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thecameronchronicles · 2 years

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Truth Or Dare

TW: smut. Language. Sexual innuendos and teasing.

SUMMARY: A game of truth or Dare with Drew and the rest of the outer banks cast changes your relationship with him forever…

Word Count: 2500

*Requested*

Truth Or Dare

The game of ‘Truth or Dare’ had acted as a gateway of releasing inhibitions and taking risks without having to face the aftermath of what would have otherwise have held awkwardness to altered friendships and an attempt to remain professional. But ever since it was first introduced by Madison as a rather juvenile way for everyone to get to know one another, it had become a staple at every gathering from birthdays to weekly dinners, always ending with hangovers and memories as trophies for what had transpired.

It was this very game that brought Madelyn and Chase together when they were too stubborn to cross that line of flirtation and distant gazes, the same having been said for Rudy and Elaine who were ultimately unable to deny their feelings after sharing a kiss when a dare called for that very thing. And now, the latest bout of this game began once everyone sat in their respective places throughout Drew’s apartment as you’d all gathered to celebrate the close of filming his latest movie. Because of this it had also been months since you’d seen him, which only worsened the crush you had on him, only knowledgeable between you and Madelyn.

“Truth or Dare?” Rudy began to Jonathan, who was halfway through a sip before choosing the latter.

“I dare you to send a dick pick to that special little lady in your phone…” Rudy teased as JD rolled his eyes and Madelyn couldn’t hide her scoff.

“Not even gonna try to ease into it?” Austin teased as you caught a glimpse of Drew looking for your reaction before he’d ultimately lift his phone to view.

“Okay fine…just a sext then…since it IS the first one…” Rudy retracted his dare as JD nodded, tapping away on the screen of his phone before ultimately reading it aloud for your group. The eroticism behind words of surprising eloquence made your cheeks burn red with a newfound heat as Drew shared this blush, the beginning of a mutual arousal that would burn throughout the remainder of the night.

“Maddie?” JD asked as her eyes rose from having been lost temporarily in her thoughts, breaking free from the sound of her name.

“Truth-”

“Did you and Chase ever have sex on set?” To this, everyone drew eerily quiet, a question more of an inappropriate curiosity shared between your group as she casted her eyes upwards in guilt before slowly nodding, Chase agreeing. Even if they weren’t together anymore, they were both able to make light of their relationship as they’d both managed to move on with other people, a friendship salvaged beneath continued admiration and respect.

“How many times?!” Rudy’s eyes widened as he awaited an answer. But this added question was ignored as her eyes focused on you, your name making your heart race as you knew she would include Drew no matter the choice you’d made.

“Dare.” Her eyes illuminated with excitement as she took a moment before offering your command.

“I dare you…to give Drew a little love bite…” Your eyes rose to him as he set up his hands in acquiescence, angling his head to where you were given easy access.

“Have at it, sweetheart.” He teased as you inched closer, the alcohol and your need for him working in unison to rival the anxieties to act on your arousal.

You would inch closer onto your knees before feeling his fingers rest on your hips as yours moved onto his shoulders. But just before you were prepared to begin your motions, he turned to face you, his lips tempting yours with a game of chicken in knowing the rules of the game. You could only act on what was asked of you. Therefore everything aside from the truth or dare itself was prohibited, no matter how desperate either of you were to act on pushing things further.

“Be gentle?” He teased as you bit your bottom lip before gliding past his lips in an echo of that forbidden kiss, before leading your mouth to his neck. Your fingers ran through the buzz cut of his hair to guide him even further beneath your submission as a content smirk developed just over your shoulder, before you began to suck softly onto his skin. A single scoff made in an attempt to breathe made you break your focus for just a moment in understanding how he relished in this along with you, before you’d withdraw to find that violet hue left behind by your dare having been fulfilled.

As it was now your turn to ask, you decided on Austin, having him take a shot off of Carlacia as the game continued. Meanwhile, you and Drew would cast those looks to one another, mostly to react to the scenes portrayed before you, shying away in chuckles, before it was now Drew’s turn as he accepted the latter of the game as well.

“Make out with anyone of your choosing…At least for five minutes-” Chase offered as his eyes had flashed to you, everyone having already assessed by now who his choice would be. And as suspected, he turned to face you, licking his lips with anticipation, before leaning closer. The smell of his cologne mixed with the faintest echo of a former cigarette and recently consumed alcohol left your lips to part in premature anticipation as his smirk widened.

“Come here…” He groaned as he carried you over his lap, your legs forced into a straddle, as he pulled you into him by a soft grip of guidance around the back of your neck and savored the way you’d been in a desperate yet patient wait for him.

The initial connection of your kiss was soft and sweet, as a first kiss usually expected to be. But once he’d realized you were as invested into this ‘dare’ that was simply an excuse to act on the more intimate of your needs, he nearly devored you without a care of the eyes that fixated and fell away from you in how steamy the kiss had become rather quickly. Your hips began to ride over him, pushing intentionally into him as he’d run his fingers down your back and over your hips until he was able to take hold of your ass and pull you even harder against him. Immediately, your fingers reacted in gluttonous need as you fisted hard against his shirt, needing more-needing him, and showcasing this in the desperation of your touch.

“If we don’t stop ‘em, we might need to start charging or something-” Rudy commented as Madelyn nodded.

“Okay, you’re good…” But neither you or Drew truly heard anyone but the inclined breathing of one another.

If not for the fact you favored this kiss and the passion behind it, he would have lifted you into a relinquishment of your friendship and pounded every frustration for hours in painless thrusts exercised in desire. It was a thought across you both before Madison and Moriah would have to actually force you apart in a playful push and pull as Drew held you off of him, his eyes now devoted to you in a different need throughout the rest of the dares.

For the next hour, a handful of continued explicit dares made their way throughout your group. Austin would streak the entire apartment complex in record time, Rudy and Elaine would ‘act out’ the last time they had sex, Chase and his girlfriend performed a strip tease to the group, until the final question now set onto you. Once again, you chose ‘dare’ between the choices, as Madelyn basked in an idea as she pulled the spoon of her recent treat to her lips.

“You look kinda hot, there…” She teased your name as you shook your head with humor before she motioned to the ice cream tub still set on the counter behind your back.

“So does Drew…So I dare you to take some of that ice cream…and cool him off…” She was harboring a smile of pride behind her spoonful of the dairy confectionate as you narrowed your eyes before rising to your feet.

Pulling a spoon from the counter that she'd set out for the guests, you returned to Drew, straddling him once again, before beginning your dare. But even as you knew this had been the conception of a game, it was almost as if nobody had existed but the two of you in this moment as you’d teased him with a spoonful of the dairy sweet, only to consume it for yourself. He scoffed and slowly nodded as if accepting your game, until you motioned for him to take off his shirt. He’d oblige rather quickly, shifting you uncomfortably for a moment before returning you to him with stability.

With a widened grin, you dipped the edge of the spoon into the vanilla tub, using it as more of a drawing tool along his torso, a single strip set down his sternum as he flexed beneath you for what you both knew was more than the chill of the ice cream. And yet you lengthened his torment by lowering to his skin and pulling your tongue to retrieve the drip left behind by your dare, rising upwards and taking his finger into the ice cream before then sucking it off of his finger, eyes locked to offer a preview of what could be a reality to the throbbing between his legs.

All humor fell from his face as you ditched the spoon before pouring the ice cream onto his abdomen, it flexing to the could, as his fingers ate into your hips while you slipped to retrieve the ice cream, your tongue drawing seductive lines across his defined ‘V’ as the entire group was now silent in the show. Between all other couples and every other dare, there was something more erotic in view the two of you as you had been more than friends for some time without sharing so much as a kiss prior ot this night, and yet having never crossed that line until now.

“Fuck it…” Drew suddenly pulled you upwards, your body still wrapped around him as both the spoon and the ice cream were left in abandon as he lifted you into his bedroom, a slam of the door informing those still in his company of his intentions.

“You’re so sexy…” He breathed while setting you onto the bed, your fingers working at his belt as he’d mirror your methods and taken your shirt from your body and left you exposed in only your lace bra.

“You’re lucky that wasn’t MY dare or I would have consumed you right then and there…” He explained, pushing you down with a flirtatious force, a smile informing you of how playful he meant the moment to be, before he had pulled your jeans from your legs. Grin widening to the sight, he lowered between your legs, withdrwing your panties from your hips and teasing a kiss to your sex.

“No reason I can’t right now, though, is there sweetheart?” Your eyes pulled into a roll as his tongue had indeed ‘consumed’ you to perfection. Perfectly forceful and aggressive but careful enough to not draw pain in his sucking motions quelled by flicks of his tongue, you reached the cusp of an orgasm rather quickly as your fingers scratched softly through his hair.

“You taste so good…shit….” To his words, you pulled him back to your mouth, tasting yourself over his kiss as he breathed deeply to how erotic this had been.

But you needed to taste him as well. You needed to encite those moans he’d teased from you-you needed it more than you’d ever needed anything or anyone else. And it showed in the enthusiasm that came from you positioning yourself in front of him, cock extended to your throat as you moved quickly and thoroughly with a tongue rushing over his length as you continued to guide him in succession both pleasurable and infuriating as it threatened cessation.

“Fuck baby! You take that cock like it’s your day job!” He breathed as you smirked, looking up at him through teary eyes, a vision too erotic to fathom. You were taken back to your feet, rounded until pushed onto your stomach and your hips aligned with his own. From the moment he was inside of you, your head buried into the sheets in front of you, overtaken with his scent captivating every single one of your senses as he pounded into you from behind.

“No,no, baby…they know damn well what we’re doing. Don’t insult me by being quiet…” You were pulled by a firm guidance via your hair.

“Tell them how good you take me sweetheart. Deep. Hard. SO FUCKING well, oh my-shit!” He grunted, your name uttered between quickening thrusts as you called his name in broken unification against your own. As your hips rose to try and meet him, he would hold you flat, before ultimately bending over you to feel you against him as close as possible.

“You sound so good baby…But I’m gonna make you sing for me-” He drove his fingers between your folds, your head forced backwards in ecstasy as he made quick flicks against your clit, circling and rubbing as you worked against him in fervor.

“You like it from behind, yeah? You like being pounded like this?” He asked, a slap left behind by his grasp as you nodded, groaning, as he’d suddenly turn you to face him, keeping your back to his chest, but kissing you deeply and worsening your already unstable breathing.

“Come for me, sweetheart…and do it so I know you’re not doing it for one of those dares-” He smirked as you nodded.

“Fuck yeah….I’m close, baby-oh yeah…” He basked in your lips, taking your kiss once more as he moaned into your breath.

“You feel so good, I can’t take it…shit!”

“Oh! Drew! I’m gonna-” His hand sat in a guide to your throat, wrapped in more for stability than aggression, as he kept you stilled for him until those final thrusts unleashed himself within you, the warmth mixed with your own as he kept a hand to your cheek and kissed you against him.

“Why the fuck haven’t we done that before?” He asked in an attempt to speak through hurried breathing as you chuckled, biting your lip before he unsheathed from you, a groan of cold absence now left between your legs, watching you wrap yourself in his sheets before reclining in rest.

“Don’t even think about it, baby…I’m going to get the ice cream and I’m gettin’ even…” He offered one final kiss, fingers latched in your hair and a tongue set in teasing exploration made you winded, before he cocked his head to how you still heaved beneath him.

“SO fucking beautiful…” He muttered as he’d make his way out into the living room before a round of applause sounded by your mutual friends, a blush set across your face as you buried yourself into the sheets, knowing how things would never be the same, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-Is

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #obx #outer banks

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starsreminisce · 6 months

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He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions. “Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can.” Even Nesta seemed relatively concerned. Not for him, no doubt, but the fact that if he were hurt, or killed … What would it do to Elain? The severing of the mating bond … I shut out the thought of what it’d do to me.

But he’d know if Nesta were dead. In his heart, his soul, he’d sense it. Would feel it. A mate always did. Even if she’d rejected that bond.

We've witnessed Feyre's struggles when her bond was severed and observed Nesta's intense reaction when Cassian faced near-death experiences.

It's quite revealing to see how little regard Azriel had for Elain when he claimed he could easily defeat Lucien, despite Lucien being her mate.

It's crucial to emphasize that Lucien, fully aware of Elain's aversion to violence, has even met her former betrothed prick, and the fact that he's still unharmed despite Lucien's instincts is noteworthy.

Elain rejecting the bond isn't a matter of a simple conversation; she will always belong to Lucien, just as he is hers.

She can choose to pursue this path if she wishes, but the idea that their bond is merely an inconvenience preventing them from exploring other romantic connections is quite absurd, especially when we consider the relationships of Feysand and Nessian in the same context.

It's evident that Lucien is respecting her need for time to make such a significant decision. Her two-year contemplation period indicates that her forthcoming book will most likely delve into the complexities of being mated to someone she hardly knows.

As Rhys said:

I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate, I don't know. I don't really care. But I am grateful for it, whatever it is.

Certainly, his ill-matched parents bore him. And I'd rather delve into the reasons behind the cauldron's selection of Elain and Lucien as mates, observing the path of discovery that eventually leads her to choose him.

It's important to acknowledge that by not rejecting the bond, she's still making a choice in his favor.

#elain x lucien #elucien #pro elucien #antie/riel #antielriel #pro lucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain archeron

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labellefleur-sauvage · 9 months

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The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englshwoman he’d never met.

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Read on AO3 Masterlist

XXX

Chapter 2: Oh tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' Norlan' Wind

As far as weddings went, it wasn’t completely horrible.

Had Elain pictured something a bit more… illustrious whenever she daydreamed about her wedding as a child? Of course—what little girl, perhaps with the exception of Feyre, hadn’t been mentally planning their dream wedding since they were old enough to understand that marriage was the only fate that awaited them when they grew up? Elain had already decided on what flowers and dress she’d want at her wedding with Graysen before he’d even proposed.

Instead, as soon as Elain and her sisters arrived at the Clan Macpherson keep, sore after days of riding in a rough carriage, they were whisked into a side chamber of the aged castle, where a number of women immediately began dressing Elain in her wedding dress and fiddling with her hair.

“I didn’t realize we were in such a rush!” Elain gasped as a woman tightened her corset.

“I know, my dear,” her father sighed from across the room. Elain, Nesta and Feyre were hidden behind their dressing doors. “But you know these Scots—they have no patience for anything, and place no value in having any manners for guests.”

Elain gulped. And she was to marry a man like this?

“A word, my dear Elain.”

Elain nodded towards her sisters as she went to her father. He was dressed in a handsome new outfit: a dark burgundy suit jacket with shining gold buttons, slick black shoes and an impressive velvet black hat. She had never seen him wear anything so nice. Elain fingered her own gloves; silk, bought second hand, and already fraying around the edges.

“I just wanted to prepare you for your husband,” her father began gently. “He is… well… disfigured, to be blunt.”

“Oh,” Elain sighed, disappointed. “In what way?”

“He’s missing an eye and wears a horrible eyepatch. The side of his face is mangled as well.”

“What happened to him?”

Her father shrugged. “Who knows? Probably got in a drunken brawl, you know how these people are. Can’t go one day without nearly killing each other.”

Elain’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t fret too much, my dear,” her father said soothingly, seeing her suddenly pale face. “I just wanted to warn you before you saw him and ran away screaming. I wouldn’t blame you, but, as Englishmen and women, we must always show benevolence and grace to those below us.”

“Of course Father,” Elain agreed quietly. This was true. As the daughter of a gentleman, she was duty bound to show kindness and compassion to others, even if they were savage Scots.

And what was her Scot, her soon to be husband, like? Her sister’s words from the carriage ride, as well as her own knowledge and her father’s information, rattled through her brain as she was led towards the intimate chapel tucked away in the back of the castle. Elain’s hand gripped her father’s arm, a buoy in the tumultuous sea of her emotions.

