, she'd never put it back. There was nothing in her gaze. No hope, no longing, no fear, no inkling of the person she'd been before. That could sometimes happen with long-term heart removal, especially when practiced on oneself. If there was no one to tell the victim how to act, there was no veiling the symptoms. "What have you done to my daughter's maid?"

"Never you worry…she'll be fine once I wave my hand again. Though it is shocking that you show more panic for her than you do for your own flesh and blood. Perhaps I was lucky not to father a child with you if that is how you see your progeny."

"I'm not worried because I know you'd never hurt her," Cora sighed as if she was bored. "You need her too much."

Yes…that much was certain. Though he did feel a pain stab through his chest at the proclamation. He'd told her far too much in their time together.

"What are you doing here, Rumpelstiltskin?"

He sneered as he placed Regina back in the crib, she slept on, none the wiser that she'd ever been moved. "I've come to make good on my promise!"

Cora shook her head at him. "That deal is invalid," she argued. "She's not your child, Rumple, she belongs to Henry and to me! I was very careful to make sure of that!"

"This promise isn't the deal to which I'm referring, Dearie!" he muttered, stepping away from the bassinet. After all, he couldn't risk hurting the future queen now, could he? "It's a promise I made to myself that after the babe was born, you would feel my wrath for what you did in every bone of your body!"

He struck!

As he'd been talking he'd been gathering up magic and focusing it into his palm, now he let it grow into a ball of fire and tossed it quickly at Cora.

He had hoped to catch her by surprise, but before it could touch her heart and weaken her, she threw her own hand up, and he watched as the fire became water that sloshed down onto the rug.

But she didn't stop there! Before he could be disappointed, she threw a spell at him that had him flying back across the room. He hit hard on the wall and fell several feet with a great thud. A human would have needed time to recover, he didn't.

He waved his hand and covered Regina in a protective bubble, then cast a spell at the long mirror just behind Cora and watched as it cracked and splintered. Then one by one, he let the glass shards fly at her, aiming for soft spots, her eyes, her throat, her stomach, even her chest.

But her magic flared again, and the shards stopped only inches before her as though they were suddenly swimming in molasses. She held on tight, she struggled, her arms were up, her fingers spread as she cast her spells, her body was shaking from the energy as he continued to push those shards through her spells until-

Suddenly she gave up. She tucked and rolled and cried out as the tiny daggers whizzed passed her and imbedded themselves within the opposite wall. When she stood back up, she was bleeding. Her arm had taken several cuts and there was one on her cheek just under her eye. It was satisfying to see her bleed but not as satisfying as death!

She narrowed her gaze at him as the blood dripped from her arm.

"You said you loved me," she spat out.

"Love dies!" he shouted loud enough to wake the baby. Regina cried.

He braced himself for another spell and was preparing magic to counter act whatever she laid out for him. What he wasn't prepared for was her to run, to scream out and charge at him like a wild animal. Before he had time to act her body slammed into his own and pushed him. They fell, back through the balcony window, then with such force that they tripped and toppled over the balcony. The cuts he sustained on the back of his head were of little consequence as wind from the free fall whipped past him. He hadn't meant to save her, but she was still clinging to him and as they fell disappearing and reappearing at the edge of the property, away from any guards that might come to her aid had been instinctual. He tossed her away with force and quickly hardened the grass around them so that it created small piercing blades that he knew wouldn't kill but satisfied him when she screamed at the thousands of little punctures that now appeared on her body when she landed. She was a bloody mess as she stood up to face him. It wasn't as good as breaking every bone, but it came close.

"You foul brutish bastard!" she cried, before a ball of white and blue something flew at him. He moved around it easily. She was weakening. She may have been talented with her magic but she was still enough of a beginner that she couldn't beat him. He stepped up to grab her around the throat, but she slapped him. She slapped him so hard across the face his it made his ears ring and he bit his tongue so that he tasted blood.

Still, all he could do was laugh. A magical fight turned physical. That was all she had? That was all this mighty sorceress, this mistress of magic had up her sleeve to resort to? No more than a womanish slap? It was pathetic. And it gave him the perfect excuse to reach forward and wrap his hand tight around her neck. She shrieked before he squeezed and went rigid quickly, her back straight as he forced her to look him in the eye on tip-toe. Yes! This was the sweet justice he'd craved ever since that night so long ago!

"Is that how it's to be?" she asked in a small whispered voice. "You'll look into my eyes and kill me all the while seeing that soldier who made you kiss his boots in front of your son?"

Anger ran through his veins, and he fought to take deep breaths of cool air. He didn't want to think of their time together, of what they had discovered or what they had done or shared, but it was difficult when she reminded him of just how much of himself he'd bore to her. Never again. From this moment forth, there was only one person that mattered, and that was his son!

He jerked his elbow, bringing her forward so that they were nose to nose. "This time," he growled, "I'll see only you!"

But just as he finished his remark, he was shocked to find that she moved. Not backward, but forward. She slammed her mouth onto his, kissing him with a fierceness that she'd never had when she still possessed her heart. She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders, she forced his mouth open, she sucked so hard he felt as though his tongue was going to be ripped from his mouth. Her last ditch effort? He supposed. It had worked only in that it surprised him enough to let go of her throat, but everything that kiss wasn't reminded him why he couldn't let it distract him, and he pulled away from her with such a ferocity that their lips smacked.

"That won't work on me, dearie," he smiled through gritted teeth. "Your talents are naught without your heart behind them. I've won!" This time, when he took her neck in his hand, he made sure to step away and do it magically so she wouldn't get the chance to distract him once more. Only…

As she stood there, her back straight from being caught up in his magic a distance away, she suddenly smiled. Then she moved her head and spat something on the ground.

"You haven't," she smiled again. Her teeth were stained with red. Blood, he realized. But he hadn't…

"No!" he cried releasing her from her hold as a white sheet suddenly rose up into the air between the pair of them. To the left and to the right as far as the eye could see, it encircled the entire estate revealing the property line, and he realized only too late what she'd done. It wasn't her that had been bleeding. And she hadn't kissed him as a distraction she'd done it to get at the blood in his mouth. Now she wiped her mouth on her arm as she stared safely at him. He reached out to touch the white barrier, but transparent as it was he felt like he was pressing against hard stone. He threw a spell of fire at it, but the wall held. He tried to use his magic to strangle Cora once more! But it was useless. She'd cast a protection spell. A very specific, very powerful spell.

"A Blood Sealing!" he realized as the white faded to an invisible shield that remained.

"Made stronger by the banishment of your name…your true name…"

He watched helplessly from the other side as she pulled free a piece of paper from her bodice. It was dark, but his eyes could just make out her neat scrawl upon it spelling out his true written name… "L" before "e". After showing it to him, she breathed upon it until fire sparked and began to consume it, turning the parchment into nothing but black. She let it go and he watched as it drifted from her hand toward the barrier. When it touched that even the blackened bit burned until it was nothing.

It was done.

"The only way you'll ever get back in here is with a summons, and I'll be sure that never happens, even if it means I have to carve out the tongue and take the heart of every servant in this place," she snarled.

"You evil little witch!"

"Having magic doesn't make you evil, you told me that," she retorted with such calm that it was eerie. "I'm simply protecting what's mine. Regina is my daughter. Any magic she learns will be taught by me, not you. And one day…one day she will be Queen in this world. You taught me too well, darling. I've bested you. I've won."

"The battle, not the war!" he snarled stepped as close to the barrier as he could. He was inches from her. Only inches! He could smell her fucking perfume and see every freckle on her face, but he knew that if he reached out to try and kill her again, he'd come up empty-handed! It wasn't even worth the energy to try!

But what she didn't know was that after all this time, he had complete confidence in the vision he'd received. They'd tried to change fate once before, and they'd failed. He had no reason to think this would be any different!

"You forget that I have time and foresight on my side! You can't see what I can! I will have that child! I will have her to do my bidding. I will win! And I'll be sure she knocks you aside, never to see it, when I do! It'll make you wish you had never altered that agreement!"

Cora stared him down, unflinching, hiding safely behind her shield. Then she nodded.

"I wish you luck in that endeavor, my dear, but I have more important things to do than trouble myself with the ramblings of a monster who can't move on. I have a daughter to see to."

He didn't scream when she disappeared. He didn't rant or rave or make a scene. He knew any reaction he had would be useless out in the middle of nowhere with no one to hear.

Trust, he reminded himself instead. He had to have trust in the vision he'd seen, in the prophecy he'd heard. Blood Seals and Name Banishings could be broken by one simple thing. A summoning. She couldn't eliminate his name forever. He was too powerful. Someday, one word was all it would take; his name said three times, and the spell would break. And when it did he would be here again for the child, ready, prepared. He would do what he had to do to find Baelfire. He would win.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #rumpelstiltskin #rumplestiltskin #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Golden Heart #Regina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfic #fanfic

[peopleandrhythm]

Lost Episode: “Going in for the Kill”

Hello! In what is certainly a surprise twist for both you and me, I have returned to the People and Rhythm universe with what I am calling a “lost episode.” A “lost episode” is a full-length episode fic, written much in the same way as an episode in either season one or two of People and Rhythm, but it does not belong to either season, or (at this point) a new season of its own. It’s a stand-alone episode, longer than a deleted scene. This episodes doe contain characters introduced in season two of People and Rhythm, so it’s probably best be caught up before reading this. 

All that being said, I am extremely happy to be revisiting the fic that changed my life in untold ways, and hope you enjoy reading this episode.

Time: Sometime after 2x13

Alastair Duquesne doesn’t spend much time thinking about New Orleans. In fact, if he were to estimate, he would guess that he spends exactly no time thinking of the city to which he once made yearly pilgrimages. Now that Klaus Mikaelson and his entire wretched family has resumed running through the sunken streets of the city, Alastair chooses not to dwell on the seething rage he feels over the Originals’ triumph. Once the little Mikaelson witch bitch freed her father from the wall and Alastair made his escape, he made the decision to move on, to live to fight another day.

That is, until he was forcibly reminded of his evil sire at a pub in the south of Wales. He’s meeting a friend for a pint before a night of ambling through the streets of Swansea, looking for a vein to tap. He’s distracted from his tankard by a conversation his vampire senses overhear from the back of the pub.

“…trip to New Orleans. City’s turned itself around.”

The voice belongs to an American, by the sounds of it, and Alastair shifts just slightly to focus better. 

“That one chap still in charge?” the American’s friend asks. “What’s his name…Mark?”

