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theeoriginals · 2 months

Note

I’d love to see your take on an arranged marriage with klaus (like medieval times or some period like that). maybe he’s marrying her to get something from her/her family but there’s something a little off about the reader (hint: she does what giulia tofana did - google her if you’re not familiar!! her story is so fascinating) and when he pieces it together he’s smitten with her 💗💗

aqua tofana | klaus mikaelson

author's note; this has been in my inbox for over a month because i was so inspired by it that I decided a 14k oneshot was necessary I hope I did it justice

klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n) use of nickname in place of y/n

warnings; arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, klaus is a little shit but so is reader so it's okay, no Y/N, mentions of domestic abuse but not in regards to reader, mentions of poison, fluff, shy!klaus (he is real to me), these two mfers are in LOVE, mikael (a warning in itself), minor violence and bloodshed but nothing too bad. if I missed anything let me know!! this is heavily inspired by ACOTAR bc I just binged the entire series in less than a week so thank you sarah j. maas for your service

The Mikaelsons were said to be a noble family. One with loyalty and strength.

They were coming to stay in their small kingdom, in their castle. Three of them. Elijah, Rebekah, and Niklaus. Looking for a safe haven, to avoid growing conflicts in surrounding areas. Looking for someplace to call home for a little while longer– at least, until they could no longer pass as mortals.

Riverend was perfect for them.

The way the people of Riverend saw it, their problems were their own, and the larger, outlying kingdoms could fight their nonsensical battles without any help from a small, useless kingdom built downstream from them, carved right out of the flowing water that traveled through their town square by the calloused hands of the families that still lived there today.

As far as anyone was concerned, Riverend had no monetary value, no natural resources to capitalize off of, no armies worth rallying, and no animals to trade. The only thing it had was its people, and to most, that meant nothing. It meant they went overlooked, and were never considered in territory battles and similar crises. But to the right person–a dangerous person– such a thing could mean everything.

That is why she was so wary to accept this supposedly noble family into their walls. She had to be wary, to think of the danger they could bring along with them should they stay. How much danger it could put her kingdom in.

It’s why she had further qualms about marrying the man the king had been corresponding with all these months. Said qualms, of course, outside of the fact that she had no real desire to marry, let alone to a stranger. All familiarity aside, she had a duty to her people to maintain their livelihoods and not leave them stranded for her own selfish desires. Even if it meant marrying some man.

With her mother’s voice in her head telling her to keep her chin up and her shoulders back, she was determined to keep her wits about her. She didn’t complain when she was asked to wear one of her nicer gowns to greet the family when they arrived that brisk, cloudy afternoon. She let her ladies dress her in a midnight blue gown that swept along the ground, with sleeves that draped over her hands, leaving no skin visible, spare for her neck and face.

She was escorted by the king to the throne room, where she stood at his shoulder, resting a hand on the embroidered fabric along the muscle hidden beneath the layers. A silent, supportive daughter. A perfect royal family, to anyone who might linger too long while looking in their direction.

Two of their sentries escorted their new houseguests into the throne room, and she did nothing but raise a brow at their humble appearance. The girl, Rebekah, was young. She’d seen better days, and she silently wondered where they had traveled from that had them end up before her and her father with dirt scuffs on their cheeks, and scruffy, unkempt facial hair marring their jaws.

“Welcome, Lords and Lady, to our home,” Her father spoke genially, a content smile on his face as if he was unaware of the judgmental look his daughter was fixing them with. “We’re honored to have you here, honored to build a bridge between our families for years to come.”

One of the long-haired men spoke, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, making him look like he was some proper gentleman and not a random man who had shown up on her doorstep.

“The honor is all ours, Your Majesty. The opportunities that your generosity has given my family have not gone unnoticed. We thank you and the Princess for your kindness.”

The King shifted slightly like he’d forgotten his daughter was there. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, and she met his gaze, peering down at him over the bridge of her nose. “Yes, my daughter. Nyxia. She’s a woman of few words, I must warn you all. And when she chooses to speak, it’d do you well to listen closely.”

All of their eyes shifted to her, but the set of icy blue ones had never left. Not to meet the king’s eyes, or look around at his new home for the foreseeable future of their impending marriage.

“Your Highness,” Blue eyes, suddenly alight with fire. Flame that burns her from the tips of her toes to the base of her scalp that her very hair grows out of. Flame that ravages civilizations, and wipes out bloodlines. She can feel the darkness in him from two simple words. It’d take a fool to not see it. “I look forward to getting to know you before our prospective arrangement takes place.”

He wasn’t lying, she could tell. But his words seemed to hold as much weight as hers did. A hidden meaning tucked behind every spoken syllable. Dangerous. So dangerous. The King was a fool to not see it, but that was neither here nor there.

Licking her lips, she chose her first words carefully. It was always important to make a lasting first impression, but with this man– with her future husband, she wanted to be honest from the start. She wanted, for once, to reveal her hand before the game started. Just to see what he’d do. Just to see what he had planned.

But she didn’t. She knew it would just be chaos. And even though such things were in her blood, she couldn’t risk anything this far into everything.

“Lord Niklaus,” She didn’t move a muscle besides the ones it took to make words form on her tongue. “My kingdom rejoices with your arrival. They will be overjoyed with the announcement of our nuptials.”

And the man, encased in his flames that felt as if they could burn the whole world down should he please, tilted his head and smirked at her. Like he’d heard every thought she’d had in the moments between words.

Nothing else was said between them, not verbally, at least, and the king interrupted the rising tension that was so obvious between the Princess and the Mikaelson siblings, oblivious to the people he’d surrounded himself with.

“Lady Rebekah, my daughter can show you to your rooms in the east wing. You’ll have ladies of your own to help you bathe and dress,” He gestures to the blonde, who looks childishly excited at the thought. “The both of you will be in the west wing, my men can take you to your rooms. We can reconvene tonight at dinner, yes?”

The three siblings bowed at their waist, easily deferring the power back to the King.

“In the meantime, feel free to explore. Our home is yours, now. Make yourselves comfortable.”

She stayed in the throne room long after even her father had left, watching the doors the siblings had been escorted through. She lingered at her place beside the throne, nearly behind it, where her mother once stood behind a man who looked like he belonged on a throne more than any woman would. She laid a hand around the back of the embossed silver and thought to herself that it would look better in gold.

──────

Klaus watched his wife-to-be dig into the dinner presented before them moments ago, her fork the first one to move, even before her father’s. She didn’t sit at the head of the table, but just to the right of her father, and Klaus had taken the seat across from her. He did not doubt that she could feel his eyes on her, but she was pointedly ignoring it in favor of talking to his sister at her side.

Rebekah, ever the people pleaser. Even in their centuries on this earth, Rebekah could never resist the desire to cling to the nearest female in their proximity. He hadn’t said anything to her about it, yet. He figured there was no harm in letting her delude herself into thinking that Princess Nyxia wanted anything to do with any of them.

Elijah wasn’t even pretending to be friendly like he tended to be in this position. He’d been silent for a majority of the day, perhaps tired from their travels, though Klaus doubted it was anything so simple. If Klaus were to look at himself as a King, it would be Elijah as his second, watching everything and everyone, dutifully reporting back to him about usurpers and battles to come. It would be Elijah ripping hearts out, and Klaus taking responsibility for the blood on his brother’s hands.

There was a reason it was only the three of them. His other siblings just didn’t understand that you did everything for family.

He supposes that’s why he’s so curious about the two royals before him. They were the only family they had left, and yet there was something unspoken there, something withheld between them that left a tenuous truce. There was such anger behind Nyxia’s eyes, and Klaus had the urge to push and push at it until it finally shattered. Elijah often compared him to a child for this inane urge, and Klaus couldn’t deny it.

“This food is lovely, Your Majesty,”

Rebekah looked at Nyxia’s father with a sweet little smile, and Klaus wondered how she managed to maintain such a degree of humanity inside of her after everything.

“Oh, it’s all my sweet Nyx,” He turns his pleasant, kingly smile to his daughter. Looks like he owes her the world. She doesn’t return an ounce of the fondness, but she still smiles, like she knows it’s expected of her. “She has specific tastes, so I prefer her to pick the menu. Our cooks in the kitchen work to make it all come to life and it never disappoints.”

It works in the way that it makes Rebekah turn adoring eyes onto Nyxia once again, but it doesn’t do as such for the two brothers. There’s something about this place that drew them to it in the first place and they wanted to figure it out, neither of them did very well when it came to venturing into the unknown, so they devised the plan. It’s set in motion, it’s happening as they sit at this table and eat this food, and yet he still feels wrongfooted. He’s missing something, he’s missing the thing that brought him to this small kingdom in the first place.

He doesn’t like living in the dark.

Elijah cuts a thin bite of the lamb chop on the plate in front of him. “Do you cook, then, Princess?”

“If I am feeling particularly inspired, yes,” She grabs her silver chalice, swirling the dark red wine in it before she takes a drink. “I prefer vinification.”

The King’s face lights up like he’d been waiting for another opportunity to brag on his daughter. “Yes, Nyxia made the wine we’re drinking tonight. She tries to make a personal barrel at least once a year, and it’s always the most unique flavor. She goes out and picks fruits from our trees up near the bluffs, where–”

“I’m sure they aren’t interested to know what fruits our land produces, Father.”

“On the contrary,” Her eyes shot to Elijah at his words. “I think it’d be quite ignorant of us to turn down any knowledge of the land we’re to call… home. It seems to be a very special place.”

She watches him for a moment, eyes narrowing at his unsuspecting tone. “Yes,” She muses quietly, looking away from Elijah to meet Klaus’s gaze like she can tell Elijah’s speaking on his behalf. “Perhaps I’ll show you what makes it so special.”

None of them acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t so much of an offering of camaraderie, but rather a threat.

──────

Months go by. Time passes peacefully, but Klaus is growing restless.

With the announcement of their joining sent out to the few people they intended to invite outside of their kingdom, they had begun preparing the castle for the celebration and the princess found herself preoccupied with menial tasks, like picking out what flower arrangements to line the aisle with and what color banners should hang from the ceilings above them.

Throughout it, she’d done her best to avoid the Mikaelsons but maintained a close enough distance so they couldn’t claim she was giving them the cold shoulder. She’d grown quite good at falsifying closeness throughout her years. She was designed to have a connection with her people that displayed generosity but not bias. A relatability, but not a weakness.

She was sure that Rebekah would call them best friends by now, but she also knew the girl could not even tell a person what the princess’s favorite color was if someone ever bothered to ask her.

She has always been able to exist in a way that makes her entirely extraordinary, but forgettable the moment she’s out of sight.

She’s been able to use the wedding as an excuse to avoid isolated interactions with Klaus, but she knew he’d catch her without an excuse one of these days. She would’ve preferred to avoid it for a bit longer, but she wasn’t unprepared when it finally happened.

Standing in the aisle of the throne room where the banners of white and gold were hanging above the place they were to stand in front of her people and all of the guests they’d sent invitations out to and declare an undying bond that didn’t exist, she felt a rage bubble inside of her that she was quick to smother into nothing but cinders and ash when she heard the doors creak open behind her and footsteps slow as he stopped beside her.

“You’re a hard woman to track down, Princess,”

“You could have sent for me at any time. It is my duty to serve my subjects,”

She glances at Klaus out of the corner of her eye and sees an amused look grow on his face. “Is that what I am? One of your subjects?”

“Until we are bound by law, yes, Lord Mikaelson. You are one of my subjects and I your Princess. Soon enough you’ll be Prince, and you will also owe loyalty to my subjects because this place does not exist without them.”

“You take such pride in this kingdom, in these lands, yet you did not win it in a battle, have not even fought in one, as far as I’m aware. You have no value to other kingdoms, and yet your father brags of orchards and vineyards with bountiful fruits. He tells tales of heroic civilians, always offering a helping hand to those in need. Sparing what they can, to maintain their peace here. It’s an odd thing, considering I’d never seen or heard of Riverend before that time all those months ago when I first met your father.”

“And yet, here you stand, within the walls of my kingdom, amongst my people. In my home.”

There’s no humor in her voice. There isn’t any hatred in it, either, and he can tell she’s got that impenetrable mask on again. Even her momentary anger or irritation was different from this nothingness.

He can hear her father’s words from that very first day, telling them all that her words are important. He remembers thinking it was such an odd thing to point out at that time. It almost rings like a warning, now, and not a twisted compliment for the woman.

“It’s curious, is all. I wonder if I’ll understand what inspires such devotion once I am Prince, or if it is a feeling only you experience.”

She turns, finally, to look at him. “You are interested in learning what makes me love my people and my home?”

He ducks his head in a nod. “Guilty, I suppose.”

“Then I will show you,” She nods once, firmly. Like she’s just decided it then and there because of his earnest words, and he thinks it’s a ridiculous, rash thing, but when he looks into her eyes there is no hesitation or wariness. “Tonight, we will have dinner and I will answer all of your questions. I will show you why I would spill endless blood for this kingdom, and never ask any of my people to do the same for me in return.”

He raises his brows, letting a sliver of his suspiciousness show in his icy, blue-gray eyes. “You’re offering such honesty to my family after weeks of pretending like we don’t exist? Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your generosity.”

“Not your family. You. You and I will have dinner alone, and I will tell you everything you want to know,” She corrects him, earning a more genuine look of shock from him. “You are to be my husband. One day you will be my King, and I your Queen. Is honesty not the place to start?”

Klaus falls silent, watching her, waiting for a slip-up. For any sign of hesitation or scheming behind her endless eyes. Finding nothing, he bites out a wry laugh and nods in agreement, finally tearing his eyes away from her to look around at the decorated throne room.

The betrotheds stand silent together for a few minutes, and she offers no insight into whatever it is she’s thinking as she stares at the throne front and center in the room.

“Is my help needed for our wedding?” Klaus says suddenly as if there isn’t a mounting tension building in the room like a shadow of the night.

“Not unless you are offering,” She says simply. “I’ve told them white and gold, for our colors. My dress is to be fashioned similarly, as are your garments. I’m sure you’ll be summoned for fittings, but our seamstresses have plenty of work to do before then.”

The man hummed agreeingly. “Then I shall leave you to it. And I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

“Before you go, Lord Mikaelson,”

“I am certain you can call me Niklaus. Just Klaus if you’re feeling particularly agreeable that day, Princess,”

She raised a brow like one might raise their lips in humor. “Niklaus.”

