pinned goes here when I can be arsed to fill this out. ultra private, super selective, friends + plot priority writing blog for Faye Chamberlain of The Secret Circle novel series by Lisa Jane Smith.
rules. about. prompts. plotting.
wallacepolsom

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
No title available
AnasAbdin
will byers stan first human second

pixel skylines

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Acquired Stardust
noise dept.

izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
sheepfilms

JVL
we're not kids anymore.
$LAYYYTER
hello vonnie
cherry valley forever

ellievsbear

JBB: An Artblog!

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@fireweave
pinned goes here when I can be arsed to fill this out. ultra private, super selective, friends + plot priority writing blog for Faye Chamberlain of The Secret Circle novel series by Lisa Jane Smith.
rules. about. prompts. plotting.
I don't think I can possibly have two canon muses without a single OC to my name, so I might be bringing one of them back.
if you lot are confused about the last post refer to this one. <3
mwuahahahaha.
I don't think I can possibly have two canon muses without a single OC to my name, so I might be bringing one of them back.
"he can do no wrong" well actually i think he did a lot of wrong things, and that's specifically what attracted me to him in the first place
We all know that Faye Chamberlain attends Harvard University after she graduates.
MEDICAL CW BELOW.
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYBODY ! let’s take this as a reminder that no matter what you identify as, no matter if you’re out of the closet or not, no matter if you’re still questioning, all of you are incredibly loved and i am so damn proud of you.
Happy Pride Month, my babes! ㅤ♡
I want everyone to know that I think Faye Morgana Chamberlain would widely be seen as a sexually and romantically fluid individual, herself. This witch babe truly has no preference : the gem of a person that can put up with the most flawed bitchy gem of all flawed bitchy gems ( her and that attitude problem of hers ) gets her undying love, obsession, torture, and devotion.
“[V]iolence does not consist so much in injuring and annihilating persons as in interrupting their continuity, making them play roles in which they no longer recognize themselves, making them betray not only commitments but their own substance, making them carry out actions that will destroy every possibility for action.”
— Emmanuel Lévinas, Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority (translated by Alphonso Lingis)
❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜
𝕱𝐀𝐘𝐄’𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓. The crimson blood had dried in dark streaks along the inside of her wrist, red so dark that it appears black, like the true color of hematite, caught under the edge of one star ruby ring and smeared like WAR PAINT across the pale hollow of her palm. There was some on her dress, too; a small, ugly bloom near her ribs where the fabric clung damply to her skin. Not hers. Mostly not hers.
Around them, the trees whispered uneasily in faint protestation. She could feel the Powers as they emanated around them, lashing out because he wasn’t a Circle member, and it went against not only the tradition, but the blood - soaked grounds held memory that had attempted to be stamped out over time. The circle of stones behind her still held the heat of the ritual, old power crawling through the ground like something buried had been reawakened.
❛❛ Maybe you only come looking for me at interesting times, ❜❜ she said, lifting her gaze to him at last. Her golden eyes were bright to the point of an eerie incandescence, feverish with leftover magic and something far less innocent. Or convincing. ❛❛ Or maybe blood has better manners than most people. It arrives when it’s called. ❜❜ She wiped her thumb slowly across her wrist, only succeeding in dragging the red into a darker smear. A smile curved her mouth knowingly, sharp and deliberate.
❛❛ I’m sure you’ve seen worse. ❜❜ Her head tilted, glossy black hair sliding over one shoulder. A few strands pick up from the upward draft from the cove just past the rock formation, and the expansive sea just beyond that. ❛❛ You’ve probably done worse. ❜❜ For a moment, the air between them almost softened into something conversational. Almost. Faye’s smile deepened. ❛❛ Besides, if I were really in trouble, I wouldn’t be standing here answering mundane questions. ❜❜ she teases, voice low and velvet - dark.
letting a smile slowly slip from your face is sooo satisfying it's like a powerpoint transition it's like removing a bra
