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cosmictapestry · 8 months

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special request 2. lucienne/morpheus/lucien

this one is PROBABLY going to remain a tumblr exclusive but i mean, characterization-wise and everything it's still consistent with we, divinity.

the full request was lucienne domming morph in his throne while lucien provides helpful commentary. i also decided it would be about grief and closure, because being normal is very difficult for me

prompt fills here

When Lucien first met his counterpart in this reality, he thought she was a woman of unparalleled poise, logic, and wisdom. He feels the same now, with the notable addition that she is also. Exceedingly open-minded. And creative.

In every universe, Dream of the Endless struggles with the burden of the collective unconscious. In every universe, the steward of the realm—his librarian, usually—has some method of helping him manage it. In all Lucien's years of service to Morpheus, he never quite got close enough to try anything beyond helping manage the day-to-day workings of the realm. He has vowed to do better by his new ward, the young lord Dream.

On his quest to find the most efficacious means of relief (a private project that young lord Dream has expressed immense gratitude for) Lucien has stumbled upon some truly unique methods. Somehow, he still did not expect Lucienne.

She sat him down at a table in her library to hear out his mission statement, and he couldn't tell from her face what she was thinking when he explained what he was looking for. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head, ravenlike, and she asked if Lucien was friends with his own Dream.

Lucien had laughed, because the question was a strange one, and because it made him hopelessly sad. Lucienne's own lord was still Morpheus. She did not know that Morpheus was no longer Lucien's king, gone for thirty years now. He would not tell her, and the wards in place on his mind and being would hide the truth from anyone who might pry. "I should certainly hope so," he said. "Though I can only imagine his reaction if I asked."

Lucienne's smile was soft, fond, calculating. "And are you lovers?"

Lucien, struck dumb, could only blink and gape for a moment. "Pardon?"

So she explained it to him, her face and tone level, while Lucien sat there and tried desperately not to squirm.

He is familiar with the dynamic she described, of course. He is just not especially interested in such things, sexual things, and he has not been for a very long time. Or, so he thought, until she explained it to him, and he had questions, and she had answers, and his face was so hot and his curiosity so choking that she asked if he would be interested in meeting her lord, and he agreed with mortifying eagerness.

When Lucien first met this reality's Lord Morpheus, he was relieved and he was grieved to find him just as beautiful and strange and unpleasant as his departed counterpart. There were differences, though, key little markers that Lucien catalogued just as he would in any dream journal. He sat across from Lucienne and her lord at that same table in her library, and he tried not to make it obvious that he had not seen this beloved aspect of his king in decades, but he suspects he was not entirely successful.

He knew from Lucienne that this Morpheus was imprisoned several decades longer than Lucien's own. The echoes of this are palpable. That is not the difference that drew Lucien's attention. Where his own lord tended towards a self-assuredness that bordered on obliviousness to his own behavior, this Morpheus appears embarrassed to be perceived at all. In that first meeting Lucien was struck by the way the Dream Lord's eyes—human blue, lambent but not strangely so—skittered away from him when he was not speaking and often found their way back to Lucienne, sitting beside him.

Morpheus sat in silence while Lucienne explained their arrangement in further detail, answering the questions that Lucien could force past his lips. The need to hear his departed king's voice became too much, inevitably, and he directed the next question to Lord Morpheus. "And this helps you?"

Morpheus blinked, and he glanced at Lucienne, and she gave him an encouraging nod and smile, and he spoke, finally, in a voice deep and rich and familiar and beloved. "When I am Lucienne's, I am at peace, and I am. Safe," said the King of Dreams. She twined her fingers with his, flat on the table. "When I belong to her, I belong to myself. More than I have ever known."

It was devastating to hear that, damaging in a way Lucien could not have predicted; that what his lord needed might have always been so simple. Singularity pressed upon him gently, soft guidance into a role he need not think about, so simple and yet—Lucien was never—he could never have—

He gave himself away then if he hadn't already, Lucien is sure, in the clenching of his jaw or the rapid blink of his eyes. Lord Morpheus only looked at him and said, "perhaps you should like to join us."

Lucien gaped, and Lucienne regarded her lord with intrigued surprise. Unless Lucien was mistaken, there was a spark of excitement in those wide dark eyes. "There's an idea," she breathed, and, much more sharply, "one which we will discuss, at length—should our guest be interested, of course."

And Lucien wondered if perhaps he'd stumbled into the strangest timeline imaginable, and realized he didn't mind at all. "I believe I am interested."

He did not meet with them again for several days while they discussed whatever it was they needed to discuss. Lucien was left to peruse this time capsule of his home with all its whimsicality taken deadly seriously. He does not miss the austerity, only the thrumming lifeforce he felt here. Lucienne's own essence is entwined throughout, echoes of the realm's respect for its steward and regent made a solid part of the foundation with the king's return. Lucien is only slightly jealous, really.

In his time alone Lucien considered the tangled knot of his own feelings in a way he rarely did. He remembered his last meeting with his own Morpheus, how enraged he had been, how disappointed and certain of his own righteousness. He remembered how his lord never confided in him. He remembered never pressing him to. He remembered how it all ended, nothing left of his king but a sweet child who was so like him and so different.

He is jealous of Lucienne, deeply so, but not for the power she holds. Not only that.

He was forced, in his wanderings, to reckon with the fact that his motivations had become entirely selfish. There was nothing he could learn here that would be of use to his young king. This was a chance at an intimacy he might have wanted, once, with the lord who was lost to him.

When he met again with the realm's sovereigns it was in the throne room, a yawning space made warm with golden light pouring in through shifting stained glass windows. There were stone stairs in a spiral leading up to the throne, but as Lucien heeded his summons and stepped through the grand doors the stairs dissolved and the throne come down to rest, plain and innocuous on the floor of the cavernous hall. Lord Morpheus sat there, Lucienne standing to the right of him, and she smiled at Lucien warmly as he approached the throne with a respectful bow.

Again they began with Lucienne doing the talking. She explained, crisp and clinical, that Lucien's participation in their activities would be allowed, even welcome, so long as he followed a strict set of rules, and so long as he understood that he may bow out at any time. Lucien agreed. He thought she looked positively radiant in the light. Lucienne looked at Lord Morpheus, then, slouched in his throne, leaning heavily on one elbow, apparently nonchalant if he did not appear so very nervous.

Morpheus did not say anything. Lucienne cleared her throat pointedly, and he glanced at her, and she raised her brows at him expectantly. He looked back to Lucien. "The rules are for our own comfort. And I would reiterate, if they are too... restrictive, you need not indulge us." His eyes kept flickering away. Lucien waited for them to meet his own again before he nodded his understanding. "Presumably, my counterpart in your reality was also imprisoned by Roderick Burgess, yes?"

Lucien clicked his tongue. "Yes. Not for so long as you, lord. But yes."

Morpheus nodded, and his throat bobbed, and he tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. "I cannot be entirely undressed," he said quietly. "I ask that you not touch me unless I specifically request it. And Lucienne asks the same." Lucienne dipped her head at this, as though embarrassed by the boundary. "You may watch. And you may speak to me. You may ask Lucienne questions. But I am afraid there is little else we will be able to allow." He paused for a long moment, gathering resolve. "Additionally. I would ask that you do not find your own pleasure. At least not in my presence."

There was horror there, sick bubbling in Lucien's stomach, as he quickly realized why Morpheus might be uncomfortable with that. He never knew the full details of his own lord's imprisonment. Perhaps it was not quite the same. He prayed it wasn't. "That will not be an issue," Lucien said. Truthfully, he hadn't considered it at all. "I do need to ask... are you both quite certain about this?"

It was Lucienne who answered. "When Lord Morpheus returned to me after over a century, he was all that I wanted. All that I could trust." Morpheus's hand extended to her, and she twined their fingers as she continued. "I was the same for him. And though we are perfectly content to remain as we are, I believe we are both ready to... to trust again."

Lucien could understand that from his own time alone in the abandoned castle—and his heart went out to Lucienne, to those extra decades she spent holding up a crumbling realm. Both these beings, alone and cold and hurt, finding solace in one another, willing to share it with him.

Lucien felt overwhelmed, suddenly, at being part of this. He bowed his head in the ensuing silence and he swallowed against grief and gratitude. Neither of the realm's rulers pressed him while he gathered his frayed edges. "You said I might speak to you," he said finally, looking to Morpheus. "What might that entail?"

Lord Morpheus sighed, and he looked to Lucienne, and she grinned and tilted her head as though asking if he would like her to explain. He gave a tiny nod in response—and his face was flushed, the slightest pink tinge across alabaster cheeks, and this was something Lucien had never seen before. "Our lord responds well to encouragement," Lucienne said. "Kind words. Praise, if I am to be unsubtle."

Lucien's mouth was dry now, doubly so when the flush on the Dream Lord's face deepened and he shifted in his throne. "That should be easy enough," Lucien said before he realized what he was doing. "He is very beautiful."

Morpheus made a small sound, and Lucienne's expression sharpened into something hungry. "Oh, you learn quickly," she breathed, and Lucien shivered and thought he wouldn't mind her speaking that way to him some more. But she was quiet, calculating, looking between her lord and their guest, until she came to a decision. "I should like to begin now," she said. Morpheus looked up at her wide-eyed but did not protest. "Lucien, stand on his other side."

He was frozen for a moment. This was happening now, apparently, in the throne room, on the throne, with his lord, with Morpheus who was lost and is now found. Lucien began to walk forward as though in a trance and every footstep sounded calamitous in the great hall, until he stood to the left of the throne, and Morpheus looked up at him, tense and obviously fighting not to lean away.

Lucien watched as Lucienne moved to stand in front of the throne and leaned forward to crowd into her king's space. She gathered his head in her hands and pulled him forward to kiss her. He did not relax until she ran one hand back through his hair and gave a sharp tug that made his mouth fall open, and Lucien saw a flash of a red tongue, heard another little noise like music, and he could not look away.

He watched Lucienne gentle her lord, watched her ease his tension with soft touch and whispers until he was panting, shivering, beholden to her. Lucien did not get the sense that he was watching her dominate her king at all—rather, it was akin to the taming and soothing of a wild animal.

Eventually Lucienne pulled back, her thumbs stroking over gleaming skin. Her lord's eyes opened, lashes weighed down by tears, and Lucienne looked at Lucien sidelong. "He needs this badly today," she told him. "He probably wouldn't tell me so, but I can tell when he reacts this way so quickly."

