Elucien week day 1: flower
I should not have written this today when I have like eleven finals and projects due in two days but oh well
I know it’s a day late but I also didn’t have anything for day 2 soooo enjoy!!
warnings: a little bit of ✨spice✨ and no editing :/
Elain could feel the air.
That was the first sign something was different here.
It was heavy, settling on her skin with the gentlest pressure, like the warm embrace of humidity, only without the sweltering heat.
The second sign was Lucien.
Her focus was drawn to Lucien’s fingers, wrapped tight around hers, as they passed a fallen branch that had been overtaken by moss. Long, slender, and strong, his fingers stroked slowly over her own, and her next breath stuttered.
A few flowers poked out from between the splinters of the fallen branch—black flowers.
A few flowers poked out from between the splinters of the fallen branch—black flowers.
“Wait,” Elain gasped, grabbing Lucien’s arm. “I want to see those.”
She pulled him along behind her and dropped to her knees by the blooms, gaping.
“Those are beautiful,” Lucien commented, reluctantly dropping her hand as she picked one from the dirt.
“They’re black,” Elain whispered in awe. She ran a gentle finger over the single curved petal. “They looked like calla lilies, don’t you think?”
Lucien chewed his lip and nodded. He was sweet like that. Pretending to know what she was talking about. Elain quite liked that about him.
“But they’re actually black,” she breathed, and held it to her nose to take a deep breath of it. “Mm. Black flowers don’t exist naturally in the human lands, all we got was dark purple or dark red. Never actually black.”
She took another breath of it, basking in the musky, heady scent of it, then thrust the flower under Lucien’s nose.
“It smells so good,” she moaned, picking another one and inhaling it again. “Mm. I could smell these all day.”
Lucien gave the flower an experimental sniff—then his eyes rolled back in his head. “Cauldron. Let’s bring some of these back.”
Elain nodded feverishly, hurrying to pull more of the blooms from the fallen branch and the moss surrounding it. Normally she would be gentler with them, snip the stems cleanly, or pull it out from the root; but these…gods, she wanted an armful of them, she wanted to bury her face in them.
The air pressed onto her skin heavier, and she felt a drop of sweat race down her neck.
A soft thump behind her told her Lucien had dropped to his knees, and then he was beside her, pressing against her side as he reached over her to help gather a bundle of the flowers.
“Aren’t flowers not supposed to grow in moss?”
He sounded out of breath—and his heartbeat…it throbbed through her head at a fevered pace, only getting faster as he added to the bundle of blooms in her arms.
“It’s–it’s difficult,” she replied breathlessly, sitting back on her heels as he worked. “I don’t know how it works here, though. Maybe…maybe there’s different rules.”
“Wild magic,” Lucien grunted—he was sweating, now, too, down the arch of his neck, and she wanted to lick—
“What?” she squeaked, cheeks turning cherry red.
“Maybe it’s a rogue bit of magic,” he continued. “You never know, in fae woods. Anything can grow.”
Her gaze dropped to his hands—he was gripping the bark of the fallen branch so tightly his knuckles paled. A vein pulsed in his neck and the corded muscles of his forearms were taut.
He still pressed into her side, pulling another flower from the moss. Every little place they touched was on fire, her arm burning as he brushed it and she caught his eyes flutter closed.
His hair gleamed molten in the scarce sunlight, every shade of red and blood and rubies taunting her as he moved. The muscles of his back rippled as he worked, even through his shirt, and his hands—gods, what was wrong with her—his hands were covered in dirt, slender and so big and she reached out and touched the back of his hand before she could think better of it.
His skin was feverishly hot.
And the moment her fingers brushed the back of his hand, he twisted, those long fingers wrapping around her wrist to pull her to the ground beneath him.
Her mouth dropped open in the faintest gasp—she’d never seen him from this angle.
Braced above her. Hands pinning her wrists down.
Her face, her chest, her skin, her everything heated. She knew it wasn’t embarrassment.
His blood red hair fell around their faces, and it was so strange to see it so loose, so unbound, falling in his face so untamed, that Elain caught her bottom lip between her teeth and reached up to touch his hair.
“What is this,” she breathed, running her fingers through his hair, the locks slipping through them like molten metal.
He blinked—and his face shifted in an instant, falling from something feral to something horrified as he realized the position he’d put them in.