hc question(s) for youuu: as we know, there is an inconsistency in the novels - in one, cassie mentions diana saying that faye's mom is dead and in another, faye's mom is very much alive.
but do you think that faye would be the type of person to say "my mom is dead" (maybe in a you're dead to me way) despite the fact that she's, in fact, very much alive?
(bonus question: what is the relationship between faye and her mom, anyway?)
So, with this inconsistency in mind, it can be turned into something very revealing for Faye, actually. Because yes, I do think she could say, very flatly, that her mother is dead while her mother is technically still alive. But not in a melodramatic, wounded little - girl way. More in the sense that she has already removed her mother from any meaningful position in her life.
Dead doesn't necessarily mean buried; it means irrelevant. It means powerless. It means someone who no longer has access to her, influence over her, or any claim on her. Her mother still exists in the house, behind some closed bedroom door with her nerves and her silence, with her shame over not doing more during the fight with Black John, but she isn't allowed to mother Faye. She doesn't get that distinction. She doesn't guide her, protect her, restrain her, understand her, or even really see her. So, being her, wouldn't waste time explaining the emotional technicalities. She would simply call the woman dead and let everyone else misunderstand the statement if they liked.
Faye doesn't hate her mother. Hatred would imply that her mother still has a vivid and active place inside her thoughts. I think it’s colder than that. She's indifferent. Her mother is a closed door in the house. A nervous shadow. A woman who has receded so far from life, from authority, and from Faye herself, that there is no real place for her in her world.
As for their relationship, I imagine it as distant, blood - bound, and emotionally vacant. Her mother being in her room 95% of the time because of nerves is a tell. I don’t necessarily read it as her mother hating her, but I do think there may be something about Faye that she cannot bear to face. Maybe Faye resembles her father too much. Grant Chamberlain is described as being a cold man, and Faye is very much her father's daughter. She probably has his eyes, his dark beauty, his charm, his temper, his appetite for power. Probably has an affinity for calling on the same elements as he once did. When she walks into the room, her mother sees the man who is no longer there, and left a permanent wound behind. And she would never beg to be separated from that ghost.
She would never ask her mother to look at her and see her instead. She would decide that if her mother could not bear the sight of her, then her mother had forfeited the right to matter.
So yes, I think she would say “ my mother is dead ” while her mother is alive. Not because she is lying, exactly, and not because she is grieving in any obvious way. Because in the only sense that even matters to Faye, the woman is already gone. Alive upstairs, perhaps. Dead everywhere else.
She was probably raised by a full - time governess until she is old enough to handle things on her own and has control over the family fortune and her own trust. So really while this question actually is a curiosity of those that don't know her, she doesn't really think all that heavily into it. She's used to doing things on her own. It's just something that's second - nature to her.
a moss - covered trail leading deeper into a dense, mist-shrouded forest.
║▌│ㅤ☽◯☾ * 。 ⋆ 🕯 ˎˊ˗ 𝕱𝐀𝐘𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃; each leather ankle boot - clad footstep measured and careful, ensuring she was not followed. The dense forest was compliant to her rituals, no matter how often she visited the area. The trail wound downward beneath a canopy of broadleaf evergreen trees, each branch heavy with mist; each stone slick with moss that ran under her soles. The air contained a curious if not surreptitious energy that enshrouded the area, older than the rain that beat relentlessly against the treetops.
Coastal New England had a way of swallowing sound, especially in places that left the brunt of human civilization behind. Once you got past the mainland, and then the bridge that connected to the narrow road that she had left only minutes before, which left you deposited on the island only yards away from the mainland. It all fell behind, leaving only the hush of wet earth; the native New Salem soil clotting moistly beneath her feet. The dripping of water from pine needles above was the only sound that could be heard, even the birds were eerily silent. The pale fog curls between the trees that made its way from the sea, and Faye could hear the waves colliding against the rocky shore to the east of her.