Morpheus shifted, his brow creasing as though offended by her evaluation, but he said nothing. Lucien could not recall another time when he thought his lord to be cute. "You mentioned he could be very responsive," he said. "Is this unusual?"

Lucienne hummed and continued to pet her king's face while he slowly relaxed again. She was really very lovely, heavily lidded eyes dark and thoughtful and gentle, thick lashes casting shadows over full cheeks, lips softly parted in apparent awe for a sight she alone was commonly privy to. "It depends," she said. "You'll recall that part of our arrangement is that he may not shield himself from sensation. I have reason to believe this is entirely new to him."

Lucien blinked at that, and Morpheus did not react at all, which was more telling than a confirmation would have been. Trust is perhaps not a strong enough word for what exists here.

"I am going to disrobe now," Lucienne said as she straightened up gracefully. She smiled at Lucien, who stared at her with his hands clenched hard behind his back. "You may ogle."

Lucien huffed a laugh, because he did not think he would be able to help it if he tried—and, indeed, as her coat fell away and then her shirt and she was left in her brassiere that she unclipped effortlessly and cast aside, Lucien could do little but stare. She bent down to remove her shoes, straightened again to undo her trousers, revealed more and more dark brown skin, more and more soft dip and generous curve and swell of breast and arse and hip and thigh, and Lucien dearly hoped he was not gaping.

He almost wished she would keep the glasses, but those too were set aside. At last she was bare and she stood in the warm light, and for the briefest moment she seemed uncertain, and she glanced at Lucien as though gauging if she'd made a fool of herself. She had not, obviously, and Lucien's expression must convey that, because she seemed to relax and find her confidence again. Lucien would think that Morpheus might not be so easily affected by her undress, having seen her so many times, but that was evidently not the case, judging by the starstruck look on his face.

Would he have ever looked at Lucien like that? If he had just tried, perhaps—and what good does it do now, years after his death, eons after they met, all the history between them for naught, in a different reality with only Lucien's own memories as proof of what was lost. Not that there was ever much between them. Not that his lord ever offered his affections the way this Morpheus did, nervous and genuine. And perhaps it would be best to look at this that way—as a second chance.

Lucien comes back to himself with the ache of grief and the beginning of arousal stirring in his gut, and he finds that the rulers of the realm have thoroughly occupied themselves.

Lucienne kneels astride the throne, one leg on each arm, her hands clutching the back for balance. Her thighs are spread wide, her hips pitched forward, her lord slouching low so he's level with her core. Lucien can't see him working her over, but he can hear the first slurps and moans when her hips cant forward, can see the way his pale hands sink into Lucienne's soft thigh and arse, can practically taste the sweat in the air.

Of the two of them, Lord Morpheus is not the one Lucien would guess to be divine, so thin as to appear frail and so pale as to appear ghostly, mostly clothed in black silks and hidden from Lucien's view. Lucienne, however—entirely bare, dark skin aglow and lit gold, her head tilted back and eyes closed and lips parted on tiny encouraging noises, hips twitching forward to chase her lord's tongue, flesh dimpled by his hands and fingers blanched with the force of her grip on the throne—was she a goddess before this? Lucien would believe it in a heartbeat.

"He's good at that, is he," Lucien murmurs, both so he doesn't feel like quite such an intruder, and to distract himself from the wet sounds that make his skin prickle with sweat. And to hear her try to explain while in such a state.

Lucienne hums, more of a pretty moan, and she bites her lip, brings one hand down to card through her lord's hair. "Yes," she breathes. "He, ah—he likes to please." She rests her forehead on the hand gripping the throne, stares down at him while he devours her. There's a tenderness to her expression that no artistic rendition could possibly capture.

Lucien thinks he'd rather like to help, if they asked. His fingers in her cunt to stretch her, perhaps, as he can see her dripping down her inner thighs now. Perhaps in her arse, if that appeals to her. He closes his eyes and swallows hard. The wards in his mind do not give him permission to fantasize with such abandon, surely. He moves to the front of the throne to watch from behind. "I can see that," he murmurs, and Morpheus lets out a low whine. "Give her your fingers, love."

Yes, this works just fine, having Morpheus work as proxy. His hand on her thigh reaches around to stroke over her drooling cunt. Her folds catch the light with every grind of her hips, swollen and flushed fuchsia and clenching on nothing. Two long fingers sink into her easy as anything, and though the angle is awkward Lucienne tips her head back again to the star-flecked ceiling.

Lucien moves to again watch from the side. Lucienne's skin gleams with sweat. It rolls down from beneath her heaving breasts, and Lucien would like to lick it up. Her hips move quicker, and her hand clenches hard in her lord's hair. Morpheus jolts and gasps and his hands hold her tighter, and he stays still while she grinds on his face, chasing her release. What Lucien can see of his face suggests unwavering focus. "Very good," Lucien says, and hazy silver eyes dart to him. The heat stirring in his gut begins to suffuse the rest of him. "You serve her so well, don't you?"

Morpheus moans, and his body shivers, and Lucien sees his hips roll—he looks down to the front of his thin black trousers, sees the straining bulge there, the dark dabs of wetness seeping through. No exaggeration about his responsiveness, then.

Lucienne rocks forward and back on her lord's tongue and on his fingers, delirious moans and sighs and whimpers and curses from her elegantly arched throat, and when his fingers spread inside her she chokes on a wail, and it is not long after that that she goes still, trembling and tense and keening, a flood of her slick coating her lord's hand, and that hand keeps moving until her sounds verge on pained, and then it gently retreats to rub her soothingly, and she goes lax.

She stays that way while she catches her breath, thighs quivering and hand gentle in her lord's hair. Morpheus sits up enough to smear wet kisses up the crease of her hip, then to nuzzle against her belly, arms wrapping around her waist. This, somehow, is more intimate than what Lucien has just witnessed, and he thinks he should perhaps look away, but Lucienne smiles at him, positively glowing. "Sweet, isn't he?"

Lucien has half a mind to tell her that her lord will not appreciate that, but Morpheus makes a muffled sound and shifts his hips, and Lucien is in awe of her. "Very sweet," Lucien agrees, hoarse. "Does he often have difficulty speaking in this state?"

"Oh, yes," Lucienne gracefully clambers down from the arms of the throne, settling herself in her lord's lap, knees on either side of his skinny thighs and arms around his neck. She cranes her neck to look up at Lucien. "Do get down here with us, you're too bloody tall."

Lucien huffs and does as she says, settling on his knees beside the throne. He is in fact tall enough that he can comfortably sit back on his haunches and rest his elbows on the arm of the throne, leaving him nearly level with the rulers of the realm and giving him an unparalleled view of the way Lucienne drags one hand down her lord's heaving chest while he shivers and stares at her, silent. "I think it is a relief unlike any other. To not have to be everything." She swallows, and her expression pinches. "The words don't come easily when he's just him."

Lucien watches the Dream Lord's face. His eyes well with tears—compassion hurts him, Lucienne had said, could undo him entirely—and he does not look like the god Lucien was allowed to know. He looks like a kiss-drunk and overwhelmed young man desperately clinging to his composure. Lucien's heart aches and he longs to touch. "The Prince of Stories hardly need narrate his own," he says quietly. "This tale can speak for itself."

Morpheus stares at Lucien now, those wide gray-blue eyes astounded, tears falling past the sharp lines of his face. Lucienne leans in to kiss him again and his eyes stay on Lucien for another long second before he sighs and they slip close. He raises his right hand and places it atop one of Lucien's own. Lucien hesitates for only a moment before he turns his hand over and twines their fingers.

Lucienne breaks the kiss and leans back on her lord's thighs, and her left hand comes to rest atop his and Lucien's joined, and her right spreads wide on his belly. "May I touch you?"

Lucien follows the motion of the Dream Lord's bobbing throat, the parting of his red lips, the way his eyes flicker momentarily in Lucien's direction before he dips his head in acquiescence. Lucienne does not move. "Yes. Please."

Lucien hears shifting fabric but he does not look away from Morpheus's face. He can tell when Lucienne touches her lord—it draws a sound from him, tiny and ecstatic, and his lashes flutter, and a pinch forms in his expression. More tears in his eyes, on his face, and Lucien wants to kiss them away. "Alright?" he whispers, and he squeezes the shaking hand in his grasp.

Morpheus clenches his jaw, tips his head back against the back of the throne. He should look relaxed. "Good," he mumbles.

"It can be overwhelming," Lucienne says. Lucien finally looks to see what she's doing. Her lord's trousers are open, his cock in her hand. It is, somehow, jarring to see. Lucien never gave much thought to what genitals his lord might have. The most surprising option, it turns out, is a normal human penis, only just as pretty and smooth and symmetrical as the rest of him. "He'll let us know if it's too much."

Lucien has to think about that before it makes proper sense to him. Alone since Calliope's departure some millennia ago and untouched entirely for a hundred years—yes, he can see how this could be overwhelming, even painful. He watches Lucienne's hand move with soothing slowness, rucking up the silky skin at the head of her lord's cock, drawing it back down, exposing the ruddy leaking tip. On the upward stroke her thumb presses softly at the frenulum, drawing a breathy whine from Morpheus, and Lucien cannot deny the sympathetic stirring in his own trousers. "May I have you, my lord?" Lucienne asks.

Oh, she intends to take her lord, all that thick hard shaft stuffed into the swollen cunt Lucien saw grip like a vice on two fingers—this might kill him and Morpheus both, Lucien thinks. "You've done so well, haven't you?" he murmurs, stroking over a delicate pale wrist. Morpheus heaves and shivers and he makes the most beautiful sounds. "Let her make you feel good, too, love."

"That's right, baby, just like that," Lucienne breathes, and it's directed at Lucien, and his brain briefly stops working.

"Alright," Morpheus mumbles, dazedly looking between the two of them with his pupils blown wide, like the prospect of two compassionate partners is simply too much for him to handle. He shifts, pushing his cock through the loose ring of Lucienne's fist, squeezing tight on Lucien's hand. "You are good to me."

It is an odd, breathtakingly earnest thing to say, and Lucienne appears particularly affected by it, her dark eyes glistening. "None of that, now," she says, and she takes her hand from his and Lucien's and cups his cheek, brushes away a tear with her thumb. "I'm going to make you come until you can't anymore," she tells him, and Lucien again thinks his own life might be in danger. "Listen to Lucien, alright? We're going to take care of you."