He looks at her indulgently.

“Even after we are married, outside of our duties to this kingdom, I will never ask you for anything,” She says, her words striking something like a warning bell inside him. “But right now, I have a question for you.”

“Ask me anything, Princess,”

“Do you know who you are?”

Klaus’s eyebrows flexed on his forehead. “Pardon?”

She turns to face him head-on, standing before him like she did that first day they arrived, only this time there was barely a foot of distance between them. He could almost see her pulse move in the long lines of her throat. “I ask you, as your future wife, do you know who you are? Do you feel the shadow that shields your soul? Do you feel the fire that consumes you?”

She tilts her head at his suspended silence. “You hide from the light that is still inside of you. You hide from someone. But you won’t hide from me. You can’t. It is because of that unfair advantage that I am offering you honesty. Know that I do this for you as an act of trust. Do not underestimate the weight of such a thing, or you will see just what I am willing to do for this place.”

She side-steps him and walks past him, leaving him in a stunned silence that quickly turns into rage that they both know he can’t take out on anything within the walls of this castle, and the borders of this kingdom.

She’s established the high ground. And she has made it clear that it is not Klaus standing up there, looking down at her, but rather the other way around.

She’s offered to even the playing field, though. He’s curious to see just how much honesty she’ll be parting with tonight. He’s curious to see how it will end.

──────

The table is set for two.

It’s different from the dining table they’ve been occupying for the past three weeks. This is a table made for two, and only for two.

Candlelight casts shadows around the room, and Klaus does a slight double take as he walks towards the table, escorted quietly by one of the sentries from his quarters to this room. He’s loath to admit he was distracted by thinking about all of the possibilities of this dinner to pay attention to the fact that he was being led to the east wing and not the usual central hall where meals were had.

But it’s too late for him to question it, as the sentry is walking out and a door across the room opens, revealing the princess.

She’s changed again– always in different gowns throughout the day. This one is similar to the one she was wearing when they first met. A blue so dark it looks black, that holds color like the night sky. Sleeves that drape over her shoulders and cinch down to her wrist, leaving only her hands bare. With the dim lighting of this private dining room, shadows dance around her face, and he thinks to himself that the shadows cling to her.

She gestures for him to take a seat, already doing so, and she immediately grabs a corked bottle from the side of the table, popping it open and pouring their golden chalices halfway full before she sets it back down.

Klaus takes the first drink and has to bite back the pleased noise he starts to make, if only out of spite.

“I’ve been fermenting this wine for three years,” She informs him, seemingly hearing the noise anyway, if the gleam in her eye is anything to go by. “It’s from my private reserves.”

“Aren’t they all from your private reserves?”

“No, I give barrels to the tavern in town,” She swirls it around in her cup, quirking a brow at him.

“Give, or sell?”

“Aren’t you the one who said I have undying generosity for this kingdom for no good reason?” She takes a small sip of the wine, holding it in her mouth for a moment before she sets it down. “It’s too bitter for my liking.”

Klaus hums, taking another drink. “Perhaps you’re just your own biggest critic,”

“Mm, perhaps,” She concedes, fluttering her eyes in a slight roll. It’s as casual as he’s ever seen her, and she’s still sitting stock-straight in her chair, shoulders back and chin high. As royal as ever. “Are you going to start asking your questions?”

He smirks, tilting his head in a slight nod. “Maybe I was waiting for your permission. I wouldn’t want to be a rude dinner guest, after all. Not after you’ve brought this lovely meal into this secluded space,”

“It’s mine. I don’t always prefer to eat in the company of others,” She says. “My bedroom is through that door.”

She points to the door she’d come through upon his arrival, and his eyes follow the curve of her arm through the fabric shifting along it.

“How lucky I am, then, hm?”

“Oh, most people would not call it luck, Niklaus. In fact, I think I heard your brother say to your sister once that it feels like you’re all just sheep in a wolf’s den.”

Klaus makes a dry noise of acknowledgment, mentally cursing his brother for saying such things within earshot of anyone, let alone his soon-to-be wife. “My brother’s desire to protect this family often leads him to paranoia, I’m afraid.”

“I never said he was wrong.”

Klaus’s hands flex in his lap, out of view of the princess. “Oh, is that so? Then maybe I am ready to start asking questions,”

She beckons him on with a wave of her hand. Neither of them has touched their meals. He doesn’t think they’ve broken eye contact, either. Locked in this stalemate, tension rising and rising and rising.

“I have traveled far and wide in my days on this planet, and I have come across some very strange places, I must say. But never have I come across a place that simply… doesn’t exist,”

If Klaus knew any better, he’d think she looked excited at the words coming out of his mouth.

“That is not a question, my Lord,”

He smirks at her correction. “What is it? What is it that hides this place from the map? How do you keep travelers passing through, yet no one has ever had so much as a–a tall tale, or some monster story to tell about this place? You fight in no wars but you have sentries stationed throughout this castle, on guard every night and day. You trade no goods, but these lands are bountiful in fruits and vegetables, crops as big as this castle grow in people’s yards. So, tell me, Princess Nyxia, how do you do it?”

She shifts in her chair, leaning her arm onto the armrest, and for the first time since he met her all those months ago, she smiles.

She smiles widely, and it’s not something wicked or cold, but instead, it’s amusement, through and through. Every bit of that coldness stays in her eyes, though. Darkness still clinging to her like a child and its mother.

“There are stories about things– creatures so dangerous that you cannot even utter their name, for fear of inviting them into your home, your mind,” She starts, undoubtedly aware of the anticipation thrumming in his veins. He’s had to be so careful about feeding since they came here, compelling people, and never taking too much, because he can’t risk her catching on. He thinks he feels more human than ever within these walls, and it’s such an odd thing.

“My real name has not been spoken in decades. Most people in this kingdom, in this castle, do not know me as anything other than Nyxia. It is the name that my mother held when people started to refuse to say her name as well, and in honor of her great life, I now bear it as my own.”

Klaus lets out a slow breath, a feeling like adrenaline coursing through him. “What are you, Nyxia?”

“I am the shadows that follow you along the walls, I am the very stars in the sky. I am the end to every day, and I will be the end to it all when I am finally called back home. I am the thing you see every time you blink your eyes, Klaus Mikaelson. I am darkness.”

He shuffles, leaning his elbows onto the table to examine her closely, in a way that he hasn’t had the chance to do since their arrival. “You keep this place hidden so that people don’t find you and hunt you.”

“Why do you think you and your siblings found this place? Why do you think you could see and remember what so many others could not?” She raised a brow, pulling her cloth napkin from her lap and dropping it atop her untouched plate. “I know what you are, Niklaus Mikaelson. The Original Hybrid. The divide in you is shadowed in darkness. I am, and have been a part of your very being from the day you took your first breath and were declared a bastard.”

He flinches minutely, but she sees it anyway. “Why me? Why lure me and my family here? To kill us? I have no doubt you have every means to kill creatures such as ourselves if your claims of power are to be taken as truth.”

“I have no intention to kill you, Klaus,” She pushes her chair back from the table, standing up. Silently, she gestures for him to do the same. “I have not yet told you why I do what I do here.”

“You haven’t even told me what you do here, let alone why,”

She chuckles freely and he ignores the chill that travels down his spine at the sound. It’s like she’s been waiting on him to break this dam between them, and now that her secret is out, she’s alive.

She’d told him earlier to realize the weight that is behind her trust, her honesty. He will admit to himself that he had underestimated it, even in the wake of her precautions.

“Your family is not expecting you tonight, right?”

He raises his brows but shakes his head. “I told them I’d be having dinner with you and that I’d be out for the night. Why do you ask?”

“We’ll be taking a trip. I have things to do,”

It’s all she says before she leads him into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them.

──────

Draped in cloaks that covered their faces in shadows she had promised him would keep them hidden while they made their way through muddy alleys and thick groves of trees, Klaus couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

He didn’t often admit that he was in over his head– was rarely in such a position at all– but this. This was something he was utterly in the dark about. The irony wasn’t lost on him, either.

“Where are we going, Princess?”

“You may call me Nyxia, you know. You did earlier,”

“I am nothing if not a gentleman, Princess Nyxia,”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an unfamiliar degree of humor in the action. He’s still discombobulated at her complete flip of a switch, but he’s trying to familiarize himself with it. He selfishly hopes that she doesn’t slide that cold mask back on when they return to the castle.

“They’ll be just through here,” Nyxia led them through another tightly packed thicket of trees, and just as Klaus was about to complain, they broke through into a clearing that nearly took his breath away.

Though they were undoubtedly still surrounded by the forest she’d traipsed them through for the past hour, at least, this ovaloid clearing was shrouded in a different kind of darkness than the night that encased the rest of the area.

Light up by the stars glimmering just out of reach above their heads, women mingled about, stopping to talk to one another. A few children ran by, laughing as they chased one another barefoot through the trees, disappearing out of sight and earshot as soon as they left the area, only to reappear before him like a bursting bubble.

Klaus turned slightly to look at Nyxia, watching her pull her cloak down off her head and smile kindly, genuinely, to the people who had stopped and gathered around them. Klaus took the cue and pulled his own hood off, and his presence immediately earned wary looks.

Glancing at Nyxia, he fought the urge to jump when her hand landed on his arm, her face contorting into an understanding but reassuring look. “No, no, look,”

She pulled Klaus closer to her, keeping her hand wrapped around his arm as he looked warily at the sea of faces watching him. Feeling entirely caught off guard, he stayed silent, happily letting Nyxia take the reins.

“This is my betrothed,” Her words immediately earn a variety of reactions. From the children, their hesitance turns into immediate adoration. From the older women, teasing laughs are shared between them, and Nyxia bats a hand out to silence them, though it’s not done out of real offense.

Friends, he realizes. These are her friends. She’s brought him to meet her friends that she has hidden in this patch of woods, further secluding a place that already doesn’t exist outside of its own bubble.

An unavoidable arrow of fondness shoots down his spine, and he bats it away as quickly as he can.

“So our lovely princess has finally brought a prince to meet us,” One of the older women grins tauntingly, and Klaus eyes the wrinkles around her mouth that only come from smiling too much, and the strands of gray hair falling out of the braids she’s got piled atop her head.

“Klaus,” He says, somewhat shocked by the emotion in his voice. “You may call me Klaus.”

“Klaus, then,” The woman nods, conveying something to Nyxia that is seemingly translated between the two of them, though Klaus couldn’t even begin to guess what went unsaid.

Nyxia finally removes her hand from his arm to reach into her cloak, pulling three small bottles out and passing them off to the older woman, whose face turns somewhat solemn.

“I know that one is for Merida,” The woman starts, meeting Nyxia’s gaze from beneath her lashes. “But who are the other two?”

“Reya and Liesl,”

The woman curses beneath her breath and apologizes when the children nearby gasp.

“When am I to bring this to them?”

“Within the week. It has only been getting worse lately,”

As if she were a soldier being told her life was being offered up on the chopping block, the woman nodded and tucked the vials into the deep pockets of the dress she wore. “I will send word once they are here.”

“Thank you, Theresé,” She grabs Klaus’s arm gently once more, beginning to steer him towards the path they’d taken, but she stops short, looking over her shoulder with a slight smirk. “You are all invited to the wedding, of course. Next month. I will send someone to escort you to the castle.”

A bout of excited tittering follows them out, and they walk in silence, heading a bit of the way back towards the castle before she leads them off to the left, walking them across one of the runoff creeks that flow with the river through town.

He remains silent until she leaves his side to push open a gate ahead of them, the metal creaking and groaning beneath her force, but giving way eventually.

This time, when Klaus steps forward, he instantly knows where he is. “The orchard,”

“Yes,” Nyxia takes a deep breath in, releasing it quietly. “Come, let’s sit.”

She leads him to a wooden bench down the main aisle in between the trees full of ripe fruit, all looking ready to be harvested and used.

“That place,” He starts once they’ve been seated for a moment, Klaus watching Nyxia’s profile as she basks beneath shadows and night of her own making. “What is it?”

“It has no name,” She informs him, her voice unexpectedly soft.

She’s been so different this entire night, he wonders how long she’s been waiting for someone to just ask her these questions. Every person who’s been close enough to do it has been too scared of what wrath they may face if they did ask her about the oddities of her home, but Klaus did it because he can’t help but push people.

“It has no name, and no one knows of it besides the ones who live there, and myself. Now, you do, too,”

“What is the purpose of it? Why is it only women and children?”

She takes a long moment to think about her words, and he can see the way she struggles to verbalize her thoughts because no one had ever thought to ask her before. “Just because I am darkness does not mean that I can control all that exists in this world. I can’t take away what already exists, no matter how much I wish to. That place is what I call a loophole. I have them hidden all around the world. Because I cannot erase what already exists, I must find a way to work around it. To remove the darkness I wish to see gone without violating the laws of my making.”

“And what exactly have you been working around?”

“Humanity,” She says simply. “With every passing decade, they tear themselves apart more and more. My loopholes exist to take people out of that chaos, of the darkness. Sometimes it’s a hungry child or a bastard,”

Klaus glances away for a moment before forcing his gaze back to hers.

“Sometimes it is a woman that gets sold to the highest bidder. The woman I spoke to, Theresé, was one of the first women I saved from a nearby village. Her husband was an utter brute and had killed his first wife when she had barely seen sixteen name days. Theresé was strong, but there was only so much she could do before the inevitable. So I stepped in and I proposed a hypothetical situation to her, where all she would have to do is make him dinner and serve him wine, and meet me outside of her home later that night.

“I did not think she would do it, but when the moon was high in the sky, I waited outside of her house and barely breathed until she was standing before me in one piece, with tears in her eyes and bruises on her cheek. So I told her who I was and what I wanted to do, and she said she would help me if I continued to save women who had been in her position. So I have. The girls I mentioned, Reya and Liesl. Young girls, friends since childhood. They were married off to the same man, a prince of some second-rate kingdom a few days north that had already gone through 3 wives. They have just found out they’re both pregnant, and fear raising children in the environment they live in.”

Realization dawns on him. “You give them poison. The wine you make,”

She hums in assent and silence falls between them once more, the princess dutifully letting Klaus turn the events of the night over and over in his head, finally slotting pieces together where they’d been misaligned for months.

“Why?” He breathes out, his tone of disbelief earning her attention once more. “Why did you bring me there when you’ve barely spoken to me all these months? When you have known what I am and who my family is, and you knew I was suspicious from the very start, why have you just now shown me the truth?”

