#mother’s (who abused her) eternity kinder

[l-just-want-to-see]

concept: Hazel doesn’t die in 1943. Instead, she believes the giant and Gaea by proxy. She has no further context and is justifiably angry at the Olympians, and is chosen to be the one possessed by Kronos instead of Luke. She finds Nico and Bianca at the Lotus Hotel and frees them, and understands that Kronos/Gaea are trying to destroy the world meaning Nico and Bianca would die. In the end she is the child of the big three and the hero.

[reminem69]

alright what is my nygmobblepot college au??

title's self-explanatory, ed and oz are college students who slowburn fall in love

they're both freshman who end up being dormmates

ed's there for a bachelors in forensic science and oswald's getting a bachelor's in wildlife biology

edward also is minoring in psychology and oz is minoring in business

basically two autistic queer guys with a shit ton of baggage try to get through college together

also the riddler and the penguin arent things in this, ed is very much like s1/pre-riddler ed and oswalds basically the same just. less crime and killing djfghfkdhjg

i dont wanna spoil actual plot bc i wanna turn this into a fic, but here's ed and oswald's backstories <3

ed's a 20y/o nonbinary trans man who uses he/they

he's also autistic and has anxiety and deals with chronic pain (he's just like me fr <3333)

his mom left when he was really young and his father was super abusive

he doesn't remember most of his early childhood due to abuse and memory issues; memories get clearer around highschool

he met kristen in freshman year

she was stuck in an abusive relationship at the time

her father was really misogynistic and terrible to her mother, so she learned those kinds of behaviors from her parents

ed wasn't out at the time (but knew he was trans) so kristen was a lot kinder to him than when they met in canon

she still thinks he's weird but they kind of become friends

long story short, ed starts to help her realize the abuse she's going through and the unhealthy patterns she's learned

through their early high school years, ed helps her unlearn that and get out of the bad relationship shes in

he also finally comes out to her and she accepts him (after being kinda weird abt it at first bc. transphobic dad gkjfhgk)

in turn, she helps ed realize the abuse he's going through

ed also gets really attached to kristens mom

kristens mom is actually a really nice lady, she just has a shit husband and was taught she should be treated like that

kristen getting out of that mindset actually helps her mom get out of it too and she kicks her husband out of the picture

did i mention kristens parents are stupid rich

even after her husband leaves, her mom still is pretty wealthy

when ed finally turns 18, he gets the fuck out of there and lives with kristen and her mom

through all this, ed and kristen try dating and its good for a while

but they realize they're better friends

kristens mom becomes like a mom to ed

she ends up paying for ed's college, hormone therapy, top surgery, name change, and therapy

he's eternally thankful to her

he goes to community college and gets his associates in forensics

kristen goes with him and gets an associates in english

after they've gotten their associates, ed goes to an out of town four year where he meets oz

kristen stays in town, but they still call/talk often

now time for oswald heehee

he's a 21y/o trans guy who uses he/him

gertrud raised him alone, claiming his father was dead

she was extremely overbearing and heavily attached to her son to an unhealthy level

he was bullied a lot as a child

he's also autistic and has adhd <3

he still has his limp, but he gets it in middle school after some kids broke his ankle and gertrud took care of it herself instead of taking him to a doctor

he has a cane which he uses most days

he realizes he's trans very early on in his life and gertrud was very supportive

she let him transition socially and changes his name legally around high school

if she had the money for it, she would have absolutely payed for surgeries and such

at the time of the au, his names changed legally and hes on T (payed for himself)

he has a special interest in penguins and wants to be an ornithologist so he can work with them

he focuses a lot on science in school and always gets A's in it

usually gets b's and c's in everything else (and only gets that high of grades bc he doesn't wanna disappoint his mom)

he goes to community college for an associates in biology

right after his senior year of high school, gertrud starts to get really sick

she refuses to go to a doctor so oswald is balancing taking care of her, having various part time jobs, and getting his associates

its a big rough patch for him and his mental heath takes a huge dip at the time

when he gets his degree and finds the college he wants to go to (which is out of state), he realizes he cant leave his mom the way she is and cant go to college financially yet

so he takes a gap year to earn money and keep taking care of gertrud

he finally gets her to go to a doctor and gets her on medication

when the end of his gap year rolls around, he has enough money to get by on financial aid without any loans

he finally moves out, still talking to his mother often and keeping a eye on her health (though she doesn't tell him much)

now theyre both in college and the au actually starts dfjghfdkjhg! yes i have more backstory for the au than actual plot for it leave me alone <3 basically i love them

i have no idea how the other characters fit into this btw jghkfjdgkdfjhg they will exist at some point but for now they dont heehee

@monarch-max tagging u since u replied to my post <3

[alukardtheabysswalker]

The Great Weaver

Fantasy Divinity:

There is a plan at work in the universe, everything is part of a complex fabric, a marvelous design which we could never comprehend. Best we can hope for is to gaze at its beauty and give it our own flawed interpretations. The Great Weaver is patient for it is eternal and whatever its plan might be it will see it through no matter what, as such we serve in the best way that we can. Represented as a Spider looking down from its Great Pattern, ever weaving the fate of the universe.