“Marcel?” Alastair’s interest is certainly piqued now. “Only in charge of the vampires. No, get this: the city has a queen.”

The friend scoffs. “A queen? Of a city? You Americans don’t do things halfway, do you?”

“She’s just a kid, too, maybe eighteen? A Mikaelson, of course.”

“Yeah, I heard of her. What do they call her? The tribrid?”

Alastair freezes. The witch bitch.

“I guess. They say she’s doing an alright job. A little rocky at first, but things seems to be going okay. Wasn’t the all-out war that I remember from two decades ago, at least.”

“Bloody hell.” The friend takes a swig of his stout and sighs. “And after all that, Klaus Mikaelson gets everything he wanted. Aye, what a shame.”

“Yes,” Alastair breathes, bringing his own glass to his lips. “What a shame, indeed.”

  “Will you hold still?”

Hope’s got a pair of scissors in her hand, hovering just above her father’s head. They stare at each other in a mirror, a silent stand-off.

“I don’t see why have to be your guinea pig,” Klaus whines. “Your uncle Elijah—”

“Wouldn’t let me near his hair with a ten-foot pole, and rightly so,” Hope snarks back. “His hair looks fantastic.”

Klaus’s jaw drops in offense, but before he can retort, a head pokes into the studio door. “Vincent’s downstairs.”

Hope sighs and drops the shears onto a table. “I thought the meeting was at eleven.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Hayley shrugs. “Looks like he wants to move it up an hour. You can torture your father later.”

Klaus leaps out of the chair, smoothing his curls down. “Yes, well, I suppose you’d best run along to your meeting, luv, don’t want to keep our regent waiting.”

Hope narrows her eyes. “I’m cutting your hair today, Dad. You’re not wriggling out of this one.”

Klaus merely smiles in triumph and gestures with one arm toward the door.

When Hope reaches the courtyard, she finds Vincent next to the fountain, toe tapping. When he sees her approaching, he takes a step forward. “You heard anything from the ancestors today?”

Hope quirks an eyebrow. “I hear from the ancestors every day, Vincent. That’s kind of the problem.” She jerks her head toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll brew some tea.”

Vincent follows her. As she puts the kettle on the stove, he asks, “Do you know of a Seer named Ivy?”

“Hm…doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She’s got a stall down in the Cauldron. Tourists love her, mostly because she’s the best damn tarot reader in all nine covens.”

A small smile spreads across Hope’s face. “Vincent…do you like this woman?”

That throws him for a loop. “Do I—can we focus please?” Hope shrugs. “She was doin’ a card read this morning and she got…” He trails off.

“She got what? C’mon Vincent, you know I’m not as well-versed in tarot as I should be.”

“Maybe you should study more.”

“Maybe you should lecture me later and tell me about Ivy’s reading now.” She leans against the counter, arms crossed.

“Fine. She got the Tower, the Emperor reversed, and…Judgment.”

Hope’s brow furrows as she racks her brain for the meanings of these cards. “I know the Tower. That’s a sudden upheaval.” Vincent nods. “I can’t remember the reversal of the Emperor card.”

“Tyranny,” Vincent supplies. “And Judgement?”

“Judgement is…” Realization dawns on her face as the kettle begins its shrill whistle. “A reckoning.”

Vincent’s face is impassive. “Now who’s a tyrant we know who may be overdue for a sudden reckoning?”

When Alastair Duquesne walks through the Cauldron, he wrinkles his nose at the overwhelming number of scents. Incense, sage, candles, homebrews—he’s assaulted by smells from all sides, and he’s reminded once again of why he hates cavorting with witches.

He can’t find the face he’s looking for, so eventually he gives up and taps on the shoulder of a stall girl whose last customer is walking away. “Excuse me.”

She turns, surprised. “What can I get you?”

“Do you know someone by the name of Theo LeRoy?”

Surprise blooms on her face. “Theo? You lookin’ for Theo?” He nods. “Sorry, but she’s been locked up for…oh, ‘bout a year now.”

Now it’s Alastair’s turn to look surprised. “Locked up? She’s in prison?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The woman cocks her head to the side. “You look familiar. How do you know Theo?”

“We…had a mutual understanding last year. A common enemy, you might say. I was hoping to work with her again to defeat that enemy.”

The woman smirks. “I think I can help you out. I’m Leanne.” She sticks out her hand.

He takes it. “Alastair Duquesne.”

Klaus wanders through Jackson Square, hands in his pockets, silently observing the street artists around him—trumpeters, spray painters, breakdancers. He’s trying to keep himself occupied; he may refuse to admit it, even to himself, but without a war bubbling under the surface of New Orleans’s supernatural society, he finds himself with little to do. Since he promised his daughter he would refrain from causing unnecessary trouble, here he is, bored and restless.

He stops near a canvas, and the young woman with loose curls dabbing her brush against it. She’s painting the square, and its myriad colors and textures. He finds himself particularly impressed by her rendition of a guitarist a few dozen yards away, and the yellow dog curled up at his feet. After a few minutes of observation, he feels a presence beside him. “She’s good.”

Klaus’s eyes dart to the side. The woman looks vaguely familiar, and judging by the confident set of her shoulders, he’s going to guess she’s a witch. “Can I help you?”

“I’m a friend of Theo LeRoy’s,” she begins. “Leanne. You probably don’t remember me.”

Klaus’s head turns glacially to look at her. His smile is sardonic. “Sorry. I don’t remember unremarkable people.”

Leanne lets that go. “Theo would have made an excellent leader in New Orleans—you know, before your daughter stole the Advocacy from her.”

“From what I understood, your ancestors thought Theo LeRoy underqualified to play the role of Advocate, and selected my daughter instead. I hardly see how Hope is to blame for the whims of dead witches.”

With a little shrug, Leanne says, “Perhaps. Still, Hope is out here, ruling this city like a queen, while Theo rots in an abandoned motel prison, alone and powerless.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “And why exactly are you whinging at me? I’m not going to ask my daughter to release Theo LeRoy; she tried to kill Hope, and even if she hadn’t, I don’t care.”

“I don’t need you to ask your daughter anything,” Leanne says. A ghost of a smile appears on her face. “I just need you to kill her.” And before Klaus can react, she snaps her fingers, and his head twists horribly to the side, neck instantly snapped.

Hope steps out of her car, phone pressed to her ear. “Okay, Riv, where exactly are you?” She listens, and then looks back at her car. “I don’t know, on the side of a street?” A pause. “Okay, not to sound like a bitch, but have you seen the suits Elijah wears? I don’t care about a parking ticket.” 

She listens some more, and then says, “God, why is this campus so confusing? And why are there so many quads?” She looks around. “Okay, I think you’re just around the corner from here. I should be there in a few. Love you!” She hangs up.

She walks down Freret Street and spies a break between two buildings. “Shortcut!” she sings to herself, and ducks between the brick walls. Her steps echo on the concrete, but then she hears it: a second pair of footsteps. She turns, confused, and suddenly there’s a loud clanking sound, followed by a heavy weight around her wrists. She looks down, bewildered, to see a pair of rusty manacles clasped around her arms, and then looks back up. Stunned, she says, “Dominic?”

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” the witch from the Ninth says with a smirk. “Your Excellency is needed elsewhere.”

And then the world goes black.

Klaus thrashes against his chains to no avail. Whatever crypt he’s being held in is macabrely decorated, with a plethora of lit candles and jars full of untold substances. His breath is coming in angry huffs as a sharp creak alerts him to someone entering. “I’ll tear your limbs off,” he threatens Leanne before she’s even in view. 

But she’s not alone. Klaus sets his jaw. “Alastair. Long time.”

“Not nearly long enough,” Alastair replies. “Though I did come to visit you, several times during your…down period. Pity we couldn’t speak. I heard you were a little…tied up.”

Klaus is unamused. “What are you doing in my city?”

Alastair takes a few long, casual strides about the crypt, glancing interestedly at the items on the walls. “Is it still your city, Klaus? From what I’ve heard, the great Klaus Mikaelson has been waylaid by his own teenaged daughter.” He turns his head to smirk at Klaus. “Not quite the formidable tyrant we once were, are we?”  

Klaus bites the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t give Alastair the reaction he’s looking for. “I suggest you keep all mention of my daughter off of your despicable tongue, Alastair, lest you find yourself losing it.”

Alastair saunters closer and leans in so his face is inches from his sire’s. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what you are about to lose.” Klaus’s face becomes drawn, but he doesn’t respond. “Do you remember what you did to me?”

Jutting his chin out, Klaus responds, “Oh, it’s so hard to remember our wayward youths, isn’t it? You’ll have to remind me.”

“You turned me into a vampire and compelled to kill my wife and child,” Alastair snarls, all pretense of nonchalance gone. “You destroyed my life for a laugh.”

“Ah,” Klaus breathes. “Now I remember. She was pretty, your little wife. Shame you tore her to pieces like that.”

Alastair swallows thickly. “Well, shame you’re going to the same to your daughter.”

The blood vanishes from Klaus’s face. “I would never.”

“You won’t have a choice,” Leanne interjects, and Klaus’s eyes snap to hers, blazing. “You like that, don’t you? Taking people’s choices away?”

Klaus jerks at his chains, but they don’t budge. “If you touch a single hair on my daughter’s head—”

Leanne throws up her hands. “I don’t plan on doing a thing to Hope.” She reaches behind her back and pulls out a familiar object: a long, dark stake with dozens of tiny skulls carved into one end, their eye sockets gleaming blood red. “We’ll leave that up to you.”

You have reached the voicemail box of: Hope Mik—

“Ugh!” River groaned, hanging up again. She wanders up West, head swiveling as she looks for her girlfriend. “An hour late,” she grumbles to herself. “How lost can she be?”

She takes a left onto Freret, and just up the road she can see Hope’s car, a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. “I told her so,” River mumbles, and she approaches the car. There’s no sign of Hope around. She turns to head back to the quad, but then catches a whiff of something familiar in the air. She follows the scent, and it leads her between two brick buildings. There’s nothing there, just a narrow alleyway that leads to an open area behind the buildings. She’s turning to head back to the car when something catches her eye. She bends down and picks up a familiar piece of jewelry: a necklace with the Mikaelson crest on it—a gift from Elijah for Hope’s last birthday.

In a flash, River’s phone is in her hand. “Hayley, you need to come to campus right now. I think…I think someone took Hope.”

The chains must be spelled, because Klaus is exerting every ounce of force he has in an attempt to break free. He hasn’t seen a cursed stake like this since one nearly killed his sister over fifteen years ago. “Where did you get that?” he growls.

