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Do you have any headcanons about why none of the Mikaelson siblings, despite their age and the times they lived in as humans, were married or had children when they were turned?
I mean Henrik, Rebekah and Kol were young obv
we could argue that Klaus wasn't THAT old either and he was the third son, so no pressure etc.
but Elijah and Finn? For those times, they were already at an age when they should have had homes, wives and kids
I’ve read fics where the eldest siblings were married as humans. I don’t mind those stories—if it adds something meaningful to their characters, it can work well. Personally, though, I don’t usually add human marriages unless they serve the story. Marriage is such a formative thing that it would leave an imprint on their vampire selves—to me, it feels too big to never show up in canon or flashbacks.
Finn
I headcanon Finn to be 31.
Finn is the easiest sibling for me to imagine having been actually married—we know the least about his human backstory, so he could plausibly have been a widower or divorced. Women in most Scandinavian communities at the time were legally able to request divorce, so it wouldn’t be unrealistic. I’ve even read stories where Finn killed his human wife Elijah-style and that’s why he hates what he is, but I don’t love that interpretation. It flattens him into an "Elijah-lite" character and I think Finn’s self-loathing has more compelling, character-driven roots.
In my own headcanon, Finn likely didn’t marry because of a mix of factors:
He didn’t trust himself not to replicate his parents’ toxic dynamic.
Their Virginian settlement was a recent Scandinavian diaspora, where political marriages might not have been as necessary.
Esther’s enmeshment with Finn reads, at times, as a form of emotional incest. I can easily imagine her keeping him from building his own household.
I also like the idea that Finn was meant to have a match who either passed away or married someone else, and they just never looked for another partner for him.
In my headcanons, Finn was too focused on providing for the family unit. He could have established his own household, but without his parents pushing him into an arranged marriage, would he really have had the time or desire to form relationships with women in the village? And would there have even been enough women in their small community to make that realistic?
I know some people headcanon that Sage was Finn’s wife while they were human, based on one of those TVD throwaway lines that suggests they knew each other before he turned her. Personally, I prefer the more established lore that the Trinity were the first non-Originals. If Sage had been someone they knew in life, I feel like someone would have said something. It just doesn’t quite fit for me.
Elijah
I headcanon Elijah to be 26.
Elijah feels less likely to have been married. He defines himself so much through his romantic relationships that even a loveless or political marriage would have been remarked upon in some way during his vampiric life. My headcanon is that he pursued Tatia organically, because a match had never been arranged for him by his parents. I think Esther and Mikael were bad parents by modern and historic standards—they simply didn’t care enough to set up a match for Elijah.
Elijah was also pushed into a more traditionally feminine role within the family unit, which not only left him overlooked by his parents but likely undervalued by his community. It was a very patriarchal society, so it probably limited what partners might be interested in him. (Which was already a small pool. If his parents weren't interested in making a match for him... well, most marriages in Scandinavian communities in this era—from what I've gathered from my research—were typically set up between parents. He'd be left to select a partner from women who didn't have to be bartered away by their families. That limits the number of partners he would be able to court.)
Nik
I headcanon Nik to be 22.
Nik would have been of marrying age—most people in their community would already be married by his age—but his parents likely weren’t interested in arranging anything for him. Mikael’s abuse and Esther’s neglect meant he was trapped in their household without the possibility of his parents (who hated him or—in Esther’s case—simply did not love Nik enough to save him) pushing for a suitable match.
I don’t think he truly loved Tatia—his cruelty toward her doppelgängers later, and the fact that he barely thinks of her when seeing Elena, speaks volumes. I think Tatia represented stability and independence more than romance to him. She was a uniquely established woman with her own household—Nik could have joined her family rather than the other way around. She’s a way to escape Mikael’s house. And if his parents aren’t interested in making a match for him, why would Nik pursue a partner who would just join him in the misery of their home?
Kol & Rebekah
I headcanon Kol to be 18 and Rebekah 16.
Kol was also of marrying age, but the more unmarried siblings in the family, the less likely he was to have had a match lined up.
Rebekah, at sixteen, could realistically have been in “talks” for a marriage. In some Scandinavian and Viking records, girls as young as twelve married, though these were likely outliers. Still, by her age she would have been considered ready for marriage negotiations. But again, Mikael and Esther were negligent and abusive parents—by modern standards and even by the standards of their own time. I think they simply didn’t bother making arrangements for any of their children.
Henrik
I usually place Henrik at twelve or thirteen when he died, which would have made him too young for marriage negotiations, though certainly close to entering that stage.
Broader Context and Summary
Life expectancy at the time was around fifty in Scandinavian communities, which usually fueled early marriages. But because their community included witches and werewolves—people who likely had longer lifespans—maybe the urgency around marriage wasn't carried over to their diasporic settlement in Virginia.
There were likely a lack of options. It’s not like Mikael would ever allow his children to marry into Ansel’s pack or with anyone from the local tribes—and I doubt the interest would have been mutual anyway.
Ultimately, for Finn and Elijah, I think it comes down to family dynamics and the lack of parental guidance; for Nik and Kol, it’s the misery of their household; and for Rebekah, it’s parental neglect. That feels more compelling and consistent with what we know than trying to slot in forgotten spouses or children that never inform their vampire selves.
TL;DR: Their family dynamics meant that “getting out” of the household (and by extension the tragedy of the approaching narrative)—whether by marrying out, like Rebekah would have been expected to or how I believe Nik wanted to do, or by establishing their own households—was never really an option.
#this is some really excellent analysis and reasoning that manages to make sense of the cw's wonky world building#which is an impressive feat#and if i may add a couple extra things that might help explain it (because i am a massive nerd)#1) norse culture did count on both bride prices and dowries being provided at the time of marriage#which given the potentially precarious economic situation in 10th/11th century virginia might have been hard to come up with#(lets add to that mikael's pride and control issues meaning he wouldn't have been likely to accept an “inadequate” bride price for rebekah)#(nor would have let his sons offer a bride price to a girl that would reflect poorly on him)#2) while we don't have extensive records dating back to this time#it is generally understoof that western european marriage pattern was already established to an extent#(which i'm assuming would have been applicable in a norse settlement)#which would mean a later marriage age for non nobility/royalty#(broadly speaking we see it go into the early 20s for women and late 20s to early 30s for men)#3) if i'm recalling correctly outside of very rich/powerful families men usually waited to have an established trade/income before marrying#which explains away the mikaelson boys being single easily enough#gosh this got super long i am so sorry @endless-natterings
Thank you!
I’ve expanded my thoughts since this headcanon post went live.
I recently managed to get my hands on a copy of Grethe Jacobsen’s thesis “The Position of Women in Scandinavia During the Viking Period” on microfilm a few weeks after I wrote this, and I finally made my way through more of Jochens’ and Karras’ work on the subject. While my opinions haven’t really changed—I feel I did have a solidly moderate understanding of the concept before, so I don’t think I misspoke on anything—I do think an aspect I underrepresented was a possible religious component to their lack of marriage.
I’ve written about this before, but I do think that Esther was Christian—the Christianization of the area she canonically lived in was well underway at the time of her birth. I think that Mikael—a Norse man who presumably kept to a different faith (considering the names of his first two children)—likely converted to Christianity after Freya’s “passing.” (Another supporting piece of evidence is that the first of his children to have a “Christian name” is Elijah, which means “my God is Yahweh,” which reads like a celebratory name for the new faith.) To that effect, I think “Mikael” is a conversion/baptism name.
Now, all that to say, I think with that HC in mind, it would be yet another reason for Mikael to not want to look for marriage within their new community—the number of people who shared their faith may have been slim.
@Crimson pointed out in my comments that Finn was likely uninterested in marriage because he was aware of the agreement Esther had with Dahlia—and that Esther likely put off looking for a partner for them for the same reason. And I do think I probably unvalued that in writing my original post—the reason I didn’t include this initially was because I had read that typically marriages were handled by the head of house, which would be Mikael. I do think now that Esther was likely discouraging him from arranging matches for their children.