Sighing, Nyxia looks down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I fear that my honesty is about to get me in trouble for the first time tonight.”

“Just tell me,” He shakes his head pleadingly. “Please.”

“Death consumes your very soul, Klaus,” Her voice takes on a distant tone, one he recognizes more than any fondness or humor she’s shown throughout the night. It’s the way she’d spoken to him since he first arrived, down to that very morning in the throne room, overlooking preparations for their wedding. “It is a fire that burns you from the inside out. And because of that fire, there is a shadow on you. And in that shadow, I exist. I see parts of you that you likely would not share with me, and for good reason.”

Klaus can’t help the way he flinches, shifting away from her on the bench. She looks unsurprised at this particular reaction, but her fingers twitch like she’s going to reach out for him again.

She doesn’t.

“I have known you much longer than you have known me, and for that, I apologize. When you first arrived, I was still hesitant to believe what I had felt, and I– I am much different in the daylight. I am at my weakest when the sun is out, and that has never changed. But– other things have.”

“Your father–”

“He is not my father,” She cuts him off, voice reverting to that cold indifference for a split second. “Once upon a time, he was a man. A king. But he was not a kind man, let alone a kind king. So I took the darkness in his mind, and I collapsed it from within. I made him hollow with it, and now he is but a puppet. A face to put on our currency, so that I may do as I please without so much attention. My people remember the cruel man, and they remember what I did for them. That is why I have their respect. Their loyalty. Trust breeds trust.”

Klaus’s jaw clenches. “And when you decide you’re ready to become Queen one day, and I become a King, will you also make me into a puppet? Will I be nothing but a conduit of political jargon made to distract people from your loopholes?”

Nyxia’s eyes burn, but they are dark. Almost black.

“I did not bring you here to make you a puppet, Niklaus,”

“Then why did you bring me here? Tell me, Nyxia. Tell me the truth.”

“I brought you here because I want to protect you,”

Klaus’s lip curls in a snarl and he stands up, cloak billowing around him. He turns at the feeling of a slight breeze and finds himself looking at the castle from a high distance, and he wonders if he’d been in such shock that he hadn’t noticed their uphill hike, or if this was another one of her tricks.

Clenching his jaw, he turns to look down at her. “I do not need protecting, Princess. I have done nothing but protect myself and my family for hundreds of years.”

“I know that, Klaus,” She spits out, looking as angry as he feels. Both of them are stubborn to a fatal degree. “But I want you to let me do it anyway!”

Klaus lets out a harsh breath through his nose, turning to look away from her as his chest heaves with frustrated breaths. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion practically slaps him in the face as it settles over him and he finds his racing thoughts finally slowing down, seeming to process in his mind after the eventful night.

“I understand that this has all been unexpected,” She starts, voice carefully neutral in the wake of both of their tempers. “And I will not blame you for being upset. But trust me when I say that I have your best interests in heart, for you and your family.”

“I’m to trust you after you’ve shown me only a fraction of the truth?”

Her soft look has shuttered away when he looks at her again. “I told you,” She whispers, voice quiet but certainly not weak with how thick it was around the emotion clenching around her windpipe. “That I was putting all of my trust into you the moment I told you what I am. The danger that I have thrust upon you and myself just by sharing all of this with you is endless. I have bared my soul to you in a single night, Klaus Mikaelson, and then you spit in my face by asking me if I am trustworthy.”

“Nyxia,”

She stands from the bench abruptly, pulling the hood of her cloak back up over her head. “We should go. I don’t want to run into the guards at the shift change.”

“Nyxia, just–”

“We’re leaving,” She cuts him off, not looking back to see if he’s following after her as she stalks off towards the gates she’d opened for him, just for him, moments ago. “Either join me, or find your own way back.”

Klaus pulls his own hood up and is quick to fall into step a few paces behind her because he isn’t nearly stupid enough to think that their easygoing atmosphere from earlier is still lingering. All because he couldn’t stop the traitorous beating of his heart and the way his skin crawled at the thought of entrusting the safety of his family to anyone else.

She is going to be family soon enough, though. If she’ll still have him, that is.

──────

The tension in the castle is thick for a few days before it’s suddenly dampened with something painful.

Rain begins to pour and does not stop for three days straight. Most foot traffic that is in and out of the castle for wedding planning is put on pause at the King’s order. Not worth risking the safety and integrity of any person or thing for one wedding.

Klaus doesn’t see or hear from Nyxia for those three days, and on the fourth day of heavy downpours, of him being stuck in the library with his brother or listening to his sister drone on about a particularly handsome guard, he breaks. He walks the path the sentry had taken him down into the East Wing of the castle and knocks on the thick wooden door, tilting his head just to hear the heart beating faintly on the other side of it. It’s the only reason he even knows she’s alive, and he can’t stop the relief that soothes his nerves.

It doesn’t manage to get rid of the cloud of guilt that’s been hanging above his head since that night in the orchard, nor does it make him want to turn around and leave.

“Princess?” His voice is low, but he knows she’ll hear it if she’s listening. “I was just…”

He trails off, unsure of what excuse to offer up for his impromptu visit. A lie, a half-truth. The whole truth.

It’s the least he could do in return, offer her honesty. Since he threw hers right back in her face four nights ago.

“May I come in, please?”

Silence follows his question, but when he pushes on the door slightly, it creaks open, and he steps through as quickly as possible, not willing to take the chance that it was a fluke. He’s greeted with darkness broken up by dim firelight, and his eyes take a moment to adjust, that concern inside of him chipping away at his pride.

“Princess?” He asks again, voice low in the dim room. His brows twitch on his forehead, pulling together. “Nyxia?”

There’s a shift of fabric from the four-poster bed a few feet in front of him, and he can see the orange glow in the room the moment she turns to face him.

Even in the poor lighting, he can see the sunken shadows of her face and the way the stars in her eyes have gone dull.

“Nyxia?” He nearly gasps her name as he rushes to her bedside, dropping to his knees beside it as he takes in her sickly features. “What’s happened to you?”

She lets out a shaky breath that sounds like it hurts. “Sometimes… sometimes I let them take too much,”

Confusion passes over him momentarily before a realization hits him. “The loopholes… this place… it drains you, doesn’t it?”

She nods where her head is pressed into the pillow.

He lifts a trembling hand to her cheek, brushing invisible dirt off of her cheek. He can feel the clammy sweat tainting her skin, the fever roaring in her veins. How odd it must be to be an immortal creature taken down by something comparable to a cold.

“Why?” He shakes his head, genuine disbelief coating the word as he watches his betrothed wheeze out a few more breaths. “Why do you let them do this? Why do you do this?”

She smiles and there's a tired pull to it, and she leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “People are so scared of me,” Her voice is impossibly soft, so unfamiliar, and yet he feels that ache in his chest, the desire to hear it more. To hear her more. “They are scared of everything. The least I can do is make my darkness feel safer.”

He thinks it shatters something in him, to hear her grand reasoning behind everything. To hear that underneath that cold exterior, and the soft one, too, the woman before him just wants people to feel safe in her shadows. She wants them to leave behind lives of unhappiness, to not feel fear when the moon rises in the sky and stars hang over their heads. She doesn’t want them to fear the thought of a monster under their bed but rather feel protected by it. By her.

She wants to do that for him. For his family. And he’d practically laughed in her face.

A shame buries itself deep in him, and he finds himself lurching forward slightly, face hovering above hers to keep her attention while she loses her lucidity before his eyes. “What can I do? What can I do to make this better?”

She reaches a hand up from beneath her blankets and rests it atop his. “Stay. Just stay with me, please,”

He nods and holds back more words he’s simply not ready to say yet. Reluctantly leaves her side for a moment to bring a chair to her bedside, and once again intertwine their hands together.

He watches her fall asleep and continues watching her well into the night. It doesn’t feel like a chore, or anything of the sort. He thinks he’d be content to spend a few years of his eternity just sitting here with her.

──────

It takes another four days for Nyxia to be able to get out of bed without feeling weak. In those days she regains a bit of that life back into her eyes, and Klaus is there to see every speck of it grow. He sees the shadows get darker again, not as faded and murky as they seemed to be when she was in the worst of it. It makes him happy in a way that he wouldn’t have ever expected it to.

They spend those four days together in a bubble of their own, with small touches shared between each other. Lingering glances and longing looks are shared from across the dining table while they share meals with his family and the king.

He doesn’t know if all of it means he’s forgiven for his harsh words in the orchard. He doesn’t let himself hope for anything, because he’s not sure if he deserves it after everything.

It’s a particular train of thought he hasn’t let come to fruition for his own sanity. Instead, he’s relished in the freshly budding relationship between him and his wife-to-be. The partnership that’s being created. The friendship.

He finds himself in the library that remains hidden behind one, nondescript door that opens up to high ceilings, and endless bookshelves. The first time she’d taken him to see it, he’d spent the entire evening looking through the books, getting lost in the history books she had in her collection.

As the days go by, he finds himself there more and more, and it seems that Nyxia’s in the same boat.

Hands skimming against the worn spines of the books, Klaus’s mind travels near and far, and he lets his imagination run wild. It’s a rare occurrence, this vulnerability that he’s found within these walls, beneath Nyxia’s care, so he can’t be faulted for being caught off guard when a book slides out from the shelf on the other side and he snaps his gaze up to meet her amused one.

There’s no doubt she misses the slight intake of breath he does at her sudden presence, but she gives him the grace of not saying anything about it out loud. Her face is framed between the two shelves and she grins widely, unabashedly, in the shadows of the books. “Hiding in the art history books again, Niklaus?”

He ducks his head, glancing at the lone book he is holding in his hands, a finger shoved between pages to hold his place while he searches through other titles. Lifting his eyes back up to meet hers once more, he shrugs a shoulder, poorly feigning obliviousness.

“It’s alright, at least I always know where I can find you,” She quickly dismisses his uncharacteristic shyness, and he’s once again grateful for it, even if he’s not sure if she does it for her own sake or his. “I wanted to ask you a question, actually, about the wedding.”

He raises a brow, not hiding his surprise. She rarely brings the wedding up to him these days, and with the celebration in just five days, the castle staff was bustling about more than ever. Klaus only ever looked at the gold and white decor lining the throne room in passing, usually hurrying through to track Nyxia down somewhere in the castle, or dodging his brother’s increasingly personal questions about the state of his relationship with the Princess.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about the wedding, despite Nyxia rarely saying anything to him about it. He found himself wondering just how the day would transpire as it drew closer, wondered how all of the fittings he did for his garments a while back would look like in the end, and wondered endlessly about just what Nyxia would be walking down the aisle in.

“It’s about the guest list,”

Her voice pulls him from the frequent thought and he bites the tip of his tongue in silent reprimand. Clearing his throat quietly, he looked at her. “What of it? I thought invitations were sent out months ago,”

“They were,” She confirms, nodding once. Her voice takes on a hint of that diplomatic lilt she likes to pull out of thin air with him when she feels she’s approaching a difficult subject. It instantly puts his nerves on edge, but he tries not to get defensive. If there’s anything he’s learned with her, it’s that he’ll do nothing but regret his knee-jerk reaction to bare his teeth and snarl at the first feeling of danger coming his way. He knows just as well that Nyxia would never put him in danger on purpose.

“I was just wondering if there was anyone you wanted to invite,” She continued, glancing away from him. “I know Rebekah and Elijah will be there, of course, but is there anyone else you want to come?”

He’s quick to respond, barely even thinking about it. “I’ve become familiar enough with your subjects that they’re plenty for me, I think. Especially the women coming from the loophole. I’m looking forward to seeing them,”

Her face softens with an endless fondness he’s not quite sure what to do with. Any time she offers it up to him, he does his best to just hold it gently in between them, like it was a cloud threatening to seep through his fingers and dissipate into nothingness.

“I am as well,” She smiles briefly before her face falls back into a placating look. “But you’re sure you don’t have any friends you might not have thought of? Or any more family? I’m sure you’ve… outlived… most of your ancestors, but perhaps there’s a distant cousin that was never turned? Or your… your parents, perhaps?”

Klaus instantly realizes the true nature of her question, and once again has to fight off the urge to snap at her and make her go away. It’s an easier path to take than explaining just why his parents won’t be in attendance at their wedding or part of their futures at all, and why he wouldn’t want them to in the first place, but he finds himself wanting to try. It’s the least he could do for her.

“No, my– my parents are no longer– an option,” He says carefully, brows furrowing as he revisits centuries-old aches and stabs of pain laced with a childish hurt. “I wouldn’t want them here even if they were.”

Her face twists with concern before she disappears from the side of the shelf, and Klaus’s eyes widen momentarily before he hears the click of her shoes growing closer. She rounds the corner of the bookshelf swiftly, coming to stand before him with a practiced look of understanding on her face meant to convey her state of heeding.

“You know by now that I’m a bastard,” She nods. “Even though my father was already unhappy with how I came about, it worsened when he learned my father was the leader of the werewolf pack in our village. I wasn’t just a bastard, but a monster, then, too. I faced abuse from my father my entire life, and my mother always let it happen, or encouraged it, if only to save herself from facing his wrath for her own mistakes.”

Silently, she reaches out and grabs the book from his hand, setting it flat on the shelf in favor of grabbing his hands in hers.

“When my youngest brother Henrik was killed by the pack my true father was a part of, my mother was overcome with the grief of losing a child and that’s when she turned us. When she made the spell to make us into these undying creatures who survive off of blood. She and Mikael killed us all and we were forced to transition when we woke.”

Squeezing his hands, Nyxia shakes her head. “You don’t have to go on, Klaus.”

He shakes his head, waving off her apology. “It’s alright. I want you to know the truth,” Her already soft face opens more and she takes another minute step towards him, closing the distance between them a bit more. “With everything heightened after my transition, I was so overcome with my anger that I lost control and I– I killed her. I killed my mother.”

“Nik,”

“I regretted it as soon as I did it. And I buried her body where no one would find it, and I told my family that she was killed by our father. Because in my head, she was. She let him abuse me, she let him turn even a fraction of that hatred onto Rebekah and Elijah, and the rest of them, and I– I truly hated her for it. What good of a mother was she if she could just watch that happen to her children?”

He clenches his jaw and tilts his head slightly, biting down the bitterness that still swims in his veins all these years later. “Mikael knew what I did, though. I don’t know how, but he always knew. And I– I don’t know what’s happened to him, I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, like us or something else, but I– I do not want him here. I wouldn’t want him here, no matter the situation. I never want someone like Mikael to find this place, because a single touch from him would destroy it all.”