Leanne strokes the stake almost sensually. “When the Strix left town all those years ago, they left some things behind. And the witches of New Orleans are not ones to pass up an opportunity like this.”

“So this is your plan?” Klaus turns back to Alastair. “Stake me with that, have me attack my own daughter? Is this your retribution for a crime committed centuries ago?”

“Well…yes,” Alastair says simply. “You forced me to murder my own child, and now I’m returning the favor.”

Klaus opens his mouth to retort, but he has no words to spit back in Alastair’s face. There is no posturing, no grandstanding that’s going to fix this. If they stake him with the Strix’s cursed stake, he’ll rapidly become the killing machine he used to pride himself on being. And if Hope were anywhere near him…

“Kill me,” he says, bravado evaporated. “Bring me to Marcel and let him bite me, but kill me and leave my daughter alone.”

“Fatherhood does that to you,” Alastair says softly. “Reframes everything, makes you never have to think twice about laying down your own life for your child’s. It’s chilling, isn’t it? How easily you’d die for her?” Klaus doesn’t answer, so Alastair continues, “Don’t worry. You won’t have too long to mourn what you’ve done. Once she’s dead, you’ll follow soon after.”

“He’s got her.” Both Klaus and Alastair look at Leanne, who in turn is looking at her phone. “She’s all tied up and waiting for her father to come tear her to shreds.”

Alastair’s answering smile sends a chill up Klaus’s spine.

“Anything?” Hayley asks, pacing a hole in the floor of the study.

Freya shakes her head, which is still bent over the map of New Orleans, Hayley’s blood puddled uselessly in the middle of the French Quarter. “They’re getting even better at cloaking her.”

River’s curled up on one of the couches, tucked in to Rebekah’s side. “This is my fault.”

“You hush,” Rebekah says, rubbing her hand up and down River’s arm comfortingly. “You didn’t take her.”

“I asked her to come meet me, I was the reason she was even there—”

Elijah strides into the room, tapping on his phone. “Niklaus still isn’t answering.”

“Do we think they’ve both been taken?” Rebekah asks.

Hayley makes a face. “It’s not easy to get the drop on Klaus.”

“Unless…” Everyone turns to look at Freya. “What’s the only thing that could lure Klaus into a trap?”

There’s a beat, then River says slowly, “So someone kidnapped Hope to get to Klaus?”

Hayley’s eyes slide shut. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

River jolts with a sudden memory. “Vincent.”

Confused, Freya says, “What about Vincent?”

“He came to see Hope this morning. He told her something…something big, I guess. She wanted to tell me about it when we met up, but obviously…”

“She never got the chance.” Elijah resumes scrolling through his phone, and taps on Vincent’s contact. He presses the device to his ear, and a moment later says, “We need you here. Now.”

­­­­­­­­

When Hope comes to, she’s in a dimly lit room, with no windows and one heavy metal door. If she had to guess, she was somewhere in the catacombs of New Orleans, in one of the witches’ infinite hideouts. She can barely see her hand in front of her face, but judging by the horrible metal jangling she hears every time she moves, she’s still chained up by the cursed manacles that prevent her from doing magic. Groaning in frustration, she awkwardly pats her pockets in search of her cell phone, but it’s gone—not like she would get reception down there anyway.

She clumsily pushes herself to her feet, her body aching. She paces along the back wall of the room; it’s a small space, maybe ten feet or so wide. She starts to walk up one side wall, but then stumbles over something large on the ground—a body.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, and she kneels down to inspect the person on the ground. The lack of movement tells her that whoever it is, they’re unconscious—or worse. It’s so dark she can barely make out the shape, but when her fingers touch curls at the top of the person’s head—too long, in desperate need of a haircut—she chokes back a sob. “Dad?”

Klaus doesn’t respond.

Hope’s breath is coming quick and shallow, but when she recognizes the vague shape of something long and thin protruding from her father’s chest, she leaps on it, yanking the stake from his heart and tossing it to the side.

“Wake up,” she pleads, shaking his shoulders. “Please, Dad, wake up.”

When Vincent arrives, he’s not alone. Just behind him is a beautiful woman with large eyes and flowing dark hair. The pair steps into the empty courtyard. “Hello?” Vincent calls, voice echoing against the brick and stone.

“What did you tell her?”

Vincent and his guest twist their heads up to see Hayley on the balcony above, face taut. She leaps over the rail and lands in front of them, as easily as taking a step. “Someone took my daughter, and if has anything to do with what you told her this morning, I will kill you.”

Vincent runs a tired hand over his face. “Hayley, look—”

“What did you tell her?” There’s poison in Hayley’s voice. Suddenly Elijah is there, just behind her, to put a hand on her shoulder.

“He told her of my reading,” the woman offers. She steps forward. “My name is Ivy, and I’m a Seer. This morning I was doing a tarot reading, and what I saw…I told Vincent, and he warned Hope.”

Hayley opens her mouth hotly, but Elijah cuts across her. “Please tell us what you read, Ivy.” Hayley closes her mouth.

“The three cards were the Tower, the Emperor reversed, and Judgement.”

“So it is about Klaus.” Freya’s coming down the stairs, Rebekah and River right behind her. “Whoever took Hope did so to get to her father.”

Quietly, Elijah says, “Please explain, sister.”

But Freya nods to Ivy, who continues, “These cards mean sudden upheaval, tyranny, and reckoning.”

“That certainly sounds like our Nik,” Rebekah says, but there’s no humor in her voice. “What are we going to do about it?”

“These cards couldn’t be any more specific?” Hayley snaps.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy says, and there’s an earnestness in her voice that Hayley can’t ignore. “Tarot is about patterns, themes, general things to be aware of. They’re not visions. I don’t get details.”

Hayley runs her hand through her hair, nerves frayed. “Okay, what’s our game plan?”

“She’s being cloaked, so either she was taken by witches or by someone with witch help,” Freya says.

Vincent nods. “I’ll start asking questions.”

“I’ll do another reading,” Ivy offers. “I can’t make any promises, but maybe I’ll get something helpful.”

“I’ll head to some vampire hangouts,” Hayley snarls, already halfway out the door.

“Right behind you,” Rebekah calls.

In a blink, everyone’s off to their tasks, and River is left alone, staring hopelessly at the bubbling fountain.

Hope bangs against the metal door, but it’s useless. “Help!” she calls out of the small, barred opening in the door. “Help!” But the only response is her own echo.

She hears a low groan behind her, and she whips around. “Dad!” She’s back on her knees, by his side. “Dad, you’re okay.”

“Hope…” He lugs himself up onto one arm. “…you have to get out of here…”

“We’re trapped,” she said. “The door is spelled. There is no getting out of here.”

Klaus is silent, but one hand comes up to feel the hole in his shirt where the stake once protruded.

“I took it out,” Hope clarifies. “It wasn’t white oak, so you should be fine.”

“You should have left it in.” Klaus climbs to his feet and stalks to the door, slamming his fist against it. It doesn’t budge.

Still on the floor, Hope’s confused. “Leave it in? Why?”

But Klaus doesn’t answer. Instead he yanks repeatedly on the bars of the little window, trying to dislodge them.

“Dad?”  He keeps tugging on the bars, so Hope stands and puts a hand on his arm in an attempt to still him. “Dad, what—”

Klaus shakes her off violently, and whips his head to snap at her. “You need to stay away from me.”

Hope’s eyes go wide as she stumbles back. She’s never seen her father this angry—at least, not at her. There’s fury in his eyes, but even in the dim light, she can see something else—fear?

“What’s happening?”

He gives up on removing the bars, and slumps against the door. Hand on his face, he murmurs, “Hope…”

Hope notices something reflecting the little light from the lit candles outside the door. “Dad, there’s something on your arm.”

Klaus lifts his arm up to inspect it. Glowering back at him on his skin is a raised, pale skull.

Marcel steps into Rousseau’s, nodding to Amaya behind the bar. He slides onto the stool and asks her, “Busy day?”

“Not too bad,” she answers with an easy smile. “My shift ends soon, hoping to have some time to catch up with Freya.”

“How’re things going with you two?” Marcel probes as she pours him a glass of bourbon.

“Good. She’s a great teacher if you need a crash course in the supernatural world of New Orleans.”

“You could definitely do worse.” Marcel takes a sip. There a raucous laugh from somewhere behind him, and Amaya looks over, frowning. Setting the glass down, Marcel asks, “Got some rowdy customers?”

“Just some guy celebrating something,” she sighs, and she gestures toward the customer in question. Marcel turns, and is surprised to see Alastair Duquesne, seated a table with several other customers, surrounded by empty pint glasses.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Marcel breathes.

Amaya’s brow furrows. “You know him?”

“Sure do.” Marcel turns back around and downs the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. Then he stands and grabs two things out of his pocket: a twenty-dollar bill and his cell. He passes the bill to Amaya and says, “Keep the change. I gotta deal with this.” And then he heads out of the bar, already dialing.

“What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” Klaus insists, inspecting the walls for a weak spot and avoiding Hope’s gaze.

Hope clenches her jaw. “You’re right. It’s perfectly normal so sprout scars that look like skulls on your arm. My mistake.”

“You know, Hope, now isn’t the most convenient time for your particular brand of sardonic wit.”

“Now also isn’t the most convenient time for you to lie to me. I can’t help us if I don’t know what’s going on.”

For the first time, Klaus notices the clanking metal that follows Hope whenever she moves. “What is that?”

“Dark Object chains. They’re preventing me from doing magic.”

Klaus is in front of her in a blink. He grasps the iron and attempts to yank it apart, but it’s just as stubborn as the door. “They’ve been spelled on.”

“I would’ve guessed.”

Klaus’s nostrils flare, but he moves on. “We have to get you out of here, immediately.” He returns to the walls, feeling around.

Hope’s voice is quiet when she asks, “What does the skull mean, Dad?”

Klaus stops, braces himself against the wall with one arm, and hangs his head. Still not looking at her, he says, “Do you remember the hex that your mother had to have siphoned out of your aunt Rebekah?”

“Yes.”

“A stake just like the one you pulled out of me is what infected her with that hex.”

Hope stays quiet, trying to remember what her mother told her about Rebekah’s curse all those years ago. “That hex…it made her…violent, didn’t it?”

Klaus doesn’t answer.

“Okay…” She bends down to pick up the stake again. This time she notices that at the hilt, dozens of creepy skulls have been carved into the wood. “What if I stake you again?”

Finally, Klaus looks at her. “What?”