However this is not a blind belief that we have a predetermined destiny, while many do think that there is no real free will in a plan that has been laid out, many don’t see their God as almighty. For The Great Weaver has a plan, yes, a Great Pattern being weaved from the beginning of the universe yet it is not perfect and in our acts we can interfere with it. Followers will work in many ways to see their own interpretation of its plan, be it in subtle or grand forms anyone can, within their possibilities, influence this design.

But of course a being of such a complex nature couldn’t be fully understood by us neither can its existence be locked into one single nature, therefore The Great Weaver can be understood also as a part of many Divine Visions that interweave with each other, every part as important as the other.

The Great Weaver - True Neutral: Not much is to be added here that was not mentioned before. Followers of The Great Weaver do not concern themselves whether or not their Vision of their God is the true one or the first one. Whatever its plan is, they follow through, giving it their own spin and happy to serve The Great Pattern unfolding before them.

The Master of Puppets - Evil: Perhaps the true nature of the world is indeed one of malice and corruption, an uncaring universe which meant us harm and the best we can do is make sure others suffer the worst of it. Everyone fears death, everyone is a coward, truly afraid of the pain this existence might bring us so, ¿What cause could be more noble than to position oneself above the rest? Maybe one can absolve oneself of this torment, or maybe just enjoy as much as possible of the little glimmer of goodness there is, at the expense of the rest of course. Followers of The Master of Puppets prey on the weak, they excel at abusing others, whether individuals or at large. Corrupt politicians, manipulating abusers, they look for the vulnerable and their weakness, be it addiction, poverty, trauma. Power is what they want always through the constant suffering of others.

The Mother of Chaos - Chaotic: Entropy, the result of a closed system unable to interchange energy and matter with the exterior, though one might argue that the existence of other planes proves the populated nature of our universe but, ¿Isn’t there always another layer? ¿Does this really mean that there exists multiple universes or only that our own has many ways to be traversed? Whichever might be, entropy is an inescapable rule here. Chaos at its most, ¿Could there be an order in this? ¿Is this all part of The Great Pattern? Followers of The Mother of Chaos certainly believe so, but not in the way you would think. It’s not that there is a plan per se but that Chaos is the nature of our existence and everything happens whether be for a reason or not, ¿Isn’t it natural for one to accept their place in this chaotic life? Let the chaos lead you and or be a part of it.

The Architect - Lawful: There certainly is a plan, the foundations of our universe have been carefully laid out and planned, every particle has its purpose, a block with a defined use or as others might call it, another brick in the wall. This design has inspired many to believe this to be the true interpretation of The Great Weaver. Followers of The Architect see it all in a more rigid way. There are rules, we might not understand them but they exist and are indeed part of The Great Pattern or as they call it The Grand Design. Lawmakers, enforcers, sometimes teachers, we are all part of a plan and should do our part to see it through.

The Kind Spinner - Good: Also known as The Silksong or The People’s Loom, however it best might suit you and your community. Followers of this Vision of The Great Weaver don’t necessarily believe that The Great Pattern is a benevolent one or that the universe works in tiny uncertain ways to the better of every individual, rather their belief comes from a love of life, a certainty that whatever this existence might bring us, in many cases a lot of suffering, we deserve to live a happy and healthy life. If there is any way in which our actions influence The Great Pattern, ¿Why not help weave a kinder fabric? Building communities, helping your neighbour, seeking for help when needed, fighting for the right cause. We have been given the opportunity to enjoy the marvelous melody that is being played in front of us, ¿Don’t we all deserve to live it at its fullest?

Of course this Visions of The Great Weaver and its work are very fundamental in their understanding of their God and while many ascribe to these points of view, most live their faith in the places where they cross, weaving a more specific pattern.

The Puppeteer - Lawful Evil: Also known as The Architect of Pain, The Anti Leveller, represents inequality, the suppression of the masses by those in power who transform the laws and Estate to their advantage. Whether be by a fundamentally evil belief on oppression and oppressive laws or the desire to gain power using unjust systems followers of The Puppeteer work to maintain a status quo in which those in power stay in power and those vulnerable suffer the most, in fact the more they suffer the better positioned they are. Fascist Dictators, Tyrants, Powerful Aristocrats, all see themselves benefited by this interpretation and many will follow these beliefs, calling themselves Puppeteers.

The Kind Mother - Chaotic Good: A more unhinged interpretation of the Silksong, if you will, not so focused on establishing systems for the betterment of the people but more on pushing the strands of our chaotic existence in a more benevolent way, never staying still and always looking forward. However some followers of this belief that are more politically aligned call her Mother Guillotine, or The Great Leveler, fighting for equality and dismantling oppressive systems made by those in positions of power. Some call themselves Children of The Guillotine, Guillotine Broods or simply Broods, of course decidedly opposed to Puppeteers, leading The Revolution against the unjust.