Nyxia shakes her head immediately, eyes wide and full of something that transcends simple fondness. “He wouldn’t, Niklaus. I wouldn’t let him ruin it. This is my home– this is our home. I won’t let him ruin it for you.”

Klaus wished he could believe her. And he knows she knows that. And he knows they both know it’s truly got nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the fact that his father has ruined his life at every turn since the day he was born. It’s just what he does. He could so easily take this beautiful thing Klaus has been given and tarnish it with a single touch.

“I had to inherit these shadows, you know?” She says suddenly, taking him off guard. “I wasn’t born with them, not really. I was born with power, I was made of this power. But in order to have them at the capacity at which they exist now, I had to wait for my mother to die. She was my best friend. But I think that made it all the worse when I had to watch her wither away through each century, until one day, she became nothing more than the night sky we came from. Afterward, I was so overcome with grief that I didn’t even acknowledge the shadows. I wanted no part of it, not without her,”

She huffs out a small, wry laugh and shakes her head. “But they are very stubborn. They persisted, and one day, they brought me into the shadows and showed me the light that exists within them. And after that day, I started doing things differently. It’s been a long time since then, but I still remember all of those feelings like it was yesterday. And I know that because you have been given the gift and the curse of eternity just as I have, that you understand it like no one else does. So you must believe me when I say this, husband, but it will not be like this forever. And I am making you a promise now that your– that Mikael will not ever make his mark in my kingdom. You and I will live in peace for the rest of our days, with our people and no one can take that from us. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Niklaus?”

He nods, clenching his teeth together as he swallows around the concrete lump in his throat. “Of course. Of course I do,”

“Good,” She nods once. “You can trust me. I swear it on my life.”

He nods again and she offers him a small smile, like she’s wary to shift the graveness that had settled over them into something else. He jostles their conjoined hands, and her eyebrows tick together, silently coaxing his words out.

“How did you do it?” He asks quietly. “How did you find the light when you were surrounded by the darkness?”

Her eyes suddenly burned with ferocity, an ancient thing that had roots buried deep inside of her. A small fraction of her power. “I carved it out of the shadows with my bare hands and I did not stop until my fingers bled. Until my nails were cracked and my body screamed for me to stop. And I would do it again if it meant I kept you and your family safe. Understand that, Klaus. If nothing else, understand that I’ll bleed for you.”

Klaus isn’t sure what to do in the face of her devotion. He feels as if it should be the other way around– him worshiping her, instead of this blood-promise she’s made to him. He isn’t sure what to do or say, but he is sure of one thing; he loves her. And he would bleed for her just as well.

──────

The morning of their wedding, a low hum of activity overtakes the calm of the castle and does not falter, well into the early hours of afternoon. Klaus was summoned from his rooms just minutes after the sun was up and brought to the seamstresses that he’d seen increasingly over the months and put into the intricate suit made specifically for him.

His trousers were plain, simple, and tucked carefully into shoes that almost felt like armor. His surcoat was donned with intricate, weaving lines of gold that gleamed in the sunlight, woven into the fabric like they were the very veins in his body. Like it was a showcase of the life that flowed through him, scorching like the sun for all eternity. When he was draped with a mantle of white fur and more golden details along the draped fabric, he looked in the lone mirror before him and felt, for the first time, that he was truly a king. And just after that thought, he couldn’t help but wonder what his queen looked like.

When he is escorted to the throne room, he can hear the dozens of heartbeats waiting on the other side of the doors before him and he only has a moment to breathe before the doors are swung open and the guests are standing, turning to face him.

His blue eyes immediately shoot to the front of the room, where the king awaits his presence at the end of the aisle, where his brother and sister stand on either side of the large arbor, looking at him with an odd pride gleaming in their eyes.

Bracing himself, he lifts his chin slightly and walks forward, his hands clasped in front of him as he meets the eyes of strangers, all watching him like they’re waiting for him to show his true colors. When he nears the end of the aisle, he looks over to his left and sees Theresé standing there, with a row of familiar faces lined up beside her, and he can’t stop the small twitch of his lips when she meets his gaze head-on with a smile that radiates pure excitement.

He tears his gaze away from the women and children of the loophole and meets the king’s eyes, exchanging a nod with the man as he takes his place at the center of the room. He turns his head towards the doors he’d come through moments ago, and finds himself holding his breath as he waits for them to open once more, and reveal his bride.

He prepares himself for the sight of her, but when the doors swing open, guards standing on either side of her, he thinks himself a fool for ever thinking he’d be prepared for the sight of her dressed in a white gown that trails behind her in a sea of golden embroidery that gleams just as his does. Like the life that burns in him also burns in her, despite the way her shadows carve out the angles of her face, the bridge of her nose.

He knew her dress would compliment him, of course, but he hadn’t anticipated just how much it would take his breath away, to see himself standing before a kingdom, waiting for her slow, graceful steps to come to a stop as she neared him.

Her own fur-lined mantle was just as carefully draped over her, and it went down the length of her train, the fabric moving along with her as if it were just water rippling along rocks. Slow, elegant, natural. Like she was born to be this.

For the first time, her arms are bare before him, and the skin below her jaw is as well. Her unexpected bareness exposes things he hadn’t known were hiding beneath her long sleeves and high collars. The shadows that run in her blood wrap around her arms, weaving like vines up across her chest and down into unknown territory, still hidden from his sight and touch. He swallows roughly at the sight of the image she creates before him, her head tilted back ever so slightly just to maintain his gaze as she steps up before him, her hands immediately reaching to lay in his proffered palms.

He can’t find his voice in time to tell her that she looks beautiful. To make vows to her before they’ve even started.

The king clears his throat quietly, raising his hand in a silent gesture that has the guests taking their seats once more.

“People of Riverend, we gather here to witness the joining of two souls. To celebrate a love that withstands life, death, and everything in between. A love forged in shadows and cradled by the moon, that blossoms beneath the sun. It is my honor to stand before you all and mark the start of our future here in these cherished lands beneath their incoming rule.”

The king shifts, turning slightly to look at Klaus directly. “Lord Mikaelson, repeat after me: I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours, and vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars,”

Klaus swallows and wets his lips, meeting Nyxia’s gleaming eyes. “I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours,” His voice trembles slightly, and her fingers press into his wrist, squeezing reassuringly. “And vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars.”

Nyxia mirrors his swallow, seemingly biting back her own emotion. “I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours,” Her pulse stutters beneath his fingertips, and his blood burns with it. “And vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars.”

“As witnessed by your people, do you both promise to serve them to the best of your abilities? To bleed with them, or for them, shall it one day be necessary? To feed and clothe them, and wash the dirt off of their feet, should they ever ask you to?”

They both nod once. “We do,”

The King mirrors their nod and continues. “May this marriage be protected by the powers that be. May it never bend or break, or waver in even the strongest of storms. May you both know one another’s love like no other. May the darkness protect you as it has protected others since the dawn of time,”

The king takes in a short breath and shifts, holding his hands up for his palms to face the sunlight gleaming in through the stained glass windows. “By the power entrusted unto me, I bless this marriage for the years to come. I now pronounce you husband and wife. Lord Mikaelson, you may kiss–”

“Stop this nonsense!”

Gasps echo throughout the throne room and Klaus’s blood freezes as his head snaps over, his gaze locking onto his father’s immediately.

The man at the end of the aisle takes a step forward, a mean smirk on his face. “Is it not utter blasphemy to make a king out of a bastard?”

Klaus breathes out a breath that shudders in his lungs painfully, and he looks past Nyxia to find Rebekah standing frozen in her place, tears bubbling in her eyes at the sight of Mikael. He doesn’t need to look at Elijah to know that the man is likely boiling with barely stifled rage.

Mikael takes another step forward and Klaus flinches back instinctively, despite the distance that stretches between them.

The man laughs at the sight, and Klaus finally looks at Nyxia, only to find her glaring at his father like her very gaze could burn him into ash.

“You have no business being here, Mikael,” Elijah’s voice bites out the words from behind him and he hears his brother take a step down, quick to be a buffer between him and Klaus. “Leave now, and you will not face any consequences.”

Mikael laughs again. “And from whom would these consequences be dealt? You? Or perhaps Rebekah?” The girl flinches, tears skittering down her flushed cheeks at his ridicule. “Certainly not Klaus. He’s not capable of it.”

“It will be me,” Nyxia’s voice rings out, firm and cold in a way that Klaus hasn’t heard it before, not even in their worst moments. “You will not speak of my husband in that manner. I’ll have your head for treason if you’re not careful.”

“You’d take my head for him?” Mikael’s brows raise like he’s actually surprised at the prospect. “I hate to break it to you, girl, but he is nothing. He comes from no high standing, he has no riches and nothing to give you in exchange for all that you give him. Whatever he has told you in those regards is a filthy lie. That’s all he is– a liar.”

Hot tears burn at the back of Klaus’s eyes and he struggles to find his voice again.

Nyxia drops his hands and Klaus fronts at the loss of her touch, only to reach for her as she turns and steps towards Mikael, unwavering beneath his hateful glare. “Don’t,” He gets out, pulling her back by her arm. “Do not go near him.”

She wrenches her arm from his hold, looking at him apologetically before she hardens her gaze once more and faces his father. “You come to my kingdom and interrupt my wedding to spew nonsense. You have the looks of a crazed man, Mikael. I should have my sentries imprison you until I find it worth my time to sentence you.”

He grins like her words are a challenge. “I’d like to see you try, Princess,” He spits her title out and before anyone can blink, he holds the tip of a dagger beneath her chin.

Gasps of fear ring out through the room and Klaus stumbles forward, stopped only by Elijah holding him just out of their father’s reach. “Do not touch her!” He growls out the words, black veins crawling beneath his eyes, earning a mocking chuckle from the man.

“Don’t tell me you actually love her, Niklaus,”

Klaus says nothing, which is answer enough, and it earns another round of derisive laughter from the man.

“What a ridiculous thing, love,” He tsks his tongue, shaking his head as if scolding his bastard son. “Nothing but a weakness to someone like you who is already softened by his childish emotions. It’s nice to know that you’re still such a disappointment, Niklaus.”

Klaus lunges for the man but is once again stopped by his brother.

“Klaus,” It’s Nyxia who says his name, which calms the racing of his heart in his ears, and he looks at her desperately. “Do you trust me?”

His brows furrow deeply, lines twisting onto his pale skin. “What?”

She gives him another look that conveys an apology he doesn’t need, and he feels his stomach swoop with fear.

“Nyx,” He breathes out, eyes wide as he starts to shake his head.

She rolls her eyes away from him like it pains her to do so, and looks to his father, uncaring of the tip of the dagger digging into her chin. “I told you I would bleed for you, Klaus. And I shall.”

She takes one long step forward and latches her hand around the handle of the dagger and digs her nails into Mikael’s skin, earning a grunt of annoyance from the man. In the blink of an eye, a cloud of black consumes them, and the last thing Nyxia hears is Klaus’s yell for her to stop.

Her hold on Mikael falters and they fall away from each other, thrown into shadows and thrown apart in the same breath.

It’s been centuries since she’s been here. Encased in nothingness, something that cannot even be considered night because it is so dark it does nothing but swallow the life that enters it.

She hears Mikael’s breathing through the darkness and hears him struggle to find footing as she does the same.

“You,” She speaks out, voice echoing into the void. Swarming around them like a crow’s call. “You have tarnished his soul. You are the darkness that exists inside of him, and I am going to rip every inch of life out of you even if it kills me.”

“Such meaningful threats,” The man speaks back, voice tinged in that smugness that sets her nerves alight with rage. “To think that you have fallen in love with a man like Niklaus. You could have such potential if you weren’t clinging to frivolous emotions.”

“You underestimate me, Mikael. You mock me, even now, when you are surrounded by something that does not exist without me and my power. It is your arrogance that will kill you, and I will offer your heart on a platter to my husband as a wedding gift.”

She lunges for the sound of him in the void, grunting as they blindly swing for each other, slamming fists and swinging daggers over and over with no sign of stopping.

She doesn’t know how long she was in this place the last time. Doesn’t know how long they’ve been here now. It could be mere seconds, it could be years. Nothing exists in this place, especially not time.

Blood from a cut that is already healed trails down her cheek, she can feel the wetness as she brushes her fingers along her skin. She can hear Mikael’s ragged breaths, her endless onslaught of pain catching up to him.

“He’s an abomination,” Mikael spits out. “Not just in name, but as a creature. It is not enough that he has no soul as this undead thing, but he has that mutt inside of him, waiting to be unleashed. He doesn’t deserve to live.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” She bites back, lips curling in a snarl. “But I do. And he will live with me until the Earth takes its last breath. And you will never take anything from him again, so long as I am at his side. You will never hurt your children again. I am taking back the darkness that is inside of you. I am taking the very air from your lungs,”

She tackles him blindly, knees pinning him down as she presses her hands roughly down onto his chest, her fingertips itching with heat as she does exactly that. “You will know pain like you’ve never known before where you are going. And with everything in me, I swear that I will not let there be a day that goes by that you do not suffer.”

The shadows that warm her skin crawl as she takes his life little by little, and she can feel his breaths begin to shallow with every word she speaks.

“Let your last thought on this Earth be the knowledge that I love your son, Mikael. And not even you can take that from him.”

A scream tears from her throat as she lifts her hands off of his chest and slams them back down, his body disappearing beneath her as if it had never existed. A burst of energy explodes from her and she nearly falls onto her face, catching herself on her hands and knees as it blows around her like a gust of wind.

She grits her teeth, trying to catch her breath as the void grows smaller around her, trying to swallow her whole as it had Mikael. But she had let it have Mikael. She would not let it have her. Not when she had something to go back to. Someone.

“No,” She bites out, jaw clenched tight enough that her bones creak. “You will let me go back.”

She digs her nails into the nothingness beneath her hands, skin scraping off at the fight it puts back. She lifts her hands from the void and brings them back down, clawing at it like a rabid animal.

“Let me out,” She says. Demands. “Let me out!”

Her voice echoes on a yell and she feels a scream build deep in her chest as she clenches her hands into fists and brings them down onto the ground, and she can feel it begin to crack beneath her force.

The ache in her hands grows with each hit but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, not even as the first cracks of light bleed through.