From what I’ve read, the earliest Norse marriages we have records of did have their own age conventions—presumably separate from the wider European area. I was actually a bit baffled when I read that girls as young as thirteen (who were not nobility or of outrageous standing) were married, because I had learned that things like that were myths. And it is one for Europe in the Middle Ages, but so few records exist of this time period—we’ll never truly know if it was a commonality or an exception so profound that it was actually noted. I am of the only moderately educated opinion that it’s probably the former. While sixteen is likely an age where talks could have been happening, they didn’t have to be. If Rebekah were the only unmarried child, I would assume that Esther was waiting for another reason, but I think that they simply weren’t planning on marrying her off any time soon.
A lack of records also limits what we know about the marriage age for men as well—the few records that exist this far back do place men (who were not of nobility or abnormally wealthy) getting married as young as sixteen. But again, there’s no indication if these are outliers, why their marriages happened that young, or if they were consummated.
I really like your thoughts about bride price (and the, as you said, precarious economic situation of their new diasporic community in Virginia) and will be yoinking them!!
inspired by @tangleddd’s SCENES I’LL PROBABLY NEVER REACH ( 1 / ? )
[Music is playing. Rebekah is having her nails polished by an assistant. Kol is standing before a full-length mirror wearing a black evening suit while a tailor adjusts it. Finn and Elijah are also standing in the room preparing for the ball.]
Kol: Rebekah? Tell me how handsome I am.
Rebekah: Ah Kol, you know I can't be compelled.
[Finn grins.]
Emma: I think you look dashing.
[There’s a silence as everyone in the room turns over her remark, wondering at her intentions.]
Please please please make another Elijah fic with him being a dad please please please 🙏🙏🙏
I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THOSE FICS I ALMOST KNOW THEM BY HEART
Bliss
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader}
It’s the day after your third child is born… and the best day of Elijah’s immortal life.
♡♡ Oh you want more dad!elijah? Here is a continuation of family man. This one is sappy as hell and so family centric. The ending the Mikaelson's should've had ~ ♡♡
9.2k words {not sorry} - Warnings: tiny bit of smut near the end, soft!dad Elijah, postpartum tenderness, new baby fluff, domestic chaos, vampire immortality angst, Elijah being the best dad alive, Klaus getting emotional, sibling banter, glitter-related incidents, four cats (including one cryptid) and some quiche...
The compound was still cloaked in the grey-blue hush of early morning when Elijah crept into the nursery, where the cradle he had built was set up in the corner. He peered over the edge, smiling at the newest member of his family.
"Hello, little love," he whispered, brushing his finger against her plump cheek.
She stirred a little, one hand escaping the blanket to flex and curl, her tiny fingernails glinting in the soft light. She made a gurgling noise and kicked her little legs, but her eyes remained closed.
Elijah’s smile grew as he watched her sleep peacefully. It had only been one day, and already she had wrapped his heart around her tiny finger, just as her two older siblings had done. His beautiful little girl, born just hours ago. With a full head of dark hair and big brown eyes, just like his.
“Daddy?”
He turned at the sound of his other daughter’s voice. Bex stood in the doorway, her favorite blanket clutched in her hand, her face still creased from her pillow.
"What are you doing up, darling?" Elijah asked softly, walking to the door and scooping her into his arms.
She yawned and curled her head on his shoulder, still drowsy from sleep. "I want to see the baby," she mumbled.
Elijah pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Okay, but we have to be quiet, alright? She's sleeping."
He carried her over to the bassinet, resting his hand gently on the baby’s stomach. "Do you want to say hi?"
She nodded and peeked over the edge, a grin spreading across her face. "She's so cute!" she exclaimed and the baby stirred, legs kicking some more.
“Shhh,” Elijah said. “We’re going to wake her up.”
“Oops.” Bex covered her mouth with both hands, giggling softly. Elijah chuckled too, unable to resist the sound of her laughter.
He shifted Bex slightly in his arms, settling her more securely against his chest. His smile faded, not quite reaching his eyes.
“Are you sad?” she asked quietly.
“What? Why would I be sad?” He frowned gently at her question.
“You always look sad when you think no one’s watching,” she whispered, her little hands curling into his shirt.
Elijah’s heart stilled. He pressed her closer. “No, sweetheart,” he assured her. “I’m not sad. Not even a little bit.”
“Promise?” she asked, her voice small.
“Promise,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Now, let’s get back to bed. We have to be very quiet so we don’t wake the baby.”
She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried her out of the room. He passed Henry’s door on the way, the boy fast asleep, clutching a tiny wooden horse his uncle Klaus had carved for him.
When he arrived at Bex’s room, he gently set her down and tucked the covers around her the way she liked. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Sweet dreams.”
He lingered for a moment in the doorway, then crept back into the hall, pausing outside the nursery. He glanced in one last time, his baby daughter safe and sound, her tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
The world felt hushed. Sacred. And for a moment he felt his throat tighten, his eyes mist with tears. But he quickly swallowed the emotion, the sudden swell of love, the strange mix of joy and sorrow.
Because the moment would not last.
His children would grow, and his youngest daughter would learn to walk and talk, and he would be forced to watch the world turn. Watch them change, watch them slip through his fingers.
He would have to say goodbye.
Elijah shook himself and turned away, heading down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He needed a distraction from his dark thoughts, and making eggs was a surefire way to clear his mind.
He pulled open the fridge and frowned, his gaze sweeping the contents. He grabbed a carton of eggs, an assortment of veggies and a large stick of butter before turning his attention to the cupboards, where he found a bag of flour.
As he went about preparing the meal, making the dough for some quiche, his mind drifted back to the previous day. To the birth of his daughter. To how strong and amazing you were, his perfect wife. To the way you held her in your arms, the wonder and awe and joy on your face, the tears that sparkled in your eyes.
He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face, nor did he want to. His heart swelled, and he began to hum softly under his breath as he chopped the vegetables, the sound of his knife against the cutting board echoing through the empty kitchen.
You were recovering and Elijah knew you needed lots of rest and good food after giving birth. He took it upon himself to be your own personal chef, making sure you were well-fed and taken care of. Klaus would tell him he could just compel the finest chefs from around the world, source the freshest ingredients and have them delivered straight to the compound, but Elijah enjoyed the act of cooking for you.
It made him feel so human. So normal.
Besides, he enjoyed the solitude. The chance to be alone with his thoughts. He didn't get much of that these days. Not with three -now four- children running around, his siblings and their partners also living here, the whole house abuzz with activity.
A noise behind him interrupted his musings. He glanced over his shoulder to see Klaus sauntering into the kitchen, his hair tousled and no shirt. He merely grunted in Elijah's direction as he put on the coffee, the scent of it slowly filling the air.
"Good morning," Elijah greeted, trying not to sound too cheery.
"It's barely six," Klaus muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "What's so good about it?"
Elijah didn't answer. Instead, he prepared the pie dough, sprinkling flour on the counter and rolling out the chilled mass with his rolling pin.
Klaus yawned and stretched, the joints in his spine cracking, watching as Elijah divided the dough into four pie plates, his eyes heavy-lidded.
"Pies, brother? Really?"
Elijah rolled his eyes. "Quiche."
Klaus snorted. "Whatever."
"Does that mean you don't want any?"
Klaus scowled and pushed away from the counter. "Don't be an idiot."
Elijah suppressed a grin, his gaze focused on forming the pies, crimping the edges with perfect precision.
Klaus poured himself a cup of coffee and stood next to Elijah, leaning against the counter and sipping his drink, watching his brother with quiet amusement.
"So... How's the baby?" he finally asked.
"Perfect," Elijah said, not bothering to hide his smile. "Absolutely perfect."
Klaus raised his eyebrows. "And have you picked out a name yet?" His tone was light, but Elijah could detect a hint of impatience in his voice.
"We have," Elijah confirmed, cracking egg after egg into a bowl with one hand.
Klaus waited. When Elijah didn't offer up the information, he huffed. "Well, what is it?"
Elijah ignored him and began to whisk, smiling to himself as Klaus grew more and more agitated.
"Don't make me torture it out of you," Klaus grumbled.
"Niklaus, if you torture it out of me, then there will be no quiche," Elijah replied mildly.
Klaus chuckled, and grabbed the cheese grater and a block of cheese from the fridge, beginning to grate some for the filling.
They worked together in silence for a while, Elijah adding the ingredients to the quiches. Klaus preparing the bacon and sausage, the sizzle and smell of the meat filling the kitchen.
The sound of tiny footsteps padding down the hallway broke the silence. They turned to see Henry carrying two of the cats, one cradled in each arm, their tails swishing.