“Sorry,” he gasped, letting go of her wrist and jolting away from her. The black, beautiful flowers, dropped and forgotten the moment he pulled her under him, littered the moss around them.
“I’m so sorry,” he panted, reaching to help her sit up, his hands trembling. “Gods, I don’t—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me—”
Elain didn’t know either, but she felt it. Everywhere.
“I feel it, too,” she whispered, and grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest, right above her heart.
Lucien looked like he’d stopped breathing.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t want to break this heady spell by speaking louder than a whisper. They were face to face, kneeling in the mossy forest ground, black calla lilies surrounding them, and she leaned just a bit closer, touching her forehead to his.
His lips glistened in the scarce sunlight.
She could hear his gold eye whirring wildly in its socket, but he remained silent, barely breathing, watching as she stared at his parted lips.
“I think…I think it’s the flowers,” Lucien rasped, his hand still hot on her chest. “Definitely ancient magic.”
Cauldron, she loved the way his mouth moved. She could listen to him and watch him talk for hours, mapping the movements of those full lips, the crooked grins he gave her, the way his scar moved with his face.
“You’re ancient magic,” she whispered, and their noses bumped. “Untamed.”
Elain tilted her head and flicked her tongue against his scar.
The way he whispered a pleading curse under his breath set her on fire.
“Wild,” she murmured, and the softest push on his shoulders had him sitting against the fallen branch as she climbed onto his lap and licked his neck. “Sacred.”
“Elain,” he groaned, dirty hands fisting in the moss under him. “Cauldron—”
Gods, those lips. “Say it again,” she said breathlessly, her hands curling into his hair. “My name.”
“Elain.” His eyes were closed.
She hadn’t even kissed him and he was writhing and moaning her name.
She was certain she should be feeling very ashamed for this, for doing this to him, with him, and out in the open air, too—but the world was alight in this forest, and he was here, begging for her, and gods, she needed him.
“Flowers,” Lucien panted, his head thrown back against the branch. His fingers dug into her hips as she leaned back down to his neck. “It’s—mother—flowers, Elain—”
She answered on a heady sigh, grabbing a handful of the flowers he wanted and shoving them into the v of his loose shirt. “Here—they look good, you look—you’re…”
She couldn’t think straight. Between the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him, and the scent of those intoxicating flowers, her mind had emptied of every thought but him and the heat coursing through her.
“I’ll winnow,” he gasped, even as he clawed at her muslin dress and curled a dirty hand in her hair.
His body jerked under her—then the whole world followed, and she clung to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in the crisp autumn scent of him.
She landed hard on top of him, and he let out a quiet grunt over her shoulder, one of his hands still gripping her waist while the other fisted her hair.
Elain froze as cool, clean air filled her and danced across her skin.
The manor. They were back at the Spring manor, laying together on the sprawling lawn.
What…had she done.
She threw herself off of Lucien and scrambled away from him, taking in the state of him, his tousled hair, flushed cheeks, heaving chest. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted, trying to fix her dress and hair. “I’m so sorry, Lucien, I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”
It came out on a laugh, his eyes still closed.
“What?” Elain asked, distraught as she watched him laugh on the grass. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It was—” he grunted as he pulled himself upright, and took out one of the black flowers she’d tucked in his shirt. “The flowers. Some kind of intoxicant, or a spell, I’m sure.”
She gaped at him. “Really?”
He gave her a small smile, and took the flowers from out of his shirt. “Really.”
“I’m still sorry,” Elain insisted, refusing to look him in the eye. Cauldron, she’d jumped him like a feral beast. “I can’t believe—I’m not like that, you know? I’m so sorry I did that, I—”
Lucien stood as she rambled, gathering the remaining flowers and coming over to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “What do you say we give these to Nesta and Cassian in a bouquet the next time there’s a family dinner?”
Her excuses and apologies stuttered to a halt—and she giggled. Clapped a hand over her furiously flushed face and laughed. “Oh, definitely. That’ll keep things exciting.”
He was so good at that; reminding her that he was in no hurry to rush this delicate sprout of a relationship they had. And what she’d been doing—or about to do—in that forest was certainly rushing things.
She fell into step beside him, still staring at the ground, as he headed back to the manor, talking about how he must wash his hands, for no gentleman should ever have dirty hands for this long a time should he need to use them.
He noticed her silence, or lack of laughter at his antics, and glanced down at her.