With just that sliver of light, she can see the broken skin of her hands and it’s such a guttural reminder of her past that she raises her hands once more and brings them down onto the shattering void with a strength she did not know she possessed.

All at once she is thrown out of the darkness and she flinches at the burst of brightness that encases her so suddenly. The sound of startled gasps and fearful noises makes her stumble and she tries and subsequently fails to get to her feet, her bloodied hands smearing along the pristine white aisle she had walked down.

Arms encase her and she turns her head to meet Klaus’s gaze as he pulls her into his chest, eyes wide in fear at the sight of her blood, no doubt mixed with some of Mikael’s that likely splattered onto her at some point in their tussle.

“Where did you go? What did you do?” He breathes out, eyes brimming with tears. “Where is Mikael?”

She lets out a shuddering noise as she clings to him, staining his surcoat with blood. “I took it back,” She grits her teeth, fire burning in her eyes for a split second before her exhaustion wipes it out. “I took my darkness back from him, and I turned him into nothing.”

Klaus makes a noise of grief that she knows is not for his father, but for the thought of her doing something he knows weakens her.

“I’m alright,” She assures him, finally looking past him at her kingdom that watches on warily. “I’m alright, I promise.”

Klaus holds onto her tighter like he’s scared she’ll disappear again, and she lets him as exhaustion weighs her down.

She smiles suddenly, breathless and hopeful. “We aren’t finished here,” Her eyes shift to the king, who hurries towards them, kneeling slightly. “We were interrupted.”

Klaus mirrors her smile, much more reserved even as his fear dissolves. “We were, weren’t we?”

“Finish it,” She looks up at the king from her place in Klaus’s lap in the aisle. “Please, finish it.”

The king barely takes a moment before he lets his voice carry like he had before, unwavering as if nothing had happened at all. “Without further ado, Lord Mikaelson, you may kiss your bride.”

Klaus barely lets him finish speaking before he kisses her, stealing the breath from her lungs as she gasps into it. Starlight burns in her and she raises her hand to gently cup his cheek, pulling him into her for one hard press of their lips before she pulls away, letting her hand fall from his cheek to rest against his heart.

She turns her face into his neck and whispers into his skin, her breath making goosebumps grow in its wake. “My name,” She says. “I want you to have it.”

He echoes it back to her softly, like he’s cradling it in his hands, and she looks up at him with stars in her eyes.

The king speaks from above them, an excitement laced in his voice as he lifts his hands above his hand. “It is my honor to introduce to you for the first time, the Prince and Princess of Riverend!”

Cheers burst around them, and Klaus dips his head down to hide his smile in her hair, and she clings to him just a bit tighter, her eyes fluttering.

“Let us celebrate!” The king exclaims, another round of cheers echoing after his words.

She pulls back slightly to look at Klaus, smiling. “I love you, Klaus,”

He lets out a breath like she’s knocked it out of him. “I love you,” He hesitates before saying her name like he’s worried she’ll take it back from him. “I'll love you until the end of time. Never doubt that."

"I won't."

#klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries fanfiction #rebekah mikaelson #the originals #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson angst #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #kol mikaelson

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stormhearty · 3 months

Text

Pairings: Rhysand x Reader, Feysand

Word Count: 5.5k+

Triggers: mentions of torture, blood, rape (all nothing explicit), insecurities, depression, PTSD

Summary: When Rhysand had gone Under the Mountain, you, his wife, followed him. However, neither of you knew it had been a trap set by Amarantha. And so, for forty-nine, while being trapped Under the Mountain, you had been his support, his pillar, his reason for living while he had been tortured and used by Amarantha. You had suffered along with him, helplessly watching from the sidelines as Rhysand had to whore his way in protecting his city, his family… and you. But little did you know that things would change when Feyre came to save the High Lord of Spring. Little did you know, that yours and Rhysand’s life would change forever. And how your husband’s bond with you would slowly unravel and wrap around the newly Made High Fae.

Note: I was sobbing while writing this. I have no idea where this came from, but I love it. I originally was thinking of basing this off a song from Phantom of the Opera, but it gotten so astray that it became this mess of emotions. This will also be some mini spoilers from ACOTAR through ACOMAF, so just an FYI. I legit thought of this while I was driving home from my 12-hour night shift nursing job. And I wrote this in a couple of hours because of how much inspiration I had! LMAO. I love Rhysand and I love Feysand so much, but I wanted to see write a story that told was so heart wrenching that it ended up being this. I have read a few fics here on Tumblr about Rhysand having a lover before Feyre ever existed. I loved reading and I wanted to have my own little spin to it. I hope you guys enjoy it!

It had been nothing but a trap.

You and Rhysand had gone to the masquerade party Under the Mountain blindly.

The echoes of Mor and Cassian’s begging for either of you to go to the party still ring in your head. The smile that you had given your family and your last words, We’ll be home before you know it, made regret ache in your chest.

It had been a long forty-nine years and the worst forty-nine years of your immortal life.

The first time that Rhysand had decided to become Amarantha’s lover, you all but begged. Begged the High Queen to spare your husband. To have him do anything besides share her bed, you had begged to have yourself tortured by the Attor — anything to save your husband from such a life.

However, Amarantha was ruthless. She wanted to have the High Lord of Night share her bed, a way to torture not only him but you as well.

Throughout the nights, for forty-nine years, you watched and waited every night, for your husband to return to your bed and cry himself to sleep. To have shivers and sobs echo through your dark bedroom. To watch him sit in the tub, trying to scrub away the indecent touches and kisses of the High Queen. You had held him, comforted him. Prayed to the Mother that both of you would be able to return home to your family with an ounce of your sanity left.

And for you, you had to stay strong, for Rhysand — for your home, for your family that was waiting for you beyond the walls of the mountain.

You held back all the tears, the heartache, the pain that racked your body every single night — so you could pick up the pieces of Rhysand that Amarantha would place in your awaiting arms every single night.

Every night you slowly placed Rhysand together, putting him back as whole as possible with all the love you can muster. Focusing on caring for him, focusing on his pain rather than your own. He was so traumatized, hating every inch of himself because of what he did when he was with Amaramtha. You watched as he was slowly breaking and you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t tell him the amount of pain you were having, not when he had done everything he could to protect Velaris and you along with it.

Because while he was being used by Amarantha, you were tortured by the Attor.

That horrid creature that served the High Queen all but relished in torturing your body, mind, and soul. You had bled, unbled, and been tortured all over again — the Attor putting you back together like a child’s block and dumped back into Rhysand’s arms. And every single time, there was no evidence of your pain — no scarred skin, no broken bones. Nothing to show your suffering and anguish — nothing to show you were broken and touched by darkness.

And only you knew that your mind and soul were slowly being ripped apart.

For forty-nine years that was your fate.

For forty-nine years you were Rhysand’s pillar, his support — the one to pick up the pieces to put him together.

But for forty-nine years you were breaking, slowly but surely. And no one was there to put you back together.

And so, when that time limit was slowly ticking away, little did you know your fate was about to change — for the worse.

You watched on the sidelines, with Rhysand by your side, as Feyre Archeron, the fae-hating human, declared her love for the High Lord of Spring, realizing it was too late to save him.

You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand — being the savior that he was — secretly helped the human through her trials and tribulations against Amarantha. You watched as the bargain to keep her alive was made — watched Rhysand’s determination for the human. You couldn’t say anything, didn’t want to say anything… for you knew it would get you and your husband back home and end this long nightmare.

When Amarantha had speculations on Feyre’s winnings against her tests, she decided to use the Attor to torture you for information. In the dead of the night when everyone was high on fae wine, Amarantha had dragged you down and allowed the Attor to break you, and torture you for the information she wanted.

But you never gave up, you never let the truth slip from your lips. Even when your bones were breaking, the nails of the Attor breaking through skin to make you bleed, or when it tried to break through your mental shields to hunt for information — you held on. Fighting tooth and nail against the pain and agony — to protect your husband and the fate of Prythian. You bit down every strain, every struggle, every yell that scratched your throat — worried that anything that may come out of you would reveal the coup that was brewing under Amarantha’s very nose.

And every time Amarantha was done with your torture, the Attor would put you back together — only your mind shattered to pieces. And every night you would crawl back into bed, biting back tears and screams, as you allowed your husband to hold you throughout the night — unknowing of what had happened to you hours before.

You would feel him slip away at night at times, and you’d follow through caverns of rock only illuminated by fae light to the dungeons below, to the prison that held the human — watched as he slipped through the metal gates, all to heal Feyre from the inflicted wounds from her battles against Amarantha. You would watch as she would fight against him, spit at him, as he did everything to ensure her safety and healing. All you wanted to do was scream, but you didn’t… you couldn’t. You would slip away, returning to your bed, pretending you were asleep as Rhysand would return into your awaiting bed. And every single time, you bit your lower lip, to prevent the aching sobs that wracked your entire body.

When the final trial had come, and Feyre had completed the third trial and therefore tortured and killed by Amarantha, you watched as both Rhysand and Tamlin rushed to her aid, eventually ending the High Queen’s life and reign. You watched as all of the High Lords of Prythian stepped forward and gave that kernel of life — a bit of their lifeforce to the human and watched her transform into one of you, a Made-High Fae.

You were happy that Feyre was brought back — the Savior of Prythian, the Defeater of Amarantha’s Reign — she deserves the happy ending, after everything she had gone through.

And you had hoped that would be the same for you and Rhysand once you returned to Valeris. You stood by his side when he had greeted Feyre, and watched when Rhysand had stiffened at the sight of her. Feeling his arm wrap around your waist in a tight grip before winnowing away, watching her face shift into confusion.

Both of you landed in the Townhouse, Mor giving a screech of surprise, wide eyes as she took in the both of you.

“…Rhys… (Y/N)…” she breathed out in shock before wrapping the two of you in a death hug.

The familiar warmth of Mor had you breaking down, your own hands grasping onto her shoulders as forty-nine years of tears racked through you. The three of you fall into the wooden floors in a heap.

But the thing that ripped your soul the most — to the point that it was unrepairable— was the heartbreaking whisper from your husband.

“She’s my mate…”

It was as if your world tilted on its axis and you didn't know what was up or down, right or wrong. Your body froze, and slowly pulled away from Mor’s embrace and looked at your husband with wide eyes.

“What…?”

Rhysand looked at you, violet hues brimming with tears, agony shown through the usual twinkling stars, “Feyre’s my mate…” was all he can muster out.

Your head pounded, your blood ran cold, and all you could feel was your body scrambling away from the embrace, hands and feet clawing at the wooden floors.

Your chest heaved, as you stared at Rhysand.

How fate was so cruel to you.

You need to support him, you are his pillar, you reminded yourself as a strained smile tugged at your lips.

“That's great, my love…” you whispered, voice shaking as you tried to find the words of happiness. But it was so difficult to find — for you knew that his new-found mate, was in love with someone else; was in a whole different Court. And that echo of half of a mating bond would slowly break your husband.

You maintained your composure, scrambling over to gently wrap your arms around Rhysand, running your fingers through darkened hair, “You will be fine…” you whispered as you felt him quiver in your arms, wetness soaking your shoulder, “You will get through this…”

Both of us will get through this… was all you could wish the Mother for.

The first three months after the events of Under the Mountain were the hardest. Every night Rhysand would still wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, screaming. Every night you'd wake up right beside him as he vomited his guts out thinking he was still Under the Mountain, still under the hands of Amarantha. Every night you would hold him in your arms whispering how much you love him and that he was safe with you, that he was back with you in the City of Starlight — back with his family.

You would hold him until he was back asleep, the nightmares kept at bay with you at his side.

But little did he know you were also fighting your own nightmares.

You'd wake up, a hand over your mouth as you held back screams, your nails digging into your skin to stop from waking your sleeping husband with the fear that crippled your body. You would slip from your large bed, down the stairs to the cool breeze of Valeris, kneeling on the ground as you held back every vomit, every groan, every nightmare that shook your body.

You couldn't be weak, not when your family had relied so much on you to keep them together. You were the glue that kept them sane, that kept them from shattering.

But who was going to pick up your pieces when you finally break? You didn't know, and you didn't have the luxury to ask.

The first time Rhysand had winnowed to retrieve Feyre for their “bargain”, all you could do was smile. Gently handling Feyre like a newborn lamb. You cared for her, as she tried to figure out her way through her new body. You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand interacted with the new High Fae, seeing a new light in him that was sparking — one that wasn't there when he was with you.

The second time Feyre was brought to Valeris, you watched as Rhysand pushed her to try to get better, pushed her to feel something rather than the emptiness she was radiating.

“She’s killing herself, (Y/N)…” he had told you one day as the two of you walked through the streets of Valeris, “I need to help her through this…”

Your chest ached with an unpleasant feeling, your whole body screaming that it should have been you that he was saving. But you shook that unpleasant feeling and gave him a small smile, “… You're right…”

Breaking… Your husband was breaking you… bit by bit.

When you had heard the echoes of Tamlin locking Feyre in Spring Court, the anger that Rhysand seeped was enormous. He had ordered Mor to save the poor girl from Tamlin’s clutches and whisked her away back to Night Court.

The look that Rhysand had given you when Feyre all but locked herself away, withering away in that room made you break even more.

You took it upon yourself to slowly help the female, caring for her — and building her confidence and health.

You were the pillar of this family, you had reminded yourself over and over again, all the while being chipped away slowly, No one gets left behind.

You watched as Feyre gained her health, became that girl that you saw Under the Mountain — regained that spark that was put out by Tamlin for all those months. You helped Feyre find herself in this new world, but little did you know you were slowly losing yourself too.

You had given up so much of yourself for your family, for your Court, for your husband that you didn’t know yourself anymore. You questioned your self-worth — wondering if what you have done for the past few centuries was all worth it.

What had you contributed to the Night Court for all these centuries? What had you done to earn your spot next to Rhysand? You were nothing special, the dark thoughts whispered into your ears — insecurities rising from the depths of the shadows. You weren't gifted the powers of the seven High Lords like Feyre, you weren't beautiful or frightening like Mor or Armen, and you didn’t know how to fight like Azriel or Cassian — weren’t trained on the ways of Illyrian fighting. You had nothing to contribute. You had no idea why Rhysand had kept you beside him all these years.