"Uncle Nik! Dad!" he cried, a grin spreading across his face.
"No cats in the kitchen," Elijah admonished, but his son was already placing the animals on the floor, their paws tapping across the tiles.
"It's only Rue and Sugar," Henry argued, pouting. "They're hungry,"
"You know how your father is about cat hair," Klaus mused, ruffling his nephew's hair. "If he finds even a single strand in his food, we'll all suffer the consequences."
Elijah shot Klaus a glare, and his brother smirked.
"Come, let's go feed the kitties, then we go rouse the others for breakfast," Klaus declared, ushering Henry and the cats out of the kitchen.
Elijah let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the quiches, the oven already preheated and waiting. He slid the trays in, set the timer, and wiped his hands on a towel before leaning back against the counter.
He let the temporary quiet settle in his bones, his gaze drifting to the window where the early light was beginning to stretch across the compound walls. The kind of light that made everything look softer. Gentler. Almost like it belonged to another world entirely.
His thoughts, of course, returned to you.
You were still sleeping, tucked away upstairs, hopefully deep in rest. After everything your body had been through, you deserved nothing less than total peace and he intended to protect that peace with everything he had.
Elijah glanced down at the coffee pot, before he filled up a mug, the contents steaming gently. With a small smile, he picked it up and left the kitchen, the quiet hum of the house following him as he made his way toward the bedroom. Toward you.
He opened the door slowly, careful not to wake you, and slipped inside, closing it behind him. The curtains were drawn, the room dim, but his sharp eyes could see clearly enough. You lay on your side, curled under the covers, Fig and Button stretched out beside you, the soft rumble of their purrs blending into one gentle hum.
He padded quietly over and set the mug on the nightstand before climbing onto the bed, careful not to disturb you or the cats. Although Button opened one sleepy eye, regarded him briefly, then closed it again, unimpressed. Fig didn't move at all, a silent guardian curled against your stomach.
His gaze swept over your features, the curve of your cheek, the softness of your skin, the fullness of your lips. His breath caught in his throat, his heart clenching as it always did when he looked at you.
"You smell like onions," you mumbled, not opening your eyes.
Elijah chuckled softly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I made quiche."
"Mmmm."
You rolled onto your back, opening your eyes. You looked sleepy, your hair tousled and wild. You stretched, then let out a soft groan of pain.
Elijah frowned. "How are you feeling?"
You grimaced. "Like I gave birth yesterday."
He winced. "Sorry."
You waved off his concern. "I'm fine." You sat up, and he helped you lean against the pillows. You took a sip from the mug and smiled.
"Thanks."
He settled himself next to you, his arm around your shoulders, careful not to jostle you. He pressed another kiss to your temple, his hand sliding into yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles.
You rested your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sat in silence, taking sips from the same mug and listening to the sounds of the house waking up.
A door slamming. Footsteps pattering down the hall. A shout. More footsteps, this time heavy, running. Four children under ten. Four cats climbing the drapes. Four original vampires all living under one roof. It was a miracle the place wasn’t destroyed every four minutes.
"I should get up," you said, making no effort to move.
"You should stay here and rest," he countered, his arm tightening around your shoulders.
You sighed. "I should probably at least shower and I really have to pee and then I have to feed-"
"Here," he interrupted, pressing the mug back into your hands. "Finish your coffee and take a shower, I'll bring our daughter to you."
"Our daughter." You repeated the words, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"Yes." He grinned and kissed you, "Our daughter."
"Another baby," you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"She is," he agreed. "And so are you."
You laughed. "Liar."
"I am not lying." He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "Just like all the others, she's perfect because she's yours."
You shook your head, but you were still smiling, your eyes shining with tears.
"Don't say that sweepingly romantic shit when I'm all hormonal and vulnerable," you grumbled, taking another sip of your coffee.
"Come," he said, taking your mug and getting to his feet. "Let me help you."
He held out his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you gently to your feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as he guided you into the bathroom, the warm steam curling through the air as he started the shower.
You winced again, and his brow furrowed immediately.
"You're in pain."
"Yeah," you said softly. "Just a little sore."
He hesitated. Then, "You know I could take it from you. Just a few drops…" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I would rather you not suffer at all."
You rolled your eyes. "Elijah, for the thousandth time, I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve had a baby. Freya’s herbs will do the trick, just give them a chance."
He let out a slow breath. “You’re impossibly stubborn.”
"And you're chronically overprotective," you replied, but there was a fond warmth in your tone as he carefully peeled your clothes away, his touch reverent. Like you were made of something sacred.
After your shower, he helped you back into bed with fresh pajamas and soft blankets. You were half-asleep before your head hit the pillow, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Elijah brushed a kiss to your temple and promised he'd return with the baby.
He focused his hearing on the nursery, listening for his daughter’s heartbeat. There it was. Steady and strong. But there was another with it, a familiar rhythm.
Elijah smiled, already moving down the hall.
He pushed open the nursery door to find Rebekah seated in the rocking chair, his baby girl bundled up in her arms, her voice low and sing-song.
“Look, love,” she cooed, glancing up. “Daddy’s here.”
Elijah crossed the room in a few strides, already reaching for her. Rebekah handed the baby over without protest, watching as his arms instinctively adjusted to cradle her just right.
“Hello, my little one,” he murmured, brushing a finger across her cheek. She blinked up at him, her face still soft with sleep.
Rebekah stood and brushed a hand down his arm. “You did it again,” she said, smiling. “She’s absolutely perfect.”
Elijah looked down, his chest swelling with pride. He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She let out a little gurgling noise and squirmed in his arms, her fingers curling and flexing.
Elijah grinned. "I hardly did anything, it was all y/n," he corrected, swaying gently with her in his arms.
"Oh, you were certainly involved," she retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Don't be so modest."
He chuckled and turned his attention back to the baby. "How's my little one?" he murmured, gently running his finger over her cheek.
"I think she's hungry," Rebekah answered, reaching out to tickle the baby's chin. "Shall we take her to mama?"
Elijah nodded his eyes transfixed on the baby in his arms, her little hands stretching out for him, her eyes blinking. Her scent filled his nostrils, that sweet, milky baby smell.
His heart swelled. Then his timer went off.
The baby jolted at the loud noise and started to wail, her face screwing up. Elijah shushed her gently, rocking her back and forth, his voice low and soothing.
"It's okay, little one. Daddy's got you," he whispered, holding her close.
Rebekah watched with a smile. "Come on, brother," she said, patting his shoulder. "I'll take her to mum, you go get breakfast ready."
"Right," he muttered, handing the baby over, his arms feeling suddenly empty without her.
She took her niece and rocked her gently, bouncing her a little. The baby calmed almost immediately, her wails fading to a whimper, then nothing. Rebekah smiled and brushed her finger against the baby's cheek. "That's better," she cooed, tickling her nose.
Elijah watched, unable to keep a smile from spreading across his face. His heart was so full, his love spilling over. Then he remembered the quiches and cursed under his breath.
"Right," he repeated, darting out of the room, the lingering warmth of his little girl still clinging to his chest. His hands felt too light. Empty.
He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he headed down the stairs, the scent of butter and herbs growing stronger with each step.
The moment his foot hit the bottom step, he regretted coming back down.
There were apples rolling across the floor.
And Kol was juggling three more… poorly.
“Catch!” Kol shouted, tossing one toward Henry, who missed it entirely and dove under the table to retrieve it with a shriek of laughter.
Klaus stood by the kitchen counter, coffee mug still in hand, now thankfully wearing a shirt, an exasperated look on his face. “If you make a mess, I’m compelling you both to clean this entire place with toothbrushes.”
Kol ignored him and tossed another apple, narrowly missing a vase on the counter.
Henry scrambled after it, laughing.
Freya stood by the stove, stirring a fresh batch of her herbs for your postpartum recovery, her gaze darting between the mix and the flying apples. Hayley appeared at Klaus’s elbow, plucking the coffee mug from his hand and taking a long sip.
“Hey,” Klaus protested mildly, turning to frown at her.
“You finished the entire pot so I'm stealing yours,” Hayley retorted, smirking.
An apple rolled across the floor and hit Elijah’s foot, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache already forming. With a resigned sigh, he turned his attention back to the oven, carefully pulling out the quiches. The warm scent quickly filling the kitchen.