Somehow, they were already standing outside the doors of the hall, waiting for their signal to enter. Elain wasn’t sure where the past few minutes had gone but then she heard her name being announced, and she was walking toward her future.

Elain’s first thought was that Lucien was much younger than what she was anticipating: her age, or only a few years older. She was relieved. Her second thought, on the heels of the first, was that her father greatly exaggerated his injury.

As Elain slowly walked down the aisle, her father at her side, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her soon to be husband. Without a doubt, Lucien was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was tall and lean, but held himself with such confidence and poise that Elain knew he must have hidden muscles under his attire. He had a thin face and one gorgeous brown eye, which was staring above Elain with as little emotion as possible.

His other eye—or where an eye should have been—was indeed covered by a brown eye patch, but neither the eyepatch nor the silver scars running down the side of his face detracted from his beauty. Instead, it just made him look wild and untamed in the best way possible.

Perhaps his most distinguished feature, even more so than his missing eye, was his luscious red hair. Someone had braided a few small sections of his hair away from his face, and it only made him more handsome. Lucien’s hair was long, perhaps even longer than Elain’s own hair, and so smooth and soft looking she was instantly and irrationally jealous that a heathen like him would be blessed with hair so fine.

Elain wasn’t even aware of being given away by her father. She didn’t know where Feyre and Nesta were, and didn’t care to look for them. All she could see was her future husband.

Lucien wore a large piece of emerald green, cobalt and dark gray wool plaid, belted at his waist and hanging just above his knees so as to give Elain a small peak of the muscles in his legs. The rest of the fabric was pinned on a broad shoulder so it flowed down his back. A long sleeved, white shirt that complimented his hair and golden brown skin beautifully was under his great kilt. Tall leather boots covered his calves. Lucien perfunctorily offered his hand when she approached the dias.

She took his hand; his skin was warm, like an inferno was blazing just below the surface. Finally, he lowered his gaze towards her own. His countenance was still bland, but his eye contained such fire, such fury, that she momentarily lost her breath. His gaze dipped behind and he glared at something before he schooled his face into the same bored mask he had been wearing before.

Elain puzzled over the anger in his eye the entire ceremony until the priest, with an obvious cough, broke her out of her thoughts. She said her vows and “I do,” and suddenly, she was a married woman.

She was still thinking of her new husband hours later, seated at the high table on a dias in the castle’s great hall next to her husband—Lucien, she thought to herself. He hadn’t said a word to her yet and hadn’t even looked at her since their ceremony.

Elain looked down at her finger. Lucien had slipped a silver ring on her finger during the ceremony. The band was composed of two intertwining pieces of metal designed to look like tree branches, with small leaves and flowers branching off. It was elegantly simple, and more refined than Elain thought any Scotsman capable of providing.

A single drum beat ripped through the air and silenced the few assembled people already sitting at the long tables throughout the cavernous room. The great wooden doors opened and the castle’s herald began announcing the lairds and lords who had been invited to the wedding.

Elain watched as a number of lairds entered the hall, each with their own distinct plaid and ornaments. Besides her, she felt Lucien tense up as more and more people entered, his mouth tight and his hand gripping the wooden armrest of his chair.

“Whatever ye do,” he whispered roughly to her, his deep voice sending chills down her spine, “doona talk to anyone here. Stick to yer sisters.”

She frowned. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to any of our guests?”

“They’re no’ our guests.”

“They’re here in your hall, celebrating our marriage!”

“The only reason they’re here,” Lucien gritted out, “is because there would be a war if we didna’ extend niceties to them and invite them. They are no’ our guests or our friends. Stay away from all of them—especially them.”

Elain looked to the two groups that Lucien pointed out. A tall, slim man with red hair the exact same shade as Lucien’s was sitting below their own table. He stared at Lucien with a cruel smirk on his face while Lucien steadfastly ignored him. The red haired man looked over at Elain. To her shock, he looked her up and down and winked at her.

At the other side of the room, in the corner, a large contingent of people with dark hair and brown skin were settling into place. Their laird, a man with almost violet eyes, was staring towards the front of the hall, where her sisters sat at the table near her and Lucien’s.

When everyone was seated, the herald swiftly made his way to the front of the hall. “Introducing,” he boomed, “Laird Lucien and his wife, Elain Archeron!”

The two of them awkwardly stood up. Elain suddenly felt adrift again as she looked out at hundreds of unfamiliar faces staring intently at her. Everyone was politely clapping, and there were some whoops and cheers from a nearby table, but she could feel the judgment radiating from the crowd. Narrowed eyes appraised her—her face, her appearance, her English-ness—and she knew she was left wanting. Elain tried to grasp Lucien’s hand, anything to prevent herself from drowning, but he shook her off, and they woodenly sat back down.

Dinner passed in a haze—she had no appetite—and then tables were pushed to the sides of the hall to create a large mingling and dancing space. Several musicians set up in the front of the hall, and the rich sounds of a drum, fiddle and harp floated over the room.

“I’m going to turn about the room,” Lucien said abruptly. “Remember: doona talk to anyone except yer sisters.” He didn’t give Elain a chance to argue her case as he swept across the hall.

Elain sighed as she watched Lucien retreat. Despite what she felt for him at the moment—annoyance, frustration—she couldn’t stop her gaze from sweeping over his strong body like she had done earlier that day.

She shook herself. She wouldn’t be caught ogling Lucien at her own wedding. Slightly embarrassed and hoping no one saw her, she looked about the room.

Below her, Nesta was using all of her patience towards convincing Feyre to stay at the table and not join the crowd. She heard snippets of their whispered argument—“Who comes to a wedding and doesn’t dance or talk to people?” “Us, because we’re two single English women surrounded by a crowd of barbarous Scotsmen!” “But the men here are so handsome!”—and kept gazing about.

She noticed her father wasn’t sitting with Feyre and Nesta—odd—but she saw Lucien talking excitedly with a regal woman with flaming hair and bright blue eyes. A tall man stood next to the woman, looking between Lucien and the woman and the rest of the room with a pair of sharp, calculating eyes.

A flair of jealousy washed over Elain. She didn’t know Lucien, and realized the weak bond of their marriage was the only thing holding them together. Despite that, she was unreasonably angry at the proud woman smiling at Lucien, and Lucien smiling and laughing back.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible if he wasn’t so handsome when he smiled, Elain thought bitterly.

It took all of her willpower to rip her gaze away from her husband. He mentioned the various Lairds weren’t here as valued guests, but why invite them? She saw one of the Lairds—a hulking blonde man with a stern face—talking to a dark skinned Laird. The blonde man was casually stroking the head of an ax belted to his body as he regarded his fellow Laird. Elain shivered; the casual violence on display unnerved her.

Another Laird, pale, with hair so fair it looked white, sat stiffly with a blonde woman, surveying the room with glacier cold eyes. Elain studied the man. He looked foreign, even compared to the Scots around him.

“They say those from Clan MacDonnell are descended from the Norsemen from the East,” a quiet voice said behind Elain. “Kallias there certainly looks like he belongs on a longship raiding coastal villages, rather than journeying across the Wall to destroy English towns.”

Elain whipped around. The red haired man, the one Lucien told Elain to stay away from, was standing right behind her. He smirked at her but there was no warmth in his cold eyes.

“If the rumors are to be believed, y’ken,” the man went on. Elain stared in shock at the man. “I think the old Viking viciousness has long been bred out of the MacDonnell’s.”

Elain glanced around her. No one was paying her any attention. “Who are you?”

“Eris Vanserra, heir apparent to the Vanserra clan.”

Elain stared at him. He towered above her, with a hard, rugged face littered with small scars and cuts. His long, red hair hung behind him in a straight sheath. Like all the men in the hall, he wore a unique tartan kilt, belted around his waist and slung over a shoulder: various shades of brown, orange, red and yellow crossing in an intricate plaid pattern. A large sword was belted at his hip. Elain gulped.

“I was hoping the new Laird would take the time to introduce us all to his lovely new bride, but obviously no one explained to him proper Scottish wedding etiquette,” Eris went on, his narrowed eyes looking Elain up and down like a piece of meat. “Eejit. I’m no’ surprised—I doona believe he has too many people here at the castle under his employ that would tell him what to do.”

Elain nervously looked around. She didn’t particularly care about obeying Lucien’s request to not talk to anyone, but she was also keenly aware that she was an Englishwoman surrounded by vicious Scottsmen and women. It seemed making polite conversation with Eris was the safest option.

“Well, er, what does proper Scottish wedding etiquette entail?”

“Ye’d actually be introduced to all yer guests, rather than put on display like a prized coo.”

Elain gasped. “Excuse you! That’s completely inappropriate!”

Eris shrugged. “At least a prized coo could have gotten the Laird more money and use for this run down keep than whatever yer probably worth. I suppose yer passably attractive though.”

For perhaps the first time in her life, Elain snapped. “Fine words, coming from a backwards, barely literate brute skulking about in a skirt to harass women!” She snapped her mouth shut and looked at Eris in shock. She had never been so rude to anyone in her life.

She braced herself for a retaliatory strike in some form, but was surprised to hear Eris softly chuckle. “I suppose there’s a bit more fire to ye than I thought.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Doona apologize,” Eris interrupted her harshly, frowning. “A word of warning: yer no’ in sweet England anymore. Most people here will do anything to make yer life a living hell, just based on where yer from. Ye need to toughen up if ye want to survive.”

Elain stared at Eris. The words and phrases he used—living hell, toughen up, survive - rang in her ears. Perhaps Feyre had the right idea all along; maybe Elain should have let her sister whisk her away while she had the chance. The sinking feeling returned to her, but instead of drowning, she realized she had been swimming in shark infested waters the moment she stepped foot in the castle.

But Elain needed this. She remembered the cautious excitement she’d felt on the journey here, when she realized that this marriage in this wild land could give her the freedoms she’d always lacked in England. If she needed to toughen up, as Eris put it, to thrive here in her new home, to fit in and discover her own interests and desires, then so be it.

And damn whatever her new husband had to say about it.

Elain took a deep breath. “Perhaps some of Clan MacDonnell’s fabled viciousness could help me now.”

Eris gave her a savage grin. “Now yer speaking like a true Scotswoman.”

“What else can I do to… acclimate to Scotland? Survive, as you put it?”

Eris stroked his jaw. “Speak yer mind plainly. Us Scots doona have time or patience for veiled niceties and double meanings.”

Elain frowned; that would be difficult. “Anything else?”

“Aye, get used to drinking. Anyone this far north should be able to drink their body weight in ale, men and women. Wouldna hurt to learn how to handle a dirk as well, just in case. And don’t be so… quiet. Ye’ve clearly got a great wit to ye, make sure to use it.”

“So I should just change everything about myself and how I was brought up, is that it?” Elain asked sarcastically.

He shrugged. “Ye asked. Ye doona need to change everything about yourself to fit in, just sharpen your soft bits.”

Elain hummed thoughtfully. Perhaps she had judged the Scots too harshly. Yes, they seemed far too familiar with violence for her liking and spoke their mind far too much, but they were far away from the uncultured savages she had pictured.

“Thank you for the advice, but who exactly are you?” Elain asked suspiciously. “And why are you even talking to me?”

“Aye, Eris, why are ye talking to my wife?”

Lucien emerged from behind a pillar, a murderous look on his face. Elain froze, terrified at her husband’s expression, though she relaxed slightly as Lucien stalked towards a still grinning Eris.

“Congratulations on yer happy nuptials, brother,” Eris said with relish, looking over at a fuming Lucien. “How sad Mother would be to see how yer treating yer new wife.”

Elain quickly looked between the two men. Now that he said it, Lucien and Eris were obviously related: they had the same red hair, brown eyes and lean, pointed faces. But Eris said he was from Clan Vanserra, and Lucien was Laird of Clan Macpherson—did Scots have a different definition of brother than the English?

“Brother?” Elain stuttered, looking at her husband. “This is your brother?”

“Unfortunately,” Lucien said, “and he was just leaving, weren’t ye?”

Eris walked up to Lucien and gave him a hard slap on the back. “Aye. I’ll let the happy couple become better acquainted.” Elain watched Eris lean down and whisper something in Lucien’s ear; whatever he said made Lucien glare at his brother.

“Get out,” he snarled.

Eris sent an ugly look back at Lucien, then he nodded at Elain before briskly walking away.

The party was still going on around them but it was just Elain and Lucien alone at the top of the hall. Lucien awkwardly cleared his throat. “Are ye alright? Did he… say anything to ye?”

“Er, not really, I suppose. We were just… talking.”

Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, good.”

Elain hummed back noncommittally, looking anywhere but the reddened face of her new husband.

Lucien’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at her. “And why were ye talking to him?”

Elain scoffed. “He came to me and started the conversation. I could hardly tell him to go away.”

“Ye most certainly could have, and should.”

“Why do you even care who I talk to at my own wedding?”

“Because,” Lucien growled, “the people here—“

“Yes, yes,” Elain rolled her eyes. “Your brother already warned me that the people here hate me and that I’ll need to toughen up if I want to live here.”

He sighed. “People here don’t hate ye.”

“They don’t know anything about me other than my name and that I’m English,” Elain replied hotly. “Perhaps they’d know more if you bothered to do your duty and introduce me to anyone here.”

“It’s better for ye to not know any of the Lairds here by name, especially Eris and the Northern clans,” Lucien warned, gesturing to the dark haired guests he’d previously pointed out. “They're all dangerous.”

“At least Eris was willing to keep me company at my own wedding, unlike my husband!” Elain snapped. “You just left me alone and told me to keep my mouth shut, like a dog!”

Lucien’s face turned a shade of red not unlike his hair. “Maybe ye could do to learn a lesson from the dogs down at the stable—they’re never as loud or bother me as much as ye already are!”

Elain curled her lip. “Well, husband, unlike your dogs, I won’t blindly follow whatever orders you tell me!” Not giving him a chance to reply, Elain stormed out of the hall, uncaring of where she was going.

Her beautiful Scottish husband was a complete ass. Just her luck that she’d be married to an overbearing Laird with apparent family issues and an attitude that rivaled Feyre’s.

She slipped outside into a surprisingly manicured garden and sat on a stone bench. Gazing up at the moon, Elain reflected on what a truly terrible day it had been. From the rushed ceremony to the boring and disastrous reception and Lucien’s abysmal interest in her, she wasn’t sure what else could have gone wrong.

Maybe Feyre had the right idea of it—maybe it would have been better to abandon the carriage on the way up and fight their way back home to avoid this sham of a marriage. Elain truly hadn’t been expecting much, but she hadn’t anticipated being compared to a dog on her wedding night.

“There you are. Needed a few minutes to yourself?”

A soft rusting of skirts, and then Nesta sat down lightly on the stone bench next to her.

Elain sighed, unsurprised to see her eldest sister. “Something like that. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More than it appears you are,” Nesta replied, looking at Elain out of the corner of her eye.

Elain chuckled bitterly. “Certainly not the wedding I imagined for myself.”

Nesta sighed, then wrapped an arm around Elain’s shoulder, bringing her close. They sat in silence for several moments, letting the cool night air linger on their faces.

“Did you come out here for a reason?” Elain asked some time later.

Nesta winced. “To check on you… and get you ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“With Lucien.”

Elain blushed. Although her mother had passed away when she was younger, some kind aunts had explained what happened between a married man and woman on their wedding night.

“I’ll admit, I forgot about that.”

Nesta took her hand in a reassuring squeeze. “That’s understandable. Are you ready to come in?”

Is it too late to say no? Elain thought. Not just for the evening ahead, but all of it: living in Scotland, running a castle, and being married to a man who seemed completely at odds with her.

Elain sat up a bit straighter. There was nothing she could do about her marriage now. She needed to toughen up if she wanted to live in Scotland and find herself; this was just something she needed to do to get herself there.

“I’m ready,” Elain said with more conviction than she felt. Nesta led them inside to a large room filled with maids, and they all began preparing Elain for her first night as a married woman.

From the first moment his bride to be turned the corner into the little chapel, Lucien knew he was fucked.

Elain was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A true English rose, with those giant brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes and luscious hair cascading down her back in soft waves and framing her pretty heart shaped face perfectly. Her cheeks and lips were petal pink; he wondered where else on her body was that lovely shade of rose.

Likening her to a single rose was an insult to her beauty: the woman in front of him was more beautiful than the finest bouquet of wildflowers, more lovely than a crisp autumn morning in the Clan Vanserra woods, and breathtaking like plunging face first into a cool loch on the first day of spring.

She was petite—he doubted she graced his shoulder—with generous curves under her dress. Lucien bet his hands would fit perfectly in the dip of her waist, over her breasts, between her legs…

Lucien looked away from her and shifted slightly. He hadn’t expected to become stiff at his own wedding, and he willed his cock to stand down, thinking of anything that would divert the blood in his body elsewhere. He hadn’t been expecting much, really, but Elain Archeron was already somehow better than what he was expecting.

This woman didn’t deserve this, Lucien thought bitterly. Shackled to him, a man forced into marrying her because her father cared more about lining his pockets than the happiness of a daughter. It sickened him to know Mr. Archeron thought so poorly of his daughter; based on the small smiles she sent her father’s way, Lucien guessed Elain had no idea she had been sold like livestock to a cornered bidder.

Lucien glared at the man responsible for all his misery, trying to convey all of his hatred into one eye. Mr. Archeron didn’t look upset at all by the proceedings, nor did he seem particularly bothered by the fact that his own clothes were nicer than that of all three of his daughter’s combined.

After what felt like one prolonged heartbeat, Elain was in front of him. She took his offered hand with one of her own, and he finally lowered his gaze to her.

He tried to not let the anger he felt on her behalf show but knew, based on the slight widening of Elain’s eyes, that he wasn’t successful. Lucien spared one final glare towards Mr. Archeron then focused back on his wife.

This near to her, Lucien could make out the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were an even more intense brown than he thought, pulling him in like a siren at sea. Elain blushed and looked away, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

She was as innocent as a fawn, and the realization hit him suddenly: she was going to be eaten alive here.

The Lairds of the Highlands were always plotting against one another, whether for more territory, better resources, or because they were bored on a particular Tuesday and thought starting a war with a neighboring Laird would help pass the time. Lucien, as the newest and one of the youngest Lairds in the Highlands, was already a target from neighboring leaders for the few bountiful lochs and fertile fields within his borders, not to mention the new trade routes that would benefit his clan. A new, young, pretty wife would make those Lairds even more envious.

His stomach lurched. Just imagining Elain surrounded by the other Lairds and their cohorts, their malicious eyes gazing over his wife’s gentle face, their minds scheming to ruin her, made him sick. Some of the Lairds—Vassa, Tamlin—could be trusted more than others, but he felt cold with the idea of any of them getting near his wife.

His wife who he now had to protect. All he could think, as the priest rattled on and on, was that his hands and brain were already full of one mission to save someone; how would he add shielding his delicate English wife to his already full plate?

He was still puzzling over that later, long after the ceremony had ended and the reception began. It only got worse when the lairds of the land began filing in with their retinues.

There was Tamlin Stewart, hulking and brooding as ever. His lands were far to the south, and it comforted Lucien to see a friendly face at this farce of a wedding. They sent brief nods to each other across the hall before Lucien focused on the rest of the Lairds flowing in.

Laird Tarquin Lamont, from the West Coast, entered next, followed by Kallias MacDonnell. Both of them had tentatively agreed to trading contracts and routes with Lucien—routes that his new father in law was going to exploit, he knew. Lucien couldn’t keep the scowl off his face.

To make matters worse, Lucien saw Eris stroll into the hall, wearing the familiar tartan pattern that Lucien had spent his entire life up until a few months ago wearing. His heart briefly ached, quickly replaced by rage when Rhysand Sinclair and his so called “inner court” sauntered into the hall.

Finally their guests—Lucien could think of several words he’d rather use to describe the people occupying his hall at the moment—settled in. The castle’s portly herald rushed to the front of the hall.

“Introducing,” his voice rang out, “Laird Lucien and his wife, Elain Archeron!”

The two of them awkwardly stood up. Lucien made sure to send steely gazes to the assembled Lairds before him, willing all the mutual anger and disdain he felt for most of them into his remaining eye. He felt a small fluttering by his hand; some of the frayed threads on the cuff of his well-worn shirt quickly mended before the ceremony must have come unraveled. Shaking his arm to dispel the loose threads, Lucien sat back down heavily with a final leer around the room.

Lucien had little appetite, choosing instead to brood over his ale. He spared a glance at Elain. It seems she wasn’t fond of the food, as she pushed her potatoes around her plate.

The firelight in the hall caught his glittering finger. His wedding band, a simple piece of iron no doubt thrifted by his new father-in-law, mocked him from its new place on his hand. It spoke of his future: tarnished, heavy, and bound to someone he didn’t want.

Lucien couldn’t breathe. He needed to get away from this stranger before he said something he’d regret. “I’m going to turn about the room,” he said abruptly. “Remember: doona talk to anyone except yer sisters.”

Elain may have tried to say something, but he didn’t wait to find out, leaving their table and walking directly towards Vassa and Jurian.

“Here comes the man of the hour himself,” Vassa said, an impressive eyebrow arching as she watched Lucien thunder up to the pair. “Yer looking far more upset on yer wedding day than any man should be.”

“Och, stop it,” Lucien snapped. “We all ken this is a joke of a wedding.”

“Joke or no’, ye just married one of the most bonnie lasses on either side of the wall. That alone would have any other man in this hall smiling from ear to ear.”

Lucien scowled, thinking the lairds assembled would do much more to his innocent English wife given the chance. “That lass is nothing but a burden and a liability—“

“As is the curse of women everywhere, hm?” Vassa asked, her lips turned down and that all too familiar fire lighting up her eyes. “Nothing but burdens for the men around them.”

Lucien deflated, Vassa’s words making his face redden. “I’m sorry. Yer right, of course. None of this is her fault. It’s that damned father of hers—!”

“Keep yer voice down!” Vassa scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. No one else but Vassa could get away with that. “Ye’ll frighten Elain to death if a fight breaks out on yer wedding day!”

“A fight might be helpful,” Jurian said lightly, eyeing the different factions gathered under Lucien’s roof. “Let the lairds work out some of the tension between themselves.”

Lucien quirked an eyebrow at Jurian. As a former English military man who absconded from his home country the moment he laid eyes on Vassa Fraser, it was helpful to have an outside perspective on Scottish clan life. “Have ye been hearing things?”

“Rumors of Laird Sinclair tightening up roads and access into his territory, as well as stationing more men of fighting age near and around Sangravah.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped. “Do ye think—?”

“No,” Jurian responded quickly. “I don’t think it has anything to do with… that. I’ve heard something valuable is hidden there, but I’ve no idea what.”

“How did he even manage to make it down here on such short notice?”

“No doubt that Spymaster of his heard some rumblings on the wind and informed him of a wedding that he should attend, to remind the rest of the Lairds of his presence,” Jurian sneered.

Lucien cursed. “What is that bastard planning? Why now?”

“Perhaps he’s planning something with the English crown again,” Vassa said darkly, shooting a dark glare towards Laird Rhysand Sinclair. “Allying with them in exchange for safety for him and his lands.”

The three of them exchanged dark glances.

“Perhaps we should—“

“No,” Lucien interrupted Jurian, his voice tight. “I’ll have to breach Sinclair lands one way or the other; backroads on foot is still the fastest way.”

Jurian was silent for a moment, then shrugged, taking a sip of his ale. “Better you than me—I’d be hanged on site if the English or their agents catch me. Traitor to the crown and whatnot.”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Vassa crooned, lightly stroking the back of Jurian’s neck, “the only thing that will ever be around yer neck will be my plaid or my hands.”

“Ugh, not in public, you two,” Lucien groaned. “Heathens, both of ye!” As much as Lucien detested their public displays of affection, his own heart panged with jealousy. With his new marriage to Elain, the chances of him having that kind of easy familiarity with another person was slim.

“Maybe once ye get to know yer bonny little wife a wee bit better she’ll be more than willing to do the same for ye,” Vassa said, with such an exaggerated grin and wink that Lucien couldn’t help laughing with her.

“Thank ye both for attending at such short notice,” Lucien said quietly. “It’s been… challenging, but having ye here has made it a bit better.”

“Wouldn’t miss our dearest friend’s wedding if the Gordans, Grahams and Grants were knocking at our doors,” Vassa said fondly, and for the first time in days, Lucien felt like not everything was falling apart around him.

“So, how’s that business with yer loch coming along?” Lucien asked, changing the subject to Vassa’s recent bird infested lake.

This was how it should be, Lucien thought wistfully as he listened to Vassa complain about the aggressive birds tormenting her. No English wife, no horribly conniving father in law, no castle threatening to crumble around him at any day’s notice, and no one needing him to play the hero. Just relaxing at the Clan Fraser keep, talking and drinking with his friends, without a care in the world.

“How’s Eris doing?” Vassa asked suddenly, staring off into the distance.

Lucien frowned. “Er—not sure. I saw that he was here on Beron’s behalf but I didna exactly feel the need to talk to him.”

“Ah. Well, it seems he’s made a new friend in Elain.”

Whipping his head around, Lucien stared in open-mouthed horror as he watched, like time had slowed down to taunt him, his eldest snake of a brother talking to Elain, alone. To her credit, she wasn’t cowering like he expected she would, but seemed… thoughtful, if a bit annoyed at his presence.

“Shite!” Lucien blurted out. “I have to go!”

Leaving a chuckling Vassa and Jurian behind him, he made his way back to the front of the hall, where Eris had drawn Elain into a corner. He heard Elain ask Eris who he was and why he was here, and Lucien was interested in the answer as well. “Yes, Eris, why are ye talking to my wife?”

Eris grinned unapologetically at Lucien, giving him some cockamamie answer about congratulating them on their marriage and their disappointed mother. Lucien saw red—for him to speak of their mother now…

Elain was certainly surprised to learn a relative of Lucien’s was at the wedding, her gaze comically darting between Lucien and Eris. He would almost laugh at her reaction if Lucien wasn’t so terrified of what Eris might have revealed to Elain.

Eris finally excused himself after some not so gentle pushing from Lucien, but not before his older brother got the last word. “Include her in yer plans,” Eris hissed in Lucien’s ear. “She’s smarter than she looks—“

“Get out.”

Eris shot him a deep frown then left without another word. This couldn’t get any worse.

But it could, as Lucien got into an argument with his new wife. An argument, he reflected later while sitting at their table, alone, in which he had compared her to a dog. What was wrong with him?

The chair that Elain had sat in earlier moved back and Tamlin sat down with a heavy thud. He didn’t say anything to Lucien, but sat there drinking his ale and looking over the hall, still filled with laughter and dancing.

“Bit of a rough start to the marriage?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien snorted into his cup. “To say the least. Damn England and everyone from it!”

“Well, they’re not all so bad,” Tamlin murmured. “What do ye think of Elain’s younger sister, Feyre?”

Lucien looked at Tamlin, astounded. He’d known Tamlin nearly his entire life, the Stewart’s land being south of Clan Vanserra’s. The family’s were always on friendly terms with one another. Like Lucien, Tamlin held no love for the English any more than he did.

“Uh, a bit… spirited, that one,” Lucien answered diplomatically. The eldest, Nesta, possessed a coldness that rivaled Kallias, and Feyre reminded him of Rhysand Sinclair himself with how devious, lethal and clever she appeared to be.

“She’s quite interesting, Feyre,” Tamlin went on, still looking about the room. “Had a good discussion on hunting techniques a little while ago.”

“Alright,” Lucien said, unsure why Tamlin was telling him this or why he decided to talk to Feyre in the first place. He had had enough talk of the English today, and didn’t want to hear one more word about them. “I’m going to talk to some of the others here.”

Tamlin grunted noncommittally and Lucien leapt to his feet. He didn’t have long to dwell on the odd conversation as he moved from table to table, talking with guests and working out the final details on a few of his new trade routes with some Lairds.

“I’m ready for bed, Dougal,” Lucien said hours later. He stumbled out of the hall—he hadn’t realized how much he had drunk. All he needed, he thought to himself as Dougal helped him to his room, was a nice, peaceful sleep and a hearty breakfast in the morning.

“I got it from here Dougal, yer dismissed,” Lucien yawned, throwing open his bedroom door and slamming the door closed behind him.

Someone had lit dozens of candles around the room—odd, since he usually let the light of the moon bathe his room with light, rather than deal with the hassle of candles. And there was something moving on his bed—

“There you are! I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“Sweet hell, woman!” Lucien shouted, stumbling backwards and nearly falling on his backside. “What are ye doing here?”

“This thing called ‘consummating the marriage’,” Elain sneered at him from the bed, his sheet pulled up to her chin as she sat up. “I was told that’s one of the few wedding customs we share.”

“Ach, hell,” Lucien groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s been a long night—“

“Have you been calling your guests all kinds of horrible names as well, or was that honor just reserved for me?”

“That was wrong of me,” Lucien began, leaning against his dresser for support. “I ken this…situation isn’t yer choice—“

“It’s not, but I’m—“ hiccup! ”—at least trying to make this work!”

“Have ye been drinking?” Lucien asked incredulously.

“The maids may have given me something as they were preparing me,” Elain admitted. Lucien could see the light pink blush on her cheeks and she licked her lips. “Said it was to settle the nerves and make it easier for me.”

“No’ like this,” Lucien said wearily. “It’s no’ right, to take ye like that if yer no’ ready.”

She glared at him, standing up and taking the bedsheet with her. “Who says I’m not ready? I’m a grown, married woman—I can decide these things for myself now.”

“We haven’t had the best start, yer in a new land—yer overwhelmed—“

“Would someone who’s overwhelmed do this?” Elain asked, dropping the bedsheet so she stood completely naked in front of Lucien.

If he were a better man, Lucien would have turned away immediately, left the room and sent in a maid to make sure Elain slept comfortably and was safe. Hell, if he were the best type of man, he’d have left the room immediately when she admitted she had been plied with alcohol to make her endure their first coupling.

Lucien was not a good man. He stared, empty-headed, at the sight of his naked wife’s beautiful body in the soft glow of the candle light. Her breasts were small and her nipples peaked, the same dusty rose gracing her cheeks. She was just as curvy as he knew she was, with a tiny waist his hands could grip as she bounced in his lap, her hips wide and perfect for his hands to plant themselves on when he fucked her on all fours, her thighs soft when she’d eventually wrap them around his waist as he pounded into her, or even better, clenched around his head when he buried his face in the brown curls between her legs.

“Oh shite, yer naked,” Lucien stammered, closing his eyes and swiftly turning away, only to launch himself into his solid wood clothes chest. His forehead cracked against the wood and his knees hit the hard, stone floor with a thud and he rolled on his side, curled up pathetically on the ground.

“Lucien!” Elain called.

“Doona!” he gasped, screwing his eyes shut and forcing himself to stand on shaky legs away from her. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough that he ran into a dresser and possibly concussed himself, his cock was standing at full mast under his kilt, the head of his length rubbing uncomfortably against the scratchy wool.

“Take my bed for the night,” he called out, reaching for the door handle.

“Do you need—?”

“No!” Lucien growled with more force than even he was expecting. He turned his head to see Elain staring at him, wide eyed with shock that quickly morphed into a glare. “Ye’ve done enough for one night. Just… stay in here for the night. Please.”

Lucien thought he heard Elain mutter something under her breath but he didn’t wait to listen to hear. Wrenching the door open, he fled the room. He didn’t have a destination in mind—just far away from the woman who was now his wife, his future, his everything.

Perhaps if he ran far enough away, Lucien thought, he could outrun all of his problems.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my fic #my fics #pro elucien #elain x lucien #gotta move this shit along #the god thing with an arranged/forced marriage trope #you just get the wedding over with

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nikethestatue · 2 months

Note

So one thing that is important and never brought up enough is when you just focus on Sarah as a writer and human is that in all of her books, she has NEVER rewritten a losing virginity scene

NEVER

I can’t remember if she explicitly stated somewhere that she won’t, but after 10 years of reading her books that is something she’s never done, which as a romance writer HAS to be intentional. She’s written people fucking in the sky while flying, but the few times someone is losing their virginity it’s always been a fade to black or brief mentions of it but not the actual full scene.

The closest we get is “-and gave him everything she had.” Which was her first published sex scene, and “so Lorcan did.” Both in ToG. Justice for Elorcan😔🙏🏻

I 100% people should respect that authors can have boundaries too, like that can be a heavy topic for people! Especially for women who often have their literal worth tied to their virginity. EVEN IN HER BOOKS Mor and Lysandra 1. suffer consequences for losing it on her own terms or 2. have hers be auctioned off AT 17🤢

She’s a sex positive author, and yes this post sounds like I’m basing a characters worth on if they’ve had sex so I’m sorry I swear that’s not what I’m doing BUT THEY’RE CHARACTERS. SHE MADE UP. Not that being a virgin is a bad thing because it’s not. She just has a pattern for smut and even if we exclude the no virginity scenes I’m so sorry to the other ship BUUUUT having one of the 3 men who are in positions of power and have basically unlimited access to characters who’ve been SA’d, do people really think Sarah would make THAT a foundation of an entire ROMANCE BOOK AS IF THAT’S NOT A COMPLETE ABUSE OF POWER? If Rhys or any member of the inner circle, ESPECIALLY MOR(!) don’t kill Az if he did that, I’m sure his MOTHER or the other priestesses would. Could you imagine being a priestess and finding out your trainer and one of the few men you have contact with is trying to get his dick wet with one of your sisters? How violating that would be, no matter how professional he’d behave like Cassian during training? Thought Cassian and Nesta are a completely different circumstance, even if g and az were mates. They’d lose all of the Valkyrie’s and any sense of safety with the night court.

And to those doubting Elain getting a book, why would Sarah throw in that Elain lost her virginity off page? Entirely pointless, ESPECIALLY for a character viewed as a prude UNLESS she is laying the ground work for her future main character in a series where people fuck. A LOT. That’s literally Sarah’s pattern as a writer, hence one of the reasons we saw Nesta use sex as a coping mechanism and why Cassian didn’t take her v card, which I think started in frost and starlight off page BEFORE Nesta’s book.

Plus homie can’t even stand to visit Illyria bc of how they treat women, how people think Az would go after someone under his care who he literally rescued is genuinely terrifying???

Or that she’d force a Elain to be with a man who makes her uncomfortable no matter how likeable he is because someone/something/a-big-ass-pot decided for her at literally the worst moment in her life? Choice is so important to her as a writer

And again no one’s worth is based on their sexual history, whether it’s consensual or not because only you define yourself, which is one of the main messages she’s always had. And while these are characters are on a page, to whoever reads this you are a real person and your story is worth telling. (I know this is a sensitive topic and I’m trying so hard not to offend anyone and you don’t have to post it I am just so confused. Like yes people who’ve experienced such things like myself can and do still have sex, but if she -the writer- BARELY touches on Rhys’s assault during sex with Feyre, not even his own pov, or Nesta with Tomas or even Lidia, WHY would she go from zero to 10000 and write g’s sex scene who is a virgin.)

Who knows, maybe one day she’d write her story, but I’m sorry to say not starting out without her having sex before it starts.

The funny thing is that she said exactly that--she doesnt write virginity scenes because she doesn't like the power imbalance.

Especially since she tends to have these massive age gaps. But then she always gives actual magical power to the women to balance the age thing out.

I don't know why people don't understand how bad it would look. Especially given Azriel's mother's history, where she had no autonomy, and was made to be a virtual slave to the lord. No one is saying that that's Azriel obviously, but it would be a terrible breach of trust and could only be viewed as predatory. What I don't understand is that the same people screech that Rhys assaulted Feyre UTM (I categorically do not think that he did, but that's beside the point) but at the same time they feel that a Gwynriel relationship would be appropriate. Oh, well what if they are mates! Mate bonds aren't a ticket to do whatever the hell one wants, under any circumstances.

Azriel getting it on with a priestess from the Library is just not appropriate under any conditions. Especially with one who needs to ask Clotho for permission to go to a sleepover with Nesta and Emerie in the same building she lives in.

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moodymelanist · 1 year

Text

Feel The Heat

Happy @nestaarcheronweek, everyone! Keeping things short and sweet for my favorite Archeron today 💙

Prompt Inspiration: We can’t go to the main party for reasons but let’s create a small party for ourselves where we dance to our favourite songs in the living room

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta scowled as she stared at the ceiling in her room. She shouldn’t even be home right now, but she’d gotten into the worst argument yet with her mother about homecoming, and now she was paying the price.

Well, if Nesta told the story, she was proving her point. All she’d wanted was to go to homecoming with Cassian, one of her best friends for as long as she could remember, but Rhea hated anything to do with the side of town Cassian was from. That included homecoming dances, and since she’d been so insistent that Nesta go with that nice Vanserra boy from down the street, Nesta simply refused to go to homecoming at all this year. It had been Cassian or nothing, and she was going to prove her point, goddammit.

What did it even matter that Cassian went to Velaris High and Nesta went to Saint Enalius Preparatory School? He was just as smart as some of the guys in her junior class, and had double the kindness as anyone she’d ever met. She knew he was going places, and if Rhea couldn’t see that? It was her problem.

Until then, Nesta was going to sit in her room and make her point. Rhea was wrong about Cassian, and the moment her mother realized that would be the best day of Nesta’s life.

It was just Nesta and her parents at home. Feyre and Elain had no such issues going to Saint E’s homecoming — their dates were respectable in Rhea’s eyes. No matter that Nesta couldn’t stand Tamlin or Graysen, or that they treated her sisters like shit; their families had enough money to send them to Prythian Prep, and that was all that mattered.

Who cared that Nesta had actually been looking forward to going to homecoming this year, right? She’d finally dumped Tomas and Cassian had offered to take her so she wouldn’t feel awkward about not having a date, but all their plans had gone down the drain the moment Rhea caught wind of it. She couldn’t even go to Cassian’s homecoming instead, since it had happened two weeks ago, but she wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her sulk. She’d do it all in her room, thank you very much, where nobody could bother her—

Nesta froze at the sound of something hitting her window. Had a bird flown into the glass again or something?

The sounds kept coming, and she realized someone must have been throwing something at the glass for it to make a sound like that. There were plenty of little pebbles lying around the property, especially after her father had redone the yard, and she sighed as she got off her bed to see who was bothering her. Maybe Lucien — the only Vanserra she could actually stand — had misjudged her window for Elain’s or something.

Nesta yanked open the window before barely managing to not get hit in the face with a pebble. She had every curse known to man loaded on her tongue, but it died once she realized who was standing outside her window in the first place.

“Cassian?” she hissed as loud as she dared. Her idiot best friend just beamed and waved up at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you,” he said back, careful not to be so loud as to disturb her parents.

Sighing, Nesta moved to pull her window open as far as it could go while Cassian shimmied his way up the tree that leaned close to her window. By the time he’d managed to get to her room, she’d already laid down a towel so he wouldn’t track any grass inside.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Nesta asked. “I thought Rhys was going to get you in anyway.”

“Come on, you know it wouldn’t be any fun without you,” Cassian answered with a shrug. He reached up and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, showing off his hard-earned muscles from all those soccer practices. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in here sulking this whole time.”

“I’m not sulking,” she responded, pouting. He just gave her a knowing look. “Okay, maybe I was sulking a little.”

“No sulking allowed,” he told her with a grin. He poked her in one of her secretly-ticklish spots, pulling a little giggle from her. “At least not while I’m here.”

“What, are you going to tell me to turn my frown upside down?” she asked sarcastically.

Cassian just rolled his eyes before pulling his backpack off his shoulders. “You really have that little faith in me, Nes?”

“I have exactly the right amount of faith, considering all the stupid shit you’ve gotten me involved in,” Nesta replied haughtily. He just laughed quietly before revealing what looked like… flowers?

“I couldn’t bring you to homecoming, so I’m bringing homecoming to you,” he said. He pulled out a matching corsage and boutonnière — red and white roses to match the dress she hadn’t gotten to wear — and a bottle of fake champagne. “Ta da.”

Nesta was more touched than she’d been expecting, especially when she realized just how hard Cassian was fighting his incoming sneeze. “Cassian…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “Give me your wrist.”

She dutifully gave him her left hand and let him slide the corsage onto her wrist, his hands warm and gentle as they moved. She tried to be just as gentle with pinning the corsage onto his hoodie, but he got pricked a few times before she really got it on there.

“There,” Cassian announced with a flourish. “Let’s toast.”

“Please tell me you washed those before you brought them here,” Nesta responded once she saw the plastic champagne flutes he pulled out of his bag.

“Of course I did,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “Relax.”

She just sighed and let him pour her a glass. It wasn’t the real thing, but even though it wasn’t spiked like the drinks at the dance would inevitably be, it still tasted good. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Cassian took their glasses and placed them rather precariously on the windowsill, ignoring Nesta’s alarmed look once he turned back around to face her. “And now for the most important part…”

Nesta froze once she realized Cassian was holding his hands out to her like he meant to dance with her. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you to dance with me?” Cassian said, the uncertainty in her voice making it sound like a question. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m in my pajamas!” she hissed, motioning down at herself. She’d been lounging in an oversized Taylor Swift shirt and ratty pair of sweatpants, and her hair was falling out of the loose braid she’d thrown it back into an hour before.

“So?” he responded with a shrug. “I like you like this.”

Nesta flushed, not sure what to do with that. He was her best friend, so she supposed it was his job to make her feel comfortable, but that felt… different. “Fine. But don’t step on my feet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” Cassian said confidently. He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes before a song quietly started playing, and he offered her his hands again.

She took them this time, and the two of them swayed back and forth to the beat. He was so solid and warm against her that she couldn’t help but lean her head against his shoulder as they danced, sighing happily when he laid his head on top of hers. She could feel his chest vibrating slightly as he hummed along with the lyrics, and even though they had to stay quiet so her parents didn’t hear, it didn’t stop her from joining him once they got to the chorus.

It wasn’t the same as dancing in a crowded gym with the rest of the school, but it would do.

#nestaweek2022 #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #Nessian #Cassian #moodymelanistwrites

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bookofmirth · 1 year

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I’m a strong believer..that Lucien deserves better than Elain who didn’t not once consider that he was upstairs in her home asleep before she’d almost made out with Az..I tried to forgive her for it but it’s hard anytime I re read the scene and put myself in Lucien’s shoes..If my LI did that while I was upstairs asleep i’d be thoroughly offended. A part of me hopes Lucien overheard Az and Rhys’ conversation just for him to not be some oblivious weakling desperately awaiting her attention, which all of this is making him look like.

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet sent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again, Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. she looked up at him, her face trusting and hopefull and open..” At least Feyre didn’t do this under the same roof as Tamlin out of a little respect for him, Im not his fan or anything but that made me admire Feyre for how much she cared about that situation, how guilty and aware she was, how considerate. Elain just…didn’t care. He was right..upstairs.

I get where you are coming from, but I guess I don't really care if she wasn't thinking about him? She was hurting him but I'm not sure that can be avoided, even if it weren't due to the bat. sjm said they'd have tension, right? And she gave us that in acosf.

I think it's pretty complicated, because as a person, Elain doesn't owe Lucien anything. She can be with who she wants, they don't interact very much, they don't know one another very well, she has been mourning her fiancé and her father, etc. Elain can reject the mating bond and go about her life if she wants and no one would stop her.

And all of that is exactly why Lucien has been leaving her alone, except for when he gets awkwardly invited to family holidays and everyone stares at him thinking "oh poor Lucien, oh is that a new Tamlin BruiseTM?"

BUT. As his *mate*, Elain does owe him a conversation. People who scream about this being unfeminist or whatever can shut the heck up because feminism irl doesn't account for ~magical mating bonds~ in which people are literally, irrevocably, magically tied to one another in a way that impacts the rest of their lives and can make one of them insane. You can't talk about consent and what people are owed in this situation in the same way that you can talk about it with any other couple who doesn't have a mating bond. The entire scenario is different, and we can't draw the same lines in a mating bond situation that we can in a regular non-magical ship situation, no matter how much people want to scream and wave their feminist flags around. And I consider myself a feminist, have forever, and that's why I have critiqued the whole idea of mating bonds a ton, because of how they inherently take away that choice. But that's a problem with the trope, not with any ship that adheres to that trope. If people have a problem with mating bonds as a trope, they shouldn't read sjm because they will just be looking to be mad. ANYWAY...

just for him to not be some oblivious weakling desperately awaiting her attention, which all of this is making him look like.

This part I 100% agree with. I get being respectful, and Lucien is doing that, but my god. This is why I think it would be cool if *he* were the one to go to *her* and be like "nah, no thanks". Then Elain's "but I'm pretty and nice" privileges would cease to work and she'd have to like... deal with shit.

I do think there is a big difference between Feyre and Tamlin/Rhys and Elain with Az/Lucien. Feyre and Tamlin were engaged and had verbally (and physically) committed to one another, so they owed each other respect in that sense. Elain and Lucien have no such thing. The thing that's making it so that her actions cause him pain is out of her control.

I would write more but my cat just got in my lap hehe

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

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Can I ask for drunk Nesta flirting with Cassian in front of the ic and him getting all flustered but being secretly pleased about it???

Hell yeah you can! I love this idea! It wasn’t specified so I’m going modern here just because I’m not really sure where this could’ve happened in the canon timeline without a bunch of other factors impeding. Also I’m throwing in a dash of my fav jealous Cassian 😏

It wasn’t that Cassian didn’t want to be there. Well, no, actually that was exactly what it was. Cassian didn’t want to be there. He was exhausted and he hadn’t gotten to the gym that morning and he had a massive deadline that Rhys kept insisting they could push back but Cassian didn’t want to. He just wanted to go home and finish his report and maybe have a glass of whiskey to close off a truly awful week.

But Feyre’s art exhibit opened earlier that week and he hadn’t even gotten to see it yet and so it wasn’t like he could blow off her big party when he already felt like the world’s worst friend.

And he was completely lying to himself and everyone else. He didn’t want to be there because he didn’t want to watch Eris Vanserra’s slimy ass mill about the elegantly decorated, high ceilinged, natural light dripping, beautiful space, with his eyes glued to Nesta’s ass as if it was the art they were meant to be appreciating.

Did Cassian also appreciate every inch of her body like it had been sculpted by Michelangelo? Yeah but that was besides the point. And he had the respect to do it subtly.

“Remind me why he’s invited,” Cassian grumbled into his overpriced merlot. Because apparently only wine was classy enough for these fancy, classy, art events.

“He’s Lucien’s brother.” Azriel also didn’t look impressed by Eris’ uninvited hand on the small of Nesta’s back. Or the way he kept refilling her glass before she asked or was even done. “And he’s richer than Midas and spends a lot of that money on art.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “We have as much money as he does.”

“Yes but you know Feyre’s rule. No family purchases. She doesn’t want to be a success just because Rhys could buy and sell this entire gallery.” Azriel was stoic as usual. Betraying no opinion on the matter.

It was several hours of carefully constructed comments where Cassian pretended he knew anything about art and pretended his neck wasn’t getting increasingly hot under his collar as Eris kept glued to Nesta’s side.

Cassian had no right to be jealous. He knew that. He and Nesta weren’t anything. Casual flirting. Witty banter. Eternal, pining, unrequited love on his end that she didn’t even seem to notice or care about. So fine. Maybe Eris was her type. It wasn’t his place to interfere.

Except that she really needed a glass of water right now and-

Cassian’s hand darted out on instinct as Nesta walked past him, wobbling a little on her completely impractical shoes.

“Careful sweetheart.”

He braced for the hissed don’t call me that, but When he looked up Nesta was blinking slowly through a hazy wall of the wrong wine.

The wrong wine because Eris had been giving her a Nappa Cab Sauv all night when she preferred old world Syrah. Which was probably why she kept drinking it so quickly, looking for her opportunity to get what she really wanted.

“Cass,” she smiled. It was a little lopsided and definitely off kilter, but even through her wine brain he could see that she was playing at something. Nesta had never called him Cass in his life. “It’s so good to see you!” Her voice went up a full octave and she pressed her entire body against his as she hugged him.

The display turned a few heads in their direction. It was mostly just family at this point, and Eris who couldn’t learn how to take a fucking hint. Technically, he supposed, Eris was family. Nesta’s fucking brother in law. Was that how it worked? Was the brother of the person your sister married also your brother in law? Brother in law once removed?

Not important, moron. Drunk Nesta. Body. Wrapped in a tight sheath dress and clinging to him. Cassian closed his hands around her back and got lost for a minute.

Holding her against him like she was made to fit in his arms. Breathing in her scent like he could capture it in a bottle and spray it on his pillow every night before he went to bed.

Someone cleared their throat. Feminine. High pitched. Mor.

Nesta had already let go and was smirking at him a little. He dropped his hands immediately. “Um, yeah, always a pleasure.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Nesta’s grin was feline. She was definitely up to something. And normally he would make a stupid remark, probably something about how much more pleasurable the evening would be back at his apartment, except that she was drunk and his entire family was staring and Eris was still standing there.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” It seemed like the right thing to say. To offer. Feyre smiled a little, a silent thank you. Azriel was covering a laugh, Mor was watching them both with narrowed eyes like a hawk, and Rhys honestly couldn’t have cared less. Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe throw you into a pool,” Cassian joked stupidly.

“You should probably buy me dinner before offering to get me wet.” Someone dropped a glass. Cassian honestly thought it might have been him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not in that moment. Not with Nesta looking at him through hooded eyes and talking about…

He could do this. His pants were not getting tight. Not at all. Because he wasn’t a damn teenager.

“I- um- do you-”

Nesta burst out laughing. It was a sound he’d never heard from her. She was usually all sultry under her breath snorts or ironic guffaws. Full, deep, angels singing, laughter was not usual for Nesta.

As evidenced by the fact the no one was even pretending not to be watching them anymore.

“I’ve got her.” Eris pushed himself back to Nesta’s side.

“Does he?” Nesta looked straight at Cassian, one eyebrow raised. “Because I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t have made it past glass two if your family wasn’t here.”

Azriel coughed. Amren cackled.

“You… do you want him to have you?” It came out wrong. The words. He meant did she want Eris to take her to get some water. Like he offered. He didn’t mean, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t…

“I want you to have me.” She was drunk. She was so drunk and it shouldn’t have been hot but fuck him it was. It wasn’t some sloppy college night out messed up drunk. It was a woman whose inhibitions had been soaked in wine just enough that every word out of her mouth was low and hot and honest.

“Find somewhere else to be, Vanserra.”

“Hey man what the fuck? We were talking-“

Cassian scoffed, snapping out of whatever flustered mess Nesta had put him in. “Anyone who gave her that much Cab Sauv doesn’t deserve to talk to her. Get lost.”

“I saw you eyeing the bottle,” Nesta laughed a little, swaying on her toes. Cassian moved his hands from a support on her bicep to a full arm around the waist support. Even if she did try to fall he could lift her with one arm easy. “Thought you might say something after…”

After the night they spent in her apartment with a bottle of her favourite Syrah only a week ago. It hadn’t been on purpose. Feyre and Elain and Azriel and Lucien were all supposed to be there. And they all conveniently cancelled only after he’d already showed up.

Which, judging by the barely contained grins on their faces, was even less of a coincidence than he thought. Busybodies.

“I’d offer you a glass of Syrah now, but I think what you need is a coffee.”

“Oh but then I’ll never sleep. And I do think I’m ready for bed.”

Sensing that he’d lost, Eris swore under his breath and stomped off.

“Let me take you home, Nes.” Cassian whispered into her hair.

“Hmm, your place or mine.”

“Yours,” he kissed her temple, pulling her legs out from under her and not even paying his family a backwards glance. “For a nightcap of 2 big glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin that I’m going to leave on your nightstand for the morning.”

“You don’t want to be there in the morning?”

Cassian groaned. “You said it yourself, Sweetheart. Dinner first.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down.” Nesta sighed, head lulling onto his shoulder.

“Actually go for dinner with me next week and I promise to never bring this night up again. And bribe our friends to do the same.”

“Deal,” Nesta said immediately.

An hour later after Cassian had supervised Nesta drinking her water he was about to leave her apartment when she yawned.

“Hey Cass,” she mumbled, half asleep.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“You made a bad bargain. I would’ve gone out with you either way.”

Cassian chuckled, a low rumble. “I’m satisfied with the bargain I made.”

“Cheesy as hell.”

“You love it.”

Nesta laughed, “I am prepared to tolerate it at best.”

“Good enough for me.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #drabble requests #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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elriell · 3 years

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Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her." Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acosf #acowar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #elriel mates #elriel theories #elriel metas #anti elucien #tb safe and all that #dont want it falling in the wrong tag #c

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

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i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

#i'm sorry this is literally a novel #but!!!#this is my dream plot actually #all about legacy and complicated feelings #the total failure of cassian as a partner #of rhys as a ruler #of feyre as a sister!!#there's so much love in the end but its not easy love #and they do have to fight for it #Nesta Archeron has always been exactly who she is and that shouldn't have to change #Elain has never GOTTEN to be who she is and that should change #Feyre standing alone is all i want yall #a true overturning of the patriarchy actually #yes this a luzreil universe #Elain...mhmm.... definitely just has a string a very romantic love affairs #marriage as a prospect caused her so much pain #she's done #I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this #but like #she would??#she's SO possessive of her people #and totally weird about Feyre's sister's from the start #Nesta having power?#Nesta having Azriel's backing?#NESTA BEING CASSIAN'S MATE?#its never going to go well

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acourtofthought · 5 months

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I’ve been thinking about this for a while, I think I’m up to something. Lucien was forced to leave his home twice already with basically only what he had on his back. We know that Tamlin basically packed his stuff and shipped them off and those are all the belongings he has. So I always wonder what is Lucien’s financial situation. It’s impossible to try to figure that out since he has a salary and can afford to rent an apartment in Velaris but he has no land or like property and he’s sharing an old mansion with two humans rn. He always speaks about being the seventh son of a high lord as nothing to brag about, he loses a lot of his titles so I always assume that he is very aware that he doesn’t have much to offer Elain in terms of property/living situation or even a court. I always assumed that comparing himself to Graysen (a very wealthy nobleman’s son), he thought he’d come up short. And if he is aware of the thing between Azriel and Elain, he might also think that he has nothing to offer compared to Azriel who is basically a high lord’s brother and right hand man. Elain is also surrounded by wealth and practically anything she could want, so I think Lucien would find himself at a disadvantage from this perspective too. Even if he wanted to take her, where could he? In an apartment in Velaris that’s not even on the nicer side of town? Or his shared manor in the human lands? He’s currently not doing well with Tamlin either. I really don’t think he’d ever just claim Elain, especially knowing that she was meant to be a wealthy noblewoman. And I find it especially interesting from this perspective that he keeps calling her Lady. Lady is the female version of lord. It is interesting to me that Lucien is showing respect towards her with that specific title. Not to mention that no one seems to care about Lucien’s heritage (the known one or the Helion one). It just feels like Lucien doesn’t see himself on the same level as Elain and her family. Idk this was a big ole rant you might have some ideas about it though so I thought I’d share 👀

I love how much thought you put in to this!! I'm thinking Lucien has money as he chose an elegant apartment in Velaris and dresses well but I agree that to him, that's maybe not the same thing as having roots and anything to offer someone. To him, what could he offer Elain? It's a little bit of the Cassian / Nesta situation. Cassian knew that Nesta grew up intending to marry a prince and regardless of the income he makes from Rhys, he had no title to offer her. Similarly, though Lucien is the 7th son of the High Lord of Autumn (or at least to it's Lady), Beron tried to have his other sons kill Lucien and chased him out of the court, Lucien doesn't stand to inherit a territory in Autumn. Yet he knew Elain was engaged to someone of some importance in the human lands, she was destined to become a Lady there. He hops between the Night Court, Spring Court and the human lands. I imagine he doesn't think any female would want that sort of nomadic lifestyle. I'm not even sure if Lucien knows what's going on with Az but I do think his struggles with his own self worth ("And a whole lot of nothing") and not feeling like he has anything to offer anyone has played a role in his hesitation to bridge the gap with Elain. I think when you add that into what happened to the last female he loved, that she was murdered by his "father", there have been a lot of things Lucien has struggled with upon realizing that Elain was his mate. That he was given this amazing thing (the bond) and what can he even offer to the person he probably wants to try to offer everything to. No home, no real title, and to some degree he probably fears for her safety and his ability to protect her against a High Lord. It doesn't matter how powerful someone is, the High Lords are supposed to be "power itself" and right now, Lucien doesn't realize he could stand up to Beron and actually win.

#pro lucien vanserra #elucien

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helion-ism · 3 years

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let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him.

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet, by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point.

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites:

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong.

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down?

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay.

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles.

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

#elucien #mating bond #mp

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 3 years

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You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 8

She Makes Me

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes @cagzzz107 If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

AO3 link

Chapter 8 let’s go!!!

LONDON HEIR WEDS UP AND COMING LADY

Arthur William Burns, 33, of London has married Miss Elaine Spencer, 20, of Birmingham. The couple celebrated their union on February 14, 1944 at the chapel on his uncle Edward’s estate in Suffolk. The intimate ceremony was followed by a small reception of the couple’s closest friends and family. The new Mrs. Burns was thoughtful about her war-time wedding, taking extra steps to avoid unnecessary costs or supplies. She updated her mother’s wedding dress instead of buying new, and after the wedding, generously donated the gown to the Army. Her engagement ring was an heirloom of Mr. Burns’ family, but it didn’t stop there -

The article didn’t stop there, but Juliet did. She couldn’t read another word about Arthur’s wedding. In fact, she slammed the paper down on her desk. It rattled the teacup in its saucer to the side, but miraculously, nothing spilled. Huffing, and her article forgotten, Juliet folded her arms across her chest and stewed.

She couldn’t really say why it bothered her so much. She had moved on the same as him, but getting married? It hadn’t been that long. What could Arthur possibly know about this girl? For a girl she was at the tender age of twenty. Was that what irked her? That the girl was so young? No, it was fairly normal for an age gap like that, especially among their class.

Perhaps it was the class issue that was grating on her. Elaine Spencer was - to the Burns family - everything Juliet was not. Young, rich, well-behaved, and (though only Arthur knew this difference) able to bear children. Seeing their announcement, and the kind of wedding they could afford, was a rather harsh reminder of all that. But even that should not have been this upsetting.

Deep down, Juliet knew what was bothering her was that she was bothered at all. She was happy with Ron. So why did she care about her ex? Why did this feel like such a blow to her pride? Why did she feel as if Arthur had just terminated their engagement all over again? Wasn’t it enough to have Ron in her life, a man she truly respected and cared about?

That was something else to consider. Juliet realized she had wasted far too much time on someone who wasn’t half the man Ron was. And yet, Arthur had rejected her. If what she thought about him was true - that he was a coward and totally undeserving of her - shouldn’t it have been the other way around? She knew she felt shame for how much she had loved Arthur when she didn’t receive that love in return. Was that what got on her nerves about this?

She certainly was not jealous of the girl. Elaine. Juliet knew she absolutely did not want to be married to Arthur. In the long run, they could never make each other happy. Especially now that Juliet had experienced Ron, who truly appreciated what she had to give. She had to keep reminding herself of him or Arthur’s dumb face next to Elaine’s stunning smile would drive her crazy. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking at that picture. They looked so perfect.

Her door opened and she jumped a little bit out of her seat with a gasp. It was Ron, but that oddly made her more nervous. She perked up.

“Hi, honey!” she greeted brightly.

His brown knit together over his eyes. “Honey?”

“Yes, dear?” she returned.

“Seriously,” he frowned. “Why are you calling me that?”

“I haven’t before?”

“Obviously not.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Obviously not,” he repeated. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” she insisted. Then it was her turn to frown. “What endearments am I allowed?”

“Why do you need them, when my name works just fine?” he replied.

“Oh come on,” she said. “Not even darling?”

“Darling is meaningless here, you people call everyone darling,” he said.

She considered that. “Alright. ‘Love’, then?”

“No, thanks.”

“Baby?”

“No.”

“Dear?”

“No.”

“Sugar?”

“No.”

“Sweetheart?”

“No.”

She bit back a giggle for the last one. “Daddy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“My heart belongs to Daddy,” she began to sing as she got to her feet and approached him. “So I simply couldn’t be bad -”

“That’s a little bit sick, coming from you,” he cut across her as he shrugged off his jacket.

She ignored him. “Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy! Da da da da -”

This time, he interrupted with a kiss. Juliet giggled into his mouth, but he was successful in stopping the song entirely. When they parted, she had a goofy grin on her lips.

“Are you absolutely certain we should disregard the genius of Cole Porter?” she teased.

“Let it go,” he returned.

“What are you gonna do?” she challenged, making her voice dramatically husky. “Spank me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

She blinked, taken aback by his casual reaction to such a suggestion, but she was also a little curious, so she decided to push the envelope. “You wouldn’t.”

“What’s the matter?” he questioned. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

Her mouth fell slightly agape. How had he managed to so drastically turn the tables on her? She was supposed to be teasing him and somehow, she ended up being the one flustered and red-faced. She cleared her throat and shook her head to remove the rather graphic images that had popped up inside it. All thoughts of Arthur were certainly out the window.

“I did not anticipate this backfiring,” she admitted.

“And yet, here you are,” he said.

“How tired are you from training?” she asked.

“Not too tired to make love to you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered.

“That’s the perfect amount,” she said.

With that, she tugged off her cardigan and pulled him in for another kiss, deep and deliberate, with a nip at his bottom lip to get him riled up. He lifted her into his arms and they fell on the bed together - her pinned beneath him as their lips remained locked.

Afterwards, as they dressed to get some dinner and Juliet was in the bathroom fixing her hair, Ron spotted the article. Suddenly, her behavior when he first walked in made sense. She’d distracted him with the endearments conversation, and he hoped he had distracted her from what she’d read. But his gut told him there was something more. He’d walked through that door every day without surprising her. There was a reason she had started and panicked this time. He picked up the newspaper, and looked hard at the photo - at the man who had humiliated Juliet, but ultimately paved the way for Ron’s own happiness with her.

Arthur was not much to look at, which was both surprising and expected. Surprising because well, Ron found Juliet to be very beautiful, and he knew she could do better. Expected because Juliet was not the sort of person to base a relationship on looks alone. Although she had certainly noticed Ron’s. But for the first time, that made him doubt. She told him once she was more upset by the indignity of what Arthur had done, but she must have really seen something in him to have agreed to marry him. And she talked so much about Ron’s looks, he started to wonder if that was all she saw in him.

He quickly dismissed that thought. She had been incredibly vulnerable with him and shared parts of her life he was certain she had shared with few others, perhaps not anyone. But something was holding her back from addressing this with him, and he wanted to know what.

“I reckon we can just pop downstairs and have something quick,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom and picked up her cardigan. “That way we won’t get too cold before we - y’know - warm back up again.”

He faced her, and caught the surprised look in her eye at his expression. Her smile drooped and faded as she realized what he held in his hand.

“Jules,” he said, voice heavy. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Sure,” she looked nervously between the paper and his face. “Anything, Ron, just -”

“Without one fucking joke, I want you tell me why you’re upset about this,” he said, indicating the paper, though she understood perfectly well what he meant.

She sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes,” he said.

She waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. But he was not sacrificing his control of the conversation, he was solidifying it. She was going to explain herself to him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m annoyed at myself for letting it upset me at all,” she said. She met his gaze, searching his face for a reaction, but he didn’t give one. “I mean, yes, it’s a wound to my ego that by all rights that announcement should be about me and him. Although, I never would have gotten married on Valentine’s Day. Seriously, of all the cheesy -”

“No jokes,” he cut across her.

“That wasn’t a joke, it was a disparaging remark,” she returned.

“Juliet.”

“Sorry.”

She bit her lip, carefully forming how she wanted to say what was on her mind. But, it turned out he wasn’t giving her that either.

“Don’t think, just talk,” he instructed.

“I care about you so much,” she blurted out. “You make me happy in a way I hardly thought possible until I knew you. But seeing that announcement made me ache. It’s difficult to pin down why exactly since there are a number of things that bother me about it, but mostly it’s that it shouldn’t matter. I’ve moved on, haven’t I? But if that still hurts me, I’m worried that perhaps I haven’t, and that’s not fair to you or to me. And if that’s the case then perhaps I should let you go, but the thought of that makes me want to hurl myself out of a window. Then that makes me worried that no one will ever be enough for me. Which is ridiculous because you’re more than enough. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met in your own weird way. So, that means there’s something terribly, terribly wrong with me.”

She stopped to take a deep breath and paused. She considered saying more, that was really the sum of her feelings. Ron stood there calmly.

“Can you talk now please?” she requested.

A hint of smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, but he stopped it.

“It’d bother me more if you didn’t care about this,” he replied, which made her brow wrinkle. “It’s okay to have feelings about someone you were involved with. Doesn’t mean you still have feelings for them.”

“You don’t think it’s a reflection of my feelings for you?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he said with a shrug.

She bit her lip. “I just...I just don’t think it would get to him if he saw my wedding announcement in the paper.”

“It would,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t know that, you didn’t know him.”

“I know you,” he said. “That’s enough to understand that there’s no way you didn’t have an impact on him.”

“That’s -” she began to argue but stopped herself as she absorbed it fully. “Well...that’s actually a lovely thing to say, thank you.”

He set the paper down and walked over to her, gathering her up in his arms so he could kiss her forehead.

“Don’t hide behind distractions when there’s something serious,” he said gently. “And don’t hurl yourself out a window, I had enough trouble with you on the bridge.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “You’ve lifted your moratorium on jokes, I see.”

He pecked her on the lips. “Nope, just for me.”

She repaid him with a light jab to his ribs with her pointer and middle fingers. “Shut up.”

On that note, they headed down to the bar for dinner and drinks. Though Juliet had mentioned wanting to return to her room quickly, they ended up lingering. Talking like they had when they first met. Juliet talked a little more about Arthur, and Ron gave her the space to do so. It didn’t last long. Slowly, he faded from the conversation and they moved on. Ron challenged her to a darts game, and Juliet readily accepted.

“I’ve never played before,” she confessed. “Well, actually, I almost did when I was seven or so. Dad took Billy and I to the pub with him and left us to our own devices.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Ron said.

She pressed on anyway. “We weren’t tall enough to reach the board, so Billy drew one on the wall we could use. The owner got upset and started shouting at him.”

“I really don’t like where this is going,” he said again.

“So, I stabbed him in the thigh with the dart,” she finished.

“Billy?”

“The pub guy.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyway, he starts screaming -”

“Billy?”

“Nope, still the pub guy,” she said. “He grabs me by my hair and starts dragging me out. That didn’t sit right with Billy, so he leaps onto the man’s back and starts punching him. Mind you, Billy was only about nine at the time, so he wasn’t the most effective.”

“I imagine not.”

“But of course Billy doesn’t care, he’s just looking out for me,” she continued. “So the guy lets go of me, and I grab him round the legs and trip him. Then Billy and I ran out of there as fast as we could, terrified about what Dad would do to us if he realized we’d caused the commotion. Luckily, he never found out.”

He blinked at her. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you stabbed a guy.”

“He yelled at my brother!” she returned. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Stab him, of course,” he said.

“That!” she cried. “Right there! That’s why we work so well together!”

She giggled into his mouth as he kissed her in agreement.

“C’mon, let’s play,” he said.

He showed her where to stand, how to hold the dart, and some tricks he used to get better aim. She was attentive to his coaching, and it certainly paid off. Each throw got her closer and closer to the bullseye. So much so, he considered tripping her on her last turn. He didn’t, since that would put her dart in rather close proximity to his thigh, and he was in no mood to get stabbed himself.

She took her shot, and to the surprise of Ron and a few onlookers, she hit the center of the dartboard. She punched the air with excitement and let out an enthusiastic scream before turning to face him, beaming with triumph.

“That’s right!” she bragged to anyone listening. “Juliet Fletcher is the darts champion!”

For a moment, Ron genuinely feared she was going to try and chest bump him, and he wasn’t sure there could be romance after that. To his relief, she did not. She did something far more embarrassing. In movements that could only be described as lost and awkward, she...danced. If one could even call it that. Her limbs jerked, her hips lacked any semblance of rhythm, and her feet sort of scraped across the floor. He watched in disbelief as she went about her celebration, completely unabashed.

“What’s the matter, Speirs?” she taunted. “Upset you lost to a girl?”

He wanted to laugh, but he was so disturbed it came out more of a grimace. “What...what are you doing?”

“Victory dance,” she returned simply. “Like footballers do.”

“No one has ever done anything like what you’re doing,” he said.

She came to a slow stop, a smirk on her face. “I told you I can’t dance.”

“I thought you meant the foxtrot.”

“Well, I can’t do that either.”

“I’d expect not.”

“Are you embarrassed?” she wondered.

“Aren’t you?” he shot back, though judging by her expression, she wasn’t.

“Nope,” she shook her head.

“Should be,” he said under his breath.

She ignored that little remark. “Life’s too short to stifle the joy of kicking your boyfriend’s ass in a game of darts.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call that an ass kicking.”

“You wanna go again?” she dared him.

“God, no,” he replied quickly. “If you win, you’ll start dancing again.”

“So you admit it?”

“What?”

“You’re afraid I’ll win.”

“Yeah, but not for the reason you want.”

“Whatever,” she giggled. “I’m gonna get another drink, d’you want one?”

“Sure,” he said.

With a nod, she headed for the bar. She established fairly early on in their relationship that she was not the sort who wanted to be doted on. She had no problem sharing the responsibility of buying drinks or fetching said drinks. Ron rarely even pulled out her chair for her. Opening doors was different, as Juliet usually had a bag or something, but she never so much as suggested that Ron carry it for her. He once offered, but she told him she’d only allow it if she could tip him, which promptly ended the conversation.

“Hi, Juliet,” Emily, the bartender, said as she approached. “‘Nother round of whiskeys for you and Lieutenant Speirs?”

“Yes, please,” Juliet replied.

“Just a moment, I’ve got to bring some beers to the lads back there,” Emily said, pointing to the other end of the pub. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Juliet assured her.

While she waited for Emily, a man approached the bar. A dark haired, tall, but mousy looking man Juliet had seen at the Blue Boar only a handful of times. He was usually alone and stayed for only one drink before leaving. She got the impression he was not solitary by choice - he was clearly unpopular. The other officers always gave the table a wide berth.

“Hi,” he said timidly.

It took her a moment to register he was speaking to her. “Oh! Hello, there.” She stole a glance at his rank and then his name. Sobel. She decided against trying to say it to avoid the risk of mispronouncing. Plus, she didn’t want him to think she was interested.

“My name’s Herbert,” he said. “Herbert Sobel.”

She studied his face for a moment. “Herbert, huh?”

He blinked, surprised. “Um. Yes.”

“Oh, yeah, Herbert absolutely suits you,” she said.

He was taken aback again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” she shook her head. “How can I help you, Herbert?”

“You could start with your name,” he replied.

She wrinkled her nose. “Eh. No, thanks.”

“What?”

“I’d rather not give you my name,” she said. “Because I’m afraid the follow up is going to be your asking for my phone number or offering to buy me a drink. So I reckon we’re better off if I get the ‘no’ out of the way now. Save us all some time.”

He sputtered for a moment before she went on.

“I know this must seem like contempt prior to investigation,” she said. “But even if I wanted to - which I don’t, mind you - I am involved with someone.”

“Wha - who?” he wondered.

“Lieutenant Speirs,” she said, and pointed him out for good measure.

Sobel glanced over just as Emily returned and began pouring the whiskeys.

“Well, isn’t Speirs lucky,” Sobel murmured.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Juliet said, taking their drinks. “I really am a horrid bitch, you wouldn’t like me anyway.” She held back a laugh as his eyes went wide. Emily covered her mouth to stifle her own giggle. “Cheers, Herb. And thanks, Emily.”

Emily asked a stricken Sobel what he wanted to drink while Juliet left. She returned to her seat next to Ron and delivered his whiskey. He wore a deep frown which told her he’d been watching her interaction with Sobel.

“What’d Captain Sobel want?” he asked, just a hint of bitterness to his voice.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I shot him down,” she replied.

“He hit on you?” he questioned, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Must not have seen you dance.”

“Shut up!” she laughed, elbowing him.

He didn’t say anything in return, he only put his hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Something about it thrilled Juliet. It was...intensely macho. Possessive even. Normally things like that disgusted her, but Ron made it sexy. Only, she had to question it.

“Are you serious?” she said.

“About what?” he returned.

“You’re not bothered by my talking about my ex-fiancé, but a strange man offering to buy me a drink has you marking your territory?” she asked.

“I can’t help who you were with before we met,” he said. “I can do something about anyone getting ideas now.”

“What would you have done then?” she questioned playfully.

“Stab him with a dart,” he replied, without missing a beat.

She giggled before she sipped her drink. “You’re ridiculous.”

She wasn’t able to remain in Ron’s grasp long. Emily approached and told her there was a phone call for her. Juliet excused herself, but not before kissing Ron deeply.

“So the other girls don’t get any ideas either,” she teased.

“Fine by me,” he said.

With one more peck, she followed Emily behind the bar. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“Juliet Fletcher,” she said.

“Juliet, it’s Otis,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Oh, hello, Otis, how are you?” she replied politely. She got along with the investigator most out of all the people involved in Peggy Lee’s case.

“Quite well, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I’ve just gotten the news that Meredith Fisher’s trial has been moved up. We begin on the fifteenth of March.”

“Crikey, that’s quick,” Juliet said.

“I know, but the prosecution is confident enough,” he told her.

Juliet was tempted to let him know they were absolutely right in their confidence with the way Meredith Fisher’s lawyer was going about things, but she held her tongue.

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ll be sure I’m there for the trial.”

“I’ll see you then,” he returned. “Good night, Juliet.”

“Good night,” she replied before hanging up.

She returned to Ron, who shot her a curious look.

“A trial date has been set for Meredith Fisher,” she said. “In just a couple weeks.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Damn right I am,” she said.

“That’s my girl.”

#band of brothers #ron speirs #juliet fletcher #roliet #hbo war #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war fanfiction #you better you better you bet series

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labellefleur-sauvage · 9 months

Text

The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Read on AO3. Masterlist.

XXX

Chapter 3: You Have Taken What is Before Me and What Is Behind Me

“Beg yer pardon, maam, but I doona’ think ‘helping out in the kitchen’ is somethin’ the Lady of the Hoose like yerself should be doin’, y’ken.”

Elain scowled, then turned and put on her most charming face for the head maid. “But Alis, surely going downstairs to conduct a thorough review of the kitchen and its staff is well within my duty as Lady of the House, correct?”

“Frankly ma'am, tis no’,” Alis replied shortly. “As head maid, it’s mah job to oversee the runnin’ of the castle, especially those areas tha’ the Laird and his wife should never haf tah see.”

“It’s not going to kill me to go downstairs and get my hands a bit dirty,” Elain shot back, hands on her hips.

“It verra well might!” Alis said, a hand on her chest, like the thought of Elain going into the kitchens gave her heart palpitations.

“Yes, death by oats, I’m sure we’d be the shame of Scotland if that were to happen!”

“Aye, tis it exactly!” Alis replied, triumph in her dark eyes.

Elain frowned. She needed to try a different tactic. “I know the castle has been without a Lady of the House for quite some time—“

“Aye—the old Laird was a confirmed bachelor. I’ve been managin’ this keep for well over fifty years!”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” Elain said placatingly. She was being somewhat serious—despite being slightly drafty, barren and missing a few stones here and there, the castle at least ran smoothly from what she had seen, all held together by the slight woman standing in front of Elain. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else helping you?”

“Aye, it would, but it won’t be ye,” Alis said with a finality that made Elain realize she lost this fight. “It’s no’ proper for the Lady of the Hoose to wander down to the kitchens, or, or, gallivant outside in the woods, or ask to dust, for goodness sake!”

“Well, perhaps I can—“

“No,” Alis said. “There are plenty of other things ye can do to occupy yer time, like reading, or sewing.”

“For twelve hours a day, though?” Elain cried.

“Ye’ll be much busier when ye and the Laird start having bairns,” Alis said shrewdly, and Elain’s stomach dropped. “If there’s any advice ye need on getting started…”

“Er, no, that’s quite alright,” Elain stammered, blushing wildly. “I think I do actually have a bonnet to sew, goodbye!”

Elain fled, Alis’s throaty chuckles fading behind her as she rushed down hallways and staircases, uncaring of where she was going. She found herself at the doors of the library and pushed them open, sighing with relief when she saw that Nesta had vacated the premises for a time.

Elain sat down wearily on a low couch. How embarrassing, for Alis to point out what surely everyone in the castle knew: that Elain and Lucien weren’t even resting in the same bed at night together, much less seeing enough of each other to make a child.

The embarrassment she felt now still paled in comparison to her wedding night two weeks ago, when she brazenly dropped the bedsheet hiding her bare body from Lucien’s gaze. Elain had been a little tipsy, true, and wanted to be the brave and fierce woman she needed to be to thrive in Scotland… and apparently she thought showing her naked body to her new husband would accomplish that.

Not that Lucien had objected. She had watched him staring at her flesh, dumbstruck, as his eye slowly traveled down her body, his mouth gaping like a fish. Elain had observed him, too, particularly the bulge under his kilt that grew and grew the more he openly looked at her body. Rather than frighten her, as her aunts had warned her, the sight of his covered manhood had only excited her.

She groaned. Elain hadn’t been able to even look Lucien in the face the next morning at a terse, private breakfast between the two of them, and she had excused herself at the first moment she was able. Since then, she and her husband had been playing a competitive game of cat and mouse, with the twist being neither one wanted to win. At this point, though, Elain wouldn’t object to running into Lucien, frustrated and embarrassed as she was, if only because it would give her something to do.

Elain absentmindedly grabbed a book laying on the table and flipped it open. She had been spending more time in the library here than she’d ever spent in one before, if only because it was somewhere different than her formal sitting room. There she could sew, or gaze out the window at the pretty loch with its brilliantly blue waters… and that was it.

Now, she found herself looking at a map of the Scottish highlands, with major towns and monuments drawn in along the numerous clan lines. Her eyes darted over the page—there were the Vanserra clan lines, far to the southeast; to the east were the Norse-descended MacDonnells. There was a large port town called Adriata to the south, a bog not too far from here, a sprawling settlement in the northern mountains called Velaris, a lonely island off the northeast coast with a single monument called Sangravah—

There were a few knocks on the door. Elain closed the book and tossed it on the table—it was probably Nesta, coming to check on Elain for the hundredth time in the past two weeks. “Come in,” she called dully.

“Ye look like ye could do with some cheering up.”

Elain lifted her head. The beautiful, red-haired woman Lucien had looked so happy talking to at the wedding was peering around the door, taking in Elain all alone in the library. “Unless ye prefer the company of books over people.”

Elain stared, too shocked at the woman’s abrupt appearance to offer a greeting or ask her who she was.

“You doona ken who I am, do ye?”

At Elain’s shaking head, the woman sighed deeply. “I hate to break it to ye, Elain, but yer husband is an eejit. Cannae even be bothered to let his poor wife know that company is coming. I’m Vassa Fraser, Laird of Clan Fraser.”

Elain was stunned. “Laird? Women can be lairds?”

Vassa shrugged, shutting the door behind her and walking towards Elain. “Me dad didna have anyone else to pass the title to.”

“And everyone just… accepted that?”

“Och, no,” Vassa said, smiling cruelly, “but I made it quite clear that if I wasna the next Laird of Clan Fraser, there would be no Clan Fraser at all.”

Elain swallowed, unnerved by this new Laird. “I apologize that I wasn’t here to greet you, Laird Fraser,” Elain said stiffly, resorting to the politeness that had been drilled into her at a young age.

“Tch, say nothing of it,” Vassa said, sitting down casually on a couch across from Elain. “It’s no’ yer fault yer fool of a husband cannae be bothered to notify his wife of visitors. I can give his ears a good clapping, if ye want me to.”

She spoke so plainly and intimately of Lucien. The jealousy that she’d felt at seeing Vassa and Lucien talking at their wedding flared inside her. “Do you know Lucien well, then?”

“Aye,” Vassa said cheerfully. “He helped me take the Clan’s title by force several years ago. He literally beat back the other contenders so I could claim the throne, so to speak. Lucien’s deadly with a sword when it comes down to it.”

There it was—more casual violence from these people. Elain wasn’t sure she’d ever fully get used to it. Still, the trepidation Elain felt towards Vassa was nothing compared to the envy she felt at this woman having some type of closing relationship with Lucien. “Is that the extent of your… relationship with Lucien?” she asked coldly.

Vassa’s eyes widened slightly at Elain’s frosty tone. “Aye, it is,” she said, far more gently than Elain thought she’d respond. “We’re verra close friends and fellow lairds—nothing more.”

Elain exhaled. “I—good, thank you.”

“Besides,” Vassa smirked, “I already have my hands full with my own man. He’s English himself.”

Elain perked up. “Really? How did he come to be up here?” With you , went unspoken.

“Part of the English military sent to crush the, er, slight rebellion my own wee fight to take the Fraser title caused,” Vassa admitted with a wince. “He took one look at me and threw down his weapons right then and there.”

“I see. Sounds… exciting.”

“More exciting than sitting alone in a library in a cold castle,” Vassa noted. “How are ye getting on?”

Elain blinked, startled at the abrupt shift in topic. “All right. I’m settling in.”

“Has Lucien been showing ye around? Helping ye?”

“Er, well, he’s very busy, isn’t he?”

Vassa huffed an unimpressed laugh. “Aye, but ye should be his priority at the moment. Tell me plainly: how are ye doing?”

Elain took a moment to study Vassa. Her bright red was cut short, falling to her shoulders in slight waves. A pair of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen gazed back at her steadily, undeterred by the foreign English woman in front of her. Vassa was fierce and proud, a true Scotswoman. She remembered Eris’s advice from the night of the wedding: speak plainly and be direct.

“I’m bored,” Elain began, sitting up straight. “I have nothing to do here. The staff won’t let me do anything they fear is unbecoming of my station—I can’t go outside the castle walls, nor do anything to help run the castle, even though I’m its new Lady.”

“Are ye surprised the staff at the castle are so similar to your English staff across the wall?”

Elain blushed. “Yes. I thought—“

“That we’d be boorish brutes eating out of our hands and sleeping on the ground?”

Elain scoffed. “Well now, I didn’t think it was quite that desperate up here.”

Vassa grinned. “That’s alright. The Highlands aren’t as fine as what yer accustomed to in England—”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Elain tsked. “I had few freedoms in England. I thought Scotland would be different, that as a married woman I’d have more allowances than before, but it’s been the opposite. I could at least take a stroll into the neighboring villages by myself back in England. It’s incredibly frustrating,” Elain ended bitterly.

Vassa sighed. “Aye, most Scottish women aren’t too limited in their day to day lives but yer no’ a Scottish woman. I know, it’s no’ fair,” Vassa said when Elain tried to interject. “Some folks this far north… don’t care much for the English, and Lucien is a new Laird himself. Suddenly he has a foreign new wife, rather than marrying the daughter of one of his minor lords or land owners, to gain their favor? Until people can be trusted, ye may need to stay safe in the castle,” she ended delicately.

"So I am to suffer alone until Lucien’s people decide they’re not going to harm me?”

“Well, ye have yer sisters for a time, don’t ye?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “My sisters are driving me insane with their constant worrying and nattering and complaining. My eldest Nesta does nothing but make snide remarks about the state of the castle and Lucien, and Feyre leaves in order to explore the countryside on her own, regardless of the consequences. They bicker about everything, then tut about how sorry they are that I’m stuck here for life.” Elain took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “It’s so annoying!”

Vassa chuckled. “I’ve no sisters but plenty of girl cousins—it’s the same everywhere. They’re always criticizing me and fussing over me in the same breath.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I ignore them,” Vassa said simply. “At the end of the day most of them are a bunch of daft bampots that are taking their frustrations out on me. And I have Jurian to talk to, relieve some… stress, y’ken.”

“Must be nice,” Elain muttered.

Vassa arched an eyebrow. “Do ye not see Lucien enough?”

Elain held her tongue. Perhaps the worst indignity of her entire situation was that her new husband couldn’t even be bothered to check on her and make sure she was settling in alright. She knew Lucien was busy— running a clan was difficult—but Elain was apparently dead last on his list. The resentment towards Lucien that had slowly been growing ever since their wedding day threatened to bubble over, but Elain kept herself in line.

“That’s something I can discuss with him the next time I see him, whenever that might be,” Elain said bitterly.

Vassa swore and shook her head. “That fuckin’ doolally,” she muttered to herself. “Absolute roaster.” Vassa looked at Elain thoughtfully. “Do ye enjoy the gardens?”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “The flowers and trees, outside,” Vassa went on. “Do ye ken where it’s at?”

“Yes,” Elain said slowly, trying to figure out why Vassa changed the conversation so abruptly.

“It’s particularly lovely at night, under the full moon, like tonight,” Vassa replied, looking at Elain pointedly. “It might be good for ye to be out there. Tonight especially.”

“Er, alright,” Elain said unsteadily. “Perhaps, after dinner—“

“No! Ye should definitely wait until much later. Midnight, or just before.”

Elain tilted her head. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Not at all, Elain,” Vassa said happily. “The garden is so lovely at night—“

“As you keep repeating.”

“That I think it would be verra good for ye to be out there tonight,” Vassa ended, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Perhaps I shall take a midnight stroll in the garden then,” Elain said slowly. She didn’t think Vassa was trying to trick her or be cruel but it was a very peculiar insistence to ask of Elain.

“Good, good!” Vassa stood up. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Actually,” Elain began slowly, remembering something that had been bothering her since her wedding night, “how exactly are Lucien and Eris Vanserra related? Lucien said they were brothers but they have different surnames.”

“Ah.” For the first time, Vassa looked supremely uncomfortable. “They, ah, they’re blood brothers.”

“So Lucien was born a Vanserra?”

“Aye,” Vassa hesitantly agreed, looking anywhere but Elain’s face.

“But he’s somehow Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“His mother was a Macpherson.”

“If Eris is older than Lucien, why wasn’t he chosen to become Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“Will ye look at the time,” Vassa said, looking around. “I have a meeting to attend—with Lucien, I’ll make sure to clap him around the ears for ye—so I’ll see you at dinner, aye?”

“Yes, but—oh! Goodbye!”

Vassa flitted away, her long tartan dress trailing after her. Elain was left with far more questions than answers.

Nesta came into the library shortly thereafter, and just like she had been doing the past two weeks, immediately began alternating between complaining about the castle and clucking after Elain. Feigning a headache, Elain rushed back to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed.

She shouldn’t have set such lofty expectations for herself, Elain realized. She was only setting herself up for disappointment and heartache. It was clear Lucien wanted nothing to do with her, and while she had hoped for that on the way to Scotland, Elain at least thought he’d spend some time getting to know her, or that she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her new home.

Elain sighed and began getting ready for dinner. She’d go to the garden tonight, as Vassa had urged, and she’d begin the long and sad process of accepting that she was in a lonely marriage for the rest of her days.

XXX

“So, how’s the pretty new English wife?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien grit his teeth. If one more person asked him how his marriage was going…

In truth, most days he forgot he was a married man. He and Elain slept in separate beds in separate rooms nowhere near each other, they never supped together, and they never exchanged more than a brief hello when they passed each other in the halls, and even that was rare.

And for what would be the best part of a marriage for any man, well… it was difficult to convince your wife to lay with you when she wouldn’t even look at you. Not that Lucien had even tried to convince Elain of the mutual benefits of a sexual relationship.

Was he tempted to risk everything he’d been planning for months on the chance to spend some time between his wife’s luscious thighs? God help him, he was. Whenever he thought of their disastrous wedding night, the only thing he could remember was a flushed and angry Elain proudly and unabashedly standing naked in front of him before his bed, her curvy body on full display. It was the most unexpected sight he’d ever witnessed, and Lucien thought that perhaps his English wife wasn’t quite the meek dormouse he had assumed she was. He had never gotten so hard just from seeing a bare woman before. His mind often wandered on its own, imagining what she tasted like, how she’d feel wrapped around his cock, what sounds would escape that pretty little mouth as he fucked her…

But he couldn’t get distracted. Between caring for his lands, the castle, managing his new trade routes and the fragile relationships he was cultivating with various lords and lairds of all of Scotland, and putting the finishing touches on his soon to be enacted plan, he had no time to spend any time with his wife, sexual or not. Lucien did feel a little guilty—he could imagine how frightened Elain must be, cooped up in a drafty castle with no one but her sisters to keep her company—but Lucien couldn’t think of that right now. At least, here in the castle, she was safe.

“She’s fine,” Lucien answered eventually. Probably true.

“Is she adjusting to Scotland well enough?”

“Er, aye, I believe so. Some of the food is a bit off putting for her, but she’ll get there.”

“It’s a shame her father left so soon. Perhaps that would have settled her down a bit.”

“Small mercies,” Lucien muttered. Mr. Archeron had hopped onto a departing wagon train the morning after the wedding, barely waiting to say goodbye to his daughters before he left to inspect the trade routes and roads to which he had bartered his daughter and forced Lucien into.

“Do ye see her much throughout the day?”

“Eh, not so much,” Lucien answered awkwardly. “We, uh, both appreciate our solitude.”

Tamlin nodded like he understood this perfectly. “All of the sisters appear to appreciate their own solitude.”

Lucien grunted noncommittally, too focused at the moment on balancing the estate’s ledger. They were only slightly in the red at the moment, rather than swimming in it like in previous months.

“Nesta does spend a significant time alone in the library,” Lucien said. “And Elain…” What was Elain up to? He certainly never saw her enough to ask, and none of the staff bothered to keep him up to date on her comings and goings. “Elain is learning how to run the estate,” Lucien finished lamely.

“Feyre spends much of her time outdoors,” Tamlin supplied. He stood at the window, staring out over the wide forests that stretched beyond what their eyes could see. “She’s quite the huntress.”

“Interesting,” Lucien deadpanned, trying to look engrossed in his work so Tamlin would take the hint and leave.

“Perhaps I will arrange a hunting party and ask her to come.”

“Sure.”

“And perhaps I’ll invite her to my lands when she and her sister depart, for a short stay,” Tamlin went on, eyeing Lucien from the side of his gaze.

“If it pleases ye,” Lucien said, making a show of rubbing his eye and fiddling with his eyepatch.

Tamlin hummed. “I think I see Feyre in the courtyard now—perhaps I’ll see if she needs someone to accompany her.”

“Aye, aye, very good,” Lucien said, quickly standing up and escorting a thoughtful Tamlin out of his study with a few thumps on the back. “Feel free to borrow one of the horses—not Ajax, he’s a bit of a bastard, but one of the mares, like Daffodil.”

Finally Lucien was alone, but not for long. Three soft raps on his door, then Jurian quietly let himself into Lucien’s office.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“Said she needed to make a detour before our meeting. She'll be along when she’s ready. Is everything all packed? Food, clothes, maps, weapons?”

“Aye,” Lucien answered. “I’ve double checked everything, left plenty of notes without the exact details to Dougal, ye and Vassa and her men will patrol my borders while I’m gone—I think we’ve done everything we can.”

“What are you doing if the weather delays you?”

“Press on even at night,” Lucien answered, their practiced what-if scenarios fresh in his mind. “Trade Ajax for a fresh horse, if it comes to it.”

“And what if the roads aren’t as friendly as you expect?”

“Put my sword to good use,” Lucien said darkly. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone on his journey, but if it came between him and his goal…

“Not your pistol?”

“Only for emergencies. I doona have much ammunition, and it’s more for decoration than protection,” Lucien admitted, taking the heavy gun out from his desk. It was one of the few possessions he had taken from Clan Vanserra when he left, more as a final statement to Laird Vanserra than anything else. It was covered in bronze plating and delicate, black filigree along the barrel and chamber. “Lot of good this’ll do me on the road.”

They continued rehearsing the plan. A nervous weight settled in the bottom of Lucien’s stomach. So much was riding on him, and so much could go wrong at any one moment.

The door to his study slammed open and Vassa strode in, her eyes blazing with fury. Both Lucien and Jurian shrunk back as she advanced on them.

“Ye, Lucien, are an ass!” she shrieked, swinging her arm back and punching his shoulder, then unsheathing her dirk and pressing it to his bare neck.

“What the hell are ye on about?” Lucien gasped, his shoulder aching and heart racing. He tried to lean away from the metal at his skin but Vassa only pressed it harder against him.

“Have ye been completely neglecting Elain for the past two weeks? She’s miserable and lonely! Have ye even uttered a friendly word to her at all?”

“I’ve been busy, as you well know!” Lucien snapped. “After this is taken care of—“

“Oh, ye were just casually going to go on yer way and come back months later and expect Elain to be waiting like a faithful pet? What’s wrong with ye, ye daft fuckin’ fool!”

Lucien flushed. “It’s safer for her this way!”

“Perhaps, but ye could have at least gotten to know her a bit, taken her for a damn walk, do the bare fuckin’ minimum a husband should do for his wife!” Vassa’s eyes were blazing and her hand was shaking with rage. Lucien winced as he felt the trembling dirk in her hand nick the soft skin of his neck.

“Vassa,” Jurian said sharply, “I doubt slashing Lucien’s neck would make Elain any happier.”

“I’m no’ sure about that,” she said darkly, withdrawing her blade and sheathing it. “She asked me what happened to ye that made ye take the name Macpherson.”

Lucien froze, his hand half-way to his throat. “And what did ye tell her?”

“That she’s better off asking ye directly. And ye will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucien relaxed. “Aye, I will. But if I tell her that, I’ll have to tell her everything.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“The less she knows, the safer she’ll be,” Lucien snapped. He brushed his hand over his throat; his thumb came back slightly bloody. “Ye know what some of those Lairds would do to someone like Elain if they turned their attention to her, just based on where she’s from. She’s so innocent and delicate—“

Vassa snorted. “I doona ken about that, based on what she had to say to me. But promise ye’ll talk to her before ye leave.”

“I promise,” Lucien said, his stomach tightening even further as he lied to his dearest friends.

It was far too dangerous to trust Elain with this, to bring her into his closet circle so soon after meeting her. Afterwards, when everything had settled, he would woo Elain properly—she deserved that, and selfishly, Lucien didn’t plan on staying celebite for the rest of his life.

To get to that point, he had this one final task in front of him. Unrolling a map, the three of them bent over his desk, making the final preparations for his journey.

XXX

Dinner that night was an awkward affair.

As there were numerous guests at the castle—Vassa and Jurian, and another Laird friend of Lucien’s, Tamlin Stewart, plus Nesta and Feyre—the staff had nicely done up the ornate wooden head table that hadn’t been used since Elain’s wedding night. A fine lace tablecloth was spreading over the table, and the most delicious scents and foods—mouthwatering roast chickens, the skin golden brown and crispy; individual rabbit pies, spiced and slightly sweet; potatoes basted in butter, slathered in salt and mustard; delicate and herby greens; and freshly baked loaves of yeasty bread—filled the hall.

Elain sipped her wine. Perhaps Alis had a point—Elain would only be a nuisance in the kitchen for a feast like this.

Nesta sat stiff in her chair, shooting small, distrustful glares at the Scots around her. Elain hadn’t told her much of what was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Lucien, feigning marital privacy, but it seems Nesta still found a reason to be angry with her hosts.

Feyre had no such qualms. Her and Tamlin—a hulking beast of a man, with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes and a crooked nose from one too many fights—sat together at one end of the table conversing quietly with each other.

Elain paused and took a moment to study her youngest sister. She’d rarely seen Feyre around the castle in the past two weeks and had quickly stopped wondering where she’d gone off to each day when she showed up for dinner each night. Feyre had proven she could take care of herself; why should Elain bother worrying after her?

Elain thought she had an idea of how Feyre was occupying her time as she watched her younger sister giggle at something Tamlin muttered to her. Elain nearly dropped her potatoes at the sound. Feyre, giggling like a schoolgirl, at a man, no less. It was nearly as foreign to Elain as hearing the same sound from Lucien.

Speaking of her husband…

Lucien looked more tense than usual. Elain could see the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he gripped his utensils to eat. Elain stared, transfixed, as one of his large hands poured himself another ale, as the muscles in his forearms flexed, his golden brown skin seeming to glow despite the dim firelight in the room—

“And how was yer day Elain?”

Vassa was politely looking at Elain as if she didn’t know exactly how her day was. She pulled her gaze away from Lucien’s body.

“It was fine. At this rate I’ll have the entire contents of the library read this time next year.”

There was a thump and Lucien suddenly grunted. “And do ye enjoy reading?” he asked in a pained voice.

Elain furrowed her brows. Vassa was looking at her far too innocently. “It’s an acceptable way to pass the time.”

“Anything in particular caught yer eye?”

Elain paused. “I’ve enjoyed flipping through the books on Scottish history and the maps of the clans, so I can begin to better familiarize myself with the different Lairds.”

“Oh!” Lucien said, his eye widening. “That’s… aye, verra good.”

And dinner ended exactly like it had every night before: with awkward silence between her and Lucien.

Elain wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders later that evening. There was a chill in the air. If she were back in England, this would be a perfect summer’s night.

But she might as well forget all about England and her family and everything from her old life, Elain thought miserably, sitting on a stone bench in the back of the garden. Her life was in Scotland now, and as a woman, that life now revolved around her husband.

What would her life be like if she had married Graysen, rather than Lucien? She’d actually know her husband, and would have had a choice in the matter. She’d be in a familiar setting around people she knew and understood.

But it would be the same monotony she’d spent her life up until now living. With Graysen in the militia, she would rarely see him, perhaps only a few weeks a month or less, if he were called away. She would spend her days reading or sewing or entertaining guests, would receive countless visits from her sisters, and would most likely have a child by the time of their one year anniversary. It would be the same sort of dreary existence that Elain found herself in now.

The only difference was that all the time and effort her mother put into raising Elain into the perfect Englishwoman wouldn’t have been wasted on some uncouth Scotsman. Though even that wasn’t fair. She’d seen enough from those working at the castle and Vassa to realize that the Scots weren’t the maniacal, faerie worshiping heathens the pamphlets made them out to be. It was just Lucien who couldn’t be bothered to be a decent husband.

Elain huffed a breath, standing up. This was stupid—Vassa was clearly playing a joke on her, getting some sort of sick amusement at the idea of an Englishwoman freezing herself at nothing but her own insistence. She stood up and made her way across the garden when a sudden movement caught her eye.

The light from the moon glanced upon a flash of red along the back wall. Elain wasn’t sure if she had imagined it until she heard a scraping sound come from the stone wall behind her.

“Vassa?” Elain asked, moving towards the sound. “Vassa, is that you?”

The sound stopped. Elain rounded a large bush and came face to face—or face to chest, rather—with Lucien.

“Oh!” she gasped, nearly falling down before Lucien caught her by her shoulders and steadied her. They looked at each other in shock. Elain could see Lucien’s remaining eye widen with surprise before he let go of Elain like he had been burned. “I—I didn’t know—“

“What are ye doing out here?” Lucien asked, frustration filling his voice. He hadn’t managed to relax since dinner; his shoulders and neck still looked tight.

Elain’s eyes widened at Lucien’s tone. He seemed frustrated with her ? “Is this garden not part of my new home, and am I not allowed to wander the castle freely?” Elain snapped back.

“Aye, but no’ when it's night and pitch dark out! Why are ye out here?”

Elain considered telling him that Vassa told Elain to be out here, but decided Lucien didn’t need to know everything Elain did. “Perhaps I enjoy visiting the garden at night, when the light of the moon can… shine down on all the lovely plants.”

Lucien stared at her incredulously. “What sort of dumb English bollocks is that? Is this how ye spend yer nights, skulking about in the dark?”

She pursed her lips, a hand on her hip. “And what if it is?”

“It’s a bit odd and I’d prefer it if ye brought someone with ye when ye take yer midnight strolls,” he said, looking up at the bright moon anxiously. “Come on, I’ll get ye in—“

“No! I’m fine out here!”

Lucien tsked. “I can see ye shivering. Stop being so stubborn, lass, and come inside with me.” He reached out a hand for her.

Elain took a step away from him. “I don’t want to!” Elain was aware she sounded like a petulant child but Lucien’s tone of voice grated on her, her resentment towards him rising within her. How dare he try to tell her what to do, when he hadn’t spoken a word to her in days before tonight?

“And what were you doing out here? You’re also ‘skulking about’ in the dark, same as me.”

“I’m, er, conducting a sweep of the grounds,” Lucien replied, looking anywhere but at Elain. “We’ve reports of seeing foxes in the hen houses.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And you thought the middle of the night—in the garden, nowhere near the livestock—was the best time to conduct this search?” She looked him up and down. “And aren’t you a bit overdressed to look for a simple fox?”

Lucien avoided looking at her. He was wearing a kilt, the same green, dark blue and gray pattern he’s worn on their wedding day, knee length worn brown boots, a thick white shirt and a brown jacket. A dirk hung from his hips, and his back—

“Is that a crossbow?”

“It’s a verra wilely fox,” Lucien said evasively, looking at the moon again. “Let me get ye back inside.”

Elain glared at him. “First you compare me to a dog, then you ignore me for days, brazenly lie to me about what you’re doing, and attempt to coddle me like a child. What a fine husband you are!”

“Well, yer acting a bit like a bairn at the moment!” Lucien hissed, advancing towards her and reaching for her again. “Come along!”

“Ah, yes, are you afraid that the fox you’re hunting is going to attack me?” Elain sneered, dodging him again. “At least being attacked by a fox would be more exciting than how I spend my days now!”

For once, Lucien looked a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Elain,” he said quietly, grimacing slightly. “I ken the past few weeks have been difficult for ye. I’m a bit busy with… some things at the moment.”

Elain recognized that Lucien appeared sincere in his apology, but she was too worked up, too angry to accept his kindness and docility so easily. “Too busy that you couldn’t bother to come find me and talk to me at all in the past two weeks?” Elain goaded.

The guilt vanished from Lucien’s face, replaced with a look that reminded Elain of their wedding night. “Doors open from both sides, ye ken.” He looked at her fully, glancing down to gaze at her body before settling on her lips. Elain was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thin shift and the shawl around her shoulders. “But now that ye have me here—“

Elain hadn’t realized she was backed against the garden wall until Lucien stalked towards her and Elain couldn’t back away. She gasped as Lucien towered over her, his strong arms bracketing her head.

“Well, wife,” Lucien said huskily. “What do ye want to talk about?”

This was completely unexpected coming from Lucien, given his frosty behavior before, but not entirely unwelcome. Elain mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Lucien, that all it took was a heated glance to melt her, before she remembered her anger. “You—you’ve been ignoring me!”

“Aye, I have,” he said softly, lowering his head so he was barely inches from her face. This close to Lucien, Elain could make out a tiny scratch on his throat. “Though it pains me so.”

“Does it really?”

“Aye, it does.”

“You’ve a horrible way of showing it,” Elain snapped, fighting to resist Lucien’s charm as his warm lips brushed her temple. She gasped softly at the touch, and felt her knees start to shake. This close, she could smell him so clearly, his long hair dancing across her face: crackling wood from a fireplace on a cold, rainy day, a touch of sweetness like a freshly baked apple pie, and a deep, rich scent that reminded her of the ale they served at dinner. Elain closed her eyes to steady herself. “And I’ve been so lonely and bored here.”

“Verra unfortunate,” Lucien whispered, his lips barely landing over her full cheek and continuing their downward path.

“You couldn’t bother to let me know that we had visitors today. It made me look–” Elain shuddered as one of his large hands settled on the indent of her waist, his long fingers spanning her body and tightening against her flesh– “very foolish as the new Lady of the House.”

Based on the shaky breath he let out, Elain knew Lucien was as taut as she was. “A tragedy of the highest order.”

“And, and,” Elain swallowed, losing her train of thought as Lucien kissed his way along her jaw. He stooped down to trail feather-light kisses down the column of her throat, and Elain couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her lips, especially when his lips continued going down, down, down…

She felt Lucien chuckle against the sensitive skin of her throat, his warm breath dancing across her skin like embers from a fire. “And what, Elain?”

“And you left me alone and naked on our wedding night.”

Lucien groaned, pressing his lips into her forehead. “Which I’ve sorely regretted. How would ye have me apologize to ye?”

Elain looked up at Lucien through her eyelashes. His face was half-cast in shadow; all she could see were the silver scars on his face and the rough eyepatch covering the space where one of his eyes should have been. He looked dangerous and feral, and Elain felt desire suddenly and swiftly course through her body like a raging river.

It made absolutely no sense. Elain shouldn’t desire him like she did right now, especially after the abominable way he had treated her and the rude things he had said to her, even if he had apologized. She had been raised to expect gentle civility and respectful kindness from her peers and eventual husband.

But Elain didn’t want gentle or kind from Lucien, at least not now. His lips lightly sucked the skin under her ear, and Elain couldn’t contain her moan. What Lucien was doing to her body with so little effort was unnatural, like a clever and dangerous fae trying to seduce and tempt her into running away with him, and she was powerless to resist.

Elain had never seen or met such a wild and dangerous man as Lucien, a man who wore his mysteries like a cloak and for whom violence was like a second skin.

Elain wanted him desperately.

“You owe me a proper wedding kiss,” Elain breathed.

He groaned softly, then barely brushed his warm lips against her cheek, a whisper of a promise of more to come. “Like that?”

“I thought the Scottish had more fire in them than that,” Elain shot back, breathing hard and keeping her sharp eyes on Lucien.

“Aye, we do,” Lucien growled, his eye ablaze. His hand skimmed down her waist to her hip and roughly squeezed her flesh, his touch branding her even through her nightgown as Lucien tugged her close to him. Elain gasped at his aggressive touch—it was exactly what she needed, a way to feel something and let out some of the frustration that had been growing inside her the past two weeks. Elain reached up and gripped his biceps as hard as she could, wanting Lucien to feel the same pain and yearning she felt for him.

Based on the groan he let out, Lucien understood her loud and clear. “It seems my wee English wife isn’t the quiet, demure lady I thought she was,” Lucien rasped. Quick as a hawk, his hand not gripping her hip cradled her jaw. Elain stopped breathing, the fire in his eye turning her to stone as his thumb rested on her full lips.

Elain was truly ensnared under Lucien’s spell—that was the only explanation she had as her tongue darted out and barely stroked the pad of his calloused thumb. Just from that small touch, Elain got a taste of rich, loamy, soil, freshly washed linens, and an unknown, bitter aroma as they all wafted across her tongue.

Lucien slowly dragged his thumb down her lips. “An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?” he asked thoughtfully, almost to himself. His hand stroked her jaw, his resolve hardening. “Damn e uile—bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh.”

Elain had no idea what Lucien was saying but she didn’t care, not when he was staring at her with more feeling and want in one eye than anyone with two eyes had ever looked at her. Elain couldn’t breathe, not when his gaze darted to her lips, not when he gently tilted her head back, not when he licked his own thick lips, and not when he slowly lowered his head towards her. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to feel Lucien’s lips against hers, and Elain knew, when his lips touched her own, his fire would start an inferno within her that neither of them would be able to put out—

Somewhere close by, a twig snapped loudly, followed by some loud jeers and laughter. Elain and Lucien froze as the sounds on the other side of the garden wall gradually dissipated away, the silence of the night overtaking them once again.

Elain glanced up at Lucien, who looked stricken, all traces of his desire gone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We—I shouldna’ have let it get that far.”

Her heart cracked a little. Her and Lucien had finally started forging a connection between the two of them, and he instantly regretted it when it was over. Elain pushed him away and righted herself, ignoring the throbbing between her legs.

“You’re right,” Elain said angrily, tears burning the corner of her eyes. “God forbid you spend time getting to know your wife!”

“Elain, I didna mean—“

“I think you meant exactly what you said. Leave me.”

“I can walk ye back inside.”

“I don’t want you to!” Elain snapped, her vision blurry. “You ignore me, play with me, then say such hurtful things.” She balled her fists up, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. Elain looked Lucien straight in the eye. “I had very little say in this marriage, but I’m at least trying to make it work. You’re a horrible husband and I want you to leave now.”

Lucien looked devastated. “Elain—“

“Leave me!” she yelled, her resolve crumbling. “Just leave.”

Elain was aware of Lucien walking away but of little else. Sobbing, she made her way to a bench and sat down, letting all the frustration and anger and sadness leave her, wishing, with all her heart, that she had listened to Feyre and leapt from their carriage and gone back to England.

XXX

Translations:

An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?: Are you a witch, sent to ruin me?

Damn e uile - bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh: Damn it all-I will gladly be enchanted by you, my darling.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #the idiots be idioting in this chapter #i tell you what #this is about as tense and angsty as I get #i dont know how some of yall write chapters on chapters of angst #my poor little heart can't take it #my fic #my fics #would anyone be interested in a tag list?#i can also ask this separately as its own post #but let me know!

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