But you continued to give and give for the people you loved. You continued to give little of yourself each time someone from your family broke down — still healing from the effects of Amarantha’s rein. You gave a bit of yourself up to Feyre, your husband’s mate, so she can heal herself from the traumatic experience of her first love. You gave a bit of yourself up for Rhysand, as he slowly healed from his trauma from Under the Mountain.

You became the crumbling pillar in their lives.

Crack, crack …you were like glass, being slowly chipped away by the people you love. Those who you had tried to protect Under the Mountain. The very people that had taken advantage of your love and care without them even knowing.

“She’s in the cabin in the mountains… The Suriel told her that she and Rhysand were mates and that the bond finally snapped in her. And Rhys’ up there too… with her.” Mor had told you over a glass of wine.

Your body froze, which seems to be a common occurrence these days, as the glass of wine slipped from your fingers, shattering on the wooden floors. Your chest burned as you stared down at the shards of glass that covered the floor, your eyes dimming as Mor’s words echoed in your head.

The bond finally snapped in her… And Rhys’ up there too… with her.

Panic filled your senses as you stood up from your chair, shards of glass digging into the bottom of your feet as you fled the room, not sure where your bleeding feet were taking you.

“Shit, (Y/N)! What’s wrong? What happened?” Mor panicked, running after you, a hand reached out to gently grab your shoulder and stop you in your tracks.

It took a moment for you to react, dull eyes blinking, as you pulled your mind from such a muddled state. You turned to look at the blonde, who stared at you with a worried gaze, eyes glancing from your face to your feet, “…I… I don’t know. I’m sorry…” you whispered, not sure why you were apologizing in the first place.

You had looked down, your naked feet oozing out bright red blood, and dulling eyes tracked your footsteps behind you. You couldn’t feel it… the pain. There was nothing… no dull or stabbing pain. You had just felt the cool red liquid on your skin beneath your feet.

“… (Y/N)… (Y/N)!!!”

Head snapped up to look at Mor who shook your form gently, “Hey… What’s going on? Why aren’t you crying, screaming in pain? You stepped on so much glass… Let’s get you to Madja, okay?”

Brows furrowed and you tilted your head at the blonde, “…But it doesn’t hurt…” you all but whispered to her, “… I… I can’t feel the pain…”

Mor blinked in disbelief before shaking her head, “…I’m taking you to Madja… We need to get you seen and healed up…”

Mor gently held both of your hands, giving you a tiny smile before she had winnowed you away to the healer.

“… We’re losing her… mind, body and soul, Rhysand…”

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

“She hasn’t slept, nor ate… She has gotten so thin and so weak over the last couple of months… Has no one in the House noticed?”

You hear filters of conversations as you weave in and out of consciousness.

“Have you been really that busy to not pay attention to your wife, High Lord?”

You recognized voices but were unsure what they were talking about. Was it about you? What was going on?

“I don’t know Madja… She always looked okay. (Y/N) was just busy with her duties… ”

That was Rhysand. Had he really not been paying attention to you lately?

“It doesn’t seem like she’s okay, boy…Why is she like this? Like an empty shell that barely is walking this Earth?”

That was Armen’s voice. She sounded angry.

“… I — I… don’t know.”

“She stepped on glass and didn’t even flinch, Rhys. What’s going on?”

That was Azriel, the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

“We won’t get answers unless we look into her mind, she should be unconscious enough that you could break through her walls.”

You could feel the hesitance in the room before you felt warm hands run through your hair.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)��”

Claws of darkness tore through your mental walls and everything sprung out.

Your memories of the Attor and Amarantha torturing you when you were Under the Mountain. The feeling of your bones breaking, skin bleeding, tears, and screams ripping through your very body every night you were tortured. The feeling of emptiness every time they had put you back together to do it again and again. The emotions of anguish and fear crippled your very soul every time Rhysand was taken away from you each night. The constant worry about your family, fear that if Amarantha found them everything would be all for naught. You had to put on a brave face for not only yourself but for Rhysand to get through this ordeal — to help him heal and push on. Because if you didn’t, you would have failed to keep your family safe.

Everything was revealed, on how broken your soul had become while Under the Mountain. And how broken you were when you realized that your husband was mated to someone else. On how little of you was left when you heard that your husband had completed the mating bond.

On how little of you was left as you gave yourself for your family.

Get out of my head…!!! you pushed Rhysand out of your mind, blockading your memories and pain with metal walls and darkness — impenetrable to the Daemati abilities of your husband.

A gasp escaped your body, back arching as eyes opened wide. Your body sitting up as you pushed hands away, scrambling away as you pressed your back against the headboard, panting as you clutched the fabric of your nightgown against your chest, eyes wide as you stared at your family.

“How dare you rip my mental shields, Rhysand??” you whispered in disbelief, your voice shaking with every word, eyes blurring with tears that threatened your vision.

Chip, chip… crack. The glass has finally broken.

“How could you do that? You had promised all those centuries ago, that you would never do that… And yet here you are… breaking that very promise!!”

You watched as the High Lord flinched, violet eyes diverting away.

Bloodshot eyes stared at the people in the room — your family surrounding the large bed that you had laid on.

“… Are you all just noticing my pain now? Was this the only way you would have ever realized the pain I had to endure for you? On the nightmares that have plagued my dreams for years on end? Have I hidden my pain so well that none of you would have seen it? Without ripping my sanity apart?!

“I’ve given so much of myself for all of you. I have fought tooth and nail to ensure that this family would continue to prosper after Amarantha’s rein… Became that pillar all of you had so wrongfully placed on me… That expectation… was a burden. I realized I couldn’t show any weakness, that I couldn’t break down and show my own nightmares because all of you were still trying to heal.”

“We never expected you to do any of that…” Rhysand started.

“Yes, you have! Who would keep this Court afloat when you were still healing? Every damn night you woke up feeling disgusted under your own skin due to everything that woman had done to you. How could I have asked you to move on and rule over your Court? I couldn’t. I needed you to heal for your own health, for your own sanity. For your family’s sanity and well-being. How could I ask any of you to move on after not having your brother for the past forty-nine years while he was being raped Under the Mountain by that woman? I couldn’t! Everyone was healing! But all of you saw how strong I still was and presumed I was alright… that it hadn’t affected me. That these past forty-nine years didn’t cause me to break… But guess what, it has! More than you have ever believed.”

You took a deep breath, tears spilling over as you fought the panic that threatened to take over your whole body.

“I was tortured, every night for the past forty-nine years by the Attor. To be ripped apart, mentally and physically… every damn night and then put back together as if nothing happened. And I would go back into the dark room with you, Rhys… to watch you break apart after what Amarantha had put you through. I watched you claw your skin at the very thought of her touching you… That her very scent seeped so deep into your skin that you wanted nothing but to claw your very soul out…”

Rhys’ gaze snapped back to yours, agony in its very depths.

A broken laugh escaped you, “How could I have told you what had happened to me when you were so broken… You cried, every night, wondering if you were still yourself… Wondering if you were enough still. How could I tell you of my pain, when you were wallowing in so much of it?

“I had to be strong… for the both of us. So that both of us could return home to our family and heal together. I became strong so that you can heal… and get us out from Under the Mountain… Together. But… I realized… after all these months… You were the only one that was able to make it out… You and Feyre…”

Your gaze drifted to the Made-Fae behind Rhysand.

“While I am stuck… Under the Mountain, with the claws of the Attor and that woman still rooted in my nightmares. And when we got out, back home… I thought that was when I could tell you of my pains, my nightmares… but, I still couldn’t. Not only did that woman still plague your dreams, but your connection to your mate haunted you as well. You felt everything that Feyre felt while she was in the horrors in Spring Court.”

A shiver broke through your fragile body, you felt as if your whole body could just shatter into millions of pieces at that point. And at that point, you wish it did. You wish you didn’t have to expose your soul to the people who broke you apart.

“You prioritized the safety of your mate, one who didn’t know of the bond, who hated your entire being… over the person who had gone through the torture and pain with you Under the Mountain. You chose your mate…”

A smile tugged at the edge of your lips, one that did not reach your eyes, one that did not twinkle as it usually did.

“And I can’t fault you for that… I want to… with every being in my body… every cell of my immortal life. But I can’t..” you whispered, your head shaking in disbelief, “I want to fault you for not choosing me. But I just can’t…Your other half, the part of your soul with breaking, dying… And I couldn’t hate you for it. I stayed strong… so that she could heal… so that both of you could heal so you can make it out of that darkness…”

And yet I brought both of you together… by healing the both of you and breaking me at the same time… You thought to yourself, your brows furrowed with pain.

A shaky sigh escaped you as you opened your eyes, and found yourself staring into violet hues. Rhysand kneeling in front of you on that bed. Shaky hands coming up to cup your face, only to have you turn away, averting his touch.

“…Please don’t touch me, Rhysand…”

You watched from the corner of your eye how the High Lord’s body stiffened at the sound of his name escaping your lips like that. You never had called him his full name, not in the centuries you have been together. It had always been Rhys… with the laugh that would accompany it, the smile that would tug at the edge of your lips when you called out to him.

Not anymore. That person had died Under the Mountain — forty-nine years ago.

“…Please don’t touch me when you have held your mate…” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around yourself — wanting to crawl into yourself and disappear, rather than have Rhys touch you, and comfort you.

“—- I…”

“—-Don’t say you’re sorry…. Just don’t. If you were truly sorry, this wouldn’t have happened…” you looked and turned to the healer, “Madja, please escort them out… I don’t want to see them right now…”

The pleas from your family went deaf to your ears, you closed your eyes hearing the yells and cries as Madja removed them from the room, the doors finally shutting, leaving you in silence.

And when you were finally alone, you finally broke, a scream so excruciating that it echoed throughout all of Prythian.

“You’re going to become a statue at this point, (Y/N)…” murmured the Captain as he placed a light shawl over your shoulders.

It had been almost a decade since Madja had gently handed you over to the High Lord of Dawn Court.

The Night Court healer realized that you had been too broken — too fragile to be glued together by her ancient, old healer hands. Madja knew you’d continue to suffer underneath the skies of Valeris, to be so close to those who had ripped small pieces of you away, leaving nothing but the raw edges.

You needed somewhere to heal, and Thesan had willingly opened his doors up for you after hearing what had happened. The High Lord remembered you from Under the Mountain, a figure that had always stood by Rhysand's side — a figure of support for the High Lord of Night Court.

And yet when things fell apart, they had left you… pieces on the ground — shattered. He couldn't leave you that way, not after everything that you went through.

So he took you in, healing your mind, soul, and heart.

It had been a tough few years. You were an empty shell of your former self. You never ate, never slept, didn’t even say a word to anyone — just stared into the golden light of Dawn Court skies. It took a lot of coaxing from both Thesan and his lover to get you to start healing.

It was slow, excruciatingly slow. But Thesan knew that it would take years, centuries even for the amount of pain and trauma to minimize.

When you felt the light shawl drape over your shoulders, you looked up at the Captain and gave him a small smile, nodding your head to thank him.

The Captain of the Peregryn hummed out a stood next to you while you sat in your chair, awaiting his lover to join the two of you. You knew that the High Lord had a meeting with one of the Seasonal Courts that day and it would have been a long meeting and Thesan didn’t want to leave you alone too much due to your delicate condition; and thus having his lover stay by your side.

You heard the door open, but it sounded distant as you just stared absentmindedly outside, allowing the cool breeze of Dawn Court to wrack a shiver through your body.

“I told you to watch over her, my love…” Thesan’s voice echoed through your room.

What you didn’t expect was another pair of footsteps to follow Thesan’s. Your body stiffened, an unknown person entering the sanctuary of your bedroom. Feeling a familiar weight on your shoulder, you looked up to gaze up at the High Lord of Dawn who gave you a gentle smile, “You will get a cold, my child…” he murmured.

“That’s why I gave her a shawl…” you heard the Captain murmured. And the light battering between lovers caused you to tug a tiny smile on your features.

Your eyes moved from the couple to the person that had occupied Thesan’s side. You recognized him — the High Lord of Summer, Tarquin. You met him briefly Under the Mountain, but never spoke to him. Turquoise eyes met yours and he bowed his head, and you just tilted yours in question.

Thesan watched your movement and glanced at the Summer High Lord.

“My child… I think it’s time that you make new friends…”

Tarquin stepped towards you and set out his hand. You stared at it for a few moments before you raised your own to place on top of his palm, “It’s an honor to meet you, (Y/N)…” he hummed out, pressing a kiss on top of your hand, “My name is Tarquin — -”

“… I know who you are High Lord of Summer…” your voice weak, a whisp of sound in the Dawn wind, “Why are you here? Why are you willing to see me?”

Tarquin’s brows scrunched together before he relaxed his features, “… I want to help you heal… A decade in Dawn Court sounds boring…”

Thesan’s quip on the side caused a quirk in your lip as you focused on Tarquin.

“Come with me to the Summer Court, hopefully the warmth there will heal you a bit more…”

You stared at Tarquin, hesitance in your every feature, a hesitant nod causing Tarquin to smile before winnowing you away, landing in Summer soil, greeted by the warm sun.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhys acotar #( .one shot : breaking like glass )

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sugairsstuff · 4 months

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Hi saw you're looking to write stories and was hoping to send some inspiration your way! I am a sucker for "Who did this to you?" Trope and I'm just in need of more Cassian from ACOTAR on this site. So I'm thinking of a little one-shot story of the reader getting hurt by an ex or a family member she doesn't get along with and the General of the Night Court being Angry about it.

Happy Writing! Can't wait to see what you come up with! 😊

thank you very much for being my first request! and i’d be happy to- sorry if i’m a bit rusty- i hope you enjoy how i approached this prompt!

who did this to you.

cassian x fem reader (a court of thorns and roses)

warnings: mentions of abuse, minor descriptions of violence

summary: you run into an ex who wrongfully treated you, and in his pathetic attempts to beg you for forgiveness he injures you. conflicted, you choose not to tell your mate, both suppressing your right to feel emotional and worried for cassian should he go after the male. but your mate knows you like the back of his hand, and you decide to tell the truth before cassian figures it out himself.

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

You stand at the end of one of the House of Wind’s scarlet-wreathed hallways, thinking only of how grateful you are of your dress’ long sleeves as your left hand rubs your opposing wrist- which throbs with the inevitable purpling of a bruise wrapped around it. Although you know your mate adores when you wear pretty jewelry of all kinds, something tells you that seeing this makeshift bracelet your ex-boyfriend gifted you today in the city would only make your mate’s crimson eyes see redder.