As he placed the last tray on the counter, his family began to trickle in, drawn by the promise of food.
Hope and Bex appeared first, both girls chatting animatedly as they pulled out chairs and took their seats. Then Kol, with Henry slung over his shoulder, the boy giggling as he clung to his uncle.
"Those apples were for your mother," Elijah said calmly, though there was a noticeable edge beneath his tone.
"Oh, calm down, Elijah," Kol grumbled, setting his nephew down and ruffling his hair. "We're just having a bit of fun. The apples are perfectly edible."
Henry nodded eagerly, his hair sticking up wildly. "Yeah, they're not even bruised! Mum won't mind."
Elijah resisted the urge to discipline his son, he needed to pick his battles, choosing instead to start slicing the quiches into neat portions. He passed plates to Freya and Hayley, who immediately began distributing them, handing out silverware, cups, and napkins. The chatter and clatter of dishes rose swiftly into a pleasantly chaotic symphony.
"Salt and pepper, please," Kol demanded dramatically.
"Napkin," Henry chirped, waving his hands, he only had a few crumbs from the quiche he had just bitten into. But he was fussy about that sort of thing.
Bex leaned over and whispered something to Hope that set them both giggling uncontrollably, nearly tipping a jug of juice in the process. Hayley caught the jug and began pouring them juice, scolding them lightly for their carelessness.
"Where's mother and the baby?" Klaus asked, his tone light but his brow furrowing.
"Resting," Elijah replied, handing plates to the girls, who eagerly grabbed their share.
"Can we see the baby later?" Hope asked, her mouth already full of food.
"Of course," Elijah replied, giving her a fond smile. "We're having a family dinner around six. I'll bring her down then."
She grinned and dug back into her quiche, excited to meet her newest cousin.
"Speaking of the baby," Kol said, his mouth full, "have you named her yet?"
"The name will be revealed at dinner," Elijah replied, trying his best to maintain his patience.
"Oh, come on, brother," Kol whined. "Just tell us now."
"Please, daddy," Bex added, giving her father her most pleading expression.
"Yeah, come on, Dad!" Henry chimed in as he reached for a second helping.
"Honestly, Elijah, spare us the theatrics," Klaus said with a wicked smile, clearly pleased that he had roped the kids in.
The noise rose steadily. Pleas overlapping, voices louder and more persistent, laughter bouncing off the kitchen walls.
Elijah let out a sigh and rubbed a hand across his forehead. Then he raised his eyes, his dark gaze sweeping over his family. Meeting each of their hopeful gazes in turn…with a silent but unmistakable challenge.
Immediately, everyone fell quiet, forks paused midair, expressions shifting from expectant to sheepish. Then, after a perfectly timed beat of silence, Elijah allowed himself a slow, victorious smile.
"Please, eat," he ordered, voice mild. "Before the quiches get cold."
As the others dug into their meals, the conversation shifted from the baby's name to other matters. Elijah gathered some food for you and carefully poured the special herb tea Freya had prepared. As he headed upstairs, he felt the tension ease from his shoulders, leaving the noise and chaos behind him. He found himself smiling softly at the quiet anticipation of seeing you again.
The bedroom was dim, the curtains still drawn. The cats still close by. You lay curled up next to them, the baby cradled in your arms. You were nursing her, her tiny mouth clamped onto your nipple, her little legs kicking gently.
Rebekah was perched on the end of the bed, watching, a soft smile on her face. She looked up as Elijah entered the room, plates and a mug in hand.
"Oooh, please tell me there is more of that quiche," she said, her eyes lighting up.
Elijah smiled. "Yes, and I brought some for you and y/n."
You looked up from the baby and smiled. "Thank you."
Rebekah looked between the two of you, and sighed dramatically. "Well, I can see when I'm not needed," she said, her tone only half-serious.
"I appreciate everything you do for us," you said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I really do."
She smiled and squeezed back. "I'm always happy to help, especially when it comes to my darling nieces and nephews."
She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, and the baby a gentle caress, then headed toward the door.
"I'll leave you to your rest," she said, glancing back at you. "Call if you need anything."
"Thank you," you repeated, watching her go.
Once the door was closed, Elijah joined you, carefully placing the plate and mug on the nightstand. He settled himself on the bed and watched the baby nursing, his gaze softening.
"I want Henry and Bex to know her name before everyone else," you murmured, brushing a hand across her head.
Elijah smiled warmly. "Of course. Although, you do realize they'll announce it to the entire family within moments of learning it.”
You snorted. "Maybe. I have a feeling Henry is going to be a little protective, he's like his father in that way."
Elijah leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the baby's head, breathing in her scent.
"They're so little," you murmured, running a finger over her cheek. "And they grow up so fast."
Elijah felt his chest tighten at the thought. He wanted to freeze time, hold onto this moment forever. All of you safe and warm and together.
You reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his, squeezing. "Hey, where'd you go?"
"I was just thinking about how much I love all of you," he murmured, kissing your fingers. "How blessed I am."
"I think we're all pretty damn blessed," you said, smiling.
Elijah chuckled and reached out, brushing a finger across her cheek. "She's perfect, isn't she?"
You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Absolutely perfect."
The courtyard looked like a glitter factory had exploded.
There were stickers on the coffee table. Stickers on the cats. Stickers on Kol’s face.
Elijah didn’t ask.
Kol sat cross-legged on the floor, Bex perched beside him, carefully applying a crown of pink unicorn stickers to his forehead. He looked unbothered. Slightly smug, actually.
“Uncle Kol’s letting me do his makeup,” Bex announced, holding up a lip gloss wand.
“Correction,” Kol said, closing one eye as she dabbed glitter onto his eyelid. “I’m allowing this because I’m a devoted uncle and a fantastic canvas.”
"Who decided we should get cats?" Klaus grumbled, holding Henry’s fluffball, Button, awkwardly under one arm as he swiped a broom across the floor, collecting tufts of fur and glitter.
“Mum and Dad,” Henry answered brightly from beside him, grinning. “And it was a great idea. U-uncle Nik did you k-know that when cats purr, it actually helps them heal faster? And some studies say it helps humans too! Also, they each have d-different meows!!! Rue’s is more like a chirp, and S-sugar squeaks when she’s hungry. B-button’s got this little trill he does when he wants to be carried.” His words tumbled over themselves, barely leaving space to breathe, his eyes shining with excitement.
Klaus chuckled and handed Button off to him, his features softening. “And what about Fig?”
Henry kissed the top of Button’s head before placing him gently back in his kitty castle. He paused.
“Fig’s… different,” he whispered, glancing around like he expected the elusive fourth cat to materialize from the shadows. His voice lowered to a near-whisper.
“Fig disappears a lot. Doesn’t really come when you call. Doesn’t make much noise either. Sometimes he watches you sleep, but not like Rue or Sugar or Button. It’s not... cuddly. Fig is weird. A little scary, sometimes.” Henry paused and straightened, a grin spreading across his face. “Sometimes I see him in Dad’s study. Just sitting on the windowsill. Watching. I don’t think he likes me, but that’s okay. I still love him.”
“Fig is creepy,” Kol muttered, now half bedazzled.
“He’s not creepy!” Bex argued, frowning, poking Kol on the nose with the lip gloss wand. “He’s just shy.”
“And creepy.”
Bex stuck out her tongue. “Don’t be mean.”
Kol rolled his eyes. “Fine. Creepy but cute. Happy?”
Bex considered it, chin tilted up, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she conceded, nodding.
Klaus glanced toward the upper balconies like he half-expected Fig to appear right then. “Do you know where he is now?”
Henry shrugged. “Probably somewhere quiet. He likes it peaceful.” Then, after a beat: “Or she. No one really knows.”
“Doesn’t sound like they belong in this house,” Klaus muttered, earning a soft, agreeing ‘mmrp’ from Button.
“It’s good for the kids to have pets,” Rebekah called, leaning over the railing of the second-floor landing, looking down on the chaos. “Remember how many animals we had growing up?”
“I remember shoveling sh-”
“Niklaus,” Elijah interjected from the stairwell, voice clipped. “Children present.”
Klaus smirked, unapologetic, and returned to cleaning.