The Master of Chaos - Chaotic Evil: Also known ad The Mother of Puppets or The Puppet of Chaos, and here names matter, because while followers of this Vision might share a belief that this chaotic universe is not only naturally or systematically harmful to all of us, there are also different ways in which this malevolent entropy affect us, and therefore different ways in which we can contribute to it. Masters of Chaos believe that, as a popular character from a not so popular now series said, “Chaos is a Ladder” and no matter their objectives, which are always the opposite to benign, they will spread chaos to accomplish them. The Children of Chaos work to spawn more chaos, as it's only natural for the universe to be even more chaotic and of course harmful, every pull of the strings is to provide us with more chaotic suffering, hopefully appearing to be pain without rhyme or reason. Puppets of Chaos on the other hand believe that none of us is truly in control, that looking to create more chaos or to manipulate it in any way is foolish or worse hypocritical, instead letting the current of pain to flow, hoping only to either suffer less than the rest but mostly to find their place in this river of malign entropy.

The Builder - Lawful Good: We might never know the origin of our universe, our lives, but we can make our own. Build a better world for all, with just systems and working communities full of individuals that care for each other and work together towards a common goal. Followers of this belief see it that whatever The Grand Design might be we should do our best to make it a good one, for everyone. Fight for what's right and make a better future.

The Weavers: As any being of this incomprehensible existence is looked upon it is only natural for there to be many names for it, people choose names for their Vision that can better express its relation to their own experiences with it, as such there are other names it can be called. The Master Weaver(Neutral Evil), The Weaver of Chaos (Chaotic Neutral), The Stone Weaver(Lawful Neutral), The Kind Weaver(Neutral Good). These are all more nuanced interpretations of the fundamental beliefs explained before where individuals or communities will find their own spin on their faith.

It might sound counterintuitive that different parts of a whole being might oppose one another and have their followers have almost completely opposite beliefs but thinkers of this topic argue that indeed, it couldn’t be any other way. That perhaps these are indeed different beings and not part of one or that whether they are or not does not matter as everyone will have conflicted beliefs and moments in their lives, if not their whole life, in which they oppose themselves. Whatever the Vision be, they all believe in The Great Pattern.

[Some may look at these curious designs and note that, by interpreting The Weaver and its own as a sort of body or fundamental structure then, all these Visions could be seen as its Eight Eyes or its Eight Legs. Weaving, Watching]

Though then again, this could be just one way to look at it, perhaps one or more of them represent its true face.Perhaps they are but each one of its eyes, gazing back at us.

[lightlorn]

what do u hc gwynevere's relationship with her family members is like? do these relationships help or hinder her towards her own goals? what is more important to her---her family or her goals? how connected are her family and her goals?

That honestly depends on the generation at hand. With her parents, there’s a certain level of complication, with her siblings, a real love, and for her children, well… It all sort of flows together towards her goals. Gwynevere is not nearly as independent as she seems, for her goals are those which best further her family’s interests.

Let’s start from the beginning. This is all super heavily headcanon-based/built on my own lore, so by no means take it as gospel if you play any of these characters. I would be absolutely delighted to write something different with you!

As I imagine it, her parents relationship ended when she was quite young. Gwynevere was left to Gwyn, and her mother was largely out of the picture for the remainder of her youth. While she might have paid visits and tried to be a part of Gwynevere’s life, the girl rebuked her for the most part, thinking her mother had abandoned her by walking away from her marriage. From this, Gwynevere became less concerned about her mother and more devoted to Gwyn himself. As time went on, she remained the loyal daughter, which in turn earned her father’s love and respect. This laid the foundation that would define the rest of her life.

Her healthiest relationship was probably with her older brother, Gwyn’s Firstborn. As he is the only sibling that she did not have to be a caretaker for, I think they were better able to acknowledge one another as equals, to have a warm and natural affinity for each other. She often fought to be a part of his life, to play tagalong kid sister to he and his friends. Even during the war, they were a united force – he on the frontlines, she in a supportive non-combat role. Never one without the other. Sunlight following the Storm. 

His leaving wounded her deeply, that he be able to walk away from the family with such finality. She does not speak of him, but there is a part of her heart that is still hollow from his absence. Even millennia after the fact, she recognizes his shadow in her own oldest son, and is equal parts comforted and terrified of what this means for Lorian.

Next up is Filianore, and she adored her younger sister fiercely. Where Gwynevere has always been pure fire, passionate and uncompromising, Filianore was far softer. The two struck a fine balance in this, with none of the trappings of sisterly rivalry that others would expect. Gwynevere was always there to go to bat for her little sister, and Filianore often turned to Gwynevere above all others. There was, perhaps, a certain thread of reliance in their interactions, but nothing anyone would note in their time together.

That time ended too, however, when Filianore was sent away to the Ringed City. For the second time, in a very short span, Gwynevere had someone she loved taken from her. This time, however, there was no grand betrayal, no choice. Her little sister was simply there, and then gone. Something about this has always haunted her, even centuries later.

Which leaves us with Gwyndolin. Gwyndolin, the child others considered malformed and cursed, who was forced to play at the role their father set aside for them. Gwyndolin, delicate and thoughtful, an old soul even at a tender age. Gwynevere could not help but love them, looking after them like her own once Gwyndolin’s mother left the picture and Gwyn turned his back on his youngest. Their relationship is a many varied thing, siblings by blood, but initially more like parent and child, and later partners in crime. They always have each other’s backs. Their interests are the same, all the way to the bitter end.

Even then, she was made to leave by necessity, the final god to leave the holy city. She roamed, and Gwyndolin ruled alone, in her image. The two kept contact, though, and her only priority after her father’s legacy is Gwyndolin’s welfare. She loves her sibling to the point that they haunt her through Lothric, the delicate child veiled and pale. To outlive her youngest sibling was one of the worst experiences of her life.

Now, what this all comes to is a woman so accustomed to others leaving that she throws herself wholly into the goals and schemes of others. To those who remain, she is unshakably loyal. When Gwyndolin presents her with a way to keep their father’s legacy burning forevermore through sacrifice, she doesn’t hesitate to play along. She becomes a sort of  missionary to her father’s will, just as Gwyndolin becomes the mouthpiece and designer. All that matters, in all her life, is that Gwyn’s will be done. The Darkness must be kept at bay. The Flame must burn. 

All of which brings us to the tragedy of her children.

Lydia was her firstborn, her only with Artorias, conceived shortly before his loss and treasured all the more for it. She is the last earthly tie to Gwynevere’s true love, and for that the girl was allowed anything. There was nothing Gwynevere would not do for her daughter, and it speaks to later desperation that she began to close herself off from a grown Lydia’s counsel. In many ways, the girl became her mother’s ally and trusted confidant in her journeys for the Flame, though was spared the worst of such plots. Her ending came from an altogether different source, the Tyrant Sulyvahn, who made a beast of both Gwynevere’s beloved sibling and her most adored child.

Gertrude came from Gwynevere’s relationship with the flame god Flann, and is a living what if. Had Gwynevere stayed loyal to Flann, had she embraced the inevitable to chase what joy could be found before the dark, she might have had a kinder go of it. Gertude might have been saved, in the end, had her mother the sense to walk away. Unfortunately, the Princess gave herself wholly to her Gwyn’s legacy instead, and in turn made a future zealot of Gertrude. She was the loyal daughter, just as her mother had been before her, and in the twilight of an Eclipse, she was another sacrifice to the conflict between the Flame and the Dark.

Lorian is her only son, the aftermath of her one night as wife to the king Oceiros. As such, and being her one joy in the dour Kingdom of Lothric, he was doted upon. Gwynevere made clear that her son was above all others in that place, even his father, for being a grandson of the Lord of Light. As he grew to be more and more like his lost uncle – riding a Wyvern, a good and honorable prince, peerless in battle – she rejoiced. Here was a boy worth all of it. Here was the reason she fought so for an eternal Flame. She did not account for how deeply the comparisons to the Nameless King would run, or how deeply his betrayal would cut. In that, he was a fool, and she turned her back on him as he turned his back on his blood.

Leaving us with Lothric. The promised child, the light meant to end all things. The rebel child, refusing to be sacrificed like a fatted calf after so short and difficult a life. He was hardly even a child to her, only a pawn, but she claimed him for blood all the same. Gwynevere was gone by the time he turned his back on his purpose, but in the end of days, she was furious with him. It was only after she had lost all her children, left alone in the dark and the ashes, that she realized just what she had become. Nowhere was her cruelty more evident than in the impact she had upon Lothric’s life. Not that it mattered much from hindsight, but the boy did teach her shame in the end, and how little her crusade had amounted to when all was said and done. 

From this, we see the worst of Gwynevere and her drive to see Gwyn’s will done: How her children become little more than vehicles for her own aspirations. While Gertrude and especially Lydia got out relatively unscathed in childhood through young adulthood, the sons never had a chance. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Gwynevere was certainly desperate by the time III came to pass. She continues the cycle of abuse and disrespect that Gwyn began, making a tragedy of everyone around her. 

In the end, without that legacy to uphold, Gwynevere is left adrift and without purpose. Her life was only her own for a short time, and left alone she realizes how flimsy her sense of self is. She did everything for her father – even sacrifice her own children, her own chances at real happiness. Gwynevere’s family lies at the heart of everything. That is her ultimate tragedy, and her great cruelty, to herself and others. They were always one and the same.

Take away one aspect, and there is only a shell left.

[acourtofrosesandbooks-blog]

Ribbons of Flame - Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you all so very much to the amazing reaction you all gave me for ROF chapter one!! I was so nervous to actually be sharing my work with you all, but I’m so glad so many of you enjoyed it. You got me so excited to post chapter two for you all!! I hope you like this even more then chapter one. Also characters you know and love will be appearing in the next few chapters so hang in there. 

Like before, I adore hearing what you all thought so let me know! It definitely inspires me and encourages me to keep writing and sharing with you all.  

I’m also a total jerk and forgot to thank @bbyshadowbat in my last post (like how?) This fic would absolutely not be here if it wasn’t for this AMAZING girl! She has been an absolute saint in helping me form the ideas for this story and a blessing in editing each chapter. She’s inspired me and encouraged me so, so, so much and I don’t have enough words to express my thankfulness. If you don’t follow her, you 100% should. 

Tagging: @highladyfxyre @high-lady-of-perranth @williamjem @photofeesh @escapingtheconstrictingboxes @bbyshadowbat @thexscarletxwitchx @little-witchling-of-velaris @nerdperson524 @crazybookladythings @illyrianinterrasen @dreamingofradescapes  @night-and-stars-eternal @theoptomisticwolfgirl @dayanna-hatter

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Trigger Warning: Mental and physical abuse. 

Words: 3621

With Ella’s gown pooling around her feet, and trailing behind her, she glided past the threshold of the dining room where she had been summoned for supper. She examined everyone that sat at the long table, now filled with plates and bowls piled high with the finest Autumn Court food. Her father sat in a tall backed chair at the head of the table, his elbow placed casually on its arm rest. He gestured with the same hand for her to come forward and she obeyed. Ella made her way towards her usual seat by her mother at the other end of the table. On one side of the High Lord sat her eldest brother, a bandage wrapped tightly around his damaged hand. Her other three brothers sat in the next seats to Eris’ left. On Beron’s right sat an older male she did not recognize, and next to him was an older Fae female, and another male who resembled a much younger version of the one sitting next to her father. She had not been told they would be expecting guest. If she had known she might have worn a finer dress then the one sure currently had on.

“Please, Eleanor, greet our guests, Keir and his family from Hewn City.” She could have sworn a smirk flashed across his face as his eyes met hers and he waved his hand towards the three High Fae.

Panic, and confusion etched into Ella’s features but only for a moment before her cool mask of indifference was back on. With her hands lifting her skirts, she placed her right foot behind her left and dipped her body into a curtsy before sliding into her own seat. She looked over at the younger Fae, before quickly turning away. A heat flushing across her face as she realized he was looking back. She had only heard rumors about Hewn City, and the dark cruelty of the Night Court. Even had heard whispers of what brutal things Keir himself did to his own daughter long before Ella was even born. Nothing she heard made her want to hear anything more, or be so close to its members. Her heart began racing at what Beron could possibly be planning, to have them here for dinner. She glanced over at her mother, searching for reassurance or comfort, but found only the mask she wore too often.

The dinner remained mostly silent, only Beron and Keir discussing unimportant matters of business throughout the hour. She couldn’t make herself eat anything, as she was much too overcome with nerves. Her silverware pushed around the meat and vegetables, at least making it appear as if she had at least a few bites. Another wave of silence washed over the room. The only sound reaching their ears was the clicking and scraping of metal on porcelain. She began to fidget in her seat as she felt the High Lord’s attention shift to her.

“I’m sure you’re awfully curious about why our guests are here this evening, aren’t you, Eleanor?” That icy smirk reappeared across his mouth as he set his own cutlery down. She squirmed more as her name left his lips. She hated it. Hated it because he was the only one that used her full name with such distaste. “After all, they are here because of you, my child.” Ella’s mouth went dry.

“We’ve decided to rekindle that alliance that was so unfortunately torn away from the both of us so many years ago.” Keir chuckled at Beron’s words, but it was not kind or joyful. It was full of bitterness. 

“Such unfortunate circumstances, but we shall not keep grudges against our own kin. I’m sure we won’t let such things happen again. Isn’t that right, Eleanor?” Her heart froze as the man looked straight at her.

Something in her core told her that he wouldn’t ever forgive his daughter for what she did with that bastard Illyrian boy. Ella’s mask was cracking, and if she did not reign herself in, it would shatter sooner rather than later. It all made sense now as she looked at the younger male who she now realized couldn’t be that much older than her. She was certainly of age to be sold off into some marriage, and she had come to terms long ago that it would happen. Everyone told her that it was what she was destined to do, the only thing she could do. Some small part of her had hoped, and dreamed it would be to a far kinder male who would treat her gently. She was quick to realize the Cauldron did not allow such hopes and dreams to come true.

“You are to be betrothed to the Keir’s son, Kedron. In turn doing a mighty service to your court.” She drew her lip between her teeth, and swallowed back words she knew she would only regret later.

Her gaze flicked back to her mother. The changes in her features were so minor, no one else would have noticed, but she knew her own mother and the look of pity and sorrow that flashed in those eyes. She didn’t want to leave, at least not to another hellish court. Here she had Mr. Soarven, dancing, and her mother. In the Night Court, she would have nothing and no one except the smothering darkness that was wrapping her up tighter and tighter. So many thoughts flooded her mind, so many words she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare question her father. Especially not in front of his guests.

She knew what the High Lord would do to her, and knew just how likely he was to destroy her if she ruined this. She felt so weak, and so small. She felt like prey being cornered by hungry, vicious wolves. She knew she should fight or yell or do something to put an end to this, to break free from the chains she’d dragged around for so long, but she couldn’t. Afraid, too terribly afraid, to fight for her own life. She had stopped fighting years ago, realizing the only thing it brought her was bruised and bloody skin and deeper wounds underneath. 

Her thoughts had consumed her and she did not realize everyone had risen from their seats. She quickly joined them, and caught her father’s movements from the corner of her eyes. He stood in front of her as his finger curled up under her chin, forcing her full attention to him. A tender kiss was placed on Ella’s forehead, one that could so easily be dismissed as a father’s loving affection. She forcefully stopped herself from cringing away from it.

“Good girl,” was all that he muttered before he stepped away towards the door, followed closely by Keir and their respective wives. Surely to grab a drink of some kind, and perhaps discuss more business. She was startled when a hand wrapped itself around her forearm, realizing it belonged to Keir’s son, who she now knew as Kedron.  

“Why don’t we go learn a little more about each other while we leave our fathers to their business.” His grip left little room for refusal and little chance to escape. She reluctantly nodded as he placed her arm on his and led her out. Like a gentleman, off with a woman he was courting. Perhaps that’s what they were now, but she refused to believe any offspring of Keir’s could ever be a gentleman.  They exited the grand dining room and started down the sprawling halls.

“Shall we take a tour around the manor? I’ve never been to the Autumn Court and this place is quite magnificent, I’d like to see more.” He chuckled patting her hand as if they had been friends for years and were sharing an old joke. She only nodded, too terrified of saying the wrong thing and having little to say in this interaction anyway.

“You’re a quiet thing aren’t you,” he chuckled again while glancing over to her, and a flush raced through her cheeks once more. She didn’t think it was a question left open for her to answer, simply an observation. Her stomach dropped as she felt his smooth knuckles glide across her once rosy cheeks.

“You’re a pretty thing as well,” he muttered as his emerald eyes grew hazy, and flickered from her own amber eyes to her pink lips and back again.

“A very pretty thing.” A lock of her long auburn hair, that fell in thick loose curls nearly down to her waist had been drawn around one of his long fingers. Her palms became clammy, as her thin hands curled tightly around the fabric of her gown, trying to keep herself calm and her tears at bay.

She did not like the gentle touches of men like him, she knew it would only lead to more violent things. Like the calm before a ferocious storm. A storm she could not take shelter from.

Ella did not realize the steps he was making towards her, or the steps her own feet were making backward until she hit the wall behind her. She had become cornered like so many times before as he braced his arm against the wall, inches away from her head. His other hand continued to graze her skin, travelling across her jaw, and neck, and collarbone. His touch paused as he peered up once more, a cruel smile on his face. She closed her eyes fiercely as she awaited that unwanted touch somewhere far more intimate or a physical blow. To her surprise, she felt his presence step away, and her eyes opened. He studied her for a few seconds more before they presumed their previous position and continued to walk down the halls.

“Yes, I think I’ll enjoy having you as my wife very much so,” he said with that smirk that made her gut twist.

Ella had lost track of the hours she lay in bed awake that night. Thoughts plagued her mind, tormenting her and chasing any morsel of sleep away. Kedron had wandered the halls of the manor with her for the remaining hours of the evening. She had stayed quiet for most of the walk, as Kedron did enough talking for them both. She only replied when he had a direct question for her, mainly questions about the manor or the High Lord or when something interested the Fae male. When he finally grew tired, they had circled back to the sitting room where their fathers spent their own evening. A few words were exchanged between the three males before servants were summoned to take the guests to where they would be staying the night. Ella had turned to leave for her own room once they had left, but her father’s deep tone had stopped her. As she lay awake, her now throbbing stomach was a reminder of his words and warning he had given her mere hours before. A promise that if she stepped out of line or did anything stupid he would do far worse.

She was as still as death staring up at the high ceilings in her sleeping chamber, letting her thoughts swirl in her mind. She did not weep, nor did she scream, even though every part of her body desperately ached to do so. She only clenched her fist tightly, not noticing the blood being drawn from small crescent shaped indents on her palm. Nor did she notice the creak of her opening door.  She did not notice anything until she felt the smooth hands of her mother, and a dip in the mattress. Ella turned her head to look at her, not yet speaking or making a sound. The moonlight flooding in from her balcony doors highlighted the features that were so much like her own. She could see the tears welling up in her mother’s eyes as she placed her hand atop Ella’s, squeezing softly. She finally gave into that desperation to weep, that well of emotion that had been steadily growing deeper. She could no longer control herself as she sat up and tightly embraced her mother sitting beside her, and only wept more when her mother brought her closer and held her just as tight. Ella’s tears soaked the fabric of her mother’s robe, but if she minded she did not let on. She couldn’t even remember the last time her mother had held her, or even the last time she allowed herself to cry out.  

“Oh, my sweet darling Ella,” her mother whispered and placed a hand atop the head now buried in the crook of her neck. She tenderly ran fingers through the loose curls hoping to give some comfort to her daughter. Ella clutched tightly to the silk of her attire, wanting to scream and cry out so all of Prythian could know how she really felt, but she kept quiet besides the sobs wracking her body.

Ella did not know how long they both sat there together, tightly wrapped up in each other’s arms and both weeping. She did not realize how desperately she needed this, or how much the shadows smothered out that light inside of her. Now it was nothing more than a flickering candle surrounded by a starless and moonless night. It only dimmed with each passing hour. She met her mother’s eyes when she heard her speak.

“Oh Ella, I tried so hard, the Cauldron knows how I tried.” She placed her palm on her cheek rubbing her thumb in a loving caress. “The thought of you so full of hope and life, to only make down the same path as mine in the end, makes me sick,” she chocked out.

“Something changed when you were born. My very first daughter. I was so afraid for you, my dear, afraid you could not thrive under the oppression and cruelty of this court. But for so many years you were the brightest thing in all of Prythian. You loved like no one I had ever seen. You had hope dwelling in you, and an unbreakable joy.” Ella listened closely to every word her mother spoke, devouring them.

“But then that night, the night you walked in on what Beron was doing to me, I knew something changed. Oh Gods, I have nightmares of the pure terror on your face when Beron came up to you and threatened you, and the fact I could do nothing.” The Autumn Court Lady shook her head as if to get rid of the images in her mind. “I tried so desperately to get to you and comfort you, but he locked me up like some damned criminal.” Ella clung tighter as she to remembered the terror that filled her when she opened that door, and her father threatened her so.

“I felt like I failed you as I watched and could do nothing as Beron carved you into a shell of the child you once were, with the help of your brothers. As he beat the discipline and brutality of the Autumn Court into you, trying to shape you into his twisted version of who he thought you should be.” Her mother could hardly speak as more tears fell down her pale skin.

“Every time I tried to interfere and help you, or even try and comfort you, he would only turn on you ten-fold.” She grew silent, only shaking as she placed Ella’s head back onto her shoulder. Ella did not know if the embrace was for her own comfort or for the sobbing women beside her.

“If I had only kept my Cauldron damned mouth shut this wouldn’t have happened. He knew how much this betrothal would destroy you, he knew how much it would destroy me when you left,” her mother’s voice rose, but only slightly as not to disturb her. Ella sat up and studied her, the pain so clear in her features. This couldn’t have been her mother’s fault at all. Surely her cruel fate had been planned by the Mother decades before she was even born.

“Let me tell you this my dear Ella,“ she took a deep breath before touching her cheek once more, making sure Ella understood, “Please do not let that light burn out. Please do not lose that ability to see the good in this world and the ability to be kind and gentle. Even when everything within you has been crushed, torn apart, and shredded by those who should only give you love.“ Ella nodded her head, tears glistening in her eyes once more. She didn’t know if she could, but she would try for her mother. Anything for her mother.

“You are so strong my sweet Ella, so strong and I know it’s still in you, my love, even if it feels like it has been ripped away. That light will guide you, but only if you let it.” She placed a tender kiss on her forehead, placing the fallen strands of her braid behind her pointed ears.

Ella had fallen asleep in the arms of her mother that night. After the words they exchanged, they grew quiet. But they did not need words, their embrace was enough. For the first night in many years her sleep was not plagued by nightmares and she had slept soundly.

When she had awoken, tucked warmly under her covers, her mother was no longer there, but the bed was still warm where she had lay. Despite the roaring pain from her still healing burns, and the weight that felt like a thousand pounds pressing on her shoulders, she crawled out of bed and dressed. Her mother had informed her that she was to be swept away today. She felt that black was the only fitting color to wear. The color of mourning. She wished to say goodbye to only one other person before she left.

She made the familiar walk from her chambers to the dancing room. The music that was played for her lessons beginning to sound in her mind, she could not help but hum one of the tunes. She pictured the steps that went with the melody, and longed to dance it at least once more. She finally reached her destination in search of Mr. Soarven, but horror ran wild through her as she stepped through that door. The room was a disaster. Music sheets thrown everywhere, shattered glass scattered across the floor from the mirrored wall, the piano bench splintered in pieces throughout the room. The beautiful instrument itself wrecked beyond repair, along with the many other instruments that resided in the room. Her hand flew to her mouth, stepping back in shock. Icy fear coursed through her veins when she hit a hard chest and felt a hand grabbing hold of her forearm.

“He put up quite a fight you know,” a dark chuckle reached her ears as she turned around to meet her father. “Decided he wouldn’t die without a fight.” Die. Dead. Was he dead? Her heart thundered wildly as she ripped her arm away from his grip, and brought it close to her chest. Rage now coursed through her, as she began to tremble.

“What did you do?” She seethed, demanding answers. She wanted to grab him and hurt him so badly. Hurt him like he had hurt her for so long.

“He was executed at dawn, for a list of treasons a mile long. Having an affair with my wife being at the top of that list.” A rage equal to hers flashed in his eyes at those last words. It suddenly became too hard to breath, and she felt bile rise in her throat. She was not upset at her mother, she was not upset at Soarven either if what Beron claimed was true, she understood. She only felt fury for the man that stood in front of her.

“You’re a monster. Nothing but a cold, repulsive monster,” she sneered and was so overcome with resentment she did not notice the flames leaping among her fingers, and up her arms. The flames that were now reaching out for the High Lord. She caught the flicker of panic in Beron’s eyes before she fell to her knees among the shattered glass and splintered wood. As quickly as the rage had come, it rushed out of her along with the fire in her hands. She felt numb, and empty, and so utterly alone. Silent tears began to fall as she stumbled forward, unable to keep straight any longer. She did not care as the shards and splinters dug into her small hands, drawing blood. She did not care as her father began shouting at her to get up. She did not care as her two eldest brothers came in and dragged her out of the room. She did not care. She did not care. She did not care.

The rest of the morning was a blur. She did not see her mother at all and she was not allowed to say goodbye one last time. She did not feel and she did not think as her belongings were gathered on the backs of their horses like everyone else’s. Nor when she too was placed atop one to make the long journey north. She did not notice the young male next to her, Keir or his wife, or the sentries surrounding them on all sides. She did not notice anything except the roaring silence in her mind. Despite her mother’s words, despite her hope and belief in her, when she left for The Court of Nightmares, that last flicker of light residing in her was snuffed out.

[emeraldxmonarch]

Amori Aetherium (Pt. 4)

(Hey everyone! Here’s part 4!! This chapter was @voice-addicted‘s idea, so all credit goes to her!!!! She gave me the idea as well as the flow, and did a ton of work editing, so I’m eternally grateful to and for her and all of her help! <3 Thank you again! And thank you to everyone reading :) 

I hope you all enjoy it!

Trigger Warning: Mentions of violence and rape!

-SxW)

~Previous Chapter~                                                                 ~Next Chapter~

She was a child, when the Evil Queen took over Prythian. 

A baby, in better terms. 

She had no choice in what she would be named.

She had no choice when she was born.

                                                         ~

Amarantha Age 5:

“Mama, why won’t you let me outside...?”

“Because I made a grave mistake my love...I named you to be Unfading. To be a star that will never dull...But I doomed you to her legacy...so you need to stay here...where it’s safe...”

“Yes Mama...”

                                                         ~

Amarantha Age 9:

“You have the same name as her!”

“She’s probably related to her!”

“We don’t need anyone like that here!”

“Go away! Just go die somewhere!”

It hurt. The words. The punches and kicks that made her curl up into a ball on the ground. 

Blood dripped out of her nose.

She wanted to go home.

She made a mistake.

Mama was right.

She never should have left.

                                                      ~

Amarantha Age 10:

Mama was warm....

Very, very warm...

She always cleaned the blood, and never scolded her for leaving, since the injuries always spoke for themselves.

She never got angry at her.

Her mama was her warm place. 

She didn’t need anyone else.

The world was too scary.

This was safe.

                                                       ~

Amarantha Age 12:

“Mama....why....” Tears streamed down her face as she watched her mother get taken away.

Blood.

There was so, so much blood. 

She didn’t know what happened. 

But she didn’t get to say goodbye. 

                                                            ~

Amarantha Age 17

She got the job through her cousin.

She didn’t give her first name to Keir, which is why she probably got the job.

....

And the fact his gaze didn’t leave her chest as he inspected her for the first time.

But it’s alright.

After all, anything is better than the deafening silence of an empty house.

                                                          ~

Amarantha Age 27:

She always saw him near Keir. 

And every once in a while, talking to a beautiful, golden haired woman.

The Morrigan.

She later learned that was his cousin, and they were on strained terms.

His eyes always found hers in a crowd of servants.

And he even requested that she serve him during meal times.

He seemed...kind.

Maybe it was a chance for her...

                                                           ~

Amarantha Age 35

She always imagined her first time to be....warmer. 

To be kinder. 

But there was blood, and pain, and she didn’t like the feeling of having someone so close to her, when he didn’t even know her.

He didn’t know her first name.

But he was kind to her.

And he was gentle. 

So she would withstand it.

Because for someone like her, it was the best way to live. 

Best way to survive.

May the Mother keep that wretched name hidden for the rest of her life.

                                                            ~

Present day; Amarantha Age 80

“Amarantha, who would have thought I would have someone in my Court, with the same disgusting name as that whore Under The Mountain”

A flash of teeth.

A crack of a whip.

Blood dripping down onto the floor.

“Well, now. At least we can have our fun.”

A rip of cloth.

The sneering grin as he towered over her.

She should have been used to this. 

                                                             ~

Azriel read over the reports his spies gave him. Sheltered by her mother, but constantly abused. It wasn’t hard to find information on a servant girl. Reading over her name, made him hesitate to give the information to Feyre, but seeing her past, and her isolation because of something she could never control, stirred something in him. 

His wings flared, as he flew back home to his High Lord and Lady, information tightly grasped.