Your chest feels heavy, swirling with a flurry of emotions as you root yourself to the end of this hallway. The sounds of your friends’ voices- laughter- from beyond the grand doorway that stood opposing you overpowered the beating of your heart in your ears, though not the flurry in your chest that leaked into your brain, watering the seeds of your feelings and forging them into thoughts.

Your ex, so unimportant his name isn’t even needed, had ran into you accidentally whilst you were browsing a vendor selling handcrafted bookmarks in the city’s local markets. Once you saw him and made to slip into the crowd in an attempt of avoidance, it was too late, as he was already calling out your name in a tone that began in surprise and evolved into frustation. And when you didn’t look back, worried he wanted to pour his heart out to you, beg for another chance after the wicked ways he’d treated you in your past relationship, he wrapped his hand around your right wrist. He tugged you back, ignoring your sharp shout of both warning and shock as the crowd meandered past you without sparing second glances.

You didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying, your mind already in a frenzied panic as his grip only got tighter the more you tried to pull your wrist back to the safety of your side. His pleading, persuasive tone betrayed the vice-like hold he had on your wrist as he tried to force you to hear him out, hear his babbling of apologies and promises ‘to change’ and ‘to be better’.

By the time you had wrenched your wrist free, so desperate to simply get out of there, your response you threw at him was only a brief shout to leave you alone that came out more shaky than you were going for. Forgetting all your other leisurely plans for the day, you trekked back to the House of Wind, gripping your aching wrist and blinking tears back as you stared at the ground a few paces ahead of your swiftly moving boots.

So now you stand at the end of this hallway.

Thinking.

While your ex himself is old business, the encounter with him had resurfaced memories with him that left a bad taste in the back of your mouth. But they are old memories, you tell yourself to try and convince yourself there is no need to tell Cassian. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bruise would heal, and Gods above did you not want to send your mate on a warpath with the destination of wherever your ex lives. As much as you wouldn’t mind seeing he who does not deserve a name get what he actually deserves, you didn’t want Cassian paying the consequences for his actions. You nod to yourself in self-assuring confirmation of your decision.

You’re startled out of your head with the sudden worry you’ve been caught standing and staring at nothing like a lunatic. You glance around to ensure no person nor shadow was lurking, exhaling in small relief as you can’t think of a reasonable enough sounding excuse for your current behaviour. Don’t mind me, just contemplating the meaning of life! You scoff to yourself at your own weak joke, and move forwards until you reach the large double doors.

When you enter, familiar faces turn up to greet or smile at you from their places on the lounge room’s velvet sofas.

“There she is. You’re welcome for babysitting your whining mate, believe me when I say he’s been waiting for you the entire time in here to return from your devastatingly long two hour journey into the city.” Rhysand smirks, joking elaborately in a playful jab at his brother, with one of his hands tangled with Feyre’s in her lap- who sat nearly next to him but mostly on top of him.

“We were just wondering where you were.” Feyre jumps in to avoid the brothers getting into a back-and-forth bicker about clinginess. Her blue eyes twinkle like stars as she leans forwards a little, “So, how much did you spend today?” the female grins, looking too much alike to her mate.

You make your way to Cassian’s side immediately, standing next to the large armchair he was sprawled in rather than accepting his soft invites into his lap. He reaches over to you with both a wing and hand, the former brushing your back and the latter reaching to graze against your fingers. Placing a smile on your face comes easy as you look to Feyre, “Hate to disappoint, I only bought fresh ink and a new book.” you tell her, patting the small leather bag that rests against your hip as your excuse to move your hand away from Cassian’s. One small displacement of your sleeve would leave you having explaining to do, which you really would prefer to avoid.

Feyre whines a complaint in how you need to treat yourself more often to luxuries- as if this family hasn’t done that enough for you- before her attention switches to the male sitting below you, “Aw, sorry, Cassian, am I stealing all the attention away from you?” she teases.

You look down at your mate to see the pout on his pretty lips that elicited Feyre’s joke. One look at him, and you can tell him missing your presence wasn’t actually what was bothering him. Instead, his gaze was focused on the hand you had, apparently not subtly enough, moved away from him. Damn you for underestimating how well your mate knows you.

Cassian’s brows furrows ever so slightly as he looks up at you, a few raven black strands falling free from its messily half-tied state, appearing as though he were deeply pondering something. He looks as though he wants to say something, most likely ask why you’re acting oddly, though instead he rises to his feet and his hand lifts to brush not your hand but gently against your cheek.

Grinning, Cassian turns to Feyre and Rhysand, “Well, call me now the thief of the thief,” he shoots back equally as playfully to the High Lady, “I think we’ll be off so I can give my mate a properly informal greeting,” he jests, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at the two as he stole you away using a large, calloused hand centred on the small of your back.

You know better, though, this is simply Cassian’s way of preventing you from being put on the spot in front of two pairs of prying eyes. Cassian led you through the House of Wind’s corridors, pace slowing to make up for your lack of height in comparison to the Illyrian.

“How was your day, baby?” Cassian asks, his tone too soft for your liking right now. He’s testing the waters, you are well aware, both trying to solidify his feeling something was off and see if you are okay.

“It was fine,” you tell him honestly- well, all the parts without your ex in it. You fail to meet Cassian’s eye, afraid that if you do your mate will see right through you and know for certain you are upset. But this response only makes your mate fall quiet for a beat too long, something rare for the extroverted, energetic warlord. You hear Cassian suck in a breath as you turn a corner, and in moments he’s opening the large carved wooden door to your expansive chambers for you.

Cassian kicks the door shut gently before turning to you. You untie your boots and pull them off before he has the chance to offer to do so himself, and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. To avoid Cassian getting straight to the point and asking if something is amiss, you deflect before anything is sent, “I’m going to go run a bath. The place’s staircase is brutal,” you joke, speaking without thinking as you notice Cassian perk up a tad.

The male looks more relieved in his body language though apprehensiveness lingers in his gaze as he turns to you with a boyish smirk, “Am I invited to that event?” your mate tries.

You know you pause for a second too long as Cassian’s expression falls slightly and he begins to reel back his comment with something with just as much lightheartedness as there was worry for you, “Or shall I leave the lady to her flowery bubblebath and soap?”

You frown and shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay, I want you to come.” Normally, you’d make a sexual joke to lure him in the hot, soapy water with you, but the burden that Cassian will inevitabley discover exactly what is making things not okay in minutes was leaning over you.

“Okay,” is all Cassian responds with, and you inwardly cringe at how clear it is how simultaneously unsure and sure he is that something is bothering you. That heavy feeling in your chest returns, settling back to where it sat in that hallway as now you feel guilty for confusing your mate over such a small, meaningless encounter with a hostile ex. Or so you tell yourself.

It’s as if a tether is attached to that weight in your chest, giving a comforting tug that pulls some of it off of your lungs. You look up to Cassian, knowing that tether was instead that special little string that tied the beautiful bow of your bond. Your mate looks much more serious now as his deep red eyes flicker with concern, though he still speaks softly, “Come on. That bath’s calling our names.”

You stand rather than sit in the large bathroom as Cassian leans over the luxurious tub, hand testing the water as he makes sure it’s set to the temperature you like the most. You make no move to begin undressing, your arms wrapped tightly around you. The bruise no longer throbs as it sits untouched, but you’re still painfully aware of it.

Cassian eventually turns to you, his large wings extending slightly as he approaches you. Seeing as you are still undressed, his hand traces its way around your waist where two of his fingers catch the string of the dress’ corset, “May I?” he asks, though there are no lustful undertones in the warlord’s deep voice, despite him preparing to strip his lover in front of a steaming bath.

You nod up at him, but place a hand on his wrist before he makes a move. Cassian’s gaze flicks to yours immediately. His brows pinch upwards slightly in gentle questioning.

“Just- don’t freak out. Don’t panic. Okay?” you say vaguely, and watch as Cassian’s expression only becomes more worried. “Cassian.” you say, more sternly.

“You’re scaring me here,” he says, your name trailing at the end of his sentence rather than one of his more playful pet names. When you only look up at him with a pleading gaze, Cassian gives in with a sigh, “Okay.”

Your mate commences, tugging the dress loosely ever so gently. You can tell he’s alert as he stands over you, his wings and scent engulfing you as he peels off your day dress. You watch his face closely as he watches your body. Any other day, and you knew what you’d find there- sweet, honey-dripping lust and warm, intimate love as more of your figure is exposed to him. Right now, though, his brow is furrowed, and he’s looking at every inch of your skin, scanning you for what exactly your warning meant.

Cassian gently tugs the sleeves of the dress off of your arm. His crimson gaze looks to your left wrist, and then to your right wrist.

And then Cassian goes rigid.

You never understood how eyes could darken like the ways they were described to in all the books Nesta reads, but watching your mate now- now you fully understand. Leaning over you, eyes unmoving from the splotchy purple markings around your wrist, you watch as lethal anger fills his vision, you see your mate see exactly the colour of his eyes as pure, vicious anger seeps into his blood and runs it cold.

“Who.” Cassian’s voice is low, quiet. You blink at the husky, nearly strangled-sounding word that your mate managed out. “Who did this to you.” he says, his eyes finally meeting yours, and you see that the look in them has changed only slightly- just enough to show you it is far from you that Cassian is angry at.

You look down, your eyes stinging suddenly as tears brim your eyes and you have no idea why. You don’t answer, so Cassian speaks for you, tone low though not harsh towards you, “Was it him?”

You nod, and open your mouth to speak and curse yourself for stumbling over your words, “We ran into each other at the market earlier. He- he grabbed me, Cass, and he wouldn’t let go. I was so scared. I just ran.” you manage, feeling the cool trail of a tear drip down your cheek. The sight of that alone was enough for Cassian.

He curses, stepping back from you as his wings flare. “I am going to kill him. I swear to every God above, he’s a fucking dead male walking.” Cassian growls, both of you having completely forgotten about your planned bath together as he paces the bathroom like a prowling predator, as if he were plotting right now all the ways he’d make that male suffer.

You move towards him then, tears still running down your cheeks as you set your right hand on his arm, feeling how tight and tense the muscles beneath are. “No, Cassian,” you tell him, “you can’t. Don’t go after him, please, Rhysand can’t play favourites no matter what you do to him,” you tell him.

Cassian looks down at you, the fury in his gaze swirling and settling and then slipping away. He sighs, moving his own two hands to cup your cheeks gently. The large male uses his thumbs to brush away your tears. “Okay.” he says, sounding almost reluctant. “But I still can’t let him get away with this. I won’t.” Cassian tells you, his tone stern yet not harsh in an assurance that he would not let this happen to you ever again. He pulls you close to his chest, wrapping both his arms and wings around you, cocooning you in warmth. Cassian strokes your hair, letting you smoosh your cheek against his chest and listen to his slowed, steady heartbeat.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Cassian eventually murmurs once your tears have ceased, earning a small snort and then, blissfully, a laugh from you.

“Don’t worry, I just would rather only him being arrested then both of you.” you respond, and now it’s Cassian’s turn to chuckle. He releases you from his anchoring hold. “We can talk to Rhysand tomorrow, yeah? About the political and civil way to get him punished.” Cassian huffs, emphasizing his words in a joke.

You roll your eyes as you finish undressing, “Oh, yes, how very boring.”

Cassian only grins back at you, joining you once you climb into the tub and pulling you back against his chest, one hand interlocking with yours as he frowns momentarily at the bruising. “My idea of killing him is still up for grabs, though,” he hums.

“Cassian.”

#cassian x reader #cassian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #bat boys #cassian x y/n #cassian x you

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unhelpfulfemme · 1 year

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Okay, so you know how Barrayar is full of stories of evil mutants kidnapping innocent Vor maidens, just like we IRL have a bunch of story templates exploiting our societal fears of some exoticized evil Other stealing our women?

And you know how modern romance/erotica takes those stories and turns them into erotic fantasies? Like, women have been going mad over The Phantom of the Opera for centuries, we've had stories about innocent maidens being forced into arranged marriages with big dick sheikhs and Middle Eastern princes for decades, and in the past decade or so both monster romance and villain romance have become completely mainstream staples of the genre?

And you know how Miles allegedly killing Tien so he could court Ekaterin was Vorbarr Sultana's Scandal of the Year for a short while, before the whole affair was capped by Ekaterin's very memorable and very public proposal?

Now, imagine some repressed Vor housewives hearing about it and thinking, in a similar vein to what Mark thought, "NGL, that's kinda hot. I always did have those fantasies where I was ravished by the villain, and I really do sometimes wish my boring sexist husband were dead." Because now that they've caught up on galactic genetics the actual fear of mutant children is kinda low among the bored upper class housewives who can afford gene cleaning, so it's the perfectly zeitgeisty moment to exoticize and objectify the mutants instead.

So one of said bored housewives decides to anonymously write a pulpy gothic-esque dark romance/erotica novel about it. Except obviously the scrawny short guy doesn't make for an appealing romantic hero, so she makes him a Taura-esque tall, massively ripped fellow who growls all his lines a là ACOTAR's Rhysand and conveniently makes all his mutations sexy in the vein of, like, A/B/O novels or Ice Planet Barbarians.

Imagine "Ravished by the Billionaire Secret Agent Mutant Count" slowly becoming popular among the ladies and the main cast learning about it, Miles lamenting about it having come out now when he's happily married and not when he was fifteen and desperate to get laid, Ivan suddenly gaining a lot more traction with the girls because they've caught onto the real life inspiration for the novel and are wondering if the Big Dick Mutation comes from Ivan's side of the family, Cordelia shamelessly reading it at dinner (she's the only person who's read it without wrapping the cover) and annoyedly pointing out the biological inaccuracies as Aral begs her to stop, Mark seeing the opportunity for a cash grab and buying the holodrama rights...

#vorkosigan saga #miles naismith vorkosigan #ekaterin vorsoisson #vorkosigan #mark pierre vorkosigan #cordelia naismith vorkosigan #aral vorkosigan #ivan vorpatril

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darkest-fantasy · 4 days

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Gwyn being argued as some enchantress that manipulates Azriel and his Shadows has been the worst theory to come from this fandom EVER.. and I’ve been with this series since the beginning(2015)

Trying to find any crumb of a flaw from this courageous, empathetic, and positive character has made me so upset about the fandom. It is making elriels seem like they are crumbling under themselves.