Elijah lingered at the foot of the stairs for a moment, quietly cataloguing the chaos like it was something sacred. Glitter in the rug. Cats sprawled across every surface. Kol being turned into a disco ball. Henry’s laughter echoing off the walls.
It was absurd.
And it was perfect.
You looked down at your sweet baby girl and smiled. She was asleep, her tiny hands curled up by her face, her lips parted slightly, a few wisps of dark hair clinging to her forehead. You were rocking her gently in an antique wooden rocking chair by the window, the early evening sun spilling in and making her glow.
You had managed to get some more rest in the afternoon, thanks to your doting husband and extended family. It felt good, having a newborn. Like the world was soft and bright, everything glowing and warm. You couldn't stop smiling, even though you knew the sleepless nights and endless feedings were only beginning. But you didn't mind. You had done this twice already, you knew the exhaustion and the chaos. You knew it well.
You brushed your thumb across her tummy, feeling a rush of pure love as she stirred in your arms.
You heard the bedroom door open, and looked up to see Elijah stepping inside, Henry and Bex following close behind.
"Hello, my loves," you said, smiling warmly.
"Hi mommy," Bex whispered loudly, grinning.
Henry crossed the room and crouched down in front of the rocking chair, looking up at you. His gaze flickered to the baby, and he held his breath, waiting.
You shifted the baby, adjusting her so her face was visible, then nodded, giving him permission.
Henry let out his breath, and leaned in closer, his eyes widening. He reached out slowly and gently touched her cheek.
"She's so soft," he whispered, awe in his voice.
"Can I touch her?" Bex asked, her voice hushed.
"Of course," you replied, chuckling softly.
Bex approached and knelt beside Henry, watching him, mimicking his movements as she gently brushed her fingers over her cheek.
Elijah knelt behind them, his arm around each child. You felt a swell of love, so much love. A deep, all-consuming warmth filling your chest, spilling out, touching everything.
"Now, remember what we talked about, a new baby means lots of changes. She might get fussy, or cry a lot. And that's okay. Just be patient, and loving, and she'll settle in soon enough," Elijah said, his voice soft, reassuring.
The kids nodded solemnly. All of them had their fathers big brown eyes, warm and earnest.
"Can we hold her?" Bex asked, glancing up at you hopefully.
"Not quite yet," you answered, smiling gently. "Soon."
Bex grinned and reached out, giving the baby's hand a little pat.
"Can I show her the cats?" Henry asked, looking up at his parents.
"Not today," Elijah answered, rubbing his shoulder. "She's too little for that just now."
"We have to keep her safe," you added, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.
Henry nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her. "Don't worry mum, I'll protect her."
You grinned and glanced over at Elijah, sharing a knowing look. Your son, the protector. So much like his father.
"What's her name?" Henry asked, looking up at you, his gaze wide and full of wonder.
"You have to promise not to tell anyone," you said, giving them a mock stern look. "Keep it a secret until dinner is all I ask,"
"Promise!" Bex said, eagerly nodding her head.
Henry nodded solemnly. "We promise."
Elijah squeezed their shoulders. "Good. Now, her name is..."
Elijah stood before the tall mirror in your shared room, straightening his tie with a practiced hand. The suit was dark and fitted, crisp and ceremonial. More formal than he typically wore these days. But tonight it felt right.
He smoothed the tie down and examined his reflection, pleased. The last time he was dressed this formally was approximately nine months ago, the night your daughter was conceived.
He remembered that night fondly, a slow smile spreading across his face as it came flooding back. Clear as film, flickering behind his eyes
It started with a rare moment alone. All the kids had been whisked away for various sleepovers and playdates with family.
The two of you had dressed up and he cooked a meal for you, an indulgent three-course dinner, complete with wine, candles, and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He always made a point to surprise you like this whenever the opportunity arose. A romantic to his core.
It hadn’t taken long for the two of you to retire upstairs, both of you a little tipsy, your bodies aching with desire.
He remembered helping you out of your dress, how you tugged on his tie, pulling him close, claiming his mouth in a heated kiss.
How he had carried you to the bed and laid you down, kissing you slowly, a deliberate show, enjoying how you bit your lip, eyes half-closed, body shifting impatiently against the sheets.
He grabbed a condom, rolled it on, and slowly eased into you. You arched against him, your fingers digging into his back, his name falling from your lips.
He set a slow, steady pace, letting you feel every inch of him, your body moving with his. It was always so perfect with you, like your bodies were made for each other, fitting together perfectly.
He didn't know what came over the two of you that night, nothing had been discussed, no plans had been made. Yet somehow, the conversation took place without words, between breathless moans and the slide of skin on skin, a wordless exchange.
He remembered pulling out, his cock still hard, resting against your stomach. He remembered the way you reached down, slowly removing the condom and tossing it aside. Then your eyes had locked with his as you started to stroke him again, savoring the weight of him in your palm.
"I want to feel you," you had murmured, a hint of desperation in your voice.
He leaned down to kiss you, his hands holding your thighs as he pulled them up, pressing into you again. The new angle had made you gasp.
"My beautiful y/n," he’d murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “My perfect wife,”
Your hands clutched his arms, your fingers digging into his skin, nails leaving little marks. He could feel the heat between your legs burning hotter, the pressure building.
He could still feel the way your skin felt under his hands, as he ran his fingers down your chest, pressing into your lower stomach as he savored just how deep he was. His eyes never left yours, his gaze locked onto yours, searching, asking.
You nodded and he kissed you again, slow and passionate. His hands gripped your thighs, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent.
He could still recall the way your fingers tangled in his hair, your thighs trembling around his hips, breath coming in short, broken gasps.
"Come for me, Elijah," you had whispered to him, your voice wrecked and wanting. "Give me a baby.”
The look in your eyes had destroyed whatever control he had left. That soft, desperate plea was all it took. Elijah let go with a deep, guttural groan, his body curling into yours as his hips pressed deeper. He remembered the way you moaned his name, the way you had held onto him as your body trembled with your own climax.
The two of you had lain there, panting, clinging to each other in a sticky haze of sweat and sex and something deeper. Something more than biology, more than desire.
Elijah hadn’t wanted to move. Hadn’t wanted to break the moment. But eventually, you both cleaned up, curled into each other, whispering soft promises of love.
And new life had been made.
Elijah chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, the memory still warm in his chest.
“Something funny?”
He looked up. You were in the doorway, that new life now tucked against your chest, your hand gently cupping the back of her tiny head. A curious smile played at the corners of your mouth.
“Just thinking about the night she was conceived,” he said, his dark eyes glittering. “You really knew what you wanted.”
Your cheeks warmed, but you smirked anyway. “Yeah, well... so did you.”
You were wearing a soft blue cotton dress, your hair twisted up, a few wisps framing your face. Simple. Soft. Beautiful. Your daughter stirred slightly in your arms, her little fists curling into the air.
Elijah drank in the sight of you, his eyes trailing from your face to the curve of your waist, the gentle swell of your stomach, still soft from the pregnancy. You looked nothing like that night of passion…and yet somehow, even more radiant.
You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I think you’re stunning,” he said, stepping forward and reaching for your free hand, gently pulling you closer.
You laughed and shook your head. “And I think you’re a sap,” you teased, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Elijah smiled and wrapped his arms around you, his hand settling at the small of your back. He peeked down at the sleeping bundle between you. “And she’s perfect.”
You leaned into him, careful not to jostle the baby, and looked up to meet his gaze. “Nervous?”
“A little,” he admitted, smoothing his hand down your spine. “This… means more than I can put into words.”
You tilted your head. “You already did the hard part, Elijah.”
His brow rose. “Which part? Making her… or naming her?”
You laughed. “Oh, was making her difficult for you? Poor baby. Such a hardship.. having sex with me. How did you manage to survive…”
He chuckled, the sound deep and low, and leaned in to brush a kiss against your temple. “It was worth the struggle.”
You laughed quietly and shifted the baby in your arms, her little lips twitching in her sleep. “Ready to show her off?”
Elijah took a breath. Then he nodded.
“May I?” he asked softly, reaching for her.
You handed her to him gently, and Elijah adjusted his arms to hold her close against his chest. She stirred softly, letting out a little sigh as she was transferred, her fist still curled tight against her chest. Content, warm and unbelievably safe. His large hand cradled the back of her head, the way it had so many times already, with a kind of reverence that never seemed to fade. He looked down at her, his jaw tight with emotion, and then to you.