Hope shrugs. “It’s a stake. Cursed or not, it’ll knock you out, at least for a little while, won’t it?”

There’s a long pause, then Klaus steps over to her, places his hands on either side of her face, and kisses her forehead. “No matter what your mother says, you got your brains from me.” He wraps his hand around hers over the stake and gently moves the wood against his chest. “Best do it quick, then, luv.”

Hopes nods and takes a deep breath. Then, screwing her eyes shut, she presses hard with all her might, shoving the stake into her father’s heart. He gasps slightly, and when she finally pries her eyes open, a grayness is creeping up his face. He falls to the ground, dead.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, moving quickly to the door. “Out of here, gotta get out of here…”

She tries whacking her manacles against the metal door frame, hoping to cracked the rusted iron, but it’s fruitless. She inspects the door and the walls around it for any sigil or sign of what kind of magic is keeping them spelled in, but either there’s nothing to find or it’s too dark for her to see it. With a frustrated groan, she kicks the door, immediately regretting it; she hops on one foot, cursing under her breath, until a cracking sound distracts her from the throbbing in her toe. She turns to see her father slowly pulling the cursed stake out of his chest.

“Guess that didn’t work,” Hope sighs, but instead of replying, Klaus tosses the stake aside and pushes himself to his feet. Slowly, he turns to face his daughter—and ice rushes down Hope’s spine as she sees cold, black eyes staring unblinking back at her.

Marcel’s steps echo off the stone in the compound. “Klaus!” 

“He’s not here.” Elijah descends the stairs, approaching Marcel with long strides. “He and his daughter are both missing.”

That stops Marcel short. “Hope’s gone?” Elijah nods. “Then my news is definitely important.”

“What news, Marcel?”

“I just spotted Alastair Duquesne in Rousseau’s, having himself a party of one.”

Elijah’s brow furrows as he racks his memory. “Duquesne…Scottish fellow?”

“Yeah, he was one of the vamps who organized the yearly celebration of Klaus’s sirelings.”

Elijah’s voice turns light and airy. “Oh yes, that quaint tradition developed while you held my brother bricked in a wall, I’m quite familiar.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “If he’s in town, it can only mean one thing. He’s looking to get his revenge on Klaus, and probably on Hope, too, since she’s the one who sprung him from that wall.”

“And what exactly did my dear brother do to inspire retribution from Mr. Duquesne?”

“Turned him into a vampire and forced him to kill his entire estate, including his wife and child.”

Elijah’s face blooms in surprise. His eyes stare a thousand miles away, and his voice is a hoarse whisper when he says, “Marcellus, do you remember when I taught you Italian using Dante’s Commedia?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Do you remember the concept of contrapasso?”

“Yeah, it’s the idea that your punishment in Hell must be a reflection of the sin that landed you there.” As he says it, the realization hits him. “Jesus Christ.”

Elijah grows impossibly pale. “He’s going to make him kill his own daughter.”

“Dad…” Hope backs up slowly, only creating a few feet of distance between them before her back hits the corner. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Hope. Your daughter.” 

“Do you know what my first instinct was when I found out about you?” Klaus sounds wrong, like it’s someone else’s voice coming out of his mouth. “I wanted to rip you out of your whore mother and kill you both.”

Hope flinches, but tries to calm her shaky voice, “Dad, this isn’t you, this is the hex—”

“A lesson from father to daughter…” He takes a threatening step forward. “Always trust your instincts.”

He lunges, and Hope shrinks down with a shriek. The sound echoes terribly in the tiny room, and Klaus jerks to a halt, eyes suddenly clear. He looks down in horror at his daughter’s curled, trembling body, and in a flash he throws himself into the opposite corner, as far from her as he can get.

“Hope,” he rasps, “Hope, I’m so sorry.”

Hope claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her dry sob, then claws her way up the wall. “It’s okay,” she breathes, and she’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. “It’s okay.”

“Hope, the longer this goes on, the less control I’ll have over myself. You have to get out.”

“I can’t.” Hope’s voice is edged with desperation. “Without my magic I’m useless.”

“You’ve always been useless.” His voice is wrong again, and Hope’s heart stops. “Always the family burden. How many times have we had to save you from this threat or that?” She can’t see more than the outline of him, but he’s approaching slowly. “How many times have we laid our lives on the line for you?”

“Dad, please—”

And then he’s on her, gripping her upper arms so tightly that she feels the bone fracture, and she yelps in pain. “Don’t call me that,” he snarls viciously. “You’re not my child, you’re a mistake I made one night over too much whiskey.”

“You’re my dad,” she snaps, even though her throat is thick with tears. “You’re my dad, and you love me.” His face is inches from hers, twisted and unrecognizable. “You love me so much you sacrificed years of your life to keep me safe! You love me so much you faked my own death when I wasn’t even twenty-four hours old! You sent me to hide with Rebekah and let the world think you were grieving me! You don’t make sacrifices like that for someone unless you love them more than you love yourself!”

“Perhaps I’ve sacrificed too much,” Klaus hisses. “Perhaps it’s time I reclaimed my life from the curse you’ve put on it.” He pulls her closer and slams her back against the wall, and the breath whooshes out of her body.

Hope manages to squeeze her hands up between their bodies and shoves him with all her might. He stumbles back, and it’s enough for her to break free from his grip and dart to the other side of their prison. When she turns back to look at him, he seems shaken by the shove, and he blinks at her. His eyes are shining, and she knows her father is back. “Hope…” His voice is so small she can barely hear him.

She doesn’t know what to say. She just stares at him, tears flowing silently down her face.

Elijah finds Freya and Vincent up in the clock tower, both of them bent over another map of the Quarter, chanting low and in sync. “Anything?”

Freya’s eyes flash up and, without stopping her chant, shakes her head.

“Vincent, what do you know of Alastair Duquesne?”

That gets the witches to stop. “Alastair Duquesne? He was some dick vampire who’d come ‘round once a year with all the others to party over the fall of Klaus Mikaelson. Why?”

“He’s back in town, and Marcel and I believe…” He swallows thickly, and his voice drops low. “We believe he intends to have Klaus murder Hope.”

Freya covers her mouth with a hand, her entire body shaking. Vincent’s face is ashen. “What do we need to do?”

“Tell me everything you know about Duquesne,” Elijah says urgently. “Anything you can remember.”

“Can’t remember much, man, I never really knew him. He’d roll up to town with his posse of ancient vamp friends, they’d feed on locals, tourists, and skip out after a few days, leave the rest of us to clean up his mess. The last time he was in town…” Vincent quirks an eyebrow. “Last time he was in town, Hope was in the process of breakin’ her dad outta Marcel’s little prison. Marcel ‘n’ I had to fight all of ‘em off so she could do her thing. He left as soon as Klaus was freed.” 

“Did he have any allies, anyone in the city willing to give him aid?”

Vincent snaps his fingers. “Theo LeRoy.”

Freya lowers her hand. “But Theo’s in the Penitentiary.”

Vincent shakes his head. “They were working together. I know where Theo used to hole up, plan her dirty work. Plenty of places for him to stash a vampire and a tribrid.”

Elijah’s already turned for the door, phone in hand as he searches for Hayley’s contact. “Let’s go.”

“Hope, I need you to find a way to kill me.”

Hope shakes her head vigorously, face still streaked with tears. “I can’t,” she breathes. “I can’t, I can’t…”

Klaus feels it, the white-hot rage bubbling under his skin. He’s on a tightrope, one breath away from teetering over the edge and out of control. “The things I say when I…” He swallows thickly. “They’re not real. You are the most important thing in a thousand years. The only important thing.”

With a sniff, Hope whispers, “I know.”

She wipes at her face and stands up, still shaken but resolved. “How are we getting out of here?”

Klaus’s heart is a chasm, yawning and deep. “I don’t know,” he admits, and the truth has never felt so sharp.

Vincent stops before a nondescript door in an alley off Ursulines. Elijah wrenches it open to reveal a dark, narrow set of stairs leading underground. Before he can take a step, he feels a new presence at his side.

“I’m going first,” Hayley says, no room for debate in her tone.

Still, Elijah says, “This could be a trap.”

Hayley doesn’t repeat herself. Instead, she pushes her way past Elijah and disappears down the stairs. Elijah sighs, but follows half a second later.

Once they’re in the tunnels, the sound of Vincent and Freya’s footsteps echoing above them as they descend as well, Hayley closes her eyes and breathes in. “I can smell her,” she murmurs. “I can smell her fear.” And she’s off, Elijah barely able to keep up.

“Dad?” Hope says into the dark.

“Yes, my littlest wolf?” They’re as far apart as physically possible, crammed into their respective corners.

“I just want you to know…whatever…whatever happens…”

“Don’t talk like that,” Klaus cuts her off, his voice edged with panic. “Don’t…you’re going to be fine.”

Hope presses on, “Whatever happens, I don’t regret any of it. All of the choices I’ve made, all of the choices you made…they gave us what time we had together, and I will never regret that.”

There’s a long silence, and then a cold voice responds, “I know a thing or two about regret.” Hope’s eyes slid shut, and tears fall anew. “I regret every minute wasted protecting you. The tribrid…” Klaus’s voice turns mocking. “Descendant of all three magical species and yet you’re comprised of the worst parts of each…” He starts to prowl toward her. “The weakness of the witch…the irrationality of the wolf…the arrogance of the vampire…”

Arrogance sparks something in Hope’s mind. “Is this really going to be the thing that defeats you? The great Klaus Mikaelson, the thing that monsters have nightmares about, this is what’s going to bring you down? Some chintzy stake and a hex?” Klaus pauses. “You’re going to let…to let some enemy force you to do something? Force you to kill the person you love most? You’re not even going to fight it?”

She blinks, and Klaus is looming over her, fangs gleaming in the dim light. “Why would I fight this? I’ve been dreaming of draining you dry since before you were born. I bet you taste glorious…”

His hand tangles in her hair and wrenches her head to the side, exposing her neck.

Her shriek is deafening. Just as the teeth sink into her sink, she breathes, “Daddy, please.”

And the teeth are gone, and Hope is crumpling to the ground. Klaus stumbles back into the middle of the room, eyes wide. He looks at his daughter, shaking and bleeding, and without saying a word, reaches up, places one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head, and snaps his own neck.

Hayley and Elijah freeze, the sound of Hope’s scream reverberating in their bones. Vincent and Freya manage to catch up, both winded.