Resorting to calling Gwyn a manipulator because you cannot BELIEVE that Azriel would EVER have a positive reaction to Gwyn is desperate beyond reason. If you actually think that Sarah J Maas will have a character like Gwyn become some evil enchantress or manipulator, then you don’t know her as an author at all. Gwyn has inspired THOUSANDS in the fandom. Her story might even be the most horrific one that sjm has ever written. Her ability to overcome trauma, be so positive, and even begin the entire Valkyries again will leave a long lasting impact in the entire series. If you think for one second that sjm will ruin the entire beauty that is Gwyneth Berdara, you’re again very wrong.

The fact that Gwynriel’s could easily say the same thing about Elain’s unknown powers and how Azriel could be manipulated by them. But we don’t say that because we understand that they are attracted to eachother. We acknowledge that they have a natural connection. But we also recognize that their attraction for eachother are for the wrong reasons. We understand how sjm closes the aspect of a couple and that’s what she did in the bonus chapter.

As someone who has literally seen it all, has been gaslit for saying feysand was endgame before ACOMAF, this by FAR is the worst theory that anyone could say about an ACOTAR character. This is the worst take and it really shows me how quick some people in the fandom are to tear apart another woman. It’s disgusting and desperate.

Elriels come talk to me when you actually have a concrete theory, instead of your gross wish that Gwyn is evil

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starsreminisce · 8 days

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There's no backtracking from a bonus chapter. Azriel began unhappy with one female and ended up happy with another. It doesn't matter if Gwyn actually received the necklace because SJM wanted to highlight that Azriel smiled at the thought of her opening it.

Additionally, SJM kept Elucien art in her Pinterest inspiration board, including a stunning piece after finishing writing SF. She has discussed them during interviews unprompted.

In HOFAS, she delved deeper into the concept of mating bonds being a person's home.

During interviews, she talks about exploring Azriel's backstory without any mention of Elain, even though Lucien is directly connected to all the remaining storylines of ACOTAR.

With two books left and two characters left according to these news articles, who would be the last one if Elain and Azriel were to share the story together?

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn

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zenkindoflove · 12 days

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Elain Archeron and Sansa Stark: A Comparison

I’ve been wanting to make this post for a while because I have seen a lot of similarities between Elain’s character and Sansa Stark (ASOIAF/GOT), not only in their mannerisms and narrative but the way that the fandom unfairly undermines and outright despises them. So, this post is going to be a bit of an exploration of both of their characters, speaking mostly to the ACOTAR fandom, to try and give some predictions I have about Elain’s narrative journey and lessons learned from Sansa’s narrative.

Elain and Sansa fit a very similar female character archetype in fantasy (and other fiction genres), which is that they are more traditionally feminine characters that conform to their roles as women in their patriarchal societies as compared to their counterparts who buck gender norms often by learning to fight. In particular, Elain and Sansa are often directly compared to their sisters who fit the more beloved sword-fighting, sassy, smart-mouthed heroines. What is important to this post, is that these characters are almost always heavily maligned and criticized by fandoms at large with critiques that are often rooted in misogyny, which fundamentally undervalues expressions of femininity and feminine roles.

Both characters also have a lot of other similarities when it comes to their personalities, characteristics, and narratives. Both Elain and Sansa are obedient daughters who are described as sociable and make friends easily. They both are well-skilled in navigating courtly politics, and they begin their journeys as deep romantics, dreaming and wishing to fall in love. They’re both betrothed to men for political gain, and both undergo tragic and heartbreaking violations to their bodily autonomy. They are also both frequently undermined by characters’ in their stories, often underestimated in their strengths and abilities, and in both stories, those assumptions are proven wrong.

Now, we do not know where Elain’s journey is going, but we do Sansa’s, at least from the show. Sansa eventually finds her independence and her strength, taking back her ancestral home and being declared Queen in the North. She did not do this by becoming a warrior or a great battle commander. No, she did this by leaning into her political skills, inspiring nobles and armies to fight for her because of her name and what it represents. And when she had some power, leading her people and putting their care first, a narrative journey I hope to see for Elain coming into her own leadership position one day.

One of the ways I wanted to outline drawing some of these parallels, is to break down some of the criticisms that Elain faces now that Sansa Stark also faced by fans. And if you are reading this and these criticisms are ones you have expressed, hopefully you reconsider your assumptions about Elain and where her story is going.

Elain is boring.

This accusation is often ascribed to Elain based on her interests and hobbies and refusal to participate in more traditionally masculine roles in the narrative (fighting, swordplay). Elain is often described as gardening, baking, helping with domestic duties, and purposely kept away from the political and adventurous parts of the narrative. And yet, this does not mean that in order for Elain to be interesting, she suddenly needs to be thrust into her own version of a training montage to start learning to use swords and daggers. Elain is a powerful Made Fae. She has one of the rarest abilities, being a Seer. She is deeply connected with the Koschei plot, as she was the one to see a vision of him, Vassa, and the other cursed women, which brought about Lucien’s journey to the continent and connecting that overall plot to what is happening in Prythian. It’s very likely her story will focus on her exploring her magic more, likely with Lucien, to figure out how to break Vassa’s curse and destroy Koschei once and for all - none of which requires her to actually become a warrior.

Elain will become evil.

Sansa too was often criticized as being boring by fans. They saw her struggles, being passed from cruel husband to cruel husband, as signs she was weak. Sansa was often directly compared to her sister Arya who was learning to fight with a sword and training as an assassin. But Sansa was undergoing a very different sort of training. We see her shed her sheltered POV of the world, and instead, became deeply involved in the politics of the game of thrones. She learns from several characters how to play the game and play it right, as she is one of the few characters to survive until the end, having a true hero’s journey of ascension. We see that she uses people’s assumptions that she is stupid and naive to their disadvantage, allowing their underestimation of her abilities to make them turn away from how she outsmarts them in the end. Elain is also hinted at being deeply intelligent, in ways that even her sisters seem to ignore. She is also described several times in ACOSF as being sneaky, foreshadowing that she will surprise her family based on their assumptions of her. Ultimately, I foresee Elain leaning into her courtly knowledge and social skills, much like Sansa, to push forward her own journey.

Elain and Sansa are also both very inward characters. When they are struggling, they are more quiet and unassuming, to disarm others and draw attention away from them. As we know from Sansa's POV chapters, she was constantly strategizing her pretty words to save her skin. And I think Elain similarly shows the world one side of her, but hides a rich and complex inner world that we won't see until we get her POV.

This critique - which is also not always presented as a critique but sometimes as a wish for Elain to become a villain so she might be more interesting to those who find her boring - is one that I really dislike. And one of the biggest reasons I dislike it is because I saw the exact same predictions thrown at Sansa crash and burn. Often fans would revel in the idea that “finally, Sansa can become interesting” if she were to turn into the next Cersei or Littlefinger. But we did not see that happen. Instead, we saw that Sansa clung to her compassion, empathy, and her Stark morality, while shedding the blind trust that put her father and brothers into so much danger. She took lessons from Cersei and Littlefinger, but rather than becoming them, she bested them. Especially Littlefinger, where she outsmarted him when he tried to turn her and her sister against each other, and ultimately is the one who passed his execution sentence, achieving justice for all the crimes he committed against her family and Westeros. Sansa did not let the brutalization of her body and spirit turn her against her family. She never betrayed them, even when she was wed to their worst enemies. Instead, she made it her priority to serve and represent the North and its interest in all things, including standing up to Dany, because she understood to hold the North, she must not bend to other rulers and respect all that the North had sacrificed for the Starks.

Similarly, I do not see Elain betraying her family. There are several times she asserts her loyalty and insists that she wants to help them and their interests. I think her story will be more about being underestimated by her family and overlooked for leadership roles and her insight (as was Sansa) and this will push her to branch out on her own to discover who she is outside of her family and the expectations they have of her. But I do not think she will become the antagonist to them. Instead, I see her using her own strength to “save” them too in ways they would have never imagined that Elain can do. Sansa was not an outright antagonist to Jon, for example, though she often challenged him (which upset many fans, more on that later) because she believed her perspective was valuable. I see Elain's difference in how she sees the world and what she values being in similar disagreement with the Night Court, and her having to "prove" herself to them that she needs to be taken seriously.

Elain and Sansa are also very similar in that they both are described as abhorring violence. Sansa, in the end, does sometimes use violence as a means to an end, and even is shown enjoying Ramsey’s brutal execution by being eaten by his own dogs. Yet, Sansa is never shown to enjoy moments like these again (and of course this moment is most understandable given all the torture Ramsey put her and others through). Sansa does not lead with anger or brutality like Cersei. Rather, she shifts from a bright, sunny girl to an authoritative woman who ices out her enemies and shows kindness and warmth to her friends and subjects. To me, in keeping with character archetypes, I do not see Elain straying from this core feature of herself as well. I don’t see her desiring to follow in the footsteps of others who use torture and violence to extract information or to hurt others who have hurt her. I do think should Elain come into a position of political leadership, that like Sansa, she will care for the people (as she is already shown to do in Velaris and was known to do in the human lands) and when needed, show her steely, authoritative voice that is unbending (much like the infamous quote from Sansa in the books “my skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel”).

Basically, female characters do not have to be either warriors or evil villains to be interesting. Sometimes, female characters who are kind, compassionate, intelligent, and full of hope can still have badass stories and stand as heroines in their own right while maintaining all of those characteristics.

Elain is two-faced/bitchy/spoiled/selfish.

Of course, the classic, when the feminine character does anything SLIGHTLY unsettling to the reader, she is hated and tons of stereotypically misogynistic insults are thrown at her.

I will first off start by saying that when people say this about Elain, it is when she is essentially displaying behaviors that counter their first argument - that Elain is boring. When Elain is being compliant and nice to the other characters, she is called boring. When she very briefly, pushes back on them at all, these insults are hurled at her. I don’t even want to waste time breaking down why these are just comically unfair. Because the fact of the matter is is that every character in the book displays moments of being two-faced/bitchy/spoiled/selfish. And yet, it is Elain who is given these monikers as if they are core features of who she is. Other female characters in ACOTAR are also called these names. However, Elain faces the unique situation of only ever being boring or bitchy to those who dislike her. She can't win either way.

Sansa, of course, had all these insults hurled at her too. She was a traitor and two-faced for having a girlish crush on Joffrey when she was 13 (11 in the books) and literally betrothed, by her father, to a prince. When Sansa at all stands up to characters like Jon or Dany and disagrees with them or argues with their logic about how to handle different choices, she is bitchy, even though Sansa is often proved to be correct in her logic, hesitancy, and how she thinks politically. And of course, in line with the previous point about becoming evil, it was assumed that Sansa would be two-faced with her family. And yet, we saw, time and time again, Sansa was loyal to House Stark. Even the ultimate “sin” of Cersei guilting her to write to Robb about their Father being a “traitor” to the crown - Sansa did it because she thought it was one way she could save her father’s life. Basically, Sansa’s crime was being a girl who didn’t win the audience over by being spunky like her sister. Sansa’s crime was her naivete early on - when she was only a child, and it haunted her throughout the entire series and how fans saw her. Even though, out of every character in the books/show, Sansa at her core, is the one who represents the audience the most. She is the most removed from the magical storylines. The way she lives her life is closer to our own modern way of living than any of the warriors or magical characters in their world. Sansa represents who we would be if we were suddenly thrust into a fantasy story - defenseless and easily abused. But most readers and watchers want to see who they are not, rather than follow a story of who they actually could be and what strength might follow.

What I want to see from Elain’s story:

Following the lessons of staying true to my girl, Sansa, I hope that Elain, like Sansa, finds her own way in the empathy, kindness, and social skills that she has - along with exploring her powers. Now, as Elain is in a romance, and not a dystopian fantasy like Sansa is, her ending will have a HEA with her love interest. Sansa became Queen in the North, it’s true. But she has no love interest. Her family is all scattered. And there is a bit of a coldness to her now. Many suspect that she will play more of a Queen Elizabeth I role in her rule and never marry, as to keep House Stark as House Stark. But if she were to marry, it will likely be a political alliance, though, my hope is she will find love in it. Because while Sansa might have had her dreams dashed at an early age, I truly hope for the sake of that little romantic girl, she can find love after all the hurt she had to experience.

Elain will end up with a romance at the end of her story. And I think harkening to her character archetype and who suits her narrative best, it will of course be with her mate, Lucien, who mirrors her characteristics, values, and morals the most. I imagine for them a story where they act as courtiers, helping piece back together Spring, working on alliances with the human lands, and eventually, once Lucien learns of his heritage, finding another home in the Day Court (though I do imagine them to be life-long travelers, making many friends and allies across Prythian and the continent together - as Elain always wanted to travel). Similar to how Sansa used her political intelligence and compassion for her people, I see Elain and Lucien as well using their courtier/emissary skills and knowledge and devotion to serving the people of the courts, putting diplomacy first, to heal a broken and divided world. I think especially the alliance with humans will be so important for Elain’s journey. Where Elain has struggled the most with no longer being human, Lucien has been immersing himself in human culture and political interests. And once they are ready to start their journey, I think both putting their heads together will be invaluable in representing both the interests of the Fae and the humans. I also think Lucien has more invested interest, as her mate, to push her to explore her powers rather than dismiss her ever exploring them like those in the Night Court do. Lucien’s connections through the world can also help her find ways to find the information she needs to learn more about being a Seer and whatever else is going on with her. He also has his own personal experience with exploring and learning of his multitude of powers as well, including what it means to suppress and hide them, as I suspect Elain has been doing. Where Sansa had to prove herself to every character in the story to take her seriously and respect her, I think the one person who has always and will always believe in Elain is the person who has a soul-to-soul connection with her. Who puts her and her needs before his own, and will serve as her devoted sworn shield (cries in Sansan) to fight for her if need be.

Also maybe I wish and hope for the unlikely Lucien and Elain as High King and High Queen narrative which would fit so perfectly to Sansa’s own rise, but I suspect SJM won’t go in that direction.

Anyways, if you made it to the end, thanks for reading my desperate need to get all these parallels out of my head. I have adored Sansa since I first watched the show in 2011 and fell even more in love with her when I read the books in 2013. I have been defending her to nasty people ever since, and when I joined the ACOTAR fandom, the way people criticized Elain felt SO familiar. Which of course it did. These kinds of criticisms do not stop with Sansa and Elain. Most characters like them are disliked for being soft women with big hearts who are vulnerable to cruel people in their worlds.

#elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #acotar #sansa stark #pro elucien #elucien

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