Morpheus is out of words, now, and he simply nods, and his lips tremble while he watches Lucienne rise up on her knees. She scoots forward until she is positioned directly over his cock, and Lucien can't tear his eyes away when she reaches behind her to take her lord in hand and run the head of his cock through her folds, gathering her slick and rubbing his own over her. Lucienne glances at Lucien while she does this. "He's likely to come the moment he's inside me," she says. "Be nice to him about it, please."

Lucien grins at Morpheus's embarrassed groan. "Frankly, I don't think he's to blame for that."

"Quite right," Lucienne responds, and she sinks down, and she takes him in.

Morpheus sounds divine in his pleasure, a long throaty moan shuddering from his chest, his hand squeezing Lucien's so hard it's nearly painful. He arches from the throne, tips his head back with an open mouth that Lucienne catches in a brief wet kiss that ends just in time for her to envelop him entirely, and for him to come, his eyes black and swirling with stars in the moment before they slip closed.

Lucien shushes him and soothes him and burns at the sight of his king undone, at the sound of his wrecked sobs that taper into breathlessness when Lucienne begins to move, grinding back and forth in his lap. She wraps one arm around his neck, buries that hand in his hair. The other she tucks under his shoulder while she rests her head in the crook of his neck, lips to his throat, and he turns his face to Lucien to give her more room to nip at his skin.

"Can you hear yourself?" Lucien finds himself whispering. "I never would have guessed you'd be noisy. I never would have guessed you'd be so sweet." Morpheus hiccups and sobs and his expression twists in pain or ecstasy when Lucienne's teeth set to marking his throat, when her hand in his hair wrenches his head back to arch his neck more. "Does it feel good, love?"

"Good," Morpheus chokes, and Lucienne's hand tightens and he wails and tenses and shudders again. "Good, good, good, good—"

"Relax," Lucien soothes. "We've got you. You're alright."

Morpheus's fevered gaze finds Lucien again, glazed and bloodshot with his tears. "Safe," he mumbles, "I know, I know," and Lucienne is only rocking in his lap but he squirms like she's fucking him. "You're both so good," he slurs.

"And you are so beautiful," Lucien breathes.

Lucienne's hand not currently buried in her lord's hair reaches back behind her to where they're connected. She strokes his bollocks, wet with come and slick, shifts them together and thumbs over the seam, and Lucien can see them tighten and pulse when another orgasm leaves Morpheus keening and writhing. "Lucienne," he cries, in plea or in supplication.

Lucienne growls into his neck, and Lucien thinks he understands the feeling.

Once more Morpheus comes like this, and Lucien notices a change. His breath becomes rapid, shallow, and his eyes dart in a way that suggests panic more than rapture. The hand in Lucien's own trembles violently. "Talk to me, love," Lucien murmurs, and Lucienne slows her rocking to hear what's being said.

The Dream Lord swallows and gasps and manages, at length, "gentler, please," and immediately Lucienne's grip in his hair softens to the carding of her fingers through the sweaty mess, and the marks on his neck are bathed in kisses that make him sigh and gradually relax.

She still makes him come again, and again, until Lucien aches sympathetically, until his well of soothing words becomes repetitive but apparently no less effective for the way Morpheus leans into the comfort. By the end of it Morpheus is hardly shaking anymore, hardly making any noise but tiny stricken pants and moans, tears constant and dripping from the sharp angle of his jaw.

He comes one last time, with a weak groan, with a single shiver, and Lucienne stills completely.

In the aftermath Lucien watches the both of them, the way they press together, the way they sweat and shake with exertion and breathe the same air. Lucienne's hand drops from her lord's hair to again join his and Lucien's hands. He feels—he doesn't know how he feels. He rarely does. He knows it hurts to be part of this. He knows it feels good, too.

Later, before Lucien departs to continue his studies, the rulers of this realm will comes to him. Nervously, Morpheus will step forward, and he will cradle Lucien's face, and he will pull him down to kiss him, and his lips will be softer than Lucien could have imagined. The King of Dreams will step away, and Lucienne will take his place, and she will pull Lucien down even further to kiss him, too, and she will taste like home.

"I would request that you might visit us again," Morpheus will say, when Lucienne has returned to his side. "So that we might enjoy you again. Properly, I should hope." Lucien, stricken, will say nothing. He will be taken aback by the compassion on Morpheus's face, the quiet agony on Lucienne's. "I must ask, Lucien... did you find what you were looking for?"

Lucien will laugh, and there will be tears in his eyes, and he will say, "oh, no, not at all, my lord. But I did find something new."

#mmmmmmmm count the morph-specific neuroses lucien and lucienne have in common. mission impossible #don't know why i couldn't shut up with this one sorry i had a lot to say #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #lucid dreaming #lucienne the librarian #lucien the librarian #minors dni #x

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thequeenofmyownscreen · 10 months

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Twenty-five things I noted about CR2E140 “Long May He Reign” :

oh buckle up kids it's going to be a long bumpy ride, but this episode deserves it

Marisha is wearing an ExU t-shirt and that makes me so happy

Yeah, ain't that the mood :

I love the transformation of Lucien the Neo-Somnovem abilities, instead of guilt, now Yasha is mind-transported into her worst nightmare : Zuala shouting "why did you leave me ??"

"Minus eyes" "Minus eyes", I love that it's becoming the phrase to shout.

CALEB IMAGINED THE GLAIVE THAT KILLED LUCIEN AND IT CAME TO LIFE. Ooooooh boy Liam is such a good player, he understood the possibility of what Matt was saying about the aether potential !

Veth screming with joy and lust when Fjord cast Marine Layer, what an episode, guys (he did warn her to "keep [her] clothes on")

Jester, using the power of imagination : "The giant pillar in front of [Lucien] turning into a giant dick covered in eggs, scrambled eggs. And I'm going to use it as a giant bludgeoning device to fall forward and smack him in the face !" Bonus Travis reaction : "That's my child's mother." Bonus Liam reaction : "I mean, in character to the end." Bonus Taliesin reaction : "This is how my parents said I'd die."

OOOOoooh interesting, the attacks on each of the eyes are useful to get rid of the eyes and : a) get rid of nasty effects (that 40+ points of necrotic damage every time Fastidan strikes is no joke !!) b) hurt Lucien in the process

you can also heal with the power of the mind !

Laura tried and tried, but alas, the dice gods were not with her. That's too bad, I would have wanted to see a Divine Intervention of the Traveler SO BAD

Travis utterly failing to sound persuasive towards Lucien with his story of the fruit basket in Zadash makes me laugh so much. Matt : "I'm on the cusp of giving you disadvantage for that one." Travis : "I'm on the cusp of agreeing !"

Ashley blowing her nose in the Socks Machina because she's crying after Jester got killed and she doesn't have any tissues around is the saddest thing I've seen on 3 campaigns of Critical Role (yet).

They were all so stressed !!! I'm appreciating Travis saying "Calm down, let's slow a few seconds" and prompting Sam to fill up the silence even more. CEO BRAIN !!

After Caduceus tried to Revivify Jester, but Matt left it in suspense, before revealing it worked... the instant relief and simultaneous freak-out of the cast, tag yourself, I'm Liam :

TWO NATURAL TWENTYS MARISHA RAY IS A GODDESS

"can we animate that ?" Travis got hit by the Appollo ball, and also no ! because he's got to know by now that everything the cast ever says will come true, right ?

Caleb got the same treatment Jester did by Lucien : unconscious, and then with one attack left he finished him on the spot.

Jester, basically : "I'm a cleric, but..." and she didn't wait for an answer before getting the HDYWTDT on Lucien !

You know it's a good D&D game when there's only silence, hysterics bouts of laughter, and then more silence, mouths open because everything that just happened was incredible.

my thoughts from this point on were... not very coherent : "Oh my god, they're doing it. They're trying to resurrect Molly (When I began this campaign, I knew that Taliesin's first character died and somehow… came back ?? The details were not was I was searching for, since I hate getting spoiled on a good story.) oH MY GOD A NATURAL ONE NOOOOOOOW ???? WHAT IS HAPPENING ? IS IT ALL A DREAM ?? ARE THEY ALL DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING ??"

"It's just not fair" broke me

Beau : "We may be heroes that no one knows about. But we know."

the end... like, what the fuck. CADUCEUS ROLLED ANOTHER DIVINE INTERVENTION and THEY HAVE DONE IT THEY BROUGHT HIM BACK my heart was beating a hundred times a minute

"Someone call Burch, she's off the hook" I'M SCREAMING

And the Mighty were Nein

#my thoughts #critical role #cr campaign 2 #CR2E140 #it's... my longest post on Campaign 2 but ! this episode deserved it

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laxmiree · 1 year

Text

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Undercurrent ASMR translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for an ASMR that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

youtube

Don’t forget to turn on CC~

Hold me tight

Let's get on the boat first

I'll help you take off the mask and the snorkel

Put the towel on

The wind is strong at the sea

Be careful to not catch a cold

How are you doing?

Are you feeling better now?

Do you still feel a little scared?

It's okay

It is easy to choke on the water when you try free diving for the first time

In terms of the performance just now

You've done a great job

Your ears,

feel uncomfortable?

Probably because the dive was relatively deep

Resulting in water pressure that’s too high

Let me rub them for you

Are you more comfortable now?

The look on your face already told me.

I'll tell you a secret

Actually

When I first learned to dive

I'm also a little afraid of the sea

It's true

I'm not lying to you

Although it may seem to you

that I'm already proficient

But I wasn't always this good at it

I can see the curiosity on MC’s face

You can listen to the story if you want

However

To relax your body completely

Let me give you a leg massage first

Perhaps it can relax your muscles a bit.

And more able to ease your current feeling

Is the force too strong?

Judging from MC's reaction of squinting her eyes in comfort

My massage technique

Seems to work pretty well?

Good

Tell a story?

Let's see

Where should I start?

I still remember

During my first dive

I thought I would see some strange underwater creatures

Or immerse myself in the beautiful underwater scenery

But that's not the case

As I went deeper and deeper

Before my eyes

Everything becomes cloudy

I can't see anything around me

Sounds

And everything in the outside world is so far away from me

I seem to be

Wrapped and submerged in a dull gray color

There is a tremendous sense of loneliness

Drowning me out

...I feel my own insignificance

And a

Unprecedented tranquility

I just imagined myself

as part of the bottom of the sea-

A single “swimming fish” that got lost and separated from its group

I close my eyes

To feel the sea around me

And with every current that I meet

Gradually

This sense of dread

Dissipated a lot

Wait a moment-

[fish noise+chuckle]

Looks like a little guy jumped on our boat

[Lucien throwing the fish back into the ocean]

It's a small fish.