“It came from this way.” Hayley points down a dark corridor in the labyrinthine tunnel system, and they take off. In a beat, they’re at a metal door. The vampires can hear Hope’s heartbeat, fast as a hummingbird’s wing. Hayley yanks on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

“Let me.” Freya steps in front of the door and places her hand on the metal. Vincent joins her, and the two bow their heads. After a few moments of murmuring, the door creaks—it’s open.

Hayley whips the door to the side and is shocked to see Klaus’s unconscious body collapsed on the ground, head contorted at a gruesome angle. Her eyes dart to the corner, where Hope sits, arms around her knees, her own eyes locked on her father.

“Hope.” Hayley rushes to her daughter, wrapping her arms around her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Hope doesn’t answer.  

Elijah steps carefully into the room, bends down, and picks up the stake. “Sister.”

Freya takes the stake Elijah extends to her. She nods. “You get him in a car. Looks like we’re taking a road trip.”

One arm still tucked around Hope’s shoulders, Hayley gently eases Hope to her feet. “It’s okay,” she whispers, kissing Hope’s head as she leads the way out of the tiny prison. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Hope is curled up on a sofa in the library, staring into the lit fireplace, unblinking. She’s got a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but despite the heat, she feels ice in her veins. Absentmindedly, she rubs at her wrists, where the phantom feeling of clanging metal still lingers; she’s all healed up, even the fractured bones in her arms, but the ache remains.

There’s a rapping of knuckles on wood behind her, and she starts, head twisting around in a snap. Stars burst in her eyes as they adjust from the warm glow of the fire to the darkness in the hall.

River’s leaning against the doorframe, and she frowns in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hope shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Her voice is raspy; she hasn’t used it in hours. “Come on in.”

River gently settles beside her girlfriend, raising a hand hesitantly to rest on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Hope’s back to staring into the fire. “Have you ever had so many thoughts going on at one time that it’s like you’re not having any thoughts at all?”

“…No?”

“Well, that’s pretty much where I’m at.”

“That sounds…shitty.” River sets her chin atop her hand on Hope’s shoulder. “I���m so sorry for what happened to you.”

“I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, and to feel that way about my dad…” She trails off before scrubbing at her eyes. “Is it dumb if I feel guilty?”

River’s face twists with confusion, but it’s Hayley who speaks from the doorway. “What on earth do you feel guilty about?”

Hope doesn’t meet her mother’s eyes as she sits on the opposite sofa. “If I weren’t here…no one would be able to use me to get to Dad. To hurt him. I wouldn’t be his weakness.”

Hayley reaches across to grab her daughter’s hand. “Hope…that’s just what being a parent is. From the minute you were born it was like…someone had torn my heart out of my chest, and it was just…out there, in the world, for anyone to take or to tear apart.” She squeezes Hope’s hand. “You are the greatest joy in your dad’s life. I knew him before you were born, and let me tell you, he needed some joy in his life.”

That cracks a smile onto Hope’s face, and she wipes at her eyes again. “How is he?”

Settling back on her sofa, Hayley says, “I just got off the phone with Elijah. It took some convincing, but they got Caroline Forbes and Alaric Saltzman to agree to let their girls siphon the hex out of your dad. He’s all fixed up.”

“So they’re on their way back?” Hope asks.

Hayley hesitates. “Elijah and Freya are, yes.”

Hope curls in on herself. “He’s not coming home?”

Hayley stands and moves to sit on the other side of Hope, pulling her daughter into her chest. “Oh Hope…your dad just needs some time to…” She sighs. “I don’t know. But he promised he wouldn’t be gone for long.”

“He’s avoiding me.”

And Hayley doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to refute the truth, so she says, “I’m so sorry, Hope.”

Quietly, River asks, “Did they catch who did this?”

“Alastair Duquesne was being helped by two witches, Leanne and Dominic.” Hope sits upright, surprised. “They’re in the Penitentiary.” Hayley’s eyes grow cold. “Alastair is…being taken care of.”

Hope furrows her brow. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to worry about it.”

Hope’s too tired to feel much of anything, so she lets it go. She tips her head back onto her mother’s shoulder and weaves her fingers through River’s. “Today sucked.”

“Yeah.” River brings the back of Hope’s hand to her lips. “Let’s make tomorrow better.”

#the originals #tvd #the originals fic #to fic #tvd fic #people and rhythm #lost episode

[writevswrong]

NESSIAN * FANFIC * PART TWENTY TWO * SNEAK PEEK

 Nessian Part Twenty Two by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

He didn’t wake up. He was still—a pristine sculpture of death. Tears stained my swollen cheeks, I could barely register the movements and sounds crowding around us.

A gentle hand squeezed my shoulder, “no,” I whispered while fighting their strengthening grip. “No!” I shook off their touch, “he, he’ll wake up. He has to wake up.” My entire body shook with the aftermath of rage—of the loss of him.

I hated it—the shaking. I felt that all I ever did was tremble either with fury or fear. Venomous bile raced up the back of my throat. I turned to the side, expelling my guts in the war-torn field.  

“Nesta?” Her honeyed voice raised above the rest, penetrating my cloud of despair.

I looked upwards, peering over my shoulder at the beauty of spring and all things sweet. Elain’s bloody hand rested on my back, her golden eyes flashed to Cassian’s limp body.

There was a deeper sadness, a knowing despair that only she could have foreseen. Part of me wanted to scream at her, to attack her for knowing and not telling me. We could have stopped this. I could have just stayed put in Velaris, it would have saved him. If I had known—I would have stayed—risking the liv…

My mind rambled with different scenarios, but he would have ended up dead either way, I realized.

By my flames or Beron’s.

That’s what she saw. A breaking of a cold heart; fallen ashes that once made wings. Yet what was worse? What she saw, when she saw it? Or blindly going into battle, not realizing it would be your last?

No, it was finding love and leaving it out of fear. It was the moment I finally had him back, when he came back for me. When I watched him sacrifice his life, when I watched him die.  

Elain pulled me away with great effort—I couldn’t let him go. “It’s time,” Elain whispered softly. Her voice curled around me, smothering me with unbearable sweetness.

“Time? Time? Ti…we can’t go back. I, I can’t go forward. The burning, fire incarnate. The…What does it matter now? Wh, what future…” I was beginning to sound like Elain had in the past. In the time before we knew she was a seer. Only my words were disrupted by emotions I had never unleashed before.  

I stared at him until I could no longer see. Amber tears blurred the bodies I barely recognized as his family had crowded beside him. All crying, all unable to comfort one another as they mourned the loss of a brother.

“Ronan.”

Her words pulled me out of my trance. “Ronan?” I repeated, my voice sounded hollow—broken. I was in that head space, the one where time is merely a word instead of a countdown to your death sentence.

Nothing seemed real but I felt it. A rough tug on my consciousness; slowly piecing together what she meant.    

Elain nodded, her hand tightening around mine. “It’s time to make a bargain, sister.” Her lips were moving too fast; the ringing in my ears making it more difficult to understand her. “Do you hear me, Nesta? Do you understand what we must do?”

I squinted, thinking it would somehow improve my hearing. “Ronan?” I asked again, nearly coming to a stop as we moved closer to the cauldron.  

“Yes.” She replied, swiftly moving through the crowd of soldiers and ash.

“A bargain?” I glanced at the cauldron. The earth felt like it was shaking beneath me…but it wasn’t. Instead my trembling legs were going to fail me. The paralyzing anxiety and fear grew. Why must I always quiver? What purpose did it provide me—weak. I’m too weak.

“Yes.”

Panic flooded into my lungs, blocking off my airways. The thought of sinking into the deep water—the endless black waters to hell. I glanced between Cassian and my sister, between death and life and all that was in between.

This world, this was not the end. Cassian had always told me that in the next life, he would find me, that we would have more time.

But what if I found him first?

To be continued...

Hi everyone! I’m so so sorry that I’ve been away. Things have been a gods-damn cross episode of Gossip Girl and Greys Anatomy...

Update:

-My grandma, who I was a caretaker for at one point, has been in and out of the ICU for the past three weeks. She fell, smacked her head and it has been a living hell ever since.

-We just moved offices so now I’m in the middle of moving and catching up with boring adult things. But I can totally help you with PPO’s and HMO’s lol. #healthcare.

-We had to have our roommates move out...that was fun. Don’t do roommates. Don’t do it.  

-Sooo...yeah. It’s been super eventful and insane the past few weeks. I need Mary Poppins to come up in here with a genie and start making life easier. Just give me that damn magic carpet so I can float away with my husband and pup and peace out for a nice vacation. haha.

Thank you again for the support and all the kind words. You have no idea how much it means to me. :)

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta #nessian fanfiction #cassian #feyre #feyre archeron #elain archeron #Elain #rhysand #Azriel #mor #Eris #amren #beron #acotar #acowar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of dreams #a court of nightmares #a court of wings and ruin #ronan #fanfiction #fanfic #sarah j maas

[aelin-and-feyre]

Circumstance (Part 6)

Thank you everyone for waiting! Big revelations this chapter!!!

Tagging: @a-courtof-fangirls-and-fanfics @autumn03@rhysandpurred @crazybookladythings @readinggiraffe @devilsadvocate15 @marimarac @carolineherr15 @musiccbeach @illyrian-wingspans (let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Circumstance Masterlist

Rowaelin Daughter x Feysand Son

Rhys and Azriel winnow the two Archeron sisters and Ember into a room the princess had never seen before. Glancing quickly out the window, it is clear that they are in the House of Wind. Ember has been in a bad mood ever since she received the letter, but as she takes a cursory glance around the large gallery, she can feel her anger being overcome with awe and curiosity.  The High Lord and his spymaster quickly depart, leaving the three ladies to wander and explore.

"So what exactly had you wanted to see in here?" Nesta's bored tone interrupts Ember from her wondrous inspection of the piece closest to her. She turns to find the eldest sister staring at her with a mockingly raised eyebrow. Ember straightens at the challenge.

"Many of Cadewyn's pieces hang in his room and I desired to view more of his work. They truly are extraordinary, don't you think?" She replies, forcing Nesta to match her level of tolerance if she doesn't want to look more like an ass.

Nesta huffs. "Yes, of course they are." She crosses her arms, glancing between her sister and the princess as if debating something. "Well, I have some emissary business to attend to. Elain should be able to show you around. Don't wreck anything."

Without even waiting for a response, Nesta whirls and stalks out of the room, closing the door rather harshly behind her. Elain shakes her head slightly with a sigh and hooks her elbow through Ember's. "Don't mind Nesta, she's just grumpy that Cade is gonna miss her birthday next week."