“We made her,” he said, almost to himself. Like he still couldn’t quite believe it.
You smiled, your fingers brushing his wrist. “We did.”
He adjusted her, making sure she was comfortable. “I still don’t know how I deserve this,” he murmured.
You only smiled, kissing his knuckles. “Good thing it’s not up to you.”
He kissed her forehead, breathing in that perfect baby smell, then took your hand. “Let’s go.”
The Mikaelson household was buzzing with warmth and gentle chaos. The table had been set beautifully, candles flickering softly, casting golden pools of light onto polished dishes and crystal glasses. Soft piano played somewhere in the background, blending harmoniously with the familiar hum of family chatter.
Klaus sat at the head of the table, leaning back comfortably in his chair, one hand lazily curled around a glass of bourbon as he listened to Kol reminisce about a pair of horses they had back in the 16th century. Marcel and Cami added the occasional comment, clearly enjoying the tale.
Freya, Rebekah and Hayley were watching the kids chase after the cats. Hope and Bex were laughing hysterically, Henry in hot pursuit, the cats scattering. The little boy had a sticker stuck to his sleeve, his hair was wild, his eyes shining with happiness.
Kol's story came to an end, and everyone laughed. Freya poured more wine, the red liquid flowing like silk into crystal glasses.
You and Elijah entered the room, the baby cradled gently in your arms, swaddled in a soft lilac blanket. Elijah's hand rested softly on your lower back, his expression was carefully composed. But you could sense the quiet tension beneath.
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to you.
Elijah cleared his throat, and you took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You were nervous, you realized. Nervous and excited.
You looked down at your daughter and felt a rush of joy, a deep, bone-deep warmth. You glanced over at Elijah and saw his lips twitching, struggling to suppress a smile.
"Everyone, we're thrilled to introduce you to our daughter," Elijah began, his voice full of warmth.
He let out an awkward cough, and you realised he was trying to keep his voice from cracking. Your heart clenched and you reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
He smiled, grabbed a wine glass, and lifted it above his head, his other hand tightening around yours.
"For over a thousand years," Elijah began, his voice steady yet soft, "I believed myself beyond certain human experiences. Love, family, even hope.... these were fragile things, delicate threads easily severed by time or tragedy. I thought creatures like us, beings born from darkness and violence, could never truly find healing or happiness." His gaze drifted around the table, taking in the faces of his family. His friends, siblings, niece, children... all watching silently.
"And yet, here we stand," he continued, his voice quieter, full of reverence. "In a house filled with laughter and love. Together. Somehow...despite everything. Tonight, I find myself confronted by something I once thought impossible." He paused briefly, throat working as he fought against his emotions. He looked at you, his deep brown eyes bright and full of quiet wonder as his gaze moved down at his child.
"Healing," he murmured finally, as if the word were sacred. "Even for creatures like us. Perhaps especially for creatures like us."
Elijah turned then, focusing on Klaus, raising his glass even higher. Klaus was trying to look serious and emotionless but the look in his eye told you he was anything but.
"Niklaus," Elijah said softly, meeting his brother's eyes directly, "we have walked through lifetimes together. Shared triumphs, tragedies, wounds that refused to heal. I've watched you suffer greatly, bear burdens that no one should ever shoulder alone. Yet, despite it all you chose love. You chose to heal. And in doing so, you've shown me the way."
Klaus's jaw tightened, a visible tremor in his expression and the room seemed to hold its breath.
"And so," Elijah continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, "in honor of your strength, your courage, and the bond that binds us beyond eternity, we proudly name our daughter Nikolette."
There was absolute silence, a collective breath held. Elijah lowered his glass slightly, his expression open, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. "Our hope is that she carries not only your name but also your resilience, your fierce loyalty, and above all, your profound capacity to love and be loved."
He lifted the glass again, the candlelight flickering softly against the crystal, his eyes glistening.
"To family," he said gently, "and to the healing we never believed possible. Always and Forever."
His words faded into silence for a brief moment before Klaus surged up from his seat and embraced his brother, holding him close in a gruff, wordless display of gratitude. Elijah chuckled softly and patted his back, his eyes closed.
"Thank you," Klaus murmured roughly, voice thick with emotion. "Truly, thank you, brother."
Elijah hugged him tighter, briefly allowing himself the comfort of his brother's presence, anchoring himself in the warmth of a bond stronger than centuries of pain and loss.
When Klaus finally stepped back, eyes suspiciously wet, he gave a sharp nod and clapped Elijah affectionately on the shoulder, "Now, pour more wine, let's celebrate properly."
Laughter rippled around the room, breaking the solemn spell, glasses clinking joyfully as chatter rose again, everyone eagerly leaning in to welcome the newest member of the family. Nikolette Mikaelson.
Elijah smiled, blinking quickly to clear his vision, and reached for your hand once more, needing the quiet reassurance of your touch as the cheerful chaos surrounded him once more.
After dinner, the Mikaelson household gradually settled into a gentle, sleepy quiet. The guests had slowly drifted away to their respective rooms, wine glasses set aside, laughter fading into soft murmurs of goodnight. Freya had lovingly taken charge of Nikolette for the night, quietly reassuring you that she would keep watch, calming your anxiety about leaving your newborn, even for a few hours. The kids had been bundled into pajamas by Hayley and Rebekah, their sleepy voices drifting down the hallway as they protested weakly against bedtime.
You wandered through the now-silent house, looking for your husband. You paused to check the kitchen, finding only Klaus quietly sipping bourbon, giving you a knowing nod. He gestured down the hall, murmuring softly, "His study."
You found him standing by the window, the curtains open, the moon casting a silvery glow across his features. He was looking out at the street, his hands clasped behind his back, an empty glass dangling idly from his fingers. Still dressed from dinner. The suit looked sharp on him, almost too sharp. Like armor he hadn’t worn in a while. A relic from a colder, more distant version of himself.
"Hey, you okay?" you asked softly, stepping up beside him, laying a hand on his arm.
He jumped, startled.
"Yes, sorry," he muttered, clearing his throat, and setting down his glass. "Just needed a moment,"
You studied his profile, the way the shadows cast his features into sharp relief, his brow creased slightly, lips pressed into a thin line. You had seen this look before, the calm wall of fog that masked the raging storm inside him.
"Hey, Elijah, talk to me," you said, squeezing his arm, trying to turn him towards you.
He let out a deep breath, shoulders slumping, and turned toward you.
"I'm alright, my love," he said softly, reaching out and caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.
You leaned into the touch, the familiar warmth of his skin making you feel safe. You looked into his eyes, and could see he was hiding something.
"You're lying," you said, smiling gently.
He sighed and went to fill his glass. You reached out and snatched the bottle of bourbon from his hand, placing it on a nearby bookshelf. He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
"Tell me what's going on in that complicated brain of yours," you said, stepping back into his space, sliding your hands up his chest.
"It's nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just a bit overwhelmed."
"Mmhm," you hummed, running your fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, playing with the dark strands.
He let out a shaky breath, his gaze drifting down to the floor. The weight of the day was catching up to him. You could see how hard he was trying to hold back, to be strong for you.
"Hey, don't do that," you murmured, cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. "It's okay, I'm here. You don't have to keep it all locked up inside."
He swallowed hard and blinked quickly, the tension in his body visible. You took his hand and guided him to the sofa, tugging him down beside you.
You tucked yourself under his arm, resting your head on his shoulder and looking up at him, watching some of his tension slowly ease. He took a deep breath, and let it out, his grip tightening around your shoulders.
Fig jumped up from behind the sofa, startling you both. Elijah reached out and allowed the cat to climb across his shoulder before he lifted him onto his lap.
"Sorry, kitty," he muttered, giving him a quick scritch behind the ears.
You snorted, shaking your head. Fig meowed and curled up, closing his eyes. Perfectly content. Like he always was with Elijah.
"Fig likes you the most," you teased, nuzzling closer to his side.
"Perhaps," Elijah replied, rubbing the cat's head. "We're similar in many ways."
You snorted, and reached out to scratch the cat's head.
"So, you wanna tell me what's going on in there?" you murmured, glancing up at him.
He sighed, and leaned back, his fingers curling into Fig's fur. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and waited, giving him the time and space to find the words.
“Earlier,” he began hesitantly, eyes downcast, “when you refuse my blood, you won't let me heal you.. I felt… I feel...” He paused, searching for the right words, his brow furrowing deeply. “I feel as though I have failed you somehow. That despite all I try to do, I will never truly be enough to protect you. To care for you as you deserve.”
“Oh, Elijah,” you murmured, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. You reached over, gently placing your hand over his. “That’s not true. You take care of all of us so beautifully. You don’t have to fix everything."
He looked at you with those big brown eyes, so dark and full of sadness, and you felt your chest tighten.
"All of this feels like it's running through my hands," he whispered, gesturing vaguely around him, his expression raw and open. "Like I can't hold on. It's all sand... And before I know it, all of you will be gone." He shook his head, voice cracking. "Our children will grow. And one day, they'll leave. They'll live full, mortal lives and be taken from me by time…and I will remain. Alone."
Your eyes widened, tears springing to your eyes as you pulled him into a hug. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You held him close, stroking his hair, his back, trying to comfort him.
"Elijah," you whispered, squeezing him gently. "You can't fixate on the past or the future. Just... Be here. Right now. In this moment. We're here, and we're okay."
"I know," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "I know that, intellectually, I just..." He trailed off, letting out a shaky sigh.
You kissed his temple and leaned back, smiling.
"Besides," you said, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "With this family, living a natural life is probably off the table," you added, shrugging with a soft chuckle.
"True," Elijah admitted, nodding. He gave a quiet laugh… perhaps a bit thin, but genuine… and leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.
You kissed him, gently at first, then deeper, more insistent.
"What was that for?" he asked when you pulled away, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"A reminder," you replied, smiling. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
He squeezed your bottom and you giggled, swatting him playfully. That warmth was returning now…slowly, steadily.
"Now, how about we go snuggle our kids," you suggested, grinning.
He nodded, smiling. “Let’s,”
Elijah was quiet as he followed you through the darkened halls of the compound.You pushed the door to Henry's room open and peered inside.
He was curled up with Buttons, Rue, and Sugar. His stuffed animals had been placed around him like little sentinels. You could hear him murmuring in his sleep, something about horses. You smiled and carefully stepped into the room, crossing to his bedside.
"Hey, my sweet boy," you whispered, smoothing his hair away from his forehead.
He mumbled something, and all three cats moved a little closer, tucking themselves up against him. You chuckled softly and reached out, gently running your hand over the three cats’ heads.
"Goodnight, little ones," you whispered, bending down and kissing Henry's cheek.
"G’night," Henry muttered, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.
You straightened and smiled at Elijah, who was watching silently from the doorway. He stepped in and crossed to the bedside, his footsteps making no sound.
"I'll protect her," Henry mumbled, half-asleep, his eyes still closed.
"I know you will," Elijah murmured, leaning in and kissing his forehead. "Sleep well, son."
"Goodnight, papa," Henry whispered, rolling onto his back, snuggling Rue against his cheek.
Bex was already asleep when you entered her room. She had kicked her blankets off, her legs tangled up in the sheets, one foot dangling off the edge. Her hair was a wild tangle of dark curls. You carefully tucked her in, straightening her pillow, brushing the hair away from her face. She smiled in her sleep, a soft little sound escaping her lips.
Elijah fixed her blankets, gently rearranging them so they wouldn't end up a tangled mess, and kissed her cheek.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered, straightening.
You smiled and followed him out the door, closing it gently behind you. He took your hand and you walked together in comfortable silence to the next room, Nikolette's room.
Freya had nodded off in the rocking chair by the window, a blanket draped loosely over her legs, her head tilted against the cushion. The baby slept peacefully in her crib nearby, her breathing soft and steady.
Elijah held you close as the two of you watched your baby sleep. He sniffled so quietly you almost didn't hear him. You reached out and touched his face, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.
He blinked rapidly and turned to you, a soft, tender look on his face.
"I am... so happy," he murmured, voice raw. "You have given me a life beyond anything I ever dared to hope for. And I’m terrified, because loving this deeply means losing it would destroy me."
"I know," you whispered, stroking his cheek. "But, we're here. And we're okay. We're together, and we have each other."
He leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft, gentle, full of emotion. You melted into his arms, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a blanket, making you feel safe and loved.
The two of you stayed there for a long while, the only sound was the soft breathing of your daughter and the beating of your hearts.
"I think," Elijah whispered, his voice a deep rumble as he kissed the side of your head, "it's time we got some sleep too."
You nodded, yawning. He chuckled, the sound low and deep, and pulled you closer.
"Come on, love," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you.
He carried you across the hall and into your room. Your bed was already turned down, a fire burning in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room. He set you gently down and slid in beside you, tucking you into his arms.
As Elijah watched you fall asleep, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Your eyelashes fluttered, the lines around your mouth relaxing, the gentle rise and fall of your chest calming him, reminding him that this was real, it was happening, and he was blessed with the gift of a beautiful life.
His mind drifted, thoughts wandering, memories swirling. A thousand years of sorrow, loss and suffering. A lifetime of pain and regret. And yet... here he was, wrapped in the warmth of true love. A family he created. A home filled with laughter and hope. A future filled with possibility.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, the weight of a thousand years finally beginning to lift. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and fell asleep, holding you tight, his heart full.
No matter what comes, no matter how uncertain tomorrow may be.
He has this day.
This perfect, quiet day.
It would become the brightest in his long, immortal life.
Hi 👋🏻 so I really like your writing and I wanna start doing some of my own. I'm thinking of starting with Elijah. Any general tips or tips on characterisation in fanfics? Or just anything you keep in mind when writing for Elijah.
Oooh I love this question, anon. I go crazy for any chance for more character analysis of my favorite vampire. If you’re writing him, I think two things matter most: First know who he is in canon and second, decide who he’s becoming in your story. Elijah is a thousand years of contradictions. He's noble and ruthless, romantic and repressed, loyal and manipulative. Don't just stick to one trait, balance it out.
Things to keep in mind:
Nobility as performance: He chooses dignity like armor. Even when he’s cruel, he wants to believe he’s just. When he feels uncomfortable or in the wrong, he's quiet and still. He even handles shame with dignity. He regrets, but he doesn’t stop. Guilt becomes vow-making, not avoidance.
Family first (to a fault): He’ll burn his own happiness for his family. That pressure cooks him. That's where you can find the cracks in his armor, to foster growth of his character (or destroy him) He has a lot of guilt and it makes him very, very defensive: He knows how dangerous he is, and how much he has lost. He's not afraid of much, but he is afraid of himself, and losing control.
Romance ≠ softness: He’s tender in method, intense in intent. Devotion feels formal, almost ritualistic. This is when he is is true self, without the performance. Here you can show / expand on sides of him previously unseen. He's got a dry humor, a playful side, a dark sense of humor, and a soft spot for anyone he loves. His love language is 100% acts of service.
In terms of physicality: throw in some small tidying, smooths a lapel, aligns a cufflink, straightens a tie, wipes invisible dust from a surface before speaking. He uses eye contact as a weapon, so keep that in mind for when he needs to appear especially intimidating.
At the end of the day, writing Elijah is about leaning into those contradictions. Give him restraint, give him ritual, then let him slip. Don’t be afraid to show both the gentleman and the monster, because that tension is what makes him fascinating.
Hope that help && have fun with it. Elijah’s such a layered character, there’s no one right version. Just find what feels true to your story. ♡
Tyler was shafted by the narrative and the characters. What type of storylines would you have liked to see Tyler have? Like if Mason was bought back instead of Alaric how would you have written Tyler’s arc with Liv?
Tyler was a natural leader, so I would have loved to see his mundane life reflect this. If the show fast-forwarded past the college years, I would have loved to see him running a million-dollar business and living in Washington or New York. One of his company's charities is halfway homes for troubled youths who - we'll find out eventually - are young werewolves who triggered their curses too early and got cast out or worse. I really won't want him to be a small town boy, whose life still revolves around Mystic Falls, but I don't mind him showing up there occasionally.
If Mason was brought back, that would be the kick in the seat of his pants for Tyler to eventually leave. Switch schools from Whitmore (why would a trust fund kid even go there?) to somewhere more prestigious. Maybe instead of Alaric, it would be Mason hooking up with Jo and getting involved in the Gemini business - and honestly? That won't have been bad, at all.
re: Parkwood. I would really have wanted them to explore how Tyler - the guy who's ready to save everyone, not just people he's in love with - handled a relationship with Liv - the girl who's ready to kill everyone - even an entire coven of mostly innocent people - to save or avenge her tribe (her brother and then Tyler).
Never be afraid to recycle an idea you had for a project you already completed. Sometimes ideas really are just that good and deserve to be used more than once.
you're missing out on all the crazy euphoric moments where you execute an idea flawlessly, sending it to your friends and feeling the genuine happiness at their reactions to something you made authentically. you're robbing yourself of something beautiful.
and I get it, writers block, artists block, depression can really be terrible, but once you break out of it (and you will) it will feel like climbing Mount Everest.
I love, love, LOVE it when I can tell a fic author has integrated their specialized knowledge in a fic. I was reading a fic that at some point included the character going to visit an art therapist, and it's so clear that the author is an art therapist themself, and the details included are just immaculate and I love it. I've previously read about a character doing fencing for no other reason than the author clearly wanting to write a sport they understood. A character being given a hyperfixation on bugs just so the author can infodump themselves.
I eat it up every time, it brings such a smile to my face
We often treat commenting and kudosing as transactional, but I’d like to propose a different perspective.
A fandom is like a community garden; the plants and trees are fanworks, the paths and benches are structures like ao3 and kinkmemes and themed weeks or months. Comments, and kudos? Those are fertiliser. You don’t necessarily see them at work, but they make the trees grow stronger and the flowers bloom brighter. When you comment on a fic or piece of fanart, you are nourishing our shared garden and helping to make the soil fertile for future works.
I want commenters to feel proud of that contribution. Whether you turn up with a wheelbarrow of the stuff to tip on your favourite flowerbed or just drop a heart emoji in the donations box, you are helping to make the soil richer, the garden more beautiful.
And you know what? Sometimes you need to just sit in the garden without feeling obliged to do anything to maintain it. That’s okay. It’s your garden too! As an author, I don’t want people coming to my stories with a sense of obligation; I want them to be able to enjoy them and be restored by them. If they don’t have the energy to comment right now, that’s okay.
But a comment isn’t the price of an entry ticket to someone else’s garden; it’s an investment in your garden, in your community. You won’t always see it bear fruit, won’t always know what part of the whole it helped grow. But you can know what you put in, and feel proud of being part of the team nourishing and maintaining this wonderful space we all share.
And whatever you do, please—don’t litter, or tell other people they’re enjoying the garden wrong.
Being a fanfic author is about basing your entire premise around a single plot bunny and then having to bullshit your way through the rest of the story.
"this fic uses em dashes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans use em dashes.
"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.
"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.
"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).
"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.
"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.
my point? no, you can never know if a fanfic is 'ai-generated'. unless the author says they use ai, you're just assuming, suspecting and witch hunting. chances are that you're not going to 'stop ai fics from being created', you're just going to wrongly accuse genuine writers of using ai and ruin their day at best, make them want to quit writing or sharing their works at worst.
Actually you SHOULD make problematic content. You SHOULD explore dark or taboo topics. You SHOULD have a space where you can cope with your traumas or explore sensitive topics in a way that doesn't hurt anyone.
Also you should make problematic content for funsies. You don't need to have had trauma or need to be coping in order to explore dark creativity. You can just be a human who wants to explore dark and taboo topics because you want to. That's completely normal, btw.
Every single person on this planet thinks about dark and taboo things. It's literally the most normal thing in the world.
hiii, I wanted to ask you a tvd lore question if that’s okay?
actually I guess technically it’s more like your opinion related to lore sort of because you’ve been so helpful at lore things in the past!
okay so I did end up reading the Originals novels and overall I would say they were alright. not terrible and not amazing. some little pieces were wonderful and other choices were making me scratch my head wondering why they did that.
I know you said you don’t remember them super well so don’t worry, this is more about a thing that was written in the book and whether or not it makes sense/fits with the tvdu writing.
okay so Rebekah is pissed off at Klaus and so she puts werewolf venom in the soup at the wedding knowing that he’ll have to give his blood to every vampire there to save them. when I read the books months ago I was just reading and that part didn’t strike me.
but now I’m thinking about it and as the books are set before he broke his curse in tvd, hmm, does it make sense that he can do that? I’m trying to think and I don’t remember any instance of him doing that before he broke his curse but then again he also was entirely an antagonist in tvd before that point.
and like tbf even with his curse, he still wasn’t exactly the same as his siblings, he was still also something else, but I’m not sure. what do you think?
Hey!! That's always okay!! I love TVD lore questions (or lore questions from any fandom I'm in at all tbh, I love researching stuff).
I completely forgot about Rebekah putting the werewolf venom in the soup!! I definitely need to give the books a re-read. But onto your actual question, which I am still meticulously researching to the best of my abilities, so bear with me if I ramble a bit here lol
So, on the wiki page for "The Hybrid Curse" (and I know this is at times an even less reliable source than wikipedia, but I will be looking for other sources too), there's a section that states: "Though the curse was supposed to stop him from unleashing his full potential as a werewolf-vampire hybrid, it seemed to only prevent him from voluntarily accessing it. He was still offered some of the protections of being a hybrid. For example, he still possessed the resistance to injuries caused by silver, which resulted in the white oak ash daggers not working on him as they did his siblings. His blood also still acted as the only known cure for a vampire who has been bitten by a werewolf or hybrid."
Now, another source, which is again not necessarily reliable but more speculation, states: "The hybrid curse strips him of transitioning at any will, day walking, using his werewolf bite, curing the werewolf bite, and near invincibility."
"Additionally, when Klaus's hybrid blood becomes the only cure for a werewolf bite, characters start making deals with Klaus in exchange for his blood."
We know for a fact that most of that is true; Klaus only turned into a wolf once in his life before breaking the curse and was unable to until then; he had a daylight ring just like his siblings. So, it would be fair to assume that the rest is true, too, which implies that Klaus' blood only became the cure AFTER he broke the curse, just as he was finally able to turn into a wolf and walk in the day. I do feel makes more sense, especially with some dialogue from TVD. For example:
2x20:
Damon: Should have used me. Why didn't he use me?
Katherine: He couldn't. Damon, he said you were as good as dead.
Damon: What does that even mean?
(She looks at Tyler's bite on Damon's forearm)
2x21:
Damon: I'm going to offer myself as a replacement to Klaus.
Katherine: He won't take you. He saw your bite; he said that your blood is impure.
Now, if Klaus was able to cure werewolf bites before breaking the curse, why not just heal Damon? Of course, we could just put it down to Klaus simply not wanting to heal him, or wanting to cause the most suffering by using Jenna. But it sounds to me like he just couldn't heal him until the curse was broken.
However, it is seemingly implied that it was known by some people that Klaus' blood would be the cure for werewolf bites before he had broken the curse. The witches knew (Emily implied that there was, in fact, a cure when Stefan asked her in 2x22) and Klaus seemed to be aware of it when he told (and demonstrated to) Stefan that his blood could cure werewolf bites. He definitely had to have known that he was capable of it, possibly something he found out when he found out about the binding of his werewolf side.
Although, it is interesting that in The Originals first episode ("Always & Forever" not the Pilot), after Klaus bit Thierry, Marcel was surprised when Elijah told him that Klaus' blood could cure a werewolf bite. Maybe that was just because he didn't know Klaus had broken the curse?
So, to answer your questions in a shorter way: I can't find any instance of Klaus curing a vampire of a werewolf bite before breaking the curse, and I personally don't think he would have been able to (in TVD canon, at least - the originals might have retconned something I can't remember).
I don't know if any of this was actually helpful, but it was fun to try and find the most conclusive answer I could for you! If anyone remembers something I've missed or simply has a different opinion, as always, please feel free to add to the discussion!
fanfic writers have the power to write literally whatever they want, since they’re writing for themselves first and foremost
you as a potential reader have the power to filter out tags and avoid what you don’t like, since you’re reading for yourself first and foremost
you’d think this is a common sense, but somehow it’s still a hard-to-swallow pill for people who want to censor and enforce rules on art — when art has always been, and will always be, about the freedom to express and create anything the artists want
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