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stopthatfool · 2 years ago

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You said don't get you started on Ice's helmet or you'll be mean... please be mean. Please be mean to him. What is so disastrous about his helmet design?

my time has come. i will be mean to him. (thank you for getting me started on this. it bothers me every time I watch top gun.) this is also gonna be so long. yippee!

stopthatfool's issues with Tom "Iceman" Kazansky's helmet! aka this bad boy right below. (I'm sorry if anyone loves Ice's helmet, it's just not for me)

The placement of his name. WHY is it on the side? Both him and Slider have their names on the side. That makes me think it's a squadron thing? (the VF-213s) but regardless i don't care cuz i think it's stupid. (again sorry if someone thinks its genius. ok i'll stop apologizing)

My biggest issue with the fact it's on the side is that it creates this uneven weight distribution. The side with his name feels considerably "heavier" than the side without.

And the thing i don't understand is that Ice's name is evenly numbered!! He could fit 3 letters on either side of the line that comes down the helmet! the letters wouldn't be unevenly distributed, so I don't know why he felt the need to put it there!!

Here, I have "annotated" his helmet and provided other viewpoints of his helmet!

The font/typeface! Ice.. is that ARIAL?? and it's not even bolded??? so not only is his name to one side and weirdly small... it's skinny and unbolded. (like you're THE Iceman. Don't you want your name big and bolded? I shouldn't be searching for your name when you're Mr. Iceman!)

Looking at his helmet head-on, part of his name isn't even visible.. like ok ICEM!

And then! There's this weird switch up in the shapes and line types that he used-- the angular and sharp points of the lightning bolts and the half circles surrounding the squadron logo (is it a logo?? idk im gonna call it a logo)

What i think Ice is trying to do here is create a "connection" between the circular part of the logo and the lightning bolts as the bolts go all the way to the back of the helmet... but in my opinion... it's not working. like at all.

The comparison between the harsh lines of the bolts and then the curves is just kind of hard on the eyes (for me anyway). I just don't know where to look. Should i be following the leading lines of the lightning bolts? Or the curves of the half-circle things? Or should I be following the line of the lightning bolt in the logo?

And all throughout that... i barely end up seeing the name on the helmet.

Continuing off the logo... for Top Gun 1986, Ice and Slider are in the VF-213 squadron, but the movie switched the logo to the VFA-25s that looks like this on their flight suits-

(yes that is the best quality image i could find from the movie my bad) So why does the logo on his helmet look like this???

WHY do the fingers look like that. they look like hotdogs im so sorry. (logistically it was probably easier for the decals to be printed and then applied like this. but. we're not talking about technicalities here. right now i'm tearing apart the entire composition of Ice's helmet.)

I like version of the logo on their flight suits soooo much better! It's got more "rhythm" and flow to it that the lightning bolts lack! Plus no hotdog fingers.

Ok ok, now on the colour scheme. The harsh and bright blues I don't mind. Like yeah, you're The Iceman, punch me in the face with blue. I can forgive that. The thing that really bothers me.. is the silver/grey base of the helmet.

It's this really harsh grey that really doesn't help with the already harsh blues. I think he should've continued with the blue he has going. cuz this grey ain't working, king.

Ok, anyway. Since I should be studying, I'm obviously doing anything but studying. So i redesigned ice's helmet. ya idk.

it's kind of wonky.. but whatevs (ignore how the lightning bolt on the side view doesn't line up with the front view) (and ignore the inconsistences in the lettering. i was lazy and did it by hand)

I also didn't want to completely change/get rid of the aspects of Ice's helmet. So the changes aren't huge (except for maybe the name placement/"font")

ok I changed the background colour (finally, it's less all up in your face now) I continued with the blues and lessened the intensity just a little bit. I really wanted his name to be front and center!

Now the colour scheme is also consistent. No random black lettering (again, in arial???) there's now black in both his name, the outline of the lightning bolts and the logo!

Now his name is evenly distributed! See how it fits on either side of the line that comes down the center of the helmets from '86? See how you can actually see his whole name? See how it's heavier and fits the whole "iceman" theme better? (at least in my opinion)

Come on, Ice! You should've used the leading lines provided by the lightning bolts to guide people to your name! There's now a fun little overlapping moment!

(ignore how i forgot to dot one of the i's in distribution whoops)

No more weird half circle things! No more conflicting leading lines! But! I decided to extend the arm of the squadron logo to continue the line of the lightning bolt as it moves backward. I think this makes the circle of the logo fit better, while simultaneously creating that "connection" he was trying to get in his actual design.

The lack of half-circle things also allow for the logo and lightning bolts to just "be." There's no distraction. it's not overly "busy" anymore (like maverick's helmet). It's simple, but he's The Iceman! He doesn't need it to say/have more!

And the use of the "actual" logo seen on Slider and Ice's flight suits creates that sense of movement that was absent before! Plus no hotdog hands!

Is this new proposed design perfect? Absolutely not! The logo and the lightning bolts still create a weird point of almost intersection that still bothers me. But I think fundamentally, there's always going to be issues with these two components: the circle will never quite fit in, and the lightning bolt the hand is holding will always "cut" the whole thing in half, creating a weird separation in the helmet, that will always bother me.

Anyway, this was a lot of fun! (I love being mean to these guys. they need their egos brought down a couple pegs!)

#now if only i put this much effort into my actual assignments regarding composition breakdowns....#looking at it now. i think i just spelt distribution wrong. blegh. whatever.#ICEMAN! big bold letters! like oh yeah! that guy!#long story short! i hate his helmet!#i hate hate HATE your hair and makeup today #like that clip from rupauls drag race u know?#top gun #top gun 1986 #iceman #tom iceman kazansky #stopthatfool goes crazy and explodes #stopthatfool draws

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floriealis · 2 months ago

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𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 — 𝗬𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔 𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗘́𝗥𝗬’𝗦 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 “ What’s left of me dreams backwards. ” — Yvella Valéry

WHAT IS THE RITE OF NINES?

The Rite of Nines is one of the most forbidden and devastating magical rituals in witchcraft. Ancient, pre-colonial, and suppressed by nearly every known coven, it grants the practitioner immense sacrificial and ancestral power — a permanent connection to the Ancestral Plane, and the ability to channel magic from the dead without needing a living conduit.

To complete the ritual, a witch must sacrifice nine witches, each from a different coven, and mark their deaths with the sacred Emblem of Nothingness — a rhombus crowned by an “X” carved into the forehead, symbolizing severance, death, and reclamation.

The best-known failed attempt was Eva Sinclair, who planned to use nine children, one from each New Orleans coven, linked together so their deaths would occur simultaneously during the final spell. But before she could complete the ritual, she was stopped — imprisoned, silenced, and eventually possessed by Rebekah Mikaelson.

But what most witches never knew is this: the ritual did not require linking. It required intention, sacrifice, and symbolic completion. And Yvella Valéry was the first — and only — witch to complete it without error.

YVELLA’S VERSION — THE BLOODY MIRACLE

Yvella Valéry, the Sacrificial Witch, completed her version of the Rite of Nines in 1914 — just before the events at the Dowager Fauline Cottage. Unlike Eva Sinclair, Yvella required no children, no chains, no wards of containment. She did not link her victims. She hunted them. One by one. Quickly, cleanly, and with meticulous efficiency. Where Eva relied on theory and desperation, Yvella relied on design.

THE ORIGIN OF HER RITE:

The seed was planted long before 1914. When Yvella was still a girl, curious and ambitious, she found a hidden trunk in the attic of her family's Tremé home. It belonged to her aunt, Eloise Dupont — a vanished Valéry whose name was spoken rarely and with unease. The trunk was filled with grimoires written in ash-black ink, stitched in human hair and sealed with tallow. In them, Yvella found her first mention of “Le Rite des Neuf.” At the time, it was only a myth. Nine sacrifices, one from each coven. Great power. Forbidden. Suppressed. The pages were incomplete — some burned, others scratched out. But the idea remained, like a worm in the root of her mind. It wasn't until more than a decade later, under the reluctant mentorship of Kol Mikaelson, that the rite transformed from fantasy to possibility.

WHY SHE CHOSE TO DO IT:

Kol had brought her into his circle when he sought to make a weapon to use against his brother, dabbling in Kemiya to reach this goal — a blend of alchemy, dark Egyptian sorcery, and old witchcraft. Together, they pursued dangerous knowledge. Yvella learned quickly, reveled in it. But it was the Mikaelsons as a whole, especially Klaus, who showed her the stark truth of the world: witches were vulnerable. Disposable. Tools or threats. Klaus spoke of witches as parasites. Disposable when no longer useful. He did not realize she was listening — or how deeply his words took root. Yvella realized that if witches were to survive the likes of him, they needed more than magic. They needed supremacy. Power not granted by ancestral bone or collective consensus — but power taken, stolen, built on blood. The Rite of Nines would give her that.

THE PREPARATION:

By the time she committed to the Rite in late 1914, she had already spent months rebuilding the pieces. The grimoires of Eloise provided the outline. But it was Ione Leclair — her on-again, off-again mentor and ritual historian from Marigny — who unwittingly taught her how to fill in the blanks. Ione spoke often of the ancient rites, including the Emblem of Nothingness — L'Emblème du Néant — a sigil carved only into the heads of the damned. She dismissed the Rite of Nines as myth, but her notes confirmed it had once been attempted centuries ago, with catastrophic failure. Yvella studied failures as blueprints. Over the course of six months, she charted every major coven. Not just names, but weaknesses. Leaders. Internal politics. Her face was known, her bloodline unmistakable, so she couldn’t hide behind a mask. So instead, she slipped between the cracks: bribed gatekeepers, forged invitations, exploited old favors, preyed on chaos. She moved like a shadow wearing her own skin. She kept notebooks inside other books, stitched into the lining of her coat. She tested poisons on pigs. Practiced carving sigils on dolls. And all the while, she kept Kol and the others none the wiser.

SECRECY AND STRATEGY:

Yvella never performed magic where it could be traced. She used ancestral routes, crumbling backroads of Tremé magic few even remembered. She hid in plain sight, played the charming prodigy, the gifted pupil. To Kol, she was merely clever. To others, another pawn in his games. But Yvella was already building her own kingdom. Quietly. Precisely. She left no bodies behind — not right away. She used glamours, misdirection, and in at least one case, pinned the murder on a vampire attack. She kept her tokens locked in a consecrated altar under her family’s crypt, where no coven could sense the convergence. She worked fast. Nine kills in nine weeks. Never hesitated. Well — except with the last.

THE RULES SHE FOLLOWED

To complete the Rite of Nines, Yvella had to:

Kill one powerful witch from each of the nine major covens — with no overlap or mercy.

Carve the Emblem of Nothingness — an ancient rhombus-and-cross sigil — into the forehead of each at the time of death.

Take a personal token from each victim — a piece of bone, blood, or magically-bound object — to bind to her ritual altar.

Complete all nine sacrifices within nine weeks, or the convergence would collapse.

Finish the ritual in a Neutral Ground — a sacred space unclaimed by any coven, where no ancestral spirit could interfere.

Offer a piece of herself — blood, magic, and something irrevocable, to seal the rite. Yvella gave all three.

It became known among those few who knew of it as The Bloody Miracle — not just for the speed and success, but because no one believed it was possible. Witches do not kill witches. Not this many. Not with such surgical grace.

But Yvella did. Because she believed witches deserved to be feared. And if fear was the price of freedom, she would be its collector.

THE SPECIFICS OF HER SACRIFICES

Each victim was chosen not for cruelty, but for significance. Yvella didn’t kill children. She killed the pillars of each coven — the ones whose deaths would shake the bones of the community.

[ #1. ] Colette Rousseau ( Garden District ) — Sigil Archivist Death: Crushed in the archive vault. Books bled ink for hours after her death. Token Taken: The tip of her right index finger, bone and all — the hand she used to draw sigils.

Colette was the first. Cold, brilliant, and aloof — a master of the written word, feared for how precisely she could bend magic with pen alone. She once rejected Yvella’s request for forbidden texts, calling her “half-formed, half-blooded, half-mad.” Yvella smiled and waited. Years later, she rigged the archive vault to collapse as Colette decoded a cursed page. It wasn’t personal. Not yet. But as the ink poured down the walls like blood, Yvella felt something change. The ritual had begun.

[ #2. ] Lucien Duprès ( Gentilly ) — Spellwright Death: Impaled by enchanted iron quills mid-incantation. His tongue was missing when they found him. Token Taken: His severed tongue, wrapped in parchment inked with his unfinished incantation. It dried shriveled, the runes burning through the page beneath.

Lucien was arrogant, brilliant, and deeply petty. He and Yvella had crossed magical swords many times — he stole her spellwork, mocked her innovations, and even tried to have her barred from a symposium of southern spellwrights. She returned the favor with a gift: a false incantation wrapped in gold ribbon. When he began to chant it, the room exploded in shards of ink and quill. She took his tongue to silence him forever. He would have hated how poetic it all was.

[ #3. ] Camila Desrosiers ( Ninth Ward ) — Weather Witch Death: Electrocuted during a ritual storm, her body smoking in the rain. Token Taken: A braid of her singed hair, still crackling faintly with static when wrapped in cloth.

Camila was tempestuous in every sense — volatile magic, sharper moods. But she had once sheltered Yvella during a storm of her own: a political fallout with the Tremé witches. Camila brewed sweet tea, cursed her enemies, and said, “ The world doesn’t care if you drown, but I do. ” Yvella held that memory even as she summoned the storm that killed her. Camila never saw her face. But the lightning that struck her was inscribed with Yvella’s magic. A mercy, and a betrayal.

[ #4. ] Ettienne Marchand ( Algiers ) — Warlock Death: Heart stopped during spellwork. He died clawing at his own reflection. Token Taken: A shard of his spell mirror, darkened with his dying breath.

Ettienne terrified Yvella when she was young — all booming voice and bladed teeth, a warlock who never bowed to the Ancestors. He taught power through fear, and Yvella never forgot it. Later, he became an obstacle: ancient, revered, and in the way. So she inverted a soul-scrying ritual, turning his own reflection against him. He died screaming, not at her, but at himself. She watched him claw at the mirror, and in the end, he called her name. That part haunts her more than she admits.

[ #5. ] Ione Leclair ( Marigny ) — Ritual Historian Death: Wrist-to-wrist, face-to-face. Yvella carved the sigil while she wept. Token Taken: Ione’s old ribbon, still warm with her body’s final magic.

Ione wasn’t just a mentor — she was the foundation Yvella built her magical identity upon. She offered structure to Yvella’s chaos, reverence to her rage, and a deeper understanding of the sacredness within dark magic. Their bond was one of intellect and intuition, forged over countless hours spent dissecting ritual theory, pouring through forgotten texts, and shaping dangerous ideas into refined practice. When the time came, there was no trickery, no ambush. Just an ending that felt like a beginning gone wrong. Ione didn’t fight, and Yvella didn’t hesitate until it was already done — until her trembling hands were wet with blood and the ribbon she had so often seen tied in Ione’s hair slid from her wrist like silk. The guilt never faded. Not because it was her greatest sin, but because it felt like the closest thing to being seen.

[ #6. ] Anika Beaufort ( French Quarter ) — Bone Reader Death: Poisoned mid-ceremony with monkshood tincture. She predicted her death, but could not stop it. Token Taken: Her bone saw, ironwood-handled and stained with years of rites — still warm when Yvella took it.

Anika saw the worst in people, and delighted in being right. She and Yvella had a long-standing truce built on mutual distaste. Still, Anika was powerful, precise, and uncannily accurate — her readings often struck too deep. She once told Yvella, “ You’ll ruin the world, and convince yourself it was mercy. ” Yvella didn’t dignify it with a response. She only poured the monkshood and watched the prophecy unfold. She didn’t apologize. Not because Anika didn’t deserve it — but because she would’ve enjoyed it.

[ #7. ] Mireille Gaspar ( Les Flammes Noires ) — Pyresmith Death: Consumed by black flame— her death kindling for the final rite. Token Taken: A vial of ash taken from her pyre, sealed with salt and bone-dust, and a charred sliver of bone, still smoldering.

Mireille was flame incarnate. A creator of magical fire, a keeper of dangerous heat. Yvella admired her, perhaps even feared her — not for her strength, but her detachment. Mireille lived by one rule: “ Fire doesn’t love. Fire destroys. ” So Yvella turned that truth on her, binding her to a ritual flame that consumed her entirely. Mireille didn’t scream. She smiled faintly as the fire took her — as if she knew what her death was for, and didn’t mind. Yvella saved a single blackened bone. It still burns when she calls on it.

[ #8. ] Soraya Delmont ( Deschamps Circle ) — Dreamwalker Death: Killed in her sleep. Never woke up. A smile frozen on her lips. Token Taken: A silver dreamcatcher pendant soaked in lavender oil.

Soraya was the kindest of them. That was the tragedy. She lived half in the real world and half in the dreamscape, and never lost her softness in either. Yvella once confessed to her — not the whole ritual, but the weight of darkness pressing on her spirit. And Soraya, in her strange, echoing way, simply said: “ When you cross the line, I’ll meet you on the other side. I don’t judge the ones I love. ” Yvella killed her in her sleep, not out of cowardice, but reverence. She couldn’t kill Soraya awake. Not when Soraya might offer her a blessing. Not when she might forgive her. The dreamwalker died smiling — not because she was unaware, but because, somehow, she understood. She chose to make her peace with it. Yvella has never touched the pendant since. It remains warm when the rest of the tokens grow cold.

[ #9. ] Lélia Valéry ( Tremé ) — Elder. Yvella’s mother. Death: Slain with a ceremonial blade passed down through their line. She was the last, the most intimate. Yvella sobbed as she carved the sigil into her mother’s brow, whispering, “ You should have been proud. ” Token Taken: Her wedding band and a lock of Yvella’s childhood hair, bound together.

There was no version of the ritual that didn’t end with Lélia. It was always going to come to that — not because she was the most powerful, but because she was the root. Lélia raised Yvella with rigid faith, pride, and fear braided tightly together. Her love was conditional, measured against tradition and the memory of a daughter already gone. And though Yvella craved her approval, she had long stopped needing it. Killing her wasn’t just sacrifice — it was rebellion incarnate. Patricide not out of hate, but because Lélia had become the last gatekeeper between Yvella and freedom. Her death was not an act of vengeance, but a release. And yet, even now, Yvella carries both the wedding band and the lock of hair — not out of sentiment, but because some pieces of the past must be kept, no matter how sharp their edges.

THE EMBLEM OF NOTHINGNESS

Each body bore the sacred sigil: a rhombus crowned by a sharp, symmetrical “X,” its lines etched clean between the brows, just above the Third Eye. Not drawn, not inked — but carved. Deliberate. Deep enough to scar spirit as well as skin. It bled in ways ink never could.

This mark is known as:

L’Emblème du Néant — the Symbol of Nothingness.

It is not merely a symbol, but a severance. It annihilates mortal lineage, strips the soul of name and inheritance, and binds it instead to ancestral fire. No heaven, no peace — only the weight of magic and memory, forever. The Emblem must be carved in the instant of death, as the soul tears loose from the flesh. Too early, and the bond will not hold. Too late, and the spirit will drift, unclaimed.

The blade used must be obsidian — volcanic glass, consecrated under a new moon, forged in a mixture of oil, ash, and silence. The silence is important. The knife must never hear a name, a whisper, a word. It is an instrument of unmaking. Yvella named her blade “Tranquille.” Not for peace — but for the stillness before ruin.

THE FINAL RITE

Yvella performed the closing rite in the ruins of an orphanage on the outskirts of New Orleans — Neutral Ground, sacred and dead. The things she did:

Constructed a spiraled stone altar with the tokens taken from her victims.

Lit the altar with her own blood and the flames of Mireille’s pyre ash.

Offered a vial of her own tears, a lock of her hair, and the blade that killed her mother.

Spoke the names of all nine victims in reverse, slowly, carefully, as the sigil seared itself into the ritual floor in burning chalk lines.

THE NINTH NAME IN REVERSE:

The night was dead. Not sleeping. Not quiet. Dead. No stars to bear witness. No wind to carry the sins. Just breathless walls, ancient and aching, the orphanage exhaling time as Yvella drifted barefoot over blackened bones of wood. Her blade — a lover’s weight in her grip — hung blood-heavy, whisper-slick with the ghosts of yesterday. Her throat? Ravaged. A ruin of silence. She hadn’t spoken since her last offering. ( What was the point, when the dead already listened? ) She lit the altar with blood. Hers. Of course. Always hers. One by one, the relics. The reliquary of remembrance. Each placed with reverence. Each with its truth.

— Colette’s bone: feather-light, hollow as a lullaby. “ You remembered everything. ” The memory of a girl who refused to forget.

— Lucien’s tongue: red-grey, still warm in memory. “ You spoke too much. ” No more lies now. Just stillness.

— Camila’s braid: singed and frayed, humming rebellion. “ You danced with storms. Now storms dance for me. ” Inheritance, electric.

— Ettienne’s mirror shard: light bent, fire caught. “ See yourself. ” She turned the truth inward. It cut, as all truth must.

— Ione’s ribbon: grief-worn and trembling. “ You taught me how to begin. I’m sorry this is how I end. ” Her hand faltered. ( Grief is a god with no altar, and she had worshipped long. )

— Anika’s saw: teeth still sharp. No words. No apology. Some violence needs no name.

— Mireille’s ash: a circle drawn in grey. As it fell, the flames rose — they knew her. Fire remembers the ones who fed it.

— Soraya’s pendant: a silver dreamcatcher, delicate as lace, soaked in lavender oil. It hung warm from her neck, threaded with sleep. Yvella took it gently. “ Sleep well, witch of velvet eyes. ” She kissed her fingers. A farewell. A blessing.

And then — Lélia. Her wedding band. Yvella’s childhood hair. A daughter’s last tether.

Yvella knelt. The blade beside her. The sigils already hungry. Her voice cracked — shattered — on the name she’d never stop carrying. Her mother’s token, center bowl. Blood tracing sacred maps across old Tremé stone. Tears like ink across spell-lines. “ This is where I stop being your daughter, ” — barely a breath — “ and become something else. ” Nine names. Spoken in reverse. An invocation unraveling. The world held its breath. Then— Crack. The veil split. Flames rose like hands. Nine shadows howled their last. The sigil burned, deep and permanent.

And Yvella Valéry was not a girl anymore. She was the answer to every question they died asking.

WHAT THE RITE GAVE HER

The Rite of Nines was never meant to be completed. The original architects — long-forgotten witches who carved spells into flesh instead of paper — designed it as a trial of impossible sacrifice. The power it offered was immense, but only if every term was fulfilled with perfect cruelty. Yvella did not flinch. And the magic obeyed. Here is what she became.

SACRIFICIAL MASTERY:

Yvella no longer needed channels or tethers. No ancestral prayers. No bloodlines to beg from. She could draw raw power from any body freshly dead — human, witch, vampire, werewolf — without ritual, without fanfare. A glance, a whisper, and the soul peeled open like wet paper. Where others required offerings, she became the offering. More terrifying still: the magic didn’t just respond. It clung to her. Death became a language she spoke fluently. Her fingers blackened at the tips for weeks after. A stain of death that never quite scrubbed away.

ANCESTRAL AUTHORITY:

Within New Orleans, her magic became supreme. The ancestral plane — that hallowed realm where dead witches whisper judgment — bent to her. Spirits recoiled or bowed. Even the Elders, those titanic forces who governed ancestral spellwork, could not refuse her command. Her rites silenced cemeteries. Her footsteps disrupted séances. Witches who summoned their ancestors found only silence when Yvella stood nearby. Some began to call her the False Matriarch — others, the Witch Queen in Ash.

WITCHLINE ACCESS:

Most witches can only pull power from their own coven. The bloodline is everything. But Yvella’s ritual connected her to all nine. With every sacrifice, she carved a path into their magic — not just their names, but their histories, traditions, and hidden rites. She could wield fire like the Les Flammes Noires, dreamwalk like Deschamps, fracture bones like the Beaufort line. Even after the covens cast her out, she still felt their echoes. She was a coven of one — but inside her, nine screamed.

RESILIENCE:

Yvella did not seek immortality. But the ritual touched time. From the moment she completed the ninth kill, her body changed. Her heart slowed. Her cells ceased their withering. She did not age, not truly. Wounds closed quicker. Poisons diluted. Mortal disease fled her like prey sensing a predator. She is not unkillable. But she is very, very hard to kill. There are legends that she stood still during a thunderstrike and felt only heat. That a vampire once tried to drink from her and screamed until his throat burned shut. No one knows for certain. But her skin has never wrinkled. Her eyes are still the color of dark molasses. And she has outlived everyone who tried to stop her.

LEGACY:

Her name became legend. Then curse. Then silence. Witches tell their children stories of the Sacrificial Witch — how she moved through the city like a blade, how she fed on the covens, how she vanished before justice could find her. Some say she died. Others say she still walks, watching, waiting. No coven speaks her name aloud. But every child in Tremé knows it. Yvella Valéry. The Bloody Miracle. The Witch Who Ended Nine.

WHAT THE RITE TOOK FROM HER

Power always costs. For Yvella, it cost nearly everything.

HER HOME:

She cannot return. Not truly. Though she was born in Tremé, though her bones are made of New Orleans soil, no coven will welcome her. Witches spit when they speak of her. Mothers clutch their children closer. Altars flare and crack in her presence. She walks her city like a ghost. A myth wrapped in flesh. A whisper behind every ward. Only the dead greet her now — and even they do not love her. They bow because they must. They rise when she calls. But their silence is not peace. It is penance. And when she passes, the cemeteries hold their breath.

HER MOTHER:

Lélia Valéry — her last sacrifice. The woman who taught her candlework, who sang to her in Creole lullabies, who once bound her scraped knee with thyme and salt. The woman who warned her of ambition, of the line between hunger and monstrosity. Yvella crossed it anyway. And Lélia became the ninth. She used a ceremonial blade passed down through their line. She whispered apologies no one heard. She carved the sigil into her mother’s brow with trembling fingers. Now, every year on the anniversary, Yvella dreams of Lélia’s voice in reverse. Like a record spun backward. Like magic dying in her throat.

HER SISTER, ANIELLE:

After the ritual, the covens rose as one. They came with fire, salt, and iron. They meant to kill her. Yvella did not run. She stood in the square and waited, ash-laced and unrepentant. Anielle, younger and kind-hearted, did not know. When the spells flew, she stepped between her sister and death. Took a binding curse meant to stop Yvella’s heart. It stopped hers instead. In the chaos, Yvella vanished. Let them believe she died too. Anielle was buried as a martyr. Yvella never spoke her name again. Except in the dark. Except when she’s drunk, or bleeding, or tired.

HER FULL POWER — OUTSIDE NEW ORLEANS:

The ritual made her a living anomaly — but it also anchored her. Her power, vast and unruly, is built on ancestral bones. It feeds off New Orleans, off the soil, the dead, the history. When she leaves the city, it begins to fade. Not entirely. She remains dangerous. But her spells crack more easily. Her control wavers. It’s as though part of her soul remains behind, buried under the nine she killed. Some say she’s tied to the city like a spirit herself. Others think she likes it that way.

HER SANITY — MAYBE:

Once a year, on the anniversary of the ninth death, Yvella relives them all. She does not mean to. The visions come unbidden. She tastes the ash again. Sees each face. Remembers the heat of Ione’s blood, the smell of Mireille’s flame, the sound of her mother’s final breath. It never gets easier. The memories sharpen with time. She does not scream. She does not run. She locks herself in a room with no candles and no mirrors. And she waits until it passes. And when it does, she smiles like Soraya did. Soft. Sad. Knowing. Because this is the cost of power: To remember. To ache. To survive anyway.

#YVELLA VAL��RY.#this has gotten SO LONG #and i still feel like i'm missing a bunch?#i can't think of what though #i don't want to look at this anymore #this took so much work and time... writing + formatting wise #i started bolding things and then just didn't stop #i wanted to color more text but i CANNOT i refuse #i took a lot of creative liberties with the magic system in the tvdu #and specifically the coven compositions within new orleans #there's three covens we don't even know the names of so i created those myself #i gave her victims certain roles within their covens AS WELL AS making some abilities more tied to a specific coven or person #which i know isn't something that was particularly shown in the shows but... i don't care? i think it's hot i like it #that's not to say i don't think other witches could do those things (dreamwalking/fire magic/bone scrying/etc)#i just think some people/covens are better at or more known for it #if that makes sense?#anyway i think yvella is such a complex character (if i do say so myself) and this was A LOT of fun to write out and explore #no idea if anyone is actually gonna read this but it's nice to have it all figured out for myself at least #also i didn't get very far into the originals so... if this goes against anything? no it doesn't

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