Ember stores that little piece of info in the back of her mind before further questioning. "She's very protective over Cadewyn, isn't she?" Elain chuckles softly and nods, beginning to maneuver the two of them to one side of the room. "But not Brexton?"

"Oh she used to be plenty protective over Brex, but now Magdalene does that enough for her." Elain gestures to the painting in front of them, near the door. "Cade has organized his gallery to be in chronological order. These are from when he was very young."

Ember examines the painting and the ones around it. It's incredibly obvious that they were done by a little boy, as, compared to the ones in her room, they are much more abstract and childish. Still, she can see the obvious skill that flowed through his hands even at such a young age. The pictures are a jumble, with no real theme or connotation. There are crude drawings of the mountains the surround Velaris, and jagged, dark paintings of wings. Colors vary widely but Ember notices a large amount of black as a whole, which makes sense for the son of the Night Court.

"He truly is a prodigy." She murmurs, stepping over to the next cluster of pictures, these being vastly different from the previous. Instead of black being the overarching color, these paintings are incredibly similar to the one that hangs just by her bed. Turquoise and gold and white envelope the canvases. "Is this for the Summer Court?" She wonders idly, trying to place why he would be so infatuated with this color scheme.

Elain laughs. "Cauldron, no.” Ember can feel the Seer’s eyes searching her face. “You truly don't recognize this?"

Ember looks at her, utterly confused, until one painting catches her attention. It's a childish depiction, formed in a football shape that conveys what Cade was modeling it after, and all the air is sucked out of Ember's lungs. She recognizes the picture, she's seen it in her mother, and her uncle, and her sister, and her mirror all her life. She wants to kick herself for not realizing it earlier.

"Th-that looks like m-my...." She trails off, unable to comprehend what this might mean.

Elain nods. "Yes. The resemblance is uncanny isn't it? He started painting these when he was five, and hasn't stopped since. I almost thought he might have been a Seer too until Feyre and Rhys told me what it really meant."

It takes too long for Elain's words to register in Ember's racing mind, and by the time she is ready to ask the question, Elain has realized she had said too much. "What does it really mean?"

The female waved a hand, her darting eyes conveying her nervousness. "Ah, don't listen to me, I'm just prattling on about nonsense. Cade just really likes these colors, thinks they go well together."

Ember knows she's lying. Elain is a Seer, and if anyone in the Night Court could give her answer about this male who is painting portraits of Ashryver eyes, it's her. She's about to demand that Elain tell her the truth, when something clicks in her brain. "Wait. Elain, you said that Cade began to paint these when he was five?"

Hesitantly, the middle Archeron sister nods. "Or a little bit after. He demanded that Feyre get him huge turquoise and gold tubs of paint, and has asked for refills every birthday since. Everyone in the Inner Circle recognized your eyes the moment you walked in the room."

"Why didn't anyone say anything?"

Elain shrugs, beginning to drift away from the display and towards the center of the room where a couple benches were available to sit on. "I think most of them thought it was a coincidence. Brexton knew, though, which is why he suggested you come here."

"Knew what? Elain, what are you not telling me?" Ember asks, suddenly desperate to understand. She practically runs to sit next to the female, grasping her hands and begging for answers.

Elain eyes her warily. "You truly have not figured it out? You've spent a week in his room, I thought you would have smelled it." Her chin jerks towards the wall again. "Go look at some more paintings and think. Feyre and Rhys would not appreciate me telling you. You have to figure it out for yourself."

Ember narrows her eyes, frustrated and annoyed that no one is telling her anything. Obviously, a lot of people in the Night Court know something about Cade that she doesn't. Ember hopes that Gusty can find out something soon. With a huff, Ember stands from the bench and walks back to the wall, admiring the next set of paintings.

Elain had said that Cade had been a little older than five when he started becoming obsessed with the colors that so resembled her eyes. Distantly, Ember recalls her first meeting with Cade over a decade ago, where he had pushed her down the stairs which forced her parents and her to leave the Leader Meeting early.

There is very little of that meeting that she can remember, but she does retain the memory of some strong emotion, and a great force that had erupted through her right before she fell. Drifting a little to the next set of paintings, it is plainly obvious the improvement the Cade made over very few years. One canvas holds this time a set of eyes, exactly her shade and color and pattern; deep blue with gold surrounding the pupil.

"The Leader Meeting..." She murmurs aloud. "That was where we first met."

"Ah, yes," Elain agrees, watching Ember from her perch on the benches. "He didn't mean to push you, y'know, it was an accident and he felt awful about it. I don't think he came out of his room for a couple weeks after that. He emerged with a urgent need for turquoise and gold paint, saying he'd used up his supply already."

"Why did he need to paint my eyes so badly?" Ember wonders, walking over to a new collection. Instead of darkness and shadows, these depicted a variety of different landscapes and colors. "Are these of the other courts?"

"Yes, he ran out of places to paint in the Night Court, and begged to be taken around Prythian. Feyre and him travelled the courts for months painting and drawing." A small smile made it's way onto Elain's lips. "It was the first time that he started to get over his fascination with you." Ember raised an eyebrow. "I imagine after so long, he's forgotten all about what those dreams were linked to."

That catches Ember's attention. "Dreams? He has dreams of my eyes?" Ember's head is spinning. She has dreams about his eyes. Now that she thinks about it, her dreams have been going on since she was little... probably since she was about five.

"All the time," Elain replies, her smile growing as if she can see the wheels turning in Ember's mind. For all the princess knows, maybe she can. "By the way, he didn't mean to go through your things, he's naturally curious. Your room brought back memories for him that he wasn't aware existed. He's wanted to see you again ever since you and your parents left the Leader Meeting a decade and a half ago."

"But why?" Ember almost yelled it in her anguish. She is done with the mind games. The Crown Princess of Terrasen demands to understand why she is so connected with a stranger.

Before Elain can respond, the door bursts open and Nesta stalks through. "What is going on in here? Elain, what are you telling her?" The female practically hisses.

"What she has a right to know, Nesta! You don't understand why they're doing this either! I'm just speeding the process along." Elain reasons, much more calm than Ember would be if Nesta was glaring at her like that.

"Gods! Will someone please just tell me what is happening already?" Ember is frantic, but Nesta doesn't care.

The eldest Archeron sneers. "I don't know anything for certain, Elain, and I'm not sure you do either." Then the piercing gaze is fixed upon the princess. "You'll find out soon enough. I'll have Cassian come get you, but Elain and I are leaving. You've gotten her into enough trouble as it is." And then Nesta firmly grasps Elain's wrist and pulls her out of the room.

Ember sinks to the ground, her hands coming up to hold her head and hopefully stop it from it's incessant spinning. "What is happening?" She whispers. Knowing she can't stay in this room any longer, surrounded by the evidence haunting her mind, and not being able to wait for Cassian, Ember strides towards the window. She throws it open and hesitates for a moment. Is she jumping to conclusions? Maybe Elain and Nesta are just messing with her mind. Maybe there is no real connection between her and Cadewyn.

However, it is impossible for even Ember to miss the signs. She glances back at the painting of her eyes, almost perfect replicas of the ones she sees everyday in the mirror, and makes up her mind. Shifting quickly, Ember flies out of the House of Wind and over Velaris, praying to the gods that no one sees her and realizes she's no ordinary bird.

When she arrives back to the townhouse, Ember shifts back and walks the rest of the way to her room. The scent of him envelops her and proves to only confuse her more, bringing back the feeling of home and safety. Forcing herself not to lose her nerve, Ember races to her desk and pulls out a piece of parchment.

And then she begins to write a letter to her mother.

"How does she feel about flying?" Cade asks, hanging upside down on his bed the next day, throwing a ball up in the air as he continues his round of questioning.

Gusty laughs quietly. "Oh, she loves it. It's one of her favorite past-times."

Cade's eyebrows crease and he deftly flips over to lay on his stomach, looking at the young princess with a quizzical expression. "Why do you laugh?"

Gusty wags her finger. "Nuh uh, sorry batboy, that's another thing I can't tell you. Ember should tell you about that herself." Cadewyn grumbles in response but doesn't push it. There are some things he hasn't told the girl either, feeling it right for him to tell the literal girl of his dreams himself. "Okay, my turn." She repositions her pen, ready to write down his answer to later tell her sister. "Do you miss the Night Court?"

"Well, of course. I miss my family and friends, and no offense, but your library is nothing compared to the one we have." Gusty nods and scribbles on her stationary. "But I also really like it here, all the mortals are really nice and your family is very welcoming." He waits a few seconds for her to finish writing before asking his question. "What's her favorite color?"

"Violet." Gusty replies without hesitation, and then glances up to see Cade's reaction. "She had wanted this room to be repainted violet a few years ago, but my parents talked her out of it for some reason."

Cade can't help but bring a hand up to touch his face, his fingers brushing the underside of his eye as he continues to speculate what the connection between them might mean. Before Gusty can ask her next question, there is a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Cade answers, assuming it's the food he and Gusty had ordered earlier. Instead of chocolate cake, however, the Queen is standing on the other side of the door. Both Cadewyn and Gusty rush to stand, the former bowing to his host as the latter waving.

"Hey, mama, what's up?" Gusty greets as she plops back down in her chair. Cade sits on his bed, feeling awkward in the presence of such a powerful woman.

Aelin smiles ruefully at her daughter. "I should have known I would find you in here. I hope you aren't terrorizing our guest too much."

"Not at all, Your Majesty." Cade assures, his mind racing for a reason for this visit.

The queen nods, and then turns to face him, allowing him to see the paper she is holding. He recognizes the Night Court stationary immediately. He gulps. "Don't look so frightened, it's not bad news. In fact, it's a letter from Ember." Her words don't help Cade calm his nerves at all. If anything, they are heightened. "She informed me that you are missing your aunt’s birthday next week."

Cade nods, his mouth dry as he wonders where this is going. Why would Ember have told her mother about Aunt Nesta's birthday?

"Ember suggested that you take a trip back for the day, if only to spend some time with your family on the special occasion." Aelin continues, either oblivious or ignoring Cade's slight shaking. "Is that something that you would desire?"

He shares a glance with Gusty, who is nodding eagerly. Obviously, the princess understands her sister's motives better than he does. Deciding to trust her judgement, Cade looks back to the queen's expectant expression. "I would like that very much, yes. My Aunt Nesta was rather put out that I would be missing her celebration. I think it would be a nice surprise for her." And then it clicks. "Does that mean Ember would come home for the day as well?"