I guess just like a certain curious little girl

It also wants to listen to the story

Continuing from where we left off

Then,

Can the Great Producer who has always had a rich imagination tell me

When we were at the bottom of the sea

Did you think of anything?

“A bulky sea turtle?”

[laughs]

I would say that

MC's posture is much more graceful than that of a sea turtle.

I’m not lying

When I was following you from behind just now

Watching your back

I was thinking

I wonder if you are the "mermaid"

who swam from the depths of the sea

You call that a beautiful word?

[kiss]

If my " beautiful words"

can make your face smile so happily all the time

Then it doesn't hurt if I say more

Want to try diving again?

Sure

But only if,

You say that you’re not afraid

Why do you look so sad?

Give me your hand

Before going into the water

You need to stretch a little more

[breathing noise]

Relax

Give me your body

Now put on the gear

Don't be nervous

Try to breathe deeply.

[breathing noise]

Like this

Do you remember?

The person next to you

In terms of diving,

he is also an experienced senior.

So, don't worry too much

No matter how deep you dive

I will always be with you.

#asmr but instead of spicy we get em angsty #still pretty sweet thoo #him talking about his fear so mc doesnt feel alone :"#mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc spoiler #mlqc cn #mlqc translation #mlqc #love and producer

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houseofhurricane · 2 years

Text

One of my absolute favorite things about Sarah J. Maas as a writer is her control of tone, especially in her more recent books.

Does that sound weirdly specific and maybe not exciting? Let me give you an example, from one of my favorite passages in ACOSF:

Eris looked toward the hills beyond the orchard, green and gold and glowing in the sunlight. “They say a beast prowls these lands now. A beast with keen green eyes and golden fur. Some people think the beast has forgotten his other shape, so long as he spent in his monstrous form. And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability. Even his manor has fallen into disrepair, half-eaten by thorns, though rumors fly that he himself destroyed it.” “Enough with the double-talk,” Cassian said. “Tamlin’s staying in his beast form and is finally getting the punishment he deserves. So what?” (ACOSF, 164-165)

I love how Eris and Cassian speak in these very distinct ways. Eris speaks like someone in a fairytale, and Cassian’s speech is almost contemporary. SJM uses this difference to highlight the differences in their characters, but it also shows the regional influence of the courts. Cassian’s way of speaking is very at home in the Night Court. Though he speaks distinctly from Rhys or Azriel or Nesta, for example, they could all easily pick up each other’s mannerisms without sounding strained.

In contrast, Eris could never trade phrases with any of these Night Court members without sounding ridiculous. I think this speaks to the relative formality of the Autumn Court, or at least the company Eris keeps there. It makes me excited to potentially delve further into that world, because I enjoy this heightened register and what SJM does with it, especially in ACOTAR, where the Spring Court is slightly more formal, if not quite on the level of Eris.

If you’re thinking my theory is a little far-fetched, allow me to bring my favorite, Lucien, into this. After he observes Nesta’s powers in training, this is his reaction:

Cassian stared in stunned silence, the smoking wood hissing in the rain. Lucien came up beside him. He only said again, voice solemn, “Mother spare you all.” (ACOSF, 418)

By this point in ACOSF, we’ve heard a lot of cursing, and I thought SJM might have abandoned all of the “Cauldron boil me” and “Mother bless you” of previous books. But here it is, back with Lucien. And let’s be honest, can you imagine Lucien saying “fuck” in this context, the way Cassian might?

That’s great dialogue writing, when the things one character says could not possibly be said by another. And it’s great world building, because those linguistic tics are tied to the places the characters live and the expectations placed on them in those locations.

Having read so many fantasy novels where authors don’t seem in control of the language, undecided as to whether its modern or medieval or Elizabethan or Victorian and usually making a muddle that quickly pulls me out of the story, I love how SJM not only has control of the language, but is able to focus this skill on each character’s words. You could take out the speech tags and quickly figure out who is talking, and frankly, that’s total mastery of dialogue.

#sjm close reads #acotar #acosf #eris vanserra #cassian #lucien vanserra #is this the nerdiest sjm post i have ever written #i know i am critical but i also just love sjm and what she does well #also why is cassian in all these scenes

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lafiametta · 1 year

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Ummm is the fascination that Lucien has with Ling Yi supposed to be romantic or something completely different? Like, they first meet on the ship deck and he says how he'd always wanted to go to Japan, and then when she dances for him, he doesn't want to do anything more... He just says he needs a break from everything else... And then the look they give each other when walking through the dark halls... I'm just curious about their whole dynamic. Any input you have with them? 🤔

Yeah, so I think Lucien's fascination with Ling Yi is tied up in a lot of different things, including sexual objectification, cultural fetishism, and Orientalism. (I don't think he's really interested in her as a person, is what I'm saying.) It makes sense in some ways: Lucien is suffering from a debilitating and fatal illness that causes him to have seizures and the only medication he can take for it results in erectile dysfunction. He can't successfully have sex with his new wife and to distract himself from the emasculating shame of it (and his underlying fear of death), he projects his desire onto an "exotic" Other. I mean, he also might have been genuinely interested in Japan: in the late 19th century, Japonisme was all the rage in Europe and many of the European elite became fascinated by Japanese art, culture, and design (just look at Vincent van Gogh, The Mikado, etc).

His reaction to Ling Yi's dance is fascinating: he's completely entranced, and it's only when she stops the music that the spell is broken. Once she starts to disrobe, he quickly stops her (probably remembering that he wouldn't be able to have sex even if he wanted to), plus he senses that he's about to have a seizure, due to the fact that he dropped the medicine vial on the floor of his stateroom earlier. And then there's the whole monologue ("Things never work out the way you imagine they will. This is exactly what I wanted my whole life. First class. Fine clothes. I thought I deserved a different life. None of that matters anymore"), which almost makes me feel bad for the guy, until I remember that he's a fraud and an imposter who got his "different life" at the cost of Jérome's freedom.

The exchange of looks on the way to the engine room is a fun little unspoken moment. Because Ling Yi clearly recognizes him (he had been a client, or potential one, at least) and maybe she feels a little bad for him (he did have a seizure in front of her) or even a little scared of him. (At this point in the narrative, she's clearly with Olek, so much so that she goes with him and the other men to the engine room and not with the women, and maybe she thinks that Lucien could be jealous or angry at that fact.) Lucien at least has the good sense to look slightly ashamed and glances away once Olek realizes what is going on. I think there's also an element of Lucien having to realize that Ling Yi is a real person (and not merely an object for his desire), now that he sees her without her wig and makeup, the geisha persona having been erased.

Thanks for the question, Anon — it was really fun to think about!

#1899 #1899 spoilers #lucien #ling yi #meta #ask and answer #anon asks #1899 netflix

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my-inner-crisis · 2 years

Text

Liability: Chapter 2

Summary: A mating bond is supposed to be sacred, right? It seems to be working out just fine for everyone but him. At the first Solstice Lucien tries to spend with the Inner Circle, just to see his mate, everything goes wrong. The second Solstice is even more of a disaster than the first one. And there seems to be no end to his descent to rock bottom. As Lucien navigates his everchanging bonds with family, old and new friends, and enemies, his thoughts race towards self-destruction, only halted by a mischievous and dangerous glimmer of hope, a thread tying him to reality. And that thread is indestructible. Is that a blessing or a curse?

The story begins at the first Solstice and follows Lucien’s point of view, so some of the dialogue is directly lifted from ACOMAF and ACOSF later, with other scenes peppered in there to expand Lucien’s experience as he likes to do things off the pages apparently. A little later there will also be some Elain pov :)

Chapter 1

Warnings: just pure angst I guess but there will come a time for nice things too

Chapter 2: Another Solstice

“How’s Tamlin?” Rhysand asked warily, glancing up at Lucien from the stack of papers on his desk.

“He’s… stagnating. Things aren’t looking up exactly, but he’s doing what is necessary. He did complete the Calanmai ritual, so I guess that’s a positive, right?” Lucien hummed. “I know it pains you to have to coddle him, but I think it’s best if you leave him be. He did help revive you, and he did save Feyre and Elain. He isn’t your enemy,” he added, watching Rhysand’s reaction carefully.

“I know. I only blew up at him once, for things I still feel justified in, Lucien. You weren’t even conceived when this started between Tamlin and I,” Rhys murmured with a shrug, his blue eyes flashing violet as if whatever he remembered from the past still filled him with rage. “I’m not going to punish him for that, he was punished back then. But there will never be a time when there is no bad blood between the two of us. The best I can offer you is diplomatic allyship.”

“You’re not offering that to me, Rhysand. I’m your emissary, and exiled from Spring. I’m your messenger now,” Lucien pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “My sole connection to Tamlin at this point is the past. He doesn’t want a friend or help, not yet.”

Rhysand only nodded as he considered Lucien’s words. “He is going to need you to build his court back up. Someone familiar, someone who is liked by his people too, and someone who can… reform things a bit. Tamlin’s a brute, he isn’t exactly a par excellence High Lord, nor did he wish to be.”

“Azriel also expressed that I should be more permanently stationed in Spring…” Lucien hummed, his russet eye flashing. The shadowsinger didn’t like him. He was not quite sure what he had done to deserve his wrath, but he knew their cordial diplomacy was only still intact due to the High Lord and Lady’s requests. “But I’m not sure if I’m able to provide as much help as you think I can. I’m no High Lord, and I’m not an experienced leader by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You are an heir to a Court, are you not?” Rhysand asked pointedly, raising his eyebrows. He was, he knew that too. But Lucien was nowhere close to ever becoming the High Lord of the Autumn Court, and he knew it. But, as if he was sensing ─ or reading ─ his thoughts, Rhysand went on. “You have skills Tamlin simply does not have, maybe not directly related to leading. But you are liked by many, you have connections, you know the fae and faeries who inhabit that court, better than Tamlin does. And you have good rapport with the sentries, the help, the people who used to serve him. You could help him.”

“And I will if you ask me to, you know that,” Lucien answered with a small shrug. “Tamlin’s court is in an essential location, it is the first Court beyond the wall… even if we can achieve harmony, we need to establish order and to not let humans wander into my… Beron’s court, or they’ll be executed for sport.”

“What about Tamlin? Would he hurt the humans?”