“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, nudging her arm with his own. “You did nothing wrong. Between the flowers and my devilish good looks I’m shocked we made it back with our clothes on.”
She glared at him, and he grinned right back.
“I feel terrible,” Elain insisted. “I completely…lost control. I’ve never done that. I’m sorry you had to see me like–like that.”
Lucien hummed. “I’m not.”
He laughed, reaching down to take her hand in his. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, ashamed of, or to apologize for. We both lost it a bit thanks to these flowers here, but you never even kissed me.”
The way he said it, with the definitive pout at the end, his shoulders sagging a little bit—Elain frowned as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a grin.
“No need to sound so disappointed.”
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More Elain Thoughts
Elain and her father were probably close for a variety of reasons. Their similarity only part of the reason they were close, but it's something to note.
It took ages for him to move his ass, but once he did, he MOVED.
Why did it start? Well, he attended a meeting that concerned him greatly with the queens.
What did he do? He snuck behind the queens' back, gathered an army, and negotiated with a death god.
And who was by his side?
I have a feeling Elain is going to end up walking a similar path once SJM is ready to kickstart her journey. Something is going to push her to the point she can't look away anymore. She will have to leave.
Elain up to this point has been the pretty puppet. The lovely sister that's nice to look at and masturbate to. The mediator between sisters, but she's never been close to either of them. All of her life she's been surrounded by those that would coddle her.
The worst two at this point would be Nesta and Azriel... I'll go back to this point in a bit.
For Nesta, Elain was the inner voice she used to shame herself. Similar to how Nesta was Feyre's inner voice.
Yes, she did take care of Elain, but how did Elain feel being thought of as mad? Did the coddling actually help her? People also forget Nesta said pointed and horrid things to Elain.
She pushed away first, and said things she knew would hurt Elain. We know things like that hurt Elain through her eyes, and through the tremble in her voice. She was firm, but it doesn't mean she didn't fall apart behind the scenes. What Nesta said hurt.
Elain at this point is currently caving further and further into herself. Would I have expected more compassion for Nesta? Of course, but with what we saw? Nope. Elain is hurt and lashed out against Nesta the best way she knew how.
By channeling that Mama Archeron energy that's meant to destroy. Nesta assumes Elain was spared from the abuse, but I highly doubt my mother thinking I'm dumb as bricks, and only worth my looks would be considered getting spared.
I'm willing to bet Elain's abuse was all emotional. They had to keep her pretty. Feyre's assumption that Elain gardens gloveless with joy is probably bullshit tbh. That might be Elain's rebellion towards only being seen as a beauty. After all, perfect beauties have immaculate skin.
While the wait to actually see movement is annoying. Especially with the wait between books being so long. There's so much potential for growth in regards to Elain.
Now, Azriel's book is probably next. There's probably going to be something in regards to Elain before clearing the air with Mor, and eventually falling in love with Gwyn.
I want to note that a few things have already happened. Azriel stepped in between Lucien and Elain. He's stolen all of the big "hero" moments from Lucien, and has become obsessed with their bond.
It never had anything to do with Elain as a person. Azriel makes a lot of assumptions about Elain's feelings to fit his narrative.
Yet, with all of that, Azriel has also called the thing with Elain a mistake to her face. He knows it's wrong, and I'm willing to bet she does too. They both were projecting ideals on each other, and always have. To Elain, he was the one that "saw" her. To Azriel, Elain was the light he sought out.
Elain has been a pretty puppet all her life, but what happens when the strings are cut. Would she still dance for them?
A big part of Nesta's journey was letting Elain go.
Azriel is going to let Elain go too.
The major attachments she has to the Night Court are cutting the puppet's strings loose.
Combine all of that and the desire to actually do something with her life, you've got a future MC. Something is going to push her away, especially now that the ones holding her back are letting her go.
"I hope they all burn in hell" Elain still exists.
The Elain that saved Cassian and Nesta's lives still exists.
The Elain that made a plan to save as many humans as possible still exists.
The Elain that wants to see the continent still exists.
The Elain that has mystical seer powers still exists.
The Elain that is Lucien's mate still exists.
The Elain that walked away from her "hero", and snuggled close to her sisters in a small bed still exists.
And who better to guide her and bring out the best in her than her mate, and a new group of friends? Yes, Lucien isn't in a good place, but there is going to be a point where they'll meet somewhere in the middle. SJM isn't pushing bond rejection for a reason.
Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are getting their story told. Period.
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