Aelin glances down at the letter and frowns a bit. "She says that there is no reason to, and as it would probably be a logistics nightmare, she does not want to cause unneeded stress or planning. She understands that you are able to winnow like your parents and believes that you would be able to make the trip without anyone escorting you. I'd say she's put a lot of thought into the ordeal."

'Indeed she has.' Cade thinks, finally catching onto what the princess is thinking. "If you would allow me to, it would be very nice to go back for the day."

Aelin nods once. "Yes, and I imagine you're rather homesick anyway. Then it's settled. Can you winnow yourself there and back no problem, or would you like someone to accompany you?"

Gusty practically falls off her chair trying to get Cade's attention. He glances at her as she pleads with him silently, pointing to herself and almost begging him to take her along. Cade chuckles. "Would you allow Gusty to accompany me? I'm afraid I've told her so much about Velaris, I think she would murder me if I didn't take her along."

Aelin looks to her youngest with a smirk, contemplating the risks, and then finally sighing. "I'll have to check with Rowan, but I think that would be okay. She'll come back with you when the day is over though. She's not staying there with Ember."

The loudest squeal erupts from Gusty's mouth as she jumps up and runs to hug her mother. "Thank you thank you thank you! I promise I'll be good. I'll be perfect! You will not regret this!" Then she stops short and gasps. "I need to go pack. I'll see you later!" And with a quick gust of wind, the princess is gone.

Aelin laughs, turning back to Cade and shaking her head. "Promise you'll protect her?"

"With my life." Cade vows, only barely able to conceal the emotions roiling inside of him. Aelin nods, somewhat hesitantly, and bids him goodnight, closing the door behind her.

Cade falls back in his bed and covers his face with his hands, seeing bright turquoise eyes with a circle of gold dancing across his eyelids. He lets out a small sound of excitement and looks above him, smiling up at the canopy wickedly. "I'm gonna meet her." He whispers.

He is unable to eat the chocolate cake that night.

Masterlist

#elain is the new suriel #sorry for the wait! #circumstance part 6 #feysand child x rowaelin child #rowaelin child x feysand child #rowaelin daughter x feysand son #rowaelin #aelin #rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #feyre #feyre archeron #rhys #rhysand #night court #velaris #nesta #elain #elain archeron #nesta archeron #my writing #tog #throne of glass #eos #empire of storms #hof #heir of fire #qos #queen of shadows

[littlefawnlily]

[ headcanons and other notables ]

CHARACTER’S SEXUALITY Even though, I hate the phrase ‘bi-curious’, I’d have to say that’s what Lily is. Meaning that, she would easily be bisexual if it were that easy. However, during the time and considering how much her family is already dealing with in regard to ‘hidden aspects Lily was born with’, she hides that part of herself. Maybe it would be different if she actually fell in love with a girl, but as she stands now: outwardly straight. PERSONALITY TRAITS pas·sion·ate ˈpaSH(ə)nət/ adjective showing or caused by strong feelings or a strong belief.

Lily is an all or nothing kind of girl. If she loves something, she loves it hard. If she hates it, she hates it hard. Middle of the road is for the mediocre in her opinion which can sometimes lead to positive and negative traits, the positive one, is her passion. Passion for others, for justice, for art, and music, and the people she loves.

judg·men·tal ˌjəjˈmen(t)l/ adjective having or displaying an excessively critical point of view.

The negative side of her passion is that she tends to make up her mind quickly. She knows what she thinks is right and she knows what she thinks is wrong. End of story. This leads to difficult situations when she eventually changes her mind or realizes that she may have been wrong to begin with.

AGE & DOB: 18, January 30, 1960; She’s an Aquarius, which would usually mean she has an openness, wit, and imagination unparalleled by any other zodiac than that of the Sagittarius. They value a challenge to their intellect, honesty from everyone around them, and looking inward for inspiration and guidance. However, they also tend to be stubborn, sarcastic, rebellious, and very independent.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Inistioge, County Kilkenny, Ireland

WAND: 10 1/4 “, made of willow wood which is an uncommon wood with healing powers. Ollivander said that an ideal willow wand owner has some unwarranted insecurity of some kind. Lily’s would be that she will never belong in either world that she is a part of. The muggle life is too boring for her. If she chose to be a part of it, she would always have to hide a part of herself, but the wizarding world doesn’t want her or people born like her. It’s a constant struggle of will. Willow wands also have a penchant for non-verbal magic, those wands choose those with great potential and are willing to learn much. As for the core, Lily has a wand with unicorn hair. They produce the most consistent magic, though they aren’t the most powerful. Her wand is described by Ollivander as swishy and particularly good for charm work, which has never surprised Lily as that is her favorite subject. What would surprise Lily is that Willow wood, outside of wandlore, is associated with psychic abilities, intuition, and dreams as she has never been interested in divinations as a subject.

BOGGART:   Mermaids from the Black Lake. One time during her third year, she was out on the lake in an old boat trying to soak up as much sun as she could before it turned too cold. As she was reading her copy of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, she started to hum an old hymn her mum had sung to her when she was a baby. Suddenly she noticed a ripple in the water. When she looked to the dark, mirror-like reflection, she didn’t only see her red hair, she saw a pair of yellow eyes staring back at her. They disappeared when she screamed, but Lily has had nightmares about that event ever since. A psychologist might say that meant she was terrified of disappearing quickly with no one knowing what happened to her.

AMORTENTIA: The first time Lily brewed a cauldron of Amortentia she was unsurprised to find that she smelled blackberries, like the ones in her sister’s garden at home. They reminded her of her love of the outdoors and adventure, and the love she had for her family. She was equally unsurprised to smell leather like the tomes from the library that she spent some of her favorite nights at Hogwarts poring over. The surprise came with the last scent; broomstick polish.

PATRONUS: Lily cannot yet cast a fully corporeal patronus. It drives her absolutely mad, because no matter how she tries, she simply can’t seem to fix whatever it is that’s blocking her. Not to mention, Lily Evans doesn’t fail at charms. When she eventually masters the charm, though. Her patronus will take the form of a doe. “The doe is a soft and innocent patronus to have, and those with it reflect this greatly. They have a comforting, almost maternal way about them, and it can draw many to them, and this can cause them to have many friends and admirers. They are social people, but they are not too strong in this aspect immediately, instead being a bit hesitant before getting to know a person. They can sometimes form impressions of others before truly getting to do this, however, and can become stand-offish to these individuals.” QUOTE: “I used to dislike being sensitive. I thought it made me weak. But take away that single trait, and you take away the very essence of who I am. You take away my conscience, my ability to empathize, my intuition, my creativity, my deep appreciation of the little things, my vivid inner life, my keen awareness to others pain and my passion for it all.”

HEADCANONS: • Lily was raised in a Protestant Christian household so when she received her letter to Hogwarts, informing her that she was a witch, she panicked. She’d always been taught that witches, future seers, psychics, and palm readers were possessed by demons. They were evil. But when her parents rejoiced over the news, applauding her and celebrating her skill, Lily was relieved. Maybe all witches weren’t inherently bad. While there are no churches for her to attend while at school, she is certain to be at the chapel every Sunday when she visits home. Lily is adamant that she wants to maintain her spirituality as well as her magic endeavors. She does still struggle with her two contradicting identities and beliefs, though. • Being a child of the 70s, music is definitely a huge influence in Lily’s life. Growing up, she was a huge fan of Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, and The Who. To this day, My Generation is one of her favorite songs. However to many people’s surprise, Lily is a huge fan of the punk rock movement. The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, Patti Smith… she has all the records and posters. Whenever she and Marlene have had one too many shots of Fire Whiskey, Lily has been known to paint her face like Bowie and sing Cherrybomb at the top of her lungs to anyone that will listen. • Lily Elizabeth Evans is one of the biggest Quidditch fans you will ever meet. She never misses a match, she makes the best signs, and she loses her voice from cheering every time there is a game. Although she is actually terrified of flying herself, she makes a point to study the matches and tell Marlene and James everything they could improve on for the next match. Lily knows they’re both absurdly annoyed by it, but she absolutely refuses to lose the Quidditch cup. Not to mention, she has a thing for athletes.   • Lily’s magic is at its strongest when she is protecting someone. Although she is naturally a very powerful witch, there is something archaic about her powers. She has a primal urge to protect people, especially the innocent and oppressed, and her magic responds to that innately. She also has a gift for non-verbal magic that she has yet to discover.

#;about lily #;biography #;headcanon

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 128:  A Startling Answer

They'd survived Winter. For the most part, at least. And to his great shock and surprise, they hadn't killed one another. Of course, it was probably still too early to say such a thing. Winter was still around, but the peak of it had gone. Blizzards no longer haunted them. The snow in the valley had melted, and now the mountain was finally thawing as well. It was still cold, but after the temperatures they'd had, the cold seemed downright warm. Business was slowly but surely returning to him as those seeking deals began making their way up to him once more. As for Belle, she started cleaning again with a fury, like spring had already sprung, when the reality was that Winter was in the throes of death.

He couldn't complain, though. Why would he? Their work kept the pair of them plenty busy, and the end of the cold meant that she was back to spending nights in the dungeon, which freed him to roam about once more as he wished. The Great Room, his Tower, the kitchens, in the dead of night when he was certain she'd be asleep, he was free to go where he wanted and do as he wanted. And lately, that included returning to a familiar hobby he hadn't left time for in quite a while.

He'd started reading again. First out of curiosity for the life that she encountered in her books but then because he did love to read but hadn't realized how much until she'd given him the bug. He'd started with La Belle et la Bete, her current favorite, but he wished he hadn't. Romances were never quite his thing and the plot of the book…it was far too familiar for him to be comfortable with it. Half the time he felt like he was reading a biography or listening to a Seer's Prophecy. At least once a page the phrase "too close to home" shot through his brain. It was the story of a wicked man who had been cursed and transformed into a beast along with his household. One day the father of three young women took a flower from his garden, and the beast only allowed him to return if he sent one of his daughters back to him in his place. The youngest daughter, Belle, was the one that had returned. Predictably the pair fell in love, the spell was broken, happily ever after…boring. Obviously, there were things that rang true for the situation he and Belle found themselves in; her name was Belle, more than one person had called him a beast in his life, there was a curse involved, after a terrible deal with an awful father the girl had moved in…but that was about where the comparison stopped.

Her Handsome Hero was a much better tale. There was romance within it, but it was a subplot. It was all about a young shepherd named Gideon seeking to win over his true love by proving he was more than worthy of her. He faced many hardships in order to do this, curses, spells, magic, villains…but in the end, he succeeded. He became a Prince and later a King, but nothing was more important to him that the love of the woman he'd managed to…well, it had been good up until the last bit.