“I doubt it. He might have the urge to be wild and brutish out of desperation, but he’s only been harming animals that he hunts, or the occasional naga, whatever remains from the blight,” said Lucien, monitoring Rhysand’s reactions. “He isn’t all bad, he isn’t trying to harm anyone but himself. And he made bad decisions because he was tricked. We didn’t know you had good intentions, Rhysand.”

“Some things certainly could have been handled better,” the High Lord conceded. “But for now, we need to work on getting him back on his feet. I can’t do that, we egg each other on. So, I’ll rely on you. I need to wait for Azriel’s return to see if he has anything to report from the continent to Vassa. Would you like to stay for lunch until then?”

Lucien was about to make up an excuse just as Feyre stepped into the office, positively glowing. Pregnancy suited her, even though he could tell Rhysand was particularly worried about her. Something seemed off, but he didn’t ask. If it was sensitive information, he would not be trusted with it anyway.

“Lucien!” The High Lady smiled, waving to him as she entered the room, standing by her mate who immediately wrapped an arm around her waist. It was such a simple gesture, it made his heart ache. Sometimes he wished he could just segregate his brain into different sections to make sure he wasn’t slipping into worthless thoughts about pining and yearning for his own mate. This situation was utterly ridiculous. So, instead of letting his pain take charge, he offered Feyre a polite smile.

“You look well. Are you taking it easy too?”

“I am. Rhys won’t let me do anything too difficult to begin with. He’s ridiculously overprotective,” Feyre chided her mate with a warm smile, adoring eyes sliding over him before turning back to Lucien. “How are you?”

“Never better,” he hummed his reply, earning himself an incredulous look from Feyre. “Fine, I’m fine.”

The High Lady waved a dismissive hand and smiled lightly, at least not trying to pick a fight. “I’m glad you are. You do look better too. You’re getting some sun in the human lands.”

“When I’m not writing letters to the spymaster, I mostly hunt, like old times. There are a lot of hungry humans out there, and with the fallen wall, I try to patrol the area every now and then, in case someone gets a bad idea to cross into the other realm,” he explained with a shrug. His next question came only after some consideration. He didn’t want to see Rhysand pity him, and he didn’t want a lecture from Feyre. “How are your sisters?”

The question hung awkwardly in the air. Lucien could see Rhysand avert his eyes, almost as if he didn’t want to see what sort of mental gymnastics Lucien was working on to not just beg Feyre to let him know his mate was alright.

“Elain’s alright, she’s helping people around Velaris restore their gardens, Nuala and Cerridwen are out with her now too, if I’m not mistaken,” said Feyre with a tight smile. She’s not here, you’re not seeing her today, she won’t look so pained to see you exist, but you also won’t see her anytime soon ─ his mind was racing with these thoughts, but he forced himself to stop and focused on Feyre as she continued. “Nesta is better too, actually. She’s training. Her powers from the cauldron… they manifest themselves in some sort of fire. But I don’t think she knows how to control it yet. If I’m honest, we don’t really understand it. Maybe you could take a look?”

“Take a look?” Lucien arched a brow.

“To see if you understand whatever it is she’s wielding?” Feyre supplied.

“I mean… I can look but there’s not much I can tell you, this is certainly not my speciality.” He wasn’t quite sure what the intent was here, other than to possibly get him out of the house in case Elain came back. But that was the least charitable thought anyway, maybe he was just projecting his misery.

“You could also check her progress. Since the last time you’d seen him, she looks much better, and she’s much stronger too. I’d like to know your opinion.”

“I can take you if you’d like,” Rhysand suggested but Lucien was quick to object. “Don’t trouble yourself, I can go up the stairs.” There would be no more carrying, no more uncomfortable flying, not when he could help it. Rhys had the decency to not push it at least. Feyre only hummed an agreement.

“You can technically winnow above a balcony too and fall on it if you prefer that to the stairs, but if you don’t know the house so well… don’t die on me so stupidly,” she grinned.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’ll be sure to use the stairs for now, and check out a balcony for… my upcoming reckless attempts,” Lucien joked, and truthfully, he didn’t mind escaping from the High Lord and High Lady’s presence. Their relationship had become much better over the last few months. But the friendly behavior was a front sometimes, he knew that.

“I think you’ll also get a kick out of seeing her punch and kick like she does,” Feyre suggested with a knowing smile.

“We can meet up after, here or at the House of Wind, with me, Az and Feyre, if that’s alright,” Rhys suggested with a smile.

Lucien didn’t want to stand around and make small talk. So, instead of lingering and getting himself into more awkward wordplay, he walked across the streets of Velaris, focusing on the Sidra, the children playing in the streets, the artists’ quarter ─ just about anything he could to not focus on that knowledge that Elain was somewhere, in this very city.

“Overgrown bats,” he grumbled to himself when he faced the tall, winding stairs, exactly ten thousand of them. He looked around the House of Wind once again, his metal eye whirring and clicking as it revealed the thick wards protecting the area. With that eye, he could see the intricate patterns of the safety net surrounding the house, some spells ancient and unknown, others as easily recognizable as a plait braided not of hair but of shimmering strands of magic. He could make out some glamours placed within the depths of the house too, but for that he would need to be closer, so his good eye could understand what Nuan’s invention was showing his metal orb. But those strands of magic, ancient and new, they were beckoning to him, almost urging him to touch them, to manipulate them, to untangle them. It felt as though he could reach out and grasp the magic, unfurling it with his bare hands.

He spared no time contemplating the sight his metal eye was revealing, and instead he started up the stairs. All ten thousand of them. It was not an undoable task, but the winding turns and tall steps were certainly a challenge. Once he got up to the top, Lucien blew out a breath and hoped no one was around to see his pathetic state. He needed to take a few breaths and possibly get some water before he would even go near the viper…

So, he listened carefully through his own gasps for air and once he was certain no one was around to see him struggle, he made his way to what he believed to be a kitchen, drank some water, shamefully, sat for a few minutes with his glass. The House of Wind, of course, was beautiful, tastefully furnished, and wholly inaccessible. At least he could acquaint himself with a balcony for the next times he would inevitably have to winnow in here again. He got to his feet finally and stalked across the Hosue until he reached the training area, guided by a female voice gruntning and the sound of something getting a thorough beating.

“By the Cauldron,” he muttered from the archway when his eyes had finally settled on Nesta, who was indeed punching the life out of a piece of wood. Cassian was watching her intently, and Lucien was certain from the mingled scents that the two had found each other, even though he hadn’t heard about any celebration just yet. “Feyre said she was training, but I hadn’t realized she was… well, training.”

Cassian nodded a curt hello, but his eyes soon drifted back to Nesta. “Did you think she was filing her nails?”

Lucien didn’t bother to respond to the surprisingly aggressive retort. His mechanical eye clicked as it followed Nesta, and suddenly he could see some sort of fire raging within her. It was no fire like his own, it was cold, deadly, and utterly terrifying. In her anger, Nesta seemed to be fuelling its strength, the flames ─ invisible to the naked eye ─ were lapping at her skin, coating all of her body like a malevolent aura.

“I wonder if there are some things that should not be awoken,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. That power, whatever it was, it was not good. It was the fire of death, raging in her veins, ready to escape and annihilate.

Cassian shifted as he looked at him, disdain washing over his handsome features. “Mind your own business, fireling.”

Lucien felt himself go pale as Nesta’s rage filled hands kept hitting and hitting and hitting the padded piece of wood. His eyes only landed on Cassian when the male had spoken again, his tone sharp.

“Wy are you here? Where’s Elain?”

“I’m not always in this city to seemy mate,” Lucien answered silently. It still felt so foreign to say the words, out loud. My mate. He had no claim over her, and he didn’t have her. My mate was a dream and a wish at most. “And I came up here because Feyre said I should. I need to kill a few hours before I’m to meet with her and Rhys. She thought I might enjoy seeing Nesta work.”

“She’s not a carnival attraction,” Cassian answered through gritted teeth.

“It’s not for entertainment,” Lucien answered, leaning against the archway. He was pretty sure Feyre had wanted to get him out of the River House, in case Elain got back. This little task didn’t seem like something he needed to do, but alas. “I think Feyre wanted a progress assessment from someone who hasn’t seen her in a while.”

“And?” Cassian bit out. Lucien couldn’t really pinpoint why the friendlier Illyrian was so standoffish now. This was the second one, after Azriel… He cut him a glare, but stilled himself before his anger could bubble up and lash out. He didn’t want to risk a fight between the famed Illyrian general and himself. “I’m not your enemy, you know. You can drop the aggressive brute act.”

“Who says it’s an act?” Came the retort as Cassian grinned at him, a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Fine, be like that, he thought, exhaling loudly. “Very well, then.”

Whatever he did, he stuck out like a sore thumb in this court. And its inhabitants certainly didn’t make it any easier to help him settle in. Not that he needed help. He got himself an apartment, he made himself useful, he worked for them, he tried to make the most out of the situation. But the constant standoffish attitude from so many of them… he should’ve simply gone to his own apartment.

He remained in the archway as Nesta seemed to go for the last few blows. She delivered them expertly but as she turned, Lucien saw the silver flames flicker in her eyes. He didn’t need his metal eye to see that. She pulled back and went past him and Cassian, ignoring both of them, but as she passed, Lucien could feel that cold fire of death radiating from her skin.

“Mother spare you all,” Lucien mumbled silently once she had most definitely passed and couldn’t hear him. But Cassian didn’t react, his eyes were trained on the wooden block Nesta had been pummeling. Parts came off, but the wood was still intact. Lucien could see the cold fire that laced it now, from the inside. Not a moment passed before the entire block turned into a pile of cinders. The destruction of such fire, woven from death… it was immesurable, especially in the wrathful hands of the viper.

He couldn’t help but repeat it, again, his voice sullen, “Mother spare you all.”

This house was his personal hell. The Night Court was wonderful, impossibly so, and draped in garlands and baubles during the longest night of the year, Velaris was a positively stunning city to visit. Rhysand was loved by his people, Feyre found her home and her status, she found a true family and circle of friends, and all was well for everyone here.

Still, Lucien could never shake off the feeling that he simply didn’t belong. His only reason to come to such a celebration was his mate, and everyone in the house knew it. He could pretend to feel at ease and discuss sports with Rhysand and Cassian, the boisterous and friendly general. As if he cared. As if he had any interests he could casually discuss with these people. The Inner Circle wasn’t unwelcoming, but that’s what they were. A circle of friends and family, tied together by years and years and centuries of shared experiences, of love, young and old, and ease - the sort of ease one developed with trusted people. And there lay most of Lucien’s problems that weren’t directly tied to his mate. None of these people really trusted him. The shadowsinger avoided him, and probably knew his very last movements, not to mention actions. Rhysand and Feyre… Lucien didn’t trust them to not check his thoughts, to actually look into his head and find that desperate and disgusting mess that was his mind at the moment. They’d find the pining, the anxiety, the pathetic attempt to pick out a present for someone who he didn’t know but wanted to, desperately. No one needed to know about that. Especially not his mate’s sister, who would talk about it. Maybe not with Elain, he hoped. But with Mor, or Nesta even.

The viper seemed to be sinking in her own misery but her eyes darted over him every now and then, as if she intended to get her shit together just enough to pounce on him with an overeager gesture to protect her sister from him. As if Lucien would ever hurt her. As if he’d ever do anything to upset her. His presence was upsetting enough. He didn’t even know why the High Lord and High Lady bothered to invite him. Feyre was his friend too, once. Now, things were getting back to normal slowly, but slowly indeed. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been back to a healthy and easy friendship had the bond not snapped into place in that gods damned moment. Had he bit his tongue. Had he had more control over that big mouth of his. It had already cost him an eye, and yet… had he not learned anything?

Now, at least with Feyre, things were back to - mostly - normal, except when Elain entered a room. Then Feyre’s clear blue eyes became overcast with worry and a vigilance Lucien could only assume to mean that she did not trust him around her sister. He could handle Feyre. He could understand her. And, if he was honest, he knew that Feyre may have checked his thoughts already, maybe a bunch of times just since he had arrived. Lucien tried not to dwell on that for too long. The ability shared by the High Lord and Lady were terrible and terrifying, and, most of all, an invasion of the worst kind. If he focused on it for too long, Lucien was certain he would drive himself crazy. Every now and again he tried it. Are you in my head now, Feyre? He thought it, glancing at her carefully to gauge her reaction. Now was not the time for games of that kind. He didn’t need the added pressure of having that confirmed.

The worst one was the shadowsinger. As far as he knew, Azriel was a good male, one that helped him escape the Autumn Court with Feyre on that faithful day when Lucien left Tamlin behind to see his mate. But the way Azriel looked at him, there was palpable anger there. Lucien was no spy, but it wasn’t a difficult task to decipher the other male’s apprehension. Not when he noticed Azriel lingering in every doorway Elain passed, intently watching her move across the River House. He didn’t say much at all, but Lucien didn’t need anyone to spell it out. Rhysand could swear up and down that he was not the ravishing type, even one who reads minds could be wrong sometimes.

The worst of it? He caught that moment they shared after Nesta had arrived. He saw that shared look, something he had never seen on Elain’s face, not when those lovely brown eyes were looking in his direction. He could keep up conversation about sports and force his features into neutrality, but in his mind, the disappointment spread like droplets of ink in clear water. Nesta asked him some questions and he answered them as best as he could. He had no good news, no real feat, nothing to brag about. His High Lord and friend was a mess, he couldn’t help Vassa, he had to sit with two humans who were falling in love right in front of his eyes while his own prospects seemed to deteriorate with every breath he took. He tried his best not to be unkind or jealous, but it bubbled up every now and then. So, instead he murmured a safe question to the eldest Archeron.

“How’s the training?” That did the trick. Nesta seemed excited and unabashedly happy with her progress. Good for her. And good for her horrendous destructive nature that made him choke on his drink, but invited other people into the uncomfortable small talk they were sharing about disemboweling males.

An impossibly long hour dragged by and Lucien was running out of things to say and whiskey to sip before he would get sloshed. He thanked the Mother silently when Morrigan started talking about opening presents. Last year he hadn’t been around to see Elain’s reaction. She had disappeared into the kitchen and hadn’t come out at all, not until he left. It wouldn’t be any better now, Lucien was sure of it. But it ushered in an opportune and appropriate time to finally leave this party, once everyone got their presents. Everyone except him, if his calculations were correct. And surely they were. He got something for Feyre, it was her birthday after all. And then Elain… of course she probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but that didn’t stop Lucien from foolishly staring at thousands of pieces of jewellery, as if he could guess what she liked. He considered the lovely golds of Day, the sparkling gemstones of Dawn, the icy crystals of Winter, he had even looked in the human lands. He was mindful to stay away from anything related to Spring or Autumn, in case she would think he was trying to mark her as his own. Or, if Elain didn’t know of such symbols yet, he did not wish to anger the High Lord and High Lady with some unfounded subliminal message. And, as much as he yearned for his home, he hoped Elain would be safe and sound tucked away from the Autumn Court and its sadistic ruler.

After wasting his time for an embarrassingly long time, Lucien settled on pearl earrings. Pearls were the speciality of the Summer Court and they were positively lovely, yet simple, elegant but subdued - something Lucien thought Elain would appreciate. These earrings would never overpower an outfit, they didn’t dictate the rest of a look, they were easy to pair with anything. She could forget about them. She didn’t need to look at them, she could ignore the negative feelings she associated with him. And maybe the earrings would bring some joy, maybe she’d appreciate them reflecting the light, even when they would be attached to a part of her body she did not wish for. Maybe…

In the present, in reality, however, Lucien knew Elain would not care for the earrings. No one would think this much about them. He knew the instant he went to give her the little velvety box. She didn’t meet his eyes, she didn’t even look at him, she barely mumbled a thank you. Not that he needed to be thanked. Not that she owed him anything. Lucien knew all too well that he was not entitled to anything in life - not a home, not a family, not his mate. But he wished for these things nevertheless. So, always the idealistic fool, he got what he knew he would get, but that didn’t soften the blow. Elain shrank back into herself as if he would harm her or scoop her up and steal her away, or gods knew what terrible things she thought him capable of. Lucien didn’t hover, he didn’t wish to make a scene, so he sat back into the chair he had occupied, keeping his eyes trained on his glass. His fingers dug into the plush armrest as he schooled his features into neutrality. He knew that the Inner Circle were looking at him. And he most certainly didn’t want that. He didn’t want pity or sympathy. What he wanted was to disappear, even though he had promised Feyre to stay. So, stay he would.

Just because he had promised, it didn’t mean that he had to stay in the same room as the rest of the Inner Circle, counting minutes until it was polite to retreat. He had an apartment, but Feyre insisted… so he’d stay the night and leave early in the morning. That was the plan anyway. He couldn’t stand to be in this house for too long, not with his mate so close to him, yet so unattainable. If she wanted nothing to do with him, his best option was distance. Just looking at her across the room, chatting with Varian and Rhysand, so carefree and bold, it made his heart ache. The yearning was the worst when she was so close. You’re mine, you’re mine and I’m yours, I’m yours, mate. His mind would not settle.

He couldn’t have been happier when Amren took Varian’s hand and announced that she had had enough of the night and would be returning to her room with the prince of the Summer Court. Lucien quickly stood as well, excusing himself from the Inner Circle.

“You’re off to bed already?” Feyre asked with a wide smile. “I was thinking I could revisit Lucien the rakish bigmouth tonight.”

“Well, he was around for a while,” Lucien answered with a tight smile. “But I have an early start tomorrow so I should probably rest up.”

Feyre didn’t contest his decision, she knew better than to push it. Not when Elain would be left alone to do as she pleased for the rest of the night. She could stop watching her behavior, and instead maybe she would have a nice Solstice. Lucien didn’t wonder more about his decision and went into the room assigned to him, far from wherever Elain’s room would be in the large house.

He couldn’t sleep. Shocking, he thought to himself as he stretched for the hundredth time. The bed was comfortable, of course, the room was fine enough, much nicer than the one he had in his Velaris apartment. But he couldn’t sleep. His entire body and mind was aware of Elain, her presence in this house. I’m yours, I’m yours and you’re mine, we’re each other’s, just tell me I’m yours. Traitorous, ugly, stupid mind. He gripped the sheets with one hand and rubbed his temples with the other, trying to will his mind into silence. But it wasn’t going too well. Maybe he was imagining things, maybe he was making it up… but that sweet, lovely scent, that was definitely Elain. And it was… something he had never felt before.

Lucien gulped down air as he realized. It was arousal. It was need. He couldn’t help himself, he got out of bed and opened the door to his room as silently as he could. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe he was imagining things. His mechanical eye whirred and clicked as he approached the staircase, the scent, her scent was coming from downstairs. From the family room.

He didn’t need to reach those stairs to feel it. Her scent, and his. Curiosity, need, and yearning were replaced by rage and helpless pain in an instant. Lucien gripped the guard railing so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t incinerate it. His breathing became ragged as he squeezed his eyes shut with such force, white spots flashed behind his eyes. Don’t go there, thought the reasonable, rational side of him. Mate, mate, my mate, I’m yours, but you’re not mine, my mate, chanted that unreasonable, desperate part that he couldn’t make disappear.

Before he could let himself succumb to the madness, he heard another door open. He had enough control in his legs to make them turn and walk away from the situation, without Rhysand catching him. But he would not remain any longer.

As soon as he entered the room assigned to him, Lucien took his bag and his jacket and attempted to winnow out of the River House. His metal eye clicked, revealing the thick wards surrounding the place, but he had no time or will to leave through the door. Not when she was there, sneaking around in the dead of night, with another male. Not then. He would not be caught there. He would not address it in that moment. He would not let the Inner Circle see him lose control. He needed to get out of here, and fast. So, Lucien pushed against those wards with his own magic until he produced a white flash. It punctured the wards until a hole formed in the intricate woven pattern. As if the Mother had finally answered one prayer, there was suddenly enough space to winnow out of there. And he did it gladly.

“She chose another… she chose another.” Lucien repeated to Vassa and Jurian. They were awake, turned nocturnal because of Vassa’s curse. Jurian had adapted within a few weeks of meeting the lovely human queen.

Anxiety and pain finally revealed themselves in the privacy of the home he shared with friends, not with people whose eyes were trained to monitor and suspect him. Vassa knelt down next to his armchair, taking his hand gently. “Elain did? She chose another… male? Did she reject you?”

Lucien wasn’t ready to form sentences. His fingers dug into the plush fabric of the armchair before he blew out a breath, trying his best to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in… Breathing hurt. Even breathing hurt. Over some female he didn’t know, who cared so little for him. Who knew mating bonds could cause such pain? He gathered himself finally before he opened his mouth again.

“She didn’t reject me. She was… I guess sneaking around in the middle of the night with another male. And… I scented it. You two are blessed to not have noses like the Fae.”

“She’s not earning any favors from me…” Jurian commented with a frown. A low growl escaped Lucien’s lips. That stupid instinct to protect her, to shield her from any harm, or negative thought. “Take it easy, lover boy. For now you’re not even in the picture and I can’t insult her anytime soon.”

Lucien’s hands balled into fists in his lap, but he pulled back the anger and looked at his friends with pathetic honesty. “This… sucks.”

“What are you going to do?” Vassa asked in a gentle tone, placing her hand over Lucien’s.

“Probably… probably nothing. Who am I to go and demand she tells me who she is seeing? I am no one to her,” Lucien muttered bitterly.

“You are allowed to feel blindsided and angry, Lucien. This isn’t fair,” Vassa said with a frown. “You also didn’t ask for this bond, I know she has her own reasons for being apprehensive, and I know she can reject you and it’s her right and her perogative. But this… this is disrespectful and it’s okay to feel hurt by it. Maybe it isn’t a developed relationship just yet, but then especially, the least she could do is to reject you.”

Another low growl erupted from his chest, but Lucien quickly caught himself. Rejection, a formal rejection… it would hurt, certainly. But he would accept it. There was nothing to be done. To shackle a female to someone she already did not like? Where would that lead? What would that help with? Nothing. “She probably will reject me soon,” he concluded, shrugging his shoulders. “But enough of this pathetic pining. I prefer to do that without an audience.”

“You can do that in the privacy of your room. But if you want to punch some walls, let me know,” Jurian hummed and patted his shoulder as he passed him.

This was a mistake.

I don’t want it.

You belong to him.

This was a mistake.

The words of rejection, one quiet, one harsh and unforgiving, were spinning in her head. In such moments of rage, sadness or even desperation her mind tended to swim away from her. Ever since the Cauldron, it seemed like some part of her was still in there. Her head still underwater, her vision blurring, any sound deafened by the dark water. And then she couldn’t breathe any longer.

The physical pain, that seering, neverending pain, that didn’t come now the way it had in that dark water. Her body was no longer twisting into the immortal being she had become, but the mental anguish… it was similar. It was taking her mind from her.

This was a mistake.

She wouldn’t succumb to that again, not the desperation, not the catatonic state. Elain took a deep breath, smoothed out her dress with anxious hands. She didn’t want that necklace, not after that. A mistake. She grasped the delicate necklace and twisted it roughly around her neck, until the tiny clasp was in the front. Mistake. It had all been a mistake. She didn’t need a reminder. Her fingers unclasped the tiny little gold chain quickly. It was the dead of night. She hadn’t heard Azriel or anyone else moving around in a while. So, she opened the door carefully and silently went downstairs.

The sitting room was still filled with everyone’s presents. It was easy to find Azriel’s pile, there were plenty of daggers and dark items of clothing in it to lead her to the correct one. She carefully placed the necklace over a box in the back, so it wouldn’t attract any early riser’s attention. She didn’t want to discuss this… this mistake… with anyone.

As she turned around, her eyes fell on her own pile. She had gotten gifts from Feyre and her mate, from Cassian, and she exchanged some little things with Nuala and Cerridwen before as well. Her friends, the gentle souls who had helped her stand up before. Maybe she could confide in them… Nesta was not there yet mentally, and Feyre… she had her own worries to keep her company. Under the large pile of stuff given to her with love, Elain’s eyes found the little velvety box given to her by him. She hadn’t really even looked at it but she knew what hid in that box. Lovely pearl earrings, something she would gladly wear, but not… not if they came from him. She left it there where it had been laying as she made her way back up the stairs and into her room.

Her traitorous mind, however, had other plans. Those eyes, one lifeless and metallic, one vivid like polished copper, they had been watching her take the gift and react with nothing but disdain. She had felt a pulse of pain through that bond their shared, only for a moment. Only until his face smoothed into a mask of nonchalance. But before that, she had felt it. Your mate, your mate, yours, hurt, in pain ─ her entire body had screamed at her. But she only pulled back, shrinking into herself and trying her best to ignore his heart beating so, so loud. Feyre had never mentioned that. Your mate, your mate, yours, yours.

“Oh, shut it already,” Elain whispered into the darkness of her room once the door was closed behind her. As if whatever was dictating her thoughts would actually listen. Savage and animalistic… urges. She would not succumb to them, she would not listen to that heart beat much longer. She was no one’s mistake. Who would ever look at her if she was constantly dragging that shimmering thread, a shimmering shackle after her? She would sever that bond, one way or another.

Hypocrite, she heard her own thought. You’re a hypocrite, Elain Archeron. She couldn’t say who was the voice she was fighting. Her High Fae side battling it out with her human, true self? Maybe it was him taunting her through the bond. Maybe she was truly losing her mind. You’re a hypocrite and a coward, Elain Archeron, her own thoughts hissed as she dug through her closet. A hypocrite and a coward. She gritted her teeth, her fingers moving routinely until they finally touched the heavy fabric of the emerald jacket. How could you do this, you hypocrite? How do you sleep at night? She eased the jacket over her shoulders, letting its large size engulf her and silence her thoughts, those vicious, hideous thoughts with his scent, until there wasn’t much else.

As Elain finally lay down, nothing but the scent of cinnamon, freshly cut wood and crackling fire filling her mind, and a faint, silent heartbeat lulling her into slumber, the last thought she had was Home.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #liability #elain x lucien #sorry my lovely people #this is still super angsty #we'll get there #i do have some elain pov in the end at least #let me know what you think

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thelov3lybookworm · 7 months

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I find it almost disrespectful that you wrote the shy lucien x bold reader. Nothing will top it man, no matter how many times i’ve reread it, I keep coming back and reading it again. Like my stomach FLIPS when i imagine luciens reactions, the way he blushes and shyly smiles. You’ve ruined other fics for me in the best way possible. Thank you for your service ma’am, and also will there be a part 2 bc I will pay HEFTY for some more protective reader who cusses out the ic 👀

oh my god bae you scared me for a second there with the first line, I was almost scared of reading the whole thing

I opened my notifications and all I saw was 'I find it almost disrespectful that you wrote the', and I was like "WHAT DID I DOOOO!?! IM SOO SORRYYYY"

But like, I'm so glad you love it. I'm literally on the verge of tears I swear, I'm kinda pouting right now 🥹

Thank you soo much for this, it boosts my confidence soo much and makes me want to write more stuff and quickly so I can feed my babies 😚

hehe, also, I definitely am going to write a part 2 to 'presents'

I never thought anyone would like it that much, considering it's a lucien fic and not many people like Lucy. It also felt kinda rushed to me, so I'm definitely going to write a part 2, especially with that anon giving me those ideas 😏

#I've read this almost a hundred times now #I swear I really am about to cry #I was about to go to sleep #I don't think I'll sleep anytime soon because I'll be thinking of this #Anon baby you made me blush #Omw to rant to my sister now #I love you #😚❣️

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acourtofthought · 9 months

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I'm thinking SJM made the Trove in the likeness of the One Ring from Lord of the Rings. The ring was also sentient in a way, doing it's best to be "found" by those who might help it along it's journey and calling to those who it felt could lead it back "home" to Sauron.

“Made objects tend to not wish to be found by just anyone,” Amren cautioned. “That they have faded from memory, that even I didn’t think of them immediately in the fight against Hybern, suggests that perhaps they willed it that way. Wanted to stay hidden. True things of power have such gifts.” “You say that as if the objects have a sentience,” Cassian said. “They do,” Amren said, storms drifting across her eyes. / Made objects back then tended to gain their own self-awareness and desires. It was not a good thing.”

The Dead Trove seems to have purposely stayed hidden all these years, waiting until the right time......

“Or perhaps the Dread Trove wants us to know of it now, for some dark reason of its own.”

When Nesta first wears the Mask, it's as if it knows it's on its journey to where it wants to be:

Her blood was a cold song, the Mask a slithering echo to it, whispering of all she might do. Home, it seemed to sigh. Home.

SJM spoke of the consequences that would result from Nesta changing Feyre's anatomy and I think those consequences are not because of the physical alterations made to their anatomy but because she wielded all three items at the same time:

Koschei may very well know something about the Trove that we don’t—some greater power that manifests when all three are united.”

I think the three items worn together sent a signal into the world, possibly to the horn which led to Bryce landing in Velaris. And that event will alert the "original" masters of Prythian to it's location (the Asteri have long since forgotten where the ACOTAR world is). Remember, it's as if the items wanted to be found for a dark purpose of their own, perhaps to return to:

“They were Made in a time when wild magic still roamed the earth, and the Fae were not masters of all. / They were petty and cruel and drank the magic of the land like wine.”

As the ring was eventually destroyed, I imagine the Dread Trove will be too.

But first, in a crossover battle I think Nesta will call armies of the dead to her (just as Aragorn did), in their world and others:

Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

"Open any door, and you could move that army of the dead wherever you wished"

Emerging from her cocoon of grief and rage, this new Nesta might very well send entire courts to their knees. Kingdoms. (I think this line is hinting that the dead across kingdoms will kneel for Nesta, awaiting her command).

And as that golden light broke the surface before them, the dead knelt.

"you could make any enemy territory and its people bow to you.”

I don't think the Dusk Court will ever become an actual Court so much as being a portal between their worlds and a way for the characters to come to the aid of one another in a final showdown. The whole "sword and dagger being reunited and so too shall our people" prophecy could simply mean the ancestors of all the original major players from different worlds coming together for one last battle (not to live) in order to defeat the Asteri for good and a place where Nesta can raise the dead who were once trapped within the stone.

I keep trying to figure out how Helion and Lucien will be tied into everything. Since Helion had a reaction to the Mask, that means Lucien would be connected to it as well.

I wonder if Lucien will play a role in destroying it in the end?

The reason a hobbit was most suited to the task of destroying the ring was because they were less likely to fall victim to the greed that plagued men however even Frodo struggled to do what needed done when the time came.

Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.” Cassian’s blood chilled. Yes, Nesta would be unstoppable. But at what cost to her soul?

Wielding items of power usually come at a cost and it's possible that by doing what needs done to save others, the Mask will latch on and make it difficult for Nesta to destroy it. I think SJM has written Lucien's character to not fall victim to temptation (just as Aragorn did not fall to temptation by taking the ring from Frodo) and I could see him freeing her of its burden (I actually love the idea of Lucien and Nesta having a moment like that 😍).

#nesta acosf #crossover acotar #hosab theory #acotar theory #sarah j mass #lucien vanserra

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hellacioushag · 1 year

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I posted 2,139 times in 2022

80 posts created (4%)

2,059 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@expelliarmus

@hunterschafer

@amanitacaplan

@sircolinmorgan

@nina-zcnik

I tagged 2,129 of my posts in 2022

#tv - 1,222 posts

#movies - 273 posts

#doctor who - 215 posts

#euphoria - 142 posts

#btvs - 126 posts

#the witcher - 97 posts

#stranger things - 96 posts

#mcu - 82 posts

#bridgerton - 66 posts

#fashion - 65 posts

Longest Tag: 99 characters

#i tried to be vague in my reactions cause i don’t want to give too much away if someone hasn’t read

My Top Posts in 2022:

i was robbed of ithan’s reaction to finding out he was petting an asteri on his lap and i will never recover

121 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

y’all need to invest your time in a hobby. or therapy. something to occupy your time please. cause this harassment over gatekeeping a fictional character is not it.

154 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

sylenciio said: This has nothing to do with sexism lmao, it's just being realistic. The Rite is supposed to be failed even by 500+ yo warriors who dedicated their whole life to training (man or women) 💀

“it is just being realistic”... this is a fantasy series. we are living in SJM’s fantasy world. if she wanted to make the valkyries survive and win the rite then i don’t understand why that’s not “realistic” enough for you, but you’re willing to suspend disbelief when it comes to the other fantasy elements in this series.

also no other women have ever competed in the rite. so for the only females in prythian history to compete and win to then be labeled in this fandom as “not realistic” is extremely sexist. they won, but they’re still being dragged down because people in this fandom think they didn’t earn that win. that’s sexist. people claim gwyn shouldn’t have been allowed to have that title, but seem to remain quiet when rhys was literally dragged between cassian and azriel to the stone... that’s sexist.

the whole point of why the rite is near impossible to survive and win is because the ones competing are alone, they have no one in there they trust to have their back. but then the bat bois had each other to fight for and live for. the valkyries had each other to fight for and live for. so i don’t get why this is such a hard concept to accept other than this fandom has some sexist and misogynistic shit they need to work through.

you don’t have to like the valkyries, you don’t even have to care about them surviving, but it’s real silly to argue about realism in a fantasy series and not care about other elements that stretch the imagination.

177 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

i really don’t understand this weird movement in fandom that people are pushing where what you ship/how you ship needs to be pre-approved by others. if i want to ship elain with lucien or mor, i will. if i want to ship azriel with therapy or koschei, i will. these characters are not real. i can ship them with literally anything/anyone and that’s for me to decide.

“oh elain is uncomfortable around…” elain isn’t real, i will ship her with anyone i want.

“these characters want each other why can’t you respect…” cause they’re not real and if i want to ship them with the scum of the earth or the hottest ginger in prythian that’s my right.

“the implication of you shipping them with someone when they’re not into it…” good thing they’re fictional and don’t care if i ship them with the literal devil.

fandom is supposed to be fun and for the fans. i don’t need to justify my shipping preference just because it makes you upset. you don’t like it? ok, find someone else to follow who ships the same shit.

272 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so rhys being the most powerful high lord in history, azriel and cassian being the most powerful illyrians in history, and all three being carynthians is fine, but you draw the line at the valkyries outwitting and surviving the blood rite and 2 out of 3 being named carynthians... ok.

huh, wonder what the difference might be between the bat bois and the valkyries.... it’s on the tip of my tongue... sounds like schmexism?

469 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #not the posts created vs reblog ratio lol #i've been so quiet this year #no wonder i was able to read so many books on my goodreads challenge #about me

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peakysanakin · 3 years

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a bit about Elain's trauma and why it correlates with her rejecting her mating bond with Lucien in the future, a thread:

(WARNING: this post isn't about ships, except Elucien because Lucien is a key factor in Elain's trauma. )

Everyone deals with trauma in their own way and that's totally okay. Some are destructive, some shut people up and others want to not feel anything. Elain, just as Nesta, went into the Cauldron and those moments were horrific for her.

She is literally dragged and shoved into the Cauldron while she cries, struggles and kicks to escape the guards' grasps. The guards and the King keep laughing at her during the whole time.

Elain is used as an experiment for the Queens.

She is used as if she was a mere object.

Her body has been changed forever and she is practically naked, completely terrified and in shock from whatever she has gone through inside the Cauldron. (We know how terrifying and horrible it can be because of Nesta's experience.) Everyone is looking at her, some are even laughing.

Do you know how violating this could feel? To be left naked and vulnerable in front of people who have just terrorized you? How would you feel?

We don't know what she goes through inside the Cauldron, but it was probably very painful and terrifying. Then, she is thrown off it and she experiences this horrific scene, and her mating bond with Lucien snaps.

Another thing has been decided for her.

Not only has her body and life been changed forever without her consent, now her romantic relationship has been decided for her as well. And it's with a man who participated in the plan that made this horrific moment happen.

Lucien is an accomplice of that. He isn't a bad person, but he is CLEARLY an accomplice. (GO NESTA!!)

Elain is dealing with her trauma and she doesn't own Lucien anything. She suffered so much, she was broken and traumatized by what happened to her.

And Lucien and their mate bond are a BIG reminder of the day her body and life were changed against her own will.

We don't know much about her, but we have seen enough of her suffering and how traumatized she is in the books. Feyre always admired Elain's strength, because being kind and gentle in a world so dark takes balls, you know? Later on in the books, Elain is still kind and gentle but more reserved and quiet because she is dealing with her own shit.

Strength doesn't equal to physical force. A big example? Queen Elizabeth I of England was strong and she never fought in a battlefield, but she was intelligent, cunning and brought a Golden Age to her country. She made a place for herself in a patriarcal society and that's how strong she was.

Elain's strength differs from Nesta's, Mor's and Feyre's. She isn't an active fighter like them, but yet she had the guts to fight in the war and stabbed the King on the neck to protect Nesta because she loves her sister and would die for her. Look at this.

No one wanted her to fight, but she chose to. SHE CHOSE TO! This is important. She is scared in the battle camp and doesn't know how to fight or wield a sword, yet she trusts her friends and wants to fight alongside them.

She might die in the battlefield, but at least she will fight fighting and not be a pawn.

She will enact revenge for what the King did to Nesta, to Feyre and to herself.

MOREOVER –– Another big trauma (aside from happened inside the Cauldron and the dramatic changes in her life), it will probably be center around her body.

Her clothes, body and beauty are mentioned all the time. ALL THE TIME. Elain, who was a very proper and modest lady (and didn't want to talk about periods even with her sisters), was seen naked against her will by everyone and she probably felt violated.

Feyre mentions Elain's reaction when she sees her and Nesta wearing Illyrian fighting leathers. She mentions how Elain was offered something less scandalous and more proper.

Imagine how someone so proper would feel after being used and seen all vulnerable and naked by so many people? To have been ogled against your will? To be seen as an “object” to see whether the Cauldron worked?

Nesta is a sexual assault survivor and she also suffered because of their youth, Feyre's sacrifice to provide for them and Elain suffering from the Cauldron incident. She dealt with her trauma in her own way, just as Elain deals with it in her own way. And that's okay!

In Elain's book, her choosing who she wants to be with and how she wants to live from now on will be important. She will turn down Lucien, as it is obvious from what I explained above and because of the following: Feyre and Rhys comment on how being mates doesn't equal to being right for each other.

Sarah J. Maas said this as well.

She also said that a mating bond is something rare but that some people might be lucky and end up having two. But the main thing is:

Elain will reject Lucien because they aren't right for each other and she will chose whomever she wants to because she loves that person. That's big and it will be key to the plot.

Elain might end up being lucky and while falling for another person, a new mating bond might develop. But at the end of the day, it will be her choice.

Not the Cauldron's choice, not society's choice or anyone else.

Hers and hers alone.

You think she is boring? Well, we will learn more about her and we will see her heal from her trauma. Her body and her choices have been violated, but she will heal and grow for that and gain ownership over herself once again.

Rhys, Amren and Feyre believe there is more to her than just the kindness she shows.

“Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.” “You think I stifle her?” “Not you alone. [...] But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d dissapoint you all. [...] With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge”

“You think Elain is boring?” “I think she’s kind, and I’ll take that kindness over nastiness every day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

“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.”

“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Being a seer gives you many powers, but it would take me too much time so I recommend you to read this LONG AND AMAZING list of powers a seer might have posted by @miru5llec and you will be shocked and hyped.

If you like mythology and fantasy literature, you know seers are feared and respected. Kings have killed for having a seer in their ranks. They can reach levels of divine status and their ability as a seer gives them many more powers than those I have mentioned before.

Elain might not be physically powerful like Nesta or Feyre, but being a seer makes her more powerful than both of them but IN ANOTHER WAY. Look at the list above (linked) if you don't believe me.

Her being on the Night Court makes Feysand's court the most powerful in Prythian.

That's why Elain is not boring and her trauma is valid. There is much more to her than what little we have seen. SJM has said so. Rhys, Feyre, Amren, everyone has said so in the books. We will learn about her, see her heal and chose who to love in her book.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “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.”

“But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

We will see her develop her powers and learn how to use them. She is possibly the key to killing Koschei (the big bad villain) because she might have visions of where his heart is hidden in that fucking box and guide the IC to find it.

Furthermore, stop saying “I want Elucien to happen so Lucien can be happy.” or “Azriel deserves better than Elain because she likes to garden and is mated to Lucien.”

Elain doesn’t belong to Lucien.

Elain can garden, bake and walk around on her hands while singing La Macarena and that doesn’t make her any less strong than Feyre, Mor, Nesta or any other female character.

(Also, in this stupid ship war I have seen people pointing out how she wouldn't be able to give Azriel children because her body isn't Illyrian. This is disgusting. You are basically saying that all her worth lies in whether she can give someone children or not.

Do I remind you adoption exists? Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are brothers by choice, not by blood and they are BROTHERS. You can adopt and be a mother. And you can chose to not have children and that would be okay too. A woman's worth isn't in her uterus.

And that’s it.

(I posted this thread on Twitter as well, so if you liked it you can go there and RT it or hit a like.)

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#acosf #acosf spoilers #elain archeron #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elucien #elriel #nessian #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and embers #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #gwyn berdara #gwynriel

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