Faye could feel eyes on her, and that was really the enjoyment of it all. She let the silence stretch thin before glancing back over her shoulder, her dark hair switching behind her like a lion's mane. Her eyes shone gold in the dimness of the perpetually foggy afternoon and compared to their surroundings; they were bright and full of amusement ⸻ and of a secret she had no intention of giving away before she was done playing with it.
❛❛ You’re hesitating, Ellie. ❜❜ Faye spoke softly and in even, confident tones, her mouth curving. ❛❛ That’s never a good sign, now, is it ? ❜❜ A branch snaps somewhere off the path, weak from the recent onslaught of rain. It was enough to indicate that she wasn’t alone.
Faye’s smile deepened. ❛❛ Of course, sometimes it’s the smartest thing one can do. ❜❜ She added, turning toward the deeper trees. She steps over a fallen limb, her fingers trailing briefly across the moss. The mist thickened overhead, swallowing the path by inches. Only a native islander would know how to get around the forest to get back to the main road without being lost within its enchantments.
❛❛ Come on, Ellie, ❜❜ Faye called, sweetly. ❛❛ I knew you were here before you even made it past the last house. ❜❜
oh, so when other people go outside it’s “good for their health” and “highly recommended”, it’s only when i do it that it’s a “containment breach” and a “high-level threat to public safety and security”, huh?
continued from here / @fireweave
❛❛ YOU SHOULD REALLY RECONSIDER THE TONE YOU USE TO SPEAK TO PEOPLE. ❜❜ Niklaus stated matter-of-factly, gaze centered in front of him, one hand on his lap and the other gripping the grab handle. As they pulled onto Crowhaven Road, Niklaus considered how much he despised witches. Even the whole bloody town bothered him, in all of its isolation. The world would fare better with just a few more witch hunters, Niklaus thought. After Faye's comment, much better, he decided.
❛❛ A word of advice, sweetheart, ❜❜ he continued, without looking anywhere in particular, ❛❛ Don't overestimate your worth to an immortal. I've killed far more formidable things for far less. ❜❜ Only then did he turn to look at her, unhurried, like the view outside had been far more interesting up until now. ❛❛ Attitude without the power to defend it is the refuge of fools. Even kings without morals have the decency to back their arrogance with something. ❜❜ He finished, returning his gaze to the woods of New Salem, like they'd resumed being interesting again.
Niklaus didn't operate without understanding his allies, much less that of an inexperienced witch he'd typically forego in favor of a more seasoned practicioner. But he'd seen promise in Faye, regrettably so. He'd come to New Salem to investigate both Faye and her capabilities and understand how covens operate more closely in the modern day. Niklaus surmised New Salem's isolation wasn't just credited to its geographical positioning, but also its ability to deter unwanted supernatural creatures, particularly The Undead. Much like werewolves, witches were stronger in covens, and lineages here spanned centuries. Of course, an Original was better suited for an island like this, with an indestructible body to defend itself against hexes. ❛❛ Are you sure you're equipped for a spell as large as the one I'm asking? Locating other covens isn't for amateurs. ❜❜
║▌│ㅤ☽◯☾ * 。 ⋆ 🕯 ˎˊ˗ 𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇, and Faye was no neophyte. He must have her confused for someone else ⸻ with a full coven like hers, that of which she was COVEN LEADER, her power was . . . what did they call it ? Unlimited. She could sense what he thought of her, how he underestimated her, and it was proven more over from the spiel that exits his lips that seemed to be attached to his over - inflated ego.
❛❛ Who said I was even going to help you ? Seems like if you have the power to throw your weight around and underestimate me all in one fail swoop, you’re also powerful enough to eat your words when the spell I land makes you fall on your ungrateful behind. ❜❜
She was growing bored already. Pivoting toward him, everything that she had summed up about him on the drive over was more than enough small talk. ❛❛ You aren’t the first to mention my attitude; you won’t be the last. But I do have the wherewithal to back it up. And weren’t you . . . oh, I remember. Needing something ? ❜❜ Her eyes glow the haunting incandescent gold of FLAME.