He liked keeping up on the books she was reading. After their long Winter days together, he'd come to the conclusion that she was something of a riddle, and not just because he couldn't tell what role she had in his future. She'd changed somehow. In the beginning, she'd been a busybody, prying and loud, greedy for information. She'd been judgmental as well, fighting him on even the simplest of decisions and tasks. Now...she wasn't complacent, he didn't think that was ever a word that he'd use to describe her, but she did seem…content, perhaps. She was happy to get up in the morning, have breakfast with him, do chores during the day, pausing only to enjoy tea with him, then eat dinner at the table across from him and sit in the Great Room during the evening reading until bed. He did his best to keep her from his business, and she seemed to have realized that getting involved was of no use to her. It wasn't perfect, but it worked for them. It made things less tense. It allowed him to let his mind wander during the evening hours and allowed her imagination to drift off to wherever she was bound to go in the pages of her books.

He always waited until she was done with them. Completely done. Not just finished reading. For after she finished a book, she usually kept it up in her library on a table for a day or two. Sometimes he caught her rereading passages with a smile or tears in her eyes. And then, one day, when she decided she was truly ready to let it rest, she would store it back on a shelf, and that was when he would swoop in and remove it. He read it for himself night after night in his own bedroom, tried to see things through her eyes, picture the images the way she saw them. It was a way into her head now that she was settled. Sometimes it helped him understand her.

But not always…

She liked order. She liked schedules. She liked her time by the fire reading her book. So why then was she up and moving now?

For months they'd had the same schedule. For months they'd eaten their dinner then come into their Great Room to read and to spin before dinner. That was their evening. So what had motivated her so quickly after returning from the kitchens so rise from her seat without putting her nose in her book and leave the room? In the opposite direction of her cell?! She obviously wasn't going to bed!

He itched to get up, to follow her out the door, to run to his cauldron and see what she was doing for himself, to recall her and ask what she needed…instead he spun. He stayed right where he was and convinced himself it was nothing.

It was nothing! She was free to do as she wished and had been for a long time. Sitting in this room with him after dinner wasn't a requirement or an expectation. In fact, it was a good thing she'd gone. Just because he'd come to expect the behavior from her didn't mean it was good. She wasn't here to keep him company or spend time with him, she was here to keep the castle and the grounds in order. That was what a caretaker did. It was her job to be busy.

But his silent argument didn't stop him from having to hold in a sigh of relief when he heard her step back inside the room with…a ladder?

He tried to keep his eyes on his work, he tried to ignore her, but curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself shifting his gaze to watch her actions. They were not sneaky. She brought that ladder in with her head held high and her back straight and proud. She set it against the wall, some distance from him and his wheel, and it was only then that he paused. He made sure to focus on his wheel. To keep his eyes trained to anything but her but all other senses were screaming at him to pay attention. Finally, he heard the familiar groan of wood, but it hadn't come from his wheel. It was from the ladder. Footstep after footstep, it squeaked and squawked in a way that made his heart race. And probably for good reason. He hadn't known where she'd gotten a ladder from. He'd never set foot on one that easily accessible in this castle, which meant that it was old. Probably nearly as old as he was. Did she know that after a few years, ladders weren't as sturdy as they good be? Did she know how they could slip on the ground, how people could fall? He hadn't rescued her from the Queens of Darkness just for her to kill herself falling off a ladder.

His stomach gave a little flop a second later when he heard the stirring of fabric and a grunt of exasperation. He heard the sound again, and suddenly, without ever looking over at her, he knew what she was doing. She was trying to open the curtains again. He felt a small spark of pride catch inside of him. He knew it. He knew that the day would come when she would try again to open those. It seemed that day had arrived. He should have done something, he should have asked her what she was doing, teased her about it or reminded her that he hadn't wanted them open in the first place just to see what she would do with that information. But with that ladder moaning and groaning behind him and her heartbeat pounding in his ears, letting him know just how nervous she really was, he couldn't find it in him to tease her. He wondered…if he offered to open those curtains for her, would she stop being so foolish and come down to the solid ground?

"Why do you spin so much?"

His hands stopped moving with her words. He wanted to look over at her, but his head told him not to. It had been a while since they'd had a conversation, since she'd asked a question of him that she should have known he wasn't going to answer. It probably hadn't seemed to her like it was a personal question, but for him, it was possibly the most personal question she could have come up with.

"Sorry," she muttered when he took too long to answer. "It's just that you've spun straw into more gold than you could ever spend."

"I like to watch the wheel," he finally answered. Her heart was racing, and the more he imagined her precarious situation, the more he realized the answer wasn't going to do any harm, no matter how personal. "Helps me to forget…"

"Forget what?"

Now that was a personal question that he wasn't going to answer. It had been decades since Baelfire had walked these halls. There was almost no one alive that knew about his son or why he'd become this thing or what his true goal was now that they were separated, and he intended to keep it that way. Baelfire may be safe in a realm without magic, but he wasn't, and as Regina had reminded him not so very long ago, love was weakness.

So he paused for a moment, stopped the motion he was making, then sat back and stared blankly ahead. "I guess it worked!" he teased with a small laugh.

Finally, he risked a glance over at her. Though she was clinging to the top of that ladder for dear life, she let out a small airy burst of laughter and shook her head. She could have pried, had this been months ago when she first arrived she certainly would have. Now she just turned away and went back to trying to tug the curtains free. Up as high as she was, he felt his insides give a little tug every time she pulled on that curtain.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, rising up out of his seat and moving toward her. If she was going to be so insistent, and he'd never known her to be something other than insistent, there might be something he could do quietly. Strengthen the ladder? Perhaps find something heavy to set at its base so it wouldn't slide away? Get her a suit of mail so that she at least had some kind of protection?

"Opening these!" she answered as if it was obvious. "It's almost spring. We should let some light in."

And there she went again. Tug, tug, tug. She was going to hurt herself. But before he could suggest something, she stopped and glanced down at him with wide knowing eyes.

"What did you do, nail them down?"

She made it sound like it was a joke, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh. It wasn't funny. Because all at once he remembered that it was true. Because after she'd opened them last, after he'd given her the library, he'd shut the curtains, and had added nails to the top with a gleeful smile, just to complicate her the next time she tried opening them. He was the reason she was up there dangerously tugging away at the curtains. It didn't seem so funny now.

"Yes," he admitted with a small voice.

Maybe she didn't get it, maybe she didn't believe him, or maybe the problem was that she did. Her only response was to let out another small chuckle and turn back to the curtains. Tug, tug, tug. And just when his soul couldn't handle it anymore, just when he was about to tell her to stop being so stupid and get off the ladder so he could fix this with his magic, he saw it happen. In his head, the Seer sent him a vision.

The sound of the curtain ripping. Her body falling through the empty air. The Seer crying out "Catch her".

It was the sound of the curtain ripping that brought him back to this reality, to a moment so close to the vision he'd experienced he almost thought it was part of it. She lost her balance, her footing gave way, and she plummeted toward the bone-shattering ground at a speed that would have shocked a human, but made him feel like he was watching in slow motion.

Catch her.

He didn't need the reminder or suggestion or whatever the hell the Seer thought it was. On instinct, he'd thrown out his arms and stepped forward. Her weight slammed into him and forced him to regain his own balance, he took a step closer to the window and found himself standing in the blazing, blinding light of day. It was dazzling. Though she'd let it in before, it was the first time he was letting himself take it in for decades. And she…

Her heart was thudding away at an unnatural speed. Or was it his own. She was still there, nestled in his arms, looking back at him with eyes that were familiar, and that was when he realized there was something more than familiar about this scene. Or rather, there was something that would be familiar about it.

The images hit strong, with a force not unlike her falling into him. Flashes of pictures, things that he knew hadn't happened yet filled his head and pulled him into himself and away from her.

Belle in his arms now, her face cupped against his palm, holding her just like this when she was old and wrinkled.

Belle in an outfit of white that didn't quite fit the world they knew now.

Belle rushing off to hug a tall man with a case in one hand.

Belle angry, angrier than he'd ever seen her before or known her to be, screaming at him with a golden bracelet on her arm that reeked of his own magic.

Belle walking by his side, her hands firmly around his elbow as they moved.

Belle standing across from something important between them on a mysterious black road, beaming at him as he felt himself beam back.

Belle with a baby in her arms, smiling down at it as he watched from the door.

There were more. Too many to catch, but as they finally began to slow, one image remained, lingering longer than before. It wasn't like the other images. It didn't flicker in his mind as a single glimpse, this one moved. It was the other half of the vision he'd seen before.

An anonymous woman with brown hair and a bare shoulder in his bed. Finally, after years of wondering and waiting, the woman turned over to rest her head on his shoulder and wrap her arm over his chest. He felt himself hold her hand there as his other arm wrapped around her back and he glanced down at her. She was still asleep, her eyes closed with a gentle smile on her face as if she was happy he'd returned from somewhere.

The woman was Belle.

The world came back to him so quickly it startled him, forced him to expel her from his arms so that she gasped when he dropped her. He had the strangest, strongest urge to step forward and apologize, to make sure that she was alright, but instead he took a step back. He withdrew from her space, to a distance that would not be so easy to touch her. His heart was suddenly racing nearly as fast as her own was.

"Th-thank you," she breathed, twisting and turning, straightening her dress as he shifted his weight. "Thank you."

He shook his head and held his hands up, an attempt to keep her and that beating heart far from him.

"No matter," he dismissed. Words were difficult. His mouth was dry.

His wheel. He wanted his wheel. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to sit at his wheel and erase what he'd seen, erase the images. He wanted his heart to stop racing, his skin to stop tingling from the unexpected want of her, he wanted his pants not to feel so suddenly tight in the front! He hadn't had a reaction like that…ever. Not to anyone. Not with Milah, or Margery, or Cora, but with her...

"I'll uh…put the curtains back up."

There was a sound to her words like a chuckle, a laugh, like she was trying to dismiss the entire thing, as if she weren't turning bright red at what had happened. But there was no dismissing it. At the end of the day, she would write it off as a clumsy moment. How was he supposed to write it off? How was he supposed to process what he'd seen? How was he to forget what he'd felt?

"Ah…there's no need," he resigned. He wanted desperately to return to his wheel. The last thing he wanted was to watch her up there for the next hour, worried that she'd fall again and panicking at what he might see if he did. "I'll get used to it."

He felt like he was on fire as he turned his back on her, his insides all twisted up and getting worse by the minute.

What now?

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic